#how to make cake without oven

[berryblu-soda]

Uhhhh

[munsonsmixtapes]

Made With Love

dad!simon x mom!reader

You and your daughter make Simon a cake for his birthday and the three of you celebrate together.

All the ingredients for the cake your baking are all over the counter as you whisk the batter together. Your daughter is in front of you, helping you whisk and you can’t help but smile down at her, seeing her eyes fixed with concentration on her tasks. When she gets like this, you can’t help but think about how much she resembles her father. 

The cake is for him-for his birthday that he always claims that he doesn’t care about but you know that’s not true. Not when he smiles down at the cake you make him year after year. He won’t accept gifts but this, he’ll take gladly. It’s the thought that counts in his eyes and the fact that you’ve done anything at all for him means the world in his eyes. 

And you know that it’ll mean even more to him that your daughter has helped with making the cake. He loves the girl with everything he is. Every time he opens his wallet and sees the photo of the two of you, his heart swells with more love than he knows what to do with. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think he’s the luckiest man alive to have the two of you in his life. 

“Alright, time to pour the batter into the pan, but mommy has to do this part, okay?” You tell Layla and she nods in understanding as she lets go of the whisk. You pour the batter into the pan and put it into the already preheated oven before setting a timer. 

You’re nervous for tonight since you have much more planned than just the cake this time. You went out and got Simon’s favorite movie as well as the snacks you know he likes, but that’s not what’s got you so anxious. You impulsively bought some lingerie and have it hidden in the closet where you know he won’t find it. You’ve been saving it for a special occasion and you think tonight is the perfect time to finally wear it, deciding that you want Simon to unwrap you. 

But you’re not even sure that you’ll go through with it. You’ve had sex plenty of times since Layla was born but it’s always been quickies. Most of the time, you’re both too exhausted with your jobs as well as raising your now five-year-old that you always end up falling asleep before sex is even a thought. 

Your parents are watching Layla so you and Simon can have a date night and you can’t help but smile at how excited she is. She’s talked about it nonstop since you told her the news and you love that she sees her grandparents’ house as a safe space. That she loves them that much that she doesn’t even seem to be afraid of being away from you for the night. You’re glad that she at least has one set of grandparents that wants to spend time with her. 

Simon’s relationship with his parents has been rocky since the two of you started dating. They didn’t like that he decided he no longer wanted to join the military nor that the two of you were engaged without their approval. They didn’t like you to begin with. They hated that you encouraged him to follow his dreams and not the plan that they laid out for him.

From then on, they shut him out. They didn’t come to the wedding even though they were invited and haven’t reached out in the ten years that you’ve been together. You’ve sent them countless Christmas cards, showing them how your family has grown-how Layla has grown and yet, have received nothing back. And you don’t even care that they don’t want to talk to you, you’re just outraged that they’re letting their anger get in the way of having a relationship with their grandchild just because they don’t like you. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear the front open and close. Simon comes into view and you can’t help but think that he’s earlier than usual. You thought you had at least an extra hour but now he’s here and the cake isn’t finished. Your panic dissipates when he smiles brightly as his eyes lock on yours. 

Simon steps forward and just when he’s about to make a beeline for you for a kiss, Layla jumps down from the chair she was standing on and races towards Simon, your heart warming at how much she loves him. 

“Daddy!” she squeals as she gets to him and he scoops her up into his arms. 

“Hey, princess,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek. When the two of them turn to look at you, you can’t help but think about how it’s like his face was copied and pasted onto hers. Simon always talks about how she looks just like you, but you’re sure that the only thing she got from you is the inability to stop talking. 

“Something smells good,” he says as he sets Layla on the counter as he pulls you in for a quick kiss. 

“It’s your cake,” Layla tells him, her smile matching her dad’s. He’s grinning now and you’re tempted to take out your phone and snap a picture of him like this. He just seems so happy and you always want him to feel this way. Especially on his special day. 

“My cake?” He asks, feigning confusion, as if you haven’t been keeping up this exact tradition for a decade now. He looks forward to it every time. He counts down the minutes until he can race home to his wife and daughter and enjoy the cake you’ve both made for him as well as his favorite dish that he sees cooling off on the counter. 

"It's made with love!" she says which she's heard you tell Simon every year.

He’s never felt so loved in his life, not until you came around. You showed up and suddenly his very gray life was suddenly filled with color. He suddenly realized that there was more to life than what his parents laid out for him. He had the ability to do whatever he wanted, and he wanted to marry you. As upset as he is that he hasn’t seen his parents since the day he introduced you to them, he wouldn’t trade that for anything. He has you and Layla and that’s all he needs.

“Double chocolate,” you confirm with a nod and you swear the grin on his face gets even wider. 

“I have a present for you,” Layla says, kicking her feet in excitement and you help her down from the counter so she can head to her room to grab it. As soon as Simon hears her door slam, he pulls you to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. 

“I feel so spoiled,” he says as he lips finds yours, slotting between them as he pulls you even closer to him. 

“Just wait until you see what I saved for dessert,” you tell him, attempting to make your voice seductive and you feel his cock getting hard against you. Your moment, however, is cut short by little feet slapping against the floor as your daughter hurries back into the kitchen. You and Simon quickly pull away to see that’s got a folded piece of paper in her hand as well as what looks like a green paper crown in her hands.

“What’s this?” He asks as he takes the gifts from her and she smiles proudly up at him, so happy with herself at how her gifts came out. 

“It’s a card and I also made you a crown.” Simon feels like he could cry as he looks at the things his daughter has made for him, how she wanted to create something with her tiny hands. How she’s looking up at him with that little smile that always reminds him of you. 

“Here, you put it on me, while I look at the card.” Simon crouches as Layla takes the crown from him, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she puts the crown on her dad’s head. He opens the card and can’t help but smile as he sees the little note written in orange crayon in her messy five-year-old handwriting. 

Happy birthday daddy

I love you this much

Even though it’s only a few words, it takes up the entire side of the page with a tiny picture of what he assumes is her holding her arms out to signify just how she loves him. On the other side is a drawing of the three of you and what he assumes is the puppy she’s been asking for months-very subtle. 

“This is so sweet, princess. Thank you” he says as he looks at her again. “And I love you this big,” he holds his arms out as wide as he can. “Now give me some sugar,” he says and she steps into his arms before pressing a kiss to his cheek. She then wraps her little arms around his neck, giving him a squeeze before pulling away. 

Simon then stands to his feet and puts the card on the fridge where it belongs and turns around to see you putting the now baked cake on the counter before pulling plates from the cabinet and serving the three of you some of the mac and cheese you’ve made along with a few sides to make it more filling. 

The three of you take your plates to the living room where you enjoy your meal on the couch as you watch the movie you picked out for Simon-Howl’s Moving Castle-that you’ve already watched three times this week with Layla already. But you don’t mind at all watching it again.

After dinner is done and cake is had, the three of you snuggle up, a blanket across your laps. Simon is between you and Layla as the two of you are laying on each of his shoulders. His arms are around either of you in a protective manner and he can’t help but smile to himself as he thinks that this is the best birthday he’s ever had. But he knows next year will easily top it, especially if you’re in charge of planning it. 

A knock at the front door stirs you from your sleep. You rub your eyes as they open, wondering to yourself when you fell asleep and turn to the TV to see that the movie has ended. You turn it off and in your sleepy state turn to see your husband and daughter asleep in each other’s arms, mouths wide open as they snore softly. 

“Layla, honey,” you shake her shoulder lightly and her bright eyes open. “Grandma and Grandpa are here. C’mon, baby,” you hold your arms out and she grabs hold of your neck as you lift her from the couch. 

You carry her over to the door, grateful that you already put her in her pajamas before having dessert. You then grab her backpack and shoes before opening the door, smiling widely at your parents, your daughter rubbing at her eyes as she’s passed off to your mother. 

“Thank you so much for doing this,” you tell her, looking from her to your father and they both smile widely. 

“Happy to do it,” your father smiles. “Now the two of you have a good night. Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night? We still have to give Simon his gift.”

“Of course,” you nod, your heart warming at how they’ve adopted him into the family, treating them like one of their own children. They loved him the first time the four of you had dinner and have especially wanted to be parental figures to him since his own don’t want anything to do with him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart. Now get some rest.” With that, they take Layla’s backpack and socks and shoes and turn to head down the steps of your porch. You shut the door and lock it back before cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, deciding that you’re not in the mood to put out tonight. The lingerie is going to sit in the closet for just a little longer, you suppose. 

Once the kitchen is put back together, you enter the living room, shaking Simon’s shoulder lightly while whispering his name until his eyes open. You wordlessly pull him up from the couch and lead him to your bedroom where you both silently get ready for bed. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs after he spits his toothpaste into the sink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know you had something special planned, but I’m just-so tired.”

“No, hey, I fell asleep too. C’mon, let’s just go to bed and I promise I can give you your present in the morning.” He loves the sound of that and is looking forward to seeing what you have in store for him.

“Deal,” he smiles, putting his toothbrush back into the little cup where yours sits then pulls you in for a kiss. This one is longer and deeper than the one you shared in the kitchen. It’s sweet and loving, Simon pouring out his appreciation for you into it. He pulls away all too soon and that smile he’s been wearing all night makes a reappearance. 

“I love you,” he says and it’s that dreamy tone that you hear all the time. The tone that says that he can’t believe how lucky he is, but you’re the lucky one here. He sacrificed so much to be with you and for that you will forever be grateful. 

“I love you too.” Your smile matches his and he leads you back into your bedroom where you both change into pajamas and get into bed. You snuggle up into each other’s arms as Simon tells you how much he’s grateful for you and Layla over and over until the two of you drift off to sleep with smiles planted on your lips.

part two

[solxamber]

Receiving Gifts on White Day with: Heartslabyul

Go here for other dorms

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle stands at your doorstep, posture straight as a ruler, cheeks pink, and hands clutching a meticulously wrapped box like he’s been assigned a life-or-death mission. You blink, still groggy from sleep, while he clears his throat with the dignity of a man attempting to keep his emotions regulated.

“I have prepared this for you,” he announces, voice firm, yet slightly trembling. “In accordance with White Day traditions, as well as my personal desire to properly return the affection you displayed last month.”

You arch an eyebrow. “So… this is a strictly enforced romantic gesture?”

His grip tightens on the box. “I wanted to do this,” he corrects, though the fact that he appears two questions away from passing out begs to differ.

Still, curiosity gets the best of you. You accept the box, carefully unwrapping it, and—wait. These are homemade cookies.

Your eyes snap to Riddle. "You made these?"

“Yes,” he admits, looking only mildly tortured. “It… took several attempts.”

Several? The image of Riddle in an apron, staring down an oven timer like it personally offended him, flashes in your mind. You take a bite—soft, lightly sweet, with a hint of strawberries.

“These are amazing,” you say honestly, watching as his ears flush even redder.

Riddle exhales, relief washing over him like a well-structured legal argument. “I am… glad.”

Then, just as you’re about to pull him inside for a proper reward, he straightens and adds, “Also, do not share them with Ace or Deuce. I refuse to let my efforts be squandered on them.”

You snort, deciding to absolutely share one with Ace just to watch Riddle scold him about "unearned privilege."

Trey Clover

Trey stands at your door, looking so effortlessly charming that it should be illegal. In his hands is a basket, wrapped in soft ribbons, smelling so good that you’re nearly tempted to take it and shut the door just to hoard it all.

“Morning,” he greets, his voice warm enough to make you forget that it’s way too early to be receiving this level of boyfriend energy. “Thought I’d make you something special for White Day.”

You cross your arms, pretending to scrutinize the basket. “And this isn’t just because you feel obligated to return the favor?”

Trey chuckles, stepping closer—dangerously close. “Nah. I just like spoiling you.”

…Oh. Oh. Your brain immediately enters critical failure mode.

He hands over the basket, filled with handcrafted chocolates, cookies, and—oh, hold on. Is that a mini cake? You lift it, noting the delicate frosting swirls, and Trey watches you with that mildly smug, incredibly dangerous smile.

“I remembered you liked the cake I'd made last week,” he says, like it’s a casual thing and not an instantaneous relationship score multiplier.

You take a bite. It’s divine. You meet his gaze, absolutely smitten. “Trey, this is actually illegal. I could fall in love all over again.”

His smirk deepens. “Guess I’ll have to keep making them, then.”

You pause. Narrow your eyes. “Was this a secret proposal?”

Trey laughs, resting a hand on your waist to gently pull you closer. “If it was, you’d be the first to know.”

Oh, he’s good. You take another bite of cake to distract from how fast your heart is beating.

Cater Diamond

Before you even fully register being awake, someone pushes your door open.

“BABE, WAKE UP, IT’S WHITE DAY!”

Cater is there, standing in a power pose, holding up a pastel-colored gift bag like it’s a declaration of war. You blink at him. Blink at the bag. Then back at him.

“…Cay. What the actual hell.”

He grins, stepping inside before you can protest. “Shhh, just accept my love and devotion, okay?”

You take the bag on instinct, still trying to process why your morning has started like this. Inside, you find chocolates—and a small Polaroid. You pull it out. It’s of you two, mid-laugh, clearly taken without your knowledge.

You glance up. Cater is watching you—actually nervous. “Sooo, I was thinking… maybe we could take a pic every White Day? Y’know, to make it a thing.”

Oh.

Your heart aches at how casually sweet he is. You smile, running a thumb over the picture. “I love it.”

His face lights up. “Knew you’d say that!” Then, before you can react, he dramatically dips you, snaps another photo, and grins.

“I swear, I’m gonna be the #1 Boyfriend this year.”

You laugh, shoving his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous.”

And damn it, you really love him.

Ace Trappola

Ace stands at your door like a man who has just been coerced into doing something cute.

He shoves a small bag at you, face slightly pink. “Here. White Day. Whatever.”

You take it, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. Such romance. My heart is pounding.”

Ace groans. “Just open it, nerd.”

Inside, you find chocolates—clearly homemade—and, oh. A plushie. Of your favorite character.

Your heart stutters. “You actually paid attention?”

Ace scowls, ears red. “DUH? What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

You smirk, taking a chocolate. Then, before he can react, you grab his face and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

Immediate fatal error.

Ace short-circuits, stumbling back like he’s been shot. “WH—WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

You grin. “What, kissing my boyfriend? Weird.”

