#how to make muffins at home without oven

[ethe-realfantasy]

The apartment smells like warm chocolate and something faintly fruity. The soft hum of your voice floats out from the kitchen. Simon steps inside, his gear slung over one shoulder and his keys catching faintly on the hook as he hangs them up without even glancing up. His tired feet carry him toward the source of the sound before his mind fully catches up when he sees you.

You're wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, your hair is pulled up messily, your hips swaying a little as you move barefoot between the oven and the counter. You're humming a melody under your breath he can't quite make out.

He freezes in the doorway for a second, his hand still resting on the frame, the weight of the day slipping from his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You tryna kill me?”

You turn with a surprised grin, cheeks glowing with warmth. “You’re home early.”

“Not early enough,” he says, his voice low but teasing. “Should’ve been here hours ago if I’d known this was waiting.”

You giggle, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and holding out a muffin on a little plate. “I saved one just for you, Lieutenant Riley.”

His eyes flick from the muffin to your face, then back to the muffin. The way you said his name like that... playful, yet intimate. He doesn't say a word about how it makes his chest twist pleasantly. He just moves toward you. For a second you think he goes in for the plate, but he just places it on the counter next to you.

Without warning, he wraps his arms firmly around your waist and lifts you off the ground. You let out a squeal of laughter as he flings you gently over his shoulder.

“Simon!” you laugh, half-kicking, half-laughing as you hang over his back. “What are you doing?”

He walks toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. “First ’m gonna have you,” he says teasingly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Then I’ll have a muffin.”

You laugh so hard your breath hitches. “That’s not the proper order of dessert!”

“Depends on who’s asking,” he says, giving your hip a small, playful squeeze as he carries you down the hall. “You baked them, didn’t ya? That makes you the main course.”

“Simon,” you giggle breathlessly now, voice warm with affection and mirth, “you’re completely insane.”

He drops you gently onto the bed, your hair fanning out on the pillows as you laugh up at him.

Simon leans over you, resting a hand beside your head and drinking in the sight of you: your flushed cheeks, your bare legs tangled in the soft cotton of your shirt and joy radiating from you like sunlight.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “And you’re the reason for that.”

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Sugar”

No Outbreak!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

Based on a request I got on my DMs

Summary: You return to your hometown to care for your ailing father and your brother with special needs, leaving behind your bakery—and your dreams. Overwhelmed and alone, you find unexpected comfort in your neighbor, Joel Miller

WC: 7k

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), fingering, undisclosed age gap, undisclosed illness mention, stress, references to behaviors commonly associated with ASD.

The screen door creaked the same way it did when you were a kid — rusted, unchanging, stuck in the same soft whimper it made when your mom was alive. It groaned under your hand as you pushed it open, the sound like an old ghost stretching its bones.

You were coming home with tired eyes and a back that ached from early mornings spent kneading dough. You had your name on the window of a tiny bakery four hours away, a reputation for sourdough that could make grown men cry. People used to line up before the sun came up. You’d smile, tuck flour-dusted hair behind your ear, hand over something warm and sweet and know, just for a second, that you were good at something. Needed. Steady.

But now, all of that had to be left behind.

Your father had taken a fall—nothing life-threatening, just enough to leave him limping, bitter, and suddenly in need of help. And then there was Caleb—your younger brother, your heart. Nonverbal, sweet, and sensitive to noise and touch, Caleb needed structure, softness, predictability. You didn’t trust anyone else to give him that. You couldn’t. So you packed up, closed the bakery temporarily—you told yourself—and came back.

You wiped your hands on your apron and nudged the oven door closed. Muffins. Your brother’s favorite. Blueberry, if you could swing it. The kitchen was too small and too hot, the ceiling fan rattling like it might fall down any second, and your hands were cracked from too much soap and not enough sleep, but at least baking made you feel useful. Like something still worked when everything else didn’t.

Later that day, you walked outside to look for your brother and glanced over just in time to catch a tall, broad man in jeans and a gray T-shirt looking your way. Arms crossed, one brow cocked. He nodded once.

You gave a half-smile, a shy tilt of your chin.

That was all.

You had enough to carry without adding neighbors.

…

It wasn’t long before you met him properly. Joel Miller.

He introduced himself a week later while helping you lift a sack of potting soil out of your trunk. You’d been starting a garden in the back—tomatoes, squash, something about it reminded you of home before everything cracked. Hoping the rhythm of planting, watering, tending might calm your nerves. Joel had said something about the soil being too clay-heavy and offered to help you mix in peat moss. He was quiet, observant. Lived alone with his daughter, Sarah—bright, friendly, called you “ma’am” with a little grin.

…

Joel Miller doesn’t mean to spy.

But when his truck rumbles into the driveway around 6PM each night, there’s always that moment where he glances across the fence and sees you. Bent over, carrying groceries inside, or pushing a wheelchair ramp into place. Once, he watched you chase your brother barefoot down the yard, laughing even though you were out of breath, even though your smile looked like it might crack in half from exhaustion.

He’s got a good eye for people. Years of working construction will do that to a man—you learn how to read a room by the way someone holds their shoulders. Yours? Always tense. Drawn up around your ears like armor. Always trying not to show how heavy it is.

He noticed the way your hands trembled by 10 a.m., the way you always carried two bags of groceries and never asked for help. He watched you gently calm Caleb when the trash trucks rolled by and overwhelmed him with noise. The way your voice changed—soft, steady, full of practiced comfort. He saw you clean up after your father, even when the old man snarled, humiliated by dependence, too proud to say thank you. He heard you mutter it’s okay, it’s okay, when you thought no one was listening.

He watched you wear yourself down to threads.

All for people who didn’t know how to say how much they needed you. Who probably didn’t even know how tired you were.

And Joel saw the cracks in your armor.

The nights when your lights stayed on too long. The way you sat on the porch after Caleb had gone to bed, face in your hands, shoulders trembling just a little too hard to be blamed on a breeze. He didn’t say anything. But he stayed on his side of the fence, porch light still glowing, just in case you looked up and needed someone to wave at. Just in case you needed to know you weren’t invisible.

He doesn’t say much. Not at first.

Just nods at you over the fence line, a muttered, “Evenin’,” as he wipes sweat off his neck. Sometimes he leaves an extra bundle of firewood near your steps. Pretends it just fell off the truck.

But Joel notices. Everything.

And he’s starting to realize—he can’t stop.

One Thursday, the heat finally breaks.

The air is thick and wet, but at least it’s moving, the storm that rolled through the night before cracked the sky in half and left the streets smelling like dust and ozone. You’re carrying too many bags of groceries for your arms to possibly hold, the plastic handles cutting into your fingers, sweat trickling down your spine when you hear a voice behind you — low, familiar, and warm.

“Howdy,” Joel says.

You pause, breath catching, a carton of eggs nearly slipping from your grip.

“Oh, hey…” you say, catching your balance.

“Joel,” he reminds you, offering a small, crooked smile.

“Joel, right.” You give him a polite smile in return, shy, a little breathless.

“You need a hand with that?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for you to answer. His hands are already reaching, already taking the heaviest bags from your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s okay, really,” you say, but your voice lacks conviction — and you don’t protest.

Joel just walks beside you, carrying the load like it’s nothing.

“Never seen you before around here,” he says as you both step onto the cracked walkway to your front door.

“No… I… I left a few years ago,” you say, shifting the bag in your hand. “But I’m back now. Had things to take care of.”

Joel doesn’t press. Just nods.

He steps into the kitchen and sets the bags down gently on the counter, like he belongs there, like this isn’t the first time he’s crossed the threshold of your life.

“Well, if you need help with… anythin’, I’m right next door.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

…

And it starts like that. Small things.

Joel changes the porch light when it burns out. You don’t ask—he just notices, brings his ladder over, and does it without saying a word. He helps you haul a busted dresser from the curb, his hands firm on the edges while you mutter something about termites and too many memories. He lets Caleb sit in his truck while you run to the store—“You like country music, bud?”—and doesn’t blink when Caleb claps too loud at a Willie Nelson song. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stare. Just grins when Caleb taps the dashboard like a drum.

And you?

You bring him pie. You bake too much when you’re anxious, when the world feels too loud and too full of things you can’t fix.

“Peach,” you say shyly, cheeks pink as you hold out the tin wrapped in foil. “Hope it’s not too sweet.”

Joel bites into it right there on his porch, standing barefoot in a white T-shirt that clings just slightly to his chest, sun catching the lines in his face. He groans, low and honest, the sound curling in your stomach.

“You tryin’ to kill me or marry me with this?” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

You choke on a laugh, startled and pink to your ears, trying to hide how much you’re blushing.

He just smiles — slow, warm, real.

Not the polite kind, not the distant one he gives most folks in town.

Just for you.

And suddenly, all those heavy days feel just a little lighter.

It happens on a Saturday night.

You’re sitting on your porch, elbows on your knees, the wood warm beneath your thighs even after sunset. There’s a half-melted glass of water by your side, untouched. Your body hums with exhaustion — not the sharp kind, but the kind that sinks into your bones after a week of taking care of everything and everyone but yourself.

Your eyes are half-closed when his voice rumbles through the quiet.

“You ever take a minute for yourself?”

You blink and sit up, startled. Joel’s leaning on the fence like he’s been there a while, two sweating bottles of beer in hand, the porch light catching on the edge of his smile.

“Sorry?” you ask, caught off guard.

“I said,” he smirks faintly, “Do you ever rest?”

You glance at him, then down the street like you’re looking for a way out of the question. “It’s not really about me.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of that. It’s too familiar. He’s heard it too many times—from women who carry the weight of the whole damn world on their shoulders and call it love. From people who forget they’re allowed to need.

“I see you,” he says, and his voice is lower now, softer. His eyes flick over your face, your slumped shoulders, your tired mouth. “Always runnin’ around. Cookin’. Haulin’ things. You look tired.”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Something in your throat tightens.

Joel scratches his jaw, like maybe he regrets saying it. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just… if you ever need a hand with somethin’. I’m around.”

You nod. A small, barely-there smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Thanks.”

He steps up to the porch with one of the beers extended toward you.

You take it. You’re not much of a drinker — never have been — but tonight, the cold glass feels like kindness. Like relief.

“Can I sit?” he asks.

“You brought me a beer,” you say with a weak laugh. “It’d be kinda rude if I just kicked you off.”

Joel chuckles and climbs the steps with that familiar grunt, the kind men his age make without realizing it. He leaves a respectful bit of space between you as he lowers himself down beside you. The wood creaks under his weight. He hands you the bottle. You take a sip, and the beer is sharp and cold and exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

He doesn’t say anything for a while.

You don’t need him to. That’s the thing about Joel, he doesn’t talk to fill silence. He lets it stretch, lets it breathe.

“I used to sit out here every night,” you say eventually, eyes fixed on the dark yard. “Back in high school. Pretend I didn’t live in this house. Pretend I was anywhere else.”

Joel nods, slow and thoughtful, his gaze on the distance like he’s seeing it too.

“It’s hard,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Coming back. They don’t mean to… but they pull at me. All day, every day. I feel like I’ve been running on empty for months.”

You let out a shaky breath, the truth bleeding out of you like water through cupped hands.

“I know I’m strong. I’m not helpless. But God, Joel… sometimes I just want someone to tell me I don’t have to be so damn strong all the time.”

Your voice cracks on the end of it. You bring the bottle to your lips to hide the way your eyes burn.

Joel doesn’t speak right away.

Then, slowly, he shifts behind you. Closer. The boards groan under his weight.

“Here,” he says, voice low and rough by your ear. “Lemme see your shoulders.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re wound so tight I can hear your muscles beggin’ for mercy. Just let me help a little.”

You hesitate. But something inside you cracks. Not loud. Just a quiet fracture — a tired, trembling thing that gives way.

You nod. Set the bottle down.

Joel’s hands are large. Warm. Calloused from years of work. He starts slow, thumbs pressing gently into the stiff muscles behind your collarbones, and you suck in a sharp breath at the pressure.

“You carry it all right here,” he murmurs, his voice low, a kind of reverent hush. “All of it. Like if you let go, the whole world’s gonna fall apart.”

Your throat works around a swallow. “Feels like it might.”

He doesn’t rush. His hands move in steady circles, drawing out knots like they’re made of memory.

“Let it fall, then,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to hold everythin’ alone.”

Your eyes sting. You close them, head dropping forward slightly. The weight of his hands, his words, his presence — it grounds you. In a way you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

…

Later, Joel sits alone on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced.

The house is quiet. Sarah’s gone for the weekend with her uncle, and the stillness makes everything louder.

He hadn’t meant for it to go that far.

The massage — hell, it wasn’t even a massage. Just a gesture. A small kindness. A way of saying: I see you.

But the truth is, when his hands touched your skin, something in him shifted. Something broke loose. It wasn’t lust, not exactly. It wasn’t clean, or easy. It was older than that. Deeper. Lonelier.

He hadn’t expected the way your skin would feel — soft and warm beneath his palms, like something fragile trying hard not to break. He hadn’t expected the sound you made — that little sigh, that barely-there release, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected the way it would wreck him.

And then you’d leaned back. Not even thinking. Just trusting.

And that had been the end of him.

Now the bedroom feels too quiet. Too honest.

He knows what this is. Knows what it could turn into if he let it.

But he also knows what the mirror shows him every damn day. The years. The scars. The cracks that never healed right.

You? You still had time. A whole stretch of road ahead. And Joel… Joel had already walked through fire and come out carrying ash.

But still, he can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at him tonight. Like maybe you didn’t care about the years, or the scars, or the weight.

Like maybe you just wanted someone to sit with you in the dark and say, you don’t have to be strong right now. I’ve got you.

And God help him.

Because he wanted to be that person for you.

More than anything.

One evening, you were sitting on the porch steps again, your head bent over a cold cup of tea, fingers curled around the mug like it might hold you together.

The sun had gone down an hour ago, but you hadn’t moved. Not since your father slammed the screen door and disappeared down the hall, grumbling about the cable being out, blaming the weather, the neighbors, you, whatever he could throw his anger at without having to face himself. Caleb was inside, stacking soup cans like building blocks, humming under his breath. Happy, for now.

But you looked like you were trying not to cry.

You missed your old life, missed baking, you could almost smell the scent of fresh dough, yeast rising sweetly in the air, mingling with the rich, buttery aroma of pastries just pulled from the oven.

Baking had always been your escape, your way of shaping comfort and joy out of simple ingredients. There was something sacred about the quiet hum of the ovens, the soft clatter of mixing bowls, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time a batch of peach pies came out golden and perfect—just like Joel had said.

Your jaw was tight. Your shoulders hunched. The porch light painted shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago.

“Hey there, sugar.”

Joel’s voice was low, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. But it did. You looked up, eyes wide, smiling and blushing at the pet name—Sugar. There was something about the way he said that word that sounded both sweet and incredibly hot at the same time.

He stood at the edge of your yard in a flannel shirt and worn work boots, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands stuffed into his pockets. Like he’d just stepped off a shift. Like maybe he’d been watching for a while and only just worked up the nerve to speak.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

You blinked. Shook your head without thinking.

“I was thinkin’ of makin’ chili,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “Sarah’s got a sleepover. Too much for one.” A pause. “Come over if you want.”

Your stomach growled before you could answer. You hadn’t eaten more than half a sandwich all day. Maybe less.

Your voice came out small. “Okay.”

He nodded once, slow, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon then, sugar.”

You stood. Left your mug behind. And followed him across the lawn like it was the easiest decision in the world—though something about it made your chest ache. Like the gesture was too kind. Like it might undo you.

It was the first time in weeks someone had taken care of you.

Joel’s house smelled like cumin and garlic and something deep and rich simmering on the stove. It wrapped around you like a blanket the second you stepped inside. There was warmth here, not just from the food, but from the space itself.

Lived-in.

A coat hung over the back of a chair. Sarah’s sneakers kicked off beside the door. A half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. A photo of the two of them smiling under a Ferris wheel, framed and proud on the mantle.

It was a home.

You lingered in the entryway, awkward, hands clasped like a kid at someone else’s birthday party. Unsure if you should sit, take your shoes off, or run back outside and cry behind the steering wheel of your truck.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”

You swallowed. Nodded. Your shoes stayed on.

“It ain’t much,” he added, already pulling bowls from a cabinet, “but the chili’s good. I promise.”

You sat at the kitchen table with your spine stiff, hands in your lap. Watched him move like he’d done this a hundred times—grabbing spoons, stirring the pot. There was a rhythm to him. Something grounding.

He ladled two bowls full, steam curling into the air. Grabbed a spoon. Then paused.

“Cheese or no cheese?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He looked up. “I always ask Sarah. She says yes. I say no. Figure I better ask you too.”

And that—that—made you laugh. Soft. Unbidden. Like a cracked window letting in the breeze.

“Cheese,” you said. “Please.”

He gave a small nod, grating sharp cheddar with slow, even strokes. Slid your bowl across the table. Then sat opposite you.

