#never made a poundcake before.....

[cerbreus]

Lemon Bundt poundcake for my friends' family's Easter thing I got invited to.

[firewasabeast]

Tommy never had a birthday cake growing up because his dad was against sweets in the house, so his mom would take him to a local bakery for a birthday cookie from ages 4-10. She died before he turned 11 but he walked himself to the bakery after school, got as far as the door, and couldn’t go inside. His dad wasn’t a fan of birthday celebrations at all, so there was nothing after that, then he joined the army, and the closest to a cake he got was an MRE vanilla poundcake with a match sticking out of it that one of his commanding officers gave him and, while it did make his heart swell a bit, he never got to eat it because they were alerted to an attack on base.

After the army he didn’t really care to celebrate his birthday at all, and he felt dumb buying himself a cake, so he never did. He bought cake for other occasions though, just because cake was delicious and it was like he could feel his dad getting angry every time he took a bite. He got a cake when he left the 118 and he smiled every time he opened his fridge and saw the leftovers. He even put some in his freezer and kept it there for a couple years because it actually meant so much to him.

And maybe he should’ve realized with dating Evan that he was definitely going to have a birthday cake, but the thought truly never crossed his mind until it was on the table in front of him. All their friends gathered around the table while he stared at this cake like there is no way it’s real. He doesn’t realize he’s been staring so long until they’ve finished singing happy birthday and the candles are still burning and Evan places a hand on his back and nervously asks if he’s okay.

He’s nervous because he made the cake himself and it was his first time making a chocolate/vanilla marble cake with buttercream frosting and he’s not great at writing on cakes or decorating so it looks a little funky but Tommy mumbles out mid Evan-rant that he’s never had a birthday cake before and the room falls silent.

There’s tears in his eyes when he turns and takes Evan’s head in his hands and pulls him in for a kiss. Tells him the cake is beautiful. No, it’s perfect, and asks if they can take some pictures before they eat it.

Evan nods, says of course, blinks his own tears away and says they have to put new candles on now cause the other ones already completely melted.

Howie yells for him to make a wish before he blows the candles out but he doesn’t even know what to wish for because for the first time in his life he feels like he has everything.

[blond3ang3l]

Eren is a geek lover. He absolutely is enamored with you. Watching your lips with every word you spoke. The way you got excited telling him about every single new detail of the things you got interested in. Eren worked hard as a famous rnb singer, long days in the studio trying to perfect his songs. Then having to perform when he literally had the WORST anxiety known to man. It always felt like someone needed him and was on his ass about something.

But he did it all for you. For moment like this were he could come home and listen to you tell him. About the things you’ve watched in your huge list of video essays that you had in a playlist on YouTube. How you lit up telling him different facts from how the dating game killer had a coworker that also happened to be a serial killer and he didn’t know to the conspiracy theory of the 27 club, no matter what you said it always made you so happy and seeing you all giddy and stimming while you talked to him made him so content with his life.

…and his dick very hard

“I know cotards syndrome, Koro, Diogenes, fregoli, hypochondria, pica, capgras, boanthropy, apotenmophilia, kulver bulcy, ekbom, erotomania, Stendhal. Pics is like one of the more well known. You know that show my strange addiction that we watch together? Yeah so like those people who eat the random shit like the lady who ate rocks- omg that reminds me!”

Erens ass was not listening one bit. He was watching you, watching your body. You guys had been apart for a little over a month so could do a very short tour in another country and he was sick as fuck that he couldn’t bring you. Everyone knew it too. His attitude fucking sucked that trip. He was antsy, his anxiety was through the roof, he snapped at everyone, overall he fucking hated it. But now, sitting here with you he finally felt at peace.

You were sitting on his lap, yapping his ear off. His eyes couldn’t help but wander to your legs which lead him to notice you were wearing his boxers. The way your thick thighs filled them out compared to his own, he couldn’t resist grabbing them. Grabbing them led to groping them, which lead to him sneaking his hands under the boxers you wore that just so happened to be his. This caught you off guard and stopped your sudden rant with a small gasp. He chuckled and slipped two fingers in his mouth covering them in his saliva before slipping them back under the underwear.

“Cmon baby, keeping telling me about the little videos.”

He had to have been joking. No way was he just gonna pretend he wasn’t teasing you. Like his finger wasn’t circling around your aching hole.

“Go on I’m waiting baby. Keeping telling me bout what you learned.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes you knew it would get you no where. This wasn’t a new thing, eren was always so needy. It was always worse after a tour. Even if it had only been a relatively short one.

“Okay well like I was saying, erotomania is something that a lot of celebrity stalkers have. Especially kpop ones. It’s when someone genuinely believes they’re in a relationship with a celebrity. Remember that girl that literally would follow you to the airport? That crazy bitch probably had it.”

Eren couldn’t help but bite his lip as he listened to you go on. God you looked so fucking good. Your hair looked so good. He was so glad he got you your own personal stylist so you never had to worry about needing to go to a shop or someone else’s house. You smelled so good too. That vanilla body oil you used was just fucking irresistible. He didn’t know whether he liked that one or the strawberry poundcake one more. Either way it only made him want you more.

He slowly slid a finger inside you, watching your face contort as you tried to keep your composure. A deep chuckle erupted from his throat. He missed seeing your face. Facetime wasn’t enough. Having to sneak off to the bathroom to jerk off to pictures and homemade pornos wasn’t enough for him. He needed to see you. To feel you. He slid his free hand up your shirt, groping your chest as he thrusted finger in out and of you.

“R-ren, fuck. Cmon baby, how am i supposed to talk while you’re doing this.”

Your whines only made eren smile as he thrusted a second finger inside you. He watched you as you threw your head back while crying out. He was enjoying every second of teasing you. You were so impatient and he knew it. That’s why he catered to every need you had. You hated having to wait and tended to be bratty when you did. So he made everything about you. Whatever you wanted you had. But this time he needed to be selfish. He wanted to watch you come undone first. And that’s exactly what we’re doing.

Your tight grip on his shoulders told him everything. Your nails were digging deep into his skin as you pushed back against his fingers. You didn’t want to admit it but you missed Ren so much. Your fingers and toys didn’t compare to what he could do. How he could prolong your orgasm by teasing you. He could feel you leaking all over his thigh, his boxers now all sticky along with his thigh. He slowly slid his fingers out of you causing you whine.

He didn’t feel bad at all. It was about him this time. He gripped your hips dragging you along his thigh, making it even more of a mess. You hid your face out of embarrassment. It was too much at how he could make you a whiny mess. No other man could do this to you but him.

You couldn’t help the small noises that fell past your lips as you grinded against his thigh. Eren shivered feeling your warm breath against the side of his neck. The way you tugged at his hair he knew you were close. He could read your body like a damn book.

“Cmon baby, almost there. Let me see you.”

“F-fuck ren, I cant.”

Eren wasn’t having that at all. You couldn’t what? You were gonna disobey him? No chance in hell. He gripped your jaw forcing you to look at him

“You telling me no baby? I could have sworn I said I wanted to see your face. I’ve been gone for a long time and you think your whining is gonna stop me?”

You loved moment like this when Eren suddenly got serious. He was…well he was very off Standish which came off to mean as others. But he babied you. The moment you told him no thought after he told you to do something? It was like a switch flipped in him. His tight grip on your face was only turning you on more which made you rut against his leg faster.

“You’re gonna be good aren’t you baby? Gonna cum for me like a good little whore?”

You eagerly nodded as you bit your lip. You could only cry out his name as you came all over his thigh, making a mess in his boxers. Eren kept his grip on your face to make sure you maintained eye contact the entire time. A smirk creeping on his face as you came.

“There you go baby, let’s go get you cleaned up..”

———————————————————————

@merakidoll Eren fic just like I promised🫶🏽

———————————————————————

Based of a conversation with my boyfriend where I literally was going on about mental illness during my rant about the many video essays I watch

[saturnville]

in the dirty south, II.

pairing: cowboy!coriolanus snow x black fem oc. warnings: old slang, sexual innuendo, flirting, sorta forbidden infatuation if you blink. shy!oc. content: while at a town fair with her family, delilah finds herself heavily infatuated with the new face in town. an: I'm not sure if I'll make another part to this. it depends on if I get more inspiration, but idk I like cowboy coriolanus.

tags: @snowlandsontopp @babyzzlove @hlstead @rosewine-5 @unicornqueen05 @thegabbyh @neeville @fastlikealambo @urfavesim @cherry2stems to keep your spot on the tag list, you are expected to interact!

The fair was just as lively as she remembered years ago. The sun was still beaming and the hustle and bustle ramped up by the minute. It was a beautiful sight of organized chaos. Tents and booths set up along the strip with excited members of the community engaged in every aspect. Small children chasing one another and giggling as they slid against the pavement, adults chugging beer like it was water, and young men and women engaged in an intense game of cornhole. Delilah smiled. It was light-hearted moments as such that made her days better.

Her mother had retired inside Turner's to combat the heat exhaustion she felt coming on. Luckily, the poundcake and milk were long gone, save for the slice Delilah saved for Coriolanus, so there was nothing to keep her outside. Delilah on the other hand, chose to sit perched underneath the tent with a fan in one hand and a cup of water in the mother. People watching would keep her amused for the time being.

As her dark eyes scoped the area, they landed on Coriolanus, who was engaged in a game of cornholl with Ezra and another young woman. Her eyes narrowed. The woman, who recognized as Lyra. They'd gone to school together years prior, and to say Delilah was fond of her was an understatement. She was a beautiful girl--dusty brown hair and fair skin with brown eyes--but she was mean. Delilah didn't like mean. But Ezra did.

She hummed to herself as she watched Ezra visibly melt as Lyra batted her eyelashes before throwing the sand-filled bag on the wooden plank. It seemed to get intense as Coriolanus grinned cockily after scoring, what she assumed to be, the winning point on the duo.

Delilah chuckled. Competitive just like every other man she knew. As if he could feel her heavy gaze on him, Coriolanu turned his head slightly. He tipped tipped his hat, which made her wave shyly.

Coriolanus said a few words to Lyra and Ezra before jogging over to where Delilah sat under the tent. "I hope you saved me a slice of cake." He took a seat next to her, knee brushing against her own. She said nothing rather slid the intricately folded napking that covered the poundcake toward him. Coriolanus smiled.

"Thank you." He unwrapped it and dropped a piece into his mouth, moaning softly at the taste. Delilah's body stiffened at the sound. Something within her was awakened. It didn't go unnoticed. Nor did the increased speed of her fan. Coriolanus raised his eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Just fine," Delilah replied. She turned to face him. "How do you know the boys? They're like my brothers and no offense, but they've never mentioned you before. Y'all get along like y'all have known each other for ages."

Coriolanus took in a breath. She was shy yet straightforward; he could respect it. The story of his relationship with her "brothers" was complicated. When he was exiled from the Capitol and thrust into District 11, he was alone. No familiar faces, no family, and no friends. But when he was stopped by Elijah, Malachi, and Ezra while walking to the fields for his early-morning shift, they'd become colleagues. Friends. Brothers.

"We work the fields together," Coriolanus said, turning to meet her tired eyes. "Stopped me on my way to work one morning when I moved to 11. Didn't have anybody. They became my somebody."

Delilah nodded. She thought about the mess he'd gotten himself in, and wondered how bad it had to have been if he was forced to move to the Districts. No one would move to the Districts from the Capitol. She loved being part of 11, but even she wouldn't pass up on the opportunity to experience Capitol living if it was an option.

"What about you, Miss Delilah Mae? Very pretty name, by the way." Coriolanus leaned toward her, his lips close to her ear. "Do you have somebody?"

Her fan stopped moving. Her fan stopped moved and her eyes cut to his. She'd never realized how pretty they were. They were like gentle waves in the sea. Could her boats sail across them and bask in their essence? She could only imagine.

Delilah brought her cup to her lips. Still stained red, they wrapped around the rim as she took a gulp. A singular droplet fell from the corner of her mouth and traveled down her cheek and neck until it slipped down the valley of her breasts. Coriolanus followed its route.

"No," she finally replied. "I don't. Why--you tryin' to be my somebody?"

A sly smile played on his lips as he shrugged. It wouldn't sound so bad. Getting to know the pretty girl with a whole lot of mysteriou treasure buried deep beneath her shy nature. He hoped to get lucky and find the gold.

Coriolanus brought a hand to her face and wiped away the remnants of water that rested there. His thumb and index finger cupped her chin gently. "I just might be, darling. Only if you let me."

[softguarnere]

HEY BABY GIRL!!!!

