⎠â â ËËË ę° âď¸ ęą ËËË âş đŹđđ§đ đŚđ đ đĽđđđđđŤ .á â: send a request, thought, or message you have for me, anonymously or otherwise!
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okay, this turned out to be a little different than what you asked but I hope you enjoy it just the same. it may or may not of been inspired by Allie & Deanâs secret fling in Off Campus.
18+ | fem!reader
You told Steve last week that this wouldnât happen again.
Just like you said two days ago when he had you pressed against the wall in Tinaâs upstairs hallway. Your leg hooked around his hip, grinding against what lived up to all the stories and then some while the party raged down stairs.
Now youâre in his empty basement knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of his hips, while his big hands adjust you on his lap.
Steve grabs at your thighs tugging you close enough that your breasts press tight against his chest. He nips just under your jaw before peppering open mouth along the length of your neck. Catching the small roll of your hips with a smile against your skin, he pulls away confidently showing you the whites of them.
Grabbing your chin between two fingers, he tugs your face down just enough for his lips to ghost against yours.
âLet me guess, this is the last time.â He whispers against your mouth with a knowing smirk.
âYes, I mean it.â You huff, unable to control your own grin, rocking your hips again. âLast. time.â
âWhatever you say.â
Steve snorts, not waiting for whatever smart comeback you have waiting on the tip of your tongue. Instead, he curls his hand around the back of your neck, and catches it on his own.
The moan that escapes out of your throat comes stirring from deep within your chest. He huffs out a small laugh at it before licking into your mouth with the kind of hunger that lights a fire along your already heated skin. Meeting him with equal enthusiasm, you apply more pressure with the next grind of your hips making his confidence stutter.
âFuck ââ He breathes in between kisses, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.
Doing it again, itâs your turn to smile against his mouth, lashes fluttering open to admire the furrow of his brows.
âBetter enjoy it while you can.â
His eyes open at that, something darkening the amber that swirls inside of them.
âWho are you trying to convince, honey? Me or you?â Steve smirks with a narrowed gaze filled with determination, the hand on your hip tightening.
âShut uâ ohmygod.â
Your bratty response is cut off, when he drags you over his lap, the seam of your jeans pressing into where you need it most.
âWhat was that? Couldnât hear you.â He chuckles darkly, tearing his lips from your mouth to wrap around your pulse point.
He sucks hard enough for your eyes to hit the back of your head, leaving a bruise youâll have to deal with in the morning. But when he drags his teeth along the sensitive skin, you canât bring yourself to care.
âSteve, are you down there? I forgot my keys.â
Robinâs voice freezes you in place with fingers curled into the roots of his hair. Steveâs teeth stop right over the already blooming purple mark, the grip on the back of your neck tightening.
âSteve â?â The stairs squeak with the first steps she takes, and itâs enough for him to find his voice.
âY- yeah!â His voice cracks, and your giggle that follows it earns you a glare.
âMy keys, are they down there?â She calls out again, another creak following.
âShit.â He blows out a breath, pulling away to look around the room, groaning quietly when he spots them on the coffee table.
âYeah, I got them. Give me a second.â He lays back, running both his hands down his face before meeting your playful gaze.
âItâs getting late, I should probably go.â You smirk, using his broad chest as leverage to push yourself off his lap.
âWhat? No, sheâll be gone in like 2 seconds.â He whispers harshly trying to grab at your hips, but you slip through his fingers just like this moment.
âI said enjoy it while you can.â
âYou canât be serious.â
Steve stares you down, watching you with heated eyes as you straighten out your shirt and tug up your jeans.
âNever been more serious.â You wink, swiping Robinâs keys off the coffee table before calling out to her.
âIâm heading out too, Iâll bring them up!â
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ŕŠęŁ Ë â bf!langdon who takes the phrase âkiss and makeupâ a little too seriously.
c.ws :: mdni , smut , slight degradation , missionary so you can continue arguing , dirty talk.
"stop being so fucking mad at me." frank grumbles out from above, driving the point home by grinding his cock in deeper inside you. your thighs quiver despite yourself where they're hooked around his waist, lewd slapping noises permeating the room just to tease you. âi said sorry an hour ago.â
you keep turning your face, trying to angle it out of reach, or at least force the fury back into your expression. you canât fight the scrunch of pleasure that crosses your face, however. he can see that too. the grudge held like a stone dam, meant to keep your pride immune and well guarded from the way he's fucking you into the mattress. but it never works.
"mânot-"
"you are." he nips at your shoulder, voice muffled. "you keep clenching up when i talk.â his hips rear back steadily, a wet squelch sounding from where you're joined, then he sinks back in with a grunt of effort. "except down here."
the truth stings worse than the fight itself: frank knows you like the back of his hand. the front and back. he knows exactly how to fuck you until your resentment feels misplaced and petty.
hands that had been pushing against his chest find the silky sheets instead, clutching tight.
