#instead of stealing bread he bakes it

[sturnsmia]

chris always knows how to make crybaby!reader forgive him

it’s a quiet, lazy afternoon. the soft hum of the tv plays in the background as sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow across the living room. you’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in your favorite blanket while scrolling through your phone.

after a while, your mind drifts to the pastry you saved in the fridge—the last piece from your favorite bakery. the thought alone makes you smile, and you head to the kitchen, ready to indulge.

but when you open the fridge, the little white box isn’t there.

you frown, scanning every shelf. nothing. you even check the freezer and a few random cabinets, despite knowing that makes no sense. after a solid five minutes of searching, frustration bubbles up.

you stomp back into the living room. “chris?”

he glances up from his phone, eyebrows raised. “yeah?”

“where’s my pastry?” you ask, arms crossed.

there’s a beat of silence before he responds. “uh…” he shifts slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i might’ve eaten it.”

your eyes widen. “you ate it?”

“i was hungry!” he admits, throwing his hands up. “and it was just sitting there, looking all lonely. i didn’t think you’d mind.”

you stare at him, your bottom lip already trembling. “you knew it was my favorite,” you whisper, voice wobbling.

chris immediately picks up on your pout and the tears forming in your eyes. he’s seen this play out countless times. still, he can’t help but chuckle softly. “oh no, princess. don’t cry,” he teases, reaching out for you. “you’re breaking my heart.”

“good,” you mumble, turning away from him dramatically. “i hope it hurts.”

he chuckles before pulling you onto his lap despite your protests. “i’m the worst, huh?”

“the absolute worst,” you mumble, crossing your arms tightly.

chris sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “okay, okay. i messed up. i’ll make it up to you.”

“how?” you ask, still sulking.

“let me take you to get another one.”

you hesitate for a moment, glancing up at him from under your teary lashes. “really?”

“really,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “now go grab your shoes, before i change my mind.”

the drive across town is quiet, the streets bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. chris keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, the soft touch of his thumb drawing lazy circles over your skin.

you steal a glance at him, admiring the relaxed way he leans back in the seat, a small smirk playing on his lips as he hums along to the music. when he catches you staring, he raises an eyebrow.

“what?” he asks, amusement lacing his voice.

“nothing,” you mumble, turning your gaze to the window to hide your blush.

he chuckles softly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. “you’re so pretty, you know that?”

your cheeks heat even more. “chris,” you mutter, voice shy.

“what?” he grins, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “just telling the truth, doll.”

you bite your lip to suppress a smile but fail miserably. “shut up.”

“never,” he teases with a grin.

the bakery is as charming as ever, with warm cozy hues and shelves lined with baked goods that look almost too perfect to eat. the scent of fresh bread and sugar fills the air, wrapping around you like a hug.

you hover near the display case, eyes scanning the pastries. the one you’re looking for is right there, sitting pretty in the middle row.

chris notices and nudges you gently. “see something you like?”

you nod, pointing at the pastry. “that one,” you whisper softly, voice barely above a whisper.

he leans in, pretending he didn’t hear you. “what was that, princess?”

“that one,” you repeat, giving him a small glare.

he smirks but doesn’t push further. “got it.” turning to the barista, he orders confidently. “two of those, please. and a coffee.”

you tug on his sleeve. “can i get a hot chocolate instead?”

he smiles at you before turning back to the cashier. “make that one coffee and one hot chocolate.”

the barista rings you up, and before you can even reach for your wallet, chris pulls out his card.

“chris,” you pout, tugging at his sleeve again. “i can pay for mine.”

“nope. making it up to you, remember?” he says with a wink.

you sigh but can’t help smiling as you clutch the little bag, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping through the cup into your hands.

the ride back feels even softer, the sky now painted in hues of pink and orange. chris keeps his hand on your thigh again, his touch warm and steady. you take small sips of your hot chocolate, savoring the sweetness.

chris glances over, catching the way your eyes light up. “good?”

you hum around a bite, nodding enthusiastically. “perfect,” you mumble.

he chuckles, squeezing your thigh. “told you i’d make it up to you.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “you’re so annoying.”

just as you’re about to take another bite, you catch chris side-eyeing the pastry. before you can react, he leans over and takes a bite out of it, grinning like he’s just won a prize.

“chris!” you yelp, pulling the pastry away from him and swatting his arm. “you just bought me this!”

“couldn’t resist.” he laughs as he wipes the small crumbs off the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you’re the worst!” you pout, holding the pastry protectively.

“i know,” he says, still grinning. “but you love me anyway.”

you huff, but the warmth in his voice makes it impossible to stay mad. “you’re just lucky you’re cute chris.”

he laughs before stopping at the red light, turning towards you. you give him a hard glare before he peppers your cheek with kisses and you can’t help but giggle. because no matter what chris does, you know there’s no one else you’d rather spend your days with.

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: thank u sm to @abbystromboli for this request!! i hope this lived up to your expectations :))

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⋆˚࿔ ౨ৎ ˚. ᵎᵎ @sirenedeslily @freshloveee @ifwdominicfike @matt5sturnioloo @pleasebendmeoverxxx @heartsforsturniolo567 @anyaa2s

[deliciousangelfestival]

Flour Power - 1

Character: Amnesia!Bucky x Baker!Female Character

Summary: A baker helps a stranger, only to discover that this individual not only aids the bakery but also brings trouble along with him

A/N: Because Bucky got amnesia, his name was temporarily changed to Bob.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , End

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The rain poured down in sheets, thunder echoed through the desolate alleyway, casting shadows that danced around the battered figure of the male agent.

"Urghh."

With each labored breath, he clutched his injured left shoulder, the searing pain shooting through him a constant reminder of the peril he faced.

His once crisp suit was now torn and bloodstained, a testament to the fierce struggle he had endured against his enemies.

But despite the physical toll, his determination burned brightly within him, driving him to press on, to fight against the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume him.

With a grimace, he staggered forward, his vision swimming as he fought to stay conscious. Every step felt like an eternity, his senses dulled by the pain and exhaustion that gripped him. Yet, he refused to yield, his willpower serving as his guiding light in the midst of chaos.

Finally, his strength failed him, and he collapsed to his knees in the murky alley. The world around him spun wildly as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, threatening to swallow him whole.

But even in his moment of weakness, he refused to surrender, clinging to the flickering hope that burned within him.

With a final gasp, he succumbed to the enveloping darkness, his body slumping against the cold pavement.

🍞🥖

The first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, casting a golden hue over the city streets, the bustling sounds of morning began to fill the air.

Shop owners unlocked their doors, flipping signs from closed to open, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted through the crisp morning air.

On this particular street, every storefront seemed to come alive with activity. The aroma of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee drew crowds to the bustling cafes and diners, where people eagerly lined up for their morning fuel.

But amidst the hustle and bustle, there was one establishment that stood out, a quaint bakery with a faded sign that simply read "Sunrise Bakery."

Unlike its neighboring eateries, the bakery remained eerily quiet. There were no eager customers waiting outside, no enticing smells drifting onto the sidewalk. Instead, the shop sat in silence, its windows fogged up from the warmth within.

As the morning progressed, a few curious passersby ventured inside the bakery, their footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

But rather than browsing the display cases filled with pastries and bread, they simply approached the counter and asked for a tissue.

Tammy's frustration was palpable as she glanced across the street at the bustling bakery, her lips pursed in a tight frown. With a sigh, she muttered under her breath, "Haah... we're hopeless. You should've sued him for stealing the recipe."

Your hands worked deftly, kneading the dough with practiced precision as you listened to Tammy's grumbles.

You are the fifth generation who inherited this bakery. The business was great until one of the employees stole your family recipe.

Despite the lack of customers lining up at your bakery, your focus remained unwavering on the task at hand – making the best bread for hamburgers in town.

"At least we have loyal customers," you replied, your tone laced with a hint of optimism.

Tammy rolled her eyes, a gesture of exasperation that spoke volumes. "But our bread is more delicious. I want people standing in line to buy our bread and going viral."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at her idealistic dreams. "That viral thing only lasts for a while. Besides, we don't have the money to pay influencers."

Tammy crossed her arms over her chest, a defiant stance that betrayed her determination. "I have followers too."

Your eyebrows raised in mock surprise, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "I think I'd prefer to pay influencers than you," you teased.

Tammy gasped in mock offense, her hand flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture. "Heyyy..."

Despite the banter, there was an underlying camaraderie between you and Tammy, a shared determination to make the bakery succeed against the odds.

You washed your hands, the simmering hurt evident in your furrowed brow as you glanced at the bustling bakery across the street. The betrayal of seeing your family's recipe stolen gnawed at your insides, a bitter taste that refused to fade.

Placing the dough on a tray for its required rest, you instructed Tammy, "I'm going to take out the trash."

The mundane task provided a momentary escape from the weight of your thoughts as you stepped outside into the crisp morning air.

You made your way to the back door of the bakery, the morning sunlight cast a soft glow over the alleyway, illuminating the damp pavement beneath your feet.

But as you approached the trash bin, something caught your eye – a strange object lying in a puddle nearby. It seemed out of place amidst the mundane surroundings, its presence drawing your attention with an air of mystery.

With cautious curiosity, you stepped closer, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the dampness of the alley. The object lay partially submerged in the murky water, its contours distorted by the rippling surface.

As you bent down to get a closer look, a sense of unease washed over you.

With a furrowed brow, you reached out to retrieve the object, your fingers brushing against its cold surface. And as you lifted it from the puddle, the mystery deepened, leaving you with more questions than answers in the stillness of the morning air.

You screamed in horror, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of the motionless figure lying in the puddle. "Argh," you cried out, the fear gripping you tightly.

"Tammy!" Your voice rang out, desperate for assistance, as you rushed towards the fallen person.

Your hands trembled slightly as you knelt beside the body, a mixture of dread and concern etched on your face. "Is this person alive?" you called out, your voice quivering with uncertainty.

Suddenly, a jolt of fear shot through you as the person's hand shot out and grabbed onto your arm with surprising strength. "Urgh. Let go!" you exclaimed, trying to pry their fingers off of you.

In a flash, Tammy appeared beside you, her presence a welcome relief in the midst of chaos. With a swift and decisive motion, she swung the rolling pin at the stranger, striking them with a forceful blow.

The person released their grip, their head dropping limply as they crumpled to the ground. You and Tammy exchanged a wary glance, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Did we... kill him?" you murmured, the weight of the situation sinking in as you both stared at the unconscious figure before you, the scene bathed in an eerie silence broken only by the sound of your racing heartbeats.

🏥

"He's lucky to be alive." Relief washed over you as the doctor reassured you that the stranger was fortunate to have survived. However, the fear that had gripped you and Tammy moments ago still lingered, clouding your thoughts with worry.

Your eyes darted nervously between the doctor and Tammy, uncertainty etched in your expressions. Was the stranger's condition solely due to the blow from the rolling pin, or were there other factors at play? Would your actions result in legal consequences, perhaps even imprisonment?

The doctor's words only heightened your apprehension as they continued to explain the severity of the stranger's injuries. "Bullets, knives, poison...". The list seemed endless, each revelation sending a shiver down your spine.

Your gaze lingered on the unconscious stranger, a myriad of questions swirling in your mind. What had led him to this state of peril? Was he a victim of kidnapping, fleeing from unseen dangers?

Suddenly, the patient stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and a collective gasp escaped from you, Tammy, and the doctor.

"Woah."

The sudden movement jolted you all, catching you off guard and sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"This dude keeps giving me a heart attack," Tammy exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and frustration, her hand pressed against her chest as if to calm her racing heart.

The doctor's inquiries were met with a shake of the stranger's head, a gesture that spoke volumes without uttering a word. "Amnesia," the doctor concluded, a somber note in their voice as they delivered the diagnosis.

You and Tammy exchanged a worried glance, the weight of guilt settling heavily upon your shoulders. Could it be that the events of this morning had somehow contributed to the stranger's memory loss?

"Oh no," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, the remorse evident in your tone as you grappled with the consequences of your actions.

Tammy, ever the optimist, interjected with a suggestion. "Bob suited him," she offered, her voice laced with a hint of mischief as she attempted to lighten the mood.

You shot her a reproachful look, silently pleading for her to refrain from further complicating the situation. "Tammy... stop," you murmured, your tone tinged with exasperation.

But to your surprise, the stranger echoed Tammy's suggestion, his voice soft yet resolute as he repeated the name, "Bob."

Tammy beamed triumphantly, her eyes sparkling with delight. "See, he likes it," she exclaimed, a hint of satisfaction in her voice as she reveled in her impromptu success.

Your brows furrowed in concern as you sought confirmation from the doctor, hoping against hope that the diagnosis of amnesia was somehow mistaken. "Is it really amnesia?" you inquired, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and sympathy.

The doctor's response was measured yet decisive. "We will check it thoroughly," they assured, their tone imbued with a sense of professional responsibility.

Hours passed, filled with tense anticipation, until finally, the results of the examinations were revealed. Another inspection and MRI confirmed the doctor's initial assessment – this stranger, now known as Bob, indeed suffered from amnesia.

A pang of empathy tugged at your heartstrings as you gazed upon Bob, a lost soul adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Where would he go from here? What future awaited him in a world where memories held the key to identity and belonging?

"Probably he will end up in a shelter," the doctor remarked matter-of-factly, their words casting a shadow over the room as the gravity of Bob's situation sank in.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of sympathy for Bob, a man without a past, facing an uncertain future. As you watched him, lost in thought, you couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility that weighed heavily upon you.

🍞🥖

As Tammy helped Bob into the apartment, her frustration was evident in her voice. "We're already in debt, and you've decided to take care of another person?" she remarked, her tone tinged with exasperation.

You stood your ground, unable to turn your back on someone in need. "I can't just leave him like that. He fainted behind our store, and now he has no memories," you explained, your voice filled with empathy.

Tammy sighed, resigned to the situation. "Suit yourself. At least we have another employee, and he doesn't need to get paid," she conceded, her practical nature shining through despite her reluctance.

Bob glanced at Tammy, his expression unreadable as he took in her words.

