#REQUESTS OPEN

[softestqueeen]

emily pre it’s x female reader who loves spoiling emily? like the relationship feels like the reader is a sugar mommy, but it’s actually just wanting to see emily happy and loved? if you could that would be great!

a/n: hey anon, thank you for your request! i'm sorry i'm only getting to it now, i wrote it like 2 weeks ago in my notebook but didn't have the time to type it out! but here it is, enjoy! <3 warnings: none, just fluff I 400 words

꣑ৎ ever since emily and you have officially gotten into a relationship a little over a year ago, the team has started to notice some changes

꣑ৎ not just has emily become happier, but also her style has changed

꣑ৎ her pant suits started to fit a bit better and the quality of her shirts has also improved

꣑ৎ not to mention the new rings, earrings and the expensive watch adorning her writst

꣑ৎ the truth was, while emily was your girlfirend, it sometimes felt as though you were her sugar mommy

꣑ৎ your job as a fashion designer gives you not just the money, but also the ressources for your gift giving

꣑ৎ you buy her designer clothes that haven't been launched yet and designed and made some of the best clothes she's ever worn

꣑ৎ your love language has always been gift giving, so it was clear that you were about to spoil your girlfriend rotten. and now emily has a whole new wardrobe, so it's a win/win situation

꣑ৎ you just loved to spoil and take care of her. and with her hectic and chaotic job she deserved a little pampering here and there

꣑ৎ if she comes home from a longer case and you are out of town, there will be flowers and jewellery waiting for her in your shared flat

꣑ৎ and don't get me started on anniversaries. you always call hotch beforehand to make sure emily gets the day off and then organise the coziest dates

꣑ৎ high-profile restaurants with private rooms, special screenings in cinemas, special performances of plays and of course rented out malls for your girlfriend and ger bau-girls

꣑ৎ but emily doesn't even has to think about paying, you already took care of it

꣑ৎ "just let me take care of you, you deserve it baby."

꣑ৎ in the beginning she didn't feel that comfortable with you paying for everything, but she's since gotten used to it

꣑ৎ she had to, because you definetely didn't stop the gifts

꣑ৎ the rest of the bau just smiles when they see her with a new designer go-bag or the newest phone

꣑ৎ they're just happy emily's found someone that treats her right

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueen

requests open!

taglist:@silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa

[neonovember]

This is an idea that’s been on my mind lately because Carmy would be so protective and would 100% treat his gf like a princess, so I thought I’d send it in ifs it’s okay!!🤧

Can I please request Carmy x fem!reader where it’s based off the song “Treat You Better”, where she’s one of his chefs, and Carmy has a biiiig soft spot for her, like soft smiles, hand on the small of her back. Y/n is veryyyy soft spoken and quiet, a very stark contrast to the rest of The Beef/The Bear staff. The staff absolutely love her and are super protective of her: She’s best friends with Sydney (also she’s around the same age as Syd, early 20s), Tina sees her as a daughter, Marcus is always trying to make her laugh and asks her to try his pastries, Richie is more gentle with her than he is with everyone else, Ebra has a calmness around Y/n, Sugar (when she stops by) loves treating Y/n like the little sister she never had, and Carmy… Carmy is head over heels for Y/n. He’s so soft and gentle with her, never raising his voice at her in the kitchen, and he always has the cutest nicknames for her🤧. However… Y/n has a boyfriend, they all know it, and they all share an extreme dislike for him. He’s not very nice, and it all goes to a boiling point when they spot bruises, Y/n letting her hair fall over her face.🥺 Tina and Sydney probably noticing right as she walks in one morning, then the rest of the staff noticing too, the whole kitchen getting eerily quiet, Carmy pulling her aside to his office to talk to her, holding Y/n in his arms while she cries🥺 Carmy 100% taking his bat and beating the crap out of her bf… Now ex, and he offers for Y/n to stay with him because she has nowhere to go? Their relationship growing after that? Y/n kissing him one day, shook at herself, but he kisses her back?

July in November

carmen berzatto x fem! reader

warnings: heavy domestic abuse, controlling fiance, swearing, violence, carmen goes gives absolute no regard for felonies, (assumed) unrequited love, self deprecation, victim blaming

a/n: this entire fic is just time skips l swear, I've written something similar here as well if you liked this which i hope you did! dv is a heavy subject, and not something to trivialise. if you or someone you know is going through dv, please reach out x

banner from @firefly-graphics

The streaks of concealer do little to hide the bloom of dark purples and blues.

They stretch out, clawing up your side and past your ribs, shades of overlapping blotched bruises that were not yet healed.

You were a chef trained in Oslo for god sake, you had friends and family who loved you- and you let out a laugh when the words come out pathetic and dull. 

You were right where he left you.

You suppose from the continuous uphill of your career, the exhaustion had made it easier to just sit still, let it happen. He had proposed and you had said yes unblinking. It was what he told the countless people at dinner parties he dragged you to in attendance, 

“I had finally beat her down enough to finally fall in love with me” He smiled, his eyes shining and his grip on your waist bruising as the people smiled and laughed and you swallowed back his irony.

The cycles of abuse had started before you could truly remember, bouts of angry yelling before the hot dull beat of pain. And he was so kind after, so thoughtful and apologetic, his eyebrows furrowed and his touch gentle as he leaned over you.

Were you still a victim, if you wanted to stay just for the after?

You shake your head, slowly blinking at the reflection of your bloated torso. Peeling away your shirt gently before buttoning up one of your work shirts instead.

Your heart settled when you thought of the Bear. It was your haven, Richie’s rambled drivel, Sugar hovering every so near, Carmen with his eyes and his inked hands and his sweet mouth. It wrapped around you more tightly than those bruises ever could.

You look over to watch your fiancé, fast asleep content with a full stomach and tired fists. He was so vulnerable like that, and the feeling of anger unfurls in your gut. For once, just one time you wanted him to feel it, that gut wrenching frightened feeling.

You look over to the stone doorstep near his desk, the stupid thing that he had revered at one of his art conventions that was left keeping the door open. You wonder, just for a second, what it would feel like to lean over him with it between your hands, waiting for the slight blink of his eyes that clear away the sleep. 

Watch the fear melt into them, and smashing his fucking face with it.

You breathe deeply, arranging your hair so it is out of your face, flattening out the creases in your shit and avoiding your stomach as you stood up and grabbed your bag.

“Where are you going” 

You blink, hands gripping your work bag as his voice bellows “Work”

“Huh. We need to sort that out soon”

You stopped, closing your eyes as you fiddled with the loose threads from the shoulder strap. You knew this conversation, where he would bring up another thing in your life he wanted to talk about, as if your relationship was built on a solid base of understanding and conversation. You would wait until his voice would ripen with jealousy and rage, where thinly veiled inquisition would fall away and reveal what he truly wanted. 

You had given him enough of your life, let him change and control it. But you would soon let yourself be buried then let him take this too from you. No fucking way.

“Sure”

You pass by the door, pushing the stone to the side. It wasn’t heavy at all.

It’s when you enter the back door of the Bear do you realise you’ve spent your whole commute over holding your breath.

The smells of sauces and expensive meats lulls your anxiety into a mummering tremble, and you sigh softly to yourself as you sling your bag into your locker.

You can already hear Richie arguing, and the tired voice of Carmen biting back and you want to slap yourself for all the times you had grown annoyed at them. What you would give to hear them always, to feel this level of safety and comfort without the overhanging timer of when you would eventually have to leave.

You nod towards Sydney, carrying a large tray of roasted pecans over to Sam, her braids intricately wrapped around her head.

The walkway is framed with pictures of the family, from Mickey to the recent Polaroids of Sugar's newborn. You notice a framed picture of the team from years ago, when you had first started working at the Bear. You’re squished between Carmen and Fak, the backdrop of a renovating Bear behind you all. 

The timidiness of being new had not left then, and despite the family enveloping you as their own you had wondered why Carmen had chosen you out of all the decorated chefs that had surely applied. You had asked him this once, after an exhausting dinner rush and he had simply looked up at you from his plate of stolen steak and eggs. 

“You’ve got something, Kid. Maybe it’s because you hadn’t yet gotten the light beaten out from the culinary world but I need that. Need someone who pushes against the boundaries you know?”

You had stayed quiet as he talked

“And you’re a local. Boston isn’t for the faint of heart, you know your diners better than they know themselves. Call it prejudice, I call it a safety cushion.“

You wondered what she would think of you now, her wide eyed dream so close you could see her tight grip on her chef coat in the grainy photograph.

You follow the noise of the crew into the kitchen, when Carmen is hunched over a chopping board and Richie is pointing out problems in the seating arrangement for tonight.

He exhales, ready to start another contingent when he spots your figure walking through the entryway.

“Finally. Someone fucking competent in this place” 

“Hey Richie” You smile, tightening your apron before biting back a wince. The darkness of your life outside of the Bear had a way of seeping in at times, you had grown too comfortable.

“Hey baby, you good? yeah?” Richie replies

“Richie-“ Carmen interrupts, turning his head to face you for the first time in an hour (which you did not realise but Riche surely did) 

“Fuck off. Fuck you. You sure baby? Need me to get you somethin? I got a pack of Marlboros if you need a break”

“Leave her alone, dammit Richie, and a cigarette this early?”

“Oh! Oh! The addict wants to act holier than thou all of a sudden. Just because you slapped on a couple Nic patches-“

“It’s gum and it’s fucking working asshole”

“The L hold you up?” Richie says, throwing the finger at Carmen

“No, no, um, just got in a little fight with David” You reply, cutting your eyes away from him.

Richie rolls his eyes with a groan, a sour expression filters over his face in flash at the mention of your fiance’s name.

“That fuckin’ guy, I swear that boyfriend of yours” Richie groans

“It was my fault really.”

You notice Carmen’s movements stop abruptly, the chopping growing silent with his back turned to you.

