#burning spice is ready to square up

[literalinsomniac]

Heres my horrendous idea of an au

Leshy, Scrybe of Beasts, from inscryption, meets the beast cookies baked by witches within his woods. He likes them a lot. Decides instead of turning his fellow scrybes into cards he’d turn them into cookies

Alt version below cut

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, slight smut, touching, body-issues, reader has insecurities over big chest, ass slapping, oral sex (f receiving), self-esteem, mentions slight panic and anxiety, mirror play, and NSFW.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Plus size Reader

Wordcount: 1,945

A/N: I’ve had a lot of negative comments from people/my family about my weight lately, so… This is self-indulgent. I need Eddie to make me and my body type feel appreciated.

Buying lingerie to show Eddie and he’s honored that someone dresssd up for him.

You had fumbled with the bags all day, caught between regretting your decision and ready to take it on. Eddie wasn’t like other guys… other people, really. It wasn’t that you feared what he would do, no. It was the humiliating dread of him being nice to spare your feelings, the worst possible outcome equaling out to disgust at your surprise. But you had pushed it aside, freshened in your shower, applied a different makeup look to frame your features, then slipped an old parka on over the black lace.

You’d forgone heels and kept your boots on, those easy to take off once you had arrived at the trailer, your giddy boyfriend greeting you like he’s never seen you a day in his life. With the air conditioner properly placed in the trailer, Eddie’s hair was down, curled around his shoulders, a simple white tank top and black cut off sweat shorts over his trim form. He’s always beautiful to you. The amused smirk on his face did not go unnoticed, however, upon taking in your parka in this sweltering Indiana heat (even at night). It was an automatic “it’s cooler in my room, if you wanna?” offer, with him grabbing two bottles of coke from his fridge on the way.

Time to do this thing…

~*~

When he pushes his door open, the coolness that carries his Old Spice, nicotine soaked scent, it hits you square in the face. You relax a little, already sliding your fingers into your jacket buttons, popping them open and working the zipper. His back is to you as clears some space on his dresser, going on about why you’re wearing a coat, if you’re okay, what is it about. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, an anxious reaction, and you’re shoving the coat off your shoulders, exposed skin immediately stimulated with the prickles of electrifying goosebumps. And Eddie, god love him, he isn’t at all prepared for what he sees when your voice hooks into his attention span and gets him to turn around.

“Eddie?”

Initially, you take his shocked look as something bad. His widened eyes and slack jaw, the way he runs his fingers and tugs at his own roots. You feel an immature burn of familiar tears, reaching to pick up the coat and apologize. His voice leaves zero room for that energy in here.

“No, baby. No, sweetheart.” Layering on pet names to help soothe you, he calms the panicked nerves he can see escalating.

Though his own heart rate is out of control, his tongue’s tip on fire, touching his cheek, sweats suddenly tighter. You are his personal goddess on the daily — something he never expected, nor looked for. And you did this for him? The devil freak gets something special from an Angel like you? Temporarily halting your actions, you do notice the way his eyes expand into the depths of midnight black, how he reaches to adjust himself in his sweats - it keeps you here.

He reaches for you with that outstretched, tattooed arm. “Baby? Let me in. Let me see? I’m just not used to this…” He rushes to correct his phrasing, already knowing what it could do to you. “I mean, I’m not used to a hot fuckin’ woman getting dressed up for a guy like me, y’know? Takes a minute to sink in. And honestly? I’m waiting for Wayne to wake me up right now.”

It all clicks for you. It isn’t just about your insecurities, but this also giving something special to someone who also struggles to see confidence and self-worth. You’ve never been more proud of yourself than in this moment, overcoming your fears to get Eddie Munson this excited? You take his hand with a soft smile, albeit, still shy as he brings you around to pinch your chin between his fingertips, leaning in to press a kiss to your nose’s tip. His voice is gravelly, soaked in heat. Eddie’s mouth ghosts across your own, barely touching as he asks, “Permission to touch?”

You give into him, hand still in his, the other raising to hold onto the warmth of his shoulder, twirling his curls into your grasp to ease some nerves. His eyes immediately widen as he truly gets to look you over. Overflowing thighs in a beautiful thong, your thick curls peeking out of the sides, your beautiful legs — clad in silk sheer stockings, lace trimmed to meet, your stretch marks, your scars, the way, in which, you carry your plush stomach, to your full breasts that spill over the cups, and even your makeup — different, darker, more smoldering. He tips the digits of his spare hand, rings clinking together as he tickles his way up your forearm, tracing the vein back down, until he’s tapping on your pulse point inside of your wrist. Hands join, his grip shifting you into a twist, with your back pressed against his chest, and how badly he wants you nudging at your bare ass cheek.

You bow your head from immediate reflection in the mirror — something your boyfriend has yet to see. He’s too busy watching the way your ass swallows that thin black strap, this set showcasing all the indents that cascade down your thighs. And even your boots, he loves that you kept it you, that you didn’t force yourself into heels. You don’t like them, he knows this. He lets his fingers path their way along your spine, rubbing across the clasp on your bra, pausing to ask once more, now quite aware that you’re looking awkwardly at his messy floor.

“Sweetheart? You okay up there?” It’s silent for a beats, but then you’re mentioning his mirror.

He fights back a sigh, because how can you not see how perfect you look — without or without all of this. He wants to keep your comfort in mind, but it’s also important that he helps you see how fucking gorgeous you are. So he shakes his head, his curls tickling your shoulder blades.

“I don’t think so.”

You object, stopping yourself when his voice pleads into a softness that you’ve never heard from him before.

“I want to try somethin’. And if you don’t like it, we move away from the mirror, kay? Zero pressure, all your call.”

You have to admit that you’re intrigued, and excitement bubbling beneath your breastbone, dumping molten lava over your flesh. Eddie can see you inhale sharply through the mirror. He does that downward nod, brow raised, and you’re nodding. He’s so giddy that his tongue pokes out in concentration, joined hands freed, one of his dipping backward in a journey to slide the back of his knuckles across your thong strap. You arch into his torso, watching him watch you.

There’s a primal confidence that stirs in your belly, twists inside of your gut, ultimately soaking you between your legs. And as he finds the clasp on your bra, getting it unhooked in one go, only for his hands to dance along your sides, hook underneath your armpits, and immediately begin to tease your areola in languid strokes — you lose it. He allows his chin to rest on your shoulder, his voice the cure for everything you’ve ever needed, or will desire. “Look at yourself. Don’t look at me, just watch yourself.”

Your gaze finds your own body, not even caring at the exposure of your breasts or how they hang (something you are trying to be okay with, you know), heart accelerating full speed ahead, sure that Eddie can feel it. It’s almost like his mimicking the way he runs his fingers across the body of his guitar — easy, languidly, making sure to dip and curve when necessary. He goes with your head tilt, his voice finding your earlobe, hot breath causing your nipples to harden. “This body, it’s like the shield of your secret world. One that only I’m allowed into…” He breaks apart his sentence to drop his hands over your navel, curling into that ticklish spot that has you shivering.

“Eddie…” You watch your lips part, tongue licking to smear your lipstick.

It seems as if you’re watching a private show, beautiful woman and her beautiful lover. You’re out of body, yet you have never been more present. Eddie, he can hardly think, his breaths falling over uneven pants, his cock so hard that his eyes could cross. He can’t stop touching you, won’t dare miss how your eyes have glossed over at the performance your body is giving you. He can cry within this moment, so grateful, so fuckin’ proud of you.

So he keeps going, saying what he feels in several organs. “Your body is a map and I get to explore it with these.” He wiggles his fingers against your tummy, letting them fall above your elastic waistband, before they dip inside. Holy Christ, you’re warm, and he hasn’t even touched you properly.

“With my lips.” His lips find the flesh of your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth — tasting your perspiration, your body wash… you.

He watches your legs spread on their own accord, beckoning him to take what he wants. His fingers brush through your soaking wet curls, a moan leaving his throat so deep that it echoes inside of his diaphragm. Fuck. You’re a mess. Both of you hold your breaths as his fingers glide along your seam, combing through your hair, making it even sloppier, cruder.

And the way you sound…

It is you who looks up first this time to catch the reflection, enchanted by the way his knuckles and the rings adorning take shape beneath your lace panties. He lets his remaining hand smack your ass, one cheek at a time, before it cups your breast to give a pinch. You’re shocked when he releases you to come around and briefly block your view. But he presses his sticky fingers to your mouth and you suck them in without question, enjoying your own taste (something you would barely try beforehand), and Eddie literally gasps, tugging you by a love handle in for a crushing kiss. By the time you part, you’ve left your lipstick stain on his fingers and his own mouth — your claim.

That’s when he licks his lips, dropping to his knees, giving you an entirely different view. He’s at your feet, tugging your panties down, a thick creamy web threaded from you to the crotch, making you swallow harshly. You balance on his shoulder to step out, left in just your boots and thigh high stockings. He rubs his hands along the material, squeezing, appreciating the flesh beneath. His brown irises are left to a simple ring, a murky abyss shadowing his sclera.

His does that thing with his mouth, the one that causes you to fold like a lawn chair. And then he’s speaking to you, using two fingers to noisily part your cunt. “You can even take my tongue captive inside of you, empress.”

Your hands drop, fisting into his curls immediately, as he wastes to time to give you one solid lick, gathering what he has to circle your opening, his tongue’s tip then pushing into you. He’s whining in little grunts, vibrating between your legs, in absolutely heaven on earth. You begin to ride over his face, hand in his curls, unrelenting, one finding your nipple to play with. You’re doing exactly as he’d hoped — watching yourself receive his worship. And this is something he will never let you forget.

[horoscope1078]

:)

Kenan stood in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up and a slightly smug grin on his face. His childhood friend, and secret crush you, stood across from him, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“So… you’re telling me you’re a master chef now?” you teased, crossing arms.

“I’m not saying I’m a master chef.” Kenan replied, pulling out a bag of flour. “But let’s just say if football doesn’t work out, I could open a restaurant.”

You snorted. “You? A restaurant? Please, I’ve seen you burn toast.”

“That was one time.” Kenan shot back, feigning offense. “And the toaster was broken.”

“Uh..huh” you said, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, Mr. Michelin Star, what are we making today?”

Kenan’s grin widened. “We’re making mantı. Proper Turkish mantı. Not that frozen stuff you tried to feed me last time.”

You gasped, dramatically clutching your chest. “Excuse me, it was store-bought, and it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was an insult to mantı” Kenan declared, shaking his head. “And to my ancestors.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, teach me, oh wise one. But if this turns out bad, I’m never letting you live it down.”

“Deal.” Kenan said, holding out a hand. You shook it, and he couldn’t ignore how warm your hand felt in his.

Clearing his throat, he stepped toward the counter. “Alright, first we make the dough. It’s simple, flour, water, salt, and eggs. You can handle that, right?”

“Of course” you said, grabbing the flour. “I’m not completely useless, y'know.”

Kenan smirked. “Debatable.”

You threw a small handful of flour at him, and he ducked, laughing.

“You’re going to regret that.” he warned, grabbing some flour of his own.

“Kenan, don’t you dare..”

Before you could finish your sentence, a cloud of flour exploded in the air, leaving both of you laughing and coughing. You glared at him through the floury haze. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep coming back.” he quipped, brushing flour off his shirt.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Let’s just make the dough before you turn this into a full-on food fight.”

With a truce established, you got to work. Kenan guided you through mixing the dough, occasionally teasing you for being too slow or too messy, but secretly enjoying every second of your focused expression.

“Okay, now we roll it out.” Kenan said, handing you a rolling pin.

You looked at the dough sceptically. “This is harder than it looks.”

Kenan stood behind you, leaning down slightly to guide your hands on the rolling pin. “You have to press evenly.” he said, his voice softer than usual.

Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly recovered. “I see. The key is to have a personal coach hovering over your shoulder huh?”

Kenan grinned but didn’t move away. “Exactly. Consider this a VIP cooking class.”

After rolling out the dough, you started cutting it into small squares. Kenan demonstrated how to fill them with the spiced meat mixture and fold them into perfect little dumplings.

“Like this.” he said, holding up a neatly folded mantı.

You frowned at your own attempt, which looked more like a squished envelope. “Why is yours so perfect? Are you sure you’re not secretly taking cooking lessons?”

Kenan shrugged. “Talent, I guess.”

“Or witchcraft.” you muttered, trying again.

“You’re getting better.” he said encouragingly.

You gave him a sideways glance. “Better at folding mantı or better at tolerating you?”

“Both, probably.” he replied with a wink.

By the time you had a tray full of mantı ready to cook, the kitchen was a mess. Flour dusted the counters, your nose, and even Kenan’s hair, and bits of dough clung to your hands.

“Alright, now we boil them and make the sauce.” Kenan said, turning to the stove.

You leaned against the counter, watching him with a fond smile. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“About mantı? Of course.” he said, stirring the pot. “It’s like the pride of Turkey.”

“I meant about cooking in general.” you said, tilting your head. “I didn’t think you’d be so good at this.”

Kenan glanced at you, his expression softening. “Well, I guess I just like sharing it with people who matter.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you quickly looked away. “That’s… sweet.”

Kenan turned back to the stove, hiding his own blush. “Don’t get used to it. I’m still going to make fun of you for being terrible at folding mantı.”

Once the mantı was cooked and topped with yogurt and a drizzle of butter infused with paprika, they sat down to eat.

You took your first bite and immediately groaned. “Okay, this is amazing. You might actually be a genius.”

Kenan leaned back, looking smug. “Told you.”

“But don’t let it go to your head.” you added quickly. “You’re still annoying.”

“Annoyingly talented.” Kenan corrected.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

As you finished your meal, you leaned your elbows on the table and looked at him thoughtfully. “Y'know, this was actually fun. Maybe you should teach me more Turkish recipes.”

Kenan’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his tone casual. “I’d be happy to. But only if you promise to actually fold the mantı properly next time.”

“Deal.” you said smiling.

