#bubble puff cake

[artificial-condition]

Here’s a picture of the same one we got that I found online

It’s a soft freshly cooked cakey thing that looks like a waffle (we thought it was going to be crispy and hard so we were surprised but in a pleasant way because it was so so good) and then you fill it with your choice of ice cream (chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, or cookies and cream) (we got vanilla), then whipped cream, strawberries, your choice of syrup (we got strawberry unlike in this picture), and these things called “dream sprinkles” if I remember correctly that were supposed to be cotton candy taste (I hate cotton candy flavor but these tasted not like that and also amazing)

My other sister got a custom one with lots of different fruits and Oreos and cookies and cream ice cream and she loved it too so win

Excited to go back and try new flavors :D

I went back to that place I got boba at when I got my murderbot books and got boba and these bubble puff cakes which were AMAZINGGGGG but I forgot to take pictures to share D:

They were so so good

[bunnions]

EATING (BIRTHDAY) CAKE ⊹ ࣪ ˖🍰₊˚⊹♡ synopsis: who said you can't have your cake and eat it too?

pairing: bakugo x gn!reader wc: 1.6k words cw: pro hero!au, nsfw, smut, rimming (male receiving), ass play, there’s quite a bit of teasing but the whole vibe is very soft and playful, reader is leading and being a little shit. a/n: today’s my birthday and this is my gift to myself. wanted a different kind of cake this year hehe. enjoy if this is your piping hot cup of tea! also shoutout to @/zorosdimples for having some bomb ass eating fics and giving me booty brain rot. 

Bakugo can’t keep his breathing even no matter how hard he tries. Years of being a Pro Hero, countless hours spent training at the gym, working stealth missions overseas, should have prepared him for anything. Anything but you. His breath puffs out past his lips, dragged out in a sputtered gasp as his eyes roll to the back of his head. He’s panting. Pathetically. Broken. 

And you have the fucking audacity to pull away with a soft pop and an even softer, “You doing okay, baby?”

His eyes roll in annoyance this time. So dramatic. You swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat and instead peer down the line of his spine where you meet his lidded (and very annoyed) gaze over his shoulder. His thick, corded thighs quiver as you smooth a palm gently down, tracing the line of his inner thigh down to the crook of his knee. Your lovely, flushed boyfriend. Head down, chest pressed against your shared bed, and clenching ass propped up on wobbly knees for your pleasure. And your pleasure alone.

Afterall, this is your birthday present.

“You okay? Should I stop?” you ask again. Gentle. Patient. But Bakugo can hear the underlying shit-eating grin between each syllable. It lights something sinister in the pit of his stomach, makes his balls tighten up in anticipation.

“S’fine,” he grunts out, gaze steeled against yours. The admission lights up your face and that makes him feel so hot. His cheeks burn, chest tightening up with affection, and he won’t can’t look away. “Keep going.”

You wiggle a little in a happy dance. Even from behind, you’re softening him up in more ways than one. Still, he doesn’t miss the sinful glint in your eye. 

Your pink tongue darts out to swipe against the plush of your bottom lip and unconsciously the blond mirrors the action. He can almost taste himself on you. Dating for a couple years means he knows every contour of your body, what makes you squeal, how your expression contorts as you cum repeatedly on his fat cock. You thought it unfair; asked for an “experience” rather than a physical gift. And Bakugo lacks the strength to say no when you ask so pretty: Kats, can I eat you out for my birthday this year? 

So, here you both are. Pro Hero Dynamight displayed in the most vulnerable position he’s ever been in, and you drooling from behind like some god damn villain.

“C-Can you spread yourself for me?” your voice gives way to the debauched excitement you’ve tried to keep at bay.

The darkest crimson flushes like a tidal wave from the crown of his cheeks, to his ears, down his neck, and settling in the valley of his shoulder blades. You don’t miss how his puckered, shiny hole clenches around nothing or the way his thick cock bobs between his legs. Pre drips from the tip, staining the sheets, and you can’t help but dip down to lick his cockhead for a quick taste.

“Fuck!” Bakugo groans, the light stimulation almost too much. It’s the first bit of contact you’ve allowed his cock all day. He hears you hum, savoring the taste of his precum, and he cringes as his cock twitches again and again and again. At this point, even he can’t tell if he’s annoyed to hell and back or impatient for more. “F-fuckin��� hurry up.” 

Gnarled hands reach back to take each toned ass check in a firm grip, fingers spreading himself as he buries his face and embarrassment into a pillow. 

You coo, all sweet and syrupy. “Katsuki, you’re so pretty back here. Look so tasty!” You giggle to yourself and his hole winks in response. You place one hand on top of his for leverage and watch a shiver visibly race down his spine. You wet your lips once more, “Thanks for the best birthday present, baby,” before diving in.

Years of training, of control, of near perfection, crumble instantly as your pretty tongue laps at the rim of his asshole, already softened from the first round of licks and sucks. He can’t control the grunts and moans spilling from kiss-bitten lips. You’re the devil incarnate, he thinks, as you gleefully and sadistically press past the first ring of tight muscle. Your tongue wiggling in and invading the part of himself he’s only had enough courage to explore quietly once or twice, in the dark of his bedroom, long before you first met. 

Bakugo didn’t like how it made him feel, at least alone. Suddenly so exposed and vulnerable. A pleasure that felt so foreign and intense and taboo.

But here, with you, it feels different.

Molten lava pours through his veins. He’s sweating, gasping and biting into the feather down pillow to try and stifle the lewd noises his mouth has zero control over. His body and heart have softened enough to spasm around your tongue. The world spins backwards if he focuses too closely on the feeling of your soft lips kissing the sensitive skin lining his hole, or the way you breathe out through your nose as you focus solely on wringing him dry. Something warm knots in his chest, the air heavy with how small and shy your attention makes the Pro feel. Suddenly aware of your nails digging into the top of his hand and into the flesh of his ass, the slight sting drips pleasure through up and down his body like hot honey. Your tongue lashing against his hole, moans vibrating through him and lodging straight into the gray matter of his brain. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. F –

“Fuuuck, fuckfuck, f-fuck,” oh that’s his voice – loud and keening. You make a contented sound and let your tongue drag out of his pulsating hole only to drip down to his balls and suck. Bakugo’s toes curl as his back arches from the unexpected stimulation. But it’s not enough.

Without thinking, his hips push back desperately and he spreads himself even further, blunt nails digging into the flesh of his ass. Angry red marks direct your mouth back to the center of your present. 

You kiss his right cheek, bite at the seam of his thigh, and drag your tongue back to his sopping hole. The pretty blond is moaning openly now, rutting against your face, drowning in the pleasure of being stretched open, feeling you invade him, you moving inside him. Spit dribbling down his cock and balls to mix with the steady stream of precum soaking your sheets. 

The movement of your plush lips sloppily making out with his puckered rim has him reeling, hard nipples rubbing against silk sheets, setting his blood on fire.

“A-ah, fuck, baby,” Bakugo can hardly speak. The knot in his stomach tightening, all the blood in his head rushing elsewhere. “Wait ‘m g’na. Fuck.. It’s too – babe, w-wait –” 

He knows the safe word. You noisily suck on his hole again. The squelching sends your boyfriend into a tailspin. His balls are impossibly tight, dick throbbing in time to your cruel tongue licking and sucking and thrusting. It’s absolute sin the way he can feel your lips curl into a smirk. Voice muffled by his gyrating ass, “S’okay, b’by. Y’gna cum f’me?” Like a fucking siren. 

He feels both your hands leave the globes of his cheeks and barely manages to catch one with his hand. You don’t miss a beat and link your fingers through his, rubbing your thumb against his hand soothingly, while the other reaches between his legs to grab his weeping cock – starting with the head. Bakugo nearly chokes. 

“Cum for me, pretty boy.” Your voice is barely a whisper, thick with desire. 

And your mouth is back on him in a flash. Tongue thrusting as deep as it can go, soft hand pumping his cock with a mixture of your sweet spit and his precum. Synchronous in movement, your mouth and hand drag the lewdest moan out of him. A sound that doesn’t match his glistening muscles, his thick and strained neck, the hand (leagues larger than your own) desperately holding on like a lifeline. The delicate thread in his stomach snaps as a powerful orgasm rips through him, almost violent with the way you grip him and simultaneously suck and wiggle your tongue in his ass. 

Bakugo cums like an animal, cum shooting straight down into the puddle soaked sheets, wordless and moaning as if he were in heat. Your mouth is literal sin as you slurp at his clenching hole with fervor, riding out his bliss for as long as possible. Hand pumping up and down until he squeezes your hand, still firmly in his grasp. 

You finally relent when his moans quiet to labored breathing. He flops onto his back and hides behind an arm, trying to regain some semblance of control over his panting, swallowing to soothe his sore throat. Bakugo dares to look at you only when he hears you shift a little on the other side of the bed. His curiosity would be the end of him.

He swallows the thick lump in his throat, watching you with dark crimson eyes, as you drag a finger through his cum and bring it to your lips. You pop it into your mouth and groan. The sound is too sincere for Bakugo to scoff at. If anything, the scene kicks his softening cock back to life, as he watches the tongue that was just inside him savor his heady taste. As your eyes meet, you grin – something mischievous and full of love. 

His cum is thick and creamy. The perfect icing to your perfect birthday cake.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[novaursa]

To Kneel Before You (reader's choice)

- Summary: Defying the orders of your older brother, King Viserys I, you secretly join the battle for the Stepstones. After months of grueling conflict, a commander rushes to inform you of a captured agent of the Crabfeeder. But the prisoner isn’t an enemy spy—it’s your other brother, Daemon Targaryen, the infamous Rogue Prince. His face is smeared with mud and blood, his hair tangled and wild, and the fury in his eyes tells you everything. Your men have made a grave mistake. They’ve captured a dragon.

- Paring: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The sound of your dragon, Serenix, beating her massive wings fills the air as you descend onto the beach, black sand and broken shells crunching beneath your boots. The sleek, obsidian scales of your mount shimmer like oil in the dying sun, her piercing ruby eyes surveying the land for any signs of remaining enemies. Her tail, long and sharp like a spear, coils behind her, the infamous weapon that has earned her the title The Night Spear. She's restless after battle, her breaths coming out in hot, misty puffs as if eager to return to the skies and hunt.

You run a hand along her neck, feeling the cool, smooth scales beneath your palm, grounding yourself after the high of combat. But something is off. The normally disciplined camp is abuzz with hushed whispers, soldiers exchanging furtive glances. Then, your commander, Ser Garren, rushes toward you, his face flushed with both excitement and panic.

“My lady, we’ve captured one of Crabfeeder’s agents,” he announces breathlessly, stopping just short of you, as if unsure how you’ll respond.

You raise a brow, dismounting from Serenix with grace. You’ve been hunting the Crabfeeder’s men for months now, your victories adding fuel to the wildfire of gossip surrounding the Targaryen princess who dares disobey her brother the king. But something in Garren’s voice makes you pause. There’s more to this than a mere enemy agent.

“Have you now?” you say with a smirk, adjusting the leather of your battle armor. “Show me.”

He hesitates, swallowing nervously. “You might want to brace yourself for this one.”

Curiosity piqued, you motion for him to lead the way. As you walk through the camp, soldiers straighten up, their eyes wide and full of anticipation, but no one dares to speak. The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore grow distant as you approach the makeshift prison tent.

Garren stops at the entrance, giving you a wary glance. “He’s… not exactly what we expected.”

“Oh?” You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.

With a deep breath, he pulls back the flap. Inside, you see a figure—mud-caked, blood-splattered, and bound at the wrists and ankles like a common animal. His silver hair, once unmistakably pristine, is matted with sand and grime. His violet eyes blaze with fury as he looks up at you. Daemon. Your older brother, the Rogue Prince.

Your amusement flickers like a flame in the wind as you step closer. “Commander Garren,” you say, biting back a smile. “This is not one of Crabfeeder’s agents.”

Daemon’s glare could melt Valyrian steel. “Do you find this amusing?” His voice is low and dangerous, but there’s a glint of something familiar in his eyes—something teasing.

You circle him slowly, hands behind your back, allowing the smirk you’ve been holding back to show. “A little, yes.”

Daemon scoffs, yanking at his bindings, though the ropes hold firm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the one who ordered this.”

“I could only wish to claim such a victory.” You crouch down in front of him, inspecting the sorry state he’s in. His armor is dented, his tunic torn, and yet he still exudes that arrogant Targaryen charm. “How did they manage to capture you?”

Daemon tilts his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “An unfortunate mix of arrogance, an ambush, and…” He glances at the guards outside the tent. “Incompetence.”

You lean back on your heels, stifling a laugh. “I’m sure it was all very tragic. Should I free you, or would you prefer to stay here for a while longer?”

He narrows his eyes, but there’s no real malice in them. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To parade me around the camp like a prized beast.”

The idea is tempting, but you shrug casually. “I don’t know… It could be entertaining for a few days. But then I’d have to explain to Viserys how I let his precious brother rot on the shores of the Stepstones.”

At the mention of Viserys, Daemon’s smirk fades slightly, replaced with something darker. “So the king does care about me after all?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you reply dryly, standing and motioning for Garren to untie him. “As much as I’d enjoy watching you struggle, we have more pressing matters than your wounded pride.”

As Garren cuts the ropes, Daemon stands, rolling his shoulders and flexing his wrists as if testing whether he’s still made of flesh and bone. He glances back at you, his violet eyes gleaming with that ever-present spark of mischief. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.”

You tilt your head, smiling slightly. “I was going to say the same to you.”

His lips curl into a familiar smirk, one that makes you wonder if he’s been plotting some sort of mischief all along. "You're always so predictable, little sister. Ever the wild one, pretending to ignore our brother's orders.”

“Someone has to make life interesting,” you reply with a wink, brushing past him. “Try not to get captured again, Daemon. It’s quite embarrassing for the both of us.”

He watches you walk away, and though you can’t see his face, you know that amusement has returned to his eyes. You call over your shoulder as you approach Serenix once more. “Next time, try not to look so much like one of the Crabfeeder’s men. You blend in too well with the mud.”

His laughter follows you, dark and rich. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll make sure to be clean the next time you capture me.”

You mount your dragon, shaking your head with a grin. Daemon may be the Rogue Prince, but at least he’ll never let you be bored.

A few days have passed since your last encounter with Daemon, and the air around the camp feels heavier. The men are in better spirits, of course; your forces, along with Corlys Velaryon’s fleet, have successfully pushed back Crabfeeder’s men, taking key positions along the coastline. But the victory feels uneasy, like a cloud that hangs just overhead, waiting to break.

You stand on a ridge overlooking the camp, the salty wind pulling at your hair as you gaze at the sea. Ships bearing the banner of House Velaryon rest in the distance, their sails barely moving as they bob on the waves. The alliance with Corlys is vital, yet you can’t shake the nagging suspicion that something more is happening beneath the surface.

And that something is your brother, Daemon.

It’s not uncommon for him to disappear after a battle, slinking off to who-knows-where to nurse his wounds or plot his next reckless move. But this time, his absence is more deliberate. You’ve seen the way he’s been speaking with Corlys, heads bent together in hushed conversation, eyes glinting with a shared secret. And you know Daemon well enough to recognize that look—he’s scheming.

The thought makes you clench your fists, your knuckles going white. If there’s one thing you know, it’s that Daemon never plots without a purpose. And whatever it is, it won’t be simple or without consequence.

You hear the crunch of boots on sand behind you, and you don’t need to turn to know who it is. His presence is as familiar to you as the wind.

