Dead Plate Oneshots Honey Cakes

Warning:Tooth rottingly sweet

In the heart of a sleepy village nestled deep within the woods, there stood a humble bakery with walls that hummed with the warmth of freshly baked bread and the scent of honeyed pastries. Inside, Vincent worked tirelessly, his hands moving deftly over dough and flour. He was a quiet man, pale-skinned with dark eyes that bore the weight of someone who’d long since lost touch with the world beyond his craft. He rarely spoke unless it was necessary, but there was one constant presence that Vincent had never been able to shake.

A pixie—a small, mischievous creature—who had taken up residence in his life.

Rody, as he had introduced himself with no small amount of swagger for someone the size of a teacup, was always close by. Closer than close, really. It had been so long since Rody had started following him that Vincent couldn’t quite remember when it had begun. But there he was, sitting on Vincent’s shoulder like a tiny guard dog, wings fluttering occasionally as he glanced around the bakery with narrow eyes. His auburn hair was always messy, a stark contrast to his bright green eyes that were far too expressive for someone so small.

Vincent couldn’t say he minded all that much, though.

“Vin, you missed a spot,” came the tiny voice from above, and Vincent felt a light pressure on his head as Rody landed in his hair. The pixie had taken to using him as a perch, and now he tugged at a stray strand of Vincent’s black hair with a grin.

“Missed what?” Vincent’s tone was as flat as ever, but there was a softness to it when he addressed the little creature. His hands continued to knead the dough with precision, his focus unwavering.

“That bit of flour there!” Rody insisted, leaning over Vincent’s forehead and pointing with enthusiasm. His wings fluttered, kicking up a bit of flour that had settled on the counter. “You’re supposed to be a *professional*, you know.”

Vincent sighed, though there was a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. “If you’re going to sit on my head and comment on my baking, you could at least help.”

“Help?” Rody scoffed, flopping dramatically into Vincent’s hair as if he were laying on a soft bed. “I’m not built for *manual labor*. I’m here to make sure you don’t go running off with some other human or fae.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop working. “You’re not built for manual labor, but you’re determined to be my personal bodyguard?”

“Exactly!” Rody’s tiny chest puffed up with pride. “No one’s getting past me, not with the way I scare them off.”

This made Vincent chuckle softly, something that would have surprised anyone else who knew him. The image of Rody—a pixie barely the size of his hand—trying to appear threatening was more than enough to amuse him. On more than one occasion, Vincent had watched Rody attempt to intimidate anyone who tried to strike up a conversation with him at the market. The tiny pixie would stand on his shoulder, wings buzzing furiously, green eyes narrowed into a fierce glare that didn’t quite have the effect Rody thought it did.

“You don’t seem to realize,” Vincent said, “that most people just find you… adorable.”

Rody froze, his wings halting mid-buzz. “*Adorable*?” He shot up from Vincent’s head, hovering in front of his face with indignation written all over his features. “I’m *not* adorable! I’m ferocious! A fearsome guardian of the—”

“Sure,” Vincent interrupted, reaching up to poke Rody gently on the nose, sending the pixie spiraling backward a bit. “Very ferocious.”

Rody recovered quickly, frowning as he crossed his arms. “One day you’ll see. I’m the only one who should be near you. Everyone else? Not good enough.” His voice had dropped to something almost serious, and Vincent glanced at him more intently.

Rody was always saying things like that, always making declarations about being Vincent’s protector, his chosen mate. The first time it had happened, Vincent had thought it was a joke. After all, Rody wasn’t exactly what one would consider a suitable match—at least, not by conventional standards. Yet, over time, the pixie’s insistence had worn away at the edges of Vincent’s quiet life.

Now, Rody’s presence was something that Vincent had come to depend on. There was an odd comfort in the way the pixie clung to him, always hovering close, always watching with a determined glint in his eyes.

“I’m serious, Vin,” Rody said, voice softer now as he settled back onto Vincent’s shoulder, curling his small form into the fabric of Vincent’s shirt. “I’m your mate. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

Vincent paused for a moment, his hands stilling as he looked down at the dough. “Is that so?” he asked, though there was no malice in his voice—just a quiet acceptance.