He groans, covering his face. “I hate you.”

You pop another chocolate into your mouth. “Nah. You love me.”

Ace mutters something about needing a refund, but the way he’s grinning says otherwise.

Deuce stands at your door, holding a small box with both hands, shoulders so tense you think he might pass out.

“H-Happy White Day!” he blurts, voice borderline panicked.

You blink. “Are you okay?”

"YES." He is not okay.

You accept the box, opening it to find slightly uneven, homemade chocolates. You take a bite—rich, a little messy, but full of effort.

“These are amazing,” you say, smiling.

Deuce exhales so hard it sounds like his soul left his body. “Oh, thank seven, I thought I ruined them—”

Before he can spiral, you grab his collar and kiss him.

System crash.

Deuce staggers back, bright red. “Y-YOU CAN’T JUST—THAT’S CHEATING—”

You grin. “Better get used to it.”

He groans, face in his hands. “I’m never recovering from this.”

Perfect. You win White Day.

Masterlist

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hear me out

Batsis baking something for them just because shes bored but shes horrible at baking (or she would just sabotage it idk put some peppers on the cake)would they just eat it?

Yandere Batfamily x reader

The kitchen smelled like war. Not the type fought with fists and weapons but the kind fought with flour, sugar, and an oven’s unrelenting heat. You stood in the middle of the chaos, apron smeared with batter and the counter coated in the powdered remnants of your efforts. You weren’t a baker—hell, you barely knew how to fry an egg—but boredom had a cruel way of twisting your decisions.

So here you were, baking for the people who had stolen you away under the guise of "family."

Not that you called them that.

Still, the silence of the manor grated on your nerves, and after hours of sulking and dodging their hovering presence, you thought, Why not? Maybe the mess would annoy them. Maybe the smell would be enough to break through their obsession-induced fog and remind them you weren’t playing along with their delusions.

The cupcakes you pulled from the oven looked… edible. Kind of. Half were lopsided, and a few were slightly charred. You dumped a ridiculous amount of frosting on top in an attempt to salvage them, but the end result was a tray of pastel blobs with vaguely cake-like shapes.

“Perfect,” you muttered sarcastically, swiping frosting from the counter with a finger.

Before you could second-guess your plan, the sound of footsteps approached. Slow, calculated. Bruce. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him—the weight of his presence filled the room like a stormcloud.

“Baking?” His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah,” you replied shortly, not looking at him. You started stacking the cupcakes onto a plate, pretending you didn’t care that he was watching. “Got bored.”

Bruce stepped closer, the faint rustle of his coat as deliberate as everything else he did. You hated how easily he could unsettle you. “It’s nice to see you trying something new,” he said, his tone gentle—fatherly, even.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the plate and shoving it toward him. “Here. You can have them.”

Bruce took the plate without hesitation, his gloved hands looking out of place against the childish swirls of frosting. “Thank you,” he said, as though you’d gifted him something precious. “The others will appreciate this.”

As if summoned, the rest of the Batfamily began to trickle in.

Dick was the first to arrive, his easy smile faltering only slightly when he saw the cupcakes. “Did you make these, [Name]?” he asked, grabbing one before you could answer.

“Yep,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Don’t expect much.”

He took a bite. For a moment, his face betrayed nothing, but then his expression twisted into something that could only be described as polite horror. “Wow,” he managed, forcing a swallow. “These are… unique.”

Jason snorted as he sauntered in, the smell having lured him from whatever dark corner he’d been brooding in. “What’s this?” he asked, swiping a cupcake from the plate Bruce held. “Looks like someone murdered a unicorn.”

“Eat it and find out,” you snapped.

Jason raised an eyebrow but took a bite anyway. His reaction was less subtle than Dick’s—he gagged dramatically, spitting the mouthful into a napkin. “What the hell, kid? Did you put salt instead of sugar?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” you shot back, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Tim appeared next, looking bleary-eyed and clutching a mug of coffee. He grabbed a cupcake without a word and took a bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he coughed. “Is this… is this cinnamon?”

“Possibly.”

“Cinnamon and… garlic?”

You frowned. “I didn’t put garlic in there.”

Damian was the last to enter, his nose wrinkling at the plate as though it offended him on a personal level. “What is this monstrosity?” he asked, glaring at the cupcakes.

“Dessert,” you said dryly. “Take it or leave it.”

To your surprise, he picked one up, inspecting it like it was a puzzle he intended to solve. He took a cautious bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Tolerable,” he declared, setting the half-eaten cupcake down with a disdainful sniff.

“See? Tolerable,” you said, pointing at Damian as though his judgment absolved you.

Jason groaned. “Tolerable isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Bruce, who hadn’t taken a bite yet, finally broke his silence. “It’s the effort that matters,” he said, his gaze settling on you with unnerving intensity.

You glared back at him, hating the way he spoke as though you’d done this out of love rather than sheer boredom. “Don’t read into it,” you said sharply. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t believe you.

Despite the disaster your cupcakes turned out to be, they ate them—or tried to. Even Jason, after some grumbling, finished his. Maybe they thought it would please you. Maybe it was another way to force their twisted idea of “family” on you.

Or maybe, you realized with a pang of unease, they just couldn’t say no to you.

The thought was more unsettling than anything else.

[wonderjanga]

Captain Marvel cooking great depression meals for the JL.

Marvel has the most interesting recipes. A good chunk of them sound nasty but are actually good, meanwhile the other chunk is just nasty.

A good example of it sounding nasty but being good was at a potluck a while back.

Flash: “Yo! Cap, whatcha bring?”

Marvel: “Prune Pudding.” *bright smile*

Flash: “Prune pudding?” *takes a whole step back*

Marvel: “Yup! Fashioned by First Lady Roosevelt. Wanna try some?” *hands(shoves) him a plate*

Flash: “Uh… sure?” *hesitant bite*

Marvel: “Is it good?”

Flash: *chews* “…yeah actually.” *eats some more* “This is delicious!”

We can’t forget the times the recipes are just plain nasty.

Supes: *walking down a hallway when he smells the most repulsive smell in the world*

Marvel: *in the kitchen, pulling something out of the oven*

Supes: *flies over to the kitchen, holding his nose* “Hey, Cap, did you burn something?”

Marvel: *looks over to him holding an oven tray* “No? I just made peanut butter stuffed onions.”

Supes: *looks horrified, appalled, disgusted*

Then was the time Kon was talking to Marvel and he mentioned how his birthday was coming up.

Marvel: “Oh I have the perfect recipe! You’ll love it!”

On Kon’s Birthday…

Kid Flash: “You let him make your cake?”

Kon: “Yeah? You make it sound like it’ll be bad.”

Kid Flash: “Dude you’ll be luck if you get anything even resembling cake.”

Marvel: “Alright, it’s done!” *places a pan of wacky cake down*

Other YJ: *look nervous*

Kon: *eats it* “Chocolate?”

Marvel: “Mhm!” *nods his head all proud*

It’s surprisingly good to the teens.

Kid Flash: “This is actually really good. Don’t tell me there’s secretly something abhorrent in here.” *gives him suspicious look*

Marvel: “No? Now that I think about it, it’s actually vegan.”

Kid Flash: “Vegan? You seem like the type.”

Marvel: “No, I’m not vegan. But it’s cheaper to make because it doesn’t need eggs and milk.”

Kid Flash: “…How does one make a cake without eggs and milk?”

Marvel: *shrugs*

[quarterlifekitty]

cooking was mentioned but I kind of wonder how the cod men would react to reader bringing them cookies/some sort of pastry they know they like. Ive also had the idea of price getting turned on watching reader knead bread dough stuck in my head for some reason.. or ghost coming home to the smell of freshly baked pie (or something similarly wholesome) with blood still caked under his nails.... wrapping those large hands around my waist while i'm making the crust.. ughhh..sorry just- housewife reader who bakes treats and takes care of and dotes on a big military man and gets fucked senseless in return is so stuck in my head.

So I’m going to use this opportunity to speak gratuitously about Ghost’s relationship to food. Others have spoken of it at length before, but hopefully I will be able to add something new!

So we all know that Ghost did not have a happy childhood. He did not grow up in a secure home. He did not grow up with means. He was not nurtured, nor was he nourished. He enlisted at the first opportunity, and I think he nearly cried from being able to eat three, full meals a day that weren’t even that bad.

The next section of his life is a bit better in regards to eating, but not great. He knows where his next meal is coming from, and he doesn’t have to worry about there being enough to eat. He’s a grown man with a paycheck, he can buy food if he likes. But we all know the cafeteria food and MREs are demoralizing. They’re edible, but nothing more than that.

The first time he has leave, has to stare at the walls of his own empty studio and live for himself with the means to go grocery shopping as much as he likes— he’s at a total loss. No one ever taught him what he should be eating. No one ever showed him how to wash mushrooms. How to cut against the grain of a cut of beef. How to separate an egg yolk from the white. How to reduce a sauce. How to make sure scrambled eggs don’t overcook by taking the pan off of the heat.

So he starts very small. Eats like a college student. Lots of microwave shit. Works up to cooking himself some eggs. Almost moans at how good they are when it’s freshly cooked, on toast, and there’s no eggshell in it, and no one is yelling at him while he eats, he doesn’t have to hurry and get moving— it’s a really beautiful feeling he’s never gotten.

And maybe he had a neighbor at this time. Some older woman who noticed that the apartment that sat dormant most of the year had an occupant. One that still looked like a kid. Wore fatigues. Clearly didn’t have a family to go home to, if he was hanging around here on his shore time.

So she starts feeding him. Giving him a portion of what she makes for her own family. Casserole, cakes, stroganoff— anything. And Ghost will never forget that. The unparalleled joy of being given food from someone’s own home. Something they made. Something good. The food always tastes better when it isn’t mass produced. It always tastes better fresh. And it always tastes better when it was made by someone who cares.

The trajectory of his life and career don’t afford him much time. He spends most of his leave time cooking. Experimenting with recipes and learning. But that’s still such a small minority of his life.

When you, the fresh face in the 141 start bringing in food regularly, Gaz jokes that you’re buttering them up— trying to get in their good graces. You’re warned that Ghost is a hard won man. The truth is that no one has really tried home made lemon bars on him before. And they work like a charm.

Maybe a year or two later, you’ve gone on leave for maternity. You’re moved in together. It’s his first deployment without you working at his side. His first time coming home, and actually having someone to come home to.

And the house is alive. He can smell the currant and blueberry pie in the oven. You’re playing music in the kitchen. The house is so warm. There’s an unfolded blanket on the couch. The couch has a spaghetti stain on one of the arm rests.

And you. In loose pants and an even looser shirt with your bump visible. There’s blood under his nails. He smells like sweat and hot old dirt. But here you are, making the perfect nest for him. Not minding when he lays his head on your shoulder, embracing you from behind while you idly check the sauce simmering on the stove.

So are you getting fucked tonight? Baby, you’re getting fucked while that pie is on the cooling rack. You are getting railed after dinner and then you’re getting railed after dessert. And then you’re getting pounded in the shower and then he’s taking you in your fucking bed. And if you weren’t pregnant before, you definitely would be now.

[kaiserthebiter3]

How would the l&ds men react if you told them that "the olive theory" applies on you two.

(The olive theory is in a relationship, one person liking olives and the other not liking them creates a balanced dynamic.)

Xavier , Rafayel , Zayne and Sylus x reader (separately)

Xavier

as you were trying to cook lunch for you two , xavier was standing besides you like puppy , still insisting that you let him give you a hand with the cooking , despite the amount of times you told him that his existence in the kitchen is alone dangerous.

you were cutting various types of vegetables that the dish you were making required , "come onnn" he tugs at your shirt lightly , "No" you reply sternly , "at least let me check on the chicken in the oven" he says with his famous puppy eyes that are your weakness , but you don’t surrender , "if you I give you some of these carrots would you sit there to eat them and stop nagging? " , he pauses to think about your offer for a moment , then sighs in defeat , "alright" .

as you watch him eat , you wonder how he likes those carrots , "you know xavier? I really dislike carrots I don't know how you eat them" , xavier looks up from the plate full of carrots "I know" "I always eat them for you" , and that's when the realization hit you , "omg xavier" you say with a wide smile on your face , "it's the olive theory" you say enthusiastically , xavier furrows his eyebrows in confusion "what do you mean?" "I'm eating carrots not olives" , you roll your eyes at him "that's not the point , the point is that if you're always willing to eat something I don't like that means you balance me" you say stopping what you're doing to sit next to him , "which also means we're soulmates" you say that smile never disappearing , xavier takes a few moments to process what you said then chuckles , "that's silly" he says patting your head , "do you truly believe we're soulmates only because I eat the carrots for you?" , you pout at him "yes?" , you cross your arms "I always wanted this theory to apply on us because I strongly believe in it" , he chuckles again then plants a kiss on your temple "well if you say that a carrot would make us soulmates then carrot it is" he says assuring you .

Zayne

you always had this habit of removing the fruits from your dessert , such as the cherry on top of the ice cream , or the blueberries surrounding the peace of waffle .

This time as usual with you and zayne , you were trying out this new cafe that had just opened recently in linkon city , and you were dying to try out the pistachio flavored waffle that has gone viral on social media, while zayne ordered a chocolate cake , his favorite .

but once the dishes were served you noticed the banana slices put on top of your waffles , and you sulk "I can't believe it" you say helplessly , zayne looks at you in curiosity , then his gaze shifts to your dessert and now he gets it .

"can't handle those little bananas huh?" he says a little teasing smile on his face , "well , bananas taste awful you can't blame me" you pout at him , zayne shakes his head with a sigh , "honestly , I don't know how you're surviving without eating fruits" , "that's your job you eat them for me" you say giving him an innocent look hoping he'd give up on the lecture he's about to give you about eating healthy and all.

"just because I eat them for you doesn't mean you'll get any benefits from them" he says picking up the bananas from your plate to his , "that's ok because you get to be my olive theory soulmate" you say winking at him , he raises his eyebrow in confusion , "what's that?"

you chuckle at his expression "it's when your partner eat a part that you don't like about your food so it doesn't get wasted , we balance each other out zayne" you say happily , "I'm so happy this theory applies on us" you say reaching out to pinch his cheek lightly , "well I'm not sure of the validity of this theory you're talking about" , "but I'm 100% sure that we're soulmates" he gives you that warm smile that you adore , you look down trying to hide that fact that you're blushing "yes we are" .

