#glad i remembered that before i took it out of the oven

[mistytpednaem]

wow!!! that was a year

as I begin to write this post I'm not even sure if I'm going to post it, lmao. I guess it depends on how much of a bummer it turns into. and if it helps me sort out some thoughts, then it won't have been a complete waste of time.

waste, huh...

on one hand, I don't... reaaaally?? want to talk about what's been going on in my life? but on the other hand, there's a part of me that's like "wow, Naem, that makes it sound like you've been struggling with some serious shit, which is straight up not true, do you just want people to feel sorry for you?" and then on the third mutant hand (I have a lot of those, it turns out) there is a different part of me that does acknowledge the way this other section of my brain jumps straight to accusatory self-flagellation is something many people do not, in fact, struggle with

I've been doing remote therapy this year! it's alright. my therapist has some wild ass takes from time to time, and it is perhaps one of my most substantial monthly expenses (note: yes I still live with my parents so, you know, I don't pay rent), but she IS insightful and a good professional so like. I feel, on the whole, it's working out well for me. a-aside from the part where I still can't seem to love myself consistently but unfortunately I don't think anybody else can fix that for me. I just... have to keep working on it.

speaking of therapy, maybe I should tell her in the next session "hey, cool new year, uhhh I keep finding myself thinking it isn't worth getting excited or feeling hopeful for anything because as time goes on there will only be more and more things to be sad about, because everything is finite and loss is a constant, and it's kind of bumming me out?" maybe I should. honestly, that was the thought this post was going to center around initially, but I've found other things to talk about, thankfully.

ah man. heck. I JUST narrowed down the exact thing motivating this post. "the dread I feel when i see everyone on social media post about their Year In Review." so much of this is about the unrelenting passage of time.

not everything is a huge bummer. experienced some good-ass media this year. Hi-FI Rush was really cool, Midnight Mass was so good it got me to watch it three times in spite of how bad I am with horror, Across the Spiderverse was as good as everyone said - speaking of Spider-Man, I think I've come to terms with adopting Curt Connors as a blorbo, which has nothing to do with Spiderverse but is, perhaps, a baby step in the direction of Accepting The Trash I Like. excited for more Jojolands. Jujutsu Kaisen S2 was really fucking good, so much so that I'm afraid no future arcs will grip me the same way. oh yeah, I got really into Will Wood this year, which is a bit embarrassing because his fanbase seems to be composed primarily of teenagers, but hey. sort of circling back around to me needing to accept what I like, I guess.

I've been taking other baby steps, namely towards Drawing More Often. I... have, right?? I know I haven't posted everything I drew, but it was definitely more than, say, two years ago. which is nice. hope I can keep that up or, even better, Do It Harder.

I don't have a habit of making New Year's Resolutions. I do have a couple of wishes, but I'm frankly not sure if they're anything I can control. Financial stability? Well, there are certainly efforts I can make in that direction, as much as I hate even looking at LinkedIn. To stop finding myself trapped in the middle of interpersonal conflict that I care about too much even when it doesn't directly concern me, resulting in weeks of heightened anxiety at a minimum? I think if it were within my power to stop that, I would have already done it, but uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

ah man. I should have found a nicer note to end this on. ummm.

I deeply appreciate all of my friends, not only for being generally rad people but also for seeing nice things in me when I can't. This goes quadruple for my girlfriend, who manages to do all that while also struggling with brains that are very mean and unfair to her.

I feel like I said this last year, but I hope I can learn to depend on you all a little less going forward. Not in a "get out of my life you LOSERS" kind of way, but in a "thanks for the support, here, I can stand on my own two feet, so don't worry about lending me another one" kind of way.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, slave darling, crude and derogatory terms, classism, abuse of power, death threats

fem reader

Thinking about the poor kitchen maid who's suddenly told she's to be the spoiled Prince's new chambermaid.

It hasn’t even gone a day yet, but you already miss your job in the kitchens.

Sure, the sweltering heat of the ovens always left you in a state of fever, and kneading dough from dawn ‘til dusk made your arms acidic with burns – unyieldingly sore – not to mention never getting a chance to sit down and rest before collapsing in bed at the end of the day. But the smell of freshly baked buns and the chance to sneak a bite out of those that came out of the oven just a bit too burnt for serving had always felt like payment enough.

That and not having to deal with the royal family.

You know you should feel honored. You know it’s supposed to feel godsend to be picked to become the Prince’s personal servant. But… there was a reason he so often required a change of maid.

You still remember the last one they’d taken from the kitchen. She was pretty and young and shouldn’t have been working there in the first place – that’s what everyone used to say before she disappeared.

You wonder if such words carry curses… and what you did to deserve the same things being said about you.

You nearly cried standing outside The Prince’s chambers, chewing on your lip with his breakfast tray in hand, wondering what rumors were true – if he really was as terrible as everyone claims – wondering where the other kitchen maid went and whether you’d end up in the same place… wondering what you could do to keep it from happening.

You don’t know what you were standing there waiting for, nearly pissing yourself when you knew he was still out – busy hunting down a couple of runaway servants for sport. It was almost as though you feared the room itself, as though it would bite once crossing the threshold. 

None of the sorts happened, though a gust of warm wind hit you like the breath of a beast once you opened the door.

Inside, there were around a dozen heads mounted on the wall – dragons, bears, lions, wolves, and other creatures you weren’t too sure of – all with mouths big enough to bite yours off.

You took only a second to look at them before they looked as though they’d leap from the walls and eat you alive, just like you’d predicted.

You set the tray of food down on the bedside table and walked to the bathroom to draw his bath – deciding work would keep your mind off it.

Stepping out a second later, you fixed a fire in the hearth and made to make the bed, stretching the duvet and the quilt over the massive mattress while eyeing the thread count with envy and the hand-stitching with awe. Left to wonder how many ducks had been shot to stuff the mountain of plush pillows he’d all but thrown onto the floor to make space for himself.

Walking through the steam to the bath again, you opened the cupboard to pick out soaps and oils – overwhelmed by the sight of every shelf stocked full of all sorts you’d never seen – glad you had somewhat decent reading skills – unlike many of the other maids.

Soaping the water, you sat on the edge and waited with a hand wading through the warmth – and while biting your lip, you let your mind wander again – daydream, like it so often did – imagining what it would be like to feel it on the rest of your skin, warm and smooth, sucking all the stress out and leaving you soft like a newborn.

He watched you enjoy yourself, his stark eyes calmly assessing what they saw with a tilt of his head – trailing from the tip of your worn-out shoes to the tattered edge of your grey maid’s dress, up your lap to the cinch of your waist where your white apron was bound – taking his time until your eyes fluttered open to find him standing there.

You nearly fell into the water, hopping up to a stance. “Sorry, your majesty- I forgot myself! Please forgive me.” You bowed, looking down at the muddy stains on your gray shoes – in anxious wait of his wrath.

But instead of a backhanded slap that would send you straight to the stone floor or a spit of venom which would make you flinch and cry, he spoke a calm and patient “Come here-”

Though spoken in a certain tone of authority that forced you forward in quick steps until stopping just short of him – still with eyes downcast.

“Mh, I'm glad they haven't run out of cute ones down there.” He said then, once you stood only a hair's length from him – voice just as calm as before and inspiring just as much surprise in you still, though now joined with visible confusion in the crinkle it caused between your brows. A furrow that only deepened once he reached out his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Your majesty?” You questioned.

“It’s master.” He corrected sharply, and you grew unsure if his voice wasn’t just cold rather than calm. “I like that better. Now quit wasting my time and undress me, slave – I have important shit to attend to today.”

You wavered only a second, feeling the words like a flick to the forehead. “Of course, your majes- master. Forgive me.” You blurted with hands quickly jumping forth to help detangle the knots keeping his robes together. 

Small fingers working hurriedly to appease him, setting aside the light leather cuirass upon his dresser once loosening it from his torso – wondering if you should tell him your name, though thinking better of it as he’d opted for simply referring to you as a slave instead of asking. 

You hadn’t been called that in a long while – slave – never by anyone in the kitchen, at least. You’d nearly forgotten it was what you were – a slave – and not just a busy member of the crown’s staff.

You bit your lip with another bow of your head, not wanting the Prince to see your face in its hurt while you undid the ties to the braces on his arms. The castle had become your home rather than a prison over the years, but… with the echo of your title wringing in that very heavy tone of his, along with standing there – bowing your head while undressing him of all fine body armor and robes – you couldn’t suppress the reminder of being of much lesser blood and birth. A fact that – despite never before having bothered you much – somehow seemed to strangle you now.

He’d dragged mud in with his boots – and given he’d not bothered taking them off, you were left to believe he wanted you to do it for him. And though humiliating as it was, you crouched down and began undoing the laces nonetheless – further feeling degraded while caressing the boot.

You pulled it off and repeated the action with the other foot – wondering if he meant you to remove his breeches and tunic as well until he, fortunately for you, lifted the shirt off and pulled the strings to the trousers himself. Leaving the undergarments in a pool on the floor next to you.

You kept your eyes down until he was completely submerged in the water, afraid to see something you weren’t allowed to – before getting up and padding back to the cupboard. You'd never been any lady's or lord's maid before, but you had been trained in the duties – and though heat rose to your cheeks at the thought of those duties, you still made to grab the soap and loofa in shakey hands before kneeling down on the stool next to the tub.

You’d never seen the prince if not from afar atop the castle balcony during speeches by his mother, the Queen – and had only ever heard of his appearance as something twisted and foul – but looking at him with his eyes closed, he really didn’t look as demonic as people had made him out to be. But further thinking about it, scrubbing his chest with soap and water and oil – you realized that none of those people were likely to have seen him up close either.

He looks every bit royal with his strength of face – cutting edges as though carved in marble, with chiseled muscles gleaming in the water and oil.

He was no doubt very handsome, you concluded silently – finally understanding why he was more of an eligible prince than what his attitude would otherwise allow – that, along with the kingdom’s riches, of course.

He sagged forward while you mindlessly amused your findings – though paying attention enough to take the cue – squeezing water onto his back with the sponge before rubbing over the broad flex of muscles, freezing once hearing him let out a heavy moan.

He leaned back again after you were done. Spilling water onto your dress once pulling his arms out to rest on the frame with a sigh – his chin tipped upward, lounging lazily on the back of the tub.

You reached for his face next – now with a silken cloth – stroking it lightly over the few droplets of blood splattered from when he must have cut into those poor runaways after hunting them down with swords and dogs in heel.

You shuddered some at the thought and must have let your eyes linger too long – or at least long enough not to notice him opening his – staring at you silently with eyes jaded in something that seemed to seize you by the throat.

“I’m sorry, ma-” You tried, but he seemed disinterested in it, reaching for you with wet fingers rubbing on the hem of your collar.

“You’re not dressed properly.” He said then, voice lazy yet loud – unimpressed, though not enough to be outright angry.

Gulping at the feel of his large hand so close to your neck, your voice only barely held it together. “I’m sorry, master. They hadn’t the right maid livery in my size, but I’ll have it ready tomo-” You started, hands folded neatly on your lap.

“Take it off.” He interrupted.

You blinked – tensing with your throat closing – sitting there stunned for a moment before mustering an ever so hesitant answer.

“Your majesty?”

“It’s master. Don’t make me tell you again, slave." He growled through grit teeth right at your face after yanking you close by the fabric of your shirt. "And you either dress properly, or you go naked. And right now, it looks like it’ll be the latter. Unless you want to be whipped for poor servitude?”

Your eyes – moon-big now while you shook your head – breathing thin through your nose. “No, master... I’ll undress.”

“Good.” He broke off your collar, dropping you back down onto your seat on the floor before rising with water rushing fast and heavy down along his limbs, dripping onto you as he stepped out with an unfettered splash.

You got up as well, beginning with the buttons on your shirt. Feeling him eye you while he wrapped himself in the towel you’d laid ready for him – his burning gaze leaving you goosefleshed and nearly in tears, bashful as you stepped out of your skirt – naked before him.

You didn’t dare look – even as he stepped toward you. Keeping your head bowed low – breath in shivers while eyeing the hand he reached for you, his fingers stopping just short of touching your bare skin.

“Clean yourself.” He said then, wafting the same hand to the tub he’d just used. Still filled with bubbles of lavender, though no doubt also of his own grime. But you wouldn’t refuse, no matter the degradation – your thoughts still lingering on the former kitchenmaid who’d disappeared not long after becoming the Prince's personal servant.

You stepped in, feeling the warmth close around your legs – still hot enough to prickle. Lowering yourself down, you sat there – swallowed by the bubbles with the loofa in hand, lathering your flesh with the mix of oil, soap, and water – brushing off soot and sweat – leaving you soft-skinned and smooth to the touch, but also riddled with goosebumps that wouldn't lower under the heavy leer the Prince was giving you.

“Get out and come here.” He said a short moment later, and you got out as told – taking slow steps toward the man, with footprints leaving soapy puddles in their wake.

He reached behind you to pull the pin from your worker's bun, letting your hair cascade in flowy wisps down around your shoulders – before brushing them behind you to clear your face and chest.

He’d dried off but didn’t offer you the towel – having dropped it into a wet pile on the floor – now reaching out to feel the smooth gloss of your breasts with brazen digits. Inspecting and assessing while caressing their weight as you stood there with your head still hung down low – silent and shivering.

Soon his hands fell from your chest down to judge your every curve, sliding over slippery slopes until reaching your cunt – stroking two thick fingers through the drippy curls found there. Gliding them between the lips, he circled your clit with his middle digit – tickling you – while dark eyes watched your lip quiver with a power-hungry gleam.

Stepping closer, the small smirk stretched on his face brushed your hairline where you tried bowing your head even lower in embarrassment – with brows tremoring similar to the hands hanging loosely by your sides.

“Aren’t you gonna bleat like a little lamb? Hmm... slave?” He asked then – low in a whisper, blowing gently into the sweat of your hair – cold enough to make you shiver even more. “The slut before you did….” He added with his smirk sharpening – lips stiffening against your skin where he brushed them in halfhearted kisses down your forehead and temple until reaching the shell of your ear. “I had to wring her little neck just to make her stop squealing.”

You sucked your teeth on impulse, jolting just a bit but not enough to make the dire mistake of moving. 

“I can tell you’re smarter. That’s good….” He continued with fingers kept at your cunt – playing your shivering core where you stood planted – dripping wet with bathwater and terrified of moving. “Weak little things like you do better understanding their place.”

Your hands formed loose fists, flinching at your sides as you kept from the urge to wring your thighs shut until he left your sensitivity alone.

“But smart or not, I believe you missed a spot earlier-” Both his hands found your hair instead. “So get down on your knees, slave.” 

One paw cupped the back of your skull in a ponytail while the other laid flat on your scalp, pushing you down until he had you leveled with his throbbing manhood – thick and high-strung – blushed red and strangled with veins – bobbing with might against the ant trail leading up to his navel and looking every bit impatient to be served. 

“Use this pretty head of yours to do better, and maybe I won't have to wring your little neck too.”

You eyed the swaying length with eyes crossing – sucking your lip at its intimidating reach and how it seemed to rise higher than your head – mumbling out a weak. “Yes, master...”

You dropped your jaw and produced your tongue – feeling him keep control of your head in his tightening hold, yanking your hair before you gave the large cock a flat lick – starting at the base of his balls until flicking off at the very tip.

Not too revolted by the mild taste of lavender and vegetable oil, you locked your lips around the head and sucked it in hopes he’d ease his grip.

“Sh-fuuhck- you really do know your place, huh slave?” He mouthed – his head hanging back in a heavy groan – holding your skull in both hands while using them to bob you against his crotch on repeat, lolling his hips inside the wet warm comfort of your mouth a little deeper for each time – only moaning with a laugh once you gave a whine for breath. “Sweet and obedient- just how I like- with a nice wet throat to fuck too….”

He thought of kicking you when you put your small hands against his thighs to brace yourself – but given how softly you held them there without nails and pinches, he decided he’d grant you the tiny mercy – thinking he’d later teach you to keep your hands on your knees when serving him head like a proper slave ought to.

Tipping his head back again, he looked down at you and the pretty curl between your brows and the cute sight of your teary eyes looking back up at him – giving a hiss at how it made his balls tug in excitement.

“Get up-” He growled, pulling you up by your hair and throat until you shoddily stood upright on unsteady feet – lightheadedly looking at him with dazed eyes and a wet pout. “’This tight cunt as loyal to the crown as your mouth, hm?” He asked with a hand smacking the soft place, making you yelp before he made to bury two of his thick fingers inside the taunt space.

You whined out softly at the intrusion – kept steady and close by the fist holding your throat in a choke – before he used the same hand to throw you over the bed – stomach first with a slap to your ass.

“Bow down, slave- and show me some fucking respect. You’re in the presence of royalty, remember?”

He mounted you with a pent-up groan – and a strong fist in your hair, pushing your face down into the mount of pillows you’d dallied with earlier. His knees dipped into the plush next to your hips, locking you beneath him with his spit-slickened meat resting between the soft valley of your ass, sliding between the cheeks impatiently.

