#chef!reader

[cherrywineisawaltz]

MINORS DNI

It’s absolute torture. Knowing what torments him is only concealed beneath the thin white tank you came in sporting on your rare day off. The restaurant had run out of several important ingredients almost simultaneously, a coordinated attack on service, mutiny—at least it felt that way. Grant had been sucked down a never ending spiral of prep, a monster like list filling the backboard in the office, hours ticking down into minutes before a busy dinner service. His text to you had been professional, curt, but professional. How he had tried to keep all your interactions since he had crossed that line, since he had shoved his tongue against the back of your throat and tugged his cock to the memory of it. You responded with your usual charismatic teasing, joking about his lack of preparation, gratefully offering to pick up the supplies needed without him even having to ask. He responded with a thank you, sure that he would be so consumed by the prep you would have come and gone before he even realized. He couldn’t have been more mistaken. 

It was hardly a half hour before you showed, and through the service window it was embarrassing how quickly his eyes shot up at the soft lilt of your voice at the hostess stand, even more embarrassing how his eyes trailed down the supple curve of your chest. His fists are submerged in ground pork when he stills, the sun shining bright through the large restaurant windows against the curve of your shoulder, golden light coating your skin in a hazy yellow-orange hue. You had already been out running errands when he had texted you, clear by the remains of mascara that thicken the curl of your lashes and the sweat dampening your collar, glistening in the afternoon light. Your laugh echoed like a song, smiling pretty to the hostess at the stand, a quick friend you had made one of your first weeks working—one of many. 

Grant tries to pay no mind to the swell of your tits cusped perfectly in the tight tank top, spilling over the ribbed fabric, or the tight fit of your jeans that sit low and hugged tight to the curve of your hips. He rejects the thoughts of peeling the denim from your hips, lips caressing the smooth indented skin, how your chest would heave against the buttons of your tank, hips wriggling in his spread palms. The press of your calves to his shoulders once he had them off, he’d press a kiss to the inside of your knee, tugging you down to his salivating mouth. Delve his tongue against the fabric of your panties, taste the slick that gathered against your cunt, stalky arms coming to wrap around your wriggling hips, holding them firm,  “Nuh-uh, don’t run,” he’d murmur, finger slipping the crotch of your panties aside, groaning at the sight of your glistening folds, “Fuck, need it that bad, sweetheart? Poor thing.” 

His mind flashes images of your writhing figure, harsh pants replayed from when he had kissed you, only louder, pitchier, just as uncontrollable as his tongue flattened against your cunt, “So fuckin’ sweet,” he’d groan, sucking on your swollen clit, reverent in the pitchy cry you’d let out, hands pushed into his greying curls, fingers pressing into your eager hole, hips rolling into his callous palm, “Yeah? Right there? That the spot, sweetness?” He’d piston his finger into your squelching cunt, thighs clamping tight around his ears, silken walls clenching impossibly tight around his digits, “That’s it, you can do it, doing so good for me—”

“Where’d you need these?” Grant's eyes widen at the sudden intrusion of your voice, jumping at the sight of you so close holding a box of ingredients. 

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, pointing absently to the walk in, “Just in there is fine, yeah, thank you.”

[urfavvginger]

Quinn Hughes x chef!reader (Quinn’s POV)

masterlist reader’s pov

wc: 2,978 pairing: Quinn Hughes x f!reader warnings: mild language, yearning, self-doubt, mediocre writing

Fuck my shoulder hurts. Medical took a look and said it wasn’t anything to write home about, no need to miss practice or any games. It's just going to be sore for the next few days. 

The locker room was loud and boisterous. Coach’s talk was kept short, thank goodness. I just want to take my gear off and let my skin breathe. 

“What’s Y/N making for dinner tonight, Huggy?” Faber came up fully dressed. 

I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that Y/N is making extra food tonight and I want to curl up in a hole to never be seen again. I was going to have a date over however I cancelled soon after making the plans to begin with. It didn’t feel fair to have Y/N work so hard to cook for me just for another woman to eat it. I don’t even know why I entertained the idea of having company over in the first place, maybe to just not sit in empty silence after Y/N leaves.

However I forgot to not have her cook double so my idiocy came to bite me in the ass. It’s not like the extra food won’t get eaten, I’ll eat whatever she makes me but I know she still went through the effort. 

“Uh salmon, I think. Why?” Maybe Brock could be my guest. 

“Just wondering. I still think about those ribeyes she made us a few months ago. Still the best one I’ve ever eaten.” He smirks and something in my chest tightens. I’ve had a few of the guys over since becoming a part of the team and they all raved about her cooking after. 

I don’t think it’s necessarily jealousy that settles in my stomach whenever they talk about her, it’s just that now they know how her food tastes, and how her laugh sounds, and how the light in her eyes sparkle when you compliment her cooking even if she herself doesn’t think it’s good.

“She’s making extra food tonight if you want to come over.” I offer. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Why is she making extra? Is she finally staying over?” My eyes widen and his smirk turns into a grin. “No way. You finally asked her out?” 

From across the room, Boldly whoops. “Kirill owes me a Rolex, thanks Quinny!” 

I groan, sliding my hands over my face in an attempt to wipe away my shame and jealousy. “I didn’t ask her out! I just asked her to make extra tonight. I was going to have someone over but cancelled. So if anyone wants salmon for dinner, you’re more than welcome to come over.” I open the invite to any of them. 

“Why haven’t you taken her to dinner yet?” Boldly questions, clearly sad he isn’t winning any bet. 

I sigh. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I’ve spent more time with her than my family in the past few years and have considered her a friend since the very beginning. Every time I’ve so much as entertained the idea of a possible future with her, my morals stop me in my tracks. “I’m her boss. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.” I look at Kirill who’s changing out of the holey shirt he’s always wearing. “And why do you have a bet?” 

He laughs nervously but Matt claps him on the shoulder. “He doesn’t think you have the balls to tell her how you feel. I have 100% faith in you,” He beams proudly. “I’ve seen you pick up women, total lady’s man.” I glance between the two, heat creeping up my neck. 

“Like you said Quinn,” Kirill sheepishly smiles. “You’re her boss.”

I’m almost too quick to agree. “Exactly. Wildly unethical.” 

Brock raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t, some other guy will. And that guy will be the one she tries her new recipes on first, not you.” 