It's your girl, your sweet cheese, your good time gal (someone please shut me up omfg). Now...you know i am a Joe Toye lover, and if you've seen me recently...he is the only man on my mind. I was wondering if you might indulge me a little with a Joe Toye x reader where they're besties since young and both end up being paratroopers together but then something happens and he thinks he's lost her but she's actually fine and maybe like fluffy reunion...idk tbh i'd take anything you write and eat it up so do whatever. Love youuuuu xx

Seven

Joe Toye x reader

A/N: OMG BELLA I MISSED YOU!!!! 💖 WELCOME BACK BABE! And of course we have a fic with a T Swift reference for you hehehe (This is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) Thanks so much for the request, and I hope you like this 💕 Warnings: mentions of war, death

You would kill him if you knew where he was right now. And yet, here he is. Trying to reassure and comfort your mother while sipping coffee from her finest set of teacups. The same teacups, he’s now realizing, that you used to serve him water in as children, calling it tea while the two of you played house, discussing the workplace as if you had any idea what went on there, while the adults around you struggled through the lack of those very places during the thirties. It could just be a coincidence, but after spending most of his life around her, Joe Toye would like to think that he knows your mother better than that.

“And you know how hardheaded she is,” your mother is ranting, cutting a fresh slice of poundcake and placing it on Joe’s plate. “She isn’t going to listen to me. Or anyone for that matter, now that her mind is made up.”

Oh, Joe knows exactly how hardheaded you are. In no small part thanks to the times that he accidentally clobbered that very head during neighborhood football games.

“(Y/N) feels good about this, Mrs. (Y/L/N),” Joe says, unsure of what he’s supposed to say during your mother’s hour of need. She’s right, after all – your mind has been made up, and it will not be changed.

“But do you?” Your mother fixes him with a hard gaze, raised brow and all.

You were with Joe when he went to enlist. He had watched your eyes sparkle when they fell onto the sign stating that women should inquire within about an exciting new opportunity that would allow them to serve their country like never before. And he had been by your side when you both left the building, both holding papers and smiling at the thought that you would be becoming paratroopers – together.

“Yes. (Y/N) is strong. She’ll be good in – “

“Joesph,” your mother interrupts. The façade finally falls as she collapses into the chair across the table from him, head in her hands. “She’s my baby! What if something – oh, God forbid! – happens to her? I couldn’t live with myself.”

Joe is by her side in an instant. When he announced that he was joining the Airborne, everyone had clapped him on the back and congratulated him. You have not had the same experience. While everyone keeps assuring Joe that he’ll do great things, the same people have been cautioning you to be careful. Some have even warned you that you should just give up now. And it’s all only served to strengthen your determination, with every underestimation making you more sure that this is what needs to be done.

All that is to say, Joe has no clue what to say to your mother. She needs to be comforted. But he’s out of his depth.

“I’ll watch out for her,” he finally manages.

Beneath the comforting hand that Joe has placed on her shoulder, your mother freezes. Watery eyes gaze up at him. “You – you will?”

“Of course.” The two of you have grown up together. You’ve always been friends. Why would he stop looking out for you now?

Your mother throws her arms around his neck, wrapping him up in a tight hug. “Oh, thank you!”

Joe is struggling to come up with something more to say when the sound of the front door opening and shutting saves him. Your footsteps echo through the front of the house as you call out in greeting.

“Ma! I’m home!” Stepping into the kitchen, you cross your arms, leaning onto the doorframe as you let out a loud sigh. “Wow, you would almost think that Joe is the child that you’re sending off to war instead of me.” You smile, and anyone could see how much you love your mother.

She wipes her teary eyes and pats Joe’s arm as he stands, returning to his seat. “I’m going to miss having someone around who doesn’t get into trouble all the time,” she teases as she cuts a slice of poundcake for you.

Something about the change of topic tells Joe that she would rather not have you find out about their conversation. His watching over you can be their little secret. And a job that he’ll readily accept.

After all, he tells himself as he watches you laugh at something your mother says. You would do the same for him.

--

The adrenaline from taking Brécourt Manor still hasn’t worn off yet. Joe is laughing at something that Guarnere said as they head back down the road. Something about this moment makes him feel invincible. This is why he chose to become a paratrooper, he realizes.

More men and women have congregated in the town since he’s been gone. Finally glancing at his watch reveals that he’s been gone most of the day. Wow, really? It didn’t feel like the assault took that long at all. At least it kept him busy, instead of sitting around here, waiting.

Joe scans the crowd, hoping to catch sight of you. When he doesn’t immediately spot you, he stops one of the other female paratroopers as she passes.

“Hey, Lilian. You seen (Y/N) around?”

Lilian pauses, her pretty green eyes widening slightly. “Oh. No.” She bites her lip, holding back something more.

“What is it?” Joe presses.

Her hesitation is not a good sign. Then she blurts out, “No one has seen her since the jump.”

“You mean – “

“She was supposed to be in my drop zone – but she wasn’t.”

The reality of it all sets in. (Y/N) didn’t reach the drop zone. Did she even make it out of the plane? God, he promised your mother that he would look out for you. Yet, here he is, with no clue where you might be.

He may have only just reached Europe, but he’s already failed his mission.

--

The dust is settling over Carentan when the incongruous cheer and subsequent peel of laughter hits Joe’s ears. Somewhere off in the distance, someone is celebrating. Meanwhile, he’s guarding Doc Roe as the medic moves along the streets, inspecting the bodies strewn over them to see if there’s anybody still alive that he can help.

“Thanks for doing this,” Roe says as he stands once more, moving on to another body.

“Hmm?” Joe snaps his attention back to the moment at hand. “Oh, no problem.”

Except there is a problem. He’s trying to catch a glimpse of every face as Doc Roe checks the bodies. He tries to make out names on dog tags, dreading that one of them might belong to you. He couldn’t stand it if he found you here, like this. What would he tell your mother? How would he ever erase that awful image from his mind? Of the little girl that he once played house with, lying motionless on these cold streets? It’s no better to imagine you going down in a plane doing a fiery corkscrew as it nosedives to the unforgiving soil of a foreign land. But at least he didn’t have to see that.

The terrible job done, he follows Roe back to the rest of the company. Despite everything that just happened, a few smiles can be expected, along with congratulatory words. But this is more than that.

A small group of men mill about, talking, smiling, as they watch a smaller group of the female paratroopers huddled together in a group, all talking loudly and looking excited. From the corner of his eye, he can see Doc Roe glance at him, but before the medic can ask what’s going on, the crowd parts and Joe freezes.

There, in the middle of it all, is you.

“(Y/N)?” It comes out louder than he means for it to, and his feet are already carrying him, double time, in your direction before he realizes what he’s doing.

You look up, your eyes widening. “Joe!” You launch yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in close.

Something rushes through Joe’s chest like a flash of lightning, too many feelings at once. There’s shock, relief, and something that he can’t quite name. Not caring about getting written up for fraternizing, Joe hugs you back, holding you close, lest you slip away from him again.

“Jesus Christ. I thought I lost you,” he says into your hair.

“I’m fine, as usual. Can’t believe you would doubt me like that.” Your voice is light, teasing, but your grip on him tightens. The usual confident swagger doesn’t leave your voice, but you admit in a quieter voice, “I, uh – I missed my drop zone. Had a hell of a time trying to find the rest of the company. But here I am!”

When the embrace ends, Joe still isn’t ready to let go. He leaves his hands on your shoulders, studying you. And you, for your part, hold onto his webbing. “I was just worried about you, is all.”

You nod. “I was worried about you, too. I – “

“Easy Company!” A booming voice interrupts. “We’re moving out!”

Quickly, while everyone is distracted, you raise yourself up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. Heat rushes to Joe’s cheeks. He feels his eyes widen. You just smile at him, casual as can be.

“We’ve been friends since we were seven. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Joseph.” Then, you rejoin your friends, leaving him to replay the scene over and over in his mind.

He turns to watch you go, unable to move his feet from where they suddenly appear to be stuck to the ground. He’s held in place by the weight of his realization – the emotion that he couldn’t name was love, for you.

[bunnyanqel]

You're So Pretty (It Hurts) (1)

[1] [2] [3]

Summary: When the hot girl from the bar invites Eddie back to hers, he seizes the chance to lose his virginity. But his nerves grab a hold, and before he can think twice, he explains his predicament. He expects laughter and a door in the face. He expects pity and discomfort. But he especially doesn't expect her to be on board with the whole ‘deflowering’ thing, even eager to be his first. He'll be damned if he looks a gift horse—or, in this case, a very hot willing girl—in the mouth. And he sure as shit isn't going to waste this chance.

Content: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, soft sex, safe sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, gentle kissing, soft eddie, submissive eddie, touch-starved eddie, eddie munson has a big dick, ambigious/open ending

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 also on AO3 ! 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

Eddie had a lot of secrets but they were largely just embarrassing, like his affinity for hair-braiding, or his variety of sweet-perfumed body care products. Sometimes a guy just wanted to smell like a strawberry poundcake, okay?

But the biggest one by far—the one he never brought up, never hinted at—was that he was a virgin.

At first, it hadn’t been a big deal, hadn’t been a hardship. At first, it hadn’t been something he’d wanted; he was young and handsome and it would happen…some day. But then he started getting older, and he still hadn’t found anyone, and everywhere he looked, his friends had found somebody. Jeff and Samantha, Gareth and Parker. Hell, even fucking Wheeler, the most annoying shithead Eddie had ever known, had a girlfriend.

He’d ignored it for the most part, ignored the jokes and well-meaning comments about setting him with this friend and that friend, ignored the pang of loneliness that bloomed hot behind his ribcage at the small kisses and hand-holding.

Until he couldn’t.

Until he wasn’t satisfied being the odd one out, the permanently single, undateable friend that never seemed to settle down. Until he found himself desperate for the human connection he’d brushed away in high school, hungry for the kisses and small gestures that his friends indulged in happily, hungry for much, much more than that. Starved for it.

Which was how he found himself in Brittany Ronan’s bedroom, a little buzzed and more than hopeful to finally lose his virginity. But the question was if he should tell her, if he should let her know it might be shit because he’d never done it before.

His belly muscles cramped with nerves as he hovered anxiously in her doorway, scanning her bedroom, taking in the brown gingham bedspread and the plush carpet that her bare feet sank into. Procrastinating, because who really wanted to tell the hot girl who’d brought them back to her place that, oh yeah, they were a virgin?

Just the prospect made his throat close up, even as he shuffled into her bedroom slowly, cautiously.

“Are you okay, Eddie?”

Her accented voice broke his thoughts, his eyes picking out her silhouette in the dim room, backlit by a small desk lamp. And even though he couldn’t see her clearly, he knew her gaze was on him, soft, warm, affectionate.

“I…” His voice broke on the words, and he was unable to go on, to explain his hesitation.

“Are you uncomfortable?” she pressed, her voice just as soft as before, concerned. Then she approached, the whisper of her clothes the only sound between them until she stood close enough to touch. The lack of space made it easier to see her face, read her expression. There was nothing but concern, maybe a little confusion, in her expressive, big brown eyes.

“I-I’m okay, uh, I think. It’s just—” The words cracked through an octave, his voice pitched high with anxiety, and he swallowed hard. His throat was tight with a crowding of emotions, the most prominent uncertainty. Of how she’d take the news, of how she’d react, and most importantly how he’d feel once it was out in the open.

“It’s okay.”

A pause and then her hesitant fingertips glanced off his chest, right where his heart was located, and then settled flush.

“Do you need a minute?”

Damn it, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected in the face of his discomfort but it certainly hadn’t been…this. Her kindness, her her patience, her constantly giving him an out if he wanted it.

Any moisture in his mouth dried as he stood there, heart hammering, the pulse of it pounding through his entire body, his fingertips, his wrists, his throat. The words choked him, clogged his throat like a hunk of meat suffocating him.

“It’s fine if you do, Eddie. Would you like something to drink?”

He inhaled at the question, the air he sucked down perfumed with her scent. A mix of clean and something faintly fragrant, faintly sweet. It was better than some of the unpleasant smells he’d encountered in his life, acrid smoke from burnt dinners or the pungent aroma of marijuana.

“Uh-huh,” he croaked, his voice strangled and a rasp, focusing on the feel of her hand on his chest. Its warmth, its solidness. He wet his lips, feeling more than seeing how her eyes tracked the path.

“Okay. You want water? Milk? Tea? I’ve got—” A pause, her hips twitching back and forth. “That’s all I’ve got.” An embarrassed smile curled her lips up, crinkling the corners of her eyes as they snapped back to his.

