#the sparkle in jim's eye...

[laughs-and-rain]

luck & miracles

pages from Star Trek Fotonovel #4 A Taste of Armageddon

[starcatchingsnake]

Pabeldnshaonwjspshsisjnd

Yes.

I am obsessed with the fact that Michael Schur has done the same exact pairing of sunshine protagonist x anxious storm cloud love interest for 4 different shows now and it is wonderful every single time

(The love interest’s level of anxiety also increases with every iteration)

[gf2bellamy]

hi!! so, i was watching the office and pam and jim were reading each others palm lines and i couldn’t help but imagine reader and spencer in a similar scenario; successfully flirting with each other while thinking they’re being discreet about it. of course, spencer doesn’t believe in that sort of thing but humors reader anyway. could you write something based off that episode, something to that effect? i think this could be a cute idea😅 thank you thank you!! xx

palm reading — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff a/n: hi hi !! i love this idea more than anything ( biggest jimpam fan here !!!! )

“Oh, come on, Spencer,” you teased, the corners of your mouth tugging into a grin. “You don’t have to believe in it for it to be fun.”

The bullpen was quiet for once, no urgent cases, no ringing phones. The perfect time for a little distraction.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you gave him your best set of puppy dog eyes, an expression you knew he found impossible to resist. You were trying to convince him to let you read his palm, but, true to form, Spencer, ever the scientist, ever the skeptic, wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity. He blinked at you, momentarily thrown off. He didn’t believe in palmistry, not even a little bit.

But your eyes were wide and full of playful determination, and your smile… God, your smile made something flutter unexpectedly in his chest. He tried not to stare too long at your lips, tried to ground himself in logic, but when you looked at him like that?

Well, logic didn’t stand a chance.

He sighed, more for dramatic effect than anything else. “Fine,” he said.

You grinned, triumphant. “Bring your chair over here.”

He rolled his chair across the floor until he was beside you. Close, but not quite close enough. So you reached out, grabbed the edge of his seat, and tugged him forward. He let you, of course. Always would.Now, your knees were brushing, his slotted between yours, yours nudged between his. The space between you all but vanished, and suddenly the air felt warmer. Neither of you mentioned it.

You simply extended your hand, palm up, expectant. “C’mon, give me your hand.”

Spencer hesitated for only a second, then placed his hand in yours. Warm. His fingers twitched slightly as your fingertips ghosted over his palm, tracing faint lines he had never bothered to study.

Germs? They didn’t exist when it came to you. At least, not in the way they usually haunted his mind.

You focused intently, brows furrowed like a fortune teller, the tip of your finger dragging lightly over his heart line. He watched your face, your expression, your lips, your eyes, anything but his hand. But eventually, reluctantly, his gaze dropped back to his own hand, though it twitched slightly beneath yours as if reacting on instinct.

“Hmm,” you murmured thoughtfully, still dragging your finger across his skin. “This line right here? It means you’re secretly a hopeless romantic.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, skeptical but amused. “That’s not what it means.”

“You sure?” You leaned in, your knee nudging his under the desk. “Because it’s very deep. Very intense. Very… emotional.” You punctuated each word with a slow stroke of your finger, watching with delight as his throat bobbed.

He chuckled softly, his head tilting as his eyes followed the curve of your smile. “You’re making that up.”

“Maybe,” you said, voice dropping into something softer, more teasing. You winked. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He was too busy watching how your hand fit so naturally in his, how easily your fingers curled around his own. His heart beat a little too fast for comfort.

You cleared your throat and returned your attention to his palm, biting your lip in thought as you continued your "analysis." Spencer noticed the way your teeth tugged at your lower lip and had to look away, back to his hand.

“And this one,” you began again, voice dramatic. “This one means that you’re—” You gasped suddenly, sharply, like you'd discovered something scandalous.

Spencer’s eyes widened, startled. “What? What is it?”

You looked up slowly, lips pressed together in mock seriousness. Your eyes locked with his, unreadable for just a second before you leaned in closer.

“A nerd,” you said flatly, and promptly bopped him on the nose with one finger. The look on his face was too much. You burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up from your chest as you leaned back slightly, shaking your head.

Spencer blinked, caught somewhere between offended and endeared. “Seriously?”

“I mean,” you shrugged with an impish grin, “the lines don’t lie.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile pulling at his lips gave him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you,” you said, still laughing as you held his hand a little tighter, “are stuck with me for at least one full palm reading.”

He let you keep tracing the lines on his palm, your touch slower now, more deliberate.

“Okay, so this line here,” you began, your tone shifting into something more sincere, “means you’re incredibly smart.”

Spencer quirked an eyebrow. “Shocking revelation.”

“Shh,” you grinned, “let the professional work.”

He chuckled under his breath, but didn’t interrupt again. He just kept watching you, his eyes impossibly soft as you spoke.

“And this one,” you continued, your touch lingering a little longer over the curve of his palm, “shows that you’re thoughtful. You care more than you let people see. About everyone. About the team. About…” You hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Well. Everything.”

Spencer didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Because to him, it didn’t matter whether you believed in palmistry or not. What mattered was the way your voice softened when you described him, like you saw something in him that he sometimes forgot was there. This wasn’t just pretend anymore. This was you, telling him who he was through your eyes.

And God, he loved hearing those things.Not because he needed validation.

But because it was you saying them.

Your thumb brushed lightly over his skin as you looked at his palm like it held all the answers you already knew by heart.

“I think your hands have very flattering opinions about me,” he said quietly, the hint of a smile on his lips, though there was something softer behind his eyes now.

“They’re just the messengers,” you replied, matching his quiet tone, your thumb absentmindedly brushing across his knuckles. “You’re the one who makes them true.”

Spencer could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears. Then, he let out a quiet breath. “You know palmistry is a pseudoscience, right?” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You smiled, meeting his gaze. “Maybe. But sometimes the truth hides in things we don’t believe in.” And then you added, softer, “Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.”

There was a pause.

So, Spencer gently turned your hand over in his, his fingers now tracing your palm. “Then maybe,” he said, voice low and warm, “you should let me read yours next.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Okay, sure.” You held out your hand, now resting in his.

His fingers were warm as they wrapped around yours, a contrast to the coolness of the room.

“So,” you tilted your head, giving him a playful glance, “are you just going to make things up now? Considering you don’t believe in this?”

Spencer’s gaze flickered to your hand before he began tracing the lines on your palm, his touch light. “Oh, you mean make things up like you just did?” His voice was teasing, but his eyes met yours with a slight glimmer of amusement.

You bit your lip, pretending to think for a moment. “I didn’t make anything up,” you said with a shrug and a sly grin, your eyes locking with his. “I was being insightful.”

He chuckled, a soft, warm sound. “Yeah, okay,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes, though his fingers never stopped their slow, careful movement across your palm. You leaned back slightly, watching him as he studied your hand with more attention than you’d expected.

"You're kind," Spencer murmured, his fingertip following the gentle curve of your heart line. The bullpen's fluorescent lights caught the gold flecks in his eyes as he glanced up through his lashes.

You shook your head, but couldn't suppress your grin. "Wow," you teased, "look who's starting to become a believer."

His responding chuckle was warm, vibrating through where your palms pressed together. "Empirical observation," he countered, but his thumb brushed your skin with deliberate tenderness that contradicted his scientific detachment. "This crease here? Textbook definition of compassion."

Spencer Reid might claim he didn't believe in palmistry, but in this moment, he was reading you with terrifying accuracy. His fingers lingered where your life line curved, tracing the path like he was committing it to memory.

"And this one," he continued, voice dropping to a quiet, intimate register that made your pulse stutter, "indicates someone who's far too patient with skeptical geniuses."

You giggled, your heart fluttering at the way his words, though playful, held a deeper meaning.

“I agree,” you said softly, your smile widening. But the weight of the moment wasn’t lost on either of you.

Spencer smiled back at you, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed to pause, his gaze lingering. He thought for a second about making more things up, just to keep his fingers wrapped around yours.Honestly, there was a part of him that could have kept talking forever, spinning stories about palm lines, just to have an excuse to hold your hand forever.

Instead, he grinned, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. “Seems like I’m a believer after all.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. “Who knew?” you teased, squeezing his hand slightly. “You’ve got more of an open mind than you let on.”

Spencer chuckled. “Guess I’ve been misjudging things,” he replied, his thumb now moving in slow circles over the back of your hand.

He didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

For the first time, Spencer doubted his doubt in palm reading.

Because he was a hopeless romantic. Even if it was just with you.

[yelenasbraid]

slip of the finger — joe burrow

summary — you and joe are recently married, and he swears he’s never taking off his wedding band. that sentiment stays until he loses it on the field during a game.

warnings — fem!reader, fluff, some suggestive comments, implied smut

requested by — anon <3

BEING NEWLYWEDS WAS EXCITING. the bliss, the laughs, and the memories that were wrapped up in a beautiful bow. beginning a new chapter with the man you loved was such a privilege, and one you couldn’t wait to live to the fullest.

you and joe laid in bed, the soft duvet covering your bodies as your hands were held up in front of you. it was so surreal to you that you married your college sweetheart, that you were married. you watched the diamond sparkled underneath the warm lighting, how joe’s ring perfectly accented yours on his finger.

“i can’t believe we’re married,” you whispered, watching joe grab your hand and press it to his lips.

“i can,” he hummed, shifting onto his side, “i’ve always wanted to marry you,” he added, a lovesick look in his eyes. he admired you, the way your skin glowed in the warm lighting, the way your eyes sparkled with the love you had for him.

his words sent warmth down to your toes, your mouth pulling into a smile. you shifted onto your side, keeping the cover over your naked body. being married had many perks, including enjoying your husband. his hand reached forwards, caressing your cheek. he was so in love with you, with every part of you. his eyes flicked over your face and your exposed collarbone. he could see the marks he made just a few moments ago.

joe leaned over, his hand sliding across your skin to cup the back of your neck. he pressed his lips softly to yours, rolling so he was on top of you. your hands looped around his neck as his lips met yours. you smiled into the kiss, your cheeks rosy and warm. joe pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, his hair tickling your skin.

“i love you,” he hummed, kissing you softly again.

“i love you,” you agreed into the kiss. he hummed, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. he pulled away and sat up, running his hands down his face. while he always enjoyed moments like this and he wished he could stay like that forever, he couldn’t. it was game day.

“what time do you need to leave?” you asked him as he got out of bed. he slipped on his boxers as he disappeared into your walk in closet. it was an away game, so joe needed to be at the airport a whole day before the game. you wished it was different, but you’ve lived and loved this life for several years. you were used to it.

“in like,” there was a pause, “15 minutes,” he finished as he gathered his game day outfit. he tossed a shirt over his head and tugged black cargo pants over his hips.

“we really passed the time, huh?” you laughed, pushing your hair out of your face. you watched joe emerge from his closet, dressed in something comfy yet stylish for his flight.

“we did, didn’t we?” he smirked as he walked over, kissing you sweetly on the lips. you smiled, stretching your taut limbs under the duvet. you saw the wedding band on his finger, snug as could be.

“please don’t wear that on the field,” you begged, watching as he packed a bag.

“i won’t lose it, i’ll keep it safe,” joe assured you, zipping up his bag.

“you better, can’t have someone thinking you’re not married,” you commented, watching him smirk and scoff.

“with those marks i just gave you, i don’t think that’s possible,” he flirted, grabbing his bag and giving you a look. damn you, joe burrow.

“uh huh, ok player,” you joked as he kissed you again. he always hated leaving you; marriage hasn’t made it any easier. in fact, it’s made it ten times harder.

