#Blue-footed Cookie

[damsel-balladeer]

Sea Shanty Cookie Tag themes part 2!

Featuring ocs I left out last time! None of these ocs are mine! Well, the last two are mine.

Sea Foam Cookie - No Anchor - Kipo - Oc belongs to @chibifox2002

Cowbell Cookie - Young and Reckless - Kipo - Oc belongs to @cornkernelle

Golden Shrimp Cookie - 5 Hand Clap - Kipo - Oc belongs to @cornkernelle

Boxer shrimps Cookies - Brunch Bunch - Kipo - ocs belongs to @cornkernelle

Red Reaper Cookie - Cruel to the Beat - Kipo - Oc belongs to @limboraptor

Giant Clam Cookie - MegaWalrus Attack - Kipo - Oc belongs to @rawdough

my ocs now! That’s right. More.

Blue-Footed Cookie - Mr.Cup’s Cup -Bee and Puppycat - belongs to me

Mako Shark Cookie - Paint the Town Blue - Arcane (season 2) - Oc belongs to me

The Megalodon Siren - Worse than Death - Nine Sols - ocs belongs to me

Once again, my personal opinion.

[cumironi]

NOT FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

do you know what tea could affect your relationship? making you have an argument with your boyfriends because you thought they were overprotective and overbearing.

wc. | masterlist ( art © artist )

the sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over your backyard. the clear blue sky stretches endlessly above, dotted occasionally with fluffy white clouds that drift lazily by. the gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the big trees surrounding your yard, creating a soft symphony of nature that sets the perfect backdrop for a relaxing day.

you’re inside the house, standing in the kitchen with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. the kettle hums softly as it heats the water, and you take a moment to gather your thoughts. the tranquility of the day is a stark contrast to the chaos of your usual life, filled with sorcery and battles against curses. here, in this peaceful moment, everything feels right.

you glance out the window to see gojo and geto sitting together under the shade of the trees. gojo leans back against the trunk, his signature playful grin lighting up his face as he talks animatedly about something that seems to amuse geto. his carefree energy is infectious, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the two of them. geto, with his arms crossed and a relaxed demeanor, listens intently, his lips curling into a soft smile as he occasionally chimes in.

after a few more moments, the kettle clicks off, bringing you back to your task. you pour the hot water into a teapot filled with your favorite blend of loose leaf tea, the leaves swirling gracefully as they steep. You take a moment to appreciate the simple act of making tea, finding comfort in the rhythm of your movements.

while the tea brews, you take a peek outside again. the sunlight dances on their skin, highlighting their features in a warm glow. gojo's hair seems to shimmer under the sunlight, and you can see the way he gestures animatedly, the light catching the mischief in his eyes. geto, on the other hand, appears more grounded, with a calm expression as he occasionally shoots gojo an exasperated look, as if to say, “what are you going on about now?”

after a few minutes, you pour the tea into three cups, adding a touch of honey to each one, knowing how much they both love the sweetness. you also grab a small plate of freshly baked cookies you made the day before, their warm, buttery scent still lingering in the air. with everything prepared, you step outside, the warmth of the sun enveloping you. the moment you appear, both of them turn their attention toward you, their faces lighting up with smiles.

as you carefully made your way to the backyard with the tray in hand, the warm evening breeze brushed against your skin. but just as you took another step, you felt your foot catch on something, and before you could react, you were falling forward. the tray slipped from your grasp, and everything seemed to slow down as the hot teas spilled, burning your arms. ‘tud! you hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through your body and your head smacking against the unforgiving earth.

a sharp pain shot through your skull, and you felt a warm, sticky sensation as a wound opened up on your forehead. your vision blurred for a moment, and a pained groan escaped your lips.

at the sound of the tray crashing and your body hitting the ground, gojo and geto's eyes widen as they witness the fall unfolding in front of them. they jump to their feet, moving towards you with a mix of concern and surprise on their faces.

“shit, baby!” the raven-haired sorcerer exclaims, worry etched across his features.

“are you okay?” gojo adds, his voice laced with concern. he kneels down beside you, quickly assessing your injuries.

you get up from the ground sit there, dazed and try to process what just happened. the world around you spins slightly, and you blink rapidly, trying to steady yourself. despite the stinging in your arms and the throbbing in your head, you forced a smile, hoping to ease their concern. “i’m okay,” you mumbled, though your voice was a bit shaky so your eyes, you look confused.

gojo and geto exchanged a concerned glance before their eyes returned to you. they could tell you were putting on a brave face, but they could also tell your fall had left you confused.

“bullshit,” geto mutters under his breath, not buying your attempt to downplay your pain. gojo gently reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing against the cut on your forehead. “you're bleeding. and your arms look like they were burned.”

the concern in gojo's voice is clear, and his eyes meet yours, searching for any sign of more serious injury.

“can you stand? we should get you inside and clean those burns.” he says, gently helping you to your feet.

meanwhile, geto gazes at you with a mixture of worry and irritation. “you shouldn't have tried to carry all that on your own like that. it's too much for one person,” he mutters, his tone slightly accusatory.

you blink up at them, feeling the warmth of their concern, but also a little embarrassed by the fuss. with a small, sheepish smile, you shrug slightly and say, “it’s just tea, baby. i’m fine, really.” you let out a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood as you brush off the dirt from your clothes.

“no need to freak out, i’m tougher than i look.”

despite the sting from the burns and the throbbing in your head, you keep your tone light, hoping to ease their worries a bit.

gojo narrows his eyes at you and crosses his arms, clearly not convinced by your downplay of the situation. “tougher than you look or not, you still fell pretty hard. let's get you inside so we can check you for any other injuries.”

meanwhile, geto rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, a mix of concern and irritation on his face. “you're so damn stubborn. just accept our help for once.” gojo gently places a hand on your back, leading you inside the house. geto follows close behind, his arms crossed over his chest as he shoots you a disapproving look.

“you really should be more careful. what if you hit your head harder or break a bone?” he says, his voice stern but clearly laced with concern.

gojo shoots geto a look, silently signaling him to ease up a bit. he turns to you with a reassuring smile, his touch on your back gentle and comforting. “come on. let's clean you up and see how bad the damage is.”

gojo wraps one arm around your waist, supporting you as he gently guides you indoors. geto follows closely behind, his gaze trained on you like a hawk, his annoyance with your stubbornness clear in his eyes.

once they get you inside, they lead you to the living room, sitting you down on the couch. “stay here,” gojo instructs, a hint of command in his voice as he moves towards the first aid kit. after some moment, he quickly returns with the first aid kit, taking a seat next to you on the couch. he carefully opens it, pulling out some antiseptic and gauze.

“alright, let me take a look at those burns,” he says, his voice gentle and soothing. meanwhile, geto hovers nearby, his arms still crossed over his chest. his eyes are fixed on you, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of concern and irritation.

you bite your lip, glancing down at your hands resting in your lap, feeling a sting not just from the burns but from the way geto’s words hit you. you mumble softly, “i can carry a tray by myself... it’s just a tray with teas and snacks.“ your voice wavers slightly, the guilt creeping in as you pick at the fabric of your clothes. “i didn’t think it was a big deal… i just wanted to bring you guys something nice.”

you look up at geto, his expression a mix of worry and frustration, and then over at gojo, who’s focused on the first aid kit, his movements a little more tense than usual. the weight of their concern settles on your shoulders, making you feel even worse. “i’m sorry,” you add quietly, eyes flickering down again, feeling like you messed up more than you intended.

geto's expression softens a bit at your apology, his annoyance replaced with a hint of guilt.

“it's not that we don't appreciate the gesture,” gojo chimes in, his voice gentle as he continues to tend to your wounds. “but we don't need material things to feel loved. we just want you to be careful.” he looks up at you with a reassuring smile, his eyes holding a mixture of compassion and understanding.

“we care about you, that's all. we just don't want you getting hurt because you're trying to do too much.”

you shift uncomfortably under their gazes, feeling their words sink in, but you can't help but cling to your stubbornness. “it's really not too much,” you insist quietly, your voice still a little shaky but firm. “i just wanted to do something nice for you both. i can handle a tray—”

but before you can finish, you hear them both tsk in unison, their irritation flaring up again. gojo gives you a stern look, his brows furrowing as he presses a bit harder than necessary with the bandage. “you say that, but look where it got you,” he mutters in annoyance, clearly frustrated by your insistence on downplaying what happened.

geto watches the scene unfold, his irritation mounting again. he pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“why do you insist on being so damn stubborn?” he grumbles, his patience wearing thin. “we don't care about the goddamn snack tray, we care about you. you could've gotten seriously hurt.”

he crosses his arms once more, his eyes fixed on you with a mix of concern and anger. “how many times do we have to tell you that the only thing we want is for you to be safe and healthy?” gojo finishes wrapping your wounds in silence, his touch still gentle even though his irritation is evident.

once he's done, he sits back and looks at you, his eyes a mixture of concern and annoyance. “we know you want to do nice things for us, but you don't have to push yourself.”

geto lets out another sigh, his arms still crossed. “he's right. we don't need you to go out of your way like this. we just want you to be careful and take care of yourself first and foremost.”

you look up at them, confusion flickering in your eyes. you’re a sorcerer, just like them—used to fighting curses and enduring much worse than a slight burn or a bump on the head. to you, this was nothing more than a small accident, not something that should have them this upset. “it’s just a tea,” you murmur, your voice low and sincere. “i’m not pushing myself. i just wanted to do something nice for you guys. it’s really not a big deal.”

you can see their concern, but you don’t quite understand why something as simple as bringing them a snack is being seen as you overextending yourself. you’ve handled way worse. “i mean, come on, it’s a burn and a scratch. i’m not exactly falling apart over here,” you add, glancing between them with a frown.

gojo's brows furrow in frustration. “it's more than just a burn and a scratch. you could have seriously hurt yourself, and for what? a damn tea tray?” he snaps, his voice rising slightly, just a little, enough to send you a sign that he is angry.

geto's jaw clenches, his irritation grows with each word you say. “it's not about the damn tea, and you know it. it's about you not taking care of yourself. goddamnit, why is that so hard for you to understand?”

you scoff, frustration bubbling up inside you as their words hit a nerve. you feel their protectiveness, but it’s starting to feel suffocating. “why is it so hard for you two to understand?” you snap back, start to get defensive, eyes narrowing as you meet their intense stares. “i get it, okay? but it’s not a big deal, and you’re making it into one. it’s just a tea tray. i’m not made of fucking glass.”

gojo's eyes narrow in response, his own irritation flaring to match yours. “you're right, you're not made of glass, but that doesn't mean you should act like an idiot and put yourself in danger.”

geto runs a hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. “it's not about the damn tea! it's about you not listening to us or taking care of yourself. we care about you, more than you can imagine,” he says, his voice tinged with both frustration and concern.

you cross your arms, feeling defensive as their irritation continues to hang heavy in the air, the bubble of anger start hugging you. “i know you’re worried, but i’m not some delicate flower that needs constant watching. i just wanted to do something nice, and now we’re arguing like it’s the end of the world.”

geto’s jaw tightens further, and gojo’s brows knit together even more, but you keep your ground, refusing to back down. “i appreciate that you care, i do. but you’re blowing this way out of proportion. why can’t you just let it go?” you add, your voice softer with defiance, feeling like this whole thing is spiraling into something it never needed to be.

gojo lets out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair. “we're not treating you like some delicate flower, baby. we just want you to listen to us when we say we don't want you putting yourself in danger over something so trivial.”

geto steps forward, anger flashing in his eyes. “how many times do we have to tell you that we care about you more than anything? we don't care about the tea, we care about you. goddamnit, why is that so hard for you to understand?”

you scoff loudly, rolling your eyes as you push back against their intensity. “oh please,” you snap, the sarcasm dripping from your voice. “you two are always treating me like i’m some fucking porcelain doll.” your words come out sharper than intended, but you’re fed up with their overprotectiveness.

you start mimicking them, your voice mocking as you wave your hands dramatically. “baby, don’t do this, don’t do that, you’re going to get hurt. don’t touch this, don’t touch that,” you mimic their voice, your tone exaggerated and annoyed. “like, do you hear yourselves? it’s constant! it’s like i can’t do anything without you hovering over me.”

gojo's eyes narrow, his patience wearing thin. “we're not treating you like a porcelain doll. we're treating you like we love you. and when you love someone, you want to protect them from getting hurt.”

geto's jaw clenches, his anger rising in response to your mimicking. “you know what, fine. maybe we do hover too much. but can you blame us? you have a tendency to be reckless, and you never listen to us when we say ‘no.’”

gojo runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “look, we’re not trying to control you. we just want you to be safe. and lately, it feels like you’re constantly pushing the boundaries, doing things you shouldn’t, and completely disregarding our concerns.”

geto's irritation is clear in his expression as standing near you, hovering with his emotions. “we know you’re strong, and we know you can handle yourself. but sometimes, it’s like you want to push your limits just to prove something, and it scares the hell out of us.“

you roll your eyes, frustration boiling over as you feel cornered by their words. “oh, please, spare me the love speech,” you retort with sarcasm, your voice laced with annoyance. “you’re so overly protective, it’s suffocating. i appreciate that you care, but i’m not some weakling that needs constant protecting.”

you can’t help but feel exasperated as you continue, your tone sharp. you glare at them, feeling like no matter how much you try to explain, they just see you as fragile.

“it’s like you think i’m weak or something,” you add, voice rising with the frustration that’s been building. “i don’t understand why you’re always on my case, like i’m going to break at any second. i’m not made of glass, and i don’t need you constantly breathing down my neck to make sure i’m okay.”

you take a step back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, trying to put some distance between you and the suffocating concern they keep throwing your way. “i get that you’re worried, but you’re treating me like i can’t do anything without messing up or getting hurt. it’s not fair. i’ve fought curses, i’ve faced danger, and i’ve survived just like you have. so why can’t you see that i’m not some helpless damsel who needs to be saved all the time?”

your voice wavers slightly at the end, the mix of anger and hurt making it hard to keep your composure. you just want them to see you as their equal, not someone who constantly needs looking after.

as you continue your tirade, gojo's patience snaps.

“you know what?” he snaps, his voice rising to match your anger. “we do see you as our equal. we see you as someone who's strong, capable, and independent. but can you blame us for wanting to protect you? can you blame us for wanting to make sure you're not getting hurt just for some stupid tea? we care about you, damnit, and it feels like you're constantly putting yourself in harms way just for shits and giggles!”

his words hit you like a slap, the sharpness of his voice cutting through your anger and leaving you stunned. you stare at him, wide-eyed and speechless, as his frustration spills out. you know you’re not purposely trying to hurt yourself, and they know that too. accidents happen, and not everything is within your control.

you open your mouth to respond, but the weight of his words leaves you feeling deflated, like anything you say would just add fuel to the fire. their concern is suffocating, but your own frustration is blinding, and you realize this argument is going nowhere.

you look at gojo, searching his eyes for some understanding, but all you see is the mix of worry and anger that has been bubbling between you all. feeling a lump form in your throat, you quickly decide that it’s not worth continuing this back-and-forth. without saying a word, you turn on your heel and walk away, your footsteps heavy with a mix of hurt and resignation.

you can hear geto call after you, but you don’t stop. right now, it feels like anything more would just make things worse. so, you keep walking, knowing that some space might be the only thing that’ll help any of you see clearly.

gojo watches you storm away, the anger slowly fading to be replaced with a pang of hurt in his chest. he knows he could have handled that better, but your stubbornness has a way of getting under his skin.

he tries to steady his breathing, trying to push down the emotions churning within him. gojo looks over at geto, who looks as frustrated as he feels.

“great,” gojo mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “i shouldn't have snapped like that.”

geto shakes his head, the irritation still evident in his expression. “no, you had every right to be angry,” he says, crossing his arms. “she's acting like she's goddamn invincible. she doesn't understand the pain we feel when she puts herself in danger like this.”

sitting by the pond, you let the cool water lap against your legs as you try to calm your racing thoughts. tears stream down your face, a mix of frustration and sadness pouring out as you think about the argument. you feel a deep sense of hurt, knowing that no matter how much you want to show them you’re capable and strong, they always seem to see your actions as reckless.

you wipe at the dried blood on your forehead with the back of your hand, inadvertently smearing it more, and the stinging sensation only adds to your emotional turmoil. you think about how, since you started dating them, their constant hovering and worry have sometimes made you feel stifled, unable to do anything without fear of their disapproval.

you understand that their overprotectiveness comes from a place of love, but it feels like every gesture you make, every small attempt to contribute or show affection, is overshadowed by their anxiety. it’s hard not to feel unappreciated when you see their frustration instead of the gratitude you hoped for.

sitting alone by the pond, the peaceful surroundings offer a sharp contrast to the emotional storm inside you. you let yourself cry, the tears mixing with the cooling water as you try to make sense of it all. you wish they could see that you’re not trying to get hurt or push boundaries for the sake of it, but just to share in the small moments and show them that you care too.

for now, you need this space to process everything, hoping that in time, the argument will settle and you can find a way to make them understand without all the heightened emotions.

gojo and geto stay standing in the living room, the weight of your absence hanging heavily in the air. geto lets out a heavy sigh, his arms still crossed. “we shouldn't have gotten so worked up, that was stupid.”

gojo nods, “yeah, but she drives me nuts sometimes with her stubbornness.”

geto raises an eyebrow. “and you think you're any better? you can be just as stubborn as she is.” gojo rolls his eyes, he grumbles, “shut up, i am not that bad.”

geto smirks, the tension starting to ease between them. “oh really? do you want me to list all the times you’ve been a stubborn ass?”

gojo huffs, offended. “hey, i’m not that bad.”

geto gives him a skeptical look, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “just the other day you refused to listen to me when i told you not to eat an entire pack of candy before dinner.”

gojo's cheeks flush slightly, caught in his own stubbornness. “that was different.” gojo rubs his temples, feeling a headache forming from the tension. “we just want her to be safe. why is that so hard for her to understand?”

geto lets out another sigh. “i know, i know. she's just... she's so used to handling things on her own. it's hard for her to let us in and accept help.”

gojo nods, looking in the direction you stormed off. “i just wish she wouldn't take it as a personal attack every time we try to protect her. we're not trying to control her.”

geto rubs the back of his neck, frustration clear on his face. “i know, but she sees it as us thinking she's weak and incapable. it's like she forgets we see her as our equal, not just some fragile doll.”

there's a moment of tense silence before gojo speaks up again. “do you think... do you think we're suffocating her?” geto's expression softens, considering gojo's question. “it's possible,” he admits. “we may have been a little too protective, a little too... overwhelming.”

gojo lets out a weary sigh, leaning against the wall. “we just want to keep her safe.”

geto nods, the worry in his expression showing how much your safety truly means to them. “we do. but... maybe we're going about it the wrong way. we need to find a balance.”

you stay by the pond until night falls, the cool air eventually nudging you back inside the house. your wounds still sting a bit, but you know it’s better to head inside, especially since your boyfriends don’t like you being outside at night without proper warmth if they’re not around.

you find your way to the kitchen, where you see them talking softly. gojo is perched on a bar stool, his expression a mix of concern and frustration, while geto stands behind the counter, preparing dinner. the soft light from the kitchen casts a warm glow, a stark contrast to the chill outside.

you hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of them before stepping into the kitchen. gojo’s eyes flicker toward you, a look of surprise crossing his face as he sees you. geto, noticing your presence, immediately stops what he’s doing and turns to face you, his own concern evident.

