#And i feel like a monster for feeling like that and evil | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thefooljester · 2 days

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creepypasta+ marble hornets jealousy headcanons

features: the slenderman, eyeless jack, jeff the killer, timothy w. [masky], brian t. [hoodie], ticci toby

reader: not specified

warnings: canon-typical violence [non graphic. implied], implied smut content [non graphic]

...

THE SLENDERMAN

• Honestly, I think the Slenderman is actually pretty good at handling his emotions, especially those that make him a bit more human(e) than he'd like to admit ;)

• For once, I think he's hardly ever pushed to a point where he feels like he isn't in control of a situation. He's, well, an anomaly, an entity, a spirit, a God - he shouldn't care about mortal problems and instead ease your burdens as you are cursed with this wretched lifespan and a mind far too complex to comprehend.

• As a natural protector and provider, the Slenderman easily is the dominant one in a relationship. He makes most of the important calls and he's assertive enough to stand his ground whenever a choice has to be made. He also...likes doting on you. He thinks you're precious.

• Which is why he probably struggles with people who enter your life as a mentor. Whether it's professors, tutors or just people you clearly respect, the Slenderman feels like his position as your unique partner is threatened because these ...people can teach you valuable skills and life lessons whereas he can, at best, teach you his strange ways.

• At his core, though he wouldn't want to admit it, his pride comes from a place of askew values and thus, he'll automatically think less highly of himself if you seem to be thriving just fine in another's presence... It's because he doesn't really understand the difference between platonic and romantic love.

• You'll have to explain friendships and relationships to him. Deep down, he still remembers these things, but he's seen enough horrors to send him astray. He needs someone deeply patient and caring, gentle even.

• After internalizing the difference, he'll become more secure in your relationship and jealousy will be foreign to him again. Seriously.

EYELESS JACK

• Jack's jealousy is hard to assess because of the strange inhabitant that shares his body. One body, two tenants... a bad omen indeed.

• The demon in him, though suppressed most of the time, is possessive - obviously. It seeks power, it seeks might and it seeks pure and utter submission from anyone that crosses it or risk being shredded to bits and eaten. Jack has a tight hold on...that thing, but in times of weakness, its urges are just that much stronger than Jack's logical mind and gentle soul.

• The demon doesn't love you. It's has a twisted infatuation with you because Jack is in love with you and that evil being lives to see him suffer, but it doesn't love you one bit.

• Still, it views you as its property because you belong to Jack, by extension... you belong to Jack's tormentor.

• The demon seeks to poison every single thought of Jack's whenever you're talking to another person... or you're gushing about someone else... or anything that makes you you. You don't deserve an identity, after all, you're bound to a demon. He should come over and teach you a lesson, take a little bite out of you... Just a little scare.

• Jack sees this entire thing very differently. He's a laid-back guy and quite trusting if you consider his unusual circumstances, plus he's brilliantly intelligent and can read you very well. He knows you like him back, he knows you fell in love with him for him, and nothing else...

• B U T Jack just loathes himself. He's hated himself for all that he's become already, he cannot view himself in a good light at all; he thinks he's a monster that deserves to be exterminated, but he really started despising himself as soon as he subjected you to being with him. He thinks he's robbed you of your own humanity.

• Look at you... beautiful, witty, funny and so warm. You feel like home, and he thinks he deprives you of your life because you deserve a boyfriend who isn't... him.

• He feels threatened when you're with other people, particularly those that are objectively attractive and intellectually gifted. It makes him incredibly insecure and he's jealous in a self-deprecating if not self-destructive way... Like, he came up with thousands of reasons why you should start dating them and break up with him right now... because look at him. Look into his empty eyes, how could you love that?

• Jack needs a lot of reassurance because otherwise he's spiraling.

JEFFREY WOODS

• Jeff's jealousy, on the other hand, is spiteful. He's angry and he'll let everybody know about it.

• He is emotionally attached to you, as a friend, a partner and just... on a human level. He feels like he really met his match and is convinced that you're his happily ever after... which causes him to act a bit unhinged when other people decide to shoot their shot at being with you.

• Jeff, contrary to popular belief, is quite intelligent. He isn't a genius or something, but he is pretty smart and as soon as he suspects that someone else likes you, he will basically be out of control.

• He's quite touchy already but the physical affection and PDA will run rampant around the person that causes Jeff to feel even the slightest bit of jealousy.

• He trusts you because you're his and he's yours and you've proven time and time again that you're fully committed to him of all people, but he is just... possessive by nature.

• He wants to let other people know that you're taken and that he isn't keen on messing around when it comes to you. He's definitely the type to become super petty towards the third party and behave like an asshole.

• Degradation isn't beneath him, he'll call the person he's feeling jealous of names, insult their personality and scoff at them in broad daylight. Jeff's not ashamed to come across that way and he doesn't mind being disliked for it.

• In fact, he prefers it.

• The type to gossip about "that person" with you. Like, "Doll, did you see that guy? What the fuck." then cackle like a mean girl - he's terrible in the best way.

TIMOTHY WRIGHT + MASKY

• Tim mainly feels jealous whenever his capability at being your partner is questioned, aka when he feels like someone else just seems to get along well with you...and oh, their life isn't a mess, and huh...they could protect you so well...

• He, much like Jack, thinks very little of himself because of the way his life went downhill after meeting the Operator. He thinks that just by being near you he's putting you in danger.

• Genuinely believes that he's just... incapable of being a person after all that has happened. You're such a bright light in his life, the only good thing that has happened to him in like, 10 years... and he's such an anxious, paranoid mess. He looks like he could move mountains but he's just a timid guy who's shaking in his boots whenever he needs to call someone.

• Do you really want that? Wouldn't you... be so much happier with someone who could give you stability and security? Someone who isn't plagued by an entity that could warp your entire personality until a killing machine is all that is left?

• He's basically murdered his best friend Brian in cold blood once because of his fear of the Operator... What if he loses control and lets Masky choke your life out?

• Or what if the Operator takes revenge by making you into one of them?

• Tim couldn't bear watching that life vanish from your eyes. He loves you so, so much. He loves that you care and that you hold him like a lover, he adores that you're sharing your strength with him and that you, in return, lean on him... He doesn't ever want to betray that.

• He's a sad type of jealous. Fuelled entirely by his intrusive thoughts... and his mind will be so foggy that Masky would temporarily take over, seeking control of the situation.

MASKY

• Masky isn't good at expressing himself verbally because he's rough around the edges. He somehow manages to mess everything up with everyone... always too harsh, too mean and too direct. He has an overbearing personality. You still put up with him and flash him that gorgeous smile. You always know what he means... He feels like he's your soulmate.

• You usually don't get to be with Masky very often because Tim is overly protective of you. He doesn't want Masks to "corrupt" you or make you think differently of him.

• Still, Masky loves you because he and Tim share the same core identity. Both of them know that.

• Masky loves you so much... it sometimes hurts that he cannot be with you as often as he likes.

• Meaning that whenever Masky feels like Tim is on the verge of throwing this one thing away, that one thing they agreed upon being the ultimate dream - a life with you, Masky is MAD.

• He wants to burn his love into you, to remind everyone of the fact that he's (also) your man. He'll kiss you roughly, hold you close to him and stare down at you with his intense deep brown gaze. His eyes are so much deeper than Tim's.

• Tim's gaze is a gentle caress, a sweet, fond look that watches over you whereas Masky's eyes are drawing you in with passion, they're making you want to fall into his arms and be pampered.

• And they are both yours, and Masky will remind everyone that you are theirs, too.

• Hope you don't mind... marking.

BRIAN THOMAS + HOODIE

• Brian rarely gets jealous. He's not an insecure man and he's perfectly content with your relationship as it is. He adores you wholeheartedly.

• That doesn't mean that he doesn't have a breaking point.

• He feels that flick of anger ignite in him whenever someone touches you in a flirty manner. He knows that look in their eyes - they're testing the waters. And you, bless your heart, though sometimes uncomfortable, always remain friendly. Your kindness is such a virtue, but Brian just boils when someone's hands are too frisky for his liking.

• Touching your lower back will make him snap his jaw shut and swallow a sound of protest.

• He knows how to behave himself. He is aware that causing a scene will only get you in trouble and embarrass you potentially. And it's not like he has some sort of ownership on you.

• You're his saving grace, he'd never want to inconvenience you.

• Well... Brian likes reassurance - the naughty kind.

• He wants to remind himself that there's nothing to worry about.

• He'll come over to you - public or not doesn't matter to him, teasing you in that way is his bread and butter - and rile you up. Fleeting touches, breaths down your neck, wet kisses and even friskier hands that squeeze all those terrible spots that never fail to draw a noise from you. In front of people. Yeah...

• Brian is relentless.

• He'll watch you like a hawk, smiling down at you as he feigns innocence, your own gaze growing hungrier by the moment. He loves watching you fall apart at his hands.

HOODIE

• Hoodie, on the other hand, is a surprisingly jealous man. He is nonverbal so making himself known is rather difficult, PLUS he's never out in public, but he feels what Brian feels.

• If Brian feels like someone had crossed a boundary, Hoodie knows that someone must have pushed his buttons and did something truly unacceptable.

• But... Hoodie isn't as suave. He just isn't the type - he also doesn't enjoy sexual tension as much as Brian does. He prefers the emotional aspect of love. He manifested because of Brian's fear, he's basically the place where all those outsourced feelings of inadequacy and insecurity went.

• Thus, Hoodie is a troubled guy. Brian may have some trouble forcing a smile in public - he manages though, but Hoodie only ever smiles around you. He is stoic, he is basically dead inside...and he's quite shy around you. You're the first normal person he has met and he... never thought to get to live with you.

• Hoodie wants to remind you of the deep bond you share. He instantly takes you out on a date... something cheesy, like a slow dance in the middle of his bedroom.

• He wants you to know that he'll never treat you with disrespect and always tend to your every need. Hoodie can read your expressions like a book and he knows that sometimes, overly "friendly" touching can feel uncomfortable, especially when it's not exactly welcome or unprecedented...

• Hoodie aims to make you forget about those other people. Focus solely on him and lose yourself in his doting. Come on, he knows just the song that describes his feelings for you. Listen to it and kiss him, please.

• You're such a rare treasure... so rare that Hoodie understands that others might want you, but they'll never see you for what you really are: An angel, his angel.

TOBIAS E. ROGERS

• Toby also gets jealous very easily but not out of distrust for you but rather because he doesn't trust anyone else to treat you right. He knows that he can be a lot, but you deserve even more than that.

• While he admires other people's taste and lowkey congrats them for wanting to be with you, but he'll also be super obnoxious about the fact that you chose him and rub it in their face.

• People always belittle him. They think he's weak, dumb and he's had his fair share of being on the receiving end of the r-slur when he grew up... Now look at him. Fucking look at him. He is working on getting his life together, he's working on himself and he has a partner who loves him and supports him no matter what.

• He won. Other people should be so jealous of him. Naturally, he makes sure they are.

• Flashes you a gummy smile that is so sickly affectionate every time you turn your head in his direction... He is so stupidly in love with you, wow... Just wow.

• His whole face lights up when you turn your attention away from other people to focus on him. Nobody's ever done that and yet it's totally in your nature. You were made for each other. You're so good to him.

• He often stands behind you when you're talking to someone else. He doesn't even focus on the conversation, he's just looking around before looking at you with so much love in his eyes... and sometimes his hands wander.

