#grab half an onion instead

[churchofthecomet]

when i was in high school i would frequently pour a bunch of frozen peas in a mug and eat them still frozen. i didn't have an eating disorder or anything i just REALLY liked frozen peas.

anyway if you wanted to get a similar nutritional profile as the right-hand meal, you could make aloo matar instead. it will require more effort but taste way better.

the bigger point here is: if you're eating like 1500-2000 calories in a day, there's no reason to shoot for 300-cal meals. that's 5 or 6+ meals per day. 300 cals is a snack, or part of a meal. not an entire breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

what the fuck is the second meal..yeah i'm def eating the crackers and candy if you're giving me plain white bread sorry

[eudico-my-beloved]

I fucking hate my culinary class table group soooo bad i should be allowed to hit them with carrots i think

[frudoo]

Just an itty bitty teeny tiny thought about biker 141 finding themselves the sweetest little pretty thing.... Most people are terrified of them for good reason, Price as the club president, Ghost as his VP, Gaz and Soap are two of their top guys. It's a sight to see them on or off their motorcycles but then there's you. The sweet little thing who runs across the boys somehow and instead of showing an ounce of fear, you give them a brilliant smile and talk sweetly to them. The boys decide then that you'll be their shared old lady.

Idk something about Biker!141 traveling through the states and meeting a pretty lil southern waitress with a heart of gold <3

Warnings: Reader's coworkers + most townfolk are prejudiced assholes. Mentions of food, and getting way too friendly with strangers (this is fiction, stay safe irl please)

The diner falls silent the second everyone hears the roar of the motorcycles’ engines coming to a halt in the front parking lot. The cooks start cussing, the parents start pulling their children closer, the busboys go to hide in the back. But you, a sweet, naive waitress on your first week, are completely unbothered. You greet the four huge, rugged men clad in leather jackets and dirt-covered jeans as they walk through the door, telling them to sit wherever they’d like.

     Your boss, wide-eyed and baffled, grabs the back of your apron and drags you into the kitchen. You brush her off with an exasperated huff, eyebrows furrowed at the middle-aged woman.

     “Steer clear of those men. I’m gonna tell ‘em to beat it,” she tells you matter-of-factly, wrinkled arms crossed over her chest.

     “Don’t be ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, retying your apron and shoving past her, out of the kitchen.

     You’re surprised to see that most of the patrons have left the diner, wads of cash left on their half-empty tables to cover their bills. All of this just because of some men that look a little different than them? It doesn’t sit right with you. You pull out your little notepad as you approach the table they chose, putting on your kindest smile. They all smile back—even the one with the weird mask has crinkles around his eyes, giving him away.

     “I’m so sorry about that wait. What can I start y’all off with to drink?” 

     “Waters all around, sweetheart,” the one with the mutton chops hums, closing his menu. 

     “Alright… and have y'all decided on food?” You begin scribbling on your little tablet of paper, nodding between each of their orders.

     The meatloaf special for mutton chops, extra potatoes, no green beans. A cheeseburger for the one with the mohawk, onion rings instead of fries. Fried catfish for the last two, with fries (because they have taste, according to the pretty one with the scar on his cheek).

     “I’ll have that right out for y’all,” you smile, giving them all a little wink before returning to the kitchen and putting their ticket on the line. 

     The cooks all give you glares, and your boss even gives you the cold shoulder, but you pay it no mind as you fill up four glasses with water and arrange them on a tray. As you balance the platter on your fingertips and make your way back to your table, one of the busboys sticks his foot out and trips you, sending both you and the waters sliding across the floor. You’re absolutely humiliated, pushing yourself up on your sore knees and dusting off your uniform as tears stream down your face.

     The one with the mask hurries over, offering his hand to help you back onto your feet. Your bottom lip trembles as you look up at him, a pitiful little whimper escaping your throat.

     “I-I’m so sorry about that, I’ll go get you new ones right now,” you sniffle, expecting him to chew you out.

     Instead, he cups your round cheeks in his gloved palms and thumbs away your tears, shushing you softly. Despite not even knowing him, you allow yourself to melt into his touch.

     “No apologizin’, lovie,” he grunts, “No’ your fault. Tha’ fucker always givin’ you trouble?” 

     “Hm? Oh, n-no, not usually,” you explain, carefully pulling away to clean up the mess on the floor. “Thank you- um…”

     “Simon,” he introduces himself, giving you a nod before going to sit back down with his mates.

     You mutter his name under your breath to remember it as you drop the broken glass in the garbage, drying off the tray and placing four new fresh glasses of water onto it. This time, the journey to the table is successful, and you hand each man their drink with a polite smile, still slightly embarrassed. They all make it a point to thank you with more enthusiasm than is needed, and the ones you don’t know introduce themselves as John, Kyle, and Johnny. 

     When the bell dings, signaling that their food is ready, you suck in a deep breath and place their dishes onto your tray, praying that this one won’t get dropped. Thankfully, you make it back with fully-intact plates, thanking the heavens that the cooks had sense enough not to burn the guys’ meals. You’re about to turn and allow them to enjoy their food, but John spreads his legs and taps one wide thigh, signaling for you to take a seat. You’re not entirely sure why you do it, but you comply, and he wraps an arm around your waist as he eats and converses with the group. 

     They’re all good company, constantly telling jokes that get you giggling, or pushing flirty little remarks your way. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention, but eventually your boss comes over to snatch you off of John’s lap. You can practically see the steam coming out of her ears as she drags you into the kitchen once again, face red and eyes wild with rage.

     “You’re fired,” she grits her teeth, forcefully undoing your apron and pulling it off of your body.

     “Go to hell,” you retort. "You'll fit right in."

     You don’t let her see, but your eyes are blurry with tears as you grab your purse from your locker and shove your way out the front door. You’d forgotten how chilly it was outside and now you’re shivering as you pull out your phone to order an Uber. When you hear the little bell on the door jingle, you flinch, half-expecting it to be your old boss coming out to hit you with a broom. Instead, a warm leather jacket is placed over your shoulders and a strong arm pulls you against a firm body.

     “Jus’ me, dove,” Kyle grins, rubbing your arm with his hand in an attempt to warm you up quicker. “The lads’re takin’ care o’the bill. Be out any second.”

     You nod and rest your head on his shoulder, protesting only half-heartedly when he takes your phone from your hands and cancels your Uber. 

     After a few moments, the other three men pile out of the diner, adjusting their gloves and wiping sweat off their brow. John sniffs and smiles at you warmly, pointing towards where their bikes are parked. Kyle helps you put his jacket on properly as he walks you over, and all four of them line up next to their respective rides. You shyly sway in place as they look at you expectantly.

     “Well, hen? Take yer pick.”

[oh-stars]

Eddie Doesn't Share Food

Love is sharing food.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1131 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

It’s a common fact among Hellfire that Eddie doesn’t share food easily. He can provide food to everyone and if he knows you’re going without, he’ll gladly give you all of his share, or at the very least a good portion of it. But outside of a necessity or hosting an event, Eddie’s not one to share. 

When they get a basket of fries for the table after games, Eddie takes handfuls at a time. He’ll eat one and place the rest on a napkin in front of him. He’ll eat a few here and there, grab a few more from the basket, and then eat the remainder from his napkin.

They’ll all be sharing bites and trying each other’s meals when they’re out to eat, swapping onion rings for fries and bites of steak for the grilled chicken, but not Eddie. Never Eddie. If you even ask for a bite of his food, he’ll give you that stare, the one he usually saves for his villain NPCs or when you ask a dumb question in Hellfire. 

So you can imagine Dustin’s surprise when Eddie splits his burger with Steve unprompted. 

“Are you sure, man?” Steve asks, taking the sandwich from Eddie’s hands. 

Eddie nods, already reaching to take a bite of his half. “Go for it.” 

Steve shrugs. “Want a part of mine?” He offers his plate, where his BLT is already cut in half and one side is completely untouched. 

“Sure,” Eddie says. 

Dustin looks between the two of them, unable to even touch his chicken fingers, as they go back to eating like this is a completely normal thing for them to do. And if it was literally anyone else other than Eddie fucking Munson, Dustin may be inclined to agree that it is. But since Eddie is the initiating party, it is assuredly not normal.

And he knows a thing or two about freaky things. 

“Close your mouth,” Steve says as he tosses a fry at him. “You’ll catch flies and I am not about to perform the heimlich because you decided to swallow flies instead of fries.” 

Eddie snorts, smirking through his mouthful. 

Dustin scrubs his face, then shakes his head so hard his hat nearly falls off. “What am I looking at?” he asks, eyes narrowed at Eddie. 

“We’re eating. It’s what you’re supposed to do at lunch, Henderson,” Eddie says. He reaches forward to thump the bill of Dustin’s cap so it falls over his forehead. “If you don’t hurry it up, we’re leaving you here and heading to the movie without you.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Dustin says. 

“Try us,” Steve says, shrugging as he wipes his mouth. 

Dustin opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s not about to goad Steve into a dare. He’s seen how that plays out one too many times. Instead, he vows to see if this is a singular occurrence or if it happens again. 

Which it does, the next week when they’re setting up for Hellfire. 

Eddie’s got a bag of chips in his hands as he looks over his notes, leaning back into his chair. They’re all talking amongst themselves as Eddie gets in the zone, regrouping for the session and filling in Jeff on what he missed since he had to miss the last session for a family thing. 

Steve brings a two-liter in and some red solo cups, filling it up for everyone who wants the pop. “What about you, Eds?” Steve asks, leaning against the back of Eddie’s chair. 

“Yes, please,” Eddie says, glancing up from his notebook. He’s holding a chip, has been for a moment, likely too lost in his thoughts to remember he was snacking to begin with. And Dustin has the honors of watching, horrified, as Eddie offers Steve the chip. Only, Steve doesn’t take it like a normal person, he dips down and lets Eddie place the chip into his mouth. 

“Thanks,” Steve says as he leaves Eddie’s freshly poured cup on the side table Eddie has next to his chair. Then he disappears back into the kitchen.

Eddie just smiles and goes back to his notebook, hand fumbling for the bag to grab another. 

Dustin whips around to his companions, eyes wide and gesturing toward their dungeon master. “You guys saw that, right?” 

Gareth’s eyes are narrow, but he nods. “He’s been brainwashed,” he mumbles. 

“Or maybe he’s just growing up,” Jeff says. 

“Eddie?” Mike scoffs. “Please. The guy’s so stubborn he’d rather die than give up his beliefs. And not sharing food is one of his biggest ones.” 

“Apparently not,” Lucas says, motioning to the bag of chips Eddie’s still digging through. 

It happens again when Steve comes back in to say he’s running to the store, pausing only to take the offered chip from Eddie, this time like a normal person. 

They don’t even get a chance to process it before Eddie’s announcing the start of the session. 

Dustin racks his brain on a way to bring it up, to investigate further, but once again, he doesn’t get the chance. 

He’s staying the night at Steve’s, with Eddie and Robin, to watch movies and celebrate Steve’s birthday in a lowkey way. The four of them are relaxing and enjoying the night together, simple and quiet in comparison to the party’s usual festivities. 

Steve dishes out the small cake Robin had made him, slicing and passing out plates to all three of them. He doesn’t take one for himself though. Instead, he plops back down onto the couch and practically sits on Eddie, tucking himself under Eddie’s arm. 

Eddie offers a bite of his cake, unprompted and like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

All Dustin can do is watch as Eddie and Steve alternate bites, eating from the same slice like they were a couple or somethi–

Oh. 

Dustin feels like his brain is hit with a thousand thoughts at the speed of light as it all falls into place. Huh. Okay then. He leans back into the recliner he’s sitting in, his own plate held close to his chest, and lets himself enjoy the too-sweet icing. It tastes like how he feels; happiness and wonder in the form of cake and icing. 

If Eddie’s willing to share his food with Steve, then he must really love him and that’s the kind of love Steve deserves. 