“Yes!” Rody’s wings fluttered again as he shifted to sit up straighter. “I’ve decided. And that means no one else is allowed to get close to you.” His expression darkened for a moment. “They’ll all get hexed if they try.”

Vincent couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was ridiculous, really—the idea that this tiny creature had laid some sort of claim on him. But at the same time, there was something endearing about it. Rody’s persistence, his unwavering loyalty, even his possessiveness, all of it was… comforting.

“You know,” Vincent said after a long pause, “if you’re going to keep calling yourself my mate, you might have to help out around here more.”

Rody’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we’re partners, shouldn’t you be helping with the baking?” Vincent’s tone was calm, but there was a hint of teasing in his words.

Rody narrowed his eyes, wings buzzing indignantly. “I’m not doing *your* work, Vin. You’re the baker, not me.”

“You’re the one who decided we’re mates,” Vincent pointed out, rolling the dough into a neat ball and placing it on a tray. “Mates help each other.”

Rody grumbled, but didn’t argue. Instead, he flopped back into Vincent’s hair, arms crossed as he pouted. “Fine, fine. I’ll help when it’s absolutely necessary. But don’t think I’m just going to start working for free.”

Vincent chuckled softly again, returning to his task. “Of course not.”

Despite the banter, there was a quiet understanding between them. Rody’s claim—his insistence on being Vincent’s mate—had once seemed like a silly fantasy. But over time, it had become something more, something that Vincent found himself accepting more and more each day.

Maybe it was foolish to think that a pixie could be anything more than a passing presence in his life, but as Vincent felt the familiar weight of Rody resting against him, he realized that the thought of losing that presence was… unthinkable.

In the quiet of the bakery, surrounded by the warmth of rising dough and the scent of sweet pastries, Vincent glanced at the little pixie nestled against his shoulder.

“You’re not so bad, Rody,” he said quietly.

Rody’s response was immediate and indignant, though Vincent could hear the grin in his voice. “I’m *amazing*, Vin. Don’t forget it.”

The bakery’s warmth enveloped them, soft light filtering through the small windows, casting a golden glow over the flour-dusted surfaces. As Vincent worked in the quiet rhythm of kneading and shaping dough, Rody stayed nestled on his shoulder, content but always vigilant. Though the pixie often liked to chatter, in moments like this, he seemed to find peace simply being close to Vincent.

Vincent, for his part, had grown used to the sensation of Rody’s small presence, almost as if the pixie had become an extension of his day-to-day life. He would catch himself waiting for that flutter of wings, the small tug of hair, or the tiny voice chirping in his ear.

As the sun dipped lower and the day shifted into the late afternoon, Vincent turned from his counter to the oven, sliding in a tray of freshly braided loaves. The soft hiss of heat meeting dough filled the room, and for a moment, the quiet hum of the bakery seemed to stretch on. Rody stirred, shifting to sit cross-legged on Vincent’s shoulder.

“You’re making the honey cakes tonight, right?” Rody asked, voice curious but laced with a touch of eagerness.

“Maybe,” Vincent replied, adjusting the knobs on the oven. “Depends if someone’s going to distract me all evening.”

Rody buzzed up into the air, zipping in front of Vincent’s face with a mock-wounded expression. “*Me*, distract you? Never! I’m just making sure your baking is top-notch. Gotta look out for you.” He grinned, flying in slow circles around Vincent’s head before landing back on his shoulder.

Vincent rolled his eyes, though the faint smile lingered. “Sure. Because pointing out every missed speck of flour is definitely helping.”

“Hey, attention to detail is important,” Rody declared, crossing his arms. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else there—something deeper.

Vincent couldn’t help but notice how, despite Rody’s playful demeanor, the pixie’s insistence on being his mate never wavered. It was no idle joke. Whenever a villager or customer lingered too long to chat, Rody would bristle, practically baring his tiny teeth. It was as though the thought of anyone else getting close to Vincent sparked something primal in the little creature.

