#printed cookies boxes

[juliahope]

𝘾𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙢 𝘾𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙚 𝘽𝙤𝙭𝙚𝙨 𝙎𝙩𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙁𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙋𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙏𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙨

Enhance your baked goods with our custom cookie boxes. Designed to meet your brand’s specifications, these boxes combine style and practicality, offering a distinctive presentation while keeping your cookies fresh. Perfect for bakeries and special events, our personalized options help your cookies make a lasting impression.

𝐒𝐊𝐔; VPCP13

[packagingmania]

Adorable Custom Cookies boxes to boost your sale:

The major purpose of Cookies boxes is to draw attention to objects and brand image. Firms may develop a strong market presence using the unique standard Custom Cookies boxes. To help propagate a positive brand image, brands may print their logo and build these boxes in a unique way. owing to the fact that people are at a high in the world of the world of the world of the world of the world of the world of the present.

[possiblytracker]

in case anyone was wondering how my new years day is going i stayed up til 6am to wish some friends a happy new year, woke up at 3 in the afternoon in a fugue state feeling like the flu was back in full force, fought that shit off for my life with several rounds of painkillers and packs of cough drops, and still managed to spend the entire afternoon/evening so vaguely exhausted and spacy i just tried to eat dog treats thinking they were christmas cookies

[tribridpackaging]

Tribrid Packaging 

We at Tribrid have years of experience working with brands across all niches be it beauty, healthcare, tech, etc. Our years of experience combined with the latest cookie boxes printing technology will allow you to get the best design and packaging solutions out there for product boxes wholesale. So what are you waiting for? Book a call or request a quote to get started today.

https://tribridpackaging.com/custom-cookie-boxes/

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

contents: fluff. established relationship. found family. megumi takes up baking and it takes you back to your teenage years when a certain white-haired someone pined for you. 1.4k wc.

Nine year old Megumi has a crush on someone. You were pleasantly surprised when he asked you to take him to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients, and you inquired if there was a special occasion or a school cooking project as you both walked along the aisle and collected the items on his list that he prepared beforehand.

Your heart melts when you learn that he was planning to gift the pretty girl in his class something homemade, and he decided on butter cookies because she mentioned in passing that it was one of her favorite snacks. You think it’s incredibly sweet that Megumi came up with the idea himself, and even more so that he wanted to set aside a weekend to create something completely from scratch with his own two hands when purchasing a square tin would’ve been much easier.

It certainly reminds you of an insufferable yet equally lovable sorcerer that’s way too tall for his own good with too bright blue eyes that make you forget everything around you if you stare into them a little too long. When you both were just two young teenagers pining after each other and he showed up with a white pastry box hidden behind his back on a summer day, with the strawberries in season and nurtured and harvested to perfection. You smile at the pleasant memory before forcing yourself back to reality.

When you are getting ready to pay for the things you and Megumi placed on the conveyor belt, he stops you and pulls out his Digimon wallet (courtesy of Gojo’s taste in presents) and explains he wants to purchase it with his own savings and be able to say that this gift is entirely by him without receiving any help from others.

You almost had to hold back a tear because when did this boy become so sweet? You suppose he always was this sweet and thoughtful, it just took a bit of time and some trust for him to fully warm up to you and Gojo despite the circumstances with his family and almost being sold off like a pawn to the Zenin clan. And now he has a home where him and his sister could feel like they belong and be surrounded with people that he could depend on because at the end of the day Megumi is just a boy much too young to be growing up too fast.

You announce your return home to Gojo and Tsumiki with the soft thud of the grocery bags being placed on the kitchen counter, and Megumi scurries into his bedroom to fetch the printed recipe he tucked away in a drawer. You carefully take out each item from the bags to place on the surface for him to get started, and white tufts of hair come into your peripherals and Gojo greets you with a cheeky grin.

“Angel, you’re back.” His hand falls on your hip and he softly pecks your lips when you turn your head toward him. He does a quick scan of the contents in front of you, and he decides you must be some kind of mind reader or his telepathic messages have finally reached you after several days now. “Aw baby~ Don’t tell me you’re baking something for me? How did you know I was craving—”

“Not me.” You shake your head and cut him off promptly. “Megumi.” And at the mention of his name, the young raven-haired boy enters the kitchen with a loose paper in his grip. You offer him a polite smile before addressing that everything he needs is on the counter and point to where the baking equipment are, and if he has any questions or concerns then you’ll be in the next room with Gojo as you drag your boyfriend by the arm to give Megumi his privacy.

“You see, Satoru, our Megumi here has a crush on someone. And he’s taken it upon himself to bake her cookies!” You say just above a whisper, a proud smile lining your lips and Gojo arches a curious brow. You catch a peek between the threshold that separates the kitchen and sitting area with Gojo looming behind you and find Megumi checking off the ingredients and looking over the instructions. He’s being thorough, that’s a good start.

“Megumi, eh? You know, I’m a little surprised he’s crushing at all. He’s quite the serious kid.”

You huff at him softly. “Well, serious or not, I think everyone is allowed to have crushes. Besides, doesn’t this remind you of something? Like that time you baked me a strawberry shortcake because strawberries were my favorite?” You look back up at him, and in your gaze there was always a sort of sweet and dreamy expression that never fails to make his heart swell three times too big.

“Ah.” Gojo chuckles, and his mind drifts back to the fond memories of his own youth, when he too used to try his hand at baking sweets in the hopes of impressing you. He remembered how long it took and how many attempts he made since he had no prior experience. There was a lot of flour and eggshells, and maybe he did set the oven on fire… but the moment he saw your face light up with your beautiful smile it was worth all the trouble and the mess. “That was the cake that changed it all for us, huh?” His arms move to your waist and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You nod and hum affectionately, your hands reaching up to wrap around his neck though with his height he had to bend down slightly. “That’s one way to put it. But as much as I appreciate the sweet gesture, I am so glad you left the baking to me since then.”

“You’re still teasing me about that to this day?” He playfully nips the sensitive spot on your neck causing you to giggle and lightly shove him away. “But hey, I never claimed to be a master chef. A little bird told me that maybe a homemade cake from me would be the thing to win your heart.”

“Well, I hope you know it was more than the cake that won my heart.”

“Yeah, I know it was my good looks and charm, you can’t get enough of me.” Gojo teases, peppering kisses over your shoulders and neck before pulling back just enough so his smirk comes into your view. “Enlighten me then. Since I still don’t have a clue why an Angel like you fell for a great catch such like myself.”

You playfully roll your eyes at his jokes, and you mull it over for a long moment to purposely keep him in anticipation. There are so many reasons that made you love Satoru Gojo back then, and every day you find new things to love about him. But for now the two qualities that come to mind should suffice for an answer. “Maybe it’s because I found you funny. And cute sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Cute most times, I think.” Gojo quips, and he gently pinches your cheeks. “And of course, my sense of humor is legendary. Who else can make you laugh like I do, hmm?”

“Alright, I think that’s enough flattery for you in one day. Any more and I’m afraid your enormous ego might burst.” There’s a teasing lilt in your voice, and suddenly the air around you feels sweeter as Gojo brings you closer to him and kisses your cheeks before resting his forehead against yours.

“But you know I love you, right?” He says in a much softer tone. “I might tease you a lot and act like an idiot sometimes, but I do appreciate you still being here with me through it all. Without you, I don’t want to imagine what my life would be like without you. You make me a better person, you know that?” He tenderly cradles the side of your face and gazes lovingly into your eyes before there’s a flash of his dimples and a boyish giggle. “And the fact you think I’m cute is icing on the cake. Pun intended.”