“I—um, yeah. A drink—a drink would be—it’d be great.” He cleared his throat roughly. “Really great, actually.” By some miracle, he was able to shake off some of the dazedness, shed some of that anxiety that had choked him.

She stared up at him for a minute longer, lamplight highlighting her broad features, softened the keenness of her eyes, and he had the urge to just lean down and kiss her mouth. It looked soft and pliant, inviting, and he knew she wouldn’t reject him. And even with just her hand on him, he wanted her plastered against him, feel every curve of her body, savor the heat and silken texture of her dark skin.

“Water sound good?” she asked finally, backing away, and he clenched his jaw against the overwhelming desire to grab her hand and place it back on him.

At his nod, she darted around him and padded down the hallway leisurely, the stick of her bare feet on the linoleum fading the further she got.

Now alone with himself, the anxiety relaxed its icy tendrils, letting him inhale shakily and venture deeper into Brittany’s bedroom. It was easier to take in now that he wasn’t on the verge of a freak-out, luxuriating in the plush carpet underneath his feet, examining the scattered polaroids she had pinned to her vanity mirror.

Pictures of friends and family flanked her in almost every one, but his favorite was a solitary photograph—her on a pier somewhere, dressed in a one-piece, her curls still wet from swimming. She wasn’t aware the picture was being taken, and her expression was relaxed, her eyes lidded and pensive.

“That was taken the summer I graduated college.”

At the sound of her voice, he straightened, heart racing, caught, and wheeled around, an explanation already rising to his lips that fell away when he caught sight of her face. She didn’t look…angry; in fact, she looked a little amused, eyes crinkled, a penciled eyebrow quirked.

His heart slowed to a slower beat, and the feeling of being caught with his hand in the cookie jar ebbed.

So she didn’t think he was a creep, if her expression was anything to go by.

“I…got curious,” he admitted shyly, tongue darting to wet his dry lips as his heart thumped painfully behind his ribcage. He didn’t miss the way her gaze dropped to his lips, tracking his tongue’s path, before it flicked back to his eyes.

“No worries. It’s not exactly a secret; they’re out in the open.” She pushed off the doorframe, padded damn near silently across the bedroom to him, held up a glass of iced water. “Here you are, kind sir.” An adorable giggle-snort as he took the cold glass, condensation running down his wrist.

While he took sips and let it soothe him, she grasped his hand and led him to bed, flopping down without grace. The bed bounced her, bounced her breasts, and it took all his sheer will power to keep his eyes on her face. On her freckled, broad nose and her thick, inviting lips and the way she peeked at him through her eyelashes like she was coy. Which he knew she wasn’t, not by the way she’d had no qualms dancing and flirting unabashedly with him in the bar. Or inviting him back to hers.

Familiar anxiety started to swell in his belly, prickled along the back of his scalp, as he just stood there, staring at her, wondering if this was…well, it. That was if she didn’t wrinkle her nose at him and laugh him out the door for being a virgin so late in his life.

But he couldn’t see her doing so, not with how gently she’d treated him.

“Something wrong?” she asked, a pucker in her brow, as she stared back at him.

He hesitated for a second before following her lead, albeit slower thanks to his drink, and sank down onto the mattress beside her. It felt like sitting on a cloud, and he almost groaned at the idea of sleeping on it instead of his rickety pull-out. His back would love it.

There wasn’t an ounce of space between them, her warm leg pressed soundly against his, and through the denim of his thrifted jeans, he could feel the heat of her skin. He could only imagine how soft it was based on its gleaming skin, shiny under the dim light, and he couldn’t drag his eyes away for more than a few minutes.

“Eddie,” Brittany said slowly, and his senses pricked at the edge in her voice, “did I—I’m sorry. Did I—” She stopped, licked her lips. “Did I read this wrong? I mean, you. In the bar. Did I—Did I get it wrong?” She stammered over the words like she was scared of them, or maybe the possibility he wasn’t as willing as she’d originally thought, or maybe the idea that she’d misread the entire situation.

“No!” he blurted and winced at his volume. “I mean—”

Turning the glass back and forth in his hands as he stared down at it, he fought to collect his thoughts. To gather his mind enough from the lust and anxiety to string together a sentence. He was usually so good with words, being a D&D nerd and all, but words were failing him now, clogging his throat.

“Because if you’re uncomfortable, if you don’t want this, that’s perfectly fine. We can always pick this up another night.”

God, she was so fucking patient with him like he was a wounded animal. Considerate like she’d known him forever instead of a few hours.

“I haven’t…” The words were a dry rasp, and he swallowed hard. Gazed down at where his hands were curled around the cup, his knuckles white. The bracelet on his left wrist shivered, and he realized that he was trembling, fucking trembling.

“You haven’t what, Eddie?”

“This,” he said softly. “Any of this. This is my—my—”

She was silent, and he examined her calm face, trying to find any signs that she’d heard what he said, comprehended what he didn’t.

He stared at her, at the slope of her bare shoulders, the swell of her breasts, her pulse, trying and failing to find any hint of discomfort, a clue to her thoughts.

“Your anxiety makes sense now,” she said at long last. “I—if you’re uncomfortable…you can leave if you’d like. I’m not going to make you stay against your will.”

“Oh.” He snorted. “It wouldn’t be against my will. At all.”

Her nostrils flared as she flushed, a crimson blush coloring her face beneath her dark-brown complexion, her eyes rounding at his remark.

His heartbeat pounded in his throat.

“Well, if it isn’t against your will, Mr. Rockstar, might I propose a solution? One I want and one you’re free to reject.”

He wouldn’t deny that his interest was piqued. What could she say? Unlike the romance books—bodice rippers—he read from time to time, he had no illusions about how this would go. This was reality, where things didn’t get wrapped up neatly with a bow. And what woman who’d let him into her apartment with the intention of a hookup—

Brittany’s voice dragged him away from his thoughts and thrust him into white-hot shock.

“If you’re agreeable, I’d—I’d like to be your first. If you want, of course.”

[lovetransaction]

samjohn + altar ❤

"Dad," Sam says. His wrists are tied together and he can't see very well, with the blood in his eyes, but he thinks it's with one of Dean's belts, one of the canvas web ones he five-finger-discounted from an army surplus store. He'd been good at it, that time, managing to cram a whole MRE down the back of Sam's baggy jeans just so he could surprise dad with the peaches and poundcake thing that was apparently some private...joke? Treat? Secret? between them.

So many secrets. Most of them gone with Dean, now. The rest burning in John's voice, slow and sullen and sunken, when he pushes Sam to his knees and puts a hand to the back of his head where it's also slow and sunken, from the blow he'd taken earlier. It feels like there's something dripping at the back of his neck, under the skin, down from his skull. It might not matter much longer. This isn't the first time Sam's been on his knees for Dad but it might be--

--Sam chokes on a sob when he feels his forehead, slick and tacky, touch marble. There's a divot there, like it had been smoothed that way by so many progeny before him. "Dad," he says again. He's not sure it's ever made much difference to John, that means of address in his second-born's voice, but Sam can't do much more. The metal buckle of the belt clinks, sounds for just a moment like the way Dean snickers to himself when he wants Sam to ask what's so funny. "Daddy," Sam says, and John pauses.

"Did you know," John says, sullen, sunken, slow. "I never wanted to name you Samuel. That was your mother's idea."

A moment, a swallow, past blood and ashes, the sound of Dad's knife being unsheathed. "Then what--"

"I wanted to call you Isaac."

[totaleclipse573]

First of all Total, let me make it 100% crystal clear that YOU ARE LOVED!!!! ❤️❤️❤️ I hope you feel better soon, so I am here to offer my services to talk. :) Here's a few questions for ya.

What are the favorite foods of your OCs?

In the Clone AU, does anyone else besides Shadow and Tails (I think) know Eclipse is a Clone?

Do you have any headcanons about Starline and his past? :]

🥺This made me smile <3 Thanks sm

The favorite foods for each of them? That's quite the list...

Terios - Loves both mac n cheese and cookies. Not at the same time though....possibly

Doleon? Hmm...he'd like meaty stuff, of course. Not sure what specifically...he also just eats rocks /gen

The Chaos Sibs (who I need to talk about more) are all different. Sky likes biscuits, Rose loves cupcakes (specifically chili chocolate cupcakes, pyrokinesis gives her a reaaaally high spice tolerance level in general,) Zoom is a simple boy. Peanut butter sandwich.

Penny loves pizza, Evelyn probably likes poundcakes with whipped cream, and I think Pollux would try those mini zebra cakes and go starry eyed (possibly literally)

2nd question? Yeah, others know. Rouge and Omega, of course, maybe Sonic? At one point? Remember how Clip hadn't gotten to meet anyone in this au. He wasn't redeemed, so for example, if Sonic were to find out, he'd know from others that this was a clone, but uh. What's up with the original you speak of. There was one, apparently! (Also, if we're counting the au of the au, then Starline, too. Bc ofc that happened 🤭)

And the last one. Ohhhhh yes I do. A few silly and one not so silly.

I'm going to assume that by "past," you mean when he was younger, hopefully I'm right 😅

The obvious theatre kid headcanon that is basically canon by this point

Starline isn't his name. It's his last name. He's called Dr. STARLINE. That means its his last name and I will not be changing my mind. What is his first name, I have to know. Give me answers Sega, before I headcanon Perry (this is relevant I promise look : it's probably something he hated so much that he went to great lengths to never reference it ever again in adulthood)

He wasn't really.....cared about. Didn't get much attention. Ever. And it lead him to, in the future, do anything to get the approval of his idol. He's so dedicated to prove that he can and WILL succeed, by any means possible. He HAS potential, and NOBODY CARES. (When character no backstory or explanation for their actions, I give backstory and explanation for their actions. Simple as that.)

He was 100% The Weird Kid™

I've seen most of the interpretations of his past have him come from a wealthy family. I like to think they were literally just normal, and his eggman fanboy-ism happened after witnessing an attack nearby. He's totally normal guys. The place is on fire yeah yeah whatever but look at the TECH on those things

Haven't thought about it much since the single brainburst all of this came from, but there you go!

[bewitchingbaker]

🌽 Maybe because Chicago's embrace is frigid in a way the west can never lay claim to, maybe because Beth is cripplingly shy in her own way, maybe because the weight in her hands is from a bouquet of flowers for the ladies of the house and an assortment of wine even the best sommelier would be hard pressed to argue about. Standing there as the bell rings through the house, Beth could name a thousand things that she's nervous about. She doesn't regret accepting the invitation, not when Chris asked so sweetly, but she feels out of place. Crashing what should be a family event. Maybe she should have stayed back in Arizona, picking up an extra shift so someone else could go home. A place where they were meant to be, where they belonged, instead of catching a flight out three days after he'd left. A dusting of snow nestles in her dark strands, something she isn't even aware of when she feels an approaching presence and tries to fix her most charming smile into place.

Compared to the quiet purple home that belonged to the Lunas, the maroon Chicago Greystone was ripe with acticity. Laughs of all ages echoed through one window. In another, the sounds of a local football game could be heard with excited cheers and dissapointed groans. Another window, the clanking of pots and pans rang through the halls along with a few timers.

Despite the symphony of chaos, the Richardsons kept a close ear on the door as anyone could be at the door. Aunt Joan could be late, or Rico's dad could be shuffling in from a last minute Kroger run. It could even be Vic's mom bringing her coveted sweet potato pie! Out of every one, a little girl with her hair in Leia like space buns was beginning to get board watching the other kids scream about fortnite. But the second she heard the door bell ring and sprung into action.

Manuevering through every crowded conversation and ducking in front of the crowded television, she finally made her way to the door.

With a stand on her tip toes, she managed to unlock the door and was greeted by what she would describe as an angel, al least according to her uncle Chris's description. Those coffee hued locks, expensive coat and enchanting eyes made her think of one person. A moment of silence followed before she finally found the words.

"You're pretty," she smiled, revealing the gap in her teeth, "Are you uncle Chris's girlfriend?"

As if she had a sixth sense, Jess walked up to the door with a grin.

"Lauryn? Why do you have our guest standing at the door, suffering in that Chicago weather? I know Vic raised you better than that!" Jess laughed as she welcomed her friend inside. "Come on in! Let me help with that!"

As always, it wasn't a Jess greeting without her iconic hug and once over.

"Looking good as always! Still can't believe I'm looking at the same little lady who tagged along with me on my shopping trips," Jess grinned. As if Beth were made of glass, her hands reached out to brush off any remaining snow that decorated those brunette strands and matching coat. She motions to the excited little girl.