“i love you,” he called as he exited the bedroom.

“i love you! be safe!” you reminded him. you weren’t able to make it to the game, but you’d watch. you always watched.

—

it was finally game day, and you were curled up on your couch. you invited robin and jim over, as well as some of the other WAGs to watch the game. charcuterie boards were on the coffee table, half eaten as the game closed out the third quarter.

the bengals were up, and watching joe’s expression loose and relaxed kept you in good spirits. you hated watching tight games; you could see the stress lines on his face. you stood up, walking into the kitchen with an empty wine glass. you unscrewed the cap of the bottle, pouring out the red liquid into your cup.

“what happened to his finger?” robin asked, diverting your attention from your glass to the screen. you watched as joe showed ja’marr his ring finger, his left ring finger.

without the ring.

“joseph lee burrow,” you tsked, shaking your head and pursing your lips. what did you tell him a couple of days ago? you walked back over, taking a seat back on the couch, careful not to slosh your wine too much. robin looked over at you, a grin blossoming on her face.

“you told him to take it off, didn’t you,” robin stated. she knew you asked him to, but robin also knew another thing: joe hated taking it off. he loved showing people he was married, and that he was married to you. it wasn’t just a ring to him, it was a symbol of commitment and undying love.

“i did,” you confirmed, not being able to hold back a laugh as you sipped your wine. you knew he was stressed, you could see it on his face. everyone could see it. joe was frantically moving his hands, gesturing on the field where he thinks he lost it.

“she told me to take it off,” joe told ja’marr, running his hands through his hair. the two of them were walking the field, trying to see if the sun would reflect just right and reveal joe’s lost ring.

“and this is why we listen to our wives,” ja’marr clapped him on the shoulder, earning a scowl from joe. it didn’t last long though.

“she’s probably watching the game right now, and i’m gonna be in big trouble when i get home,” joe’s eyes scanned the field, flicking up every now and then to check how much time was left on the timeout clock. he didn’t have that much time.

“maybe she got up and got a snack,” andrei stepped beside them, offering his two cents.

“nah, she wouldn’t. she’s got her snacks right there with her. i bet she saw the whole thing,” ja’marr laughed, causing joe’s cheeks to turn pink. they didn’t have much more time before the next and final quarter was to start.

“burrow!” trey hendrickson came running over, holding the illusive gold band that would be joe’s wedding ring.

“oh thank God,” joe exhaled as he grabbed the ring from trey, “she would’ve not been happy,” joe chuckled. he handed it to one of the staffers, not risking it. he couldn’t lose it a second time.

“get a silicone one,” trey suggested, “those suckers don’t ever come off,”

“noted,” joe chuckled.

—

joe walked into the presser, wearing a t-shirt and his seinfeld sweats. he sat down, his wedding ring adorning his finger. he situated himself, preparing for all the questions about the fiasco on the field.

“find your ring?” one of the reporters asked, making joe awkwardly chuckle.

“yeah, yeah i did. thankfully,” he answered.

“did your wife see it?” another reporter asked.

“knowing her, probably. i’m not that lucky,” he joked. he nervously spun the ring around his finger, answering the other questions of the reporters. he couldn’t wait to make it home to you, settling in to your arms and hearing you tease him about losing his ring.

the press conference ended, and joe joined up with the other members of his team. as he did so, his phone vibrated in his pocket. he pulled out his phone, smiling as he answered the call.

“i know i know, i should have listened to you,” he smiled, walking a ways from the boys.

“it was kinda funny,” you admitted on the other end of the phone.

“how so?”

“seeing you scramble for your ring was entertaining,” you added. he could hear the smile on your words. he laughed, shaking his head.

“i bet it was,” he agreed.

“i ordered you a silicone one, so maybe this time you don’t lose it,” you teased.

“you didn’t have to do that,”

“what can i say, it’s a small treat for winning your game today,” you smiled, picking up the remnants of the small gathering you had. the girls and joe’s parents left a few minutes ago, leaving you alone in the house. it was nice, but you also wanted joe to hurry on back.

“you know what would also be a nice little treat?” he asked you, giving a glance around to make sure no one was listening.

“what?”

“that lingerie set you have, and you in it,” he suggested in a low voice, which he did for privacy purposes, but on your end it just turned you on.

“oh really now?”

“i think it’s the perfect little treat,” he smirked.

“i bet you do,” you laughed. you put the final things away before padding upstairs. “you said the black one, right?”

“you have multiple?”

“oh sweet joey,” you mused, opening one of your dresser drawers, “a girl always has multiple sets of lingerie,” it was your turn for your voice to go deep, driving joe wild.

there was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone.

“pick your favorite, but just so you know, i’m seeing you in all of them this week,” he warned you. you were still caught up on the fact he didn’t know about your multiple sets.

“one a night, huh?”

“you said it, not me,”

“whatever, burrow. just get home,” you laughed, pulling out a red lingerie set, “and do not lose your ring between there and home please,”

“i won’t! i promise,” he hummed. you bid your farewells, hanging up the phone. joe stood there for a minute, letting himself calm down. he didn’t know how long it would last; the thought of you surprising him in an unseen lingerie set was not boding well for him. he didn’t want to have a boner the whole flight home.

you, on the other hand, slipped out of your comfy clothes and readied for a shower. the thought of surprising joe in your lingerie set excited you, and you couldn’t wait for joe to get home, to remind him exactly why he’s got that wedding ring on his finger.

eeekk!!! this took me way longer than i liked but it’s cute!! newlywed joey is an absolute cutie. hope you enjoyed anon and so sorry for the delay!

tags: @wickedfun9 @joeyfranchise

[sunflowersteves]

um so getting fucked by logan in public place...i mean getting fucked by logan-

(please know the way i'm salivating over this man is downright sinful.)

author's note || babes,,, i feel u. this man is in my dreams 24/7. i lov u for requesting this <3

summary || basically, you defend Logan and he quite literally goes feral.

warnings || fluff, some angst, anti-mutant rhetoric, SMUT [minors dni], P in V sex, praise kink, public-sex, desperation

Logan was used to being alone. It was second nature for him to blend into a crowd and survey the bustling fullness of the night. Usually, he hightailed to the back of the bar, his eyes studying carefully while he nursed the beer in his hand. 

When Logan met you, though, some things changed a bit. Instead of being at the back of the bar, he usually sat right next to you. While he wasn’t much for PDA and often abstained from it, he still let the hardness of his thigh rest against yours. It was such a simple touch, but you knew how much Logan needed to breathe in your presence. It soothed him. 

Tonight was like any other Friday night. You both wanted to go to the bar for a little bit of fun before another mission killed the atmosphere. Logan usually has a beer in his hand and his other subtly resting against your back. His eyes would bore into yours as he watched you talk about your day. It was always something he looked forward to. The ways that your eyes would sparkle underneath the illuminating bar lights. 

The bar was packed tonight, though. Bodies were practically on top of one another—playing pool, dancing to the stereo, or attempting to chat up someone to take home. Your idea to go to the bar had not just been your own. You could hear Logan’s heartbeat race as someone kept bumping into him—despite the very menacing aura rolling off of him. 

So, in response, you were currently nursing a whiskey all by your lonesome. It wasn’t that you were lonesome, it was much of the opposite. Logan had stepped out of the bar for a quick smoke, wanting to calm the nerves that pricked his skin. Logan needed a breather. He never wanted to leave you by yourself—although he knew you were completely fine. He just didn’t want to. You smiled at him with one of those breathtaking ones that caught his breath. 

“Go. I’ll still be here.” You whispered. God, he loved you. It was so evident, yet the years of having a broken heart shattered his ideas of loving someone again. The pain was etched across his chest, back, organs—everything. Add the number of people surrounding him, caging him in had reached an overwhelming capacity. So, he stepped out toward the back and dragged his cigar across his lips. He let the nicotine softly quiet the aches in his chest. 

You sipped the bitter taste of Jim Beam, your body almost shuddering at the hot feeling of liquor going down your throat. You felt the buzz already—not having much of anything to eat despite Logan asking if you had eaten. He handed you a granola bar in the car. He already knew the answer to his question. During a heated discussion with Scott, you had completely forgotten to eat some lunch. 

Logan was as caring as always—rubbing a hand across your wrist to ask if you had anything to eat today. However, your thoughts of him were screeched to a halt from a presence coming straight toward you. 

“Where’d the big guy go?”

Your eyebrow quirks up at the sensation of a tall silhouette behind you. You didn’t respond, though. You and Logan were used to the comments—usually, fans wanting pictures with the well-known X-men. Those you didn’t mind. Men like these, though? The ones that taunt you for your differences, the ones that make your skin itch.

“C’mon. That mutant scum isn’t here anymore. No need to act so tough.” 

You huffed out of your nose in disgust. There was a sizzle underneath your chest that made you want to scream in anger. You held your ground, though, knowing that it wouldn’t help very much. You knew men like these. Any use of your powers could end up with a call to the police and another article about how “violent” mutants are.

Although, not budging made the stranger even more pissed than he was. “You’re too pretty to be with a beast like him. Didn’t you hear, anyway?” This man just wouldn’t stop fucking talking. “The Wolverine hurts anything he touches. He’s a fuck up. A low life. A fucking animal—” 

Now that comment is what made you turn your head. You had heard enough before you slammed your glass on the bar counter. The man beside you jumped in surprise. A scowl on your lips, nostrils flared. “What the fuck did you just say?” 

Logan’s eyebrows twitched as he heard the snarl in your voice. He burnt out the cigar on his skin—slightly wincing at the sizzle of his skin. Worry surged through his chest at the mere idea of your discomfort. A primal need to protect the thing he loves was fogging his brain. The leather of his jacket was straining against the bulge of his muscles as he sauntered back through the bar. His shoulders were taunted back, surveying the bar as everyone’s head turned to you and some guy. 

His eyes widened at the sight before him. You had bunched the collar of the man, lifting him off the floor. Your eyes were wild with anger, your teeth clenched tightly as you spoke to the stranger. “If you ever talk about the Wolverine like that again, I’m going to cut off your head and feed it to your fucking wife—” The boom of your voice echoed through the bar. It was so silent that a pin could drop. 

You could handle comment after comment thrown at you. That, you knew quite well. However, you knew how Logan actually felt about the comments. They called him an animal. A beast. They forced him into something he was always scared of. Himself. You knew him differently. He was Logan. He would make you a cup of coffee every morning, adding a sprinkle extra of cinnamon that he knew you loved. He left fuzzy blankets in his room after the first time you spent the night with him. You commented how itchy his sheets were and ever since, he silently wraps you up in one with an arm attached to your waist. He would place a protective arm in front of you during missions—always assessing the danger to make sure that you would never get hurt. He was so much more than anything they portrayed him as. He was human and everyone—including the team—sometimes forgets that. 

“Darlin’—” You felt your shoulder visibly relax as his large hand enveloped your soft skin. “They’re not worth it.” 

Your heart was beating fast against your ears. You did everything in your power to not throw the man across the room. Your teeth snarled at him—the guy visibly winces, expecting the worst. You slowly lowered him to the ground and let go of his collar. 

“Fucking mutants.” He spits before backing up as far away from the two of you as possible. You turn to move again and the guy gets startled and jumps in fear. Logan squeezes your shoulder to try and ground you once again.

He sees you visibly relax, some regret etched into your features. He knew that you didn’t want to cause a scene but you couldn’t help it. He knew that feeling quite well—when it came to you, he was the same. 

“Let's go home.” 

