#the first option appeals to me more

[frankensteinposm0]

Lil bro got stuck in my head and doesn't want to get out of there

[nipuni]

I think I already have a clear idea of what I want my Rook to look like 🥰 But I still want to see what is achievable in the character creator, what combat styles and weapons are available for each role and more details on certain origins before I decide because I need both the aesthetics and narrative themes to be cohesive for art purposes 😫 so I'm restraining myself from drawing them yet but I want to so bad aargggh

[dollypopup]

like. . .are any other Polin fans out there that do not give a singular flying fuck about Debling? we should form a club lol because from the very bottom of my heart and with my whole chest: I could not care less about him. Not sorry, I'm tuning into S3 for Pen and Colin and Pen and Colin alone

[hisnhers]

god i’m in such a predicament. i got two job offers and already kind of said yes to one that was my second option (i havent signed a contract yet but like i was supposed to start monday) but now my first choice is willing to take me on but for less money (though not a very significant amount) and i just don’t know what to do

[greensaplinggrace]

I’m about to tell bumble I only like women just so it’ll stop showing me men

[sinterblackwell]

me getting an email that my package was delivered so i happily skip down the stairs because i figured it was the special edition of mdzs that i preordered online, only to see a very flat parcel on the front porch that definitely isn’t a book. maybe it’s the extra fanart associated with tthe special edition that just came in before the book??? MAYBE??

it’s labeled with a message that says “extremely urgent” so it’s something important, but i didn’t order express delivery for this book…..what else can it be then?? it has my name on it so let me just open it and se—

MY PASSPORT(?(?)))?/)/€:&,&:8:829292915161

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt the random card au again. Why must it go so crazy hard I miss it sm

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Ha I don't care about regional dexes but I'll admit I do think Kalos kind of lacks identity because of it.

[applejarjar]

Damn, ppl do this waiting for a job offer thing all the time?

[mariasont]

maria, i have an ideaaa!!

bimbo!assistant!reader goes on a date with a really shitty guy. and she sneaks away to the back door and calls hotch in the alley to come and save her (it’s also raining). she’s all wet and her makeup’s all ruined when hotch comes.

he then takes her back to his place and takes care of her… and… mushy soft fluffiness happens… and maybe feelings are confessed… and maybe a kiss or 2 happens…🥰💖

TALK ABOUT A BAD DATE - A.H

a/n: genius, genius, you are an absolute genius!!!!!!!!!!! this was probably my fav bimbo!reader fic to write <3 thank you sm for requesting

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: um the rain takes out reader's shirt, so she does kinda flash him for a hot sec, hotch also blatantly checks out her ass, cuties being sickeningly cute, cuties kiss in 4k

wc: 2k

A perfect, flawless, stunning, never-been-done before outfit wasted on a loser of a guy. Your makeup had taken an hour alone, your hair—well, you didn't even want to think about it because you were certain you were starting to break out in hives.

You steadied yourself against the brick wall, the uneven asphalt beneath your heels threatening to take you down as you fished your phone from the depths of your purse.

You dialed the first number you could think of--Hotch's. His was also the only one you had memorized. The battery icon flashed a warning of five percent as you hunched beneath the alleyway's awning, trying to shield yourself from the rain. You desperately hoped he'd pick up.

There was frankly no plan B if he didn't. Go back inside and ask you so-called date for a ride? That was not an option. The moment he pulled up in one of those big trucks, with its deafening music and roaring engine, you regretted not driving yourself. After all, you were well aware what men were compensating for with a big truck.

"Hotchner."

His voice was gruff, the sound slightly distorted by the speaker. You imagined he had just walked through his door, despite the time being eight o'clock on a Friday night. He was presumably preparing to pour his routine glass of scotch.

"Sir, it's me," you said, attempting to ignore the relentless raindrops assaulting your makeup--a battle they seemed intent on winning. Clearly, the concept of setting spray was foreign to them. "Can I ask you for a favor? If you say yes, I pinky promise I'll stop rearranging your desk. I know you have a system, but it just looks so bland sometimes."

"I'm going to overlook that desk comment," he stated, his sigh audible through the phone. You could picture the pensive frown that came with it. "What do you need?"

You drew your lips into a tight line, looking down to watch the rain mock the effort you had put into your outfit.

"Can you come pick me up? Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Pick you up? From where? Are you okay?"

You shivered slightly, your free hand instinctively rubbing warmth into your arm. You should've brought a jacket. The thought of sharing this evening's failings with your boss did not sound appealing, so you avoided most of his questions.

"I'll text you the location, okay?"

"Okay, yes, I'll be there. Just stay put."

You thanked him and followed that by a double promise to stay put (he didn't believe you the first time). You also told him you'd wait inside, which was less than truthful. The thought of getting drenched was far more attractive than the prospect of bumping in that women-hating boy again.

You didn't have to wait long, thankfully, spotting Hotch's car turn into the alley, the headlights flaring up like spotlights against your face. You used a manicured hand to shield your eyes, narrowing them against the glare. The distinct sound of a door opening and closing signaled his arrival, and soon, Hotch was striding towards you.

"Christ, get in the car," Hotch insisted, more a command than a suggestion.

He was by your side in an instant, his arm on yours as he opened your door and helped you in. Then, unexpectedly, he reached over you to fasten the seatbelt. You giggled, his hand pausing just above your thigh.

"What?"

The rain gently streamed over his perfect skin, his hair now saturated and plastered to his brow, his blue dress shirt bearing the brunt of the downpour.

"You don't trust me to buckle my own seatbelt?"

"I don't trust you with a lot of things." Completely false. "For instance, your choice of men." Completely true.

He clicked the seatbelt into place and swung the door shut, cutting off any chance of a response, then moved around the car to the driver's side.

You can't help but pout, even as your eyes traced the line of his jaw. "How'd you know?"

