#the salt shaker speaks

[hikarry]

Just let me share this gem I went out of my way to make because of an ask I received on Instagram threatening to put me inside a salt shaker, to which I answered I was the one in power of the salt shaker and I could put whoever I wanted inside said salt shaker

And you know exactly who I put in the salt shaker

[doctorsiren]

I don’t know what this says about me but we have 3 salt shakers/grinders in this house, and my favourite one is missing. The fact that I have a favourite salt shaker is wild to me.

The other two get the job done but they’re salt grinders and I hate using them over the normal shaker because they leave bigger chunks of salt, which would be fine bc I love salt, but sometimes the salt chunks don’t taste like salt and so it just feels like I crunched a small rock in my mouth (which I technically did) and it gives me very brief panic that I chipped a tooth or something

[clannfearrunt]

Rly awesome (RIP) how directly my relationship to food manifests in my worldbuilding weaknesses. I can tell u what an animal Can physically eat. I can spend ages thinking abt the mechanical experiences of eating various existing foods, like texture, compatibility with anatomy, etc. But lord help me if u ask what kinds of “cooking” or “cultural dishes” anyone may have or enjoy. I simply do not eat complex dishes I eat. Ingredience. With salt. I don’t know what cooking is

[nebulouswinds]

got a move date (forced by sister)! this weekend or next. which is. so incredibly quick comparatively. it sucks. just got used to the idea we'd be here a hot minute yet. gl to her when shes living in an empty house bc nothing here is hers bc she put no effort into building a home.

[rifleonthewall]

accidentally put thyme? thyme. in my sandwich thinking it was pepper

[smudgyink]

resisting the demons that are telling me to draw more clive and leon (i am losing handsomely)

[winter-hoof]

I don’t need them but I want them so bad

[leniisreallycool]

Salt

Hmm, still a little bland... Needs salt. You sprinkle a little more salt into the saucepan. Whisking with one hand, you set the salt shaker down with the other. But you're a little careless, and the shaker tips over onto the counter with a little smack! Little crystals sparkle in the dim light of the kitchen. Without even thinking, you scoop up the spilled salt with your fingertip and flick it over your left shoulder.

"Hey! What the hell's your problem?!"

You turn to see Mammon hovering right next to you frantically blinking his eyes, instinctively reaching to rub them but pulling his hand back.

The comedy of the situation hits you like a truck and you burst into hysterical laughter. Your back hits the counter and you brace yourself on it, unable to support your own weight. Tears stream down your face faster than you can wipe, and all the while you cackle like one possessed.

Through the veil of tears clouding your vision, Mammon obviously has no idea what's going on anymore. First you throw salt at him, and now you're laughing? Are you okay? He reaches out towards you, then pulls back. "Are ya cursed or something?" That only makes you laugh harder.

That's the last straw and Mammon dashes out of the kitchen, calling for his brothers.

"W-wait-" you wheeze between breaths, but that's as far as you get.

By the time Mammon returns with the other demon brothers, you've managed to calm yourself a bit. The mad cackles have subsided to occasional giggle and most of your tears are dried.

All seven of them start to speak, but seem to think the situation is a delicate one and decide to let someone else start.

"What happened? Mammon said you were under some kind of curse," Beel asks after a moment of observation, somewhere between confused and concerned.

"No, no, that's not- there wasn't a curse," you reply, rubbing your eyes. Laughing like that always makes you sleepy. "I threw salt over my shoulder, but Mammon was standing right there, and it got in his eyes."

Now Lucifer is the one to speak up. "Are humans in the habit of... throwing salt around?"

"I've never heard of anything like that..." Levi adds.

Belphie shares a look with Satan. The "how can we prank Lucifer with this" thoughts are so loud you half wonder if they're actually twins. The thought sets you off giggling again.

You've never seen Lucifer move so quickly. One second he's standing near the kitchen's entrance with Asmo clinging to his arm in worry, the next he's by your side, gently holding you elbow and checking your forehead (for fever? Through gloves?). You laugh harder.

"I don't sense any malicious magic. Perhaps it's a more advanced spell than I originally thought..." Lucifer gently squishes your face.

You'd be doubled over cackling if Lucifer wasn't supporting your weight. "No- there's not- there's no curse!" you wheeze, nearly choking on laughter.

The other six promptly begin speculating what could have brought on your strange behavior. "Maybe they are something weird?" "They haven't touched any of my cursed books recently..." "Are you sure they're not just sleepy? Tired humans act weird." "It ain't my fault! I haven't stolen any cursed objects recently! Quit lookin' at me like that!" "I hope it's not poison from the new facemask we tried earlier! I thought it was human safe, but maybe I was wrong..." "I knew I shouldn't have bought that new cursed game off Akuzon... These things are always my fault."

Their speculation isn't helping your situation. At this point your laughter is silent again, and your tears soak the front of Lucifer's shirt. Your face aches from the strain of grinning so wide and your lungs cry out for air.

Eventually, what feels like hours later, you're able to calm down enough to speak again. Your body sags in exhaustion and Belphie keeps glaring at you in worry.

"I'm not cursed, I swear," you say. "Just- in the human world, we have this superstition. I'm not sure where it started, or when, but it started with the belief that spilling salt was due to the devil, because at the time, salt was so valuable they used it as currency. That's also where we get the phrase 'worth their weight in salt'. But basically if you spill salt, you have to throw some over your left shoulder into the devil's eyes to keep him from harming you again. And Mammon was hovering over my left shoulder, and he's the Avatar of Greed..."

"So it's standard human weirdness, then," Mammon says, staring at you like he does when he's pretending not to be so relieved to realize you're okay.

You nod, rubbing your eyes. "Pretty much. Everything lined up perfectly and honestly it couldn't have been better if I planned it."

"Alright, well, you're taking a nap with me. Satan can finish cooking." Belphie grabs your arm and drags you out of the kitchen. For once, the others don't argue.

[fair-lead]

i need to make something. maybe that will fix me

[milkloafy]

A SMOOTH CRIMINAL

⋆｡˚ ❀ pairing: wriothesley x gn!reader ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.4k ⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: you play a harmless prank on your close friend, neuvillette, and he decides to retaliate by sending you to the fortress of meropide for your so-called “crimes” 

You weren’t exactly a hardened criminal. 

Sure you had some bouts of harmless thievery as a child but even then you always returned the item to the owner out of guilt. So, how you got sent to the Fortress of Meropide for messing with your friend was beyond you.

Naturally, it just so happened that your friend was the Chief Justice, and your little prank happened to be pouring out an entire salt shaker into his water as he took a small trip to the restroom. But in your defense, Neuvillette had ordered the last La Lettre a Focalors on the menu and wouldn’t even share a bite with you. 

You huffed at the memory. Salty water was too kind of a punishment, looking back at it. 

Still, you didn’t expect such a petty thing would have you branded as a criminal. If you had known, you would’ve added the contents of the nearby pepper shaker into Neuvillette’s water as well. That way, this sentence would have at least felt more justified. 

After your paperwork was processed, Madeline told you to enter the lift and wait for someone to give you a tour. This would be your new home for a whole…seven days. You hoped you could survive it. 

You tapped your foot as you waiting for your tour guide, eyes scanning across the dark, metallic room. Despite the dim lighting, the Fortress sounded more lively than you would have expected.

