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bradshawsbaby · 4 months

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Sprinkles of Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: It's Bob's birthday and you want to do something special for him. The problem is that you've only been on two dates, and you can't get out of your head about making that first move.

Word Count: 6.6k

Author’s Note: Happy Birthday to my #1 Guy, Lewis Pullman! I thought we all deserved some sweet Bob fluff to celebrate!

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, featuring the jitters and nervousness that comes with a new relationship.

You glanced at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, your fingers itching to reach for it where it sat taunting you on the counter near the cash register.

Biting down on your lower lip, you peeked surreptitiously over your shoulder before finally picking it up, your finger hovering hesitantly over the green messages icon.

“Are you finally going to text him or are you just going to keep staring longingly at your phone all day?”

Your cousin’s teasing voice startled you, pulling you out of your silent reverie as you fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it to the floor in your haste to get a grip on it and shove it inside your apron pocket.

Alexandria just laughed in response, her dark eyes sparkling as she slid a tray of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies onto one of the display case shelves. Normally, you would have complimented her on how amazing they smelled, but given the knowing smirk she was sending your way, you stuck your tongue out at her instead.

“Stick your tongue out at me all you want,” she told you, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But I know you, and I know how badly you want to text him. So why don’t you just do it already and save yourself all the torment?”

“Lexie,” you groaned, your phone suddenly feeling like a rock inside your pocket. Why did your cousin have to know you like the back of her hand?

You were saved from having to elaborate, however, when one of the timers dinged in the kitchen, signaling that the newest batch of muffins you and Lex had put in a little while ago was finished. She shot a pointed look in your direction, making it clear the conversation wasn’t over, before turning on her heel and going to take the muffins out of the oven.

Since it was the usual mid-morning lull and the only customers currently inside the bakery were a college student working on her laptop near the window and two elderly ladies enjoying conversation over scones and tea, you figured you should be both a good cousin and a good employee and go help Lexie in the back.

Despite the fact that you had already been working at the bakery for a few months now—ever since you had moved to San Diego—you still couldn’t help but be blown away whenever it hit you that your cousin had really accomplished the dream she’d been chasing since you were little girls. For as long as you could remember, Alexandria had been wanting to open up her very own bakery, a cozy little spot where people could come to read, hang out, and relax, all while enjoying some homemade treats and delicious coffee. It seemed like just yesterday that the two of you were playing with her Easy-Bake Oven, and now here she was—living the dream as a successful small business owner. You couldn’t have been more proud of her. Or more grateful that she’d given you both a job and a place to live when you’d decided to follow in her footsteps and make the move out to California.

Lex was like the big sister you never had. She gave the best advice and she knew you inside and out. Which was normally a good thing, but judging by the way she was looking at you from under her dark lashes, you knew today was going to be one of those days where she insisted on pushing you out of your comfort zone.

You sighed in exasperation as you helped her set the freshly baked orange cranberry muffins—a favorite among her loyal customers—on the cooling rack. “I wish I hadn’t even mentioned it. It’s not that big of a deal,” you insisted, supremely conscious of the weight of your phone pressing against your thigh as you worked.

“If it’s not that big of a deal, then why do you seem to be making it one?” Lexie replied with that razor-sharp wit of hers, winking when you shot her a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I’m not!” you insisted, although you knew that was a complete and total lie. You were being ridiculous and you knew it, but every time you even thought about sending him a message, your heart started pounding inside your chest and your palms got all gross and clammy.

Lex crossed her arms over her chest, throwing an exasperated look heavenward. “Babe, you’ve already been on two dates with him and he wants to take you out on another. Do you seriously think you’re going to send him running for the hills if you send him a text wishing him a happy birthday?”

When you heard it out loud, it did sound pretty stupid. He was such a great guy, so sweet and attentive and caring, and he had done nothing to indicate that he was losing interest or that he would be freaked out by such a simple message. But still…

“I do want to text him,” you confessed, biting your lip as you carried the empty muffin tray over to the large sink where your cousin washed all her baking supplies.

“So what’s holding you back?” Lexie asked, her voice gentler this time as she leaned her hip against the counter, clearly trying to understand. She’d seen your heart get broken enough times to know that you were much more cautious now when it came to entrusting it to other people.

You sighed softly, fiddling with the strings on your pink-and-white striped apron as you tried to put your feelings into words. “It’s just—we’ve only been on two dates. I mean, they were really amazing dates, but still. Only two. And our birthdays only came up once in passing on our first date. He never mentioned it again, even when he called the other night to ask me if I’d like to go out this weekend. So on the one hand, I do want to text him to wish him a happy birthday, but on the other hand, what if it weirds him out that I remembered? What if he thinks I’m some kind of obsessive stalker and gets the ick and then ghosts me?”

“For wishing him a happy birthday?” your cousin questioned skeptically, her eyebrows rising until they were practically touching the edges of her blunt bangs.

“I’ve been ghosted before for less,” you muttered in embarrassment, knowing that your love life was a disaster compared to your cousin, who had been with her soon-to-be-husband since high school.

Lex softened immediately, stepping beside you and wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. “I know,” she murmured soothingly, rubbing your arm with a gentle hand. “But those guys were jerks who didn’t deserve you. From everything I know about this guy, he sounds so great. He seems like the kind of guy who would be happy that you remembered his birthday.”

Honestly, you couldn’t argue with her there.

Bob Floyd was unlike any man you’d ever met before. He was everything you’d ever hoped to find but had feared you never would, the kind of perfect that seemed too good to be true, the gentleman that you had thought existed only in fairytales.

It had been over a month now since he’d stepped off a storybook page and walked into your life.

You could still remember that afternoon so clearly. It was a Saturday, and the bakery had been surprisingly dead. Lexie had decided to run to the bank, leaving you in charge of things in her absence. You’d been rearranging some of the pastries in the display case when the bell over the front door chimed, signaling a customer.

Stepping up to the counter, the words of greeting died in your throat when one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in your life approached, a shy smile stretching across his face.

“Hi,” he greeted you in a soft-spoken voice, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, and yet you’d never seen a guy look better.

“Hi,” you echoed, your eyes widening as you got lost in a gaze as blue as the cornflowers that grew in your grandparents’ backyard.

The two of you just stared at each other for a couple minutes, neither of you saying anything, even as the air between you seemed to spark and hum with electricity.

“Um, I was, uh, hoping that you still had some cupcakes left. I know it’s a little later in the day and my neighbor who recommended this place said that you should always get here early, but, um, I have a little barbeque that I’m going to and I wanted to bring some dessert. I’m hopeless at making anything myself,” he rambled, his eyes crinkling as he laughed somewhat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was only when he cleared his throat awkwardly a moment later that you realized you hadn’t yet responded to him.

“Oh! Cupcakes!” you exclaimed, your voice coming out a little louder and squeakier than you had intended. “Of course!” Running your hands down the front of your apron, you shook your head slightly to try to knock some sense into it. You walked over to the display case, indicating that he should come take a look. “Normally we’d already be sold out of a lot of these, but it’s been quieter today than usual, so we still have plenty left. I guess it’s your lucky day.”

“Seems like it,” he smiled, his blue eyes latching onto your face.

Something about the way he said it made your insides feel as gooey as the batter Lexie used to make her double chocolate fudge cake.

“How many cupcakes do you need?” you asked, working overtime to keep from getting flustered.

“I think two dozen should be fine,” he replied, his eyes roaming over the display case shelves. “Hmm, they all look so good, I wouldn’t know where to start. Do you have any recommendations?”

“The lemon zest cupcakes are really popular. So are the red velvet and the coconut cloud. Oh, and the German chocolate.” You laughed sheepishly. “Honestly, they’re all really good.”

He laughed in response, a small dimple appearing in his cheek that only further endeared him to you. “Which one is your favorite?” he asked, his voice so earnest it made your chest ache.

You didn’t even have to think about it. “The funfetti,” you told him, indicating the vanilla cupcakes baked with rainbow chips and topped with swirls of vanilla frosting and an extra dash of sprinkles.

“I’ll take a dozen funfetti cupcakes then. And you can surprise me with the other dozen,” he grinned, making you smile.

“I hope you and everyone at the barbeque enjoys,” you said after you finished ringing him up, sliding the two boxes of cupcakes towards him.

“I’m sure we will. This place comes highly recommended,” he replied with a smile. “Are you Lexie, the owner?”

“No, no, I’m her cousin,” you explained, introducing yourself by name.

“I’m Robert Floyd,” he said, holding out his hand to you. “But everyone calls me Bob.”

“Very nice to meet you, Bob,” you beamed, sliding your hand into his and shaking firmly. His hand was large and warm and calloused and it felt like yours had been made to fit inside it.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he murmured softly, holding onto your hand for another second or two before slowly releasing it. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m sure I’ll be back again soon.”

“We serve really good coffee,” you said suddenly, desperate to find a reason to get him to come back. “And we open really early. You know, if you want to get some on your way to work.”

Bob’s beautiful blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.” He picked up his boxes of cupcakes and turned towards the door. Before he left, he shot you one last smile that melted your insides. “See you around.”

After that, Bob Floyd had found plenty of reasons to stop by the bakery. The following Monday, he’d stopped by in the morning to grab coffee for him and his friends on his way to work. That was when you’d learned that he was a naval aviator stationed at North Island.

“You were right about those funfetti cupcakes,” he told you, patting his stomach with a grin. “I think I ate about half the box before I thought to share them with anyone else.”

Your eyes crinkled and you felt your skin grow warm as you smiled in response. “Good, I’m so glad.”

You made sure to slip a cupcake in with all his coffee orders, a gesture which he didn’t fail to notice, judging from the extra large tip he left in the jar.

“See you soon,” he smiled, balancing all that coffee in his large hands as he backed out of the bakery.

From then on, he was there practically every day, stopping in for coffee or for some cupcakes after work. He often picked up things for other people—his friends or his neighbor who had recommended the bakery to him. But for himself, he always stuck with the funfetti cupcakes.

“I know I should branch out and try something new,” he told you one day through a mouthful of sprinkles. “But I can’t help it—these are just so good.”

It had taken nearly two weeks for Bob to work up the nerve to finally ask you if you might be interested in getting dinner with him sometime. You’d had to bite your tongue to keep from immediately screaming, “YES!” in his face,

The two of you spent your first date at a gorgeous little seafood restaurant right on the water, and then went for a long walk on the beach afterwards. It was truly the best date you’d ever been on. Bob was a perfect gentleman, attentively listening to everything you had to say and making you feel as though he actually cared about what was important to you. He’d even draped his jacket over your shoulders as you walked by the water, noticing the way you were shivering slightly in the dress you’d worn. You had been hoping he would kiss you at the end of the night, but like the gentleman that he was, he’d simply brushed your cheek with his lips, asking in a hushed voice if you’d like to see him again.

You wanted that very much.

On your second date, Bob took you mini golfing, something you’d told him that you hadn’t done since you were a little girl. You didn’t think you’d ever laughed so much as you did that night, no matter how terrible you turned out to be at miniature golf. Just like on your first date, Bob walked you to your door at the end of the night, his hand resting on the small of your back as you turned to look up at him, your eyes begging him to give you a proper kiss goodnight.

He had to duck his head slightly as he leaned in closer, a lock of his honey-colored hair draping across his forehead as his gaze latched onto yours, your breath mingling as the two of you inched closer and closer.

It was a soft kiss, sweet and chaste. His lips just barely brushed against yours, sending a shock of electric currents up and down your spine. When he pulled back, the both of you were flushed and stammering.

“C-can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, still so shy even after two dates.

“I hope you do,” you whispered with a smile, squeezing his hand before slipping through your front door.

Faithful to his word, Bob had called you the next day. The two of you were supposed to be going out again this weekend.

But that brought you back to your current dilemma—his birthday. You knew you were being stupid about this. Texting him for his birthday wasn’t tantamount to a marriage proposal. It wasn’t like you were trying to throw him a surprise party or invite yourself over for cake. It was a text message for crying out loud. And even though it had only come up once, he had told you when his birthday was. It wasn’t like you had gone to North Island and asked to see his personnel file.

The truth was, you were just terrified of screwing things up. You’d gone on plenty of dates with guys who had seemed really nice, who you had really thought were into you, only to be ghosted or flat-out rejected. Deep down inside, you knew that Bob was different from all those other guys, but still—the thought of sending him running made your stomach twist into knots.