I know he’s trying to get under my skin. Not maliciously, just chirping. But he’s successful. “Why the fuck would you say that?” I groan. “Why even bring it up?” 

He laughs. “Because you need to hear it. She watched you bring so many girls home so the least you can do is hear about it. Didn’t Jack even try to get at her?” Dear God, that's the last thing I wanted to think about. He did last summer and even though she politely turned him down, citing me as the reason, I still didn’t talk to him for a few days. “It would be some random guy next.” 

“We’re not saying that it couldn’t end horribly but it’ll end that way for you regardless.” Matt shrugs before bidding his goodbyes. 

Finally finished getting my gear off, I head to the showers. “I’m not listening to you guys anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hear Brock and Kirill giggle as I walk away. 

After showering the stench of sweat and frustration off, I feel my muscles begin to unknot. As I take my sweet time in getting ready to leave, I check my phone. Nothing in particular stands out other than a text from Jim and one from Y/N before the game started. 

Y/N 🙂: Good luck tonight! 

I smile at the message, liking it before flicking through the others. The girl that was supposed to come over tonight sent a dm but I decided it's not worth the trouble anymore, blocking her. I text Y/N to let her know I’m on my way home before gathering my things. 

The walk out was filled with silence and counting the cement squares that it takes for me to get to the garage, like always. The idea of Y/N still playing in the back of my mind, warmth spreading through my chest before guilt creeps in. Even if she’s not aware of my feelings for her, which I go out of my way to make sure doesn’t happen, I shouldn’t have invited someone over and had her cook for us. It makes me feel gross and sleezy. 

My phone starts ringing as I get in my truck causing me to sigh. I don’t want to talk with anyone right now, I just want the peace and quiet I get on the way home to let my ears ring out and my adrenaline to come down. My phone connects to my Bluetooth and I see Jack’s picture pop up. 

“What’s up, Jack?” 

“Nothing. Just got out of a game. How’d yours go?” Based on the background noise, it sounds like they won. 

“A win. Headed home.” He hums in acknowledgment. I should talk to him about Y/N, I know I should at least get it off my chest before seeing her. “If I ask you about Y/N, would you be straight up with me?” 

There’s shuffling on the other end before the chattering fades out, like he went somewhere quieter. “Yeah of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

I chuckle despite myself. “Because you made a move on her when she was at the lake house. Well, tried to before she painfully shut you down.” 

He laughs. “Yeah but I wasn’t trying to actually get with her. I was just trying to see how you’d react but you never said anything so I thought I just embarrassed myself for nothing.” 

“I’m her boss, Jack. Do you think anything about this would be right?” I confess. “I’d lose the best chef just because I can’t get her out of my head.” 

He sighs. “Bro you’re already acting like she’s rejected you.” He takes a beat to think his answer over. “Quinn I wish you could see the way she looks at you because that would answer any doubts you’re having. She looks at you like you make the sun rise just for her to wake up.” 

Breathing starts to become something I have to think about. Deciding that the parking garage wasn’t the place I wanted to have this conversation, I threw my car into drive and pulled away. My jeans dry my sweaty palms before I grip the steering wheel as my heart rate speeds up. Boldly was right, regardless this won’t go in my favor. “I’m either going to mess up a really good friendship or she ends up with another guy sooner or later.” I mumble. 

“Or,” Jack quickly interjects. “She feels the same way you’re feeling right now. Like she’s thinking her feelings for you aren’t right because she works for you. But what if once you both acknowledge it, that feeling of it being wrong goes away?” 

Even though he’s my younger brother, Jack’s always been my voice of reason, always brought my thoughts back to reality and gave me alternate points of view. 

“What do I do?” For once in my life, I don’t have a plan. I don’t even know where to start. Since I was born, my life had been mapped out for me by everyone else. But the only thing that wasn’t considered was something like this. The street lights and neon signs pass in a blur of mixing colors while I make my way home. 

“You’re already her friend dude. Not just the guy who signs her paychecks so she can keep her lights on. How often do you guys hang out when you’re not at your apartment?” 

I try to think of the last few months since the season started and then moving to Minnesota. We really haven’t had the time. Both of us uprooted our lives for the sake of our careers and each of us have been trying to settle ever since. “Alone? Probably not since summer when I took her out on the boat for the day.” 

“Oof that’s rough.” Luke’s voice chimes in out of nowhere. “This about Y/N?” 

“Yep.” Jack confirms. “He doesn’t think she’s into him.” 

Luke scoffs. “Yeah okay pal. I thought you were the smart one.” 

“Oh dear Lord.” I park my truck into the designated spot next to Y/N’s and sit there. “Alright Einstein, what do you suggest I do?” 

“What do you think you should do? Let’s see if we have matching answers.” 

I ponder for a moment before drawing the only conclusion my doubt will let me come to. “Confess and look for another chef when she inevitably quits because I made it too uncomfortable.” 

“Bingo.” Luke clicks his tongue. 

“Luke! Not helping!” Jack scolds. I laugh regardless. 

“What? Dude was a total chick magnet like 6 months ago then he realizes that he’s in love with Y/N and forgets who he is! That’s on him.” Our youngest brother defends himself. “Listen, tap into the Quinn from before you got big boy feelings. Where you were hoeing yourself out. What would he do?” 

‘Past Quinn’ wouldn’t hesitate to make a move. He’d also have a line of other women behind her ready to go. “That’s not who I am anymore.” I whisper as the cold creeps into my car.

“That’s not the point.” Jack says. “Take what he would do but just make sure it doesn’t lead to anything short term like every single one of your other relationships.” 

“So that means drop your manwhore ways. Use the charm to let her know you’re interested, see if she feels the same WHICH SHE WILL,” Luke emphasizes. “And build the relationship from there. There doesn’t have to be this grand gesture, it can be gradual. ‘Past Quinn’ wouldn’t be scared.”

“‘Past Quinn’ doesn’t deserve this woman.” I mumble into my jacket. “But I get your point.” Maybe current Quinn deserves a chance. 

“Finally. Come on Jack, I’m starving.” Sometimes Luke is the most little brother that’s ever little brothered. 

We hang up and I make my way to the apartment. The words of my brothers are beginning to sink in. Be her friend. Use the charm. I feel like once these feelings started to develop, I slowly forgot how to be charming. Whenever I brought girls home, I didn’t even try. They already knew me as ‘Quinn Hughes’ and that was the selling point. To Y/N, I’m just Quinn. 