• He's so excited to show you off, to celebrate your relationship publicly... he's always so eager to hug you from behind and lay his head on your shoulder, basically smothering you. Is delighted if you do the same with him...

• He's also the type to randomly drag you into a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing and everything. But Toby doesn't want to embarrass you at all, he's just there to illustrate his affection and let everybody know.

• Is fine with sticking his tongue out at people who are clearly interested in you but cannot even talk to you properly because he's hogging your attention.

• Suck it, loser.

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #slenderman x reader #eyeless jack x reader #marble hornets x reader #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta headcanon

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 1 day

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hi!! I love your stories! 💞 Could you please write a fluffy Donna x maid, where the maid is already starting to develop feelings for Donna (unbeknownst to our favourite doll maker lmao), maybe causing her to be a bit more clumsy and flustered than she usually is. Which makes her end up injuring herself somehow (nothing serious but still enough to make Donna concerned) and when Donna is patching her up maybe that's when she has this realization "oh shit, I think I like her"

have a great day/night!!

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

Your clumsy love

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Maid! Reader

Warnings: fluff, insecurities…

Word count: 5,511

Summary: Your love is starting to make you so clumsy…

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

“On second thought, maybe I need a maid…”

That phrase had been going through your head over and over again for a while. The softness of her low, husky voice was something you couldn't get out of your mind.

You, an ordinary girl from the village, raised and educated to serve, were lucky.

You could have ended up like so many of your friends, in the Dimitrescu castle, maybe in the reservoir or in that horrible factory, but no. Your skills were average, nothing extraordinary, nothing the Lords were dying to have. Lady Dimitrescu had more maids than she could handle with, Lord Moreau had no maids, but experiments, and Heisenberg, well, better not to think about what he was doing in that horrible place.

You only had two options left: resign yourself and wait your turn in the castle, or try something that seemed impossible: enter the depths of the forest, into the lands of the most mysterious Lord, the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

No one in the village was able to tell you exactly what she looked like. You had heard legends, you had seen those porcelain dolls in many people's homes, but no one who had gotten close to Donna had been able to return. You were always reckless.

A monster, a giant and evil doll, the worst visions of your past... What you expected to find when you arrived at that waterfall had nothing to do with what was really there. There was a woman, a seemingly normal one, but with a certain mystery, and a living doll.

She was not a monster, nor a fish, nor a madman, nor a vampire. She was just a woman dressed completely in black, with her face covered by a veil and little desire for company.

Crazy, deranged, dangerous... The adjectives that the villagers gave to the Lord should be more than enough to make you fear for your life, but you didn't. Maybe Mother Miranda was looking out for you, or maybe not. To get Donna to hire you as her maid, her only maid, was not difficult for you.

If you could summarize your first weeks on the estate, only one word was in your head: Silence.

Sometimes you had the sensation of cleaning an empty house, of cooking for a ghost, a wandering spirit that passed by you from time to time, without saying a word, without looking at you.

At least you weren't Moreau's experiment.

That comfort accompanied you every night when you got into bed and reflected on the situation you found yourself in. Donna wasn't complaining. She wasn't talking to you. To her, it was almost as if you didn't exist. The Angie doll only served as a reminder that you had not lost your mind, that you had not disappeared. No, you were there. You were a maid, her maid.

Over time, seeing that ghost in mourning became a hobby for you. You knew her routines, her schedules. Without realizing it, you began to become addicted to the way she walked, to the air that lifted her dress whens he passed by you. Maybe it was due to the flowers, or maybe it was boredom. You didn't know and you didn't want to know either.

But everything changed the night your mistress suffered a terrible nervous breakdown. Okay, the villagers weren't lying. Her mind was troubled and hurt, but at least she was no longer alone. Thinking that you, only you, were the only person who could help her calm down began to make you feel important, indispensable.

Calming words, soft songs and a warm bath… That was your way of acting with Donna's loss of connection with the real world. The veil on her face disappeared at that moment and you, who had already imagined that woman in the portrait as a horrible monster, had to bite your tongue. No, she wasn't a monster, she was beautiful and you were dying to tell her.

“My lady, are you feeling better?” You asked, helping the lady in black out of the bathtub. No, it was definitely not the time for your eyes to wander over her body, but they couldn't help but do so.

Donna simply nodded, letting you wrap a towel around her as sobs remained the only sounds she made.

“Thank you...” It wasn't your imagination. It was a whisper coming from her lips.

For some reason that word made something inside you stir. But then again, it wasn't the time to think about those chills you felt when you were around her.

Carefully, you sat the lady in front of a mirror. Her gaze was fixed on the floor while you did what you thought you had to do.

“Is it okay if I comb your hair, my lady? I can leave you alone if you want,” you asked kindly, with an almost motherly voice. Donna shook her head and grabbed your wrist tightly, too tightly.

“Don't leave me alone, or they will catch me,” she said with a trembling voice, with a scared expression and her body still trembling under that towel.

You could have tried to reason with her, make her see that there was no one there or anyone who could harm her, that she was safe. You didn’t do it. A horrible feeling passed through your body, the feeling charged with adrenaline and courage that made you imagine a possible scenario in which something threatened your mistress and... Well, that you were the only one who could save her. You definitely needed to rethink the things you were feeling.

“No one will harm you, my lady. Not while I'm here,” you said, raising her head slightly so she was looking at the mirror as you grabbed a brush from the dresser.

“Really?” She asked, looking at you out of the corner of her eye, flashing a smile.

“Really,” you confirmed, smiling too, placing her black hair behind her shoulders and combing it delicately.

While you did so, you hummed a song, the same one that had managed to calm her inconsolable crying. It was a strange moment, but a relaxing one.

“Why do you call me my lady?” She asked with a soft voice, making you stop, with your cheeks blushing.

“Because I’m your maid,” you said in a soft voice, finishing arranging her hair correctly.

“I don't like it,” she said with a more severe tone, frowning.

“No? Well, I… I can style your hair differently if you want,” you said confused. She shook her head, taking your wrist again.

“No. I don't like it when you call me my lady,” she explained, releasing your hand and lowering her head again.

“Oh, okay...” You said, scratching the back of your neck, confused. “Do you prefer Lady Beneviento?”

“Do you know what the castle maids call their mistress?” She asked, covering herself better with the towel, as if she had just realized how exposed she was. You opened your mouth to say something, but you realized it.

“Lady Dimitrescu, I guess,” you said with an amused tone. Donna nodded slowly.

“Do I look like her?” the lady asked, confusing you even more.

“The truth is that... Not much,” you said embarrassed, afraid that it wasn't the answer she was expecting.

“Well, don't call me like her,” she said sternly, with a hard and cold expression, far from the subtle smile of a few moments ago.

“Okay... I'm sorry,” you apologized, starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Would you like her to call you maid?” She asked again, squeezing her towel with white knuckles. You, not really knowing what to do, shook your head.

“I prefer (Y/N),” you said, almost in a whisper.

“I prefer Donna,” she whispered, looking at you through the mirror. You nodded.

“Okay, Donna…”

After that night everything changed. No, nothing changed.

Your mistress was still a wandering soul with whom you barely collided. Her black veil covered her face again as if it were a cruel irony. When she was weak, scared or disturbed, she didn't care about you looking at her face. When she was calm, her complexes were too much for her. Curious.

It only took one more week for everything to change. Apparently that wandering soul was no longer so wandering. When you finished your tasks, reading was the only thing you could do. The solitude and tranquility of the sound of the waterfall were drowned out by the sound of her heels on the wood. Like a helpless animal, studying the terrain before approaching, Donna began to read with you, far from you at first and increasingly closer.

“Where are you going?” Donna asked when you served her food.

Normally she ate alone, so she ordered it to you. That day her words made you stop in place, turning slowly towards the lady in black, already without her black veil.

“I…I…” you stammered. “Well, it's time to eat and…”

“Sit down, please,” Donna asked kindly, pointing with her hand to the chair in front of her.

You weren't used to that, but you accepted, fearful. There was a moment of tension. You were there, sitting, not really knowing what to do. Donna ate quietly, as if you weren't there, until she put the spoon in the soup and looked up.

“Why are you still here?” She asked without looking at your face, with an accusatory tone.

“What?” You asked, with your forehead sweaty as your legs trembled, endangering the plates on the table. “Sorry but... I don't understand the question. You asked me to…”

“No, (Y/N), why are you still my maid?” The lady asked again, with her gaze colder, as if she were analyzing your expression.

“Why not?” You asked involuntarily, too abruptly.

“Don't you have eyes on your face? Look at me...” She said with a sharp voice, with anger in her eye.

“I…I…”

“I'm a monster,” she finally said, crossing her arms. “Why do you want to continue working for a monster?”

“You're not a monster, Donna,” you said with a serious tone, frowning.

“Do you know why I have never had maids?” The doll maker asked, leaning on the table, with that studious look not wanting to move from yours.

You didn't respond. You just shook your head.

“Because when they saw how I am... They ran away,” she explained, her voice cracking and her knuckles white again.

“What nonsense,” you said, a bit nervous.

“Does it seem nonsense to you?” She asked, leaning back.

“No, Well... I mean that... You are, you are a beautiful woman,” you stuttered, noticing the heat that your blush caused on your cheeks.

“Liar,” she said, looking away from you.

“It's not a lie,” you said, searching your mind for a way to fix that situation. “My uncle Iulian, that was a real monster.”

“Your uncle?” She asked curiously, with a strange look. You nodded.

“Yes, well... He had a huge nose. I remember that when he had to take care of me I avoided looking at his shadow on the wall. I thought that one day he would be able to absorb me,” you said erratically.

“Absorb you,” the woman in black repeated, confused by your ramblings.

“Yes, you know...” you said, making a sniffing gesture with your nose and smiling innocently. Donna stared at you and raised her eyebrow.

Just when you were about to faint from your clumsiness with words, Lady Beneviento's face changed, she relaxed and her mouth began to form a smile.

That smile came a wider one and her body shook as a shy laugh filled the walls of the room. It didn't seem like something so stupid would amuse your lady, but apparently, it did, and quite a bit.

Hearing her laughing, really laughing, was one of the reasons why your feelings became more and more confused.

From that moment on, as if it had been some kind of psychological barrier that had been broken down with a comment and an absurd joke, the relationship between you and Donna changed, changed completely.

There was no longer a trace of the veil and it was much more common to see her smile with anything you said. Everything seemed fine, correct. Your work and your integrity were not in danger, but there was something that was, your mind.

Every night you imagined her face, her smile, her voice... It was your particular way of sleeping, wishing to dream of her once again, to be able to see her in your dreams. You didn't need to wish it. Donna had been accompanying you in them for a long time, always with that smile, with that look. You were already lost, unable to think why of all the people you knew, you had to fall in love with her.

Like an addict denying its problem, your conscience told you over and over again that it wasn't love, just friendship, or attachment. That your loneliness had made the need to be loved coincide with the lady in black; just attachment, nothing else.

To acknowledge it would be to admit that you had lost your mind, it would be to admit that it hurt you to think about living without her. You were addicted to Donna, and you were unable to even admit it.

“Tea time, stupid!” A shrill scream made you grimace in disgust. Of course, the Angie doll was always there to interrupt you in your downtime, to interrupt your reading, a reading in which the characters were no longer themselves. You and Donna were the protagonists of the books, you and your impossible love that always came true.

