#as usual if you have more tips please add them

[oppaihun]

No cheeky title, no beta readers.

I just think Omega has to help Chain out in the Ministry’s breeding program. And I think he’s weird about it.

CWS: Quint intox, breeding program, freaky water ghoul anatomy (cunt/clit/folds AND tentacle for Chain’s anatomy) , mild medfet, kind of ovipositon

Omega can’t help but hum as he finishes setting things up. The breeding program has multiple purposes, namely avoiding the intensive rituals require for summoning and also to help with the ghouls natural cycles. Ghouls tend to get rowdy when certain instincts and needs go ignored.

Usually there’s a system in place, matching on various factors like health, desired hybrid matches if required, multi ghouls are always adored.

Chain however, well he requires a different approach. He’s a bit feral when he’s here. In fact he’s been ousted from the normal program. The ghoul will perceive anything as a threat to his partner or to his clutch, he will fight, and it will be messy. So he’s delegated to Omega, which he has no complaints about. But Omega is particular about it.

Chain lays back, dumbed down with a dose of quintosis to dumb him down and have him just complaint enough to be in an exam room with the big quint like this. Does his legs need to be in stirrups? No, but it’s more fun that way, and Omega’s even managed to sneak in a mirror to put on the ceiling, the water ghoul can’t help but lie back and watch everything he does.

“Alright. Now we’re ready.” Omega says, an audible click of a tape recorder in the background, also unneeded but not unwanted. “You’ve waited too long this time, I’m surprised you two haven’t gotten egg-locked yet.”

“Fuck you.” Chain spits out, still got that bite of a nearly feral ghoul. But Omega’s right, the channel where his tentacle resides is distended, uncomfortably so, in fact she can hardly be convinced to comply for Chain because she’s too full. “Not yet Princess.” The quint replies with a snort, putting on gloves and making sure the snap is a little extra.

The water ghoul is wet already from that, he can smell him since he’s on full display. “I’m gonna start trying to coax her out now.” He says, weirdly clinical about it. But gentle fingers prod around the tentacle’s channel, getting a feel for just how full they both are. But then they travel down to the sheath. Chain’s breath hitches when he feels a thick finger slowly spread the folds there. It’s overwhelmingly sensitive there. But with the quintosis, she’s affected too, lazier than normal. Her tip slowly comes forward. She feels Omega’s gloved hand and knows what she’s in for. “Come on honey.” He speaks sweetly to her.

She slowly emerges, using her suckers to cling onto the nitrile covered fingers. "Can't believe you fucking pillow talk her." Chain mumbles, hes dumbed down, sure, but nothing gets rid of that bark. He hisses under his breath a bit as Omega gets a hand wrapped around her, pressure always gets her excited. "She's behaving right now. Don't encourage her to misbehave like you do." The bit ghoul chuckles.

"You, however, always a little thorn in my side, aren't you?" There's no real bite in Omega's voice, its just how the two of them are together, always wanting a reaction. Just to add to it, he swipes a big thumb through the folds of his cunt, managing to get Chain's voice to pitch up juuust a bit. His tentacle responds in kind, firming up under his touch. They're easy, like this.

"Play nice for me, won't you please sweetheart?" Once again, he speaks to the tentacle and not the ghoul it's attached to. "You're too full, I know. Let's make you feel better." He then leans down and takes her in his mouth, one good slide back with no issue, especially after dealing with Alpha and Ifrit for years. Chain lets out a gasp, head falling back to just look at the mirror in the ceiling tiles, watching the whole thing like he's not even there.

But a warm hole, regardless of where or who's was all she needed. Chain's tentacle steadily pushes herself back and forth since Chain's a little too gone to thrust himself. Especially since Omega sloppily works his fingers into his cunt, kind enough to only really work the two right now. The eggs are pressing everywhere, it wouldn't be too good for either of them.

The exam room is heavy with panted breath and slick sounds. And in their current predicament, there isn’t a whole lot of stamina. Only need. Omega’s hand on the tentacle feels her start to bulge, knowing she’s about to start depositing. Chain whines at the loss of his fingers, but also shudders at the feeling of all those eggs finally starting to leave. The quint is quick to pull a specimen tray close, stroking her until she starts to spill into the cold metal.

It’s a shame that all of these eggs are duds, having not been fertilized in time, it would have been quite the clutch. They’re still soft, but solid black. That doesn’t matter anymore. Chain’s finally at ease, no longer uncomfortable and even letting Omega press along his lower abdomen to check for any potential stragglers. “Good job.” He says quietly, happy to have been able to give him this relief. But they’re not really done here, and Chain could nearly cry when he feels the bigger ghoul’s mouth on his cunt. He trembles, feet shaking and making the stirrups rattle a bit.

Omega’s had his sick fun, the pleasure in this whole little charade of a medical procedure. And to work him up so much, just to leave him hanging after the clutch was deposited is too cruel to all of them. But there’s no preamble, no wasting time. He wraps his lips around his fat clit, groaning as it twitches against him. His finger enters his cunt and hooks up to find that spot. His sole focus right now is getting the water ghoul to cum, preferably against his face. Chain would die if anyone could hear him now, whining and weakly rutting his hips down. This is a secret they’ll both take back to the Pit.

And it doesn’t take long, and Omega knows when it’s about to happen. He flicks his fat forked tongue over his clit, pressing upward as he quickly fingers Chain’s cunt. The water ghoul damn near cries as he cums, gushing a mixture of fluids onto Omega’s face, just like he wanted. “Good fuckin boy.” He groans, a soft puff of breath blowing out against Chain’s skin.

[robo-milky]

hiii milkyyyy! u’ve been popping out so many manga pages and i’m just so amazed?? i’ve been wanting to get back to manga drawing so can i ask for some tips? like what’s your process and how do you decide the screen tones/sfx/effects/speechbubbles to use? the latter is something i’m struggling with 😭

tyyy 💕

Hi Yudi, thanks for dropping by!

General note: One thing I’ve learned about trying to go for a more manga-esque style is that there’s really no particular way to do it, and EVERY artist does it differently. Everything I do here is a blend of my own style and things from JP artists I admire! However, the most important thing is that panels aren’t meant to be masterpieces but to convey information and get the dialogue going.

This process will be CSP oriented. I’ve made a mini screen tone tutorial (and how to turn on Layer Property) but I did not talk about my own settings ^^ You’re free to do any resolution you want, though I stick to drawing on a B4 template for fun (and imagine that one day my stuff can get published /j). I hope this helps, as I’m still trying to figure my own style and set limits on the details too.

[Process]

Script + Thumbnail

I used to wing stuff for one-pagers, but now I’ve found that scripting and thumbnailing has made my process so much faster. (Omg it’s almost like people make drafts for a reason- @ me cause I hate planning)

There’s no standards of a comic script, and each publisher has their own format. My usual scripts don’t separate pages, since I leave that to the thumbnailing once I do dialogue placement. If trying to imagine panels without seeing them overwhelming, at least get the dialogue down.

The B4 thumbnail template I use is pretty darn big, so it also doubles as the sketching stage. Once the thumbnails are done, I transfer them (screenshot) to a comic file on CSP. Once the set up is done, I do speech bubbles + dialogue first, insert the frames, then get to the line art. Since I don’t think anyone is actually gonna print their works, you’re free to trim your canvas however you want to post online 🫡

Speech Bubbles

Any speech bubble can work and will eventually blend in as the viewer is reading, but I have a vendetta against super flat/digital-looking ones. I made a custom brush for a textured speech bubble pen with line width by adjusting its taper and changing the brush shape. Published manga are a different story, but I like the more organic polygonal bubble shapes from indie artists-

For different shapes and situation… Squares - Narration, Flash/Urchin - Character thoughts/internal monologue, Hexagon - Phone call/text (not a concrete rule but a common pattern)

You can also add emanata (sparkles/symbols) on the bubbles for flairs as you see fit.

Screen tone (Please read the linked mini-tutorial above)

I split my tones into two folders. One specifically for black, and greys.

I first fill in all black areas, the duplicate them. The top layer will be the shadows (remains pure black), and the bottom layer is set to [Opacity 75%] and turned into a screen tone layer with a [frequency of 45-50] (It must always be at a lower frequency than the greys). To add texture, I use a grainy brush to erase bits of pure black on a mask. To show light on the screen tone layer, I use gradient erase on a mask.