“Babe, you know what I’m going to say,” Lexie murmured, your cousin’s voice pulling you out of all your convoluted thoughts. “If you never take a risk, then nothing’s ever going to change. I know you’re nervous, but just go for it. The worst that happens—seriously, the worst case scenario—is that he ghosts you. But you know what? If he does that, then he wasn’t worth your time anyway. And if he doesn’t? Well, maybe he’ll start to fall even harder for the gorgeous girl who remembered his birthday.” She grinned, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug.

“Ugh, why do you always have to be right?” you grinned ruefully, pulling back from your cousin’s embrace and fiddling nervously with the scrunchie on your wrist.

“It’s a gift,” she replied with a wink, turning to look over her shoulder when the bell over the front door chimed. “I’ve got it,” she told you, squeezing your arm before heading back out to the front.

That left you alone in the back kitchen, your phone burning a hole in your apron pocket and your heart hammering inside your chest.

“Okay, don’t be an idiot,” you murmured to yourself. As far as pep talks went, it was far from the most inspirational, but it did the job as you pulled your phone out. “It’s not too much too soon. It’s just a text,” you breathed out. “It’s just a text.”

Opening your messages, you found Bob’s name—he was right near the top after texting you just yesterday—and opened up your conversation thread, chewing on your bottom lip.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you tapped out a quick message that you hoped was short, sweet, and to the point and hit send.

Happy Birthday, Bob! I hope you have a wonderful day! 🥳🎉

You felt hot all over as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, your pulse stuttering in your veins as you wondered how long it would take him to see it. From what he had told you about his job, he often spent hours in the air each day, so chances were good he didn’t even have his phone on him right now.

You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and determined not to think about it. A task that was much easier said than done. But as you walked back out into the main part of the bakery, you found that a small crowd had formed, so you jumped into assisting your cousin behind the counter.

“Well?” Lexie asked under her breath as you helped her fill a couple boxes with a dozen cinnamon chip muffins.

“I sent it,” you murmured in reply, purposely avoiding her direct gaze. “But I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

As much as you had tried not to, you’d been compulsively checking your phone every five minutes.

Lex shrugged and waved it off. “It’s still early yet,” she said confidently, carrying the boxes over to the patiently waiting customer.

You threw yourself into various tasks around the bakery, anything that would keep your mind off your phone. You restocked the shelves in the display cases, organized the money in the cash register, wiped down the counters in the kitchen, scrubbed the baking pans, frosted cupcakes, replaced the coffee beans, and waited on any customers who walked in.

A couple of times, your phone buzzed in your pocket and your heart jumped into your throat, only to sink down to your stomach when you pulled it out and found that it was just an email notification or a text from your mom.

The longer you went without hearing from Bob, the harder you had to work to convince yourself that he wasn’t ignoring you.

No. He wasn’t ignoring you. Bob wasn’t like that. You were sure of it.

It was a little after noon, just when you’d taken a cup of coffee into the back for a short break, when you felt your phone buzz again, vibrating against your thigh through your apron. Swallowing nervously, you put your coffee down and reached into your pocket, a small gasp escaping you when you saw Bob’s name on the screen.

You could scarcely unlock your phone fast enough, opening up the text thread to read his reply.

Wow, you remembered! That means so much to me. Thank you! ☺️ Sorry it took me a little while to respond—we were doing some test flights, but I’m on my lunch break now and I’ll be on the ground for the rest of the day. How are you?

It took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to scream and jump up and down like a little girl. It felt like a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders. You hadn’t freaked him out! He hadn’t ghosted you! It was just like Lexie said—he was happy that you remembered.

Grinning like a fool, you leaned against the counter and typed out a response, not caring that your coffee was getting cold.

I’m doing great! Glad to hear you got some flying in on your special day ✈️ Doing anything to celebrate?

It was only after you had sent the message that you began to fret that it sounded like you were being nosy about his plans, or worse, trying to insert yourself into them.

But then Bob responded a minute later and put your worries to rest.

Nothing too fancy. My friends ordered lunch and got me a cake. They sang “Happy Birthday,” too, even though I begged them not to lol. I usually keep it pretty lowkey on my birthday.

You smiled as you wrote back, Was it a funfetti cake?

His next response came in no time at all, and it made your stomach flutter to imagine that he was focusing entirely on you and your conversation during his lunch break.

If only! It was really good, but I don’t think anything compares to those funfetti cupcakes 😋

At that moment, Lex walked into the back, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the huge smile plastered on your face. It felt like it was going to get permanently stuck there.

“Well, well, well,” she grinned, sidling up next to you. “Should I take that glowing smile to mean you finally heard back from your lieutenant?”

You ducked your head shyly, your cheeks growing warm. “He isn’t my lieutenant,” you insisted.

“Mhm, sure,” your cousin grinned, laughing loudly when you nudged her in the side. “So it worked out after all? He didn’t say you were a freaky stalker? I shouldn’t be expecting the police to burst down the door any minute?”

“Okay, okay,” you groaned, realizing how ridiculous you’d been behaving that morning. “You were right. It all worked out. He was very touched that I remembered his birthday,” you murmured, sheepishly scuffing your sneaker against the floor.

“I’ve gotta say it—told you so,” Lex smirked victoriously, wrapping her arms around you and planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, feigning annoyance even as you grinned and returned your cousin’s hug. “You know, Bob was actually just texting me that his friends at work got him a cake, but that it just doesn’t compare to your funfetti cupcakes,” you told her with a proud smile.

“What can I say? They are pretty damn delicious,” she winked, her chest puffing up with pride. A sudden thought struck her as she looked at you. “Hey, what time does Bob get off from work?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Usually around six or seven, I think,” you told her, your brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why?”

“Hmm, perfect,” Lexie mused, tapping her chin as she glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. Your older cousin was always plotting something.

“I mean that the bakery closes at five-thirty,” she said, as if you weren’t already well aware of that fact. When she realized that you weren’t exactly catching her drift, she went on, “Which means you could invite Bob over for a little after hours birthday treat if you’d like,” she grinned.

“Lex!” you gasped, scandalized.

Your cousin threw her head back laughing. “I didn’t mean that you should jump his bones in the middle of the bakery! I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t do that,” she chuckled teasingly. “I just meant you could surprise him with something sweet, on the house. Something we make here,” she added with a pointed look that made your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“Oh,” you mumbled, nodding your head slowly. “Right. Of course.” You cleared your throat slightly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not! Anyone who makes my cousin this happy is welcome to free cupcakes anytime,” Lex said firmly, cupping your face in her hands and beaming at you.

“You’re the best,” you told her, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her in a tight hug. “I’ll text Bob now and see if he thinks he’ll be up for it.”

“If you’re the one asking, I’m sure he will be,” she winked, nudging you playfully before turning to go back to the front counter.

Once she was out of sight, you turned your attention back to your phone and bit your lip, trying to think of the best way to phrase what you wanted to ask him.

Speaking of funfetti cupcakes, any chance you’d want to swing by the bakery on your way home from work? We close at 5:30 today, but we make special after hours exceptions for our best customers 😉🧁

Was that stupid? That probably sounded stupid. Would he think that you were suggesting a quickie on the bakery floor the way you thought your cousin had been suggesting? Oh God, could you unsend that message before he got it?

I would love to! Is 6:45 too late?

This man didn’t cease to amaze you.

No, that’s perfect!

See you then ☺️

You tried your hardest to smother the smile that was threatening to completely overtake your face, but you couldn’t do it. This man gave you butterflies like you’d never experienced before in all your life, and the thought of getting to see him in just a few hours made you feel like you were going to burst from excitement and anticipation.

You didn’t even have to tell Lexie what Bob had said. The second she saw your face, she just smiled knowingly and told you, “I’ll be out of here by six.”

Time had never seemed to move so slowly as it did that day while you waited for closing time to finally come around. Lex observed your growing impatience with amusement, giving you as many odd jobs as she could to hopefully make the minutes go faster.

When the clock finally chimed five-thirty, you practically sprinted towards the door, locking it and flipping the closed sign around to ward off anyone who might have tried to stop by for a last minute treat.

“Good thing business is so good or I might get mad at you for scaring off customers,” Lexie teased.

True to her word, your cousin helped you clean up and then was heading out the door by six o’clock.

“Have so much fun,” she told you, blowing you a quick succession of air kisses. “And tell Bob happy birthday from me,” she added with a wink before slipping out the door.

With your cousin gone, that left you about forty-five minutes to finish getting ready before Bob arrived. You quickly set a playlist of classic 60s tunes to play softly through the speakers—you and Bob had discovered you had a similar taste in music about halfway through your first date—and then hurried into the bathroom to fix up your hair and apply a little bit of make-up. You usually didn’t bother with much when you were working, but you wanted to look nice for Bob.

Once you were done getting ready, you went into the back to get his little birthday treat set up—Lexie had made a fresh batch of funfetti cupcakes towards the end of the day just for the occasion. You had just finished placing one of the cupcakes on a small plate with a lace doily and inserting a candle into it when you heard a faint knock on the front door.

Your heart rate immediately began climbing as you ran your hands over the T-shirt and jeans you’d worn today, hoping you looked halfway presentable. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you stepped out into the main part of the bakery and felt your legs instantly turn to Jell-O at the sight of Bob standing at the door, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. You’d only told him once in passing how much you loved them, and he had remembered.

Wow, that really did mean a lot.

“Hi,” you greeted him, standing in the open doorway and beaming up at him.

“Hi,” he echoed, that little dimple making an appearance as he smiled down at you. After a beat, he seemed to suddenly remember that he was holding the flowers in his hand. “Oh, these are for you,” he said, holding them out shyly.

“They’re beautiful, Bob,” you breathed out softly, accepting them with a smile and pressing them to your nose. “My favorite. You remembered.”

“Just like you remembered my birthday,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, but which you knew you felt just as much as he did.

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, just gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling dreamily. Then you came to your senses.

“Come in, come in,” you told him, stepping out of the doorway so that he could enter and then closing the door behind him. “Gosh, these really are such beautiful flowers. That was so sweet of you. You didn’t have to get me anything. It is your birthday, after all,” you said, guiding him to a table in the center of the room.

“I wanted to,” Bob replied, taking a seat. He was still in his flight suit and he looked so handsome. “I’m happy that they made you smile.”

“It’s hard not to smile when I’m around you,” you told him, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could think twice about them. Your cheeks grew warm when you realized how vulnerable they were, and you buried your face in the bouquet once more.

Bob’s cheeks had grown rosy as well, and you noticed that his leg was bouncing nervously underneath the table. “I feel the same way,” he murmured softly.

You could have thrown your arms around him and kissed him right then and there, but then you recalled the actual reason why you had invited him over.

“I have a surprise for you,” you said suddenly, smiling brightly as you laid the bouquet of flowers down on the counter. “Wait right here and close your eyes,” you told him, waiting until he had done so before hurrying into the back and lighting the candle you’d tucked into his cupcake.

When you stepped back into the main room on quiet feet, you found that Bob was still patiently sitting with his eyes closed. Your heart swelled with deep affection—and was it possible something even deeper? You had never met anyone like him and you were certain you never would again.

It was at that moment that you realized “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes was currently playing through the speakers, as apropos a sign as you could imagine.

You cleared your throat slightly as you approached the table, the candle sparkling in front of your face as you brought it closer to the birthday boy.

“I know you said you weren’t a big fan of being serenaded with ‘Happy Birthday,’ so I’ll spare you my vocals,” you teased, setting the plate down in front of him. “But Happy Birthday, Bob.”

Opening his eyes, Bob glanced from your face down to the cupcake and then back up to you again. He seemed at a loss for words, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses.

“This is—this—thank you,” Bob finally said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

You smiled, sitting down beside him and gently resting your hand over his. “Blow out your candle before it melts into your cupcake,” you giggled.

He grinned at the sound of your laughter, leaning in closer to blow out the single candle, though he kept his eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Lexie baked them fresh this afternoon. There’s a whole bunch more in the back that I’m going to be sending you home with,” you told him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his face lit up.

“What did I do to deserve all this? This is the best birthday present ever,” Bob chuckled, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing lightly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you murmured, glancing down at the table shyly. “The truth is, I was a little nervous to text you earlier.”

Bob looked surprised at your admission. “Why?” he asked, astonished.

You bit your lip and hesitated, but then decided to be honest. Like Lexie said, if you never took a risk, then you never got to see anything change. “I know this is going to sound so stupid, but I was worried you would think it was too much if I texted you for your birthday.”