Any trace of annoyance vanished as quickly as it came as he placed a hand behind you, giving you an even better view of his profile while he reversed the car. Your focus shifted to the ripple of muscles under his shirt.

"I'm trained to know when someone is in distress and you practically spelled it out. The restaurant, the clothes..." His voice tapered off, disguising his pause with a cough while his gaze flickered over your outfit, his cheeks tinged with a fleck of red. "I've got a spare sweatshirt in the back if you need it."

You traced his line of sight to your chest. Emitting a small squeak, you quickly shielded yourself with your arms, realizing that your white top had become completely see through.

"Totally not embarassing," you say, pursing your lips as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

"It's fine," Hotch insists, but you don't miss how his eyes are now careful not to drift from the road. "Put your seatbelt back on."

"I can't reach the sweatshirt."

You shift to face the back, knees planted on your seat as you lean over to grab just the thing you were looking for. In the rearview mirror you catch the brief moment his eyes do stray, discreetly (or so he thought) sweeping over your ass.

A self-satisfied smile crept across you face as you slid back into your seat, slipping on the sweatshirt. It smelled like him—an intoxicating blend of aged leather and pine. You liked it. A lot.

"So do you wanna talk about it?"

You really didn't. With a sigh, you dug through your purse for your lip gloss. Flipping down the passenger mirror, you froze, confronting your reflection.

"Hotch, didn't you think to mention my face is all... smudgy?"

Your mascara (and setting spray) had betrayed you, leaving dark trails down your cheeks and a slightly unhinged look.

"Your face is perfect," Hotch remarks dryly, like he was tired of you, he undoubtedly was. You were a handful after all. "Why are you avoiding my question?"

You let out a delighted gasp.

"Did you just say my face is perfect?" Leaning over the console, you tap his nose with your finger. "You're just the sweetest."

The look Hotch gives you is flat, expectant as if he knows just what you were trying to do.

"Okay, okay, fine, it was just a terrible date. Like, Hotch, I'm talking disaster-level bad. He made fun of my job, ate like a toddler, and his truck? He wouldn't shut up about it." Your hands are now shuffling through the contents of your purse in a panic. "And now, I can't find my keys."

"Your house keys?"

A breath of frustration flows from you, fingers pulling through your hair as you nod. "Dang it."

You felt a slight unraveling in your usual poise, and the panicking that came with it. Hotch's hand landed on your shoulder, his thumb grazing across your collarbone.

"Hey, it's fine. It's late, and you're upset. You can stay at my place tonight, I'll crash on the couch, and we'll find your keys in the morning."

He made everything seem so simple.

"I'm not upset," you insist, lips pursing as you angle your body just enough to feel his touch more fully.

His hands felt right on you.

He chuckled quietly, his thumb tracing a path from your shoulder to brush away the solitary tear beneath your eye that you hadn't noticed before.

"Must be a raindrop," you shrug. Hotch's soft laugh tells you he doesn't quite buy it. "Are you sure you don't mind me staying over?"

"I'm certain."

"Okay."

"So why did your date make fun of your job?"

"Because," you start, your fingertip lazily sketching doodles on the misted car window, "when I was telling him about being an assistant and working for you, he implied that the only reason you hired me was so you had something pretty to look at."

"Well, he's not entirely wrong."

You let out a surprised giggle. "Hotch!"

You reach over the console, pinching his arm which he just laughed off, pulling into what you assumed was his driveway. You had never been to his house. It was nice. Really nice, the kind you'd find in movies—not imposing, but inviting, with its brick walls and stout brown pillars framing the porch.

You were even more surprised when you entered the house. The image you had of Hotch's house one of meticulous order, a place where you could hear the tick of a clock from rooms away. But this... this was a home. There were throw blankets casually draped over the couch, books overflowing, armchairs worn in just the right places.

You lean down, intent on stripping off the torturous heels, but a wobble has you teetering. Hotch is quick to step in.

"Here," he offers, lifting each foot in turn to his knee, skillfully undoing the straps and easing them off you.

Standing flat-footed, you suddenly feel much shorter, and you wonder if Hotch has ever seen you without them.

You look up at him, smiling cheekily. "My very own prince charming."

He ignored you and moved through the living room. "Do you want a pair of sweatpants?"

"Sharing clothes now, are we? I bet there's a clause against this in the employee handbook."

Hotch raises an eyebrow, "I don't think I need to remind you of the numerous times I've overlooked your creative interpretations of the handbook rules."

"So you're admitting to showing me favoritism?"

You plucked the sweatpants from his hands, not giving him an option to respond as you shuttled yourself into his bathroom. You changed quickly, trading your sopping wet clothes for Hotch's dry, warm ones.

You reentered the living room to find Hotch reclining on the couch with an ease that was new to your eyes. He, too, had slipped into something more comfortable—sweats and a form fitting grey long sleeve that threatened to distract you completely.

You dropped your purse onto the coffee table and settled next to him, maybe a little closer than you should have.

He let out a sound that was more a breath than a laugh, a sound that all the same made your heart flutter unexpectedly. "You've still got some, uh, makeup under your eyes."

He reached up to wipe it away with his thumb.

"It won't come off that way," you said, grabbing his wrist with a soft smile. "I have makeup wipes in my purse."

But he didn't hand you your bag like you would've thought, instead he dug through it, pulling out the wipes and starting to dab at your face. The softness of his touch felt disarmingly intimate, so gentle it coaxed your eyes to flutter more slowly, eyelids becoming more heavy.

Your head tilted downward and Hotch used his free hand to tilt it back up. "Stay still, or I'm going to poke your eye out."

"You're making me sleepy," you murmur, your voice a soft, drowsy hum, but then he moved the wipe to your lips and suddenly you were anything but.

He was even more gentle with your lips, if that was possible, wiping away the gloss like you were made of glass.

Your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself gazing into his warm, brown-sugared eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. How did you get so close? You weren't sure, but he was there, noses almost touching.