For a moment, the room felt warmer, and Kenan wondered if you could hear how loudly his heart was pounding.

“Hey” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Yea?”

“You’re a pretty good teacher.” you admitted with a soft voice.

Kenan grinned. “And you’re a pretty good student.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a glimmer of something more in your smile.

As you cleaned up the kitchen together, your laughter filled the air, and Kenan couldn’t help but think that sharing a meal with you, even in a flour-covered kitchen, was better than any football victory he’d ever had.

[federalchickensoup]

Southern Custard.

Author's Notes: Now see, something about this man... Anyway, I got an entire journal for a longer story. This was supposed to be a summary (?) or whatever the girlies are calling it nowadays. I want to go into full detail on what the actual 'tragedy' is about but:

I don't want to spoil it.

I haven't quite fleshed out all the details yet.

Warnings: all-inclusive smut. We're slutting it up. Been doing yoga lately.

The damned chess pie. No meringue—too sweet. A confession for later under a bashful small expression of a smile. You, spiced cider punch. It was of his notice that the drink was greatly favored. 

“Lost again?” An annoyed disposition sat behind your throat. 

Martha scurried, pulling at your collar under hushed tone, “Now what you done up and did for this white man to be hanging round like this?”

“Mercy me. What on earth can a fella do to get some service?” 

The apron tightened, hands shaking, “ For weeks. Not one night missed. Ruining the place with your presence.” Slicing his usual anyway. “What you want, Remmick?”

(Money is money. And his came up good.)

“Me? Ma’am, I don’t even got it in me to harm a fly. God as my witness.” And all that faux niceties. 

You, Martha, Remmick, orbiting the pull of tense silence. 

The doorbell jingled, 10-second experience of electrified energy and they promptly walked out. 

“I’ll pay for his too.” The shepherd’s gaze never strayed from the sheep. “So, may I please?” 

Oh. Right. The dessert in question—sweetened hostage. “Sure.” Stance guarded and wide, shoulders squared, a game requires two players. You didn’t blink, slowly eating the meringue and some of the pie. Shit. Half of the pie. Slapping the plate on the counter. 

“It’s still full price.” 

“Got yo nose so high up, you drowning in rainwater.” 

Gasping, struggling with hiccups. 

“My pretty girl Ain’t got much attitude left huh?” 

Choking softly on half-formed apologies—hoping, pleading on a case for common sense to return. Was there any to begin with? Letting a wild night animal coax and crawling his way under your skirt. 

He spread your thighs, just a bit wider, knees gracing collar bone. Drool trickled off his tongue onto your clit. 

“Now this,” kissing your labia. “Is all the sunshine I need. Just juicier than a Georgia peach.” He kissed the other.  

“Remmick.”

“Damn near close to tears. Now you got manners, pretty girl?” Red pupils traveled upwards, towards that pitiful expression. “Oh, darlin’. It’ll be ok. We both sufferin’.” 

You ground your teeth, head straining backward onto the bedding. “Oh, fuck you. Self-righteous piece of shit.” 

The soft prick of fangs on your cunt was completely unexpected. “Hold ‘em open for me.” His dick slid against the clit to opening. A breathless chuckle, “All that sass and belly achin’ and look at ya. Pussy purring, waiting for my dick.” 

You looked down, astonished. His control was slipping. Dick bobbing on its own free will, precum sloppy and ready. “You talkin’ all that shit and you ain’t trying to get your dick wet?” Hell, if it ain’t worth trying to sell this man, this beast a beach house in Idaho. 

The head slowly eased its way in. “Clever girl. Don’t got to give me no snake oil get up.” His hips stilled, normal bicuspids lengthening to their true nature. “Just ask me real pretty. Pretty just like you.” 

You clenched on purpose. 

He pulled away. 

Push and pull. Earth and the moon. As legitimate as nature itself. 

The ache. That fucking ache. “Remmick. I can’t take this anymore.” You were crying this time, real honest to God—“let him save your life” type of pain. “Please. Just fuck me.” 

No more preamble. No more prelude. This was what he needed. Straight from the horse’s mouth an admission of sorrow. That sweet invitation. 

“Pretty, pretty, sweet girl.” The hiss of relief, harsher than a pressure cooker. “Twenty-two weeks to be exact. You are a difficult one.” 

“Remmick. No more. Please.” A Mississippi flood spilling on your cheeks. 

The stretch burned so good. 

A wolfish whistle, “Oh, shit!” Sinking into full seat. His seat. He moved. Slowly, steady as a one-stick drum. The pace smoothed into an upbeat tempo. A soft, gentle laugh, feeling your heartbeat vibrating. Fangs and teeth just as sharp, pierced his bottom lip. “All them weeks of being such a bitch. And now look.” 

He was right. He was so right. (As long as he didn’t stop.) 

“Gotchu bent up and kneaded like fresh dough.” 

The bed groaned. Pussy easing and gripping, gripping and easing. All that jazz. Such a beautiful manner of vulgarity. You seized, clawing at whatever on him held less important purchase. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…” nonsense all of it.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let it all out.”  

It was then that you squirted, possessed by a holy rapture. Something warm, sorghum’s sentimental, flowed down your throat. 

“All you need.” 

Your cunt felt warm and pleasant. He watched as his cum leaked out. Fingers playing with sensitive lips. A sticky happy little mess. Lovely wreck of a thing.

“As long as that attitude is for me. Be a bitch to me. All for me. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be all you need, pretty girl.” 

[bahrtofane]

jude helping you in the kitchen because you’re hosting his family for dinner and youre running around at 100 miles an hour trying to find that damn stick of butter, it was just in your hand come onn

all while jude is having the time of his life taking his time gingerly cutting potatoes into neat little squares (roasted potatoes are a must)

"am i doing good?" he pipes up, already done with 3 Potatoes, youre so proud of him

you scramble over to him with a pound of meat in your hand, "yes love youre doing great."

he beams, wiggling his shoulders happily, "what do i do with them?"

you set down the meat on the counter while grabbing what you can from the spice cabinet, "the potatoes? just put them into a big bowl and ill worry about them."

he hums, going to get said big bowl while you run back to the fridge. you need asparagus how could you forget!

he manages to get the squares off the cutting board and into the bowl without much hassle, and you’ve started getting your pans out for the meat and asparagus. the squash is in the oven all ready, you need to make room for your lamb when its time though, desert also needs to get started, oh your mini quiches you completely forgot.

you slide back over to the fridge, the dough you made this morning, grabbing it and some flour. the lamb can wait while you get the crusts in the oven.

by the time jude looks back over at you, your covered in flour.

he snorts, "looks like you lost a fight to a baker."

"very funny jude, get the asparagus in the pan please and keep an eye on the squash for me while i finish getting the dough ready."

he puts the cutting board to the side, wiping his hands on a paper towel "yes ma'am."

you feel like gordan ramsey, barking our orders and running around with enough stress to last a life time. and you tell people you love cooking. pfft. sure. poor jude only follows you, doing what you ask. hes even worm a silly apron with big red words "kiss the chef" plastered on them. he thought it was the funniest thing ever. it was pretty funny you admit.

you spend too much time balling up little wads of aluminum foil for the crusts but jude keeps everything else in order, and before you know it in they go, out the squash comes, and you get started on the meat.

you love lamb, you hate the amount of pans and pots it takes though. first you sear, then you transfer to the oven while you sear off vegetables in the same pot, in they go with the lamb, pull them out, blend them with left of lamb juice at the bottom of the pan, boom you have a little gravy.

jude gasps and for a moment you think he'd burned himself, but he turns around with a stick of butter in his hand.

you light up, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "i love you," taking the butter and adding it to the asparagus.

somehow, someway, all your courses get done just on time, the deserts in the fridge, jude cleaning up the last of the kitchen while you get changed.

you come back down to greet the family, plating their food and basking in the praises they sing after every bite.

you love cooking !

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Just A Little Spice - Dean x Reader

“Just A Little Spice” - Dean x Reader

Rating Teen

Dean x Reader

Tags: Language, Dean Makes Bad Decisions, Dean in Mild Peril, Dean is Infuriating but We Still Love Him

Word Count: 1500

Dean likes to spice things up, but it would be nice if he didn’t have to put his life in danger in the process.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "I would burn down the world for you." dialogue square.

A/N: Something Short and Kinda Cute. I ended up finding a way to tie this to my other Bingo Square “Ice Play.”

Image created in Canva (photo used/found through Google Image Search)

You’d gotten back to the bunker a day later. Exhausted from the heat, satiated by the relief from the iceman. You’d found Sam organizing and labeling ingredients in his witchcraft cabinet. He was going to try a few new spells from Rowen’s bequeathed library. Realizing he needed some specialty items, he had to head up Nebraska way to meet with an herbalist who sourced supernatural spices.

Dean hovered near the cabinet, picking up jars, and mumbling pronunciations to himself. Sitting on a nearby stool beside a podium meant to support hefty grimoires for spellbook incantations, you chuckled at Sam’s constant swatting of Dean’s hands with each new inspection. You stared at Dean with your best telepathic “stop playing with your brother’s toys” look.

He frowned, relented, and placed a tincture back on a shelf. “That dude, Elijah?”

“Yep,” Sam huffed.

“What’s so important you gotta get right now?” Dean shrugged.

“Nothing important. I found a couple of spells that can change atmospheric pressure and manipulate temperature shifts. Was thinking those could come in handy in the greenhouse. Planning some experiments with out-of-season fruits and vegetables or plants that usually can’t grow in our area.”

You smiled. Sam had become quite the gardener the past year.

Sam eyed Dean in a way that cued me in on the fact that they had something private to discuss. Dean shot you a gentle “get the fuck out” request with raised brows and a head tilt.

“Alright, I’m gonna get unpacked.” You slapped your thighs and gave Sam a forearm squeeze as you passed. Dean tapped your ass on your way out.

You closed the door but lingered long enough to hear Sam, “I figured you were still planning something for-”

“Keep it movin’, sweetheart!” Dean bellowed.

You sighed and smiled to yourself. Dean had a surprise in mind for your anniversary.

~

You’d gone along with Dean’s ask for you to head out solo and grab beers and other supplies later that afternoon. Sam was well on his way to Nebraska by then. And, even if you didn’t play dumb well, you could give Dean time to do whatever it was he was doing for you.

Neither one of you was terribly romantic, but Dean could on occasion whip up the softest, cuddliest little moments.

So, two hours later, as Dean had nonchalantly yet specifically detailed for you to return, you stood outside the bunker door and readied for an anniversary celebration for the books.

Instead, after a hefty pull and the rattle and creak of the iron cell-like door, a plume of smoke released and assaulted your senses. Your eyes watered and you began to cough.

Beer and supplies dropped outside the threshold, you covered your mouth and nose with the collar of your T-shirt and darted inside. You crab walked down the stairs, below the cloud of smoke that hovered at the ceiling. Emergency flood lights flickered over the war room, washing it in an eerie red glow.

The bunker door slammed shut when your boots hit the ground floor, but that never happened. Some sort of automatic electrical protocol engaged for a lockdown scenario?

“Dean!” You tried your best shout to carry through the cavernous levels. He wasn’t in the library and the source of the smoke wasn’t anywhere near your current location. You dashed to the kitchen to what you assumed held the source.

You rounded the kitchen entrance. The contents of a heavy stock pot flicked with flames and churned out thick puffs of smoke on the stovetop. Your heart stopped, finding Dean splayed on the floor by the oven. Your eyes widened. Your coughing worsened at the acidic, burning taste filling your nose and mouth.

“Dean!” you called out again between wheezes. In the hazy film of smoke you spotted his head roll at your voice. You surveyed the area in seconds. You dropped to your knees and crawled over to him. You nestled by his side, grabbed his face by the jaw and jiggled. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

His lids flitted open. Upon a deep inhale, his coughing fit began.

You’d freak out and try to figure out what irritant or poison was in the smoke later. For the moment he was alive.

After shielding him from further smoke inhalation, you dragged him by his ankles out of the kitchen unceremoniously up and over a step. The back of his head cracked onto the granite with one of your sharp tugs. He cursed into a terry kitchen towel you’d wrapped around his mouth and nose. About 20 yards into the shit show of a rescue he had enough awareness to flip onto his stomach and urge you that he could manage.

You hopped up, lungs on fire, and ran back into the kitchen despite his yelling and a failed attempt to hook his hand around one of your shins. You grabbed the fire extinguisher in the kitchen corner, pointed the nozzle at the pot, and, from a safe distance, sprayed the flame retardant all over the stove.

The fire was finally out and with it the smoke production.

A familiar smell wafted through the heat now that the flames had dissipated. Roasted Pork? Barbecue?

Arms dropped to your side. They were heavy and searing from the exertion. Tears poured from your eyes. Through blurry blinks as the scene cleared, you spotted a tiny glass jar a few feet from where you’d found Dean.

The extinguisher clattered to the floor. You picked up the jar, examined it with a sigh, accompanied by many more coughs, and trudged your way back to Dean.

He was sat on the floor, back against one of the hall walls. He clutched the towel that had been wrapped around his face. He looked up at you with tear-streaked cheeks beneath the flashing red floodlights. “Thank Christ,” he wheezed out.

“You alright?” you asked and fell to your knees beside him. One hand steadied yourself on his thigh.

He nodded.

You waited a few agonizing minutes with him, gaze steady on each other. The air cleared as each second ticked by, enough for you to both begin to breathe with some regularity. The coughs subsided. His hand clutched yours and squeezed.

You pulled your phone out and dialed Sam.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sam.” You swallowed, throat dry. “Got a question for you,” you rasped.

“Yeah, sure. You okay?”

“Just peachy.”

You watched Dean’s face begin to redden for another reason.

“Curious, what’s this firecracker pepper do from your stash?”

Sam’s silence on the other end didn't bode well. “Why?”

“I’m guessing it’s not an herb you’d use for culinary experiments.”

After three more beats. “He didn’t?”

“Yep, he did.”

“Holy shit! That stuff is highly combustible! It’s meant to oxygenate a fire and sustain it for a prolonged period.”