You groan softly but the laughter that came shortly after is one of genuine affection. “I'm gonna go check on Megumi.” Before you turn on your heel, you plant a big smooch on his cheek then you’re gone the next second. He stands there, grinning from ear to ear as he rubs the spot you kissed like he still was (and he still is) the lovesick boy just a few years back.

꒰ note ᰔ the idea where megumi takes after gojo in some ways really squeezes my heart and that’s what inspired this little piece. ꒱

[luveline]

hotch’s daughter and him looking thru baby n childhood pics n realizing just how much they missed angst (her missing out on having a present father n him missing out on raising her)

Aaron’s winded when he sees you that morning. You’re smiling, in sweatpants and a hoodie with a bag on your shoulder that promises an overnight stay, but what hits hardest is the way you light up when he opens the front door. He sees you coming through the window and can’t wait for you to knock. 

“Hey, honey, you’re early!” he says. 

“I know,” you say, stopping just a paving stone away, “but I got this magic jigsaw for Jack that I thought he’d like. Once you complete it you can move it around and create a new jigsaw in the middle.” You smile. “You look happy. Good breakfast?” 

“I’m happy to see you, that’s all.” 

You cross that last step. “Thanks, dad.” You bite your bottom lip, ever so slightly bashful. 

He literally couldn’t be happier. “Did you eat?” 

Aaron brings you inside. Jack is already awake and eating his second breakfast in a meandering picking by the TV. 

You love being a big sister. It’s all the more endearing. “Hey, babe. What are you upto?” you ask. 

Jack whirls and sends a couple of grapes flying. “Oh my gosh yes!” he says, to your laughter and Aaron’s disbelief. He races across the rug in a blur of blue pyjamas to wrap himself around your thighs, face pressed to your hip. “You’re here!” 

“We said Saturday sleepover, right?” 

You get down on your knees to hug him. Your arms around his back, your face to his, you aren’t as rough as you could be —how do sisters hug their brothers? Aaron doesn’t know. But you rub his back in a gentle up and down and lower your voice to say hello. “Hi, Jack. You’re happy to see me?” 

“I’m so happy.” 

“Me too, I’m so happy. I brought you something.” 

“A present?” Jack asks, leaning out of your arms. 

“Not really, it’s for me and you, but I brought you cookies too.” 

“Dad,” Jack says, “can we have some?” 

Aaron holds up a finger. One cookie is enough sugar for the morning. “We can have a couple more after dinner tonight, okay?” 

You take the cookies from your bag, a huge box of palm-sized cookies, chocolate chips shaped like stars, the best kind of indulgence from the bakery not far from here. Aaron catches a look at the inside of your bag, spying a slim white photo album against your weekly medication divider and the plastic wrapped jigsaw puzzle. 

“What’s the album?” he asks. 

“Oh.” You slide your thumb along the sticker that seals the cookies and crack them open for Jack to take his spoils. “They’re my baby photos.” 

He stills. “They are?” 

“And some of me growing up.” You tip your head at him and smile. A little shy, more happy. “I was thinking about Jack, how we both do that chokey laugh when we’re tired, and I wondered if we had any other similarities. And then I realised you’ve never actually seen any of my photos. Would you want to look at them?” 

“Please,” he says immediately. “Yes. I’d love to see them.” 

You lay the album out on the coffee table. Aaron sits beside you on the couch, and Jack sits on his feet, and together you look through your baby album one page at a time. At first, he’s quiet. He has no idea what to say. You are a beautiful kid, you’re perfect, little baby you with a pacifier on your tummy, or in the summer sun with mud on your little hands, wearing a pink dress with matching canvas shoes and a smile so wide he can see all your baby teeth, or sitting beside a fish tank with a party hat on. 

His favourite is a photograph of you that’s been printed oddly, more sepia than colour, where you look to be eight or nine years old. He can see everything in your adult face right there in ink, your smile, the trusting warmth in your eyes when you love the person it’s directed at. Maybe he’s full of himself, but he swears it’s his smile, and Jack’s smile. Hotchner through and through. 

“I wish I’d seen you in person,” he says quietly. “Just once.” 

You tease the photograph from the plastic sleeve and offer it to him. “Sorry.” 

He doesn’t want you to be sorry. Aaron takes the photograph and stares at it against his leg, your little face, your hands behind your back, your left knee wrapped in a bandage. “We missed out on so much,” he says softly. 

“I know.” 

He places the photo on the armrest, precious and needing a frame. You melt into his arm as he wraps it around your shoulder, and you let him kiss your temple, even if he doesn’t deserve to do it yet. He’s polite about it, he knows his sincerity might feel gratuitous to you —after all, he missed out on so much. But you don’t go rigid at his affection, you just breathe. 

“I would’ve loved to have seen it,” he says, too old for tears, and yet a warmth collects behind his eyes anyhow. He won’t cry, only the feeling is there and aching as you move back and give him a typical Hotchner smile. Like he’s being silly, and like you love him. 

“It’ll be okay,” you say, “you’ve got, what, a good ten years left? You can see my golden years.” 

He laughs suddenly. “Ten? How old do you think I am?” 

“You act like you’re nearing seventy.” 

“Oh, I do?” 

You roll your eyes and lean across the photo album for another cookie. “You do! I wish we didn’t have to wait so long to meet, but it’s not like I’m going anywhere. You won’t find me so charming in a few years, so don’t worry. Now, could you leave me and Jack alone for a bit? I’m trying to sneak him another cookie and you’re getting in the way.” 

Aaron hugs you whether you want him to or not, a tight squeeze that you always seem to enjoy, before doing as you’ve asked, promising to find the jigsaw board in the garage so you and Jack can start the newest one. 

“Did you miss him?” he hears Jack asks inexplicably. 

“Who, dad?” Aaron watches you from the door that leads into the garage. He can only see your hands from this angle, your left one landing on Jack’s shoulder for a small squeeze. “I missed him so much you couldn’t believe it.” 

“Thank you for the cookie.” 

“You’re welcome! I missed you too, you know? I have to make up for all my lost time being your big sister. Here, you can hide this one in your pocket, if you want. Just don’t forget it’s there.” 

[cinellieroll]

☆ random obey me headcanons part 2!

asmodeus, levi and barbatos ♡

part one (lucifer, mammon and simeon)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor, solomon)

part four (satan and diavolo)

cw: some small nsfw on asmo's part :p

small note: thank you so much for the likes and reblogs! i never expected such a large majority of people to enjoy my content so it's very dear to me. once again, thank you!

☆ asmodeus:

- kinda bad at cooking. his way of slicing and dicing vegetables is very mediocre if not clumsy looking. there are days where his cooking is acceptable and days where it's to seasoned or too bland (always convinces himself its good tho and posts it on his devilgram)

- though he's kinda bad at cooking, his baking skills are okay! his favorite pastry to make are cookies because he can design them the most.

- "ofcourse mc! you'll always be the first one to try my desserts! unless you want to taste something else?~ ♡"

- he has a collection of sanrios, hironos and sonny angels in his room. ESPECIALLY sonny angels. crazy thing is he always gets them for free from his fans and its always the limited edition ones

- he really enjoys watching old movies from the human world especially the romcoms. mean girls, notting hill, pitch perfect. he will pester you to rewatch it with him even though you guys have seen it multiple times already.