Rafayel

it was a quiet friday night , when you decided you'd make your way to rafayel's house with a pizza .

the sound of the doorbell echoed through house , cutting through the silence.

"heyy cutiee" rafayel reaches to hug you tightly at the door , "what's the special occasion?" he says stepping aside , giving you space to get inside , "does it have to be a special occasion for me visit my boyfriend? " you said settling on his white couch , "since we both have the day off tomorrow , I figured I'd come and spoil you with some pizza" .

"well aren't you the best girlfriend ever?" he said sitting beside eager to open the pizza box ,but as soon as he did , you gasp "no wayyy" you say in annoyance , "what?what?" he asks confused , "look at these goddamn olives"you give a disgusted face while picking up one of the olives , rafayel chuckles "cutie you know you can always give them to me and I'll eat them" , you sigh and lean back "yeah we're the perfect example of the olive theory I guess" , "excuse me?" he asks looking at you , you look at him back "the olive theory my love , the olive theory" , rafayel still giving you that confused and lost look , "it's when your partner likes olive and the other doesn't , so the one who does will eat the olives for them , and it shows that we're soulmates" you say trying to explain it in the best way possible , "ok I understand but how does that makes us soulmates again my love?" , "because if I don't have you , I will have nobody to dump my olives on" you say smiling and holding his face with your two hands "which means we complete eachother" , rafayel smiles and grabs one of your hands to place it near his mouth and give it a kiss , "I seem to really like this theory you should've mentioned it earlier" he kisses you again "although... , I knew from the moment I talked to you that we're a perfect match" he winks.

Sylus

you were lounging on the couch next to sylus ,and he was seated with a glass of wine in hand sipping and savoring it's taste , meanwhile you helped yourself with pack of gummy bears , sorting them through their colors , green , red , yellow and then ..orange , put aside.

sylus noticed the different treatment you were giving the poor orange gummies ,he took another sip of his wine watching you before finally commenting , "you've been avoiding those little orange gummy bears all night" he remarked , his tone teasing but curious "what's wrong with them?"

you wrinkled your nose slightly "ughh I hate those orange flavored ones" you explained "I don't like how they taste ...they're weird" .

sylus chuckles at your expression leaning in to pick up one of them "so you're just gonna leave them behind huh?" "what a waste" , you offer him all the orange ones desperately "here you can have them and I'll be grateful" , sylus smiles and accept them from you .

he chewed on one of them "mmm not bad ....I'd say they're my favorite actually"

"really??I'm gladdd" you sighed in relief knowing that you don't have to throw any of them anymore , a sudden realization hit you and you gasp dramatically "sylus do you know that now the olive theory applies to us??" you say with a wide happy smile , "from the show 'how I met your mother' ?" he asks familiar with the term , "yesss , we're basically soulmates , since you'll be eating the orange gummies for me from now on" , sylus laughs , his rich deep laugh echoing through the living room , he leans in and tucks a stray of hair behind your ear "you're ridiculous..you know that?" , "heyyyy" you pout offended "you should feel special not anyone gets to be my gummy bear soulmate" you say crossing your arms at him still pouting , he chuckles again shaking his head as he wrappes his arm around you pulling you closer , "my love you'll be my soulmate with a gummy bear or without it" he plants a kiss on your forehead "but I gotta admit ...having the title of the the gummy bear soulmate is quite nice".

[fluentmoviequoter]

Brighter, Sweeter Days

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!baker!reader

Summary: Tim comes to your bakery daily, and you try to brighten his day to get him to notice you. When he finally shows you he has noticed you, there's a lot you have to tell him.

Warnings: minor injuries, fluff!!!

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

A wave of hot air greets you as you open the oven. Pulling the cookie sheet from the left side and a muffin pan from the right, you smell the intermingled brown sugar, maple, and orange. After the hot pans have been safely placed on one of your bakery’s tables, you close the oven and remove your heatproof gloves.

“I really hope you have more maple biscotti because there’s a really cute firefighter and I can’t slip him my number if we can’t fulfill his order,” your employee, Melanie, rambles as she enters the heart of the bakery.

“Just pulled some out of the oven,” you answer. “It’ll be about ten minutes before we can box them, though. Offer to throw in a dozen free cookies or a coffee traveler.”

“Yes, chef!” she calls over her shoulder.

“And stop watching The Bear before work every day,” you murmur as you check the consistency of a new whipped buttercream.

Several years ago, you opened your bakery in Mid-Wilshire, Los Angeles, and remain shocked at how well it has done. There have been celebrities who travel hours just to try your creations based on the good word of a few locals, you’ve had to close at lunch more than once because you ran out of food, and yet you’ve only been in the front of the bakery a dozen times since opening.

You’re shy, passionate about baking, and less of a people person than most business owners, so you spend your days in the back as your dedicated employees create a friendly and welcoming environment for your customers to come in, enjoy the atmosphere, and try a delicious baked good or slow-roasted coffee.

After the morning rush, during which you make three cakes, drizzle white chocolate on your newest biscotti, and decorate sugar cookies, Melanie returns to the back of the bakery. She sighs and leans on a table.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

“Good. Seemed busier than usual, lots of law enforcement,” she explains, peeking into a mixing bowl.

“Those are scraps from cake pops,” you tell her. “Help yourself.”

“You’re an angel,” she sighs. “A walking, shy so not much into talking, angel.”

You roll your eyes and begin folding chocolate swirls into croissant dough. “And the firefighter?”

“He thought they’d love some coffee but refused to accept it without paying. So, I slipped an angel food cake and my number into his bag.”

You nod and continue working on the croissants, but when Melanie continues to watch you, you know there’s more she isn’t saying. Turning, you set aside the spatula and raise your brows.

“My psych professor moved our exam up and I can’t come in tomorrow,” she explains quickly. “I know it’s your busiest day and I’m so so sorry. I can ask around and see if Cass or somebody can cover me.”

You wave your hand and assure, “It’s okay. I’ll cover you. Good luck on your exam, okay? If you want to leave early today to study or get some rest, do that, too.”

“Now I feel worse for leaving you.”

Tim turns his alarm off and sighs. It’s his birthday, and he’s alone. Lucy insisted on bringing cupcakes, and Angela offered to take him to lunch. Tim appreciates their kindness, but it’s not quite the same as having someone to truly celebrate with, besides Kojo, who he wouldn’t trade for the world, of course.

As Tim gets ready, he asks himself what he’d want if he was in a relationship. What would they do that would make today so different? Breakfast in bed is one of the first ideas that pops into his head. So, Tim searches for bakeries that aren’t far out of his way. One five-star option appears on the list, and Tim reads the directions as he walks to his truck.

As Tim walks in, he notices how nice the bakery is. There’s a line, but it moves quickly. He scans the menu on the large chalkboard over the counter as he waits, but he knows what he wants when his eyes drop to the display case.

An employee places another plate in the case, a birthday cake-flavored mini souffle that makes Tim smile. When he reaches the register, he forgets about the cookie that caught his attention.

You take another order and glance at the line. There are two times when you’re so busy it’s hard to remember to breathe, and you’re currently between those. Though you don’t love working here with customers, you do enjoy seeing the smiles on people’s faces when they find their new favorite.

Someone in the line catches your eye. He’s wearing an LAPD shirt, and you assume he’s a higher-ranking officer. He smiles as Mitch places a birthday cake souffle in the display case, and you wonder if it’s his birthday.

“Good morning,” you greet when he reaches the register. “What can I get you today?”

He hesitates for a moment, then asks for one of your jumbo cookies and two dozen chocolate chip cookies. Glancing at the menu, he also adds coffee to his order. You press the buttons for the two dozen cookies and the coffee, but make a note to include the jumbo cookie for free.

“Mitch,” you call when he passes again. “Take over for a minute?”

“Sure thing,” he tells you.

“I’ll grab that for you now,” you tell the attractive cop, whose name you now know is Tim.

“Thanks,” he replies before stepping to the side with his coffee.

You use clean plastic tongs to place thirty chocolate chip cookies in a branded box, then pull a jumbo cookie from the warmer. It’s already boxed, so you take a marker out of a nearby drawer and write Happy Birthday with a little candle drawn beside it. If it’s not his birthday, he’ll think it was the wrong box, but either way, you hope it’ll brighten his day. With the cookies placed in a bag, you hand it over the counter and thank Tim for coming in. You hope you’ll see him again. With your tendency to work in the back and the high number of one-time customers you get, you try not to get your hopes up.

The drive to the station is spent in silence. The radio is off as Tim enjoys what he considers the best cup of coffee. His mind continues to return to you, the cute girl at the bakery, who he could tell was a little shy. Your service was great, but you didn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes or engage in small talk.

After parking in the station lot, Tim pulls his jumbo cookie from the bag. The birthday wishes make him smile, and he shakes his head as he wonders how you knew. Granted, it could have been the wrong box or something, but Tim prefers the idea that you did it special for him. The receipt is on the bottom of the box, and he pulls it away only to see that you gave him the cookie for free. Maybe it will be a good birthday, after all, he thinks.

Tim enjoys half of his cookie, then returns it to the box to save for later. Tim will most certainly be returning to the bakery because your smile and the taste of the coffee and the cookies together are pretty close to perfection.

Tim sets the cookies on a central table in the bullpen and opens the box. He can immediately tell that there are more than 24 cookies, and he shakes his head at your kindness.

“Happy birthday!” Lucy calls as she runs to his side.

“Thanks,” Tim replies, in a better mood than the last decade of birthdays combined.

“You’re back!” you cheer when Tim returns the following morning. Melanie called to tell you her exam went well, but she had to wait for the essay portion to be graded, and you invited her to rest at home one more day while she waited. So, you’re at the front again.

“I am. Thank you for the birthday note yesterday,” Tim replies, smiling. He has a gorgeous smile, you think. “How did you know?”

“I noticed you smile when the birthday cake souffle came out,” you explain softly, shrugging rather than providing more explanation.

“I really appreciate it. My coworkers loved the cookies, too.”

“I’m glad. You want to try something else today?”

Tim smiles, and you unconsciously move your fingers to the side of the register where you can include discounts and freebies.

“What do you recommend?” he inquires.

“Our maple pumpkin biscotti cupcakes are pretty well-loved. I like the chocolate swirl croissant,” you answer. “It’s new, but..”

“Then I’ll take thirty-six of those cupcakes and two of the croissants. On one condition.”

“Yes?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

“Let me pay for it this time.”

You nod once and type in the order. As Tim steps to the side, you begin helping the next customer and whisper to Mitch to give the officer a small coffee with the excuse of preparing it too soon for a pickup order.

“I’m paying for it,” Tim insists after it’s left on the counter.

You ignore him, smiling as you take another order, and Mitch gives him the bag of cupcakes.

“See you,” Tim calls as he leaves.

“Have a good day!” you call after him.

When you return to the kitchen around 10 a.m., you sigh and set out to make something you think Tim will love.

Over the next two weeks, Tim comes in daily. He gets something for the officers at this station or just a treat for himself, and on one busy morning, he says hello and orders a coffee. You look forward to seeing him each morning, finding an excuse to be at the front during his usual time. He is the kindest customer you have ever had, and you want to ask him out. Each morning, you give yourself a pep talk and get encouragement from Melanie or Mitch, then get shy and fail to tell him how you feel. So, you find a way to brighten his day and remind him you’re there and you see him. You slip him a freebie, give him a free coffee, charge him for a smaller size than what you give him, or ask him to test a new item and get back to you. If it’s not on the menu, I can’t charge you was your excuse for the last one.

As far as you can tell, he has noticed you. He comes in and immediately finds you or keeps his eyes on the kitchen door until you exit. Yet, he hasn’t said any more than you have. Eventually, one of you will say something… or so you hope.

You’ve slowly opened up but can’t speak more than a few sentences before you remember who you’re talking to and get shy again. Tim asks about you, how you’re doing, what your favorite menu item is, what you’ve baked recently, and you gladly listen when he tells you about himself in return. It seems like you're getting to know him, but you still want so much more.

One morning, nearly three weeks after meeting Tim, you glance at the clock again. He’s late. Or he isn’t coming. As you leave the counter and return to the kitchen, you make red velvet cupcakes for a large order and try not to think about Tim. You didn’t say anything for three weeks, there is no reason to assume that he had any real reason to come back.

Melanie enters the kitchen, and you look up hopefully, but she shakes her head.

“I’m sure he was just running late or had to go in early. He’ll be back tomorrow,” she says softly.

You shake your head and begin portioning the cake batter into muffin tins. Getting your mind off Tim will be hard; he’s consumed every one of your thoughts for nearly a month, but you have a business to focus on and more customers than the handsome sergeant who was your favorite daily customer until today.

 Several hours later, Mitch is on the phone when the chime over the door rings. You wave to him and walk out of the kitchen, then stop behind the register.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tim says.

You remain silent as you look at him. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest beneath his shirt, there’s a scrape over his eyebrow that looks recent, and the knuckles on his left hand are darkening. Based on his appearance alone, you assume he was late for a good reason.

“What can I get you?” you ask, breathless, as you move to stand behind the register. “It’s on the house.”

Tim smiles, and you have to remind yourself to listen. He orders your favorite, then places his hands on the counter and leans closer to you. You nod, then blink and ask him to repeat himself.

“Your favorite,” he says.

“How do you…”

“You told me. I remembered.”

You lick your lips before whispering, “Why?”

“The same reason I know that you hate working at the register because you’re shy and it drains your energy. You’d rather be in the back with your recipes and music than up here with customers. The reason I know you own this place but don’t advertise it because you don’t want the attention. All of that, all of you, is why I keep coming back. And I’m really hoping that those things will be why you say yes when I ask if you’ll go out with me.”

You swallow but can’t form words yet. Your answer is yes, of course, it is. When you open your mouth, though, you ask, “Are you okay?”

Tim smiles again and says, “I worked all night and could really use some of your amazing coffee.”

“You missed breakfast?”

Tim extends his arms so his hands are closer to yours and corrects, “I missed you.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I really want to go out with you.”

Tim nods, then thanks Melanie when she sets a coffee cup on the counter beside him. He sees your number on the side and smiles, but you drop your head momentarily to avoid the embarrassment Melanie provides.

