#like it's a cracker to crunch

[puppetmaster13u]

So Vlad turned out giving almost octopus or vampire squid vibes lol. Couldn't get the right effects properly but I feel like he lights up like a red nebula or supernova of sorts in warning. Goes from pitch black to a crimson galaxy.

Danny looks very regal but I will say the angle hides his mouth, akin to a blackhole. With teeth. Very sharp teeth. I also like to think asteroids, meteors, etc get caught in his movement and follow him like schools of fish. For fun.

@puppetmaster13u You called Danny a space whale in the tags of one of this post.

Now what if that was literal?

Hear me out, Danny outlives his friends, parents, sister. Danny becomes a literal whale.

Well, not a literal one because he's a ghost, but he takes the shape one of at the very least. He's just a giant, glowing white whale that looks pretty divine not going to lie.

Danny leaves earth. It wasn't safe for him anymore, what with the GIW and all that as even the ghosts found it not even worth anymore to visit the mortal world.

Except for Desiree and Spectra, but that's besides the point.

But Danny doesn't retreat to the zone, he's always longed for space, but because of his new half humanness he doesn't get believe he could've ever gone because, well. Yea.

But Danny goes fuck it and goes anyway. His form shifts from human to that of a giant whale, and he swims out into the vastness of space.

Years pass, and Danny does start getting bigger as he aged. He explored the vastness of space, marveling at many things, the different planets, the stars, the formations of rock and other things.

Then he encounters someone he never though he would've.

Vlad.

Well, he knew Vlad was left behind in space by his father but he didn't think he would find him again and Vlad seemed... different, from what he remembered.

For one thing, he didn't even know where Vlad began and space ended. He got only see those red eyes that even hinted at it being the man. His body was void black and filled with stars upon stars, all glittering from his body and Vlad barely even seemed to notice him, or if he did, he didn't seem to care at all.

So, Danny took him.

He was both curious and felt a bit bad about what happened to Vlad, even if he didn't know exactly what happened, and he couldn't just leave him there either.

So on his back Vlad went, and his travels continued.

It seemed to be the correct decision, really, because slowly overtime Vlad seemed to be regaining his awareness. Then slowly, tentatively, started to speak with him through ghost speak.

Vlad only seemed to vaguely remember what he was before space. He remembered hating a man, loving a woman, wanting a son, loneliness and a boy with white hair and toxic green eyes.

Even though Vlad was his former enemy, his nemesis, and someone who took the world hostage.

He couldn't help but feel pity for him.

Then their travels continued.

Years pass unnoticed, when in space, with Danny slowly getting bigger and bigger as the two travel throughout. They've come into contact with various civilizations, some hostile, some peaceful, some neutral.

The hostile ones never lasted long, even if Danny never lifted a flipper to do anything most of the time, Vlad made sure of it.

They came at went as they pleased, and Danny believes that they've gained a bit of a reputations over their adventures, but neither he nor Vlad knew exactly what they said. It did prove useful in some cases, however.

A few more years, and Danny feels that this system is vaguely familiar. Which happens sometimes, considering he's been travelling for so long. He then finds out why it was so familiar.

He came across Earth and, oh. When was the Earth so small?

Well, not small really, but when was he just only a bit smaller than it?

Did it shrink when he was away? Or did he just grow?

That doesn't matter though. What does, is the fact that currently seemed to be an invasion going on, on his home planet thank you very much. He did not like the fact that there was a massive fleet parked right outside his home.

So he spoke to Vlad, expressed his displeasure, Vlad responded back knowingly and went off to make the source of his displeasure disappear. That doesn't Danny was idle either, the fleet was big and, well.

It's been a while since he's stretched himself in a fight.

[shiningsilverarmor]

@unicronnomnomnomnomnomnomnomnom

Nothing like warming up a good crunchy cracker under the fire pit-

[ploverbear]

everytime i get groceries now i try like, the same thing but different brand/type in order to see if i like something better that's offered. and for cheese crackers awhile ago i bought these lil things. and i was so shocked how they managed to create a cracker that tasted like absolutely nothing

[bibleofficial]

me all day since my PRESENT SELF likes to Over Consume on Potatoe Salad and RUIN the LIFE of our FUTURE SELF

[sarkylittlemonster]

tHAT DOESN'T COUNT, THAT'S A MONSTROSITY. And my banana consumption is fine, thank you?

i’m starting a collection

[today-i-am-thinking-about]

walnuts

[cameronsbabydoll]

tagging along to sexist!rafe and your sons boys trip ♡

warnings: misogyny, emotional neglect, subtle sexism, dismissiveness toward female-coded labor, maternal isolation, gender role conflict

wc: 1,000 — a/n: this is pretty sad guys :(((

the car hums along the mountain road, tires crunching gravel, and you’re tucked in the passenger seat, hands folded neatly in your lap. rafe’s gripping the wheel, jaw tight, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. your two boys, jake and noah, are in the back, giggling over some game on their tablets. you’d packed their bags with care—snacks, extra socks, bug spray, the works. you’d even slipped in a few of your own things, hopeful, when rafe grudgingly agreed you could come on their “daddy-son trip.”