There had even been times, fleeting as they were, when Vincent had wondered if Rody’s claim wasn’t just talk. The pixie’s devotion—however ridiculous it seemed at first—felt genuine. And in a world where Vincent had long resigned himself to solitude, Rody’s constant presence was… comforting.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The bell above the bakery’s entrance jingled, and in walked a young woman from the village—a regular who often came by for sweet pastries. She smiled shyly at Vincent, brushing back a strand of hair. “Good evening, Vincent. I was hoping you had some of those honey cakes ready?”

Rody, who had been lazily resting on Vincent’s shoulder, immediately shot upright. His wings buzzed like a little swarm of bees as he flitted in front of Vincent’s face again, glaring at the woman with all the ferocity he could muster.

“Sorry, but Vin’s busy. No time for small talk,” Rody snapped, his voice high-pitched and sharp.

The woman blinked, eyes widening at the sight of the tiny creature floating between her and Vincent. “Oh! I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t realize you had company,” she stammered, unsure of how to react.

Vincent sighed, placing a hand over his face for a brief moment before lowering it. “Rody.”

“What?” Rody crossed his arms in a huff, wings still buzzing irritably. “I’m just making sure she knows.”

Vincent turned to the young woman, his usual calm demeanor softening slightly. “He’s… harmless,” he said, though there was an almost fond undertone in his voice. “We’ll have honey cakes ready later tonight if you want to come back.”

The woman nodded quickly, still wide-eyed. “O-of course! I’ll come back later, then. Thank you.” She gave a quick bow before hurrying out of the bakery, the doorbell jingling again as she left.

As soon as the door closed, Rody spun around, hovering inches from Vincent’s nose, arms still folded, his expression smug. “See? Problem solved.”

Vincent stared at him, raising a brow. “Problem solved? Or scared off?”

Rody’s grin widened. “Same thing.”

“You can’t hex every customer that walks in here, you know. I need them to actually *buy* things if we’re going to keep the bakery running.”

The pixie huffed, crossing his arms even tighter. “I didn’t hex her. Just… made it clear that she shouldn’t get too close.” His wings fluttered in agitation, but there was a faint blush on his tiny cheeks.

Vincent leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously devoted, you mean.” Rody flopped back onto his shoulder, wings folding against his back as he sulked. “I’m just trying to protect what’s mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah, mine.” Rody’s voice softened, and he settled deeper into the fabric of Vincent’s shirt. “You’re my mate, remember?”

Vincent didn’t respond immediately. The idea that Rody saw him as his mate—silly as it was—had slowly become a part of Vincent’s reality. It was no longer strange to think of the pixie in such terms. There was a comfort in the familiarity, in knowing that even if no one else stayed, Rody always would.

And perhaps, Vincent realized with a quiet sense of acceptance, that was enough.

He looked down at the pixie, who was now sprawled across his shoulder, clearly satisfied with himself. “You know, if you keep this up, I’ll never have any customers.”

“Fine by me,” Rody mumbled, half-asleep now as his wings fluttered lazily. “As long as it’s just you and me.”

Vincent shook his head, though there was no real exasperation in it. He glanced at the clock on the wall, knowing it was time to prepare the honey cakes. Yet as he moved to start again, Rody’s tiny form nestled closer, and Vincent couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright,” Vincent said softly. “Just you and me.”

And in the quiet warmth of the bakery, with the scent of bread and sugar filling the air, that felt like more than enough.

Vincent felt the familiar weight of Rody resting on his shoulder, the pixie’s warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt. For a moment, Vincent just stood there, watching the dough rise in the oven, the subtle crackling of the bread baking filling the quiet space. The hum of the oven and the soft rhythm of the bakery created a calm atmosphere, and for a while, Vincent was content in that silence.

But then, he felt the gentle flutter of wings near his ear.

Rody hovered close, his tiny form glowing faintly in the dim light, eyes watching Vincent with a playful, yet earnest expression. He leaned in closer, his mischievous grin returning, and before Vincent could react, Rody darted forward, planting a soft kiss on Vincent’s cheek.