“I promise we’ll do something you’ll like,” Tim assures as his fingers brush yours.

I’ll find the courage to do anything with you, you want to say. Deciding that is more of a second date statement, you merely nod and ask Tim, “Do you actually want my favorite or is there something else you’d prefer?”

[artsninspo]

Sunrise & Ashes [Sinners One-shot]

「 ✦ mbj's charcter archive✦ 」

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

Author's Note: This is a quick concept I thought up for the SmokeStack twins.

Pairing: Smoke X OC & Stack X OC (platonic)

Summary: What if there was a ‘working-girl’ who Stack loved platonically while Smoke held complicated feelings for while being a faithful paying customer? What happens if she falls out with Smoke before  October 15th and doesn't go to Mississippi with them? What if Stack shows up at her door changed only to realize she’s carrying Smoke’s child?

wc: 2K

Returning to the place where his great-grandmother had been buried the day prior had happened almost by accident. A thick layer of ash is all over the soil covering the coffin. The headstone had been laid but there was no end date etched into the large stone to signify the day had finally come. If only he had known the truth of it, all of it. He'd only seen her in the twenties and thirties if only he knew about the SmokeStack twins and Chicago. If only he’d have known the full extent of the world he lived in and what dwelled within it.

No one thought Iris would live to a ripe old age, she sure as hell was living fast enough to die young. Her mother decided being a single mother in Jim Crow era Chicago was more than she could stomach and so Iris was left on her own with the only people her mother knew - whores. It was no place for a child to be raised but they did their best setting her up in a bedroom in the attic space where she could be a child. She was pretty so the Madam took her out dressing Iris up like her own daughter and taking her to the theater in New York. Then Iris became the prep girl. Making sure the bedrooms were clean and smelled good. From a young age she knew to shut her mouth when she saw patrons at the markets with their wives. At fourteen she started singing but then some of the girls got jealous that she’d take a cut before they even got on their backs. But then the depression hit when she was an adult and she learned that singing and dancing would never pay as well as skin so she started turning tricks.

No one would believe that she met Stack first. That he’d come in skinning and grinning with his playful dimples and dangerous air and that it lasted all night. Stack had a reputation among the ladies as a pimp and smooth talker but in Iris he found an unlikely soulmate - the platonic kind. Her and Stack were each other’s medicine for ailments they didn’t know they were afflicted with. The medicine was laughter and closeness without it being anything sexual. It was unprecedented for the both of them but it was real. So real that it was Iris that would help him in his pursuit of women. It was Iris that would make the pound cakes he’d take to family gatherings with whatever lady he was talking seriously at the time. That was how Iris met Smoke. He’d come home early one day to find a woman in his kitchen taking a cake out of the oven. His eyes narrowed and she seized up knowing faster than most he was not Stack before Stack himself emerged. Iris knew they were twins but she’d never seen them together.

Smoke had the reputation of having few words and a predisposition to violence. A predisposition Iris knew about from Stack who had divulged the secret of their father to her one night as they talked until sunrise. People would have thought it was Stack who sought her out for her enterprise but it was Smoke who went to the madam with the full sum requesting Iris. It was Smoke who used her body to find his pleasure while supplying hers. Smoke who gave her her first real orgasm, smoke who made her moans real, smoke who stirred feelings of love and Smoke who made her feel like more of a whore than anyone else.

Paying patrons are always trying to save a coin and make girls fall in love. For Smoke it would have been easy but he never did. He never took his clothes and shoes off, never stayed the night, they never kissed and he never spent the night. Gone before sunrise. She only ever saw him at night - taking the darkness away and preparing for the day. Perhaps Iris was the only person who would tell you Stack was an excellent friend. They’d paint the town together, drinking and laughing and dreaming together. Smoke came home on several occasions to find them both fully dressed and asleep on the couched tangled and intertwined like children. It was part of what endeared Iris to him.

No one would believe that it a wave one night at a fait that saved her life. Iris had been there with a few friends and come across Smoke and waved. He’d paid her dust but she didn't think nothing of it. Before leaving he was at the exit having a cigarette and she said hello like any sensible respectful decent person would. While in the company of other men Smoke looked around.

“I ain’t Stack” he said coolly like he wasn’t the reason Itis no longer had to turn tricks.

“My mistake” Iris had muttered broken hearted before leaving with her girls. The next time Smoke was horny Iris told him to find someone else. Heated words were exchanged and smoke, a man of few words proved why his mouth was as lethal a weapon as the rest of him, slashing her self confidence into nothing. She was nothing more than a whore and she should know her place was the black and white of it. Words Smoke didn’t wholeheartedly mean but protection was protection. He didn’t need to walk around with anymore soft-spots and Iris, one of Stack's hussies, was safer than letting anyone think he had a woman who was comfortable enough to approach him in public. He came back two weeks after the first fight wanting absolution again and finding resistance instead. But Iris would never know the love smoke bore her until he was dead - that information would never come from the living.

Iris toed the line maintaining a relationship with Stack while staying away from Smoke. Stack tried to intervene and get a word in for his brother but Iris wouldn't hear any of it. The only real apology Iris got was an apology at a juke joint she was at with a man she was seeing. After dancing with Stack, Smoke cut in pulling her in close. Stack paid the band to play something slower. Smoke held onto his woman. Iris tried not to revel in the proximity and intimacy.

“I’m sorry” he’d told her and in his eyes she could see it was real.

“I don’t need an apology Smoke” Iris said, ending the dance prematurely. Only that night ended badly for her. Knowing he could never compete to the smokestack twins the man she was seeing caught a temper and found himself whooping on her for being a whore and dancing with the both of them. Iris called Stack who brought Smoke and beat the man within an inch of his life. Stack nursed Iris back to life in tandem with the Madam. While the vision of Iris nearly broken and clinging to Stack with a fat lip looking almost unrecognizable was etched into his consciousness. She was less chilly to him, half thankful and half afraid. He postponed the return to Mississippi so Stack could see Iris through recovery. On the night before their robbery Smoke stopped by the brothel. He entered the attack putting a large suitcase into the closet like he owned the place. Then he sat taking off his shoes, then his coat, shirt and then pants. Something he’d never done throughout the duration of their affair. Iris went to leave and find another room but Smoke closed the door stopping her. They kissed for the first time that night and they made love so good she couldn’t ask for more. As the final act of penance Smoke spent the night with his arms wrapped around Iris as she laid hers on his chest listening to his heartbeat. He was warm, strong, virile and passionate.

He was up at daybreak saying goodbye and handing her a letter from Stack. He’d rested his forehead against hers placing a kiss on her forehead before leaving out - that was the last time Iris ever saw Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore. Three months later sometime in October Stack showed up after sunset begging to be let in. Something about him wasn't right, it was like he was being torn inside out. Like he was fighting a battle, like there was a war being waged within him. His anger was different than anything Iris had ever seen from him but when she opened the door he didn't walk in. Then he unnerved Iris even more by sniffing the air like a feral dog and sniffing. In an instant it was Stack again. The stack that had held her too many times to could, the stack with a reckless mouth and a wicked sense of humour. The stack that left her in stitches, the stack that felt like home. We argued through the door until sunrise and then he ran into my shed. By noon Iris heard him screaming and ran out to cover the windows with thick downy sheets. He was back at sunset and when she asked what happened to him he told her. If it wasn't for all his bullshit she would have believed him the first time but she didn't until he told her Smoke was gone. He’d never joke about that. The second listen to the story was painful for so many reasons and after promising to walk into the sun if he turned her Iris let Stack in.

They cried together and then a dead man told tales of his brother's heart in conflict. Smokes devotion to Annie and his care for Iris. He’d made a deal with Smoke, a deal to leave Sammie and the family - let them live and so Stack never bit you. He went on a crime spree with Mary returning to find Iris after the birth of her twin girls. He was there as they grew up having to go away because he never aged. He was there to love them from afar and linger in clubs when they got older and keep them safe. He was there to love them from afar, never getting too close. But then they had kids and Stack found himself spread thin. He found it hard to watch Iris age and got back together with Mary for a time before a fit of hysteria caused her to walk into the sun. Stack found himself relieved and found himself living wild again until it got old. Age didnt hit him until he met his newest offspring. Twin boys that reminded him too much of Smoke. Smoke who now haunted his thoughts like he was calling him home. As an identical twin the kids were as much his as they were smokes but his condition did not allow for the closeness of a grandfather and great-grandfather. He felt like peter-pan watching Wendy age.

Stack was there with Iris every night in the end, the two of them laughing and telling stories like the oldest friends. Those last few weeks he numbed the pain. Physically she was old but mentally with Stack she was young again and they were in that house in Chicago. Age had distorted her features but memory held the picture. Being so close to death Stack could finally see it for what it was and when it took Iris there was nothing left for him in the world. He could feel the weariness in his bones and the decay. He spent the night making sure Iris' grave was consecrated making sure his brass knuckle knife and Smokes gun were in the casket.

By the time the sun rose he was ash over the soil. Experiencing a final sunrise before bursting into flames and covering Iris grave.

_________

author's note: thanks for reading, don't forget to comment, reblog and like if you enjoyed. Can you imagine Stack being kind of a sweetie? Can you imagine Smoke surviving that night and growing old with Iris with permission from Annie? LMK

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[fuji-sen]

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 8: Buttery Mamon

[ part 7 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 9 ]

I keep forgetting to add trigger warnings uhhh: one scene has you panicing and nearly falling into an anxious mess, ptsd of course and the general sagau obsession with the creator.

divider is made by @/saradika-graphics

While Kaeya was finishing the last of the skewers you were busy near the stove, using the stocked ingredients in the pantry when Kaeya reassured you it was fine, that he'd handle it and just hoped you'd make it worth his while.

Rolling your eyes at his teasing, you knew he meant it when he said that he'll take the brunt if Adelinde or Diluc came to scold them or rather her, for using the ingredients in the kitchen.

A simple snack was what you preferred, something light that would contrast to the meaty skewers that Kaeya had provided for the both of you. You were craving something sweet and soft, so you decided on a pastry. Though you initially thought of something cold, like ice cream or sorbet or maybe pudding, you don't think they have any ice here unless you wished to go to Mondstadt, Kaeya had a cryo vision but it would be rude to ask him to make you some ice during your first meeting.

So some fluffy mamoms would have to do, and you could probably top it with some cheese or a bit more powdered sugar. And he could share it with the other workers as a light treat.

Kaeya watched as you quickly gathered the ingredients, and skillfully start. It was apparent that you were very experienced in cooking from the way you easily cracked the eggs without worry, and how you beat them with a whisk.

To think that you were the supposed imposter, instead of brewing chaos or using the fact that you look like the creator to your advantage, you were here, hiding your identity, talking about food with him.

It wasn't hard to notice, despite your well crafted lie of a background, he could see through it. He noticed the bandages on one of your arm, and peeking out of it was something purple, no doubt Scars from Lisa's electro fueled attacks. Then there was your mask, though you didn't take it off while you ate, you didn't noticed how the mask would flap around due to the wind, luckily letting him take a glimpse of your face.

It was uncanny how you mirrored the old statues of their Divine Creator. Had he been obsessed with pleasing the great God like Jean and Lisa were, he'd have easily killed you on the spot, labelling you as an imposter. But he wasn't like them. Although he respected the Great Creator, the origin of all, he wasn't blinded by such faith.

Perhaps there was a chance you were just a regular person caught up in a bad time in the wrong place.

Because as rarely as it happens, it does happen.

Hopefully he could convince the others about that, maybe with the Travelers help.

"How long will that take?" he asked as you popped whatever you were making in the oven. "Usually half an our, but since I'm using a less advanced oven I'm not sure. I'll have to watch it so it doesn't burn." You explained, wiping your hands with a rag.

He nodded in understanding, the smell of eggs and something buttery was filing the room, no doubt it was appetizing and enticing when even Adelinde curiously checked in on them.

"Oh Master Kaeya, you're still here. I would have thought you'd have scurry off somewhere like usual." She said with a smile, Adelinde was always smiling though, huh?"

"Ah I just had to stay for [Name]'s dish, what was it again?"

You shrugged, "It's simply some mamon, it's like a chiffon cake. And there should be enough for everybody." You added, facing Adelinde who chuckled, embarrassed of having been caught eying the baking pastry.

"That is very sweet of you, Thank you [name]." The blonde haired maid said and turned to Kaeya once again. The duo left the kitchen, holding a conversation that was no doubt confidential that someone like her, an outsider, shouldn't hear.

The smile on your face slowly disappeared, replaced with a calculating frown. "Kaeya probably knows I'm the person the other knights are looking for." You said to yourself, eyes casting down towards the mamon which were slowly rising up.

"I don't think he'll attack me unless I give him a reason." you interacting with him was like a gamble, you were easing your way in, waiting for a chance to ask, what did he think about this great creator?

There was a part of you expecting him to give a passive response or an answer that danced around your question. Because you knew of his lineage, you wondered how do the people of khaenri'ah view the creator, for they are the nation without a God.

Of course just when you were about to ask him the question you had carefully thought about, he was whisked away by Adelinde. Perhaps it was a sign for her to leave, that she shouldn't ask less she gave herself away.

You were preparing the glaze for the mamon, which was simply melted butter as well as the jar of honey and powdered sugar in case they wanted to top the chiffon bread with something a bit more sweeter.

Suddenly the door had burst open as Kaeya quickly grabbed her shoulders, the charismatic mask he had worn had slipped off for a moment, now replaced with something urgent. Your eyes widened in fear, as you felt your hands shake, was he going to kill you?

"You need to be extra careful, not only are the knights looking for you but the fatui delegates are as well." He told you which shocked you, was the reach of this so called great creator truly so magnificent to even make its way to Shezhnaya, a region you thought who was only devoted to the Tsaritsa?

He knew as well, Kaeya knew who you were- you pushed him away, backing until you hit the counter. "Don't" you practically pleaded "Don't hurt me!"

"I won't" he said, "I'm sorry I suddenly grabbed you" he quickly added realizing his mistake "but you need to listen to me. Jean wants you dead, as well as Amber, and Lisa and the other knights. They are convinced you are the imposter. And Jean is desperate enough to accept the Fatui's help."

"You understand what that means right?"