Just as you were starting to grow impatient, you spotted a familiar figure walking your way.

Wriothesley, you recognized. You had a brief run-in with him only one before in your life— When you were hanging out in Neuvillette’s office waiting for him to finish the last of his work, when Wriothesley decided to pay the Iudex a surprise visit. Judging from the amused expression on his face, it would seem he remembered you too.

Now, whether it was a good or bad memory, you couldn’t exactly say. Though, for the sake of your time here, you sure hoped it was the former. 

“Prisoner 8072,” he greeted with a chuckle.

You waved sheepishly. “That’s me, reporting for duty, sir.” 

“At ease, solider.”

You rolled your eyes, secretly please he went along with your antics. 

He beckoned you to follow him as he began to show you around the fortress. “Now, before we start the tour, would you like to tell me how you landed here?” 

With an innocent look on your face, you shrugged.

Wriothesley raised his brow expectantly. “My sources tell me it was an attempted poison of the Iudex.” 

Your jaw dropped. “Is that what Neuvillette is telling people?!”

“Just me,” he admitted. 

You almost laughed in disbelief. “Well, it’s a little too late to defend myself now—not that I had a fair trial in the first place, mind you—but I at least have to say that poison the Chief Justice speaks of is measly table salt!” With a huff, you folded your arms across your chest. “Powerful Dragon of Water my ass… If he thinks table salt can poison him…”

Wriothesley chuckled at your pouting, patting your shoulder as a sign of sympathy. “For a week-long sentence, I would have expected that you put pepper in there as well.” 

Your eyes lit up. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking!”

He nodded in agreement, humoring you as he showed you to the cafeteria, offering you a free meal that you graciously accepted.

“While a week-long sentence may be unjust for your the level of your…misdemeanor, I do still hope you can enjoy your stay here,” he said as the two of you finished up your food. 

You considered your thoughts before stating, “I might. If you keep treating me to these free meals.” 

Wriothesley laughed, the noise coming deep from his chest, and you grinned in return. 

“Oh, what would the other prisoners think if they saw their duke playing favorites?” he said in mock despair.

“So you admit I’m already your favorite?”

“Do you find pleasure in putting words in my mouth?”

“Amongst other things.” 

His eyes widened and you flushed as you realized the implication of what you had said.

“Salty water,” you clarified as you cleared your throat. “That is all I was referring to.” 

He nodded solemnly, trying his hardest to keep a straight face. “Of course. Words and salty water.”

“Exactly.”

“Noted.” After a brief pause, Wriothesley quickly changed the subject. “Before I lead you to your dormitory, let me show you my office.” 

You followed along dutifully, making sure your mouth was glued shut until the embarrassment wore off. When the door closed, he beckoned for you to have a seat on the chair in front of his desk.

“To earn your keep here, we use a currency called Credit Coupons,” he explained. “Now, typically, the most steady and secure way for an inmate to earn these is by working in the production line–heating an shaping metals. A physically demanding job even for the strongest of individuals.”

You almost broke out into a sweat at the thought. Neuvillette would definitely be getting an earful from you once you were free from this injustice. 

Wriothesley laughed at the horrified look on your face.

“But luckily for you,” he said, “by special order from the Iudex himself, it was request you do administrative work in the office with me instead.”

“Oh, my gods,” you sighed in relief. Neuvillette was safe for now. 

“Don’t get too excited yet,” he warned with a teasing lilt to his voice. “Are you sure it’s better to be trapped in here with me for seven days than to brave the production line?” 

You quirked your head to the side. “You seem friendly enough.” 

“I’m glad you think so.” He stood up from his chair, pushing it in and waiting for you to follow suit. “Though brief, I look forward to working with you.” 

“You as well.”

He nodded. “Now, it is getting late. Allow me to me conclude this tour by showing you the dormitories.” 

The thought of seeing your new bed for the week excited you. You were tired from walking around so much and you couldn’t wait to shower and collapse on a mattress—no matter how thin it may be. 

Wriothesley dropped you off at the door of your room, watching as you examined the place. You blinked slowly. 

He laughed. “Not to your liking?” 

“I’ve seen hotel rooms that look worse,” you said while shaking your head. “I can manage!” 

“If it is too uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to let me know. Perhaps I can provide you with some special accommodations.”

You hid a smile. “Such favoritism already. Is this what being friends with the Chief Justice does for you here?” 

“Connections don’t quell you any favor in this part of Fontaine,” he said. “This treatment is based on your own merit.” He paused. “And the fact that the Iudex specified that he didn’t intend for this to be a genuine prison sentence.”

You almost snorted at the revelation, the pieces clicking together. “Is this his prank in retaliation for me adding salt to his water?!” you groaned, only upset because you didn’t think of this first. “What an abuse of power.”

Wriothesley chuckled. “Such is the life.”

As he got ready to leave you to your bed quarters for the night, he paused at the exit. You looked at him expectantly. 

“Did you need something?”

He shook his head. “No, not at the moment. I only wanted to say, I look forward to your assistance around the office tomorrow.”

You smiled in agreement. Who wouldn’t want a break from real life and escape to a prison ruled by a surprisingly benevolent duke? 

“Also—“ you looked up to see his sideways grin “—tomorrow’s breakfast is on me.”

With a chuckle, you found yourself agreeing to his offer. “I’ll look forward to the morning then.”

“Have a good night in your temporary home.”

As Wriothesley left the dormitory, you couldn’t shake the smile from your face. If you were going to be here for a week, you might as well make the most of it. At least with the Duke, your time wouldn’t be so bad. 

Maybe even after your sentence, you would still come and visit him.

You closed your eyes as your head landed on your pillow. It was harder than you expected. Quite uncomfortable, actually. You made a face. 

Perhaps Wriothesley could come up and visit you when this was over instead. 

[clemswinecorner]

Neat [George Clarkey]

Summary: George and Y/N are dating, but no one is aware. It can make going out with their friends a bit... weird, a bit risky, but it works.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: sexual innuendos and alcohol, other than that it's fine

I'm in love with this man so here's a fic!