Gathering your wrists in his other fist, he kept them crossed at the small of your spine – before pulling back and letting his cockhead fall right to your sweetly wet and welcoming opening – wasting little time in piercing it nice and deep in a direct aim – like an arrow shot straight through a target.

You winced and bucked your hips at the attack – feeling your walls weep and sting – fluttering hot around the size of it.

He leaned across your back – heavy against your shoulders with his mouth at your ear in gritty whispers. “I like docile slave girls like you who know a thing or two about pleasing a man. Good submissive sluts who understand they’re nothing but warm soft meat for men like me to devour.” 

His words groaned in nibbling bites on your earlobe – with a hand kept strict and harsh in yanking your head back for him as he slowly started dragging himself out and stuffing you so fast you couldn’t keep from yelping at the breach. Toes gripping the cold rocky tiles as your legs shook under you – being rocked into harsh and deep by the muscle strength of the beast on top.

“I'm not the first one you’ve bent over for, huh?” He continued with a grin, haughtily chuckling in low breathy condescension. “Probably the first one you’ve had take you in a proper bed, though, hm? And not in a hayloft on whatever dirty farm you grew up on.” 

Your fingernails punched into your palms where he wrung your wrists tight, keeping you pressed flat beneath him while he heedlessly rutted into you like you were nothing but his own snug fist. 

“I bet the whole village had a go seeing how pretty you turned out.” He laughed again, scoffing at it with his tongue tickling your ear. “Did they all fuck you like this? From behind like a farm animal? On all fours with your pretty face moaning in the mud?” Simpering, he sped up as though aroused by his own words.

Twisting your hair tighter and groaning louder against your ear – chasing your deepest parts with balls clapping hard against your clit.

“You’re all fuckin' inbreds- It’s a fucking miracle your filthy parents created something like you- prettier than all the bratty princesses I have to listen to yap all day.” He moaned – now fully drooling against your face, nomming on your ear with heavy breaths.

Fully draping you in his sweaty muscles, you lay gasping beneath the weight – cunt clenching hard around his shaft – making him hiss.

“Ah fuck- It's nice coming home to an obedient slave- so tight and warm- grateful for a royal cock in your poor slave cunt, huh?”

You winced at his pounding, so deep you felt it choke you – making your stomach fold and curl, trying to protect itself from the assault. “Yes- thank you, master- thank you-” You cried while he placed sloppy layers of wet kisses down your temple and cheek in return – until finally pulling off.

“Come here, down on your knees-” Ripping himself to his feet, he pulled you with him by the fist riddled in your hair and pushed you down at the foot end. 

Tugging on his cock in the other hand – quick faps in the slick – he kept you looking up at him while slapping the wet weight in sticky taps against your lips. 

“Open wide, slave- here it comes-” 

Only one more jerk and it all blew in thick white beams shooting across your face – spewing in clusters, hitting you once on your forehead and another over the nose - dripping to your lips into your gaping mouth where he focused on squeezing out the rest – tapping the plush creamy tip against your tongue while panting. 

“Mh-fuck- clean me off and swallow.”

With breaths heavy and slowing, he detangled his hand from your sweaty locks and made to pet your head instead. Gently running his fingers over your hair while watching you obediently kiss and lick up all the spill in tired and slow yet devoted strokes with your tongue until it was all prettily wiped clean.

“Good slave.” The Crown Prince hummed then.

Finally sounding satisfied – still with a lazy hand holding your head where you so faithfully sat at his feet, swallowing his seed, while his satiated cock grew limp in regard.

“Now go wash off while the water’s still warm, and come out and help me get dressed.” He ordered, voice groggily soft in the after high. “I have a full schedule today looking at potential brides… and I want my little farm animal by my side to keep me going insane from boredom.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Naoya

HQ – Oikawa, Sakusa

BLLK – Reo

DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

[maskedbyghost]

Beneath the Mask

Simon Riley was a man of few words and even fewer moments of vulnerability. The mask he wore wasn't just for protection; it was a shield from the world, from feelings, from everything. But tonight, as he stood in the kitchen of your small apartment, watching you hum softly while chopping vegetables, he felt something he rarely did—peace.

You’d only been dating for a few months, despite having known him as your lieutenant for much longer. For the longest time, both of you kept your feelings hidden, until one drunken night when everything spilled out—confessions exchanged—before falling asleep like nothing had changed. It wasn’t until the next morning, as the memories of the night resurfaced, that you realized what had happened. You were terrified of ruining the friendship, while Simon had already begun quietly planning your future together, looking for a house where you could grow old side by side, completely normal behavior if you ask him.

Simon smiled, remembering your cute face when you tried to apologize for your outburst of feelings, thinking that what he said was only to make you feel better. You couldn't be more wrong. He took your hands, kissing the soft skin through his mask, while repeating everything he said the night before, and meaning it.

Now, while standing in your kitchen, watching you make dinner for the two of you, his heart filled with warmth he couldn't explain. He was glad for that night when he finally got the girl of his dreams. You were smart, kind, beautiful, and patient with him. Very patient. He could see it in your eyes every time you looked at him—the love and respect you had for him.

Even after months of dating, you’d only seen his face a handful of times. It was something he kept guard, a piece of himself he wasn’t ready to share completely. You never wanted to push or make him uncomfortable, understanding how significant that step was for him. He had spent most of his life alone, hidden behind his mask, where he felt safe. You knew the best way to support him was to let him unveil himself at his own pace, just as you had grown to feel so comfortable with him over these past few months.

"Can I help you with anythin', love?" His voice pulled you from your thoughts as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently drawing you into him. You hadn’t even heard him approach—something he would usually scold you for, reminding you to always stay on guard. But what he didn’t understand was just how safe you felt with him. Whenever he was near, every worry disappeared, and you knew, without a doubt, that you were protected.

"Thank you, baby. I'm almost done, but you can help me by setting up the table." You said while stirring the soup while checking on the main dish that was cooking in the oven.

Simon stayed close behind you, wishing he could inhale the scent of your hair, but the mask allowed only a faint scent to reach him. He wanted to press soft kisses to the top of your head and across your face, yet the mask remained a barrier between him and the intimacy he craved at that moment.

Unaware of his thoughts, you turned around and pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling the softness of the black cotton shirt he wore at your place. "I need to check if it's ready," you said, gently freeing yourself from Simon’s strong embrace and moving toward the oven on the other side of the kitchen.

Simon decided at that moment—he would finally let you see the real him, scars and all. Although he longed to stretch out this precious moment, he felt reassured by the way you hadn’t turned away during the brief glimpses you’d had of his face. That gave him the courage to open up completely. As you focused on the oven, he took a deep breath and gently approached you, his voice tender and resolute. “I’ve been hidin' behind this mask for so long,” he said softly. “But with you, I wan' to be fully myself.”

For a moment, his words didn’t quite register. But when you turned around and saw him slowly removing his mask, your breath caught in your throat. You stared awestruck at his face. How could someone as beautiful as he was, hide behind a mask for so long? The sight of him, unmasked and vulnerable, took your breath away. He was beautiful. In your eyes, Simon Riley was a remarkably beautiful man, and you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky that he was yours.

Simon stood in front of you, his heart pounding as he noticed your stunned silence. The moment stretched on, and he grew anxious, questioning if he had made a mistake. He knew he wasn’t unattractive, but his scars had always made him uneasy. Now, he worried that his vulnerability might have changed how you saw him. Was his decision to remove the mask a mistake? Should he put it back on? Doubt began to creep in, clouding his mind.

As Simon’s anxiety grew, you blinked, snapping out of your trance. You saw the worry etched on his face and felt a pang of guilt for making him question himself. Taking a deep breath, you reached out, gently cupping his face with your hands. “Simon,” you said softly, your voice steady and reassuring. “You are breathtaking. Every part of you. The scars, the mask, it’s all part of what makes you… you. I’ve never been more sure of how much I care about you.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity but finding only warmth. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he absorbed your words. “You’ve shown me so much of yourself already,” you continued, your thumb brushing gently against his cheek. “I’m honored that you trust me enough to let your guard down. I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon’s eyes softened, and he let out a shaky breath, the tension melting away. With a small, relieved smile, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours. The mask was no longer between you two and in that moment, you both felt a profound sense of closeness, understanding that your bond was deeper than any barrier could ever be.

Your eyes sparkled with affection. “Come here,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. He hesitated for a moment before finally relaxing into your embrace. As you held him, you felt the tension in his body slowly ease. “I’ve always admired your strength,” you murmured. “And now, I see even more of the person I care about.”

Simon pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening with relief. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I needed to hear that.”

Simon lowered his head until his lips gently met yours. At that moment, he knew that he could share this kind of closeness whenever he wanted. There were no more barriers between you—just the pure connection that he had longed for.

You took advantage of the lack of the mask by tangling your fingers with his short hair as he pulled you closer into the kiss. As you both savored the kiss, the world outside seemed to fade away. Simon’s hands cradled your face, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he were afraid to let go of this newfound closeness.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but your eyes met and Simon’s smile was soft and genuine, a rare sight that spoke volumes of his feelings. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” he said quietly, his voice filled with emotion. “Thank you for being so patient with me love.”

You smiled back, your heart full. “There’s no need to thank me. This is what we’ve always been working towards baby, being completely ourselves with each other.”

As you sat down to enjoy your meal, you both knew that the evening marked a new beginning. The barriers that had once stood between you were gone, replaced by a bond that was stronger and more genuine than ever. You were ready to face whatever came next together, secure in the knowledge that your love was built on trust and an unbreakable connection.

(English is not my first language, be nice pls.)

[madlittlecriminal]

[INTRO] Secret Ingredient⥓ Mafia!Miguel O'Hara × Female!Baker!Reader

Warnings: mention of robbery, mention of Miguel missing breakfast, mention of Miguel being used for homework

series masterlist | miguel o'hara masterlist

To say his day was rough, was an understatement.

He felt as though no one paid attention to him for the simple fact that every little thing had gone wrong. It was worse when he got told one of his clubs got robbed by none other than Osbron's little crew.

If Miguel was being honest, he needed a damn drink. Unfortunately, he had a meeting with his Alchemax team in about an hour, so drinking was out of the question; he'd have to wait until after to have a drink, but he didn't really mind it as much.

He stepped out of the club after reviewing the damage, relieved that no one was hurt and that his rule was followed: give them the money as a life means more than cash. Plus, they robbed him on a slow night, so he lost about three grand in total from his bartenders' tips and the money from drinks. He simply reimbursed them and told them he makes more than that in an hour, so he didn't care.

He fixed his ruby colored sunglasses as his eyes traveled to the bakery across the street from his club. He tilted his head to the side, confused as to how he's never seen it before. "Is that bakery new?"He asked one of the bartenders at his club who shook her head with a grin.

"Depends on what your definition of new is, boss. It's been there since you hired me, and I've been working here for three years." Miguel's brows furrowed as she explained it to him.

"How am I just now noticing it?"

"Easy. You come to the club at 12 am. The bakery closes at 11pm."

"Why so late?"

"Because the ovens are cold by then. We're her last customers. Remember that concha Lyla gave you?" He nods. "It's from there. She does desserts from all over the world. She's talented." With that, the bartender takes her leave. Miguel tilts his head to the side before heading across the street and into the bakery. His nose is hit with the delicious scent of baked goods, some bringing him back to his childhood when his mother would bake for him and his brother Gabriel.

"I'll be with you in a sec!" You called out from where he believed was the kitchen. He doesn't respond, too focused on the orejas and the many pan finos you had. He took note of the flan, apple pies, banana bread, muffins, macarons, and more. His stomach growled, remembering he missed breakfast.

Then you appeared, flour on your cheeks and on your burgundy apron. You gave him a kind smile and he took off his sunglasses, putting them away and getting a better look at you from the natural sunlight that broke through from the window of your bakery. Were you real?

"How can I help you, sir?" His heart raced as his breathing hitched slightly. His palms were clammy with sweat, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the rush of nerves that entered his body or the heat from the bakery. Wait, was it hot in here?

"Uh...hi. C-can I get a piece of..." Miguel didn't trust himself to finish the sentence as he resorted to pointing at the stack of conchas. The last time he remembered being this nervous around a girl was back in high school when the cheerleader asked him for his help on biology homework. Unfortunately, he also remembers that she only flirted with him to get her homework done. He was glad they didn't have science together after that as he went to AP Chemistry the following year.

You smiled and nodded. "Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?"

Once again, he didn't trust his voice so only pointed at the chocolate one.

"How many?"

He held up two fingers and you nodded. "Alright. Your total is $4.25. Cash or card?" You put the conchas in a bag as you waited for a response.

"Cash." He handed you a 20-dollar bill and took the bag. "Keep the change. Don't need a receipt." He quickly rushed out of the bakery without another word.

You stood there with the 20 bucks in hand, blinking down at the register in confusion. You put the cash in the register and put the receipt down. "Well, that wasn't weird at all." You mumble to yourself before heading back to the kitchen to check on the rasgulla you had cooling down.

———

tags:

@deputy-videogamer @barbiecrocs @deepinballs @faimmm @wakeupr41 @bubblegumfanfics @smartyren @kimmis-stuff @latenightcravingz @youcantseem3 @corpsebridenightamare @thedevax

[mamamittens]

The Intent Matters

This is part 6/12 of December Event 2023 for @humanoid606

Platonic Yandere Straw Hats & Nonbinary Reader

Warnings: Implied toxic family, child abuse, and murder. Oh, and light yandere undertones.

Word Count: 2,625

There was a chill in the air that mixed with the scent of warm spices. It lingered over your bedding as you buried your nose into your pillow, trying to sleep a little longer. Peace was a bit rare on the Thousand Sunny with the Straw Hat Pirates. So you tried to enjoy it as long as you could. But, as expected, it didn’t last long.

There was a gentle knocking.

“Are you awake, teaspoon?” Your nose wrinkled at the nickname. An odd one for Sanji. But sweet.

A little goes a long way, teaspoon.

“…Yeah. I’m awake.” You called back, receiving an amused huff.

“Get dressed and you can help with the Christmas rolls.” Sanji called. “As a treat.” That got you up and moving. The opportunity to help Sanji cook was rare, the chef protective over his kitchen—understandably with your menace of a captain liable to eat everything if given the chance. You made record time throwing on a sweater and taking care of hygiene. The chill present all on the ship despite the heating working hard. Something Franky was fixing since he apparently didn’t expect this level of persistent cold when originally planning the temperature control.

You nearly stumbled into the kitchen, Sanji smiling at your enthusiasm as he dipped his head towards a bowl.

“Mixing duty?” You asked, already knowing the answer as pre-measured bowls lined the counter. Dough from the looks of it. Sanji moved aside as you washed your hands with a pleased hum, glad you remembered your manners and didn’t touch food with dirty hands.

It was a quiet, pleasant atmosphere as you assisted in making rolls for breakfast and setting aside cookie dough for gingerbread later. Rolling, cutting, folding, and setting them in the oven under Sanji’s watchful eye. He even let you ice them.

“Don’t forget your gift, teaspoon.” Sanji reminded in a hushed tone as he set the food on platters for serving. You looked at him in confusion. Eyes looking around for an answer. It was there, suddenly, on the counter. A small box with a red bow on top. Sanji looking at you in amusement as you lifted the lid.

It was a neatly folded apron and a pair of oven mitts. White with little spoons embroidered on the edges, the front of the apron spelling out in delicate calligraphy ‘Little Helper’. You flushed, glancing at him in surprise.

“W-What’s this all about?” You asked softly. Sanji smiled, taking out his cigarette to tap out the ashes into a tray.

“Your own apron and mitts. You’re welcome in my kitchen anytime, teaspoon. Merry Christmas.” Sanji pulled you into a gentle hug. The unexpected affection lingered for a moment before Sanji pulled away with a wink. Or maybe he just blinked, it was hard to say with his hair still covering the other eye. “Chopper has his own gift for you next. After breakfast, though.”

Breakfast was received with the usual cheer and gusto, particularly from Luffy. He took off his hat and settled it on your head, much to your surprise.

“Merry Christmas—you can wear that today. Just today though!” Luffy declared through a mouthful of bacon and cinnamon rolls. You couldn’t help but smile in shock. Sure, Luffy was generally chill with his crew messing with his hat, but to wear it a whole day?

That was a surprising gift.

When everyone—even Luffy—finished eating, Chopper tugged you away to his office.

“I had to look around for a quality bag to hold it all!” Chopper lamented, “Nothing was good enough! Usopp ended up helping make the bag. Here, your gift!” Chopper offered a box between his hooves. Getting rather excited, you lifted the lid and found a canvas bag inside. A bit smaller than something you’d wear to carry your things in, meant more to be worn by your hip with a belt clip and thigh buckle to support it. You pulled it out, inspecting the soft white fabric with a red cross on the outside.

The bag could detach from the fastenings and unzip in a surprisingly display of ingenuity. Medical supplies carefully secured and labelled on every flap, including a pouch of ‘miracle medicines’ from Chopper’s own stash. Things meant only under dire circumstances. Short of literal surgery, you appeared to be set for anything life on board the Thousand Sunny could throw at you.