You ate in silence. But it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. You were too hungry to pretend you weren’t. And the chili—God—the chili was perfect. Spicy, earthy, just sweet enough to settle something hollow inside you. You scraped your bowl clean.

Joel looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just sat with you. Not pushing. Not prying.

It didn’t feel like judgment. It felt like patience.

Eventually, you broke the silence. Because the warmth in your stomach had spread to your chest. Because you were full for the first time in days and it made your guard slip.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

Your voice was quiet. Barely more than a breath. The spoon stilled in your hand.

Joel didn’t speak.

“My dad… he’s not a bad man. Just… proud. Stubborn. And Caleb, he—he’s good. He’s sweet. But it’s all the time, you know? Like my brain never shuts off. And I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the first tear hit your wrist. You wiped it away fast, ashamed.

“I used to run this bakery,” you said, voice breaking around the memory. “My own place. I’d wake up at 3 a.m., roll dough, bake till noon. And I loved it. Every part of it. But I gave it up to come back here. I keep telling myself it’s temporary, but… I don’t know anymore.”

You looked down at your hands, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I just… I guess I needed to say it out loud.”

Joel leaned back slowly in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. He didn’t look away.

“You’re doin’ everything for everyone else,” he said, low and even. “And no one’s doin’ a damn thing for you.”

The truth of it hit like a gut-punch. You stared at him, stunned, not because it was harsh, but because it was true.

“You ain’t weak for bein’ tired,” he added, voice quieter now. “You’re human.”

You blinked fast. Tried to breathe around the lump in your throat.

“Sometimes I think about just packing Caleb up and leaving. Taking him back with me. Starting fresh. But that would mean leaving my dad behind.”

Joel frowned, jaw tightening. “And what about you? When do you get to matter?”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

And then he did something you didn’t expect.

He reached across the table. Covered your hand with his. His palm was big, warm, rough—like everything he’d ever built still lived in the skin of him.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to carry it all,” he said, softer now. “Not by yourself.”

Your shoulders trembled. You nodded once. Fast. Because if you opened your mouth, you’d sob, and you couldn’t bear to fall apart in front of someone who had been nothing but kind.

But something inside you shifted.

Maybe it was the warmth of his hand. Or the way he didn’t fill the silence with empty words.

Maybe it was the first time in months someone looked at you—really looked at you—and didn’t expect anything in return.

Maybe it was the first time you believed someone might stay.

You still remember the first time you kissed him.

The porch had gone dark again—that same damn fixture that chewed through bulbs like candy, flickering out after barely a week, and you were up on a shaky old stool, arms stretched, fingers fumbling with the new bulb as dusk slipped toward dark.

You were just tightening the last turn when the stool wobbled—a sharp, treacherous lurch of one leg off the uneven wooden plank.

“Shit—”

Your breath caught, heart leaping into your throat.

And then strong hands caught you.

Warm. Steady. Unmistakably Joel.

One arm braced firm around your waist, the other coming up beneath your thigh to guide you gently down. You didn’t fall—you landed against him, your feet scrambling awkwardly to the porch floor, your whole body pressed to the solid wall of his chest.

“Careful, sugar,” he muttered, breath hot at your ear, voice rough and close and a little too soft for your thudding heart. “You tryna give me a heart attack?”

You let out a breathless laugh, more surprise than humor, your hand still clinging to his shoulder. Your face tipped up automatically, and the porch light, freshly fixed, cast a glow over both of you. Warm. Intimate. Like a spotlight on something neither of you had dared name.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, quieter than you meant. Maybe because he was still holding you. Maybe because you didn’t want him to stop.

Joel didn’t let go. His hands lingered low at your waist, thumbs just brushing the edge of skin beneath your hoodie.

“Still,” he said, voice steady but heavy, like he was trying not to say more. “Lemme do this kinda thing next time.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He hadn’t shaved. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his chest from yard work, and the ends of his hair curled slightly where it stuck to the sides of his face. But it was his eyes that got you—soft, warm, focused entirely on you, like you were fragile and rare and he didn’t want to break anything.

And suddenly, the lightbulb didn’t matter at all.

You climbed down slowly, but your hand, deliberately or not, brushed against his chest on the way down. And neither of you moved.

It was a moment suspended in air. Like standing at the edge of something tall and dangerous and beautiful. A quiet hum beneath your skin.

Joel’s voice dropped, barely audible. “I been tryin’ not to look at you like this.”

Your breath hitched. “Like what?”

He reached up—so gently, so slowly it felt like your body moved before your brain caught up—and brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. His thumb skimmed your cheekbone, a soft drag that made your whole face warm.

“Like I want you.”

Time cracked open.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because you did, you wanted him, had wanted him for weeks. Longer, maybe. Longer than you were ready to admit.

The kiss, when it came, wasn’t fire—it was smoke. Slow and curling and inevitable. His lips brushed yours once, tentative, like he didn’t believe you’d let him. But when you leaned in, just a little, he deepened it, his hand sliding into your hair, the other anchoring you to his chest like he needed to feel all of you at once.

Your hands found his shirt, fingers curling into damp cotton, needing to hold on to something, anything.

His arms came around you fully then, pulling you in until you could feel every line of him—broad chest, firm stomach, the barely restrained tension coiled beneath his skin. The kiss shifted, turned warmer, messier, like a need finally slipping through the cracks.

You broke away just to breathe, lips still brushing his.

“Joel…” your voice was a gasp, a question, a plea.

He kissed you again, slower now, like he was savoring something he’d been denying himself for a long time.

His hand drifted lower, beneath your hoodie, callused palm sliding across the bare skin of your waist. You shivered—not from cold, but from the sheer tenderness of it.

He groaned low into your mouth, the sound tugging at something deep inside you. You pressed closer, hands sliding up beneath his shirt, seeking skin. His breath stuttered. His hips shifted—just slightly—but enough that you felt him, hard against you.

And then—he stopped.

Abrupt. Breathless.

His forehead stayed pressed to yours as he sucked in air like he was drowning.

“Shit.”

You blinked, disoriented. “What—what is it?”

Joel’s hands were still on your waist, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. His eyes squeezed shut as he pulled back just enough to see you.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, voice tight and raw.

You froze. The words hit like a slap. “Oh.”

He saw it—the flicker of hurt in your eyes—and rushed to speak.

“It’s not you, sugar,” he said quickly. “Jesus, it ain’t you. It’s just—” He stepped back fully, ran both hands down his face like it hurt. “I don’t wanna start somethin’ with you just to make your life more complicated. You are too young f’me, and you already got so much on your shoulders, and I—fuck, I care about you too much to be one more thing you gotta manage.”

Your heart twisted in your chest. “Joel…”

He looked at you like it broke him. “You’re…” He shook his head. “You’re incredible. And I want this. I do. But you deserve somethin’ else. Somethin’ that’s not me.”

You stood still, the air between you suddenly cooler. But you understood.

This wasn’t rejection. It was protection. Restraint sharpened by care.

And that, somehow, made it ache even more.

Because he meant it. And you believed him.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

But it made you trust him more.

It was past nine when you showed up at his door.

No call. No warning. Just you—hoodie zipped halfway, face pale, eyes dull from the weight of the day. You didn’t even knock properly. Just a soft, hesitant tap of your knuckles, like you weren’t sure you deserved to be there.

Joel opened the door in a T-shirt and sweats, hair mussed, a faint line of exhaustion on his brow. His eyes widened, not in surprise exactly, more like fear. Like he thought this might be a dream.

“Hey,” you breathed. Barely audible. Fragile. “You alone?”

He nodded. Didn’t ask a single question. Just stepped back silently, let you pass, and shut the door with a quiet finality that felt like safety.

You stood there in his dim entryway, fingers twitching at your sides, tension radiating off you like static.

And then—you cracked.

“It was a bad day,” you whispered, like admitting it made it real.

Joel didn’t move. Just listened.

“My dad fell again. Caleb lost it in the store because they moved the cereal aisle and I didn’t know. He screamed and sobbed while people stared like he was a fucking exhibit.” Your voice broke, trembling. “I cried in the car after. Not because of them. Not even because of him. Because I didn’t know what cereal he wanted.”

You let out a laugh that was more of a sob—wet, broken, raw.

Joel’s face—God, the way it fell when he saw you hurting like that—was almost too much to look at.

“I haven’t had one goddamn second to myself, Joel. Not to bake. Not to read. Not even to shower without someone banging on the fucking door needing something. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.”

Your breath caught, and you looked up at him, eyes wide, glassy.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

And that was it. The unraveling. The surrender.

Joel stepped forward so quietly you didn’t hear it, just felt it. His presence. Solid. Grounding.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

“I need you,” you whispered. “And I know we aren’t… anything. Not really. But I need the way you look at me like I’m not some empty shell holding everyone else’s bullshit together. I need you.”

That shattered him.

He gathered you into his arms like he couldn’t stop himself, like the second he felt your body hit his, he knew he wouldn’t survive letting go. You collapsed into him with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a sigh—just something deep and painful and desperate.

He didn’t say much. Just held you. Tight. Warm. Real.

“I’m here, sugar,” he murmured, mouth against your hair. “Right here.”

You nodded against his chest, shivering in his arms. “I don’t wanna do this alone anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Joel said thickly. “Lemme help. Lemme be here f’you.”

Your eyes lifted to his, swollen and rimmed with tears. “Even if it’s messy?”

His thumb brushed your cheek, slow and careful. “Especially then.”

And when he kissed you—fuck, there was no going back. No restraint. No apologies. Just need. His mouth slotted over yours with aching tenderness, but his grip on your waist was possessive, like he needed to feel your bones under his palms, needed to know you were real.

He kissed you until your lungs burned, until your body arched into him without thinking, until you couldn’t remember why you were crying in the first place.

A rough, needy sound escaped his throat—low, primal, like he was holding something back and failing.

Then he walked you backward, lips never leaving yours, until the backs of your knees hit the couch. You gasped when you dropped onto the cushions. He followed—a heavy, hot presence between your thighs, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly up beneath your hoodie.

“I tried to stay away,” he rasped, mouth brushing your throat. “Told myself you had enough goin’ on… that I was too damn old, too broken for you.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, voice trembling. “Joel—”

“But then you show up at my door,” he growled, “and all I can think was how fuckin’ stupid I was for leavin’ that night on your porch with your lips still warm on mine.”

He tugged your hoodie up, his hands reverent, like he was peeling back something sacred. You let him. Raised your arms. Gave him permission. Gave him you.

And when he looked down at you—bare under the soft glow of the lamp—you saw it in his eyes.

Worship. Hunger. Need.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re fuckin’ divine, sugar.”

You pulled him down, crushed your mouth to his, wanting more. Needing more.

His hand dipped past your waistband, calloused fingers skimming hot and slow over bare skin. You whimpered against his mouth—a needy, broken little sound—and he swallowed it whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “Say the word, baby. I’ll pull back.”

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Please… don’t stop.”

That was it. That was all it took.

Joel groaned—a filthy, desperate sound—and kissed you harder. Rougher. His hand slipped lower, fingers dipping into your slick heat, and the moan you let out damn near broke him in two.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he rasped. “You come over here wantin’ me like this, baby?”

You nodded, hips grinding shamelessly against his palm. “Needed this. Needed you.”

Two fingers pushed inside —slow, steady— filling you with a stretch that made your eyes flutter shut. He curled them just right, and your back arched, thighs trembling as your breath stuttered out in ragged little gasps.

His fingers worked you open, pressing deep, curling, teasing your walls. The wet, obscene sound of his fingers moving inside you filled the room, only broken by the soft, strangled cries you kept trying—and failing—to hold back.

Each stroke was deliberate, meant to pull every sound out of you. He didn’t just want you wet, he wanted you trembling, messy, ruined for anyone else.

“Please, Joel,” you gasped, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “Don’t stop—feels s-so good—”

“Tonight is all about you. About making you feel good, just like you deserve. You work so hard… let me give this to you.” His voice was low, reverent, like prayer—like worship—and every word seemed to sink into your skin like heat.

He watched every twitch, every gasp, like it fed something primal in him. His thumb dragged over your clit, a single, devastating swipe, and your whole body jolted, your hips bucked helplessly. A strangled sob ripping from your throat as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did. And the way he held your gaze—steady, reverent, hungry—made your whole body tighten with want.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he murmured as he kissed down your chest, then your belly, pausing to mouth gently at the soft skin above your hip. “How you’d feel. How you’d taste. How you’d fall apart if someone just… took their time.”

You whimpered, breath shaking. “Joel…”

“Gonna take care of you, sugar. Gonna make you feel worshiped.”

Then he moved, sliding down between your thighs, kissing over your belly, your hip, his beard scraping your sensitive skin in the best way.

He spread your legs with steady hands, thumbs grazing your inner thighs like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something sacred.

“You smell like fuckin’ heaven,” he growled. “Bet you taste even sweeter than that peach pie you make.”

His breath ghosted over your skin, so hot it made you squirm, your thighs instinctively trying to close—until he spread them open again with a low, possessive growl.

“You deserve to be worshipped, sugar. Deserve someone who sees nothing but you, someone who lives to make you feel good.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Hot, wet, devastating.

You gasped when his tongue met you, soft and slow at first, just a gentle press, then firmer, deeper. He groaned like he could live off the way you tasted. Like he needed it—your slick, your heat, the way you melted under his tongue.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, steady, while his mouth worked—kisses, licks, teasing sucks that made your hips jerk before he calmed you with a firm hand to your belly.

“Easy now, sugar,” he muttered, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision. “Let me take my time with you.”

That tongue was sin itself—warm, deliberate, unforgiving. Every flick felt like it rewired your nerves. Every slow drag had you twitching, clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.

His tongue licked a slow stripe through your folds, then circled your clit until your back arched and your fingers clawed at the cushions.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t give you a single breath to recover.

You were panting, whining, rutting up against his face without shame. He didn’t even blink, just held you wider, lower, like he wanted to drown in it.

He fucked you with his mouth like he meant to memorize every twitch of your body, every whimper, every desperate moan that spilled out of you.

His mouth worked in tandem with his fingers—two thick digits fucking deep, curling just right, pressing to that spot that made your toes curl.

Every push dragged another broken sound from your throat, and the slick, wet squelch of your body around him only made him growl harder.

“Lemme feel you fall apart, sweetheart,” he groaned into you. “Lemme drink you in.”

You sobbed. Literally sobbed. The pleasure was too much, too deep, like he’d reached inside and touched something you didn’t know you were allowed to feel.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he rasped. “Look how good you take it. Like you were made for this. Made to be loved like this.”

His fingers pumped faster, his tongue relentless, and you were unraveling so fast you couldn’t even think. All you could do was feel the rhythm of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, the drag of his beard catching slick against your thighs.

He sucked your clit harder, just once, and your whole body seized. A tremor ran through your thighs like a live wire.

You couldn’t speak. Only moan, high and breathy, fingers threading into his hair, hips lifting into his mouth before he pinned them again with a low, warning growl.

“Uh-uh. Lemme. Lemme have this.”

And when you came—it was loud, wild, wet—a cry tearing from your throat as your whole body spasmed under his mouth. He held you through it, murmuring your name like a prayer, even as you trembled and gasped, your body giving out beneath his hands.

Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop—licking through your release like he’d earned it, like it was his right.

Joel moaned like he was coming too, grinding against the couch, keeping his tongue on you, licking you through the aftershocks while you trembled, boneless and wrecked.

When he pulled back, his beard was slick with you, lips swollen, eyes dark and wrecked.

But he didn’t reach for himself. Didn’t demand more. He just hovered over you, brushing hair back from your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice raw, thumb tracing your thigh.

You nodded, dazed. “No one’s ever… no one’s ever made me feel like that.”

Joel leaned in, kissed your forehead. “That’s the only way I know how to touch you now.”

You looked up at him—face flushed, eyes glassy—and whispered, “Can I have you now?”

He stilled. Blinked.

You reached for him. “Please. I want to feel you. All of you.”

“You don’t gotta ask me twice,” he rasped. “But I need to hear you say it again. Need to know you want this.”

“I do,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his. “I want you. Not just tonight. Not just because I’m tired or broken. I want you because it’s you, Joel.”

His control shattered.

He kissed you again, rougher this time, like he’d been holding back and finally let himself feel how badly he needed you. His body pressed down over yours, the heat of him unmistakable through the fabric still between you.

He tore his shirt off in one motion, sweatpants shoved down to his thighs, cock heavy and thick, flushed dark with need. It slapped against his stomach, leaking already, pulsing with need like it was aching to be inside you.

You opened for him, no hesitation. Just yes—in every movement, every breath, every inch of skin you offered.

Joel braced over you, gaze locked to yours.

“Still okay?”

You nodded, chest heaving. “Need you inside me.”

He lined up and pushed in—slow, careful, so fucking deep—and you gasped, arching, clutching at him as he filled you inch by aching inch. Thick, hot, unrelenting, he opened you up with the kind of stretch that made your whole body seize.