I don’t like feeling like I don’t know what to do. I always know what to do but now I get nervous like a teenage boy right before his first kiss. Y/N is just a woman I’m interested in, why is she taking away my ability to think? 

Luke’s right. My feelings for her grew over time so there’s no reason a relationship has to start any differently. No more dating apps. No more dm-ing girls. That’s the start.

I unlock my front door and gently close it right behind me. I toe off my shoes next to Y/N’s, it’s all so domestic. “I’m home, Y/N.” 

The scent of a home cooked dinner lightly lingers in the hallway but it gets stronger as I walk closer to the kitchen. Lemony fish with smoked spices have me floating around the corner like Yogi Bear. “It smells delicious in here.”

She’s standing behind the island in her apron. The kitchen is clean around her, she must’ve just finished cooking. I can’t help but grin seeing her with the game stats clearly on her phone even though she’s trying to hide it. 

“Lemon salmon, roasted sweet potatoes, with broccolini and squash.” She beams. “Great job tonight. Florida can suck it.” She’s always hyping up our wins and sympathetic when we lose. Hearing her praise never fails to give me heart palpitations.

I laugh before my eyes drift to the dining room and see two plates with water glasses set on the table. “Oh you did plate it.” 

She looks behind me expecting to see someone but finds no one following me. Her eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I assumed you wanted it plated.” She sounds almost relieved. 

Recovering quickly, I told her someone was supposed to come by for dinner but things didn’t work out. “Have you eaten yet?” Alright Quinny, didn’t think you’d ask this soon but here goes nothing I guess. 

“N-not really. Just ate lunch at the store after you left.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Asking her feels like my lungs releasing all air in my body at once, my heartbeat climbs to my throat. She leans against the counter for a moment, shocked. Okay, maybe I came on too strong. “Unless you have somewhere to be-” 

She cuts me off, a mercy I will thank her silently for later. “Are you sure? You’re probably tired and want a quiet dinner. I don’t want to be a bother.” I did want a quiet dinner but a dinner with her sounds so much better.

To show her I mean it, I pull out her chair and then mine. “Not a bother at all, Y/N.”

Dinner was incredible as always, heavenly if I had to give a better description. It feels like I haven’t had food like this in years but she cooked lunch for me earlier and I said the same thing then too. 

We converse lightly about our days. Hearing about her day is always the best part of mine so I always make sure I ask even if my day was shit. It feels so normal that I catch myself so relaxed and at ease that I don’t even overanalyze every little movement I make. However I do make a note to overthink about her making sure I’m okay after I tell her playing hurt my shoulder. 

Y/N carries our empty plates to the sink and I follow behind her with the cups. I lean to place the cups in the sink under the water and when I do, my bicep grazes her shoulder. I stand against the sink, almost frozen in place and entranced by the way her fingers run over the plates and squeeze the soap out of the sponge…

Quinn, get it together. My mouth is as dry as cotton even though I was nearly salivating moments prior. “Thank you for staying. It was really nice to have company.” I say, mostly as a way to distract myself. I start to rinse off the soapy dishes. 

She stammers, “Of course, Quinn. Thank you for offering to let me stay.” God her voice is so angelic, and has a way of bringing you closer to her because you want to hear whatever she has to say just as long as she keeps talking. 

She finishes up, drying her hands while she still stands close to me. Her warmth radiates off of her like a heater. I don’t want to look like a creep but I can’t help staring when her hair falls out of her ponytail that way. And she’s looking at me too, her eyes trailing up my shoulders before meeting my own. 

It’s like the world stills even though I can hear the hum of the heater kicking on. A warm blanket draped over me, tugging me closer to her. 

Do I want to do it now? Oh God what if she’s uncomfortable and I’m just a pervert? If I kiss her, what happens when she doesn’t like me that way and that power dynamic just creates more problems? 

Before I could do anything, I cleared the thoughts from my head and stepped away. “Thank you for dinner. It was really good.”

“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning?” I can’t tell if her sweet voice sounds hopeful or embarrassed or scared. But I can’t chance a look at her or else all my resolve will melt and who knows what I’d do or say to get her to stay the night. I stare straight ahead, suddenly finding the tiled wall extremely interesting. 

“See you in the morning, Y/N. Drive safe.” I don't see her leave however I hear the door shut and the lock click into place. “I’m so royally fucked.” 

_______________________________________________

author’s note: Oh my goodness I didn’t expect such a positive reaction with reader’s POV. If I’m being totally honest, this was just an idea I bouncing around in my head - I don’t have any idea where this is story headed (if anywhere). I do have some ideas for other parts that I’ve been throwing at the wall but nothing is sticking unfortunately. I’m sure I’ll figure it out ☺️ - Honey🪽

[jacksabbotts]

CINNAMON AND WHISKEY ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡

summary .' in which you ( the reader ) are jackson’s cinnamon roll girl—the one who bakes before sunrise, hums under her breath, and hands out cookies with a smile. no one notices how your hands tremble. no one asks why you never eat what you bake.

joel miller notices.

it should’ve ended there : a nod, a tray of bread, polite conversation. but he sees the way your husband holds your wrist too tight. the way your smile fades the second the door closes. and the way your silence stretches a little too long. joel doesn't mean to get involved. but once he starts paying attention, once he hears you laugh, once he realizes how much you're hiding—he can’t walk away.

not this time—not from you.

SMILE, SWEETHEART ꩜ 18+ in a quiet post-apocalyptic town, a sweet-faced baker/chef who hides secret bruises in silence—but now joel miller is paying attention.

dividers by @cafekitsune & @uzmacchiato

trigger warnings .' lowercase intended!!! ◞ emotional abuse ◞ domestic abuse ◞ controlling behavior ◞ gaslighting ◞ power imbalance within a relationship ( reader x husband ) ◞ references to past physical abuse ( implied bruises, flinching, dissociation ) ◞ depression ◞ emotional shutdown ◞ food and eating-related trauma ( mentions of reader not eating ) ◞ slow-burn romantic tension while reader is in an unhealthy relationship ◞ protective and or obsessive behavior ◞ ptsd responses ( flashbacks, hypervigilance ) ◞ power dynamics (town council / social reputation dynamics ) ◞ mentions of implied marital intimacy without consent ( reader x husband )

[hoe4hotchner]

can you dooooo, secret relationship with reader owning a 5 star restraunt??? the entire team goes there on rossi's dime and everyone finds out because the chef keeps coming to the table again and again and hotch was given a dessert he didnt order and all of his food was removed from the bill??

