#butters I love him I need to draw him more

[bluebluebluewoods]

“I don’t wanna ruin our friendship”

“You aren’t friends…?”

“And I don’t want to ruin that!”

[mokutone]

@egregiousderp replied to your post “sorry no post today (yesterday?) its been VERY...”:

I TRUST YOU IN THE HANDS OF THAT DOCTOR. GODSPEED.

hes got me playing racquetball :)

[whateveriwant]

might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hii congrats on 5k!! i love your writing ! if you’re still celebrating could i request a carmy blurb where maybe you’re syd’s besite and carmy has this biggggest crush on you (im talking this mf is Yearning) and she gets on him sooo hard about it like teasing him and reader and him end up together ? TIA <3

Not So Secret.

carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - cursing.

written for my 5k celebration- post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

“You’re gonna stare a hole through her fuckin’ head.”

“Shut up.”

Richie laughs, following Carmens eyeline to where it’s fixed on you.

You’re stood in the restaurant with Sydney, both of you giggling at something she’s showing you on her phone. When you look up, you smile at Carmy, all soft and sweet and like butter wouldn’t melt. He almost melts, a puddle of yearning on the kitchen floor.

Sugar appears next to the two of you, holding out a piece of paper.

“This is a really rough draft of what we kind of want them to look like. Obviously you have full control, but this is kind of the vibe?”

When Carmen mentioned wanting a more personal touch on the menus, Sydney quickly offered your services. You’re the most artistic person she knows, gifted with naturally gorgeous handwriting that almost looks like calligraphy. Plus, she knows how much everyone at The Bear likes you, having been a part of their transformation. It’s a win - win.

“Yeah, I get you. So you want the title words like Dessert in more of a cursive, and then the actual dishes and descriptions in a typeface?”

“Yes! Do your thing. We trust you.”

She gives you a side hug, careful not to hit you with her bump.

“I’m gonna need some nice paper, and probably a new calligraphy pen so I can start from scratch. I’m gonna head to the craft store, and I’ll be back.”

“Carmy will go with you!”

Richie shouts it from the doorway, where he’s been not so subtly watching the conversation. Carmy blushes, clearly caught off guard.

“He needs to go to the craft store too, right Cousin? Good. Go. Bye!”

Carmy’s practically being pushed out the door, uncomfortable and flustered. You smile reassuringly, grabbing your bag and walking over to your car.

“You’re okay with me driving?”

“Course. Shouldn’t I be?”

You laugh, and he can’t help but grin, the sound settling nicely into his ribcage to warm him up.

“I’m a good driver, I promise. Despite what Sydney might say.”

He looks worried but gets in anyway, ever trusting you and anything you do.

He can’t help but sneak glances at you as you drive. You’re completely focused on the road in front, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Carmy feels heat bloom across his chest at the action, wishing he could reach out and release it for you before you draw blood.

A text chimes through the air, startling you both. You press the button on your steering wheel so your car can read the message out loud.

From Sydney: Carmy. Tell her immediately or I’ll lock you in the walk in freezer. Sick of you acting like a lovesick puppy. This is your chance. Don’t blow it, asshole. We’re all tired.

Both of you freeze, your hands tightening on the wheel. Carmy wants to throw himself out of the moving car, but decides against it at the last minute.

You pull the car into the craft store parking lot, choosing a space and yanking the handbrake on. You turn to him, looking at him for the first time since the bombshell.

He’s blushed all over, chest heaving and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You almost want to reach out and release it for him, before he draws blood.

“Carmy.”

“I think, uh, yeah, I just - that was clearly sent to the wrong person. Not meant for you.”

You laugh, suddenly, and it spooks Carmy so much that he jumps out of his skin.

“Yeah, Carm. That I figured.”

He laughs with you then, unsure and nervous. You reach out and place a hand on his knee, trying to calm him down. It just makes his heart lurch.

“What’s Syd talking about? Tell me what?”

He looks down at his lap, hands knotted together.

“I think you know.”

“Wanna hear you say it,” you whisper.

He finds the courage to meet your gaze, taking a deep breath.

“I like you. So much. I can’t stop talking about you to anyone and everyone that’ll listen - to the point that everyone at The Bear gives me so much shit for it. Sydney won’t get off my back, either. She says I’m ‘yearning’.”

You chuckle, rubbing patterns into the material of his jeans with your thumb.

“They’ve all made bets,” he continues, “about if I’ll ever tell you or not.”

“Who bet on you? And who against?”

“Syd and Richie against me. Marcus too. Tina and Sugar are on my side. Not sure why.”

“Wanna make Tina and Sugar some money?”

He quirks a brow questioningly, eyes going wide when you lean over the centre console and plant your hands on either side of his face. You’re so close to him that your breaths tangle together, one set of lungs working overtime.

“Kiss me, Carm.”

He doesn’t think twice, closing the gap and pressing his lips to yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. His hands find your back, tugging you into him as much as the limited space allows.

You whine when he bites at your lip gently, and he has to pull away to take a steadying breath before he passes out.

“You should get your eyes checked.”

He tries to process for a moment.

“Huh?”

“You must be blind if you can’t see how much I like you, Carm. How much I’ve always liked you.”

He grins at you, bright and white, and you shake your head before leaning in to kiss him again.

When you don’t make it back into the restaurant that day, everyone has never been happier to not see the both you.

[fanaticsnail]

A bit of both

Masterlist here

Word Count: 2,900+

Synopsis: You and Rosinante take your trust to a new level, engaging in two levels of weaving you had yet to use in sequence with one another.

Warnings: Rosinante x gn!reader, vibrator play (reader receiving), bondage (reader receiving), gagged (reader receiving), overstimulation, cock warming, dominant Rosinante x submissive reader, service Dom Rosinante, pet names (cara mia, mi amor, little thing), size difference, love confession, established relationship, praising (Rosinante giving), no gendered titles used, insertion sex (reader receiving), 18+, MDNI, smut.

Notes: This was not the fic I was working on, but the service-dom wanted to get out before the mean, jealous one. Ever since I wrote the "T" section for the NSFW Alphabet fic, I needed to see it explored a little more. I hope you enjoy.

Trailing behind you, gift bags lazily slinging from his shoulder with their cord drawstrings caught in his fingers and palm, Rosinante rolled his eyes as you debated with yourself which item you truly wanted from the bakery. Drawing his arm down, he let the bags hang from his wrist as he shoved his hand into his pocket.

“I mean, on the one hand, I do want an almond croissant. The filling is almost like fresh marzipan, and it's so sweet,” you tapped your chin with your fingertips before looking to the other glass display, “But on the other hand, I kind of want something savory like a cheese danish. I don't know about the salt content versus the sugar. If you were to choose one-?”

“-We’ll take an almond croissant and a cheese danish please,” Rosinante held up his hands to the baker, gently shaking his head at you before glancing at the corner of his eye at you. With an arched brow, he placed his Berry on the counter and waited for his change.

“What are you playing at, Rosinante?” you question him linking your arm through his bad leaning on his shoulder, “That's too much, look at the size of them!”

“Take a bite of both of them, and then choose the one you like more,” he gazed down his nose at you with his hazelnut colored eyes, scolding you with his expression. “I'll eat the other one.”

“Smart,” you nod with your pout down-turning. He shot you a sly wink, taking the change and watching the attendant fold the brown bag down at the opening. Pastries already staining the covering with the fat from overly saturated butter, you reached up and made to gather the bags; halting immediately as Rosinante shot you a warning look.

Placing his Berry in your back pocket, he reached up and took the two paper bags in his hands while you laced your hand in the crook of his elbow once more. Sheepishly looking at the ground, you felt him stoop down and press his lips to your temple.

“You know I won't let you lift a finger, mi amor,” the low growl in his deep baritone caused your eyes to flutter closed and spine ignited with pricks of fine needles. Opening your eyes to fall half-lidded, you smile bashfully at him. He pressed his lips atop the apple of your cheek, his soft smile felt in his sweet kiss.

Pastry bags left crumpled in the refrigerator, gift bags lying messily by the door, clothes were scattered and discarded in the hamper in the corner of the room. Shoes placed together in the hallway, the dim light of the room illuminated the skin of your tall lover.

Gazing possessively down at you, his lip paint lay smudged on his cheeks and chin, as your own skin was littered with intentional kisses ranging from your littlest toe to the crown of your head. You pleaded with your eyes, your lips swollen and bruised from being mounted and dominated with his own lips moments prior.

He molded your flesh beneath his hands to worship you, before drawing out a lengthy piece of rope with the intent to accentuate and immobilize your features.

“You've been so good today, mi amor,” he whispered, coiling and knotting the rope over your breasts, “Such a good little thing for me.” You whimpered for him as he parted your thighs and drew one knee up to your wrist, circling it with the fabric.

You open your mouth to speak, his eyes shooting you a look of warning for you to hold your tongue. Elevating your other knee to your wrist, he insured you were snug enough in your ties that you were not uncomfortable. Crawling between your exposed thighs and lowering his chest and stomach over your torso, he smiled down at you with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Before we start, do you want a sip of water or to finish your danish?” he offered, giving you a sweet and genuine smile, “I can get it out of the fridge for you.” You smiled back in response before shaking your head at him.

“No thank you, sir,” you chirped back at him. He learnt forward, brushing your nose with his own before drawing a woven gag up to your lips. You parted your lips, causing Rosinante to coo down at you in glee.

“So well mannered,” he praised you, “So good.” He pressed his lips over yours, the material preventing him from truly feeling your lips on his. “Now, remember what we talked about? Give me a demonstration of what you need to do if it gets too much?”

You bobbed your head up and down to nod in understanding before humming three notes up through your nose at him in a melody familiar to you both. Bondage was not a new concept to you, but with the addition of the gag it felt like you had no communication for if it got too intense. When you were tied, you would use your safe word when it got too much, just like your rapid taps against the mattress in code would halt motions when gagged.

“Perfect, cara mia,” he pursed his lips against your temple, “I'm gonna sit behind you now.” You nod eagerly, darting your eyes between his as he moves from your torso and kneel before you. His cock was achingly hard, his red top shining in the light from how desperate he was yearning for you.

The shibari had you feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, just the way Rosinante enjoyed you. Each time he tied you felt like you were a little gift wrapped up just for his delight, his complete control and your complete submission to him alighting a flame of trust between both of you.

Rising to his feet, he gingerly walks over to his knight stand and finds a leaf-shaped object and it's remote ignition. Eyes widening he moves his way behind you and presses his torso flush to your back before moving his forearms beneath your legs. Lifting you with ease, his tip lined up with your entrance which waited eagerly with prior lubrication.

Placing the tip over your quivering body, he eased you to softly impale yourself on his cock. Inch by inch, you took Rosinante's impressive length into you with your eyes wide and lips falling wide.

“You okay, mi amor? Not too much too quick, is it?” he hastily checked in, knowing the size difference may cause you some discomfort while you adjusted. You whined and shook your head, wriggling in his arms in a bid to take more of him within you. He chuckled, giving into your request and slinking you down on his steely cock. Hissing at the feeling, Rosinante let out a shuddering deep moan as he felt your body move to accommodate him.