Logan was silent as the two of you walked out of the bar. You cringed at the pure stillness of the night. You didn’t mean to do more than you should have. It was just an instinct, especially as the vexation flowed through your veins. 

You stop in your tracks for a moment. You opened your mouth to say something which prompted his steps to a halt, as well. “Logan, I’m—” He never let you finish. He grabs your shoulders and shoves you against the brick wall of the bar. You let out a gasp, but it’s quickly swallowed by his mouth on yours. 

His heart is beating fast, echoing against his ears. For once in his life, someone had protected him. Someone had stood up and defended him. Sure, Charles has done that many times, but not from an act of pure love. Charles believed in him. You loved him. 

He has this feeling in his chest. He wantonly has an itch to devour you. He wants to lick the sides of your body and ravish in the pure essence of you. He’d never had this feeling before—this animalistic, pure affection was pounding against his chest. 

“You just couldn’t help it, huh, princess?” He grunted against your ear. His hands caged you in, one resting beside your head and the other deliciously attached to your hip. His teeth nipped at the skin below your ear. “You just wanted to defend your old man, hmm?” He hummed. 

The hand on your hip lowered to your thigh and squeezed the plush flesh. You were wearing a pretty dress tonight, one that you knew he would rip off later. You just weren’t expecting it now. “I just—” He breathed in the smell of your shampoo and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I couldn’t let him talk about you like that, Lo.” 

You let out a whine as he growled against your ear. He was insatiable—unhinged. Something was brewing beneath his stomach that he had never felt before. “Oh, pretty girl. You wanted to protect me?” His lips were at the shell of his ear. You nodded. You almost felt shy now, a direct contrast from earlier. 

Your leg moved to wrap around his own, curling right around his hip. He smirked at the sparkle in your eyes. “Yeah, I know, baby. God, you’re just so fucking good to me.” You were both losing your patience from the pliant kissing and stumbling of limbs. You both were desperate and wanting of one another. 

His lips lowered down your neck. The hand that was caged against the side of your head was now pressed up against your breast. You whined, “They can’t—” You gasped as he squeezed the plush flesh. “They can’t say those things. Made me—” He smiles, lips curling into a little smirk. He moves his arm down to your aching cunt. “Made me see red, Lo.” 

Your hips buck into his hand, the wall scratching against your shoulders as you’re shoved more into the brick. “Yeah? Wanted to hurt him, baby?”

He groaned into your ear at the thought of blood covering your hands from destroying the man trying to insult him. It only fueled more of his fire. He couldn’t take it anymore—mouth still sticking to yours in a gruesome dance across your lips. The saliva spread to his beard, messy and filthy. 

“Wanted—ah—wanted to see him pay.” His hand fully dipped between your panties, bunching up your dress as he lifted you up against the wall. It happened swiftly, yet your mind burned with want and need.

“Fuck. You’re so wet.” He teased your slick entrance, making your legs instinctively pull him closer. “Logan, please.” 

He could smell the way you were leaking for him, spreading the slick around with his fingers. He let out a growl and swiftly unbuckled his belt. He couldn’t wait any longer and neither could you. 

“Can’t wait to fill you. Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.” He moves your panties with his thumb and swiftly glides in his wide girth. You moan in unison, but you swallow his own and yours with a long kiss on his lips. Your tongues swirl together and you could’ve sworn he pulled you even further. You could feel every inch of him inside of you. He moaned at the stretch of your cunt wrapped around him. “Feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna—fuck—gonna make you mine.”

Your head hits the back of the wall and you start to feel fuzzy in the head. “Lo–” You whine. “Love you.” You whisper into the night air. Something hits Logan in the chest and he can’t help but snap his hips into you even further. 

It makes you see stars, but all Logan can think about is how much he loves you. His chest was burning with something different—something more primal than he had ever felt. It made him want to drool, place his head against you, and live there forever. 

“Love you too, baby.” He grunts. He wanted to do this properly—to be a gentleman. He wanted to take you out to dinner, make sweet love to you, and then tell you those three little words. It completely went out the window when you defended him—when you stood up for him like no one else has. You completely had his back and he couldn’t help but let the happiness burst through his veins. “Love you so fucking much. You know that, baby?”

He makes you turn your head towards him to look him in the eye. You nod immediately, but that isn’t enough for Logan. “Need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“You love me. I know you love me.” He groans and pumps his cock straight onto your cervix. It makes you squeal at the sensation and he feels the slick run down to his balls. The cold night air made goosebumps on your skin, though, your mind not even noticing. 

“Fuck, I love the way you sound. Don’t be shy, baby.” You fully moan, more than likely the sound echoing across the bar parking lot. “That’s it.” You both were beginning to feel dizzy with love and lust. He couldn’t stop staring into your eyes. He was too immersed in them and he never wanted to look away from them again. 

“Fuck, Logan!” 

“Let go, baby. Let me feel you.” The coil finally snapped as you unleashed the precipice of your orgasm. Your body shuttered against him, all while he was singing praises in your ear. You clench around him so hard that in one thrust, he’s filling you up to the brim. He slowly pumps his salty cum into you, your body convulsing with pure ecstasy. 

You start to giggle in his arms about the whole night. Logan couldn’t help but smile too. You were just too contagious. 

“Let’s go home, Lo.”

He couldn’t help but smile brightly at the thought. He couldn’t suppress the pure joy like he normally could.

“Yeah, okay.” He whispers.

You were home to him. 

He never had to do anything alone anymore. He certainly didn’t have to deal with the demons attached to his hurt heart.

He finally had you.

[riddlesrizzler]

This Could’ve Been an Owl

summary: somethings are left better as an owl... characters: jim! mattheo. pam! reader. dwight! draco. stanley! theo. kelly! blaise. andy! enzo warnings: none, just poor draco word count: 1.2k

The meeting was scheduled for 9:00 a.m.

At 9:07, the coffee pot was still sputtering like it was about to explode, Enzo had somehow broken his granola bar into four unequal, crumbling pieces, and Blaise was halfway through a monologue about how the new client’s assistant looked “mysteriously like a cursed Siren” and “definitely blinked sideways.” No one was listening. Except Theo, who stared blankly into his mug like it might transport him somewhere else.

You sat near the end of the conference table, doodling in the margins of the meeting agenda you had printed yourself - not because you cared, but because you were the only person who Draco didn’t openly accuse of being a spy. Your latest sketch was of a dragon incinerating a tiny stick figure labeled “Draco.” It was breathing glitter fire. You smirked and tilted the page slightly so Mattheo could see it.

He bit back a laugh - that sharp, breathless sort of grin he always wore when the two of you were silently conspiring. He leaned back in his chair, his quill spinning between his fingers. Cool. Careless. Definitely about to do something stupid.

Draco cleared his throat for the third time.

“Right,” he snapped, slapping a clipboard down with unnecessary force. “Now that we’ve all decided to grace the office with our presence-”

“I’ve been here since eight,” you said sweetly, not looking up from your doodle.

Mattheo coughed to cover his snort.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “-we can finally begin. Item one: someone - and I will find out who - placed an undetectable expansion charm on my filing cabinet. When I opened it, I was temporarily sucked into a dimension of-of-clowns.”

There was a long pause.

“Sounds like a personnel issue,” Theo muttered, deadpan.

Mattheo raised a hand. “Did you happen to see your performance review while you were in there?”

Blaise burst out laughing. Even Enzo wheezed around a mouthful of granola.

You smiled, pressing your hand to your mouth like it might muffle the giggle clawing its way out. Mattheo gave you a sidelong glance, and the shared triumph of this is going well passed silently between you.

Draco did not share that sentiment.

“I am compiling a list,” he said darkly, flipping to a page titled Suspected Troublemakers in aggressive block letters. “It will be submitted to upper management by end of day.”

Mattheo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Is that the same list where you put ‘Suspicious Soup Behavior’ next to Enzo’s name?”

“I knew that bisque was cursed,” Draco barked.

“It was from the breakroom,” Enzo offered helpfully. “Pretty sure it was labeled ‘Mattheo’s.’”

Mattheo blinked. “I don’t even eat soup.”

You rested your chin on your hand, watching all of this unfold with mild amusement. Honestly, Draco brought it on himself. He held these meetings like they were Auror interrogations, and somehow always ended up the victim of some minor magical sabotage. The fact that he hadn’t yet realized it was a two-person operation - orchestrated mostly from your desk and carried out with Mattheo’s charming recklessness - was a miracle.

Draco slammed his clipboard shut. “Enough. Item two: The break room incident-”

“Which one?” Blaise asked. “The cauldron explosion? Or the time the enchanted toaster tried to duel me?”

“The glitter bomb hidden in my teacup,” Draco hissed. “I’m still sneezing sparkles.”

Mattheo tilted his head innocently. “Are you sure it wasn’t your personality finally showing?”

You couldn’t hold back the laugh that slipped out - sharp and warm and completely unprofessional. Draco turned his glare on you.

“Don’t look at me,” you said, shrugging. “I only printed the meeting agenda. Which, by the way, doesn’t say anything about glitter bombs.”

Enzo tried to raise a hand. “I kind of liked it. You looked festive.”

Draco muttered something about incompetence and stormed toward the whiteboard, where he began drawing a complex diagram titled “Office Sabotage Network.” He included tiny, cartoonish caricatures of everyone at the table - yours had a halo. Mattheo’s had devil horns. Blaise’s was winking.

You leaned sideways, whispering to Mattheo behind your hand, “Do you think he’ll realize the glitter was charmed to explode with sound if he yells?”

Mattheo grinned at you, wide and gleaming. “Ten galleons says he finds out in the next sixty seconds.”

As if on cue, Draco turned around. “Now-listen carefully-”

BANG.

A shimmering cloud of pink and gold exploded over his head, raining glitter down on the table in elegant, sparkling sheets. Draco shrieked. Blaise screamed in solidarity. Enzo applauded.

Mattheo casually dusted off his lapels and looked over at you like nothing happened.

You smiled at him - that slow, knowing smile that said, We’re the best team this office has ever seen.

Across the room, Theo sipped his coffee, nodded, and muttered, “Finally. Some entertainment.”

It was the next day, the morning after the glitter bomb incident, when Draco Malfoy arrived precisely thirty-seven minutes early.

He was wearing tinted goggles. His wand was gripped like a sword. His cloak had been replaced with what looked suspiciously like a dragonhide apron, and he muttered under his breath as he tiptoed through the office, checking doorknobs and breathing heavily through his nose.

You watched him from behind the reception desk, sipping your tea.

“Do we think he’s… okay?” you asked no one in particular.

Mattheo leaned his elbows on the counter, hair messy from the wind and lips curved in that familiar, conspiratorial grin. “He’s fine. He’s just been... glitter-traumatized.”

“Is that a real condition?” you asked.

Mattheo’s voice dropped a notch as he leaned a little closer. “Want to help me find out?”

You gave him a sideways glance, pretending your heart didn’t trip over itself. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re asking me to commit a crime before noon.”

He smirked, tapping the countertop between you with his finger. “Come on, receptionist. Live a little.”

Before you could answer, Enzo appeared, holding a suspiciously oversized croissant and wearing the expression of a man who knew far too much.

“Just to be clear,” he said, mouth full, “are we all pretending that you two aren’t in love, or…?”

You choked on your tea. Mattheo turned and gave him a long, slow blink. “Do you ever start a conversation normally?”

Enzo held up his hands. “I’m just saying - if I had someone looking at me like that every morning, I’d probably have proposed by now.”

Mattheo glanced at you again. His smile shifted, softened. Less teasing. More real. And for a moment, it felt like something charged and unspoken settled in the space between you - a question neither of you had asked out loud.