Étoile | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Chef fem!reader | WC: 1k | CW: Fluff, food, wine

A/N: I honestly just realized that I forgot the part about the bill.

The scent of roasted garlic, seared steak, and freshly baked bread filled the air as Hotch followed the rest of his team into Étoile. Everyone in the city seemed to rave about the five-star restaurant. The interior was a masterpiece of elegance — something that looked like it came straight out of a French Château — with its low lighting, polished wood and golden accents, and flickering candlelight casting a glow over the tables.

Rossi had insisted on treating the team to a celebratory dinner after their caseload lately, and he had, of course, spared no expense.

The team marveled as they were led to their table — a spot tucked into a private alcove that provided a perfect view of the open kitchen. Hotch felt a flicker of nerves as he glanced in that direction, and his eyes found you instantly, at the center of the busy kitchen, directing your staff with a calm yet authoritative nature to you — one that was rarely seen in the field.

You looked brilliant in your chef's coat, hair neatly tied back, your focus shifting seamlessly from one task to another. Hotch quickly looked away, feigning interest in the wine menu as the host seated them. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to notice how intently his gaze lingered on you.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

Just as the team settled into their seats, you stepped out of the kitchen, your confident stride drawing their attention immediately. A polite, professional smile curved your lips as you approached the table.

"Good evening, everyone," you greeted warmly, your voice carrying easily over the soft hum of the restaurant. "Welcome to Étoile. I’m the executive chef and owner, (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to have you dining with us tonight."

“Wow,” Garcia said, her eyes wide as she glanced around the dining room before settling on you. “This place is gorgeous! And you own it? That’s amazing!”

You offered her a genuine smile. “Thank you. I hope you’ll all enjoy tonight’s menu. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Your gaze flicked ever so briefly to Hotch, the corner of your mouth lifting in a barely perceptible smile. It was a fleeting glance, gone almost as quickly as it came, but Hotch caught it — and so did Rossi, though he said nothing.

The team, oblivious to the exchange, returned their attention to their menus, already discussing what they might order. Hotch, on the other hand, shifted in his seat, his nerves bubbling just beneath his exterior.

As the evening went on, the telltale signs of your connection to each other began to unfold.

You checked on their table personally — not once, but several times, despite the fact that the restaurant was fully booked. Each time, you lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, your smile a little softer when your eyes met Hotch’s.

When the entrees arrived, Hotch’s plate was different from what he’d ordered. It wasn’t a mistake; it was a refined, elegant dish not listed on the menu. The server placed it in front of him with a knowing smile.

“This is Chef’s special request,” the server explained.

Hotch blinked, his expression giving away nothing, though he was certain his team noticed the slight shift in his posture.

“Special request, huh?” Morgan said, leaning back in his chair and eyeing the plate. “Man, must be nice to get VIP treatment.”

Hotch only gave a tight smile, his response curt. “I’m sure it’s just part of the service.”

The night continued, the atmosphere lively as the team enjoyed their meal and laughed over Rossi’s insistence on ordering the most expensive wine. But the final nail in the coffin came with dessert.

The team had ordered a selection to share — an assortment of tarts, soufflés, and pastries. But when the desserts were brought out, the server placed an additional plate in front of Hotch — a chocolate soufflé adorned with a delicate swirl of raspberry coulis and a small chocolate garnish.

Hotch frowned. “I didn’t order this.”

The server smiled, unfazed. “Compliments of the chef.”

Morgan arched a brow, his curiosity piqued. “Compliments of the chef? Again? Alright, Hotch, what’s going on here?”

“Yeah,” JJ chimed in, grinning. “You’ve been getting the royal treatment all night.”

Hotch opened his mouth to deflect, but before he could respond, Rossi leaned forward, his tone teasing. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed, Aaron. The chef herself has been hovering over this table like a moth to a flame.”

Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. Wait a second — Hotch, do you know her? Like, know her know her?”

Before Hotch could say anything, you appeared at the table once more, a light laugh escaping your lips as you held up your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, don’t be too hard on him. It’s true.”

The team turned to stare at you.

“Hotch and I…” You glanced at him with a soft smile. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”

For a moment, there was a stunned silence over the group. Then Morgan let out a low whistle.

“Hotch,” he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief, “you’ve been holding out on us. A five-star chef? Man, you’re full of surprises.”

Garcia clapped her hands together. “This is amazing! I have so many questions. How did you meet? How long has this been going on? Oh, and please tell me he helps you in the kitchen sometimes because I’m picturing it, and it’s adorable!” The pictures played in her brain, mixing with the memory of cooking omelets with Hotch.

As the team bombarded you both with questions, Hotch met your gaze across the table, a faint blush shading his cheeks. Despite the exposure of your relationship, a warmth spread in his chest.

You reached out to squeeze his hand briefly before pulling away, your voice tinged with humor as you answered the team’s questions to the best of your abilities, making sure not to overstep Hotch's boundaries with the information you let pass.

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ Two In The Kitchen's a Crowd — Sanji x Chef!Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || They/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: Okay I lied you get two OP posts today. Simple and sweet concept; Reader is a fellow cook staying on the Strawhat's ship, and Sanji issues a challenge

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You were just passing through, really— you were stranded from your crew and needed a little help getting back to them. No big deal, certainly not for the Strawhats! Despite some protests, Luffy allowed you to stay on board. But of course, it wasn't long before he began complaining about feeling hungry yet again

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Thinking nothing of it, you found the kitchen. You were used to feeding your whole crew, one captain shouldn't be too hard, right? The second the scent of brewing food left the door, Luffy was glued to his kitchen seat. You started up some small talk, hearing word of someone named Sanji. You didn't think about it much until hearing a side door open and someone stepping into the room