“Gathered that. Anything we should worry about with substantial smoke inhalation?”

“Nothing more than the usual. I can be back in a few hours.”

“No, no, we’re good. He’ll clean up his own mess.”

Dean frowned.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. You enjoy your time away from us.”

Sam sighed. “For fuck’s sake. Never a dull moment.”

“Not with your brother it isn’t. Talk soon.”

You ended the call and stared at Dean. Hard. “Dean?” you prodded.

“We were out of pepper!” His shoulders lifted and met his ears.

“I was out getting supplies!”

“If I’d asked you to get pepper you’d have known I was cooking!”

“I already knew you were cooking for our anniversary, Mr. Not Subtle!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmured. “We missed celebrating the way I’d planned because of the hunt. I was making those spicy pulled pork sandwiches you love with all the extra chiles. I tossed some of the pepper in and this fucking flash bomb happened. I jumped back and lost my footing. Hit my head and that was all she wrote.”

You leaned in to feel the knot on the back of his head. “You probably have a concussion.”

He shrugged. “Nothing new there. I’ll be fine.”

You fumed, nostrils flared. “How can you be so, so-” you tossed your hands in his direction, “-this!”

He dared to toss you a cheeky grin.

“Dean, it’s not funny! You could have burned the bunker down and who knows what could’ve happened to-”

He grabbed your face with both hands. Quietly, he stated, “I would burn down the world for you.”

“Don’t do that.” You whispered. “You aren’t gonna get out of me being mad at you.”

He smiled. “Good. That means we can finally have angry make-up sex.”

You pursed your lips together and swallowed down a laugh.

His expression turned serious. “I made a mistake. It happens. I’ll clean up the mess in the kitchen.”

The thunder in your chest faded away. “You can be so careless sometimes.”

He nodded.

“You just act first, think later.”

He nodded.

“Well, you're right that you’re cleaning up all that mess and whatever the hell you did to the bunker.” You pointed down the hall to the kitchen and up at the lights.

He nodded. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine! You can kiss me now!”

He repeated. “Absolutely, sweetheart.”

[teacookieezz]

[Unforgiving Change]

Pairing: Burning Spice Cookie x Cinnamon Swirl Cookie(Self Insert)

Premise: Late at night, where all is still in the Land of Spice, Burning Spice Cookie reminisces on a moment shared with his past love. A love that he will never forget and shall honor with his life.

Warnings: Romance, fluff to angst(if that exists?), very small mention of death but they aren't actually dead, mention of violence but that's just burning spice as usual.

A/N: First post here!!! Waow!!! This draft has been sitting in my google docs for almost a month mostly cause I was drawing something alongside to post it. And now they're both done!! And heads up, my self insert uses shey/heyr pronouns, in case anyone gets confused reading the pronouns.

Likes and comments are appreciated!

“Burning Spice Cookie, this feels ridiculous, you know that?”

“Oh come now. Don’t be like that, trust me, will you? Keep your eyes closed and let me lead you, my flower. I know you’ll love this!” 

The pair of cookies walked carefully through the hall, jalapeño braziers illuminating the crimson, stone walls of the temple. Threads of flowers hung from the ceiling and decorated the walls beautifully, framing the many historical murals that had been carved and painted over the years, all praising the great Herald of Change.

As the taller, muscular cookie walked behind the smaller one, he kept his hands firmly planted on heyr shoulders, careful to lead heyr without getting in heyr way. And the smaller cookie, Cinnamon Swirl, kept heyr hands over heyr eyes. As he had told heyr to do so with the promise of ‘showing heyr a surprise’. 

He seemed rather excited, more so than usual. Truth be told, over the years he seemed almost uninterested in what the kingdoms had to offer, as well as his subjects. His excitement of witnessing a seedling blossom and thrive ready to grow into a new civilization, the kindness he showed to those who prayed before him, and his enthusiasm seemed to dwindle as time ever so slowly passed. Perhaps a sign of something to come, but shey wasn’t sure what…

So when shey saw how eager he was to show heyr something new, how could shey say no to him? Perhaps it was another oasis spring the civilians had made, or a grand statue dedicated to him in a town square. Though whatever it may be, it would’ve been more enjoyable if he didn’t drag heyr out during the dark of the night. And the longer they shuffled together, the more heyr annoyance grew. Especially when shey had tripped over a cracked tile, heyr yelp echoing through the hall followed by the bark of his laughter. Thank the witches he was quick to catch heyr. 

“Alright, you may look now.”

He took a moment to shift and turn heyr body, Cinnamon Swirl murmuring in confusion, before bringing his hands up to heyr own. Gently pulling them down, shey blinked several times, adjusting to the darkness. As the flames flickered and cast their light upon the wall, shey could see it so clearly now.

A mural, like many others that decorated the temple walls, grand and tall. But one look at this special mural was enough for heyr to gasp. Compared to the many walls of art of the Herald of Change, this one was of him and his lover, Cinnamon Swirl Cookie. Shown in a loving embrace and their foreheads touching as they smiled to each other. Floral patterns and the telltale symbol of his souljam decorated the edges and frame, a unique finishing touch to this new addition to his temple walls. And a worthy depiction of their undying love. 

Shey was left speechless. Eyes wide, staring up at the gorgeous art, shey found heyrself moving closer to the wall. A slight hesitancy in the way shey reached heyr hand up to the painted wall, as if the smallest touch could crack and crumble it to the ground. “It’s…” 

“It’s us,” Burning Spice Cookie spoke softly, grin wide and proud, “It is about time you truly became a part of history, our history. And this is just the start. All will see just how much we mean to each other,” His breath stirred in Cinnamon Swirl’s hair as he leaned downwards, hands gentle as they caressed heyr skin. “How much you mean to me.” This softness of his was a treat for only heyr. His whispers of adoration, the surprising gentleness in each touch, only shey deserved this.

Green eyes shimmering in the fire’s light with welled up tears, shey turned swiftly to face him. “Oh, Burning Spice…” Voice barely above a whisper. Molten eyes softening only for heyr, his golden teeth glistened in the dark as shey held his hands. “It’s absolutely beautiful. I have no idea what I have done to deserve something like this, or you… I… I don’t even know how to thank you…” 

He did not answer, instead wrapping heyr in his large arms and pulling heyr upwards, closer against him. Lips enveloping over heyrs in a heated kiss, he will prove that shey deserves this. Rightfully deserves to be by his side for as long as they both live. While civilizations will crumble and kingdoms rise and fall, they will remain eternal. 

They will live forever in each other’s arms, and all will bear witness as he proves that as many times as he has to. Both to their subjects and to heyr.

Even in the dead of night, the temple of the Great Destroyer stood tall in the dark. An omen of doom that stalked upon the cliff tops and loomed amongst the dry, spicy winds. It was at this time that the smoldering heat in the air would die down enough for the residents of the temple to retreat for the night, preparing for a new day of wreaking destruction and keeping their master entertained. But even at night, he could not find it in himself to relax. 

Heavy footsteps echoed through the dark hall as he walked, fists clenched in a restless yearning to break something, anything. The fires of the braziers cast his shadow over the piles of debris and rubble he had made a mess of long ago, walking past as if meaningless to him. If one were to look close enough, it seemed there had been something carved and painted on the rocks. Something he dared not let others see, not even himself. 

And now, alone with his thoughts, Burning Spice Cookie paused in front of a cloth covered wall. Cream colored flower threads peeked out from behind the long cloth, out of place amongst the harsh environment of the land of spice. His rough glare softening just slightly, he reluctantly reached out towards the cover. 

Just behind it was one of the few pieces of his past he left untouched. One he dared not destroy and for his eyes only to gaze upon. The mural of his long lost fiancée, his beloved flower. When he had destroyed all evidence of his past, eyes blazing with fury and a lust for violence, he stopped himself just as he was about to blast this one wall. The sight of Cinnamon Swirl Cookie, heyr smile peaceful and happy, was enough to make him pause. Enough to make him leave all evidence of heyr untouched

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he was cast into that wretched prison, hidden deep in the faerie kingdom inside of the silver tree, and since he had last seen his lover. He was sure he could escape easily, him and his fellow Beasts, arrogant in his abilities. Though as time passed the memories he shared with heyr had grown hazy, heyr voice and face now only a blur. Though he’ll never forget the look of anguish upon heyr face as he was pulled away, reaching out desperately for him, the silver bars closing the distance between the two. 

He never knew what had become of his beloved. While shey had the burden of immortality, much like him, shey was able to be crumbled like any other cookie. Shey wasn’t weak of course, but the very thought had his fists clenched tight. Perhaps that’s what the witches had done, hearing heyr muffled screams just past the chains and bars of his prison. Knowing how close Cinnamon Swirl Cookie was to the Beast, they must’ve destroyed heyr. 

He dared not let himself forget heyr if that were the case. He couldn’t bear to lose the memory of the one thing that could live forever, just like him. His love— no, his everything. And he couldn’t bear to destroy the remaining piece of heyr in this very temple. 

Grabbing the cloth cover, he yanked it downwards and onto the floor, dusting billowing up into the air and leaving a bitter scent. The old mural of them both remained intact, their love everlasting evident on this very wall. As the years passed, the paint grew faded and dusty, and the stone cracked with old age. Yet its beauty will remain.

Though a symbol of his past and one he wished he could cast away, he can’t bring himself to. He can’t let himself forget what his queen looks like. Heyr long, swirling brown frosting locks and the green of heyr eyes. The way shey would gaze upon him with such kindness and admiration that leaves his dough aching and longing. 

Reverence in his gaze, he brings his hand up to the stone, pressing at it in hopes he could reach through the art and pull heyr back into his arms. The former Herald of Change, a beast of utter destruction, kneeling before the art of his lover. Right now, it doesn’t matter what any cookie or even the other Beasts would think or how weak he appeared to be. 

He is the one who worships in this moment, longs for his lover again. Yearns for the past moments he shared with heyr, and hatred towards himself for taking heyr presence for granted before he had been torn away and locked for years. 

Despite the happiness in the mural’s expressions, anger boiled deep in his gut and jam. As quick as his need for violence vanished, it was quick to boil back to the surface. Stepping back onto his feet and flinching back from the wall, holding himself back from punching his fist through the stone, he stormed away through the hall. 

Through the night, the booms and roars of his tantrum quaked the temple. Servants and wild spices having been woken up, muttering and whimpering, praying to be spared from his wrath. Rocks and temple ruins crushed to dust and left to be forgotten in the desert, it would never be enough to satisfy him. Nothing will. Not when images of Cinnamon Swirl Cookie flashed in his mind, only fueling his rage, wishing he could forget heyr and move on already. Knowing shey was long gone, like everything else. 

Because alas, it is as the Tide of Change decreed. Swallowing his past and who he had been whole, and leaving him hungry and reckless for vengeance in the aftermath. 

[luckysupercatgirl9]

Update Rambling PT (2/2)

AUGH THE LEVEL CAP IS INCREASING AGAIN :( at least older stages will get easier

Hold up they're IMPROVING the hall of ancient heros?? That thing is already carrying me as is?? Lookig at the symbols maybe it'll also start increasing skill level???? Waaait thats awesome, on top of that, they're improving the toppings??? Not sure what their plans are, I just hope they make it cost less coins cuz I go broke when I'm upgrading those things. There's also another bit that was posted in the discord where they said all resonant toppings are returning

A new layout!!??? The current layout feels kind of cluttered cuz they just slowly kept adding stuff

Aaaauugghh i love milky way so mucj... I remember seeing this even in previous updates? I also remember straight up ignoring them tbh.. if I remember correctly I saw that milky ways new costume will be free?? So I assume it's part of this event so I'm gonna lock in this time (I will die if I dont have this costume...)

Boss rush!? I'm looking at it in the event video, its hard to say cuz the stuff's in Korean, but its gonna be a 7 cookie team, and it looks like we're getting buffs depending on the cookie types?? Like you get a magic buff if you have multiple magic cookies.

New special costumes!? Personally I don't think I'll pull for these, I like them but I'm saving rn.. for a certain legendary set that was promised in one of the live streams.. (I need them)

The shadow milk will def be a part of the beast raid like burning spice. Will Mystic flour ever get one??? Or are we just gonna ignore her?? I'm ready to sit in the town square and watch people dressed as shadow milk hanging out with people dressed as burning spice

We're getting new treasures??! And it looks like they're based off of pure vanilla instead of shadow milk. How many PV toppings do we have?? Only one, but now it's gonna be 3.. geeze

Not exactly sure what this entails, but I think I've seen this in other games? Only on the side of being a new player, though. Basically got to borrow someone's cookie, and they carried me kn the gane

[soulessjourney]

Autumn's Whispered Secrets

Summary: Fall has finally made its appearance in Velaris. Once a year the Night Court hosts a large event once a year called the "Autumn Elegance Gala." This year, however, it seemed as though the event held a deeper meaning for you and a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 2.2k

Velaris was already beautiful, but when autumn arrived, the city transformed into a new spectacle. Stores adorned their windows with artificial orange leaves, pumpkins adorned almost every doorstep, and the air was infused with the scents of spice and pumpkin pie. The festive atmosphere was truly remarkable.

Today marked a special occasion, much like Starfall. It was a day when many gathered to celebrate the arrival of fall. Children roamed the streets, dressed as ghosts and ghouls, their laughter reverberating off the city's buildings.

Small arms encircled your leg as a young boy looked up at you, his eyes sparkling. "Auntie Y/N, are you going to join us for the festival today? Mother mentioned she had spoken to you!" You picked up Nyx and playfully tapped his nose with a wide smile as you listened to his enthusiastic chatter about the various events scheduled for the day. He was the spitting image of Rhysand and had the vibrant personality of your longtime friend, Feyre.

"Well, little Nyx, I suppose I can join you all today since you asked so nicely," you replied, grinning and gently tickling the boy's side. Your smile widened as his laughter filled the air, and Nyx never failed to brighten your day, particularly when you had been burdened with the paperwork assigned to you by his father. This little boy had a knack for spreading joy, even on the toughest days.