- he keeps a small jewelry box in his room but instead of jewelry its full of pics of you and him and the gifts you give him. theres some pics in there where the other brothers were cut or crossed out so it'll be just you and him lmfao

- he is a yandere and i stand by this. it's not as obvious but if he's really into you he'll constantly mark you with his scent and the stuff he wears. he'll leave a hickey or a bite mark if you're lucky ;)

- the type of guy to only bring a purse to school. if you ask for a pencil the bitch is gonna open his bag and say "oopsie! i only brought my makeup pouch and mirror today. sorry babe!"

- has his own private concert in showers every goddamn day

- he'll either fangirl with you about celebrities or he'll get extremely jealous because you're simping for someone else.

☆ levi:

- sometimes his ass crack will be on display when he's sitting down on the floor

- wears booty shorts religiously. sometimes he'll casually just walk out his room wearing a hoodie and booty shorts with prints on it

- has a tumblr account where he posts a bunch of hc, drabbles and other shit and until now no one knows its him

- had an amino and discord phase where he always roleplayed with other people. till this day it haunts him at night

- he livestreams twice a week on twitch and has been scolded by lucifer on stream once. there was also a time where mammon barged in his room half naked and suddenly all the views went up 10x

- trolls on roblox like it's a 9 to 5 job

- every once in a while he'll stay in lucifers room while lucifer is doing paperwork. he'll just lay down on his bed, watch and play games and even fall asleep

- makes his own persona in every fandom he gets into and writes very detailed backstories (dw levi, same)

- only reads "x reader" fics for obvious reasons

- went insane because human world games and animes are better than the ones in devildom. dont get me started about aot. (his favorite is levi ackerman obvi)

☆ barbatos:

- wishes he could get piercings but since he's the demon prince's butler he obviously can't

- started tweakin when you said some humans keep rats and bugs as pets. like he stopped polishing some plates and looked at you like you just dog shitted diavolo's name

- really enjoys your spotify playlist filled with metalhead and grunge songs. he really likes slipknot

- likes to order those cute, fancy tea sets when he has the time. when you gifted him tea leaves and a limited edition teapot set his love for you sky rocketed.

- gets annoyed when solomon manspreads

- has a really good voice when he sings. he used to sing diavolo lullabies when his father would get angry at him

- scrolls through levi and mammon's post for educational purposes cuz he wants to learn slangs just incase diavolo asks him what a specific word means

- "barbatos, what does 'runnin from da opps' mean?"

- "my lord, 'runnin from da opps' is a slang made by the new generation. it means fleeing from your haters."

- loves to tailor and iron his bed sheets so he can have a peaceful rest after a long day of non stop errands.

[midnightblues444]

Two man job |

College! Geto and Gojo x fem! Reader

Part one here

Warning: smut, m oral, and guided masturbation, threesome, nastiest thing I've written

"I've never gone this far with a guy before"

a term you found is a key to wrapping them around your fingers .

You've said this to both Gojo and Geto in the last 4 weeks of seeing them. each on different occasions that you carefully planned out.

Fucking around with best friends is no easy job, theres always risk that the other will find out. Yet so far theres no sign that either knows.

You usually meet up with Gojo in his car, driving around in the late hours of the night.Gojo was the faster of the two, almost so rabidly horny it was cute. He would always attach pictures of him in his boxers to all his messages.

Sometimes sending ones with his print as the focal point. This is where youd use your innocent persona saying you're blushing or something like that.

Leading Gojo to believe he taught you how to suck dick. You gave him a nervous whine, and look up at him and said: "I dont know how Toru"

"You'll be fine" he encourage, throwing his head back as you eased him down your throat. His sheer size made you feel like a true virgin again, struggling to take his length drooling all over it.

"just like that" he'd huff, guiding you with a gentle push

His groans, and thrusts picked up as you started tearing up. As he got closer and closer he let out deep whiny moans, making your clit throb. Hes needy and his pale face is flushed pink as he leaks into your mouth.

Geto on the other hand is, sensual and extremely domineering. He'd usually invite you over, and his place was clean and always prepped for you. He would ease into everything he did with you.

Passion in all that he touches, you usually dont have to crank up your innocent act because he makes you nervous enough.

"You ever touch yourself" he'd whisper in your ear

"Well I try to but cant finish" youd admit embarrassed

"I'll show you how then"

Seating you in his lap, his hand over your own as his thick fingers working themselves in and out of your wetness.

Hed coopraise, as you sigh and moan his name. Arching needily into his touch, working another finger in even when you whine that two's too much. He drooling at how slick you are, living for every sound you make for. That you shake and beg for him as you came all over his fingers.

A steady stream of links with both, you find yourself getting too comfortable that's probably why you dont check if they're together when you text them anymore.

The next thing you know, Getos asking you to come over.

You're nervous but excited, skipping to the familiar building. Pressing the elevator for his floor, with giddy butterflies flooding your stomach (and coochie)

You add a cute flare to your knock, adjusting your skirt and everything. You even baked cookies for this link.

Geto half opens the door, smirking down at you with a look you've never quite seen before. You smile at him.

"I baked us some cookies" you presenting him the box

"Is there enough for me"

The door opening fully, to reveal Gojo in all his glory.

"What you say (name) is there enough for three?"

They both laugh at your defeated look, you feel obligated to walk in. Shifting awkwardly on the couch, shrinking into the cushions. The loud sound of them chewing the cookies you baked fills the silence.

"You know what, I'm outta here" you say, standing abruptly. Mustering as much confidence as possible.

"But we just started" Geto feigns sadness

"Take a cookie" Gojo offers amused

They're worse when they're together. Matching cruelly unserious smirks as the play with you.

"Look, if you want an apology.." you start,

They laugh in a weird unison, looking at each other with mischief

"Suguru, you want an apology"

"That depends on how she apologizes, Satoru"

They look to you, expectedly, you can only shrug your shoulders unsure to what they're playing at. Studying they're expressions you cant seem to read.

"Maybe she could beg?" Gojo circled around to sit on your left

"Maybe she could get on her knees, do what shes good at" Geto sat to the right

You're their prey as of now, catching on to what they want from you. You fight back a smirk, it's been hard to conceal that your lowkey into the corruption aspect of this affair. You liked pretending to be a lamb and them the big bad wolves.

"I'll do anything you ask" you say

°《♡•`*☆》° °《♡•`*☆》° °《♡•`*☆》°

Sandwiched between the two men, you feel as though you'll explode right there. 3 orgasms in, Geto fucks you from the front and Gojo in the back. Harshly thrashing in and out of you.

"Too rough" you sob out incoherently, feeling like they're in your stomach

"Aww shes cryin" Gojo pinches your nipple, Geto kissing your tearful cheeks

The masochistic assholes, folding you in half are mean. Getting off to your tears, I mean you hurt their pride and now it's getting taken out on you.

You can feel their collective throbbing, they've switch positions after each rounds. Both taking turns between your cunny and ass.

"Fuck shes so tight, I'm gonna bust" gojo groans as he finishes and it leaks down your ass

"God shes perfect" Geto huffs out, you cant respond your too drunk on the sensation. Your g spot Perfectly getting hit each time, as Gojos slender fingers circle your abused clit roughly.

You can feel that knot inside you tear, almost painfully as you gush. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you fall limp on Gojos chest.

Uncontrolled and messy,

"Dude no way"

"We should make her do it again"

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Little comfort things

Self-Aware! BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter AU

Self-Aware! Kunikida Doppo x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Paul Verlaine

Description: You can't sleep. Doppo and Verlaine are here to make you feel comfortable.

Set in a week after Lost and Found. At this point, BSD Cast don't know, what happened to Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language.