But before anything could come of it, a shrill, victorious laugh echoed from down the hallway.

“Oh no,” you muttered.

“...He’s sprung the trap, hasn’t he?” Mattheo asked.

“Definitely,” Enzo said. “And he’s way too smug about it.”

Sure enough, Draco reappeared seconds later, eyes wide with triumph and goggles slightly askew.

“I knew it,” he barked. “Don’t act surprised - I saw the glitter residue. The prank empire ends today.”

“Is that what you named this? A ‘prank empire’?” you asked dryly.

Draco ignored you. “I’ve installed anti-prank wards across the office. Invisible, advanced, and regulated by magical law. Any trickery, and-” He paused, then pulled out a little red orb from his pocket. “This detonates.”

You blinked. “Detonates?”

Blaise, walking in with a latte, frowned. “Like…explodes?”

“No,” Draco sniffed. “It alerts me.”

Mattheo tapped the orb lightly. “So it yells at us?”

Draco bristled. “It’s an alert system!”

“Right,” Mattheo said, turning to you with a glimmer in his eye. “Definitely not a glittery magical snitch.”

Enzo reached for the orb. “If I charm this thing to meow every time it goes off, does that count as sabotage or improvement?”

“Touch it and I hex your eyebrows off,” Draco snapped.

Mattheo, still watching you, leaned in close enough for your shoulders to brush. “Let me guess,” he murmured, voice low and sweet, “you’ve got a better plan already.”

Your cheeks warmed. “You think I don’t?”

“Oh, I know you do,” he said, eyes flickering to your mouth for just a second too long. “The real question is… do I get to help?”

Your breath caught slightly. The way he looked at you - like he already knew the answer - made it hard to remember why you hadn’t crossed that line yet.

Thankfully - or unfortunately - Enzo spoke up.

“Or,” he said casually, “you two could just go on a date already and stop setting the building on fire with your eye contact.”

Mattheo didn’t even flinch. He just turned back to him, still smiling. “What do you think the glitter bombs were? Foreplay?”

Draco sputtered.

Blaise nearly dropped his latte.

You blinked at Mattheo, somewhere between mortified and impressed.

He arched a brow at you. “Too much?”

You shook your head slowly. “Only slightly.”

There was a pause, and then-

BANG.

The red orb Draco had been holding suddenly burst into shimmering purple mist. It clung to him like fog, swirling and hissing, before erupting into a chorus of cats meowing furiously.

Enzo blinked. “Okay, so maybe I touched it a little.”

Draco screamed something about betrayal and stormed out, the orb still meowing behind him like a haunted nursery rhyme.

Mattheo turned to you again, grinning.

“So,” he said. “Lunch break prank planning?”

You smiled, eyes lingering on him longer than you meant to. “Only if you buy me a muffin first.”

He offered you his arm like it was an inside joke. “For you, anything.”

[eddiesxangel]

idk if you've ever done this but dad bod, husband eddie with his pretty little wifey that makes him the best food and takes care of him very good by sucking his dick

Ok now that’s out of the way YES YES YES YESSSSSSSSSS

This totally got away from me and kinda morphed into more than duck sucking

“Baby, you’re not going to find me attractive anymore if you keep feeding me like this,” he half-heartedly jokes as you put the dinner plate in front of him and kiss his clean-shaven cheek.

You have always loved cooking for him; it’s one of your love languages.

Sure, he had a little pooch/beer belly, but his face also had filled out, and he looked much healthier than he did when he lived off slim Jim’s and canned pasta. He’s so appreciative of your cooking, and it’s really good—even the vegetables he’s learned to love—the way you do your maple glazed carrots are his favourite.

“Never baby, I love you too much. ” you smile and sit down.

After you’re done and the dishes are washed and put away, Eddie rests in the living room, watching something. You bring him a nice cold bottle of beer from the fridge (because you insisted to him it tasted better than canned beer, and he deserves the best).

“Thank you, baby, you’re so good to me. Don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He smiled and pulled you in to sit on his lap. His thick thighs are the perfect seat for you, and his thick muscular arms wrap around your hip and rest his free and on your lap.

“You think so?” You twirl Eddie’s wedding ring around his finger.

“Never had someone take care of me so good babygirl.” And he’s correct. His uncle tired his best but it’s not the same kind of love you provide for him.

You dote on him hand and foot, and he’s never asked you to. At first, he was uncomfortable with it because it was so foreign to him. He's never had someone care for him like this. He was highly independent before you. He never wanted help; he could do it himself. Even though he’s gotten used to your ways, he’s never not appreciative. He thanks you, praises you, and loves you so much that he thinks his heart will explode.

The two of you sit on his chair watching tv until you break the comfortable silence.

“ I think you look so sexy.” You say out of the blue. Remembering his remark from the dinner table. And it’s the truth, you love Eddie, and his new figure is making your head fuzzy. He’s gotten bigger, not just his tummy, but his arms and legs have filled out bc of the lifting and bending he does at the construction sights. It’s been gradual, but with the hardy meals and manual labour he’s filled out since your wedding day.

“Do you now?” He cocks his head curiously.

“Mhmm” you hum and lean in to kiss his neck.

“I see what you’re up to” he chuckled and his belly moved a little.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you smile into his neck before nipping it.

Your hand moves to palm his cock that’s already semi hard and a soft moan leaves your husband’s lips.

“Baby” he whispered as you slink down off his lap onto your knees before him.

Your hands fiddle with his belt buckle on his jeans, you know he’s had a long strenuous day. Eddie looks down at you like you have him the world, you see the lust in his eyes along with the sparkle of love behind it.

You free his cock from the confines of his briefs you insisted on buying for him. Much sexier than the looses boxers he was use to, and he agreed they feel more comfortable.

You can’t help but stare at your husbands pelvis, his cock stood at attention and his chocolate pubic hair was flattered from the sweat- but you didn’t mind, it was so Eddie and his smell made your mouth water.

“Wanna make you feel good baby” you purr as you reach your hand to grip the tick shaft. Your hand envelops his shaft, pumping it a few times before you sit up higher on your knees to put his head in your mouth.

Eddie's hand strokes your head as you suck on the head like a lollipop. Somewhere along the way, Eddie rids himself of his shirt.

The view Eddie has of you is going to be engrained in his memory forever. Your beautiful eyes looking up as his as you kiss down the side of his shaft, worshiping him from your knees like he was your god.

“So fucking pretty, baby. Prettiest girl I know, and your all mine.”

His eyes glance to your left hand that'd pumping his cock, your simple but shiny wedding ring catching the light from the lamp on the coffee table.

You lean up to kiss him on the lips and he surprises you and he lifts you up by the armpits and plops you back down in his lap. Both legs on. Either side of Eddie waist, your dress splayed out around his lap and your wet core planted on his cock.

“No panties?” he smiles at the realization. “This your plan all along?”

“Easy access” you slowly move your hips forward, running your wet pussy along Eddie's cock up to the end and your pussy meets the hairs of Eddie's happy trail.

Its feels so good for the both of you, you can't help but pull yourcloers to Eddie as you grind down on him.

“Come on baby, slip it in” he kisses your neck and you obey as your husband’s cock slips into your wanton pussy with ease.

“That’s it, you like being my good little wife?” Eddie praises and you start to bounce on his cock.

Eddie pulls the front of your dress down, and your breasts spring free so they can bounce in front of his face. He loves you like this. he revels in it, it’s the sexiest thing he could be witness too.

“Answer me baby” he gives your ass a small slap.

“Yes, I love it, I love you”

Eddie responds with guiding your head with his hand to his so he can kiss you. A filthy tongue filled kiss so good you forget to breathe. A kiss so good it tells you how much he loves you and adores you.

You don’t stop fucking yourself in his cock, you keep going no matter how much your thighs burn because he’s so deep you can’t stop even if you wanted. His cock fills you up so good each thrust you’re addicted to the feeling.

“Fuck baby you should see yourself. So fucking pretty riding my dick. Love watching you make my cock disappear. I can feel how deed I am inside you babygirl.”

“Baby” you moan.

“Yes”

“More” you huff, becoming out of breath but you’re so close. You can feel your tummy tightening, you're on the brink.

“Mmmm you’ve been so good tonight, I think that can be arranged.” Eddie plants his feet in the ground, holds you still and starts fucking up into you so fast all you can hear is the slapping of skin and his balls hitting your ass. He’s so deep and you’re so full. The speed he’s hitting your g spot each time you can’t hold on.

It doesn’t take many thrusts before your cum is spilling out into Eddie’s cock.

“God, baby that wa a big one, huh” he slows down but the pressure behind each thrust was the same. His hips snapping up into your pussy, your hands rest on his belly, your fingers dipping into the skin, leaving little half moons from your nails as your orgasm still is running through you like an after shock.

“Not done with you yet.” You are still seeing stars but he gently places you down on the floor so you can rest and so he can look at your pretty face when he fills you with his cum.

“Baby” you reach out to him, wanting him close, wanting him to kiss you and hold you, to be as close as possible.

“I got you baby.” He coos, sliding himself back in your warm wet pussy. Your hot cum coats his shaft, the smell of you making his head spin.

You cant help but feel needy for another orgasm as you watch Eddie’s large frame towering over you, protecting you, as he chases his own orgasm.

Your hands grip his ass, that too has filled out and you can’t help but want to bite as his hips fuck into you over and over. Your sweaty bodies are sticking together, moulding as one.

Eddie is close- and how could he not be when his woman is so perfect and he is so in love.

“Come for me, baby.” you whimper.

“Fuck, I'm close keep talking like that” his head is rested in the crook of your neck, his hand is rubbing your clit, and you cum all over his co k once again.

“Need it baby, I need it so bad, come in me please, please. Fill me, I want it baby.” You beg and before you know it Eddie’s cock is buried deep inside you and you know he’s releasing himself inside you.

A relieved sigh leaves your chest before a gleeful giggle.

“Fuck baby” his body collapses into of you and you’ve never felt so loved.

You wrap your limps around him like a koala, refusing to let him leave or slip out of you just yet.

“You think it will work this time?” He asks breathlessly, looking down at you.

“I hope so, but we will just keep on practicing until it does” you wiggle your brows.

“Fuck I love you” Eddie’s smiles down at you, as you know you couldn’t have married anyone better.

[rowdyluv]

DAY OUT

summary: in which ellen and y/n spend the day together shopping.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: use of y/n, insecurities that may be triggering,

notes: i am not proud of this part. heavily debating on re-writing it but wanted to get something out :)

© property of rowdyluv ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the quiet downtown streets. Inside the car, Y/n sat unusually quiet, her gaze lost in the reflection of passing buildings and people on the window. Her thoughts swirled like leaves in the autumn wind, each one heavier than the last. Each store they had visited had been a letdown, a sea of fabric and lace that seemed to mock her rather than offer a solution to her dilemma. She had hoped that dress shopping would be an exciting adventure, a bonding experience with Jack's mom, but it had turned into a tiresome quest with no end in sight.

Ellen, noticing the weight of her silence, offered a gentle, "You okay, sweetie?"

Y/n sighed, "I don't think I'm going to find anything. Nothing seems to look right on me."

Ellen, with a knowing smile, reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You've got to be positive about it, darling. If you go in thinking that way it’s going to be even harder. You’ll be stuck on negativity."

"But it's true," Y/n protested, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've tried on so many dresses, and none of them looked right." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I knew if I wore any of those I would only embarrass Jack.”