“Wow, this is… a lot! Shouldn’t you be the one to have all this though? I only know a little first aid after all.” You asked nervously. Chopper smiled, eyes gleaming with determination.

“Don’t worry, I plan to teach you how to use everything in here to it’s fullest potential! Just in case we’re ever separated, I wanted to know you could take care of yourself—or any of our troublesome crewmates!” Chopper laughed and you smiled. It would be handy to have an extra pair of hands in a medical emergency. “Maybe if you have a knack for it, you can even make your own medicine!”

It was rather heartwarming that Chopper had so much faith in your abilities.

“Thanks, Chopper. I love it.” You hugged him close and he chuffed, returning the embrace without even a hint of fake-disdain that he usually did when embarrassed. “I won’t let you down.”

Chopper clicked his tongue.

“As if you ever could! Now, I believe Franky had something for you next!” You snorted, setting him down.

“Am I going to be going to each of you today to get gifts? If I’d known, I would have gotten you all something too… though I don’t really celebrate.” You trailed off weakly, squeezing the bag as Chopper huffed, knowing what you were referring to.

“We know! Next year you can join in—but this year we wanted to show you that things are different here! Now, off you go!” Chopper gently ushered you out of his office. You left with a smile, taking a moment to secure the bag before going on to find Franky. Likely in the engine room, you’d know when you started to smell soda.

The cyborg was always surrounded by the scent of soda.

As expected, he was messing with the machinery deeper in the ship. Inspecting gears and gauges with an array of tools nearby. After a few moments, you knocked on the wall just loud enough to be heard over the mechanical workings. He jolted, looking back with pleased surprise.

“Oh! Hey there! Here for your gift, right?” Franky jerked his head off to the side against the wall where a colorful box waited. “It’s my part of what Usopp and I have been working on! An attachment for a weapon!” Franky laughed. You opened the box to find what like a thick barrel with a selection wheel around the base. Shapes you vaguely recognized as tool inserts for knuts, bolts, and screws along it.

When you clicked the wheel to what appeared to be a regular screw cross shape, a large piece of metal slid out. The tip of a screw, in fact, though clearly for a very large screw.

“Uh… how often am I meant to run into screws this big?” You asked loudly. Franky laughed.

“There’s a regular sized ones in there too that you can remove! But this is what you might find on bigger machines! You never know when you’ll need to tighten—or loosen—something!” Franky declared cheerfully. “Go to Usopp for the other half!”

“Alright, thanks, Franky!” You laughed, taking the box with you. At the very least Usopp can reuse it for something.

Usopp was in his studio, working on something quietly. He heard you coming in just fine and turned with a wide grin, spotting the rather heavy attachment in your arms.

“Oh! Sooner than expected, but that’s alright! I finished it just a few days ago!” Usopp grinned, standing up to rummage through a closet. He pulled out a pole about as tall as your waist. “It’s got some neat tricks. A taser, light, and even an emergency whistle that can be heard for miles around in a thick forest! And, of course, you attach Franky’s gift on the end here for more engineering problems!” Usopp twisted the top to flip through an electrified prong, a tube with a beam of light, and very briefly a whistle that automatically sounded. It was incredibly loud.

You handed him the attachment and it slid into place easily. Now suitably sized for you to use the oversized tools it gave you. With a flick of his hand, they even altered slightly to turn for you, though the screwdrivers didn’t need to for obvious reasons.

“Neat. Kinda hope I never need any of that though.” You commented lightly. Usopp nodded his head sagely.

“Of course! Of course! Still, I think I speak for everyone when I say it’s better to have it and never need it than to need it and never have it!” Usopp declared. “Like Chopper’s medical bag! Hopefully, you never need to open it for anything but an aspirin for headaches, hah!” Usopp laughed, handing the now sizable staff to you.

You weighed it in your hands, getting a feel for it. It was understandably quite hefty. But also just a little too much to carry around regularly. You weren’t exactly built before joining the crew after all.

“It’s nice but… I’m not sure how I’d use it. Or carry it around all the time.” You admitted quietly. Usopp clapped his hand over your shoulder with a reassuring smile.

“That’s where Zoro and Nami come in! Go to the training room, they’re waiting in there for you!” Usopp declared. Hopeful, if a little nervous, you nodded.

That wasn’t exactly the most reassuring combo you could ask for. But still, you made your way to the training room without any fuss.

Nami spotted you first.

“Oh! There you are! And wow, they really went all out with that staff, didn’t they?” Nami asked, holding out her hand. Despite her slender frame, she whipped it around easily, flicking through the various options with an absentminded nod of her head. “Good. Good. Well, as you may have guessed, we’re going to help train you to wield this! I’ll help with technique and Zoro will help with strength training!” Zoro looked up from his own absurdly large weights and nodded.

“By the time the witch and I are done, you’ll be a terror in your own right.” Zoro added with a grin. “Later, though. For now, here’s our actual gifts.”

Zoro tossed something at you and you nearly fell trying to catch it. It was a pair of fingerless gloves with metal on the knuckles. They fit perfectly and had padding for your hands. As you flexed them, getting a feel for the fabric, Nami placed a pouch in them. It was a bag that looked like an orange slice with the unmistakable weight of money in them.

“An allowance, interest free!” Nami winked. “Don’t spend it all in one place!” She warned.

“Oh. T-Thanks.” You said faintly, a little gob smacked that Nami gave you money. Without expecting it back, even! Out of words to say, you put the bag away. “I… I guess I go find Robin or Jinbe now?” you asked, feeling a little adrift at the unexpected gift giving you’d experienced all day.

“They’re both in the kitchen right now, I think, enjoying some tea.” Nami mused, putting the weapon on the wall. “We’ll keep this here until you’re ready to carry it all day. Wouldn’t want to hurt yourself!”

“Merry Christmas.” You called out faintly as you went to find Robin and Jinbe.

As Nami had said, they were in the kitchen taking a moment to themselves. Sanji likely watching over the helm for Jinbe while he was on break before lunch.

“There you are, dear. Come, join us!” Robin called softly, Jinbe smiling and pulling out a chair for you. “Our gifts are also to be enjoyed at the same time. I imagine you’ve had a surprising day.” Robin commented, gently brushing your back as you sat down. She pushed out a box of tea and Jinbe pushed a journal towards you. Both were clearly high quality.

“To write down your thoughts. It gets pretty chaotic around here. So I thought that you’d like the chance to collect yourself through this.” Jinbe added quietly with a soft smile of his own. The journal was made of dyed leather, ocean blue with waves along the cover and the silhouettes of fish swimming to and fro. On a plate was your name engraved, with a fancy pen slipped into a loop between the covers.

Taking a moment, you pulled out a bag of tea labeled ‘noon’. There was also a section of ‘morning’ and ‘bed’ teas. It smelled zesty and like unfamiliar herbs. Robin assisting in pouring a cup to steep the leaves in. While it did, you flipped open the book to look at the pages. They were completely blank, no lines, so you could sketch if you preferred without any interference. The pages also thick and smooth.

You noticed something sticking out of the top. A scrap of newspaper. Curious, you flipped through the book to find it.

It was a small, cut section from a paper. Dated a few weeks ago. It was terse and professional, expressing the condolences for the passing of…

Your family.

Your eyes watered. After all they’d done to you, it was surprising that you could feel mournful of their passing. But over all of that was the overwhelming feeling of relief. You’d never have to see them again. For real this time. Not a chance they could find their way back in your life to tell you those awful things or drag you into the horrible depression that plagued your every step under their roof.

You looked up at them in shock but they just smiled and drank their tea.

“Shishishishishishishi~” Luffy laughed unexpectedly in your ear. “It was hard to keep it a secret, but Sanji said it would be worth it!” Rubber arms wrapped around you as he hugged you, resting his chin on top of his hat.

“I still say we should have done the same for Sanji.” Robin mused. “At least his father…” she sighed. You could feel Luffy shake his head.

“Nah, seeing Sanji be the best cook in the world is better. Let that bitter ass stew in failure… if he tries another ‘whole cake’ again though, Sanji will just have to suck it up.” Luffy denied ominously. “You’re ours, but as long as they were alive, you’d always be on the look out for them. Afraid of the chance they’d show up and take you back. And now they won’t. Captain’s orders.”

You could hear the rest of the crew respond in kind as they came into the kitchen. Sanji entering your field of view to pull out his knives, ostensibly to cut up meat for lunch but the metal gleamed with warning in the light.

“Captain’s orders.”

There was an unfamiliar and almost oppressive weight to those words. Like there was another layer to the order.

You’re never leaving. Captain’s orders.

But you strangely didn’t feel threatened. They didn’t want to lock you in a room or beat you for ‘ruining things’. You were wanted here. Very much. They wanted you safe. They wanted you happy. And they were willing to go to extraordinary lengths to do it.

You should be afraid. But you weren’t. You relaxed in your chair as Luffy laughed softly above you. Hand over his arm as you finally responded.

“Captain’s orders…”

You weren’t going anywhere. Why would you?

[senditcolton]

maybe this Christmastime, you'll realize

song inspo: santa doesn't know you like i do word count: 3k warnings: none, just pure holiday fluff (christmas centric)

a/n: i'm back!! and what better way to celebrate the conclusion of my graduate degree by giving you all a barely edited, written last night, self-indulgent fic to feed my delusion of Tyson Jost being madly in love with me. glad to be back and can't wait to write for you all again!!

The heat that blasts from the oven is a welcome sensation, considering that your old apartment often struggled to keep in the warmth from your central heating. You lean in, your oven mitt clad hand reaching and grasping the cookie sheet.

You’d be the first to admit that you weren’t much of a baker. That was never your ‘job’ during holidays with your family. But you figured you would try this year since you wouldn’t have the opportunity to enjoy the homemade goodies your family crafted.

That was the reason you chose to bake cookies. The reason you chose to bake almond butter cookies was because of someone else. Someone who also wasn’t able to enjoy the comforts of home this year.

As if he could hear your thoughts, a knock echoes through your apartment. You quickly finish transferring the cookies from the still hot baking sheet onto the cooling rack before wiping off your hands and running towards the front door. You swing open the worn wood and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you see Tyson standing there.

“Hey. Happy Christmas Eve Eve.”

“Is that the official name?” he laughs, walking into your apartment like it was his own. Which considering how often he was over at your place, it might as well be.

“You haven’t seen that episode of Friends?”

“Guess not,” he shrugs, taking off his coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“Thanks. I tried my hand at baking.”

“And you didn’t burn the apartment down?” he smiles and you wish you could stop the way your knees weaken at the sight.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” you laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You better be nice to me or else you won’t get any almond butter cookies.” This time, you didn’t want to stop the trill of your heart at the way his eyes brightened at your words.

“Almond butter?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards the kitchen, a silent invitation for him. He took your encouragement in stride, breezing into the other room and you were thankful that he was out of earshot when you said your next words.

“I made them just for you.”

You did. You also opened your home to him, welcoming him any day during this, the week of Christmas. But that was just because you didn’t want him to be lonely. That was all. That was the only reason.

It definitely wasn’t because of the crush you had been harboring for him since the first day you met.

No, absolutely not.

You take a deep breath before following Tyson into the kitchen, turning the corner only to find him already munching on a cookie, a grin on his face and some crumbs stuck on his facial hair.

“I know they’re probably not as good as Grandma Jost’s but –” Tyson cuts you off with a gentle call of your name.

“Stop. These are delicious. You did a really good job.”

“Thanks,” you say. It’s only then that you spy the backpack that he carried in with him, one that was now placed on your kitchen table. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Tyson says, as if he just remembered it himself. You are even more curious when you see the blush spread on his cheeks, the rosy color having nothing to do with the lingering cold from outside. “I need your help.”

“Okay?”

“You mentioned that you were in charge of wrapping presents at your house for the holidays. And I’m really bad at it. I mean, usually I struggle through it or just put everyone’s gifts in bags…”

You gently interrupt his explanation with a laugh of your own, your brain goes over all the gifts Tyson has given you; mostly presented to you in gift bags.

“But since I can’t go home this year, I kind of want to – I don’t know – make more of an effort. Make it more exciting for whenever my family does get their presents. If that makes any sense.”

“That makes perfect sense, Tyson,” you reply. “Sit. Eat your cookies. I’ll get the wrapping paper.”

Only a few short moments pass before you find yourself sitting next to Tyson, wrapping the stockpile of presents he brought over and listening to him talk about anything and everything: details about the gift you were currently wrapping, his shopping adventures, the hockey season so far, friend and family updates, anything. You occasionally interrupt with questions about how he wants the presents decorated but he gives you a lot of creative freedom which you slightly admonish him for.

“Tyson, they should feel like they’re from you.”

“I’ll pick out the bows.”

That was how you continued, your focus on the folds and creases of the paper in front of you while Tyson talked.

You had gone through most of the gift he presented to you, your concentration entirely on the folding and taping that you perfected long ago. Tyson had gone quiet for a moment but you weren’t that concerned as you were still able to hear him rustling around in the bag that held all your bows, finding whatever color he chose for the current gift. You are just about to put the last piece of tape on when you feel Tyson’s fingers gently press against your head.

Your eyes snap back to him, only to see that adorable crooked grin on his face. You are pretty sure you knew what happened and your thoughts are only confirmed as you reach up and feel the paper of the bow pressed onto your hair.

“Is this the one you want for this gift?”

“It looks pretty cute on you,” he says and you once again have to force yourself to take a deep breath before your body acts of its own volition, revealing your feelings in probably the worst way.

“I’m sure it’ll look much better on the present,” you quip, taking it off your hair and replacing the tape before sticking it onto the silver paper. “Ta-da!” You push the present off to the side, adding to the slowly growing pile. “What’s next?”

You turn your attention to Tyson, but this time, he’s the one distracted. His fingers tap against his phone,  typing out few quick messages, a small grin appearing on his face occasionally. You wait for a few minutes, just watching him until he feels your gaze and looks up towards you.

“Huh?”

“Which present is next?”

“Oh, last one,” he says, pulling the final gift out of his backpack and handing it to you. “This one is for Kacey.”

“Was that who you were texting?”

“No um, that was Mikayla. She’s this girl I matched with on a dating app a little while ago. We’re just getting last minute details ready before our date tonight.”

His words give you literal pause as your scissors stall on the wrapping paper, your smooth precise cut turning into a jagged edge.  

“Tonight?” you ask, your question answered with an affirmative hum from him. You try to act nonchalant, a shrug lifting your shoulders as you attempt to focus back on the task at hand. “Seems a little odd – so close to Christmas.”

“Yeah, but it was the best day for her and I don’t have anywhere else to be, y’know?”

You try not to let his words sting, knowing he doesn’t mean them maliciously. He wasn’t with his family and you were just a friend. He didn’t have any commitments because he wasn’t committed to you. That was the simple truth.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, forcing your attention onto the cherry red wrapping paper in your hands; the one thing you could control. “I think a gold bow would look good on this one.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Tyson replies, typing out one last quick message before diving back into the bag to find the color you requested.

A few short minutes later, the presents are wrapped and placed back into Tyson’s pack, safe and ready for their return to his apartment. You watched from your couch as his throws his coat over his broad frame before swinging the backpack onto his shoulder.

“If you want, you can always come over tomorrow. I need some help finishing off those cookies,” you playfully tease, trying not to let your heart get too attached to the idea of spending Christmas Eve with him next to you.

“I might take you up on that,” Tyson says, shooting you a gentle smile before opening your door and leaving, the chill sneaking in from the outside and finding a way to wrap around your heart.

You know you had no right to be upset. Tyson wasn’t yours. He didn’t know the way you felt about him and there was no certainty that he would even share your feelings. He might only ever see you as a friend and if that was the case… he should be free to find someone who does love him.

But there was this stubborn part of you that couldn’t imagine anyone else loving Tyson as much as you loved him. You’ve been there through the good and bad. You knew his favorite songs. You knew how to make him laugh. And you would always pick up when he called.

Who else could say that?

You sigh, gently telling yourself that there was nothing you could do about it tonight.

Perhaps Christmas Eve might bring forth some holiday magic. Or maybe you should just throw in the towel, pray for New Year’s to come quickly so you could leave this heartache behind along with the holiday season.

You weren’t sure which to wish for so you just crawled into bed, feeling bluer that ever before as you fell asleep, trying not to think of someone else’s lips pressed against Tyson’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The lights in the tree blurred as you try to hold back you tears. You always seemed to cry during the holidays; you never really knew why. It just always came about this time of year. ‘Tis the season, right?

But this year, you could pinpoint the exact person that caused your tears to fall. Tyson Jost. The worst part about it was that it wasn’t even his fault that you were crying. It was all yours.

You woke up after a listless night of sleeping. When you went to check your phone, you hoped to see a message from Tyson but to your disappointment but not surprise, there was no notification on your screen. You managed to roll yourself out from underneath your covers and go about your morning routine before sending a text to him, saying that you hoped his date went well and that the offer to come over tonight was still on the table.

That was over twelve hours ago and all you received was radio silence from him.