“I highly doubt that” Carmen grumbles, before Tina and Sydney come through the door

“Hey, why were you late you missed out on that guy who tried fighting Fak-”

“Her stupid fucking boyfriend”

“Easy” Carmen replies, turning to face you again

“Hey, c’mon Carmen you of all people know that man does not deserve her one fucking bit”

“Darling you need to get rid of that man I’m telling you, he ain't treating you the way you deserve. There's no good keeping an angry man” Tina chides, eyebrows raised as she wipes her fingers on the cloth draped over her shoulder.

“Yeah, he's a dick. And he’s always just…hovering when he comes.” Sydney replies

“And always talk in this condescending tone, adding random words to sound smarter than he is” Marcus’s voice interjects, peeking from around the pastry corner

“Like pseudo-intellectual goddamn-” Tina grumbles, in lightning speed

“Yuppie” Fak continues, and Tina nods 

“All I’m saying doll, is that if you end up dumpin’ him we’d be right behind ya’. Might throw a little party here, a small one…how much does it cost to hire some fireworks?”

“Ease up guys, her love life ain’t got nothing to do with us alright. Let the girl be” Carmen voice bellows “And we got work to do”

He turns to the rest of them, shaking his head feigning annoyance at the team gathering together to gossip. And yet, his hands grip his towel tight enough to leave them white, and his teeth grind against his molars when he thinks of your boyfriend.

You don’t know how they'd react when they find out he proposed, you can’t exactly hide a ring.

“Hey” You smile towards Carmen, who’s twisted features blink into resolve when he hears you

“Hey” He nods, wincing as he pressed his fingers to his temple gingerly.

“Still got that headache?”

“I’ll be fine, just wish it would save the eye stabbing until after dinner service”

“Here”

“I’m alright-“

“Take it” you repeat, pressing some pain killers in his hand.

Carmen nods gratefully, hands clasped around yours for a second longer. Before they part.

He eyes the pills, and for a second you see this puzzled look gleam across his eyes.

He pops them in his mouth, you let out a breath from your chest quietly.

You kept your work and home life separate, Carmen didn’t need nor should carry the burden of this ugly secret that paints you from the inside out.

You had a lid on it. You were sure.

You let yourself get lost in the ingrained memory of moving around the kitchen, letting the slice of your knife against the flesh of meat and fruit melt away everything you had been shouldering the past year.

It gets busy, really busy, Richie and Carmen fail to cohabitate in the hours of the dinner service, multiple plates are dropped, you almost can’t keep up with the never ending orders coming in but its also fucking amazing. The rush of delivering every component of a plate in time, making sure the meat is cooked until just right, making sure the sauce isn't runny, it feels like dancing. 

Your legs and arms ache, you have a headache and your apron is stained and you can’t tell the difference between the end of the dinner service and hitting the last step of a choreographed dance.

The high that buzzes through your body is mirrored by everyone around you, and you take a second to sink in that feeling of euphoria as the last tables are cleared.  

“That was..” You start, un-hunching your shoulders as the rest of the team look up in a daze, surrounding the kitchen

“Fuckin’ amazing, might be our best night yet” Richie grins, bobbing his chin as it rests on his hands

“That was good..we could've been a bit better at turning the tables-” Carmen murmurs

“Oh c’mon Carmy, we can talk about the finalities later but even you can admit that was pretty good” Sydney calls out, leaning her head against the door frame, as exhausted pulls at her every feature

“Yeah…yeah it was good”

“No one go anywhere, I’ve got left over schnitzel and potatoes and I know none of you have taken a break”

“How long has it been since we’ve sat down for family?” Tina mumbles, wiping her stained apron tiredly

“Too long, I don’t mind fixin’ it up” You stretch out your arms, unbuttoning your chef's coat and folding it neatly, despite Sugar throwing them into the sink to soak for the night later.

“I’ll help” Carmen nods to you, doing the same with his apron. His dark crew neck that sticks to him reveals with every button, outlining the indentations of his chest and biceps.

Family usually consists of throwing whatever leftovers from the night's dinner service onto a large plate and proceeding to throw some forks near it. There had been a long trail of food combinations that either delighted the crew or had you throwing your towel in and going to the taco truck nearby.

Today however, the night had gone so well and had distracted you even better. You could at least make up some plates, make ‘em look pretty or whatever else your hands had been trained to do.

The rest of the team move the tables to form one large spanning diner in the middle of the Bear, the scrape of wood against flooring is all that fills the air as you and Carmen work silently. You’re good together, that sort of chemistry that only comes with understanding a person so well you can anticipate their next move. And the night feels like a dance again, moving left and right, handing him pieces of chicken and spoonfuls of sauce, wiping plates clean and centering them right.

It’s only when Richie comes tumbling through the double doors does it cause Carmen to jump, spilling the ladle of hot gravy across your shirt. You wince, Carmen lets out a garbled grunt and Richie cringes.

Carmen is quick, reaching for a nearby cloth as he begins to lift up your shirt gingerly. The sauce isn't boiling, but there is a slight stinging heat that radiates across your midsection and you're too distracted and uncomfortable that you forget yourself, and let Carmen reveal you.

It takes Carmen a second, he's pulling your shirt up just below your underbra, and his fingers pause against the fabric.

You’re confused just for a moment, but it stretches out, and you let yourself sit in the fantasy of unknowing, you let yourself imagine a life where what was sprawled across your skin was just the remnants of a soggy shirt and irritated skin.

The truth of it hits you when you watch Carmen's face change in front of you.

“What the fuck?”

“Don’t-”

“What?” Richie calls, coming closer before throwing his head back

“Jesus fuckin' christ kid” 

“I-I we got into a fight-“

“A fight? He beat you!”

“You don’t understand-”

“Maybe I don’t but this-“ Carmen gestures to the welts and colours that paint your stomach “Is one of the worst things I’ve seen in a long time”

Carmen’s hands are still gripping your shirt, the rag dropped to the floor between you now as you lower your head and let your hair cover your eyes.

“I’m sorry-“ You croak out, tongue heavy and eyes blurring with tears.

“Sorry-?” Carmen circuses down to meet your eyes incredulously “You’re sorry? Why are you fucking sorry, look what he fucking did to you!- what has he done to you?”

“Hey hey, honey you need to tell us what happened. This isn’t right, no fight can justify this” Richie whispers, crouching near you as he watches Carmen carefully.

“It was an accident”

“Do you truly believe that?” Richie murmurs softly, and you look up with a furrow of your brow. 

You turn to Carmen whose face is twisted in anger, his eyes on your midsection, his hands around your sides and around you.

“I don’t know anymore..I’m just so tired” You whimper, your throat growing tight as Carmen’s brows furrow, blinking and grinding his jaw

“I’m going to fucking kill him-“

“Hey, Carmen wait just- wait” Richie is quick to reach Carmen as he rears back

“Look at her- he can’t-FUCK”

“I know, and we will. I want to break his goddamn legs but we got to think of her. We need to get her out of this, we need to think about her first”

Carmen closes his eyes as you watch their interaction, and he turns to you as you blink the tears that drop down your cheek. He frowns and waits for your approval and you nod, and Richie lets go of him and he gathers you in his arms and lets you cry the last of your resolve on his shoulder.

You don’t tell him anything, and he doesn’t ask. He lets you wet his shoulder as the silence that sits in the kitchen is consumed by your muffled cries instead. 

The commotion causes the rest of the team to flood in, putting the pieces together when they see your shoulders shaking with grief and your unbuttoned top. The bear hung with the sick reality of a beat woman, and the once hungry crew now felt the nauseous image in front of them fill their stomach.

Sydney is the one that eases you out of Carmen’s arms, and pulls your hair back as she whispers apologies into your ear. She takes you to the emergency room to make sure nothing is broken. When the nurses greet you by name she waits until you're in the examination room before sobbing into Tina’s arms.

“How did I not notice, I see her every goddamn day, how did I not notice he was hurting her?”

“Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself. There is only one person to blame”

The rest of the team follows, and they all sprawl across the waiting room, heads between their hands.

After one of the junior doctors gives you the all clear, and Carmen and Richie follow up on the police report you make your way down the linoleum hallway in the crumbled stained shirt that had started this all.

You blink as you watch the faces of everyone you love look up in worry, exhaustion is written into their bones and still they sit in the too small waiting chairs for you. You had never felt a love like that before, so profound and overwhelming clear and you breathe it in deeply like it's the last thing you’ll taste.

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t you fuckin dare-”

“I know, I know, just please hear me.”

They relent, and you wait until they all nod towards you before continuing

“You guys have taken me as your own, made me feel a part of something greater than myself.  I don’t want you to think I was unloved” Your voice heightens with the wet tears that fill your throat

“Every single time I came through those doors I felt it okay? I never understood the power of it, of love, but I feel it now and I felt it then. It just got muddled in the middle of all of this, of all the things I keep hidden. And that is my fault, but you guys, the Bear? You guys kept me alive” You whisper the last part, your voice caught in your throat as you try to still the shake your hands.

“You did nothing wrong baby, nothing. It’s hard to leave isn’t it? It’s hard to even say it” Ebra is the first one to whisper, holding your hands gently and carefully. You look at him, as his eyes gleam with the heaviness of his past and you don’t quite understand how, but you believe he knows that well. 

“We’re your family, whatever it is that you're dealing with we shoulder it to, we carry that burden. That is what we're here for, and you can take all the time that you need. Let us help you, but you know what happens now, yes?” Richie murmurs

“I need to get out”

“Damn fucking right you do. And fast, I know it's going to be hard but you need to act like everything is normal. Get in, pack a bag and get out.”

You breathe in deeply, remembering all the half packed duffle bags that had been left near the door. This time you wouldn't be able to back out, this time Carmen would make sure of it.

“Where’s Carmen?” You suddenly say, and Richie shifts his gaze to the exit sign.

“Maybe give him a few moments Kid” Richie murmurs, but you ignore him, moving quickly towards and out of the doors into the smoking area in the alleyway.