“You always look so serious when you’re thinking,” Daemon says, his voice smooth and amused. He comes to stand beside you, arms crossed over his chest as he looks out at the horizon. “I’ve been meaning to ask what’s been keeping you so deep in thought, but you’re never easy to approach these days.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the relaxed way he stands, as if there isn’t a single care in the world. He’s cleaned up since you last saw him, his silver hair once again gleaming, his armor polished, though there’s still an edge of wildness to him—something untamed that no amount of grooming can erase.

“And yet, here you are, approaching me without a second thought,” you say, your tone lighter than you feel. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really been keeping you busy?”

Daemon’s eyes flicker with interest, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been spending a great deal of time with Lord Corlys,” you say, cutting to the point. “Whispering and plotting behind everyone’s back. Should I be concerned?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your sudden forwardness. “Concerned? About what? Do you think I’m conspiring against you?”

“I think you’re conspiring against something,” you reply, crossing your arms as you turn to face him fully. “And I think whatever it is, you haven’t seen fit to share it with me. Or with Viserys.”

The mention of your elder brother’s name causes a shift in Daemon’s expression. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something—frustration, perhaps—but it’s quickly replaced by his usual mask of indifference.

“Viserys would have a heart attack if he knew both you and I were here together,” Daemon says casually, though you can hear the underlying edge in his voice. “He’s always been too soft, too cautious. Someone has to be bold enough to win this war.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what’s your plan? To wage this war in secret? To cut out the very people who are fighting beside you?”

He steps closer, his eyes sharp, but his tone remains calm. “You think I’d keep something like that from you, Y/N? From my own sister?”

“I don’t know, Daemon,” you reply coolly, refusing to back down. “I’ve learned over the years that you only tell people what they need to know. And you’ve been far too quiet for my liking.”

Daemon’s lips twist into a half-smile, a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Maybe you know me too well.”

“I do know you,” you say, meeting his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by the intensity in his eyes. “So, tell me, brother—what are you and Corlys planning?”

For a moment, he says nothing, simply watching you with that infuriating, unreadable expression. Then, with a sigh, he relents, but not entirely.

“Corlys and I have been discussing… opportunities,” he says, carefully picking his words. “The Crabfeeder’s forces may be retreating for now, but they won’t stay gone for long. We need to press the advantage.”

“That’s not a plan,” you say, frowning. “That’s common sense. What aren’t you telling me?”

His smirk grows wider, more dangerous, and he leans in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Perhaps I’ll tell you when the time is right. You always did enjoy a bit of intrigue.”

You let out a frustrated breath, knowing full well that pressing him further will get you nowhere. He’s always been like this—playing his cards close to his chest, reveling in the power of knowing more than everyone else. But there’s something different this time. The stakes feel higher, the risk sharper.

And the way Daemon’s eyes gleam in the dimming light makes you certain that whatever he’s planning, it’s something far greater than a mere skirmish.

You step back, shaking your head slightly. “Just remember, Daemon—whatever you’re planning, it won’t stay hidden forever. Viserys will find out.”

Daemon chuckles softly, the sound rich and dark. “Let him. By the time he does, it’ll be too late to stop me.”

You watch him for a moment longer, feeling a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite name. It’s the same feeling you always get when Daemon is involved—like standing too close to the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong step could send you both tumbling into the abyss.

Without another word, you turn and walk away, the wind pulling at your cloak as you head back toward the camp. Behind you, Daemon remains where he is, watching you go, a shadow against the fading light.

A month later, the battlefield unfolds beneath you, a chaos of flames, blood, and the frenzied cries of Crabfeeder’s men. The skies are yours, and Serenix moves with the precision of a spear thrust, her sleek black body cutting through the air like a shadow. Her ruby eyes gleam, hunting for targets as her tail, long and lethal, swipes down with terrifying accuracy, impaling soldiers who are too slow to retreat.

Below, the remnants of the Crabfeeder’s forces scatter toward the rocky caves dotting the coastline, hoping to disappear into the safety of the shadows. You grit your teeth as you watch them retreat. They’ve learned. After weeks of battle, they know now that they can’t face a dragon in the open. The caves are their last refuge.

“Dracarys!” you command, your voice cutting through the wind. Serenix roars in response, a torrent of fire spilling from her jaws, lighting the ground below in a blaze of heat and destruction. The flames consume the few unfortunate souls who didn’t make it to cover, but most of them are already deep in the caves, well out of the reach of dragonfire.

You curse under your breath. The caves again. Every time they retreat here, it’s as if they’ve found a way to vanish from the battlefield entirely. You hover above, frustrated, watching the dark mouths of the caves swallow the enemy whole. Your forces have pushed them back, but pushing them into hiding doesn’t mean victory.

You guide Serenix to the ground, her wings folding elegantly against her sides as her tail coils behind her, twitching in irritation. She, too, is frustrated by the lack of prey. The ground beneath her trembles as she lands, and you take a moment to survey the scene. Your forces are regrouping, but the mood is tense. This isn’t the first time the enemy has used the caves to avoid annihilation, and you know it won’t be the last.

“We’ll need a new strategy,” you mutter to yourself, staring at the dark crevices carved into the rock. Fire can’t reach them in there, and even if you were to send soldiers after them, the caves are a death trap. Narrow passageways, unknown terrain—any attack there would be suicide.

Before you can begin to formulate a plan, the sky darkens with the sound of beating wings, and a shadow passes over you. You know that sound. The deep, guttural screech of Caraxes.

Your heart tightens slightly as you look up to see the blood-red dragon swooping down from the clouds, his serpentine body weaving through the air with predatory grace. Daemon. Of course.

Caraxes lands not far from Serenix, his long neck curling in curiosity as he approaches her, his massive maw pulling back to release a low growl. Serenix turns her head sharply, her ruby eyes narrowing at the intrusion, and she lets out a hiss in response, her tail snapping dangerously through the air. The tip of her tail, sharp and deadly, flicks in warning as she recoils slightly.

“Easy,” you murmur, placing a gloved hand on her neck, though you feel her tension thrumming beneath your fingertips. Serenix has never been fond of Caraxes, and it seems today is no exception.

Daemon dismounts, his boots sinking into the soft, charred sand, a smirk already playing on his lips as he watches the exchange between the dragons. “Serenix is still as charming as ever, I see,” he says, his tone amused.

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” you reply, eyes flicking to him as you dismount. “She doesn’t take well to being crowded.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, casting a glance at Caraxes, who lets out another low rumble, clearly trying to get closer to Serenix. “You and your dragon are more alike than you’d admit.”

Serenix huffs in agreement, her wings flaring slightly as if to remind Caraxes to keep his distance. The red dragon seems amused by her defiance, but he takes a step back, circling away from her. You can feel Serenix relax slightly beneath your touch, though her tail continues to twitch with irritation.

“Do you always arrive just as things are about to fall apart?” you ask, turning your attention back to Daemon. His armor gleams in the faint light, his hair once again tied back, though it’s impossible to miss the glint in his eyes. He’s always too confident, too sure of himself, even when things aren’t in his control.

Daemon chuckles. “I like to think of it as arriving at the most interesting moments. What’s the problem now? Crabfeeder’s men hiding in their little holes again?”

“They’ve taken to the caves,” you say, your tone more bitter than you intended. “We can’t burn them out, and any attempt to chase them in there would be suicide. We’re stuck.”

Daemon surveys the battlefield for a moment, his gaze lingering on the rocky cliffs and the gaping mouths of the caves. His smirk fades, replaced by a more thoughtful expression, though there’s still an edge of mischief in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says after a beat, almost as if it surprises him to agree with you. “The caves are too narrow for dragons. They’re safe in there—for now.”

You shoot him a look. “That’s not helpful.”

“No,” he admits, rubbing his chin, “but it does give me an idea.”

You narrow your eyes. “What idea?”

He grins, that familiar dangerous spark lighting up in his eyes. “We don’t need to chase them into the caves, Y/N. We need to draw them out.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” you ask, skeptical. “They’re like rats—they’ll only come out when they think it’s safe.”

“Which is why we make them think it’s safe,” Daemon says, his tone full of that irritating confidence. “They’ll come out eventually, hungry for revenge or supplies. But if we make it seem like we’re retreating, or better yet, fighting amongst ourselves…”

You frown, considering his words. “You think they’d be bold enough to come out if they thought we were at each other’s throats?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice slightly, the teasing edge still present. “We’ve given them reason enough to be terrified of us. Why not give them a reason to be overconfident instead? Let them think they’ve found a weakness, then strike.”

You stare at him, half-impressed, half-annoyed by his audacity. “You always did enjoy a good bit of theatrics, didn’t you?”

His smile widens. “Theatrics, strategy—it’s all the same, isn’t it?”

You glance back at the caves, then at Serenix, who’s now watching Caraxes with a wary eye. The idea isn’t without merit. It’s risky, but then again, most things are when Daemon’s involved.

“Fine,” you say after a moment. “But if this plan fails and we end up losing more men, I’ll make sure Serenix has a nice chat with Caraxes.”

Daemon laughs, his eyes gleaming. “I’m sure she’d enjoy that very much.”

As the two of you walk back toward your dragons, you can feel the agitation between the two beasts, though Serenix finally relents, allowing Caraxes to follow at a more respectful distance. You glance at Daemon one last time, wondering whether this alliance will be your saving grace—or the beginning of an even bigger disaster.

The plan was set. It was simple, almost too simple, and that was what made it clever. You stand on the beach once again, the wind tugging at your hair, your armor gleaming under the moonlight. The sea stretches endlessly beyond you, but it’s not the waves you’re focused on. It’s the dark mouths of the caves that lie scattered across the cliffs like wounds on the earth, hiding Crabfeeder’s men like rats in their burrows. Waiting for them to come out is no longer an option.

Tonight, you’re not hunting noble beasts; you’re luring rats.

Daemon stands across from you, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he’s already relishing the coming spectacle. You feel the tension in your muscles coil tighter, preparing for the mock battle you’re about to stage. Corlys’s forces are hidden, waiting for the signal to attack. The Sea Snake himself, always the strategist, has been overseeing the finer details, ensuring the timing will be perfect.

"You know this is going to be rather fun," Daemon says, pulling his sword from its sheath with a slow, deliberate motion. The Valyrian steel glints in the pale light, and he tilts his head toward you, eyes glinting with mischief.

“You have a strange idea of fun,” you mutter, adjusting your grip on your own sword. Serenix looms behind you, her eyes fixed on Caraxes, as if already irritated by his very presence. You can feel her unease, the subtle rumble in her chest vibrating up through your legs.

“Do try not to hit me too hard, Y/N,” Daemon teases, stepping closer. His movements are languid, almost lazy, but you know better. There’s nothing lazy about Daemon when he’s on the battlefield.

You roll your eyes. “I make no promises.”

Daemon chuckles, but the humor in his eyes is fleeting, replaced by something sharper, more serious. This mock fight, as ridiculous as it may seem, is crucial. If the Crabfeeder’s men believe you’re divided, they’ll be bold enough to come out of their hiding places. And once they do, Corlys’s men will be ready to strike.

You take a breath and raise your sword, giving a slight nod. The game begins.

With a burst of motion, Daemon lunges at you, his sword cutting through the air with practiced ease. You meet his blade with your own, the clash of steel ringing out across the beach. For a moment, it feels like a real fight—his strength behind each swing, your arms straining to parry. But this isn’t about victory. It’s about making a spectacle.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Daemon shouts, his voice loud enough to carry. Theatrics, as always.

You grit your teeth, pushing back against his blade. “You’re the one who can’t keep to a plan, Daemon!” You throw your weight into the next swing, knocking him back a step.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Shadows shifting among the rocks. The Crabfeeder’s men are watching. They’re biting the bait.

Daemon smirks, catching your next strike with ease. “I told you, little sister. I never play by the rules.”

The anger in your reply is only half-acted. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

You force him back with a series of quick strikes, your movements fluid but fierce. The clash of your swords rings out again and again, and you can feel the eyes of your enemies watching, waiting. Crabfeeder’s men, likely believing the Targaryen siblings have turned on each other, will think this is the moment to strike. That you’re too distracted by your internal squabbles to see them coming.

“Enough of this!” Daemon growls, stepping back suddenly, his sword lowered but his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the performance. “You’ll never understand what needs to be done.”

You take a step forward, raising your sword again, but the moment has come. The first of Crabfeeder’s men begin to emerge from the caves, their ragged shapes moving in the darkness like insects crawling from the shadows. You can see them, just barely, slipping out onto the beach, weapons in hand. They think they have the upper hand.

Daemon’s gaze flickers to you for just a moment, a signal. It’s time.

With a final, exaggerated swing, you knock his sword to the side, sending him staggering back—pure performance, of course. He growls, pretending to nurse a wound, but you both know this is where the game ends and the real battle begins.

Crabfeeder’s men pour from the caves, emboldened by what they think is your weakness. Dozens of them, perhaps more, race toward the beach, their weapons raised. A foolish move.

And then, with a deafening roar, Corlys’s men strike.

The Sea Snake’s forces, hidden among the cliffs, rain down upon the Crabfeeder’s soldiers with brutal efficiency. Arrows fly, and men with spears rush forward, cutting off any chance of retreat. The tide turns in an instant, your enemies caught off-guard by the ambush.

You lower your sword slightly, taking in the scene with satisfaction as the chaos unfolds. Daemon, ever the opportunist, straightens with a smirk, watching as the Crabfeeder’s forces fall apart.

But not all of them. Amid the confusion, one figure remains standing, surveying the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes. The Crabfeeder himself. His strange mask gleams in the firelight, and though he does not flee, you can sense his mind racing, searching for an escape.

Daemon notices him too. His smirk disappears, replaced by something far darker. Without a word, he sheaths his sword and moves toward Caraxes, his eyes locked on the Crabfeeder.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, his voice low, almost dangerous.

You watch as he mounts his dragon, the tension between you suddenly thick. You know that look. Daemon is a man who hunts his prey with the same ruthlessness as the dragons you both ride.

As Caraxes rises into the air, Daemon casts one final glance back at you, and there’s something unspoken in his eyes. Determination. Fury. Something personal.

You step back as the ground trembles beneath you, watching as Caraxes takes to the skies with a screech that sends a shiver down your spine. The Crabfeeder is his target now, and you know Daemon won’t stop until the man is ashes beneath his feet.

And so, as the battle rages around you, you can only watch as Daemon disappears into the night, chasing his prey.

The camp is quiet as you sit by the fire, the aftermath of the battle leaving a strange stillness in the air. The faint crackle of flames is the only sound, the usual chatter of your men subdued after the ambush’s success. They’re recovering, both physically and mentally, from the day’s bloodshed. Yet, something nags at you, a tension beneath your skin, a sense that it isn’t quite over. Not yet.

You’re sharpening your sword, the rhythmic scrape of stone against steel keeping you grounded, when you hear the distinct, heavy footfalls approaching. You know without looking who it is. Daemon always makes his presence known, whether intentionally or not. There’s a swagger in his step that you could recognize anywhere.

But it isn’t the sound of his boots that stops your hands—it’s the sound of something heavy hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

You look up, your breath catching for a brief second. Before you, lying in the dirt at your feet, is the charred, bloody head of Craghas Drahar. The once-feared Crabfeeder, his mask still melted to the remains of his face, his neck a ragged stump, dripping red onto the sand.

For a moment, the entire camp falls silent, the eyes of your commanders widening in horror as they take in the sight. Some of them recoil, looking anywhere but at the grotesque trophy Daemon has so casually discarded at your feet. The firelight flickers over the mutilated head, casting deep shadows that only make it more monstrous.