Tammy crossed her arms, laying down the terms of their arrangement. "That's right. You can sleep, eat, and live here. In return, you have to help at the bakery. You have to work."

"Work," Bob echoed, his voice soft yet determined.

"Good," Tammy declared, a hint of satisfaction in her tone as she finalized the agreement. Then, she leaned in to whisper to you, "I felt like I was talking to a kid."

You stifled a laugh, nodding in agreement as you exchanged a knowing glance with Tammy.

You approached Bob with a gentle smile, reassurance radiating from your eyes. "You just need to rest for now. When you're ready, you can join me at the bakery. I won't force you to work if you're still hurting," you assured him, your voice laced with empathy.

"Work," Bob repeated, his voice a quiet affirmation of his willingness to contribute despite the challenges he faced.

With a nod of understanding, you gave Bob a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping back, allowing him the space he needed to recuperate.

As you descended the stairs into the bakery, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread greeted you. Tammy, already bustling about behind the counter, looked up with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as you approached.

"You know what," she began, her voice carrying a note of excitement, "if Bob got a haircut, shave his beard a bit, he will be handsome. I notice that he has a perfect asymmetrical face."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Tammy's candid observation, her knack for noticing details never ceasing to amaze you. "You think so?" you replied with a grin, intrigued by the idea.

Tammy nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm contagious. "Definitely! It could boost his confidence, and who knows, maybe it'll attract more customers too."

Little did you know that Tammy's crazy idea would help the bakery.

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[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

