#and I said I’d make three desserts!

[wewontbesleeping]

it’s actually so sick trying to juggle making the stuff I said I’d make for thanksgiving with my math exam and working full time like how tf am I supposed to do this???

[gghostwriter]

Can i have a fluffy spencer x reader piece. Just something cozy where they are all at rossis maybe after a case for some team bonding and chill time. And like he is offering everyone wine and reader goes along like "i can't" bcs she pregnant? Fluff fluff super fluff pls

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff! Just fluff! wc: 0.6k A/N: Reader is not part of the BAU, hope that's alright. I had fun writing this, hope you enjoy! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗 Main masterlist

Special Diet. // Spencer Reid

Your fiancee and his team had been out on the field for three consecutive cases all over the country. Just through Spencer’s nightly ritual calls alone, you could tell how tired and stressed he was and by extension the other members. Which was why, during their second night back in home ground, you volunteered to cook them a small feast—as long as Rossi hosted it in his place, which he readily agreed to as he was never one to say ‘no’ when a culinary chef such as yourself volunteers to cook up a meal.

“So what did our local chef cook up for the night?” Morgan asked as the team sat around the laid out table by the backyard.

You smiled, placing the finishing touches on the table. “I wanted to give the Italian cuisine a break so I present to you, French delicacies. For the starters, we have here salade lyonnaise with slices of baguette—” gesturing to the mid-size plate to their upper left. “—our mains, steak frites, and yes, I remembered to make yours rare, Morgan—” a few chuckles escaped from the team members as the called out profiler sheepishly placed his hand down “—and profiteroles for dessert.”

Rossi then started going around the table with his choice of wine to match the lavish dinner you’ve prepared.

“If you weren’t engaged to Reid, I’d marry you,” Penelope gushed as she took a bite of her meal.

Emily chuckled. “Get in line, Penelope. I get to marry her first if she changes her mind.”

“You never fail to impress me, Bambina. Now can I interest you for a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon?” Rossi asked as he reached your seat between Spencer and Emily.

“Actually, no thank you,” your answer eliciting an echo of utensils being dropped on the table. “I’m trying to cut back.”

JJ leaned forward. “Our very own wine connoisseur is saying no to Rossi’s aged wine?”

“I’m trying this special diet,” you shrugged, subtly studying if any of the best profilers the FBI has to offer understood the real reason why. Based on Hotch’s small smile behind his glass wine, the unit chief had caught on quite quickly.

“You don’t need to diet. You’re petite and fit, right kid?” Morgan clarified.

The corners of Spencer’s lips pulled slightly up as he squeezed your hand in his. “Actually, she does need to stick to the diet.”

Penelope gasped, clearly appalled at the stance your fiancee had taken. “Take that back! No way you said that, Reid!”

You giggled at the affronted reactions of the team—minus Hotch and Rossi as the two older profilers clinked their glasses together at the side. “It’s fine, Penny. It’s the truth anyway.”

Emily sent a dirty look to Spencer before asking on. “What else does this special diet entail?”

“Unpasteurized dairy, cold cuts, liver, game meat, and raw sushi to name a few,” Spencer listed out loud and with each, the smile on his face grew bigger and bigger.

“Wait, isn’t that—” JJ mumbled before promptly standing up from her seat and rushing to give you a hug.

Morgan tilted his head to the side. “What? What did I miss?”

Spencer chuckled before revealing the most obvious clue. “She has to follow the strict diet for 36 more weeks.”

There was a beat of silence before shouts and squeals emitted from all ends of the table.

“You’re pregnant?” Penelope gasped.

Emily added on. “With boy genius?”

You both nodded, bringing out a printed sonogram safely tucked in Spencer’s jacket that was draped around your shoulders. It had been a surprise when you went in for your yearly check-up but it was the type of news that Spencer quickly became happy with. His own family was expanding and he couldn’t have chosen a better partner than you.

“We present to you, baby Reid!”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[luveline]

Have you done a drabble on Reid and bombshell r wedding day?? I just read the proposal one and :(( it warms my heart

Ty for requesting!!! fem

The morning of your wedding day isn’t the chaos you’d both pictured. Spencer wears the finest suit he’s ever had. You wear a white silk dress with drops of diamonds hanging in your hair like the rain. There are no morning drinks, no catastrophes to correct. 

You sit on a chaise lounge. He sits in a wooden chair, dragged to you, his hands on your knees careful not to wrinkle the skirt of your dress. 

“It's so quiet,” he whispers. 

“I know.” 

Somewhere in the venue, Penelope and Luke are waging war on the florists —you did not order yellow geraniums. Hotch is explaining to Jack that you and Spencer met years ago, and have been smitten with one another pretty much every moment since. Derek’s cradling his toddler before he takes stage as the best man. JJ, Emily, and Tara are debating the kiss; will you make a show of things, pulling him in by the tie for a smacker, or will Spencer tame the excitement?

There’s a whole team of people making sure today goes smoothly. And still, Spencer‘s worried about some thing. 

“You know how beautiful you look?” 

“I should say that to you.” You reach for his tie, rolling it gently between your fingers. “My beautiful husband.” 

“This is… I don’t really know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything, Spence.” Anything he has to say about you, you know it all. The same way you’ve told him every thought you’ve had about him for years. He’s part of your psyche. 

“I’m so nervous about my vows,” he confesses then. 

“Don’t be.” 

“What if yours are better than mine?” 

“They will be.” You raise your hand tentatively to his face, fingertips drawing in the hollow of his cheek. “But you’re the academic, baby…” 

“I can write them again.”

You smile at him keenly. “If you don’t like them, you can try again on our anniversary. Or in a few years when we renew them, yeah? It doesn’t have to be perfect. You’ve promised me all this stuff for years.” 

“My speech isn’t good enough, either.” 

“Your speech will be perfect. It’s Morgan’s you should worry about, he’s gonna rehash all the embarrassing things… Savannah said he’s been practicing when Hank’s sleeping. That he,” —you laugh, in love with not just Spencer but the world— “keeps waking him up laughing at his own jokes.” 

Spencer dips toward you at the sound of your laughing, he can’t help himself. “If it didn’t wrinkle your dress, I’d really try to have you in my lap,” he admits in a whisper, nothing salacious, just the honest truth. “We could sit on the floor, like we did that time in New York.”

“Where would we get dessert now?” 

“That’s what we’ll do tonight, right?” He looks for your thigh in the dress, squeezing nicely. 

“Yeah, Spence. Yeah, I’ll even put the dress back on.” You tilt your chin up and follow your nose down, meeting his gaze with an unnamed emotion. Total devotion, perhaps. Something too soft to describe accurately. “We’ll share the spoon, just like New York.” 

Three kisses and a careful hug, his hair tickling your forehead as he curls over you. “This is the best day of my life.”

“It’s the best day of mine!” You let your hands climb his back, aiming for the mop of his hair to play with. “You’re everything, sweetheart. You’re just perfect. I can’t believe you’re seeing me in my dress though, everybody says that’s bad luck.” 

But you and Spencer don’t worry about what everybody says anymore. Not for a long time. 

“It’s good to see it now. I… I know I’ll cry, but this is taking the edge off.” 

“Don’t cry, honey. You’ll make me cry, and if I cry up there I’m gonna feel so silly all day.” 

“Silly,” he says, beginning to rub your back in swoops. “If you don’t cry, I might feel jilted.”

“So I have to choose between mortal embarrassment or hurting my husband?” 

He hugs you tighter. You aren’t married yet, but by the end of the night you will be. You’ll order desserts to the hotel room and sit in his lap on the floor by the heater, your white dress surely wrinkled, his tie either side of his neck, undone, neck exposed to be caressed with the tip of your nose. 

“I can’t not cry,” he says now. “Don’t expect me not to.”

“I don’t really expect you not to.” And no one will expect it of you when you cry like a child as he slips on your ring, but it makes sense to him. You and Spencer always make sense to each other. 

[charliemwrites]

Sooooo I learned a valuable lesson last night. Which is not to draft things in tumblr. Because I wrote almost all of this in drafts, was like 15 minutes from posting. And then the app glitched when I changed the song I was listening to and lost everything.

I’m not entirely sure I wrote this version half as well as the original, which is maddening. But please enjoy this next part to the Mister(s) Steal Your Girl (poly 141) series.

Content:Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

You honestly didn’t expect to speak to Kyle again after the bookshop encounter. Sure, you exchanged numbers and he seemed so sincere, but your faith in reading people has been a bit shaken as of late.

That said, you wouldn’t have held it against him if you didn’t. You’d had a wonderful time meeting someone new, even if just for a moment. He seemed like a busy man in a high-stress job, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he looked at your open-relationship-with-a-fiance situation and decided it was too much drama.

But the very next day after meeting him, he sends you a text. Repeating that he had a great time and asking if you’ve already started any of the books you bought.

You try (and probably fail) not to giggle like a schoolgirl every time he texts you. He’s as sweet through the phone as he was in person. Throughout the week, he checks on you (more messages than you’ve gotten from your fiance in a month) asking after your days and nights and generally chatting.

On Thursday at lunch, you ask if he’d like to meet up again, heart clenching anxiously. Nearly throw your phone across the break room when his name pops up as an incoming call.

When you answer, he doesn’t even waste time on a greeting.

“I’d like to take you on a date, luv,” he specifies, voice silky and amused in your ear.

Date one is a nice dinner. He shows up at the door with flowers. You have to take a second to blink away the mist in your eyes.

“Sorry, sorry,” you hurry to say, summoning a smile. “Just no one’s ever bought me flowers. Thank you, they’re wonderful.”

And then you realize that probably sounds pathetic and quickly turn away to deposit them in a vase. (Miss the baffled and almost offended frown on Kyle’s face as that processes.)

At dinner, the two of you toast by tapping your appetizers together. He feeds you bites of his meal from his own fork, and you let him try your wine, giggling at the faces he makes.

The night ends (after dessert, a walk in the park, and a nightcap at a quiet bar) at your front door. Kyle fits a big, warm hand on your waist, pulls you in… and drops a chaste kiss to your cheek.

You try not to let your disappointment show, but he must catch it because he chuckles and gently nudges your face back into position. Graces you with another kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“I want to, darling,” he admits, so close you’re sharing air. “Trust me, I want to. But I need you to know I’m doing this for the right reasons too.”

Touched and a little choked up, you hug him tight, cheek pressed to his chest. His breath stutters. And then his strong arms are curling around you, tucking you in, his whole body becoming a warm haven.

“Can we… can we do this again?” you ask hopefully.

“Darling, I’d take you out tomorrow if you’d let me.”

Date two is bowling, which you find Kyle is actually terrible at, despite being a sniper. You laugh and joke through three games, trouncing him each time. He doesn’t seem to mind losing in the slightest, and even takes you out for a victory ice cream afterwards. You hold hands while you lick at the cone.

Date three, you invite him to a wine and paint night. He seems willing, though unsure. By the end, though, the two of you are giggling and tipsy, paint on your hands and faces. He kisses you against the passenger door of his car, lips soft and gentle. Moans when the tip of his tongue skims your bottom lip.

On date four, you sing to the radio in the car. Blush when you catch him sneaking glances at you, but also notice that he goes around the same block twice. Tease that you’re going to be late if he keeps stalling.

At the end of the night, he sweeps you in close on the dance floor.

“Come home with me?” he asks in your ear.

Your heart stumbles as you nod, cheeks hot.

He barely gets you in the door before pressing you back against it. Fingers in your hair, body one firm line pressed flush to yours. Kissing earnest but not rough, flicking at your bottom lip until you open for him with a soft sigh. He tastes like heaven, like the drinks you shared before this. Your fingers curl into his Henley, tugging him closer, arching your back.

The desire he’s been steadily building in your gut bursts into an inferno. You’re burning all over, can barely breathe. Dizzy with his cologne.

You break the kiss with a squeak when he scoops up beneath the thighs.

“I-I’m too heavy!” you gasp, clinging tight.

“Like hell you are,” he scoffs. “Come back here, I’m not done kissing you.”

You hesitate, taking stock. But he doesn’t feel like he’s straining; didn’t even make that mortifying grunt noise. Feel secure enough to lean back just a bit to check his expression.

There’s not an ounce of effort there. Just liquid dark eyes focused on your swollen lips, tilting his chin to coax you back. You go with a little thrill in your stomach, messier this time, teeth scraping.

He bumps you against the wall on his way to the bedroom. It doesn’t hurt but it makes you laugh against his cheek.

“Love your laugh,” he murmurs into your neck. “Could listen to it all day.”

Somehow that makes you flush more than the hard bulge pressing against your ass. So you shove your tongue in his mouth again to shut him up, breathless at his tongue curling against yours.

You squeal when he drops you on the bed with a little bounce, a brilliant, cheeky smile your reward. Then he tugs his shirt off and your mind goes utterly blank.

He’s a monument of strength and discipline, power in every plane of hard-earned muscle. There are glossy scars peppering his skin, and you’re fascinated as much as you are sad for his pain. He looks like a young god. You’ve seen marble statues half as beautiful as him.

“You’re bloody gorgeous,” you whisper, crawling to the edge of the bed.

