#Warm spiced loaf..

[fuzzyunicorn]

Real footage of me making my dearly beloved Soulmate (him🖤!) his tavern wench style food

[creepycrawliesanonymous]

Addam had taken to calling you "wife," and you weren't about to correct him.

You weren't married, you could never find the time, and it wasn't like anyone was raring to go crying to the sept over it. The people of Hull, at least the people you interacted with, rarely made a fuss over such improprieties, and even had the decency to throw a groat or two in your cap whenever you put out a pot of stew for the dockworkers and looked the other way whenever you would curse burning yourself on the cauldron or hock some phlegm in the dirt or take a hearty swig from your flask. Some of the men told you they had never had fish stew that tasted quite like yours did, and you weren't about to tell them your recipe, so your infractions seemed small in the face of loosing out on the way the fish meat would fall apart in your mouth or how the potatoes were always soft but never mushy.

It had only taken Addam one trip to your little makeshift stand for him to start pining after you, gifting you that flask that you now took everywhere. It was made of sturdy leather, with a small seahorse painted somewhat poorly on one side, and it was given to you already filled with spiced rum. You had made sure Addam's portion had extra meat in it that day. The way his face broke into the biggest grin you'd ever seen told you everything you needed to know.

So yes, you weren't married, but he still called you "wife" and gifted you small trinkets and spent meals at your shack and kissed you when he saw you in the morning, as well as other things that were frankly nobody else's business.

Addam had set out early in the morning, just before the sun rose, with his sieve and other tools to go clam digging. You liked that he worked with his hands, and told him as much when he brought up how soft a lord's hands might be and how much nicer they might feel against your skin. You shoved your calloused palms into his, ending the conversation. He let you sleep in, careful to tiptoe around your living space as he collected his wares. He liked the way your kitchen always smelled like the spices he pinched from his brother's trading cog, and how you placed the small curios he gave you around the windows where you could look at them. He had heard of Lord Corlys Velaryon's Hall of Nine, displaying the treasures from his nine voyages, and thought it couldn't be better than the treasures you kept in your windowsill.

There was a chill in the air, a breeze that made Addam pull his tunic tighter around himself. He recalled how the blanket you used was starting to wear thin, and how the sea breeze would wake you soon without him there to keep you warm. The docks of the port town were already filled with men, loading and unloading boxes, taking inventory, haggling prices with the local merchants, the general bustle of seafarers and sailers. Cod and herring were the main catches coming off the fishing boats, and he knew you would stop by later to pick up some to take home.

The beaches were comparatively quiet, with only a few other men digging around for clams. Poking around, he found a few small depressions in the sand, before settling in and getting to work.

The sun was over the horizon by the time you had made your way down to the beach, slightly stale bread in one hand and basket in the other. Addam stuck out a hand to wave you down, and before you had the chance to say anything, he dropped a pale pink shell into your basket. You fished it out, dropping down to sit beside him as you thumbed over the ridges of the body and poked at the spire. You held it up to the rising sun to see the way the colors changed, before pocketing it.

You cut a piece of bread from the loaf, handing it to him. It would be no use in warning him of its staleness, he wasn't like to complain. He took the piece gratefully, as if it was baked by the cooks in High Tide itself, although you could see the effort he had to put in to ripping off a piece in his mouth. You took your thumb and brushed away the crumbs that stuck to his cheeks. His is a handsome face, you thought, one you wouldn't mind letting people think was your husband's. The chill stung at your skin, and you pulled your knit cape close around your shoulders.

Standing up, you shook the sand from your boots and patted down your skirts. You took a swig from your flask, letting the rum warm your chest. Leaning down, you pressed a kiss to your husband's forehead, and he leaned up to press his own to his wife's cheek. While he felt a pang in his chest as you picked up your things and headed into town, he couldn't deny the contentment in watching you. In those moments he felt like he understood the stories of sailors crashing their ships at the sight of beautiful women-beasts, although none of the sailors could ever hope to know the warmth of their hearth or the grit of their sharp tongue, and none could call a beast "wife," so what could the stories know of ship-wrecking love, anyways.

[ahqkas]

♯ HIS LOVE’S CREATIVE HEART ; mattheo riddle

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! the love of his life was a creative soul and who was he to deny your nature? (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 3.3k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, kissing, crafty reader, muggleborn reader, lovesick mattheo

NOTES! reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated <3

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

YOU'VE ALWAYS LOVED THE ACTIVITIES OF CREATIVITY. From a young age, you found joy in the simple act of making something with your own hands. Crocheting, with its interesting patterns and soothing repetition, was one of your earliest passions. There was something oddly satisfying about watching a ball of yarn transform into a cozy blanket or a delicate sweater under your fingers. Each loop, each stitch is a small act of creation. The rhythmic movement of the hook, the texture of the yarn slipping through your fingers, and the memories of your Grandmama were too cherished by you to forget them.

Baking, too, became a beloved creative outlet you shared with the sweet old woman. The kitchen was your laboratory, a place where you could freely experiment. You relished the process of measuring and mixing, the way simple ingredients like flour, sugar, and eggs could be transformed into a mix of flavors and textures. The smell of freshly baked bread or cookies wafting through the house was a comforting reminder of the magic you could create by your own hands. The process is both strict and freeing; one must follow certain rules, yet there is always room for imagination. A pinch of spice here, a dash of flavor there, and suddenly, a simple recipe becomes his personal favorite.

Painting, on the other hand, offered you a different kind of creative fulfillment. With a blank canvas before you and a palette of colors at your disposal, you felt a sense of freedom that was really exciting for your young heart. Each brushstroke was a gift of your inner world, a glimpse into your thoughts and emotions. Whether you were capturing the vibrant hues of a sunset or the delicate details of a flower, painting allowed you to see the world through new eyes and share your unique perspective with others.

In all these activities, you discovered not just hobbies, but a way of life. Creativity became a pair of sunglasses through which you viewed the world.

Your grandmama always believed in the magic of your creativity. From the time you were old enough to hold a crochet hook, she supported your talents with a guiding hand. Together, you spent countless afternoons creating intricate patterns and baking delicious treats in her warm home. Her kitchen became your comfort place, the rhythmic hum of the oven and the soft clinking of your crochet needles made you unbelievably happy. She celebrated each finished piece, every golden-brown loaf of bread, and every delicate painting as if they were masterpieces. 

When your Hogwarts letter arrived, the old woman was overjoyed. As a muggleborn, you were stepping into a world she could only imagine. "Think of all the magical things you will create," she had said, her eyes sparkling with pride. Though the idea of leaving her was haunting you, her open love made the thought easier. She promised to write often, and you did your best to send her letters filled with detailed descriptions of your magical adventures and the new wonders you were creating with your wand.

But letters could only do so much, and as the years went by, you missed the simple joy of her daily encouragement and the warmth of her presence.

Six years passed in a blur of potions, spells, and problem making. Your creative spirit never died, but the absence of your grandmama's physical presence was a constant ache that seemed to linger in the depths of your heart. It was around this time that Mattheo Riddle entered your life. He saw the passion in your eyes, the same spark your grandmama had always seen. At first, he was fascinated by your creativity, watching with awe as you seamlessly blended magic with your muggleborn talents.

01 - CROCHETING

The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the flickering light from the fireplace casting dancing shadows on the walls. The warmth of the fire created a comforting atmosphere, slushing off the chill of the evening. You and Mattheo were nestled on a plush, overstuffed couch, its worn fabric bearing the marks of countless cozy evenings like this one. The air was filled with the soothing crackle of burning wood and the occasional 'pop' of a log as it settled deeper into the flames. Evenings like these were your favorite. 

You sat cross-legged at one end of the couch, your crochet hook moving rhythmically through a skein of deep blue yarn. Each loop and stitch seemed to flow effortlessly from your fingers, years of practice and the love poured into the new project. Your eyes were focused, yet relaxed, as you followed the intricate pattern in your mind, your hands working almost of their own accord.

Mattheo sat at the other end, his body turned toward you, one arm resting along the back of the couch. His gaze was soft but concentrated, his dark eyes following the movements of your hands with a mixture of admiration and fascination. He loved watching you create; there was something almost magical about the way you transformed simple yarn into beautiful designs. It was a side of you that he cherished deeply, a glimpse into your soul that he was privileged to witness.

The common room was quiet, save for the sounds of the fire and the occasional rustle of yarn. Mattheo shifted slightly, leaning closer to you. "What are you making this time?" he asked, his voice low and warm, filled with genuine curiosity as his irises never left your movements. 

You glanced up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's a blanket," you replied, holding up the growing fabric for him to see. "For my dorm. I thought it could use a bit more color and warmth."

Mattheo reached out, his long fingers brushing lightly against the soft fabric. "It's beautiful," he murmured lowly, his eyes meeting yours. "Just like everything you make." 

Heat crept up your cheeks at his words, and you looked back down at your work, your smile widening. "Thank you." 

As you continued to crochet, Mattheo's gaze never wavered. He was captivated by the way your fingers moved, the delicate dance of the hook and yarn. He loved these quiet moments with you, where time seemed to slow down, and the outside world faded away. Everything was okay for once again. 

After a while, Mattheo shifted again, moving closer until his knee brushed against yours. He reached out and gently took one of your hands, his touch warm and reassuring. "Can I help?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You laughed softly, the sound a sweet melody that mingled with the crackling fire. "I don't know," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "Have you ever done this before?" You knew the answer, but you wanted to mess with him a little bit.

His lips stretched into a grin at your words and his hand squeezed yours lightly. "I think I can manage. Just show me what to do."

You shifted closer to him, the blanket pooling in your and his lap. "Alright," you said, holding out the hook and yarn toward him. "First, you need to make a slip knot." You demonstrated the simple loop, your fingers deftly moving with practiced ease. Mattheo watched intently, his brows furrowed in concentration as he mimicked your movements.

"Like this?" he asked, showing you his attempt. It was a bit loose, but it held.

"Perfect," you praised the Slytherin boy, eyes sparkling with encouragement. "Now, hold the yarn like this and make a chain stitch." You showed him how to wrap the yarn around the hook and pull it through the loop. He followed your instructions carefully, his movements tentative but eager.

With each new step, you guided him, your hands occasionally covering his to correct his grip or adjust the tension. "You're doing great," you said, watching as he completed a row of chain stitches. "Now, let's try a single crochet."

Mattheo's initial awkwardness gradually gave way to a steady rhythm and his confidence grew with each stitch. He glanced up at you, a mixture of pride and joy in his eyes. "This isn't so bad," he admitted, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. Although his side of the blanket was a little more messy than yours, it was adorable to see him trying out your activities. 

You laughed, the sound filling his chest with warmth. "See? I told you. And it's even more fun when you get the hang of it."

The two of you continued working together, your hands moving in sync as you crocheted side by side. As the night wore on, you and Mattheo fell into a comfortable silence, the rhythm of your work and the steady crackle of the fire lulling you into a peaceful state of mind.

02 - BAKING 

It was well past curfew, and the usual bustle of Hogwarts had given way to a hushed stillness.

 You and Mattheo crept through the hallways, stifling giggles and casting glances around to make sure you remained unseen. Finally, you reached the entrance to the kitchens, a place where the house elves bustled about during the day and night, cooking and baking the delicious meals that filled the Great Hall every day. 

You tickled the pear in the portrait, and the entrance swung open to reveal the warm, inviting space of the Hogwarts kitchens. The room was a hive of activity by day, but now, in the late hours, it was quiet in here. The house-elves, always so helpful and friendly, had agreed to let you use their space for your baking adventures. Their big eyes (they were the size of a tennis ball!) and cheerful smiles greeted you as you entered, and a few of the elves lingered to offer assistance if needed, but most retreated to give you privacy, seeing you had arrived with your boyfriend, hand in hand.

The kitchen was vast, filled with long wooden tables, towering shelves stocked with every ingredient imaginable, and gleaming copper pots and pans hanging from hooks on the walls. The scent of spices and baked goods from the diner lingered in the air. The hearth, usually roaring with flames, was now a gentle glow, casting a warm light that added to the cozy atmosphere.

You and Mattheo set to work. "Alright, Chef Riddle," you said with a teasing grin on your face, helping him to tie an apron around his waist, "let's see if you can keep up."

He shook his head at you and offered you an arrogant smirk, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just try to keep up with me," he retorted, grabbing a flour sack with a dramatic flourish.

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you began gathering the ingredients for your chosen recipes. Tonight, you had decided to bake a variety of treats: cookies and pastries that had been on your mind for weeks. The house-elves had thoughtfully provided fresh ingredients, and the counters were soon laden with bowls of flour, sugar, butter, and eggs.

The first task was to prepare the dough for the cookies. You measured out the ingredients, your movements practiced and efficient, while Mattheo attempted to follow along, his competitive nature driving him to match your pace. 

"Don't forget the vanilla," you reminded him, adding a splash to your own bowl.

He nodded, carefully measuring out the extract. "Got it. How do you know so much about baking anyway?" he asked, his tone curious but impressed.

You shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips. "Years of practice with my grandmama. She taught me everything I know."

As you mixed the dough, the rich, sweet aroma filled the kitchen, mingling with the lingering scents of past meals. You stole a glance at Mattheo, who was diligently working beside you, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands, usually so busy with his wand, were now covered in flour and sugar, a sight that made you giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked, feigning offense but unable to hide his smile. There was no way he could. Your smile brought out the best in him. 