"This is Lauryn, a little trouble maker like her dad," Jess chuckles as Lauryn offers Beth an excited wave, those little hands reaching out to take her coat.

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, just like her dad and his little friends. Speaking of," Jess laughs, "Your nerdy boyfriend is in the kitchen helping grandma finish up a few dishes, I'm sure Granny Richardson will let you in there. Me and this little lady can take your coat and gifts for ya."

Just like his sister said, our young Luna was laser focused on putting the finishing touches on a 7UP poundcake. His hands gingerly glazed it's contents, just like he was back at Luna's. An older woman, clad in vintage looney tunes shirt and jeans straightned her glasses at her grandson.

"Boy," Granny Richardson chuckled, "I told you, you're not at work! No need for all that fancy shit!"

Out the corner of her eye, she noticed an unfamiliar face.

"Or are you doing that to impress this cutie that I don't recognize?"

[ @brooklynislandgirl ]

[pocoyo-yo]

LEMON MERINGUE PIE

SUMMARY: being cowboy!reiner brauns spoiled little wife

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, fembodied!reader, black!coded reader, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, manhandling, clit slapping, breeding kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, p in v, m/f, petnames (sweet thing, darlin', mama, poundcake,and obviously daddy)

°•°• ●○●•°•°

being reiner braun meant hucking hay bales over your shoulder, petting and caring for your cattle, and going into town to sell your goods.

being reiner brauns spoiled little wife meant you never had to lift a finger— only coming home to your tired man who wanted nothing more than to bask in your sweet scent of lemons.

".. reiner," you had your arm hooked around his large bicep with a grin. ".. lemme take a ride on my baby, I bet my meringue misses me."

but that didn't mean you didn't want to lift a finger.

"ya don't have'ta, sweet thing," he glanced down at you through the shade of his cowboy hat. ".. yur a city girl at heart, don't gotta change nothin' f'me." he told you.

you pouted, "I'm aware.. you remind me all the time, but meringue is my horse— don't you remember our first ride together? you, me, meringue, and knight?"

reiner clicked his tongue, "'course I do, darlin'.. ya caught on so quickly it was like ya were a natural— I think I fell for ya then."

you unhooked your arm from his as you approached the white picket fence that connected to the stables. you could spot her from a mile away, with her pretty blonde main and brown fur that faded to white at the hooves. when you first met reiner through a family friend while you visited she immeaditely caught your eye— her mane reminded you of your blond lace front while her fur was the same shade of vrown as your skin.

"..c'mere," reiner whistled at meringue and smacked the fence as he leaned slightly over. you glanced over at him— his sleeves were rolled up on his arms, sweat beads rolling down his slightly tanned skin. ".. c'mere, meringue, mama wants ya!" he called out.

you smiled bashfully as meringue let out a sneeze and began to trot towards the fence.

"city girl or not this is my baby," you grinned as meringue stood before you and you petted her face. ".. hi pretty girl, did you miss me?"

meringue let out a grunt and you looked over at reiner who was just admiring you with a soft smile.

"what are you looking at, sir?" you teased.

he stood up straight and walk towards you, he was so tall— tall and bulky.

"my pretty lil wife, ma'am." reiner replied.

you rolled your eyes and reiner gave your ass a nice smack which earned a surprised squeal from your lips.

he had been holding back from doing that ever since he saw you come outside in those tiny jean shorts, that plaid crop top that showed off your diamond belly-button piercing and allowed your tits to spill— teasing the lace of your bra, and those brand new one inch heel cowboy boots.

"c'mon, mama," reiner leaned into your ear as meringue walked away in the other direction. your breath hitched as he pressed his crotch right up against your ass. ".. don't ya wanna go for a ride?"

being reiner brauns spoiled little wife also meant that for treating you so kindly, like the princess you are, he expects a little something in return whenever he gets hot and heavy after a hard days work.

"r— reiner! rei.. oh my goood.."

fresh out of the shower, reiner almost immeadiately had you sat on his lap— large, calloused hands clung to the fat of your hips while he pounded his fat cock into your pussy.

"yur so pretty, sweet thing," he groaned at the sight of your ass clap everytime his wet pelvis made contact with your skin. you clung at his muscular thighs while your tongue dared to stick out of your glossy lips. ".. ya can take this dick, can't ya? 'gonna let me take care of this sweet pussy?"

you dug your nails into his skin and moaned as one of his hands hooked around your waist and found your swollen clit while other squeezed on your breasts.

"c'mon fuck me back— ride my cock, yeah?" reiner panted, his lips grazing over the skin of your neck. he thrusted up into you while you attempted to grind on his dick, trying to play with yourself at the same time.

"feels s'good," you whimpered as his hot breath teased the crown of your ear. "..makin' this pussy feel so so good, daddy.."

he chuckled, cock fucking deeper into your belly— a slight bulge poking at your skin. your inner thighs were sticky and wet as your slick and his pre-cum smeared messily everytime you both make contact.

"how long we been married, darlin'?" he asked and you whimpered, the shimmer of his golden wedding band filled your vision.

".. d— daddy slow down," you mumbled, thigh muscles clenching as you began to try and match his thrusts. ".. ooh fuck— daddy! d— daddy! ..daddy!"

reiner huffed, ".. holy— take a breath.. 'nd answer me, mama.."

you gasped as reiner hooked his heavy arm under your thighs and yanked them up— practically folding you in half. you watched as his fat cock slipped out of your hole and you let out a whine before he used his freehand to guide it back into your sloppy cunt.

"we uhm," you arched your back against his chest as the curve of his cock brushed right against your g-spot. ".. r— right there! again please daddy.."

reiner groaned and raised his free hand— landing a slap over your swollen clit. you let out a yelp and clawed at his arm while your cunt squeezed tightly around him in response.

"lemme ask ya one mo' time," reiner leaned into your ear and hissed. ".. how long ya been my wife, mama?"

you felt your eyes sting with tears as his heavy hand smacked your stinging clit again, the cool metal of his wedding band adding some type of relief.

".. two," you whimpered softly— hot tears falling down your cheeks. "two years, rei.."

"mhm," he kissed at your salty tears. ".. I think it's 'bout time I made ya a real mama, ain't it?"

you sniffled, ".. 'nd make you a daddy, rei?"

reiner nodded, "yeah.. and make me a real daddy, sweet thing," he grabbed your hand and placed it over the spot in your belly where the tip of his cock poked at your skin. ".. oh fuck we'd make the prettiest lil babies, poundcake— so how 'bout it? ya gonna let daddy breed up this messy pussy?"

"yes," your toes curled at the thought of reiner emptying himself into you. you two had been careful since you met him— condom, birthcontrol, him coming outside, plan b's after almost everytime because better safe than sorry. "yes I wan' it— please breed this pussy daddy.. make me a mama please please.." you begged him.

reiner groaned and slid his freehand in between your legs to rub circles over your clit while he fuck up into you. your jaw fell agape as the only thought that filled your mind became reiner reiner reiner. your stomach churned and an immense amount of pressure filled your belly— something new, something foreign.

"daddy wait," you moaned softly, eyes rounded out as your legs began to tremble in reiners hold. ".. d— daddy somethin's not— it feels w— weird.."

"yur gonna cum, poundcake." he cooed in your ear.

"s'not that— feels like m'gonna," you let out a cry as reiner sped up his movements— every part of you wanted to run away from this feeling, the pressure was so uncomfortable. ".. oh fuck! daddy— daddy you gotta—"

you let out a shakey whimper and your toes curled as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. your eyes flickered in the back of head while you squirted all over reiners thighs and the bed sheets.

"and here I thought I married just a creamer," reiner scoffed and his tip teased at your cervix again— earning another stream of wetness which landed on your lower belly. ".. yur still not done, poundcake?"

your body slumped against reiner as he used both hands to spread your legs further apart— alowing him to sink deeper into your pussy. you were too focused on the feeling of yourself about to cum some more to be embarassed at how on display you were. pussy puffy and bruised— twitching everytime reiner sunk himself back in. the overstimulation had you unable to even form a coherent sentence.

".. fuck im 'bouta cum, mama," reiner moaned— his heavy balls slammed right against your ass. ".. ya still got more in there? go on 'nd finish up f'me then daddy will fill this tight pussy, alright?"

you slipped your hand in between your legs and flicked at your clit, shuddering, "o— oh my.."

the last of your release streamed from your pussy and onto the sheets— your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

reiner sloppily kissed your jaw and stammered, "fuck fuck.. ya done now, mama?"

you nodded shakily, "yes daddy.. please cum in me please.."

he groaned, "alright alright— daddy's got you, sweet thing."

you let out a low moan as reiner buried his face in your shoulder— whimpering into your sweaty skin. the veins in his fat cock pulsed while his balls tightened, and he pressed your body right up against his own— muscles tightening at the feeling of his cum shoot into your warm, tight pussy.

"take it all, mama," he moaned, stubble tickling your neck as he lifted his face from your shoulder. ".. take all of daddy's babies."

being reiner braun's spoiled little wife meant that finally, after getting manhandled and fucked dumb, he would treat you with most care and love he could— making sure you were doing just fine because you deserved it after making him feel so good.

you shivered as reiner let your weak legs go, and he left soft kisses on your upper back. you tried to recollect your thoughts with his softening cock inside of you.

".. I made such a mess." was the first thing you managed to mumble.

reiner sighed, "it's fine, poundcake.. I'll start a bath f'ya and clean up."

you glanced up at him and pouted, "stay with me, reiner."

he let out a small groan, "fine.. we'll bathe together— just let me get the bath started."

you reluctantly nodded and his cock slowly slid out of you. you gasped at the feeling of his cum begin to leak out of your fucked-out hole.

"that ain't good," he chuckled, thin eyebrows risen at the sight. "let's see.."

reiner scooped up what had leaked out of his cum and stuffed it back into you with his thick fingers. you let out a surprised squeak and playfully smacked his arm.

"keep them thighs closed, sweet thing," reiner layed you on the bed and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips once he got up. "and if any of it comes out you push it back in, understand?"

"yes daddy.." you teased.

"ya say that again, poundcake, and I'll right back inside that pussy before ya can blink." he warned you.

you giggled and rested your head on the pile of pillows. reiner stared at you for a moment with hooded eyes before he scratched the side of his head.

"I love you, darlin'.." reiner told you in a shy tone.

you smiled sweetly at your husband, "I love you too, reiner."

°•°• ●○●•°•°

!!!THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 1,000 FOLLOWERS!!! I DISSAPEAR SO MUCH SO I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU GUYS DEAL WITH ME LMAO

[devildom-moss]

Human Dating Advice (pt.3, SFW)

(Simeon x gn!MC)

(baking with Simeon, just very soft and full of love, SFW, ending might be a little rushed)

Word count: +2000

(pt.1)

(pt.2)

“Another time, angel.”

“Whenever – if ever – you’re ready.” Simeon gave you a smile that brought true spring to the Devildom. If the warmth of sunlight had ever or would ever reach the grounds outside of the House of Lamentation, it would still never know a soft glow like this: not bright so that one might squint when facing it but brilliant like certain bioluminescent algae whose existence in the dark is made majestic and awe-inspiring. If you were among the angels, perhaps Simeon would appear less holy and divine, but you were here in the darkness with him. When you know something glows in the dark, it is difficult to forget that it is special in the daylight. “Will you accompany me shopping, then?”

“Of course, Simeon. Would you like to hold hands?”

Simeon nodded and led you into town by the hand, occasionally pulling you closer in especially crowded streets.

Oh. You weren’t sure what to expect when he asked you to go shopping with him. Maybe you had spent too much time with Asmo (you hadn’t), but you didn’t realize he had meant grocery shopping.

“Are we here to pick up groceries for Purgatory Hall?”

“Not exactly. Actually, I wanted to bake with you. The weather is perfect for it. We did have all the ingredients to make cookies, but Solomon used the rest of the eggs, cinnamon, and melting chocolate in breakfast this morning,” Simeon shuddered.

“I’m sorry for your suffering. Was he trying to make pancakes or something?”

“Omelets, MC. He made omelets.”

“Sweet omelets?”

“No.” Simeon was almost bewildered by the credit you granted Solomon.

“Sounds like he made a war crime against your tastebuds.”

Simeon laughed, “thank goodness for Raphael. Luke and I told him we weren’t hungry, and Raphael managed to spare us from suffering by eating the leftovers.”

“Did you eat at all today?”

“Luke snuck two slices of blood berry poundcake out of the fridge and handed one to me before I left. He’s so sweet.”

“We’ll have to save cookies especially for him.”