He shivers and leans into your palms as they explore up his toned stomach, across the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, down his arms. Leave open-mouthed kisses against long-healed wounds and patches of smooth skin alike, appreciating every part of him.

He uses your interlocked fingers to draw you away, bending to meet you halfway. Speckles kisses over your cheeks and jaw, down to a tender spot beneath your ear that makes you hum. You could melt into him and just float.

He pauses there, breathes you in. “Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at your shirt. You hesitate, just for a beat — but it’s enough to have Kyle pulling back a little.

“We can stop here,” he offers. “Or we can just keep doing this. Whatever you want, luv, I’m not fussed.”

You duck your head, but he doesn’t let you escape for long, gently guiding your gaze up by the chin.

“Talk to me?” he asks.

“I-I want to keep going,” you say, “I’m just… and you’re so…”

He shakes his head, kisses you quiet. “I’m not anything but a man that wants to make his girl happy. In whatever way she’s okay with, yeah?”

You have to blink away another sting of inopportune tears. Then reach for your shirt and pull it off yourself.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs, eyes going big.

You flush as he nudges you back, spread out amongst the neat sheets and pillows. His eyes trace every inch of you over and over, hands quick to follow. The contrast of his rough palms on your skin makes you squirm and sigh. He touches you like you’re something special, like he wants to savor you.

He nibbles kisses into your collarbones, lavishes your breasts with tongue and gentle teeth. Works his way down your stomach and stops again.

“Can I take the rest off?” he asks.

You don’t hesitate this time, shifting to give him access to the zipper. His hands fumble a bit when he notices the embarrassing wet patch on your underwear, thumbing at your slit through the fabric.

“Please let me eat you out,” he breathes.

You press your thighs together, nervous. “Y-you don’t have to…”

“I want to, luv,” he answers, eyes barely flickering away. “Fuck do I want to.”

Words desert you, so all you can manage is a jerky nod. For the first time, his patience seems to fray as he tugs your underwear off. Barely gets them down to one ankle before diving between your legs.

He laces sweet kisses along your thighs and hips, slowing as he gets closer and closer to where you want him most. His tongue dips into your slit, just skims your throbbing and sensitive clit. You moan softly. The next swipe of his tongue is bolder, curling at your soaked entrance. He groans into you, deep and animal from his chest and makes you shudder.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers. “Just enjoy.”

It’s impossible not to when he pampers your cunt so thoroughly. Never rough, never too fast. Like he could spend all night between your thighs. Sucking gently at your clit, thrusting his tongue inside, lapping in perfect, even strokes. You didn’t think you enjoyed oral from the few times you’ve experienced it — but Kyle makes it heavenly.

One of his hands, squeezing absently at your hip, travels down. He presses a finger at your entrance, playing in your slick but not going further. Waiting. You murmur a soft “please” that nearly has him growling.

Even just one finger feels like so much. His hands are bigger than yours. And so deliciously clever. It’s not long before you’re babbling for another, crying out softly when he provides. Two fingers curling and rubbing against your slick, sensitive walls and his tongue swirling around your needy clit — it’s so much. Overwhelming and perfect.

“K-Kyle, ‘m gonna…” you keen, shocked by how quickly it’s building.

Then he hums an encouragement and that little extra bit of stimulation sends you hurtling over the edge. You clench around his hand, hips twitching, grinding against his willing mouth through wave after wave. Not even aware of the noises you’re making until they fade off into soft whimpers of overstimulation.

Kyle eases his fingers from you, drops one last kiss to your hip. The lower half of his face is glistening. If you weren’t still somewhere in the stratosphere, you’d be embarrassed. But right now all you can manage is a quiet, needy noise, reaching for him.

He smiles and crawls over you, the warmth of his body soothing your shivery muscles, easing you through aftershocks. You wipe absently at his chin as you exchange lazy, sloppy kisses. Surprised to find that you don’t mind the taste of yourself; not much different than jizz.

“Give me… another second…” you mumble, head falling back as you catch your breath. “I’ll return the favor.”

Against your leg, you can feel him twitch through his jeans. He feels big. Your stomach clenches with want.

“That sounds bloody amazing, don’t get me wrong,” he answers, voice husky in your ear. “But if you’re up for it, I’d like to feel you cumming ‘round my cock.”

You gasp, not sure if you’re scandalized or even more turned on than before. Both?

“Wait, but I already…”

“I know, I was there,” he teases, kissing your temple. “But I wanna see it again. Feel it proper this time.”

You pause, blinking up at him as you trace your fingers along his ribs. “But isn’t that… I dunno, unfair?”

“Fuck no,” he answers. “I’d spend all night just making you cum if you let me.”

You huff and swat at him. “I think you’d kill me.”

“What a way to go, though, eh?” he chuckles, arching his eyebrows.

You groan, but there’s no hiding your grin. He brushes hair back from your face, cups your cheek.

“What do you say, baby? Let me fuck you good and proper.”

You snort, turn to nip his thumb in relation, but chirp, “yes, please!”

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Masterlist

[margeoww]

Toto is sick in bed and his wife is at some gala. He need texting her throughout the night and being annoying because he’s clingy when he’s sick but he won’t admit it.

A Night with a Sick Toto (and His Clingy Texts)

back to my masterlist

pairing: sick!toto wolff x wife!reader

summary: Toto Wolff is stuck at home battling what he dramatically calls “the deadliest cold ever,” while his wife is attending an important gala

warnings: pure fluff, clingy and dramatic Toto Wolff when sick.

Saturday night should have been easy. You had spent the afternoon meticulously preparing for a prestigious gala, one you couldn’t miss because it was critical for networking. Toto had been supportive, at first.

—Don’t worry —he’d said, bundled up in the softest blanket he owned. —You go enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine. Im perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

Yet the moment you walked out the door, his first text arrived.

Round 1: The Neediness Begins

Toto: Are you there yet?

You: Just arrived. Are you okay?

Toto: I’d be better if someone was here to make sure I don’t die.

You: Toto, it’s a cold, not the plague.

Toto: A very serious cold.

You: I left you everything you need: tea, soup, medicine, tissues, and Netflix. What else do you want?

Toto: I don’t know… maybe my wife?

You: Stop being dramatic. You told me to go.

Toto: Well, now I regret it. It’s so lonely here.

You: You’re literally under three blankets.

Toto: And still freezing.

You: You’re impossible.

Toto: You’re beautiful.

You sighed, already anticipating how the night was going to unfold.

Round 2: Mid-Gala Drama

You’d barely had a chance to enjoy a drink when your phone buzzed again.

Toto: What are you doing?

You: Networking. It’s a gala, Toto.

Toto: Networking with who?

You: People important for my job.

Toto: Anyone taller than me?

You: Toto…

Toto: I’m just asking.

You: What do you want?

Toto: I think I’m getting worse.

You: Did you take your medicine?

Toto: It tastes awful.

You: That’s why I left the orange juice.

Toto: It’s not the same if you’re not here to give it to me.

You: Toto, you’re a grown man.

Toto: A very sick grown man.

You: Do you want me to come home early?

Toto: No, no. Stay. I’ll suffer in silence.

You: You’re literally texting me right now.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to laugh. He was impossible, but he was your impossible.

Round 3: Dessert and Desperation

Just as dessert was served, Toto escalated his antics.

Toto: The soup you made tastes like cardboard.

You: It’s your favorite soup.

Toto: Not when I have to reheat it myself. It tastes… soulless.

You: It’s literally the same soup.

Toto: It needs your touch.

You: Are you sure you don’t want me to come home?

Toto: No, I don’t want to ruin your night.

You: You’re already ruining it.

Toto: But I miss you.

You: Toto…

Toto: I think I have a fever.

You: Did you check?

Toto: I don’t know where the thermometer is.

You: It’s in the medicine cabinet.

Toto: Why can’t you just come home and check for me?

By this point, you’d had enough. Politely excusing yourself from the event, you called a car and headed back home.

When you walked through the door, you found him exactly where you expected: sprawled out on the couch, buried under a fortress of blankets. He glanced up, his brown eyes a mixture of guilt and triumph.

— You’re back early. —he said innocently.

—You made sure of that. —you replied, dropping your bag and crossing your arms.

—I wasn’t that bad.

—You texted me 27 times.

Toto winced. —That’s not so many.

Rolling your eyes, you moved to sit beside him. He immediately latched onto you, resting his head on your shoulder like a needy puppy.

—See? This is what I needed. —he mumbled.

—Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. —you teased, brushing a hand through his hair.

—I’ll make it up to you when I’m better. —he promised, his voice already fading as the comfort of having you close finally allowed him to relax.

And as much as you wanted to be annoyed, you couldn’t help but smile. Because at the end of the day, being needed. Annoying texts and all. It wasn’t so bad.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four Five

“So Steve, I know you said that you don’t think you need anyone...” Eddie sighs, “do you think that implies that I think that what he thinks is wrong?”

“I think it implies you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Eddie doesn’t even have the energy to glare at Dustin, it’s much easier to just pretend he hasn’t spoken, “okay, Steve-”

“Yeap, you’re really strong on establishing you know the guys name, which is like, a solid point in your favor.”

“I hate you,” Eddie says to the ceiling, neck at an odd angle where he’s flopped his head back over the arm of the couch, “so, Steve, I know you said you don’t need anyone, and you are totally right-”

“You’re a strong independent Omega who don’t need no Alpha!”

“So help me Henderson I will throw you out,” Eddie waits, but Dustin is finally silent on the matter, “Steve. I totally respect the fact that you are absolutely fine handling everything alone, and if you’re...happy with us, being friends, then I’m happy with that too. I did wonder, though, if you’d like to go on a date. With me. Maybe?” Eddie sighs, flopping his arms over his face, “I’m so bad at this. This is going to go so wrong and he’s going to hate me and never want to see me again and-”

“Eddie...has the Omega broken your brain? What the fuck is wrong with you man-”

“I don’t know! I don’t...I’ve literally never felt this way before, not about anyone. And Jamie, man, I know he’s not my pup, okay, Steve and I aren't dating, he’s literally my friends pup, that’s it but...I swear I would die for that kid, no question.”

“Okay...so just...ask him out? Steve I mean, not Jamie-”

Eddie huffs, “I don’t...I’m pretty sure I can’t. The more I think about it the more it feels...like Steve’s had a pretty bad run of Alphas, it sounds like, and I just don’t think he’d be interested. And he’s just literally had a pup, like Jamie is only just a month old, who am I to add to that, you know? Steve’s got enough to think about.”

“So...don’t ask him out?”

Eddie flops over onto his side, curling up so he can smush his face into the cushions, “but I really want to. I think it’s selfish though. I’m being selfish. I should just...be a good friend. Keep being a good friend.”

“And pine to death?”

“I mean. Seems like a reasonable way out.”

“Dude I do not know what to say to you,” the timer on the oven starts to buzz, “but at least you’re going to feed me, right?”

Eddie sighs, dragging himself out of the near suffocating safety of the gap in the couch cushions. He opens his message thread with Steve, scrolling back through the shared memes and screenshots and pictures. He reads little tidbits of conversation while he pulls out bowls and plates. The three dots appear, Eddie’s heart leaps a little because Steve is, right there. Right next door, with his phone in his hand, typing to Eddie.

‘I’d love some. I’ve made a banana cream pie if you want to take it back for your games night.’

Eddie sends back a shocked emoji, ‘I can’t take an entire pie.’

‘You won’t, my slice will be gone.’

Eddie smiles and slips his phone into his pocket. He slices two thick pieces of bread from the loaf he made this afternoon, wraps them, and then fills a bowl with casserole. Eddie’s pretty sure this bowl is Steve’s anyway; so many of their plates and bowls have been migrating back and forth it’s hard to tell any more, between Eddie’s dinners and Steve’s desserts.

He likes to bake something extra special for games nights though, he always says you can’t make just one cookie, or one slice of pie. He likes to make sweet things when he knows there will be people to give it to, otherwise, “I’ll just eat the whole thing Eddie!”

Eddie doesn’t see a problem with eating the whole thing, but he slips on his adventure crocs and heads out into the hall. Dustin doesn’t even tease too badly any more, even though Eddie’s sure it’s because he’s threatened to withhold Steve’s desserts.

Eddie knocks with the hand holding the bread, letting himself in when Steve calls, “it’s open!”

“Hey Steve, hey Jamie,” he sets Steve’s dinner on the little table, next to the juice and cutlery Steve’s already set out for himself.

“What do you have planned for them tonight?” Steve brings out a pie on a plate, a slice already gone, just like he said. It has real neat swirls of cream on top; it looks professional to Eddie, like you’d buy in a store.

“Destruction. Misery. Suffering. The usual.”

Steve hums, “uh hu. What color salad did you decide on in the end?”

Eddie sighs, “you say it Slaad. And I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I actually quite liked the idea for the dog shark thing, it was cute,” Steve hands over the pie, going on tip toes to kiss Eddie on the cheek as he hands it over.

“One home brew Bulette, coming right up,” Eddie replies absently. He’s pretty sure he’s gone at least a little pink, and Steve’s scent is fresh and bright in his nose for a moment, “I’d better…” Eddie gestures lamely with the pie, “you know.”

“Have fun!” Steve calls as Eddie lets himself out, “don’t go too hard on them!”

Eddie’s doing his best not too stare, he really is.