Shortish comfort fic

__________

You tossed and turned in your bed. You opened your bloodshot eyes. You couldn't sleep. You were afraid of sleeping. Because each time you close your eyes, you saw Teyvat. That wrenched place... For the last week you couldn't sleep, the only time you could catch some sleep, was during dawn hours, while you lose focus on anything, because of exhaustion.

You sobbed and hit the mattress. You wanted to sleep! You don't want to feel afraid anymore.

You groaned and put the pillow above your head. You remembered, how it was, when you were a kid and had a nightmare.

If you were a kid again... Your parents would probably put your favorite blanket around you, took you to the kitchen and make you a cup of cocoa. You will have your favorite toy with you, hugging it, while drinking your cocoa and eating cookies. Then you will go to bed, and there would be no nightmares.

But you were an adult. There were no little blankets with colorful print, no favorite toy, no cocoa in a cup with cartoon animals on it, no cookies with smiley faces...

Only memories about Teyvat, fear and guilt of making BSD Cast worried about you...

___________

"Are you sure, that you need my help?" asked Verlaine, looking at your parents' place. Kunikida nodded slightly.

"Yes. [Y/N] are..." Kunikida didn't finish. Everyone knew, what was happening to you. "Maybe, their parents knew, how to help them."

Verlaine nodded, yet, asked again.

"But, why me?"

Kunikida sighed and open the car's door.

"I need someone, who will make [Y/N] feel safe. If there's no way to comfort them, we need to find how to do it ourselves. And [Y/N] see you as a protector."

Kunikida stepped outside from the car. Verlaine followed after him.

"Besides," Kunikida's ears became slightly pink. "I need someone, who will help to came up with a believable lie."

__________

Verlaine was carrying a box in his hands. Your parents were sweet enough to share stories about your childhood with "[Y/N]'s nice friends". With some sweet words, Verlaine managed to get some of your old things from your parents.

Verlaine didn't know if it was true, that things from childhood can lift person's spirit. Well, at least Kunikida was sure of it. Verlaine only hopped, that it would help you.

Tonight, they will help you.

________

Another night, another sleepless night.

You just lay here, looking at the ceiling, thinking about anything you can, to distract you from Teyvat.

A quiet knock on the door cut your line of thoughts.

Did you wake someone up?

You sat up and spoke. Your voice was hoarse.

"Come in..."

The door was opened, and Verlaine stepped into your room. You looked at the floor. You didn't want to look at Verlaine. You were too embarrassed.

Verlaine took a few more steps, until he stepped right before your bed. You were waiting for him to ask you to be quiet.

Instead, something soft was wrapped around your shoulders.

It took you some time, before you realized, what it was. Such an old, soft, familiar thing. Now, it was too small for you and only can cover your shoulders.

"M-my childhood blanket?" You looked at Verlaine. You can't believe it. How he got it from your parents' home? Then you saw another thing. A familiar toy in his hands. Your favorite one.

You didn't resist, when Verlaine gave you the toy. You only hugged it closer to your chest.

And then Verlaine pick you up.

"Let's go, Dear Opal. Your cocoa and cookies are waiting for you."

When Verlaine carried you to the kitchen, a little ghost of a smile appeared on your face.

Kunikida was here. He was keeping an eye on a pot. A bag of milk, few sugar cubes, box of cocoa powder, bottle of whipped cream, box with chocolate chips, a bottle of vanilla sauce and bag of marshmallows were on the table.

Kunikida turned towards you and Verlaine, and a smile appeared on his face.

"It's almost ready. Give me another minute."

Verlaine and you nodded. Verlaine put you on one of the chairs.

Soon, a big cup of cocoa (with whipped cream, chocolate chips, vanilla cream and a marshmallow) was put before you. Ingredients were put away and were replaced with a big bowl of cookies.

Doppo and Verlaine didn't touch their cocoas, until you make a first sip.

Then Kunikida spoke.

"[Y/N]. I want to tell you that we all care about you. All of us love you. You are dear to all of us. Don't be afraid of asking for help. We will help you. We will be here for you."

Then Verlaine started talking.

"Please, don't be ashamed of being vulnerable. We... didn't know why. But we will be here regardless of the reason. You deserved everything in this world."

You didn't answer, but another faint smile touched your lips.

Then you whispered.

"Thank you..."

The rest of the cocoa drinking were in comfortable silence.

You felt calm. You were among friends. Your little comfort things were there.

For the first time in a week, you felt truly safe. And sleepy.

You finished your cocoa and eat the final cookie.

Kunikida and Verlaine noticed your sleepy expression. Kunikida gently pat your head.

"Let's get you to bed, My Ideal. We will keep you safe. We will stay in your room tonight."

Verlaine pick you up again. Both him and Kunikida returned to your room.

You were put into bed and tucked in. Your childhood blanket and toy was put near you on your bed.

Verlaine and Kunikida got themselves comfortable on your bean bags. It seems, they were serious about staying in your room.

Your room was dark. You closed your eyes.

And finally had a long dream without nightmares.

_________

Kunikida and Verlaine observed your sleeping figure. At this moment, all their problems disappeared. You were sleeping. And you were slightly happier. With small steps, they will help you. With small gestures and warm words.

Because you deserve every bit of happiness they can and will give you.

________

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu

[juliahope]

Custom Cookies Boxes

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[packagingmania]

Custom Wholesale Cookie Boxes - 2023

Cookies are the most popular snack food among individuals of all ages and genders. Can you say no to a tasty cookie? Everyone prefers cookies, which is why their packaging is designed in an elegant and modern manner to attract customers. To raise the value of your brand, their packing box, like the cookies, must be of high quality. Different designs of custom cookie boxes bring beauty and credibility to retail store displays. These personalised cookie boxes can be imprinted with extra protection to keep the product's quality and freshness. CPP Boxes not only creates attractive packaging boxes, but we also regard the material's quality.

[travelingthief]

Lord Apollo Devotional Post

Divination

Tarot/Oracle decks

Pendulums

Rune stones

Charm casting supplies

Crystal balls

Scrying bowls

All divination tools

Cookie fortunes

Tea leaves

Art

Paint brushes/paints

Canvases

Colored pencils/markers/crayons

Collages

Journals

Art books

Art prints

Anything you made

Sculptures 

Zines

Stickers

Any art supplies

Music

Music boxes

Records/CDs/Cassettes

Record players/radios/MP3 etc.

Headphones

Music posters

Band merch

Instruments/String instruments

Dance shoes

Concert tickets

CD book holders

Sun and Light

Sun imagery

Sunscreen

Aloe for sunburns

Golden objects

Matches

Candles

Sunflowers/sunflower seeds

Health and Healing

First aid kits

Medicine

Pain relievers

Band-aids

Ice/heat packs

Rice socks 

Masks

Aloe

Ambulance toy cars

Adaptive aids

Archery 

Darts

Bow and arrows

Arrow quiver

Dart board

Targets 

Bullseye 

Myth Related

Snake skins

Snake imagery (Python)

Laurels

Bay leaves (Daphne)

Palm trees (Birth myth)

Ravens/Crows 

Crow feathers (Why the crow is black)

Cattle/turtles (Hermes birth myth)

Swans (Pulled His chariot)

Hyacinths (Hyacinthus)

Locks of hair 

Food

Vanilla

Honey

Sunny D

Lemons/lemon juice

Oranges/orange juice

Citrus

Water

Devotional Acts

Health

Take your meds

Go to therapy

Exercise

Wear a mask (We are still in a pandemic y’all)

