#Hot Hors D'oeuvres

[chefabod]

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[cunninghamchrissie]

“My eyes are up here, Cunningham.”

Eddie breaks Chrissy's reverie, and she blushes a delicious shade of pink that he wants to lick off her face, the finger she was gnawing on falling to her lap.

“Where’d you go just then?” he chuckles.

“Nowhere! You just, uhm.” She clears her throat, still unable to look away from him. More specifically, his body. “That outf–the clothes. Uhm. It looks really good.”

And, really, it’s the worst thing she could’ve told him, because Eddie gets that insufferable slow grin on his face, eyes narrowing in mischief.

“Yeah?” he teases, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and popping his hip, all cockiness. “Like what you see, huh, sweetheart?”

Any other day, Chrissy would roll her eyes fondly, maybe giggle his name if they were in public, but he just looks so hot in his red plaid shirt and leather jacket, her thighs can't help but press together to try and alleviate the ache already settling there.

"I guess I'll let you objectify me like I'm nothing but a piece of meat," Eddie sighs dramatically, not missing the movement of her legs. "But only because I love you."

If Chrissy starts wearing his shirt to bed when she's alone and comes faster than she ever has because it still smells like him, that's nobody's business but her own.

[morethansalad]

Vegan Stuffed Hot Red Cherry Peppers

[tsuyalovebot]

watch you entertain.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

synopsis: caleb comes to a few conclusions when you give him a blowjob for the first time.

cw: NSFW and explicit sexual content, mdni. established relationship. mentions of intercourse. oral sex (blowjob). mentions of reader receiving oral sex. hair pulling. imaginative violence (not to reader). petnames (pretty, pipsqueak). mention of oral sex (receiving). he slaps his dick on your face (not sorry). mention of spanking and watching porn. caleb-typical warnings.

wc: 1.7k (drabble....ish????)

author's note: i can't defend myself since 90% of this is word vomit. i'm working on another caleb piece right now, but i needed to get this out of my system. think of it as a precursor piece, like an hors d'oeuvres. also, please disregard any typos. (— - —)|||

The first time Caleb felt your lips on his was magical. The second, third, fourth, and succeeding times were all but surreal.

He had all but convinced himself that your mouth, pressed to his in a flurry of tender touches or desirous cravings, was something he conjured up in the blurry moments of his delusions. You always manage to kiss them away, though.

Later on, you admitted that he was your first kiss.

"When I visited you after you moved out," you said. Hands wrung, your gaze averted downward as you were perched on his lap one evening.

He knows what you're talking about. Remembers its vividness with a startling clarity that would have embarrassed him otherwise, if you didn't share the same sentiments.

By now, you've already kissed and made out in the intimacy of his place beyond finite counting. Had sex with him on whatever surface the two of you could get your hands on. You've long since spoiled him with your presence, both physical and mental. There's a key tucked away in his headspace with your name engraved into the metal. Magnetic and the signification of a special place for you in his heart.

He spoiled you, and now, you spoil him. Neither of you complain about this mutually beneficial arrangement. Why would you?

Though, he can't say he's exactly pleased at the current moment.

"That's it, mmm. You're being so sweet today."

He's watching you, as he always is. You're on your knees before him—you insisted, said it added to the atmosphere despite his crows of indignance at the possibility of them bruising—and your mouth impossibly full of his cock.

You're bare before him, towel discarded on the coffee table with your body damp and he's barely presentable in his uniform. Disheveled and pants undone, he wasn't sure if he was exactly living up to the honorable nature of the clothes he donned. He tried to undress, but you'd been pawing at him the second he walked through the doorstep in nothing but one of the towels he bought you, so his resistance was doomed from the start.

His arms spread on the top of the couch, he tilts his head back and sighs slowly. Hot breath escapes him in time with his Adam's apple bobbing, swallowing a heavy moan that threatens to break free. It takes him a few moments before he peers at your kneeling form once more.

One of his hands cups your cheek, the cool leather swiping over your cheekbone and pushing some of your hair back. Rapt attention on you, whispering soft words of, "that's how you do it" and "a biiit wider, pipsqueak— yeah, like that" with so much appreciation in his tone. Because that's what he feels toward you right now; so much appreciation in his heart belongs to you.

Your tongue was doing sinful licks along the underside of his cock's curve, the girth hefty in your two hands, and your eyes stayed closed in a quiet pleasure. It's expertly done, and the creation of human response as you wrap those pretty pink lips around the tip of him and suckle on it, strings of your saliva leaving sticky wefts along the shaft.

Alternating between peppering his length in kisses and taking a couple inches into your mouth, he's fighting for his fucking life trying to not bust a nut. He's sort of ashamed to have dreamt of this moment for years. You would never let him live it down.

As if the deities couldn't get enough of his suffering, his mind had made the fatal mistake of noting the visible difference of the size of him and your hands and your mouth. It gets him going, that stark contrast and how gently you were treating him.

It's a sight reserved for his eyes alone. Something he wants to pocket and immortalize because it's his and only his. That's the only reason for the powerful plethora of emotions boiling over in his gut. Truly, the only reason.

That's what he tells himself as he observes you with a progressively darkening, clinical, dead-eyed stare that you weren't aware of. A little voice in him nagging at his conscience, spitting words of venom that feeds into the slowly, slowly expanding green-eyed monster rising onto its feet.

"I got a question for you, pretty," he says calmly, deceptively so. Making sure to sound as casual as possible, his gloved hand coming to stroke over your damp, silky hair. You really just couldn't wait to please him, immediately pawing at him when he arrived home and you were fresh out the bath.

You murmur something in reply, lips suctioned to his shaft. Those gorgeous eyes, ones that beheld him with such reverence and adoration in round shape flicker up to his. The vibrations and sight hit him like a freight train and he groans, low and deep. He lets the pleasure settle into his bones.

"You have to answer honestly, 'kay?" He croons down at you, assuring. His facial expression had finally relaxed from its initial, contemplative one. You're happy with this, he notes as you eagerly bob your head, careful to remain quiet.

Good. It'll make hearing your voice all the more worth it. When you said he was your first kiss, he was beyond ecstatic.

Hopefully, you can echo the same thing now.

With an easygoing air betraying that of his positively threatening smile, he asks, "Where'd you learn how to do this?"

There's a sick sense of pleasure in watching you process his words a second too lats. Because you're such an open book with him, aren't you? The way your eyes widen and your lips halt, as if your heart stopped even beating. Even if makes his own blackened heart speed up, its thudding resembling a rabbit's stomping.

Your blinks were a linguistic of their own, and he was the expert in unraveling the lexicology of your existence.

You don't answer fast enough. Or, you don't answer at all. Because now, you're staring him like a child chastised for having their hand in a candy jar—where they weren't supposed to be.

Unfortunately for you, that was more than telling for him.

Caleb doesn't speak. The air is several degrees colder now, like the air circulation was suddenlt cut off, and he drinks in the way anticipation tenses your muscles and your uneven breaths smooth over his skin when you pop your lips off his cock. Those sinful lips that he stole away as his were now glistening in a mix of your spittle and his pre-cum.

He could almost forgive you right now. But, you make the crucial mistake of looking away from him.

"Oh?" It's inquisitive—his tone, yet it has the power of a knife being drawn.

The hand on your head loses its comforting, encouraging air and instead becomes a weight.

A threat.

The visual that's formulating in his head isn't a pleasant one. An image of stained glass shards, blurry yet clear in the vision of you on your knees for another guy. The scattered light capturing your mouth wrapped around the faceless stranger, servicing him the same way you're handling Caleb, seeking that same, sickly sweet tang of validation.

Could it have been that Xavier guy he sees on your phone notifications from time to time? Or is it someone closer to you, from your Association? There's a chance someone else from your childhood reached out to you, maybe after his disappearance. Did they hold you in ways he's been craving to hold you for years?

That's not fair, now, is it? He's worn your hairtie around his wrist for years, disregarded countless scribbled love letters from bystanders, based his little trinkets around those apples you love so much, and spoiled you countless times in his misplaced desire for playing the role of your protector. It simply isn't fair that you sought gratification from a source that wasn't him—because for him, it was always you.

Is it too selfish of him to want your everything?

You don't say anything even as your mouth opens and closes. You're either searching for an excuse, weighing the costs of lying to him at the moment, or you're genuinely floundering for words at the sudden blankness in your head.

He hums again, and it's lower than before. Full of thought and contemplation as his amethyst eyes bore holes into your speechless state. It's full of disappointment and he sees the worry creep into your eyes like a leaking faucet.

Threading his gloved fingers into the tresses of your hair, its smooth leather massaging your scalp, his face softens.

"I guess I did say you should be honest, not fast," he murmurs, laughing to himself quietly.

His lips tilt into a boyish sort of grin, and it's so full of mirth and entertainment that it's easy to process as him diffusing the situation. It works like so, and you're soon tilting your head into his palm and seeking his touch.

In the distance, the kettle in the kitchen screeches like an alarm of what's to come.