He has one foot on the stroller, rolling it gently back and forward. He has his guitar resting on the other knee, he strums, singing quietly to Jamie, “I'd rather be a forest than a street, yes, I would...if I could, I surely would.” Jamie burbles at him, waving his arms a little and making happy pup noises.

On the court, Steve laughs, and Eddie fails, and he looks. Steve’s wearing a tank top and those obscenely short shorts. Him and Chrissy are bouncing the ball at each other, catching it, doing a squat, a little jump, and bouncing it back. They’ve done all sorts of stuff like this, sweaty jock games. Steve’s short shorts riding up even further at the slightest provocation.

Jamie makes a noise, drawing Eddie’s attention back, “I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet, yes, I would...if I could, I surely would,” Eddie sings, soft and slow.

Steve and Chrissy come over eventually, Steve lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe at his sweaty face, fully showing Eddie his tummy in all it’s glory. It’s thick, but firm, decorated by a handful of stretch marks and a perfect dusting of happy trail, “thanks for keeping an eye.”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, feeling kind of dumb but still managing to strum along on auto pilot.

Next to him, Chrissy snickers around her water bottle.

“Thank you, for watching Jamie,” Steve says to him more slowly, smirking, his sweaty hair flopping across his forehead.

“Right, right, sure, of course. Anytime. Pleasure. Really.”

Next to him, Chrissy huffs. Eddie pointedly ignores it.

The knocking is awful. It’s relentless. It’s obnoxious. It’s definitely Robin.

“I know you’re in there!”

Yeap. Yeap that’s definitely Robin. Eddie groans into the couch cushion before dragging himself up. She’s speaking before he has the door fully open, “this is getting old.”

“And what might that be-”

Robin puts on the most obnoxious voice Eddie thinks he’s ever heard, she clasps her hands together, holding them to her chest and she bats her lashes coquettishly at the ceiling, “oh Eddie’s cooking is just the best ever. Did you know he plays guitar! He says he’ll teach Jamie when he’s old enough! And he’s so smart, he’s got so many books in his apartment-”

“Okay.”

“Did you know he’s artistic! He paints his little dungeon game miniatures and they’re so good-”

“All right.”

“You should just see him with Jamie-”

“Robin.”

“And he’s such a good Alpha! He’s so good to his friends, he puts in so much work-”

“And we are done,” Eddie goes to shut the door. He can’t handle this. He knows Robin probably means well, in her own meddling way, but he just...can’t. This has to be Steve’s choice, right? Steve’s been pretty clear why he went it alone, and Robin is just...teasing him. It makes Eddie feel all warm and bubbly inside, knowing that Steve says these things about him, that Steve...likes him. But...Steve has a pup, and just because he says these things behind closed doors, it doesn’t mean Eddie has any right to know them.

No matter how it makes him feel.

“Wait wait wait...can’t you just, ask him out? End all of our suffering?”

Eddie sighs, “Steve has enough going on without me making it more complicated, okay? Steve can...he’s perfectly capable of telling me this himself.”

“No he isn’t. Because Steve would never ask you to take on another Alpha’s pup.”

“He’s not another Alpha’s pup, he’s Steve’s pup,” Eddie tells her reflexively.

“Uh hu,” she has her hands on her hips now, looking at him expectantly.

Eddie swallows thickly, and he can’t quite look at Robin, “what if...what if I loose him?”

“You won’t. You know you won’t.”

“But-”

“Me and Chrissy are taking Jamie for the night, did you know that? Giving Steve a night off, and we’re getting some practice in for when we’re ready to have our own, you know?”

“I...did not know that.”

“Yeah.”

Eddie stands for a second, not sure what to say, down the hall, Steve’s door opens.

“-and it’s in the changing bag.”

“I got it.”

“Don’t forget to heat the formula to-”

“Steve,” Chrissy sounds exasperated, “we’ve got it,” she has Jamie in his car seat.

“Plus,” Robin whispers to him conspiratorially, “he’s going to have a heat at some point, so we gotta be ready for that. You know, wouldn’t be fair to which ever Alpha ends up helping him out-”

“I know what you’re doing,” Eddie growls, watching Steve fuss over the pup.

“Is it working?”

“Go away.”

Robin shrugs, and Eddie watches as she goes to Chrissy, taking the bag so Chrissy is just left with the car seat, “it’s going to be fine, and you can call us any time.”

Eddie ends up watching Steve, as Steve watches his pup and his friends disappear at the end of the hall. His shoulder sag a little, and Eddie can't help but go to him.

“Hey.”

Steve sighs, “would it be weird if we followed them?”

“Maybe. I’ll drive though.”

Steve smiles up at him, and it looks kind of watery, “what if we break into their place and take him back?”

Eddie shrugs, “pretty sure we could just ask but, whatever makes you feel better, I guess.”

Steve sighs, “I sound crazy,” and a tear finally escapes, sliding down his cheek.

Eddie can’t help but scoop him up into a big hug, “I think you sound like the best dad in the world. I’ll get you one of those mugs. You know, for fathers day.”

Steve sighs, and sniffles, “thanks Eddie.”

“You want take out? I’ve primed you a miniature, if you still want to try your hand.”

“Can we watch a shit film too?”

“Oh fuck me I’d love to watch a shit film,” Eddie says vehemently into Steve’s hair.

Steve laughs against his chest.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to try painting his owlbear tonight; he picks forlornly at his duck rolls, “I’m sorry I’m not very good company.”

“It’s okay, I get it...I miss him too.”

“Oh, so you admit I’m being shit company?” Steve smiles for the first time this evening.

“Oh, yeah, the absolute worst.”

Steve phone pings and he practically dives for it, but then he melts, face going soft as he looks at the message, “Jamie’s asleep,” he shows Eddie the picture.

“Safe and sound,” Eddie reassures Steve for probably the fifteenth time this evening.

“I didn’t...I mean I knew I’d love my pup but...I didn’t know it would feel like this, you know? It feels crazy. And I mean...Jamie’s happy, and healthy, and that just makes absolutely everything feel...right? Does that make sense? Like...fulfilled.”

“I...yeah. I think I understand,” Eddie tells him quietly, because he feels like that about the both of them, as long as Steve, and by extension, Jamie, are both happy and healthy then...yeah. Yeah, the whole world feels like it’s an okay place to be.

“Eddie I-”

“Steve-”

They speak over each other, and end up laughing, leaning closer together on the couch. The remains of Steve’s half eaten dinner get moved to the safety of the coffee table. They’re close enough then that Eddie can see the dim light from the TV reflecting in Steve’s eyes.

“You go,” Eddie whispers to him.

Steve shakes his head, but takes Eddie’s hand in both of his, rubbing his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles, Steve whispers back, “you first.”

“I...I really like having you in my life Steve. And I don’t want to...to fuck that up, by expecting more from you.”

“I...yeah. Same.”

“Same?” It comes out as a surprised laugh.

Steve’s laughing too now, “what do you want me to say I mean...you pretty much covered it.”

“I have spent ages agonizing over this and and and- all I get is- yeah. Same. I guess. I suppose.”

Steve is properly laughing now, “come here, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” he pulls Eddie close, and manages to stop laughing long enough to kiss his cheek, “okay,” Steve takes a deep breath, “I’ve just had a pup, and both me and that pup care about you so very much, and I did not want to mess it up by expecting you to take that on, okay?”

“You’re not a chore Steve, neither of you are a chore.”

“I mean he was sick on me the other day and that kind of felt-”

Eddie cuts him off with a kiss. It’s soft, a gentle press of lips that Steve...sighs into. Relaxes into. Lets Eddie take both their weight. Steve’s hands find their way into Eddie’s hair as Eddie gently wets Steve’s lip, and Steve lets him in.

It feels like coming home.

[rafedaddy01]

Could I request a longer fic?

Rafe moving in next door to you with his family.

Y/n inviting him and his wife over for dinner with you and your husband.

Y/n following him into the bathroom and f ing him in there ,while they have to be quiet and quick

Welcome to the Neighborhood

Pt1 || Pt2

-

You were casually unloading groceries from your trunk when you saw the U-Haul truck across the street. It’s been a while since there’s been new neighbors and the kind hearted person you were just had to welcome them properly.

You finished bringing your groceries in and got to work on a pie, blueberry was your speciality. You knew that your new neighbors would love it, they always do.

You raised your fist and knocked three times and waited patiently with a smile on your face as you held up your dessert.

The door opened and you came face to face with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. His smile was intoxicating, his eyes pulled you in like a siren, you got so lost in his beauty you forgot what you were there for.

You cleared your throat and shook certain images out of your mind before presenting your pie and smiling wider, “welcome to the neighborhood! I’m y/n, me and my husband live just across the street. I noticed you guys were moving in so I thought I’d give you a warm welcome” you handed the man your dessert and he warmly excepted it, his fingers brushing onto yours a little too long.

“Thank you, I’m rafe and this is my wife Olivia.” Rafe introduced himself before opening the door a little wider and down the hall came a beautiful woman. “Howdy, so nice of you to say hi” she beamed at you as she came and stood next to her husband.

“Of course. Well you guys have a great rest of your day, and enjoy the pie” you quickly said your goodbyes and rushed back over to your house. The way rafe was eyeing you made you feel things you’ve never felt with your own husband before. You needed to get away from him, but at the same time your body and mind craved to be anywhere near him.

The next day there’s a knock on your door. You open it to find Olivia standing with your dish sparkling clean. “Good morning! Just wanted to return your dish, thank you again for the delicious pie. It was splendid, you must give me the recipe” she flashed you her white as snow, perfectly straight teeth as she flipped her hair off her shoulder and laughed. You couldn’t help but feel jealous of her, but you didn’t even know why. You were happily married.

“I’m glad you like it. Would you like to come in?” You opened the door wider and she followed you inside.

“Please make yourself comfortable, I’ll make us something to drink” she sat on the island stool as you started making up some lemonade.

The two of talked for hours and you actually found out you have a lot more in common than you thought. Olivia was actually a nice person and you liked her. “Would you and rafe want to come over for dinner tonight? I’m making lasagna” you extended an invite and she happily accepted.

The four of you sat in your dining room, eating, talking and drinking wine. It was fun and you got to know Olivia and Rafe better. They moved down to Texas from North Carolina because of some sort of family business rafe was in and someone needed to manage the company in a different state. Olivia was an interior designer and she had her own online business. They seemed like a normal, decent couple, and your husband seemed to get along with rafe great. They talked about business, golf and whiskey. Those were three things your husband couldn’t shut up about.

As you listened in on Olivia telling some story about one of her clients you felt someone’s foot trailing up and down your leg, you knew it wasn’t your husband because he was sitting on your right side but the foot was on your left side. You looked up at rafe and he was acting as if nothing was going on. As if he wasn’t playing footsie with you while his wife and your husband were in the same room.

His foot went higher and higher, making it harder for you to focus. You wanted to push his leg away and jump from the table and ask him what the hell he’s thinking. But you found yourself sitting quietly and imaging things that you shouldn’t.

“Excuse me, I’m gonna go to the restroom” Rafe said as he pulled back from the table and disappeared down the hall.

“I should probably check on dessert, I’ll be right back” you pecked your husbands cheek before rushing towards the kitchen, only to be pulled into the hallways bathroom.

“What the hell!” You gasped as quietly as you could, “ I knew you’d follow me” he closed the gap between you two, lips connecting and tongues clashing. Rafe picked you up and sat you down on the counter as he stepped between your legs.

Truthfully you knew this was wrong and you should stop it, but your hands had a mind of their own as they reached down and started undoing his jeans. “If we’re gonna do this it has to be quick and quiet” you pulled down his jeans and boxers and lifted your dress before pushing your panties to the side and sliding onto his cock.

“Oh fuck-“ you threw your head back but before you could moan Rafes palm covered your mouth as his eyes seared into yours and his hips started moving. “Shhh, i know, fuck I know. It feels soo good. But we have to be quiet” he thrusted faster as your fingers wrapped around his neck and held on for stability.

“T-touch me, please” you whimper over his hand and rafe nodded before bringing his fingers down to your clit, applying pressure and working in circles as your juices leaked around his cock.

“Holy shit. You’re squeezing me so tight, I’m gonna-“ before rafe could finish his sentence you felt the warmth inside your belly and it triggered your own release as you bit down on your lip and tried to conceal your moans. This was the fastest you’ve ever came, usually your husband would have to do a bunch of foreplay to get you ready but all rafe had to do was look at you and you were drenched.

“Now that’s a proper welcome” Rafe grinned as he pulled out and cleaned himself up.

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover

[rorysburrow]

Sugar and Spice

Pairings ➼ Joe Burrow x Reader

Summary ➼ You and Joe are making homemade cinnamon rolls in the kitchen—well, trying to make cinnamon rolls. Amid the flour dust and rolling pins, things take a more playful turn when you get a little too close, and Joe realizes just how cold your hands are. Sweetness isn’t just in the rolls anymore.

Word Count ➼ 725

Warnings ➼ pure fluff , hint of allusions to something if you squint.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The kitchen smelled like sugar, cinnamon, and butter—three of the best things in life, if you had to ask yourself. you and Joe were working on a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls, a recipe he had insisted you try together. Of course, the “together” part turned into him making fun of your inability to roll the dough without making it look like a crumpled mess, but that was beside the point.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Joe said, a teasing grin on his face as he peered over your shoulder. He was rolling his dough perfectly, of course, while yours looked like it had been through a war zone.