You spot him hunched over, back against the stone wall, trails of grey smoke filters from his mouth as you tsk loudly when you near him.

He raises his head up, widening his eyes before looking down at the cigarette.

“You were doing so good” You smile softly

“Yeah? Felt like pulling teeth, not grabbing for one every couple hours.”

“But those chewing gums”

Carmen shakes his head “Don’t tell Rich, but they were fucking disgusting”

You let out a hearty laugh, leaning back on the wall beside him.

Carmen takes one last deep drag, before pressing the butt of the stick into the wall that isn't near you.

It’s silent, and you feel him watching you for a long time before his voice replies in a croaky tear filled tone you had never heard come out of his mouth before.

“Goddamn it kid”

“I know” You reply instantly, the tears that you thought had left you were big fat liars.

“I want to blame myself, I will for a long time but this isn’t about me is it”

You shake your head furiously, it was so far apart from him. 

“What can I do? What can I do to make it better?” Carmen whispers, turning to face you fully now, eyes red and blonde curls messy across his brows.

“It’s not something you can fix Carm, you just got to let me do it. Let me walk away completely”

Carmen grits his teeth, “I should’ve made more attention-”

“How? Between renovating the Bear, organising the menu, fucking opening and maintaining the dinner service every night?”

Carmen shakes his head and you tug at his arm gently

“I didn’t let you notice Carm, I hid it well sometimes I even forgot about it. The bear, you? You let me forget, you let me feel so safe I forgot what he was doing to me”

Carmen reaches for your hand, holding onto it gently 

You shake your head, shaking the tears along with it. You hadn’t so much as let yourself hear the truth of what had been happening, but it flowed out of your mouth like a river into Carmen.

“He got drunk one night” You whisper, biting your cheek as you bristle at the memory of it

“He got drunk one night, and started accusing me of these horrible things. Things I would never do. And when I tried talking to him he just turned to me with this look in his eyes, and it was so unlike him Carm. It was like someone else had come and taken his body, and his voice and his mouth”

“And when I reached for him he reached back. And then I suppose I got used to being afraid of him”

“I don’t know what changed that night, but it did. Or maybe he had always been that way and I had been to blind by the feeling of being wanted that I ignored it. But it got worse, he hit me, but he started controlling what I was doing. Always flinging my phone in my face so that he could look for something that wasn’t there, eyes always scrutinising me when I came home fucking exhausted from the Bear.”

“That was how it started, and I guess it never quite ended” You murmur, and when Carmen drags his thumb across your cheek, you understand the rage that he had kept covered for you.

“I’m going to hurt him. And that's more for me than it is for you, I know it and I don’t care. He doesn't get to walk away.” Carmen replies after a beat, and his voice is even. You can see his anger from before slipping into the darkness of his pupils, but his voice is clear and devoid.

“I know” You murmur

“And you’re going to stay with me till we get you a place. Tina and Syd offered and well the whole team, but I can’t-”

“I know, you can’t put them in danger”

“No. I can’t let it happen, you being alone, him somehow getting to you. You being hurt again-” Carmen shakes his head, grinding his jaw as he cuts his eyes away.

“Okay” You mumble, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of your secret that had weighed you down every day fall away.

The month after had passed quicker than any other time in your life. And for that you were grateful. You had packed a bag and moved into Carmen's apartment that night, and he and Richie had made good on their promise. They watched, as well as the rest of the Bear with a sneer as your fiance was carried into the police station, and you watched the mirror of your injuries multiplied across his face. 

The police had been slow in taking action, even you know this, so you suppose their tight lipped expressions at the beaten man they found in your trashed apartment made up for that.

Carmen slept near the door for the first two weeks, a bat in his hand and his notebook of recipes filled with scribbled annotations. Tossing and turning enough times, made you wrap your blanket around yourself and join him by the door. You would wake up some nights, in a sweat from the terror of your nightmare imagining him somehow finding you, and you would join him those times as well.

The truth of all that had happened still had not yet been told, and you doubt that it ever will. But you were okay with that, and Carmen was too. And so when your fiance had been tried and sentenced, and the promise of broken bones hung over him even years after, Carmen had made no mention of finding you a place. 

And so you stayed, and made a home for yourself. Let your shoes get muddled and clutter the hallway, have your toothbrush besides his own. Move in the last pieces of yourself that had been left in that prison to a place that could maybe change them.

You spent Thursdays with Richie, he’d wait at the foyer for you and he'd take you out for lunch like clockwork. Divulging in your week as he did his, he let you steal some of his cigarettes and you let him ramble to you. Richie had surprised you, when all was said and done. He had known what to do, knew how to talk to you, and you think you credit him to a lot of where you were now. You suppose he blames himself a little as well, so you don’t mind that Thursdays were his way of checking up on you.

You let the team act the same way, Tina bringing you plates of food and tupper wares of lasagna till Carmen's fridge was hard to open, Sydney calling every day, Ebra and Marcus making sure you had someone who could walk you home if Carmen had to stay back. And when you had finally had enough, they nodded and backed away and let you out of their grip.

You're crouched in the fire escape of Carmen's building, passing a bottle of wine that you had snuck from service. 

“I visited him today”

“What?” Carmen replies, knowing immediately who you were talking about.

You shrug your shoulders, “I was too much of a mess to confront him, and the court proceedings left me too numb to even face him. But I went today, and I told him. What he had done, how he had changed.”

“But then he laughed and I punched him in his goddamn mouth”

“Atta girl” Carmen grins, his smile filling up the entire bottom of his face.

“So I can’t ever come back to the Boston Corrections facility, and boy am I glad. You know what this means though right?”

“Hm?” Carmen mumbles with a mouthful of street tacos

“You can’t ever get yourself thrown in prison” You chide, and you smile when he throws his head back in laughter

“Seriously Carm?” You bemoan, resting against the living room entryway

“Yes, the bed is strictly meant for you. What do you take me for? Letting a woman sleep on the couch” Carmen gruffs, carefully placing the duvet over the couch cushions.

“It’s been nearly a year since I’ve moved in, Carmen. I don’t think it's ridiculous to assume we can share a bed together”

Carmen grinds his jaw, swallowing back grunt at the thought of sharing a bed with you. As if it was no big thing, as if Carmen would be able to sleep with you next to him.

“It’s called being a host”

“I signed the lease 2 months ago, we’re technically de-facto” You raise your eyebrows, folding your hands across your chest

“The only time I’ll let the government decide what we are is when-if I put a ring on that finger” Carmen replies, the little slip causing him to cut his eyes from you and back to the duvet that was already folded.

You shake your head with a laugh “This you’re way of proposing Carm? Take a girl out for dinner first”

Carmen mumbles under his breath, flattening the duvet with his inked hands before his phone buzzes

“Goddamnit, that’s Richie. 

“Leave that sofa and let's go down to meet our friends and have a nice time. God knows we’ve earned more than a few drinks at Nick’s” You reply, swiping Carmen’s phone

“Hey!”

“You weren’t even going to answer him” You roll your eyes.

You send Richie a text that was all apologetic and none grammatically correct as you shuffle out of your work pants into some jeans. 

The team was already at the bear, halfway through the first round of drinks and you’d be damned if you let Carmen make the both of you late.

Carmen is in jeans as well, and the white shirt he always dons fits around his chest tightly. You can lie to yourself most days, but in times like this, where you both live in this domestic bubble your mind wanders.

You don’t let it too much.

But when you're visiting family, and you pass by the Louisiana welcome sign planted in the roadway, and the weather gets warm and the nights stretch out you let yourself think of him. You let yourself imagine a life where he was entwined, in you, your life, your days while you drink on the porch of your family home.

The thought of being in anything new scares you to no end, your past finds you in moments you least expect and dredges you down to the same feeling you felt when you were with him.

But Carmen was your past too wasn’t he? He was muddled and interlinked with all the memories that make your chest ache and your hands shake. Carmen didn’t feel new..you had already been living with each other for a year now, and you suppose the way you both flow into each other's lives was no different.

You’d be together, in the way you had always been but different also. You’d get to grow familiar of the taste of him, you’d get to feel him under your skin, beneath your fingers, and he’d sleep in that fucking bed for the first time in a year.

Then the sun would dip below the horizon, the sounds of the insects and birds would come back to you, and the creeping shadow of guilt and insecurity would remind you of who you were again. 

You’d taste the bitter embarrassment of forcing Carmen to be that way with you, throwing your head back as you gulp down the beer in your hand as you try to stave away the taste. The dream disappears each time from you, like the oranges and reds that paint the Louisiana sky every evening.

“Hey, we going or what?” Carmen says, his eyes narrowing at, you noticing the way your eyes glaze over.

“Yeah, yes” You nod, swallowing the thoughts of him quickly as you finish tying your boots and let Carmen lock the door behind you. 

The bar is surprisingly crowded on a Tuesday night, and you have to squeeze past crowds of leather wearing bikers before finally seeing the team seated in a long booth at the back.

“Finally!” Richie yells, hands in the air and his beer swishing out of the neck.

“We were about to send a search party” Tina smiles, looking toward you with a glint in her eyes when she notices Carmen’s arm at your back.

“Aren’t you guys like, a 2 minute walk from this place? Fak got here before you” Marcus replied, his old fashioned nursed in your arms.

“I had no involvement in our tardiness, he was too busy fixing his makeshift couch bed”

“Oh don’t tell me your still sleeping on that” Richie’s eyes widen

“You know that ain’t even a good couch right? We found it on the side of the road-“ 

“It’s not good for your back Carmen, all those cushions” Ebra shakes his head disapprovingly.

“It’s perfectly fine Ebra, and who would I be if I let a woman sleep on the couch?” Carmen grumbles, as both slide into the booth next to Sydney.

“I mean, there is an easy straightforward solution” Sydney murmurs, and everyone turns to her quickly.

“You could both just sleep in the same bed together” She replies, after looking at everyone dumbfounded.

