#grab half an onion instead

[eudico-my-beloved]

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

[wileys-russo]

(real)ly invested II a.putellas

"mi amor? estoy en casa!" you heard the footballer call out, letting herself in and leaving her shoes at the door, bag left on the entrance way table as always for her to repack later on.

"kitchen!" you called back, the girl zooming in to steal a kiss before mumbling something about the bathroom and taking off again as you chuckled, cheek tingling where her lips had been.

"oh no, that is not okay. don't let her talk to you like that!" you scoffed with a shake of your head, the pan sizzling as you dropped the onions in, one eye on your phone and the other flickering to the stove as you gently tossed the vegetables through the butter.

"are you talking on the phone?" alexia asked with a confused frown as she returned, a pinch delivered to her hip as she flicked water droplets at you from where she'd washed and clearly not properly dried her hands.

"no, catching up." you nodded down to your phone nestled up against an empty jar of tomato paste, an episode of the real housewives of beverly hils playing as your girlfriend groaned.

"no esto otra vez!" alexia sighed, hissing as you quickly rapped her knuckles with the wooden spoon in your hand where she tried to sneak a piece of the steak which was chopped and resting.

"can you not wait four minutes until its done putellas?" you stared her down as she scowled at you like a grumpy child, mocking you under her breath in spanish and pulling a face.

"out of my kitchen!" you ordered with a pointed finger, the midfielder saluting sarcastically, leaning down to plant a proper kiss on your lips before grabbing a handful of cutlery to set the table.

"mi amor this is a long wait." though she was back before it had even been sixty seconds, chin tucked into your shoulder and strong tanned muscular arms wrapping around your torso.

but preoccupied with your show you only hummed, the feather light kisses on your neck not even enough to pull you away as you gasped under your breath and tutted at yet another argument breaking out.

with an offended scoff that her affections weren't being returned alexia gave up, retreating to the living room like a kicked puppy and busying herself doom scrolling instagram on her phone until you called out it was done.

"no! no phone at the table. your rule, no?" alexia was quick to snatch your own phone out of your hand, tossing it gently onto the sofa behind her though not before turning it off as the argument was cut off mid sentence.

"i do not know how you watch that uh, how you say? white trash?" alexia responded with a confused frown making you laugh. "it is entertaining amor, rich women have stupid problems and get very angry about them." you smiled, both of you falling into conversation about your days as you ate.

"you cook, i clean." alexia gently swatted your hand away where you tried to clear the table, stacking your plates and cutlery and sweetly pecking your lips before carrying them off to the sink.

"empieza el fútbol!" the catalan called out in warning as you sank into the sofa and clicked on the television, groaning loudly making your girlfriend smile with amusement, clicking out of the streaming service you'd intended to continue your reality binge on and onto DAZN instead.

"oye! you do not want to watch with me?" the blonde called after you as you stood and started toward the bedroom, drying her hands on a dish towel and looking genuinely offended as your lips quirked into a smile.

"baby my show-" "you would choose las demás mujeres over spending time with me?"

at the jut of her hips and raised eyebrow daring you to agree your smile grew and you shook your head, turning on heel and heading back to the living room.

"one half, then i want to see if this argument with las demás mujeres ends in a fist fight." you grinned, getting comfortable and opening your arms expectantly as sure enough the taller girl flopped down on top of you.

"ese programa es horrible." alexia muttered, grabbing your hand and moving it toward her hair expectantly as you chuckled. "it is not! less boring than all your documentaries." you mumbled as her head popped up with a frown.

"you said you liked them!" "ale, mi amor i fall asleep every time we watch one." "so you lied?"

"no i did not lie! i like them because they keep you quiet and entertained and i get to take a nap." you smiled cheekily, squealing as your girlfriends fingers dug into your sides and you shoved at her.

"don't! or i will go and watch my show alexia i mean it." you warned, extremely ticklish which the blonde loved to take advantage of but you weren't in the mood and she sensed that, an apology pressed to your lips before her attention focused onto the pregame discussions.

your attention however wandered, one arm free you pulled your phone from your pocket, scrolling through your social medias as alexia yelled and grunted at the tv like the players could hear her which was always amusing.

"qué haces?" alexia asked as you you sharply inhaled, eyes locked onto your phone. "research." you hummed, on a deep dive through a reddit blog about one of the housewives and her husband who was being criminally investigated for embezzling.