Daemon stands there, utterly unbothered, his armor still splattered with dried blood, his expression one of calm satisfaction. He meets your gaze with that same smirk, the one that always makes you want to hit him—or laugh. In this moment, you’re not sure which.

“How charming,” you mutter dryly, trying to suppress the strange mix of emotions rising in your chest. Amusement, disbelief, and something like disgust all tangled together.

Daemon wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a streak of blood across his cheek, though he doesn’t seem to care. 

“A marriage gift,” he declares, his voice carrying across the camp like a whip crack. “For you, Y/N.”

Your commanders exchange uneasy glances, clearly disturbed by both macabre trophy at your feet and Daemon’s audacity. But you keep your eyes on your brother, refusing to show any surprise, even though your heart skips a beat at his words. Daemon has always been reckless, but this is bold even for him.

You fold your arms, raising an eyebrow. “You already have a wife, Daemon. In the Vale. Or have you conveniently forgotten about her?”

Daemon laughs, low and dark, the sound sending a ripple of discomfort through the gathered soldiers. He steps closer, his smirk never faltering.

“Rhea Royce?” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “That bronze bitch in the Vale means nothing to me. She’s no wife of mine. You know that, Y/N.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground even as he towers over you, his presence suffocating. “Viserys won’t approve of this. You know that.”

Daemon shrugs, entirely unbothered by the mention of your elder brother. “Viserys won’t have a say in this. He never did. Not about my life, and certainly not about my choice in wives.” His smirk widens, his voice lowering as he leans in slightly. “I’ve already given you a dragon’s gift, little sister. Will you really refuse me now?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. This is Daemon—your brother, your equal, but also the most dangerous man in the realm. You’ve seen him like this before, drunk on victory, on blood, on the thrill of battle. He’s the kind of man who takes what he wants, consequences be damned.

But marriage? This wasn’t part of the game.

You glance down at the head, then back at him, raising your chin defiantly. “You think a charred skull and a declaration are enough to make me your wife? You’ve lost your mind, Daemon.”

His grin softens slightly, but the madness in his eyes remains. “Perhaps I have,” he admits. “But you and I—we belong together. Always have. You know it, Y/N.”

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy. Your commanders are still staring, clearly unsure whether to intervene or stay silent. This is between the two of you now—an unspoken battle of wills, like so many you’ve fought before.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head slightly. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

Daemon’s smirk returns, full of arrogant confidence. “I never do.”

You glance down at Craghas Drahar’s lifeless head one last time before looking back at Daemon, your gaze hard as steel. “We’ll talk about this when the war is over.”

Daemon’s laughter echoes through the camp, loud and rich. “Oh, sister, the war is never over.” He steps back, finally giving you some space, though his eyes remain locked on yours. “But we can certainly discuss it later.”

He turns on his heel and strides off into the camp, leaving the charred head of the Crabfeeder at your feet, a grim reminder of what he’s capable of.

Your commanders exchange nervous glances, and you can sense their unease in the air. You sigh, waving a hand to dismiss them.

“Clean that up,” you say to no one in particular, nodding toward the gruesome trophy. They move quickly, eager to rid the camp of the horror Daemon left behind.

As they work, you turn your gaze back toward the horizon, the weight of Daemon’s words heavy on your mind.

The skies over King’s Landing are bright and cloudless as you and Daemon approach the Red Keep, your dragons gliding through the air with an almost effortless grace. Serenix, usually prickly and on edge when near Caraxes, has grown calmer over the past few weeks. The animosity that once simmered between them seems to have eased. Serenix flies alongside Caraxes now with more ease, her long, spear-like tail swaying in rhythm with the Blood Wyrm’s serpentine form. The proximity of the two beasts has made Caraxes more chipper, his screeches less aggressive, and more… playful, if such a thing can be said of a dragon.

As you descend toward the Dragonpit, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what’s to come. Returning to King’s Landing always brings a knot of unease to your stomach, but today it is coiled tighter than ever. The last time you disobeyed Viserys’ orders, you had fled to battle on the Stepstones. Now, you return victorious, but what comes next will undoubtedly shake the realm.

You dismount Serenix with practiced ease, running a hand over her smooth, onyx scales before turning to see Daemon already striding toward the gates. His armor gleams, though the crown on his head—crafted from driftwood and bones—sits like a declaration of defiance. The so-called “King of the Stepstones” walks as though he already rules more than just a few rocky isles.

The throne room is packed with courtiers and lords when you and Daemon enter. Murmurs ripple through the crowd as they take in the sight of you both. Daemon’s presence always stirs unease, but today, it’s the crown perched atop his silver hair that commands the room’s attention. The driftwood crown, dark and weathered, stands in stark contrast to the golden grandeur of the Iron Throne behind Viserys.

Viserys sits on the Iron Throne, his face betraying a mix of relief and wariness. You’ve returned alive, but you can already see the conflict brewing behind his eyes. At his sides stand the usual council members—Ser Otto Hightower, his face drawn in disapproval, and Alicent, who watches with her hands tightly clasped before her. 

You and Daemon move together through the hall, each step echoing in the vast chamber. You feel the weight of a hundred eyes on you, but you keep your gaze forward, focused on Viserys. As you approach the dais, the murmurs grow louder, a ripple of unease passing through the assembled nobles.

Daemon, ever the provocateur, smirks at the whispering crowd, clearly enjoying the effect his crown has on them. He makes no effort to hide it, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief as he approaches the Iron Throne. You can feel the apprehension in the air, as thick as the heat of dragonfire.

“Welcome, brother,” Viserys says, his voice ringing through the hall as he rises from his throne. Despite his attempt at formality, you can hear the slight tremor in his words. “And sister.”

You both kneel before him, heads bowed in a gesture of respect, but there’s no mistaking the tension crackling between you. For a brief moment, all is silent. Then, Viserys lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ve returned victorious.”

Daemon glances up first, a slow, almost lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Victorious indeed, brother. The Stepstones are ours. And the men there saw fit to crown me their king.”

He rises, and without hesitation, removes the crown of driftwood from his head. He turns to you, his movements deliberate and slow, and before you can react, he places the crown upon your head. The weight of it feels heavier than you anticipated, though the material is light. The meaning behind the gesture is far from light, however.

The hall falls deathly silent as Daemon kneels again, this time at your feet. His violet eyes gleam as he looks up at you, amusement flickering in their depths. “I kneel not just before the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” he says, his voice clear and sharp, “but before my wife. We are wed, as per the ancient customs of our House.”

The air leaves the room, as if every person in the throne room has forgotten how to breathe. The shock is immediate, rippling through the courtiers like wildfire. Viserys’s face pales, his mouth opening and closing, utterly speechless. He looks as if he’s about to faint, his hand gripping the arm of the Iron Throne so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

For a heartbeat, no one moves. Viserys blinks rapidly, his mind clearly trying to process what has just been declared before the entire court. “W-Wed?” he finally manages to stammer, his voice weak, disbelieving. His eyes dart between you and Daemon, wide with shock.

Daemon, on the other hand, is entirely unbothered, his amusement barely contained. He glances at you as though daring you to deny it, his smile widening. “Yes, brother,” he says, rising to his feet again. “We are married, in the traditions of our House. Targaryen blood with Targaryen blood.”

You feel Viserys’s gaze burning into you, a mixture of shock, betrayal, and something like fear written across his face. He stumbles slightly, as if the weight of Daemon’s words has struck him physically. His lips move wordlessly for a moment, searching for something to say, but he’s at a loss.

Around you, the courtiers remain frozen in place, eyes wide with disbelief. Some look horrified, others utterly confused, while a few—those familiar with the old ways of your family—exchange knowing glances.

“You’ve… you’ve wed?” Viserys repeats, his voice strained as he looks directly at you now, searching for some explanation.

“Yes, brother,” you finally say, your voice steadier than you feel. “It is done.”

For a moment, Viserys sways, his hand gripping the throne harder as if he needs its support to stay upright. You can see the pulse throbbing at his temple, his pale face glistening with a sheen of sweat. He looks as though he might collapse right there in front of you.

Daemon, still wearing that maddening smirk, steps closer to Viserys, his voice dripping with amusement. “Are you not happy for us, Your Grace? Your brother and sister united—just as the blood of the dragon demands.”

Viserys stares at Daemon, his expression flickering between disbelief, anger, and something like heartbreak. “You’ve gone too far, Daemon,” he whispers, but it’s clear that whatever rage he feels is struggling to find its way to the surface.

Daemon’s eyes glitter with defiance, and he leans in slightly, his voice soft enough for only you and Viserys to hear. “Far? Brother, I’ve only just begun.”

[rubbathetum]

I keep thinking about sugary stuffing, it is some of my favorite. Over time all the sweets just start to taste like sugar sludge, and that much stuff can never sit well. Especially if its sugar, it just keeps turning in someone's stomach until it bubbles over n out.

ahhh it'd be so nice to stuff someone to the brim with pretty little pastries. Cupcakes, cute little macarons, mini fruit tarts, cream puffs and slices of pie eeeee. And wash it all down with a nice cup of tea. Orrr maybe I'd be even more mean and make it hot cocoa, or maybe boba tea with extra toppings.

Leave em so full they can't think and aching so bad they wonder if they can hold it all. But of course they can't, they know they can't, cause every burp is sending half digested cake and custard up their throat. The fruit decorating their desserts is acidic and sour on the back of their tongue. They can barely stop from heaving and they can't keep their hands off their stomach and everything is churning so bad and ahhhhh-

[neoplatinum]

is there someone else? - the weeknd | son chaeyoung

summary: oh, is there someone else or not?, 'cause i wanna keep you close

pairing: chaeyoung x 10th-member!reader

themes: angst, alcohol, cigarettes, some of twice, implied sex

wc: 1.3k

“tell me.” chaeyoung stares at you, her eyes unfocused, and peering down at your lips. 

she grabs the cigarette out of your mouth, putting it between her own lips and taking a long drag. 

“chaeyoung, tell me.”

“what do you want me to say?” she pulls the cigarette out to flick the ends into her ashtray. “that i love you? that i want to be with you?”

“chaeyoung, are you fucking with me right now? just tell me how you feel.” you scoff, pushing your legs together.

“what? i told you how i felt already.” she continues to take your cigarette, taking long puffs. 

her voice doesn’t waver like yours, she doesn’t have to feel overwhelming dread whenever she has to ask for more. all she does is take and take and take. 

you don’t know how much you can offer of yourself anymore, until you become swallowed whole by her.

she doesn’t spend hours staring at her ceiling thinking about you, she doesn’t spend years staring at you out of the corner of her eye. she doesn’t call you when things go well, it doesn’t even seem like she pays much attention to anything about you. 

“you told me that you liked me while we were fucking chaeyoung,” you stare at her, her eyes distant and far away.

“yeah i did.” she takes another drag.

“is that it? is that the only way you think about me?” you feel yourself falling apart, the anxiety bubbling over, are you only a secondary thought? 

why won’t she take time for you? 

who has she been seeing? 

why can you only see her when the lights are dimmed and no one’s around?

“no, i care about you too.” she lets the smoke lift into the alleyway, barely noticeable under the dim lamppost. you hate the feeling inside of you, all consuming and suffering.

that’s all there is with chaeyoung, just suffering until you can’t hold onto it anymore.

“i understand.” you turn your feet, leaving the alleyway, feeling the pain sear through your chest, even the rain that’s been pouring feels like mist. 

she continues to blow smoke into the night, letting her eyes watch you as you round the corner. she stays there for a while.

--

“happy birthday to you! happy birthday to you!” jihyo continues to clap for you, her eyes on the sparkling cake that you’re holding and you smile at her. your lovely leader who will always try her best to make your birthdays the most memorable.

her voice drowns out as you stare at chaeyoung and mina, shoulders brushing and soft giggles, hands brushing each other. your grip on the cake loosens, and jeongyeon rushes to grab it before it falls, playfully scolding you.

but you can’t do it, you can’t be happy here, you love these girls, and are in love with one in particular. one that doesn’t talk to you anymore.

it’s like, it’s like you’re invisible to her.

turned into a person just watching her pass by. how isolating it is to be in the same group but feel so unseen.

in the same person is someone who won’t give you the time of day, pushing your needs aside for her own. but will shower in the other’s girls affection.

you can feel a rift starting the form, staff are asking around. beating around the bush of the sudden distance between you and chaeyoung. 

official photos with you and chae on opposite ends or always separated by a member. you try not to look at her as much anymore, knowing she doesn’t even take a second to look at you.

nights in showers staring at the tiles, letting the warmth of the water cover you much like she used too. a comfort you aren’t afforded anymore.

you never stay in the same room with only her, always protected by a third person, separated in the kitchen by counters or fridge doors. you start to feel like you need to physically protect your own heart. this ugly feeling growing vines.

but it’s not like she cares.

she doesn’t bat an eye at the sudden change, she lives her life just the same. days spent outside with friends, laughing in green rooms loudly. doing tiktok challenges with other members, still smoking out her window as night when you catch the signature scent. and maybe that’s the truth, you were never as important to her as you assumed.

did you ask for too much? 

were you just a warm body to her?

you spend days removing her imprint from your room. collecting all the small art and her music laying around, shoving them into corners of your room. much like she shoved them into the corners of your mind.

you shove them all into a bag, and drop it at her door. leaving down the hall back to your own room. trying your best to hug yourself all alone.

it’s not like she would notice.

the bag’s gone the next morning, a simple “thank you” message from your phone lighting up. 

you don’t reply.

--

“you like chaeyoung.” tzuyu’s eyes are staring down your wounded heart, one that you’ve tried to keep in bandages, preventing it from bleeding further. but tzuyu, quiet and observant tzuyu, always notices what’s hidden.

“yeah?” you take another swig of the hard liquor, letting it settle in your mouth. the burning sensation feeling lighter than the weight of the past week or so. “what makes you say that?”

tzuyu grabs a napkin, handing it to you. you wipe the corners of your mouth harshly. tzuyu thinks you look absolutely like a train wreck. the flushed skin, stumbling feet, and unkempt hair. 

“the way you look at her like you’re in pain. it’s obvious.”

you just laugh. 

it’s all such a shame you chose chaeyoung.

such a shame, you with your never ending affection, one that even rivaled sana’s physical touchiness. people used to think that you and sana were like two twins, showering your love on the other members. 

until recently, there’s been a distinct quietness with you now. 

seeking refuge in your own head, clouded by thoughts of confusion and curiosity. some nights at the dorm, you just stare. 

stare into the distance, replaying memories like an old film. wondering if everything was simply a memory or a dream. 

is it even worth the fighting? 

is that the only time she’ll be passionate?

only when you corner her, after she leaves you again, does she ever seem to care. you can’t lose her, you can’t lose the spot that you’ve fought so hard to keep.

you smoke to cloud your senses in her, a familiar scent that hung in the air. one that no longer exists, so you smoke the feelings of love to resurface. like a past drug.

“hey? you okay?” tzuyu scoots closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

why won’t this feeling of pain end?

you want her forever and ever.

“no.” you fall forward, head into your hands. a sob erupting in your body, choked feelings coming out in sobs. you begin to shake in tzuyu’s arms. you’re glad only tzuyu is here right now. 

-- “why did you do it?” chaeyoung pours herself another shot. downing it as you both stare at each other across the dining table. 

like a drug you can’t quit, she called you last night. only to be followed by an empty bed the next morning. you find her smoking out back.

“do what?” she puts the glass down, letting the burn run down.

“why do you keep calling me?” 

another shot.

you grab the shot glass, her eyes going wide. “tell me.”

“because, you’re there.” she says, tossing her feet up.

“that’s it? that’s all i am? just there?” she doesn’t move.

all those compliments about how beautiful you are, how glad she is that you two are so close, how she cherishes you like no other.

who else has she said these words to? 

who’s heart has she captured that’s not you?