The stretch burned in the most perfect way, your walls gripping him tight, pulsing around him like your body didn’t want to let him go. Your cunt clenched like it already knew who he was, like it belonged to him.

You’d never felt anything like it.

Like being claimed. Possessed. Worshiped.

He bottomed out with a broken moan, hips pressed flush to yours, like he never wanted to leave.

“Jesus fuck,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel like—fuck—like I’ve been waitin’ for this my whole fuckin’ life.”

He stayed there for a second, buried so deep you could feel the throb of his cock against your cervix, like he was trying to become a part of you.

“F-fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, voice catching in your throat as he sank in deeper, stretching you open with agonizing, delicious slowness. “S-so big.”

“Can you take it, sugar?,” he growled, voice rough and ragged against your ear. “I want you to feel good.”

A helpless sob spilled from your lip. “I-I am,” you gasped, barely able to breathe.

He thrust deep and slow, grinding his hips with every roll, letting you feel all of him, every thick, perfect inch. His cock dragged against your walls just right, pulling wet, slick sounds from your body that had him groaning like he was losing his mind.

Your nails dug into his back, mouth parted in soft, breathless cries.

The drag of him was obscene, slick and hot and thick, your body clenching tight around him every time he pulled back.

You were soaking him—dripping down his length, soaking the base of his cock, the couch beneath you a mess of heat and sweat and need.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped.

“Never,” he promised. “Not with you.”

Joel groaned like it hurt, like being inside you was too much, too good. “You feel—Christ, sugar, you feel like heaven.”

His thrusts turned rough, frantic, filthy—skin slapping, couch creaking, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest as he fucked you like he meant it. His balls slapped against your ass with every stroke, the wet, messy sound of him slamming into you filling the room.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, hips grinding into yours. “So fuckin’ tight, sugar… can’t believe I waited this long—”

You clung to him, breath coming in soft, desperate moans. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back to pull him even deeper, faster.

“Joel,” you gasped, “I want it—want you all the way. Please, don’t stop—”

He kissed you hard, swallowing your plea with a growl as he drove into you faster, deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“Not stoppin’. Can’t. Not when you’re takin’ me so good—fuck—look at you.”

“I’m close,” you whimpered. “Joel—please—” You were trembling, cunt fluttering around him, desperate for release.

You cried out, hands scrambling to grip his forearms, needing something—anything—to anchor you while he drove into you with slow, punishing thrusts. Each one landed deeper, harder, until it felt like he was carved into your core.

He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide and desperate. “Look at me. Want you to see me when I cum inside you.”

You did. You looked at him and it was all it took for your second orgasm to explode inside your body, ripping through you like a fucking firestorm, your whole body locking around him, crying out his name like it was the only word you remembered.

And when he came, he let out a deep, broken moan, thrusting hard, grinding into you with everything he had—his seed spilling deep inside you, filling you, claiming you. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, every spurt making your walls flutter, milking him for everything he had.

“Fuck… fuck, baby…” His voice went ragged, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking with every pulse as he emptied himself inside you like he meant it.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him through it, heart pounding wildly in your chest.

You felt full. Claimed. Loved, even if neither of you had said the words yet.

He stayed there for a moment—still inside you, skin against skin—like he couldn’t bear to leave that closeness.

He kissed your temple, murmured your name low and warm. And then, quieter still: “You don’t gotta carry everything by yourself anymore.”

Your breath hitched, and he pulled you closer.

“You hear me, sugar? You don’t have to be strong for everybody all the time. Not with me.” His lips pressed against your hairline, voice like gravel wrapped in honey. “I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re gonna figure it out. Together.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just wrapped your arms around his broad back and held on like your life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

Joel’s hand stroked slow, soothing patterns across your spine. “You got me, sugar. All of me. Always.”

And in his arms, for the first time in too long, you believed it.

A/N: Thank you to the person who requested this for your patience. I loved the idea and hope it meets your expectations🫶🏻

Thank you too to everyone reading this for supporting my work and for your nice words🩷

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[remushrts]

baked goods

— pairing: poly!marauders x reader

— a/n: i did get carried away with this one but it was so fun to write!! i do not mean to set a precedent on poly!marauders and culinary tales, i just love the chaotic dynamic of them in the kitchen i fear

— summary: based on the prompt: ♡ the character realizes how head over heels in love they are when their s/o took over their whole kitchen in a panic bake.

Sirius swears he's trying to be nice. Keyword, trying.

But can he really blame himself when he came home late from another horrible, horrible meeting, more than exhausted, to find your whole house smelling like muffins? And not only a batch or two, he swore the house was to be stacked with piles upon piles of baked goods at this point.

Was he really, really to blame, that he swoon the moment he saw you cursing under your breath as you spilled vanilla essence all over the counter?

"Hi, sweetie." Sirius grins deliberately, placing a kiss on your cheek. He swears you even taste sweet. "What's with the psycho cooking spree at midnight? Not that I'm one to complain." He added, running his finger along the edge of your bowl and taking it to his lips to taste the batter.

You sigh before answering, and Sirius thinks you're even more adorable, if that's even possible. "Your cousin called, Nymphadora has one of those school events tomorrow. We're helping her up a bit."

"Well, are you trying to feed the entire school?" He gestures to the three batches cooling on the counter, plus the one in the oven. "And who's we, darling? Have you started to hallucinate? Should we run with you to the ER?"

You let out a dry laugh in response, shoving his arm playfully. Sirius doesn't budge, if anything, he locks his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. "I am not trying to feed the entire school, some of these are ours. Orange cinnamon for Jamie, double chocolate for Remus, peanut butter for you, and raspberry for Andy and Ted, but..." You don't have time to finish your sentence as the timer of your oven goes off, and Sirius smacks a kiss against your cheek before you can move.

"Let me get those." He offers, placing another kiss on the corner of your lips before he lets you go and picks up a pair of oven gloves disposed on the counter. He picks them up carefully, more than you would have given him credit for. "And where are those animals, huh? Letting my sweetheart do the entire job alone."

You roll your eyes, picking one of the muffin tins — though to Sirius, god knows how you can keep track of which one of them is still burning hot, and which is just warm to touch without burning your fingers off — and taking the perfectly shaped muffins out of it. He watches as you line up new paper cups and pour the new batter he hadn't even seen before, although he can assume they are the orange ones from the heavenly smell.

"You didn't let me finish, you sod." You say, but your tone packs none of the bite, his grin grows wider across his face.

"Sorry, sweetie, please finish." He offers you, trying to pick one of the freshly baked muffins. You swatch his hand away.

"Don't eat those, you'll burn your tongue. And, to your knowledge, Remus went to buy more paper cups and blueberries because certain someones keep trying to catch them in the air everytime we have them." You explain.

"Oi! That's unfair, we did went to get them, you know?" You hear James' voice echo around the house just a second later the front door clicks open. You kind of pity your neighbours for the noise he's making, but a little less as he greets you with a kiss on the lips. "Hi, my love. Has this gentleman been troubling you?"

You see Sirius feigns offense at the corner of your eyes, pressing your lips to suppress a smile. "Yeah, yeah, your sins are atoned for, Jamie. But his are not." You point out to your other boyfriend.

"Oh, I think I've atoned for my sins just fine!" Sirius tries to defend himself, an exasperated glance at you and James. "Moony, I'm being set up here!"

His gaze only seems to soften as Remus enters the room, you turn to see another two dozens of star-lined paper cups on his hands. You know James had made him park at the store by the look on his face, despite the small errand not meaning to take more than ten minutes, tops. The frown that creases your boyfriend's eyebrows don't make him any less handsome.

"What has he done now?" Remus inquiries with a raised brown.

"Nothing!"

"Eaten all the blueberries." You and James answer at the same time. "Sorry, eaten half the blueberries. The other half was dropped to the floor." You correct.

"Sacrificed!" Sirius corrects once again. "And I could eat them off the floor if Moony wasn't such a goody two-shoes."

"Court finds you guilty, sorry. And you're not eating off the floor, Pads." Remus interrupts before any of you can. James seems rather amused at the situation, watching you bicker and discreetly eating off the bag of frozen mixed berries when none of you are looking. You catch him by the corner of your eye, resting your back at the counter at slowly reaching for one too.

Sirius is, to say the least, scandalised. "So they get to eat them?"

Remus only shrugs, you pick a couple berries in a hand and offers him too. James gives him a complicit look, but he doesn't look half as guilty, lips tinted by the blackberries as are the tips of his fingers. He leans to kiss Sirius.

"Désolé, amor." He says, pressing the words sweetly against his lips. Sirius maybe, just maybe, swoons again at the way his accent carries the vowels with such flowy grace. It's unfair of James, and the smile that comes after tells him that he knows it.

"Désolé my fucking ass! Bloody traitor!" He pretends to push James away towards you, but he spins on his heels like a fucking pro, locking you between his body and the counter with a smug grin. You have none of it, clapping your hands loudly and making a cloud of flour dust the room, and your boyfriend's poor lovely face.

"Alright, everybody out of my kitchen unless you're helping!" You say loudly, all the pompous of a professional chef in one of those reality shows you always watch with the boys.

"Yes, chef!" James answers, smile turning enthusiastic as his lips curl up.

"Yes, chef..." Remus follows, already putting himself at work and opening the paper cups on the counter. You look at Sirius, maybe too cocky to expect an answer, but you let yourself have the small power trip.

Sirius smiles widely, the genuine amusement that makes one lovely dimple appear at his cheeks. "Oui, chef."

It's good enough for you. You swoon for him too.

[fiastomatocheek]

SNOOPY CUTS ALL OF HIS CURLS OFF!

series: ‘happiness is a warm blanket’

pair: dad!luke hughes x f!reader

genre: family, fluff, humor, domestic cuteness.

warnings: none just pure fluff!

summary: father’s day was supposed to be filled with chocolate muffins, art, hugs, and happiness until luke decided it was time for a trim without letting anyone know. the result? a dramatic showdown when his 6-year-old sidekick, lucy, realizes their matching locks are gone.

fia’s note: i guess y’all saw it, right? luke’s curls are gone, i mean, gone gone and i’m honestly so sad. i miss his curls!! this can’t be real, please tell me i’m just having a bad dream 😂 and i think it’d be so fun if lucy found out he cut them without saying a word. you know luce would be soooo dramatic about it, gasping, pouting, maybe even staging a miniature protest.

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @ruinix @when-im-with-you @puckinghughes @astrotrilogy @definitelynotdomanique @fallinallincurls

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic

“That’s a looooot of chocolate chips, Mommy! Snoopy’s gonna be soooo happy when he sees them! Because Snoopy really loves chocolate, just like me! And we’re kind of the same person! Because we have matching…curls!!”

Lucy giggled, adding another generous handful of chocolate chips into the bowl.

“That’s true, you and Daddy are kindred spirits.”

You nodded warmly, smoothing a lock of her messy, wild hair.

“Curly team for life.”

“That’s right! Curls-for-Life!!”

Lucy cheered, bouncing up and down in her seat, nearly bouncing off it in pure happiness.

“Snoopy and me! Forever! Oh, Mommy, I made something for him! Do you wanna see??”

She darted toward a stack of art paper and tugged a large sheet from the pile.

“It’s a picture of me and Snoopy with matching curls! I made matching glitter borders! So pretty, right, Mommy??”

“That’s so beautiful, Luce.” You nodded, admiring the glitter-covered picture.

“He’s going to love it. This is a very special Father’s Day.”

Meanwhile, across town, Luke was sitting in a barbershop with Jack and Quinn. His nervous reflection stared back at him in the mirror.

“Are you sure I’m not making a mess?” he whispered quietly, tugging a lock of his thick, curly hair.

“That’s a big change. I know how much Lucy… and honestly my wife… love it.”

“That’s the point, Lukey.” Jack nodded casually, turning a page in his golf magazine.

“Change is a good thing. It grows back. Plus, it’s kind of a new era. You’re a dad Lukey, you’re not a kid with flowy locks anymore.”

Luke pressed his lips together, reluctantly nodded, and turned toward the stylist.

“Alright… cut it.”

He closed his eyes as the first locks fell to the floor, a momentous transformation underway while Jack tried (and failed) to stifle his smugly amused smirk.

Back at home…

“Mommy, I think Snoopy’s gonna be soooo happy today! Because I made him something SUPER special, and we made his favorite muffins and we’re matching!!”

Lucy hopped down from her seat, carefully placing her picture in a purple envelope.

She turned back toward you, bouncing on her toes.

“I wanna wrap it! Did we buy wrapping paper, Mommy?”

“Yes, we did! Let’s go wrap it together.”

You turned off the oven, drew the muffins out, and placed them to cool while you and your enthusiastic sidekick made your way toward the wrapping paper.

Just as you and Lucy finished wrapping up all the chocolate muffins, you heard Luke’s car pull into the driveway, you knew today might bring a dramatic moment or two with your fiercely passionate 6-year-old.

He opened the front door with a huge smile. His arms were already stretched wide in anticipation, his ‘open-arms-always’ policy for his little girl.

“Luce! Snoopy home! Where’s my little Luce?”

He barely finished his sentence before a small tornado of pure happiness came darting toward him… until, halfway across the living room, Lucy came to a dramatic halt freezing in place then turning on her heels and darting directly toward you instead.

“Mommy!! SNOOPY CUTS ALL OF HIS CURLS OFF!!”

Lucy’s big eyes glimmered with tears of disbelief, sadness, and betrayal.

“That’s not Snoopy anymore! Where are his curls? Did… Did Uncle Rowdy cut them off while he was asleep?”

“That’s a very good theory.”

You knelt down to ease her worries, placing your hands warmly on her small shoulders.

“But I think Snoopy chose to cut them… just a little… because sometimes people need a small change. But I know they’ll grow back Luce, he’s still your Snoopy. Curls or not.”

Meanwhile, Luke stood a few feet away, unsure whether to move forward or hang back.

He pressed his knuckles to his forehead.

“Aw, Luce… I messed up big time, huh? I’m so sorry I made you sad. I know you really liked matching me…”

He knelt down to her level. “Would you… still be my team if I grow them back? Because I think I made a big mess today.”

Lucy turned, reluctantly, to face him.

“That… depends… if you grow them back faster!!”

She crossed her arms in pure dramatic style.

“And I wanna be matching again… soon. Okay, Snoopy?”

“That’s a deal, Luce.” Luke nodded warmly, extending his pinky finger toward her, their tradition.

“Pinky promise.”

She reluctantly intertwined her small finger with his.

“That’s not all, Snoopy! I made you something!!”

Lucy darted toward the envelope, then turned back, adding with pure dramatic flair, “but I’m still mad, you know.”

She handed him the envelope. Inside was a picture of the two of them with matching glitter-covered borders.

He held it up, smiling warmly.

“It’s beautiful, baby. I’m going to hang it up in our room. So we remember, team Curls-for-Life.”

He pressed a small kiss to the top of her messy locks, then turned toward you.

“That… was dramatic.”

He sighed quietly, tugging you into a side-hug.

“That’s our family.”

You whispered back, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Full of chaos, and a whole lot of love.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

Lead Me To The Garden

pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl

“Who do you think it’ll be this year?”

Peeta didn’t look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of my brothers.” He said finally.

“Don’t even joke. I better never hear “Mellark” out of that crazy sparkly lady’s mouth.”

“I told you, she’s not crazy. That’s just how people dress in the Capital.” Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.

“I don’t care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?” You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.

“What would you wear? If you had Capital money?” He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“A yellow sweater.” You said with a sheepish smile.

“What? That’s it?” Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.

“Don’t laugh.” You gasped playfully. “You can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely can’t get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own that’s pretty. And that’s new. I would be the first person to wear it.”

“If I had any money, I’d buy you one.” Peeta said with a soft smile.

“Really? You wouldn’t spend your money on yeast or milk?” You teased him.

“Baking isn’t my whole life, you know. I like other things too.” He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods he’d been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.

“Like what?” You asked as you leaned in as well. Peeta’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends weren’t supposed to think about each other that way.

“Stealing food from you.” He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.

“You’re really good at it.” You humored him.

“Thank you. I try to be.” He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed “thank you” before taking another bite.

“So what would you really buy?” You asked once you swallowed.

“I’d buy a house.” He said without having to think about it.

“Really? But you have a house.”

“I know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And I’d have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.” Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.

“That sounds really nice.” You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.

“You could live there too.” He told you.

“Why? So I could take care of the garden for you?” You teased.

“So we could be together everyday.” He said, making your laughter stop. You didn’t realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.

“That would be nice.” You agreed. “We could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because we’d always talk to each other with love.”

“I think we’d be really happy there.” Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.

“But what if they call my name later?” You said quietly.

“They won’t. There’s dozens of girls in the district. They won’t call you.”

“What if they call you?”

“Theres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.” Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didn’t believe himself.

You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.

“See you after?” You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.

“Peeta Mellark.” Effie said with a poised smile. You’d never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.

You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.

“Peeta.” You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.

“I’m so sorry.” You said into his ear.