"i thought you had finished your paper?" alexia frowned sitting up a little making you snicker. "no baby, research about my show." you explained as alexia exhaled and rolled her eyes, grumbling something and getting comfortable again.

"vale! what are you reading?" alexia huffed as you gasped quietly to yourself for the third time in five minutes, the game going into extra time now.

"i told you! resea-" "sé que. what is it?" "well this woman-" you paused to angle your phone downward. "-her husband owns a restaurant and it is being investigated for fraud and embezzlement!" you began to explain as alexia hummed, her gaze drifting back to the television every now and then.

"but then this woman-" you swiped across to a new photo. "-started a rumour between all of her friends that this other womans husband is actually having an affair with-" you paused to swipe again.

"-this woman, who is actually his business partner and this womans ex! when she dated women for a week and told everyone she was a lesbian and-" you continued on your ramblings, a loud snore snapping you out of them as you fell silent.

"no no cariño lo siento i was teasing!" alexia laughed as you pushed her off of you, yanking her hands off which tried to tug you back down by the hem of your shirt.

"well i said one half. so i am going to watch my boring show and you can watch your stupid football!" you huffed, stomping off to the bedroom and ignoring your girlfriends calls after you.

you'd just gotten settled and comfortable, about ten or so minutes into the episode you'd had to pause over dinner when she appeared in the doorway, leaning against its frame as her hazel eyes roamed over you.

"go away alexia." you warned not even bothering to look at her, crossing your arms and staying fixated on the tv. "tan mala conmigo." the older girl tutted, grinning wolfishly as you shot her a very unimpressed glare at the accusation.

"go watch your stupid ball game tonta." you shooed a hand at her, wiggling your fingers in a goodbye but still she made no move to leave, instead stepping forward into the room.

"alexia!" you sighed impatiently as she lifted the covers and slid into bed beside you, nudging you across as she jostled about to get herself comfortable.

"esta mujer, she sells the furs no?" alexia pointed to one of the blondes on screen as you gave her an odd look but nodded. "buena, and she is always fighting with esa mujer who says she is a vegan, but she still eats the fancy cheeses and salamis, sí?" alexia recounted, one arm moving to slip around your shoulders and draw you closer.

"y esta mujer, she has the kids who nobody likes the ones that cry and scream for la niñera because they like her more than their mami." alexia pointed to another woman as your eyebrows furrowed together in shock.

"how do you know all of this?" you sat up and looked down at her incredulously, her free hand cupping the back of your neck. "you watch this show all the time princesa. you talk to your friends on el teléfono about it, you talk to yourself about it, you are uh, very passionate. i listen." alexia smiled in amusement, leaning up to press her lips sweetly to yours.

"you like the show! you follow all the drama, you always stand behind me and pretend to be doing something on your phone or you complain, but you watch as you tease me. you like it!" you gasped, pushing her down and moving to almost sit on top of her.

"i did not say that!" alexia scoffed though you could see right through it now, your grin consuming your whole face with delight. "you do! say you like it." you egged her on, hands cupping her cheeks as once again her eyes rolled though the very corner of her lips twinged.

"if you love me putellas, admit you like it." you quirked an eyebrow as the footballer let out a deep and dramatic sigh. "it is not terrible." alexia admitted begrudingly as you clapped happily, rolling off of her and back into bed as the midfielder who'd been leaning up for a kiss frowned.

"fantastic! there is still twelve whole seasons we can enjoy baby, together!" "twelve!?"

[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.”

[izvmimi]

cw: platonic!sanji x reader, luffy x reader. fluff. food mentioned.

“Sanji, can I ask you a silly question?’

Sanji’s hands a flurry of motion - it’s an entire spectacle and a half to watch him cook, even when he’s not meant to have an audience. And you’re not an audience still, rather you’re just an aide and also have your own separate task, mixing a concoction of a homemade electrolyte solution that you’ll ensure the more banged up members of the crew will drink - namely Luffy and Zoro given your most recent escapades - in addition to Sanji’s heavenly cooking.

He does hear you over the sizzle of onions and garlic, even if he doesn’t do more than shoot you a glance, the very end of a cigarette between his lips.

