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stop-talking · 2 months

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So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 5)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 4k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, lots of fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, fluff, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, misogynistic undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

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To celebrate a week of sobriety, you decide to surprise Derek with a cake.

Of course, since there isn't exactly a bakery on a remote island, you had to bake it yourself.

Which you did. Last night. Now you stand in the kitchen, wondering how exactly you should decorate the damn thing.

And what to write on it?

"Congrats, maybe now you'll live past 40!" No, that's morbid.

"Bye-bye blunts and blow!" Too cringy.

"Happy one-week?" Hmm... that sounds like an anniversary thing.

Damnit. Maybe this isn't a situation that calls for cake after all. You sigh and continue to mumble random slogans to yourself as you slather the icing on nice and thick.

It looks a little messy, but you're not exactly a professional baker. Which is unfortunate, because that's probably exactly what he's used to. Oh well. It's the thought that counts, right?

You just want to show him how proud you are. He really has changed a lot over the past week, surprising you every day with how... normal he can be. When he wants to, at least.

Picking up a piping bag of green icing, you start placing decorative dollops around the edge of the cake. Some of them are a little lopsided, but it doesn't look too bad overall.

What now? You mindlessly lick some stray icing off your wrist and stare down at the gaping blank space in the middle of the cake.

Eventually, you settle on three words.

"Proud of you."

It's fitting. He has a lot to be proud of. Not just the sobriety stuff, but everything.

He's been picking up new skills every day. You smile as you tidy up the cake decorating mess strewn about the counter, thinking back to your first time cooking with Derek.

He'd been cocky and overconfident, and so utterly dumbfounded when that pancake met a splatter-y death on the stovetop.

And yet, he still got back up and tried again. After relentless pestering from you, obviously, but it still counted.

You stand back and survey your work. Cream colored icing, green lettering, and... okay, maybe the hearts were a bit much. Hopefully he didn't get the wrong idea. You're just... proud. That's all.

Now the only thing missing is Derek. He went upstairs an hour or so ago for a nap, mumbling something about a headache. Poor thing.

He's been so damn clingy lately, always touching you in some way or another. It seemed almost subconscious for him at times. A hand on your shoulder, his knee against yours, an arm around your waist... no matter what you were doing, he had to have physical contact.

You smile as you make your way upstairs to his room. Maybe today would be the day you finally give him a proper hug.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek is woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of you calling out his name.

Usually, that would be a welcome sound. You're always such a good distraction from his withdrawals.

But right now? He just wants to sleep. No, more than that. He wants to hibernate, to go into a goddamn coma and never have to wake up again.

"Can I have another twenty minutes?" He croaks, lifting his head from the mess of pillows to call out to you.

Apparently he can't, because he hears the door click open, and you peek your head in through the crack.

Derek just groans and buries his face back into the bed. His sheets and blankets are a tangled mess, and he's twisted himself into an awkward angle throughout his nap.

"Come on, It's been over an hour already." Derek can feel the bed shift as you take a seat on the edge.

"Well I'm still fuckin' exhausted." He mumbles into the pillow, not bothering to turn and look at you.

"Derek. You should know by now I'm not gonna let you rot in bed all day."

The almost sarcastic tone in your voice is what finally breaks him. This week has been hell, and you're just mocking him.

He hasn't only given up drugs this week, but all of his servants and staff as well. It was one thing to help you with cooking, but yesterday you'd made him do laundry. LAUNDRY. What the fuck did he look like? A maid?

"Fuck off." He grumbles a little louder, pushing your hand away as you reach to play with his hair.

His sour attitude apparently doesn't deter you any, because he can hear you laughing at him. Derek grits his teeth and finally sits up, glaring at you.

"You're really fucking annoying, you know that? Always pissing me off."

The words leave his mouth before he can really think them through, and when he sees your smile fall he immediately regrets them.

Unfortunately, he's too tired, sick, and stubborn to take it all back. Even while his heart drops into his stomach, he continues to glare daggers at you.

"Alright... twenty more minutes." With that, you slide off his bed and quickly make your way to the door.

Fuck. As soon as the door closes, Derek is left in darkness, in more ways than one.

His stomach twists into knots and he can feel his chest grow heavy. He tries to scramble after you, but gets caught in the tangle of blankets and ends up falling to the floor instead.

God damn it. Why does he always have to be such a fuck up? You aren't annoying. You're the only thing keeping him sane right now, and he goes and pushes you away.

He collapses on the floor, sighing at the feeling of the cold hardwood against his cheek. A few tears roll down his face, and he laughs bitterly as a thought crosses his mind.

Your thighs make a much better pillow than the floor.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Twenty minutes later, you knock at Derek's door once more. He mumbles something incomprehensible, and you take that as permission to enter.

The sight in front of you makes you pause. What the hell is he doing? You flip the lights on just to make sure your eyes aren't playing tricks on you.

They aren't.

Derek Danforth lies on the floor next to his bed, groaning and blinking up at the harsh overhead light.

"Looks real comfortable down there." You tease, setting the glass of water you brought him on his bedside table before joining him on the floor.

He refuses to look at you, throwing his arm over his eyes and groaning.

"You need to eat. And drink. I brought you some water."

Derek stays quiet as you sit next to him and place a hand on his shoulder. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and he's still hiding behind his arm.

"Why are you so goddamn nice?" He finally groans.

"We've already had that talk."

"Okay, then why are you so goddamn nice even when I'm being a prick?"

You move his arm away from his face, and he doesn't fight it. When you finally get a look at him, it's obvious he's been crying.

Derek Danforth. Crying on his bedroom floor. That's a sight.

A sight that really breaks your heart, actually. His watery eyes threaten to make yours overflow as well, so you quickly wipe away his tears with the hem of your shirt.

"You think I expect you to go through three weeks of rehab and not be a prick sometimes?"

Derek actually chuckles at that, and finally meets your gaze. He looks absolutely wrecked.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I know."

You scoot a little closer, and gently tug at him. He takes the hint, placing his head on your lap with his cheek against your thigh.

Neither of you talk for a few minutes. He just closes his eyes and sighs as you play with his hair. Over the past week, you've learned what he likes. Tug at his curls in just the right way, and he...

Derek lets out a soft whimper and you smile. There it is.

"Wanna make it up to me?" You tease.

He glances up at you, an eager look in his eyes.

"How?"

"Get rid of this." You laugh and trail a finger along his jawline, feeling at his overgrown stubble. He most likely hasn't shaved since arriving here a week ago.

"What? You don't like it?"

"Do you?"

"..."

Derek pouts, pushing your hand away and feeling at it himself. His brow furrows adorably as he considers your words.

"It looks manly."

"There's a difference between manly and cave-man-ly."

He scoffs at that, but when you start poking and prodding at his face where his stubble has grown out, he cracks a smile.

"Fine, fine. You win. I'll shave."

He swats your intrusive hands away, then sits up and stretches.

Now that he's up and moving, you decide it's time to go. On your way out the door, you hesitate, remembering the reason you came to get him in the first place.

"Oh, don't take too long. I have a surprise waiting for you downstairs."

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Derek stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, feeling at his stubble. You're right, he does look better with a trim.

He knows he should head downstairs, but his heart is beating a million times a second, and not even from withdrawals.

That little comment about a surprise? God damnit. You're teasing him. You have to be. How could you say something like that and not expect him to get excited?

Derek sighs and tucks his boner into the waistband of his boxers, then looks at himself in the mirror one more time to make sure it isn't noticeable. It's not... mostly.

Damnit. He could probably take a few minutes and rub one out, but he'd absolutely die of embarrassment if you walked in on him AGAIN.

He groans and turns to leave. Oh well. It's hidden well enough, and you'd already seen worse. Plus... maybe if this surprise is anything like his fantasies, he'd have an opportunity to use it.

"Oh, wait wait wait!" You scramble over to him as he trudges downstairs, keeping him from entering the living room.

"Are you gonna tell me what my surprise is?"

"No! Then it wouldn't be a surprise at all. Close your eyes."

Derek does as instructed, shutting his eyes tight. When feels you grab his hand and start to tug him along, he can't help but sneak a peek.

"I swear... if your Idea of a surprise is to walk me into a wall-"

"Oh, shut it." You scoff and clap your free hand over his eyes.

"Just trust me. And no peeking."

Derek grumbles, but he does trust you. A lot more than he lets on. So, he blindly stumbles along as you lead him into the... kitchen? Yeah, he's pretty sure he's in the kitchen.

"Okay, you can look." You uncover his eyes, but keep a tight hold on his hand as you beam at him.

"What do you think?"

What does he think?

Derek chokes up at the sight before him, and has to turn his head so you don't see the way his eyes are watering again.

A cake. You baked him a fucking cake to say you're proud of him. And he called you annoying.

"It's to celebrate being a week sober." You explain, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse of his face.

He squeezes your hand tightly, but can't get any words out.

"A week." He whispers, blinking back tears. Fuck, has it been a week already? It feels like hardly a day has passed.

"Oh, love. C'mere."

Derek lets himself be pulled into your arms. He groans from your touch, melting into the embrace and burying his face in your neck.

God, this is perfect. He's wanted to be held like this for so long, but now that it's finally happening... he can't help but feel guilty.

"I'm such an ass." He mumbles into your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

"Not always." You laugh softly and pull him a little closer.

Too close. He can feel your breasts pressing against him... fuck. Any closer and you might be able to feel what he has tucked away.

"Not always?" Derek scoffs, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes.

"Is that really the best you've got to make me feel better?"

"What? You want me to lie?"

"Maybe."

He stares into your eyes, heart pounding in his chest as he suddenly realizes just how close you are. It takes everything in him not to lean in and bridge the few inch gap between the two of you.

"You look nice like this."

Derek can feel his face heating up as you cup his face with a hand. Shit, If you don't stop soon he might actually just kiss you.

"Like what?" He asks breathlessly, mesmerized by your touch.

"With a trim." You smile and run your thumb along his his stubble, eyes trailing from his jaw to his lips.

For a second, Derek is sure you're going to kiss him. He tilts his head ever so slightly in anticipation, and his eyes flutter shut.

"So... you want a piece of cake?" You clear your throat, suddenly dropping your arms and breaking the embrace.

Of course you weren't going to kiss him. Derek gives you a half-hearted smile and nods, trying to hide just how crushed he feels.

"Yeah, sure. Cake."

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"No, love, you're supposed to do the edge pieces first."

You chuckle as Derek angrily fumbles with two puzzle pieces. They quite obviously don't match, but he's trying to force them together anyways.

"Sorry, I wasn't aware puzzles had rules." He scoffs, dramatically tossing the little cardboard chunks across the table.

You'd dragged him out to the porch for a little fresh air, since he insisted he was too tired to make the five minute walk down to the beach.

"Well, they do. The biggest rule is don't throw the puzzle pieces, or you'll lose them." You laugh and continue flipping pieces over so they're facing upwards.

It hasn't been very long since you started the puzzle, and Derek already looks bored.

"Is this supposed to be fun?" He grumbles, helping you flip over pieces with one hand, the other finding it's way to rest on top of yours.

You wonder if he even notices he's doing it again. Touching you like that. You've gotten used to it by now, and usually just let it happen.

"Oh, come on. You gonna let a puzzle get the best of you, Danforth? A child could do this."

Derek makes a face and gestures to the sea of little cardboard scraps scattered across the table.

"A child could do a one thousand piece puzzle?" He scoffs.

"Okay, maybe not..." You laugh and adjust your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

"But I'm sure you can do it."

Derek's face flushes pink, and you aren't sure whether its from the praise or the way you're so casually holding his hand. Probably both. But so what if you're holding his hand? He's the one who started it.

He just mumbles something under his breath and looks back down at the table, suddenly very motivated to help you pick through the pieces.

His hand doesn't leave yours.

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Derek wakes up from a deep sleep to the sound of your voice and the feeling of your nails gently scratching his scalp.

He gasps and tries to sit up, but finds he's stuck.

Er, not stuck, just... underneath you?

"Come on, love. You slept through nearly the whole movie." You laugh softly and start to nudge him off your lap.

Derek finally remembers what's going on, and pulls his arm out from under you. Apparently he'd tucked it beneath your knees while he slept, because he sure didn't remember doing it.

"Told you a chick flick would put me to sleep." He mumbles, fumbling to sit up. He finds his other arm is also stuck, wedged in between your waist and the couch.

"Sure made yourself comfortable, huh?" You tease, scooting forward and freeing him.

"Shut up." Derek reluctantly pulls away from you, sitting up and looking at you with a dazed expression. He wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth and groans. That really was a good nap.

"It's just so easy to fall asleep on you." The words come out before he can really think over them, and he freezes in embarrassment. Thankfully, you seem to take it in a different way than he meant it.

"Oh, am I that boring? I put you to sleep?"

"Exactly. I'm yawning already." He teases, letting out an exaggerated yawn that only earns him an elbow to the ribs.

"Hmph. Next time you can fall asleep somewhere else."

"But you're so damn comfortable." He whines, scrambling after you as you make your way upstairs. You can't leave him yet. You just can't.

"Well, your bed is plenty comfortable as well. Go to sleep."

Derek is suddenly struck with a thought, and takes your hand before you can slip away into your room for the night.

"What if..." He starts, placing his other hand on your hip and pulling you a little closer.

"What if I don't want to sleep in my bed tonight?"

You give him an incredulous look, and Derek can hardly believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Fuck, you're going to reject him. He just knows it.

"My bed?" You ask, raising an eyebrow and looking down at the way his hand is gripping your hip.

Derek can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He's being WAY too forward, and probably seems like a creep. Damnit.

"I... I just won't be able to sleep without you. I know it." He stutters, stumbling over his words. It's the truth, though. The only time he's been able to sleep peacefully lately is when he's touching you.

"Derek, love..." You chuckle and start to brush his hands away, taking a step back.

Fuck. He needs to show you how serious he is about this.

"Please? Just for tonight?" He grabs both of your hands, intertwining your fingers with his as he meets your gaze. You said he has puppy-eyes or something, right? Derek does his best to look pitiful.

It's not hard to do. He really does feel pitiful in this moment, begging you so blatantly. He might as well get on his fucking knees.

"Fine." You finally relent, groaning and gently shoving Derek aside as you head into your bedroom.

"But I hope you know I kick in my sleep."

"I don't mind taking that risk."

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After quickly getting ready for bed, you settle down under the covers while Derek stands awkwardly to the side.

"Well? You gonna join me?" You ask, patting the spot next to you.

God, how did you get roped into this? Him and those damn puppy eyes. He's so hard to say no to.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Derek scrambles to climb into bed beside you. He looks like he's having just as much trouble believing what's happening.

"Sleeping with you wasn't really in my job description, you know. I'm complaining to your mother after this."

"Please don't." He groans, squirming and getting comfortable under the shared blanket. He keeps his distance, seeming content just to be in the same bed as you.

"You gonna sleep in that?" You lift the blanket to peek at his outfit, a simple t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Yeah? What's wrong with it?" He pouts and tugs the blanket back down, acting self-conscious.

"Nothing, just... You aren't going to be hot?"

"Are you trying to get me to take my pants off, sweetheart?"

"God, no. I've seen enough of that."

Your teasing clearly gets to him, because he rolls over to face away from you, grumbling. You swear his ears are a little pink. Is he blushing?

"Oh, love. I'm just messing with you." You scoot a little closer to him, and put a hand on his waist.

"I know." He whispers, breath hitched.

"Is it okay if I do this?"

He groans when you get even closer, spooning him from behind. Your arm wraps around his waist and you press your entire body against his.

"M-maybe I will get hot..." He mumbles, but makes no effort to push you away. Instead, he completely melts under your touch, relaxing against the pillow.

"Keep your pants on, Danforth."

"Yes ma'am."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek has been in bed with you for what feels like hours, (though really only around half of one), and he still can't believe what's happening.

Your arm is around his waist, holding him tight while the rest of your body is pressed up against him. He can feel your breasts pressing into his back, and your lips on his neck.

He almost wishes you'd kiss him, but that would probably send him over the edge.

And God, is he dangerously close to the edge right now.

His heart is pounding, heartbeat in synch with the throbbing in his pants. He's been hard ever since you cuddled up to him, but no way in hell is he going to ask you to stop. Not ever. Even if it kills him.

Scratch that. It is going to kill him. Derek can't help but let out a whimper as his dick twitches in his sweatpants.

Fuck. Your hand is right there, on his stomach. If you'd just slide it down a little...

"What's wrong?" You mumble, giving him a tight squeeze and nuzzling against the back of his neck.

"O-oh. Just... headache... Don't feel good..."

He feels like a total prick for lying to you, but what is he supposed to say? Yeah, totally fine, just horny as fuck? He'd rather die.

"Aww... I've got you, love."

Derek's breath hitches as you throw your leg over him. He can feel your thigh pressed up against his side, and the way you squeeze him feels heavenly.

He whimpers again, and starts to squirm slightly in your grasp. Fuck, if you keep this up he's not going to be able to control himself.

You continue to gently squeeze, rub, and cuddle him, whispering words of comfort with your lips pressed against the back of his neck. He can feel your hot breath on him, your breasts against his back, your hand on his stomach, your leg wrapped around his...

He can feel everything. And it's driving him insane.

Okay, okay, fuck. He can fix this. He just needs a quick release. That's all.

Derek starts to form a plan in his head, fueled by desperation and lust. Once he's mostly sure you're asleep, he slips his hand down into his boxers.

Biting back a moan, he slowly starts to jerk himself off. Painfully slow. He can't risk waking you up.

It's so fucking hard to not go faster, or move, or make a sound. Fuck, it's just so hard. Period.

He didn't really think this through, huh? Asking to sleep in your bed. Next time he'll jerk off first. If there is a next time. Damnit. If you catch him like this, you'll never speak to him again. He's sure.

Trembling, he accidentally lets a small whine slip out. Even with the absolute minimum amount of stimulation, he's close to finishing.

"Hnngh... Derek? You okay?"

Fuck. You're awake.

"Huh? Yeah, just... nightmare..." He chokes the words out, hand still wrapped around his cock as he slowly milks out a steady trickle of precum.

"It's okay." You whisper, holding him even tighter. "I'm right here."

Yeah, and that's the his damn problem. Your words and touch send him spiraling over the edge, and he bites his lip with nearly enough force to draw blood as he comes in his sweatpants.

It's not the most satisfying orgasm, seeing as he could barely touch it... but it still feels so much better than being that fucking horny with no release.

"Thank you..." Derek groans, praying that you don't ever discover the double meaning behind his words.

He had originally planned to sneak away and clean himself up, but with the way you're clinging to him...

Fuck. Guess he's sleeping in wet sweatpants.

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Author's note: Oh my goddd, sorry for such a long wait on this chapter!!! I've been wanting to write this scene FOREVER, but I also wanted to get it right!!