“hey,” you say softly, not meeting their eyes directly. you don’t want to reopen the argument but feel the need to acknowledge their presence.

gojo’s gaze softens as he takes in your still slightly disheveled appearance. “you alright?” he asks, his voice gentle but laced with worry. you nod, trying to muster a small, reassuring smile. “yeah, i’m fine. just needed some time to cool off.”

geto steps closer, his eyes scanning your face and the smudge of dried blood on your forehead. “you shouldn’t be out there alone like that,” he says quietly, his tone softer than before but still carrying a note of reprimand.

you sigh, feeling the weight of their concern and the argument that still lingers between you. “i know,” you reply. “i just needed some space.” gojo and geto exchange glances, relieved that you're at least somewhat okay but still concerned about your wounds and your emotional state.

gojo crosses his arms, shifting anxiously on his stool. “we were worried.”

geto nods, mirroring gojo's stance. “we know things got heated earlier, but we were really worried about you being out there alone like that.”

gojo runs a hand through his hair, the tension still crackling between the three of you. “we just want to make sure you're safe. we... we care about you, you know that, right?”

gojo softly sighs as he notices the dried blood on your forehead, a concerned look on his face. ”come here,” he says gently, extending a hand towards you. “let me clean that wound and get rid of the dried blood.”

he guides you to a bar stool beside him, his touch careful and reassuring. his eyes are focused and tender as he prepares to tend to your injuries, the frustration from earlier replaced by a more soothing concern. geto watches from the behind counter, his expression softer now, reflecting his own mix of relief and apology.

as gojo carefully dabs at your wound with a soft cloth, his eyes catch the tear stains on your cheeks and the redness in your eyes. his movements still for a moment, a pang of guilt and worry tightening in his chest. “hey...” he murmurs softly, his voice filled with regret as he gently lifts your chin to try and meet your gaze, but you still look away, avoiding their eyes.

geto’s breath heavy slightly when he notices the signs of your crying. he took a seat on your other side beside you, his expression melting into one of deep remorse. “oh, sweetheart…” he whispers, his voice cracking just a bit. “we didn’t want to make you feel like this.”

they both exchange a look, the earlier frustration completely washed away, replaced by a heavy sense of regret for having upset you. gojo brushes a thumb gently against your cheek, wiping away the lingering tears. “we’re so sorry,” he says softly, his tone earnest, “we never wanted to make you feel this way.”

as you sit between them, the weight of their concern and guilt washing over you, a sense of vulnerability slowly replaces the anger from earlier. gojo and geto's touch is gentle and caring, their eyes filled with remorse and apology.

“we... we just want you to understand,” gojo continues, his voice is still soft. “we care about you so much, and it kills us to see you in danger or hurt.”

geto nods in agreement, his hand coming up to gently brush aside a strand of your hair. “we should have been more understanding. we shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their words settle over you. the vulnerability in their eyes softens the edges of your frustration, but there's still a lingering ache from how things unfolded earlier. you look down, fiddling with your hands as you gather your thoughts.

“i get it,” you begin quietly, your voice slightly shaky but steady. “i understand why you worry, why you’re always hovering. it’s because you care, and i never said anything about it because i know it comes from love.”

you glance up briefly, catching the guilt in their eyes before looking away again. “but the way you got so mad at me earlier for something i couldn’t control… that’s what hurts. i’m not trying to be reckless, i just wanted to do something nice for you two, without constantly hearing ‘don’t do this’ or ‘don’t do that.’”

you pause, your voice thick with the weight of your emotions. “you both always do everything for me, and i just… i want to give back, even if it’s something small like making tea. i’m not weak, and i’m not going to break. sometimes accidents happen, but it doesn’t mean i’m pushing myself too hard.”

the room falls into a soft silence, your words hanging in the air as they take in everything you’ve said. you can see the realization flicker across their faces, the way their concern had come off as controlling rather than caring, and how deeply it had affected you.

as you finish speaking, you see both gojo and geto's expressions transform, guilt and understanding replacing the frustration from earlier. their eyes reflect the weight of your words, and they know you're right. their protective tendencies have sometimes crossed the line into control, even if it wasn't their intention.

gojo's voice is softer, gentler than earlier, as he responds. “i... we didn't realize it was coming off like that. i guess we just... we're just so used to trying to keep you safe.”

geto nods, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “we didn't realize that our protective behavior was making you feel like we thought you were weak. that's not how we see you at all,” geto continues, his voice filled with remorse.

gojo interjects, a hint of desperation in his voice. “we never viewed you as breakable or fragile. we just... we just can't bear the thought of something happening to you. but that doesn't give us the right to control your every move. we... we overstepped.”

they both fall silent for a moment, the weight of their actions sinking in further. then, geto speaks again, his voice laced with regret.

“we’re sorry, sweetheart,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “we never wanted to make you feel like you couldn’t do anything without our say-so. we were being overly protective, we see that now. we just...” he trails off, swallowing the lump in his throat.

gojo chimes in, his voice filled with guilt, “we just couldn't bear the thought of losing you.”

you listen to their words, feeling the sincerity in every syllable, and the walls of frustration that had built up around your heart start to crumble. the intensity of their emotions, their fear of losing you, and the realization of how their actions have affected you sink deep. you can see the regret and guilt etched on their faces, and it tugs at your own heartstrings.

with a small sigh, you squeeze geto’s hand back, glancing between the two of them. “i know you both mean well,” you say softly, your voice carrying the weight of your emotions. “but i’m not going anywhere. you don’t have to worry about me so much that it stops me from doing simple things.”

you look up at them, your eyes still glistening but filled with understanding. “i just want to feel like i can take care of you, too. that i can do things for you without feeling like you’re constantly waiting for me to mess up or get hurt.”

there’s a pause as you take a deep breath, letting go of some of the hurt from earlier. “i love you both, and i appreciate how much you care, but i need you to trust me, too. trust that i know my limits, and that i’ll ask for help when i really need it.”

they listen intently, the weight of your words sinking in. their expressions soften, the guilt and remorse in their eyes deepening.

gojo nods, a look of understanding settling on his face. “we... we get it,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of shame.

geto’s grip on your hand tightens slightly, his voice quieter but no less sincere. “we’ll try to do better. we’ll try to trust you, we just… we just get so worried when things happen, like they did today.”

you gently pull your arm from geto's grasp, showing them the spot where the burn had been. “see? i’m fine,” you say, your tone softer now but still firm. “i heal fast, and it was just a small accident. nothing major.” you point to your forehead, where the cut has already start to heal, a small reminder of how resilient you are.

“i’m not saying you shouldn’t care, but i’m not made of glass,” you continue, looking between them. “i can handle a few bumps and bruises. i just want you to see that i’m stronger than you give me credit for.”

as you show them the healing burn and the nearly faded cut, they cannot help but feel a mixture of relief and shame. they know you're right, that you heal quickly, but the worry always lurks in their minds.

gojo runs a hand through his hair, his voice laced with remorse. “we know you’re not delicate, we just…”

geto cuts in, his gaze flitting to the almost healed wound on your forehead. “we just panic when we see you hurt. it’s hard… it’s hard for us to see you in pain, even just a little.”

you look at them both, your voice steady but gentle. “i’m fine now, really. you know better than anyone that sorcerers are built different. a little scratch like this,” you gesture to your forehead, “it’s nothing. it’ll be gone by morning.”

you can see the mix of relief and lingering worry in their eyes, but you continue, hoping to ease their minds. “i get it, okay? i understand why you’re worried. but you don’t have to be so scared every time something happens to me. i can handle it.”

geto and gojo exchange a look, your words sinking in. they can see the truth in your statement, that you're no delicate flower that needs constant shielding. they know that you're strong, capable, and they should trust your abilities.

gojo lets out a weary sigh, finally nodding reluctantly. “you’re right,” he says.

geto nods as well, a look of understanding passing over his face. he reaches out and gently takes your hand again. “we know you can handle yourself. we just… we just care about you too much to not worry.”

you squeeze geto’s hand gently, looking between the two of them. “can we just stop now?” you say softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion. “because if we keep talking about it, it’s never going to end. you guys always find a way to worry about me.”

geto lets out a small chuckle, though it’s more resigned than amused. “yeah, we do, don’t we?”

they both notice the weariness in your voice, and how the conversation just keeps going in circles. gojo lets out a weary sigh, running a hand through his messy hair while geto’s laughter is more bitter than amused.

“yeah,” he says, his grip on your hand loosening slightly. “we do.”

the tension in the room lessens a bit, replaced by a sense of mutual understanding. they both nod, acknowledging their tendency to worry excessively about your well-being.

you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in the air begin to fade. “i promise i’ll try to be less reckless with myself, hm?” you say softly, your tone sincere as you look at both of them. “i know you just want what’s best for me.”

they both soften at your words, the weight of their worry slightly alleviated. gojo grins weakly, a hint of his usual playful demeanour peeking through. “less reckless, huh? that's a tall order for you.”

geto sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “we do want what's best for you. we just wish it didn't have to come with so much anxiety.” you roll your eyes, a small, amused smile forming on your lips. “you two are impossible,” you mumble, leaning in to press a quick kiss to each of their cheeks. “assholes,” you add, your voice filled with affection rather than malice.

they both snort at your fond insult, the previous tension all but gone now. gojo's lips turn up in a cocky grin, his usual bravado returning. “you love it,” he teases, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him.

geto lets out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “we may be assholes, but we're yours,” he replies, leaning in to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

they continue to pepper your face with light kisses, their affections filling the room once again. gojo speaks first, his voice laced with amusement. “so, does this mean you'll be less reckless now, hm?”

geto nods in agreement, his hands still gently holding your face. “please do. we might actually start going gray from all the worry.” you nod, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “anything for my overbearing assholes,” you say, your tone light and affectionate.

both gojo and geto snort at the term 'overbearing assholes boyfriends'. gojo rolls his eyes dramatically, while geto just shakes his head, unable to hide his amused grin. “overbearing assholes,” gojo repeats, chuckling. “can't say that's too far off the mark.”

geto adds with a smirk, “but we're your assholes. and we're pretty damn sure you wouldn't have us any other way.” you chuckle, nodding with a playful sigh. “sadly,” you say, leaning in to give each of them a soft peck on the lips.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Little Ghost Holiday Drabble

Synopsis: Baking during the winters with your kids and husband during the holidays.

A/n: Hi, my lovelies! I know that I have a lot of works to catch up on, I'm a little behind on everything right now as school has taken a toll on me and so has writer's block. I'll try my best to post more consistently, I know most of you who followed me for the domestic content miss it so here is a little something for our favorite family.

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

"Momma, look!" You turned your head away from the preheating oven to look at your little sunshine, although she was struggling to mix the cookie batter, her laughter filled the room. Your baby boy coos in your arms as you lifted yourself up.

"Be careful, butterfly. The bowl's really heavy " You smiled at her, she nodded obediently, trying to sneak a taste. "Butterfly, that has raw eggs. How about the chocolate chips instead, hmm?"

Her grin widens, foot stomps like a clumsy, cheery dance on the wood floor as she ran to the pantry. Nothing makes you smile more than the pitter-patter of tiny feet, wherever you were, it was always accompanied by her sugar-laced pitchy voice calling out for you.

She came back a minute or two later, the bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips you specifically bought for her sweet tooth. You give her the child safe scissors, your little girl wanting to be more independent nowadays, something Simon was both proud of and heartbroken about.

Looking up at you with a look of asking permission so you nodded, she squealed before shoving her clean hand in the plastic bag to have a handful of the treat, stuffing her little mouth. "Alright, put the rest in and mix it well, butterfly." You told her as she picked up the wooden mixing spoon again, multitasking on her munchies.

Simon came out of your bedroom together after a steamy shower with the towel around his neck, he wrapped his arms around from behind you, his face buried on your neck which caused you giggle and squeal his name in a playful warning when he lightly nipped at a sensitive spot.

"All done, momma!" She said taking it into her own hands to roll the cookie dough and plop it down on the parchment lined baking tray, her blonde hair sticking out in messy little spikes from what used to be a teeny-tiny bun.

She dusted her dress and flower printed apron before you helped her out in placing the filled tray into the preheated oven. Simon, taking your baby boy off your arms and inviting Ghostie onto the playing mat with them.

You watched them, keeping an eye on the oven which made your whole house smell warm and cozy against the snow outside the windows.

With warm cookies and cold milk, you stare at your loves before you, Ghostie practically stuffing her chubby cheeks full of the baked sweet with one hand, light beige crumbs and the sticky chocolate on the same bouncing cheeks while her other hand was offering half a cookie to her dad's lips.

Reminding you of moments during breakfasts and mornings when it was syrup and whipped cream instead of the crumbs and chocolate, when her giggles and birds chirping filled the otherwise depressingly silent rooms. You aren't ready for her to grow up despite your husband being more open about it.

Your baby boy chewing on his blue rubber teething toy as you enjoyed the ambiance of your warm home. Enjoying and savoring every moment you had while your family is complete, while Simon was still home for this time of year..

Within the very home and family that you and your husband built, your heart as full as it could ever be <3

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

honey, are you comin’?

previous part: sweet talkin’ | from the hive: session 1

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which benny finds honey again. this time near a honeycomb, hopin’ for a taste on the road ;) (p.s.: if you were wonderin’, yes — the title of this was so inspired by måneskin)

warnings: not much of anything besides some minor talks of cruelty towards children, peeps being judgmental as hell, & smoking. they’re subtly flirting here basically. it’s cute! that’s really it. x

author’s note: oh my goodness! you have no idea how STUNNED i’ve been by all the love miss.honey!benny have been getting so far. fully was not expecting this. deadass wrote sweet talkin’ for fun. no thoughts, head empty type beat. just wanted to thank you honeys so so much. i can’t thank ya enough i fear! i literally still can’t wrap my head around this, but i love you all sm & can’t wait to share more with you! 🍯🐝🫶

word count: 2.7k

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

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Another unbearable wave of heat managed to remain the very next day. Your students squirming against their metal chairs, antsy as ever for a reprieve. And so were you too. Thankfully, it just so happened to be your turn as fellow recess monitor with one or your fellow co-workers, Miss. Margie. Marge just so happened to be a newly breaded fresh faced teacher just like yourself. You enjoyed her company, more so than the older teachers who were rather cruel to the students. Especially when they did something wrong. Marge wasn’t cruel so to speak but she was a tough cookie, putting her foot down when needed. You two as a duo were rather perfect for the school grounds. You as the comfort go to when a knee was scraped, and Marge as the tough love go to when a particular student needed a stern talking to.

You worked well together, and it showed. Your relief was rather prominent when you stepped out the back door near the playground. An immediate swarm of giggles and chatter from small voices buzzed about, and you couldn’t help but smile as you adjusted your eyes to the sun, protected under your heart shaped sunnies. It didn’t take you long to find Marge who was already planted near the monkey bars with her arms crossed over her chest like a drill sergeant. Considering her father’s status as a war vet, by no means was it shocking to you or anyone else for that matter to see her in such a state.

“Hi Margie,” you greeted her once materialized next to her. “How’s it goin’?”

Margie's clear concentration dropped at the sound of your voice. “Oh no wonder,” she commented without looking at you. Her brows shot up in genuine intrigue.

Your honey coated lips parted in confusion instantly. “Huh?”

“Your three o’clock, Hun.” Margie tilted her head to the right subtly, directing you to her line of sight. A sight that made your heart curl into itself in a warm beat. Right behind those chain-linked fences that kept the kids contained was Uncle Benny. Yet, today his status as Uncle appeared to be rather amiss. Instead of Johnny’s car flanked near the curb, he was leaning against a neat Harley Davidson. The same one you saw him on that mornin’. You figured he was dropping off the girls or somethin’, but your curiosity got the better of you when you saw Mrs. Davis with them instead.

Now in the no parking zone, he stood out like the sorrest of thumbs. Practically a puzzle piece thrown into the wrong box. With no thoughts behind those pretty blue eyes of his besides you.

“That biker of yours stood up like a torpedo as soon as you walked out,” your co-worker added.

You took a moment to adjust your glasses, moving them to the tip of your nose to get a better look. Sure as shit, you weren’t having a heat stroke. It was really him. He was still here. Had he been out here since the mornin’ or left to come back? And if he was here for you like Margie said — why? You were certain he wasn’t much of a fan of you the day prior.

“He’s — He’s not my biker,” you mangled out, words twisting off your tongue as butterflies danced around your tummy.

Margie snorted. “I hate to break it to you, Hun. Lookin’ like he is now.” She paused a moment, shifting her footing as she spotted a youngin’ running roughly across the pavement, almost banging into another student. “Hey — watch where you’re goin’. Don’t push it Mikey!” She reprimanded before fixing herself upright and asking you, “What was all that about yesterday anyways?”

“What y’mean?” You questioned, not quite sure what she was going on about.

“You know — lettin’ the Davis girls go with ‘em. Caused a bit of an upheaval with the parents apparently. Heard all about it in the break room this mornin’. Doesn’t sound like Principal Rubs is real happy about it either.”

Your ears couldn’t believe what you were hearing. What business did the parents have putting their two cents in about somebody else’s family members? As for Principal Rubin, well, she was Principal Rubin after all. There wasn’t much to it there. The damn woman was a stickler with the sprinklers yesterday after all. Never a ball of fun as far as you were concerned.

“Why wouldn't I?” You challenged, becoming rather defensive.

“The guy pulled up like a maniac all greasy and shit. Almost gave everyone a heart attack,” Margie reasoned, her features churning in disgust.

You knew if he was some clean cut military guy in full uniform, she wouldn’t have made a comment at all, which kind-of pissed you off. Sure his clothes were lookin’ as if they hadn’t seen a washing machine in a cycle of days, but hey — what did that have to do with character? There were plenty of people who gave this outward canvas of perfectionism, far off from who they truly were deep down inside. You knew that, and you saw it every single day within the cruel clusters of your modern society. You saw it in the faces of your Ma and Pa when you didn’t fit the supposed mold they were trying to conform you to.

“So? He’s their Uncle, Marge,” you countered, defenses climbing high. “Did you ever think that maybe the man was runnin’ late? Worryin’ about the girls. That’s why he was speedin’.”

Margie sighed. “Not with that Vandals shit on his vest, but whatever you wanna believe, Hun.”

It went quiet between you two then. A clear indication that this conversation wasn’t gonna get the two of you anywhere.

“I should go talk to him,” you announced, snapping the awkward silence in half. There was no denying that you were now suddenly eager to find out what all this was about.

“Yuh should. If you don’t I will, and I doubt that will end well,” she joked, her eyes sparkling in amusement. Oh and she was right about that. Knowing Margie, you knew the idea of her approaching Benny would formulate a recipe for disaster.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the mental image of such a scene. But also — you were utterly glad for this newfound banter popped open from a bottle of tension. “Alright Colonel, I’ll be back,” you quipped, before heading across the playground.

You could feel his eyes burning across your form on your journey to the edge of the property, your tummy flipping again in a bit of nerves and excitement. A part of you felt somewhat disappointed when you found yourself coming to a halt — stuck behind the monstrous fence that separated you from him, while another was glad for some security. You weren’t quite sure what his motive was, but knew it couldn’t be anything bad. He was just sitting here, smoking and minding his own business. Well — minding you.

“The girls don’t get out of school for another few hours, y’know,” you said matter-of-factly, eyeing him through the grates of the fence that reminded you far too much of a honeycomb.

He didn’t say much of anything, just raised a brow as you as he took one last drag of his cigarette. You watched as he put it out against the pavement, amongst a garden of other buds with his boot. Your suspicions were coming into fusion then, the realization that he’d been planted here for as long as your delusions imagined.

What could he possibly want from an innocent elementary school teacher like you?

He reached for that packet of Marlboros in his vest pocket all over again, clearly on a chain smoking spree. “Y’want?” He asked, stopping in his tracks. Those lean fingers of his calloused to the bone holding out a fresh cigarette in your direction. A cigarette that he’d been saving for you just in case.

You looked around for a moment, not quite sure what to do. The coast seemed to be clear though. Margie looked busy with some of the kids. Had a cluster of ‘em around her with her finger wagging about in every which direction. With her eyes no longer trained on Benny and you, and your form more than halfway across the school yard, you figured it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you were having a day and could really use a cigarette. “Sure.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Benny re-adjusted his stance, shoulders straight as he sauntered the sidewalk to meet you against the fence. His rough knuckles brushed across your polished ballet slipper fingers as he passed you the cigarette though the honeycomb, a sweetness shooting up your arm in an instance. You left it sticking out for a moment so he could light it up for you, and you could feel his hot breath fanning against your face. The casual interaction felt rather intimate in the moment, and you were more than happy when you got to take a step back on your first drag.

“Thanks,” you voiced your appreciation as he popped a fresh cig against his lips, now lighting up his own. You couldn’t help but notice that he had a sweet little freckle etched into his bottom lip. No wonder he had beautiful lips, you thought.

Surely, they’d be sweet to the kiss.

Jutting your hip out, you tapped your foot against the dry grass in impatience. “You stalkin’ me or somethin’?” You ripped off the bandage then, getting right into the real stuff. It was too hot out to sugarcoat anything any longer. Plus, the more you stood here the more Marg would get curious, and you’d be caught slacking on the job.

His lip curled up to the side naturally, just like it had yesterday when you introduced yourself to him. “Ain’t a stalker,” he confirmed, re-pocketing his lighter.

You found his candid response refreshing’. Naturally a honey rumblin’ laugh tumbled out of you “Good to ‘ear. My co-worker y’see ‘round over there?” Flicking the residue on the end of your cigarette out of the way, you pointed at her simultaneously. “She thinks ya are. Doesn’t appreciate the loitering.”