Main Masterlist

Gif from @g-xix

“We’re getting drinks, are you staying here?” Chris shouts over the loud Spanish music of whatever club they are in. Y/N looks around, seeing Arthur Television chatting with a couple of friends and Callum and Chip laughing with some guy they met when they went out some other time. “I’ll go with,” she gestures, and Chris nods as he follows George to the bar, occasionally checking if she’s still behind him. Although it was a Friday night, it was still relatively early, so the club wasn’t extremely busy yet. It was busy enough to have fun, but early enough to still be able to have a conversation with no interruptions, so they easily made their way over to the bar. As they arrive at the bar Chris starts speaking to the bartender, having heard everyone’s orders, and she softly puts her hand on George’s shoulder. He turns to her surprised, relaxing when he sees her. “Oh, I didn’t know you were walking with us!” She smiles, “Yeah, the rest was all in conversation anyway,” she explains, and he nods. Chris turns to the pair, “Do you want a pint?” He asks George, who contemplates his options before nodding. “Yeah. You as well?” He looks at the girl next to him, nodding. “Yes, but I also want to do tequila shots. Oh, and did you get a Guinness for Hill?” Chris looks at her surprised, “Wait, no, I didn’t, where is he anyway?” He asks before moving back to the bartender. “Could I get another 3 pints and a Guinness, please. Are we doing the shots now?” Chris turns to George and Y/N, who quickly make eye contact, before nodding. “Yeah, I’m down,” George answers, and Chris turns back to the bartender. “And three tequila shots, please, we’ll do those first and then take those other drinks back if that’s alright,” You look at George as you wait for the bartender. “Arthur went to the bathroom. You enjoying your night so far?” She asks, leaning closer. He nods, looking down at her, their faces a little too close for it to simply be friendly. Y/N glances towards Chris, tapping his phone on the card reader with the shots and limes already in front of him. “Yeah. What are you doing tonight, going to Becky’s?” She shakes her head, “No, she has to leave early tomorrow so she wouldn’t stay out too long. I’m not sure, why do you ask?” He shrugs, with a hint of a smile on his face. “Just thinking,” he says, moving away from her as Chris turns around. She sends him a knowing smirk as Chris hands out the shots. “Salt, babe, we need salt,” she tells him, and George is already leaning over the bar to grab one of the salt shakers. Y/N and Chris lick their palms and George twists some salt on them, “Okay, you do it for me,” he says, looking at the girl next to him. “What, d’you want her to lick you?” Chris chuckles, making a blush appear on the younger’s face, not realising the implications. “No, I meant like, the salt, not, what?!” He stutters, and Chris laughs even harder as she smiles, taking the salt from him. “Hurry up then, I want to take these shots!”

It’s busier by the time they’ve had a few rounds of drinks and shots. George was still relatively sober looking, having a fairly high tolerance, and Y/N wanted to be semi-responsible, going a bit easy. Unlike some of their other friends, who were already dancing— most of them dragged away by a drunk Chris, telling them how boring they were sitting around. Because their friends were all on the dance floor —or god knows where else in the club— George and Y/N didn’t really try to hide their affection. They were sitting together, her leg on his lap, one of his hands on her thigh and a drink in the other. “Are you staying at mine tonight?” He asks, and she nods. “Yeah, if the other boys don’t mind. Can’t really do anything then, though,” she says, and he shrugs. “It’d be weirder if I went to yours, I think, and with your roommates and stuff. Either way, I was thinking, maybe we could go out tomorrow? Grab a coffee, maybe have a cute little date?” He asks, just loud enough for her to hear. She chuckles, “You can’t get enough of me, can you? My roommates will be out tomorrow night, if you want to come over. We could make that taco thing you send me?” She suggests, and now he’s the one teasing her. “What were you saying about can’t get enough?” She rolls her eyes as he squeezes her waist. “Whatever, then I’ll make it by myself,” she says, and now he’s the one rolling his eyes. “I do have to hit the gym tomorrow, but you can leave whilst I’m gone, and we’ll meet for coffee after. Then do groceries and go back to yours?” She nods at his suggestion, “Yeah, sounds good. I have some work I planned to do tomorrow so that works perfect for me as well.” He frowns when she suddenly moves her legs away from his, turning towards him in a more casual way as she looks towards the dance floor. He follows her line of eyesight, explaining her change in behaviour, and looks back at her. “Are we letting Chris drag us away?” He asks as the mentioned man makes his way over. She smiles at their friend's clearly drunken state, “Yeah, someone has to look out for him. I could use some fun as well,” she says, and he fakes offence. “Is sitting in the corner of the club with me not fun enough for you?” She laughs, “Of course it is,” she leans closer to his face, as they both laugh, ready to kiss, before Chris’ voice brings them back to reality. They share a quick look, realising they almost got caught, and look over at their friend, that bumped into one of the tables and was cursing it out. They both have to hold in their laughs, as he makes his way over. “It’s funny, it almost looked like you were kissing from there, imagine how crazy that would be,” The two share a look once again, both aware Chris will have forgotten this by the morning. “Yeah, imagine. Hey, do you wanna dance again, or did you come here just because?” She asks, brushing off his comment. George chuckles as Chris enthusiastically nods, “yeah, c’mon!” He says, already turning around. George follows, holding his hand for her to grab, in order to not lose each other. No other reason, of course. She takes it with a smile, as Chris leads them through the crowd. Right when they reach their other friends, the first notes to Maneater are heard, and George turns around, already expecting the big smile on Y/N’s face. “Oh my god, this is a banger!” 

The way home went by fast, if you asked Chris and Arthur. They split off relatively quickly with their other friends, some staying at the club and some sharing an Uber home. Chris, Arthur, George and Y/N decided to simply walk back since it was, in theory, only twenty minutes, and it was nice to be in the fresh air for a bit. Chris and Arthur, both still in a drunken state, were giggling joking around, as George and Y/N walked behind them. “I feel like we’re very much being the parents, right now,” Y/N jokes, already on their way for twenty minutes and still being at least ten minutes away, and George chuckles as they walk with their arms interlocked. They knew their friends wouldn’t think much of it, both of them always being affectionate with their friends even sober, and the pair were also too drunk to realise it could mean something. “Don’t act like it hasn’t been the other way around, do I have to remind you of the XIX party two weeks ago?” She gasps at the memory, where she was in a very similar state as Chris was right this moment, and he was making endless fun of her. “Okay, well. You didn’t have to say that. Next time, I won’t come back to your place then,” she says, reminding him of what happened the morning after. “Hey, I wasn’t complaining!” She chuckles, as she looks at the boys in front of them crossing the road.

They walk in silence for a while, before Y/N speaks up. “Do you think they have any idea this is happening?” She wonders, looking at him. He looks at his roommates and back at her, confused by her question, “About what?” She looks at the boys. “Us. That we’re like, dating,” He turns to her as they stop at the traffic light, waiting for the cars to drive by. “I don’t know. Do you want them to?” He studies her face, trying to find an answer somewhere. She shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s more like… I don’t know, Chris comment made me think. They’re your roommates, I know we’re being a bit careful, but they know the both of us so well. But also, if they knew, would they have said something?” George takes in a deep breath. He looks at the boys walking a couple of meters in front of them, not having realised the other two had to stop at the crossing. “Sometimes I think Arthur might know, from my side at least. He hasn’t said it, but I think he just thinks I haven’t realised, but I obviously have,” she looks up at him curiously. “Realised what?” He turns to her with a soft look in his eyes. “How in love with you I am,” he simply says. Her eyes widen a bit— this was unfamiliar territory for them. He realises too, as he looks away from her again. “Shit, sorry, that, okay, that was quite-,”  She immediately interrupts, as she stops them from walking any further. “I’m in love with you too. Like, actually,” He looks at her, a genuine smile on both their faces. “Okay. Okay, good,” he simply says, as they get closer to each other. She giggles, “yeah?”, she asks, and he nods, “yeah, very good.” They both smile as they kiss each other, lost in their own worlds, before they hear their names being called. “Oh my god, I forgot about them,” George says annoyed, but still with a smile. She laughs, “Yeah, okay, maybe this wasn’t the best place and time for this, but it’s fine. We should definitely get to them before they take the wrong turn,” he laughs and nods, giving her one last quick kiss.