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sanji, having just finished taking stock of ingredients, was surprised to smell something cooking. He expected to see someone about to burn down the stove, but froze when he saw you instead. You gave him a polite greeting before continuing your work. Sanji looked to you, then your hands, then to Luffy, back to you, and to your hands again. Someone else was in his kitchen, touching his tools, and using his ingredients. And Luffy just- sat there?!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 After immediately grilling his captain for information on who you were and why you were touching his stuff, Sanji turned to you. You'd tried to step in and explain, but his pride was winning out. So you think you can cook, then? Fine, how about proving it? For the next several minutes you agree to stand shoulder to shoulder with the smoking chef, aggressively cooking against each other

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Everything is a fight. Who gets to use what first, which ingredients go where, how to do the techniques, on and on and on. When you both finally finish, there's enough food for the whole ship plus some. The other members slowly entered after hearing all the commotion, and admittedly weren't at all upset at the sight of so much fresh, warm food

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You and Sanji stood back, watching with competitive tension sparking between you. The others seemed to enjoy the food equally. Every time Sanji's dish got a compliment, yours got one soon after, and vice versa. Despite himself, Sanji even tries some of what you provided. You're quick to call him out when his face can't hide how delicious it really is

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sanji begrudgingly admits it- you're not bad in the kitchen, not at all. A part of him feels bad. Food, and cooking by extension, had always been the way he felt most comfortable showing an extension of himself that words couldn't. His care for others, for the craft, everything. He was caught between still being sour at you and his own ideals

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You broke the tension by admitting something Sanji hadn't expected; you actually had fun cooking with him. Sure it was a competition, but it was exciting to face off against someone as talented as him. Surprised and maybe more than a little flattered, Sanji relents. Maybe you can cook whenever you want— if you do it with him

[p0orbaby]

Dead Plate

summary: Natasha can’t cook. You love to let her know. She loves to be told.

warnings: suggestive but not explicit, language, slight sub!dom vibes? probably some terribly incorrect cooking terms in there

a/n: someone suggested chef!reader ages ago, so here’s something small

word count: 1.3k

-

“You’re doing that all wrong”

The sound of your voice caused Natasha to jump. So much so that the wooden spoon she was using clattered against the side of the pan and onto the floor.

“Sneaking up on someone in front of an open flame is dangerous, you know”

“Well it’s not as dangerous as what’s going on in that pot” you countered as you looked over her shoulder with a grimace.

“I’ve followed the recipe you wrote down! So if it’s bad then that’s on you”

“Right. Because apparently I said that spoons and whisks where interchangeable”

She was about to answer when she read your now food covered notes, and did in fact find she’d been using the wrong utensil all along.

“You could’ve picked an easier one for your first try. Even the best chefs struggle with a roux from time to time”

All Natasha could do was pout and cross her arms over her chest in defeat.

“Hey, don’t pull that face” you said as you tied your apron around yourself. Getting ready to either salvage the food or start over entirely. “Come over here and help, you can be my sous chef”

“Do I have to?”

“Ah, that’s not what we say now, is it?”

A shiver ran down her spine at your tone. Assertive. Commanding. Sexy as fuck.

“No. Chef”

“That’s what I thought. So come and stand over here and help”

“Yes chef”

Natasha washed her hands in the basin and promptly stood next to you. The few extra inches you had on her had her craning her neck upwards. Waiting patiently to follow any instructions you’d give her.

“You’ve added too much flour. So we need to add more milk. Can you measure two tablespoons and pour them into the pot for me?”

This time selecting the appropriate utensils, she did what you asked. Just as obedient as a trained puppy. Always wanting to impress.

“Perfect. Now we'll turn the heat down slightly, and I want you to stand in front of me at the stove and whisk until there's no lumps”

She wasn’t listening. She was looking at your hands, your forearms. The way they tensed as you turned the gas down.

“Earth to Natasha '' you promoted, smirking at the absent expression on the redhead's face.

“Sorry”

You took her wrist, pressed the whisk into her palm and maneuvered her so her back was touching your front. Caged in. Trapped.

“You know how to whisk, right? Or do you need me to assist you with that too?”

Without a word, Natasha lifted her hand and placed the whisk in the pot and started moving it back and fourth with speed. Bubbles being created in the milk at the repetitive motion.

She felt your hand at her elbow the next second.

“Too fast. Be a little more gentle” you whispered in her ear.

So she slowed her pace. Focusing on your breath against the skin of her neck and the pressure of your hands as they squeezed at her waist.

“Good girl. See how it’s getting thicker? Means you’re doing a perfect job”

“Thank you, Chef,” she breathed.

“Now, what else does the recipe say?” A rhetorical question as you reached around her form and picked up your own notes from the kitchen counter. “Cheese. Did you grate it already?”

She nodded.

“Words, Natasha”

“Yes chef. I left it in the refrigerator”

She missed the feel of your body against hers as soon as you stepped away. And the chill of the air from the fridge made her shiver. Goosebumps appearing on her skin instantly.

“And the macaroni?”

Oh

“I was going to boil that after,” Natasha admitted slowly. Realising her mistake as soon as you mentioned the other key ingredient.

“Oh dear, Natasha. You really did fuck up didn’t you?”

Your voice wasn’t judgemental. Not really. She knew you were playing, but that made the whole thing even more enjoyable. Your normal carefree attitude replaced by one of assertiveness with hints of superiority.

She probably loved it all a little too much.

Loved the way you tutted at her forgetfulness. Loved the way you moved around the kitchen, brushing past her with intent. It was all very calculated. She knew that. But she relished in the attention all the same.

“You need to do better, Natalia. Your job requires you to be well fuelled. And that means learning how to cook. I may not always be around to help you”

Her legs clenched together subconsciously at the insult. How you made her feel so weak she never knew. It was a stark contrast to why she was like outside of the house. Being a criminal lawyer meant she had to be stern, level headed, even ruthless sometimes. That all flies out the window as soon as you call her names, or roll your eyes at her incompetence at simple tasks.

“I can cook” Natasha’s response was merely just for show. She couldn’t cook. Unless you call tv dinners or oven chips cooking. Which you naturally didn’t. Her ex did the cooking and with him gone, she was left to dine on meals that were mainly made up from the colour beige.

Until you, that was.

“Sure you can sweetheart. If you could, I wouldn’t have to hold your hand while you tried and failed to make this now, would I?”

She shook her head. Bashful and innocent as you drained the water from the pot of now cooked macaroni.

Wait. She can’t have been ogling you that long surely?