For the greys, I split them into three tones (dark grey, medium grey, light grey) all in the same folder so they don’t overlap and it’s easier to fix. I use a [frequency of 75] or any number higher than the screen tone in the black layer. Overall, tones can be as simple and complex as you want, but it’s best to save more detailed tones for important panels. (Planning to change this as I’ve realized how big the B4 canvas actually is, and the frequency doesn’t need to be so high- The size of screen tone is a preference. This example was done on a smaller canvas, so higher frequencies still look less pixelated/small.)

Emanata/SFX

Special effects is whatever the situation calls for! It can to make a blank canvas feel more dynamic, to evoke certain emotions, hint/foreshadow. It’s best used sparingly on important panels you think would be the most important… but how do you get those effects?

THE CLIP STUDIO ASSETS STORE- Or draw/download your own depending on the program (You have no idea- ever since I downloaded too, I can’t unsee them in other works of artists I like 😭) Not used in the example but these are my essentials- You can also find a lot of gems if you straight up search “manga” and see the most popular assets.

Another good place to find comic fonts in general is blambot.com (?). They have quite a bit of free, personal use fonts if you ever need flavour text when italics or bold isn’t enough. (Current font used is Anime Ace 3 Regular BB).

Happy creating and feel free to ask if anything was unclear ^^

[tic-loud-tic-proud]

10 Tips for people with klazomania (screaming tics)

1, and this is one that has changed my life: if you have very frequent shouting/screaming tics, DO VOCAL WARMUPS! I used to consistently lose my voice at the end of every day before I started doing this. There are plenty of short and simple warmup tutorials online- find one that works for you!

2, if you live in an apartment building, make sure to tell your neighbors. You don't need to explicitly tell them you have TS, but make sure they know you make loud sounds frequently so they're not concerned. Putting a sign on your door also works. Remember: in the USA it is illegal for landlords to evict someone solely because of a disability.

3, if you're heading off to college and plan on living in a dormitory you might want to request not having a roommate. If you are already diagnosed with a tic disorder, it should be easy to do this through your college's disability services office. If you would like to have a roommate make sure they understand your tics.

4, if you are planning on going out (to a restaurant, theme park, museum, etc.) you might want to call the staff of the location to inform them you have tics a few days before. I usually call ahead to restaurants to let them know about my klazomania and coprolalia tics and I've found that doing so makes it easier for both parties.

5, going off of 4, if you're going to a theme park or large museum and plan to suppress at least part of the time, get a map and mark off secluded places where you can safely let your tics out.

6, if you'd like you can bring a stuffed animal out in public with you: both for emotional support and to muffle the sound of loud tics.

7, if you're a middle or high school student, email your teachers to let them know about your tics. If you have moderate/severe tics it was very important to me that I gave a presentation to each of my classes at the beginning of each semester to teach them about my TS. Another accommodation that I got in high school was being allowed to zoom into my classes instead of attending in person: So on bad tic days I would stay home, and my teachers would broadcast the class over zoom for me.

8, drink lots of water and purchase a humidifier if possible. At the end of a long day drinking fluid and being in a more humid environment will help to soothe your voice. Herbal tea with honey or mild broths can also help soothe your voice!

9, have a good network of friends who understand and support you. This is no easy feat and can take years but it will have a huge impact on your quality of life. Join a support group (IRL or online) to talk to other people with tics who understand what you're going through, and find people who share your hobbies and interests!

10, remember that your tics don't define who you are! It is not your fault that you have tics, and you are not doing them on purpose. Don't feel guilty for something you have no control over. You deserve to live a happy and fulfilling life just like anyone else!

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[nil-the-glitch]

actually yknow what, no. this is not being limited to discord, yall get it too.

some general cooking tips (in which there is a brief senshi posession):

moisture is the enemy of crispy skin. pat dry with paper towel, and if you have the time and spoons, give a thorough but even coat of baking powder and let sit uncovered in your fridge overnight. this will dry out the skin nicely. for pork belly, create a tight foil boat so that only the skin is showing, and cover in salt to draw out moisture, repeating a couple times if necessary.

furikake seasoning, for the fellow rice lovers, is just nori (seaweed), sesame seeds, sugar, and msg/salt. you might have most if not all of these things already in your kitchen.

chai spice mix is just cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, cloves, nutmeg, & allspice.

pumpkin spice is just cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger.

to cure your own bacon, you only need water, white and brown sugar, and a non-iodized salt - himalayan pink salt is not iodized, if you cannot find butchers curing pink salt. from there, you can add any seasoning/flavoring you want.

the truly adventurous may cook their rice in green tea for a fresh clean taste.

you can tell if a fish is truly fresh by their eyes - clear and bright is fresh, while cloudy is older or potentially has been frozen.

it's cheaper to buy a large block pack of ramen from your local asian market and repackage the bricks into sandwich bags, than to buy a box of individually packaged ones such as maruchan or top ramen.

when buying meat, look at it's fat content - more fat marbling usually means more tender + flavorful.

you can save onion skins and other vegetable scraps to make your own broth with. you can also save bones for this. mix and match ratios to create your ideal flavor.

bay leaf will always make a soup or broth taste better, but Watch Out (they are not fun to bite into on accident).

msg is, in fact, not The Devil, that was just a racist hate campaign against the chinese and other oriental races. it's literally just a type of salt. it is no more dangerous to eat than any other type of salt.

washing your rice is important because it not only improves flavor and texture by removing excess starch, but it also helps reduce any residual pesticides or dirt, or even insect fragments (please remember that rice paddies are essentially giant ponds that all kind of things live in and swim around. you should also be washing all your produce in general.)

please salt your cooking water for pastas, it just tastes better and you will be happier for it.

boiled potatoes are also improved by salt water.

if you hate vegetables, please consider trying them fried in butter or perhaps bacon grease. it is healthier to eat them fatty than not at all.

healthy food does not in fact have to taste miserable. thats a lie. they are lying to you. free yourself from your blandness shackles. enter a world of flavor.

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

Imagine this

I've been reading some of this good fics about Yandere Batfam x neglected Reader and it got me thinking.

In some of this fic, usually it's Alfred that has given the reader some love and have not neglected the poor thing and I was like,

What if Reader is still neglected by the batfam but Alfred gave them enough love so much that reader just decided to stay just for Alfred and Reader really just treated Alfred as their real Father or Grandfather.

Where Reader just let go of any expectation from getting attention from the others and just strive to make Alfred proud and happy.

How the turns have table

Imagine reader walking pass the others not bothering to greet them as they look for Alfred instead and other stuff.

Dick seeing them practically skipping as they clutch on a medal hanging on their neck.

"Woah hey!-...um whatcha got-". He tries to say but doesn't get any answers because you were busy muttering to yourself 'I got first place! I have to show this to Alfred!' as you giggle while looking down at the medal and sprint away when you see a glimpse of the butler at the distance.

How instead of begging for the others to train you and become a vigilante, you ask Alfred to train you for self-defense (especially the stuff from his spy days).

Jason was the first to arrive at the manor when the team heard about some intruders getting in but halted when he sees you tying up the unconscious thugs on the floor.

"Hey Alfred is this right?". You didn't pay them any mind when some of them pile in as you pay attention to Alfred who was praising you and giving you more good defense tips while you and him pull the unconscious people out.

How you spend healthy family time with Alfred by helping him in cooking and chores that earns you some knowledge of the recipes from his famous dishes.

Tim was trying to grab a coffee when he sees you having a fun time with Alfred as you skillfully prepare for dinner and actually have good laughs with him.

"Okay, then after I fold this I should add some paprika, right?". You ask the butler as he smiles at you while sipping on the tea that you made for him.

"Yes, you're correct once again young miss/master". He said while humming after drinking the tea indicating how good it is.

Tim can practically see you lighting up as you cheered a 'yes!' from Alfred's confirmation.

How you revolved your time and passion to Alfred and actually deciding that only Alfred is the one you should waste your time on.

Damian wonders around the manor when you and him bump into one another.

"And what are YOU doing walking around MY Father's manor?". He asks while glaring at you.

you just sigh and turn while clutching away the art supplies you bought so you can paint in the garden with Alfred.

"Walking away from you that's what I'm doing". you tell him as you turn the other way not even bothering to argue with the boy anymore.

How you do well in your studies and aim to get a good degree/phd and act like a proper man/lady but not because you want to keep up to being a Wayne but to see Alfred's proud face as he watches you stand on the stage as you show him your diploma/degree certificate.

Bruce decided to take a walk from sitting down for too long when he walk pass a framed picture on the hallway near Alfred's room and double takes when he sees you and Alfred standing together with while you were wearing a toga and cap holding not just any graduation certificate but a college one as the both of you look so happy and him seeing Alfred having that loving and well pleased expression something he rarely sees from Alfred after becoming the crusading dark knight.