“didn’t think you’d actually wanna come,” rafe muttered that morning, tossing the cooler in the trunk. “this is a guy thing, y’know.” his tone wasn’t mean, just dismissive, like you were a kid begging for a seat at the grown-up table. but you’d smiled, bright and sweet, and said, “i just wanna be with my boys!” he’d rolled his eyes but didn’t say no, so here you are, trying to fit into their world.

you glance at rafe, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “the lake looks so pretty,” you say, voice soft, pointing out the window at the sparkling water. “maybe we could all swim later?”

he grunts. “boys don’t wanna splash around with their mom. they’re here to fish, maybe hike. man stuff.” his words sting, but you keep your smile, nodding like you get it. you don’t want to push too hard. you’re here, that’s what matters.

at the campsite, rafe’s all business, barking orders. “jake, grab the rods. noah, help with the tent.” you hop out of the car, smoothing your sundress, and start unloading the cooler. “i can help with the tent, too,” you offer, voice bubbly, grabbing a pole.

rafe snorts, not looking up. “nah, we got it. why don’t you… i dunno, set up the food or something?” his tone says stay in your lane, and your cheeks flush. you nod, retreating to the picnic table, arranging sandwiches and fruit with shaky hands. jake runs over, all freckles and energy. “mom, can i have a juice?”

“course, sweetheart,” you say, handing him one, ruffling his hair. he grins, and for a second, you feel like you belong. then rafe calls, “jake, quit messing around, c’mere!” and your son scampers off.

the day drags. rafe and the boys fish at the lake’s edge, laughing, bonding. you watch from a blanket, book in hand, but you can’t focus. you want to be in there, part of their world. so you try. you walk over, barefoot, skirt swishing. “can i try fishing?” you ask, voice small but hopeful.

rafe raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “you? fish?” he chuckles, and the boys giggle, like it’s the funniest thing. “baby, you’d probably scream if you caught something. just… go make yourself useful, yeah? maybe start the campfire.”

your stomach twists, but you laugh it off, tucking hair behind your ear. “okay, sure.” you head back, fumbling with the firewood. you’ve never started a fire before—rafe always does it at home—but you try, stacking logs, stuffing newspaper underneath. it takes forever, and the matches keep going out. you’re kneeling there, smudged with soot, when rafe and the boys come back.

“jesus,” rafe mutters, seeing the sad pile of unlit wood. “gimme that.” he takes over, and the fire’s roaring in minutes. you bite your lip, feeling useless, but you try again. “i made s’mores though!” you say, holding up graham crackers and marshmallows, voice bright. noah cheers, but rafe just says, “hope you didn’t burn the chocolate, too.”

dinner’s quiet. you eat your hot dog, listening to rafe tell the boys about his fishing days, all bravado and big catches. you want to share something, anything, but when you open your mouth—“i used to camp with my dad, we’d—” rafe cuts you off. “yeah, well, this is about us now. pass the mustard.”

you do, silently. the boys are happy, though, and that keeps you going. later, under the stars, you try one last time. you grab a flashlight and the camp’s trail map. “there’s a little path to a lookout,” you say, eyes shining. “we could all go, see the stars from up high?”

rafe sighs, rubbing his neck. “sweetheart, it’s late. boys need sleep, not some midnight hike. why don’t you just… clean up the dishes or something?” his voice is softer now, like he’s trying to be patient, but it still lands like a slap. you nod, swallowing hard, and start gathering plates.

as you scrub the dishes by the campfire’s glow, you hear jake whisper to noah, “mom’s trying really hard, huh?” noah nods, and your heart lifts, just a little. you might not fit into rafe’s idea of this trip, but your boys see you. and maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

[oneofthecommonfolk]

Sometimes, I get the occasional and impulsive thought of learning ballet, but then I remembered I have the limbs of a orangutan being experimented on by the government with the flexibility of a stick from an oak tree who hasn't seen the light of day since World War Two started.

Directly breaking my bones seems like a better option compared to the unspeakable consequences that would bring itself upon my body if I ever dared acted upon that thought.

[2scentz]

bro WGAGGGAGWGGFQGAHAGAHAGAAAA

Have some post-movie sketches my dudes

[webslinger-holland]

Hi lovely, I love your preferences/headcanons and was wondeinf if you could write the Thunderbolts reacting to you having 'girl dinner' when you cant be bothered cooking or its too late for a full meal?

Prompt: The Thunderbolts react to you having 'girl dinner'

Warning:

Note: I love this request and I loved writing it! Please enjoy! Also, I love Yelena (that gif is so fitting) vvv

It was late at night. You were exhausted in that numb, low-battery kind of way where every small task felt like climbing uphill in deep mud. Cooking sounded like a battle and cleaning the dishes afterwards always felt like a tiresome chore.

The fridge felt judgmental. You had ingredients, technically, but not the energy to turn them into anything that resembled a proper meal. Instead, you grabbed the jar of pickles and sliced a semi-stale apple. You crumbled some cheese onto a paper towel like that made it a “platter.”

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. A handful of random things that didn’t require heat, thought, or emotional investment. Just enough to quiet your stomach and keep you upright.

Call it lazy. Call it survival. Tonight, it was the best you could do. Tonight, it was girl dinner.

Yelena: When Yelena walked into the kitchen and spotted you hunched over the kitchen island, she froze mid-step. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

"You're doing girl dinner?" Yelena gasped in exaggeration. She put a hand to her chest like she was offended. "Without me?!"

You didn’t look up. Just gave a tiny nod and muttered, “I didn’t feel like cooking.”

She just watched you eat for a moment, arms crossed, head tilted like she was studying a rare animal in the wild. She padded over in socked feet, rounded the island, and leaned forward on her elbows beside you. Her tone stayed light, but she didn’t tease.