“Too much?” he repeated, his brow crinkling in obvious confusion.

“You know, just because you had only mentioned your birthday once. I thought maybe I would seem too desperate or clingy or something if I reached out. I thought it would freak you out,” you confessed. “I know that sounds pretty dumb when I say it out loud.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bob assured you, shaking his head slowly. “I know what you mean. To be honest, I think I’ve had that problem myself. Y’know, coming off too eager and scaring girls away,” he admitted, blushing as he ducked his head.

“Oh, Bob,” you murmured in understanding, lacing your fingers through his. With all the other things you two had in common, it shouldn’t have surprised you that a crappy dating history was something else you shared. “You could never scare me off,” you promised him.

Lifting his head, he smiled at you and reached out slowly, his fingertips stirring a few wisps of your hair as he brushed your cheek lightly. “And you could never freak me out. It meant so much to me that you remembered my birthday. It made my whole day, in fact. Even more than the funfetti cupcakes,” he said, his eyes crinkling. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then added softly, “I remember everything about you.”

“You do?” you whispered, feeling a sudden surge of emotion well up in your throat.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your favorite movies, the fact that you like tomatoes but hate ketchup, the way you throw your head back when you laugh really loudly. Your favorite flowers. I remember it all.”

“Bob,” you breathed out, the tears brimming in your eyes as your gaze dropped from his eyes down to his mouth.

You weren’t really sure who moved first, but soon enough, Bob was holding you in his arms, your lips pressed together in a kiss that was much less chaste than your first one, but just as sweet. Your arms snaked around his neck, one hand burying itself in his soft hair, the other resting on the nape of his neck. He let out a soft groan in response, one of his large hands resting on your hip and the other splaying across your back, holding you close.

It was a kiss that was so much like Bob himself—gentle, kind, tender, sweet, affectionate, attentive. He didn’t demand more than you were willing to give, he didn’t try to take anything from you. He just wanted to make you feel how much he cared about you, wanted to make you feel special and cherished. And he did. You hoped more than anything that you were doing the same for him.

Because the truth was that you were already falling for Bob Floyd, and falling hard.

When the two of you finally pulled back—a mutually hesitant parting borne solely of the need for oxygen—you smiled breathlessly, closing your eyes as Bob rested his forehead against yours.

“Okay, maybe that was the best birthday present ever,” he chuckled quietly, his lips brushing against your temple.

“I think so, too, and it’s not even my birthday,” you grinned, resting your head against his shoulder. “Are you going to have your cupcake?” you asked, glancing down at where it sat on the plate, still untouched.

“Mhm,” Bob nodded, wrapping an arm around you and brushing his fingers up and down your arm. “But there actually is something I’d like to ask you first,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous.

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, trying to figure out why he suddenly looked so flustered.

“Of course. What is it?” you questioned, resting a hand on his arm.

“Well, all of this has been amazing,” he began, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. You had noticed they had a tendency to slide down when he was particularly nervous. “But there actually is one more thing that I’d really like for my birthday this year.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. “What is it?”

Bob swallowed deeply and then looked directly into your eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your lips parted as a little gasp of delighted surprise escaped you. It may have been Bob’s birthday, but it felt like you were the one being showered with gifts today.

“Oh, Bob, yes! Yes!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Yes?” Bob repeated between kisses, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes,” you told him seriously, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed out, the term of endearment falling easily off his tongue in that adorable midwestern accent of his. He pulled you into his arms once more and kissed you soundly.

You giggled softly as you reached for the funfetti cupcake and removed the candle, holding it up for him to take a bite. “Happy Birthday, Bob.”

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

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mrdixon · 5 months

Text

My eyes only

pairing: established daryl x f!reader

wc: 4.4k

warnings: 18+ content, “christmas light bondage” (iykyk), whipped cream, praise, oral (male receiving), fingering, p-in-v, unprotected sex, kinda overstimulation, creampie, mentions of aftercare

summary: christmas with daryl

A/N: merry LATE christmas!! was debating making this a sub daryl fic but maybe next time… rugged muse chapter 2 will most definitely be the next fic posted….

masterlist

You were waltzing around the house, throwing around decorations while your husband slept blissfully unaware upstairs. You threw on one of his shirts, wearing your fluffy pajama pants underneath. You had set up his Christmas present next to the tiny artificial tree on the counter, the present wrapped with a cute red ribbon on top.

You chuckled as you plated some sugar cookies you made the night before, making two mugs of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream.

You moved towards the record player and flipped through the different records, settling for some Christmas music to really set the mood. Humming the tune to yourself quietly as you softly walked up the stairs, smiling widely when you found Daryl by the doorframe of your room.

His matching pajama pants hung loosely around his hips, you had to do some convincing to get him to wear them. He rubbed his eyes, yawning as he glanced you over. “Yer wearin’ my shirt?”

You took notice to the lack of clothing on his upper half, “I am, why? You couldn't find a shirt?” You chuckled, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He grunted in response, his arms sliding around your waist while he buried his face in your neck.

“Wha’ the hell is tha’ noise?” He grumbled into your hair, pulling back to investigate. You giggled as you followed your husband and watched him stumble sleepily towards the stairs, the Christmas music becoming more clearer the farther you both went down.

He stood at the base of the stairs, clearly stunned by the effort you put into making this Christmas the best one yet. You walked up behind him, threading yourself around his arm.

“You like it?” You murmured, looking up at his face. Daryl had never experienced a real Christmas before, so this was all new to him. He wasn't emotional but you knew he would’ve been, instead his eyes just glanced around.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, looking down at you. “It's nice,” he leant down to kiss your forehead, his free hand moving to the back of your head. You sighed contently, leaning in to his kisses before grabbing his hand and leading him to the counter. He sat on one of the stools, letting you slide over the mug of hot chocolate to him. Though not liking sweets all that much, he didn't complain and sipped it.

You chuckled and pointed towards the gift by the tiny tree, his head turning to look at it. He quickly looked back at you and raised a brow.

“For me?” He asked, you nodded in response and watched him grab the box. He stared down at it for a moment, nibbling the inside of his lip before pulling the ribbon and letting it fall away. He lifted the top of the box and looked inside, a smile creeping onto his face. He pulled out the scuffed wood figurine of a dog, he looked at you, your hands clasped together as you waited for his reaction. His gaze travelled down to your hands, noticing the little cuts and scratches on them, presumably from carving this figurine yourself. He chuckled and looked back at the figurine, placing it down on the counter before returning to the box. He pulled out a small film camera, his eyes sparkling. You knew how much he loved taking photos, you being his favourite subject. He thought he was being secret about his hobby but you noticed, you always did.

“Like it?” You asked nervously, your hands still clasped together.

“Like it? I love it,” he breathed out, leaning in to kiss you tenderly. “Thank you so much babe,” he smiled a genuine smile, one you loved seeing. He muttered something before getting up and running up the stairs, you sat still and waited patiently for his return.

He ran back downstairs, his hand behind his back. You tilted your head slightly, a wide smile on your face as you looked at him.

“’s not much, but I also got ya somethin’…” he mumbled and revealed a small fox plushie. You giggled when you saw it, taking it from him and laughing joyfully at it.

“Oh my god, Daryl!” You giggled, looking down at the plush in awe. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, sitting back on the stool.

“I found it when I was out the other day,” he murmured softly. “Figured ya’d like it.”

“Oh I love it,” you smiled brightly at him before engulfing him in your arms, “I love you so much, thank you.”

“I love ya too,” he said muffled by your hair while he draped his arm around your waist, “love ya so much.” He got up to properly hug you, kissing along your neck lightly. His kisses tickled but you let it happen, squeezing him. You pulled back to kiss him briefly, and then sat down on your own stool. He watched you pick up your mug and drink some of the hot chocolate, smiling softly at you. Your eyes darted over to him and you chuckled.

“What’s with that look?” You scrunched up your face, he shrugged and bit his lip.

“Yer just… gorgeous,” he mumbled, “my prettiest girl.” He reached forward to wipe some whipped cream off the corner of your mouth, bringing his thumb to his mouth to lick it off. His gaze shifted down to your lips, rubbing his chin while you watched desire glaze over his eyes. You stood up slowly and looked over to the counter where you grabbed the can of whipped cream before walking over to him. His head tilted upwards to look at you standing over him, you watched his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed.

His hands found purchase on your hips, looking up at you while you held the whipped cream in your hand. “I got another gift for you…” you whispered.

“Mmh, yeah?” His voice quivered, his fingers rubbing your hips. “Have a feelin’ I’ll love it.”

“You will,” you whispered and leaned in to kiss him, a small whimper left his mouth while your free hand came up to cup his cheek.

Your thumb rubbed back and forth against his cheek as his tongue prodded at your lips, seeking entrance. You smirked into the kiss and let him in, your tongues tangling as his grip on your hips tightened. You pulled back and squirted some whipped cream onto your finger, wiping it onto his nose, then his cheeks. He scrunched his face up at the feeling, his eyes shining as he looked into your eyes, curious as to what you were doing. You just smiled sweetly, your tongue darting out to lick the cream off his nose, leaving open mouthed kisses on his cheeks. He let out a low chuckle at the feeling, wiping his face after you were done.

“Wha’ are ya doin’ now?” He grinned, shaking his head while his hands rubbed up and down your sides. “Gonna let me have ya?”

“I will…” you hummed, unbuttoning your shirt and handing him the whipped cream. He raised a brow, glancing down at your cleavage. “What? Gotta make it enjoyable.”

“Suckin’ on yer tits is already enjoyable,” he snorted and pulled you onto his lap. He helped push off your shirt and placed sweet kisses on the tops of your breasts, you hummed delightfully and took the can from him. He pulled back and watched as you sprayed some whipped cream on your breasts, the cream slid down but he caught it, with his lips.

You let out a quiet hum as he sucked on your breasts, licking up the whipped cream that stained them. Your fingers threaded through his hair as he licked you clean from the sticky mess, his eyes half lidded when he looked up at you. You grinned, feeling his erection press against your ass.

“Wanna go upstairs?” You hummed sweetly, gently rubbing along his temples. He didn't reply, picking up the ribbon and camera before standing up with you in his arms, walking towards and up the stairs. You giggled, squeezing around his neck and pushing his face into her breasts. He grunted but placed small kisses onto them as he walked into your shared bedroom.

He placed you down on the bed, the camera placed down next to you while he kissed from your neck and down to your stomach. Your hands dropped the whipped cream and went into his hair, rubbing along his biceps.

“Enough of tha’,” he mumbled to which you raised a brow. He took the ribbon you wrapped his gift with and took your hands, tying them together.

“Hey,” you started, trying to pull your hands apart. He shook his head at you, tightening them even more, but not enough to hurt. He then took your arms and pulled them above your head, using the extra ribbon to tie them to the headboard. “I wanna touch you..” you whined.

“Not righ’ now,” Daryl chuckled, leaning down to kiss your lips while pulling off your pajama pants. You could feel his teeth bite into your lips, pulling back to bite at your neck. You sighed softly, your eyelids fluttering closed when his large hands gripped onto your thighs, keeping you from spreading your legs.

His tongue slipped out to taste your skin, a small whimper escaping your lips as he dragged his tongue down your body. He pressed an open mouthed kiss on the space below your belly button, his thumbs rubbing against the thin fabric of your panties. His warmth left you suddenly and you opened your eyes to see him kneeling above you, the camera in hand snapping photos of you in this position. You blushed, turning your head away only to be turned back, his one hand holding your face as he took photos of you.

“These better not be seen by anyone else,” you warned lightly. He pushed your thigh playfully.

“Nah, ‘s fer my eyes only.” He mumbled, biting his lip as he snapped a few more photos before placing the camera down. He picked up the can of whipped cream, squirting some into his mouth before coming down to kiss you. A delighted noise escaped your mouth as you tasted the sweetness of the cream, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth. He broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you two while he looked into your eyes. “Where did ya put the rest of the ribbon?”

“In the closet, brown box on the floor.” You murmured, your breathing unsteady. He kissed your lips once more and then got up, your eyes watching his back as he got to the closet. You heard him rummaging through the clothes, turning around with a thick red ribbon in his hand. A mischievous smirk played at his lips when he crawled onto the bed, watching your confused expression.

“Relax,” he murmured, his fingers dancing over the silky material before pulling it under your neck, around and tying it. “Too tight?” You shook your head and he smiled at you, tying the ribbon into a bow. He leaned over you to grab the camera again and started taking more photos of you, rubbing his bottom lip while he did.