George grabs her hand, but quickly lets it go again as they go around the corner, where their friends are waiting. “Finally!” Arthur exclaims as Chris is leaning against him. “Jesus, what were you doing, shagging each other? Should’ve done that in the bathroom,” Chris jokes, and they awkwardly laugh. Their friends were too drunk to remember the specific comment in the morning, but Y/N doesn’t miss the way Arthur inspects George's face. “Traffic light. Alright, c’mon boys, I want to sleep,” Y/N answers, getting the group to walk on again. “I think you’re right about Arthur,” she softly tells George, who looks down at her with a questioning face. “That he knows you like me. Doesn’t have a clue we’re actually together though, I think,” she explains, and he nods, sighing softly before turning towards her again. “Do you want them to know?” He asks, and she’s somewhat surprised by the question. “I don��t know. I mean, I wouldn’t mind them knowing, like, I don’t care, but… I think it’s neat, us being like this — without anyone interfering with our relationship. I love them, but I also love this little thing we have going on, you know,” she explains, and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, me too,” she inspects his face, trying to find a sign of dishonesty. “You know, if you’re sick of having this relationship being a secret I don’t mind telling them, if that’s what you want,” he looks over at her with a smile. “No, it’s not that. It would make things easier, but once they know we can’t go back, you know?” She nods, looking at their friends, oblivious to the conversation the couple behind them is having. “I think we should just… Let them figure it out. Hide it, but you know, care a little less? If they find out, they find out,” She suggests. He nods, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “Yeah, that sounds great. When they ask why I’m so happy tomorrow I’ll say it’s because I had some godly pussy,” she rolls her eyes and pushes him away chuckling. “You’re horrible,” she exclaims, and he just laughs, “You love me!” He says as they approach the boys' flat. She shakes her head, “Unfortunately, I do.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #8

CH8. Boiling Point | The Menu [3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

You wished the diner was busier. 

You would’ve done anything for more customers to serve. Anything. But Jim’s was quiet, only a few regulars scattered around the tables, only wanting coffees, no refills, scowling if you came too close, blocking the sunlight that fell onto their newspapers. 

Robin and Steve were by the bar, throwing a crumpled napkin between them like a baseball, talking softly about nothing important and you felt too hot as you stood polishing the cutlery, shoving napkins into dispensers with clumsy hands. You could see Eddie through the kitchen hatch, prepping the burger buns for the dinner rush that you hoped would come. His eyes were trying to find yours as he rolled out the dough but you were avoidant, moving around each empty table with your head ducked. 

Eventually, the rolling in your stomach became too much and the sight of Chrissy loitering in the kitchen was making that hot flush creep higher up your neck, across the back of your ears. You slammed a pile of menus down on the coffee bar, ignoring the way Mr Creel grumbled at you, looking at Steve and Robin as if they’d be able to fix the way you were feeling. 

“Did Eddie and Chrissy used to date?” You came right out with it, voice rushed and quiet, speaking low in hopes that your question wouldn’t carry into the kitchen. 

The radio was on, a female voice crooning from the speakers and you hated the way Chrissy was swaying to the beat, powder blue uniform skimming the tops of her thighs as she stood too near Eddie, refilling the salt and pepper shakers. 

“It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want, cry if I want to, cry if I want to. You would cry too, if it happened to you…”

“Chrissy?” Robin wrinkled her nose and looked into the kitchen, too obvious. You tugged at her arm, pleading. “Don’t look.”

Steve snorted, hopping off of the bar to block lean over it instead, knocking his knuckles against yours. “Nah. I mean, I don’t think so?” He squinted at you before he shared a look with Robin and the girl shrugged, confused. “Chrissy just likes to flirt. With like, everyone. Her and Eddie were friendly, I guess?”

“Friendly,” you repeated, swallowing the word with the lump in your throat. 

“It’s not, it’s not like that,” Steve murmured softly. His eyes were searching yours, watching the way they turned glassy. “It’s not like it is with you, trust us, you don’t have to worry about that, okay?”

Robin nodded, reaching out to hold your hand. She squeezed your fingers and smiled. “Yeah, you seriously don’t have to panic. Eddie doesn’t worry about our eating habits,” she grinned when you rolled your eyes. “And can we talk about that hickey yet? ‘Cause, shit…”

You groaned, cheeks warm but your friends had succeeded in quelling the ache in your chest, if only just. You felt like the new kid again with Chrissy around, watching her sit on the stool - your stool - at Eddie’s station, laughing at a joke you couldn’t hear, pocketing tips from the truckers who came in for coffee and cake, asking her how her summer was, if she was still working seasons at the camp a few towns over. 

Chrissy was confident and bright, a bubblegum pink smile and rosy cheeks, a pretty, bouncy thing that made you feel two inches tall and every time you caught her near Eddie, your heart sank a little. She touched him a lot, a delicate hand on his arm, shoving at his shoulder when he made her laugh, brushing a crumb off the lapel of his chef whites after he whisked up a new batter. 

You stayed away from the kitchen, only taking orders that Jonathan handed you from across the hatch and you could see the way Eddie’s brows knitted together every time you turned your back on him but the jealousy was too overwhelming. The uncertainty, the self conscious ache that made your neck feel too hot and you knew you were being ridiculous. 

You did. You knew. 

But it was too soon to be marking your territory and scaring away the boy with questions like, ‘what are we? Have you kissed her? Have you kissed her like you kissed me? Are we more than friends now? Are we more than what you have with her?

“Chicago,” Jonathan’s voice interrupted your pity party. He was pouring a coffee for Mr Creel, the man’s seventh refill of the afternoon. “Chef’s asking for you.”

Your stomach flipped and you grimaced, trying to pull off the expression as a smile. You weren’t sure it worked. You held up the cloth you’d been walking around with for an hour to look preoccupied, shrugging half heartedly. “Busy,” you told the boy. 

“He said he’s made you lunch,” was all Jonathan replied. 

So you sighed and tried not to let his words tug on your heartstrings too much. You smiled and gave in, throwing the cloth onto the workstation by the kitchen door and you didn’t even bother announcing your arrival when the diner was so quiet. Eddie looked up the second you appeared, eyes wide and he was just finishing plating up a stack of pancakes, a bundle of chopped strawberries in a bowl beside them. 

“Hey,” he breathed, wiping his hands on his apron. “Hey. You okay? I’ve not seen you all shift.”

The kitchen was empty, no sign of Chrissy. The stoves were off and only one grill was still sizzling, leftover pancake batter crisping in the corners as it cooled down, a simmer in the quiet. You smiled weakly, unable to stop the wobble in your lip.

Cry baby, cry baby, cry baby. 

You coughed, clearing your throat until the lump there disappeared and you nodded. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Sorry, it’s, uh,” you winced as you gesture back to the empty diner. Steve was sleeping in one of the booths, his head against the window. “It’s been… busy.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, a frown on his face. It was soft, concerned. “Sit, yeah? Have lunch with me?”

You took a step forward, aching to walk to the boy, to let yourself push your face to his chest and let him smooth his hands over your hair. You got to spend the night into the early morning with him, draped over his lap as you shared triangles of grilled cheese and then kisses after it but you missed the way he felt already. 

Then the fire exit door opened and Chrissy sauntered back in, cooing at the sight of the pancakes on the worktop. Eyes wide, she skipped over, ponytail bouncing like something out of a damn daydream and you didn’t know what to say when she picked up the fork Eddie had laid out for you and speared it through the stack. Her lips were sticky with gloss and maple syrup as she licked them, moaning sweetly as she looked at Eddie.  