He feels like he could burst with happiness for his friends, for the possibilities this will open for them. Rather than express those thoughts, even if he really wants to, Dustin shoves the biggest bite into his mouth and does a little dance. 

Steve laughs at him, eyes all crinkly and bright even as he accepts another bite from Eddie. Yeah, Dustin could get used to seeing Steve that happy.

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

[supernovafics]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: explicit language, fluff

summary: in which you and steve are not the best at keeping everything a secret

author's note: this is basically like three blurbs thrown into one thing<3 enjoy<333

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Spring 1986

It only felt right to end the night at Third Street. That diner was your and Steve’s go-to place; a home away from home, in a sense. 

You two were way too dressed up for the informalness of the diner where the usual attire consisted of hoodies and sweatpants, or simply pajamas depending on the time of night. But, neither of you really cared that you looked sorely out of place with your black dress and Steve’s white button-up and nice black pants because you were still on cloud nine from the date you two had gone on— a “first date” that was cheesy and dumb, just like you wanted it to be. 

The restaurant you went to a few towns over was almost too romantic with a candle sitting in the middle of the white cloth covered table and pretty classical music softly playing over the speakers throughout the entire place. You both smiled and laughed and attempted to play a sort of game where you limited the conversation to only topics that would typically come up during a first date. It immediately became an almost impossible game to play because you two knew pretty much everything about each other and it was hard to think of “first date questions” to ask that you didn’t already know the answer to. You two ended up talking about high school Biology for way too long until you gave up on the game entirely and spent the final half of dinner talking about anything. 

And then after sharing a slice of cheesecake that was probably the blandest cheesecake either of you had ever had, you went to see a horror movie. It had been out for a while, so there was barely anyone else in the theater and you had an entire row to yourselves, which almost immediately led you two to doing things that didn’t involve actually watching the movie. Although Steve did make it a point to shield your eyes and protect you from the scariest scenes of the movie, like, he stated, “Any good date would do.” And because he was much worse with scary movies than you, you did the same thing for him. 

“Should we get actual good dessert to end the night?” You had posed with a smile on your face after the movie ended and you two walked hand in hand to Steve’s car. 

“Milkshakes from Third Street?”

You nodded at him. “My thoughts exactly.”

You two sat on the same side of the booth like always and shared a strawberry milkshake instead of getting separate ones, and you also decided to get a plate of onion rings to share too. 

The diner was fairly empty for the most part, and the few people who were scattered around paid no attention to the two of you. Until a familiar face walked in— Eddie, and his bandmates right behind him.

He noticed you two immediately and started walking over to the booth you were occupying while Gareth and Jeff went to grab a table. “I’m guessing your dates were shitty if you’re both ending the night here.”

Hearing him say that made you remember the excuse that you both told him and Robin earlier in the week about why you’d be unavailable Friday night; you both had dates. It might’ve seemed too weirdly coincidental, but it had actually been something that happened a bunch of times before. Therefore, when you told the lie to Robin and Eddie, neither of them questioned it. And you really didn’t expect to see either of them tonight.

You nodded at his words. “Yeah, the dates were really bad. We got back home around the same time and then decided to come here.” 

Eddie slid into the booth and tilted his head at the two of you. “How intense were these dates? You’re both so dressed up.” 

“Um, my guy took me to a fancy restaurant,” You said as you avoided his eyes and decided to focus on the near-empty plate of onion rings.  

“And I went to a different fancy restaurant,” Steve said, and you immediately bumped his knee under the table.

Eddie laughed a bit. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw you in a button-up, Harrington.” 

You looked up at him again and there was something about the lazy smile on his face and slight flush of his cheeks that made you finally notice he was a little drunk, which made you inwardly sigh in relief. If Eddie wasn’t slightly inebriated in this moment, you were almost certain that he would’ve seen through the entirety of your lie. There was one empty milkshake glass with two straws sitting in front of you and Steve, and his jacket was draped across your shoulders because the cardigan you were wearing over your dress did nothing to keep you warm.  

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to come to Third Street— a place that all of your friends would always go to as well— when you both so obviously looked like you’d been on a date with each other, and were pretty much still on one. However, Eddie didn’t seem to connect those dots, and you were grateful.

“So, how was your gig at The Hideout?” 

“Pretty good. Now we’re getting celebratory french fries,” He told you, smiling. “You guys wanna join? We can push another table together.”

“Yeah, we should.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Your and Steve’s responses came out simultaneously, but they both went unheard because Jeff calling out Eddie’s name and waving him over to their table also happened at the same time.   

“Come over if you guys wanna,” He said as he slid out of the booth and started walking away. 

You looked at Steve. “I think it’ll look weird if we said no.” 

“I think he’s too drunk right now to notice anything weird.” 

“Okay, yeah, that’s true, but still,” You shrugged.

“I think we should head home,” Steve said as his hand found yours under the table. “Watch TV and fall asleep on the couch.”

The thought of that happening right then sounded perfect to you.

“Ah, yes, just like an old married couple,” You smiled. 

He smiled back at you. “Exactly.” 

Barely thirty minutes later, you two were in your shared living room, sprawled out on the couch in your pajamas with a blanket draped over your tangled legs that were stretched out on the coffee table. A random episode of a sitcom played on the TV and you could already feel yourself starting to fall asleep. But, it wasn’t until Steve wrapped an arm around you and you buried yourself into his side that you did. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Oh, wow. Who mauled you?” 

You didn’t expect that to be the first thing Robin said to you when you walked into Family Video, but it was, and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her question. 

“What?”

She leaned over the counter and made a gesture to your neck. “You’re like covered in hickeys right now. I wish I had a mirror to show you.” 

“Oh, fuck,” You mumbled, dropping your bag on the counter and heading to the bathroom in the back. It was labeled as “Employees Only,” but of course, that rule didn’t apply to you. 

You flicked on the light and then looked in the mirror, quickly noticing the dark red marks on your neck. You were immediately reminded of Steve and what you two had been doing in his car after you both went to the class that you took together. It was a twenty-minute makeout session that only felt like five, and it abruptly ended because he had to leave for his shift and you had to head to your last class. You both had been so close to simply ditching your responsibilities for the rest of the day and letting yourselves continue to makeout in his car; and honestly, if either of you had suggested the idea, the other would’ve happily agreed. But, you had a quiz to take and Steve didn’t want Robin to have to fend for herself for the night, so you eventually, and reluctantly, pulled away from each other. 

You had taken a glance in his mirror before you left his car, and your neck didn’t look half as bad as it did now. 

Robin peaked in, watching you inspect yourself in the bathroom mirror. “When did this happen? Also, it wasn’t with the guy you went on that shitty date with last week, right?” 

You met her eyes in the mirror for a brief second before looking away. “No, not him. It was just… Some guy that I’ve been doing a project with for the last couple of weeks. And it was like two hours ago, right before my last class. I stupidly have not looked in a mirror since,” You were practically mumbling through your lie. “Does it look really bad?”

“Oh, um… No,” The way she said her words didn’t convince you in the slightest. 

“Shit,” You said as you slipped past her and headed back to the front. 

Robin shrugged behind you. “At least it was good, right?” 

You thought back to that moment in Steve’s car. The awkward turned position you both were in the entire time was uncomfortable and annoying, but it didn't really faze you too much because, yes, the whole thing had been really, really good.

“Yeah…” You said, glad she couldn’t see your face right then, and read into your growing smile. “Yeah, it was good.” 

“I would love to hear more about him, by the way.” 

You were about to make up some lying excuse about how this nonexistent relationship had already pretty much run its course, but then Steve was emerging from the back storage room with a stack of tapes in his hand, and that grabbed both your and Robin’s attention. 

“Hey,” He smiled at you and then immediately noticed your neck, eyes widening a bit. “Oh, your… Your, um–”

“She had a very steamy makeout with this guy from her class earlier,” Robin filled him in.

Steve looked at you. “Oh. Oh, nice. That’s cool.” 

“Yes, very cool, and not at all annoying that he decided to give me hickeys like we’re Freshmen in high school,” You deadpanned and gave Steve a look that you hoped he picked up on. “I’ll be right back. I think I have a hoodie in my car.”

You rummaged through your bag in search of your keys and then walked out of the video store once you found them, the door chiming behind you. 

“Do you think it’s serious?” Robin asked after a second.

Steve looked at her. “What?” 

“Her and the guy?”

He looked away then and decided to focus on the tapes he still had in his hand. 

“Oh, um, no, probably not,” He shrugged as he placed the tapes on the counter. 

“I don’t know,” Robin singsonged as she walked around Steve to place a movie that someone just returned on the cart. “Having a hot makeout session in the middle of the day seems at least a little serious.”

Before he could think of anything to say to that, you were walking back into Family Video, now wearing a gray “Hawkins Basketball” hoodie, and it managed to cover your neck, for the most part. 

Robin simply looked at you for a few moments and then nodded. “That works. Kinda.” 

“I’m glad my stolen hoodie can come in good use,” Steve said, smiling at you. “I would also love to get it back one day.”   

“I stole it because I like to support your old basketball team sometimes. Go jaguars or whatever it is.” 

“Tigers,” Both Steve and Robin said at the same time.  

“Got it,” You said with a quick nod. You joined them behind the counter and started looking through some of the movies on the cart. 

Steve began alphabetizing the tapes he set on the counter and Robin started doing something on the computer. 

The door chimed barely a minute later, and a middle-aged woman came in asking for some help. 

“It’s my turn, I know,” Robin mumbled to Steve before he could say anything, and she plastered on a fake smile as she walked over to the woman. 

When you were certain she was out of earshot, you gave Steve a look. “Hickeys? Seriously? Your makeout privileges have been revoked until further notice.”

“I think that’ll hurt you just as much as me.”

You only rolled your eyes at him in response.  

“Besides,” He said as he reached over and pushed down the part of your hoodie that was covering your neck. “I think they’re kinda hot actually.”

You shooed his hand and then looked over to where Robin was to make sure she wasn’t looking at the two of you. 

“Just give me a heads up next time, so I don’t walk around looking like an idiot for two and a half hours.”

“I will,” He nodded. “And I swear I didn’t mean to leave them. You just have such a pretty and kissable neck is all.” 

You were laughing as you rolled your eyes at him again. “Always such a charmer.”

“And you love it,” He whispered, grinning at you, and of course you nodded.  

“I’m gonna give you a bunch of hickeys when we get home tonight,” You told him, voice matching his quiet tone. “And since I’m a nice person, I’ll do it in a place that no one will see.”

Steve was nodding immediately at your words and his response came out low. “Can’t wait.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It probably wasn’t the best idea for you two to sit right next to each other at the movie theater, but it just felt like second nature to do so. 

Whenever you and Steve brought the kids to the movies, you two always sat together at the end of whatever row they decided on, sharing your own bucket of popcorn and trading candy back and forth. 

Now things were obviously different, and as you sat next to each other in this moment it felt just as such too.

You desperately wanted to hold his hand and kiss the back of it, or push up the armrest that sat in between the two of you and settle your head against his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. You wondered if Steve wanted the same things as you; if he was feeling just as affected as you’d been for the past forty minutes. 

Being this close to one another in a dark setting that definitely could’ve warranted a kiss or two or more, but not being able to do anything about it, made it way too hard to focus on the movie. If asked, you would not have been able to explain any of what had happened so far. 

You turned a bit to look at Steve and when his gaze met yours, he gave you a look that told you that his head was in the exact same place as yours. You quickly looked away from him to avoid impulsively doing something that would’ve entirely given away the secret you two shared. 

He leaned in close to you, pretending to whisper something in your ear, but sneakily pressing a quick kiss to your cheek instead. That was when you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed a breather.

You quickly stood up, placing the popcorn bucket in your lap on the floor, and then slipped past Steve. You walked out of the theater and into the empty hallway, leaning back against the wall with a breath of a sigh. 