“Shoot,” he offers, with a flip of the pan. His other hand is now in his pocket, and it almost upsets you that he manages to look cool while making a hearty porridge. Everything about him is cool.

All the Straw Hat Pirates are cool perhaps, even if you might be the newest and least so.

Your eyes focus on the browning food in the pan before you look towards Sanji, your cheeks warming a moment as you consider what you’re about to say. You hope he doesn’t misunderstand, but it’s something that’s crossed your mind since a month after you joined the group.

Sanji doesn’t flirt with you anymore.

He’s gentlemanly, he’s polite, he is just as gracious to you as he is with Robin and Nami, but the kindness he affords you is not romantic in the same way, and it’s occurred to you more than once, that even if things may have been different within the first couple of weeks of you joining the Thousand Sunny, he would have absolutely accepted any if not all of your romantic attention, you’re almost certain that if you tried to flirt with him now, it would have the sexual appeal of an elderly woman calling her grandson a handsome young man.

“Am I…” you pause, and this gets Sanji to look in your direction with a polite interest. His eyebrows raise, and you’re sheepish even saying it out loud, but you push through anyway.

“Unattractive?”

Sanji freezes for a moment, turns about face, and practically does a spit-take in his laughter. Then looking back at you, realizing you’re not joking at all, but rather have turned stiff with a stony downcast expression.

“Oh shit, you’re serious.”

Your face nearly burns as hot as the stovetop.

“You know what, fucking forget it.” You turn to storm off, but Sanji calls after you.

“What on earth would make you think that?” he asks.

There’s no way to explain to a notorious skirt-chaser that his diminished interest in chasing your particular skirt concerns you, particularly when you are neither craving of this particular attention really, nor interested in him in that way. But rather, you wonder if it portends some … suboptimal quality in you, something that makes it such that the true object of your affections will similarly lose interest… if they develop any in the first place.

You wonder if you should bother responding at all, but insist on ignoring your misgivings. The power of this crew is its ability to trust, whether the issue is big or small.

“Okay, well you treat me differently from Robin and Nami.”

Sanji pauses for a moment and blinks. His head tilts for a moment, and you find yourself looking away, gritting your teeth. How embarrassing.

“Well, you are different.” Sanji replies simply.

Lead sinks into your belly. You shouldn’t have asked.

“Right.”

Your throat suddenly dry, you go ahead and grab your pitcher of electrolyte solution and pour out glasses for the crew, considering that maybe you should down it instead.

It’s the equivalent of making a pass at him, but that’s not it, is it?

Sanji somehow manages to pick up on it too.

“Maybe you aren’t that different from them, a flower of your own unique sort just like Nami and Robin-”

“You don’t have to-”

Sanji laughs.

“Well, Luffy thinks that you’re different.”

You pause for a moment, then pivot. 

“So Luffy is the one who’s convinced you I’m not worth flirting with?” It’s meant as a joke but Sanji stuns you with his next words.

“No, rather, I suspect Luffy wants you all to himself.”

To that, your heart skips a beat, and Sanji clearly catches it, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“He won’t say it, probably hasn’t realized it yet, but I can tell. And of course, realistically it doesn’t stop me from appreciating you.” The statement is accented with a chuckle. “But I’m just trying to be considerate.”

Your mouth opens then closes, then you quickly change the subject.

“The food’s burning.”

Sanji doesn’t even turn to look.

“Fat chance.”

Sanji doesn’t mess up meals. You stick your tongue out at him instead, gather up your pitcher and leave the room, and he starts to whistle, as he finishes the rest of the meal and you contend with your own confusing feelings.

[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

[digitaldaydreamm]

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

warnings: none :)

requested by: @thoughtdaughter0 <3

a/n: absolutely loveee rafe making himself at home at reader's place, it's just so "boyfriend" of him... wink wink ;)

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The scent of something faintly burnt hits you the second you step through the door, and you don’t even flinch. You already know what—or rather, who—you’re about to find.

Sure enough, Rafe is in your kitchen.

He’s standing at the stove, sleeves pushed up, a spatula in one hand and an unimpressed look on his face as he stares down at the pan in front of him. There’s a mess of ingredients scattered across the counter—half a chopped onion, an open bag of shredded cheese, and a carton of eggs suspiciously close to tipping over.