“It’s okay.” He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.

“We can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.” You whispered.

“We can’t. They’ll catch me and kill you first trying.” He shook his head sadly.

“But we have to do something. They can’t do this to you. They can’t take you away.” You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.

“There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.

“I guess you’re right. So I’ll see you when you come back, okay?” You said and cupped his face.

“Oh, honey.” He smiled sadly. “I’m not coming home.”

“Shh.” You covered his mouth. “Yes you are. You’re gonna come home to me and we’re gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.”

“There’s never going to be a garden. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.

“No you’re not. You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.

“Our district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I can’t hunt or protect myself. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta cried into your shoulder.

“Shhh. Don’t say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.” You said but even you didn’t believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peeta’s arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.

“I need to tell you something.” He said hastily.

“What is it?” You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.”

“Peeta, what?“ You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

“I have always loved you. I’m sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.” He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.

“Now you have to come home.” You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.

“I love you!” Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.

“I’ll wait for you!” You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.

You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. You’d only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.

“Is there anyone special at home?” Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.

“Actually, yes. There is a special girl from home that I’ve loved for what feels like my entire life.” Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.

“Well that’s great. If you win the games, she’ll have to go out with you.” Cesar said and patted his shoulder.

“Unfortunately winning the games isn’t going to help me.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Oh no? Why not?” Cesar asked him.

“Because she came here with me.” Peeta answered.

Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed he’d live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasn’t shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldn’t blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.

Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didn’t have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didn’t even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didn’t have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.

On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katniss’s little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katniss’s hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didn’t mean it didn’t deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.

After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peeta’s brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.

Then, he looked at you.

Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.

“You’re here?” He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m here. You’re here.”

“I thought you’d be mad.” He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but that’s not what you came for.

“I still had to see you.” You said simply.

Peeta gulped when you didn’t deny that you were mad but nodded his head.

“So where’s Katniss?” You asked him with fake politeness.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “With her family, probably.”

“Oh.” You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.

“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.

“I, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.” Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.

“You found a yellow sweater?” You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. You’d never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.

“I tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.” Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadn’t even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasn’t sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.

“I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.

“Of course I’ll still talk to you. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. I’m just confused.” You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.

“I know.” Peeta nodded. “And you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, I’d be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasn’t what it looked like. It was all an act.”

“An act?”

“Yeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasn’t real and I’m so sorry about that. You don’t know how badly I wished I could tell you.” Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.

“You were just pretending?” You smiled in surprise.

“Of course I was. What did you think? That it was real?” He laughed softly.

“Well, yeah. That’s what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.”

“Our acting got us through.” He corrected. “Haymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?”

You didn’t share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peeta’s eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.” Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.

“So you don’t love her?”

“No. I never did. I’ve only ever loved you.” He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.

“You know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.” Peeta said as he stared into your eye.

“You did?” You smiled shyly at the memory.

“I did.” He nodded. “It was the only thing keeping me warm.”

You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.

“Will you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.” Peeta asked you.

And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.

But you didn’t feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.

[landojpg04]

Scrubs and Squadrons//B.Floyd

Chapter Four

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Doctor!Reader (Fiesty Nickname/Female and She/her pronouns)

Warnings: Language, blood/injury, hospital terminology, medical setting, mild flirtation, mutual pining.

Masterlist

Bob didn’t take her silence personally.

He worked well with it—understood it. She wasn’t one for constant texts or small talk, and that was fine with him. When she needed to rest, he let her. When she needed quiet, he offered it. Still, he found subtle ways to show he was thinking of her.

Dropping off lunch when she mentioned cravings in passing. Leaving sticky notes with her lunch, he brought her. Once, when she was too exhausted to drive home, he drove and picked her up and dropped her back off for her next shift.

Natasha caught him once or twice, watching from afar with a smirk. She and Jack did the same thing—synchronized in their own chaotic way. “You two are soft,” she’d tease. 

But the brunches—those became their rhythm.

Every Sunday morning after shifts, tired and bleary-eyed, they'd meet. Diner booths. Sometimes, just his truck with coffee and muffins. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t have to be. It was something theirs.

And yet… they hadn’t kissed. Not yet.

There were moments, sure—close calls. Her hand brushing his, her head resting on his shoulder for just a second longer than usual. The look in her eyes sometimes, like she was thinking about it. But it always stopped just short.

Maybe they were both waiting for the right time.

Then, in the middle of his break between flights, Bob saw her name pop up on his screen.

I have this week off.

He blinked at the message, then read it again. A slow smile pulled at his lips.

She worked herself to the bone. A week off wasn’t just rare—it was nearly impossible. This wasn’t just seven days of free time. It was seven days on the same page, same pace.

A full week without shift changes, without crashing into each other’s schedules.

No excuses.

No missed chances.

He stared at the screen a second longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

This was it. If there was ever a chance to finally close the gap between them…it was now.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

“Looks like someone found out about Jack’s treat,” Natasha teased, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

Bob looked up from his phone, meeting her gaze. “Next week is Fourth of July—probably their busiest week. Jack just wants to make sure his best doctor is well rested.”

Natasha gave him a wink over her shoulder and walked away.

Soon after, Bradley came up, a teasing grin on his face. “So, how have things been with Doctor Feisty?”

Bob glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Honestly? It’s like she’s brought me out of my shell.”

Bradley chuckled. “I’ve noticed. You deserve that.”

Just then, Mickey jumped in with a grin. “Looks like Bob finally leaves the house and sees the sunshine whenever she’s around.”

Bob rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his mouth. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep the indoors interesting.”

Bradley laughed. “Yeah, well, glad to see you’re finally getting some fresh air.”

Later that evening, just as Bob was finishing up on base, his phone lit up. Her name. He answered without hesitation.

“Hey, Doctor Feisty.”

Her voice came through the line, warm but touched with tiredness. “Hey, Lieutenant Cowboy.”

There was a pause, comfortable but charged.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, her tone soft, “about how I want to spend my next week… a few days to just… unplug. No chaos, no overhead pages. Just me, the sun, maybe something sweet in the oven.”

Bob leaned against the hood of his truck, eyes drifting to the horizon. “Sounds like a well-earned break.”

She hummed. “It’s more than earned. I want to bake, maybe finally finish that novel that’s been mocking me from my nightstand… and honestly? I want a beach day. I want sand, and salt in the air, and to remember what fresh air feels like.”

His grip on the phone tightened slightly, but his voice stayed calm. Steady. “That sounds… perfect.”

There was another pause, one laced with quiet nerves.

“And I was hoping… maybe you'd spend some of it with me.”

Bob didn’t miss a beat. “I’d like that,” he said simply—measured, sure. But inside, the words echoed like a firework going off in his chest.

She laughed lightly, the kind of sound that made him feel like he was standing in sunshine. “You always sound so calm. Like nothing ever shakes you.”

“I’m good at playing it cool,” he said, a hint of mischief beneath the calm. “But you’d be surprised.”

“I just pulled in,” she said with a smile in her voice. “But I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

His answer was soft, grounded, certain. “Always, Doctor.”

✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰✰

Y/N had decided to take an extra day off, calling in for some well-earned PTO. She wanted to get her nails done, freshen up her hair, and—most importantly—see the sun without a hospital ceiling looming overhead.

It was Thursday afternoon when she decided to do something bold.

Today was her turn to bring in food and snacks for the squadron.

So there she stood on the base she once called her playground as a child—the same sprawling grounds where she’d run wild, chasing after her father’s footsteps and hiding behind corners, fearless and free.

But today, instead of racing around, she held a plate of cookies and a small bag with Bob’s name carefully written on it.

Her fingers trembled just a bit as she pulled out her phone and texted Bradley: What time does morning training wrap up?

She wanted to be at the cafeteria just at the right time, ready to surprise Bob with a simple gesture that spoke louder than words.

At exactly 11:47, Bob walked in—hair slightly tousled from the helmet, cheeks pink from the morning heat, and sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He moved toward the food line out of habit, not expecting anything unusual.

Then he saw her.

She stood just beside the counter, arms loosely crossed, pretending not to look like she was watching for him. Her smile bloomed the moment their eyes met—soft and a little proud.

Bob blinked. Then stopped completely. “…Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she said, voice light. “You look warm.”

He chuckled. “That’s one word for it.”

His eyes dropped to the cookies on the tray, then to the small bag in her hands. When she held it out, he took it like it was something delicate, something sacred. Inside, a thermos of his favorite soup and a little container of lemon shortbread, and a turkey sandwich—he’d once mentioned, offhandedly, that his mom used to make some just like them.

She remembered.

Before he could say anything, the squadron trickled in—sweaty, loud, hungry.

“Yo, what is this?” Mickey was the first to spot the cookies, already halfway to the tray.

“Who brought these?” Hangman asked, reaching for one.

“Doctor Feisty, reporting for snack duty,” Natasha said with a grin.

Bradley took a bite and groaned dramatically. “Okay, this is unfair. These are obscenely good.”

“I mean,” Mickey added, mouth full, “who knew Bob could bag the hot doctor and get us free snacks?”

The room broke into laughter, but Bob just shook his head, cheeks tinged red, lips twitching with a smile.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “Bagged, huh?”

Bob looked around at the group, then met her gaze, voice low and honest. “I’ll take the cookies,” he said, “but I’m not sharing your treats next time.”

A beat of silence. Then, hollers and whistles erupted around them.

“Damn, Bob!” Bradley clapped a hand over his heart. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Bob just gave a little shrug, eyes never leaving hers. “I’m full of surprises.”

Y/N laughed, stepping closer to hand him the thermos. Her fingers brushed his—intentional this time.

“I’m starting to see that,” she murmured.

Bob smiled, a quiet kind of brightness behind it. “I really liked this surprise.”

“Good,” she said, her voice soft. “There’s more where that came from.”

[i-yap]

Hello how are you? I love everything you write and I'm obsessed with Dick Grayson. You could write Dick being obsessed with his pretty girlfriend (we readers) I like these stories where he is obsessed in a way that is not crazy and violent. Usually when they write Yanderes it ends in violence, I don't want anything crazy or violent. Can't a man be obsessed with his girlfriend without ending up like that? please

Heyy im doing well, thank you for asking. I love "pretty girlfriend (we readers)" lmao yes we are pretty readers

Obsessed Dick Grayson x reader

Once dick realizes that what he has with you, what he feels for you and what you mean to him is so much more than his past relationships. Like those relationships don't even come in sight to what this is. He loses it a little.

All of a sudden his easy charms, flirtatious nature and playboy game is just gone and that too when he needs it most.

He gets flustered easy and its really weird for him aka Mr most desirable man in dc.

But don't worry , he learns how to work around those palpitations and blushing-by throwing himself into acts of service. Bringing you water without you even saying by realizing you've been swallowing more than average. Making you dinner which comes out of the oven the second you walk into your home by timing your "I've left work" message and the time on google maps ( or maybe just a tracker on you with your permission)

On the same note..HE IS SO OBSERVANT!! like how did you know that y/n wanted chocolate muffin when she likes trying different flavours every day? oh you analyzed her taste pattern and since she had a fruit in the morning, she will want chocolate? oh okay not weird at all dick

That cringey ginny scene from harry potter of her tying his shoelaces? Yea he sort of does those type of things really often. YOU CANT BLAME HIM OKAY ITS YOUR FAULT MAN HAS LOST ALL HIS RIZZ.

He gets so much more jealous. Like in his past relationships, the girlfriends were jealous not him. He was the one being hit on by everyone. People don't even hit on him as much cause rather than him making charming talk he is just standing behind you, head on your shoulder talking sweet to your ear. In fact it has happened on multiple occasions where he just didn't hear someone because he was busy looking at you in the dress you were wearing. also if you guys ever had a fight in the beginning of your relationship about you being insecure ...he will make sure there is a 4 foot stick between him and any other girl who tries touching him. Will jump onto a chandelier rather than let another girl touch him and risk your relationship . you tell him that its okay and you know he isn't reciprocating their feelings and that he doesn't have to jerk away while loudly saying "no no where's y/n WHERE IS MY Y/N" but he doesn't care nothing comes between him and his baby.

He drops stuff too, forgets whatever line he was about to say and um he has giggled when you complimented him once( but you guys don't talk about that anymore)

He just sort of learns to live with it since this just shows how much he loves you and well..there's no fixing it. And he'll find new ways to fluster you.

i hope this was somewhat you were looking for, have a good day!

[str4ngr]

will you be mine?

cw: fluff, various character and different fandoms, gn! reader. synopsis: dates that they would take you on for valentines day <3 notes: making me jealous of ppl who don't even exist, bruh. divider by @bernardsbendystraws.

dinner. the rom-com, perfect night with a flutter of laughter in the air. soft, flickering light of candles as the aroma of dinner wafted in the air. the gentle clatter of utensils and plates, the murmur of other couples and patrons around you. even with such company, it was as though only the two of you existed, your eyes never leaving each other, your cheeks flushed with shy smiles. the food, although delicious, was secondary to the sweetness of conversation, of the connection that blossomed as the night progressed. neither of you wanted the night to end, for the tingle of love that made your cheeks ache with grins to leave.

⋆˚࿔ geto suguru, higuruma hiromi, reo mikage, micheal kaiser, kita shinsuke, oikawa toru, malleus draconia, john price.

movies. cuddled, wrapped, and warm in each others arms, a thick, soft blanket tucked under your bums as your breaths mingle together, the familiar setting of home making the night all. the more comforting. your eyes are trained on the bright light of the t.v., the dramatic dialogue, music, and intense plot making you gasp together, whispering to each other, trying to predict the plot. your hands intertwined, squeal at the plot twist, limbs flailing out as he groans when you accidentally knee him, your apology a hushed giggle as the movie continues to rumble in the background. he laughed and shook his head, scolding your chaos as you both huddled back together, continuing your occasional conspiracies on the plot and reactions to every twist and turn of the story.

⋆˚࿔ toji fushiguro, gojo satoru, yuuji itadori, meguru bachira, tendou satori, kuroo tetsuro, isagi yoichi, sukuna ryomen, simon 'ghost' riley.

baking. he never knew that baking could be so utterly chaotic. seriously, why was there flour across the table, on the floor, and all over his... butt? you laughed behind him, and his bum stung as he deadpanned, slowly turning around to glare at you. his gaze softened, no matter how hard he tried to scold you, his lips twitching into an affectionate smile as he threw a sprinkle of flour at you. you squealed just as the oven rang, ready to be loaded with cookies, muffins, and more galore. he hesitantly turned back around, brushing off the hand-print that stained his sleep pants, quickly pushing the pans into the oven. turning back to face you, he rolled his eyes again, playfully fighting with you as he tugged your hand from the bowl of brownie batter—not that he ate some as soon as you turned away—smiling into your flour-y hairline.

⋆˚࿔ nanami kento, shoei barou, ryuisei shido (he would throw the whole bag and spank you back), bokuto kotarou, leona kingscholar, johnny 'soap' mctavish.

museum. shoulder to shoulder, you walked through the expansive, slightly chilly, room, pausing every couple steps to gaze at the displays. his hand squeezed yours occasionally, his voice low and breathy as he explained small details about big pieces and their even larger meaning. he listened to you as you talked about the ones your recognized and understood. your shoes softly clicked in unison as you went room to room, taking the occasional photo of an absolutely enthralling piece. you weren't silent, but the quiet company of each other was more than enough, the feeling of your weight leaning against his should as you took a break. the way he rolled his eyes as he took your bag, carrying it without shame no matter how much he was 'reluctant' about it. he adored how you gushed over a exhibit that you particularly loved, his eyes momentarily stopping on it, before turning back to you.

⋆˚࿔ megumi fushiguro, hyoma chigiri, sae itoshi, hajime iwaizumi, kyle 'gaz' gerrick.

aquarium. there was a pep in your step as you two walked together, eyes wide as you gasped and pointed, pressing close to the glass as you two tried to find the fish the little plaque beside the glass spoke of so eloquently. ooh-ing and aah-ing over the strange and beautiful creatures that swam around you. walking through the tunnel was ethereal. the deep blue glow from the aquarium lightly tinting your skin his eyes stuck to your face, barely able to comprehend your words as you read of the placard about that specific tank of fish. his arm wrapped around you waist as the both of you walked through the dimly lit indoors, slow smiles creeping onto you lips while pointing out fish you recognized from previous tanks. oh, and don't even get started on the petting pool.

⋆˚࿔ choso kamo, yuta okkotsu, rensuke kunigami, rin itoshi, seishiro nagi, wakatoshi ushijima, akaashi keiji.

notes: mmm some of these kinda dont fit but like... you can just twist it a little in you head; there was a vision, promise.

[snoopyearss]

Hi dear ! I am so in love with your Nanami Kento writings that OMG I am crying (it's tears of joy no worries) I just love this man so much ! I was wondering if it's okay for you to write a request where Nanami dates or marries a fem! Shy reader ? How would he flirt ? As she also slowly gains confidence to initiate things with him cause his presence is so comfy for her.