“Oh my god, Eds,” Chrissy sounded pornographic. “I missed your cooking so much, you know that?” She turned to you, grinning. Oblivious - maybe. “Does this cutie pie cook you up some food too? I swear, I used to get three meals a day when I worked here full time. Oh my god— Eddie! Remember the triple stacked pizza—?”

You didn’t hear the rest of the story. You really didn’t care to. And as rude as it may have seemed, you walked right past Chrissy and Eddie and the pancakes that were no longer yours. You could feel the tears burning the corner of your eyes and it made your nose itch, your cheeks burn. You weren’t doing this where people could see. 

The door to the walk-in was heavy but you yanked it hard, breath catching in your throat like a hiccup and you were quick to close it behind you, the thud making the shelves inside rattle but it was suddenly quiet as it was cold. The heat of embarrassment faded, the burn crawling up the back of your spine disappeared and you sniffed, gazing up at the ceiling as if that would quell your tears. You stared at the patches of ice, focusing on the goosebumps rising across your bare arms instead. 

It was silly, you thought, to feel such a way. To let someone make you feel that way. But beside Chrissy and her perfectly curled ponytail and her pretty Mary Jane sandals, you felt small. Unimportant. Like you suddenly didn’t belong in the stupid diner with its stupid chequered tables and its broken soda machine. Chrissy hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. It was mean of you to dislike her, with nothing more than a name and her connection to Eddie to fuel your jealousy. 

Feeling petulant, you decided that was enough. You swore, mostly at yourself, and pressed the heels of your palms to your watery eyes. You felt replaced and it was an awful, ugly feeling. As much as you tried to remember what Robin and Steve had told you earlier, you couldn’t get over the way Chrissy looked at Eddie, like she really knew him, like she had some sort of claim on him. It was a very female thing to pick up on, only seeing the subtle signs through the eyes of being a girl. 

The glances, the quick up and down she gave you as you arrived that morning, weighing up the chances of you being competition. The touches on Eddie’s arm, the territorial way she barely left his station, the too sweet smile she gave you as she ate the lunch Eddie made for you. The chit chat that seemed pleasant enough, the not so hidden reminders in her stories that she knew Eddie for longer than you had, better than you did. They had inside jokes, old memories, shared stories. 

There was a knock at the door. 

An odd thing to hear, on the other side of a walk in refrigerator, but you knew there was only one person it could’ve been. So you sniffed again and swiped meanly at your eyes, leaning against the door, ignoring the chill, the way your cheeks were both hot and cold at the same time. 

“I’ll be out in a second,” you called through the steel. “I’m just… trying to find some—” your mind blanked as you looked around the space aimlessly, eyes landing on crates of vegetables. “—some asparagus.”

You made a face, annoyed with yourself for such a lame excuse and you heard a shuffle from outside before a familiar voice came through. “Sweetheart? Can I come in?” Eddie sounded muffled, mainly from the inches of steel and insulation between you but you could still pick up on the concern in his voice. 

You sighed, bottom lip wobbling and you opened the door, the brief wash of warm air hitting your cold face. The fridge didn’t lock. Eddie could’ve bathed in whenever he liked. But there was something about the way he’d asked you that had you giving in easier than you thought you would. You stepped back, arms goosepimpled and crossed over your chest as you made room for the boy inside the walk in. Back against the metal racking, your hip bumped against a pallet of butter, boxes of it stacked high. You didn’t look at Eddie not yet. 

“Why’re you crying?” Eddie asked gently, ducking down and bending slightly at the knees so he could look at your face, so he could try and coax you into meeting his gaze. It was a soft question, not anywhere near an accusation and he said it so sincerely, like he really wanted to know what was upsetting you. 

All you heard was crybabycrybabycrybaby. So you turned your chin and hid your face in your hair, letting the strands stick to your wet cheeks and you swiped at your eyes again, too harsh for Eddie’s liking. Your breath left you in a hiccup, a holding thing that made the boy’s brows pinch together. 

“Hey, hey,” Eddie reached out and curled a hand around your wrist, wide and still warmer than your own skin. “Hey, c’mon, c’mere.” The boy pulled you in closer, hands coasting over the apples of your cheeks, tutting softly as he wiped the way the tears there. 

You cringed, embarrassed at being caught in such a state but Eddie pushed his thumb into your cheek until you let him lift your face and your gaze met his. He frowned, eyes big and earnest and he made a noise that was meant to soothe. You couldn’t help but lean into his palm, eyes watering again and you moved away, stumbling over your words, not sure if you should be apologising first or asking the questions you didn’t wanna know the answer to. 

“God, I’m sorry,” you scrunched your face, mortified. “I’m— I don’t know why I’m getting myself like this, m’tired or something.” Before Eddie could respond you pulled back to stare at him, cheeks hot. “Is Chrissy like… did you and Chrissy— are you—?”

Eddie blinked at you, surprised. “I—”

You regretted it immediately, the accusatory way you asked such a personal question. It had been two months, one date, one kiss. You felt so stupid. “I have absolutely no right to ask you that,” you rushed out, eyes wide. Fuck, you felt worse than before. “I’m sorry, that’s— that's none of my business.”

“Sweetheart, you spent the majority of last night with my tongue in your mouth,” Eddie tried to joke, smiling weakly. “I think you’re allowed to ask that question.”

You looked at him, mournful, the lump still stuck in your throat and an awful feeling of unease clinging to you. You shrugged, a little hopeless. “Were you guys like.. a thing? Are you a thing?”

“No,” Eddie answered, soft and sure. “We’re not. We’ve never been— not like that. Chrissy…” Eddie swallowed and pulled at his apron, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Chrissy just likes to be the centre of attention. And well, I guess you could say, uh, I used to have a crush on her?”

Eddie noticed the way your shoulders tensed. “But that was way, way back in high school. Nothin’ happened. Ever. And— and I don’t want anything to happen now.” Eddie grinned, wry, awkward. “She just likes to make sure she’s got everyone’s attention, y’know?”

You did know. 

“You used to make her food too,” you noted sourly and you hated the way your voice came out small, delicate. Moody. “She said she was your favourite.”

“Babe,” Eddie said a little gruffly, fondly. He reached back out, hand catching yours and you let him. He played with your fingers, the ring on your middle one, his touch delicate and comforting. “I’m a cook. I make food for everyone, they just— they just gotta ask me.”

Well, didn’t you feel silly. So you bit a little, heat rising up then back of your neck again, embarrassment tingling, your voice rising. “I don’t know! It could’ve all been part of your— your moves, or something.”

“Moves?” Eddie choked out, incredulous. “Sweetheart, it took me two months to kiss you, you think I’ve got moves?”

You squirmed, embarrassed still. You shrugged, unsure what to say because in your eyes, Eddie had all the moves. You could still remember the way he kissed you, the feel of his hand on your jaw, your waist, in your hair, on your thigh. The way he kissed you between making you your grilled cheese, the bread almost burning as he got too caught up in you, in the way he pressed you back into the counter, dotting kisses over your cheeks, your nose. 

“I don’t know,” you said again and you ducked your chin, hiding.

Eddie tsked but it was a soft sound, sympathetic and he pulled at your hand, tugging you into him until you relented. Your face found his chest, nose pushed to his fresh chef whites and he smelled like his cologne, lemongrass and something sweet like leftover icing sugar. He let you hide there instead, your hands clinging to the front of his apron and you only pressed closer when his hands smoothed over your shoulders, climbing down your sides until he could hold you to him. His lips were on your hairline, a little hesitant, because all of this was so new, because you were clearly upset, because he didn’t know what this was yet, how this worked. 