Perhaps that is why you found yourself curled up underneath your tree, staring up at the lights in the boughs, trying to push back tears. It was a stupid reason to cry just like it was stupid to fall for your best friend. Stupid to think that he could ever see you as anything more. Stupid to think that maybe this Christmas would be the one where it all changed.

Stupid to spend your money on a new watch, wrap it up for him with a note documenting your feelings in the hope that he would open it tonight, here, underneath your tree while you both ate the cookies you made specifically for him.

Your fingers trace over the silk ribbon, fidgeting with the bow as the minutes tick by, your hope dwindling with them.

The receipt for it was still in your closet in one of your purses. You could return it on Tuesday, pretend like you never had this grand scheme and go back to being friends with Tyson. Give yourself another year to get over him. Maybe next year you finally would.

A heavy sigh escapes you as you spare one last glance down at the parcel in your hands before placing it back underneath the tree with all the other presents that your friends and family had sent to you.

It was a silly idea, an almost childish Christmas dream and now, you had to wake up. Tyson was dating other people and sooner or later, he would find someone who could give him everything you could and possibly more. Perhaps he found her last night and woke up this morning to her curled up in his arms and that feeling of love just struck him and if so, there was nothing you could do and –

The knock on your door startles you out of your spiraling thoughts, your hand hitting a few ornaments hanging down from the branches. You quickly grab them, stabilizing the fragile decor before you lift yourself off the floor, your blanket pooling beneath you before you wander to the front door.

You had no idea who was knocking at this time of night but you must have been too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to care because you opened the door without a second thought. It took you a minute to fully register the person standing on your doorstep but when you saw those chocolate curls and those big brown eyes, you feel a sense of calm sweep over you.

Tyson always pulled that feeling from you. Even when he showed up unannounced on Christmas Eve.

Although you were happy to see him, the expression on your face was one of confusion. Why was he here, now, without a word of warning, after ignoring you for almost a full 24 hours? You are about to ask those questions but before you could get a word out, Tyson speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

His words catch you off-guard, the meaning behind them not yet clear to you.

“For what?” you ask him. Your breath shallows as he turns his gaze to you and you are struck by the earnestness reflecting in his eyes.

“For not seeing you,” he replies, stepping over the threshold of your apartment and closer to you. “For not seeing how wonderful and amazing and beautiful you are.”

“Wha – what’s happening?” you question, his words sending shockwaves through your body.

“I think a part of me always knew; that you were the one. But I ignored it for whatever reason. Fear, indifference, whatever. But last night, when I was on a date with another girl, all I could think about was you. How you make me laugh, make me smile. Pick me up and encourage me when I’m down. Do silly inconsequential things for me without expecting anything in return.”

Tyson continues to speak, becoming more assured and confident with every word, punctuating each sentence with a step closer to you.

“How you went out of your way to make cookies that remind me of home so I would feel less alone this holiday season. No one else has done anything like that for me.”

You had to be hallucinating or dreaming or something. This felt straight out of goddamn Hallmark movie – it couldn’t be real life. It was a fantasy brought on by sugar and heartache. But when Tyson reaches out to you, gently grasping your hands in his, you can feel the warmth of his touch run through you, warm and as real as it ever was.

“And I realized last night, alone in my bed, that I didn’t need the cookies, the presents, the bows and ribbons to feel like I was home,” Tyson confesses, his voice becoming softer as he pulls you closer. “Whenever I’m with you… that’s when I’m home. You are home to me. And I’m sorry for not being able to tell you sooner. I’m sorry it took this long for me to realize it.”

Tyson silences, looking into your eyes and you know he’s waiting for your answer but you were still trying to fully understand this whole situation. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man in front of you, the man that you had a crush for almost an entire year, just came to your house in the middle of the night and confessed his feelings to you.

Your body slightly jumps at the sound of your front door closing, the breeze pulling it shut but Tyson gently rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands, soothing you. A small jingle of a bell sounds from above you, brought on by the gust of air from the door. The noise pulls both you and Tyson’s attention away from each other towards the ceiling and you feel your cheeks warm at the sight of the green leaves with white berries, tied together with ribbon, hanging above you. The warmth intensifies as Tyson turns his gaze on you once again, that mischievous look in his eyes.

“Mistletoe? Really?”

“It’s tradition,” you mutter, your tongue finally being able to twist itself into words.

“Well, it is Christmas after all. I guess we shouldn’t break tradition,” he grins.

You force yourself to breathe as Tyson leans closer to you, your eyes fluttering shut when you feel his forehead press against yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your cheeks but his movements stall and when you don’t feel the gentle press of his lips against yours, you slowly reopen your eyes.

Tyson is still standing there, his lips only mere centimeters away from yours. It’s only then that you realize you’ve never given him a response to his confession. Haven’t yet told him that it was everything that you had been hoping to hear from him. But how could you possibly respond when it didn’t feel like there were words in the English language to describe the depth of your feelings?

The answer was simple.

You respond by lifting yourself up those final inches and pressing your lips against his. You pour every emotion you felt into that kiss and you could feel a piece of you settle when Tyson kissed you back with as much passion.

And you knew that this – wrapped up in Tyson’s arms underneath the mistletoe, his lips against yours – was the best present you could have ever received this year.

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 32/?

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My depression 🎶 I came in like a wrecking ball🎶

In all honesty, I'm sorry for taking so long to update and for such a short chapter. Depression really has been kicking me in the ass. I'm sorry if it's not up to my usual standard. I'll try to update again this week as I want to write a Thanksgiving chapter.

“And you’ll call if anything comes up, right?”

Jason rolled his eyes at his sister.

“Yes, Jazz, I’ll call if anything comes up. I can take care of both Ellie and Danny just fine. Go have fun with Raven; enjoy your girl time.”

Raven had come up with the idea of girl time with Jazz. Jazz had reluctantly agreed.

“Remember, Ellie, don’t act out for Uncle Jay.”

The little girl grinned, showing her new tooth. Jazz sighed.

“Relax, Jazz. I have this and have some fun.”

Jazz nodded and kissed Ellie’s forehead and then Danny’s. She went up to her car, where Raven was already waiting.

Raven wore a black blouse, jeans, and a blonde wig as a disguise. She had put a glamour around herself so no one could pinpoint features.

Jason and the kids waved as the car drove away. When the car was out of sight, they entered the house.

“Alright, kiddos, what should we do?”

They ended up making cupcakes. Danny did the mixing while Jason pre-heated the oven and measured the ingredients. Ellie helped by licking the homemade frosting clean from the spoon. Contentment filled the kitchen as they made the cupcakes.

They ended up gorging themselves on cupcakes.

“Do not tell Jazz I let you guys eat that many cupcakes.”

Both kids nodded as they licked their lips and fingers. Hmm, bath time was in order. Danny still refused to let Jason bathe him, so he took a quick shower by himself while Jason bathed Ellie in the sink. He made sure the bathroom door was opened to keep an ear out for Danny.

After the shower, they played and flew around a bit outside. Jason didn’t like transforming, so he was glad he could access his basic powers without them. Jason felt his core hum, content with the laughter of children.

Jason felt something deep in his chest, and when he opened his mouth, he was surprised to hear a chirp come out.

Both children stopped flying around and came up to Jason, chirping.

Jason had no idea what was happening but chirped alongside the little half-ghosts. Eventually, they tired of chasing each other around.

“Danny, what was that,” Jason asked as they lay on the grass.

“I don’t know, it’s something ghosts do with their parents or close family members. I know it comes from the core, but very little else. Maybe Ghost Writer would know more.”

Huh, he’d have to ask the other ghost when Jason went to buy books next time.

They fell asleep on the grass with the sun beating down on them. Jazz and Raven found them later when they returned from their girl trip.

Jazz couldn’t help but take a picture of all three of them while she and Raven giggled.

Jason woke up to laughter. He opened his eyes to his two sisters, trying to stay quiet as they watched all three of them.

“Hey guys,” Jason said, his voice thick with sleep, “how was the trip?”

“It was good. We went to Ghost Writer’s bookstore.”

“It was nice,” Raven said, “I found a lot of spell books I had never seen before.”

She jiggled a bag she had for emphasis.

“That’s great. What else did you do?”

Jazz picked Ellie up, and Danny was starting to stir, too.

“Jazz, you’re back! Guess what, guess what? Daddy chirped for the first time today!”

“Did he now?” Jazz asked at the same time as Raven asked, “Chirped?”

Jason flushed a bit as Jazz cooed at him a bit while Raven demanded that he do it again.

“No,” Jason whined.

“C’mon, do it for your big sister.”

Danny, the traitor, chirped a greeting, and Jason automatically responded.

“Wow, it really is chirping,” Raven said.

Jazz had the camera phone out and recorded the little exchange. Jason sighed, defeated. Well, he’d get over the light ribbing.

“Can you do it again?”

Jason rolled his eyes and let out chirps of indignation. Raven laughed while Jazz smiled.

What was his life? He used to be a feared crime lord/vigilante. Now, he was being cooed over as he chirped like a bird.

Well, he wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.

Hope you enjoyed the chirps

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Down to the Meadow

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, descriptions of depression, descriptions of violence/gore (canon typical), more of Frank being concerned about what reader is eating (very vague ED references)

a/n: AHHHHH I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE! A huge thank you to the anon who reminded me that it was Monday LOL. I am so glad that someone else enjoys this story because I love writing it. This chapter delves into Franks trauma and mental state and I hope you all enjoy!

w/c: 5.5k

The dream evolved after the first iteration. Each time he closed his eyes, a new horror cemented itself into the sentient nightmare that was slowly consuming his entire life. 

As with the first dream, it started with you joining Maria in his standard nightmares. Your beautiful figure sitting on the carousel alongside his late wife and kids as those assholes gunned you down. A patch of red slowly spreading across your pretty white dress as your smile morphed into a face of horror. 

The weird thing was, his subconscious laced the nightmares with gorgeous, peaceful images of you. Like his mind was desperately trying to remind him that good things are easily ruined. 

You pulling cookies out of the oven. Then, you being blown to bits in front of him in the field. You laughing at a joke he didn’t mean to make. Followed quickly by your screams as the life drains from your face. 

You picking flowers in a sun kissed field, before a large black mass overtakes you, swallowing you whole. 

Though his resting mind was eager to pry him away from you, to spare you a terrible fate, his waking mind was yearning to let him wrap himself around your finger. The fine line he was treading started to look more like a noose—and he was weaving it himself. 

A cold, squishy object nudged Frank’s outstretched hand deliberately. Groaning, the Marine retracted his hand into the cocoon of sheets he had created in his uneasy sleep. A pitiful whine shattered the early morning silence and sent a white-hot strike of pain through his skull. 

Pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes, his throat twisted in a silent cry of pain. Prying his eyes open, he was blinded by the daylight, searing an imprint into his eyelids. 

Nausea burned in his gut as he contemplated opening his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to lie here and rot all day, but Max clearly needed to go out. The thought of bringing Max outside the apartment right now was enough to make a gag rise in his throat. An idea rattled around in his skull, the pain of his hangover too intense for him to even remember that Frank Castle never asked for help unless he was on his death bed. Braving the sun’s unintentional inferno, he let his eyes slide open again. 

A hiss of pain escaped his lips and he drew a hand up to block the rays as best he could while he took in his surroundings. He had fallen asleep on his couch after making a mess of his apartment, but his phone sat prominently displayed on the coffee table amid a smattering of empty bottles. Grasping it for dear life, he sent a message as quickly as possible before shutting it off and letting his head fall back to the pillows. 

Frank: I hate to ask this but could you take Max out for me? I’ve got a bad headache. 

A vibration let him know that you’d responded, prompt as always. 

You: I’m sorry you’re not feeling well ☹️ I’ll be right over. 

Breathing deeply, Frank heaved himself off the couch, stumbling to the door to unlock it before retreating to his created sanctuary. 

Frank: You can let yourself in. Door’s open. 

Drifting in and out of a painful consciousness, Frank hazily remembered the door opening, a cool hand on his face, the same gentle palm offering him some extra strength painkillers and a glass of water, before all signs of other life disappeared from his apartment. 

When he woke again, you were returning with Max in tow—your ethereal form outlined by a halo of golden light as you crouched in front of him. Frank was vexed by the sight of the skirt of your beautiful dress pooling on the floor.

“Hey, big guy. Feeling any better?” Your voice was soft as your dainty fingers stroked his arm with a featherlight touch. 

Frank grunted in affirmation, not trusting himself to look at your dazzling eyes and risk seeing honest concern. There was no way his fatigue riddled mind could resist you, it was too dangerous. 

You gave him a small smile. “Well I took Max for a walk to and around Central Park, so he should be a happy camper for a while. Did you want me to stay?” 

Blood rushed to Frank’s ears. This is exactly what he was afraid of. Do not say yes. Do not say yes. Do not— “Please.” His voice cracked around the word, making him cringe. You fucking asshole. You piece of shit. 

“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but tell it to quiet down. It doesn’t seem to be helping.” Your knuckles brushed over his cheek and he leaned into the touch, weakening your worried frown. 

“I just…I ain’t good company, sunshine. I shouldn’t let you stay, I can’t ask that of you.” Your pinched expression intensified as you listened to his deep grumble crack on the pet name he used for you. Cupping his cheek tenderly, a small smile slipped through as you reassured him. 

“You don’t need to be good company for me to enjoy being with you, Frank.” You shuffled closer to the couch, hand moving to scratch lightly at his scalp which made him groan in appreciation, eyes falling closed. 

Frank sighed, a strong sense of guilt ballooning in his chest “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Oh stop. You deserve to be happy. Whatever and whoever helps you get there, yah?” Your voice was definitive, almost stern, which made the corners of his lips twitch up in a smirk. 

“So bossy.” He murmured, his smirk growing as you gave his hair a small tug in retaliation.

“Can I sit?” You jerked your head to his couch and he nodded, sitting up to make room for you.

Ignoring his desire to let you care for him, he rested his arms across the back of the couch. The ghost of your body heat dancing over his exposed skin in an almost comforting waltz. It wasn’t a great placebo for your gentle touches, but it would have to do. 

You were quiet for a moment, worriedly glancing around the apartment. Empty beer and liquor bottles littered the coffee table. While you wouldn’t dare call Frank’s place “messy,” your rigid, grouchy neighbor was never less than meticulous. He’d mentioned his military background to you once, which would explain his precision and attention to detail. And that was why the litter seemed so out of place, you supposed. 

Preoccupied with brainstorming a way to assist, Frank nearly made you jump when he broke the silence. 

“Sorry I ain’t much fun.” 

You chuckled, poking his shoulder. “I already told you, tough guy, you don’t have to be fun. You can sleep more if you want.” 

“Nah.” Frank’s face contorted with a grimace making you giggle.

“Ok, have you eaten yet?” You tilted your head at him, darling smile persisting even though his place was a mess and he was a disaster. His doubt began churning again. She deserves better. Send her away. 

Frank just shook his head, both to clear it of the whirling thoughts and to answer your question, so you continued. “How does an incredibly greasy burger sound?”

The Marine groaned, “Like fuckin’ heaven.” 

Giggling, you took his hand. “I know a good diner not far from here. Join me for lunch?” 

“Sounds like a plan, sunshine.” Frank allowed you to pull him from the couch, appreciative that you took care not to jostle him too much. Armed with more painkillers and a pair of sunglasses, the two of you headed out for a meal. 

The amount of care you took, in the short walk between his apartment and your destination, to ensure his comfort on the bustling NYC streets was honestly outrageous. How someone could give two shits about a man that massacred people without trying was beyond him, but he was grateful nonetheless. Keeping a tender hold of his hand, you led him around the other New Yorkers with immense grace, your sweet face bright with a smile the entire time. Thinking it would be best for his pounding head, you refrained from making conversation, simply turning around to grin at him every once in a while. 

As you reached the diner, you pulled open the door for him before his outstretched free hand could touch the handle. Frank was always so chivalrous around you, it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. Smiling sweetly, you bit back a laugh at his narrowing eyes as he skeptically accepted your action. 

“Thanks, sunshine.” 

“Why of course, sweetheart.” You coated your voice with honey and Frank grumbled, furrow above his brow deepening. Bringing his calloused hand up to your lips, you placed a kiss on his knuckles before brushing over them with your thumb. “Relax, Frank. Let someone else care for you this time, hmm?” 

The tension on his face ebbed before evaporating. Poking his cheek, that was now dusted with a rosy blush, you giggled, pulling him towards an empty booth. 

Sitting across from you, Frank slid his sunglasses off to fully appreciate your appearance today while you read over the laminated menu. Dolled up in one of your signature floral sundresses, your hair was styled differently—pulled away from your face, revealing more of you to him. Natural light poured in from the window framing your booth, highlighting your slender hands and neckline that plunged deeper than normal. Frank found his eyes tracing the line of fabric down into the valley of your visible cleavage until your sudden movement spooked him from the trance. 

“Ooooo the red onion and goat cheese burger looks good. That must be new or I would have tried it before. What are you going to get?” You beamed at him, blissfully unaware of the way his thoughts lingered on your skin. Stuck in his own head, he wondered if your melodic voice would respond to his touches the way he wished it would. What would you sound like if he ran a hand over your thighs? Would you get louder once it became his tongue?