I love putting Derek in uncomfortable situations. Not sorry.

Also its crazy to me that I've written 16 thousand words of fanfic for a character that had 20 minutes of screen time and then fucking DIED 💀

Anyways... expect the next chapter in 2-3 days. Thanks for all the love and support!!!

Part 6

#josh hutcherson #jhutch #jhutch1992 #derek danforth #josh hutcherson x reader #derek danforth x reader #josh hutcherson x you #derek danforth x you #derek danforth smut #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson fanfic #fluff and angst #slowburn fic

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decorativetrashbag · 2 months

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Cup of Coffee, and a Tall Glass of You

Parings: Sanji x Female Reader Summary: Zeff hired a barista for the restaurant, FINALLY, but Sanji wasn't expecting a girl, let alone one as beautiful as you. He can handle his coffee, but can he handle a dollop of falling in love? Warnings: None! like 2 instances of Y/N Genre: Fluff, Modern AU, Barista AU Words: 3.7k

a/n: this one's been asked for, and at my barista job, i had nothing better to do BUT write this. I think this is the only story i started writing, then rewrote all of it lol. enjoy it! <3

“I wonder if we have potatoes…” Sanji mumbled to himself in the empty kitchen as he whisked the eggs He had just cracked into the bowl. It was about 5:45 am now, but Sanji always came to work early to prepare breakfast. Most of the other chefs start rolling in about 6:20, and as much as Sanji loved the sound of a bustling kitchen, he'd be lying if he didn't say he enjoyed the quiet, empty moments too. Even though he had to follow the menu Zeff always posted the night before, cooking in the kitchen alone gave him a bit of freedom. He was pulled out of his thoughts about what dish to make with potatoes when he heard the door open and Zeff entering the kitchen.

“Morning, old man,” Sanji said, adding the seasonings to the eggs.

“You’re always here so early, Sanji,” Zeff replied with a thunderous chuckle.

“Breakfast isn't going to serve itself,” Sanji stated, incorporating the scrambled egg mix again.

“We have chefs that can do that too,” Zeff said, hobbling over on his fake leg to look over the blonde's shoulder.

“I know,” Sanji said, rolling his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zeff nod at his work and lean on the counter.

“Trust in the kitchen Sanji, they do hard work,” He said. Sanji chuckled.

“I would if they knew what they were doing most of the time,” the comment made Zeff laugh and pat Sanji’s back.

“I'll give you credit for that I guess.”

“Why are you here so early? Are we getting a shipment in or something?” Sanji asked, setting down the bowl of eggs and fishing his phone out of his pocket for the time. Zeff hummed and walked over to a shelf to grab another mixing bowl.

“I’m here early cause we have a new hire. Finally got us a barista to handle the morning crowd from that hotel ‘cross the way,” he said, as Sanji’s ears perked up with interest.

“You hired someone?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, and without your opinion either,” Zeff chuckled.

“Well, is he any good?” Sanji asked, getting out a pan to preheat it on the stove. Zeff sighed as he set down a bag of flour.

“She has experience, so she knows what she's doing,” Zeff said, which caused Sanji to stop what he was doing and look up at the older man. “I've already trained her on the basics, she's got a cheat sheet if she forgets.”

“Back up, she?” Sanji asked, now fully turning towards him. “Is she here??”

“She is, she walked in after I did.” Before Sanji could even start walking towards the kitchen door Zeff grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Don't go flirting with my barista,” He said in a low and stern tone.

“I'm not gonna flirt with her, what makes you think that?” Sanji laughed nervously.

“Cause the second I said she, ya got heart eyes. Eggplant, I know you're a ladies man. If you weren’t complaining about being a waiter for the first couple weeks of us opening, you were laying charm on the women sittin at tables.” Sanji frowned a bit at the call out, but Zeff wasn't lying. He knew he was a little girl crazy, and was the cause of a lot of fights. Zeff let go of his arm and sighed.

“You can introduce yourself to her, just don't make her uncomfortable.” Sanji grinned as Zeff turned him back to the pan on the stove.

“Scramble these eggs first, since you're already here. You can check out the station after, and I need your help making the pastries to sell out there.” Sanji sighed but turned on the stove anyway.

“Fair point, finishing cooking what I started. I'll greet her on my smoke break.” Zeff hummed in approval as the two began cooking breakfast and making the pastries. Slowly but surely more chefs started rolling in for their shifts and before Sanji knew it they were open for the day and the kitchen was bustling and busy, the quiet morning evaporating like the steam off the fresh pastries Zeff pulled out of the oven.

Around 10:30 am Sanji wiped his hands on the towel draped across his shoulder and walked through the kitchen over to Zeff, fishing the cigarette box out of his pocket.

“I'll be back in like, 15,” Sanji said, waving the box to him and Zeff nodded.

“We'll take it from here,” he said as Sanji left the kitchen. He briskly walked by tables of people dining, stopping occasionally to ask customers how their meal was. Walking out of the second room of tables, Sanji reached the front of the restaurant, starting to pick up with the brunch crowd, the host trying to seat people, waiters bustling around the tables to meet people's needs. And there, in the corner of the front of the restaurant, next to the bar, was the new barista. He watched your set down a couple to-go cups, lidded them, and sent a customer on their way with a smile, doing the same for someone who ordered a pastry, judging by the to-go box you handed them. Though he was known to be a little girl-crazy, and seen his fair share of beautiful women, he admitted he was a bit taken aback. You were definitely up there with some he found beautiful. He made his way over to you as customers exited the restaurant or went to be seated, greeting them as he passed them. Sanji finally made his way up to you, placing his hands on either side of the register and looking up at the menu, studying the options. He looked around your little corner as you served people, you were pretty set up for handling customers. A dishwasher, two sets of fridges, one with windows in to see the bottled stuff, a countertop oven, a place to brew more coffee, the big espresso machine he knew Zeff poured a lot of money into, syrups, cups, lids, ice maker. All you needed was a stove and you'd have a whole kitchen.

“Have a good one guys! Oh! Hey you work here right?” You asked him, pulling Sanji back to reality and you leaned on the counter in front of him. He blushed a little being up close to you, quickly trying to study every detail of your face before he answered.

“I do, yeah!” He started sticking his hand out for you to shake. You took his hand and gave it a gentle handshake, Sanji could almost feel the sparks from fingertips brushing and hands meeting. He took your hand and gingerly kissed the back of it. “I'm Sanji,” He winked, watching your cheeks grow a light pink dust of blush.

“Oh, you're Sanji,” you chuckled, “that makes sense now.”

“You know?” Sanji asked, it tugged at his heart to hear you say his name.

“Zeff told me all about you. I'm Y/N,” you said as he let your hand go, feeling the electric tingle sizzle away as you left his touch. He cursed Zeff in his head for filling your brain with info about him, for probably exaggerating how he acts towards women and silently thanking Zeff for putting the idea of him in your thoughts.

“Y/N, well it's nice to meet you! Zeff told him he hired someone, didn't know it'd be a beautiful rose like you,” Sanji said, really laying on his quintessential charm.

“Yeah! He trained me all weekend so I feel pretty familiar with everything.” All weekend? No wonder he was out of the loop, he took the weekend off to spend time with Luffy and the gang.

“How are the pastries doing?” Sanji asked, the chef side of him curious about the work he put into helping make the pastries today. The both of you looked at the case, the fresh pastries sitting on plates ready for the perusing eyes of people.

“Good! Had a lot of to-go's for them, they must look as good as they taste,” you said.

“Well Zeff and I did bake them this morning, so I'd hope they'd be enjoyed.” He said, watching you blush a little and look at him.

“You made them this morning?? Oh wow! Usually the places I've worked at make them the night before!” Watching your amazement at the idea of them baking the pastries fresh made his heart squeeze in his chest. He was smitten, you were adorable to him.

“Well, glad you're settling in just fine! It can be hectic but if Zeff trusts you, then so do I,” he smiled, finally pulling a cigarette out of the box, about to make his leave.

“Oh! Sanji! Did you need anything from me?” You asked, leaning onto the counter and looking up at him, tilting your head a little at your own question. Sanji looked at you, blinking a bit as he felt his cheeks get hot. Not only did you call him by name, but asked him if he needed anything from you. Of course he could think of a million flirtatious answers, he felt like he might be thrown back in happiness and a nosebleed, or that he could drop dead right now and be the happiest he's been. Sanji, cleared his throat, cheeks burning with blush as he just smiled.

“Maybe I'll grab a coffee later! Just wanted to say hi and all that,” he said, feeling like words were just falling out of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you!” You said giving him a wave as he walked outside.

“Pleasure's all mine!” Sanji waved back, once he got out of view, he lit his cigarette and leaned against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, still feeling the heat of blush on his face. He exhaled a stream of smoke, but to him it looked like hearts, and it might as well have been.

“God, she's so cute,” he mumbled, a bit lovesick already.

~4 months later~

Sanji always looked forward to work. He loved cooking, he loved that he could cook for others and see that happy smile on their faces as they ate. He loved the creative freedom Zeff would let him have once in a while for a dish and be lucky if it made the daily special. He loved getting to work early to start prepping for the day, and he loved you. Of course he hadn't told you yet, but he loved getting to work at the same time as you, he loved when you asked for his help, he loved getting the coffee on break and opening it to see the heart in the latte art. He adored when you asked if he needed anything else from you, he'd hold his tongue and say something polite, but in his dreams he'd pull out the lines he wished he could say.

On a slower day, You and Sanji were talking as the few tables used were cleaned off. Both of you leaned over the counter as you watched Sanji carefully ice one of the delicate pastries.

“I don't think I've ever seen it so slow in here,” you remarked as Sanji pulled the piping bag away.

“It's an early weekday, it happens every now and again,” He said, leaning back over the pastry.

“You wanna coffee?” You asked, “I feel like I should at least look busy.”

“That sounds amazing actually, usual vanilla latte for me,” He said, looking up at you with a smile as you nodded and went off to make it. He pulled the piping bag away one last time and admired his work, finally setting it down and watching you work. It has been about 4 months since you started here, and Sanji has never skipped a beat in saying hello to you every morning and taking in every word you had to say on his break. Since your shift ends around noon, he felt it best to soak up every ounce of you before you'd run off for the rest of the day. Even then, he still thought about you, he was a flirt and a ladies man, sure, but when it came to you, he didn't know how to act, what to say, how to express himself. It made him a mess, a love sick mess. Sanji was brought back to reality with the mug being placed in front of him with that heart shaped latte art. He smiled.

“You always give me a heart,” he said, taking a sip.

“It's one of the few I've got down to a habit,” you chuckled, looking at the pastry. “Wow, you did a great job! If no one eats it, I might!” He felt a tug as you pulled at his heart strings. He wasn't worthy of you eating his food, and he certainly wasn't worthy of the praise.

“You'll have to tell me how it is,” he said, watching you put it in the case.

“Well, you should cook for me sometime, since I keep hearing how good of a cook you are,” you said, resting your hand on your cheek.

“I'd love to, dear, say the word and I'll do it,” He flirted, happy to see you laugh at it. He has slowly been trying to be more bold with you, and it seemed you were used to it at this point.

“Coffee's good?” You asked as he finished the rest of the small mugs worth.

“Perfect as always, I'll make you food, if you keep making me coffee,” he said, leaning on both his arms resting on the counter.

“Sounds like a deal,” you chuckled, pink dusting your cheeks as he looked at you.

“Need anything else from me, Sanji?” God, it killed him every time. The sweet look you gave him, saying his name sounded like honey dripping into tea, his heart squeezed and did flips when you asked. It felt like you were teasing him every time you asked, just pushing his buttons to get him to confess. He needed you, and all to himself.

“Well, maybe your number?” Sanji flirted, unable to help himself anymore, he was wrapped around your finger whether you knew or not. Your cheeks get rosy as you blinked.

“My number?” You asked, a little stunned but raise your eyebrow with a small smile in reply. “4 months of us knowing each other, Sanji, and you just got the courage to ask?”

“Well it felt weird asking you out right, and Zeff warned me against flirting with you, buuut you keep teasing me and now I have to ask,” Sanji admitted, leaning closer to you. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“I'm a tease?” You chuckled and Sanji nodded. “You know, when they said you were a huge flirt and a playboy, I definitely saw it, but man, you can be a mess.”

“Only around you, I don't know why, I'm just smitten by you,” He said with a softened tone and look in his eyes that made you blush. You managed to fumble pulling the pen out of your apron pocket and rolled out some receipt paper and began writing. He had never seen you so flustered unless you messed up an order, one in a blue moon, it was adorable, it made him swoon inside.

“Plus, you're like one of the main things I look forward to coming to work,” he explained, causing you to look up from your writing.

“What's the other main thing?”

“Cooking,” He said plainly.

“Cooking?” You asked, certainly not believing him. “You like cooking that much?”

“Of course! Look, everyone that comes here enjoys their food. Right?”

“Yeah, customers always tell me, always a rave review.”

“I love cooking and seeing the happy smiles on their faces eating my food. To make good food, to not ever let any go to waste, and that no one walks away hungry.” Sanji explained as you looked at him paying attention to every gesture and word he said. You chuckled a little.

“I don't think I've seen or heard anyone be as passionate about cooking as you. You must be amazing at it.” You said, finishing your writing.

“I'll have to cook for you sometime,” Sanji smiled, taking out a cigarette and sticking it between his lips unlit.

“That's what you can use my number for,” You teased, snapping your fingers like the idea just came to you. Sanji happily played along.

“Oh yeah! Just call you to come over and try my cooking! Didn't even cross my mind.” He said.

You pushed the piece of paper over to him and he took it, folded it and put it in his pocket.

“Gotta keep it safe,” he said with a wink. Suddenly the moment was interrupted by Zeff calling for Sanji.

“Sanji! What'd I say about making googly eyes at my barista??” Zeff interrupted thunderously, chucking a ladle at him. Quick reflexes cause Sanji to kick-box it out of the way back towards Zeff.

“I'm not making her uncomfortable, old man! Watch where you throw!’ Sanji shouted back.

“All that kicking doesn't do anything for this kitchen except break up fights!” You then chimed in and said;

“It's fine Zeff, he's not bothering me.” Zeff softened at your comment and nodded, picking up the ladle and pointing it at both of you.

“If he makes you uncomfortable, I'll take care of him,” he said, hobbling back to the kitchen.

“Mmm, you're in trouble now” you teased the blonde cook, who chuckled in reply.

“Well, duty calls, thanks for the coffee!”

“Let me know if you need anything from me!” You waved and Sanji almost swooned at the idea, of course he could always need something from you, just for the excuse of taking your time.

~2 months later~

Sanji awoke to the sound of his phone alerting him that he had a message. Fighting every part of him telling him don’t look, just lay here and try to fall back asleep, he rolled over and picked up his phone anyway. The time of 9:00 am looked back at him. Normally he’d be up at the crack of dawn to get to work for Zeff’s restaurant, but he slept in enough today. It was a message from Zeff with the photo of the menu for next week’s specials attached.

“I'm not even gonna worry about that right now,” he said, putting his phone down and sitting up in bed. “It’s my day off, I'm going to enjoy it.” With that sentiment in mind, he got out of bed and got ready for the day. He pulled on a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, nothing compared to his usual look of dress pants and a crisp button down shirt. As he got dressed the smell of coffee wafted through the air, and he put his phone in his pocket, following the enticing smell into the kitchen. The sight of the kitchen made him smile, sunlight was already creeping through the apartment windows as you stood in the kitchen, pouring espresso into a couple mugs and steaming milk on his espresso machine. He admired your concentration that he'd normally see when you're working. Instead of the regular uniform, you were wearing one of his dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up, it was just big enough to pass as a short dress on you. Being as quiet as he could, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Feeling you standing up straight, he nestled his head into your neck.

“Hey, I didn't know you were awake,” you said, tilting the mug as you made a design out of the milk.

“I didn't hear you get up,” Sanji said, intently watching. He knew how to make latte art, but he liked watching you do it.

“Well, lover boy, it seemed like you needed sleep, so I didn't want to wake you.” You explained as you moved to the second mug.

“You didn't have to make coffee, the restaurant's closed today, we're off,” he teased as you chuckled.

“I'm aware, I just thought you wanted coffee. It's not hard to do, it only took me like, 10 minutes to figure out your machine.” Sanji hummed, planting a kiss on your neck.

“You're all the morning coffee I need, love,” he purred, and you laughed.

“You love sick dork,” you said, turning to face him in his arms, handing Sanji the mug as he broke the hug. “I didn't know you had the same coffee as work.”

“Of course, who do you think told Zeff to get it in the first place?” He asked as you rolled your eyes.

“Should've known.Are you gonna cook for me today?” You asked, looking up at him as you sipped.

“Princess, I'd cook for you, even if you didn’t ask,” Sanji winked, making you smile.

“I can cook too, ya know,” you said and Sanji chuckled.

“You'll have to show me sometime.”

“You have my number,” you teased as he set the mug on the counter and pulled you back in his arms.

“God I love you,” He sighed happily. You set your mug down and put his arms around your arms around his neck.

“I'd hope so! You've texted me everyday for the past couple months, call me over. I'm not sure how a big handsome flirt like you managed to do it.” You chuckled.

“You're no better! Everyday I looked at your sweet face and asked me if I needed anything from you and I could've died on the spot, or said a flirty line! But I braved it.” He laughed.

“I wasn't trying to tease, I was asking! You always came over to talk to me!” You laughed. Sanji just smiled, taking one of his hands and putting a finger under your chin.

“I'm just unworthy of you Princess,” he purred, leaning down and kissing you gently. You happily kissed back, letting your fingers play with the back of his hair. You tasted like coffee, he tasted like cigarettes. He hoisted you up and sat you on the counter, his arms around your waist, your legs around his hips. And as he kissed you, Sanji swore he could die happy, flirting with the cute barista was a million percent worth it.

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jungkwok · 4 months

Text

monday | breakfast in bed | jjk fluff

masterlist | SEVEN

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pairing: jungkook x y/n tags: husband!jungkook x wife!reader, domestic, fluff <3 word count: 370 words

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆

Stretching my arms, I wake up to the smell of fresh pancakes and caramelised bacon that wafts into the bedroom. The clock on the bedside table reads 7:48. Still groggy from having just woken up, it takes a while to process your husband tip-toeing into the room with a bed tray full of food.

“Good morning princess.” He smiles proudly at you, setting down the tray on your lap. The morning sunlight filtering through the crack in between the curtains, his face glows radiantly. In front of you is a plate of pancakes, drizzled with chocolate syrup and a dollop of whipped cream in the traditional Jungkook style, a piece of golden toast spread with raspberry jam, crunchy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and a glass of his favourite lemon kombucha.