Get vaccinated

Get STI tested

Self care

Learn first aid/CPR

Keep a first aid kit at home/in your car

Learn about alternative medicine

Advocate for accessible healthcare

Advocate for disability rights

Volunteer at a hospital

Give blood/plasma

Volunteer at a retirement home

Learn about anatomy/biology/nutrition

Learn about health conditions/rare disorders

Eat healthy for your body

Help fund surgeries if you can

Trip sit for someone

Listen to your body

Sunlight

Sunbathe

Wear sunscreen

Start a garden

Make sun water

Open all the windows on a sunny day

Music

Go to a concert/show

Listen to music

Make a playlist for someone you love

Make a playlist for Apollo

Learn an instrument/play and instrument

Dance

Sing

Support local bands

Explore new music

Burn CDs

Divination/Prophecy

Daily tarot card/rune stones

Make an oracle deck

Give divination readings

Shadow work

Colormancy

Art

Make something

Draw/paint/craft

Write a poem/story

Color

Make a zine

Go see a play

Get a tattoo

Archery

Throw darts

Use a slingshot

Take up archery

Go to a shooting range

[generalkenobee]

Having sinful thoughts of riding bernards thigh😃 (the velvet would feel so good tho🤭)

"Not so silent night"

•Warnings: smut, thigh riding, mentions of being caught, mentions of female masterbation, FEM! Reader, let me know if I missed anything

•Synopsis: (Y/N) is feeling really neglected and Bernard doesn't seem to notice till she's practically humping him like a dog...

-----

Christmas Eve..now this was quite the sight. Elf's everywhere, Santa on his second check of the list, and Bernard...oh Bernard.

He was everywhere all at once, trying to make sure everything was in order making sure that no cookie was burnt, every wrapped gift looked perfect. Not to mention he had to keep Curtis in order.

And you knew how selfish you were being. You were always selfish when it came to your boyfriend. Selfish because you saw the way certain elf girls looked at him

You knew what a vital part of the workshop he was but you just couldn't bring yourself to care. You'd spent countless nights touching yourself since the start of November, moaning so loud..maybe even hoping he would hear and come accommodate for you.

---

You say in you and your boyfriends shared room watching a movie while he was out doing who knows what. And once again the same as the past two months. You were horny

You waited patiently for Bernard to arrive so you could ask for some desperately needed attention.

Everything seemed to be heightened, the way the sheets felt against your legs, the cold winters air on brushing your neck. It was almost like you were a dog in heat

If there was anyone to see the look on your face they would know. Anyone but Bernard.

He walked into the room with his brows furrowed carrying a bunch of rolled up blue prints "hi sweetheart" no response. "Bernie?" Nothing.

You say looking at his back as he sat down at his desk tracing his index finger over the words and print onto the blue paper and sighed

You were already built up as it was so seeing him moving his fingers around like that was just..wow

Before you could think your body was already moving, feet carrying you until you were standing behind him with your hands in his hair.

"Bernard..." you ran your hands down to his shoulders and collar bones rubbing and squeezing "please come lay with me" your voice pleading with him begging for affection.

"you know that I can't" his response was short and cold. I mean he didn't even look up at you when he said it.

---

He wasn't budging. Nothing..and you needed him. You needed to feel him...

You slowly walked over to the large fire place after you grabbed a box of matches off his desk. You watched the fire start as you walked over to turn off the lights so the room was just enough lit to seem romantic.

"(Y/N) I can't see the-" he halted when you sat down on his thigh resting all your weight on him "(Y/N)..?" You weren't wearing anything under your red nightdress...just in case.

The velvet of his pants..oh my god...

"mmm.." your hips started slowly moving forward and back and you placed your hands in his hair throwing your head back "m' love you.." your hips sped up

Bernard looked up at you with a sad look on his face.

"poor baby...so built up so horny...humping me like a dog" it felt so good to finally have your boyfriend's attention back. To have him look at you again like he needed you.

"I'm so sorry baby..I've been neglectful hm?" You looked up at him with doe eyes nodding your head "mhm.."

"we'll be a good girl and get yourself off on my thigh. Use me to make yourself feel good. You deserve it."

You sped up now moving your hips in small fast circles feeling your orgasm approach "Bernard...I-" you cut yourself off with a loud moan

"shh you don't want everyone knowing how you act when we're alone do you?" You shook your head "no sir"

Bernard loves being called sir. Being head elf and all, it really boosts his ego.

He rested his hands on your hips to help you speed up "yeah you don't want anybody to know you're the head elf's little slut" he rested his lips on your neck "but we both know you are"

---

"please baby. Please stain my pants with your hot need" that was all you needed. You were pushed over the edge. The coil in your stomach snapped just as fast as it was built up "Bernard I'm cumming- shit shit shit oh my- nughh-"

His hand rested on the side of your face as you rode out your orgasm kissing you as you moaned into his mouth.

"t-thank you..."

[gallaghersgal]

My love my darling my sweetheart Maggie I’m here to begin my yap session.

Could you do 5. grumpy x sunshine from the trope list, & 3. ‘enemies’ to lovers more like strong dislike for eachother at first but then they fall in love & add in 15. Mutual pining from the same list as well with our darling Lip Gallagher in a Bakery AU? Give me all the pining and then all the fluff !!! I hope I didn’t jam too much in here 🤭

(Reminder that i love you to the moon & to Saturn)

hi my love!! there's a hint of enemies to lovers but not much. warnings; little bit of mean lip but y'all know how it goes! 0% edited im so sleepy

grumpy x sunshine + mutual pining + bakery au from these tropes and these aus. part of my 1,500 follower celebration!

"yo! i need a cake f'my nieces party? she's turnin' six," a man with a buzz cut and broad shoulders says, approaching you at the bakery counter. "party's on friday."

you can't help but look him over from head to toe, he's attractive, carrying the faint scent of cigarettes. "what are we looking for, something pink?"

he rolls his eyes, but a fond smile graces his lips. "yeah. my sister wants something princessy, so pink an' glitter an' all that shit would be perfect."

you write down the notes, getting flavor and size information from him, and set a time for the man to return and pick up the cake. you get a name for the order, gallagher, but aside from that no information about the man. and still, you can't get him out of your mind. his rough demeanor, the way he smiled talking about his sister and niece, all of it left thoughts of him swirling in your mind until the day came for him to pick up the cake.

the man comes back with a sour attitude, a scowl set on his features. you explain to him quickly that you need to finish a few decorations of the cake, and he can't contain his annoyance at the situation, snapping "yeah, well, make it quick will you?"

you shake off his rudeness, chalking it up to the probable stress of the little girl's birthday party. with a skilled hand you ice various pink flowers onto the cake. "sorry you're having to wait, what's the birthday girl's name? and how old is she? it's usually a little extra for writing but i don't mind."

you watch as the man's shoulders loosen, his arms remain crossed over his chest but his face softens as well. "franny, she's turnin' six." blue eyes watch your every move as you scrawl happy sixth birthday, princess franny! in large, looping letters. you box up the cake quickly, taking his payment and generous tip, then sending him off to the party.

a few hours later you're mixing the batter for another order when the bell over the door dings, and you look up to see the same man from before with a little redheaded girl in tow. "is that the nice cake lady?" she asks with a grin.

the man kneels down, "yeah, that's her. go tell her what y'want okay? uncle lip's gonna get it f'ya."

the little girl, who you assume is franny, marches up to the counter. "can i have the batman cookie!?" she says, pointing at the display. a pointed look from her uncle has her adding, "please, cake lady?"

you pull the cookie from the display, handing it down to her, "of course sweetie! did you like your princess cake?"

franny furrows her brow and shakes her head and her uncle lip chuckles. "yeahh, her mom wanted a princess party for her, it was a whole thing." he scratches the back of his neck in a nervous fashion, paying for franny's cookie. "sorry for bein' a dick earlier... could i get your number maybe?"

you can't help but grin, printing off the receipt and scribbling the digits down at the bottom. "i get off at six, if you wanna call," you tell him with a smile.