Disconcertingly relaxed, his smile seems absolutely sarcastic. A bit sharp at the edges.

"I should make it easier to understand. Let me rephrase it, then."

He pulls your hair. It's one harsh motion and it jerks your head up. A gasp torn from your lips as they fall open, the slight sting shooting through your body with an charged breeze.

"Who did you learn this from?"

He's so used to tasting you before fucking; your sex and his tongue are practically best friends in his eyes. It never once occurred to him to have you suck him off.

He should've been suspicious the second you offered to begin with.

The blood drains from your face some more and he relishes the blank yet alert state your eyes reflect. He's sure your mind is in disarray right now. The feeling is mutual, though you're aware of that too, most likely.

"I have a right to know. I always said that you could come to me if you needed help with anything, right?" It's a rhetorical question. You both know that. You're doomed either way.

You make another breathless noise, and he wants to explore your vocality. Now, how would you sound gagging on him?

"Caleb—"

He shushes you softly and you quiet down in an instant.

"I don't need an answer that isn't related to my question, don't you agree?"

Another rhetorical question as he cocks his head, the gesture mocking.

"You're always tellin' me to be honest and share my thoughts with you. I'm bein' honest now. Everything should be mutual, so, answer my question. I might even go easy on you."

You're totally panicking now, aren't you?

His other hand wraps around the base of his cock and he slaps the shaft onto your cheek, then smearing his leaking tip over your glistening lips, a thoughtful smile playing on his own as if he were offering you candy.

"And depending on how you answer, I'm either taking you over my knee while you spell their name out, or you'll be showing me exactly what pornos you've been watching without my knowledge. So, what's it gonna be?"

[deepdisireslonging]

Cake or Cookies

A good round of sexy texting during girls’ night leads to sexy personal time when Bucky gets home.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x curvy!Reader

Warnings/Promises: food mention, descriptions of injuries (canon-level), dirty talk, sexting, SMUT, oral (both receiving), implied further smut

Word Count: 3080

Note: They can pry the Avenger Apartment/Tower from my cold dead hands. Everything’s fine, everyone is fine; what trauma? Why can’t we have nice things? I went hunting through some of my lost prompts and found a couple to squeeze together. Happy reading!

Girls’ night in the Tower was bound to be dangerous. It was usually when Natasha came up with the next round of pranks to play on the boys. And when Wanda took it upon herself to create the best pillow fort to watch movies in. Her magic made it easy to pile the couch pillows and blankets into what looked more like a cozy cave than a fort. And Maria kept track of where to find any films not already stored in Stark’s library.

You were in charge of snacks. Drinks were cozy only: tea, hot chocolate, and coffee. Alcohol parties were for other nights. Snacks ranged anywhere from home-made chips to hors d'oeuvres (fancy and simply indulgent), to the smorgasbord of mass produced favorite snacks you raided from the corner bodega. But you were stumped when it came to tonight’s desserts. The bodega’s sweet treats were present, cheap candy and the like, but you were stuck between the roll of cookie dough and a box mix for cupcakes.

Stumped, you didn’t acknowledge the warm body that ghosted up behind you until a hand slid across your waist. “It’s girls’ night. What are you still doing here?” Sitting down the treats, you turned in Bucky’s arms and scratched your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He lightly kissed your forehead. “Needed a break from Tony. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.”

You both inhaled deeply, cheek to cheek. The last mission had been a rough one. Most of the team had come back banged up. And you still had a nasty scrape of road burn up one leg. Which is why you were wearing the equivalent of biker shorts. Pepper had gotten them for you sometime after the social media trend of those leggings ladies liked to tease their S.O’s with. They were surprisingly supportive of your form. You usually wore them underneath your gear because they were borderline indecent. But, with one of Bucky’s oversized shirts covering your figure, nobody had commented.

Except for Bucky as he slid his hands down your body to rest over the curve of your ass.

“I thought these stayed out of sight?”

You teased a glance up at him. “Usually, yes. But It’s girls’ night. We all wear the equivalent of our pajamas since you boys will be out. You are all going out, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. Eventually.” But he didn’t move. He hugged you closer, brazenly tilting your head to one side with his nose so he could kiss the underside of your jaw.

“Y/L/N!” Natasha waved from the living room. “Are we ready to go, or what?”

A smile spread across your face. You lightly pushed Bucky away, making him whine. Natasha was already starting the voting poll for the evening’s movies when you turned back to the counter. “I’ve got to bake before the party starts. Do you have a preference for what sweets you’d like to be left over? Cookies or cupcakes?”

Bucky pressed up behind you, resting his large hands on the counter on either side of you, and griding his front into your ass. “Cookies. There’s enough cake in this kitchen already.” He slapped your ass, following with both his hands taking tight squeezes of your flesh.

As you gasped, he rushed out. The wink he shot you from the door warned you that the tease would not be the evening’s last.

Fifteen minutes later, the cookies were out, the movie was in, and everyone was settled into their favorite pile of pillows.

Five minutes into the movie, the texting started.

Lover Boy <3: “How’s the movie?”

You rolled your eyes as you turned your phone on silent. If Okoye heard your phone again, you’d never get it back. “We’re watching Magic Mike. So… It’s going well.” You added a smiley face with its tongue sticking out for good measure.

Bucky’s messages popped up every few minutes. You kept your phone screen towards you to see the notification light up your screen without bothering the other women.

Lover Boy <3: “Should I be jealous?”

You: “Nah. Their gyrating doesn’t do it for me.”

Lover Boy <3: “Good to know.”

Lover Boy <3: “Is there anything in the movie that does ‘do’ it for you?”

You smothered a chuckle into your blanket. Each passing second that you took to come up with a teasing reply was surly wreaking havoc on your man.

You: “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

His reply was slow in coming. When it did, you almost fumbled your phone into the floor.

Lover Boy <3: *image incoming*

The picture you received was of Bucky’s hand resting on the top of his thigh. They were out to dinner somewhere, the edge of the table blocking your photo view from the rest of the guys. In the curve between his forefinger and thumb, his bulge was the center of attention. You stuck a sucker in your mouth to cover up your gasp. But the other ladies were too busy hooting for the first dance scene to notice.

You: “Just him? I must be slipping. Especially since I thought you really liked my shorts earlier.”

Lover Boy <3: “I like those shorts because I like taking them off. Girls night got in the way.”

You: “You’ve got to come home sometime.”

Lover Boy <3: “Then what do you have in mind?”

You turned off the flash for your camera and waited for the TV screen to illuminate your face. Sucker holding down your tongue, you sneaked the pic. Before any of the girls could see and tease you. While it sent, you sucked on the round sugar treat. You imagined Bucky’s cockhead on your tongue, as you knew he would too. His reply came in seconds.

Lover Boy <3: “Minx”

You: “And?”

Lover Boy <3: “When I do get home, I’m going to taste something sweeter. All night long.”

Lover Boy <3: “If you can handle it.”

Biting your lip, you smiled into your blanket.

You: “We both know what I can handle. But can you handle what I want to do to you?”

You: “Bet I can blow you so good you forget how to speak Russian before morning.”

You: “Actually, bet I can make you forget all your languages.”

Lover Boy <3: “An official bet?”

Now it was dangerous territory. Neither of you would wager anything that would show in public. Or bring attention from the team inside the tower. But Bucky’s winnings had a steep cost on your ability to walk the next day. Yours usually meant him taking a few days off to spend time together in some distant cabin.

You: “Do we have time to disappear to the Rockies when I win?”

Lover Boy <3: “We just finished a mission. I’m sure I can convince Steve to leave us alone… at least for several nights in a row when I win.”

It was on.

He played dirty by escaping to the bathroom to shoot you a picture of his cock. It was already thick for you, proud and flushed in his palm.

You also escaped. But the picture you sent didn’t require you to take your clothes off. All you did was tug down the front of his borrowed shirt, and splay your fingers wide between your breasts.

You: “Can’t wait to squeeze you between these.”

Lover Boy <3: “9hey now…”

Good. His texting was already stumbling.

You: *picture incoming*

All you did was rest your hand over your throat. But Bucky’s reply of a bunch of scrambled letters made you laugh. You returned to the movie.

You: “Can’t wait for you to get home. But we’ve got about 3 more hours of movies to watch. Think you can last that long?”

Lover Boy <3: “If I have to. Might have to take care of myself before then.”

Wanda looked over as you squirmed in your seat.

You: “You can’t wait for me? I’ll wait for you.”

When the movie lit up enough, you took a picture of the pillow between your thighs.

Lover Boy <3: “Promise?”

You: “Say please.”

His reply, despite the distance between text and actually hearing his voice, dripped with promise. You bit your lip, hearing his growl in your head.

Lover Boy <3: “Since when do get to make the demands around here?”

Lover Boy <3: “Please.”

You: “Since I’m home. Away from the consequences of mouthing off at you till later.”

Lover Boy <3: “You’re not sharing this conversation with the ladies are you? You’re not usually this… sassy.”

You: “This sass is rated E for everyone. But, no. This conversation is just between us.”