“Oh, really?” you replied while rolling your eyes. “I thought you were here to help, not critique.”

“I am helping,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m just giving you the pro tips. You’ll get it next time.”

you shot him a playful glare, but just as you were about to roll your dough out again, You felt a chill sweep over you. Your hands, covered in flour, were cold—and Joe’s warmth was too tempting to ignore. Without thinking, You reached around behind him, sliding your hands underneath the hem of his shirt.

Joe went still, the sudden coolness of your hands against his warm skin sending a shiver through him. “Whoa, what are you doing?” he asked, voice a mix of amusement and surprise.

you grinned, rubbing your cold hands against his stomach. “Just warming up. You don’t mind, do you?”

He looked down at you, trying to hold back his smile. “You’re freezing me out here,” he teased, his voice dropping a little, more playful than I’d ever heard. “You know I don’t think that’s the reason you’re getting so close.”

you laughed, pulling your hands back to grab a new handful of dough, but not without making sure to run your hands briefly along his side as you did. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting too hot. You’re wearing a long-sleeve shirt while I’m here in a tank top. That’s not fair.”

Joe leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re using me as a human heating pad now.”

“Pretty much,” you replied, reaching for the rolling pin and purposefully nudging his hip with yours as you did. “And you’re a very good one.”

Joe’s expression softened, his teasing smile shifting to something warmer. “I don’t mind being your personal heater,” he said, his voice more sincere than before. “But, you know, next time, I expect you to cook a real dinner.”

you chuckled, adjusting the dough, which had now transformed into a much more successful roll thanks to Joe’s “pro tips.” “Don’t worry. After we finish this, I’ll make us something even better. How about a nice, hearty meal?”

“You promise?” He raised an eyebrow, his playful smirk making a return. “Because if it’s anything like this dough… I might need a backup plan.”

“Hey,” you nudged him again with your elbow. “At least we’ll have the best dessert in town. And maybe I’ll even make it up to you with something a little more spicy tonight.”

Joe’s grin spread wider, and I could tell I’d gotten his attention. “You’re on,” he said, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “But just so you know… I have a thing for spicy food.”

you laughed, brushing your hands off and glancing at the oven, which had just beeped. “Well, looks like we’ll be having cinnamon rolls first. Then we can talk about spicy dinner ideas.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, sliding his arm around your waist, pulling you into him for just a moment. “Now, you owe me for the kitchen hijinks. How about a taste test?”

you smirked, reaching for the first hot cinnamon roll fresh out of the oven, breaking off a piece and holding it out to him. “Taste test approved, huh? Fine by me.”

Joe took a bite, his eyes lighting up with exaggerated delight. “Not bad at all,” he said, his voice teasing once again. “But I’m pretty sure I was the one who made this happen.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes again. “The cinnamon rolls wouldn’t be this good without your expert dough rolling.”

Joe grinned, leaning in closer. “Exactly.”

[tuesdayiminlove]

happy disaster

rockstar!eddie x fem!waitress!reader (imperfect for you universe)

summary: how you two meet

author's note: an ask about how they met came earlier today and i couldn't help myself lol. not proofread sorry! also this could be read as a standalone! but u can read the og part here! hope u guys enjoy lmk what yall think xoxo

word count: 3.1k

You’ve had your fair share of jobs throughout the last few years, trying to make ends meet while also being a consumer of the various cute things you see when you’re at the mall with your friends. One time (and this may have been one of the more miserable experiences), you worked as a receptionist for an auto shop (get it now?)).

Needless to say, you were at the bottom of the hierarchy at that whole joint. When you weren’t answering calls and taking hyperspecific notes to not confuse the actual mechanics, you were practically shunned from the moment you stepped up from your seat and onto the street to eat your lunch at the bench outside. And whenever your lips did part to make even the simplest of comments, the men either laughed at you or made you feel stupid (“You guys hired me! Clearly I’m not a fucking idiot!” you dreamt of saying, but you were just never one for the dramatics and confrontation of it all).

And, the worst part, on days you couldn’t go into work, none of the other receptionists would switch with you.

(“Sorry, babe, I just can’t,” you remember Joey Warner staying after taking a drag of his cig, coughing mere seconds later from not exhaling immediately. You wanted to take the cigarette between your fingers, toss it down, and squish it with your shoes. You really needed to pick up your brother from school, and no one at the shop is ever up Joey’s ass since he’s a guy.

“Oh. It’s alright.” You curse yourself and your lack of ever wanting conflict, because you’re more than positive that this boy deserves a beating for not taking the reins for an hour just so that your poor baby brother won’t have to wait on the cold sidewalk for your mom, who is forty minutes late.

You walk back into the shop without another word.)

So. yeah, call this mechanic memory useless, but now it's clear that your jobs have been absolute dog shit in the past.

But being a waitress at Carly’s Diner, in comparison, takes the cake in the coworker camaraderie contest.

Like, now, you’re enjoying your break with Carrie, splitting half a cupcake that Jim managed to slip into your guys’ hands when he was pulling the fresh desserts from the oven. You two have turns at it, taking nimble bites from the vanilla confection and wiping rainbow sprinkles off your uniform in the process. Your nose blends in the smell of the cupcake and Carrie’s sweet perfume, leaving a little bubble where you can hardly tell what the boys in the kitchen are whipping up right now.

Judy passes through the doors in a haste, heaving before setting her eyes on you two. The notepad in her hands is crumpled up and her hair looks all over the place, eyes bewildered as she stalks towards you and Carrie, a complan ready to spill from her red lips. 

“This fucking couple on table three is driving me nuts! Nuts!” She slumps her back against the wall and swipes a piece of frosting off the cupcake before sticking it in her mouth, sighing in relief.

“Hey,” Carrie swats Judy’s hand, “watch the cupcake!” She places it behind her back possessively.

Carrie is nearly six months pregnant and craving every sweet treat Jim has to offer in between tables and shifts. It’s a miracle that she let you split the dessert with her just now, “And table three, you said?”

Judy ignores her earlier words and nods. “I swear to God, I don’t understand your goddamn generation and why you heaps are so fucking rude. I can't do this.”

“Don’t group us with those weirdos,” says Carrie. “And I’d like to see them be rude to a pregnant woman. Protect this,” she hands you the cupcake carefully, looking at you in the eyes with intent, “and I mean it.”

Her voice is so determined, you decide that you don’t want your fair share of bites anymore. You nod dutifully.

“I got this, Jude.” She swipes the notepad from the older woman’s hands.

And with that, Carrie is kicking herself off the wall and out of the kitchen, into the main part of the diner. You silently pray for the couple that now has to deal with a moody and pregnant Carrie. 

See? Now, this is what you mean! No mechanic or receptionist at Billy’s Auto Parts will ever be willing to face an alleged-annoying couple for their coworker. Sometimes, waitressing can take the light and happiness out of you once you’re clocked out, but at least you’re surrounded by the half-decent people in your town.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Judy calls out with a wicked laugh. “Gotta love that girl… hey can I have a bite?”

You frown, knowing you’re already unable to say no when Judy is stressed and you know for sure that the confection in your hand is enough to sweeten even the most stressed—Jim just has that magic to him. “Yeah, but don’t make the dent obvious.”

You think you’re gonna spend the rest of your break with Judy, hiding in between the two walls in the corner of the kitchen until Carrie comes back. You lick a small sprinkle off the cupcake, ready to ask the woman if her daughter won the spelling bee that she’s been freaking out over all week, when the office door swings open and Lenny’s head peeks out, eyes going to the first two waitresses that he can spot.

“Hey!” he shouts yours and Judy’s last names to steal the attention. “Can one of you guys go out and get Evan? Her daughter’s principal is on the phone.” He wipes his sweat-stained brow and doesn’t wait for a response. “Thanks,”

You and Judy look back at each other. And immediately you know that you’re not going to make Judy be the one.

“I got it,” you say with a soft smile. “... You’re gonna eat the rest of this are you?”

She laughs and swipes the cupcake. “For you, my love, I wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you.”

You blow her a kiss, already making your way to the double doors of the kitchen, straightening out your ponytail and getting your waitressing voice ready (patient and respectful, garnering the best tips you can try to get). Your eyes give one swipe across the diner, catching Carrie’s eye as she talks to the couple sitting down beneath her, holding her precious bump to make a show of it. She gives you a sly wink and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing.

Afternoon rush makes it hard to spot Evan at first. His smaller stature makes it even harder to spot him in the crowd, but your eyes eventually zone in on him smiling at customer that is blocked by a family getting up to leave. You smile upon finding him and make your way to the table.

As you get closer, you finally notice who Evan is speaking two, and your brows pinch quizzically. The man is hunched, looking over the menu with sunglasses adorning his face despite his table not even facing the sun. His jet black curls curve around the lines of his face, making his features harder to notice. It almost reminds you of the movies you watch late at night when you’re munching on diner leftovers on your couch, the runaway criminal stopping for a bite to eat while trying to flee the state. 

“Evan,” you say softly, not wanting to draw attention to yourself but you know it's already bound to happen since you’re switching places with him. “Lenny’s got your daughter’s school on the phone. They’re asking for you.”

The man’s eyes widen. “Great,” he mutters, “What do you think it is this time?” “I hope she said ‘fuck you’ to that little pipsqueak again,” you joke, seeing the anxiety in Evan’s eyes at not knowing why he’s receiving a call during work. You remember the first time he got called to his daughter’s school from work due to her cursing out an older boy: the entire kitchen was laughing—Evan included—as they all wished him good luck with that meeting. “Can’t be worse than that.”

He sighed, turning back to the customer, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m going to hand you off to her for a bit.” He says your name to further introduce you two. "Thank you for your patience.”

And for the first time up close, you look at the sunglassed man and smile. Perfect teeth flash at you, mildly astonishing you at how cute he looked when he did so. It’s not abnormal for you to find a customer attractive (it’s human, we’re human), but you don’t think a smile has ever made you secretly stop you from breathing for a second. 

Flustered, you’re clumsy as you and Evan switch spots. He pats your shoulder one last time, muttering a thank you as he rushes to the back. You follow his movements and frown for a split second and forget your task at hand. You hope his daughter is okay. You hope the kitchen will be laughing in t-minus three minutes over the fact that little baby-Evan gained a new curse word under her belt.

“Sorry,” you say, looking back at the man. You find him looking directly at you, knowing only because of how his head is positioned. His sunglasses are too tinted to even see a little beneath. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“Oh—uh, yeah,” he stammers, before clearing his throat and offering a crooked smile. “Coffee, please. Milk and two sugars.”

Your handwriting matches the pace as he speaks. You hold a smile on your face to keep up pleasantries. “And have you decided what you would like to eat?”

“Not yet,” he admits, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the menu. “Kind of hard to focus.�� There’s a pause before he adds, a little quieter, “The menu’s got a lot of… options.”

You raise an eyebrow, tucking your notepad in the small pocket of your apron. You turn your head to see if anyone else is making coffee right now. You see Carrie there, and silently celebrate when she’s already staring at you. “All good. I’ll get your coffee ready and be right back–”

“—Wait.”

Your brows pinch, confused. “Yes?” His hand rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “I was just, um… wondering if you had a favorite on the menu? Like… if there’s something you always recommend. Or—” He hesitates again, “Or like your favorite?”

You don’t know why he's so flustered. You don’t know why it makes you flustered. For a beat, you just look at him. Is he… trying to flirt with me? The thought isn’t unwelcome, but you certainly weren’t expecting it, or really believing it just yet. You tilt your head, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.

“Well,” you say eventually, “We have an all day breakfast, and that’s my favorite part of the menu, and I get it a lot. It’s on the next page.”

You wait for him to turn the menu, but he continues to stare back up at you, mouth agape.

“... Is that something you’re interested in?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he replies immediately. And then, more composed, “Yeah, I can be in the mood for breakfast.” He finally flips the page, and his head tilts up to yours fleetingly.

“Great! Our cook, Jim, makes the best strawberry and white chocolate pancakes, so that’s what I would recommend from the breakfast menu.”

His lips tug into a small, bashful smile. “Sounds perfect. I’ll take that.”

“Perfect!” you grin, scribbling his order onto your notepad. “I’ll take this to the kitchen, and have your coffee ready soon!” You flash him one more look before retreating back towards the kitchen. You finally get to look back at Carrie, who is still looking at you, this time arms crossed.

“How was the couple?” you ask when you’re about to pass her.

“Annoyed them enough to leave.” She grabs your wrist, and you just dodge the yelp that wants to escape your lips. “Do you know who you were just talking to?”

You freeze. Her grip is firm, her expression serious enough to make you hesitate. Your gaze darts briefly toward the dining area, but you stop yourself from looking back at him. The last thing you want to do is risk being caught gawking.

“I... no?” you whisper, unsure of how to answer. But even as you say it, you feel a subtle heat creeping up your neck. The weight of eyes on your back makes your skin prickle, as if the mystery man somehow knows he’s the topic of conversation.