"You," you replied, leaning over to swipe a bit of flour onto his nose. "You're a natural baker."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Just don't expect me to start wearing one of those frilly pink aprons."

With the cookie dough prepared, you moved on to the pastries. Rolling out the dough, you instructed Mattheo on how to fold in the butter to create flaky layers. He listened intently, his usual loud temperament now tempered by a genuine desire to learn by your side. You worked side by side, your hands brushing occasionally as you passed ingredients and tools back and forth.  The house-elves had left a pot of hot cocoa on the stove, and you poured two mugs, the rich, velvety liquid a perfect complement to the cozy atmosphere.

"Cheers," Mattheo said, raising his mug to meet yours with a wink. 

"Cheers," you replied, clinking your mug against his. The cocoa was rich and creamy, warming you from the inside out.

As you wiped your hands on a towel, Mattheo’s deep gaze lingered on your face. "You’ve got a bit of flour . . ." he said softly, leaning in. His fingers brushed against your cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. 

His hand lingered there for a moment longer, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips. The playful atmosphere shifted, and the well-known tension filled the space between the two of you. Time seemed to slow as he moved even closer, his breath mingling with yours. Before you could fully process the moment, his lips were on yours, soft and warm, tasting faintly of cocoa and the sweetness of the evening.

You responded instinctively, your hands reaching up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. He deepened the kiss, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, pulling you even closer than you were. The kiss was both gentle and urgent, warming your soul and mind. 

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. The kitchen, with its warmth and golden light, felt like a different world, one where only the two of you existed. Mattheo’s dark eyes searched yours, a mixture of vulnerability and affection hidden in his irises.

"That was..." he began, but you silenced him with another quick kiss, smiling against his lips as your fingers gripped the hair at the back of his nape. 

"Perfect," you finished for him, your heart full to bursting.

In that quiet, golden-lit room, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the comforting presence of your sweet boyfriend, you knew you had found something truly special. The baking, the laughter, the stolen kiss – it all came together to create a moment of pure magic, one you would cherish forever.

03 - PAINTING 

The art room at Hogwarts was a hidden gem, tucked away in a lesser-known corner of the castle not so many students knew about. It was a spacious, high-ceilinged room filled with the scents of paint and canvas, the walls adorned with student artwork from years past. The large windows let in the afternoon sunlight, casting a warm glow over the space. Easels stood ready with blank canvases, and tables were laden with paints, brushes, and palettes.

You and Mattheo had decided to spend the afternoon here, taking a break from the usual hustle of school life.

"Alright," you said, setting up your easel and arranging your paints. "Remember, every five minutes, we switch."

Mattheo nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Got it. But don’t expect anything too impressive from me. I can barely draw a straight line."

You laughed, squeezing a bit of blue paint onto your palette. "That’s the fun of it. Just go with the flow."

With everything ready, you both took your places in front of your easels. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the soft rustle of brushes on canvas and the occasional clink of paint jars. You started with broad strokes, laying down a wash of color to form the background. Your movements were confident and sure, years of practice guiding your hand.

Mattheo, on the other hand, approached his canvas with a bit more trepidation. He dipped his brush into the paint and made his first tentative strokes, glancing over at you occasionally for inspiration. You smiled reassuringly, giving him a thumbs-up. Despite his self-professed lack of skill, there was something endearing about the way he threw himself into the task, determined to make the best of it.

The first five minutes flew by, and soon it was time to switch. You moved to Mattheo’s easel, examining his work with a thoughtful smile. He had started with a simple landscape, a few rolling hills under a blue sky. It was basic, but it had potential. You picked up a brush and began to add your own touches, blending colors and adding a bit of story to the scene.

Mattheo moved to your canvas, eyes widening at the intricate swirls of color you had already laid down. "Wow," he murmured, "how am I supposed to add to this?"

"Just do your best," you replied, a playful challenge in your voice.

The next five minutes passed in a blur of color and creativity. You found yourself getting lost in the process, enjoying the way your styles melded together. When it was time to switch again, you couldn’t help but laugh at the changes Mattheo had made to your painting. The Slytherin had added a few playful touches, turning a serene sky into a playful scene with cartoonish clouds.

"Nice touch," you said, grinning at him as you moved back to your easel.

He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. "I figured it needed a bit of character."

As the afternoon wore on, Mattheo grew increasingly confident. With each switch, he added bolder strokes and more imaginative elements to the paintings. His hesitation gave way to a sense of pride and enthusiasm that was too difficult to not return. You found yourself enjoying the challenge of working with his unpredictable thoughts, the paintings slowly turning into mosaics of your combined efforts.

By the time the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the art room, you both stepped back to admire your work. The canvases were a glimpse of color and creativity, showing the teamwork you put into it. The landscape Mattheo had started was now a dreamlike scene, with white clouds and pretty flowers woven into the hills and sky. The painting you had begun was equally transformed, full of charm and ideas. 

Your boyfriend crossed his arms, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Not bad for a guy who can’t paint, huh?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not bad at all. I’m impressed."

He tilted his head with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe I’m more talented than I thought. Perhaps I missed my calling as an artist." 

"Don’t get too full of yourself, Riddle. But I have to admit, you did better than I expected," you rolled your eyes playfully at him. That was your man, after all. 

"Better than expected?" he repeated, brows furrowed as he brought a hand to his heart. "I think you mean I was brilliant."

You reached up to brush a stray bit of paint from his cheek, your fingers lingering for a moment. "Alright, Picasso. I’ll give you that. You were brilliant."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer. "Thanks for teaching me. I had a lot of fun."

"Me too," you replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "We should do it again."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on your face. "Definitely."

[daenystheedreamer]

some descriptions under the cut :)

 WINTERCAKE: "The taste of wintercake filled his mouth again, rich with ginger and pine nuts and bits of cherry, with nahsa to wash it down, fermented goat's milk served in an iron cup and laced with honey."

SISTER'S STEW: "The beer was brown, the bread black, the stew a creamy white. She served it in a trencher hollowed out of a stale loaf. It was thick with leeks, carrots, barley, and turnips white and yellow, along with clams and chunks of cod and crabmeat, swimming in a stock of heavy cream and butter. It was the sort of stew that warmed a man right down to his bones, just the thing for a wet, cold night. Davos spooned it up gratefully."

SNAILS: "Snails in honey and garlic. Sansa had never eaten snails before; Joffrey showed her how to get the snail out of the shell, and fed her the first sweet morsel himself."

BOWL OF BROWN: "...So thick you could stand your spoon up in the bowl, with chunks of this and that."

[haveatthee83]

Under My Skin (Monkey D. Luffy/Reader) 2/7

Inspo: Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Angst, arguing, cursing, angry Luffy, discussion of death and dead relatives, brief descriptions of violence.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You rose with the sun, kicking off your covers and rolling out your back. You peeked out of the window, the sandstorm still raged on outside. You huffed and frowned hoping it would let up soon. You had plenty of chores to do outside to set up for you leaving, animals that you needed to find care for.

You pushed those worries to the side, pushing yourself up and padding to the bathroom, quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth, speeding through your morning routine.

You then crept down one door, slipping into your bedroom, not waking the sleeping Nami before digging through your dresser for clothes for the day, quickly changing into a new cropped tank top and jean shorts before creeping back out the door and into the kitchen.

You marveled at the spotless counters and floors, seemingly scrubbed clean. You couldn’t be impressed for long though, rushing to work. You grabbed out two of your chickens’ eggs out of your fridge, heaving them onto your counter, before grabbing a large bowl out of one of your cabinets. You grabbed a knife and a whisk, washing your hands before returning to work.

You hummed to yourself as you picked up one egg, slapping your knife onto the hard shell a few times, setting the knife down and pulling the shell apart when the crack was big enough. You tossed the shell into the compost before doing the same with the second egg. The bowl was almost full as you stuck in the whisk, breaking the yolks before whisking carefully. When the eggs were thoroughly combined, you grabbed your four burner pan, setting it onto your stove and turning all of the burners on low, blowing out a little flame to light the gas.

You reached back into your fridge and just plopped a whole stick of butter from your neighbor’s cow into the rapidly heating up pan. You carefully picked up the large bowl, pouring the egg into the massive pan as soon as the butter melted. When the bowl was empty you set all your dishes into the sink, washing any egg residue off of your hands before turning back to the pan, the bottom of the eggs barely solidifying, and shook heaping servings of salt, pepper, garlic, and crushed, dried cayenne from your green house into the eggs, ‘not enough to burn’ you thought with a smile, ‘just enough to warm the mouth and soul a bit’ recalling your uncle’s seasoning mantra. ‘Clears out your sinuses’ he’d insist. Besides, you didn’t know how well these pirates could handle their spice, so reserved would have to do for now.

You grabbed a spatula and folded the eggs in the pan, keeping the eggs moving so none of it would brown or burn. When the eggs were looking like they were in a good spot, you turned on your oven and put it very low, just enough to keep food warm, helping it along with a little huff of your flames before setting the pan of cooked egg into it.

You then grabbed out two more large pans, two burners this time, and started to heat them up, moving back to your fridge, grabbing out pack after pack of bacon and breakfast sausage, setting them into their respective pans. As you let them sizzle you easily slid over and grabbed out five four slice toasters, plugging them in and setting slices of homemade sourdough bread into each slot, easily burning through a loaf, sending them down with a click. You rolled over to the pans with popping and browning breakfast meats, reaching to the side and sprinkling brown sugar over the bacon, letting it set in and cook with it. When they were both done, you opened the oven again and slid both of them into it, on the top rack. You had one more rack left to keep food warm, which made you think, should you make more?

You mulled it over, closing the oven up and looking around your kitchen, eyes landing on your massive box of quick grits. You grinned and grabbed out your other four burner pan, getting right to work, quickly boiling water, adding milk, butter and the grits as needed. You let that bubble and simmer, stirring constantly to make sure none of it stuck to the bottom or sides.

When it was ready, you heard all of the toasters pop up in a line, making you smile. You grabbed the grits and slid them into the oven as well, closing it, turning off the stove, and going back to the toast. You grabbed out a large plate, a new stick of butter, and a butter spreader. The butter was solid and cold, so you held it in your hands, gently warning them up, just enough to soften it. You got right to work, grabbing out each piece of toast, buttering it and adding it to your ever-growing stack. When all of the toast was buttered, you sliced the stack down the middle, setting it up in smaller stacks along the plate, setting it up on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, where you’d put the rest of the food when the pirates were awake, which would be soon. You knew that cook couldn’t stay asleep too long.

Next you opened your fridge and grabbed out an armful of fruit, setting it onto the counter before grabbing your favorite fruit knife and a large cutting board you’d also use to serve the fruit up on. You made quick work of the variety if fruits in front of you. You wanted to make sure the pirates got plenty of vitamins, always wary of scurvy. You sliced up Mango, oranges, melons, bananas and your island’s native fruit. No one really had a set name for it, but it tasted like if pineapples and peaches had a baby, but it looks like a cantaloupe that grows in a tree.

After the fruit was all prepared, you set it up onto the counter, turning back to your fridge and grabbing out your pitchers of orange juice and milk, setting them up as well all alongside cups, and plates with forks and spoons, none of which matched, of course. You sighed, taking in your work with a nod before taking out the food from the oven, switching it off. You looked at the clock on your mantle in the living room and sighed, why aren’t they up yet?

Frowning, you thought it over but relented to your impatience, not wanting the food to get cold. You grabbed out a wooden spoon and moved to the side of your fridge, looking right down the hallway, “WAKE UP! BREAKFAST TIME! EAT IT NOW OR GO HUNGRY!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, smacking the spoon against the side of your fridge with a smile.

You heard thumps and muttering in the rooms with the Straw-Hats, content that they were awake, so you put back your spoon and got to work washing the dishes in the sink. You heard two sets of feet eagerly sprinting down the short hallway, Zoro and Sanji being the first ones in the kitchen, bickering the whole way, “Eat up, boys. Take as much as you want.” You said, jerking your head over to the large spread of food.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Luffy’s not up yet.” Zoro muttered, rushing to fill his plate with a little bit of everything.

Sanji looked over the spread with intrigue, “How many eggs did you use?” he asked, noting the massive portion.

You shrugged, laying the last dish on the drying rack, turning to the cook, drying off your hands with your towel, “Just two. No biggie.”

Sanji’s brain short circuited for a moment, eyes flitting between you and the fluffy eggs, “Two? How?”

You chuckled at the blond’s exasperated face, “We have giant animals on this island, remember? I talked about it during the tour. I was going to show you mine, but the sandstorm kicked that plan to the curb.” You explained, opening your fridge up and pointing to your one remaining egg, easily double the size of an ostrich egg. “I own three six-foot-tall chickens you can ride, and my neighbor has two cows the size of my house, and we’re famous for our massive wild boars! They’re huge and really mean, they’re a pain in the ass to kill, but they’re damned tasty. All that bacon and sausage wasn’t even a fraction of what came from that pig.”

Sanji’s mind whirred with possibilities, ‘That might keep up with Luffy’s massive appetite.’  He thought, obliging as you ushered him to go and eat.

Nami came in next, ready for the day, but still bleary eyed and half awake. You laughed quietly at her predicament, “Should I put on a pot of coffee?” the ginger nodded, yawning as she went to fix herself a plate.