You: “I have to stop texting. Natasha is beginning to notice.”

Lover Boy <3: “Until I get my hands on you:”

It was several minutes until you checked your phone, waiting for the others to drop their questioning looks. When you did, you had to smother your moan. He sent one last picture of his tongue out between his fingers. A promise of delectable problems to come.

***

Somebody texted the guys when the movies were almost over. They arrived halfway through you girls cleaning up.

“How was the double feature?” Tony asked. He snagged a remaining hors d'oeuvres off the tray before Maria could stick it in the fridge.

You didn’t hear the reply. All you could focus on was how lust-blown Bucky’s eyes were as he stared you down from the other side of the room. You pressed your thighs together. If the way your chest heaved was any indication, you were in for a long night. Steve barely gave you a glance when you walked past him. Bucky gliding past made him give your departure a second look.

The hallway to your room was dark. The lights that illuminated the floor wouldn’t engage fully unless there was an emergency. Which meant that your shadow was faded against the wall. And it was fractured into several clusters of shadows at reach installation. You didn’t look back. It was part of the game. You couldn’t hear him, but sometimes you could have sworn your shadows had an extra layer.

When you reached for your door handle, another hand beat you to it. Bucky pressed up behind you, pushing you into the room and pinning you to the inside of the door as he locked it. He slid his knee between your legs. Fascinated, he enjoyed the show as you slid the apex of your thighs across the muscle he gave you. He stopped your movements with a hand on your hip, while the other lifted your wrists above your head.

“Did you actually wait, or was that a tease?” He reached into your shorts, groaning to find your slick there. While you trembled, he loudly sucked his middle finger into his mouth. “Oh, ангел, I am going to ruin you. For teasing me like you did.”

“You – you started it. Technically.”

He brought one of your hands down to rest over the front of his pants. “Maybe. But you laid down the gauntlet. How do you want to do this?”

With a grin, you wriggled out of his grasp. You walked backwards towards your bed. Bucky stalked slowly after you. Turning, you ran your hands down your sides, to your hips. And back to the curve of your ass. “Cake?” You smoothed your hands up from your rear to your breasts. “Or cookies?”

Bucky groaned. “The whole damn bakery if I can get my hands on it.” He guided you onto the bed, crawling over you in a way that stole your breath. When you tried to roll him onto his back to begin the challenge, he chuckled. “Nuh-uh. Challenger goes second.”

“But-“

He silenced you with a kiss. As he deepened it, hands kneading into your flesh and removing your clothes, your rebuttal died on your tongue. He barely pulled back enough to remove his own clothes. It wasn’t long before he was working his mouth down your body, kissing and sucking and nipping at your skin until he made it to your sex. 

Sometimes part of the challenge included a timer. Like that one gala when he dared you steal away with him during Tony’s speech, and cum before the ending round of applause. With his head buried under your dress, he won with enough time to participate in the applause for a speech you didn’t give a damn about. You didn’t find out till later that Steve had kept track of when you two disappeared and reappeared. Bucky wrote the time on your bathroom mirror as the time to beat. It had yet to be broken.

Tonight wasn’t one of those times. There was all the time in the world. All night to edge or overstimulate each other to your hearts’ content.

Breathing warm air over your sex, his grin between your thighs sent a ripple of goosebumps over your skin. You weren’t sure which was more disarming: his knowledge of your body and its sweet spots that he could make you cum in minutes, or that same knowledge used to bliss you out over hours till you couldn’t remember more than screaming his name. With his tongue, he began the challenge. As if you weren’t soaked already, he made a mess of you. Curling his fingers through your folds. Delving his tongue deep in search of the ability to taste you for days. When he scraped his teeth across your clit, the electricity tightened your fingers in his hair.

He wasn’t drawing this out. A man on a mission, Bucky was doing everything he could to bring you to the brink as fast as he could. The speed that you hurtled toward release stole your breath. That was his plan. Shock you while trying to beat his time so that you wouldn’t be able to speak. And then he’d win double the bragging rights.

And, damn him, it might just work.

Hungrily, he slurped up your pleasure. Adding a third finger to his onslaught, he curled them all to make you see stars. His metal arm flashed out to pin down your hips before you could arch away from him. The metal was cold, frigid, against your flushed skin. The difference in temperature was enough of an overload to your sparkling nerves that your eyes screwed shut. You babbled a series of sounds, making Bucky hum in delight.

But when he came up for air, gently stroking your folds to ease you down, you surprised him.

“Is that all you got, Barnes?”

“Fuck. Seriously?” He rested his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

You did your best to steady your breath. No point in revealing those six words were all you could manage. After another moment, you curled your own finger. You summoned him to hover over you, dangling his dog-tags in your face. Catching one between your teeth, you gripped and pushed his shoulders until he was on his back.

It was your turn to kiss down his body. Across his collar bone and pecs. Down that center chasm between his abs. From one hip bone, down his V, and up to the other side. As you took his length in hand, you had to smile. The poor man should have let you pleasure him first, instead of torturing himself and his cock with waiting. Gently, you circled your thumb around his tip. It dragged a groan out between his teeth. Good. The more vocal he was, the better you could track his ability to speak. Or lack thereof.

You set the challenge into the back of your mind and got to work in pleasing your man.

The first movements were gentle. And careful around how sensitive he was. Still, each touch and twist kept his voice active. He tried to watch you, but kept dropping his head back in pleasure as you quickened your movements. While he was laid back, you shifted your position.

His head snapped up, and he cursed loudly in Russian as his cock was enveloped between your breasts.

Darting out your tongue, you kitten licked the tip of his cock when it came into range. It gave you no small pleasure to watch your man, the Winter Soldier and former Commando, fall to pieces because of you. He cursed louder in English, Russian, and��� was that German? But the more you jerked him between your breasts, the more his vocabulary scrambled together. You waited patiently. His metal hand twitched towards to before fisting the sheet. His flesh hand reached back for the pillows, sheets, headboard. Anything to ground himself. Then you struck. You let go of your breasts and dipped low enough to swallow him down. He roared as he bumped the back of your throat. Planting his feet on the bed, his thighs trembled with keeping himself from thrusting into your mouth.

That was fine. You moved enough for the both of you. And, just as his Russian was little more than the most strained of curses, you settled his balls into one hand, and slid the other up his torso. Your nails lightly caught his skin over his heaving breaths.

The high-pitched hiss from the depths of his lungs was your only warning before he filled your mouth.

Your ministrations slowed. You took every ounce of his pleasure, and smiled around his cock as you sucked your way off his length.

He dragged you up to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His lips trembled while trying to say something. Anything. But all he could do was pant into your skin.

You smiled. And kissed the underside of his jaw. While you both recovered, you murmured gentle reassurances between breaths.

“You cheated,” he finally managed.

“Oh? When did I manage that?”

Running his fingers through his hair, he stared you down. “Those damn shorts.”

With a laugh, you nipped at his chest. “What? You did get to take them off, like you wanted. And I can’t help it if you decided to run your hands all over me and get yourself hard. It jazzed me up too. So, in my mind, we’re even.”

“Fine.” He tilted up your face to kiss you. Mumbling against your lips, he complained, “you’re using alotta words there, ангел.”

“And you’re still capable of Russian.”

Bucky grinned. “Then I guess this challenge isn’t done.”

And it wasn’t until long into the night.

***

Ангел: angel

***

Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist 

[superbat-love]

Clark stared miserably at his plate, seated across from his latest potential marriage prospect, the Omega son of Obs-Tinate, the CEO of Tinate, one of Krypton’s largest pharmaceutical companies.

"So, what do you do for fun?" the Omega asked Clark.

“I read a lot. Right now, I’m going through a book called ‘The Life and Death of Earth’. It’s fascinating—Earth’s culture and history really interest me. I also write under the pseudonym Clark Kent,” Clark replied.

"Oh, you’re a writer. Anyway, you’ll be inheriting your parents' research company, right?" the Omega said, clearly uninterested. Before Clark could respond, a waiter approached the table.

“Welcome to Gotham, esteemed Omega consorts and gentle Alphas. I’m Dick, your waiter for tonight,” the young man said with a playful smile. “First up, we have the hors d'oeuvre, a Gotham specialty.” He elegantly placed the dish on the table.

“Wait a minute, these snacks are cold. I want them reheated,” Obs-Tinate complained.

The waiter looked confused. “Sir, they’re meant to be served cold.”

“I don’t care, they should be hot!” Obs snapped.

Jor-El, Clark’s father, offered the waiter an apologetic smile. “Could you ask the chef if he can make an exception?”

Dick gave a small bow and removed the dish, taking it back to the kitchen.

A minute later, a large, imposing man stormed out of the kitchen. The occupants of the table shrank back as he stomped toward them, his expression furious.

“What do you mean, you want them reheated? Why should I change Alfred’s recipe to suit your unrefined Alpha palate?” the man growled into Obs-Tinate’s terrified face.

“B-Back off, you... you gargantuan Omega!” the CEO stammered, his voice shaking. His son whimpered, trying to hide behind his father.