He shook his head then, long pretty eyelashes fanning his lower lids as he puckered his lips against the cig. His eyes squinted across the campus for only a second until his gaze landed right back on you. You in another denim overall number with a whole new canvas of embroidered fun. This time, knowing that you were gonna be out in the yard come afternoon, you opted on a classic jean overall. There was always the possibility of having to kneel on the grassy ground or near the sand pit, having to scoop up a youngin’ that refused to leave the playground. You learned your lesson rather quickly within your first few months of teaching. Tripping over yourself in such a situation left a tear in your favorite skirt. A skirt you still frowned about every time you found a certain piece in your closet that would make the perfect pair.

Funnily enough, if Benny knew of such a thing he would’ve made sure the same exact piece of clothing was at your doorstep and back in your closet before the thought crossed your sweet little mind.

But you didn’t know that. Not yet, that is.

And Benny — well Benny wasn’t payin’ as much attention as he would’ve liked to what you were sayin’, and he wasn’t quite interested in Margie anyways. His interests lied with you, and in his defense, the sight of you in your heart shaped sunnies wasn't helping the cause one bit. It was hard to take you seriously when you looked that stinkin’ cute. Made him wanna put you in his jacket pocket for safe keeping. And hell was he itching to just drive his bike right through the fuckin’ fence to break the barrier between you two. He was still beatin’ himself up for not taking your hand when you offered it to him yesterday. Hence why he was here, stakin’ you out. Hoping to fix his mistake.

Because the last thing he ever wanted to do was fuck this up with you.

Instead of enertainin’ your comment or makin’ a move to leave upon your far from subtle hints, far from linear to your own wishes, he changed the topic completely. “What time y’get outta ‘ere?”

You took a long drag of your cigarette, to calm your anxieties. The smoke circled ‘round your face for a moment before it traveled across the fence, reachin’ for Benny. Ironically, it was as if the smoke mirrored your desires of clinging onto the man in front of you. “‘round the same time as the girls, a little after,” you replied, curiosity adding, “what’s it to ya?”

“Wanna go for a ride?” He inquired casually. As if he was just stoppin’ by and hadn’t been sitting here for a good three quarters of the school day waitin’ for you.

The simple question spilling from those pretty lips of his made you melt in an instant. If it wasn’t for the obvious heat as a buffer to such a state, your mind would’ve found him as the culprit. “Where?”

“‘round.” He shrugged, not offering much of a plan. His casual demeanor remained concrete to his form.

An innocent smirk stretched across your face, blooming the apples of your cheeks and creasing the plane of your forehead. Now you were the one to flex amusement against a cylinder wedged between honey glossed lips. Now Benny was the one to be somewhat grateful for the honeycomb — if you will. Cause if the fence wasn’t there, he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain himself. He’d have your honey gloss all over his lips, tasting your sweetness without a second thought. Without caring about Margie or the students on the playground. Without caring about anyone really, but you.

Always you.

Perhaps anyone else would be rather suspicious of a plan with really no plan at all. Sure Margie would need a bulleted itinerary on fresh stationary, color coated and attached to a clipboard respectfully. But you — no, you appreciated his carefree mentality. It was peaceful in comparison to the stressing atmosphere that surround you on a daily basis, dotting on the kiddos in your classes, worryin’ constantly about ‘em.

Two could play this game, you thought.

Just at the end of your cigarette, your pretty fingers reached between a ring in the honeycomb, motioning it back to him. “Would ya put this out f’me?” You asked sweetly, mascara coated lashes batting about behind those obvious heart eyes of yours. “Don’t want the kids to find it in the grass.”

“Mhm,” Benny hummed, finding your concern for this children too fuckin’ cute. How could he ever say no to a sweet thang like you? He just couldn’t.

Your fingers grazed his as he took it from you, a touch that you found yourself thanking your faith for allowing you to bask in again.

This time he not only put out his cigarette, but yours too in the garden of buds that would blossom into a metaphor. A metaphor that had you joining his crew. Becoming a part of the club, joining his family, and fulfilling your wifely duties of planting a seed or two more along the way. Growin’ Benny some baby honeys of your very own.

Your lack of a reply to his offer didn’t sway him by any means, only fueled his fire tenfold. Turning on his heel then, you couldn’t help but frown, thinkin’ your hesitance turned him impatient and over the prospect completely. Especially when you watched him mount his bike and rev the engine, ready to ride away without another word. But Benny — no he still had somethin’ to say, and he was gonna say it alright. “I’ll see ya out front after school, Honey.” He decided, “I’ll be waitin’.”

The sound of your nickname rolling off his tongue — as smooth as honey sliding down your throat in a soothing tea — was all you needed to make your decision.

With your fun little backpack — straps resting against your shoulders — absolutely decked out in pins and keychains alike, you’d spot him at dismissal, and he’d be waitin’. Waitin’ for you to come. Wonderin’ if you were comin’.

Askin’ himself ‘Honey, are you comin’?’

Of course you would. You always would with Benny, no matter what.

And when you mounted his bike, your body molding into his like you were made for him, and your hands wrapping around his waist, Benny’s mistake proved to be no more. Suddenly, everything felt right in the world.

Right because you were one step closer to being his honey.

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hi-ya, i hope you enjoyed part 2! there’s so much more to come. expect a from the hive 🎙️🐝 installment real soon :)

also to note, my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝

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[osachiyo]

my sunshine ・ gojo satoru ─── f!reader . daddy gojo (literally) approx 0.6k ᘎᘏ cw none !

everyone knew satoru had the biggest sweet tooth, and apparently his daughter took after him in that aspect.

"wan' that, daddy!" the cute 3 year old girl pouted, peering up at her father from below, stubby little finger pointing at the cookie-jar oh so neatly placed on top of the counter.

"you want the cookies, princess?" satoru asked, making her nod with a small 'mhm!' so damn cutely that almost made him fold. almost.

"but, buuut mommy said no cookies 'till dinner, remember?" satoru pouted, kneeling to be at the same height as his tiny girl, who only slouched her shoulders in disappointment− before looking up at the snow haired man again− shoving her hand into his face with only her pointer finger up, "jus' one, I pwooomise!"

he only chuckled in response, large hand reaching to ruffle her fluffy hair− which was parted into two cute pigtails, various clips and bows decorating it. "alright, fine. juuuuust one, okay sweet girl?" his voice was anything but strict− plump lips curled into the biggest grin. she only beamed up at him, giggling and squealing as he hoists her up and sits her on top of the marble counter, her legs swinging back and forth in sheer excitement.

satoru reached for the jar, carefully opening the lid before taking out two cookies; one of his precious sweet tooth of a daughter, and one for himself. he handed one of them to her, before making a 'zip' motion on his lips− indicating for her to keep quiet about this. she gladly took the cookie with her grabby little hands rosey lips parting to let out a little 'thwank you!' before nodding, agreeing to keep this a secret between her and daddy.

" 's so yummy, daddy!" she squealed, letting out the cutest fucking giggle known to mankind− in his words. he grinned, taking a moment to truly admire her− admire the sweet little bundle of joy that you, his woman, the love of his life had gifted him and he couldn't thank you enough.

he watched as his sweet girl happily munched on the sweet treat, her chubby little cheeks now stuffed with the chocolate chip cookie. god, he'd give her the goddamn world. he smiled softly to himself before taking a bite of his cookie, eyes sparkling at the taste. "you're right, baby. it's very yummy," he said with a mouthful of cookie, glancing at her with this cerulean blues, "mommy's the best baker out there, eh?" she nodded in agreement, before also speaking with a mouthful of cookie, "uh-huh! she's also the best mommy everrrrrrr! but she'd be better if she let me eat more cookies, y'know?"

satoru cackled at that− she really did take after him.

bonus :

"I'm home!" you yelled out softly, taking your shoes off and neatly placing them to the shoe-rack. you walked over to the kitchen in order to put the groceries in their designated spot when you noticed the cookie-jar.... missing.

you sighed, placing the groceries down on the counter before looking for your precious daughter and husband− and the missing cookie jar. and you found the both of them right as you walked into the spacious living-room, a children's playing on the tv, your eyes softening at the sight of gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer to exist, with his baby girl in his arms, snuggled up so comfortably into his chest as the fuzzy blanket covering them slowly started to slide off.

a smile tugged at your lips, walking over to them when something hit your foot− looking down, you saw the completely empty cookie jar laying on the floor, abandoned after they were done devouring each and every one of the cookies, most likely. you rolled your eyes with a huffed out laugh, walking closer to them before noticing the small cookie crumbs on their adorable faces. you shook your head with a defeated smile, like father like daughter, huh?

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

[starlight727]

A little gift (part 3, the final part, I promise lol)

Shadow Milk Cookie x reader fic (Chapter 2 - Theater of Lies)

Author's note: Had planned to leave this part for part 2, but decided to make a separate part for it, so here we go, final act, let's do this!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 (you are here)

"As saddening as it can be, we've reached the last round! And since it's the last question, you get twice the amount of points!" announced Shadow Milk with a sad tone in his voice, but at the same time he sounded excited for what was coming next. He pointed out this last question was for White Lily, you looked over your shoulder to see her pale face and eyes widened, she tried to steel herself, but what came next shocked her to her core.

"You sure seem proud of your new title of 'the Guardian of the Seal...' ...let's see how great you really are...!" and with that, Shadow Milk summoned lots of strings that held you and your friends up in the hair by the wrists and ankles, it scared you all, it was a painful feeling how tight the strings were.

But suddenly, you felt the strings let go of your limbs and you fell on a solid platform, it was a cardboard star! You were then carefully taken to the one place you never expected to be: Shadow Milk's hand. You were frozen in fear, trying your best to hide your trembling self. Your eyes were wide open, taking in every single detail in the giant entertainer's form, his attire, his strange hair (or hat, what even was all of that??), his face... his wonderful face and its... majestic features... oh my Witches, you were falling in love with him HARD, like a shooting star crashing on Earthbread (that doesn't make sense but you get the idea). You got up on your feet, but your shaking knees were not helping you keep your balance. You tried walking up to him, but you tripped over your own foot (like a clumsy main character, you hated it), but to your surprise, he caught you just in time! Your gaze softened at the surprisingly generous act, you were staring at him, at his gorgeous sky blue eyes, for so long, you got lost in them, you didn't notice you were so deep in there until Shadow Milk started talking to you with a voice so soft it could be softer than silk.

"Hello there, Y/N Cookie!" he began with a light chuckle, something that snapped you out of your trance and made you blush like mad.

"Hehe, don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, my little star. You'll stay right here, close to me, so I can keep my eyes on you~." he said as he moved you to the top of the Silver Tree, where the night sky was covered with thousands of blue eyes peering into your soul. It took you a couple of minutes to register what just happened, you needed to lie down after that, you felt like you were about to pass out and you didn't wanna fall off the platform you were standing on, so you rested on it while everything else was happening.

While you were asleep, a lot of important events were happening: Shadow Milk Cookie was holding your friends hostage (Wizard’s string restraints were tighter than everyone else’s), White Lily Cookie was about to make the ultimate decision between saving everyone or defeating Shadow Milk, all while he was making sure you didn’t get caught in the crossfire because the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt by his hands, especially hers. So everything was going great for him so far, he was going to kill your friends, rule Earthbread and have you be his favorite doll forever… until��� something unexpected happened. White Lily used her Guardian powers not to attack Shadow Milk, but to seal the crack in the Tree, thus ruining his plans (also making shrink in size) and saving everyone in the process. You were slowly waking up after the blast healed the Tree, all those loud noises and bright lights were too much, you had to see what was going on.

“You... YOU...!!!! I gave you only two choices...!!!” his loud complaints woke you up more and more, you quickly got up from the platform and stretched. But suddenly, it started shaking and slowly falling, you tried your best to stay calm and steady, but you were at the top of the Tree so it wasn't as easy as you thought it would be. It wasn’t long before the cardboard star you were standing on disappeared completely and you were plummeting to the ground, screaming for help.

“…!!!” Shadow Milk gasped at the sight of you falling, so he extended his hand towards you and a bunch of gooey black tentacles rose from the ground to grab you, bringing you close to him.

“There you go, my darling! Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself now, would we~?” he said as he caressed your face, you blushed a darker tone at the gesture, you weren’t expecting to be this close to him like this, this was simply too much!

“Y/N Cookie! Hold on!” exclaimed White Lily, sending large green vines to your location, grabbing you and pulling you away from Shadow Milk.

“NO!!! You're NOT taking my star away from ME!!!!” he shouted as he sent more tentacles to grab you and pull you away from her, both cookies were now pulling you in opposite directions. It hurt you a lot, you were cracking from the tight grips the vines and tentacles had on you. You were visibly uncomfortable and groaning loudly, both cookies were now fighting for your safety and survival.

“How dare you ruin... This moment I've been waiting for for so long...” his tentacles’ grip on you was weakening, White Lily vines’ kept pulling away from him, their grips were so tight you were losing air, you couldn’t breathe properly anymore.

“Eugh... Agh...” you didn’t like hearing him groan in pain, his tentacles were getting weaker and weaker. White Lily took his moment of weakness to her advantage and used her vines to pull harder, successfully bringing you closer to her.

“WHOA!!” you exclaimed as you were pulled away from Shadow Milk’s grasp.

“ARGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

…

……everything went silent, everything turned white…

………….

You were unconscious for a long time.

“…….Y-……” someone was calling out to you.

“…Y/N…………..” you were slowly opening your eyes.

“……Y/N Cookie…!” your eyes shot wide open, you were breathing heavy, you tried to get up but the pain in your waist hit you like a bullet. Pure Vanilla and White Lily were holding you steady, making sure you didn’t hurt yourself more.

“It’s alright, Y/N Cookie! You’re safe.” said Pure Vanilla as he was healing your wounds.

“Aughh, hmm? Pure Vanilla Cookie…? White Lily Cookie…?”

“Oh Y/N Cookie, I’m so sorry for the damage I caused, if there’s anything I could do to make it up to you…” said White Lily, gently placing her hand on your forehead while looking away from your damaged self.

“No no, it’s ok. You did it to save me, thank you…”

White Lily smiled softly at you, Pure Vanilla smiled at her, he was so grateful that she was able to save you. A few moments later, Gingerbrave and friends, Mercurial Knight and Silverbell came to see you.

“Y/N Cookie, you’re ok!” exclaimed Gingerbrave.

“Oh thank the Witches you’re alright!” said Strawberry.

“Finally, it’s all over for that Beast. Thank you so much, White Lily Cookie.” added Wizard.

“Hehe, hey guys.” you whispered as you tried to get up, your voice was weak from the screaming, and you couldn’t maintain your balance from your broken waist. Luckily, Mercurial Knight and Silverbell were there to catch you.

“Careful Y/N Cookie, do not overexert yourself.” said Mercurial Knight.

“Don’t worry Y/N Cookie, we’ll help you get better, we’ll take you back to the kingdom so you can rest!” said Silverbell while smiling at you.

“Thanks, you two, I appreciate it.”

As you all returned to the Faerie kingdom, you all noticed how everything was going back to normal, all the magic from Shadow Milk’s realm was receding. Oh man… he was gone… oh… why were you feeling sad? This was supposed to be a good thing, right? …right? You weren’t sure how to feel about this, until you heard his voice again.

“You think you won, don't you?!”

“HUH?! How are you still talking?!” exclaimed Wizard, you wanted to know how he was talking too!

“You may be celebrating your little victory for now... ... But heed my words! We have finally risen. Do not think that you can hold us back. Foolish Cookies...! You simply have no idea what's waiting for you...! HA HA HA HA HA!”

…

…….

……….

It had been a while since Shadow Milk warned you all about the upcoming danger that was headed your way. You were feeling better about your injuries, Pure Vanilla managed to heal you and the Faerie Cookies patched you up. Everyone was celebrating White Lily's triumph over Shadow Milk's evil ways by having a feast to honor her and the late Elder Faerie. None of this made you feel better emotionally though, you felt conflicted whether you should be happy for everyone winning against Shadow Milk... or sad over his forced departure. You needed some time alone to think, so you excused yourself to go check on the Silver Tree, Mercurial Knight suggested against this because you were still healing from your wounds. You told him you'd be ok on your own, you trusted White Lily's magic would protect you from harm, so he let you go. You made your way towards the Tree, where you rested your head against it and imagined yourself with Shadow Milk again.

"Hey, Shadow Milk Cookie? ...I thought your show was great. I thought... I think... you're great! You're amazing, and funny, and extremely handsome, heh." you started quietly, hoping he could hear you from inside the Tree.

"I wish... I wish I could... see you again..." you whispered as you placed your hands on the Tree, giving it a little kiss, maybe he could feel you from the other side...

...

......

..........

"You're an interesting little cookie, aren't you~?" he spoke to you in your head, so no one else could hear you. You were startled by his response, you didn't think he'd actually say something! You took a few steps back from the Tree, you were hoping nobody saw you doing all of this.

"What the?? How are you talking to me?"

"I'm in your head, silly! Heheheheh!"

"Oh, right. That's not concerning at all."

"Hehe! Y'know, out of all the Cookies I've tormented today, I didn't expect you to resist. In fact, it almost looked like you were truly... interested in me! Why is that?"

You didn't think he'd ask you about your behavior towards him, so with no other way of answering (cause you knew he could see through your lies), you told him the truth.

"O-Oh, w-well, I just... I just thought... that... you were the most intriguing Cookie I've ever met, and I've met a lot of Cookies on my many adventures, but none of them had the same effect on me like you have."

"And what might that be?"

"...Your charms, your witty banter, the fact that you made me laugh several times during your show... and... the way you treated me was so... gentle and caring... not to mention bold... I honestly didn't expect that coming from the Beast of Deceit himself."

Your answer filled Shadow Milk's ego... and his heart. He felt himself blushing and genuinely smiling from the honest opinion you had about him, he wanted to jump out of the Tree to give you a big hug and never let go, he wanted to smooch you until you were breathless, leaving marks on you to let everyone know that you were his and only his.

"...Well aren't you such a cute little cookie~? As a token of my appreciation, here's a little something that you may have lost during my show." you tilted your head in confusion, what was he talking about? Suddenly, out of nowhere, you heard something fall behind you. You quickly turned around and gasped at what you saw. It was your hat! The one that puppet gifted you! Oh, you were so happy to see that hat again, you took a quick sniff and... yep, the same blueberry milk scent from before.

"...Thank you!" you held the hat close to you before you put it on, still fits.

"You're welcome, doll! Just make sure you don't lose it again... or let your small wizard friend see you with it... hats like that one don't just grow on trees, y'know. And... if you ever come back here... I'd love for you to give me more of those sweet and tender kisses of yours, maybe I could return the favor~."

What the?! How does he know about...?? Wait, he knows, but you never actually kissed him... did you? In a split second, your mind travelled back to the memory of you... giving the puppet a kiss... oh my Witches...

"I- uh-... uhhh...b-but... w-wait what?!" is all that came out of your mouth. You couldn't believe it: The puppet, that was him in disguise! You kissed Shadow Milk Cookie (on the forehead, but still)! Shadow Milk laughed heartily at your stuttering self, blushing while doing so.

"Hahahaha! Oh, you look so adorable when you're confused~!" he teased with a devious grin that you couldn't see. You were feeling very dizzy from all your rushing thoughts and rapidly beating heart, you had to sit down for a little while, luckily the wind was there to cool off your head.

"Hehe, you're full of surprises, Shadow Milk Cookie. And sure, if I ever come back here... then maybe... I could give you a surprise of my own~." you said while taking your hat from your head and giving it a long kiss while looking at the Tree, knowing that he could somehow still see you. Your words and your actions made him gasp loudly and jump with excitement, his face turning dark blue while he floated giddily, giggling, squealing, flapping his hands and kicking his feet in the air like a high school girl who got asked out on a date by the hottest guy in school. You heard him making all those noises, which made a light blush grow on your cheeks, then you chuckled while covering your mouth with one hand. But alas, it was time to go, you knew this because you heard your friends calling you in the distance.

"Y/N Cookie, come on! We gotta go!" shouted Gingerbrave.

"Pure Vanilla and White Lily are calling us!" said Strawberry as loudly as she could.

"Let's go Y/N Cookie, we don't wanna keep them waiting, do we?" added Wizard.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming!" you answered back, hiding the tone of annoyance in your cheerful response. You really weren't looking forward to leaving, especially since you had a good thing going on with him.

"Well, I have to go now. It was nice talking to you again." you told him sadly with a small frown on your face.

"..."

"...Shadow Milk Cookie?"

"Oh, yeah, my apologies heh, I was just... thinking" he said sternly, staring at your friends, and Pure Vanilla's his Soul Jam.

"Hm, about what exactly?" you said teasingly with a smirk. This made him snap out of his thoughts and smile.