[fluentmoviequoter]

My Home

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x (shy-ish)fem!reader

Summary: You are Deacon's favorite neighbour, but when you start receiving threats, he notices a change in you. While he and his team search for answers, you are attacked. Deacon returns home to find you and come to some realisations of his own.

Warnings: fluff then angst then back to fluff, descriptive threats and violence against reader (nothing too serious, though), Deacon gets angry and protective

Word Count: 4.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Moving to a new place is never easy, but when you’re on the shyer side, it becomes infinitely more difficult. When you move into your new home in Los Angeles, you are careful about who you choose to introduce yourself to. One neighbour stands out; you see him leaving and returning at odd hours, often wearing a shirt with ‘L.A.P.D.’ printed on it. When he notices you in your yard or getting out of your car, he smiles or waves, and you return it, albeit shyly. He is the only neighbour you think about and actually want to talk to. 

So, now that your boxes are unpacked and your spaces are beginning to feel like your own, you decide to bake him a few treats and put together a gift basket. He welcomed you without bombarding questions or making you nervous, and you appreciate that. And his attractiveness certainly doesn’t hurt your opinion of him.

Crossing the road carefully, you balance the finished basket in your arms. There are baked goods, cookies, a batch of scones, and a casserole at the bottom, with some store-bought items you think anyone would appreciate. You saw him arrive home about an hour ago, just after you removed the scones from the oven. Taking a deep breath, you raise one hand and knock on his door, silently praying that you are right about him and that he is as kind as you believe he will be. The door opens quickly, and he smiles at you. You can’t stop your matching smile as it grows, nor do you want to.

“Hi,” you say, willing your voice to remain steady as you introduce yourself.

“Pretty name,” he murmurs. “I’m David, but my friends call me Deacon.”

“Then what I should I call you?”

His eyebrows raise as his smile shifts, crooked at his amusement. “Deacon,” he decides, nodding once.

“Nice to meet you, Deacon. I’m sure you’ve seen me – or maybe you haven’t – but I just moved in across the street a few weeks ago. I wanted to do a little something for my new neighbours, so I brought you this,” you say, offering him the basket, though his eyes remain on your face as he accepts it. “I hope you like it.”

“Thank you,” he says, trying to catch your eyes again.

You shy away slightly with his full attention on you, though you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“And I have noticed you,” Deacon adds. “Who wouldn’t?”

Heat crawls up your neck, and your shoes are suddenly worthy of all your attention. Deacon chuckles, turning to set the basket down as he treats it with such care you suddenly wonder what it would be like to be held by him.

“You’re a little shy, aren’t you?” Deacon asks.

It doesn’t sound right; when other people ask, it’s a condescending or pity-filled question, but when Deacon asks, it seems like he’s asking about your favourite colour. He treats the topic like it’s just another mundane fact about you.

Nodding, you force your eyes back to his face. “I can be.”

“I’ll try not to tease you, then. Too much.”

“Seems like you’re starting early.”

You smile, and Deacon can barely handle it. Your personality drew him in, even when he only knew you from across the street. Your shy greetings and kindness awe him; Deacon doesn’t understand how someone who gets shy so quickly can also be so kind. You’re like a drop of sunlight, and Deacon has learned to appreciate each drop he can find.

✯✯✯✯✯

After giving Deacon the gift basket, and avoiding his questioning as to who else received one, you grow closer daily. Instead of waving when he gets home, Deacon jogs across the street and stands in your yard to talk to you. He asks you about your day and if you’ve baked anything else. He remains true to his word, only teasing you occasionally when you get shy.

As you return home, Deacon is waiting in front of your door. He walks to your car, opening your door after you turn the ignition off.

“You’re late,” he says, offering a hand as he helps you out.

“I needed groceries,” you argue, smiling as you squeeze his hand in thanks.

You hop out of the car and move to the back, revealing numerous bags.

“However,” you begin, turning toward him with pure sunshine in your eyes. “I don’t think I can eat this entire recipe by myself.”

Deacon’s brows furrow and your smile drops slightly, prepared to retract your comment.

“Well, who could turn down an invitation like that? Does the smile come with the meal?”

You press your shoulder to your cheek, hiding as you turn away from him.

“How are you going to survive tonight?” Deacon asks playfully.

“I also got you a new flowerpot, because the ones on your porch are outgrowing the vase. If you don’t like it, I can get you another one.”

“It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t seen it.”

“You bought it. It’s perfect.”

Deacon decides to keep you company while you cook, though you think he’s more efficient in distracting you. He helps you chop vegetables and mix spices, but when his arm brushes against yours, you lose your train of thought and stop talking in the middle of a sentence.

Deacon notices and smiles but decides saying anything would fall into the ‘teasing too much’ category. And if he accidentally touches you again, it seems like a complete accident.

“You’re the best neighbour ever,” Deacon praises after he takes the first bite.

“I think you are,” you argue.

“You don’t know any other neighbours,” Deacon says, pointing at you with his fork.

“Who needs more than you?”

Deacon smiles, his brows raising at your boldness. When he leaves after helping you clean up, he hugs you tightly and promises to cook for you as soon as he has time.

“So, when you retire?” you joke.

“Just for that comment, we’re setting a date,” Deacon decides, opening the calendar on his phone. “Next Friday. That work for you?”

“That’s perfect.”

Deacon turns to return home, and you call his name, waiting for him to turn around before you speak.

“Thank you.”

“It’s what the best neighbours are for!” he yells, winking at you and laughing when you duck your chin to hide your face.

✯✯✯✯✯

The morning after your dinner with Deacon, you wake with a smile. His car is gone; he told you he was leaving early for a 24-hour shift. You tried to get him home early, but he said time with you was more important than sleep.

When you walk into your kitchen, you see the flowerpot you got for Deacon and decide to surprise him by transplanting his plant so it has room to grow and finding the perfect spot to place it. You toss a pair of gloves, a small trowel and an old rag into the container before locking your front door and walking toward Deacon’s house. Stopping in your driveway, you set everything down to remove a piece of paper from under your windshield wiper.

NOT WITH A BANG BUT WITH A WHIMPER

where women belong

The papers are haphazardly taped together: the concluding line of T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men” and three additional words. Together, the sentence doesn’t mean anything to you until you read the last line, clumsily added in bold block letters.

no more policeman

You swallow harshly, glancing around. It’s another ordinary day in the neighbourhood as you hold a threatening note that someone somehow placed less than thirty feet from your front door without being noticed. Sliding the paper in your pocket, you look between Deacon’s house and the flowerpot. 

“No more policeman,” you repeat to yourself. “But the policeman isn’t home.”

To get your mind off the note and Deacon, you continue your walk to his porch and kneel as you begin working. It doesn’t take too long, but the process is therapeutic while it lasts.

There’s probably a metaphor about outgrowing your old surroundings or finding bigger, better things, but you're not in the mood to appreciate it. Once you’re finished, you can only think about the paper in your pocket. Stepping back to ensure the plant looks good in its new location, you nod to yourself and remove your gloves, gathering your things to return to your empty house.

Deacon can never find out about the note; no one can. As far as you can tell, after hours of staring at it, the message means you will end not with a bang but with a whimper unless you stop talking to Deacon. You pray to find a different meaning, but you only know one policeman and the singular tense makes you think that’s who it’s about.