It just got more difficult, you felt yourself fall to the floor, your chest felt painfully suffocating. He cursed under his breath, mentally berating himself for losing his tact, his cool level-headedness as he crouched down.

"[Name]" he called out softly, stretching out his hand "I need you to calm down okay? can you do that? You need to breathe."

His voice fell on deaf ears, you covered your face with your hands, murmuring pleads of mercy, even if the pain was gone, even if the samachurl helped heal you, you still felt it, that electrocuting pain that traveled your body, it made you freeze, and cry, feeling so helpless as instead of being in the kitchen, it felt like you were in Jean's office.

The cold metal that touched your neck,

their uncaring eyes, and deaf ears that turned away from your cries and fears. .

the electro, the lightning that-

"You know, how about when all of this is just over, I treat you to some food."

". . . . ."

Your mutterings had stopped, as you tried so hard, straining your ears to just focus on Kaeya's voice. Ignoring Jean's and Lisa's who spat such poisonous words at you.

"Have you tried the moon pies here?" he asked, noticing your attention was slowly coming back as you broke free from the cage that was that night. Your small voice could be heard "I. . I don't really like meat pies."

Kaeya fought a grin "and here I thought you were a foodie." You pouted, rubbing your face, "meat pies are weird for me, I like apple pies more." you commented with a deep breath, your heart was still racing, and despite not being able to truly break away from that night, Kaeya's eye that stared into your soul told you that you'd be just fine.

"It'll be okay." he said quietly.

"Hopefully." you pitifully said and he corrected you,

"Definitely."

You and Kaeya heard the door open and close, and a rush of footsteps followed by Adelinde's loud greeting. "Master Diluc, you're home early!"

"Shit." Was the only thing you and Kaeya said, staring at the door and then at each other. You would be screwed if Diluc of all people had found you after all!

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Diluc raised a brow at Adelinde, she was usually on the less. . vocal side in her greetings. From the way she fidgeted and how she avoided making eye contact it meant that the maid was hiding something from him, which wasn't out of common.

Usually Adelinde, bless her heart, tried to help fix the relationship between him and Kaeya. Often that meant orchestrating surprises or uncanny coincidences where in the two would bump into each other and have to deal with something suspiciously or well, clearly crafted by the maid.

The red headed male sighed "Where's Kaeya?"

Adelinde sweated profusely, perhaps it was better to hide from Diluc and claim later that she had been busy, curse her for being a bad liar. Usually she was better than this but because of the current situation, there was a whole lot of pressure.

"He-"

"Diluc!" Kaeya had strolled out of the kitchens, wine glass in hand as he nodded at Adelinde who sighed in relief. Perhaps by now the look-alike was gone, 'poor girl, to think she's being hunted down by her face' she couldn't help but sigh at the situation, eying the two brothers. They didn't usually agree with each other, but maybe, maybe they'll agree on this.

"Kaeya, what are you doing here? as far as I know Jean had ordered all Knights to focus on the search for the Imposter." Diluc crossed his arms, giving the other male a look. "Oh please Diluc, do you really support their decision about this whole. ." he trailed off, acting as if he was trying to find the right words "witch hunt?"

The red hair was silent at his question, and Kaeya couldn't help but let a grin fall on his mouth, of course Diluc would object to this. He was just as righteous at their dad. . no. . as righteous as Mr. Crepus was. "Does it matter? as much as a witch hunt is. . overkill. I understand Jean's sentiments that an imposter running around in Monstadt is a grave sign."

"Are you willing to risk the chance of harming or even killing an innocent person, or worse, the real creator then?" Kaeya asked, swirling the contents of his wine glass, watching the blood colored liquid to move like a whirlpool. Silence was the only answer he got.

"Why are you vouching for this imposter?" Diluc asked, eyes narrowing "Have you met them?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not."

Knowing he wouldn't get a clear answer from him, not with his skill of dancing around with his words and controlling his body languages, Diluc resorted to turning to Adelinde who flinched.

"Adelinde."

"Yes, Master Diluc?"

Adelinde tried her best to smile at Diluc as if she was unaware of what he was talking about. If the situation wasn't dire, Kaeya would have laughed at her failed attempt to appear innocent.

"Did the imposter come here?"

"My, Master Diluc, I don't know about any Imposter." She said. Diluc sighed, and decided to investigate, he headed straight towards the kitchen, the same place Kaeya had left in a hurry. From his peripheral Vision he could see the cavalry captain hold the wine glass tighter.

He swung the door open, ignoring Adelinde's calls. The kitchen door and window was left open, it was warm inside, suggesting the oven had been used. The smell of butter filled his nose and he turned his gaze to the table finding something akin to small cakes shaped like tarts.

Hurried footsteps followed after, a sigh of relief left Kaeya's mouth. "What did you do?" Diluc immediately responded with frustration, turning to the cryo wielder with a heated gaze, hand gripping Kaeya's shirt.

"I merely let an innocent victim go. Don't you know the saying? innocent until proven guilty." Kaeya easily responded turning to Adelinde who clearly looked worried that the two might fight. "Adelinde, thank your for your assistance, I'm sorry you had to lie. Why don't you leave me and Diluc to talk things out."

"but. ."

"Please Adelinde." Diluc added, despite his frustrations, his face softened as he turned to the maid who nodded, lips trembling due to the conflicting emotions.

". . ."

"If you wish to risk your life for someone, then so be it." Diluc sighed letting go of his collar. A hand combing through his flaming red locks. "So what have you gathered about this person?"

"They're certainly have the face of the creator, that I will confess however" Kaeya approached the table, setting down the wine glass as his eyes glanced at the chiffon cake, "mamon" her voice lingered in his mind. "she's no imposter, she didn't intentionally deceive anyone. Besides, is it a person's fault for the face they are born with?"

"That would be like blaming a person for the crimes of their parents. . or blaming a person for their heritage. ."

". . ."

Diluc looked tired, his usual mask of indifference had disappeared as he took a seat. "I take it the meeting with Jean was. . less than favorable?"

"I suppose that would be the correct word to describe it." he admitted, Jean had been acting weird, it wasn't just her. Lisa, the usual lazy or too relaxed librarian was rather energetic in her plans to find, catch and kill the imposter. Amber as well was leading the knights to searching the region. "I think she's trying to compensate for not being favored by the Creator." Kaeya offhandedly mentioned, quickly raising his hands however at his brother's penetrative glare.

Kaeya gulped but continued on, "Listen, there's no use letting our personal relationships cloud our judgement. You know how Jean has been when the creator has manifested in her but never truly favored her."

It was hard to deduce when it started, their memories had begun to feel clouded, controlled, and rewritten. Numerous vision users in Mondstadt had felt an awakening, briefly being covered with a golden light, their bodies controlled by someone powerful, a being they would come to realized as the Divine Creator who had awoken from their long slumber, ready to guide the people.

Their favor came in many forms, often or really, it was only the vision holders did the Creator cast their gaze on. The first to be awakened was Amber, followed by Lisa and Kaeya and from then it branched on from Bennett, to Noelle, to Razor and more. Diluc himself had been one of the few to not experience this awakening, but he wasn't bothered by it or at least if he was, he was good at hiding it to the point that Kaeya wasn't entirely sure of how he felt with not being experiencing the Creator's control.

Jean had also been awakened, however unlike the others who felt the Creator's favor and guidance in forms of weapons and artifacts, she didn't experience or receive anything. It was like the Creator casted her gaze on the acting grandmaster only for a moment, and decided that she was not worth any effort.

Nobody outright commented on it, the civilians of course were not aware. The only reason why Diluc knew despite not being in the knights of Favonius was because the blonde haired knight drunkenly confessed her feelings of doubts. Seemed that the pressure of being the acting grand master, the Stormterror problem and the neglect from the Divine Creator had made the woman he once respected spiral down in a pit of self-destruction.

"Here, have some." Noticing how sad or at least worried Diluc was becoming, Kaeya took one of the mamoms and force-fed Diluc. "Omph-" The man glared at the cavalry captain who shrugged, slapping his hand away Diluc bit into the chiffon break cake and instantly melted at the buttery goodness.

It was very soft and warm, a hint of sweetness and definitely butter. "This is. . good. Who made this?"

"The so called imposter." To his credit, Diluc didn't spit it out. It was too late anyways. So he begrudgingly continued to eat it, despite assuming there might be something bad in it.

"I hate you."

Kaeya rolled his eyes at his brother's reactions, "Diluc it's not poisoned. I was watching her the entire time she made them!"

I always wondered how Khaenri'ah played with the sagau elements considering they are canonically the nation without a God. So for now, they would no doubt respect the great Creator who is seen as the origin of everything, but since they managed well without a God, perhaps they aren't as obsessed as the other acolytes. That's why its interesting for me to write Kaeya's pov about the creator. But since he grew up with the Ragnvindr, a family who no doubt respected and paid tribute to the Creator, he'd probably have more respect to the Creator than most Khaenri'ans.

Current compiled suggestions to name the pyro slime <3

Fuji_Sen has suggested! Lava Cake or "Java" based on the food / coffee" Fuji_Sen has suggested! Monsieur Creme Brulee or "Creme" based on the food. @Fantasyhopperhea has suggested! Soleil or "Sol" @Cactus4226 has suggested! Ruru (Py-ro, ro -> ru -> ruru) @bunniotomia has suggested! Helios or "Hel" @airyravenmaid has suggested! Cinnamon or "Cinna" @kindofscenic has suggested! Pyrex from the glass or "Pyruru" @shyentsmissingink has suggested! Pyri or "Pyrico"

kinda wished there was more food based names, since of the whole foodie theme, but I kinda think Sol or Hel is cute too and Cinna.

also I have an idea like for a self aware or at least reader insert hsr

taglist:

@fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @bunniotomia @esthelily

@earth-to-name @fandomfan-102 @kh1ffy @jiyeons-closet @dragontammerz / @mercy-not-merci @aryuunachigiri @randomnatics @alexx197197 @keirennyx @vianitry @game-savvy @laviniadraws

[sucodegoiaba88]

Baking n shared kisses w Hyun-Ju perchance?😇

- baking with Hyun-ju : ★

featuring: hyun-ju cho x reader

summary: money is getting tight, so your girlfriend is teaching you how to bake a cake for your upcoming birthday.

warnings: none.

genre: fluff

A/N: This request is so cute what ;33

★ . ★ . ★ . ★

➤ "No, no, no. You don't stir with a metal spoon."

You were currently getting scolded for your 3rd error that night. Baking shouldn't be that hard! You had bought the idea of making your own cake as a way of saving for some money for your upcoming birthday, but it seemed baking was just not for you.

"Cmon, Hyun-ju! Everything i do is 'wrong' or 'not right' now?" you objected, already annoyed with how many times she had corrected you in just the making of the icing.

"It is if you don't do it right." she affirmed, her voice a bit stern. She then continued, "And you're the one who asked me to teach you, baking a cake is not the hardest thing to do. i could simply bake one for you without a problem."

"You're just saying that because you're naturally talented." you alleged, trying to get on her good side after having nagged her all night.

"Didn't you say you were having a hard time finding a job? Maybe you could just stay at home while i wor- ouch! What was that for?" you chanted in an exaggerated furious tone after receiving a slight slap to your nape.

"If you're trying to flatter me, it's not working." she retoned with a sigh, finishing picking up the necessary ingredients. After a few seconds, she added. "Now hurry up. If you're having a hard time with the easiest part, then you're not gonna last much longer."

-

After giving the icing part to her, you followed her directions to the hilt (mainly to not get slapped again). You started by pre-hesting tue oven, and then started mixing the ingredients in a separate bowl for the batter. Eggs, milk, butter, flour, sugar, baking powder... This was kind of fun!

You added a bit of vanilla to the mix, smelling already a good scent coming from the bowl. However, your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sudden peck to your lips, surprising you for a second.

You look up to see Hyun-ju smilling satisfied at you."See? When you follow my orders correctly, things don't go wrong." she gently assured you. However, she could notice your dream-stuck face, and an idea immediately popped into her head.

"There is much more from where this one came from. If i notice you are doing it right, i might reward you, lovely." she whispered teasingly while giving your nose a playful bop, getting it a bit dirty from flour.

"Yes, ma'am!"

-

"It burned a little..." you mutter disappointingly, turning you head up to look at Hyun-ju, waiting for what she was going to say.

"You overcooked it for some minutes." she acclaimed. You look down, upset that you managed to ruin the perfect dough you prepared so proudly. Hyun-ju, however, noticed your melancholy, and quickly bowed down a bit to you level.

She puts her hands on each of your shoulders, whispering softly in hopes to soothe you. "Don't worry, nobody gets it perfect on the first few tries. I'm very happy i got to spend time with you, sweetheart. You're sweeter than any cake we could have baked today." she assured you.

She then turned you delicately towards her, putting her hand on your cheek and kissing you. Her docile methods quickly lifting up your mood.

As you both separate from each from each others lips to breathe, you give her a confident look, smirking slightly while proposing the following suggestion.

"You're still gonna bake me a cake for my birthday, right?"

with a sigh, she responded.

"Yes, my dear. I am."

★ . ★ . ★ . ★

[tuesdayiminlove]

happy disaster

rockstar!eddie x fem!waitress!reader (imperfect for you universe)

summary: how you two meet

author's note: an ask about how they met came earlier today and i couldn't help myself lol. not proofread sorry! also this could be read as a standalone! but u can read the og part here! hope u guys enjoy lmk what yall think xoxo

word count: 3.1k

You’ve had your fair share of jobs throughout the last few years, trying to make ends meet while also being a consumer of the various cute things you see when you’re at the mall with your friends. One time (and this may have been one of the more miserable experiences), you worked as a receptionist for an auto shop (get it now?)).

Needless to say, you were at the bottom of the hierarchy at that whole joint. When you weren’t answering calls and taking hyperspecific notes to not confuse the actual mechanics, you were practically shunned from the moment you stepped up from your seat and onto the street to eat your lunch at the bench outside. And whenever your lips did part to make even the simplest of comments, the men either laughed at you or made you feel stupid (“You guys hired me! Clearly I’m not a fucking idiot!” you dreamt of saying, but you were just never one for the dramatics and confrontation of it all).

And, the worst part, on days you couldn’t go into work, none of the other receptionists would switch with you.