“Yes, yes, I'm coming...” You said sighing and leaving the book at the best part, in which they were finally, or rather, you and Donna were going to kiss each other.

While you boiled the water, you kept thinking about that story, about that kiss. You wondered what it would be like to kiss her, what it would be like to have that intoxicating lavender perfume so close to you. You no longer only dreamed about her while you were sleeping, you had taken to doing it while awake as well.

“Excuse me. I'll bring you tea,” you said, carrying the tray into the workshop where your mistress spent the time. She left her work and looked at you with that smile, with that damn smile.

“Thank you, (Y/N), you're always so punctual,” she said amused, moving away from the table so you could leave the tray on it.

With your heart beating fast and your hands trembling, you did so, quickly retreating before you got lost in the sensation of your dress brushing against hers.

“Well, with Angie it's hard not to be,” you joked, pulling back and putting your hands together in front of your body in a politely way.

Donna laughed, shaking her head.

“Yes, I guess you're right,” she said amused, looking at the cup you had served her and frowning.

“There is something wrong?” You asked nervously, looking over her shoulder to try to make out the source of her strange look.

“No, there's nothing wrong, (Y/N). Or rather, there is nothing,” Donna whispered, gesturing for you to come closer.

You obeyed, making a superhuman effort to move your legs. You almost had a fit when you saw where the problem was.

“Oh, wow... I...” You said embarrassed, checking how there was only hot water in that cup. Not a trace of tea.

“Normally tea is darker, don't you think?” Donna said with a normal tone, but inevitably amused, at your expense.

“Yes, I... Oh, I don't know what I was thinking... I'm so sorry,” you said, hurriedly grabbing the cup, accidentally causing your hand to collide with hers. The soft touch of her skin on yours was more than enough to make you freeze in place, even more so when Donna didn't seem to want to let your hand go.

“Calm down, (Y/N). I like hot water,” she said without taking her eyes off yours, without taking her hand away from yours. You wouldn't be able to tell if the caress you noticed was your imagination or if, on the contrary, it really happened.

Surely you had imagined it. You had been imagining things like that for too long.

“No, please, I… Oh, come on, let me make you some real tea,” you said hastily. Donna removed the cup from your hand, setting it down on the table and looking at you curiously.

“It's not necessary,” she said softly, stirring the water with a spoon. “If you bring me a slice of lemon I will be happy to drink it.”

You closed your eyes, trying to make the red tone of your cheeks fade a bit.

“I... Okay, okay,” you muttered before turning around and disappearing from the workshop, cursing under your breath about your sudden clumsiness.

The following days were no better. That clumsiness continued to manifest itself. Broken vases, smashed dishes, silly knocks against furniture… Everything inevitably coincided with the presence of your mistress, with a greeting, with a kind word. Whenever Donna was around, your body did everything it could to embarrass you.

It was already too much to bear and finally, during one of those nights of imagining your love story, you took the first step to cure your addiction, admit it.

“I'm in love with you...” You whispered, covering yourself with the sheets. No one was there to hear you confess an irremediable truth, only the dim light of the moon and the old walls of the house. You wished that whisper had reached her ears. You needed it before you completely lost your mind.

“Hello, (Y/N), I hope I’m not bothering you,” Donna said, interrupting one of the many fantasies you imagined with her while you were cooking. Out of shock, you put a hand on your chest and turned around.

“Oh, Donna, you’ve scared me,” you said nervously, frustrated because, every time you imagined your love story, you never got to kiss her, there was always something that interrupted it.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,” she said politely, moving closer to you.

“Did you want something?” You asked, brushing off your apron to avoid looking at that glowing smile, to stop daydreaming.

“No, I was just coming to see you,” she replied, leaning on the counter casually.

“Oh, I…” You said, embarrassed again, playing with your apron. No, (Y/N), it's not what you think. It will never be what you think.

“What are you cooking?” She asked, looking at the oven with curiosity.

“Well, I... I was making...” You said proudly, noticing an unbearable itch in your throat, which led to a horrible cough.

Suddenly, your vision cleared, or rather, darkened due to the black smoke that you began to make out in the kitchen. How long have you been fantasizing?

“Oh, shit... No, no, no,” you said hurriedly, opening the oven and checking that there was no food, but a tray with something black on it. “Oh, no…”

“It looks like you burned it,” the lady in black joked while you removed that culinary aberration with the help of a couple of rags.

You lowered your head in shame and nodded.

“I'm so sorry...” You murmured, wanting to cry and scream at the same time, which intensified when you noticed a hand on your shoulder and the smell of lavender very close to you.

“(Y/N), you've been a little distracted lately, is there something worrying you?” Donna asked, with that softness that made you lose your mind again.

As expected, your body saved you again, shaking your head.

“No, I... I guess, I guess it's a rough patch... I'm so sorry, Donna, I'll prepare something else for you right away,” you said, suppressing the urge you had to kick the oven. The woman in black laughed amused at your erratic attitude and her grip on your shoulder intensified.

“Don't worry, we all have bad days. Let me cook today,” she said, amused, with that shyness that her smile always revealed. In a movement too quick for you to enjoy, she untied your apron, putting it on herself.

“Oh, no, no, no. This… No, that's not right,” you said, grabbing her arms, nervous and embarrassed. She looked at you curiously. “I mean, no, you don't have to cook... That, that's my job.”

“Tell me, (Y/N), who am I?” She asked with her eye shining with amusement.

“You? Well…”

“Who are you to me?” She asked again, taking a frying pan from its hook.

You would have liked to say so many things... But, unfortunately, there was only one possible answer.

“Your, your maid...” You sighed, unable to hide the tone of disappointment implicit in your words.

“Correct, (Y/N), and what do maids do when their mistress asks them for something?”

“Obey...” You murmured, looking away from her, confused, nervous, and madly in love.

“Exactly, so obey me and bring me some tomatoes. Then, go to rest,” she ordered you.

Again, again your mind playing tricks on you. In your progressive madness, you had gotten used to imagining gestures of affection, caresses, kisses on the cheek… But, that time, when her hand went up to your face, passing over it quickly, but noticeably, you began to doubt whether it had really happened, or whether you were beginning to have difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasies.

“Come on, (Y/N), you have to forget about that. It's never going to happen. You are the only girl in the village who is attracted to women, what makes you think that she...? Oh, I think, I think I’m going to have a heart attack...” You mumbled, walking from one side of the house to the other as you eagerly awaited lunch.

The noise of the elevator made you stop talking to yourself. You were starting to do dangerous things. You didn't know when the Angie doll was stalking you, if she had heard your words. You were so, so in love.

“Here, buon appetito,” the woman in black said, placing a steaming plate in front of you. The smell of that pasta made you close your eyes. Maybe it was because of hunger, or maybe it was because you were going to eat something she had made.

“Wow, that's...” You murmured, contemplating the unknown mastery your mistress had in the kitchen as she poured you a glass of wine. “It looks excellent.”

“I hope you like it, (Y/N),” she said, smiling at your amazement.

“I didn't know you knew how to cook. I mean, I… Well, I have friends in the castle and according to them anything resembling a kitchen is unknown to the Dimitrescu family,” you said, dipping your fork into the food, to see if it was as good as it looked.

Donna laughed with a blush on her cheek due to your compliment. That shy giggle was going to finish you off.

“I can confirm that it’s true,” she said amused, watching how you devoured what she had prepared for you.

“It's... I don't know how to describe it... It's delicious,” you sighed, with a mixture of satisfaction and shame. “You are very good at cooking.”

“I learned when I was very young. I guess when you're so alone it's a good way to spend the time,” she explained, now in a more normal tone.

“Compared to this, my cooking is mediocre,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don't say that. I like the things you cook,” she said, interrupting your self-pity. “Believe me, if I didn't like them, I wouldn't have let you set a foot in my kitchen.”

“I guess that's good...” You said, smiling at those kind words.

“Of course,” she said, nodding.

The meal passed calmly, too calmly.

Your feelings were already burning in your chest, dying to come out or disappear. Your clumsiness was still the protagonist in your life and your nervousness at being so close to her worsened to such a point that you were unable to stop shaking in her presence. Luckily, Donna didn't seem to notice that.

“Would you like to take a walk with me? It's a wonderful day” That phrase, that proposition, was the last straw.

You, who were clearing the table, froze, rooted to the ground with trembling hands.

“A walk?” You asked, sounding too calm, having learned to hide your feelings with your voice. A shame you couldn't do it with your body.

The woman in black nodded, helping you with the plates.

“Yes, I would like to show you the grounds,” she said in an indifferent tone. Donna was oblivious to what that proposal meant to you, unfortunately.

Your body trembled before that smiling gaze and your hands became weak, causing, with a loud and unpleasant crash, the plates you were carrying in your hand to fall to the floor breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Ah!” You shouted, scared and of course, embarrassed again. “I, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” you said hastily, bending down to pick up the pieces.

Donna approached worried. You didn't know if it was because of the dishes, or because of the nervous breakdown you were about to have.

“(Y/N)...” She murmured with a soft voice, a hand on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” You repeated over and over again, unable to control your nerves. You spent too much time being clumsy, doing things wrong. Just thinking that at any moment Donna would fire you made your heart and stomach clench.

“Wait, (Y/N),” she said, grabbing your wrist as you stood up to disappear from the room as soon as possible.

“Don’t, don't fire me, please... I'm sorry, I'm really sorry...” You sobbed, not being able to control your emotions.

“What are you taking about? Your arm, you're hurt...” Donna whispered, forcing you not to pull her grip and showing you the reason for her concern.

You hadn't realized it, but one of the pieces cut your arm. The wetness of the blood on your dress and the sting of the wound had gone completely unnoticed by you.

“Angie, bring the first aid kit,” the lady in black said, taking the pieces that you were carrying in your hand and leaving them on the table, dragging you to a sofa.

“No, it's okay. I'm fine,” you said, wiping away your tears as your mistress lifted the sleeve of your dress, revealing the terrible cut.

“No, (Y/N), I'm going to heal you,” she said sternly, turning to the small briefcase her doll brought.

“I'm, I'm useless...” You sobbed, repressing the sting of the alcohol on your wound, crying, not because of the pain, but because of your attitude, for letting your feelings turn you into clumsiness personified.

“Don't say that,” Donna whispered, gently cleaning your wound.

“Yes, I am... Lately I've been doing nothing but... Screwing things up,” you said, now letting out a bit of your frustration. “You must think I'm stupid...”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she said dryly, without looking away from your wound.

Silence reigned again, reminding you of those early days when Donna, your Donna, was nothing but a ghost to you.

Your wound, now clean and disinfected, was no longer the center of attention of the brunette, who, with her caresses, walked around it, with a lost gaze, as if she had disconnected her mind and was wandering freely, letting herself go. .

“Forgive me, Donna...” You said, calmer. “I’m not fit to be your maid.”

She didn't respond, just shook her head. Her expression was different, sad but curious at the same time. Her hand left your skin to lift your chin slightly, making your gazes coincide.

You didn't say, you didn't do anything, you just got lost in her gaze, in her bright eye, in the warmth of her skin against yours. It was a moment like those you had dreamed of. You even thought that at any moment you were going to wake up.

“I don't want you to go,” she whispered, abandoning your chin and cupping your cheek with her hand.