“Frank?” You took hold of his arm that was resting on the dull plastic table, startling him. Your pretty brow pinched, eyes running over his face for any sign of distress. “Are you ok? Is it too loud or bright in here?” 

“I’m a’right, sunshine. Jus’ lookin’ at ya, is all.” He grumbled, picking up his own menu as heat rushed to your face. 

“Oh, well, er—everything is good, so whatever you choose will be, um, good.” You stumbled through the sentence, trying not to dwell on Frank’s consistent compliments. 

A waitress eventually approached the two of you to take your order. Taking your cues from Frank, you ordered a strawberry milkshake with your burger while he requested a chocolate one—Frank seemed more than pleased about the addition to your meal and you weren’t quite sure why. 

While waiting for your food, you and Frank were looking out at the flow of people through the window beside you. You happily commented on their outfits, and what jobs you thought they held. Though it was clear you were being overly goofy to lighten his mood, he encouraged it—asking you to describe their personality and voice along with their job. 

Letting your lilting tone wash over him, he focused on the way your fingers fit so perfectly in his. Your thumb continued drawing patterns across his knuckles, even though your focus was outside. 

While you were giving a ridiculous impression of a man in a full suit that clearly thought he was tough shit, Frank felt a confession bubbling up in his throat. 

“Friday is my daughter's birthday. She would have been 18.”

“Oh, Frank…” The devastation in his statement made emotion well up in your own chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thought I owed ya an explanation. F’r the mess.” His hand circled towards himself lamely. 

“You don’t owe me anything. Not one single thing, sweetheart. I’m here for whatever you need, explanation or not.” You squeezed his hand again, looking at him with concern, but not pity. 

“I meant what I said earlier. You deserve better.” Keeping his eyes downcast, his heart plunged when your fingers stilled over the back of his hand before slipping out of his hold entirely. 

Closing his eyes in disappointment, he assumed he’d rightfully lost your support until he felt a burst of heat settle against his side as you wrapped him in an embrace. Your hand buried itself in his hair and he let you pull him into your neck. 

“You are exactly the kind of man I deserve, Frank. You’re allowed to grieve, and, honestly, if you showed no emotion that would be a huge red flag. It’s ok to struggle and it’s ok to ask for help. I am always always a door away if you need company or someone to talk to. I know I tend to dominate the conversation, but I have been told that I’m occasionally a good listener.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, stroking over the spot of impact gently when he subconsciously leaned into the contact. 

“I don’t doubt it, sunshine.” He idled in your hold before drawing back, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he moved away. “Her name was Lisa. She, um, she died in a shootout. Along with my wife and son.” 

Before he could continue, your waitress returned to your table. Thanking her briefly for the food, you positioned Frank’s food in front of him, picking up a fry. Watching you turn to him expectantly, he found himself telling you everything. For the first time in his life, he understood why Red felt so strongly about his religion. Confessing his sins to you lifted a burden that he had lived with for so long, he had previously assumed it was a permanent piece of him. He’d found a new altar to kneel at, and he wouldn’t give that up, he couldn’t. 

He talked for what felt like hours. Telling you about Maria, their meeting, their love, their marriage. He told you about Lisa and Frankie, how he felt like he had failed Frankie more so than anyone else because of the responsibility he’d unknowingly placed on the boy’s shoulders. While he didn’t go into detail about their deaths, he spoke about things that had haunted him silently. The pieces of his relationships with his wife and children that he kept so close to his chest, Curtis didn’t even know about them. 

By the time he’d picked his plate clean, he was exhausted. Revealing his fears to you was relieving, but it took so much energy. Running a palm over his face roughly, he drained the last of his milkshake. 

“I’m sorry, sunshine. That was…a lot.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I appreciate you trusting me with this.” Your words were genuine. “Let me finish my burger and then we can go home.” 

His heart fluttered at the small implication that his apartment was your home as well. You may not have intended it, but it’s warmed his chest nonetheless. As you worked your way through the rest of your food, you remained tucked into Frank’s side with his arm around your shoulders. 

Letting his arm fall to your waist, he stroked a thumb over your hip gently, making you smile. Popping the last bit of sandwich into your mouth, you fell more firmly into his hold. Studying his face with a small smile, you brushed a few strands of hair off of his face, eyes landing on his lips for a moment before you looked away. 

Flagging down your waitress, you started to hand over your card but Frank’s large hand settled over yours. Passing the waitress his card instead, his lips twitched in a tiny smile. 

“I got this one, sunshine. Could she get the rest of that shake to go?” 

You grinned at him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. 

Frank was sure he hadn’t smiled this much in years. The pair of you traipsed along the city streets, under the impression that the sunlight would do you both some good. Of course, he’d needed to persuade you and your adorably furrowed brow that his headache had faded and could withstand the bright lights and urban ambiance. You’d once again woven your fingers with his as you ambled along, this time threading your arms together too. The heat of your skin pressed to his was a drug unlike any other. He was infuriatingly drunk on you and his heart refused to do anything about it. 

Because it was you, with your brilliant smile and silvery laugh. He’d been constructing walls around himself for years, and you’d strode up with a basket of pastries, walking straight into his life and tidying it up like you had always been there. 

Stuck in his own mind, Frank failed to see the teenager sprinting down the sidewalk. His growing daydream of you cementing yourself into his life was shattered as your hand was abruptly tugged from his grasp, your body falling to the cement under the weight of the gangly teen who’d toppled you. 

“Oh gosh, are you alright, ma’am? I am so sorry! I didn’t see—“ 

“The hell?” Frank snapped at the kid, who turned white as a sheet as he stared up at the towering man. 

Kneeling beside you, Frank felt his heart constrict seeing the crimson-tinged scrapes on your elbows, small trickles of blood spreading from them across your pristine skin. Not to mention, your beautiful dress was splattered with the remnants of your milkshake, the styrofoam crushed against your chest. 

Snarling, Frank turned back to the boy, still crouched beside you, arm outstretched so you could pull yourself up. “Jesus, did ya even look where you were goin’? Or did ya just feel like injuring her and ruining her pretty dress.” 

The kid’s adams apple bobbed as he gulped in terror, wide eyes watching Frank’s movements as he backed away in surrender. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been paying attention.” 

“Yah. Ya should’ve. Fat lot of good that does us now, though.” Frank spoke tersely, feeling a hand rest on his bicep. 

Sitting up, you gave him a pointed look before smiling at the teen. “It’s quite alright, I just got scraped up, is all. Don’t worry about him, he’s a little protective. Are you ok?” 

Only you would be able to experience a mess like that and worry about the idiot that caused it. The kid nodded, breathlessly running his hands through curly, brown hair. 

“I’m fine, ma’am. I am so sorry, again, did you need help—“ Bravely (or stupidly), the boy stepped towards you with an arm held out, offering to help you up. Fists clenching, a low growl left Frank, scaring the kid back into his senses. 

“Sorry, er, have a good day!” The kid chirped fearfully, dashing away. You giggled, craning your neck to watch him disappear into the masses. Grabbing Frank’s hand with your own sugar-stained fingers, you allowed him to help you stand, brushing a knuckle over his cheek when you saw his fierce scowl. 

“I’m ok, tough guy. He didn’t mean it.” Giving him an earnest look, you withdrew your hand from his face, giggling when he slid forward on his toes to follow the warmth of your touch. Gently sliding your palm against his nape, you scratched at his hair—earning a deep, pleased rumble from him—and tugged him back into a moderate pace. “I would love to get this dress washed so it doesn’t stain, though. Let’s get home.”

Tense scowl easing, Frank gratefully let you guide him back to your building. 

“Frank, really, I’m ok! You don’t need to—“ You pleaded, watching the man pace around his apartment, grabbing various first aid supplies to tend to your shallow wounds. 

Frank ignored your bargaining tone, shuffling through his depleted kits for the supplies he sought.  Armed with bandages, saline, and cotton pads, he kneeled before your seated form on his couch. “Course I don’t need to. I want to. That bother ya?”

Sitting before him in a cotton shirt and pajama pants, he felt his heart clench as he studied your soft figure. You shook your head at his inquiry, looking at him with eyes filled with an unrecognizable emotion. Had he upset you? Was he being too pushy?

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off, eyes avoiding his own as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. His stomach tightened, waiting for you to reveal that he’d pushed you away, but the sentiment never came. “I don’t want to be any trouble, Frankie.” 

Oh. Oh. It’s not defensiveness, it’s doubt. Guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in his own insecurities that he had forgotten you were fully capable of falling prey to your own. Setting the supplies aside, he took your hands, looking firmly into your eyes. 

“Ain’t no trouble. Not to me. Not when it’s you.” His words were honest and the short, strangled gasp that escaped you told him you weren’t expecting it. A hint of a smile ghosted over your lips, making his mouth twitch in tandem. 

Silently, he pushed up your sleeve and rotated your arm to expose the torn skin. Dampening a cotton pad with saline, he swiped over the injury as tenderly as he could, terrified of seeing you wince. Holding still, you smiled at him, free hand coming to rub circles over his back as he worked. 

Focusing his eyes intently on the wound, he ignored the growing warmth in his chest, expanding with your continued touches. Though he was staring at your ravaged skin, his thoughts were elsewhere—leading him to put too much pressure on the wound. Your hand gave a barely noticeable twitch of pain, but he cursed his existence anyway. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry darlin’.” Loosening his hold on you, he bandaged up the shallow cuts. You just smiled at him, tracing a finger over his chin. 

“No need to be sorry, Frankie. Thanks for taking care of me.” He blushed, grumbling out a dismissive response and returning to his work. 

Though the day had already worn him out, long strings of words spilled out his mouth. Stories pulled from him by your sheer magnetism. You gave reassuring touches and encouraging nods as he once again told you everything. How he’d been a trouble maker as a kid and ended up enlisting, the brotherhood he’d found in Curtis and Billy. There was no way your perceptive eyes missed the flinch he gave when mentioning his former best friend, so he moved on quickly. He spoke about coming home to Maria and the kids, dealing with the shenanigans of two elementary schoolers while struggling with PTSD, the way he’d grown to appreciate the quiet and the way he hated it now. 

While you were more than comfortable carrying a conversation, he’d never found more solace in letting someone listen to him. You remained quiet, but present enough to stoke the embers of his energy as he rambled, squeezing his arm when he stuttered and smiling softly at the anecdotes. With a sigh, he placed the final bandage on your skin and pulled your sleeve to cover it. You were silent for a moment, studying the fabric of your top before his doubt got the better of him. 

“I’m sorry, you can leave if you want. I didn’t mean—“ 

“Oh Frank,” Chuckling softly, you pulled him into a hug. While the gesture was unexpected, he was overwhelmed with gratitude as he melted into the embrace. Pulling back slightly, you pressed your forehead to his. “What on earth gave you the impression that I didn’t want to be here with you?” 

Snorting at his own lack of control over his fears, he nudged his marred, crooked nose against your pristine one. “Wanted to give you a route to escape, is all.” 

“Don’t want one.” You whispered, growing breathless as he ran his fingers along the soft skin of your cheeks. 

The two of you sat there, slowly melding together, for what felt like hours. A cloud of hesitation and want steadily growing around both of you as you desperately sorted out whether or not to make a move. Before either of you could act on your desires, a shrill alarm rung out—startling you so intensely you shrieked, nearly toppling off the couch. 

“Shit, sorry, honey that’s me.” Large thumbs fumbling over the screen of his crappy phone, he shut off the horrific noise and chucked the device across the coffee table. “You ok?” 

You were panting, on the edge of giggles at your clumsiness, but you nodded. “Something wrong?” 

“No, sunshine, nothin’ like that. My friend, Curt, he’s hostin’ group today. Asked me to come.” Frank wallowed in the disappointment of the ruined moment, cursing his own rotten luck for pushing you away. 

“Oh, I can get out of your hair. Sorry to keep you!” Standing from the couch, you made to straighten the fabric bunched around your waist but a hand shot out to wrap around your wrist. 

“It’s not for a couple a’ hours, if you wanna stay.” Frank’s dark eyes flitted over your face, scanning for any sign of required affection. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to break into your signature dazzling smile and perch on the edge of his seat, practically sitting in his lap. 

“Course I’ll stay. I could make something for you to bring, if you’d like?” 

“Somethin’ like those addictive cookies?” Frank asked, raising a brow teasingly. 

Leaning in close, your murmur danced across his chin as you grinned up at him. “Tell you what, I’ll teach you the recipe, then you can bring them whenever you’d like. You have to be careful though, these are dangerous secrets I’m revealing to you, sir.”

Frank laughed, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll take ‘em to the grave, sunshine.” 

Scrolling through your phone, you sighed as you switched apps yet again. Nothing was holding your attention and the boredom of it all was eating you alive. 

Biting your lip hopefully, you flicked your screen to your message inbox, heart sinking when you saw there were no new messages. 

You’d spent damn near 8 hours with Frank, yet you couldn’t help but mourn his absence this evening. It was well-known both to you and your loved ones that you were quick to get attached to people, especially if they were brooding or lonely. Leo always referred to this as your “penchant for strays” given your obsession with pitbulls and black cats in addition to society’s lone wolves. But there was so much more to Frank than his soft grumpiness. 

Frank was sweet and protective, and his actions were proof that cared for you deeply despite only knowing you a few weeks. Your face felt clammy just thinking about the way he patched up your minor scrapes earlier today. You wondered if his tender first aid skills were developed during his short time with his wife and children. 

It was no surprise to learn about Frank’s tragic backstory. Though you had done your best to keep his life private, you’d managed to piece together the key points of his service, his loss, and his downfall. Your conversations today had simply filled the gaps, and fueled your existing desire to learn more about him. 

Despite your unassuming, feminine nature, you couldn’t help but empathize with Frank and his violent past. His actions didn’t scare you, revenge was something you’d dealt with intimately throughout your life, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful that so many dangerous individuals were no longer around to terrorize your beloved city. 

Learning more about his past had only drawn you to Frank even more, as if learning about each segment of his being only strengthened the invisible current that washed you repeatedly against his rocky cliff side. His violence wasn’t unnerving to you, simply more evidence that this man was exactly as passionate as you’d interpreted him to be. 

“The Punisher” they called him. The name was brutal, absolute. It wasn’t the image of the vigilante that you’d settled on. Yours was complicated, human. Just a man who loved his family so deeply that he was willing to bring hell to the people who took them away. His journey was one you couldn’t fathom, yet you understood. 

So you continued to pursue a friendship, maybe allowing it to blossom past traditional platonic boundaries, but how could you resist. Spending time with him meant time flying past, sharing bubbling laughs and stupid jokes with a man who looked at you like you hung the moon. When Frank was with you, his attention was deliberate and profound. He was focused on you and only you, even when surrounded by a myriad of other people and stimuli. You basked in the intensity of his gaze, letting it warm you from the inside out like a bright flame on a dark night. Did the world really expect you to not stoke those embers? 

As if your thoughts had summoned him, the unique text tone you’d assigned to Frank’s number sounded, igniting a bright smile on your face. 

Frank: You might have created a problem for me, sunshine. These guys want me to bring cookies every week now. 

You: All good things come at a price, sweetheart. Did you really think that you didn’t need to sell a piece of your soul to make cookies that good?

Frank: Pretty evil of you not to warn me. I’m starting to think this was your plan all along. 

You: Damn! You found me out. What can I do to make it up to you?

Frank: Do me a favor? 

You: What’s the favor?

A firm knock on your door startled you, making you drop your phone. Tilting your head quizzically, you shuffled over to peek out the peephole, grinning when you saw who had knocked. Pulling the door open, a very stern looking Frank—contrasted by the wiggling, excited pitbull at his feet—stood before you. 

“Hey there, sweethearts! C'mon in!” Beckoning the pair into your apartment, you led them to the couch, happily letting Max jump into your lap. 

“You’re spoilin’ him. He’s gonna think any furniture is fair game.” Frank’s gruff voice held a tinge of amusement but his face held a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. Clearly, he was avoiding something. 

“He’s the bestest boy, Frankie! He deserves to sit on the couch with me!” Squishing the pit’s face, you gave Max a kiss before looking at Frank expectantly. “Sooo…you needed a favor?” 

Looking away from you, Frank sighed, rubbing at his nape. “Yah, shit, I hate to ask this, sunshine. I, uh, I was hopin’ you’d be willin’ to watch Max for a few days for me?” 

Your heart pounded, body flooding with concern, and slight excitement. “Of course, Frank. Everything ok?” 

He nodded, slouching forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, still refusing to make eye contact. “Yah, just a business trip, nothin’ crazy. I just wasn’t expectin’ it and couldn’t get him into his usual place. If you don’t wanna do it—“

“Frank,” You placed your hand on his forearm, stroking his skin softly as you tried to encourage him to relax. “Of course I’ll watch him. That’s not an issue. I’m just worried about you is all.” 

Frank snorted quietly, letting you take his hand and pressing a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “No need to worry, sunshine. I can handle myself.”