“He’ll probably be jealous that I got to bake with you today, but I made arrangements to have Barbatos watch Luke for the day – well he’s offered to teach him how to bake a new cake recipe. Luke still won’t admit it, but Barbatos is like his Devildom god-father and mentor. Satan is taking Solomon and Raphael out to a cat café.” Simeon informed you as he casually walked through the store.

His thumb mindlessly rubbed your hand as he grabbed the cinnamon and the melting chocolate in one hand. When you got to the eggs, Simeon stared at the carton, puzzled and immobile.

“Is something wrong,” you asked.

“I’m afraid so. I can’t hold the eggs, cinnamon, and chocolate in one hand, but I don’t want to let go of your hand, either.”

You laughed at him. He looked so serious when he said that. You checked the top carton for any cracks and picked it up in your free hand, “problem solved.”

“Thank you, MC,” Simeon looked away, realizing that he was being unreasonably clingy.

From behind you, you heard a succubus sigh and mutter, “I can’t even go to the store without feeling single. I want a girlfriend so bad.”

You both held in a laugh for her sake. Simeon felt overjoyed to be seen as your partner – even more so to cause envy in a succubus. If one of the brothers had seen you two, it would certainly cause a scene, but right now, it felt like you were his, and he was yours. He savored the opportunity to show off your relationship all the way to Purgatory Hall, where he reluctantly let go of your hand to unlock the door.

“I’m going to change real quick, and I’ll bring back aprons for us, okay?” Simeon set his keys down and rushed into his room.

You set the bag down on the kitchen counter. When Simeon came back, he was in a DevilCat tank top, his beautiful shoulders on display again. There was something still so unfamiliar about casual clothes on Simeon’s body, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“You like the top? Solomon gave it to me. He doesn’t like clothes that show off his skin, but a witch friend gave it to him. It’s pretty cute, right?”

“You’re cute.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he chuckled and handed you an apron, “but I’m not nearly as cute as you.”

“Can I tie your apron for you, angel?”

“If I can tie yours for you.”

You slipped the apron on and turned around for him. Simeon’s hands lingered at your waist before he grabbed the ties. You could feel him gently tying a tidy bow. His hot breath hit the back of your neck, “lovely.”

Simeon followed your suit and turned for you to tie his apron. He was too pretty to resist. You traced your hands over his shoulders and down his back. Using the ties, you pulled him back against your body before placing a kiss on his left shoulder. He shivered and gasped at the sudden contact. You smiled against his skin, placing one more kiss in the crook of his neck and then stepping back. The ties on Simeon’s apron were so long that you were able to wrap it around him, and you took your time slipping your arms around him and tying a snug bow. You gingerly hooked two fingers under the ties and tugged slightly to ensure Simeon had room to breathe, “comfortable?”

“Very. I didn’t realize this much touching would be okay. I would have gone slower.”

“Next time.”

“Tease,” Simeon leaned back into your arms. “Ready to bake?”

“Of course! What are we making?”

“Cinnamon sugar cookies drizzled in white chocolate,” he smiled, “I haven’t made this before, so I’m extra excited to be trying something new with you.”

“This will be great. I’m sure they’ll turn out amazing. Do you think we can make enough for me to bring some back for the brothers?”

“We’ll make enough for them – we can even make some for Diavolo and Barbatos. You know,” Simeon hummed, pulling the flour from the cupboard, “it’s easy to get a bit jealous that you’re thinking about others on our date, but you’re so nice, and I can’t fault you for making me envious. Could I trouble you for a kiss?”

You kissed his cheek, “better?”

“Exceedingly.”

Simeon set a recipe card on the counter so that you could both read it. You both made quick work mixing the dough together with Simeon mixing as you measured the next ingredients. Once it was all mixed, he looked at you and asked, “should we add more cinnamon?”

“The recipe said 2 teaspoons for this much dough,” you reminded him.

“I’ll let you in on a cooking secret, at home, no one really measures seasoning. Cinnamon is like garlic, you read that it goes into the recipe, and then add more.”

“Is that so?” you laughed.

Simeon was right, and if he had half a mind to call Barbatos and get a second opinion, he would have confirmed it.

“MC, one must season with the heart, and my heart says only two things in this moment: first, is that we should add more cinnamon.”

“And second?”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you kissed his cheek and handed him the bottle of cinnamon.

“Oh, no, you should add it,” he smiled. Simeon relinquished control to you. You hesitated, but he stepped away from the bowl and continued to smile eagerly. You had the power to ruin the dough in that moment, but he trusted you – trusted that your heart knew what his did well enough. You sprinkled it in and mixed until incorporated. You searched his face for validation. He touched your face slowly, softly rubbing your cheek. “Perfect.”

Simeon covered the dough and set it in the fridge, setting a wind-up sheep timer for 30 minutes.

“What do we do in the meantime?” you asked.

“What would you like to do?” Simeon asked. “We could watch an episode of a show, or you can put some music on and we can dance in the kitchen – I’ve read that human couples sometimes do that on cooking dates. We’ll do whatever you want.”

“Anything? Then, could we take this date to the couch? We could cuddle and make out until the timer goes off.”

“I’d love to.”

“Good,” you said, plopping down on the couch. You pat your lap, “come here, angel.”

“You want me to sit on your lap?” Simeon felt his face start to warm up as he fought the smile threatening his lips.

“Please?”

Simeon did not need you to ask again. He gently sat down on you, laying his legs up on the couch so he could turn to face you. You pulled him in closer by the waist, staring up at his gorgeous face. He wrapped one arm around your neck and cradled your face in his hand.

“You’re so pretty,” you told him. He loved when you complimented him – almost as much as he loved when you touched him. It wasn’t until recently that Simeon realized how touch-starved he was. Back in the Celestial Realm, Simeon had gone years – sometimes decades at a time – without an affectionate touch. At least now he got the occasional hug from Luke and Asmo or the feeling of Solomon’s arm against his as they sat together watching a scary movie. Barbatos had even held his hand at a busy market so as to not lose him in a large crowd once. He felt so much love since coming to the Devildom, and you were a major source of love and affection for him.

“You’re going to spoil me.” Simeon admitted.

“You deserve it, angel.”

You kissed him sweetly, playing with his soft hair as you did. You could feel him melting in your arms. A smile played on his lips and his hands touched you so gently – like he was holding onto something precious and fragile. When you pulled away from him, Simeon sighed with contentment and rested his forehead against yours.

“Can you keep spoiling me?” Simeon asked, his eyes hopeful. You obliged him until the little countertop lamb signaled the 30 minutes was up. A pout flashed on Simeon’s lips briefly before he composed himself. “One more kiss?”

“Of course, but it’s not as if we’re not allowed to kiss during the rest of the baking process.” You gave Simeon a quick peck on his lips to hold him over.

With the first batch of dough in the oven, Simeon prepared the chocolate as you scooped a second batch onto a fresh pan. He started to sing while stirring. His sweet voice filled the room, and with it, his joy seemed to reverberate off every wall. This was such a simple date, but he was overjoyed to the cliché point of singing. When Michael had sent him here, he never could have imagined this much happiness for Simeon. You had done this for him.

“MC, do you want some of this chocolate?” he asked.

“Sure,” you stood next to him. He grabbed a small spoon and fed you. It was sweet, perhaps even sweeter because he had fed you, and you were certain he had added cinnamon into the chocolate when you weren’t paying attention. “Delicious. Do you want me to feed you this time?”

“Actually, can I try something embarrassing?”

You nodded and Simeon stepped away momentarily to wash his hands. With clean hands, he used a spatula to spread a bit of chocolate on his fingertip. He wiped it on your lower lip, the isolated heat of melted chocolate emphasizing the touch. Simeon leaned in and licked your lip before kissing you. There was a slight blush on his face when he pulled back. You licked the remaining chocolate residue off your lips.

“That was fun,” Simeon chuckled.

Before you knew it, you had four dozen cookies made, and Solomon and Raphael had walked into the front door, remarking how good it smelled.

(pt.3, NSFW ending)

[deputygonebye]

jundlcndwastes

Juniper had only ever belonged by her father's side. Her entire life consisted of that strong bond between them and doing everything together, including being introduced into the family business. Granted, that family business was a criminal lifestyle and she hadn't known anything else and so for her, it was perfectly natural and she wouldn't have had it any other way. Because of that, she had put all of her trust in him and only him. Everyone else could have easily turned on them and had, considering when the world went to shit they had just been arrested and put into detention center cells, but that was neither here nor there.

The point was that when the world did end up falling apart, she had to learn to rely on other people. That didn't come easy either when everyone was only in it for themselves. Survival was hard, damn hard, and trusting other people wasn't always a good idea. So for a while there, it had just been the Wolfharts until meeting Shane's group. They had taken them in with relative ease and they made sure to do their parts, trusting their comrades and hoping that trust was returned.

But Shane was an ex-deputy. Things hadn't started off too smoothly with him considering his law enforcement nature clashed with the surprising truth as to what the Wolfharts had been up to when the world was still pieced together. Who would've suspected little Juni got her hands dirty with border crossing? Over time it seemed that Shane had warmed up to her though, and she was relieved for it. ❝ Yeah, but I think I'm almost done with it. ❞ Shame, too, considering it had been giving her something to do when there wasn't much else going on. ❝ He was but honestly, I don't mind doing this all on my own. I made him think his services were better put elsewhere so . . . ❞ The petite woman shrugged. It was nothing personal against Jim, but she was on her own little mission here, getting the work done at her own pace.

Juniper used her forearm to swipe some beads of sweat from her forehead, not minding today's heat at all really. She had been used to it. It was the winter months ahead of them she was dreading, praying it wasn't as icy cold as Jim told her it could be. Yeah, she wasn't a big fan of anything below sixty degrees; fifty pushing it. She grinned brightly at his compliment and laughed softly to herself.

❝ I've been around cars my whole life. My grandpa was a mechanic, and had his own auto shop, too, for years before he passed away. You know, my dad always wanted to start his own business, too; told me we'd run the place together, but ya know, the world had other plans I reckon. So yeah, like I said, I've been around cars my whole life so I know a lot. ❞ That was followed by a wink, knowing that most men didn't expect most women to know much about cars and Juniper could certainly handle her own around any one of them.

Juniper laughed out loud, twirling a wrench between her fingers. ❝ Hey, if that's the way you wanna help me out with this baby then by all means, get a bucket and a sponge out here and wash it for me, huh? ❞

Juniper and August, what was had between the two of them was special, practically priceless. A love that knew no limit - such was clear whenever their eyes met - a bond that reminded Shane so much of his own with Jean. Never to be mistaken for a mechanic, but just as dedicated to her craft as a homemaker, it was she that taught Shane the lessons of life. From how to bake a perfect poundcake without burning the edges, to always choosing compassion rather than callousness, Jean was the greatest teacher. A pedagogue of peace and warmheartedness; never a preceptor of cruelty. There would've been nothing without Jean. No tenderness nor kindness, Shane all alone in the world and without a clue on what to do. Because of her, all was possible, the best pieces of Shane's splintered soul brighter, not overshadowed by the tragedy of their family. A wink by Juniper acknowledged through a youthful smile upon his lips, closed mouth with the corners raised, he understood just what she meant. There was no need for words to explain.

Overseeing the span of the campsite, mountains like a cage around the survivors and mighty trees their unbreakable fence, Juniper was surely the only woman that Shane had met, and could note, who genuinely liked to get her hands dirty. Coated in motor oil or brake fluid - fingertips used for matters other than laundry or cleaning or haircutting - grease along the slender bones and against tan skin. More so a workhorse than an idler, an active participant to the needs of the group, in the more messier sense, there was no speculation as to how she found her place. With Jim on one side of her discussing the beauties of car service, Dale on the other sharing wisdoms about life, sometimes Rick when it came to the more sentimental of conversations. Regardless, Juniper carved her name well into the group's persevering heart.

Her and Shane nearest a vehicle in need of care, Andrea and Jacqui allocating lunch on plates just beside the open firepit, Jim with Glenn next to him just across the rocky way tending to stock inspection, medical and artillery bags opened and sorted through, with playful grumble did the former policeman do as was told. A head shaken in true disbelief; a strut that was almost comical in its motion. Laughter that floated across exhaled breath so easily, a bucket and sponge was not what Shane had in mind when he offered help. Something other than, perhaps a second set of eyes to study possible damage, a second hand to wheild the wrenches as would be needed, but not that. Soapy sponge and water filled bucket the very last concern, from a job that Jim had completed hours before, items no longer in use, either object was grabbed just as Shane promised he would. Respectfully, a nod of the head to Juniper's direction before he turned on his heels: yes, ma'am.