You were left breathless, enjoying that sensation, that affection that you longed for so much. They were still fantasies, but, for some reason, that seemed very real to you, too real.

“I don't know why you would want to have a maid like me...” You said shaking your head, letting your hand join hers, causing a timid gasp from the woman in black, but that didn't stop her from continuing her caresses.

“Why would you want to be my maid?” She asked back. It seemed like an innocent, reassuring question, but it wasn't at all. You knew her expressions. Something, there was something that was tormenting her.

“Because I...” You said, closing your eyes again, losing yourself in her soft caresses, in her lavender scent. “I wouldn't know what to do if I'm not with you.”

“Do you like being here with me?” She asked again, this time, removing her hand.

You had already begun an inevitable descent to your doom. At least you could say that you wouldn't lose without trying. Simply taking a breath, you nodded.

“I always wait to see you appear through the door, to see you smile. I think of absurd questions or conversations just so I can hear your voice, Donna...” You confessed, feeling an intoxicating relief at expressing what you felt, or trying to.

Lady Beneviento sighed in confusion, looking at you curiously, as if an undeniable truth had fallen right on her shoulders.

“Do I make you feel those things?” She asked, like a little girl curious about the world around her. She couldn't be that naive, could she?

“Just look at you,” you said, angry for being unable to confess your love clearly, for being unable to make her understand that you loved her in a subtle way. No, with Donna that would never work. She blinked in confusion. “You are, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and… I… I…”

“Do you think I'm beautiful?” She asked with a shy smile crossing her face.

You simply nodded. She looked at you again, with a strange expression, as if she were scared of something.

“Stop...looking at me like that,” you said, feeling how your chest was burning with rage, how you had complicated that situation on your own, waiting for rejection, the final blow to your little maid adventure.

“I like looking at you,” she said, frowning, defensively. “You are beautiful too.”

“What?” You asked confused, startled by that unexpected statement.

“You know what? When, when I saw that you were hurt, I... I, I felt bad,” Donna said, stammering, lowering her hand to take yours, to play with it on her nervousness. “Just imagining that something bad could happen to you... I, I've gotten very nervous.”

“Donna...” You whispered, not understanding her words, not understanding why she had not left you when you confessed your love, well, when you tried to confess it to her.

“I thought it was just... Just a strange feeling for being so alone but... When, when you told me what you felt... I realized that I feel the same way about you.”

“The same? I don't believe it,” you said sobbing, wanting to end that torture, wanting to leave the estate and never return.

“Sometimes I imagine how... What it would be like... to kiss you,” she whispered in a low voice, with her sweaty hand still playing with yours. That made you open your eyes suddenly.

“I imagine it too,” you said, with an involuntary smile crossing your face.

“I'd like to stop imagining it,” she said, leaning towards you, fear still shining in her eye.

“Please...” You said, unable to hold back your tears.

The distance between you slowly closed. Your lips rested on hers, staying there, without moving, enjoying the wet contact, the sensations that you imagined so much, that you fantasized about so much. It wasn't a romantic or passionate kiss. It was a chaste and simple kiss that didn't last long, but it was enough to make your body want more, many more.

“I'm in love with you, Donna...” You confessed, still very close to her lips, caressing her hair lovingly, like that time you helped her when she lost her nerve.

“I've never felt this way about anyone...” She whispered, inadvertently ignoring your confession. “I couldn't tell you if I'm in love with you.”

That was enough for you to relax, to think that maybe you were wrong and that your fantasies would soon come true.

“Kiss me again, please...” You begged, pulling your head so that your lips collided again, this time more intensely, moving, caressing each other.

Donna pulled away slowly, squeezing her eye shut tightly, staying close to you, but not kissing you, as if she had just had a revelation.

“What's wrong?” You asked, worried that you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

“If it is love what I’m feeling, I want it to never end.”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #oneshot #re8 donna #re8 village #requests

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666writingcafe · 2 days

Text

Hallucination

Solomon

MC: Something bad's happened to Asmo. I need you to come over and help me fix it.

With the tone of their message, I was afraid that I'd walk into a room full of bodily fluids of some kind. Thankfully, that doesn't seem to be the case, but the situation is just as severe, if not a tad bit worse.

I've spent lots of time with Asmodeus, so I like to think I know his various moods and how they present themselves on him, but this...

From behind, he looks perfectly normal, sitting upright on his bed. But his eyes make it perfectly clear that he's completely disconnected from this reality. Whatever he's seeing might only be happening in his head, but it's making him rather upset.

"What happened?" I whisper to MC.

"I don't know the full story, but I found a bag of gummy bears sitting on his nightstand, and I think he ingested enough of them to start tripping." Oh dear. Devildom drugs are no joke. I've known plenty of humans that have either died or permanently lost their minds from a single micro-dose. The stuff's potent.

"Where did he get them?"

"I don't know. I gave Lucifer the bag, and he's taking it over to the castle to have Diavolo and Barbatos look into it."

Asmo suddenly stands up and rushes towards the door. MC quickly blocks him from opening it.

"And where do you think you're going?" they ask him.

"I gotta tell them the good news!" he exclaims. "We can all go back to being angels!"

Well, no wonder MC wanted me over here. At the very least, they need another set of hands to restrain Asmo from running off and causing chaos.

"Sweetie, that isn't possible." MC places a hand on his shoulder.

"But it is! I'm telling you! Raphael told me so!" MC glances over at me worryingly. "I'm not lying, Zephyr! He said that Father ordered that all is to be forgiven, and that all of our brothers and sisters wish for us to return!"

"Asmo--"

"Our wings should be white!" MC sighs.

"Look, even if Raphael wanted you guys back, I seriously doubt your Father would forgive you all for what you did."

"Zephyr's right, Asmo." Oh shit. How long has Lucifer been on the other side of the door? MC steps away from the door, allowing him to enter the room.

"I rebelled against Father in a way that is unforgivable," Lucifer continues. "By falling with me, you've told Him that you agree with my actions. He's not going to let us return." This causes Asmo to burst out sobbing.

"Why would you say something like that?!" he yells. Before any of us can reply, Asmo adds,

"Oh right: you're just stubborn when it comes to Father! You refuse to bury the hatchet!"

"Are you saying you regret coming with me?"

"Yes! I want to return to the Celestial Realm and be an angel again! You know, the way I used to be, white wings and all! You made me a monster, Lucifer!" Lucifer sighs. I can tell that Asmo's words hurt him; the pain is evident in his eyes.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way. I know seeing your reflection in the mirror scares you. But I didn't force you to leave. That was a decision you made on your own, and unfortunately there's no undoing it. What's done is done, and we all have to live with the consequences."

"Fuck you!" The room begins shaking as black smoke fills the air. The next thing I know, the four of us are in the middle of a tall, dimly lit labyrinth.

And we're face-to-face with a giant spider.

"Okay, what in the hell was in those gummy bears?!" MC exclaims.

"An evil spirit," Lucifer calmly replies.

How lovely. Some demon must have thought it was a terrific idea to befriend a trickster spirit and mix its essence into candy to then sell to unsuspecting strangers.

Of course, that demon may have specifically picked Asmo to be the spirit's target. While public opinion of the brothers is certainly better than what it was when MC and I first arrived, there's still plenty of people that wish them nothing but harm and misfortune.

"I'm s-sorry!" Asmo cries. "I didn't m-mean what I s-said!"

"We'll talk about it later," Lucifer replies roughly. "Right now, we need to get away from this spider and find a way out of here."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me mc #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer

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frythatrice · 2 days

Text

Otherside Picnic Rant

I'm coming off the high of shotgunning what there is of the manga and then the entire novel in about a week, so it's hard to gather my thoughts. It's incredible. I'm probably not being very objective about it right now, yesterday around midnight I wasn't even reading anymore, I got to volume 8 and it was less like reading and more like drinking the story. Just vacuuming it up like a burger on the brink of starvation. I don't know how coherent this rant is and I don't care, I just had to get it out there. Spoilers for the whole series below.

Seven volumes of romantic and sexual tension culminates in an entire book of romantic catharsis. A whole book dedicated to Sorawo's feelings. It's not even out of place, it's a horror series and there's nothing Sorawo is more afraid of than human emotion. It's so fucking smart. Every single deflection, every single longing look, every single comment, every single "I love you", every single moment of romance prior to vol8 pays off.

Sorawo falls in love without realizing. She can't take her eyes off Toriko and doesn't understand why. She gets jealous and protective. She rationalizes it using the "accomplices" label. She doesn't think too much about it, but knows Toriko is special.

Then, Toriko confesses her love. Initially, Sorawo genuinely doesn't even understand the implication of it. She realizes Toriko is acting like a boyfriend, and doesn't understand why. Slowly, Toriko shifts from "special" to "the most important person in her life". She still doesn't understand they're in love.

Then, Toriko keeps pushing, and Sorawo picks up on what's happening. She starts deflecting. She goes from being genuinely unaware of her and Toriko's feelings, to actively supressing them. At this point, she still acts like she doesn't get it, but understanding is slowly creeping in. As she continues to act like she doesn't get it, she starts purposefully ignoring these feelings, and it gets harder and harder. She sees all the pieces, and knows what the puzzle would look like if she put them together. The Otherside is terrifying, but that's never stopped her from trying to understand it - these feelings are worse.

Finally, enough is enough, and Toriko pushes one last time - 7 volumes of rising romantic tension come to a head in volume 8. Toriko doesn't know what the fuck is going on anymore, and asks Sorawo to sort out her feelings. Sorawo can't run anymore. Her fear of these feelings influences the Otherside in the most blantant and direct way so far. She is being directly haunted by her feelings for Toriko. It's barely even metaphor at this point. The Otherside has targetted Sorawo before. Satsuki is used to prey on Sorawo's fear of losing Toriko, as well as her jealousy and, to a degree, fear of becoming evil. The Red Person manipulates her through isolation and loneliness. T-san makes her fear losing her connection to the Otherside. All of the phenomena Sorawo encounters, in some form, prey on her emotions and insecurities, but it's at least somewhat obfuscated - they feel like evil monsters with a vague connection to her. They feel like tangentially related phenomena that just so happen to fit the bill.

Satsuki and The Red Person haunt Sorawo specifically, but you could easily make arguments for them haunting others as well. Vol 8's Mujina is different. It's a phenomena that is directly targetting Sorawo and only Sorawo, it's directly targetting her feelings for Toriko, in a way that leaves no doubt or ambiguity about what's happening. It's not even that scary, objectively speaking. Just one volume ago, Sorawo brutally exorcizes Satsuki in a triumphant, cathartic slam dunk against the horrors of the Othersie. Even before that, at this point, she's faced off against countless, unimaginable horrors and has come out on top. The Mujina is one of the simplest, most basic phenomena Sorawo has encountered. It's incredibly mundane. It's not some crazed serial killer, or an eldritch abomination, or some inhuman chimera. It's not some deep reflection of her past, it's not some sort of mind bending apparition designed in a lab to terrify. It's not a 20 stage haunted house with twists and turns. It's a scrap of paper passed to her during class, and all it says is "you love her and you know it". It's fucking genius.

Vol 8 is a mad dash and a chaotic scramble to sort out her feelings. It's never been this hectic before. She pulls out all the stops. There are stressful moments throughout the series, but for the first time, it feels like Sorawo genuinely might break under the pressure. She goes as far as asking her classmate for advice. I think vol1 Sorawo might choke out vol8 Sorawo for even thinking about doing that. She's scrambling through town asking everyone everything she can and all the way throughout she's being haunted, tormented, tossed around like a plastic bag through dimensions. She's fighting for her life.