Ellen's smile didn't falter. "You could wear a paper sack and Jack would still think you're the prettiest girl in the room," she said, her voice filled with the warmth of a mother's unconditional love. "Trust, my son is as smitten as a kitten with you. Has been from a young age. Learning that the two of you finally started dating was a celebration for Jim and I.” Ellen sighed.

Y/n felt guilty for lying to Ellen about her and Jack’s current relationship status but that was Jack’s provocative. If he wanted his family to be under the same impression as the public.

Ellen parked the car with a hopeful smile. "This is it," she said, pointing towards the last store on their list, a quaint little boutique nestled between a bakery and a bookstore. "I have a good feeling about this one."

Before they could even step out of the car, she turned to Y/n with a sparkle in her eyes. "Listen to me," she began, her voice filled with a gentle authority. "Jack loves you for who you are, not what you wear. But I know how much you want to look amazing for him, and I'm here to tell you that you do. In every dress you've tried on today, you've looked beautiful. It's all about finding the one that makes you feel like the beauty you are, okay honey?”

She nodded and offered up a small smile towards Ellen.

Ellen could see the doubt still lingering in her eyes, so she took a moment before they got out of the car to speak from the heart. "You know," she began, "Jack's always had a way of seeing the best in people. And you, my dear, are the best he's ever seen, even when you two were little. You're smart, kind, and you have a spark that lights up any room you walk into."

Her eyes searched Y/n's, hoping her words would resonate. "Now, I know you're feeling down about the dresses, but let's go in there with an open mind, yes?" She offered her hand and led Y/n to the storefront entrance, her own excitement for the search not waning. The bell above the door jingled sweetly as they entered the boutique, and the scent of fresh flowers and fabric softener greeted them.

The store was a treasure trove of gowns, each one more exquisite than the last. Y/n felt the weight of her own inadequacies lift as they were greeted by a kind saleswoman who offered them individualized help. As they explained what they were looking for, the woman led them through racks of dresses, holding up each one with a hopeful smile.

Y/n's eyes scanned the rows of dresses, each one seemingly more beautiful than the last, but none of them seemed to be 'the one'. She felt her hope dwindling with every step they took, every dress that was deemed 'not quite right'. The pressure to find the perfect dress for devils event grew heavier with each passing moment.

Ellen noticed her growing discouragement and took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the store with renewed determination. "Let's try this," she said, leading Y/n to a secluded rack at the back of the store. "These are the last ones we're looking at."

Y/n's eyes fell upon a dress that was unlike any she had seen that day. It was a stunning blend of elegance and boldness, with the top half in black that flowed into a fiery red at the bottom. It was as if the dress had been painted by the very emotions she was feeling - the uncertainty of black meeting the passion of red. The irony of it being Devils colors too playing on the back burner.

Her heart skipped a beat as she whispered to Ellen, "Look at that one," pointing to the mannequin that held the captivating dress.

Ellen followed her gaze and nodded approvingly. "Ah, that's a unique choice," she murmured. "Let's see if it's available in your size."

“That’s the only one actually.” The sales rep says, having overhead the conversation. “We only received two of them and never got any more of them. A young lady came in two days ago purchased the other one for a charity event.”

Defeat tumbles into Y/n like a freight train. The unlikely chance there would only be two and the other would be purchased for a charity event too.

“But if you’re wanting a red dress, look at this one.” The sales rep says happily.

Y/n’s eyes followed over to where the sales lady had moved to, and fell upon a simple yet elegant red midi dress. It was modest yet held an undeniable charm that called to her. She walked over to it and gently touched the fabric, feeling the softness of it beneath her fingertips.

"This one," she murmured to herself.

The sales rep handed Y/n the red dress with a knowing smile, as if she had read her mind. Y/n slipped into the dressing room, her heart racing as she pulled the garment over her head. The fabric was like a second skin, hugging her in all the right places, the silky softness a comforting embrace. As she turned to look in the mirror, she gasped.

The dress was a vision of understated beauty, with a neckline that whispered sophistication and a fit that accentuated her figure without revealing too much. The way the fabric fell around her, it was as if it had been designed just for her. Y/n felt a surge of hope, the kind that lights up a room after a storm.

It was surprisingly comfortable, not a single pinch or tug. It was like the universe had conspired to put this dress in her path, a beacon of light in the sea of frills and lace she had been navigating. She stepped out of the dressing room, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

Ellen's eyes widened as she took in the transformation. The young girl she watched grow up entered the dressing room timidly but exited with confidence that exuded from her body like none other.

"Oh, honey," she breathed, "you look absolutely stunning."

Y/n twirled around, watching the fabric dance around her legs, the dress was perfect it was so right and so her it had letting out a small giggle.

The dress was simple, a compliment to her, yet it had a certain charm to it that seemed to call out to all who looked at her. It truly was, as if the universe was pulling them to this boutique for this moment.

The sales rep, a petite woman with a sharp eye for fashion, clapped her hands together in delight. "It's like it was made for you," she exclaimed. "The way it hugs your curves and makes your skin glow, it's absolutely divine!"

Y/n couldn't help but beam at the reflection in the mirror. "It is," she murmured, still in awe. “I’m sorry I’m just excited because I didn’t get to do this in high school. I feel like this my senior year moment.” She smiled.

Ellen's eyes twinkled as she stepped closer to her, wrapping her in a warm hug. "You deserve every bit of this, and more," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Jack's going to be absolutely speechless."

She flushed at the thought of when Jack sees her in a red dress. Especially when she is repeatedly thinking about how he said ‘my girl looks good in red’ It may have been for show but it’s still something on repeat in her mind.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest as she looks back at Ellen, the kind that comes from knowing you're loved and supported. She nodded, her eyes misting over. "Thank you, Ellen. For everything, for coming when my mom couldn’t, for being there when he left, for this."

Ellen squeezed her shoulder. "It's what we do for family, or hopefully our future family," she said simply, her voice thick with emotion and a smile as she hands the cashier a card.

“No wait! I can pay. Don’t do that.” Y/n argued searching her bag for her wallet.

Ellen gently took her hand and held it in hers. “Jack insisted. He wanted me to use his card for anything we buy you. And right now, this is what we are buying you.” She said with a firmness that didn’t allow room for argument.

Y/n felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as she looked at the red midi dress in the clothing bag. It was more than just a piece of clothing; it was a symbol of the love and support she had found in Jack's family, even when Jack had left for the league. "Thank you," she whispered again, her voice thick and trembling with emotion.

[polygonpiscine]

🐢📖 Raph sat cross-legged on the couch, a worn and dog-eared issue of “Jupiter Jim” in his hands. Leo and Donnie entered the room, their usual banter already in full swing.

Raph looked up from the comic, catching the tail end of Leo and Donnie’s debate. He grinned, always entertained by his brothers’ banter. “Ah, the age-old argument: science versus fiction. “Can’t we just enjoy the story for what it is?”

Leo shot a teasing grin at Donnie. “Exactly! Raph gets it. Besides, Jupiter Jim is a classic. You can’t beat the nostalgia.”

Donnie shook his head, unconvinced. “Nostalgia doesn’t make up for scientific inaccuracies, there are way more scientifically accurate space adventures out there grounded in reality, Jupiter Jim is overrated.”

Leo jumped to the comic’s defense. “Whoa, hold up! Jupiter Jim is totally old-school, the OG of space heroes. He’s, like, a classic legend. And his laser blaster? Way cooler than any gadget you’ve whipped up, Donnie.”

“please. Jupiter Jim's laser blasters happen to have a fancy design, that's all. They're not any better than my meticulously crafted gadgets because, let's face it, they wouldn't work!"

Leo grinned mischievously. “And yours aren’t any better, Donnie. They malfunction every time we’re in a tight spot.”

Donnie huffed. “Hey, those were isolated incidents! And I fixed them, didn’t I?”

Raph chimed in with a laugh. “lighten up! It’s just a comic. No need to overanalyze it.”

Donnie huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine, fine. But don’t come crying to me when you need a gadget to save your shell.”

Mikey popped his head in, curious. “What’s all the fuss about? Are we reading comics now?”

Raph gestured to the comic in his hands. “Yep, we’re diving into the wild adventures of Jupiter Jim. You in?”

Mikey's eyes lit up with excitement as he bounded over to the couch. "Absolutely! Nothing beats a good old-fashioned space adventure."

Without hesitation, Mikey plopped himself down right in Raph's lap, earning a grunt of surprise from his brother.

Raph chuckled, giving Mikey a playful shove. "Hey, watch it, Mikey! You're gonna crease the pages."

Mikey laughed, unbothered by Raph’s protest. “Relax, big bro! I’ll be gentle.”

Raph mock-glared at him before wrapping an arm around Mikey’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Alright, but if Jupiter Jim gets crumpled, you’re buying me a new copy.”

“Always” Mikey beamed

"Alright, you knuckleheads. Chapter one: 'The Galactic Crusade,'" Raph announced in his rough voice, setting the scene. As he delved into the thrilling tale of Jupiter Jim's quest to save the galaxy, his brothers were captivated.

Leo's eyes sparkled with excitement as he imagined himself as the heroic Jupiter Jim, leading his team to victory. Donnie nodded along, though he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at some of the scientific inaccuracies woven into the story.

"Impressive storytelling," Donnie mused, "but I think Jupiter Jim’s laser blaster would need a lot more power to take down a black hole."

His comment hung in the air, earning him a glare from Leo. "Donnie, can't you just enjoy the story for once without dissecting every detail?"

Donnie shrugged, unfazed by Leo's glare. "Hey, I'm just saying. A black hole is no joke. It’s scientifically impossible for a laser blaster to close a black hole. The amount of energy required would be astronomical, far beyond the capabilities of any handheld weapon, no matter how 'fancy' its design."

Leo sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes, Donnie, you just gotta let your imagination take over. It’s not always about the science."

As the story ended, Raph chuckled, closing the comic with a satisfied smile. “Taking it one chapter at a time, guys. But I’m glad you’re all enjoying it.”

Leo grinned at his brothers. "Thanks for indulging me, guys. 'Jupiter Jim' may not be scientifically accurate, but it's always an adventure."

Donnie smirked. "Ah, so you admit it's not accurate."

Leo winked. "Well, Donnie, I guess sometimes we just have to let our imaginations defy gravity, right?"

[cailinsblog]

Snow Day Smiles: Charles' First Taste of Winter | Quinn hughes

Dad Quinn hughes x mom reader

Masterlist

It was a crisp winter morning in Vancouver, the kind where the sky was a perfect shade of blue and the snow was fresh and powdery, coating the ground in a blanket of white. The Hughes family—Quinn, his wife Y/N, and their 5-month-old son, Charles—had decided to spend the morning outside, soaking in the beauty of the season. It was Charles’ first time seeing snow, and Y/N was determined to capture every moment of the milestone.

The family had gathered at the local park, with Quinn carrying Charles in a cozy little carrier strapped to his chest. Y/N had bundled up their son in an adorable puffy snowsuit, the kind that made him look like a little marshmallow. Quinn wore a big grin, looking down at his son as they approached the snowbank.

“Alright, buddy,” Quinn said, his voice soft and teasing as he took a step into the snow. “Time to see what all the fuss is about.”

Y/N watched with a mix of excitement and fondness. It was hard to believe how much their little boy had grown in just five months. She snapped a few pictures on her phone, then walked over to join them.

“Let’s see what he thinks,” she said, crouching down beside Quinn and Charles.

With careful hands, Quinn gently lowered Charles into the snow. The little one’s eyes grew wide, taking in the unfamiliar white world beneath his feet. For a moment, he just stared, the sensation of coldness clearly new to him.