“What’s this for?” You grinned, winking for the camera. He chuckled and ran his fingers through your hair, gripping it tightly and took photos of his hand in your hair.

“Yer my gift righ’? Gotta make sure ya look the part,” he snorted and released his grip on your hair. He placed his palm on your chest, running it over the curves of your breasts and down your stomach before stopping right on your mound.

Your lips parted in a silent cry when his thumb came down to rub your clit over your panties, pressing hard against it. You tugged at your restraints but they didn’t budge, you squirmed as he continued his relentless attack on your bundle of sensitive nerves. He breathed a little harder once your arousal started seeping through the thin fabric, your moans getting louder. He replaced his thumb with his pointer and middle fingers, rubbing them against your folds, groaning as your panties became damp. Your head fell back as well as you stopped resisting against the ribbons keeping you restrained, your mouth open to let out noises of pleasure.

His hand left your clothed pussy, a whine of protest escaping your lips while you lifted your head again. Daryl only smirked at you and picked up the can of whipped cream once again, making two tiny dollops on your nipples. Your breasts shook as you laughed, shaking your head.

“You’re such a freak,” you laughed as he snapped photos of you.

“Well yer the one with whipped cream on yer tits,” he chuckled and bent down to suck on your right nipple, his wet muscle swirling around the bud. You whined, squeezing your legs together to suppress the aching between them. His hands pushed them apart as he moved to the other nipple, licking you clean of the mess. Your pussy throbbed violently, your muscles straining to pull your legs together again, but his strength was stronger. His teeth bit on your nipple, your eyes meeting his piercing ones when you looked down. Daryl’s eyes were full of pure lust and affection, his lips wrapped around your nipple, moving down to leave hickeys along your breasts. You sighed heavily, biting your lip to silence any noises from leaving your mouth. His hand suddenly squeezed your other breast, “I dun’ like tha’. Keep moanin’ beautiful.”

You let out a deep breath as he pulled away, watching him pull his pajama pants down along with his boxers. His cock sprang out, a pathetic moan left your lips when you saw it. He almost laughed, watching your hands scratch at your own fingers in anticipation. He groaned deeply, taking his thick cock into his hand and stroking it while watching your panties get even wetter just at the sight. He caught you licking your lips and moved to your side, kneeling by your face.

“Come, look at me baby.” He murmured and gently took your face in his hand, his other holding his cock. “Ya wanna suck me off like a good girl?”

You nodded eagerly, opening your mouth as you looked up at him with those wide eyes. He smirked and rubbed your cheek with his thumb before sliding his cock into your mouth, taking his time. Your tongue ran across his slit, tasting the saltiness of his precum. Daryl let out a low groan, one hand cupping your jaw while the other went into your hair. Your tongue ran down his length, tracing over the one angry vein while you breathed through your nose. His hips bucked forward involuntarily, causing you to gag on his cock. He murmured an apology and rubbed your jaw, slowly rocking his hips back and forth, not going too deep into your mouth.

“Such a good girl fer me, suckin’ my cock like tha’..” he praised, tugging your hair ever so lightly. His head lulled back, the grip on your hair tightening as his thrusts got quicker. “Fuck… jus’ like tha’..” It was harder to breathe but you couldn’t care less, looking up at him as you continued to swirl your tongue around his length. His groans became more erratic, thrusting deeper into your mouth. The head of his cock pressed the back of your throat, making you gag.

“Good baby… so fuckin’ good, ya take my cock so fuckin’ well.” He moaned, looking down at you. Your teary eyes looked up at him as he continued to fuck your mouth, one hand was rubbing your jaw while the other pulled your hair back. Your hands yearned to touch him, pulling at the ribbon but to no avail, didn’t come free. You closed your eyes and heard the sound of the camera shutter, hearing quiet murmurs from him. You flattened your tongue against his velvet skin, taking him impossibly deeper into your mouth. He cursed loudly, pulling his cock out before he could cum. You coughed, saliva dribbling down your chin. He released your hair and brought both hands down to wipe your face. Your head felt light, almost like you were drunk on his cock. Your lips made contact with his, an involuntary moan leaving your mouth into his at the contact.

He moved away from you, moving towards the bottom of the bed. Finally, he pulled your panties off. Your pussy fluttered at the cool air, your breath hitching as he ran his fingers through it. His fingers pushed in, groaning at how easily they slipped in.

“Jesus christ girl, so wet huh?” He teased, rubbing his fingers tips on the inside of your wall. Your head throwing itself back as rough moans escaped you. Your nails dug into your palms, gasping for air. He dragged his fingertips along your walls as he pushed in deeper, his thumb rubbing your needy clit.

“Daryl…” you let out a sob, tears prickling at your eyes. The sensitivity was too much, though having not done much yet. He shushed you, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of your while teasing your clit. You felt you legs go weak, a cold feeling in your feet as you cried out softly. “Dar… please I can’t…”

“Ya can, gonna make ya cum fer me.” His free hand reached up to rub circles around your nipple, “can ya do that fer me? Huh gorgeous?” His fingers curled inside you, hitting that soft spot perfectly. A loud cry erupted from your mouth, feeling that knot tie, threatening to snap. He rolled your nipple in his fingers, his other hand speeding up the pace. Your legs thrashed while your hands pulled against the ribbon, moans leaving your lips involuntarily. “C’mon pretty girl, yer doin’ so good.”

The praises whispered into your ear threw you over the edge. Your walls closed in on his fingers, throbbing around them as you came. You gasped, groaning deeply as your eyes closed. He kissed your forehead softly, the hand on your breast coming up to your neck. His lips moved down to kiss you, your soft lips moving with his while the hand caressed the space below your jaw comfortingly.

“Good girl,” he mumbled against your lips, “can ya handle another one or do ya wanna stop ‘ere?”

“No… no I need you,” your voice was hoarse. He nodded and pecked your lips quickly before moving back to kneel between your legs.

“Guess ‘s time I unwrapped my gift.” His eyes glimmered, reaching forward to pull at the ribbon around your neck, letting it lay around your shoulders before reaching up to free your hands. You sighed in relief, your arms coming down to lay by your sides, his own fingers rubbing the skin on your wrists. “All good?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck. He chuckled and kissed the inside of your biceps, lifting your thighs apart and around his hips. His elbows came to rest on either side of your head, leaning over you and kissed the tip of your nose. You let out a quiet giggle that was soon replaced by a whimper as he pressed the head of his cock against your clit.

You breathed heavily through your nose as he rubbed his tip up and down through your folds, teasing your already sensitive pussy. You turned your head to the side, closing your eyes while your chest rose and fell with every heavy breath you took. Daryl’s lips found your jaw and licked across it, pressing gentle kisses along your jawline.

“I ain’ gonna make ya wait any longer, ya’ve been such an obedient girl.” He whispered into your ear, his hot breath tickling you. He reached down with one hand to take hold of his cock, guiding it into your depths slowly. His length invaded your warm wetness, stretching you out. A soft moan emitted from your mouth, closing your eyes. His body trembled above you, clearly holding back from pounding roughly into you. He wanted to be as gentle as he could with you, making sure it wasn’t painful. As soon as he bottomed out in you, he let out a deep throaty groan, pressing his forehead against yours. His hips stuttered as he held still in you, moving his hands to the sides of your head.

“I’m good, move… Daryl please move,” you whined softly, feeling his lips kiss your cheeks gently. He shushed you, withdrawing his hips slowly, feeling your walls grip onto him. He pulled out just so his tip was inside before slamming back in, a choked moan releasing from your lips. He kept his face buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his heavy breaths against your skin. He repeated this movement, keeping it slow but deep.

Your nails gently dug into his back, rubbing over the crescent shaped marks with your fingertips. He grumbled, his chest rubbing against yours as his pace slowly picked up. His cock slid in and out of you with ease, as well as moans escaped your mouth more freely. His hands slid down your sides, finding its place on your hips. He leaned back, sitting on his knees, your thighs over his as he bucked into you over and over.

The angle was just right, hitting the soft spongey part deep inside you, the part that made your eyes roll back into your head and see stars. The base of his palms lay along your pelvis, his fingers wrapped around the sides of your hips, pulling you towards him to meet his thrusts. Your hands couldn’t figure out where to go, alternating between squeezing his wrists or squeezing your breasts. You could feel his cock pulse inside you, dragging along your velvety walls with every stroke.

“Mmmh, look at ya… so perfect fer me,” he rasped, taking that damn camera again and snapping photos of you. “So pretty, gorgeous.” Your eyes fluttered shut, mewling softly. You could hear him toss the camera to the side, his palms landing flat on the mattress by your sides, ramming himself into you roughly. Your face screwed up in pleasure, your brows knitted together in pure ecstasy while your jaw went slack. Your moans filled the air with the sound of his balls slapping against your ass, and soon you felt a warm heat in your belly.

“Mmph, Daryl..” you whimpered, squeezing his hips with your thighs, signaling your impending orgasm.

“I know, ‘s okay.” He murmured sweetly, leaning over you to kiss you. His kisses were soft and gentle, contrasting with the harsh thrusts he gave you. The head of his cock kissing your sweet spot every stroke, causing your back to arch and press your chest against his. He took the opportunity to slip his arm under your back, his free hand coming down to squeeze your ass. His breath was heavy and his kisses turned sloppy, so you knew he was also close.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moaned out.

“C’mon girl…” he groaned, the hand on your ass slipping down to your thigh and pulling your leg over his shoulder. You threw your head back in bliss, moaning loudly as the angle changed. The head of his cock directly abusing that spot of yours, sending hot pleasure up your body. Your own hands grasped at the sheets, knuckles white with how hard you were squeezing. “So fuckin’ tight, gonna cum fer me?”

“Yes!” You shouted, your throat hoarse and your moans raspy. You surrendered to the pleasure, laying limp against the bed as he continued to fuck you deeply. Obscene sounds of your pussy squelching around his cock filled your ears, the bedsprings squeaking with the intensity of his movements.

“Good girl, c’mon.” He moaned, biting his lip as he pushed his limits. Your mouth opened wide in a silent scream, eyes rolling back as you came. Your walls tightened around his length and he groaned shakily, “shit, fuck.” You felt his warm release coat your walls as he came inside you. His hips stuttered, moving back and forth slightly as he fucked you both through your orgasms. He collapsed on top of you, his lips sucking on your collarbone. You out a sigh when he pulled out, his body leaving yours. You just closed your eyes, your pussy throbbing around nothing as his seed poured out of you. You heard the snap of the camera once again and raised your head.

“Stop that,” your grumbled, a small smile on your lips. “I gave you that to take pictures of the pretty things you like.”

“Yeah? Well I’d say you and yer pussy are quite the pretty things.” He snorted, moving off the bed and into the bathroom. You sighed and shook your head, closing your eyes as you lay back. The sound of water running could be heard from the bathroom, soon Daryl emerged again holding a damp cloth. You breathed out quietly as the cold water met your warm skin, his hand making gentle ministrations in between your legs to wipe you clean.

After he was done he kissed your forehead and tossed the cloth in the hamper before crawling into bed next to you. You scooted closer to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you in. He placed another kiss along your temple, rubbing your shoulder.

“Enjoyed your gifts?” You giggled to which he squeezed you, picking up the camera and flipping through the photos. He let you look which you eventually turned away from in embarrassment, “ew wait, delete that.”

He laughed, kissing your lips. “Not a chance,” he sighed and put the camera on the night stand, pulling you flush against his chest. “It was perfect, I love ya darlin’.”

You smiled up at him, rubbing his stubble with your thumb. “I love you too, Daryl.”

He let out a deep breath and wrapped both arms around your small frame, rubbing circles into your lower back. “So… are we goin’ out later today?”

“No way Dixon,” you chuckled. “My legs are weak.” He chuckled, leaning down and kissing your jaw, breathing in your scent.

“Good, I dun’ mind stayin’ in bed all day…” He raised a brow to which you narrowed your eyes. He practically pounced on you, giggles leaving your lips as you both squirmed under the blankets.

Seems you won’t be leaving the bed today.

#mrdixonposts #daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon twd #twd smut #smut with some plot....#daryl smut

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missviviii · 4 months

Text

a/n: zayne my boo <3 im sobbing over the fact that the game killed off mc’s grandma and caleb 😭

ミ★ Love & Deep Space ミ★

pairing: zayne x fem!reader

warning(s): mentions of death, mentions of the explosion that killed mc’s grandma + childhood best friend (caleb) in game, spoilers(?)