It was quick, almost like the brush of a feather, but it sent a surprising warmth through Vincent. He blinked, turning his head to look at the little pixie who now hovered in front of him, his cheeks glowing a light shade of pink.

“Rody…” Vincent started, his voice filled with both amusement and bewilderment.

Rody grinned, his wings buzzing as he did a little loop in the air. “What? Can’t a guy kiss his mate?” he said, his voice teasing but underlined with sincerity. “You’re always so serious, Vin. I figured you needed a little reminder of how much I care.”

Vincent shook his head slightly, but he didn’t push Rody away. Instead, he let out a soft chuckle, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Rody settled back on his shoulder, leaning against Vincent’s neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, but you love it.”

For a long moment, Vincent didn’t respond. He just stood there, taking in the weight of those words. Did he love it? The idea of this clingy, chaotic little pixie becoming such a constant part of his life was ridiculous at first. But now, the thought of a day without Rody seemed emptier. Lonelier. As much as Rody’s antics could be exasperating, Vincent couldn’t deny the comfort that came with having him close. The pixie’s stubbornness, his protectiveness—those things had wormed their way into Vincent’s heart.

Perhaps, he thought, he *did* love it.

Vincent looked down at Rody, his expression softening. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

Rody smiled, his wings fluttering. “Not when it comes to you.” He stretched out, letting his legs dangle lazily. “Besides, someone has to make sure nobody else steals you away.”

“There’s no one else,” Vincent said quietly, his voice suddenly more serious. “It’s just you and me, like you said.”

Rody’s eyes widened at the sincerity in Vincent’s words, and for the first time, he seemed at a loss for words. His wings gave a soft flutter, and he leaned his head against Vincent’s neck, his small body relaxing.

“Yeah,” Rody whispered, his voice unusually soft. “Just you and me.”

The sun was beginning to set outside, casting the bakery in warm hues of orange and pink. The last batch of bread was cooling on the racks, and the honey cakes—Rody’s favorite—were nearly ready to come out of the oven. The day had been long, but in this moment, with the comforting weight of Rody on his shoulder and the quiet peace that filled the room, Vincent felt… content.

Rody’s tiny hand reached up to brush against Vincent’s cheek again, this time lingering. “You know,” Rody began softly, his voice unusually shy, “I always knew I was right about us. You and me. It’s… just perfect.”

Vincent smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looked down at Rody. “Maybe you were right,” he admitted, and though his tone was teasing, there was an honesty beneath it that made Rody beam.

The pixie leaned in, pressing another soft kiss to Vincent’s cheek, lingering a little longer this time. The warmth of the gesture, combined with the genuine affection that Rody always carried, made Vincent’s heart swell just a little more.

“Well,” Rody said, nestling back onto Vincent’s shoulder with a satisfied hum, “if I’m right, you should give me one of those honey cakes when they’re ready.”

Vincent let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the oven mitts. “I suppose I could do that,” he said, pulling the honey cakes from the oven, the sweet, golden scent filling the bakery.

As Vincent set the tray down to cool, Rody buzzed up to examine the cakes, his eyes wide with excitement. “Perfect as always,” he said, giving Vincent a proud nod.

Vincent leaned against the counter, watching the tiny pixie with amusement. “You always say that,” he said, but there was a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Rody glanced back at him, his grin widening. “That’s because it’s always true.”

The two of them shared a quiet moment, the warmth of the bakery wrapping around them like a blanket. Rody settled back onto Vincent’s shoulder, his wings folding neatly behind him, and for the first time in a while, Vincent felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

Happiness.

As the evening light dimmed and the world outside grew quiet, the bakery became their little haven—a place where it was just the two of them. Rody, with his endless devotion and unwavering affection, and Vincent, with his quiet acceptance of the little pixie that had so unexpectedly become part of his life.

And in that simple moment, surrounded by the smell of honey cakes and the soft glow of the setting sun, Vincent realized that perhaps he had found something far more valuable than he ever could have imagined.

Maybe, just maybe, Rody had been right all along.