Sliding out from under Max, you strode over to the broad man on your couch and knelt before him, taking his other hand. “Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart—but I’m going to worry about you anyway. Anybody going with you on this job?” 

“Nah, just me. Why, you gettin’ jealous on me, darlin’?” Frank smirked at you and you shoved his knee, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest at the new nickname. 

“You wish, Castiglione. I’m cool as a cucumber.” Mirroring his tender affection, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Just don’t want you to forget about me while you’re out galavanting, is all.” 

“Don’t think that’s possible, sunshine. I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya.” Frank murmured, finally meeting your eyes. The two of you hovered mere inches apart, tension growing around you in a thick fog before Frank cleared his throat, dissipating it. 

“Anyway, I can leave a key with ya, if that’s not too weird…” 

“Yah, yah.” You let go of his hands, standing up to brush off your dress. “That works, Frankie. When do you leave?” 

“Well, uh, now. If you’re truly ok watching Max?” 

“I’d be honored. Just…promise me you’ll drive safe, sweetheart.” 

Frank’s gaze was fervent, drawing you in and pushing everything else away.

“I promise, sunshine.” 

Thank you for reading!! Comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrixx@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight

[kyleraynermybeloved]

Don't You Dare

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x GN!Reader Summary: Whoever said nothing wrong could happen with baking was wrong! Warnings: just fluff Word Count: 530 A/N: I thought maybe a nice domestic drabble would suffice. I love Joaquin and I hope you enjoy this!!!!! Masterlist

Joaquin finally had a day off after being on so many missions. You wanted to surprise him by baking some of his favorite treats, chocolate chip cookies and cupcakes. He had come home in the early morning, looking exhausted and you turned him to the bedroom telling him to get some sleep which he reluctantly did after seeing how determined you were to see him rest. 

A little after midday Joaquin woke up to the smell of freshly baked cookies, leading him to the kitchen where you stood with the cute Valentine’s apron you donned most days, placing the fresh batch onto the counter to cool. The kitchen was getting warm from the oven being used, it felt amazing compared to the cold weather that was slowly seeping into the house. 

Once you caught your sleepy eyed lover inhaling over half of the still cooling batch you smacked his hands away with a grin, persuading him to help you with the cupcakes. Batter already done, he helped you pour it into an even amounts in the liners. The only thing left was to make the frosting and that was going well until you gave him full control of mixing.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you even think about throwing that at me!” you shrieked, running away from where he had a spoonful of frosting readily aimed at you. He chased after you with his own laughter bouncing off the walls of the small kitchen, circling you around the island before firing at you, hitting your cheek as you retreated back, almost fully out of the way.

“There, I think that’s more fitting for your sweet personality, my love.”

You stood with a glint in your eyes as you came up with an excellent idea. 

“I hope you're prepared for the aftermath that’s to come. Would be a shame if-” inching closer to the island counter, keeping eye contact with him, a smirk on his face as he took you in. You grabbed some flour and immediately threw it at him, “This was to happen!”

He stood there for a moment, taking in what just happened, dusting flour off his face. “Oh, you’re in for it now. Get back here!” 

An all out war occurred, flour, powdered sugar, and frosting going everywhere as you giggled, followed by his laughter whenever your shots were blocked. All prior activities long forgotten in favor of the sweet, carefree and joyful moment.

Joaquin catches you, pulling you into his chest, swaying you both in his embrace. He hums, nose nudging your cheek, “Thank you for the treats, and the forced nap. I really needed this after the exhausting few weeks I’ve had.”

“Of course, I’m glad I was able to alleviate some of the tension for you. But remember, these are supposed to last you for the next two days so don’t eat them all in one sitting, you glutton.”

You turn back to the oven once the alarm goes off, not wanting them to burn. Glancing back at him you see him looking at you with a loving smile, feeling your cheeks heat up and you shy away moving back to the task at hand.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Rei Suwa with a baker reader?

Rei Suwa + Baker reader

Rei never dreamt. When he went to bed in his bathtub, and shut his eyes, that was it. His mind never wandered. He never suddenly found himself in a field or surrounded by pink elephants & unicorns. He just slept.

So when he suddenly smelled the scent of muffins, he knew it couldn’t be a dream and immediately got up.

“What are you doing?”

“Ssssh!” [Y/N] hissed with their finger to their mouth. “You’ll wake Miri.”

Rei gave a grunt, then a big yawn, before running his fingers through the hopeless mop of hair and sat at the kitchen counter. He doesn’t even bother to ask what they’re doing in his house at 4:00 in the morning, or how they got in here. In their lines of work it was sometimes best not to ask. “She won’t wake up.”

“You never know.” They replied. Pulling out a fresh batch of muffins. “Miri asked for them. We were watching anime and there was this bakery with big fluffy muffins in the window. She said she’d never had them before and wanted to try them. I thought I’d surprise her for breakfast. And give Kazuki a break.”

Rei grunted again. He vaguely remembers this conversation. “I’ve never had a muffin either.” He realized out loud.

[Y/N] stopped what they were doing and looked at him for a moment, before they smiled. “You want one? You can be my official taste tester.” They gave him a wink, which made Rei slump his shoulders further and his stomach feel a little funny.

“I made cinnamon sugar, lemon poppy seed, chocolate chip, and of course blueberry.”

“Why did you make so many?” He asked, looking over each plate of muffins as they pointed out the flavors.

“Yeah, I guess I went a little overboard.” [Y/N] agreed with a nervous laugh. “But, I wanted to make sure Miri got a flavor she liked. I realized I never asked her what see wanted. Which I guess is a little selfish. I just barreled ahead because I liked baking, and that this was something I could give her.”

Rei listened and could sympathize with that. He tired, he really did; even if no one believed him. But he doesn’t know what kids like or want, or how they act, because he was never one. It was why he encouraged Miri to play videogames with him. It was one of the few ways he was sure they could bond.

“I’m sure she’ll like them. No matter which flavor you make.” He replied. Reaching for a chocolate chip muffin. “You could have made these out of cardboard and she would be happy. Miri’s good like that.” He took off the paper, and then took a big bite. His eyes lighting up. It was sweet, and fluffy, and still warm from the oven. He’d never had a muffin, but if he had he was sure this would have been the best one he ever had. “It’s good.”

[Y/N] beamed and gave an excited head tilt. “Yes! I’m glad you like them.” They then looked at the clock and went over to the other counter. “I’m gonna make some coffee, since Kazuki will be up soon. Do you want any? Double cream, two sugars?”

Rei nodded as he shoved the rest of the muffin in his mouth and reached for another. “Don’t eat them all before Miri gets up! If you do I’ll have to make more!”

‘Wouldn’t that be a shame’ He thought, but limited himself to just the two for now as not to ruin this present for Miri.

[bihansthot]

So, a little while ago the lovely @dearsimp requested some headcanons involving a reader from Mexico, it just so happened their birthday was a few days ago so I apologize again for being late! Hopefully these are acceptable, I’m afraid I don’t know much about Mexico, but I did some research which is partially why it took so long and I hope they are ok! I am so so sorry if anything is inaccurate I’m going off of google and a few Mexican cooking programs T_T I’m Scandinavian, so this is all new territory for me, I’m also so sorry if any of the Spanish is incorrect, I only speak English and Japanese, so I used a translator! Also I hope you are staying safe during earthquake season!

This is all fluff, no ratings, gender neutral reader a some slight kissing but nothing too steamy, I really hope these are ok! I had fun writing them! Much love to all my Latinx readers <3

Tomas:

You turn the dough out on the counter with a satisfied *plop*, you turn to your lover as he wipes some of the flour off your brow, “see, not that hard is it?” You ask as you begin to knead and work the lump of dough, trying to create something smooth and homogenous like your Abuela showed you years ago. Once satisfied with the shape you place it in an oiled bowl to rise as you turn once again to your stand mixer to create the cookie-like crust for the delicious treat.

“It smells delicious, I can’t wait to give them a try,” Tomas replies as he sneaks a little kiss on the top of your head. He sadly didn’t remember much about his own family traditions having been orphaned at such a young age, so he loved and treasured the time the two of you spent together sharing your proud Mexican culture.

You fiddle with the dough, rolling it in even balls before coating them with flattened-out sheets of the cookie-like topping.

“Is that a tortilla press?” Tomas asks commenting on your ingenious method for flattening out the pastry.

“My Abeula was a smart cookie! She always worked smarter, not harder!” You smile and make quick work of the cookie balls. You carefully drape the little cookie sheets over the dough balls and carve a fun swirling pattern into the confections, “now they just have to bake and we’ll be ready to eat them!”

“I know it would have been less work to just go to the bakery to eat them, but I’m so glad you suggested making them ourselves,” Tomas comments as he tucks the little cookie sheet in for himself and leans back to admire his somewhat clumsy, albeit perfect in your eyes, little conchas.

You steal a kiss, leaning over the counter to claim the smoke wielder’s lips, your soft velvety ones brushing lightly against his slightly chapped ones. It’s sweet and perfect in the moment, and you sigh a little as you open your mouth at the press of his tongue, he tastes warm and sweet and you can immediately tell he’s been stealing bits of the cookie dough. You don’t scold him though, instead, you lick his lips and suck softly on his tongue, eager to get more of the sweet, vanilly taste.

He reluctantly breaks the kiss as soon as the oven dings indicating it was hot enough to bake the conchas. “Guess we can finally bake these huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply a little flustered, anytime Tomas kissed you he immediately had that effect on you. You brush some of your hair back from your face as you put the tray of waiting pastries in the oven and set a timer. “We have about 18-25 mins, can you think of anything do to in the meantime,” you ask, giving him a suggestive smirk.

“Oh I can think of something,” he grins, his silvery eyes sparkling with a promise of things to come as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter and closes the gap between the two of you to capture your lips in a passionate dance.

Syzoth:

It’s Independence Day, something you had been looking forward to all year if for nothing else than all the delicious food available in the Zocalo. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, though he couldn’t stomach Earthrealms foods, you look over at him remorsefully as you take a big bite of your delicious Taco al Pastor. Your eyes roll back momentarily as you sink your teeth into the delicious meat and the pillowy soft tortilla, “are you sure you don’t want to at least try it Sy?”

“I’d love to sunshine, but it will give me indigestion most foul and I don’t think either of us want to bear witness to that,” Syzoth frowns as he explains his predicament.

“There must be something at one of the stalls similar enough to the food you’re used to in Outworld,” you sit there as you finish your taco mulling over the different possibilities the fiesta might have. “Why don’t we walk around the market and see, if there is anything I’ll get it for you, my treat!” You smile brightly and drag your boyfriend off towards one of the large covered markets adoring the city capital.

“Woah, woah! Slow down Sunshine, we have all day,” the Saurian laughs as he’s dragged from stall to stall with you, each one of them having what must be Earthrealm delicacies but nothing he could find palatable until you turned the corner.

“There!” You cry excitedly as you point to the mound of deep-fried grasshoppers, “chapulines!”

Syzoth cocks his head hesitantly before sniffing the pile of fried grasshoppers, they smelled delicious and had his mouth-watering, “can, can I try some? Those might just do it,” he replies as his stomach lets out an embarrassing gurgling sound.

You’re quick to order some for your lizard boyfriend and the vendor seems a little surprised you don’t want any tortillas or toppings but piles the grasshoppers in a dish for the two of you and sets it on the counter.

Awkwardly Syzoth grabs a fork and tries to spear one of the crunchy little delicacies, only to no avail, “Sunshine a little help here?” He asks still not entirely familiar with Earthrealm eating customs.

“You can use your hands Sy, it’s fine!” You reassure him as his emerald eyes sparkle with delight.

Slowly he munches on one of the grasshoppers, trying to assess if they were palatable for him.

“Well?” You ask with bated breath, so curious if you finally found something your Saurian boyfriend could enjoy.

“These are amazing!” He exclaims before shoving a handful in his mouth, chirping and crunching happily. “They’re so crispy and savory! So, similar to my natural diet!”

You clap your hands in delight as Syzoth makes quick work of his snack and you quickly order him two more portions, the vendor equal parts confused and elated at the customer’s clear enjoyment of his product.

“Viva Mexico!” Syzoth cheers happily before proceeding to stuff his mouth.

You beam at him so excited you are finally able to share something special about your heritage with the Saurian.

Kuai Liang:

“I would love to but I don’t know how xingan,” Kuai Liang laments as the two of you skirt around the brightly lit plaza.

Bands are playing festive music and lots of couples dancing merrily and you want to be part of the fun, however; your boyfriend does not know how to dance. “I can teach you, but I’m afraid I don’t know how to dance very well either, but I do remember some steps my Abuelo taught me when I was little.”

“I suppose we can try,” the pyromancer offers you a sheepish smile as you lead him towards the center of the plaza.

You try and keep to the rhythm, trying to remember what your Abuelo taught you, but it seemed as though the two of you had two left feet, tripping each other at every turn. You didn’t care though, you were just happy to be spending time together, during this local festival.

“I told you I don’t know how,” Kuai Liang seems apologetic and hangs his head in defeat as the music tempo changes to a melodic love song.

“Come on, even you can dance to this,” you reassure him as you sway your hips to the slow tempo and count out steps for him to follow. It’s clumsy yet perfect all at the same time, you rest your head against his warm shoulder, loving the comforting warmth he provides. The song ends and you are reluctant to part from the pyromancer, but it does not appear that he has any intention of letting you go as he pulls you closer, the heat radiating off his body.

His lips find yours in a slow practiced motion as you tilt your head instinctively to the side and enjoy your soft moment, forgetting you are in public, all you can focus on is the man you love.

Bi-Han:

“Uno mas!” Bi-Han calls out confidently to the barkeep indicating he indeed wanted another shot of tequila.

“Polar Bear that’s like your fifth shot shouldn’t you slow down?” You ask, your words slurred and sluggish.

“Pssshhh I can drink all night qīn!” He grins with confidence as he downs the bitter liquid as you stuff a lime into his mouth and he slams the glass down triumphantly. “Besides, I don’t need your help ordering them anymore, did you see that? Huh? I ordered it all by myself!” He laughs, clearly proud of the fact he has mastered one Spanish phrase.

You can’t help but laugh at his silly antics and grin at him, “oh yes! I’m very proud of you! Wait, wait! I have such a good idea! It’s my birthday and you said we could do whatever I wanted right?” You ask, crowding the cryomancer, the cold rolling off his flawless body doing little to combat your flushed cheeks.

“Yeah… what do you have in mind?” He asks before motioning for another shot and downing it before you can scold him.

“I want to see you in a charro suit! Please Polar Bear? You’d look sooooo good in one!” You clap your hands together excitedly, practically bouncing out of your seat at the idea.

“Where do we get one?” He asks, his speech starting to slur.

“There’s a rental store a few doors down! My parents used it for my quinceañera!” You exclaim as you hurriedly pay the tab and grab your behemoth of a boyfriend out of the bar.

“I saw the pictures from that, that dress was insane qīn, so fluffy! So many layers! You looked so cute!” He almost giggles as he recalls the details of your amazing quince dress.

“My dad picked it out, but thankfully he has good taste,” you laugh and drag him to the rental store, after a quick conversation with the shopkeeper Bi-Han finds himself mostly naked in the dressing room and you can’t help but look over every delicious inch of tanned, muscular flesh, “oh yeah, that’s my man,” you sigh contently to yourself.

After a few moments in the dressing room Bi-Han returns head to toe in his charro suit, “just call me fucking Bi-Juan! I look amazing in this!” He slurs and wobbles a bit in the tight-fitting shoes.

You can’t hold it together any longer and fall off your chair with laughter at his declaration of “Bi-Juan”, “oh my god, Polar Bear stop! That has to be racist!”

“Nah it’s call good! I’m dating a beautiful Latina, her-hermosa,” he replies with a sly smirk and a slight hiccup. “Come on qīn it’s your birthday! Why aren’t we drinking more!?” He throws the shopkeeper a wad of bills which was clearly more than the suit and shoes cost as he picks you up with ease and throws you over his shoulder. “Vamanos!”

You squeal as he handles you like you were nothing and laugh as the two of you make your way back to the bar to continue your birthday celebrations.

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

Holy! 🫣🤯😳

I didn't expect to start a chain reaction, lmao. I am glad to share tad bit of my headcanons, and even more glad that the other anon enjoy it. I am happy to feed the 30 Jojolion fans out there. 