"Uncle Az will be thrilled to hear that you're coming. He kept saying he wouldn't go unless you did," Nyx shared, his grin lighting up his face. Nyx had no filter, and there was no keeping secrets around him.

Laughing softly, you set the small boy down and affectionately ruffled his hair. "Well, I'm sure Uncle Azriel would have gone even if I couldn't make it," you teased, your heart fluttering at Nyx's words. Placing a hand over your chest, you made your way to your room to start getting ready for the day's events.

-----

Your eyes couldn't help but wander as you and the Inner Circle strolled through the streets of Velaris. Nyx, running ahead, urged everyone to walk faster. You snapped out of your reverie when Mor fell into step beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulders.

"You've got someone who won't stop staring. I'm pretty sure he's going to burn holes into the back of your head at this rate," she said with a snicker. Glancing over your shoulder, you turned to see who she was referring to, and sure enough, Azriel had his gaze locked on you. When your eyes met, you quickly turned your attention forward, feeling a blush creep onto your face.

"I swear both of you know you're mates, so why don't you just make a move already," Mor grumbled, looking down at you.

You sucked in a deep breath and clicked your tongue. "Because, Mor, he's interested in Elain, and that's not a fire I'm willing to play with," you replied, shrugging off Mor's arm. It was true. You had been aware of the bond for the past few months but had never made an effort to bring it up. Azriel seemed smitten with Elain, and it was clear from the way he looked at her that he was falling for her. You didn't want to interfere or force his hand just because of the bond. If Azriel had any intentions with you, you'd leave it up to him to make the first move.

The moment you all stepped into the town square, you let out a loud gasp. It was utterly beautiful. Small wooden booths were set up around the square, with merchants selling their goods to families and couples. The square was brightly lit and vibrant, filled with people laughing and chatting with one another. It never failed to take your breath away. Everyone here seemed genuinely happy to be around each other, and you loved that atmosphere. Looking around, you noticed that your family had dispersed to explore the booths or entertain the small child who ruled your group.

Someone fell in step next to you, and you jumped. "Looks like it's just us," Azriel said, his voice low as he nervously glanced around. Something inside you fluttered at the sound of his voice, which had a deep, sultry quality. Every time you heard him speak, your stomach did somersaults. As he stood beside you, you noticed how tense he was, his eyes darting around the square.

"Are you scared of crowds, Azriel?" you asked, laughter escaping your lips. It would be something new to witness, the Shadow Singer scared of crowds. You couldn't miss the blush that tinged his tan skin as he looked away from you. He was embarrassed, and that only made you laugh harder.

"I'm not scared, just surveilling the area to make sure nothing could hurt Nyx," he replied, clearing his throat. His shoulders tensed as a couple walked by, getting a bit too close for his comfort. Slipping your hand into his, you chose to ignore the look of shock he sent your way as you guided him through the square, pointing out various charms and clothing items for sale. Spending time with Azriel made the bond between you hum with happiness, but you kept trying to suppress it.

As you weaved in and out of the different booths, you suddenly came to a halt, causing the taller male to bump into your smaller frame. There, an array of hair clips lay, each one catching your eye. With how often Mor dressed you to the nines, you wanted a hairpiece to complement your attire. As your eyes scanned the table, they landed on a white floral hair clip. The gold accents perfectly complemented the white flowers, making it a truly beautiful piece. Seeing that your gaze lingered, Azriel reached down and picked up the hair clip. He turned you to face him, gently brushing your hair away from your face and neck. His rough fingers brushed against your skin, setting your senses on fire. As he placed the clip into your hair, he held your gaze, and the space between you two slowly decreased.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. Just as you began to lean up, Mor's voice rang out from a few feet away. You jumped away from Azriel, smiling, and handed him the clip just as Mor approached.

"Sorry to interrupt your date, but your dress is ready for tonight, Y/N, and little Nyx is starting to fall asleep. Feyre wants us to head back and start getting ready," Mor announced as she pulled you along. Glancing back at Azriel, you gave him a small wave, not missing the look of longing in his hazel eyes.

-----

Music filled the building, accompanied by lively chatter. Bodies swayed in the middle of the room, and conversations buzzed on the sides. Mor clung to your arm as you descended the stairs, your dress flowing behind you. She had truly outdone herself with the dress, knowing it was both beautiful and alluring enough to turn heads. The gown had a golden hue with a long slit running up your right leg, teasing every time you walked. The design on the right shoulder resembled leaves, cascading from your hip over your shoulder. It was an absolutely stunning dress, and Mor's effort made you feel grateful to have her as a friend.

As you stepped onto the floor, you spotted the Inner Circle standing just off to the side, sharing laughter over something Cassian had said. Nesta playfully smacked his arm. But your eyes were drawn to Azriel, his hair slicked back, exposing part of his forehead. The suit he wore accentuated his figure in the best possible way. Your cheeks grew warm at the sight of him, and the bond pulled you closer to your mate, urging for contact.

Stopping next to Feyre, gasps escaped the group as they looked at you. "Damn, Y/N, you clean up well. That dress knows how to showcase your curves," Cassian said, earning a scowl and another smack from Nesta.

"You look lovely this evening. Please excuse Cassian; we all know he lacks a filter," Nesta said, sending a scowl toward Cassian. You laughed and thanked her before mingling with your group. You felt a tug on the bond and turned your attention to Azriel. He signaled you to follow him, and you excused yourself to join him on the balcony.

Once outside, Azriel presented a small box. "I wanted to give this to you. It seemed like you loved it, and it suited you well," he said, passing you the box. When you opened it, you gasped at the sight of the hair clip he had put in your hair earlier that day. "Here, let me," he said gently, taking the clip and turning you around. He slid it into your hair and smiled, his hands gently caressing your shoulders. "Perfect," he whispered into your ear.

Turning back toward the Shadow Singer, you gave him a small smile. "Thank you, I'll be sure to wear it well," you teased, scanning him once again. Part of you wondered what things would be like if you had confessed to Azriel the moment you felt the bond snap into place. Would you be together and happy? Would you constantly worry about his closeness to Elain? You contemplated talking to him and seeing where things might lead. You glanced back at Azriel, who looked at you with longing in his eyes, yearning for a kiss. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him onto the dance floor, dancing together as one. "I'm sure you know about the bond between us, but why haven't you said anything?" you asked, looking up at Azriel.

He hummed, taking a moment to find the right words. "I didn't want to force you. You've been dealing with things since the last mission Rhys sent you on, and I didn't want to push the mating bond onto you. It wouldn't have been fair to you, especially if you weren't ready," he explained, his hand resting on the small of your back. "Why haven't you said anything about the mating bond?" he inquired.

You mumbled, "Well, you were close with Elain, and I didn't want to intrude on your relationship with her." Your eyes landed on Elain, who watched you both from across the room, jealousy apparent.

Ever since Elain joined the Inner Circle, tension had built between you and Azriel. She turned it into a competition, trying to prove who knew him better or who could hold his attention longer, so you had pulled away. "I didn't want to force the bond onto you either, especially if you chose Elain in the end," you admitted.

Azriel chuckled, drawing you closer. "Elain is a sweet girl, but she's not someone I'm interested in. I'm only there to help make her stay here more manageable," he said, cupping your cheek. "Cassian has been pestering me for a month to open up to you and discuss the mating bond. Every time I tried, I was sent on a mission or you were whisked away by Mor or Rhysand," he grumbled. "I'm tired of fighting this bond, and I want to embrace it. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up in your arms. I want to listen to you complain about the reports Rhysand keeps giving you. I want to hold you when you wake from a nightmare and be the one you go to when you're having a bad day. I want to be the one who tells you that I love you every minute of every day."

Azriel's words took you by surprise. You had never imagined he wanted all of that. You always felt like you came second when it came to Elain. Hearing his words made your heart swell. "I want that too, Az. I want to feel your touch and kiss you during my lowest moments. I want to share my secrets and frustrations. I want to come to you when I'm having a bad day and just lie in your arms. I want to be there to welcome you home after a mission and tell you how much I missed you," you whispered, leaning into his hand on your cheek. "I want to be yours because I'm deeply and utterly in love with you."

Azriel smiled and leaned down to kiss you. The bond hummed with happiness at the touch of your lips, making you feel complete after months of emptiness. The kiss felt like it lasted an eternity, yet it was over all too soon. Brushing his nose against yours, Azriel smiled. "I love you too, more than you'll ever know," he whispered, giving you another gentle kiss.

"Bet you fifty bucks he gets laid tonight," Cassian whispered to Nesta. They were standing a few feet away, with the rest of the Inner Circle, watching you both.

"Cassian, if you don't shut your mouth, you're going to be the one who doesn't get laid," Nesta retorted, causing the others to laugh and Rhysand to pat the disheartened Cassian on the back.

Looking over at the scene, you and Azriel laughed at the sight before turning back to each other. "Should we head home? I make a mean pumpkin pie, and given how you devoured that one over there, I'm sure you're craving more," you teased. Azriel let out a hearty laugh and leaned down to kiss you once again.

[luvr-bunnyy]

lattes and love at first sight

JAMIE TARTT x FEM!BAKER!READER

word count: 1.7k

© luvr-bunnyy pls don't use my headers or writing without permission

warnings: none! just some fluffy jaime

[a/n: i may continue this baker!reader in other fics!! but this is also the result of that random, spin the wheel thing i did...i may have written jaime out of character but i just love the thought of a usually confident man reduced to a flustered, nervous mess for the person he likes...anyways, enjoy!]

A heavy sigh ripped through your chest as you continued to knead at the dough in front of you. Your forearms were burning, a bead of sweat had rolled down your back, but you continued on, focused on your task as the sweet crooning of Marcus Mumford filled the bakery. You separated your dough into smaller parts, placing them on the tray beside you and once they filled it up, you carried the massive thing over to your proofer, sliding it into place and refilling the water tray. 

As you shut the door, a familiar tinkling caught your attention. It was followed by a familiar voice and one that was quite new to you. 

“Keeley, I don’t think the shop’s even open yet…why don’t we just-” 

“For the hundredth time Jaim’s, it’s open.” She scoffed before calling out, “(Y/n)! Babes, where’re you hiding!” 

A laugh bubbled from your chest as you finished setting your timer. “I’m back here Keeles! Be up in a sec!” Your eyes scoured the countertops before you found your tea towel and you snatched it up, wiping your hands as you stepped out into the front of the store. 

“There you are! Hi, babes! How are you?” She leaned over the counter and pulled you into a hug. Her sweet perfume invaded your senses in the best ways, the familiarity filling your chest with warmth. “I’m great, a little sweaty but great!” Understanding the implication of your statement, she scoffed and held you tighter before letting you go. “Oh stop it babe, you smell like cookies.” 

“Well, thank God for that.” You laughed before finally glancing over to the man that was staring intently at the scene in front of him. He seemed vaguely familiar but you couldn’t quite figure it out. “Oh uhm, h-hi. I’m (Y/n).” 

“Erm Jamie, nice to meet ya. Keeley never shuts up about this place so I thought I’d come with her. See what all the fuss is about.” 

“Great! I hope it lives up to the hype. Keeley, your usual?” 

“Yes! And can I get a dozen of your pastries please, love? Surprise me.” 

“Of course, and what about you Jaime?” He panicked once your eyes were on him again, realizing that since you stepped out of the kitchen, his gaze had never bothered to look anywhere else but you, much less to look at your menu board. 

Keeley’s eyes twinkled in amusement as she watched Jamie’s cheeks pinken, stuttering the slightest bit as he answered. “How about an iced coffee and a pastry you like? I uhm, I can’t decide.” 

“Okay, sure! I’ll get that ready for you guys.” 

Seemingly oblivious to what was happening, you slinked over behind the espresso machine, working on Keeley’s usual. When the fall season came around, her white chocolate and pumpkin spiced latte was a stark contrast to Roy’s americano. As you finished off her latte, one of your many timers beeped. 

“Oh shit…” You mumbled, totally having forgotten about what was in your oven. Jamie watched in slight amusement as you rushed over, muttering something or other to yourself as you lugged open the huge oven door, hands hidden by oven mitts as you pulled the tray out. The delicious smell of whatever it was filled the bakery and Jamie’s stomach grumbled. 

Carefully, you grabbed two of them with parchment squares and handed one to each of them. “Here you go, fresh out.” They eagerly took the warm bread and bit into it. 

Keeley’s was followed by a gasp. “These are new, aren’t they?” 

“Yup!” You slipped back behind the counter to make Jaime’s drink. “I came up with the recipe this weekend. This is my first batch. How are they?” 

“They’re fucking amazing, I could kiss you right now!” She took another bite before looking over at her friend. 

“Yeah, what she said…” He was so enthralled in the taste he hadn’t realized what he was echoing until it registered in his head. “Ah well no, I just meant- I don’t want to kiss you! I mean, it’s not that I don’t but- wait, no! I just-” 

“It’s okay, I understood what you meant.” Your soft laugh didn’t help Jaime’s nerves but he was glad he hadn’t said something wrong. “Here you go Keeles.” You slid a two cup drink tray over to her, her’s and Roy’s drink sitting neatly in it. “And here you go, Jaime. I hope you like it.” 

You watched hopefully as he took a sip of the drink. He nodded in approval, the right amount of sweet and bitter swirled across his tongue. “That’s real good, what is it?” 

“It’s a brown sugar and english toffee latte. It’s not on the menu but it’s what I make for myself.” He nodded in approval, watching as you grabbed a to-go box from underneath the counter and started to fill it with pastries. 

Keeley was overjoyed, secretly snapping a picture of Jamie watching you work with a lovesick expression on his face. She giddily sent it to Roy captioned, ‘I never believed in love at first sight until now.’ 

After that, you started to see more and more of Jamie. He had been stopping by before practice or even on weekends that he had free and whenever Keeley or anyone really, mentioned a hankering for a coffee or a sweet treat, he had volunteered to make a run out to grab some. 