“You forgot crunch,” she says, after noticing all the fruits and cheeses. “And spice. Very important for emotional balance.”

"Didn't want to go through your stash," you commented with a mouth full of peanuts. She rolled her eyes, pushing off the island and heading towards her cupboard where she hid her snacks.

She took out a bag of spicy chips, a tiny jar of pickled onions, two pieces of dark chocolate wrapped like treasure. She lays them down beside your food and sits next to you on the counter, legs swinging.

"Girl dinner," Yelena sings, puts her hands up, and does a little dance. You look at her utterly amused, unable to fight off a smile.

So the two of you indulge yourselves in a tasty effortless meal that you made together.

Bucky: He’d only come down to the kitchen for some water, maybe a late-night tea if he was feeling generous. The place was usually dead quiet after midnight. But as he rounded the corner, bare feet silent on the tile, he saw the dim lamp by the island was already on.

And then he saw you.

Sitting cross-legged on one of the stools, hunched slightly, your elbows resting on the counter like they were the only thing keeping you upright. You were still in pajamas — soft, oversized, familiar. In front of you sat a sad little spread: crackers, cheese that hadn’t been sliced all the way through, two limp baby carrots, and a soda can half-crushed in your grip.

You didn’t even look up as you absentmindedly dragged a carrot through some ranch dressing, chewing slowly. Your eyes distant. You weren’t crying. You weren’t visibly upset. But something about the quiet slump of your shoulders pulled at something deep in his chest.

"That dinner?" Bucky's voice came out low and careful.

“Sort of.” You shrugged.

He cautiously approached the kitchen island, leaning his forearms agaisnt it so he could really gauge at your whole spread. "Let me guess— you didn't feel like cooking anything for yourself tonight?"

You let out a small laugh. "Yeah. You got that right."

His lips curved into a gentle smile because there you were in front of him. Your words were soft, small, and honest. He let the silence stretch for a moment before finally muttering:

“You know I’d cook for you, right? All you’d have to do is ask.” Bucky offered.

“I don't need a full meal, not tonight.” Your lips twitched — not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one.

That did it. Something in his chest squeezed a little tighter.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just exhaled slowly through his nose and walked around the island. You watched him curiously as he pulled open the fridge and started gathering things: Alexei's takeout leftovers, some old rice, half an avocado, and a piece of naan folded up in tinfoil.

He silently joined beside you and started constructing his own version of 'girl dinner.'

John: Initially, John thought it was odd finding the kitchen light on when it was so late. Most of the team had long since crashed— even Alexei, who snored loud enough to rattle the walls. But when he rounded the corner, it made sense.

There you were, sitting at the kitchen island, elbow propped up on the counter, spoon dangling from your fingers like you’d forgotten it was there. A mostly-empty jar of peanut butter sat in front of you, surrounded by a sad little constellation of snack foods: three crackers, a few grapes, a slice of cheese not even fully unwrapped, and a single pickle spear.

You didn’t look at him when he stepped in, just let out a quiet sigh and plucked a grape off the counter like it weighed ten pounds. You even had a glass of half drunken wine, but then you cracked open a can of some highly carbonated drink.

John pauses.

"That's disgusting," John said flatly. He observes your spread of junk food. "None of this looks healthy."

You finally looked up at him with a tired blink, dragging the can toward your mouth for another sip like you just couldn't bother to care. Then you proceeded to shove some crackers in your mouth.

"It's girl dinner," you corrected him. “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

“That’s not dinner. That’s… an existential cry for help in snack form.”

You sipped your wine, then chased it with the soda again, and watched his face twist in real-time.

“Oh my god—stop doing that!" John pleaded. His voice sharp with genuine distress. His nose wrinkled, his whole face twisting as if he'd just witnessed a car crash in slow motion.

You looked back down at your snack pile, grabbed a baby carrot, and dunked it in the peanut butter without hesitation. "I just didn't feel like cooking," you shrugged.

"You eat like a raccoon," John claimed shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. “A drunk raccoon that broke into a gas station.”

You finally glanced up at him, unimpressed. “You act like I don’t hear you eat cold pizza in the gym hallway at two in the morning."

He pointed a finger, jaw dropping slightly. “That’s different. That’s recovery fuel.”

“Yours is pizza, mine is pickles. Let me live.”

He stared at you, mouth opening like he wanted to argue—but then he looked at your face. He saw the way your shoulders drooped and the distant look in your eyes. It looked like you were barely holding yourself together with carbs and carbonation.

"Let me guess—bad day?" John wondered.

“Didn’t feel like dealing with anything else,” you said finally. “Dinner included.”

He turned and opened the fridge without another word. You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly.

“Making you real food,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re not ending the night with a dinner that looks like a toddler’s dream and a nutritionist’s nightmare.”

“You don’t have to—”

He smiled more to himself. “Yeah, I do.”

Ava: She found you lounging on the couch in your pajamas with a paper plate of snack food in your lap. You stared off into the distance mindlessly, blinding grabbing another cracker to feed yourself.

Slowly, Ava came to approach you and crouches beside you on the couch. She spares a glance down at your plate of cold snacks with a furrowed brow, but no criticism.

"Rough day?" Ava asks. You gave a small, tired nod.

Ava sighed and brushed a loose strand of hair off your face, her fingers cool and gentle against your cheek. She didn’t push, didn’t ask why. She just saw you.

"I could always cook something for us," she gently offered. When you shake your head again, she takes a strawberry off your plate and lies back beside you on the couch. “Then I’m eating this with you.”