“Why don’t you go check the newspaper in the locker room and get back to me, yeah?” she finally lets her grip go, smirking like she knows something you don’t.

Carrie's words linger repeatedly in your brain as you hesitantly allow yourself to drop off the man’s order, and then to go see whether or not you’re serving a serial killer. 

You slip the stripped paper from your notepad to Colin’s hands. “Table thirteen,” you say in passing as you make the rest of the way to the locker room, not even Judy’s cheerful wave as she smiles with a cupcake still in her hand can stop you from the mission you have decided to go on.

Upon entering the locker room, you gaze zeroes in newspaper lying flat on the bench, its closed pages teasing you with potential revelations about your current customer. You hesitantly flip it over as you come face-to-face with the front headline 

HIT AND DIP: ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON LEAVES IN HASTE AFTER CHICAGO SHOW 

Your eyes widen as they lock onto the grainy photo accompanying the article. There’s no mistaking it. The guy at table thirteen. Eddie Munson. Rockstar. Your customer. 

For the first time, you finally see his eyes. But instead of him taking his sunglasses off to reveal his brown hues, you see them straight on in the form of a camera flashing and printing onto the paper right in front of you. He looks borderline pissed as he’s gripping his guitar and shooing the paparazzi in the background away, the picture managing to catch the split-second that his eyes meet with the camera.

“He’s hot.”

You jump, clutching the newspaper to your chest as you turn to meet eyes with Judy casually leaning over your shoulder with a grin.

“Judy!” you hiss, sighing in relief. 

“What?” she says plainly, “He is.”

“He is also currently Evan’s customer on table thirteen that I now have to serve.”

Judy’s pupil’s dilate. “Oh shit.”

You want to make a joking comment, calling Judy a cougar, but you’re interrupted by Carrie peeking her head in through the door. She looks down at the newspaper in your hands, and then back to your eyes. “Told you,” she says, her smirk from earlier still on her face.

Before you can respond annoyingly, Jim’s voice blares through the back. “Order up!” he shouts. “Waffles for thirteen!”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of its sockets.

“Jesus, do you ever slow down?” Carrie yells out the door.

They hear Jim’s “No!” and fan out back into the kitchen.

“Good luck, my love,” sings Judy.

“Can you ask for an autograph?” asks Carrie. She motions to her belly and gives it a soft pat. “She’ll think I’m real cool!” 

“Ha, ha,” you roll your eyes, already holding the order as you kick the double doors open, passing back into the diner. You try your best to calm your heart as you pour coffee into the kettle, taking sugar from the side of the counter and putting two teaspoons into the mug. You feel eyes on you the entire time, and you don’t need to look up to know whose covered eyes they belong to. 

It’s not every day that you get to serve a goddamn celebrity, so she thinks that everyone should give her a break (she’s specifically talking to her heart—it needs to stop beating so rapidly, making her brain think something is wrong).

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you hold the plate on one hand, and the mug on the other. “Just a customer,” you whisper under your breath, beginning to walk. “Just a ridiculously famous, incredibly good-looking customer who better leave a stunning tip.”

As you approach table thirteen, you notice that Eddie shifts slightly in his seat. One of his legs bounces under the table, and he drums his fingers lightly against the edge of the booth.

You \ set the plate and coffee down in front of him, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Waffles and coffee,” you announce, sliding the plate and mug onto the table with practiced ease. You’re proud that your voice doesn’t shake—too much, anyway.

Eddie leans back, grinning up at you. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Your heart stops. You couldn’t help but think his eyes hold a knowing look, like he knew exactly what went down and now knows that you know exactly who he is.

“Enjoy,” you grin back. 

Behind you, you hear him mutter something under his breath, followed by a quiet groan, and you can’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest that he enjoyed what you recommended to him. 

The rest of the rockstar’s stay goes smoothly. You don’t intend on saying anything to give away what you know, despite it probably already being known, and you're grateful by this normalcy. You refill his coffee, make light conversation (the weather is particularly sunny and pretty today, shining through the windows and letting pretty glow spread through the diner), and take his plate when he’s wiped it clean.

You don’t even think much of his stay, mind already going back to it being a regular customer that deserves no more or less attention than anyone else is supposed to.

(Sure, his smile lingers in your mind a little longer than you’d like to admit—so what if his smile is better than any that you’ve seen, anyway?)

It isn’t until Eddie’s up and left and you trail back to the table to wipe it off, a damp rag in hand, do you notice the wad of cash left in his wake that is definitely worth more than his bill.

Your jaw drops down, staring at it and contemplating what to do with that much of an amount of money in front of you.

Next to it, a folded napkin sits.

Your mind immediately goes to an autograph; that he’s one of those celebrities, and he just couldn’t resist leaving a little something to prove of his appearance.

You’re taken back when you unfold it to see his number scribbled messily onto the fabric. Your fingers shake as you move your thumb to fully read the note that he added at the bottom,

Call me. Please. :)

[rynbutt]

mansplaining. | spencer reid.

request: @a-second-hand-sorrow "hey queen, just wanted to say i absolutely love your spencer stuff, you write him so well!! as a fellow aussie I was wondering if maybe you could write something with spencer and an australian reader? just something cute and silly, maybe with him infodumping everything he knows about australia ahaha, love your work!"

you can find my other fics on my masterlist.

requests are open!

cw: fem!aus!reader, none really, fluffy, silly fr

a/n: short and sweet hehe

Henry held your hand tight as you guided him to the elevator.

JJ had just gotten back from a trip to Michigan for a case. She ended up sleeping for a couple hours before she had to go back into work again, all before little Henry woke up for the day. Since she hadn’t seen her son in almost three weeks, you thought it would be nice to bring Henry to her with some lunch as a surprise.

You had been JJ and Will’s nanny for almost 8 months now. Since Will had returned to work and JJ’s job was still incredibly demanding, they started looking for a nanny for their 3-year-old son. You just so happened to be looking for a job and to finally put your experience as a nursery assistant back home to good use. 

“You excited to see mummy?” You asked Henry as you stood in the elevator, his little FBI visitor badge far too big on his little body.

“Yeah!” He replied excitedly, jumping up and down while still holding your hand. You had taken Henry to pick up some lunch at JJ’s favourite place then let Henry pick out a pastry for each of you to have for dessert.

“Alright, remember, you have to hold on tight to my hand, okay? There are lots of people around,” you reminded the young boy, crouching down to his level.

“Uh huh,” Henry nodded, his tiny hand squeezing yours.

The elevator dinged and you gently guided Henry toward the bullpen, silently searching for JJ’s office. Henry stayed close to you as you swerved through the busy agents. You decided to ask someone who you thought looked vaguely familiar.

“Uh, Emily, right?” You gestured toward the dark haired woman sitting at her desk.

She glanced up at you, seeming to recognise you and little Henry almost instantly, “Oh hey! You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of JJ’s office-”

“Did you know the Australian mainland extends from west to east for nearly 2,500 miles?” someone behind you said, obviously hearing your Australian accent.

Emily rolled her eyes and looked at you, “don’t mind, Reid.”

You turned around to look at ‘Reid’, he was cute, probably the young doctor JJ told you about. You pointed at him, “Dr. Spencer Reid, right?”

He ignored you, “And most of the rocks forming the foundation of Australia are from the Precambrian and Paleozoic time… about 4.6 billion and 252 million years ago respectively,” he looked up at you, “yes, I’m Dr. Reid.”

“Mm,” you hummed.

“I’ll go get JJ for you,” Emily sighed, frowning disapprovingly at Reid. You sat down next to Emily’s desk, picking up Henry to sit him in your lap.

“Where are you from?” Another man asked, “I’m Derek Morgan, you must be Henry’s nanny?”

“Yeah, I am… I’m from Melbourne,” you smiled.

Spencer interjected, “Melbourne isn’t said like that. The spelling negates that.”

“Kid… she’s from there, I think she knows how it’s said,” Morgan retorted. 

You just chuckled softly, “I’d love to hear you mansplain my country to me, Dr. Reid.”

“I’m not mansplaining,” Spencer replied, seeming offended.

“You kind of are,” Morgan added, leaning back in his chair.

“Mansplaining!” Henry exclaimed, making both you and Morgan laugh. Henry bolted from your lap the moment he saw his mum. You stood up to greet JJ as little Henry tackled her in a hug.

“What are you guys doing here?” JJ asked, cuddling Henry close to her.

“We thought we would surprise you for lunch,” you smiled, “Henry picked some pastries out for us too, for dessert… I hope it’s okay?”

“No, it’s perfect,” JJ replied, “it’s just what I needed honestly,” she sighed, giving you a side hug as she guided you to her office.

Henry sat on the floor playing with a few toys you brought along for him while you and JJ talked, “so, that Dr. Reid? He’s a character.”

“You met him, huh?” she leans back in her chair with a laugh.

“Oh yeah,” you replied, “he seems…” you trailed off.

JJ nodded knowingly, “Yeah, he’s like that.”

“He’s cute though,” you shrugged with a small laugh.

“Mm, I’ll make sure to tell him that,” JJ teased.

“Don’t you dare,” you retorted quickly. 

You spent the last half an hour of JJ’s break sitting with her and Henry on the floor helping him do a puzzle he had left from the last time he was here. It was nice for JJ to see her son, she missed him terribly but she knew he was in good hands with you.

JJ had to get back to work shortly after and she squeezed Henry in a tight hug, reminding you she might be late again tonight, which you didn’t mind. 

“Say ‘bye-bye’, mummy!” You held Henry’s hand, waving at JJ. 

“Bye-bye, mommy!” Henry called, waving his little hand around. 

You spun around, guiding Henry through the bullpen again before an idea popped into your head. You turned on your heel at the side of Spencer’s desk.

“Hey, Dr. Reid?” You asked softly.

“Yes?” He peered up at you.

“Ever heard of drop bears?”

a/n: i hope you liked it! i know it was a short one but i think it's funny. another chapter of pierced coming soon >:)

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER SEVEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @patscorner @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @h34rtsformilli @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l (sorry about these ones that didn’t work ☹️) @yassedsblog @jissy22 @blank-blank80 @brynslverr @melinaaa3 @alex-1347 @lolbods @girlypop05

kalena speakss 🪽! this is a filler chapter, everything starts to ramp up and get more messy (as if it isn’t already) starting next chapter ;)

June 2025 — New York City, New York

“Don’t even bring that up, oh my God.” Rickea laughs, reaching one of her long arms over to slap at my knee.

Rickea, Cameron, and I sit soundly in the green room, makeup placed deliberately on our faces. We played the Liberty last night, in a game with an outcome I would rather forget than talk about.

But today, after the team hopped on the first charter back to LA, we had a date with GQ. They called it The Teammates Quiz, and we were given the honor of being the first women’s sports team with the opportunity. I thought it was a cool idea, a game that I would certainly win because I know my teammates well.

However, it seems like these two know me just as well because they are airing my business out to everybody in this room right now. Well, maybe not all of it, but close enough. 

“Kea, you fell on your face in the middle of downtown LA. I’m with P, I’m so bringing it up.” Cameron laughs.

“I was drunk!”

“You were more sober than P. And she drinks like a man going through a divorce.” I instantly pull back from my makeup artist, looking over at my teammate incredulously.

“I do not!” I attempt to defend. “You two insisted on buying drinks after the draft, not me.”

Cameron, who’s seconds away from bursting out in tears of laughter, speaks up through her ragged breaths. “You got so drunk you were making out with random girls in the club.”

“Least I ain’t fall on concrete in the middle of LA.” I laugh, sitting back in my seat and allowing Joanna to get back to doing my makeup. I let her and Brittany take control of my look, they know best after all. 

You would think with the way the three of us all talk to each other that our on court chemistry is terrible, but it’s the complete opposite. Probably why GQ asked us to do this little segment today. I cut my attention back to my teammates when Rickea’s voice cuts through the air again.

“Have you talked to Raye lately?”

The way she asks it seems skeptical. Like she knows something, or is suspicious of something and I can’t pick up why. We’ve been keeping our friendship pretty cordial— at least to our friends and in public.

Maybe Maraye told her about the kiss. Maybe Maraye told her literally nothing, and Rickea is just trying to pry as she does often.

“Uh yeah, we hung out a few nights ago.” I respond, so lucky that Joanne is angling my head in the opposite direction, successfully hiding my growing red face from my teammates. “She’s pretty cool.”

Which isn’t a lie, we did hang out a few nights ago. Only my lips start tingling whenever I think about it. I swear I can taste her still on them all these hours later; like a mix of every single dessert on the planet. So damn sweet. I wonder if she always tasted like that, or if she tasted different elsewhere. 

And yes, Maraye is pretty cool. Pretty funny, pretty smart, pretty talented, pretty. So fucking pretty.

I’m realizing now that three days has been too damn long. To see her damn near everyday, then not at all for a week, then again in which I end up with my tongue down her throat. To not have been within inches of her for 72 fucking hours has me going just a bit crazy.

“I didn’t know y’all were hanging out.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to tell you that.” I fire back too quickly. It makes it seem defensive, and it’s not. I have nothing to hide. 

Well yeah I do, but I think I’m pretty good at hiding it.

“Paige.” Cam says, cutting into the conversation awkwardly. “Please don’t tell me you did something stupid.”