You definitely weren’t complaining. 

The charming footballer had always brought a smile to your face, his anecdotes about his teammates or of his coaches had brightened up your days. There had been a few times where he’d come right at closing time and helped you clean up. 

He still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask you on a proper date. Every time he thought he had hyped himself enough, he’d abandon ship and talk about something else. 

But of course, he had enough of beating around the bush. 

He came in with a determined look on his face and it had you very intrigued but you finished ringing up your customer and making their drinks. You bid them a ‘goodbye’ and a ‘come back soon’ before you started on Jaimes’s usual, sending him a smile. 

“Hi Jams, everything okay?” 

He watched as you basically made the drink by memory, sparing a few tiny glances down at your hands but keeping your full attention on him. It made his heart skip a beat. 

“Yeah…I erm, well I wanted to ask you something. Have for a while now, actually.” He was fiddling with his fingers, eyes trained on the shiny charcoal colored counter below his drink. 

He was so distracted that he hadn’t noticed you walk around the counter and step beside him. The warm smell of brown sugar and peaches overwhelmed his senses. “Come on…” You gently gripped the crook of his elbow and led him over to a table. As you moved to sit across from him, he shivered at the feeling of your hand running down his forearm and to his own hand, fingers intertwining. “Okay, what did you want to tell me?” 

He took a second to relish in the feeling of your fingers between his, fitting like a puzzle piece he had been missing for far too long. 

Your chest tightened, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were filled with a reverence that nobody had ever spared you. “You can stop me and tell me to fuck off or…or that I’m a prick but-” Your face twisted into a confused frown as he continued. “I can’t stop thinking about ya’, your face, your smile, your laugh…it’s so bad that I can’t concentrate during training.” He scoffed a laugh. “Roy gave me a proper lashing for it but…I don’t even care. So, erm I guess what I wanted to say is that, I really, really want to take you out on a date. A proper one.” 

Your eyes widened, almost comically, when you realized how serious he was. Temptation to deny was ever present in your mind. How could he like you that much? So much so that your constant presence in his mind was a distraction from the thing he spent his entire livelihood achieving…but there was nothing in his eyes other than affection and hope, how could you say no? 

So, you fessed up.

“You know…I burnt an entire batch of my pumpkin cookies because I- Keeley sent me the unreleased photos from your GQ photoshoot…I was too busy drooling over your photos that-that I turned off my timer and forgot to take them out of the oven.” A nervous giggle bubbled in your chest. “They looked like charcoal.” 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wait, so that means…?” 

“I, very much, want to go on a date with you.” His eyes lit up. “Like, real bad Jaime.” 

“Oh fuck me…” He muttered at your desperation, “You’re serious.” 

“As a heart attack.” You squeezed his hand, an unbelievable amount of giddiness coursing through your whole body. 

“Kiss me.” His eyes widened, sending himself into a spluttering ramble. “No! I mean, yes k-kiss me…I mean, only if you want to. I want you to- could I…can I kiss you? Please?” 

You bit your lip in an attempt to conceal the shit eating grin that’s tugging at your lips. “Only because you asked so nicely.” He removed his hand from yours, cradling your jaw as if you were the most precious thing on the planet, and to him, you very much were.

He leaned across the table, the feeling of your hand holding his wrist was intoxicating. When his lips met yours, he was in heaven. Your lips moved in a languid pace against his, wanting to savor the moment as much as possible. The hitch in your breath when his tongue messily met yours had boosted his confidence, sliding his hand back behind your neck to deepen the kiss. Heat had begun to pool in your belly so you placed your hand onto his chest and gently pulled away from him. 

Keeley and Rebecca watched from behind the glass door, jaws dropped at the Hallmark moment they had just witnessed, unbeknownst to either you or Jaime. 

You laughed breathily as Jaime chased after your lips, your hand creating resistance against his chest. “Easy Tartt…let’s save that for our date.” You couldn’t resist his wide, pleading eyes so you leaned in and chastely pressed your lips against his. 

The violent sound of the bell made the both of you jump, pulling away from each other. Keeley had shoved the door open, squealing. “Fucking FINALLY! I thought we’d have to knock some sense into the both of you!” 

[cowboyhorsegirl]

Not My First Rodeo (An 1872 SteveTony Fic Reclist🤠💫)

This reclist is a fill for the @stevetonygames bingo square "Consequence" and the Resolutions Challenge for Team Future :)

a slow ticking wilderness by @starvels (2.4k, M)

Three weeks ago, Tony burned his hands in his forge. Since then, he's been unable to use them, useless and listless. Relying on the kindness of strangers ain't exactly his expertise. Luckily, Sheriff Steve Rogers has good hands and a heart hale enough to keep offering bits of help and hope to Tony, no matter that he ain't all that good at accepting them.

RATING: Five out of five heart-happy cowboys, 🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠

What if I told you this was literally the first (The First!!!) 1872 fic I ever read, which may have been a mistake on my part because it simply set the bar too high, devastatingly high, stratospherically high! This fic feels like wrapping yourself up in a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer while you sit by a beautiful, roaring fire and drink a delicious cup of spiced hot cocoa. Please fulfill all your wildest h/c dreams and desires in the embrace of this lovely window into established relationship 1872 stevetony.

To Break the Bridle by @deervsheadlights (25k, M)

If anyone had told Tony a year ago that he would be herding cattle up on some god-forsaken mountain, in deep winter and out of his own free will, he would've laughed in their face. Were they to show him the blond and blue-eyed reason for his sudden lapse of judgement, however, he might've just understood.

RATING: Two cowboys who are frequently secretly very fond of each other + a new appreciation for the pavlovian potential of duck fat, 🤠🤠🦆

Everyone gather round and say thank you deervsheadlights!! Thank you deer for writing the 1872 Brokeback Mountain AU that we have all been begging for since the moment 1872 comics hit the shelves! This fic was another early 1872 find for me and I simply cannot recommend it enough: the slow burn, the hurt comfort, the romance-this fic does it all masterfully.

but come ye back by @s-hylor (1.2k, T)

When the night is cold and the sky is open, Tony goes to talk to the past Sheriff of Timely.

RATING: one broken cowpoke's heart, but the hurt is tempered by the knowledge that the love perseveres on, 💔

If you have yet to heal from the hurt of 1872 Issue 2, then this is the fic for you. This fic is the best deconstruction of emotion following the Sheriff's death that I have read yet, savage in both it's sadness and it catharsis, and I cannot recommend this highly enough.

A Handsome Stranger Called Death by @isozyme & @sheshopelesse (3.5k, M)

Steve Rogers was an optimist, and he had no sense for the limits of one man with a six-shooter and a strong will, but he was canny enough to know that he wasn’t getting any good done as pig food.

RATING: 10/10 shakes of a rattler's tail 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

Close your eyes and imagine a story that combines Western gothic and desert mysticism and monsterfucking and domestic bliss and now open your eyes bc that fic exists and you're looking at it! The prose is gorgeous, the mythology is arresting, and the characterization is stunning. Plus! This fic comes complete with its own podfic, ready for your joint reading & listening pleasures.

Somebody's Darling by @laireshi (12.9k, T)

Steve wasn't always a sheriff, and Tony didn't always spend his days halfway down a bottle. They met long before Timely.

RATING: the best 1872 rom-com of all time, if rom-com was short for Romantic-Commentary on the Inherent Despondency of War

This fic!!!!!! Is wonderful and delivers a years-long sweeping arc of a wartime romance before dropping you off at the front door of 1872 canon. It's such a heartfelt exploration of love blooming amidst the chaos and tragedy of war, of the way two people keep getting drawn back to each other again and again, of second chances and third chances and fourth, all culminating in a freedom both precarious and precious to be found in the West.

The Strangers You Call Friends by Mireille (1.4k, T)

Stark frustrates Sheriff Rogers, but that doesn't mean he wants to see the man drink himself to death. Timely needs a blacksmith, after all.

RATING: two out of two prettiest blue eyes this side of the Mississippi, at least according to the cowboy locked in the Sheriff's cell for tonight 👀

An incredible pre-canon character study from the POV of Timely's favorite Sheriff. I feel as though this fic is so true to canon characterization and setting that it could honestly constitute the first page of an 1872 novelization. You really sink into Steve's mindset and his perspective on not just Tony's perennial drunkenness, but on his duties to the town as a whole.

Say My Name by citsiurtlanu (2.6k, G)

Steve reminds Tony that there's more to him than the war his weapons were used in.

RATING: a whole cowtown who has been irrevocably changed for the better by the love of two men, 🤠💞🫡🤠💞🫡🤠💞🫡🤠💞🫡

A beautiful canon-compliant fic that pulls at the thread of romance hidden in the rough, vibrant fabric of 1872. There's so much tenderness in this story, it aches in the best way :')

Paradise Blue in 1872 by @cowboyhorsegirl (oh hey that's me!) (500w, T)

Steve imagines this is what it feels like to commit blasphemy, looking at Tony Stark.

RATING: Sheriff Rogers' extremely Catholic-coded erection 🤨🤨

It's about!! the wretched devotion of love, the purgatory of the West, the discovery of a new God in the listless eyes of the saloon's resident patron! A bite-sized character & relationship study that slots itself very neatly within the first 5 pages of 1872 Issue 1 that I hope you read & enjoy :)

whistling dixie by @starvels (1.4k, M)

“Well,” Steve says, voice rough. He takes in another of those sharp breaths and when he exhales, Tony feels it like the forge, billowing heat out into his chest. “Mayhap you best keep that dry, Stark.” He sounds like molten metal, like the best slather of butter over a butt of bread, sounds fair peckish for something more than trail gruel and he’s looking at Tony like Tony’s the place he’s gonna get it. Yes, Tony thinks. It is. Take it. Take me.

RATING: one cowboy (me) who is so, so hungry for stew now 🤠🍲

A masterclass in the 'Food as a Metaphor for Love' ao3 tag, I recommend to all who are hungry for a bit of domestic Western romance or a hearty desert stew. At least one of these appetites will be satisfied by the end of the story, I guarantee!

Blacksmith's Hands by @everybodyilovedies (3.3k, E)

Based in Marvel's 1872 Western Universe, where Tony is a blacksmith and Steve is the town Sheriff. Blacksmith Tony hears Sheriff Steve's birth date is coming up, and decides to give him the present he deserves.

RATING: the number one best birthday present Sheriff Rogers has ever received 🤠🎁

The sweetest, tenderest and yet slightly rough around the edges 1872 PWP you will ever see. I adore Steve and Tony's banter in this fic, the dialogue at the beginning feels like it could have been ripped right out of the comic book panels. And!! There is simply nothing more delightful than the simple intimacy of going from "Stark" and "Sheriff" to "Tony" and "Steve" <3

Unseen, Unheard by @oluka (1k, M)

Tony and Steve have a furtive encounter. Tony wishes they could have more.

RATING: a Sheriff rougher to ride and wilder to tame than a stallion🐎

I could scream forever!!! about the parallels in this story between Tony's alcoholism and his addiction to Steve! The tug-of-war push and pull of their facsimile of a relationship, the hurt that Steve's internal shame over wanting a man inflicts on both him and Tony, the habitual way that Tony debases himself to play up the drunken act and protect him and Steve from any prying eyes. This fic does a truly masterful job of imagining what intimate encounters between Steve and Tony may have looked like within the real confines of the American West.

Going Blacksmithing by @bladeofthenebula27 (1.5k, T)

Blacksmithing only brings in so much money in a small town like Timely, so Tony has to make a little extra money through less respectable means. The Sheriff doesn't approve.

RATING: the prettiest cowpoke you ever did see 🥰🤠

Genderfuck!Tony with a side of possessive Steve all in the year of 1872, what more could one possibly want? There's absolutely nothing more that I love across the multiverse than SteveTony getting to explore their femininity, and this fic brings that dynamic to 1872 absolutely perfectly! :D

BONUS!!!

1872 Meta/Propaganda by @ghosthan

RATING: one out of one new, lifelong 1872 fan (me! 🤠)

An INCREDIBLE primer on the 1872-niverse, including panel screenshots as well as comparisons to 616 characterizations and backstories! I can personally say that this 1872 propaganda is extremely effective (after all, it convinced me to read!!), and gives you juuuust enough information on 1872 to acquaint you with the setting, the characters, and the dynamics at play without simply spoiling the series. In my opinion, this is a highly underrated resource for anyone interested in trying 1872 out, but unsure what to expect.

[theoriesofashes]

The Theory of Pride: Chapter one

Figured it’d be fun to post my progress on my book here. Probably post a chapter whenever I have one ready or whenever I feel like it’s ready. depending on engagement I may or may not post more frequently

warnings: these are adults. They like cursing. Be warned.

“C’mon! We gotta get there early or we’ll miss out on the good stuff!” Chris rushed ahead, gesturing for the others to join him as he ran towards the Central market ward, the heart of the Rebirth Festival.

The streets were already bustling, full of vendors, performers, and people. The air smelled of pumpkin spice with hints of campfire. Red, orange, and gold flowers, stalls, and paint plastered the square. It was so vibrant, it was different from his home in the fact it was just so full of life. Of laughter, of warmth. He ran to the nearest stall, ordering 5 apple ciders and turning to look for his friends.

Tony was right by him, already offering out gold to split the cost of the ciders, eyes full of the same warmth within his smile. The golden hour backlight painted him as an angel, not a man, the golden undertones of his rich, warm tawny brown skin, and made his eyes look like shining ambers, instead of the usual dark brown. He looked up towards the vender, chestnut brown hair falling in waves to his shoulders as his head tilted up.

“Could you add on a jar of apple butter to that?” His even voice could put sugar to shame with its sweetness

“Aw, you shouldn’t of,” Chris poked him in the side, taking the ciders(And stashing the apple butter in his bag) before looking for his other companions in the crowd.

At the sight of auburn hair and the clack of a cane, Chris noticed Wilbur walk towards them, leaning slightly on his cane, and came a familiar voice.