“Do you need my help to stir it together or are you up to trying not to make a mess?”

She grabbed the spoon you’d held out for her and your response was to slide her between you and the surface once again. Marble digging into her hips deliciously as you lent forward and placed your chin on her shoulder. Fingers kneading softly at her sides.

“See, you can achieve what you want if you use your brain a little” you encouraged softly as she stirred the pasta into the sauce. “Mac and cheese now, beef wellington next”

“I think I’ll leave the cooking to you” she decided as she dipped her finger in the pot and licked the excess off. Moaning in joy at the flavour.

She went to dip her finger back in so you could have a taste, but you grabbed her wrist, nails almost digging into her skin, halting her movements.

“Don’t you dare put your hand back in there. Wash your hands or use a damn spoon”.

Her breath hitched. “Yes, chef”

You moved away from her again, but this time you smacked her behind as she shimmied up to the sink. Your action was relayed by a squeal from and an out of character glare at you from over her shoulder.

All you did in response was lean smuggly against the frame of the door again. Relishing in the fact you could turn her to jelly with a few harsh words.

“That was fun”

“Was it? All you did was insult me”

“All's fair in love and war. And I didn’t hear you complaining. You’re hot when you’re flustered”. There it was again. The heat that ran through her body at your backhanded compliments. “And you’d look even hotter flustered and naked”

She’d play along. “Is that so?”

“Oh I’m positive. Wanna find out?”

“Sure”

“What was that?” You shouted as you turned away from her and started ascending the stairs.

“Yes chef”

“Better”

Natasha almost melted into a puddle on the tile floor beneath her when you caught her gaze and tilted your head in the direction you were headed, prompting her to follow.

The mac and cheese could wait until after she’d worked up an appetite for something that wasn’t you.

[pixiielated]

help a poor reader find a lost fic :(

there was this atsumu x reader fic on ao3 a few years back !!

reader was a pastry chef who had a bakery across onigiri miya and atsumu buys from her. reader was also close friends with seijoh4 and had a problematic ex but ends up getting over the trauma. also i think oikawa ends up visiting at some point but makki would also help around the bakery a lot!

the author also had a bunch of other haikyuu x reader fics, if that helps

i used to remember the title bec i would reread it often but now i cant anymore sobs pls help, i'm so desperate :(

[smellingofpoetry]

Cherry Pie

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Mary Winchester, Bobby Singer, Reader's mom

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Chef!Reader

Summary: This is the story of how cooking made two people fall in love.

Square/s Filled: Free Space (@anyfandomaubingo)

Warnings: AU, fluff, slow burn, lots of cooking

Words count: 3438

Beta: endlesswanted

A/N:  Hi there! I wrote this one-shot for @fictional-affairs' challenge. Happy birthday again, love. I hope this story is what you were looking for. Also, I hope to bring you some joy today with it. It's not what I had in mind, but I'm used by now for my stories to do whatever they pleased, lol. So, I just hope you're gonna like it. Feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!🖤

Dean Winchester Masterlist - Masterlist

Y/N had just gotten back from school, saying bye to her friend Sam, when walking inside her home she found it empty. It wasn’t a surprise since her parents had weird shifts. So, she just left her school bag at the entrance before heading to the kitchen, hoping her mom had left something for her to eat.

She searched the whole kitchen, but of course, her mom had forgotten about it – again. Y/N sighed frustrated and even more hungry than a few minutes prior. She opened the fridge, knowing full well that there was plenty of food for her to not starve to death. There was only one problem – she didn’t know how to cook.

The last time Y/N tried to cook something she had almost burnt the house down. She groaned, closing the fridge with more force than intended. She heard then her stomach growl and she knew she had one option left. So, she swallowed her pride, took the keys to the house, and went out. She walked the few yards separating her from her neighbor’s house.

Y/N walked towards the back and took a deep breath. She knocked at their kitchen door before letting herself in.

“Hi.” She sighed, waving her hand at her friend’s big brother currently busy behind the stoves. Dean turned around with a smirk on his face. He was used to seeing her walk into their kitchen while their parents were gone, at that point he was always cooking more food and just waiting for her.

“I was wondering if it was okay for me to stay for lunch,” Y/N said, awkwardly moving from one foot to the other, gnawing at her bottom lip. Dean leaned toward the near counter with his hip, arms crossed at his chest. He sighed, rolling his eyes for a more dramatic effect before waving her over.

“Alright, but this time you’re helping.” He told her, throwing at her the apron. Y/N frowned, catching the garment just in time. She tightened it around her middle while walking closer to where he was standing.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked him, alarmed. Dean nodded, passing her the spoon which she took quite unsure.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you burn this kitchen too.” He whispered in her ear, smirking and earning a shove from her.

Y/N was curled up in one of the corners of the Winchester’s couch, watching a movie with Sam and Dean while their parents were out for the parents-teachers meeting. Those meetings always took so long, and according to her dad were boring as hell, which explained why he and Mrs. John got in their cars very reluctantly that afternoon.

It was almost dinner time, and they hadn’t been back yet. Hers and Sam’s stomachs, if the noises to her right were an indication, were starting to rumble. Three grumbled later and she saw Dean roll his eyes, pausing the movie before getting up.

“Hey!” Sam complained, to which he received a dirty look from his big brother.

“I couldn’t concentrate with all the noises you two were making, so I’m going to fetch us something to eat.” He declared while heading to the kitchen. Y/N glanced at Sam, finding him watching his brother before turning back to her. The moment their eyes met they started to giggle.

“You did make some noise.” Sam teased her. Y/N swatted his arm playfully before getting up and feign to be outraged.

“I’m going to see if your brother needs help.” She told him while walking to the kitchen. She turned around just to stick her tongue out just for good measure. Sam threw a cushion at her then, barely missing her. She laughed at him while running to the kitchen just to not give him the chance to throw something else at her. She stopped only when in the safety of the other room, a small giggle escaped her until she caught Dean staring at her with a raised brow. Y/N cleared her throat, trying to stifle a new giggle.