“is it mina?” you ask.

she shakes her head no. “there’s no one.”

“but i’m just there.” you comment.

there’s no one else, you’re just there.

you aren’t even the someone else.

you are just there.

--

a/n: wrote this for @nr1chaedickrider, all the angst for you darling <33. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[cloudcountry]

auburn's 3k followers bake sale!! (lasts from july 24st to august 6th)

order a baked good, get a complementary drink & fic! menu below!

(thank you all so much for 3k!! ever since getting back into the twst fandom after a six month break, ive been reflecting on my time here a lot. i feel like the twst fandom is one of the few fandoms that i'll actually be able to look back on fondly and feel comfortable doing so. i've been connected to all of these character for about 3 years now and now 2 years with you guys. i know some of you may think i'm scary but i encourage you to take part in this event ^^ it wouldn't the same without you <3 and while im at it, thanks for 3,100 followers too!!)

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[ddollfface]

𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"You're as hot as the bottom of my laptop, mamas ;)."

Trigger Warnings; gaslighting, manipulation, somewhat spreading misinformation, hinting at yandere behaviors, fluff, PDA, reader is referred to as a girl, honestly this is pretty tame lol If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Just a few headcanons on a new OC. And, just so you know, when I was writing this, I had an afab!reader in mind! If you have any requests, idk why you would, but send them in! I hope you enjoy:)))

Never, ever refers to you as your given name. He prefers to call you by some type of nickname or pet name, depending on his mood. His go-to is mamas, sweet cheeks, baby cakes, hot stuff, good-lookin', and so much more. Honestly, he could go on all day, just listing different pet names he has for you. At this point, it's become a source of entertainment for you, trying to see what odd name he'll call you. Come on, you don't like that nickname, sugar plum? How about dolly? Baby girl? Pumpkin? I don't know, you look like an angel, baby.

Though you'll admit it, it's somewhat endearing to hear, especially when you know he's only called you these cute names. But at a certain point, it gets embarrassing... Like does your mama need to know that he calls you bubble butt, of all things? Let me answer that for you, no, no she does not. If anything, that's something she should never, ever know.

He demands that you come to his games; he doesn't want you to miss a single one. He'll show up to your house at the crack of dawn, on a Saturday, and drag you out of bed to bring you to his game. He doesn't give too shits if your hair looks like a mess or if you're still in your jams. Nope, not at all. If anything, he likes it. He thinks you're adorable with your Hello Kitty booty shorts.

He just wants you there, to support him. He wants to have his own personal cheerleader, someone who he can come to after the game, and give a hug too.

While the thought behind it is endearing and cute, that doesn't change the fact that he's just so pushy. He won't give up, no matter what. If he says you're going, then you're going. You don't get a say in the matter 'cause if you refuse to go, then he's going to bring out the waterworks. He's going to look at you with the saddest eyes you can imagine, there's even tears. He'll cock his head to the side and question you, asking why don't you want to support me? What happened to 'friends first? Remember when I went to that stupid party 'cause ya' didn't want to be alone? Where's my payback, yeah?

He'll use emotional manipulation to get what he wants, making you out to be the bag guy, instead of him. His guilt-tripping usually always works, well, so far it has. And now you're at some stupid hockey game, wrapped up in his jacket, wearing his team colors. Great, now people are asking how you bagged a guy like him. Jesus, where'd they get that idea from? You're not even dating...

Well, that's what you think. Little do you know, he's been going around town tellin' everyone about you. He'll hype you up to his buddies, rambling on and on about how you smell, how your cheeks puff up when you smile, and God, you're so pretty when you're sleeping. Wow, he doesn't mean that in a creepy way! Why would you think of it like that? Because he's just admiring the prettiest girl in school! Don't you know, mamas? You being here makes me the luckiest guy in town, yeah?

He's just so God damn touchy; people can't help but think ya'll are dating. Everything about your relationship screams dating. He's always got an arm around your shoulder, and if he's feeling really ballsy, he'll place a hand on your hip. Though those moments are far in between, seeing as you'll give him a hard side-eye when he does it.

But the PDA doesn't stop there. He'll hold your hand, claiming that he's just warming your hands. After all, it's pretty cold in the winter, yeah? He's just looking out for you, nothing to freak out over. Sometimes, he'll hug you a little too tight, and for a little too long. His touch lingers for such a prolonged time it causes you to look up at him with a questioning look.

Of course, he's the master of diverting your questions, shifting your conversations from his touchy behavior to finals. And this does nothing but piss you off, but it's hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that. The way he scoots his chair closer to yours, intertwining your pinkies together, and smiling at you like a dork. The way he'll bring you coffee (or warm tea, depending on your preference) during a cold morning, always making sure his baby's all warm. Or how he'll cover for you when you're late to a lecture, stalling the class for a few minutes, just enough for you to slip into class unnoticed.

All these small things let you forget about why you were even mad in the first place! I mean, what could he have done wrong? It couldn't be that bad right?

And just like that, you walk right back into his arms, not knowing that he's the one you should be running from. You're such a stupid girl, aren't you? Don't worry, I'll take care of you babes.

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part II

Previous / Masterlist / Next

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, unwilling whumper, forced to be whumper, ALOT of self-loathing and fucky thoughts and guilt and all of it, weapons, adult language, mentions of blood, brief mention of vomit/nausea, reference to toxic/abusive family dynamic (if I've missed any, please let me know! <3)

Part two! A long time coming! The final part should drop in the next few days/this week! :D thank you to the amazing @whumpcereal for her AMAZING beta on this 🥺🫶

---

August has always dreamt of cake on his birthday, the warm scent of sugar and butter taunting his vampiric senses like forbidden fruit. The cake would be chocolate, of course. Every human loves chocolate; it must be the tastiest thing on Earth. This year, there would have been one hundred and thirty candles, barely fitting on top of it. And August could blow them all out and make his birthday wish. Just like the humans do.

But if the flickering flames on his imaginary cake could really grant his wishes, he wouldn’t wish for chocolate. With a single puff of breath, he’d wish to rewind time and erase this horrific day out of existence. Or, perhaps, he’d wish for a clean slate - a life free from the regret that eats him alive. But above all, he would wish to finally be happy - whatever that means. But where does August get the gall to wish for his own happiness when he is the catalyst of another’s misery? 

He stole a human being tonight. He crept through the streets, snatched them from where they slept and locked them away. He’d lurked in the shadows and all, like a true monster. As far as the human is aware, they saw the stars for the last time this eve and they’ll never feel fresh air stream through their lungs again. August could see it the moment their eyes first locked - the human feared the blood coursing through his own veins was his no longer, that he had become nothing more than food.

No, if August had birthday candles, he should be wishing for the human’s pain to stop, not his own. He should pray for any memories of this miserable night to fade away, and for the human to feel nothing but warmth and safety for the rest of his days. How dare August make this about himself?

How dare August call himself a doctor?

Really, if August is anything other than a feral creature, he is a coward. He can’t find a drop of courage in his selfish core to face the human. Of course not. That would mean facing up to what he has done to the human.

Instead, August kneels in the bathroom, and he hugs the toilet bowl tight in his arms. He sputters and heaves as spit dribbles from his lips. It’s a battle against wave after wave of never-ending nausea. August is sickened by himself. Repulsed by the cruelty that he and his kind are capable of. Even if he earned his family’s stamp of approval tonight - something he’s always dreamed of and strived for - it wasn’t worth it. Not one bit. He refuses to hurt, abuse and sacrifice an innocent life for a scrap of their regard. Curse their prideful smiles and damn their hollow praise.

CRASH! Shattering glass pierces through the silence in-between retches. August’s heart leaps up into his throat, and his gut clenches.

His human is awake - no! August shakes that insidious thought from his head. Not his, and never his. The human does not belong to him. 

August wills the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The thought of skulking down to that basement with his tail between his legs and shame swelling in his chest - it turns his already churning stomach with bubbles of dread. Still, he must. He peels himself from the bathroom floor, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and makes his way downstairs to greet his guest. There’s not a second spare to wallow and drown in self-pity.

He grips the stair bannister for dear life, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him. Still, he forces his dragging feet to move one step at a time down to the basement. There’s no backing out of this, no turning and running now. August needs to face the music–or face his victim, rather. He must fix what he’s done to this poor human.

There is the sound of a jarring crash, and then another dull thud resonates from behind the locked basement door. August’s shaking hands fumble to fit the key in the lock. With a click, the door opens, and he cautiously descends into the dimly lit basement, every footstep echoing in the sudden, eerie silence.

That is until he hears the human’s heart. It pounds like a war-drum in August’s ears, each beat louder and more erratic. August flicks the light switch, and as the basement floods with light, he freezes on the spot, beyond horrified at the scene before him.

His life's work, decades of dedication, lay in ruins. His surgery looks like the aftermath of an explosion. All the furniture is flipped over, and shards of shattered glass sparkle across the floor like jewels amongst the blitz. Charts and graphs once meticulously hung on the wall now dangle in tatters, their scientific data reduced to meaningless scraps. His medicinal cabinets have been ransacked; trails of viscous liquid snake across the concrete floor from countless broken vials. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals.

And there, behind his masterpiece of destruction, cowers the human, pressed flat against the farthest wall, a scalpel gripped in trembling hands held out before him. Its sharp tip is pointed in August’s direction, glistening against the surgery's harsh strip lights.

August has seen fear in human eyes more times than he can possibly count, but he has never seen fear like this. The human’s eyes burn with such primal terror that they touch the very core of August’s being. In the man’s eyes, August sees his own fear, his own isolation and his own despair. But August stays there, unable to look away no matter how it hurts him. He is trapped in this man’s stare, lost in a labyrinth of his own reflections.

But August feels something else too. A raw and untamed emotion. Rage. All-consuming anger that makes goosebumps prickle down the vampire’s pale skin. Rage courses through the human’s veins like a river of molten lava.

“You stay the hell back!” the human roars until his voice wavers and wobbles. He swings the scalpel into the empty space between them, stabbing at the air. “Don’t you dare come near me!”

August’s hands fly up in surrender. Words escape him. What could he possibly say to make this right? Where does he even start? Surely nothing he could say could do justice to his regret.

“I’m sorry-”

That’s the first thing that blurts out of August’s pathetic mouth. Because it is the only and the most sincere thought that comes to him. As though his apology could ever mend the damage or heal the pain he’s caused tonight.

August is shaking now. He can’t stop. His palm slams against his mouth as he chokes back a guilt-warbled cry. “I’m - so…I’m SO sorry. I - I don’t - I…I -I never. I didn’t want to hurt you. I - I won’t hurt you! I don’t want this. Please - y-you have to believe me. You’re safe here-”

August moves without thinking, over the rubble and glass shards. He moves barely an inch closer, and the human erupts into panic. Like a great cat, the human swiftly pounces and flips the table in front of him to form a barricade, stopping August dead in his tracks. Surgical instruments clatter about, and yet more glass scatters across the cement floor. 

“I SAID STAY BACK!” the human brays like a feral animal. His chest heaves dramatically as his lungs seem to fight for breath, and he takes an unsteady step back to create even more distance between them. Gingerly, he cradles his hand, still clutching the scalpel. A gasp escapes his lips as crimson wells from a sudden gash. The tang of iron hits August’s nostrils, drool coats his tongue and his fangs tingle, ready to feed. He wrestles with his animalistic instincts and pushes back the unwanted and primal hunger that threatens to take over. He knows he doesn’t want it, but his body thinks he needs it.

The human had hurt himself in his own destructive frenzy. August can’t help but feel responsible for that too. But that doesn’t seem to deter the human, in fact, it fuels him. He launches himself at the countertops. In one fluid motion, sweeping his arms  across the surfaces, clearing it of every single object in a deafening cascade that shatters across the floor.

“HUMAN! PLEASE STOP!”

The human doesn’t speak, but a slow, cold anger radiates off him. Brows slam together, his jaw clenches until the muscles stand out starkly. A single word, each syllable dripping with disdain, finally leaves his lips:  "'Human'?"

August immediately realises his mistake. Guilt eats him from the inside out. You utter barbarian; he scolds himself.

“I have a name, you know!” The human snaps incredulously, bloody hands curling into fists.

“Of course, of course! Just…” August breathes, “What is your name?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?!”

The bookshelves are the human’s next victim. He doesn’t bother pulling or ripping at them; he just bulldozes them with a barge of his shoulder. The shelves topple with a cacophony of splintering wood and flapping pages. His gaze is already fixed on his next target: a framed diploma hanging on the wall, defying the human’s rampage.

“Wait, no! P-Please, not that!” August begs, hands clasped together in supplication. The diploma represents his proudest achievement, everything that he’s worked so hard for. It is the only proof August has that there may be good in him somewhere. “Please! Don’t destroy anything else! I just need you to hear me out!”

“Open the door and let me walk out, vamp,” the human scowls, glossing over August’s pleas. “Or do I have to go through you?”

August swallows hard, the human’s casual threat sending a fresh wave of terror through him. He doesn’t doubt the human’s raw strength or willpower for even a second. The destroyed furniture and the fiery defiance in his eyes promise more violence. A heavy silence stretches between them, thick with tension.

“I - I want to help you - please just let me explain all of this-”

The human slams his fist into the nearest wall, a crater of dust left in its wake. August flinches into himself. Then, the man lets out a sound that no soul should ever have to hear. It’s a keening cry - a grieving wail for the life he fears he has lost. It rocks August to his core. It’s bloodcurdling. 

“Why’d you choose me, huh?!” The human seethes, damn near foaming at the mouth. “Is it because I sleep rough on the streets? Is that it? Because my life is so fucking expendable?!”

Then, it’s as if a dam has burst. The human’s face just crumples as a choked sob croaks from his lips, barely even audible. Slowly, he slides down against the wall. Head in hands, shoulders slumped, any bravado completely drained from his posture. 

“You knew no-one would come for me… didn’t you?” The human manages a whisper, his head hung low in defeat. Words just seem to keep failing August time and time again, he can only watch miserably and quietly. 

“DIDN’T YOU?!” the human bellows, eyes bloodshot and wild as his head shoots up. August flinches at the outburst.

“What gives you the right to play god?! What makes my life worth any less than yours, or any other person you could have plucked from the damn street. It was a shitty life. But it was my life! There was nothing left to take from me, and you took it all anyway. You’re a… you’re a parasite.”

August bites his lips and nods, a silent, pathetic apology. He is a parasite. Every word burns like a red-hot fire poker but he knows he deserves every scorch. Scarlet-shame colours his cheeks. Monster, parasite, animal - he’s all of the above.

“I won’t stop fighting you,” the human huffs through tears of fury. “I won't stop until I kill you, even if it kills me. You're right. I have nothing, and no-one. Nothing to lose but everything to gain. So if I’m going to go down, I'm going down swinging. Do your worst…leech.”

Leech.

August has always thought of himself as a healer. A protector. It is here, in this moment, he finally realises he is nothing more than the predator he was born to be. Afterall, there is no denying what he has done. He did take the human, he took away everything the human had to take.  He, too, sinks to the floor in devastation, landing heavily in a cross-legged slump opposite the tear-streaked human. 

Worst birthday ever.

August is drained and depleted, but he won’t waste any more breath on defending himself; he isn’t worthy of any defence. But the very least he can do is comfort the human - help him to weather the storm and be the anchor he needs right now.

“You can keep the scalpel,” August sniffles, “if it gives you some comfort. If it helps you to feel safe.” It’s an impotent gesture. A scalpel would be useless against him in combat if it really did come to that, but hopefully the human can see the sentiment behind the offer. “All I ask is for a minute of your time, and I promise, I will explain everything to you.”

