#Wood Fruit Pie

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜🧸

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣: "who used my kitchen?"

Word count: 4036

Summary: In this chapter, Y/N wakes up to find Felix asleep beside her and makes her way to the kitchen to prepare a big breakfast for her new packmates. Chan praises her cooking and offers to help set up a garden for her, which she gratefully accepts. Y/N has a tense encounter with Hyunjin, who reacts coldly and dismissively. Upset, she retreats to Felix’s room where I.N and Lee Know comfort her. Lee Know speaks with Hyunjin, helping him confront his fears and pain about getting hurt again. The mood lightens when Changbin and Minho’s playful food fight breaks out in the kitchen, making Y/N smile and feel more at ease.

Warning: Angst/comfort, cursing, hate, insecurities,

The next morning, Y/N woke up feeling the weight of Felix’s arms draped around her waist, her legs tangled in the blankets. She groaned as she stretched, trying to ease the stiffness in her neck without disturbing Felix, who was sleeping soundly and peacefully. The pressure on her bladder made her discomfort even more urgent.

Reluctant to wake him, Y/N carefully extricated herself from his embrace and tiptoed to the bathroom. This was the first time in ages she’d slept in a bed, and she savored the comfort. She glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed—she looked disheveled. Knowing she couldn’t face the day like this, she quickly freshened up, borrowing a few items from Felix’s makeup bag: some chapstick, blush, mascara, and concealer.

Feeling somewhat presentable, Y/N made her way to the kitchen. The house was still quiet, the soft snores of her new packmates just audible thanks to her keen omega hearing. The spacious kitchen brought a smile to her face. She had always loved cooking and gardening, memories of her childhood cabin in the woods flashing through her mind. Her father had built it for her, a sanctuary where she could indulge her passions. Although she missed her old pack, she felt a growing sense of gratitude for her new one.

Y/N glanced around the kitchen, methodically pulling out pots and pans. She made a mental note of where each item was stored, ensuring she wouldn’t disrupt Leeknow’s precise organization. With a quiet determination, she set to work, contemplating her options for breakfast. “What to cook?” she murmured, rifling through the ingredients before deciding on pork kimchi jjigae and some pie. It seemed like a perfect choice for the boys.

Her hands moved with practiced ease as she prepared the dish, multitasking by brewing coffee and squeezing fresh juice. She hummed a lively tune, her hips swaying rhythmically. Cooking was her sanctuary, a place where she felt truly at home, and she embraced every aspect of it.

As she chopped vegetables and stirred the pot, Chan wandered into the kitchen, his eyes widening in surprise. “Wow, you’re up early,” he remarked, noting the contrast to his usual routine. Chan was typically the first one awake, starting his day with coffee and catching up on work while the rest of the pack got ready for practice. Today, however, he was greeted by the sight of Y/N already bustling about. “It smells amazing in here,” he added, his voice tinged with genuine appreciation.

Y/N looked up from her tasks, a warm smile spreading across her face at the sight of Chan. “Good morning, Chan!” she chirped, her voice bright with enthusiasm. She gave him a quick, respectful bow before turning back to her cooking. “I’ve made coffee and fresh juice if you’d like some. I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer a fruit bowl, and I couldn’t quite find any,” she explained, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked around the kitchen.

Chan chuckled, clearly entertained by her earnestness. “You’re quite the early bird. I usually get up first, make some coffee, and work on my laptop until the others are up. But it looks like I’m not the only one with a morning routine now.” He approached the counter, his gaze taking in the array of dishes and the inviting aroma filling the room. “And it smells absolutely delicious. What are you making, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with pride. “I’m making pork kimchi jjigae. I thought it would be a nice treat for everyone. I love cooking, and I wanted to start the day on a good note.” She paused, then added with a playful smile, “I hope it turns out okay. I’m still figuring out the exact flavors they like.”

Chan’s eyes softened, and he leaned against the counter, looking genuinely impressed. “It’s really kind of you to do this. We’re all lucky to have someone like you around. I can tell you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

Y/N’s smile widened at his compliment. “Thank you, Chan. It’s nice to hear that. I’ve missed having a kitchen to cook in. Back home, my dad built me a cabin where I could cook and garden to my heart’s content. I really enjoyed those times.”

Chan nodded, understanding the sentiment. “I can imagine. It must be comforting to have a space where you can do what you love. You know, if you’re interested, we could set up a little garden for you here. I’d be happy to help build one.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the offer. “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said softly, her cheeks flushing with a hint of shyness. “It’s really generous of you, but…”

Chan smiled warmly. “I insist. I know how important gardening is to you, and I think it would be a great way for you to feel even more at home here. It’ll be a nice project for us to work on together.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up, and she hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Well… if you’re sure, I’d really appreciate it. It would mean a lot to me.”

“Great!” Chan said, clearly pleased. “We’ll get started on it soon. For now, let’s focus on enjoying this delicious meal you’re preparing.” Y/N’s heart swelled with gratitude as Chan moved to assist. 

“Ah, this is adorable! But honestly, I think you’ve done more than enough. I’ll handle setting the plates and grab some coffee, if that’s alright with you?” Chan offered, his tone warm and appreciative.

Y/N shook her head, a determined look in her eyes. “No, Chan. You’re the Alpha; Alphas don’t work in the kitchen. Only omegas and betas do,” she said firmly, a playful note in her voice.

Chan raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “No, Y/Nnie. We’re all equal here. Just because I’m the Alpha doesn’t mean I can’t help out. Please understand that,” he said, gently taking her hand and beginning to massage it.

Y/N started to whine in protest, but Chan gave her a playful, almost mischievous glare. She felt her cheeks warm, her defiance melting away under his gaze.

“Alright, Channie, but today let me do this to say thank you,” she said, her voice softening. She knew it was a little white lie to make Chan feel at ease, but she was caught off guard when Chan looked at her with furrowed eyebrows and then broke into a giggle.

“You know,” Chan said, still chuckling, “I can see right through you. You’re trying to make me feel better, but it’s really sweet of you. If you insist, I’ll let you take charge this time, but remember, we’re all here to support each other. It’s a team effort.”

Y/N’s eyes twinkled with a mix of relief and mischief. “Okay, okay, you win,” she said with a smile, her earlier shyness replaced by a genuine grin. “I’ll let you help next time. But for now, enjoy the breakfast!”

Chan’s laughter filled the kitchen, making the atmosphere even more cheerful. As he helped set the table. 

As Y/N finished stirring the kimchi jjigae, Chan approached with a mischievous glint in his eye. Before she could react, he gently lifted her onto the counter and stood between her legs, the sudden closeness catching her off guard. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks as slick grew between her legs. what a turn on she thought.

“You know I can hear your thoughts, right?” Chan’s playful remark made Y/N’s face turn a deep shade of red. She jolted slightly, her pulse quickening at his unexpected proximity. could he actually? they weren't mated yet! he must be just playing with her feelings.

“Oppa, you can’t just do that!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and fluster.

“I can and I will,” Chan said with a teasing grin. “So you might as well be honest with me.”

Y/N huffed, trying to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t help but laugh. “It feels like you’re testing my boundaries,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing as a giggle escaped her.

“Then stop trying to hide things. The pack alpha always knows,” Chan chuckled, his laughter warm and reassuring. Y/N playfully nudged him, a soft smile on her lips.

“Will you two horny bastards keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep,” Han’s voice cut through, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement as he passed by the kitchen toward the bathroom. Both Chan and Y/N burst into laughter at Han’s grumbling.

“Sorry!” Y/N called out, her laughter lingering as she returned to setting the table.

Chan grinned and said, “I’ll go get everyone up,” before heading out of the room.

Y/N took a moment to savor her coffee and the quiet before the day’s rush. Soon, the house was alive with the sound of the boys preparing for the day.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Changbin greeted enthusiastically as he entered the kitchen, giving Y/N a cheerful kiss on the top of her head. His scent quickly filled the kitchen making her omega purr. “This looks amazing, and I’m starving!” He quickly sat down, eagerly eyeing the breakfast spread.

“Please go ahead and eat. There’s plenty more, so dig in and tell me about your night,” Y/N said, gesturing to the breakfast spread as she encouraged Changbin to start eating. She was eager to hear how he had slept and what their plans looked like for the day ahead, knowing it was going to be a busy one.

Changbin took a bite of the pork and looked at her with a curious expression. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Y/N sighed contentedly. “I’m feeling great. I had the best sleep ever—the bed was so comfortable.”

Changbin chuckled, “That’s good to hear, jagiya. When we checked in, you, Han, and Felix were all out like lights.”

“It was a long day,” Y/N grumbled, “Sleep is crucial, and I don’t know how you alphas manage it all.”

“Hey! Those ‘alpha powers’ are what help us get through the day,” Changbin teased with a grin.

“Still, it feels so unfair!” Y/N pouted, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. The conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and she turned to see Han and Felix walking into the kitchen, both already dressed and ready for the day.

“Good morning!” Han greeted enthusiastically, taking in the spread of food. “This looks amazing! Did you make all this?”

Y/N smiled, pleased with their reaction. “Yep, I thought I’d treat you all to a big breakfast. Help yourselves!”

Felix took a seat at the table, his eyes lighting up at the spread. “Thanks, Y/N. Everything looks fantastic.”

She handed both Han and Felix a glass of coffee and asked, “How was your night, guys?”

Felix grinned and took a sip of his coffee. “Mine was good, but someone”—he cast a playful glare at Y/N—“left me in a cold, empty bed all alone!”

Y/N pouted in mock indignation. “I had to make breakfast! Now sit and eat before it gets cold, and let me know what you think.”

Han quietly took a seat next to her, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist. He laid his head on her back, his warm presence a comforting contrast to the chill of the morning. Y/N nestled into him, savoring his fresh, sweet scent, feeling like she could stay like this forever.

“You should go get dressed, love,” Chan said as he re-entered the kitchen, grabbing some food for himself. “Most of the boys are already ready.”