You drop your bag onto the couch, crossing your arms as you watch him. “Should I be worried?”

Rafe glances over his shoulder, like he’s just now noticing you walked in. “You’re late.”

You blink. “I didn’t know I was on a schedule.”

He huffs, turning back to whatever he’s attempting to cook. “I told you I was making dinner.”

You step closer, peering over his shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

Rafe shoots you a look, but before he can defend himself, a sudden sizzle from the pan makes him flinch. He mutters a curse, reaching for a spatula, but whatever he’s making already looks beyond saving.

You sigh, moving to grab the pan handle. “Move.”

Rafe doesn’t budge. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Move.” You nudge him with your hip.

Rafe smirks but steps aside, arms crossing as he watches you take over. “Just so we’re clear, I had it under control.”

You give him a flat look before grabbing the seasoning he clearly forgot to use. “Right. Totally.”

He doesn’t argue, just leans against the counter and watches as you fix the mess he made. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of him behind you, close enough that when he reaches over you to grab a piece of cheese, his arm brushes against yours.

You swat his hand away without looking. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” He grins, doing it again.

You elbow him lightly. “Rafe.”

“Kid.”

You sigh dramatically, focusing back on the food. “You know, just because I gave you a key when we were kids doesn’t mean you can just show up and destroy my kitchen.”

“You gave me that key because you wanted me here.”

You pause for half a second before shaking your head. “I was being nice.”

“You were obsessed with me.”

You roll your eyes, plating the food and handing it to him. “Here. Try it. Learn something.”

Rafe takes a bite without hesitation, and after a moment, he nods approvingly. “Yeah. This is way better than mine.”

“Shocking.”

Rafe nudges you with his elbow, and you nudge him back without thinking.

And as the night settles into quiet conversation and the occasional bickering over who’s doing the dishes, you realize—having Rafe here doesn’t feel like an intrusion.

The kitchen is still a mess, but at least the food is done. You lean against the counter, finishing the last bite of your taco while Rafe lazily chews his, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who nearly burned the place down.

“You’re on dish duty, by the way,” you announce, wiping your hands on a napkin.

Rafe raises a brow. “What?”

“You made the mess, so you clean it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he leans back against the counter. “I cooked.”

“You tried to cook,” you correct. “I did all the work.”

Rafe hums like he’s actually considering it, but then, instead of answering, he grabs another taco and takes a slow, obnoxious bite, holding eye contact the entire time.

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not going to work on me.”

“What’s not?” he asks, mouth full.

“You thinking you can just sit there and do nothing while I clean up after you.”

Rafe smirks. “But you love cleaning up after me.”

You grab a dish towel and throw it at his face.

He catches it with ease, laughing as he tosses it onto the counter. “Alright, alright. Relax, kid.” He straightens up, stretching slightly before cracking his knuckles. “I’ll help. But only ‘cause I’m such a good friend.”

“Right,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes.

Still, he doesn’t let you do it alone. He takes his sweet time, rinsing the plates at an annoyingly slow pace while you dry them beside him. Occasionally, he flicks water at you just to be a menace, and you retaliate by bumping your hip into him, making him splash himself instead.

By the time the kitchen is clean, you’re both slightly damp from your mini water war, and the smell of burnt food is still lingering faintly in the air.

You yawn, stretching your arms over your head. “Okay. Now you can leave.”

Rafe makes a dramatic, offended face. “That’s how you treat your guests?”

“You’re not a guest. You live here at this point.”

He grins, like he knows it’s true. Instead of leaving, he walks past you toward the living room, flopping onto the couch like he owns the place. “Might as well stay, then.”

You sigh, following him. “Rafe.”

He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, completely ignoring you.

You stand over him with your hands on your hips. “You’re seriously not leaving?”

“Nah,” he says, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “Besides, I’m tired.”

You shake your head, exasperated, but it’s not like this is anything new. Rafe has been making himself at home in your space since you were kids, since before you even knew what personal space was.

With another sigh, you move to the other end of the couch, pulling a throw blanket over you.

Rafe watches, unimpressed. “You’re really gonna sit all the way over there?”

“Yes.”

He just stares.

You hold your ground for about ten seconds before giving in with an annoyed groan.

Rafe smirks as you crawl over, settling into his side. His arm lifts automatically, making space for you before it drapes lazily over your shoulders, tugging you closer until you’re properly pressed against him.