"About how much I'm going to miss you, my shining star~! Hehehehe!" he chuckled lightly. You were blushing a lot, he called you his shining star! Witches, you wanted to jump and squeal, but you couldn't show it because your friends were watching you.

"Uh-... w-well uhm, hehe, I'm gonna miss you too...!" you said while breathing heavily, he's been flirting with you so many times, it was time you did something about it before you left, so you did the next best thing.

"Goodbye, my dazzling jester~!" you finished your statement with a wink and a bow, then quickly turned around and ran to your friends with the biggest grin on your face. You had to hide it from your friends so they don't ask you about what you were doing by the Tree, you also hid your hat somewhere in your clothing only you knew about. As you approached your friends, you all waved goodbye to the Faerie Cookies.

If only you could see the look on his face, he was flabbergasted from your bold move, his face was a whole blueberry, melting in place, drunken smile and everything, sighing dreamily over your eventual return.

"Hey Y/N Cookie, what are you smiling about? Did something good happen?" asked Strawberry curiously.

"Oh it's nothing, just remembered something funny." you said as you cleared your throat, trying to wipe away the smile of your face as best as you could. As you all left the Faerie Kingdom, you took a glance at Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam and you heard him speak to you one last time.

"Farewell, Y/N Cookie of the Cookie Kingdom, I'll see you soon." he said softly, his last message to you, if you could, you'd invite him into your kingdom. You remembered how he mentioned that Dark Enchantress would give him and his comrades new cookie bodies so they could unlock their full potential again. Maybe when he finally gets his new body, you could give him some proper affection. Back home, you stare at your hat as you wait patiently for the day when you eventually reunite with him, when you give him those kisses you promised him... when he returns the favor in the most dramatic and romantic way possible, it would be expected from a Cookie like him, you'd still welcome him and his show of affection with open arms.

When you two meet again.

The end.

[hanihazeljade]

Disgustingly Green

Tim got de-aged at the age of 8. The age where he is the exact carbon copy of his parents ruthlessness. Can Batman, Nightwing and Robin can handle him?

(CW: verbal abuse, wrong parenting)

Part 2: Skill Issue

Part 3: Forced Playdate

Timothy doesn't know where he is. He knows that he fall asleep on his bed and not on some clinics. He slowly rise up to look around his surroundings.

His vision is still hazy and he rubbed his eyes with his fist as he yawns. He heard someone cooed before him. It is a grown up man that he doesn't know.

With that in his mind, he shook away all of his sleepiness. Was he kidnapped? Again? Oh no, his parents wouldn't like it.

"Hi Little Timmy, how you feeling?" The man asked him but he just looked at the man. He has blue eyes and black hair and also really really handsome. Maybe he wasn't kidnap?

"I am fine, thank you for asking." he politely replied, on reflex.

"Do you know who I am?" the man smiled at him and he just shook his head. "I'm Dick, your brother." the man, Dick, introduced himself. His face must be formed some confusion when the man chuckled, "My parents doesn't know that there is a double meaning with that, if that really bothers you, you can call me Richard."

"How about we go up? the man—Richard, said. He nodded, he doesn't always like hospital beds.

He was about to jumped out of the bed when Richard just grabbed him and carry him. He let it be, after all he likes it, noone touched him for weeks now and he missed having skin contact.

Going up the stairs and coming out of a grandfather's clock, weird, he look out of the window and he knows where he is. There is only one place like this that he could possibly be. He is still in Gotham, in Bristol still but he doesn't know which house.

The man— Richard— carry him till they end up in a long table, probably the dining room. In there, they're some people seating and he knows the man who is seating on the head seat, it's Bruce Wayne. He knows his face because his mother always pointed out his stupid behaviour but good thing is that he has some good looks.

"Is that Tim?" Bruce Wayne knows his name, holy cupcakes.

"Yep. As cute and light as ever." Richard said as he keep on cooing to him and Timothy doesn't appreciate that.

Richard put him down in a chair and a butler comes and bring him some cookies. "He wants to eat because it seems like he didn't eat for so long. "Go on, dig in Master Tim."

"Is there walnuts here?" he asked and the butler agreed.

"Yes there is a walnuts in there."

Tim pouted, he is allergic to walnuts. "I am sorry, Mister Butler, but I am allergic to walnuts."

The butler seems shocked at his claimed but quickly dissolved his shocked and gave him a chocolate chip cookie. "I hope this one is not something you are allergic with."

"Thank you, Mister Butler." he said as he take a bite. The cookie is delicious.

After the snack, Richard bring him to the room that he apparently has been using here. But he doesn't remember that. But hey, his parents won't be back till Thanksgiving and they have cookies here, he will escaped the week before Thanksgiving.

++++++++

Tim was watching a documentary about the alps and different flora that has been keeping up with the extreme weather of it, when a kid, definitely more older than he is starts bothering him.

"Tt. Of course Drake will be incompetent enough to be a hindrance in his night life." the kid said, behind him is Richard and Mister Wayne.

Timothy Jackson Drake knows that is a jab to him, and all he could remember is that his father kept on saying, "If they hit you as Drake, you hit them back twice." and her mother added, "Not physically, Timothy but rather used highly intelligent words that may hurt them. Unless they do it first." and those words were imprinted on him.

Timothy paused the documentary, and then walked closer to the boy that was insulting him, and when they are foot apart he stopped.

"Mister, you have such a vibrant green eyes." he said, "But my mother said to me that green is the colour of disgust, that's why she gave birth to a blue eyed kid. Is your mother disgusted of you?" he asked. The room was silent, no one decided to say anything after that, the kid who insulted him has a hurt in his face, but Timothy is not done yet.

"But green is also a colour of evil in Disney, like when Ursula is trying to steal Ariel's voice or when Scar pushed Mufasa in the cliff and also the green poison apple in Snow White, so is that why your Mother left you because you are evil and disgusting like them, or you are evil and mean like them because you are disgusting and left by your Mother?" he said. He strike back twice and that is his goal. His mother would be so proud.

"Tim!" a voice behind him yelled, it was Mister Wayne.

"Yes, Mister Wayne?" he smiled at the man.

"We don't insult people here, okay? Apologise to Damian, now." Mister Wayne demanded, making Tim to frowned. He is not in the wrong though?

"I am not insulting anyone, Mister Wayne. I am merely saying my observations of him." he said while looking at the adult that is so much larger than him, but Mister Wayne is a dumb man, he always broke his bones and spills wine to other people so maybe he wouldn't get it.

"However, if it really bothers you..." Tim said and he looked at Damian, "I am sorry that your mother hates you because you are disgusting and mean and evil." he added as he looked back to the stunned Bruce Wayne.

"If you excuse me, I am exhausted to talk to anyone here. You should know better Mister Wayne, you are an adult." he said and then he walked towards to his room, leaving the three stunned. Well at least he made his point.

[physics-of-one-piece]

Since I did what Doflamingo does/says in I'll build castles for you, my love (look at me, not my brother) (Rosinante x Reader x Doflamingo WIP) I bring the aforementioned brother from the title and a snippet (which is before he dies but I wrote it and nearly cried, so I thought it was worth a share) with him:

Some NSFW mentions in the bulletpoints but nothing descriptive:

Gets into a first bath in a month with Law and bathes him, trips on the floor getting out the bath

trips and falls in his own house in a hurry to get the medicine for Law's fever

most softest 10 foot lover in the One Piece World but he absolutely can rock your world

always careful with his big hands

never holds himself to intimidate while home

has fun coloured sweaters and fun shirts

your favourite outfit of his is his blue dress shirt and white pants, he looks so FINE in that 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 also his marine uniform without the coat 🫠

watches you fuss over Law and cries

he kneels down to hug you, and always loves getting his hair ruffled by you

peppers you with kisses when he comes home

removes make-up and makes Law scream thinking he's Doflamingo

"Did you think my actual name was Donquixote Corazon? Cutee~"

when asked by Law who you are, Rosinante blushes, smiles goofily and chuckles, saying "She's... my wife."

insulted by Law saying to you, "You deserve better."

dances with you in the kitchen

finishes his jobs for Doflamingo early so he can spend the rest of the days he is supposed to be away with you, which means this man sails to you as much as he can

spent two weeks with you and got you pregnant in that timeframe

always bring a bouquet and chocolates and souvenirs from islands he visited when he comes home to you

puts you in a Silent bubble so you can scream your anger/frustration away

his Silent is literally your therapy and when you tell him his Devil Fruit is your favourite Devil Fruit, he grins so bright, the sun wishes it could shine like that

you meet him when he crashes into you

How many guys can say their clumsiness got them a wife? Not many. Exactly, Rosinante is built different.

cries every time you make him pancakes for breakfast

actually a solid cook, but he needs to be watched, always have water nearby

You call him Rosi or Rosinante

He blushes when you call him Corazón or Cora-san. Once roleplayed as his "pirate" persona, and he managed for five minutes before breaking character and you laughed for a good ten minutes

you can get as loud as you want in the bedroom within his Silent bubble 😉

you love his red hat

he can bake cookies and they're sent from heaven

has his own marine squad since he's a Commander and his crew is awesome (original characters but I like them, you'll see)

kills a Celestial Dragon that tries to kidnap you and makes it look like an assassination by pirates - Sengoku is on board with it

humble and sweet wedding day, Rosinante cried the whole time

loves cuddles & loves your cooking

cried of joy when getting a lunch box for his journey with Law from you

takes the secret he has a wife to his grave, never mentioned you to Doflamingo, never let Doflamingo find out about you (considering the chapters with Doflamingo that come, very clear why)

died not knowing you were pregnant, as even you didn't know it at the time (I'm so sorry 😭)

And here is the snippet:

Your face flashed in his mind.

Sorry, mi amor. thought Rosinante.

The red lenses that have by now become his brother’s eyes stared down at Rosinante coldly, red stained glass reflecting the falling snowflakes.

Guess I’m not coming back home this time.

Rosinante was going to make sure Law gets away. He could get himself to Eudai by paying a fisherman to get him there. He’d be safe there, and with any luck, he could then decide what he wanted to do with his life. He knew you wouldn’t ask Law to stay with you if Law didn’t want to. You were good at reading the kid like that.

Law was a smart cookie. He’d probably activate his Devil Fruit powers in an hour from now on and heal himself within a minute. Rosinante knew it. He believed in it.

Rosinante isn’t worried about anything, he isn’t afraid. He is grateful. He is so grateful to be here, in this moment, on the side he considers right.

Not on the marines’ side. Not on the pirates’ side.

On Law’s side. He was Law’s Corazón now, not Doflamingo’s.

You said such to him yourself. Law saw Rosinante as his guide, Law trusted him, had faith in him, just like you did. Law had become a part of Rosinante’s family, your small family Rosinante was the patriarch of, the protector of. Rosinante wasn’t fighting for the marines now, or for the pirates. He was fighting for a sick little boy because nobody else would, nobody else wanted to, nobody else thought to, except him and you.

You had guided him and supported him to become the man he is today, catching him by the hand before he could trip and fall the same way his brother did. 

He remembered the first time you tried to teach him how to dance with him, and he ended up stepping on both your feet. 

“I’m so sorry! Please give me another chance.”

You told him, “Just enjoy the dance.” before pulling him into your first dance together, and he did as you asked, letting his legs follow the beat and the song, and it turned out okay. He never stepped on your feet again.

Six months later, he was dancing with you every day in the living room of the house the two of you called home, pulling you into a dance on the field of blue forget-me-nots, your sweet, soft laughter caressing his ears.

Because of you, Rosinante knew he’d never lose his way. Because if he did, you’d set him straight, grip his hand so he doesn’t fall apart. 

You were the flag Rosinante carried in his heart.

He felt so lucky to have you. He was the clumsiest, luckiest man on the planet. He never thought his clumsiness would bring him to you.

Rosinante was happy. Donquixote Rosinante was the happiest man on earth. He didn’t need any treasure, or an army, or a country, or immortality, or the world. None of those things could ever make him happy as living with you and Law did.

And Rosinante realised it then; it was that Doflamingo lacked. He had a family, but he also didn’t. For a moment, Rosinante pitied his brother, even though his brother had done it to himself. To live without experiencing pure happiness, genuine happiness, without hurting anyone to attain it… 

It must hurt, Doffy. thought Rosinante sadly. You must be lonely.

Rosinante looks at his older brother, and for the last time, there is a pang of pain in his heart at the sight of what his older brother has become. 

Rosinante pulled out the pistol, aiming it at his big brother — at Doffy, at Doffy — pulling back the safety pin, knowing very well he wouldn’t press the trigger, and knowing very well his brother would.

Rosinante really wished he’d gotten to dance with you one more time. 

***

Word Count Report:

Currently, Rosinante's part (Part 1) is 8.4k words, Doflamingo's Part 2 is 13k words so that one might get separated into 2 parts to keep it a normal word count. Part 3 (also Doflamingo) is the shortest at 4k words but there is a lot left to write and plan for that part.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

[tojisth3rdwife]

☺️HWEED😌

syn: Toji finds your edibles...

cw: none. straight crack...pun intended

a/n: i may be a lil high right now. dont tell nobody. excuse any bits that have typos or lack sense..i’ll proofread when im sober lmao

“Toji!”

Your voice carried from the hallway, beating you to the living room where you expected to find your boyfriend. He was in his usual spot on the couch, manspreading in his sweats and white tank. A backwards royal blue ball cap sat upon his head, pushing his fringe back from his face.

He looked content and relaxed, leaned all the back and into the couch cushions with the remote resting in his lap , his eyes fixated on the television screen.

You came stomping in the room in your fuzzy yellow slippers, wrapped in your bath towel with a shower cap still on, huffing frustratedly as you scanned the room for something.

“I know I didnt leave it...Toji. You didn't hear me calling you?” you look at him curiously as his hooded gaze drags in your direction. He blinks slowly, frowning at your question.

“No.” his voice was deeper than usual, as if he’d just woken up, but you dont have time to care about it. You were too busy trying remember where you’d last seen your stuff. Another exasperated sigh leaves you as you asked....

“Ok well, Have you seen a little black bag? Like a mini gift bag with blue strings for handles? I swear i put it on the counter..” you look away, posting your hands on your hips and poking your bottom lip out.

Toji’s frown deepened for a moment. He lifts his head with a thoughtful scowl , narrowing his gaze on you. Suddenly, realization sparks across his face.

“Ooooooh that bag...with the cookies and shit in it..” he mumbles, letting his head fall back into the cushion. Your hands fall from your hips as you perked up at Toji’s response.

“Yes with the cook...Hold up” you pause, your eyes now scanning the areas surrounding Toji until then focus in on the matte black gift bag with blue strings tucked in the crook of is arm.

Your eyes narrow into slits.

“Toji. What is that?”

At you change in tone, Toji lifts his head again, perking his brow.

“What is what?” he feigns ignorance but you knew damn well he knew what was what. You lift your arm slowly to point a finger at the bag.

“THAT. Right there.” your lasor beamed glare guides Toji attention straight down to the little bag cradled against his bicep.

“Oh. You meant this bag!”

You close your eyes, saying nothing as you summon the powers of the universe to ground you. Your fingers lift to pinch the bridge of your nose as you tapped your foot against the carpet

“Toji..My Toji..My ButterBall..My BooBiscuit...I just know you didnt eat my stuff. Please tell me I know..”

Toji stares at your blankly with a clueless sheen over his mossy eyes.

“Um...You know?” his tone scoops upward and tucked your lips together, exhaling sharply through your nose.

“Dont play with me right now. Just tell me. Did you eat all my stuff? All my cookies and gummies?” you whine, still tapping your foot steadily. You opened your eyes to find an incredulous look on Toji’s face made you want to wind back slap him across the forehead.

Similarly to you before, Toji jutts his bottom lip out in fake utter confusion.

“whaaaaaaaaat?????” his deep voice scoops again.

“Whatchu talking bout? You know i dont like candy like that..”

“What about the cookies then?” you tilt your head, hands back on your hips. Toji stares at you blinking, eventually blowing between his lips dissmissively.

“Psshhbbbb..No. I did not” he slurs in a way that was very unlike him, his gaze back on the TV intently.

Thats when you noticed it wasnt even on. Toji was literally staring at a blank screen as if it were playing something. Thats also when it dawned on you.

This mf high...

“AHAH!!!!! You did!! How many?” you ask, having to snap your fingers a few times to regain Toji’s attention seconds after you posed the question. He blinks up at you lazily again.

“Hmm?”

“HOW. MANY. COOKIES. DID. YOU. EAT?” you repeat with emphasis and the dumbfounded look on Toji’s face told you before he did.

“You muthafucka..” you say under your breath as Toji looked down at his hands to hold up two fingers.

“Uhhhhm 2...I think. “ he tilts his head, glancing off to the side in thought.

“Aw hell..” you sigh. At that, Toji perked up a little, seemingly concerned.

“Why? What was wrong with em?” he asks and you walk around the centered chesnut coffee table to thump him on the forehead.

“Ow.” he whined softly.

“Dumb ass. Those were edibles! From the dispensery.”

“The dispensary? Wait, those had weed in them? Ohho shit..” Toji begins to laugh, running his hand over his face as he leaned back. You stood there watching him silently as he seemed all too tickled by the fact that his greediness landed him on a loooooong one way trip to stoneville.

“Fuck..and I ate 2! Oh shit..” he continued to giggle, a sound as rare as rain in the sahara. You wanted to have an attitude but the tension in your face and body gradually dissipated the longer you watched your normally nonchalant and unapproachable man be reduced to a giddy fool due to an overload of THC.

You cant help but find it adorable.

“Thats a damn shame..” you shake your head all while Toji laughed himself into a coughing fit. He pats his chest with his fist a few times before laying his palm flat over his heart.

“Wheew shit. Im fucked up..hehe..” he snorts and a reluctant chuckle escapes you.

“A damn shame..” you repeat.

“Damn...” Toji echoes, his sleepy gaze focusing on the ceiling for a second.

His amusement tapered as a thought occured to him.

“Wait, whats gonna happen now? I dont do drugs..And since when do you do drugs??”

“Aaaand the paranoia hits..” you nod amidst Toji’s solitaire edition of 21 questions.

“..Will I start losing hair? Or get a gut? Or..”

“Nothing will happen to you. Well, nothing bad or dangerous at least. Youre gonna be hungry as fuck in a minute though.” you assure him, mood completely flipped.

“Im always hungry..”Toji shrugs and you scoff.

“Clearly! I don't recommend you eat anything else out of that bag or its gonna get even weirder for you. I cant believe your greedy ass really ate two. Those ‘$4 a pop’ , soft and chewy...big.. Hey those were some big ass cookies, Toji..”

“I know.Two THICK ASS cookies..” he wrinkles his nose with impressed disgust, as if he didnt just inhale those cookies 30 minutes ago.

You went off on a rant, reprimanding him sternly and going on about how you were looking forward to having your cookie and relaxing because you’d had a long week. As you were talking, Toji was entertaining himself by waving his hand in front of his face slowly, letting out a stiff grunt in reaction the delayed trail of its shape waving along.

“Toj..”you cut off the second syllable of his name when you noticed him blinking one eye at a time, as if he were about to fall asleep.

You clap your hands together loudly and Toji flinches dramatically.

“Oh my god.. This fool is high. I never thought I’d see the day. Look at yourself..” you gesture towards him and Toji’s face scrunches up.

“How? Like in a mirror?” he asks, and your only response is squint at him. With a shake of your head, you know that was about as much as you could handle for the night.

“I cant.” you laugh, snatching up your bag from the couch and turning away, curls slinging around under the shower cap.

“Bye Toji. Dont leave the house. And DONT eat anymore of my stuff or else!” you threaten him over your shoulder before disapperong down the hallway.

Leaving Toji in the living alone again, swatting a hand at you dismissively, then going right back to sitting confortably and staring at the black TV screen.

For another 30 minutes.

[damsel-balladeer]

Me: Writing (more like thinking) Puffin Cookie’s and Mako Shark Cookie’s lores:

Also me: Writing King Penguin Cookie’s and Blue-Footed Cookie’s lore:

Also also me: Writing Blue-ring Cookie’s lore:

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

"...We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

The whispered confession falls clumsily out of Pure Vanilla's mouth, almost dragged out, bitterly sweet and strange on his tongue. The words are addressed to his own stained candy glass visage, spilling tendrils of bright blue light across the Solarium of Unity despite the almost suffocating darkness invading the rest of the space.

He knows this isn't really the Solarium of Unity, and he knows he isn't just speaking to a window. The lurking shadows, thick like molasses and blinking every once in a while, give that away. Even if it didn't, there is a haziness here that exists only in dreams, and a lack of the deep tiredness that has been plaguing him as of late.