It can be just all fluff or with tinges or spice/nsfw if you are okay with writing it.

Just wanted to thank you again for your stories and can't wait to read more Nanami posts. You're awesome! 🩶

Hi angel! I’m so happy you love my writing! This is such a cute concept and honestly, I see him with a shy partner. I hope I did it justice! 🖤

CW: some smut!

It was a rainy afternoon, you were cooking you and your boyfriend dinner and swaying your hips along to some smooth jazz he played on the stereo. You looked over to him, fully invested in the book he was reading. You smiled as you walked over to him and crawled into his lap.

“Hi honey,” he chuckled. “Hi,” you snuggled up against his chest. “Dinners’ almost ready, I just placed the roast in the oven.”

“It smells wonderful.” He kisses your nose, he knows it makes you weak every time. You both start at each other for a while, something you guys like to do.

“You’ve grown more comfortable around me,” he pointed out. “I have?” You sat up in his lap. “You have. Do you remember when we met?”

You pretend to look clueless since you loved it when he would tell the story. “I’m assuming you would like me to tell the story?” You nod your head in excitement as he chuckles and holds you tight in his arms.

Flashback

When Nanami Kento first met you, it was at a local coffee shop you would frequent. You would see him walk in around the same hour every time you went; 7:30am. The both of you didn’t know each other very well, he would give a “good morning” and you would smile in response. It wasn’t very often you saw a man that attractive so it made you nervous. Even if it was just a simple act of hello.

On this day however, you were running late to your job and didn’t have the time to make yourself a cup of coffee. You grabbed your keys and went straight over to the cafe, refusing to deal with your coworkers on an empty stomach and no caffeine.

“Hello, may I have a-”

“Can you speak up? I can’t hear you.” The cashier interrupted you.

“I’m sorry, um…May I have [your order] please?” You requested as the cashier heavily tapped on the screen. “Will you be paying cash or card today?”

“Card.” You opened your bag to look for your wallet.

It was nowhere to be found.

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself. You fished around in your purse to find any loose change, but no luck. “No way, I forgot my wallet..”

“Ma’am, you’re holding up the line.”

“I’ll take care of it.” You heard a warm sultry voice speak from behind you. You turned around to find that same handsome man who comes in regularly. Your eyes shift to the left wall and stare at the clock. 7:30am. They then shift back to his big chest, causing your face to heat up.

“O-Oh! Um, you don’t have to! I’ll just come back later, no big deal.” You softly replied. You couldn’t look him in the eyes without stuttering. “I insist, I know what it’s like to not have your daily caffeine intake. I’ll take the green tea with a blueberry muffin as well please. Just combine our orders together, Thank you.”

You softly thanked him and looked down in slight embarrassment. The both of you went to the pick up line and waited for your orders. “Thank you again. I will pay you back every dime.” You promised.

“There’s no need. Any thing for a gorgeous woman like yourself.” His compliment made you eyes widen a bit and cause your face to heat up.

“My name is Kento,” he stuck out his hand to shake yours. “Y/n.” He smiled, he thought your name was beautiful. From that point on it changed the trajectory of your relationship with him.

You found yourself going to the coffee shop instead of making coffee at home, purposely going so you were just in time to see him. And he would be there to see you. He would pay for your coffee and pastry just so you both can talk about the most random things while you wait for your orders. He never made you pay for it, that wasn’t up for discussion.

It got to a point where you both would come in an hour early just to have time to sit and talk with each other. Nanami is a very organized well thought out person. Before making any big decisions, he thinks them through completely. But with you for some reason, you made him not question anything and just go for it. He knew you were a shy girl, based off of what he had seen. So he tried to make his advances as subtle as possible.

“You know Y/n, you’re such great company. I would love to take you on a date,” your eyes widened. “A date?”

“Yes. And as much as I love out coffee talks, I want to take you out. When we can have all the time in the world to get to know each other.” He told your free hand that was rest on the table and caressed it. Your body felt hot.

“I-I would love that.”

So here you are, getting ready for your date with Nanami. You truthfully never thought this would happen, but hell are you grateful it did. You smooth out your dress and apply more lip gloss before grabbing your purse and opening the door to the blonde staring back at you.

“Good evening, gorgeous.” He hands you a bouquet of flowers.

It was a few hours after your date and you invited him back to have a glass of wine. You both sat on the couch while jazz played on your tv.

One thing led to another and you two are getting touchy on your living room couch. The both of you finished two bottles of wine and it was flowing through you. He placed a big hand on your thigh and caressed it like he does with your hand. Your breath hitches at the feeling and you spread your legs lightly to invite him in.

“Dirty girl, do you want me to move my hand further up?” He cooed. You whimpered and nodded your head lazily. “When you’re with me, you use your words. Understand?” He takes he’s other hand to hold your jaw to face him.

“Y-Yes, I understand,” you whimpered. He chuckled. “Look at you baby, you can barely look at me in the eyes. Shy girl. Do I make you feel like this?” His face was so close to yours at this point.

“Yes,” you whimpered out.

He caressed your cheek and brought his face closer. His lips softly grazed yours as you both exchanged a passionate kiss.

Nanami found your shyness cute, especially in the bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of your cries of pleasure and the way you would drag your fingernails down his arms. The first time you both had sex, he noticed you holding back.

“I need to hear you, princess. I need to know how I’m making you feel. Don’t get quiet on me know” he would moan and he drags his dick im and out of you at a pace that has your mind going fuzzy.

“O-Oh my god, Kento! Fuck! Yes yes yes yes yes,” you chanted as your eyes rolled back. “There you go baby, let it out.”

Sex with Nanami could honestly change someone for the better. After that, you genuinely felt unstoppable. Your shy exterior was etched away with each moment you spent with him. You found yourself more talkative with people at your job, even taking bathroom breaks to send your boyfriend some risqué photos.

‘You’re such a tease pretty girl, I’m coming to get you on your lunch break.’

And he would fuck you senseless in the backseat of his car. And you wouldn’t give a fuck about who heard you, or how you looked when you clocked back in. That’s how he made you feel.

After a few more dates of going to various restaurants, museums, jazz bars, and your favorite, at home dates, you both came to an agreement to move in together. It was one of the best decisions both of you could’ve ever made.

End of Flashback

“You love when I tell that story, don’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t?” You grinned and got up to check on the food. Nanami placed his book back on the shelf and shoved is hand in his pocket.

“And I want to keep telling it forever,” He murmured as he pulled out a small black velvet box with a ring inside.

[padawan-snack-packer]

Hi OP!! I absolutely love your answers and your sense of humor, they always make my day!!!! So here's a totally normal and not at all chaotic question:

If you could live anywhere in the Star Wars universe (any planet, any era, zero consequences) where would you be and what would you be doing?? 👀

OH ANON YOU HAVE UNLOCKED A CHAOTIC CAN OF SPACE WORMS. I’m so glad you asked. Let’s go!!!!

Okay, listen. Seven-year-old me would’ve said, with full chest, “I WANNA BE A JEDI!!! 😤” Because I thought lightsabers were neat and I wanted to jump really high and maybe also dramatically stare off balconies like Obi-Wan does when he's having his fifth crisis before breakfast. But current me, who has PTSD, ADHD, AND over-achiever tendencies ? Yeah. No.

I would last two and a half business days in the Jedi Order at BEST. I’d be crying in the Temple cafeteria trying to mind-trick my therapist into giving me a third emotional support baked good. ("You will let me have another muffin. It's for the Force.")

So here's the REAL dream:

📍 Location: Some GAR base in the Outer Rim, probably one of those gloomy ones with bad lighting and worse morale.

👩‍🍳 Job: Mysterious but beloved base cook who showed up one day with no paperwork and just never left. I’m in the back kitchen cooking Real Food™️ with spice and love and probably a questionable amount of butter. Clones wander in looking exhausted and leave with warm flatbread, something that isn’t grey, and enough unsolicited emotional validation to make a droid short-circuit.

Like, me in an apron with “#1 War Mom” on it, force-feeding ARC Troopers soup with vegetables and yelling, “YOU NEED PROTEIN, FIVES, GET BACK HERE.” Someone calls me “chief” or “boss” and I throw a dishrag at them. I do not rank anybody but I’ve grounded four captains and a general.

Also I have a side hustle: keeping a small menagerie of weird half-feral Outer Rim animals that I “accidentally adopted.” Like. “Oh this? This is Murderbean. He’s a loth-cat I raised from a kitten. He hates everyone but me. He bites regs who don’t eat their greens. No that is not a lie, Wolffe don't look at me like that.”

Or... I would LOVE to be a Mandalorian!!!!

I'm not a fighter though. I know my limits. Mandos are built like refrigerators with trauma. I’m 5’2 and sure I can open very hard pickle jars but I can't even reach one of the snacks shelves at home without climbing on the counter with a spatula to grab a pack. I am not doing hand-to-hand combat with anyone taller than my emotional tolerance for conflict (which is very low). I would, however, THRIVE as the weird Mando auntie who runs the local nerf-petting zoo, bakes pastries with names like “jetpack puffs” and “krayt krunchies,” and teaches small foundlings how to swear creatively in Mando’a.

My armor wouldn’t even have weapons—it would have extra oven mitts and treats in the compartments. I’d be like, “You want to come to war?? NO. Sit down. You’re twelve. Here’s a cookie and a safe space.”

In conclusion: ✨ Jedi? Absolutely not. ✨ Sith? Tempting but no, I would cry the second I got a paper cut. ✨ Clone Wars cook/chaotic found family aunt? ABSOLUTELY. ✨ Mandalorian who wears armor exclusively for the look and the pockets? Yes. Yes forever.

Would also want a caf stand????? I feel like I’d end up running a totally illegal caf stand near the barracks at 0500 and giving emotional advice with every cup.

ANYWAY- Thank you so much for asking Anon, this was fun to do!!!

[miowritings]

hi hi there!!!

Maybe a fic of the reader baking together with Tsukasa? I feel like lots of cute things could happen in it ><

have a Nice day!

Muffins or cupcakes?

Tsukasa Tenma x GN! Reader

✮A/N: HIHI!!! SO SORRY FOR BEING OFFLINE phone was too broken to use so💔 i havent been able to play pjsk that much so idk if tsukasa can or cannot cook/bake?? SO SORRY IF THIS MISCHARACTERIZE HIM💔

✮synopsis: after his performance went well, what's a better way than to bake for him? In fact, bake for the whole family!

Your boyfriends theater group was a success! You were proud of the accomplishments he received, and what's a better way to congratulate him by making homemade cake?

This was a mistake, you thought, not only did you burn the cake, but flour, batter, eggs were everywhere... Messy wasn't the right word.. disaster and catastrophe was, you quickly tried to clean everything before he arrived, but it was too late.. you hear the sound of the door clicking open, he's home yet the place was a mess!

"Y/N..?" He mumbled, looking around the place.

"W-what are you doing here so early?! Arent you going to celabrate with your family? And... I told you to come at 8.. its still 6" you utter, trying to clean the place

"Hey! I didnt wanna be late like last time.. plus im planning to celebrate with my family on dinner.." he answered, tilting his head, he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to you. "How did flour get into your hair?" He asks, you ignored his question, wiping yourself with the handkerchief, Tsukasa stays silent for a bit, wondering what to do next, suddenly, he grabs your shoulders, looking at you with big eyes. "Aha! I know! Let's try baking together! Its been so long since i last baked yknow? Cmon it'd be fun! You could even come over and present the food we baked!!" He exclaimed, looking happy with his suggestion, a sigh came out of your lips and you nodded in agreement. Sigh "okay then, lets do it.! Right after i clean this place up.."

Once finished with cleaning, Tsukasa went ahead and prepared the remaining ingredients, he first arranged the ingredients and measured them already. "First things first! We measure the ingredients! Small or big so that we dont get lost! Here, try putting the flour into a mixing bowl! Now add the rest of the dry ingredients!" He instructed while grabbing some whisks and a baking trey, doing as he tild, you carefully put the dry ingredients together.

"Done! The wet's next right?" You asked, already holding the water in hand, Tsukasa nodded walking over to you. "WAIT-!!" he yelled, stopping you right in time, he puts his things aside, going behing you, he carefully guided your hand. "You can do it like that but... It the results would give the batter plrnty of air bubbles.. we should.. there! Fold! Then you want to scrape the sides so it wont go to waste!" He added, looking confused, you step away for a moment. "Ehhh? Oh! You do it! Maybe i can learn a thing or two!" You exclaimed, he smiles at the idea and did as told.

After the mixing step, he grabs a couple of cupcake trays and placed them onto the baking sheet "WAIT--!" he yells, stopping you yet again. "Y/n! Its better to scoop it out, that way, theyre all even! Ahahaha! You really cant do anything without me!" He teases, ruffling your hair, you smile at his joke, picking up the tray and placing it in the oven.

"Youre glazing yourself too much.. but yeah, I guess half of it its true.." you added, adding more to his joke. Time passes by and ping! The cupcakes were done baking. Putting on the mittens before you, you hurridly open the oven door to take out the baking trey, the smell of freshly baked cupcaked hitting your nose. Tsukasa runs over and looked at the cupcakes in hand, you set them onto the table, patiently waiting for it to cool down, Tsukasa smiles

"Hehe, we make a good team dont we?" He asks, you playfully roll your eyes at him and sigh "cant say i dont agree!" You replied, looking at the cupcakes. "...The icing.?!" You exclaimed, Tsukasa, looks around, now looking as surprised as you, he fixes his shirt and clears his throat. "Or we could just say they were muffins.. no one has to know!" He exclaimed, thinking about it... Cupcakes and muffins are alike, you nodded "good save! I'll put these on a container... Lets go.! We should be quick! Wouldnt wanna let the flies eat first!" You cheered, tsukasa smiles. "You got that!"

[shirefantasies]

Idk if/what you’re open to writing right now, but can you possibly write something focused on pippin? Maybe fluff or headcannons or oneshots, whatever you want. I’ll put my trust in a fellow pippin girlie 😉❤️

Ahhh I definitely was not when this very first rolled in but barring any more grievous wounds I am always down to write about my beloved 😌

Pie in the Sky- Pippin x F!Hobbit!Reader

(Gif by @lotrcolors! Didn’t see rules about not using them but will take down if they prefer!)

Perfect dough never fails to put a smile on your face. Sticky as it is, even the feeling of it beneath your hands as you knead it is pleasing. Flames to your left tell you the oven is more than ready to receive its eventual bounty. A few rolls beneath your pin and there you have it, a beautiful drape on the tin before the real treasure is stowed away. Twirling in your flighty joy, you turn for the stove, taking up your pot of wonderful sparkling scarlet raspberry filling. Pouring it in, you see you’ve made a bit extra- muffins might just be in your future, too! Last step is cutting the lattice and then your oven is finally presented its trophy.

You already pulled out the right size hourglass when you got your start, so all there is to it is giving it a flip and you’ve got a little time for inventory.

The fishers had a wonderful haul: bright, shiny salmon you had filleted earlier in the afternoon, leaving only the need to coat them in lemon juice and seasoning. Potatoes as well, potatoes fresh as the salmon, though they are to be fried into chips, not grilled. A plate of roasted zucchini and carrot to say you’re getting your vegetables in. Not to mention the pie.

Every voice in your head had told you to just make enough for yourself, but having a visitor is likely enough, is it not? May as well make a bit extra, you think as you reach for a tin of dill weed.

~

Foolhardy, they say. Foolish indeed to leave a pie cooling upon the sill of your hole’s window lest some rapscallion make short work of it. But what is life without a little chance, you ponder as you check up on your treat, glancing out to the passing road…

“Well, that is about as fine a pie as I’ve ever seen! What’s the occasion?”

Peregrin Took. Pippin, just about the whole Shire calls him. Sprightly, smiling, and green-eyed, the young hobbit comes from quite the family. He is the only one you know of so well, though. Oft is he seen alongside his cousin Merry, particularly for goers of the Green Dragon. You are not quite in that guild, though it has been tempting enough of late.

“No occasion, really,” you reply with a smile, glancing up at Pippin through your lashes, “to be honest, I just felt like it.”

“I can see why," he muses, tone dreamy.

"I made extra. Care to join me for supper?" Leaning further upon your sill, you rest your chin upon your hand.

"If you insist," he answers quickly, "then who am I to say no?"

He slips around the remaining perimeter of your yard, disappearing from your view until you hear a knock at your door. At once you abandon your pie, crossing through your kitchen and hall to open it.

"Well, hello there," Pippin jokes with a wide smile, arms outstretched and heels rocking, "fancy meeting you here!"

"Master Took," you play along, waving him in, "what a pleasant surprise! Please, come in."

Hands running over his shoulders faintly, you help him out of his coat, taking notice of how eager he is to strip himself of the extra layers, unwinding the scarf in record speed and glancing around the entry of your home.

"The kitchen is this way," you wave a hand, "Shall we?"