“Damn, this looks good.” She muttered, piling her plate high. You shook your head and turned to make a quick pot of coffee, “Got any sugar for the grits?” she asked.

You nodded, grabbing two cannisters from the side of the stove, resting them on a small sliver of space you found on the counter, “This one’s white sugar, this one’s brown sugar.” You showed her, opening and closing each before turning back to your work on the coffee.

Usopp, Robin, and Chopper all filed in next, stretching and yawning. They all grabbed their plates and ushered themselves to their previously claimed seats in your living room. You glanced into the room with a smile, a warm feeling settling in your chest at having a full house again, even if it’s smaller than before. “Who wants coffee?” you chimed, noting all of their hands raised besides Chopper and nodded, “Do you think Luffy will want any?” the whole crew shook their head with quiet giggles. You took that in with a smile, grabbing out five mugs out of the cabinet, filling each with the hot coffee, leaving a bit of room for cream and sugar in each, just in case. You grabbed three in one hand and two in the other, putting them onto the coffee table with a smile before rushing back to the fridge to grab out a small pitcher of cream and your canister of sugar, setting them by the mugs.

A chorus of thank you’s and happy sighs resounded around you. “Aren’t you eating?” Robin asked, adding a spoon of sugar into her mug.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed, looking around you, “I’m just used to making sure everyone else has their plates before I do.”

Zoro snorted a laugh, biting into a sausage link, “You better cut that out with Luffy around.” He snickered. “That man could eat a whole fleet of ships and ask for ice cream after.”

The crew all snickered and giggled in agreement, Nami urging you to grab yourself a plate, “He’ll grab his soon.”

So, you got to work, piling your plate with all of your favorites, fixing up your grits and grabbing a glass and filling it with orange juice before joining Nami again on the loveseat. Right as you started to tuck in, the sound of a slow patter of feet brought all of your attention back to the kitchen. Luffy was awake.

His eyes scanned the large expanse of food in front of him, just going ahead and devouring the food that was left at the counter, making you laugh a bit. Luffy didn’t notice or care, digging into the feast with sparkles in his eyes.

“That’s what he’s usually like.” Nami whispered in your ear.

Sanji scowled, “Aren’t you going to say thank you for breakfast?” he barked, making the captain pause, swallowing the mouthful he was working on.

“Thank you, Sanji! It’s really good. You should make breakfast like this more often; I don’t know what you did different.” He chimed, digging right back into his food.

Sanji went to correct him, but you stopped him, frantically waving at him, ‘NO!’ ‘LEAVE IT!’ ‘IT’S OKAY!’

Sanji frowned deeper and shook his head, calling out to his captain, surely this would make him like you a bit, maybe help him loosen up around you, “I can’t take any credit.”

“Shut up, Sanji!” you hissed quietly, your face heating up in embarrassment, and you tried to hide your face in your hat, holding your hands over your face, your plate in your lap.

“Our beautiful host got up early and made all of this.” He said resolutely, taking another bite of the delicious food with a smile.

Luffy paused, eyes darting to where you hid, Nami trying to reassure you, and set his jaw. Of course you could cook. Of course, Luffy liked it. ‘Of course.’ He thought bitterly, resuming his eating with a frown, swearing it tasted a bit sour now that he knew.

Zoro reached over and kicked Sanji’s foot, and when the blond whirled on him, Zoro just pointed expectantly at you and Luffy, you were just coming out of your hiding place with a frown, and Luffy who was eating with a scowl. Sanji couldn’t help but feel like he deserved the kick this time, even if he was only trying to help, he thought with a wince.

“It is very good,” Robin chimed.

Chopper nodded in her lap, “Uh-huh! It’s real tasty.”

The rest of the crew offered their agreement, even if it made their captain’s eye twitch. “You guys are just being nice.” You muttered, taking a sip of your orange juice.

Nami was about to deny your statement, but she was interrupted, “Probably are.” Luffy muttered lowly, taking a swig of milk straight from the pitcher.

You shrank in your seat, no longer hungry.

“Monkey D. Luffy.” Robin set her now empty mug onto your side table with an audible thump. “You are out of line.”

“You’re being a dick.” Zoro grumbled, taking the last few bites of his food.

The other Straw-Hats nodded, but you shook your head, “It’s oka-“

“It’s not okay.” Robin chastised you before whirling back to Luffy with a stern look, “We let you have your time yesterday, but we will not allow you to treat your crew so poorly.” Luffy scrunched his brows together, and Robin noticed her slip. The other Straw-Hats tensed up a bit, eyes flitting between Robin and their captain, “She’s coming with us.”

“What do yo-“

“She’s going to be part of the crew, frankly whether you like it or not, because I intend on taking her onto the Thousand Sunny and keeping her safe, hell or high water.” Robin held her captain’s gaze with cool, calm control. “So, either get with it, or get over it. You’re too old and too good of a person to be a bully.”

Luffy puffed up like a bird, anger coursing through him, he wasn’t a bully. He wasn’t mean. You just…You were the worst. Every time he looked at you a pang of sadness, rage, or regret coursed through him at full force. You pissed him off. You got under his skin, burrowing deep, making him scratch and dig to get you out.

You rose to your feet, clattering your plate onto the coffee table, bits of your food scattering along the wood. Luffy couldn’t see your eyes beneath the brim of your hat, but he could see your mouth pinched in a wince, a stream of tears coming down your face. You clenched your fists and rushed past Luffy, and he heard you sniffle as you passed him by before you whirled into your room, slamming the door behind you.

‘Shit.’ Luffy didn’t like you, sure, but he didn’t want to make you cry. The thought that he had made his teeth grit, and he slammed his face into his hands with a groan of anguish. Luffy was acting weird. Even he knew it.

“Luffy.” Came Robin’s level anger, and all he could muster was a hum of acknowledgement, “I need you to understand something. This woman showed us around her island, gave us shelter, food, water, she let Nami sleep in her own bed. She has been nothing but kind and has been wringing herself into knots worrying about making you upset, making excuse after excuse for your behavior.” She went on, setting Chopper and her plate aside, walking to be at the opposite side of the counter from him, “Did you know today is her brother’s birthday? Did you know today is the anniversary of her entire pirate crew being slaughtered by Marines? Her entire nakama gone! Just like that! Did you know she has no one else? She was still holding onto hope that she’d find Ace because he was the only person in her life she had left, only to find out he’d been dead for two years.”

Luffy flinched at every word, shame pouring over him, “She’s possibly the only person who could understand exactly how you feel and you’re lashing out at her!” Robin’s voice lowered dangerously as she continued, “Her brother died in her arms after saving her life, killed by a Marine Admiral. When she got me alone, one of the first things she asked me is if Ace died smiling. Did you know all three of them promised that’s how they’d go? Do you realize she’s the only one left?”

Luffy’s eyes watered into his palms, the pain of being the only one left wracking a sob through him. The Straw-Hats sucked in gasps as they heard his quiet cries. “I didn’t know.” He cried, over and over again he muttered through his tears, “I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I didn’t know.” Robin moved around the counter and took him into a tight hug.

“You didn’t know,” Robin whispered as he started to calm down, “but now you do.”

Luffy’s breath caught. She was right. Luffy still held a sour taste in his mouth when he thought about you, but he knew what the right thing was to do. He had to apologize. He had to apologize and change his behavior. He was being mean.

Luffy lifted his head from Robin’s shoulder and nodded, wiping his face with is hands. “I gotta apologize.” He mumbled, turning to walk down your hallway.

“It’ll be okay.” Robin called after him, her brows knit with worry, but she returned to her crew, sitting back down with Chopper.

Luffy stood in front of your doorway, hand raised to knock, but that’s when he heard you. You were still crying, sobbing in your room. Because of Luffy.

‘Fuck.’

Luffy fought through the pull of fear in his chest, racking his knuckles against the maroon painted door. God, nothing in your house matched. Even your doors were different colors.

“Go away.” You muttered, muffled by the door. “I’m crying and it’s not pretty!”

Luffy flinched a bit, but tried the door handle, finding it turning readily. He pushed the door open slowly, trying not to startle you. You were in your bed, to the left of the door, back to Luffy. For once, your hat was on your nightstand. Your shoulders shook with your small cries, and even from behind, Luffy could tell you were holding onto something.

“Go away, Luffy.” You muttered, curling deeper into yourself.

“How did you know it was me?”

“You’re lighter on your feet than the rest.” Luffy blinked back a bit of shock and closed your door, creeping up to you quietly. Luffy hesitated, but he sat on your bed at your feet, his back to yours. “What do you want?” you whispered, the saddest little question he had ever heard, and Luffy swore it felt like a kick to the balls, knocking his breath out of him.

“I-I need to apologize.” He stammered, fiddling with the strings of his hat under his chin. “I’ve been mean.”

You sniffled, but sat up, sitting perpendicular to Luffy, and he saw what you held in your hands. It was another picture. This one was just of you and your brother, sly smiles as you tried to pose formally. You wore a white suit, with vest and gloves and hat, the full shebang, and your brother wore a sparkling red gown, glamorous makeup on and his short hair gelled into finger waves, and in the background Luffy could see a Marine ball.

“He was my best friend, you know?” you whispered, thumb stroking your brother’s face, “He and my uncle were my only family, then when I was five, and he was seven, he started talking about sailing the seas, the two of us with a band of misfits and orphans. We’d make our own family, with our own rules, and we’d be infamous.” You told the story with a melancholy smile, “We both stumbled onto our devil fruits one day and ate them immediately. We trained any second we got between chores, staying up until the sun rose just practicing. The second he saved up enough Berry for a proper ship, we only set foot on land for my uncle’s birthday, then his funeral and to get supplies. We racked up a large crew as we hit island after island. Then we started targeting Marines. We’d always hated those fuckers, and suddenly we could do something about it.” You said with a shrug. “The bounties started pouring in, mine and his climbing higher and higher than we ever expected, but we stayed on course. We knew what we wanted. We wanted to sail together and take out as many marines as we could on the way. They suppressed stories about us in the newspapers, because they didn’t want people seeing some small fry pirate crew with a triple digit kill count.”

Luffy’s eyebrows shot up in shock, “Holy shit.”

You smirked, a little glint in your eye, “We were a pretty formidable little crew. We anchored just short of the Grand Line and set up lights and music, I made a damned feast all for my brother. It was his eighteenth birthday. We did all of that before we were even adults.” You said with a grin spreading across your face. It dropped when you started talking again, “I was giving a little speech when the first cannonball hit. We didn’t know what hit us. We all got into battle stations, but they had a fleet. We stood our ground and my crew died with honor. I convinced my brother to play dead with me, we’d either get out alive or we’d have a better chance to ambush any attackers. It wasn’t hard, we were both so damned beat up. I didn’t know why, but he insisted on laying half on top of me, for realism he said. Bullshit. We both froze and pretended to be corpses as that damned Admiral came down into the guts of the ship, he was stabbing bodies through the heart to make sure they were dead.” Your expression curled into a snarl, “When he got to us, I was waiting on my brother’s cue, he needed to hop up first then I’d pop up and go crazy. He didn’t. He laid perfectly still as that sword ran him through, I just had to not flinch as it dug into my stomach a bit,” you said, pointing to your exposed stomach, a scar to the right, “I held still, I couldn’t let the Admiral know we were alive! When he left, I tried to stop the bleeding, but it would’ve never worked. He was dying. I cried and tried not to scream, and he just smiled, cracking jokes.” You scoffed, “Jokes! He made me promise to get out alive, to move on, to live my life and take down as many Marines as I could in the process.” You said, setting your jaw, glaring a hole through the picture in your hand. “He died smiling, and the Marines lit the ship on fire and left it to sink to the bottom of the sea. I took a dinghy that was left, a bit of food and some water and just rowed my way in one direction until I found an island, boat hopping my way back here. I was the only survivor, but since that Admiral had ‘checked’, everyone thought I was dead. Everyone was spooked as hell when I came home. I’ve been here, laying low between attacks on the Marines ever since.”

Luffy swallowed the lump in his throat, “Ace died taking a hit for me. An Admiral tried to ambush me, he had a magma fruit, and Ace stepped in. Punched him right through the chest. He died right there in my arms, and he did that shit too. He died smiling.” Luffy muttered, fighting back tears.

“He was a great man.” You muttered, shifting to sit next to Luffy properly, your legs dangling off the edge of the bed next to each other. “He really did talk about you all the time. You and Sabo.” You said, nudging Luffy’s knee with yours, “He-“ you huffed out a laugh, “he was convinced that you and I would fall in love, get married, the whole shebang. He even picked out names for our three kids.” You giggled.

Luffy flushed a bit, “He did not.”

“He did!” you insisted, counting off on your fingers, “Ruby Anne, River Lee, and Rocky Viper” you snickered, “He insisted he’d be their god father and that he’d spoil them all rotten. He came up with entire life plans for them after a while.”

Luffy found himself letting out a wheeze of a laugh, “What the hell?”

You nodded, “He was convinced they’d all be pirate captains, and that Ruby would take over for you when you got old as King. He always said she was the only responsible one. Said she took after me.” You chuckled at the memories. “He’d scold me for doing stupid stuff by saying stuff like, ‘Is this a story you want River to hear?’ or ‘Ruby’s gonna make fun of you for that in like thirty years!’.” You exclaimed, a poor imitation of Ace’s voice.