Summary: Ever since that day, you’ve fallen in a deep, dark pit. Why did you have to be the one that they decide to destroy? Why did Caleb and Grandma have to die? Is it your fault they did? Zayne, as your primary care physician and a family friend, is concerned for your well-being.

“Sometimes, a small gesture is all it takes.”

The sound of the news on your TV, the thundering rain outside, the sound of the cars driving by your apartment—it all blurs out as you stared at the TV screen, eyes dead and unfocused on the news of the Wanderers attacking and the explosions. Some 22 casualties, two deaths. Grandma and Caleb. His necklace that you bought him as a goodbye gift when he left for the Aerospace Academy sits beside a picture of you, him, and Grandma on the coffee table, the cheerful smiles making you wished that you could revisit time.

Your apartment, once somewhat organized and clean, is now messy with things being knocked down and dirty dishes long discarded. You stare at the one last thing your Grandma left for you, some..tablet(?) with a final letter on it. You haven’t gotten the energy or the ability to open it. It pains you, seeing that you haven’t visited for so long yet when you do, this was the time her house had to explode right in front of you, flames engulfing the house and the only thing that remained was Caleb’s necklace.

“I miss you, Grandma..” You mumbled to nobody, rubbing the tears threatening to spill out your eyes as you glanced down at the item she left you with. Besides that, a small box of her old recipes of those notecards, and other small things that she had entrusted to you years before.

Around you was your laptop, papers and files on the latest Wanderer attacks around you. Yes, Captain Jenna dismissed you and said that you should take some days off to regain your energy, since you haven’t been getting the sleep or the energy you needed, but you just couldn’t.

Your door opened, yet you didn’t bother to look at who entered. “Still sitting in front of the TV?” A familiar voice spoke out, flipping the light switch on and shutting the door behind him. It was Zayne, a long time family friend and your primary care physician. “You haven’t eaten,” he bluntly says as he sets a bag of food on your table and walked into the kitchen. He bites back a sigh, knowing that you were going through a tough time, and people tended to discard everything and grieve and grieve their hearts out.

“Hello to you too, Zayne,” you replied as you shut off the news and got up off your sofa. You pile up all the papers and files you’ve scattered around and set them on the coffee table before you walk into the kitchen as Zayne is cleaning up your dirty dishes. He checks in on you whenever he’s free or when he’s off his shift. He looks back at you, only making a small hum of acknowledgment before cleaning up your dirty kitchen. You looked terrible—eyes red and puffy from crying, obvious eye bags, and the sparkles from your eyes were gone.

You yawn as you take out a bowl and some utensils for whatever food he brought in for you. You unpacked the bag as he cleaned up the dishes you couldn’t bother doing last week. Potatoes, avocado on the side, tuna salad, salmon and rice you said to yourself as you took out the food that he had carefully backed in those plastic containers for you. Then you took out the last thing. Cookie..dough? He remembered your favorite childhood snack. The kind of cookie dough you liked.

“Your grandma gave me a recipe for the cookie dough. She said that if she couldn’t make it, I should since it lightens your mood,” Zayne says as he puts your clean dishes back into the cabinet. He dries his hand off before walking over to you, watching how you stare at it like a piece of gold. Disbelief and shock were etched on your face.

Zayne puts his hand on your back, soothingly rubbing circles as you opened the container and took a bite. Your eyes almost brimmed with tears again. You could remember how your grandma used to bake in the kitchen and you’d always sneak a bite or two of the cookie dough, no care in the world if you could get salmonella.

“Thank..you, Zayne,” you finally said, turning around tightly hugging him. He was a bit hesitant at first, but he put his hand on your head, massaging your scalp as he looked down at you with a gentle look on his face.

“..You’re welcome. I miss her too.”

Zayne’s eyes looked away at the picture on the counter of your grandma. She didn’t have to go out this way.

#love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #vivi’s writing✫彡 #writing #i wanna write #x reader #fanfiction #for funsies #i almost cried #fanfic #my darling <3 #this game is so good #send me asks #love & deepspace #love & deepspace fluff #little bit of angst

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fairyysoup · 17 days

Text

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know.

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors.

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first.

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business.

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in.

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings.

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.”

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist.

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.”

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out.

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?”

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him.

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed.

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will.

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face.

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face.

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead.

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself.

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well.

“Ooh– stockings?”

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–”

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?”

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red.

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!”

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye.

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water.

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.”

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers.

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin.

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him.

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes.

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring.

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure.

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.”

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?”

“In the woods,” he says simply.

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?”

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading.

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?”

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly.

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time.

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods.

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted.

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass.

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another.

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces.

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.”

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder.

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.”

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest.

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees.

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.”

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair.

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen.

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?”

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.”

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.”

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?”

“Not a hair of it.”

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.”

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!”

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning.

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet.

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing.

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you.

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible.

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven.

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem.

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening.

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you.

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip.

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe.

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core.

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck.

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand.

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in.

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?”

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some.

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you.

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.”

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?”

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

#i'm inordinately proud of this one uhh #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf!eddie munson #werewolf!eddie #werewolf!eddie munson x reader #stranger things #roses*

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bi-writes · 4 months

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i didn't have an amazing christmas this year so i projected this onto bestfriend!roommate!simon and im sorry about it but im also not sorry about it but i tried to end it nice

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 6/?)

cw: mature language and content, mentions of past trauma, mentions of unrequited love and lack of family, mentions of death and loneliness, allusions to violence

you waited for the ringing of the call to stop. you were seated on the couch, the laptop propped up in your lap as you stared at the screen hopefully. your heart skipped a beat when the ringing stopped, a circling loading screen popping up until a grainy video came through.

simon was seated in the dark; you guessed that he was hunkered down in his room, seated on his bunk. he had his skull mask on; the plate sewn onto a balaclava, eye-black hiding most of him in the void of the terrible quality video, and you tried not to notice the mysterious drops of something against the white of his mask.

"hey, simon," you greeted him, giving him a gentle smile. simon ran a gloved hand over his head, nodding.

"''ello, luv. i know the time is bad, if...if you want to head to bed, 's alright with me."

you scoffed, "you know that's not happening. i don't care what time it is here...i always want to talk to you."

he grunted lowly, looking away for a moment at something out of your view before looking back. you moved to go sit by the window, keeping the laptop propped up as you looked outside. you could see the soft lights lighting up the neighborhood; twinkling lights, mostly in red and green, sparkling between the soft snowfall that had began to fall against the pavement.

there was something so peaceful about the moment. you could see the wind pushing the snow at an angle as it fell, starting to add a fresh blanket of white to everything. if you squinted, you could see two people in the apartment across the street, trying to build a small bike in the early hours of the morning. one of them held papers, instructions you guessed, and the other held a screwdriver and was trying to fit the two back wheels onto a base.

"how are you?" you asked suddenly, looking back down at the laptop. "you look like shit."

simon laughed dryly, "you can't even see me."

"i know you," you laughed with him. "and i know that even through the shitty camera, you're worse for wear."

he hummed, looking down for a moment.

"i've had better days," was all he offered, and you swallowed hard, trying to look at him better.

"i miss you, simon."

you said it easily. you did miss him. he was so far away; you didn't know where he was, but you knew it was far. and he did not say when he would be coming back; you suspected he didn't even know himself when he would be.

"i miss you, too, luv."

you looked out the window again. you looked at the couple again, watching one of them take a few bites of some cookies that were laid out while the other had a few hearty gulps of the milk in the glass beside them. your eyes watered a little. their house looked...full. stockings hung over a dwindling fireplace, christmas tree lights giving the room a soft yellow glow, a mountain of presents gathered under a full tree of ornaments.

there was nothing in your apartment. no lights, no tree. you never liked to keep one; you had no one to buy presents for. and simon--this day only brought the wrong kind of feelings to the surface. feelings of torture, of unexpected discovery, of death and the stench of it which couldn't be covered by lighting evergreen candles or baking sugar cookies.

so much of the day surrounded family--of which you didn't have. no one to visit, no one to bring the wine while you cooked the ham, no one to hand you a gift and no one for you to give one to either. you had learned a long time that it was best not to dwell, but it was hard. it was hard when you looked across the street and saw people that had so much more of something. something that you desperately wanted, but couldn't be bought.

when you looked back down at the laptop, simon could see the tears in your eyes clear as day. your eyes were so glossy and wet, and he swallowed hard as he looked at your face, illuminated by the twinkling lights that were bright outside.

"sorry--" you whispered, reaching up and wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your sweater. "sorry, i don't know why...i don't know what's wrong with me." you laughed it off, but simon could hear the pain in your voice. something aching and scratchy, something hollow.

"did...did you get what i sent?"

you looked up at him, frowning a little.

"sent? like...a package?"

"oh, christ, luv, don't tell me you haven't left the flat all day?"

you opened your mouth to respond, but you closed it, smiling shyly.

"just...go check outside. i can see it bloody snowing, go get it before it gets ruined."

you got up from your seat, going outside momentarily. when you came back inside, you had a wet box in your hands, and you set it down on the table as you when to go get something to cut the tape off. when you had opened the box, there was a smaller one inside, a nicely wrapped burgundy box that fit in your lap. you took a seat in front of the camera again, seeing simon's messy handwriting on the top of the box.

happy december 25th.

you laughed reading it, looking up at the camera after you reading the message.

"just another day, right?" he asked. you had new tears now, but they weren't sad. your heart was beating fast, making you take shaky, fast breaths, and you tried to smile, but it was hard.

"j-just another day," you whispered back to him. you took the top off the box, taking the tissue paper out to reveal a little plushie inside. it was a black teddy bear, but this one was unique. someone had fashioned a little skull mask of it out of felt, messily sewn fabric fit over the bear's face with the beady black eyes peeking out from the eyeholes--just like simon's. you picked up the bear, letting the box fall to the floor, and you tipped your head back as you tried to keep your tears inside. "simon--"

you and simon had never really gotten the chance to just be kids. to just be. to just enjoy and to receive something that didn't serve a purpose or a function, something unnecessary and trivial--something considered extra. because possessions were luxury, and you can't remember the last luxurious thing you had ever gotten.

"i know," he said lowly. "fuck, i--"

he pushed his own laptop down, and the camera tilted so you could only see his lower half. you watched him lose a bit of control, more tears coming down your face as you held your breath. simon cleared his throat loudly, ringing his hands together nervously before he picked the camera back up to his face.

"i'm getting the next fuckin' plane out of here, y'hear me?"

you brought the bear to your chest, hugging it gently before nodding. you wondered if this was why he had gotten you something like this--something to hold onto when he was gone. something to remind. something that would make you remember in the simon-shaped void you seemed to dwell in all too often.

"okay."

you had spent many december 25ths without him. you had spent many december 25ths right here, on a lonely windowsill, watching through the windows of lives that you wished you were living. this loneliness was not new--but now the loneliness was shared, and it hurt to share it.

you fell asleep there, watching glittering lights between the snowfall and holding the bear to your heart. the laptop went dark after awhile, and you slept there by the windowsill, wondering if anyone looked in and wanted to live this life instead.

the empty, quiet life of nothingness and bad dreams.

but it was something warm that woke you. a familiar hand, cradling the back of your head, whispering against your hair.

his breath was shaky. sucking in with difficulty, and then breathing out in rough stutters. your eyes opened slowly, your cheek squished against his tactical vest. you realized that he must've just gotten home--he was still head-to-toe in his gear, and you were staring up into the skull plate.

"simon--!"

you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. you gasped as you held him close, and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. your heart fluttered at the thought that he must've left as soon as he told you last night--determined to get back to you.

when you pulled back, simon rested his forehead against yours. you nuzzled your face against his, soft breaths as you grounded yourself in the realization that he's here, he's with me, he's alive.

"just another day," simon murmured, gripping your head with both hands. you swallowed hard, opening your eyes and meeting his own. you swear you saw something sad in them, something emotional, tears of some kind, but he blinked it away before you could look too long. "but i...had to come home."

your nodded reaching up and putting your hands over his on your face.

"i love you, simon."

if he had paid enough attention, he would've heard what those words truly meant. that you didn't just love him, you love him. not want, need, not a preference, but a requirement. undeniable, endless, raw, soul-sucking love--the kind that tore up your insides and spit them out without remorse.

but how can you really love someone like me?

simon tangled his gloved hands into your hair now, tugging gently.

"i love you more."

how can you love someone who's already dead?