The thought of simply staying out here until the movie was over didn’t sound like a horrible idea to you right then. It would feel much better than sitting in a theater and “watching” a movie that you hadn’t been paying attention to, while also fighting the urge to do anything with Steve. 

The sound of the theater door opening caught your attention and after a second you saw him. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I just keep thinking about the last time we were here, a couple weeks ago, and how we spent more time kissing than actually watching the movie.”

Steve smiled. “That was a great night.”

“Yes,” You nodded and laughed a little at his words. “And I really wish we could do that now, but obviously we can’t.”

Steve was quiet for a second. He glanced down both ends of the hallway to make sure no one else was around before he stepped toward you, hands reaching out to grab your waist. “We can out here.”

Before you could respond to that— perhaps with a half-hearted “We shouldn’t” or simple head shake— he was slowly slotting his lips against yours. You had seen it coming, but it still managed to surprise you a bit and you softly gasped against his mouth. You were kissing him back immediately, though; your arms coming up to circle his neck and pull him closer to you. He lightly pressed you back against the wall and you couldn’t help but smile. 

It all lasted only for a second, though, because the sound of the theater door opening again pulled you both out of the little haze you were in, that place where no one else existed except for you and him, and you quickly moved away from each other. 

Dustin walked out into the hallway and his eyebrows immediately furrowed at the two of you. “What are you guys doing out here? You’re missing so many good parts.”

“We were, uh, talking about getting more popcorn,” You said. “Do you want some too? Or maybe more candy?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Lucas was talking about running out of Skittles, though.”

“Okay, we’ll get some more of that too.”

“Move fast or you guys are gonna miss everything.”

“Got it,” Steve said, nodding. “We’ll be back in like five minutes.”

Dustin pointed to the watch on his wrist. “I’m holding you to that.”

He turned to head back inside the theater, and when the door closed behind him, you let out a sigh. “I don’t know why I said popcorn. We really don’t need more. I’m pretty sure our bucket is still mostly full.”

“I think it’s kinda funny how we’re somehow getting worse at keeping this secret,” Steve said, a small laugh falling from his lips. “The Eddie thing, the Robin thing, and now this.”

“It’s barely been two weeks. We’ll get better, eventually. Maybe.”

“Or we can just tell everyone.”

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

You weren’t entirely sure why you were being so hesitant about it— especially when things between you two felt so right— but Steve didn’t question it or try to see what was up with you right then. 

“Okay, we can just discreetly hold hands for the rest of the movie.”

You smiled. “I wanna say we shouldn’t push our luck right now, but I also would love to hold your hand.”

He kissed you quickly and the abruptness of the action made you laugh a bit. You were then grabbing his hand and leading him to the concessions so that you two could stand in the short line and get another pack of Skittles for Lucas. 

When you were back in the theater and in your seats— attempting to solely look like just two best friends once again— he found your hand after only a few moments, interlocking your fingers and placing your joint palms in his lap. You turned to look at him and gave him a small smile, fighting the urge you had to place a soft kiss against his lips. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[lindsay00000008]

Ghost x Fem!Reader

DownBad!Simon Ghost Riley x JustAFriend!Reader

Part 2 (Prev)

CW: suggestive fluff, bad jokes, boners, reader is willfully dumb, author doesn’t know where this story is going but wants to write more parts anyway, first cod fic actually send help, is he smiling too much? Idk, happy ghost I guess

“Well that… that is not a book.”

Ghost’s eyes lock onto yours, too close for comfort. Your whole body flushes, and your stomach dips. This situation is way out of hand. His breath huffs and his body tenses, and your skin tingles with the charge in the air — the playfight isn’t over.

You do the only thing you can think of. You wriggle your arm between the two of you and cover his mouth with your palm, using his surprise to smoosh his face away from yours and twisting your body to the side. Both of you roll off the couch and onto the floor. You’re on top, and ready to break away, to end the fight with a handshake and burning cheeks.

But you gasp as his legs come up and around your hips, and his arms catch your torso and head, bringing you into his hips like a tree to a bear.

“Simon!” you yelp, though it sounds more like Fimom, the word getting lost in his meaty shoulder. His hold is gentle but stiff, and it’s impossible to go anywhere. You shift your body, feeling like you’ve been gift-wrapped by a professional knot-maker. “Mmph…” you give up and let your body relax on top of his.

After a few moments of heavy silence he sighs and relaxes his grip.

“Mmm,” he purrs. “This is nice…”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up as he finally allows you to move.

“If you wanted a cuddle you could’ve just asked,” you tell him, rolling off him to land on your back.

“I meant the roughhousing,” he deadpans, turning his head to watch you.

“Oh, of course. My mistake,” you quip back. Then you remember the box on the floor and jolt upright, stuffing the contents back in before stumbling to your feet and heading to your room, your shoulder tensed for a possible pounce. But it seems playtime is over, and you make it to your room without a fuss. You toss the small box on your bed, then change your mind and put it in a drawer instead.

When you return, Simon is in the kitchen, peeling the dry outer layers away from an onion.

“You can just cut it in half and it’d be easier to get those bits off,” you tell him.

“It’s not clean,” he retorts.

“You’re worried about a little dirt?”

“No,” he doesn’t elaborate, but keeps peeling it anyway. You settle into his side and smile, taking the skin off a second onion. How silly, that this man cares so much for grocery store germs, when he probably had days at a time in the field where he couldn’t even wash his hands?

When he finishes peeling his onion, he washes his hands again, and even rinses the onion, before grabbing the knife. You follow the routine, not wanting to gross him out or overstep. You guess it may be an overcorrection, him trying to be as clean as possible when he can. You just don’t remember seeing these tendencies when he’s made food for himself, those times you came over after your own early dinner. In fact, this may be the first time he’s cooked for you.

“You want to become God, then?” You joke, feeling a bit lame.

“What?”

“Cleanliness. Close to godliness.”

He shrugs. “You deserve a clean onion.”

That’s makes you snicker. “You must think so highly of me. Odd, considering you’ve seen the kind of messes I make when I cook for you.”

He smiles at that. You’re thinking of the time you accidentally heated up soup in a soapy pot. Simon had half of his bowl before you took a bite, only commenting that he must have that rogue cilantro gene. But he could be thinking of one of the many other food mishaps that occurred under your hospitality.

As he chops, you bend down and pat his leg to scooch, so you can access the cabinets beneath him. He tilts his hips and steps away — but not before you notice the bulge tightly packed behind his zipper. As you nonchalantly grab the glass bowl and pan you need, your head spins. Is this some odd side effect of cutting onions? Your eyes sting, you cry, you pop a boner…

Or was it because he just had your body under him, atop him, picturing you using your recent delivery…?

No. It’s not you he’s reacting to, he’s just a guy. He just got a little excited, got his blood pumping for a play fight with his bestie. That’s normal. But you can’t help thinking how you have this giant, manly — sexual man in your kitchen. How you ever managed to disregard that fact in the first place.

You’ve stalled after placing the pan on the stove, and you don’t realize until a handful of minced onion hits the pan in front of you.

“Oh wait, the oil,” you tell him, looking up at his face. He looks concerned for you, and maybe a little warm himself, a pink flush on his cheeks.

“Just poured some. You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah… Water?”

He grunts his confirmation. You open the fridge to find the filter empty. You sigh.

“Beer?”

“Beer.”

(Next)

[mari-the-bimbo]

Dorm mate Gojo: you fail your exam

A/N: Hi guys I’ve just failed my exam so here’s a coping mechanism with ya favourite boy 💗

You cry into your pillow, trying to even out your breathing. Your head hurts as you think about the words written across the exam result pdf.

Fail.

How could you have possibly failed an exam you put your all in? University is a bitch.

You can hear Geto in the kitchen, already chopping up onions, prepping to make you some comforting chicken katsu. You’re thankful for a friend like him.

You try to ignore the 6’3 figure standing awkwardly by your bedroom door in silence, but it’s hard to when he kept fidgeting with stuff in your room.

You look up to see Gojo already staring at you, hands in his pockets as he leans back into the wall.

“What?” You ask with a voice crack.

He sighs before sauntering his way across the room, finally towering in front of your lying figure.

He grabs the plushie that resided beside you and threw it across the room. “Gojo what the fuck” you say half heartedly, too tired to argue with the mischievous man.

Your arm that you had extended to grab your plushie back was then captured by Gojo’s strong grip, intertwining them as he drops next to you.

He gives you nothing but a cocky smile as he lays in that spot instead. His big, 6’3 figure tries to get comfortable on your small bed, his feet dangling from the end of the bed.

“Why cuddle a stuffed rat when you could cuddle me pea brain?” he says with a charming smile as he lays on his side to face you, his pale finger gently tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Hello kitty is a cat, not a rat you idiot” you mutter, making him laugh.

But then you’re caught off guard as the white haired man traps you into his arms, wrapping them around you snuggly. “Well Hello Kitty needs to know you’re mine” he replies. “and that I need to be here for my pea brain right now” he adds, making your tears well up once again.

He hears you wince, and was smart enough to realise you were about to cry again. He hums before whispering soothing words into your ears, soothing words you didn’t know he was capable of doing.

“That one grade doesn’t reflect your intelligence and abilities pretty girl.” He says as he rocks you back and forth. His one arm stroking your head, while his other arm stretched out to grab your phone and turn it off, so no nosy students try to ask about your grades.

You let yourself melt into the broad chest of your lover, engulfed in his warmth and occasional awful jokes.

“Your nose is getting snotty, so you want me to pick it for you?” He teases, as he pretends to put his pale finger up your nose.

“Stopp ~” you whine through the tears, but he laughs charmingly before rubbing your noses together and punches your cheeks affectionately. “You’re so cute snotty” he calls you, achieving a small laugh out of you at the new ridiculous nickname.

The day started to feel much better eventually.

Well, after Gojo and Geto finished spoon feeding you, insisting you are their baby.

And after a call with Shoko, who soothed your concerns but was also encouraging you to cheat on the resit exam 🫡

[nctsworld]

at your earliest convenience

✩‌ haechan x reader | fluff | 1.3k

SUMMARY | in which haechan is always your one (and annoying) late-night customer at the 24/7 convenience store you work at and one evening, he forgets his wallet. in lieu of payment, he asks if he can take you out on a date instead. // part of the connection series

WARNINGS | slightly insecure reader, none really!

RATING | teen+

AUTHOR'S NOTE | please check out (and maybe send in some prompt requests) @nctpromptmeme!

You ring him up, like clockwork. 

The scanner picks up a bag of the Korean brand onion rings, two Red Bulls, and an instant noodle cup.  

He’s the only consistent man in your life, ignoring the fact that the sole reason why he’s in your life is because he always comes into the 24/7 convenience store you work at during late, sometimes ungodly, hours. Tonight, it’s not that bad: 1:53am. 

Rarely, no one else strolls in during your shift (and you’re grateful it’s a safe neighbourhood). 

However, this young man lives to make your shift a painful one. 

Usually with ruffled hair, transparent-framed glasses, and a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, he saunters in as if he owns the store, often swinging his keys or obnoxiously whistling along to the song playing in the background. From the moment he steps into the store, his existence alone irks you. 

Unsurprisingly, he then takes a solid ten minutes on average (yes, you’ve timed it) to buy his items. Whistling evolves into screeches or emphatic oohs and aahs. Sometimes, he even narrates the entire process, as if he's the main character in a show. And yet, despite it all, he ends up buying the same rotation of his favourite items. 

If not the onion rings, the shrimp crackers. If not the Red Bulls, the bottles of Monster instead. He may be grabbing one cup of noodles tonight, but other times it’s three. Potentially even a completely different brand, if he’s feeling adventurous.   

On that note, predictability is in his nature. You plead internally for him to live a little, to maybe even spice up his night with a little change, for crying out loud. Heck, maybe even change the grey or black t-shirt he always wears to a shade that’s not a neutral tone or to put on a jacket for once. 

And the cherry on top is the constant annoying smirk he flashes when you tell him his total. 