“Is that nonalcoholic?” The tiefling stepped up beside him, taking one of the glasses.

“Oh, of course, who do you take me for? Brandon?” Chris teased, knowing his companion could most likely hear him.

Wilbur snorted, taking a sip of the cider. He glanced around the square, his one good eye flicking over everyone there, but eventually settled on his glass. He held it in one gloved hand, and the other gripped his cane, bracing him. An accident from a few years prior didn’t heal properly, and left him with a limp and chronic pain. Probably not the only thing from his past that haunted him, implied by the bags under his eyes, the disheveled messiness to his long hair, and the severe burn covering half his face and rendering him blind in one eye. Wilbur, as carefully as a man with hand tremors could, drunk the cider so it wouldn’t spill on his well maintained beard.

Brandon appeared next, frowning at the nonalcoholic drink but shrugging and drinking it. His sun kissed brown skin had freckles littered all over like how the stars littered the night sky. His eyes were a beautiful foresty green, and his hair a brilliant golden blonde.

“It’s like y’all hate me,” Brandon groaned dramatically, “Did you hear there’s a hayride? They’re telling spooky stories!”

“Are they you level or Wil level?” The final present member of their team, Circe, appeared, taking her cider.

Her braided hair fell just past her shoulders, beaded at the ends, a wonderfully rich dark green color. It added to the coolness of her skin, like the forest green scales under her eyes, on her nose, on her ears, shoulders, and back of the hands. The top of her tail had the same forest green scales, while the bottom had a muted yellow color, her tail, which was batting at Wilbur’s tail.

“You were talking about a hayride?” Circe looked down at the smaller figure, who was silently fuming. 

“You’re not invited anymore,” Brandon crossed his arms, lightly kicking Circe in the shin.

“I’m sorry Brandon, your horror stories really just don’t compare to Wilbur’s,” Circe laughed, more amused then upset about Brandon’s statement.

Brandon looked up at Wilbur, expecting him to disagree, but Wilbur stared at his cider glass, as if willing more to appear.

“Oh fuck you,” Brandon grumbled up at the taller man.

“Huh?” Wilbur snapped to attention, looking downwards at Brandon, “Sorry, I was…elsewhere. What were you asking?”

“Are my scary stories really that bad? Circe said they’re terrible,” Brandon stepped in front of Wilbur and crossed his arms.

“No I didn’t! I just said they didn’t compare to Wilbur’s!” Circe objected, looking to Tony and Chris for confirmation.

“It was implied,” Tony tapped his chin, “at least that’s how I saw it.”

“Oh don’t give Brandon a hard time, his stories are quite charming. Not every scary story needs to give you nightmares, Cici.” Wilbur teased, giving Brandon a gold to buy another cider.

“You’re too nice, Wil. His stories wouldn’t scare a child,” Circe muttered as Brandon skipped away to grab that extra cider.

“So? He enjoys telling them. And I don’t see you volunteering in the lineup,” Wilbur pointed out, “look, even Chris’ stories are scarier, but I appreciate the enthusiasm from Brandon.”

“Softie,” Circe laughed, reaching up to pinch his non-burned cheek “You’re a softie.”

“I’m not,” Wilbur leaned down so she didn’t have to stand on her tiptoes.

Chris chose not to point out the hypocrisy, but Tony snorted. Wilbur raised an eyebrow at him, then waved Circe off. He stood up fully as Brandon came back.

“I saw some carnival games too, scams, obviously, but might be fun to beat them at their own games,” Brandon nudged Wilbur “There was an axe tossing one.”

“Oh, really?” Wilbur put his hands in his pockets “Isn’t that Interesting?”

Chris could almost see the gears turning in his head as a small grin crossed his face. Wilbur’s ears perked up slightly and his tail started to swish back and forth. Brandon poked his arm, and Wilbur blinked, tail halting. He looked down at the half-elf beside him, a curious look in his eyes. Brandon took out five gold, put it in Wilbur’s hand, and closed his hand around it.

“My treat. Go play a few games,” Brandon patted Wilbur’s arm and turned back to frown at Circes shocked expression “What? I can be nice! He bought me a drink!”

“Thank you, Brandon,” Wilbur shot Circe a pointed look, then looked towards the others “Want to beat some scammers at their own game?”

“Oh absolutely I do,” Brandon smirked, flipped his hair “I’m especially good at those archery games. I expect a profit, a product of fluffy goods called stuffed animals. I must add to my horde.”

“Your horde? You have a horde of stuffed animals?” Tony raised an eyebrow, putting a hand on his chin, “Now that I think of it, though…”

“I have an army, 37 units strong!” Brandon proclaimed dramatically, and threw an arm around Wilbur’s shoulders “Wilbur’s my second in command!”

Brandons height made it hard for his arm to actually be around his shoulders, so Wilbur leaned down.

“Yes. Fear our wrath, for once we turn it upon you, you’re sure to be dead,” Wilbur tried to make his tone dramatic, not to much success, but Chris and Brandon(probably) appreciated the effort 

“Remind me not to get on either of your bad sides, I don’t have time in my schedule for being pelted by stuffed animals,” Chris pulled out his planner, which was completely empty “See, I’m booked.”

“We’ll make time. Don’t worry, we’ll find you,” Brandon jokingly threatened “and those carnival games! Cmon, let’s go!” 

Brandon and Wilbur took the lead on this one, Brandon pulling Wilbur by the arm lightly to guide him, but not too much to make him stumble over his cane. Chris heard the game tents before he saw them, by the challenges being yelled out and the sound of the games. He followed Wilbur as the tiefling ran over to the axe tossing game. Chris looked over the prizes. Stuffed animals of all sorts. Lions, monkeys, wolves- he spotted a oversized shark plush. He tugged on Wilburs sleeve, pointing to the plush once Wilbur turned his attention to him.

“Oh, you want that one?” Wilbur looked over to the attendant “How much for a game, and what do I need to do to get the shark plush?”

“Hm, for you handsome? A gold. Get 50 points,” the attendant, a elven woman leaned over the counter, holding out her hand.

Chris looked over at the boards. Bullseye- 100 points, close to bullseye- 75 points, middle- 50 points, outside- 25 points. Wilbur handed her a gold, and she put a hand axe down on the bar in front of him. He tested the heft of the hand axe, and Chris noticed his eyes slightly narrow. He tossed it up, caught it, and nodded. He looked over at the boards, took a second to analyze, and threw the handaxe.

It hit dead center, Chris whooped, hugging Wilbur. Wilbur glanced down at him, an almost confused expression on his face, before turning back to the attendant.

“Well… one shark plush as requested,” her fellow attendant started working on getting the plush down “I Should’ve expected no less from a man like you.” 

“…Elaborate, please?” Wilbur crossed his arms, and the exhaustion in his face was mirrored in his voice.

Wilbur often got compliments or flirted with in public, something Chris knew well after working with him for a while. And if Chris had more courage, he’d flirt with the man too. Chris swore everyone saw the rugged beauty to Wilbur’s appearance besides Wilbur.

“You’re… i-uh,” the woman stumbled over her words.

“Mhm?” He raised his eyebrow, taking the shark plus as the other attendant handed it over. 

Wilbur offered the plush to Chris as the woman sputtered, and Chris happily took it. 

“You don’t want anything?” Chris tilted his head, holding the plush.

“No, I’m quite alright. Let’s go find the others. We’ve let Tony supervise Brandon and Cici for long enough,” he turned to the side, lighting a cigarette “besides, you need to show Tony what you won.”

“But I didn’t- Wilbur!” Chris speedwalked after Wilbur as he started walking “Tell me you’re not gonna tell Tony I won this!”

“You won the right to a gift, didn’t you?” Wilbur teased, putting the cigarette to his mouth “so, technically speaking-”

“Oh, stop it!” Chris lightly smacked his arm, drawing a chuckle from Wilbur.

He heard Wilbur exhale, and sigh.

“Is something the matter, Aleks?” Chris moved to Wilbur’s seeing side, to look at his expression.

Ah. Spacing out again, eye blinking, really only moving on autopilot. A somewhat common occurrence with him. His right hand idly tapped his left arm, holding his cigarette in his left. Chris grabbed his arm, helping guide him through the crowd. He noticed a seating area and guided Wilbur over there. The noise died down slightly over there, and the smell turned more towards food. Roast pork, ribs, lamb, deep fried something. He sat Wilbur down and looked around. There were a few barbecue stalls, Ufisi food, dessert stalls, Chris also noticed an Alac food stall.

“You hungry Wilbur?” He looked towards Wilbur.

His eye seemed more aware, and his hand had stopped tapping. 

“Oh, not really, I’m okay,” Wilbur smiled weakly, looking around with a slightly confused expression “when did…”

“Just a second ago. You feeling alright?” Chris sat down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry,” he snuffed his cigarette, then incinerated the whole thing.

“And I’m calling bullshit on the food, I haven’t seen you eat today,” Chris frowned, grabbing his arm “I’m buying you food. No argument, jackass.”

Wilbur sighed, and Chris pulled him up, walking towards the stalls.

“What’re you in the mood for? Ufisi? Barbecue? I think there’s an Alac stall somewhere, I know you’ve been wanting to try shawarma.”

“Another time. Let’s go to a Ufisi place,” Wilbur shook his head “something comforting.”

“What do you want?” 

“Solyanka, if they have it. If they don’t, pirozhky or shashlyk is fine.”

Chris squinted at him, looking down at his notes, then at him.

“Spell those for me?” Chris took out a pen, releasing Wilbur.

“S-o-l-y-a-n-k- do you want me to order, Chris?” Wilbur tilted his head.

“…yes. What do you recommend for me?” 

“Hmm…Belyashi is good, so Is Golubtsy. I’d recommend shashlyk too,” Wilbur hummed, thinking “I think you’d be a fan of pelmeni too.”

“Yknow what, surprise me,” Chris crossed his arms, shrugging.

Wilbur and Chris stepped up to one of the Ufisi stalls. The menu had a version written in Ufisi and Valrenese. Chris could understand both, as he spoke both. 

“Evening, What can I get you?” The server took out a notebook.

“We’ll take Pirozhky and Belyashi, with pryaniki for something sweet,” Chris always loved Wilbur’s accent, but saying Ufisi words made it better.

“Coming right up. That’ll be seven gold,” the server wrote it down, then passed the slip to someone in the back.

Chris pulled out seven gold, handing it to the server.

“You from Ufisa?” The server turned to Wilbur “You sound northwestern.”

“Yeah. Born and raised. Came here for job opportunities. No insult or lost nostalgia to home, there just wasn’t shit up north,” Wilbur visibly relaxed, maybe just happy to talk to another Ufisi.

“A too common story. Councils draining us dry and with our farmland ruined, our people have been flocking to other countries. Not that Alacrai or Dai’sha are much better. Alacrai’s a mess of political corruption and rebellions, and Dai’shas elves are too much work to put up with,” the server frowned.

“Tell me about it,” Wilbur laughed, stroking his beard in thought “Valrena’s tolerable because of the Kings efforts, but I still miss home.”

“Home is where the heart is,” the server looked over his shoulder “Food’s about ready. For your information, we also have a shop in Kurik, about an hour from here.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Wilbur glanced over at Chris.

They were handed their food. Three boxes, colored all over with little doodles. They sat down where they had before, and Wilbur opened his own box. Inside were golden brown pillows of pastry. He offered one out to Chris. It smelled savory, with hints of garlic. 

“No tomatoes?” Chris checked in

“None,” Wilbur confirmed 

He bit into the pillow. Soft and savory- distinct hints of garlic and onion, snd the warmth of it spoke to its home cooked origins. 

“It’s better with the gravy, but that’s for mine,” Wilbur smirked, taking a bite out of one of his.

“You dick,” Chris lightly smacked his hand. 

Wilbur laughed, a warm sound- and a usual one. He tended to laugh at any joke that one of them made. Chris appreciated the effort.

He opened his own box- a similar pillowy type food, but with a window in the middle to the meat filling. On the side was a container of gravy.

“Ooh, I got some too!” Chris looked up at Wilbur.

“It’s good shit. Might be the nostalgia speaking, but my father used to make food like this all the time. I don’t get it a lot in Valrena,” Wilbur said between bites, an almost remorseful tone to his voice.

“Do you miss your father?” Chris tilted his head “I mean, I miss my parents, but I don’t have the best relationship with them.”

“I miss the man he was when I was younger,” he looked at his own food “When he loved my mother.”

Chris hummed. Opened his gravy, then dipped one of the pillows into it. Bit into it. It was a beef broth based gravy, and it was good. Flavorful and slightly spicy, and it paired well with the taste of the belyash. 

“Oh, that is good,” Chris took another bite “We need to get this again sometime.”

“They have a shop in Kurik.”

“I heard, I have ears, Wilbur.”

“No, really? I thought those things on the side of your head were for show.” Wilbur smirked, leaning back.

“Asshole.” Chris bit back teasingly.

“Jackass.”

Wilbur looked up a second before Chris heard footsteps. He turned. Circe, waving at them as she jogged over, followed by Brandon and Tony. 

“You guys got food?” She almost looked hurt.

“I was hungry,” Chris shrugged, halfway between bites. 

“And you?” She crossed her arms, looking at Wilbur.

“Chris was hungry. He said I needed to get food too,” he offered one to her “I’m not all that hungry, and they gave me double what I would’ve eaten.”

“Not hungry, I haven’t seen you eat anything all day!” Tony finally caught up, looking incredulous.

“Exactly what I said!” Chris crossed his arms after putting his food down.

Wilbur raised his hands defensively with a laugh.

“I have a slow metabolism,” he smiled like it wasn’t the biggest lie in the world.

Chris narrowed his eyes. Wilbur shot him a pleading look that lasted maybe a second. Nobody chose to press. 

“You have a shark,” Tony noted.

Chris blinked, then looked to the shark plush beside him.

“He won it,” Wilbur had this smirk on his face that made Chris want to punch him.

“No-“

“He won it, he’s just embarrassed,” Wilbur interrupted him.