He pulled away the wipe, using his thumb to clean up left over gloss though you were sure there wasn't any. His hand paused there, resting on your lower lip like it was meant to be there. You felt every fiber of your being stand on high alert. You wondered what he was thinking.

Did he want to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him?

"Are you going to kiss me?" You asked, half-hopeful, half-daring, giving a microphone to your inner monologue.

He took a moment, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes then back down again. "Yes."

It was certain. Like there was no doubt about it, but he didn't move.

"Okay, I'm ready," you breathed out, pulse roaring in your ears.

Hotch's laughter was a low and warm sound. You had heard it a lot tonight.

"You kill me," he said, and it wasn't patronizing—it was affectionate and genuine, and it made your whole body turn to mush.

Then his lips were on yours, and you were both laughing, the sound muffled by lips. It was tentative at first but it quickly morphed into something sweet and soft and perfect.

"Aren't you glad my date went terribly?" you mumbled into his soft skin.

"Devastatingly glad."

One thing was clear—Hotch was not going to end up sleeping on the couch tonight.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @averyhotchner @everythinglizzy @sky2nd

join my taglist here!

[vidavalor]

The pub scene is even funnier when you consider that poor Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets has likely had this longtime pash on Aziraphale and, like everyone on Whickber Street, he has no idea who exactly The Ginger Goth With The Old Car is. He knows the prevailing theory is mafia but Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets has seen Ginger Goth hanging around Mrs. Sandwich and her "Sandwich Shop" and also around the bookshop a bit and also some naked guy was also at the bookshop recently, so... what's the likeliest conclusion drawn by Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets? That the old bookseller's lonely and paying for it.

He sees them come into the pub and thinks Aziraphale is classy like that and is taking the sex worker for a drink first or maybe that's part of it-- he's gone the whole 'boyfriend experience' route. Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets sees Aziraphale with that chest stroke of that Thin Dark Duke he's paying and while Mr. Brown (of Brown's World of Carpets, just FYI) isn't here to judge and gets it as he's lonely, too... and while he does think the bookseller picks some hot ones... he wants to give Mr. Fell the real thing. The kind of love you can only get between two middle-aged, still-sorta-closeted queers like they are. He'll be someone the bookseller can talk to and find some genuine chemistry with, Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets will be, so he decides to shoot his shot and knows the bookseller is skittish from their past interactions, so he goes for the meeting option. He'll have to come over to drop off the chairs, of course. Give them an excuse to talk more, alone, when Mr. Fell is not, erm, entertaining.

And poor Mr. Brown--President of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association, Mr. Brown of Brown's World of Carpets is-- fine, upstanding, boring as all holy fuck fella... He's met by Crowley coming over with drinks and a greeting that says this is neither the first time, nor, he doubts, will it be the last that he's had to Husband the bookseller but again, Mr. Brown of Oh, You Know By Now thinks this is a bit, so he's not intimidated.

"I was just absolutely hitting on him for real, unlike you," is what he basically told Crowley when explaining what they were chatting about.

And Crowley's like lol you got him flustered enough to host this meeting. Good on you, Mr. Whoever the Fuck You Are from Whatever Shop You Run. Look at you *go*. 😍 I've got a new favorite human, Aziraphale.

He's all "you astonish me" to Aziraphale, teasing him like you're leading the poor, balding bastard on, angel. I know it's hard for you to reign in your divine sex appeal but you should maybe try. His heart is only human, after all.

Mr. Brown still thinks Crowley's a sex worker though so he doesn't give up and is all like remember, Mr. Fell, our date is right after work on Thursday in a group setting to set you at ease but I'll see you first to set it all up because I want you and I want to make sure you know I'm not just here for the business meeting.

Crowley: That's it-- I'm adopting you, Ballsy Mr. Carpet. I like your style. But you'll never wear my angel down. We've been married for 6,000 years. I am definitely up for saving you from some demons on Thursday though and making it rain on you and literally any fruity, single shop owner in the greater metro area next season. You're on the deck after my shop lesbians. Now piss off, Mr. Barnes. We haven't been to the pub in ages and you're in my seat.

[thebibliosphere]

With hindsight, I probably should have realized I was polyamorous/ambiamorous sooner than I did. (And to be clear, I realized it pretty young. I just didn't have the terminology for it.)

Ignoring the fact that five-year-old me used to watch Signing In The Rain! on a loop and was already making up stories about Don, Cosmo, and Kathy all living together in Don's big house and *gasp* holding hands (maybe kissing), I was never any good at shipwars.

Like someone would ask me, "What's your OTP?" and I'd be like, "Well, I guess I like X/Y, but also Y/Z is good too..."

And they'd be like, "No. I mean your one TRUE pairing," and I'd just blink at them like, I'm sorry, I don't understand the question.

I'm sure they thought I was trying to stir shit or being deliberately annoying, but I just... couldn't wrap my head around it. Why did I need to pick one thing? There were multiple options with different things that made them appealing. That's like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and just drinking water. Which is fine! If water is all you want, great. But you don't get to go to an all-you-can-eat buffet and judge people for eating different foods...

And when I eventually found out multi-shipping was a thing, I was like, "oh neat, that's what I do!" and while there was a definite feeling of having found my people, it was weird having the moral judgment from other people who seemed to think multi-shipping was a symptom of a greater moral character flaw. Like my inability to settle on just one thing meant I was more likely to cheat irl.

This wasn't helped by the fact that I... kinda already didn't care about monogamy? Not the way my friends did. I didn't mind that my then-boyfriend liked Sarah, too. What I minded was that he went behind my back and kissed her when he'd told me I couldn't kiss anyone else.

It was the betrayal of the agreement that hurt. Because we'd agreed. He'd asked me to be exclusive with him, and I did. And then he... didn't. And my friends couldn't grasp that.

It was all, "How could he kiss someone else?!" and my chief complaint was, "Why didn't he tell me first?!"