Looking at the date he couldn't believe that it has been more that a few years since the graduation happened.

All of the family who used to ignore you suddenly took a different turn and started to try and get your attention but they fail to see that you already moved on from them and only cared about the one person that have literally loved you from the beginning.

Bonus:

Imagine Thomas and Martha Wayne was mysteriously revived for a day and met the family but was deeply disappointed to the others and took a special liking to reader because Alfred has said many good things about them and them especially getting many good degrees something that the rest haven't gotten yet or never bothered to get (this is my hot take because my family are hellbent on us cousins to finish school) and you know for a fact that Alfred is really REALLY proud of the kid that he raised preciously

[shadowfoxsilver]

Some quick tips to spotting accounts that are pretending to be a Palestinian needing mutual aid. Please keep in mind that not all of them are scam accounts, and that some may legitimate blogs who just aren’t too knowledgeable on how tumblr works. This guide is based around what I go by when checking certain blogs and usually it’s a quick giveaway the blog is a scam.

Please read this post too from my other blog before you tell people don’t donate to gfms:

1. You was sent the ask as someone who regularly shares Palestine related content such as regular news updates of posts by other Palestinians who are regularly giving updates. You may also get these asks from sharing a popular post that is from the Palestine tag. If you post often about Palestine, you will always start getting these asks. These askers don’t care if you state don’t send the asks. They will anyway. Unfortunately minors also get sent asks.

2. The ask has odd formatting such as having odd quotation marks in it or unusual formatting that may indicate it’s been edited and copied from somewhere else. Often the ask is the same thing as the post itself minus a link to a donation site. These asks rarely change so searching it should pull up if it’s been sent to other bloggers and sometimes the asks are edited only to add new phrases to them in time.

3. The account is almost always a few days old or a week old or long depending on how often they have sent asks. Usually some may even be an hour old and reusing a familiar pfp/ask.

4. The blog has a few Palestine related posts or posts from random tags reblogged to pad out length and then no more. They will have no original posts besides the pinned post while occasionally answering asks that they may have received but otherwise nothing else and no further updates given either.

5. They may have a Linktree link that is called “GoFundMe” as if indicating they have a GoFundMe there. However, they don’t. When clicked on, the Linktree actually goes to a PayPal account whose name may not even match the one their supposed name is. They’ll say it’s a friend, but it’s just the same person not someone else. You’ll see this same name across multiple accounts after a while usually giving away it’s not legitimate even under a different theme.

6. The text used by the blogs are often real stories stolen from legitimate fundraisers and searching parts of it in your preferred search engine should pull up the sources. These sources make no mention of a tumblr account either or don’t have the PayPal account associated with them in the info. Scammers often impersonate a real person in need and will ignore you if you show them the source they copied from.

7. Legitimate Palestinians often link to their own GoFundMe posts that their friends have set up or post links to other social platforms they are found on. They will regularly post updates when possible, post sources to support them when necessary, and also generally have some method of verifying their legitimacy. They may often share links to support others as well or give links to charities that have been shown as reliable. They will have more original posts than just a single pinned one and regularly speak to other tumblr accounts beyond just an ask. Please don’t bother them with asks about possible scam accounts. There are many guides out there that can do that for you if you search. You may find verified fundraisers too.

8. Scammers don’t know anything about Palestine and will often have trouble once you ask them anything beyond the mutual aid post. They don’t know the languages decently and you can tell it pretty easily if you’re one who uses it regularly. Whatever the scammers use is often just copied off the site they got the post from. Sometimes the text is just reused from past scams such as asking for insulin that doesn’t last long.

9. These scammers can and will use names stolen off real Palestinians to look more legitimate and trustworthy. They change names constantly once one of their PayPal accounts is shut down.

10. If you do see a GoFundMe link on a blog, don’t immediately assume it’s a scam just because it’s a relatively new account. Check the post notes to see if anyone’s verified the account yet or wait a bit as it takes time. You likely can search around to see if anyone’s posted anything where the blog has been vetted by others. You may also see if the GoFundMe is referred to on other socials or on lists that compile verified and vetted fundraisers.

Please don’t let these scams deter you from sending support where it needs to go. Even if you can’t donate personally, there are other ways to help. If you are sending money, please make sure that it’s going to where it’s needed and the place it’s sent has been verified accordingly. If you find a blog is a scammer, and have been able to prove it, please make sure to alert anyone sharing the post and report the account.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[I almost killed your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich]- Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

After the unexpected encounter with Soap and Ghost, your shop finally owns the vibes of peace.

The customers become so ‘normal’, almost feels like you aren’t in the same area as before – if you ignore the blood on their shirts or recall the memory of seeing them punching someone across the street. You assume the men must tell them to behave in your shop, but you must say the minions become a bit overreacting. They call you ma'am, chat as quietly as possible, and one of them even apologizes when he accidentally touches your finger as if you will chop off his pinky. You start doubting if they view you as a secret henchman of 141.

It’s morning now, the shop usually has more people at this time, but you haven’t had a single customer since you opened it 30 minutes ago, they just vanished without any hint, hence you start testing out new recipes for your bread.

Lilting the song that’s fully out of tune, you slice the bread you just baked into pieces, and throw one into your mouth. Perfectly crunchy outside, fluffy like clouds inside. Oh my, you’re such a genius.

You’re totally unaware of your visitor until he stirs the air with a cough and his voice.

“Pardon me?” He calls you again, but you’re left in a trance when you land your eyes on him.

Damn, he looks just like your imagination of the man in the Dilf next door fic you just read yesterday on co5. Your eyes travel from his well-trim beard, south to his belted waist. Why does a man with a toned body – which his khaki coat can’t even hide –  have such a tiny waist? Your mouth's agape at the sight as you’re about to respond.

“mmsadjsmm” The man raises his eyebrow in confusion, and you hear your voice not forming a proper sentence too. Ah, you forgot the bread’s still stuffed in your mouth.

“ehemm, Sorry Sir, I mean what would you like to have?” Quickly swallow the bread and try to pretend you didn’t just dumbfounded in front of him, you speak again.

“English breakfast, please.” He croons with an infatuating smile as he saunters to take a seat. 

His voice is quite soothing, you admit in your mind as you start brewing said man’s tea, just like you presumed the Dilf in the fic… okay, you really should clear those nasty brainrots during work.

The tea is nicely served in the tea cup and brought to the man shortly after.

You can’t help the smile crawling onto your face when you see him grin at you after a sip. You love watching your customer enjoy your tea, and he obviously relaxes with it have you bask in your achievements.

“Don’t finish your breakfast?”

“Just trying a new recipe. I want to add it to my menu.” you reply with a shake of your head, and after a brief halt, you add a question “ Have you eaten breakfast yet, Sir”

“Call me John, love.” The man – John sets his cup on the table before continuing “And no, I haven’t”

“Then… would you like to have a grilled cheese sandwich? I can’t finish the bread myself, it would be great if someone could help me with it... Of course, it isn’t a must!" You hurriedly complement when John widens his eyes slightly at your suggestion, but he meets your eyes with interest within.

”I would love to.”

You beam up as you get the affirmation, and walk behind your counter again.

Slices of bread are already prepared. The pro tip for a delicious grilled cheese sandwich is giving the bread some nice seasoning first, so you pick up your black pepper jar before inquiring about John’s preference.

“How much pepper would you like, John?”

“Would be great if it’s more.”

“Alright.”

You turn back to season the bread, but when you pick up the pepper jar and about to shake it, a question slips into your brain making you pause.

How much is “more”?

The man doesn't have time to sit here and wait for you to contemplate the philosophy of seasoning, so after biting your bottom lip and thinking for 30 seconds, you shake the jar. More is better, you recall what John told you as your hand keeps moving.

You shake it 10 times, since more is better.

Apart from the bread, you hold full confidence in your grilled cheese sandwich. Placing generous amounts of cheese in between, the coveted smell flooded your little shop as you plate the well-toasted sandwich.

“It surely smells great.” John praises before diving in.

You hang a big expecting grin until John takes a bite and starts coughing like you will put him into the ER with a sandwich.

“It’s– it’s okay…love…” He tries to comfort you when you apologize abundantly and rush back to your counter to fill him a cup of water. Holy, isn’t more pepper better? Now you're going to send the man to heaven with a grilled cheese sandwich.