Then, as if he’d just figured it out, Charles let out a joyful giggle, his tiny hands reaching out to touch the snow. He swiped at it, and when his little mittened hand scooped up a handful of the cold powder, he looked up at his parents and burst out laughing.

“Look at that!” Y/N said, her voice full of laughter. “He’s already a fan of the snow!”

Quinn smiled, glancing up at Y/N. “He’s definitely got his dad’s sense of humor.” He wiped a small bit of snow from his son’s face, and Charles gurgled happily, continuing to squirm and giggle, clearly loving the experience.

From across the park, Quinn’s brother, Jack, and their parents, Ellen and Jim, were watching the scene unfold. Ellen, standing with Jim and Jack, couldn’t help but laugh as she saw Charles playing in the snow, so carefree and happy.

"Just like his dad," she remarked with a soft chuckle, shaking her head as she watched Charles roll over in the snow, making tiny snow angels with his arms. "That laugh—it's all Quinn."

Y/N turned toward the group, laughing too. “Oh boy, now I’ve got two hockey players to take care of.” She shook her head fondly, a mix of amusement and mild panic in her voice, knowing the energy and chaos Quinn could bring when it came to playtime.

Quinn, overhearing, leaned down and grinned at Y/N. "You wouldn't want it any other way," he teased, bending down to scoop Charles up in his arms, snow falling from his coat in a fluffy cloud.

Charles cooed and laughed again as Quinn spun him around, his baby blues sparkling with pure joy. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her heart full, as she watched her two favorite boys, already so in sync, already so full of life.

"Alright, little one," Quinn said to Charles, kissing him on the forehead. "You’re gonna be skating before you know it."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto her face. "Oh no, not the hockey talk already," she teased, playfully swatting at Quinn. "He’s only five months old, Quinn!"

Jack laughed from the side. "You know he’s not wrong, right? Look at the way Charles is already getting into it!"

Charles giggled again, kicking his little feet excitedly in Quinn's arms. His laughter was contagious, spreading warmth through the entire group.

“Looks like he's ready to join the team," Jim chimed in with a grin, and Ellen gave a knowing look.

“Well,” Y/N said, laughing and shaking her head, “I suppose if we have to live in a house full of hockey sticks and skates, it’s good that at least one of us will be excited about it.”

And as the Hughes family stood together in the snow, watching Charles play, they knew this was just the beginning of a lifetime of memories, love, and—of course—hockey.

⚠️Reblog and send requests⚠️

[moonstruckme]

mae, congratulations on 8k and happy holidays ahhh!!! if you have the time, i could totally see something fun with tasm! peter and the prompt office christmas party. like coworkers to friends to pining and confessions? basically it’s giving jim and pam teapot, BUT i would love to see where your brain takes it

Thank you for requesting! Happy holidays :)

cw: jokes are made about Peter's appearance, but they're very, very sarcastic

coworker!(tasm)Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 639 words

You never usually wear red. It’s not like it’s one of Peter’s favorite colors either—he only really wears it for one thing, even if that’s pretty much every day—but he feels suddenly robbed having never seen it on you before. As if you’re not eye-catching enough already, your holiday sweater makes you the brightest thing in the room. 

Peter goes to it like a moth to a flame. Though, in fairness, that’s your usual effect on him, sweater or no. 

“Oh, wow, you lucked out,” he says, raising his eyebrows at your white elephant gift. 

You look up from your desk, grinning when you see Peter. “I know, right?” You hold your prize up enthusiastically, like they’re the keys to your new car and not slippers designed to look like giant man feet with a bow slapped on top of them. “Can you believe I started with a bluetooth shower speaker and worked my way up to these? I mean, Christmas is over at this point. Everyone else can go home.” 

“Those will probably be the best gift you’ll ever get,” Peter agrees. He leans against your desk, careful not to disturb the pens lined up neatly by your laptop. “You really managed to land on a personalized one, too. Did you already know they made slippers that match your feet, or did you just find out today?” 

Your shoulders hitch with a laugh, pretty eyes sparkling. Peter feels a warm tug in his gut. Any day he can make you smile is a good one. 

“What did you get?” you ask him. 

“Oh, mine came from the boss man himself.” Peter reaches into his small gift bag, pulling out his prize. “Check this baby out.” 

Your smile stays in place, but you look genuinely perplexed. “A toothbrush?” 

“Not just any toothbrush.” He presses a button on the side, watching your face as a song begins to play from a small speaker. Baby, baby, baby, ohhhh…

Your mouth actually drops open before you cover it with a hand, giggles muffled into your palm. “Okay, wait, wait. I actually want that one now.” 

Peter hisses through his teeth, shrugging remorsefully. “Sorry, but I don’t think I can part with it. It’s too important to me. Anyway, you’ve got your slippers, and they suit you so well…” 

“Right, but” —You school your expression into solemnity. Peter has to work hard to suppress his own grin, thinking to himself that you look like a contestant on that Shark Tank show— “have you considered the potential of these slippers in your love life? I mean, I’ve already basically got it covered with my feet, but Peter…” You hold the slippers up, letting them dangle from a single finger. “These could be a real babe magnet.” 

Peter lets out a long exhale, pretending to consider it. “That’s true. I could use a little help on the dating front…” 

“You could,” you say sympathetically. 

“I mean, my looks on their own are hardly doing the job.” 

“It’s not your fault we weren’t all born naturally attractive.” 

“I am pretty plain…” 

“Homely, even. But that’s alright.” You hold the slippers out again. “That’s where these come in.” 

“Okay.” Peter feigns reluctance, handing over the toothbrush. “You’ve got a deal.” 

“Yes!” Every hair on his leg stands at attention when you put your hand on his knee, squeezing. You’re smiling beatifically. “Thank you, Peter. This means the world.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re doing me a favor too.” He sets his hand on top of yours, squeezing also. “Pleasure doing business with you.” 

Your eyes drop to your hand as if realizing where it is for the first time, and Peter pretends not to notice when your eyes flicker up to his, the teasing in them giving way momentarily to bashfulness. He got the best gift today, for sure. 

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ 'just for you' - joel miller x gn!reader

summary: joel admits his feelings to you the only way he knows how. OR joel plays guitar for you. (1.9k words) tags: pure fluff, joel doesn't think he deserves you, love mentions, love realisation, age gap implied, kissing, gets a little heated but not too much, sweet, happy ending.

joel lingers by the doorway. he often does this, you notice - the way he stands there, playing with his fingers, that subtle anxious expression flitting through his facial features. his mouth presses together like he's trying to stop himself from saying something. you'd move mountains just to know what's on his mind.

you're content with his silence though, because you've come to learn and love his quiet nature.

"what's up?" you whisper softly, sitting up in bed just a little, a book lying temporarily forgotten by your side.

a smirk threatens joel's lips, still slightly nervous as he pushes his thumb into his palm. seems like he needs some encouragement.

"c'mon, you know by now that i don't bite," patting the bed beside you, joel finally straightens up. his hand snakes behind the doorway and grips something, piquing your curiosity, "got a surprise for me?"

his head tilts, "a surprise? dunno about that," he huffs as he slowly pulls an acoustic guitar from the hallway. a surprise makes it sound bigger than it really is, and joel doesn't want to get your hopes up. it's stupid, this whole thing is kind of stupid but it's too late for him to back out now.

you try to hide the excitement bubbling in your expression, but you can't hide the way your eyes sparkle, the way your chest swells and butterflies bloom in your stomach. it's hard to hide from joel, and you don't really want to hide, not with him.

his look is slightly scolding, yet he still holds that smirk, telling you all you need to know. he likes it when you can't hide your excitement, it's one of the things he finds most endearing about you. one of the many things.

"thought i'd play for you," he continues, sitting on the edge of the bed and settling the guitar in his lap. you sit a little straighter, shuffling next to him as you take in the sight. the bedroom window lets in just enough rays of sunlight to illuminate the littered greys peeking through his hair, causing them to almost shimmer.

bathed in a golden glow, joel's strong, calloused fingers glide across the strings as if testing them, but you know he's stalling. he's still nervous, and you wonder what it is about you that makes him so on edge in times like these.

out on scavenge runs, he's not afraid, not nervous - at least not outwardly. but with you? you can almost hear how loud his heart is pounding right now. what's he so afraid of?

"so, what are you gonna play for me? do you take requests?" you smirk, nudging him slightly and you have to bite back a stupid smile as you see his smirk widen. fuck, he's too adorable. too old for you too, maybe - but so adorable.

he glances at you from the corner of his eye, "i got somethin' in mind," joel mumbles, his smirk melting into more of a gentle smile as he positions his hands, ready to play.

you're immediately mesmerised by the way his fingers glide along the frets as he licks his lips and begins strumming. but there's no lust there - because it takes you a minute until you realise the song he's playing for you.

time in a bottle by jim croce. 1972, you think, if he's taught you well, which he has.

and the lyrics sink in, that excitement in your chest melting to something softer, sweeter. is this. . . how he feels about you? god, you try not to overthink it, try to stay grounded in the moment. your heart is pounding in your ears and you know, you realise, this is his way of telling you how he feels without having to say it.

'if i could save time in a bottle

the first thing that i'd like to do

is to save every day

'til eternity passes away

just to spend them with you'

hesitantly, you rest your hand on his arm as he plays, feeling the comforting material of his plaid shirt beneath your palm. it feels like home, he feels like home. and suddenly you wonder where he's been all your life. it's been a while since you both met, but it doesn't feel like enough. you'd take more, take it all, anything he has to offer you. . . because, well.

you love him.

'if i had a box just for wishes

and dreams that had never come true

the box would be empty

except for the memory

of how they were answered by you'

joel hopes it's not noticeable how nervous he is, it's easier to hide behind a guitar than stand and confront his own feelings towards you. there's too much, too many words, and he'd never find the right words anyway.

it's insane, how you make him feel so comforted yet so on edge at the same time. you're home and yet you're dangerous. but it's too late, he thinks. it was too late the moment he saw you.

because how could he not fall in love with you?

and here you both are, at the edge of the world. each day is uncertain, but joel finds peace in the fact that you're there to face every tomorrow with him. while he knows he'll never be good enough for you, he'll try his best, if you'll let him.

god, he hopes you let him.

'but there never seems to be enough time

to do the things you want to do

once you find them

i've looked around enough to know

that you're the one i want to go

through time with'

time seems to stand still as the song ends, his hand that had been strumming curling in on itself as he runs his thumbs over his fingers in a self-soothing gesture. you reach out, taking his hand in yours.

his eyes flit to the side and then land on you, and you see that vulnerability behind his gaze, the one you've seen so few times before. because he never lets himself seem vulnerable in front of you. you know he feels like he has to be strong, all the time - because if he's not then he can't protect you.

but you want to protect him, too. you want to break down that wall he's tried so hard to build. you want to tell him it's okay, it's alright, that he doesn't need to be nervous.

instead of voicing how you feel, you lean in, giving him every opportunity to pull away. but he doesn't, doesn't want to, he finds himself leaning in too. his hand squeezes yours as he closes the small distance between your lips.

instantly your eyes flutter closed, melting against him as your body arches forward. you're too lost in the kiss to notice him moving the guitar behind him, shifting forward to cup your cheek with his now free hand. his kisses are soft, tender, like he's afraid he might break you.

you reach up to cover his hand on your cheek, brushing your thumb across his knuckles that have seen such violence - and though he believes to be tainted by said violence, you know better.

because he's perfect, to you. no matter what he's done, what he's seen. joel is perfect.

his lips part, fingers on your cheek gliding to grip the back of your neck just enough to tilt your head to deepen the kiss. a groan escapes the his throat and you swallow it eagerly, responding with your own as you get lost in the kiss.

you could drown in him, happily get lost at sea in the weight of his arms. a smile spreads on his lips and fuck, if it isn't the best feeling ever. seeing him smile always sent you reeling, but feeling him smile? you're not sure anything can ever top this. and you never want it to end.

his lips trail from your lips, and you begin chasing his mouth - but he tilts your jaw away in his firm yet gentle grip as he begins to kiss along your cheek, down to your jaw, snaking his way to that sensitive spot behind your ear.