You huff. “Happy now?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, shifting so you’re even more tucked into his side.

The room is quiet for a while, the soft hum of the air conditioner filling the silence. Rafe’s fingers trace absent patterns along your arm, his touch lazy, familiar.

You yawn again, your eyes growing heavy. “You better not stay the whole night.”

Rafe doesn’t answer.

You peek up at him. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes as he looks down at you.

Then, instead of responding, he just pulls the blanket higher, making sure you’re completely wrapped up before relaxing again.

You know what that means. He’s not leaving.

You should tell him to go home. You should make him leave.

But as your eyelids flutter shut and the warmth of him keeps you comfortable, you decide—maybe just this once, you won’t fight it.

[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!🫶🏾)

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Jason Todd x gn mean!reader

I love you mean!reader take jason by the balls like he deserves

(Short, fluff, established relationship)

Swearing, no use of y/n

———

“Shit.” The knife slips off the onion yet again and Jason feels like driving it into the countertop. Instead, he takes another go at the onion and almost nicks his finger.

He throws the knife onto the cutting board with a clatter. This is so fucking stupid. Jason is exhausted and starving and at his wit’s end. All he wants is to make himself some pasta, why can’t he cut this goddamn onion?

It isn’t helping that he came home pissed to begin with. The night was a complete waste of his time. He’s spent weeks sniffing around for one of Bane’s weapons shipments and finally tracked it down to a warehouse on the south side. Jason had got himself all gussied up to go in guns blazing, but he kicked in the door of an empty warehouse. They had already cleared the fuck out, they were one step ahead of him. It was so goddamn embarrassing, all he could do was shuffle home in the rain and try not to picture how Bane was probably laughing at him.

And now even this onion is getting the best of him. Can’t Jason have anything?

He perks up as he hears the clank of your key in the lock. You’re home, thank god. He abandons the onion and goes to meet you at the door.

“Hey, babe.” Your cheeks are pink from the cold. Jason ignores your words and pulls you into his arms, jamming his face into your neck. Your hand comes up to card through his hair. “Huh. Rough night?”

He grunts, and you huff out a laugh. “Aw, poor baby.”

“It was so fucking stupid,” he mutters. “How was your work dinner?”

“Fine. Nothing to report. Drinks went on forever.” You slide your fingers under his shirt and pinch at his waist. “You eat yet?”

“Hm.” He bites lightly at your neck. You tug sharply at his hair. “C’mon, Jay, you have to eat.” You gently shove him aside so you can slip out of your coat and slip off your shoes.

“‘M trying to,” he sulks.

You raise your eyebrows. “Well, what does that mean?”

He sighs, gesturing toward the kitchen, and you go investigate. “Couldn’t cut the fucking onion,” he grumbles. It’s so annoying; normally he’s not a complete idiot in the kitchen, but tonight his skills are failing him.

“Ah,” you say as you approach the cutting board. “Well, unfortunately, you’ve done it wrong.” You take his place at the countertop. Grabbing the knife, you hold it to the onion but then stop, turning to squint at him. “You want me to do it?”

Jason looks at you blankly. You nod. “You want me to show you how to do it or just do it?”

He smiles ruefully. “Good.” You start slicing. “Didn’t want to teach you anything, anyway.”

Jason sighs contentedly, putting his arms around your waist and leaning into your back. Your work steadily for a few minutes, before nudging him with your shoulder. “What were you going to put in the sauce?”

“Garlic,” Jason shrugs. “Onion.”

“Hm. It would be better with cherry tomatoes. And white wine.”

“Mm.”

“Go get the tomatoes. And the wine from the fridge,” you order. Jason blows meaningfully at your neck. “Please,” you add.

Jason knocks his head lightly against yours, then goes to get the requested ingredients. Soon, you’re frying up the onions, garlic, and tomatoes, pouring in some white wine, and setting some water to boil. Jason half-heartedly offers to help, but you take one look at him and wave him off. Fifteen minutes later you’re handing him a fork and sliding a bowl of pasta his way.

He digs in hastily. “Thanks, babe.”

You smile in satisfaction, stealing his fork to take a bite. “Hm. Pretty good.”