Homebodies

A little fluff for your TTPD weekend.

~~~

“No I promise, just sit down, I’ll be done in just a minute, mom.” she says firmly in response to her mother asking if she needs any help in the kitchen. Travis just gives Andrea that one look she’s grown to know too well. His eyebrows raised an inch and a smirk on his face that tells the blonde woman he’s got her daughter all figured out.

Leave it to me.

She giggles quietly at Travis, then slowly walks back into the living room to sit down next to Scott. Travis looks at all the different dishes on the counter behind her. The California sun is slowly setting. He should’ve known this morning when she announced that she’ll cook ‘a few Italian primi piatti’ that the ruthless perfectionist lurking inside of his girlfriend would finally make a come back on this Friday. After running around all day, going to the gym, completing her cardio challenge, baking cupcakes for her parents, finishing a work meeting, discussing a music video concept with her team and signing a few new contracts, she of course decided to hit the delicacy shop she loves out here in LA, just to buy all the ingredients she needs for a total of six different Italian dishes that she wants to make for him and her parents tonight. He knows too well by now that whenever Taylor is in this state of mind, there’s no stopping her. If she sets her mind onto something, there’s nothing anyone can say or do to make her loosen up a little. Even if that would involve her actually enjoying this quiet evening with him and her family instead of standing in the kitchen for a solid two hours now, not having had a single conversation with any one of her parents yet.

“What else needs to be done? I can cut veggies? I’m good at cutting stuff.” he tries one last time, steals a carrot stick from her cutting board and starts munching. While stirring the big blue Dutch oven in front of her, she looks back at him for a second, stressed, clearly not amused that he’s eating her uncooked food.

“No, all good. I just need to make sure the risotto won’t thicken too much and once that’s done you guys can sit down and eat the carpaccio before it gets soggy because I need to take the bread out of the oven and quickly scrap together the bruschetta sauce..”

Travis just sighs deeply, takes a step closer towards her. She’s too stressed whipping up the food in front of her to even notice him trying to get closer.

“How about we just let the bruschetta be? We’ve got so much food, babe. It’s just us four. It’s also really late already.”

She shakes her head, not responding to him and he knows that if he pushes her any more now, she might actually get mad at him tonight.

“How about I start cutting some tomatoes for the bruschetta then?” he says with a sigh, finally gave into her obsession with the tomato bread. For a moment she looks up at him, a weak smile on her face. It immediately lights up his entire body.

“That would be great.” she just says, still a bit hesitant and he knows why. She’s not sure if she should be happy that he’s offering to help her, or if she should be worried about the fact that he might cut off his fingers while doing so.

“Sure.” he says, can see the washed and perfectly ripe tomatoes sitting in the drain by the sink right next to her. He grabs one of the tomatoes, holds it up in the air with a question mark on his face.

“Little cubes?”

She nods, a smile on her face.

“Thanks, Trav.” she says then, still busy stirring the risotto in front of her. She doesn’t even notice that he gets closer to her, and fast enough has stolen her cheek a gentle kiss. She giggles all surprised about his gentleness, then feels him lean in again after a second.

“You’re very welcome, crazy.”

Another kiss leaving her cheek. She just giggles, continues stirring her risotto.

_________

“Taylor, that was absolutely incredible.”

She smiles proudly at her father sitting across from her, takes one last sip from her white wine.

“Thanks so much. So glad you liked it.”

“Honey, it was delicious but you didn’t have to put in all this work just because we’re visiting.” Andrea says, her tone a bit more dunning than Scott’s was before. Taylor just rolls her eyes, a bit annoyed that everyone around her acts like she reinvented the wheel with this Italian dinner. Yes, it was some cooking time to prepare this meal, but she loves hosting and loves being a cook. Her mom should know that better than anyone.

“Tay loves spoiling our guests.” Trav says then, and Taylor looks up at the big man sitting next to her. She starts smiling. Our guests. It was a simple sentence. But it made her feel a certain way. He’s home. This has become his home, too.

“I do. Also, this is Trav’s favorite dish. So..”

“Hey, don’t put this on me now.” He says quickly, jokingly holds up his hands in an innocent gesture that makes the whole table laugh. Taylor can’t help but giggle, too. She playfully hits him in the side.

“I gained fifteen pounds since December, Scott. Fifteen pounds.” he says dramatically to both Andrea and Scott, who amusedly witness the interaction between him and Taylor.

“That’s a good sign, though.” her father laughs, especially because his daughter starts hitting the man’s upper arm some more, looking deeply shocked from him, to her mom and back at Travis again.

“Do not even start blaming me for that. Every time I have food laying around he eats it. That’s not on me.”

Andrea starts laughing, and so does Scott. Travis just rolls his eyes playing pretend, sips one last time on his wine glass before looking at the blonde woman in the black top sitting next to him, giving him a playful side eye. She looks absolutely gorgeous as always, but there’s something in her eyes that gives her away. She’s exhausted. Deeply exhausted and tired, but he knows she won’t ever admit to it.

Without countering her some more, Travis just places his wine glasses in front of him, then wanders with his right hand to her head. He starts gently caressing her hair, wandering down to her neck then, where his thumbs draw some soft and slow circles. He can see her eyes getting smaller and her smile getting softer. His touch helps her let her guard down slowly. But she’s not the only one sitting around this table smiling quietly. Both of her parents witness his gentle gesture silently, a smile on both their faces, unsure if they’ve ever seen their daughter look as loved and taken care of as she does right now.

“You had three hours of sleep last night. How are you even still upright?”

She giggles, his hand now leaving her neck and reaching for her cold left hand.

“Jetlag and being tired is a choice.”

Andrea starts laughing. She knows just as much as Travis that this is the most ridiculous saying her daughter comes up with whenever she’s urged to slow down a little.

“Mhm. Sure.” he just says laughingly, knowing damn well that there’s no arguing with her tonight. Within less than two seconds, she gets up, starts cleaning the dinner table.

“How about you start picking a movie and we do the dishes.” Andrea now takes initiative but before she can even finish her sentence, Taylor shakes her head and makes sure to grab the used plates quicker than her mother can.

“Absolutely not. Trav will go pick a movie with you guys, I’m gonna quickly clean up and feed the cats and join you then.”

“I can feed the cats, babe.” the man who just got up right next to her tries once more but she shakes her head.

“No, please pick a movie with mom and dad.” She asks him with a serious look on her face and he sighs, just shakes his head in disbelief, knowing damn well that he’s got to let her be her obsessive self tonight.

“Alright guys, what do you want to watch?”

_________

“Why is it so quiet in here…”

“Because we are waiting for you, honey.” Scott says from the living room couch, looking at Taylor who stands in the now clean and shiny kitchen preparing the bowls for her cats.

“No, just start the movie already. I’ll be there in a second.” she says, really doesn’t want them to have to wait any longer. After all, it’s past nine already now. The view onto her little backyard is pitch black, and she knows her parents are still jet lagged, too.

“Absolutely not.” Travis says from the very right couch on which he sits, giving her that look she loves so much. With the remote control in his hand, as comfortable as he can be, he smiles at her, looking right into her eyes somehow even though this massive living room is dividing them.

“You can’t miss the beginning. It’s the most important part of this movie.”

“Alright, alright, give me one second.” she says, places the bowls in front of the three impatient cats waiting for their dinner, and washes her hands with her favorite lavender soap in the big kitchen sink one last time.

“Do you guys have drinks? Do you need any snacks, or ice cream? Trav, do we still have the…”

“We have everything, honey. Now enough with all this madness. Sit down on your ass. Now!” Andrea says in a new tone, which Travis hadn’t experienced before. It makes him smile though. Suddenly, Taylor just nods, turns off the lights in the kitchen and finally, after what felt like an eternity, makes her way up to her family lounging in the living room. Travis smiles at the beauty in front of him, immediately opens his arms for her to sit down next to him.

“Come on, babe. Lay down.” he just mumbles, gets comfortable on the big couch himself, a pillow in his neck, and enjoys to feel Taylor cuddle up to him, becoming the little spoon to be able to face the big flat screen.

“Alright, are we ready?”

“Yes.” Both Scott and Andrea answer annoyed from their seats and it makes Taylor laugh. Travis hits the play button and the movie starts. His right hand securely around Taylor’s small body frame, slowly wandering onto her stomach. She places her hand on top of his, and with his head on the pillow behind him, he leans over to her once, breathing in her incredible smelling hair, and steals her neck one last kiss. She moves a bit more, trying to get comfortable, and he can feel how fast her heart beats. He knew it. She’s been running around all day, not even allowing herself a single moment of rest. She’s rattled up, and her inability to just lay still in his arms is proof enough. Sometimes, he feels like whenever she’s not playing a show she needs to run around all day to compensate for her lack of adrenaline rush. It’s not good for her though. It’s not good to be in a constant state of stress.

The movie has just started and he catches himself every so often just staring at her instead. Her silhouette in the darkness, lid up by nothing but the flickering tv light. She’s the most beautiful person he knows. Not a single ounce of badness about her. It terrifies him sometimes, how deeply he loves her. How pure his feelings really are for her. His thoughts manifest themselves once more as she starts laughing about a scene on tv and he realizes that he was way too distracted to follow the storyline until now.

A few moments later, Travis can finally feel her become more and more still in his arms. Her hand still firmly over his, her thumb drawing the ever same slow circles on the back of his hand. She’s slowly coming down from her day. And half an hour later, he knows she’s fighting sleep. Whilst both of her parents are still awake watching and enjoying the movie he chose, the blonde woman in his arms has grown unusually quiet. It takes another five minutes and he feels her spasm once. She’s fighting sleep when really, she shouldn’t. Travis slowly lets go of her stomach, moves his big hand over her cold and naked upper arm instead. Nothing but the tv light lighting up her sleepy face.

“Baby?”

“Mhm?” she answers in her half sleeping state, of course pretending to be fully awake.

“Can you reach for the blanket next to you?”

She slowly sits up, grabs the blanket and just hands it to him, too tired to fully recognize the fact that she’s freezing in her top, and that she needs the blanket more than he does. She just lays down again, her head this time getting comfortable on his upper arm. He opens up the soft blanket over her, feels Taylor finally giving in. With her eyes half closed and the same tired disoriented look on her face whenever she wakes up at night to go to the bathroom, Taylor turns around, signaling him to open his arms for her some more. She’s now fully turned away from the tv, her sleepy face facing his chest. He protectively wraps the blanket around her cold torso, feels her little hand placed on his chest over his sweater. With her wrapped in his arms, and the blanket, Travis looks down at her closing her eyes, finally allowing herself to fall asleep. He leans down to kiss her forehead once, his arm around her, stroking her back up and down.

“Sorry, I’m just..”

He doesn’t know whether her mumbles are an apology to him or her parents about the fact that she falls asleep twenty minutes into the movie. But he’s having none of it.

“Shh. I’ll tell you later what happened.” he whispers, and she doesn’t even nod. Instead, he can watch her breathing get slower and slower and steadier and steadier. It takes less than a minute and she’s fully asleep in his arms. A little sigh escapes her throat. Her toes between his legs move once. In his arms, she slowly lets go. And Travis can now face the TV again, and actually enjoy the movie knowing that the woman in his arms is finally getting some well deserved rest. But his gentleness doesn’t remain unnoticed. Both Scott and Andrea watch Taylor drift off in his big arms, his left hand securely on her head, his right one around her waist, stroking her back over the blanket up and down every so often. Not one of the two can recall a time, in which they’ve witnessed their daughter more effortlessly safe, feeling loved and able to be herself more than in this moment.

[madhatterbri]

Recipe for Disaster | Hangman A.P.

Summary: -Cooking together, and they burn a dish from the Thanksgiving prompts. 18+.

Hangman Adam Page x Reader - They are trying to cook, but Hangman, instead of actually helping, keeps distracting her, with the end result being they burn whatever they were cooking.

Requested by: @cowboywritersworld

Happy Dynamite Wednesday, babes. ❤️

Hangman Adam Page Masterlist

AEW Masterlist

Warning: Shitty dad jokes. 😂🤣

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @magicalbuttertarts @new-zealand-chic

As always, requests are open! Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. ❤️

Fall was Y/N's favorite time of year. The cooler weather and the decorations were two of her favorite things. The last, but certainly not least, favorite part was the baking.

She loved to wow people with her skills. Whenever she and her boyfriend, Adam, were invited to a party, she would be sure to bring a treat. On this particular day, she was baking for her co-workers for work the next day.

Y/N was now in the kitchen baking a pumpkin chocolate chip bread. She managed to find one of her grandmother's old recipes. With all the ingredients neatly organized, she started to make the mixture for the bread.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" Adam asked while walking in the kitchen. He heard the oven beep to signal it was up to the appropriate temperature to make the bread.

"Just making pumpkin chocolate chip bread for work tomorrow," she answered. Her suspicions about his true intentions for being in there were heightened. Adam was known to steal a couple of chocolate chips when she wasn't looking.

Adam smiled at her. "Can I help?"

"You are just going to steal some chocolate chips, aren't you?" She asked while mixing the bowl.

"Well, that was going to be my tax for helping you, but I could think of other ways," his voice drifted off. His hands gripped her waist from behind her. He bent down. His breath tickled her skin. Sweet kisses landed by her ear. Her most sensitive spot. Her boyfriend came to play today.

Y/N closed her eyes and moved her neck. His lips explored the new territory. When she opened her eyes, she saw his hand in the bag of chocolate chips.

"Adam!" She called out. He quickly backed away. His hand secured some of the chocolate chips for his own enjoyment. Y/N grabbed the wooden spoon from the bowm she was using to mix the ingredients. The thick orange mixture fell inside the bowl.

Her grown boyfriend took off to the kitchen table giggling. He sat on a chair and started to eat his chocolate chips. Y/N's eyes narrowed at him. She turned on her heel to get back to work.

"Let me make it up to you, darlin'. What does a pumpkin use to repair its pants?" He asked. A big cheeky grin appeared on his face.

Y/N stirred the contents in the bowl. Her face scrunched as she thought about the answer. "What?"

"A pumpkin patch,"

The room went quiet until she snorted. A smile broke out at how horrible the joke was. Adam smiled at his girlfriend.

"What did the pumpkin say to its carver?" He asked.

Once again Y/N managed to come up with nothing.

"Cut it out,"

Y/N rolled her eyes at him. The next few minutes were spent this way. Adam tells her the absolute worst dad jokes about pumpkins, and she giggles. The blonde man did anything to make his Y/N laugh.

When the mixture was ready, she poured the contents into a prepared bread pan. Adam insisted on placing the pan in the hot oven. Y/N placed the time to fifty-five minutes.

"You know," Adam started. His lips were dangerously close to her ears again. "I just risked my life putting that pan in an oven that was quite hot..."

"My hero," Y/N spoke. Her eyes rolled at him again.

"And as your hero and entertainment for the last ten minutes, why don't we take this somewhere else?" He asked. His lips teased her spot once more. A hand slid up her flannel shirt.

"Adam," she sighed and looked at the oven timer.

The green numbers showed they still had over fifty minutes. She originally planned to only watch television while she waited. This idea was so much better.

After making her decision, Y/N turned around and kissed him. He smiled in the kiss. She grabbed his hand and led him to the bedroom. Their kisses were soft and sweet. She swore she could taste the chocolate chips on his lips.

Adam took things slow. He was in the mood to make love. They hadn't had a downtime like this in a while. Between wrestling shows and her commitments to her job, they usually had to rush things. Not today. The bread in the oven was the last thing on his mind.

Every kiss and touch on her body was calculated. He mumbled how much he loved her. Compliment after compliment fell from his lips. The man was crazy about his woman. He wanted to let her know that.

"Adam, please," she begged. Her body was on fire. Her legs pressed together with the hopes of any friction between them.

"I know, baby," he told her reassuringly. He crawled underneath their blanket. Her legs parted as he kissed her inner thighs. Adam made sure to miss between her legs.

His lips kissed up her stomach. Blonde hair poked through the top of the sheets as he kissed his way up her body. Her nipples were given extra attention. He nipped at her neck before kissing her lips. While their lips connected, he slowly thrusted himself inside of her.