All of this culminates in the single greatest chapter of any romance story I've ever seen. The 80 or so pages that have potentially ruined all other romance for me. If you got your hands on the original manuscript, tore out Accomplices No More and processed it into a drink, I'm certain you'd have made a love potion. File 26 feels like a fucking galactic event. A nuke could have dropped on them during their talk and I doubt it would have made into the footnotes. Any burglar trying to break in would be torn apart on the atomic level by the sheer level of desperate love on display. I'm surprised neither of them had a heart attack. I'm not surprised by the lack of Otherside interference - whatever it is, whoever it is trying to make use of it, at this moment, even God knows better than to try. Calling it cathartic feels like an insult.

Sorawo and Toriko sit down, pick up volumes 1-7 of Otherside Picnic, and take a leisurely stroll through every second of their time together, from the moment they first met, to the Big Bang of yuri currently occuring. It's love. It's always been love. Toriko lets her into her apartment. Sorawo doesn't care anymore. She accepts that she's not like other people. She accepts that she doesn't love like others do. She accepts that she doesn't think of people like other people do. She accepts that she loves Toriko. Their feelings fly off the page like a meteor shower.

Sorawo has never been interested in Toriko's past, because Toriko's present is so radiant nothing else matters. That's fine. She loves her.

Sorawo has never thought of Toriko in a sexual way, and how could she have? Have you ever wanted to fuck the sun? Even if Sorawo wasn't ace, I don't think she could have felt differently in this moment. That's fine. She loves her.

Sorawo has never wanted for them to become lovers, because, in her eyes, they were far, far beyond that point. That's fine. She loves her.

Sorawo has seen herself through Toriko's eyes in the past. It brought her to tears. I wonder, how Toriko would react to seeing herself through Sorawo's eyes?

Toriko's love is a lot more typical in comparison, but she loves her just as much as Sorawo loves her. Sorawo confuses her. "This girl keeps staring at me". "She wants to spend all her time with me". "She gets jealous of me". "She protects me at the cost of herself". To Toriko (and literally everyone else who has ever seen the two together for more than two seconds, including the fucking esoteric eldrich beings from beyond the realm of human imagination who don't even know what the fuck feelings even are), the way Sorawo acts towards her can be nothing but love.

Written from Toriko's perspective, Otherside Picnic is a romcom about a Canadian lesbian who progressively goes more and more insane over the fact that her hot, nerdy crush won't go out with her despite not even trying to hide the fact it's mutual, with a mild subplot about some monsters or whatever. At this point, I could argue that Toriko isn't even especially fearless or anything, and that the reason she handles the Otherside so well is because she's too thrown off by the densest lesbian to ever walk the earth to spare a thought to whatever the fuck the Otherside is trying to do. Maybe she'd be more shook by her ex being turned into the Grooming Devil if she wasn't busy writing a 50-page essay titled "What The Fuck Am I Doing Wrong" in her head at the same time.

Jokes aside, Toriko's love for Sorawo really is just as big as Sorawo's love for her. Toriko might be a bit rough around the edges, and she herself admits she's not great with people. Toriko got books on childhood trauma so she wouldn't hurt Sorawo by accident. Toriko has been agonizing potentially having overstepped Sorawo's boundaries. Toriko knows she's hurt Sorawo before, both on purpose and by accident, and she hates herself for it. Toriko lets her into her apartment, something she's never done for anyone else before, and she tells Sorawo everything she's afraid of telling other people.

She loves Sorawo. Not the cool, smart Sorawo, the fearless Sorawo, the Sorawo that treats the Otherside like an adventure. She loves Sorawo. The cool, smart, fearless, weak Sorawo. The jealous, pathetic loner Sorawo. The dense, ovethinking Sorawo who can't hold her composure. The heroic Sorawo. The Sorawo that says she doesn't care about people. The Sorawo who faced hell for her. The Sorawo who wouldn't let her go. The Sorawo she wouldn't let go.

The moment Sorawo and Toriko sit down in her apartment, all doubts of whether or not they love each other are incinerated. All that's left is to clear up any misunderstandings, and figure out where to go from here.

Toriko places lovers above accomplices, Sorawo does the opposite. Misunderstanding resolved. Toriko says she loves Sorawo, Sorawo responds in kind. All clear. Sorawo thinks that maybe it's not romantic, Toriko isn't buying it, in the end, the label feels meaningless. It's love regardless. Toriko is worried her advances went too far. Sorawo doesn't get much out of the kissing, but absolutely doesn't mind it. We're getting somewhere. Before a label is decided for their relationship, Toriko admits she wants to have sex. Sorawo doesn't get the hype, but she's down. They have boring, normal, incredibly disappointing sex, and get nowhere.

If this is as far as it went, I could see Sorawo compromising and labeling them as a couple. I don't think sexual incompatibility could ruin their relationship. Toriko would be disappointed, but they'd happily work out some kind of compromise and end up a happy couple. Happily ever after.

Thankfully, Toriko is horny as hell, a bit mean, and a sore loser. Turned on, next to her beloved, her pride as a second generation lesbian having suffered critical damage, she mutters about taking care of business herself, something I'm sure is partly just an actual idea she had, but also as a bit of a mean jab against Sorawo.

Sorawo's internal monologue following this statement is the best string of letters and symbols I've ever seen in my life. I'm fully aware I'm still riding the hype and not being objective. I don't care. As of writing this, I don't think anything I've ever read or ever will read will ever reach the heights of Sorawo discovering what a kink is. 16 hours later, I'm staring at it, and I'm still floored. I imagine I still will be a week later. I would do deplorable things to get Iori Miyazawa to write a version of this scene from Toriko's perspective. I'd go as far as watching Hibike Euphonium if it made him put his pen to paper.

Toriko's offhanded remark leads right into the most insane sex (???) scene I've ever seen. I could wax poetic for days, words just don't do it justice. To begin with, it's beautiful, romantic, erotic, absolutely hilarious, as well as just a touch terrifying. It fits thematically, both in the obvious sense of it being kind of horrifying, but it also touches on the overarching themes of the story.

The horrors of the Otherside are often used to represent abuse, and a big part of Sorawo's character is coming to terms with her abuse by both claiming the Otherside for herself, as well as fighting against the horrors representing her abusers. Using these powers in such a loving, passionate way that stands as a direct counter to the Otherside is an incredible middle finger to their abusers as well as the powers that be. Come what may, they can't be broken, and together, they can heal.

It's also relevant to the struggles Sorawo has throughout the series. She's not like other people. She doesn't think like other people. She struggles with societal expectations and labels. On top of that, both her and Toriko have been irreversibly changed by the Otherside. Sorawo is pushed by others to label their relationship, she's pushed by Toriko to conform to typical sexuality. Of course the normal sex was terrible - neither of them are normal, and once they accept that, they're rewarded with reality breaking sex that puts the horrors of the Otherside to shame.

Lastly, it's also the final piece required for them to fully accept each other. Throughout the series, they push and pull each other through various misunderstandings and such. Once the misunderstandings are cleared up, the issue that remains is that they're incredibly scared to hurt each other. Sorawo is scared of driving Toriko crazy with her eye. Toriko is scared of… whatever the hell her hand can do to Sorawo. The thing that finally clicks is simple - they're scared of hurting each other, but neither of them are scared the other would hurt them. They're scared of hurting each other, but the thought of being hurt themselves doesn't even occur to them, and since they trust each other with their lives, there's no reason to be afraid.

Rationally, I can look at this sequence of events and understand that it's only four pages or so long, but I don't think I'll ever be able to wrap my brain around it. It's a masterpiece.

Once they're done inflicting permanent mental damage on me, the Otherside, as well as everyone in a 5-mile radius, they go back to labels. Suddenly, the idea of normal is a lot less interesting for the both of them. At this point, it doesn't matter what they call each other. With the nerdiest justification ever put to paper, they label themselves after some weird, esoteric Japanese beast. Why not?

I'm usually not a fan of the "we don't need a label" trope in yuri, as it's usually used as a copout to avoid labelling the characters as queer. Otherside Picnic is like the polar opposite of that. It's not trying to avoid labelling the characters as queer. I think it just invented a whole new brand of queer. I'm exceptionally happy about how it handles the topic of sexuality, from Toriko's lesbian mothers, to Toriko herself, to Sorawo's asexuality, to whatever the fuck they did to each other.

Given that Iori Miyazawa could be called the father of "yuri of abscence", as funny as the memes are, and as sure as I was that he was mostly joking, I was still a bit worried that Sorawo and Toriko would end up being ambiguous. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Iori Miyazawa really said "a bench by the sea with room for two is yuri. You know what else is yuri? Two women having sex". What an incredible man. What an incredible story. I don't know what I'll do with myself once it's over.

#otherside picnic #otherside picnic spoilers #otherside picnic volume 8 #otherside picnic volume 8 spoilers #how am i supposed to recover from this #yuri

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battybiologist · 3 days

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I don't always aim to have a hot take about everything I watch, I swear, but if you'll allow me to get a little spicy, I think the interpretation that the Dalek from "Dalek" was actually corrupted with "human emotions" is at least partially untrue and also really cheapens a beautiful tragedy about ideology and fascism.

In that episode, the Doctor outright states that the Daleks feel nothing but hatred. But that's textually false: Even before the titular Dalek touches Rose, it expresses loneliness when it learns about how the Doctor ended the Last Great Time War, sympathy, albeit cold, with the Doctor about both of them being the last of their kind, gladness to see a human who is not afraid of it, and even suicidal thoughts. Some of it could have been a ploy to get Rose to touch it, but such a plan would require an understanding of the human psyche that is both thematically and diegetically uncharacteristic of a Dalek.

What's truly different in its behaviour after Rose touches it is it gains empathy towards Rose. Not the dozens of security personnel, lawyers, and scientists it killed in its rampage, not Adam, not van Statten, not the rest of humanity, just Rose. And I think this is the crucial part of the puzzle: the Daleks can only connect with things similar to them.

The Daleks are the prime example of supremacists. Anything that isn't a Dalek is considered inferior, but they don't hate each other. Some of them do consider other Daleks inferior, or rather impure, but they agree that they're inferior and wish to be destroyed, either to serve their pure brethren, or simply not to sully their species. This implies an actual ideology; the Daleks are not born as genocidal supremacists obsessed with purity, they are made like this.

That's why the titular Dalek tries to commiserate with the Doctor. Hearing about his destruction of the Time Lords and Daleks alike and seeing his hatred made it consider the Doctor as similar to it, as outright stated in the last third of the episode.

But that connection was weak. The bond between Rose and the Dalek, however, is much stronger. They share DNA, and that combined with humanity's hardwired empathy, Dalek supremacy, and Rose's attempts to connect with it, makes Rose the only person to be able to reason it. And she does - she asks him the most impactful question you can to a victim of propaganda who listens: "What do YOU want?" And by answering anything other than "total genocide", the Dalek ideologically stopped being a pure Dalek.

But an impure Dalek still is a Dalek. And like I said earlier, those who consider themselves impure know they cannot continue to live on. So it makes the only logical choice it can make in its broken set of beliefs, and kills itself. A tragic end in the original sense. The Dalek could not overcome its hamartia, the tragic flaw ingrained in its entire species: the lie that the Daleks are truly superior.