Luffy couldn’t drop the questions whispering at the back of his skull, “I still don’t know why he never talked about you.” You both frowned.

“I don’t either.”

Robin settled further into her seat with a sigh, the letter burning a hole in her pocket. Finally having enough, she ushered Chopper off of her lap and excused herself to the restroom, locking the door behind her. She turned on the tap for a moment so she could rip open the adhesive. Robin knew this was invasive, wrong, rude even, but she had to read it before she let her captain have it. She couldn’t risk another blow up in this tender transition period.

She hopped up and sat on the counter, taking the papers out of the envelope and began to skim over the handwritten words. It was a letter from Ace, alright. It said something about how he was glad that Luffy had found you, that he always knew you’d come together on your own. He apologized for hiding this part of his life from Luffy, and the explanation made Robin sigh in disappointment. ‘Men.’

It went on to detail some of Ace’s adventures with you and your brother, it insisted that Luffy was going to love you both, laying it on thick that you were Luffy’s age, and that you could cook.

Robin found nothing offensive in the letter, so she sighed in relief and folded the letter back up, going to stick the letter back in the envelope when she noticed something inside. She shook out the little square and held it up, an exasperated groan ripping out of her. It was a picture of you, it was from behind, you were in a small bikini, sitting on a dock, talking to someone out of frame as you put up your hair, it was longer back then. The sun was setting behind you and it frankly was a beautiful photo of you, but the note at the bottom made her glower, “She’s perfect for you, lil dude!”. Then Robin noticed the side boob and the way you could see most of your ass.

“She was a teenager!” Robin hissed, shaking the photo in her hand, but she relented, slotting the picture and the letter into the envelope, sticking the tongue of the envelope into its opening, slipping it back into her pocket.

‘MEN!’

[lawful-evil-novelist]

I got asked this awhile back, and wanted your opinion too. Jonathan fav foods?? Feel free to go into detail ♡

sorry for getting to this so late but man favorite foods! I did a short list of foods he's fond of at one point but it's a bit outdated, but as a quick list off the top of my head:

Biscuits and gravy, both the sausage and white gravy and ham and red-eye gravy varieties, as far as he's concerned they're a filling staple and taste good too.

Jambalaya, really any Cajun rice dish is one he enjoys but that one's his favorite, his grandfather taught his grandmother how to make them so they're also childhood dishes.

Hummingbird cake, he makes it from scratch at least once every year.

Pumpkin bread, specifically that loaf-pan sweet variety. Warm with a little brown sugar butter is ideal.

Peach-pecan pie, especially his family recipe.

Coffee-flavored...anything, really.

Pulled pork sandwiches with peach bourbon bbq sauce. If you've never had it I highly recommend it. Though notable Jon will stand by this is better if the pork is wild boar.

Apples and peaches, baked or raw, favorite apple is Pink Lady, favorite peach is Belle of Georgia.

Apple cider, obviously.

We all know my Jon's a whiskey-drinker, lesser known is his preference for honey whiskey.

Sweet tea is a necessary addition to this list, I can't not include it.

Since tis the season yes, Jon likes pumpkin spice coffee, though if pressed his second favorite flavored coffee is buttered rum. He doesn't usually like flavored coffee much, though.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

So the devs for the Arcana actually posted the recipe for Selasi the Baker's pumpkin bread on their YouTube channel four years ago?!?

@helshollowhalls sent me the link because they know I like to make my own bread on my days off. Read below the cut for pictures of my attempt and my in depth review!

First off, this is an involved recipe. You can expect it to take 4 hours start to finish (for context, my normal weekly baking for 2 loaves of whole wheat bread takes about 2 hours). There's the dough itself, the pumpkin filling, and a glaze to go on top.

Here's what it looked like right out of the oven, before the cinnamon glaze:

Here's what it looked like with the glaze on (please ignore the mess):

And here's the loaf cut open:

The original recipe says that the result should be a mildly sweet, mildly spiced bread. I'm sure that it normally is. However, it seems Asra and I share certain experimental tendencies when it comes to making food, because I ended up more than doubling the spices in the pumpkin filling.

The result I got was honestly one of the best sweet breads I've ever eaten. There's cinnamon in the dough, the glaze, and the filling, so the whole thing tastes really warm and comforting and homey. Don't let it fool you though, because (at least the way I ended up making it) the spices liven it up. It has cloves, all spice, ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg besides the expected sugar, salt, and vanilla. It didn't call for cardamon but I added a respectable chunk of that anyways because it was sitting in my spice rack with all the others and I didn't want it to feel ignored. (And also because it was referenced as being in the rice pudding in Asra's route.) I also like making pumpkin soup through the winter, so my filling came out a little more watery than it normally would because I like to steam and freeze my own pumpkin puree.

The result I got was rich, sweet, soft, and flavorful enough that I was still tasting it after I brushed my teeth. The smell also lingered in my kitchen for days. The dough is enriched, meaning that it has eggs and milk and butter in it, which makes it somewhat like a cinnamon brioche. It would be like if a cinnamon roll and a pumpkin pie had a kickass loaf baby. The cinnamon glaze on top definitely added sweetness, but what I appreciated about it was how sticky and gooey the texture became because of it. Be prepared for delightfully messy eating.

If you're thinking, brainrot, the only reason you like this so much is because it makes you feel like you're sitting across from your beloved in the marketplace on a sunny Vesuvian afternoon, I'd say you're not wrong. It's a whole experience. However, after I had my first slice, I took it over to my family's place to share and fell asleep right after. By the time I woke up the whole thing was gone. My mom and younger sibling on their own admitted to eating at least two thirds of it before my dad could get to it. The other younger sibling got all of one (1) slice, poor dude.

100000000/10 will absolutely be scheduling four hours into my next day off to make it again.

(Side note - if you're looking for a trans malewife who cooks/bakes for fun and cleans up after himself and will spend four hours making something just because it's referenced in a romance game, I am right here. I desire cuddles.)

[cadotoast]

Chapter 4- Steel's Glint

Word count 3.2k

Note: I'm sorry for 2 posts in a day, idk if that's annoying. But I was just too excited for this chapter lol

Minors DNI

"Ah, Lady Jenny was right when she said I would find you here." Your focus on the dough you are kneading is interrupted. Aldous stands there, hands in his pockets, wearing what appears to be training garb. In the past week, you've seen him in all manner of clothing as he has begun the courting process with yourself and with the other ladies, though this particular outfit is new to you. 

"I had some time on my hands, and wanted to be productive," You explain with a small grin. "It won't be ready for quite some time though, it needs to rise."

Aldous saunters over, giving the bread a grin. You see Ser John step into the kitchen, strolling casually. "Looks tasty," The prince comments. "What's in it?"

You pause in your kneading to examine the bread, smiling a little. "It's a normal loaf of wheat flour, but I added spices to it. Ideally, it will be a sort of desert loaf." Your flour-dusted hands shape the dough into a rounded dome. "Do you like pastries?" 

"Frankly, I prefer fresher sweets, like fruit. But Ser John here has a sweet tooth." The younger man flashes a smile at his guard, who is wearing a faux irritated look. "Make sure to keep the finished product out of his way."

Ser John, while not dressed in a suit if armor, still looks deadly with his sword at his side, and durable outer wear. He appears to be ready for some training himself.  

"If Ser John wants some pastries, there are some finished and cooling over by that window," You gesture to the eastern side of the kitchen, where some cookies lay steaming in the morning sun. Sure enough, Ser John's eyes brighten, and he brushes past you and Aldous to pick up one of the still-warm cookies. You both watch as the knight pops the cookie in his mouth in one bite, and then proceeds to grunt in pain when he discovers how hot the cookies actually are.

Aldous breaks out into loud, full-bellied laughter, and you join him, giggling behind your hand. Ser John gives you both a would-be withering look, but you can tell the playfulness behind his gaze. 

"Delicious," he manages, after swallowing with some difficulty. He has some crumbs in his beard, and you discover a weird urge to brush them off of his face. As it is, you dust your hands on the apron you'd purchased with the allowance given to you, before returning to shape the loaf at your small table. The kitchen staff around you pay you no mind, as long as you stay out of their way for meal preparations.

"I was wanting to see if you would be interested in joining me for a picnic after my training?" Aldous leans his hip against the wooden work table, smiling down at you. Despite your initial impression of him up on that Dais at the festival, a lifetime ago, you've become rather fond of the man. "I have the perfect place in mind." 

"Will it require me riding a horse?" You say this with some unease. "You know I'm not well versed." 

"We will take it slow, Lady," Ser John speaks up. "The place in mind is not far, and we can give you a gentle mount who will not throw you on the walk." 

You pause, considering, as you finish the shaping of the loaf and set it aside for its second rise. After a moment of contemplation, you nod. "I would love to, Highness." You give the prince a curtsy. "Thank you for inviting me." 

Over the past week, the prince has made it an effort to spend individual time with each prospect. Sharing meals, taking walks, quiet moments in secluded rooms. Always chaperoned by the ever-watchful Ser John, as is only appropriate. You've only spent that one breakfast with him so far, so this picnic will be a welcome moment to get to know the prince better.

Aldous gives you a wide, charming grin, and scoops your right hand up into both of his. "Wonderful. I will come find you when we are ready?" At your nod, he stoops and kisses the back of your hand. Just as the first time he did so, your face and neck warm at the intimate gesture. "Then I will be seeing you, lady."

As swiftly as he has arrived, the prince breezes out of the kitchen, with Ser John in his wake. You watch them go, the hand that had been pressed to the prince's lips held to your breast.