Jason wolfs it down before getting up for seconds. He grins at you, and you smile softly back. “Fuckin’ delicious.”

“Damn right. I’m gonna shower.” You move toward the bedroom, pulling your shirt over head. Jason gets momentarily distracted by your bare skin.

“Tsk.” He glances at your face, you’re smirking at him. “Eyes up here, big guy.”

“Can’t blame me for lookin’, sweetheart.” Jason smiles cockily at you, and you roll your eyes.

“Finish your dinner.” You turn back to the bathroom.

He picks up his fork. “I’m cleaning up,” he offers.

“You bet you are.” Jason grins cheekily, and you disappear into the bathroom.

———

He needs to be bullied.

[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)

[orangekittyenergy]

A Loss of Control

Ive been slowly writing a longer angsty Lucanis thing but need to keep myself in check so here is a snip I liked.

Spite POV.

1,500 words of mostly Spite weirdness and angst. Pre-Inner Demons. Very early Rookanis implied.

Full here or on AO3

------

Eyes awash with purple snapped open and just as quickly snapped shut again. Fingers drumming and wriggling against knees. Tongue too heavy and wet in the mouth. The feelings of inhabiting a body, having full control; they took a moment. The smell. He always has a sense of the smells but smelling them with an actual nose was powerful. It was different. Coffee. Onions. Food. Meat. The nose wrinkled up.

Eyes open again. The room unfolded around as Spite blinked and swiveled his head around. Stiff neck. Sore muscles. His face contorted into a wince and a very human instinct deep down was telling him to just lay down. To embrace the feeling.

No.

Instead, Spite stood, unsteady for half a second, before finding his footing. Feet on stone. Slapping. Noisy. So noisy. But he needed to move. He had a goal. Trying to ignore all other sensations that would be a distraction, he headed to the door of the pantry.

A goal. The last time Spite managed to gain control he headed to the Eluvian. Mistake. The brow on his borrowed face furrowed. Lucanis’ brow. It felt strange to feel his face move and he wriggled the tongue around while he walked across the dining hall.

At least the fade felt more comfortable. He felt out of control in the world. What he understood to be the world at least. Sentences were reduced to words. Words reduced to syllables. His mind felt slightly more at ease here. But not completely. Never completely. The goal. Human minds liked to wander. He would remain focused. Needed to.

Last time. As the human hand reached out to grab the doorknob, Spite paused. Again recalling the last attempt. The others didn’t know what they were stopping. Lucanis had made a deal. A deal he was now too afraid and broken to commit to. Spite felt himself snarling, his control waning for a moment, and gripped the handle tight. Keep a hold of this. Metal on flesh. This world. This body. But what now?

Rook. How often Lucanis’ thoughts were of Rook. Spite found it confusing and was angry at first. Rook made Lucanis weak and afraid. But. Rook was strong. Rook was a leader. Lucanis ...trusted Rook. Spite...again his strange human face twisted around. He didn’t understand having feelings like this. What was this? A remnant of Lucanis? His sleeping mind seeping in even though Spite was in control?

He knew the words. The emotions. In a far distant memory, at the edges of what used to be his now torn spirit he knew of deeper things than what he had been twisted to be. Spite let out a snarl. Distractions. Rook was useful. He needed Rook. Spite…..trusted Rook.

Muscles contracted, the handle pressed, and the door opened. A best attempt at Lucanis. That would have to do. The purple haze that revealed themselves through Lucanis’ eyes he couldn’t hide. But Lucanis was allowed to walk around the courtyard. Wasn’t he?

Spite looked around briefly and in clumsy, lumbering steps drove himself forward, rushing down the stairs with a lurch and plowing quickly through the doors beyond. A quick pause to stop and listen and smell the air told him no one was in the atrium. He rolled his head around again, the unnatural ache that came with this body a momentary distraction as he surged forward. How long? Never long. Never long enough. Gone soon.

Rook. Her smell was unavoidable. He knew it instantly and followed. Rook felt familiar. This place. Was still so foreign to him. A quick glance around at the swirling bookcases above as he ascended the staircase on the wall almost left him reeling. What was this place? Escape. He should just escape. Tried. Failed. He needed help. Needed Rook. A few steps later and he was at her door. He could hear her inside...hear or smell, it was hard to determine which filled these strange senses more.