The human stares at the scalpel in his hand and then locks eyes with August’s in a silent duel. No accusation, no defiance this time - only a deep well of desperate inquiry burning in their depths. A million silent questions hang in the air. He begrudgingly nods for August to go on.

“I will take you home tomorrow morning. I swear it. I wish I could open the front door for you and let you stroll free and wave you off into the world, but we’re deep in vampire territory right now. You wouldn’t last five minutes out here on your own. You’ll be snatched back up in a heartbeat, and by a creature less...inviting than myself. We will go after sunrise tomorrow and not a minute later, you have my word.”

“Your word,” the human spits, “Your word means jack all to me.”

“Then let me prove that I am who I say I am - a man of my word. Let me show you to a bed for tonight. Let me give you food and water, and a pillow to rest your head. And then I will leave you be, to get all the sleep you want and need, and I will keep to myself. The next time you see me, it will be to make our journey back to human territory.”

“...Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking for your trust.” Heaven knows August doesn’t deserve it, could never earn it. “I’m asking, from the bottom of my heart, for your leniency. You could, and probably should, drive a stake through my chest for what I’ve put you through. I cannot say I would blame you, if you did. But…why don’t we both survive the night, and come tomorrow we go our separate ways?”

Relief floods in as the human seems to reluctantly ponder the deal. It’s just a night. They just need to make it through the night, and then they can both go back to their separate lives and try to forget each other's faces. The human must realise that too, because his boiling anger seems to simmer down. August rises to his feet and slowly moves across the room to extend a helping hand. The human only grunts his curt refusal and snubs the offer, forcing himself up off the cold and unforgiving ground. 

“Spare bedroom. First floor. It’s all yours for the night. I’ll show you to it.” August nervously beckons the human over as he heads towards the basement door. The man sluggishly follows behind, keeping a distance that feels like miles. August feels distrustful eyes burning into the back of his head. He half expects to feel the scalpel pierce his spine any second.

But it doesn’t. As August leads the way upstairs, their unified steps echo strangely in the emptiness of the house. With each turn, the sheer scale of this place, his home, hits August anew. In the company of this poor stranger he’s pulled from the grime of the street, the house feels absurdly oversized. Every step reveals yet another opulent space – a bathroom, a bedroom, a study, a library, another bathroom.  August marches him through this excessive display of wealth with a sinking heart. Does he truly need all this, especially when the man trailing behind him apparently doesn’t have a penny to his name or a roof over his head?

August pauses before what is now the third bedroom door they’ve come across, this one already ajar. Inside, the air is stuffy and still, as though the room hasn’t been disturbed in decades, and it hasn’t; it is  untouched and unslept in. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the drawn curtains and slices across the four-poster bed. 

“This is yours,” he motions the human through the doorway, “for the night-” he quickly repeats. He chooses every word with due care and diligence, to reaffirm that this situation is by no means permanent.

Hesitantly, the human steps inside. His eyes flit across the ornately carved furniture and over thick layers of dust. August takes his moment to disappear down the hallway, returning minutes later with a tray holding a jug of water, a glass and a bowl of steaming chicken soup - he was lucky to find the tin of it at the very back of his cupboard. A strained smile tugs at August’s lips as he sets it down on the nightstand. 

Again, the human recoils from him, pressing himself into the corner of the room.

“I’ll go now, okay? I-I hope you can get a good night's sleep. If you need me, for anything, my bedroom is on the very end of the hall, on the left”.

“I won’t need you,” the human scoffs. “Go. Leave.”

The rebuff curdles August’s smile, his lips twitch nervously. “As you wish…” he mutters, stalking towards the door with defeat. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, “My name is August, by the way. Could I please at least know your name, too?”

Rooted to the spot, the human squares his broad shoulders, a challenge radiating from his posture. “Names are sacred, leech,” he declares, teeth gritting together. “I plan to keep that secret for as long as I can keep my mind.”

The human’s words strike August like a physical blow. The air whooshes from his lungs, deflating him like a pricked balloon. Regret, sharp and bitter, settles in his chest. He can’t stay a second longer, not with the humiliating spark of unshed tears threatening to spill. His family is right, he’s a weak and pathetic excuse for a vampire. With a twist of the doorknob, he flees down the hall to his bedroom. He collapses onto his bed and buries his face in the pillow.

— 

For the human, however, sleep will be a stranger tonight. Any last vestige of drowsiness flees as the vampire vanishes. Sleep just isn’t in the cards. He has to hold out until dawn. He scrambles for anything he can get his hands on to barricade the door. It’s his first line of defence overnight;it will give him a fighting chance and an advantage over the creature.

The heavy dresser groans in protest as he drags it across the room to block the door, scratching and scraping the floorboards along its path. He doesn’t think twice about the damage, if the vamp gets to destroy his life, then he gets to destroy it’s property. Then the rickety chair and the desk it sits at gets pushed into the barricade. And the bedside tables, the bookcase too. Finally, his gaze falls on the bed and its sturdy oak bedposts. He pulls his scalpel from his pocket and digs his scalpel into the wood, feverishly wedging a chunk out of it with all the strength he has left. Shavings rain down as he whittles it down to a sharpened point. Slapdash, but a stake nonetheless.

Every creek of the settling house, every rustle in the wind sets the human’s teeth on edge. He crawls into the bed and slips under the blankets. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft they are, and how the mattress feels like he’s floating on a cloud and how warmth seems to instantly envelop his fatigued body. He’s not felt this much comfort in…in, well, years.

But he can’t afford to let his weary eyes slip shut. He stays watching the door like a hawk from his bed, his staked clutched close to his beating chest.

Morning can’t come quick enough.

*!*!*!*!*

Dawn finds the human bleary-eyed but alert. His crafted weapon is still clutched tightly in his palms as he half-stares and blinks drearily at the barricaded door, as ready and poised to attack as he can be. Moonlight has dwindled and now sunlight beams through the velvet curtains instead. He leaps up, rips the curtains open and basks in the sun’s kiss. It’s something he thought he’d never feel again,

He survived the night. It’s nothing short of a miracle. A silent thank you rises in his throat as a single tear slips from his eye. Someone, he thinks, has to be watching over him. His parents, he hopes. There’s no way he would have made it through this without them.

Now the vampire just has to hold true to his promise. If his word holds any weight, the human will be back in human territory before dusk. Yet, the whole situation defies any logic. The human can’t wrap his head around the absurdity of it all. Why would a vampire snatch him, just to return him by nightfall, less than twenty four hours later? He can’t fight the feeling that a deeper motive lurks beneath the surface, a sinister plan at play. Suspicion clings to the human like cobwebs. Beyond the hospitality and kindness… the vampire has to be up to something.

The human dismantles his barricade and heads out to go downstairs. Every fibre of his being screams ‘it’s a trap!’...but the human can’t deny the smallest sliver of hope in his chest, piercing his bubble of suspicion. The vampire had kept true to its word so far, it had left him alone and untouched, fed and watered, a bed to sleep in. It hasn’t laid a hand on him nor tried to feed. In fact, it had kept far away.  Maybe the vampire deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, there isn’t anything more to this than meets the eye, and there are no strings attached? 

But hope is a dangerous thing, tempting him to lower his guard and leave himself vulnerable for thirsty fangs to sink into. No, he thinks grimly, tightening his grip on the makeshift stake. He will not trust, cautious acceptance will have to do. He’s ready to fight with all he’s got when it all heads south.

He reaches the landing and sneakily peeks over the railing. The vampire stands by the front door, guarding it like a troll bridge. To stop the human from escaping? The vampire meticulously folds up his sleek, black umbrella and places it back in his stand. He looks so tall, impossibly tall, even from the human’s vantage point. The vampire is dressed in a three-piece suit and leather dress shoes that seems more suited to an office boardroom than house wear.

As the human strains for a better look, a sudden creak of the floor makes the vampire snap his head up. Chilling red eyes lock with the human’s in a way that sends a jolt of pure terror down the man’s spine. Would he be punished for this? Would the vampire strip him of his free will and send him marching down to the basement for punishment? He’s heard they can do that–and worse. All the fear sparks anew. He can’t catch his breath - he’s panicking.

But the vampire's eyes aren’t actually filled with the predatory and furious glint he expected. Instead, a swirl of emotions flickers within them - concern, sorrow,  even…anxiety? It’s a disarming sight. This creature looks nearly as worried as Lucas feels…

—

"There's been a change in plans,” August laments.

August could literally hear the human’s heart drop in his chest, like a lead weight falling into a deep well. The human’s eyes are wide with despair, and his mouth drops open as though he’s been struck across the cheek. A wave of guilt crashes over August, and he isn’t oblivious to how this looks. It looks like the betrayal and deceit the human has anticipated since he first set eyes on August.  August is well aware he just crushed the man’s hopes to dust, and confirmed every doubt and fear. But it’s out of his hands. Mother nature is a cruel mistress.

“No-” the human rasps, nearly falling down the stairs as his legs give out on him.  “No, vamp. You said you’d take me home. You said today. You promised-”

“That’s not the element that’s changed. My promises are sworn and imperishable. There is, however, a delay.”

"A ‘delay’…” The human repeats incredulously, a hint of sarcasm to his tone. His suspicion eats away at him, misplaced though it is. August is many things - a liar, he is not. But there’s no way the human could know that. Not yet, anyway. The human takes a cautious step back from August, staring him up and down with disdain. 

"A storm is raging outside. The streets are thick with snow and ice, and the skies are dark with thundering clouds. It’s too dangerous to make the drive.”

“I don’t care,” the human snidely retorts. “I’ll walk it if I have to. Just open the door for me, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll be out of your hair and you can have your big, lonely mansion all to yourself again.”

Yes, his lonely mansion. All to himself. The words sting more than August cares to admit. He winces like a knife is twisting in his belly. When the human goes home, he will be all alone again. It was nice…is nice…the company. Talking to someone that’s not a suffering patient or his own reflection in the mirror.  He already feels the emptiness settling over him once again. He longs for companionship, for someone to share his home with. He sighs, knowing that he'll have to wait a bit longer for his wish to come true. He can’t keep the human here–at least not indefinitely. But he will have to make the human understand that tonight is non-negotiable. 

“You can’t-” August shakes his head. The man would never make it home. Not with the minus temperatures and the blankets of snow.

“I can. I am. Move,” the human growls, his hands balled into fists. Only then does August notice the crude stake in the human’s white-kncukled hand. No, this human will never be his friend, but even still, August has a duty to him.

The human storms towards the door and tries to push it open. It doesn’t budge. He barges his shoulder into the door, desperately ramming it. Still it doesn’t give. Soon, he’s kicking and shoving and a warbled cry rockets up his throat. Despite his frantic assault, the door only cracks open slightly.

“Snow,” August chimes in, pointing to the falling white powder crumbling through the gap in the door. “We’re snowed in. Must be at least twelve inches of it, I would think.”

“No. This can’t be happening. We-We climb out the bedroom window!” The human’s eyes light up at the idea, sprinting towards the staircase in a panic.

“And then what will you do? Trek all the way back to human territory in this snowstorm? Do you know how far out we are?”

In the blink of an eye, the human tumbles to the floor in a heap, screaming into his hands, pulling at his hair. The blizzard howls like a banshee outside, a gust of snow blows in from outside. The human knows he’s stuck here. He’s trapped here, with a bloodsucker. He’s going to die. Or at least that’s what he must believe. 

“I can’t stay here. With you. I won’t do it.”

“Please,” August says. He resists the urge to move closer; there’s no point in riling the human any more than he’s already riled himself up.  “My word is my bond. I won’t harm you. But I can’t in good conscience return you to where I found you. I’m a physician. I can’t put anyone in harm’s way. To sleep rough on a night like tonight–it would be a death sentence.” 

The human laughs coldly. “Was this your plan all along? Crush my spirits? Delude me into thinking it’s my choice to stay?” 

“I don’t control the weather,” August sighs. “This doesn’t change a thing. I will still take you home as soon as the roads are clear.”

The human remains silent, his jaw clenched. With a final, hate-filled glare, he storms towards the stairs, and, like a sulking teenager, stomps upward in a whirlwind of fury. The slam of his bedroom door reverberates throughout the house.

But the human is still here. He is still safe. August hasn’t failed entirely. 

An exhausted breath escapes August’s lips. He isn’t used to this, the vulnerability of sharing his haven and bearing the weight of responsibility for another life. A knot of unease tightens in his gut. These forced close quarters may at least offer him a chance to ease the human’s fear and earn a crumb of forgiveness, but August can’t help but wonder –  will they be able to bridge the chasm between predator and prey?

This is going to be a long couple of days…

---

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[haruka-norikoyo]

Monoma x reader who is Mirio’s sibling Part 5

Wow, I can’t believe I already have this much parts.