“Did you make this all by yourself?!” you ask, eyes wide open as he takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb.

“Mmm hmmm” he affirms, grinning and intertwining your fingers together, “Woke up early to make breakfast in bed for my favourite girl.”

He picks up the fork, slicing a piece of the pancakes and bringing it to your lips. You open your mouth, eyes growing wider at the sweetness that spreads through your mouth. The pancake melts on your tongue, soft and sweet, just like the gaze of your husband who is now stroking your hair and contentedly looking into your eyes.

“Mmmmmmm” you sigh.

“Try a piece of the bacon, and the eggs too,” he softly urges, handing the fork to you.

Just like always, the bacon is delicious, the eggs spreading like clouds, and the toast crunchy with the perfect balance of butter and the tangy jam. Before you know it, the plate is finished and you lean back in satisfaction.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say sincerely, placing your hand on his chest. You couldn’t have asked for a better husband.

“Wait, there’s a bit of whipped cream…” Jungkook points to your lips.

You reach for your lips, trying to find the stray piece of cream but to no avail. Laughing gently, he reaches forward towards you, enveloping your lips in his in a soft kiss.

“I love you.”

“I love you too."

#bts #jungkook #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fluff #jjk x y/n #bts fluff #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #husband jungkook #cute

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juneknight · 7 months

Note

domestic fluff idea: marc taking off your make up and doing your skincare routine for you bc you're too drunk to do it yourself. and then he tucks you into bed and cuddles 😩

“Hold on tight,” says Marc, shifting you where you lay against his chest. He stands on his toes, fingers searching the pane above the door for his key. At last his fingers find it, just barely managing not to drop it. He unlocks the dorm room and pushes the door open with his foot, carrying you across the threshold like some bride and groom tradition.

“We’re married, Marc Spector,” you murmur to him.

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. I’m y’r wife.”

“My drunken wife,” he sighs with faux disappointment. “What a way to begin our honeymoon.”

Gently, he sets you on your dorm bed and begins to work your shoes off of your feet. You flop onto your side, belly twisting uncomfortably with alcohol. He takes one look at the expression on your face and abandons your heel, rushing for the little trashcan you keep at the foot of your bed. Thankfully, you’re able to breathe away the urge to throw up (in front of Marc, throwing up is just adds so much insult to injury). By the time you’ve stopped drooling, you collapse back onto your bed, exhausted. Room spinning.

“I’m just gonna sleep this off,” you mutter, giving him a weak thumbs up.

“What about your makeup?”

“Don’t care.”

“You do care. You always care. Where’s one of those wipes you use?”

“Don’t know.”

Marc rummages through your bedside drawer and finds the wipes. Gently—almost too gently at first—he takes the time to wipe your face clean. It takes a few more wipes than when you do it yourself, but beggars can’t be choosers. Watching him work, seeing the line between his brows as he concentrates on doing the best job he can for you, makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. Afterwards, he moisturizes for you, thumb smoothing soothing lotion onto the apple of your cheek like a lover might brush your cheekbone.

He even brings you your toothbrush, a dollop of minty toothpaste like the cherry on top. He holds the trashcan beside your head so you can spit, and cracks open a fresh bottle of water to sit on your nightstand.

“All good?” Marc asks, kneeling down by your bed and resting his elbows on the mattress to look at you.

You look back with sleepy eyes and try to wiggle your brows (with questionable success). “Aren’t you gonna undress me?”

“I’ll take your socks off, and that’s it.”

“My husband denies me my wifely rites,” you bemoan.

He snorts. “You’re already going to have one regret in the morning. I’m not looking to make it two. Good night, wife.”

“G’night, husb’nd,” you say around a yawn, eyes already closing.

#marc spector x reader

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callsigns-haze · 2 months

Text

Short love: Prologue

Summary: The is about widowed father Bradley Bradshaw who enlists his brother-in-law Jake Seresin and childhood best friend Robert Floyd to help raise his three daughters, eldest Donna Jo Margaret (D.J for short), middle child Stephanie and youngest Michelle in his San Diego home.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warning: Fluff

In the warm embrace of the morning sun, Y/n stood in Bradley's cozy kitchen, a sense of excitement bubbling within her as she prepared to whip up a batch of pancakes from scratch. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon that would soon infuse the fluffy pancakes.

With a deft hand, Y/n measured out flour, baking powder, and a pinch of salt into a mixing bowl, the ingredients coming together in a cloud of soft white powder. She cracked eggs into the bowl, their golden yolks adding richness to the batter, and poured in a splash of creamy milk.

As she whisked the ingredients together, Y/n's mind drifted back to fond memories of lazy Sunday mornings spent in her grandmother's kitchen, learning the art of pancake-making from the master herself. She smiled at the thought, grateful for the tradition that had been passed down through generations.

Adding a dollop of melted butter and a hint of pure maple syrup to the batter, Y/n stirred until it was smooth and silky, the mixture taking on a golden hue that promised deliciousness with every bite. With a satisfied nod, she set the bowl aside to rest, allowing the flavours to meld and develop while she heated up the griddle.

The sizzle of butter hitting the hot surface filled the kitchen as Y/n ladled spoonful's of batter onto the griddle, each one spreading out into perfect circles of golden goodness. She watched with anticipation as bubbles formed on the surface of the pancakes, signalling that it was time to flip them over to cook on the other side.

With a flick of her wrist, Y/n expertly flipped the pancakes, their edges turning crisp and golden as they cooked to perfection. The kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of caramelized sugar and warm spices, beckoning her nieces to the breakfast table with eager anticipation.

As Y/n finished up the last batch of pancakes, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. Moments later, Stephanie and DJ, her two oldest nieces, appeared in the kitchen, their faces lighting up with surprise and delight at the sight of the delicious breakfast spread before them.

"Good morning, Aunt Y/n!" Stephanie exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "What's all this?"

Y/n turned to greet them, her smile widening at the sight of their eager expressions. "Good morning, girls!" she replied, her voice warm and jovial. "I thought I'd whip up a little breakfast treat for my favourite nieces."

DJ and Stephanie exchanged a look of disbelief, their eyes widening in astonishment. "You made all this?" DJ asked, her voice tinged with amazement.

Y/n nodded proudly, gesturing towards the table where plates of fluffy pancakes, bowls of fresh fruit, and pitchers of maple syrup awaited them. "All from scratch," she confirmed, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Stephanie and DJ wasted no time in helping themselves to the delicious spread, their mouths watering at the sight and smell of the pancakes. They piled their plates high with pancakes, drizzling them generously with syrup and adding a handful of fresh berries on the side.

As they dug into their breakfast, laughter and conversation filled the kitchen, the sound of their voices blending harmoniously with the clink of forks against plates. Y/n watched them with pride, her heart swelling with love for her nieces and the joy of being able to spoil them with a homemade breakfast. Together, they savoured each mouthful of pancakes, savouring the warmth and comfort of being together as a family.

As Y/n sat at the kitchen table with her two nieces, DJ and Stephanie, the aroma of freshly made pancakes filled the air, mingling with the excitement bubbling within her. With a warm smile, she decided to share with them stories of her recent geographic news reporting trip to Australia, a journey that had taken her to the far reaches of the continent.

"DJ, Stephanie, did I ever tell you about my recent trip to Australia for work?" Y/n began, her voice filled with anticipation.

The girls shook their heads, their eyes wide with curiosity as they eagerly dug into their pancakes.

"Well, let me tell you, it was an adventure unlike any other," Y/n continued, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she recounted her memories.

"As a geographic news reporter, I had the incredible opportunity to travel to some of the most remote and breath-taking locations in Australia. From the rugged Outback to the lush rainforests, I witnessed the stunning diversity of landscapes that make up this vast continent."

DJ and Stephanie listened intently, their pancake-filled mouths forgotten as they hung on Y/n's every word.

"I explored ancient Aboriginal sites, where rock art told the stories of generations past. I trekked through dense rainforests, where towering trees and cascading waterfalls created a sense of wonder and awe."

The girls gasped in amazement, their imaginations sparked by Y/n's vivid descriptions.

"But do you know what was truly remarkable?" Y/n asked, her voice filled with wonder.

"What?" DJ and Stephanie chimed in unison.

"The people," Y/n replied, her voice tinged with admiration. "I met incredible individuals who were deeply connected to the land and its rich cultural heritage. From Aboriginal elders sharing their wisdom to local communities welcoming me with open arms, I was constantly inspired by their resilience and strength."

As they finished their pancakes, DJ and Stephanie bombarded Y/n with questions about her trip, eager to learn more about the fascinating experiences she had encountered. And as Y/n shared more stories and answered their curious inquiries, she knew that her nieces were already dreaming of their own adventures, inspired by the tales of distant lands and faraway journeys.

In the bustling kitchen of the Bradshaw household, Y/n watched the clock anxiously as her two nieces, DJ and Stephanie, leisurely nibbled on their pancakes. With each passing second, her sense of urgency grew, knowing that they were perilously close to missing their school bus.

"Come on, girls, hurry up! You need to finish your pancakes quickly so we can get you to the bus stop on time," Y/n urged, her voice tinged with urgency.

DJ and Stephanie glanced at each other, their eyes widening with realization as they realized the gravity of the situation. With newfound determination, they began to eat with renewed speed, their pancakes disappearing in record time.

As Y/n bustled around the kitchen, packing their backpacks and gathering their coats, she couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration at the time ticking away. The school bus would be arriving any minute, and she dreaded the thought of having to drive them to school herself.

"Come on, girls, we need to go!" Y/n called out, her voice tinged with urgency as she ushered them out the door.

With a final gulp of orange juice and a hasty goodbye, DJ and Stephanie scrambled out of their chairs and raced to the front door, their backpacks slung over their shoulders.

As they hurried down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, Y/n breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that they had made it just in time. With a quick wave goodbye, she watched as they boarded the school bus, their faces flushed with excitement and the thrill of making it just in time.

As the bus pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the corner, Y/n couldn't help but smile. Despite the chaos and rush of the morning, she knew that she wouldn't have it any other way. After all, these were the moments that made being an aunt so special.

In the early morning hustle and bustle of the Bradshaw household, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the stairs as Bradley rushed into the kitchen, baby Michelle cradled in his arms. His face was a mix of determination and concern as he quickly scanned the room.

"Y/n, I'm running late for work," Bradley exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency as he handed Michelle over to his roommate. "Can you watch Michelle for me while I grab my briefcase?"

Y/n, caught off guard by her friend's sudden appearance, quickly adjusted to the situation, taking Michelle into her arms with practiced ease. "Of course, Bradley," she replied, her voice calm and reassuring. "I've got her. Don't worry."

With a grateful nod, Bradley dashed back up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house as he hurried to gather his belongings. Y/n watched him go, a fond smile playing on her lips as she cradled Michelle close.

As the minutes ticked by, Y/n soothed Michelle with gentle words and soft caresses, the baby content in her aunt's loving embrace. She hummed a soft lullaby, the melody filling the air with warmth and comfort.

Finally, Bradley reappeared in the kitchen, his briefcase in hand and a grateful smile on his face. "Thank you, Y/n," he said, his voice filled with gratitude as he leaned in to kiss Michelle on the forehead. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Y/n smiled back, her heart swelling with love for her friend and her precious niece. "Anytime, Brad," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. "You know I'm always here for you and Michelle."

With a quick goodbye, Bradley rushed out the door, his footsteps fading into the distance as he headed off to work. Left alone in the kitchen with Michelle, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfilment wash over her. Despite the chaos of the morning, moments like these reminded her of the bond that held their family together, strong and unbreakable.

With Bradley gone and the kitchen now quiet, Y/n cradled Michelle in her arms, the baby's warm weight a comforting presence against her chest. As she gazed down at her tiny niece, Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the innocence and beauty of this small, precious life in her care.

With practiced ease, Y/n reached for a bottle of warm formula, prepared earlier in anticipation of moments like this. She settled into a cozy armchair by the window, the morning sunlight casting a gentle glow over the room, and carefully positioned the bottle for Michelle to latch onto.

Michelle, ever the eager eater, eagerly accepted the bottle, her hungry suckles filling the air with a soft rhythm. Y/n watched with a mixture of tenderness and awe as the baby drank, her heart swelling with love for this little bundle of joy.

As Michelle nursed, Y/n gently stroked her soft cheek, whispering words of love and reassurance. She marvelled at the bond that had formed between them, a connection that transcended words and filled her with a sense of purpose and belonging.

Time seemed to stand still as Y/n and Michelle shared this intimate moment, the outside world fading away as they basked in the warmth of each other's presence. In the quiet stillness of the morning, surrounded by love and tenderness, Y/n knew that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And as Michelle finished her bottle with a contented sigh, her eyelids growing heavy with drowsiness, Y/n held her close, savouring the precious moments of peace and quiet. In these simple moments, she found joy and fulfilment, knowing that she was fulfilling her role as both aunt and caregiver with all the love in her heart.

With baby Michelle nestled in her arms, her tiny fingers curling around Y/n's, the aunt couldn't resist engaging in a little conversation with her niece.

"You know, Michelle," Y/n began, her voice soft and gentle, "we're going to have some special visitors later today. Uncle Bob and Uncle Jake are moving in with us for a while."

Michelle's bright eyes blinked up at Y/n, her small mouth forming a curious O-shape. Y/n chuckled at the adorable expression, feeling a surge of affection for the little one in her arms.

"They're going to be staying with us for a little bit while they get settled," Y/n continued, her tone warm and reassuring. "It's going to be so much fun having them around. They're going to make you laugh and smile, just like they always do."

As Y/n spoke, Michelle cooed softly in response, her eyes fixed on her aunt's face as if trying to understand every word. Y/n couldn't help but marvel at the way Michelle seemed to be taking in everything around her, her innocence and curiosity a constant source of joy.

"I think you're going to love having them here, Michelle," Y/n said, her voice filled with excitement. "They're going to be the best uncles ever, I just know it."

With a contented sigh, Y/n hugged Michelle a little tighter, feeling grateful for the bond they shared and the adventures that lay ahead with their extended family. And as she rocked Michelle gently in her arms, she couldn't wait to see the smiles and laughter that Uncle Bob and Uncle Jake would bring into their lives once they arrived later that day.

tagging: @callsign-magnolia @shanimallina87 @callsign-dexter @rosiahills22 @horseslovers2016 @djs8891 @hookslove1592 @emma8895eb @hardballoonlove @kmc1989 @dempy @mamachasesmayhem @senawashere @buckysteveloki-me @sweetwhispersofchaos @itsmytimetoodream @jessicab1991 @ahh-chickens

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rachalixie · 2 years

Note

Hey! I wanted to say that I absolutely LOVE your blog 💞

I wanted to request something for Seungmin since I don’t see many people writing about him 🥹

I was wondering if you could write some fluffy fluff for him? It’s ok if you don’t want to 💞

I hope you have a great day/night! 💗💗

a/n: here’s some seungmin fluff cooked up nice and fresh for you!! i hope you like it. i did. it made me smile while writing it

cereal

you wake up first, cracking your eyes open as the sun peeks through the blinds. you’re facing him, his hair is a brown halo around his head where it spreads on his pillow and his mouth is open as soft breaths escape as he sleeps. he’s laying in his back, one hand laid on the bed between you two, palm up as if he was waiting for yours to join it in his sleep. you’re still watching him when his eyes blink open, wandering around the room for a moment before they lock onto yours. his mouth stretches into a wide smile, braces on full display, his face open and vulnerable in a way he rarely lets others see.

“good morning,” you say softly, leaning in for a soft kiss but gasping as he suddenly pounces on you, digging his head into your neck and pressing light kisses to your collarbone. he’s making ridiculous barking noises and nuzzling his nose into your jaw and you giggle at the tickling sensation before pushing him off. how is he such a morning person? you can’t move for several minutes after you wake up and here he is, full of energy mere seconds after blinking awake.

“breakfast?” he asks from where he landed, sprawled across his side of the bed, still grinning toothily. his hair is messier than before and he’s slightly out of breath, he looks adorable. you nod, smiling in a way that’s half fond and half exasperated. his favorite smile on you, he’s told you many times before.

he pulls on a hoodie before hauling you up out of bed, steadying you as you teeter a bit when the blood rushes through your body. you clutch a hand into the back of his oversized hoodie as he leads you to the kitchen, pausing to pull the waffle maker out of his dusty hiding place before depositing you by the kitchen counter. you hop up to sit and watch him as he meticulously measures out the ingredients for waffle batter, making two batches: blueberries for him, and chocolate chips for you. he shoots you a look while the first waffle is cooking, hands on his hips.

“and while i’m slaving away making sure we don’t starve to death, what are you doing?” know he’s joking, he never minds being the one to cook meals, especially since you insist on cleaning up afterwards if he does. you take the bait this time though, feeling a little playful and a bit vengeful from his antics earlier. you hop off the counter and reach into the fridge for the can of whipped cream.

“i’m on topping duty,” you announce, popping the lid open and spraying some directly into your mouth. you revel in the cold cream, letting the subtle sweetness sink into your tastebuds. you look at him with a wink before swiftly placing the nozzle near his nose and spraying a small dollop right on the tip. he gasps in shock, looking cross-eyed at his nose while trying to reach the cream with his tongue. you swear, you will never get over how puppy-like he is without even trying.

when his endeavor to get the whipped cream off fails, he pouts cutely for a moment before you can almost see a lightbulb turn on on top of his head as his lips form into a smirk instead. he stalks closer to you, making you back up until your back hits the counter. you hide the can behind your back, not trusting him for a second.

“you never got your good morning kiss,” he says slyly, leaning in until your faces were centimeters from each other. so that’s his plan, you think. you make a swift turn to the right, thinking you’ve outsmarted him, but he surprises you by helping you turn all the way to grab the can from your hand with one hand and pin you backwards to his chest with the other. he places the can to your neck like a sword, and you have to hold back laughs from how absurd this situation is.

“any last words?” he says, comically serious, and this time you can’t control the giggles that you let out. you can hear his knuckle creak as he bends it towards the nozzle and-

the fire alarm goes off.

both of you then towards the sound to see black smoke billowing around the waffle maker.

“my waffles!” he cries, making a sad picture with whipped cream still on his face as he fans the smoke away and unplugs the device.

“so,” you say once the alarm silences. “cereal?”

soft hours

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #seungmin fluff #seungmin imagines #seungmin drabbles #soft #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #fills #kim seungmin #stray kids x gender neutral reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x stay

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noisyquokka · 3 months

Note

Could I request a blurb with kevin from the boyz where we get stuck at home during a snowstorm but then eventually have to go back to work/school, the regular grind ig? Fluffy and cute stuff plz ^-^

The Place To Be

PAIRING - Kevin x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Spending three days in the house can easily bring on cabin fever. Well, except when Kevin's around... It's even harder to get back on schedule when he's actively doing his best to keep you near.