I slouch back in my seat and Brittany, who I swore just magically spawned behind me, slaps my shoulder telling me to sit up. “I didn’t! You guys can’t ever just trust me.” I laugh.

“‘Cause you get caught doing stupid shit!” Rickea explains.

“Caught?”

“Caught? Again?”

“You haven’t seen twitter?”

Those four words always make my heart beat out of my chest. The internet is cool when it comes to me, out of pocket sure, but cool. But on the off occasion that they aren’t, it’s because they are either making shitty posts about what i’m doing on the court, writing think pieces, or minding my business rather than their own. I’m assuming, in context to Maraye, that it’s the latter.

“The fuck happened this time.” I ask with a huff. The first time, I had gotten too comfortable at the club. Which was admittedly my own drunken fault. The second time I was trending because people swore up and down I was making goo-goo eyes at Taylor Rooks. Which I was, she’s absolutely unreal. And now here we are.

Cameron is the one who looks first, and by the look of her face I assume it’s pretty telling. Rickea hands me her phone. I take it, slightly shaking and I don’t know why. 

My eyes are stuck to the screen, and it’s four pictures. I’m not sure who took them, but Maraye has reached A-list status and I forget the Paps are everywhere when it comes to her. 

The first is us leaving the bar in Atlanta. Maraye’s head isn’t in the shot, she’s busy hopping into the backseat of our uber, but mine is. It’s very obviously me, my signature braids down the side of my face rather than in the usual ponytail. My hand is stuck comfortably in the pocket of my zip up while the other holds the door open for her.

The second photo is from when we’re seated at Waffle house. I’m showing all 32 while Maraye talks, and it makes us look like a fucking couple. Her arms rest on the table, head slightly tilted. From the angle, again, you can’t see all her face but her side profile is obvious. Anyone could point it out and recognize her.

But it’s the last two that make us look the most guilty. My arm draped over her shoulder is very incriminating. She held her pink lemonade flavored slushee in her hand, looking up at me. One more swipe and I’m looking at myself paying for those two slushee’s. It doesn’t help that my jacket from earlier that night is now zipped up over her body. 

‘Paige Bueckers and Maraye Carter in atl this weekend 😲’  Reads the tweet. It’s messy, even more when I scroll further and see people putting pieces together. The replies are full of videos from opening night, screenshots of my recent activity in her instagram likes, and of course, of course, someone had to have seen me in my seat at her concert.

It looks bad. I would say worse than it is, but it all doesn’t even scratch the surface. 

“We just friends.” I mumble, I wouldn’t be surprised if my nose grew a centimeter or two. “Y’know how people get.”

I hand Rickea her phone back. She’s the one I should be scared off, Cameron has been done with my relationship issues since I first met her as kids. But Kea? After the talk about leaving Maraye alone, and how I know better, and how I don’t need to get hurt. I’m terrified that I’m about to get caught.

“Has she seen these?”

“Ion know.” She responded. “Probably. But If you two are jus’ friends’, then don’t sweat it. Hollywood moves fast.”

Really fast. 

—

June 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

“You’re literally a fan, shut up.” I joke at the blonde sitting besides me.

She’s messily scarfing down her chipotle bowl as we sit in her car. The windows are tinted nicely and my album shuffles through her speakers, even though she swears up and down that she didn’t add it to her library.

“Am not.”

“Yeah yeah, pinocchio.”

It’s my first time seeing her since the night in my condo, and it’s awkward. Which is weird because Paige and I have never been awkward together. Everything was always smooth, fluid, when it came to her. But now I don’t know what to say.

I blame it on the kiss.

It should’ve never happened. She knows that, I know that. Even then I don’t regret it. 

I’ve never in my life had feelings for a woman before, until now. And it’s so weird because I think I still have feelings for Julian too. It’s not the same thing though. Julian is perfect for me. Good job, family man, tall, handsome, the most gorgeous and perfect curly hair I’ve ever seen. Then there’s Paige, and she just might be perfect for me too. Work oriented, funny, insanely smart even though I tell her she’s not. 

So I sit silent in her passenger seat, not a clue in the world of what I should say to her. She makes me nervous, she makes the bottom of my stomach twist up whenever I look at her and see those beautiful blue eyes. I shouldn’t feel that way, I know that. But damn does she make it hard.

“Maraye?”

“Yeah?”

Paige chuckles, reaching over to wipe a bit of Vinaigrette from my lip. “I said ‘you good?’”

I nod and my head moves slightly away from her reach. “Yeah. Why?” I ask, taking a generous bit from my burrito.

“Because you’re sittin’ there all quiet.” She explains. “I know we kissed and all that but I ain’t think you would stop bein’ cool around me.” She says in an attempt to ease the atmosphere, the obvious tension that bounces off walls.

“It’s not that.” I mumble.

She puts the lid on her bowl, reaching towards the back seat to drop the trash in the brown chipotle bag. When she turns back to face me, I get a great look at her for the first time all night. Her hair is in a messy bun, strands slightly framing her face.

“Then what is it, Raye?” Paige slouches in the seat. “‘Cause don’t get me wrong, I feel some typa way about you but we’re friends first—”

“I wanna kiss you again.” I blurt out. It’s word vomit, like I can’t help but tell her how badly I want her lips on mine and her tongue in my mouth. Hands on my waist, my ass, in my hair. 

She laughs, and I pray to God she’s not laughing at me. “That’s why you can’t talk to me anymore?”

“I wanna kiss you, but I know how wrong that is. I have a boyfriend, and everyone already thinks something is going on here.” My finger gestures between the both of us.

“You saw the pictures?” Paige cuts me off. Her hand slips forward to grab her phone.

“Did you?”

“Kea showed me them yesterday.”

We sit in silence. I’m trying to process her response. 

“Did, uh, did Julian see them?” She asks.

Shit. Julian. It seems like I’m constantly forgetting about him whenever I’m with her. Always. I’m such a fucking asshole. 

“No, I-I didn’t show him. I don’t think I needed to.” I explain through my stutter. He didn’t need to see them. One, because it wasn’t anything serious. The photos made Paige and I look bad, sure, but there was nothing to worry about. It would only make me and him argue, and we do enough of that already.

“Good.” She nods. “He probably shouldn’t anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know I really wanna kiss you too.” Paige says. I thought that was it. The kiss happened once, and we were back to being friends. Being normal.

“Paige—”

“I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

“P, quit it.”

“I keep thinking about how you taste. Like all day. And I shouldn’t, I know that, but you make it fuckin’ impossible.” The blonde sighs. Her eyes fall shut like it’s painful, painful to not kiss me. 

I shake my head, hoping that it’s enough for her to stop talking about it. “Paige, you and I are friends. That’s it. I have a boyfriend, and you’re not a home wrecker. We aren’t doing that again.”

She goes quiet. Then her eyes open and she turns back towards the wheel. It’s 10:30 at night and she has a game in the morning. Paige’s hips raise slightly to fix her sweatpants. A pulse races through me when it happens. 

“You understand? We can’t.” I ask, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah. Yeah, just friends.” Paige says.

I want to believe her. I really do. But the look in her eyes tells me I shouldn’t. Those blue orbs I know so well are suddenly a deep color, pupils wide. She slightly bites the corner of her lip, staring at me like I could run away.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I push at her shoulder, a chuckle escaping my lips. “I’m serious. No kissing, no flirting. I’m not a cheater, P. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“I know, I know. I won’t.” She responds. “But if it happens?” Paige leans into me again. Her hand flicking a curl away from my face before playing with it. She stares at me with intensity.

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I’m not apologizing for it.”

And then she pulls back, sitting in her seat and pulling her seatbelt over her body. She turns the engine on without even a second thought.

I sit there speechless, burrito growing cold between my hands. And I know, without a doubt, no matter how badly I want to hold out and follow through on my promise.

Paige is dangerous, and I don’t think I have it in me.

She’s gonna win. Again.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I please get riddles mom and azuls mom interacting. Some thing about riddles mom being this really strict and judge mental person interacting with someone who got with their divorce lawyer is just so enticing.

Consider this interaction running parallel with this one, in which Riddle consults Azul's stepfather for advice while Azul and his mom check out the cafeteria's food.

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

There was something to be said about the allure of a strong woman.

Azul felt that sentiment true when he stood next to his mother. Wherever she strutted, the people would part for her, letting the savvy woman in a slick black gown peel and a golden spiral seashell necklace through. Her silvery hair was pinned up neatly and speared with a crown-shaped comb.

She meant business. Ate it, breathed it, radiated it--and every room she stepped into bended to her command.

“I think you’ll be pleased with Night Raven College’s selection, mother,” Azul commented, passing her a clean plate. He swept his other hand over the waiting buffet. “Menu items are on a rotation, but there is always a good variety to choose from. The specials change every day—I have it on good word that today’s recommendation is the mince meat pie. They’re prepared by several highly skilled ghost chefs, some of which were personally scouted by the headmaster from three-star restaurants!”

Mrs. Ashengrotto nodded approvingly. “This will make for excellent market research. I would like to sample as much as we feasibly can. A shame to be without my tentacles though.” She tested a hand, fingers curling into her palm. “It would making fetching the food so much more efficient.”

“There are two of us,” Azul said quickly. He glanced around, making sure that no one had overheard the talk of tentacles. “We can split up to cover more ground.”

“I will stay here. I’d like to receive the mince meat pie fresh—it would be the most accurate way to judge the integrity of its pastry shell.”

“Then I’ll begin with the dessert bar in the back and work my way back to reunite with you."

“It’s a plan.”

With that, Azul took off, vanishing in a swarm of students.

Mrs. Ashengrotto headed for the counter serving the daily special. The line moved quickly—but right in front of her, raised voices flares up. She cocked a brow and craned her head.

A woman in a crimson blazer and skirt, mouth painted blood red, hair gathered into a tight bun, was arguing with a ghost chef. She jabbed a gloved finger at the mince meat pie held out to her.

“You must carve this up into a smaller portion size—exactly 300 grams,” she demanded. “Surely you don’t expect a growing boy to finish an entire pie on his own. The sodium level would exceed the recommended daily intake.”

“As I’ve already told you, ma’am, it’s impossible for me to give you exactly 300 grams,” the ghost chef retorted, sounding slightly frazzled. “Can’t you take the whole pie and divvy it up at your table?”

“The kitchen scales are here,” she insisted, “so it is most prudent for the carving to occur here.”

“Please, ma’am! You’re holding up the line!!”

Mrs. Ashengrotto cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

“Hmm?” The lady in red spun around, locking eyes with her.

“E-Eeep!!” The ghost chef shrunk back.

Here stood two powerful, poised women—like ice and fire—and he, trapped between them.

“If you would be so kind as to present me with a mince meat pie, a knife, and your scale, I believe I can rectify this situation,” Mrs. Ashengrotto suggested.

“But you’re a customer…” the ghost chef said faintly.

“A customer with plenty of experience in both the food and the business side of restauranteuring. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

The ghost chef gulped and shot off. He returned moments later with the things Mrs. Ashengrotto had asked for, sliding them toward her from across the counter.

The lady in red sent an unimpressed look her way. “… And who are you to be making such bold claims?”

“Oh, just another mother like yourself,” Mrs. Ashengrotto calmly replied, "so I understand the desire to see our children eating well."

She had placed her empty plate on the scale after zeroing it, clocking the weight as 60 grams. Then Mrs. Ashengrotto brought the knife down swiftly, so fast that her arm was a blur. The pie was cleaved cleanly. She placed half on her own plate. The whole cafeteria seemed to fall into a hush as she slid the remaining mince meat pie onto the scale.

[360.00 g]

“Here you are, then.” Mrs. Ashengrotto passed the pie to the lady in red. “Subtracting the weight of the plate itself, this meets your specifications.”

The other woman's eyes narrowed, but she accepted the offering without protest. "At least someone around here is competent," she sniffed. "Thank you."

Mrs. Ashengrotto provided her most professional smile. "Please enjoy your meal--and send your son my regards."

The lady in red nodded stiffly. The ghost chef held his breath until the she was out of sight--then he deflated like a balloon with its air let loose.

"Y-You're an afterlife saver, lady!" the ghost chef sobbed. "I was at my wit's end dealing with that hellish woman!"

“Don't mention it, dear," Mrs. Ashengrotto reassured him. "I’m used to dealing with difficult clientele at my own eatery. We're kindred spirits."

"Do you like pies?" The ghost chef eyed the cut of mince meat on her plate. "Hold on, I'll bring you one of every kind we have as thanks for that save! Apple, banana cream, coconut cream, chocolate pudding..."

"Well, if you're offering--but I couldn't possibly have the arms to carry that much pie back to my table."

"Not a problem, ma'am! I'll get some of my staff to do it for you." The ghost chef clapped his hands, summoning several other ghosts to his side. "Boys, let's serve this lady some pie!"

"Yessir! Pie, coming right up, sir!"

"Ahahah, that's much appreciated." Mrs. Ashengrotto tucked a hand under her chin and chuckled. Won't Azul be surprised when he comes back! There will be plenty of sweets for us to share.