“Do you need help?” she asked, taking a step closer to the counter while nervously fixing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Do you know how to make a perfect burger?” He asked while taking out different ingredients from the pantry. Y/N eyed him carefully, she was sure that assembling a burger wasn’t that hard, but she found herself shaking her head, nonetheless. She did that for two reasons. First, she didn’t trust herself when it came to cooking. Second, she didn’t mind listening to Dean showing her things. She once heard him talk about motors and cars for like half an hour, and she was sure that nothing could be worse than that. At least in this case she knew what a burger was, which was a better start.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Y/N was sitting on the floor with her eyes glued to the oven’s glass. She anxiously gnawed at her lip, glancing from time to time at the clock on the wall. She watched the cake slowly rise until it stopped, and everything came crashing down, again. She sighed defeated, knowing full well that was the fourth failed attempt.

“Damn it!” she whispered while fishing her phone from her back pocket and starting to tap a text.

9-1-1: Kitchen!!! 

She put her phone away and waited. That was how Dean had found her, sitting on the kitchen floor covered in what he assumed was flour. He stopped at the entrance; arms crossed while leaning against the door frame.

“I thought Sam was your emergency contact.” He whispered with a smirk on his lips. Y/N raised her eyes at the sound of his voice, and for a moment he got worried by the sad look in her eyes. He came closer then, kneeling in front of her.

“Are you okay?”

“No. My summer sucks, my parents are divorcing and I’m not even good at backing a damn cake.” She whispered with tears welling in her eyes. Dean sighed, cupping her face with both his hands and rubbing his thumbs under her eyes.

“I can’t do much for your parents, but I can help you with the cake and, if we still have some time, we can try to fix your summer too. Sounds good?” He asked, helping her stand up. She got up, sniffling a little and trying to get rid of some of the flour on her shirt. Dean smirked, ruffling her hair making some more white powder fall on the floor.

“So, what cake were you trying to bake?” he asked, peeking at the book on the counter. Y/N got closer, pointing to one of the pictures. Dean squinted at the image, reading the recipe, and nodding from time to time. Y/N gnawed at her bottom lip, watching him nod his head one more time before closing the book.

“Alright, let’s bake some pie!” He announced, clapping his hands.

“What about the cake?” She asked confused while taking a step back to let him have enough space to retrieve the ingredients he needed.

“Cakes are overrated, pies on the other hand…” he trailed off while taking some of the flour and putting it in a bowl. Y/N got closer, nudging him a bit without taking her eye away from what he was doing.

“You don’t know how to bake a cake, isn’t it?” She whispered like she was sharing a secret. Dean stopped what he was doing, looking at her for a few seconds before leaning towards her.

“Don’t say a word and I’ll let you pick the filling.” He whispered in a conspirator tone, making her giggle.

“How do you feel about cherry?” She asked, sharing with him a knowing look.

The holiday wasn’t the same anymore since her parents divorced. They used to spend it all together eating, laughing, talking, and having fun. The Winchesters were kind enough to still invite her and her mom to their gatherings. At first, it had felt weird her dad not being there, but then things started to slowly go back to normal or something resembling it.

They used to spend the 4th of July grilling burgers, drinking beer if they were old enough, and waiting for the fireworks. They used to switch houses every year, but lately they just silently agreed to spend the day with the Winchesters, which was why she and her mom were walking toward the backyard of their neighbor. Once there they were welcomed with hugs and waves, Y/N put down the pasta salad her mom had made before glancing around her. Her mom was already deep in conversation with Mary. John was a few feet away checking the meat on the barbecue while talking with Bobby. Sammy was sitting in one of the chairs with his nose in a book. He had always been a nerd, which was why it had been easy being friends with him, but lately with college right around the corner he had less and less time to spend with her. She was saddened by that, but somehow, she understood. If she had to be honest, she envied him because she was still trying to figure out what to do after high school, while Sam had a whole plan.

“Dean, can you take over the barbecue for a while?” John asked, passing him the pincers as soon as he was near him. Dean took it, starting to turn the meat while glancing at the girl in the middle of his garden.

“Hey Y/N, could you come over?” He called out for her, watching her come his way with a smile on her face. Dean glanced at Sam, still deep in his book, shaking his head. He loved his little brother, but he swore sometimes that kid was dumb. What was he thinking, leaving a girl just standing there? Especially a girl like Y/N.

Dean waited for her to get closer before giving her the container with oil and seasonings. As soon as she took it, he made space for her to slip between him and the barbecue.

“I’ll keep turning the meat while you put that on them,” he instructed her, who simply nodded, starting to wet the meat with precision. Dean had to bite his lip to stop from smiling too big.

“Look at you being professional and all.” He said, nudging lightly at her. Y/N looked up, a smile lighting up her whole face.

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

Fall had come sooner than expected and they all had to say bye to Sam, who moved to college, leaving them behind. Y/N and Dean had been both worried to stay behind without the piece keeping them together. The fear started to disappear slowly, leaving space for their traditional Friday dinner where they took hold of Dean’s kitchen and cooked together. They had found their balance until winter came and it was her turn to leave.

“Hope you have some room for dessert.” He said while retrieving their plates and disappearing into the kitchen. Y/N watched him leave, gnawing at her bottom lip trying to find the right words to tell him the news. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t even notice him coming back until a slice of pie was put in front of her.

“You’re thinking too loud.” He teased her. She sighed, cracking a smile before retrieving a letter inside of her jacket and letting it slide on the table towards him. Dean let go of the fork, swallowing some of the pie before taking the letter in his hand and reading it. Y/N watched him carefully, trying to read his expression while her heart seemed ready to escape her chest of how wild it was beating. Dean read the paper till the end a smile lit up his face.

“You got in?” He asked just to make sure he was reading right.

“Yeah.”

“I knew you could do it, come here.” He said, getting up from his seat to hug her. Y/N smiled at his enthusiasm, getting up as well and letting him hug her. She put her arms around his middle, hugging him just as tight, burying her face in his chest.

“You’re not mad, right?” She asked in a whisper. Dean frowned, glancing at her without breaking their hug.

“For what?”

“Leaving you.”

Dean’s heart skipped a bit at her question, and it took him a moment to find the right words to answer her. He sighed, letting his hands travel to her arms where he stopped, pushing her a bit away from him just enough to look her in the eyes.

“I’ll be mad if you don’t, Y/N. This is one hell of an opportunity, and I don’t want you to waste it just because of me. You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll miss you.” She whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Dean swallowed hard, hugging her again but a bit tighter this time. He kissed the crown of her head, closing his eyes and lingering with his lips on her skin more than he should have, but he couldn’t really give a damn at that moment. Not when that could easily be the last time he could hold her between his arms.