Y/N giggled at Han’s reluctant response. “Okay, oppa. I’ll be back soon.” She gently put some food on Han’s plate and fed him a bite. His eyes remained closed, and he nuzzled closer to Felix, who was now seated beside him. “Someone’s definitely not a morning person,” Y/N chuckled, handing Han his chopsticks.

“M’ tired,” Han yawned and pouted. “I wanna go back to sleep.”

“Let her get dressed, Ji,” Chan said with a laugh. “She’ll be back soon.”

Han huffed but reluctantly released his grip on Y/N’s hand.

Felix called out as Y/N started to head to the hallway, “I laid out some clothes for you, sweetie. And Channie-hyung said you could use his hoodie, so I left it on the desk.”

“Thanks, Felix!” Y/N said, heading towards the hallway with a warm smile.

frames decorating the walls. The vibrant images and snapshots offered a fleeting distraction, but it was in that moment of distraction that she collided with a solid, unyielding figure.

“Watch where you’re going, damn it!” The voice was a harsh growl that cut through the morning calm, and she felt her entire body stiffen at the sound. Hyunjin.

Her breath caught in her throat. “S-sorry,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again. Are you okay?” She scrambled to her feet, her face flushed with embarrassment and panic.

Hyunjin’s gaze was icy, his eyes narrowing in irritation. Without a hint of sympathy, he looked her up and down with palpable disdain. “Just know your place,” he muttered under his breath as he brushed past her. The forceful jolt of his shoulder against hers sent a shiver through her body, leaving her feeling bruised both physically and emotionally.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest as she watched him walk away, the harshness of his words echoing in her mind. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. She turned and fled towards Felix’s room, her steps frantic and uneven. Fumbling with the lock, she finally secured the door behind her, the click of the latch echoing loudly in the quiet room.

“Y/N, are you okay?” The concerned voice of I.N came through the door, his tone laced with alarm. She could hear the urgency in his knock, the sound of his voice filled with concern.

“Y/N, what happened?” Lee Know’s voice joined in, his words carrying a similar worry. It was as if they were silently coordinating their concern, the murmur of their conversation drifting through the door in hushed tones.

“I’m okay,” she called out, her voice quivering as she tried to calm herself. “Just feeling a bit down.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks, trying to regain her composure before opening the door to her worried friends.

When she finally swung the door open, the immediate scent that hit the air was unmistakable—Hyunjin’s sharp, blueberry fragrance. The recognition was instant, and she saw their eyes widen with realization. The atmosphere in the hallway shifted, the concern deepening into a palpable tension.

“Oh my God, it was Hyunjin, wasn’t it?” I.N’s voice was thick with anger and frustration. His words were a mix of disbelief and indignation, his feelings clear even without seeing his face.

Lee Know’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of her. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice now more tender, though still tinged with concern.

As if on cue, the harsh scoff of Hyunjin’s voice rang out from the hallway. “I didn’t do anything,” he said dismissively, his tone dripping with casual indifference. The sound of his footsteps grew fainter as he retreated, carrying a plate of food as if it were the most mundane thing in the world.

“I’ll go talk to him. I.N, stay with her and make sure she’s alright,” Minho said firmly, his expression a mix of concern and determination. Gently, he pushed I.N into Felix’s room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Minho’s footsteps echoed down the hallway as he made his way to Hyunjin’s room, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders.

He knocked softly on the door, but the response was a muffled groan from inside. Undeterred, Minho reached out through their bond, his voice calm and steady. Hyunjin, it’s me. Can we talk for a moment?

Go away, hyung. I don’t want to talk to any of you, Hyunjin’s voice came through the bond, laced with irritation and a hint of vulnerability. He was seated on the bed, the breakfast that Y/N had prepared spread out before him. Despite his irritation, the food was undeniably delicious, a painful reminder of home that he was reluctant to admit he enjoyed.

I know this is hard for you, my love, Lee Know responded through their bond, his tone gentle yet persistent. Can I come in and we talk? I just want to understand what’s going on and help you through this.

There was a moment of silence before the door creaked open slightly. Taking this as a sign, Lee Know pushed it open and stepped inside. The air was thick with the sharp, sour scent of Hyunjin’s frustration. The room smelled of a bitter, angry beta, a stark contrast to the comforting aroma of breakfast. Hyunjin was sprawled on the bed, surrounded by his mini studio equipment, which was scattered haphazardly across the bedding. His hair was pulled up in its usual bun for practice, and his face was etched with irritation.

“Talk,” Hyunjin said curtly, his eyes fixed on the plate of food, which he picked at with a sense of begrudging acceptance.

Lee Know sat down beside him, aware of the emotional walls Hyunjin was trying to maintain. He knew that beneath the surface of irritation was someone deeply hurt. “Hyunjin,” he began softly, “I understand you’re struggling right now. But you have to give Y/N a chance. This isn’t just about you; it’s about moving forward and letting go of past hurts.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened as he continued to eat, clearly torn between his desire to push everyone away and his inherent longing for connection. Lee Know reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles.

“Look,” Lee Know said, his voice firm yet caring, “I know you’re in pain. I know you’re feeling overwhelmed by all of this. But isolating yourself and pushing others away isn’t going to solve anything. You need to confront these feelings and be open to the possibility of healing.”

Hyunjin’s eyes met Lee Know’s for a fleeting moment, filled with a storm of emotions. There was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, quickly masked by a scowl. “I just don’t want to deal with this right now,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s going to hurt us, hyung. Why can’t we just be eight? Why do we have to be nine?”

The words cut through the room like a knife. Hyunjin’s chest ached as he thought about the trauma they had all experienced when “he” left. The fear of going through that kind of pain again was almost unbearable. “What if I get attached? What if she leaves? You know how my beta reacted last time. I can’t go through that again... I refuse to,” he said, his voice breaking.

Tears began to well up in Hyunjin’s eyes, and he struggled to hold them back. The emotional dam he’d built up was finally breaking, and he let out a sob. Minho, who had been listening closely, gently pulled him into a hug. He knew that Hyunjin needed comfort more than anything right now.

“You need to give her a chance,” Minho said softly, rubbing Hyunjin’s back in a soothing manner. “I know it hurts, and it hurts us all. But we’re trying to move on, and you know deep down you feel a connection with her. Have you not seen your paintings for the past few months?”

Hyunjin sighed heavily, his tears flowing freely now. “I’m sorry for yesterday. I was a jerk, and you all didn’t deserve that. I ruined everything,” he admitted, his voice choked with guilt.

“It’s okay,” Lee Know reassured him, wiping away Hyunjin’s tears with gentle hands. “Just try to get to know her before shutting her out completely. I know she’s eager to understand you, and if you don’t like her, we can take it from there.”

Hyunjin looked up at Minho with red-rimmed eyes, his heart heavy with regret and vulnerability. “Thanks, hyung. This means a lot,” he said quietly, his voice filled with gratitude.

Minho smiled, his eyes softening with warmth. “Anytime, Hyunjin. Just remember, we’re all in this together. Give her a chance, and give yourself a chance to heal.”

As Minho pulled back, Hyunjin took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him.

“I really needed that,” Hyunjin chuckled, his earlier tension melting away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lee Know replied warmly.

“I love you both!” Changbin’s voice rang out dramatically. The two betas, still squeezed in the hug, burst into laughter as Changbin pretended to weep theatrically before pulling them both into a tight embrace.

“Have you been there the whole time?” Minho asked, giving Changbin a mock glare.

Changbin, still grinning, shrugged sheepishly. “I couldn’t help it, okay! I smelled my baby beta was upset, and I had to come or I’d have gone mad.”

“Dude, you seriously need to stop walking into conversations,” Hyunjin said, lightly punching Changbin’s arm.

“Aish!” Changbin exclaimed with a playful wince. “Well, I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Sorry to interrupt this love fest, but hyung says we need to go downstairs. We’re leaving soon, and Minho and I.N haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“By the way!” Minho suddenly jumped up, darting into the corridor. “Who used my kitchen without asking?!” His voice echoed through the house.

In response, there was a chorus of giggles and muffled laughter. Y/N, who had been sitting in the other room, smacked her forehead in realization. She had completely forgotten to ask permission before using the kitchen. Guilt was written all over her face.

I.N snickered and playfully mimed zipping his lips shut before tossing the imaginary key away. Y/N giggled at his antics and quickly ran into the bathroom to get dressed, feeling much better than she had before.

“Han, I swear if it was you, you’re going into the air fryer with tissue in your mouth!” Minho’s voice carried through the house, followed by a cacophony of running footsteps, yelps, and bursts of laughter.

Y/N emerged from the bathroom, now dressed in a skirt and crop top that Felix had picked out for her, she quickly grabbed the hoodie chan had let her use. As she made her way to the kitchen with I.N’s hand in hers, she hoped that no one had snitched on her. But when she reached the kitchen, her face turned bright red with embarrassment.

The sight before her was enough to make her heart race. Minho and Changbin were in the middle of a playful food fight, their laughter echoing through the room. Pieces of breakfast were scattered around, and the chaotic scene was a far cry from the calm, organized kitchen she had envisioned. She stood frozen for a moment, her cheeks flushed, feeling as if she had walked straight into a comedy show.

I.N gave her a reassuring squeeze, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he noticed her embarrassment. “Welcome to the chaos,” he said with a grin. “Looks like you’re in for a wild morning.”

Y/N laughed nervously, her earlier anxiety melting away in the face of the lively, chaotic scene.

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[asphaltsugar]

somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known. 

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres. 

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves. 

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless. 

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin. 

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip. 

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

──────────────

The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer. 

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

──────────────

Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head. 

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice. 

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles. 

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act. 

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper. 

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like. 

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead. 

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology. 

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips. 

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.” 

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.” 

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation. 

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder. 

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.” 

“G’night.”

──────────────

It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter. 

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you. 

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road. 

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod. 

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit. 

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

──────────────

That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire. 

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so. 

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’. 

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist. 

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair. 