We've been starved of content for a while (from video games like: Asbr where only WoU and Josuke (whose moveset is quite outdated) are available for part 8 cast (unfortunately our grumpy and lovable plant appraiser, Kei, Josefumi, and Kira are not available *Big Sad*) to yandere content right here. Anyways, here’s part 2 of my blurb. Enjoy it. To the other anon; please don't come after me ;;

~~~

“One package of chocolate chips cookies and those Milky way sweetrolls, if you would please.” Mitsuba mused, pointing her manicured to the dessert hidden behind the glass panes.

“Right away, Ma’am. Anything else?”You asked calmly, as you complied to her request. The dark haired model noticed something peculiar about you; You were dressed in dark navy blue dress suit reminiscent of galaxy, a silver blazer on-top of it, dark pants, and a dark shoes with silver botanical design. Overall, your motifs resembled the moon. Which made sense, seeing the brand of your bakery.

Yet, it was your necklace that garnered her attention. It was similar to that of her husband. It was a two piece necklace, she deduced. Yours was the crescent, ever so reservered and wise. While Jobin’s was that of the glazing sun, ever so energetic and on the go. Perhaps.. Perhaps you were the friend he always referred to with fondness and nostalgia. 

Not only him, but Mr. Higashikita and Mrs. Higashikita as well. Mitsuba doubt that was the case, the probability you are the same person is undeniably low. Since the friend that Jobin spoke off has been gone for nearly 22 years ago.

Regardless, she admired the way that you handled your bakery. From the calming and beautiful interiors and atmosphere (with music; ranging from Classical to Country, to Rock), to the freshly made and unique pastries, and the decently priced products and offers. Buying three packages of any product, can guarantee you another free of price. No wonder her friends raved about this place.

She could observe you, as you handled her order with absolute meticulousness and care. Your hands were gloved, as you gently knead the dough. Once the dough was ready to rise, you punched it down and let it roll. Followed by you filling the inside of dough with vanilla (with added sugar) to resemble the stars of the milky way. 

Then started rolling the filled dough again into jelly roll style, followed by you painting the outside layer of the roll with dark blue and purple coloring so it resembles a galaxy. Soon after, you have set the pastry inside the oven. While the sweetroll finishes, you have handled the cookies.

Mistuba was rather impressed by your work ethics. Instead of giving her a ready to go (probably soggy) cookies and sweet rolls, you went out of your ways to make it fresh yourself with the help of your co-workers. Not only that, but she was given a free tea as her order is being done. Mhm~ Weren’t you a clever business person? She might consider become a normal patron, if this continues.

It took about 40 minutes, for her order to be processed. 15 minutes for the sweet rolls to turn golden brown, another 15 for the cookies, and 10 minutes to package it neatly and properly. With a card on top of it; “May your happiness and prosperity be as vast as the endless universe ~✨”

“Here you go, miss. I apologise if we were late. Please, enjoy.” You spoke with a nervous smile at your face. Waiting for one of your favourite models to respond. You could feel your heart tremor, as you remembered the saying “Never meet your heroes”, but that vanished as a smile appeared on the lady’s face.

“No need to apologise, if anything… I expected to wait more, and not to mention the stellar hospitality. I could probably wait more.. However, I have quite few questions before I leave? Mind if you answer it for me?” Mitsuba mused, finishing her green chai.

“By all means, Miss. Any question you have, I’ll answer it to the best of my capabilities.” You responded back feeling the heavy weight of disappointing a customer, as influential as Mitsuba, is slowly withering.

“Good. Good. What’s your name?” Mitsuba inquired, curiosity eating her mind. There’s something familiar of you, yet she couldn’t put her finger on it. As if she has seen you somewhere. She tried to chuck it as irrational feeling, after all this is her first meeting with you. Or was it? 

She remembers seeing a photo of a young Jobin —about six years old— and another child dressed as bettles and were enjoying theirselves with Kaato laughing together with another older woman. The photo was in the Higashikita’s family photo-book.

“My name is (Y/n) (L/n), I do hope that suffices.” You chuckled, unaware of the woman’s eye widening in surprise. You have the exact name as the child. She must bring Jobin, maybe he can recognise you. She doesn't want to rush in mistaking you for someone else, but it isn't a coincidence that you share the same name with Jobin’s childhood friends.

“Is something wrong, miss?”You questioned in concern.

“No. No. Not all, haha. Please don't trouble yourself.” That all she said, before fleeing the establishment and leaving a positive feedback on the questionnaire regarding customer service and the bakery in general. Which left you pretty confused.

‘Huh? What was that all about?’ 

(2/?)

—-

Okay, bettle boy didn't appear because I want to world build a little bit regarding darling’s bakery and tad bit of relationship with Mitsuba’s and drop a few lore along the way. Darling has a long history with the Higashikita. Did she forgot them? Did something happen to reader that made them forget about them? To be continued *Insert Roundabout here.*

—JJL 🫧

Once again some really good stuff going on here, I like the additional details with Mitsuba, it adds some extra immersion that makes me want to keep reading!

[baalzebufo]

good ol fashioned razzmatazz

SO I wrote more... :) ive wanted to do a series of scenes from Gideon's life for a while now- moments in time we didn't see in the show. mostly past, maybe some present or future, depending. wanted to explore his life a little more, and the headcanons ive got surrounding it. drabbles is the best way to solve this because i cant write one long cohesive plot very well haha

ive got a handful of ideas in mind but this is the first one that i finished to any degree. just a little scene from his childhood. gideon makes his first sale, and learns something about himself.

‘What are you up to, sweetie?’

‘Shh- it’s a secret.’

Gideon hushed his mother as he ran over to the back door and shoved his face up against it, peering out through the frosted glass window into the car lot. His mother, Florence, turned her attention away from the oven for a moment to squint at him. He was wearing his favorite dress shirt, the dark blue one covered in golden stars- shorts and sandals for the weather, and his long hair was pulled back into a white braid. The sun caught on his hair through the window, and she could have sworn she saw it sparkle. What a strange little boy they had, she thought.

---

She remembers how tiny he was when she first held him, and how odd his shock of white hair had been. Odder still when she first saw the icy blue eyes he had- not like hers or Bud’s, not at all. Neither of them had even heard of what the doctors diagnosed him with before then. Some sort of ‘congenital condition’, for whatever that meant. All that fancy medical talk was a bit out of her area of expertise. All that mattered to her was that their little boy was alive- and now, at least on his way to better health.

Their little Gideon had been much more adventurous these days. Ever since the doctors had given him the OK during his last hospital visit, he’d seemingly been itching to get outside. He hummed loudly, like he was deep in thought.

Florence smiled. She reached over to the fridge.

‘Well, if you aren’t too busy with your secrets, could you do me a favor?’

‘Hm?’ He whipped his head over to look at his mother, who was holding a little tupperware container.

‘How about you go across the lot and take this to your dad for me?’

The wheels turned for a moment, and Gideon perked up instantly.

‘Y’mean it? On my own?’

‘Of course, hon. As long as you’re careful-’

He nodded, a smile creasing his face. Oh- she couldn’t help it, every time he smiled, she smiled too. Surely every mother thinks their child is the cutest kid on the planet, but well… she KNEW hers was. And she knew that they’d been very protective of him these past few months, what with the hospital scare and all. As much as she fretted about his health- she made a mental note to deep clean his room again this weekend- she couldn’t squash that spirit behind his eyes. It couldn’t hurt to let him out on his own for a little bit.

He took the container from her hands and tucked it under one of his arms, nodding solemnly.

‘Ah’ll handle it, ma’am!’ He stood up straight and gave a little salute, his face faux-stern, and she couldn’t help but laugh. He’d been watching too much TV lately, bless him.

She waved him off as he skittered out of the door, turning her attention back to the oven.

---

Gideon shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun. The worst of his sensitivity to it may have gone away with the treatments, but it still got awful bright out in summer. But he’d power through it. After all, he had a mission.

He took off at a run down the winding garden path, rushing through the gate onto the concrete car lot. The weather was hot, but there was that fresh summer breeze blowing in his face that made him glad to be out of his room. He liked it in there plenty- he had books and instruments and more toys than he knew what to do with- but being cooped up in bed for so long had him yearning for the outdoors. He squinted, spying the towering figure of his father through the light glinting off the windows of his work building.

Giggling, he sprinted across the lot as fast as his legs could carry him into the shop.

‘Dad!’ He burst through the door, startling his father. Bud Gleeful whipped around from where he was sat across a little plastic table with a skinny spectacled gentleman, poring over a contract. He wore a battered looking old suit but held himself with an oddly aristocratic air. He seemed out of place on a used car lot.

‘Woah there, sunshine-’ Bud started, his sentence cut off with an oof- as Gideon jumped onto his lap. ‘Heavens, boy! What’s gotten into you?’

Gideon looked up at him- and then across the table to his latest customer. He had put the contract down and was looking down at the two of them, a smile creasing his cheeks. Bud raised a hand, a little embarrassed. ‘Oh my, I’m mighty sorry for the interruption, sir-’

‘Oh, no. It’s quite alright.’ He laughed- he had that fancy city-folk accent, Gideon noticed. He tilted his head to the side to get a better look at him. ‘Now who is this fine little fellow?’

‘Oh, well this is-’

‘Gideon!’ He piped up, folding his hands across his lap with a smile. ‘Gideon Charles Gleeful!’

‘Haha- yep. That’s my lil’ Gideon.’ Bud finished for him, resting one big hand on his son's shoulder. ‘This is my son. Little fella ain’t been too well recently, but he’s lookin’ fit as a fiddle now. Acting it, too! Well now, why’d you rush over here in such a hurry, boy? Does your mother know you’re-’

‘Oh, yeah! I brought ya’ this from mom.’ He held out the container to Bud, who picked it up- turned it over, then hummed in understanding.

‘Hah, oh yeah. I s’pose I did almost forget about lunch, all caught up in negotiatin’.’ He mused. ‘Thank you kindly, sweetheart.’ He leant down to kiss his forehead, which Gideon responded to by playfully swatting him away.

The moment was interrupted then by the man across the table clearing his throat. Gideon and Bud both turned their attention back to him.

‘Mr. Gleeful, I have to be honest- I wasn’t sure if this was the right car for me, a few minutes ago. Forgive me for my bluntness, but I was worried this place might not be… on the up-and-up, if you catch my drift.’ Gideon felt his fathers hand slip off his shoulder, a subtle change in his demeanor.

‘But… well, seeing you here- you seem like a real family man, Mr. Gleeful. Trustworthy. I’m sorry for doubting you.’ He chuckled. ‘I suppose I thought this contract might be too good to be true for a moment there.’

‘Nah, dad’s the best at this stuff!’ Gideon piped up- he felt Bud tense up for a second, about to hush him, but he carried on. ‘I’m gonna learn to sell cars just as good as his, someday! So you can tell yer kids to come buy from me!’

Bud held his breath a moment, but then the customer burst out laughing.

‘Oh- goodness, how sweet. You know what, Gideon? I’ll have to remember that.’

‘That’ll be Mr. Gleeful to you!’

Bud picked him up then, lifting himself out of his chair and carrying his son high up to perch on his shoulder. ‘Okay, that’s enough teasing, boy-’

‘Haha! No, no, he’s got it right.’ The skinny man stood too, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘You know what? You’ve got yourself a sale, Mr. Gleeful.’

He held his hand out- up, above Bud’s, to Gideon. He grasped it firmly, grinning ear to ear and shook his hand. The gentleman nodded his head, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp 20 dollar bill.

‘Forgive me for being forward- but may I give the young man a commission?’

Bud startled, glancing at it- then back to Gideon- then back to the money. ‘Oh, my- that’s awful kind of you sir, it certainly is! Of course you can.’

Gideon’s eyes lit up. He eagerly took the twenty, held it up to the light- then slipped it into his pocket. He squirmed- a sign for Bud to pick him up and let him down on the floor again- and stood up straight with his arms folded.

‘Thanks, sir!’ He chirped, and Bud leant down to pat the top of his head.

‘Now Gideon, do you think you could let the grown-ups handle the borin’ part of all this paperwork?’ He crouched to smile at his son.

‘Sure thing.’

‘Alright, sweetpea. Don’t spend your money all in one place, y’hear?’

‘Okay, dad!’

His mission complete, Gideon padded over to the door- leant over his shoulder to wave at the man his father was now pushing a pen into the hand of- and left the room.

Stopping on the sun-soaked car lot, he reached into his pocket and felt the dollar again. Thought about the look on that man's face when he gave him the money, for nothing but a few words and a smile. His dad had a pretty easy job, he figured. But he didn’t really understand the whole sales thing- not yet, at least.

---

Gideon would spend the rest of the day playing in the garden- until he got too hot and tired, and retreated back to his shaded room for a nap. He wouldn’t think too much about what happened that day.

But that night, his father would take them out to the diner and boast loudly about how his son- barely in his fifth year!- had made his first ever sale. He’d let him order dessert- seconds, too. And he’d ask Gideon to stop by the lot more often, especially if he wants to learn to be a salesman someday. He was one talented boy, his parents told him. Showered him with that notion, really. He was destined to be a big shot one day with a personality as glowing as his.

'You have a face folks would never say no to!' His father told him. He didn't mean much when he said it- more of a joke than anything. But something about it settled with Gideon, still learning about the world. Nobody would say no to him, huh...?

He figured that sounded pretty nice.

[ejzah]

A/N: Happy Valentines Day to you all! Enjoy some Densi.

***

We’ll Make Our Own Fun

“That was fun,” Kensi said, glancing at Rosa briefly as she turned onto Roberta’s street.

“Yes, thank you for coming with me.” Rosa held up her hand, examining her fingernails, currently adorned with a pink and white striped design. “I feel very fancy.”

“Good. I’m glad you enjoyed your first manicure.” She parked in front of Roberta’s house, which was completely lit from inside. “I can’t remember the last time I got one. Maybe our wedding.”

“Well, now you’re all ready for Valentine’s Day,” Rosa told her cheerfully.

Kensi snorted. “Yeah, Deeks and I have never had the best luck when it comes to celebrating holidays. Caleb and Sophia won’t exactly increase the romance.” She held up a finger, even though Rosa hadn’t looked ready to object. “Not that I would change anything.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to enjoy the evening.” Smiling, Rosa opened the passenger door. “Oh, Roberta asked me to help her move some boxes, so I might not be home before Steven picks me up.”

“Ok, well have fun, be safe, and tell Steven we say hi. Call if you need anything,” Kensi said, leaning over to give Rosa a hug.

“I will.”

Out of habit, Kensi waited until Rosa was actually inside before pulling out of the driveway. It took approximately a minute to drive to their house, which was about 20 seconds longer than Roberta on foot thanks to her various shortcuts.

She came in through the back door, and the first thing she registered was the relative quiet. The second was the scent of rich spices permeating the air.

“Deeks,” Kensi called out, slowly walking from the kitchen into the dining room. She stilled just inside the entrance, her mouth dropping open slightly as she took in the candle lit room, table set with their finest dishes, Deeks standing to the side. “Deeks,” she repeated more softly.

“Surprise,” he said, crossing over to her. He took her hands, gently drawing her towards the table.

“What is all this?” It was fairly obvious, but Kensi felt vaguely stupid right now. She’d anticipated walking in to the twins needing something, not a romantic dinner.

“Your Valentine’s present.”

“I thought the spa session was my present,” Kensi said, narrowing her eyes as a suspicion began to build.

“The manicure was just a ploy to get you out of the house for a couple hours,” Deeks explained. “Rosa was extremely happy and eager to assist.”

Kensi recalled Rosa checking her phone periodically throughout their nail appointment. She’d assumed she was testing Steven, or a friend, but she’d likely been giving Deeks updates.

“Rosa’s interference aside, how did you have time to decorate and cook a meal in two and a half hours?”

“Well, mom watched the oven a couple of times when the twins needed something.”

“Baby, this is amazing. I can’t believe you planned all this for me,” Kensi murmured, wrapping her arms around him, and laying her cheek on his chest. She stayed there for a few moments, then tipped her head back to kiss him.

“I figured we deserved to celebrate for once. Especially with how crazy the last year has been,” he said. Squeezing her tightly for a few seconds, he slid his hands down to hers, guiding her to the table.

He lifted the lid off Kensi’s plate with a flourish. “For my lady bird, we have authentic carnitas—or as close as I could get it with Rosa’s help—with a side of refried beans, and as much guacamole as your heart desires,” Deeks declared, gesturing to the large plate.

Kensi’s mouth watered as she stared at the perfect looking tacos. She licked her bottom lip, considering the food, then Deeks for a moment. He was wearing her favorite shirt and pants; the ones that seemed to drive all sane thought from her head.

“Where are Caleb and Sophia?” she asked, dropping her voice as though they might hear her.

“Sleeping. I got them down about 20 minutes ago.”

“Good.” She took his hand, dragging him away from the table.

“Woah, Kens, don’t you want to eat?” he asked, sounding completely confused. She paused, turning to face him.

“I do. It look absolutely phenomenal baby, but Rosa is out for the next few hours, the twins are sleeping, and…I’d like to take advantage of this unforeseen opportunity.” She dropped her eyes to travel down Deeks’ body, straightening his collar.

He fixed her with one eye, his mouth open in an incredulous laugh. “Kensi, you’re not…are you sure that’s a good idea this soon?”

Sighing, Kensi pressed her forehead against his cheek. It just made her want him even more. “Ok, maybe we shouldn’t have sex just yet, but I’m sure we can find something fun to do. Unless you don’t want to.”