"You want me to take my shirt off, too? Give you the full experience?" Shane teased, dropping the bucket onto the ground once returned to where Juniper and the car was, sponge plopping into the suds. "It's too late to take back my offer, ain't it? Well, girl, you're damn lucky Jim wasn't usin' the bucket no more. Would've had to resort to the ol' spit and shine method. An old rag and some good elbow effort. You done yet? Sooner you get finished here, the sooner I can give this sweet lady the lovin' that she really needs. Unless, of course, you wanna lend a hand. Won't refuse the help. Won't say no for the chance to splash you with some soapy lake water, either. I still haven't forgotten what you said about me yesterday, Juniper. Revenge, I hear, is best served in times like this."

[watermelonlipstick]

Three, Two, One

Working through my list of requests, I was really grateful to be able to fulfill this one from anon, who asked: 

I have ptsd, and really loud, sudden noises and sudden touches can make me have a panic attack, so can you do something where there’s a really loud noise or someone touches the reader and sends her into a panic attack and Dean helps her?

It felt a little too obvious to go with a gunshot here. I’m also imagining this set in early seasons both for aesthetic and for Bobby’s house. Hopefully it’s something like what you were hoping for!

Title: Three, Two, One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Word Count: 1069

Summary: Dean grounds the reader after a panic attack brought on by a loud noise. 

Warnings: oblique description of panic attack, description of loud noise

           The way he was right in front of you at virtually the same second the car backfired almost made it worse at first, to be honest, filling your field of vision as he’d flown out of the front seat of the car where it sat in Bobby’s salvage yard.

           “Shit, I’m so sorry, I thought I’d fixed it—here, sit down,” he said, guiding you over to a folding chair on the edge of the garage. You let him ease you to the metal, feeling the heat and pounding starting to build in your head already. Dean crouched in front of you. “Water? Let me get you some water.”

           He was back in a flash with a plastic bottle, sweating so much in the humidity that the paper label on it hung loose and ugly. You took it from him with a shaky hand once he’d cracked the cap off, and took a quick sip more to feel the coldness in your mouth than out of any real thirst. Dean reached out to pat your thigh and pulled back at the last second like he’d been burned, remembering that sometimes touching you made it worse. “Can I—um?”

           You nodded, grateful for his asking and worried if you spoke you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. His palm over your knee was just this side of too hot, beach sand baked in the summer sun, and you tried hard to bring yourself back to reality, focus on that point of heat seeping through your jeans.

           “1 to 10?” he asked, gentle but firm as he fell into his script.

           “7,” you answered honestly.

           Dean nodded, just once, almost to himself, flicker of a quirk at one side of his mouth gone so fast you might’ve missed it. If you weren’t clawing to keep yourself above water you might’ve been able to appreciate his pride in heading off the worst of it by his rapid action.

           “I’m right here, you can close your eyes. Not going anywhere,” he continued in that poundcake voice; soft, sturdy, and sweet. Through trial and error you’d found that skipping to the three—three things you could hear—of a 5-4-3-2-1 grounding strategy was better for you; less risk of a surprise touch to add to the panic at its worst and increased contrast from whatever loud noise that had triggered it slowing the reins of your mind faster, letting you grab ahold and take control again. If you closed your eyes you could focus even harder on those small sounds, but so often it was impossible to beat back the anxiety enough to let you do it—this was one of the things Dean had been working on with you, ability to give the burden of watching out to him when you were buried in the tunneling foxhole of your mind. You tried your best to take a deep breath and let your eyelids slide shut.

           Three things you could hear.

           “Deep Purple.” Either the battery on the car was still good or he had that old boombox somewhere in the garage.

           “Underrated as always. That’s good; another?” he encouraged.

           “Windchime on the back porch.” Just a light twinkling; just barely below breeze to make the weather perfect.

           “Damn, you can hear that? I need to stop cranking the stereo so loud. Just one more.” Even knowing he was intentionally putting in the casual commentary, it helped to latch onto the light, easy conversation.

           “Cicadas.”

           “Annoying as hell, right? Okay, now two.”

           Two things you could smell.

           “Motor oil, you.”

           You could hear the smile in his voice even with your eyes closed. “And what do I smell like?”

           “Sweat, Old Spice, Coors Light.” And that little underlying note you could never place; the closest you’d ever gotten being a kind of sweet leather—leaving a cupcake in a hot car, maybe—but you were already at five things, technically. Feeling a touch of the panic start to lift, you were able to give him a weak facsimile of your normal cheeky smile, keeping your eyes closed as he chuckled gently.

           “Yeah, you love it,” he teased. “One?”

           One thing you could taste.

           “I don’t know, chapstick, maybe?”

           “I’ll call an audible and say you can swap for something you can feel,” he offered when you couldn’t think of anything.

           “Your hand on my knee.”

           He waited a beat for you to try to regulate your breathing before saying anything else. “1 to 10?”

           “3.” You opened your eyes to see him where you knew he’d still be, unmoved from his crouch on the weedy gravel in front of you. He still looked a touch concerned but primarily his face was open and hopeful as he searched your expression for more clues on how you were doing. “I’m good, sorry,” you sighed on the tail end of another deep breath, relishing the relative loosening of your lungs from a few minutes before.

           A smirk spread across Dean’s face, whites of his teeth impossible contrast to the light tan he’d gotten in the last couple weeks and spray of new sun-dyed freckles across his face, especially with the smudges of grease he had from working all day. “Nothing to be sorry about, kid. Should’ve double checked before I had you come check it out, that’s on me.” There was a shade of guilt there, and you wrapped your fingers around his hand where it stayed on your knee, giving him a little squeeze.

           Clearly that wasn’t enough to assuage Dean’s guilt, but what ever was? He held your gaze for a second before easing up to standing, grabbing a wrench out of his back pocket and tossing it in the general direction of a toolbox before wiping his hands sloppily on the back pockets of his jeans and rubbing the close-cut hair at the back of his neck. “Can I make you a sandwich? I’m starved.”

           It was another apology and fighting Dean about it wouldn’t help; the sandwich a continuation of the rapid response to your panic attack in that it was a manifestation of the best way Dean knew how to show affection/gratitude/apology, that wrap-you-in-a-blanket, take-you-under-my-wing care always so much easier for him than putting into words what he meant.

           You let him have it. “Yeah, a sandwich sounds good.”

           The way he smiled in response as he held out a hand to pull you up and sling an arm around your shoulders would’ve been enough to make you eat 20 sandwiches.

           One thing you could taste.  

-

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[aquagirl1978]

congrats on your 500 followers ^^ may I please request ray + desperate kisses? 🌶

if u don't mind, maybe unrequited love for them? but if not please ignore this line xD

What a great prompt, anon! I woke up today, and was feeling the need for pain. Hope you enjoy.

He Loves Me - Ray Blackwell x Reader (Ikemen Revolution)

Pairing: Ray Blackwell x Reader

Prompt: desperate kisses (with unrequited love)

Tags: NSFW - Minors, DNI

The party was in full swing when you noticed you hadn’t seen Ray in a while. The Black Army went all out in planning a huge bash to say farewell to you before you moved to the Red Army to be with your lover, Lancelot. There were tears, there were hugs, there were drinks, but there was no Ray anywhere.

You politely excused yourself from the conversation you were in the middle of – Seth and Fenrir were teasing Sirius about the new orange vanilla poundcake he baked for the party – and made your way through the maze of partygoers.

He was standing in the shadows, just outside the room where the party was being held, a grimace etched on his face and a bottle of whiskey in his hand, clearly in his own little world.

“Ray?” you called out softly.

He turned to look at you, his expression softening. “Why aren’t you at your party, Alice?”

“I noticed you weren’t there and...” Ray sighed, sad and soft, distracting your thoughts. “What is it, Ray? Are you mad at me?”

He approached you, standing so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “No, Alice, I’m not mad at you,” he whispered. “But I hate that you’re leaving us, just to go live with that prick. I respect him as the King of Hearts, but you Alice, you deserve so much better.”

Your mouth fell open in shock; Ray had never spoken to you like that before. You took a step back, your body trembling as it hit the wall behind you. “Ray, what has gotten into you?”

Ray closed the distance between the two of you and slammed his palm against the wall, the bottle falling out of his other hand. “Damnit, Alice.” He swallowed nervously, his emerald eyes piercing you. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Eyes wide, you stared at him questioningly. “What -?”

Ray’s mouth was on yours, swallowing your words and your breath, before you realized you were kissing him back. You wrapped an arm around his neck, practically clinging to him, your traitorous body acting on its own. You knew this was wrong, you were in love with Lancelot, but gosh, this...this just felt right. And so good.

Your lips parted as you moaned softly, his mouth moving along your jawline, leaving a trail of quick kisses until he found your neck. Tilting your head, you bared your neck to the king, enjoying the sensation of his lips on your sensitive skin.

Warmth filled your core as Ray’s hands caressed your body, his touch sending tantalizing tingles down your spine. Wrapping your leg around his waist, you pulled him closer to you, as he slipped a hand under your skirt.

You buried your head in his shoulders, trying to muffle your noises as he inserted a finger deep inside you. Your body already soaked with arousal, Ray slipped another finger inside, teasing you, tempting you.

Dizzy with desire, you reached out for him, your lips hungry for his. His green eyes gazed into yours so tenderly your heart ached. Suddenly, he withdrew his fingers and unwrapped your leg from his waist.

A quiet whimper escaped your lips, confused as to this change. You gazed back at him, pleadingly. He kissed you, deeply and desperately, his lips lingering, hovering over yours, his breath tickling your skin as he whispered. “I can’t. I love you. I love you so much, I can’t do this to you.”

He left you with one final sweet kiss goodbye, before turning, and walking down the hallway, back to his room.

Reeling in shock and heartache, your body crumpled, slumping to the floor in a puddle. You brought your fingers to your lips, where just moments ago he left his last kiss.

“He loves me...”

Tagging: @chaosangel767 @redheadkittys @alixennial @altairring @queen-dahlia @rhodolitesrose @atulier-mururun

[butgilinsky]

the middle piece // ph

warning; just tooth rotting fluff(:

summary; you know pope’s your soulmate before he does

word count; 2.7k+

you committed the sight to memory. you had a snapshot of the cursive lettering stored in the forefront of your mind. the way it twisted around the bend of your finger was a sight you’d never get tired of. 

the day you woke up with the fancy lettering on your ring finger changed your life in more ways than one. you knew who it belonged without even having to think about it. it was clear as day that the boy who lived on the opposite side of the island was the one the universe had chosen for you. 

your eighteenth birthday was a few months before pope’s, so you knew you’d have to wait a few months before he’d realize you were his soulmate. you didn’t mind waiting a few months, given that you’d already waited eighteen years. 

you weren’t always fond of the idea of soulmates marks. you wanted to fall in love with someone naturally, not because your family name was etched into their skin. you wanted somebody to want to be with you, not feel like they’d been forced into a reality they didn’t ask for. 

you smiled when you saw ‘heyward’ written across your finger. you had spent the last year going through the different possibilities of what would happen when you woke up on your eighteenth birthday. there was no guarantee you’d even know the person. you had no way of knowing if they were even on the island with you, which made the search for soulmates that much trickier. 

somehow, you just knew that pope was the one for you. you’d always thought he was cute, despite the rivalry between both sides of the island that had been drilled into your skull at a young age. he was caring and kind, and nothing like any of the boys you went to school with. 

sure, you were a kook, but you were the furthest from the kook stereotype as you could possibly be. you didn’t hang out with pogues much, but you had a job, and you broke up any fights between kooks and pogues that you stumbled across. 

your parents opened the bakery before you were born. it was a small bakery, near the edge of figure eight, close to pogue territory. everyone on the island knew about the small family owned business, and in return, knew you. it was a blessing and a curse, but you enjoyed it more often than not. 

you spent a lot of your free time in the small bakery, making coffee and grabbing pastries for customers that dropped by on their way to work or school, sometimes getting the occasional touron. 

you were familiar with the core group of pogues. they stopped by the bakery when they dug up enough money to snag a couple of pastries. sometimes kiara bought them all hot chocolate on days where the temperature dropped below 70. so when the walked in this morning, bright smiles on their faces, you weren’t so surprised. 

you had gotten used to moving in a way where your left hand was somewhat hidden. you started wearing rings to cover up the name that was easily recognizable to everyone on the island, and only used your right hand to type into the register. 

“y/n!” you smiled brightly at jj when he threw his arms in the air, a knowing look on his face as he leaned halfway over the countertop. 