You want to punch it off his face, smear it across the shiny floors with the dirty mop water you use at the beginning and end of shift.  

“How are you doing tonight, gorgeous?” he asks. Sometimes gorgeous is replaced with beautiful or cutie. It only adds to his annoyance of regularity and you have an itch he does this all the time with others, making you not take his typical endearing terms seriously.  

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I’m not gorgeous, but, as always, thank you for the compliment.” 

His smirk melts, and you catch yourself feeling a tinge of something as his features soften. 

“You are, though,” your regular says. You quickly glance up, wondering if that pout and look in his eyes are genuine. “You know that I call you gorgeous because I mean it, right?” 

You’re unsure how to react, so you give a small nod and repeat the total, softly this time.

There’s a beat when the man gets lost in thought, but the moment quickly fades. He reaches into his sweatpants. However, he stops abruptly, before he reaches in again and pats the outside of his other pockets. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. You realize two things: one, you’ve never heard him curse; and two, he doesn’t have his wallet.

Well, that surely is different than usual.

Instinctively, you pull the snacks toward you. 

“Don’t you dare think I’m letting you walk away with everything for free,” you say, half-jokingly. Even though you’re 80% certain you can trust him, you still don’t know what he’s like.  

He smiles sweetly, quite differently than his smirks, forcing you to admit he’s handsome (just a little). “How could you expect me to stoop that low?” he whine-asks, clutching his chest in pain. 

After a moment of staring up at the ceiling in thought with his tongue running against his lower teeth, a Cheshire grin spreads over his face and he raises an eyebrow.

You don’t like it one bit and regret the moment earlier, mentally punching yourself for finding him a tiny bit attractive. 

“How about…”—he pauses as he rhythmically taps his fingers onto the counter—“...you let me take you out on a date in exchange for these items?” 

A scoff releases into the air. “Are you really telling me I’m only worth $11.87?” 

“What—no! Of course not,” he flicks a wrist upward in annoyance, then gestures to himself. “A date with me is worth way more in value, so you’ll be getting a better bargain.” 

You could not believe this guy. “Is a date with you really going to be worth it?” 

“Look,” he leans in over the counter and you catch a whiff of a light, woody scent. You fight off the desire to deeply inhale it. “No matter where we go or what happens, I’ll make sure you’ll be happy by the end of it. Isn’t that worth taking the risk of losing $11.87?” 

Squinting your eyes at him, while still clutching the goods he wants, you start to warm-up to the idea since you don’t have anything to lose (but maybe that’s due to the influence of his slightly intoxicating aura). 

“Will you choose the date location?” you ask, guarded.

He shakes his head. “Everything will be up to you and I’ll try to accommodate my schedule as best as I can.” 

You raise an eyebrow, challenging him. “And what if I want to go to the most expensive restaurant in town?”

Without hesitation, he nods. “Then we’ll go to the most expensive restaurant in town.” 

“If I wanted to order the $130 steak?” 

“$130 steak it is.” 

“If I—” 

The cute (you can’t deny it at this point) stranger cuts you off with a raise of his hand. God, you hate how cocky he is. 

Suddenly, he holds out a hand, sticking his pinky finger up. He waggles it, and you realize he’s waiting for you to do the same. You curl a pinky around his.

“There. I promise you—cross my heart and swear on my mother’s life—that I’ll uphold and adhere to whatever date conditions you ask of me.” He straightens, stepping away from the counter. “Now, can I please have my snacks and drinks?” 

The events of tonight took quite a turn. Never in a million years would you think Mr. Predictability would ask you out on a date, let alone be pretty sweet about it.  

Perhaps there’s more to him than you thought. 

You hand him your phone, and he does the same. 

When he gives it back, you shake your head at the text he sent and the name he gave himself.

“Hyuck?” you ask, unfamiliar with the name.  

“Short for Donghyuck, but yes, beautiful?”

You turn your phone towards him in disbelief. “What’s with the heart next to your name?” 

He shrugs, flashing you another smug smile. “What about it?”  

Glancing down at his phone, he beams. You wonder if it’s because you wrote the following in brackets after your name: You Owe Me a Date Worth More than $11.87. 

“And your name is just as beautiful as you are.” 

Again, another eye roll. You wonder if the date will be filled with more of it. You shove the stuff towards him. 

“I have to know: do those lines really work?”

“Well, I have a date lined up with you, so you tell me.” 

Before you have a chance to retort, he grabs something out from his pocket.

A wallet.

His motherfucking wallet, and he has the audacity to toss a $20 bill onto the counter with the same grin that you still want to wipe the floor with. Your jaw hangs. 

“Keep the change,” he says, along with your name and grants you a wink as he grabs his items. 

“I’ll be seeing you on our date soon, gorgeous.” 

AUTHOR'S ENDING NOTE

thank you for reading! i've been getting so much love for this - y'all are amazing. if you would like to read an informal continuation, see here!

[daemour]

Pairing: yandere! San x f!Reader

Genre: Some fluff, angst, yandere au, established relationship au

Warnings: Murder, blood, violence, creepy waiter stares at ur boobs

WC: 1182

Summary: You and San are trying to have a nice dinner when a waiter gets a little too close for comfort...and San is having none of that.

This is a collab between me and @sanjoongie <3 she wrote san's pov and let me tell you, it is BONE chilling! ^^ please make sure to read and enjoy her side of the story too <3

-

“What do you want to order?” your boyfriend asks, thumbing through the menu.”I don’t care what or how much—it’s on me. You just have to make room for dessert.” You laugh at San’s eagerness, only to look up and see him staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“Thank you, baby,” you hum, leaning over the table to kiss his lips softly. “This place looks so nice. I’m glad it’s right by us, we can just go again if we don’t get everything we like.”

San smiles, turning his head to kiss your lips properly before pulling back, a starry look still in his eyes. “Of course, love. Whatever to make you happy.”

Your cheeks burn at his sweet words and you busy yourself with the menu again.

“Are you two ready to order?” A waiter approaches your table, a smile directed at you and you flash a quick one back before looking back down.

“Uh, San, do you have an idea?”

Your boyfriend hums. “I’d like to get the steak, but I’d like to replace the salad with the potatoes. And if we can get the truffle fries as an appetiser that’d be great. Babe?”

“Uh, sure. Could I get the French onion soup? And if I could have some decaf coffee with that?” You glance up at the waiter and are utterly embarrassed to realise he’s not looking at you but down your collar at your tits. You scoot over, smile fading. “Black is fine,” you mumble out, your hand gripping the menu just a little tighter. The waiter nods, and with one last quirk of the lips, he’s taking your orders to the back of the house.

San frowns at your act, leaning forward. “Are you okay, my love?”

You shrug, pulling the collar of your dress up a little. How you wish you wore something else. “Waiter was staring at my boobs but whatever. I’m just excited for the food.” You send a small smile to your boyfriend, who returns it but with some annoyance brewing behind his eyes. But thankfully, he lets it slide.

“He should keep his eyes on his little notebook,” is the only snarky response San mutters under his breath, and the rest of the dinner goes smoothly. The two of you joke and laugh, and San moves to sit on the outside of your side of the table so when the waiter comes back he has no choice but to look at San in the eyes instead. It makes you giggle the tiniest bit and San leans into your shoulder as his shoulders shake in silent amusement at how happy you are.

“Hey babe, I’m going to head to the bathroom. Can you grab the check? And you can warm up the car if you want.” San pecks you on the cheek before standing and pulling on his suit jacket, his gloves half hanging out of the pocket.

“Stay safe and don’t fall in,” you joke and San chuckles at the bad joke you always say, shaking his head and not gracing you with a response as he hands you his wallet to pay and heads towards the back.

You finish your coffee, gather your items, and pay, but then you belatedly realise you didn’t even get to have dessert. A pout forms on your face. Dessert is easily the best part of dates with San, and now you don’t even get to have that.

“San?” You call through the men’s bathroom door. “Are you in there?”

You pause, but no response. With a sigh, you tap your foot and turn, looking around the restaurant to see if you can catch sight of his familiar blonde hair, but to no avail. But what does catch your attention is the slightly ajar door leading outside to your right and curiosity gets the better of you.

“San-ah, could we get ice-cream?” You call as you carefully step your way through the door, hiking up your skirt to not let it catch on the rugged wood.

You look to your right and see the street. You look to your left, and a scream lodges itself in your throat. There is your sweet, beautiful, loving boyfriend with blood on his hands and face as he holds a waiter…the waiter against the brick wall and a crazed grin pulling at his lips. The horror that you want to express does not come out the way you want. Instead of a shriek ripping its way out, all that you can conjure is a soft “San?” and a choked sob.

Your boyfriend’s head snaps toward you, the almost demonic smile softening as he sees you. You step towards him before stopping at the corner of the dumpster they’re behind, not willing to step even closer to the limp body.

“San, that man–” you try to say, reaching out and grabbing onto his sleeve, but San pulls his arm out of your grip as gently as he always handles you.

“My purpose is to protect you, my love. Let me do my job.”

Your eyes widen as he drops the waiter to the ground behind a dumpster, bending down to callously wipe his gloves off on the waiter’s jacket before moving closer to you.

“He won’t bother you anymore, my love. Now let’s go get ice cream,” he hums carelessly, pressing his lips to yours. You can’t tell if you want to gag at the metallic taste entering your mouth or not, but all you do is swallow your beating heart back down and nod with a shaky smile.

He wipes his face with his gloved hands before leading you to the car and driving you to your favourite ice cream parlour. He orders two vanilla cones, passing one to you as you find a booth in the corner.

You can’t quite focus on your ice cream, though. It’s quickly drooping as you lick it slowly, your eyes fixed on San. If it wasn’t for your direct witness, you’d almost not know what horror he just committed. He takes large bites of his scoop like he always does, a cheerful look on his face and no trace of malice anywhere.

“Aren’t you going to eat yours, babe?” San’s saccharine voice pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts and you quickly lap at the melting vanilla dessert. “Are you feeling okay, honey?”

You nod quickly, unsure of what to say if you should say anything. “Yeah, yeah, baby. I’m just tired.” It’s an unconvincing lie and you let your lips pull into a smile to do your best to convince him further.

San smiles back, softly, but you can’t help but still see the twisted one flash in your memory. And the worst thing is that you can’t tell whether you hate it or not. “I love you forever,” San hums, leaning over to steal a bit of your ice cream and kiss your temple.

“I love you forever,” you repeat, and you feel deep in your heart that it’s not a lie, not now, not ever.

[obeythebutler]

Could I request some kind of cooking date with Mammon? Location, cuisine, and outcome of the cooking is up to you. :)

-qrowsofafeather

One thing about Mammon is that he is scarily good at using knives.

Eons of experience as a Throne and having the physical prowess of a demon mean that he's the fastest, adept at fighting, all quick reflexes and agility. It means that he can handle a knife as if its second skin, whether to harm or defend.

Or even cut vegetables, in this scenario.

Three seconds in and when you took a glance at him the onion has already been peeled and cut finely into cubes, perfectly-sized. And his smug face when you checked up on him, winking at you with flour on his cheek.

Quite effective, but hey, what's the fun in cooking if you can't enjoy the process?

Especially with your loved ones.

"Slow down babe," You say, draining the half-cooked rice before filling it with water again. "You could hurt yourself." You know he could chop them blind and never get hurt. Still, you can't help but caution him.

"And you're the one getting papercuts every week."

"Shush."

You place the pot back on the stove, and turn your attention towards the oil that must be hot by now in the pot. It smokes, and you add in the fenugreek and cumin seeds, watch them splutter about and crackle.

You don't even get the chance to ask before the small container of asafoetida is handed to you. You look at your boyfriend, dumbfounded, before putting some in the pot.

Barbatos had a favour due for you, and so you and Mammon had visited the human world, to procure ingredients that you would not find in the Devildom, and if you did, the substitutes of it would make you laugh endlessly, burn your oesophagus from the inside-out. Like those Acidic Hell Fries.

Whoops, got a bit too graphic there.