“What can I do, hm?” Eddie asked you softly, voice a low murmur. The walk in didn’t seem as cold with the way his nose was pressed to your temple. “What can I do to make you feel better, tell me.”

That hopeless feeling melted away with each pass of Eddie’s hand up and down your back, fingers trailing over the curve of your spine. You mumbled something intelligible, shrugging your shoulders again and hoping that Eddie couldn’t feel the heat that radiated from you. “I dunno,” you whispered. You swallowed, throat tight. You didn't know what to ask for too much, not so soon. “I don't want to— I’m not trying to—”

“Breathe, sweetheart.” You could hear the frown in his voice. 

“Last night meant something, right?” You didn’t ask for the world. No labels, not yet. Nothing too scary. Nothing too deep. “That wasn’t just a, uh, one off or whatever?”

Eddie laughed, the sound softened by the way he buried his face in your hair and the arms he’d wrapped around you tightened, squeezing, affectionate. “I have absolutely every intention of doing that with you again…” he murmured, coaxing you out of hiding only to cup your jaw, thumb pushed to your cheek. He grinned down at you, all flirt and charm. “And again and again and again. If you’ll let me.”

It was unnerving, what those words did to you. The tilt of his lips, the pretty cadence of his voice. Eddie’s thumb coasted over the apple of your cheek and suddenly you forgot all about the other waitress who was no doubt still outside in the kitchen. “That sounds nice, yeah.” You nodded, warm all over again, all for the right reasons. 

“You gonna let me take you out too?” Eddie asked and he leaned back against the racks, the cold metal doing nothing to deter him as he spread his legs a bit, pulling you between them by the tie of your apron until you were framed by his thighs. Closer, closer. “A proper date this time, please. A movie, some dinner, a walk somewhere real nice so I can kiss you goodnight and all that stuff?”

You grinned, cheeks aching, surprising yourself with the suddenness of it because now? Right then? Nothing else mattered but Eddie. “That sounds even nicer,” you told him and your eyes crinkled with the brightness of your smile. “Please.”

“Can I kiss you now? Been wantin’ to kiss you for ages,” Eddie murmured and his eyes were on your mouth, thumb moving closer to your chin, the tip of it ghosting the curve of your bottom lip and you nodded, eager in a way that should’ve been embarrassing but you pushed yourself to your toes and clung to him a little tighter.

A soft kiss, much, much softer than the ones shared the night before but still not appropriate for the workplace. Especially not a walk-in that was cold enough to make your toes ache. Not that you cared. But Eddie didn’t seem to either, humming in appreciation when you pressed yourself against him, face tilting to the side for him to deepen the kiss a little, lips moving a little more urgently against your own. 

“Need to stop,” he breathed as he pulled away, grudgingly, giving in again to press a peck to the corner of your mouth and then another to your cheek. His palms smoothed over your jaw, up across your temples to swipe away the baby hairs there. “Gonna get carried away.”

You felt dizzy, miles and miles away from the kitchen, from that awful feeling, from Chrissy. You knew exactly what he meant. 

“Can I make you some food now?” Eddie nosed at your cheek, arms winding around your waist and you felt so adored, the affection pouring from him by the bucket full. “You’ve not eaten all day.”

“Because someone ate my pancakes,” you said sourly and you regretted it immediately. You didn’t want to be the jealous girl, the insecure girl, the petty girl. But Eddie made it very hard to want to share. “Sorry, that was rude.”

Eddie snorted and just kissed your head, a touch so casual it made your heart jump. “C’mon,” was all he said. “Get your butt out of here before you freeze.”

It was easier to shuffle out of the walk-in when Eddie was leading you, his hand holding yours, the burning embarrassment you’d once felt fading to a shameful simmer. Chrissy was still at the boy’s station, picking out pieces of strawberry from the bowl, the plate of pancakes now empty. Steve was placing a bucket of dirty coffee cups into the sink and he looked up as the two of you appeared. 

“Oh hey,” he frowned in concern at your red rimmed eyes. “I wondered where you’d gone to, you ok—?” 

“Couldn’t reach the top shelf,” Eddie interrupted, smiling as if nothing had happened. He sent Steve a look and Chrissy watched, sucking fruit juice and sugar from her fingers. Eddie grinned at you, squeezing past you and the counter, his hands on your hips as he passed. “Had to lend a helping hand, didn’t I? Short stack.” 

Your heart ached, your chest feeling too full with the kindness, the affection. So you could only nod, looking sheepish and even if Steve didn’t believe Eddie, he stole a knowing glance at Chrissy and nodded. The kitchen was filled with the kind of tension that had made you run off in the first place, but the feeling of being out of place disappeared when Steve asked Eddie:

“I’m going for a smoke, you comin’?”

Eddie shook his head and busied himself with pulling an old stool out from Argyle’s prep station. It had one wobbly leg, but you didn’t care. Not when Eddie took your hand and helped you hop onto it, the chair closer to him than the stool Chrissy was sitting on. 

“Nah, man,” Eddie said. “M’gonna make my girl some food.”

[chaosandmarigolds]

More Mafia(Mob??) leaders!daughter and Simon :p pt 2

(I don’t know manhattan, I’m making stuff up.)

“Okay, so,” you hold out your phone to the man, having pulled up the menu to one of your favorite restaurants, “Just double checking- this place can do gf, df, vegan, egg free, soy free, and what else um…” your faltering gave you enough time to look up to see his expression, still wearing that mask but you didn’t mind all that much. However you could see his eyebrows furrowed.

“You don’t have any allergies do you?”

“No.” Simon replied gruffly, taking a quick look behind his shoulder to Ivon- who trailed a good ten or so feet behind.

“Okay…cool! I just didn’t wanna take you somewhere and then you can’t eat anything because that sucks,” You shrug it off as you walk, the sun beginning to set but for the most part it was still light out, “So…Simon, do you have any pets?”

His attention is drawn back to you at the attempt of small talk, voice luring but riddled with a nonchalant smile, a genuine question rather than a groaning force in order to be polite. “One. Sheppard, he’s t’ree.”

That had triggered a whole ramble, you going on about how your childhood pet was a German shepherd who you had named Maddie. And that conversation had lingered until you both were still sitting happily at the table within the plush walls of the restaurant, sipping some wine that held more worth than the name Lieutenant Simon Riley.

All the same, as you both waited for your appetizers to come the words had died down and he thought it best to speak. “So what do you do?”

You blink a few times, bringing the glass to your lips as you wait for him to elaborate.

“For work?”

To that you nod, sipping the wine as you set it down, “My father-okay, well yeah I know, Nepo baby and all that, I should preface this by saying I’m so so super thankful for everything I’ve ever been given, and yeah,” you pause to breathe, it was a spiel you gave to anyone you just met, and normally they wouldn’t believe you, but you meant the words. “I-I know you’re just like ‘yeah sure’ but I am, I am. Anyway, my father- I dunno, he’s like a loan shark or something. He runs-well you know those MDR credit unions? Yeah, that’s my dad’s business, and I’m HR.”

There was a pause and you breathe again, dipping your gaze low to bring the wine over to you, “Anyway…yeah, aside from the flower shop, what do you do?”