“Mr. Butcher!” Clark cried out, recognizing the furious man.

The man’s glare shifted to Clark, his eyes narrowing. “You’re that Alpha who’s always loitering outside my butcher shop. Are you stalking me?”

“It’s Kal-El! I didn’t know you worked as a chef here,” Clark said, eyes wide. “Is this your night job?”

“It’s not. In fact, I was never here, and you never saw me.” The man turned, quickly making his way back toward the kitchen.

Clark stood up from the table, ignoring his parents' concerned glances, and hurried after him. “Wait! Can I at least get your name?”

“Damn persistent Alpha,” the man muttered. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Fine. If I tell you my name, Mr. Floppy Bow, will you leave me alone?”

Clark nodded eagerly, his heart racing. He yelped when the man suddenly grabbed his bowtie and tugged him close.

“Call me Bruce,” the man murmured in his ear, his breath warm against Clark’s skin. He released him with a wink and disappeared into the kitchen. Clark caught a glimpse of Dick giving Bruce two thumbs up just before the doors swung shut behind him.

The Ugly Omega AU

[sjbattleangel]

'You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides. You will play golf and enjoy hot hors d'oeuvres. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They have said, "Do not trust the Pilgrims. Especially Sarah Miller."...And for all these reasons I have decided to scalp you and burn your village to the ground.'

So this Thanksgiving, may we all join Wendsaday Addams in saying:

Screw colonizers.

Screw their revisionist lies.

Screw white supremacy.

but most of all:

Stand with Indigenous communities.

From Addams Family Values (1993). Dir: Barry Sonnenfeld

[stellar-skyy]

Could I order a hot white tea for Aventurine? If you can also add angst to confort please 👀

“order up! i have a white tea for aventurine, fresh and hot!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: At a work event, your coworker offers you a dance. ii. CWS & NOTES: no warnings applicable. aventurine x gn!reader. reader & aven are coworkers. mild angst & fluff. 1.6k words. iii. A/N: thank you for the order! i hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t their plan to hide in the corner all night, but it was where they ended up; drink clutched in both hands, shoulders hunched tightly, and eyes cast to the floor. All around them, their colleagues and fellow members of the Interastral Peace Corporation mingled and danced, filling the night with a dull drone of chatter and laughter. Around the groups and pairs scattered across the hall, were those few idly loitering on the outskirts like shadows, themself included.

They could busy themself for a while pretending to survey the hors d'oeuvres arranged on the table, but soon enough they would catch someone’s attention. Then would come the questions of why they were avoiding people, and the feeble attempts to drag them into a conversation they had far too little energy to engage in.

A charity ball, organized by their colleagues and funded by the ICP themselves. It seemed like a perfect idea when it was pitched, all up until they were standing alone in a crowded room, trapped in layers of formalwear the dug into their sides. The festivities grew all too much after a while, leaving them exhausted and weary of every greeting and smile.

It was much easier to turn their back on the other guests and ignore them for however long they could manage. That way, they weren’t forced into mindless small talk, or dragged into a half-hearted dance with any of their coworkers. They were fully content on spending the rest of their evening on the sidelines alone, without anyone to disturb their—

“Ahem.”

Peace.

The voice tore straight through their attempt to sink into the background, silky smooth and laced with the slightest trace of amusement. They lifted their head up, hands tightening around the drink in their hands and lips forming his name before they even had to look at him.

“Aventurine.”

The man smiled. He was dressed much more formal than usual, decked out in a three-piece suit with a deep green tie. It was tailored, cut and shaped around each part of his body to fit him perfectly. The outfit was simple, but it suited him well; even in a room of people dressed in their finest, he managed to outshine every one of them.

“You’re certainly hidden well, aren’t you?” Aventurine remarked, plucking a canapé off the table beside them and popping it into his mouth. “How long have you been here? An hour? Two?”

“I wasn’t hiding—” They tried to say, before they were cut off with a laugh.

“You can lie, but not well enough to fool me.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t make excuses. I really don’t care that much.”

The music changed suddenly, turning from a light jazz to a slower tune, complete with sweeping violins and deep echoes of a cello. Like clockwork, the few folks dancing in the centre paired up—both actual couples who had attended together, and coworkers who hurriedly joined together in time for the song to start.

Aventurine cleared his throat again. When they turned to him, there was a look in his eye that told them he was planning something.

“I did have something I wanted to ask, however. May I have this dance?” he asked with a small smile, hand outstretched.

They bit back any retort that might have been on their tongue, as he stood waiting their response with a glint in his eye. It was a challenge, like everything was with him; a bet to whether their pride outweighed their self-consciousness. They could almost see the dice rolling behind his eyes, breath held in anticipation.

If it was a game he was playing, they would be happy to indulge him, if only for an evening. It wasn’t as though they had anything else to do, other than waiting idly in the corner for the music to die down and the guests to leave. They could spare whatever was left of their energy for a few minutes of dancing.

“Of course,” they said, taking his hand. A look of surprise crossed his face for only a moment before it was replaced with a wider grin.

“Ah, I knew I came over here to a reason,” Aventurine smiled, leading them away from the corner and into the lights.

They were uncomfortably aware of each eye fixed on their back, but Aventurine was unfazed; his hand was firm in holding onto theirs in a surprisingly gentle grip. His gloved thumb softly stroked the side of their hand, a move that was much too close to romantic for their liking.

“Are you ready?” he asked, when they reached the floor.

“Yes,” they said instantly, and hoped it wasn’t a lie.

He laced his fingers through their hand, sliding his other over their hips. A heat flushed across their face—the result of the stuffiness inside the venue, no doubt—and they fumbled to place their hand on his shoulder.

“You act like you’ve never danced before,” he laughed.

The music swelled, and Aventurine began to lead their dance. One step, then two and three. He was surprisingly adept at sweeping them across the floor, out of the way of the rest of the dancers, while keeping up their pace.

Together they twirled and spun, in time as the music sung a chorus for them and them only. The rest of the guests faded away, until the two of them were alone on the dancefloor, held tightly in each other’s arms. It crossed their mind, for a moment, that the scene was something more suited to a couple than a pair like them. They wondered if he was thinking the same, whether he thought it odd that they were so close. Was he regretting his choice of dance partner, or feeling thankful he asked them?

They found themself glancing around them throughout, but oddly enough Aventurine’s eyes never left them. He seemed transfixed, watching them carefully as they seemed to melt into the dance.

“Are you ready?” He asked abruptly, just as the music reached a crescendo.

“What?”

“Are you ready?” He repeated in lieu of an explanation.

“Ready for wh—” they tried to ask, but were suddenly pulled into a spin. He let go of their waist, long enough to twirl them around as they squeaked in surprise. Their head was reeling by the time he pulled them back, holding them even tighter so they didn’t fall over.

“Ready to be spun,” he clarified, a moment too late.

“Yeah,” they breathed, hand clinging tightly to his shoulder to balance themself. “Yeah… I got that, now.”

The two of them whirled and spun for some time more—was it minutes? Hours? It was long enough for the music to change again, into an equally slow but slightly more melancholy song—before he spoke up again.

“You’re not a fan of dancing?” Aventurine asked, an eyebrow raised. The question was posed in his usual lilting voice, but there was a note of concern in his tone that wasn’t present in the moments before.

“Why do you ask?”

Aventurine paused to spin them past another dancing couple—a woman who was giggling far too loudly, and a man who seemed like he would rather be anywhere else—before continuing. “Well, for starters you haven’t made eye contact with me for more than a few seconds this entire time. You keep looking down at your feet.”

The music swelled. Aventurine abruptly pulled them into a low dip, leaning down so their faces were close enough that they could taste his breath. Their heartrate spiked, loud enough to drown out the music, but not enough to mask Aventurine’s voice.

“Is something wrong, [Name]?” He whispered into their lips, and all of a sudden they couldn’t breathe.

Not while you’re here was their first thought, but it was something far too raw to speak out loud, and only a half-truth. Aventurine’s presence had managed to quell some of the discomfort eating away at their stomach, but he was only a pretty distraction to the uneasiness that threatened to sweep them off their feet in the worst way. It whittled away at their already cracked mask of indifference, leaving them desperately holding the pieces together.

The eyes were still there, watching. They tracked their every move, noting each way they tilted further into his body to shield themself from their sight. He noticed too, pulling them up and out of the dip and turning them away from the people staring.

“Can we just go?” They whispered hollowly. He blinked, seeming to be caught off guard by the defeat in their voice. The shift in his demeanour was immediate, like a switch had been flipped.

“Of course, let’s—” Aventurine cleared his throat, standing straighter. “Let’s go.”

His hand rested on their lower back, guiding them out of the ballroom. The eyes never left, but Aventurine met them with a glare, and slowly they turned their gaze.

 “After you,” he said, opening the wide doors and beckoning them through. And in the open air, they remembered to breathe. “Now, is something the matter?”

They shifted in their steps, tugging on the edge of their sleeves. Was something the matter? It was a perfectly reasonable question, especially since they dragged him out of the event so suddenly, but they were at a loss for an answer.