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty

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ask-caramel-pecan-cookie · 2 years

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What kind of job do you have? And what do you do in your days off?

“Well I often work with Avocado Cookie! She’s a blacksmith! It’s hard work but we always manage to get the job done! I did get my most of my strength from my mamacado afterall!”

*Caramel Pecan chuckles at the little pun nickname*

“And before you ask, yes, Avocado Cookie is my mom, mainly adoptive mom, but she’s still my mom to me.”

“I also sometimes go out on little adventures to gather things for the kingdom with other cookies or I go solo. I’m like a charge cookie or fighter in a group”

“On my days off, I just sometimes go to Sparkling Cookie’s bar and catch up with the others there, or I go out and have a wander in the woods. Nothing out of the ordinary!”

*Caramel Pecan shows a small smile, but seems to be nervous, as if they’re hiding something*

#ask blog #caramel pecan cookie #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom oc #cookie run oc #cr kingdom #crk oc #mentions of Avocado cookie #avocado cookie #cookie run kingdom avocado cookie #cookie run avocado cookie #mentions of Sparkling cookie #sparkling cookie #cookie run kingdom sparkling cookie #cookie run sparkling cookie

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scribblesofagoonerr · 1 month

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Clouds, Cookies & 'Roos

Here's some more fluff, cos' I feel like all I have written recently is heavy angst, so I thought I'd try give you all a bit of a break.

I want to turn this into a mini series, so hit me up with any ideas if you have any!

Pairings: steph catley x child reader Warnings: nothing, just adorable fluff.

You'd never been on an airplane, having been born in England and always being too little to travel any time previously, you'd never had the chance to experience it, so you definitely had mixed feelings about your first adventure on one of them.

You were heading to Australia for the first time, the world cup was going to be hosted over there in your mama's home country and it was an opportunity that she was ecstatic for and she wanted to share that experience with you.

"Hey sweetie, are you excited about your first big adventure on the airplane?" Your mama, Steph knelt down to meet your eye level.

You weren't so convinced that it would be as fun as your mum kept saying that it would be, "M' scared, Mama. What if the plane's too loud or bumpy?" you questioned.

Steph sympathetically smiled as she gently brushed your hair out of your face, her heart ached for your anxiety about the flight, "I understand, baby and it's perfectly normal to feel a little nervous about flying, escpecially when it's your first time" Steph's voice is gentle and reassuring, "But hey, guess what? I'm going to be right here with you, every single step of the way" she told you.

"Really?" Your voice was quiet as you asked.

Steph nodded in agreement, "Yep, and you know what else? Once we're up in the air, you'll be able to see the clouds and they look so cool, like fluffy pillows just floating in the sky" she told you, trying to make you feel a bit more excited about getting on the plane, "And the flight attendants will bring us snacks and drinks, so it'll just be like a picnic in the clouds" she explained.

A small tentive smile tugged at the corners of your lips, "Really, Mama? Can we have chocolate chip 'ookies?" you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. You can have all the chocolate chip cookies that you want, within reason cos' we don't you being sick now, do we?" Steph said as her eyes sparkled in amusement, watching you do a little dance in your seat, "You know what's even better? When we land in Australia, you'll be able to see all the animals as well, like the kangaroos and koalas. Doesn't that sound like fun?" she questioned.

Hearing the mention of animals, your eyes lit up in complete joy, "We're gonna see the Roos'?" you wondered, your apprehension was soon melting away to be replaced with a spark of excitment.

Steph nodded enthusiastically, "Yep, you'll be able to see them hop really, really high" she told you just the flight you were boarding was called out, "That's our flight, sweetie. Are you ready to get on the plane?" she questioned, holding out her hand for you to take.

"Excited, Mama!" You beamed a wide smile, all but now tugging at her hand in the direction of the depature gate, "Come on, Mama. Lets' go, I want to see the 'Roos!" you squealed, excitedly as Steph chuckled in amusment and was quick to follow, not having the heart to tell you that it would be a long flight before you were able to see your beloved 'Roos like you were excited for.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #arsenal wfc x reader #fluff #steph catley x reader #matildas x reader #auswnt x reader #scribblesofagoonerr

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konatagreen · 1 year

Text

#incorrect quote lmfao #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #herb cookie #espresso cookie #sparkling cookie #madeleine cookie #madeleine cookie (mentioned)

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onlyswan · 11 months

Text

summary: in which you don’t want to give up on jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

> idol!jungkook x reader, angst, fluff / word count: 7k

> warnings: tears overflowing </3 mentions of cheating (but again no one did it ok !!), heh judgemental family members amirite, is giving lipstick marks a warning ?

> in which masterlist!

note: anniversary reveal! and more of oc’s pov :( in the aftermath of in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much left to give !! it’s up to u which one to read first if u haven’t. the in which series is a puzzle 😭 i’d love to hear your thoughts after reading <3 hugs and kisses <3

—

“i feel like this shouldn’t be taking this long.” jungkook jokingly remarks as he pushes the shopping cart with folded arms, tiptoeing and tracing your steps as your eyes wander around the entire shelf of feline necessities.

“leave me alone. there’s too many options.” a huff escapes your mouth as your index finger underlines the flavors of cat treats, aiding you in reading the small words.

he pulls back the cart before it could collide with your hip, resting his chin on top of his arms as he impatiently waits for you to pick out a small gift for your friend’s cat, who you will be catsitting tomorrow.

“just pick the one with the happiest looking cat. that should make it easy, right?”

“jungkook!”

entertained by his own humor, his bright giggles harmonize with yours. eventually, you’re forced to sit on your toes so you can scan the other products shoved in the lowermost shelf.

“surprisingly, many of them don’t look that happy.” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself.

“baby?”

“yes?”

“i’m getting bored.” jungkook pouts sulkily, bouncing his leg. in the midst of spacing out, he spits out the first question that pops in his mind. “what crime would you get arrested for?”

“arson,” you answer with a shrug, perhaps a little too quickly. the most adorable packaging you’ve seen so far steals your attention, and it’s almost as if you’re being beckoned by the colorful jars of cat cookies.

tuna? salmon? or chicken?

“oh?” he perks up in intrigue, mouth gaping in surprise. “why didn’t i expect that? why arson?“

“i mean, nothing special. it just sounds efficient? it takes little work but creates colossal damage.”

his face lights up when you stand back on your feet, relieved that grocery shopping is almost over. you place the jar of your chosen flavor, tuna, in an unoccupied space in the shopping cart.

“but realistically? i’d probably burn down my building with my forgetfulness and then get framed for it. i imagine that sometimes when i cook.”

“who would frame you?! tell me, baby.“ he angrily yells in a whisper, a cheeky smile growing on his face. “i’ll investigate and take care of them. that’s what i will get arrested for.”

“damn, how romantic.” you reply teasingly, granting his lips a loving peck. afterwards, you whisper to him as if you’re trading a well-kept secret, hushed voice and squinted eyes. “later. i’ll show you which of my neighbors i suspect.”

—

“baby?” jungkook chirps the pet name one more time, seizing your hand and putting it under his so that he’s pushing the cart while holding hands with you.

you hum in acknowledgement, sparing him a short glance as you look around, just incase you find something else you need while you’re on your way to the counter.

“have you thought of anything you want for our second anniversary?” he asks with sparkling eyes, his excitement uncontainable as more days get crossed out from the calendar. “a gift? and where you want to go?”

and that’s when your calmness completely shifts into chaos. his questions are giant buckets filled with ice, callously dunked over your head without any sign or warning. your walking pace gradually slows down as his words sink in, and you drown in the tornado swirling violently in your chest.

“our… anniversary?” you choke out.

your evident confusion is met by jungkook’s disappointment, halting on his tracks as to not leave you behind. “yes, february 25. that’s in three months… have you forgotten?”

“excuse me-”

a middle-aged woman rudely pushes your back, and you apologize in panic as you face your boyfriend to provide her the space to pass through. your heart drops to your stomach when you notice his stoic expression, hurt and distant, before you allow yourself to be whisked away from the center of the aisles.

“babe, please don’t be mad. i swear, i didn’t forget!” you cling to his muscular arm, hugging it to your chest as you stand behind a long line of overflowing shopping carts. “i literally have all the 25th marked in my calendar. how could i forget?”

“ugh, you tell me.” he frowns at you, lightly bumping his head against yours.

“i just didn’t realize it’s that near already.” the half-lie, half-truth tastes bitter on your tongue. “have you ever thought that time moves too fast when you’re happy and having fun? that’s exactly how i feel when i’m with you.”

yes, jungkook have thought of it a million times.

“fuck, alright, i’m not mad. you’re pretty good at this, huh?”

your sweet smile is pleasantly contagious. a flushed-face jungkook unconsciously copies you. he becomes pliant as you raise his arm to wrap it around you, stealing his body warmth this chilly november afternoon.

“i want to see a waterfalls with you. can we go there?”

he presses a kiss to your temple, unmoving for seconds, before he pulls away with a distinct smooching sound that fills your stomach with butterflies. “mhmm, niagara?”

you fail to hold back an amused snort, covering your mouth to prevent unwanted attention from strangers. “be serious. think local! we barely even go out of town!”

“but i’m serious.” he blinks at you. “we can just take pictures, have a dinner date, then go home!”

“you do know that it’s at the other side of the pacific, right?”

—

the cold breeze engulfs you in a big embrace as soon as you step out of the grocery store, carefree and unaware of its thorns prickling your skin. hand in hand, you and jungkook walk to his car parked two blocks away, carrying a plastic bag while he took the heavier two.

after putting out the small fire, your tumultuous emotions clamber to the surface, and it becomes increasingly difficult to hold them down the longer he’s around. the clouds are dark gray, as if they’re writing in pencil beforehand, my tears are about to fall. you feel stupidly envious of their ability to weep anytime they need to, in the face of the casualties. how nice would it be if you allowed yourself to be the same?

“this wasn’t here before. when did they open? let’s go inside for a bit.”

distracted by your stream of thoughts, you are guided inside an establishment with you only noticing belatedly. jungkook lets go of your hand to marvel at the collection of sunglasses displayed in extended rows. you stay idle by his side, watching him check himself out in the mirror as he tries them on one by one.

“that one looks good on you.” the praise automatically slips from your mouth when he wears a rectangle-shaped brown frame, more on the bigger side. as expected from your extremely handsome boyfriend, he makes it appear more stylish than it originally looked on the shelf.

“really? should i buy it?” he wears a radiant beam, repeatedly lifting it up and down as he inspects your face with and without the filtered lens.

“hm, i think so.” you skip over the grocery bags on the floor, squeezing in yourself in the small mirror. “here, look here again.”

jungkook rests his head on yours as he smiles at your reflections, tight-lipped, bringing out the most endearing set of dimples you’ve ever seen.

“why are you acting cute today?”

“i was just born this way.” he grins proudly. “and i guess i missed you.”

the ever-present sincerity in his voice adds weight to the heaviness chained to your heart, and you reward a kiss on his cheek to conceal your uneasiness, leaving a conspicuous lipstick mark in your wake.

“yah!” he lightheartedly scolds you with a chuckle, pushing up the sunglasses over his hair to examine his face.

you reflexively seize his wrist with an offended gasp. “hello? are you about to wipe off my kiss?”

“you can give me a thousand more in the car.“

“but that defeats the purpose.” you defeatedly answer as you let him go, witnessing your lipstick turn into a faint blush that compliments his honey skin. “oh, fine! i guess i’ll go window shopping over there.”

“where’s ‘over there’?”

he whips his head around to discover that you’ve disappeared.

—

you don’t flinch when you feel someone hold your waist. maybe you know it’s jungkook. maybe you know jungkook will die before he lets anyone else touch you in his presence.

“are you sure you won’t get anything?”

“i won’t. i just saw the hot air balloon two months ago.” you timidly shake your head as you return the sixth eyeglasses you tried on. “are we going home?”

your boyfriend responds by intertwining your fingers together.

“let me take this again then.” you reclaim the grocery bag you were with earlier, taking it upon yourself to hold the paper bag of his new sunnies as well, just to lighten his load. how the hell did he manage to carry everything in one hand?

your eyelids briefly flutter shut when he kisses your cheek. “thank you.”

when jungkook pushes the door open do you only hear the raindrops crashing on the pavement, splashes of cold water staining your denim pants as you stand under the canopy roof.

“shit, it’s so cold.” he shivers with a laugh as you simultaneously pull your hoods over your heads. “carry the bags on your other side.”