(“Sorry, babe, I just can’t,” you remember Joey Warner staying after taking a drag of his cig, coughing mere seconds later from not exhaling immediately. You wanted to take the cigarette between your fingers, toss it down, and squish it with your shoes. You really needed to pick up your brother from school, and no one at the shop is ever up Joey’s ass since he’s a guy.

“Oh. It’s alright.” You curse yourself and your lack of ever wanting conflict, because you’re more than positive that this boy deserves a beating for not taking the reins for an hour just so that your poor baby brother won’t have to wait on the cold sidewalk for your mom, who is forty minutes late.

You walk back into the shop without another word.)

So. yeah, call this mechanic memory useless, but now it's clear that your jobs have been absolute dog shit in the past.

But being a waitress at Carly’s Diner, in comparison, takes the cake in the coworker camaraderie contest.

Like, now, you’re enjoying your break with Carrie, splitting half a cupcake that Jim managed to slip into your guys’ hands when he was pulling the fresh desserts from the oven. You two have turns at it, taking nimble bites from the vanilla confection and wiping rainbow sprinkles off your uniform in the process. Your nose blends in the smell of the cupcake and Carrie’s sweet perfume, leaving a little bubble where you can hardly tell what the boys in the kitchen are whipping up right now.

Judy passes through the doors in a haste, heaving before setting her eyes on you two. The notepad in her hands is crumpled up and her hair looks all over the place, eyes bewildered as she stalks towards you and Carrie, a complan ready to spill from her red lips. 

“This fucking couple on table three is driving me nuts! Nuts!” She slumps her back against the wall and swipes a piece of frosting off the cupcake before sticking it in her mouth, sighing in relief.

“Hey,” Carrie swats Judy’s hand, “watch the cupcake!” She places it behind her back possessively.

Carrie is nearly six months pregnant and craving every sweet treat Jim has to offer in between tables and shifts. It’s a miracle that she let you split the dessert with her just now, “And table three, you said?”

Judy ignores her earlier words and nods. “I swear to God, I don’t understand your goddamn generation and why you heaps are so fucking rude. I can't do this.”

“Don’t group us with those weirdos,” says Carrie. “And I’d like to see them be rude to a pregnant woman. Protect this,” she hands you the cupcake carefully, looking at you in the eyes with intent, “and I mean it.”

Her voice is so determined, you decide that you don’t want your fair share of bites anymore. You nod dutifully.

“I got this, Jude.” She swipes the notepad from the older woman’s hands.

And with that, Carrie is kicking herself off the wall and out of the kitchen, into the main part of the diner. You silently pray for the couple that now has to deal with a moody and pregnant Carrie. 

See? Now, this is what you mean! No mechanic or receptionist at Billy’s Auto Parts will ever be willing to face an alleged-annoying couple for their coworker. Sometimes, waitressing can take the light and happiness out of you once you’re clocked out, but at least you’re surrounded by the half-decent people in your town.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Judy calls out with a wicked laugh. “Gotta love that girl… hey can I have a bite?”

You frown, knowing you’re already unable to say no when Judy is stressed and you know for sure that the confection in your hand is enough to sweeten even the most stressed—Jim just has that magic to him. “Yeah, but don’t make the dent obvious.”

You think you’re gonna spend the rest of your break with Judy, hiding in between the two walls in the corner of the kitchen until Carrie comes back. You lick a small sprinkle off the cupcake, ready to ask the woman if her daughter won the spelling bee that she’s been freaking out over all week, when the office door swings open and Lenny’s head peeks out, eyes going to the first two waitresses that he can spot.

“Hey!” he shouts yours and Judy’s last names to steal the attention. “Can one of you guys go out and get Evan? Her daughter’s principal is on the phone.” He wipes his sweat-stained brow and doesn’t wait for a response. “Thanks,”

You and Judy look back at each other. And immediately you know that you’re not going to make Judy be the one.

“I got it,” you say with a soft smile. “... You’re gonna eat the rest of this are you?”

She laughs and swipes the cupcake. “For you, my love, I wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you.”

You blow her a kiss, already making your way to the double doors of the kitchen, straightening out your ponytail and getting your waitressing voice ready (patient and respectful, garnering the best tips you can try to get). Your eyes give one swipe across the diner, catching Carrie’s eye as she talks to the couple sitting down beneath her, holding her precious bump to make a show of it. She gives you a sly wink and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing.

Afternoon rush makes it hard to spot Evan at first. His smaller stature makes it even harder to spot him in the crowd, but your eyes eventually zone in on him smiling at customer that is blocked by a family getting up to leave. You smile upon finding him and make your way to the table.

As you get closer, you finally notice who Evan is speaking two, and your brows pinch quizzically. The man is hunched, looking over the menu with sunglasses adorning his face despite his table not even facing the sun. His jet black curls curve around the lines of his face, making his features harder to notice. It almost reminds you of the movies you watch late at night when you’re munching on diner leftovers on your couch, the runaway criminal stopping for a bite to eat while trying to flee the state. 

“Evan,” you say softly, not wanting to draw attention to yourself but you know it's already bound to happen since you’re switching places with him. “Lenny’s got your daughter’s school on the phone. They’re asking for you.”

The man’s eyes widen. “Great,” he mutters, “What do you think it is this time?” “I hope she said ‘fuck you’ to that little pipsqueak again,” you joke, seeing the anxiety in Evan’s eyes at not knowing why he’s receiving a call during work. You remember the first time he got called to his daughter’s school from work due to her cursing out an older boy: the entire kitchen was laughing—Evan included—as they all wished him good luck with that meeting. “Can’t be worse than that.”

He sighed, turning back to the customer, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m going to hand you off to her for a bit.” He says your name to further introduce you two. "Thank you for your patience.”

And for the first time up close, you look at the sunglassed man and smile. Perfect teeth flash at you, mildly astonishing you at how cute he looked when he did so. It’s not abnormal for you to find a customer attractive (it’s human, we’re human), but you don’t think a smile has ever made you secretly stop you from breathing for a second. 

Flustered, you’re clumsy as you and Evan switch spots. He pats your shoulder one last time, muttering a thank you as he rushes to the back. You follow his movements and frown for a split second and forget your task at hand. You hope his daughter is okay. You hope the kitchen will be laughing in t-minus three minutes over the fact that little baby-Evan gained a new curse word under her belt.

“Sorry,” you say, looking back at the man. You find him looking directly at you, knowing only because of how his head is positioned. His sunglasses are too tinted to even see a little beneath. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“Oh—uh, yeah,” he stammers, before clearing his throat and offering a crooked smile. “Coffee, please. Milk and two sugars.”

Your handwriting matches the pace as he speaks. You hold a smile on your face to keep up pleasantries. “And have you decided what you would like to eat?”

“Not yet,” he admits, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the menu. “Kind of hard to focus.” There’s a pause before he adds, a little quieter, “The menu’s got a lot of… options.”

You raise an eyebrow, tucking your notepad in the small pocket of your apron. You turn your head to see if anyone else is making coffee right now. You see Carrie there, and silently celebrate when she’s already staring at you. “All good. I’ll get your coffee ready and be right back–”

“—Wait.”

Your brows pinch, confused. “Yes?” His hand rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “I was just, um… wondering if you had a favorite on the menu? Like… if there’s something you always recommend. Or—” He hesitates again, “Or like your favorite?”

You don’t know why he's so flustered. You don’t know why it makes you flustered. For a beat, you just look at him. Is he… trying to flirt with me? The thought isn’t unwelcome, but you certainly weren’t expecting it, or really believing it just yet. You tilt your head, trying your best to keep your expression neutral.

“Well,” you say eventually, “We have an all day breakfast, and that’s my favorite part of the menu, and I get it a lot. It’s on the next page.”

You wait for him to turn the menu, but he continues to stare back up at you, mouth agape.

“... Is that something you’re interested in?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” he replies immediately. And then, more composed, “Yeah, I can be in the mood for breakfast.” He finally flips the page, and his head tilts up to yours fleetingly.

“Great! Our cook, Jim, makes the best strawberry and white chocolate pancakes, so that’s what I would recommend from the breakfast menu.”

His lips tug into a small, bashful smile. “Sounds perfect. I’ll take that.”

“Perfect!” you grin, scribbling his order onto your notepad. “I’ll take this to the kitchen, and have your coffee ready soon!” You flash him one more look before retreating back towards the kitchen. You finally get to look back at Carrie, who is still looking at you, this time arms crossed.

“How was the couple?” you ask when you’re about to pass her.

“Annoyed them enough to leave.” She grabs your wrist, and you just dodge the yelp that wants to escape your lips. “Do you know who you were just talking to?”

You freeze. Her grip is firm, her expression serious enough to make you hesitate. Your gaze darts briefly toward the dining area, but you stop yourself from looking back at him. The last thing you want to do is risk being caught gawking.

“I... no?” you whisper, unsure of how to answer. But even as you say it, you feel a subtle heat creeping up your neck. The weight of eyes on your back makes your skin prickle, as if the mystery man somehow knows he’s the topic of conversation.

“Why don’t you go check the newspaper in the locker room and get back to me, yeah?” she finally lets her grip go, smirking like she knows something you don’t.

Carrie's words linger repeatedly in your brain as you hesitantly allow yourself to drop off the man’s order, and then to go see whether or not you’re serving a serial killer. 

You slip the stripped paper from your notepad to Colin’s hands. “Table thirteen,” you say in passing as you make the rest of the way to the locker room, not even Judy’s cheerful wave as she smiles with a cupcake still in her hand can stop you from the mission you have decided to go on.

Upon entering the locker room, you gaze zeroes in newspaper lying flat on the bench, its closed pages teasing you with potential revelations about your current customer. You hesitantly flip it over as you come face-to-face with the front headline 

HIT AND DIP: ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON LEAVES IN HASTE AFTER CHICAGO SHOW 

Your eyes widen as they lock onto the grainy photo accompanying the article. There’s no mistaking it. The guy at table thirteen. Eddie Munson. Rockstar. Your customer. 

For the first time, you finally see his eyes. But instead of him taking his sunglasses off to reveal his brown hues, you see them straight on in the form of a camera flashing and printing onto the paper right in front of you. He looks borderline pissed as he’s gripping his guitar and shooing the paparazzi in the background away, the picture managing to catch the split-second that his eyes meet with the camera.

“He’s hot.”

You jump, clutching the newspaper to your chest as you turn to meet eyes with Judy casually leaning over your shoulder with a grin.

“Judy!” you hiss, sighing in relief. 

“What?” she says plainly, “He is.”

“He is also currently Evan’s customer on table thirteen that I now have to serve.”

Judy’s pupil’s dilate. “Oh shit.”

You want to make a joking comment, calling Judy a cougar, but you’re interrupted by Carrie peeking her head in through the door. She looks down at the newspaper in your hands, and then back to your eyes. “Told you,” she says, her smirk from earlier still on her face.

Before you can respond annoyingly, Jim’s voice blares through the back. “Order up!” he shouts. “Waffles for thirteen!”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of its sockets.

“Jesus, do you ever slow down?” Carrie yells out the door.

They hear Jim’s “No!” and fan out back into the kitchen.

“Good luck, my love,” sings Judy.

“Can you ask for an autograph?” asks Carrie. She motions to her belly and gives it a soft pat. “She’ll think I’m real cool!” 

“Ha, ha,” you roll your eyes, already holding the order as you kick the double doors open, passing back into the diner. You try your best to calm your heart as you pour coffee into the kettle, taking sugar from the side of the counter and putting two teaspoons into the mug. You feel eyes on you the entire time, and you don’t need to look up to know whose covered eyes they belong to. 

It’s not every day that you get to serve a goddamn celebrity, so she thinks that everyone should give her a break (she’s specifically talking to her heart—it needs to stop beating so rapidly, making her brain think something is wrong).

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you hold the plate on one hand, and the mug on the other. “Just a customer,” you whisper under your breath, beginning to walk. “Just a ridiculously famous, incredibly good-looking customer who better leave a stunning tip.”

As you approach table thirteen, you notice that Eddie shifts slightly in his seat. One of his legs bounces under the table, and he drums his fingers lightly against the edge of the booth.

You \ set the plate and coffee down in front of him, you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Waffles and coffee,” you announce, sliding the plate and mug onto the table with practiced ease. You’re proud that your voice doesn’t shake—too much, anyway.

Eddie leans back, grinning up at you. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Your heart stops. You couldn’t help but think his eyes hold a knowing look, like he knew exactly what went down and now knows that you know exactly who he is.

“Enjoy,” you grin back. 

Behind you, you hear him mutter something under his breath, followed by a quiet groan, and you can’t help but feel a small flutter in your chest that he enjoyed what you recommended to him. 

The rest of the rockstar’s stay goes smoothly. You don’t intend on saying anything to give away what you know, despite it probably already being known, and you're grateful by this normalcy. You refill his coffee, make light conversation (the weather is particularly sunny and pretty today, shining through the windows and letting pretty glow spread through the diner), and take his plate when he’s wiped it clean.

You don’t even think much of his stay, mind already going back to it being a regular customer that deserves no more or less attention than anyone else is supposed to.

(Sure, his smile lingers in your mind a little longer than you’d like to admit—so what if his smile is better than any that you’ve seen, anyway?)

It isn’t until Eddie’s up and left and you trail back to the table to wipe it off, a damp rag in hand, do you notice the wad of cash left in his wake that is definitely worth more than his bill.

Your jaw drops down, staring at it and contemplating what to do with that much of an amount of money in front of you.

Next to it, a folded napkin sits.

Your mind immediately goes to an autograph; that he’s one of those celebrities, and he just couldn’t resist leaving a little something to prove of his appearance.

You’re taken back when you unfold it to see his number scribbled messily onto the fabric. Your fingers shake as you move your thumb to fully read the note that he added at the bottom,

Call me. Please. :)

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Birthday Cake (Alastor x Reader)

Requested on VoxTek Discord server! No CW, a little angst. Happy birthday to those of you with birthdays this month <3

Alastor hummed as he carefully measured flour and sugar. He cracked eggs and mixed in cocoa powder. It’d been a long time since he baked anything, let alone this cake.

There was a point in his life when he baked it every year, though he himself wasn’t fond of sweets. It was his Ma’s favorite cake and by that virtue alone, it was Alastor’s favorite as well.