"is this okay?" he whispers, his breath tickling against your skin.

those three words have you exhaling shakily, unable to wipe the smile from your face, "more than okay. . ."

"good," joel huffs softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your ear before kissing his way back to your lips. and he tastes you, really tastes you the way he's craved to. his tongue dances with yours, exploring, learning.

jesus, you're better than he dreamed. the way you feel, the way you move, the soft little exhales. . . it's intoxicating.

but he pulls back, keeping his eyes closed as his forehead presses against yours. you both stay quiet, letting the moment settle, his fingers trailing through the back of your hair as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

you can tell he wants to say something, can feel it in the air between you. his shoulders stiffen, so you lean forward to kiss the side of his mouth, "i loved the song. . ." you whisper, trying to disarm him, "encore?"

joel laughs, can't help it, it's real and raw and all him. he nuzzles against you before pulling back a little to look into your eyes, grateful that you broke the tension, and saved him from himself - god knows he doesn't want to fuck this up. "maybe another time."

"not even for your number one fan?" you tilt your head, practically batting your eyelashes at him.

now he's grinning, fuck, see what you do to him? "mhm," he hums, reaching back to pick up the guitar, keeping his eyes on you all the while, "alright, just for you."

it's then that joel promises to himself, and silently to you, that he won't sabotage this, not like he does everything else in his life.

he'll do right by you, make you happy cause you deserve it.

because you saved him and you don't even know it. and he'll spend the rest of his life trying to be good enough for you, to be the man you deserve. and maybe one day he'll be brave enough to tell you how he feels rather than sing it, but your patience with him makes him love you even more.

the guitar begins to play, and the lyrics seep into the room - a bubble, built just for the two of you. the outside world can wait, while you both gather the courage to tell each other how you really feel.

in the meantime, joel sings. and you listen, content as he bears his heart the only way he knows how. and you're happy. despite everything, despite the fucked up nature of this world you live in, you're happy.

and you only hope that this will be your forever, that he will be your forever.

cause fuck, if only he knew how crazy about him you really are.

[shunstanpike]

Could not be more pleased with this commission I got from rocketlollyart of Ed from my pizzeria AU! El was such a pleasure to work with and brought my vision to life even better than I'd imagined it <3

And here's my short, tooth-rotting lil pizza fic! You can read it on AO3 here!

Two Gays, a Gull, and a Pizza Place

Stede loved Wednesdays. And this particular Wednesday was a beautiful one. The scent of daffodils and freshly cut grass rustled through the trees that lined the street. Stede slid open all of the windows, letting the breeze pick up the aromas of baking bread and roasted tomatoes to share them with the neighborhood.

At four o’clock, opening time, in came John Feeny with his neon hair and sweater to match, carrying a plastic bin through which shone a rainbow of yarn. He walked straight to his usual spot in the corner, and Stede went to the counter to put in his party’s order.

It never got old seeing Ed sashay from counter to oven to register, forehead glistening in the heat, short sleeves rolled even shorter, biceps on full display as they tensed from the weight of the paddle.

When Ed turned toward the brick oven, Stede admired the intentionally messy buns that kept his long curls off of his neck. Ed pulled a hot margherita pizza from the heat, and time seemed to slow. He spun around, loose ringlets floating around his beautiful face, and he smiled at Stede as he slid the pie onto an empty pan.

“Oh, hello there, sir,” he said. “How can I help you?”

“Four sparkling waters, please, darling,” Stede said, the order coming out as a sigh in his adoration.

“You got it,” Ed said with a wink.

The bell on the door chimed and Lucius strutted in, tapping away on his phone as usual.

“Afternoon, Lucius,” Stede greeted him.

“Stede. Ed,” Lucius replied, looking up from his phone to squint at the menu. “Do I want to know what a ‘Hot Nut Pie’ is?”

“Actually, you do,” Stede said just before Roach popped his head out from the back kitchen.

“Ricotta, crushed pistachios, and chili-infused honey!” Roach said, his eyes gleaming. He kissed his fingertips. “Delicious!”

Lucius shrugged and looked back at his phone. “Sure, let’s try it. Gluten-free crust, please and thank you.”

Ed scoffed.

Lucius’s eyes flicked back up in a glare. “Don’t start with me, Edward. Gluten intolerance is real.”

“You know it doesn’t taste as good, though,” said Ed.

“And whose fault would that be?” Lucius gave Ed a pointed look before taking his seat at a table next to John’s.

Ed frowned and muttered to himself as he slid a tray of glasses across the counter to Stede.

“Don’t listen to him, Edward,” said Stede, taking the tray. “You make a damn good pizza crust, glutinous or otherwise.”

Stede gave Ed a quick peck as thanks, and to take his mind off of Lucius’s remark.

“Are those hooks I see, John?” Stede asked when he brought over the drinks.

John nodded. “Jackie said she wanted to learn crochet,” he said in his melodious Irish accent, “so I’m teaching the group crochet.”

As if on cue, Jackie and one of her partners, the goofy but good-looking Swedish chap, paraded through the entrance. They were followed by the sweet and soft-spoken Fang, and the three joined John in the corner, hooting and hollering about the dresses, crop tops and vests they were going to make.

Next to arrive was Lucius’s husband Pete, who sat down just as Stede brought over their order.

“Did you get the gluten-free, babe?” Pete asked Lucius. “You know regular crust gives me a funny tummy.”

“I sure did, babe,” Lucius said, shooting Ed a look.

—

Stede alerted Ed when the clock struck five. With an obedient nod, Ed prepped a Sweet & Spicy Triple Pepper Pie and two dozen garlic knots. Not five minutes later, in came the rowdy crew from the ax-throwing bar next door.

Jim and Oluwande were the establishment’s co-owners; Jim brought the sharp-object-throwing expertise, and level-headed Oluwande had the business savvy. They were together, but Jim was also dating an energetic young woman named Archie, and Oluwande was dating Zheng, who was some kind of powerful executive (at least, that’s what Stede thought). But they were also all a little in love with each other. It was a bit beyond Stede, but they seemed happy, and Stede loved when they came into the pizzeria on Wednesdays with their board games.

On this particular Wednesday evening they had an additional party member: Zheng’s auntie. She seemed even more formidable than Zheng, but those kids had a way of warming the iciest of hearts.

Speaking of which, the week wouldn’t be complete without a visit from the loathsome landlord, Israel Hands. His dreary wardrobe darkened the pizzeria’s doorstep just after Ivan left with a stack of delivery orders.

“Rent, boys,” he growled, sidling up to the counter.

“Hello to you, too, Izzy,” Ed said with an exaggerated bow of the head. Stede had no idea how Ed didn’t despise the little man.

“It’s late,” said Izzy, turning to Stede. “Again.”

“Is it?” Stede asked. “Or are you perhaps impatient?”

“Both,” Izzy spat.

“Lighten up, Iz,” Ed said, whipping the slicer through a pepperoni pie. “We’ll get it to you. We always do.”

“Would a free slice of Meat Lover’s sweeten the deal?” Stede offered with a charming raise of his eyebrows.

Izzy scowled at him.

“Where were you two Monday night?” He asked. “I came by and the shop was closed.”

“Monday night?” Ed echoed. “Let’s see…”

“Monday was John’s show,” said Stede.

“That’s right!” Ed beamed. “We were at a drag show.”

Izzy rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just close the shop whenever you want!”

“Sure we can,” said Stede. “Lucius showed me how to update the Instagram so people know not to come in.”

Izzy’s jaw dropped and he shook his head. Then he gestured around at the restaurant. “Look at this. Board games? Knitting? You need to be turning these tables!”

“It’s crochet, actually,” Stede corrected. “And these are some of our most loyal customers!”

“Have they even ordered food?” Izzy whined. “It looks like they’re just… drinking water!”

“Do you want them to get sauce on their lovely garments, Izzy?” Stede snapped back.

“Who made you the king of running a restaurant, anyway?” Ed added.

“You lose business, I lose business,” said Izzy. “I want the rent by the end of the week.”

With that, he freed Stede and Ed of his presence and joined the board game table to inexplicable cheers from Jim and Archie. A table that he claimed to want turned, the hypocrite.

—

A bit later in the evening, during a lull, Ed and Stede were chatting and canoodling at the counter when Ed suddenly pointed out the front door and said, “Look! It’s Buttons!”

Stede followed Ed’s gesture and saw that, indeed, there he was, the seagull who they had first met the day they opened the shop.

They had just made a vegetarian pizza topped with spinach, black olives, and mushrooms. Stede was relaying to Ed that the type of mushrooms they had used, and that were used on most pizzas, were Agaricus bisporus, or “button mushrooms,” when the bird flew right in through an open window and pilfered a slice. Ed proudly nicknamed him “Buttons.” It was a stretch, Stede thought, but it worked.

Buttons was a frequent guest after that day, and especially loved to come by on Wednesdays.

Stede took a garlic knot from behind the counter, tore it into pieces, then tossed it out the door to the bird.

“Don’t feed him that, Stede!” Fang chided from behind his black and silver crochet project. “Bread isn’t good for little birdy tummies!”

Ed threw his arms up in exasperation. “Oh, now birds are gluten intolerant, too?!”

—

The place really came to life around seven o’clock, when Frenchie arrived to bestow the gift of live music. Fang and Roach helped him get set up between the crochet corner and the restrooms.

When Izzy saw what was going on he shouted, “You’d better not be paying this twat!”

But, of course, Izzy couldn’t help himself, and after a couple of songs he was up on the stage as well.

—

At 7:30, Roach emerged from the kitchen, glowing with enthusiasm for the creation he’d been working on all day: a dessert pizza with candied orange, cream cheese, and cinnamon. Everyone got a slice. It was a crowd pleaser, but Stede politely let him know it still needed some workshopping before it could be officially added to the menu.

—

They closed early, as they often did on Wednesdays, and ended the night with drinks at Jim and Oluwande’s place next door.

It was another perfect day.

Izzy did have some points, though, Stede hated to admit. Over the years since they had opened the pizzeria, the reserves of Stede’s family money had begun to dwindle. Perhaps having some sort of long-term plan wasn’t a terrible idea. It was a dream come true making pizzas with Edward and serving the community. Stede supposed if they wanted to keep the dream alive, they would need to have a bit more money coming in.

He made a mental note to speak with Ed about it in the morning, and let himself cherish the rest of the night.

[gf2bellamy]

bunny — jim halpert

pairing: jim halpert x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you see cute figurines in a magazine content warnings: none, just fluff

You sat in the break room, flipping lazily through a magazine while picking at your fruit salad. A bright, colorful spread caught your eye, and you grinned. 

“Look at how cute this bunny figurine is!” you exclaimed, holding the magazine up for Jim, who was sitting across from you, mid-bite into his sandwich. 

He glanced over at the picture, chewing as you continued. 

“And, oh my gosh, it even has a little bunny boyfriend! Look at them—they’re adorable,” you gushed, shoving the magazine closer to him. 

Jim lowered his sandwich, leaning forward to look at the glossy photo of two ceramic bunny figurines, their tiny painted details bringing a ridiculous amount of joy to your face. 