WORDCOUNT - 1.9k

WARNINGS - Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, sarcastic comments/insults incoming (It's just that kinda relationship), just two (2) dorks doing cute shit together and being cute together, Kevin being a menace

A/N - So it's not a blurb (I'm basically incapable of writing anything under 1k words) but I hope you enjoy it all the same!💛 Edit: I'd like to formally apologize for thinking I posted this like 3 weeks ago when it, in fact, sat in the drafts 🤡 send me to the pit of flames, y'all!

"Good God, how many shades of the same yellow does one paint kit need!?" Kevin shakes his head, squeezing the tiny tube of Cadmium onto the palette. He's sitting beside you, working on a paint-by-number piece that he'd bought months ago. What better time to crack it open than today? You turn your head to the canvas, taking in his progress.

"Those are not the same shade, Kev." You point to the few yellows you assume he's referring to, along with the one he'd just added to his palette. "That's a light yellow compared to this one. This is more of a lemon." You reach for two others; Golden and Saffron. "And these are two different shades, babe."

"Golden, Lemon, Banana Cream, Pineapple, Pear. I don't see a difference!"

"And you call yourself an artist... pfft." It's a mumble that's loud enough for him to hear, one that earns you the bump of his knee into yours under the table. You chuckle in response, bringing your palm to rest under your chin.

His eyes rove over the canvas, and you can see the cogs turning in your boyfriend's head as he figures out how to twist this paint-by-number into his own little masterpiece. The box was labeled Cottage in the Mountains but you knew Kevin. He'd add his own little touch to the canvas in the end.

"I know I'm hot, but quit staring, babe!"

"Oh, so hot that the snow is still falling." you pipe up, sarcasm thick in your tone. Kevin places a hand on his chest dramatically, rubbing at his pec as if you've wounded him. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your hairline before he diverts his attention back to the tubes of paint.

"Felt that one deep in my chest, at least five years off my life." He presses another kiss to your nose, finding the smirk on your lips when he pulls away. "You trying to kill me off early?"

"Ugh, you got me. I'm actually an assassin." You reach for one of the painting knives on the table, running your fingers over the blade like a villain in a movie. "Unfortunate that I have to break it to you when we're stuck in this house together, snowed in... no one to come looking for you..."

"Well, when you say it like that." he trails, taking the knife from you. He's so unbothered, too used to this back and forth that you two have conjured as your love language. The corners of your lips curl up in a grin, and you bring your hand up to cradle his jaw, pressing your lips against his cheek in a quick kiss.

"You are the only thing saving me from this hell. So thank you for staying with me." you say. Kevin chuckles, dipping his brush into the dollop of Cadmium.

"We live together, you know."

"Well yeah, but you could've chosen to paint in the office or something."

"But I didn't." The paintbrush moves over the canvas with sparse flicks of a wrist, the man's attention taken up by the careful strokes of his workspace. Your smile hadn't faded by much, but watching him work brightened it like morning glories.

"No, you didn't." you murmur. You get up from your seat, carding your fingers through his hair before leaving a kiss on top of his head.

It's a simple thing, really; with below-zero wind chills and a snow band that wouldn't let up, you two were stuck inside. The whole town had shuttered with the storm, putting the safety of the citizens above all else, which in turn, canceled any non-essential traveling. With the snow falling at a pretty good clip, plows couldn't clear the streets fast enough. Living in a cold climate long enough had humbled you, and you easily knew when it wasn't worth going out. It also taught you how to make a mean chicken and veggie soup. Speaking of...

The paintbrush halts its movement over the canvas, brown eyes sliding back to where you disappear into the kitchen. His stomach rumbles, those familiar scents of seared chicken and simmered vegetables distracting him from his work. Kevin finishes the bit of paint off before cleaning off his used brushes, standing from the dining table and padding after you.

"Need any help?" He smiles, watching the moment your head turns to find his form standing in the doorway. You wave him over, stirring the soup in the Dutch oven. Long arms find their respective place around your torso, pulling you slightly away from the stovetop flame.

"You're like a dog," you mutter, setting the ladle down on the counter. You turn to face him, his fingers sweeping your midriff with the action, leading him backward until his hip meets the island. "always sneaking into the kitchen, nosing around for scraps."

"Does that mean I get whatever my heart desires?" He leans against the marble, dipping his head down till his forehead bumps yours.

"Depends." you reply with a sly grin, hands sliding over the fabric of his hoodie. "What exactly are you looking for?"

Your question is met with a cheeky smile and a raised brow, strong hands slipping around your waist.

"Nothing too demanding, just you and me cuddling on the couch after we eat?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he cocks his head to the side. "And a taste of that soup?"

You twist away from his grasp, bringing your attention back to the stove. The soup simmers on medium heat, steam rising above the broth as you stir the menagerie in the pot. You hum to yourself, feign thinking it over. Kevin's arms catch you as you instinctively lean back into his chest, fingers trailing over your side. After a moment, the ladle is placed on the counter again, and you reach to the left to wretch the drawer open for a spoon. It's all the answer Kevin needs.

“Nothing too demanding?” you finally ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. The remark is too easy to pass up cracking jokes, and it earns you a breathy laugh as your boyfriend rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Maybe later, if you're feeling up to it." He matches your humorous teasing easily, following it with a kiss on your shoulder. You bite back a smile, taking the spoon to the pot with a careful hand, a sample taste that you blow on before turning to your boyfriend. You keep your free hand under the spoon as he takes a sip from the utensil, licking his lips just like a dog.

"Perfect!" he replies, eyes soft as he glances down at you. Fingers glide up the wrist that's holding the spoon, stealing it easily to go back for seconds.

"Biased!" you counter, reaching for the spice rack.

"For you? Always," Kevin admits, taking another sample from the pot. "But your comfort food always tastes the best."

"I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment to my cooking skills."

"Both." The word falls off his tongue quickly, and you scoff.

"Don't go eating it all, there's still ten minutes left on the timer!" You swat his hand away from the pot, stealing the spoon back with a half-hearted glare.

"Is that your way of telling me patience is a virtue?" he questions, taking you back into his grip. He catches the sidelong glance you spare - the shoulder that you shove back into him in retaliation - and he grins.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." You take from the few spices you've used in the soup already, adding a little more into the pot. Kevin intently watches you work, a looming heat over your shoulder that warms you more than the flame in front of you. He doesn't let go of you when you finally back away from the stove, opting to pull you with him until he's once again leaning against the counter and you're pressed against his chest. With seven minutes left on the timer, you let your attention drift to the man clinging to your waist.

Large hands sweep up your back and pull you closer, brown eyes locked with yours for a brief moment. Patience practiced, his gaze briefly drops to your lips and then he’s leaning in, a gentle brush of his against yours that has you instinctually wrapping your arms around his neck. The warmth of his breath makes the hairs on your neck stand like electricity coursing through your veins. You nuzzle your nose playfully against his, earning yourself a lazy grin.

The space between you dwindles to nothing once he captures your lips in a kiss. It's soft and sweet, a simple little thing that has a smile pulling at your lips, and suddenly the kitchen is the coziest place to be. Kevin's ears twitch at the sound of your laughter, heard in between liplocks and small pecks.

The best sound he's ever heard.

It's when you lean into him and curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck that he pulls away, pressing his forehead into yours. Just in time for the timer to go off.

It's like this for the three days that you're stuck at home; a simple routine that you quickly grow accustomed to as the hours drag on. While you don't mind sticking it out with your boyfriend, you're not against the idea of racing out into the yard to bury yourself under the several feet of snow that has fallen. Kevin makes it bearable when he's got you wrapped up on the couch or in bed, nothing more than the sound of your collective breathing and tangled legs under blankets.

It only becomes a problem when the snow has ceased and snow removal has wrapped up.

"Kevin, baby, I have to get up!"

You're still in bed, imprisoned in your boyfriend's embrace while you watch the minutes quickly deplete for you to get ready for your shift. Kevin whines into your neck, his arms tightening when you try to pry them off.

"Don't you have sick days left?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Take a sick day." he pleads, eyes closed as he snuggles into you.

"You know I can't do that."

Cue the grumbling like a perturbed feline being chased from the bathroom sink. You can't help but laugh at the response, trying once again to escape the man's clutches. He only tightens his grip again.

"Kev, come on, now," you whisper, turning your head towards your boyfriend. "We've been stuck in the house for three days."

"Take a sick day," he repeats, mumbling the words against your neck. His lips are warm against the skin, nipping at the delicate flesh lazily before he lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"Please?"

It's hard to protest when he's looking at you like that; like you're his only reason for staying in bed another day. The heat of his body sinks into yours and you feel the protests on the tip of your tongue succumbing to the thumb massaging circles into your hip. To be completely honest with yourself, you'd be willing to skip work daily if you could stay wrapped up in Kevin's arms like this for the rest of your days.

You sigh softly, knowing your attempts to convince him to let you go are failing. The puppy eyes have won you over, and he'll melt any defenses you can muster up with them.

Your hand juts out for your phone, grabbing it from the nightstand. It's a quick unlock and a couple of taps, a quick call to your supervisor that you can't make it in due to the driveway being snowed in. A little white lie. When you hang up, you shoot your boyfriend a look.

"Happy?" you ask.

Kevin sighs contentedly, pulling you close as he makes himself comfortable again.

"Very."

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

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scorchieart · 1 year

Text

Home Sweet Homesick | AO3

Characters: Clavis Lelouch, Chevalier Michel

Genre: Angst, Comfort.

Summary: Two brothers. One month. The final autumn before Bloodstained Rose Day.

Word Count: 5.8k (grab a mug of your preferred warm beverage, friends)

A/N: It has come to my attention that I have never written a fic with these two interacting. Yes, I am shocked, too. This is a franken-fall-fic for the following challenges, many warm hugs to the awesome writers who set them up!

Prompts:

Getting warm in their sweater - Cozytober hosted by @randonauticrap

"Your hands are cold." - Pumpkins & Fireplaces 2022 hosted by @chaosangel767

Treats - Fall Fluff & Autumn Angst CCC hosted by @aquagirl1978 & @violettduchess

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, mild descriptions of injuries and pain (no blood), mild Clavis route spoilers.

“Recent activity west constitutes a growing concern, however full-blown mobilization of troops would be premature at this juncture—”

“Yaaaawn!”

“—No significant changes to report. Although such an extended pause may suggest possibility of attack—”

“Sn-ore!”

“—Our swiftest horse and rider are prepared to head out on-call with detailed instructions, should any perturbing developments arise—”

“Some perturbing development better arise in the next five seconds before I die of boredom!”

Tent flaps crack as a sharp gust bursts in unannounced, causing the stacks of paper and envelopes piled on top of our makeshift oakwood desk to flutter longingly underneath the stones I arrested them with. Three of the four candles illuminating my side blow out instantly, but the last one manages to hold on to its wicker as the mini tempest fades out as quickly as it started. It flickers feebly before bouncing back to its previous height, as though the wind was but a slight inconvenience.

I want nothing more than to grab that candlestick and plunge it straight into the desk.

But I don’t do that. I straighten my back, brush the windswept hair out of my face, and assess the damage. Luckily I had the foresight to restopper the ink bottle, because it was rolling halfway across the table by the time I spotted it. I manage to snatch it and my quill before they tumble over the edge and lay them atop the slightly wrinkled letter I was penning. Oh well, wrinkled doesn’t mean illegible, and I would know that better than anyone. Besides, the thing will get folded and stuffed into an envelope anyway. What’s one more crease in its cap?

I lightly tap the last word I wrote and lift my finger. No stains. Amazing how some good came from that nimble nimbus, considering all the damage its friends did to our tent. A large dollop of water trickles through a rip in the top and drops onto my hair, a casual reminder of the rainstorm that bucketed our camp this afternoon. I shake my head and peek through the still-swaying tent flaps to the citadel stationed at the bottom of the hill.

Golden fireplaces and candelabras illuminate the dozens of windows scattered across the fortress walls. Up here they look like tiny fireflies waiting to be captured.

I would like to go down there and catch them.

But I am technically still on duty. Yes, being a scribe is a duty of mine, and one I take rather seriously, despite what some nosy naysaying ministers may claim. Despite the fact that I prefer to be buried beneath a stack of dry blankets than wet letters, next to one of those shimmering fireflies. Despite the fact that our shabby little tent is one gust away from flying off to oblivion.

I mean Obsidian.

Either? Both? Beyond?

I do not like our shabby little tent.

But it doesn’t matter what I like because Chevalier likes it. Or rather, he likes its location. High above the tallest hill, the perfect vantage point overlooking both Rhodolite and Obsidian’s movements. Close enough to the citadel to relay any new perturbing developments as soon as they occur. Far enough from the border to dispel any accusations of militaristic intent.

Were this hilltop not the size of my closet, I bet Chevalier would move here permanently.

I wish Chevalier would move here permanently.

“Though it would be ardent to begin preparations at present, for the tides may turn mere moments after this letter leaves our base—”

“Now hold on, I haven’t caught up yet!” I say, quickly picking up my quill again. Did he say “preparations for presents”? I didn’t realize we were throwing a party. Yves’s birthday was a few weeks ago, but he’s back at the castle.

This makes no sense. And “tummies may turn”? Jin would sooner swear off women than Chevalier utter the word tummy in any context. Though mine has been spinning in circles since we started nearly two hours ago. It is long past midnight now, and I’d really like to lie down. But if Chevalier isn’t tired, neither am I.

I’ll just write down my best guess.

Like the candle, Chevalier only paused for a moment then instantly resumed his blathering as soon as the wind ceased. It doesn’t surprise me, honestly. I’ve seen my brother cut his dinner with a steak knife, stab an assassin with said knife, and chew his brisket all in the same breath.

And people say I’m the batty one.

Keeping my head hanging low over the paper, I steal a peek at Chevalier at the other end of the tent. He twirls a red stone figurine of a soldier in his left hand as he studies the large map laid out on the table, his back towards me. Not even his hair looks disturbed by the wind, and for some reason that angers me more than his refusal to slow down enough for me to catch up.

“Stop that,” he snaps, plunking the red soldier on the map with a sharp thwack.

“Stop what? Writing for your lazy behind?” I say.

“That nettlesome tapping. It is disrupting my thoughts.”

I unconsciously halt tapping the quill. Now do you understand what a blessing it is that I am still sane, dear reader?

“Well, you’re disrupting my process with your ugly mug,” I say, resuming the tapping, louder this time. I wish I could see his face right now. His eye is probably twitching like it does when I interrupt his reading, and that always makes it worth the mental trudge it takes to see him.

I will not be rewarded for my efforts tonight, it seems.

“You’re welcome to pick up where I left off if my way bothers you so much,” I say.

Chevalier hums and reaches for another figurine from a box. This time he pulls out a black one.

“And what would you do then to occupy yourself?” he asks, flicking the tip of the soldier’s miniature sword with his finger. “Tap your quill? Twiddle your thumbs? Sleep? When you’ve hardly managed to catch a wink this past month?”

And whose fault is that? I want to say, but I force my lips into a tight grin instead. A gentleman does not complain when faced with adversity. He powers through with grace and dignity and an unyielding smile.

But my cheeks are seriously starting to bear the toll of weeks upon weeks of these fake smiles. And my eyes have long since run out of tears following all those late-night jumpscares whenever I do manage to fall asleep. And my limbs are screaming from the grueling daily training rounds from dawn to dusk. Even if the days are getting shorter, they’re getting colder as well.

And I haven’t told Chevalier this, but earlier today I sprained my wrist while sword training. It really isn’t that big of a deal, to be honest. I was only squeezing in some extra swings before training officially began because a nasty nightmare woke me up too soon again. I figured I’d practice on the ancient oak tree we secured our tent to, and maybe set up a scenario where I’d “accidentally” sever the ropes and let the thing collapse on top of snoozing Chevalier, but I ended up tripping over one of the massive roots in the dark and tumbling down the hill.

He just had to choose the tallest hill.

“You are thinking of something asinine again,” says Chevalier.

“Definitely not,” I say, turning back to the letter. He is very lucky I injured my illegible hand.

I stuff said hand into my pocket and slowly stretch my fingers one by one, starting from the thumb, but my index finger only makes it halfway up before I have to muffle a grunt from the pain. I masterfully mask it by coughing into the crook of my good arm.

Another thwack of a figure placement, and Chevalier is back to reciting his correspondence. If he is upset that I just coughed on his sweater, he doesn’t make an effort to show it.

Yes, this is Chevalier’s sweater I am wearing. My shirt is all in tatters now after a certain fall down a hill (that I cannot believe I am bringing up twice in the same sitting). And my backup shirt is currently hanging outside, still dripping with this afternoon’s downpour. Chevalier took one look at me after I returned from practice and tossed me the sweater before I could get even one foot in the tent.

How very considerate of him, forcing his exhausted and sopping younger brother to change outdoors after sunset in October so his precious maps and documents wouldn’t get drenched.

I think I’ll leave a great big sneeze in the collar next, just to show how much I appreciate his prospective.

But I’d end up inhaling more wool than medically recommended before Chevalier would ever bother to tell me to stop.

I’m actually still in shock to even be wearing it, to tell the truth. I figured it was buried at the bottom of his closet half-eaten by moths. It had been years since I’d last seen the thing, when his grandfather gave it to him at his mother’s funeral. One of those events I figured Chevalier deemed not worth remembering.

But I remember.

I remember the way Chevalier stood in front of her grave after they buried her, pale and stiff and dry-eyed, like a flawless stone figurine. I remember how the Lord Michel walked up beside him and almost put his hand on his shoulder, but pulled away at the last second when Chevalier turned to look at him. And I remember how he looked back. How he shakily drew the folded sweater from his other arm and trembled as he presented it to his grandson, a boy not half his size.

“She’d want you to keep warm,” he’d said. I remember how cold his words sounded that day.

I remember how cold my mother’s hand was, too.

“Ow!”

The quill clatters on the desk as I furiously rub at my temple. When I open my eyes, a black knight lays atop my letter, shimmering dully in the single candlelight.

“What was that for?” I growl.

“You misspelled ‘accommodate’.”

“What?” I push the knight aside and count the letters of the last word I wrote. Two c’s and one m stare back at me in glossy ebony ink. I glance back at Chevalier. His hand is rummaging through the box again, but his eyes never lift from the map.

I pick up the quill and start to squeeze a mini m by the first when a second figure bounces off my head.

“Stop that!” I yell.

“Start over.”

“No way, it’s just a tiny fix. And I was almost done!” I hold the nearly-filled page up to him, but he still refuses to look.

“Then you should have been more attentive.”

“Who cares? It’s just going to Leon.”

“With my signature.” He slams another figure on the map with finality.

But I’m not finished.

“You rewrite it then.”