The door swung open and Spite found himself squinting at the bright wash of light that covered the wall. For a moment it was pain and he felt a stab of fear in his chest. Eyes adjusted quickly and he stepped forward. Pushing past anything else. Determined. She would help. She had to. Rook was to the left at a small bookcase, just far enough away from the harsh gleaming light. He turned towards her just as she started to turn around.

“Lucan-” She started but stopped immediately as her eyes fell on his face. Lucanis’ face. Spites face. “Spite.” She corrected and turned fully. She didn’t sound angry. Not mad. Concerned. She was concerned? He felt his face twist up again, finally seeing her. Somewhere deep inside this body he felt a stirring.

“Rook. Have to help.” He managed out, tongue still feeling foreign. He seethed. His words already falling short. It would be so much easier just to talk to her. Outside of Lucanis. Without this body battling him and betraying him at every movement.

Rooks eyes widened. Soft. Caring. She understood. She would help. She took a step forward and held up her hands, palms up.

“Okay, Spite. I’m here. I’m listening. What do you need help with?” She asked. Her voice was a song. A lullaby. Soothing. Sweet. Too sweet. Too kind. It was unexpected. He wasn’t used to this. Neither of them were. After so much pain. The first words he knew were shouts and screams. Yells of pain. Lucanis’. Others. Captives. Captors. Blurs of noise. They echoed fresh in his ears in such stark contrast to Rooks voice now.

Before he could use the voice again the stirring inside grew violent. He was losing control. His grip slipping. Lucanis was waking up as Spite felt himself fading away, his energy dulled from his efforts getting here. He doubled over, eyes shutting once more as the purple fled from them. Descending back into darkness.

Groaning loudly, Lucanis lifted his head and blinked at the image of Rook in front of him. Realization hit him with a crash of embarrassment and he felt a pounding in his head take over the receding confusion.

“Meirda.” He breathed out in the absence of anything else to say.

“Lucanis, are you okay?” Rook asked and stepped closer, tentatively reaching out to him. As if he were something fragile. Broken.

He had lost control. Again. And this time he came...to Rooks room? He clenched his jaw and took another deep breath in, trying to hold himself steady as he came back to reality. He forced himself to do a once over of Rook. She seemed unharmed at least. Not shaken. But. That same of look of concern he had seen before on her face. Of empathy. No, of ...pity.

“What happened? Did Spite…” He trailed off. Did he hurt you? Did he say anything to you? What did he say? Why did he come here?

“He just asked me for help.” She said as her hand landed on his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He looked down to her hand. Perched ever so gently on his forearm. He couldn’t even recall the last time he had been touched like that. A touch that wasn’t the lash of a cane. The piercing sting of a dagger. The blow of fists.

Without fully meaning to, he recoiled. More instinct than free will. His body and arm pulling away from her touch and instantly regretting it. He shoved his hands to his head, brushing the hair away from his face to distract from the movement.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He muttered. To himself or to her, he couldn’t tell. He glanced around, anywhere to avoid her face. Again the harsh reality that he was here in her room crashing back into him. His eyes locked on the far wall where a giant fish tank occupied the entirety of it. He blinked hard, a sudden wave of dizziness and panic streaking through his veins.

“Lucanis, please. I want to help.” Rook’s words sounded miles away. He needed to get out of here. Any lingering embarrassment washed away with a wave of fear. He felt himself stepping backwards.

“I need to go.” He said as he forced his head away from the wall. For the briefest moment his eyes caught Rooks as he turned. Why did she care so much? She wasn’t afraid of him. Of them? He could still feel Spite, deep down, dimmed for now, but still clawing at his insides. Telling him to stay. Or was that even Spite?

“Come find me later.” He breathed out and broke away, heading back through the door they had just entered moments earlier. He heard a voice call to him as he rushed back through the hall and down the steps. A missive from Teia? It would have to wait. He needed to get away. He needed to focus. He needed to breathe. His steps rained down, heavy on the stone outside as he hurried back to the dining hall.

How long can you push this away? A voice pulsed in his ears.

With shaking hands he found himself at the kitchen, unscrewing a container of fresh coffee beans. Trying to focus on the sole effort of pouring them into the grinder without spilling.

“As long as I have to.” He said out loud, steeling himself for the internal raging that would follow.

[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.

[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.

[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.