Your tolerance grew though, with your tastebuds adjusting to the Devildom.

Mammon follows after, adding the chopped onions, garlic, green chillies and ginger in the pot. He gives it a stir, chewing all the while on the chilli.

Always a fan of spicy foodstuffs.

You watch the demon stir the contents of the pot around, content and concentrated. The brothers are out today due to some student council work, which you and Mammon decided to not attend.

Lucifer is going to hang you both upside-down later.

Nevermind that though.

His brows unconsciously furrow when he's engrossed in his work; in the zone as humans would call it. And with the sparse free moments you have, you decide to aim and deliver a fatal blow.

The squeak that leaves from Mammon's mouth reminds you of a mouse.

"Eek! Couldn't you have waited or somethin' before doing that!"

Your smile is mischievous.

You don't give him a reply, but instead slowly add the chickpea flour and curd mixture into the pot. Hand outstretched, you grab the ladle from Mammon and stir the mixture, ensuring that it does not curdle.

"Should I drain the rice now?" The demon says, though his tone indicates that he's aware of it being ready, yet asks for your affirmation.

You nod, attention still focused on the simmering contents before you. Just a bit more and it will start to boil, then you'll be free. One's mind can't help but wander during such moments, and the memories from your first year here come to mind.

Such peace in this kitchen wasn't always there. Sometimes you would be on duty to guard the fridge against a certain gluttonous demon, another time Lucifer had enchanted the doorway to the kitchen to ensure that whenever someone placed a foot on the kitchen threshold they would find themselves frozen.

It took a whole two minutes for Lucifer to finishing blending the ingredients and turn around to realise that you were stuck on the spot.

Cold metal against your skin makes your eyes widen.

His breath tickles your neck as Mammon hugs you from behind, content in watching you. Goosebumps raise on your skin as his hands slide against your stomach. You place a hand on his, squeezing lightly.

With your and Mammon's boundless energy, nothing short of chaos is expected. Any shenanigans that occur are credited to you both. Always smiling, always snickering.

Moments like these are rare though.

"There, all done." Your voice comes out in a whisper, and you leave the pot be. The kadhi has come to a boil, and Mammon hangs onto you as you add turmeric and salt to it. Half an hour more, and it will be ready to eat. You and your demon are simply content like this, to be.

"Your cooking is really nice, ya' know?" He mutters into your skin, placing a kiss on your neck. "We could make tons of Grimm selling it."

"You'll be my sous-chef then." You turn around, gently removing his hands to place them around your neck, a gentle smile on your face. "You will look so cute in a kitten apron, and flour on your cheeks." You swipe away the flour for him, pinching his cheek at the end.

He always gets riled up at being compared to a feline, though the inhabitants of this house would agree that the cat with the 'head empty' look suits him.

You called Belphegor eepy once.

"Deal no longer valid. Cook alone," Mammon grumbles, removing his hands and turning around to leave the kitchen. But you know he would never.

"Hey, sorry, sorry!" You laugh, grabbing the hem of his sleeve to make him turn towards you. When he does, there's a cute pout on his face as he glares at you. "You're adorable on your own. My first-man," You affirm, smile still present.

It was three am at night when you and Mammon first cooked together. Hours of playing Devilcraft, and with the demon hoarding all the gold he had mined, you both finally got up and stretched your tingling legs and got to work on sneaking into the pantry and then annihilating the kitchen.

You remember jumping in pain after having eaten the hotter than hot toasted sandwich. To top it off Mammon had added hellfire peppers.

It took a minute of hobbling around in agony before downing a glass of milk.

Although you've grown quite tolerant of Devildom cuisine, perhaps even taken a liking to it. The stew you make on Tuesday nights always gets appreciation, and you always serve it first to Mammon.

When he's got your undivided attention like this—you both cooking together—and in tune with each others thoughts, the domesticity of it, like a married couple, makes his heart swell.

Greed is his sin.

That means he'll always crave you, a love set in determined devotion.

When the brothers arrive an hour later, they find two lumps on the couch, complimented with a messy kitchen.

[artyandink]

amoralism | eighteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: smut, angst, reader’s mad at Sam for a bit, death

Song Inspo: River - Bishop Briggs

SERIES MASTERLIST

erraticism

The kitchen was warm, the kind of warmth that came from both the stovetop’s steady heat and the familiar pull of old memories, memories that held Dean’s face like a watermark on every corner of your heart. You’d told yourself you’d make it through this evening, get through one meal, without breaking down. It was, you reasoned, just a meal—no hidden meanings, no sentimental attachment, just food. You were cooking for Sam, his kids, maybe even yourself, if you could stomach it.

A half-sliced onion sat in front of you, blurred slightly by the tears that had managed to sneak past your resolve. The chopping board bore the aftermath of a few haphazard cuts, and for once, you didn’t care about the details. As you brushed your wrist against your cheek, wiping away the evidence, you heard the quiet creak of the kitchen door. A pair of footsteps crossed the linoleum. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice came softly from behind you. There was a hesitation in his tone, a wariness that only someone like Sam would notice—someone who saw the tension in the set of your shoulders, someone who knew the silent language of hurt.

“Hey,” you murmured, voice wavering. You swallowed hard, trying to disguise the tremble as just another cough. But your heart was pounding now, because in Sam’s presence, the flimsy walls you’d built against the loneliness started crumbling all over again.

Sam shifted, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance down at the mess on the cutting board, the half-prepared meal you were putting together for his family. He said nothing about the onions, or the tears, or the fact that he’d seen you wipe your face a second ago. Instead, he cleared his throat softly.

"You, uh… need a hand?” he offered, his tone careful.

You shook your head quickly, staring down at the countertop, hands gripping the edge of the cutting board as if it were a lifeline. “No,” you said, a little too quickly. “I’m fine. Just trying to… get this done.”

Sam’s silence filled the kitchen, thick and heavy. Then he took a step closer, close enough that you felt the warmth radiating from his presence, steady and calm. Sam, the rock, the one who never wavered. You almost hated him for it, because even now, even when he was standing there watching you unravel, he was steady.

“I know you miss him,” Sam said quietly, his voice barely more than a murmur. “I miss him, too.”

The words were simple, but they hit you like a punch to the gut. Your hand slipped on the knife, and you felt the sting before you saw the thin line of red blossoming on your fingertip. You cursed under your breath, but Sam was there in an instant, grabbing a paper towel and pressing it gently to your hand. He held it there, his fingers brushing against yours, grounding you in a way that felt too painful to bear.

You could have told him, right then, that it wasn’t just missing Dean. It was the hollow, aching emptiness that gnawed at you every day, the feeling that some part of yourself had been ripped away and left bleeding. But the words stayed trapped in your throat, strangled by the weight of everything you hadn’t said, everything you hadn’t let yourself feel.

“Why did he leave, Sam?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Your voice was raw, edged with anger and heartbreak. “He just… vanished. No explanation, nothing. How could he do that?”

Sam was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. He let out a long, slow breath, as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. When he finally looked up, there was something in his eyes—something haunted, something that hurt just to look at.

“He didn’t want to leave,” Sam said, his voice barely a whisper. “But… he didn’t have a choice.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your chest. “What are you talking about?”

Sam hesitated, and you could see the conflict flickering across his face, a struggle that he was clearly losing. He looked at you, his gaze piercing, as if he was finally letting you see something he’d kept hidden for far too long.

“He’s undercover,” Sam said finally, the words tumbling out in a rush. “With Hell.”

The room seemed to freeze around you, the air thick and suffocating. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of his words, but they felt like shards of glass, cutting and splintering with each second. “Undercover?” you repeated, barely able to wrap your mind around it. “With… Hell?”

Sam nodded, his expression grim. “He’s been… posing as one of them. A Knight of Hell. It was the only way he could get close enough to take them down from the inside. It was a… high-risk mission. The kind you don’t come back from easily.”

The world tilted, and you had to brace yourself against the counter, your hand shaking as you struggled to process the words. It didn’t make sense. Dean—your Dean—working with Hell? Pretending to be one of them, playing a part so dangerous that he’d had to disappear, to cut you out of his life completely.

“He didn’t tell me.” Your voice was barely a whisper, but you could feel the fury bubbling up inside you, the betrayal like a poison in your veins. “He didn’t even tell me.”

Sam’s gaze dropped, and you could see the guilt etched into every line of his face. “He thought it would be safer,” he said quietly. “He didn’t want you to get hurt. And… he thought it would be easier if you didn’t know.”

“Easier?” The word slipped out like a snarl, laced with all the anger and heartbreak that had been festering inside you for months. “Easier for who, Sam? For him? For you?” You pushed him away, the paper towel falling from your cut finger as you took a shaky step back. “He just… he left me, Sam. He vanished, and you let me think he didn’t care. You let me believe I wasn’t enough.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and painful, and for a moment, Sam looked as if he’d been struck. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unbearable.

“He thought he was protecting you,” Sam said finally, his voice hoarse. “He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want you to… suffer.”

You laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow sound, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. “Well, congratulations, Sam. Mission accomplished. I didn’t suffer at all, did I?” The tears were hot against your cheeks, and you could feel the anger trembling inside you, ready to explode. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? To wonder every single day why I wasn’t enough to make him stay?”

Sam’s face crumpled, and he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out as if to offer some kind of comfort. But you stepped back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, a barrier between you and the man who had kept this terrible secret.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly, his voice breaking. “I thought… I thought it would be better this way. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You wanted to forgive him, wanted to let go of the anger and the hurt, but the betrayal was too fresh, too raw. You felt as if you’d been ripped open, your heart laid bare, bleeding and vulnerable. And in that moment, you couldn’t see past the pain.

Without another word, you turned and left the kitchen, the half-prepared meal forgotten on the counter, the smell of onions and garlic mingling with the bitterness in the air. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you could forgive Sam. And as for Dean… you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to look at him the same way again.

The abandoned parking lot was desolate, a stretch of cracked asphalt bathed in cold, dim streetlight. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city that felt a world away. You spotted him immediately, standing in the shadows by an old Chevy, hands shoved in his pockets, head bowed as if he were deep in thought. But he knew you were there—you could tell by the way he shifted, just slightly, just enough to let you know he’d been waiting.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. The anger simmered beneath the surface, roiling through every vein, every heartbeat, every breath. But even as you approached, that familiar ache spread through your chest, warring with the fury that had driven you here.

“Dean,” you called, your voice sharper than you’d intended. He looked up, and for a split second, his face was raw, open, vulnerable. Then his expression hardened, that wall you knew too well slipping into place. He was so good at building walls, at hiding behind that tough, sardonic exterior, but you weren’t here to let him hide.

“Figured you’d find me eventually,” he said, the words almost casual, like you were meeting up for a drink rather than tracking him down in the dead of night. His voice was gruff, edged with something unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a flicker of guilt, maybe regret, though he hid it well.

“Eventually?” The word shot out like a bullet. “You were planning on just… waiting until then, huh? Leaving me to keep wondering why I wasn’t enough for you to stay?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. It was a familiar gesture, one that usually made you soften, but tonight it only fueled the fire burning inside you.

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered, his voice low, almost defeated.

“I want you to tell me the truth, Dean!” The words came out louder than you intended, echoing off the empty lot. “I gave you everything I had. Everything. And you just… walked away. Left me without a single word, like I meant nothing to you.”

He winced at that, just a flicker, but you caught it. He could pretend all he wanted, but you knew him too well. You knew the man behind the bravado, the one who felt too deeply, cared too much, even if he would never admit it.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice softer now, the edges smoothed out. But he didn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Then what was it like?” You stepped closer, refusing to let him retreat into his own silence. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you lied to me. Like you decided what was best for me without ever giving me a say. Like you didn’t trust me enough to let me in.”

His mouth opened, then closed, his throat working as if he were struggling to find the right words. “It wasn’t about trust. I was trying to protect you.”

You laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that seemed to hang in the cold night air. “Protect me? By disappearing? By letting me think I didn’t mean anything to you?”