“Oh, so good,” his deep voice praised you, his lips finding your shoulder blade and caressing your skin. “Okay, stay still. One more tie, and we'll be all done.” You knit your brows in focus, tensing your abdomen as his hands move around the both of you.

The small leaf was pressed against your sensitive nerves at the front of you, prompting you to unintentionally gasp at the sensation. The small bud encumbered your nerves endings completely, the anticipation eating at you as he chuckled lightly. Adjusting the ropes, he insured the object was flush with your skin before wrapping the ropes around both of your waists. Each touch his hands gave you left tingles on your skin, your body fluttering around him as you kept yourself as statuesque as you could.

“Now all you have to do is keep my cock warm for me while we watch a play on the carrier snail,” he whispered against your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your lobe, “All I want you to do is cum for me. So, so much, mi amor.” Your eyes widened as you felt his hands reach for the switch for the projector snail, and for the remote attached to the soft leaf.

“Just sit pretty like you're doing,” he clicked on the projector, the lights flickering over the wall and starting the dancing lights and music to follow, “And cum on my cock.” The leaf buzzed and shook to life, your back arching into his torso at the intensity of the motion. Rosinante chuckled against you, feeling your body contract around him almost immediately.

The rhythmic thump of your entrance adjusting and the coil tightening in your abdomen was enough to strike lightning in your vision. Immediately writhing on his lap, you bucked and ground yourself back into him as best you could against the bonds. Your body chased your high, leaving a mess on both yours and Rosinante’s body as you came hard against the leaf.

“Oh, good job,” he whispered against your cheek, adjusting the switch as he felt you fall back from your high to not overstimulate you with too much intensity too quickly. Giving your thigh a gentle tap as you panted behind the gag, Rosinante soothed your skin before reigniting the switch.

Keening and choking through your gasp, he continued to dart his attention between focussing on you and the moving picture in front of you. Each time he felt your body almost reach its high, he would gaze down at you lovingly while he watched your face contorting in pleasure. Letting go of all thoughts as euphoria washed over you, he would always end your climax with praise and a soft kiss.

“So good for me,” he purred at you, the deep rumble in his chest cutting over the whines and mewls you'd release in ecstasy. “That one was a big one, huh? Keep it up, mi amor.” His hands began to dutifully worship your thighs and devote all of his attention to you. Constantly engaging with your feet and wrists to ensure adequate blood flow, he had you unravel on his lap another eight times for the duration of the moving picture.

Each time he felt you cum, he did his best to keep himself edged and not spill over too soon. Your body wrapped around and exposed for him and him alone had him fighting with himself for a sense of control: just how he needed it. He needed you to be a channel for his lust, his greatest escape and refuge from the hardships of his mission. Something he could control, to focus on, and to have an immediate response to his intentional actions. He needed you to have the release and freedom that he couldn't, waves of empathetic bliss being felt as he felt your body become void of anything other than him.

He needed that complete control.

Eyes glazed with dewy water, cheeks stained with hot tears, body and nerves shot with oversensitivity, gag damp with your own saliva, you felt completely void of all thoughts other than to engage in Rosinante's commands as best as you could.

Keep his cock in your body while the play projects, and cum as much as you could.

As soon as the screenplay ended, Rosinante let out a soft moan as he tested his cock by rocking you on his lap. Your body felt limp and pliable, nodding in acknowledgement as you felt him begin to move. Each follicle of your body was engaged, mind numb and pleasure coursing through your veins. Thrusting up, you heard him whimper a soft whine of your name as he rocked you harder and faster on his lap.

Head lulled on his chest, you felt him flick the leaf back to life and reach a hand around in front of you to add more pressure to the stimulation. His fingers and palm gave you that final push you needed to begin to chase a fresh wave of desire as he huffed and panted behind you. Jolting your body up and down his girthy cock had his blunt tip reach depths within you that had you cry out for him. Sobbing and whining, you felt the coil begin to tighten and compact into a ball as he continued to pummel up into you.

“O-Oh, fuck. You've got one more for me, don't you? Just one more,” he kissed and bit at your neck, tongue and teeth dragging at your skin, “Be good a little bit longer and give me one more. I want it. Give it to me.” His gruff bark had you immediately whine at yourself to focus on chasing your release, your oversensitive body almost giving out while bound in the safety of your harness.

A scream found its way through the muffled gag as you came hard around him, body shaking and trembling as he moaned deeply for you.

“Oh, fuck. Good job, such a good listener. Fuck-... Nghh-... I'm c-cumming,” he shuddered, burying his forehead in the crook of your neck as he shot ropes of his release into you, “Yes, yes. Take it. Take. It.” He continued to usher you into a lengthier release as his balls sucked into his abdomen and shot a viscous expulsion of desire up into you.

Huffing and panting, he kept rocking you as he fucked his release back up into you. Your body was limp like a doll, a marionette dancing bound in strings for him as your master. His movements staggered, his soft calls of your name singing to you his sweet song of praise.

Finally feeling himself still, the aftershocks of his twitches spurting the final shudders of release into you, he finally switched off the leaf and tugged your body to lie flush with him. Showering your skin in soft kisses, he panted against you while his cock lingered within you.

Straining against the bands, you attempt to unravel yourself from the ropes by rotating your wrists in a bid for relief. Rosinante is immediately refocused, gently coaxing his cock from you and manuevering you over to the pillows beside him. His digits flew like lightning, hastily untying you and insuring your body had regained circulation by massaging and pressing his lips against your skin.

“Rosinante, I'm okay,” you reassure him, smiling through your glassy eyes up at him. He smiled down at you while continuing to focus his attention on the knots and weaves. Releasing the last length of rope from your body, he pressed his lips over each point of strain on your wrists, thighs, backs of your knees and sensitive abdomen.

Each time he releases a small part of the bonds, you feel his devotion in his delicate touch. Each kiss, each caress, each gentleness in his intimate touch: he was a devotee to your altar. His prayers were to see you thrive and come undone by his motions. His dedication each of new session to explore the trust in one another was unmatched, and you truly adored him.

And he loved you completely.

As you moved to stand, your body was overcome immediately by the intensity of pleasure your body endured. Your skin was hyper sensitive to touch, and your bones congealed under the pressure. Rosinante rapidly clicked his tongue at you, pouting his lips before smiling up at you.

“Oh, come now. We've been through this,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose with yours. You smiled through tight lips up at him, your vision hazy as you matched his doting twinkle in your dual vibrant afterglow.

“You know I won't let you raise a finger.”

Lips finally colliding, passion through overexertion lingered in the atmosphere. Parting lips, you gingerly hooked your arms over his shoulders and tugged him closer. He hummed against you, grinding his tongue against yours and stealing your breath from you. Lacing your fingers through his hair, he rotated his chin slowly to take on more of you through each languid motion.

Pulling away, he gazed deeply into your eyes with his orbs pooling with emotion. Caressing your skin, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath huffing softly against your skin, “So, so much." To re-emphasize his intent, he repeated his phrase, "So much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper softly against his skin, moving your hands from his hair to his cheeks. “My heart. My sweet Corazon.” He smiled at you, taking a moment to linger in the world you forged together before humming softly at you.

“Yes, I'm all yours cara mia. Let me get you cleaned up.” The creases in the corners of his eyes were the most beautiful sight you'd seen, "You want bubbles or salts?" His gorgeous glimmer in his grin found purchase and roots in your heart with each beat.

“You think I can choose?” you giggle up at him. He hooked his arms behind your knees, your back supported by his other as he cradled you into him.

“It's alright, mi amor,” he chuckled at you, stumbling a little as he readjusted you in his arms. “You can have a bit of both and share it with me.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[lis-likes-fics]

Pancakes, Bottle Tops, and Jell-O on the Side

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 3.5k words Warnings: Character with ADHD, fluff :) A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble....so... I am going to go ahead and continue the bau!adhd!reader stuff because I think it's a lot of fun! ANyway, thank you and enjoy. Special thanks to my beta reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen

“Spence.”

His lazy hum rumbles under you as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you both lay wrapped in the covers. It's late, a glance at the clock says nearly one in the morning.

You cross your arms over his chest, leaning up to look at his face. He looks peaceful, not sleeping but closed-eyed and slow-breathed. “I'm hungry.”

He smiles, but his eyes stay closed. “It's too late to eat.”

You shrug lazily, drawing circles on his chest. “But I want pancakes.”

He opens his eyes. “You know,” Spencer sits up, laying back against the headboard, “late night snacking is bad for digestion.”

You hum. “Is it?”

He nods. “Your metabolism slows while you sleep, so it's harder for your stomach acids to break down the food.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “Eating late at night can lead to weight gain and interrupted sleep.”

“Really?”

His hand rubs your arm. “If you need to eat close to bedtime, it's best to choose small, healthy snacks so you sleep better.”

You sit up, crossing your legs as you look at him. You set a hand on his hand, looking him straight in the eyes as you say it. “But I want pancakes.”

He laughs lightly. “Sweetheart–”

“What if we put chocolate chips in them?”

You know you’ve piqued his attention. He glances at you, his brows raised to his hairline. “Chocolate chips?” he mutters.

You almost feel bad for tricking him, but he’s too cute for that. Your smile grows as your second hand envelopes his own until you’re holding it like you’re keeping it warm. “Yeah,” you nod. “We can even eat it with Jell-O. Not, like, Jell-O on it. But, like, Jell-O on the side.” You clear your throat. “But we can also have Jell-O.”

He gives you an almost pained expression, like you’re gonna pull his arm off. “You know I love Jell-O.”

You smile your best smile. “I know, that’s why I said it.” Then you give your best pout, scooting closer to him with his hand in your hands. “Pancakes and Jell-O? Please?���

There’s a short pause as he lays his head back, sighing as he shakes his head. “You’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

“Yay!” You erupt in smiles, pumping your fist in the air as you stumble out of the bed (and you quite literally stumble because your foot gets caught in the covers, and you fall to the floor with a thud). Spencer almost feels guilty for laughing as he asks if you’re okay, but you almost seem like you’ve hardly noticed when you get to your feet and rush to the kitchen. He takes his time following after you, but he’s becoming more and more excited about eating chocolate chip pancakes and strawberry Jell-O with you with each step he takes.

You’ve already beaten him to starting a CD, something from Mozart’s collection playing in the background as you try to reach the pancake mix from the top shelf. You’re almost certain he puts things there on purpose, especially when he comes up behind you with a hand on your hip as he easily reaches for the box and sets it next to you on the counter.

You turn to look at him, nearly swooning at the sight of him so close to you, his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid pretty face just waiting to be covered in your kisses. You settle for a peck on his chin, teasing him, before stepping around him to grab the box. He snatches it before you can, and you would pout if you didn’t know that’s what he wanted. Taking your chin between two gentle fingers, he places a very loving kiss on the very tip of your nose before he’s walking away to grab the pan. You settle for everything else, grabbing the milk and the water and the butter and the chips and whatever else is needed for your late-night snack.