“why?” you ask innocently, but you do as he says anyway, not seeing any reason not to.

“just because.” he transfers to your right, capturing your free hand to put it inside the front pocket of his hoodie along with his. “let’s go!”

and you know the probability of you buying cold medicine for two in twenty-four hours is high, but this moment feels like it could last forever — running under the rain with him and feeling overwhelmingly alive, heart and soul; realizing halfway that he switched positions so he’d be the one closer to the busy and slippery road. they have wild similarities: nature and jungkook. a breath of fresh air. stars. the candied scent of flowers. dulcet sounds. warmth. home. resourcefulness. whimsical. unstoppable force. they devastate you catastrophically without meaning to. sometimes you overthink that they do. sometimes you know them and sometimes you don’t. you’re part of the problem but it’s hard to admit.

jungkook drives ten times more carefully. the rain is pouring harder as the seconds fly by, giving the radio speakers of his car a run for their money. the twenty-five minute drive to your apartment is nothing short of torturous, tinted windows too blurry and too reminiscent of memories you’ve been trying to push into the recesses of your mind. but they’re out of control, ceaselessly replaying in your head, and you can still see his tear-stained face even when you close your eyes. the windshield wipers are working hard but the sky is remorseless.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

“i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

he’s wrong. you so strongly wish that he’s wrong.

you swallow the lump in your throat, chewing your bottom lip harshly, but the thread you’ve been hanging on has been snipped. you begin to cry silently, curled up on the passenger seat and face hidden by the hood you haven’t taken off. you pretend to be asleep as jungkook softly hums the tune of the songs playing in the radio. you feel so fucking suffocated. you hate this car. you hate the rain. you hate that you’re being this way. you feel guilty that your boyfriend is excited for your second anniversary while you’re stuck up in the past. you feel ashamed of feeling, almost.

you don’t know how to tell him that you’re sad because you love him. and even sadder when he thoughtfully wraps you in a blanket in the middle of a red light, stroking your back as he whispers. “my baby must be so tired.”

—

the rain has become a clement drizzle by the time you arrive at your destination. standing before your apartment unit, jungkook sets down the grocery bags on the floor to take off the wax cord necklace hidden underneath his clothing. he uses the pendant, his copy of your house key, to unlock the front door.

you slip off the loose sneakers on your feet by the floor mat before heading straight to the bedroom. you hang your boyfriend’s backpack on your study chair and place his paper bag on top of your desk. he enters the room when you’re already pulling the thick hoodie over your head, leaving you in a navy blue body-hugging top.

“love, are you okay?” he asks as he brings out fresh clothes from his backpack, looking over your sprawled out figure on the bed, eyes shut and breathing heavy.

“i’m alright.” you force yourself to sit up, sliding off the bed to stand on your feet. your head is pounding and you want to puke your guts out. is it normal to experience such heartache that you feel physically sick? “i’ll put away the groceries.”

“okay. i’ll be there to start cooking dinner!”

you merely nod, brushing past him.

—

you begin with restocking the fridge. meat, eggs, yogurt, almond milk, fruits, and the like. jungkook arrives when you’re already unpacking the second bag, and his first instinct is to affectionately hug you from behind. after too many days physically apart, he’ll be damned if he’ll allow even an inch of distance between your bodies.

your actions are put on halt when his palm presses on your neck, and then the back of it. “why do you feel so warm? don’t you feel sick?”

it was the final blow. to be honest, it’s been long overdue. you’re frozen in place, defeated as one by one, the tears finally drip from your damp eyelashes. they roll down your cheeks, some crashing on the table and seeping into the wood to form tiny circles of a darker shade of brown. the rest of them rolls down to the hand that is checking your temperature. you sniffle before he can question the new sensation on his skin.

“hey- hey, what’s wrong? are you crying?“ he moves to your side for a better view of your face, but you shake your head in denial. “what happened? baby?”

“nothing.” you mutter, brushing him off.

you gather the bottles of soy sauce and vinegar, wiggling out his hold to place them in the shelf above the stove. you return to the table to pick up the stuff that goes in the cabinets, but jungkook catches your wrist, removing the pack of sliced bread from your hand.

“i thought we’re not supposed to shut each other out.” he whispers, pulling you closer and guiding your arms around his waist. “it breaks my heart when you cry, baby.”

his doe eyes are pleading as he tilts up your chin to meet his gaze, thumb softly drawing circles on the apple of your cheek. you feel so utterly lost, overwhelmed by his gestures of kindness and affection. and yet you cry, because if he loved you that much, how did breaking up became an option he was willing to choose?

“our anniversary…” you trail off, ripping apart at the seams. “it still counts.”

neither of you knows if it’s a statement or a question.

“it still counts.” he nods slowly, repeating your words. “sh-should it not?”

his heart races in his chest as fear creeps up on him, dreading your answer. did he fuck up again? but your response only leaves him with more questions floating above his head.

“if we only had a pause- does that mean you… didn’t try looking for someone else? right? you didn’t sleep with anyone? while we were…”

for a moment, jungkook forgets how to speak as silence reigns over. his forehead creases in confusion, a sharp pang digging in his heart like a dagger as you wait with bated breath.

“no. why would you ev- no. no, i didn’t. where is this coming from?” his round, agitated eyes search for a clue in your expression but you don’t allow him that privilege, impassive as you withdraw from the close proximity between you.

“it doesn’t matter, that’s all i needed. thank you for answering.” you sigh heavily, turning on your heel to head to the bathroom. “i’m going to wash up.“

“____, come on. don’t walk away from me.” he almost begs out of desperation as his fingers curl around your arm, itching to embrace you because serrated trepidation is gnawing at his insides. he’s not losing you. he’s not losing you. he’s not losing you. he won’t let you slip away.

you sigh. “let go, jungkook.”

“how can i let you walk away after learning that you think i cheated on you?” he frustratedly blurts out, the words revolting on his tongue. this was never supposed to happen. he was supposed to be a partner who never gave you any reason to question his faithfulness. “that doesn’t matter?”

“it doesn’t.” you assert firmly.

jungkook is scared. he doesn’t understand how you can look at him like this, pretend you’re not wounded and bleeding. he doesn’t know if you’re giving him a pass or if you’re punishing him.

“either way, you broke up with me, jungkook… i would hate it, but it wouldn’t have been cheating.”

“it is to me.” his hauntingly angelic voice shatters, along with your fragile hearts as he says- “i didn’t love you any less and you know that.”

sorrow seeps into the silence, permeating the cold air, thick with heartache and tension. you walk away from him wordlessly, and jungkook is taken aback, vision blurred and unfocused as his hand drops to his side, devastatingly dejected.

“____!” your name fades into a muffled noise.

the doorknob clicks when you lock it. numb as your feet carry you to the sink, numb as you twist the faucet until you can’t anymore. the strong pressure of the water hitting the porcelain echoes throughout the dimly-lit bathroom. you tightly grip the edge of the sink as you fall apart disastrously, like a wave blazing past the shore and destroying everything in its path with ferociousness — because it’s the only thing left it knows how to do. your endless tears turn the cold tap water into saltwater. it inevitably overflows, spilling over the edges and soaking your trembling hands.

when he broke up with you, it opened the door to many other possibilities that hurts you to think about. you thought you knew, too. but the seed of doubt was planted in your mind when you were forsaken, and it kept growing as a wildflower even when he came back and laid beside you after not reaching out for weeks.

the last time you cried like this, you begged him to allow you to keep loving him.

your weak knees give in to the pull of gravity, heedless of nasty bruises as you cover your mouth to restrain your afflicted sobbing, nails scratching the porcelain as your lone hand insists on holding you up. sometimes love is not a warm comforting embrace. sometimes love is teeth. sometimes love is biting and perversely holding on. were you not worth fighting for? this time around, can he sacrifice something else instead of you? does that make you sound selfish? what if you don’t care that it does? and you wonder if it’s alright for two people to be in a relationship despite having different ideas of what loving means. you wonder if you’ve truly changed his mind.

outside, jungkook anxiously paces back and forth. the piercing sob that tears itself from your throat and crawls through the small cracks of the door is a direct, forceful punch to his gut. he swallows thickly, wiping away the tears brimming his eyes. he can’t cry, not right now. four months have passed, but it isn’t time’s job to heal all wounds. it’s his.

—

“what are you making?”

jungkook’s bubble pops when he hears your voice. he didn’t even realize when the shower stopped running, too absorbed in the kitchen so that he won’t intrude into your boundaries despite his restlessness. he takes you in, clad in your silk pajamas, before looking back at the bowl of dark brown batter he’s been tirelessly stirring and folding to incorporate the ingredients together.

“brownies.”

“all of a sudden? thought you were going to make dinner.” you leave no space between the two of you as you dip in the tip of your pinky finger for a taste.

that was the original plan, but he knows that you like to consume sweets when you’re feeling down.

“i’m about to. are you hungry?“ he speaks in a subdued voice, gingerly rubbing your lower back. “i’m putting this in the oven now.“

“can i help?”

jungkook dies a little inside when your eyes meet and he notices that yours are swollen, yet still gleaming with affection.

“you can, uhm, peel the potatoes?”

you curiously look back to see the ingredients for gamjatang, pork bone soup, laid out on the dining table. “okay.”

as you begin to diligently do the task you were assigned, he transfers the batter to the pan covered with parchment paper before pushing it inside the pre-heated oven. the faint pitter-patter of the rain fills the apartment as the clouds squall once more. he occupies the seat next to you, entire body facing you as his arm rests on top of the backrest of your chair.

“don’t you want to talk about it?”

you frown, briefly pausing as you ponder so you won’t cut yourself. “no, i want to… i just needed time to think.”

he grows quiet, biting at his nails as he watches your hands smoothly peel off the skin of a potato using a paring knife.

“it matters to me.” he’s been dying to say. “____, you know that i love you, right?”

you thought you had no tears left in you, but your face is feeling hot yet again.

“i know.”

“i did a shitty job at showing it because i was stupid, but it never stopped being true.” he says, steady and sure, doe eyes longing to read your mind. “i love you so much, hm…? i love you.”

“i know. that’s why i’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

a small bitter smile appears on your face as you pick up another potato to peel.

“the other day, your aunt told me you went on dates… she even showed me old pictures of you and the girl together then apologized to me-” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “for setting you up, because she thought i got what i wanted from you and finally backed off. but none of your friends ever mentioned this person to me… or you… that’s why i couldn’t- i couldn’t… it was embarrassing.”

it’s hilarious, really, how you were scared shitless of jungkook’s parents not approving of you, but you failed to consider his relatives. you can’t shake off the subtle looks indicating that you were dirt on her shoe, the honeyed condescending tone that made you feel small and hollow as you sat with her at the bus stop, completely clueless as she rambled. you wanted to laugh, cry, and curse up a storm. and you would’ve chased after her when she went to ride the bus without giving you the opportunity to stand up for yourself, but you had to remind yourself that your actions might taint people’s perception of jungkook, and you couldn’t risk that.

“baby- baby, look at me. please.”

he carefully pries away the potato and the knife from your hands, cupping your face in his big palms. you gaze at him wide-eyed as you ground yourself by clutching onto his wrist. your loud heartbeat pounds in your ears because it’s not always that you can look at each other like this, meeting halfway, seeing more than feeling.

his eyebrows are closely knitted, nose scrunching and barely blinking as he sets the record straight.

“it was one time. she’s been trying to set us up since forever, then… then she planned a date during the time we weren’t talking without even confirming with me… it was a place outside the company, so i just went to say it was a misunderstanding and i’m taken! i felt embarrassed because it’s a family friend. nothing more…” he caresses you tenderly, feeling a pinch in his chest as he tries to put himself in your shoes. “i promise, love, i left after like two minutes. why would i go on dates when i was losing my mind, hm? i was missing you like crazy.”

you melt into him when he crosses the short distance between you, pressing his soft lips on yours for a kiss that makes the whole world quiet. your noses brush each other before he withdraws.

“she left out that part, didn’t she?” he rhetorically asks with venom stirred in his otherwise dulcet voice.

you purse your lips into a thin line.