"Oh, are you finally ready to admit that?" Sure enough, Shadow Milk Cookie's voice comes from all sides, far too cheerful. The candy glass melts and warps before him, the blues darkening until Shadow Milk stands in his place, far more detailed than the artisan silhouette he replaced. His grin is mocking as he looks down at Pure Vanilla, who cannot help but feel uncomfortable at the sight of their appearances blurring together like that, even though he had been expecting something along those lines. "Too bad though – you can't admit something that's wrong!"

"Huh?" It catches Pure Vanilla by surprise. It had been difficult emotionally, but logically straightforward to admit they were two sides of the same coin. He couldn't imagine how that could be wrong, and acting upon an old habit from his student days, he finds himself frantically unravelling that conclusion in his head again to figure out the issue.

Shadow Milk doesn't give him the chance, tutting as he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You must have a brain in there, can't you use it?" He laments theatrically, contorting himself into an odd shape against the edge of the window pane. Then, again barreling on before Pure Vanilla can reply, "Look, think of it like this. To say we're two sides of the same coin means that we have similarities, even if we are otherwise opposites. That is true to an extent, but it makes our differences sound way more clear cut than they actually are. It may be easier for you to believe, but we aren't really opposites. That would imply I am not whole, and I can assure you, Soul Jam aside, I am just as I always was!"

Ah, so it's a matter of wording. Pure Vanilla isn't sure why he is entertaining this - no, it's because he doesn't want to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of turning away from the truth. Even now, Shadow Milk's eyes squint cheekily at him, daring him to try and end the conversation.

"Then... we are made of the same components in a different composition." Pure Vanilla tries, a little frustrated with his own hesitance, but it is difficult to tell how Shadow Milk wants him to answer when he isn't making it blatantly obvious.

"So close!" Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he snaps his head to the side so sharply it makes Pure Vanilla wince, imagining the cracks that would cause on any other Cookie. "But you're relying on technicalities. It's much simpler than that."

It dawns on Pure Vanilla, then, exactly what Shadow Milk is aiming for, the realisation making his insides crawl. He doesn't have to say it, not really, but he isn't sure what Shadow Milk will do if he doesn't, and he unfortunately doesn't have the ability to wake himself up on command.

So he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his staff as he says, even less than a whisper yet twice as loud. "We're... We're the same. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"Ding-ding-ding!" Shadow Milk trills, suddenly reaching through the candy glass to grip the window frame and lurching forward across the threshold, leaving a mess of shattered glass behind his head like a halo. It startles Pure Vanilla, who instinctively shifts his foot back, only to be instantly locked in place as the reaching shadows soldify around his legs, its eyes winking up at him playfully. His grip on his staff tightens, willing it to shed its light, the beginnings of panic stirring within him at the restraint. The staff does, but the shadows seem to eat the light without a problem.

Pure Vanilla is so distracted by the shadows that he doesn't notice Shadow Milk's hands until they grab his face. His heart jumps in alarm, and his eyes dart up to find half of Shadow Milk leaning down out of the window, far too close. He is grinning at him, wide and self-satisfied, and his hands are cold and harsh. "See, I knew you had a working brain! Yes, the right answer is that we are one and the same."

He pinches and pulls at his cheeks, and Pure Vanilla tries to cringe away, tries to manuver his staff between them. It doesn't work, if only because hands emerge from the darkness to anchor his staff too.

"But that isn't true." Pure Vanilla mumbles when he isn't able to wiggle his way out and Shadow Milk still shows no signs of stopping, hoping the argument will make him lose interest in his face. "I admit that there are similarities between us, but we aren't really the same."

Shadow Milk pauses, his grip tightening until it borders on pain, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla thinks he may have miscalculated.

But then Shadow Milk snickers to himself, releasing his face entirely and pulling back, his hands resting lightly over Pure Vanilla's shoulders. The brush of weight keeps Pure Vanilla from relaxing, but it is a bit of added distance, at least.

"Aren't we? Well, you are the biggest liar, so I should have expected you would lie to yourself too." Shadow Milk hums, almost sounding delighted at this turn in conversation. It unnerves Pure Vanilla, because he had assumed his disagreement would annoy him.

Instead, Shadow Milk smirks, his many eyes glinting gleefully at him. "Listen carefully, Vani, because here's the truth." He says, his voice dipping into a wicked purr that seems to shudder through Pure Vanilla's whole body. "All the things you hate that I have done, you have the capability of doing too. After all, you've already used people for your own gain, haven't you?" Shadow Milk leans closer with a condescending lilt to his words, shifting his hands so he can wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders, and Pure Vanilla freezes under the touch. "Oh, I know you think it was necessary, but you still sent those naive, tiny Cookies off to carry out your errands for you, regardless of the dangers. That's only a few steps behind what I've done, you know, making people dance to my tune. The only difference between us is severity and time."

The words sink heavily to Pure Vanilla's stomach, not quite true but not quite not true, and he feels a little lightheaded, fingers twitching against his staff. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of his discomfort from the close proximity, but he finds himself distracted by the way Shadow Milk is talking. He carries his usual air of showmanship, but it is nowhere near as exaggerated as during his brief takeover of the Faerie Kingdom. With his insistence of specificity, his mention of technicalities, his structured method of explaining things, he almost sounds like a–

"We are the same," Shadow Milk repeats, tilting his head to the side, the glow of his eyes burning holes through Pure Vanilla, "and one day, you'll end up just like me."

A scholar.

That makes sense – at some point, his virtue had been Knowledge, and nobody seeks it out as fervently as a scholar – but it still feels like a surprise. Pure Vanilla had always known that Shadow Milk was different, once, but only in the sense that the fact existed in the back of his mind.

"No rebuttal, hmm? Are you ready to accept that?" Shadow Milk asks smugly, slightly impatient with Pure Vanilla's lack of response, but mostly watching him expectantly, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Pure Vanilla has never thought about what Shadow Milk might have been like, before he became like this. There was no reason to even consider it. But now, he can't help but wonder, because while he cannot imagine this chaotic, brutal Beast, this great unknown evil, as anything else – Shadow Milk still carries echoes from a past life that he doesn't seem to notice enough to hide with his lies.

"...If we are the same," Pure Vanilla finally scrapes his thoughts together enough to reply, carefully, "then doesn't that make the opposite possible too? That, one day, you will become like me and return to the light?"

Shadow Milk blinks once, his face falling blank. He blinks again, all of his eyes in quick succession.

And then he throws his head back and laughs, the movement jostling Pure Vanilla in the process with his arms still firmly around his shoulders. It sounds unhinged, ricocheting across the room, but it is openly amused. It makes Pure Vanilla antsy, especially with how it rings in his ears like an explosion from their closeness.

He wonders if Shadow Milk's laugh was different, before everything. It must have been. He wonders what it sounded like, and immediately realises that he's being ridiculous. The realisation that a before exists seems to have opened the floodgates in his mind, and now thoughts of hypotheticals can't help flitting in.

"You say such silly, silly things." Shadow Milk bites out offhandedly as his laughter winds down, the lingering remnants still dancing on his tongue. Without warning, he pulls Pure Vanilla even closer, the darkness that had been keeping him in place swirling and shoving him forward. Pure Vanilla gasps, the sound catching in his throat, and one of his hands fly off his staff to reach for something to steady himself on. It finds an edge of shattered candy glass, flinching back and falling down to scrabble against its smooth, intact surface.

Shadow Milk is giggling at him and Pure Vanilla is mortified, horribly so. They are far, far too close, Shadow Milk's face taking up the near entirety of his vision and their upper bodies almost pressed together. It feels claustrophobic, which should be impossible in such a wide, open space.

Shadow Milk makes matters worse by pressing their foreheads together, the gesture weirdly tender and doing nothing to make Pure Vanilla any calmer. His bright blue eyes look directly through him, dissecting him piece by piece.

"Why don't you cut down the Silver Tree and find out?" Shadow Milk coos, his voice overlapping with the Light of Truth's in a deeply unsettling way. His presence is overwhelming.

Pure Vanilla's eyes flicker downwards to escape his piercing gaze, and finds their chests so close that their Soul Jams are overlapping. Overlapping, and not touching, because Shadow Milk's Soul Jam seems to fizzle out of existence where the other makes contact with it, as if it were an illusion. Behind it is an empty space, black as the abyss. With the way they are lined up now, it is obvious that Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would fit perfectly into the crevice with a little turning. He knew that already, but it still feels strange to see it.

Pure Vanilla sighs, a long, thin, shuddering sound. "...You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

In the edge of his vision, Shadow Milk smiles tauntingly, all teeth, but he doesn't say a word.

And Pure Vanilla wakes up, off kilter, exhausted and oddly cold.

[next]

[sargebarnesx]

Sweetness

Pairing: Jim Hopper x unnamed female OC

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Warnings: unprotected sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, pining, spanking, Hopper's thighs in jeans (felt that this deserved to be here), little bit of instalove/lust

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: Jim Hopper could use a little sweetness in his life.

Author's Note: I’ve been working on this for forever but edited it pretty quickly so I apologize for any mistakes!

Monday

The bell over the door rang lightly. He looked out of place in the small bakery, the tan colors of his uniform contrasting with the baby blues and baby pinks adorning the walls. His eyes scanned over the various pastries, cookies, and cakes, sitting pretty in their cases underneath cozy lights.

“Good morning, how are y-oh hey Chief! How are you this morning?”

She emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on a white towel. Her hair was pulled back in a clip but she had loose strands sticking to beads of sweat on her forehead. Bits of flour were sprinkled among a smattering of freckles.

Jim Hopper raised a hand in greeting. “I’m good, honestly just hungry. Thought I’d stop by and see what you had available this morning.” He stepped closer to the counter.

She swiped her towel over her face before tossing it on a back counter. “We have muffins, croissants, bagels, donuts. We also have a small coffee bar. Any of that sound good to you?” She met his gaze from behind the counter, a good foot shorter than him. Her apron was tied twice around her waist, emphasizing her full hips. He noticed that the same freckles that decorated her face also covered her hands, arms, and chest.

“A coffee and a…” he trailed off, leaning back to eye the other case, “Blueberry muffin please.”

“You got it, Chief,” she turned away to grab a paper bag.

He had known her for a while; he remembered her from high school but she was younger, maybe a freshman while he was a senior. Her parents were an integral part of Hawkins, the owners of a sandwich shop down the road.

He felt she had barely changed over the years, other than the fullness of her figure, the length of her hair, the warmth in her eyes. He recalled her younger brother’s recklessness, his run-ins with the law. She wasn’t anything like him, at least not to his knowledge. Jim couldn’t imagine the person who ran a place like this had any interest in being reckless.

“Here you go,” her voice pulled him from his thoughts and he glanced up to see her holding a coffee cup and a paper bag out to him. “How much do I owe you?” He asked, reaching for his wallet. She shook her head, “It’s on the house.”

“No way, let me-“

“It’s on the house,” she repeated softly, “Happy Monday, Chief.”

Jim smiled in thanks, taking his items from her. She smiled back as he retreated towards the door and back to his Blazer. He pinched a small piece off of his blueberry muffin on the way to the station.

It was the best muffin he had ever tasted.

Tuesday

She blew out a breath, nearly dropping a tray of bagels on the counter. It was 7:45 am, and Kimberly, her opener, was supposed to have been here fifteen minutes ago. She had been here since 3 am and frankly, her arms were tired and her back hurt. She really didn’t want to work all day but it was looking like she’d have to. She had planned to leave at 9:00 am when her other staff members were scheduled to arrive but such is the life of a business owner.

She hurriedly finished setting up her cases, taking note of what needed to be done that day. Hawkins was a small town but she was lucky enough to be a local favorite. She had made countless birthday cakes for the children of her former classmates, baked bread that would be sold at her parent’s sandwich shop, and catered desserts at the Hawkins High reunion every year. Baking was her passion but going to a doctor’s appointment and taking a short nap before returning to the bakery in the afternoon was taking precedence today.

She could hear a car pulling in and she hoped it was Kim, better late than never. She started walking to the door but hesitated when she saw him.

Jim Hopper was here.

Again.

She opened in exactly one minute and Jim Hopper was parked in a spot right outside her door, patiently waiting. As she stared at him, she noticed Kimberly walking quickly across the street. She unlocked the door and pushed it open as the young woman babbled, “Oh my goodness I am so sorry I’m late, I will stay late today to make it up to you, I am so sorry.”

“That’s fine,” she murmured, following her inside, “Can you refill some coffee supplies, please? I didn’t have the chance to yet.” “Sure thing!” Kim replied, grabbing handfuls of supplies and carting them over to the small table in the corner. She started her trek to the back when she heard the bell over the door ring.

“Good morning!” Kimberly called and she heard Jim give a gruff “morning” in response.

“Fancy seeing you here, Chief,” she said, leaning onto one of her cases.

“I won’t lie, I haven’t stopped thinking about that blueberry muffin I had for breakfast yesterday,” he admitted sheepishly, “And please, call me Jim.”

She was silent for a moment while she took in his appearance. He looked…tired. Stressed. She imagined that working as the chief of police wasn’t an easy job, even in a small town like Hawkins. And she knew that he had been through a lot in the past. Even with the slight discoloration under his eyes, she couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Honestly, she was harboring a small crush on him and had been for years. He was tall and strong, and she had always been fixated on his hands. They were large, with long fingers. She imagined he was the type of man who had rough, callused hands that would feel absolutely delicious dragging across her skin. She’d never tell him that, though.

“Alright…Jim,” she said with a smile, “What would you like today? Another blueberry muffin?”

His eyes scanned her case, “I’m thinking…a blueberry muffin and a banana nut muffin. And a coffee, of course.”

“Sure thing,” she reached for a white paper bag while her opener asked him about his coffee preference. God, now she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands. And his beard. And his mouth.

She needed to stop.

Her cheeks were no doubt stained pink, she could feel the heat rising to them. She felt a hand on her arm. “You alright?” Kimberly asked, holding Jim’s receipt in her other hand, “Can I have his bag please?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry!” She folded the bag closed and handed it over. Jim was smirking on the other side of the counter, “Got a lot on your mind?” She chuckled, “You have no idea. I hope you enjoy your muffins.”

Jim nodded, “Oh, I know I will. That chocolate donut is catching my eye too though.” He pointed at one of her favorite desserts, a chocolate-frosted donut with sprinkles.

“I love those,” she said, “But they’re really sweet, maybe a little too sweet for breakfast.”

“Eh,” Jim shrugged, “I could use a little sweetness in my life.”

Wednesday

Hopper had a crush.

He was a 44-year-old man and he had a crush.

He couldn’t get her off of his mind. Her soft hair was always sprinkled with flour. Her eyes, the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen, surrounded by long, dark lashes. Her smile was framed by full, luscious lips. He thought about her first thing in the morning, thought about her making him blueberry muffins in nothing but his t-shirt while he got ready for work. She crossed his mind at lunchtime, distracting him from his paperwork with her puzzling looks and skilled hands. And at night, when he laid in bed alone with his cock squeezed in his fist, he would think about her naked and on her knees, with those sweet lips wrapped around his length.

Fuck.

He needed to see her again, but the phone was ringing off of the hook and the paperwork was piling up on his desk. There was no way he could make an excuse to take a mid-day trip to her bakery.

Unless…

Jim tossed the stack of paper he was rifling through onto his desk and stood abruptly. He grabbed his keys and his hat, placing the latter atop his head before walking out of his office. “Anybody up for some donuts?” he asked, not even stopping for an answer, “I’ll be right back.”

Powell and Callahan looked at each other in awe over a massive stack of folders between them. “Eh, at least we get donuts,” Callahan lamented, shrugging.

Jim made it to the bakery in record time. He eagerly reached for the door handle in the Blazer before he paused.

Relax.

He climbed out of the Blazer and walked coolly to the door, pulling it open. He heard the bell ding overhead.

“Good afternoon, Chief Hopper!”

It was the young girl who was working with her yesterday morning. She was nowhere to be seen. Hop nodded at the girl behind the counter. “Uh…” he started, “Can I get 2 dozen donuts, please?”

“Of course!”

Hopper tried his best to be inconspicuous as he looked above the young girl’s head into the kitchen. He didn’t see her anywhere. “Do you have a preference on which donut you’d like more of, Chief?” the girl asked, showing him a half-filled box. “Let’s get more of the chocolate iced with sprinkles,” he said, pointing to the remaining donuts in the display.

“My favorite.”

There she was. She must have come in from a back door because he hadn’t heard the bell ring. She was wearing a dark blue spaghetti-strap dress. It had scalloped edges, an eyelet design, and stopped just above her knees. Her hair was down from her normal ponytail and she was wearing a bit more makeup than usual. She carried an empty tray.

“We have more in the back to refill the case, Kimberly,” she mentioned to her employee passively while keeping her eyes on him, “I’ll check him out.”

“I’m sure you will,” he thought he heard Kimberly mumble under her breath as she closed the donut boxes and handed them to her. They stood facing each other now, with only a register in between them.

“Treating the guys at the station to some donuts?” She asked, punching in a few numbers on the register. Hop nodded, “Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about them, so…”

Was he crazy or was the tension between them thicker than ever right now?

Jim eyed the outline of her dress, tracing the skirt down and then back up to her waist, noting the cinched fabric creating the most tempting slope, the perfect place for his hands. She watched him and yet he didn’t stop. Her skin was glowing with moisture from the summer heat and he imagined what it would taste like if he licked from her collarbone to her jaw. He imagined that she tasted like buttercream frosting and the thought made his cock half-hard.

“Definitely haven’t stopped thinking about them,” he repeated, meeting her eyes with a smoldering gaze. She grabbed his donuts and walked around the counter, holding them out to him. When he took them, his fingers brushed against hers.

“Thanks, Sweetness,” he murmured, a sly grin playing across his features, a playful glint in his hooded eyes. Her eyebrows knit together and she smirked, “Sweetness?” He didn’t respond, just winked at her as he took the boxes and pressed the door open with his backside.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She called after him, but the door had already slammed shut.

Thursday

Sweetness. He had called her Sweetness.

And he came to the bakery three days in a row. There had to be a reason.

She had known Jim for a long time, considering they had both grown up in Hawkins. She remembered when he was a young boy leading the pack, she remembered when he would smoke cigarettes under the bleachers and she would hear rumors about his flirtations, his skill as a kisser. How he’d trailed his hands under skirts in the backs of classrooms. She remembered when she came back from college and he came back from Vietnam, when he got married and had his daughter. She remembered the tragedy of his loss and the way it affected him. But she was always an outsider, a spectator, and honestly, an admirer.

He had been so handsome throughout every stage she had known him, especially now. His thick, sturdy, strong body towering over her, his beard with the beginnings of salt and pepper growing in. She always stared at his arms, his thighs, wondering what they felt like. Those strong arms wrapped around her, reaching down to grope at her ass. His thighs were a perfect seat for her to grind her desperate pussy on, while she dug her nails into his shoulders, his growls shaking her entire body.

“My God, you are so into him,” Kimberly’s voice broke through her daydream.

“Wh-what?” She stuttered, grabbing at frosting bags to keep her hands busy. Kimberly smirked, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. “You are so into the Chief,” she replied, “It’s obvious.”

“Kim, are you serious? I don’t know why you would think-“ she broke off when she noticed Kimberly’s look of doubt. Her cheeks turned an intense shade of red and she hid her face with her hands. “I am totally into the Chief,” she finally admitted.

Kimberly clapped her hands and squealed, “I knew it! You’ve been looking over at the door every hour to see if he’s coming in again today.”

Kimberly was right. The older woman’s eyes had been glued to the door all day, almost like a magnet was drawing them together.

“Can you blame me? He’s come in every day this week! I can’t help expecting that he’ll come in today too,” she explained, piping a border onto the small cake in front of her. Kimberly grabbed a coffee cup and a black marker and held them out to her, “When he comes in, you should give him a cup of coffee on the house with your number written on it.” She looked at Kimberly with apprehension, “You don’t think he’d see that as juvenile?” Kimberly shook her head, “I think he’d love it.”

She put down her piping bag to take the cup and the marker. Kimberly smirked again and left her to her own devices to tend to the front. Would Jim like that, her number written on a cup of coffee? She couldn’t help but think they were too old for these games but maybe he’d find it…endearing.

She heard the bell ring. “Oh, hello Chief Hopper!” Kimberly announced way too loudly to be casual. She would have to reprimand her for that later. But it was now or never. Make a move or regret it. She quickly scribbled her number on the side of the cup and once she knew it was dry, she pressed that side against her palm and walked towards the coffee bar.