As Spencer replaces the butter on the butter dish, he watches you out of the corner of his eye. He watches you pour the milk into a measuring cup half full of water, your other hand busy with tapping the counter three times. When you set the milk back down, you don’t move on until you’ve grabbed the handle with the opposite hand and let the other tap the counter three more times. You rub the condensation into your hands.

“They need to be equal, or it feels weird,” you’d said. He thinks you’re really cool.

When he’s flipping the pancakes, you’re gliding on your feet through the kitchen like you’re a ballerina. It’s as simple as you trying to stand on the very tips of your toes, and then him grabbing your waist to help you. He laughs every time you step on his feet, which makes you feel better about stepping on his feet so much.

And then when the pancakes are done, you’re waltzing with him between bites. He’s weirdly good at it, given the fact that he’s not a good dancer (neither of you are that great on your feet, but it doesn’t matter when it’s just slow dancing in the kitchen). You laugh every time he steps on your feet, which makes him feel better about stepping on your feet so much.

“Should we like…” you trail off, leaning over your plate next to Spencer’s, “...do some jumping jacks after?” You take a bite, speaking as you chew on it. “It’ll burn some of the calories, and then it won’t be so bad.”

Spencer’s smile is one of those ones that makes you feel that stereotypical “warm and tingly” feeling that settles in your stomach somewhere. It’s fond and sweet, and his eyes glitter with it. He chuckles lightly. “Maybe.” To the jumping jacks. He doesn’t much like jumping jacks.

“And then we’ll also be tired, and we can just go to sleep.”

He hums. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t need jumping jacks to make me sleepy.”

You sift through the last couple of bites left of your pancakes, turning your nose up. He can already tell that you’ve suddenly grown sick of it. There’s no way you’re eating the last two pieces. You set your fork down, gesturing to your head. “My mind is fast right now, so I may need a few.” You glance away, “On the other hand, that might make it worse…” Then you look at him. “I’m keeping you up late, I’m sorry.”

It’s almost two in the morning, and you both still have work in a few hours.

But he just smiles, loving as usual. “Sweetheart, we’re usually up late anyway on cases. You don’t have to apologize.”

You reach over, nudging his fingers with yours on the counter. “I feel like I do.” You tap your untouched fingers with his untouched fingers. They need to be even, otherwise it feels weird.

Spencer reaches over and locks your fingers together. “I promise you, I would’ve been awake anyway.” Meaning he was not going to sleep until he knew you were asleep to make sure you actually got some sleep.

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” You raise a hand to his cheek, your fingertips brushing over them and adoring the way they turn the slightest pink. “You need rest.”

“So do you,” he mumbles. “We’re staying awake together.”

There are nights where he pretends to be asleep to get you to rest. Tonight was one of those nights but when you say his name so sweetly, he has no choice but to reply.

And also, you’re a profiler. You know when he is or isn’t sleeping, you just pretend you don’t.

“Do you wanna do jumping jacks?” he suggests, gathering your plates while you’re distracted with the strands of hair misbehaving on his forehead, out of place from the rest.

“Maybe a few,” you hum.

He straightens his posture, stuffing his last bite in his mouth. “I’m going to make you some chamomile.” He already has the kettle in his hands, filling it with water to set to boil. “We can do some jumping jacks while we wait for the water to boil.”

You smile sweetly. He takes such good care of you, especially when he reaches his hand out and cups your chin so gently. “Thank you, honey,” you say as you slowly slip the plates into your hands. “I’ll get the dishes.”

He reaches for them, but you pull them closer to you, like a dragon hoarding its treasures—which is a strange simile, considering you’re talking about dirty dishes covered in his DNA. “I can do them,” he tries.

“I know you can,” you have to dance around him to get past him and to the sink. He turns the heat all the way up and leaves it, holding his hands out for the plates. You slap his hand away lightly, a teasing little swipe as you shake your head. “But I want to.”

He tilts his head, his confusion contaminated by his amused grin. “You hate doing the dishes.”

More than anything. “Yeah,” you agree, “but you’re being so nice.” You set the dishes by the sink and turn to look up at him. He’s freakishly tall, so you have to crane your neck up to see him because he stands so close. He has no sense of personal space with you, but you don’t mind it because you love him and you also don’t give him any personal space in return. “So either I fight you or you let me do the dishes.”

He sighs. “Okay, you wash and I’ll dry and put away.”

You stick your hand out to make it official. “Deal.”

“Great.” He takes your hand, surprising you when he twirls you in a clumsy circle and pulls you into his chest as you both giggle. It’s sappy and gross, like those scenes in rom-coms where they’re doing this exact thing: dancing around the kitchen late at night while they giggle like school kids because they’re so in love. You’ve always wanted this for yourself, and you’re beyond happy that you’ve found it with your Spencer.

“Thank you,” you say as you duck under his arm, taking your place at the sink as you start the water. Neither of you talk much as you scrub all the dirty dishes clean, your face scrunched in your focus, un-scrunching only when the water rinses away the suds you’ve built up on your dish. He takes it with eager hands, wiping the dish clean and retreating to put it away.

“You know,” you mutter, frowning at the way the pancake batter mixes with the water and sinks down the drain, “the jumping jacks before bed will be really good because, when we sleep after, our muscles will recover and get really strong.”

He nods, wiping at your elbow when it brushes the edge of the sink and you squirm away from the cold metal. It’s thoughtful, though it’s such a subconscious movement. “That’s correct.”

You shrug a shoulder, teasing easily. “I’m often correct.”

He laughs. It’s a big one that ruins your stoic expression. “That is also correct.” He’s proving your point, and he doesn’t mind doing it.

When the dishes are clean and put away, the kettle is whistling in perfect time as he removes it from the heat. You’re already scurrying to the cabinet to pick which mug you want to use (he already knows you’re going to pick the blue round Christmas Snoopy mug that curves in at the lip). It’s one of your favorites, like a mug-bowl hybrid that you love to cradle in your hands, especially when it’s warm.

He takes special care in making your tea while you sit on the counter next to him and watch. Your feet dangle over the edge, and you find yourself watching his face more than what he’s actually doing. He’s got eyebags. You can tell how tired he is, though he insists that he’s just always had them.

It’s partially true, anyway. When you first met him, he had those same dark circles around his eyes that gave a warning to how irregular these hours would be.

Other than his eyebags, he’s got a loving look on his face. It’s not forlorn and lost in sweet little smiles, but it’s thoughtful and content and at peace. He’s happy to stand there and make your tea, stirring the contents together with the little spoon because he knows you hate using the big ones. He’s happy to fish a single ice cube from the freezer to plop into your scalding tea so that you can actually drink it and not burn your tongue. He’s happy to hand over your mug and watch you take a tiny sip, closing your eyes and humming and giving him your softest thank you as you practically melt. He preens under your praise.

After a couple more sips, you’re pushing yourself off the counter and onto the floor, doing ridiculous stretches as you beam at him. “Okay, ready?”

Spencer lets out a huge sigh, bending down to set his hands on his knees. “Give me a second to catch up,” he says, already out of breath.

You furrow your brow and laugh. “We haven’t even started.”

“I mean mentally.”

“Spence!”

“Okay,” he straightens his posture, moving you both to a more open space as he stops in front of you. “I’m ready.”

You smile wide, “We’re going to fifty.”

“Fifty?!” he exclaims, but you’ve already started. He has to do the first five jumping jacks really fast just to catch up to you. But he’s in love with you, so he’s dedicated to these curséd things.

It’s somewhere before twenty when he speaks, already out of breath and lagging behind as his hands struggle to come as far up. You know he’s partially exaggerating, but you’re also getting tired already. “You know…” he gasps like he desperately needs water, “I hate…” another gasp, “doing these.”

You roll your eyes, tired but not as dramatic as him (currently). “I watched you chase an unsub down three blocks before and then proceed to tackle him, and you can’t do a few jumping jacks?” You don’t know where you are in the count. You forgot as soon as you started speaking, but you think you’re somewhere near thirty.

“Okay, that’s different…” He stops huffing and puffing, but he is genuinely getting tired as he breathes between words. “I was running on adrenaline…” a breath, “and I couldn’t stand straight for…” another breath, “for ten minutes after.”

It’s true. You had to hold his hand because he kept complaining that he was going to pass out, when really he was just trying to make you feel better because you had been so worried he would get hurt in pursuit. You’d been all over him worried sick, loving hands to his face and soft kisses to his forehead.

“I was so proud of you though.” You would shrug if you weren’t already busy. “Derek was impressed. Also, I don’t know where we are.”

He could have lied and said you were on 49, but he decides against it purely because you genuinely look like you’re enjoying yourself. Plus, you’re smiling. How is he possibly supposed to think straight if you’re smiling?

“38.”

You grumble but you stick it out together. And when the last counts come out (“47, 48, 49, 50!”), you are the one to huff and puff and say, “Oh, thank god.”

Spencer leans forward on the counter, gripping the edge of it as he bends all the way down to catch his breath. You skip that altogether, climbing on top of it and laying on it like a couch. You drape an arm over your face, completely limp and entirely unwilling to stand. “I hate jumping jacks,” you complain on a heavy breath.

He nods lazily. “I’m glad we agree.”

You both stay there for a while, two pathetic FBI agents who are far more capable of even more physical exertion than this has offered. Derek would tsk if he was here.

Spencer recovers first, but only because you allow him to (you don’t want to move yet, and if you act long enough then he might actually carry you to bed). He runs a hand through his hair, “I’ll put your shark in the microwave.”

This makes you forget that you’re pretending to be completely incapacitated. The shark in question is a small heatable stuffed animal named Nadia that smells like lavender. During your month-long hyperfixation on sharks, Spencer bought it for you as a gift because he thought you’d like it. He was right, as Nadia sleeps in bed with the two of you now on most nights.

You sit up, raising a slow hand in his direction as you fawn over him. “Thank you, honey.” He lets you take his hand, pulling him in to kiss him gently.

You and Spencer have been together for a while, and you’ve been saying “I love you”s for a good amount of time, but Spencer has yet to (and will likely never) master the art of casualty when it comes to telling you he loves you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to give you a brief call over his shoulder, or a passing kiss on the forehead as he mumbles it into the side of your head.

He says it in an in-your-face kind of way that you adore. He stands so close, kissing your forehead and your lips, and really any part of your face that suits him as he grins. “I love you.” He takes care in whispering it against your lips, your mouths touching with each consonant.

You hum. “Love you, too.” His hands rub your palms, and he kisses your lips again before reluctantly pulling away to go retrieve your shark. You smile as you watch him leave, grabbing your mug and cradling it in your hands as you take small sips. You do feel tired, so at least everything is working.

Spencer is holding Nadia in his hands like a baby before he sets it in the microwave, the both of you standing side to side, bodies touching, as you watch it spin around and around and around in very slow circles. You rest your head on his shoulder while you watch. He’s afraid to move and scare you away (like he could ever scare you away).