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood. 

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears. 

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish. 

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string. 

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself. 

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet. 

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought. 

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

──────────────

Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste. 

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust. 

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop. 

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication. 

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender. 

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach. 

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery. 

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought. 

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising. 

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood. 

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place. 

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose. 

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

[applepiealopecoid]

scents and smells to use in your writing

sandalwood — think intoxicating, slightly masculine (if you want it to be), wood-y,

fresh laundry — think febreeze, freshly cleaned clothes, cleaning wipes, that kinda thing

cinammon — think cinnamon rolls, desserts, sugar, sweetness

vanilla — sweet and soft. it’s a classic and i feel it’s almost feminine because it’s in a lot of perfumes but it can be for anyone

sea salt — think sand on your feet, sea in your lungs, maybe a few seagulls cawing. a very beach-y smell

chlorine — think of pools, summer, theme parks with water slides. it’s not the most appealing smell but it certainly is a smell

strawberry — when i think of strawberries, i think of strawberry picking when i was little and kind of the taste of the strawberries themselves. as for the ice cream or perfume kinda strawberry, it’s a fun and sweet smell

chocolate — think hot chocolate, a hershey’s kiss, that hint of chocolate in your coffee creamer. it’s warm and cozy

coconut — think tropical, beachy, refreshing. when most people see coconuts they see “exotic”

banana — think banana sundae, banana smoothie, fruit-y smell, laffy taffy, that kinda thing

apple — think apple trees, apple jam, apple pie, that kinda sweet crisp smell

pine — think of a damp, dirty forest with towering trees and leaves gracing its floor. maybe a deer or two is nearby. it’s a forest smell basically

metallic — think of blood, wet copper or iron, etc.

dirt/earth — think the smell of dirt, grass, trees. the general smell of nature

rose — think romantic, date night, mysterious, alluring. roses are most commonly associated with life and affection, at least in american culture

sweat — think intense workout, maybe tangy, smoky, etc. just sweat

mint — think of waking up bright and early, toothpaste, doctor’s offices, etc. mint really speaks as fresh to me

damp, wet, wet dog — think of moist places, like a really old pool or something akin to that

dew — think early morning and mist in the air. can be associated with spring as well

musk — think of a scent similar to sweat, but the aftermath. not just pure sweat everywhere, but the scent about an hour after you work out. it smells different for everyone though

smoke — think of that scent you smell when a fireplace turns off, wood stops burning, or when you overcook something

spicy — think of ginger, paprika, spices in general. it’s a kind of fun and daring smell

toasty, warming — this can be anything warm you want: hot cocoa, warm blankets, turning the heater on, summer, fireplace flames

floral — this can be any flower you want it to be. spring is full of it, it is the embodiment of a bouquet, and is the scent you smell when you “stop to smell the flowers”

[bpbomegaverse]

Omegaverse Master Scent List

Scent description can be a big part of omegaverse. This is a master list of Alpha, Beta and Omega scents I've compiled. I will add to them when new things pop up for me.

Note: Just because I've put a scent in a certain category, doesn't mean you can't use it for one of the other second genders. 🫶 I kind of like that alpha a little more savoury, musky and deep. And omega are more sweet, fresh and light. But that's just my interpretation.

I'm starting with Alpha. I'll update the other two a little later.

Alpha - α

Gardenia

Orange Blossom

Lavender

Black orchid

Violet

Bluebell

Rosewood

Elderflower

Ink

Sparklers

Black Tea

Green tea

Resin

Saffron

Leather

Bark

Pine tree

Burnt wood

Coal/charcoal

Oak Barrel Whiskey

Cedar

Agar wood

Tobacco

Oudh

Driftwood

Oakmoss

Amber (labdanum)

White wood

Rosewood

Musk

Sherry oak

Match (blown out)

Rye Whiskey

Mahogany

Cegar

Wood sage

Almond

Walnut

Tar

Rubber

Moss

Iron

Bronze

Gold

Rust

Ash

Graphite

Vinyl

Smoked meats 

Coriander

Basil

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Paprika (smoked)

Aniseed

Black cherry

Clove

Allspice

Fenugreek

Ginger

Black pepper

Roasted Garlic

Blood orange

Grapefruit

Blackberry

Bergamont

Lemon

Blood Plum

New car smell

Hay

Pesto

Balsamic Vinegar

Sauteed brown onions

Fruit cake

Eucalyptus

Teatree

Wet Dog

Blood

Soap

Fish oil

Marijuana

Lemongrass

Thunderstorms/Petrichor

Smoke

Mud

Wet forest floor

Limestone

Cobolt

Ore

Cactus

Molten rock

Shampoo

Wet cement

Cork

Bush fire

Egyptian dukkah

Jamaican Jerk

Recado rojo

Cajun spice

Chinese five spice

Baharat

Brown sugar

Toffee

Molasses

Apple pie

Tequila 

Dark chocolate

Bacon

Dark roast coffee

Petrol

Gunpowder

Gravy

Cola

Burnt caramel

Bone marrow

Syrah/Shiraz

Cabernet Sauvignon

Port 

Toasted bread

Buttered Popcorn

Dry dog food

Sulphur 

Mustard

Ginger Beer

Meatballs

Olives

Chipotle

Teriyaki

Peri-Peri

Sesame

Jalapeño

[river-selkie]

Recipes for Water Based Kintypes

These are recipes I enjoy that make me feel more otter or things that I think would! This is pretty anthromorphic since I am eating human food, but I hope this is still helpful!

Not taking requests for other types of therians/kintypes since this was a lot of work, so sorry!

Shellfish - Including Cephalopods

Clam Fritters

Grilled Cockles

Clam Chowder

Baked Scallop Shells

Cajun Seafood Boil

Garlic Butter Razor Clams

Bouillabaisse

Spanish Paella

Crawfish Linguine

Shrimp Ceviche

Spicy Stir Fried Squid

Ikayaki (Japanese Grilled Squid)

Squid Ink Pasta With Shrimp

Jellyfish Salad (Putting This Here)

Salt and Pepper Cuttlefish

Raw Oysters on the Half Shell

New England Fried Clams

Maryland Crab Cakes

Lobster Thermidor

Yangnymeon Gejang (Spicy Raw Crab)

Sailor Style Mussels

Seafood Okra

Shrimp Platter

Finned Fish

Cioppino

African Fish Stew

Trout With Garlic Lemon Butter Sauce

Miso Glazed Salmon

Unagi Don (Grilled Eel Rice Bowl)

Oden (Japanese Fish Cake Stew)

Foil Pack Halibut

Tuna Onigiri

Sardine Pasta

Authentic Anchovy Caesar Salad Dressing

Mediterranean Style Fish Soup

Salmon Ochazuke (Tea Rice)

Fish Tacos

Garlic Butter Baked Tilapia

Pan-Seared Halbut with Caper Sauce

Crispy Pan Fried Tilapia

Herring and Pumpkin Pot Pie

Creamy Fish Chowder

Potato Pancakes with Smoked Salmon, Caviar and Dill Cream

Pan Seared Tilapia

Clay Pot Fish and Tofu

Indian Fish Masala

Spicy Green Masala Fish Fry

Spicy Salmon Crudo

Oven Fried Catfish

Lemon Butter Pan Seared Trout

Non-Fish Meat

Fried Frog Legs

Rabbit Cacciatore

Chicken Chasseure

Escargot (Snails)

Human Safe Kibble Recipe

Chicken and Dumplings

Wood Roasted Whole Duck

Peking Duck

Honey, Soy, and Ginger Duck

Doro Wot (Ethiopian Chicken and Egg Stew)

Cantonese Soy Sauce Whole Chicken

Chinese Chicken and Mushroom Soup

Scotch Eggs

Vegetarian, Vegan, and Plant-Based

Wakame (Seaweed Salad)

Tofu "Salmon" (Consider using rice paper and seaweed as "skin")

Beer Battered Vegan Fried "Fish"

Sweet and Sour Vegan "Fish"

Braised Lotus Roots

Korean Marinated Eggs

Caramelized Garlic-Chili Lotus Stems With Mung Bean Noodles

Sauteed Baby Bok Choy (Saw some otters IRL eating these raw)

15-Minute Zucchini, Pea, and Watercress Minestrone

Vegan "Fish" Pie

Vegan "Fish" Sauce

Vegan "Eel"

Vegan Takoyaki (Octopus Balls)

Nori Wraps

Bean Curd Sticks

Vegan "Tuna" Salad

Watercress Soup

Tofu Pot Pie

Seaweed and Tofu Fritters

Vegan Garlic Butter "Scallops"

Oyster Mushroom Skewers

Seaweed Miso Soup

Cold Noodles in Icy Broth

Marinated Bean Curd with Kelp

Miso Garlic King Oyster Mushrooms

Old Bay Potatoes

Egg Fried Rice

Chewy Potato Noodles

Desserts

Hot Buttered Apple

Melon Ice Cream Soda Float

Frozen Fruit Shaved Ice

Lemon Snow Pudding

Summer Fruit Salad

Blue Jello Cloud Mousse

Kelp Nougat Crunch

Frozen Whipped Jello

Taiyaki (Fish Shaped Sweet)

Soda Float

Cloud Coconut Jelly

Haupia (Coconut Milk Squares)

Raindrop "Cake"

Any Shaved Ice

Lemon Posset

Fruit Filled Spring Rolls

Drinks

It stopped letting me attach links so names only here.

Clamato Juice

Alcoholic: Micheladas

Wheatgrass Juice

Cucumber, Lemon, Mint, and Ginger Water

Coconut Milk Brazilian Limeade

Ocean Water Punch

Alcoholic: Seafood Bloody Mary

Watercress and Honey Tea

Kombu/Kelp Tea

Shellfish Broth

Blue Raspberry Iced Lemonade

Hwachae (Korean Watermelon/Fruit Punch)

Agua de Pepino (Cucumber Agua Fresca)

Fish Bowl Punch

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-fi prompt from IndigoMay:

What would be the economic impact if people could magically grow whatever food they liked? Including fodder for animals.