“Here’s water!” You go back to John as fast as you can with the cold water in your hand, you’re busy checking out John, who stops coughing madly but cheeks pink with the spices, and you don’t see the leg of the chair sticking out of its usual place.

A pair of arms catch you from slamming onto the floor, but the cup isn’t that lucky as it flies with Newton’s help and clatters on the floor.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” You stabilize yourself in John’s support. But wow,  now the man not only just recovered from a fatal attack to his throat, but also has a wet spot spreading along the chest part of his shirt.

“No worries, love. It’s just a shirt.”

Even though John attempts to calm you, you still can’t help the sheepishness creep to your cheeks and stain it with the same pink as John’s, or stop thinking about if the balance in your bank account is able to buy the man a new shirt. You remember you wanted to get some cash out of the cashpoint but it shoved an ‘insufficient funds :(‘ into your face.

You really don’t want any customers to come in right now, even if it means your little tea shop will close down because you only have one from the start of today, but fate always gifts you things you crave when you don’t need them.

“Sorry boss, I’m late.”

You look at the tan-skinned man standing like a model just escaped from his manager, staring at you shoving a towel on John’s chest and both of your cheeks smeared with suspicious red.

“What happened?”

I almost murdered your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich. Apparently, you can’t answer with this, so you face John for help.

and he’s looking at you too, with a sly smirk awaiting your explanation.

You wonder if you can just make two sandwiches to shut these men up, with one more for yourself to end this predicament now.

a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!

No John Price is harmed in this chapter.

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143

[hazelfoureyes]

Have you ever thought about the idea of a Clueless ace reader x ace alastor trying to figure out what all the fuss is about? Couple different ways it could go obviously but I feel like it would be a perfect comedy smut

Thank you for this meal. Okay I know this is LOOSELY based on your prompt, please forgive me. Can I add in that they be a little tipsy?

After a few drinks, you and Alastor do your usual teasing and mimicking of the others dramatic displays of physical affection. But, unusually, Alastor seems to be really invested in the joke tonight…

Warnings/promises: light smut (fingering), wrong kind of haha, sconces, bad Angel accent, Under 1500 words

maybe the tag list? Works list: @ xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

Alastor list: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

.

Fuck Joke Around and Find Out

The evening started with drinks among the group gathered at the bar. Everyone talking, sipping, leaning into each other to be heard better. Vaggie’s fingers playing with Charlie’s, Angel inching closer and closer to Husk until he was quite literally on top of him, to Husk’s obvious embarrassment. At some point, Angel took Husker’s hand, the two slinking down the hallway. Soon after, Vaggie not-so-discreetly followed a bouncing Charlie to their top floor home.

After realizing the couples snuck off, you turned to Alastor and asked, already smiling, “Oh I guess it’s our turn?”

Your giggling slipped into mutual cackles, his brows rose and he asked, “Your room or mine?”

You threw your leg over Alastor’s lap and straddled him, mustering your best Angel Dust accent, “Pssst rooms are for squares, baby.”

Normally, especially when having a little to drink, the physical barrier between each other was thin and easily toppled. An unspoken understanding had formed some time ago, allowing you both to relax a little more than usual when in close proximity. He still attempted his touchy intrusions to fluster and bother people, but he knew that didn’t work quite as effectively on you.

“Squares? Oh, not us.” A smirk, his head somewhat dramatically shaking a reinforced ‘no’, making his bobbed hair sway left and right.

When you start a pitifully-motivated grinding against him, losing balance and tipping backward, Alastor’s large hands come to the dip of your hips and still you. A laughed, accent-less, “Thanks, trying to do it like he did,” fell sloppily from your mouth, your hands going to his shoulders for extra security. Your head bent down, stifling another nervous giggle from spilling out. “I think this is exactly how Angel had Husk pinned. Not a convincin’ portrayal, pookie?” Your accent was shit, but he smiled all the same. His ears were pressed down and to the side, resting a little more against his skull than usual, something that seemed to happen often when he had a couple glasses. It looked more relaxed than his normal way of wearing them, but you never asked him about it.

Alastor’s finger tipped your chin upward, pulling you in for a kiss against his grin. When you huffed, fighting the awkward laugh, he swiped his tongue over your lips and slid into your mouth. A hum, as you relaxed into it. What a long joke this is, you think somewhere a little up and to the left of your liquor softened mind.

When alone together, you’d occasionally play around. Just mimicking what ridiculous things the other sinners had done recently, laughing and moving on to general gossip and conversation. Maybe the alcohol was dragging out the bit.

His hands pulled you forward, your little hip movements actually making contact with his crotch now. You hear yourself moan into his mouth before you even realize you’d made the noise.

Thinking becoming a little fuzzy, you pull back from him, “Oops. Sorry. Got carried away.”

“No need to apologize. What’s a little joking around between pals?”

You nod before a surprised shriek is forced out of you, Alastor pulling your hips down and starting to sincerely grind against you.

“I didn’t expect you to remember all the moves, Alastor.” Your hand came to your mouth trying to still the tremble of your lips as you spoke. Other hand now gripping his shoulder to stay upright. You’d never have played around with any one else but him like this. Too much confusion to deal with after. But, Alastor’s “playing” was so convincing. You weren’t minding it, to your surprise, but you weren’t sure you understood the source material as well he did.

His head fell back with a roar, “Being an infrequent lover doesn’t mean I am a bad one.”

Oh. Was the blush on your face noticeable in the dingy light of the parlor? You had never heard him say that word before. His hips were still moving, but the laughing stopped. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact you found yourself sinking a little more, letting your weight settle fully. It earned you a sloppy half-smile from him. “That would make them experts, compared to us,” You motioned your head in the general direction of the stairs.

“You think so?”, he leaned up to kiss you, you leaned back a little, causing his lips to miss yours. A quick annoyed glare passed over his face before slipping back into a neutral stare, “Are you in the mood for a good joke tonight, dear? I wouldn’t be opposed to making you”, he grazed his nose against yours, “laugh.”

You let him capture your mouth with his, a surprisingly more intense kiss, before pulling away again when you caught another moan rising up, “I don’t mind a good laugh, now and then.” Did you-you say that or Angel-you?

The sofa cushions were pressing into your back before you could process what had happened. Alastor’s body was resting between your legs, which were spread open around him. His lips didn’t leave yours, one of his hands cradling your neck to trap you between him and his hungry mouth. The other was undoing the button of your pants and sliding under the band of your underwear.

His back was arched, his considerable height forcing him to bend over you if he wanted to continue the kiss, which he apparently did. Now on your back, you wiggled under him, awkward and uncertain what role you played anymore.

When his fingers slipped past your bottom lips and the mound of his hand ground into your clit, you pulled away from him and both hands shot to your mouth. You were aware you were in a public space but you couldn’t see anything past the sofa. Everything beyond him and the tattered chaise lounge was shadowy and lacking contrast. Even then, your heart was pounding.

When did the playing around shift? Was this—- did he think this was funny? His smile was strong against your neck still, but maybe not?

You splayed your fingers out to better hide yourself, embarrassed at how your hips rolled into his palm. Looking past your hands, you could see him staring down at you now, wide shoulders hiding you from the light of the sconces above. He had the same look as always in his eyes, nothing out of place. Cooly, he asked without actually wanting an answer, “Do you think this is what they’re doing now? Or is everyone already…”

A finger slipped down and into you, your legs clenching around his hips. You heard him sigh, before a second finger began to push in. Your hips lifted off the sofa and angled into his hand, welcoming the way he was pressing down and into you.

Oh, yeah, no.

A pent up moan tumbled past your lips when his fingers crooked up and pressed into the soft bundle of nerves just inside your entrance.

“What a curious laugh you have, my dear. Are my jokes that good?” He buried his face into the crook of your neck again when a voice stopped him from leaving the little marks he had been set on.

“I thought jokes were supposed to be funny. When is the funny part going to happen?”

Alastor’s ears were pin-straight into the air, hair stiff and sharp, as his face slowly turned to the side to see Niffty sitting at the bar.

”Oh, was I suppose to leave when everyone else did?” His hand slipped out of you and then in turn, your pants.

“No, Niffty, dear. That’s quite alright.”, Ears faced back and down, eyes half lidded and smile clearly forced, “We were just— playing around.”

“Really? Cuz it kinda looked like you guys were gonna fuck.” She hopped off the bar stool and scurried down the hall, “Please don’t dirty the sofa, sir.” echoing behind her.

You patted his shoulder, lifting yourself up on your elbows, “Can I be Husk next?”