Other parts:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

Part 5/?

~~~~~~~~~~

You had the movie set up by the time Neito returns to the room. He was only supposed to get ice cream and soda so…

“Why do you have all that with you?!” you laugh. With him is a whole cart of food that the two of you would not be able to finish. He didn’t forget the ice cream. It was in one giant bowl topped with a myriad of sprinkles and syrup, as well as some slices of fruit as if that would make it healthy. On the second level of the cart are a bunch of cream puffs and small cake slices, and on the bottom level are chips and popcorn. Behind him, he is dragging along a wagon stacked high with blankets and clothes pins.

Neito shrugs, smiling at your amused expression. “They all got nosy and decided to chip in.” He sets down the blankets beside you on the bed, taking out a mini projector. “Aw, they’re so sweet.”

He nudges you while he connects the projector with his computer. “Hey, pay attention to me, not my classmates.”

You nudge back teasingly, “I dunno, you seem pretty out done.”

Neito rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna set up the base or what?” he asks, gesturing to the blankets and pillows.

You gasp, unfolding the blankets with glee. “A pillow fort..! That’s what it’s for..!”

He chuckles at your childish excitement. Though, he had to admit that the pillow fort was a good idea from Honenuki… he’ll have to thank him later.

Once he was done setting the projector up, he helps you with the fort. You pin the blankets onto his unused ceiling fan and his curtain rod, and some at the edges of his bed. Next you stack the pillows around you as a wall, using one of them to prop the projector up to properly face the wall. Now that the fort is done, you sit inside, waiting for Neito to join you after shutting the lights off. You hear them click. The blankets part as Neito crawls in with faintly lit electric candles. The extravagance of this one final touch has you rolling with laughter. He raises a brow at you with a smirk, setting the candles down around the fort. “What? Don’t like it?”

“No, I love it,” you giggle.

Neito smiles, finally sitting with his arm around your shoulder. He’s silent for a while, so you look back at him. You tilt your head, “What’re you staring for, hm?”

“Wow, so I can’t even look at you?”

You shake your head, leaning against him. “Just don’t ask me about what you missed in the movie.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll pay attention to it,” and so he presses his keyboard, and the movie begins.

***

There is a knock in the 1-B dorm.

Kendo is quick to open it, finding her homeroom teacher standing there. He doesn’t usually have to check on them, so she figures why he’s there. “Oh, Vlad-sensei. Togata-san’s over at Monoma’s room.”

“Ah,” he says. He had gotten a call from Aizawa saying that some students from class 1-A were worried about (y/n) Togata not coming back to the dorm when they said they’d be back before curfew. Both teachers knew where you’d probably be without saying anything, which leads him here. “Tell them it’s past curfew and time to call it a day.”

“Well… we tried, but we figured it would be fine for Togata-san to stay?”

“What do you mean you tried?”

Kaibara peeks his head out of the door. “Just look at them.” He holds out his phone, which is on video chat with Tsubaraba over at Neito’s room along with Fukudashi, Shishida, Rin, Awase, and Kodai. The camera settles on Fukudashi as he draws on Neito’s face with a marker, which already has a few doodles. The unsuspecting boy is fast asleep, curled up against you, whose face is untouched… for now. Fukudashi’s face is in a mischievous “fufufu” speech bubble.

The other four are aiding him by holding up the blankets while he draws. In the background, the credits of a movie is projected on the wall. Several trays of the remnants of snacks sprawl across the floor.

Technically, the curfew only specifies that students must be in the dorms, but not which dorm so… Vlad sighs. “Alright. Just remind them not to be late for class.”

Besides, Aizawa probably won’t give a damn either. It’s hero school. Let the kids be kids every now and then.

***

You are gently shaken awake as a soft voice calls out your name. “(Y/n)… (y/n), I’m leaving soon.”

“Hm?” you rub your eyes, opening them to see Neito now dressed in his P.E. uniform. Curiously, he has a few dark smudges on his face. Ah, you must’ve fallen asleep. “Morning Neito… where are you going?”

“I’m going to Gym Gamma. You should head back to your dorm before your classmates get worried. Maybe get a little more sleep in your room.”

Sitting up, you notice that the fort is still up, just parted to make room for you to move. Most of the mess from last night have been stacked neatly to the side, ready to be cleaned up later. As he’s setting his gym bag up, he adds, “By the way, they drew on our faces on our sleep.”

Now that wakes you up. Quickly, you take your phone out and look at the camera and see that there, in fact, are doodles on your face from permanent marker. Well that explains the ink remnants on Neito’s face…

He hands you a wipe, saying that you can use the one of the 1-B sinks as well as their soap before you leave for your dorm. “Thanks. Why so early though? You training?”

Neito rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, your brother visited yesterday while I was getting snacks.” Seeing the scowl on your face, he quickly adds. “He didn’t try scaring me this time. In fact, he offered to help train me.”

You did, staring incredulously at him, “He did?” “Yeah,” Neito sits down on the edge of his bed. “And considering he’s one of the big three of UA, how could I refuse? Besides, it’s a good chance to see his quirk in action.”

Fearing that he’d accidentally go too hard on Neito, Mirio had Hado take over in the demonstration with 1-B. She kicked their asses. No remorse, I fear.

———

“I’m here because I’d like to make an offer to you. Think of it as an olive branch being extended,” Mirio, whose head is peaking out from the 1-B dorm’s floor says.

Neito raises a brow. A peace offering? “I’m listening…”

“I’ve heard of your quirk Copy. You’re able to copy other’s quirks if you’ve made physical contact with them for a certain amount of time, correct?”

“I’m a little concerned about how you know that, but you’re right. I’ve been training to extend that time limit.”

“Ah, sounds great! Ah—” Mirio sinks into the floor. Neito furrows his brows in confusion. After a few seconds, his voice returns. “Anyway, since we’ve started out on the wrong foot…”

Neito looks up as Mirio’s head now pokes out of the ceiling.

“…I would like to get to know you better. As both a person and as the hero you’re aspiring to be. So I came here to offer to train you on using my quirk. It’ll help you improve your duration too right?”

Neito puts his finger on his chin, looking straight ahead, “That’s… an interesting offer…” His mind weighs his options. He doesn’t exactly fully trust this guy even when he’s your brother so…

Mirio sticks his hand out from the ceiling to make a thumbs up. “It is, isn’t it? You see, my quirk isn’t what you’d think is hero like, is it?”

At this, Neito looks up again, eyes bigger with interest. “Not hero like? Even though you’re top of the school?” “My quirk makes me untouchable to everything. That includes any surface and even air. A simple movement such as taking a step through a wall would require me to turn it on for all except one leg, stepping through, turning it off in that leg that stepped through, and then turning it on in that previous leg.” “It took me a lot of time and dedication to make it a hero like quirk. I want to see if you’re the type who can persevere. I think that’s fair considering you claim you’ll spend the rest of your life with (y/n).”

Neito smiles wryly as Mirio quotes him. But that smiles soon fades, his expression going serious. “I do intend to make good on my words. They’re not simply hopes and wishes, they’re promises. I accept your offer.”

Mirio smiles a little wider. It’s subtle, but Neito picks up on it. “Alright! Lets meet tomorrow at Gym Gamma. Two hours before class.”

Neito nods. “Understood, onii-san!”

Mirio narrows his eyes at the boy, “…Fine, I’ll let you call me that.”

[tianasimstreehouse]

Occult Recipebook

Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble.

INTRO

Occult gameplay is up there with one of my favourite ways to play. Food is a part of our Sims lives, and should also be for occults so that they can cook up their preferred foods.

This Occult Recipebook is a collection of custom recipes (food and drink) for Occult Sims in the Sims 4.

I have started off this occult culinary journey with: ✨SPELLCASTERS✨

I have plans to later create foods for each occult life state, so I will keep adding to the recipe book.

“Spellcasters” as a life state can be played in so many different ways: they can range from gnarly evil witches who practice black magic and eat bird entrails, to happy little fairies who live in cottages surrounded by woods and flowers! I have tried to include a little bit of everything in the recipes I have created. These foods are a mix of fairy, fantasy, green garden witch, apothecary, or black-magic sorcerer etc. 

They effect Spellcasters and/or human Sims in many weird and wonderful ways.

E.g. Nettle Tea which helps teenagers suffering with acne, Milk Thistle Biscuits which leave the consumer with prickly thistles in their tongue, and Eye of Newt Soup which most Sims will find disgusting but which Spellcasters will happily slurp up.

RECIPES

39 new recipes for your Spellcasters!

~ Realm of Magic is required for these recipes ~

**there's a fair amount of pack-integration, and be sure to read the pack recommendations on the Patreon post for each recipe** to make sure nothing is missing or glitching.

Meals Dandelion Salad - increases SCs gardening skill, fills PlantSims' hunger Nettle Soup Soft-Boiled Golden Eggs - makes Sims glow and glitter Pumpkin Pasties Pomegranate Halves Eye of Newt Soup - makes other Sims feel sick Valerian Root Pie - other Sims won't like this dish Elderberry Jam Toast Toadstool Soup - inspires SCs, normal Sims won't like this dish Salamander Stew - other Sims won't like this dish Spiced Honey Bread - SCs will gain all skills faster Raised Newt Pie - makes other Sims feel sick Dragon Livers - Werewolves will love these and normal Sims won't Raised Phoenix Pie - Sims will randomly breathe fire for a while and feel confident

Desserts Milk Thistle Biscuits - chance to get uncomfortable thistles in tongue Huckleberry Jam Cream Puffs - makes SCs playful Fairy Bread Soul Cakes Huckleberry Pie Juniper Berry Jam Biscuits Honeycomb Cakes - SCs will gain all skills faster Valerian Custard Tart Toadstool Cookies Cursed Cookies - wouldn't recommend eating these... serve them to enemies! Eating one may leave the SC eater cursed. Good Sims will sense the evil inside and get sad Canning *Requires Cottage Living Canning Skill Gooseberry Jam Elderberry Jam Rosehip Jelly Drinks *Bar/alcoholic drinks require Mixology skill, and a Bar. Acorn Coffee (*coffee machine) Pumpkin Juice Willow Bark Tea - A home remedy to cure most illnesses, food poisoning etc Sage Tea - soothes stress and anger, SCs are focused and improve logic skills faster Nettle Tea - helps teens suffering from acne Lavender Tea - makes Sims flirty Mugwort Tea - reduces fear or panic Butterbeer - gives SCs confidence Mandrake Ale Nettle Wine Dandelion Wine Elderberry Wine

INFO & DOWNLOAD (early access): https://www.patreon.com/posts/79514896?pr=true Milk & Cookies: Now! Sugar Cookies: May 24th Public: May 31st

Pro tip for Windows PC users: Please make sure to delete the MACOSX folders/files that can appear after you extract the mod's files, otherwise the game may throw an error and not load at all.

TRANSLATIONS Polish - ❤️ Daisy1728, find their translation over here French - ❤️ Heidi / LuniverSims, find their translation here

[colourstreakgryffin]

Discord × Alastor pleeeeeeease😗😗😗😗😗😗

To be honest. Discord and Bill Cipher, those two would do the best with Alastor… I know you technically meant just Discord and not us as Discord but plz do me a favour and think of us as Discord! It’s easier for me— but anyway! Have a good day and hope you enjoy

Alastor- Element of Disharmony

“Alastor! I know you have her! Give her up already!” Vaggie yelled out sharply and heartfully at the Radio Demon, whose current stationed in the corner stood upright with a much more forced smile than his usual snarky cheeky grin. Yet, his expression simply screamed he was offended and outraged any ex-exterminator would dare assume he’d do something he truly didn’t do, so he had forced himself to maintain his composure under irritating pressure and respond with a calm yet sharp

“Darling… I did not take your little pet. She may have escaped”

The Hotel’s Key or more affectionately known as ‘KeeKee’ had gone missing overnight and since Alastor truly was the only person in this Hotel with the power and drive to mess with the Hotel to see it’s inevitable downfall, Vaggie jumped immediately to semi-blindly accusing him whilst her girlfriend, Charlie, tried desperately to reason with her and stop blaming Alastor

This meaningless headache called an argument did last for a little longer until Vaggie practically chased Alastor out of the Hotel lobby. Finally managing to calm down with her beloved lover’s help whilst the outraged yet still dapper Overlord had been left to wonder the hallways of the mighty multi-floored Hotel he resides in as an investor. His radio staff cane clicking on the floor slightly each time he let it slightly drag on the floor

Having a continuous cocky flaring strut, Alastor’s blood red eyes wonder about the almost neverending Hotel Room-caked floors like he’s the one who ruled this building and to him, he absolutely did. Smiling much more pleased now and his tension loosened like a tightened up coil being undone after hours

He feels relieved not having to deal with that spear-happy woman Charlie holds so dearly to herself and he only deals with her as well as everybody in this Hotel because it’s so amusing to see them struggle and writhe like pathetic little maggots being burnt to dust. He does wish he could do such a thing to them, as all of them. Including his own workers, trigger him

Nothing is as entertaining and fascinating as it use to be and he does semi-consider leaving the Hotel to find a new object of inspiration until he ended up tracking out a rather malicious insane laugh, his thick tall deer ears flicking as he already stopped in place to further examine and find his new target

Silence. Bland painted walls. Nothing, which has his disappointment rising like a bubbling boiling water pot. He continues to step a bit more hastily and cautiously forward to focus on clearing out his mind from all the accusations from the Hotel manager and it works well

Since now. He is thinking about what that laugh belongs to and where that laugh came from…

“Alastor. The Radio Demon”

Okay. That isn’t even funny, nobody goes around saying phrases like that but him, somebody knows too much and it makes his grin drop for a split-second at most, rushingly pulling himself together and stopping with a firm stomp as to wave out his authority and power through the halls, in attempts to let whoever this voice belongs to know they are messing with

The wrong man

“What’s funny?”

Alastor snaps out with his radio voice effect almost dropping as fast as his composure has. He is not in a good mood and entertain anybody messing with him, he wants answers now and he doesn’t take anybody making a fool out of him kindly. This person is making a fool out of him for refusing to speak up to him

Coward

“Awww~ why are you so pissy, Sir? Did you miss me~?”

In a single pretty cloudy puff… you. A powerful Overlord that purely exists to stir chaos and discord and disharmony within Hell, manifests before Alastor with your malicious fang-bared smirk, pleased yourself at making Alastor so irritable when you’ve never seen him this way… ever

Of course. You took KeeKee by force within the cover of night and you’re doing this solely for laughs and to stir as much mischief and disorder as possible within the Hotel staff as it’s very fun and entertaining to see people a mess. Like Alastor, you’re not here for anything or anybody but for yourself

“I missed you~”

You cooed out, your multitude amalgamation of a form consisting of all kinds of seperate animalistic limbs; eagle, lion, reptile, horse, yet also a bird wing and a bat wing. You’re a beautiful mismatched disorientating mess of a Sinner but it fits your purpose and personality so well as you float before the firm yet still smiling scowling Alastor to wait for his respond a bit impatiently yet quietly

“Good afternoon, my dear…”

Alastor manages to answer whilst gripping his radio cane firmly, enough that the base may as well snap in half. You’re a bigger headache than Vox is… always destroying and hiding away his belongings, messing with his radio shows to get a reaction. He is a gentleman, he doesn’t let his temper peak through but he can’t stand you… he lets his utter hateful scorn out around you as to try put you in your place

Alastor’s internally furious because you’re the reason Vaggie was pestering him about KeeKee for almost a whole half a hour. You’re responsible for his radio staff being faulty, you’re responsible for Angel’s pig being set free… and everything was pinned on him. Your actions are always blamed on him

And he hates it. His eyes expressed every negative feeling he had for you. How, your own intense power had attacked at his high ego

“What’s that face for? C’mon~ don’t lie! You missed me~”

You coo out happily but so slick with manipulative tendencies as to get more reactions from your beloved deer, legs kicking smoothly and gorgeous mismatched wings flapping, despite the fact you don’t need it. It’s just to make people more confused since you live to confuse sinners. Punish them and get fun out of causing issues with no real shame for it

You like picking on Alastor, he’s your favourite! He gives the best reactions since he is always trying to control his temper and remain graceful and charming but it’s clear to you, he wants to rip you to shreds

But he can’t~

“I have a special project, Leitore. I can’t be playing with you anymore. Give back KeeKee and leave”

Alastor orders out with his fangs almost grinding out through the wide smile, with the itch to strike building up in his throat, knowing you won’t budge that easily since you’re the embodiment of true chaos and immaturity. The Hell within Hell and he’ll need to push you. He’s looking forward to finally making you behave and regret messing with him