Her moan was suppressed by their kiss. He maintained a slower pace than she had grown accustomed to. Her hips moved to meet his thrusts. The pair separated long enough to catch their breath before locking lips again. He rubbed down her leg. His hand gripped the back of her knee and wrapped it around his waist.

Her fingers snaked through his blonde locks. He buried his face in her neck. His thrusts picked up slightly as he chased his orgasm.

"Adam," she moaned. When his lips nipped at her neck again, she unraveled. Her body clenched around him as she came. He stilled deep inside of her. Her body milked him as he came.

"That was amazing," she complimented.

Adam removed himself from inside of her. He laid next to her. His muscular arms pulled her close to him. Their eyes locked together. His thumb rubbed her cheek softly. After showering the other with compliments, they drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, the oven kept beeping to signal that the bread was finished.

[mesu-senshi]

Title: "Be Still, My Giant Heart" part 3

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Konig x Reader

Theme: Comedy, Romance, Fluff

Trope: Arranged Marriage (continuation)

______________________________________________________________

Living with König on base had settled into a rhythm that, much to his surprise, felt good. Predictable but warm. He had always thought of himself as awkward, too rigid for something like this, but you had a way of turning even the mundane into something special.

______________________________________________________________

Morning Routine

König was an early riser, though he tried to be quiet for your sake. Tried, but failed.

The first few mornings, you’d woken up to the sound of him fumbling with the coffee maker in the tiny kitchenette. He looked so flustered, his broad back hunched in concentration as he tried to keep his massive hands from knocking anything over.

Now, you made it a habit to join him, padding out in your slippers and one of his oversized hoodies you’d borrowed (he didn’t dare ask for it back).

“Good morning, mein Riese,” you’d say, yawning as you reached up on tiptoe to hug him around the middle.

“G-Good morning,” he’d stutter, his hands hovering for a second before settling on your back, his touch gentle but firm.

Breakfast was simple but cozy. He’d insisted on cooking at first, nervous you’d think less of him if he didn’t take care of you properly. But now, it was a joint effort—you slicing bread or whisking eggs while he handled the stovetop.

“Careful,” he’d say every time, his brow furrowed with concern when you worked near sharp knives.

“Relax, König,” you’d tease, poking his side with the handle of the knife. “You’re more likely to hurt me by worrying so much.”

He’d grumble something in German under his breath, which only made you smile.

______________________________________________________________

Midday Adventures

The team had quickly picked up on your presence, and while most of them were polite, a few couldn’t resist teasing König about his fiancée.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, big guy,” one of them had joked after seeing the way you’d kissed König’s cheek when he dropped you off at the commissary.

König had flushed so deeply that his neck turned crimson, and you had to fight the urge to grab his hand and assure him it was okay.

Instead, you leaned in and said, “He’s amazing, actually. You should try being more like him.”

The soldier gawked, and König had to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

When König had training exercises or meetings, you spent time helping around the base—baking cookies for the kitchen staff, chatting with medics, or just reading in a sunny corner. But whenever he had a free moment, König would find you.

Sometimes, he’d surprise you by sneaking up behind and clearing his throat softly. Other times, he’d stand at a distance, too shy to interrupt until you waved him over.

“Everything okay?” you’d ask, tilting your head.

“Ja,” he’d reply, his gaze softening. “I just… wanted to see you.”

______________________________________________________________

Evening Bonding

Evenings were your favorite.

After dinner in the mess hall—where you always made a point to sit with König, regardless of the stares���he’d walk you back to your shared quarters. His strides were long and slow, matching your shorter pace, and you often found your hand slipping into his without thinking.

Once inside, you both relaxed. König would sit on the couch, his massive frame somehow folding itself into the small space, while you curled up beside him with your legs tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” you’d ask, holding up a selection.

“I… I don’t know what to pick,” he’d admit sheepishly, his accent thick when he was unsure.

So, you’d choose something lighthearted—usually a rom-com that made him laugh in that deep, rumbling way that made your heart flutter.

When the movie ended, you’d often find him stealing glances at you, his eyes soft and almost shy.

“What?” you’d tease, leaning closer.

“You’re beautiful,” he’d say, the words so earnest they left no room for doubt.

You’d kiss him then, pressing your lips to his cheek or his jaw, always careful to move at his pace. But lately, he’d started kissing you back, his movements still tentative but full of feeling.

______________________________________________________________

Cuddles and Sweet Nothings

Bedtime was where König’s nervousness often returned, but you’d made it your mission to ease him into comfort.

“Come here,” you’d say, patting the bed beside you.

“I don’t want to—”

“König,” you’d interrupt, your tone firm but playful, “get in bed.”

He’d obey, lying stiffly at first until you wiggled closer, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his chest.

“You’re warm,” you’d murmur, your voice sleepy but content.

“And you’re… small,” he’d reply, his lips curving into a shy smile.

“Small but mighty,” you’d tease, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

Eventually, his arms would encircle you, his hold protective but tender. He never failed to murmur a quiet “Gute Nacht, mein Schatz” before sleep claimed him.

These little routines, this simple closeness—it all felt so right. Every day, König grew more comfortable, more confident in the idea that you weren’t just his fiancée for convenience. You were his partner, his peace, and maybe, just maybe, his forever.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 8

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

I spend most of Christmas Eve in bed relaxing and catching up on much-needed sleep after days of long, busy shifts at the cafe paired with hours of wedding and party planning, all while trying to stay in contact with my intriguing new phone pal. But much to my dismay, and appreciation, Stella refused to let me stay alone through the night. She insisted I come over for dinner and stay for Christmas. As in her words, “It would be an atrocity for my best friend to spend the holidays alone”. So, I had no choice but to kindly accept her demand. 

As I walk towards the subway station my phone starts buzzing in my jacket pocket. I smile hoping it’s Jensen or Stella, but instead, it’s my boss. I sigh and brace myrself as I step out of the path of fast-passing pedestrians and lean against the brick wall of a fashion boutique. 

“Stewie, Hey!” I answer as brightly as possible.

“Y/N, Hi. I know I agreed to let you have today off, and that still stands. We’re closing soon anyway. But I just wanted to let you know a package got delivered here this morning with your name on it. There something wrong with the mail at your apartment? Your neighbours stealing your packages again?”

“Uh…no. Not that I know of. I didn’t order anything.”

“Ah, well I’ll leave it in my office. You have a key, you can swing by through the back and pick it up whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m actually around the corner right now. Can I swing by now before you close?”

“Sure! I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, Stewie. See you soon!” I hang up and rush down the street in the opposite direction, back towards the cafe. The sign’s already flicked to ‘closed’ when I get there, but there's light on in the kitchen so I go in. 

“Stewie, it’s just me. For the package,” I call out as I walk towards the lit-up kitchen. As I get closer, the smell of fresh bread and cookies overwhelms my senses. “You know we’re closing for two days, right?” I call out as I round the corner into the spacious kitchen.

The short, round balding man, with just a few strands of grey hair, comes into view carrying a tray of shortbread biscuits straight out of the oven. His glasses, sitting on the tip of his nose, are fogged up. “Yeah, yeah. But I got a big family to feed and a tiny kitchen to do it with. I put everything I got into keeping this place open. I may as well make the most of it.”

“Good idea. So, uh, the package?” I ask as I eye off the golden biscuits, shaped like gingerbread men, wreaths, bells and candy canes. My empty stomach growls andI clear my throat to hide it, but, despite his age, old Stewie hears it.

“Help yourself. I can spare a few. Grab a takeaway container. You can even have a loaf of bread, they’ll be done soon…Wife wants me home before dark.”

“I couldn’t. They’re for your family. I’m just here for my package, remember?”

“Listen, I ain’t no Scrooge. I know your measly salary may make you think I am, but I pay you as much as I can. Outside the holidays, we’re barely making rent. Least I can do is give you a few cookies and some bread.”

“Stewie, I know you do your best for this place and all of us. We all know it. But if you insist, I do find it hard to resist your cooking. Rudie’s great, but you’re the master.”

“No need for flattery, kiddo. Go grab your package from my office and I’ll package up some cookies and bread for you.”

“Alright, thanks. You’re the best!” I smile at Stewie as I go into his office. Mamma Jo was his mother, who passed a few short months ago. She was the light of the kitchen whenever she visited to check on things. Stewie runs the place with as much passion as she did, yet he hasn’t baked since she passed, that is, until tonight. I smile, hoping he’s finally finding his passion again. 

I spot a medium-sized cardboard box on the edge of the desk, I shake my head wondering what it could possibly be. Once I get close enough, I read the label. 

To Y/NMamma Jo’s Coffee and Chocolateria204 5th Ave, New York, NY 10019

From Jensen Acklesc/o Management Beverly Hills, CA 90210

I quickly pull my phone out, snap a picture of the parcel and send it to Jensen.

Hey Superstar, this your doing? Thought you were in Texas?

I don’t wait for a reply, I put my phone away and go back into the kitchen with the box tucked under my arm and my overnight bag slung over my other shoulder. Stewie hands me two boxes of warm goods; I don’t look inside but they smell delicious. He looks at me dubiously as I attempt to carry it all.

“How far you headed, Kiddo?”

“Not far, it’s okay. I’ll manage,” I try to assure him, but he sees right through it. He gives me a look to say he doesn’t believe me; it’s the kind of look you would expect from a parent who’s waiting for their child to come clean. “My friend’s place in Lower Manhattan. She and her fiance invited me for Christmas so I wouldn’t be alone. Plus, I’m helping with the wedding planning.”

“If you help me pack all these up,” Stewie says gesturing at the cooling cookies and bread, “and clean up the kitchen. I’ll drive you.”

“I’m happy to help, but you do not need to drive me that far out of your way on Christmas Eve.”

“I don’t endorse free labor, so either you get out of here now, or you stay and help and then I drive you.”

Feeling the strain in my arms already and dreading the walk in the snow, I make a decision. I sigh and put everything down on a clear counter and then start carefully boxing up cookies. Stewie nods and starts packaging the loaves of bread, croissants and other pastries on the other tray. Once we finish packaging everything, I clean the trays, bowls and utensils while Stewie wipes down the oven and benches. Working in perfect harmony, we’re finished in no time.

It takes a few trips to load everything into his delivery van parked in the back alley. Despite his insistence that it’s all for his family, I know he’ll end up sharing with his whole block and it just makes me admire him more. 

After shutting off the lights and locking up, Stewie skillfully navigates out of the alley and out onto the busy street towards Lower Manhattan. I provide directions to the best of my ability, using my knowledge of the few times Nick has driven me with some –a lot of–help from the GPS on my phone. AsI’m looking at the map I notice a text come through from Jensen, but I swipe up quickly to make it go away so I can focus on providing directions. 

After a while, Stewie pulls up in Stella and Nick’s driveway. I thank him sincerely, collect my things and carefully trudge through the light covering of snow to get to the front door. I wave Stewie off once Stella opens the door. I’m instantly welcomed by the warm and enticing smell of roast chicken. 

“I come bearing gifts, Merry Christmas guys!” I say as I signal for Stella to take the boxes of treats. She eagerly takes them as she eyes the other box at the same time. Luckily, though the smell distracts her and she hurries into the kitchen to put the boxes down and peek inside. 

Nick peeks over her shoulder. “Sourdough? That’ll be perfect to go with dinner. I’ll put the store-bought shit back.”

“Rudie or Stewie?” Stella asks critically.

“Stewie. He’s finally coming back on board after everything,” I offer happily.

“Yay!” Stella says clapping as she reaches for a cookie, but Nick slaps her hand away.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” He looks over at my still full arms and nods towards the stairs. “Guest room’s all set up for you so you don’t have to pass out on the couch this time. And if that’s a gift for us it can go under the tree.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll just go put my stuff down,” I say with a smile before slipping upstairs to the guest room. I dump my bag on the floor and the box on the bed. I stare at it curiously. Then remember the text in the car. I pull your phone out to read it, but Stella bursts in.

“I tried to make it all nice and pretty and festive for my bestest maid of honor!” She says joyfully as she points out the little Christmas tree and tinsel decorating the dresser.

“It looks amazing! You’re the best,” I say brightly, yet distracted. 

“You didn’t have to get us anything you know,” she says as she gestures at the box. “You being here and organising the bridal shower and helping with the wedding is more than enough. I know money’s tight at the moment.”

“Good, 'cause it’s not from me…Jensen sent it to the cafe. Stewie called and told me to pick it up, hence all the pastries and cookies. I wasn’t meant to go in today…”

“Jensen sent you a gift?”

“I’m not sure if he did or if he got his management team to. Maybe it’s an NDA and warning? He’s in Texas and it says California so…” I finally look down at my phone screen.

It was and I amI wanted to put my address, I didBut with no NDA my agent was against itBut I promise it’s from me

“He says it’s from him, his agent just wouldn’t let him put his address,” I explain, half to Stella and half to make yourself believe it. As I’m talking another text comes through.

Open it yet, Sweetheart?

“He asked if I opened it yet?”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Stella urges as she pushes the box closer to me.

I touch the tape but then withdraw and text him back.

Should I not wait until Christmas?

After a minute his name pops up on my screen. I look hesitantly between the phone and my best friend. She nods understanding and stands up. “I’ll be downstairs, but I want details when you’re done!”

I nod and shoo her out quickly before leaning my back against the now-closed door.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never

[appalamutte]

Eric turns into the baking supplies aisle, tapping his thumb against the cart in rhythm with the Christmas music playing overhead.

He hadn’t intended to stop at the grocery store on his way home; after slipping on a patch of ice in front of a school field trip on his way to work, dropping and shattering his favorite work mug in the break room between meetings, and being told for the umpteenth time that another client has gone with another publisher, Eric, if you don’t start showing improvement then we’re going to have to look at other alternatives, all Eric wanted to do was go home and take a long, warm bath. Start that food critic’s memoir he picked up at a flea market a few weeks ago. Maybe—finally—clean out and reorganize his disaster of a spice cabinet, something to take his mind off things.

Just forget this day ever happened.

But then his editorial assistant accidentally deleted one of their client’s manuscripts while performing a mass exodus of unused files, and just like that, Eric went and cried in the bathroom because the day officially got worse than he ever thought it could get.

By some miracle, Dex down in IT had been able to find an old save of the file on the system’s hard drive. It didn’t have most of the notes Eric added for corrections or changes, nor did it have any of his assistant’s annotations. Really, it was the most bare-bones copy, but it was the entire manuscript in it’s most recent glory.

For that, Eric would’ve kissed Dex right then and there.

He loves Nursey too much to do that, though, so instead he did what he always does: he hugged Dex tightly, asked him what his favorite dessert was (snickerdoodle cookies), and at five o’clock he took the Green Line to West End and walked a few blocks to the best Whole Foods in Boston.

“Now you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eric murmurs, standing in front of the rather unfortunate-looking flour selection. Usually, there’s a complete inventory of all types—bread, whole wheat, all-purpose, self-rising, pastry—and that’s half of the reason Eric goes twenty minutes out of his way to shop here. Yet all that’s before him now is a couple of bags of all-purpose and a full row of cake flour.

Great. As if this day couldn’t get any better.

He pulls the shopping cart close as a family enters the aisle and considers his options. Normally, he prefers using a half-and-half combination of whole wheat and all-purpose, but after last week’s batch of pancakes, he’s out of whole wheat. He could get the cream of tartar and ground cinnamon now and stop at the Stop & Shop near his apartment for the flour, but that place is hit-or-miss at best, and with how his day’s going he doubts they’ll have any in stock either. 