His eyes were on her as soon as she stepped into view. “Hey,” he greeted, handing Kimberly a few dollars without even looking at her. She smiled in response and began filling the cup. “I’d been wondering if we were going to see you today,” she said, pressing a lid onto the cup. He chuckled, “Here I am.”

The coffee cup felt scalding hot against her skin, “Coffee on the house?” She offered it to him and knew immediately that he would refuse. “I can’t let you do that, please let me pay,” Jim reached for his wallet, fisting his pastry bag in the other hand. She held up a hand. “Jim, please,” she held it towards him once more, “It’s on me.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment and she could’ve sworn his eyes flickered to her lips before meeting her own again. He was in jeans today instead of his normal uniform - jeans that hugged his thighs and his ass in just the right way. God, she wanted him so bad. Wanted to feel those taut muscles under her hands, wanted to feel the brush of his beard on her skin. Could he tell that she was fantasizing about fucking him right in the middle of her bakery?

Kimberly cleared her throat, which seemed to break both of them from a trance. Jim wrapped his hand around the coffee cup and the sudden loss of warmth was jarring. “Thank you for the coffee,” he said, raising it like he was toasting to her. She nodded, “Thank you for stopping by.” And just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.

“Did you even notice the other customer that was here while the two of you were making goo-goo eyes at each other?” Kimberly asked, punching numbers on the cash register.

“Nope,” she replied, rounding the counter and smirking at Kim, “Also, you should work on that whole ‘being casual’ thing.”

Friday

The number on his cup told him everything he needed to know.

He was going to make his move. Tonight.

He’d wear some jeans - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him yesterday when he had shown up in his relaxed-fit jeans. He’d wear cologne - nothing too heavy, just a little something to complement his natural scent. Whatever that was. Coffee and cigarettes? Women he’d been with before usually told him he smelled like a real man, so maybe she’d like it too.

It was 7:15 pm - her bakery closed in 45 minutes. He would make it there in ten minutes from the cabin. His palms were sweaty against his steering wheel, but he blamed that on the summer heat, not nerves, as he navigated the downtown streets.

He parked, noticing a lack of cars out front. Perfect. He could see her through the door as he approached. She was sweeping, wearing her usual apron, blouse, and loose jeans combo. Her hair was down, swaying with each brush of the broom. He pushed the door open and she turned at the sound of the bell.

Her cheeks tinged pink as soon as she saw him. “Hi Jim,” she said softly, leaning the broom against the closest table. “Hey Sweetness,” he replied gruffly, walking towards her, eyeing her up and down as he did so.

When their eyes met, it was like they were locked, and neither of them had enough willpower or want to find a key. Her eyes were warm, like a cup of coffee with a swirl of creamer. My God, she was so beautiful. What he wouldn’t give to trace his fingers along her cheek and brush his lips against her jaw. And fuck, he wanted to run his tongue down her neck to that expanse of skin that was exposed under her v-neck shirt.

“Something on your mind?” She questioned softly, her eyes flicking to his mouth. He nodded, “Yeah-“

But at that moment, he was surprised by her sudden movement to press her lips on his.

Jim didn’t hold back. He gripped her soft hips, pulling her into him, against his already hard cock. He raised a hand to cup her cheek, feeling her jaw move against his palm as she opened her mouth to welcome his greedy tongue.

“Jim,” she murmured against his mouth, groaning as he latched his lips to the skin of her neck and slid his arms around her waist. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” Jim admitted, his face still buried in the crook of her neck, “Everything I wanna do to you.” She nodded in agreement, “Me either. I want you…want your cock…fucking hell, Jim, I need you.”

He chuckled, sinking his teeth into her soft flesh, then placed a trail of kisses up to her mouth. She opened her eyes then, meeting his blue ones.

“For someone so sweet, you sure do have a filthy mouth.”

With that, he picked her up, kissing her again until their legs met the counter. He placed her there, nestling into her warm center, his cock pressing tightly against his zipper, desperate to be inside her. Her hand was on his dick immediately while they kissed, palming him and squeezing him over his jeans. “Oh fuck, hold on,” he gripped at her wrist as he breathed deeply, “Don’t wanna cum in my pants.”

Her lips were on his neck now, undoubtedly leaving deep purple marks. “Where do you wanna cum then?” She whispered in his ear, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Jim grabbed her chin, “Maybe this pretty little mouth. Or that wet, hot pussy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”

She spread her legs further and slid her hands into his back pockets, “Please fuck me, Chief. Right here, right now.”

Hopper growled in triumph, “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

He pulled at the button on her jeans, ripping the zipper open with it. She pushed her pants down her legs and over her little white sneakers, all the way to the floor where they landed with a soft thud. While he was unbuttoning his jeans, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her panties - they were soft cotton in the palest shade of blue. He’d never seen anything more sexy.

“Can’t wait to fuck you, Sweetness.”

She bit her lip as she looked up at him, watching his face as the cool air in the bakery finally hit the burning hot skin of his cock. He could tell she wanted to touch him, to put him in her mouth, but all that would come later. Right now, he knew she needed him deep inside her.

He hooked two fingers onto her panties, “You wet for me?” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. He wrapped his fist around his cock, lining it up with her entrance before thrusting inside her.

Fuck, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt this way before. Her pussy gripped his cock so tightly, so perfectly, like they were made for each other. He wasn’t going to last long like this. He wanted to rail her, rail her right here in her place of business on a Friday night, and make her cream all over his cock. Then he wanted to take her home and prepare a hot bath for her, then bury his tongue between her legs in his bed. Then on Saturday…

He wanted to take her to the diner for breakfast.

He wanted to curl up next to her on the couch for an afternoon nap.

He wanted to watch her put on her favorite dress and curl her hair and take her out to dinner.

Jim would do all those things. But right now, he was going to make her cum.

“Ugh fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, reveling in the obscene sounds coming from where the two of them met at their center. She was breathing heavily, whimpering with every deep thrust. He trailed his hand up under her blouse to squeeze her tits - another thing he’d have to give extra attention to when he could get her in his bed.

“Tell me how I’m making you feel, Sweetness. Baby, tell me how much you love this cock,” he was moaning in her ear, his climax building. He could feel her pussy clamping down on him with every writhe of her hips. She nodded, “Feels so good. Fuck, I love the way you fill me up. Better than I ever imagined.”

“Can I bend you over this counter?” Hopper asked, wanting nothing more than to have his hands on her ass. She nodded, gasping when he pulled out, leaving her empty. When she was bent over in front of him, he swept her panties down her thighs, using both hands to roughly grope at her ass. “Fucking sexy ass,” he muttered, smacking both cheeks in quick succession. She moaned, shuddering against him. “Harder,” she requested, “Please.”

He brought his hand down again, harder this time, and she jumped as it connected with her ass. Her skin turned red immediately and he rubbed her gently before doing the same to her other side. Hop placed a kiss on each cheek before he gripped her hips and pulled her back onto his cock.

“You feel even better - like this,” she choked out against a whimper. Jim could only smirk and continue to fuck up into her. He wanted to cum with her, feel her climax soak him at the same time he painted her insides with his own.

“You close, Sweetness?”

She nodded and Jim pushed harder, each drag of his cock bringing them that much closer to satisfaction. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her up against him, “Wanna see that pretty face when you cum.”

Her eyes were trained on his and her nails dug into his sides. He was so fucking close.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut as her orgasm wracked through her body. He brought her left arm around her waist and his right hand to her face, kissing her as he exploded.

They trembled together, taking a moment to allow the pure bliss to course through them. He held her tightly until she turned in his arms. “I need to sit down,” she admitted sheepishly. Jim grinned as he walked her to a seat, making sure she was secure before he retrieved her pants.

“That was…the hottest thing I have ever done,” he told her as she pulled her pants back on. She giggled, “Honestly? Me too.”

Jim fixed his clothes and checked his watch, “Do you need this door locked? You’ve been closed for the last 45 minutes.”

She nodded, “Yes, please. We’re lucky no one came in.”

Jim clicked the latch on the door to a locked position, then met her in the center of the room, where they had started that night. He reached for her and she stepped into his outstretched arms, resting hers on his shoulders while his encircled her waist.

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

He could barely get the sentence out before she gave him the best possible answer.

“Yes.”

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers Day 8: Holiday baking. Maxiel. About 1.1k words.

When Max asks Daniel if he wants to go with him to walk his mother's dogs, Daniel refuses. He is curled up in an armchair, a blanket in his lap, chatting with Victoria, and he's way too comfortable and warm to think about going out in the cold.

It's not snowing, not really, but the ground is frozen, and there's a humid chill in the air that digs its cold fingers into Daniel's bones as soon as he dares stepping foot outside.

Max just shrugs, not pushing for it, bends down to kiss Daniel and goes to put on his shoes. Daniel does his very best to ignore Victoria's teasing smile and his own pink cheeks.

It's not that Max is not affectionate, or that he doesn't love kissing Daniel at any given opportunity, it's just that usually they can't do it in public. Even if Max wasn't such a private person, they wouldn't want to deal with the shit storm it would cause to be papped kissing, and even when they are in friends' company they keep it very PG, brushing hands and bumping hips.

But it's clear that Max feels safe here, comfortable and happy in a way Daniel rarely sees him outside of their own home, so he apparently has no problem with PDA in front of his mother.

Daniel loves it for him, really, he would love Max to always be this open, but he also wants to disappear under the blanket when both women look at him with matching grins and he has to try really hard to pretend nothing has just happened.

He slightly regrets not accepting Max's invite when a few minutes later Sophie gets up, looking at the clock on the wall.

"I will go make cookies, for when the boys wake up," she says, her accent curling around the words. Then she points at Daniel, "you will come help me?"

And what can Daniel do, if not get up too?

He doesn't want to offend her, or to get on her bad side, if Sophie even has a bad side, especially not when it's the first time they spend Christmas together, so he follows her to the kitchen, dutifully washing his hands.

"I am not much of a baker," he warns her, accepting the light blue apron she hands him, hoping Max's walk will be long enough to allow him to take it off before he's back.

"Just sit, do what I say," Sophie says, shrugging in a very similar motion to her son, before starting to take out ingredients.

Daniel gets tasked with whisking the butter and sugar, as Sophie melts butter and chocolate on the stove. It's peaceful, despite it being an arm workout, and it reminds him a little of helping his own mom when he was little, sneaking bites of whatever she was cooking when she pretended to look the other way.

"He's a sweet boy."

Daniel jumps a little in surprise at Sophie's voice, turning his head to look at her, still fully focused on the chocolate.

"He is," he says carefully, not really knowing where she is going with it.

"Keep whisking," she reminds him, pointing him back to his task. "He loves you very much."

Daniel wonders if this is what Dutch shovel talk feels like. And also wonders why it wouldn't have come a couple years ago, when Max had told her about their relationship.

"I love him too," he replies, still confused but truthful.

Sophie leaves the chocolate to hand Daniel two eggs.

"Those go in," she tells him, grabbing a second bowl to start weighting the dry ingredients.

Daniel luckily doesn't get any shell in, gives himself a second to feel very proud about it, and then goes back to whisking.

"Do you want to marry him?"

Daniel chokes on his spit. He looks up sharply to find Sophie hiding a smile behind her hand, and to hear Victoria giggle in the other room, clearly listening in.

"I..we...yes? We haven't really talked about it," he stammers.

It's not lack of commitment. Daniel knows Max is it for him, he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, but marriage? A wedding seems very complicated to plan, and very tiring to go through with, and he's pretty sure both their families would kill them if they eloped.

"You should," Sophie tells him, taking the now melted chocolate off the stove, drying the condensation at the bottom of the bowl with a tea towel.

"He is..." she pauses, methodically sifting the flour. "complicated. About marriage. He thinks he ruined mine."

Daniel nods, looking down at the light yellow contents of his own bowl.

"It is of course nonsense, Jos and I broke it ourselves, but he is very stubborn."

"He got that from you, mama," Victoria says, sliding into the kitchen and sitting down on one of the free chairs, apparently done with pretending she's not listening in.

Sophie smiles at her, unapologetic.

"He loved my wedding," Victoria adds, turning towards Daniel, "and he loves love. He's a romantic, deep down. But he worries."

"I don't need to marry him to never leave him," Daniel says, a bit defensive.

Both women smile at him, Victoria bright and knowing, like he just won something, and Sophie soft and sweet, reaching out to gently pat Daniel's hand.

"You should tell him that," Victoria tells him, making Daniel frown. He's pretty sure Max knows how much Daniel loves him, how much he wants their futures to be together.

"He worries," Sophie says, echoing Victoria's words. "He worries that marriage will ruin you, and that not being married will also do it."

"He's very stupid."

Daniel snorts at Victoria's words, and Sophie frowns at them both, shaking her head. Then she takes Daniel's bowl and starts slowly combining the ingredients.

"He is a very smart boy," she defends, folding the chocolate in, "but he can be very stupid."

Daniel laughs again, and this time Victoria joins him, leaning forward on the table, body folding with it just like Max's.

"I'll tell him," Daniel promises once he's serious again, feeling like he has just done something very right when Sophie just nods at him, offering him a ice cream scoop.

"Do the cookies, I will do the dishes," she tells him.

Victoria steals the bowl where the melted chocolate had been, earning herself another eye roll from Sophie, and Daniel dutifully starts scooping the batter into neat little rows on the baking sheet.

When Max comes home, cheeks red from the cold, Victoria is upstairs, waking the boys from their nap, the house smells like chocolate, and Daniel is waiting for him in the kitchen, ready to be teased about the apron he's still wearing.

[star-har]

Hey! Can i submit a request?

Gojo x Reader playing twister. I just KNOW that man would be funny during that since he’s 80% leg. I need more gojo fluff in my life lol!

Your writing style is so cute. ♡︎

when gojo had come running into your room, squealing about being bored and needing attention, you had originally asked if he wanted to bake cookies.

he had nodded eagerly, pulling you from your bed where you were switching through channels and dragged you into the kitchen.

the next few hours consisted of whining and prying because you wouldn’t let gojo do anything. his job was to cramp your personal space and lick the spoons clean— but according to gojo, it was to actually help you.

he’d grown bored quick, and had sauntered off somewhere aimlessly, scratching his head in a clueless search of something fun to do.

but as soon as you’d pushed the cookie tray into the oven, his head had popped from behind the kitchen’s wall, beckoning you with wiggling brows and a mischievous grin to— this.

“just what is this,” you throw your arms in the air, cringing at the mess he’d made.

the coffee table, originally placed in the centre among your couches, had been shoved to the side with the flower vase knocked over. it’s replaced by a twister mat, spread across the carpet.

he rubs his hands, grin widening. “twister!”

“we are not playing twister,” you say, deadpan, crossing arms on your chest. it’s past midnight, and your limbs are aching for rest. the last thing you can manage is a round of twister— that he’d pulled out from butt fuck nowhere. you didn’t even know you had twister.

“oh, come on,” he throws his hands in the air, pouting. “let’s see who’s the most flexible!”

it’s a minute later that you find yourself bent over the mat, your left foot on red and right hand on green.

begrudgingly, you knock the spinner, feigning boredom as you wait for it’s response. you can’t admit you’re already having fun a minute into the game, anyway— he doesn’t need his ego blown even more than it already is.

“left foot, green,” you announce, adjusting your body as you shift your foot over.

gojo follows in your heed, cackling as he throws a leg across your waist to reach the green, purposely dropping his weight on you. “oh, i have this in the bag.”

with little grace, you thrust your hip up, nearly knocking him to his ass but his foot remains attached to the green circle.

his smirk follows your groan of frustration, and gojo cackles again, loud and obnoxious. despite your initial irritation, you crack a smile— he was only bored, after all.

you flick the dial once more beneath you. “right hand, yellow.”

with struggle, you reach beneath gojo’s chest and stretch your arm wide, dropping your arm on the circle.

“hmm, this isn’t a bad angle,” gojo bubbles with laughter and with a turn of your head, you realise quickly he’s talking about your ass.

you can’t shove him you you deside to elbow him in the chest and annoyingly enough, gojo doesn’t budge, maintaining perfect position.

you continue on, a mess of stretching limbs and nonsense giggling and lazy kissing.

before long, gojo’s lanky frame has spread across the mat in a ridiculous fashion— one arm stretched over your shoulder, leg over your head. you’re struggling just as much, if not more, wrapped around your boyfriend’s wobbling form.

“how you doing down there?” he prods, clearly amused as your arms shake beneath you, struggling to hold you up with the way they’re wrapped among each other.

you offer a sickeningly sweet smile in return. “think I’d be better without your long ass legs suffocating me to death.”

he huffs out what might be his millionth laugh tonight. “you’re just jealous because you’re the size of the seven dwarfs from snow white.”

from there, it’s a fight of who can say the best insult rather than who can last the longest in this game, really.

“right foot, blue,” you announce after knocking the spinner with your nose.

you, being an intellectual individual, move your foot slightly to the left with little scuffle. gojo, on the other hand, maneuvers around you.

the leg thrown over you lands just beneath your hip, holding himself up with the arm across your face.

“see? perfect balance—”

and for a moment, you think he may actually manage to hold himself up. but a second later, his hand slips, and he’s sliding down, falling on top of your, now, flattened body.

you erupt in laughter as soon as his hand slips, flipping over and shoving his body off to the side so you can breathe.

“‘toru! you idiot,” you wheeze and he drags you down, caging you in arms and legs and soap— he’d showered before this. “you could’ve gone the easy way— but no.”

“now what’s the fun in that?” he’s beaming when you look up to him, resting your chin on his chest.

“yeah, okay, mr. perfect balance.” you giggle and push off, only for him to fall back on top of you.

“well,” he sighs dramatically and snuggles into your neck, breathing in deeply. “I guess losing isn’t so bad if it means getting tangled up with you.”

that’s makes you wail out in laughs, knocking your head back as gojo presses kisses into your neck. “real smooth, love,”

“what can I say? you bring out the best in—” he pauses then, slightly lifting up with furrowed brows, a hint of a smile still on his lips. “what’s that smell.”

you frown, calming your bubbling giggles for a moment and take a sniff— something is… burning?

oh no.

you brush past gojo and jump off the mat and run to the kitchen. “my cookies!” you cry.

gojo’s laughing behind you as you shove open the oven and erupt in a series of coughs, black smoke rising from inside.

you throw yourself away from the mess, mouth dropping. “my cookies.” you repeat, this time more solemnly.

“m’sorry baby,” he clutches his stomach in laughter, kneeling over. “those are no longer cookies, though.”

you turn to him, eyes set in narrow lines and lips pursed— you had been looking forward to a late night snack. had spent all of fifteen minutes cutting bars of chocolate into the perfectly-sized chips. “I’m going to kill tou, ‘toru.”

his smile drops and he’s running.

———

i did not know how to write this at first but omg this was sm fun i kinda love how this turned out?!?!

tysm bb for both the request and the compliment, seriously means the world to me and sm more 💗💗

hope you enjoyed!

kisses,

har 🫶

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

The very first time Gianpiero Lambiase met Ariel Cane, it was a quiet summer evening in August 2015. 

He had just gotten home from the Belgian GP…and he and his wife Laura had finally closed on a house in Milton Keynes. 

A charming red brick two story, with a bright blue front door, at the end of a quiet street with patch of a garden. Less than 5 minutes away by foot from the Factory and near a daycare for Francesca, their daughter. 

The knock at the door was unsurprising because GP had just ordered Chinese takeout…

But when he opened the door…it wasn’t a delivery driver. 

No, instead there was a teenage girl on his doorstep. With a cloud of bright red hair, a dimpled smile and Tupperware box of… something in her hands that she thrust at him. 

“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” she told him brightly. “I am Ariel. We live in the house with the red front door. I made you some cookies!”

This was the last thing he had expected. 

Actually, he could just stare at her for a moment, while Francesca happily clapped in her hands. 

GP couldn’t help but chuckl as his young daughter reached towars Ariel's hair, her tiny hands grasping air as he pulled her back. The toddler's babbling, "Red! Red! Red!" seemed to break the awkward silence that had settled between them.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his voice roughened by laughter. "That's very kind of you. I'm Gianpiero, and this little one is Francesca."

Ariel’s smile seemed to brighten at the introduction. “It’s nice to meet you. And you too!” she chirped to Francesca, whose little face was peering over her father’s shoulder, still trying to grab her hair.

Gianpiero balanced his daughter on his hip, still a little bemused by the whole situation. With Francesca squirming in his arms, he shifted the Tupperware box under one arm and extended his free hand. "Thank you for the cookies," he said graciously, glancing at the contents of the box.