She quickly found the hummus and pretzels, helping herself to some food. Still keeping your eyes ahead, you silently offered your wine glass to her which she gladly accepted and took a long swig of it herself.

You let your head drift against her collarbone as your eyes slid half-shut. She took another bite of something off your plate, humming softly at the taste. The two of you passed grapes back and forth without looking, the comfort of her presence so seamless it felt like breathing.

She doesn’t get the appeal, but she gets you, and that’s all that matters. You end up curled together, sharing quiet bites.

Bob: The hallway was silent. He had meant to pass through— maybe grab some tea, check the news, disappear back into the safety of silence before anyone noticed him. He preferred the world quiet like this. Like nothing could break or ask too much of him.

But the kitchen light was on. And so was the sound— soft, almost imperceptible. A sniff. A wet breath held a little too long.

He stepped in gently. You didn’t see him right away.

You were curled into yourself at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched, a paper plate of snacks in front of you— nothing warm, nothing properly nutritious. You still had two apple slices left, a stack of dried crackers, a carbonated drink that had gone stale, and an assortment of cheeses.

It looked like you'd been crying for a while, not the messy or loud kind. Just this slow, quiet ache of tears that slid down your face like they’d been there a while. You didn’t wipe them away. You just stared at your food, trying to chew through the lump in your throat like maybe that would help.

Bob stood in the doorway for a second, just breathing. Then he crossed the room.

No words. No sudden moves. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat, his presence warm and unintrusive. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t force you to look up. He just sat there.

For a while, it was only the sound of your quiet breathing, the occasional sniff, the crackle of the soda can shifting as condensation slid down the side.

Eventually, he reached out slowly, steadily and picked a cracker off your plate. Ate it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like this was dinner. Like this was okay.

When you finally glanced at him, eyes rimmed red, he met your gaze with a gentle, understanding smile. "Mind if I join you?" Bob asked hopeful.

Your chin trembled. You shook your head. You watched him take one of your apple slices.

"I like the red apples best. They’re always much sweeter than the green ones— I don't want to bite into a fruit and it'd be sour." Bob spoke so casually and lightheartedly that it was quite refreshing.

It certainly caught you off guard. A small, wet breath escaped you— not quite a laugh, but close enough. He smiled back at you and stared for just a second.

Then he leaned back, arms folded loosely, gaze drifting to the far window where the sky had turned black and soft with stars.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I just… don’t want you to feel alone.”

That’s what undid you. Not the comfort. Not the silence. But the quiet knowing behind it— the way he saw you without reaching in, without prying. Just being there, steady as gravity, kind as light.

You leaned toward him— not asking, not warning — and he shifted only to let your head rest against his shoulder. He stayed still. Let you breathe. Let you cry, if you still needed to. Let your paper plate of snack food sit untouched on the table as the minutes passed like clouds.

Eventually, you felt his voice near your temple, soft as a secret: “Tomorrow, I’ll cook for you. Just say the word.”

[angleofmusings]

#that's the generic form of a goldfish (cracker not animal) imo #but germany has no generic name for these i don't think (via aimofdestiny)

alternate timeline where instead of horribly inbred pugs we ended up with horribly inbred goldfish crackers

wikipedia says they’re also called “water crackers” but im sorry that is simply wrong

[wheeboo]

to love and be loved | jeon wonwoo

SYNOPSIS. in which wonwoo tells you about his first (and only) love. PAIRING. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers WARNINGS. self-doubt talk on reader's end, self-indulgent wooweee, this was painfully hard to write lmao n have no idea if any of this makes sense WORD COUNT. 1.6k

requested from anon: Hiiiiiiii first of all congratssss for you 2k. For the event, ive been thinking the same exact story with wonwoo and #6 from list 3 - #6: “You’re not hard to love, nor are you unlovable. You just… Need to let me in, and let me show you you’re just as worthy of love as anyone else is.”

notes: i'd quite literally do anything to have these kinds of talks with wonwoo ☹️☹️. anyway i hope u all enjoy this <3 hits close to home >< tysm anon hehe <3

join the 2k celebration!

"Hey, uh, Wonwoo?"

"Mhm?"

"...have you ever been in love?"

A cricket chirps into the evening air right after you ask, and you suddenly feeling like you're holding in a long-winded breath. Then you hear a loud crunch by Wonwoo from the crackers he was snacking on, and you blink up to him wiping away the corner of his mouth. There's the slightest glimpse of a curve to his lips that you manage to catch.

He silently offers you a cracker in your direction, the anticipating silence between the two of you growing thickly. You take the cracker from his hand, muttering a quiet thanks, before nibbling on it absentmindedly.

The night is absolutely beautiful right now, swearing that you could spot and make out the constellations above if you squinted hard enough. The distant chirping of crickets is the only sound that breaks the silence as the coolness of the night rolls in, carrying with it slight breeze that whispers through the leaves overhead the balcony of your apartment.

"I have."

You swiftly turn your head to him, eyes widening intriguingly. "You have?"

The chuckle that leaves him is somewhat awkward, a tad bit hesitant. He crumples up the bag of crackers and sets it aside, chugging down the last sips of his drink and setting down the empty can as well.

"Did you... ever confess to them?" You ask, suddenly feeling curious, though there's a bit of disappointment at the tip of your tongue.

You swear you could see the thoughts swirling around his head. Wonwoo keeps his eyes fixed up to the night sky. There's a distant look in his eyes, as though he's peering into some past moment that only he can see, before he shakes his head, a faint smile crossing over his lips.