Maybe he could forgo whole wheat flour this one time and just go with the all-purpose, but he really does love the taste it gives, not to mention it adds a bit more nutritional value. Nursey has been going on and on about how Dex is trying to eat healthier after losing his college-athlete physique, and—damn, maybe Eric should’ve offered to make something other than a dessert. Is it too late to call and ask if Dex would rather have some homemade protein bars? But then Nursey messaged Eric right before he left work with a bunch of crying emojis, thanking him and saying he was definitely going to steal some of the cookies from Dex, even though Eric’s pretty sure Dex would give Nursey most of them anyway, and—

“Bittle?”

Eric startles.

Looking up, he stares at the man before him for a moment before his heart skips a beat.

“Jack?” He asks dumbly, because it is Jack, standing there in an old, threadbare Samwell hoodie with a ball cap pulled low on his head. 

He’s a little soft around the edges and worn down in that way all professional athletes are after retirement, but he’s still unmistakably Jack Zimmermann with that small little quirk of a smile and the way his eyes are piercingly blue in the fluorescent lighting of the store. His hair still curls around the ear like it did whenever he used to let it grow out but there are flecks of gray in his temple now. His jaw, even after all these years, is still so pronounced but it’s not as sharp as it was back at Samwell, hidden under a layer of scruff. He’s still wearing god-awful yellow sneakers, except they’re a newer pair from a different brand, bright and spotless.

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack says, warmer and surer.

Eric uncrosses his arms. “Jack,” he says again, feeling himself smile, “gosh, I can’t believe it’s—it’s been so long! Jack! How are you?”

On a reflex, Eric steps forward to hug Jack, and there’s this absolutely mortifying moment where he realizes he’s going to hug Jack Zimmermann, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't spoken to in seven years, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't seen outside of the NHL Network in ten.

But then Jack meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug with both arms wrapped around Eric’s shoulders, and it’s like the last decade never happened, the weight rolling off his shoulders as easily as could be. It’s like Eric’s back in Providence, back in Samwell. It’s Jack’s apartment and the front porch of the Haus and the bed of Coach’s truck in the thick Georgia humidity.

(It’s being in love with your best friend.)

“I’m good,” Jack says, his chest rumbling. “Great, actually.”

He pats Eric’s shoulder once and with that, they pull away from one another. “That’s good,” Eric says, pulling his shopping cart closer so he can lean an elbow against the handle. “How’s retirement been? It’s been, gosh, almost a year now?”

“Just about. It'll be a year this February."

“You miss it?”

Jack tilts his head. “Eh,” he drawls out, “honestly yeah, I do. But, well…”

He gestures down toward his knee, and it takes Eric a few seconds to remember that Jack's retirement had more to do with an unfortunate check and less to do with the fact he was thirty-seven. Eric immediately backtracks. “Oh, shit—lord, excuse my language, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jack chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The knee has its days, but besides that, it's good as new.” He pauses. “Sort of.”

Eric’s blushing ‘till high noon, he’s sure of it. "Well that's good, then," he says.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas starts playing overheard and they stare at each other for another awkward beat. Finally, Jack clears his throat. “But, uh, how have you been? I think Shitty said you were at…Morris…”

“Morris Press,” Eric says, pulling at the skin between his thumb and forefinger, mentally slapping his cheeks. He’s usually never this bad with talking. “But yeah! I’ve been there for six years or so now, it’s a really great job. Helping others do what I always dreamed of is just, you know, a really fulfilling feeling.”

“I bet,” Jack says, and he’s got the little smile on his face again.

Another, not-as-awkward beat.

“I mean, I never thought I’d go into publishing, but…,” Eric starts, and he doesn’t mean to ramble, really; it’s an accidental slip that he starts going on about his job and his coworkers, the projects he’s helped publish, how publishing his own cookbook right out of Samwell led to now, just talking Jack’s poor ear off in the middle of the store. Jack gives his little comments here and there, like he used to, and doesn’t once make Eric feel like he’s holding him, and that—that’s exactly why Eric finds he can’t stop himself. The easiness of it, how natural and comfortable it is. How the warmth of a dormant love flares somewhere in Eric’s chest because it’s different but it’s not. 

He doesn’t stop until an older woman cuts in asking to get to the flour, and Eric takes a breath. “Goodness, I rambled there,” he laughs. “I suppose things haven’t changed all that much.”

Jack hums, looking at Eric with this unreadable, nearly intense expression that Eric would describe as soft, probably. If he looked into it too much. He’s nearly about to let Jack go so he can go home and panic-bake a pie and call Lardo about this entire day when Jack suddenly says: “Would you want to get coffee or lunch or—or something, sometime?”

Eric falters.

Then he decides that, maybe, this day isn’t a total bust.

[stellarwaffles]

Ooooo you wanna talk about your ocs you wanna talk about them so bad ooooooo

Sorry for taking 381 days to answer ummmmm hi I want to talk about Ari

I don't think I've really posted about Ari on tumblr so I'll include basic info

Ari uses she/it/him pronoun and is a lesbian. She is a lion lava monster + is 6ft tall

Ari Sunfall is the oldest of the Sunfall siblings (Ari, Ziva, Leo, Daniel, Cherry*, Talya, Dasi)

When Ari was 13 her parents had to go be at war they weren't allowed to stay at home + raise their kids anymore so as the oldest Ari had to take care of her siblings

If you've ever heard Surface Pressure from Encanto that's the only song on my Ari playlist

Anyway um when Ari was 16 she got a girlfriend yaaaaaaay they were t4t :3

they dated for an amount of months before Ari's gf broke up w her bc taking care of 5 siblings was clearly stressful for Ari + gf was worried dealing w that and also a relationship was too much for Ari. Ummm she had good intentions but this made Ari put more effort into hiding when she's stressed

When Ari was 18 she had to be in the army </3 fuck Monstrox we all hate that guy

Ari got to see his parents for the first time in 5 years so that was nice

Ari also got a girlfriend while in the army! When Ari was 20 she dated Kirsten. They dated for an amount of months

:3

Kirsten broke up w Ari </3

:3

so um ye when the lava monsters got trapped in the Book of Monsters Ari was also trapped. Bc she's a lava monster

S1 nexo knight Ari is one of the background lava monsters

At some point in s1 the lava monsters attack a town called Kneadton + during the attack Ari gets distracted by the smell of freshly baked bread and goes into the bakery where Feather works

Feather is Rather Frightened and as a panic response. Acts friendly + normal as if Ari was a regular customer instead of part of the army attacking the town

Ari is thown off by Feather acting friendly + instead of stealing or destroying anything like she's supposed to he politely pays for a box of cookies

Feather + Ari are friends now. You can't escape being friends with Feather

At the end of s2! When Monstrox is trying to possess Clay or whatever + the knights save him + there's like an explosion or smth + they think Monstrox is dead fr fr. The explosion throws Ari into the rocky wall + she gets a bad injury

But um hey good news the lava monsters all want nothing to do with Monstrox + go build a town so they can chill + just live their lives

Ari takes a while to recover from his injury + has to get used to sometimes relying on others instead of always being the one people can rely on

Ari also has a back brace now. I haven't done enough research to say much about this

Once Ari is doing well enough to get a job she starts working at a bar in Burningham. He works a late shift + so she sleeps in late in the morning

This is around s3 btw + also Ari is 23

At some point Eva is adventuring around, as one does, and accidentally finds Burningham. She wanders around town perceiving + goes into the bar + this is how she meets Ari!! Yay!!

Eva is big gay for Ari. Eva + Ari become friends yay yay friendship

Ari starts getting feelings for Eva but she's in denial about it. They're just friends! Ari totally doesn't wanna kiss Eva or anything!

Teehee time for s5 (Ari is 24/25 now. I'm less sure on the ages here bc s5 + s6 were never made)

So um there's the apocalypse going on. Fun! (It's not fun)

I haven't brained much abt what exactly happens around Burningham during the apocalypse I'll be honest so some of this might change idk. I've mostly just rotated the angst in my mind

Burningham got swarmed by cyberbugs + people had to either try and fight them off or run away

The Sunfalls have safely escaped a bunch of cyberbugs + are in the woods. They're worried about Talya bc none of them have been able to contact it at all, but the rest of them are all safe and accounted for at least

Ari faintly hears something deeper in the woods + goes to investigate. A smart decision, surely. You should always go alone to investigate voices you hear in the woods

Ari finds Eva sitting by a tree calling for help. Eva says she was injured while running from cyberbugs + she needs help just come closer walk forward come just a bit closer please

Something seems off to Ari, and rightfully so bc this is a trap. Eva is infected

A bunch of cyberbugs were hiding around the nearby trees. Eva + the cyberbugs attack Ari and Eva tries to convince Ari to be evil being infected is great actually she's totally not being forced to say this

Ari doesn't want to fight Eva so she's trying to fight defensively. At one point in the fight Ari takes Eva's scythe from her hands and without thinking impales Eva, killing her

Ari stares at Eva's body for a moment, realizing what she just did, before running away (the cyberbugs are still there. They chase after her)

So you know how I mentioned Ari likes Eva but is in denial. Yeah so sometimes you realize things at very inconvenient times. Sometimes you're processing that you just killed the person you're in love with and wait a minute in love? Oh fuck

Ari doesn't really have time to focus on that or on grief bc she's gotta focus on making sure him + its family survive the apocalypse

Daniel gets separated from the rest of the family for a bit which has all of them worried but this isn't about him so don't worry about it

After the apocalypse ends the Sunfalls go back to Burningham + Ziva is sent to pick up Talya from school. Ari finally has time to process the everything + breaks down crying

*shoutout to anyone that remembered I put an asterisk next to Cherry's name! She was not part of the family before this point

Ziva returns w Talya + Cherry, Talya says Cherry is part of their family now. Everyone immediately assumes that means Cherry's parents are dead. Everyone also immediately accepts Cherry into the family. New sibling!

After idk a few days Ari goes back into the woods to get Eva + take her to a mechanic. Ari is worried sick that she did irreparable damage, but is hoping Eva will be fine

Ari is not very good w tech + things of the sort, she doesn't understand all this new tech that's been invented in the past 100 years. Squirebots weren't a thing back when he was growing up, so she doesn't know anything about squirebot anatomy. Ari has no clue if she killed Eva permanently or if Eva can be repaired

Eva is repaired yay yippee yay she doesn't have any permanent damage, her brain's all fine, etc etc

After checking approximately 1 million times that Eva is in fact alright + no longer injured, Ari apologies for killing her + Eva assures Ari it's ok she doesn't even remember it honestly so truely it's chill dw. Everything from when she was infected is kinda foggy, actually. She doesn't remember much of being infected

Anyway moving on Ari also confesses to being in love w Eva yay yippee yay they can kiss now I love when girlfriends

A few weeks after the apocalypse has ended!! Ok so remember Kirsten? There's something I didn't mention. Before she broke up w Ari she got pregnant, but neither of them knew

So as I said a few weeks after the apocalypse ended- Kirsten + her girlfriend (she has a girlfriend btw) go on a date at a bar. Which just so happens to be where Ari works. Wait I forgot to say Kirsten's girlfriend is Ari's first ex

Ye so Kirsten tells Ari she's got something important to tell her but like if it can wait til later that'd be nice bc she's on a date rn. So she gets Ari's phone number + address

Kirsten shows up to the Sunfall house the next day w her + Ari's daughter, Sunny

Ari didn't know what to expect when Kirsten said she had something important to tell her, but she certainly had not been expecting a kid

Sunny is 4 btw Ari was 21 when Sunny was born

Kirsten wants Ari to take full custody of Sunny she didn't want to be a mom she wanted Ari to take care of Sunny from the start, she just didn't know how to contact Ari. Phones were invented after they broke up

Umm I made up Sunny recently so I'm still working on this lore but at some point Eva calls Ari a milf

Misc info!! Yay!!

Ari is a nickname for Arson, the name Arson has been passed down in the family for generations Ari is Arson V (Arson the fifth) (Sunny is also a nickname for Arson, Sunny is Arson VI)

I mentioned this when Eva died but Ari isn't good w phones or tech or anything like that she's kinda a boomer L L L skill issue

Ari spent so much of his life focusing on taking care of her family and being personally responsible for everyone's safety that she never. Got any hobbies (on this topic Ari + Talya have parallels. Talya stole the bad mentality and the lack of hobbies + some other stuff)

At some point Eva gets Ari into hiking! This idea brought to you by the bestie Milkisvibin803

At some point when they're dating, Eva finds out Ari wants to be more feminine but doesn't know what exactly to do about that. So Eva takes her dress shopping to see if maybe that'll help (it does) :)

[rookinthecrownest]

6 7 and 12 for the Rook and their partner ask! xx

6. What is their favourite thing to do together? Do they share any hobbies? Does your Rook teach their partner their own hobbies? Does the partner teach Rook theirs?

Honestly, their favourite thing to do together is probably napping. They both spent the better part of Veilguard being severely sleep deprived messes that they're probably going to spend the rest of their lives catching up on all that sleep debt. Plus, Spite enjoys it when they sleep, because it leaves him free to roam around a little bit (not too far) from Lucanis and explore/do his own thing.

They both love to read, and that's something they often do together post-veilguard. They're not always reading the same thing, but if they do, they have their own little book club in their home and like to discuss the novels afterward. Spite is often around and asks questions about why there isn't more stabbing involved in the romance stories.

Madeleina never really learned to cook - she could make basic things and bake bread like her mother used to, but nothing fancy. She's always wanted to learn and Lucanis has been pretty happy to involve her in cooking their meals! Madeleina didn't have a ton of time for hobbies (wasn't really a lot of time, growing up in a military family her life basically revolved around studying and working out, and then being shipped off to the Circle) so it's mostly Lucanis involving her in his. She does really enjoy teaching him to speak Tevene, and loves pointing out the similarities between Tevene and Antivan, since they both have some words with common roots.

7. Are they a physically affectionate couple? Are they fine displaying those affections in public or do they prefer to be in private? If they're not, how do they prefer to show their love instead?

I do headcanon them as being physically affectionate, but it takes them awhile to be comfortable with any kind of PDA lol. They'll hold hands, hug, and maybe steal a kiss on the cheek, but rarely more than that. They prefer to save most of it for when it's just them together :')

They are however, fairly comfortable with being verbose about how much they love each other later on in their relationship (unfortunate for anyone within earshot). You basically never hear them refer to each other by their names. it's always 'Amatus' or 'Cara mia' or 'Tesoro mio' or something like along those lines hehe.

12. Any inside jokes?

Answered here:

So, Madeleina (while they're both hardcore crushing on each other but haven't made anything official yet, pre-almost kiss) still vividly remembers walking in on Lucanis leaning against the wall of the pantry, just kind of staring off into oblivion, noticing she's there, and then saying the iconic line "Rook... we're out of onions", when she thought he was going to say something a bit more romantic. And now "We're out of onions" is code for "We need to go on a date it's been awhile"

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Capernaum's Sweetest | Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - The girl at the bakery

Chapter list

Under a glorious sunrise, Zebedee and his sons find their way back to the Capernaum docks with empty nets folded up inside their vessel. The orange of the sky feels like a softening of the blow, the sole good thing to come from their fruitless journey out onto the water, for the Sea of Galilee has been far from generous lately when it comes to letting go of her fish.

With a sigh, Zebedee drags the boat onto the shore with the help of James whilst John takes the nets and puts them to dry in the warmth of the same sun, a tired look on their faces as they retreat to their home where Salome is just preparing breakfast for the men of the house. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts their way the moment they set foot over the threshold.

“Shalom, shalom!” she greets with a chipper voice, a far cry from the mood of her exhausted husband and children, ushering them to their rooms to freshen up. Although none of them has even touched a fish all night, they still tend to smell after hours on the water. 

Wordlessly, the brothers head to their respective rooms to wash themselves and put on something clean, eager to settle in for an easy morning consisting of eating breakfast and taking a nap right after, likely until somewhere in the mid-afternoon, after which they will spend the rest of the day slightly groggy while doing not much. 

“Did you have any luck, my love?” Salome asks as she pours Zebedee a cup of water, although the man in question would much rather have something stronger instead, empty stomach or not, as if his wife cannot read from his face that it can’t be good news. The usual easy-going glittering in his dark eyes is far from present, instead something akin to defeat lingering in the action of averting his gaze. 