They looked delicious, that was for sure. Freshly baked and still warm from the oven.

"Did you make these yourself?" he asked wracking his head to come up with something to say. 

Ariel nodded enthusiastically, that sunny smile never fading. "Yep!" she confirmed, as his daughter started babbling ‘cookie’ repeatedly, trying to reach for the box. "I love baking! My mum…she taught me how."

GP hummed in acknowledgement, carefully keeping the Tupperware out of Francesca's reach. He wouldn't put it past his daughter to snatch the cookies and try to eat them all on her own.

His gaze returned to Ariel, taking in the girl's bright, cheerful demeanour. She couldn't be more than…17 or 16, her limbs not having lost their coltish length, but there was a maturity in her eyes.

"You're very young to be baking cookies for neighbours," he remarked, hoping it didn't sound like a criticism.

Ariel just shrugged nonchalantly. "I just wanted to make a good impression," she said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world for a teenager to bake cookies for total strangers.

GP’s amused surprise only grew.

"And you certainly have," he assured her, fighting a smile as his daughter kept trying to snatch the box of cookies. "Not many teenagers would take the time to bake for the new neighbours."

He managed to move the box successfully out of view from Francesca, who then started complaining loudly.

Loudly enough that it pulled his wife’s attention.

The commotion had brought Laura to the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. As soon as she appeared, Francesca instantly held her arms out to her, wanting her mother instead of her father.

Laura chuckled, taking Francesca into her arms and kissing the top of her head. The toddler immediately quieted down, clutching at her mother's shirt.

"What's going on here?" Laura asked, gazing quizzically at their new neighbour.

GP chuckled and held up the Tupperware box as explanation.

"Apparently, we're being welcomed to the neighbourhood with cookies."

Laura’s expression softened, an amused smile on her lips. "That’s so sweet," she said brightly, her free hand coming to gently ruffle Francesca’s hair.

"Ariel Cane," Ariel introduced herself. "My dad, my sister and I live to your right, in the house with the red door," she explained.

Laura smiled, shifting Francesca to her other hip as the toddler reached up to tug at her hair.

"It's nice to meet you, Ariel," she said, the Tupperware box in GP’s hand momentarily forgotten. "I'm Laura."

"Nice to meet you," Ariel said back, then flashed a smile at the little girl on her mother's hip. "And you too!" Francesca let out a giggle and stuck her tongue out at the new neighbour.

Laura chuckled, gently catching Francesca's hand and pulling it down from her hair.

"I just wanted to say welcome to the neighbourhood," Ariel said quietly. "And if there are any stray cats running around, don’t be surprised! Mrs. Higgins, she lived here before, she used to feed them," she explained.

There it was again, that surprising maturity in her voice.

GP and Laura exchanged a glance, still baffled by the fact that a teenage girl had come to their door with baked cookies in hand.

“That’s very kind of you,” GP said. “We’ll certainly keep that in mind.”

"Just bring back the tupperware whenever," Ariel said brightly. "If I am not there, my father's healthcare aid is there, so somebody will probably answer the door."

"And let me know if you ever need a babysitter. I have a younger sister so I am well-versed. And Francesca is adorable," she offered brightly. "I am sorry, I need to get back...Gloria's shift is ending..." she trailed off for a moment. "Ah...and if you ever see a ambulance parked in front of our house, don't worry, it's for our dad...he has cancer, so..."

GP’s expression immediately softened. The mention of her father's condition hung awkwardly in the air, the cheerful atmosphere dampening slightly.

Laura was the first to speak, reaching out to gently touch the girl’s shoulder.

"I’m sorry to hear that," she said softly, genuine sympathy in her voice.

"I hope he'll be alright," GP added, shifting the Tupperware box in his hand.

Ariel's expression didn’t change, but it was clear that the topic of her father’s health was a sensitive one. She forced a smile to her lips, although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Yeah...he will," she said, her voice just a tad brittle.

The silence that followed was awkward and thick, none of them quite knowing what to say.

It was Francesca who broke the tension, letting out a soft whine at the lack of attention. Laura gently shushed the little girl, before once again addressing Ariel.

"Thank you again for the cookies," she said kindly. "It was lovely meeting you, Ariel."

"It was lovely meeting you both," Ariel replied, her usual cheer returning to her voice. "And you too, Francesca!"

The toddler giggled and made a grab for the bright red hair again. Laura pulled her hand off gently, chuckling.

"Goodbye," Ariel said with a final wave, before turning around and quickly heading back to her own house.

GP and Laura watched her go, both of them quietly contemplating the girl’s words. Her father’s illness suddenly put everything into a different perspective.

Laura let out a soft sigh, readjusting her grip on Francesca.

"That poor girl…"

GP nodded in agreement, the Tupperware box seemingly heavier in his hand than it had been a few minutes ago.

"It must be tough," he mused, turning the corner of his mouth down. “Caring for your dad, while still being so young…”

"And a younger sister, don't forget that," Laura added. "Did she say anything about her mother?"

GP paused, thinking back to the earlier conversation. “Just that her mother taught her how to bake,” he said after a moment, a small frown on his face. “I guess she’s not in the picture, maybe?”

“Maybe a single dad, raising them by himself,” Laura said with a soft sigh, one of her hands gently tousling Francesca’s brown locks.

The toddler let out a little grumble, turning her head away from the touch.

“And taking care of him as well,” GP shook his head. “It’s a lot for someone so young to handle.”

There was a heavy silence as they both silently commiserated over the girl’s situation. GP let out a soft exhale, shifting the Tupperware box to his other hand.

“I hope her dad gets better soon,” he said quietly. “For her sake, more than anyone else’s.”

It took him two days to convince himself that it wouldn’t be weird to bring back the Tupperware – and he certainly wasn’t just using it as an excuse to check in on the girl. 

So he found himself walking up the path to the red front door, the Tupperware box in hand.

He knocked on the door, the Tupperware feeling heavy in his hand. After a moment, he could hear the sound of soft footsteps approaching the door. The door was opened by another red-headed girl, nearly identically to her older sister other than the colour of her eyes. Her were dark brown, her sisters were blue.

"Can I help you`?" she asked him, her eyebrows furrowing. 

GP found himself momentarily taken aback by the unexpected sight of the younger sister. 

"Ah, yes," he said, quickly recovering from the surprise. "I'm returning these," he said, holding up the Tupperware for her to see.

The girl, who he assumed was Ariel's little sister, stared at him through the crack of the front door with a cautious expression. She was clearly assessing him, trying to determine if he posed a threat or not.

"ARIEL!" she screamed loudly.

"Em, be quiet," came Ariel's voice, worried. "Dad just fell asleep. Don't wake him, please."

Gianpiero tried not to chuckle. He was getting the distinct impression the little sister was rather fierce.

Ariel appeared behind her younger sibling seconds later, her eyes lighting up with recognition as she spotted him on the doorstep.

"Hello, Mr. Lambiase!" she chirped with a smile. Her cheerful greeting made him chuckle.

"You can just call me GP," he said. He held up the Tupperware in his hand again. "I just wanted to return this."

"Oh, right," she chimed, reaching for the Tupperware. As she did so, her little sister, Em, gave him a suspicious look, still standing by the door.

Gianpiero found himself amused by the girl’s distrust. She seemed rather protective.

"Thanks," Ariel said as she accepted the Tupperware from him. She gave him another smile.

Meanwhile, Em was still standing a few steps behind, eyeing him intently. Gianpiero caught her gaze and gave her a small, friendly wave.

“And who’s this?” he asked, nodding towards the younger girl.

Ariel glanced back at her sister, who was still staring at him with an almost suspicious expression. She didn’t seem quite as sunny and cheerful as her older sister.

Ariel sighed softly.

"This is my little sister, Emma," she introduced the girl, who just continued staring at him without saying a word.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, addressing Emma directly. “Your sister made some really nice cookies.”

"I know," Emma said seriously. "Ariel makes the best cookies. They taste just like Mom's used to."

Ariel winced ever so slightly, though her smile stayed firmly in place. It was obvious that their mother was a sensitive topic for them.

"Well,” GP said lightly, not wanting to linger on the subject, "they were delicious."

He cast a subtle glance towards Ariel, noticing the way her smile seemed a fraction more brittle.

This poor family really had been through so much, and the kids were paying the price.

"Girls, who is at the door?" the voice was croaky. The man that belonged it to...didn't look very well at all.

His complexion was wan and drawn, and he seemed to be struggling to keep himself upright. Whatever illness he was suffering from was clearly taking a toll.

"Dad you are supposed to rest," Ariel said quickly, abandoning the door, to rush to her father's side.

The man waved a hand at her, a look of determined stubbornness on his face.

"I'm fine," he insisted, despite the fact his voice was croaky and he could barely stand.

"Dad,” Ariel protested, catching him as he stumbled slightly. GP instinctively took a step forward, ready to assist if he needed to.

The father tried to bat her hands away, but his movements were weak and shaky.

"I’m fine," he repeated, albeit unconvincingly. "Stop fussing."

Ariel looked like she wanted to protest again, but instead helped him hobble back into the house, gently but firmly keeping an arm around him to prevent him from falling.

Ariel let out a sigh of annoyance as her father continued to insist he was fine. Clearly, this was a familiar argument.

"You’re not fine," she scolded, supporting him by the arm to prevent him from falling. "You need to rest."

The man opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, he was overcome by a racking coughing fit. GP winced in sympathy, watching as the man struggled to catch his breath.

Ariel’s expression darkened with worry, her grip on her father’s arm tightening.

The coughing fit ended as suddenly as it came, leaving the poor man looking even more feeble than before.

"Who's that?" he managed to croak, his eyes half-lidded and weary.

Ariel looked back towards GP, a slight look of concern on her face. She was clearly reluctant leave her father’s side, but also didn’t want to be rude to him.

Before she could respond, Gianpiero decided to answer for himself. “I’m Gianpiero Lambiase. We just moved in next door,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

The man's expression turned into one of realization as he pieced the information together. He let out a weak chuckle, which turned into a cough again.

"Ah, the new neighbours," he rasped hoarsely. "I remember my girls mentioning you. I’m Paul Cane."

Gianpiero smiled at the introduction, though it quickly faded at the sight of the man's ill state. His eyes were sunken and weary, the skin around them drawn with exhaustion and pain.

"It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cane," he said, his voice low and kind.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, though any attempt at a proper greeting was cut off by another coughing fit.

GP fought the urge to wince; the man’s ragged coughing sounded downright painful.

Ariel, meanwhile, continued to support her father, but her eyes were filled with worry. She looked so young and so concerned, it was heart wrenching to see.

The coughing subsided once again just as quickly as it had come, though it left Paul even more breathless than before. He leaned heavily on his daughter, looking as if he was going to pass out.

Ariel’s grip on her father tightened, her expression one of both worry and frustration. "You need to go back to bed, Dad," she pleaded.

"I’m fine," Paul tried to protest again, but his weak voice betrayed any attempt at bravado. He was clearly struggling, even though he refused to admit it.

Ariel, however, was not having it. "Dad, you're not fine, and you know it," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "You need to rest or you’re going to make yourself even worse."

"i just wanted to bring back the Tupperware. Your daughter made some amazing cookies," GP said quickly.

Despite the fact that Paul was clearly struggling, he managed a weak attempt at a smile.

"Ah...yeah, my girls are great with baking," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "They take after their mother, she was a great cook..."

Ariel flinched at the mention of her mother, her expression darkening.

GP was quick to notice the look on Ariel’s face, and the way she tensed. It was clear that the topic of their mother was a sensitive one.

He shifted uncomfortably, not entirely sure how to navigate this particular subject.

Paul didn’t seem to notice his daughter’s reaction, instead, he turned his attention back to GP.

"Thank you for returning the Tupperware," he managed to say, his voice still weak.

GP nodded, sympathetic. "No problem," he said quietly. His eyes flicked to Ariel again, wondering how all of this must be affecting her and her younger sister. They were both so young, dealing with so much.

"Well, I should get going," he said carefully. "If there is anything I can do to help, just...ring the doorbell?" he offered questioningly.

Paul nodded faintly in response, though it was a gesture that clearly took a lot out of him. "Yeah...yeah, sure," he rasped hoarsely, before lapsing into another coughing fit.

Ariel shot a grateful look at GP, mouthing the words 'thank you' before redirecting her attention to her father, who was leaning heavily on her.

GP took a step back, knowing they had bigger things to worry about than him.

"Take care," he said earnestly. "And please...try to take care of yourself," he added, aiming the comment towards Paul.

This defineitly didn't put his neighbours out of his mind. Actually the exact opposite.

He thought about himself at 17. He couldn't have shouldered that kind of responsibility that Ariel Cane.

But then he thought about the other 17 year old that he had interacted with lately. Whereas Ariel Cane seemingly was mature beyond her years, unwilling to take any risks...Max Verstappen had spent his weekend in Belgium pulling a hat trick on Felipe Nasr and giving everybody on the paddock grey hairs for deciding that overtaking somebody around Blanchimont was clearly something that he could do.

The worst part was actually that he had shown that it was very much possible.

GP had to admit, he couldn't help but chuckle as he thought of the young driver's audacious move.

Max Verstappen was an extremely talented boy, but he certainly wouldn't win any awards for caution or restraint anytime soon.

In some ways seemingly the exact opposite of Ariel...but then they were both clearly having to shoulder a whole lot more responsibility than GP ever had needed to at this age.

The stark difference between how the two teens lived their lives – the cautious, responsible Ariel Cane who took on the role of adult-caretaker in her family to such a degree that it bordered on concerning, and the reckless 17-year-old racing driver Max Verstappen who seemed to have absolutely no fear or restraint for the risks he was taking – provided a rather interesting contrast.

GP couldn't help but compare them in his mind, and it was striking how differently they approached life despite both having to deal with burdens beyond their years.

The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't shake the image of the two of them. They were both 17, yet they seemed a whole world apart.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Summary: Conflict arises with Harris's new teacher, filling Halloween with more tricks than treats. But it's nothing a visit with Ms. Sweetheart can't fix.

Warnings: allusion to Reader and Eddie's one-night stand, panic attack, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 5.6k

Chapter 6/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Guns N’ Roses t-shirt: check. Goodwill jeans with makeshift holes in the knees: check. Bandana tied snugly around his forehead: check. Arms littered with an assortment of temporary tattoos: check.

Eddie grins as he assesses his son’s costume, reaching into the thrift store bag as he pulls out the pièce de résistance: a denim jacket, only two sizes bigger than Harris would usually wear. It was a bit over what he’d been hoping to spend, but he’d reasoned with himself that it could also be worn after Halloween. It was an investment, he’d decided, not a splurge.

His smile falters when Harris indignantly stomps his foot, crossing his arms over his chest. While Eddie had hoped his son would go with more badass tattoo options, perhaps a skull and crossbones or even a snake, he had insisted on a Sesame Street theme. Cookie Monster munches on his signature treat as Harris pouts.

“No, Daddy!” he whines, twisting away when Eddie holds the jacket closer to him. “I can’t wear that!”

“C’mon, Har,” he tries, scouring his brain to come up with a convincing enough lie. “Axl Rose wore jackets all the time!”

Harris doesn’t just shake his head; he swivels his entire body back and forth in protest. “I don’t care! No one’s gonna be able to see my tattoos!” He holds out both arms in front of him; nearly every square inch (besides the section blocked by his cast) is covered. Eddie had spent most of last night diligently applying them precisely where Harris had asked, lest there be a tantrum. There was, unfortunately, a headless Elmo from when Harris had asked–no, demanded–that he try by himself. Still, Eddie figured that only one casualty was a win.

“Those are some sweet ol’ tatties,” Eddie muses, biting back a laugh at the two-dimensional Big Bird on his son’s forearm. “But wouldn’t it be cool if you wore the jacket into school and then–BAM!--took it off and surprised everyone with them?

Harris appears to consider this, mouth tucked into his cheeks. “Can I show Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Sure, bud. We’ll stop by her classroom when I pick you up.” Whatever gets us out of the house in weather-appropriate attire. “But first, show me your most metal pose.”

The boy opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue as far as it extends, scrunching his face dramatically until the corners of his eyes crinkle. His middle and ring fingers press into his palm, thumb crossing over them, with his forefinger and pinky raised in the quintessential rock ‘n roll symbol. 

Eddie swoops down and smacks a wet kiss to Harris’s cheek. “That’s my boy!”

Standing among the crowd of parents at pick-up, Eddie opts out of making banal small talk and instead chooses to look at the bulletin board. The previous art project that had been hanging against the faded blue paper–”self-portraits” that the students had made on the first day of school–have been replaced by finger paintings of orange blobs that vaguely resemble pumpkins. There wasn’t one for Harris because he was in Ms. Sweetheart’s classroom then, so it’s his first art project in his new class. He eagerly scans the board for Harris’s, frowning when he can’t find his name. 

Maybe it’s still drying, he tries to convince himself, imagining his son over-saturating the paper with globs of paint. It wouldn’t be entirely out of character.

Ms. Marion’s classroom is a sea of costumed children. A boy dressed as one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stands by his mom. A Cinderella, a black cat, and a Thomas the Tank Engine surround Ms. Paula. As soon as Eddie spots Harris, he smiles and waves him over, hurriedly scribbling his signature on the sign-out sheet.

He expects Harris to zoom past the other kids, fueled by the standard Halloween diet of sugar and chocolate, but he just kind of…mopes to the doorway. His shoulders slump dejectedly, and though he keeps his gaze low, Eddie can still see the film of mist staining his innocent eyes.

“Har, what’s wrong?” He waits for an answer, and when he doesn’t receive one–an oddity for his perpetually chatty son–he tries a new tactic. “Wanna show me where your artwork is? I must be gettin’ old, because I couldn’t find it on the board out there.”

“‘S not there,” Harris mumbles, scratching off a flaking piece of the Rosita tattoo on the back of his hand. “I didn’t get to finish.”

Eddie watches as the tears start to slip down his cheeks, and he brings him into the hallway before Ms. Marion or Ms. Paula sees what’s going on. He can’t be certain, but his paternal instincts tell him that they’ve contributed to Harris’s sad state. “Why not?”

“I-I t-tried, but M-Ms. Mar-Marion and Ms. P-Paula got m-mad at me.” The words come out between choked sobs. “‘C-Cuz I c-couldn’t sit d-down.”

“What do you mean?”

“I k-keeped st-standing up, ‘cuz m-my legs wanted to st-stand.” The explanation tumbles out of him so quickly, as though he’s trying to beat the clock. “And they s-said if I did-didn’t sit down, I c-couldn’t do art. But I k-keeped f-f-forgetting, and th-they t-taked away my pay-pay-paper and said, ‘sit in the c-corner!’”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking again. “Did…did that happen in Ms. Sweetheart’s class? The legs thing?” 

“Mhm,” Harris manages, “b-but she let me stand and d-do ju-jumps to get the wig-wiggles out. She just t-t-telled me not to do ju-jumps with s-s-scissors, ‘cuz of s-safety.” His breathing increases to a rapid pace, face flushing red as his chest heaves. “B-But Ms. M-Marion ye-ye-yelled at me!”

Eddie’s brows pinch together, and he gently presses his calloused palms against Harris’s narrow shoulders, desperate to prevent him from hyperventilating. “Harris, you gotta calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re crying like this!” Despite his efforts, his frustration bleeds into his tone, and he winces when the latter sentence ends with an unwanted snap. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just an art project.” 

“Harris?”

The sound of your voice draws the attention of both Munsons. You let out a small oof as Harris flings himself against your legs, and though he practically flew the five foot distance between his father and you, now is not the time to remind him about using his walking feet.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You crouch down, taking his hand in yours, and notice his quick, shallow breaths. “We’re gonna breathe together, okay? Eyes on me.” You demonstrate inhaling for three seconds, holding for three seconds, and exhaling for three seconds. “Now let’s do it together.” 

He hesitates but ultimately follows your lead, and you guide him until his breathing slows enough for him to sputter, “I t-tried to sit, b-but I c-couldn’t.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but Eddie fills you in. You feel the heat of anger creeping through your body, not just for the way your co-worker treated the sweet boy, but for her insolent approach to teaching as a whole.

“We can go to my classroom,” you offer, silently sighing in relief when the boy nods in agreement. “I don’t know if I have the supplies to make the same project as Ms. Marion, but if you have a few minutes, you can draw something now. I bet Mr. Will would love to help you; he’s a super-duper artist.”

Just as you’d predicted, Will jumps at the opportunity to help Harris with his impromptu art project, encouraging him to draw something that makes him happy. While he does that, you comb through the mess left behind from the Halloween party you’d thrown. You’d sooner toss one hundred cupcake wrappers in the trash before attempting a conversation with Eddie Munson. He’s simply too unpredictable; kind and thoughtful one day, harsh and guarded the next.