This is a very wide-ranging question, like... when was the magic introduced? What was the state of agriculture before that? Is this food generated from existing matter, delivered by gods, or something else?

I'm going to narrow this to:

What would happen if people could, starting tomorrow, grow any plant...

That is edible, by either humans or livestock, with appropriate treatment.

Without delay, meaning that the time sink is several minutes instead of weeks or months.

Without concerns for weather or other natural dangers like fungal infections or pests, or requirements for water or fertilizer.

Without depleting soil nutrients, so long as they have arable land to work with.

Without relying on fresh seeds or other 'raw ingredients' like leaf cuttings.

Well... let's start small.

Personal Basis - people who are not farmers

People who do not normally grow things would start angling to acquire some kind basic gardening implements. For some, like those who live in the suburbs, this would be as simple as going into the backyard. For those in cities, they'd need to get a window box or similar to use. If you have free, guaranteed fresh plant matter, that's already a good thing, but the time and care required to keep a garden alive is more than some people can manage due to work or children or housing. With immediate food that requires minimal effort, a lot of those hurdles are removed. You can grow the two tomatoes you need for dinner, and then put the pot of soil away for tomorrow.

The cost of

Personal Basis - small farmers

The obvious impacts for those who are small farmers is that people are less likely to buy their raw ingredients. Most of these small farmers would start looking into modifying their operations to do things that require processing.

Growing apples in your house for a snack is fine--if you have a pot big enough for a small tree, and a way to dispose of the wood if it's a one-time thing--but if you want applesauce or cider or pie, someone who knows how to cook or bake needs to do that part. You can grow wheat, but your chances of having the necessary tools to grind flour are slim. You can grow cashews, but fuck knows how you're going to process that without poisoning yourself! You can grow grapes on your trellis, but that doesn't mean you have the knowledge to make wine without accidentally going straight to vinegar. You can grow corn, but that doesn't mean you know the best way to dry it to make popcorn.

So small farms shift to those products that either need processing, or are part of an animal-based food. This includes things like flowers for bees. You can't really control bees, so just 'grow and go' might incite the bees to leave somehow. Maybe they can sense magic! Who knows!

Another option would be to focus on unique or heirloom things. If you go to a farmer's market, you might be going just to see all the fruits you've never encountered before. If there's an apple stand one year, and suddenly you can grow your own apples at home, then maybe what they start doing is growing unique or rare cultivars that you've never heard of, and that's their new niche. It's not that you can't grow the apples, but would you grow them if you've never heard of them? Plus, the apple stand is doing sauces and ciders now.

Mid-tier and large farms

These farms will start to focus in on large-scale crops that don't go straight to tables or cooking pots in homes. Scrap the eggplants, the cucumbers, the blueberries. Focus on:

Fruits and vegetables that are needed for popular secondary products, like tomatoes (ketchup, marinara), or oranges (juice), or corn (anything with fructose corn syrups, popcorn).

Plants that are popular but NEED processing to be edible, like coffee beans, cocoa beans, or wheat, that most people just don't have.

Plants that are needed in massive quantities for animal feed, such as alfalfa or chicken grains.

Now, I think these large farms would still be in production. We'd see a massive reduction in water usage, which is great (except for cranberries, I guess), but many of these products would still be needed in quantities that need industrial levels of processing. Someone needs to pick the oranges, to drive them to the juicing facility, the facility needs to juice and treat and preserve and bottle them, and then that needs to be driven to the store. The reduced time to grow, reduced water usage, reduced waste from natural predators or dangers, and general ability to plan things more efficiently would result in lower costs for many of these products in a truly free market... but would possibly also rise in cost as companies try to maintain a consistent flow of profit.

Sure you can make the juice at home, but what if you're already at work? There's still a demand for products; most of us can get water from a tap at home, but there are still convenience stores selling bottled water on every other corner in a big city.

I think the most interesting of these concerns would be grazing animals, like sheep, cattle, and goats. Being able to 'refresh' the grass of a single field without having to rotate the animals to new pastures once they've eaten away at one, and without damaging the nutrient profiles of the one they're staying at, means reduced deforestation or soil destabilization in agricultural areas. We'd see a fairly significant stalling of things like the decimation of Mongolia's grasslands if the goats didn't need as much grazing land.

Maintaining the meat industry would be one of the most constant sources of demand for large-scale agriculture, given that other products could go through cycles to more efficiently use land. You can grow and harvest oranges for Tropicana on Monday, grapes for Welch's on Tuesday, soy beans for Silk on Wednesday, tomatoes for Heinz on Thursday, and so on. They probably won't need more than they used to.

Meanwhile, the cows gotta eat. And eat. And eat.

Corporations

This one is fun! MONSANTO'S GONNA BE PISSED.

So, magically growing food, you don't need seeds, at least in this case. Or you can coax more product out of a seed you already have planted. You've gotten eight cycles corn out of this one stalk this season!

So Monsanto loses some of that insane seed monopoly situation.

You'd see a decrease in pesticides and anti-fungal products as agriculture speeds up a cycle by enough to prevent the spread of dangerous infestations. It's not going to kill your entire farm if you find fungus one day and have to burn it to prevent the spread. You lost one day's profit, not a full year's.

This impacts Monsanto too. Remember the Roundup debacle?

Now, to be clear, there are still plants that will rely on pesticides and anti-fungals. The premise only covers food, after all, so there are still important plants that will need longer, dedicated growing seasons.

Industry-wide shifts

Sooooooooooo a lot of the money starts to come from non-edible plants. This is your cottons, linens, hemps, latex/rubber trees, cork trees, lumber, and so on.

As the needed arable land necessary to feed humanity (and our livestock) decreases, more land is freed up for return to indigenous peoples, reclamation by nature, usage for alternate cultivation, housing, or... well, other capitalist ventures, like bitcoin mining or whatever.

On a geopolitical level, this causes some interesting shifts in places that draw their power from being 'breadbasket' nations. For instance, if you remember the start of the Russo-Ukrainian war, we saw some major pressures being placed by virtue of some countries (e.g. Lebanon, Pakistan) getting most of their wheat from Ukraine, and the war suddenly cutting off a massive portion of how they fed their people. Much of Ukraine's support, in those early days, derived from their importance as a breadbasket nation. If everyone can grown their own food, that moves the lines. Countries that are poor on space or water can stop relying on trade to survive in terms of water. Countries that rely on their agriculture to be able to trade for other things need to diversify their economies, and fast.

(Does mean that Saudi Arabia can stop using Arizona's water, though.)

The greatest shifts would come down to water usage and pollution, I think. Agriculture is currently one of the biggest contributors to the climate crisis, and the reduction of water use by farming would be a massive help. However, I'm less sure of how we'd see meat consumption change. The greater availability of fresh fruits and vegetables could result in a shift towards more plant-based diets worldwide, but just as easily we could see large agricultural corporations (and those that rely on them, like John Deere or the aforementioned Monsanto) market meat to consumers as a greater rate due to the profit margin.

Oh, also, I have a feeling that a lot of those corporations would try to get garden centers shut down, or buy out ceramic pot and planter factories. If you can't grow anything at home because you don't have a window planter, you have to buy from the store, right?

[dylan-hayes]

A Visit to the Museum

Disclaimer: All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older, regardless of any situations, settings, or behaviors described. This work is intended for adult audiences only and is purely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The museum is quiet but full of life — murmurs of guided tours echo through high-ceilinged halls, and the soft hum of interactive exhibits adds a gentle rhythm to the day. The smell of clean air and aged wood mingles with the faint scent of coffee from the nearby café.

But this time, my little boy, Jamie, walks just a bit taller beside me.

No diaper crinkling beneath his shorts. No thick puff of padding between his legs. Just the soft rustle of his pull-ups — a quiet, proud compromise between toddlerhood and something slightly bigger. — murmurs of guided tours echo through high-ceilinged halls, and the soft hum of interactive exhibits adds a gentle rhythm to the day. The smell of clean air and aged wood mingles with the faint scent of coffee from the nearby café.

But this time, my little one walks just a bit taller beside me.

No diaper crinkling beneath their shorts. No thick puff of padding between their legs. Just the soft rustle of their pull-ups — a quiet, proud compromise between toddlerhood and something slightly bigger.

They’ve still got their favorite hoodie — the one with the dinosaur patch on the sleeve — and their little canvas sling bag with some crackers, a fruit pouch, and a small bottle of water. But this time, tucked discreetly in the side pocket, are a few spare pull-ups instead of the usual thick diapers.

“You’re doing great, Jamie,” I murmur as we slow to admire a model of the solar system, the planets spinning slowly above our heads. “You tell me if you need a break, okay?” as we slow to admire a model of the solar system, the planets spinning slowly above our heads. “You tell me if you need a break, okay.”

"This is only your 2nd day out while potty training so I'm not expecting you to be quite accident free just yet."

They nod, not quite meeting my eyes.

“I know,” they say softly, twisting the strap of their backpack. “But I wanna try.”

I let them. That’s the deal.

We pass through the ancient history wing — their favorite — and I watch them grin and point, almost bouncing in place as they stare up at a towering dinosaur skeleton. But as we move toward the nature diorama, I start to notice the signs.

The way they keep glancing around, fidgeting. One hand hovering near their backside. That quiet, inward look — like their mind is elsewhere, like they’re not really with the woolly mammoths or the fox den right now.

I slow my steps and gently take their hand.

“Cutie-pie,” I say quietly, “do you need to go potty?”

They glance up at me, red blooming across their cheeks.

“I… I’m okay,” they mumble. “It's just gas”

I nod. “Okay. But if you need to go, just tell Mommy and I will get you to the potty really quick.”

They nod again, almost imperceptibly.

But I notice something else too — the way they start pausing more often, lingering behind as if pretending to admire a display. There’s a small shift in their stance, a subtle crouch here and there, and every so often, a quiet little toot that makes their ears go pink. They’re trying — really trying — but it’s clear that holding it is becoming harder with each passing minute.