"No, I didn't," he answers calmly. "They were too far away, so... I just chose to admire them at a distance."

You lean back against the wall behind, your shoulder momentarily brushing against his. "Did they know you?"

Wonwoo purses his lips together. "Mhm."

"Well, you missed your chance!" You exclaim, prodding him playfully with your elbow. "I can't believe you let them get away, dude. Like right through the little cracks of your fingers. You could've been in a relationship by now."

This earns you a low, playful scoff from Wonwoo. "Are you assuming that they loved me back?"

Immediately, you feel the heat crawl up your neck and to the tips your ears.

"Well, um... Yeah, I am," You admit sheepishly, letting out a small sigh. "I mean, who wouldn't fall for a guy like you? You're nice and... charming. I think anyone would be lucky to be loved by you."

There's a silence that falls between the two of you, one simply more than just comfortable yet denser than ever, because the thought of being loved by Wonwoo seems to linger longer than you notice. You steal a glance at him, seeing his face still turned upwards towards the night sky and the moonlight reflecting on his glasses. Strands of his dark hair blow across his forehead in the breeze. You can't quite decipher his expression, but a flicker of something𑁋perhaps surprise, maybe even amusement𑁋dances on his features for a brief moment.

He finally turns back to you, a small, hesitant smile playing on his lips. "You think so?"

"Yeah," You confirm, nodding lightly. "Absolutely."

Wonwoo still keeps his eyes on you as you glance away, seeing the way you fidget with your hands in your lap and smoothing out the creases in your pants nervously. He glances down at his own hand and back at yours, lips pursing together in contemplation, but only folds his fingers back together the second you reach over him to grab the crumpled-up bag of crackers. He feels a little bit too warm in his sweater right now.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

A crunch echoes through the air. Then another. And another.

"I've just been kinda... thinking a lot lately, I guess," You reply slowly, quietly. "And it sort of makes me sound desperate in a way, but there are times I just wonder if, um... if anyone has ever felt the same way about me."

Wonwoo tilts his head slightly. "Love?"

"Not just love, but... seeing me, you know?" Being able to talk about this out loud makes your chest feel heavy. "Since it's hard these days to find someone who sees you for who you are, not for who you can be. I... I just feel like I'm hard to love sometimes. Hell, maybe even unlovable. It’s hard to break out of that mindset when things get hard again.”

A thoughtful quietness seeps through the nighttime breeze, which sends goosebumps up and down your skin, but you don't mind it because you know that Wonwoo is listening either way. And the more you think about it𑁋the thought of knowing that he's here, with his presence is right next to you𑁋it seems to comfort you more than you notice.

There's a small hum of acknowledgement that you hear from his end, unsure if it's just your imagination or if he's actually responding as your mind feels a little jumbled up right now. But then Wonwoo shifts beside you, his arm lightly pressing against yours.

"But I... I think I've reached a point in time where I can say I love myself a little more than a few years ago, or last year, or even just yesterday," You continue to ramble a bit aimlessly, chuckling dryly to yourself. "It’d be nice to share that with someone too, you know? To finally get over this loneliness. But it's not entirely a sad loneliness or a happy one. It's, like, uh... both put together, I guess."

A few moments of silence pass. You feel Wonwoo gently nudge your leg with his.

"I'm proud of you."

You peer up to look at him, mind nearly going blank from the way he's gazing at you. Or maybe it's just the moonlight that's making him appear so... picturesque. "What for?"

"For loving yourself, silly," Wonwoo muses almost cheekily, and the delighted tone that you catch makes your stomach leap. "Even if it's just by a small percentage than yesterday, it's still okay. You're doing good. I want you to know that."

You're doing good. It's just those three singular words that has heat forming in your eyes that you somehow manage to blink back before anything could spill, and hearing it come from Wonwoo feels different. There's a vulnerable sweetness to them, a sincerity that catches you off-guard. You force a smile𑁋a grateful one, nonetheless𑁋before it shifts into a frown.

And Wonwoo catches it right away. "What's wrong?"

Your lips form a thin line, pressing together in thought. You refuse to acknowledge why you think your heart feels slightly... jealous.

"I hope whoever you loved before knows how lucky they are one day," You say to him. "if you're still in love with them, that is..."

Wonwoo stills for a minute, pensively. "I am."

"You are?"

"I never stopped."

You stare at him for a few moments, an eyebrow lifted in disbelief at him, before crossing your arms together and letting out a small, incredulous laugh. "Then you should've said that you're in love with them, idiot."

Wonwoo sucks in a breath.

"I'm in love with you."

You blink instinctively, once, twice, three times, momentarily thinking that Wonwoo's presence might somehow disappear into thin air. But he's still there𑁋a certain softness in the way he's looking at you, a gentleness that seems to wrap around you like a warm embrace𑁋waiting for you. His words suspend heavily in the air, and maybe the world is also holding its breath just as you are too.

"And... You're not hard to love, nor are you unlovable. You're far from that," Wonwoo continues, voice tender, fond, and soft as a lullaby. "You just... need to let me in, and let me show you you're just as worthy of love as anyone else is."

You could only sit merely frozen at this point, throat tightened and jaw dropped in shock among many other weird, fuzzy feelings happening throughout your body. Something between relief and disbelief. Hope and hesitancy. Comfort and uncertainty. You have the capacity to run yet you choose not to𑁋you're letting him in, letting the warmth of his words seep into the cracks of your doubt.