All of that is totally explainable without the idea that the Daleks are biologically emotionless monsters. And I don't know about you, but a story about a result of the worst fascist propaganda in the universe realizing through circumstances that force it to question said propaganda that it can think for itself and stop mindlessly following genocidal orders, but cannot go through the end and kills itself before becoming someone different is a lot more poignant and thematically complex than "ontologically Evil race species has one member catch the Feelings and Morals genes from humans"

#doctor who #ninth doctor #rose tyler #doctor who dalek #daleks #sorry im 20 years late to the party ill try to be born earlier next time #also sorry for writing the word ''dalek'' so many times

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nightcolorz · 3 days

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And the un-nuanced view of Armand makes it so much harder for Armand fans to discuss his actual fucked-up-ness, like how I genuinely do think a giant portion of his sad faces this last episode were fake (because lbr boy has never been out of survival mode ever, and he's been doing what it takes to survive/keep from throwing himself in a fire, so what does he have to be sorry for). But now I feel compelled to balance out the bad faith Armand takes. All I want to do is talk about how damaged he is, and how the terrible things he does are born of that damage, without having someone jump in with "but that doesn't excuse it" as if I was actually excusing anything.

omg yesss this!!! I feel this so hard 😭🙏. I love how fucked up and horrible Armand is but I’m always hesitant to analyze it bcus someone is gonna reblog it like yes he’s so horrible poor Louis for having to tolerate horrible evil manipulator man 💔💔smth smth, and I’m gonna eye roll till I get an aneurysm.

and god ur so right ugh, everything he does comes from being damaged. It’s why I can’t help but feel bad for him no matter how insane he’s being 😭obviously it doesn’t excuse it blah blah blah as if we aren’t watching the loving the horrible monster show so that we can love the horrible monster but no we have to disclaimer everything we say so that we won’t look like horrible monster sympathizers like it’s not the whole point, but anyways like, armand 💔. No matter how hard the former fighting dog bites my face off I’m still going to be like…I’m so sorry they hurt u so bad that u feel like this is how it needs to be

#armand #iwtv #interview with the vampire #the vampire chronicles #amc iwtv #the vampire armand #Iwtv amc #iwtv s2 #iwtv season 2

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la-pheacienne · 1 day

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Alicent is unfortunately not the only lifeless portrayal in the show. I have to talk about my pookie. Daemon Targaryen, a fandom fave, grrm's fave (one of them), legendary, quintessential Targaryen prince, "both a great man and a monster", "the most admired, most beloved, most reviled in all Westeros", "made of light and darkness in equal parts", "to some a hero, to others the blackest of villains" (paraphrazing).

Now that is something isn't it? Except that I didn't see that Daemon.

The deal with Daemon is simple. Book!Daemon was, first of all, fiercely attached to his family and that part is extremely important for his characterization. That man was blindly devoted to his house, to his wife and to their kids, adopted or biological. That was his drive, that was his purpose, that was his inner logic. Secondly, that man was nuts. Genuinely terrifying, the "you touch my kin and you will be sorry you were born" kind of terrifying. The "I will not stop until I turn every single person who wronged my family to ashes, man, woman, or child" kind of terrifying.

And they violated his brother's will. They usurped his wife's throne. They murdered his boy. They dared make a fool out of him and tear his family apart, two clowns barely into adulthood, a whiny nun and an old man who faints at the sight of a dragon. These people did this to him. Like, can you even?

Daemon should be fucking seething. He should be coming down on these clowns like a ton of bricks. The mere mention of his name should make them tremble in terror. Blood and Cheese was his moment, and it was the moment of the Dance. Now Matt did a very good job conveying all of this up until Blood and Cheese but attributing Blood and Cheese to an oopsie severely underplayed Daemon's impact. Of course, the reason the writers made BxC a misunderstanding is simply the fact that they couldn't do otherwise, after what they did with Lucerys' murder. Show!Daemon, as he stands, could not unambiguously and straightforwardly order the murder of Helaena's son without turning into a cartoonish Ramsay type of villain, and this, because the writers have not established one of his two defining traits which is, again, his fierce, blind devotion to his wife and kids. Show!Daemyra is weak, Daemon's fatherhood is downplayed. This is a part of the general problem of the characters of the show feeling flat and vague in their motivations. The show may have included some intellectually stimulating changes, in all its anti monarchy blablabla glory, but in their effort to achieve that they stopped giving the characters space to feel, love, rage and form deep, unbreakable bonds with eachother which motivate the entirety of their actions. In the entire show the moments of pure, unfiltered, real emotion are extremely rare, and Daemon is a victim of that.

Since they have not established that emotional core for him, they cannot go full force on his vilest act either. The two go hand in hand. The one motivates the other. Of course you're gonna tell me that in the show, he still orchestrated Blood and Cheese and he is still technically responsible for everything that happened. Matt was still seething with fury throughout the entire episode. Fine. It is still far less impactful than the book version, far less powerful, far less horrifying, because the motivation behind it is flimsy, because Daemon's characterization is hollow. In the book, Daemon was both greater and meaner. He was just more, in every category. In the show, he didn't give me that "oh my fucking god" shocking moment I felt when I read the source material y'all call boring (!) in comparison to the adaptation.

Daemon's moral core is his family. Period. For his family, he becomes the blackest of monsters, without scruples and without mercy. That's what "light and darkness in equal parts" means. Both are necessary. The show ironically managed to dim both his good side and his evil side and turn this proud, fearsome, horrible, legendary Targ into a whiny man whose toy got stolen. Not the vibe. I hope they do better with the battle above god's eye.

#i am a team black trash who is mad that team black is not as BAD as it should be #I want my Targs RUTHLESS AND DERANGED OKAY #they literally had one job!#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aspa rambles

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backsideattackkkk · 2 days

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"I didn't say I agree with it, I simply said I understand it"

courtni webb, a 17-year-old high school student, wrote a poem composed outside of her class assignments, which raised a red flag for her teacher and principal and consequently got her suspended from san francisco's life learning academy for violating the school's zero-tolerance policy for violence.

the poem was about the perpetrator adam lanza. she states she was just trying to express 'her belief that tragedies like in sandy hook happen because people feel helpless.'

an extract from the poem:

They wanna hold me back I run but still they still attack My innocence, I won’t get back I used to smile They took my kindness for weakness The silence the world will never get I understand the killing in Connecticut I know why he pulled the trigger The government is a shame Society never wants to take the blame Society puts these thoughts in our head Misery loves company If I can’t be loved no one can

the poem was found in a personal notebook of courtni’s by a teacher. the school prides itself on being able to help students who have not been able to settle at other establishments, she says in the past she has handed in poems dealing with dark issues and has not experienced any problems.

"Never in my life have I heard that you couldn't mention a tragedy that happened. I didn't say that I agree with it, I said I simply understand it"

the above statement is from courtni, she notes that the she felt the school was making her look like "a monster."

“I feel like they’re over reacting. Why? Because my daughter doesn’t have a history of violence. She didn’t threaten anybody. She didn’t threaten herself. She simply said she understood why,”

the above statement from her mother, valerie statham. her mother said that she believes her daughter's free speech is being violated.

"A closer look at the poem, which contains other lines such as 'If I can't be loved no one can,' and 'Society never wants to take the blame,' shows that if the poem Webb shared with the media is indeed the same one for which she was punished, it seems more likely that she was suspended for daring to show empathy and understanding in a complex issue that American society would like to make a matter of black and white, of good and evil."

statement above from madeleine davies

#.quickinfo

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 2 days

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There’s something I like to call “senses of a villain”, What does this mean?

It means they have certain things to make them feel like a threat

“Sense of control” which is the villain having followers, Allie’s, things he can use to manipulate the chessboard (for example the evil king has a army) Gabriel feels to lack sources, he’s a millionaire but never use that money for anything outside of the alliance which is a bit of a dumb plan since what would happen if the heroes discover the rings have miraculous essence inside? I would hired mercenaries to get rid of the heroes, bought the local news to spreed bad news only or find a way to make the people of Paris feel more negativity, and he wouldn’t need to depend on freaking Chloe bourgeois for reliable akumas. Of course this could be good in a underdog type of villain like the Batman villains which depend on giving it all to stay afloat, but Gabriel is a millionaire which says enough

“Sense of evil” which is the villain feeling evil, yes Gabriel is evil, but he doesn’t feel like a villain but more like nuisance, which is good for redeemable villains, too bad he’s done unforgivable things, which could be productive for the sense of evil hit he never makes me feel ‘oh god, this is a monster’ like Mecha Godzilla (from GvK) which killed the human who resurrected him and started killing civilians for the Evilulz. Gabriel always feels like they try to make him evil but is just making him hate-able since they still try to make him sympathetic (is like making frieza a father for sympathetic points but he’s a abusive father, also fun fact, Frieza is a canonical father and a much better one than Gabriel!) and me saying him being a worse father than Frieza has a insult rather than a compliment shows I don’t hate his character for being evil but hate him for being incompetent, inconsistent and incoherent

“Sense of Power” season 2 put him defeating cat and bug, great! Then in season 3 he doesn’t fight and gives the box to Chloe, then his ultimate plan in 4 utterly loses, and in season 5 he gets trapped and signs his own death for going in a stupid fetch quest, gets defeated with 99% of the miraculous against powerless kids and he can’t defeat cat-bug!!! A sense of power is showing the villain is powerful, for example i feel Kaos from skylanders (which is just magic invader zim) is stronger than Gabriel since even after a couple of defeat he’s consistently one of the strongest characters when playable and one of the strongest bosses with and without power ups, Gabriel kept that image of power after showing he was stronger in season 2, but after so many dumb decisions made the audience undertake his a ability’s and in season 5 he loses fights more than even when he’s supposed to be stronger!!!

Gabriel is supposed to be a rich, tragic and powerful villain who should be taken seriously

But the series instead shows me a poor, pathetic and weak villain which loses for having the Brain and strength of a blob fish

Gabriel really fails at being a compelling villain the longer the show goes on. It's why I think he should have been defeated by the end of Season 3 at the latest.

And remember, Lila's going to be his replacement as the show's main villain.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #hawk moth #monarch #lila rossi

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wulvercazz · 24 hours

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A Haunted Forest👻

(Where Creatures Lurk...)

Open World Intro

// cw - mild groping/smut bc monster possession, some emetophobia triggers near the end~!

Thirteen’s counting this, convincing Chromo into guiding them here in the first place, as one of their greatest achievements.

Chromo maintains a tense flat brow the whole way there, still reluctant about it even as he shows them the way; but Thirteen’s got their way of getting what they want. Perhaps he should feel manipulated in some way, but there was no real “evil” intent behind all the help Thirteen offered with packing and sorting. Listening intently and helping Chromo make the day’s job so much easier before they even dared to ask, tit for tat. Fine. But he’s not taking the lanky human to one of the most dangerous places he knows without a long road of stories that ought to spook them out of actually going in.

So he guides them there, and tells them the stories he knows. Tells them about creatures and legends, about thick dead woods and a blinding fog. Tells them about the Kingdom that lays there, and the people that lived in it. How they were like any other royals, with their parties and their luxury; until darkness overtook the Kingdom, and bad things started to happen.