As we near the geology exhibit, they suddenly tug at my hand.

“Mommy, I’m gonna go look at the volcano rocks real quick, okay?” they say, already stepping back the way we came.

I raise an eyebrow. “Ok but are you sure you don't need to go potty?”

He gives a quick shake of the head, avoiding my eyes. “No, Mommy. I don’t need to go,” he says quickly. “I just… I really wanna look at the volcano rocks. That’s all.”

His voice is a little too fast, a little too bright — and I can tell there’s more to it. But I let him have that little bit of dignity, for now.

The geology exhibit is mostly one big open room, with plenty of space between displays. I’ll still be able to see them from nearly anywhere they go — and he knows it.

he hesitates. “Just real quick…”

I know what’s happening.

“Alright,” I say slowly, “but don’t go too far, baby.”

he nods and scurries off, ducking behind one of the large faux boulders near the rock collection. I keep an eye on him from a distance, pretending not to watch.

There’s a pause. Then a slight shift in their posture — knees a little bent, hand resting on the display like they’re just admiring it. But I can see the faint tension in their body. The telltale stillness.

A quiet moment. Then they stand straight again, looking around, eyes wide — making sure no one saw him doing his deed.

He waddles back over to me pretending nothing happened. I say nothing — just rest a gentle hand on his back — and we begin walking toward the fossil gallery. My heart tugs a little, watching the way he tries to keep his head high even as his steps grow more deliberate, slower. He’s trying so hard. And I know we’re not quite there yet. But this? This is part of it. Just as we arrive I begin to smell that earthy smell of a dirty diaper.

“Did you make a poopy, honey?” I ask gently.

I pause, glancing down. His shorts sit a little funny now — the outline of his pull-up more apparent, the waistband just barely puffier beneath the fabric. I gently place a hand on his back, then reach down and pull back the waistband of both his shorts and pull-up for a quick peek, just to check. "Yep, that is one poopy pull-up" I say little too loud.

Their eyes fill, their voice tiny. “I… I tried to hold it. But I… I couldn’t.”

I pull them into a hug, warm and safe.

“That’s alright,” I whisper into their hair. “That’s what your pull-up is for, remember? You don’t have to be perfect. You’re still learning.”

They nod into my shoulder, small and quiet.

“You didn’t want to stop and go to the potty did you?” I asked softly. He nods and smiles confirming what I thought. “Mommy loves you, Jamie. And Mommy doesn’t mind helping — even if that means I have to wipe your butt,” I say warmly, "Not ever.”

I stand, holding their hand again. “Come on. Let’s get you changed after we finish the fossils, okay?”

I whisper quietly as we move to the Hall of Fossil Marine Reptiles, “If you still need to go, just go ahead and use your pull-ups before we leave, okay?”

"Mommy won't be mad if you need to go more, I to have to change you anyways."

Jamie nods, and I watch as his body subtly shifts — that familiar stillness again, a quiet grunt, a tiny breath held as he lets go. His face softens, his shoulders relaxing as the tension fades. A quiet sigh escapes him, almost inaudible beneath the chatter of nearby families.

It’s not dramatic. Just a small, necessary surrender.

By the time we turn toward the family restroom, his steps are slower — wider. The change in his gait is unmistakable now. Each step carries that soft, telltale waddle, the squish of a pull-up no longer just damp, but full and heavy with the weight of trying… and the relief of knowing it’s okay not to get it right every time.

[suzukiblu]

pls let match know Thatcher he deserves a family (and pie)

The kitchen table is solid wood, small and perfectly round with four chairs around it, so there’s no apparent head to it or anything similar. The dated-looking embroidered tablecloth and woven placemats on it are all identical, and Martha is already setting a potholder in the center of it and the alleged pie on top of that. It’s . . . a pie. 

Match knows literally nothing about pie except for the basic definition of what it is. He can recognize it visually and knows it’s a dessert–pastry and baked fruit, traditionally, but there are variants–and the sight of Martha neatly setting it out is exactly as unreal as everything else about both her, Jonathan, and this entire place.

[eg0myst1k]

・❥・ Headcanon time ・❥・

╰┈➤ Here’s only a few headcanons I’ve made throughout my whole ego phase [my life basically]. Some that I have are already pretty popular amongst the community, so that must mean I’m doing something right!!!

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯

・❥・ Wilford Headcanons

╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

•⌇⌦ Can shift fragments of reality intentionally and unintentionally [he can’t necessarily manipulate all of reality itself. But he is aware of his existence and its purpose - he knows he is a character meant to play in a story and he simply goes along with it, all while manipulating and shifting the story in some ways.] His reality shifting power is similar to Wanda’s [marvel] reality manipulating powers in a way, though watered down. He can sneeze confetti, take out balloons out of thin air, spawn bubbles in his hands, teleport, and defy the laws of physics.

•⌇⌦ With his reality shifting abilities, he can turn into AU [alternate universe] versions of himself. Maybe there’s a universe where he’s a cartoon? Chibi? Horror eldritch creature? He can turn into those versions of himself in the physical world whenever he wants! The laws of those universes will then apply to the world he is in [such as onomatopoeia words appearing in physical text midair.]

•⌇⌦ He is easily distracted and can never sit still. He always tries to actively distract himself from the darker parts of his mind.

•⌇⌦ His body ‘desaturates’ similar to pinkie pie from my little pony whenever he is in a ‘dull mood’ or when someone drives him to the point of being sad.

•⌇⌦ He loves stickers a lot, he can never stop collecting them. Mischievously, he also likes to splash glitter onto anything he deems necessary [to torture people to clean it up, but he claims that it’s just to ‘liven things up’ a bit.]

•⌇⌦ Too much creamer in coffee kind of guy [“Can I have coffee with my vanilla creamer please?”]

•⌇⌦ Constantly eats and smells like fruit candies.

╰───────────

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯

・❥・ Dark Headcanons

╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮

•⌇⌦ More monster than human. [Yes, Dark is all the mansion, Celine, and Damien in one walking corpse. However, overtime, as Damien fell into the role of the villain, he may have embraced it a bit much. He still cares about his sister very dearly… so much so that he made sure she’s in a permanent sleep. Celine, even in her sleep, knows about this, and parts of herself influences Damien - thus influencing Dark as a whole. He is completely merciless, sadistic, manipulative, and couldn’t care less about the consequences of his actions as long as it benefits himself and his plan. Besides, he is immensely powerful, so if he is met with his consequences, he simply destroys them.

•⌇⌦ He is also very aware he is nothing more than a character, but, he knows he’s much more than this. Because he knows he’s a character, you often see him staring at the fourth wall but never necessarily addressing it [unlike Wilford.]

•⌇⌦ Can read minds and telepathically speak to people, conceal his presence, move through shadows, mimic voices, shift shadows and blend into them, and can turn himself into a Raven. Ravens hold a lot of symbolism, but for Dark specifically, The Raven means ‘Death, bad omen, bringer of chaos, transformation & metamorphosis, and the duality of existence’. He often stalks, observes, and travels within this form of himself.

•⌇⌦ Camera’s, no matter what kind, CANNOT pick up him as a whole. Whenever a picture is taken, a video, or anything of that sort is taken of him, he will always appear as a sporadic blur of blue, red, and black. He can never be caught on any footage.

•⌇⌦ Whenever he is present in a room, depending on his mood, the ringing sound that emits from him can completely shatter ANY kind of surface. Glass, wood, stone, etc. His surroundings also turn a bit desaturated/monotone whenever he’s around.

•⌇⌦ EXTREMELY tall, eerily tall, to the point it is very obviously inhuman.

•⌇⌦ Can take form of people’s fears and/or desires [used for manipulation tactics.]

•⌇⌦ Loves being praised for any reason. In fact, he could get distracted by it… likely because he’s slightly egotistical.

•⌇⌦ His body, to the touch, is always ice cold. Just being around him gives off cold chills and makes rooms colder.

•⌇⌦ Neck twitches constantly.

•⌇⌦ He’s highly patient.

•⌇⌦ Smells like smoke and old candles.

•⌇⌦ He is constantly tired, yet he never sleeps.

•⌇⌦ He can be referred to as Damien only by Wilford as he knows it’s a comfort for Wilford rather than anything else.

•⌇⌦ Dark wisps, like smoke, often emits from his hair and leaves a feint trail wherever he walks.

╰───────────

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

・❥・ Bonus Short-Story ・❥・

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

A fuchsia haired man sat on a weathered wooden bench, the crisp autumn air swirling around him, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves and the hint of change. The trees stood tall and dark, their skeletal branches reaching out like gnarled fingers against the dark sky. Beneath the rolling clouds of black was a light shower of cold rain, paired with occasional deep bellows of thunder. Wilford, unbothered by the weather, wore a bright yellow coat that bore a striking contrast to the muted colors of the dark day, yet he felt oddly muted himself, as if the world around him had absorbed all the vibrancy he once possessed just moments ago. He stared at the trees, his curled mustache twitching as he was lost in thought. The shadows cast by the branches danced around him, triggering a flood of memories that flickered in his mind like fading autumn light. This time of year always made him contemplative how everything seemed to prepare for a long slumber, how decay and beauty coexisted in a delicate balance. Just as a gust of wind dragged him out of his thoughts and rippled up his spine, a dark figure swooped down from the sky. It landed gracefully next to him, perching on the back of the bench; its form a sleek raven whose feathers shimmered black as the void. The raven’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly stygian energy, deep pools of darkness that could drag anything into them.