[webbluvrsugar]

I’m loving the fact so many people are requesting Ethan stuff, it seems like the tag here on tumblr has been so dry recently!

how about Ethan x reader kissing each other for the first time after their first date together? 🥹 i’m not sure if you’re up for fluff but i’d love to see you’re take on it

a/n: ooo I know!! I’m specially grateful that many of you found my account and place the requests <3

Ethan finally gets the courage to ask you out, let’s just say it’s the best date you’ve had before.

It’s all pretty romantic even if it’s a cheap date he came up with last minute because he didn’t know where to take you.

He took you to an expensive frozen yogurt shop you said you’d want to try, made sure you didn’t pay any of the extra toppings — and the cup itself — you ate that to be honest, is not over three dollars per person, but he still did it, just to see that smile on your face when you drag the mango flavoured cream past your lips, saying it’s better than expected, that the raspberries over it make it sooo yummy to eat, that you even like the tangy feeling of the chocolate and asking him to try it because he barely got any toppings.

He’s not a fan of frozen yogurt, but he brought you here and ate it all with a smile on his face, for you and for the way your eyes light up.

He’s made a few jokes along the date, complimented you, wiped the extra cream off your lips, smiled and played with the charm on your chain necklace, it all works, makes you feel well and loved, and by the time it ends, you have a big dainty smile on your face, he’s surprised you liked the dessert that much — except it’s not about that.

He’s holding your hand as you walk back to your apartment, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand as you both look around while walking, both nervous to talk to each other.

“Did you like it?” He finally asks, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice, cozy,” you smile back, looking up to him. “Loved the yogurt.”

He chuckles, he’s grateful you liked it, because he was sure he might’ve just killed someone — literally — if those ten bucks he spent on you two weren’t worth it.

“I’m glad.”

It’s all so peaceful, the birds chirp around you, the sun is nice and bright, the soft breeze of the wind brings you close together before you reach the door to your building.

You almost don’t want to go inside.

“I… I really liked seeing you today.” You mention and he blushes, he’s almost frozen, gives a light nod and you turn around to look for your keys.

‘Get at her, you idiot.’ He thinks, his hands shaking as you seem farther away when you slid the key in, read to go, so he just acts impulsively, doesn’t think about what he’s doing before he’s pulling you into him, lightly pinning you against your door before he deposits a soft kiss on your lips, it’s awkward and weird, he barely knows how to kiss but he does it, his hands on your shoulder as he pulls away, flushed.

You don’t say anything, your heart is beating fast and your eyes are wide staring into his, he clears his throat, blinks before asking:

“So…. see you tomorrow?”

He smiles, nervous, hoping you’ll say yes, you nod.

taglist: @babygorewhore

[mesu-senshi]

Title: “Be Still, My Giant Heart” part 1

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Konig x Reader

Theme: Comedy, Romance, Fluff

Trope: Arranged Marriage

______________________________________________________________

König wasn’t sure how he’d gotten himself into this situation.

It started with his mother calling him during a rare moment of peace. “Schatz,” she’d said with all the sweetness of a baker dusting sugar on fresh strudel, “it’s time you settled down.”

Fast forward a few weeks, and here he was, standing in his sparse quarters at the base, waiting for his soon-to-be-wife to arrive. A stranger. An arranged marriage. He had a knot in his stomach the size of a grenade.

When the door opened, König had to crouch, his towering figure casting a shadow over the entrance.

And there you were. Tiny, warm-eyed, and smiling up at him like he wasn’t a giant of a man capable of taking down an enemy in three moves. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink. Instead, you stepped closer, craning your neck to meet his gaze.

“Hallo!” you chirped, your accent like music to his ears. “You must be König. I’m so happy to finally meet you!”

He blinked. Twice. Words jammed in his throat like a traffic pile-up. “Ja, h-hallo,” he managed, his voice a low rumble.

Your smile only grew brighter, which, he realized with a pang of terror, made his heart stutter.

______________________________________________________________

Living with you, he quickly learned, was like trying to balance on a knife’s edge. Not because you were difficult, but because he was terrified. Terrified of saying the wrong thing, of breaking something (you), of waking up to find you’d realized how mismatched the two of you were and decided to leave.

But you? You settled into his space like you belonged there. Your wavy hair swayed as you walked around the shared quarters, your hums filling the silence like the promise of spring. You left sticky notes on his fridge—“Have a good day!” and “Drink water, you giant mountain!”

And the affection. Oh, the affection. He’d never known anyone to touch him so casually. A pat on his arm as you passed. A playful poke to his side (he almost jumped out of his skin). The way your hand lingered on his forearm when you’d laugh at his dry humor.

“Do you like it?” you asked one evening, holding up a plate of schnitzel you’d made for dinner.

He nodded, taking a bite, his voice coming out quieter than he meant. “Sehr gut.”

“Gott sei Dank,” you teased, winking. “I was worried I’d have to bribe you with dessert.”

The flush started at his neck and climbed like a wildfire.

______________________________________________________________

The breaking point came two weeks in.

You’d decided to surprise him by baking something “just like your Mutter probably makes.” He walked in on you standing on your tiptoes, trying in vain to reach the top cabinet.

“Ach, here,” he said, his voice gentler than he thought possible, easily grabbing the jar you’d been reaching for.

You turned to him, wide-eyed and soft. “Thank you, König.”

And then you did something dangerous.

You stretched up and kissed his cheek.

He froze. His face felt like it had been doused in lava. The kiss was innocent, sweet, but it packed a punch that nearly knocked him over.

“Y-You don’t mind?” he stammered. “Me being here. This arrangement…”

“Mind?” you repeated, tilting your head like he’d asked if the sky was blue. “König, you’re amazing.”

He blinked down at you. “You… think so?”

Your laughter filled the room. “You’re a gentle giant. You’re sweet, thoughtful, and…” You paused, letting your eyes rake over him in a way that made him swallow hard. “...very, very attractive.”

If he wasn’t beet red before, he was now.

“Besides,” you added, reaching for his hand—tiny in his massive one—“I like being near you. You make me feel safe.”

Safe. The word echoed in his mind. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve you, but for the first time in weeks, his anxiety melted into something softer, warmer.

Maybe, just maybe, this arrangement wasn’t a mistake after all.

______________________________________________________________

Later that Night

König, lying stiff as a board in bed, replaying the moment you called him “attractive.”

You, snuggled into your pillow, dreaming sweetly of your gentle giant.

Neither of you realized how quickly the trial before marriage was turning into something real.

[devildom-moss]

Moonlit Bath

(Diavolo x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (slightly submissive Diavolo) (NSFW tags: brief food play, sex in the water, oral, biting, marking, penetration with no condom, creampie, cock warming, outdoor sex, very sweet and gentle, no specifics about MC's genitals which was a bit difficult, but I didn't want to make two versions - maybe next time, though?)

Word Count: +3,600

“Please, Lucifer?” Diavolo was already a full minute into his appeal with no sign of Lucifer giving him an inch.

“No; must I repeat myself again, Diavolo?” Lucifer sighed and set his drink down on the table between them. “I’m not giving you my blessing. You can invite them, and they can accept, but I won’t pretend to be happy about it.”

“Please, reconsider,” Diavolo decided to switch tactics, “MC has been so exhausted recently. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Lucifer tensed up. Got him, Diavolo thought. Lucifer leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, intertwining his fingers and cupping his hands around his knee. “You realize that you’re twisting me into an uncomfortable position, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Diavolo smiled, “so?”

“As I said, you can invite them, and MC is free to go with you. Just make sure they have a good time, alright?”

“Of course,” Diavolo held his hand out to Lucifer, “thank you, Lucifer. I will ensure MC enjoys themselves.”

Lucifer took Diavolo’s hand firmly – aggressively so – and cautioned his friend, “you had better return them in one piece.”

That conversation held behind closed doors preceded Diavolo’s invitation to take you on an overnight trip. He was right about you being exhausted, and it was no surprise that the House of Lamentation had played a part in that. You loved the brothers, but sometimes they drained your energy. So, when Diavolo was gifted two vouchers for an overnight resort, you were the first person on his mind. You deserved a break, and he craved a night alone with you. Although he knew that your decision was all that mattered, he didn’t like the idea of Lucifer being upset with him, and Diavolo knew that Lucifer hated to let you leave his side for longer than a few hours. Having preemptively smoothed things over with Lucifer, Diavolo finished his drink and eagerly sought you out.

“MC, would you be willing to clear your schedule this weekend for me?” Diavolo asked with a childlike grin.

“I can probably manage that, but what do you need me for?”

He presented the voucher to you, “would you go to an overnight resort with me? Each room has gorgeous outdoor baths, and the resort provides guests with a large selection of bath products to enhance the experience. They also have chefs from across the Devildom to provide room service. The resort offers massages, as well. You could relax with me for a full day.”

“Really?” You perked up.

“Of course,” Diavolo laughed, “and if that isn’t enough, the manager informed me that they have small, crow-shaped portable freezers, so you can fill them up with drinks and desserts and enjoy them in the bath. A few gourmet ice cream brands partnered with the resort, so they have the best options.”

You pulled Diavolo into a hug, “you had me at overnight resort, but that all sounds amazing! I’d love to go with you! Thank you so much.”

Diavolo chuckled and picked you up in his arms, twirling you around. He couldn’t look away from that smile – it was as if the invitation itself had rejuvenated you. Anticipation rose in his chest: a whole day alone with you where you could just enjoy yourself around him. If you could feel at peace with him, he would be the happiest demon in all three realms. He couldn’t resist peppering kisses all over your face.

“I promise you’ll have a good time,” you could feel the joy in his words and the smile on his lips as he kissed down your neck. He pulled away from you reluctantly, a slight pout on his lips, “but for now, I have to head back to the castle. Barbatos won’t let me so much as leave my office this weekend if I don’t get my work done on time, so I need to get that done for you.”

“My prince,” you kissed him once more to hold him over. “Work hard. I won’t slack off either, so we can enjoy this weekend together.”

Diavolo’s chest flooded with affection. He bit his lip, wondering if you would allow him to be greedy with you, “can I have one more kiss? Please?”

“Yes, my little prince,” you placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Now, get your work done.”

You both kept your ends of the deal, and when Diavolo drove up to the House of Lamentation that Saturday morning, no one could deter you from getting into that car. The drive was relaxing in its own way, and it gave you an opportunity to stare at Diavolo all you wanted. He could see you watching him from the corner of his eyes, and it took all the restraint he had not to pull the car over in some scenic location and fuck you right there – or let you fuck him. He didn’t really care, so long as he could touch you.

It was a quarter past noon when you checked in. Before you walked into the room, Diavolo confessed, “I requested that they give us a room with only one bed. I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me, given our relationship.”

“Of course, it’s fine. I’m a bit insulted that you think I wouldn’t want to share a bed with you,” you joked as he unlocked the door. You pulled him into the room and towards the bed, gently pushing him onto it. He stared up at you expectingly, and you rewarded him with a kiss. You pulled away and stared at his soft gold eyes; desire lived in his eyes when he looked at you – an emotional exhibitionist who bared his feelings for you. When Diavolo made himself so easy to read, you almost felt impure for looking at him, knowing you were seeing something no one else would, as he had expressed so many times that he only showed these sides of himself to you. You smiled at him to hide your shame at witnessing such raw honesty. Still only inches from his lips, you spoke, “I’m looking forward to getting you in bed later tonight, my little prince.”

Diavolo could feel his face burning. For a brief moment, he wanted to forgo all other plans and spend the next few hours in bed with you, but he knew that patience would pay off.

Diavolo stomached someone else’s hands on your body during the couples massage he booked – although he made a point to hold your hand the whole time, much to the inconvenience of both of your masseuses. It seemed as if Diavolo was intent on touching you to his heart’s content today. He even suggested that you feed each other when you ordered room service. As advertised, you two enjoyed a relaxing afternoon – although Diavolo could not determine whether the resort had a larger impact on this peace or whether it was you. Actually, no, he knew it was mostly you, but he could only hope you would say the same about him. He was too embarrassed to ask.

With the early hours of night upon you and the moon beginning to rise in the sky, you and Diavolo visited the resort’s shop to select your bath products and filled your portable freezer up with a selection of fancy macarons and pints of ice cream. Diavolo held the freezer up and smiled, “this is so cute, it kind of looks like one of the crows that follows Mammon around, right?”

“That really chubby one?”

“Exactly!” Diavolo laughed. “Do you think they sell these? I would love to have one of them at the castle. I could fill it with your favorite ice cream and keep it in my room. That way, if you’re ever having a rough day, you can come directly to me, and even if I can’t help, I’ll have ice cream.”

He was always thinking of you, and it was so sweet that it was hard to respond to, so instead, you pet him, taking the time to enjoy how soft his hair was. Diavolo melted against your hand. Finally, you managed to speak, “I’m sure we can find a way to get you one.”

Diavolo grinned and started to pull you out onto the room’s private patio. Leafy trees and stone walls isolated you from other customers without hindering your view of the sky. From the cliffside on which the resort was located, you could even look out above a small oceanside town and the vast body of water. The moon floated just above the horizon, leaving a small space between its brilliant glow and a wavering reflection.