She raised him in poverty but the one thing she always ensured was that Alastor had a birthday cake. She’d skip more meals than typical in order to ensure it would happen. Before he was old enough to realize how much it meant to her, he would protest that he didn’t like sweet cakes.

As he grew, he noticed that most years, she didn’t have a cake to mark her own birthday. It was only used to mark his birthdays and that of his father. That’s when Alastor decided that when she would ask him what cake he wanted that year, he would request his Ma’s favorite cake.

Every year following, he asked for her favorite, claiming it as his own. It was many years later, when she was weak and ill, that she mentioned how adorable she thought it was that they shared that favorite.

He told her again how he doesn’t care for sweets. He didn’t ask for the cake for himself. It was late, every year, but unbeknownst to her, she was making her own birthday cake.

After she passed, he did carry a fondness for the cake. He’d make a small one to mark his birthday, taking it to her grave-site and eating it with her.

That, of course, ended with everything else when he took a bullet to the head.

The ingredients to make the cake were much harder to find in hell, making the special cake an infrequent treat. It’d been at least a decade since he made it last.

But then you showed up at the hotel. What a darling little bit of entertainment. He’d grown fond of teasing you, taking joy in your emphatic reactions to his little jabs. It was a passing snippet of conversation that he overheard your birthday.

It was the same birthday as his Ma. What were the odds? What were the chances?

Alastor wasn’t one to believe in signs from above in life. He believed in those even less now. The divine wouldn’t bother sending a sign to a man damned in hell.

That lack of belief did not stop him from hunting down the ingredients for the cake. It had him mixing them together in a bowl in the quiet hours of the morning, while everyone else was still asleep. He poured the batter into the floured pan and tapped it hard against the counter, knocking the bubbles out before reaching out with a tentacle to open the oven.

He waited while it baked, mixing up the too sweet icing. His nose wrinkled as the powdered sugar fluffed up into his face, sweetening the air itself as he whipped it into the butter.

Once the cake was done, baked, cooled and decorated with the rustic charm that came with spatula waves in the icing. All that was left was to give it to you.

That shouldn’t be so hard, should it? Except he didn’t want a single other person in the hotel to know what he’d done. He wasn’t ashamed- Ha! It was just what he made for you was special.

It wasn't something he wanted to share with just anyone. You were special. You had to be, you had the same birthday as his Ma. It had to be a sign that you would be important to him.

He paced the room, trying to think of a way to get you into his space without raising questions. There wasn’t time to worry about it longer as a knock sounded at his door. He looked behind him once, his hand resting on the knob.

If he opened the door, they’d be able to see the cake sitting on his small dining table. That wouldn’t do.

Darkness deepened in his room, shadows swallowing the table and everything around it. Much better!

“What can I help you with?” Alastor asked, opening the door with a dramatic flourish only to find himself face to face with you. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise!”

“I… Um?” You blinked up at the intimidating demon. He was handsome and charming but more than anything, he was terrifying. “Charlie-”

“Charlie can wait!” Alasator laughed, reaching out and wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. “It’s a special day today!.”

“Is it?” You tried to step away from him only for his grip to tighten.

“You can’t have forgotten what day it is?” Alastor’s static was thick in the air, but his voice was light as he pulled you into the darkness of his room.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you mean?”

“It’s your birthday!” Alastor’s hands left you, and he stepped in front of you.

His eyes and smile glowed in the near total darkness. He held out his hands, fingers wiggling. The darkness pulled back slowly, letting light into the space as he kept his jazz hands going until you saw the small cake sitting in the center of the table.

"I’ve made you a cake!” He laughed as if that was some sort of joke.

The sharp snap of his fingers sparked a flash of green light that turned into a green flame. It floated on nothing through the air, traveling to the wick of a candle in the center of the cake. It caught, shifting with a flash from green to the orange flame you knew so well.

“You… made me a cake?”

“I did!” Alastor laughed again. “Now come, sit. Blow out your candle and make a wish. It won’t come true, of course, but wish anyway!”

You didn’t know what else to do so you sat down in the wrought iron chair. Alastor sat across from you. Two forks appeared in a flash.

“Go on,” he urged. “Can’t start without you.”

“Right,” you said, leaning forward to send out a puff of air. It was just enough to blow out the candle.

Smoke trailed up into the air for a few seconds before the candle flickered back to life.

“It’s your lucky day!” Alastor leaned forward. “It looks like you get another wish.”

This repeated near a dozen times before Alastor grew tired of the game and allowed the candle to remain out. Though his antics aggravated you, you were far too attached to being in one piece to demand him stop.

It was well known that Alastor didn’t care for sweets, so it surprised you when he picked up his fork as you picked yours up. You hesitated before spearing the cake and bringing a bite toward your lips where your fork’s travel stalled.

“It’s not poisoned, is it?”

“Heavens, no!” Alastor flapped his hand at you before taking a bite of the cake himself. It either wasn’t poisoned or, if it was, it was weak enough that Alastor wasn’t in danger from it.

Either way, you were backed into a corner with no choice but to trust him and put the cake in your mouth.

“Good, isn’t it?” Alastor looked smugly down at you from across the table.

“It is,” you answered honestly. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” Alastor confided. “It was my ma’s favorite.”

“And you made it for me?” You blinked your wide eyes up at him. “Why?”

“It’s your birthday, silly!” Alastor said, reaching across the table to tap your nose with the tines of his fork. “Did you forget already?”

“No, I-”

Alastor cut you off, “Eat your cake and have a happy birthday, cher.”

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[moonyssuq]

DREADED GIFT- Katsuki Bakugou

𖤐 word count: 3.3k

𖤐 synopsis: you felt the need to celebrate your boyfriend, baking a cake for him.

𖤐 warnings: explicit language, fluff, kissing, established relationship, sfw

Normally, you’d be excited to present the gift you’ve arranged for the person. But today was a completely different story. 

Today was April 20.

Katsuki Bakugou’s birthday.

Your boyfriends’s birthday.

The same guy who blew up last year's surprise party, claiming he didn’t do cheesy parties.  A week prior, he had made it clear he wouldn't want his 17th birthday to be celebrated. Nevertheless, you prepared a medium-sized box in black wrapping paper with orange explosions and an orange bow. 

You had been up since around three in the morning, following a recipe for a chocolate-flavoured cake to calculate the right amount of spice powder you needed for a mixed flavour. 

You looked through the cabinets and drawers, looking for a tablespoon that could be used to measure. As you turned around to continue the recipe, you bumped into the batter, causing a little to spill. 

You then grabbed a towel and started to clean the mess, forgetting about the spinning bowl of batter as it fell on your head. Great. You had full-on batter on your hair now. You started the recipe again, having no time to clean the mess on your head. 

About 10 minutes later, you placed the batter in the baking pan, reaching over to the oven, turning it on to 350. Glancing at your phone, it was already 5:29 a.m., so you had a little over an hour and a half to have the cake prepared. 

30 minutes later, you took the cake out of the oven, examining it carefully, trying to find anything wrong with it that you could fix immediately. Placing the pan gently on the counter, you ran over to the fridge and grabbed out the frosting, quickly mixing up the right colors and starting to decorate the cake.

Once satisfied with how you had decorated it, you placed the remaining tubes of frosting back into the fridge, turning back and admiring your work for a moment, suddenly interrupted by your best friend Jirou walking into the kitchen, still rubbing her eyes from sleep. The remaining sleep from her body immediately left when she noticed the mess you had on your head and around the kitchen.

“What are you doing up this early? Better yet, why does the kitchen look like a tornado passed by it?” She asked, walking around the kitchen before turning to you, “It’s Katsuki’s birthday today, and I wanted to make something for him, so here I am. I might as well disappear if he doesn’t even end up liking anything.” you glanced at Jirou, noticing her gaze of the cake.

She took the cake and carefully placed it in the fridge, shutting it closed. “It needs to cool down for a bit too,” she noticed your bummed out face before continuing, “I’m sure he’ll like it, Its Bakugou we’re talking about. You can make a disgusting meal, and he would still eat it if he knew it was you who made it.” 

You simply nodded at her words, hoping it would go like that when the time came to go to his dorm and wish him a happy birthday. “Well, tell me, does this gift look decent enough?” You raised the box so Jirou could examine it. Watching her every expression, before she turned to you. “And what’s in the box?” Her question made you smile.

“It’s a present, why would I tell you what’s in it? Besides, I’d rather give it to him first instead of telling you.” She smiled at you, “Fair enough, well, I’m going to eat breakfast. Do you need help cleaning up your mess? You nodded, grabbing the broom and mop to clean the floor while she cleaned the counter and stored the flour and sugar that you had forgotten to put away.

When you both finished, the kitchen looked cleaner. You let out a sigh as you thanked her, checking the time again, you walked over to the fridge and opened it, taking out the cake. “I’m going to start heading up there.” You said, earning a simple nod in response.

Without another word being exchanged, you grabbed hold of the cake in one hand and the gift in your other. As you walked up the stairs, you felt the stickiness of the batter that had fallen on you earlier still on your head. It was too late now to fix it. You clicked on the button and waited for the elevator and waited for the doors to open.

You stepped inside and pressed on ‘floor 4’, where his dorm was. When the doors opened again, you stepped out and started making your way towards his dorm, the nerves beginning to get to you. What if he hated the cake you made, or if he dismissed your effort and called it stupid? 

There were so many things that could go wrong in this moment, but you were willing to take the risk if it meant it would make is day a little better. As you stepped towards his room and stood in front of it, your hand reached for the handle, but immediately stopped when you heard familiar voices already inside.

The friend group had already beaten you to it. The mixed yells with quiet remarks could be heard. You didn’t want to just burst in with the way you were looking, especially with the things you had planned to tell him privately. You’d simply have to do it later at a better time. 

From inside his room, Kirishima, Mina, Sero, Kamanari, and Izuku could be heard. It was obvious that they planned to celebrate his birthday with a party.

“We have a whole day planned out already!” 

“Sato even agreed to make the cake for later! C’mon, man!” 

“If you idiots think I'm going to join your ridiculous party, think again.” You immediately recognized who it was just from the tone in their voice. You let out a sigh as you glanced at the door, then at the cake and gift in your hands.

He’d be fine.

Without a second thought, you turned around and made your way to your dorm, unlocking the door and disappearing into your room. A few hours passed, and it was a little past 9 a.m. The birthday cake sat on your desk, beside it the wrapped box, having been forgotten and erased from your mind in that moment.

He was asking where you were. Your heart skipped a beat at the notification, almost immediately stopping what you were doing and thought for a moment before typing a quick response back, shutting off your phone after sending the message.

Just as you placed your phone down on your bedside table, you heard a notification immediately after. Reaching out, you unlocked it and simply stared at the message.

Sighly softly, you stood up from your bed, glancing at the cake and gift from your attempt earlier. You grabbed the cake and box once again in each hand, your phone tucked in your waistband as you opened the door and walked out, closing it slowly behind you. 

As you made your way to his dorm, you mentally prepared for you to be greeted with his annoyed expression, you could already make out what he’d say the second he noticed what you had in your hands. He probably won’t even bother to acknowledge it. 

Standing in front of his dorm, you stared for a moment before you softly knocked on the wooden door, bracing yourself for the conversation that would come next. Hearing the soft click of someone opening the door, you glanced up to meet his crimson eyes.

“Why didn’t you come by thi–”

“Happy Birthday Kats,”  you muttered, cutting off his rambling before continuing, "I know you don't like your birthday getting celebrated and all that stuff, but I wanted to do something nice for you, but you don’t necessarily have to like it.”

As you waited for his response, you noticed the way his eyes glanced at your extended hands holding the cake, and you lit up the candles that had the number ‘17’ stamped on, along with the following words: ‘Happy Birthday Katsuki!’. Hearing a ‘tch’ escape his lips made you nervous, knowing it was a habit he’d do when annoyed. Hoping that wasn’t the case.

“You did all this for me? You know I don’t–” he sighed, pinching his nose, about to say something, but something changed in him when he noticed your happy expression, your lips curled into a soft smile. He’d hate himself if he ever said anything that didn’t satisfy your mood.

He looked away and thought for a moment before turning back to you. “I– What I’m trying to say is… I don’t mind it. All this bullshit crap you made for my birthday, I don’t mind it, as long as it comes from you. Alright? So don’t get any silly ideas in the pretty head of yours that I’m gonna yell your ear off for no reason. At least not today.”

You noticed the boy's face immediately heated up slightly after the small confession, trying to brush it off by looking away. You continued to smile as you softly spoke, “Do you want me to sing Happy Birthday?” you asked, holding out the cake, interrupted by a snort. “I don’t need your singing to damage my ears.”

The boy simply smirked as your smile fell into a pout, looking at him annoyingly, “Just make your wish and blow out the candles.” Without another word, he thought for a moment before blowing them out, the soft smell of smoke filling your nose. You simply pushed past him and placed the cake on his desk.

You walked back out and grabbed the box, extending it out to him. Noticing he was about to protest, you stopped him. “Just take it, there's no point in arguing with me.” Your fingers slightly brushed with each other as he took the box out of your hands, looking at the wrapping for a moment before he started opening it.

His eyes widened when he realized what it was. A photo album decorated on the outside with stickers and colored wording is visible. When opening it, he noticed the many photos of both of you, mostly just of the dates and small hangouts you both have done when you were still friends and dating.

“Do you like it? There’s still a lot of empty pages to put future memories.” You asked, glancing up at him, noticing his eyes focused on the album in front of him. He simply nodded, “I like it, there’s thought that was put into it, and I know you worked hard on it. You didn’t need to do any of this y’know.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, knowing these were some of the only times he’d be sincere. “It’s my favourite boy's birthday, of course I was going to do something for it, silly. Try the cake, I want to know if it tastes good or if I'm poisoning you.”

He let out a huff, rolling his eyes as he glanced at the cake sitting on his desk. “You sure it’s not all just sugar? You’re going to give me a sugar rush with all this.” His fingers dug into the sugary pastry as he grabbed a piece and popped it in his mouth. You analyzed his expression like a mad scientist, hoping you wouldn’t poison the poor boy with your newly learned baking skills.