Anyway, if I could go back in time, I'd tell teenage me, you're not weird and amoral, you're just queer, polyamorous, and have ADHD, lmao.

[maplebellsmods]

Join a Country Club Mod

Hello! Unfortunately, Rock Ridge Country Club has closed down due to financial mismanagement and embezzlement. However, your sims now can join an even better club: Cedar Creek Country Club!

I’m excited to announce that I’ve completely reworked the Country Club mod from scratch. This mod holds a special place in my heart as it was the first one I ever made, and I’m thrilled to present it with improved quality and new features.

If you’ve used my previous Country Club mod, you’ll notice both differences and similarities. So, how does the new mod work? Your sim can apply to become a member of Cedar Creek Country Club. This time, the process is more challenging, with the possibility of rejection, requiring more effort both financially and mentally.

However, the application process is streamlined for a smoother experience. Steps to become a member:

Pay Application Fee: This is a 5000 simoleon nonrefundable fee.

Fill out Application Form

Schedule Interview: Choose between two time slots and attend within 24 hours.

Write Letter of Interest

Submit Reference Letters: Cedar Creek requires two reference letters from current members. Your sim can ask a member directly or post on the Cedar Creek community forums. If a member is interested, they may call and offer to write a reference letter. This method is more challenging.

Attend Information Session (Optional): If you have questions about the club or application process, attend an information session available on weekdays.

• Household Funds

• Fame Level

• Reputation

• Job Type and Level

• Charisma

• Interview Outcome

These elements can greatly increase your chances of getting accepted into the country club.​

Once they become a member and pay the $10,000 initiation fee, your entire household will also gain Cedar Creek membership.

As a Cedar Creek member, there are ongoing fees to pay. You can choose to pay annually (over four weeks) or quarterly (over one week). It’s important to stay on top of these payments to maintain your membership. There are many activities your sim can partake in with family and friends. You can find these options on the computer in the Country Club pie menu.​

Your sim can try to appeal to the country club if they have been rejected, kicked out, or blacklisted. The chances of getting another shot are very low, but high charisma can significantly help.

If they get lucky and are invited to meet with the admissions committee, they have a few hours to attend the meeting and must commit immediately. If they were previously kicked out, they will still need to pay the initiation fee again.

Lot Trait

I have also added a Country Club lot trait with the mod. So as a Cedar Creek member if you don't feel like going to rabbit hole activities you use the country club lot trait and use it on any lot.

I wanted the Country Club lot trait to be customizable, so random members won’t show up automatically; you need to assign members to make it exclusive.

You can assign members by left-shift clicking on the computer and finding the option under the country club pie menu. There are a few social interactions available for different sims at the country club, depending on their roles.

The lot trait is straightforward, but the key is to assign members. You can also remove members using the same method.

Does this mod require any DLC?

No, it does not.

What else do I need for the mod?

Lumpinou's Mood Pack Mod, so it is required for the mod to work properly.

You can get the mod here.

If you already have it great! But make sure it's up to date. Otherwise, it will break the UI

XML injector

I'm experiencing some weird bugs!

Let me know, please.

Report it here: Mod Bug Report

How to install the mod?

Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/Mods <--- Unzip the file and make sure it's placed in this path.

Public Jun 23

Download Here

[sunkissedscribbles]

Mattheo Riddle's Guide To Win Y/N's Heart

pairing: mattheo x fem!reader (house not clarified)

genre: fluff

tw: my bad writing

word count: 1532

summary: mattheo's desperately trying to lure you in by using psychological tricks on you.

a/n: okay, this one might not be the best, but it's sweet. also, i wrote this in the middle of the night lol

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

It all started a week ago when Mattheo strutted into the Great Hall in the morning with that stupid, confident grin plastered across his lips.

“It’s 7:30. In the morning,” Theo raised an eyebrow at him as to why he was in a good mood so early for his liking.

“I have the master plan to get Y/N to date me,” Mattheo stated proudly, to which Enzo and Theo shared a look, and the latter snorted a laugh.

“And how are you gonna do that, Casanova?” Pansy chimed in too.

“Psychology,” Mattheo shrugged simply, deeply believing that his master plan would work perfectly.

He read in Enzo’s book that if you want to be appealing to a woman, you should sit across her at a table and if about to win a man’s heart, you should sit right beside him. So, the first trick he tried was sitting across you at the table in all cases, even if it meant two people — including you — sitting on the one side and five people squeezed together on the one across because Mattheo wanted to sit across you with millimeter accuracy. First, you didn’t understand it one bit. You only sensed Mattheo growing weirder by the day and your friends having more fun directly proportionally and putting two and two together, you realized these two are actually related.

The next thing was wearing red. Now this one was a hilarious one; on Tuesday afternoon when you, Enzo, and Mattheo were due to study together for Arithmancy (which, may I mention, Mattheo only took up because you did so too), Mattheo slumped down on the chair across you at the table in the library, wearing a Gryffindor hoodie.

“What on earth-“ Enzo shook his head in disbelief but you had to fight back a loud outburst of laughter.

“Hi, Y/N,” Mattheo grinned confidently but you shook your head with a grin still lingering on your lips.

“Whose is this?” you nodded in the direction of the hoodie hugging his upper body.

See, the problem with wearing red was that he didn’t own a single clothing piece of the colour, so he had to think outside the box and be creative for this one.

He looked down nonchalantly and shrugged with that familiar smirk. “Longbottom’s. I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

Enzo buried his face into his hands next to you, trying to hold a groan back from escaping as your mouth hung open and your eyes widened. “He doesn’t know?”

“His door was open…”

You, knowing Mattheo, lifted your eyebrows in disbelief as he clearly didn’t tell the exact truth.

“Well- it wasn’t open, but soon it opened magically and I took it as an invitation…”

“You Alohomora’d his door to get a burgundy hoodie for Merlin-knows-what?”