“i’m not slipping you a bagel, jj.” he scoffed at you, feigning offense at your accusation. 

“how dare you suggest that i would try to con you into a free bagel. i would never trick you, y/l/n.” you rolled your eyes, but kept your bright smile. 

“i just don’t believe you, jj, but i’d be happy to get you guys anything you need.” kie pushed jj to the side softly so she could lean over the counter top, pressing her cheek against yours while pursing her lips slightly. 

“hi babes. got any cake pops left?” you clicked your tongue in thought, looking in the display case before humming softly to yourself. 

you ran out of cake pops before lunch rush, just about every day. kie always came in asking for one, despite her speculation that you’d be out of them before she had even woken up in the morning. she preferred the birthday cake ones, but she’d take just about any of them if you had any. 

you held up a finger, jogging into the back to check if there were any more. you scoured the shelves before smiling brightly and slipping out a pack of bright pink frosted cake pops. kie jumped happily when she saw you walking out with a box, a bright smile spread across her face at the sight. 

you laughed gently in her direction, setting the box down before filling the display case with the remaining cake pops. you took the last one and slipped it into a paper bag before rolling it and sliding it across the counter towards kie. 

“caramel coffee with a chocolate chip muffin?” john b’s teeth peeked out through his wide smile when he started nodding, excitement filling him at the thought of getting his usual.

“i want a cake pop.” jj frowned at you, but you just clicked her tongue in response, an amused expression staring back at him. 

“only if you’re good for it, maybank.” you watched him shove his hand in his pocket, rummaging through the mess of it before he pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill. 

“good ol’ abe here to save the day, am i right?” you rolled your eyes but pulled out another cake pop, following by john b’s muffin. 

you put them in separate bags, handing them to the boys over the glass of the display case before turning to pope with a soft smile. you stood on your toes to give you an extra inch as you peered over the top of the case, quirking an eyebrow up in curiosity. 

“lemon or marble?” he laughed gently, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek as he thought. 

pope heyward was definitely easy on the eyes. a smile that sometimes shined brighter than the sun in the sky, and sometimes so gentle you were sure you’d melt in your place. he stood taller than you, but the distance that the counter created made you somewhat eye level with him as he lost himself in thought. 

you subconsciously hid your hand away from the group, knowing that they all knew you were 18 at this point. a few of them were too, but you didn’t want to find yourself in the soulmate conversation with a group of people you’d have trouble lying to. 

the only person that knew what name was etched into your skin was sarah, seeing as she demanded to see your hand on the morning of your birthday. hers came quickly afterwards, and the name ‘routledge’ had never sounded so sweet to her. 

she had been so excited to find out what name she’d get, regardless of the fact that she knew it was going to belong to her boyfriend of over a year. he’d gotten her name etched into his skin just a few months before, and he didn’t have a doubt in his mind that she’d get his on her birthday. 

“lemon.” you nodded, tearing yourself out of your bubble of thought and reached for the slice of poundcake. 

you reached for the middle, remembering the day that pope had explained to you that the center of the pound cake had always been his favorite. you had no idea that the placement of a middle piece meant so much to a person until he’d explained it to you, but you never forgot it. 

“you’re skipping like four pieces.” jj’s pulled together in confusion, mumbling around the bite of cake in his mouth. 

“pope likes the middle piece.” you shrugged happily before handing the boy his bag, smiling at the feeling of his fingers sliding across yours gently. 

“doesn’t every middle piece taste the same?” jj asked again, now turning to pope who was now the one in question. 

he shrugged gently, mumbling something about it being the last part to dry out, which sent jj and him into a short argument about if it actually made a difference. kie watched you run your left hand through your hair while you punched something into the register with your right hand. 

“i’ll pay for it all.” she mumbled to you, trying to be discrete about her hijacking the bill while her friends argued in the middle of the semi empty bakery. 

you smiled and nodded at her, finishing the order before you started making john b’s coffee. you laughed gently to yourself when you heard bits and pieces of the argument that had slightly shifted gears into muffins vs. cupcakes. 

when you handed the paper cup to the tallest boy, he thanked you gently before diving back in to defend muffins against jj who was bashing them for being ‘a healthier and grosser cupcake’. 

your eyes found pope, who was looking between the two of his friends with a slightly annoyed expression. his eyes found yours for a moment, before he smiled gently. you ignored the heat in your cheeks and turned back to kiara, who was leaning onto the counter and smirking at you. 

your eyebrows pulled together and she reached arms out, pulling you into a hug before bringing her lips close to your ear. 

“the rings are a good cover up, but it’s not hard to piece the puzzle together. his birthday’s only a few days away.” you rolled your eyes, knowing that the three boys were now all staring at the two of you. 

“i know.” you spoke gently, smiling at kie when she pulled back from you. 

“let’s go, boys. the ocean waits for no one.” kie pushed jj and john b towards the door, leaving pope a few feet behind. 

“thanks for the,” pope held up the bag that had a slice of cake in it, flashing you a gentle smile that you returned along with a slight nod. 

“anytime.” he nodded gently, looking at the door when the bell above it rang. the pogues all stood at the door, sending him a questioning glance to which he bowed his head and looked back at you for a second. “i’ll see you.” 

when pope woke up a few days later, he thought he had been dreaming. he didn’t think the name on his finger would ever match up with the cute girl from the bakery that lived on figure eight. there was no way that the nicest kook on the island, next to his best friend, was actually his soulmate. 

you would’ve told him, right? you’d seen him too many times to count since your eighteenth birthday. there’s no way you’d keep something like this from him. who does that? nobody keeps quiet about who their soulmate is. 

truth be told, pope was scared. he was scared that he was mistaking things, and if he showed up to the bakery, he’d find a different name etched into your skin, and that he’d embarrass himself. he was scared he was getting the wrong idea. surely there were people with the same name as you. 

there was always a possibility for that, but there was no way for him to know if he didn’t try. 

when sarah told him that you were out surfing, he could’ve sworn his heart stopped. he couldn’t find a flaw in you, no matter how hard you tried. he figured he’d stumble into the small bakery and shove his finger in your face, and that’d be that. it was a simple exchange if he didn’t think too much about it. 

but there was no way pope could stop himself from over thinking it. the whole way to the beach he thought about all the ways this could go wrong. the nice, cute, bakery working kook that remembered his craving for the middle piece of poundcake. the girl that remembered his internal battle between lemon or marble poundcake every time he walked into the bakery. 

the girl that smiled brighter than the north star on the darkest night of the year. the one that gave him a ride home one day when he got stuck in the rain, telling him repeatedly to not worry about getting her seats wet. the girl that he spent too much time thinking about. 

when he got to the beach, you were walking out of the water, board tucked under your arm and a light smile on your face while you shoved your friend walking beside you. 

your eyes found pope’s across the sand and you told your friend you’d be back, handing her your board while you walked through the sand to meet pope. you saw the nerves in his features and the way he stood, shifting weight between his feet as he thought of an opening line. 

“happy birthday.” you offered, breaking through the silence with a smile and a light conversation starter. 

“thanks.” he smiled, letting the warmth spread through his chest upon seeing your bright eyes paired with a smile that was destined to rip his heart out. “i uh,” he stumbled over his words, uncertainty suffocating him just as it had been since he woke up this morning. 

“let me see it.” you held out your hand, eyes fixed on his own hand that was twitching by his side slightly. he moved it hesitantly, placing it the palm of your own before you spread his fingers and looked at the lettering. 

“it’s not a trick, is it?” your eyebrows pulled together, confusion encasing you as your feet dug into the soft sand below you. 

“i don’t know how the universe works, pope, but if you’re being tricked then i guess i am too.” you slid the ring off of your finger that hid the first part of his name and held your hand out. 

you were noticeably steadier than pope was. granted, you’d had months to process this information while pope had only been given a few short hours. it was a big deal, there was no doubt about that, but neither of you were upset with this information. a piece of pope had always hoped it was you, even if he didn’t always realize that. your heart made room for pope a long time ago, and you were just waiting for him to take advantage of it. 

“so it’s real then?” you nodded gently, watching pope run a finger across the name on your skin. it was taking him a while to process this. 

“as real as it’ll ever be.” he nodded slowly, looking away from your finger and back up at you. 

“and you don’t care that i-” he bit the inside of his cheek, his nerves spiking at the words that sat on his tongue. 

“if you’re going to ask if i care that we live on different sides of the island, then the answer is no. i don’t care where you come from, pope. i don’t care about this classist mass of land in the middle of the ocean. i don’t care about how big your house is, or which high school you go to.” 

pope’s smile was growing as he listened to you. his heard was thumping in his chest, but he wouldn’t admit that to you. you didn’t need to know how fast his mind was racing, or how the world around you seemed to fade away as he watched you list the things that didn’t matter to you, as opposed to the things that did. 

pope never thought you could fall in love with somebody that you barely know. in all reality, there were so many things that pope didn’t know about you. he knew you worked in a bakery, and that you lived on figure eight. he knew that you had a great memory and that his name was on your skin for eternity, but there were so many unanswered questions. 

he wanted every answer to every question. 

"can i take you on a date?” you nodded, your smile stretching until it reached your eyes. 

“i would love to that.” pope nodded, a giddiness filling his chest at the sight of you smiling wide and bright at him. “as long as it’s not in the bakery.” 

pope laughed then, nodding excitedly before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. he felt himself relax before pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

“i promise it won’t be in the bakery.”  

[sondepoch]

Of Flying Spatulas and Cakes Unbaked (Solomon x Reader)

You're not the best at cooking, though you're willing to try. And then there's Solomon, who seems to be pretty decent on his own, though entirely unwilling to put in more effort than necessary. So when you two have to work together to produce some human dishes for Diavolo's retreat, it's feels fitting that you collide in what can only be described as a chaotic tale of flying spatulas and cakes unbaked.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

You made toast once.

And if burned coffee counts, that's another 'dish' you've 'cooked.'

But you have a feeling neither of those are answers that Barbatos is looking for, so when he asks you what meals you've prepared in the past, you simply respond: "Nothing, basically."

He flashes you an incredulous look, a disbelieving stare heavy with the implication that you're not telling him the truth to get out of work, but there's nothing else you can say.

It's true.

"Hey, it's not my fault," You grumble, crossing your arms. You don't miss Solomon's amused laughter next to you. "Lucifer never told me I'd be cooking a meal for you guys during this retreat."

Barbatos sighs, shaking his head. He instructs Solomon to watch over you very carefully before agreeing to leave the two of you alone. "I'll check in on both of you later. Try not to burn anything."

"What an ass," You tell Solomon when Barbatos is safely out of sight. He's a supernatural demon, so there's still a pretty good chance that he heard you anyway, but you can't really bring yourself to care right now.

"Aw, don't be upset just because he's better at cooking human food than you, a human, are." Solomon flashes you a knowing smirk, and it really takes every ounce of self-control for you to ignore him and begin flipping through a cookbook. There has to be something in here that you can make, right?

You flip to a page about pasta, figuring that it looks simple enough. Step one: Bring a pot of water to a boil. Step two: Add pasta. Step three: Add salt. Step four: Stir until the pasta has reached a state of—holdup, what the fuck does al dente mean?

You curse inwardly, wishing that Lucifer hadn't confiscated your phone when you entered the Devildom. Your D.D.D works fine when it comes to anything related to demons, but all information about the human world is encrypted with a special password that he never shared with you.

Tossing a glance back at Solomon, you bite your lip at the sight.

The sorcerer is leaning back, one leg propped up on the kitchen wall, scrolling through his phone, while his spare hand is held forward in a casting pose. It glows a light purple, and his magic brings the kitchen to life, pots flying around and knives chopping onions, all without the mage having to do a thing.

Stupid magic, you think. How is it fair that he's managed to tap into his magical strength when you can't even cast a spell? You think back to Asmodeus's words from yesterday. Asmo said that I have so much magical potential, too.

"Jealous?" Solomon asks with his usual aggravating smirk. You hadn't even noticed when he'd put his phone away.

"Of course not!" You cross your arms and glance at the page in your cookbook. You might not know what al dente means, but you can boil water.

"Well, good. Human food is meant to be prepared the human way, not the demon way." Solomon walks forward and glances at the page you're looking at. "Pasta? Well, those demon brothers will probably love what you cook regardless of how basic it is."

You flash an angry scowl his way and ignore him, pulling out a pot and filling it with water. You fiddle with the stove, not quite sure what heat setting to set it to. How long is this supposed to take? You furrow your eyebrows and try to remember something from your fifth-grade Home-Ec class, but your memory fails you. Ugh, guess I'll have to sit here and watch the whole time.