Before the microwave can beep, you open the door. He grabs the shark from where it sat, handing it to you like sacred text. “Good?” he asks, waiting as you take the weighted stuffed animal in your hands and feel its warmth. It’s very nice.

“Perfect.”

That makes him happy.

With an arm around your shoulder, he takes you both to bed, turning off the lights as he goes. Taking one last generous sip from your tea, you snuggle in the bed next to him, and as grabby as you are, he's the one holding you like he's going to make sure you never leave.

You hold your warmed plush to your chest, letting out a long breath as you rest against Spencer. “What do you wanna hear?” he asks, already flipping through his mind palace to unlock all the stuff he knows just to lull you to sleep.

You've always insisted hearing the sound of his voice helps you sleep (in a good way, not in the “listening to you speak is a snooze fest” kind of way). He knows there's a study on it, it's scientific, but there's always going to be the tiniest part of him that doesn't believe you (though he'll entertain the idea because he loves you).

“Um…” you wonder, your mind suddenly going blank as you try to find something for him to talk about. “Give me the history of…” you shake your head, “bottle tops.”

He furrows his brow, though his grin betrays him (as per usual). “Bottle tops?”

“Yeah?”

“Why bottle tops?”

You shrug, closing your eyes and letting your finger rub into his shirt. “I don't know.”

He shakes his head like he's sick of you, though he could never be sick of you. He's surely sick with you with how dizzy you make him every time he sees you. “Okay then…” he mumbles, wondering where to start. He keeps his voice soft, but he can't seem to keep it slow.

“The crown bottle cap was invented in 1892 by William Painter–”

“Why do you know about this?”

It was partially a challenge, choosing bottle tops. Sometimes you name random things just to see if he actually knows these things, and he surprises you every time with information he's a total nerd for knowing.

He tilts his head, glancing at you. “Why do you know so much about sharks?”

You hum, laying back down. “Touché.”

He smiles. You feel his thumb stroke your shoulder, a slow and steady thing that easily makes you putty in his arms. “As I was saying,” he says, all sass but also too much of a dork to work, “the name ‘crown’ was chosen because the cap resembled the crown of the British queen…”

It doesn't take long to drift off as he speaks, his loving hands and loving voice and loving lips the perfect remedy for your overactive mind. You could listen to him talk all day.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic Tag yourself here...

[isa-loves-you]

♡Michael Schmidt has a crush♡

You were a sophomore in college, even though you live in an apartment off campus you still visited your mom almost everyday to check on her and to eat.

One night while you were visiting your mom she brought up the people who lived a couple of houses down "the young man knocked on my door this morning, asking if I would or If i knew someone who can babysit his sister at night". The reason why she brought this up is because you were looking for a job, with being a college student you needed the money and nights were perfect since you only have three classes a week. "He's a cutie, he would be perfect for you" you mom called out as she walked into the other room "cute doesn't matter I just need a job".

It's been almost a month since you started watching abby. She was the best kid you have ever babysat for, and she loved you which made your job so much easier.

"Hey y/n, can I ask you a question" "what is it abs" you stopped coloring to look at her. "Will you marry Mike, so you can live here and I can see you everyday"

You were a bit taken back by the question, how did she know that you liked mike?. "I'm really flattered that you want to see me everyday, but I don't think your brother likes me like that" you flashed her a smile to ease the tension but she just shrugged her shoulders and went back to drawing.

Ever since you started watching abby you found yourself infatuated with Mike. He wasn't a very open person but for some reason mike would open up to you, your mom was right he was a cutie.

It was almost midnight until you heard keys jingle and the front door unlock. Mike threw his keys on the small table by the door before looking for you. "Hey I made peanut butter stir fry, do you want me to make you a plate" you asked while already making a B-line to the kitchen."oh no it's okay, I can get it myself you already do almost everything here" you turned to Mike grabbing his arm and pulling him to the table "oh please making a plate is not going to hurt me, now please sit down".

Mike sat down and watched you shuffle around the kitchen to make him some to eat. Mike would never admit to himself but he liked having you around, he loved that abby adored you, sometimes he thimks she likes you more than him. He really wouldn't know what he would do without you, you now became his reason to get up everyday, too look nice, and too be happy.

After mike ate he walked you to your car while talking to you "I get my paycheck tomorrow so would it be okay if you stopped by after class to pick it up?" "Yeah no problem I'll stop by around 6". You stod there justing looking into his eyes, even though Michael's face told a story of a hard life, his eyes showed compassion. You would be a fool to not fall in love with him.

Once you left, Mike got ready for bed. He took the pills he always takes, replayed the tape he always plays, and looked at the Nebraska poster he always falls asleep looking at, but something was different. You were the only thing he could think about before the sleeping pills kicked in.

His dream started out like it always does, his mom spills her coke and tells him to keep track of Garrett. As soon as he sees Garrett in the back of a strangers Cadillac he takes Chace after it. No matter how hard he runs, he can never catche up with the mysterious car.

Mike stops to put his hands on his knees and catches his breath. Giggling. He hears Giggling.

Mike looks back up to now see a field of grass. This wasn't his dream, this is different from his normal nightmares. There in the field stood a happy abby, laughing holding hands with a happier y/n. Mike feels his heart pick up speed.

"Mike!" Abby ran towards her big brother with open arms. Mike catches his sister while y/n walked twords the two of them. He flashes a smile in y/n's direction "I've missed you mike", you kiss his cheak and hug the siblings tight . If he didn't known that this was a dream he would have thought that he died and went to heaven.

"Mike Wake up, I'm hungry". Abby jumps up and down on her brothers bed until she hears him grown,"okay okay abby give me a minute". He stands up and makes his way to the bathroom while abby returns back to the living room where she watches her cartoons and color.

Once mike sets abbys plate in front of her she immediately digs in. "Abby would you be okay if I started to date someone?", the young girl replies without even thinking about it "only if its y/n, she likes you". Mike looked at his sister shocked "well who else would it be, because I like her too" he says trying to play it like he knew this whole time.

It was almost 8 when you entered the house and abby ran up to give you a hug. "Hey hun I'm sorry my class ran later, I tried to call but no one answered" Mike came out of abbys bedroom with a relieved yet anxious look on his face. "Abby go to your room, I need to talk to y/n about grown up stuff" she looks at you with big eye to try to get you to let her stay "it will only take one minute, I'll come in there to say goodnight before I go".

Abby walked to her room with a sad and betrayed face. "Um here's you're payment, you'll be here tomorrow right" "Yeah, couldn't miss it for the world.".There it was, your smile. Oh how he couldn't wait any longer once he seen your million dollar smile.

"I know this might be sudden and very out of line, but could we maybe go out sometime"

You were surprised. "Yeah that sounds great, I would love to" you were stumbling over your words a little bit from being flustered. You two stood there with awkward smiles on your face, if you weren't in his house you would have been screaming from happiness.

"I better go say goodnight to abby before I go it's getting late" you stepped closer to Mike to get to the bedroom. "Y/n '' before you could respond to him, he placed his hand on the back of your ear and placed his lips upon yours.

It felt like a thousand minutes passed by in those five seconds, and you didn't want it to end. It wouldn't have ended if a certain someone spoke up.

"Yay I was right, y/n does like you mike!"

[moonstruckme]

if you aren’t interested literally delete this request but jealous sirius?? mayhaps a jealous sirius that thinks he couldn’t possibly be jealous but then sees you literally talking to another person and is like ‘oh fuck’??? perchance a jealous sirius, in any fashion you may choose???

Thanks for requesting :)

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 714 words

Sirius is waiting outside your work with iced coffees in both hands and a pastry bag tucked under his arm, because he’s an idiot. He’s been doing more and more boyfriend shit like this lately. He realizes that he’s not supposed to, that it sort of violates the arrangement you’d agreed on all those weeks ago, but you haven’t called him on it and he doesn’t think he’ll stop unless you do. 

Really, the line separating what you have from a relationship is gossamer thin anyway. You’re one of each other’s closest friends, you do nearly everything together, and you also fuck sometimes. The only thing missing from the equation is exclusivity, but Sirius isn’t concerned with that. You’d agreed when you’d started this thing that you could both date whomever you liked, and he’s had no problem with that, with you (because you never tell him about your other dates) or with anyone else (because he’s never wanted to date anyone else). And he isn’t the jealous type anyway. But what he finds himself craving now is the officiality of it. Sirius wants to break the rules. He wants to take you out to nice dinners and buy you flowers and kiss you on the cheek whenever he feels like it. 

He’s become a total sap, basically. 

It’s that sappiness that seeps warm and satisfying into his chest when he sees you appear at the door. You’re smiling, eyes all lit up and—there’s someone else with you. All that shit in his chest crashes straight through to his gut. 

The guy’s wearing your same not-quite uniform, slacks and a black shirt. A coworker. He grins down at you as you talk animatedly, gesturing this way and that to make your point. Sirius loves it when you talk like that. He doesn’t love it that this guy’s getting to see it. 

You see Sirius, and your eyes light all over again, grin spreading. 

“Siri!” You wave goodbye to your coworker, bounding over. “Hi, what’re you doing here?” 

“I thought you might want a pick-me-up,” he says, passing you your iced coffee. 

Your mouth drops open, still quirked up at the corners in a dorky sort of grin. “No way, thank you!” 

“Sure.” Sirius wants to be better than this, and he really thought he was, but— “Who was that?” he asks, keeping his tone blasé as he starts to walk towards your place. 

You glance behind you as if you’ve forgotten who he could mean. “Oh, that was Marc.” You take a sip of your coffee, eyes closing blissfully. 

Sirius nods slowly, doing the same. “Does he work here?”

“Mhm. Yeah, he’s cool.” 

“Neat.” 

It's possible a bit more rancor slips into his tone than he intends, because you look over at him curiously. Sirius is suddenly cognizant of the urge to kiss you fast and hard, making fucking sure Marc and everyone else in your work sees. He opens up the pastry bag to distract you both. 

“Got some snacks too.” 

“Ooh.” You peer into the bag, drawing in a delighted gasp at the array of treats inside. “Can I have the chocolate donut?” 

“Course.” He grins down at you, enjoying the way your eyes crinkle in return. “You can have whatever you want.” 

“Thanks.” You take it from the bag, biting into the soft pastry eagerly. A bit of frosting gets on the skin just below your lip. Sirius thumbs it away before he can stop himself. “S’this a precursor for sex?” you say through a mouthful. “Are you buttering me up for something?” 

And Sirius wants to tell you that it’s not, wants to say that he likes doing things for you and that there doesn’t need to be more to it than that, but his tongue is more practiced in bawdiness than sincerity. 

“It is if you want it to be, sweet thing,” he says smoothly. 

Your laughter twinkles through him like starlight, and you link your arm through his, tugging him closer as you walk.

“Fine,” you drawl with false reluctance. “But we don’t have that long, my flatmate will probably be home just after five.” 

Sirius flexes his bicep, drawing you closer still. Tells himself that at least you’re not still thinking about Marc. 

“I can work with that.” 