“Only married people share a bed, that’s Sicilian tradition”

“Yeah, mixing work and personal life isn’t-“

“Mixing? They already live together!” Sydney replies, defensively.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already” Four murmured, before snapping his mouth closed when Carmen narrows his eyes to him.

“It’s not about fucking tradition, or whatever. I’m not gonna put her-you in that situation and make you uncomfortable”

“Why would you make me uncomfortable?” You murmur without thinking, and the booth goes quiet.

Carmen shakes his head, blinking as you remain quiet.

You wince at the silence, maneuvering your body quickly out of the booth as you almost fall out.

“Uh-I’m going to get a drink” You reply quickly 

Carmen's body isn’t fast enough for his legs and he stands up from his position on the booth quickly, almost tumbling over.

 “I’ll come with you”

You shake your head, forcing a tight smile as you wave him off.

“It’s okay, I know your order” You reply quickly, turning around without seeing the look on Carmen’s face.

You slide into one of the vacant barstools, signalling to the bartender as they make the rounds across the counter.

The rows of silver bracelets that hang around the bartender's wrists cling as they mix and shake drinks, and you let yourself get lost in the glittering light show of them reflecting off the bar lights. They distract you enough to not notice the man that now leers over you.

You flinch when you feel his hand touch your shoulder, and when you turn expecting one of the guys from the Bear you're taken back when you're met with a five o clock shadow and a stink of vodka.

“What's a girl like you doin’ all alone?” 

“I’m good” You grit out from between your teeth

“Oh c’mon, you girls love to play hard but what you really need-”

“I said leave me alone asswhole” You spit, roughly moving his latched fingers from your shoulder. 

The man sneers, his voice growing louder and sloppy as he begins to swear at you. His hands find their way to your waist, and the shiver of disgust turns into a familiar sharp pain as you shout out.

“You fucking bitch” The man starts, before you see the flash of dirty blonde curls cover your vision and the feeling of his fingers around you is wrenched off.

Carmen’s hands are around his neck, and he slams him into the wooden floors of the Bar with ease. He holds him there before turning to look up at you, his eyes blown out and his eyebrows furrowed behind his curls. Your chest heaves as you meet his gaze, and you watch as his eyes trail down your body, almost surveying the extent of your injuries and filing it into his mind so that it is all he thinks about when he breaks the skin across his knuckles.

You watch Carmen work, watch the way his shoulders and back contorts under every movement that lands a punch into the man's face. The buzzing chatter of the bar increases, as people begin to take notice of the shouts of frazzled swears and slobby slurs that leave the man's mouth. Someone screams there is a fight, and the bartender mutters obscenities as they try to push through the crowd.

Carmen lands punch after punch into his face, with no real sense of stopping as his movements grow more and more crazed with every crack of skin and dribble of blood that paints his hands. Carmen's eyes look determined, like he had a goal to all of this, and when Richie and the rest of the team pushes past the crowd and shouts out to him to stop, he looks up at you do you know.

You didn’t get to see what he had done to your husband, or how. But now, he takes his time with the man under him who kicks and fails, blubbering out blood and drool. He continues to stare at you, and the rest of the patrons look on in horror as the man under Carmen becomes disguised by the brutality of Carmens fists across his body. You hear the crack of bone, and when the man screams out a loose and garbled apology from the swollen tongue of his mouth, does Carmen flick his eyes down to him.

“You’re sorry? Yeah?” Carmen murmurs, softly

The man nods eagerly, his mouth filling with blood and his eyes swollen

“I’m not sure I believe that” Carmen replies, sending his foot into the mans stomach as he keels over

“Okay, Carmen that's enough” Richie calls out

“All I did was ask her a question!” The man screams out, his words jagged and unclear

“Hey, you shut the fuck up” Richie replies, before clocking his head to try and meet Carmens gaze who is back on you

“Look man, I get it. That one time wasn’t enough, but you can’t keep doing this”

Carmen grinds his teeth, as you look on in awe as his knuckles bleed violently, throwing his arm up and swinging down onto the man.

You got what you needed from this, and so when you step closer to Carmen and turn your head to the side you can only think of one thing

“I’m banned for at least 12 months” 

You watch his fingers loosen around the man's bloody shirt, and Carmen wipes his hands across the man's chest before slowly straightening up from his crouched position.

“Get the fuck out, the both of you before the cops get here” The bartender grits out, shaking his head.

Carmen nods, “I’m not fucking sorry”

“Yeah yeah I know” The bartender rolls his eyes, before you grab Carmen's arm and push through the gawking faces of onlookers

You find a door leading out to a side alleyway, and you both fall out from the door into a combined heap.

“I had to do it okay? The way he was looking at you and that fucking hand around your side I couldn’t just let him-“ Carmen starts, chest heaving up and down and the splatter of spit and blood across his jaw

You don’t let him finish the rushed words that fall out of his mouth before you cover it with your own. Gripping onto the loose collar of his shirt, you drink down the anger and violence that had been festering on the both of you.

Carmen tastes sweet, like the cranberry jus he had been preparing, and rough too, like his worn workmen jacket and the pepper taste of his nicotine gum.

You realise then that you would never taste something as great as that, and that you would be chasing the feeling of how Carmen’s lips against your own vibrates through you from head to foot.

You pull away with quickness, chest heaving and eyes wide as you feel Carmen’s mouth warm your chest.

Carmen doesn’t blink, he stares at you, the brittle Chicago winter blowing his hair across his forehead and the distant sound of sirens and he stares at you.

“I’m not sorry” You whisper, pressing your lips together

“Good” Carmen replies before you’ve even uttered the last word.

And when you blink the cold smoke of his breath is over you again, his inked fingers cradle your head and he takes your mouth again.

You don’t stop the crash of your open mouths and dipping tongues until the warmth of Carmen covers you entirely, until November in Chicago feels like July.

taglist !

@kpopgirlbtssvt @hansfics @nolita-fairytale @parmforcarm @rooster-bradshaw

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Hello! How are you? Can I lose for a reader with chronic leg pain? After an accident they chose not to amputate their leg and they feel very strong pain and were recommended by doctors to use marijuana and the reader kind of doesn't tell Jason? 🌸🌸🌸🌸

You smoke?

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 0.6 K summary: Jason finds you smoking weed for medical purposes warnings: use of weeds, fluff, mentions of chronic pain a/n: I'm good, thank you!!! I won't put any pretty pictures in here because I'm afraid of it getting taken down😭😭😭but the divider is really pretty (here): @animatedglittergraphics-n-more, also sorry this came out so short, enjoy!!

After moving in with Jason, you didn‘t think of telling him about the weed. It was necessary, so you feel sure that he won‘t mind if you get to tell him one day. As usual, you build a joint on a peaceful evening, and settle yourself on the balcony. You watch as the busy streets of Gotham fill with hundreds of cars, passing by under your balcony and create a rather relaxing atmosphere. Finally, you take a drag and exhale slowly, waiting for the drug to work.

The first drag feels like a relief, feeling light tingles across your body for a moment before you relax into the chair. You take the moment to calm down and close your eyes, to forget about everything around you. The rough back pain that was lingering on you, slowly fades into the background, finally starting to enjoy the light breeze around you.

It works, after a few more drags, however you jump up at the big figure beside you, not having noticed it before. You act on instinct and throw the lit joint at it, seeing how it falls to the floor after hitting its chest.

Jason keeps his eyes on you behind his mask, staying as still as possible. He doesn‘t know how to react, thousands of thoughts racing through his mind, many of them being possible worst case scenarios.

Before he could think of something to say, you exhale and speak up, realising who it is.

»Jesus, don‘t scare me like that… I was just taking some drags, no need to give me a bad trip.« You mumble out and get off the chair with a low groan, suddenly not as relaxed as before. Jason keeps standing in front of you, finally gathering his thoughts.

»Since when… why do you smoke that?«

You pay attention to him, realising you still haven‘t told him about it. Sure, he knows all about your chronic back pain and how it came to that, but he doesn‘t seem to connect the dots.

So, you try to explain as best as you can, while being high.

»I, uh… you know, my back? The pain? I have to… to smoke because of that. Doctor told me, I have two doctors, one to give advice for the best weed and the other—«

»The best weed? What, is he a drug dealer or something?« Jason interrupts, gently guiding you back inside with his hand on your lower back.

His retort made you chuckle, resulting into a brief giggle-fit before being serious again.

»No… maybe. I don‘t know, but it works. Really, I‘m not joking, I tried to tell you before, but… never came to that.« You shrug and slowly sit down on the couch. He follows suit.

»And how long have you been doing this? How many times a week?«

You think briefly before answering him, easing his nerves at the same time.

»Only when the pain becomes unbereable, like now. So… probably, like, about every three months. Once, I mean.« He nods in thought and sighs out in relief, finally taking his mask off after hearing your reply. Jason was genuinenly afraid this was something you struggled with and was a serious problem he somehow didn‘t take notice of before.

Seems like there‘s nothing to worry about after all. He carries you to bed and gets out of his suit before joining you in bed and caressing his hands over your back soothingly. You end up falling asleep in no time, curled up against his chest and dreaming about whatever your high brain comes up with.

a/n: i think he would be really scared when he catches you smoking, but he is an understanding man, so there's nothing much to worry about. maybe he'll try to sneak in 'healthier' methods whenever you're in pain

←MASTERLIST

[aceluk]

This time I offer a Into the Pit Yellow Rabbit doodle. I love this creature! Small account ramble ahead ^^ (spoiler: taking requests!?)

When I first started here, I didn’t even expect to reach 50 followers… and now we’re almost at 200! Thank you all so much for your support! ❤️

To celebrate this and with Christmas just around the corner, I’m willing to take requests for your FNaF ideas and draw them in the UCFT style! Whether it’s set in the UCFT universe or the FNaF universe, feel free to get creative! If you're interested, my ask box is open! Just a heads-up, though: I may not be able to take every request, and please, don't be weird. Thank you for understanding! ^^

On another note, I treated myself to some new FNaF games for the holidays. I recently played Into the Pit and ended up really liking it, so here’s a quick doodle inspired by it! I’m not entirely satisfied with it, but I’ll keep practicing to improve my style.