One of the wrappers in your hand drops to the floor and you reach forward to pick it up, pinching the pleated material between your pointer and middle fingers. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on your form, the way the backs of your thighs are slightly exposed when you bend over, and you stand up quickly. 

“Are you the Magic School Bus lady?” He takes in your lavender dress with planets and stars stamped all over it. Oh. He wasn’t checking you out; he was just trying to figure out who you’d dressed up as. Good. Anything else would be inappropriate.

So why does a twinge of disappointment radiate through you?

You glance at your costume; with all of the commotion, you’d forgotten you’d even been wearing one “I mean, would I even be a teacher if I didn’t jump at the chance to be Ms. Frizzle?” You motion over to Will, decked out in green from head to toe with two yellow horns glued to a headband atop his mop of brown hair. “Have you met my trusty sidekick, Liz the Lizard?”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, Byers actually used to play in my D&D club back in high school. Made some pretty sick art pieces to liven up that dingy excuse for a room.”

You look between the two of them, trying to do the mental math. “Will, didn’t you say you’re twenty-four?” And if Eddie is thirty, that means…

“I, uh, had a little trouble graduating,” Eddie sheepishly admits, ruffling the back of his hair and offering a tight grimace. “But I got there eventually. Class of ‘86, baby!” 

“Worked out for me,” Will shrugs with a grin, looking up from Harris’s drawing. “You were the best DM Hellfire ever had. Although, rumor has it that Erica Sinclair gave you a run for your money.”

Harris picks up a yellow marker, furiously scribbling a circle in the left-hand corner of his paper. You try peering over to see the whole drawing, but he presses his whole body against the table, successfully thwarting your plans. “No peeking!” he warns, not putting his feet back on the ground until you’ve averted your gaze. “‘S a surprise.”

You put your hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll be surprised.” You raise your eyebrows at Eddie, who shares a similar response in return.

“Dunno when he got so bossy,” he snorts before calling out to his son, “Har-Bear? Five more minutes. We gotta get home to trick-or-treat with Grampa Wayne.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun!” you echo as Harris grabs a purple marker from the box. “What’s your favorite candy?”

“Hmm.” Harris uses his free hand–the one with the cast–to tap his chin, continuing to color with the other one. “M&Ms. But only the plain ones. Daddy doesn’t let me have the peanut ones ‘cause he says I could choke.”

You shoot a sly, knowing look at Eddie. “I’m sure that’s the only reason. Such a selfless father.” You cross your arms over your chest and cock your head innocently. “And what do you do with all of these confiscated peanut M&Ms, Mr. Munson? Donate them?” 

Eddie tucks his lips into his mouth to mask his grin. “Listen, the jig is gonna be up at some point,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough so you can hear but soft enough that Harris can’t. “Let me enjoy my free candy while it lasts.”

“No judgment here,” you say with a small laugh, “they’re one of my favorites, too.”

“TA-DA!” Harris shouts, startling you, Eddie, and Will. He holds up the construction paper and smiles widely. To anyone without kids–or who didn’t teach preschool for a living–it would look like a bunch of colorful scribbles. But you can tell that he’s drawn a group of people standing by a tree (or a really, really tall flower) underneath the sun.

“Wow, Harris! That’s amazing!” you clap your hands together to punctuate your enthusiasm. “Who are all those people?”

Harris’s pointer finger travels left to right across the paper as he names each person: “That’s me, Grampa Wayne, Daddy, you, and Mr. Will!” The stick figure that represents you has a purple scribble on it, which you realize must be the costume you’re wearing. “An’ we’re all smiling because we’re happy!” Sure enough, each person has a curved red line at the bottom of their face. But there’s something else that catches your eye.

All of the people have a small space between them, except for you and Eddie. The circle that Harris drew to represent your left hand overlaps with the circle that is Eddie’s right. 

You glance at the real Eddie, and if he notices, he doesn’t give any indication. “I love it, buddy.” He takes the drawing and inspects it closely. “Yup, this one’s definitely going on the fridge when we get home.” He flicks the paper for good measure. “Go clean up the markers so we can head out, Axl Rose.”

Among the noise of markers clattering back in the bins, you lean in to Eddie, inadvertently inhaling the scent of his cigarettes and cologne. For a brief moment, you’re transported back to the night fate had led you to cross paths; the thought of his lips on your neck in the stairwell has you clenching your thighs and swallowing thickly as you murmur, “I can ask him to make a new one with just you, him, and his grandpa.”

Eddie shakes his head. “N-No. I like this one.” He lets one hand drop to his side and it grazes yours. His rings brush your knuckles, and you instinctively draw back at the sensation of the cool metal and the zing of heat that pulses at his light touch. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“S’okay.”

He blinks a few times and redirects his attention to his son. “What do you say to Mr. Will and Ms. Sweetheart for letting you do your art project?”

Harris’s little chest swells as he inhales deeply, storing up as much oxygen as he can fit in his lungs before bellowing, “THANK YOUUUUUUU!”

Eddie brings his palm to his ear canal, rotating his forefinger as though trying to repair a punctured eardrum. “Love the enthusiasm,” he says through gritted teeth. “Seriously, though. Thank you both so much.”

“Of course,” Will says warmly, picking up the marker bin and placing it in its space on the shelf.

“Anything for Harris.” You smile, motioning towards the little boy already by his father’s side. “Have fun trick-or-treating tonight, bud! I can’t wait to hear about all the yummy candy you got.”

Harris scrunches his nose in contemplation. “Are you going trick-or-treating, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Nah,” you laugh, “I’m gonna stay home and give candy to all the kids who come by.” And pray that Grandma doesn’t curse them out, you silently add.

“Oh.” Harris pauses, grabbing his dad’s hand. “Okay, bye!”

Eddie chuckles as his son pulls him towards the door. “That’s my cue. Um, Happy Halloween,” he adds awkwardly, waving once before disappearing down the hallway.

There’s so much more that he wants to say: you’re the best; you saved the day; you should be my son’s teacher instead of that old, bitchy bat. But he didn’t have time. Maybe another day. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

Wayne arrives just a few minutes after Eddie and Harris get home. As soon as his gruff voice comes over the intercom, Harris excitedly buzzes him in. “Grampa Wayne’s here!” he yells, even though Eddie’s standing right next to him. He grabs the pillowcase from the couch; it was originally white, but after Eddie accidentally threw in a red sock with the white laundry, it’s tinted light pink.

No sooner does the older man cross the threshold into the apartment, Harris is trying to drag him out again. “Let’s go, before all the good candy is gone!” he whines. His eyebrows pinch together and he drops his grandfather’s hand. “Oh, wait, I gotta show you something.” He scampers off into the kitchen, and Wayne winces when he hears the rattle of magnets falling to the floor.

“I’m okay!” Harris calls out, running back with a piece of paper in his hand. “Look what I drawed at school today!” He gives Wayne the rundown of who’s who.

Wayne analyzes each person in the picture, stopping at the overlapping circles between you and Eddie. “This is great, Har-Bear,” he muses. “Are, um, are Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart holding hands?”

“Mhm,” Harris casually confirms, taking the drawing back. “‘Cause they’re married.”

Eddie chokes on air as Wayne does a double-take. “Congrats, Ed,” he jokes, clapping a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. “Gotta say, I thought I’d at least get an invite.”

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Harris, why do you think that Ms. Sweetheart and I are married?” He wracks his brain for answers, but he can’t come to a logical conclusion. Did I talk about her in my sleep? Oh, shit, what if it was when I had that dream—

“Because you gived her a present,” Harris says, eyes innocent and wide. “And when grown-ups love each other, they give each other presents.”

“Oh, he gave Ms. Sweetheart a present, huh?” On the surface, Wayne’s words are as innocuous as Harris’s, but Eddie hears the teasing buried just beneath. 

Harris nods. “Mhm. He gived her a tape!”

“It was the Toni Braxton one that she came into the shop for…that day that, uh…” Eddie raises his eyebrows at his uncle, who nods in acknowledgment. He brings his focus back to his son. “It doesn’t mean that we’re married. People have to go on dates and fall in love before they get married.”

The young boy absorbs this information. “So you should go on dates and fall in love with Ms. Sweetheart!” His face lights up at the idea of it, and it breaks Eddie’s heart to let him down. 

So, he doesn’t. 

“Why don’t you hang that back up so we can get outta here and get you some candy, huh?” He forces a smile and watches his son scamper into the kitchen before turning back to Wayne and shaking his head. 

Harris peels a magnet off of the fridge, the one Eddie bought him on their Daddy-Son day. It has a sea lion balancing a beach ball on its snout, with HAWKINS ZOO printed in bolded letters along the bottom.  

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he speaks directly to his drawing. “When Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love and get married, I’ll finally have a mommy.” He presses his hand flat against the paper as though he’s sealing in the wish. He stays like that for a moment until his dad calls his name, and he clutches his pillow case as they head out the door. 

Eddie assumes that the love and marriage talk is done for the evening, but the feeling of relief doesn’t last long. The trio of Munson men is halfway down the stairwell when Wayne starts instigating. “Hey, Har, is Ms. Sweetheart pretty?”

“WAYNE!” Eddie grits his teeth and shoots a sharp look at his uncle. The last thing he needs is for Harris to get his hopes up about a blossoming romance between his dad and his former teacher. 

“Oh, yeah!” Harris gleefully agrees, oblivious to the mounting tension. He grips the railing and jumps from the second to last step onto the tiled landing below. “Super pretty! Like a princess.”

The eldest Munson turns to Eddie. “Didja hear that? Pretty like a princess.”

“I heard him,” Eddie replies tersely. 

“Daddy?”

No. Don’t ask me. Harris Wayne Munson, do not ask me what I think you’re going to—

“Do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty?”

Although he anticipated the question, Eddie still freezes. If he disagrees, Harris will inevitably want to know why not. And if he’s being honest with himself, he can’t name a single ugly thing about you. 

He does think you’re pretty. He thinks you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. And even though he’s literally seen you naked, fully on display for him–a memory he revisits more often than he’s willing to admit–it’s the thought of what you did today that solidifies your beauty. The way you’d effortlessly calmed Harris down without Eddie even having to ask. The frown on his face almost instantly became a smile, the flow of his tears ceasing and turning into the giggles that brought sunlight into Eddie’s life. You did that.

Any woman can be sexy, but you? In that moment, you were perfect.

Fuck. 

“Daddy? Hello?”

At the sound of Harris’s voice, Eddie realizes that he physically hasn’t moved from his spot on the stairs. His hand is gripping the banister so tightly that it leaves an imprint in his palm. “Yeah, buddy,” he manages through his Sahara Desert throat. “I think Ms. Sweetheart’s pretty.”

“Like a princess?” Wayne’s eyes twinkle mischievously. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to tease his nephew about a crush, and he’s not passing up this limited opportunity. 

“Yeah. Like a princess.”

Education outsiders might think that Halloween is one of the worst days to be a teacher. The lethal combination of sugar and excitement barely contained in tiny costumed bodies seems like a recipe for disaster. But any teacher worth their salt will tell you that there is a day far, far worse than Halloween: November 1st. 

On Halloween, there is the expectation for fun. There’s a costume parade, classroom trick-or-treating, and even a little party. The kids are out of control, but who cares? It’s Halloween. 

But on November 1st, there is work to be done. And you’re expected to teach the months of the year to 10 four-year-olds who are suffering from candy hangovers and won’t stop asking why they can’t go trick-or-treating again today. 

You and Will are preparing for battle as students trickle in, excited to show off the candy stashes they acquired the night before. Abby Carver cries because she ate her Reese’s cup and now she’s sad that it’s gone. Joshua Harrington is continuing to “sling webs” at the other kids despite your incessant reminders that he is no longer Spider-Man. A fight over a KitKat bar breaks out not even five minutes into the day, and you confiscate it before someone causes serious bodily harm. 

Two fingers lightly tap on your shoulder—too high up to be a kid—and you whirl around with an irritated, “what?”

“Whoa,” Eddie says, concern etched into his otherwise soft features. He takes a small step back, nearly tripping over a rogue Lego that somehow made its way out of the toy area. He stumbles but catches his balance easily. “Everything okay?”

“‘S a warzone out here,” you try and joke, but you feel it fall flat. You’re too tired for humor. Grandma may not have yelled at the trick-or-treaters like you’d feared, but she did get increasingly angrier with each knock on the door. After the fifth time of her snarling at you to “shut the hell up” (like you could simultaneously be on both sides of the door), you’d relented and just put the candy bowl on the welcome mat, scribbling “TAKE ONE” on a yellow sticky note, adhering it to the plastic container. 

Two decades earlier, Halloween at Grandma’s house had a completely different connotation. She’d have a little pizza party all set up for you, and she’d buy a big bag of your favorite candy, in case you didn’t get enough during your door-to-door quests. And she’d always let you watch whatever spooky movie your heart desired, regardless of your parents’ rules. 

“That’s what grandmas are for,” she’d said with a wink, and the two of you curled up to watch Little Shop of Horrors. Her demeanor matched the hokey magnet on her fridge that read, If I knew how fun my grandkids would be, I would’ve had them first. You’d stay like that until you both fell asleep, only being roused by your parents arriving to pick you up. The good old days, before Grandma waking up involved watching the confusion in her eyes as she tried and failed to place you.

“C-Can I help you with something?” Your guard goes up immediately when you notice that Harris isn’t with him. The time you’d spent together after school yesterday had been nice, fun, even, but you couldn’t trust that today would be the same. Not after what happened a few short weeks ago. 

“I, um…I just swung by to give you this.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his denim jacket; it’s the same one that he lent to Harris when he’d forgotten his at home. A flash of yellow paper catches your eye, and he unfurls his palm to reveal a small bag of peanut M&Ms. “You said they were one of your favorites, right?”

You look at the treat, not willing to reach out and grab it. What if it’s a joke? An elaborate ploy to reel you in, just to shout “gotcha” when you finally let your walls come down?

“Are they poisoned or something?” you quip, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you spike them with Ex-Lax?”

Eddie’s lips part in surprise before he collects himself. “Guess I deserve that,” he mumbles. “But, no. They’re not. I swear on James Hetfield’s life.” He drags his fingernail over his heart in an X-formation. 

You take the bag, inspecting it for any sign of tampering, but you come up short. The edges are sealed, and there are no pinpricks as far as your eyes can see. “Dipped into Harris’s stash for me?”

“Hey, these bad boys are technically mine for the taking until he figures out that he can eat them without dying.” Eddie chuckles lightly, peering at you through impossibly long lashes. “But, yeah, I was hoping you’d accept these as part of my apology. Or apologies, I guess. For, uh, for not calling when I said I would, and all of the awful shi—awful things I said to you.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he steps closer and says, “I am so fucking sorry.”

You make a small tear in the bag, tapping it against your palm until an M&M falls out. Popping the blue candy in your mouth, you allow the shell to start dissolving on your tongue before crunching on the peanut, hoping you can process what he’s said by the time you’re finished chewing. 

This is what you’ve been waiting for—an actual heartfelt apology. His brown eyes reflect nothing but shame and remorse, and you can tell by the way that he’s fidgeting with his rings that he’s anxiously awaiting your reply. 

His vulnerability softens you slightly, and considering you haven’t keeled over after ingesting the candy, you throw him a bone. 

“This fun size bag covers the ‘not calling’ part, but I’m gonna need a lot more candy if you want me to forgive you for what you said at the music store.” You keep your tone light; teasing, even, but there’s a layer of truth to it. He can’t merely waltz into your classroom with a gift and expect you to forget his hurtful words. 

Eddie nods, his frizzy curls brushing the tops of his denim-clas shoulders. “I know. I’ve said some pretty terrible things in my life, but that might’ve been the worst. And, um,” he fumbles his words, desperately searching for the right ones. Semantics has never been his forte. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not true; your grandma didn’t want to forget you. And…neither do I.” When you raise your eyebrows, he starts to backtrack. “Because you’re so great with Harris; like, you understand him and stuff. He’s always talking about you.”

Daddy, do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty? The question replays like a song he can’t shake from his head, its melody familiar but the notes still keeping him on edge. Pretty like a princess, only instead of saving her, I’m the one who needs to be rescued. So much for Prince Charming, huh?

The M&M melts in your mouth while you formulate a response to his candid admission. Sweetness seeps into your taste buds as you try to straddle the line between careful consideration and overthinking. Speak too quickly and you might say something you’ll regret. Take too long and you’ll make this even more awkward.

“W-Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Short, simple, to the point. Your words are slightly slurred by the candy obstruction, but what else is there to say? You could add that you forgive him, but you’re truthfully not sure that you do. His words scarred, had taken your already mangled self-worth and snapped it into pieces, and so did his reasoning for hurting you. Despite the love and kindness you’d shown his son, Eddie had fully believed that you were responsible for spreading personal information that would wound him. It was exactly as Jeff had said: Eddie struck below the belt at the first sign of conflict, so determined to protect himself that he didn’t even realize that he was attacking the people on his side.

The sound of books clattering to the floor snatches your attention from him, and you whip your head to your little classroom library to see two kids standing over a pile of fallen books, guilty looks stamped on their faces. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurt out, dashing off to assess the damage. You’ve never been so grateful for your students causing mischief.

The hour hand crawls to the number two; at one point, you swore the clock was moving backwards. The chaos of the morning was only a preview of the rest of the day’s fiascos, but you and Will had navigated as best as you could.

“Jesus,” he murmurs once the kids have all been dismissed, gingerly rubbing his temples, “that was brutal. I can handle the day after Halloween; I can handle Fridays, but when they coincide? Nope, never again.” He slumps into a chair dramatically, letting his arms drape over the sides.

“Gonna have a glass of wine when you get home?” you joke, wiping Play-Doh residue from a tabletop.

Will nods. “Or a whole bottle.” His focus shifts to your desk, and he nods his chin in that direction. “I see you have something to look forward to tonight, too.”

You follow his gaze, widening your eyes when you see the object he’s referring to. A bag of peanut M&Ms–much bigger than the one you’d inhaled this morning–sits on top of your desk calendar; resting next to it is a cassette. You walk over, curiosity getting the better of you. The cassette is Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction; you recognize the iconic cover as soon as it comes into view. It’s not your usual music choice, but you’ll listen to almost anything.

There’s a piece of paper taped to the giant yellow M&M bag, folded in equal triads. Messily scrawled across the front in black ink is Ms. Sweetheart. You gently pull the adhesive loose and open the letter, nervously running your forefinger across the irregular edge where it was obviously torn from a composition notebook.

Fun size mistake=fun size bag of candy

Family size mistake=family size bag of candy

I’m really good at fucking things up, but really bad at fixing them. I wish I could say that I didn’t mean to hurt you, but we both know that I did. 

You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am. 

-Eddie

P.S. Not sure if hard rock is your thing, but I saw this at work and it reminded me of the kindness you showed our favorite little Axl Rose yesterday.

“Who’s it from?” Will asks, breaking into your thoughts. “A secret admirer?” He brings his clasped hands to his cheek in mock dreaminess.

You manage a laugh as you fold the note back up and tuck it under the calendar. “If it is, he’s really bad at it, because he signed his name.” When did he even sneak in here to do this? Kind of scary that someone could walk in and you didn’t even notice.

“Aha! So it is a guy!” Will pumps his fist triumphantly, though you’re not quite sure what he thinks he’s won.

“Just Eddie Munson, thanking us for letting Harris draw here yesterday.” 

It’s not a total lie, but Will sees right through it. “Uh-huh. Thanking us? So that note is also for me? Can I read it?” He starts towards your desk, outstretched hand reaching towards where you’d tried to hide it, but you playfully swat them away.

You glance at the clock and frown. “If you leave a little early, I won’t tell anyone.”

Will flips you off; over the last two months, you two had developed a sibling-esque relationship that came out more once the kids had left for the day. He grabs his backpack from the supply closet and slings it over his shoulders. “You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or I’d stick around and keep bothering you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, knowing full well that he’s itching to leave regardless. “Gotta save up your energy for when Marshall visits.”

Will blushes at the mention of his long-distance boyfriend’s name. He still wasn’t out to many people, but when you’d casually mentioned the date Jess had with a girl named Robin, he’d felt comfortable opening up to you. “I can’t wait!” His grin is so wide you swear it’ll stretch right off of his face. “Thanks again; you’re the best.”

That leaves you alone with your gigantic bag of candy, a Guns N’ Roses cassette, and an apology that you have no idea what to do with.

Once again, Eddie Munson has given you more questions than answers.

--

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