“I don’t know. I just—” They let out a shuddering breath. “I just wanted to leave.”

Aventurine hummed. “I suppose that’s something enough.”

“I’m sorry,” they whispered.

“No apologising,” he chided, flicking them lightly on their arm. “You can’t be expected to want to be social at every moment. It’s not like I was inclined to spend my entire evening talking to my coworkers.” He shook his head. “Let yourself breathe once in a while, okay?”

“…I guess.”

“Come on. Let me walk you home.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[draftingnovels-imagines]

First Meeting \\ Werewolf x Reader + Vampire x Reader

Summary: The first meeting you have with your monster boyfriend

Tags: GN!Reader, Werewolf [full moon, trapped animal, bear traps (no wound descriptions), petting a werewolf, barista] / Vampire [high society events, waitressing, clumsiness, pet names, feasting, death (not graphic)]

Word Count: ~1200

Notes: I wanted to add a third "monster" in here but I couldn't figure out how to fit it in here. Maybe I'll introduce what I was thinking sometime later

Werewolf

The first time you lock your eyes is during a full moon.

You're making your way home. It's not that late, but it is rather cold outside. You're bundled up as best you can be in this weather. As you walk down the street, you hear an animal crying out in the brushes next to you. It's a loud, shrill sound. It sounds like it's in pain.

On any other day, you would have ignored the sound. However, something about it draws you close. It's probably a deer or something, right...? You go through the bushes to find a giant wolf. It towered over you, reaching up and away with fervor. Its leg was caught in a bear trap, and it looked rather bad. Nails dug into the dirt as it braced itself on a tree. Long fur swished as it tried its best to pull away and run, but it was to no avail. It howled again, loud and forlorn, before curling up. It looked resigned to its fate.

Then... it sees you.

It begins to snarl, bearing teeth and body shifting into a guarded stance. Was it truly angry or was it scared? You put your hands up. You don't mean any harm, but it doesn't know that. As you make your way over to the trap, it stays guarded but doesn't snap at you. It takes a minute, and a lot of strength, but you eventually open the trap and release the wolf. It limps out, standing at it's full, bipedal height. It suddenly dawns on you.

This is not a wolf. This is something else entirely.

For some reason, though. You're not scared. It's staring at you, lowering itself to be at eye-level. You reach out to pet it. It flinched at the thought of your touch, but eventually, it pressed its face into your hand. It's... warm, and fluffy. Like a large dog. You can't help but laugh. "Stay safe, alright?" You ask. It nods. Finally, it runs off into the night.

Probably one of the weirdest experiences you've had, but at least you saved it from whatever hunters put those traps up in the first place. You go to sleep to the sounds of howling. Before it was just annoying, but now you had a slight appreciation.

You wake up and go to a new coffee shop with a friend. They offered and there's no shame in trying something new!

It's packed. Clearly this is more of a hot spot than you two thought. The people behind the counter are working the hardest, but once catches your eye. He's at the counter is working on drinks for a moment before he comes up to the register. He looks tired, as if he didn't get much sleep the night before. His hair is messy and the bags underneath his eyes were deep.

"Hello. What can I get--" Once he focused on you, he cut himself off. His gaze felt familiar in a way you can't describe. You tilted your head in confusion.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's you. From last night. It's really you! I thought I'd never see you again." His grin is bright. You blink in confusion before you recognized him.

He's the wolf.

"Hey! You're holding up the line!" Someone shouts behind you. You look behind and see that the line is going out the door.

Maybe you two should have your reunion later.

Vampire

The first time you lock eyes, you see something you're not supposed to.

High-society events aren't your thing. The people they bring are somewhat selfish. Even so, tending tables was a good gig, especially at the most expensive venue in town. It paid enough and it allowed you to get a glimpse into a life you'd never have.

You make your way through the crowd, passing out hors d'oeuvres to anyone who wants. Some thank you, others turn their nose up to you and walk away. You've been working her for a while. At one point, the comments used to hurt you, but now they roll off your shoulders. This particular party is strange, though, but it's something you can't put your finger on. The guests are all affluent but mysterious. Some of these names you've never even heard of. Yet the clothes they wear and the people they're with clearly have more money that you've ever seen. As you deliberate on it and make your rounds, someone bumps into you. Luckily, you don't spill anything.

"I am so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." He says, his tone seeming genuine. You chuckle. At least someone here was nice.

"It's fine. How are you finding our service here?" You ask, in your most customer-service tone.

"You don't need to talk to me like that, darling. I'm not above you."

Charming. Maybe asking him would get some answers. "Well, I am serving you and the rest of this party. Is it always this--"

"Dull? Oh, you have no idea. They try to have these galas once every few years, and yet they never really do anything with it!"

"I was going to say 'affluent.'"

"Oh." He clears his throat. "Er... yes. Sort of."

You briefly touch his hand and it's cold to the touch. He pulled away quickly, clearing his throat. "Already trying to get hands on me? You haven't even asked me my name yet." He chuckled. While he tried his best to be smooth, you could hear the nervousness in his voice. You went to ask, but were interrupted by your boss yelling at you for not being back.

Once meals are served, things settle down for you, save for refilling people's glasses. You're so close to getting a break! Unfortunately, you trip over one of the tablecloths and fall this time. The tray of wine glasses you're holding comes crashing down and makes a mess on the tile floor. You're not even sure what to do for a moment, frozen in shock. Other workers came and rushed you off, telling you to get a mop or something else to clean this all up. Luckily, your clothes weren't stained so you wouldn't have to get changed. Silver linings, right? Still, you go to the closet and pull on the knob. Locked.

...Locked? That doesn't make any sense. Why keep things locked up in case of a spill. Not thinking anything of that, you open the door.

You take in a breath and all you can smell is blood. It's pungent, and makes you cover your mouth. One of your coworkers, a girl you hadn't known well, lay still in the arms of a guy feasting on her neck. It's messy. It's repulsive. You can't even scream, it's so much. You just stand there in silence, eyes glued to the sight as he finishes the job. Once he's done, only then do you see his face.

It's one you were hoping not to see.

"It's you, darling."

[starfxkrinc]

professor!pope x teacher's pet reader

this affair was strictly pragmatic. that's what you told yourself at least. if professor heyward didn't wanna fuck you, then he shouldn't have. he's the authority here isn't he? he was the one that had you bent over, face to face with his wife's picture while he nutted across your back.

so if you think about it, none of this is your fault. professor heyward is a very weak willed man. stuttering in class after each tryst, locking eyes with your bored expression like you couldn't care less about the fact you swallowed him whole before the period started. how are you more mature than a 40 something year old man? it's pathetic.

but this? this has reached a new low.

inviting you and the other research assistants into his home for some event the department was holding. leaving you trapped in a conversation with his environmentalist wife as if that'd shake you. but it doesn't. you listen to her drone on and on in jargon that'd even bore an academic to tears before pope drags you away with the excuse of 'networking'.

sure she looked a little put off, but it seemed more out of boredom than suspicion.

she should be a lot more suspicious actually, because you're tugged into a spare bedroom. and pope's so frantic you're mid bitch about him being obvious before his tongues in your mouth.

"i couldn't fucking stand it, standing there watching you talk to my wife." pope tugs hard and fast at your panties, leaving them dangling around one ankle as he pushes in, half dry and pulsing.

you barely complain, feeling the glide get slicker with each thrust, "you told me to mingle."

finally he bottoms out and his balls are hanging so heavy you wonder if he even fucks her in-between nights with you, "not like that, you're fucking crazy."

you kiss him hard, teeth clashing as your lipstick smears across his face, "liar."

no more words are said, just choked out gasps and hushed moans as he fucks you against the wall. but pope's getting louder with each thrust, so much so you're worried someone will hear as they've no doubt started looking for him.

"jesus christ heyward, you whine like a girl." in a rushed shuffle you tug your panties off your ankle just to shove them in his mouth as he continues to rut into you, "shhh, shhhh shut the fuck up, god!"

it's like he doesn't hear you as he buries his face in your neck. it vaguely dons on him he has nowhere to cum.

except inside.

so he does, tonguing the crotch your panties as he shoots load after load into your hot cunt before pulling out with a relieved sigh.

you're pushing him away, tugging your dress back in place and checking your makeup in your pocket mirror. now you're more pissed than anything--here you were dripping with cum as your body pulses with the need for an orgasm of it's own.

"there's a bathroom in there--"

"i know where it is."

you go in, not bothering to check if he's following behind you while you clean up, only vaguely aware that he's doing the same.

"sorry bout that, i'll pay you back later, how's that sound? can get something to eat after i'm always starving after shoveling hors d'oeuvres for 4 hours."

still, you don't reply. you walk out of the room and back to the party, hoping that when his wife turned in your direction, it wasn't because you were reeking of his cologne.

[astrolovecosmos]

🫖

Aries Tea Party: You must come with an outfit or makeup that has flair, spices fill the air, everyone follows the host's lead, bright and airy atmosphere, loud voices and laughter, decisions are made here, a bold and maybe even conflict-fueling guest list.