Up next are Help Wanted 1 and 2, and I’m super excited to dive into them!

Happy holidays, everyone! 🎄✨

[valkyrieromanoff]

Hi! How are you? Just wanted to say I absolutely love your writing! ❤️❤️

I have kind of a weird request: I’m a psych student, and I’ve been studying disorders for a test, so now it feels like that’s all I can think about lol. I was wondering if you’d ever consider dipping into the DSM world and writing something about sexual dysfunctions?

No worries if it’s not your vibe—totally get it! Sending love either way 💕

🎀 Premature ejaculation 🎀

words: 923

a/n: Hello, sweetie!🥰 I absolutely adored your request—it really challenged me (in the best way, lol). I did a quick dive into the diagnostic criteria and tried to keep things light and fun 💕.

Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Had so much fun with this one ✨. Sending you all the love and kisses 😘❤️

Anakin couldn't quite explain how it had happened. One moment he was sitting in the Jedi Temple's dining hall, swallowing that horrible ration that looked more like sawdust, mentally complaining about how the food looked almost— if not worse— than the ones he had eaten as a child on Tatooine.

Then he found himself at the heart of a feast. Your Jedi robes were beneath your beautiful body as you lay on his bed, the bandages you had used to support your chest laying on the floor, your lovely breasts rising and falling with the movement of your breathing, which was accelerating under his eyes.

A mist of disbelief and yearning hazed Anakin's blue eyes. He couldn't believe how fortunate he was to have you so needy and willing for him.

"Kriffing, you're so beautiful," He gently said as he reached out to touch your nude body. Almost as if he was terrified of contaminating such a masterpiece with his humanity, his fingertips sought your smooth skin with care.

The sweet noises that escaped your lips were a magnanimous reward for the young padawan; his groin went crazy when he touched your tummy and your eyes closed, going all the way down to the curvature of your hips.

Your moist folds welcomed him like tongues of fire, warming his whole body as his fingers found your warm embrace. An erection appeared as his blood seemed to boil and pool in his cock.

Your fingertips brushed his trousers so softly that Anakin vowed he wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for the way the force was so filled with you. It was overwhelming; he didn't even have to close his eyes to feel you everywhere, in every way, like the fireplace flames that are constantly there even though their intensity fluctuates.

Squeezing his eyes tight, Anakin tried to concentrate on what he was doing, on how your heat encircled his fingers like a velvet blanket and how your spongy walls held him like fire embers on dry straw, searing everything without mercy or rest.

Not that he wanted to stop; honestly, he had stopped wanting for a long time ago, You were a need; He needed you like the oxygen he breathed, just as plants need the sun to thrive and the oceans need the moon to deliver their tides.

Without you, nothing existed because you were everything. Anakin slid two fingers within you, encouraged by the graceful gasps that poured from your pink lips like divine tunes composed just for him.

He didn't know exactly what he was doing; he had never done anything like this before. Of course, like any teenager with hormones in full swing, especially padawans who are taught from an early age that they should not indulge their carnal desires, he had previously resolved that minor issue in his groin.

Whether it was touching himself in the shower, his hand clutching his cock under the water spray till he felt his release trickle down the drain with the foam, or thrusting his hips against the mattress, grinding his erect cock beneath his Jedi robes.

Anakin had already pictured what it would be like to touch you, to feel your body writhing above him or under him; it didn't matter as long as it was with you; the rest was a mere detail, irrelevant.

Reality, however, was far superior to his most vivid dreams; the way your pussy welcomed his fingers and squeezed them like quicksand caused his eyes to roll with the rush of ecstasy.He could cum right there; Anakin slid with such ease that he let out a low sigh as he twisted his fingers in and out of your moist folds.

As his orgasm struck him like an avalanche, he felt his legs sway, his hips stutter, a flashing white blurring his eyesight, and colorful stars flashing in his head. His brain was a heated, disorganized mass, and it took him a few seconds to process what had happened.

He had cum before he had done anything, without even taking off his clothing, and it was the damp sensation in his pants that jolted him back to reality. Just the sensation of you on his fingertips carried him to paradise, and since he had nothing to cling to, he let himself be pulled along."

"I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to..." Anakin's blush rose on his neck and spread over his cheeks as he apologized profoundly.He felt so ashamed that he was unable to look you in the eyes. You smiled gently, your eyes holding a compassionate, kind light that made him release the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"It's okay, Ani," you assured him softly, your hand cupping his cheek affectionately, the heat of his embarrassment warming your skin. "We can try again if you want."

Anakin was still ashamed; it was an extremely awkward situation, embarrassing. imagine cumming before even having sex properly, in front of the girl he still liked. Kriffing.

Yet, he seemed to feel less insecure and doubtful than before; the warmth in your eyes and the assurance your grin transmitted were plenty.

"I'll be better next time," Anakin assured, his voice low but laced with dedication, confident that he would give you pleasure and transport you to paradise as effortlessly as you had pushed him.

"I know you will," you assured affably,a loving smile spreading over your pink lips. Anakin thought he could get lost as often as you did, and you would always find him.

[munv]

You’ve always loved baking. Whipping things up in the oven, the sweet pastries you’d spend your time designing, and the sweet faces that came along with it.

It was only natural that you would become a baker. And you had a just as sweet boyfriend to go along with it.

As intimidating he looked, and at some point he drove away customers, you found a way to work around it.

Zoro was a sweet boy at heart, you knew this. No matter how calloused his hands seemed from training, or how his smile would become nightmare fuel and send a poor old lady into cardiac arrest, and not to mention his blunt way of speaking.

That was just how he was.

Yet, when he stepped foot into the kitchen he was in fact, a force to be reckoned with. Not in the good way. The “I burnt water and it tastes just fine” way. Which was oddly specific but you couldn’t put anything behind him at this point.

You remember the time he first offered to help you bake pound cake, the guy told you he would watch it in the oven for you. Somehow he sliced and diced the kitchen???

“Zoro…why is our oven cut up into tiny pieces..??”

You were baffled. Really. WHY did he cut up your oven??. “It was too hot so I decided to cut it”

“USE MITTENS????”

“…oh well”

He looked like a dejected puppy that was just kicked into the curb, although he tried his best not to show it, you’ve been with hin long enough to tell. It was almost as if he didnt understand why you use mittens and dont end up cutting the oven into micro sized pieces everytime you bake.

A way to put it would be “utterly hopeless.” To say that he didnt take to that kindly would be an understatement. So in a way to prove himself in a way, he started helping out more at your bakery.

The only thing you manage to put trust in that he wouldn’t absolutely fuck up would be serving customers.

You never really liked having people work for you. Close friends came to help out every once in a while sure, but that was about it. No long term employees. To be honest, it felt better that way too. All you had to focus on was making food and ringing it up.

Although it was hard work, you knew with zoro helping out more often would prove to be beneficial.

[cloversnstrawberries]

will you do platonic yandere alastor x teen reader for the “refusal/acceptance” prompt? like the teen reader was kidnapped by him and refused to accept him as their father but as time goes on he manipulates them into accepting him.

"refusal / acceptance" plantonic!yandere!alastor & teen!gn!reader ! !

[2024 christmas/holiday event, entry 3]

event post ! | event masterlist !

description; When you fell to hell, you hadn't expected yourself to make it this long. 5 years wasn't very much at all to most sinners, but to the younger ones-- it was a massive milestone, you included. However, your relatively peaceful (as peaceful as it could get in hell...) existence was abruptly interrupted by your own curiosity getting the better of you.

Really, you shouldn't have poked around the house you'd basically been squatting in for the past 5 years like you were, all it could lead to was trouble, and you should've known that.

additional notes; the first part is very focused on the reader themself/the mysteriously unoccupied and very nice house they found after first falling, but i promise you alastor does show up and is very much his usual overprotective self :D

warnings; Kidnapping, vague possessiveness, overprotectiveness, imprisonment, entrapment, Reader is convinced Alastor wants to kill them, brief/vague mentions of violence, murder, torture, etc etc, Reader has trust issues (for a good reason, it is alastor we're talking about), manipulation, and if i missed any others, please let me know!!!

w/c; 5.5k (oh lord)

You aren't sure how long you've been here, isolated with The Radio Demon in some messed-up pocket dimension(?).

In all honesty, you don't know what you did to deserve this. To catch his interest like this, and by god you don't know how the hell you've been keeping it.

Both in life and death, you knew many people like The Radio Demon-- you knew how they operated, the ins and outs of what their main goal was. For some, they prioritized wealth, and others prioritized power above all else--

You've come to the very clear conclusion that the Radio Demon prioritizes his own amusement above anything else in the world. Yes, he most definitely has a thing for power (as all Overlords do, it's practically a requirement for the position), but that's certainly not his intentions with you.

Being a younger sinner wasn't necessarily rare-- it was hard to come by them, yes, but that's because they're usually snuffed out before they could even get a look around the place.

It's a wonder you've made it this far, five years wasn't much in the eyes of Sinners like Alastor, but to you-- it was far beyond how long you'd expected yourself to make it.

The Exterminators that come down each year-- they target the younger ones, the vulnerable. On more than one occasion, people have claimed they heard Adam, the leader of the Exterminators, proclaim "Oh, I just love killing the small ones!"

Not very holy in your humble opinion, but that opinion was not asked of you; so you'd never shared it to anyone but yourself.

Dying at the hands of other sinners wasn't uncommon for the younger ones either, obviously-- which is why you were (understandably) a bit of a hermit.

This is, ironically, how you encountered and was promptly swiped up by no other but the Radio Demon himself. You never interacted with others much, but you'd still heard tales of him-- little snippets of conversations as you did your monthly grocery shopping. One of the few times you'd ever leave your little shoddy cottage on the outskirts of Pentagram City.