You take the way he practically trips over his feet on the freshly polished floorboards going forward as a yes, holding out a quick hand to steady him, thinking better of it, withdrawing shyly. Leading him to the dining table, you sit him down at the head of it and make for the kitchen to procure all your supper fixings. One by one you set down steaming platters, Pippin's eyes tracking your every movement before landing on the offerings themselves. You hear his stomach rumble as the smell of the first platter of chips fills the room, say nothing but smile and simply compound the feast until his eyes are wide as saucers.

Master Peregrin Took had caught your eye some time ago, from what day you cannot even say, but at that moment and beyond his wide, wonderful smile and lovely singing voice permeate the back of your mind far too often. Often enough, in fact, that you've taken up the peculiar little habit that finally serves you so well, making far more of anything than you need lest you ever are gifted the luck of the Shire's jolliest soul at your door. And as he sits before you, so close your arms brush as they reach for cups and utensils, engrossed in sharing a story his cousin's gardener told him about the Proudfeet's pumpkins, all you can feel is a glow of warmth and satisfaction.

~

"Mmm," Pippin hums in pleasure between forkfuls, "how did I never know what a good cook you are?"

You shrug, suddenly feeling a little shy. "I suppose I never labelled my creations all too well at any festivals."

"Well, if you keep this up," he teases, "I may just have to keep coming to call."

"Be my guest," you wave a hand and smile widely, eyes remaining upon his, "it isn't often I get company."

You barely trust your ears at his next words. "I can hardly believe that! But I'm more than happy to take up the task."

Wit utterly fails you at that, words lost in the fluttering of butterflies filling your entire being and a smile you cannot have hidden for all the gold in the Shire.

~

Pippin greets you by name this time, leaning into your window with eager familiarity. “You wouldn’t happen to be baking, would you?”

“Why, yes,” you smile back even wider, bending down for a moment to collect proof in the form of a steaming yellow cake before you tease, "if you don't mind waiting for it to cool and get frosted I'd be happy to share. Unless you were just hoping I was busy."

Pippin practically runs around to your gate, bringing yet another smile to your lips as you turn from your cake to the strawberries you'd been slicing.

~

“Excellent party, no?”

Glancing up from your tankard, you see Pippin has slid up to your side, leaning an arm casually upon the edge of the table and giving you that easy smile that makes everything within you flutter. His sandy hair is sprinkled with tossed flower petals and falls about his face, which flickers beneath the lanterns set all about. He’d undone his ever-present scarf, this time letting it hang loosely about either side of his neck and down onto a green velvet waistcoat that brings out those eyes of his.

Nothing else but a smile could have broken across your face at such a sight, joy alongside warmth you can luckily blame upon lanterns and the fires on which spits had been roasting and sheer proximity to all the dancing couples whirling by and other hobbits stopping at the table and idly chatting.

“Just grand,” you reply, only aware in post the surefire dreaminess of your expression, “the music's wonderful, everyone is in such cheer, and the spread is great, too! And now I've got fine company as well!"

"As have I," Pippin replies, glancing away from your gaze, then back to it, "and you are so right about it all. I can't wait to dance the night away! And I've just had about the best cookies of my life!"

You giggle at that, fingers tightening around the wooden mug you held. "Oh yes? And what kind were they?"

"Lavender sugar."

"Ah," your eyes light up, "those would be mine! See what I mean about the labeling? Oh, I'm so glad you liked them!"

Seeing as how it's the sole reason you made anything at all for the birthday of someone's aunt you didn't even know too well.

"Liked them?" He leans closer. "I loved them! But enough of that: how would you care for a dance or five?"

Nothing would have gotten your hands off your tankard with greater haste, its base hitting the red tablecloth at your back faster than he could say "South Farthing".

"I would love that," you tell him, and without a moment's hesitation you are swept up into his arms.

Pippin's hold about your waist is tighter than you'd have expected, but you don't complain a mite at the feeling of his hands on your hips, even the twitch of a finger you'd almost suspect to be the beginnings of roaming if you were any more full of yourself. He goes fast with you, something you hadn't doubted for a moment, and you get a thrill from the way he pulls you in so quickly from a twirl, sending you flying into his chest and caught with his other arm each time. Perhaps you aren't so graceful as some of the other, older or more leisurely pairs out on the open grass, but you know as your bare feet struck the soft ground again and again that you would have it no other way.

~

“Oh, now it’s shortbread?”

You put the hand that isn't holding the basket on your hip, fixing the younger hobbit with a look. “Do you want some or not, Marigold dear?”

"Oh, yes," she replies, golden head bobbing and petite hand reaching to loosen the cloth you've wrapped over the bars, "and I will take one for the old Gaffer, too.”

“Oh, he should enjoy them. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, after all.”

“And who else shall?” Marigold muses, fixing you with a positively catlike smile. “How is my advice about a man’s heart going, then, with Mister Peregrin Took?”

Your easy smile melts into something dreamier, grip on your basket relaxing slightly. “Well, all my baking certainly is bringing us together more.”

“And showing him what a good wife you’ll make him, too. He looked very happy there dancing with you at old Violet’s birthday!”

Before you can stop yourself looking a fool, your smile is widening tenfold. “You think so?”

“Oh,” Marigold waves a hand, “you’re incorrigible! Next time you two dance, just lean in for the kiss!”

“Easy for you to say,” you shoot back, crossing your arms and nearly, but not quite, upsetting your shortbread basket, “I could tell you the same about Tolman Cotton.”

Paling then reddening, Marigold gapes at you and sputters. "Now that is quite different! Tolman is a family friend, after all! If I were to- Why, that friendship might-”

“Uh-huh,” you nod in mock sympathy, a sardonic smile upon your lips, “well, then, perhaps you ought to bake him something. After all, a good friend told me the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Marigold grins. “Yours, maybe! Tolman cares much more about a good spot of fishing than all that.”

“Then you come over to sit in my kitchen and make him a new lure while I muse over what Pippin’s favorites might be. I’ve some dyed feathers I could spare.”

“From what?” Marigold asks, tilted head and smile incredulous as you make your way down the lane.

That is all Pippin catches of the conversation, but it is more than enough, he reflects with a brief proud smirk that quickly melts into a wide, dreamy grin as he glances down at the pair of chocolate-covered shortbread bars in his hands. Your grandma had some good ideas, but she’d never get his heart beating like you did.

~

It is not the most common occurrence in the world to hear your bell ring, so to say you shot up from your sewing is an understatement. All but tossing the shirt whose sleeve you’re repairing down, you pad across your planks to the door, mouth widening into an ‘o’ at the sight of Pippin at your door, a bunch of daisies in one hand and a basket slung upon the opposite arm. Today he is wearing a lavender vest; you don't think you've ever seen him wear lavender before, but of course it suits him.

“Hi there,” he said your name, voice lowering, “I thought I could maybe…take you on a picnic.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, habitually glancing down at your dress and feeling a hand shoot up to your hair. “Well, I don’t know if I’m picnic ready, but-”

“You’re as beautiful as ever,” he remarks with a shrug and the most casual smile, as if he’d commented upon the balmy state of the weather.

“Well,” you glance down toward your feet and fiddle with the end of your sleeve, one arm shyly across your chest, “how can I say no to that? Of course I will go, then. Do you need anything for your basket, though? I admit I haven’t made much fresh today, but I can always-”

At that, Pippin shakes his head, curls flying about his smiling face. “This one is my mother’s treat. It’s about time I pay you back, after all.”

“Oh, alright. Because I do have a leftover pie in the-”

“Yes, bring that.”

You giggle as Pippin continues. “Don’t you worry, though- my mother’s cooking is almost as good as yours! Just don’t tell her I said that.” Punctuating his joke with a wink, he extends his arm and beaming, you take it.

~

Pippin leads you down to the bank of a stream and spreads out a blanket you hadn’t noticed him carrying before, probably due to being too occupied looking into those sweet green eyes and fluttering your lashes at any affection that potentially swims within them. The ground is soft already beneath the blanket, making it quite easy to settle upon your little spot across from Pippin and his basket. Water babbles tranquilly at your side by your feet, glistening in the spring sunshine.

Your companion offers quite the spread, for on top of your pie there is cold chicken and hard boiled eggs, sandwiches with salted meat and cress, cheese alongside the end of the sandwich loaf, fresh red raspberries, and turnovers.

“I hope this is enough.”

“Are you joking?” Your eyes light up, glancing from Pippin to the array of food to the sunlight filtering through the greenery at the stream’s edge. “This is perfect. All of it.”

"It had to be," he says, "I wanted our courtship to start off right."

Falling suddenly deaf to the chirping of birds and babbling of stream, you looked up from your sandwich with wide eyes, again seeing Pippin smiling at you like he'd made the most natural conclusion in the world, this time before tilting a fistful of raspberries into his mouth. Blinking, you search for words, failing momentarily in favor of just grinning over the way Peregrin Took never fails in his unwitting quest to always surprise you. Heat creeps to your face, heat beyond even the beating of the sun down to your head.

Pippin, it seems, takes your silence as a form of denial. All but dropping the plated slice of pie in his hand, he wipes one set of fingers off on the edge of a napkin before waving both hands hastily back and forth.

"Unless I heard your conversation with Marigold wrong. I just got so excited thinking that we could be everything I'd dreamed of and that what you were doing was working. Not that you needed to do it because I already thought you were the prettiest thing I've ever seen and why am I saying all this?"

"Because you're cute," you gush, heart still flip-flopping at his words, at the way the sunlight dances off the curves of his sheepishly smiling cheeks, "and you're always managing to find new ways to steal my heart."

"Me?" His voice is so quiet it's all but a whisper of joy. "You think I'm... Well, I think you're just sweet as this pie here. No, sweeter. Besides finding new ways to steal your heart, might I find new ways to kiss you?"

"Smooth," you tease, shaking your head playfully, gleefully, "you might indeed."

If Pippin is thinking anything you made was sweet, not a single delight you could have whipped up in your kitchen stands a chance against the feeling of his lips on yours, dancing lightly against them in the springtime breeze.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 | Reply/Message/Ask to join 💕

[pedroshotwifey]

To The Flame chapter eight

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x Fem!reader

Chapter w/c: 3k

Chapter tags/warnings: smutty smut, nasty dirty talk, slight angst, manipulation through isolation (hehe), piv sex, unprotected sex, stuff im forgetting

Chapter summary: Things were finally perfect; of course they never stay that way.

A/N: Hey babes! This chapter is really kind of setting things off, and I swear to you that we're going to get dark in the next few, and it's downhill from there. Just needed to get her in the perfect place first >:). This is yucky nasty, so I hope you heathens like it!!

****

You wake up alone for the first time in a week this morning, already missing your husband’s heat. 

It’s your second week living in your new house, but Javi was only able to take that one last off to help you get everything settled. He let you decorate for the most part, which was wonderful because you basically just ordered him around for muscle. 

He was so sweet and helpful the entire time, not giving you a single complaint at all. You want the couch to go against the opposite wall? He’s on it. Need that picture in the dining room hung higher? As good as done. 

You think there’s only a couple boxes left to unpack in the guest room, and then you’ll be done. It’s mostly small stuff, apart from a dresser that needs to be assembled, so you should be able to do it yourself before Javi gets home tonight. 

Mentally planning your day, you stretch and yawn before pulling the covers back and sliding from the bed. You decide as you get dressed that you’ll make a batch of muffins for breakfast, that way Javi will have something quick to grab when he leaves for work in the mornings.

You make your way to the kitchen, yawning again even though the clock shows it’s past nine. You can’t lie to yourself, it’s been nice having the entire day to do whatever you want, without having to worry about getting the bills paid. It was a little hard to transition into not working, but Javi takes such good care of you that it’s hard to stress about it. 

You keep waiting for the day where you feel the urge to find a job again, but it hasn’t happened yet, and you’re not eager to rush it. You really do think you can get used to this whole ‘staying at home’ thing. Especially now that you and Javi aren’t being particularly careful about sex anymore. You need to be prepared to stay home with your kids whenever that happens. 

You’re not rushing that either, if you’re being honest, but you wouldn’t be upset if you found yourself pregnant. It makes you smile, thinking of mini Javis running around your house, playing in the pastures or on a tire swing hung from the big tree out front. Javi would make such a good father too; he’s so thoughtful and attentive. 

You sigh as you start to mix ingredients for your muffins, turning on the radio beforehand to distract yourself. The last thing you need right now is baby fever, you’ve just taken a big life step already. 

You hum along and sway your hips to the soft music as you work, occupying your mind by trying to mentally plan how you’ll be decorating the guest room. A few moments later, you slip the tray into the oven and set the timer before heading back down the hall. 

The room is mostly put together; the last of the belongings mostly small decor or whatever didn’t fit somewhere else in the house. It was unspokenly decided between you and Javi that this room would hold the junk closet. 

You open the first box and find that it contains pictures. You don’t mean to snoop too much, but you can’t help but analyze each one. They’re mostly old family portraits, though a couple of them are just of dogs, which confuses you as much as it makes you laugh. 

You realize once again how strange your situation is as you pick out Javi’s siblings and parents. How is it that you’re married to a man whose family you’ve never met? The only relative you’ve heard him talk about before is his dad. You wouldn’t want to pry though if it was a sensitive topic, so you decide on waiting for him to open up to you when he’s ready. 

You’re just finishing propping up all the photos on their shelf when you hear the timer go off from the kitchen. The muffins are perfectly done, so you pull them out to let them cool off. You glance at the clock and decide that you’ll have enough time to plant some flowers. 

Javi had made these absolutely gorgeous wooden planters for you to put outside the house, and you’ve been waiting until you had time to yourself to fill them. Javi also assisted you in picking out what flowers would go in there—orange Marigolds. They look beautiful in contrast to the white siding of the house. 

Since you’ve moved in, you’ve fallen so deeply in love with the old farm house. It’s honestly the house you always pictured as a girl when you would dream about your future. The big porch, the intricate vintage details, the rolling hills in the background. You just can’t believe that you’re here already, that Javi brought you here. 

You get misty eyed thinking about it, gratitude swelling once again in your chest. Your eyes land on the flowers laid out to be planted and you realize you’ve been smiling like an idiot. Shaking yourself out of it, you flip on the radio you brought from the kitchen and get to work. 

You savor the feeling of the sun beating down on you and the gentle breeze cooling you. It feels so nice to be outside with this weather when you’re not working your ass off on a farm. 

The rest of the day is spent exactly as you had it planned. You finish planting, wash up a bit, finish the guest room, and read a bit before you have to start dinner. It’s a relatively busy day, but it doesn’t feel like work. It’s nice, getting things done in your own house.

You have just enough time to get dinner ready and pop it into the oven before you hear the front door open. Your stomach flutters as a grin spreads across your face. You had a great day, but nothing you did could top the feeling of being in your husband’s arms. 

“Javi?” you call out as you start to walk back to the entryway, wiping your hands off on a dish towel. You wonder if he can smell what you just put in the oven—it’s his favorite. You grow a little concerned when he doesn’t answer right away. 

“Baby?” you ask again. 

Javi is silently toeing his boots off when you round the corner and walk to him. Your stomach drops along with your dish towel when you see the somber expression on his face. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” you ask gently, stepping toward him and reaching your hands out. He meets you halfway and pulls you into a comforting hug. You can feel the way he deflates against you as if all of his stress suddenly disappears when he holds you. 

The combination of his raw emotion and the way he uses one hand to smooth down your hair makes tears spring to your eyes. You’re not used to him looking so distraught.

“I have some news, carino,” Javi says after a moment. His words are quiet but you can sense the urgency behind them. You loosen your grip to allow him to take a step back. He crouches down slightly in front of you so that you’re looking down at him. 

“I received my promotion today,” he says, taking your hands and watching your face scrunch in confusion. 

“But isn’t that a good thing?” you ask. “I know how long you’ve been waiting for this, Javi. What’s the matter?” You don’t understand why he would be upset by such a thing. Javi nods and takes a deep breath. 

“Yes, baby, it was supposed to be a good thing. They offered me almost double what I’m making right now,” he says. By his tone of voice, you can tell that there is more to be said. 

“That’s great,” you say, though it sounds more like a question than anything. “What do you mean ‘offered’?”

“They gave me a choice,” he says after another deep breath. “I only get the promotion if I relocate.” you jerk your head back slightly. What kind of shitty deal is that? He must see your train of thought in your expression because he quickly elaborates. 

“I don’t have to accept the offer, of course, but I won’t get the promotion if I don’t. Things will just stay as they have been.” 

“Well, where do they want you to relocate?” you ask even through the sour taste in your mouth at the thought of leaving this house. You don’t like the look he gives you when you do. 

“Colombia,” he looks hard into your eyes as they widen. 

“What, like West Columbia? The city?” you ask, bewildered. “There’s no way they mean... They can’t do that, can they?” 

Javi sighs again and nods. You wish he would stop doing that. 

“Not the city, sweetheart. And yes, apparently they can,” his words are gentle but with a bitter bite as he lets go of one of your hands to cup your cheek. 