I wrote this while washing dishes— the dishes aren’t very clean but neither am I

༻Masterlist༺

[the-ellia-west]

How to make your readers Feel emotions for Dummies

(Horror edition!) aka Make your readers Tense.

Anyway, you want to know how to make your readers angry or tense? Well... have I got some useless tips for you!

First, think about what would make you tense?

Usually, you will write about things that you enjoy, therefore your readers will most likely be similar to you, so you should take your own experiences within media and just... steal them

2. Second, Use short sentences, and add onomatopoeia

Nobody likes having to make their brain work faster. And shorter sentences will actually do that. So using it is very helpful.

For example: Nothing in the house made a noise except for something dripping from the ceiling.

Vs

Nothing in the house moved. Not a noise could be heard. Not even the rustle of wind against the walls, or even her own breath. Save for one thing. Drip, drip, drip. Something falling slowly from the rafters overhead. Then, she knew.

See? Better!

3. Next, you should make sure to dance around the word was

Trust me, it just adds that much more oomph

4. Underdescribe the important shit, Overdescribe the unimportant stuff

I don't have an example for this... uh... have a nice day

5. Make your protagonist likable

Please

6. Show your readers early on you won't hesitate to do something shitty

Like kill off a protagonist who didn't actually matter, do something drastic in the story that shows your readers you aren't fucking around

Good Luck and good day!

[lunaandco]

guys my age; part two

pairing: alexia putellas x ofc

summary: claudia is getting on alexia's nerves. a punishment was long coming

warnings: smut, spanking, age difference, power imbalance, angst

author's note: many wanted a part 2, and i usually deny any request, but after i had this idea i kinda had to... there will be a final 3rd part and that will be it!

masterlist // part one // series masterlist // I do not take requests

Claudia was doing it on purpose. Alexia watched her as she sat on Salma's lap, giggling about something she was showing her on her phone, her pretty smile directed towards someone other than herself.

Alexia knew she was being punished, in a childish petty way. Claudia was pissed at being denied more of their illicit activities, since Alexia insisted their one off in the hotel room had been a unique mistake that would not happen again.

She should be happy Claudia was finding someone else to be with, but jealousy was blinding her completely.

Alexia needed a full intervention, if she wanted to keep her dignity and reputation. A twenty year old starlet could not be the end of her.

The worst thing was, it was starting to be obvious. The night before, Irene had looked at her with an arched eyebrow and the knowing curl in her lips of a woman that was being lied to her face, when Alexia said nothing was going on with Claudia.

She obviously ended up caving. Irene was not necessarily approving, but she didn't blow off at her either.

"Sometimes we want thing that we can't have," she told her. "Be wise, capi."

Alexia hated how much that nickname reminded her of Claudia and what happened between them.

"Capi?" Alexia shot her gaze back to Claudia, who had left Salma's lap to approach her silently. "Can you take me home, please?"

"Can't Salma do it?" Alexia didn't mean to be rude, but as they got closer, Claudia started to get lifts almost exclusively from Salma.

"She's got family stuff she can't be late for."

"Ah."

Alexia should come up with an excuse. Say she also had something with her family or a dentist appointment. But just as it was unprofessional to sleep with her players as a captain, it was to avoid them at all costs.

So she ended up leading Claudia to her car, heart risen to her throat as she watched the youngster buckle up her seat belt. They had been in this situation cuntless times, but this was the first since they had... well, Alexia did not want to think about it too hard.

It would get her in trouble.

Claudia didn't seem to care about the tension—or percieve it at all—as she connected her phone to the Bluetooth to put her own playlist, humming one song or another.

"You've been avoiding me," she stated calmly.

"I—" Alexia didn't want to deny it, it would only add gasloghting to the list of crimen she had committed up until now. "We should keep a profesional distance. That is what I'm trying to do."

"Bullshit."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said bullshit."

Claudia's eyes were blazing with emotion.

"You want me. I can see it." Claudia's whole body was turned towards Alexia.

"Claudia we..."

"No. You. All our issues are actually your fears." Fire started filling Alexia's veins. "You're just a coward. You don't have the balls to take what you wan—"

Alexia took the wrong turn, and began driving in direction to her home, not Claudia's. It was closer and it had private parking. And her bed was there, if things escalated. Which theye were going to.

"What—"

"Silence."

Claudia gulped, the fight gone from her body. Alexia might have skipped a few traffic laws in order to get them there sooner, parking in her garden and exiting the car immediately. She swung open the passengers door, grabbing Claudia by the arm and quite literally dragging her inside.

The girl had very little time to stare at her surroundings and drink in Alexia's living space, before they reached the bedroom. She was not going to cower under Alexia's wrath, though. With a quick turn, that drove rival players insane, Claudia got on her tip toes and kissed Alexia, relishing in the way the captain returned the kiss.

But a sharp slap hit her ass.

"You need to be taught a lesson on repeat," decided Alexia. "I am your captain. For better or for worse. You will address me as such."

"Yes, capi," she breathed. Alexia gasped. She was still not used to that fucking nickname coming out of Claudia's pretty pink lips.

Still, she was not deterred. Alexia helped Claudia strip, who obeyed without protest, too enthralled by Alexia's sudden burst of passion. It was what she had been hoping for, by being a little more touchy with Salma than was necessary.

Once she was completely nude, Alexia sat on her bed, still dressed. She palmed her lap a clear non-verbal order. Claudia draped herself across her thighs, her ass right in front of Alexia, who squeezed one cheek.

"I presume you already know what is going to happen, you've been hoping for it, haven't you?"

"Yes, capi."

"You wanted this?" A harsh slap fell on the cheek she had been groping.

"Yes, capi."

"You understand this is a punishment, not a reward?"

"Yes, capi."

Another harsh slap on the other thigh.

"I would give you a count, but I don't want you to know how much is left."

Claudia gasped. It was as if Alexia already knew what she needed. The onslaught on her ass was non stopping. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, as she cried out. Claudia loved it.

Once her vision was blurry, and her throat was dry, Alexia's hand returned to gently squeeze the reddened skin.

"You were good, baby," she praised.

"Thank you, capi."

💙❤️

Claudia woke up later that evening. The sun was long gone, there was a dull throb on her backside, that had been clearly treated for the bruises with cream. A blanket was thrown over her body, and Alexia was sitting in silence by the foot of the bed.

"Capi?" she called with a stuttering voice.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure?"

Alexia's face was lined with worry. Claudia's body tensed, as if she could feel the thoughts swirling through her captain's head.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I really liked it, earlier. I—"

"It should not happen again."

Ah.

Claudia knew this would happen, in the back of her mind. Alexia clearly wanted her, there were already two instances of her doing exactly what she said they shouldn't, but the rejection still stung.

"Oh, c'mon. It's not a bad thing, I know you're hungry up with the age difference, and the captain thing, but I'm sure there is a way for HR to—"

"I said no, Claudia."

"Alright."

Furiously, Claudia got up from the bed, quickly finding her clothes and putting them on, even if it ached in the bruised areas of her ass. If Alexia still insisted she didn't want her, then Caludia would not beg forever.

"Wait, let me wash you up and make you some dinner at le—"

"No!" Interrupted Cludia with tears of frustration streaming down her face. "You don't get to reject me and then have aftercare. If you want to be all sweet and attentive, then fucking date me!"

Alexia looked hurt, but Caludia didn't care, storming off the house.

[naturesapphic]

Hi could you write a dirty fic with billie before going on stage please?

Before The Show

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: smut

“We have to make this quick angel.” Billie whispered against your neck, as her lips were pressed against your pulse point and her hands were all over your body. Billie had her outfit on, along with her hair and makeup, making your jaw fall open when she walked back from the makeup/dressing room to her own personal room that y’all share. Now, Billie had you against the wall and was planning to fuck you, even though she had to be out on stage in ten minutes.

Billie and her high libido. Usually you would tell her to wait until y’all got to the hotel room, but she just looked so good right now that you didn’t even care and just decided to let her do whatever she wanted to you. “We got a few minutes left, do you think you can cum for me before I go out on stage? Your cum on my fingers.” Billie said lowly as her hands travel up your skirt, the tips of her fingers brushing against your soaked panties. You nodded your head and Billie chuckled at your eagerness.

She pulled your panties down to your knees and her fingers met your clit, making you inhale sharply. “F-fuck…” you quietly moaned out. “So wet already for me princess…” Billie whispered against your ear making chills go down your body. Her fingers went in a circular slow motion that had you begging for more, the desire for her grew stronger with each stroke and touch on your clit. You threw your head back against the wall, your sweet moans filling up the room as Billie enters two fingers into your greedy hole. She pumps them in and out at a fast pace, making your orgasm come closer and closer with each passing second.