You were always a very curious person-- cautious, so you'd keep your curiousity to yourself. Let yourself silently mull over information, but forcing yourself from never seeking any more than you could passively pick up.

But this one time-- God, you really don't know why you did it. Perhaps you were getting bored with it all, with the monotony of your afterlife; always on edge, even in your own 'home'.

This cottage you lived in was abandoned once you found it, just a few days after you'd fallen into hell. It was close to the field you'd woken up in after dying, and you'd curled up on the cold, scratched up wooden floor and slept for the first time in Hell.

Ever since, you'd claimed the place as your own. The first few months-- scratch that, the first few years, you were always on edge, expecting its true owner to come crawling back-- and slaughter you, who by all means was a squatter, simple as that.

You didn't mess with the items much, and you stuck only to where you needed. The bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room-- where you'd set up shop, claiming it as your bedroom.

Only recently had you begun exploring the other rooms. The kitchen was simple, having an icebox and a gas stove; besides the archway was an apron hanging on a hook that read "Don't kiss the cook". You'd snickered when you first noticed it.

You never used it, you only used what you had to-- never rearranging, never touching what wasn't absolutely necessary to your survival. Forever in fear of if-- or when, the original owner returned.

A few months ago, after residing in this cottage for so long, you came to the conclusion that owner probably was never coming back. They'd most like died in an extermination-- when you'd first discovered the house, it already had a light covering of dust over all the objects.

And yet, nothing looked out of place. Nothing stolen, nothing broken. That's what put you on edge, making you certain for so long that the owner would come back and rip you to shreds.

You started small, looking and eventually locating an unassuming hall closet in search of cleaning supplies. You pulled a duster out, a wooden handle with a metal bit attaching the real feathers on the end-- it was ornate, in your eyes, because you were so used to having a duster made of synthetic fibers. It looked quite old, but that fit with the rest of the house.

You pulled it out and began dusting-- once you were done, you were surprised by how much nicer the place looked by then. You turned the feather duster back to its home in the closet, still careful about disturbing anything else.

A few days later, you took a mop and cleaned the floor of the living room and kitchen.

The next day, you cleaned and reorganized the bathroom, but didn't dare throw away anything.

Then, a week later, you finally removed those mounted heads of various cervines, stashing them in a corner of the living room. Out of sight and out of mind, no longer looming over you as you slept on the cushy sofa every night.

Your boldest move by that point-- but after that, it was like a gateway had been opened. No longer so nervous, you moved furniture around; inspected all the cabinets of the bathroom and kitchen, looked through the large oak armoire standing by the entrance.

In it, you found a few coats, an umbrella, a couple hats that hadn't been in style for decades, maybe even nearing a century-- and a few bits and bobs a like. One thing in particular caught your eye-- a coat made in beautiful earth-toned colors, with jewel-red accents as well.

You took it out, and began wearing it around your house.

In the following months, you'd branched out into a few other rooms-- no longer sleeping in the living room, you settled down in what you assume to have been a guest bedroom. It was plain, with a queen-sized mattress held up by a metal wire frame.

It was done up in blues, and it looked like it'd been rampaged through when you first entered. Slate blue covers ripped off the bed, drawers pulled from the dresser-- spilling its contents all over the floor; and a 1950s CRT TV on the floor, a hole running right through the screen and out the casing. The glass of it was still strewn about the floor.

You cleaned it up with careful hands, and took the broken TV to sit beside the mounted stag heads in the corner of the living room.

A few more changes-- you found a storage room, stacked high with neatly folded clothes; hunting gear, and various different items from a bygone eras, along with dozens and dozens of boxes-- most, if not all, were labelled in some shape or form. You placed the TV and mounts in there, not having the heart throw anything away. You'd even kept the glasses pieces, placing them in a Tupperware you'd discovered in a particularly dusty cabinet in the kitchen.

One night, you'd grown bored again-- a terrible thing to be in a place like this, something you both did and did not consider your own. But, you'd ventured into the storage room regardless; careful of the items piled high, you pulled out a random cardboard box from the top of one of the less precarious towers of stuff.

In neat, swooping cursive; it was cryptically labelled "Cherished Belongings". Against your better judgement, you pried the top open--

Inside were a few radios, far more modern than the rest of the cottage appeared to be. Deep gouges were in the side of some, but the marks didn't dig deep enough to make it unable to be used.

A stack of letters you didn't dare touch, feeling like it'd be going too far to look into the private affairs of your home's previous owner-- a couple small boxes, that once you opened revealed little knick knacks that reminded you of your great-grandmother.

She had a farmhouse out in the country, and every time you'd visit her when you were young and she was still alive, you were always so enamored by the little trinkets placed all over a wooden shelf hanging above a corner-countertop.

They were delicate, bisque porcelain and well maintained. Your grandmother had a thing for rabbits and birds, many of those trinkets being one of those two things;

In the box, wrapped oh-so delicately in bubble wrap, were three tiny bisque porcelain deers. By the looks of their make and paint job, you guessed they were from the 50s or 60s.

You set them aside, along with the other boxes like them (though, you didn't open those yet. you wanted to explore the big box in its entirety before delving into the details), and explored the box a little more.

You found a beautiful Cathedral radio, from the brand Philco-- it was at the bottom, obviously an antique model. It appeared to be a custom, made of red wood and brass accents; it was polished to perfection, obviously a treasured item to the person who lived here before you did.

You pulled it out, and then closed up the box. You didn't place it back on its tower, as there was still more you could dig through in the large box; you took your findings to the living room, and set them carefully down on the accent table near the sofa.

You opened the rest of the little boxes, and placed the little figurines all around the kitchen, a few in the living room as well. Once you were satisfied, you sat down on the couch and began fiddling with the radio.

When it buzzed to life, it was already on a station. It was playing... swing music, you think it is-- you weren't too sure, since you weren't incredibly familiar with that era of music.

You tried turning the knob, but it always managed to come back to the same exact station. A second or two of static as you moved the knob, a spark of hope-- before it was quickly dashed as you were redirected right back to the same station.

Still, some music was better than none-- you'd found yourself going stir crazy without much background noise, save for the woods outside and the occasional animal prancing around; so this find was actually quite nice, you'd thought.

Until the song ended abruptly-- you thought it might've been a technical error of some kind, interference on your end. Until, right as the song stopped midway through a word, a talking segment began.

The show host was directly addressing you. And in that moment, you knew that you were done for-- one you heard that voice, everything started to make so, so much sense.

"My oh my, it seems like we have a special listener!" He'd started out, and it felt like there was somebody watching you. Hair on the back of your neck stood immediately, skin crawling as you nearly dropped the radio in fear-- your hands having grown clammy and trembling.

Laughter, cruel and mocking-- as you fumbled with the radio "Ah ah ah, don't drop it! That is quite priceless to me, you little thief."

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and in a moment of haste, you haphazardly tossed the radio onto the sofa-- not doing it too hard, making sure not to damage it in the meanwhile-- and quickly stood, ready to get the hell out of dodge.

Something grabbed at your ankle, and you shrieked-- a shadowed, clawed hand was coming out from the ground. Its nails dug through the cheap material of your pajama pants, and you toppled over; wincing as you landed directly on your tailbone.

That was, by far, the least of your worries at that point of time.

"I apologize, loyal listeners! We'll have to go to intermission, but I assure I will be back-- a new guest in tow, if all goes accordingly!" More laughter-- cackling, before it cut to a soft, almost lulling sort of music.

It did little to calm your nerves-- in fact, it worsened them tenfold, knowing what was to come next. Who was to come next,

A wordless cry escaped you, frantically clawing at the hand around your ankle-- but it was almost... slippery, non-corporeal as well. You couldn't seem to get a grip on it, as it just--

Your fingers just moved right through it, and it tightened its death grip in warning. But you were too afraid by now, the realization that for the past five year you'd been staying in the Radio Demon's house came crashing down on you in an instant.

That's why it hadn't been ransacked already, why it had such nice things, why there was barely anything that exceeded the 1930s technology or aesthetically wise-- the mounted deer heads, the-- the everything!

You'd fallen after he took his 'sabbatical', but you still heard so much of him. In the past few years, the fear of him had died down-- but still,

You knew exactly what he meant by a 'new guest'.

In that moment, you had the stupid thought of I'm too young to die like this, which was ridiculous, because you were already dead. You were in Hell,

and yet, the truth lied in the 'like this' part of that statement. You didn't want to be tortured and eaten on air, you didn't want all of Hell (or at least a very, very large portion of it) tuning in to hear the first 'guest' The Radio Demon got on his show post-disappearance.

Stomach flipping, vision blurring from your tears, your ears rang as your heart worked overtime-- You're sure your face was red and blotchy, tears already making tracks down your cheeks.

Half-hysterical, you were saying "Please, please, please--" in such a desperate tone, directed to no one but yourself. begging yourself to just grab the hand and rip it off, to make it out of this in one piece--

You don't know why you fought so hard, and as you look back, you realize that might've been what made Alastor want to keep you (for the time being). Surely, he adored the fact that you-- teetering on the edge between child and adult, crying and begging-- fighting so hard for a life not worth living.

Really, you had nothing to fight for. No family down here, no friends or even acquaintances, nobody knew you; you were a hermit, one of the younger sinners that people assumed would be snuffed out quickly, and leave behind little to no impact.

Panic surged as you look to your right, a pool of shadows forming-- then, out came the tip of antlers. Then, fluffy ears-- a head, shoulders...

And soon enough, the shadows dissipated. Leaving behind what you assumed, what you were so sure would've been your killer.

He'd opened his mouth-- but as he looked at you, for a reason entirely unknown to you; he buffered. Looking down at you, sobbing and shaking-- lip wobbling, face red and soaked with tears.

You know you looked pathetic at that point.