“I’m going to punch you,” Chris grabbed his coat, which just made Wilbur laugh. 

Brandon held up a dog plush “Circe got this one for me. Said ‘it looked just like me.’”

His tired expression said it all. Chris snickered, releasing Wilbur. 

“I lost three times to a fishing game,” Tony looked embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Oh Tony, it’s okay. We still love you,” Wilbur remarked teasingly “Here, have 10 gold. Go get yourself dinner.” 

“I won’t object to pity money,” Tony took the ten gold “I’m going to go get barbecue.”

“Ooh, me too!” Brandon ran ahead, and Tony ran to follow him. 

“I’m going to go get some Alac food, I’ll be back,” Circe jogged off to follow them.

“Oh, you ordered dessert, right?” Chris turned towards Wilbur.

Wilbur offered out the final box. Chris opened it up to find glazed cookie type things. He could smell a faint whiff of ginger. God, he loved ginger treats.

“Wait. Are these ginger treats?” Chris looked up at Wilbur with big eyes.

“I know you like them, so…” Wilbur extended his hand out.

“Oh, you sweetheart,” Chris took one.

Delightfully warm, and it tasted like fluffy gingerbread with vanilla frosting.

“I mean, you got food that I wanted,” Wilbur shrugged, nonchalant.

“We do not deserve you,” Chris laughed, taking another bite.

“You deserve better.”

“Not much better than you, Aleks,” Chris teased, playfully punching his arm. 

Wilbur smiled, a sad look in his eyes. Tony and Brandon returned, Tony with a pulled pork sandwich and fries and Brandon with just straight up brisket and cornbread. Tony started eating, watching Wilbur as he picked at his food.

“Ooh, can I have one?” Brandon peaked over the sweets.

Wilbur handed him one.

“Thanks Wil. Oh- did I tell you about that one time I bit a prison warden?” Brandon held onto Wilbur’s arm

“No, go ahead,” Wilburs definitely heard that one before. 

Chris’ brow furrowed in confusion. Tony, beside him, just finished with his sandwich leaned in.

“He’s too nice for his own good. He’s taking the fall so that we can chat,” Chris caught the humor in his voice.

“About what?” Chris raised a brow.

“The light show starts in five. Wanna go?” Tony held up two tickets.

“Absolutely!” Chris nodded, he finished his last belyash and got up.

Tony stood, offered out an arm that Chris gladly took. They started walking away from their companions while Brandon rambled on to Wilbur.

With the sky significantly darker then when they arrived, the festival became alight with activity. The number of people there nearly doubled, and Tony and Chris had to weave through crowds just to reach the area the light show was happening in.

“Who do you think is doing the show this year?” Chris leaned in as they got seated.

“Rumor says it’s the Princess,” Tony shrugged “but who knows?”

“Not the King?” Chris raised his brows

“Xitri’s ill. Caught the flu from his youngest son,” Tony hummed “but it is precedence that King or King’s heir does it. But it’s likely that Princess Lilith is going to do it since King Xitri and Prince Lucien are both ill. Princess Lauren already rejected the request, and Prince Luke isn’t a magician.”

“Hm. It’s strange that Xitri’s blood daughter isn’t the one inheriting the throne, nor his oldest adopted son,” Chris folded his arms “Especially since Lucien’s supposedly shown more interest in being a royal guard over a member of the royalty.”

Tony shrugged.

The stage lit up with purple light, cascading to pink at the bottom. They jumped towards the middle, where they formed a ball of rotating pink and purple light, before being thrown up into the air and bursting into an image of stars. Princess Lilith stepped up onto the stage, white hair tied up into a half and half ponytail. She raised her hands, and red, orange, and yellow  light shot up from the ground. She guided it around, showing pictures as she did. The creation of Valrena, which happened to coincide with the day that Seraph, the god of light, came back to life. The Rebirth Festival both served as Valrenas Birthday so to speak, and a congratulations to Seraph, for their renewed strength. 

The pictures shifted to important moments throughout Valrenese history. Rhaven inventing the calendar, the Building of Secorlux, The Valsayn Accords, Alacrai’s Revolution, and recently, King Xitri killing his father, allowing Valrena to be free from his tyranny. The crack on the throne from where Xitri stabbed his own father is a surprising popular tourist spot. The reforms, the Wars of Grain, and finally, the Three thousand, two hundred and Eighty fourth anniversary of Valrena’s existence. 

“Wow. Crazy to think what life might’ve been like three thousand years ago,” Chris tapped his chin “Sad, without you in it, I think.”

“I’m not that much, Chris,” Tony shook his head “Just a guy.”

Chris looked up at the clock tower. Fourteen Fifty Three.

“We should probably get back to the agency, Commander Rift wanted us back by One thirty,” Chris commented, standing.

“Fuck. You’re right, let’s go,” Tony groaned, standing up.

He offered an arm out to Tony, which the elf gladly took. They weaved through the crowds back towards the gates of Secorlux. The stars were admittedly easier to see outside of the city, since the bright streetlights no longer proved a hinderance. The Creators Nebula was visible tonight, due to the lack of crowds, as well as their moon. 

“Nice night huh?” Tony looked down at him, head tilted.

“Yeah,” Chris nodded, looking up.

It was a nice night. Exceptionally so.

[riptide-kid]

Domestic December 2023- Day 9 Rory's first Christmas Market

Prompt: A day at the fair. I've taken some liberty with this one, since there are a lot of Christmas Markets around here and I love them!

Pairing: Aurora x Cumulus x Cirrus

Summary: Cirrus and Cumulus take Aurora to her first Christmas market.

Warnings: none

Words: ~500

You can also read this on Ao3!

“I’m sure you’ll love it, you’ll see!” Cumulus had assured.

“No winter without a Christmas market!” Cirrus had added, leaving no room for discussion as they made Aurora get her winter coat and boots, leaving the warmth of the den behind.

This was her first winter topside, and the other ghoulettes were determined to show her as much of the world as they could. Aurora wasn’t sure about this though, hiding her face in the collar of her coat, the wind burning on her cheeks as they walked down to the little town that was closest to the abbey. She buried her gloved hands in her pockets, careful to keep balance on the icy road.

“I can’t wait for the waffles,” Cirrus voice was muffled through the big scarf she was wearing.

“And the mulled wine!” Cumulus added excitingly.

They were getting closer to the little town. Auroras ears perked up under her hood. She could hear a faint music in the distance, and the soft chime of bells, along with some people talking and laughing. As they got closer to the main square, the sounds got a little louder but not unpleasantly so. Until now, the streets had only been illuminated by the occasional streetlamp, some of them not even working in this remote part of the land, but the closer they got to the music and voices, the closer they got to a warm, soft light.

Only a few more steps, and they were right in the middle of it. It was a lot to take in. There were stalls selling mulled wine and hot chocolate, waffles and candied almonds, hot chestnuts and of course every variety of Christmas cookies and cakes. Other stalls were selling handmade wreaths or cards, little wooden figures and decorations. Aurora turned around herself trying to take everything in. Thankfully, the place wasn’t too crowded, it was just the right amount of people to make it feel cozy and warm.

She stopped as her eyes landed on the huge tree, that was placed in the middle of the square. The twigs were dusted with snow, and it was decorated with red, blue, green and yellow lights, that reflected in Aurora’s eyes.

Cirrus softly tipped her shoulder, “are you alright?” she smiled at the smaller ghoulette.

Aurora nodded, “it’s beautiful!” she said.

Cirrus grinned “Told you!”

Cumulus returned, three steaming cups in her hands, passing one to each of her friends. “Careful, it’s super hot!” she warned, as Aurora took the cup into her hands and held it close to her face, the warmth seeping through her gloves.

She carefully put the cup to her lips, taking a small sip. She had never tasted anything like it before, the flavours of orange and cinnamon and other spices she didn’t even know the name of dancing across her tongue, making her feel all warm inside. “This is amazing!” she announced, and noticed Cumulus and Cirrus already smiling widely at her, as they had awaited her reaction. They watched her eyes lit up and she took another sip. Somehow, her childlike wonder about the things she was experiencing for the first time, made them appreciate them a lot more again.

“Aren’t you glad you came with us?” Cumulus teased, and Aurora nodded furiously.

Cirrus laughed. “Now.. Who’s ready for waffles?”

[fashionablyfyrdraaca]

Eleanora with 🎂 for the scene post?

Thank you so much for sending one in, Blue!! I posted it here on ao3 with a G-Rating if you would rather read it there. 1,043 words!

Vellumis is a city of sailors and adventurers. They haven’t been in Lastwall long, only arriving just in time for First Crusader Day. The white walls of the houses are lined with streamers and the roadway covered in brightly coloured confetti. People mill around merchant stalls, hands hovering over gifts and delicious treats for loved ones stuck at home. Crusaders in a myriad of armors are hailed and saluted. Her father’s hand around hers is callused, but warm. 

Eleonora is six years old, small and frail. She watches her father’s face through narrowed eyes. While the sun stings her skin and hurts her eyes, it seems to do him no harm. His face is creased with age and stubble marks his square jaw. Unlike Eleonora’s long blonde curls, her father’s hair is a mop of black. His skin is a weatherbeaten white and hers a dark, smooth gray.  If it wasn’t for the same brown eyes, one might wonder if they were related at all. 

Her pack weighs down her back. She starts to slow, feet shuffling against the dirt of the road. Her father stops and turns to look down at her. 

“Getting tired, Ellie?”

Shrugging, Eleonora avoids his gaze. They have been traveling for days now and her body aches. She hasn’t fed in a week and her fangs sit uncomfortably in her mouth. 

“‘Tis alright. Let us find an inn,” He reaches down and tousles her hair. “Mayhap I can earn us some copper at one.”

A pathfinder gives them direction to one of the more popular establishments. With the crowds it takes them a while to arrive and the sun is starting to set once they find themselves at the worn doorstep of the inn. Her father leads her in, his hand again holding her own. The inside of the inn is rowdy and full of the scent of spices and sweat from the road. A variety of races sit at the long tables filling the hall. 

Her father approaches the innkeeper, speaking to them in hushed tones. The innkeeper takes one look at Eleonora and shakes his head, pointing toward the door. The next innkeeper doesn’t even allow them into the building, slamming the door in their face. 

“She will not bite,” her father pleads with another innkeeper who barely hides the distaste on their face from Eleonora.

Once the innkeeper rejects them, her father leads her to a side street. He sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. The sun is starting to set and the crowds are starting to disperse. She sits down, resting on her knees with her skirts fanned out in front of her. Her cheeks flush with shame. She might not understand exactly why they keep being refused, but she can see the shadows under her father’s eyes and hear the exhaustion in his voice when he assures her that they will be okay. 

Eventually her father rests himself against the wall of one of the closed shops and pulls his fiddle from its case which he places at his feet. She watches him with raised eyebrows as he sets the fiddle to his chin and readies his bow. He gingerly pulls his bow across the fiddle, testing its sound. Slowly, tenderly like holding a lover, he starts to play. The fiddle keens and wails a song of sorrow and regret. People stop to watch. Sweat beads on her father’s brow and a wildfire burns in his eye. His arm flies as he picks up the pace. 

Slowly Eleanora joins in as he has taught her, playing the strong words of the Hallit language on her tongue like a chocolate. The people of Vellumis clap and stomp their feet in time with the song’s rhythm. Her heart beats fast and her hands shake. The shaking irritates her, so she grips the hem of her skirts tightly. A copper coin is thrown into her father’s fiddle case. A few more join it with a clink. 

As the song slows down Eleonora dares a glance at the fiddle case. Inside it glitters two golden coins. Her heart skips a beat when she sees them. Perhaps father will be happy now. 

“You did well, my little bat,” her father says as the crowd disperses. He then reaches down to collect the coins, examining each one for any sign of fraud. A small smile quirks his lips. 

“No innkeeper will say no to this!”

The two golden coins shine between his fingers as he holds them toward her. Eleonora smiles widely, her fangs showing prominently. Then her father takes her hand again and starts leading her onto the main street of Vellumis. She stumbles with exhaustion, but follows dutifully. 

Those two twinkling coins gain them entry to a humble inn far from the docks. Few people sit at the tables and even less are resting already in the communal sleeping area. Her father sets their packs by the foot of the straw mattress they had selected. With both hands Eleonora pulls herself onto the mattress and sits down cross-legged, watching her father put their things away. Out of his own bag he pulls something that catches her eye. 

Two small wooden dolls look fragile in her father’s hands. He holds them up for her inspection with a toothy smile. The one in his left hand is painted in hues of gray emulating a crusader’s armor. Small pigeon feathers are affixed into the back of the doll, emulating an aasimar’s wings. The other resembles a lady or a princess, flaxen hair affixed to the doll’s head. Bright red pigment marked a full smile on its face. A rough cloth is wrapped around the doll as if it was a dress. With a bright smile Eleonora takes the dolls into her own hands, looking them over.

“Papa! Are these for me?”

He laughs and nods, “Only one little bat follows me everywhere!”

“Thank you, Papa,” Eleonora says with a squeal of delight. She hops off the bed and swings her body in a circle, hands high in the air with the dolls held tightly. 

“Happy birthday, Ellie.”

She beams at her father, bringing the dolls tight to her chest. It was a good thing to not be forgotten. 

[antochios]

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

2.1K ⸺ a moment of clarity brings you back to your fiancé, flour-dusted and waiting, and somehow, amid the remnants of your champagne problems, you find hope stirring in the winter air

‎PAIRING! fiancé!park sunghoon x female reader

GENRES! fluff, angst, established relationship, hurt/comfort

WARNINGS! mentions of emotionally absent parents, brief mention of food, the reader struggles with overcoming childhood fears, i think that’s it lmk if i missed anything

Park Sunghoon was like snow, a silent beauty in the unforgiving frigid season of winter. He was the joy of building snowmen, the thrill of snowball fights, and the wonder of making snow angels. He was the delicate touch of snowflakes melting on your skin, the serene hush of snowfall blanketing the world. He was the sweetness of gingerbread cookies and the warmth of hot cocoa brimming with marshmallows. He was the comfort of a flickering fireplace, the softness of a fuzzy blanket wrapped tightly around you, the subtle perfume of winter spices from a burning candle.