“Kats, say something, does it taste bad? Does it hurt to chew? You can spit it out if it doe–” 

“Nah, this is the best cake I’ve ever tasted. You can taste the spiciness, but also not too much that you can't taste the chocolate. You nailed the recipe, this shit probably better than what they sell at stores.” You listened to every word he said, feeling somewhat accomplished that Katsuki liked your cake, hell, maybe even loved. “Well, I’m glad you liked it, I’ve been up since three in the morning trying to make it–” He cut you off as he glanced at your scalp, “Is that why there's batter on your head? Don’t tell me your stupidass dumped it on yourself.”

You let out a laugh, smiling at him, “It was an accident, but it’s fine, I'll shower later and it’ll come off.” Glancing at him, you sighed, “We should start heading downstairs–” He looked at you, confused. “The fuck are we going downstairs for?” You pointed towards the door as you spoke.

“Well, y’know the party they’re throwing for your birthday, aren’t you going to go?” The ash blonde immediately shook his head, letting out a sigh, and he placed the photo album on his desk. “Nah, rather spend it with you, cuddling or whatever.” You looked at him annoyingly, “Katsuki, they took time out of their day to organize that– hey!”

You were rudely interrupted by him picking you up and throwing you on the bed with him, pulling you closer by the waist as the boy shoved his face into your neck, taking in your comforting scent with a soft sigh.

“It’s not my damn problem, there faults for even thinking I’d enjoy a stupid party.” You gave up trying to convince him to go, snuggling closer to him as he intertwined his legs with yours, having you completely hooked onto the bed with him.

“Hey, look at me.” You glanced at him, wondering what it was he wanted, but it was immediately answered when he took your face and pressed his chapped lips against yours, kissing you. As expected, you melted into the kiss and pulled away a while after, the feeling of his lips kissing your entire face as he spoke. “Mh, love you, idiot.”

One thing is for sure, he wouldn't be letting you go from his grasp any time soon.

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

summary: just some small baking hcs because i couldn't help but think about these guys while doing some baking myself

pairings: all students x gn! reader (can be read as either romantic or platonic, except for ortho)

warnings: just fluff, there is no concrete trope here, just random brain worms; reader is not specified to be mc/yuu

a/n: peer reviewed by @daisystwistedgarden who woke up to me spamming our dms with these ♡

twisted wonderland masterlist

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle would be the most attentive student ever, taking notes on the exact ratio and the time you spent mixing everything together. Please don’t give him measurements like “what feels right”, he wants to know the exact amount down to the gram. One day, he wants to bake something for you by himself, but for now he’s content with sharing what you made together over a cup of tea.

Normally, the delicious smell of pastries and cakes comes wafting out of Heartslabyul’s kitchen with Trey at the centre of it, so the first time he comes to your dorm to see you baking, he’s pleasantly surprised. Obviously, he’s liked you before but now he looks forward to swapping recipes and spending afternoons side by side in the kitchen.

Cater would be posting all over magicam how cute you are and would fill his stories with candids of you kneading dough, taking stuff out of the oven, etc. He’d try to hide how flustered he gets if you tell him you made something savoury because you remembered he’s not fond of sweets.

The Adeuce combo would loiter around your kitchen, snacking half your dough without contributing any help whatsoever (Deuce tries, Ace never had any intention to from the start). One thing’s for sure: if Ace or Deuce ever have to bake an apology tart for an unbirthday party again, they already know who they’re recruiting. It’s also a great reason to stop by your dorm more often than they already do.

He would never admit it, if you made something for him, Ace would feel his heart beat a little faster. Instead he’d poke your cheek and make a nonchalant comment about how you must be so in love with him that you couldn’t stop thinking about him but the way his delivery stutters a little and the fact he can’t quite meet your eyes gives him away. Don’t mention if his ears turn red either (or tease him about it~).

Contrary to his roommate, Deuce is adorably honest about his appreciation for your hard work. You made this for him? Just because? There are a few seconds where his brain buffers while deciding what to do, would hugging you be too forward? But wouldn’t bowing be too formal? It’s honestly very cute to watch how his face flushes a colour that’s a nice contrast to the blue mark next to his eye as he stammers out his gratitude, especially if you’re not (yet) dating or haven’t been for long. 

SAVANACLAW

Leona was probably lazing around your dorm already and you woke him up from a nap with the noise of kitchen equipment and the different scents filling the air. He’d slink over to watch you work, offering unhelpful comments while leaning his entire weight on you. Because of his upbringing his palette is obnoxiously refined but he’s the one helping himself to more of what you just took out of the oven, so he’s not sly.

Ruggie can smell that you’re baking something good before even entering your dorm. Sure, most beastmen have a keen sense of smell but when it comes to food, nobody zeroes in quite as fast as the hyena. He’ll join you in the kitchen under the guise of learning a new recipe from you- and he is! It’s just that he’s also sneaking a treat or two off your baking tray.

Jack would help carry and stir stuff for you but he’d mostly keep to the background and let you do your thing, afraid to accidentally ruin the pastries or what you’re making, his nose and tail do twitch at the pleasant scent though. Since he’s an athlete, Jack makes sure to watch his diet but he’d never refuse to try what you made.

OCTAVINELLE

As the head of Mostro Lounge, Azul is always on the lookout for new items to add to the menu, so he takes quite the interest in your recipes. With a few tweaks here and there… For him to enjoy them in private though, he’ll study the recipe for different reasons. Of course he will try everything you make at least once, but the housewarden is still very conscious of his appearance, so he’ll enjoy your baking in measured amounts.

Jade, much like his childhood friend, is very intrigued by what you’re making but not out of business reasons. The eel is much more interested in how your recipes compare to his native ones and he’s already thinking of new things to try the next time around. As with everything, Jade loves to tease and fluster you, so of course he has to show you how to perfectly roll out the dough by caging you between himself and the counter. 

Perhaps you should think twice about letting Floyd into your kitchen. If he asks to let him help you, chances are he’s in a good mood, which is positive for his enthusiasm but detrimental to keeping your dorm clean. Sure, the eel is quite competent when it comes to preparing food but by the time your tray is in the oven, you, him and the floor are covered in flour.

SCARABIA

The first time you offered something homemade to Kalim, he had to refuse with a begging side glance to Jamil. Afterwards, he reasoned with Jamil that if he just joined you in baking, he could be sure of everything that went into the treats and so his vice housewarden relented. Against what people might think, Kalim is not actually half bad at baking, you just have to walk him through all the steps slowly. He might never have baked something himself before but he makes up for it with enthusiasm and the will to learn, plus he makes the whole thing super fun from beginning to end.

The first time Jamil sees you baking, it’s late in the evening and he just dragged himself over to your dorm for some much needed rest. But when he sees you working around the oven, there’s a split second where all the alarm bells in his head go off to thwart impending doom, until he remembers that you probably know what you’re doing and he relaxes. Old habits and all that. After that day, he’ll join you in the kitchen from time to time, if his schedule allows it. There’s no doubt about his capabilities, so Jamil’s always welcome to join you but he also appreciates that you don’t expect him to, which makes this a nice way to wind down for him. Also gets easily flustered if you make something for him and him only.

POMEFIORE

Vil would also compliment your hard work. Sure, he might offer some constructive criticism (if he knows it won’t hurt your feelings) so you can improve even further the next time around, but he’s also not hesitating to point out everything that deserves praise. He might click his tongue if you get cream on your face but will gently wipe it away and dust the flour off your clothes with a fond smile.

Rook is just as excited and eccentric as always, raving about the beauty of baking and how lovely you are for creating something so delicious. It doesn’t matter if you’re making the simplest cookies known to man, to him it might as well be a three tier cake.

Epel would be so happy if you made something with the apples his family sent him, but he appreciates it either way. He’s also really talented when it comes to decorating -probably because of his years spent carving apples- and he feels really manly when you ask him to stir something, knead the dough or carry ingredients.

IGNIHYDE

Idia is probably running through every anime and dating sim with a baking arc he’s ever watched/ played and his hair tinges pink as you invite him over. You’re at the intimacy level already to unlock this super domestic route? He really wants to save state irl, so he can keep coming back to this, both in case he messes up and to relive this moment.

Ortho would be a sweetheart, setting timers and looking up recipes and techniques if you’re stuck. He compliments your work and laments lightheartedly that he can’t smell or taste anything, saying he’ll pester Idia into inventing olfactory and gustatory receptors, so he can get the full experience next time.

DIASOMNIA

Congrats, you now have a very curious fae prince on your hands. Not only is he studying your recipes and ingredients with great interest, Malleus is just as fascinated by baking utensils running on electricity. Do yourself a favour and invite him for tea afterwards where you can serve your treats, he will be puddy in your hands.

Watch your bowls carefully when Lilia is around while you’re baking. There is a good chance the fae will try adding a few ingredients of his own and it will not end well for anyone involved. He’ll playfully pout about you rejecting his help and deflecting from the topic but a second later he’s laughing about how cute you are for wanting to make something for him by yourself.

Silver would fall asleep when surrounded by the good smells, the warmth of the oven preheating, your lovely voice and the kitchen sounds. He can’t help it, it’s such a relaxing environment and it puts him at ease and therefore also to sleep. But, ever the charming knight, he would help you clean up afterwards and very genuinely compliment your hard work with a soft smile.

Sebek will yap up a storm on how ‘your human recipes can’t hold a candle to briar valley’s supreme cuisine’ but he’s oddly docile once he actually taste tests. If you tease him about his earlier statements, he will flush red, trying to save face but also not wanting to lie about liking your baking.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit before your tablet. The screen is blanket as you twirl it around and around. It's easy when you have an assignment. On your own, you have nothing. Every ounce of inspiration is gone. Wrung out by your indifference and exhaustion.

You sigh and put the pen down. You lean your head in your hands and sigh. There's something wrong with you. A lot, actually. It's not just Bucky and whatever's going on there, it's you. Something's missing. Or broken.

You lock the screen and stick the pen to the side. You shut the light off as you leave your office and go down to the kitchen. You open the fridge and take out what you need.

After your workout, you went to that all-organic store. Then you came home and did a deep clean of the fridge, switching out all the junk for the healthier options. It kept you busy enough not to think. That seems to be the problem. Thinking.

You rinse the chickpeas and the lettuce, you cut the chicken into strips to bake. High protein, low cal. It will keep you from snacking but a double chocolate cheesecake would be better. You sigh and push away the craving.

As the chicken cooks, you stand by the oven and absorb its warmth. You zone out as you stare at the wall. You used to cook together. He even taught you how to make the water cake his mom cooked during the hard years. That was fun. It was the closest he got to talking about before.

"Hey, doll," Bucky startles you and your eyes come into focus. "How's my best gal?"

You're jarred by the brightness in his voice. More so by the colourful bunch in his hand. He wiggles the bouquet towards your face.

"Got some of that German beer," he lifts the six pack of short bottles. "The kind you like."

You accept the carnations. You look over the pink, white, and purple petals. You make yourself smile as your insides rot. What were you thinking earlier?

"I'll get a vase," you say then pause. "Thanks, honey."

You shift and pucker your lips. He cranes to kiss you and taps your ass. "That's what I'm talking about," he comments as he parts.

You turn and search for a vase. You take it out and add water and the stems. The stove opens.

"What're we having?" He asks.

"Um, I was making a chicken and chickpea salad but if you want, I can do up some rice with yours."

"Sounds good to me," he says as he shuts the door. "You know my favourite part is dessert."

You set the vase on the corner of the counter and turn it to show the most vibrant flowers. He comes up behind you and his hands settle on your hips. He inhales the scent of your hair.

"You worked out today," he mutters. He can smell the sweat. You changed your clothes but since you cleaned up, you didn't bother showering yet. You assumed he'd be late.

"Just a bit," you shrug and touch his hands.

He reluctantly lets you go as you move around him. You take down two bowls. You feel him watching.

"You know you only think those things about yourself, I don't," he leans on the counter. "I never said you were fat."

You wince, "I know, Bucky. It's not... It's my own problem. I understand."

"Hm, it's our problem, we're married," he comes closer. "You know, you're saying I'm the one not talking. You're not exactly chatty yourself."

"Sorry, I... I'm tired. I went shopping and cleaned and... probably didn't do as much as you," you look down guiltily.

"Doesn't matter. You did lots," he insists as he touches your lower back. "Again, not me saying so, is it?"

"No, guess not. Sorry." You keep your head down.

He reaches to frame your chin, his fingers stretching up your cheek. He turns your head. You meet his eyes as he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"Don't be, not for that," He squeezes and you whimper. You grab onto his wrist as panic surges in your chest. You turn to him completely. "But you should be sorry."

"Ow, Bucky, ow, what're you--" His metal fingers dig into your cheeks. He's never touched you like this. He was always a bit reticent to do so with his metal hand.

"Divorce." He growls. "Nat fucking told me." He scoffs and pens you against the counter. "It's called fucking loyalty and she's got a lot more than you do."

"What? No, I didn't... Bucky... I haven't--"

"You're not going to. We'll fix this."

You whine and slap his bicep, "you're hurting me--"

"Me hurting you?" He hisses. "You went behind my fucking back."

"No, I didn't-- argh! Get off of me," you smack him again. "Bucky, please."

"After last night, I thought we were back, baby."

"It's... I was confused. I didn't do anything--"

"You lied to me. You faked it, didn't you?"

"What?" You wheeze, head thrumming from the pressure.

"Last night, when you came for me. You were fucking lying." He snarls as his nose touches yours. "Then you went out and fucking humiliated me. Saying you're gonna leave me."

"I didn't say that--"

"I love you. You know I do. You fucking know it," he breathes.

"I know, Bucky, I love you too." You rub his chest, "but you're hurting me."

He bares his teeth and shoves you away. A hot pain sears along your cheekbones. You cradle your face as the sudden warm flow at the gash left from the vibranium plate. You gasp and look at him, shakily pulling your fingers away to see the blood. He sees it too. He heaves visibly.

"Shit," he looks at his hand, "I shoulda got that fixed--"

You press your fingers back to the cut as the iron smell of blood overwhelms you. He comes toward you and you slide along the counter.

"Doll, I didn't mean to do that--"

"Don't--" you put your other hand out. "I... I'll just clean up. Please." You barely hold back the quaver in your voice. "Please, just... take the chicken out before it burns."

You move cautiously past him, too afraid too look directly at him. He doesn't try to follow you. You rush out to the bathroom and shut the door with your foot. You turn and look in the mirror. Ow.