“I’ll play~ let’s play, little Allie~”

You smoothly purr out with your dual goat and deer horns seeming to twitch a bit, sitting upright from being semi-bent down during your effortless hover a few inches above Alastor to be summoning forth KeeKee, stuck in an invisible yet breathable little bubble that mutes her noises as she is meowing out in horror. A threat, showing that he and his little Hotel will need to fight for what they want

Alastor didn’t flinch at the sight of KeeKee’s distress. He doesn’t care about the Morningstar’s cat nor truly does he care about the Hotel. He cares about the threat you have over him and his inflated ego. He refuses to let anybody else be able to one-up him. Nobody will be better than him on his watch

So, all he says as he puts down his radio cane sharply with a soft ‘thwonk’ of the bottom of the thin base, red eyes already ticking with the black pair of hands and red sclera fading to a pitch black. His own following threat that he is ready to throw you around like a ragdoll and have you begging for mercy under him

He is done being lenient, trying to ignore you, waiting for you to get off his case. You’re getting off his case now

“You’re welcome, darling but I warn you now. You’ll regret it”

[prettygirl-gabi]

Home

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Rating: General Audiences

Warning: Fluff, Mutual Pining

Category:F/M

Fandom:

Relationships:!idol Woozi x !f plus-size baker Reader

Summary: You're the embodiment of home to the grumpiest man you know, but why?

Trope: hates everyone but you

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Hiiiii everyone who is reading! Welcome to the seventh installment of my new mini series called "Oi! Not this again!" They do not have to be read together or in order! I hope you all enjoy!

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It's funny how love finds its way into the most unexpected corners of our lives, like flour dust settling into every crease on a well-loved baking sheet.

Take Woozi, for example. Known for his grumpy demeanor and an attitude that screams "leave me alone," especially when he's in the zone creating music. He’s not someone you'd think would charm many hearts, especially not someone like me, a plus-size girl who loves the warmth of an oven and the sight of a perfectly risen cake. But for some reason, he'd always hated everyone—except me.

From the first time we met, I sensed a different kind of vibe from him. As if behind those narrow, focused eyes, behind the slightly upturned lips that hardly ever smile, there was something just for me. Of course, I'd never admit that out loud. What if I was wrong? What if those stolen glances and the occasional shared joke were just figments of my hopeful imagination?

But today was different. Today, I was going to test this theory. Today, I invited Woozi over to bake with me.

The doorbell rings, cutting through the sweet aroma of vanilla and cinnamon already filling my kitchen. I wipe my hands on my apron, a silly one with a cartoon cat saying, "Bake the world a better place," and answer the door. There he stands, looking unusually casual in jeans and a hoodie, balancing a box of strawberries and a quart of cream in the crook of his elbow.

"Hey, you managed to survive my complicated directions," I tease, stepping aside to let him in.

"I have a GPS, Y/N. It's not 1970," he retorts with a small, almost imperceptible smirk. It's moments like these that fuel my suspicion that beneath that tough exterior, there lies a heart that beats just a bit faster for me.

We find ourselves in my cozy kitchen, the counter already laden with ingredients and bowls. It’s a modest space, but it’s the heart of my home, adorned with hanging copper pots, whimsical mugs, and a couple of photos pinned to a corkboard.

"So, what's the plan, Master Baker?" Woozi asks, placing the strawberries and cream next to the other ingredients.

"You, my dear sous-chef, are going to help me make strawberry shortcake," I say, handing him an apron that reads, "Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin'."

"Seriously?" He snorts, holding the apron at arm's length. "You're ridiculous, Y/N."

"But you love it," I challenge, raising an eyebrow. To my surprise, he ties the apron around his waist without another word.

We start mixing the ingredients, working a studio," I say, as I knead the dough.

"I can bake, I just choose not to," he replies, focused on slicing the strawberries. His fingers work deftly, and I can’t help but admire their grace. "Why do you think I agreed to come here?"

"Because I'm amazing company and you were dying to spend some quality time with me," I joke, though I hope some part of it rings true.

"Ha, you wish gum drop. I just had today off." He said with a wink before shaking his head. "No I actually wanting to hang out wthyou seriously, and free food." He says with the most sincere tone in his voice.

It’s not long before the conversation mellows into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the clink of bowls, the hum of the refrigerator, and the occasional bubbling laugh when flour puffs out too forcefully from the bag.

As we're readying the dough for the oven, I find my eyes wandering over to him more than I intend. There's a delicate smudge of flour adorning his cheek, and I can't resist.

"Hey, Jihoon," I call out, a devilish grin playing on my lips. As he turns, I swipe a fingerful of flour across his nose.

He freezes, blinking rapidly before staring down at me, speechless. I burst into laughter, but it’s short-lived as he dips his own fingers into the flour bag.

"Oh, it's on," he declares, before flicking a generous pinch of flour back at me. It catches in my hair and eyelashes, sending me into another fit of giggles.

We’re immersed in a full-blown flour fight within seconds, laughter echoing off the kitchen walls. He’s surprisingly quick, dodging and weaving with the agility of someone much nimbler. But I hold my own, scattering handfuls of flour at him, my cheeks burning from too much laughter.

Our cat-and-mouse game eventually leads to us standing face-to-face, breathing heavily, both coated in a fine layer of white. His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen, a hint of playful mischief lingering in those normally serious depths.

"Truce?" I whisper, holding up my hands.

"Truce," he nods, but neither of us moves away. Instead, he reaches up, his thumb gently brushing flour off my cheek. The touch, though small, sends an electric shock straight to my heart.

"There's something I’ve wanted to ask you," he says softly, his thumb lingering on my skin.

My heart skips. "What’s that?"

"Why is it," he begins, his voice barely a murmur, "that out of all the annoying people in the world, I don’t hate you, hmm?"

I laugh softly, though the weight of his words trembles through me. "Maybe because I'm not annoying?"

"No," he shakes his head, taking a step closer. "It's because you’re the only one who makes me feel... home. Like this kitchen. Warm, inviting, and...not alone."

My breath hitches at his confession, my own feelings bubbling to the surface. "Jihoon... you too. You’re the only one I feel genuinely comfortable with."

For a moment, time suspends itself, the only witnesses to our silent heartbeats being the butter-drenched dough and sliced strawberries waiting nearby.

Then, as if connecting the dots of a long-unread map, Woozi leans in, his lips brushing mine softly. It’s brief, almost hesitant, but it speaks volumes of unspoken emotions. When he pulls away, his eyes search mine for any sign of regret, but all he finds is a reflection of his own longing.

"Thanks for the flour fight," he gently pulls away resting his forehead against mine and whispers, a genuine smile breaking his usually stoic face. "And the baking."

"Anytime," I reply, my heart glowing brighter than the kitchen lights. "Welcome home, Woozi."

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

‐Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-Gabi✨️🎀

Dividers : by ioveartfilm

[sundove88]

The Cookie Chonk Chart!!

So recently, @thetropicalfairy and I have had a discussion about which Cookies would be considered chonky- and here is the entire list! And the pic was made by her as well.

Note: Some OCs will be on this list- and some folks not shown in the pic will be as well. If there’s anyone you want to add to the list, that’s ok!

A Fine Boi (Somewhat Chubby): Herb, Churro, Aloe, Gold Citrine, Okchun, Elderberry (OC), Sable, Icicle Yeti, Grapefruit, Tiramisu, Habanero, Bubbles Dragon (OC), Snapdragon, Blueberry Pie, Lilybell, Pecan Brownie (OC), Grandberry Brawler 1/Glimmerberry, Grandberry Brawler 2/Grapeberry, Honorable Paladin Trainee/White Choco Chip, Serious Paladin Trainee/Vanilla Bundt Cake, Kouign Amann, Caramel Arrow, Silverbell, GingerBrave, Dizzy Cookie/Gorgonzola, SuperCar Cookies 1 and 2/Emmental Cheese and Cambozola, Partay Cookies/Swiss Cheese and Raclette, Blue Slushy, Xylitol Nova, Shadow Milk, Eternal Sugar, Mystic Flour, Burning Spice, Silent Salt, Golden Cheese, White Lily, Bumbleberry,

He Chomnk (Mostly Chubby): Dark Cacao, Crunchy Chip (Post Odyssey), Ice Candy, Olive, Strawberry, Custard III, Rye, Cream Puff, Cherry, Blueberry, Pinecone, Amber Sugar, Sea Fairy, Walnut, Cherry Ball, Zombie, Frilled Jellyfish, Carrot, Cotton, Milky Way, Hero, Canele, Mille-Feuille, Vanilla Sugar, Longan Dragon, Buttercream Choco, Pancake, Tea Knight, Tarte Tatin, Captain Caviar, Milkshake (OC), Snowfall Villager/Cashmere, Kind Villager/Poplin, Pumpkin, Parfaedia Principal/Deluxe Sundae, Creme Knights Preceptor/Chantilly Cream, Scovillia Headmaster/Hot Pot, Berry Parfaedia Student/Berry Compote, Citrus Parfaedia Student/Marmalade, Prune Juice, Captain Caviar, Tangerine Tanghulu, WildBerry, Timekeeper, Pure Vanilla, Mango, Muscle, Cranberry,

A Heckin’ Chonker (Very Chubby): Lord Oyster, Mozzarella, Royalberry, Princess, Tiger Lily, Milk, Beet, Yogurt Cream, Cocoa, Chocolate Bon Bon, Mocha Ray, Bacon, Pastel Meringue, Cheesecake, Red Bean, S’More, Frosted Choco (OC), Choco Malt (OC), Coconut Choco (OC), Turtle Brownie (OC), Fudge Ice Cream (OC), Snow Sugar, Ananas Dragon, Vagabond, Gelato (OC), Choco Milk (OC), Second Watcher/Choco Chunk, Grandberry Merchant 1/Blueberry Muffin, Grandberry Merchant 2/Honeyberry, Grandberry Merchant 3/Pinkberry, Spicy Scovillia Student/Army Stew, Hot Scovillia Student/Spicy Rosè, Sauna Egg, Golden Cheese Kingdom Citizen 2/Manchego, Space Doughnut,

H E F T Y C H O N K (Extremely Chubby): Avocado, Hollyberry, Princess Professor Mimolette (OC), Prince Professor Cavatappi (OC), Mala Sauce, Capsaicin, Moon Rabbit (Mostly due to her huge rabbit form), Peperoncino, Potato, Eden Dragon (OC), Dark Choco (After he left The Cookies of Darkness), Macaron, Abalone, Lotus Dragon, Spinach, Half Avocado, Hot Mala Warrior/Spicy Noodle Cookie, Spicy Mala Warrior/Chili Sauce Cookie, Mangosteen (Lychee’s Disguise),

M E G A C H O N K E R (Seriously Chubby): Lychee Dragon, Affogato (Post Episode 14), Elder Custard, Affogato’s Disciple 1/Cortado, Affogato’s Disciple 2/Galao, Pumpkin Spice Latte (OC), Mysterious Priest/Compound Choco, Marble Bread, Plain Yogurt,

O H L A W D H E C O M I N (The Chubbiest of All): Pitaya Dragon, Eggnog, Gatekeeper Cookie/Couverture, Stink Eye Tortuca,

[icannotbetrustedalone]

Happy birthday over a drink

Billy Russo x Fem!Reader

Hello, here's a little something for @becauseicantthinkwritings, a very happy birthday to you ! I still kept it tamed (i think), I hope you'll like ! (also posting this way later than anticipated, I had a terrible day, hope yours was better) Obviously reader is mostly based on you, I still kept it pretty vague though

For context, this based on The Red String Club, a video game, set in a cyberpunk world with a barman able to enhance specific emotions through his drinks

Warning ; 18+ , alcohol, allusion to sex, could be interpreted as CNC or non-consensual by some but reader defenitly has agency over herself, she's just into it

No double check we die as men

---------

It was pouring and you wanted to cry. You had missed the bus and now you were stuck on foot. The feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin made you want to tear your whole being. All of this was just the cherry on top of the shitty cake that was your week, all you wanted was to be left alone, your boss being enough of an annoyance on its own. Your plan was just to buy yourself a treat, a little gift perhaps, watch your show under a warm blanket and try out that new toy, but it seems fate chose otherwise. When the rain got stronger you ran to get to a dryer place, free from the drop of water hammering your cheeks, which led you in front of a shop with an awning. Breathing deeply to catch your breath, in hope of stopping the feeling of burn in your throat from the sudden sprint and savoring not hearing the rain directly in your ears. You blinked a couple of times, getting out the water bordering your prosthetic eyes and turn to look at the front shop. It was nothing out of the ordinary, selling glasses and cups, some teapot and carafes, what caught your eyes however was the multitude of ads on the front glass, all directing to local shops, tattoos, cakes, knitting, arts and crafts... One caught your eye in particular: The Blackbird Club, a bar, with a promise of delicious cocktails. Perfect. If you couldn’t follow your initial plan at least you could get wasted, it wasn’t too far either. As you took a photo to be sure to not forget, the world seems to approve, with the rain slowing down. 

You walked for a couple of minutes, having to go through small paths, you think you might be lost and panic but as you are losing hope of a sweet drink you see it: a building you would qualify as... vintage? It was almost comical, so small compared to the modern building surrounding it that from here, and with the cloudy rain, seem to touch the skin. Speaking of, the rain could not touch you here, The Blackbird was put far from the world, hidden away, so low, yet, the neon of the big sign provided you a form of peace, you couldn’t even hear the sounds of the huffs and puffs and hustles of the big town, a protective bubble.  

You walked up to the front door, but frown when it doesn’t open on its own. You look at the photo on your phone, it says it should be open, so you grab the door handle and push, it was indeed not close. Vintage. Right. It made you feel dumb because not all doors were automatic as a matteroffactyourowndoorsathomewere- you sigh, you were just trying to justify yourself now.  

Entering the bar the first thing you notice is the emptiness, and that made you frown, was it REALLY close after all? Then why was the door open? You decided to close it behind you anyway and took a couple of cautious steps further inside.  A piano was against the wall by the entrance, many tables and chairs were around the room, a big room at that, the actual bar was in the middle, with stools around it. You scanned the place, more tech than the naked eye could see, but way less than any place you go to nowadays, it was refreshing. 

“Hum.. Hello?”, you weren’t sure you were supposed to be here, debating whether you should go back home or not, a sound made you jump and a moment later a man came from a door at the back of the room, damn, he was hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, athletic built, wearing a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, making you feel like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time, strong forearms too. He gave you the most charming smile you have ever seen before going to the bar, he was limping you noticed. “Good evening miss, how may I help you?” 

You took a small breath in, more nervous than you thought and decided to take a stool, looking down at your phone, “Oh, hum, I saw an ad for your bar and I thought I should try it out.” You gave him a small teasing smile, leaning slightly, “Are your cocktails as good as you say they are?” He does not flatter, leaning as well to get closer, “I like to think they’re even better”. You take your lip between your lips and back away, looking at the board showcasing the many choices to conceal the effect he had on you, you realize wouldn’t mind having him as a distraction, at all. He does see it of course, and take a glass to clean to not push you too much, “Tell me, what’s the occasion?” 

“It’s my birthday”, you smiled at him. “I see, and what’s the plan for tonight?” Your shoulders drop “Get wasted hopefully, black out until tomorrow morning, rest for the weekend, and go back to work on monday” you let out a heavy sigh, looking up, doing your best saving you from the embarrassment of crying in front of a stranger, feeling the stress of the week wanting to slip away through the tears, shit, you hated this, “I had the most terrible week and my boss suck, I fucked my thumb and now I have to get it fixed up, that dumb prosthetic hurts of course” you mumble the rest under your breath. You straighten your back looking back down at him. “So I hope your concoction are up for the challenge” 

He gave you a sympathic look, “Ow love, I’m sorry to hear this, what if we started by taking a look at that thumb? I might be able to help”. You gave him a long look, scanning him, you couldn’t see any upgrades on him, “It’s kind of you but are you sure ?” 

He laughs lowly, “Believe me, I have many talents”, he winked at you with a knowing smile. Your only responses to that are to shake your head, unbelievable, and to show him your hand. He carefully takes it in his own, a focus look on his face, touching and feeling around. While he is busy on your hand, you take the time to observe him more thoroughly, you notice a tiny scar on his chin, small eye bags, you wonder if he gets enough sleep. Your mind doesn’t have the time to go far, your brought back by a sharp pain in your hand, making you hiss.  

“Sorry, love” passing his hands on your wrist, trying to south the pain, “I think I know what is wrong now, you’re okay with me fixing it?” at your nod he looks in a drawer and gets some tools, you observe him work, grimacing at the little pain here and there, you have to admit you were not expecting a barman to be able to so easily fix a prosthetic, there is no hesitation, going with a tool after another, like a dance, skillful hands. You laugh slightly when he put a splint on you. “Isn’t it going to far?” 