“They’re... quite the power couple,” Jim said with a smile, swallowing his food. His tone was teasing, but there was a glint of interest in his eyes as he watched you beam at the figurines. 

“You don’t get it, Jim. This would look perfect on my desk,” you said, grinning as you turned the magazine back to study the bunnies again. 

He leaned back in his chair, pretending to mull it over. “I don’t know. Feels like more of an Andy thing, don’t you think? I can totally picture him giving them names and making them his coworkers.” 

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned back to your fruit salad. Jim took another bite of his sandwich but didn’t stop glancing at you, already forming a plan. 

The next morning, you walked into the office, still half-asleep and nursing your coffee, when something caught your eye on your desk. 

There, perched right next to your computer monitor, was the exact two bunny figurines you had been admiring in the magazine. 

Your mouth fell open in surprise, the grogginess of the morning immediately lifting as you set down your coffee. You carefully picked up the bunnies, admiring its delicate details. 

Your gaze finally landed on Jim, who was at his desk a few feet away, pretending to type but very clearly watching your reaction. 

You marched over, the bunnies still in hand. “Jim,” you said, your voice a mix of amazement and accusation. 

He looked up with an innocent expression, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was suppressing a smile. “Yes?” 

“You did this,” you said, holding up the two figurines. 

“Did what?” he replied, feigning ignorance. 

“You ordered the bunnies from the magazine. Don’t act like you didn’t.” 

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe they just really wanted to be on your desk. Who am I to deny fate?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him. “Thank you. Seriously, this is the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me in... forever.” 

Jim grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.” 

Suddenly an idea popped into your head. You went back to your desk and placed the female bunny next to your computer. 

Without saying a word, you marched back over to Jim’s desk and plopped the male bunny right next to his stapler. 

“There,” you said with mock seriousness. “Now your desk is cute too.” 

Jim leaned back in his chair, chuckling as he looked at the tiny figurine. “Well, great. Now your desk bunny has a partner. They’re, uh, a power couple, right?” 

“Exactly,” you said, crossing your arms with satisfaction. 

The rest of the office carried on around you, but for a moment, it was just the two of you laughing about bunny figurines. You caught Jim looking at you, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place. 

Yeah, the little bunny figurine definitely made your day—but you had a feeling it made Jim’s too. 

[ladykailitha]

Eddie and Nancy

Just giving my brain a break from the Secret Tunnel (aka the game show) story. I still have two chapters to get through and my brain needs a cool down.

I've seen a lot of headcanons that Eddie is the Wheeler children's older half brother because of how much they look like each other.

But may I propose instead: cousins.

Hear me out.

You have first born, Elizabeth. Absolute hippie child. All about that free love, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. She learns how to play guitar, falls in with the charming and cool, Al Munson. They plan to tour the country his beat up old truck. But before that can happen, Elizabeth gets pregnant with Eddie. So she marries Al.

Then you have Karen, the younger sister. Bright, demure, absolute golden child. She dyes her hair and blows out the curls to more like waves so she doesn't look like Elizabeth anymore.

She does what she was raised her whole life to do. Get married to a good boy so they can have good children and pay taxes and never do anything fun.

When Elizabeth dies, Karen refuses to go to the funeral, hates that her name is even in the obituary at all. Then three years later when Al is sent to prison, CPS calls her first.

She's the boy's aunt. She has a comfortable home, and bringing him in would barely dent their finances. But Karen refuses. She won't have that delinquent anywhere near her children.

So they go to Wayne. Wayne who really doesn't have the space or the money to take care a little boy almost teenager. But he looks into those big brown eyes and can't say no.

They keep apart until the murders in town start in Wayne's own god damn trailer. He keeps his mouth shut when Nancy comes up to him asking about Eddie. He would like to throw it in her face that he knows who she is and that he knows full well that Karen would throw a fucking fit if she found out where her daughter was. But he won't. It's not the girl's fault her mother is a bitch.

After Vecna (and Eddie NOT dying) Nancy is sent to the attic to see if she can find some of Mike's old things to donate as a lot of Nancy's went to Holly. She finds an old trunk and though locked it comes apart in her hands. In it she finds dozens of pictures of her mom with beautiful girl with flying dark brown curls and sparkling eyes.

She smiles as she reminds her of Eddie.

Her mother calls out for her to hurry and slips one of the pictures in her back jeans pocket. Nancy closes the trunk and hurries back to her mother.

Then because Nancy can't leave a mystery well enough alone, she goes digging. All while Eddie and Max are in a coma, Nancy works on her mystery.

She finds her answer in the most unlikely of places. Joyce Byers's year book. She had it out showing her boys the outrageous hair styles they had in her day.

There two rows down from Lawrence Byers is an Elizabeth Childress. She's got ribbons in her hair and smiling brightly at camera. So full of life.

Childress.

She closes her eyes. There is no doubt this is her mother's sister. A sister Nancy never knew anything about.

She points her out to Joyce. "Oh, I remember her. Such a sweet girl. It's really too bad she fell in with that Munson boy. Or rather the wrong Munson boy."

She flips the pages and on the same row as her, is Wayne Munson staring up at her. So happy and free. The Vietnam would too soon take that from him. "That's Wayne. Such a good boy. Elizabeth would have thrived with him. But Wayne was shy and more interested in getting good grades than girls."

Joyce flips back to the seniors with Jim and Lonnie and began searching for the M's. "There." She pointed at another boy. Alan Munson. "He was trouble from the moment he was born. But he had a motorcycle and a leather jacket. Lizzy fell hard. They got married right out of high school, I heard."

Jonathan and Nancy share a look of shock.

"What happened to her?" Jonathan asks.

"Cancer," Joyce says sadly, "poor thing."

Armed with her knowledge and a borrowed yearbook, Nancy marches right up to her mother and slams the yearbook in front of her. The picture Nancy took from the attic serves as bookmark and she shoves both at her mother.

There is no denying it now. All the proof is right there in black and white.

"This is why you didn't want to join the D&D club my freshman year, isn't it? Because it was Eddie's club?"

Karen buries her head in her hands. And the truth just starts spilling out.

"And that boy is just like his father!" Karen cries. "He might have not have killed those kids but he was a drug dealer."

"To keep the lights on his trailer!" Nancy yells back. "If you and Dad had taken him in maybe he wouldn't have turned out the way he did. Maybe he be a better person."

"Or maybe he would have dragged you other children with him!"

"If you really thought that Mike wouldn't have been allow in Hellfire either!"

It's at this point Mike walks in and suddenly Karen is caught.

She breaks down and explains that Eddie had helped her with her car right before Mike started high school. So as a way to return the favor she let Mike join.

Nancy heads to the hospital and manages to get into see Eddie.

Wayne tells her only family is allowed to see him and Nancy smiles.

She knows.

Then Eddie wakes up, falls for Steve, the whole party teases Steve about keeping it in the family and Karen gets her head out of her ass and everyone lives happily ever after.

The end.

[jimsbeetroot]

hello!! can u make a jim root fanfic where y/n is a member of slipknot (bassist) and there’s like a cute moment on stage with the two that goes viral on social media? this has been stuck in my head but i don’t know how to write.

thank u so much!!

viral kisses ♱ jim root

hope this is what you had in mind?!

Title: Viral Kisses Pairing: Jim Root x Fem!Slipknot!Reader (Bassist) Genre: Fluff Length: ~1,200 words

-

The crowd roared as the final notes of “Duality” rang out across the stadium, sweat dripping down your neck under the weight of your jumpsuit. Your fingers tingled from the heavy set, bass still buzzing through your chest. But it was the kind of ache that meant you’d given it your all—your favourite kind.

The energy backstage was electric tonight, but on stage, it was another level. Every member of the band had been on fire, and somewhere between “Psychosocial” and “Spit It Out,” the adrenaline had hit a peak. You glanced over at Jim, your boyfriend and the band’s lanky guitarist, his mask reflecting the overhead lights like a sinister mirror.

He met your gaze for just a second, long enough to crack a smile behind his mask. You couldn’t see it, but after all these years, you didn’t need to.

As the intro to the next song kicked in, you found yourself gravitating toward his side of the stage—something that happened naturally more often than not. Sid had once joked that the two of you were like magnets on stage, always pulled together no matter the song.

The two of you played shoulder to shoulder, back-to-back, matching each other’s rhythm like you were tethered by something invisible. You didn’t have to speak to be in sync—it was muscle memory by now.

Then, right before the chorus, Jim leaned in dramatically, putting his forehead to yours for a brief moment of tension, sending the crowd into a frenzy. You could hear the screams from the barricade, the way your fans loved the chemistry, the chaos, the rawness of it all.

But then he did something different.

Right after the final riff of the song, when the lights cut to black for a second, he pulled down his mask just enough to press a quick kiss to the side of your helmet—right at your temple—and gave your bass a cheeky tap with his pick before walking back to his side of the stage like nothing happened.

You stood there, stunned for half a beat. It wasn’t unusual for the band to mess with each other during sets—Corey had once thrown a drumstick at Craig mid-song just for the hell of it—but that? That was something else.

You recovered quickly, chuckling as you adjusted your strap and turned to face the crowd again. But the way your cheeks were heating under your mask? Yeah. Good luck hiding that.

The rest of the show flew by in a blur of sweat, screams, and distorted guitars. But backstage, it took about ten minutes before you were pulled aside by one of the tech crew.

“Uh, Y/N? You’ve kinda… blown up online.”

You blinked. “I what?”

The tech handed you their phone, already open to Twitter.

There, front and center, was a grainy fan-shot video under a tweet that read:

“WAIT DID JIM ROOT JUST KISS THE BASSIST MID-SET?? #Slipknot #CoupleGoals”

The video had already been viewed over 200,000 times. Someone had zoomed in, slowed it down, and added heart emojis. Another edit played the kiss in reverse with sparkles and dramatic music. Someone else had turned it into a TikTok trend already.

You groaned. “Oh, God.”

“Are you embarrassed?” Jim’s voice came from behind you, deep and amused.

You turned to see him, mask now fully off, curls damp and sticking to his neck, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You kissed my helmet on stage.”

He raised a brow. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“I didn’t. That’s the problem,” you said with a laugh. “We’re gonna be the talk of the fandom now.”

“We are the talk of the fandom,” he replied, stepping closer and lowering his voice just for you. “And besides… if you think I won’t kiss you on stage again, you’re wrong.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You planning to make it a tradition now?”

“Maybe,” he said, brushing a curl off your cheek. “Or maybe I just wanted the world to know you’re mine.”

You smirked. “Well, mission accomplished.”

Jim leaned in, pressing a real kiss to your lips this time—no masks, no crowd, no lights—just him and you in the quiet chaos backstage.

From somewhere nearby, Sid’s voice rang out.

“Y’all are cute but I swear to God, if you start making out during ‘People = Shit’ next show, I’m leaving the stage.”

You both laughed as Jim flipped him off over his shoulder, then turned back to you with a grin.

“You ready for round two tomorrow?” he asked.

You nodded. “Always. But maybe next time, kiss me somewhere less helmet-y.”

Jim laughed and threw his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as the two of you walked back toward the dressing room, phones buzzing, fans screaming online, and your heart still racing.

Later That Night

Corey reposted the viral video with the caption:

“Slipknot: where we rage, scream, and apparently have on-stage couple moments now. 😂🔥”

The band group chat was chaos for hours, but you didn’t care.

You were already curled into Jim’s side on the tour bus, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh, both of you scrolling through memes of yourselves and laughing way too hard.

And honestly? You kinda loved it.