[scorpioriesling]

Invisible String - Part 1

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): light angst, some involving a child being upset. Please be advised; future parts might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't begin the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- get excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night as I wait for the poll results from this week's THTH post to come through. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @cynthiesjmxazrielslover (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

It was like any other day in the West Wing of the Forest House, this weekday the same as many others you’d experienced here over the past year or so that you’d been employed here. The warm glow of the autumn sun painted the cherrywood floors in an amber glow; so beautiful and red, but nothing compared to the red head of hair that bounded over to you on little legs.

“A picture!” Her sweet voice rang out, and you turned to peer down into those big, round eyes of hers. She smiled up at you, her arms outstretched with a piece of paper at the end of it. You gasped, setting down the butter knife and bending down to her level.

“Oh my goodness Miss Riley,” you said and she beamed, her tiny, four-year-old teeth peeking out from behind her lips as you admired her drawing. It was similar to many you’d received before; a crooked drawing of you, holding hands with a crooked stick drawing of Riley. You knew who was who, of course — she made sure to draw a little crown atop her head, obviously.

“You keep it?” She asked, and you smiled at her, nodding in approval.

“Oh absolutely I’ll keep it! This is a work of art!” You said, and she jumped up and down excitedly, twirling in circles before she eventually got too dizzy and stopped. She hadn’t noticed you’d stood, resuming her lunch preparations as she recentered her gravity.

“Y/N I’m hungryyyyy,” she said, and you smiled softly to yourself, placing the top slice of bread on the sandwich in finality.

“I don’t suppose you’re ready for some lunch, hmm?” You ask, and she races to the dining room, stopping at the edge of her chair and throwing her hands in the air. You set down her plate, rolling your eyes at her silly rituals. She’d done this since you’d begun working for her father, insisting on your help though she was more than capable of needing it now.

“Riley — you know you’re grown enough now to get in your chair—“

“Pleeeeease,” she begs, her arms still above her head. “I like when you make me fly.”

You sigh, smiling as you lift under her arms and place her in her chair, her eyes wide as she takes in the plate before her.

“Ham! Yummm! My favorite; thank you, Y/N!” She says, smiling at you before grabbing her little fork and digging into her sliced peaches. You fold your hands, gazing at the small child in wonder.

“You are very welcome Riley — and very good job remembering your manners.” You praise her, and she continues to eat her food in contentment.

You’d spent the rest of the evening doing many of the same activities you’d do with Riley most evenings; playing dolls, braiding her hair how she liked, walking around the palace. Some days, she would ask to play outdoors — this was one her father was a bit iffy on, but since the day was nice, you figured no harm no foul. After a while in the gardens, you’d gotten Riley down for a nap, braided her hair, played dolls, and were cleaning up dinner when the front door to the West Wing opened.

“Daddy!”

As if on cue, every doll and stuffed animal was abandoned on the living room floor, the sound of little footsteps pattering across the cherrywood in anticipation as quick as the beats of your heart in your chest.

“Bunny,” Eris’ silky soft voice floated through the foyer and you rounded the corner in time to see him scoop his daughter up, her laughter ringing out as he peppered her cheeks with kisses.

“Daddy! Tickles!” Riley laughed, and when he finally relented and set her down, she ran right over to you. His gaze met yours, his professional yet gracious smile meeting yours in greeting.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Hello,” you said. No matter how many times you’d seen him come home, you’d never quite figured out a way of greeting friendly enough, yet still professional, but not too weird to use in front of Riley.

“Daddy, I made a drawing,” Riley beamed. Your heart sank a bit, realizing this repeat situation as if it happened yesterday. She’d drawn you so many photos, so many pictures of you and her together — but the fridge you’d used daily to make lunches, dinners, snacks — it was bare.

“Well, also,” You caught Riley’s arm lightly as you bent to her height, pausing her from running to grab her creation. “We brought in a surprise, right?” You reminded, thinking of the few Honeycrisp apples the two of you had picked earlier for her father from the grove as a surprise. Riley contemplated for a moment, then it looked as though a lightbulb went off in her head and she nodded.

“Daddy — I be right back 'kay,” she rushed out before darting for the kitchen, and Eris chuckled. You stood, picking at your sweater as you watched her run off. When you looked to Eris again, he looked to you in the same moment.

“You have no idea,” he started, pausing as if to find the right words as he stepped further into the room. “How much you being here really helps.” He focused on you then, and you shifted under his intense gaze.

“I mean… I… no where else I’d rather be, right?” You smiled lightly, and Eris loosed a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m actually, really, glad to hear that, uh,” he chuckled. “Well, I um,” he cleared his throat as Riley appeared again in the entryway, hands behind her back and a grin on her face.

“Okay daddy, here is the surprise, okay?” She said. His brows rose, and he crouched down as she stepped closer, finally revealing a leaf, bright red in her little fingers. His mouth opened in shock, and she doubled over in a fit of laughter, Eris watching in admiration. You watched the precious girl, her wild sense of humor even at the age of four. You’d wondered, under his professional exterior, did she get that trait from her father, too?

“Alright my dear,” Eris said finally, standing and picking the girl up to carry in his arms. “It appears that it is your bedtime, hmm?”

You were glad he was here to do it this evening — many nights, if her father wasn’t home, you were the one at the other end of her protests, having to explain away his absences and assure her that he would, and you promised, come kiss her on the head when he got home.

You decided to finish scrubbing the last of the dinner dishes, laying them to dry when footsteps behind you caught your attention.

“You always do more than I’ve ever asked Y/N, seriously. I can’t thank you enough.”

You glanced quickly over your shoulder, trying not to look to long at the Autumn Court heir watching your every move.

“It’s nothing, really — it’s only dishes.”

In a matter of strides, he is beside you, leaning against the very counter you’re working at.

“You know what I mean.” He pauses, looking down before continuing. “I don’t know what Riley…” he sighs. “When Selene left us, I… it was, very tough. On all of us. Riley, she… I don’t know how I could’ve done it without your help.” He says quietly. You silently set down the plate you’d been washing, looking at him with knitted brows.

“Don’t ever feel bad for something someone else has done to you,” You say, your heart clenching at the reminder of his wife — well, ex-wife, you supposed — leaving him just over a year ago. Leaving him behind and her daughter.

Your chest ached.

“She made a poor decision. Riley is a lovely little girl, she’s learning so much, and truly she’s a joy to be around. This job isn’t work, for me; I really, really enjoy spending time with her, Eris. Don’t worry about it.” Your eyes meet his again, and you swear you see silver lining them. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, biting it before turning to face you.

“Live here full time, then.”

You set the plate on the drying rack, reaching for a fork and dunking it into the sink.

“Why would I need to? I’m already here five days a week-“

“But you could be here seven, look — please, at least just for a few months while I settle a few things with the other courts. I just need someone here for Riley in case I’m not here as often, and I will absolutely prepare living arrangements for you, and pay you extra, and-“

“You’re being serious?” You say, your hands stilling in the sink water. Eris stares at you pleadingly. You look down at the water. Sure, you took this job and basically it became your life. Did you have much going on outside this job? No. Was your lease almost up anyways? Yes.

You sigh, taking the fork out and laying it on the drying mat. You wipe your hands on your apron, extending one to Eris. “Fine, it’s a deal-“

He takes your hand, pulling you in and embracing you instead. The thin material of his button down does not leave much to the imagination, every toned muscle beneath…

His hands slowly rub up and down on the small of your back, and you feel your cheeks flushing at the rather intimate contact. You wrap your arms around his neck, his voice nearly inaudible next to your ear as he whispers,

“Thank you.”

:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Within a week, you'd completely uprooted from the ramshackle apartment you'd been renting on the outskirts of the Autumn court and moved yourself into the West Wing. This place felt like more of a home to you anyway, its inviting ambience, the warmth that radiated from the forest surrounding it; the people inside, especially the little girl you'd grown to care so much for over the past year.

"Y/N's moving innnn, Y/N's moving innnnn," Riley sang, skipping down the hallway barefoot in another one of her play-pretend princess dresses. She had a closet full of real gowns, hand-sewn by the seamstresses that worked in the palace themselves -- however, the little girl preferred the itchy costumes to the real ones reguardless.

"I am almost done, I promise, then we will play," you huffed a breath, sweat clinging to your tank top as you crossed the room once more. Eris was gracious to give you your own space, but... so much of it? You weren't used to having a bedroom the size of an entire apartment, let alone one so ornate. Not to mention, one just down the hall from his master room.

You tried not to think too hard about it.

"Y/N! A cookie?" Riley called, and you sighed, looking around at your remaining boxes. You'd just have to tend to them later.

"Riley," you said, rounding the bend and approaching the kitchen where Riley stood near the counter. "It's nearly dinnertime -- you know we can't-"

"Pweeeeease?" She pleads, her round, honey-colored eyes looking to you with such agony. You sigh, scooping her up and sitting her on the counter.

You hang your head between your shoulders, shaking it lowly. "Riley, your father is gonna kill me..."

She squeals in delight, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you close, her little body buzzing with excitement.

"I love you!"

Your heart warms, and you hold her tight, brushing a hand over her soft strawberry-blonde locks. Its moments like these that you wish you could show Eris, your "boss", your "employer" that this job really doesn't feel like work. You truly enjoy what you do, and his daughter is a magical little thing.

"I love you too, Riles." You say, and she releases you, looking over her shoulder toward the jar of red velvet cookies with a mischevious grin. You reach over, taking the lid off and plucking one from the container. Her legs kick against the cabinets in anticipation, soft giggles of glee coming from her as she watches you break it in half before her.

"Start with half, okay?" You say. She nods, taking it from you and immediately putting it in her mouth. You can't help but smile, watching as she motions to the other half.

"Share with you?" She says. You place a hand on your chest at her words, but hold the cookie out to her anyway.

"Riley, that is very kind of you to offer to share with me! Thank you," she takes it quickly nonetheless. "But, I'm not very hungry right now. I think you should have it."

She nods. "Okay." It's devoured in seconds, the only evidence a few crumbs on the counter. Riley giggles as she watches you brush the crumbs into your hand. Her little pointer finger comes to her lips.

"Shhh," she says, and you grin at her. "Don't tell daddy, okay?" You nod in agreement.

"Okay Miss Riley," you say, dusting your hands off over the trash can. "I won't tell him."

You went for another walk around the Forest House, played tea party and braided hair all before dinner that evening, which was proving to be rather intriguing to the little one that day. She watched as you cut carrots, questioned every spice and oil you'd dumped into the pot, and offerred her assistance more than a few times.

"Is butternut squash soup your favorite?" You ask. Riley cocks her head to the side, playing with a loose string on her Princess Belle dress.

"Hmm... no, it's okay though." She decides, and you continue stirring over the stove.

"I wonder what has you so intrigued in cooking this evening?" You ask, and she sighs, sitting on the wodden floor with her legs stretched out before her.

"I want to do something," she groans, and you nod, trying to understand what she is getting at.

"Mhm, what do you mean by that?"

"I want to... can we do something fun tomorrow?" She asks, and you shrug.