Taurus Tea Party: In a beautiful garden, elegant dishes and teapots, roses and candles, soft attire, long dresses, good and close company, peaceful music, hand-crafted invitations, animals possibly invited too.

Gemini Tea Party: Picnic style in a meadow or in a lovely solarium, arboretum, or aviary, the tea is hot metaphorically and literally, matching outfits or themed outfits is encouraged, never-ending conversations, social games, maybe a book club gathering, a diverse guest list.

Cancer Tea Party: Family and close friends only, has gift bags, the best tea and hors d'oeuvres you've ever had, smile for the pictures, uplifting atmosphere, heirlooms possibly used, toss in a little magic whether it be 🏰 magic, grandma's recipes, the magic of family and love, or literal witchcraft, maybe a tea party by moonlight, maybe a tea party on the beach.

Leo Tea Party: Must dress extravagant or within a creative theme, rich flavors, royal gardens or tea rooms, watch out for the politics, be sure to compliment your host, there is room for indulgence and opulence, the best rumors you'll ever hear, the best service you've ever had too, there's time for a dance, for a reading, for croquet, for everything, drama may unfold but enjoy the show or ride, maybe a little wine with your tea?

Virgo Tea Party: An itinerary printed out and closely followed, please be punctual, dress nice, manners matter here, high-quality tea and food, entertaining and surprisingly decadent, there may be books to explore, you'll learn more than you expected at this gathering - whether it be about everyone's business or a new life hack, aesthetically pleasing and thoughtful decor, everything must be perfect, a place for stimulation but also respite.

Libra Tea Party: Plenty of sweets, the aesthetics 😍🤩, dainty and delicate, possibly a clever theme, personalized cups or napkins for the guests, has a guest list that is great for networking and matchmaking, comfortable chairs and couches, everything is pleasant from the decor to the fragrances to the temperature, will happen on a beautiful day.

Scorpio Tea Party: Private, exclusive guest list, spicy or strong flavors, may be inspired by fiction, crystals and witchy candles, maybe the perfect time for a tarot reading, a place where you'll hear secrets and hearts are spilled, maybe a sexy tea party. ;)

Sagittarius Tea Party: Fairy lights, maybe a tea party by candlelight, or by a beautiful fireplace - either way the lighting will be a centerpiece, cozy vibes, insightful conversations, plenty of laughs, possibly some excitement even if things seem like a quant tea party, a great time for show and tell, exotic or hard to find teas, very interesting company.

Capricorn Tea Party: Could be done in a traditional way, a beautiful chandelier or statues, maybe out in the woods, classical or indie music, only a few guests, VIP treatment, nothing of poor quality, moments happen here, some surprising secrets may accidentally come out, be sure to follow the dress code.

Aquarius Tea Party: Eclectic decorations, maybe retro vibes, plenty of light blankets and cute pillows, unusual or handcrafted teas, either has a large guest list or is having tea with one other person, could be doing the party for charity, people stay late due to captivating conversations, sneak in a game of chess or conspiracy theories, a gathering of like minds.

Pisces Tea Party: Aquamarine and coral colors, seafood may be served or a special diet, ocean themes, the most ornate cups and silverware, glitter and shimmers, maybe some time for poetry or painting, accommodating, moments to cry and share, only those that impress or connect with the host get invited back.

[carfuckerlynch]

hot hors d'oeuvre for my garde manger final! mini lamb arayes with sumac-garlic labneh, chili butter, and fresh dill

[reidsaurora]

"Hot Chocolate, White Lies" ~ A. Hotchner

Summary: Aaron might be a pain in the ass to shop for, but at least he's cute.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader (Reader does wear makeup)

Word Count: 1,444

Content Warning: mild swearing, mentions of food, i think that's it!

Extra Notes: i took creative liberties with the things featured in this fic, sue me (also sorry for the sh!tty summary, it will happen again) // icon in collage is by @catsadams

Beta Read By: @theghouligan 🫶🏻

Originally Written: 10/12/2023 through 10/19/2023

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Halloweek masterlist can be found here!

There were many things you were unsure of, but one thing you did know was that autumn was your absolute favorite time of the whole year.

The mornings when you were both home from cases usually started slow and sweet. You'd wake up ten minutes past your alarm, Aaron's chapped lips the only thing strong enough to awaken you from your slumber. You'd press to know why he allowed you to be late, but he'd just insist, "We have nowhere important to be. Besides, you just looked so peaceful. How could I ever wake you?"

When you finally rolled out of bed, his hands would be on your waist, his lips trailing soft kisses down your neck as the two of you made your way into the kitchen. You'd start on a pan of French toast while Aaron put on the coffee, stealing quick kisses as the two of you glided around the space, each of you already anticipating the other's every move.

Then, you'd eat together in the breakfast nook, the sunlight glowing all around him, somehow making his five-o'clock shadow and bedhead seem ethereal. The conversation would flow from topic to topic as easily as water flowed downstream. But this particular day, there was one topic Aaron seemed to be actively avoiding.

It was a week from his birthday, and while he knew better than to tell you not to get him anything, he would still put his foot down about making a big deal out of the situation. If one person found out, then they'd all find out, and truly, his only wish every year was to spend his birthday with the person he loved most, not the entirety of the FBI. He'd much rather have take-out and a cheap bottle of wine in the comfort of his own home than hors d'oeuvres and expensive champagne with people he hardly knew.

Still, you'd tried all morning to get him to crack and tell you what he wanted for his birthday. But his response was always the same: "You're the only thing I need, my love."

One somewhat pointless conversation and a plate of French toast later, the two of you were headed back to the bedroom to get ready for the day ahead. He'd head into the bathroom to shave, and you'd steal glances of him as you got dressed in the bedroom. Then he'd do the same, eyeing you with absolute love and adoration as you applied layers of makeup he still insisted you didn't need, even after years of marriage.

Soon enough, you'd arrive at your favorite little bookstore and cafe. Any onlooker would immediately be able to tell just how in love Aaron was with you, sporting a matching sweater you'd clearly picked out and his hand only parting from yours to open the door, which he insisted on doing any time you went anywhere together.

"Alright, I'm setting you free," he joked, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Don't cause too much chaos in the romance aisle, okay?"

You giggled, leaning up to kiss him on the lips for once. "I'll only squeal if they have anything signed by my favorite author."

And with that, he was headed off to the cafe side of the building, going to collect a cup of your favorite hot chocolate. Most people preferred to drink coffee while they shopped, but to you, nothing beat curling the sleeves of your sweater around your hands and sipping a cup of hot chocolate. Even after years of coming to this place, you still hadn't figured out how they made it taste infinitely better than other hot chocolate you'd ever had.

Once you were absolutely sure Aaron was in line at the cafe, you were bee-lining in the opposite direction of the romance aisle and over to the literary fiction section.

While you'd originally told Aaron you wanted to go to the bookstore under the guise of wanting to see if they had a copy of a new release you'd been excited about, you secretly had other plans. If he wasn't going to tell you what he wanted, you'd take matters into your own hands.

You peered around one of the shelves to make sure he wasn't looking, letting out a quick sigh of relief as you spotted him reading something on his phone.

You had all of about three minutes to find a couple books that he hadn't read, which was no small feat. Nearly every second of Aaron's free time was spent devouring a novel, and while you loved that he had found a hobby he truly enjoyed, it also made it devastatingly hard to buy him new books.

In roughly two and a half minutes, you'd managed to find three books that you were sure Aaron would love. Then, you were all but sprinting over to the romance section and grabbing the first book you saw, reading the back cover nonchalantly as your husband walked up.

You were reading the back of some novel about two rival scientists falling in love when Aaron got back with two cups of hot chocolate and a sugar cookie the size of your face. "Your drink, my dear," he said, holding out one of the cups.

You took the cup from him, inhaling that first anticipated sip of the warm liquid. "Thank you."

"You found anything interesting yet?" he asked, a hand meeting the small of your back.

You shook your head, placing the scientist romance novel back on the shelf and picking up another book with a beautiful pink cover. "Nothing much. No signed copies so you'll be glad to know I won't be disturbing the other readers with my squeals."

He chuckled, a deep sound that made butterflies go off in your stomach every time you heard it. "Thank you, I'm sure it's appreciated," he kidded. He took the tote from your shoulder, immediately registering the weight of the bag. "Nothing much?" he inquired.

Before he could open the bag to look inside, you were swatting his hand and snatching it away. "It's… an encyclopedia I promised Reid I'd get for him if I saw it."

Aaron cocked an eyebrow at you. "Since when do you go shopping for Reid?" he inquired, a chuckle on the tip of his tongue.

You wracked your brain for some kind of response that sounded at least halfway truthful. "He hasn't been able to find it anywhere and he knew we liked coming here, so he asked me to check next time we came."

That skeptical brow of his only raised itself higher. "Well, there's one flaw with your story and that's that I'm a profiler and I know when you're lying to me."