“It was the only way I knew how,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession he’d been holding onto for far too long. He ran a hand over his face, looking exhausted, like he’d been carrying the weight of this lie for so long it had become part of him. “You don’t know what it’s like… the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve lost. I couldn’t let that happen to you, sweetheart. Not you, not when I finally had you.”

“Dean, I would have gone with you,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, the truth of it raw and undeniable. “I would have stayed by your side, no matter what. But you didn’t even give me the chance, you lost me again.”

He shook his head, finally meeting your gaze, and the pain in his eyes was a mirror of your own. “You deserve better than this,” he said, his voice rough, almost angry. “Better than me. Better than this… life you had with me. I’m not worth it, you hear me?”

“Maybe that’s not for you to decide,” you shot back, and the words hung between you, sharp and unyielding. You took another step closer, close enough that you could see the way his hands were clenched at his sides, the tension radiating from him like a physical force. “Maybe I loved it, maybe I wanted us, even if it’s fucking corny!”

The silence stretched between you, thick and charged, neither of you willing to break it. But you couldn’t hold back anymore, couldn’t keep all of it inside. “I gave you everything, Dean,” you said, your voice breaking. “I loved you, and you just… ripped yourself away like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.”

For a moment, he looked shattered, like your words had cut him to the bone. He opened his mouth, as if to argue, to defend himself, but then he stopped, his shoulders sagging as if he were carrying the weight of a thousand regrets.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his hands reaching for you, pulling you in. Before you could react, his lips were on yours, the kiss fierce and desperate, like he was pouring all the things he couldn’t say into that single moment. It was a kiss that spoke of years of missed chances, of words left unspoken, of the love that had always simmered just beneath the surface, too dangerous to name.

You melted into him, your anger and heartbreak mingling with the overwhelming relief of finally, finally being in his arms again. His hands cupped your face, his touch gentle despite the desperation in his kiss, and for a brief, fleeting moment, everything else fell away—the lies, the pain, the betrayal. All that mattered was the way he held you, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you could feel his breath coming in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in sync with your own. His hands stayed on your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had slipped free, his gaze searching yours with a vulnerability that took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words rough and broken. “I’m so damn sorry. I thought… I thought this was the only way to keep you safe.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself, to hold onto the anger that was rapidly crumbling beneath the weight of his touch. “Dean, I didn’t need you to protect me. I just needed you to let me in.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hands falling to his sides as if he’d run out of strength, out of excuses. “I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “But I didn’t know how. I still don’t.”

You reached for him, your fingers finding his, lacing together in a silent promise. “Then let’s figure it out. Together. Please?”

For a moment, he looked at you like you were something he’d never dared to hope for, something he’d believed he could never have. And then he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you as if he were afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear.

The anger and hurt hadn’t vanished; they were still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to be addressed. But for now, in his arms, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward. Because despite everything, despite the lies and the pain, you still loved him. And maybe that was enough.

“Thank you, sweet girl.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, cradling it. “You didn’t give up on me.”

Title: The Devil’s Due

The warehouse was dark, its windows clouded with years of dust and grime. Outside, thunder rolled in the distance, casting a grim tone over the night. You, Dean, and Sam were hidden in the shadows of a forgotten industrial part of town, a place where no one would look twice at a gunshot, let alone the storm that was about to unfold. This was it—the night you’d been planning for months, the moment where every move, every risk would come to a head.

You looked over at Dean, who was busy checking his guns, his expression the usual mixture of casual and focused, a look you knew all too well. Sam, meanwhile, was pacing a little, more serious, his eyes scanning the warehouse perimeter. He was already in mission mode, a study in steely calm. But Dean, as always, looked like he was just here for a good time.

He caught you watching him and gave you one of those infuriatingly cocky grins. “See something you like?”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes but unable to keep the smirk off your face. “You wish.”

Dean’s grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Can’t blame a guy for hoping, can you?”

“You two,” Sam cut in, though you could see the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. “Can you just get this out of your system now?”

“Hey, if you can’t have a little fun before a firefight with the devil himself, what’s the point?” Dean replied, slinging his rifle over his shoulder with that easy, practiced motion that always seemed to come naturally to him.

“Right,” you said, crossing your arms as you looked him up and down. “Big talk for the guy who’s pretty much a magnet for bullet wounds.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about me. Worry about how we’re gonna celebrate after this,” he replied, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse jump. “Once we’re back in one piece, that is.”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll have to save you just to shut you up,” you muttered, but your voice softened, the challenge sparking something undeniable between you. It was the same thing that had been simmering for years, flickering just beneath the surface, always on the verge of tipping over.

Sam rolled his eyes but grinned. “How did I get stuck with the two of you again?”

“Hey, Sammy, you love us. Admit it,” Dean said, flashing his brother a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this done,” Sam muttered, shaking his head, but there was a warmth in his tone, a certain relief in having both of you by his side. No matter what happened tonight, the three of you were in this together, just as you always had been.

The plan was simple but risky—lure Lucifer and his men to the far end of the warehouse, separate them, and take out Lucifer before he had the chance to retaliate. It had taken months to get close enough, months of careful planning and coordination. But tonight, it would finally pay off.

As you moved into position, the silence stretched, tense and expectant. Every sound seemed magnified—the click of your gun, the shuffling of feet, the low hum of anticipation in the air. Then you heard it, footsteps echoing down the hall. Lucifer’s team was moving in.

Dean’s eyes met yours from across the shadowed aisle, his expression shifting into something deadly serious, the playfulness vanishing. You gave him a small nod, your fingers tightening around your weapon. This was it.

The first gunshot rang out like a crack of lightning, splitting the silence. Chaos erupted as bullets tore through the air, and you ducked behind a stack of crates, adrenaline flooding your veins as you fired back. The warehouse became a battleground, the roar of gunfire echoing in every corner, a cacophony of noise and violence.

Through the haze, you caught glimpses of Dean moving with deadly precision, his eyes sharp and focused as he fired round after round, clearing a path toward Lucifer. Sam was on the other side, his gun blazing as he covered Dean’s advance, each movement practiced and coordinated.

You focused on the guards, taking down anyone who got too close, watching Dean and Sam’s backs as they moved in tandem, their unspoken bond honed from years of fighting side by side. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him—the man himself, Lucifer, standing at the far end of the warehouse, his expression smug, almost amused.

“Well, well, well,” Lucifer drawled, his voice carrying over the din of gunfire. “I have to admit, you three put on quite a show.”

Dean leveled his gun at him, his expression hard and unyielding. “This ends tonight, Lucifer.”

Lucifer laughed, the sound chilling in the darkness. “You think you can just waltz in here and take me out? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

Dean’s gaze didn’t waver, his voice steady as steel. “I know exactly who you are. That’s why we’re here.”

Lucifer smirked, lifting his gun, and in that instant, the warehouse seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of them—Dean and Lucifer, predator and prey, locked in a deadly standoff.

“You’re just like your father,” Lucifer sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Always biting off more than you can chew. But look where that got him.”

The mention of John was like a spark to dry tinder, and you saw the flash of fury in Dean’s eyes, the anger that had been smoldering there for so long igniting into something fierce and unstoppable.

“Say one more word,” Dean growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I dare you.”

Lucifer just laughed, his eyes filled with a twisted glee. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hit a nerve?”

And then, with a movement too quick to follow, Lucifer raised his gun. But Dean was faster. His gun fired, the shot echoing like a thunderclap, and Lucifer staggered, a look of shock and disbelief flickering across his face as he crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, everything was still, the silence thick and heavy, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. Lucifer, the man who had haunted your lives, who had torn through families, who had left a trail of destruction in his wake—was dead.

Dean lowered his gun, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his face a mixture of relief and exhaustion. He looked over at you, and for a moment, you just stared at each other, the weight of the victory settling over you like a heavy, bittersweet shroud.

Sam joined you, his expression grim but satisfied. “It’s over,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking between you and Dean.

Dean let out a low, shaky laugh, running a hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s over.”

The three of you stood there, side by side, the warehouse silent around you, and in that moment, you knew that whatever came next, you’d face it together. Because this wasn’t just a victory—it was a promise, a reminder of everything you’d fought for, everything you’d lost, and everything you’d gained.

And as Dean’s hand found yours, squeezing gently, you felt a warmth blossom in your chest, a flicker of hope that, for the first time in a long time, felt like it might be real.

The drive back to Sam’s house was quiet, the kind of silence that settles in after a storm, heavy with both relief and exhaustion. After months of planning and nights wondering if you’d ever see an end to it all, Lucifer was gone. And now, there was nothing left but to go home.

Dean kept his hands steady on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road, but every so often, you’d catch him glancing at Sam in the rearview mirror, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. It had been too long since the three of you had felt something like peace, and even longer since Dean had been back at Sam’s place—back with family.

As you pulled up to Sam’s house, you felt the familiar warmth of the place wash over you. The small, unassuming house had always been a sanctuary, its modest walls hiding years of laughter, arguments, and all the little moments that made it a home. As the three of you walked up the steps, the porch light casting a soft glow over the night, you felt Dean’s hand rest on your shoulder, a small gesture that said everything he hadn’t had the chance to say.

“Feels good to be back,” he murmured, his eyes warm as he looked around.

“You sure?” Sam teased, unlocking the door and pushing it open. “Last time you were here, you nearly started a fire trying to ‘cook dinner.’”

“Hey, that was a one-time thing,” Dean shot back, feigning offense as he walked inside, glancing around at the familiar space. “Besides, you’ve probably missed my cooking by now.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully as you followed Sam in. “If by ‘cooking’ you mean ‘burning toast,’ then sure.”

Dean chuckled, but the sound softened as he took in the sight of the house—photos on the walls, toys scattered across the living room floor, the unmistakable signs of a family at home. And then, as if on cue, a small voice called from down the hall.

“Dad? Is that you?”

Sam’s son, Dean Jr.—little Deano, as his uncle called him—padded into the room, rubbing his eyes sleepily. At the sight of his dad, he broke into a wide grin and ran over, wrapping his arms around Sam’s legs.

“Hey, bud,” Sam said, crouching down to give his son a hug. “Guess who else is here?”

Little Dean turned, his eyes widening as he spotted his uncle. “Uncle Dean!” he cried, running over and throwing himself into his uncle’s arms with a squeal of excitement.

Dean scooped him up, grinning like a kid himself as he lifted the boy high into the air. “Hey, squirt! Look at you, growing like a weed!” He ruffled the kid’s hair, his expression softening as he looked at his nephew. It had been far too long since he’d seen him last, and he seemed to drink in every detail, the pride and affection clear in his eyes.

“Mom says I’m getting big and strong!” Little Dean declared proudly, flexing his arms for emphasis.

“Damn right you are,” Dean replied, his voice warm. “Strong enough to wrestle a bear, I bet.”

The boy’s eyes lit up at the challenge, but before he could answer, a soft, muffled cry drifted from the back room. Little Dean’s attention shifted immediately, his face lighting up as he tugged on Dean’s arm.

“That’s my baby sister!” he said proudly, his voice filled with the excitement only a big brother could muster. “Do you wanna see her?”

Dean hesitated for a split second, but then he nodded, his expression softening even further. “Yeah, kiddo. I’d love to.”

With little Dean leading the way, the three of you moved down the hall, Sam watching with a quiet smile as Dean followed his nephew’s eager footsteps. When you reached the nursery, Sam slipped inside first, motioning for you and Dean to wait just outside. He came back a moment later with his daughter cradled in his arms, her tiny fingers curling around his thumb as she blinked sleepily up at him.

Dean’s breath caught for a moment as he looked at the tiny bundle in Sam’s arms, his expression filled with a mix of awe and something softer, something that lingered in his gaze as he reached out carefully, as if he were afraid he might somehow break the fragile moment.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, his eyes glinting with pride and something unspoken. “Meet my daughter, Emily.”