The bath was a massive natural stone structure, sunk into the ground with more than enough room for four people – which explained why the bath bombs were so large and came in a pack of two. A slightly raised stone bar was attached to the bath, and on it was a basket of towels, a bottle of Demonus in an ice bucket, and two wine glasses. Next to the bath was a showerhead attached to the tall stone wall. A variety of cool colored Devildom flora were planted around the patio, with a deep violet flower sprouting up near the edge of the bath catching your eye. It was almost a perfect contrast to Diavolo’s eyes.

“What do you think, MC?” Diavolo asked you.

“This is gorgeous, Diavolo! I almost can’t believe I’m in the Devildom,” you stared in awe. He laughed in the face of your honesty before turning your gaze towards him, running his thumb across your lower lip.

“One day, I’m going to show you just how beautiful the Devildom can be. I want to take you to every pretty place and watch as the shock slowly disappears – so that whenever you leave, you dream of coming back to me.”

He looked so sincere. You wanted to apologize for how you phrased your awe, but he kissed you before you could speak. One of his hands started to play with the hem of your shirt. Diavolo had been patient long enough, and he had been looking forward to bathing in the moonlight with you more than anything. He wanted your naked body pressed against him in the steaming water. You squeezed his bicep softly as you kissed him back. The bliss painted across his face when he pulled away was starting to make you impatient, too.

“Get undressed,” you told him. “I’ll start running the bath while you wash off.”

As you filled the tub, ensuring that the water wasn’t too hot for your skin, you stole glances at Diavolo. He was so sensual that it was hard to believe he wasn’t purposely putting a show on for you: the water rinsing suds slowly down his chest and arms as if it was caressing him, the way his hair clung to the nape of his neck, and even the way he bent down to lather his legs seemed unfairly sexual. When the bath was nearly filled, you dropped in the bath bombs. The water became a soft, milky pink, as flower petals and herbs floated to the surface.

Diavolo came up behind you, his warm, wet body pressing against you in an embrace. He whispered into your ear, “your turn to wash up.”

You nodded, hoping that the warmth you felt was in part due to the heat of the bath. Diavolo got into the tub and watched you shamelessly as you undressed and washed yourself until you finally joined him. The second you dipped into the water, his hands were on you. He kissed you wildly, opening his mouth as if to beg you to slip your tongue inside of him. He moaned against your lips. You pulled away so you could leave kisses across the top of his chest – any part of him that rested above the water – while caressing his chest and stomach just below. He leaned back and moaned louder.

“Wait, MC,” he whimpered through shallow panting.

“Yes, my prince?” you asked against his skin.

“I brought you here to make you feel better.”

“I do feel better,” you sucked on his collarbone.

“No,” he moaned and held you by your hips, “I want to make you feel good first, please?”

You pulled back and looked at him, disheveled and slightly flushed. His lips parted desperately. Diavolo begged again, “can I? Please?”

“What did you have in mind?” you asked while smoothing his hair back.

Instead of replying, he lifted you out of the water and sat you at the edge of the bath. The stone ground was cold, but Diavolo’s warm hands caressing your hips and thighs warmed you up slightly. He placed one of your legs over his shoulder so he could easily kiss and bite your inner thighs. He eagerly sucked on your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys up your thigh before slowly kissing back down the trail of marks. You moaned and ran your hands through his hair. He pulled back slightly, pride swelling in his chest for marking you and forcing those sweet noises out of your mouth. Between the sweet scent of you and the milk bath, he felt intoxicated. Diavolo panted and asked, “can I try something?”

“Of course,” you smiled down at him. Diavolo reached for the freezer and pulled out a pint of ice cream. He scooped a small spoonful out and dropped it on your thigh.

“That’s cold,” you complained, earning a chuckle from him.

He watched it start to melt against your hot skin, slowly sliding down your thigh. Diavolo brought his tongue to your skin and licked you clean, the taste of your skin and ice cream melding. His mouth was so hot compared to the sensation before. He grabbed the bottle of Demonus and poured a generous stream down your other thigh, letting some of it drip into the bath. He licked the sticky trail of liquor off of you, pulling another moan out of you. You were so intoxicating to him.

As nice as his teasing tongue felt on your thighs, you wanted more. You used the leg he had placed on his shoulder to slowly pull him closer to you. He licked his lips as you did so.

“Want me to taste you now?” Diavolo asked. You nodded and he dove in, using his mouth to pleasure you greedily. His tongue eagerly lapping at you and his sweet moans sending vibrations through your body. He swirled his tongue around your most sensitive spots, savoring your taste. You could feel his fervor in the desperate sucking and licking, causing you to clench your eyes shut.

Suddenly, you heard a large splash in the water. You looked down at him, some of your fluids dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were wide. In his excitement, his lower set of wings had sprouted out of his back. You were taken aback, but still enamored with the sight of him. You felt one wing graze your foot and tried not to laugh.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” you smiled sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I got worked up,” he averted his gaze shyly. “I can transform back.”

“No, no it’s adorable,” you chuckled and reached out to pet his head. The moonlight reflected off his hair and along his wet skin. He was so lovely. Diavolo gave you a grin that distorted your notions of what was angelic and what should have been demonic.

With your permission, he continued, allowing you to hold his head and guide him. You watched his wings twitch slightly as he moaned. The moonlight shined against the soft gold at the tip of his wings. His pretty mouth felt so good that you tilted your head back and ran your fingers through his hair mindlessly. Diavolo could tell you were getting close and started to use his hands. He pulled you closer to the edge of the tub so that he had better access. Diavolo licked one finger and slowly put it inside of you, curling his finger to bring you more pleasure.

“I’m close,” you tightened your grip on his hair.

“Good. Take whatever you need from me,” he said before continuing to put his mouth on you. He added another finger, stretching you out slightly. You rolled your hips and felt him go deeper. Diavolo savored the feeling of you clenching around his fingers and twitching against his mouth as you came for him. With little regard for your sensitivity, he gave you a few more soft licks and gentle thrusts with his fingers before he pulled them out of you. He licked his lips and gulped, ensuring that he took everything you gave him.

“MC, I can’t hold back anymore. Please, let me fuck you. Please?” Diavolo begged you. You tried to find the words to reply in your afterglow. Impatient, he continued his pleas between messy kisses along your inner thigh. His damp hair tickled your legs. “Please, I want to keep making you feel good.”

You found it impossible to deny him, and as soon as you agreed, he pulled you into the water with him. He set you on top of his lap so you could feel his hard cock against your stomach. He rubbed himself against you a few times before aligning himself with your hole, stimulating you at the same time. Slowly, he thrusted up into you, with the warm water easing the insertion. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tracing your hands along his wings – which seemed to enhance his pleasure. The water in the bath ebbed and flowed in rhythm with his thrusting. A splashing sound pulsed in harmony with his moaning and the slapping of your skin. One of Diavolo’s hands held you firmly by your back while the other rubbed your body in the thin space between the two of you. His hand snaked even lower, driving you crazy until your eyes were screwed tight.

“How does it feel?” he managed between shaky moans. You could hear the need in his voice, and you indulged him.

“You’re doing so good, my prince,” you pulled back and kissed him. Your taste still lingered in his mouth. Praise was all he needed for his hand to pick up speed and pressure for you. His thrusts became slower and deeper, causing you to sink your nails in his back. He moaned into the pain.

“Fuck,” he growled, “can I cum inside of you? Let me mark your insides, please.”

“Yes,” you panted, “cum for me.”

As he did, he bit your shoulder at the base of your neck in a weak attempt to muffle his moaning. The vibrations of his mouth and the sharp pain combined with the heat of his cum inside of you and the continued stimulation from his hand, which pushed you over the edge a second time.

He released your shoulder and kissed over the saliva coated indents in your skin. His eyes were hazy when he pulled back. Still inside of you, Diavolo let out a content sigh.

“I’m so happy you came with me,” he smiled and kissed the mark on your shoulder again. Realizing what he said, he got flustered, “ah, wait! I didn’t mean – I meant that I’m happy you came to the resort with me, not that you came at the same time as me.”

“I know,” you chuckled and smoothed down his hair.

“But I’m happy about that too,” he admitted, burying himself against your neck and holding you tight. You soothed his embarrassment with gentle pats.

However, the cool night air was starting to get the better of you. You interrupted his nuzzling, “Diavolo, my sweet prince, the water is getting cold. We should probably wash off and go inside.”

Diavolo refused to pull away from your neck, choosing to whine against your skin, instead. “I don’t want to take my dick out of you. It’s so warm. Is it possible to wash up and stay inside of you?”

You couldn’t resist laughing. He may be the next demon king, but right now, he was just a needy demon who loved you too much to want to be apart from you. You traced a finger down his back, feeling the slight bumps along his skin where you had scratched him. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Then at least let me wash you this time. I’ll even dry you off,” Diavolo offered through a half-genuine pout. He added, “after all, there are still plenty of hours left in the night, and I want to take care of you for every second of it.”

Bonus:

When Diavolo walked you up to the House of Lamentation, Lucifer greeted you both at the door. He was quick to spot the bite mark near the base of your neck. He glared, barely containing his demon form, “what the fuck did I tell you?”

“I brought them back in one piece – like I promised.”

“With a giant bite mark!”

“But I had a good time, Lucifer,” you admitted. His gaze instantly softened, but he pulled you into the house and closed the door on Diavolo.

“Next time you need a day off, I’ll deal with it myself,” Lucifer grumbled.

By the time you had returned to your room, you had three messages from Diavolo:

Don’t let him see your thighs, MC!

Actually, don’t show anyone else your thighs. I’d be happy if I was the only one.

Also, I had a great time with you. I can’t wait until I can spend another night alone with you. I want to make you feel even better next time.

[venture4treasure]

"Happy Birthday, Venture"

Words: 657

Premise: Venture’s birthday unfortunately overlapped an important Overwatch mission, but you do your best to make the best of it for them. 

Warnings: None

Three hours into a flight back to Gibraltar, and most of the agents have been lulled to sleep by the exhaustion of the mission aided by the gentle rumble of the plane engine. 

You slip into the empty seat besides Venture, they’re staring absent-mindedly out the window, head resting against their hand propped up on the tray table. They don’t make any acknowledgement of your presence. 

“Sloan,” you ask, your hand ghosting over their shoulder – unsure of if touch would startle them. 

They snap towards your voice, blinking a couple times to ground themselves before breathing out an exasperated groan. 

“Sorry, sorry,” they say, waving their hands for emphasis, “didn’t mean to ignore you, love”. 

“It’s fine,” you smile, reaching for a towel to wipe at some of the dirt on their face, “you didn’t wash up earlier?” 

“I was tired and thought I’d knock out instantly,” Venture leans back into their seat, “instead I’ve been thinking, getting into my own head about things”.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You hum. 

“It’s my birthday, I almost forgot with how busy everything has been,” Venture explains, “guess this whole ‘saving the world’ thing doesn’t come with vacation days”. 

“It’s also my first birthday away from family,” Venture adds, quieter, “like it was going to happen one day, but I really wish I were home with mi abuelita and not on this mission”.

Venture pauses, reflecting on what they’ve said. They make a face, sticking their tongue out as if spitting out something gross. 

“What am I saying,” they whine, “of course I want to protect the people and artifacts of Dorado, but…” 

You reach your arm across Venture’s neck, pulling them in for a hug. 

“No, I get it. We’re all so tired with everything recently,” you lean back, tracing their eye bags with your thumb – you can’t imagine how exhausted they are between Overwatch and the Wayfinders Society, it’s bad enough just trying to keep up with Overwatch alone these days. 

“Anyways,” you chirp, rummaging through your bag to take out a tupperware container. 

“Cupcakes,” you cheerily announce, “I wouldn’t forget your birthday”. 

Venture stares at you, at a loss for words. 

“How did you get them aboard?” 

“Who’s checking,” you ask back. Ana does, your mind helpfully supplies. But she all but encouraged you when you bashfully explained why, so that doesn’t count. 

Venture makes a noise, surrendering to your point. They pick up a cupcake, taking a bite.

“It’s good,” they lick their lips, “better than the rations on the plane for sure”. 

You agree, digging through your stuff again for a plastic bag that you haphazardly drop besides the cupcakes. 

“Rocks?” Venture asks, amused. 

You pick out one of the ‘rocks’ from the bag, breaking it in half to show them.

“Cake balls” you correct, popping the dessert in your mouth, “they’re really good, I got the recipe from Lena”.

“Lena cooks?” Venture raises a brow in disbelief, picking a cake ball for themselves. 

“No,” you laugh, “Emily does though, she's fantastic”.

The two or you eat in silence for some time, breaking the peace to show each other social media posts on your phones. 

“Oh,” you pull out a yellow slip of paper from your pocket, “I got this for you too”.

Venture takes the note, unfolding it to read its content. 

“A paid leave of absence…” Venture reads to themself, “from the Wayfinders Society and Overwatch?” 

“This isn’t real”. 

“It very much is,” you huff, “took forever to find who manages this kinda stuff for the Wayfinders, but Winston was happy to give you your well-deserved break”. 

Venture lets out a choked noise, catching you in a tight hug, shoving their face against your neck. You can feel them silently tear up. You hold them closer, running your hand comfortingly across their back. 

“Go enjoy a break with your abuelita,” you say.

“I will,” they assure, still clutching onto you.

“Happy birthday, Sloan”.  

Author’s Note: One (now a couple, oops) day late because I forgot until I saw a tweet about it.