No response.

My seat flies back as I stand, but my cheek is pressed against the dirt before it reaches the ground.

My wrists are trapped and suspended in the air, but this time I can’t hide my roars of pain. They’d be louder I’m sure, but the knee jabbing into my back limits the airflow into my lungs.

My vision spins. I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to breathe deeply through my nose. Wet, molding tent mixed with the unwashed stench of two teenage boys who haven’t bathed in weeks burns my nostrils, but years of experience taught me this is the fastest way to calm my nerves in these situations. Years and years and years of experience. My head is still going fuzzy though, and I can’t tell if it’s from the pain or the exhaustion.

I pry my stinging eyes open and focus on the closest thing to me. The candlestick rolls a few inches away, the shape of my clenched fingers imprinted in the wax column, its flame still burning.

I must look positively feral, but no more feral than the beast pinning me down.

“I expected more,” says Chevalier.

His fingers dig under the sleeves and into my wrists as he yanks, pulling my face a few inches off the ground. I gasp like I’ve just resurfaced from a lake, and crane my neck as far back as I can to meet his piercing stare. He’s waiting for an explanation.

His palms are like ice, and my teeth chatter as I bite back the urge to scream.

“Your hands are c-cold.”

That’s it? One month of endless belittling, cold-shoulders, and sleeping outdoors. My fingers are brittle from writing dozens of letters. My elbows and knees bruised from constant repairs to this tent. My hand drips with searing wax from my latest failed payback attempt. And the best I can come up with is your hands are cold?

I expected more, too.

He stares a bit more, longer than he has all day, before finally releasing me. I fall back to the ground and bury my face in my collar —Chevalier’s sweater collar— heaving breaths in and out my nose until my head stops spinning. It takes me a few minutes, but I eventually push myself onto my knees and inspect the damage. I had grabbed the candlestick with my good hand without thinking, and my palm is now almost entirely covered in the waxy sticky stuff. At least it’s quickly solidifying in this cold, but I don’t dare peel it off yet. I might end up pulling off skin, too.

My injured wrist, on the other hand, looks even darker than it did this morning, with splotches of blue and purple climbing up my forearm. I hold my breath and nudge it with a finger, but to my surprise, I don’t feel any pain. In fact, I don’t feel anything, except for the sensation of frigid digits tapping my skin.

“Get that checked and be back by noon,” Chevalier calls. Another surprise, he’s not at his map but at my desk corner, chair back upright, scratching away with my quill at blinding speed.

“Noon?” I repeat. “You mean tomorrow?”

“I mean six hours from now. The numbness will wear off soon, and you’ll hassle the medics with your obnoxious blubbering if you do not hurry.” As if on cue, the first specs of dawn trickle in through the tent flaps.

“I’m not missing training,” I say. “If you’re going, so am I.”

“There is nothing more foolish than a dying man demanding poison over cure.”

“I’m not dying!” I march over and pull my good arm sleeve up to my elbow. “See? You’re just being dramatic.”

Again he refuses to look my way, instead focusing on folding the paper he was writing on into thirds. He retrieves the fallen candlestick, elegantly prepares a stamp, and, as soon as the seal cools, stacks it and the other letters I prepared onto my outstretched hand.

“You will deliver the post and return in time to memorize this new battle formation before afternoon practice commences. With the correct hand bandaged,” he warns, pushing past me to his maps. “Do not fall short of my expectations again.” He picks a red soldier from the box and resumes his planning.

I push through the flaps before the thwack reaches my ears.

Even though the tent is meager at best, it still mostly protects us from the harsh winds that pound every night. The approach of dawn hampers the air, but a brisk rush still uncomfortably tickles down my spine as I approach the edge of the hill. The numbness in my hand starts to fade as I stare down at those jagged rocks, almost goading me to trip again, and I back up until my boot bumps the oak tree.

Chevalier did say I have six hours.

I stuff the letters in my armpit and start climbing the tree, slowly as it is still quite dark out and my hands aren’t exactly in best form. I also try to keep quiet, in case Chevalier won’t approve of my little recess.

Once I reach the highest branch that can support my weight, I throw my legs over the edge and lean my cheek against the trunk. It is cool and covered in morning frost; a welcoming sensation to my welting face. Not so much to my tense thighs, but if I learned one thing on this trip it is to hold on to any good happenstances because they are rare to come by. Or last long.

I pull the letters out again and straighten them. Leon’s is first, a tiny detailed rose drawn directly underneath his perfectly-penned name. That’s the code we came up with for documents that need to be read with high urgency. Chevalier likes his papers to be ordered by importance, both outgoing and incoming, and as I leaf through the rest I see he’s arranged the next one to Sariel, followed by Jin, and then to various nobles and ministers back at the capitol.

I sometimes wonder, if I wasn’t Chevalier’s shadow, could my letters top his piles?

My skin prickles with envy. He isn’t even the king, so why must everything be under his thumb? The land, the people, and now the words. Why not let these papers be picked up by autumn winds, like the golden leaves of the oak, with no drive or direction other than away from here? Embarking on a journey unknown, a glorious adventure beyond the confines of their pages, full of twists and turns and loop de loops never before scrivened by man. In the infinite realms of possibility, there exists a universe where they all land exactly where intended. But equally likely, they also may end up at the most inopportune destination.

I spread the envelopes like a hand of cards toward the Obsidianite border, a gentle wind growing from behind.

It’s really not so different from Rhodolite. We each have rocks and grass and bushes. Storms hound us both, the rising sun does not discriminate, and we both settle at night under the same starry blanket sky. This little sample of land shows even more, with our matching fortresses and battle posts, and there’s a high hilltop mirroring our own. It even has its own matching oak tree, though while mine still brims with flittering leaves of reds and browns, theirs stands thin and bare. So bare, it is impossible to miss the dark figure seated on the top branch.

Frostbite stabbing my thighs jumpstarts my senses, and I manage to hook my leg onto a knot in the trunk before the shock sends me tumbling down. I hug the letters and straighten my shoulders, looking back at my tree twin. How long has he been there? Has he been watching me? There’s quite a bit of foliage surrounding me. Does he even know I'm here?

I tentatively stretch my free leg, both to see if he’d respond and to encourage blood flow in case I need to make a hasty exit. A minute passes with nothing, but as soon as I start to lower my leg, a shadowy appendage protrudes from the figure.

So he can see me.

I raise my arm. This time the figure waves back almost instantly. Could I interpret that as neighborly? I don’t want to raise my voice in case Chevalier investigates. Instead I shrug my shoulders and wag my head from side to side. My neck is still sore from Chevalier’s little “rebuttal” earlier, but I hope the message is still understandable.

What do you want?

Another unresponsive minute goes by before the figure raises both arms. The first points a finger at me. The second beckons in his direction.

I look over my shoulder as though I expect someone else to be there. This can’t be serious, is he asking me to cross the border? The Obsidianite border? When we are at the cusp of war? Does this guy even know who I am?

I don’t have the time to conjure a reply before I hear my name called from below.

“Well met, Prince Clavis!”

So much for that last question. And for keeping Chevalier in the dark.

I scan my surroundings and locate a horseman at the base of the hill, waving a scarlet flag with a rose up at me. The postman has arrived.

For the first time on this trip, apart from the daily workouts, my palms pool with sweat. But this is a different kind of perspiration. Chevalier could pop out any minute, and my head whirs with what to say back to the stranger across the border before he does. Er—sign. Sorry, now’s not a good time? I’ll think about it? Can we talk later?

Do I even want to continue this conversation? I jerk my head back toward Obsidian, but the branch is just as bare as the rest of the tree.

“Is everything alright, my prince?” the postman calls, turning the direction I’m facing. “Is something happening across the border?”

“No, no. Everything’s fit as a fiddle! Just watching the sunrise,” I say, fumbling out of the tree. No light emerges from the tent, and I quickly poke my head in to confirm Chevalier’s sleeping form settled in a chair by his desk of maps. He lets out a long snore, and I let out a long sigh of relief.

After a slow descent of the hillside (I will not fall for the same fault twice in a row), the postman and I greet each other and exchange our stacks.

“I am very glad I ran into you, Prince Clavis!” His voice is cheery, despite the fact that he no doubt traveled the entire night. He isn’t originally from the capitol, I have everyone’s names and faces memorized there, but the flag he bears is reserved only for envoys from the royal palace. He looks about my age, with modest build and eyes not yet marred by the horrors of the battlefield. If I was to hazard a guess, I would say this is his first mission this close to the border.

“You are glad?” I ask.

“Indeed! I was instructed to hand-deliver those letters to Prince Chevalier. I feared it would be a great impertinence on my part to address His Highness personally, so I attempted to leave the letters with the general. However I was shocked to hear that you two were not staying at the fort! I was told your location was classified, but I really wanted to make sure I completed my first delivery. I never would have imagined royalty sleeping in a tent mid-autumn, of all places!”

Called it, but all I say is, “You and I both, lad.”

“But this could not be more perfect! I can trust you to pass these off to Prince Chevalier, then? Master Sariel said it is extremely important that he reads his letter as soon as humanly possible.”

I see now. This could not be more perfect because he ran into Chevalier’s middle man instead of the man himself. I stretch my cheeks into that wide grin and give him a polite nod. The boy looks pleased with himself as he bows and marches to his horse, and I take advantage of his turned back to drop my smile and peek at who’s top-pile today.

The deep purple seal pops in the faint light of dawn, rays sliding up and down the swerving curves of the embossed serpent like ethereal liquid, but it is the text on the other side of the envelope that locks my attention. Chevalier’s full name is elegantly printed in bold black. Below it, scripted in an equally flawless hand, are two roses.

My breath catches in my throat as I grip the paper tighter. The ink on the petals is slightly smudged, as though it was handed off seconds after drawn. Never before have I seen two roses, neither sent nor received, and the thought of what news they bear freezes the blood in my veins even quicker than the weather. Are we officially at war with Obsidian? Was a meeting held while we were away? Has Jade or Benitoite made a move, too? Or is it something domestic? Have the people finally started to revolt against this endless back and forth? Has something happened to the king? Has something happened to my brothers?

That last thought drives a final icicle through my chest. My eyesight blurs and my legs start to give way, but both are locked back in place as something large is shoved into my arms. It is still too dark to make out what it is, but I immediately register the residual heat it dissipates.

“And here’s the final package!” the boy says. I blink several times before I can make out the shape of the wooden crate. It is about the size of my torso, light as a practice sword, and feels like a tiny oven pressed against my chest. “It’s the other extremely important cargo piece.” He ends with a wink, mounts his horse, and departs before I have the chance to ask anything else.

My first instinct is there’s something alive in there, and I slowly lower the crate to the ground to not startle (or infuriate) it. It may be asleep, but there are no abrupt movements as I observe the box from all angles. If whatever it is was alive, it is highly suspect that it could survive the trip from the palace with only three tiny breathing holes. And the soury-sweet smell wafting out from them could not belong to a carcass.

There is no identification on the box, and I pull out the stack of letters again to solve this mystery. Sariel’s letter deadpans me with a scowl, almost like its author would, and I shuffle it to the bottom. It won’t make a difference if Chevalier reads it right this second or after I’ve figured out what’s in this crate. Each successive letter is from some general or marquess or duke, no doubt begging Chevalier for some fatuous favor because none are marked with roses, and I nearly resolve to just prying the crate open myself when a glint of pale pink catches my eye.

I grasp the final envelope in both hands and hold it up to the steadily rising sun, but my eyes are not playing tricks as the delicate figure of a cat shines back.

Why would Yves write to Chevalier?

Again, no roses adorn this letter, but I pull out my pocket knife and carefully lift the seal from the paper. I can practically hear Sariel squalling at me through the mouth of the discarded purple serpent, but I ignore it. This is a matter between brothers. Sariel could never understand.

My heart pounds in my ears as I unfold the letter to reveal Yves’s gossamer script, and I press one palm against the side of my head to steady it as I read.

Gladdest tidings, Prince Chevalier.

Thank you ever so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to write to me. It brought me the greatest joy to receive your letter on my birthday, I could not stop myself from shaking with excitement upon reading it.

Shaking with fear sounds more like it. That answers why Yves sent this, but drops a new more important question: Why did Chevalier send Yves a letter? Surely not just to wish him a happy birthday.

While your sentiments are more than enough, I truly wished you and Prince Clavis could have been present for the celebration. It was a small affair, as usual, but it was a welcome respite from the turbulence of the court since your departure. I am sorry to say our people are not pleased that your two-day inspection of the citadel has turned into a month-long station at the border, and many nobles are demanding your return to the palace posthaste. They fear your decision to remain may anger Obsidian and incite retaliation, but they only speak their minds so freely knowing you are so far away. I have no doubt you will have received letters from them asking for your return, but I beseech your understanding of their apprehension in your responses.

I scoff, the cooled breath materializing before me. Leave it to Yves to think the best of the people’s intentions, but he hasn’t read the novels of resentment Chevalier receives each week. And he hasn’t penned the curt, cold-blooded replies.

Then it hits me, Chevalier sent a letter to Yves that I didn’t write. The paper wrinkles as my grip tightens, and I have to squint to make out the next lines.

Ah, but I am getting off topic. I am sure you tire from talk of military and government, Sariel is currently drafting a lengthy report to you on both as I write this, so I shall make this as brief as I can.

It will please you to hear that despite the political climate, the seasonal climate has been rather generous. The harvest has been bountiful this year, and while the people’s spirits are not at their highest, their bellies are full and they are thankful. It took some help from the other princes, but we even managed to prepare the extra set of treats you requested. I must admit, I worried I would not be able to bake and pack the lot in time for the post. I had wanted the delivery to arrive as fresh as possible, and it was only with their assistance that we prevailed. Even with their pilfering hands snatching ingredients left and right, I ask that you thank them as well when you sit down to enjoy the sweets.

The tart aroma hits my nostrils again, and I have to hold back from clawing the sides of the crate apart. I limit myself to prying off two boards from the top, and am rewarded with a waft of warmth and a cornucopia of baked goodies. My mouth waters as I stick my face through the opening, letting the heat and the smell envelope my senses.

Home. It really is a piece of home right in front of me. So close I can touch it, smell it, taste it… but I hold off on the last one for now. What if Chevalier sent a specific numbered order? I pull my head out and rest my chin on the top as I read the last part.

And speaking of the others, it will also please you to hear that they are all well. Prince Leon and Prince Jin have placated the citizens for now, and while it is fortunate they are a team of two, I fear their efforts will not last much longer. I have spotted Prince Nokto speaking to nobles as well, and despite his age he harbors a magnetic quality that calms even the tensest of brows. Prince Licht and I have been handling paperwork in the background, and we have learned much about our kingdom and its operations in the process.

Furthermore, I know you did not ask, but father is in good health as well. Though he seldom leaves his room these days and only speaks with Sariel. I fear his spirits are lowest of all.

I have a little space left on this page, so please allow me to use it to ask of my brother. You mentioned he has not taken well to the extended stay, I hope he is at least keeping himself entertained. Even with the disquiet of complaints, the halls never felt so still in his absence. But I believe he can keep up with you, we all do.

Lastly, I do hope you are both keeping warm. The previous postman reported the weather is much colder near the mountains where you are. It was a bout of good fortune Prince Jin managed to hand you your sweater before you left, was it not? But as you said, a decorated mantle does nothing to light the hearth, so please enjoy the treats while they are still hot.

Take care of one another, and I pray for your safe return before the first winter snow.

Yves Kloss

The hand reaching for the crate is automatic. It takes a couple chews before I realize I have bitten into an apple strudel. It takes a few more before I realize I am crying.

Hot tears stream down my cheeks and smudge Yves’s words as I hug them and the pastry to my chest. Weeks… months… years of what I could never put into words rock my body as I scream into the crate.

I don’t want to go to war. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I don’t want to keep hurting myself climbing to catch Chevalier, because I know I will never make it. I just want to go home. Home where these treats were made. Home where these treats were shared. Home where these treats never fathomed a life outside their oven.

The sun is mostly up when the final cries exit my system. My body weighs like it ran to the palace and back, and I cannot even raise an arm to shield myself from the blinding rays or the chilling winds of early morning. The only thing I can do is bury my face in the collar of my sweater. Chevalier’s sweater.

Chevalier’s sweater is warm.

I wrap my fingers around the half-eaten strudel. It is warm, too.

Warm, like Yves’s hands when he pulls them out of the oven. Warm, like Licht’s cheeks as he stands tip-toed at the edge of the table and watches his brother set them down. Warm, like Nokto’s hugs when he ambushes his brother from behind, both in thanks and in distraction. Warm, like Jin’s ears as he swipes the top pastry and it disappears into his mouth. Warm, like Leon’s laughter as he prepares to pacify the situation.

Warm, like Sariel’s gaze as he watches the scene unfold. Warm, like my mother’s kisses that linger to this day. Warm, like Chevalier’s…

A sharp crack turns my attention back up the hill. The top of the tent rips and flutters in the breeze, waiting for me to patch it up again. Chevalier must be cold.

Pain throbs in my wrist. I peel the wax off my hand. I look back and forth between the citadel and the hill. Then between the border and the sun. I have many paths before me, and a good four hours left.

I stuff the rest of the pastry in my cheeks and collect the letters, careful to reseal Yves’s the way it was and return Sariel’s to the top. I grab the crate under one arm and start back up the hill. It is a long climb, yes, but one I know I can make.

*Nudges Yves* Get in there, Evie! You're the hero of this story! And uh, you can just stay where you are, Gilbert.

Tagging:@atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #clavis lelouch #chevalier michel #ikepri clavis #ikepri chevalier #cozytober #pumpkins & fireplaces #fall fluff autumn angst ccc #scorchie writes #tw: mentions of death #tw: grief #tw: injury #tw: pain

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hansolmates · 3 years

Text

me time (m)

summary; the first time virgin!mc meets her mans (but she doesn’t know it yet) pairing; jungkook x virgin!mc genre/warnings; fluff, college!au, boarding house!au, based on the virgin!oc discourse, female masturbation (thanks to the pretty bridgertons), a lil sad and longing at the end w/c; 1.3k a/n; y’all really brought manhater!mc and virgin!mc to life! this couldn’t be done without all of your fabulous input and support. obviously the virginverse is freeform at this point—think of this more as a prequel for these two. set in freshman year of college, when they’re just acquaintances. (do you guys think of cher from clueless when u think virgin!mc? very outgoing n’cute but also very innocent?) anyway, happy valentine’s day i hope you and your boo (whether digital or in-person) get your me/we time💖

Your wooden lap desk is toppled to the side. Good thing the space between the mattress and floor is small, your pink monstera-shaped rug softening the blow when your water bottle, pencils and laptop fall to the floor. In the back of your head you know everything is fine because the last episode of Bridgerton is still playing, an orchestral version of Ariana Grande’s Thank U, Next continuing on as if nothing’s astray.