It's only while you're glaring at the lack of bubbles in the water that you recall Solomon's words.

"Wait, what do you mean?" You ask, turning to him. "Human food can only be prepared in the human way?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" Solomon puts down his phone, which he had taken back out after your initial reluctance to talk with him. He seems almost surprised that you're even asking him this question, but he opts not to comment on it. Good choice.

"Demons prepare their food differently from humans. Angels, too. For demons, the quality of their food comes from the quality of the ingredients. If you noticed, Barbatos took nearly two hours preparing the ingredients to their optimal stage...but when it came to the cooking, he just cast a spell and let that do the work."

You let out a small "oh" at Solomon's words. That makes sense, you suppose. "What about in the Celestial Realm, then?"

"Heh, for angels, it's all about the purity of your intentions. When Luke was cooking, he spent most of the time getting ready and stabilizing his mental state. Once he was spiritually balanced, his magic did the rest."

"And us?"

"Well, you know the drill. For humans—the normal ones, who don't know magic, that is—our only choice is to do it the hard way. A great chef will be able to produce excellent results even with average ingredients and a tainted soul. It's all about technique." The mage glances at you, giving you another amused smirk. "Something you clearly lack."

Yep. There it is.

There's the Solomon you know.

"Shut up," You grumble, taking out your frustration on the long strands of pasta as you shake them into a bowl. Your curiosity finally overrides your pride, though, and you turn to him with another question. "So then why are you using magic to do everything? Isn't that not the human way?"

"My food will taste like shit." Solomon smiles. "But that's their problem."

"Barbatos will be furious if he finds out," You warn with a smile, smacking him with a spatula that was flying around in the air. But you have to confess, the idea of pissing Barbatos off is pretty appealing. And if Solomon is the one doing the pissing off, that's even better!

But then the strangest thing happens.

The spatula smacks you back.

You flinch, mouth wide open in shock.

"D-d-did that actually just happen?" You murmur in disbelief, eyes locked on the plastic green-and-white utensil as it flies over to a pan to mix some vegetables.

"Yes. Yes, it did." Solomon stifles his laughter.

"Oh that's it, this spatula is going down." You stomp forward, reaching your arm out. You'll snap it in half, use another knife to chop it into tiny little bits, fry said tiny little bits into some god awful dish, and then you'll serve it to a demon with a flame specialty—so that the plastic in the spatula can spend the rest of its miserable life eternally locked in the fiery and churning depths of a demon's stomach.

Or at least, that's what you would do if not for Solomon holding you back.

"Let me go!" You screech, still reaching for the spatula. "I'm going to kill it! I'm going to make it regret its entire existence!"

Solomon sighs, lifting you up by the waist with both hands. In a single fluid motion, he has you facing your pot of water—now boiling—once more. "Geez, of course the spatula will respond like that. It's being controlled by magic. It has a mind of its own."

"Fine," You pout, tossing in handfuls of pasta. It's all a ruse though. The second Solomon leaves the kitchen, that spatula really will get to experience its own special circle of hell. You'll make sure of it. "So, what? If your food tastes inedible and my food is being prepared by me of all people, what will everyone eat tonight?"

Solomon put a finger to his chin, thinking for a second. "I doubt Barbatos will leave us to do everything. You saw that look on his face, he'll be back here any minute to take control. Knowing him, he'll probably be a better chef than you. Not that that's a particularly impressive feat."

"Shut up! At least I'm trying, unlike you. I'd like to see you make anything better with your bare hands, instead of relying on stupid magic spells."

"Is that a challenge?" Solomon asks with a grin. "If so, I accept." He strolls to the other end of the kitchen and begins preparing god knows what, and you can't help but remember that he's not just an all-powerful mage with 72 pacts; he'd also lived as a normal human. And despite his youthful appearance, he's probably been alive considerably longer than you.

Maybe challenging him isn't the best idea?

You bite your lip, staring at the pasta as it swirls around in the water. You poke it with a ladle, wondering if it's reached a state of al dente or not, before sighing and deciding to wing it. If the pasta is a little on the softer side, that won't hurt anyone, right? Yeah, you think. If anyone questions it, I'll just say that this is how we eat it in the human world.

From there on, you find that cooking is less difficult than you'd made it out to be in your head. The hardest part is when you work on the sauce, because you have to remember to keep mixing it so that the bottom doesn't curdle—whatever that means—but otherwise, making the dish goes by with fairly little problems. In fact, when the pasta and sauce are mixed together and placed on a big plate, the dish actually looks appetizing.

"I'm impressed," Solomon mutters when he sees you taking a picture of it for Devilgram. "But my cake will be better."

"Cake?" Your ears perk up at the word. It's been so long since you've had even a slice of human dessert. Lucifer had bought you a small poundcake for some demon holiday, but you'd offered a piece to Beelzebub and Mammon and before you knew it the entire thing was gone without you having taken a single bite.

"Yup," Solomon says, sprinkling flour into the batter. He mixes it slowly and thoroughly, but you can tell that the texture is still a little off. "Ugh, hand me that spoon, will you?"

You glance around and pick up the biggest spoon you can find, assuming that this is the one he's talking about. But when you go to hand it to Solomon, he gives you a strange look.

"MC, this is a measuring cup."

Oh.

The sorcerer sighs, stretching his arm out. You see the telltale purple light radiate off his arm as he quite literally summons the desired spoon to his side, only for you to yank it out of his hands. "Nope. Nu-uh. No can do, sir. This is a human cake we're preparing, so we are going to be doing this the human way."

You pinch a small clump of flour on your hand and spritz it in Solomon's face as a mock punishment for using magic, instantly reverting to helping him mix the batter. Or—again—that's what you would do if not for Solomon obstructing you.

"Hey!" You shriek in protest when he throws a handful of flour on your face in retaliation. "Oh, it's on."

You grab a tube of frosting that Solomon had filled, probably to decorate the cake with, and smear the pink on his chin, laughing when you realize how much it looks like a little beard.

"What's wrong?" You ask victoriously when he sees himself on the reflection of a metal bowl. "Don't like facial hair?"

"Oh, you don't know what you just got yourself into," Solomon mutters with a scowl, pinning both your arms at your side in a hug-like hold from behind while smearing chocolate fondue on your cheeks. As if that isn't enough, he sprinkles flour over your head, letting it fall and stick to the frosting, teasing you by saying it's "like snow."

"Snow, my ass." You struggle free of his grip and sprint to the small station you'd been working at to cook your pasta. Your eyes scan over the countertop before you find what you're looking for. Perfect! You grab the opened carton, turning around throwing the remnants of heavy cream on the boy following you. The look of sheer horror on Solomon's face as the droplets of white splatter over his black shirt makes it so worth it. "Now your shirt matches your hair!" You exclaim, clapping your hands optimistically.

But whatever eagerness you're feeling is squashed by Solomon's low growl as he uses his magic to transport the entire bag of flour into his hands. "No," You murmur, eyes wide with horror. "No, no, no. Solomon, don't—"

But he moves before you can get your next word out, dumping the whole thing on your head. That's right. The whole. Fucking. Bag.

For a second, you're paralyzed in shock. Even your vision seems a little whiter at the edges, particles of flour dusting your eyelashes delicately. Only Solomon's amused laughter is enough to stir you back into action, and once you start moving, nothing can stop you. "You. Asshole! I. Liked. This. Shirt!" You scramble to where he'd left a carton of eggs, throwing one at him in between every word. Most of them miss your target, but two land on him, the first making a satisfying smack as it breaks on his shoulder and the second one cracking right over his forehead, the yolk running into his hair. You'd been aiming for his face, but seeing the white locks twist into yellow is almost better.

"My hair!" Solomon exclaims in utter disbelief, shocked that you went that far. While he stands gaping, though, you've already found your next target: a plastic bottle full of whipped cream. You press down on the head experimentally, squealing in delight when a perfect swirl blossoms on your fingertips. You lick it, savoring the sweetness, before turning to Solomon. "No, MC." He puts up two hands protectively, as if you'll assault him at any given minute. "Don't do it. We can talk about this, nice and slow."

You pause for a second and give the sorcerer a moment of peace, to rejoice and maybe think that you're not going to rub whipped cream all over his face.

And then you pounce.

In a second, he's on the ground, under you, arms pinned to the floor by your legs as they straddle his upper body. He wriggles under your grasp, writhing desperately as the whipped cream approaches his face until the fluffy white substance has all but exploded over his face, hair, neck, and shirt.

You laugh.

But your mirth is short-lived. Solomon stares at you, jaw dropped in disbelief until you shake the bottle, upset to find that you've actually emptied its entire contents on him. And once shock is no longer holding the boy down, he taps into the demonlike strength he's developed in his many years in the Devildom, lurching forward in an instant.

"You—you—" Your words come out in stutters, forced into an unmoving stupor when you realize what Solomon just did. "You bastard!"

"Not so fun when you're on the bottom, is it?" Solomon smirks, no longer at your mercy. The jerk flipped you! "Unless you prefer it that way?" You force your gaze away from his at the innuendo, suddenly remembering that he spends as much time with Asmodeus as you do. Your cheeks burn, feeling hotter than hell itself, as you realize what a compromised position you're in.

"Aw, is little MC embarrassed?" Solomon continues his teasing, and you pick up a clump of flour remaining on the floor from when Solomon literally poured the entire bag's contents over your head, and throw it in his face. The mage temporarily flinches, but he doesn't give you any chance to escape, taking a moment to wipe his face clean of the everything you'd thrown at him over the course of this mini food-fight.

He glances at the ungodly clump of sweetness in his hands.

"No," You murmur when a devilish smile blooms on his face. You bring up your arms to push his chest away as he leans closer, but Solomon grabs the two hands troubling him and pins them above your head. "Stop! Solomon, don't do it!" But your pleas go unheard and in the end, it's your desperate thrashing that saves you, most of the sugary mix being smeared on your neck and jaw instead of your face.

"Asshole," You seethe when he's done.

"Aw, but you look so cute like this." Your eyes widen at the words, and you can instantly feel the heat on your cheeks intensifying. "So cute when you're all flustered."

"Sh-shut up! I'm not!" You turn your head away from Solomon. For the first time, you're thankful for the chocolate fondue that covers your cheeks. If he were to know just how abashed his actions are making you, there's not a single doubt in your mind that it would simply be used as further ammunition to tease you with.

"You're not?" Solomon mutters, that aggravating smirk still on his face. He leans forward, bowing his head down low until his white locks tickle your forehead. "How about now?"

"N-no," You mumble and look away. You're no Lucifer, but you want to keep at least a little of your pride. But it seems that Solomon takes your words as a challenge, and within seconds he's dipped his head even lower and his lips are on yours—sweet, covered in frosting, and soft.

You gasp at the contact, not expecting this of all things...but it's strangely pleasant. And a quiet voice at the back of your mind tells you not to pull away.

But then Solomon leans his head back up and his smile is even more exasperating, so before he can get a single teasing word out you pull your head off the ground and capture his lips once more, leaning back when his mouth curves into a smile. You can't suppress a small grin from forming on your own lips when Solomon's grip around your wrists loosens, still leaving a hand to cage over them but bringing another frosting-covered one to slide into your hair. It makes for a nice pillow between you and the ground.

Your smile widens when you feel Solomon's daring tongue dart at your lips, a flirtatious summon for more. More of the moment, more of this, more of you. And suddenly, it doesn't even matter that the two of you are covered in the ingredients of the cake that will now go unbaked. Because Solomon's lips are on yours and you're both breathless and it's hot and sweet and it feels invigorating.

There's not a doubt in your mind that the two of you would enjoy the moment far more—you eventually do, in the privacy of closed doors—if not for Barbatos's sudden appearance in the doorway.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The demon's gaze doesn't land on you immediately, much to your chagrin. His olive eyes first scan over the kitchen countertop, the ripped-open flour bag, the spilled carton of heavy cream, half-empty tubes of frosting, and the hideous mess of food that covers nearly every inch of the floor. He glances nervously at the oven, which is still on but thankfully devoid of any burning food that might ruin the dinner.

And it's only then that his stare fixates on the two of you: frozen mid-makeout, covered in frosting, whipped cream, and flour. You tense under Solomon, feeling his muscles stiffen in turn, both your eyes locked onto the demon in front of you.

"...I suppose you'll want me to believe that this is part of the cooking process?"

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: This was inspired by the fact that Solomon's smile in the game always looked more like a devilish smirk~ I feel like he'd be such a brat x3 one of my all-time favs tho

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