Your mind reels dizzily, almost like the world has been tilting away off-balance.

"You... You're in love with me?" You repeat, almost dumbly, because you cannot seem to fathom anything that's been said in the past few moments. "All that talk about earlier... about who you..."

Wonwoo hangs his head down low, rubbing at his neck in a bashful manner. "It was about you."

"And you never... you never told me?"

"Honestly, I'd like to think a part of it was you being a tad bit oblivious." And then he just simply grins, his nose crinkling along with it. "But that's okay. Watching you slowly figure yourself out made me realise that maybe I needed to find myself a little more too."

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and you could feel the heat of embarrassment spreading painfully throughout your face. At first, you have the urge to brush it all away as a silly misunderstanding. Maybe laugh it off, retreat back inside, and go to sleep pretending all of this didn't happen. But the sincerity in his eyes stops you.

You lick your dry lips, the cool night air beginning to feel a lot less suffocating.

"Did you?" You ask vaguely, before shaking your head repeating, "Did you... find yourself?"

Wonwoo lets his eyes roam over you, taking you in, before leaning back on the wall and bringing his gaze back up toward the night sky. Your eyes refuse to leave him, and perhaps this is what it's like to admire someone from afar and close up all at once.

The two of you take a deep, deliberate exhale together.

"Yeah," he answers, smiling softly. "I think I found myself right where I want to be."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Sweetheart dad! Anakin planning a birthday surprise for his wife with the help of their twins! 

PAIRING: sweetheart!anakin x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

The morning light barely filtered through the curtains when ANAKIN SKYWALAKER sneaked out of bed, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. His golden, sun kissed curls were a complete mess, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips as he stretched with a yawn. Well, a rather quiet one because he couldn't have you woken up by now. After all, it was your day today, and he would do anything to make it special to you. Glancing at your peaceful, sleeping form, a grin tugged at his lips.

Time to wake the little troublemakers.

He tiptoed through the hall to the twins’ room, gently pushing the doors wide open to have more space. He kneeled beside Leia’s bed first. Gently, he brushed a curl from her face and whispered, “Hey, sweetheart… wanna surprise Mommy with breakfast?”

At first Leia scrunched up her face in what anakin called 'a princess grump' before actually letting her eyes flutter open after Anakin's gentle pats on her arm. Her face lighted up with excitement. “YES, DADDY!!” she whispered back—well, it was supposed to be a whisper, but the excitement made it a little louder than intended.

Next was Luke. He was curled up, more than Leia was, hugging his stuffed banana plushie (out of his love to bananas). Anakin nudged him lightly. “Luke, bud, c’mon… time to make pancakes.”

Luke groaned dramatically, turning away. “Five more minutes…”

Anakin just huffed a chuckle, rolling his eyes before effortlessly scooping Luke up in his arms. “Nope, sorry, buddy. Time to cook.”

Luke grumbled sleepily as he was carried to the kitchen like a little sack of flour.

And speaking of flour… within five minutes, it was everywhere.

Leia was the egg cracker, but when she went to break one, half the shell falls straight into the batter. “Uh-oh.” Luke, still barely awake, tried to scoop it out with his fingers.

“Ew, Luke, that’s gross!” Leia protested.

“I’m helping,” he argued, and when Anakin came back from looking for pack or sugar stored in the shelves, he just stared down at the batter with a deep sigh. “You know what? A little crunch never hurt anybody.”

Leia stirred with way too much enthusiasm, splattering batter onto her pajamas, the counter, and—Anakin’s face.

Luke was pouring way too much milk, turning the batter into straight-up liquid.

Anakin could feel the heat come up to his face “Okay, okay, that’s enough.” He quickly took the milk away before they would drown the whole thing.

“Are we doing good, Daddy?” Leia asked sweetly, looking up at him with those big, hopeful eyes that were literally the copy of yours.

Anakin sighed at the mess, at the disaster waiting to happen, at the already-burnt first batch of pancakes. But then his eyes moved to catch Leia’s proud smile, Luke’s sleepy determination, and his heart just straight up melted.

“You guys are doing amazing,” he said, ruffling Luke’s curls before kissing their forehead. After a few more mishaps—one of which included a pancake flipping onto the ceiling (which Anakin used Luke to scrub it off) they finally had something resembling a breakfast.

Leia carries the plate (with intense focus, like it was the most important mission of her life), and Luke followed closely behind, still rubbing his sleepy eyes

The second they reach the bedroom, they barreled onto the bed (Anakin made sure to take the tray from Leia before any next, disaster would happen. It was too much of an important day to let in any further mistakes)

“MOMMY, WAKE UP!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY WE MADE YOU PANCAKES!!” Leia shrieked, practically bouncing on the mattress.

Luke climbed up and shoved his face pretty close to yours, whispering, “We made pancakes, mommy..you remember you have birthday, right?"

You blinked groggily, barely opening your eyes before the smell of slightly burnt food hit you. Your eyes caught the smiling, proud twins, awaiting your reaction, and Anakin who stood at the foot of the bed, grinning like a lovesick fool he was, holding a tray.

“Morning, my love.” He leaned down, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead. “We may or may not have completely destroyed the kitchen. But happy birthday" he murmured, leaning down again to kiss your lips (twins groaned in disgust)

A smile creaked on your face. Twins sat at near you, hugging you out, kissing your face, making you laugh, before settling down near you. You gaze moved from Anakin, then at the twins, then at the plate of very interesting-looking pancakes that had been set down before you. Some were burnt. Some were weirdly shaped. One looked suspiciously like a boot.