"She's a lucky one, that girl." You hear the faintest whisper of conversation from across the kitchen. You glance over your shoulder to see a couple of matronly figures doubled over a large cooking pot that holds a savory venison stew. They both glance in your direction, and all three of you look away from each other as each is caught in the act of staring. With a brusque shake of your head, you begin to clean your work area, waiting for the bread to rise.

~~~

The grey mare below you is docile and sweet, barrel chested and graceful. You stroke her dappled coat gently as she walks side-by-side with Aldous's rowan-colored one. You've changed into riding robes of a pale green, and your tack for the horse allows you to sit side-saddle. 

You can't help but admire Aldous and his ease in the seat. He looks right at home on his horse, whose name is apparently, and accurately, "Rowan". Aldous carries a lidded basket lined with a soft looking blanket. He wears a sword at his side, but it's not the decorative, jewel-encrusted one you've seen on him before. It's more utilitarian. Speaking to the man who wants to be a knight.

Speaking of knights, Sers John, Kyle, Mactavish, and Simon follow on their respective mounts, a bit more armored up than you're used to seeing on the palace grounds. 

"They are only for our protection, Lady." Aldous reaches out and takes your hand. You grip the reigns tightly in the other, but the mare below you does not talk, continuing her plodding along the shaded trail. "There has been some ruckus in the kingdom, and the last thing I would want to happen is for injury to come to you."

Or to yourself. You add inwardly. But you nod and squeeze his hand all the same. 

"I am glad they are with us. I can't say I've ever been this far out from the town or palace proper." 

"Never?" Aldous sounds surprised. "You never played in the woods with your brother?" 

You shake your head. "We would play in town, or maybe the little field behind the cottage. But never any farther. And I started working young, I haven't had much time to play." You look up at the forest above you, still green with the end of summer. The sunlight filters through, casting shadows on the worn dirt path. "It is beautiful, though," you watch as a small bird lands on a branch above your head, "thank you for inviting me, Aldous." 

The conversation lapses into a comfortable silence, and you let go of Aldous's hand to shift yourself in your saddle. Your grey mare tosses her head, shaking away a fly.

"Her name is Pebbles," Aldous speaks up, nodding to the horse you ride. "Because of the grey dappled coat, it makes her look like stones and pebbles at the bottom of a brook." 

"Pebbles, how cute!" You pet Pebbles's neck, and she turns her head, one great brown eye looking at you as if to acknowledge her rider. 

"She is one of my mother's favorites. Her brother, Storm, is my mother's usual mount if she goes riding." 

The ground begins to slope downward as you descend a hill. You can hear water running somewhere in the distance. The birdsong is lively and jovial, and you see a few butterflies fluttering around a cluster of golden-colored flowers.

As the ground begins to level out once more, the narrow path opens up into a large glen, with a brook running through the far western side. To the east, the glen rises a hill to an open field, where tall grass sways. You're struck by the beauty, unable to help the grin that pulls on your lips. 

Aldous leads you and Pebbles to a clear area near the brook. He gets down first, setting the basket on a nearby log, while Ser John approaches to help you down from your horse. The knight's hands are large and warm around your waist, and you feel the imprint of them long after he is taking Pebbles's reign to lead her to drink. The knights water the horses as Aldous lays out a blanket for you and himself. Absently, you wonder what the other men will do with their time while here.

The grass is cool underfoot here in the shade; you've taken the time to remove your riding boots so you can enjoy the comfort of the blanket and the grass. Aldous carefully pells some fruit for you, and hands you a sandwich made from cold meats and cheese. You bite into the food with a satisfied hum, pausing to wipe your lips with a napkin. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Aldous has his arms clasped around his knees, leaning back against the log. You nod, gazing around. 

"It's gorgeous." The prince seems pleased with your agreement.

Lunch is a quiet affair, with fruit juice, sandwiches, some tarts, and even a little bit of wine. Once finished eating, you and Aldous wander the clearing, you pausing to crouch at the stream bank and gaze down into the clear water. 

"It runs down straight from the mountains," Aldous says, sticking his hand in the water. His skin quickly dons a pink hue from the chill. "That's why it's so cold and clear." 

"Have you--" your words are cut off as the ringing of steel sounds, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. Almost at the same moment, you hear the deep thrum of a longbow, and you can practically feel the fletching of the arrow as it flashes between yours and Aldous's heads.

You stumble in your shock, landing halfway in the brook and immediately soaking yourself up to your thighs, and the front of your gown. Buried in the bank in front of you is an arrow the length of your forearm. Dry-mouthed, you spin around, standing thigh-deep in the freezing water. 

There are about ten men in the clearing, wearing ragged clothes and coverings over their faces. Most cary clubs or knives, but some have swords, and you see the graceful curve of a longbow, an arrow too gleaming in the sun. 

Aldous has placed himself in front of you, standing on the bank, sword in hand. The knights are further beyond him, their backs to you. Their own swords are drawn, and they look deadly. 

"You'd best be on your way," Ser Kyle says, his voice an eerie sort of quiet. His sword reflects the sunlight. Ser Simon stands like the mountain he is, his black sword held easily in his hand. 

Ser Mactavish gives a dark chuckle that would scare you if you weren't already near to soiling yourself.

"I dunno, we think we're going to have some fun!" A queer-looking man who appears to be the leader saunters up. He carries a heavy-looking club imbedded with sharp spikes. "We think we're going to kill you all and take the pretty girl." 

The men's leering turns to you, and your mouth goes dry. Your dress clings to your front and your legs, enunciating every inch of your figure. Aldous moves in front of you a little more to try and block you from their line of sight. 

"I don't think so," Ser John speaks up this time. "This is your last warning to leave."

Instead of responding, the lead man runs forward with a should, wielding his club over his head. His men follow behind him.

One thing is for certain, the knight's swordwork is not just for show on the tourney ground. Sers John, Mactavish, Simon and Kyle cut down the would-be assailants with speed and efficiency. Only when an arrow pierced through Ser John's armor does one get past them, running pell-mell towards where you and Aldous stand. 

Given the words spoken by the knights previously, making fun of Aldous's failed attempts at knighthood,  you can't help but feel a thrill of doubt as he stands to face off with the man.

"Die!!!!" There's a flash of metal as the assailant raises his sword, and Aldous raises his to meet the blow.

There's a ring of steel on steel, and Aldous grunts from the blow. The attacker pulls back for another swing, not terribly skillful other than hack-and-slash. A flash of metal, and the man makes a terrible choking sound, a knife point appearing from his throat. Blood sprays out,  landing on you and the prince, and the man falls forward, into the water.

And then silence falls. 

"My lady! Are you okay?" Aldous jumps down into the stream, looking you over. You brush him off, shaking, as you climb out onto the bank.

The knights rush forward to you and Aldous, looking you two over frantically. Ser Simon pulls the knife out of the fallen man's neck and tucks it in a sheath.

Your eyes are drawn to the arrow wound in Ser John's arm, the only visible injury among the lot.

"That needs tending to," you state, indicating the arrow. Ser John grunts, as if brushing it off. 

"That lady is right, John." Aldous looks down at his guard with concern. "We are a ways away from the palace and from any doctor." 

"There's a medical kit strapped to my saddlebag," Ser John says at last, moving to sit on the log where the picnic basket and blanket are still laid out. Needing something to do, you dash to where the horses stand, looking nervous and tossing their heads. Luckily, none of them fled during the attack.

Locating Ser John's horse, you retrieve a cloth bag from his saddle, and hurry back to the group. Ser Kyle is already kneeling next to his former knight-master, examining the wound. 

"It doesn't appear to be stuck in the bone," Ser Kyle twists the arrow gently, feeling for the impact that bone would suggest. "And It appears to be safe to pull it clean out."

"Do it," Ser John grunts, brows furrowed. You turn to the basket and pull out the bottle of partially drunk wine.

"We could use this to sterilize." 

Ser John takes the bottle from you, swallows a swing, then pours some down his bicep. You watch as blood and wine run down the skin and pool on the ground. Grasping the shaft and the tip, Ser Kyle pulls the arrow free with a sickening squelch. Some more wine is splashed over the wound, and then a cloth bandage is applied. 

"The palace healers will be able to stitch you up. This should hold you until we get there."

"I've had worse," the knight glances at you, and your worried expression. "Don't trouble yourself, Lady. I promise you that I'm made of tougher stuff than a brigand's arrow."

"We should head back to the castle." Sers Simon and Mactavish are looking around the clearing, at the fallen bodies. "Johny, would you go get the horses?" 

You look around at the glen, now marred by blood and viscera. You make the mistake of looking too long at one particular gruesome killing blow and feel a roll of nausea. Breathing deeply you step back, and Aldous's arms wrap around you, pulling your face to his shoulder. You let him, taking a moment to compose yourself.

"Are you hurt, Highness?" Ser Mactavish, or "Johnny", as Simon had called him, asks. Aldous looks down at himself, at his pants soaked by the brook, and nods. 

"I am uninjured. And the lady is safe as well." 

You nod your confirmation, giving the Scott a smile. "Shaken, and a little wet is all." You glance down at yourself, at the spray of blood on you. "though... I think I'm going to give my handmaidens a fright."

"That you are both uninjured is the most important thing." Ser Kyle gives you a long look, and you have a feeling that your brother will be aware of the situation before anyone else, practically.

The ride back is much more tense than the one before. Instead of riding ahead as you'd done previously. You and Aldous are positioned within a protective perimeter, hedged in by the knights. You glance sideways at Ser John, seeing him roll his shoulder slightly. You chose not to comment, not wanting to distract him from his job, from his scanning of the woods. 

Seeing the stables come into view is a relief, and you don't wait for assistance to get down from your horse this time. The flagstone pathway feels unnervingly solid after so much time in the saddle. Maybe I'm going into shock?

"I must report this incident to the King," Ser Simon says. 

"I will come with you." Aldous's face is ashen, and flecked with blood. Despite not having made the killing blow, he still seems shaken of the death of that final man.

Ser Simon does not protest, and they head off together. 

"I will escort you back to your rooms, Lady," Ser John steps to your side.

"Your injured!" You place a soft hand on his forearm. "I couldn't impose like that. You need a healer."

"The guests quarters are on the way to the medical wing," he replies. "Please, allow me." 

With a small sigh, you nod, and he extends his non-injured arm to you. Looking over your shoulder, Sers Mactavish and Kyle have their heads together, faces grim.

"Does it hurt much?" You ask, looking at where the blood is beginning to seep through the bandage.

"It will be sore," he admits, rolling the shoulder again. "But the wound itself wasn't terribly deep. The man on the bow was a shit shot." His face reddens slightly. "Apologies for my foul language."

"I've heard worse from my own brother," you chuckle. "It's no concern of mine. I'm glad no one was injured terribly, and I hope your healing is swift." 

"I appreciate the sentiment," the knight says with a kind smile. A weird sort of shiver runs down your spine, a King's Man showing you such kindness. 

The rest of the walk is swift and silent, and you pause at your door when you reach it. "Is there anything I can do for you, Ser?" 

The man hesitates, taking you in from your head to your toes. And then he shakes his head. "No, my lady. But I appreciate the offer. This is where I leave you." He gives you a bow, and you swear that another blush has risen to his cheeks before he turns on his heel and heads off down the hall. Shaking your head in mute wonder, you step into your rooms, closing the world out behind the door.

Tag list

@adnauseum11 @the-californicationist @strawberrygato @marierg

[valentinedaughtler]

Tainted Opal (Part 9)

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

T/Ws: violence, romantic feelings, blood, mild spice scenes sometimes, fem!reader and she/her pronouns, sexual abuse/trauma (not explicit)

Synopsis: You truely recall the time you and Kaz crossed paths as young teenagers. How you fled from your pirate ship into the dark streets of Ketterdam, only to find a scoundrel to scar.

REQUESTS: OPEN✅

____________________________________________

9 - His Eyes of Hatred

"We met before, haven't we?" I try to keep my voice calm, but the tone was desperate; a consuming curiosity brewing in the cauldron of my mind. It began to bubble over as the existence of silence grew. The sliver of sunlight left in the day cast a long shadow across Kaz, exaggerating the sharp parts of his face; the dark lines left from a life in the Barrel. It is a constant reminder of who he is and what he will always be. The Bastard of The Barrel.

"Life isn't fate driven, Y/n," Kaz finally mutters while tapping the metallic crow head of his cane with a long, gloved finger. My eyebrows crease in annoyance, I'm not going to get a direct answer out of him. I sigh softly and lean against a barren tree. The sharp bark still pierces my skin through the thick jacket wrapped around me; Kaz's jacket. A blanket of heavy silence draped over us as the moon became the only source of light. I close my eyes and attempt to sift through the old, painful memories from my arrival into Ketterdam.

✶ ♧ ✶

The thick smoke of the endless line of boats had filled my lungs. I surepressed coughs that tried to escape my cracked lips. The smoke and fog masked my clumsy escape off of the wooden ship; off of home. I looked back for longer than I should have, soaking in the remnants of my childhood.

I trudged past bellowing merchants at makeshift stands filled with stealable goods and promising services. The voices of the bustling streets meshed together into a white noise more crackly than the sea I was used to, and diverse smells wafted through the air; food, dirt, death.

My stomach growled like a starved beast, my muscles felt strained and tight. My hungry gaze had landed on a man selling fresh fruits and breads; a strange assortment, but an appetizing one. He was younger, but old enough to have to avoid taxes illegally. His dark skin and curly hair contrasted pleasantly with his orange button up. He had been calling out to possible customers; the walking wallets that roamed the streets. I shifted my demeanor and softened my expression; an attempt to look sweet and desperate. Do what your mother taught you, I had told myself. I took long, elegant strides toward the stand, clasping my hands together as he looked at me. A glint of intrigue sparkled in his deep, dark eyes as he rested his elbows on the wooden counter. It was covered in apples and grapes, as well as warm baked goods.

I greeted him with an innocent smile as he spoke to me, "Ah, what can I do for ya' miss? Maybe a pear, a biscuit... a date?" He had winked and flashed me a dimpled smile. I giggled softly and batted my eyelashes. It felt so embarrassing— so degrading at the time.