“seriously, this- this is ridiculous… this is bullshit. she really did it this time. ah, i’m angry! does this even make sense? what’s the point of all that?” jungkook huffs with a sarcastic chuckle as he runs his fingers through his hair, squeezing and tugging to release his growing frustration somehow.

this is why his lover has been doubtful of his devotion? he has known his aunt since he learned how to recognize faces, and he knows that it takes a whole lot for you to reach this breaking point. he can only imagine the interaction that took place, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

you’ve seen the good and the bad, and you focus on the good, and you stay with him despite despite despite.

he takes a deep breath to compose himself, and then his tongue prods the inside of his cheek as his determined eyes search for his phone. he quickly snatches it from the table and stands up, the screen coming to life as he unlocks it with his thumb’s fingerprint. “i’ll be right back, baby.”

“jungkook,” you call out his name as a warning, grasping his wrist before he can go too far. “don’t act rashly.”

“i’m not! i’d go to busan but i’ll put that off because i’d rather spend my day-off with you.”

you don’t know what you were expecting his reaction would be, but it’s not a great leap to say that he is furious, pending to explode.

“i’ve been nothing but polite even though she was fucking badgering me non-stop, but i won’t let her think that it’s okay to treat you like that… she doesn’t have the right to meddle with my life, and she can’t disrespect the most important person to me. i-i-” he pauses to breathe, chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. “i won’t allow it.”

you are his calmness and he is the storm.

his voice wavers by the end of his sentence, doe eyes turning glassy as he sincerely confesses, which is probably why this isn’t the right time for you to smile like a lovesick highschooler with a crush. this is exactly what you tried to avoid, making a mess and a series of uncomfortable holidays, so why does it have to feel good to hear him say that?

you nod with understanding as you free his wrist. “okay. don’t take too long.”

jungkook heads to the front door before his anger can be erased by his adoration for you, so endearing as you peel small potatoes like you had all the time in the world.

as he steps outside, the raucous rain rings in your ears and its distinct smell mixed with the soil enters the apartment.

you cluelessly blink at the ingredients surrounding you as you mutter to yourself. “how many of these am i supposed to peel again?”

—

jungkook returns after a phone call that went longer than planned, but not before wiping the wet floor from both sides of your front door to avoid accidents. he discovers you squatting infront of the unlocked kitchen oven.

“what are you doing?” he asks with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“it’s baked…” you raise the toothpick you poked the brownie with, tilting your head to the side. “right?“

“oh, it is! let’s take it out.”

he rushes to the counter to wear oven mitts, and you stand aside so he can carry out the pan from the oven. you follow him as he places it on top of the wooden table mat on the table, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt to gain his attention.

“what happened?” you interrogate him worriedly as he pulls off the oven mitts from his hands.

“huh?” you’re coaxed to move closer when he caresses your nape, sliding down to the smooth expanse of your back. “my mom will call you soon.”

“what? why?!”

“she wants to cook for you. to apologize for what her son and her sister did.” he scrunches his nose with a guilty chuckle, scratching his head. “let’s go home for dinner one of these days, okay? we’ll cook your favorites.”

“but i thought…” you chew on your bottom lip, hand balling in a fist and crumpling the fabric of your boyfriend’s t-shirt. “did you call your mom too? i don’t want to cause trouble.”

“what do you mean? you’re doing nothing of the sort.” he gives you a disapproving look, gently squeezing your tense hand to quell your worries. “and it just turns out she was listening the whole time i was talking. they’re hanging out together. uh, besides, she would’ve found out one way or the other.”

“but they can’t be fighting, right?”

“aigoo, don’t worry about it anymore. stop hurting your brain. it’s mean.” he strokes your head lovingly with a small smile that suggests an answer to your question. “your mother-in-law loves you. everything’s okay. it’s cold so let’s just eat our dinner then cuddle in bed, hm, baby?”

oh. your mother-in-law?

“you’re so annoying.” you mutter half-heartedly, burying your face in your hands as the tears surge in once more.

god, you feel so relieved.

you crash against jungkook’s body when he tugs you closer to envelope you in his arms. maybe, just maybe, if he does it long enough, you will be pieced back together. even though he, himself, breaks when you weakly pound at his chest with clenched fists.

“i hate you. i hate you. i hate you.” you chant like a broken record in between sobs, glitching in cracks and pauses and stutters. the more you say the same three words, the more they lose their meaning.

he squeezes his eyes shut, enduring the heart-splitting pain and embracing you tighter. “i know- i know.” he repeats your words from earlier.

he hates himself, too. he needs to get his shit together. he understands — he has to grow up if he wants to keep you.

“but i love you, and i’m scared you’ll leave again and i won’t beg you anymore.” you ramble without thinking, brain on auto-pilot mode. “i’m not that kind of person, jungkook. that’s not me. i don’t have to prove it, do i?”

you feel so utterly exposed, disgustingly vulnerable. nevertheless, before jungkook is anything else, he is your best friend.

“t-they think i’m using you.” you hiccup, forearm covering your stinging eyes. you taste the salt in your own tears as you speak. “but that’s unfair, so unfair. i only accept what i’m given. i barely ask you for anything. it was only one time, o-only one time. i asked you to come back, because i missed you. i want to be with you because you make me happy.”

jungkook’s jaw clenches in anger, no longer able to withhold his tears. he sniffles, wiping his wet cheek on his shoulder. you’ve suffered more than enough because of him. if anything, he should be the one getting the lashings from his side and yours. this is wrong. this is all wrong.

“shh- shhh. breathe, baby.” he coos as he pushes down your arm, brushing away the tears on your face. “come here.”

you whimper when he swoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style to the living room. he sits on the sofa, and he sits you on his lap. you slide off him, just a tiny bit for your back to reach the armrest, pulling him along with you.

“hug me,” you demand quietly.

he fails to defy the urge to smile, abruptly pulling you in for a passionate kiss that steals the air from your lungs. your eyelids flutter shut, tense body relaxing into him as your lips follow his lead in this delicate dance of enigmatic intimacy. your fingers graze his jaw shakily, afraid it might cut you and you’ll be awoken from this enduring dream. they desperately tangle themselves with his hair, digging to keep him glued onto you.

“i won’t leave again. no matter how hard you push me away, i will stay within your reach.”

he makes a whispered promise carved into the walls of your apartment, sealed by his lips pressing to your knuckles, and you’re left to wonder forever if he kissed your left ring finger on purpose.

jungkook is soft-spoken, slow and careful with his words that could make or break you.

“i’m so sorry that i hurt you. and i’m sorry that you have to go through this because of me. i’m sorry for everything. i’m sorry. but…” he inhales, and exhales, licking his lips. “the noise might never stop. i know it’s not as easy to say, but i hope we don’t let them get into our heads. just because we can hear them, doesn’t mean we have to listen, you know?”

and as much as it kills him to admit-

“we’re fragile right now, so i want to protect what we have.”

you profusely nod your head, and his thumbs sweep over your cheeks to catch your teardrops.

“let’s be happy, and love each other for a very long time, hm…? i know you’re not that kind of person, so you can ask me for anything. or you can even take them without asking me. i don’t care. what about it?” he says with passion and conviction, galaxy-filled eyes expanding as he shakes his head. “but never me, or my love. you shouldn’t feel like you have to ask for it. do you know why?”

you arch an eyebrow at him, still switching between fiddling with his long and slender fingers and tracing the veins running along his arms. “why?”

“because i’m yours. every single second of everyday. i love you. you deserve all the love i can give. that’s my number one responsibility as your boyfriend… but i failed you. i know you forgive me but… but i-i want to love you better. i won’t get tired of fighting for us, and showing you that i mean everything i say.”

“don’t say things like that.” at last, you crack a genuine smile, giggling as you lightly hit his chest. “i’ll become greedy.”

“good. that’s what i want.” he retorts with a chuckle, but he means it wholeheartedly.

he wants to be inconvenienced by you. he wants to make impulsively confrontational phone calls he will overthink before bed. he wants you to wake him up in the middle of the night clawing for snuggles. he wants you to jump on his back when you’re exhausted of walking. he wants to charm the owner of your favorite restaurant into cooking one more meal before closing because you always ask him to make a quick stop when he visits you. he wants his life to be influenced by yours in every possible way, two different colors mixed in a palette to create a new one that matches the sky.

“thank you.” you smile sheepishly. “and i’m sorry too, for everything. i don’t handle these things well… i’m still learning.”

“mhmm-hmm.” he shakes his head in disagreement, before leaning in to pepper your face with kisses. “i love you.” he smells like romance and comfort, sugar and cocoa from the brownies — the cure to your nausea. you still taste a hint of the sweet flavor when your tongue darts out to lick your dry lips, traces from your taste test and his.

“babe?” you whisper after minutes that felt like hours, drowsy and cozy cuddled up with your boyfriend in the corner of your sofa.

he hums in question, sleepily nuzzling his face on your neck.

“i’m so hungry. i think i’m going to die.”

“ah, yes. i can hear that.”

—

“should i slice the onions next?” you question in a sing-song voice as you enter the kitchen, immediately regaining possession of knife.

“stay away from them. i don’t want you to cry again.”

you pout, clicking your tongue. “you’re right. then what else can i do…? why do you look scared?”

you study jungkook’s wary stance in amusement, taking a glance at your hand where his shaking pupils are trained.

he playfully puts up his arms in surrender, laughter laced with nervousness. “baby, stop waving the knife around.”

“i’m not!”

“yes, you are! just put it down. i’ll do everything, okay?”

you place it back on the table with a scoff, slumping on the chair and crossing your arms. “and then what?”

“then have the brownies for appetizer.” with a self-satisfied grin, he cuts out a slice of brownie that has cooled down during the time it was left unattended.

“i don’t think this is how it works.”

“shhh, baby.“ he menacingly hushes you with his pointer finger over his lips. “don’t say anything. just taste it first. ahhh-“

you take a small bite from the piece that he’s holding out for you, and then another after deeming it too small.

“how is it?” he gulps as he anticipates your reply.

“yummy!”

“really?” he giggles when you chomp on the remaining dessert and accidentally bite his poor fingers.

“don’t know what makes a good brownie exactly, but it’s perfect to me.” you nod your head enthusiastically, somewhat feeling better with the prospect of having your stomach filled with more of your boyfriend’s cooking.

your jaw slacks open in offense when he slaps your hand in the middle of your attempt to pick up the knife, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he threateningly looks at you.

“what was that for? i just want more brownies!” you cry out, lightly kicking his shin from under the table.

“oh- ow!” he cracks up in hearty laughter, corners of his eyes crinkling as he rubs the affected area. “sorry, i’m sorry for my fault! they’re all yours! please forgive me! i’m sorry!”

you send him a scowl before pouring all your focus into slicing the rest of the dessert into bite-sized squares.

he bends down to your eye-level, cutely tilting his head to the side as he speaks lowly. “i’ll cook dinner now. just wait a little more… maybe two hours?”

“please tell me you’re joking.”

—

not long after, you hop on the vacant counter space with the brownies for a better view of the kitchen scene. you leisurely swing your legs as you watch jungkook freely move around your kitchen, occasionally getting lost as he converses with himself. if your calculations are correct, he has asked himself the questions “oing? what was i supposed to do again? what did i come here for?” twice so far. it’s a good thing he talks to himself out loud so you can remember things for him.

he stirs the pot of stew, leaves to gather more ingredients, then comes back to dump them in. the cycle ends with nods of satisfaction, before he waddles over to your spot for a snack break. straight away, you greet his parted lips with the chocolate-y goodness that was reaped from his sweat and tears.

as he chews on the brownie, he turns his face to the other direction and pokes his cheek for another request. with your thighs caging his hips and your hands grasping his collar, you tug him closer to your body. your plushy lips plant gentle but full kisses on his cheek, trailing down to his defined jaw and neck when you run out of space. the tingling sensation shooting up his spine prompts his fingers to dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, breathing gradually getting heavier with your every electrifying touch. the final kiss is granted to his adam’s apple, more prominent as he swallows.

you straighten back up while fixing your hair, and jungkook’s starry eyes follow your red lips in a hypnotized daze. there’s no one else who can make his heart flutter quite like you do. your breathy giggles are music to his ears as you take in the sight of both his cheeks adorned with scattered lipstick marks, appearing like watercolor on paper.

“what’s that for?” he eyed you suspiciously while you were painting your lips, but it’s him who kept coming back to you for more although you were already happy with one.

“you look so funny.”

but if this arrangement goes: he can make you laugh by granting you the permission to leave marks where your lips have been, he will happily live with that.

“can i take a picture?”

but you don’t even have to ask. your phone is still charging in the bedroom, so he proposes his for your convenience.

“here. just airdrop them to yourself.” he hands it to you with a cool shrug, nonchalant on the surface but giddy inside.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send a message/ask if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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