God, he already missed her, but he was too afraid to say it out loud.

“Just promise me something–,” he whispered, swallowing hard.

“Anything.” She answered so quickly that made Dean chuckle.

“When you become a great Chef with a restaurant of your own, I want to be your first customer.” He whispered, feeling his eyes starting to sting.

“Deal.”

4 years later.

Dean glanced at the invitation he got by mail a few days prior, currently clutched in his hand. He read the address again, to make sure that he was indeed in the right place. He put the card in the inside pocket of his jacket while walking towards the entrance of the new restaurant his hometown was obsessed with. As soon as he walked through the door a young lady welcomed him.

“Hello, Sir. Follow me, please.” She said, guiding him to the central table in the dining area.

Dean got rid of his jacket, took a seat, and looked around. “Jack will be your server tonight. Enjoy your meal.” She said before retreating to the entrance, leaving Dean alone in the dining area. A few seconds later, a young waiter made his way to him.

“Welcome to our restaurant. My name is Jack. How are you doing this evening, Sir?” He asked, politely smiling.

“Not really sure at the moment…” Dean answered, glancing one more time at the empty room.

“Well, I hope the menu the Chef has prepared for tonight can make up your mind. In the meantime, can I get you something to drink?”

“Red wine, thank you.”

The rest of the night went by with Jack coming to the table now and then to serve him a new course, refill his glass, or ask him how it was going. Dean tried to ask his waiter why he was the only one there, but Jack was good enough to avoid his question. Then the food had arrived, and Dean had completely forgotten everything else, so busy tasting every plate and, damn if they weren’t good. It was probably the best food he had ever eaten in his whole life.

He was sipping some of his wine when Jack came back.

“How was everything?” The waiter asked, taking Dean’s empty plate.

“Delicious.”

“The Chef would be pleased to know. Can I interest you in our special dessert?”

“Why not?”

Dean watched him leave, retreating towards what he assumed was the kitchen, remaining alone again. He took another sip of wine when someone surprised him from behind by placing a plate with a slice of pie on it.

“Pie!” He exclaimed, surprised and quite pleased to see his favorite food in the whole world in front of him.

“Someone once told me that cakes are overrated, pie, on the other hand…” the Chef whispered, making herself known. Dean looked up, swallowing hard at the sight of the woman in front of him, forgetting about the pie.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Dean.” She smiled, taking a seat in front of him.

“Is this–,” he trailed off, pointing with his fingers at the room they were in.

“Yes.”

“And am I–”

“Yes, Dean. you’re my very first customer.”

Dean nodded with a smile, lowering his gaze to hide the tears welling up in his eyes.

“You remembered, uhm?” He whispered, looking up again and catching her looking at him with a soft smile.

“Like I could ever forget. So, are you gonna try the pie or not?” She asked, nervously.

Dean took his fork, not letting her repeat the invitation twice. He took a big piece of pie, taking it to his mouth under her curious gaze. As soon as all the flavors hit him, he couldn’t stop the moaning that escaped him, making her giggle.

“I get that it is good?” She asked, smiling.

“Fucking awesome.”

“So, what do you think of the menu? Can I use it for the opening?”

Dean looked up at her, swallowing the last bite of pie and cleaning his mouth from the few crumbles.

“The food was amazing, but you already know that you don’t need me to tell you my approval.” He told her, scraping some remnants of the pie from the plate.

“You know, I have some more pie in the kitchen if you want.” She smirked, getting up without waiting for his response. Y/N smiled when she heard the chair getting moved, four years and he hadn’t changed a bit. Dean followed her into the kitchen admiring the spacious room full of all the cool tools. Y/N watched him looking around himself until his eyes found hers. She smiled, handing him a fork before they both started to eat the remaining pie. They eat in silence like that for a few minutes, glancing at each other.

“Do you remember the first time we baked a pie together?” She asked, licking at her fork.

“I remember you wanted to bake a cake…”

“…and failing miserably.” She finished for him, making both of them laugh.

“Yeah, but look how far you’ve come, with a restaurant of your own.” He said, a hint of pride in his voice. Y/N looked at him, letting go of her fork and getting closer to him.

“You’re wrong, you know? I still need your opinion… I still need you, Dean.”

“You never really did; I was the one to need you.” He whispered, moving a strand of his hair behind her ear. They both shifted closer to each other, their eyes never leaving the other.

“We needed each other,” she whispered, tilting her head, and slowly grazing his lips with hers. Dean cupped her cheek, bringing her closer, and let their lips finally meet. Y/N smiled against his mouth, disclosing her lips to grant him access. Their tongues meet halfway, caressing each other. Dean sighed into the kiss, feeling his heart going miles a minute. He had dreamt so many times of kissing her, but nothing came closer to that moment.

They reluctantly let go of each other, letting their foreheads touch while their breaths mingled together.

“I’m here to stay, you know?”

“Yeah, I figured that out since the restaurant and everything else.” He chuckled. Y/N giggled, rolling her eyes at herself for turning into a teenager all over again whenever he was around her.

“And I know that you already have a job you like and I’m probably too late anyway, but–”

“Yes.” He interrupted her, making her look up at him with a smile on her lips that seemed so kissable that Dean was kinda having a hard time concentrating.

“You don’t even know what I was asking you.”

“Doesn’t matter, the answer is still yes.” He whispered, ducking his head, and catching her lips in a kiss. She kissed him back, smiling against his lips until she put her hands on his chest to lightly push him away.

“Dean–”

“Alright, alright, ask away.”

“Would you like to come work here at the restaurant with me?”

“Yes. I would love to work with you at the rest– wait, what’s the name of the restaurant anyway?” He asked, frowning. Y/N smiled one of her beautiful smiles, mischief in her eyes, while she got closer to him like she used to do when she wanted to share a secret.

“Cherry pie.”

Forevers Tags:

@440mxs-wife @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @morganaah

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @keep-beating-my-dear-heart @leigh70 @littlewhiterose @pastelpeaxch @snowlovespie @stixnstripesworld @hobby27

Dean/Jensen Tags:

@akshi8278 @awkward-and-indecisive @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @siospins2 @stitchintimefan @universallyraylangivens @waynes-multiverse @woodworthti666 @sexyvixen7