Maybe that's why he did what he did, why his demeanor entirely changed as he crouched down. Antlers shrinking and the static surrounding him dying down (though never ceasing entirely) as he extended his arms your way. Like he was trying to beckon forward a scared child.

And maybe you did look like one-- but you hardly believe that he genuinely saw you as one.

You know men like Alastor, you know that they could never make room for anyone else in their hearts but themselves-- and a select few people who'd managed to worm their way into his close circle; one way or another.

You were not one of those people.

And yet, he did not harm you.

Even as an indeterminate amount of days, weeks-- maybe even months, passed; he still hasn't harmed you once. He clothes you, he gives you gifts upon gifts (nearly all of which go unopened, shoved in an ever growing pile in the very corner of your room)-- he set you up in a nice room, he feeds you; he claims that you can have all you ever wanted, as long as you ask.

You never did. It was a trap, and you knew it. He was-- was trying to lure you into trusting him. You don't know why he was doing this, maybe he got bored with every horrible act he did being a one-and-done thing.

He was fattening you up like a pig to the slaughter. Making your life all nice and cushy, only to pull the rug from under your feet and reveal what you knew all along.

No matter how many times he said something along the lines of "I won't hurt you, you're safe here, my fawn." or "I view you as my own, a child I never knew I wanted before you came along.", you knew how people like him went about life. People were stepping stones to their goals, his being entertainment; always getting the last laugh.

Once upon a time, you'd heard that his youngest 'guest' he had featured was an 11 year old-- early in his stay in Hell, right as he began to blossom into a fearful Overlord, that child had done something to upset him.

That was, allegedly, back in the mid '30s; and that after that, he never dipped lower than 19 year old. Now, you aren't entirely sure how true that could've been, either part of the claim--

But it was all you had.

You were curious, but not foolish enough to externalize that curiosity. Especially not to like Alastor.

He didn't keep you in the cottage you'd grown accustomed to-- he took you somewhere else. It looked like the cottage; all the way down to the knick-knacks you'd placed all around, right before you made the mistake of touching that radio,

It was always dark out, and when you look out the window-- it was not a forest, but a swamp-- bayou, what-have-you. It was a wetland, with fireflies buzzing around at all times,

There never was a moon, the only light outside came from what seeped out of the faux-cottage and the fireflies that were all over, but that hardly illuminated much.

You didn't leave your 'room'-- the room that looked like the one you'd claimed as your own in the real cottage. He tried coaxing you out of it a lot-- tried making you move rooms, saying he'd set up a room much more suited to your needs.

Every single time, you gave a quiet shake of your head-- that was the furthest those one-sided conversations ever got. Alastor didn't seem too pleased with it, but he laid off it. Didn't force it on you, and he'd then bring you food on a little bed-tray.

Today, you got a little too bold-- or perhaps you just wanted it over with, finally coming to terms with the only way out of here was... well, to force Alastor's hand and get him to snap-- then kill you.

It was obvious he wasn't going to let you go any other way.

You left the room for-- jesus, it must've been the first time you'd done so since the first couple days after you got stuck in this strange other-cottage. The living room didn't look very different.

Noticeably, the trinkets you'd placed before were right where you'd placed them. Not a centimeter out of place.

You tried to ignore it, and sat down on the sofa. You frowned at the Philco Cathedral radio beside you, sitting oh-so-innocently on the accent table near your head.

You glared at it, and while you knew that, realistically speaking, you were entirely to blame for getting in this situation-- not so much the radio, it was still a little cathartic to have something else to blame but yourself.

You turned around and laid on the couch, arms crossed as you pulled your legs to your chest-- back of your head resting against the arm of the couch, you closed your eyes and tried to sleep. Tried to pass time that way,

Predictably, your nerves refused to let that happen. But you retreated into your mind-- and soon enough, you heard Alastor shadow-warp in. You kept your eyes closed, tried to look as peaceful as possible. As vulnerable as you could, open and easy to atta--

A hand, a hand landed on your cheek. it was soft, caring, even. It confused you. Did he know you were awake? Was he trying to pull one over on you as well, because theres no way he'd do this if he didn't know you were witnessing it--

His hand pulled away, and you heard his footsteps pattering away; a door opening, fainter footsteps, the door closing-- and his footsteps getting closer.

Then, you felt something being thrown over you. It wasn't easy, resisting the urge to snap your eyes open-- obviously he knew you were awake, trying to trick you by being all sweet; reaching levels of deception you never thought possible before.

You realized he was trying to deceive you, because you were trying to deceive him-- and any such combination, made your head hurt if you thought about it too long.

Then, he leaned forward; you knew this because his hair brushed against your cheek in the process; both hands went to your face-- cupping your cheeks as he leaned forward and planted a little kiss on your forehead.

He began to tuck you in, and brushed some stray hair from your forehead. In a soft, almost reverent tone, he said "Sweet dreams, little fawn.", then ran his hand through your hair one last time--

Then he was gone. And nothing more came of it-- it was a little embarrassing to admit you'd really fallen asleep, so you reasoned with yourself that you hadn't. Just as you opened your eyes (which you'd totally just been resting, absolutely no sleep having found you. nope, nuh uh), you realized you hadn't been alone.

On the other side of the sofa, pressed as far against the other arm as possible-- almost like it was afraid of startling you if it got too close, was Alastor's weird Shadow creature. The same one that had restrained you that day you'd turned on the radio and spelled your own doom.

"...Hi?" You asked, trying to make yourself sound as groggy as possible (as if you needed to put any conscious effort into that in the first place); trying to sell the impression that'd you'd just been asleep, even though the Shadow probably knew otherwise (you hoped it believed that you hadn't actually fallen asleep, but you're pretty sure it did because nothing felt out of place-- obviously it hadn't attacked you while asleep).

It chirped, jolting up. It's face split in to a jagged grin(?), bright neon blue made up its mouth and eyes as it jumped from its seat and ran to the kitchen. You sat up, blanket falling into your lap; it was a nice, large quilt made up of reds and earth tones. Alastor's signature colors, and if you had to guess, he'd probably pulled it from the storage room.

You'd never been in his bedroom, but you doubt he'd sully a blanket he sleeps with by putting it on you. Even if the point of doing so was to manipulate you or whatever the hell he was playing at.

Around 30 seconds later, Alastor popped his head out of the archway leading into the kitchen. He found you rubbing your eyes with the back of your palm, just now awake enough to realize you smelled something cooking in the kitchen.

Oddly enough, he didn't speak until you pulled your hand from your eye and registered his presence. You looked up at him, eyes wide-- confused. His... his smile,

It looked so real, so genuine. It was soft, something you never thought a man like him could accomplish-- either in a genuine or otherwise manner. It reached his eyes, causing the skin around them to crinkle slightly.

And for a second, just one second, you believed that he actually did care for you.

When he spoke, he did it quietly. He sounded... different, and at first you couldn't quite place your finger on the difference.

"Mornin' fawn! Did you have a good rest?"

First off, he sounded way too... eh, cheery-- actually happy to see you, and like he actually wanted an answer to his question. And secondly, he sounded southern! With how much he talked about being from New Orleans, you should've made the connection that he had an actual accent underneath that transatlantic one; it was so jarring, hearing it gone completely like it was.

You sat in silence for a little bit, Alastor waiting for you to respond to pick up the conversation. Not rushing you, just standing there. God, if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was being patient with you!

In lieu of a verbal response, not trusting yourself to keep the bewilderment out of your voice; you gave a quick nod, and his smile grew by a fraction. He probably thinks he's caught you in his trap--

He gave you one last look, before turning around and heading back into the kitchen. You heard something boiling, and you didn't know what he was making-- it smelled good, though.

"That's good." He called from the kitchen, and it felt so terribly domestic that it had your stomach flipping. Him peacefully cooking, continuing to talk to you even as he did so.

You were beginning to feel nauseous, no longer liking this game he was playing (let's be honest, you never did-- but it was getting too real, blurring too many lines. you knew that, at some point, he would up the ante; but you really wish he hadn't),

(he's beginning to make you believe it, despite you knowing for a fact it was all a dirty trick to get your guard down.)

"I'm so happy you've started to warm up to me!" He started again, and you clenched your hands in the soft, probably expensive, quilt fabric. I'm not warming up to you, your mind supplied-- trying desperately to grasp at straws, and hide away from the fact that you were, you were starting to really believe his lies.

You suppose that it was inevitable, that being isolated with just Alastor (and his shadows, but they were extensions of him-- they didn't count much as another person) for long would get to your head.

You'd like to think that you were mature, hardened by living in Hell for 5 years beforehand-- but deep down, you knew you weren't. That little showcase you'd done when you two first met, cowering on the ground as you sobbed and shuddered and fruitlessly clawed at your restraint was more than enough to prove that.

After everything, you were still a child. You were still that scared little kid, who thinks they're so much better than all their classmates because one of your teachers said "You're so mature for your age!" as an offhanded comment.

There was some clanging and clattering coming from the kitchen, a cabinet opening and something being taken out. A pan, probably; it sounded like a large, flat metal thing. A baking sheet, actually; not just a regular pan.

What on earth was he making in there? A dangerous, curious part of you wondered. Urging you to stand up and go look, but you keep firmly rooted to you spot on the couch. You wouldn't walk right into a trap, you refused to be that unknowing fly that didn't see the spider-web right in front of their face.

You heard (what you assumed to be) the baking pan placed on the tile countertop, a drawer being pulled out, metal utensils clinking together--

"You know," He started off, a bit more rustling came from the kitchen before he continued his though. "I was starting to worry that you never would," He paused, and if you didn't know any better-- you'd say he sounded sad.

But as soon as it showed up, it was thrown right out the window-- Alastor exchanging what seemed to be genuine emotion for the upbeat, almost saccharine sweet tone he'd held moments prior.

"But, I'm so glad you decided to prove me wrong! It was torturous for me, my child refusing to so much as look my direction when not forced to..." Alastor trailed off, leaving you in relative silence-- the conversation went dead for a while, as you process his words.