Yet you’re nothing but astray, forgotten about the episode and writhing against your too-small twin as you let yourself cum for the umpeeth time.

You’ve lost track at this point (how couldn't you? Bridgerton is hot) but from the way your hair mats to your face like a second skin and your pussy feels spent and battered, it’s been awhile. This should be your new Valentine’s Day tradition, fucking yourself until you pass out on your vibrator.

“Ah, ah fu—uck, yyyes!”

The sheets are sopping. The grey cotton fabric does nothing to hide your juices that seep from your bare cunt to the mattress. Flinging your silicone toy to the side, you pull your hair up and out of your face.

Water, you need water. Maybe a cup of green tea with a dollop of honey. Sugar always helps the immediate low after a good couple of rounds.

However, you’ll never get used to the feeling of cleaning up yourself. The feeling that you’ve done something completely lewd all on your own, no one to assure you the things you’re doing are weird. It’s okay though. You love to be alone, it takes a lot for you to feel lonely.

You slip on a pair of dolphin-cut shorts, too tiny that they are drowned beneath your emerald green slip dress. Quickly opening the door to your room, you’re met with absolute silence. White walls containing empty rooms and a living room without a soul. Just like you’re expecting in a college boardhouse on Valentine’s Day.

What you’re not expecting however, is Jeon Jungkook staring at you the second you crack your door open.

“If you’re screaming that loud, your partner must be doing a good job.”

Jungkook lives on the other side of the boarding house, therefore you’ve never really interacted with him. Excluding the landlord there’s only five other tenants, a group large enough that you’ve never had to have one-on-one with him.

You really didn’t think anyone would be in the house on Valentine’s, especially Jungkook. He’s an absolute cutie pie, even though you don’t know anything about him. The only thing you really know is that his sparkly brown eyes are to die for, they remind you of coffee milk tea, a craving you only indulge in at the end of finals season.

To your surprise, Jungkook looks like he hasn’t gone out all weekend. Him, single? As if! Yet you can’t justify any reasoning behind him being home if did have a girlfriend or boyfriend. His dark hair is fluffy and freshly showered, and you can’t ignore the smell of linens from his soft sweats and long navy hoodie.

Normally, you’d be quiet during Me Time. You’ve perfected the art, stuffing your mouth with your pillow or playing action movies to muffle out the sound. You thought you were in the clear. The thought of Jungkook overhearing you turns you on a little, makes the dampness between your panties even more evident, but you keep that self-indulgent secret to yourself.

“Oh, well,” you curl your lips in a smirk, closing the door behind you so he doesn’t see that your room is actually very much devoid of life, “she’s very powerful.”

She, meaning your favorite vibrator in your entire world. It has ten settings and a heating mechanism. More importantly, it’s rechargeable. You don’t know how you’d survive freshman year otherwise.

“Okay, TMI,” despite the fact Jungkook’s blushing he’s chuckling, holding a hand out for you in the narrow hallway, “after you.”

You quickly slip past him, walking into the shared kitchenette. Bare feet slapping against the hardwood, your eyes immediately gravitate toward the upper cabinet. Jungkook is following you, presumably to get his own late night snack. When you lift your arms to reach your mug, you feel a little bit of cool air brush against the uppers of your thighs. It’s a nightgown, a pretty satin slip that falls over your curves and leaves much to the imagination. A couple more centimeters to get your mug and you’ll be definitely flashing Jungkook.

“Um,” you practically hear the twisted face he’s making.

“Sorry—I’m sorry!” you blurt, waving your fingers to catch the handle of your mug, “I’m really not trying to flash you—please don’t fill a harassment report! I just can’t reach my mug.”

“No, that’s my mug.”

“What, no! I’ve been drinking from this mug all year!”

“You’ve been drinking from my mug?” Jungkook is affronted, walking past you to easily grab the mug you’ve been struggling to reach for the past minute. He flexes the bottom part of the mug in your face, where his initials are painted in black. “This is my mug, my parents put my handprint on it when I was a year old.”

It’s then you notice on the lower shelf, there’s an identical mug. This mug has been buried all the way in the back, dust collecting on the rim. It also has a baby handprint on it, although upon closer inspection it’s smaller and in a more faded shade of black. That’s your mug.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you feel your heart fall all the way to your ass, feeling guilty, “I’m so sorry. I’ve washed it and everything, if it makes you feel any better.”

He frowns, holding the white porcelain between his hands. A litany of ideas run through your brain. Is he disgusted by using the same mug as you? Have you potentially ruined a prized family treasure?

Thrusting the mug into your chest he says, “Make me a hot chocolate and we’re even.”

You smile a little, eager to please. You quickly get to work, simmering the pan with warm milk and melting chopped chocolate. You rinse your mug with some hot water, letting it sit next to his awaiting mug. For a bit of flair you add a capful of vanilla extract, all while Jungkook watches you with mild awe. The smell of sweet late night confections fill the kitchen, a fitting theme for a Valentine’s night.

“You’re not burning the milk,” Jungkook murmurs more to himself than you, watching as you pour the hot chocolate in cups without spilling a drop.

Jungkook is known to burn things in the house. The only thing he doesn’t burn is ramen, and that’s purely due to survival skills.

“What can I say, I’m an expert,” you wink, handing him his mug and you holding yours.

With matching mugs, the two of you take your first sips of the melty beverage. You lean against the stove facing him, while he faces you against the marble island. Jungkook smiles and a bit of cocoa touches his petal pink lips. He says it’s perfect and you smile into your cup, absolutely swelling with pride.

Jungkook’s probably working on his photos. He always says his editing bug is itchy at night. While in passing you’ve said you’d love to see his work, however that gesture of kindness never really amounted to anything. Maybe tonight’s the night. You like art, you’d love to be a little more educated with it. Just as you’re about to ask and strike up some conversation, Jungkook beats you to it.

“Well, hope you and your partner have a good Valentine’s,” Jungkook holds his cup in salute, walking back into his room, “just keep it down.”

Oh well. You sigh to yourself, letting Jungkook walk away without a fight or a retort. After all, it was you who implied you were sneaking in a bed partner tonight. Sinking your eyes into the brown liquid, you fall into a lull. The creamy liquid swirls in your grasp, making your muddied reflection ripple away.

You love to be alone, but it takes someone like Jeon Jungkook to remind you that life gets a little lonely.

#ficswithluv #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btsguild #btswritingcafe #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut

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azul-marie · 2 years

Note

hello! could you write a scenario for baking sweets with ryu?

hello! thanks for requesting. i do hope you enjoy reading! please be well and good. ❤️

note: fem. reader

genre: romance/fluff.

characters: ryu natsume.

there was more sprinkles in his hair than the actual cake batter itself.

they fell like snowflakes to the floor, joining with bits of batter and cracked eggshells and the occasional dollop of whipped buttercream accidentally felled in the making of this cake. the state of the kitchen counter looked no different.

you wondered if there would be any cake left to bake at all, given how much he’s licked from the bowl already.

“more chocolate!” ryu barked, scurrying this way and that in search of the cocoa powder. “not enough in here that’s tasty!”

“sweetie, this is a vanilla cake.” you reminded kindly. “there’s never been any chocolate in it at all.”

ryu pattered his feet from left to right, hopping from side to side as he thought. “hm, makes sense. why don’t we add it in anyway? it’ll taste even better.”

“alright, if you’d like.”

your handled your own mixing bowl very carefully, minding the sprinkles flying through the air as your boyfriend ran and hopped in circles around you, even when he popped open the cocoa lid and spilled chocolate dust onto the floors and his apron. with glee he poured the remaining clump of powder down into his bowl, splashing batter up along its sides and the counter below. you cast a nervous glance towards yohei’s room upstairs, wondering if —when— he would show up.

“mix, mix, mix up time!” ryu announced, foraging his spatula from under the deep sea of cocoa. he blew the excess powder off, casting it up into the air to tickle at noses and lashes. “ryu’s a professional at this, don’t forget it!”

you gave a little laugh. “i won’t, i won’t.”

your batter was poured neatly into a greased cake tin lined with parchment. ryu’s batter flopped onto a buttered muffin tin without any baking cups, topped with handfuls of rainbow, chocolate, strawberry sprinkles, and an extra dusting of brown sugar more akin to a mountaintop.

“bake time!” he clapped happily, watching you carefully insert both tins into the oven. he pressed his face up against the warm glass dividing him and his sugary creation, hoping to see it bubble and bake.

“twenty-five minutes left, honey.” you ran a hand through his hair, tousling strands good-naturally. “why don’t we make a puzzle in the meantime? maybe that’ll busy that mind of yours.”

he sprang up like a coil, nearly cheering at your suggestion. “puzzle time!”

you hurried to press your hands over his mouth, shushing him quiet. “ryu! don’t yell, or else yohei will wonder what we’re up to. let’s remember to stay quiet.”

ryu murmured nonsense from under your hands, but you took that as a sign of his agreement.

after he choose a puzzle at random from a storage closet upstairs, you two went to work quietly andquickly — it became a race against the clock, to finish this puzzle before the cakes finished baking. you made it up in hopes ryu would stay distracted longer, but he ended up taking it rather seriously.

you whispered, giggled between sugar-dusted, flour-stained hands and cheeks, pressing blank brown pieces together to form a picture unknown, smells of sweetness decorating the air. the puzzle clicked into place a few minutes before the oven’s timer went off, allowing time for cleaning up the mess you (ryu) had made. he washed dishes with a hurricane of soap, you wiped down the counters with a damp sponge and rag, done in a bit of a rush when you thought you heard a flurry of footsteps in the room above you.

once cleanup was satisfactory enough, the cakes were taken out to cool on the stovetop. yours rose just how you hoped it did; ryu’s sank like he wanted it to. he poked at it with a fork, lips pouted in concentration.

“i think mine’s all done! i wanna taste it and eat it up now!”

“ryu, you might burn your tongue if you do,” you warned, placing a hand on his shoulder. “let’s wait five more minutes.”

it was a long five minutes for poor ryu, but when it was time, happily did he cut into his sugary mess of a cake to scoop up a piece for himself to try. you popped yours out of its tin to place on a platter, then carefully cut a piece for you both to share.

your cake was moist, slightly warm on the tongue, but sweet how you wished it to be. you’d wanted icing or frosting to complete it, but something told you it would vanish the moment ryu got his hands on it. (maybe next time.)

“it’s good!” ryu hopped, eagerly spooning up the rest of his slice. “dollie, try mine now! tell me how yummy n’ scrumptious it is, okay?”

ryu plopped a gracious piece of his own cake right onto your plate before you could stop him. it was a glob of mismatched colors, slightly runny with gooey batter, and perhaps a bit jiggly in a way that reminded you of pudding. frankly, it was very much ryu. you took a curious bite.

it was…flavorful. it tasted of…sweetness and sugar, and…perhaps chocolate? or vanilla? truthfully, all you could really taste was brown sugar and bitter cocoa, but seeing his face light up when you smiled was sweeter than you could ask for. “it’s…pretty good. it’ll go great with milk.” you offered kindly. “let’s grab some for us, then maybe a little bit for the kittens.”

“aye, aye, captain! i’ll give them some of our cake to try too. then i’ll sneak some into shiki’s shoes!”

in a flash he hopped away to do just that, leaving you to scramble after him in a panic. you really didn’t need another mess to apologize to yohei for — no matter how sweet your boyfriend was trying to be.

#ryu natsume #female reader #paradox live imagines #paralive imagines #paradox live headcanons #paralive headcanons #paradox live #paralive #ryu = chaos #he’s actually pretty fun to write for lol #i can write the most nonsensical things for him and everyone would be like “yeah that’s canon”#he lets me get away with it too 👀

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thatmexisaurusrex · 2 years

Note

im begging you to do a couples cooking class (#7) for the fluff diary

Awww, thank you for the prompt, Bee! 🥰

Date 1 of 28: A Couple’s Cooking Class

| - Prompts - | - 2 - |

“Are we really using all these things?” asked Bucky, touching every single ingredient on the couple’s kitchen station that he could.

Sam laughed, whacking Bucky's hands.

"Stop that, you can't just touch everything," said Sam, and there was that mischievous glint in Bucky's eyes.

"Oh, I can't," said Bucky, getting close to Sam, poking the halved celery stalks, "I can't touch these?"

Bucky poked the mascarpone.

"Or this?"

Touched the shrimp.

"Or these?"

Bucky booped Sam's nose, making Sam scrunch it, Sam trying to hide a laugh, but he really wasn't, he could see Bucky's knowing smirk.

"Or this?"

"Okay, now you have to leave," said Sam, feeling Bucky lean closer, having to turn and tip his head up to look Bucky in those intense eyes of his, "I'm sorry, that's just the rules."

"Can I take this ingredient with me if I leave?" asked Bucky, wrapping his arms around Sam, smooshing onto Sam's side, and Sam was torn between being embarrassed with how sappy the guy was and just leaning into the smattering of kisses Bucky was giving the side of Sam's face, "I'll leave if I can take him."

"How am I an ingredient?" asked Sam.

"You're the most important ingredient of all," said Bucky completely genuine, "Love."

Sam groaned.

"I can't take you anywhere," said Sam, not moving away from Bucky as the man cuddled him, feeling like he was forgetting about something.

"Um," said the chef teaching the class in the front, clearing her throat, Sam and Bucky both freezing as they realize oh right, the cooking class, noticing that everyone was watching them, "As I was saying, you can now pour the remaining one-third of white wine into the risotto and stir until it's completely evaporated."

Bucky didn't even move away from Sam. Relaxing, even a bit smug, Bucky merely let one arm leave Sam to dump the white wine in and start stirring, resting his head on top of Sam's head, his other arm snugly holding Sam's waist.

"We're so good at cooking, babe. We're totally beating these chumps," said Bucky.

Sam snickered.

"You know what? Yeah," said Sam, knowing full well a cooking class wasn't a competition, "We're definitely kicking their asses at cooking. Who's going to make the best Creamy Shrimp Risotto With Mascarpone?"

"We are!" said Bucky, way too excited about stirring risotto.

"Hell yeah," said Sam, giving Bucky a kiss on the cheek, just watching Bucky melt at that kiss.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Want to choose a date for Sam and Bucky to go on during this special February Daily SamBucky Fluff Diary event? Check out the prompts here and send me an ask! I'll write you a drabble as one of my Daily SamBucky Fluff Diaries!

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m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s · 3 years

Text

soooooo…..

THANK GOODNESS, I HAVE FINALLY GIVEN MY SNIPER SOME FLUFF, THAT ANGST WAS GETTING A LITTLE SCARY EVERYONE.

*coughs awkwardly*

anyways….

so i wanted to write something really fluffy, so i used a random prompt generator. the prompt i received was “reader sharing a drink with Crosshair from the same straw”

enjoy my goonies 🥰❤️🥺🙃☺️

(also, this is the first post with my taglist, so just comment if you would like to be added!)

•

Crosshair x GN!Reader Drabble: If there was one word Crosshair would describe you as, he would choose sweet. If you had to choose one word to describe him, you would choose soft. Quite the pairing. Oh so sweet and soft. Quite the pairing indeed.

Genre: PURE FLUFF, FINALLY I HAVE GIVEN MY SNIPER SO MUCH ANGST IT IS UNREAL

Warnings: None, except tooth-rotting fluff. Like, just pure happiness and bliss.

Word Count: 1,177 words, 6,406 characters

*Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to the Star Wars universe, nor do I own anything relating to the Clone Wars universe. I do not own any characters, places, or things unless they are of my own creation.*

Picture is from @degreeinsimping

(Proofread)

•

There you were. With a wide grin and whipped cream dolloped on your nose. - Moons

•

• Frosted Glasses Dripping Sugary Sweetness •

•

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

You focused your attention back on the man in front of you. Arms crossed, eyebrow raised, amusement dripping from his smirk as he watched your excited movements.

Crosshair would always be a soldier at heart. It was his life, thrown into the war without a second thought from the Kamionans. Now here he stood in your apartment on Coruscant. Watching as you tried to find the ingredients in your fridge to make a sugary treat you had treasured so much as a child.

Yes, he would always be a soldier.

The war had made him who he was, annoyed by everything and everyone who weren’t his brothers. Battle after battle, missions all the time.

Bless the Maker for bringing him into your life.

Now here you were, giving him a smile so wide that his heart clenched painfully and wonderfully all the same in his chest.

“We’re doing this because I know your sweet tooth is aching for something right now, and I have just the thing!”

He rolled his eyes, and just slid into a stool at your counter as he watched you return to your antics. Scrambling rapidly in your glee, trying to grab all the ingredients, stopping to make sure you had the correct thing.

It was an accident, really. How you had found out about Crosshair’s sweet tooth.

It was a quiet afternoon, and you offered him a chocolate, one from some bag you had bought a few days prior. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up like the sunrise, or how he almost moaned in delight as the milk candy spread through his mouth. Your giggles followed as he opened his eyes, cracking a smile, a rarity. A tickle fight ensued, more laughter.

Maker, was he soft for you. He would never admit it. So closed off and reserved, years of training building walls so high that it was almost impossible to scale them. To worm into his heart.

Almost.

You had so quickly and quietly snuck into his heart, it was too late then to realize that he had already fallen in love with you.

He had done the exact same to you. Those butterflies beating their delicate wings in your stomach.

“My butterfly,” you had called him one night. He scoffed, nuzzled further into you, grumbled about not calling him that.

It never quite went away.

It was a comfort now. When he came home, some missions almost pushed him to the edge.

“Come here, my butterfly.”

When he surprised you by coming home early, slipping into the little library you had.

“My butterfly! You’re home!”

One time though, you had let it slip in front of his brothers. At 79’s in front of everyone to hear, right there. Your drinks were empty, and you being the kind soul, offered to refill them. Right when you had gotten up, kissing his cheek, so affectionately letting it out right there in the open.

“I’ll be right back, my butterfly.”

His brothers were shocked that he even let you call him a nickname, and they were even more shocked as he smiled at you as you walked away. With questioning looks and eyebrows raised, he could only shrug as he looked at his brothers.

“I give them butterflies, so I’m their butterfly.”

He was teased relentlessly afterwards, but he didn’t care. No, he would rather fill out paperwork for reports than tell you to stop calling him that.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind it so much. Even though he didn’t have quite the right nickname for you just yet, he was still trying. Besides, his nickname was lovely, so warm everytime it came from your mouth.

Yes, “my butterfly” was good. Amazing even.

“Butterfly! Do you want chocolate syrup around the glass too?”

Crosshair gazed at you as you held up the chocolate syrup bottle, your grin growing in joy by the second.

“And what is that going to do?” You groaned dramatically, a chuckle falling past his lips at your silly actions.