“Well, y- wait. Burgundy? This is red,” Mattheo shook his head as he stiffened. He was convinced it was pure red — boys and their eyes for colours, huh?

Enzo snorted a laugh finally, knowing exactly Mattheo was trying to use the ‘red makes you appear more attractive’ law of psychology on you and he technically failed.

“No, darling, this is burgundy,” you chuckle which by the way, Mattheo found adorable, even in the middle of his embarrassment, plus, you called him darling — so he took it that you actually fell for his trick and, well, for him too.

But of course, there were things in Enzo’s psychology book Mattheo didn’t even think of doing. This was, for one, playing hard to get. Because he knew his eyes would have failed him every time he’d tried to close you out, and he knew exactly how well you were able to see right through him. You being concerned about him was also a problem with this because as Pansy once absent-mindedly drew his attention to how you noticed people’s energies shift pretty quickly, he had to close this option out completely.

Another one was putting on a cocky, intimidating, or prideful look because of the same reason; you noticing the energy shifts, and because no matter how hard he’d tried, that stupid grin had grown on him and your sight only fueled it.

He tried mirroring your body language, too. You were leaning forward at breakfast, tiredly resting against the wooden dining table? He was sitting opposite you, sitting as if he was actually in your mirror. You ran a hand through your hair? Guess what, he had to scratch his head. Even when your leg was bouncing nervously under the desk in History of Magic, he sure mirrored it.

You weren’t oblivious to this either, and you knew something was up — but you simply thought he was playing a prank on you. And your friends being awfully quiet whenever you brought up how weird Mattheo was being around you only added to your suspicion.

“I see” was a common way for him to start whatever he had on his mind. Because, research by MIT showed that women were more attracted to men who used the phrases “I see,” “Okay,” and “Yep.” And for him, he used them until he’s grown sick of them.

But of all the things he’d tried, his favourite — and yours too — was touching. Touching you had always lightened his day, even if it was just a tap on your shoulder to enquire about the time. And his touch provided reassurance for you, whenever he touched you for even a split second you knew you had someone to count on, someone to be comforted by. When you were tired in class he had a shoulder to offer for you to rest your head on (not Theo though because he could go fuck himself rather than sleep on his best friend’s shoulder, respectfully, in the best friend in question’s opinion.) When you were anxious, he chose to put his quill down and not take notes, rather have his hand comforting you by rubbing little circles on your thigh just above your knee (and sometimes a little too high), having his arm around you or playing with your hair, saying he’d borrow your notes later to catch up, which he never did.

However, things haven’t changed for two more weeks. And, as time went on, Mattheo grew more and more desperate, seeking the moment he could finally hold you in his arms and kiss the life out of you. He was waiting for the moment when he could confess his love to you — or, which would have been more convenient, and a whole ego boost for him, to have you come crawling by yourself, singing odes about him. But he realized it was a rather unlikely scenario that lived rent-free in his head.

“That book sucks,” Mattheo complained to Enzo one evening in the common room frustratedly as he sank into the green velvet material of the couch.

“Why so?” Enzo didn’t even look up from his Transfiguration essay he was desperately trying to put a dot on the end of for an hour.

“‘Cause I tried everything! And Y/N still doesn’t have a clue how I love her,” he let out a grunt as he let his head fall back against the backrest of the sofa and rubbed his closed eyes tiredly. “She’s still not into me.”

“I am into you,” your voice came down on him like a rain of cold ice. After nagging for two whole weeks, Pansy agreed to fill you in about what Mattheo called his master plan, and you finally understood what it was all about.

Mattheo’s eyes shot open to see he hasn’t hallucinated your reassuring words in that sweet tone you always talk to him with, and to make sure you are very physically standing there. He quickly got up from where he was and sat on the couch next to Enzo, who seemed to be in a completely other world with how concentrated he was on his Transfiguration homework.

Mattheo quickly made his way over to you, standing just a few feet apart with that stupid grin already growing on his lips as he took you, your gorgeous figure, bright smile, and shiny eyes in. “Are you now, princess?” He asked in a tone sweet like honey while tugging a strand of hair behind your ear.

You rolled your eyes at him before taking a step closer to the point that your chests were grinding against each other, to Mattheo’s biggest pleasure. And before he knew it, your lips came crashing against his in a long-awaited kiss and his arms slithered around your waist so naturally like they were made to be resting there. However, you pulled away after a few seconds before it could’ve got a little too carried away. “Did you really steal Longbottom’s hoodie so that I’d find you more attractive?” You chuckled with a touched but still a little mocking smile.

“Borrowed it. I returned it after you told me it wasn’t the right colour,” he rolled his eyes at you too, but he was the happiest guy on earth right then and there because he had all right to wrap his arms around you like a shield, protecting you from the world and its horrible people.

[twistedlovelines]

Please! Please! Puh-LEAZ! Elaborate on Lilia, Crewel, and Rollo with bow tying. 🎀🙏🏻

I'm thirsty. Parched. Delirious even! m(；∇；)m

Thank you!

tying a ribbon around his cock (Lilia, Crewel, Rollo): round 2 <3

18+, MDNI

a/n: oh no!! (rushes to bring you water). don't die of dehydration please QWQ

(Elaboration of this)

Tags: d/s dynamics, light bondage (tying a ribbon around his cock), light darcyphilia in Rollo's portion

LILIA VANROUGE

Lilia’s not unfamiliar with experimentation; he’s turned from a general to a father, and has dyed his hair every color conceivable- not to mention his experience in the kitchen! So when you bring up the concept of tying ribbons around him, he’s absolutely ecstatic. Cater’s shown him a few different styles based off of trending characters or whatnot, but did you have any particular ones in mind?

He sits happily perched over your shoulder as you scroll through a few options you had saved, explaining the appeal in each type. A few catch his eye- cutesy ones with a bit of edge, as well as ribbons with more textural elements to them, but ultimately he suggests that life is too short to only choose one, so why not buy them all?