When you realized what he'd called you, panic flooded you. He'd never called you that before-- or maybe he has, and you just tuned it out. He said so many things, all of which you had a very hard time believing were based in even an ounce of truth;

Maybe it was the tone that finally brought your attention to the title-- his child. You were not his child! You were some random squatter who just so happened to be a minor! You weren't a kid, and you certainly weren't his kid--!

"I'm not-" You tried to say, spine stiffening, hair on the back of your neck standing straight up at the realization. But, in true Alastor fashion, he quickly cut you off and diverted your attention-- out of the blue asking "Could you come and help, my dear? I think it's about time you start learning how to cook."

okay, rude, you thought. Alastor couldn't have known you for more than a few months; you're sure you would've realized if a year had passed (you hope you would, anyways), and never once had he asked if you could cook.

You had half a mind to try and push how far his patience could go, refuse to stand-- to follow his 'invitation' (demand) for you come help him in the kitchen.

A much more rational part of you screamed at you that no, no-- don't do that, you absolute idiot!

You wish you could say you didn't give in to him, that you stayed right where you were and tested how far he'd go with his promise of not hurting you. That would, however, be a lie.

It was almost like you were on autopilot, pulling the blanket off and making a half-assed effort to fold it before setting it on the couch. You felt a little numb as your feet seemed to move on their own, eventually leading you to the kitchen.

One hand of the edge of the entryway, you stood cautiously at the very edge between the living room's hardwood floor and the kitchen's black-and-white checkered tiles.

You're not sure how long you stood there-- not long at all, you think. Alastor turned around, offering a small, horribly soft smile and quietly beckoning you.

You took one step in, and Alastor laughed at that; he lifted his arm, gesturing to his right. Obviously, he was instructing you to come stand by his side.

It was out of fear, you told yourself-- that when you'd followed his orders, standing next to him; you didn't fight at all when he laid his arm over your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"Isn't this kind of impractical?" You asked, mumbling under your breath-- you were halfway between wanting Alastor to hear and not wanting him to, but of course, the former was the outcome.

Alastor's hand had settled on top of your head, absent-mindedly smoothing down your hair as his other hand whisked eggs into... something. He laughed, amused. Not entertained, not the joy he so obviously took in toying with others-

He sounded endeared.

That spelled the beginning of the end for you-- for your staunch position on the idea that Alastor was just messing with you, playing the long game and what not.

The realization of how... real he was being, with his actual accent out in the open... it opened the floodgates, and your grip started slipping on the idea that Alastor wanted to do you harm.

He was patient, more patient than you'd ever think he could be (from you'd heard previously, of course), he cares about your boundaries (somewhat, but that's way, way more than you ever thought you'd get with him), he fed you, he provided you with clothes and books-- claiming he'd give you anything if you'd just ask.

Your head felt full of cotton, ears ringing slightly-- drowning out Alastor response of "Mm, i suppose it is. But is it such a crime for a father to want to have his darling child close?"

Numbly, you shook your head, only have vaguely registered what he said. He gave a pleased hum, and went back to his cooking.

Really, he wasn't teaching you anything-- just doing his own thing while he kept you glued to his side.

You found yourself not minding it too much. You couldn't find it in yourself to care that you didn't mind it, actually.

[absolutelyzoned]

Blinker requeste sparkle bass 👀

made two versions , hope this is okay 🫡

[multifandomfix]

Imagine Snape taking care of your daughter so you can sleep in.

The room is still and quiet, wrapped in the soft shadows of early morning. You barely stir as the sound of the door creaks open, then shuts with careful precision. Somewhere in the haze of near wakefulness, you hear Severus’ deep, gravelly voice. Low, soothing, and unmistakably calm.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Your mummy is sleeping.”

Your toddler’s giggle follows, light as a bell, and you imagine her perched on his hip, her tiny fingers likely tugging on his hair or the edge of his robes. You keep your eyes closed, a rare opportunity to let yourself drift back into slumber without worry. Severus is here. He’ll handle her.

From the hallway, the muffled sounds of his footsteps retreat, and you catch snippets of his soft spoken commentary. “No, you may not chew on the hem of my robe. That’s hardly sanitary… Yes, you may have juice, but only after breakfast. That is non negotiable.”

You smile faintly into the pillow, but your body stays heavy, reluctant to break the spell of much needed rest.

Time slips by, and when you finally stir again, you realize the house is quiet. It takes a moment to push yourself upright, the lingering pull of exhaustion still clinging to you. Padding toward the living room, you find the two of them there, Severus seated in the armchair, your daughter nestled in his arms, clutching a soft, worn blanket as if it were her most prized possession.

He’s reading to her.

His voice is even, steady, and somehow softer than you ever thought possible for him. There’s no trace of the sharpness he wields so well in the classroom, no biting dry wit. Instead, his words are deliberate, gentle, as if the weight of his love for her exists in every syllable.

Your daughter shifts in his lap, leaning her cheek against his chest. He adjusts her automatically, one arm curling protectively around her, and continues reading without pause.

You lean against the doorframe, unnoticed, letting the moment sink into your heart. This is Severus Snape as only you and your daughter will ever know him —a man who softens when he thinks no one is looking, who allows himself to be vulnerable, just for her.

When he finally looks up and sees you, his expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something warm in his eyes. “You’re awake,” he says quietly, as if reluctant to disturb the peaceful scene he’s created.

“I am,” you reply, voice still husky from sleep. “Thank you.”

He nods once, returning his attention to the little girl now dozing in his arms. “I’ll let you handle the next tantrum,” he says dryly, but the corner of his mouth twitches with a hint of a smile.

You walk over and press a kiss to his temple, resting your hand briefly on your daughter’s soft curls. “Deal,” you whisper.

And in that moment, everything feels exactly as it should.

Forever Tag: @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Severus Snape: @brienneseveruscalaway, @darkthought15, @superninjapervert420, @meeksmusic83, @whither-the-wind-goes, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @unexpected-character, @yourdailymemedelivery, @impulse-anchor, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @bloodinthedarksworld, @gothtrash6969, @music-bird, @severusish, @chaotic-mushroomz, @iciclesandsnow, @thenazwife, @phantomofclownery, @animeloverfreak310, @m-rae23, @asocialrandom, @beyondgaby, @scarlettmal, @icanotbelieve, @bibliosophie, @saranasr, @strawberrycakeblog, @wynt3rrr, @geekyandgay98, @pink-sunrise-56, @sweetyprincesschaos, @witchthewriter, @anarrowtotheknee, @thekirbishow, @lannister-apologist

[galactic-rhea]

Anyways, send me ship prompts/ requests, and maybe I will draw some of these during christmas day!! (look holidays with my family are just me trying my hardest to stay distracted and keep a low profile)

also these are prompts/ideas, don't just say 'ship-name-here', bc I get indecisive about what to draw and blocked and then don't do it nkljsfdg

[perr1e]

My friend showed me your blog and your boards are literally so perfect!! Can you maybe do a cg Ambessa? I'd literally die 😭

Ambessa Cg Moodboard!

Aw ty! I'm glad you like my moodboards :3 that means alot hehe, here's your board! I hope you like it!!

Sorry it took me a while I got a bit busy so wasn't able to start your request till today :>

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

[localcanadiancreature62]

Send GF art requests!!

Taking GF art requests!. I wanna give everyone Christmas gifts as it's Christmas Eve tomorrow. As long as it isn't gorey or explicit nsfw,go for it :D. I take all ship art except for the *cest ships,all GF characters,and all types of scenery. This is all for free btw cuz i just wanna have fun while trying to feel the xmas spirit :]. So send 'em in the reblogs or comments :D

[mimisplayground]

“do you speak spanish?”

“no :(“

“you will”

alejandro just say you’re gonna fuck that scot like a normal person omfg yes we know you’re gonna fuck him until he learns some spanish dont all of us want to do that?

[baskinrobbinspixels]

Day 2.75 - Berry Meets Pistachio (JP) Pixels/Favicons

final post of today... maybe? probably.. free to use! thank you guys for 10 followers :). Lots of love! reblogs appreciated!

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Vampire lover that can’t drink your blood without you keeping his cock warm.

He has to be balls deep in your pussy, otherwise he gets all hard and cums in his pants just from one sip of your blood.

It’s just way less messy to already have his cock buried in your cunt, and he doesn’t like to waste his seed. He’s a powerful vampire that needs an heir, that sperm is valuable!!

So every time he needs to feed, he pushes your expensive panties to the side and sits you on his cock, content to cum inside of you.

[bwabys-scenarios]

When Sanemi finally broke the news about having a wife, many of his colleagues seemed almost… worried for the woman. If you had been there, you may have been upset, because they didn’t know the Sanemi you knew.

Your Sanemi spent his nights fighting demons and his days in your arms, covering you in kisses and worshiping the ground you walk in. He was the most gentle a husband could be, holding your hand when you walked down flights of stairs and kissing the top of your head every chance he got.

Every single morning when he came back to you, he had something to show for it. Sometimes it was as simple as a piece of candy he bought while patrolling, or as extravagant as a shiny new hairpin or silk kimono. You would call yourself spoiled, but Sanemi would tsk and say you weren’t pampered nearly enough.

No one knew the gentleness of his hands, the soft caress of his lips like you did. Those hands that had slain so many demons held your hips down ever so gently as he fucked into you, promising that this time he’d give you that baby you so desperately wanted.

He’d kiss your temple after you were thoroughly stuffed with cum, then hold you close, tracing his finger along your belly. “That’s where our baby will be, sunshine.”

You couldn’t necessarily blame others for assuming your hulking man of a husband was a brute, he was covered in scars and had a resting bitch face to match, but you can’t judge off of appearance alone. That angry face melted into a content smile every time you held it in your hands, his arms moving to wrap around your waist.

If only they could see him through your eyes, maybe they wouldn’t judge so quickly.