"Well, maybe a loaf of bread and an apple?" I requested with my honeydew voice, which poured into his ears with a pleasurable vibration. He nodded with another wink and placed both into a cloth bag. I searched in my pockets, calm at first, but then frantic, a false panic spreading across my face. "My wallet! Oh no, I think someone stole my wallet," my lip quivered as I looked at the shop man with desperation. His expression was unfazed, he even huffed with a deep chuckle.

"You're not from here, are ya', little miss?" He rested his soft-edged face in his hands, amused with how naive I seemed. I had blinked a few times, cocking my head in confusion. He sighed as tears began to pool in my eyes, wiping them away with a calloused finger. "I'll give em' to ya' for free, but next time you come around, take me out for a nice meal," he smirked and extended his hand towards me. I accepted the bag of finessed foods from his outstretched palm, thanking him excessively.

I had whisked my way through the tight crowds until the outdoor markets became scarce. The streets were darker now, oiled lamp light more haphazard the further I walked. The way people took up space was different here. Before, in the markets, pedestrians had grand attires, with even grander ambitions. The cramped space was borrowed by anyone who took it, and the attempt was abundant.

But here, it contrasted immaculately. Those who roamed visibly tried to take up as little space as possible; small slivers of rotting life in the decaying world around them. Most people hadn't wandered openly, instead choosing to slip through the cracks of the city.

These seemed to be the rules of those who lived here, except for a handful of daring strangers I saw lingering outside a packed bar, a few chuckling loudly, drunkenly swaying with the leaning buildings. The rambunctious group had begun to make their way down the street, following a tall man with a cane that clacked against the cobblestone roads. He looked old, or maybe just worn, from his intense angularity and sharpened points. Though, further inspection had proved otherwise, showing the man's— er, boy's- cheeks puffed slightly on his angled face and hard expression. His soft jaw had seemed to be the only way to know he was young. He had actually appeared to be my age.

As the gang passed me with animated motions, I gave a quick wink to one that peered at me for far too long. My eyes were welcoming; entrancing. They were an enticing trap; a siren song that lured in those who thought too little about importances and too much about lust. The man whistled at me and even stopped, turning in my direction. I scanned him for any riches I'd need for future purchases or predicaments. A pocket watch had caught my eye. It dripped out from his chest pocket by a chain, which adorned his tailored suit that had been mishandled from the bar.

His mates had stopped, one making a groan of frustration. "You cannot hit on every pretty gal who acknowledges ya', Big B," a man slurred with a drunken scowl. The broad man, apparently Big B, strutted his way to me, towering over my body with a sly grin.

"You alone in the Barrel?" His words slipped on the sharp constants and bubbled in his deep voice. The Barrel? I remember being confused by that statement. I looked away bashfully for a moment before offering him batting eyes and a small smile. He took both with haste, his gaze narrowing as I had stepped closer to him. Big B's  friends behind him protested, a few stumbling towards him to drag him away. Shit, time for the emergency plan B, I had thought to myself, anxious to snag him watch and sell it to the nearest pawn shop for much too little.

I tripped over the uneven cobbles in the road as I shrunk the space between Big B and I, my hands falling in front of my tipping body onto his chest, right by his pocket.

"I am so sorry, sir, really, I didn't mean to-," my nervous pleas and apologies were stopped shortly by a deep, throaty laugh from the muscular man.

"Doll, no worries at all," he said. I had clutched my hands over my chest, the golden watch trapped between my palms. Shortly after, a few dirtied hands grabbed the thick arms of Big B before dragging him away from where I stood. I made a quick escape to a nearby alley as the men squabbled with one another. I slipped the watch into my pocket as I heard the enraged yells of Big B; he hadn't been able to find his watch for some reason. The roars faded and meshed with the voices of Ketterdam as I climbed my way up to the rooftops of the city.

The night had ticked away on the watched I clutched, my eyes filled with greed and satisfaction with every tik and tok it made. I had found myself my very own sliver of Ketterdam to hide in, an indent of a building that was covered with a dirtied sheet and stacked crates of spoiled produce.

My dreams of freedom and riches were halted by the familiar sound of a cane hitting cobblestone, followed by an unfamiliar noise of a cane hitting me in the arm, not hard enough to break it, but enough to leave a large bruise soon; a warning. I had yelped and contorted my body around the cloth roof of my shelter, lunging at the shadow of a figure; a diversion, as my father taught me, an eye catcher, as my mother had said. The attacker smacked me in the stomach with force, their cane causing my ribs to vibrate like a xylophone. I ignored the intense throbbing pain— another trick I had learned on the boat- as I rolled part of the sheet up. With a few flicks of my wrists, the wrung cloth was tightly around the neck of my current opponent. I squeezed tighter as I stared at them.

Before me had stood a reddening face— suffocation has that affect on people- of the sharp, dark boy from earlier. The ring leader of his own gritty circus. He once again used his cane to hit me in the leg, but I used this falling opportunity I had felt to smack my forehead into his. This along with the chokehold I had him in caused the boy to fall back, his well-groomed, dark hair covering his eyes a bit. He was strangely beautiful now that I had noticed it, in an intense sort of way.

Time was ticking away as I observed him, so I shoved him into the alley wall, where an eroded brick cut his lower lip. I ran with haste into the slick street as rain began to pour down in large globs. My hair had stuck to my skin, along with my wet clothes, where the gold watch was pocketed.

✶ ♧ ✶

My chilly hands fumble through my pants pockets, finding the signature time-teller of mine; a—now quite scratched- good pocket watch that hung from a thin chain. I held it in my palms, the sharp cold nipping at my finger tips. Kaz's eyes were glued on the small clock, his lower lip twitching. I toss it to him, and he unsurprisingly catches it with a single gloved hand.

"Maybe there is some fate," I finally melted the silence with a warm voice. I chuckle softly, looking at Kaz, his round cheeks and soft jaw were long gone, and he seemed to have become sharper and harder over the two years that past, the Barrel chipping away at his humanity with greediness to destroy a boy. His lower lip had a scar that ran down the center, an immortal reminder of the time a former pirate girl got a leg up on Kaz Brekker, no one got a let up on Kaz Brekker.

"Or maybe Ketterdam is too small for those with such high ambition," the oddly attractive boy responds with a rasp.

"I think that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I reply with a light laugh. Kaz doesn't  say anything, but he met my gaze with eyes that weren't completely filled with hatred.

________________

Word Count: 1889

________________

I took a quick break from writing to allow my creative drive to return, thought it's better to write better than write more.

-Valentine

[heartfullofleeches]

Which cow hybrid is the best at dealing with sleepy readers who are NOT morning people but must start the day no matter how warm the bed is? 😪 also can we get a little drabble of how it would go?

(It's a tie between Vanilla, Mint and Spice, but I choose Spice because.... I used a wheel)

Spiced Milk wheels a tray to your side of the bed. He kisses the crown of your head and turns on the radio on the dresser before getting to work. The alarm clock is set for exactly five minutes.

Spiced Milk first heads for the closet. They fold your day clothes over their arm as they return to the bed. Spice pulls the top layer of bedding from your body and tucks it into the corners of the bed, leaving the thin sheets over you to prevent waking you up before time.

Spice spreads your clothes out on the end of bed, smoothing out wrinkles the best he could without an iron. With that step completed, he moves onto the next. They pick up a kettle tray, pouring two glasses full of the brewing liquid within. He then cuts two slices of out of the loaf of coffee cake accompanying the display and puts them on the same plate. The alarm clock goes off as they sit in the chair beside you and take the first sip of their coffee. You wake after the second ear piercing buzz, groping around for warmth that wasn't there.

"The forecast said it would be nice out today. If only I had someone to share the day and this cake with."

Spiced Milk takes a single bite of his breakfast and sets the fork on the plate as he clutches his stomach. "Mm, it's so good, but I can't take another bite. Seems like it'll go to waste.. until a certain sleepyhead feels like getting out of bed today."

[arcanarubinaito]

Borrowing Clothes

This is rough, unedited, and kinda rushed! I’ll probably edit it later because there’s a lot of missing content, but I wanted to get the rough parts in before the deadline XD

For this Vesuvia Weekly prompt, I thought I’d indulge in a bit of writing that isn’t necessarily canon to Muriel and Auric’s story, but sweet nevertheless.

This takes place in what I’d call the “Heart Hunters/Tales Universe”, where it’s clear the routes haven’t taken place but there’s still a relationship between any given LI and the MC. Great for writing character dynamics and interactions, in a sort of nebulous adjacent setting without a clear storyline.

Summary:

It’s a cold day, and Auric wants to spend it bundled up with his favorite person.

Tags:

SFW (<18), 1.2k Words, Vesuvia Weekly, Borrowing Clothes, Muriel, Muriel of the Kokhuri, Auric Alnazar, Auric the Apprentice, Apprentice OC, Original Character(s), Romantic Relationship(s), Muriel/Auric, Muriel/OC, Fluff

It was an unusually cold day. Auric shivered as he made his way down the trail, gripping his shawl around him for what little warmth it could offer him. A basket was slung over one arm with a loaf of Selasi’s pumpkin bread wrapped in cheesecloth, a small bottle of black mead, and some smoked eel parcled off to the side. It was a rare treat to visit Muriel’s hut these days, so he figured it called for something special. A little something in exchange for how often Muriel had to come into the city just so they could see each other.

The shop kept him busy, but with any luck Auric would be able to rent the space out to someone else soon. He just needed the chance to discuss it with Asra first.

A gust of wind buffeted against Auric’s side, carrying with it the salty sea air and a few leaves that found purchase in his hair. With a huff, he swatted at the stray vegetation and tried to clear it all away and make himself look at least a little more presentable.

The door opened before Auric had the chance to even knock, Muriel’s massive form lurking in the doorway. He was wearing his cloak, a sign that he had been about to leave. Surprise flitted over Muriel’s features as they stared at one another, before the larger man shuffled awkwardly to the side to let him in. “I didn’t think you were coming today.” Muriel murmured, watching Auric step inside. He glanced out at the overcast sky, and Auric understood what he meant.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Auric replied, bustling over to the table to set the basket down. Inanna was stretched out by the fire, lazily swishing her tail back and forth as she watched both of them. Their eyes met for a moment before Inanna huffed softly and turned to rest her head lazily over her paws, closing her eyes. The apprentice smiled faintly before turning his attention back to unpacking the basket.

“You did…” Muriel pulled his cloak off, hanging it back up on the wall. He made his way over to where Auric stood, hesitating for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around the smaller man from behind. As always, the hug was as loose as possible; and as always, Auric rested one hand over Muriel’s arm and leaned back against him, guiding his arms to hold him a little closer. “It’s also cold.” The hermit murmured against the top of Auric’s head. “You’re cold.” There’s a brief pause before one of Muriel’s hands lifted, picking a stray leaf out of the apprentice’s hair.

Auric’s mouth twitched. He could tell Muriel’s eyes were fixed solely on the food he’d brought, and Auric carefully unwrapped the small packages. The smell of spices and eel wafted through the air, a very odd combination but not entirely unpleasant. “Ah, but I’m warm now.” Auric took one of Muriel’s hands and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I’m already forgetting how chilly it is outside.” Muriel grumbled softly in response before he pulled away to fetch the two plates and cups he owned.

“... are you staying tonight?” Muriel asked quietly, setting the wooden dishes out carefully. Auric cut a couple slices off the loaf, serving it and the eel onto both plates while Muriel uncorked the bottle and poured a bit of mead in both cups. While the question was worded one way, it meant another thing entirely; ‘I don’t want you walking home tonight in this weather.’

“I’d like to.” Auric reached across the table after they both sat down, and Muriel took his hand. Three soft squeezes; I love you. Muriel gave four more in return; I love you too.

-<>-

They slept in. Or well, Muriel slept in. Auric could never sleep too long once the sun was up, but he was more than content to rest in Muriel’s arms until he woke. He gazed out the window, taking in the swirling patterns of frost and light amount of snow that had settled in the clearing just outside. He snuggled in closer to Muriel, pulling the furs a little further over them. The fire had died down during the night, making the morning a bit chilly against his bare skin.

Muriel stirred a little, pulling Auric a little closer with a soft grumble. He pressed his face into the pillow with his mouth resting against the back of the apprentice’s head and his warm breath blew through Auric’s hair in soft huffs. A few minutes more, and Muriel’s eyes finally fluttered open with reluctance.

“Morning.” Auric brushed a soft kiss against Muriel’s cheek, taking quiet delight in the way the hermit’s cheeks reddened. He crossed his arms over Muriel’s chest and rested his head over them, idly tracing a heart over where Muriel’s beat.

The larger of the two men blinked the sleep out of his eyes, not yet sitting up. His hand lifted to brush some of Auric’s hair out of his face, curling the multicolored strands around his fingers loosely in an idle gesture of affection. “Morning.” Muriel’s voice rumbled, deep and croaky with early morning drowsiness. Auric could see the other’s lips curve slightly, a warm and sleepy smile.

It took a while for them to get up and moving, but Auric wasn’t in a rush. The shop was closed today and he didn’t have any errands to run until later that afternoon. There were plenty of little sleepy kisses exchanged between them until finally Muriel was awake enough to get up. They both shivered a little in the chilly morning air, and Muriel was quick to tuck the furs back around Auric until he could get the fire started again.

Breakfast was leftover pumpkin bread warmed by the fire, filling the hut with the scent of warm spices mixed with myrrh. They ate on the floor near the fire this time, Muriel listening as Auric rambled about his dreams.

When it finally came time for Auric to leave, Muriel gently grabbed his arm to stop him before he reached the door. In his other hand, the hermit held the scarf Auric bought him months ago. “Wait,” He murmured, draping it over Auric’s shoulders and fussing with it for a moment. “It’s still cold out.”

Auric was frozen for several seconds before he reached up to take his hands, his eyes shining softly. “Thank you.” He said softly, stretching up as far as he could to brush a kiss against Muriel’s cheek. The man’s face was flushed, his eyes focused on everything else but him for a little bit before he finally dragged his gaze to meet Auric’s.

“Just… bring it back when you visit next time.” Muriel mumbled, dipping down to brush a very brief kiss against Auric’s cheek in return. His hand reached out to open the door, the other pulling out of Auric’s grasp to grab his own cloak. “I’ll um… walk you to the city.” He added quietly.