"it was a stupid fight," he pushes in again, slowly, allowing you to relish in the thick ridge and veins dragging along your walls while he explains the situation to you.
"and you know it." pride makes you not answer, of course, the only thing you can manage is a soft whine.
"sweetheart," he sighs. "you really gonna let me cum in this pussy while you're busy pretendin' to hate me?" you blink up at him in silent retort. defiance radiating from every inch of your face.
"mmm." the man even has the audacity to pinch the bridge of his nose, like you're the one being unreasonable. like heâs not currently balls deep. "always so fucking stubborn." he reaches between your bodies, thumbing lazily at your clit. "you think i like walking out?"
rage bubbles back up your throat at once, rolling your eyes with the little attitude you had remaining. "you slammed the door â our door â and left."
"you knew damn well i'd come backâŚâ he grunts, not missing a beat to retort. an especially brutal thrust has you seeing stars. "youâre a smart girl, stop acting stupid, yeah?" you try to hitch your hips, to hurry him along but he only holds you down, eyes narrowing.
"go ahead and scream all you want, curse me out, break something if you need to. but don't fall asleep hating me.â he rambles on, shaking his head faintly. âcanât take that shit."
your words come out sharp, bitter once you find your voice. "so whatâs your plan, fuck me into forgiveness?â
there's no hesitation in him when a toothy grin splits across his face, "there you go. if we fight in the morning? before work? fine. but if we're sharing a bed like this, we fix it before we close our eyes. understood?" no thought forms twice before your head's nodding stupidly, not an ounce of resistance (or dignity) left in you as he sinks back in.
For everyone who âused to love readingâ but now hasnât finished a book in years, you CAN get it back. Genuinely start bringing a book (preferably short and either fiction or a non fiction topic you already really enjoy) everywhere you go and when you have 5-20 mins waiting for the bus or at the doctors office or mechanic or whatever, get out your book and read it! You donât have to finish it quickly or even read it often but it is so good for your brain and fun to get into the habit of reading more (and replacing being on your phone for those moments). Source: I read 0 books in 2023 and Iâve read 12 in the first 4 months of 2026
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having your own money is fucking dangerous because the only person stopping me from buying whatever I want is myself. and myself has bad judgment sometimes
mckay, a senior resident, asking santos for help with a patient is a proof of how much santos is a valued doctor in the ED. their personalities may be different but i think she and mckay have a lot in common in terms of figuring out the weird stuff.
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i have a really bad habit of going down pinterest rabbit holes and trying to find the most gorgeous and fitting visuals for aesthetics on my blog and then i remember people donât actually care about that stuff on here......
synoposis ⸠⸠the hot new neighbour moves in next door and his first stop in town is your bakery, where he learns two things. one: he needs to up his game at pronouncing ridiculous dessert names, and two: you are one very good-looking single mother.
warnings ⸠⸠none; just fluff, not really proofread, mechanic!dean and single!mom!readerâs first time meeting âĄ
Youâre already up at seven in the morning, boxing cupcakes, assorted macarons, and other sweet treats for another round of pickup orders today whilst triple checking the labels for every one to make sure itâs the right order for the right customer. Then, the sound of a car engine is heard rumbling down the streetâlouder, closer, until youâre pretty sure you canât even hear your own thoughts anymore. And then, the engine gets cut. Other people on the block seem to have spot the newbie too already. Your daughter perks her head up from her spot at the kitchen island, spoon full of cereal halfway to her mouth when she drops it back into the bowl, eyes wide and curious. âMommy, look!â The five-year-old gasps dramatically, âWe have a new neighbour!â
âHuh.â Thatâs all you say in responseâmore so to yourself as you look out the window to see a â67 Black Chevy Impala pull into the driveway of the house next door to yours thatâs been long vacant since youâd moved hereâwhich was some time ago. âWell, thatâs somethinâ new.â
The driver steps out a second later. Tall. Broad shoulders. Worn jeans hanging low on his hips and a black tee that clung tightly to his solid figure in a way that honestly feels disrespectful to a town where half the women are divorced or have been without partner for as long as they can remember. (A little ironic you think when you pretend not to hear the backhanded pity from the same women for being a single, never married mom at twenty something years old. How different are you from them, really?)
And it was in that moment the entire town lost their collective minds.
â
By 10:30 AM, every resident thatâs been remotely alerted of the newcomer has somehow gathered every possible legal (or illegal) information about him. Dean Winchester. Late twenties. Employee at Miller Automotive. Moved from Illinoisâno sorry, Georgiaâor was it Kansas? Definitely Kansas. But most of all? Heâs unmarried. Thatâs what gets the older women hyped about the most.