Wilford turned to the raven, raising an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you a striking little creature?” he quipped, a grin tugging at his lips. “What brings you to my little corner of the world? Here to steal my bread?” The raven tilted its head, regarding him with an unsettling calm, remaining silent but observant. Fragments of its being would fall out of place and come back together, as if reality itself fought against the creatures existence. Wilford leaned back against the bench, hearing it creak from his weight while his expression shifted. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the roles we play, the expectations we uphold… it’s exhausting.” He glanced at the raven, as if seeking validation. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m still just a part of the show. One of the many characters in this unending, chaotic play. Am I the hero, the jester, or maybe even the villain? It’s hard to tell when the lines blur! As if I would use any scripted lines… but you know what I mean.” The raven hopped a bit closer, its gaze cold. Wilford felt a familiar chill run through him from the stare. “And then there’s the bigger picture. All those choices we make, the paths we tread. Are they truly ours? Or are we really just puppets on strings, guided by forces beyond our understanding? It’s like we’re all just fragments of a larger story, one even I can never understand, lost in a labyrinth of our own making.”

The raven remained silent, but its intensity seemed to deepen, as if it understood. Wilford sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess what I’m really trying to say is… I’m not sure where I fit into all of this. Sometimes I want to scream, to break free from agonizing expectation. But then I think—what if in doing so, I lose everything that makes me… me? Do I even have the power to break this? If I do, what would happen?” He would ask, hoping for an answer. With a rustle of feathers, the raven leaned in slightly, almost as if offering comfort. “You will never know until you try, William. Every great discovery begins with a leap of faith.” The raven spoke without its beak moving an inch. The raven studied the man in the yellow coat for a moment longer, and then, with a powerful flap, it took to the air, soaring high above the trees. As it ascended, Wilford felt an odd sense of clarity settle over him. He smiled softly to himself, the weight of the world feeling a little lighter as he returned his gaze to the autumn trees. In the depths of uncertainty, there was hope. A chance to steer his path towards an unforeseeable future. And it was all only a leap of faith away.

.·:*¨༺╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗༻¨*:·.

・❥Thank you for reading! If you wish to see more, request some ideas. What are you curious about the most?❥・

[cultkinkcoven]

Dream

TW: NSFW Minors DNI

We were in a small cabin in the woods, it smelled of damp and pine, fresh rain and country. Very early spring, very early morning. The sunrise laid across frosty grass. I still felt sleepy. And he was somewhat obscured in shadow, wearing a brimmed hat that darkened his face. He was whispering to me and rummaging about the cupboards, listing ingredients. He was wearing heavy boots which had spurs and a heavy black coat. He had an eerie quality. He was very tall, almost giant like. 

I was wearing a pale blue and white dress, notable because I never appear wearing something so feminine. I sat on a stool and watched him accumulate the supplies. Berries and flour and apples, pie ingredients. He washed his hands and offered them to me, taking them and guiding me towards the sink to wash my own. His lips lingered by my neck, he sniffed me.  Then he dried my hands and directed me towards the counter. 

As he rolled the dough, he explained to me that this too was a magical operation. Together we were making something delicious. He wanted me to mash the fruit and berries together in a big pot. 

“Use this tool and mash them into paste, can you do that for me, my boy?” 

Today he was being more gracious than usual. After every command, “can you do that for me?” and I nod and say yes, and he takes my chin and kisses me tenderly. “Thank you, love.”

I commented that I don’t like berries. It took some labor to smash them, my arm was tired. Due to my autism I actually can’t eat any berries in general, yeah. They are usually way too overwhelming for me to eat. There isn’t a single berry I like eating. The blueberries and raspberries smelt very sweet and I wanted to try tasting them, but I have never liked berries and hardly see them as edible. 

But he pressed himself into me and dipped his finger into the berry paste I'd created, placing his other hand on my jaw and prompting me to open my mouth. I almost wanted to resist, but I trusted him instead. His finger met my tongue, and the paste was deliciously sweet. Not sour, not tangy, not too intense. Sweet like candy, of course it would be. I hummed at that, and he hummed in response. His fingers travelled from my mouth back up my dress, and he groped me as he prompted me to continue mashing the paste. His hands seemed to randomly explore me, like he knew he had free access to me. 

Now he provided the pans with the crust of the pastry already prepared inside. He ordered me to fill them with the paste I'd created. and as I did, he unbuckled and slid down his pants, lifted up my skirt, and slipped himself inside me. I tried to subdue my reaction. The difference in our height made him pick me up to compensate. He went slowly so I wouldn’t spill. His warmth clinged to me, and I was made to fill the pastries with paste as he filled me. Words cannot explain the way he feels. 

“That’s my boy, thank you, thank you.” 

and his pace picks up with my breath. I overfill the pasties and spill paste on the counter. He grips my collar with a firmness, I anticipate some kind of punishment, I don’t know why, but instead he bites my neck and lays into me harder. 

“That’s okay, baby,” like he’s reassuring me that the mistake wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t help it, how could I? Technically it was his fault. 

I was out of paste, and I looked up at him for approval, or perhaps for my next instruction. his infinite gaze looked down at me. He wiped tears from my cheeks that I didn’t know were there. 

He picks me up in his right hand and sits me on the table. There’s this old oven furnace like thing, and he puts the pies inside. Then he returns to me and props my legs apart, rides up my skirt, and grips my hair. I can hardly control my breathing. 

“You have a couple options here,” he whispers harshly into my ear. “We can bake it for a very long time at a low heat,” and then he kisses me, “we can try to strike a balance in the middle,” he kisses me again, “or we can bake it very quickly, at a very high heat,” and another kiss. 

I find it hard to form words. He knows this. 

“The choice is yours, but you know which one I prefer.” 

It took me a moment to think about it. At first I felt unprepared, but we both knew what I wanted. I never actually verbalized my choice, I only reached out to him and he knew what I had decided. I was too desperate to wait, I wanted it as hot as possible. I could not accept any less. Any less would be cruel.  A smile appeared on his face, and he removed his hat. I could see him more clearly now, he was as beautiful as ever. His face was younger than his voice. 

“Then we’ll only need 15 minutes, but it will have to be very hot. ” 

somehow even that felt like a generous amount of time. Then I was fully in his arms, it took him no effort to hold me, and he dug himself into me far deeper and faster than before. I had no strength to resist him. I pleaded with him until I had both far too much and nothing left. He ripped my dress, seeming almost frustrated with its getting in the way. In the cool air we were steaming with heat. It was so good it almost hurt. At the climax of it all, a ringing erupted from the oven and the pie was complete. 

Lucifer, hot, seemingly pleased, but hardly phased, continued for a moment longer. He let the alarm ring out, still going until his full satisfaction, asking me constantly, “is this okay for you, my boy? Do you want more? Is this good?” and he demands my response, looking down at me like he will stop if I don’t answer. I can hardly make out a word, my tongue slurred “yes, my lord” to the best of its ability. 

and then finally placed me down on the table and turned the oven off. The pie smelled delicious, wafting through the air like a tender blanket. I usually don’t care for the smell of blueberries, but in this place it was irresistible. 

I imagined that he was going to try to feed it to me now, to prove how delicious it surely was, but instead he placed it on a plate and left it to cool. He saw my curious gaze.  

“You will taste it soon enough, my boy.”

I was spent and I couldn’t remain lucid, I was fading. He pet me and stared at me like I was a shivering kitten. He kept murmuring things. “You know that you are mine, right?”

Thank Gods. In my blurry state I tried to respond to the best of my ability. “Yes, my Lord. I am yours.”  

I didn’t get a conclusion to this experience, I drifted into a deeper sleep that gripped me until nearly 3pm the next day. I was absolutely and utterly exhausted. The intense energy exchange left me completely drained. I was awoken only to be treated to a steak dinner with my boyfriend, which was wonderful. 

That pie is certainly a spell that I am yet to see the result of. I am still very excited to taste it. 

[heartfullofleeches]

Hopping Ship

Yan Rival Restaurant Mascot + G.N Reader + Yan Restaurant Entities

Slow day....

Right in the middle of lunch hour too-

Scarce to see the restaurant so empty like this nowadays. After starting the new shift, you genuinely began to ponder if you'd finally lost your hearing due to the one-sided shouting matches from customers before realizing there had been a single since you clocked in and the silence surrounding you was very much real.

With so much free time, you finally got around to completing some tasks you'd be putting on the back burner for a while and a few you picked up while the janitor was out on personal business. They were gone every other week of the month, but you stopped wondering where they went after seeing them crawl into a black van one night after closing shit. It's impolite to watch coworkers who appear to be wearing your missing coat drag trash bags into unmarked vehicles after midnight.

You swept the floors, decorated the back office with some of the flowers the mascot left you and read a couple of their letters, created a sign out for the bathroom succubus to please at least put a towel beneath the door when she went on of her many "mandatory smoke breaks", and other duties which staked your claim as the establishment's most valued, living employee - all accommodating in the treat you rewarded yourself with once your break rolled around.

Sitted at the back of the fridge, behind the cooler you kept your gifted deer kidneys from the crying figure in the woods - a single fruit cup shined in all its syrupy glory. You tended to avoid eating coworkers food until their names appeared in the papers, but this little delight was stapled with a friendly letter for whoever came across it.

"For you~ (yes, the one reading this)"

That in itself should've been warning enough, but you were too hungry to care and not really in the mood for greasy fast food or ice cream from a bastard ghost. It was the perfect snack. Tiered with fruits representing all colors of the rainbow separated by rich, fluffy cream you assumed to be whipped frosting or some type of yogurt.

Snagging the cup and a spoon from the dispensery, you head back to the front to eat just in case anyone shows up. First bite in and you immediately notice something off about what you've just willingly ingested. What should've a sweet, succulent strawberry tasted exactly like strawberry cheesecake. The creaminess of its taste compared to its snappy texture threw you off entirely. You nibbled on an apple slice which tasted just like pie. Not exactly what you were going for, but you needed something on your stomach. Mindlessly chewing away, a faint hiss comes from beneath the counter.

"Psssst."

Must be another gas leak.

"Y/n - down here!"

You almost wish it had.

Peering underneath, you make contact with the frantic eyes of a former coworker. His face was caked in mud and his lips cracked from the clear signs of dehydration. You grab a cup of water from the soda machine which he near inhales, plastic and all. You take your seat back at the counter, poking around at your cup. "Hey, Noah. What happened to you last we I thought you the storyteller told you to go get lost in the forest and get eaten by bears."