Deeks chuckled, shaking his head to deny the suggestion. Pulling her closer, he cradled her cheeks, kissing her deeply enough that Kensi’s entire body felt like it might combust. “The food can wait,” he decided, when he pulled away.

[pearlypairings]

Hi babe happy birthday!! For the cute birthday scenarios, how about hellcheer and one baking a surprise cake for the other?

eddie x chrissy || fun, fluff, goofy mistakes || 959 words

A/N: you've been so patient rosey, to be last but not least :) hope you enjoy the fluffy cake disaster that only a ADHD/distracted Eddie could make enjoyable <3 thank you for this one! ending on a high note:)

previous prompt

A scoop of powdery white mystery rested lazily atop the magazine cut-out on the counter. Eddie couldn’t remember if he’d scooped the flour or the baking powder and smelling it gave him no further clue. He slipped the recipe out from underneath to reexamine the ingredient list. “Son,” Uncle Wayne mused, approaching from the trailer’s quaint living space to haunt over the haphazard piles of ingredients and bowls and spoons. “Wouldn’t everyone be happier if you just bought the damn thing? Leave baking to the professionals. I can’t remember a Munson ever baking a cake, not even Great Grandma Gin.”

“Exactly, Chrissy won’t expect it.” Eddie picked up the scoop and poured it confidently (still wondering how bad the mess-up would be if he switched ingredients on accident) into the big mixing bowl amidst other dry ingredients. “You know how she is, always one step ahead. I never get to really surprise her. It’s about time that I give her a real shock.” Wayne shook his head, peering into the metal bowl with skepticism before taking stock of the cracked egg shells and milk carton close by. “Your girl is more likely to get the shock of food poisoning, but don’t mind me. I’ve just got her health more on my mind than your grand ideas.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll be sure not to save you a slice after your shift.” Eddie waved him away, his eyes glued to the numbers on the recipe instructions. With a shrug, he tossed the rest of the ingredients into the bowl and took their trusty, chipped wooden spoon off the sidelines. Sure, the recipe called for a mixer, but a little elbow grease and their lucky spoon had to wind up with the same outcome. His uncle stayed away from the kitchen while Eddie finished up. He’d had to borrow a cake pan from little Red and her mom down the way and promised to return it the way he found it—washed with maybe a few extra burnt bits stuck on the bottom. The Munson’s oven was more of a holding bay than an operational cooking appliance, so he cleared out the old frying pans and boxes of cereal too big for the cabinets before he clicked it on and set it to the proper temperature of 375 degrees…or was it supposed to be 325? Whatever, it’s hot enough at least. At any rate, the batter was to the brim of the pan when he slid it onto the rack like a brain surgeon who’d pivoted his career to expert baker. He saluted the oven, fully trusting it would honor its commitment to cooking the hell out of Chrissy’s cake. When enough time had passed (vibes were essential to this part, he thought a timer was a bit much), the dingy dishtowels were his gauntlets—primed and prepared to face the flaming hot metal inside.

Upon first glance, there may have been some spillage over the sides when it rose; he forgot about the whole “cake rising” part. And shit, sure, the edges looked darker (a rich toasty black-brown) than he expected, but the frosting would solve all of that, he assured himself as he placed the pan on the stovetop to cool. That much he remembered from little Red’s mother’s parting advice. By the time he’d finished swirling the last swatch of frosting, Chrissy would be here any minute. Wayne had already left for his shift at the plant and for that miracle, he was glad. Eddie would have never heard the end of his digs while they waited for her arrival, if he had seen the cake. Hell, his uncle probably would have gone out and bought a replacement cake for her. His disaster of a birthday cake had more potholes than the Forest Hills trailer park and more cracks than old Harry’s truck windshield. The only thing holding it up was his overabundance of frosting gluing pieces together and poorly filling the divots, lumps, and bumps across the top. A whole army of swirly, wax candles didn’t help his case much, but those were the finishing touches he needed for the surprise to feel complete. There were a couple of taps on the trailer door, and her familiar voice greeted him affectionately beyond the screen. Chrissy let herself in, wearing the prettiest white blouse he’d ever seen, probably a well-deserved birthday splurge from the mall. He called her over to the kitchen, stepping out to showcase his Frankenstein creation. “What are you doing in the—” Chrissy’s eyes froze on the deflated, over-iced cake. Her soft features exploded in glorious shock, and with a squeal, she rushed the last few steps and jumped into his arms. “That’s mine, right? You made that for me?” “I did, pretty girl.” He kissed her, hoping he still tasted like vanilla from all the frosting he’d been sampling. “Surprised?” “I can’t wait to try it!” She nodded, nuzzling into his neck and squeezing her arms tighter around him.  “Let’s light the candles first.” Eddie touched her feet back down onto the floor, looking between her pretty smile and the funky cake. He pulled open the drawer to get his lighter, shuffling a few items around to find the shiny black box while his back was turned. “You might wanna wish for a better tasting cake, just as a warning.” And before he had time to react, Chrissy had scooped a healthy finger-full of icing and slathered it down Eddie’s nose with a devious cackle. She retreated without hesitation, ducking behind Uncle Wayne’s favorite chair and hiding from the fistful of cake he carried behind his back. Her laugh was uncontrollable. Eddie had the biggest grin on his face. Sometimes cakes were really sweet. Sometimes cakes were made for throwing. Sometimes surprises went sideways in the best way. He wanted to record that laugh forever.

[bodrewritten]

Daughter of Discord Rewritten Chapter 9: Catch & Release

11:20 AM, October 7th

"Is your talent gardening? Cuz that's a weird thing to get goin in the fall." Dinky guessed.

The children were in the schoolyard where Apple Blossom was showing off her new cutie mark: a pink flower floating on wind.

"Nope," she replied. "My talent is perfumes!"

"Huh?" every pony uttered.

"Actually, I have Thunder Dash to thank for my cutie mark. Tell you what, When he told me the other day that I smelled nice, I got an idea!"

Thunder kicked a bit of dirt. "Well- of course! I'm the best crusader we got!"

"I'm glad I did! See, that morning, one'a my Ma's apple pies fell on my head and that's why I had that smell! I figured I could use that smell to make a perfume!"

She opened her saddle bag and withdrew a small spray bottle. She spritzed some at Maple Cinnamon. The earth pony huffed, then took a whiff of himself.

"s-s-smells... Alright." he said bluntly.

"So why is your cutie mark a flower and not a perfume bottle?" Dinky asked.

"guess it's cuz I made the perfume with apple blossoms that I had pressed in my scrapbook," Apple Blossom explained. "They had fallen off the trees before they could turn to apples. Mom says my cutie mark means I can give every pony my apple-y flowery scent!"

While every pony congratulated Apple Blossom, Screwball sat on a bench and doodle in the dirt with a stick.

"did'ja hear how Apple Blossom got her mark?" Taco Grandé said, bouncing with every word.

"Screwball!" The filly jumped and turned to Apple Blossom.

Screwball shook her head. "Sorry, Blossom. Congratulations on your cutie mark!"

Her other friends had gathered round to see what she had been so occupied in.

"Since when did you become so cutesy?" Thunder inquired.

"What do you mean?" Screwball asked.

Lightning pointed to the dirt. It was covered in little hearts and a few big ones with the initials 'SB' and 'MB' written in them. Screwball dropped her stick. She had not realized she had been drawing all that.

"Ooh!" Dinky exclaimed. "Who's MB?"

"ooooh, you wouldn't know him!" Screwball teased, using her magic to make the incriminating doodles disappear.

Apple Blossom scrutinized her face. "Wait a minute." She gasped dramatically. "No way! Screwy's got a coltfriend?"

"well, I wouldn't go that far-" she can't go that far. Nobody can know anything about him

"You so do! You're blushing like crazy!"

Dinky squealed. "Oh my gosh! Who is it?"

"Is he cute?"

"What color is his mane?"

"Spill!" Apple Blossom urged. "Who is it?"

Screwball was literally saved by the bell. As the other foals hastened inside the schoolhouse, she let out a sigh of relief.

Over the past month, she and Prince Mothball have been meeting up frequently. In those meetings, they had played, laughed and confided in each other. It was becoming harder and harder for Screwball to keep the secret from her friends and family. She was so proud to have mothball that it was hard to remember nopony else was.

When she came home with a dreamy look in her eyes, her parents were especially suspicious.

"Tell me, you also think there's something funny about our daughter?" Discord said.

"yeah. Not wrong," Fluttershy replied, resting her head on her hoof. "just peculiar."

"I'll say! You think there's a colt in her life?"

"she hasn't liked any boys at school since she enrolled, and there's no new colt at school as far as-"

"wait-flutters, what if it's a filly?"

She put her hoof to her forehead. "By Jove, I hadn't thought'a that." They looked at eachother for a beat, and giggled.

Slowly slinking towards her husband, Fluttershy stretched her hooves up to his face and from there, planted a neat little kiss on his goatee. Fur nuzzled down onto her face and discord spoke softy to her.

"regardless, should we not talk to her about what's expected of her now that she's dating?"

"we don't even know that she's dating, but yeah. You should be the one to explain the rules. I'm done with that line of work after the oven fiasco." With that, Discord waltzed on over to his daughter's room.

Screwball glanced up from her homework as her dad swung the door open.

"sooooo... Who is it?" He approached her, wrapping his snake body along the air.

The filly blinked. "What are you…?"

She sighed. "Yeah, okay- I get it papa, no there's no colt."

"You mother is on the crazy suspicion that you have a crush, haha.... Not me though. Not that it's a bad thing, just wanna know. I mean, anything. Not like everything but you can tell me an-"

Discord laughed awkwardly and a crooked smile pulled from the corner of his mouth. "Well I mean- doesn't have to be a colt- not that I'm assuming you're not into colts! It wouldn't be wrong either way, but like, if there's anything you need to talk about-"

"Nah. Thanks anyway though."

"What do you call these objects again?" Mothball asked, examining the strange substance in his hooves.

"that would be a bell."

"they sound beautiful."

"I didn't think you'd like em. Most of the time bells sound terrible. Unless it's heart's warming. Bells sound different then."

"I do not know what that is either. Perhaps that is a question for next week."

Mothball tapped his chin. They had been going back and forth with questions ever since their first meeting.

"Your unicorn friend," he said, "the one with the strange eyes? How did that happen? Was it an accident?"

Screwball shook her head. "Dinky's condition is genetic. Her mama, derpy, was top of her flight class until it got worse over time. Oh, dinky and I were actually born on the same day! One year we have the birthday party at my house, the next at Dinky's and then at mine and so on."

He scratched his head. "What is a birthday party?"

She blinked. "Wow. You really need to get out more. A birthday party is a party you have to celebrate the date of your birth."

"I figured. Birthdays would be every day in the hive."

Screwball snickered. "Aunt Pinkie would have a blast!"

"this pinkie, she would be the hyper one?"

"You bet your tail she is! Although she's not really my aunt, she's still one of my favorites! She can turn any bad day around just by being herself. Plus, she gave me this cool hat!"

Mothball sighed. "You have an amazing family, even as most of them are not related to you."

"I don't get it. Aren't there changelings your age for you to play with?"

"our hive learns the necessary skills for the hunt every day, with one day off to rest our muscles. Scouts learn military tactics, as well as our generals and other positions of defense. out even at this, I alone have to learn even more than usual. I am set to be king."

Screwball glanced down and circled her hoof in the ground nervously. "Does it…hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

"When you feed on ponies' love…do you…hurt them?"

Mothball cringed. "Well…when we drain them of their love, we drain them of their power. They slowly weaken, and weakening hurts. Like starving to death." He paused and backed away from Screwball. "Maybe we shouldn't…"

The filly gasped and pointed to the sky. "Look! A shooting star!"

She closed her eyes and concentrated.

"What are you doing?" the prince asked.

"If you make a wish on a shooting star, it'll come true," she explained.

"What did you wish for?"

She laughed. "Silly! You can't tell your wish, or else it won't come true!"

"I fail to see how a star can possess magical wish-granting abilities."

...

"shut up about it, jeez." Screwball laughed.

"Ooh, there's another one! This one's yours! Go on! Make a wish!"

Mothball glanced at the filly and then at the star. He thought the idea a bit silly, but he did not want to disappoint his friend. Before the star burnt out, he shut his eyes and silently made his wish: I wish I were not a changeling, so I could have a heart.

Mothball was prepared to meet Screwball for a game of beach volleyball. He had made a hole in his wall leading outside, concealed by a beaded cloth, the only decoration he had been allowed. Lifting the cloth, a chill ran up his skull, implanting itself into every cell.

"Going somewhere, Mothball?"

The prince gasped and turned to face his mother. He faked a grin

"W-what are you talking about mother-"

Chrysalis bared her teeth to the boy. " Don't you dare to smile at me! You can cut the charade, boy. I know of your secret exit, and where you've been sneaking off to the past several weeks." She hissed at him and she shrunk down to the corner of his room.

Mothball gulped. There was no use hiding now that he had been caught red hoofed. He heeled and bowed to her.

"I'm prepared for my punishment, Mother," he said, shutting his eyes with a shiver.

"Punishment?" Chrysalis said, raising an eyebrow. "You want me to punish you for doing exactly as I told you?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at her in confusion. "What?"

"I asked you to find out whatever you could about the halfling and you have! The silly filly doesn't suspect a thing! That is, of course, unless you have gone behind me back to do something I ordered you not to do." The queen leaned down to the boy, cramping him. He cringed like she snapped at him as a dog would, when in reality she'd done nothing at all.

"What do you mean?"

The queen smirked as she laid her hoof on the colt's shoulder. "You are doing so well, boy, you are ready for the next level of your training, and it will require long and tedious hours, so your little scheme will have to be put on hold."

Mothball choked at what his mother was saying

She seemed to read his thoughts. "This spawn of Discord could be more useful than I thought. She could be the key to our success! And you, mothball," she lifted his chin towards her, "will be the one to turn that key in the lock. First lesson in your new level of training, son:" she grinned at him evilly, "breaking a heart."

The prince could not speak. His mother chuckled darkly.

"Go," she commanded. "Meet your little friend and inform her you are unable to see her again. But don't just tell her. Break her! Be cruel, be cold, be vicious!"

"You…" Mothball stammered. "You…w-want me to…w-what?"

"Break the filly's fragile heart and enjoy the pleasure you'll get from it!"

"B-b-but…"

His legs quivered. She would know. She had spies everywhere. He had been a fool to think he could sneak out unnoticed! She had only let him go so he could do her dirty work. Now she was asking him to break the beautiful heart he admired and envied and to emotionally hurt the pony it belonged to. He wanted to refuse, but how could he? He could not disobey his mother. He had seen her kill for less.

A bright green flash of light burned itself around Mothball's throat, crushing his windpipe. "If you choose not to do as I say, I will know. I will drag you through hell."

As Mothball approached the chocolate lake, he saw that it was surrounded by sand. Screwball stood by a net, bouncing a volleyball on her head. He smiled at her innocence and then frowned at what he had to do.

When Screwball saw her friend, she caught the ball in her hooves. "What took you so long?"

"I, um…" he stuttered. "I…had trouble sneaking out."

She shrugged. "That's okay. You want to serve first?"

Her swirly eyes sparkled with excitement. He looked away from them, as if they would pull him in and tear him apart. He searched the trees for changeling scouts, but did not expect to find any, for they were masters of camouflage. He would bet his life that they were watching right now and would report to their queen on his actions.

Mothball stepped closer to Screwball, still avoiding her gaze, and took a deep breath. "We can't play volleyball tonight, Screwball."

The filly's grin wavered, but she kept it up. "Okay. We can play something else, if you wanna."

"No, Screwy…I…see…I can't play with you anymore."

This time, her smile vanished completely. "What? Why?"

His mother's words rang through his head: Be cruel, be cold, be vicious!

"I…" He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin in an uppity fashion. "I don't want to play with you anymore! You've…you've gotten boring!"

Screwball dropped the ball in disbelief. "Mothball, what's going on? Why are you lying to me?"

He winced. He had forgotten that she was a living lie detector. Leave before she could reveal him to the prying ears all about them.

"I'm not lying!" he insisted. "I've grown tired of you! It was fun for a while, but…then it became dull. And to think I risked getting into trouble for you! You're lucky no one caught me!"

Another lie. Screwball understood now. They were being watched, and so he was pretending to be cruel. After a long pause, she realized she had to play along. Even if he couldn't tell.

Screwball's eyes widened in realization. She could sense how untrue every word was, He had been caught, possibly by his mother. But why was he acting like this?

"you mean nothing to me! You're a waste of a good spawn!" Yeah! Keep it familiar!

"Well, fine!" she snapped. "Maybe I'm tired of you too! Hell, I'm downright sick of you!"

Mothball was slightly taken aback, but straightened up. "Well, speaking of hell, if I wasn't so in control of my emotions, I'd be inclined to say that's the sort of place you should consider making a visit...towards!!"

He could not tell if she had gotten his message, but the spies were watching and he had to retain his image. He was sure she could not understand his true intentions.

"You know? You were never my friend, mothy! You're just a dumb- uhhh, critter!"

He felt a pain in his chest, soothed only when he realized she called him mothy... She knew. Of course she did! Do not smile! He then turned on his hoof and took to the skies. As he flew away, another changeling pat his back in second-hand embarrassment.

"it appears that she has completely cooked you, your majesty. I am sorry about that."

Screwball bit her cheeks. It was the best she could do to contain her grin

He had been lying.