"Well, I like to think we have a lot of fun everyday together, wouldn't you say?"

"Yesssss," she lets out an exasperated sigh. "But I want to go somewhere fun with you. Me and you. Oh, and daddy. When is daddy coming home?" She asks. You chew the inside of your cheek, glancing to the wall clock. He'd routinely arrive around or just after Riley's bedtime -- 8 PM. However, since asking you to move in last week, he'd been coming home later and later. It seemed that he really did need your help with whatever he had going on, the gravity of it much bigger than you could understand.

"I'm... not sure, Riles." You answered, and she huffed.

"He's never home to play with me." She frowned, and you glanced down at her.

"Well, that's not true, he-"

"He never even comes home for dinner." She crosses her arms, her angered expression softening a bit. You set down your spoon, tucking your hair behind your ears as you kneel down before the upset child.

"Riley," you say calmly. "Your father just has a lot going on right now sweetheart, okay? I promise he loves you very much-"

You stop talking when you notice a silent tear roll down her cheek, and your heart threatens to break right in half inside your chest. You reach for her, and she turns to putty in your hands, allowing you to pull her close and hold her in your embrace.

"Oh, Riles," you say soothingly. "Please don't be upset sweet girl," you plead. She sniffles, her cheek wet against your skin above your top. You run your fingers along her hair, quietly comforting her until she eventually calms down. She pulls back, looking up at you with her puffy, but dry eyes and it takes everything in you to offer her a smile as your finger brushes lightly against her cheekbone.

"There she is," you say, and she smiles a little. "Miss Riley is back again." She grins, folding her hands in her lap as her gaze locks just beyond your face. She reaches out, her tiny fingers grazing the shell of your ear before her brows knit and she reaches for her own.

"Yours are not... no... you have..." she searches for the right word, the events prior not seeming to matter now that they've passed. You guide her fingers to the top of her ear, and then gesture to yours.

"Pointy," you say. "Your ears are pointy. Mine are different -- they are round." You explain, and she nods, processing the terms.

"Po-in-ty," she says. She looks at your ear again. "Why do you have... uh..."

"Round?"

"R-ou-nd," she continues. "Ears for?" She asks. You smile softly at her, those innocent eyes having no idea the life she has in store for herself to come.

"Because Riley," you explain. "There are different types of people; some people, like your father and-" you stop, not even wanting to approach the subject. "...your father is going to be a King someday. You, well, you are a Princess." She smiles and nods as if this is already a known fact to her.

"Then, there are people like me. I'm just... well, I'm me." You shrug. "I'm just a fae like anyone else." Riley frowns.

"You are a Princess too," she says, and you chuckle.

"No, Riley, only when we play dress up and I borrow one of your crowns. You are the Princess in real life." She stands, her hands on her hips.

"Y/N is a Princess," she says, looking at you eye-to eye. You raise your eyebrows, not knowing where this is going.

"Riley-"

"Princess lives in the castle." Riley says, beginning to jump up and down. You nod, reaching up to turn off the stovetop heat under your surely burnt soup.

"Yes, but-"

"You live in here with me!" She squeals, twirling in circles. You shake your head.

"Riley, I only live here because your dad asked me to move in-"

"Y/N is a Princess! Y/N is a Princess!" She starts chanting. You sigh, making to stand and remove the soup pot from the stove.

"Riley, you are the Princess! There's only one Princess!" You say loudly over her shouting, and she stills, her devilish grin only cause for concern.

"Then... Y/N is a Queen." Riley gasps, her little hand flying to her mouth as though she's just thought of the greatest idea in the world.

"Y/N is the Queen! In a castle! With the Princess! Is me! and, and, and daddy! he's, he's-" she pauses her jumping and chanting, her hand splayed on the wall to catch her breath.

"Ohmygosh I have to go draw-"

"Ohhh no ya don't," you say, setting down her bowl of soup on the table in front of her and plopping her into her chair before she could take off down the hallway. "Dinner first, young lady."

She groans, quickly shoveling soup into her mouth. "Ughhh, okay, fine." She grins, looking sidelong at you. "I will eat your delicious soup, my Queen," she says in a silly victorian accent, and you let out a laugh at her rediculousness. She giggles too, continuing her comedy. "I will eat, and eat and eat, I will eat because I am a Princess, and you are a Queen, and soon, the King will be home, and we won't tell him about the cookie-"

The two of you are too busy giggling furiously over her sillyness that you don't hear the front door swing open, or the footsteps leading inside. It's only when you hear his whiskey-smooth voice that you turn from the dining table, your face flushing at the sight before you. Much to your delighted surprise, the handsome red headed male leaned against the dining room archway had arrived home much earlier today than either of you had expected.

His small smile was his only greeting, his tousled locks and few undone buttons revealing the exhausting day he'd surely had before he said; "I wasn't aware that I had a Princess and a Queen dining at my table tonight?"

:* ✧･ﾟ: *

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

marvel men- stoner edition

this is how i think the marvel men would act while you (and them) are high:) please enjoy and get baked appropriately, whichever method you choose stay safe! <3

peter parker

- one word. munchies.

-this man prepares an entire feast before the two of you get high and he gets so hungry it’s not even funny. you pray to get a bite in… but he cooks such good food, so you can’t complain.

-you bring over a desert so it’s even, last time it was chocolate fudge brownies and he kissed the chocolate off your lips

- he’s very touchy, always wanting to cuddle!1!1 more than normal, like he literally sits you on his lap despite there being an empty chair next to him

-you guys watch starwars movies often, or compilations of brain rot that you both know all the references to- you laugh with him for hours to the point you’re silently dying, tears down your face and needing to call a time out

-often times you get high at his place, with lots of low, dim christmas lights, open windows for the nice breeze (and so you can sit on the fire escape) and he always makes sure your spot on the bed is made and has stuffies!

-essentials- fuzzy blankets. his camera (to take pictures of you), fuzzy peaches and baggy clothes

bucky barnes

- super good at rolling. you make him roll everything for you and he pretends to get annoyed but secretly he loves it

- he has a much higher tolerance then you so it’s super funny when you’re already on cloud nine and he’s barley high yet, he makes fun of you

- he’s super protective of you if you guys go out, normally you go to the gas station to grab snacks because it’s close by, but despite this he holds you close and always is slightly in front of you when people are around to shield you

- you guys typically smoke at the little creek by your house and watch the stars or in your room, from out the window

- he really likes your room (mainly your bed) and is constantly insisting on cuddling, which results in you freaking out because he threatens to wear his outside clothes under the sheets if you don’t hurry up

- super calm and relaxed, but still alert to protect you! even if you’re in your home, he’s still a guard dog

- you tend to play with his hair and put butterfly clips in it (he “does not” like this)

- usually if you’re at your house you watch lord of the rings

- essentials- his fancy lighter he likes to show off, chocolate covered pretzels, baggy clothes and a nerf gun (to protect you ofc)

steve rogers

- says “do a flip!” to anyone who is on a high surface, including you

- he always brings his notebook because he claims his ideas flow better when he’s had a few hits, so sometimes he’ll just randomly pull it out and write or draw

- he likes to draw you a lot whenever you guys get high together

- huge video game lover! you guys play Minecraft together at his house and build little villages (and then he brings you to the nether with no weapons so you’re running around freaking out)

- #1 fruit gummy and goldfish lover

- if he slid his hand on your upper thigh and gave you that look he knows drives you wild, you would have 216 nickles. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it happened 216 times (you fuck after)

- does spot on fuck boy impressions to make you piss your pants from laughing so hard

- essentials- a game, lunchbox snacks, thin blankets (so he doesn’t get hot, he’s picky), and his notebook

matt murdock

- he likes to eat “treats” that you bake, his favourite is the homemade rice kripsies with weed butter

- you guys always cheers them before you eat them after a nice homemade, candle lit dinner

- typically you guys lounge on the couch and like getting stoned when it’s storming so you can listen to the rain on the roof (his high, echoing loft makes it louder:) )

- he’s old fashioned, you guys make a charcuterie board and play board games like chutes and ladders and battleship

- matt like to run you a bath, light some candles and play with your hair while you watch a cheesy sitcom

- lazy make out sessions allll the time, and being perched up on his knee while he rubs your arms and back

- words of affirmation… always. he already tells you stuff all the time but when he’s stoned it’s every two sentences. “you’re so soft and sweet and so good” is a classic, where he rambles on

- just really romantic:) also SEXY! but sexy romantic. he takes care of you and touch is a must

essentials- red wine, sweet smelling candles, his dog eared box game of battleship and some good italian bread

loki laufeyson

- this man… yeah. sex!

- the two of you stretch out with a soft blanket and watch compilations of people acting like idiots and getting hurt, or super bad reality tv to laugh

- i feel like he’s artistic! whenever you guys smoke that side comes out even more, so you guys often paint together- recently you did that trend where you painted your partner in real time

- he’s a cat man so your black cat locks is always with you, curled up in a ball or slung across his shoulder

- he really likes frozen/ cold fruits. like frozen grapes. i feel he would have a deep connection to them and would feed them to you like some greek goddess

- sometimes you guys smoke before a night out in town, and you go see a play or something and eat sooo much popcorn up in those little balcony boxes

- late walks in the city too, to look at all the pretty lights and such! he often snags you a fresh baked good from a vendor to nibble one

- essentials- his cat, his grapes, and his lady!! also he has this really soft pair of sweatpants he likes to wear, black of course! you guys have matching ones

[archangeldyke-all]

No bc I keep thinking of modern Sev trying to get into the dating game because she wants to settle down and she gets on a dating app because Jinx had mentioned in a conversation with Silco and she ends up matching with reader,,, ahh it’s stuck in my brain

i changed this just a bit to make jinx even more of a shithead hehehe i hope u love it

men and minors dni

"aunt sevy." sevika rolls her eyes at the nickname she hates, and looks up from her book at jinx.

the girl's ten years old now, old enough to know just the right buttons to push to annoy sevika. and sevika's stuck on babysitting duty, because she's an idiot and agreed to be the shithead's godmother when jinx was still a harmless, quiet baby.

"what?" she grunts.

"why don't you have a wife?" jinx asks.

sevika groans. "did your dad put you up to this?" she asks. silco's been bothering her about the same thing lately.

"no." she says. "'m jus' wonderin'. when we have birthday parties and stuff, all the adults bring their boyfriends and girlfriends and wives. but you never do. why not?" jinx asks.

sevika tries her best not to kick jinx's shin. she manages, but not without flicking the kid's forehead.

the truth is that sevika's been asking herself the same thing lately. but she's realized that after so many years of emotionless hook-ups, she's got no idea how a relationship would even fucking work, and she's decided it's easier for everyone if she just... doesn't try.

"mind your own buisness." sevika grunts eventually. jinx studies her with those frighteningly inquisitive eyes of hers, before she smirks, turns on her heel, and runs to her room.

sevika's too relieved by jinx's disappearance that she doesn't even consider that the girl could be up to something.

three days later, sevika gets a call from silco at five in the morning.