"I was a boyscout growing up and all the predator animals in this area are dead. Get down - it'll see you!"

"What will?"

He tugs on your sleeve. "The rabbit thing that's been throwing everyone into that van! It's right outside!"

"Mm?"

Sucking a cube of peach cobbler off your spoon - you you peer outsife where another mascot stood - gloved hand extended a with flyer to the customer approaching the the door. The anthropomorphic rabbit was dressed in a red and white hybrid of a nurse gown and a 50s waitress outfit down to the pastel skates it wore on its large feet.. When the customer ignores the paper and went out of their way to walk around the strange figure, the creature dropped the flyer as it clasped its hand around their neck and hurls them into the open van beside it. Slamming the door on their ankle - the rabbit suddenly bends backwards with an audible crack facing the register as its ears dangle at its feet, waving at you with its Cheshire grin. You chase a grape around the container with your spoon.

"They seem friendly."

Noah pulls harder on your clothes. "Quiet! We need to call the police."

"Mmm... nah, they never respond to any of our calls anyway."

He groans into his hands. "Ughh- Ojay, we'll figure something out - just, don't make look that thing in the eye.

Bit too late for that.

The rabbit mascot had scaled the restaurant floor in about the same time it too you to swallow the bland frosting that served as a palate cleaner for the tooth rotting sweetness. It contorts to match your height, button nose inches from yours.

"Hello, hello, he-llo - where have you been hiding?~ I was looking for you. "

".... Hey, Noah? Can you actually try the police to see if they'll show up this time?"

The rabbit chuckles. "Funny too. I knew you were a catch from the second I laid eyes on you. That's why I had to make sure our first meeting was special and there were no..." Its eyes fall to the counter." prying eyes... Anywho! Did you enjoy the fruits I left for you?"

You shrug, mouth full of sugary melon. "I guess."

"Fantastic! Those at my establishment prioritize a healthy, and tasty lifestyle. I certainly hope you don't mind us treading on your territory, but it was the only spot in town fit for our dream. If all things go according to plan, you won't have to worry about the competition at all! Onto my big question - would you care to join our team? An experienced crewmate like yourself is just what we need and if you start this afternoon - I'll even make you manager! Even deal, wouldn't you say?"

"....not really."

"Great!-...." Its ears fall flat against its skill. I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I kinda like it here. Bring manager sounds like I'd have to do more work than I do now, and the the ball pit is a big factor to why I stay.

Soft clapping sounds from the play area. Confused, he mascot looks between your face and your half eaten cup. "Are you sure?"

You shrug again. "Pretty sure I am."

"Maybe take another bite and think about it harder?"

LYou shove the remaining bits of fruit in your mouth, using the time to chew as your grace period. "Positive."

"I see...." The rabbit's whiskers twitch as it snaps back to full height, spinning on their wheels towards the door. "No matter. I will be back for you another day with an offer you won't be able to refuse. Until then."

You look at the floor as they skate away. "I think it's leaving, Noah.... Noah?"

"Help me!"

You glance back up in time to see Noah being dragged outside and flung into the van as his captor grumbles something about just using sleeping pills next time. You official cross him off the schedule as you throw the cup away.

"If they'd just offer me their skates - I probably would've said yes."

You lick the spoon clsan as the ice cream machine whirls to life.

"Cheater!"

"Oh shut up."

[valentine-cafe]

Hi hi!! May I order a key lime pie & rhubarb and strawberry crumble?

Need male reader who just loves being carried in their arms, clinging onto them for dear life. Oh, to be carried by big strong arms… Partially also cuz they’re just too fucking tall(COPPER ESPECIALLY. SHRINK. Why y’all be looking like mount everest. I say like I don’t fucking love them for it 😔) and constantly trying to look up at them would be neck straining.

- 🧊

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : dessert platter !! . . . corrupt gods ⊹ male reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟​​​​​​​𝑖𝑛​​​​​​​𝑔﹕verse 164 ꮽ  zhào talisen, alessio agresta

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a deceivingly charming deity of deceit and his master of magic husband

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... how it is when they carry you around 24/7 ⊹ cw ٬٬ none . cw: NONE OF Y'ALL LIE YOU WANNA GET DICKED DOWN BY ALL OF COPPER'S 31C— /shot

You'd barely be walking with them carrying you so often. They'd be even more giddy if you ask to be carried as well.

Talisen always wishes to prioritize your posture, and therefore when you speak to him. . . he lifts you up to his eye level and cradles your next gently while listening. It was something to get used to the first few times. And you couldn't help but feel maybe the slightest tinges of offense? Sure you were shorter than him but come on!

When he noticed the dismay, he put you back down and sheepishly explained to you he simply wanted you to be able to have a proper conversation without putting yourself in an odd headlock from the pains you get when you have to crane your neck all the way up to look at your husband. It was safe to say you loosened up a little after that. You know deep down he's just concerned for your posture and comfort. . . your other husband however,

Oh Alessio is the worst, he teases you about it. Carries you around in a bridal carry and dances you around while you try to talk to him. Telling him to stand still. Only to be told, "you wanted to talk to me while I work, no? Don't want you to break your neck either trying to look up at me."

It doesn't matter if you've asked him to be carried, he picks you up or whatever third or fourth option come like rain. The second you're in his arms, he has to be a shit about it. Crooning and chuckling to you like you're a wounded deer laid vulnerable in his arms. You don't give him any pouts because you know that's exactly what he wants.

You don't realize that your lips purse naturally after enough of his insessant pokes and provokes.

"Would you like to help pluck the apples from the trees?" Talisen asks you, often during fall. Carrying you high and tall on his shoulders as you get to the best, juiciest apples for the harvest. Fruit pies of all assortments spread across the kitchen countertops to waft their fragrance into the cottage in the middle of the emerald woods.

Alessio always gets the double handed thwack from you and talisen when he attempts to take a piece of the pies. Whining about it not being fair that they're doing all the taste testing without him getting a little something too. Talisen and you share giggles and chuckles when he dips his tall form over with you in his arms to press kisses to Alessio's lips to share the taste of cherries, apricots, apples and oranges. You are the foul one. Sharing strawberry pie kisses with the horned man, giving him an extra tug to make him stand on his toes as Talisen adjusts his height a little.

One thing you love, though, is when Alessio unexpectedly lifts you up with his magic. Carries you around with it and trailing you behind him wherever he may go. The magic tickles and matches the bubbles in your stomach urging you to sing with the laughter your husband loves and adores so dearly. "Sing a lil' more f'me amore?" He croons like a crow, yet the mischief is replaced by a lovesick drawl.

Oh and always. Always Expect Talisen and Alessio to fish you out of bed and steal you around from the other's arms on random points of the day. You can be in the middle of cooking and suddenly the manic devil is running with you to show you something in the woods, before his tail gets tugged on and sharp siren nails grasp you by the waist and carry you into the water. Because Talisen insists on showing you some of the new crystals that recently grew below the surface.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[mowu-moment]

ranking food tokens by how much personally i want to eat them

- Throne of Eldraine -

i have reason to distrust this meat pie thing, not only because of its wails of anguish but it also seems to have burst a bit in the oven. still not honestly opposed, at least the dishes are clean. 5/10.

how does one unpeel a curly banana? why are there sliced-open fruits on what appears to be a stone in the woods? where is the light coming from? i'm going to be taken by the fae and it's not even gonna taste too good while i'm at it, these things look dirty. but idk i don't mind someone else taking the wheel of my life rn. 2/10.

again, concerns about the floor food, but at least it looks more like some deliverygirl got eaten by a wolf and dropped her basket than a trap. someone already took a bite, though, maybe i should leave it be. 4/10

i have been invited to the Goblin King's Feast and while i don't fully agree with his choices i will certainly partake. boar looks wonderful apart from the hair. 7/10

- Commander 2020 / Strixhaven Commander -

i'm pretty sure cattails are poisonous to humans (not to mention the actual poisons in there) so i unfortunately can't oblige gyome's swamp soup. that crusty bread looks pretty nice though. i'll pick this thing apart like high school cafeteria lunch. 3/10.

- Modern Horizons 2 -

i at least know who cooked this one, and i trust asmor a decent bit, but this is still food for demons, so maybe it's not too good for me. goddamn do i wanna know what it tastes like though. 4/10.

- Unfinity -

i'm considering these two together. as a filthy american, i am allured by these fat-filled foods, but as a lad with a tiny stomach, i doubt i could eat enough to feel good about not wasting it. astrotorium's about excess, goddamn. the only funfair burger i've had was the best thing i had eaten in months, but it also made me ill the rest of the day. i really do want some infinity fries though, those look like the golden mean between a steak fry and a curly fry. 6/10.

- March of the Machine Commander -

meanwhile this looks like a texture nightmare. like i respect it, i imagine it's filling and fulfilling, but i don't think i ever could eat more than a bite or two. bread looks a little worse than gyome's but only a little. 5/10.

- Lord of the Rings: Tales of Middle-Earth -

my white ass loves a charcuterie board. and i'm not going to be intimidated out of it by not eating enough, since it's all in snack-sized bits already. definitely gonna overindulge this sucker. i'm nervous about some of those spreads though. 9/10.

this looks like i'm in a dream, is it actively cooking? or still hot? i can't identify what's in that pan anyway. i'm leaving it alone out of respect. wouldn't mind a drink though. 2/10.

this is not food. for humans. 0/10.

- Wilds of Eldraine -

this is a king's feast i am properly intimidated by. i'm more into it than the Goblin King's, particularly that triple-layer blueberry pie or whatever that is, but i'm going to have to be as polite as possible lest i get a face full of flaming beer. 8/10

i'll probably be eaten before this can eat me, and it barely looks like food, but at least i go down with sugar in the mouth. 1/10.

ogh. that egg looks divine. the bread looks amazing, there's a full glass, i've got like beans or mermaid tears everywhere. we've even got seasonings back there. the best damn breakfast i'll ever have. 10/10.

i would still probably eat this over nothing. there's onion, at least. i will either be hexed or violently ill, but like i could at least get it down. and maybe the witchmother is testing my strength and she'll reward me after slurping an eyeball. a convenient lie to tell myself. 2/10.