“B-bils…I-i can’t…” you gasp out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Yes you can princess. We have less than five minutes until I have to go on stage, you better go ahead and cum before I go.” Billie said, pulling back away from your ear to give you a small warning look in her eyes. You nodded and felt Billie add another finger, curling them up to hit the spot that made your toes curl. Your orgasm came and washed over you, the sticky liquid covering Billie’s fingers and hands, making her smirk proudly. The overwhelming feeling consumed you and you couldn’t remember anything as you practically collapsed in Billie’s arms. Billie picked you up and brought you to the bathroom and sat you gently upright on the sink.

She started to clean you up carefully but she had to hurry so she wouldn’t be late. “Can you stand and walk for me angel?” Billie asked softly and you nodded slowly. Billie smiled and helped you off the sink and placed you on the ground where your legs were slightly wobbly. The two of you headed out with Billie’s wrapped around your waist to help you upright until she had to leave. A few minutes later, you went out to the crowd and watched her killed it while she simultaneously gave you playful winks here and there, making everyone think it was directed towards them but in reality it was to you, her baby.

A/n: thank you to anon who requested this and I hope they and everyone else enjoyed it! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all :) more requests are coming, so keep an eye out

[hayatoseyepatch]

Description: Endo had devoted himself to Chika from the very moment that he had met him. Vowing to give him anything his heart desired, even if that meant giving him you.

Characters: Yamato Endo & Takiishi Chika

Word Count: 1.5k

Contains: Yamato Endo x Fem!Reader x Takiishi Chika. Some Endo x Chika thrown in there as well. Smut. Threesome, oral (Male & female receiving), dacryphillia, degradation, pet names, facial, penetrative sex, anal play (male receiving), power dynamic themes, mentions of the term "slut".

Author's Note: This was a request for headcannons surrounding Endo sharing his partner with Chika. I treated this more like two different scenarios rather than one occasion, I hope that's okay! Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy <3

Chika rarely ever showed emotion, even now as he was positioned above you he remained stone cold. His gaze was harsh, expression blank, if you hadn’t known any better you wouldn’t have imagined he was even the one to request this.

Chika dropped you unceremoniously onto the mattress, golden eyes boring down at you from his position above you. You look up at him, eyes brimming with tears from the aching of your cunt, desperate for attention. “She’s crying.” Chika drones monotonously, looking over at Endo. “Go on baby.” Endo coos. From his position watching the both of you from the corner of the room. “Tell Chika what you want gotta use your words.” You look away from Endo, back at the intimidating man above you, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. “Please Takiishi, want your cock.. want you to use me, fuck me please.” Your own voice sounded foreign to your own ears, desperation dripping from every syllable.

“Look at you, bunny, begging for it. She's been a good little cock whore this whole time, what do you say Chika, think she’s earned your cock?” Endo stood at the foot of the bed, leaning against the frame. “It’ll give her something to grasp onto, by the time we are finished with her, I doubt she will be able to even form a coherent sentence~” The long haired male looked down at you again, wordlessly moving so he was hovering next to your face, with deft fingers he undid his belt, popping open the button and pulling his impressive cock from his boxers. His member throbbed, tip dribbling precum inches from your lips. Wasting no time you lean up on your elbow, one hand reaching out to grab the base of his cock, tongue darting out of your mouth to catch the drip before taking the head of his cock past your lips. The most you get from Chika is a hiss, his fingers gripping harshly at your hair as he forced his cock past your lips.

He sets a brutal pace, barely allowing you room to bob your head as he begins fucking your face. Delighting in the way that tears streamed down your cheeks as your throat accommodated his cock. Endo crawled onto the bed, spreading your thighs, letting out a whistle as he saw your glistening folds. “Damn baby, look at you, barely been touched and you're already dripping.” He chuckles, settling himself between your thighs, fore and middle fingers parting you to expose your clit to him. Ducking his head down to lick a fat stripe up your center, groaning against your heat, from a mixture of just the sheer taste of you. You cry out once he begins attacking your clit with his mouth, sounds muffled around Chika's cock as he continues to abuse your throat.

The sounds falling from your lips spur him on, fingers rubbing that spot inside you rather than their usual bullying of pounding against it to add to the pleasure. Lips attach themselves to your nub, catching them in a suctioning motion, pulling off with an audible noise every now and then to nibble gently at it. Your increased volume drives him mad, hips grinding down against the blankets underneath him to grab some kind of friction for his leaking cock, eyes rolling back when he feels your velvety walls tighten around his fingers. “God bunny you taste so fuckin good, can feel that pretty pussy clamping down on my fingers, you like taking Chika’s cock down your throat that much baby?” He mumbles into your center vibrations of his words adding to the pleasure you were feeling. A second finger joins the first the noises from your squelching cunt matched with his slurping on your clit adding to the sheer volume of it all.

Chika's hips never falter, saliva drips down your chin as you gag on his cock. Your fist gripping the sheets, as his thrusts become sloppy. He was getting close, you could tell, you incorporated more tongue, rubbing against the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. Just as you were sure he was about to cum, he withdraws his cock from your mouth. "Open your mouth, slut." Chika demands, grinning maliciously when you comply instantaneously, parting your swollen lips and sticking your tongue out. His fist pumps his cock as the coil in his stomach snaps. His hips stutter, a guttural groan rumbling in his chest as he paints your tongue, face, and chest with his seed. He comes down from his high admiring the way you look up at him his nut decorating your skin. His cold eyes meeting Endo's, who had pulled from your cunt, your juices dripping down his chin as he watched. Chika's voice held its usual chill as he spoke. "Clean up that mess." Chik spat, moving to slide himself between your thighs, his cock still hard as he positioned himself at your entrance. "You can clean up her pussy too once I've had my fill."

Chika was greedy, making sure that both of you would be acutely aware that you belonged to him even after the night was over. He always had deft control over every situation, always being the victor, and this was no different.

Chika easily gains dominance in the kiss, removing his hand from the other man’s hair, wrapping his long fingers around his throat and squeezing. Harder than he would ever do to you as he knew the other man could take it. He lets out a deep groan into Endo’s mouth when he feels you sink down on his cock. Rolling his hips up into you when he hears his name fall from your lips. His free hand, came to grip your hip, hard enough that he was sure his prints would be marked on your skin. Endo looks over to you, pride taking over him as he watches you take Chika's cock. His muses fulfilling each other made his head swim with desire. "Thats it baby girl, just like that, how does Chika's cock feel bunny?" His words a bit horse due to the grip on his throat, watching as you nod dumbly as his thumb finds purchase on your clit. "Good, fuck, feels so good. He's stretching me so good."

The corner of Chika's vision caught the glistening of the bottle of lube on the bed. His movements are swift. Taking the other man’s distraction to release his throat, he quickly and deftly grabbed the bottle. Snapping the top off with the nail on his thumb, twirling the bottle in his fingers, never once stopping guiding your hips or devouring your mouth with his own as he coats his middle fingers with the substance. He lets his now slick middle finger slide between the curve of Endo’s ass, letting the pad of his finger circle the ring of his opening.

Endo’s eyes fly open the second he feels Chika’s slick fingers grazing the untouched area, never before had anyone touched him there and he thought no one ever would. He looks up at you fondness overtaking his expression at the reassurance of you running your fingers through his hair. He takes your hand, removing it from his cock, making a show of lolling his tongue out, gliding it over the flat of your palm to coat the area with this saliva, to aid the glide of your hand stroking his cock. He looks to Chika with a slight nod, moaning your name as you continue your migrations and Chika slides his first digit past his entrance. "Fuck." He groans, his eyes rolling back, the pleasure of your movements coupled with the sting from the intrusion has him trembling in your hands. He leans forward pressing kisses and bites against your neck as you kiss the other male, the feeling of you both nearly overwhelming. "Fells so good fuck, you two are gonna kill me."

Mouth-watering with a hunger to dive in and devour you, Chika slips his fingers from the other male, effectively tearing his cock from your fist as he steadies a large hand on the small of your back. He flips you with ease until you rest against the pillows with a light bounce. He removes himself from the bed, roughly gripping your thighs to drag your ass to the edge of the bed. Gritting his teeth as he slides into the confines of your velvety walls once more.

Letting the other male watch as he leans down to capture your lips with his once more, tongues battling and teeth clashing as he sets a steady pace. Needing to feel your tight gummy walls around him as he slams his hips. Throwing back his head with a loud groan of your name he sets a steady pace. “That’s it kitten fucking take it. Such a fucking slut, look how wet you are just from getting fucked by me while your boyfriend watches. You barely looked at him once since my cock’s been inside you. Can’t think of anything but my cock can you?”