Simon had listened to it all with a shaker full of a salt, either you were oblivious to the situation of your family name or you were a good lair- he thought it to be the former. “Working out.”

“I can tell.”

His eyes quickly flashed up from the porcelain  plate to you, and only for you to quickly direct your gaze elsewhere. Instead of leaving it, he laughed and then nodded, “Thank you.”

“Mmhm, you’re welcome.“ your words were muffled and you keep your eyes anywhere but his face, “so um…you ever been to the art museum?”

Simon gives you a look, “The one of seventh?”

A nod.

“Isn’t it closed?”

To those words you smile, “Not if your father is the number one donator.”

(Annnnd!!! That’s all I got for right now. Toodles!)

Tag list: @blackhawkfanatic

[reaper2187]

Regina george x masc reader

Regina George was the queen bee of North Shore High School. With her long blonde hair, perfect figure, and designer wardrobe, she was the epitome of popularity. She ruled the school with an iron fist, and no one dared to cross her. However, there was one person who dared to challenge her, and that was the new girl in town, Y/N.

Y/N was unlike any other girl at North Shore High. She had short hair, wore masculine clothes, and was not afraid to speak her mind. Her confidence and individuality caught Regina's attention from the first day she set foot in the school. But what really intrigued Regina was Y/N's complete disregard for her social status.

As Regina and her clique, the Plastics, watched Y/N from afar, they couldn't help but be curious about her. They had never seen anyone like her before. It was almost as if she didn't care about fitting into their high school hierarchy. And that's what made Regina want her even more.

One day, Regina decided to approach Y/N in the cafeteria during lunch. As she strutted over to her, all eyes were on the queen bee and the new girl. Y/N looked up and met Regina's gaze, not backing down or showing any signs of intimidation.

'Hey cutie, can I borrow your salt?' Regina asked, flashing her signature smile.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unamused by Regina's flirting. 'Sure,' she replied, sliding the salt shaker over to her.

Regina smirked, taking note of Y/N's lack of interest in her charm. She sat down next to her and struck up a conversation, inundating her with compliments and trying to win her over. But Y/N remained unbothered, talking to Regina as if she was just another person.

After that lunch encounter, Regina found herself thinking about Y/N constantly. She had never met anyone who was so unimpressed by her status and beauty. It was a challenge that piqued her interest, and she was determined to make Y/N hers.

As the days went by, Regina continued to pursue Y/N, trying to get her to join the Plastics. She even set up a makeover session for her with her stylist and bought her designer clothes. But despite Regina's efforts, Y/N refused to conform to their standards of beauty and popularity.

Slowly but surely, Regina began to see the world through Y/N's eyes. She started to question why she felt the need to control and manipulate those around her. She had never truly been herself, always trying to fit into the mold of what society deemed as perfect. But Y/N didn't care about any of that, and it was refreshing to Regina.

One day, Regina invited Y/N to a party at her house. Y/N accepted, curious to see how the queen bee lived. As the night went on, Y/N found herself having a good time, despite the superficiality and drama of the party. But what really surprised her was when Regina pulled her aside and confessed her feelings for her.

'I know I can be a mean girl, but when I'm around you, I want to be better. You make me want to be a better person,' Regina said, looking into Y/N's eyes.

Y/N was taken aback by Regina's vulnerability, and for the first time, she saw the real person behind the queen bee facade. She couldn't deny her feelings for Regina either, and they shared a passionate kiss.

From that moment on, Regina and Y/N were inseparable. The Plastics were shocked when Regina announced that she was stepping down as queen bee and that Y/N would be taking her place. They couldn't understand why Regina would give up her power and popularity for someone like Y/N.

But Regina didn't care. She had found true happiness with Y/N. She no longer felt the need to be anyone else other than herself. And with Y/N by her side, she no longer craved the attention and validation of others.

As for Y/N, she had found love in the most unexpected place. She never thought she would fall for someone like Regina, but their love was undeniable. They were two individuals who had broken free from the confines of high school stereotypes and found solace in each other.

The once mighty queen bee and the rebellious new girl had defied all odds and created their own path. They didn't fit into any high school clique, but they found a home in each other's arms.

Years later, when they both looked back at their high school experience, they realized that it wasn't the popularity or the social hierarchy that mattered. It was the people who truly saw them for who they were and accepted them without judgement. And for Regina and Y/N, that person was each other.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Can you make a Drabble of reader telling price she has a teen from a previous relationship and the teen doesn’t trust price with their mom.

Why of course UwU Hope it came out like you wanted!

CW: fem!reader, no further warnings

Word Count: 1825

Dating in his late thirties wasn’t a thing Price was used to. Nor was it something he ever expected to happen. But you? You turned his world upside down.

It had been a casual thing. Price and you, both a little unsure, seeing each other every other week. Sure, deployments sometimes got in the way, but it was consistent. It was nice.

But casual slowly started to change to something more. And now, you had invited him to your house. For dinner, and to come meet your son.

Price knew of your previous relationship and divorce, the two of you had spent several nights at dinner tables bashing the things your ex did - much to both of your enjoyment. So he knew about your son. He was fifteen now, right around that age where everything parents do are wrong and unjust.

But you had explained your son was not like that. He was kind, a complete mama’s boy. He was your rock and your life and everything Price heard about him made him gain an appreciation for the kid.

Surely if he was like that, meeting him wouldn’t be a problem, right?

Well, that was the attitude he’d went into this dinner with. And he was sorely regretting not preparing more thoroughly now.

He’d been called away on a mission last minute, getting back into the country literally an hour before he had to be at your house.

So now here he sat, hair still damp from his quick shower, clothes the fastest thing he could find - a crumpled dress-shirt stuffed into maroon pants - and an overall flustered look to him.

After all, he just flew across the continent twice within 38 hours.

He’d tried to be casual, tried to introduce himself well to the kid. You seemed to approve of everything he’d said. But judging from the scrutinising stare down he was currently getting, your son didn’t think the same.

“So… Do you know what you wanna study after high school?” Price asked, trying to keep the conversation afloat, but it’d felt like a sinking ship for the last twenty minutes.

In response, the boy just shrugged and Price hummed, rolling the pasta on his plate with his fork a bit, trying to think of anything to say.

“Lew.” You sighed at your son.

“What?” He huffed back, twirling the salt shaker on the table. “It’s a stupid question. I don’t know yet. Of course I don’t.”

At that, Price watched as you turned a little more stern, looking at the kid. “Then you can say that politely. Come now, John tried his very best to be here today.”

Glancing at you, Lewis scoffed, giving Price a brief glare that made the military captain tilt his head in both confusion and intrigue. After all, he did nothing wrong as far as he knew.

“Sorry to have brought uncertainty.” He decided to speak up, getting the teen’s attention. “It’s sometimes a bit dodgy with my line of work.”

What was supposed to be a lighthearted comment meant to shed light, instead caused Lewis to glare at Price, slamming his fork down “You gonna leave my mom behind too then?” He spat and you gasped.

“Young man, that’s quite enough!” You started but Price then held up his hand.

“I get it, Lewis.” The man sighed. “Trust me I do. It’s been something your mother and I have talked about a lot.” He started, clasping his hands together in front of himself, elbows on the table as he put his thoughts into words. “My work is… well, shifty.” He sighed. “I’m not a fan of it, but it is what it is. I can’t guarantee that I’ll always be around, that I won’t ever disappear with minimum notice.”