- Doctor Who Commander -

y'know, four, i think i would like a copyrighted candy. they look sad and british, which is on point. but like it's not actively killing me like half of these. i think anyway. i don't know doctor who. 6/10.

what is this? i have no idea. custard? raw batter? giant dunkaroo? is he dipping fishsticks? it doesn't look like it's done cooking, like do we need to put it in a fryer again? i'd say it's inedible but it's not poison stew so i have to be nice. 4/10.

get AWAY from me. this is a PERSONAL vendetta. i would rather try to eat spiderwebs. plus he's already eaten half of it. -10/10.

- Fallout Commander -

i can't be too mean since this is literally apocalypse food. i think i prefer this over poison stew? like i recognize it at least, even if it's foul and moldy. man has to eat something. 3/10

i'm not convinced there's actual soda in here. is this just a perspective shot or is this a giant prop soda? i don't like cola anyway. again, worth it in an apocalypse i suppose. 4/10

this soda i trust even less. it glows? does this give me magic powers in the fallout world or does it just kill me slowly? i think it'll kill me slowly anyway. i need fluid to survive in apocalypseland but damn i hate for it to come to this. 2/10.

[feederheart]

I had caught her.

This was the third time she had shown up this month and this time, I didn’t have to wait for nearly an hour after I had closed up shop for her to finally show up. This time she appeared as if she were ready for a date. She adorned a nice dress that showed off all of her curves (especially her gargantuan belly that hung below her hips), she wore makeup for the first time, and her hair shined like a new car outside of its usual hastily-tied bun. Usually, I took the extra time to get cleaned up and change out of my chef’s uniform; I was covered in fruit preserves and my arms felt a little sticky. This time, however, I didn’t want to take my eyes off the beautiful enchantress before me. It was as if her planetary body came with a gravitational pull that had trapped my gaze.

“You got the goods?” she asked with more assertiveness than usual.

Her beautiful, dark eyes looked at me with intense hunger; it was equal parts arousing and terrifying.

“You’re making this sound like a drug deal,” I chuckled.

“C’mon, I’m hungry,”  she pleaded, my joke falling flat on its face.

“Alright, relax, I’ve still got you,” I said.

I already had exactly what she wanted; I had stashed all of the leftover pies by the rear door in anticipation of her arrival. I reached for the brown bags each containing four whole unsold pies and handed them to her.

“Got any more?” she asked.

“Really?” I asked, amazed by her gluttony; eight pies is a lot. “You want more?”

“They’re good!” she replied, blushing ever so slightly. “I mean- really good. You knocked these out of the park!”

Then it was my turn to blush; compliments for my cooking or baking are my heart’s kryptonite.

“Thank you,” I replied. “But I’m not sure if you can carry any more without dropping or crushing one.”

“How about I just ate one?” she suggested. “Before you threw the rest away.”

“Right here?” I asked, turning around and scanning the interior of the restaurant. “I don’t know, The Boss is strict about giving away food and I don’t want you on the security camera.”

I then pointed to the camera right above the back doorway.

“We’re lucky this one doesn’t work right or else I wouldn’t be able to sneak anything to you.”

“Th-that's okay, I’ll sit right here,” she replied matter-of-factly as she waddled a few steps forward and plopped her huge, round ass onto the floorboards of the rear porch. The wood creaked loudly and her fat spread out across the surface like thick pancake batter poured on the griddle. She then reached into one of the bags and grabbed a blueberry pie sitting on top of the surface along with a plastic fork.

I stared at her, unable to take my eyes off of her quivering rolls that jiggled as she rocked back and forth trying to get comfortable on the hardwood surface. As she finally stopped and her fat jiggled and quivered for a few more seconds, she turned her head and looked up at me.

“What?” she said as if taking a fork and eating an entire pie was a completely normal thing to do. “I’m hungry, I’ve barely eaten anything today. I’ve had, like, a half-pounder at Fudruckers and some Chipotle today but that was it.”

“Oh nothing, there’s no problem,” I said nonchalantly. “Lemme finish cleaning before I get the rest and lock up shop.”

I turned around and finished cleaning the kitchen for the day, I snuck a few glances at the beautiful woman happily gorging away at the pie I made like a greedy pig, shoving massive forkfuls of fatty, sugary, blueberry goodness into her mouth, her arms quivering with each forkful. I could just barely hear her humming happily as she ate over the sounds of the sink and clanking pans. As I wiped down the sink, I could see her throw the now-empty pie container aside and get started on a new pie, this time a special cognac and peach pie I won a baking competition with. As she got her fill, I could see her adjusting her dress as her belly swelled with the delicious dessert. She rubbed her corpulent tummy and let out a small burp as she put away the now-half-eaten peach pie and tossed it next to the blueberry pie dish.

I fought to hide my arousal as I grabbed two more pies and handed them to her.

“Thank you- urg,” she groaned as she rose to her feet slowly, weighed down by what must have been a quarter-ton of fat plus one and a half pies. “Oh that was so good, holy shit, these are really the best pies ever.”

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling a rush of giddy warmth flow through me. “You know, I may be a baker but I’m a damn good chef too. How does dinner at my place tomorrow night sound?”

“Yeah that sounds amazing,” she replied rushedly as if her gargantuan stomach made that decision for her before she could think about it.

“Excellent, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I replied happily.

She grabbed the pie-filled bags and waddled back to her car, her belly looking the roundest I had ever seen her. She stopped once and set down a bag to adjust her dress one more time as it rode up her fat-laden thighs before picking it back up, waddling to her car, struggling to fit her gut behind the wheel, and driving away.

I took a deep breath, knowing that I had won. I had caught her like the whale she was.

[brotherwtf]

OMEGAVERSE CLEGANNNNN NOW WE’RE TALKING ! THIS IS THE CONTENT I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR ! i love them so much and i need to know what you think their scents would be like

YUP YUP IM ANSWERING THE CALL

Gale would smell so sweet, but not in a feminine way. Like how oranges and fresh fruit would smell after you baked them in a pie or peeled them, something very natural but still very alluring. He would also smell like a woody vanilla underneath the sweet smell, something a little more rough underneath the fruitiness. I feel like there's also an overlayer of just the woods in general, the smell of trees and fresh streams running through the forest

John smells very fresh and clean, but still kind of masculine. He would smell like pine and amber, maybe with the slightest hint of firewood on the very base of it all. He would smell like the fresh sea mist when you're standing on rocks near the shore. It's very heady and makes you sleepy almost, all very comforting smells that remind Gale of the summer.

They have similar aspects to their scents, maybe their scents even combine a little bcs they're spending so much time with each other, they both have that underlying woodiness and sort of scent of being outside to them, while John's is more savory to Gale's sweet

Gale loves to bury his head in John's neck, closest to his scent glands and breathe it all in, instantly comforted and sleepy while they're in bed together

John loves to keep his face in Gale's hair, he doesn't quite know why but it seems the scent is strongest there, and loves the freshness of how he smells, clears his mind so he forgets all of the hardships of the day.

[fake-mouthstatic]

road trip

@bucktommyfluffebruary, day 21. rated G.

💕

They set off early, leaving the hustle and bustle of the city behind them as Tommy takes them north, away from the world for a few days.

"I still can't believe you have a cabin," Buck says as he looks again at the pictures Tommy had sent him. "That's so cool."

Tommy grins.

"It's just a cabin," he says, throwing a fondly amused glance at him before turning back to the road. "And an old one at that."

"It's on a lake, though," Buck enthuses, scrolling to his favourite picture, one of the sun setting across the mirror like surface of said lake. "That's like a romcom moment waiting to happen."

Tommy laughs and Buck's gaze is drawn as always to the way his eyes scrunch when he really laughs, beautiful and completely unself-conscious.

"Or a horror movie," he says, sliding a hand across the seat and onto Buck's thigh. "Old cabin in the woods by a lake, no one around for miles…"

read the rest under the cut or on ao3 // other days here

It's Buck's turn to laugh then, placing his own hand atop Tommy's.

"It's alright, I've got a big burly boyfriend to protect me from crazed knife-wielders."

That leads to a discussion about which horror movies Buck has actually seen - an appallingly low number if Tommy's dazed expression is anything to go by - taking them all the way to their first planned rest stop.

Buck goes to buy snacks while Tommy uses the bathroom, scouring the aisles for anything that sounds disgusting; buying terrible snacks had become a movie night tradition of theirs and Buck feels it should become a road trip tradition too.

Tommy eyes him suspiciously as he climbs back into the car with a bagful of questionably flavoured snacks, a giddy grin on his face.

"Look at these!" he says, pulling out a pack of cookies and waving them at him.

Tommy frowns.

"What on earth are they?"

"Habanero cookies." Buck grins. "Don't they sound disgusting?"

"Sure do," Tommy grimaces, pulling another packet from the bag. "Fruit punch Oreos?"

"Yep!"

"I think you might have outdone yourself this time, babe."

"Wait until you see the Pringles I bought," Buck says, waving the tube at him excitedly as Tommy puts the Oreos back and starts up the engine again. "Pecan pie. Freaking pecan pie flavour chips."

Tommy gives him a long look, eyebrows knit in a frown as he stares.

"Yeah, you couldn't pay me to eat those."

"What about cappuccino flavour?" Buck asks him, laughing at the expression of absolute bewilderment on Tommy's face.

"Maybe we should start shopping at gas stations for all our movie night snacks."

It's silly but things like this are why Buck just loves Tommy so damn much; life is too short to be serious all the time and more than just indulging Buck and his silly whims, Tommy gets involved too.

Buck grimaces as he bites into a habanero cookies.

"You might change your mind once you've tasted them," he says as Tommy pulls back onto the road, laughing.