“It’ll add to it! I’ll just do it anyway!”

He watched as you swirled the sweet syrup around the inside of the glass. It dripped with condensation and looked as if it had just been on Hoth.

When you said you wanted to make a “milkshake” for the two of you, Crosshair wasn’t quite sure what it was all supposed to entail, but he couldn’t resist. The pretty pout on your lips as you begged him to let you up from your cuddling position from before.

He observed as you poured the mixture you had blended into the icy glass, dolloping a white cream and a red berry on top.

“Ta-da!”

He glanced down at the glass, and back up to you, confused as to why there was only one. He watched as you pulled out two straws and settled them carefully into the mixture, as to not mess up the decor on top.

“I thought we could share… if that’s okay?”

“More than okay.”

You grinned at his response, joining him at the counter as you slid the glass closer. He only watched as you leaned in to take the first sip, but stopped as you turned your attention to him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

He shrugged. You swore when you both leaned in, eyes never leaving the others, it was almost like a scene from a holomovie.

At that moment, Crosshair realized he had never tasted something so sweet as this. Your giggles did not stop him as he went back for a second sip, a third, a fourth.

“Are you enjoying it, butterfly?”

He could only nod, your laughter growing louder by the second at his unfiltered reaction to the cold beverage.

For just one second, he could only see you. Bathed in the warm light coming from the window behind you, your smile gleaming with pleasure. A glow surrounding you, an ethereal light above your head. . His heart filled with adoration and an ever present love for you.

“Sunny.”

You stopped sipping, looking at him with a cocked head.

“What’s that?”

He felt himself cursing himself internally at his sudden proclamation, and had he really just said that out loud?

“Sunshine. Or Sunny. Or Sun.”

You still watched as he tried to come up with a reasonable explanation, fumbling for something to say. His brain working faster, gears turning to try and speak.

It then hit you that it was a nickname.

Yours.

“Is… Is that my nickname?” You asked softly. He looked at you with wide eyes, a sheepish grin adorning his features.

“If that’s okay?”

You only smiled as you leaned into him, lips just inches from his own.

“More than okay.”

When your lips connected, Crosshair wasn’t really sure if it was the milkshake or you doing things to his mind, but one thing was for sure:

His sunshine was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted in his life.

•

taglist: @loth-wolffe @dreamingofclones

#THIS IS REALLY FOR YOU WOLFFE #I FINALLY MADE SOME FLUFF #AND I KNOW YOU ARE GONNA LOVE THIS SO HERE YOU GO #OH AND THE NICKNAMES #YEAH THAT’S IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING FROM YOU WOLFFE #wolffe :)#star wars #the bad batch #the clone wars #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair #clone trooper crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb #moony’s writing

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twistedmusings · 3 years

Text

A/N: Riddle is always so weird for me to write because I do see him as baby but the moment things get romantic I can so see him as the type that just...is more than ready to explore the romantic territory with you? Like yes he is baby but he would be so gentle with the smooches... But I digress. I am making my way through requests, currently have five in my inbox so I might close it up once it reaches ten. Just to get the ball rolling since I am a baby blog u wu. Warnings: None! Just tooth rotting fluff! Straight from the cookbook section of our bountiful library, @lunalasolaris!

Let me get that book for you!

“Hey Riddle?”

“Hm?”

“What does a pinch mean?”

Grey eyes look up from the cup of flour he was meticulously trying to measure as you hold up the recipe book in front of him.

“Does it mean that we just put a little bit of the salt into the cake?” you point at the specific line, tapping it twice to emphasize your point, “Or we grab a pinch with our fingers and just...toss it in there?Cause I can grab a lot of salt in between my fingers if I need to.”

Riddle frowns as he tries to remember how Trey used to bake some of his previous Unbirthday cakes. It was easy to break down his process but with how quickly he moved the Heartslabyul dorm leader found himself at a loss of what a pinch looked like. Of all the executive decisions he had to make, why was this one so difficult?

He locked eyes with you, blushing when he saw how close you had gotten before pulling away and dumps the cup of flour into the small mixing bowl.

"We don't want them to taste salty so we'll put only a small amount. What comes next?"

"Eggs...three I think. Oh and we need to add them to the dry mix while it is being sifted." you grab the eggs and scoot closer to him as Riddle grabs the sifter, turning around to see you so close once again.

You hold up the eggs and smile.

"Ready?"

It was nerve wracking being here with you. Not just nerve wracking, it was also stress inducing and blood pumping to have you so close after Riddle had come to a definitive conclusion about his feelings about you. It had come at a cost of many sleepless nights and the certain teasings of some of his oldest friends but once Trey sat him down and asked him how he truly felt about you, the words slipped so easily out of his mouth that even he was surprised at the lack of thought in them.

Riddle likes you. Alot.

It was the way you talked with him during Unbirthday parties, unbothered by rules and manners as you plopped yourself down next to him and spoke about whatever you had going on that day. Riddle thought that it sort of reminded him of Chenya, his friend always appearing out of nowhere with a similar grin yet his was always filled with mischief while yours was nothing more than a way for you to show how happy you were to see him.

Or at least he hoped that was the case.

You smiled at everyone. At Ace and Deuce whenever they did something silly, at Cater whenever he pointed his camera at you, even at Trey whe he would lean down and offer you one of the many pastries he had baked that day. But, and it might just be his own subconscious silently hoping for this, Riddle believed the smile that you had for him was special. The moment your eyes landed on him it was like watching a rose bloom. Those cheeks of yours would turn a soft shade of red as you approached him and pulled him into whatever activity you found yourself doing.

Maybe that is how he had been roped into this situation with you. He had only dropped by Ramshackle to drop off something you had left in Ace and Deuce’s room but he knew that the moment you tugged on his wrist and pulled him inside, he was more than willing to do whatever it is that you were doing before he showed up.

That activity being something you two weren’t particularly good at...baking.

Riddle finally answered your question with a nod, having already dumped the contents into the silver sifter and grabbing onto the small handle. “I’ll start then.”

It had all turned out a mess. Your hands either tended to crack the eggs too softly that they wouldn't crack on the first try or they would be too harsh and immediately break the egg on impact, leaving both of you to fish out the remnants of the shells before Riddle went right back to sifting. Then came the mixing of the ingredients, Ramshackle not necessarily having the fanciest of gadgets you two instead had to mix everything by hand. It was a bit of a chance for him to show himself off for you but the moment he hissed at his muscles cramping up, you took the bowl from him and poked his cheek. “Chill out, dorm leader Rosehearts, I’ll take it from here~”

How odd. Riddle was used to people calling him by his official title but in your cause it was almost alarming how much he liked it.

A few more mishaps, staring at the cookbook and one call to Trey and soon you two were on the floor with a bowl of strawberries in between you as the cake baked in Ramshackle’s tiny oven. “Thank you for going along with this.” you munch on the end of a strawberry before continuing, “I was panicking when I first started so it was a heaven sent when you came along.”

His heart skips a beat as Riddle clears his throat.

“This is just what a dorm leader should do for another. I’m merely completing my duties.”

You pout for a moment but grin as you scoot closer to him, “So if I wasn’t a dorm leader I would just be another face in the crowd?” It is like a shock of electricity shoots straight up his back, straightening him out as he corrects you.

“No! You are still a student here...and someone who has attended many Unbirthdays and tea parties in Heartslabyul! I’m sure that if it wasn’t for that mishap in the dorm selection ceremony, you would have certainly been picked to be in Heartslabyul! To me you are not just someone in the crowd! You are--” He barely registers how close he had gotten, the bowl of strawberries pushed out of the way as you both stare into each other’s eyes. You hadn’t moved back. Your gaze was holding on strong to his as the hum of the oven became the only sound in the room.

Hands so close, fingertips almost touching. “Riddle--I--I like--”

A ding interrupted your words, the little invisible bubble you and Riddle had created suddenly popping as you stood up and grabbed the oven mitts.

You grin as you put the small container on the counter, Riddle cutting into the sides with a dull knife in order to unstick it from the pan. How wonderful was it when things came together that when you both watched the warm baked good slide out of its silvery confine you let out a sigh of relief and started to decorate.

“We almost ate half of the strawberries.” Riddle frowns as you grab the bowl from the floor. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I put them down! You are just as guilty as I if Trey doesn’t like the finished product.”

He stops cutting the fruit into smaller pieces as he watches you spread the whipped cream along the sides of the cake. “...you...are you giving this to Trey?”

Why was he so nervous? Trey liked to test everybody’s baking skills if they seem to have any or he just liked to tease those who couldn’t cook by teaching them how to figure it out all on their own. Besides, Trey was a third year and needed to concentrate on his future internship and not be issuing challenges to first years--!

“Yeah? He said that tomorrow’s tea party was going to be a ‘bring your own’ kind of thing?” you scoop a dollop of whipped cream on your finger and lick it off, further distracting Riddle. “Tea party…”

“Yeah...he said you were having one tomorrow. Did you cancel it?” you give him a surprised look, “Have we been struggling with this baking stuff for nothing?”

No. Riddle knew every single tea party that would be having throughout the academic year. And yes, they were having one tomorrow. There was one detail that didn’t sit quite right with him, however.

Never in the history of the Heartslabyul dormitory had there been a ‘potluck’ tea party.

Either those good at baking made the pastries for that day’s tea party or they would not be any tea party at all.

Great Seven’s knew what would happen if any first years, Ace and Deuce specifically, tried to cook in the Heartslabyul kitchen. There probably wouldn’t be a kitchen anymore.

Yet Trey had gone out of his way to trick you into baking a cake while also telling Riddle that you had left something behind in the first year’s room and that it was his duty to give it back--had he planned all of this from the sidelines and expected it to work?!

“...no there is a tea party happening. I guess I just--Trey must have not told me about that certain detail.”

“Well at least we have something to bring now!”

You both look at your cake, the cutting of the strawberries a little sloppy as they somewhat slipped on the rushed icing job you had done.

“...you know I don’t think anyone will notice if I do this.”

Riddle’s eyes widen when you grab a spoon and dig into the top of the cake. “Hey--!”

The spoon presses to his lips as you grin while holding it up to him. “Say ‘ah’”

Was Crowley sure that you didn’t have any sort of magic? With the way he quickly opened his mouth Riddle would have thought he had been hypnotized. “So?”

He nods at the taste, smiling when he notices the soft sweetness that came with a good slice of strawberry shortcake. “I--I think we did a really good job.”

You grin and stand on the heel of your feet as Riddle licked his lips to get any extra whipped cream, eyes going right back to staring at you as you tug on his bowtie and bring him closer. “You got some right...here.”

The pressure of your hold is light as your lips meet his, his body suddenly going lax as he drops his hold on the knife he had been using before so he could turn his body to meet yours. His hold is immediate, a hand touching your lower back and pressing you a tad closer to him as you both pull back to gauge each other’s reaction.

You are both red as roses, cheeks flushing and hearts beating so fast you were sure you could hear each other’s matching rhythms.

“...did I get it?”

He should be pushing you away and apologizing for such a needy display. Riddle hadn’t necessarily spent his time doing anything else besides studying and trying to bring pride to Heartslabyul dorm so this territory was rather new to him.

“Try again...please.”

Your lips met his again, this time his hold pulling you into the kiss as you cup his face and let him press your back against the kitchen counter.

His second year was still starting, why not explore this path a bit more?

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #Heartslabyul #twst mc #request drabble #this request made me fall for him just a tiiiny bit more no lie #book requests

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

“Why do we always burn the French toast?”

taehyung x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 2.7K

a/n: Hi lovelies! This is just a little random scene from Tae and Peaches’ relationship, featuring Tannie. Tae gets home late and Peaches propositions him for some late night French toast. Based on an ask I got a while ago about Tae and Peaches dancing to ‘Sunflower Vol. 6′ by Harry Styles. Ok, thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoy! :))

DESPITE his quiet entrance, the little dog who was curled up next to your side gave your boyfriend away as he walked into the bedroom at half past midnight. You were awoken to the sound of Yeontan barking and whimpering in excitement, Taehyung gently shushing the dog as to try not to disturb your sleep.

When you opened your eyes, you saw your handsome man bent down so he was eye level with you as he patted the small ball of fluff. At the sound of the groan that left your mouth, Taehyung shot you a wide-eyed apologetic look.

“Go back to sleep, Peaches,” he whispered to you, stepping closer in his crouched down position so he could reach you, running a hand through your hair, leaning toward you to press a kiss to your forehead.

“What time is it?” You asked him groggily, your boyfriend shushing you. You glanced to the alarm clock to see the 12:34 displayed. Pouting, you looked back to Tae, reaching a hand out lazily to haphazardly soothe over the man’s cheek. Nearly poking his eye, he flinched before giggling. “Did you eat?” You asked him, Taehyung avoiding the question as he dropped his head to the mattress, Yeontan happily pounced on his dad’s head, trying to play with the man who had been gone at the studio all day. “Tae.”

“I’ll eat in the morning,” he dismissed your concern, you glaring at him sleepily, Taehyung chuckling. “Don’t worry,” he told you cautiously, knowing the comment would probably trigger a lecture. Stealing a kiss from your lips before you could give a sassy response, he stood up quickly, preparing to head out of the room. “I just need a shower.”

“Tae,” you whined after him, only for him to leave the room, shooting you a cheeky smile on his way out. Looking down at the pup next to you, you found him already looking up at you. “I know, little dude, he’s a brat.”

Involuntarily, you drifted back to sleep, waking yourself up every few minutes in anticipation of Tae’s arrival back in the room. When you heard his faint steps traveling the hallway after about fifteen minutes, you willed yourself to sit up, earning an annoyed side glance from the tired dog.

Your boyfriend entered as you were stretching your arms over your head, his towel wrapped loosely around his waist as he shook out his wet hair with his hands. Raising his eyebrows at you, he flashed an expression of surprise. “Why are you still awake?” He asked.

“Waiting up for you, sexy,” you flirted, Taehyung’s lips quirking into a smile as he looked to the floor bashfully.

As quickly as the embarrassment showed in his face, he recovered, turning so his back was to you, whipping the towel off to expose his bare ass to you. “Waiting up for this?” He teased, you giggling as you reached to cover Yeontan’s eyes as you let out an oof. Taehyung saw the action in the vanity mirror’s reflection, causing him to smile widely.

“That is exactly what I was waiting for,” you smiled, Taehyung chuckling as he opened the drawer to pull out some underwear. You watched as he pulled the briefs over his long legs, admiring their length and shape. The dude was stunning from head to toe, it was hard to comprehend how someone actually looked like that.

“Well bad girls who don’t go to sleep when they should don’t get any of this,” he wiggled his now clothed butt at you, you smiling, thoroughly entertained by the man. Next, he put on a pair of lounge shorts and finally a t-shirt, turning around to see you staring at him.

Fixing your expression into a pout, when he turned to look at you, now fully dressed, you huffed, crossing your arms over your front. “What?” he asked with a low chuckle.

You both stared at each other for a moment before you smirked. “Do you want some French toast?”

“Huh?” He asked, his eyebrows raising. “Now?” You nodded, the man taking a moment before his lips curved into a stunning smile. Taehyung was typically the one to suggest random late-night activities, so you couldn’t really blame him for his surprise.

You were scrambling out of the bed in an instant, leaving your boyfriend standing in the middle of the bedroom in confusion, the dog looking disrupted but not particularly bothered as he watched you head toward the exit. “Race you to the kitchen,” you called out, Taehyung jumping into action as he chased after you, making you squeal as you bolted out the door, Yeontan following behind eagerly. Halfway down the hallway, two arms wrapped around your waist from behind, you giggling as you lightly hit his arms in protest, Tannie jumping at your legs.

Nuzzling his face against the side of your neck, he placed a series of kisses to your skin, you giggling as you both waddled to the kitchen. Just before stepping into the room, he spun your bodies 180 degrees, releasing you from his hold, jumping onto the tiled floor. “Beat you,” he told you with a smirk, nodding his head cutely, you shooting him a glare.

“You’re a cheater,” you informed him though you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Tannie,” you looked down at the dog, Yeontan looking up at you. “Don’t be like your dad. He’s a bad role model.”

Your boyfriend smiled as he looked down at his phone, tapping the screen until music filled the kitchen. The song was ‘You Make Me Feel Like Dancing’ by Leo Sayer, the soft ah’s starting the song off against a groovy bass line.

“Tannie, don’t listen to your mom, she’s worse than me,” your boyfriend told the dog, you rolling your eyes playfully as you went to the fridge to get the eggs and milk.

“Whatever, cheater, can you get the vanilla please?” You asked, your arms full of the ingredients as you closed the refrigerator door with your elbow.

“You know,” Tae started as he reached inside the cabinet for the vanilla extract. “I liked it more when you were calling me sexy.”

“Oh, the cinnamon too,” you added, Tae playfully glaring at your disregard for his comment. “Sexy,” you tagged on, making your boyfriend chuckle.

Bringing the vanilla and cinnamon to you, he whispered next to your ear, “that’s better,” sending a chill down your spine at the low tone.

“Stop it, I’m trying to feed you,” you warned, Taehyung kissing your cheek before his lips spread into a grin. “No innuendos,” you interjected before the man could even start his joke about eating something else.

Your boyfriend chuckled, kissing your cheek once more before resting his chin on your shoulder, his still wet hair chilling the side of your neck at its touch. “How can I help you?”

You hummed thoughtfully, looking at the ingredients sprawled out in front of you. “Do you want to make the egg mixture?” He nodded against your shoulder before stepping away and grabbing a bowl and a whisk.

“This is an important step, isn’t it?” He asked, you humming in confirmation. “Pressure’s on,” he joked, you giggling just as Taehyung grabbed an egg. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he cracked it against the bowl, giving an approving “hm” at the way it cracked. Opening the egg and allowing it to slip from the shell into the bowl, his head craned toward the homeware, a sigh immediately leaving his lips.

You couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face as he looked disappointedly at the egg. “Shell,” he spoke quietly to himself, you giggling at how utterly endearing he was. Tae’s eyes darted to meet yours, a bashful grin taking over his face as you reached out to poke his cheek.

“Stop being so cute,” you cooed, Taehyung groaning at your affection. “Here,” you handed him a spoon, your boyfriend taking it to start fishing the shell out.

“You should crack the rest,” he giggled as he struggled to capture the unwanted piece of shell.

“Nah uh, you got it,” you told him, turning to the bag of bread, pulling out a few pieces.

“Ah!” Taehyung exclaimed, you looking over at him to see him smiling proudly at the spoon. “Finally,” he quirked an eyebrow.

“What a guy,” you commented, Taehyung smiling at you. As he cracked the next egg, he began swaying his hips to the song, you joining him as you watched him carefully break the eggs.