You hear all of this secondhand while writing new recipe ideas in your notebook inside The Sugar Shoppe later that morning. The bakery smells of vanilla and brown sugar, soft instrumental music playing over the speakers while your daughter sits at one of the corner tables, aggressively colouring with a brand new pack of permanent markers she absolutely should not be having anywhere near her nice clothes.
The bell above the front door rings to capture your attention and you look up, already speaking out of instinct. âHey, what can Iââ
The words suddenly die in your mouth when you stare at whoâs in the doorway. None other than your new neighbour, looking extremely uncertain about every life choice heâs ever made as he stands there, looking unfairly even more attractive up close. Thereâs grease faintly staining his forearms, dark attire visibly disturbing the sunshine and rainbows your bakery is practically made out of. But one thingâs for certainâanybody can get lost in those sage green eyes of his.
He glances around, making awkward eye contact with a few ladies in the bakery who are now all staring at him like they want to devour him whole. Which, they do, if youâre being honest. He smiles politely at them and they immediately start whispering and giggling together before his gaze finds yours again. âLooks like Barbie threw up in here,â he jokes blankly, clearing his throat when he approaches the counter.
You blink. Then laugh a little before you can stop yourself. âIt grows on you,â you say with a sweet smile. âYouâre the new neighbour, right? I live next door.â
You think his eyes light up for a momentâmaybe in recognition, or something. Or youâre just being delusional because a really hot guy who seems to be out of your league; single, tired, working mom, is talking to you right now and the overhead lighting is reflecting off his eyes.
Instead, he nods once, eyes trailing over you for longer than necessary which has you sweating a bit. There isnât any flour on your nose right? God, you hope not. âIâm Dean,â he introduces himself. Dean. You nod, telling him your name in response and he actually smiles. He smiles. You can then only wait patiently as he scans the menu, and then the very carefully crafted glass display filled with endless sugary sweets and pastries with mini chalkboard stands on each plate like a toddler scribbled on them. His gaze slowly drifts over to an actual toddler sitting not too far byâone that looks dangerously similar to you. Like the universe got lazy and decided they were just gonna make a mini clone of you and have you bring it into the world.
.....That is your kid. Right?
âThat, uhhââ he stutters nervously, awkwardly gesturing to the child in the corner. He doesnât want to sound rude, or assume anything. You follow the motion of his finger, spotting your daughter who simply flashes you a big toothy grin. You chuckle, shaking your head as you look at him again, âSheâs mine, yeah.â
Phew. He was right, letting out a sigh in relief he didnât even know he was holding in as your daughter waves furiously at him. He smiles, giving her a small wave back.
âCute one you have there.â
âThanks.â
He clears his throat, â....So whatâs a uhâmacaron.... and a macaroon?â
âWell macarons are kind of like a cookie sandwich. Um, we have vanilla, pistachio, salted caramel....â you explain, listing off the various flavours off the top of your head before moving on. âAnd macaroons, they uhâlook like that, and are usually made with shredded coconut.â
âWho creates two different desserts with only one letter differing them?â
âThe French and Italians?â
â....Fair.â
You laugh again, softer this time, and Dean swears the entire bakery suddenly feels a little warmer now. After embarrassing himself trying to pronounce more dessert names, he ends up just ordering a black coffee with two sugars. Valid. Atleast he knows how to say that.
While heâs busy digging for his wallet, you quietly start filling an empty pastry box. Two glazed cinnamon rolls and chocolate croissants, a cherry danish, and three sprinkle-ambushed sugar cookies your daughter, now standing beside you insists on adding herself.
Dean finally glances up, looking half-confused, half-terrified. âWoah, sweetheartâdonât think I ordered all of that,â he says with a laugh.
Sweetheart.
You just smile, ignoring the way your heart skips a beat at the nickname as you fold up the box effortlessly like youâd done this a million times (surprise, you have). âCall it a welcome to the neighbourhood gift. On the house.â
For a second, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. Observing your sweet smile, pouty lips, the way your lashes flutter against your skin when you blink. God, wow. Youâre something else.
But then he snaps out of it when your daughter who was previously standing alongside you, waddles over to his side, shoving the pastel pink box with the bakeryâs name printed in cursive at the side into his hands abruptly.
âMommy made these cinnamon rolls at four in the morning,â she takes a loud gasp suddenlyâtoddlersâbefore whispering just loud enough for Dean to hearâand you. âBecause sheâs crazy.â
âHeyâI heard that!â
Dean laughs, shaking his head as he politely accepts the gift, something softer settling into his rough features.
âYeah?â He murmurs, eyes boring into yours where he canât tell if youâre blushing because of it or because your offspring is embarrassing you infront of him. âThen I guess I better appreciate âem properly.â