"do you know what fucking time it is?" she groans into the receiver as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

"i'm sorry."

"what's so fuckin' important that you couldn't wait to tell me at work?" sevika asks.

silco's responding sigh is long enough for sevika's stomach to sink. "you should dress nice today. a suit, maybe, or at least nice slacks and a button up."

"why? do we have a meeting?"

"no." silco says. sevika waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. she huffs.

"silco what the fuck is going on?" she asks.

"you have a date tonight."

it's silent for a few moments. sevika tries to remember if she'd drunkinly given out her number to someone, or if silco asked her to butter up a client. she draws a blank. "...i do?" she asks.

silco sighs again. "jinx got the idea in her head that you need a wife, so she made you a dating profile."

"what?!"

"she's been cat fishing some poor person as you, and she's scheduled a date for the two of you tonight at seven."

"she what!?" sevika screams. her neighbor pounds on the wall that they share. sevika pounds right back. "silco, there is no way in hell i'm going on a date jinx set up for me."

"yes, i figured you'd say that." silco sighs. sevika's phone buzzes. "check your messages."

sevika pulls her phone away from her face and checks the new text sent from silco.

she gulps when your picture pops onto her screen.

you're... everything. if sevika was asked to describe her type, she'd have described you to a tee.

silco starts talking on the other line, and sevika blinks down at your picture one last time before pulling it back up to her face.

"fine." sevika grunts. she can hear silco's smile, and she huffs. "shut the fuck up. which suit should i wear?"

silco cackles on the other line.

sevika almost passes out when she meets you in person. you're stunning, and she's nervous, and she knows absolutely nothing about you even though it seems like jinx has told you everything about her.

it's only when you've ordered your dinner and are chatting over bread that sevika finally confesses.

"i have to tell you something." she mutters.

you pause mid-chew, your lame story about a fat squirrel you'd seen earlier today entirely forgotten at the sight of your gorgeous date's grimace. "don't tell me you're straight." you groan.

sevika cackles, and you relax a bit into your seat, smiling as you watch her catch her breath. "no!" she laughs. "god, no." she wipes her eyes. "i am very gay. and i find you..." she trails off, her eyes darting down to your lips for just a flash, before she blinks and shakes her head. "very attractive." she says.

you gulp, ignoring your sudden arousal. "so... what's the problem?" you ask.

sevika sighs and looks down at her hands. "you've been catfished."

you frown. "uh..." you study the woman in front of you. "you are sevika right? i mean... you look just like your pictures..."

sevika chuckles and shakes her head. "yes, that's me in those pictures. but you haven't been talking to me all week."

"so..." you're beyond confused. "who have i been talking to?" you ask.

sevika cringes. "my fucking shithead niece." she says.

relief floods your body. this isn't a scam or a fucked up prank-- it's a real date with a beautiful woman who's looking at you like she's expecting you to throw your glass of wine in her face.

instead, you burst into laughter. "you sound awfully fond of her."

sevika's stiff posture relaxes, and she huffs her own laugh. "she was cute before she could talk." she says, shrugging. you laugh even harder, reaching across the table to take sevika's hand and squeeze it as you try to compose yourself. "but now she's old enough to ask me why i'm still single and work a smartphone..."

"well, that explains why you had so many typos in your texts."

"oh, god." sevika groans.

"you misspelled 'restaurant' like five times."

"it's a hard word." she chuckles.

you pull the gorgeous woman's hand up to kiss her knuckles, and watch in fascination as all her worry and embarrassment melts away. "so." you say.

"so." sevika repeats.

"if you'd like to leave i understand, i won't be offended. i'm not sure i'd be into the dates my little cousins would pick out for me."

"no!" sevika shouts. she cringes as half the restaurant turns to look at her. you giggle. "no, that's not-- i really want to be here. i just-- i just wanted you to know that you weren't talking to me... you were talking to a ten year old."

it's quiet for a minute as you try to wrap your mind around the situation. so you'll have to re-introduce yourself to the woman in front of you-- that's fine. you're looking forward to getting to know her, and it seems like she wants to get to know you too.

you take a sip of your wine, then giggle when a thought occurs to you. "god, i'm so fucking glad i didn't try sexting with you." you say.

sevika bursts into surprised laughter, and she has to pinch herself to keep from launching over the table and kissing you.

(jinx never lets sevika live down the fact that she married the first person she picked out for her aunt.)

(jinx also officiates your wedding.)

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob

[steviewashere]

My Kingdom For a Kiss Upon His Shoulder

Rating: General CW: None for this one! Tags: Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Steve Harrington Loves to Bake, They are In Love Your Honor, Bartender Eddie Munson

For @steddie-week | July 4th Prompt: Trade | WC: 661

Title from Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over", but tweaked it to make it gay.

🍪—————🍪 “Trade?” He asked, holding out a freshly baked cookie. It was a new hobby Steve had picked up and Eddie adored it. Not only did it put him in a cute, pastel blue, short apron; but it also made him produce baked goods from thin air all the time. He took up on baking as a means to put negative thoughts and energy at bay. It suited him. Made him especially domestic; especially sweet.

Eddie hummed at the offered cookie. “I don’t have anything to give back,” he pointed out. Gestured with his empty hands to hammer the point.

Steve came to him then. Shuffling over the kitchen tiles—they were cracked and probably needed a good wash, but they were home, oddly enough. They lived in their own apartment now, so coming home to Steve baking, to him humming a song in that sweet, crackling, raspy way he does, and to him exhausted and soft on their dilapidating, thrifted sofa—it was all like coming home. Because it was home, Eddie supposes. And it was warm, warmer when Steve finally met him in the kitchen’s doorway.

“How ‘bout a kiss?” Steve asked, soft, drenching. The way his cookies are when paired with a tall glass of milk.

He smirked gently. His insides were like raw honey. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been treated so…considerately. Doesn’t think he’s ever been wanted in this tender, small way before. “Mmm, okay,” Eddie murmured, “gotta warn you, though. The manager let me eat a couple baskets of garlic fries.”

Steve was close, not enough to touch noses, but enough for his warmth to hit Eddie like a stray ember. He’s ready to be engulfed, but he waits. Fires don’t start without effort.

“You have a little bit of beer?” Steve whispered. His breath smelt like chocolate chunks and coffee.

“Half of a banquet. Manager’s giving me a raise, had to celebrate,” Eddie responded just as softly.

Then, no warning needed, Steve leaned in. Closed the gap. A quick peck, nothing more. But Eddie licked his own lips when they pulled apart. Whatever spit had slicked Steve’s lips tasted just as his mouth smelled—sweet milk chocolate, their dark brew instant coffee, and mint chocolate chip ice cream; something to fill a craving while he waited for his cookies to bake, Eddie could guess.

The cookie was placed in Eddie’s left palm, fingers forced to wrap around the golden, crispy edge. Crumbs litter the webbing between his fingers, but if he plays his cards right, maybe Steve’ll clean that up for him. “Made them the way you like,” Steve spoke softly, “brown butter with chocolate chunks instead of chips. Eat it and soak up the bit of alcohol, okay?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart. Promise me something, though?”

Steve’s hand closed around Eddie’s and the cookie. He hummed imploringly. Eyes relaxed, a shimmer to them, a sheen of indulgence to him.

Eddie swayed close. Nose to nose. Kissed Steve just because.

“Promise you’ll let me trade a kiss to have you tonight?”

His nose was rubbed against by Steve’s. Their foreheads accidentally knocked together, not hard enough to cause concern, something closer to a cat’s love-tap. Now that he was closer, Eddie could smell his floral, professional shampoo and his new bergamot body soap and the peach cleanser he used on his face. An arm slung itself around his waist, drawing him in closer. Finally, the fire was engulfing him. Eddie sweated with anticipation as he laid his own arm across Steve’s shoulders.

“You already have me, Eds.”

“Good,” Eddie whispered, “because I’ve been wanting you all day. Want you all the time.”

Steve hummed at that. Sweet, raspy, low, crooning. He gently swayed them side to side as if there was music, but it was only their breath, only the thrum of their refrigerator. And that was enough to persuade Eddie to trade another kiss for a lifetime of Steve’s love.

🍪—————🍪

[rabbit-or-rib]

Rubbing my hands together evily again

Wondering if I could make another request of it's alright

Tim, Brian, and Evan (I have favorites hehe) with a gn or Afab s/o whos an artist and sees them as a muse

(could be sfw could be nsfw whatevers more fun)

Tyty and your works are great :3!!

-🐟

hi !! glad to see you're taking requests for evan :) I was wondering if you could do some hcs for Evan with a reader who draws/sketches a bunch?? like they always use evan for inspo in drawings and they draw things they do in their relationship?? maybe something about how evan catches them looking and drawing him when they think he's not looking.. and maybe if you'd like you could include habit and his reaction to it as well.. I hope this makes sense and isn't too much!! if it is feel free to ignore 🫶

i decided to combine these two just to make it easier for navigation and all that, i hope that's okay !! thank you both soso much :) <333

🚬📹☠️🐇 Tim Wright / Brian Thomas / Evan Myers / HABIT x artist!reader

· · ·

Tim :

listen

he hates to pry. he really does.

but he wants to see EVERYTHING

he's trying to sneak peaks going behind the couch when your drawing in the living room, oh-so-conveniently needing to be in your guys' room when you're working on something at your desk- he thinks he's being very covert

he's an awkward and easily embarrassed man, he doesn't think to just ask to see no matter how many times you tell him he can

he is thoroughly thrown through a loop when he sees you drawing him

he has some. not great self esteem regarding all of the things he's been through and been told, and he has good reason to be anxious about most things- especially someone important leaving him

him getting reassurance that you actually do like how he looks and that you love him so much he's stuck in your mind when he's gone means so, so much more than he could ever comfortably express.

he does try to, though

through embarrassed and deeper mumbled praise, some red tinted cheeks and his finger nervously rubbing at the edge of the page

he asks if he can keep a smaller doodle on him :)

Brian :

YOUR !! BIGGEST !!! SUPPORTER !!!!

he's hyping you up however he knows possible

he was a theater and film kid, there's no way he didn't meet a couple art kids in there

he'll get a real good look at whatever it is you show him before he points out things like the shading in a particular area looks really good, the line art flows really well, things like that

as a former (short term lol) actor, he knows how frustrating it can be to just hear a "that looks great!" when you've worked really hard on something

if you draw HIM?? he's beyond flattered

and a little taken aback by how much you remember of him

Brian's big on trying to figure out other people, understand what makes them the way they are, what they're gonna do- so much so i think that he can forget how much other people soak him in, too

so when you showcase all of your focus and love for him through your art, it fixes up his worldview a little bit

he has a big burst of that "this is why i love you" feeling and he looks at you with the biggest dopiest smile

if you let him keep any of the work you do he'll try to find a way to keep at least one of them on him at all times

in his wallet, phone case, jean pocket, something like that

he just wants a little bit of you wherever he goes :)

Evan :