Before you could form a rebuttal, he was taking the bag out of your hands again. "Aaron, don't-" you barely got out the words before he was holding up the copy of The Midnight Library.

His brows furrowed as he held up the book, examining the cover for a moment. "This isn't a romance."

You let out an exasperated breath at his examination. "That's kind of the point, Aaron."

"Well, I thought we came to find a copy of that new book you've been looking for."

You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a small huff of amusement. "I suppose I should come clean. I did lie to you."

Aaron's mouth flew open in fake shock. "No! I never would've guessed."

"Not about that," you grumbled, slapping his arm. "About why we're here in the first place. I wanted to find you something for your birthday."

His features wrinkled in embarrassment, a small sigh escaping between his lips. "Well, now I look like an ass."

You were inclined to agree, he did kind of look like an ass. But he was a cute ass and you wouldn't want him any other way. Hands flying up to his cheeks, you pulled him down for a long and soft kiss. His wrinkles of slight mortification melted away as he settled into your touch, the scents of hot chocolate and new books taking over each of your senses.

Aaron was the first to pull away, moving his kiss from your lips to your forehead, before meeting you with an expression filled with admiration. "You-"

"-'Didn't have to get me anything.' I know," you finished for him. "But these ones seem really interesting and I thought that maybe we could read them together."

His mouth curved upward into that smile of his that was so sweet, so loving, so… Aaron. "If I'm going to share a book, I'm always going to hope it's with you."

-> taglist: @1234-angelika @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @cordyandbilliehavemyheart @the-lucky-ones311 @mercuryvapours @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @paintlavillered @lavhoes @rhyanishere @namorswhore @danielle143 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @ah-blossom @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold @bbbbbbbbbbbbbbl @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahargrove @cwritesforfun @maelartasch @lover-of-books-and-tea @juismissing @captainchris-pike

[punderdome]

Infernal Jurisprudence: Bonus Chapter!

I was hoping to get this done before Christmas, but here is a New Years/Christmas bonus chapter from Infernal Jurisprudence. It's a little out of order but the content is standalone. It'll take place sometime in Act II between Last Light Inn and Gale's Last Night Alive scenes.

Raphael's about to get a little unhinged and possessive over his Little Mouse. Enjoy!

Summary: Raphael meets a new client.

Infernal Jurisprudence: the Sardine Fork

Raphael sat down in his host’s parlor with grace.  He was dressed in a crisp silk doublet with no hairs out of place.  Raphael wore his human guise, as tended to be prudent when working with skittish mortals on Prime Material.  He found himself making a deal in Waterdeep with a Conjuration professor at Blackstaff Academy.  

The home was immaculate.  Every surface was spotless and shining.  The wooden parlor table had been freshly polished with a functional oil cut with a touch of cedarwood oil.  A porcelain vase of fresh wildflowers adorned the windowsill and instilled the room with a light and pleasant aroma to cut the musky bouquet of too much soap.

Raphael was seated in the parlor and had been asked what beverage he preferred no fewer than three times by three different servants in an ostentatious and arrogant display of wealth in the number of staff sent to serve him and disrespect that their master had not returned.

Raphael’s tea had grown tepid for the third time long before the master of the house had come to greet him, despite their agreed upon meeting time.

“Master Raphael,” Professor Zagevekt welcomed him.  He tapped his shiny leather shoes on the parlor floor as his servants set out a spread of seafood hors d'oeuvres on the table in front of them.  The Professor never seemed to inspire speed in his staff, leading a dramatic display of displeasure before Raphael.

“It is impossible to hire competent staff,” Professor Zagevekt lamented.  Raphael looked the mage over.  He was ruggedly handsome, despite his spectacles and unshaven face.  He had deep hazel eyes that his smile never seemed to reach.  Raphael had seen many mortals just like him over the centuries.  He was the type to portray one image and conceal his true intentions deep within.

“Your staff seemed able to provide me with hot tea on several occasions in succession,” Raphael contested weakly, letting his potential client respond.

“I told them to offer you the finest liquors I have in my home.  I’m embarrassed that they saw fit not to provide you with suitable libations for our discussion and left you drinking that.”  He motioned to the cooling china cup in front of the devil.  “I should have a well-aged bottle of Wyvern whiskey should you care for something finer.”

“I appreciate the hospitality, but I would quite prefer a fresh cup of Earth Dragon’s Eye,” Raphael informed him, still fuming beneath the surface that his most beloved client was late to their meeting.  Though of all the meetings he could schedule, this one was worth being very patient for.

“Earth Dragon’s Eye?  I think you must be my first guest who has ever had a taste for teas from Kara-Tur.  Most prefer tisanes of local herbs.”  Raphael thought back fondly to the image in the scrying mirror of Tavara warming herself at Last Light Inn with a strong, steaming cup of tea from Kara-Tur, brewed at double strength in an attempt to ward off Shar’s embrace from the Shadow Curse.

“I prefer liquors served in a very different fashion,” Raphael ran his finger over the rim of the porcelain cup.  Tavara’s quivering belly button would be ideal.  “Your tea selection is extensive and delightful.”

The foolish professor snapped and a servant ran to freshen Raphael’s teacup.  

“I wish to make a deal with you, Master Raphael,” the professor wasted no time on further pleasantries.  “I want to make a deal for more power and wealth.”  Raphael waited patiently for the fool to elaborate and didn’t want to play his emotional hand so quickly.  “I am a respected Conjuration professor at the best university in Toril, but I wish to become a wealthy and respected Archmage, the first of the Zagevekt family’s famous bloodline of Archmages, soon to be known through all of Faerun.”

“And what, exactly, were you looking for?”  A servant placed a fresh cup of Earth Dragon’s Eye in front of Raphael and took away his empty teacup and its dirtied saucer.  “More time in a laboratory could earn you a better position at the university and more time wooing patriar daughters would earn you your wealth.”

“I do wish to secure wealth from a local patriar’s daughter.  She is attractive enough.”  Professor Zagevekt started to serve himself from the hors d'oeuvres that were spread in front of them.  He spooned some oysters on the half shell and drizzled them with an aromatic oil before pouring the sea creatures down his gullet.

“And your dynasty?” Raphael inquired, his fingers tapping against the painting on the teacup.

The fool dabbed a napkin over his lips to remove any excess oil.  “I will be an Archmage with or without your help, but I want my children to inherit incredible arcane talents.  I want to be remembered as the patriarch of a grand dynasty of wizards.”

“And how would you wish me to secure that for you?” Raphael cocked an eyebrow and took a sip of the murky, bitter tea that he had requested.

“Sorcerers have uncommon affinities in accessing the Weave, and every child they have carries on that bloodline.  I won’t have trouble securing my own wealth as a third son if I can show I am of superior breeding.”

“Every child?” Raphael needled the wizard.  “You are too knowledgeable to forget that sorcerer bloodlines can often skip generations.  The lineage depends entirely on your seed.”  Raphael tried to hide his growing disdain for the professor in front of him.  

The fool was slurping down oysters and forking prawns from the platter.  His table manners left much to be desired and were unlikely to win him any favors with the patriars or their daughters that he wished to court.

“I wish to become a sorcerer to secure my dynasty.  There has to be some lineage you can give me retroactively.  I was always destined to be powerful, but with your help I will be legendary.”  The foolish professor was too sure of himself.

“A sorcerer’s bloodline?” Raphael confirmed.  “Can you be sure that that would give you what you want?  With your incredible experience in the academic field,” Raphael primed for a response.  “You must have experienced sorcerers in the academic body, why would you not simply marry one?”  The one he cast aside and mocked.

“Sorceresses tend not to be very useful for much outside of the bedchamber,” Professor Zagevekt said before uncrossing and recrossing his legs.  The mortal fool was trying to play at appearing indifferent.  Raphael knew he was lying.

“Marriage would still provide the easiest pathway to what your heart desires.  You must have seen at least one sorcereress through your time at the academy,” Raphael argued as he probed for an admission, taking a large bite of a toast with a dollop of chopped white fish.

“Yes, I have,” the fool admitted.  He glared as though his firebolt was about to burn a hole in Raphael’s fine doublet, “she was one of those talentless dragon sorceresses.  She was fairly dim, and I’m surprised she managed to complete any of her coursework at all.  She was always begging for favorable treatment with the faculty.”  Raphael had read numerous writing and spell samples from Tavara’s thesis himself and found them well reasoned though they lacked the sophisticated Weave jargon that other wizards tended to employ.

“And did this sorceress receive such favors?” Raphael inquired.

“If I can recall, I think she was expelled for spreading her legs for the alchemy and evocation instructors.”  Raphael’s jaw clenched.  It wouldn’t be long.  Raphael wouldn’t let his defamation of Tavara’s name go unpunished.

“Then how are you so confident that your awakened powers won’t cause the same sort of issues with the university?”  Raphael waited for the professor to explain how he would be immune to the gossip of the university and not seen as seeking additional favor from his innate abilities himself.