“…What happened to that one?” you asked, pointing at the pancake with a very concerning dent.

Anakin cleared his throat. “We don’t talk about that one.”

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[inkdrinkerworld]

You teach Spencer about girl dinner and he agrees, balance is everything.

Spencer isn’t confused when he watches you pull a bowl from the fridge and set it down at your desk.

You’re all working late, overtime be damned as you try to catch the current unsub.

He’s only confused when you uncover it and it’s just a bit of grazing foods. You’ve got baby carrots, cucumber slices, thin butter crackers, some hummus, cheese and some of your favourite cereal.

“That’s dinner?” He asks and you nod, chomping on a cucumber slice.

“It’s girl dinner,” you say it with a flare like Spencer should understand what you’re talking about. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t think that it’s a sustainable dinner either.

You catch his stare and offer him a carrot. “Want some?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No thanks. What’s ‘girl dinner’?”

You smile, laughing to yourself. “I forget you’re not on the internet.” Spencer blushes a little but waits for you to explain. “It’s a combination of bits of all the foods you’d want to eat in favour of a big meal.”

Spencer nods, “It’s grazing.” He smiles when you grumble. “It is, you’re just grazing.”

“I’m not, this is what I’m having for dinner. I don’t feel like a proper dinner but I’ve got all the food groups here so this is an appropriate substitution.”

Spencer understands, “Do you have this every night?” You shake your head.

“Sometimes I have an actual dinner, sometimes it’s a little bit of popcorn and chocolate.” At his horrified expression you tut. Shaking your head and sending your hair flying at his expression- you love stressing Spencer out.

“Life’s about balance, Dr. Reid.” There’s only amusement in your tone. More floods you when Spencer sneaks a couple circles of cereal from you.

He laughs, pushing hair back and down your shoulders. Goosebumps pebble your skin. “It is about balance, sweet girl.” His balance is struck when you fluster and crunch into a butter cracker and refuse to meet his eyes, making Spencer laugh a little more.

[alelathedragon]

MY SECOND BOI LETS GOOOOOO

POG AS HELL TEAM CHOICE

"SMG3, he's been rivals with SMG4 since childhood and has a goal to beat the champion before him. He acts tough but he really isn't."

Also if you ever have a question about this au feel free to ask me it. I always love answering questions about the stuff I make :)

[arkaiveofurown]

Hii! How are you

So I'm new here, idk if you take requests, but if you do, could you please write something about katakuri? Like big mom arranges Katakuri's secret lover's marriage with oven or cracker. But katakuri speaks up (for the first time) against his mom.

Braver Than Silence

Pairing: Charlotte Katakuri x Reader

He was raised to hide everything soft and vulnerable—his mouth, his thoughts, his love. But in your light, Katakuri found something he never thought he deserved: freedom. And when Big Mom threatens to take you away, he learns that some truths must be spoken, even if it means defiance.

Word Count: ~2,900 words

tag: fluff, secret relationship, family conflict

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: this is such a nice request——thank you so much! it’s my first time writing about katakuri and i really hope i did him justice (⸝⸝╸-╺⸝⸝)

——

Katakuri doesn’t speak much.

He watches. He calculates. He acts only when necessary.

But you know more.

You know how his eyes soften when you smile. How his shoulders relax when you brush his hand. How his scarf sometimes slips when you’re alone and he doesn’t rush to pull it back.

He doesn’t say, I love you.

He doesn’t have to.

Because when you sit together on the cliffs just outside Totto Land’s borders, you rest your head against his shoulder, and he lets the silence hold the meaning.

“Do you think she’ll ever know?” you ask softly, referring to Big Mom.

Katakuri is still. “If she finds out, she’ll take you away.”

You nod.

And neither of you say what you both feel—because even in your secret, the danger is real.

Still, he brushes your pinkie with his, letting it curl around yours.

He’ll protect you.

Even if he never says it.

⸻

It happens at a banquet.

The room is filled with laughter and sweet, dripping wine. Crackers crunch under feet and the table overflows with frosting, pastries, and fresh meat.

You’re helping Smoothie with the seating arrangements when Big Mom’s voice cuts across the room:

“I’ve decided it’s time. You’ll marry into the family officially.”

You freeze.

“I’ve chosen Cracker,” she continues, smiling wide. “He’ll treat you well. You’ve been around long enough to be trusted. This is good for Totto Land.”

The room goes quiet—except for Cracker, who gives you a smug little grin.

You feel Katakuri’s stare before you even look.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Of course he doesn’t.

Of course he will always put the Charlotte Family first. He upholds their pride and status above all else. That’s how he was raised. That’s who he’s always been.

Of course it’s them over anyone else.

Even over you.

Even over himself.

⸻

You don’t cry—not until you’re alone.

When Katakuri finds you that night, he says nothing at first. He just closes the door behind him, the click of the lock soft, heavy.

You face away from him, staring at the cold mirror in your room.

“I can’t marry him,” you whisper. “I can’t even pretend to want it.”

He steps closer, and you feel the heat of his body behind yours.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.

“It’s yours?” you snap. “For not saying anything? For always hiding me like I’m a shameful secret?”

The air thickens.

“If I told her, she’d hurt you,” he says. “You know she would.”

“So what?” Your voice breaks. “I’m just something you visit in the dark while your mother decides my future?”

He flinches—but doesn’t move.