The actual act itself is rather intimate, Lilia leaning back on his hands as you’re on your knees, making sure to fasten the ribbon around his cock just right. He can’t help but grin. What a sacred act of ownership this is! He’s seen human traditions similar to this throughout his travels, but he never thought he would be on the receiving end of one. 

“Is it tight enough for your liking?” He chuckles, letting out a sharp exhale as the fabric momentarily constricts his cock with little to no room for movement.

“Apparently not, if you can still talk like this~”

How cruel of you…perhaps he ought to pay back the favor.

DIVUS CREWEL

As much as he had teased you for suggesting the idea, Divus practically preened when you had suggested the idea of tying a ribbon around his cock. Who was he to deny your desire to possess him as he possessed you? 

Neither of you were unfamiliar with kinks such as this, as your partner had taken care to be upfront with his preferences and desires when you began your courtship. Still, this was a different dynamic than what you had naturally grown to fall in to. An array of collars and ties made of silk, leather, and other quality materials lay neatly in a specific section of Divus’ closet, and this would be the first time they would be worn on him.

Frankly, he’s rather proud of you. He doesn’t doubt you’ve learned well from both him and other resources you’ve sought out, and he trusts that he can bare his neck to you without fear. 

The ribbon is silk, richly dyed black with a lace trimmed edge. It slides around his cock easily, the fabric so soft that you have to tighten it a hair more than you had assumed so that it stays in place. As you tie the final bow on his cock, Divus moans softly, his thighs relaxing underneath you. 

“You spoil me, my love.”

ROLLO FLAMME

Never had such a thought even crossed his mind.

A tender act of devotion expressed through such filthy means, a desecration of what is sacred, a blatant act of utter dishonor- how shameless of you, to have even voiced such ideas into existence, and with that, possibility. Do you have no regard for his propriety? 

Your smile is all he needs as a response, and he’s all the more chagrined because of it. 

Of course you would suggest something like this to him. You never had much care for traditions in regards to romance, much less intercourse. Still, the concept sends a fierce heat through his body, his hand tightly clutching his handkerchief in a futile attempt to ground himself.

Still, when you show him the selection of ribbons you had procured, he begrudgingly chooses one the color of a white dove, the color slightly creamy. When you suggest the addition of pearls and lace, he only huffs and turns his cheek. 

“Fine.”

He refuses to look you in the eye as you tie the ribbon, head turned to the side as his legs are hitched around your waist. You’re on your knees, settled between his legs, yet he can’t shake the feeling of helplessness of being laid on his back as you’re decorating his cock.

A small whimper tears its way out of his throat, and you coo, stroking the uncovered flesh of his cock with affection. 

“Are you alright, darling?”

You catch a glimpse of tears in his eyes as he finally faces you, face flushed with embarrassment and desire.

“Hurry up,” he rasps, hips uselessly stuttering under your touch, “or are you unable to follow through with your barking?”

a/n: rollo....orz he's sooo cute i love he...

[corroded-hellfire]

Throwing a fluffy idea out there: Eddie volunteering (possibly for community service after getting busted for something silly) at a pet shelter. The kittens trying to play with his hair, him rough housing with the dogs to help get them some playtime and exercise.

Eddie loves animals and no one can change my mind. All I want is to see him with these fuzzy little babies 🥺

Words: 3.1k

Hopper was a good guy. He knew deep down Eddie was a good kid and that if he was the worst criminal that Hawkins had, things were going all right. But that didn’t mean that the chief of police wouldn’t lay down the law once in a while with the small-time drug dealer. 

Eddie had gotten the choice between a few nights in the tiny town jail or volunteering at a pre-approved Hawkins business. Not wanting to spend time behind bars, Eddie grumbled as he took a look at the list of volunteer options. Spending any time at a medical facility was an automatic no and Eddie wasn’t sure how picking up trash would keep him away from drugs when all he’d want is to smoke a joint after the arduous task. 

The Hawkins Animal Shelter immediately seemed appealing, though. Growing up, Eddie had always wanted a dog, but his dad couldn’t afford to own one and Wayne is allergic. Thinking of spending time with the dogs and cats that didn’t have families of their own brought a smile to his face. Maybe part of it was that he didn’t have a stable home life before coming to live with his uncle, so he could relate to the sweet, innocent animals. 

His first day on the job, Eddie jumps out of his van and tosses his leather jacket on the passenger’s seat so it won’t get covered in fur or drool. The gravel crunches beneath his boots as he heads towards the front door. Barking can be heard before he even grips the dull copper doorknob. 

There’s an older woman seated behind a desk as soon as he walks in, who looks up at him over the rim over her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Munson?” Her voice is deep and raspy, the pack of cigarettes sitting in front of her the obvious culprit.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says.

The woman nods her head to a yellow door covered in scratches—mostly on the bottom half. “In there. The girl will show you what to do.”

The girl. Eddie doesn’t even know who she is, but he’s offended on her behalf by being referred to in that way. Giving the woman a quick nod, Eddie heads over and through the door, eager to be out of her presence. 

The sound of dogs barking and yipping is even louder in the back hallway, and now it’s joined by the high-pitched meowing of cats. It brings a smile to Eddie’s face as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets. He turns a corner and sees a girl bending over into one of the dog’s kennels. As excited as he is to see the animals he’s going to be spending time with, he admires the view of the nice ass in front of him first. A particularly loud woof from a Pomeranian has the girl standing up straight and Eddie is quick to avert his eyes, hoping he can keep up the facade of being a gentleman for more than five minutes.

“Oh! Hi, Eddie.”

At the sound of his name, Eddie looks back towards you. A smile breaks out on his face as he recognizes you from school. The two of you never really spoke before, but he couldn’t deny that he’d always thought you were very pretty. 

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here,” he says.

“Nope, just volunteer,” you say as you wipe your hands off on the thighs of your jeans. 