The professor grinned.  Raphael watched as the fool used the sharp sardine fork to shovel oily sardines onto his plate next to a piece of dark bread.  “I’m not going to start those rumors against myself.”  Raphael used every ounce of control within his being not to use his superior Hellfire magic to burn the idiot into a pile of ashes, the finery and order of his parlor be damned.  Raphael then imagined depositing said remnants of the professor into his chamber pot and letting Yurgir soil the mage’s good name.

“Here are the terms: I shall grant you a retroactive sorcerer’s lineage, though it may be at times chaotic, for your bloodline.”  Raphael leaned back in his chair and waited for Professor Zagevekt to respond.

“Wild magic?  Well, I suppose that makes the most sense for a late awakening.”  The wizard licked crumbs and fish from his fingers.

“It is a simple exchange: I will grant you the bloodline you desire in exchange for your soul.  You will receive a sorcerer’s power and abilities for your bloodline that any children you have will inherit and continue to pass on to their children.”

Raphael sent a wordless summon to Korrilla to drop her surveillance and come to him with the contract and an important elixir.

“I agree to the terms.”  The professor grinned ravenously.  

“I have sent an associate of mine to come with our formal agreement for you to sign.”  Raphael took another sip of his tea.  “She should arrive shortly.  Perhaps we should celebrate with the Wyvern whiskey you offered to secure our partnership,” Raphael suggested coolly.

The professor snapped again and asked for two tumblers of his expensive whiskey while they waited for Korrilla’s delivery of the contract document.  It wasn’t long before there was a sharp knock at the professor’s front door.

“Milord, there is a Dwarf here upon request of Master Raphael,” a maid introduced.

“Send her in,” the fool agreed, sitting back in his chair with a smug look on his face, knowing soon he would receive everything that he wanted.

Korrilla entered the parlor and handed a scroll to Raphael with a deep bow.  Raphael took the scroll and unfurled it in front of the professor.  He primed a quill and handed it over.

“This is where you sign.”  Raphael pointed to the signature line below the runes dictating that he would grant the professor a sorcerer bloodline for him and all his descendants.  Professor Bren Zagevekt signed the contract, sealing his eternal fate to Raphael’s whimsy.

Immediately upon signing, Raphael watched the foolish professor test his arcane powers.  He grinned, testing cantrips amongst his finest furnishings and leaving scorch marks on the ornate rug as his cantrips burned the flooring.

“Gods above, I had never realized how much power she actually had before.”  Professor Zagevekt’s fingers twitched as he tested his new power.

“Do you have a courtyard at your estate?” Raphael asked with a grin.  “There is no better place to test your new power.  I cannot imagine you wish to actually light your parlor on fire when your lineage comes to the forefront, and you may prefer a more dignified unveiling.”

The untouched tumblers of whiskey were laid neatly on the table as the uncouth moron impatiently rushed from the room to test his new abilities on his landscaping, while Korrilla waited patiently in the parlor for additional instructions.  Raphael silently signaled to Korrilla to pour the elixir he requested into the unwitting professor’s tumbler.  Ten drops should do it.  As much as Raphael had wanted to cause the fool incredible pains for what he had done to his Little Mouse, he knew it was prudent to wait.  His time would come.

It wasn’t long before the wizard had used an entire day’s worth of sorcerer powers on the unwitting hydrangeas and they returned to the parlor for the celebratory whiskey.

Raphael smiled smugly as the wizard drank deep and finished his glass, requesting another.

“See what did I tell you, this is the finest whiskey in all of Toril,” the new sorcerer bragged over their celebratory libations.  It was not.  That honor was for Hellfire whiskey.

When another glass had been finished, Raphael saw himself out, Korrilla close behind him.

They returned to Raphael’s study in the House of Hope.  Raphael sat calmly at his desk and removed a soft, worn leather portfolio from a desk drawer.

“You gave ‘im a shockingly good deal without asking too much from ‘im,” Korrilla mused.  “You probably could have gotten ‘is firstborn too in exchange for sorcerer powers.”

Raphael removed a book with a list of souls that he wanted to acquire from the portfolio.  He opened up to the page with the professor’s name and made some notes.  “I could not ask that from him, Korrilla, because he will have no firstborn.”

“How can you be sure?”

Raphael set down his quill before answering her.  “That elixir, the Father’s Rest, ensures that his seed is withered.  He will never be able to provide those patriar daughters he covets with a child.  He is the first and last of the dynasty that he wanted, though I can only imagine the carnage when his desperate wife inevitably seeks a more fertile source for seed in her womb.”

Korrilla laughed to herself as Raphael dismissed her with a wave.  He had thoughts to collect and notes to take from their meeting.  Raphael snapped and a glass of Hellfire whiskey appeared for him to sip while he worked, though its serving vessel was not the one he would have preferred.

Raphael set his book of notes aside and looked through the portfolio of information about Tavara.  He had a copy of the first chapter of her thesis on the influence of Hellfire on key events in Faerunian history and its influence on spell shaping.  It was well written, even if it was obvious that it was not authored by a wizard.

A flip of a page led to a series of memos from university faculty debating rumors of Tavara’s behavior.  One wanted to expel her to preserve their reputation and another thought the rumors indicated she was more trouble than she was worth.  Raphael had their names in his book, and he would seek them out when the time was right.  The Dragonborn alchemy instructor had advocated that she remain, worried that she was collateral damage for a student with a vendetta against him for poor marks he awarded.  Raphael wouldn’t intentionally seek him out for a contract, but he wouldn’t be opposed to making a deal should the opportunity arise.

Raphael thought back to the stupid grin on that fool’s face as he shoveled oily sardines onto his plate.  “I’m not going to start those rumors against myself.”  The context that the vampire spawn had provided him for the cost of three secrets made Raphael’s blood boil.  That arrogant fool was going to pay dearly for the harm he caused Raphael’s consort.  

The sharp tines of his sardine fork were going to be put to much better use when the professor was in Raphael’s clutches.  Raphael was going to ensure he was parted from his most favored jewels each day for all of eternity for daring to hurt his Little Mouse.

[lyzelky]

Hiiii I know I haven't posted any original content in a hot minute but I have some stuff in the works I promise. Finally finished a digital painting I've been working on for a second, but I'll post the full when I look it over with rested eyes. In the meantime here's a little Hors D'oeuvre to keep you satisfied :^).

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Mer roadtrip? They have just met each other and I am frothing at the bit to see where you take it text (I love it)

-💖💖

WIP Wednesday (7/3) | Mer Roadtrip AU (Part 36)

“Santa Monica.” Andrew repeats. Until now, he hadn’t had a clue where he was. All he knew was he was far from Las Angeles, farther from Oakland. And across the country from his home.

“Yeah,” Gray Shirt says. “What did you do, run the whole way?”

“Most of it.” Andrew answers. Running has never been a strong suit, but when properly motivated Andrew can fucking move. Oh and he stole a skateboard that was on someone's porch steps. That helped.

“Are you going to tell me how you got away?”

With a sigh, Andrew rolls onto his stomach again, twisting his tail until his spine pops, then starts to doodle in the wet sand with a clawed finger as he speaks.

“My captor had no idea walkers existed, let alone that I was one. So I bided my time and waited for an opening. A few weeks ago, he threw himself a party for all his asshole friends. I was the main attraction. Imagine! A real, live merman swimming in the pool for all to point and gawk at. Why, it was the event of the summer!” Andrew snarls as memories of that day flash through his mind. 

“Sounds terrible.” Jean Shorts says. It’s an understatement.

“It was.” Andrew agrees miserably. Dozens of strangers all chittering about how pretty his tail was, how beautiful his hair looked, how they wished they had a tank of their own… People taking selfies near the pool with him in the background, trying to get him to pose with them-

“What happened?”

“I waited for a distraction.” Andrew says, as if he wasn’t the one who created it. Really, he got lucky. Because, finally, someone got too close. Some idiot woman held out an hors d'oeuvre to him as if he were a goat at a petting zoo. Andrew remembers the screaming. A loud splash. Water turning red. 

Perhaps they should’ve muzzled him, he thinks, running his tongue over his teeth.

“What kind of distraction?” asks Dirty Red Shoes.

Andrew swallows. “A woman got drunk. She fell into the pool. While everyone’s eyes were on her I changed, slipped out of the water, and escaped through the house. And he we are.”

“All that, naked?” Freckle Boy says, looking unconvinced. Andrew doesn't blame him. It would be quite a feat.

“Not completely. I stole a beach towel off one of the pool chairs on the way out. It’s buried up there,” Andrew says, pointing to the heaped up sand at the cave’s entrance.

“And… You’ve just been here ever since?”

“Pretty much.” Andrew says with a sigh. He’s left the cave exactly twice, wrapped in that ugly towel. Once to make the sign and once to rummage through unattended beach bags looking for money.

He’d managed to get score twenty bucks that day, but he also got caught and chased by an irate mother of three. So he didn’t try again. And the twenty didn’t last long. Maybe he shouldn't have blown it on a pack of cigarettes, a Mountain Dew, and several gas station hot dogs.