“I love you,” you say finally, trembling. “But I won’t survive this if I’m treated like nothing.”

Silence.

Then, low:

“You’re not nothing,” he says.

You turn your face halfway toward him.

“Then why are you always quiet when it matters?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then:

“I wasn’t afraid she’d say no.”

You look at him.

“I was afraid she’d say yes.”

He steps around you slowly, enough for you to see his eyes. Not just shadowed by his scarf, but guarded. Worn.

“I’m afraid of what she’d do if she knew.”

You stare at him.

“To her, love isn’t sacred. It’s… strategy,” he says, voice rough. “Everything personal is a tool. If she knew how much I loved you, you wouldn’t be safe. You wouldn’t be yours anymore. You’d stop being someone I chose—and become someone she controls.”

He looks away, jaw tight.

“She’d use you against me. Or worse—decide to ‘correct’ me by handing you to someone she could command more easily. Someone obedient. Someone like Cracker, just so she could show her dominance.”

You blink hard, something cold crawling down your spine.

“She wouldn’t be giving you a place in the family,” Katakuri says. “She’d be taking you from me.”

You stay quiet.

He lowers his voice even further. “That’s why I never said anything. Not because I’m ashamed. Not because I doubt you. But because the moment you’re exposed, you’re no longer mine. You’re Mama’s… ”

His eyes lift to meet yours again—something raw flickering in them now.

“I didn’t want to lose you to her.”

⸻

Katakuri doesn’t sleep that night.

He stands on the balcony, arms crossed, scarf pushed down. The moon reflects off his sharp features, jaw tight with thought.

Brûlée appears behind him.

“You’re thinking about her.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Brûlée sighs. “You always protected your siblings. Even when you hated them. But this—this is different.”

Katakuri doesn’t answer.

“Are you going to let her go?” she asks softly.

And his jaw clenches.

“No,” he says. “Not this time.”

⸻

It’s rare for Katakuri to speak in front of the family.

Even rarer to challenge Big Mom.

The room is full again—this time for a wedding announcement feast.

You’re standing beside Cracker, your face numb, hands clenched behind your dress. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but the cold weight of the moment makes it hard to breathe.

Katakuri enters late, his scarf half-lowered, his mouth visible.

Gasps echo as he speaks.

“She’s not marrying Cracker.”

Big Mom’s grin falters, eyes narrowing.

“What was that, Katakuri?”

“She’s not marrying anyone,” he repeats, his voice like steel. “She’s mine.”

The room goes dead silent.

Then chaos.

Cracker shouts. Smoothie drops her drink. Perospero starts laughing.

And Big Mom stands, her towering figure looming over the room.

“You went behind my back?” she roars.

“I protected her from you,” Katakuri replies, his voice calm but unwavering. “Because I knew what you’d do if you found out.”

Big Mom’s eyes flare with rage.

“And you thought I wouldn’t control you?” she spits, her voice dripping with venom.

Katakuri takes a step forward, his presence growing more intense. He stands taller now, his usual reserve slipping away for the first time in years.

“I’m not your soldier anymore,” he says, his tone full of finality.

The tension in the room is suffocating—everyone watches, breath held.

Big Mom’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You think you can just defy me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“I’ve spent my life protecting this family, but this time… I won’t let you control her,” Katakuri says, his voice softer now, but no less fierce. He’s speaking from the heart. “I’m done letting you decide who belongs to who. She isn’t a pawn in your game.”

He pauses, his eyes now searching for yours, as if he draws strength from you.

“And she’s never been a pawn,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “She’s the one who’s always accepted me—all of me. My flaws, my imperfections, the things I’m not proud of. She loves me for who I am. Not because of the family name, not because of what I represent, but because she sees me. For the first time in my life, someone sees me for who I am, and that is what I won’t let you take from me.”

You stand there, stunned by his words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest despite the storm that rages around you. But it’s the way he looks at you that holds your attention the most—the quiet, raw tenderness beneath all his resolve.

Big Mom’s face contorts with rage and disbelief. “This is the son I raised? A traitor who chooses his love over his family?”

Katakuri doesn’t flinch. “I choose her because she’s made me see something you never let me have—freedom. I choose her because I finally know what it means to be myself, not just the thing you made me into.”

Big Mom’s fists clench, shaking with fury. “You are my son. My right hand. You owe everything to this family. And you—”

Katakuri interrupts her, his voice finally cracking the surface of his usual calm. “I don’t owe everything to you. I owe my loyalty to the family, yes. But I owe my heart to her.”

The silence is deafening now.

Katakuri steps closer to you, his hand reaching out for yours. “Come here,” he says, his voice quieter now but full of an undeniable pull.

You move before you think, your feet carrying you to him instinctively. His hand takes yours, fingers firm and grounding, as though they’re the only solid thing in the room. His grip tells you everything—you’re not a secret. You’re not something to be hidden anymore. He’s done hiding.

And for the first time, you see fear in Big Mom’s eyes.

Because she’s losing control.

Of him.

⸻

You’re sitting beside him in his private quarters, the storm long passed.

He didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

You rest your head on his shoulder now, feeling the way his heartbeat finally begins to slow.

“Do you regret it?” you whisper.

“No.”

A pause.

“I should have told her long ago,” he murmurs. “But I was afraid.”

“You’re not afraid of anything.”

“I’m afraid of losing you.”

You tilt your face up to him.

“And you didn’t,” you whisper.

He pulls his scarf down completely.

And kisses you.

Not in secret. Not in shadow.

But in light.

Braver.