“And I bet you weren’t even threatened with jail time,” Eddie says with a playful smirk. You giggle and it makes Eddie’s stomach flip in a way that’s unfamiliar to him.

“Let me guess, Brenda sent you back here with a huff?” A dog clamors for your attention in a kennel to your right and you reach in to scratch behind the chocolate lab’s ear. 

“I assume so,” Eddie says with a shrug. “She didn’t bother introducing herself before ushering me along, saying you would tell me what to do.”

“Hmm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes as if inspecting him. “Can anyone really tell Eddie Munson what to do?”

This makes him laugh and it scares a skittish poodle to his left.

“Aw, I’m sorry, pal.” Eddie crouches down and holds his knuckles up to the kennel door to let the white, fluffy dog give him a sniff. 

“That’s Stella,” you tell him. “Her brother Bruno is on the pillow back there asleep.”

Eddie’s eyes roam over to the dark gray poodle snoozing away in the back corner. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world and Eddie envies that. 

“Do you know all the animals’ names here?” Eddie asks as he stands back up.

“Sometimes it’s hard to keep track because they come and go, but yeah, I think so,” you say. “Hmm, okay, I was just about to go change the kitty litter. Want to come along and distract the kittens? You wouldn’t believe how much they get in the way.”

“Sure,” Eddie agrees as he follows you down the hallway. As soon as you open the door to where the cats are kept, a cacophony of meowing floods his ears. There are different volumes and different pitches blending together to create a song of cat chaos. Eddie realizes he must be staring when he hears a soft giggle coming from your direction. Ducking his head, he clears his throat and turns towards you. “What should I do, boss?”

“Well,” you say as you walk over to a few of the cubbies the cats are residing in, “I’ll let a few out at a time, you distract them with the toys or maybe even some treats and I’ll clean their boxes. Then we try to corral them back in and start over again. Ready?”

There’s an array of cat toys on the far side of the small room. Fuzzy mice, balls that jingle, some with feathers, and a few cat wands. Eddie grabs a bag of cat treats off the shelf–which means every little eyeball in that room is on him–and settles himself on the floor next to the toys.

“Ready.”

The first batch you let out consists of five cats–ones that you know for a fact get along, you inform him. There’s a calico named Turtle, an orange and white one named Eric, an all-white called Kissy with the bluest eyes Eddie’s ever seen, and two small kittens. They’re both tabby cats with stripes, but one is grey with black stripes and the other is a soft orange with darker stripes; named Pepper and Chili respectively. Unsurprisingly, the kittens are the first ones intrigued by their new visitor. Tiny paws pad over the linoleum floor until they’re both standing right in front of Eddie. Now that they’re this close though, they get a bit shy. Their eyes are so big for their little heads, Eddie thinks, and he can’t help but chuckle at how cute they are. Chili decides to be the brave one and takes on the scary task of crawling up Eddie’s leg. 

“Jesus,” Eddie winces as sharp little claws dig through the material of his jeans and prick at his skin. You pop your head out from one of the kennels and give him a sympathetic look.

“Yeah. I don’t know why but kittens’ claws are sharper than adult cats,” you tell him.

“God, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” Eddie tells Chili as the little furball stops to sit on Eddie’s thigh. As if seeing that his brother is safe, Pepper jumps up and follows the trail the ginger cat had led. “Ah, both. Great.” His words are joking, but the way he grits his teeth as Pepper’s claws do their little pricks of damage is very real. 

Turtle makes her way over and begins to chew on the top corner of the treat bag. Kissy immediately wants Eddie to pet her, and Eric is content to sit about a foot away and watch the others interact with the human on the floor. 

You peek over your shoulder as you empty the dirty litter into the garbage can beside you, and smile when you see Pepper standing on Eddie’s lap with her two front paws pressed right over his heart. Her tiny head bobs as she inspects Eddie’s face, little pink nose twitching as it works. 

Chili has to outdo his sister and jumps right up to Eddie’s shoulder, as if he were a pirate and Chili is his trusty parrot. The ginger cat noses at Eddie’s curls before deciding to take a taste. He opens his mouth and Eddie is glad that hair doesn’t have nerve endings when Chili sinks those little needles that he calls teeth into the strand. 

By the time you get finished cleaning out the litter and refilling the food and water, Pepper is up on Eddie’s other shoulder, chewing on hair on that side of his head. Kissy is curled up in Eddie’s lap, purring contentedly as she snoozes. Turtle is still trying to figure out how to get into the treat bag, and Eric decides he can trust Eddie enough to rest his head on Eddie’s ankle. 

“Well, don’t you all look comfy,” you say as you stroll over to them. 

“Cats have no boundaries,” Eddie says with a smile.

“Not a one,” you agree.

Eventually, you get them all back in their cubby condos and are able to move on to clean the other cat’s areas.

When you get to the last one, you open the cage door and reach in. Eddie watches as you pull out an older gray and brown cat and hug it to your chest.

“How are you, Perry?” you ask before planting a kiss right between the cat’s ears. You turn towards Eddie so he can get a better view of the large feline. “This is Perry. He’s the oldest cat here and an absolute sweetheart. I would’ve brought him home with me a long time ago if my sister wasn’t allergic.”

“Hi, Perry,” Eddie says, walking closer to the two of you. He holds his fingers up and Perry gives them a quick sniff. The cat ducks his head and Eddie takes the hint, scratching wherever his hand is guided along the soft fur.

“Wow,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Perry let anyone pet him that quickly. He can be a grumpy old man when he doesn’t know someone.”

“I live with a grumpy old man,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Guess I just know how to deal with them.”

“Do you want to hold him while I clean?” you offer. 

“Sure.”

You hand the cat over and Perry quickly adjusts to being in Eddie’s arms. It’s another thing that surprises you. Perry isn’t usually a fan of being held—unless it’s by you. But the tabby seems quite content in Eddie’s arms. 