“Perhaps that a disease has struck the fish,” he suggests, “And because of it, the amount of young tilapia this year has drastically dropped…” Running a hand down his face, Zebedee sighs. “It is not like we going hungry, but if this keeps happening…” 

Salome puts a hand on his arm and gently squeezes. “We will find a way to make ends meet,” she reassures him, “I know you will not let us get hungry.” 

“I am the provider of this family,” Zebedee says with a hint of frustration to his voice, more directed towards himself than the fact that he hasn’t caught a single fish in over eight, nine days by now.

When John and James step back into the room, their parents quickly smoothen out the worry in their faces, but the young men are old enough to notice something amiss. “Out with it,” James demands in almost fatherly fashion, and Zebedee would have laughed if the pit in his gut hadn’t been weighing on him so heavily. John sits down at the table as well, stealing a sip of his fathers’ drink before turning to him, folding his arms over his chest. 

“What seems to be the issue?” 

“The lack of catch,” Zebedee answers without beating around the bush, knowing there is no need to do so. His sons give one another a look.

“We have had a bit of bad luck,” John says with a shrug, “It will figure itself out, won’t it?” 

Zebedee’s eyes find the tabletop with a kind of sadness that has both brothers swallow hard upon witnessing it. “Before John was born, and James was little,” Zebedee suddenly starts, “There were a few months of what you just called ‘bad luck’. I could not be the father and the husband I wanted to be, going out on the water over and over again at different moments of the day in the hopes of catching something — anything — but I just couldn’t get it done. Nothing swam into my nets these weeks, and I saw our savings depleting by the day.” 

“Pestilence, it was later established,” Salome adds, gently caressing her husband’s back at the memory both of them had wanted to remain completely banished from their minds, “A few poorer families were financially supported by the rest of the village, but a few older fishermen didn’t live to see the next spring due to the stress it put on their souls…” She heaves a shaky sigh.

James had been too young to remember, but he senses the impact the event has had on his parents. John also leans a little closer in an attempt to convey that all will be well. 

“I just don’t want—” Zebedee takes a moment to gather himself and get rid of the tremor in his voice before starting over again, “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to us again. Even though you two are adult men already, I am still your father. I am still the head of the family.” 

The brothers let their gazes meet in silent discussion of what to say next. “We are old enough to pull our weight around here,” James comments, “If you need us to do more…” 

John nods in agreement, “We could get a job!” James snaps his fingers and points at his younger brother.

“Yes!”

Zebedee and Salome give each other a look. “Nonsense,” Salome says, “You two are fishermen, taking after your own father.” 

“We have been going out on the water with the three of us since forever,” James notes, “That is the time and energy of three grown men doing a task that can be done by just one. At least, whenever the fishing industry isn’t doing too well…” 

“We could look for something on the side, just for the time being.” John adds, “I mean, as soon as abba continues to catch so many fish that he needs our muscle again, we can just quit.” 

James nods at his brother, both of them already sold on their own idea. Zebedee gives them a thoughtful expression whilst deliberating inside his mind what to do with their suggestion, for even though he wants to be the main supporter of the family himself as his duty commands, he cannot deny that it is a great idea.

“I cannot ask that of you,” Zebedee then states, “After all, it is not up to you guys to put money on the table. I will be the one to go out and look for work instead, so that you two can go out on the water and do what I have taught you to do. That way, I will be the one taking the responsibility of this family on my shoulders, and—” 

“—Wait a second,” John cuts off his father, “Something smells burnt in here.”

Salome’s face pales at the realisation and she jumps to her feet, rushing over to a steadily burning loaf to lift it out of the oven. The men turn to look at her as her cheeks turn red with embarrassment, a look of dejection appearing on her features as a thick smoke grows from the otherwise perfectly braided challah, blackened beyond the point of saving.

“That was supposed to be our breakfast,” she whispers, closing her eyes, “Made from the last bit of flour left in the pantry.” 

“Do we need to get some new flour for you?” James immediately wants to ease her feeling of humiliation. “John and I can quickly stop by the market and get a bag or two.” 

Swallowing thickly, their mother shakes her head, sighing as she rubs her forehead. “No… Oh, no, that won’t do. If I were to make a new loaf of bread right now, it would have to rise for hours before I could bake it… It wouldn’t be done before dusk, I’m afraid. Oh… I’ve been baking bread for decades! It has been ages since one of them burnt!” 

Before Salome can beat herself up about it any further, her sons rise to their feet to comfort her. “Then we will just head for the bakery to get ourselves some readily baked bread,” John states, “And before you say that it is more expensive, we are aware. But you and abba both need to sit down for a bit and take it easy for the rest of the day.” 

After a brief silence, Zebedee chuckles a bit before handing James a few shekels to purchase a challah from the local bakery. “It seems that our own sons are more reasonable than us, my dear.” Salome can’t help but smile a bit as her husband wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Now, you two know our usual. Give Hosea our best regards.” 

The boys put on their sandals again. Armed with a large bag, they head out on the busy streets of Capernaum. The sun has climbed the air and warms their faces pleasantly as they traverse the local market, where vendors are crying for attention over their wares. 

“You know, James,” John begins as he walks with his older brother, “I think you made a good point in us needing to find a job. I mean, eema and abba are becoming a little older every year and even though they wouldn’t admit it, they could use some occasional rest and recreation at their age. If abba took like one or two days off per week, I think the receding of his hairline would go way more slowly.” 

James snorts a laugh. “Don’t let him catch you say that.” John smirks a little before his older sibling continues. “But yes, we should indeed look out for something with decent pay. I could use my strength and try some transportation jobs for people needing someone to lift their heavy stuff. You… Well, what would you be good at?” 

With a roll of his eye, John punches James’ shoulder, who holds it in feigned hurt.

“Hey!’

“Shut up, I’m good at plenty of things… For example… I can write! I could help people write down letters to their loved ones for a fee.” 

“Would you really cheat a poor elderly lady out of her deceased husband’s hard earned money just because she wants to write a letter to her sister on the other side of Galilee?” 

“…Maybe not.” 

John thinks for another moment. “Perhaps… I could become a scribe at synagogue? Write down the sermons by hand while they are being given by the rabbis?” 

“You would never be able to pay attention for long enough.” 

“Oh, as if you always take in everything they are preaching.” John counters.

“You have fallen asleep against my shoulder more often than not!” 

“Why should I pay attention to these hundreds of laws, I can just look them up in Torah if I need them. It’s not like that someone listing them once gets them stuck inside my mind—” 

“—You’re just making excuses!” James huffs.

John raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then what are all six-hundred laws from the top of your head?” 

James inhales sharply. “Well there is… There is the dietary laws… And uh… We can’t wear mixed fabrics.”

“Those are the basic ones, I know these as well!”

“Oh then enlighten me, you insufferable know-it-all!” 

The siblings cut short their bickering when they arrive at the door of the bakery, as if they hadn’t been arguing in the first place. The room is heavy with the scent of fresh bread and an oppressive heat hangs in the air, the ovens poorly ventilated. The sons of Zebedee wait for their turn in silence whilst the middle-aged baker known as Hosea helps out the other customers, a handful of people also in need of bread. 

“It’s been ages since we’ve been here,” John whispers at James, “And nothing has changed whatsoever. He still has these dusty shelves…” 

“Yes, and that one wonky chair is still broken.” James nods at one of the tables on the side, meant for customers to be able to consume their breakfast or lunch at. However, the facilities seem to be hardly used for a long while.

When they were younger, the brothers used to join their eema to the bakery in order to gawk at the pastries whilst she made smalltalk with the widowed baker. Now, the sweet goods that used to be on display on one of the counters are nowhere to be seen. 

Hosea peers at James and John from under a pair of thick, bushy brows. He scratches through his beard as he gives them a thoughtful look. “My eyes aren’t as good as they once were,” he begins, “But I believe that you are the boys of Salome, aren’t you?” 

“Yes!” John breathes, smiling as he steps up to the counter, his older brother right behind him, “We are here on her behalf to get a loaf of bread.” 

“Been a while,” Hosea mutters, “I bet she’s been making bread for you herself.” 

James nods and Hosea smiles a bit. “How is she doing? And your father?” 

“They have been doing quite well in spite of the fishing business being a little dry these days. No pun intended. They say shalom, by the way.” James rubs at his neck.

“Give them my best. And I see. Sometimes we have poor seasons, no? Same for me when the wheat harvest goes bad. I hope and pray that things may look up for you.” 

“Thank you.” John replies.

Hosea hums. “So, what kind of bread can I make you happy with today?” 

“A challah would be perfect,” John responds, causing the baker to turn to one of the shelves to get it, only to find it empty. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but just as he is about to call out to the back of the shop, a woman with her (h/c) hair neatly tucked into a veil which is bound onto the top of her head enters the room with a tray of warm bread in her arms. A little off-balance, she heads for the empty shelf, smiling a little uncertainly at the baker.

“It took me a while, but I finally managed to get all the challahs out of the oven.” 

Hosea hums and nods, stepping aside for you to load them onto the display. 

“Good job, girl. You will get the hang of it, don’t you worry now. You will get these muscles soon enough.” 

You laugh lightly albeit a bit nervously as you start putting the light bread onto the shelf. “While you are at it, girl, why don’t you help out these gentlemen? You’ve watched me do it, now you can do so, too.” 

“Oh, of course! What did they need?” 

“Ask them yourself.” Hosea spurs you on with a patient smile on his face. 

Wiping your hands on your tattered apron, you turn to the counter with glittering, curious eyes. John feels his throat run dry at the sight of your smile, so he hopes that James will take the lead instead. However, when his brother doesn’t open his mouth, John momentarily looks at him to find him staring at you, equally as tongue-tied.

You mistake their silence as a sign that you must be doing something wrong. “Oh, right, where are my manners? Welcome to Hosea’s Bakery, how may I help you today?” 

You give the owner of the shop a questioning look, who nods at you reassuringly. 

Suddenly finding their voice, James and John step closer at the same time, trying to reply to you in unison.

“We would like—”

“Could we please—” 

They pause, giving each other a nod, until John finally speaks. “One challah, please.” 

You hum in acknowledgement and smile again. “One challah, coming right up.” Turning back to the display, you clap her hands together in an attempt to calm your nerves. As if you have forgotten where you have put the bread you took out of the oven barely a minute ago, you search the wall for the requested kind.

“Let me… Sorry, it’s my first day.” You let out a nervous laugh and continue looking, before Hosea steps in your direction and taps the label that says the name of the bread. Instead of looking at the word, however, you seem to take in the appearance of the lightly shiny crust instead.

“Oh, of course! I’m so sorry for making you wait, gentlemen. That will be… Um… What is the price again?”

“A half-shekel.” 

“Right! A half-shekel.” 

After a moment of both the brothers being frozen in their spot, John bumps James who profusely starts searching for their father’s satchel of money. “Uh… Here!” The older son of Zebedee takes out a whole shekel and pays you, quickly dropping the coin into your palm.

Walking over to the bowl serving as a register, you search through the change for a while. Giving each other a look, James and John wonder silently who this new baker is and why they have never seen you around the village. With Hosea’s help, you manage to find the right amount of money to return back to the customers who are still patiently waiting for you to finish the exchange.

“Here you go, sir! Thank you for buying from Hosea’s Bakery! Have a wonderful day, and please come again. Shalom shalom!” 

“Shalom shalom,” the boys greet in muttered unison as they rush out of the bakery, loaf tucked inside their bag, not leaving it open for it to cool down in the slightest. 

Once outside, both of them let out a breath as if they have been holding it. With a long exhale, James turns to his younger brother. “Who was she?” 

“I was about to ask you the same.” 

They momentarily cast a glance over their shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you through the window. “If we had seen her around before, I’m sure we would have noticed, right?” 

“Right.” James agrees. “I would definitely have remembered a smile like that.” 

“And eyes like that.” John murmurs as they head back to their home, both of them feeling inexplicably light on their feet. 

Zebedee and Salome are patiently awaiting the return of their sons and look up from their position at the kitchen table when they enter the house, handing their eema the bag right away so that she can serve breakfast at last. 

Only now realising they haven’t eaten in quite some time, they quickly join their parents after washing their feet and hands. Zebedee leads his family in prayer before they start their meal. “How was good old Hosea?” Salome wonders as she cuts a few royal slices from the bread and hands them out.

“Hosea? Oh, yes, he was well…” James answers, voice a bit higher pitched than normal.

“Did you give him my regards?” 

“We did.” John immediately responds, “He said shalom back.” 

Salome hums and takes a sip from her drink.

“Anything else new with him?” 

“No, I don’t think so...”

James shakes his head as well, looking at his brother. “No, me neither. He is the same old grumpy man.” 

John mutters: “Still hasn’t fixed his eating area.” 

“That’s right.” James confirms.

The woman lets out a long hum, giving her husband a look. Both of them are definitely thinking that something may have happened on the way, for the boys seem oddly agitated about something. “Is everything alright?” Zebedee wants to know, leaning closer.

“Yes! Of course, what ever could be going on?” James defends his brother and himself. John hums and takes a large bite from his bread. 

“Hosea is fine.” 

“Yes, he is fine.”

Now even more suspicious, Salome narrows her eyes, but doesn’t pry any further.

“Alright then, whatever you say. Thank you for getting us this food, by the way. Otherwise, all of us would have gone through the day hungry until supper.” 

Exchanging a look, James and John consume the rest of their meal in silence, deciding to keep the mystery woman working at the bakery between them.

---

Chapter list

[westbifire]

So this the first fanfic that I'm actually posting, and I'm not fully fluent in English, so read at your own expense. Anyways its told from Kuras's perspective pre-relationship (I tried not to define Mc, like they only have four lines). Its just fluff with a pinch of angst, that's all!

Kuras watched as Mc carefully measured the ingredients to make whatever dessert they had planned for the evening. The routine of making dessert together had started almost a month ago, when Mc had visited his clinic after a disastrous attempt to make a loaf of hibiscus bread. The air had been full of smoke and the bread was an unrecognizable lump of char. At first he was worried about shattering the illusion of elegance he carried himself with, until they had laughed. It wasn’t a cruel laugh but was instead full of warmth. A warmth that was reflected in their face. The slight crinkle of laugh lines framed Mc's eyes and their smile erased all the worry in their face. It was an expression he longed to see again so when they had offered to teach him how to bake he agreed.

It hadn't taken long for the others to learn of Mc's talent for baking and soon they were visiting the client regularly for dessert. Even Vere, who he hated and who equally hated him back, broke in occasionally to steal Mc's sweets (not his... no one ate his :/). He was pulled back from his thoughts by Mcs eyes on his. They were looking at him expectedly and he quickly thought back to what they had been previously saying and realized they had asked him to finish mixing the ingredients.

He took the bowl and started mixing the ingredients together. During these peaceful moments he let himself relax, let Mc peel back some of the layers of politeness he constantly wore, let Mc see him.

"Dangerous" a voice in the back of his head warned. It was the part of him who knew how the worlds view of him could change. He never understood what caused the looks of horror but he knew what they meant, he was a monster. In the eyes of humans he was nothing more then a creature of destruction. How quickly would Mc's smile morph into a face of horror with the knowledge of who, no, what he was. He could almost see the blood of the deaths he caused on his hands. Almost hear their screams.

Then he felt a hand on his arm, again he was met with Mc's eyes this time full of concern. "Hey, are you..." they paused choosing their words carefully "doing alright?" their voice was soft and Kuras could feel his tension slowly soothe away. "Yes, why do you ask?" They gestured towards his hands which instead of blood was covered in batter. He sighed "I apologize Mc It seems i got lost in my thoughts. I can buy more ingredients if you'd like?" Finally Mc smiled as they shook their head "No need to get more. The others need to learn to stop coming here only for free food." He laughed. Mc took the bowl and Kuras got up to leave the room to wash his hands. Before he left Mc's voice stopped him at the door "Kuras, you know you can talk to me if somethings bothering you?" He couldn't find it in himself to lie so instead he simply said "thank you". This was the side of him he would never show. A mistake he couldn't make.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Lost and Found (ao3):