Dean reached out, his fingers brushing the soft fabric of her blanket as he looked down at her, his eyes misting just slightly. “Emily,” he murmured, his voice rough but tender. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

The baby cooed, her tiny hand reaching up to grab at his finger, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. Dean let out a soft chuckle, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Look at that. Got a grip like a vice already.”

Sam laughed, his voice a mixture of pride and relief as he watched his brother meet his daughter for the first time. “Yeah, she’s a tough one, alright.”

You watched as Dean’s expression softened, the usually hard lines of his face relaxing as he gazed down at his niece. It was a side of him you rarely got to see, a side that was quiet and unguarded, filled with a love that didn’t need words.

As the night wore on, the four of you gathered in the living room, little Dean falling asleep in his dad’s lap while baby Emily dozed in your arms, her tiny breaths soft against your chest. Dean leaned back on the couch, watching the scene with a contented smile, his hand resting on your knee, a silent reminder of his presence.

For a while, you all sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the past few months lifting with each passing moment. It was a peace hard-won, a quiet filled with the warmth of family and the knowledge that, no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

Dean glanced over at you, his eyes warm as he murmured, “Feels like home, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, leaning into his side, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It really does.”

You were finishing up in the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, the last traces of exhaustion finally starting to catch up with you. It had been a long day—a long few months, really—and there was something quietly comforting about the nighttime routine, the familiarity of it all. You wiped your mouth and took one last look in the mirror, trying to convince yourself that sleep was the only thing you needed right now.

Then, you saw him in the reflection, his figure filling the doorway as he leaned against the frame with that easy, self-assured grin. He walked over slowly, slipping behind you, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror.

Dean’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you back gently, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss just beneath your ear. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. “Been waiting all night to get you in bed.”

You smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror, raising a brow as you tried to keep your voice steady. “I’m just finishing up.”

He chuckled softly, his hands slipping up to cup your chin as he tilted your face slightly, giving him better access to your neck. He pressed another kiss, slow and deliberate, trailing along the sensitive skin just below your jawline. “You know,” he murmured, his words a little teasing but softened by the warmth in his voice, “I could be more patient if you didn’t look so damn tempting every time I look at you.”

You rolled your eyes, but a shiver ran through you as his hands slid down, his fingers brushing along your waist, grounding and gentle. “Always so smooth, aren’t you?”

He grinned against your skin, letting out a soft, breathy laugh. “I try.”

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your middle as his lips continued their slow, steady path along your neck, every kiss sending a wave of warmth through you that melted away the last remnants of your exhaustion. There was something about the way he touched you—intentional, unhurried—that made you feel as though the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, shared moment.

You turned slightly, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Alright, you win.”

Dean’s grin widened, his fingers tracing a slow line down your arm as he led you from the bathroom, his movements gentle but sure. He kicked the door shut behind him, the room bathed in a warm, dim light that made everything feel softer, more intimate. As he pulled you toward the bed, his hands slid up to frame your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Been a long time since I got to just… be with you,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the playfulness softened by a warmth that made your heart beat a little faster.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was soft and slow, his hands moving to slide over your shoulders, grounding you, anchoring you to him. You melted into his touch, feeling the last bits of tension slip away as his hands traveled along your back, his touch reverent, as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

The world seemed to fade away, replaced only by the warmth of his skin, the quiet, gentle weight of his touch, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

You felt yourself get lost in Dean’s kiss, the world around you fading into a soft haze. The way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours, was intoxicating. There was no urgency, just a simmering heat that built between you, and it sent shivers down your spine. You melted against him, every worry, every fear, every bit of stress from the past few months evaporating into the air, leaving only this moment, this feeling.

As you pulled away slightly, you looked up into his eyes, the warmth and intensity there making your breath hitch in your throat. Dean’s gaze held a mix of affection and longing that made your heart race. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver through you.

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling softly. “Just... you.”

“Just me?” he asked, feigning hurt as he stepped back slightly, giving you a dramatic pout. “I thought I was more than just ‘you.’”

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said, closing the distance again, his fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you closer. “But I like hearing you say it.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you decided to change the subject. “So, what’s the plan? You just going to keep kissing me all night?”

“I mean, if that’s what you want,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, maybe I’ll allow it, but you’ll have to earn it.”

“Earn it?” he echoed, feigning incredulity as he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do I look like, a dog doing tricks?”

“More like a flirt trying to charm his way into bed,” you shot back with a smirk, stepping closer again, forcing him to drop his bravado.

Dean chuckled, his posture relaxing as he closed the space between you once more. “Alright, fine. What do I have to do to earn it?”

“First, you could start by taking off that stupid jacket,” you said, glancing pointedly at the leather that had become a staple of his wardrobe. “You wear it everywhere.”

He laughed, clearly enjoying the banter, and shrugged it off dramatically, tossing it onto the chair in the corner. “Done. What’s next?”

“Next, you can help me out of this,” you said, gesturing to your oversized T-shirt that had been your go-to for comfort.

“Now that’s something I can get behind,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You want me to help, or do you want me to just rip it off?”

“Whoa there, caveman,” you teased, rolling your eyes again. “Let’s keep it civil for now. Just help me with it.”

“Fine, fine,” he relented, stepping closer again, his hands gently tugging at the hem of your shirt as he lifted it over your head, exposing the soft fabric of your tank top underneath. He paused for a moment, just looking at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, warmth blooming in your chest as you met his gaze. “Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a little shy under his scrutiny.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said, pulling his own shirt over his head, revealing the familiar contours of his muscular frame. You took a moment to appreciate the sight, the way the soft light of the room accentuated the curves and lines of his body, the way he held himself with such confidence.

He grinned at you, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“Just... wow,” you admitted, shaking your head slightly as you tried to regain your composure. “You really need to stop being so distracting.”

“Me? Distracting?” he asked, pretending to be innocent as he stepped closer again, his hands moving to your waist once more. “I think you’re the one causing all the trouble here.”

“Yeah, right,” you said, leaning into him, letting your body press against his, feeling the heat radiate off him. “I’m not the one who started this.”

“Touché,” he replied, leaning down to capture your lips in another slow, lingering kiss, this one more intense, the heat rising between you like a living thing. His hands found their way to your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you were lost in him again. His hand ran through your hair, gently unbuttoning your jeans and tugging them down, lips descending to the arch of your throat.

You couldn’t help but moan, your nails raking down his arm, right as his fingers pushed your panties aside and pushed slowly into your pussy, biting his lip and groaning at how tight you were. “Haven’t had anyone but me, baby? Good girl.”

Oh, you weren’t getting out of that bed anytime soon.

TAGLIST:

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19 @deanbrainrotwritings

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@k-slla @muhahaha303 @suckitands33

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

@katherineeekai @freefallthoughts @angzls @deans-baby-momma @syrma-sensei

@cheynovak

[letterstoanoldfriend]

Cooking with Cat is, secretly, Jean’s favorite part of the day. He would never admit that out loud to anyone, not even under threat of horrifying punishment, a practice with which he was all too familiar. He is not very good at it, still, but Cat shimmies past him tonight as he is carefully slicing a bell pepper and whistles.

“Those are looking good, Jean! Look at you, knowing which knife to use and using it so well, it’s almost like you’re a real boy,” and she hip bumps him as she continues on her way to the fridge. Jean looks down at his pepper slices. They are uneven in some places, and there are seeds everywhere, and he moves so slowly compared to her fast chopping on the other side of the counter that he sometimes feels as if he’s hurting more than he’s helping, but he feels a sweet tendril of something warm curling up under his ribs at her words, and he feels very much like he might want to smile, if that was something his face was more accustomed to doing. He reaches for the onion, instead.

They work well together in the kitchen, Cat dancing around to the music pouring out of her boombox, chattering away about some of the latest drama with the other Trojans. Jean listens with half an ear, but he mostly lets the sensations wash over him—the sharp smell of spice from the chicken, the dull sound of his knife hitting the cutting board, the warm heat from Cat’s back as she stands at the stove. There is something about being in the space, something about preparing a meal, something about Cat and her music that centers him. He is not hunted, here. He feels safe. He steps up next to Cat, putting the ingredients for their sauce into a battered blender that lives to the right of the stove. She smiles at him as she stirs the chicken into the peppers and onions, asks him how he’s feeling about classes starting soon. He frowns.

“I do not care. Classes are a necessary evil to allow for playing that are ultimately a waste of my time and yours.”

Cat snorts. “You know what I love about you, Jean? You’re just always so goddamn cheerful.”

“It is true,” he argues, “I do not need to know the things in these classes. All I must know is how to play. How to win.”

Cat shrugs. She gestures for Jean to blend the sauce while she grabs plates. He does. When the sound dies down, she takes it from him and shows him how to pour it over the chicken and the veggies on the stove, talks him through how it thickens up over the heat, holds plates while he scoops out portions of rice and ladles the stir fry on top. As she sets the last plate on the counter and switches off the boombox, she points to the meal they made together and says, “there can be more to you than Exy, Jean. If you let there be.”

[fuumiku]

Day 2 : Role Swap

Ok I have thoughts for this one bear with me. He’s a mage with a half-foot guild still but his activism is especially targeted towards half-foot mages specifically since they’re rare and so looked down upon (and the two are correlated).

Marcille scouts out places all Tomb Raiser style for lost treasures and knowledge, keeps maps and written info etc in her book. She’s still much of a scholar but more in an archeologist sense, she wants to discover the truth of dungeons and see if it could revolutionize the world. She’s a buildings and engineering nerd instead of magic nerd. She hypes herself up as a passionate cool rogue adventurer like in books✨ Chil thinks it’s a silly and unstable profession. All her um, grace and agility when doing headstands and dancing are coming through with this new role of hers.

Chil does need to borrow mana and so they hold hands a lot. I am so taking advantage of the mana transfer thing. "I’m out of mana, you’re an elf and you never use magic, give some to me! You have so much, don’t be selfish!!" -inparty fight breaks out as he chases after her and she runs away- I imagine that’s just kinda how he and half-foot mages roll? Dunmeshi-typical worldbuilding monologue that explains how "Most people don’t even use their mana, they don’t even learn magic. If you give me your mana I’ll be able to do more magic, win-win, no harm done." I imagine you have to be magic-savvy to be able to transfer mana to someone but it’s fine he can just steal it methinks 🌟 So he gets to be the one who’s very casual about physical touch. He does NOT want to be a healer it stresses him out but ah shit there Falin goes.

More AU details under cut

You’ve heard of onion knight now get ready for onion mage Y’know the saddest part of mage Chilchuck is that he wouldn’t use explosion spells

You know how Marcille uses her staff to grab people by the neck or head sometimes… Chilchuck would have a free choking stick he can use to make people listen to him. He can REACH THEIR NECKS. It doubles as a walking stick for his old man back… /j And a weapon, sort of. I think staff more than lance, but long weapons like that suit him I think. Holding the monster at bay with a 4 feet long stick like "Stay BACK!! Go for my party members shoo shoo!!!!"

From my observations, staffs for magic all have a ‘hole’ at one end, oh size, shape, material and form varying. For example both Marcille and Rin have a similar hoop, but Falin’s is a lantern which imo the metal frame of it and the glass form this hole I’m speaking of. Maybe it’s like, the staff condenses the magic inside the hole and helps channel it and give it form? What I’m saying here is I didn’t decide what it was made out of but I like to think it’s carved wood so it can be homemade but unique to him.

Marcille and Chil both fight in battles, but he stays where it’s safer and does long distance spells only. Marcile uses daggers probably… But yeah her role’s more being a scout rather than a fighter, while Chil’s role is being a magical fighter and his expertise on magical creatures and such.