Since the last cage is the easiest to clean, you finish up with the cat room in no time.

“What now?” Eddie asks. 

A look down at your watch lets you know.

“Time for the first group of dogs to go outside.” You nod for Eddie to follow you in the direction of the dogs’ section. “We do it in groups since there’s so many of them. This way they can all get some attention and there’s less likely to be any issues or fighting.”

It’s not surprising to you that Eddie is a complete natural with the dogs when you get outside. He’s on the grass with them, rough housing, he plays fetch, and even runs laps around the yard with a few who just need to burn off their extra energy. The dogs all take to him so naturally—even the shy ones. It’s impossible not to smile as you watch the canines play with this golden retriever of a man. 

By the time the two of you bring the last round of dogs back inside, Eddie’s cheeks are rosy from exertion, his breathing is somewhat labored, and he has patches of dirt on him almost from head to toe. 

“Come here,” you say with a chuckle once you’ve snapped the last lock shut. 

There’s a battered door at the other end of the hall, and Eddie follows you over towards it. You jiggle the rusty doorknob and step into the small bathroom. There are a few stacks of towels lined up on the counter and you pull a teal one off the top of a pile. 

The scent of lemons fills the small space as you pump some hand soap onto the towel and wring it out with some water. 

You turn back to Eddie and motion for him to drop his chin. He does, and you push a few strands of curls back to wipe at the dirt on the left cheek and jawline.

“How’d you get this?” you ask with a chuckle.

“No idea,” he replies with a small huff of laughter. “I think it was when Yogi and I both dove for that tennis ball.”

The memory of Eddie and the chocolate lab both going for the toy brings a smile to your face as you clean off what you can of the dirt. 

“He’s a good boy,” you say. 

“What about me?” Eddie asks with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

You laugh and toss the dirty towel in the laundry bin. 

“Yes, Eddie,” you tell him. “You were a good boy, too.”

Even though he’s the one who brought it up, he feels his face get warm.

“So, I’m actually headed out early today,” you say as you wipe your hands off on the sides of your jeans. “But I’m sure Brenda will let you know what you can do next.” It’s hard to keep the playful smirk off your face at the mention of the cantankerous receptionist.

Eddie drops his jaw and stares at you with mock annoyance.

“Playing hooky and leaving me with someone who makes Ms. O’Donnell look like a ray of sunshine? How dare you?”

You chuckle and shake your head.

“I mean, if you want to go get my cavity filled for me, I wouldn’t complain,” you say with a shrug.

Eddie winces, fighting off the urge to run his tongue over his teeth.

“Oof, okay. That’s a good excuse, I guess,” Eddie says. 

“I’m so glad you approve,” you tease. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Sure am.”

Honestly, Eddie has no idea if he’s scheduled to come in tomorrow or not, but he hardly doubts anyone would complain if he showed up for extra volunteering. 

“I’ll see you then.”

You give him one last smile before heading to grab your bag from the back room.

The next day, all the cats and kittens meow at you the moment you step foot into their room. 

“Hello, babies,” you greet them. “How’s my man Perry doin—” Your face falls when you see Perry’s usual crate empty of the senior cat. 

Despite the cries of protest, you back out of the cat room and hastily make your way to Brenda’s desk.

“Where’s Perry?” you ask without preamble.

“Got adopted,” Brenda responds, not looking up from the old issue of People Magazine she’s flipping through. 

“Oh.” You swallow and nod your head. “Good for him.” I didn’t get to say goodbye. 

A few tears fall as you head back to the cats and begin your daily cleaning routine. You are genuinely happy that Perry has found a home. Cats of his age don’t belong in a shelter, they belong with a family. Well, all cats do, but it’s especially harder for seniors. It’s the fact that you didn’t get to give him one more scratch between his ears or kiss the back of his head one last time that is upsetting you. He was so much a part of your daily life that it already feels empty in the shelter without him.

“Hey.”

Eddie’s voice startles you, causing you to jump and hit the back of your head on the roof of Chili and Pepper’s cubby. 

“Ow.” You wince and step back, bringing your hand up to hold the sore spot.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Eddie says, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to scare you—hey, are you okay?” Eddie frowns in concern when he sees the tear tracks running down your cheeks. 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” you say before wiping off your face with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m fine. Just found out that Perry got adopted and I’m bummed I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.”

“Oh.” The smile forming on Eddie’s pretty face doesn’t hold the tone of sympathy that you were expecting. He clears his throat and brings his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, um, actually, I’m the one who adopted him.”

Either your ears or brain are having a hard time grasping what Eddie just said, so it takes a few moments before it finally clicks.

“You? You adopted Perry?”

“Yeah.” There’s a prideful grin on Eddie’s face and it makes your heart rate pick up. “After you left yesterday, I went to say goodbye to him, and he kept pawing at me through the bars of the crate. I let him out and he wanted me to hold him. I kinda fell in love with him right then and there.”

Tears flood your eyes once more, but this time for an entirely different reason. 

“Oh, Eddie.” You chuckle and wipe at your misty eyes. “That makes me so happy. Perry deserves a good family, and I couldn’t have picked a better one. Thank you.”

“You can come by whenever you want to see him,” Eddie says, a nervous warble in his voice. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m sure, uh, he’d love to see you more.”

A shy smile graces your features as you reply, “I’d like that, too.”

“So, no more tears,” Eddie says, stepping forward and using his thumb to gently erase any remains of your waterworks. 

“No more tears,” you agree, taking a deep breath. 

Before you can let the thought linger and overthink it, you lean forward and wrap your arms around Eddie’s neck, hugging his body close to yours. He tentatively wraps his arms around your body before holding you just as tightly as you’re holding him. 

Reluctantly, you pull away and take a step backward.

“So, what do you say?” you ask. “Should we get to work?”

Eddie drops into a bow and makes a grand sweeping gesture towards the cat cubbies. 

“Let’s do it.”