He spares a look at Endo, still panting and cock twitching in neglect. ”Come here, want you to lick her clit while I fuck her and stuff that ass full of my fingers.” As Endo scrambles desperately toward you both, Chika deals a harsh slap to his ass the sound reverberating around the room. He wastes no time as Endo’s tongue lolls out to brush against your clit, plunging his fingers past his entrance once more. “God, look at you both, I don’t know who’s more pathetic.”

Dividers by saradika-graphics. Writing & character banners by me.

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.” He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

grapefruit and tacos | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

“oh look my grapefruit, daddies home! and very early i might add.” waddling as you rubbed soothing circles over your growing belly. spencer met you halfway in the living room, not even bothering to straighten out his shoes and hang his satchel.

“how are my favorite people?” spencer’s big palms cupped around your chubby cheeks. pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose then up to your forehead and finally down to your awaiting lips. you sighed from ease, not realizing how much you were missing him today.

spencer pulled away first before giving one more brief peck. “missing you,” answering his earlier question. his hands traveled down to your stomach which has grown in the past two months. “hi bub, are you treating mommy nice?” his warm thumbs rubbed at the skin beside your bellybutton, your baby will kick sporadically, a lot of times when spencer’s voice is within distance.

“they’ve been good. been craving a lot of strawberries lately, but i’m not complaining.” lifting your left hand to drag on the side of his head, tucking his growing hair behind his ear. “why home earlier? not complaining, but i haven’t done much housekeeping. mostly sleeping.”

spencer turned to kiss your wrist, “finished my paperwork and hotch said i could leave earlier. he understands the struggles of a new pregnancy.” he kneeled to the grow and pressed three kisses onto you stretched skin, three i love yous.

“now why don’t you sit down and i’ll order us takeout. what are you in the mood for?” spencer’s hands holding your shoulders and steering you in the direction of the suede brown couch. you were waddling like a penguin, “uh maybe some tacos. what do you say my grapefruit? tacos?” trying to see if they kick for an answer. you felt a same thump at the tip of your thumb, you looked over your shoulder at spencer while smiling, “tacos please.”

“tacos for my loves. i’ll get some chips and guacamole as well.” making sure you were comfortable before looking for his stack of takeout menus hidden in a kitchen drawer. your eyes just watched his every move, how his lips moved as he recalled the last time he used them. he used the landline, yes spencer still had a landline in his home, and called your usual taco spot just a block away.

within thirty minutes the two of were side by side on the couch with reruns of old doctor who, the wibbly wobbly sound affects a comforting white noise. you closed your eyes and hummed while chewing your food, even swaying your body and head. opening your eyes as you took a drink, you looked to your left to see spencer smiling at you, his food barely touched.

“what?” taking another bite as you waited for spencer to say something. you bet you were the picture of a squirrel or chipmunk, cheeks puffed and mouth pouted.

“i love you and i like seeing you this happy.” sweet and syrupy. you felt your eyes start to water as you took a swallow and set your food down. “oh don’t say that,” you whined, “you know my hormones are at eleven.” wiping away a few stragglers from your warm face.

spencer couldn’t help but to chuckle as he took over the job of tear wiper. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry. just- just can’t believe this is my life.” voice getting a bit distant, “i have an amazing girlfriend and a baby on the way… still can’t believe you choose me over millions of other guys.”

the waterworks started again, “i’d choose you time and time again. there’s no one in the world like you and i’m glad i snatched the rare gem.” taking spencer’s sculpted face into your hands and starting an assault of messy kisses causing him to squirm and laugh.

“our baby is gonna be so loved.”

[tiredofthehumanlife]

That's quite cliche oh the boss and his nanny

Barbie dolls: hotch x gn! Nanny! Reader

Word: 2.6k

Summary: hotch asks you stay at his house bc it late and shenanigans happen oh my god holy shit read it please and thank you

Warning: hotch points gun at you, you're a nanny, you have nightmares, mentioned that your hair stands up from sleeping on it weird but it doesn't mention texture I pinkie promise, hotch touches your hair once, jack really loves lightning McQueen, shots (metaphorical) at throw blankets and suburban houses, you say oh my god, that's it I think

It was usual for the team to go out to a restaurant after a long case. So just like usual after the team was off the jet and standing in the hallway, Penelope asked if anybody wanted food. The team answered with different forms of yes. Then after a moment of silence, all eyes turned to Hotch. He looked up from his phone, glancing around. 

“So you coming or what?” Emily asked. Hotch shook his head sending you a message telling you he was on his way. He heard a few groans in response. His lips tipped a smidge. 

“I have to get home and tell my nanny to go home,” Hotch said, frowning at your lack of a response. It wasn’t too late, you were usually awake at this time. Morgan hummed in a taunting tone. 

”Workaholic? You have to shoo them out with a broom?” Morgan asked. Hotch glared at Morgan and stepped into the elevator. Rossi made a sad sound. 

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Rossi said, tilting his head at Morgan. Morgan let out a laugh. Hotch rolled his eyes as the elevator doors closed, leaving him alone. He stared down at his message, still with no response. He felt a wave of worry wash over him. He considered calling you but thought maybe he was just being parnoid. Hotch let it slide and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He still let his worry simmer in the back of his head on the ride home. When he unlocked his front door and pushed it open, he felt another wave of worry add to his shoulders. 

The lights were off which meant one of two things. You both went to bed early or there was a break-in. He dropped his keys into the bowl next to the door, setting his case down next to his shoes. Hotch quietly walked through the house finding more and more lights off. When he reached the living room he caught on. 

The big light was off but the lamp was on. The tv was still playing the credits of a Scooby Doo movie. Hotch hummed now understanding. He looked over the edge of the couch and saw you asleep on the couch. Your sweater was balled up and shoved under your head. Your phone was sitting on the coffee table. Your arm was slung over the edge of the couch, resting on the floor. Hotch saw the remote sitting just barely in your hand. Jack was no where to be seen but he saw a juice box and a halfway-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. Hotch hummed, assuming Jack already left for his bed. He leaned over the edge of the couch and gently shook your arm. 

You didn’t budge, you were out cold. Hotch looked up when he heard movement behind him. He looked behind him to see Jack standing frozen three steps behind Hotch. Jack was holding a bowl of ice cream with a spoon sticking out the top. He was in his pajamas still, and his slippers that lit up when he took a step on his feet. Hotch raised an eyebrow at Jack. Jack stared at Hotch, knowing he was caught breaking the ‘no sweets after 8’ rule. 

“Hello, Father,” Jack said, obviously nervous. Hotch hummed and leaned against the couch. 

“Whatcha doing bud?” Jack glanced down at the bowl of ice cream with his favorite lighting McQueen spoon. 

“Just getting them some ice cream,” Jack said, gesturing to you. You let out a snore that made Hotch sure you’d been out for most of the movie. Hotch hummed. 

“How about this, how about you go put that bowl in the freezer? We’ll pretend this didn’t happen and you can have that ice cream tomorrow night?” Hotch said. Jack looked down at the bowl, pouting. His shoulders sank and he turned on his heel, heading back to the kitchen. Jack came back a few minutes later and hugged Hotch’s legs. Hotch pulled him off the ground and hugged him tighter. Jack laughed and Hotch groaned as he set him back down. 

“Go get ready for bed and I’ll be in to read you a story,” Hotch said. After a few grumpy mumbles from Jack he left for the bathroom, getting ready to brush his teeth. Hotch turned back to you. He shook you a little rougher making your eyes peel open. He called your name to lead you back to real life through your slumber. You squinted and sat up on your elbow. Hotch heard the remote clatter to the ground. You looked around. Taking in your surroundings. You looked up at him, looking even more confused. 

“Aaron?” Hotch hummed in response. You sat up all the way. Hotch reached out to tame the back of your hair. Apparently, sweaters made your hair stand up when sleeping on them. You furrowed your eyebrows and rubbed at your eye. 

“What time is it?” You asked. Hotch stayed leaned over the back of the couch, watching you with a smile. Even with your sleep and confusion lacing your every word, you were still breathtaking. Hotch hummed. 

“Little past nine.” You groaned, flopping back onto the couch. You tucked your sweater back under your head. 

“Five more minutes.” You huffed. Hotch snorted and pulled on your arm. 

“Come on, I can’t let you sleep on the couch. It won’t be very comfortable.” You peeked one eye at him. 