Lewis’ jaw clenched as he listened. But Price kept going, because the kid was fifteen, and he didn’t feel like sugarcoating it. He was smart and old enough.

“But I can guarantee this: I will always keep your mother - and if you wish, you - in the loop. I won’t just leave. I’m not that kind of man.”

Crossing his arms, Lewis leaned back in his chair. “What kind of man are you then? Military big shot?”

Chuckling a little at that, Price looked at the boy. “Tell me this, do you trust your mom?” He motioned to you at that and, confused, Lewis nodded.

“Of course, why?”

“Then trust her that she won’t date some pompous asshole who can’t see beyond his own rank.”

Pursing his lips, Lewis had nothing to say to that, grumpily looking down at his plate instead.

“Kid-“

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped and John shut up. Almost instinctively, his military commander side wanted to rear up, scold him for yelling at his senior, but he restrained himself, instead looking at the angry teen. “You can’t just barge in here, into mom’s life, and expect me to take it laying down!”

Hearing that, you leaned forward onto the table. “Lewis, we’ve talked about this. You agreed to this dinner, you cannot act like this!”

A frown was on your face, almost borderline angry - something John hadn’t ever seen before.

But Lewis didn’t budge, now looking at you. “I won’t stop, mom! It’s obvious, I mean look at him!” He angrily gestured to the brunet, making John’s brows furrow.

“What about him?”

“Don’t make me say it out loud!”

“Lewis.” Your voice was hard and concise.

“He’s not good enough for you!” Lewis then yelled, a silence immediately falling.

Hearing it, Price clenched his jaws, a tightness forming in his chest as he then looked over to you. You held a frown, looking at your son.

“Lew…”

“I’m not hungry.” Without another word, the boy shoved his plate away and got up, storming off.

Speechless, you went to open your mouth, to get up to chase after him, but Price stopped you by placing his hand over yours, his eyes calm, hiding the hurt as he just looked at you.

“Just let him go. Speaking from experience, it’s best to let him cool off and gather his thoughts.”

Conflicted, you looked at him. “I- I don’t get why he’s being like this…” You said softly and John squeezed your hand, a loaded sigh leaving him.

“It’s a big change for him. You can’t blame the boy.” He said, pulling his hand back as he glanced to where Lewis left. “Admittedly, I didn’t think it would go like this. But I also didn’t think he’d accept me into the dynamic instantly. Just don’t take his words to heart right now.” The captain spoke, turning his head back to face you as he then gave you a kind, little smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling gently.

Sighing, you nodded as you placed your head in your hands.

“Dinner’s great, by the way.”

At his sudden comment, you let out a startled little laugh that made John’s heart flutter.

- - - -

Sitting on your porch with a cigar, Price looked out at the night sky. After he stormed off, neither you nor him had seen any sign of Lewis. It truly did put a damper on the evening.

Smoke gently exited Price’s mouth before being picked up by the wind and blown away.

Behind him, the door then opened and he glanced back, his eyes widening a bit as he saw Lewis standing there, a sour expression on his face as he kept his eyes firmly to the ground.

“Hey.” He muttered and Price took the cigar out of his mouth.

“Hi.” He replied, analysing the teen. He didn’t seem entirely thrilled to be here, possibly sent out here by you. It made the captain want to scoff a chuckle. But he didn’t and instead patted the spot beside him where he sat on the stairs of the porch. “Wanna sit?”

“I don’t like-“

“I’ll put it out.” John shushed, holding the cigar away a little. It made Lewis look up, however.

“Aren’t those crazy expensive?”

Chuckling a little, Price crossed his ankle over his knee, pushing the cigar into the underside of his boot. “Yep. But that’s okay.”

Tentatively, Lewis walked over, sitting down besides the man.

“I have to… say sorry. For what I said.” He mumbled and John turned his head, a kinder look on his face, almost serene.

“By your mother?”

Pursing his lips, Lewis turned to look at Price, only to see an amused twinkle in the older man’s eye.

“Maybe.” He instead grumpily mumbled and John just huffed in amusement, turning to look forward as he leaned his elbows on his knees, absentmindedly starting to twirl the extinguished cigar in his hands.

“I get it, Lewis.” He started, his eyes focused on the night sky and his voice soft - almost as if he didn’t want to break the serenity of the night. “Your mom? She’s a wonderful woman. Kind, generous, sweet.” Looking down, Price then focused on his cigar. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I really like her. And I think she likes me too. I hope so, at least.” With that, he turned his head to the teen.

Lewis was looking at him, a conflicted expression on his face.

“I don’t want to come in here to play family, kid. I’m not your dad and I won’t pretend to be.” He said and then glanced at the door. “I just want to give her what she deserves.” He nudged his head towards the house.

“What I said about you not being good enough…” Lewis mumbled and John sighed, now turning to face the teen.

“Don’t bother. Honestly, you may be right.” He hummed, leaning his head back into the porch railing. “I won’t say I’m a perfect man. Far from it. But what I said at the table is true. I will always try to do right by her. And you too - if you’ll let me.”

Contemplating, Lewis looked out from the porch.

“Why mom?” He said after a moment and Price looked at him.

“Because she’s the first one in a long time to give me a chance. Despite my job and what I’ve done.”

At that, the teen angled his head, taking the brunet beside him in. “Really? What have you done?” He asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

Seeing it, Price huffed a chuckle, pocketing the dud cigar. “That’s classified, I’m afraid.”

“Lame.” Lewis scoffed, but there was no animosity in it and Price smiled to himself.

“Tell you what.” He said, sitting upright and looking at the boy. “You give me a chance and I might tell you some stories.” He held out his hand.

Looking at it, Lewis seemed skeptical at first, glancing at the peace offering. But then he sighed and reached out, shaking hands.

“If you hurt my mom I will kick your ass.”

Laughing, John slapped the kid on the shoulder. “If I do, I’ll let you.”

[procyonloser]

"Ouija?" Lute asked, raising an eyebrow as Adam waved a handful of smouldering sage around his apartment. "One of the guys probably just faked it, Adam. That stuff isn't real. Ghosts aren't real."

Adam laughed spitefully in her general direction, switching up from sage to a water bottle full of holy water he'd borrowed from a Catholic church. He began spraying it on his furniture, mumbling pieces of prayers that he remembered from his bar mitzvah.

"Adam, come on, you're being ridiculous." Lute huffed, walking over and around his couch to grab the bottle out of his hands. "The devil was not speaking to you!"

"Yes, he was, you dumb bitch!" Adam yelled in her face, snagging it back. "I was trying to control the planchet the entire time, and you know I'm the biggest guy in the band. There's no way any of them had more strength than me. I could feel it too, like this shadowy presence around me - then the table shook!" Adam pointed at an extremely heavy solid wood table in the corner than now had the ashen remains of a ouija board on it. "It said it was the devil, it said it was Lucifer!"

"Adam, you know I love you," Lute said flatly. "But the devil is not going to use a ouija board to ask for your cellphone number and say you have a fat ass."

"Says you," Adam said with a glare, grabbing his salt shaker and tossing it over his shoulder. Lute just sighed, running a hand down her face.

In hell, Lucifer wondered when the right time to text Adam would be, he didn't want to seem too desperate. Maybe he'd send him a cute message written in blood on his bathroom mirror first, that was romantic, right?