HE LOVES IT SO MUCH

little doodles on the grocery list, scribbles on the corner of a reminders list, drawing on his hand when you get bored; you name it and he's gonna cherish it

he thinks it's the cutest thing when you think he can't see you looking up at him every now and then while you're buried in your sketchbook across the couch

you have an entire page that's getting decorated with scattered snapshots of your life together

the two of you with your foreheads pressed together laughing at each other from when he was trying to butter you up to try and get you to go to a specific place for dinner, how he looked at you when you cut your finger making lunch and he decided he hand to kiss all over your hand for good measure- so many small moments that meant the world in both of your hearts and, eventually, you end up wanting to show him what you've been working on

and he may or may not have gotten a little bit very emotional about it

you just mean so much to him

this poor man has been through and lost so much

he's so grateful for you, and to know that you're so grateful for him as well? and enough to cherish the same moments he does and immortalize the two of you like that? he's gone

HABIT :

NOOOSSSSYYYYYYYYYY BASTARD

you couldn't hide a crumb from him

he's known you've been drawing him since the first time you did it because he is a little SPY

he can be so quiet when he feels like it, and he wants to see eeeeverything you draw

the process intrigues him

if he caught you looking up and back down to your sketchbook at him, i can see him doing two things

going over and seeing how the drawing looks already because he wants to know what you think he looks like

OR rapidly switching positions for you to draw him in, "is this my good side? make sure you get my face. can you draw me with blood? i want blood-"

he is very proud to be your muse, though

he'll hang up any finished pieces you let him have

[gi4hao]

☆ in which a bag of groceries make seungkwan measure the extent of your love

☆ seungkwan x gn!reader — cw: food, seungkwan’s tits are out (._.)

there’s a tension growing in your upper back from carrying so many grocery bags on your own. giving yourself a quick shoulder rub, you make your way to your bedroom whose door is still shut.

carefully opening it, you’re relieved to see it’s still pitch black inside; you’ve apparently been quiet enough not to wake seungkwan up. or at least you have been until now:

“hey sunshine”, his drowsy voice greets you from the bed. in the dark, you can barely make out his arms stretching over his head. “where were you? what time is it?”

he leans to the side to turn on your bedside lamp; the sight of his messy hair and sleepy eyes make your heart swoon just a little.

“10 am. i went grocery shopping, figured the supermarket would be less crowded in the morning”, you reply, sitting next to him.

and you were right, there was practically no one in the aisles today; which was more than welcome considering you had to buy enough groceries to feed all twelve members’ stomachs tonight.

“you should have woken me up!” seungkwan protests, but the way his eyes are still struggling with adjusting to the light proves how much he needed to sleep in. “…did you find everything you wanted?” he asks, lifting one end of the covers to invite you in.

you nod as you happily snuggle against his bare chest, something that might be due to the fact that most of his comfy t-shirts are hidden away on your side of the closet.

“i bought some peanut butter for the cookies, of course i’ll also make regular ones for vernon”, you start explaining, trying to remember the items in your bags: “some paper towels too. i also got some mangos to make those smoothies cheol told me about. oh and i found jun’s shampoo! the one that was sold out everywhere! he asked for two bottles just in case.”

cheek pressed against his skin, you can’t really see his smile growing a bit more with every sentence. but something about the way his fingers start to gently rub your scalp lets you know how grateful he’s feeling.

because not only have you made active efforts to remember these little details about the people he loves, you’ve made them happily and willingly. as if loving him and loving the people he cares about naturally came hand in hand to you.

“i think it’s about time i start gatekeeping you”, he eventually blurts out, bringing the covers up to your nose. “i’ll call the guys, tell them tonight is cancelled. i’m never letting you out in the world again.”

a bashful smile tugging on your lips, you prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him: “you can’t do that. you love showing me off too much. besides, we can’t rob the world of our insane chemistry.”

your words draw a chuckle out of him, because not even him and his usual wittiness can’t deny what you just said.

“i love you”, he simply replies, his fingertips lightly scratching the back of your neck.

you’ve been hearing these three words on a regular basis for the past couple of years, yet you’re still unable to suppress the giddiness in your eyes.

“i’m glad you do… because i paid the groceries with your credit card”, you reply teasingly, but it doesn’t take more than a few seconds before you add a sincere: “i love you too.”

basking in the intimacy of your old lamp’s yellowish hues, he leans forward to leave a delicate kiss on your lips, your breaths intertwining as his hand lays a bit flatter on your neck.

his smile echoes on your face when you finally break the kiss, as you watch him readjust his position to rest more comfortably on the pillow.

“you know, i might not actually gatekeep you forever… but i’m gonna borrow your freedom for one more hour”, he says, arms keeping you close to him, “i’m not ready to start the day yet.”

and for the next hour, neither of you can find their way back to sleep. instead, the room fills with waves of mundane conversations, laughter and soft kisses, reflecting the simple happiness of knowing you found the right person to spend a lifetime of mornings with.

[itsabouttimex2]

Hi can I get your thoughts on the rise turtles being affected by the primal moon moon au please 🙏 love to hear your thoughts will their act the same or would their personalities be way different 👀

would Raph be like his savage self

Would Donnie act more villainy

would Leo be gaslighting, girl bossing his darling

mikey is a interesting one especially since his has different personals (Dr delicate touch , dr feeling and dr rude ?)

or would he be the same but different in a way ? Would their all act the same but more eerie to them 👀👀👀 love to hear your thoughts ^^

Primal Moon Turtles

I thought for a while as to what instincts and behavior Raphael has to be amplified by be the Primal Moon, and I though- the big guy is pretty doting, isn’t he? He definitely adores all his siblings, trying his best to keep them all safe and healthy. He even has a baby voice he uses with them. (I love this guy so much.)

So, when viridescence plagues him and strips away all inhibitions, his nurturing traits are boosted by damn near triple. Raph goes from reasonably worried about his loved ones to being outright paranoid.

Forget “you can’t go on a mission alone”, he shifts to “Is that a knife, Y/N?! In your hand?! Put it down before you cut all your fingers off!” very quickly. (It was a butter knife.)

As an alligator snapping turtle, Raph also gains a serious fondness for soaking underwater and burying himself in mud, constantly submerging himself for longer and longer periods of time. Eventually, the family sends you out to coax him back onto land, offering cuts of meat and cuddles to get him to stop nearly drowning himself.

Sitting behind him as he eats, scrubbing newly grown algae off his shell with one of those bristle brushes as he squirms around happily.

Leonardo’s desire to establish himself as someone worthy of attention and admiration takes a notably nasty turn, leading him to grow outright aggressive. Often tries to pick fights, especially with people who interact with Y/N.

Instead of merely showing off, now he stalks through the corridors of the sewers picking fights with anything that passes by. (Boy is out here throwing hands with driftwood.)

It usually falls to Raph to drag the red-eared slider back home, resorting to physical restraints and taped on headphones with soothing music to try and keep him from lashing out violently.

And then he wakes up covered in bruises and cuts from his fights, praying that he didn’t try to attack his family this time, too.

Horrible situation, all around.

Out of every mutant and yōkai in ROTTMNT, Donatello is one who hates the Primal Moon the most. For him, every cycle heaps him with a massive dose of genuine insecurity and self-hatred, feeling pathetic and stupid.

His faculties sort of… regress? But his personality stays the same, bearing a genuine desire to make and create. Instead of machinery or tech, though… he’s sitting cross-legged on the ground, grinding rocks into spearheads and binding them to long sticks.

Softshell turtles are hunters, after all.

Donnie’s diet switches almost entirely to fish he’s personally caught, and he starts to bed on sand and sunbathe for warmth. Also, lots of swimming.

Y/N and Mikey are the only two people who can reliably get close to him during one of his ‘hunting moods’, anyone else receiving a sharp snap of his jaws.

Of course, being able to draw near that doesn’t that he’s going to let you pull away.

Poor boy gets emotional, and big time. Given that Ornate Box Turtles are pretty docile and placid, Michelangelo has the least trouble during the Primal Moon’s rising. It also means that he’s the most lucid, capable of remembering each and every moment of trouble and fighting, verbal or physical.

Mikey often bunks down with Y/N through the week, relying entirely on them for support and comfort. He can’t do much but shudder in their arms, pretending that he can’t hear his brothers fighting or hunting.

This boy needs you so damn bad that it hurts. He’ll cling tight, arms and legs wrapped tightly around you to prevent your removal from his side. It’s not that he’s trying to be possessive- Mikey just wants you to stay out of the trouble and danger that his brothers are getting into.

His dietary preferences switch to be much more in line with his turtle half, eating grass and berries and squirmy pests. Donnie also supplies the younger turtle with cuts of freshly hunted fish. Doesn’t have much of a love for water, and actually prefers to move around on dry land.

The easiest to deal with, bar none.

[chubs-deuce]

I absolutely adore your art style! It's so beautiful and soft looking! And your Design for Dawn is so so GOOD omg you really did such an amazing job of giving her features of both parents while also still standing out as her own strong character design

I also love your interpretation of Alastor as a father, I feel like I've seen so much of him being like, a shitty dad (and while yeah I could see him being a bad dad, It hurts me because I have a need for soft domestic family fluff 😭) and I just love your take on him!

Bad guys w/ a daughter they're soft for is my bread and butter and UGH your art of them just makes me smile so much because it's SO GOOD

(like the one with him and her having a tea party akayjdgdjwhshe ❤️❤️❤️❤️ like I could just imagine her pulling him by his hand away from something important he was doing and telling him he's been invited and he CANNOT be late and he just rolls with it or something lol)

And the other art you did of Vaggie helping her to learn how to walk and Angel wearing cool sunglasses with her. I can't. Too cute.

But yeah! I just wanted to say thank you for sharing your wonderful art/Headcanons with us :D

And I was also wondering, do you mind if people draw fanart of Dawn? Full credit given, of course.

(also sorry this message got a little all over the place 😅)

lkjsdjkfgsöldkjfgsödlkjgösdfkjgs

omg thank you so much for this?!??! This made me so emo to read omg,, ;w;

I'm so glad you like what I put out about her!!! And I agree!! Soo many people make Al this cold and distant father and like.. I understand where they're coming from, but I personally just can't see him deny an innocent little girl her whims, even more so when it's his own flesh and blood :'3

And imo the whole hotel would pitch in when it comes to raising her so it only made sense to draw other members of the cast interacting with her too :D

ALSO I'D BE DEEPLY HONORED ABOUT ANYONE LIKING HER ENOUGH TO DRAW HER!!!

This goes for any of my OCs tbh!! I never expect anyone to, but it absolutely makes my day when I get to see other people give my characters love in the form of art like that!

Thank you so much for this lovely ask <3<3<3

Have Dawn discovering that her shadow is sentient and putting it to use for shenanigans :'D

(she doesn't yet know that it can deform and strech along walls, she just treats it like kind of a secret buddy until she has better control over it)

Normally a shadow entity like this must be bound via contract, but since Alastor offered up one of his lesser minions during her creation ritual, it reformed as an extension of her! I realized I never established this before so have it as bonus lore I guess xD

Again thank you so much for taking the time to write me something so lovely <3