“Some say the King wasn’t evil, but he was careless, he got too confident- he could have prevented the horrors that befell his Kingdom, but that carelessness let a curse fall on his family. Others think he was evil. That the King got so greedy, that he sold his Kingdom to a terrible force…”

“What do you think?”

In his short time knowing them, Chromo’s come to know Thirteen as a pretty quiet person, for someone so curious; so their voice startles him out of his narration. “Uh- I suppose… I don’t know enough to think anyone in the Kingdom deserved to be cursed…”

Thirteen doesn’t add anything else to that, simply ruminating on his answer; so Chromo continues, “all we do know is that the townspeople all left, one way or another. Fled when the blackout got insufferable, or perhaps when carnivorous creatures inundated the town… if you believe that part of the story to be real. And the royals… no one’s seen ever again. It’s as if they just vanished, or… died more likely.”

The road continues on for a while longer, more ghost stories, some holding more truth than others, all the way until the fog starts to seep in to the meadow and the thicket of darkened trees comes up on their immediate view.

“This is as far as I go.” Chromo threatens, waiting for any sign of doubt or fear to offer a helping hand right back to the safety of the town, or perhaps any of the other towns he’s visiting for today’s deliveries. If that’ll quench this one’s thirst, whatever a weak human like them is searching for– it’s definitely not here.

“That’s ok. Toodles!”

Chromo doesn’t quite understand what happens next fast enough- Thirteen’s ass heading straight into the forest he just spent the last couple of hours warning them about with far too much confidence.

“H-HEY!” He calls after.

Black goo slithers and shifts across the cracked, dry, soil, reaching over the new warmth in their territory. Thirteen’s walk slows down to a curious halt, watching the dark creatures reach up to inspect them as much as they do. Mold Sprites.

Chromo beacons them back out, warning them about being touched by the slimy tendrils too late. Thirteen’s kicking and shaking the sticky creatures in an attempt of getting them off their skin; but with every movement they seem to hold on tighter, trailing their way up their limbs until Thirtheen’s moaning around the thick body of one forcing itself down their throat.

“AH!” The sprites aren’t dangerous by themselves, they like to choose a warm body to possess and ride around in safe, dark, warmth to take them to new sun-free territories to procreate in. But although they never quite harm the host, they’re quite annoying enough to get rid off with how far they can move by themselves.

“I tried to fucking warn you–” Chromo cusses out, “here, take this before you lose more braincells-” he rummages through his pockets, barely missing the way Thirteen’s possessed body wobbles it’s way to him.

What’s ‘funny’ about Mold Sprites is their incapability to actually control a body. While these possessions aren’t inherently harmful to the host… they can be troublesome if left untreated. Making creatures roam about fullfilling their needs and instincts, and acting out on their basic impulses more passionately, in the unstable limbs of a newborn foal.

“Y’know what I’ve been thinking…~?” Chromo nearly jumps out of his skin at the grabby hands suddenly climbing his chest and kicking about to use his front legs as a ladder, reaching for this belt to get a good grip of his torso, all rounded up into a most ridiculous picture by their slightly slurred words. Their hands holding onto whatever they can find to pull themselves up to his chest and wrap their legs around his torso, “...you got real nice boobies, rainbow man.”

Chromo’s so dumbfounded by what Thirteen’s possessed mind throws at him, that he missed their head suddenly diving for his chest, screeching when their face rubs itself between his pecs and hugs their body tight against his; warmth reaching everywhere it shouldn’t.

Troublesome.

He gets but a slight chance to slip the remedy out its bag and promptly push it inside Thirteen’s mouth for them to chew on; holds their face and covers their mouth to force them to swallow. And lets go when the black leaves their eyes and threatens to spill violently.

Watches the poor human retch and vomit all over the ground, near liquid sprites that soon recover shape and slither away in a hurry.

“G-Garlic-” Thirteen groans with their fully human voice.

“Now you get it?!” Chromo doesn’t wait to reprimand, watching Thirteen slumping sat on the ground as the gross mess reincorporates into the separate bodies that’d tried to take a ride inside. A tired, shaky arm reaching up to wave a dumb little ‘good-bye’ at the sprites, despite the bad experience.

“Let’s go.” Chromo huffs, a mild pout and heat still pooling on his cheeks as he turns away from the human and waits for them to follow.

Thirteen makes their quiet way around, to stand right next to the centaur and sheepishly look up at their flushed face.

“...Sorry,” and a light touch of their hand in apology, has the furred skin of his barrel trembling, still a bit jittery. “I– wasn’t quite thinking straight with them squirming around my head…”

Chromo lets out a breath, letting go of the last bits of tension with a shake to his feathers, “I know, you’re forgiven. Now let’s go.”

And still… despite taking quite a few steps forward himself, Thirteen stands stubbornly there. “I am sorry about… all that, but I’m going.”

His faces scrunches up in disbelief, and the human jumps to stop him from making another argument; “I won’t ask you to come, I’ll try to be more careful– promise– but… I don’t think I can put into logic how sure I am about going in there and seeing all there is to see.”

And true to their word, even while Chromo stares on, dumbfounded, the little human slowly turns back and right back into the forest, this time pulling out a firefly lamp and pointing it threateningly at the mold sprites that try and reach back. Thirteen disappears into the fog with just as much spring to their step as before.

~👻

... pls pretend I didn't completely forget Chromo's neck tattoo halfway

#OpenWorldSeries #oc art #Oc13 #OcChromo #mild smut #monsters #terato

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 2 days

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This doesn’t get a title because I’m confused

Disclaimers: The only character I own is the reader insert!

Author’s Notes: I think I got possessed, I don’t even like Sam 😭 like in the slightest 😭

But pretend season 8ish Sam has season 2-3’s hair for the sake of that’s the season I’m on lol.

Icons by @gosling-girlx !! She’s a genius!

Anyway, all notes are appreciated!

Content/Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Minors do not interact, this is NOT for you.

This fic is extremely spicy, sort of can’t-stand-each-other sex. Reader’s AFAB & uses she/her pronouns, only physical description is of her being shorter than Sam. There’s oral (both m and f receiving) and unprotected piv which frankly only exists in the books- wrap it before you tap it!! Oh also they’re both pretty mean to each other… you’ll see.

Again, I think I got possessed when I made it-I sincerely can’t stand him- but hope you enjoy it!

**************************************************** Working with the Winchester Brothers is a gig like no other. Cas and I are more tagalongs in the operation these days, Cas demoted to resident healer and I to stay at home mom, apparently.

One accident (authors note: one possession & a year long recovery for a spinal injury retained from said possession) had apparently rendered me useless to the boys. It’s not all bad- I’m relatively close with the older one, Dean, since we’re both hoes for a good time and good movies/music. And before the accident, I was happy to kill evil sons-of-bitches with Dean any day of the week.

And of course, Castiel is a right sweetheart- showing him new human things is the sweetest experience in the whole wide world.

But you know what ruins the laughs and the nice moments? The younger brother. Sam “Little Shit” Winchester.

I don’t know how he found himself upon the moral pedestal he crafted for himself, but lord I want to remove his kneecaps and slap him with them. Little baby giraffe looking shit.

I don’t like the way he acts, plain and simple. Between the way that he treats Dean and the way that he talks so condescendingly to me- I’m about two seconds from starting a fight every time we’re in a room together for too long. He seems to feel the same way. It’s helpful in a hunt- both of us are smart enough to concentrate that anger towards our monster of the week instead of each other in the field- but now, when there’s no field to take the anger out on? Dean’s had to break up at least 3 almost-fights, and I’ve only been back on my feet for a couple months.

***

The boys looked especially pissy coming home today- they’d grumbled something about a “stupid fucking vampire bitch,” and went their separate ways, Sam to the med bay and Cas trailing Dean like a golden retriever.

Great. Looks like I’m on Douchebag Duty.

***

“What’s your problem?” Sam snaps as I tug the thread on his stitches a little too roughly.

“My problem, you dick? I’m the one that’s stitching you up right now, why don’t I just let you bleed out?” I retort, yanking on the surgical needle with the string attached to a particularly nasty cut on his upper arm. Cut’s an understatement- it’s really a bullet wound. I’m just too proud to have pity for the jackass.

“Yeah, your problem!”

I set down the needle at that, my fists clenched at my sides. “You’re a whiny little bitch who can’t sit still and shut the fuck up for two minutes! That’s my problem.”

“I think you’re a little too high and mighty there, princess,” he scowls, standing up to full height, presumably so that he can use his stature to literally look down at me.

“Yeah? Look who’s talking, Mr Morals,” I seethe, staring up at him. I snatch the needle, on my tiptoes, and hastily finish the stitching on his scar, while standing up.

“Out,” I spit as I cut the thread.

“No,” he retorts, glancing down at me through long lashes and stupidly overgrown bangs.

“What? Is five minutes away from your big head too much to ask?” my hands are on my hips. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of staring up at him, so I stare at whatever’s eye level. He’s wearing a bloodied white tank top, which is not doing much for the whole vibe we’ve got going on right now.

He bites his lower lip, still looking down through his annoyingly long lashes. And my dumb ass is attracted to it, apparently.

“Get. Out,” I say, anger laced in my words.

“No,” he says through clenched teeth. I start to turn away, as if giving up, before pulling a Dean Winchester and turning back around on my heel, punching him in the abdomen. He grunts, keeling over. “Ow!”

“You should’ve listened, you ass,” I say, looking down at him. He looks pathetic, his eyes gone wide and pretty in pain. I shouldn’t be into this, not one bit.

Keeled over, Sam is at eye level. Our gazes lock, his hazel eyes boring holes into mine, searching for something. I don’t dare waver, looking back at him with just as much intensity until he surprises me, leaning in and crashing his lips to mine. He roughly grabs my face, holding me close as he forces his tongue into my mouth, exploring. I hate how easily I give him access, I hate the way I let out a gasp against my will. By the time he pulls away I’m already leaning back in. He smirks, humoring me for one more kiss.

“How do you like me now?” he says cockily, lips plush and pink from the kisses, hazel eyes blown out by lust.

“I don’t,” I mutter, pushing him back so that he’s forced to sit on the med bay bed. His legs are wide, and of course I fit perfectly between them, much to my distaste. I kiss his jawline, using mostly my teeth so that it scratches as I go, especially once I start on his neck, biting and sucking dark marks everywhere I see fit. He’s into it, little breathy whimpers further fueling my unfortunate attraction to him.

“Take off your shirt,” I tell him, stepping back and smirking at how this time he leans into my touch instead of the other way around. He thoughtlessly pulls the hem of the ruined fabric over his head, throwing it to the side, exposing an obnoxiously fit physique and an anti possession tattoo. There’s little scars everywhere, and something deep down urges me to kiss every single one of them, but that can be later.

“Take off yours,” he tells me.

“Why?” I ask, trying to play smart.

“Cause if I have to be shirtless you do too,” he says.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Better think of a better retort next time, Winchester,” I say as I take off the oversized concert tee I had been wearing.

“Bra too,” he orders, cocking his head to the side as he looks me over.

“Who made you the boss?” I ask, already in clasping my bra.

“I did,” he says, far too cocksure.

“We’ll see about that,” I grin, letting the lacy fabric fall to the ground as I lean in to kiss his damnable hot mouth. This time I take control, taking pride in the little noises he makes.