Spending the first night alone after receiving the threat is not enjoyable, and your fear multiplies when you remember that Deacon is at work all night. Finally falling into a fitful sleep, you dream of Deacon and a time when nothing separates your lives.

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, Deacon still isn’t back when you wake. Moving slowly, you enter your kitchen and prepare far more food than you can eat alone. Someone rings the doorbell, and when you finally reach it, pulling it ajar slowly, a package is in the middle of your doormat. You rip it open, your heart falling when you see the paper within.

good job not telling anyone. 

Friends can stay close until they learn too much, for that is when enemies are formed.

The first line feels like a bullet ripping through you: whoever this is can see you. If they know you haven’t told anyone, they know everything you have or haven’t done recently. Who knows how long they have been watching you.

You hear Deacon’s car before you see it, rushing to stash the new note with the other. Friends can stay close, but you can’t alert Deacon that anything is wrong. You don’t know what to do. If you weren’t aware that someone was watching you, you would tell Deacon and pray that everything worked out in the end, but now you’re putting Deacon in the line of fire, which is something he chooses to do at work, not at home.

“Good morning!” he calls as he jogs across the street.

“Morning,” you answer, letting him in before returning to the kitchen to finish cooking.

Deacon’s brows furrow at your lack of enthusiasm. You usually act like you haven’t seen him in years, even if it’s been mere minutes.

“Everything go alright without me last night?” Deacon asks, helping himself to your fridge.

You hum something like “mmhmm,” and that’s all Deacon gets. He closes the fridge a bit too roughly, and you jump.

“Sorry,” Deacon says quietly.

“’S okay,” you mumble. “How was work?”

“Pretty good. There was a bank robbery in the hills with a bunch of hostages, but other than that it was pretty quiet.”

You nod, not looking in his direction. 

“Are you alright? Did something happen?” he asks gently.

“I’m good,” you answer, sending him a close-lipped smile before sliding a plate in front of him. “Glad work went well.”

A car door closes outside, and you flinch. Deacon knows your shyness inside and out, but this jumpiness seems more related to fear.

“A few of the guys from my team and I are going out to dinner tonight, you should come,” Deacon offers, watching your eyes dart past him.

“Um, I actually have a few things to do tonight, but thank you for the invite,” you decline.

“That's fine,” Deacon says, smiling when you look in his direction again. “But it’s an open invite, so if you change your mind let me know.”

You nod, wiping an invisible stain on the table before you.

“It looks great by the way.”

“What does?” you ask, furrowing your brows as you finally look him in the eye.

“My plant. You have good taste; I never would have considered moving it there.”

Your shoulders fold inward, your body physically shrinking, which scares Deacon. He’s prepared to hold your face in one place to keep your attention and get answers, even though he’d be breaking his promise about abusing your shyness. Someone knocks, and your eyes slam shut as you take a shaky breath.

“I’ll get it,” Deacon offers, tossing his napkin onto the table.

“No, it’s fine,” you whisper, but Deacon raises his eyebrows and points at you, enough of a warning that you fall back into your seat.

He returns a moment later and stops in the doorway, looking at you.

“Pizza delivery had the wrong house.”

“Who orders pizza this early?” you wonder aloud.

Deacon’s lips twitch at the reminder of your usual self. His phone rings, and you turn away quickly, like the sound prefaces something far more dangerous. Deacon focuses on you as he answers, sighing when Hondo asks him to return to the station.

“What are you doing tonight?” Deacon inquires as he slides his phone into his pocket.

“Running errands,” you lie.

“I have to go back to work but call if you need anything. Anything at all.”

You nod and wait for the sound of Deacon’s car to fade before cleaning up the breakfast mess. Deacon usually helps, but when he’s called in, you’re more than happy to do it alone, grateful for the time you spend with him. Today, though, you want to call him, beg him to come back and tell him everything.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Because it’s stupid,” Deacon snaps.

Street’s eyes widen as he raises his hands. “Sorry.”

“What’s up with you?” Hondo asks, not unkind but unwilling to skirt around the fact that something is bothering Deacon and affecting his ability to be part of the team.

Deacon sighs. “My neighbour. She’s not acting like herself, and I think she lied to me about where she was going.”

“Maybe she has a hot date,” Street says before rushing to say, “Kidding.”

Deacon manages a sad chuckle before responding, “I wish that was it. She can be shy, but she's always kind and happy. Today she's been jumpy and scared. Every unexpected sound seemed to terrify her.”

“Wait, sunny neighbour from across the street?” Hondo clarifies. Deacon nods and Hondo asks, “Should we do something?”

“You know her?” Luca asks Hondo.

“I’ve met her twice. She barely talks to me, but that doesn’t sound like her. If something upset her enough to scare her like that and keep her from telling the one person she doesn’t get that shy around, it’s serious.”

“Tell us what to do and we’re on it, Deac,” Street offers.

“I need to know if anyone has contacted her lately,” Deacon begins.

“Phone records?” Luca asks. “We can find out if anyone on the street has security cams, too.”

“It’s a start,” Deacon replies. “Thanks, guys.”

Hondo claps Deacon’s shoulder, nodding a silent promise that they’ll do anything to help.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your house is silent. The television couldn’t hold your attention, so you switched it off and decided staring into our backyard would be a better idea. Mid-day, there isn’t much to see in terms of suburban Los Angeles wildlife. The wind blows slightly, so you watch the grass, wishing you felt safe enough to sit outside to read or open the window and bake.

Glass shattering pulls you from your daydream and grass-watching. Stepping back from the window, you gauge the distance between yourself, the kitchen knives on the counter, and the nearest exit. Before you can decide which direction to move, someone appears in the doorway, exiting the hall.

A deep chuckle shakes you to your core, and you have to fight to keep your eyes open when he rumbles, “This is how the world ends.”

Deep down, you know it’s a bad idea, but you duck to the side and try to beat him to the door. You’re nearly there, close enough that you can taste freedom when an arm wraps around your waist, your ribs practically creaking as he hauls you backwards.

“No,” you cry, digging your fingers into the forearm pressed against your stomach.

“Yes,” he replies, turning and releasing you quickly so you crash into the edge of your kitchen counter.

Turning toward him, you try to round the corner and grab a knife, but he slips his gloved hand over your cheek and into your hair, pulling it by the roots to tilt your head back. Attempting to scratch his face and impair his vision, you raise to your tiptoes and smack your hand across his face, but the mask he’s wearing harms your hand far worse than you managed to hurt him.

Gasping as a tear rolls over your cheek, he hooks a foot behind your ankles, knocking your legs out from under you as he holds you up by your hair.

“Not with a bang,” he whispers.

“What do you want?” you choke out, tears falling freely at the pain and fear you’re experiencing.

“I want my neighbourhood back,” he growls, “and if everyone here has to go out with a whimper, so be it.”

You want to ask more questions, but he jerks his elbow back before throwing you to the ground. Your shoulder and hip collide with the floor first, followed by the side of your head. Curling in on yourself, you try to find a plan to get out of this situation, but he’s bigger than you, stronger, and comes prepared for a fight.

“You can have the neighbourhood,” you try.

“Not with people like you, and the Duncans, and the cop. This was my turf, my family's ground, and you stole it!”

He uses the heel of his boot to roll you over, stepping on your hip as he follows your movement. Standing above you, with his feet beside your hips, you could try to kick him from behind, but he kneels before you have a chance. Holding your hips down with his knees, he raises his hands to hold either side of your head.

“If I have to come back again, you won’t be so lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember whose land this is,” he whispers before lifting your head.