Grandpa’s story of the goblin caves started out familiarly enough, but as he spoke, the story started to twist and change. New friends, new conversations, and new ways to use old items transformed the tale, and the young king discovered new ways to be brave in the dark tunnels beneath Daventry.

(4/?)

~*~

The cure-all was heavy in Graham’s hands. He examined it carefully. A little potion, an unassuming design, but it could do so much. He had to pray to all the stars above that no one else would get sick down here, since there was just a single dose. He had to get them all out before it went wrong. Well. Wronger. Er. More wrong. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a crease in the skin where the heavy crown sat.

Nothing for it. Decisions had to be made, had been made for him by circumstance. He walked to the Feys, clutching that bottle like it was life itself. And, as far as he could tell, it kind of was.

Bramble was moaning, clinging to Wente’s hand. “Can morning sickness last all day?” she asked, and she curled in on herself, mumbling, “Self hug. Self hug. Arghh, self hug!”

Wente rubbed her shoulders, his eyes glassy, and he glanced up at Graham. “We’re in a very bad place, Graham. I’m scared for her. If I had the strength, I’d rip these bars apart just to steal her a nibble. Please help her. I don’t...I don’t think she’ll make it another day.”

Graham held out the potion. “For Bramble. I think it’ll help.”

Wente took the cure-all with reverence. “Bramble, sweetling, a gift! From King Graham!” He helped her sit up, ever so slightly, just so she could drink. “That’s great, Nutmeg” he said fondly, rubbing circles on her back as she breathed. “Take it easy now.”

“What was that?” Bramble asked, her gasps relaxing into natural breathing. “It tasted so sweet, like honey.”

“Nothing’s so sweet as you, Gumdrop. How are you feeling?”

“Instantly better!” She swung her feet over the side of the cot. “I think I should stand,” she said. “I’ve been lying down for so long, I need a stretch.”

“Easy, easy,” Wente said, taking her arm. “Okay? Okay! Your color is so much better, baked bread instead of raw. Oh, dumpling!” He embraced her tightly.

Graham smiled as the bakers approached, holding hands. But Bramble hesitated, getting a good look at him for the first time. “Come closer,” she said, and she reached out between the bars, gently touching Graham’s jawline. He flinched back instinctively—he bore a smattering of purpling bruises along his cheek and jaw, blows from goblins during the initial capture, and blows from being tackled for all kinds of other reasons. Like not cleaning fast enough. Or watching salamanders. Or just...existing, really. “Majesty, these don’t look nice.”

“They’re fine. I’m fine,” he said, with as stiff and regal a bearing as he thought a king ought to have. At least she couldn’t see the other tender marks hidden beneath his clothes. Especially along his legs. His own weight against rough goblin hands during those upside-down shakedowns, ow. “You’re much more important. Better?”

“Even down in this pit of despair, I find hope. Bless you, Graham,” Bramble said.

“I don’t have anything I can give you, Majesty, but you’ve saved my family today.” Wente firmly shook Graham’s hand in lieu of a hug, since the bars still stood between them.  

“I don’t need anything in return, Wente.”

“No, no, there must be something...” he fumbled in his pockets, then pressed a single gold coin in Graham’s hand. “Here.”

“But, Wente—” Graham knew how desperately the Feys always counted their coins.

“I have no use for gold down here. Unless that’s chocolate. Is it a chocolate coin? I didn’t mean to give you a chocolate one.”

“No, no. It’s real.” And brand new, Graham realized, turning it over in his fingers. Freshly minted and shining. With his profile on it. He ran his finger across his own little golden nose, across the tiny imitation of the crown on his head. He swallowed hard, then jammed it deep in his pocket, unable to look at it further. Whisper mumbled something sleepily in his cloak.

“Well, either way, she’s definitely on the rise, thanks to you. When I’m outta here, I’ll give you a proper hug, too. It’s the yeast I can do.” Wente’s hand found Bramble’s again and squeezed it.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Graham said.

Bramble leaned against her husband. “You didn’t find an oil fryer in any of these cells, did you?” she asked, smiling shyly. “I should be eating for two, but I’m afraid I’m eating for none. I’m doing better, but Wente, we have to get out of here. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Hey, you once told me I could never trust a skinny baker, so I’m going to keep you in your most trustworthy state. I’m just coming up with ideas now. I promise, we’ll be out of here as soon as I can manage it. I just need to, uh. Do some things.”

Bramble nodded. “At the very least, if you can find some wood and flour, we can use this furnace to bake some simple prison sweetycakes for our fellow prisoners, and you too, of course.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Bramble said. “You’re so thin you could turn sideways and disappear, if you’ll forgive my crude observation, Majesty. I can’t imagine you’re holding up, either.”

“I’m still feeling good,” Graham lied.

“Mmm. Well. Either way. Thanks, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t need to call me that, you know,” Graham said. “Just Graham is fine.”

“Of course, Majesty,” Bramble said.

“I thought you were just going to leave us here,” Wente said. “Even with our extra little bun. I’m glad you’re still a compassionate fellow, Sire. You’re still doing you, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Thank you. Now.” He turned back to his wife, his mustache bright and high. “Lay your head down, Bramble. You need rest. Healthy, good rest, this time.”

“Oh, Buttercup, I’m all right. You don’t need to fuss.”

“It’s true. I’m a worrier. Come on, let’s lie down. Ooh, speaking of worrying, I hope we didn’t leave the oven on.”

“Wente, it’s fine.”

“I’m sure it is, sweet potato.”

“Carrot cake.”

“Cinnamon sugar.”

Graham left quietly while the bakers whispered pet names at each other.

~*~

“This bed might be my final resting place. Good thing I’m a stickler for thread count.”

“Don’t say that, Amaya.”

“Here lies the body of Amaya Blackstone. May she rest in Egyptian cotton sheets.”

“Come on, please.”

“Then get me outta here, kid.”

“I’m working on it.”

“What do you still need?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Graham sat back against the cell bars, his back to her, watching the goblin guards in the room. They ignored him. “So much. Food. A way to get everyone out of their cells safely. Food. A way out of the prison safely. Food. A way up to the surface safely. A different hat.” He pulled his crown off and set it on the ground near his feet. He curled over his knees, glaring at it, and he felt his eyes prickling with frustration. “It’s probably that hat’s fault. Whisper thinks so. Which means it’s my fault. Gods, it’s my fault.” He pressed his face against his knees, trembling.

“Oh, no, is Twinkle Toes down here, too?”

“Don’t sound so annoyed.” His voice, spoken to his knees, was muffled. He chose not to mention Whisper was actively snoring in his pocket.  

He felt Amaya sit down behind him, her back to his, bars between them. “Look, Graham, I’m not saying this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t king. But, it could have. These little hoarders have been taking my stuff for years. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve lost to them.”

He snorted. “Yeah, is this a prison, or a museum?”

“Someone needs to have an intervention with these hoarders,” Amaya agreed. “Unfortunately, they failed to hoard all the food. Look, kid, we have no time for emotions. But. Because it’s you, I guess maybe we should. Because you’re, ergh, emotional. So, I mean, like…no, stop trying to turn around, don’t look at me while I’m talking about this, stop it, Graham.” She punched his shoulder hard, and Graham turned back again.

Wente didn’t believe I was going to help them. Did he think I lost my compassion when I became king? Did I? Have I? What is this hat doing to me? His face, ohstars, his expression. He really thought I was going to give up on them, that I’d changed.

And what if there had been multiple people sick? With only one bottle of cure-all? What would I have done? Who am I to choose? Does this crown give me that right? Do I want that?

(“As an adventurer, I was great at taking quests. As a king, I struggled at giving orders. What if I made the wrong choice? What if I led the kingdom astray? What if I lost another friend to that dragon?”)

Graham said nothing, but he reached into his pocket and withdrew the coin, flipping it over and over in his hands. The Daventry royal crest on one side. His profile on the other. Twirling it over his knuckles, a trick his sister had taught him so long ago.

“I’m just trying to make the right decisions,” he mumbled. “How can you ever decide what to do?” Especially when the choices felt so important. Did wearing the crown mean he had to make choices he didn’t want to make?

(Grandpa looked sadly at his little mirror self, curled up and feeling so alone, despite Amaya’s warm presence. “But taking too long to choose something was hardly better than choosing nothing.”)

“Indecision and indigestion’ll both make you sick.”

“Pff, thanks.”

“What’s that thing you always say? This is a puzzle, work it out, or something? You just gotta lay out the pieces and find out what you’ve got, step by step, and focus on what’s in front of you. One step at a time. One choice at a time. It’s gonna suck, and you’re gonna doubt every move you make. And others might doubt you, too. Think you’re not doing what they need you to do, and get mad and impatient. But you gotta commit to your plan. And, more than that, you don’t have to do anything alone. You can ask for help.

“But you gotta take it one step at a time, first. When something’s this big, overwhelming, focus small. We’ll deal with the big mushy feely fault stuff later, okay?”

She sat up. “Speaking of mushy stuff, would you stop staring at me?” she snapped at one of the goblins, who was standing close to the two of them. Not listening to what they were talking about, but cooing over Amaya. “I’m not interested.”

“What’s he after?” Graham asked, pulling his crown back on. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt.

“They seem to be drawn to me. I wish I could make it stop. Go away! We are not friends! Go see Wente if you want a hug!”

“Aside from the goblin, I, uh. Thanks, Amaya. It’s…easy to get lost in here.”

“I’d make a great advisor, you know.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.”

“Give me your crown so I can throw it at you.”

(“I was wondering if I would see a rock break through her shell,” Grandpa said, as he and Gwendolyn watched the little mirror Amaya swat at the goblin outside her cell. She couldn’t quite reach; he kept skipping back a pace, then approaching again. He made little heart shapes at her with his claws, and she groaned, rolling her eyes. “I know I probably shouldn’t have just stood there watching that goblin try to woo Amaya, but I just couldn’t help myself.”

“I remember that from the first time you told this story a couple days ago,” Gwendolyn said. “I don’t think we need to go over it again.”

“Well, then, my little biscuit, I can skip it if you like. Now, what happened next…ah, yes, it was near the end of the day. Amaya had just reminded me that I didn’t have all the answers, but I had found great friends who would help me find them. But I couldn’t lose one of my friends to the goblins. I had to find a place to hide Whisper. Could you imagine if he tipped out of my pockets while the goblins were searching me?”)

Graham returned to the upper levels, which seemed to have fewer goblins, to find a place for Whisper. With their combined strength, they were able to push some weighted levers, giving them earlier access to some hidden rooms, including a very lovely mushroom garden, which took Graham’s breath away.

Every species of fungus Graham could imagine grew in that space, and many more that he had never thought to imagine. They glowed faintly in a huge array of colors. Even roses bloomed, in a cultivated pot. So many fairy tales required a single perfect red rose, Graham wasn’t surprised that they were here. Just surprised that they were able to grow. Someone cared a lot for that little collection of roses.

“Whisper is quite fond of this room!”

“It does seem safe,” Graham agreed. “Lots of places to hide if you need to. Oh, but, what about food? I can’t imagine these are edible.” He waved vaguely at the towering fungi.

“Don’t worry about Whisper! Whisper goes on frequent fast days, to keep this trim physique! Besides, Whisper doubts you have any special energy drink powder in your pockets.” He posed dramatically amongst the mushrooms. “You worry about yourself and the others. In the meantime, Whisper awaits your command!” He got distracted looking at the roses. “Oooh, look at those. Whisper wonders if the lovely Miss Amaya would like…hmm….”

Graham had one more thing to do before the end of the day, and it involved Amaya, a sword hilt with a frying pan attached to it, and a hapless goblin’s face.

“Oooh, shank you very much, Graham,” Amaya said, looking at the sword-pan combo. Then, she turned to the goblin that had been flirting with her all day, screamed, “My name is Amaya Blackstone! You stole my mattress! Prepare to die!” and thumped the goblin over the head with the frying pan with a loud twangy ring.

He scooped up another coin the goblin had been holding (two in hand, four more to go for his black market prize) before being scooped up himself by a goblin. He was dragged back to his room and flung against the far wall, bouncing off a protruding pipe and earning another bruise. He was yelled at in goblinese, presumably for starting a fight in Amaya’s cell. The little goblin kept pointing and standing with his hands on his hips, which might have looked threatening if he wasn’t so short.

Graham suffered the indignity of another upside-down shakedown, clinging to the crown with both hands so it wouldn’t fall off and dent as goblins held his legs and shook him wildly. But while the crown was safe, the shovel clanged out of his pocket. He winced—he’d forgotten about it entirely. The goblins dropped him and grabbed at the shovel, perhaps assuming he could use it to dig his way out. Never mind how long that would take against bare rock, but still. They hurried away, shovel in their hands, and Graham clutched the bars on his door as he watched them disappear into darkness.

Still. That meant they hadn’t noticed anything else he’d been carrying. Perhaps none of it would have caught their eye, perhaps it would have. Fake magic beans, Whisper’s portraits, Acorn’s flowers, plant growth potion, coins…sure, it was mostly junk, but it was all he had, and that made it a treasure trove.

“All right,” he said to the salamanders, trying to force confidence into his voice. He rubbed his side and his new bruise distractedly. “Newton, I think we’ve done good today. I think we should rest up.” He glanced at his little camp bed, which had another salamander on the pillow. “I know, Sally! We were super-productive, right?” He ran a finger over the magic beans, which glittered especially brightly in salamander light, and yawned hugely. “Well. I probably shouldn’t keep talking to the newts. I guess I’ll go to bed.”

[cantstoplovingjude]

To Steal You Away: Ellis Twilight Ch.1

This is from Ikemen Villains EN, Cybird owns everything.

The platform of Paddington Station was packed today.

Ellis and I wove our way through the crowd as we walked toward the doors of the passenger train.

Ellis: "Is your suitcase too heavy? Want me to carry it for you?"

Kate: "Thanks, Ellis, but I can manage on my own."

Ellis: "Are you sure?"

(Aw, he looks a little disappointed.)

(Oh, I know!)

Kate: "We have some time once we get on the train. Should we buy something to eat?"

Kate: "Here, how about you hold my suitcase while I do that."

Ellis: "Sure, of course."

Obviously, Ellis and I weren't going on a trip for leisure.

We were on a mission to investigate a smuggling organization based in York, a city quite far from London.

Originally, Harrison and I were supposed to go on this mission together.

However, another urgent mission with William came up, so that was where Harry was now.

I was told this morning that Ellis would be going to York with me instead.

Ellis: "Oh, that bread over there looks delicious!"

Ellis eagerly pointed out the food he'd spotted.

Kate: "Your favorite is baguettes, right?"

Ellis: "You remembered. That's really sweet of you."

Kate: "Of course I did. Wow, there's so many different kinds. What should we get...?"

Ellis: "Heheh..."

Kate: "What?"

Ellis: "Nothing, it's just cute to see you smiling so much."

Ellis: "So cute, in fact, that maybe I should just buy the whole bunch..."

Kate: "Hey, that's not fair! I want to buy a bunch too!"

==========

The moment we settled into our seats, we dug into our freshly-baked bread.

The decadent aroma filled the cabin and paired with the beautiful scenery out the window, making me bubble with joy.

(Come to think of it, it's been a long time since I took a trip...)

Ellis's gentle voice called me out of my reveries.

Ellis: "How's the bread?"

Kate: "It's delicious! How's yours?"

Ellis: "Mine's delicious too. You made a great decision."

Ellis: "I'm glad I asked Victor and Jude to go on this mission with you at the last minute."

Kate: "...Huh?"

Ellis: "Jude did say I'd have to work more hours when I get back to make up for it..."

Kate: "Then why did you go to all that trouble to come on this trip with me?"

Ellis: "Oh, there was just something I wanted to check on with you."

Kate: "What's that?"

Ellis: "Tell me, Kate... who are you happier with? Harry or me?"

His question was so unexpected my eyes widened like saucers.

Kate: "Why are you bringing up Harrison now?"

Ellis: "Well, you spend a lot of time with him, right?"

He was right; I spent most of my time with Harrison since becoming Fairytale Keeper.

(He's the one I rely on the most out of all the members of Crown.)

But I wasn't sure how to respond. Just then, I heard Ellis's quiet voice again.

Ellis: "No matter what your answer is, I'll make you happy."

Ellis: "If you're happier with Harry, then I'll support you."

Ellis: "And if you're happier with me... then I'll stay by your side."

Ellis rose from his seat across from me and then sat down beside me.

(Huh? I have no idea where this is coming from.)

Ellis: "Just think about it today, and tell me at the end of our trip."

Ellis: "Tell me who you're happier with."