“Then carry me home.” Hotch rolled his eyes. 

“Oh I would, but I have to tuck Jack in,” Hotch said, pointing over at Jack’s bedroom. You sat up and looked at his door. You looked back to Hotch with a frown and twitch in your eye that made Hotch want to massage your concern away. He didn’t, keeping his hands on the couch. 

“He’s not already asleep?” Hotch shook his head. “Oh, I'm sorry. I just passed out. I didn’t mean to, it was a long day, and I-“ Hotch shushed you, reaching over to rub your upper arm. 

“I don’t mind. You’re an amazing nanny. I don’t think Jack cared either, her was making himself a bowl of ice cream when I got here.” Hotch said, letting his hand linger on your arm even though he knew it was inappropriate professional behavior. You frowned harder. 

“Oh damn it, he knows the no sweets after 8 rule.” Hotch let his hand drag up to your shoulder and rub it. Your frown dissapearred and you hummed. You shut your eyes as Hotch added his other hand to your free shoulder. 

“You don’t have to go home. It is pretty late. I could set up the guest bedroom for you.” Hotch whispered, staring over your head to watch the credits. You hummed and leaned your head back. 

“I can’t do that. I don’t want to impede.” You said, keeping your eyes closed as Hotch massaged your shoulders. 

“You’re not impeding. I’m offering. I don’t want you to drive tired. Just stay, you can leave in the morning before Jack wakes up.” Hotch said, glancing over at the bathroom. Jack’s Lightning McQueen's toothbrush was still singing. You picked your head up, peeling your eyes open. 

“Are you sure?” Hotch clicked his tongue, pulling his hands away. You glared at him, following him with your eyes as he joined you on the couch. 

“I want you here. You’re not a burden or impeding. Stay, please.” Hotch said, reaching out to hold onto your hand. You pressed your lips together, humming sadly. 

“Right well, I’m stealing a throw blanket or something.” You said, standing from the couch. Hotch nodded and gave you a soft smile. 

“Okay. Sleep tight, I’ll make sure Jake doesn’t wake you up.” Hotch said before heading towards Jack’s bedroom to tuck him in. You drifted off to the guest bedroom. 

You didn’t sleep well. It started nicely, the room was pretty. The sheets were nice. The pillows were soft, and yet you still had a horrific nightmare. It left you clammy and breathless. You were shooting out of the bed that was not yours and checking the bedroom windows to make sure they were locked. Which settled your stomach for a moment but then you thought of all the windows and doors in the house. It was a little strange to be paranoid over a nightmare but maybe it was a reminder to be extra safe. 

You pulled the stupid throw blanket sitting on the edge of the bed over your shoulders and quietly made your way to the nearest window. As you checked the locks, you wondered why suburban homes seemed to always have pointless throw blankets as decor. No one used them, they all felt like sandpaper. Why’d they do that? Furthermore, why did Aaron have them? Is he using the throw blankets? You moved through the kitchen, the window above the sink was unlocked. You stepped into the living room, checking the sliding patio door. It ws locked. You moved to the windows next to it behind the small desk for Jack. You heard a gun cock. 

“Don’t move.” 

Your surroundings were shed in a light from behind you. You froze and wondered if it was Jack’s nightlight. You slowly held your hands up. You heard Aaron mutter your name. You slowly turned around to face him, the dumb throw blanket falling to the floor. Aaron lowered his gun, clicking the safety back on and setting it down on the nearby kitchen counter. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Aaron asked. You felt slightly taken aback at the fact he just cursed at you. 

“Checking the locks.” You whispered, glancing back at the window. Aaron threw his hands out, placing them on his hips. 

“And you have to do that in the middle of the night while sounding like a burgalar? I thought you were a murderer or something.” Aaron said, glancing around the room. 

“I just got anxious-you pointed a gun at me.” You said. Your brain was catching up with the fact that Aaron could’ve killed you. Aaron glanced over at his gun resting on the counter. He looked back at you apologetically. 

“I did, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I overreacted, that’s my fault. Did I scare you?” Aaron asked, taking a step closer to you. 

“I had a nightmare that someone broke in and took Jack so I wanted to check the locks.” You said, staring at the floor. Aaron cooed and you felt a tear slip past your waterline. You weren’t entirely sure why you were crying. It could’ve been your fear that Jack would get hurt or it could’ve been the fact you were just faced with your own mortality even if it was just for a second. Aaron closed the distance, wrapping you in a hug. You gripped the back of his pajama shirt, pretending your boots weren’t totally, fully, absolutely shaken. 

Eventually, you stopped crying and Aaron dragged your shaken form to his bedroom. He took the gun with him. Aaron sat you on the edge of the bed as he set his gun away in his safe. He sat next to you once it locked. 

“Are you alright?” You kept your eyes on the floor, seeing that he picked a really strange carpet that was a strange mix of blue, green, and white. Aaron reached out and patted your shoulder, whispering your name. 

“Did you pick this carpet?” You asked, keeping your eyes on it. Aaron scoffed. 

“What?” You stayed silent, giving him time to think over his answer. “No. It was-“ 

“Good, ‘cause it’s hideous.” You said, kicking your foot on the carpet. Dishelved it was even uglier. You thought you might get nauseous if you kept looking at it. Aaron squeezed your shoulder. 

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked. You shrugged. 

“Fine, you just have ugly carpet in here. And untrustworthy locks. And scary guns.” You said, sighing at the memory of Aaron’s gun aimed at your back. Aaron sighed next to you. 

“I really am sorry.” You mocked his tone. Aaron pulled his hand away from your shoulder. 

“I thought it was funny.” You whispered. Aaron shook his head. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Aaron asked. You scoffed. 

“Um excuse me? Who was it that packed your son’s lunch and picked him up from school today? Oh, that’s right, me! You ought to watch who you’re talking to.” You said. Aaron had a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he opened his mouth to retort. 

“Oh is that how we’re playing it?” You nodded. “Right and who determines your paycheck? Oh, that’s right, me!” Aaron said, pointing to himself. 

“Maybe we drop it. I’m good with my job as it is, thank you.” You said, looking back at the ugly carpet. Aaron pulled you into a side hug, shaking you lightly for a moment. 

“I’m sorry for tonight. It won’t happen again, I swear it.” Aaron whispered against your temple. 

“You’re absolutely positive you had no hand in this carpet decision?” You asked, pointing at the ground. Aaron pulled away from you, letting out a scoffing laugh. 

“Why are you so set on this?” You ignored him, really focused on the stupid almost teal. 

“I mean it’s so hideous. If you did have anything to do with this, I don’t think we could be friends anymore.” You said, laughing through your words. Aaron didn’t laugh though and you felt a pang of regret strike your heart. 

“We’re just friends?” Aaron asked, staring at you with his freaky constantly serious face. You paused, keeping your eyes off the floor so you’d stay focused. 

“Just?” You repeated, squinted at him. Aaron shook his head and looked down at the carpet. 

“Well I was just-“ 

“Oh. My. God.” You pulled yourself off the bed, pacing in front of Aaron. “You totally fell for the nanny. Do you realize how cliche that is? You’re so lucky I’m a freelancer. If I was a part of an organization, they’d have my head.” 

“Why would your hypotetical organization have your head? I’m the one that’s attracted to my employee, not the other-“ Aaron paused as he seemed to piece it together. 

“you totally fell for your boss, Nanny. Do you realize how cliche that is?” You glared at him for throwing your words back in your face. 

“Just for that, I’m stealing a throw blanket and a pillow.”  You said, shoving his arm. Hotch rocked for a second,  before stalliing and giving you a small smile. He sucked in a breath. 

“You know,” Aaron paused. “If that nightmare is still bothering you, you could stay in here tonight.” You paused your pacing, quirking a smile at him. You stepped closer to him, slipping your arms over his shoulders. Aaron’s hand ventured from his lap to the back of your thighs, warming your legs. 

“Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You asked, though you already knew the answer. Aaron nodded his head, pulling you closer to him. He stared up at you with a glint in his eye that made you grin. He squeezed your thighs. You let your arms slide further on his shoulder, moving your faces closer together. Aaron tilted his head back, looking up at you. You knocked your nose with him, pressing your lips against his. Aaron hummed into your mouth, letting his hands on the back of your thighs travel up. You pulled back just a smidge, a breath filling the space between you too. 

“I’m staying in here tonight.” You whispered. Aaron nodded, tilting his head back up. 

“Good plan. Kiss me again?” You obliged his demands, meeting his lips again.