You fight to resist the movement, but he pulls your neck up before pushing his hands back down forcefully, cracking your head against the floor and silencing everything.

After you lose consciousness, he stands, wipes his hands together and leaves through the broken window he used to enter.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Deacon, we got something,” Street says, approaching with a tablet.

He connects to a larger screen, and a grainy video camera recording appears.

“This is from one of your neighbors’ doorbell cams. We can’t see great, but I think it’s a start.”

The video begins, and a large man carrying an envelope walks by on the sidewalk. He asks a man standing in the driveway which house you live in, thanking him quickly before disappearing.

“He doesn’t appear on any other cameras that night,” Luca adds. “But the next day, your camera caught something, Deac.”

“My camera? It didn’t get anything the first time, but it did the second,” Deacon clarifies. “How did that happen?”

“He probably went a different way or didn’t trigger the motion capture,” Hondo answers, gesturing toward the screen.

Luca plays the video, and a man with a similar build walks to your door, knocking as he leaves a package. It’s fuzzy, but you open the door and the package, obviously not pleased by what you read. The video segment ends, and the camera stops recording until Deacon arrives home.

“Wait, fast-forward,” Deacon requests. “I went to her house that day and someone else showed up.”

Luca navigates to the “pizza man” that Deacon met, and they all look at each other in shock when they notice it’s the same man.

“You’ve seen him, Deac,” Hondo says. “Get to the sketch artist and we’ll start working.”

“And if it’s not quick?”

“We’ll stay as long as you need us, Deacon,” Street promises.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you come to, your head pounds, and you can’t hear anything past your heartbeat in your ears. Lying still, you focus on taking steady breaths and staying calm. It doesn’t work very well because your body wants to panic and fall apart simultaneously. When your hearing returns, you take a minute to ensure everything feels okay. Your fingers, toes, arms and legs move when you want them to, and although you know you probably shouldn’t move your head yet, you sit up.

Breathing through the pain, you take your time standing, pulling yourself up with the counter above you. When you’re upright, and the dizziness fades to a dull ache in the back of your skull, you look around but don’t see your phone anywhere. With no choice and an intense need for Deacon, you leave. His car is gone, but you continue to his door anyway, sitting beside his recently re-potted plant and closing your eyes as you wait.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We just released the sketch to the press and we’re running it through all of our databases,” Hicks says, joining the search for your source of fear.

“She isn’t answering her phone,” Deacon grumbles.

“Go check on her, Deac, we’ll keep you in the loop.”

Deacon nods, rushing to the locker room and gathering his things before leaving, desperate to see you and promise everything will be alright. He pulls into his driveway and turns toward your house, stopping when he hears a short whine behind him. You’re on his porch, slumped against the wall and broken. There’s no blood visible, but bruises are forming along your hairline and over your temples, and your consciousness appears to be fading quickly.

Deacon stoops, using a gentle finger to move your head slowly. You likely have a concussion, but he needs to get you inside, so he moves an arm behind your neck, keeping your head in line with your spine as he carries you into his house. Setting you on the couch, he whispers that he’ll be right back before gathering a first aid kit and a bag of ice wrapped in a dish towel.

“Hey,” he murmurs, watching your eyes flutter open. “You’re safe now.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Where’s it hurt?”

“Ribs. My head.”

Deacon holds your shoulder down to keep you from moving too suddenly. He lays the covered ice over your head before pushing your shirt up to inspect your stomach and ribs. Dark bruises cover most of your skin, and although he can’t see, he’s sure they wrap around your back. A scrape over your belly button makes Deacon think that your assailant was wearing a watch or some other abrasive jewellery. His jaw clenches, holding tight as he surveys your skin with darkened eyes. His hands remain gentle, although his outward calmness is only for your benefit. Taking your hand in his, he applies a cooling antibiotic ointment to the scrapes across your palm before wrapping a bandage around it.

“He told me not to tell you,” you say, your eyes now open and on Deacon. “There were notes and then he broke a window to get in today.”

“Is he still in your house? Around here?” Deacon demands.

“No. He left a while ago.”

“How long have you been waiting?”

You shrug, and the movement that makes you tense in pain. Deacon smooths his hand over your shoulder, attempting to calm you even as his anger and protectiveness swell. He fails to understand how or why someone could do this to you.

He stays in your sight as he applies ointment to your bruises, and Deacon looks angry because he’s fiercely protective. He is just as handsome as usual, if not more so, you think.

“I’m going to get my phone, I’ll be right back,” he tells you.

You nod, a tear slipping past your waterline as he leaves. Everything hurts, and you want to let Deacon hold you, but he’s on a mission.

Deacon texts his team that you’re injured but safe with him. Hondo answers that they’re chasing a few leads, but they’ll keep him updated before reminding him not to leave your sight. You may be too shy to admit it, but you need Deacon now.

Waiting for Deacon, you feel him brush your tears away before you fall asleep. Holding you carefully, Deacon moves you to his bed, sitting at your side all night, an eye trained on the window in case anyone is stupid enough to come for you again. He raises your bandaged hand to his lips, promising to keep you safe.

✯✯✯✯✯

Waking, you feel a pillow under your head that wasn’t there before. The sound of water draws your attention as you realise you are in Deacon’s bed. Standing, you groan, stiff, swollen, and bruised, as you enter Deacon’s hallway to find him. His voice greets you before you see him, and you’ve yet to see this side of him.

“Can you make it stick?” Deacon demands. “Because a woman that I care deeply about is covered in bruises and concussed, so he is going to pay for it one way or another. I don't care who bought this land after the Gold Rush.”

You stop in the doorway, sending him a small smile when he notices you.

“I have to go,” he says, his voice softer as he hangs up. He approaches you, offering his hands and chiding, “You shouldn’t be up.”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” you whisper, taking his hands. “Did you find him?”

Deacon nods, leading you to the couch and helping you sit against a large pile of pillows and blankets. “He- apparently his family bought a huge plot of land here, and a few years ago the government seized it to make up for back taxes owed, and this guy isn't happy about all the people living on 'his family's land.' We’ll make sure he gets what he deserves for what he did to you, though. Are you hungry?”

You shake your head, one hand still in Deacon’s.

“What do you need?”

“You,” you whisper, looking up at him.

Deacon smiles, sitting beside you and letting you fold into his arms. Your head finds its spot against his shoulder as you take his hand in yours, leaning against him. His arm wraps around your back, mindful of your bruises as he holds you. In his grasp, you are safe and content, and nothing else matters.

“It’s time for more pain medicine,” Deacon reminds you.

“I’m okay right now.”

You nuzzle closer against him, your legs draped over his lap as he kisses your forehead.

“I think he thought we were together,” you admit.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now.”

You lapse into silence, toying with Deacon’s fingers as his hand rubs gently against your side. 

“As if you’d go for me. You’re too pretty,” you say, your voice an addicting mix between shy and sunny.

Part of Deacon wants to drive to the station and question the man who did this himself, but your presence in his arms and your voice remind him where he belongs: with you.

“You’re the pretty one,” he says, the teasing lilt you’ve grown to love lacing each word.

“Even covered in bruises?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“But you are now,” you reply, looking up at Deacon.

“You’re my favourite neighbour.”

“I want to be more,” you say boldly, smiling as Deacon smiles.

“Right now?” he asks, pulling you closer by your hands.

“Right now,” you confirm.

Deacon pulls you into a soft, slow kiss. You may have started as Deacon’s neighbour, but it didn’t take long to realise he is your home. And if your home decides to rough up the man who tried to take you from him, you’ll understand.