“I’m gonna suck your dick,” I say crudely, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Go right on ahead,” and I can tell there was meant to be spite behind those words, but it quickly fades away into sighs as I start kissing down his pecs, his abs, lightly scratching anywhere I can find with my nails. I hate how hot the heat between my thighs is, but at this point, I can’t help it, especially as I sink to my knees, nose perfectly level with his crotch.

I take his belt into my hands, grazing over the obvious tent that lies underneath it. He throws his head back at that, biting back a curse.

“What’s the matter Sammy?” I tease.

“Shut up,” he grumble, words morphing into a proper moan as I graze over the tent again.

“Uh huh,” I agree, tugging off his leather belt and yanking down the zipper of his jeans.

“Boxers? I had taken you for a ‘Tighty Whities’ girl, Sammy,” I mused, doing my best to work him up even more.

“Sto-,” he starts, immediately losing his words as I free his cock from his confines, pulling his boxers down to his knees.

You know, just cause a guy’s a big guy doesn’t always mean that everything’s proportionate. Sam’s six foot five-ish, long and lanky with lean muscle. And naturally, because everything about him is meant to spite me, his dick also fits the physical bill. My mouth waters, and the only prospect that excites my overly-horny self more than having it in my mouth is having it in my slick soaked pussy. And I will, if I have anything to say about it.

“Oh Sammy, you’re a big boy, huh,” I taunt, running a hand up and down his shaft slowly. He moans in agreement, no more fight left in him. It’s too easy.

I let go of it, ignoring the bead of pre cum leaking down as I move to kiss his thighs, grazing my teeth on them like I did on his neck. He seems to like it, legs moving in towards my mouth. Finally I move my mouth towards where he obviously wants me most, rubbing the bead over his tip with my thumb. I’m a little wary about taking the whole thing, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

I start simple, kitten lips around the base, licking a long stripe up the underside before wrapping my lips around the head, and he moans, a little too loudly. I brace my hands on his thighs before taking a deep breath through my nose and forcing myself down far enough that my nose is touching neatly trimmed hair. Thankfully my gag reflex is still gone-it’s been a minute- as I hold him there for a moment, before starting to bob my head up and down, testing the waters. He whimpers and whines, and it’s pathetic, and I’m far too into it, unable to do much else than keep up my ministrations.

One of his big hands find the back of my head, fingers weaving into my hair. I don’t think he intends to do so with intent of forcing me to move, but the idea is so hot that I lock eyes with him with my mouth on his cock.

“What? You want me to fuck your mouth?” he asks, panting. And once he says it out loud I get impossibly wetter, and I moan yes, unable to nod at all with him buried as far as he’ll go.

“Damn, you’re a slut,” he grins, and I moan in agreement before he starts moving my head slowly. Forward and back, forward and back, before I lock eyes with him and he gets the hint to take it harder, hips starting to thrust meeting my throat as his hands push. I just keep sucking, doing my best not to choke as involuntary tears leak out. But it doesn’t hurt, not at all. If anything I’m just doing all I can to not start rubbing on my own sensitive spots.

Before I know it his whimpers get louder and his whines get needier, and he grits out “I- I’m going to-“

So I release him with a pop, taking a hand and rubbing up and down his length furiously before he bursts. Once he does, with the most pathetic whimper yet, I get my mouth right back on him, taking every drop of his hot release down my throat. When he’s done I stay there, opening his mouth so he can see that there’s nothing there.

“God, you’re such a slut,” he mutters, echoing what he said before as he catches his breath and pulls me up by the hair- gently.

I shrug cockily, moving back as he stands up.

“Strip and have a seat,” he lazily demands as he puts his glorious cock away.

I roll my eyes but comply, taking off my remaining clothes so that I’m left in all my glory.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?” he compliments, a moment of tenderness as he crowds me against the bed so that I’ll take a seat. I blush, letting him hoist me up so that my ass is on the edge of the dinghy bed. “My turn,” he grumbles, voice low and hot against the column of my neck. He’s even rougher than I was, nipping at every square inch of skin that he meets, sucking dark marks down the side of my neck and over the tops of my breasts. I’m like a bitch in heat, responding to every touch in ways I can’t control- pornographic moans, leaning into his touch. He’s pulling on my hair to give himself more access, and I’m starting to worry that I’m soaking the bed. His mouth continues to work wonders, especially as he travels southwards, playing with my breasts.

He’s mean, outright biting the one and pinching the other, and it’s just what I need. I tangle my hands into his annoyingly long hair and tugging, not missing the way he moans into my chest.

Finally, finally, he gets down on his knees. He rests his chin on the bed, breath heavy on my heat. The sight of his head pillowed on my thighs as he looks up at me with those puppy dog, blown out eyes is enough to get me to come on the spot.

“This all f’me, princess?” he asks roughly, collecting some of the gratuitous wetness on two long, thick fingers.

“N-no,” I stammer, clutching his hair tighter. He bites back his moan in favor of a smug grin.

“N-no,” he mocks, turning to the side to bite the inside of my thigh, and I whine. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought.” His nose is eye level with my clit, and the only warning I get before he dives into my pussy is a small smirk that meets his hazel eyes.

“Fuck!”

He moans in between my thighs, setting my entire body on fire. I try to wiggle away from him, but it only takes one big, strong hand to hold my hips in place as he fucks his tongue into me, his nose rubbing on my puffy clit. It’s wet and it’s gross, but so, so hot.

He’s a little too good, knowing all the buttons to press that leave me tracking wetness all over his face, before taking two fingers and roughly pushing them into my core, giving me no time to adjust. They’re thick and long, and when he makes the come hither motion I know I’m fucked, doing everything I can not to gasp his name.

“S-s-oh my god,” I cry as he plunges his fingers all the way down to the knuckle every time, reaching deeper and deeper and rubbing on my g-spot. He’s too busy sucking on my clit to say anything, his attention overstimulating.

He adds a third finger, and that, combined with him tracing patterns on my sensitive bud, sends me straight over the edge with a an unintelligible cry.

Of course the bastard doesn’t stop, not until I’m physically shaking from the overstimulation, legs quivering, and on the brink of a second release.

He removes himself from my heat, laying his cheek on the inside of my thigh, looking up at me smugly.

“Good, huh?” he knows it was.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, voice weak.

“That’s what I’m getting to, princess. So impatient,” he taunts, standing up to full height again. Sam haphazardly wipes the slick off of his face with his forearm, not really caring how much he removes. He kicks off his shoes and socks before taking off his slacks and boxers in one go, revealing that gorgeous cock again. He stands before me, looking like some kinda statue of physical perfection. I have to physically close my jaw looking at him.

“Like what you see, princess?”

I stick out my tongue and blow a raspberry.

“Real mature, sweetheart,” he rolls his eyes. “You have a condom?”

I shake my head. “Don’t need one, I’m on the pill and I have morning after. Want you to fuck me and fill me,” I tell him honestly.

“God you’re a slut and you’re freaky? I’d never have guessed,” he mused, stepping between my thighs. I assume he’s clean as well since he doesn’t really… get out much.

“Yeah, that’s cause you’re not the brightest,” I tell him, scooting as close to the edge as I can without falling.

“Uh huh,” he says sarcastically, before picking me up and slamming my shoulder into a nearby wall, yet gently resting my back against it. Gentle with my injury, wow. Wouldn’t have expected it. I gasp, surprised by the sudden motion.

“Payback for the gut punch,” he explains.

“Oh yeah? I’ll punch you again if you don’t fuck me,” I say, a mean edge to my voice.

“Mkay,” he says, obviously not swaying either way as he aligns his tip with my entrance.

“Fuck me,” I order through a gasp, unable to wait anymore.

“Careful what you wish for there, princess,” he warns, before sheathing himself in me in one go.

Look, I can get laid whenever I want, especially back when I was on duty as a hunter. I’m no stranger to sex, and I have a decently high sex drive. If I can’t get some, then I always have backup- toys and vibrators, you name it.

But Sam? His dick was big in my mouth, but in my pussy? I feel like I’ve been split in two. But it feels so, so good.

“Move,” I demand after a few moments of adjusting.

“Say my name,” he cocks his head, pushing impossibly deeper so that he’s practically touching my cervix.

“Sammy,” I say with as much sass as I can muster. I know he hates the nickname, it makes him feel like a baby. Because he is one.

“Nuh uh, princess. Say my name,” the pad of his thumb flits over my clit.

“Unh- Sam!” I moan, unable to stop myself.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Now ask me to fuck you. Nicely.”

“No.”

“Guess I’ll be on my way then,” he starts pulling out.

“No!” I whine.

“Ask nicely.”

“Sam, fuck me please?” I ask with as much sweetness and doe eyes as possible for me.

“You really are sweet when you’re horny,” he remarks, pulling back, before setting a brutal pace that has me raking my nails across his back and moaning his stupid name. He’s pounding into me with all of his might, sweat sheening on his brow.

It’s so hard that I can barely get any words out, and I hate it, but it just feels too good.

And of course, Sammy has enough words for the both of us.

“Fucking you dumb, huh? Got such a big attitude until I’m in you, just needed this dick,” he says, laughing meanly as I involuntarily clench at his words.

“What? You like me being mean to you? You get wet every time we fight?” a particularly hard set of thrusts accompanies each of the words in his third rhetorical question. I moan, not even sure of the answer. Probably? Maybe? Gah.

“Look at you, taking it like a good slut. You’re so tight and wet, and it’s all f’me,” his raspy voice starts slurring with lust. He brings one of his hands between us, finding my swollen clit and rutting on it, tracing patterns just as he did before with his tongue.

“S-Sam, it’s too much-,” I cry, unable to handle the overstimulation.

“Good,” he grins wickedly, before upping the ante both in thrusts and in rutting, unraveling me into a mess under his arms. I cry his name, helpless as I come down for the second time.

“So soon?” he tuts, not slowing his pace.

“Sh-shut up- ah-,” is all I can say as he gets impossibly rougher, chasing his own release.

“Gotta finish the job, princess,” he stutters, before growing more and more erratic. He’s got me on edge again as he does so, but mercifully comes before I can. I feel his hot release in me, filling me up just a little too full with his dick that he hasn’t yet pulled out.

Eventually he wordlessly puts me down, fingers plugging our mixed release in me. I can’t even complain- him keeping me full is unfortunately kinda hot.

“So…” he starts, looking down at me.

“Get out,” I interrupt.

“No,” he says, not moving.

This is going to be a long afternoon.

****************************************************

“Did you guys finally get into a bout?” Dean asks as we walk (re: stumble) out of the med bay and into the kitchen where he and Cas are sitting playing Uno, Bon Jovi playing in the background. “Oh- oh.”

Yeah, it’s pretty obvious the fight we got into. There’s no hiding it, even if we had tidied up our hair or faces- there’s scratches and bruises everywhere. Whoops.

“Are you guys in need of healing?” Cas asks innocently as Sam and I sit down a chair apart.

“No, Cas… these are, uh, special bruises. The fun kind. And they’re everywhere, apparently… damn, Sammy.” Dean comments as he surveys his brother and I. Sam coughs, and I reach over to punch him from my seat away. He grunts, and then we all go quiet.

“So… all in favor of never talking about this?” I ask after an uncomfortably long uncomfortable silence.

“Aye,” say the brothers in unison. Cas also agrees after Dean elbows him. “Fantastic.”

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #BTW Destiel in the background ain’t subtext it’s clear text 💪

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