Ellis was always incredibly kind to me, and treated me like he'd treat his girlfriend.

He was sweet, considerate, and affectionate.

But he was kind to everyone, so that didn't necessarily mean I was special.

(So even if he's asking me like this, I shouldn't jump to conclusions... right?)

Maybe it was like asking if you wanted lemon or sugar in your tea. Just a simple preference.

Kate: "Okay. I'll think about it during our trip."

Ellis: "And I'll do my best to make you happy."

Kate: "And I'll do my best not to cause any trouble for you."

Ellis: "Even though you don't like scary things that much?"

Kate: "Are you teasing me?"

Ellis: "Haha. Was it obvious? Oh, you've got crumbs on your mouth."

He reached out and wiped something from the corner of my mouth, then licked his fingers.

The sudden contact made my heart skip a beat, but he just smiled faintly at me.

Ellis: "Hm, do you think you'd call this time between us an illicit love affair?"

Kate: "What?! No!"

Ellis: "Hehe. Are you sure?"

I spent the train ride at the mercy of Ellis's teasing, failing to hide the blush on my cheeks, and then we finally arrived in York.

Ellis: "We're here. Let's go, Kate."

==========

(Wow...!)

Unlike the familiar hustle and bustle of London, York had more of a countryside feel to it.

It seemed like time passed more peacefully here. The scenery was refreshing and just standing here felt exciting.

Ellis: "...I'm glad."

Kate: "Hm?"

Ellis: "You just look really happy."

(Oops, I forgot we're on a mission. This is no time for fun! Get your game face on, Kate.)

Crown had received information that a prolific smuggling operation had a base in this city.

The smugglers were lining their pockets by secretly importing illegal drugs and selling them to other countries.

Our mission was to go around to three locations and investigate them...

...to identify which one was their base.

(This is a short mission to make sure they don't catch onto the fact that we're investigating them.)

However, the negative part about being so far away was that we couldn't call for help immediately.

At any rate, I braced myself and decided to take on the challenge.

Just then, Ellis reached out to take my hand.

Ellis: "Shall we walk around for a while?"

Kate: "Th-that would be nice, but we have a mission to do."

Ellis: "Oh, there's plenty of time for that. Can't we walk for just a little while?"

(Argh, those eyes... Why does he have to be so cute?)

I silently waved the white flag of surrender as he squeezed my hand.

Kate: "Will you promise me that it'll just be for a little while?"

Ellis: "I promise."

Kate: "Okay, then."

Ellis: "Hehe. I feel like a little kid asking for a favor."

Ellis: "There's a crowd gathered over there. Shall we go see what's happening?"

He started walking, still holding my hand.

Despite what he said, his large hand and the tall figure that strode in front of me certainly didn't seem very childish.

(Hm?)

Ellis: "What is it, Kate?"

End Ch.1

[astarionsilverbough]

what we are, what we need (they're different things)

[a deleted scene from the land of gods and monsters; takes place directly after chapter xiii ns//fw - raphael has a rare moment alone with a stolen treasure.

title from non believer by london grammar, which is THE gaphael song for this fic]

It's a show of great impulsivity, stealing the robe.

All told, it's incredibly foolish. If his lord husband finds it, Raphael won't be the only one that suffers for it. He toes a dangerous line already - allowing Gale Dekarios to sweep him off to his own personal pocket dimension was also shamefully impulsive and no small risk.

But in this, Raphael has become his own worst enemy - hasn't he?

The Cambion looks down at the robe he'd so impulsively stolen from Gale Dekarios and runs the soft violet fabric through his hands. He settles on the seat in front of the window in his darkened study. It overlooks the ocean tonight, the great waves crashing against the shores of the Storm Coast.

It's cold. No matter; he can still feel the heat of Dekarios' big hands on his face hours after the fact. Raphael traces the intricate embroidery on the robe's sleeves with nimble fingertips and lets his mind wander, recalling the way Dekarios' thumbs had felt as they swept over his cheekbones, beneath his stinging eyes.

He thinks of how warm he'd been when Dekarios gathered him close to the strength of his chest, nose pressed against Raphael's cheek as they swapped the air in their lungs and absolutely did not let themselves indulge in a kiss Raphael cannot stop thinking about.

A kiss that never was.

A kiss that never could be.

The way Dekarios touches him is enough to make a mindless waif of him. What would a kiss do?

What would he taste like, Raphael wonders - would he taste the way his magic smelled, mulling spices and baked bread? Or would it be all raw, mortal heat, a thing Raphael is so unfamiliar with he cannot even conjure up something close to compare it to.

It's cold.

Raphael rises and pulls the robe on over his thin white shirt. He toes out of his shoes and settles back on the window-seat, luxuriating in the solitude his study offers. Turning his head, the Cambion gathers the collar of the robe and brings it to his nose.

It smells like Gale's magic - but also the man himself, the natural musk of his skin and whatever floral soap he used for his wild hair. He imagines the man wandering about his tower in naught but this robe and his gut clenches the way it does whenever Dekarios looks at him like he's something worth being wounded for.

All this yearning - what had Dekarios made of him? Yearning was for mortals, for fools who sought to waste their time on meaningless partnerships that never truly withstood the test of time.

And yet.

Oh, how he revels in the sting of it! The suffering of it, the aching agony of wanting an impossible thing! Feeling rebellious and so very angry, Raphael tips back towards the memory of breathing in the air from Gale Dekarios' lungs. He recalls the strength of the man's thighs against his knees, the heat of his body and the way he'd traced Raphael's lips with the pad of his thumb after Raphael had uttered his name.

After Raphael had gone and made him real.

He thinks of the kiss that never was.

He thinks of a kiss that will never come. The way Dekarios would keep it so tender at first. The way Raphael would not know how to give everything he wanted to.

He thinks of the way Gale might gently coax his mouth apart to chase the smoke over his tongue and Raphael's latent, long-ignored desire makes itself known between his legs. He breathes a bit faster now, tense thighs flung akimbo over the window-seat; the memory of Dekarios' warm knuckles against his bruised throat rips through him and Raphael bites his lip to suppress a groan.

What would that hand feel like armoring his neck instead?

The kiss would become an inferno between their tongues. Would Gale pull him into his lap? Would he draw Raphael over his thighs, one big hand cradling the base of his spine to keep him steady as the heat kept rising?

He undoes the top button of his fine, high-waisted trousers. Heart thundering, Raphael feels all the world like a bloody fucking teenager again as he shyly slides a hand into his breeches, questing fingers probing down over the mound of his groin.

He's so wet it's soaked through the crotch of his pants.

"Fuck," he utters thickly, slumped back against the windowsill. He can feel his fucking heartbeat in the swollen bulb of his engorged clit. It stands erect amongst the slippery petals of his cunt, so hard it almost hurts to touch.

In his imagination, Dekarios' big hand cups him through his filthy trousers and Raphael turns his head to press his brow to the cool window.

Panting, he thumbs gently over the base of his clit and the shaft pulses. If he isn't careful, this will be over abysmally quickly. Reaching up, Raphael braces himself in the windowsill with his free hand and settles back, fingers parting to slide through the unfamiliar folds of his own cunt.

It's already rare that he indulges like this. It's not often he finds reason to.

But as he probes into his own entrance with a hesitant finger, he thinks about what it might be like to feel Gale Dekarios' stubble on his throat and his cunt clenches. A small moan bullies its way out of Raphael and he tries to turn it into a growl. His treacherous fingers slip over the bulb of nerves at the peak of his folds and his self-control frays further.

What would that stubble feel like between his thighs?

"Huh -" the Cambion whines.

In his mind's eye, he watches as Dekarios slides down his body, stormy eyes commanding his focus so he can watch the way his clever tongue unfurls. It's drenched in saliva, as if Dekarios' mouth had been watering in anticipation of it; when that silver tongue meets Raphael's clit, he nearly shouts.

The Devil writhes in the window, panting hard and fast as his thumb sweeps rhythmically over his sore clit. How would those calloused hands feel on his hips? Would Dekarios be brave enough to leave bruises the shape of his fingertips on Raphael's golden skin in the effort to keep him still while the mage devoured him?

Would he bruise Raphael in the effort to keep him still after his first climax, when he'd be sensitive and overstimulated, clit still swollen but so fucking raw as Dekarios' unrelenting tongue coaxed yet another orgasm out of him?

"Fuck, fuck," the Cambion groans, deep voice thick with a desperate need for release; "ah - fuck, uh -"

'Gorgeous,' murmurs Gale Dekarios in his most private imaginings; 'gods, but you're a sight.'

Desperate now, Raphael reaches down with his free hand to pull back the hood of his clit and strokes the bundle of nerves with his other in precise, glancing sweeps that drive the heat of a precious, long-awaited need higher and higher into his chest.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, head tipped back, face bathed in false moonlight, "oh, oh - yes, fuck -"

His thighs tense. The pressure at the base of his clit is almost too much to bear. Raphael isn't sure he wants to let it dissipate. It hurts in a way that makes him want to laugh and snarl all at once.

It makes him want to cry out in the shape of Gale Dekarios' name.

'Let me see you,' he'd say, just as Raphael was getting close; 'oh, let me see you, Raphael, that's it.'

With a series of ragged moans, Raphael strokes himself through an absolutely wrenching climax. A temporary fever grips him; his thighs quiver, toes curling as his cunt seizes, slick dripping from his core. He cups the twitching shaft of his clit as if to protect it from the onslaught of his own hand and exhales a whimper against the window.

'Say my name.'

Raphael strains against the windowsill. Still panting, he opens his eyes and idly slides his thumb through the mess between his thighs.

Outside, the sea crashes against the shore of the Storm Coast where the nautiloid fell. A glimmer of purple light taunts him from deeper in the crags above the ocean.

"Gale," he murmurs faintly.

It's so cold.

The robe smells like mulling spices, freshly baked bread, and the heat of a mortal man's breakable flesh. Raphael shuts his eyes, throat growing thick with an emotion he never prepared himself for.

"What have you made of me, Gale Dekarios?" he whispers with a bitterness he does not mean, tears burning along the seam of his eyelids. "And what manner of ruin will you bring me to next?"

But in the end, he is his own worst enemy in this.

As he has been in all things.

So the real question was - what ruin would he bring upon Gale Dekarios?

And could he live with what he's done in the aftermath?

For the first time in his long life, Raphael isn't sure. The Cambion curls up on the seat on the sill of the window overlooking the Storm Coast where the nautiloid fell and watches the purple light flickering in the crags until his eyes finally slide shut and he falls into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

And out There, not on the Storm Coast but somewhere in a mountain pass, Gale Dekarios wakes with the taste of cherries and wine on his lips and spunk drying on his stomach.

The golden wolf's claw Raphael had given him gleams where it rests on his bedroll beside his head. The mage turns onto his side and carefully gathers the pendant up in one hand, looping the delicate chain around his wrist.

He presses a kiss to the claw and murmurs, "keep safe. Please."

Unseen to the mage, the claw almost seems to shimmer just a bit brighter.

And back Here, in the study where Raphael sleeps dreamlessly on a window-seat overlooking the violent sea, a tiny flame flickers to life in the hearth.

The fire is lavender and smells of mulling spices and freshly baked bread.

[boomboxboi]

Reminder!

My asks are ✨open✨ and I also am open to roleplaying some JoJo.

Anyways!!!

What special dish is each GangStar known for? 🍝

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno loves to cook.

But, he’s not a very good cook.

One time, he tried to make his world famous minestrone.

Everyone ended up with food poisoning.

No one has the heart to tell him that his food sucks.

He just gets so excited to cook for others so they just grin and bear it.

Everyone dreads when Bruno cooks.

They suggest that they go out to eat, instead.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio isn’t a huge fan of cooking.

He eats raw potatoes for a reason.

But if he has to cook, it’s always just bulk frozen foods that you heat up in the oven.

One time, he made bulk lasagna.

That was the most effort he put into a meal.

He does, however, enjoy making a good cocktail every now and then.

There is artistry behind that!

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo’s a huge fan of eggs.

He can make any type of egg your heart would desire.

He also taught Narancia how to make scrambled eggs (which Narancia called Scraggle Eggs).

He particularly enjoys making veggie omelettes.

Mushrooms, onions, green peppers, and garlic with cheddar cheese.

He makes it at 3am when he thinks no one is awake.

There is always someone awake.

Narancia Ghirga

He can’t cook.

He tries but he grew up stealing his food and then eating from the garbage.

He’s not a picky eater, because of this.

In fact, he eats a lot.

Bruno taught him table manners and tried to teach him to cook.

Fugo had to un-teach Narancia those atrocities.

Narancia can now make ‘scraggled eggs’ and cinnamon toast.

Guido Mista

A true chef.

He claims to not be a picky eater.

But he enjoys quality food.

He is fond of roasting meat, in particular.

He makes an amazing whole roasted chicken.

Whenever he cooks, everyone is extremely satisfied.

He has tried to ‘help’ Bruno cook (aka do the cooking).

But Bruno somehow always manages to ruin the dish.

He looks away for .02 seconds and then Bruno does something and it’s immediately destroyed.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno can’t cook.

He also thinks that Bruno’s cooking is fine.

He was the only one not to get food poisoning from the minestrone (dubbed monsterstrone by the others).

Abbacchio swears this means that Giorno is a demon.

Giorno does make a good salad, though.

As long as he doesn’t have to cook.

He can also make bread.

But that is baking.

[sweet-honey-tears]

3 Wishes

Tanjiro x fem!Reader in Aladdin Au

Hello! Long time no see! So this was a request for Tanjiro x femReader in an Aladdin Au. Imma deal with you all- I haven’t watched the movie in years and kinda hate Disney- don’t ask. So I hope you all enjoy and I’m sorry about the wait and how… off this story line is. This is my first time EVER writing for Demon Slayer soo…. Advice is welcomed.

Tanjiro counts his stars when he looks at you. The princess of the empire who somehow fell in love with a boy who barely scraped by.

His honesty and pure heart never allowed him to steal like others in his position, and he seemed to always give away what little food he got.

"His parents would be proud." The old ladies would say.

The town believes that's why you fell in love with it. A Jem in the city of filth and decay. There was fear in the streets, something you hadn't been aware of till the day you traveled there. You had been being followed by a group, likely those under Muzan. Yet, you only knew once it was too late- or so you thought.

"Are you okay, Miss?" His big red eyes held nothing but kindness despite the crimson color. "Ah! I'm so sorry!" He pleaded with surprise, his arm leaving your waist from where he pulled you away from the group. Hiding the two of you in a small ally.

From that day, Tanjiro seemed to find you, or you him.

He always saw you dressed as the citizens you ruled. Yet.. they were always clean. You seemed to… kept? Too unaware of the dangers to truly be from around the area.

"Do you work in the palace?"

"W-what?"

"You smell like like dried flowers and jasmine" Your face made him regret his words. "AH, I have a really good noise! Like I can smell the bread being baked down the street right now!"

A servant at the palace. Yes… that's what you were.

"What is it like there?"

"Smothering, but.. It's a good life. I'm grateful for where I am." Especially after seeing the truth of the kingdom you were destined to rule.

Months passed, and you met his closest friends and even his little sister. It all worked until Muzan found out you were unguarded walking around the streets.

"Please stay behind me." "Tanjiro!" "I'll be okay."

"Come now, princesses, it's time to return." The voice caused your skin to crawl. You knew this man, his white hair and colorful eyes. He was a monster.

"Pr-princesses?… No, it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to go!"

You were wrong, Tanjiro. His Eyes weren't like blood; they were like fire. Blood is too sticky to compare to the beauty of his soul.

——Skip——

Tanjiro had been lucky to find the lamp and lucky to love you. Three wishes: Your safety, wealth…

"Tanjiro!" You had screamed, seeing the male limp on the ground as Muzan laughed. What had gone wrong? You had been stabbed, yet the blade seemed to cut nothing; only your clothes showed you had been stabbed.

"I wish for her to always be protected."

"Young master, whatever she becomes afflicted with, you will instead."

"That's okay, as long as she's safe."

He had risen in status, wishing for wealth and handing it out as quickly as he received it.

"Now I can be with you if that's what you want."

"Ha! I see. How pathetic." Muzan had grabbed you, trapping your form against his own. "If I can't harm her, then I'll take her. You'll live enough to know everything you wish was in vain. Even in death, you'll mourn. You're pathetic."

—-Skip—-

How strange and horrific, watching the man melt into a pool of black as his soul left his body. Pulled from the air and trapped in the lamp. A fever dream, one would say, but it wasn't.

"Tanjiro!"

You grasped the boy's battered body as he gave you a sweet smile. "You're okay, I'm glad."

Tanjiro survived-a slight limp and scar is the only thing left. He was your right hand, your husband. Loved by the people and generous beyond words.

"Be free, enjoy the world."

"I wish you the best of luck."

@princeasimdiya12