“But we just moved in,” you say, your voice sounds small as you look down at him. He gazes back at you, and you can see the desperation in his eyes. He wants this so much, and you can’t be the thing that holds him back, no matter how much it sucks for you. 

As much as you might not want to move again, you would do anything for your husband. He’s done so much for you, it’s the least you could do. You owe him so much. Still, there’s that painful twist in your chest at the thought of leaving all this behind when you just got it. 

But you know that if it were you in his position and him in yours, he would tell you to take the promotion in a heartbeat. You’re being selfish right now, you need to think about what he wants. You can’t disappoint him.

“I know, baby. I asked if I could have a few days to think about it so I could see where you would be on it. I can still tell them no.” You flinch slightly at the impatience ebbing into his tone. It’s hard to pick out, but it’s there. It makes your cheeks heat and you feel for a second like a child being scolded. You don’t want him to be upset with you. 

“No!” you say a bit too quickly. “Sorry, I just-” you struggle to find the words. “I want this for you, Javi, and I’m here to support you in whatever you choose. I know how badly you want this, and if you decide to relocate, then that’s what I want, too.”

He smiles up at you, and you can’t help but to smile back. It’s true, you’ll do anything for him. 

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his eyes unable to hide the glint of hope that shines in them. 

“Yes, of course I’m sure. I’ll start packing tonight if you want,” you giggle and lean down to slot your lips with his. 

He wraps his arms around you as he stands up, picking you up with him. Your legs instinctually cross at the ankles behind him. 

“Thank you, baby,” he says once he positions you so that your back is against the wall. “Knew you would understand. You’re too good to me.”

You perk up even more as he praises you. All the annoyance has left his tone and you allow yourself to take a breath of relief. There’s a clear admiration in the way he looks at you right now, his eyes softening as he slowly dips back down to kiss you.

He thrusts his hips forward, stimulating your clit with the bulge in his jeans. You moan into his mouth as you grind down, seeking more friction. Your lips feel swollen when Javi releases them to suck at your neck. 

“Oh, Javi, more, please,” you beg, making him chuckle lowly. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Gonna make you feel good,” he whispers into your ear, making you shiver. 

He wastes no time on unbuttoning your pants and letting you down to slide them down your legs along with your panties. It only takes a second before you’re right back where you started, only this time without anything between your cunt and his cock but his own pants. 

“Gonna get you ready for me, pretty girl,” Javi says breathily as he brings his thumb up to circle at your clit. You keen as he immediately begins to rub in hard and fast motions. 

As if that wasn’t enough, he takes his thumb away for only a second so he can gather spit in his mouth and lean over you to dribble it right over your sensitive bud. You gasp as the saliva begins to cool from the air of the hall. 

Suddenly, his thumb is back, continuing its assault. 

“God, feels s-so good,” you moan as Javi starts to nip and suck at your neck again, no doubt leaving a gathering of hickies behind. You can feel your toes beginning to curl and heat rise to your upper body. It’s not going to take long before you’re coming for the first time tonight. 

“Fuckin’ soaked already, baby. Gonna make it so I’ll slide right in. My perfect fuckin’ girl. Always so good, so ready for me.”

Javi’s rambling sets you off, you don’t even have a chance to warn him before your body begins to tremble. You’re pretty sure you shout his name between moans, but it could have been anything. 

“There you go,” Javi praises. “Such a good girl, so pretty when you come for me.” 

You hear the rattle of his belt buckle as he shifts your weight to his other hand and one of his thighs. You look down as he tugs on himself, his red tip poking out from his fist as he moves his hips to line his cock up with your soaked cunt. 

He grips your chin and kisses you fiercely as he pushes in, shoving his tongue into your mouth at the same time. Your sharp whine is smothered by his tongue licking into you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head from feeling so full. 

He thrusts up heavily, effortlessly knocking the breath out of your lungs with each slam of his hips. Your back jots up the wall despite Javi’s best efforts in bringing you down to him. He lets one hand trail up to cradle the back of your head so that it doesn’t hit the wall with the force that he’s shoving up into you with. 

“You’re so tight for me sweetheart, taking my cock so good,” he pulls away just enough to breathe out the words. 

You clench around him, still not used to the filth that spews from his mouth when he gets his dick wet. 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love that don’t you.” 

You nod as much as you can while focusing on the way his tip is punching into your cervix. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and you start to tense and keen from the intensity of it. Your legs start to shake around him and Javi increases the grip he has on your hip. 

“There you go, take it just like that baby girl,” he grits. 

You let your head rest on his shoulder, weakly mouthing his neck, salty and slick with sweat. Your arms tighten around him in an attempt to hold on, but you can feel your mind numbing from the euphoric feeling building up in your abdomen and spreading through the rest of your body. 

“Give it to me, I can feel it baby,” Javi groans, picking up his pace. The increase makes the slaps coming from where your bodies have fused together echo through the hall, your wetness splattering on your thighs with each smack. 

There’s a sharp tap to your clit with each thrust, and you’re coming around his cock with a scream before you realize you’d been that close in the first place. You feel your body melt as your husband nips at your jaw in an attempt of holding his composure. 

“Oh that’s so fucking good sweetheart, come all over my cock just like that. Messy fucking pussy,” Javi continues to talk you through it, bringing the hand from your head back to your clit as you moan wildly. 

“Who makes this cunt feel good, huh?” 

“Y-you do, Javi, you do,” you cry as you come back down from your high. 

“Yeah? Who’s cock? Who’s cock do you fucking cry on?” 

“Ah—Yours, Javi!”

“Goddamn it—such a g-good girl…” 

You nod into his neck, your brows furrowing as he keeps pushing up into you. He slams one hand onto the wall beside your head to hold himself up for balance as he pummels into you to bring himself closer to the edge. Javi grunts and groans into your ear like a mad man, rapidly chasing after his pleasure. 

You barely register an overstimulated tear run down your ruddy cheek at the feeling of his cock continuing to spread you open and nail that spot deep inside of you. A pleasured sob escapes your closed mouth as he keeps manipulating your limp body. 

“Gonna come in this pussy, fill you up so f-fucking full,” he claims right before his pace begins to falter. His hips jerk and he comes with a muffled grunt, his fingers gripping you hard enough to leave bruises for later. 

He lifts your head and takes your mouth again, moaning into your swollen lips as he stills inside of you. It’s a complete mess, all tongues and teeth clashing together out of pure hunger. When he pulls his head back, you’re both panting and staring into each other’s eyes with heavy lids, both of you thoroughly exhausted. Enough so that you don’t recognize the burning smell floating down the hall until now. 

Javi’s eyes narrow as yours widen, your mouth falling as well. He glances down at where you're still connected to make sure you’re not hurt. 

“What’s the matter?” 

You bite your bottom lip, waiting for him to smell what should have been dinner. He gets it after a moment, his eyes softening and a—dare you say giggle—tumbles from his full lips. 

“Yeah,” you confirm his silent suspicions, smiling despite the inconvenience. “You might need to go grab us some dinner.” 

****

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear y'all's thoughts so far! Taglist is open as usual <3

Series taglist:  @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @callachloe @missladym1981 @sofiparallel @koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi @justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog

[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: This first chapter is mostly just introductions and getting to know our main character! Also hinting at mutual attraction. The real plot starts soon 👀

Content Warning: internalized homophobia (sort of?)

Chapter 1: The Handsome Stranger

Y/N's POV

     You wake up before the roosters sleeping in the local farms can wake up the rest of the town. You used to rely on them to wake you up but after a couple of months rising before the sun, it became routine. As the owner of the only café in Valentine, part of your job is waking up before everyone else and having coffee ready for them by the time they roll out of bed and make their way to you, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they order. Coffee is 5 cents per cup, and for an extra 3 cents you add a fresh baked pastry to go with the drink. You bake a different pastry for each day of the week. On Saturdays you make mini strawberry shortcakes, on Mondays you make blueberry muffins, and on Tuesdays you make peach turnovers (your absolute favorite). Your little café is closed on Sundays, you won't get any business while everyone is at church anyways.

     Today is Saturday and you're feeling particularly nostalgic. You remember how you were surprised by the news of your beloved uncle's passing, and even more surprised by the amount of money he left you in his will. He never had children of his own so you were the closest thing he had to a son. As a child you spent your free afternoons helping him run his butchers shop. You only helped at the register since all the meat and blood made you squeamish.

     Along with his life savings you also inherited his mismatched collection of coffee mugs and tea cups. That's what inspired the name for your business; The Collector's Café. You scavenged every estate sale you came across for cups, silverware, plates, chairs, and tables. No two pieces of furniture or dishes were the same. You found a vacant building in a small growing town named Valentine. Full of cattle ranchers and folks with big dreams. You hoped to fuel those dreams with coffee. You spent the remainder of your inheritance on the deed to the building, an oven, a few French presses, and your first order of coffee beans and baking ingredients.

     Two years later, here you are, unlocking your doors at five a.m. Within minutes you're greeting your regulars, as tired as they are loyal, and getting started on their usual orders. It's the busiest day of the week but it passes by without incident. You close up shop at two in the afternoon and finish up with your cleaning and other closing tasks by four. During your walk home you take a short detour through the nearby woods to unwind. It's the middle of spring and the native wildflowers are in full bloom. However, it's not the flowers that catch your eye. Peering into the center of a bright orange flower, you find a ladybug.

     Growing up you were always the shortest boy in your class and more often than not you were teased for it, so you developed a soft spot for the small creatures that were overlooked (or squished) by others. You pull out your sketchbook from your worn leather satchel and begin to draw what you see. You usually save drawing for your day off, but the little creature in front of you is just too precious to leave undocumented.

     After you finish walking home you eat dinner and quickly fall into a comfortable sleep, knowing tomorrow is you day off.

     You spend your Sunday morning tending to the house chores you neglected throughout the week. In the afternoon you stock up on groceries and supplies for the café. You spend the rest of your free time out in the woods drawing every little insect you can find. Before you know it the sun begins to set and you know it's time to turn in for the night.

     The roosters begin to caw as you pull your first batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven and set them on a rack to cool. As you unlock your doors and flip your sign to "OPEN" you can hear hooves and boots squelching through the muddy path through town. As the sun rises high enough to send warm beams of light through the windows, your usual group of regulars walk in, each greeting you with  a sleepy grunt or a gravely "Mornin',". Trailing at the end of the usual morning rush you see a new face. He walks in confidently but when you look into his eyes you can see something else, he looks lost. Maybe he's new in town?

     As he approaches the counter you try to make him feel welcome, "Good morning friend, welcome to The Collector's Café! It's not often I see a new face, especially this early, what's your name?"

     Shocked by your level of energy at such an early hour, the stranger takes a second to answer, "Arthur Morgan."

     "That's a fine name Mr. Morgan. I'm Y/N, nice to meet ya!" You smile as you take in the man's features. He's nearly six inches taller than you. Brown hair curls around the rim of his hat and back of his neck and matching stubble covers his jaw and chin. He has a strong nose that looks like it's been broken more than once, suntanned  skin, and the most piercing blue eyes you've ever seen. In the light coming in from the windows you can see they aren't just blue, they have a ring of green around the pupil that bleeds into the blue irises and for a split second you are drowning in them. You blink and remember you're supposed to be running a business. Clearing your throat, you ground yourself, "Now how can I help you?"

     Arthur's eyes wander from your face to the hand written menu propped up on the counter. "I'll have a coffee. Black."

     "Lovely choice, anything else?" You watch him narrow his eyes, still reading over the menu.

      After mulling it over in his mind, he replies, "Add one of them blueberry muffins too." He begins fishing out change from his pocket and drops eight cents into your hand.

     "Thank you Mr. Morgan! Go pick out a seat and I'll bring everything to your table in a moment."

     Arthur nods and begins looking around the eclectic café he finds himself in. He finds a seat in the back corner, a comfortable red chair next to a round oak table.

     You pull a still steaming muffin off the cooling rack and place it on a dainty plate decorated with ivy leaves around the rim. You fill a yellow mug from the freshest brewed batch of coffee and make your way over to Arthur, gently placing his order on the table in front of him. "There you are, holler at me if you need a refill!"

     "Thank you mister." He replies, looking up at you from under the brim of his hat.

     You think he might be a man of few words, or maybe just shy. You're already busy clearing tables as Arthur takes his first sip. You glance in his direction between each table, watching to see if he enjoys what you've made. New customers always make you feel a little nervous, the same nervousness you felt the day you opened your café. Thankfully, you see his eyes go wide as he takes a bite of the muffin, a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth. You let out a small sigh of relief and return to your work, feeling a swell of pride in your chest.

     You're washing cups behind the counter when Arthur gets up to leave. "Have a nice day!" You call as he heads out the door. He silently tips his hat towards you and then he's gone. When you go to clear the table he was sitting at you notice that not a drop of coffee is left in the mug, and there's hardly any crumbs on the plate. It always warms your heart knowing your customers enjoyed their treat.

     The rest of the day flies by you. As you drift off you find yourself wondering if you'll see the handsome stranger again.

Arthur's POV

     You wake up to the sounds of the rest of the gang starting their days. You groan as you sit up, not looking forward to the tasks that will be given to you as soon as you exit your tent. Hopefully it won't be too bad, you're still worn out from setting up camp. You only just settled in this spot outside of Valentine and Dutch said we should lay low for a while. You get dressed and get your hair semi-decent before stepping outside.

     Javier and Hosea are sitting by the fire drinking coffee. "Bout time you woke up," Hosea greets you as you sit down to join them, "Dutch has been looking for you."

     "Won't kill him to wait one more minute." You pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a large swig. Your face involuntarily contorts in disgust as you swallow and you promptly dump out the rest, thinking about how much better the coffee tasted at the café you discovered while exploring the town yesterday. You make a mental note to go back after finishing up with whatever Dutch has planned for you.

     Walking over to his tent you see Dutch open his arms, the day's first cigar between his teeth, "Arthur! There you are," He throws an arm around your shoulders, "Would you mind escorting our lovely ladies into town today? They will not quit pestering me about it and I think it's about time we started gathering some intel."

     "Sure, I'm up for babysitting." You smirk at your own remark, entertaining yourself as you often do with your sarcasm.

     Dutch laughs and pats you on the back, "That's my boy! Hear that ladies?" You hear a chorus of excited giggles and turn to see Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth practically skipping towards the wagon. You can't help but smile at their giddiness as they chat and sing the entire ride into town.

     After hitching the horses you all split up. Luckily you weren't given anything specific to do in town other than making sure the girls stay out of trouble and making sure they get home safe, so you head right to the café, eager to get your caffeine fix for the day.

     Pushing open the door you hear a small bell ring above your head. "Hey Mr. Morgan!" Y/N smiles at you as the smell of coffee and peaches washes over you, "Back for more already?"

     You chuckle at how formally he addresses you, "Hey Y/N, you can drop all the 'Mr. Morgan' nonsense, Arthur is just fine."

     "Oh, okay! Well what can I do for you, Arthur?" As you look down at the barista you notice his eyes are the same deep brown color as the coffee he serves, perfectly matching his hair. His skin, despite being freckled, is almost as pale as cream.

     "I'll have a black coffee please, and do you have any more of those muffins?" You peek into the display case but you don't see any.

     "I'm all out of muffins, but I do have peach turnovers!" You must have looked as disappointed as you felt, the barista quickly adds, "I promise these are just as good! They're actually my favorite."

     Since your mouth has been watering since you walked in, you cave in and decide to try one, "Alright alright I'm convinced," You slide eight cents across the counter but Y/N slides three cents back towards you. You raise an eyebrow at him, suddenly doubting your ability to count without coffee in your system.

     "Go sit down, breakfast is on me today." He winks at you and starts preparing your order.

     Shocked by his kindness, it takes you a moment to remember your manners, "Thanks Y/N." You make your way to the same corner table you sat at yesterday. The café is full of customers, all happily chatting with Y/N as he weaves between tables clearing dishes and refilling mugs. You're surprised at how quickly he has your order ready. The cup of coffee is steaming and it warms your face as you bring the mug to your lips. After drinking the dirt water the rest of the gang calls coffee for so many years, you forgot what good coffee tastes like. You take a bite of the peach turnover, it's somehow better than the muffin you had yesterday! As the flaky crust softly crunches between your teeth and you bite into the juicy sliced peaches inside, you can see why these are Y/N's favorite.

     You continue watching him as he works. Everyone that walks in gets greeted with the same warm smile and he seems to know exactly how everyone likes their coffee without having to ask. After the majority of folks finish their drinks and file out, Y/N picks up the cups and plates and returns to wipe each table off with a rag.  He places his left hand down on a particularly long table and bends forward slightly to wipe down the edge against the wall. Your eyes travel from his shoulders and down his back. You can't help but stare at his slender waist and how his jeans hug his hips.

     Suddenly, as if he can feel your eyes on him, Y/N stands up and snaps his head in your direction. You feel your cheeks flush warm with shame, you lower your eyes and quickly finish the last of your coffee. Y/N glides over to you, "Need a refill?" Despite being taller than him, you suddenly feel very small with how he's looking down at you in your chair. Is the smile on his face playful? You're too wrapped up in your own embarrassment to know for sure.