The apprentice smiled, taking Muriel’s hand. With his other, he gently grasped onto the scarf wound around his neck and pulled it up to partially cover his face against the cold as they set out together.

[softagenda]

birds of a feather (ais)

ais x reader(f)

baking au / short fic

series: birds of a feather ; aperitif

originally posted on ao3

masterlist

Preview

“Barkeep said you’d be back here,” Ais’s voice echoes through the empty kitchen, sounding bemused. “Gotta admit this wasn’t what I expected.”

You glance over your shoulder, snort, and continue to knead the large, lumpy mass of dough on the counter. “Thought I’d be butchering the cow for them?”

“Cleaning the bones for a necklace, bottling marrow for potions,” he adds, his footsteps drawing closer until he appears at the edge of her counter. “Scrying prey with skin or eyeballs. The usual.” He leans over and braces his elbows on the stone, chin notched in his palm.

“Ha ha.”

“Just thought you’d be doing something a little more badass.”

The dough softens and pulls beneath your hands, wisps of flour puffing into the air with each roll. For a long time, you’d been afraid to touch not just anyone but any thing . When you were young, your teacher had eventually convinced you to work on more crafts and skills, to grow more comfortable with your bare hands - and despite all they’d put you through, those memories still held bittersweet solace even now. “There’s still time to add more ingredients. A cup of chopped, eldritch sea demon should add some spice.”

“I was just about to ask if that was a meat cleaver in your pocket, or if you’re just happy to see me.”

You roll your eyes and pause to spread the dough between your fingers, before balling it up and dropping it in a pot to mature in the shade for a while. “Guess Leander’s getting most of my loaf tonight. I know he’ll appreciate it.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Most? Who else?”

“Vere will probably sneer, express his utmost disdain for such peasant fair, and then eat a fourth of it. He’s a slut for a honey glaze.” You sidle closer and prop your hip on the edge, looking him over. It’s a little unusual to see him out and about during the day. His hair windswept, the folds of his kimono draping around his belt and down his left arm, Ais looks as though he just rolled out of bed.

“Mhin seems like they’d have a sweet tooth too. Kuras… hmm.” You shrug and flick the tail of your hair over your shoulder. “Hard to know what the good doctor likes. Have you ever seen him eat?”

“No, despite Leander’s best attempts.” Red eyes trail lazily over the quiet kitchen: stacks of copper pots, a shelf full of knives and spokes, the massive iron cauldron warming in the hearth, before stopping on you. “He likes you, though.”

“Think he’d break bread with me?” You ask with a laugh in your voice. 

Ais only hums, but the faint smile evolves into something with a little more teeth. 

“It’s a shame my bread’s not badass enough for the Seaspring’s master,” you muse, biting on your tongue to keep from grinning. “Guess I’ll go and have a cry about it.”

“Always wanted to make you cry, sparrow,” he says, rising from his slouch and stepping toward you. His broad shoulders cage you up against the counter, his body looming over you. He’s not hot like most men and monsters - Ais seemed to exude the same chill that drifted in mists from the Seaspring, smelling of brine and brimstone. “Didn’t think I’d manage it like this.”

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, hooking your finger into the lip of the leather belt. You’re exceptionally careful of what you touch and where, without your bandages to shield him. “How did you imagine it?”

Ais leans into your space, his heavy-lidded gaze settling on your mouth with smoldering heat, like embers roasting on a bed of coals. His finger drew a line across the counter before lifting, a peak of flour sitting there like a snow cap. “No clothes. Less flour.” He blows it off, smirking as the cloud drifts into your face. 

“The counter’s unexpected, but… not bad.” He wraps his knuckles against the top. “It’ll probably hold up.” 

Heat curls within you. “ Probably .”

Ais shrugs. “Probably.”

You take a long, steady breath, feeling your stomach brush against him. “Better chances than that pier, I suppose.”

Something swam through his red eyes, the glow brightening for a heartbeat. “Now that’s a thought, sparrow.”

“You haven’t had it before? I’m offended.”

“Figured you’d want a bed, at least.”

“I’m not picky.” 

Ais chuckles, the sound so low and pleased that it hooks into you with electric warmth. He leans his body forward until his weight presses against you, pins you to the cold stone at your back, and cranes his neck. He presses a grinning mouth against yours. 

“Birds of a feather, sparrow.”

_____________________

a/n: thank you for reading!

[jess-the-reckless]

'Tis the season of farting about in the kitchen. Quite delighted with how these vegetarian nut roasts came out. Uncooked, ready for the freezer, another thing I don't have to prepare on Christmas Day. I would drop a recipe, but I was just busking with these, I'm afraid. I took a package of Merchant Gourmet peeled and roasted chestnuts, a brioche bun from clearing out the freezer yesterday, maybe 100g of mixed nuts (almonds, walnuts, cashews), and pulverised the lot in the food processor. Then I added a whole minced yellow onion for moisture, and an egg to bind. For seasonings I went with warm Christmas spices - cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice, along with plenty of salt and fresh ground black pepper. Oh, and some dates. I finely chopped three or four pitted dates and stirred them in just to add a pop of sweetness to accompany the sweet spices. Not too much, though, because the chestnuts add sweetness of their own. This is a savoury dish, but I like to lean into the Christmas flavours. A spoonful of dried cranberries would also work well, I think, but I only had dates on hand.

I usually stuff this into a lined loaf tin to bake, but I had to do two this year, so instead I lined a large round cutter with greaseproof paper, brushed it with sunflower oil, and stuffed the mixture down hard. Then they went into the freezer. Not sure what comes next as regards them keeping their shape while baking, but I might construct a foil collar to sit on top of the paper wrap. Will probably defrost them Christmas Eve then bake for about 20-25 minutes at 200C on Christmas Day itself.

[bakuliwrites]

A quiet, Sunday with Kento Nanami (one-shot, fluff and a bit of spice):

A/N: Kento Nanami has a vice grip on me, body and soul. This man is everything I've ever wanted. Also, all I could think of when writing the spicy part of this fic is the song "Rugburn" by sad alex. So do with that what you will. This fic ended up a bit longer than I meant it to (which is something I end up saying a lot, so maybe I should just accept that that's how things go haha)

The blue light of dawn filters through the curtains, softly illuminating your bedroom. You reach out sleepily, eyes open just a crack, for the warmth of Kento beside you. He hums in return, body responding to your searching hand, pulling you into his loving embrace. He's not awake yet and probably won't be for a little while. Quite frankly, you're not ready to wrench yourself from the comfort of your bed. So you snuggle up in Kento's arms, finding peace of mind in the gentle thrum of his heart and the even rise and fall of his chest.

When the city is bathed in gold with the light of the morning sun, Kento stretches, blinks blearily, and passes you a warm smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he draws you in to press his lips softly against yours.

"Good morning, my darling," his voice rumbles, husky from sleep. You get to linger in his embrace for a long while, grateful for the fact that it's Sunday, and your beloved has agreed to take the whole day off. You have a number of activities planned. It's not often that you and Kento get the weekend together. Life is always so busy, so you cherish the moments of peace that you have with him.

First order of business is the farmers market. Hand-in-hand, you and Kento weave between the stalls, inspecting bright bunches of produce and trying freshly baked bread drizzled with sweet local honey. Between sips of coffee from the shop on the corner, you sneak in tiny kisses and chit-chat about what vegetables are in season. The two of you walk away with a brown paper sack filled with radishes, carrots, cucumber, and a heavenly loaf of ciabatta. He also nabs a tub of goat cheese spread. Kento promises he'll cook you a feast tonight.

A quick stop at the library follows, both to drop off a number of books (Kento would never let one go overdue) and to search for a few more. You separate from your beloved for about half an hour, sifting through the shelves, hoping something will catch your eye. When you reconvene with him by the checkout desk, the pile of books you each have in your hands is larger than the pile you dropped off. Kento's low chuckle is music to yours ears.

"I guess we better buckle down this afternoon," he teases, "We've got a lot of reading to do."

So that's exactly what you do. The mid-afternoon sunlight streams through the living room windows. You find yourself sprawled out on the couch, head in Kento's lap, each reading your own separate novels. But you keep getting distracted by the adorable crinkle in Kento's forehead, the one he gets when he's concentrating. His deep brown eyes scan every word and his fingers flip each page so delicately. He smells like fresh linen, expensive cologne, and hazy spring.

With the way you're staring at him, Kento can't help but feel distracted, as well. Every time he glances down, he meets your doe-eyed gaze, clearly not focused on your reading at all. The light reflecting off your hair, the playful smirk that tugs at your lips, the way your shirt drapes loosely over your chest: it's enough to derail his concentration entirely. All he can think about is how much he'd like to lose himself in you.

And that's precisely what he does. Books are abandoned on the coffee table, clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor. Kento Nanami buries his handsome face between your thighs, tongue gliding languidly along your folds. A room once filled with the crinkle of turning pages is alight with husky grunts, soft mewls, and quiet exhalations. He tastes of you when he reaches up to ensnare your lips with his. His calloused hands are rough, but his grip is forgiving as he holds you in place. You ride him slowly, basking in the glory of this spring afternoon. Taking pleasure in one another, languorous and unabstracted. The world beyond falls away to nothing. All that exists is you, Kento, and this plush couch.

Love bites litter your neck, your collarbone, and his. Kento's cheeks are rosy, his body warm as you tangle together on the couch, bathing in the sunlight, in the cozy afterglow. His fingers dance along your skin, massage your hips. Kiss after kiss, kiss after kiss, and you can't get enough of one another.

It's not until the sky beyond fades to hues of pink and orange that you and Kento decide it's time to get up.

"I promised you dinner, didn't I?" he beams as you draw him in for one final kiss. He lingers for a moment, tongue tracing your parted lips before he has to wrench himself away. You know this isn't the last time the two of you will get distracted tonight.

Kento pushes his blonde hair back with a stretchy headband and throws an apron on over his t-shirt and sweats. It's so funny to see him dressed so casually. It feels like a secret you get to bear witness to: casual Kento, underdressed Kento, and still looking as pulled together as ever. You might know this as his disheveled, post-love-making look, but no one else would ever suspect that this is Nanami at his most laid-back.

Laughter fills the kitchen as you cook together, dancing around one another in the small space. As things sizzle away on the stove, Kento pulls you into his arms and sways with you to the slow jazz on the radio. Days like these are precious, sacred, and you wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

[teeth-farie]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Notes: amab reader, masc/he/him pronouns for reader, yandere reader, intersex asra, jealousy, jealous sex (all consensual!!!), ‘cunt, pussy, cock’ used for asra, obscene use of italics, 3.1k words

☞. . . A commission for @faezocarina !! They wanted a yandere reader/asra fic with asra being conflicted about your behavior. I hope you like it!!

Cloves grind efficiently under the pestle, the circular motions of Asra’s wrists crushing the bulbs into a fragrant mess of powder and chunks. He likes to think that life is peaceful, and domestic even now since you’ve been brought back. But he knows that’s not entirely true.

Asra would never regret bringing you back. He would never regret those long nights burning the candle at both ends, ripping his own hair out for a spell or ritual that would possibly work. He couldn’t ever regret it, not when he has you back. But that didn’t mean you were the same.

He supposes that necromancy would do that to a soul, to be ripped from one plane to another; but it didn’t mean he loved you any less, and it didn’t mean you were any less his. Part of him suspects that maybe your current behavior was always there, hidden in plain sight, masked by his rose-tinted glasses and puppy love crush. 

To say you were clingy was an understatement. It was almost like you wanted to live in his skin. And he isn’t so sure he would mind. 

When Asra’s thoughts lull, he realizes what should be crushed clove is now a nearly fine powder. It would make it awfully hard for a cup of tea, so instead, he dumps the powder into a jar. You loved your pumpkin bread, and he could give it to Selasi to make you an extra special loaf. It was the last of his clove, so he supposes he’ll need to make another trip soon. He’s heard that some vendors in Nopal have gotten their hands on some good spices from Prakra, at a deal too, but Asra doesn’t pay with the typical funds anyway. He thinks he’ll bring an extra shiny trinket for them instead. 

His only issue, that is, would be you. Ever since the resurrection, Asra became…limited with where he could go. It’s not that he didn’t want to spend every moment with you, but being by your side when he knew he couldn’t have you (even if you wanted him so badly)…he couldn’t stand it. So he had to slip out when you were sleeping, unfurl your grip from him and replace himself with a pillow. It didn’t always work, and you’d catch him at the door while he wound his scarf around his shoulders. You’d beckon him back, a sour look on your face, and Asra had wanted nothing more than to curl back into your embrace. But sometimes, he just couldn’t. He’d make sure to make it up to you, he says to himself every time. 

Warm arms wrap around his middle, a chin resting on his shoulder. “Asra,” you breathe, squeezing his sides lightly, living in his smell of smokey incense and herbal tea intensely. “You weren’t there when I woke up.” 

He can hear the pout in your voice, and he turns in your arms. Your eyes are lidded with sleep, little lines from the pillow's wrinkles pressed into your cheek. “I was just down here,” he reassures, reaching his hands up to cup your face tenderly. “Don’t you want breakfast?”

You shift your eyes from him to the counter after a moment, looking at the fresh stack of pancakes. Your stomach growls almost immediately at the prospect of sustenance, and Asra laughs cheerfully. “C'mon, let's get some food in you.”

You let go of him reluctantly. “It would have been nice to see you in your apron.” You say almost nonchalantly and Asra feels his face get a little hot at the idea, as simple as it was. It felt good to be wanted, even if what you wanted was to see him in a dingy patchwork apron. “Then you should get up earlier.” He says back instead, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

You praise Asra’s cooking endlessly, quickly devouring the fluffy pancakes, only mildly burnt. A quick glance at his stack reveals that he’s taken the more burnt of the dozen, albeit dousing them in honey and syrup. 

“We should stop by the marketplace,” Asra says around a mouthful of half-chewed pancake. “I’m running low on some spices, and I know you don’t like it when I leave too far away.” Or leave at all.