After successfully completing the task without any more shell mishaps he smiled happily at you. He began singing along to the song, though he didn’t know the lyrics so he instead just mumbled in a high-pitched falsetto to the melody, you laughing loudly at his silliness.

“Ok vocal king, add the milk,” you giggled, Taehyung following your directions without missing a beat in his singing. “Ok, that’s good,” you told him, the man instantly stopping pouring. “Now the vanilla, just a little,” you told him, watching as he dropped just a little dollop in. “Perfect,” you nodded, “now the cinnamon.” He added a couple dashes, looking at you for approval. “I mean, top chef status, really,” you complimented, Taehyung giggling as he leaned toward you, catching your lips in a chaste kiss.

Pouting for a second when he pulled away, you turned to the frying pan that was heating, dropping a slab of butter into it. As it melted, ‘Sunflower Vol. 6’ by Harry Styles started playing from Taehyung’s phone.

Placing the bowl next to you, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind as he watched you dip the first slice of bread into the mixture. As soon as you placed the bread into the sizzling frying pan, he was swaying you in his hold, humming lightly against your neck.

Turning in his arms, you draped your own over his shoulders, clasping your hands behind his neck as you looked at him fondly, toying with the damp strands hanging off his nape. The only illumination in the kitchen was from the light over the sink, Taehyung’s handsome features just barely visible underneath the glow.

“You’re really pretty, you know that?” You pointed out randomly, Taehyung smiling widely at the compliment.

“Is that so?” He teased, moving his hand to your forearm, pulling your hand from his neck to clasp his overtop of it, holding it out in a waltz position. Your other hand slid to rest on his shoulder as his other one settled on your lower back.

“It is so,” you giggled as Tae began leading you around the kitchen.

Pointing his chin up slightly, he hummed in thought. “You’re prettier,” he commented, you smiling at you looked over your shoulder at the pan.

“We’re gonna burn the toast,” you noted, Taehyung’s eyes widening as if he just realized you were cooking. He ushered you backward toward the stove, pulling you close to him as he grabbed the spatula, flipping the toast.

“Ah, perfect,” he nodded, you giggling.

“Really? Are you just saying that?” You asked, trying to peer behind you to no avail as Taehyung placed his free hand to the back of your head, holding you to his chest.

“It looks great, just trust me,” he let out a low chuckle. “We’ll make more,” he added, you laughing at the obviously burnt piece of food. Suddenly, he turned you quickly, stretching his arm out and spinning you under it, you letting out a surprised squeal. The ruckus got Yeontan up from his spot on the floor, jumping at yours and Tae’s legs again, you both giggling at the little pup as he sat and looked up at you curiously.

“This song makes me think of you,” he told you, your eyes widening in response. “I’ve got your face hung up high in the gallery,” he sang along, you smiling fondly as you crinkled your nose. “I love this shade, sunflower, sunflower.” As the guitar did a little riff in the middle of the verse, Taehyung did a shoulder shimmy, you playfully gasping at the move, your boyfriend giggling. “Your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody, let me inside, I wanna get to know you,” he sang again.

“That part in particular,” he grinned. “Ever since I first met you, I wanted to know you, but you wouldn’t let me in for so long,” he chuckled, you smiling bashfully. “You made me work my ass off before you let me see you,” he noted fondly.

“Was it worth it?” You asked, Taehyung nodding immediately.

“Absolutely,” he smiled widely. “Best reward I could have ever asked for.” You scrunched your nose at him, Taehyung swiping his tongue over his lips as he observed you thoughtfully.

As the chorus played, I couldn’t want you any more, kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor… Taehyung brought his lips to yours, your hands settling on his face as he pulled you close by your waist. Resting your foreheads against each other’s, you both listened as Harry sang, I couldn’t want you any more, kids in the kitchen listen to dancehall, I couldn’t want you any more tonight.

And in that moment, you could see it. Sunday morning, kids running around, bouncing on the couch as they watched cartoons, you and Tae watching over them as you prepared breakfast. They would have Tae’s boxy smile as they laughed unabashedly. Maybe you’d still be dancing like this, only one kid would be standing on Tae’s bare feet as he led them in a waltz, another kid on your own feet. You’d dip the kids, squeals leaving them followed by contagious giggles resembling Tae’s youthful laugh.

Without saying a word to Taehyung, you could tell he was thinking similar thoughts by the way his smile beamed, his whole face blooming, looking more radiant than ever.

“You know what’s a weird feeling?” He suddenly asked, you humming in question. “The contradiction of wanting to stay in this moment forever and having no time elapse, but also wanting to hurry up and see our future and experience how it all unfolds.”

Your boyfriend wore the fondest of smiles as he spoke and you just wanted to protect this moment. “I know exactly how you feel,” you agreed, leaning toward him and kissing the side of his mouth. Taehyung let out that childlike giggling, you unable to hold back your own chuckle as he plastered the side of your face in kisses.

“You know,” you spoke through the laughter, “I hate to ruin this really sweet moment, but that toast is definitely burning right now. More giggles slipped through your lips at Taehyung mouthing shit as he turned around quickly.

“Why do we always burn the French toast?” He asked, you laughing in amusement.

“We get distracted too easily,” you giggled.

“Ok, this next piece is going to be great,” he told you as you nodded, the song ending as ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ by Queen started to play.

“I trust you,” you told him as you watched him dip the next piece of bread in the egg mixture, placing it in the pan.

Looking down at the dog lying next to your feet, you cocked your head. “Do you want to dance, Tannie?” You asked him as he started to wiggle in excitement. You sat down on the floor just as your boyfriend turned to look at you. He observed as you scooped the dog onto your lap, singing to the pup as Tannie wiggled, you both dancing together.

Watching you play with the dog, your gentle and kind nature shining through as you giggled and cooed, Taehyung knew that as excited as he was for his future with you, he didn’t want a single second to go by too fast. He wanted to savor every moment with you. And he didn’t want to miss anything.

Leaving the stove momentarily, he bent down to squeeze the dog’s face, leaving a kiss to the top of his head, you smiling at the sight. He then pressed his lips to your temple, lingering there for a moment before he pulled them away.

“I love you, Peaches,” he whispered, hovering over you from behind.

Leaning your head back to look up at him, upside down, you grinned happily. “I love you, Dearest.”

Neither of you wanted to miss a single moment. The future could wait. He was here now, and so were you, and that was all that either of you ever wanted. Since the moment you met the man, that was all you wanted.

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msmarvelwrites · 3 years

Text

Vienna Waits

Summary: The reader has a hard time around the holidays because it brings up a lot of unhappy memories. Bucky knows trauma all too well and he’s always there to lend some Christmas cheer.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: mentions/flashbacks of assult, ptsd, 18+, swearing, but truly a fluff piece...

Word Count: 2.5k

Authors Note: Hi again! It’s ya girl, back at it again with the plot all to based on her own predicaments. Please read the warnings because the last thing I’d ever want to do is trigger anyone- but at it’s core I wrote this as an aid. Like My Girl, this was written to bring us together, because we are so much stronger that way! This is also my first submission to the Merry Hoemas Challange, so with that please enjoy! Sending love and light to all you beautiful holiday babies.

Thank you to @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes @pumpkin-and-pine and @starlightcrystalline for hosting this holiday challange!

It was, of course, the most wonderful time of year. Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound.

The snow cascading from the dark sky acted as a sheet of white as you nervously sipped on your tea, checking the time once again. Your best friend was supposed to be back from his solo mission hours ago, and yet here you were, alone and completely overwhelmed.

He was always better at these things. Always knowing how to avoid the holiday slump with ease. Bucky was who you turned to when you needed a quick coping mechanism.

Christmas with the world's mightiest heroes had its perks for sure, but this was certainly not one of them. The joyous holiday music echoing through the Avenger hq living room was doing nothing to settle your nerves. In fact, quite the opposite. It lingered around you, pulling memories you buried deep down in the back of your mind.

“I really think it’s better if I just head home… It’s getting really bad out there and…”

His lips cut you off, lazily trailing down your neck as the taste of bile rose into your throat. He was just drunk, you thought. So were you. You had given him the wrong idea. If you just explained you didn't want him to touch you…

He would understand, you thought… You really did.

“Honey, I’m home” Bucky called, cackling to himself as he shook off the snow caked to his winter coat. His voice shot you back into the dimly lit living room you now resided.

You lunged from the recliner, spinning around the corner to find Bucky, hands full of gift bags and a candy cane dangling out of his mouth as a goofy grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Where the hell have you been?” You tried to sound angry, but he was just so damn cute.

“Okay, first of all, you're welcome.” He scoffed sarcastically, gesturing to the gift bags as he placed them on the floor. “And second, you're the one who sent me out in the middle of a snowstorm for last minute christmas presents… So, you get what you get.” He chuckled.

“No, no, I appreciate you- it… I appreciate it so much Buck.” You stumbled, though you didn't let the blush creep onto your cheeks before you spoke again, “You know how I get this time of year.” You sighed, crossing the room to help him with his bags of gifts. It wasn't lost on Bucky that the holiday season was difficult for a lot of the team, including yourself. Though he didn’t know everything about your past and how it brought you here, to the team, and one of the most ruthless fighters the Avengers had ever seen, he did know it was rough and dark and definitely off limits to talk about. Bucky didn't mind, however. As long as he had you by his side.

“Ya know, if you help me wrap these gifts there might be a Christmas movie marathon in your future.” He wiggled his brows causing you to laugh.

“That really sounds like a lose-lose on my end here, Buck.” you giggled.

“Are you by any chance at all into hot chocolate?” he bribed, though you would have caved regardless. Any time spent with Bucky was all you wanted for Christmas.

Once all the presents were wrapped, Bucky was true to his word, puttering into the kitchen, whipping up his famous hot chocolate recipe. Honestly, if the world knew the famous Winter Soldier was as jolly was he is, they probably wouldn't believe it. Something about Christmas just brought out the best in him.

“So,” You started as you sipped on your whip cream topped hot chocolate. “What is it about this holiday?” You pried, looking up at Bucky as he wiped a dollop of cream off the tip of your nose.

“I don’t really know. Getting my memories back after all that time, Christmas with my Ma and sisters was always so clear…” He paused, his eyes fixing themselves on the floor. “I guess it’s one of the only really decent memories I have.”

You only stared at Bucky for a moment as you let the words sink in. He never really spoke about his family and what, if anything he remembered. You never pushed him, thankful that he respected you the same. Though you had only been friends for a year now, those things just aren't privy to your relationship.

“You never told me that before.” You finally spoke, watching as his eyes met with yours.

“Yeah well, it’s hard to talk about sometimes. But… I don't know. I trust you, doll. More than anyone, I think. You kind of pull it outta’ me.” He sighed into that goofy smile you loved so much. You wanted to tell him that there was no one in this world that you trusted more, that you could and would be an open book for him, if that's what he wanted… But you supposed it went without saying. Instead, you rested you head on his shoulder, sinking back into the couch as you watched whatever sappy Christmas movie Bucky had picked out for you to watch.

It wasn't long before the compound started to buzz with disembodied voices and echoing footsteps. A team was getting back tonight, and soon the living room would be filled with your friends booming laughter.

You let your mind wander, tiptoeing into the darkest parts of your unconscious as the movie faded further and further away…

Your body shook, hard. You heard yourself plead, begging him to stop. Could feel the tears wet and hot as they rolled down your cheeks pooling onto your chest as he wiped them away. Such an act of kindness in such a nauseating scene. Your whole body ached with how hard you were trembling. So weak. You knew it, and now he did too-

Wanda was the first to round the corner, plopping herself down on the couch between you and Bucky, almost sitting right on your lap.

“Good evening!” She chimed, resting her head against your shoulder in a complete and utter disregard of yours and Bucky’s closeness. Wanda was always the best at diffusing tension you hadn't even realised was there. Though now, as she sat there, it was very apparent that's exactly what it was. However you were thankful for her halting your train of thought.

“Hello, darling.” Bucky chuckled as you wrapped your arms around her.

Tony rounded the corner next, snickering when he saw the three of you bundled up on the couch together. “Well, isn't that sweet. The trauma triplets are back together.”

“Dont hate us cause’ you ain’t us, Tony.” You sang, watching as he rolled his eyes and puttered off to his lab.

“So, any plans for this evening?” Wanda asked, grabbing your mug of hot chocolate without a second thought and taking a sip.

“This is kind of it. Most of the team is back home with their family.” You explained, looking behind Wanda's head to Bucky, “Do you have any plans with Stevie?” You asked.

“Nope.” He popped the P. “Just us tonight. Steve’s out on a solo mission until tomorrow morning.”

“About that… Nat is actually setting me up tonight. A double date, I think? So, it's just you guys tonight.” Wanda spoke sheepishly.

Bucky and you both gapped at her before you finally spoke, “Traitor.” You glared while she only chuckled, shoving you playfully.

“You guys will get along just fine without me. Just don’t watch The Holiday until I’m back! You guys know that’s my favourite”

As the compound quieted down for the night, you and Bucky fell into your daily routine of comfortable silence. It was just like every other day, or at least that's what you tried to tell yourself as the end credits of another holiday movie started rolling onto the screen.

“So,” Bucky finally spoke, shifting in his seat to reach for something out of your eyeline. “It’s technically christmas now… And, I know we said no gifts, but I saw this and it was just so you. I had to pick it up.”

Your eyes landed on the small velvet box in his hands, your breath hitching in your throat for a moment as your brain forze. You could feel your body trembling as he held it out, waiting for a reaction, but all you could do was stare.

“Such a good little thing.” He finally spoke. Your eyes were so glazed over you couldn't quite tell where his voice was emulating from. You could hear his belt, feel his hands on either side of your face as he whispered in your ear. “Happy Christmas, baby.” He chided, dropping the small velvet box in your hands as he left the room.

You couldn't bear to touch it, whipping it across the room as it shattered open, the small diamond necklace rolling across the hardwood floor as it tumbled to the ground with a harsh crack. Your fingers burned where the rough velvet had been, and you remembered thinking you'd feel this way forever.

“Y/n?” Bucky spoke your name and it shocked you back to reality. You blinked at him, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at him. He looked absolutely terrified and it broke your heart. Absolutely tore you apart that you could ever be the reason for that face.

“Hm? Oh, yes. I’m so sorry, I was so far away there for a moment.” You reached out but before you could take the small box, his hands covered your own and he let his thumb stroke your skin, sending a shiver up your arms and all around your neck.

“You know I would never judge you, right?” He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “God knows you've never judged me. I’m here. Whatever it is, it’s not your fault.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. ‘Not your fault.’ Did he know? There was no possible way. You had Fury burn your physiatric evaluation from when you first started a year ago. No one knew. This was a fresh start, and there way no way that-

“I can see your mind turning, and I just want to assure you, we are good. Okay? You and me, that's easy. It’s always been that way. Whenever you're ready, if you ever want to talk… I’m here, alright? Always.” His voice melted over you like a warm bath, calming you as you met his gaze. There was a sweetness you haven't seen before. It was new and yet there was something familiar about it. Had he always looked at you that way? Surely you would have remembered as it sent butterflies to explode in your stomach.

He dropped the rectabled box in your hands and you finally felt the weight of it. Definitely heavier than a necklace, though you guess that wasn't really Bucky’s style anyways.

You slowly clicked the box open, your eyes falling on the small black object resting on the pillow inside.

“It’s a knife?” You spoke, just above a whisper as your hands traveled over the cool metal looking up at Bucky in surprise.

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he explained. “Remember that mission a year back? I think it was one of our firsts.”

“Vienna.” You chimed, the memory coming back to you now.

“You stole my knife.” He laughed, shaking his head at the memory. “I remember, I had it in my hand, you ran out of ammo and in a flash it was in your hands. Those Hydra punks didn't see you coming. God, doll. That had to be the hottest-” He blushed, clearing his throat, “I mean, that was the coolest thing I've ever seen. Been trying to find you one like it ever since.”

“Oh, Buck.” You signed, gripping the knife in your hands and effortlessly flipping it through your fingers as it sparkled in the dim lighting.

“Do you like it?” He hummed.

“Like it? I absolutely love it… I feel like such an ass for not getting you anything.” You confessed, averting your eyes to the floor.

You flinched as Bucky’s cool metal fingers tipped your head up, and he tried not to notice, though the reaction wasn't lost on him. He really didn't know about your past, but trauma knew trauma.

“Darling, this…” He motioned to you, “This is all I need for Christmas.” His voice was like honey in tea, warm and sweet and so smooth.

“You flirt.” You giggled, shoving him playfully as you placed the knife back in its box and resting it on the coffee table.

“I would never.” He sarcastically gasped, causing you to laugh at his dramatics. Bucky wasn't truly himself around the others, but you wished sometimes they could see his goofy side. Though it warmed your heart he reserved it for you.

“What do you say? One more movie before we call it a night?” You asked, relaxing into his shoulder as you clicked through the options. Bucky’s silence caught your attention, pulling you back to his gaze. He stared at you as if startled by your words.

“What?” You chuckled nervously, raising a brow when he didn't speak.

“You're willinging requesting we watch a Christmas movie? Are you feeling okay?” He jested, lifting his flesh palm to your forehead as if to check your temperature. You swatted him away, rolling your eyes as you did so.

“I’m fine. I just…” You watch him carefully as his laughter faded and he focused on you. “I never really thought I could enjoy Christmas. Someone stole that luxury away from me a very long time ago, but with you… With you it comes so easy. I know it must be hard, but you never let it show. I honestly can't tell you the last time I’ve properly laughed like that during the holidays. God, it's been years and yet here we are. You just pull it out of me.”

Bucky smiled softly, holding his hands out for yours and you quickly accepted the gesture. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned pulling you into his chest as he hugged you. It was something that was very new, and yet just felt right. Like this was how your bodies were meant to be, fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Doll, I’ll pull it out for you whenever you want.” He cooed, sarcasm lacing his words and your head fell back, laughter bubbling out of your chest.

“God, I love you.” You finally got out, but as soon as the words left your lips you knew how impulsive you had been. Bucky stilled beside you but you kept your eyes trained on the ceiling above, terrified to meet his gaze. It wasn't a big deal, just two friends admiring each other. You knew, however if you were honest it was much more than that. Bucky felt it too.

“Darling,” He murmured, so low you almost didn’t hear him. Your eyes slowly returned to his as your heart nearly jumped from your chest. “You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since Vienna. You’re it for me. Always have been, I think.”

You stared at him for a moment, unsure of where your voice went as your mouth ran dry.

“As if I even need to say it, I love you too.”

Divider made by the wonderful @chrissquares

Thank you 3000 to my amazing friends @cutie1365 and @sweeterthanthis for their endless support and constant grammatical corrections. I’d be forever dyslexic without you guys... (I kind of will I think, but ya’ll make it a hell of a lot easier on me)

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