Park Sunghoon was like snow—pure, ethereal, and timeless. He shone like the star atop a Christmas tree, his presence brought the excitement of a gift waiting to be unwrapped. He was the nostalgia of holiday movies you’ve seen a hundred times, yet never grew tired of.

Park Sunghoon was winter’s magic, a special spirit that blessed the earth in all its glory.

So why did you feel the biting cold?

It was exactly a year ago on Christmas Eve, and his proposal was perfect. The snow-covered gazebo twinkled with string lights, the crisp air carried the scent of pine, and a soft melody of carolers drifted from the town square. His hand, trembling but steady, had pulled a blue velvet box from his coat pocket. He smiled, warm and sure, as if he already knew your answer.

“Will you marry me?” he’d asked. The four simple words spoken in the kind of voice that could thaw an endless winter.

Your heart swelled, your hands shook, and you whispered a quiet “yes.” But later that night, as you laid in bed staring at the ceiling while the world outside froze over, doubt crept in like frost spreading across a windowpane.

Your mother’s voice rang in your ears, in weary resignation. You remembered how she used to sit by the window in the afternoons, staring out at a world she never felt part of anymore. “I gave up everything,” she had said once. “For my kids. For my husband. And look where it got me.”

The memory tightened around your chest like a vice. Sunghoon wasn’t like your father—he wasn’t distant, distracted, or cold. He was attentive, affectionate, and endlessly patient. But still, what if? What if marrying him meant losing yourself, too? What if everything started out great and then slowly got worse just like it did for your parents?

“Talk to me,” he said one evening, his voice soft but firm as he pulled you from the kitchen where you’d been stirring a pot of soup you didn't intend to eat. The engagement ring on your finger catches the light, a reminder of the promise you made but aren’t sure you can keep.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You’re lying.” His hands gently rest on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing reassuring circles. “You’ve been somewhere else since last Christmas Eve.”

You paused for a moment, caught off guard. You had almost forgotten how good he was at psychologizing you in the midst of your internal battle. But you lie again—because it's what comes most naturally to you when someone asks if you're okay.

“It’s nothing. I’m just stressed.”

“It’s not nothing. I can see it on your face. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

His persistence feels like sunlight breaking through clouds, but you’re not ready to let the warmth in. You pull away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if shielding your heart from his. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this. What if I end up like my mom? What if I lose myself in this, Sunghoon?”

The words hang in the air like smoke, and for a moment, his expression cracks—hurt flickering across his features like a candle about to go out. But then he steps closer, his voice steady, gentle. “You’re not your mom. And I’m not your dad. Your mom had dreams, ambitions—things she was passionate about just like you. But the difference is you found someone who loves that about you. I would never ask you to give any of that up.”

“But what if I do anyway?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “What if I forget who I am because I love you too much?”

“Then I’ll remind you,” he said simply. “Every day, if I have to.”

His words chipped away at the icy wall you had built around yourself, but fear is a stubborn thing, clinging even as warmth seeps in.

You suppose that's why you're sitting on a couch, staring at the framed watercolor painting on the wall—something abstract, meant to be calming, but to you, it’s just a swirl of indistinct shapes. Your hands fidget with the hem of your knit sweater as the snow-laden world outside the window reflects your mood: quiet, heavy, and cold.

“Y/N?”

The sound of your name pulls you back. Your therapist, Dr. Hart, leans forward slightly, her pen poised over her notepad. Her voice is soft, patient. “What’s on your mind?”

You blink, feeling the heat of her steady gaze. “Oh, um…” You hesitate, glancing down at your hands. “Nothing, really. Just lost in thought.”

Dr. Hart tilts her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Nothing’s rarely ever nothing. Take your time.”

For a moment, the room feels too small, too quiet, but you exhale and decide to speak. “Sunghoon,” you admit softly.

“Your fiancé?”

You nod, feeling a pang in your chest as the word settles between you. Fiancé. It’s supposed to feel joyful, exciting, but lately, it’s felt complicated.

“I love him,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really do. He’s kind, supportive, and everything I could ever ask for in a man. But ever since he proposed, I’ve been… scared?”

Dr. Hart doesn’t interrupt, her expression open and encouraging.

“I keep thinking about my parents,” you continue. “My mom gave up everything to be with my dad. She stopped working, stayed home to raise me and my siblings, and over time, she just… lost herself. She used to love winning lawsuits for her clients, but eventually, all she did was clean and cook and wait for him to come home. She became so bitter, and my dad barely noticed. I don’t want that to happen to me. I don’t want to lose myself like she did.”

“And you’re afraid marrying Sunghoon will put you on the same path,” Dr. Hart says, her voice gentle.

You nod, your throat tightening. “I know Sunghoon isn’t my dad. He’s nothing like him. But what if I am like my mom? What if, without meaning to, I give up who I am because I love him too much?”

Dr. Hart lets the silence linger for a moment before speaking. “It sounds like you’ve built a wall around yourself, trying to protect your identity and your independence. And that’s not a bad thing—those parts of you are important. But Y/N, have you ever asked yourself this: is Sunghoon asking you to give those parts up?”

You blink, her question catching you off guard, and you're reminded of your conversation with him a few days ago when he pulled you out of the kitchen. “No,” you admit quietly. “He’s always encouraging me to do what I love. And reminding me to take breaks when I get too wrapped up in work.”

Dr. Hart nods thoughtfully. “It seems to me that the fear you’re holding onto doesn’t come from Sunghoon. It comes from your past—from what you saw in your parents’ relationship. You’ve taken that fear and made it your own, but it doesn’t have to be. You are not your mother, and Sunghoon is not your father. Their story is not yours.”

Her words land like a stone sinking into water, rippling through your thoughts.

“But what if I still mess it up?” you ask, your voice small. “What if I get it wrong?”

Dr. Hart smiles gently. “Every relationship takes work, compromise, and communication. But the fact that you’re here, reflecting on your fears, tells me you care deeply about doing this right. Sunghoon sounds like someone who sees you for who you are and loves you as you are. Maybe the question isn’t about whether you’ll lose yourself but whether you’ll allow yourself to trust you—and him.”

The knot in your chest loosens, her words settling like fresh snow over the chaos in your mind.

“Trust him,” you echo softly, more to yourself than to her.

Dr. Hart nods. “And trust yourself. You are not defined by your parents’ choices. You have the power to create the future you desire.”

For the first time in a year, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter. You leave the session feeling like the frost in your heart is starting to melt, warmed by the realization that maybe, just maybe, you can be brave enough to trust in the love you’ve found—and the person you’ve grown to be.

The smell hits you first—something warm and sweet, mingling with the faintest hint of something burning. You push open the front door, stepping into the glow of the tiny Christmas tree you and Sunghoon had decorated last week. Lights twinkle softly, casting shadows that dance on the walls, but it’s the sound of soft muttering coming from the kitchen that makes you smile.

When you round the corner, you stop in your tracks.

Sunghoon is standing by the counter, dusted in flour from his hair to his slippers, poking at a tray of slightly misshapen cookies. He’s wearing the most outrageously festive apron you’ve ever seen—bright red with cartoon reindeer and candy canes, a pair of oven mittens that look like Santa’s hands resting on the counter. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he lifts one cookie with a spatula, only for it to crumble in half.

“Oh, come on,” he grumbles under his breath, shaking his head.

You press a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh, but the sound escapes anyway, and his head snaps up.

“You’re home,” he says, his eyes lighting up despite the flour smudged on his cheek. “Uh, surprise?”

“What are you doing?” you ask, stepping closer.

He shrugs sheepishly, glancing at the mess on the counter. “I thought I’d try making your favorite holiday cookies. You know, the ones your mom always made? I figured it might cheer you up.” He winces as he looks at the tray. “But, uh, they didn’t turn out as planned. I think I overdid the ginger or probably everything.”

Your chest tightens, but not with anxiety this time. It’s the kind of warmth that spreads slowly, filling the cracks you’ve been carrying.

You see it then, as clear as the frost on the windowpane: you are not your mother, and Sunghoon is not your father.

Your mother gave up everything, but you won’t. You’ve built a life filled with love, with purpose, with someone who sees you for who you are and encourages you to be more. Sunghoon doesn’t take from you—he gives.

The thought warms you like a fire on a cold winter night.

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, your voice catching.

He frowns, stepping toward you. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at therapy?”

You shake your head, and before he can say anything else, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He freezes for a moment, surprised, then melts into the hug, his arms slipping around your waist.

“I love you,” you murmur into his shoulder. “And I'm sorry for being so distant, for letting my fears get in the way. You’ve been so patient with me, and I should’ve trusted you more. Trusted myself more. I should’ve trusted us more.”

“I love you, Sunghoon, and I want to marry you.” You say, the words spilling out like a confession. “I just needed time to remember that I’m not her. And you’re not him.”

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, his touch gentle. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. “I know you’ve been through a lot. I just wanted to remind you that I’m here, no matter what.”

You pull back slightly to look at him, tears pricking your eyes. “We’re gonna be okay, right?” you ask, your voice trembling.

His gaze is steady, warm, as he cups your cheek with his flour-dusted hand. “We’re gonna be more than okay. You’re not her, Y/N. You’re you—stubborn in all the best ways.” His lips quirk into a small smile. “And you’re stuck with me, reindeer apron and all.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, light and free. “You look ridiculous by the way,” you say, brushing a smudge of flour from his cheek.

“Ridiculously handsome,” he counters with a grin.

You roll your eyes but lean in to kiss him, a silent promise in the way your lips meet. Outside, snow falls softly, blanketing the world in a quiet peace. And in his arms, you finally feel warm.

© 2024 hoonven, all rights reserved. i do not give permission to modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize my works on any platform. NETWORK! @kstrucknet

[socaprince]

SOCA THERAPY - AUGUST 11, 2024

Soca Therapy Playlist

Sunday August 11th 2024

Making You Wine From 6-9pm on Flow 98.7fm Toronto

Engine Room (Dr. Jay Plate) - Olatunji

Calypso (Jus Now Road Mix) - GBM Nutron

Gyal Season - GBM Nutron & Jaigá

Doh Rough Meh - Patrice Roberts

Wining Champion - Preedy

Drop It Down - Machel Montano

S.O.C.A. (Soul Of Calypso) - Isaac Blackman

Endless Vibration (Muv Short Edit) - Marge Blackman x Nailah Blackman

Good Medicine - Jaiga

Search Party - Preedy

Life After Fete - Kerwin Du Bois

Everytime - Nadia Batson

Rum & Soca - Destra

Cool It Down - Destra

Sprung - Jimmy October x Mical Teja

Wassy - Full Blown

Banga - Kes

When Last (Remix) - GBM Nutron x Jus Jay x Grateful Co

Night & Day - Th3rd x JMTB

Brain Freeze - Leadpipe x Jus-Jay

Brain Freeze (Scratch Master Mashup) - Leadpipe x Jus-Jay

By De Bar - Godfathers Asylum

We Still Here - Treason

Get Ready To Wine - Alison Hinds x Elephant Man x Peter Ram

Cock Back And Roll - Machel Montano

Wine Down - Traffik feat Shurwayne Winchester

Long Time - Edwin Yearwood

Have A Little Wine - Lil Rick

Wine And Bend Over - Ghetto Flex x Denise Belfon

Aye Aye Aye - Square One

Electricity - Square One

Ride It - Technic Band

Ouch - Prince Unique

Tombstone - Mandella Linkz

Welcome To Spice Mas - V'ghn

Sweet Home - Boyzie

TOP 7 COUNTDOWN - Powered By The Soca Source

Top Soca Streamed on Apple Music (All Genres) in Grenada Compiled on August 11th

7. Addicted - Jab King x Travis World

6. The Moment - Muddy

5. 473 - Soca ET

4. Controversy - Muddy

3. Road Revenge - Khalifah

2. The Tape - Dash

1. Ivy - Terra D Governor

Black Power - Terra D Governor

Diagnosis - Runi Jay

Conch Shell (DJ Dylan, Madness M.U.V & Kubiyashi Carnival Mix) - Skinny Fabulous x Machel Montano x Iwer George

Winin' Freestyle - Hypa 4000

Bam Bam (Road Mix) - Lil Rick

Pampalam - Faith Callender

Starta Pack - Tionne Hernandez

Cooking Good - Problem Child

Safe Space - Rae x Fryktion

Anxiety - Patrice Roberts

Higher Than High - Machel Montano HD

Fly - Destra

Steel Band Power - Burning Flames

Carnival - Dawg E. Slaughter

Big Bottom Gal - Imij & Company feat Russell Cadogan

Mona Lisa (Almost Live Road Mix) - Chinese Laundry

PAN MOMENTS

Curry Tabanca - Neal and Massy Trinidad All Stars

TANTY TUNE

(1985) Pan In Danger - Merchant

Roti & Dhalpouri - Sugar Aloes

Golo - Second Imij

Dis Is How - Crazy

Put Your Hand On Your Head (And Wine) - Sound Rev feat Derrick Seales

Work - Denise Belfon

Music All Night - Caribbean Traffik Jam feat Steve Sealy

Debra - The Mighty Gabby

Surrender - Atlantik feat Tony Prescott

Oh Suzanna - Atlantik feat Peter C. Lewis

Madness - Inspector

Wine and Bend Over - Shal Marshall

Come Beta - Destra x Shurwayne

Omalay - Super Blue x Ravi B x Maha Productions x Chinese Laundry

Do Like That - Lyrikal

Up & Up - Skinny Fabulous

Fatt - Nadia Batson

Bam Bam Season - Nailah Blackman

NORTHERN PRESCRIPTION

Sweet Soca - Elvin Belfon

Soca People - Russ x Shal Marshall

Soca Global - Erphaan Alves

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