I think he’d be self-taught, where it’s his own magic system… I think he likes theory more than vibes and working at the whims of creatures, so maybe elven with an half-foot script? He doesn’t seem like the type to get buddy-buddy with spirits much A bit like his cowl it’s like he always has a part of home with him a bit with his half-foot magic… He’d have sucked at the beginning, it’s pretty experimental magic, but he made it work and tbh he’s a Big Deal for it. Learning on the field ofc ofc he’s no honor student

I think the racial prejudices tension would be worse, because he’d be nervous of the whole ‘half-foots who get too curious about dark magic get taken away’, and I think as a half-elf who doesn’t do magic it might be uncomfortable for her to deal with how the half-foot is better at it than her and how her mana would have had better use with him instead of her? Idk brainstorming. I def think she’d habe more of a complex about being a half-elf… Still with existential dread and still Hopes to find a cure to death, but she goes about it through artefacts etc rather than magic. I’m unsure how her career would turn out that wqy exactly because job stability and academia are important to her, but yeah I think she went to school on an agricultural and history level and focused her research on that front? And then she could become that adventurer scholar who explores to pierce secrets of the world and ancient civilizations trope yeah I think that’s the angle.

Maybe his plans for the future after quitting being a dungeon diver would be teacher/mentor instead of shopkeeper 🤔 One one hand oh god have mercy on his blood pressure, on the other he likes contributing to his community and would want to encourage half-foot mages and pass down his knowledge and expertise I think. Empty nest syndrome where…- OHHH mage Meijack……. I was thinking becayse Meijack followed in his footsteps in canon but it could suit Puckpatti and Flertom too… Their dad would have shown them some magic tricks hehe. They can be a magical girl trio in my heart, Powerpuff Girls energy…

A rogue has gotta be able to make intricate af braids and updos with their fingers (ignore how in canon Chil is just barely decent at them nvm). I was thinking maybe one of Marcille’s lockpicks is Ambrosia-shaped… Or maybe it’s an hairpin. Maybe she keeps her lockpicks as pins in her hair but they’re easy to grab… Getting more gimmicky by the second but my heart yearns for it I cannot lie. I ended up doing something close to canon for Marcille’s outfits but at first I imagined she’d wear stuff more akin elven fashion, short dress with pants, light material, though also with a leather armor breastblate. She has long gloves like the ones that look fancy, maybe even up her upper arm rather than just forearm ooh… Also her little pouch, which actually contains stuff this time around (lockpicks). They still have matching pouches yay

In that last doodle Chilchuck weaved her a little familiar with twigs… So it is magical but it’s hers, and it’s a second stand-in for Ambrosia. Maybe a golem… It’s very silly and prob not real in the au but the thought of it is really cute. Someone on the discord said Fantastical Beasts Pickett which yesss lmao, it’s like a pokemon for "(lock)pick it!" I love arts and crafts Chilchuck so much. Sew clothes. Weave twigs. Woodcarve. Necromance a frankenstein. He can make himself a new wife (/J I AM SO /J)

— Also for Izutsumi: I think the reverse of a ninja is a bard. Take that as you will. Angry bard who grew up in a troupe……

[corrodedcoughin]

They’ve been seeing each other for just under a year when Steve points out that they’ve never actually made a meal together. He doesn’t think mucb of it, just a passing comment but Eddie sees it as a ‘couple activity’ and declares that It Must Be Done. And what better reason than to celebrate Wayne’s upcoming birthday?

Now the meal they plan is one of Wayne’s favourites, hearty chilli that takes hours of low heat simmering and ingredient preparation. The pair of them head out to get the groceries the weekend of Wayne’s birthday and start cooking as soon as they get home, hoping to be finished before Wayne’s shift ends. Eddie has dug out an old scrap of paper with a recipe neatly writing along the fading lines detailing the step by step instructions. It’s covered in various stains, the writing has run in places, the condition of the paper is a testament to the love this meal has in the munson household and it makes Steve smile to see something so care-worn.

Side by side they start on the vegetables, Eddie wearing goggles to protect himself from onion attack as he calls it and Steve with sunglasses at Eddie’s insistence ‘Steve this guy is going to be firing stray tear bullets and I won’t let you be a casualty’. The pair of them looking a sight for sore eyes. Fully kitted up in ‘Protective Gear’ Eddie is chopping the onion, letting out little screams of pain and terror as he sentences the vegetable to its frying pan death, acting as executioner. Honestly he’s having a great time role playing as an onion.

In between his tiny screams he hears Steve’s own mutterings timed with his own cutting motions. A notable and iconic ‘vooooosh, vooosh’ clear lightsaber sound effects as he decapitates a chilli pepper, clearly lost in his own little world. Eddie can’t help himself, or more accurately, doesn’t even think it through. He drops his knife and turns to Steve, grabs him by the face and solemnly states ‘I love you’. They haven’t said it before, both thinking it of each other but too jumbled up in their own thoughts to say it out loud, not wanting to shatter what they have.

There’s no hesitation now as Steve lets a slow smile spread across his face and leans into Eddie. ‘I know. I mean….I love you too, sorry tried to do the Han and Leia Thing and uhh I just… I love you’ Eddie leans in to kiss him, intends to keep kissing him goggles be damned but feels a wetness on his finger tips where he’s holding Steve’s face.

Pulling back, he begins to say ‘hey, you okay? Sorry to spring this on you, I-‘

The sentence isn’t finished before Steve is ripping off his sunglasses. ‘Dude. The onions. FUCK they’re strong. Oh my god. Shit shit shit!’ Eyes streaming and furiously rubbing at them. Then? Screaming as the chilli sets in.

Wayne comes home that night to find a chilli half way through being cooked and two very happy boys. ‘Sorry it isn’t ready yet, had bit of a delay.’ Eddie reports from his place on the couch, goggles pushing his hair back and feet on Steve’s lap. Wayne glances over to steve who is sitting back with a wet cloth over his eyes and held in place by sunglasses. Wayne would ask questions but he knows better than that by now. Instead he just takes his jacket off, grabs a beer and waits for his chilli with his family, sometimes ignorance is bliss.

[whorefortheevans]

Not His Type - Jimmy Darling x Fem!Reader (18+)

I genuinely can't tell if this is good or not lmfao, I haven't written smut in literal yearsss and I've never written for ahs please help me.

CW: fingering, oral (fem receiving), public sex, slight praise at the end word count: 1316

"I'm telling you, Ethel, I'm definitely not his type," you explained, for what felt like the millionth time, to Jimmy's sweet mother. She and you have become increasingly close over the time that you've been working at the freakshow. Two years ago, you came looking for a job, just something small to make at least a little money. Elsa turned you down at first, because you were nothing short of normal, but after offering (begging) to help Ethel with the cooking, she finally gave in.

"How do you know what his type is? You've never asked 'im," she responded, continuing to chop the vegetables you both were preparing for the night's dinner. You scoffed, rolling your eyes and sliding the diced onion into a large pot.

"He likes Maggie. And what's not to like? She's blonde, thin, pretty face..."

Ethel glanced up with a small smirk creeping onto her lips. "Listen, Y/n, I've known Jimmy my whole life and I'm telling you, he's liked you for a while now."

Jimmy was the first guy you had shown any interest in. Most of them are crude and only want one thing, but he was the first man to ask for your name, take your hand and gently kiss your knuckles as an introduction. Well, needless to say he's had you since day one.

"Nope," you denied. "I am not his type, not even close."

"Not who's type?" Jimmy asked, striding into the tent. He had a playful smile on his face, and you turned away from him immediately, praying that the blush on your face wasn't as apparent as it felt.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," you said quietly. "Just boring girl talk."

Ethel put her knife down on the table and turned to you. "Oh, you know what? I forgot to grab a carrot, I'll go find one, don't wait up!" she said, half yelling as she quickly walked out of the tent, leaving you and Jimmy alone.

You suppressed a grin and rolled your eyes, standing in front of the table and starting to cube a potato. You saw Jimmy move towards you out of the corner of your eye and felt your heart flutter. It's stupid for him to have this hold over you.

"Hi, Y/n," Jimmy said in a sing-song voice.

You smiled and looked up at him. "Hi, Jimmy."

"Who's the lucky guy?" he asked.

"What lucky guy? The one who doesn't like me back?" He grinned and shortly nodded. "It doesn't matter. I have no chance." you said, looking back at the medley on the table.

Jimmy came closer to you, now standing just mere inches away, his body heat making you impossibly warmer. "Put the knife down, Y/n."

You placed the knife onto the cutting board and pushed it away from the table's edge. You turned to Jimmy, who took your wrists in his hands and smiled at you. "Who's the lucky guy?"

He leaned his head towards yours, nudging your cheek with his nose. You gasped, trying to control your breath and slow your heartbeat, but you knew it was no use. "Um, it's you, Jimmy," you said, awkward and quiet. You felt him smile against your skin.

"And who says you're not my type?" he said, clearly amused, but your sense of embarrassment dwindled quite quickly. You didn't answer him. Your words were caught in your throat and his proximity was making you very nervous.

He didn't press the issue further, and instead kissed your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, and after a small pause to look into your eyes, he smiled again and placed his lips on yours.

His hands grasped your waist, and you placed yours on his shoulders for stability. He gently bit your bottom lip, eliciting a moan from you, and he continued to kiss his way down your jaw to your neck, biting and licking until he found the spot that made you moan yet again.

He sucked on the skin just below your ear, and you threw your head back to give him space. He walked you back a few steps, until your lower back hit the table behind you. Jimmy pulled away and lifted you up, sitting you down on the cleared space of the table. Now standing between your legs, he reached his hands under your shirt and pulled it off.

His left hand massaged your breast, hardening your nipple and sending chills down your spine. His right hand moved further down, rubbing soft circles over your clothed clit. You moaned and pulled your head away from him.

"Is this okay?" he asked you.

"Your mom will be back soon," you said, although you didn't want him to stop.

"We'd better make this quick then, lift your hips." he said, as he quickly pulled down your pants and underwear in one go.

"Jimmy! The food is right here!" you exclaimed, your heart pounding steadily.

He laughed and kissed down your body, positioning himself on his knees right in front of your dripping pussy. "The heat will cook off anything bad, don't worry." He ran his fingers through your wetness and stuck them in his mouth. "You taste delicious," he said, kissing your thighs, inching closer to where you most want him.

"Jimmy, please," you whimpered, wriggling your hips to try and find some sort of friction.

"Please, what?" he teased, looking up at you.

You groaned in embarrassment, "Please touch me, lick me...anything."

He smiled up at you and lightly kissed your clit, sticking his tongue out and flattening it against you. You gripped the edge of the table and let your head fall back in pleasure.

He kitten licked your clit before briefly pausing, and running his tongue from the base of your pussy back up to your clit, sucking it and kissing it in a way you've never felt before.

You let out a series of moans, trying to keep them quiet in case anyone was near enough to hear. You moved your hand into his hair and pulled on it, causing him to moan and send vibrations through your core. You leaned back on your left hand, hoping it would be enough to support you through this.

Jimmy took his right hand from where it rested on your thigh and plunged his middle two fingers into your hole, pushing them as far in as possible before withdrawing them. He began to pump them, slowly at first, and as your moans got louder his hand went faster.

You could feel your arousal dripping out of you, running down to your asshole and collecting on Jimmy's chin. It wasn't long before you were a wriggling mess. You could feel your pelvic muscles tightening and your walls started to clench around his fingers. "Jimmy, I-I'm gonna...cum," you moaned out.

Jimmy took his mouth away from you and pumped faster, if that was even possible. He took his left hand and rubbed hard, fast circles on your clit and looked up at you, your mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. "Cum for me, Y/n. Cum on my fingers like a good girl,"

That was all you needed before he sent you over the edge. You bit your knuckles, trying to keep quiet but your moans still sounded loud in your ears. You clenched tightly around Jimmy and squeezed your legs together as the pressure inside you was released.

Jimmy took his fingers out but rubbed your clit through your orgasm before helping you put your pants back on. He stood up, wiped his mouth on his arm and smiled at you. "Who says you're not my type?" he grinned, backing away from you as Ethel came back in, holding up two carrots.

"Found 'em," she said, before setting them down on the opposite side of the table and sending you a playful smirk.