“No, no moving that thumb of yours until you need to go back to work, gotta let it rest, understood miss?”, he was not letting your hand go, caressing it with his thumb, looking into your eyes. They are so dark, you could see yourself in them, “Yes sir” you responded with a low voice. You did catch his eyes going over your lips before straightening his back, you felt a bit smug about it. “What about a couple of drinks on the house? As a happy birthday and as a reward for behaving so well?” Your breath caught in your throat, you liked his voice and wanted to hear him say some sweet things in your ears, you felt a bit pathetic, getting wet after only ten minutes in the presence of that man, you blame it on not being fucked properly for the last couple of months. “That would be very kind of you, though I’m not sure it’s a good business model, and you already saved me with my-” he puts his hand up to stop your rambling “Anything for a beautiful lady, now, what would you want?” You look at the board once more and actually pay attention this time, you see many names you recognize and many you don’t, “What would you recommend?”  

At your words you felt the air changing, as if you had pronounced the most important words you had ever spoken, “I have a special drink, giving quite the experience, going at the deepest of your being and pulling out your true emotions” You frowned “It’s not drug is it?” He burst out laughing “NO! No, of course not, only the finest alcohol here love” Your shoulders relax “Alright then” You might second guess yourself if such a pretty smile was not asking. 

------------ 

Time stops, Billy takes a deep breath, feeling the power, he has been doing it for so many years now, and he had got use to the feeling, but he never loved it any less. Falling upon this bar might have been Billy’s greatest blessing, he might not have been able to follow his initial dream but now he was able to access so many things, turning into an information broker, he knew all the dirty little and big secrets of the upper world, the aristocrats eating in his hands, without even needing to take a step out, all coming to him on his own, the bar pulling strings to get him what he wanted, and sometimes what he needed. 

He looked at you, now that you couldn’t shy away from his eyes. Such a beauty, he wondered what the club had in mind bringing you here, he sure was not the one behind it, he still had an idea, smirking to himself.

Focusing, he looked inside of you, not having an upgrade did not mean he did not have any enhancement. Visualizing, the first couple feeling and emotions on his way pains him for you; big, lot of tiredness, from the stress, of work and life; slightly smaller, frustration and anger, he huffs when he feels you wanting to punch your boss; and very present, sadness too. He wants to reach out to you, reassure you, that everything would be alright, he could recognize a bit of him in you; big too, pain that tumb of yours must have been no joke. He shivers to the last time he point out pain in someone, their face as they beg for mercy, he shooks his head and refocuse. He is reassured seeing joy, not as imposing but resilient, what a brave girl you were. 

He looks further, and his jaw dropped. During his time here, Billy have met many people, almost all the people he had dug into had lust in a way or another, being a good-looking man helped him quite a lot, it was fascinating to see all the information someone was willing to give for a chance to sleep with him when he made them a horny mess. But YOU. He had never met someone with a lust so prominent as yours, he wondered how you could conceal of this, he had noticed your interest in him, but you must be absolutely soaked. He smiles; this was going to be fun. 

Time goes back to its natural flow, now that Billy knows where to go. You did not notice anything, looking as cute as ever. 

---------- 

Billy goes on to grab his ingredients “Tell me, love, what do you do for a living” A bright smile on your face, it warms his heart, “Oh well, I work at the hospital, I’m the one in charge of fixing the machines, cleaning them up, all of that” He hums, “An important job I see, is it what those eyes are for? And the hand?” You nod, “Exactly, thank you SO much again for my thumb, you really helped me, I would have gotten into trouble”. After a second you answered his puzzled face, “It’s just not the first time they have to fix me up, I can’t afford any upgrade, so I’m stuck with this one, and I don’t really always give it the care it needs so..” He shakes his head, making little disapproving sounds, handing you the finish drink, “I hope you’ll take better care; it’d be a shame to have a missing limb, huh?” 

You look at the drink in your hand, dark red, swirly, drinking a mouthful. You hum, feeling the liquid traveling down your throat. “I guess I’ll just have to come back here for you to fix me again, huh?” He snickers, “Any day, love” 

You’re feeling warm, like a fire traveling through you, dividing itself to explore and not leave a single spec of you unexplored, “Can I ask you a question?” “Is it about my leg?” You retract, realizing how much your initial question was inappropriate, what was wrong with you, no you cannot ask a stranger if he can bend you over the counter and pound into- you shook your head, “Y-Yeah, but you d-” “I got hurt on my third season, my body couldn’t take any modifications so.. I was forced to stopped, luckily I found this place. I took care of it, and it took care of me” You smiled, “I’m happy you found your way” after an instant you realized, not from imagining yourself screaming his name from the deepest of your core, nono, “I don’t even know your name“ “How rude of me, I am Billy Russo, pleasure to meet you love” You introduce yourself, and made small conversation, seeping on your drink along the way. 

-------- 

Billy was impressed on your ability to stay put together, he was expecting you to either be begging on your knees for him or rush home as fast as you could to take care of it yourself. He saw your iris change shapes and colors, looking now like tiny pink-redish hearts, how cute. You were quite entertaining, and of good conversation too, he wouldn’t mind for you to come back, regardless on how the night will end. 

You did slowly fell yourself go into madness however and was trying very hard not to grind against the stool, you fell on just crossing and un-crossing your legs in hope of satiating yourself. After you hundredth time doing so Billy decided to at intervene “A problem love?”. He looked ravishing, and you don’t think you could.. Well think. “Please”. He laughs lowly, making you let out a pitiful sound, “If you want something you’ll have to ask, love”. That does not help your needy brain, so you took his one of his hands and guide it to your lips, taking two fingers in, sucking on them slowly. He follows your guidance and move his finger further down your mouth, doing little movements that make you groan. “Would you look at that, do I have a good girl at hand?”. You nod hastily, you wanted him to take you in any way, but he just stood there, he wanted you to ask properly, and he was a patient man, not showing any indication of giving you anything. Getting frustrated you put his fingers away, maybe a bit harshly, “Please just fuck me, I need it so bad”. He let out a devilish chuckle, “There you go, love” 

This was going to be a fun night. 

---------

I wanted to write more and then was like mmmh maybe it's inappropriate to write a fanfic on a real person getting fucked, so I stopped there

Hope it was to your liking !

[everythingpeaches]

In which it's Peter's birthday, and the Marauder's throw a party.

'HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU. YOU LOOK LIKE A RODENT AND YOU SMELL LIKE ONE TOO!'

James and Sirius finish their piercing rendition of happy birthday with a dramatic flourish, striking a pose from where they are stood on top of the drinks table.

There is a raucous round of applause from their usual crowd of sycophants, and even Peter looks rather pleased despite the insult.

'What did you think,' asks Sirius, coming to sling an arm around Remus’ shoulder, 'We wrote it ourselves.'

James approaches alongside him, his party hat hanging off the side of his head.

'Don't give up your day job, Black,' says Mary, holding a venomous looking glass of liquor in a well manicured hand.

'Ah well, you see MacDonald, I am unfathomably rich and have no need for a day job.'

'Well you were,' says James, 'But then you got disinherited.'

'Oh yes, of course. Silly me. Thank goodness for good old Uncle Alphy, eh?'

'Where's Pete gone, we need to give him his present?' Asks Remus, buckling slightly under the heavy weight of a drunken Sirius.

'Gone,' the boy draped across his shoulders says, wiggling his fingers and waving out into the distance, 'gone and left us for cake and womanly kisses.'

'You sound jealous, Black,' says Mary.

'Of the cake maybe, but I have no need of womanly kisses.'

'Been getting enough elsewhere, have we?' Marlene teases, shooting a pointed look at Remus who has suddenly become very interested in the bottom of his bottle.

'Oh look, my drinks empty,' he says, attempting and failing to unlace himself from Sirius.

'No, you can't abandon us too!' complains the other boy, grabbing hold of Remus’ arm.

'I'm not abandoning you, I'm getting a refill.'

'That's what they all say, then they're off in some corner with a long-haired temptress. Look!' Sirius points at where Lily and James have snuck away, standing awfully close to each other by the fireplace and laughing.

'There, there,' Remus says, patting Sirius' hand where it's wrapped around his forearm, 'You're the only long-haired temptress I'm interested in.'

'Well in that case,' Sirius says, eyes darkening mischievously, 'Shall we sneak away and find our own dark corner?'

'Tempting, but maybe we shouldn't leave the party we're hosting one hour in.'

'You ruin my fun you know, Moony?'

'I thought I was your fun?'

'You can be both, you're a very complex person like that.'

'I'm going to assume that's a complement. Oh look, here comes Pete.'

The birthday boy was indeed making his way over to the group, a satisfied and slightly smug smile plastered across his face. He, too, is wearing a party hat and also a lot of red lipstick across his lips and cheeks.

'Bloody hell, Wormy, who's attacked you?' Sirius asks with a laugh.

'Dianna Jones, that's who I saw you huddled away with under the stairs isn't it?' Mary says.

'Oh she's in our Care of Magical Creatures lesson, she's really nice!' Marlene answers encouragingly.

Remus thinks nice is probably an overstatement, but not wanting to burst Peter's bubble he smiles and agrees.

'Nice one, Pete.'

'Thanks. We're going to Hogsmede together next weekend,' he says and then, apparently unable to stop himself, he adds, 'She asked me!'

They all make noises of approval and Pete puffs up his chest proudly. He is rosy cheeked from drink and grinning madly.

'Oh Pete, we've got your present!' Lily says, finally rejoining the group with a very satisfied looking James.

'What have you two be-' Remus stops Sirius with a hand over his mouth.

'I'll just grab it,' Marlene says, hurrying away.

Sirius licks Remus' hand with an extremely wet tongue.

'Eugh!' The werewolf wipes his hand down the length of Sirius' arm to dry it off. 'You're disgusting.'

'You love it.'

There's a second where Remus thinks Sirius is going to say 'you love me' and his heart jumps nervously because, yes he does, but he hasn't got round to telling Sirius that yet and he doesn't want it saying in front of his friends in the middle of a very busy Gryffindor common room. Sirius, too, seems to sense danger in his choice of words and his face flushes. They both look away from each other, the rest of the group seemingly unaware of their sudden awkwardness.

Marlene thankfully chooses that moment to reappear with Pete's elaborately wrapped birthday present. He tears off the paper like a child on Christmas morning and cries out in pleasure when he sees the brand new wizard chess set inside.

'Oh wow, thanks guys! Mine was so battered.'

'We know,' said Mary, 'This one has a self mending charm.'

'Ah it's great, thanks so much!'

The rest of the party goes on, and the crowd starts the thin as students stagger back to their dormitories. Eventually it is just their small group that's left, spilled out over cushions and around the fireplace.

James has got his arm around Lily, who's laughing at a story Mary and Marlene are telling. Pete is half asleep, mouth drooping open where he leans back against the armchair. Sirius is sat against Remus' side, fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand as they talk.

It's in moments like this, Remus thinks, he is most happy. When the moon is a distant memory, a barely visible cresent hidden behind cloud cover. He struggles to remember the loneliness of his early childhood. How good life can be, he thinks, and hopes for many more nights like this one.

[miryum]

Valentines Day themed Johnny x Reader where he makes a whole plan on how he’s going to confess and asks Pony to help him write us a love letter please and thank you SM!?!:’l 💗💗💗 stay safe!

Wow! Puff actually wrote something? We're gonna slowly make our way through the requests.... I also combined this request with this one: Could you do a Johnny Cade x Reader where they’re at like a restaurant together, & the reader gets something on their face and he jokes about it before using his finger to wipe it off and gets close to their face while we’re freaking out internally (but they’re not dating yet)? tysmtysmtysm please stay safe

Warning: not proof read -_- sorry

Darry was tired. All he wanted to do was go home, eat a hearty dinner, and go to sleep. It was a nice end to a long day. But what he found inside the Curtis house made his perfect evening fly out the window. Soda was lounged on the couch, chewing some bubblegum and watching TV. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was what Pony and Johnny we’re doing that struck Darry as odd. They were laying on the ground, surrounded by crumpled sheets of paper and muttering to themselves.

“Whatcha doing?” Darry asked cautiously.

“Writing a love letter to Y/n.” Soda said bluntly, his bubble popping loudly.

“Soda!” Pony cried out. Soda shrugged. Pony sighed and looked up at Darry. “Johnny wants to write a love letter to Y/n before they go out on Saturday.”

“We’re not going out,” Johnny corrected. “We both got A’s on our report cards and we’re celebrating.”

“They’re going out,” Soda said. Pony agreed with Soda. He thought that Johnny and Y/n were being stupid for not realising their feelings for each other. That’s why he was helping Johnny compose this letter. Maybe it would clear things up for them.

“Read me what you have so far.” Darry sat down. 

“Dear Y/n,” Pony started, “I know this may seem cowardice-”

“No.” Both Darry and Soda spoke at the same time.

“What’s wrong with it?!” Johnny asked. 

“It makes you seem weak. Don’t tell her about being a coward,” Darry explained.

“Okay,” Pony crossed it out. He then went on, “If you haven’t noticed by now, I like you a lot. I like you in more than a friend way. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you because I didn’t want to lose our friendship. I also wasn’t sure how to tell you. You deserve so much more than simple words and I didn’t know how to convey that. I’ve liked you for a long time- maybe longer than I should’ve but I would love it if you would give me a chance. I promise that I’d always look out for you and always stick with you, no matter what.  I would be your shoulder to cry on and your friend to laugh with. I would stick with you through thick and thin; I already do. Being around you always was easy for me and I would love to have the option of doing it more often. It was easy for me to realise I liked you. You’re always so kind, thoughtful, and can always make me laugh. If nothing comes out of this, the most I will say is ‘thank you.’ You mean the world to me. From, Johnny Cake.”

“Oh my god,” Soda’s mouth had dropped open. “Call me when I need to write my vows.”

“Johnny, that was great,” Darry encouraged him.

“Thanks,” Johnny blushed. “But Pony helped me polish it up.” 

“Whoever wrote it, it was obvious that it was from the heart,” Darry said. “Y/n’ll love it.”

“I’ll love what?” The door opened and you walked in. You had just finished a shift at work and we’re happy to return to your friends.

“Nothing!” Johnny quickly crumpled the paper and shoved it in Pony’s hands. Pony panicked and stuffed it in his mouth. Soda looked at his younger brother with disgust. “Are you ready to go?” Johnny asked. You nodded in excitement. “But… uh, Pony?” Johnny whispered to the boy. “Could I have the letter back?”

**

You were laughing at a story Johnny was telling you when he said, “Oh! You have a little… uh, food on your face.”

“I do?” You licked your lips. “Did I get it?”

“Um,” Johnny swallowed. He felt his cheeks heat up. “Here. I got it.” He leaned across the table, making sure he wasn’t crossing any boundaries. When you didn’t reject him, his thumb softly swiped over your cheek, brushing the food away. 

Your stomach filled with butterflies, not knowing that the same butterflies were fluttering in Johnny’s. It felt like such a normal, couple-y thing to do that the simple idea of being with Johnny was enough to make you freeze. And when his fingers brushed your face- oh! It felt like the sun was shining warmly on you. What you wanted was just a seat away, yet he never seemed so far. 

“So,” you cleared your throat. “What were you talking with Pony about earlier?” 

Johnny coughed loudly. It was as best of time as ever. “He was helping me write a letter.”

“To who?”

“To you…” Johnny spoke quietly.

“Really? About what?”

Johnny didn’t want to give you Pony’s spit-ridden paper, but he also couldn’t bring himself to read it aloud in a restaurant full of strangers. So he fished it out of his back pocket, unwrinkled it the best he could, and slid it over to you. “I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.”

Johnny was silent as you read the letter, not sure what else to do. Whenever you glanced up at him to make sure it wasn’t a prank or your smile got a tiny bit sweeter, he felt himself wanting to simultaneously melt with his love for you and fall into a hole never to be seen again. 

“What do you think?” He asked softly. 

“Johnny, I love it.”

“But?” He waited for the blow of rejection.

“But nothing.” You shrugged. “I like you too! A lot! And I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. All those things you said about me, that’s the sweetest anyone’s ever been. Why wouldn’t I wanna be with someone who’s as considerate and sweet as you?” 

“So… could we count this as a date?”

“I would love to.”