You nod, dragging your finger through the syrup and honey pooled around your empty plate. You suck it off your finger and the magician stares a little longer than he should. “You don’t need to keep going to Nopal and wherever else if we have what we need here.” You say after popping your finger from your lips, snapping Asra back to focus. He clears his throat. “R-right,”

You smile, a pleasant curl of your lips that makes him feel warm. “Maybe we can get some pumpkin bread while we’re there.” You lean forward, and Asra starts to pucker his lips. His brows furrow when you take a bite off the fork he didn't even realize he was still holding. “Was getting soggy.” You grin impishly, swallowing the honey-saturated pancake. 

…

The sun is bright and warm in the marketplace, discussion chittering and buzzing across the crowd. Asra feels your hand fall into his, your warm skin clasping against his, palm to palm. In the past, you took to holding his hand for guidance through such a large crowd, but Asra knows you’ve grown strong, and you don’t need to hold onto him anymore. But you still do. He used to joke that you must be trying to leech off his energy with how tiring the marketplace can be, but he’s long since figured out it’s your way of guarding him. 

You pass a multitude of shops on your way to the spice stands, things like pendulums and flashy shells catch Asra’s attention before you tug him back in the right direction. “You get distracted too much.” You tease and he pouts. “We’ll just have to visit them on the way back.” He playfully scrunches his nose, squeezing your hand for good measure. You squeeze back, a little firmer than him, fingers intertwined. 

You zone out a bit as Asra trades and barters for spices, craning your neck up to watch the fluffy clouds go by. One reminds you of Faust and her long, noodle-like body. 

“I’ve got a special deal for someone as breathtaking as you.”

Your head snaps back into the stand, your jaw setting and teeth gritting upon inspection of the interaction. It’s a new vendor, a young man with sunburnt skin and wavy hair. A man all too close to what’s yours. 

Asra pointedly ignores the remark, changing the subject to how much he wanted to purchase—but you don’t. You stalk back behind him, firmly hugging your arms around Asra’s waist. 

“Oh! Done cloud watching?” He asks, rummaging around in his bag for something to barter with. The vendor’s smile sours. 

“Yes.” You respond, eyes narrowed into a glare where they land on the young man behind the wooden counter. “You were talking about a deal?” 

The vendor laughs nervously. “Y-yes- I was just talking about a deal for new customers! Ten percent off!”

“That’s not what you said.” You squeeze Asra a little tighter, pressing your nose against the crook of his neck. The magician shivers, his cheeks turning red at the display of affection. 

“A-and may I ask, you are-“

“His boyfriend.” You stop the vendor in his tracks, kissing Asra’s neck for good measure and punctuation. Asra yelps a little, nervously laughing and the vendor’s face blooms the reddest red you’ve ever seen. 

“O-ok I’ll get these another time, thank you!” Your partner stammers, quickly tugging you away while you give the poor man another long, territorial glare. 

You’re pushed into a secluded area, shaded by rugs and silks for sale. “What are you doing?” Asra nearly hisses, embarrassment and something else painting his face. 

“I’m protecting you.”

“That- that was not- I mean, y-you,” he fumbles over his words, his face getting redder by the second, coloring that gorgeous golden skin you love so much. Asra feels a giant knot of emotion and conflict well up in his chest; on one hand, it was completely outrageous for you to respond like that and fluster him so, but on the other hand…oh, how Asra loved to be wanted. He liked how you grabbed him up and put your claim on him- how you’ve gotten so possessive and territorial- oh, it gets him hot-

He kisses you suddenly, grabbing your shirt and tugging you forward roughly. You can taste the desperation and honeyed pancakes on his tongue, feel his energy meld with yours the closer he presses himself against your body. You hold him tightly, digging your fingers into his hips and waist in a way that makes him whimper. 

Asra pulls away with a stuttering breath before it can go too far, his pupils blown where they sit in amethyst eyes. “I need you.” He whispers, sliding his hands under your shirt. 

“Not here,” you take his hands in yours instead, despite how much you want to feel him all over you as quickly as possible. “No one else can see you like this, only me.” It sounds more like a growl when you say it, and Asra can’t believe how much it turns him on. He shouldn’t be encouraging that behavior, and he shouldn’t be allowing you to hide him away and keep him as your own, but he does. He does because it feeds that frenzied, obsessive version of himself from the height of the plague when he cheated death herself. It soothes that heart-wrenching ache for you he felt, something he never wants to feel again.

So you take him home, taking any shortcut you could remember–and you only contemplated stopping in an alleyway to have your way with him once. Neither of you knows how you made it back to the shop without cracking, and you don’t think you really care to speculate, not when you have your Asra waiting for you like this. He has the mind to turn the sign to ‘closed’ before you pounce, kissing him fervently. The magician all but melts, throwing his arms around your neck and moaning against your lips. The sound only fuels that fire in your gut, the grinding gears in your mind that screech and hiss Asra, Asra, Asra.

Your teeth catch on his bottom lip and he whimpers, curling his fingers against your scalp. “Take me to bed,” he breathes against your lips, but he finds himself ill-prepared for when you hook your arms under his thighs and hoist him over your shoulder. “Ah- haha!” He squeals, gripping onto you for dear life as you ascend the stairs to the small, cozy bedroom. 

You drop him onto the cushy mattress, smiling as he bounces and laughs an exhilarated laugh. Asra’s giggles melt into a moan when you kiss him again, this time only spending a few moments at his lips before moving lower down his jaw. You can feel his pulse flutter under your lips, that golden collar of his hiding the most vulnerable of spots. But you like it, you like seeing your Asra in such a pretty collar–it means he’s yours. 

“Mine,” you find yourself whispering in between kisses and licks. “You’re mine, no one else can have you.” 

“Yours,” he mimics, a rumbly little sound reverberating from his chest when you tease your teeth against a nearly faded hickey. “Only yours- oh gods, only ever yours.” 

Your hands grab at his clothes, hastily ripping him free of his shirt. Asra doesn’t take the time to mourn the buttons, his mind growing plagued by lust and desperation. His skin feels like it's burning by the time you touch him, and finds himself making a choked sound when your fingers brush his nipples. “Yes, yes, just like that,” he gasps when you lean down and lick over his nipple, taking the hardened peak into your mouth. Asra’s head falls back against the fluffy pillows, mouth gaping and hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. 

You look up your lashes at him, reaching lower, your palm going to cup his swollen crotch. His breath stutters, legs widening almost mindlessly. “Yes, touch me there,”

You pop off of his nipple, scraping your teeth against it gently as you do. “You drive me crazy,” you circle your fingers over his bulge, rubbing against his confined cock. Asra bites his lip. “You live in my head constantly, all I think about is you,” you forgo your touching to tug at his pants, and Asra eagerly unbuttons and kicks them off. He spreads his legs again, exposing his bare cunt and cock, both swollen and wet for you. 

“I couldn’t stand hearing that man speak to you like that.” You growl, taking his small dick between your fingers and stroking it almost a little too quickly. He makes a sound that you drink in, filing away for a lonely moment. “No one is allowed to speak- to look at you like that, I’ll keep you tied up here if I have to.” Your eyes are locked with his, filled with a look of something devious and dark. Asra shivers, and he knows he needs to correct that behavior, but he's starting to believe he might just be as insane as you. “I’d never leave,” he pants, keening when you rub your finger over the weeping head of his cock. “I’d- h-huhn, I’d never leave, not ever, not w-when you’re touching me like that, oh right there just like that-!” 

You stop before Asra can reach his gratification, watching his cocklet twitch pitifully at the sudden lack of attention. “Not yet, I want you to come from my cock.” 

He feels a little dizzy at that, painfully aware of how empty and aching his cunt feels. Looking at him now, you’ve become alert to your own needs, swollen and throbbing in your pants. “Take them off,” Asra pleads, making a show of guiding his hand down and pushing his fingers into himself. Your breath hitches, eyes locked on how he spreads himself for you. “I need you, make me yours.”

You groan, almost salivating at his words and actions, forcefully pulling your pants off your body. Asra moans at the sight of your cock hanging heavily between your legs, fingers plunging in a little faster, and he begins to think he could get off on just the image of you. He spreads his fingers and shows off his hastily prepped hole, gaping the pink, gummy flesh as you knock his legs apart. “Mine, mine, mine,” you chant, replacing Asra’s hand with your own and spreading his lips open as you guide yourself into him. There’s a mutual sound of satisfaction–your dick filling him completely, and his walls hugging you snuggly. “Yours, yours, yours!” He gasps when you bottom out completely, your pelvis flush against his. 

You set a steady pace, easing in and out, in and out, until you can hear the slapping of your balls against his ass and the stuttery panting of his breaths. “I have to- hah, mark you as mine, make it clear no one else can have you,” you begin to ramble, hands hooked under his thighs, your hips thrusting forward quicker, quicker, quicker. 

Asra hiccups under the force of your hips, bouncing up on the bed with each thrust. He shakily wraps his legs around your hips, crooning in delight when you grab and hold his legs tighter around you. “Mine, mine, inside and out,” you moan, leaning down lower, bracing your arms by his head. Asra wraps his arms around you almost instantly, holding you chest to chest as you continue to fuck into him. “My Asra, mine, mine.” 

You angle yourself on the next thrust in, hitting upwards, the head of your cock spearing against that sweet spot of his. The squeal that tears from his throat is almost instant, his nails digging into your back. You delight yourself in the feeling; your Asra is claiming you back, he’s putting his mark on you too, and it only makes your obsession grow. 

“There, there, there!” He cries, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, pure pleasure coursing through every artery and vein. He’s never felt as good as he does now, he wishes you'd burrow yourself in and never leave if this is how you’ll make him feel. 

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, mouth latching on to faded hickeys and bites. Asra can't help but hold the back of your head in place, his eyes rolling back when you sink your teeth in. “Yes, yesyesyes! I’m so close, so close, pleasepleaseplease–” 

He can feel your tongue drag over the fresh bite, hips jackhammering into him so hard he knows he’ll be limping in the morning; but he doesn’t care, he can’t care when he's so close. You wiggle your hand between your bodies, pressing your palm against his leaking cock and doing your best to rub in time with your humping, and Asra is finished.

He swears his vision goes white, his legs tightening like a coiled snake around your waist, and his nails digging into your back and hair, tugging and scratching, overwhelmed in the senses. Hot, liquid cum squirts from his cocklet, splattering against both of your stomachs and the color slowly returns to his sight, his scream coming out in a strangled mess. 

“Come, come in me,” Asra begs weakly, overstimulation slowly creeping across his body, but it can’t stop now, not when you’re so close too. He guides your head back up from his neck, bumping his forehead against yours. “Please,” he hiccups. “Make me yours.”

Really, it’s all you need to finish; your wonderful, intoxicating Asra begging you to finish inside him, how can you tell him no? You hump into him, growing uncoordinated with the last few stuttery thrusts until you spill in him. Sound rushes into your ears, your body tensing as you pump your lover full of your cum. 

Asra makes a pleased sound, slumping back against the bed, utterly boneless. You ease yourself in and out a few more times, ensuring you’ve drained yourself completely into him, truly claiming him from the inside out. 

“Oh, oh wow,” he laughs when you dislodge yourself and watch the cum drip from his spent pussy. “That was so good, you're so good,” he babbles, pulling you back down to kiss you eagerly.

You melt against him, moaning into his mouth when he licks at your lips. Asra’s face is flushed with exertion when you part with a wet sound, eyes filled with pure love and adoration, and it's all because of you. 

You think you could stare into those wonderous, lavender eyes for all eternity if he let you, and you’d destroy any obstacle in the way of that. 

[swimmingwolf59]

omfg how long has this been sitting in my drafts??? At least four months LMAO because I baked these from the star trek cookbook for my friends for the winter holidays!

First was the Ha Rageel (Vulcan carrot loaf) - I loved how moist this loaf was!! Probably could've used a bit more sugar, and it did fall apart in transport lol, but otherwise I thought it was good!

It also has one of my favorite captions from the cookbook: "It has never ceased to amuse Doctor McCoy that Mister Spock, with all his logical training, cannot consider Ha Rageel a close equivalent to Tufeen Hushani. Actually, to the logical Vulcan mind, a ceremonial wedding cake is quite unrelated to an "everyday" dessert loaf. It is quite true that they contain many of the same ingredients and have a somewhat similar taste. But this no more makes them related than the same number of eyes and legs makes first cousins of horses and dogs. To a cook the difference is also important. Preparing the wedding cake requires time, attention and care to avoid a minor disaster; with Ha Rageel you can hardly go wrong."

Yes this was the inspiration for my fic. I mean, how can you tell me McCoy has teased Spock about the carrot loaf being similar to the wedding cake and NOT expect me to write a fic about it.

Also sorry McCoy, but after making both, they are WAY different, and the wedding cake is better imo 🤣

I also made Criniti, Romulan spice cookies! These turned out sooooooo yummy, will definitely be making them again!

They also have a fun legend for the caption in the cookbook: "The name for these cookies comes from an ancient Romulan legend. The story is about how the Romulan herding wolves came to be domesticated.

"Once there was a long, hard winter, and the tribe of the boy Kalyb was short on furs. The boy was already a good hunter, but not yet old enough to go with the men. The men had caught all the meat they needed, and the tribe had stored seeds, honey, nuts, and dried fruit. But still they needed furs, or they would freeze.

"One morning Kalyb chanced on a sleeping Canis crinitus with a magnificent pelt and was about to kill it. The animal pleaded for its life and offered the following bargain. If Kalyb's tribe would prepare his favorite treat for him and his clan, they would help the boy's tribe catch all the woolly, sheep-like mountain creatures they needed.

The boy's tribe prepared cakes from seeds, dried fruits, nuts and honey and left them where the Criniti could find them. The next day, the cakes were gone, and before long, Kalyb heard a great commotion. The Criniti were sweeping down from the hills driving the woolly animals before them. Kalyb's tribe killed many of them and had enough furs to keep themselves warm all winter. Kalyb's people learned more about the habits and needs of the Criniti, and between them figured out how to keep a supply of the woolly sheep-like animals on hand for meat and fur.

"Romulans still use fruit and nut cakes for training their animals. They also make delicious spiced cookies using many of the same ingredients as rewards for their children. On certain feast days it is even proper for adults to be seen eating them."

Idk if this is based on anything in real life? Cool either way tho! Also I want a pet wolf LMAO