      "Ah, no thanks," You can't stand his stare any longer and abruptly stand up, "I think it's about time I head out." Avoiding meeting his eyes you quickly walk past him and towards he door.

     "Oh, alright. See you round Arthur." You feel Y/N's gaze follow you as you go. You walk back towards the wagon, trying to shake the image of the barista's blue jeans from your mind. The girls are already there waiting for you. You silently ready the horses and climb into the wagon.

     "What have you been up to, Arthur?" Tilly asks as she climbs into the back seat.

     "Not much, just had some actually decent coffee," Not wanting to think about how the rest of your morning went, you quickly change the subject, "Did y'all hear anything useful?"

     "Oh yes," Karen interjects, "We'll tell you all about it when we get back to camp."

     The ride back is quiet, the afternoon sun through the trees dappling your path in shade. Upon arriving, you quickly look for something to do and settle on chopping wood for tonight's fire, hoping no one bothers you during the meditative task.

     After dinner you retreat to your tent, tossing and turning restlessly in your cot, unable to take your mind off of how Y/N was looking at you earlier after he caught you staring. You thought he would have gotten upset with you, but you were met with a smile. You think you saw a hint of mischief in his eyes but you quickly convince yourself you imagined it.

     You fall asleep cursing yourself for eyeing him the same way you would eye a woman.

//

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing a fic and I can already tell I have a lot to learn. I'm open to constructive criticism, all I ask is that you're nice about it lol let me know what you think about it so far!

Chapter 2

Taglist: @photo1030

[authorautumnbanks]

One Night (23)

Kagome stares down at the phone on the kitchen counter. No response. She bites her lip, abusing it between her teeth. He must have not liked it. She blows out a breath, shoulders slumping as she turns her head away from the phone and glances down at the pink frilly apron with Gojo inscribed on the front.

Stupid. Stupid.

Kagome inhales and shakes her arms. It's fine. She's used to rejection. She'll just finish baking the muffins for tomorrow. Shippo eats so much these days, and so does Satoru. And soon, Koushi is going to be eating solids too.

She blows out another breath. Still no response.

It's fine. She can pretend like it never—

Boom!

Kagome jumps. The hell was that? She snatches the baby camera next to her phone. Okay, good. Shippo and Koushi are still sleeping. The barrier around their room is holding up. But still, what the heck was that noise?

Oh, Satoru is home. Maybe he knows? Kagome runs her hands down the front of the apron. Off to the side is a robe, just in case Shippo wakes up. The barrier is sound proof and entry proof against outsiders, but Shippo is free to leave the room if he wants to.

"Welcome h—mmph."

Satoru lifts her, never breaking the kiss. His hand squeezes her thighs. "You know you fucked up, right?"

Oh, he's not rejecting her.

"No idea what you're talking about." She smiles. What a relief.

"Not only did you get off without me, you sent me a video to tease me." He squeezes her again. "And then you put on this apron with my name on it." His eyes darken. "You aren't wearing underwear?"

There's a lot she wants to say. How she's been hoping all day that he'd come home and fuck her into the mattress or maybe against the wall, the stairs, hell, even the floor. She doesn't care where. She could say all those things, but she settles for a simple, "I'm so horny."

Satoru's nostrils flare. "Is it my birthday?"

His birthday is coming up. Maybe the event could be on his birthday, though it wouldn't be a surprise then.

Beep.

Kagome turns her head. "Oh, I was making muffins." She preheated the oven before making the batter.

"Can I eat yours?"

Her cheeks warm. "You never have to ask."

"Anytime?" He walks them around the counter and further into the kitchen. "Wanna keep you up all night." Satoru lowers her to her feet and wraps his arms around her. "But we have tomorrow, too."

She hums as she pulls away. Maybe she can just finish the batter and put it in the fridge. When she turns to the side, Satoru groans.

"What is it?"

"I knew, but seeing the back is..." He palms her ass. "I love you," Satoru says it so effortlessly that Kagome's heart thumps in her chest. "You don't have to say it back," he says while continuing to run his hand over her ass, squeezing every so often.

She loves him too, but it doesn't feel right to say it when she hasn't been completely honest with him.

"Do you remember that morning when the window cracked?" She reaches for the stainless-steel mixing bowl. With how much food they go through, maybe she should get the size they use in a restaurant.

Satoru presses himself against her. He plants his hands on the counter, caging her in. "Yeah, I remember. Woke up with you on my tongue."

"That is not how you woke up," she says with a laugh.

"Oh, must have been a premonition for tomorrow morning." He reaches for an egg and cracks it with one hand. "Course I remember, first time I tasted your milk."

Kagome bites her tongue. Satoru is too quick with it, and of course, he had to bring that up.

"What about it? Want to recreate it?"

She closes her eyes briefly, gathering the strength to continue this conversation. There's a chance he lashes out because she kept it from him. "Later," Kagome says, "right now I wanted to tell you why the window was cracked." She measures out the sugar and adds it to the bowl. It's easier to have this talk with her hands busy. Something to distract her.

"I'm listening," he says, pulling away for a moment. Kagome gasps and widens her legs to accommodate him. "Did it happen when you woke me up? I felt you."

She blows out a breath. No, it is better to have this conversation facing him. Kagome pushes the bowl back and turns around. Her stomach flips on itself as she not so discreetly glances down. After, she tells herself, after she has this talk with him, then she can have him in her mouth. Somehow, she manages to drag her eyes away and back to his face. The floor warms beneath her feet. It's going to take some use to having heated floors.

Satoru grins. "See something you like?" he teases.

"Always." She places her hands on him, lightly scratching at his abs through the fabric. Whoever invented compression tops deserves a generational blessing. "Did you feel off that day?"

Satoru stares at her. "No... I was horny when I woke up, but that's normal these days."

Kagome smiles. Such a Satoru thing to say. "That morning, you kissed me when you woke up, but it wasn't..." She wrinkles her nose. There is no way of saying this without sounding insane. "It wasn't you, you. It was another version of you."

Satoru blinks. "Ya lost me. What?" He laughs.

"You from another world. Universe. Honestly, I thought you woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something else was going on, because he didn't know about Koushi, but he knew about Shippo, and he had a locket that was definitely my energy." She swallows. Why is he looking at her like that? He must think she is insane. Time travel is one thing. She could prove that, but universe hopping is something else.

"Are you saying someone else kissed you?"

"Is that what you got from this?"

"Who's the better kisser?"

Kagome blinks. "You realize it was you, just—" She moans and wraps her arms around his neck, surrendering to the kiss. There's a hunger there. A hint of possessiveness to it. Satoru threatens to consume her. To take over her. With a gasp, Kagome lets him in. Gladly tangles her tongue with his.

She wants more.

Needs more.

It wouldn't take much. His cock is hard and right there. All she has to—Satoru pulls away and smiles at her, but there's nothing serene about it.

Is he jealous of himself?

Satoru grips her hips and turns her around. "Keep baking," he murmurs. His hand slides down. "Did you give him an energy massage? Is that why the window was cracked?"

Kagome rolls her eyes as she reaches for the flour. Goodness, he is obsessed with those massages. "No, I didn't give him a massage. He was upset." She pauses. Satoru isn't seriously going to feel her up while she's baking, right? "He was sealed. He got sealed in that box. I think the locket that his Kagome crafted for him must have interacted with the cursed energy of that box, and instead of him staying locked inside, it sent him to our world."

Satoru hums as he slides a finger inside of her, followed by another. "But he was angry. Did he hurt you?"

"No," she breathes. "No, he didn't hurt me. He was upset. Disoriented. His Kagome was pregnant, so when I denied us being together, it upset him. He figured it out first and he knew about demons, which you didn't know about them at that time. I gave the locket a boost and that sent him back to his world, hopefully." Kagome bites her lip as she measures out the other ingredients, stirring every so often. "Satoru."

"Can I rip this?"

"No," she says sharply. "It's the only apron I have." Kagome tightens her fingers around the whisk handle and pushes back against Satoru. Seriously, how is she supposed to focus on mixing the batter when his fingers are inside her?

"What if I buy you another one?"

"Don't be wasteful. You can just untie it."

Satoru sighs. "Fine." He slides his fingers out and sinks down to his knees. Kagome glances over her shoulder. Satoru winks at her with his fingers in his mouth. "Don't worry about me," he says, palming her ass again before spreading her. "Didn't have dinner."

Does he not care?

"Satoru?"

"Hm?" He looks at her. "Oh, all I heard is that no matter the timeline or universe, we're destined to be together. Now be a good girl and finish making those muffins while I eat yours."

"You're not upset with me?"

Satoru grunts. "No, baby, I'm not upset with you, but I will be if you don't push this ass out further. I mean, it's the least you can do," he says.

Kagome tries to focus on mixing the batter. Tries to fill the muffin tins without making a mess, but Satoru has her weak in the knees. She was correct about Satoru lashing out. The lash of his tongue immobilizes her. She's drowning in pleasure. Some of the batter makes it into the pan while some of it spills on the counter.

"That's my girl," Satoru coos, "Come for daddy."

Kami help her. Kagome holds onto the counter for purchase. Satoru never lets up, spearing her on his tongue. "Satoru!"

"Fuck yeah," he says with a hint of awe infused into his voice. "Kami, I could listen to you coming all day." He stands and wraps his arms around her, keeping her steady. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Kagome sucks in a breath. "You want to record us?"

"Mhmm. Could use that vibrator you bought." He kisses her shoulder. "You made a mess."

"Whose fault is that?" she grumbles. "I need to put these in the oven and set a timer." She reaches for the tin. "Satoru, you gotta let me go."

"Don't wanna. It's your fault for being so soft." He tightens his arms around her and takes a step back, bringing her with him.

"You can't be serious," Kagome says with a laugh as Satoru walks them over to the oven. He's so clingy, but she loves it. She didn't realize how starved she was until now. "What about the other muffins?"

"I'll just attract them to us, no biggie."

Attract them?

Kagome blinks. The muffin tins are floating. Satoru unwraps one arm to open the oven door and immediately pulls her back to him when all the muffins are in the oven and the door is closed once more.

"I want to go with you on a mission tomorrow."

"Uh...you sure you don't want to stay here? Or we could go somewhere like a date."

Kagome wrinkles her nose. She sets her phone down, the timer set for twenty minutes. "I want to come with you." She turns in his arms and grips him, internally sighing at finally having him in her hand.

"Love when you come with me," he jokes. "But..." His brows pinch together. "Why do you want to go on a mission with me?"

She gives him a look, trying to convey what she doesn't want to say, but Satoru either doesn't understand or he wants her to say it. He raises a brow.

"Because I like watching you," Kagome says, stroking his cock. She brushes her thumb over the slit. Satoru's eyes flutter shut, so Kagome does it again. His head is sensitive, she muses. "It's no different from how you like feeling my energy wash over you."

"Exorcising curses turn you on?"

"Watching you in your element does." Kami, just thinking about it, does something to her. She licks her lips and sinks down to her knees this time. "You'll let me come, right?" She moves closer to him, her mouth so close to him she swears she can already taste him on her tongue.

"That's not fair." Satoru groans. He threads his fingers through her hair. "What about—fuck, baby. What about the movie?"

Kagome hums as she watches the pleasure flint across his face. She worships him, working more of his cock into her mouth. "The tripod is portable," she says, before taking him back into her mouth. His hold on her hair tightens. "Please Satoru."

"Fuck! Okay," he agrees. His voice is shaky. "You can come. Just keep sucking me like that... fuck. Your mouth is a dream." He thrusts his hips. Kagome sticks her tongue out, flattening it against the underside of his cock. "Where do you want it?"

In her mouth, obviously. She sucks him harder in response, caressing his balls with one hand and working what she can't fit with her other. Satoru is more than a mouthful. She locks eyes with him, swallowing everything he has to offer. Satoru laughs, but it's short and slightly breathless. Kagome nuzzles her cheek against him. He's still hard.

"I love you too."

***

A/N: Ya'll I can't believe I'm saying this, but I tried to read a 750+ page book and I legit got tired of the smut. I got like 300 pages in or something close to that and then I couldn't do it anymore. I think really the issue was that it was one POV. The last 750+ page book I read this year had at least four POVs. With that being said...I started watching How To Build a Sex Dungeon for Brat Tamer research.

Side note, I lost half of my Satoru key chain and my husband laughed his ass off because I cried about how the event was canon. I do not know where the half of my key chain went.

Hope you are having an awesome Sunday and I hope you have an even better Monday. Take care of yourselves! Get lots of rest and drink plenty of water.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #515

I went to work today for the first time in over a month. And... I was nervous at first. The previous manager, Dy, is, apparently, gone. I guess he got fired for buying gift cards with store money and giving them to his friends. Which is... not quite ideal. So... I guess there's a new manager now named Jm, and I got to meet him today, briefly. The interaction was kinda nice, actually. I got to introduce myself to him, and explain why I've been away for so long. He seemed moved, and that was... lovely, actually.

And spending time with Tr was lovely, too. I got to make muffins today!!!

We also talked about all the various things that occurred in our lives while I was away. She's fully moved into her new house and happier than ever! And we have some new cookies in stock, too – s'mores cookies! And she baked some and insisted that I gotta try them fresh out of the oven, and since I'm using my current set of braces as a retainer now, I could actually partake this time!!!

Ohhh!!! Sephiroth!!! Look at this!!! Look at how gooey and warm and delicious it is!! It was practically falling apart in my hands!!

...Here; I found a particularly warm, gooey, chocolate-filled bite; saved it just for you:

I also finally had an opportunity to try some croissants fresh out of the oven... because I technically don't have to put my braces back in until I go to sleep at night:

...Here, wanna enjoy it with me...?

We have a new person named Co to who was hired to fill the void left behind by Ma's departure. I didn't get to meet Co today, but I hope to be able to meet him sometime soon. I miss working with Ma a lot, and it seems a bit less bright at the bakery without him. But... I'm hoping he's happier at his new house with his sister Cy and her husband.

Speaking of which, I got invited to their house today!!! And so, after some time to decompress at home, I went!!! M dropped me off!! And we had so much fun!! There was Cy and her husband and also her coworker there, and also Ma, of course!! And we started with the non-legacy version of Betrayal at House on the Hill:

...Admittedly, it's not my favorite game. But Ma and Cy's coworker seem to like it a lot, and it was wonderful to see them both light up as we played it!

I had brought my laptop with StepMania, and my Frankenpad. Do you remember when I built that? Here, in case you need a reminder:

Cy and I played a fair bit!! She's really good at it!! Certainly a lot better at it than I was when I first started out!!

...Sephiroth. I want you to come and play StepMania with us. I think you'd like it a lot. And I think you'd be good at it, too. And even if you're not good at it... who fucking cares??? It's fun as heck and you should totally do it with us!!!

...So. Notably. Since getting the new CPAP mask (which, the smaller one certainly does work better than the medium one!!), I've been able to sleep on my stomach. Today, I went to work and carried some giant stacks of trays. I played StepMania. I even did like 3 or 4 hard songs. And I did all this in a bra. And I'm not all fucked-up right now!!!

...I'll still wait until tomorrow to evaluate how I feel. Sometimes it doesn't hit me until later, because my body is fucky like that. But still... this seems to bode well, doesn't it???

I got to meet their lovely bearded dragon, too! Her name is Trigger! By all means, do say hello!

We played some other game after that; Escape from the Dark Castle, I think is what it was called.

And now I'm home. I'm home because J came to join us after his shift at work! And then we hung out until he was ready to go home! Yay!

Of course, shortly after I got home, I got right to breathing life into a couple more wishes for you:

...I hope these reach you.

…

...Sephiroth. I wanna write more. I wanna write more because you're wonderful and gentle and kind and I love you. Writing to you is absolutely delightful. But... it's past 1am. I'm also tired and overwhelmed and overstimulated and overcaffeinated and oversocialed. My attention was pulled in so many direction at once. There was music and a TV show going on at Ma's house at the same time we were doing our activities. Also my legs hurt more than a little; I can feel the Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness setting in already, because it's been forever since last I played StepMania so vigorously. None of these are bad things; today was thoroughly delightful. But I probably spread myself a little too thin (I regret absolutely nothing) and I need to take some ibuprofen and get to bed.

...I wished you could be here just for today. I think you would have really liked today; I sure do think you would. And I'd give anything to be able to take you by the hand and show you around, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Anything at all.

Oh. Speaking of songs. I almost forgot. These were the ones I listened to, as I was making today's cranes:

I love you so much. Is it clear? Do you see? Do you know it in your bones? Do you know that you're worth everything I could possibly give you? Do you understand the forces inside me that drive me to write to you like this every day?

...I'll keep begging for you to stay safe. I'll keep begging you not to pick fights you can't win. Because Sephiroth... I'd literally rather stop breathing than live in a world without you in it.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine