#I’m thinking like if we were baking cookies or something and we suddenness get into a flour war and we got flour all over ourselves and

[adi06lena]

Y’all the way I’m fantasizing about baking with my crush 😭

[jo-speaks]

good graces ft. quinn hughes

in which…

quinn hughes realizes you'll be okay, with or without him.

warnings: MDNI. brief smut (again, it's like a paragraph), mature language, mentions of cheating, and i think that's all.

track three in short n' sweet (hughes brothers version) series!

When I love you, I'm sweet like an angel

Drawin' hearts 'round our names

And dreamin' of writing vows, rockin' cradles

“What’re you doing?” Quinn asked, wrapping his arms behind you as you shut the oven door, leaving the sweet treat you made to bake.

You took off your oven mitt before sighing and leaning back into his hold. “Baking cookies. You said you wanted some this morning, right?

He let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. How did you hear that though?”

“It’s not like you’re quiet when you’re on the phone with Conor.”

Quinn rolled his eyes playfully, dismissing your comment about how comfortable he was when talking to his teammate. He set one of his hands to lean back against the kitchen island where he felt a piece of paper under his palm. He furrowed his eyebrows, creasing the sheet slightly to pick it up. 

After a quick examination, he realized it was the recipe you had written down for the cookies. In the top corner of it, he saw his initials next to yours, enclosed in a heart. Quinn felt a warm feeling in his chest knowing you had done that, not caring if he saw it or not.

He held the paper in front of your face, which you had buried in the crease of his right elbow. “What’s this?”

You traced your eyes over the paper, “The recipe for the cookies? Don’t tell me you can’t read all of a sudden.” He gave you a thin-lipped look before tapping his finger over the childish drawing causing your eyebrows to lift in realization. “Oh, that. Got bored, thought it was cute. Something we could show the kids.”

Now it was his eyebrows that rose, “Kids? Like our kids?”

“Yeah, two of them. One of each. We can have them after our billion-dollar wedding.” You stated that like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Quinn knew you weren’t entirely serious. The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and he knew you wanted him to focus on his hockey career while you focused on your career. You both agreed you didn’t want to rush into anything until you were settled. And since Vancouver had been his home for 6 years and yours for 5 of those when you decided to move in with him, maybe it was time to start putting down those roots together.

Don't mistake my nice for naive

“Y/N, please. You’re being ridiculous. You were the one who told me to come in the first place!” Quinn called out to you as you walked away from him.

You stopped and turned back to face him, “Because I thought you’d have fun celebrating with your team here! Not flirt with the bartender the whole night!”

He rolled his eyes, setting you off even more. “I wasn’t flirting with her! I was getting Brock his drink!”

“Whatever, Quinn. I’m going home.” You sighed, not wanting to continue arguing with him in front of a bunch of people.

“I wasn’t flirting.” He mumbled, defeated.

You almost felt bad for reacting the way you did, but you knew him. The half smile and constant nodding all while keeping his eyes on her lips as they moved. 

You weren’t stupid.

I don't waste a second, I know lots of guys

You do somethin' suspect, this cute ass bye-bye

Like, ooh

Baby, you say you really like it being mine?

So let me give you some advice

After the whole bar argument, you decided to repay the favour a few days later when you had gone out to that same bar with your girlfriends. The same night you knew the Canucks would be celebrating their victory there. You watched the door attentively before a tap on your shoulder caught your attention.

“Y/N, this is Josh. He thought you were cute!” Was the only thing your friend said before walking away. The stumbling in her steps was the only thing you needed to explain the situation. 

Josh rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he placed his drink down on the bar and took the seat next to you. He cleared his throat, “Hey. Pretty interesting friend you have there.”

You snorted, “Tell me about it. You should see her sober, she’s still the same way.”

He laughed, “So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting alone?”

Before you could answer, you heard the bar erupt in whistles and clapping. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who had walked in. Josh glanced over your shoulder, getting a view of the team himself. His focus came back to you when you tilted your head to interrupt his view. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. But to answer your question, I’m just here because I’m pissed at my boyfriend.”

You noticed his face drop before returning to the way it was before, “No way. I’m here because I’m pissed at my girlfriend!”

Your eyes widened at his confession, letting out a small chuckle. “Yikes, you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah?” He propped his arm on the bar, “How are you not?”

“Well for starters, I’m not approaching anyone. Second, my boyfriend just got here, so he knows where I am. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that your girlfriend has no idea where you are.” You answered, seeing the team take a seat at the tables next to where you were sitting.

As Josh sat in front of you, stunned at your words, you caught your boyfriend's eyes. He took a double take, not realizing it was you the first time. You looked away, bringing your attention back to the man in front of you as Quinn kept his on you.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Josh asked.

You smirked slightly, “Quinn Hughes.

Josh’s eyes widened, “Bullshit.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer so you could talk in his ear and look over it to lock eyes with Quinn. “Don’t believe me? You’ll see who walks over to you when I leave.”

You backed up and got off your stool, heading to the bathroom as you kept eye contact with your boyfriend as you passed him. After you did, you heard him get up, his footsteps going the opposite way from where you were heading.

~

“What the fuck was that,” Quinn grumbled as he got into his car.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Quinn scoffed, “This is fucking gold, Y/N. You were all over my ass for doing the same shit on Tuesday, but when you do it’s all good.”

“Yeah, no. See, the difference between what I did tonight and what you did earlier this week is that I actually wasn’t flirting, I just wanted you to see what it was like to feel how I did when I saw you actually flirting with someone else.” You retorted, knowing how ridiculous the words coming out of your mouth sounded to him.

Yet on some level, Quinn knew you were right. He sighed before reaching over the center console to take hold of your hand. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sober, but I still knew what I was doing. I don’t want to lose you over this, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” He whispered.

You turned to look at him, “You like being my boyfriend?”

He nodded.

“Then don’t lie to me.”

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

That was cool

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3

Yeah

“She’s the last person I’d want to piss off,” Jack told his brother over the phone as Quinn finished up telling him the whole bar fiasco the two of you had gone through a month ago. 

“Tell me about it. I’m not just saying this because she’s my girlfriend, but she’s literally always right. It’s getting scary.” Quinn confessed, pulling his car into the parking garage of the apartment complex.

Jack sighed, “Well, shit. Good luck with that, bro. Lukey’s calling you later, I gotta go.” 

Quinn said goodbye to his brother, hanging up the phone as he stepped out of his car, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he had gotten you for no reason. After the whole situation, he knew he couldn’t only make it up with verbal apologies. So he went old-school, settling for getting you flowers whenever he felt like they were needed. 

He stepped into the elevator, rocking back and forth on his heels as he reached your floor, walking out the second the doors opened. 

As he unlocked the front door of your shared apartment, he could hear you talking in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t want to forgive him, but he’s making up for it.” You said to whoever you were talking to over the phone. 

Quinn stepped in quietly, your back still turned and your AirPods in your ears as you cooked dinner for the two of you. Still unbeknownst to you, Quinn walked to the hallway across from the kitchen, wanting to hear your conversation. 

Was it wrong to eavesdrop on you? Yes. Did Quinn know this? Also yes. Did he care? Not really. 

You let out a sigh, “Listen. He knows better than to do that to me. He also knows that I’m the last person he wants to fuck with because I can switch up incredibly fast. If he wants to cheat on me, he can go right ahead. But he knows damn well I’ll be out replacing him that same night.”

His face dropped. He knew that you were telling the truth, which is what scared him straight. 

“I don’t give a fuck if he wants to go out with Bella Hadid. If he does that without breaking up with me, I’m going straight to his mother and maybe even social media if I’m feeling petty enough.” You laughed, but there was nothing you were joking about. 

By now, Quinn wanted to ignore any woman that came his way.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love him so much. So much to the point where I would get down on my knee and propose to him. But, if so much as lies to me about anyone or anything, he’s gonna need a good lawyer.”

I'll tell the world you finish your chores prematurely

Quinn lined himself up in between your legs, pushing into you completely in one swift movement. You let out a breathy moan as your nails dug into his biceps. He didn’t move, letting not only you but himself adjust to the feeling. 

“Fuck, Q. You feel so good.” You mumbled, your brain foggy from the feeling of him being buried inside of you.

He mumbled something you didn’t quite understand before pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you completely. He did this a few more times before letting out a guttural groan, spilling into you.

This caught you completely off guard. Quinn had never finished this quickly before nor had he cum before you did. When he came to, he realized what had happened.

“Shit.” He mumbled, too embarrassed to move or even look you in the eyes.

You cleared your throat, pressing a soft kiss to kiss lips. “It’s fine, babe.” You pushed his body back, pushing him out of you. “I can just use my hand.”

He shook his head, finding his voice once again. “No, let me do it. I don’t- I don’t know what happened.”

Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on

With your favorite athlete

Shoot his shot every night

Want you every second, don't need other guys

You were scrolling on your phone, swiping up on all the notifications you were getting from Instagram, seeing as you had just posted. 

Quinn was featured in a few of the pictures, drawing the attention of his friends and fans to your account. Your head was propped up on Quinn’s lap as you lay on the couch as he played his video game on the living room TV. 

One notification caught your eye as you furrowed your eyebrows seeing the DM request that had come through. 

‘rjosi90 wants to send you a message.’

“Hey babe? Who’s this?” You asked, turning your phone around to show him the account.

He paused his game, looking down to look. “You don’t know who Roman Josi is? He was that guy you met at the awards ceremony, remember?”

“Oh! The one you never shut up about!” You teased as soon as you remembered the name.

Quinn rolled his eyes, nodding at your words before resuming his game but keeping his attention on your conversation. “What did he send you?”

You opened the message, your eyes widening as you internally debated on telling him the truth, not knowing how he would react. But, you knew you wouldn’t want him lying to you if he got the same message from another woman, so you decided to be honest.

“He said he thinks I’m pretty and that you’re a lucky guy.” You read, eyes quickly flashing back to Quinn.

His cheeks were red and his eyebrows were knitted together. You looked at his hands, which were now gripping his controller so tight that his knuckles were going white. “Are you gonna respond?”

Hesitantly, you shook your head, “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

Quinn had never been an insecure person, but he wasn’t always confident. And your delayed reaction probably didn’t help. You let out a breath before grabbing the controller out of his grip and setting it to the side. 

You sat up, swinging your legs on either side of his lap and taking his face in between your hands. “Hey. I want you. Only you.”

You pressed a kiss on his lips which he barely returned out of his own frustration. Pulling back, you started to litter kisses all over his face in an attempt to cheer him up. Trailing from his lips to his cheeks, then to his jaw, and stopping on his neck. You sucked on a sweet spot that caused his hands to come up and settle on your hips. 

“I don’t want anyone but you, Quinn.”

You do somethin' sus, kiss my cute ass bye

As you stepped into his room, he quickly shut off his phone and turned it face down. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stood in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” You questioned.

He shook his head rapidly, clearing his throat as he rubbed his hands together before walking over to you. “Just caught me off guard.”

You scanned his face. His cheeks were flushed and his face was sweaty. Not wanting the answer you thought it was, you gave him a look before speaking again. “Was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie with me. But if you’re… busy, I can just watch it by myself.” 

Quinn cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah. Let me just do something really quick and I’ll be right out.”

You simply shook your head, walking out of his room and heading back to your room and laying down on your bed with your laptop in front of you as you curled up in a blanket waiting for your boyfriend.

Even though the two rooms were separated by a small hallway, the walls were still relatively thin. You heard his door open and close but his feet remained still. You could hear the noise of his phone keyboard in front of your door, typing one last thing out before he walked into your room.

“So what movie are we watching, pretty girl?” He asked, setting his phone on your bedside table.

You eyed his phone before looking at him, “Everything okay?” 

He gave you a confused look, “Yeah, why?”

“Sounded like you were typing something important.” You shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of what could be nothing.

But, his wide eyes told you everything you needed to know. You sat up, raising your eyebrows in a way that said “Tell me what’s going on.”

Quinn shifted on his feet. “My ex texted me. She was saying she wanted to meet me for dinner and…” He cut himself off.

“And what?” You pressed.

“She wants to try again.”

You scoffed, “Okay. What did you say?”

He took a breath before answering, “I told her about us and that I’ll pass on the dinner because I’m very happy with you.” The way his words came out, you didn’t fully believe him. Yet at the same time, his face and body language told you he was telling the truth. You could tell he was nervous telling you, but you knew he wasn’t lying.

You nodded your head, “Okay.”

“Okay? What does that mean? I can show you the texts if you want!” He rambled.

Pulling him down onto the bed with you, you wrapped the blanket around him as well before setting the laptop in a way where you could both see it while lying down.

“I trust you, Q. If you say that’s what you told her, I believe you.” You whispered.

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

Oh, no

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3 

Oh

No, I won't

I won't give a fuck about you, no, I won't

(I won't, I won't, I won't) x2

Quinn sat in the parking lot of Roger’s Arena. You had driven home early, wanting to beat the traffic seeing as the score by the middle of the third period was 0-4. 

The loss of the game and your going home early left Quinn thinking. 

You didn’t need him. 

Sure, you loved him and you loved living with him and the company and affection he gave you, but at the end of the day, you were completely fine being alone. 

The realization had Quinn wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks as he started up the engine of his car. He drove back in silence, hoping you’d be showering and in bed by the time he got home. 

As he focused on the scenery around him in the late hours of the night, that feeling of sadness fizzled into a feeling of relief. If for whatever reason Quinn left you, you would be okay. And now that he understood that, he became even more determined not to lose you.

Because regardless, Quinn Hughes didn’t want to live in a world where you weren’t his.

[puckinghischier]

ok but watching christmas movies and rotting with quinny would fix me

oh he would sooooo be down for rot time and bad christmas movies

he’d help you make a whole set up. fluffy blankets, hot chocolate, matching pjs. he’d help you scroll through and pick the silliest sounding plot before draping the blanket over the two of you, the only lights in the apartment being the tv and the christmas tree.

he’d debate with you about the different scenarios in the movies. why it would never work between a ceo and small town bakery owner in real life, or how it’s unrealistic for these couples to fall in love in a week.

“i’m just saying, if i had just met you a week ago, i wouldn’t be out here buying you this big expensive christmas gift and introducing you to my parents on christmas eve,” he argues, watching the hot shot business man on the tv.

“quinn! you’re saying you wouldn’t fall in love with me in a week if we didn’t already know each other?” you scoff, not really offended, but you don’t dare agree with him, needing to defend the sweet main character on the screen.

“no? you’re saying you would?” he turns his head to look at you like you’re crazy.

you cross your arms for dramatic effect, leaning away from him. “of course i would! and then i’d bake you the best batch of gingerbread cookies you’d ever have and you’d fall in love with me, too,” you huff, turning your nose up.

“oh, c’mon you can’t be serious,” he throws his arms up in exasperation, not believing you’re seriously mad at him over something this stupid. “these movies are so unrealistic! they meet, fall in love in a week, and they expect us to believe it’s a happily ever after? what about when they find out the other one snores? or they leave their dirty socks in the couch? or they pour the milk in the bowl before their cereal?”

you open your mouth to gawk at him. “i can’t believe you’re saying you wouldn’t fall in love with me if we were in a hallmark christmas movie. how dare you,” you, once again, exaggerate the tone of your voice. you make a big deal of fully scooting away from him, not mad, but too committed to the argument at this point.

“y/n, c’mon, none of this is real life! you can’t really tell me you think any of these relationships would hold up in the real world,” he turns his body towards yours, trying to get you to look at him.

you really put on the theatrics at this point, making your voice quiver and lip shake. “i just…i would like to think that our love would be strong enough to last, that we would find each other in every world, even fake ones like this,” you tell him, sniffling and wiping at the welled up tears you forced to spring to your eyes.

quinn sighs in defeat, not having expected his offhanded comment to turn into this.

“no, babe, no c’mere, you’re right, i’m sorry. our love would prevail in any scenario,” he closes the distance you created, scooping you up in his arms, cradling your head to his chest. “i would totally fall in love with you if i had never met you and spent a week doing nothing but arguing and bickering with you. i’d take you home to meet my parents and brothers on christmas eve and i’d give you some priceless family heirloom as a present and we’d live happily ever after. on every holiday. not just christmas,” he assures, softly petting your head to calm you down.

you grin widely, raising up. “ha! so you would fall in love with me in this stupid movie! i knew it!” you’d nearly shout, pointing a finger and wagging it right in his face.

quinn is shocked, mouth dropping open at the sudden switch up in your demeanor.

“i- what? did you just…fake cry to get me to agree with you?” he’d spit out, not believing you’d stoop to fake tears.

grinning, you nod. “i sure did, and it worked. knew you were whipped, just didn’t know how badly,” you state, proud of your acting skills.

quinn would squint his eyes, shaking his head back and forth. “oh you sick, sly woman,” he’d grit out before playfully lunging at you, attacking you with tickles and kisses, forgetting all about the source of the argument playing on the tv screen in front of you two.

[jimblejamblewritings]

starlight moonlight sunlight — blurb seven

Title: Happy Fucking Holidays

Pairing: ex!Remus x reader, Remus x Sirius, eventual poly!Wolfstar x reader

Warnings: catching a partner cheating, angst, hurt no comfort

blurb series navigation here | previous blurb here

Everyone had started to retire for the night, thoroughly tired from James’ late night of baking cookies, gingerbread house competitions, Secret Santa and white elephant (because both were absolutely necessary according to him), and holiday movies. You left in the middle of the second movie, being the first to call it a night, but you weren’t tired. It was just a bit difficult to see everyone get presents from their family and you were left to do nothing but wonder if yours were safe. 

Remus came upstairs when he and Sirius were ready to finally have alone time. He stood in the threshold of your doorway until you came out of the bathroom. You went straight to him, giving him a hug and a peck on the lips. 

“Are you alright to go to bed?” 

“Yeah. I’m just missing everyone.” 

He hugged you a bit tighter. “I know it’s hard, dovey. But you’ll see them sooner than you know it.” 

“I hope they’re liking England.” 

“I bet they are living it up.” 

You smiled. He was right. It was best to think of them in happy and blissful situations. Bidding your boyfriend a goodnight, you grabbed the journal you bought from a shop in Hogsmeade and sat on the bed. You were still working on your book. That was something you wanted to finish, just for yourself. Even if the manuscript never got published or only sold two copies, you wanted to write it. A typewriter was an option but handwriting grounded you so you decided that you’d handwrite the first draft and type up everything else. Your head snapped up when you heard sharp pecking on the window. It was from an owl with a letter. 

In Sirius’ room, he and Remus were getting themselves ready to do anything but sleep. Tentatively, their hands were exploring each other in a way they hadn’t in months. Every other word that poured out of Remus’ mouth was a declaration of love or a statement about how much he missed his boyfriend. Sirius chuckled as he got up. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Why do you want to know, Lupin?” 

It was all of five seconds before Remus was off the bed and backing his boyfriend up against the wall. “You drive me crazy, you know.” 

The only thing Sirius could hear was his heart pounding in his ears, not the soft pounding of your sock covered feet as you came running towards the room with good news about getting a job at a bookstore. His lips crashed against Remus, moaning into his boyfriend’s mouth and pulling on his shirt to get the man as close to him as possible. Both men paused when multiple leaves hit their face. They looked up at the sudden cloud of petals that cascaded over them and then back at each other. 

Sirius’ eyebrows scrunched. “Where the fuck did that co—” 

“Rem?” 

They both froze at the sound of your voice and the door slamming shut behind you. Sirius just shook his head like he didn’t want to believe it was you. Slowly, Remus turned his head. You were, in fact, standing in their doorway. Tears began to stream down your face as you just stared at their half naked bodies still touching.

“What are you doing?” That was the only thing you could manage to say even though you knew what they were clearly doing. 

“Fuck,” Sirius muttered. 

Remus extended a hand. “Dovey, come here, please.” 

Feet moving on their own, you met Remus and then followed him to the bed. He and Sirius were sitting next to each other while you were across from them. 

“I know what this looks like and it isn’t exac—” 

“We’ve been together since you stopped writing to him because he thought you were broken up.” 

“Sirius!” 

“What?! You were taking too long and making it worse for her.” 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but you’ve been through so much that we wanted you to get settled here first and get well-adjusted to your new life. No one at school knows we’re together so we just kept hiding it. I wasn’t trying to hurt you… Dove, please say something.” 

The only thing that actually happened was another cloud of petals as you drew your knees up to your chest. Sirius moved closer to you, hugging you as best as he could. 

“He was going to tell you soon. We’re both sorry you found out this way.” 

Remus smiled at his boyfriend’s very gentle tone. Comforting people wasn’t an area of expertise for Sirius. He preferred to be left alone to wallow but apparently a lot of people weren’t like that. You must’ve been one of those people because you hadn’t pushed him away yet. 

You felt like an idiot in more ways than one. Up until recently, Sirius didn’t like you and Remus wasn’t as affectionate. It wasn’t like you didn’t notice but you hadn’t put together why exactly they were behaving that way, figuring it was just an adjustment period. 

“This is my fault,” you whispered. “I should’ve found a way to write to you.” 

“Y/N, no. You couldn’t help your circumstances. These things just happen sometimes.” 

“But if I had written…”

Sirius grabbed your face in both of his hands. “Then you would’ve been in danger. Remus is right. It isn’t your fault. Okay?” 

“I guess.” 

The two men looked at each other. Maybe that was the best they were going to get for now. Sirius smiled at you. 

“Atta girl, dollface. You probably don’t want to talk right now but would it make you feel better to do so? We can watch a movie first, do something to break the tension then talk?” 

You nodded. “I think I’d like a movie first.” 

“Let’s do that then. Do you want to watch one here, the living room, or your room?” 

You looked around, unsure. Sirius kept picking spiky succulent leaves from your hair as they popped up until there was a significantly large pile between him and his boyfriend. Remus looked down at the pile. How exactly did you make the plants appear out of nowhere? And was there a finite amount you could make? Because it was kind of concerning how many plants were littering Sirius’ room. 

“Let’s just watch something up here. Then we won’t have to cast anything to not disturb anyone.” He decided for everyone before you turned into a wilted bush. 

“Okay.” 

They waited for you to get yourself comfortable before moving to configure themselves around you until you were sandwiched in between them. It felt like rubbing salt in the wound if they cuddled up. Sirius handed you a pillow to hug while Remus put on a movie. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. Remus’ speech was supposed to be perfect and tear-saving. You were very quiet to the point where Remus couldn’t even hear you breathing. Something he definitely should be able to hear so close to you. His heart shattered when you jumped at the hand placed on your shoulder. 

“It’s okay to cry, dov— Y/N.” 

The use of your name alone did actually make you start crying again. You really weren’t sure what was happening in the movie. It wasn’t exactly easy to see through tears. 

“Do you want to turn the movie off?” 

You shook your head, not ready to talk but not wanting to drag this into the next few days. Remus looked over your head when Sirius began moving. He set down his pillow and blanket. 

“Do you want anything to drink or eat?” 

“Um, just whatever you bring.” 

“Okay. Ba— Moony, do you want anything?” 

“Just some of the leftovers and tea.” 

“Got it. Be right back.” 

Without thinking, Sirius leaned over and pecked Remus on the lips. He turned to you and did the same, pulling away before you really registered what happened. His eyes went wide as he looked from you to Remus multiple times. You were frozen in place the moment you actually registered what he did. 

“Babe,” Sirius squeaked. “Come with me to the kitchen, please.” 

You watched Remus scramble off the bed and follow his boyfriend. Despite the door slamming behind them, you could still hear Sirius repeating either “Merlin” or “shit” over and over again. They could spend an hour in the kitchen for all you cared — you needed a very long moment to yourself to process whatever just happened. How dare he kiss you, even if it was accidentally. Still. How dare he. And why did you keep thinking about it? Planting your face into the pillow, very aware now how much it smelled like Sirius, you screamed before falling backwards and attempting to smother yourself with a pillow.

| next blurb here |

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A Baker's Dozen - Two

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

I'm so overwhelmed and grateful for all the lovely comment you all left on the first part of A Baker's Dozen! I'm having so much fun exploring what it's like to write for different Pedro boys and finding their voices.

For those of you who are new, we've got twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery.

It's fluff and sweetness, lots of food and flirting. Series Master List

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring

The glare is what catches your eye first, sunlight bounces off the shiny metal surface and hits your face through the window. You shield your eyes and glance at the door as it swings open, for a second you can’t see who steps through, you’re almost blinded, but as the door swings closed, he, or she, comes into focus. 

“Hi, welcome!” you say, trying to keep your voice steady as the imposing figure takes a few tentative steps into your bakery. 

“Heading for a con?” you ask, glancing up and down the impressive outfit. 

“A con?” 

The voice that comes through the helmet is deep and resonates through what almost sounds like a speaker. It’s definitely a man, if the sheer size of the body didn’t give it away. He’s tall, broad and made even broader by the metal pauldrons on his shoulders. A heavy belt hangs around his narrow waist as if to emphasize the sheer build of this hunk of metal that’s standing in the middle of your shop, looking somewhat lost despite the fact that you can't see his face under a solid looking metal helmet. 

“Yeah, like a convention, where people meet and dress as their favorite characters from tv-shows and stuff. Are you going to a con?” 

“No,” comes the short answer.

He looks around the bakery, the black T of his visor seemingly scanning the selection of bread and cakes you have for sale today. 

“Something smells…good,” he says, turning his helmet back onto you and you can’t help but smile. 

“Thanks, yeah, I had a pretty tasty selection today, but most of it’s already been sold,” you wave your hand over the mostly empty display cases, “Do you want to buy something?” 

“I…don’t think I have credit,” he hesitates but he takes another step into the shop, glancing down at the croissants stacked in a basket next to the till. 

“We accept cash too,” you reply, “you don’t need a credit card.” 

“No, I mean, I don’t have the right…currency for your world.” 

“Oh…” you frown, did he just say ‘your world’? 

You mentally shake your head, a misunderstanding, surely.

“I mean, I could let you sample something, then maybe you’ll come back with the right currency,” you say, smiling at the man. He sounds a bit confused and your customer service persona kicks in, unwilling to let someone leave without trying something that’ll get them to come back. 

“I don't know what you sell here,” he says, “I have never seen food like this before.” 

“Oh, really? What kind of baked goods do you have where you’re from?” you ask, surprised, you were sure pretty anyone would recognise at least a muffin and a cookie, both on display in your cases. 

The tall metal man comes closer, standing next to the counter and looking at the selection, “We have many baked things where I’m from, but I have never tried any of them.” 

“You’ve never had dessert?” you ask incredulously, “I have dessert every day, it’s a must!”. 

“I’m Mandalorian, food is only energy for our bodies, we don’t indulge in it,” he straightens up when he says it, his hands falling to his hips. He looks imposing, like a warrior all of a sudden, and his voice takes on a serious note. 

“Oh, wow, I didn’t know that was a thing, a mandalorian, huh” you raise your eyebrows, this guy doesn’t even seem like a cosplayer. Or he’s really in character. 

“Are you not allowed to eat dessert at all, or is it just like, not an everyday kinda thing?”  

“I can eat what I want but I’ve never had a need for dessert,” the voice coming through the helmet is a rich baritone, but holds a guarded edge, like the owner is trying to navigate something unfamiliar.

“I mean…technically there’s never a need for dessert, but I eat it everyday anyway. A good dessert is sometimes the only way to fix a bad day,” you give him your warmest smile, trying to make him feel a bit more at ease as you go back to straightening up your counter for the end of the day. 

“What’s this?” The man points to the croissants on the counter and you pick one up with the tongs, holding it out to him. 

“It’s a croissant, a French type of pastry. It’s not sweet, just has a metric ton of butter in it. It’s really flaky as you can see. Go on, try it.” 

“I don’t remove my helmet in front of other people,” he replies and your eyebrows shoot even higher up into your hairline. 

“What…but why?” The second the question comes out of your mouth you regret it, “Sorry, don’t answer that, it’s none of my business.” 

“You can ask, I don’t mind,” he says and you think you hear a slight smile from behind the helmet. “I’m Mandalorian, it’s my religion, and we don’t remove our helmets in front of others, it is the way.” 

“So you only eat alone?” you ask, curiosity overtaking your embarrassment and he nods. 

“Yes, we never share a meal with others.”  

“How sad, for me I mean,” you say, “One of the best parts about being a baker is seeing when others eat what I’ve made, I love seeing their reactions. If you try something, I won’t know what you think about it.” 

“I can just turn my back to you and lift my helmet a little,” he replies, and you can definitely hear the smile in his voice now. It changes the tone of his voice, as it comes through the helmet, makes it warmer, softer, and you smile back at him. 

“What do you want to try then?” you ask, “If you’ve never had dessert then I have to give you something special to try.”

“I don’t know,” he looks around the cakes and cookies on display and shakes his head, “I can read your signs but I don’t know what cinnamon or vanilla tastes like, or this one.” He points to a stack of millionaire’s shortbread, “I have never heard of peanuts.” 

“Well, in that case, just in case you're allergic to peanuts, let’s not start with them,” you grin, “the last thing I need is you passing out from an allergic shock in my shop. That armor looks a lot heavier than what I can lift.” 

The Mandalorian looks down at the plates that cover almost every part of his body, “It’s made from beskar, it’s a metal from my home world.” 

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you mean it. The metal is polished and rich looking, a light gray color that catches the light as he moves, “It’s a very beautiful armor.” 

“Do you want to hold a piece?” he asks, looking over at you again, or at least you think he’s looking at you, it’s hard to tell with the helmet. 

“Is that allowed?” you ask, “I don’t want you to break any rules in your religion.” 

“There is no rule against this,” he says, reaching up and taking off one of the shoulder pauldrons. It has the image of a dangerous looking animal that you don’t recognise, and as he hands it over, you see him reverently brush his fingers over it. Carefully you take it from his gloved hands, the metal warm to the touch, and just as heavy as it looks. 

“It’s warm!” you say surprised and he nods. 

“It holds my body heat easily, good for cold climates.” 

You don’t know why, maybe because you can’t see even a sliver of skin on the man, but the thought of holding something that’s been warmed by his body heat, makes you slightly aroused. He could look like anything underneath all that metal and cloth, but his voice, his rich, low voice through the helmet, and his sheer imposing presence, makes you almost subconsciously attracted to him. 

He comes around the counter and stands close as you turn the pauldron over in your hands, tracing the outline of the animal, feeling the warmth of his body. 

“What is this animal?” you ask, looking up at your own reflection in his visor, “I’ve never seen one like it before.” 

“It’s a mudhorn, it’s the mark of my clan.” He traces his fingers along the animal too, brushing against yours as you marvel at the intricate work. 

“Thank you,” you say, handing the pauldron back as the touch of his fingers against yours becomes too much to handle, “Thank you for letting me hold it.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says, his voice lower now that he’s standing next to you. You watch as he clicks the pauldron into place on his shoulder again. 

How do you flirt with a man whose face you can’t even see? you wonder as he turns his visor back on you. It seems like he holds you in place for a few seconds before you slowly have to turn yourself away from him and the intensity of his sightless gaze. 

“So you’ve never had dessert and you don’t know what any of this tastes like?” you say, giving your own cakes a critical look. 

“No,” comes the voice from the man beside you, “Maybe you can choose for me?”

“Hmm…that’s a big ask. Your first dessert has to be something really special, but maybe not too overwhelming, and not too sweet either because if you’re not used to it, then sugar can be a bit too much. And it has to have the right combination of textures too so that you get the full experience and then maybe it should be-” you cut yourself off and look up at the man who’s shifted his weight, leaning against the counter and looking at you with his head cocked to the side. “Sorry, I’m rambling, I went into full baker mode.” 

“No, go on, I enjoy hearing you analyze my first dessert experience,” he says, encouraging you to go on by putting his hand on your arm. The little touch makes you tremble slightly and you pray he doesn’t notice through the soft looking leather of his gloves. 

“Really?” you ask, “Because I have an idea but I’d have to bake something for you, are you in a hurry?” 

“No, I’m waiting for someone and they won’t be here until tomorrow,” he says, dropping his hand from your arm, “What would you make me?” 

“Do you mind if I keep it a surprise? Only, I want you to have the best possible first dessert experience” 

“I usually don’t like surprises but I’ll make an exception for dessert. And for you,” there’s a small chuckle from behind the helmet and it makes you smile. 

“I’m honored,” you say, “come into my kitchen, I think I have what I need for what I was thinking of making.” 

You sidestep him, making him turn sideways as you brush past him, and you don’t miss the way his hand comes up to the small of your back as he walks just behind you into the kitchen. 

Your kitchen is big enough but the metal clad man takes up a lot of space as you direct him to stand by your workbench. He looks around it as you start going through your stores. 

“I’ve never been inside a professional kitchen before,” he says, “I can see that you’re used to a lot of metal.” 

You glance around at all the stainless steel counters and shelves that line the walls, stacked high with stainless steel pans, bowls and baking trays, and then the big shiny door that leads into your walk-in fridge before it hits you.

“Did you just make a joke about your armor?” you snort. But the man behind the helmet remains motionless and soundless as the giggle dies in your throat, afraid that you’ve somehow offended him. You look at him, your cheeks heating up, and then he chuckles loudly. 

“Yes.” 

“Oh fuck off, you’re terrible,” you exhale in relief, but smiling again, “I thought I’d insulted your religion or something.” 

“No, jokes are allowed,” he says and you hear the mirth in his voice clearly this time, behind the visor he must be grinning widely. 

“No more bad jokes, or you won’t get my dessert,” you give him a mock scolding look but he just tilts his head sideways. 

“There’s another joke in that sentence,” he says, still a smile in his voice, “but I don’t want to miss out on your dessert.” 

The innuendo is heavy and you have to bite back your grin, there’s no doubting his flirting tone, and instead focus on pulling lemons, sugar and butter from your stores. 

“If you say so,” you huff and he chuckles, coming to stand next to you while you start prepping. 

“So can you tell me what you’re doing at least?” he asks, picking up one of the lemons and turning over in his hand. 

“I’m making you a pie, I already have the dough ready for the crust so I’m just going to roll it out and blind bake it before I make the filling,” you say, bringing out the rolling pin and the slab of pie dough you had in the fridge. 

“I’ve never had pie,” he replies, “but I’ve seen them sold.” 

“What do you eat?” you ask and you see him shrug, shifting a bit. 

“Just…well, mostly freeze dried stuff that I can just add water to when I travel,” he says, “bone broth is nice too.” He shrugs again and you shake your head. 

“You need to live a little, try some different food, life’s too short to live on freeze dried camping food and bone broth. Doesn’t your wife cook for you?” The last thing slips out without you thinking, your mouth racing ahead of your mind and you bite your tongue, apologizing again. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, or assume that you’re married, or that a wife should cook. Or that it would be a wife, just ignore me, I’m alone too much in the bakery,” you ramble, trying to catch up with yourself. 

Beside you the Mandalorian shifts and stands with his hip leaning against the workbench so that he’s looking directly at you, he’s crossed his arms and cocked his head and it shouldn’t be that sexy, you can’t even see him, but it’s making your heart rate speed up as your cheeks go warm again. 

“No, no wife,” he says, his voice somehow even lower than before, “no one to cook for me, and I wouldn’t expect my wife to cook for me either,” he shifts his weight, putting one hand down on the workbench, the other on his hip, “But it would be a wife.”

You refuse to look at him, it won’t give you anything, just that stupid shiny helmet. But you can hear the smirk in his voice, so you just nod your head. 

“Good to know,” you press out, very much focused on rolling the dough to a perfect circle which isn’t strictly necessary. 

“And you?” his asks, his low baritone vibrating the air around you as he seems to step even closer. His chest plate isn’t touching you but if you turn your head, your breath will fog on it. “Anyone to cook for you at home?” 

“Uhm…no,” you stutter, “just me.” 

If this was a normal man you’d expect to turn your head now and look at him and he’d ask if he could kiss you, or he’d lean in closer and just do it. But the helmet is in the way, how the hell is he so flirty with that damn helmet? He does know how to kiss, doesn’t he? 

“I’m ju-just going to put this in the oven,” you say, trimming the edges of the pie crust, leaving the scraps of dough on the bench. 

“Ok,” he says, still with a smile in his voice, watching as you line the pie with a sheet and then baking beads, before sliding it into the oven. 

“What’s next, the filling?” he asks and you nod. 

“Yeah, I’m going to zest and squeeze these lemons,” you pick up the one he’s left on the bench and show him how you get the zest off into a bowl. 

“Have you had lemons before?” you ask and he nods. 

“Yes, I think so, or something similar. But it was very sour,” he bends forward and looks closely at the zest you’ve mixed with some sugar. “It smells good though, do you often use them in pies?” 

“Yeah, and they’re amazing in anything baked, as long as you have enough sugar.” 

“I trust your skills as a baker,” he says and you smile at him. 

“Thanks, I think you’ll really like this.”

He stays still a beat as you turn back to the lemons, “I already do,” he says, a whisper, just loud enough to escape the helmet. For a second you’re not sure he meant for you to hear it, and you let your hands continue squeezing the lemons before giving him a quick glance. It tells you nothing, the man might as well be a statue. 

You start separating the eggs, letting the egg whites slip through your fingers, holding onto the yolks, until all five are neatly laying on the bottom of your mixing bowl. The silence is stretching between you and the man, still standing still, leaning slightly on the edge of the workbench. You can feel his eyes on you behind the helmet, watching as you stir together the filling, lemon juice, zest, sugar, corn starch, it all comes together. 

“Can I ask you something?” You look up at him, slowly stirring the cubes of butter into the lemon mixture. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to though, it’s kinda personal.” 

“Ok,” he says, cocking his head to the left. 

“How…h-have…h-ow do you kiss if you can’t take the helmet off?” 

He doesn’t move, the blank front of the visor steadily trained on you. 

“Nevermind, it was a stupid question, don’t answer that,” you mumble, dropping your gaze back to the filling. 

“No, it’s not a stupid question,” he says, and you feel the soft leather of his gloved hand under your chin, tilting it up, back to him. “There are…loopholes…in the creed. I’ve kissed someone, when they couldn’t see my face. But it requires a lot of trust.”

You’re staring at your own reflection in the visor, trying to discern where his eyes are. You wonder if he’s looking at your eyes or your lips, and you wonder what his lips look like. 

What they would feel like. 

“Does that answer your question?” he asks, that rich, warm baritone, distorted by whatever lets him speak through the helmet, makes your heart flutter, your breath catches in your throat. 

“Y-yes…thank you,” you stutter, “yes.” 

You bet he’s smiling at you again, as he lets go of your chin and you look back down at the filling. 

“I’m going to fill the pie now, and then make the meringue that goes on top.” 

“Ok,” he says, “I don’t know what that is but I bet it will be irresistible.” 

It makes you smile, at the filling, as it pours, golden and thick, into the pie crust. It settles into a smooth layer, ready for the last step and you place the pie to the side and reach for the egg whites. 

“Can I ask you a favor?” you ask and he nods. 

“Of course, what is it?” 

“The ancient looking mixer, up there, can you reach it?” 

He steps behind you, over to the shelf and effortlessly lifts the heavy old Husqvarna machine, it looks almost weightless in his hands. Those hands, inside the soft gloves, are big, almost dwarfing the mixer and the thought crosses your mind, to have those hands on you, wrapped around your waist, or grabbing your thighs, lifting you up as effortlessly as the machine, placing you on the bench, pushing your legs apart and- 

He carefully puts it next to you, and moves to stand on your other side. But his hand gently brushes over your back, just a small touch, but it makes you wish it lasted longer, and wasn’t so gentle.

The mixer is loud as you start it, whipping the egg whites into stiff peaks in just a few minutes.

“The trick,” you say, detaching the bowl, “is to whip them until you can hold the bowl upside down over your head and the meringue stays put.” You hold out the bowl to him with a grin, “Do you trust me?” 

He chuckles behind the helmet and takes the bowl from your hand, “I guess I do, but you’re polishing the beskar if this falls on me.” 

He carefully tips the bowl, holding it over himself, and the meringue stays put, not a drop falls on him and you give him a wide grin. 

“I passed the test.” 

“You did. Pity, my armor could do with a clean,” he says, his voice serious, but you can hear the smirk in it  this time. 

“Cheeky,” you laugh, “clean your own armor, I’m making you pie.” 

You grab the bowl from him and start scoping out the thick meringue on top of the filling, creating swirls and peaks with your spoon.  “It just needs to set now,” you say, taking the pie, “Could you open the fridge door, please?” 

He takes a few long strides and works the handle, holding it open for you as you go inside and place the pie on a back shelf. 

“I have never seen so many cakes before,” he says, coming in behind you, looking at the shelves of cake bottoms that are defrosting in preparation for your weekend orders. 

The door behind you slips closed and the fridge is thrown into darkness. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that the door needs to be wedged open, the light broke in here and I haven’t gotten round to replacing it,” you say, fumbling towards the door with your hand on the shelves, “I’ll get it.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got night vision in my helmet,” he replies matter of factly, and you hear him walk to the door. 

“You have night vision in your helmet?” You’re not sure he’s joking or not but judging by how quickly he moves across the small space, he must be seeing something. 

“How does the handle work?” he asks as you hear the handle click and catch on something. 

“You just pull it against you and it should open,” you say, carefully walking towards the sound of his voice. 

“It’s not opening, it sounds as if the handle isn’t latching on correctly”. 

“What? No, the door has to open!” You say, panic creeping into your voice, “I can’t…try it again, it has to work!”

You bump into him and his arm comes out around your waist, “Careful, don’t hurt yourself,” he says, his voice suddenly very close to you, steady and soothing, and it calms you down a little. 

“Sorry, I’m- I’m not good with small places I can't get out of,” you mumble, holding onto his arm. 

“The handle isn’t working, but I promise you, I can very easily get us out of here, don’t be scared.” He must’ve let go of the handle because his other hand comes up to rest on your cheek, the gloved thumb caressing your face with smooth motions. “Don’t be scared, mesh’la,” he says, his voice soft. If you move you think you’ll bump your head against the metal of his helmet, so you close your eyes and focus on his hands. One on your back, the other on your cheek, you take a long steadying breath. 

“H-how can you get us out?” 

“I have tools for it, in my belt, don’t be scared, I’ll get us out in no time…but…” he trails off, a small hint of uncertainty suddenly in his tone. 

“I trust you,” he says, “and I want to kiss you.” 

“You’ll take your helmet off?” you ask and in response you hear a low chuckle from inside it. 

“Yes, it would be very difficult otherwise.” 

“You don’t know that, maybe I’m used to making out with metal,” you say, biting your lip, and you’re rewarded with laughter in the darkness. 

“Using my jokes against me, clever,” he smiles as his hands leave you. There’s a click, the soft hiss of air escaping, and you guess his helmet has come off. You feel him bend down, placing it on the ground next to him and standing up again. 

“Ca-can you take your gloves off too?” you ask.  “Yes,” comes his voice in the lightless room and it makes you inhale. Unfiltered it’s much richer, warmer, but somehow rougher, slipping around you, making you break out in goosebumps as you shiver, no voice has ever made you shiver before and now you want him to keep talking to you, to feel his voice in all your senses. It makes you lift your hands to find him in the darkness but he finds you first.  

The soft sound of leather hitting the floor is the next thing you hear before his warm fingertips brush across your shoulder, finding your neck and trailing up over your chin. 

“I’m as blind as you now,” he whispers, leaning closer, “tell me where your lips are.” 

“Here,” you whisper in reply, taking his hand and guiding it to your mouth. He traces his thumb over your bottom lip, then the top, and you feel his hot breath skim over your skin. 

His lips are soft, gentle, as he presses them against yours, a slight tickle of facial hair before he pulls away a fraction. 

“Touch me,” he mumbles, “please,” a pleading tone to his voice. 

“Where?” you ask, lifting your hands from your sides and searching for him, finding cold metal and a rough flight suit. 

“Everywhere, my face, my hair, please touch me.” 

He leans his face into your hand as you find his cheek, your other hand slipping around to the nape of his neck, the longer hair winding around your fingers. It’s messy and curly and so silky to the touch that you hum under your breath. 

“You're so soft,” you say and it feels like he shakes his head.  

“No, you are, can I kiss you again?” he whispers but you don’t reply, just find his lips with yours and he groans into your open mouth, your tongue coming out to taste his lips as he parts them, and you feel his tongue lick against yours. 

His kisses are slow, and you match his pace, moving in the same lazy way as him, his tongue exploring and tasting every part of yours. Soft hands have come up to hold you close to him, his fingers in your hair, not letting you move from where he needs you. And it feels like a need, his soft presses turning needy, a soft moan escaping you as he pulls you closer, your whole body pressed up against his hard metal exterior. The contrast makes you feel disembodied, your legs, stomach, chest resting against cool armor, your face, your hands touching, and being touched by warm skin, soft hair, his demanding tongue growing in confidence by the second as he groans under your touch. 

He suddenly takes hold of your waist, moving you without effort, pressing you against the door with his whole, tall frame. 

“Your kisses are…” he pants, “please, I don’t want to stop, I…I…can’t.” 

He’s mumbling between insistent kisses, his tongue dipping into your mouth, tasting, groaning as he needs more with every second that passes. And you would give it to him, you’re moaning into his mouth, pressing into him as eagerly as he’s pushing you up against the door. If he wants to fuck you on the floor of this fridge, you’d let him. His soft lips, rough hands, his heady groans, and when he finally gives in and grinds his hard cock into your hip, it makes you lose all sense of where you are, who you’re with. 

“Mesh’la,” he mutters, another kiss on your lips, “Tell me to stop, mesh’la, I can’t stop on my own.” His tongue slips between your lips again and you thread your fingers through his hair and hold him close, keeping him from pulling back again. 

“Don’t stop, keep kissing me,” you gasp, his thigh is between your legs, rubbing firm at your aching core. 

He growls, his hand coming down to grab hold of your thigh, lifting it up onto his hip, and the door flies open. With a shriek you feel yourself falling backwards, crashing towards the hard kitchen floor. But his arms catches you, you hear the loud clunk as his metal covered legs and arm hits the surface beneath you, the other arm secure around your waist.  “Don’t open your eyes,” he snaps, panic in his voice, and you squeeze your eyes shut, they almost flew open as he caught you.  “I won’t, they’re closed, they’re closed,” you pant, the air knocked out of you. 

“I’m going to put you down and then get my helmet, don’t move until I say so,” he says, still close, gently lowering you down to the floor. 

“Ok,” you nod, staying still. But you don’t hear him above you, and his arm is still at your side. When he does move his chest comes flat against your own, his nose brushing over your cheek, bumping into yours, and then his lips are on yours again. Soft, warm, pliant, his beard tickling you, open mouth and gentle tongue, tasting and exploring with a low hum in his chest. When he finally pulls away and pushes himself up, you feel the loss of his lips like an imprint on your own, your fingers come up and trace across them, touching where he just was. 

From the fridge you hear the click of his helmet being put in place and then his footsteps come back. 

“You can open your eyes again,” he says, “thank you for keeping them closed.” 

You blink your eyes open and look up at him, his face again hidden behind the visor, his expression unreadable. But his voice is soft and he holds out his hand to you, his gloves not on yet. You take it and he helps you to your feet, one arm around your waist as you find your balance again. Looking down at the hand holding yours, you trace your fingers along the thin white scars that crisscross the back of his tan skin. His hand is rugged, the pads of his fingertips rough and well used. It’s hard to imagine that these hands could touch you so softly in the dark. 

“I…I hope I didn’t ask too much,” he hesitates as you keep touching his hand, holding it between your own, “I never kissed anyone like that before.” 

“I liked it,” you mumble, looking up at his visor, his hand still between yours. “I’ve never kissed anyone like that before either. And I don’t even know what your name is.” 

“Din,” he says, his voice low, like he’s telling you something guarded, “My name is Din, but I don’t tell many people that.” 

“I won’t tell anyone,” you say and he nods, placing his hand on your cheek again.  “Thank you, mesh’la.” 

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Din,” you say, trying to find his eyes behind the black visor. 

“I don’t think there’s any of my kind on your world,” he says with a small chuckle and you frown.  “What do you mean, ‘your world’?” 

He shakes his head, “Don’t think about it, it doesn’t matter, I just want to try your dessert now, like you promised,” his hand slips down to yours and he takes it, tugging you back towards the fridge, “Is it done yet?” 

“Uuhm…yeah, I just need to torch the top a bit,” you say, confused, as he opens the fridge door again. 

“I’ll hold it open this time,” Din tilts his head down towards you as you pass him, his hand trailing over your hand as you let go of him. The pie jiggles slightly when you tap it, so you pick it up and carefully bring it to the workbench again. Din closes the fridge door behind you and follows you back. 

“I’ve never smelt anything like it,” he hums as you reach into your tools and pull out the small blow torch. 

“Just wait until you taste it,” you smile, turning on the gas and igniting the torch. Din’s hand flies up to grab at your arm as the flame comes out but stops as he realizes what you’re doing. 

“I have one of those too,” he chuckles, “But mine’s a bit bigger.” 

“If I’d known, I would’ve used yours,” you grin and he shakes his head. 

“It would’ve burnt down your kitchen, it's not really meant for this delicate work,” you can hear the smirk as he leans forward and looks on as you carefully caramelize the top of the meringue, painting the white swirls in toasty brown. 

“There, it’s done,” you say as you turn off the blow torch and put it aside, “you’re very first dessert, a lemon meringue pie.”

“I can’t wait to try it,” he replies as you take down two plates, spoons and your sharpest knife. 

“How do you want to eat it?” you ask, cutting a generous slice for him, bigger than you would serve to the customers. He looks at the pie for a few seconds and then cocks his head and looks at you.  “I trust you,” he says, the smile in his voice evident under the unreadable helmet, “we can sit back to back and you can at least hear my reaction.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with,” you hold out the plate to him and he lifts it up to eye level, looking closely at the bright yellow filling and white meringue on top. 

“I’m sure, I trust you. And I want you to be happy when you hear my reaction.” 

“I hope you like it then,” you laugh, “Or this is going to be very awkward.” 

“If it tastes only half as good as it smells, this will be the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he takes your hand and pulls you down onto the floor, you begin to protest that you have chairs but he just shrugs and sits down, crossing his legs with his back against you. You sink down behind him, crossing your legs too.  “Lean against me, mesh’la,” he says, “and don’t turn around.” 

“I won’t, I promise,” you rush out as you hear a soft woosh of air from the helmet. 

“I know,” he replies, his voice unfiltered and rich again, a low baritone that seems to send a shiver down your spine. The spoon clinks on his plate and he seems to hesitate. 

“I just put my spoon in it?” he asks and it makes you smile. 

“Yes, just get some of everything, and tell me what you think.” 

You hear the rustle of his flight suit as he seems to move around a little, it’s almost as if he’s trying to figure out how to  tackle the slice on his plate. Eventually you hear the spoon scrap over the plate again as he cuts off a bite. 

You listen intently, wishing you could see his expression, as he silently tastes the pie.

“Maker…” he breathes out after a few seconds, the spoon clinking again against the plate and you hear him take another bite. 

“Maker….” his mouth full and the word is muffled, “this is…” the spoon scrapes over the plate and you hear him take one more mouthful. His head leans against yours as he tips it back, sighing deeply. 

“Maker…I’ve never tasted anything like this before,” he groans, “It’s fresh and rich and sweet, how have I never tasted something like this before?” 

“Because you’re a fool, obviously,” you laugh, taking a bite for yourself. You know this pie is good but Din’s reaction makes you feel giddy. Behind you, you hear him take another spoonful, humming as he savors the flavors. 

“I am a fool,” he says after swallowing down another bite, “this is like nothing else. I want to eat only this for the rest of my life.” 

“That might not be the healthiest choice,” you chuckle, “and wait until you try chocolate, that’s on a whole other level again.” 

“Thank you,” he says from behind you, his hand reaching back and finding your arm, “Thank you for making this, I’m grateful.” 

“No trouble, I like seeing how much you enjoy it, especially since you’ve never had dessert before, you strange man.” 

At that you hear him laugh, “I’m not that strange, just maybe on your world, mesh’la.” 

“What does that word mean?” you ask, “Mesh’la?” 

“I’ll tell you, if you give me more pie,” his voice is so cheeky it makes you laugh out loud.

“I’ve got you addicted it seems,” you reply and he chuckles behind you, “I’ll keep my eyes closed and you can take as much as you want, take the whole pie.” 

“I can’t do that,” he says as you feel him shift behind you, getting to his feet. 

“Of course you can, you should take it, I can make another.” 

“I would argue with you, but the pie is too good,” he sinks down behind you again and this time you hear his spoon scrape over the metal of the pie form. 

“Din?” you ask and he stiffens. 

“Yes?”

“Are you eating straight from the form?” 

“Is…Is that wrong?” 

“No,” you laugh, “just a very good review of my pie.” 

He chuckles again, relaxing against your back as he takes another mouthful. Together you sit in silence, eating the pie, cross legged on the floor of your kitchen. Yours is soon gone and you happily listen to your strange guest hum and moan as he all but seems to demolish the rest of the pie. Maybe you should tell him to pace himself, but he seems to be enjoying himself immensely. 

After a few more moments the pie form is placed on the floor and Din groans, “I’m so full, but I want to eat more.” 

“I should’ve told you to go slow,” you smile, “but just take whatever you didn’t finish with you.” 

“Hmm…I…I ate the whole thing,” he says sheepishly and you giggle. 

“You might feel a bit sick in a while, but don’t blame me. But I really love how much you loved it.” 

“I’ll come back for more pie whenever I can,” he says, finding your arm with his hand again, “Please keep your eyes closed.” 

“I’ll make sure to have it on the menu all the time then,” you smile, your eyes squeezed shut. 

Behind you, you feel him move and turn, his warm hand coming up to cup your face, a thumb sliding over your cheek. His lips are soft and gentle as he brushes them against yours, his tongue slipping out, your mouth opening. He tastes of sharp lemon, sugar and butter, and underneath, his own self. He lets himself linger for a few moments, his nose stroking over your cheek, before he pulls back, your eyes still firmly closed. The click of his helmet lets you know that he’s once more covered up and you open your eyes, slightly sad that he can’t let you see his face, you’d love to see what those soft lips look like. 

“I should go,” he says, a tinge of regret in his voice, “I have other things I need to see to before I leave.” He takes your hands and helps you stand, the remains of the pie forgotten on the floor as you follow him out to the front of the bakery. 

“This….was wizard…” he mumbles in a low voice, yet again standing by the door, “I’ve never…experienced something like this.” 

“Me either, Din,” you mumble, suddenly very sad that he’s leaving, “Promise that you’ll come back some day.” 

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise,” he says, his hand, gloved now, comes up to caress your cheek one last time. 

He turns and puts his hand on the handle and something hits you, “Wait, hang on, just wait there.” 

You rush back behind the counter and grab one of your bread bags and quickly put four croissants into it. 

“Here,” you say, holding it out to him as you get back to the door, “For the road, or whatever you’re doing.”

He takes it, cocking his head to look down at the bag before he looks up at you again, “You’re going to make my armor fit very tight.” “Hey, I didn’t tell you to eat the entire pie in one sitting,” you grin and from behind the helmet comes a low chuckle. 

“I still blame you for baking something far too irresistible.”

“Take care, Din, I hope I see you again sometime.” 

“Me too, mesh’la,” he says, giving you a nod and opening the front door. 

Part Three

If you want to try Din's Lemon Meringue Pie, here's the recipe I used!

[the-himawari]

A3! Usui Masumi - Translation [SSR] Rosa Pura Yearning for Love (2/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Masumi: …

Tsuzuru: What are you doing at your desk at this hour? An assignment?

Masumi: No. I’m preparing Director’s present for White Day.

Tsuzuru: (Just what is he planning to do this time…?) (Please don’t tell me he’s going to wrap himself in ribbon and give himself again…) …Don’t stay up too late, okay?

-pause-

Tsuzuru: *Yawn*… (I smell something nice and sweet…) Morning…

Masumi: …Good morning.

Tsuzuru: Woah, what’s with that huge load of cookies?

Masumi: I made them.

Tsuzuru: You did? This early in the morning?

Masumi: Director had a really happy look on her face when we ate cookies together the other day. That's why I decided to give her a tin of homemade cookies. I woke up early so I wouldn’t get caught and I made a test batch.

Tsuzuru: Ah, I see… (So he’s not wrapping himself in ribbons. Thank God…)

Masumi: Well, you’re the only one here so I’ll let you taste test them.

Tsuzuru: Haha. Don’t mind if I do then.

-pause-

Masumi: (…I’ve basically got the cookie baking down pat now.) (Tsuzuru and the rest of Spring troupe said they were good when they tasted them. When I ate them myself, they weren’t bad either.) (I started testing out the wrapping today and I think it’s looking pretty spot on already.) (But I’m looking for a tin and ribbon that’ll suit her tastes even more…)

Kumon: It’s all painted over here!

Kazunari: Ooh! You totes nailed it!

Tenma: Hold it! Don’t let go all of a sudden!

Masumi: (…What’s Summer troupe doing?)

Misumi: Ah! It’s Masumi!

Masumi: What are you doing?

Manager: We asked Tetsuro-san to make some shelves for us.

Tetsuro: …

Manager: We decided to replace the old shelves in the storage room, but we couldn’t find any that were the right size. So then we talked it over with Tetsuro-san… And we were able to get them made for a cheap price!

Kumon: We were just passing by, but it looked pretty fun—so we were all helping out~!

Masumi: I see.

Tetsuro: …

Manager: He said to let him know if there’s anything you’d like him to make!

Masumi: Something I’d like him to make…

Kumon: By the way. It’s been bugging me this whole time, but what’s that tin that you’re holding over there, Masumi-san?

Yuki: It’s pretty cute. Is it for sweets or something?

Masumi: It’s a cookie tin. If you wanna have some, go ahead.

Kazunari: Me, me!

Tenma: Are you sure?

Muku: Wow, thank you so much! I love the moment when you untie the ribbon and pop open the lid…

Masumi: …Wait, really?

Muku: Even if you know what’s inside, that moment you open it is such a rush! And most importantly—.

Masumi: I see. Thank you. And you. I have something to talk to you about.

Tetsuro: …!?

*walks away*

Misumi: Aaand, they left.

Muku: Most importantly, seeing the tin packed full of all the pretty cookies makes me happy… is what I wanted to say…

Yuki: I have no idea what’s going on. But if Masumi’s satisfied, then it’s fine, right?

Tenma: Let’s just carry the shelves for now.

---

previous | next

[witchyleehibernates-fics]

Of Lemon Pies and Feathery Memories

Summary:

“There’s three different parts of this recipe; the crust, the filling, and the topping.” Techno seemed… almost nostalgic as he explained this to Tommy. “For the crust we need graham crackers, sugar, and butter. For the pie filling, we need-” Techno paused, checking the recipe book even as he rummaged through the cupboard for the graham crackers and sugar. Tommy moved to the fridge for the butter. “Lemon juice, condensed milk, and eggs. And the topping is whipped cream.” Tommy excitedly put the butter on the counter as Techno found the sugar and graham crackers. “Do we need the pie filling immediately?” Tommy asked, watching and waiting as patiently as he could as Techno checked the recipe book. “No, we can wait on the filling for the moment.” Techno decided after a few minutes of reading the recipe. Tommy nodded with a smile. “Now, you are going…” Tommy chirped in confusion as Techno turned and picked him up, turning and setting Tommy on the counter. “You will sit here and help, okay?”

Content Warning's/Trigger Warnings: Implied/Referenced Death of a Character, baking, fluff, hurt/comfort maybe?

Characters: Technoblade, TommyInnit

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2,364

Status: Complete

Fanfic Links:

|| Ao3 || Fanfiction Net ||

......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... .........

Tommy jumped up and down with excitement, his wings nearly flapping in his excitement, as Technoblade flipped through the cookbook that he usually had placed on top of the fridge. There were five other cookbooks up there that he never really touched, but this one was even more special in Tommy’s opinion. It was the only one to have sweet treats or desserts.

“Calm down, Theseus,” Techno chuckled quietly, and Tommy pouted as his wings flared suddenly. He’d nearly fallen from a sudden unbalance he had. He was still getting used to walking around with his wings partially extended.

“I’m excited Uncle Techie!” Tommy exclaimed. He brightened when Techno motioned for the chair that was placed next to the counter. Tommy rushed forward and climbed onto the chair, kneeling on it and looking at the page that Techno was on. It looked like it was a kind of cake or brownie, or maybe a cookie? Tommy wasn’t sure, he wasn’t the best at calling out what a treat was.

“What do you think about making something with Lemon?” Techno asked, moving the cookbook and showing the two different recipes that the book was open to. Tommy hummed, leaning against Techno as he stared at the two recipes. One was a Lemon Pie, and the other was Lemon Meringue Cookies.

“Can we do both?” Tommy asked, looking up at Techno as the idea sprouted in his mind. Techno chuckled quietly as he looked at the two recipes.

“Yeah, we can do that.” Tommy was confused on why his voice sounded a little sad while also amused, he glanced up at his Uncle right as Techno had wiped a tear from his eye.

“Uncle Techno? Are you okay?” Tommy asked, moving to sit on the chair, facing him. Techno smiled slightly, nodding as he moved to set the recipe book on the little stand that held the book up for viewing. And to keep it clean and safe from harm.

“I’m okay Theseus,” Tommy made a face at him, getting another quiet laugh from his Uncle. Tommy hated being called Theseus, he much preferred his nickname ‘Tommy’, but his Uncle loved the name, so they compromised… sorta.

Tommy could get whoever he wanted to call him Tommy, but he would allow Techno to call him Theseus, and Techno was the only person allowed to call him that.

“We’ll make the pie first.” Techno told him, and Tommy brightened, nodding as he slid from the chair, though he stumbled slightly when his wings tried to catch the air. “Careful now,” Techno had set a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to help him balance. Tommy smiled up at him as his wings pulled against his back.

“I’m careful! I’m careful!” Tommy made a playful expression before smiling brightly again. Techno huffed a breath of laughter as Tommy grabbed the seat of the chair and pulled it across the kitchen and put it back at the table.

Tommy knew that Techno would end up moving it back later, when Tommy was helping at the counter or something. He watched Techno look at the cookbook once more before moving towards the cupboards.

“What do we need to make the pie?” Tommy asked, moving quickly to stand next to the stove, staring up at Techno. “How do we get started?”

“There’s three different parts of this recipe; the crust, the filling, and the topping.” Techno seemed… almost nostalgic as he explained this to Tommy. “For the crust we need graham crackers, sugar, and butter. For the pie filling, we need-” Techno paused, checking the recipe book even as he rummaged through the cupboard for the graham crackers and sugar. Tommy moved to the fridge for the butter.

“Lemon juice, condensed milk, and eggs. And the topping is whipped cream.” Tommy excitedly put the butter on the counter as Techno found the sugar and graham crackers.

“Do we need the pie filling immediately?” Tommy asked, watching and waiting as patiently as he could as Techno checked the recipe book.

“No, we can wait on the filling for the moment.” Techno decided after a few minutes of reading the recipe. Tommy nodded with a smile. “Now, you are going…” Tommy chirped in confusion as Techno turned and picked him up, turning and setting Tommy on the counter. “You will sit here and help, okay?”

“Okay!” Techno never allowed Tommy on the counters, at least, not typically, so Tommy was excited. Tommy made sure that he was comfortable as Techno went into the cabinet underneath the counter to grab mixing bowls.

“We preheat the oven,” Techno made sure that there was nothing in the oven before setting the temperature that they needed. “And then we have to make graham cracker crumbs, so we take a zip lock bag and we crush graham crackers inside of it.”

“With what? Our hands?” Tommy asked, tilting his head.

“Or a rolling pin.” Techno answered. Tommy hummed as Techno had him lift his feet so that he could grab a larger zip lock bag. Tommy set his feet back down when Techno shut the drawer. Tommy had never been able to sit with Techno when he baked, as typically Techno baked after nightmares and Tommy was asleep during that time.

“Can I do that?” Tommy asked, watching as Techno opened the box of graham crackers and grabbed a package.

“Which part?” Techno asked, a tilt of his head. Tommy made a face at him and Techno laughed slightly. “Yeah, you can crush the graham crackers.” Tommy cheered lightly, smiling brightly once again. “Just let me set everything up, okay Theseus?” Tommy nodded quickly.

He watched as Techno put the graham crackers inside the ziplock bag and made sure there were no pockets of air in the ziplock. He explained it was so that could actually crumble-ize the graham crackers. Tommy hummed happily as Techno searched around for the rolling pin.

“Okay, now, what you’re going to do is take this rolling pin, and you’re going to roll it over the graham crackers until they are crumbs, okay?” Techno asked, and Tommy nodded quickly.

“Yes! Yup! Got it!” Tommy accepted the rolling pin from a hesitant Techno. He carefully set the rolling pin on top of the pile of crackers and his hands on the handles. It was almost startling at the crunching sounds of the graham crackers, though he didn’t let himself falter too much as he got into rolling the pin over the crackers.

“Good,” Techno praised as he moved to continue putting together everything they needed.

Techno watched over Tommy carefully as he measured out the sugar.

There was a pain in his heart as he watched over Tommy. The young Avian will never know his dad, Techno’s best friend. Sometimes, it was hard to be near Tommy, with gold hair and sky blue eyes that were exact replicas of his old friend. And the curls that only belonged to his mother, another close friend of his.

But Tommy was his own person, and Techno had put himself through too much therapy so that he could raise Tommy. His friend would have wanted that, at the very least. Techno offered a small smile as Tommy checked the graham crackers, the move so similar yet entirely foreign as a site.

Tommy had decided that the graham crackers weren’t done yet, and went back to carefully running over the graham crackers. Techno himself had measured out the butter in the meantime, and had it placed in the microwave to melt it. He was just waiting on the graham crackers from Tommy so that he could mix them in with the sugar. Afterwards, they could set to make the filling and then finish the crust.

“Okay! Done!” Tommy chirped.

“Thank you Theseus,” Techno took the rolling pin away so that he could put it away as Tommy picked up the bag of graham crackers. He was inspecting them again, a curious tilt of his head. Techno made a motion for them, and Tommy was quick to pass them over.

“Okay, and now we mix the graham crackers with the sugar.” The microwave went off right after Techno finished speaking, spooking Tommy lightly who trilled in confusion. The reaction was instinctual, Techno knew, but there was a sadness as, for just the moment, Techno saw Philza the first time he’d made this with him. It had startled him too, though Philza had been watching the microwave countdown.

Techno was showing Tommy how to mix the sugar and the graham crackers, not using his hands though he had the memory of Philza trying. He was using a baking spatula, the kind that you’d use to layer frosting.

“When the butter’s a bit cooled off, we’ll mix it with the rest of the pie crust.”

“That doesn’t look like a crust.” Tommy made a face as he looked at the mix of crumbs and sugar.

“Not yet it doesn’t, that’s why we need the butter.” Techno explained, and Tommy hummed in thought. Techno moved the mix off to the side as he pulled another pull forward. Tommy was swinging his feet slightly, his eyes watching all of Techno’s movements. Tommy probably wasn’t even sure just how focused he was on Techno’s movements, much like his mother.

Techno quickly moved to the fridge, which was beside Tommy, and grabbed the lemon juice, condensed milk, and the five eggs they would need. It wasn’t even that they needed the full eggs, they just needed the egg yolks.

Tommy was humming lightly as he watched Techno carefully, bobbing his head slightly as Techno worked. Techno took a deep breath as he checked the recipe again. 1 cup of lemon juice, and 2 cans of the sweetened condensed milk.

“Grab another can of condensed milk from the fridge?” Techno asked, and Tommy chirped in acknowledgement as he turned towards the fridge. Techno knew that Tommy was just savoring the fact that he was sitting on the counter and not getting in trouble. He smiled as Tommy successfully managed to grab the other can of condensed milk without either falling or having to get down.

“There!” Tommy smiled, and Techno took the can gratefully.

“Thank you, good job.” Tommy trilled happily. Techno was sure that Tommy didn’t even realize that he was making bird-like noises in his excitement. Philza often didn’t notice either. Techno smiled at Tommy even as his heart constricted painfully in his chest.

Techno added the lemon juice and the condensed milk to one bowl as he turned to work on getting the egg yolks from the eggs.

“Why are you doing that?” Tommy asked as Techno cracked an egg and careful passed the yolk from half of the shell to the other repeatedly.

“We only need the yolk, so I’m carefully getting the yolk.” Techno explained, and when he decided that he’d separated the yolk from the whites enough, he put the yolk in the Lemon juice and condensed milk bowl and threw away the egg. Techno repeated this two more times as Tommy watched with attentive eyes.

“Why do we need to separate them?” Tommy asked curiously.

“Because that’s what the recipe calls for.” Techno answered.

“Why?”

“Because the two components react with ingredients in different ways.” Techno explained. Tommy made a noise of confusion and Techno chuckled as he reached over and ruffled Tommy’s hair.

“Uncle Techno!” Tommy whined, his hands shooting up to cover his hair. Techno chuffed lightly with a smile that got a laugh out of Tommy. Techno went back to getting the yolks from the last two eggs as Tommy settled back down.

Egg yolks done, Techno slid that bowl back and reached for the pie crust mixture and then grabbed the butter from the microwave. He could feel Tommy’s eyes on him as he added the butter to the pie crust mixture. He was careful as he continued to use the frosting spatula to mix up the mixture, and subtly teaching Tommy how to do it too.

“Why do we have to cook the pie crust?” Tommy asked after Techno grabbed the pie pan.

“So that it becomes a crust instead of a crumble.” Techno answered, setting aside the extra graham cracker crumbs. They’d sprinkle them on top afterwards, Techno decided. He was sure that Tommy would like that, at the very least.

“Oh, okay!” Tommy nodded as he watched Techno. “How long does it have to cook?” Techno put the crust in the pie pan and began to even it out along the bottom and along the sides of the pie pan.

“8 to 10 minutes,” Techno answered as he worked. “And don’t worry, we’re nearly done.” Techno glanced at Tommy, taking note of the yawns that Tommy was fighting. It was getting late, the two of them having started this after dinner.

“Okay.” Tommy nodded slightly, though there was as much energy behind it this time. Techno smiled fondly as he put the pie crust filled pan in the oven. He set a nine minute timer and set that off to the side as Tommy yawned more obviously.

“Now,” Techno grabbed the whisk that he’d pulled out earlier, and started to stir and whisk together the lemon juice, condensed milk, and the eggs. Tommy watched him with eyes that were starting to droop in his exhaustion, and Techno tried to remember if there were times where Philza had been like that.

There were some times like that, that Techno would tease that Philza was getting old over. But that was more in the fall and winter, but never in the spring or summer. It was nearing the end of summer, so Tommy shouldn’t have been this sleepy at night yet. Maybe he was simply getting sick. Techno would have to watch that.

“Go lay on the couch, Theseus,” Techno murmured, and while Tommy whined in disagreement, he did let Techno pick him up and set him on the ground to go do just that. Techno returned to whisking as Tommy curled up on the couch with a throw blanket thrown over top of him.

Techno had no problem finishing the pie on his own, anyways.

[kinfanfiction]

Bernard x Elf!Reader - Chapter 9 - Goodbye

A/N: The final chapter!!! This has been a lot of fun, this fic brought back a lot of writing motivation for me and I’m so glad you guys seem to like it! I plan to make more fics in the future, whether Bernard related or not. I will make a separate post soon will future ideas I have but Idk if I’m ready to be accepting requests yet for anything outside of Bernard fics, but if I’m gonna continue writing fics for him specifically I’ll definitely need requests. Anyways, enjoy! Sorry it’s really short, I’m just using this last chapter to wrap up the story.

     For the remaining hours of Christmas Eve, you and Bernard stayed up kissing and talking about your feelings. Eventually, you grew tired and began to drift off. Bernard kissed you goodnight as your eyes grew heavy and decided perhaps it was too soon to stay the night, but you pulled him close, making it clear you thought different. He wrapped his arms around you until you fell asleep. Then, he removed the necklace from your neck, setting it on your nightstand so it didn’t hurt you, he wrapped the blanket around the both of you, and then he went back to holding you until he fell asleep too. 

     You woke beside him, as he still slept with his arms around you. Your eyes widened and in your first few seconds of lucidity you struggled to remember the events of the night before. Once you did, you relaxed. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy to get used to. You carefully slipped out of his grasp, getting up and walking to the bathroom to get ready and change into your work clothes. Once you were done with that, you went into the kitchen and made breakfast for the two of you. You made a new batch of oatmeal cookies, and the smell of them baking in the oven woke Bernard up. 

     It took him a moment to remember what had happened too, but as he slowly began taking in the sight of being in your bed with you across the small house in the kitchen, he did. You were still making a couple hot cups of cocoa as he got up, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing your head. He was so quiet when approaching you that you jumped a little when he touched you. “Oh! Good morning!” You said with a surprised chuckle, turning to face him and giving him a quick kiss before returning to making cocoa. 

     Bernard let go of you, understanding through your body language that you were still processing everything. He had years to think of what a relationship with you would look like, and those ideas had only recently appealed to you and they were already starting to unfold. To him, everything as it was felt long awaited. To you, it was sudden. He knew you’d need space and time to get used to the change in dynamic.

     Soon, the cookies were done and you put two on a plate for each of you, and soon after the cocoa was done and you made two cups. You sat down by the fireplace and quietly ate as you stared into the flames. Bernard sat beside you and was silent for a little while. Over the years, you’d grown comfortable with just sitting silently beside each other. You both thought to yourselves for a while before either one of you spoke. You reveled in the safety you felt around him, he read your every move with ease, he knew you well. To you, that was everything. To be understood thoroughly for who you were, to have all your boundaries respected without even having to voice them. He made it his mission to make you feel comfortable, and you couldn’t be more relieved that this was the case.

Bernard thought about what your next steps could be as a couple. Not that being your best friend and being your partner were extremely different, but he just thought it might be nice to do something that he knew had been on your minds for a while, in spite of you only mentioning it out loud recently.

     “So.. remember when you talked about wanting to go on a vacation?” Bernard finally spoke up, immediately drawing your attention away from the fire. 

     “Mhm?”

     “Why don’t we start it today? When Santa gets back, let’s request time off, a week, maybe 2, and we can just go.”

     “On Christmas day? Isn’t that kind of bad timing since he’s going to go be with his family?”

     “We have always done well in ensuring that the current Santa, and the Santa’s before him have gotten a vacation, I think it’s time he ensures we get ours. We’ll let the younger elves practice taking care of things without us for when we eventually retire.”

     “Hmmm.. I don’t know.. it’s kind of sudden for us to request a vacation don’t you think?”

“I mean, sure, but when have we ever done anything that was spontaneous?”

“When have you ever wanted to do something spontaneous?”

“Well, you know what they say.. love makes you want to be spontaneous!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s not the saying.”

He grinned, “It is now. So, what do you think?”

“I hate to say it, because this is not an organized event- and the version of you I swear I knew a week ago would be furious with you now for that- but I think I’m in.”

“You think?”

“Not I think- I’m in. We definitely need a vacation, and a little bit of spontaneity every now and then can’t hurt.”

“Great! Let’s get our well deserved vacation as our Christmas gift from Santa and pack our bags. We can go anywhere you want. It’ll give us time to process a change in our relationship, and time to see places outside of the North Pole.”

     After breakfast, Bernard went home and changed into his more casual clothes, and then the two of you walked together to the workshop. You had slept in and spent your time getting to work since it was your one official day off, so by the time you got to Santa’s office he had already been back for a couple hours. Charlie was talking to him when you first walked in, but when he saw you two he quickly stopped.

     “Santa, I don’t often have requests, and I especially never request anything on Christmas, but I have one to make today.”

     Santa looked confused, and gestured for him to go on with his request.

     “Y/n and I would like to take a vacation. In the 800 years we’ve worked here, and the 1600 years we’ve both been alive, we’ve never taken a vacation and we’ve never left the North Pole. All other elves our age have retired by now, and we haven’t even waded in the waters of the world. I hope that perhaps, as your Christmas gift to us you could... let us take 2 weeks off?” Bernard built a little bit of an argument behind his request, but Santa looked as if he had made up his mind on his answer as soon as he suggested vacation.

     “I mean it’s short notice.. but y’know what? Of course you can! You can take the sleigh if you need. You’re my two hardest working elves, you deserve time off.” He agreed with a smile. You and Bernard both felt a sense of relief wash over you, and you looked at Bernard with a bright smile on your face.

     “Thank you so much, Santa, this means a lot.” You spoke, unable to hide your excitement. 

     You left, but once again Bernard was held back. “Does this mean you finally told her?” Santa asked with a knowing grin.

     “I did, Sir.” He confirmed with an excited nod.

     The two of you packed in your houses, and then you met with your bags. You put your necklace back on, and he packed his teddy bear. You were ecstatic about finally getting to travel. You walked together to borrow Santa’s sleigh and reindeer, putting your bags in the back and taking off. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Are we stuck on Iceland?” You questioned for clarification.

     “We’re not stuck anywhere, if you want to go to Iceland, we’ll go, if you change your mind halfway there, we’ll change course.” He confirmed with a smile. 

     “This is gonna be incredible, I can’t wait to come back with stories of our adventures to share with the other elves!”

     “I can’t wait to experience a new adventure with you.”

     The two of you couldn’t stop smiling as you flew away from the North Pole. You were so happy to be with him. The comfort he gave you even through all these new circumstances made you feel all the more ready for them. You didn’t know what the next two weeks would look like, or the next 200 years, but you knew you wanted them to be spent with him. 

[sl-newsie]

Bonus: All Hallows Eve (Spot Colon x Female Newsie) 🎃

(Takes place the fall after the strike)

“By the pricking of my thumb something wicked this way comes!” Danny cackles as he chases the young Brooklyn newsies around the lodging house. 

It’s the official day, All Hallows Eve, and for some reason this holiday is a big deal to some of the other newsies. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’s never really been into this stuff, because to me it seems like a waste-a time.

“Come play with us, Becca!” Ness squeals as she hugs my legs. “Danny’s gonna get us!”

I set down the pie I just baked and smile down at her. “There ain’t noth’n to be afraid of, Ness. All this talk-a witches and ghosts is just silly talk.”

“Aw c’mon, Becky! Show a little Halloween spirit!” Bucky calls from the couch.

“Are you gonna come with us tonight?” Binx asks with plead’n eyes.

What she’s talk’n ‘bout is the Halloween party planned in Manhattan. There’s a small neighborhood that’s planned a gathering for the little ones with cider and cookies, and games like bobbing for apples. I’m all for encourag’n fun for the kids, but I don’t really understand Halloween.

“Maybe,” I say with an uncertain tone. 

“We can have our own mischief,” a teas’n voice behind me says as strong arms wrap around my waist. “Whaddya say, Beauty?”

I lean back into Spot’s chest with a blissful smile. “You into this whole spook thing too, Spot?”

“Why not? It’s an excuse to scare people.”

Just as I turn to smirk at his childish intentions and press a deep kiss to his lips, the door flies open and a wild Race sprints in. He sees me and Spot, and a wicked grin spreads over his face.

“My my, what have we here? Becca ‘nd Spot get’n into some Halloween shenanigans?” Spot gives him a warn’n look and he holds up his hands. “At ease, Colon! I’s just here to pick up the kids for the party. You’s come’n too, right Becs?”

“She’s not into this ‘whole spook thing,’” Danny taunts from the kitchen.

I roll my eyes. “I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to. Your face says it all.”

But Race understands I’s never been into Halloween, so thankfully he takes away the edge. “Don’t worry, Becs. I’ll make sure everyone’s safe. You can stay here or at our lodging house if ya want. Crutchy’s gonna be stay’n behind too.”

I give him a grateful smile and tilt my head in thought. “I donno, Race… I might stop by later. I’ll see how it goes.”

He nods. “Happy Halloween, Becca.”

All the Brooklyn kids pile out and follow him down the docks, leave’n me ‘nd Spot.

“Ya know, for be’n so into into theatre stuff and be’n friendly with kids I’d think you’s would like Halloween.”

I sigh and bring a hand to my head. “Spot, I… I’s never been around all this Halloween stuff. My fadda only allowed me to celebrate Christmas and Easter but all odda holidays were off-limits. I know it’s fun for kids, but when I see it… it doesn’t seem right.”

Spot steps over and gently wraps me up in a hug, rest’n his head on my shoulder. “You don’t gotta think of it like that, um… Think of it like one day you can pull multiple pranks. But if you don’t like it then we don’t godda go with ‘em-”

I lean up and press a quick kiss to his lips. “No. I wanna go, Spot. I never got to be a kid on Halloween, and I don’t wanna seem boring. And maybe pull some pranks too.”

His eyes spark at the thought-a mischief. “You’s many things, Beauty. But boring ain’t one-a them. However, since you brought it up…” He lets me go and scoots off down the hall. “Close your eyes!”

I smile at his childlike enthusiasm and bring my hands to my face. “They’re closed!”

I sense him walk back over, withholding laughter. “Alright… open ‘em!”

I open my eyes, coming face-to-face with a carved pumpkin float’n on a white sheet. The scene is so sudden I don't even have time to process my reaction. My fight instinct kicks in and I punch the glow’n pumpkin, send’n it fly’n across the room and reveal’n Spot’s shocked head.

“Jeez, Rebecca! I ain’t gonna hurt ya!”

Before I answer I sprint over and put out the pumpkin’s candle. “Sorry, sorry! But since when is it normal to put a candle in a pumpkin?! And why the heck does the pumpkin have a face?!”

He takes the sheet off and starts getting defensive. “Because that’s what people do for All Hallow’s Eve! They carve pumpkins ‘nd turnips, and dress up!” He thinks for a minute, then chuckles. “How can you handle beat’n up the Delancies but can’t handle me in a sheet?”

I roll my eyes and stiffly hand him the pumpkin. “Just forget it. The costume’s great, I guess. I hope Race flips out when he sees it!”

Spot slinks an arm around me and nips my ear. “That’s the idea, Beauty. To scare the liv’n daylights outta them! So do ya wanna go?”

His tone makes my heart skip and find new enthusiasm. “Yes sir, Mister Colon!”

He smirks. “Then let’s get you a costume!”

The streets-a New York are bustl’n to-and-fro, much more busy than the nightlife I’s used to. Kids is dressed in sheets and pointed hats, make’n me even more confused. Thankfully my own outfit hides my mixed-up state. Spot’s helped me dress in a pitch-black dress with ashes rubbed on my face to give me a ghoulish appearance. 

“And you’s sure this ain’t make’n me look stupid?” I ask again.

“You look gorgeously hideous, Beauty.” His voice is muffled under his pumpkin head.

“Um… thanks?” We get to the Manhattan Lodging House and I’m excited to see Crutchy sit’n in his usual spot in the window. “Let’s sneak in the back! Kloppman’s gone for the night so he won’t care.” 

As quiet as possible in clumsy sheets, we make our way to the back door and up the stairs. No one else seems to be here. Crutchy’s still at the window, and we sneak closer, closer…

“Crutchy… Crutchy…” I chant in a haunting tone.

His head jerks up and when he sees us, Spot jumps up and shrieks. Crutchy’s reaction is to jump and run, only to slip on his bad leg and crash.

My hand flies to my mouth, smear’n the ash on my cheek, and I run over to help Crutchy up. “Oh my God- Crutchy are you ok? Jesus Spot, ya can’t do that!”

“What the- Becca, is that you?” Crutchy’s petrified face melts into one of joy. “Ya dressed up for Halloween! That’s a foist. Does that mean you’s go’n to the party?”

I nod. “Sure does, Crutch. Why aren’t you there?”

“Um, well… My leg’s been do’n bedda and I didn’t wanna risk fall’n with all those kids around. Though I guess I still ended fall’n since you’s here.”

Spot ‘nd I exchange guilty looks. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

He waves it off. “No no- that was great! I got a good scare, and I get to see you all dressed up! What the heck, I’ll go with ya!”

Crutchy grabs his crutch and starts make’n his way to the stairs, and with a little help we all exit the lodging house and start walk’n to the party. I can tell we’s close when I start see’n more and more kids and hear’n grow’n laughter. We turn the corner and-

“Oh my God.” My mouth drops.

All around me is buzz’n activity, filled with what looks like every child in Manhattan and every house front decorated in carved turnips. Small pastries and apples are be’n passed around, while some adults perform shadow puppets.

I feel Spot squeeze my shoulder. “This is what Halloween’s about, Rebecca. Sorry you’s never got to see it.”

“Hey, there’s Davey and Les!” Crutchy shouts over the noisy crowd.

He limps off to join the ‘Hattan newsies, and I turn back to Spot. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

I lower down and hide under Spot’s sheet, then we both slowly follow Crutchy. I can’t see anyth’n so I’m trust’n Spot not to send me walk’n into a wall. 

“Boo!” Spot yells and I hear all kids scream. “Hiya, guys! Thought I’d stop by for a good scare!”

“Oh God… It’s only Spot,” I hear Skittery catch his breath.

“How can ya see in that thing?” Blink asks.

I take my cue and jump out from under the sheet, shriek’n like a banshee. All the boys jump away and scream, and Mush even goes as far as to dive behind a barrel. After they take a moment to breathe and calm down, Race is the foist to recognize me.

“Well I’ll be a son-of-a-witch. Becca, ya finally joined in! All dressed up and… covered in soot? Huh. Gotta say, that makes you look dead.”

“Good, then it’s woik’n,” I cackle in a wicked tone. “I’s start’n to like Halloween!”

“Becca you gotta try these!” Davey hands me a small cake. “It’s a soul cake.”

I cautiously take it and smell. “What’s in it?”

“It’s not real souls, obviously. Lots of these traditions stem from Celtic traditions. To them, All Hallows Eve marked the end of summer and the harvest and the beginning of the dark, cold winter, a time of year that was often associated with human death. The Celts believed that tonight the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred. During Samhain, people wore masks and built large bonfires to scare away ghosts. But in the past century there’s been a movement to make Halloween a more fun, community-based holiday.”

I blink. It’s as if Davey’s just recited a textbook. I guess school’s been keep’n him busy. 

“And what about the, uh, squash?” I point to the pumpkins and turnips.

Davey doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, that? The Irish started carving turnips in response to the legend of Stingy Jack, a man who was condemned to walk the Earth for eternity after a bungled ploy with the devil. The turnips are set outside homes to frighten Jack away. When the potato famine occurred, the immigrants brought the tradition with them.”

Huh. I guess there is an explanation behind all the Halloween stuff.

By now Les, Sarah, Snipeshooter, Specs, and Jack have all shown up too.

“Is that Becs, or am I really see’n a ghost?” Jack laughs as he tackles me into a big hug. “Good to see ya, sis!”

Just then someone starts playing a eerie tune on a violin

“Have you ever listened to the Danse Macabre?” Davey asks.

“Jeez, Mouth. How many random Hallows Eve facts do you got?” Race groans.

“Well I for one am interested. What’s that?” I asks with curiosity.

“In 1874, French composer Camille Saint-Saëns wrote a tone poem called ‘Danse Macabre’ that takes place on Halloween. It’s really ghoulish music that tells the story of the Grim Reaper waking at midnight to host a Halloween dance with skeletons.”

“Oh. What a way to change the mood, Davey. Now ya got me think’n ‘bout death!”

Davey simply shrugs. “Halloween is a time to face your fears. Embracing darker elements like death can be healthy.”

“Hey, that gives me an idea!” Race pipes up. “Let’s all say what we’s most scared of.”

“And why on Earth would we do that?” Skittery asks glumly.

“‘Cause Mouth’s the one that brought up the whole ‘embrace fear’ thing! C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

By now odda newsies have started crowd’n togedda and we all chose to sit around a nearby barrel fire, which adds the best lighting.

“Alright then, Race. Since you’s so keen on share’n fears, you go foist!” Jack nudges him forward.

Race kicks away a pebble and thinks for a minute. “Heights.”

Mush bursts out laugh’n and claps his hands. “Good one, Racer! Really, what is it?”

He shakes his head. “I’s serious, Mush. One time Specs pranked me and hid a chair up on the lodging house roof. When Kloppman asked me to get it, Specs jumped out and pushed me toward the roof edge. In a split second  my mind flashed to me fall’n off, and ever since I’s been freaked out by heights, and- no laugh’n, Specs!” Race roars at the newsies behind me, who’s try’n so hard not to laugh.

“B- B- But your face was so priceless!” Specs wails.

Race scowls. “Someone else go now before I soak this idiot!”

“I’ll go,” Davey raises his hand. “I’m afraid of failure.”

“Uh, Davey? I think we can all tell.” Kid Blink clasps a hand on his shoulder. “That ain’t no surprise.”

“Your turn, Becca!” Boots pushes me forward and I feel all eyes turn on me

My biggest fear… God, do I even tell them? But the oddas have gone through with it, so I should too.

“M… My fadda finding me and dragging me back, never be’n able to see you guys again.”

Everyone goes quiet and the atmosphere gets a hint colder. All the guys look at each odda with unreadable eyes and I feel like an outsider once again. They always seem to forget I’s a runaway, one who’s run away from a cruel rich life. 

“That ain’t noth’n to worry about, Rebecca.” Jack gives me a tight hug. “We’d never let that happen.”

“Yeah! We wouldn’t let ya go without a fight!” Mush backs him up.

Spot’s strong arms pull me into him. “If anybody thinks I’d let you go, they’s dead wrong Beauty.”

I show my quiet affection by lean’n into him with my eyes closed in a calm state. “Thanks, Sean.”

“Now that Becca’s gone, it’s your turn Spot!” Les speaks up.

The King of Brooklyn stiffens and I can tell he’s just as noivous about tell’n his fear as I am. He looks down at me, then says: “Beauty, losing you is the scariest thing I could ever imagine.”

His woods make my heart melt. I’s Spot’s biggest fear? It makes me grateful for his deep luv for me and kinda embarrassed that I has this much influence on him.

Unfortunately Race has to end this with a blunt comment. “Spotty, no offense, but that’s one-a the cheesiest things I’s ever hoid. What’re ya really scared of?”

If I weren’t here hold’n him, Spot would already be soak’n Race faster than any bull.

“Spot, Spot, it’s fine.” I soothe him. “You don’t gotta say more.”

Frustrated, he shakes his head. We both know he’s gotta keep a reputation, but can’t back down from this.

“Fire,” he muddas quietly. At foist no one says anyth’n. They won’t understand why. “After I escaped my old home, I dreamed about fire every single night for years. That’s why I swim so much ‘cause I can’t get too hot without freak’n out. I can handle small fires now, but they still make me jittery.” His expression shifts from distant to stern. “And if any-a yous tell anybody, I’ll soak ya ‘til you’s can’t walk for a week.”

I take his hand again and give it a squeeze to show he’s not alone, and thank goodness Jack takes my hint and continues the conversation.

“I got one: the Refuge. I know it’s been a year, but just the thought-a be’n back there locked up in the dark. Thank God they’s been shut down.”

We all nod in agreement, then Crutchy speaks up.

“I agree, but I’s got a fear bigger than the Refuge. Rats.”

“Really?” Mush asks. “Why? We sees ‘em in the streets all the time.”

“Yeah, but the ones in the Refuge is bigger. And more angry.”

Most-a the activity has died down, leave’n our barrel be’n the only light. By now it’s gotten much darker, and when Les starts yawn’n Davey sees that as the time to leave.

“We better get going. Ma and Pa are expect’n us soon.” Sarah goes to kiss Jack on the cheek, then the 3 Jacobs siblings walk off into the night. 

“We should be head’n off too.” 

Jack starts heard’n the ‘Hattan newsies back, but not before everybody gives me one last hug. “Happy Halloween, Becs!”

“See ya later! Carry’n the banner!” I call.

“Carry’n the banner!” They all shout back.

Spot wraps an arm around me and we start walk’n back to Brooklyn.

“So how was your foist Halloween?” he asks.

A smile creeps onto my face and I lean over to kiss his cheek. “Very exciting! I’m so glad I joined in this year!”

We get to the bridge and Spot suddenly picks me up and swings me around. “Happy Halloween, Beauty. You’s the best treat I could ever ask for.”

He leans me down for a deep kiss, then I can’t help but smirk. “Who’s to say I’m done play’n tricks tonight, Spotty?”

His eyebrows fly straight up. “You’s say’n I get a trick? Or a treat?”

I tilt my head. “Huh. ‘Trick or treat.’ Kinda has a ring to it.”

Spot kisses my forehead and shrugs. “Eh, I don’t think it’ll catch on.”

[toasecretsanta]

Coffee beans and labeling machines

A gift for @ithinkiamafungi written by @crystalcatgamer using the prompt  “sunflower siblings coffee shop au”!

It starts out simple. Apollo watches Meg water her plants, unrooting whatever weeds dare to grow in her garden.

All of a sudden, she turns to him, soil on her cheek and hands on her hips. "Hey, Lester, let's start a coffee shop."

Apollo blinks dumbly at her, processing the sentence. "What."

"It would be fun." Meg shrugs, tugging off her gardening gloves. "Siblings have been getting into baking lately, so that's pastries down, and there has been talk about coffee machines. It'll be good as pocket change, too."

"Meg. I'm a god." Apollo emphasises the last word, folding his arms. "What do you want? Another unicorn? Glasses? I'll get them."

"It would look good on my profile. 'Girl starts up her own business with the help of some dude.'" Meg continues like Apollo hadnt spoken, trudging back to the house. Apollo takes a moment to actually consider the idea as he follows Meg. It's not entirely out of reach; some strings here and there and he could certainly have everything ready for Meg to live out her coffee shop dreams.

"It would be fun to do something together. Give everyone else things to do too. Rehabilitation?" Meg muses idly, turning on him sharply. "Now, are you in or not, Lester?"

Apollo tilts his head and cracks a smile, golden eyes turning up at the edges. "Sure! I think we'll do okay!"

———

"But consider: this."

"Meg, we are not choosing that dreadful shade of purple; all our customers will get eye strain."

"Who's the manager here?"

"Me?!"

"No, I don't like that. We're co-managers now, in where I do the fun decorating and you do the paperwork."

"Meg, no-"

———

"Why are there so many coffee machines."

"Shut up and pick one!"

"I can't- ooh this one has a whipped cream option! That one can make- Meg, put that down, we are getting one that can at least make a latte."

———

"Do the beans really make a difference?"

"One more word out of you and you can get out of my garden. Don't listen to him, he's an idiot."

"I know I suggested growing our own coffee beans, but do we really need to-"

"Yes. Now get out of my garden."

———

"How's the testing going?"

"I told them we were gonna be selling their cookies and they started freaking. They've made seven batches by now. Here, take over ingredient hunting."

"What? Why- mmm?!"

"That's from one of the practice batches, macadamia nut. How's it taste?"

"Ack- oh, this is delicious! Why did you shove it in my mouth, though?"

"Grocery shopping and you can have the rest of the tray. Get mini marshmallows too, I'm not serving our customers just hot chocolate."

"Fineee!"

———

"Talk to me, I'm bored."

"Meg, dear, I'm trying to finalize the last details."

"And?"

"Just five minutes with you off my shoulder while I'm working, thanks."

———

"I hate this music. Change it."

"But it's a classic! It-"

"I don't want to hear the rant, just change it."

———

"Meg. Put on a smile." Apollo weedles, poking at his friend. "Customer service smile, come on!"

Meg looks him right in the eye, adjusting her apron. "No."

Apollo crumples to the ground dramatically, head in hands. "Our business is going to fail because of you."

"Whatever. Is everything in place?" Meg rolls her eyes (fondly) and trots out of the kitchen to the counter, Apollo trailing after her.

"This place is now a demigod safe haven!" Apollo gestures proudly at the cafe, where a few weapons are displayed on the walls, acting as decorations, to the hidden traps that can be sprung from a control panel under the cashier. Combined with the protection magic Apollo had gotten some friends to put up, this place worked well as a hideout for half-bloods to take a breather and have a hot drink.

Both of them jump when the door opens with the jingle of its bell, and Will Solace strides in with a sunshine smile with Nico by his side, face set in the usual deadpan expression.

"Will!" Apollo lights up at the sight of his son. "You're our first customer, actually!"

"Hey dad! Yeah, me and Nico wanted to check it out first and grab a spot. You're going to get a whole bunch of customers soon." Will chuckles, resting his hands on the counter.

"Word spread pretty quickly once people heard you two were starting up a cafe that would be able to protect demigods in a pinch." Nico adds, looking over at the glass display of their various pastries and sandwiches with interest. "Hey, did you make these?"

"Yep, you should see how the kitchen's at back home." Meg answers, and Apollo shudders at the words. That had been a mess he wouldn't want to see again, even if he could clean it with a single snap.

"Alright, I- dad, why's your name on the coffee machine?" Will says suddenly, leaning over the counter to squint at the said machine opposite him, which does indeed have 'Apollo' spelt out on it in large font.

"Meg here wasn't treating it with the respect it deserved." Apollo huffs, shooting the unimpressed girl a glare. "So I took the matter - and the labeling machine - into my own hands. Now she can't touch it because it does indeed have my name on it."

"On that note, the flour is named crack." Meg pipes in helpfully, and Nico stiffles a snicker.

"Valid." Will grins, eyes flickering around the place to take it all in. "I love what you did to this place, though! Those weapons work, right?"

"Forged from Celestial Bronze by a friend of mine!" Apollo chirps, mind flashing to the very long and tedious ordeal that was getting Hesphateus to make items a demigod could handle. The god was annoyingly offended at the thought of making something so 'inferior' so as to speak.

"I want a chocolate chip cookie and a hot chocolate, thanks." Nico states, fishing out his wallet. "Do we get a discount for family?"

"It's on the house." Apollo assures, and gets jabbed in the stomach by his dear co-manager for his kindness. "Hey! I'm not going to make my son and his boyfriend pay!"

"You realise everyone who comes here will be from the camp, right?"

"No, it's okay Dad, we'll pay." Will cuts in, looking up at the menu. "Ooh, I'll have the honey lemon soda and the meat pie, thanks!"

"Coming right up." Meg drones, marching off to dish out the food while Apollo quickly moves to make the drinks.

The door jingles again; suddenly it's like all of Camp Half-Blood is flooding into the coffee shop, chattering among themselves and lining up with a hollered greeting.

Apollo exchanges a glance with Meg, smiling as widely as he can and taking in the soothing noise of his friends, and gets to work.

[dokidokitsuna]

Dream Journal #04: How to kill kids from across dimensions

...I think I have my weirdest dreams after I’ve been insomniac. Last night I was up until almost 6AM, and a similar thing happened with Journal #02, so I’m thinking there’s a pattern here...

Anywhom, I don’t really wanna talk too much about this weird dream; it was pretty all over the place. But in between learning a cheerleading-style yoga routine led by Michelle Obama and going to Party City to find Halloween pumpkins with real human eyes...there was a little story-dream that had a pretty interesting plot. ^^

It begins with this cute little girl who was apparently walking on a frozen lake or something, and the ice breaks and she falls in and almost drowns. And it’s like, this has got to be the unluckiest girl in the world, because every time she comes close to pulling herself out, another chunk of ice breaks and she falls back into the water. She knows how to swim, she’s strong enough to get out, but it’s like the universe insists on making sure she wears herself out and/or succumbs to hypothermia before she gets a chance.

We cut to a group of adults sitting in a dark room, watching this sad scene on a screen, as if they’re all patiently waiting for the girl to die. A heavyset older man with a big white beard stands in front of the group, staring intently, as if he in particular is invested in the outcome.

Then, all of a sudden, a short-haired woman sitting in the background very sternly tells him to “stop it”, as if he’s responsible for tormenting this poor girl...which we soon find out is the case, through their ensuing discussion (which I don’t remember). In the background, we can see the girl finally dragging herself to safety, coughing and sobbing, as the adults are distracted by their talk.

As I said, I don’t really remember how, but it’s somewhere around this point that we learn that these people in the dark room are basically gods, or at least in control of the universe that the little girl is living in. And that little girl is the daughter of bearded man and the short-haired woman.

She used to live on the same plane of existence as the two of them, but for some reason they couldn’t keep her there. And instead of destroying her completely, they decided to sort of ‘reincarnate’ her into the mortal world, to start over with a new family and new life. However...over time, her father in particular started to dislike the idea of her living out there away from them, for reasons we aren’t privy to (yet). So he started making these traumatic accidents happen to her, in the hopes that one of them would put an end to her. Her mother seemed to be against this, but not completely...like, although she was opposed to this particular murderous plot, she didn’t seem to care about the girl that much otherwise. The parents’ motivations were left pretty nebulous, but I have a feeling my dream-brain intended do some more work on them, based on this next (and last) act of the story.

Part 2 begins, and there’s been a timeskip: instead of winter, it’s now summer in the place the girl lives, and the girl is no longer a little girl, but an older boy.

He’s been having some weird dreams lately about things happening in the world that he shouldn’t know about, and childhood memories from strange places that shouldn’t exist. He knows they’re his because he’s in them as the little girl he used to be, but his home looks different and his parents look different...everything is dark and scary, and he has this strange feeling that these memories are somehow from before he was born.

He decides to put it out of his mind, and instead goes around town asking people questions, to at least confirm his apparent clairvoyant abilities. And suddenly he remembers one odd childhood memory that does take place in the real world, where he somehow made a gift for his parents (some chocolate cookies, I think) appear out of thin air.

And then out of nowhere, his little brother (???) appears and claims that he baked those cookies, “don’t you remember?” And he goes into a whole story about how he and his mother made them and tied them up in a bow and tricked the boy into thinking that they just spontaneously appeared, and they explained it later on and they all had a good laugh about it.

And the boy seems to accept this, and finds that he can now recall the memories his little brother is suggesting. But it’s all very hazy, and he’s secretly not sure if he actually remembers that it was all a funny little game, or if he just thinks he remembers. And he’s also secretly not sure if he remembers having a little brother at all before 2 seconds ago. o_O

We cut again to the adults in the dark room, where it’s revealed that (surprise surprise) this ‘little brother’ is not a real person, just a meat-puppet created by them to start covering their tracks and explain away their son’s growing suspicions about who he really is. And his real mother and father are arguing again, something along the lines of “you should’ve just let me kill him in the first place” or something like that. ^^ Parents, amirite?

And unfortunately, that’s where the dream ends, just as the plot would probably start to get rolling...it’s a cool premise for a story, but I dunno if I would want to write it. Although, I do have a prospective novel in the works where something like this could happen, including a pair of god-adjacent parents who might just be callous enough to go “our daughter is too much of a security risk, let’s murder her and/or gaslight her while we attempt to rewrite her brain”...maybe I can save the idea for a future plot point...

[splinteredbone]

baker’s choice

masterlist / navigation / @splinteredmercies

pairing: eddie munson x reader

contains: no spoilers for s4. mentions of drug consumption, edible production, and profanity. not edited, we die like men.

wc: 1.13 k

author’s note: inspired by that one episode of derry girls where michelle makes edibles but they’re scones. anyway, please enjoy girlboss!reader ‘cause sis is literally running an edible empire in the sleepy town of hawkins all by themselves!! lmk if i should continue this. i might because i think the ending is lacking but i literally wrote this while at my graduation ceremony lol. (p.s., all my reader inserts are gender neutral, poc friendly, and very vague with the physical characteristics unless stated otherwise.)

Daylight had ceased from entering your kitchen hours ago, your counter was littered with baking utensils, and you fought the urge to lick the double chocolate brownie batter off the whisk.

Under any other circumstances, you would lick some of it off before throwing it in the sink to be washed, food safety be damned. But you knew better. The thick batter on the whisk wasn’t the usual. Your recipe had been altered to include one more ingredient: weed.

You didn’t like how weed made you feel while high—anxious, paranoid, and grogginess. The side effects never changed whether you smoked it or ate it. But, fuck, did edibles bring in money.

Not that you really needed it. Both of your parents worked good jobs, but it sent them miles away from Hawkins for months at a time and they sent a hefty check every two weeks. It left you alone with nothing to do, so baking—cooking in general, really—became a mechanism to avoid the reality of your house being way too big for one teenager in high school.

You set your timer to twenty-five minutes and placed it back on the counter. It’d be enough time to clean up before sitting down to cut up brownies and individually wrap them with plastic wrap and your labels.

You paused when you realized Jenny’s cookies were still sitting on the dining room table. Christ, I forgot to call her. She’ll have my head, it’s for her fucking birthday party.

Shaking your head, you went to your telephone to call her about the cookies. Meanwhile, you thought about how you had to go to Eddie Munson’s trailer to get more weed. Ugh.

.

It was nearing midnight when you pulled up to Munson’s trailer. You didn’t want to be here, not so late and on a Friday night, but you needed to replenish your weed stock. You had a large order to be prepped for Saturday night. (Or was it for tonight?)

You exited your car and were about to knock when Munson’s door swung open.

The lanky man leaned on the doorway, watching as you squinted at the sudden amount of light. “You look like shit.”

“It’s midnight and I’ve been awake since five. I think I can allow myself to look like shit, Munson.” You pushed past him and entered the trailer. “I’m here for the usual.”

You scanned your surroundings and realized it was… neater. Frowning briefly, you turned back to Munson, only to see his eyes snap back to your face.

No wonder he was quiet, you mused, not at all bothered that he was checking you out.

You were wearing shorts—ones you had made yourself from an old pair of Levi’s that had become too stained from mud and grass to be salvaged—and a band t-shirt from middle school that somehow still fit you.

“Nice shirt.”

You stared at Munson for a moment and then looked down. The painted faces of KISS stared up at you. “Thanks. I think it’s a real shame they stopped painting their faces. It’s what really brought that mysterious appeal to them, you know?”

You looked back up at Munson. A beat of silence ensued. You became worried and leaned toward him. “Hey, are you okay? I just want my weed, I can always come back in the morning.”

He blinked, seemingly coming out of a daze. He didn’t seem high though. You watched as he turned away, mumbling something to himself that you could not decipher.

“What do you even do with all this?” Munson questioned as he brought you what you wanted.

“Why are you asking?”

“I doubt you can smoke it all, not with how frequently you’re here.” He tilted his head to the side and smiled. “And I asked around too. No vices of any kind. So, what do you do with all that weed?”

You fought back a shiver at hearing Munson say your name—softly, intimately, downright reverently—at the end of his question.

“My only vice is sex.” The statement fell out of your mouth faster than your brain could stop it. Horrified, you sputtered, “That’s a joke—just a really, really dumb joke—”

Munson laughed, harder than you’d ever seen him laugh. Something about his laugh made you feel better. You laughed with him and felt your shoulders relax.

“I make edibles,” you answered his question from earlier. “I sell to the people who don't like smoking it, don’t want their parents finding any buds laying around, or too lazy to make it themselves.”

“And people actually buy it?”

You scoffed. “I always come back to buy more weed, don’t I?”

You grabbed the bag out of Munson’s hand with a little more heat than necessary. Throwing the money down on the nearest flat surface, you started walking out. “See you around, Munson.”

“Wait—! I didn’t mean—” You turned around with raised eyebrows. Munson continued sputtering, “I just think that it’s… cool. That’s all.”

He leaned on the doorway to the trailer, and you could tell he was trying to look nonchalant.

An idea popped up in your head. Debating with yourself, you looked between Munson and your car.

You motioned toward your car. “Want to try one?”

He jumped away from the doorway and made a beeline to the passenger seat. “Thought you’d never ask.”

.

You felt odd brining Eddie Munson into your home. It was one thing to enter his trailer—most people with an illegal vice in Hawkins went inside of his trailer. But no one had been in your house before, you always made deliveries and drop-offs to avoid so many people entering your space.

You toed off your shoes and Munson followed; your sock clad feet made no noise compared to his boots thudding behind you.

“What are you craving? I have double chocolate brownies and M&M cookies.” You asked as you entered the kitchen and turned your head to look at him. You didn’t why, but he seemed very attractive all of a sudden.

“Baker’s choice”

Rolling your eyes, you hummed in confirmation and pushed away your earlier thoughts. Grabbing one of the many individually wrapped brownies from earlier, you chucked at him and he caught it flawlessly.

How can someone look good catching a pot brownie? You thought, frustrated with yourself.

You watched, like a fucking creep, as he ate the brownie.

“This is really good,” Munson said in between bites.

“Thanks.” You looked away sheepishly, leaning against the counter. Feeling emboldened, you added, “If you think that’s good, you should try my lasagna. I’ve perfected my recipe over the years.”

You dared a glance at Munson.

“Is that an invitation?”

You shrugged. Now, it was your turn to look nonchalant. “Maybe.”

He beamed at you. “It’s a date then.”

[iguana-eyanna]

The Blood Within Us Chapter 14

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Pregnant! Reader

Summary: Will the reader do whatever it takes to protect the ones she loves when tragedy hits the Wayne family? How far will the truth be tested when she realizes she’s not the only one with secrets of her own?

Warning: pregnancy, mobster activities

Jason comes from the back door of the kitchen. He stole a fresh-baked cookie on the counter that Alfred must have made earlier. He looks around the manor and is wondering where everyone is. Jason turns around and sees Tim plopped on the couch, working on some homework.

“Hey, where’s everyone?” Jason asked.

“Damian is up in his room since he can’t be in the cave, Dick is picking something up, and I think mom, dad, and Alfred are in the study,” Tim said, not looking up from his textbook.

The whole family was staying in the manor for the week, upon your request. Bruce even suggested that missions would be on hold until further notice, which you liked too. It will raise too many questions of why all your boys had cuts on their eyebrows or limping on the aisle.

“You think they’re busy?” Jason asks.

“Last time I saw them was two hours ago, I wouldn’t be surprised that they're calling caterers till now.” Tim replied.

Jason makes his way upstairs, hearing buzzing voices behind the study. He opens the door ajar, looking at you, Bruce, and Alfred making calls.

“Thank you for singing for the reception.”

“Yes, we need to discuss the menu changes.”

“-and you’re sure the flowers will arrive three hours before the ceremony?”

Jason quietly enters the room, giving a small wave to the room. Your eyes brighten as you wave at him, then take your attention to your phone call.

As if by some miracle, everyone hung up around the same time. You released a sigh as you had your hand on your back, realizing you were on your feet for so long.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to send a box of cookies to the event planner.” Alfred said, making his way out of the room.

Jason tries to hide his guilty face as he has already eaten one and hopes Alfred is not too mad.

“Hi honey, how have you been?” You ask Jason as you were trying to sit on a cushioned chair.

“I’m good ma. I’m good.” He says as he offered his arm for you to help you sit down.

It was the week before the wedding. Although it was going to be an intimate wedding in the ball area of the manor, you wanted to triple-check everything as plans often were thrown out the window.

“We’re glad you’re here.” Bruce said, looking at his son.

Jason gives a small smile to acknowledge his dad.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Jason said as he sat down next to you, hugging your side.

“Oh baby…” You said, already crying your tears out. Bruce walks up behind you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, rubbing it softly.

Being 8 months pregnant hasn’t been so pretty, as the hormones have unwrapped tenfold. Your family has been taking it like champs when you had sudden emotional outbursts.

Suddenly, you hear someone else knock on the door.

“Hey mom, I got your package.” Dick hollered as he steps in with a giant white box with a bow tie around it.

“Oh! That’s my wedding dress. Put it in the guest room.” You said, getting up quickly.

“Your wedding dress?” Bruce questions, smirking slightly as he followed you.

You smacked his chest mischievously.

“Whoa there tiger, what makes you think I’m going to allow you to see the dress before the ceremony?” You joke.

“We’ve been together for ten years, I think I deserve to see it… or rather watch you get ready.” he said seductively, making your heart pound faster.

You then heard gagging sounds around you, as you see Dick and Jason grossed out.

“Guys, we’re still here. Stop being so sickly in love.” Jason said, before making a cringed face.

“Oh yeah? Watch this.” Bruce said before dipping you into a kiss.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m leaving to drop the box in the room now.” Dick said, already leaving.

“Wait for me.” Jason said as he covered his mouth, already sick to his stomach.

Once you and Bruce pulled away from the kiss, you both burst out laughing.

“You’d think by now they’re old enough to not be so embarrassed.”

“Guess they can’t handle that their parents are madly in love. I do love my sexy, fine fiance.”

You bite your bottom lip.

“Be careful there Mr. Wayne, or I might not let you go out tonight on your last patrol.” You said, using your two fingers to walk on his broad chest.

“That doesn’t sound too bad…” he whispers, eyes getting darker with lust.

You roll your eyes.

“I don’t want you being stirred crazy before the wedding because you can’t crack a case. Please go tonight.” You ushered him.

He takes a deep breath.

“Please know I’m only looking into Dent because he needs to be taken in.” He said, as he going to do his final attempt to search for him.

“I do.” You said, as you brought Bruce’s hand to your belly.

“We’ll be waiting till you come back.” You whispered.

He kisses you softly and feels a kick under his palm. Bruce chuckles and squats down.

“Can’t forget a goodbye kiss to my Lily pad.” He says, giving your belly a sweet peck.

Your heart begins to burst as Bruce and you started to give your unborn baby her nickname.

“Please be safe, and try to refrain from getting hurt on the face.” You joked as he makes his way out of the study.

“I’ll try not to.” Bruce hollers back as he makes his to where Jason and Dick would be.

He was about to open the door but one of his sons closed it immediately.

“Hey! We’re hanging up the dress, you can’t be here.” Jason screamed behind the wooden door.

“I didn’t see anything. I need one of you to help me tonight.” Bruce replied.

Jason tightly squeezes himself out of the door and is standing in front of Bruce.

“Dick is expecting a call tonight, so I guess it’s just me tonight.” Jason said casually.

“Good. I’ve been wanting to talk to you as well. We’ll leave in 15.” Bruce said, making his way to the cave.

Jason pops open the door and looks at his brother.

“I know I need to catch up with Korey tonight but I don’t mind going on patrol.” Dick said.

“No, it’s fine. It’s time that we had a talk.” Jason said as he received a sympathetic look from his brother.

Ever since Bruce came back to their lives, he had very serious conversations with each son.

Dick was first, as usual. Bruce apologized for giving him the cowl, and accepted his choice of being a cop. It took some time to reach out to Damian, so they went to an art museum. They didn’t talk at all, but they came to a silent agreement about what they have done wrong in the past and the two forgave each other. Tim couldn’t even sit down quietly for 1 minute without doing a project, so Bruce brought him into the garage to fix the engine of a car and even taught Tim how to ride stick. It almost gave you a heart attack as you saw your son panicking behind the wheel, but he was a natural.

Just don’t mind the scratches on the car doors.

But Jason wasn’t ready for that talk.

At a young age, he started building a lot of rage. And that rage was directed at Bruce.

It wasn’t right, but the young Todd boy was angry and had no control over his emotions.

Once he returned from the dead and became Red Hood, that anger unfolded tenfold. He wanted to see his adoptive father suffer, to feel what he has been feeling all of his life.

And now that the two men were on decent terms, Jason was finally ready to have a real conversation.

Once night fell, the two men rode separate motorcycles, heading to their destination. Parking in front of an abandoned building, they take off their helmets and carefully walked inside.

“What is this place?” Jason asked quietly.

“This was the attorney’s office of Dent. The building was condemned after he became Two Face. I’m trying to see if I could get my hands on any file that hasn’t been on a computer.” Bruce said.

They enter the old office where all that was left were old file cabinets and a desk. The room was silent as they tried looking around for something suspicious.

Bruce looked over his shoulder, staring at Jason who was busy looking in a file cabinet.

“Thank you, for helping me on this case.” Bruce said.

Jason looks a bit off guard but he turns away from his dad. “It’s no problem” He said casually.

Bruce makes his way to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, Jay… I’m trying.” Bruce said.

Jason stops what he’s doing, trying so hard not to let the anger lash again like so many times before. He inhales through his nose and out his mouth, standing up.

“You shouldn’t try so hard for your son.”

“You’re right…” Bruce said, sitting on a chair.

“I felt like every fight we’ve had, we never got closure… we never apologized or talked about things. All we did was just, stopped. Worst of all, I never got to forgive myself when you died. I should have stayed, I should have told you I was proud of you, I should have…”

Bruce was at a loss for words and looks up to his son whose features were hard like he was pushing back all the pain.

“I can’t change what’s in the past, we’re far from that. So I hope that this may change our way of moving on together.”

He then takes out a small box from his utility belt and offers it to Jason.

The young man opens it.

“Cuff links?” Jason asks.

Bruce gets out of his seat and stands in front of his son.

“I want to ask if you could be my best man.”

Jason’s face goes slack.

“Really?” he asks, still stunned.

Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. “Who do you think I’d ask?”

“I don’t know, Clark?”

Throughout the whole wedding, everyone had a part. Alfred was going to officiate the wedding (he was crying silently when you and bruce asked), Dick was walking you down the aisle (he was crying [no, WAILING] and Jason was so glad he caught it on camera, Damian was ring bearer (Bruce had to explain that he didn’t have to fight a bear, even if Damian insisted he would win), and Tim was the usher (You did not like the idea of a 16 year old having so much power as a wedding event planner so Bruce thought of the alternative.). Jason almost thought that he didn’t play an important part for his parents’ ceremony.

He was glad that he was wrong.

“There’s no one else i’d choose to stand next to me.”

Jason smiles and closes the box.

“I’ll be your best man.” Jason said.

The two men pull into a short hug. Bruce looks down over Jason’s shoulder and sees something.

Jason pulls away as Bruce kneels down to examine one of the opened drawers.

“Did you see something?” Jason asks.

“I think there’s a false panel on the bottom.” Bruce muttered under his breath, using one of his batarang to pry open the false panel. It begins to open and uncovers an old orange packet.

“Looks like no one knew it was there.” Jason said.

“Only Dent.” Bruce replied, already digging in the packet for the content inside.

Bruce’s heart stopped beating once he read what was in his hands.

“That’s your mother’s name.” Bruce said out loud.

Jason looks closer to the papers in Bruce’s hand.

“Are these the letters she sent when she was a kid?” Jason asked.

Bruce flips a few papers around, seeing how they were opened long ago, then placed away to never be seen again.

“Harvey read these.” Bruce stated.

“I don’t understand, why would he read these and not answer back? To his own daughter…” Jason replied, feeling upset that you had to go through such a thing.

Bruce looks up to his son.

“Harvey was engaged to someone else around the time your mother was born. His career was also taking flight so you could imagine the chaos if people found out a respected public servant of the city had a child from someone else.”

It was but a harsh truth, but Bruce also found it distasteful of what happened to you in your past.

All of the hurt, the pain, the loneliness.

And he was to blame too.

Jason can visibly see Bruce lost in thought, as he stopped reading the letters. He then grabs the orange packet from Bruce’s other hand and looks inside.

“There’s more.” Jason said, walking to the desk to scatter more of the content.

Jason flips open a small notebook, filled with Harvey’s notes and spoke out loud.

“A few months ago, I celebrated the biggest case I’ve ever won. I stumbled into a night club to celebrate, not knowing that a woman will catch my eye. In my drunken state, I suggested we to go to the nearest motel. Before you know it, I woke up with a massive headache and saw the woman sleeping at my side. I begin to worry, I was supposed to get married within the year. Without thinking, I left her in the room and never saw her again.

That was until this morning, where she shown up to my office pregnant and claiming I was the father. She said she couldn’t care less who I was, but her father told her that if I don’t step up to my mistake… there’d be consequences.”

Jason stopped and looked up, hearing someone come up from a flight of stairs.

“Somebody’s here.” Jason whispered, about to reach his firearm.

“Grab the notebook, I’ll grab the letters.” Bruce said, quickly collecting the papers as the two vigilantes jumped out of the window, shooting their Grapnel Gun in midair to fly up to the roof.

Once they land, they kneel down to hear who was now in the office.

“I don’t like the looks of this man, it looks like someone was here.” a voice said out loud.

“Calm down you cry baby, it’s probably some kids who broke in to vandalize the old building.” another voice replied.

Bruce could recognize that it was two men who had heavy accents, possibly originating from Romanian roots.

“I still don’t understand why the boss sent us to Two Face’s old office.” the scared man asked out loud.

“He’s still not done with him, Two Face won’t even utter a word if we beated the crap out of him.” the other griped

Bruce and Jason listen still, finding more of the truth from the mobsters down in the office.

“Andrei, the whole place is cleared. There’s nothing here.”

There was a pause, as Andrei is probably thinking.

“Grrr, you’re right Gabriel. We’ll just tell Maroni that this was a bust.” Andrei said, then closed the door to leave.

Jason gets out of his stance and was ready to chase them down. Bruce caught his forearm.

“They’re getting away!” Jason hissed, not noticing that the book fell on the ground.

“We can’t follow them yet, we need to know why Sal Maroni has Harvey Dent.” Bruce commanded, then walked a few steps to retrieve the book on the ground.

He reads the new open pages, still in his movements as his eyes widen.

“What’s on the paper?” Jason asked.

Bruce lowers his head and indented the book with his pointer.

“We need to go back home, now.” Bruce whispered lowly.

Jason snatched the book from Bruce and read the page he just read.

“No…” Jason said, staring at the page in disbelief.

“You’re mother needs to know this.” Bruce responded, already flying down to his motorcycle and riding away. Jason stashes the book in his jacket and jumped through the fire escape and landed near his motor, riding away to the cave.

On his drive, Jason thought this news would destroy you.

Alfred called for your presence down in the cave, stating that Bruce had urgent news to tell you.

You felt uneasy as Bruce only handed bad news in the cave, never wanting to expose such pain in the sanctuary upstairs where everything was close to normal.

Hoping that nothing bad happened to Bruce or Jason, you took the elevator down and slowly walked without saying a word.

Bruce turned around and saw you, frightened. He takes slow strides to meet you in the middle.

“There’s something you need to know, but I think you need to sit down for this one.”

Jason walked passed both of you, giving you a quick hug before heading upstairs to talk to his brothers about tonight.

You and Bruce sat where a table was laid and saw letters that had your handwriting in your adolescent years.

“Where did you get these?” You ask, confused as why they were there before you and why they were opened.

“We found these at Dent’s attorney office. They were hidden away and I found them like this.”

“He read them… he read all of these and he never replied.” You whispered, feeling your eyes well up.

Bruce looks down in his hands, now holding a book that will change your life forever.

“There’s a reason for that.” he replied, slowly raising the book to your view.

He opens the book for you to read, and you decided to read out loud so you know you weren’t imagining this.

“Today, I saw the most wonderful thing that came in this world: My daughter. Even before I got the blood test results, I knew she was mine. She had my eyes and all I wanted to do was hold in her in my arms.

But I couldn’t.

Her mother refused to have me such right, and my baby’s grandfather was expecting me to marry his daughter out of obligation. I can’t be associated with this family, not when Gotham feared them.

I feel like I am the only man fearless enough to bring them to justice, I vowed it since I became a lawyer. Upon getting to know the family: I learned their secrets, their spies in the Gotham Police Department, and the treasures they held.

I went up to that crooked man and told him what i’ve known, and he can’t force me to do his bidding. Everything I’ve known about him will be released if I lived or died. He knew I wasn’t kidding, I was a smart man. He would turn every rock on its side and won’t find where I stashed the information. He let me go this time, but he said that I can’t ever be with my daughter again. If I attempted to do so, my daughter would pay the price.”

You pause for a moment, feeling a uneasiness that overwhelmed your body.

“It’s hard when you want to do the right thing, because you’re giving up what you loved most. I agreed on our terms and walked away from the hospital, wishing that I could leave with my daughter.

I never told a soul what happened to me. I was scared that my past would haunt me again.

And I know that I will face the ghost who sought for my downfall: S-”

You cut off your sentence, your breath caught in your throat.

You look at Bruce who looked like his heart was breaking as you now know the truth.

“My grandfather is Sal Maroni?” you whispered.

Bruce only nodded before speaking.

“Because Dent didn’t marry your mother, Maroni disowned her: changing her name and moving her and you to where you lived when you were younger.” Bruce said, as he did extra information about Maroni’s family tree on the database.

You get out of your seat, not wanting to stare at your father’s words again.

“He left to protect me…” you muffled out, as you fought the tears to leave your watered eyes. You begin to lose your sight, not noticing that Bruce held you in your arms. You begin to collapse against his chest.

All your life, you thought that he didn’t care for you one bit. You thought of him as a villain, then it transgressed to a coward. But reading his words, you realized that all he wanted was to raise you.

You cry more in Bruce’s chest, feeling him soothe your back. What you don’t realize is that all of your boys are looking down from the staircase, their face stained with tears. They make eye contact with Bruce, realizing that Two Face wasn’t the monster they thought he was.

There was a promise that night, and that was to find your father.

Taglist:

@elizamalfoyy

@mikariell95

@edgycatx

@goddess-of-congeniality

@sakaki-chaaaaannn

[chilumi-shipper]

Ready to Let Go

Xiao x Adeptus!Fem!Reader (x Zhongli)

Summary: Zhongli loves you, Xiao loves you, You love Xiao. Seems as though, in the eyes of everybody else, Zhongli was gonna be a problem within your relationship with your fellow adeptus. He would never do that though, not to you, not to Xiao. For the first time, the vigilant yaksha seems happy, and you seem more carefree the moment you two are starting to get close to one another. Zhongli would never trade your happiness for the sake of his own, and that's why, he's ready to let go.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The God of War, flaunting over one of his very own dearest adeptus, if Guizhong saw him right now, she would've laughed at how much he jumped and flaunted over you whenever you were in his presence.

But love is complicated, he could say he loves you with a burning passion, yet it can never change the fact that you had fell for another, no matter how much Zhongli might push through, you will choose to be embraced within the arms of your true beloved, Xiao.

Neither you nor him ever said anything to confirm the nature of your relationship, but Zhongli felt it, the connection between you and the adeptus was so much more than just two people who used to work along side each other. You and Xiao, he's known both of you for millennias, you're not really the greatest with expressing emotions.

Zhongli was never one to fight reality, in fact he accepted it with open arms, having no care for the pain it might bring.

But just this once, he let's himself drift to a false hope, perhaps you only see Xiao as a friend, that in actuality you tell him the feelings that you're too scared to say to your Archon. But every time Zhongli dreamt like that, he can't help but see Xiao, sadness clouding over him, it slaps the brown-haired man in the face.

He can't do that to Xiao. The poor boy, tormented his entire life, but today, he may very well be bearing a smile on his face, with you around him, with you loving him.

He was sitting between you two, in a table in Wangshu Inn's restaurant area, the light atmosphere was calming.

It was supposed to be a nice get together, yet Zhongli felt irritated. The way your gaze lingers past him and onto the person of your interest as you spoke about how you tried cooking mortal food recently. How you seem to take into account every expression and response Xiao would give, but pay no mind to Zhongli at all.

You weren't being rude and ignoring him the whole time, in fact, you make eye contact with him from time to time, to see if he's understanding you. But Zhongli felt peeved, why couldn't you look at him the way you looked at Xiao?

"I really like cooking actually!" You exclaimed, the cat-eyed adeptus smiling softly while listening to your rambles, his elbow resting on the table, while his chin leans on his hand. That makes Zhongli feel even worse for having such feelings for you, just looking at the small but genuine smile on Xiao's face as he admires you.

"Xiao?" You softly called out to him, clasping your hands together. The adeptus gave a hum in response. "There's this recipe I found called "Tofu Cookies with Almonds", I was hoping you could help me taste test them when I try baking for the first time?" Your voice gets quieter the more you say. Zhongli found it adorable when you get shy, yet he can't help but feel a nauseous felling eating away at his skin, you didn't invite him.

The waitress puts the food you all ordered on your table before Xiao answers. Zhongli looked into your eyes, seeing the nervousness as you anxiously wait for an answer.

"Okay."

Golden orbs then looked at Xiao, seeing he's looking away from you, his ears red from embarrassment. Yet even when he tried to hide it, the Archon can feel his giddiness from miles away.

Zhongli can't help but look back and forth, seeing your eyes light up with happiness because of Xiao's answer. "Thank you so much!" You smiled brightly, proceeding to put some food onto your plate to start eating.

In all this, Zhongli felt as though he didn't have a place. Perhaps you were overjoyed that you didn't look at the fact that you completely discarded him, but someone else noticed.

"Mora- Zhongli can join us too, he's good at taste testing food." Xiao looks at you, before looking at the taller man. "I think." Zhongli then nodded, agreeing with Xiao's statement.

He knows he shouldn't, he knows that he just let the two of you resolve your feelings together, just the two of you. Yet he can't, for once in his life, he feels that it's too hard to let go.

The two looked at you expectantly, despite you making it obvious that you wanted to spend some time with Xiao alone, Zhongli hoped that maybe, just this one occasion, you'll let him intervene with your growing relationship. It's selfish, it's pointless, but just this once.

You smiled, "Okay."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Mr. Zhongliiii!" You burst in the funeral parlor, calling out to him. "You have to help me." The man got up from his seat immediately, worried.

"What happened?!" He asked in a panic.

You looked down onto the book in your hands, the man did the same, looking at a book that has a very interesting title.

'The Art of Romance: For Newbies.'

What?

Usually, if you were to come to him with a book like that in hand, he would have laughed and teased you, eager to see your embarrassed state. Yet, Zhongli felt nothing but hopelessness, you putting in so much effort for someone else, meaning he really has no chance, does he?

"I need to you to help me look for a really nice dress. Like really, really nice! Oh but not too nice, since we're baking, if I get stains on a dress, he might think I'm sloppy. Oh, but if it's too simple, he'll probably think that I don't really care. Ohhh, but I don't want to seem like I care too much--" You looked up at him, rambling on and on about what you're supposed to wear for tomorrow. "It says here that if the person thinks you're too desperate, they might think it's weird." You pointed at the book that you're holding, bring it closer to his face.

Zhongli gently grabbed your hands that are clasped around the book. "If you're worried about Mora, I already have some on me." You peaked your head from behind the book, looking at the brown-haired man's serious face.

"Him?" Zhongli completely ignores your ramblings, only focused on one thing you said. You're worrying so much about what to wear, just to make a good impression to him.

You felt your cheeks heat up as he looks at you with a frown on his face. You laughed a bit to ease the tension, scraching the nape of your neck.

"Xiao..." He's mentally prepared himself for this moment, you would come to him, ask for advice since you knew him as a very cultured man, and you would confess your love, for someone else. And yet, hearing it come from your own lips seem to crack the barriers of his heart with just one word.

Despite the tears wanting to just slip out of his golden orbs, he smiled at you. "I've always sensed your feelings towards him." His words fluster you even more, you didn't realize it was so obvious, but Zhongli was a very observant person, maybe it was just that.

"Do you wish to impress him tomorrow? That's why you're so... jumpy today?" You nodded, feeling embarrassed that you are worried about this sort of thing. Usually, only mortals are prone to these types of worries.

"Y/N, Xiao doesn't care about those trivial things. You just have to be yourself." He told you as a matter of fact.

'Besides, the Yaksha already is making it obvious that he likes you back.' Zhongli kept this thought internally.

"But what if he doessss." You whine, gripping on the book tighter. "Xiao is just so.... Xiao! So unpredictable and complicated." Sighing, you looked up at the man again. "Can you help me, please?"

Zhongli sighed, although it hurts him to help dress you up so pretty, just to send you off to another man, but he'll bite. How could he ever say no to you.

After hours of rummaging through your closet, you finally, finally find something that's actually good in your eyes, even though Zhongli assured you that everything would be fine.

The dress of your choice has Xiao's colors, white, gold, mint green. You really are some piece of work, piece of work that doesn't belong to him.

Zhongli just kept sighing as he walked back to the funeral parlor, he's conflicted, which usually doesn't happen. Is he just gonna leave you two alone for tomorrow with some lousy excuse, or... get in the way.

As he got to the entrance of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, he saw Xiao, sitting on a bench just outside. The cat-eyed boy sensed Zhongli's presence, standing up and looking at his way immediately.

The brown-haired man walked up to him, silently asking why he's here all of a sudden, in the city, which also doesn't happen very often.

"Can you help me?"

Oh boy, here we go again.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"You don't have to straight up lie if you don't like her treats, you can just give polite comments, like saying you're not really a big fan of them or something." Zhongli explained once again, it was the dead of night. Xiao had asked to help with how he should talk to you, he's not very talkative and expressive, but he doesn't want to make you feel like he doesn't like you.

"But that might also hurt her feelings." The Yaksha pointed out, listening intently to the older man.

"Yes, but she will appreciate the truth rather than a pointless lie."

He just needs help expressing his feelings right.

And Zhongli seeing how you two desperately try to be the best you can for one another, it makes him smile, despite the constant heart ache. And the realization that he has no chance for you, with the evidence right in front of him, Zhongli makes his decision...

He's ready to let go.

"I'm not gonna be joining you two tommorow."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Alternative Ending: Ready to Hold On - Reader chooses not to choose and start a polyamory relationship.

[avintagekiss24]

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics​, gif by @evansensations​

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced—  oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

[bestiesenpai]

Youtuber Nanami

We’ve never seen Hanse and Nanami in the same room before...I’m just saying, the chances of them being the same person are higher than 0...gender neutral reader and no content warnings for this :) 11.8k words

(s/n) = nanami’s screen name

Nanami Kento wasn’t what usually came to mind when one thought of Youtubers. He was a salaryman, wearing pristine suits and going to work at ungodly hours. He had a stern face and rarely spoke about himself unless asked, preferring to keep most conversations short and to the point.

But Nanami didn’t think of himself as a Youtuber. He liked to refer to himself as a home cook who just happened to make videos and post them to Youtube. He had amassed a good two million followers and he didn’t show his face or hands, not even speaking as he cooked.

All Nanami dreamed about when he was at work was coming home and filming his next project. As an avid foodie, he was constantly thinking up new recipes to make. At first, filming himself had been a way of documenting his skills and keeping track of recipes without having to write them down, but as time went on people seemed to become enthralled with him.

“It finally came.” Collecting the mail on an early Saturday, Nanami’s smile was hard to contain as he grabbed the box that was waiting for him. He’d put in an order almost a month ago for this item and as he speed walked back to his apartment, his heart thumped with joy at getting to use it.

“It’s beautiful.” Holding up the cat bread mold, Nanami was itching to get to his kitchen and put it to use. Grabbing his camera, he began to prep his filming space. He was lucky to have such a large east facing window that his dining table could sit in front of and get the perfect light for his videos.

Making sure everything was perfectly positioned, Nanami pressed record and started to add ingredients into his mixing bowl. It was perfectly silent in his apartment, the most ideal environment to film in. Nanami didn’t add any background music to his videos, preferring to let the natural acoustics of his actions shine through.

Waiting for the dough to proof, Nanami flicked through some comments on his Youtube videos. He didn’t really care about what people had to say about his content, he only did this for himself, but sometimes it was nice to see what other like-minded individuals had to say. And he’d be lying if he said the comments about how aesthetic his videos were didn’t make his ego swell a bit.

When the bread was done and popped out of the mold in a perfect cat head shape, Nanami had to bite his lip to stifle a pleased sigh as he turned the camera off. He’d made it a point not to reveal his identity, refusing to let even his whole hand be in a shot and he wasn’t about to let it slip now with a hint of his voice.

“Kento you’ve really outdone yourself.” Biting into a slice of toasted bread with strawberry jam, Nanami smiled fondly at his creation. There wasn’t anything that could ruin this moment for him, not even the sudden knock on his front door.

It was a good thing Nanami was so good at setting up and taking down his cameras and lights, he didn’t want to explain to whoever was on the other side what exactly he did in his free time.

“(Y/N), hello.” As soon as Nanami opened the door and saw you, his next door neighbor, a light blush painted his cheeks. You’d moved in about six months ago into the corner unit next to his and Nanami had been smitten ever since.

“Hi Nanami.” You seemed equally as bashful, waving with a few fingers before tucking your hands behind your back. Meeting his eye for a moment, you let out a nervous giggle. “I was wondering if you’d gotten any mail addressed to me? I was supposed to get a letter from my grandma but I think the mailman might have given it to you instead.”

“Let me check.” Nanami had been so preoccupied with his bread mold that he didn’t bother to check the other mail he’d gotten. Taking a step away from the door, he was about to go further into his apartment but stuttered to a stop. “Would you like to come in?”

“Sure.” Slowly stepping in and shutting the door, you rocked back and forth on your heels. Nanami was glad you couldn’t look him in the eye otherwise you would have seen the blooming blush going across his cheeks.

He’d wanted to invite you in for a cup of tea and a slice of cake when you first moved in but he wasn’t able to gather the courage and by the time he finally felt ready nearly four months had passed.

“I actually do have it, (Y/N).” Coming back into the lounge room with the letter in hand, he quickly spotted you standing by the dining table looking at the bread he made in awe.

“Oops, sorry Nanami, I didn’t mean to be nosy!” Shuffling back, you took one last look at the bread before turning away. “I just saw the cat shape and got curious!” Taking the letter from him, you looked like you wanted to say something more, but held your tongue. “Well, I’ll be go-”

“Would you like to have a piece?” Nanami blurted out, holding out a hand to stop you from walking away.

“Really, you’d let me have some?”

“Sit down, I’ll pour you some tea.” Pulling out a chair for you, Nanami disappeared into his kitchen and gripped the countertops tightly. A sense of accomplishment washed over him that nearly beat out the bread; he was finally getting to have tea with you.

“Nanami, this is amazing!” Taking a bite out of the jam covered bread, your brows rose high on your face. “You really made this?”

“Mhmm. I got the mold this morning.” Taking a sip of his own tea, Nanami had to fight the smile on his face from becoming too big at seeing you enjoy his creation. He never usually shared with other people, either eating it all himself or giving it to the elderly ladies down the hall that didn’t know how to use the internet.

“Do you bake all the time?” Scooting to the edge of your seat, you almost looked like a child with a hopeful gleam in your eyes.

“I do, I quite enjoy it.”

The conversation began to revolve around food that Nanami had made, his favorites and yours, and then to just general cooking. It felt good to talk about this side of his life with someone, especially you, and the both of you quickly lost track of time.

“I should get going, Nanami, I feel like I’ve taken up enough of your time.” An hour later, you were standing up from your seat. The bread had quickly dwindled as the conversation wore on and there were only a few slices left.

“I enjoyed our talk.” Letting a full smile grace his face now, Nanami walked you to the door. Bidding you a final farewell, as soon as the door closed Nanami leaned against it, pressing his forehead into the wood and letting out a deep sigh. “You did it, Kento.”

Patting himself on the back for several days, Nanami looked forward to the next time he could see you. You’d let slip that you really liked cookies, so the only thing on Nanami’s mind was getting the perfect cookie recipe and making a batch for you.

Over the course of the next week, Nanami made a new cookie every single day. He knew what flavors you liked but he also wanted to try and give you something new, impress you with his skills and see that pleased look come over your face once again.

He also filmed himself making the cookies as well, making sure the videos were the most aesthetic they could be. He didn’t know if you watched his videos and even if you did he wouldn’t want to know, but on the off chance you saw them, Nanami wanted you to love it.

Finding the perfect recipe after a lot of back and forth with himself, Nanami was ready to share a plate of cookies with you. Sliding out into the hall with the plate tightly clutched to his chest, he turned to your apartment.

Nanami was happy you lived in the corner unit, it felt like he got you all to himself despite only having one proper conversation with you. There weren’t other neighbors trying to steal your attention away; it was perfect.

Right as Nanami knocked on the door, a sharp scream came from inside your apartment and he nearly dropped the plate in shock.

“(Y/N)?! Are you okay?” Knocking loudly, Nanami’s body spiked with adrenaline. There was silence on the other end, making him consider picking the lock or calling the building manager.

“N-nanami?” Your voice and body trembled as you opened the door. Quickly giving you a once over, Nanami was relieved to see no physical injuries on you.

“What’s wrong? Why’d you scream?” Eager to get the answer from you, Nanami leaned closer. Squirming a bit, you took a step back and opened the door for him to enter.

“Promise not to laugh, okay?” There was a slight pout in your lips as you spoke and Nanami almost cooed at you.

“I promise.”

“A spider came down from the ceiling and scared me.” Panning over to your lounge room, Nanami couldn’t see any spider. The only things he saw were your furniture and a PC setup off to one side.

“Where is it?” Following you to the desk, Nanami quirked a brow at how impressive the equipment looked. There were two monitors, an expensive looking microphone and a ring light that looked like one he owned.

“Right there!” Grabbing his arm, you flung yourself behind him and pointed at your desk. Right in the middle was a large spider, scurrying back and forth. Balancing the plate in one hand, he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and quickly squished the bug.

“I got it for you.” Folding the cloth back up, Nanami let himself exhale. Having you cling to him had almost stopped him from being able to do anything and he needed all the focus he could get if he wanted to help you.

“You didn’t have to use that, I would have grabbed you a paper towel!”

“It’s alright, it probably would have gotten away if we had waited.”

“Wait!” Grabbing onto the handkerchief before Nanami could tuck it back into his pocket, you gave it a gentle tug. “Let me clean it for you at least.” Nodding, Nanami let it go with no resistance.

Trying not to be nosy, he didn’t dwell too long at your computer, opting instead to follow you to your kitchen. He was pretty sure he saw the title to one of his videos on an open tab and it filled his chest with a flutter.

“What’s on the plate, Nanami?” Your question broke him from his short daydream of talking about his videos with you.

“Huh?” Nanami completely forgot about the plate in his hands, having gotten wrapped up in his own thoughts. Feeling the weight of the plate come back into his consciousness, Nanami cleared his throat. “Oh I uh, I made some cookies for you.”

“You did?” Dropping his handkerchief into the sink, you fully turned to him. Leaning close to the plate, you let out a small hum. “What kind are they?”

“I tried a new recipe out, they’re choux au craquelin with salted caramel cream.” Watching you process the name in your head made Nanami grin. You probably had no idea what he had just said, evident as the dumb nod you gave him.

“Do they go well with tea?”

As Nanami sat at your kitchen table waiting for you to return with some tea, he couldn’t help but look over your whole apartment. It was a simple one bedroom like he had and your furniture suited what Nanami assumed was your taste nicely.

“I almost don’t want to eat one, they look too nice!” Back with some tea, you turned one of the cookies over in your hand.

“If you don’t eat them they’ll go bad.” Nanami teased lightly, taking a bite of one for himself. You let out a little peep and nodded quickly, taking a generous bite of the dessert.

“Nanami.” Gripping the edge of the table, your eyes were blown wide. “This is amazing, I love it!” Whenever Nanami got a compliment, usually from Gojo, he brushed it off and thought nothing of it. But to hear you say that you loved what he made and to see the smile on your face as you take another bite - it made Nanami’s brain overflow with dopamine, a fuzzy feeling tingling the tips of his fingers and warming his chest.

“You really do?” He unintentionally whispers, having to close his eyes lest he stare hearts right through you.

“Mhmm!” Taking a sip of your tea, you giggle a little to yourself. “I feel pretty special too, you made this whole plate just for me.”

You’re special to me, that’s why, Nanami thought in his head, biting the tip of his tongue hard to keep from blurting it out. Looking over at your computer setup once more, Nanami decided to comment on that instead of feeding the blush going up the back of his neck.

“You have a pretty nice setup there, (Y/N). Do you make Youtube videos or something?” Leaning back in his chair, Nanami forced his body to relax and his stomach to loosen up. Now it was your turn to be embarrassed, a sudden shy demeanor washing over you.

“I’m just trying it out, I wanted to see what streaming and stuff was like.”

“Really?” Nanami had to choose his next words wisely, not wanting to seem too excited. “What’s the name of your channel, I’ll follow you.”

“You will?” There was a hopeful lilt to your voice, yet your body language was still hesitant. “I don’t know, I might get too embarrassed knowing you’ll be watching me.” It was Nanami’s turn to join you in being shy. He made a noise in the back of his throat, quickly taking a sip of his tea to cover it up.

“D-don’t be. I want to support you, that’s what neighbors do.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Nanami slid it over to you. “Go ahead and pull up your channel, I’ll subscribe right now.”

As Nanami left your apartment, fifteen minutes later and with an empty plate tucked under his arm, he was thoroughly surprised to know you wanted to start a Youtube channel. He wanted to help you, give you some tips and ways to make the algorithm like you, but he wasn’t ready to give away his secret just yet.

Sitting at his desk that night with his laptop in front of him, Nanami pulled up your channel. Seeing your first video, aptly titled ‘introduction’, he clicked.

“Hi everyone watching.” You sounded and looked so timid sitting at your desk, wringing your hands in front of you and smoothing them out on the wood as soon as you realized what you were doing. “My name is (Y/N) and this is my channel.”

“Hi (Y/N).” Nanami answered back, snorting at his own silliness.

“I’m going to be posting videos of my life, like vlogs and stuff, but also fun cooking videos! I really admire so many people on Youtube that can cook, I want to try and recreate their recipes! I especially like this one, it’s my favorite channel.” A few different Youtube channels popped up on screen and right in the middle and the one you gestured to was Nanamis.

He didn’t hear the rest of the video where you talked about potential upload schedules and other facts about yourself. He didn’t even hear you say goodbye or notice that the screen had faded to black. All Nanami could think about was the fact that his channel was your favorite.

Watching the other few videos you’d posted, a couple short ones of you running errands or showing off some clothes, Nanami vowed to watch every single one of your videos. Despite being pretty active on Youtube, Nanami didn’t watch a lot of videos himself, but your channel was at the top of his list.

For the next month Nanami waited for you to post a cooking video and while he waited he put out a few videos with easier steps, things you could follow along with even if you had little to no cooking skills.

A ping on his phone on a Saturday night had him walking briskly to his computer. You finally posted a video of yourself cooking one of his recipes, a dish he had made for Itadori’s birthday: a strawberry crepe cake.

“Hi, welcome to my kitchen!” Nanami was immediately smitten within the first few seconds of the video. The apron you had on was cute and tied around your waist with a bow and there was a large container of strawberries just waiting to be used.

As the video went on, Nanami openly chuckled at the mistakes you made from being so nervous in front of the camera, like dropping the egg shells into the bowl and dumping too much flour in right after.

“I’m so nervous to flip the crepe over!” The camera was over your stove now where a crepe was slowly beginning to burn in the pan the longer you waited.

“Don’t be scared, you can do it.” Nanami whispered to the screen, biting his lip as you attempted to flip it over. Managing to do it right on the first try, you let out a loud yelp of victory.

“Oops, I better be quiet! It’s like 2am right now and my neighbor is sleeping!” Upon your admittance, Nanami suddenly remembers hearing a small shout late at night a few days ago that had woken him up for just a moment. “He actually said he’d watch all my videos, so sorry if I woke you up!” Crossing your fingers in front of the camera, you went back to talking about the cooking.

Nanami felt special that you mentioned him in a video and now he wished he was awake to try your cake. You put way more strawberries than he did on it, and your whipped cream application was a lot messier and spilled down the sides but that only made him want to try it more.

“Okay, I’m all done! Let’s put a picture side by side and see how I did.” Holding up a photo of Nanami’s cake, you whined a little at seeing such stark differences. “Well mine isn’t perfectly aesthetic, but I bet it’ll still taste good!”

Was it rational to be annoyed with himself for not being awake at 2am on a Wednesday night to eat a strawberry crepe cake with you? No it wasn’t, but Nanami still felt it. He would have to tell you to cook at a more reasonable time the next opportunity he got to talk to you so he could try your food.

Deciding to do just that, Nanami grabbed his phone and called you. He managed to give you his number after subscribing to your Youtube channel, stating that if you ever needed help cooking you could ask him.

“Hello?” He could almost hear you on the other side of the wall.

“(Y/N), it’s Nanami Kento. From next door.” How many other Nanami Kento’s could you possibly know? Not a lot, he was hoping. You laughed on the other end and he could definitely hear it through the wall.

“Hi neighbor. What’s up?”

“I watched your Youtube video.”

“Y-you saw it?!” You made a noise in the back of your throat and a soft whine followed. “God I feel so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be, I told you I’d watch your videos and support you.”

“I know, I just- you didn’t have to call me and say it.”

“I don’t like texting.” Nanami smirked, he could just imagine your face right now hidden under your palm.

“Well, what did you think of it?”

“I liked it, you did really well on the cake. But I do have one complaint.”

“What is it?” You gasped loudly, nearly dropping the phone as you wondered what he could possibly have to say.

“I just wish you’d made it when I was awake, I would have loved to try it.” There was a long pause between you and Nanami could hear you flop onto your couch.

“Really? You would try it?” Nanami let out a short hum of approval. “Let me get some more strawberries then.” He could hear the smile in your voice and it made his own lips tug upward.

Ending the call shortly after, Nanami thought about your conversation while he was filming his own video. Gojo had given him a box of fresh peaches as a gift from his recent vacation and Nanami had his heart set on making a peach tart.

Replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, Nanami wasn’t as careful as he usually was about concealing his identity. He couldn’t find it in him to put on gloves to cover his hands when all he was really thinking about was having cake with you from a recipe he had made himself.

When he was editing, he almost threw out the whole video. There were many segments where his hands were on full display and one where part of his arm poked into the frame as well. But the rest of the video was too perfect to completely toss out and unable to cut out the scenes of his hands, Nanami posted it anyway with a dying hope that his viewers wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.

Waking up the day after posting the video however, Nanami was sorely mistaken. He was used to videos going viral and trending for several days, some even getting articles written about them. But going viral for his hands wasn’t something Nanami thought was possible.

The video alone had gotten upwards of 5 million views in just a day and was still steadily climbing. Despite going on all his social media accounts and muting every single word that could possibly have anything to do with him, Nanami still ended up seeing videos and pictures of his own hands on Twitter, with an article about him breaking the internet as well.

And one of the videos he saw had your face in it. Captioned ‘tiktokers reacting to hand reveal’, he felt the need to click on it. What did you think of him?

“So I’ve seen the headlines but I saved my reaction so I could get it on camera.” You spoke hurriedly, wrapped up in a hoodie and blanket as you sat down on the couch, the camera on a tripod across from you. “Time to see the video.”

Nanami waited with bated breath as he watched you watch his video. There were some obvious cuts in the video from where you skipped forward, and right as his hands came on screen your jaw dropped.

“I- I uh-” You were clearly very flustered, slapping a hand over your face and turning away from the screen. “Why is my face burning over some hands?” Laughing in disbelief, you watched the rest of the video and let out a girlish squeal before cutting it off.

Nanami wasn’t proud to admit that he watched your reaction more than a few times, finding an odd sense of pride take shape inside him. You didn’t even know it was him behind the camera yet he was able to leave such a profound impression on you.

With a new and growing fanbase eating up every single thing he posted now, Nanami found it hard to live in anonymity like he used to. Gone were the days of quietly replying or liking comments on his Youtube channel, he now had thousands of comments on all platforms asking to see more of his hands or for him to possibly speak in his next video.

He was eager to know what your opinion on him was now, what you thought of his online persona. You were still making videos of his cooking, your channel having gotten a boost in subscribers from your reaction video, and you sometimes mentioned his channel name.

On a quiet Saturday at half past noon, Nanami found himself lounging lazily on his sofa with his hair still undone and coffee stains on his sweats. It was uncharacteristic for him to be so lax so late into the day but it was also uncharacteristic of him to stay up past 1am watching the silly little livestream you were doing in your kitchen with muffled giggles he could hear coming through the wall.

Staring at the ceiling and drifting in and out of sleep as the TV filled the silence in the room, Nanami almost missed the subtle vibration of his phone against the coffee table if there hadn’t been a lull in the TV.

(Y/N): hey neighbor are you busy?

The message from you had him suddenly alert and focused, sitting straight up and planting both feet on the floor.

(Nanami): no, I’m not

(Y/N): then…

(Y/N): do you think you’d wanna come over and help me bake something? I’m doing my first Youtube collab and I’m so nervous

(Nanami): I’ll be over in five.

He didn’t even wait for your response before leaping from the couch and bolting to his bedroom. Nanami got dressed and ready in record time, splashing plenty of cold water on his face to wake him up even further before slicking his hair back and doing one last check in the mirror before rushing to the front door.

“(Y/N).” He was knocking on your door exactly five minutes after texting you.

“Nanami!” You opened the door with a smile, a light colored tied around your waist that was stained from previous use. “Come on in!” Ushering him across the threshold, you made a beeline straight for the kitchen.

“So, you’re doing your first collab, huh?” Following slowly behind you, Nanami thought of all the emails sitting in his inbox from brands and other content creators alike asking him to promote their product or work on a video together. He ignored them all in favor of anonymity, but if you were to message him about it, he would answer in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, I joined a discord server full of other cooking Youtubers and some of them asked me to collab with them!” The smile on your face was beaming and the excitement in your voice made Nanami’s heart swell with pride.

“Well then, let’s get started.” Grabbing the spare apron you handed him, Nanami panned over the scene before him. Your kitchen wasn’t a total mess yet, the counters were still relatively clear with just a few bowls out and measuring spoons just waiting to be used. “What’re we making?”

“Ha, well…” Scratching your cheek bashfully, you shrugged your shoulders and looked around your kitchen. “That’s where you come in, I have no idea what to make.​​” Letting out a soft chuckle under his breath, Nanami nodded to himself and took a step toward the cabinets.

“What are the others making?” He asked while idly sifting through the ingredients you had.

“Take a look.” Showing him your phone, you swiped through the messages between all of you. There were multiple different desserts being made, recipe ideas being thrown around, all with a specific theme.

“So, you chose the colors of the rainbow?” Nanami skimmed over the messages where you decided colors and it seems you’d been chosen to do blue. He’d just seen someone else who got red go with a strawberry cheesecake with swirls of deep red mixed in with lighter pink.

“Do you know any desserts that are blue, cause I don’t.” Throwing your head back with a whine, you stared at the ceiling and let Nanami get back to digging through your cabinets.

“What about a blue surf cake?”

“A what?” You parroted, and your owlish blink made Nanami’s lips curl up in a soft smile.

“It’s a blue cheesecake that looks like ocean waves, I’ve made it a few times before and you don’t need to bake it.” He’d actually filmed a video on it about a year ago and it was one of his most proud creations. Quickly typing it into your phone, you pulled up his video within seconds.

“Oh thank god he made one.” Sighing in relief, you watched Nanami’s video with rapt interest. “This is perfect! But I don’t have this stuff, this butterfly tea powder.”

“I do.” He’d overbought for that video and had been stuck with the stuff for ages. Turning on his heel, he mumbled something unintelligible before leaving your apartment and reappearing in less than two minutes.

“You’re just giving this to me?” Raising your brows high in shock, you took the relatively full package from Nanami’s hands and opened it, a small cloud of blue powder puffing out upon its release.

“Yes, I want you to do well on this collab.” Turning away from you, Nanami began to grab the necessary ingredients from your shelves.

“Nanami.” Your voice was a bit low and when he turned around your bottom lip was jutted out into a pout.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re the best neighbor ever!” Clutching the powder tightly against your chest with one arm, you raise the other one and rest your hand on his shoulder. “Whenever you need help or want some tea and cookies, just ask me and I’ll do it!” You were eternally grateful and Nanami could feel the sincerity in your words and the warmth of your hand melting into his skin.

“I’ll make sure to take you up on that offer, so don’t take it back.”

“Never!” You shook your head, clutching his shoulder tightly. “Now let’s make the best damn blue cake ever!”

Standing off to the side, Nanami watched you film your introduction. He felt almost awkward seeing you talk to the camera and talk animatedly about what you were going to make when his own introductions were quiet and calm, slowly panning across his work space and showing what he would be making with captions dotting the screen.

“I also have a friend helping me make this cake, would you like to wave hello?” You glanced at Nanami, fully expecting him to reject your offer but he surprised you by lifting a hand into frame and giving a very brief wave. A little giggle left your lips and you gave him a thumbs up, turning back to the camera. “He’s really good at baking, so with his help hopefully this cake won’t turn out to be a huge disaster.” Laughing to yourself, you waited a few seconds before turning the camera off.

“Give yourself more credit, (Y/N), you’re good at baking too. I bet you won’t even need me.” Going over the ingredients list one last time, Nanami recounted your videos and couldn’t fight a small smirk on his lips. You’d certainly improved but to call you good was a bit of an exaggeration.

“You’re right!” But you were bolstered by his words nonetheless and your chest puffed up with confidence. “I can do this no problem!”

Maybe it was because he was there, or maybe it was because the words he’d said to you before starting had jinxed it, but Nanami was sure any skills you’d learned had regressed severely.

From the first step to the last, there was a fumble on your part. Adding too many ingredients that didn’t need to be there, adding too little of what the recipe actually called for, snacking on the pieces for the crust of the cake and choking on camera from accidentally inhaling a piece - it was almost as if you were trying to appear inept at even the most basic of kitchen duties.

“It took us so long to get here but we can finally add the filling in!” What took Nanami barely 25 minutes had taken you almost an hour to complete. Your apron and fingers were smudged with blue powder and the kitchen was in noticeably more disarray than when you started, clear proof of the trials and tribulations you went through. Silently cheering you on from behind the camera, Nanami held his breath and watched you pour the mixture into its final pan. “Now time to pop it into the freezer and wait for it to set!”

“Time to start cleaning up.” Nanami mumbled to himself as you turned the camera off. Your cooking style was much different than his, pots and pans carelessly thrown into the sink and dirty utensils left on the counter were not things he was used to seeing.

“Do we have to?” You whined as you set the cake in the freezer.

“Will you clean up after I leave?” He quirked a brow at you, a slow smile coming to his face as you groaned and shook your head.

“Alright fine, we can clean up now.” Nanami was already rolling up his sleeves before you could start to speak and your sulky tone made a chuckle come out of him. Flicking on the sink and filling it with water, he could see you gather dishes out of the corner of his eye. It was quiet in the kitchen now without you narrating your actions for the video and Nanami welcomed the silence, it gave him a chance to think about what to say to you next.

“Really, thank you for helping me.” Coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with him at the sink, you let your arm rest snugly next to his as you started to help wash the dishes.

“You’re welcome.” Shifting just the tiniest bit closer, Nanami scrubbed away in silence. Without the constant action and ever present camera turned off, the scene between the two of you could almost be described as domestic, as if the two of you had just gotten done cooking for yourselves and not a Youtube video and now were in comfortable quiet as you cleaned up the aftermath.

“I should think about what to make for dinner, all that filming made me hungry.” The adrenaline from the collab was still high inside you, making your fingers tremble slightly as you washed off a sudsy dish.

“What are you in the mood for?” Nanami was either stupidly brave or just plain stupid for leaning into this domestic feeling by asking you that question. He could be crossing a line by trying to imply he wanted to eat with you, essentially overstaying his welcome now that he was no longer needed.

“I kind of want pasta, what about you?” Glancing up at him, you were glad he wanted to stay longer and the proof was felt on the tingling warmth prickling your entire body.

“Pasta sounds good. Red or white sauce?”

“Red. I have a great wine to pair it with.”

“You’re into wine?”

“Not really.” You giggled shyly. “I wanted to start a series where I pair different foods with wines but I got too drunk trying to film the first episode.”

“I would love to see that video, (Y/N).” Nanami snorted loudly, a smirk on his lips as he dried his hands.

“We’ll have to have a private screening then.” Playfully bumping your shoulders together, you followed suit and dried your hands.

“Yes, yes we will.”

Twenty minutes later and dinner was prepared and served, both you and Nanami sitting at your dining table with full glasses of beautiful red wine with the bottle sitting not too far off in case you needed more. Eating quietly and making lively conversation, the wine in your glasses never seemed to dip, always being topped up until the bottle was empty and you were shuffling to grab another bottle.

“(Y/N), how much wine do you have?” Nanami chuckled, a drunken blush coating his cheeks as he watched you open your fridge. He could just barely see the bottom of a few bottles from his position at the table.

“Y-you don’t wanna know!” You laughed far too loudly for the situation and slammed the door closed, handing Nanami the bottle as you collapsed in your seat.

“Well, cheers.” Opening the new bottle and topping off your glasses, Nanami held his up and clinked it with yours when you held it up. Letting the liquid drip down his throat, Nanami looked over at you from over the rim of his glass. You were already cute in his eyes, downright adorable even, but to see you giggly and drunk with him made his heart swell even more.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Whining slightly, you held your glass up in front of your face while your own face burned horribly.

“Like what?” He chuckled in return, mimicking your gesture.

“Like- like- you know!” Waving a hand around, you turned away from him slightly and took a generous sip of wine. Silence hung between you briefly, words left unsaid on the tips of both your tongues yet the fear of possible rejection - or even worse, regret - permeated your drunken minds.

“I’m just having a good time, (Y/N), is that a crime?” Leaning back in his seat, Nanami laughed to himself. He was definitely embarrassed from being caught looking at you like a fool in love but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

“You like having dinner with me?” Quirking up a hopeful brow, you rest your elbows on the table and shimmy just a tad bit closer. Your knees brushed under the table and the feeling drew you closer with Nanami pulling his chair in just so he could stretch his legs out and feel your feet begin to tangle together.

“I do, a lot.” It surely beat eating dinner alone for the thousandth time this year. The conversation quickly died down with both of you just silently looking at each other with a half lidded gaze, drunken smiles pushing your cheeks up without you even noticing it.

Soon the food ran cold and the second bottle of wine was emptied and you had to separate to take care of the dishes. Pushing Nanami towards the living room, you made him promise to go sit on the couch while you set the plates in the sink and put away the leftovers.

“Nanami, I have some ice cream if you-” Slightly stumbling out into the living room with a pint of chocolate ice cream, you stopped short upon finding Nanami dozing away on the couch with his body fully stretched out and relaxed.

Going up to the back of the couch, you leaned over it and close to his face, taking in every miniscule detail and pore that you could. Nanami was always so poised around you that it was a rare treat for him to relax like this, especially enough to go to sleep on your couch.

“Nanami…Nanami…” You whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. The action earned you a tired grunt in response and Nanami pushing your hand away and turning further into the couch. Shaking his shoulder again, you giggled when he swatted you away.

Returning the ice cream to the freezer, you grabbed a spare blanket and pillow, nearly dropping them both as you stumbled through your apartment. Throwing the blanket over his body haphazardly, you gingerly grabbed his head and put the pillow underneath it.

“Good night, Kento.” Whispering above his sleeping body, you felt butterflies in your stomach looking at him. You tried to stamp down the crush you had on him, reasoning with yourself that a man this serious and composed would never go for someone like you, but it never worked. You found yourself daydreaming about him constantly when you should have been working, fantasizing about having him join you for a meal or perhaps an outing to the city.

Taking one last look at his sleeping form, you drug yourself away to your bedroom to get some sleep of your own. The knowledge that Nanami was just a few feet away in the living room while you lay in your bed kept you up, nervous fits of giggles erupting from you as your imagination wandered.

Waking up some time later with a pounding headache and early morning light coming through your open curtains, you listened for any sound of Nanami still in your apartment. Taking a brief glance at the time, you expected him to have crawled home by now and be nursing his hangover with a cup of coffee.

Heaving yourself out of bed, you walked as quickly as possible to the bathroom and fumbled in the drawers for some painkillers. Downing a couple with no hesitation, you splashed some cool water on your face before finishing up and leaving the room.

“Oh, you’re still here.” Your voice was terribly quiet as your eyes landed on Nanami who was still fast asleep on the couch, completely disheveled with his shirt hiked up to reveal the relaxed muscles of his abdomen. Even deep in sleep he still had prominent abs with the dusting of a light happy trail below his belly button.

Reaching out in a trance, you ran your fingers lightly through his hair, just barely grazing his scalp with your nails. Repeating the motion several times, you worked out any knots he may have gotten during the night and further mussed the tresses.

“Feels good.” Nanami grumbled with his eyes still tightly closed. His voice was impossibly low and groggy as he twisted and turned on the couch. Your fingers went to scratch at his scalp when Nanami’s twisting earned him a tumble right to the ground and a surprised shout sounded upon contact.

“You okay?” Leaning over the couch, you gripped the cushioned backing tightly.

“F-fine, I’m-” Clearing his throat and trying to grab his bearings, Nanami ripped the blanket off him and sat up in a huff. “I’m fine.” As he spoke, he winced, clutching at his head.

“Hungover?” You asked with a small grin. Holding up a finger as he nodded, you made your way to the bathroom to grab the painkiller. “Come grab some water.” Motioning to the dining table, your grin got wider watching him struggle to stand.

“Do you have any coffee?”

Ten minutes later, Nanami was sunk into a dining chair with his forehead plastered to the table. He couldn’t even feel any regret for overstaying his welcome and getting too drunk to go home, all he could feel was a sick churning in his stomach and a throbbing in his head. The coffee had done a good job of waking him up, prompting him to fix his clothes and hair as best he could given the circumstance.

“Here you go.” Setting a plate down in front of him, you tried not to groan as you sat down yourself. Peeling his face off the table, Nanami never thought he could be this happy to see a plate of food.

Barely grunting out a word of thanks, he grabbed his utensils and started eating. His pained stomach slowly subsided, the warm food doing a good job at chasing away any lingering sickness in the back of his throat. It was only when his plate was empty did he realize he hadn’t spoken a single word to you.

“Thank you for the food.” Taking a gulp of coffee, he looked over at your own plate and realized he was still hungry.

“There’s more in the kitchen.” Flicking your chin in that direction, you slowly sipped your own drink as Nanami left to grab more food.

“I’m sorry.” He said once his second plate was empty and he’d already gotten another cup of coffee.

“For what?”

“I’ve overstayed my welcome. By a lot.” Grimacing as he looked at the time, he could just imagine the way you were feeling. Had you been able to sleep comfortably last night knowing he was here? You probably locked the door to your bedroom just to be safe, telling all your friends that your neighbor was drunk and passed out on your couch.

“Don’t be sorry, I don’t mind. It’s just like a sleepover.” Finishing the food on your plate, you pushed it away and leaned your head against the back of the chair. It was quiet for a moment with Nanami idly watching you breathe, and then you spoke again. “Do you think the cake is ready?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” Letting out a snort, you peeked at Nanami from the corner of your eye and laughed a bit more at his bewildered expression. “The cake we made yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah.” Letting out a rough exhale, Nanami shook his head to clear his thoughts. How could he forget the entire reason he’d come over in the first place? Did the alcohol really have that much of an affect on him?

“It looks set, what do you think?” Gingerly placing the cake tin on the table, you worried your lip as you looked over the cake for any imperfections. It looked perfect in the pan but who knew what would happen when you tried to remove it.

“Well don’t keep me waiting.” Reaching over the table to take the cake out himself, Nanami yelped when you smacked him away.

“No, don’t! What if it all oozes out onto the table?”

“We won’t know until we find out.” He wanted to reach out again but hesitated as he saw the twitch of your hand. “It won’t ooze all out, (Y/N), the cake is perfect.”

“How can you be so sure?” Your fingers curled around the tin; you wanted to believe him but knowing your luck it would end in disaster. But the longer you looked between him and the cake, the more you felt the pressure.

“I know because you made it. You’re a good baker, (Y/N).” Finishing the last sip of his coffee, Nanami pointed a finger at you. “Now either you take the cake out or I will.”

“Fine!” With trembling fingers you pushed the cake up from the bottom, painstakingly watching for any possible defects as it emerged.

“See, I told you it was perfect.” Nanami couldn’t help but feel smug at being right. The cake was picture perfect, not a lump or bump or empty spot in sight. The sigh of relief you let out was loud and completely deflated your chest.

“Thank god.” Setting the cake back in the tin, you stared at it from above, disbelief washing over you. “I can’t believe I really did it.” Laughing breathlessly, you straightened yourself up and glanced at your camera. “Guess I should start filming the reveal.”

“I think I’ll be going now.” Pushing himself up from his chair, Nanami gathered the dishes on the table and set them in the sink, ignoring the urge to stay even longer. He had to shower and change clothes, gather his composure and prepare himself for the work week ahead.

“It was nice having you over.” You mumbled, pushing in the chairs and slowly leading him to the front door. Neither of you really wanted this time together to end but it had to be done eventually. Gripping the doorknob, there was a slight delay before you opened the door.

“(Y/N)...” Drawing out your name, Nanami’s feet were stuck in place. Looking into your eyes, the longer he stared the less he wanted to step out into the hallway and back into reality. Digging his fingers into the doorframe, Nanami let his eyes begin to close softly, his vision turning slightly hazy as he aimed for your lips.

Time was moving too fast and too slow. With the sudden approach of Nanami, it was something you’d dreamed about for a long while, wondering what his lips would feel like against yours. But the open setting of where you two were, the sudden slamming door down the hall and noises filtering in from the outside world withdrew you from the moment you’d wanted for so long.

“O-oh.” You hadn’t even realized you’d put your hand up to stop Nanami from coming closer until he made contact. Both of you looked down at your hand in confusion and you turned red for different reasons.

“I’m sor-”

“I’ll see you later.” Cutting you off, Nanami kept his head down to try and save face, save himself from you seeing how utterly mortified he was at getting rejected. Taking a generous step into the hall, he made a beeline back to his apartment.

Unable to say much beyond a dejected and nearly silent goodbye, you closed your door shortly after Nanami closed his. Both of you leaned against the respective frames, Nanami cursing himself for being so forward and making you uncomfortable, and you beating yourself up for stopping him in the first place.

It only took a day for you to finish the video and upload it, adding your traditional flair and special touches that made Nanami smile every time he saw them. Trying to ignore the way you two had parted, he focused intensely on the video and every time there was a cut or jump in he recounted exactly what had happened in that moment that made you cut the clip out, be it choking on some crust or dropping the entire mixing bowl on the floor.

“I’m just feeling burnt out from all this social media stuff, I might take a break from cooking for a little while.” That was the last thing Nanami wanted to hear towards the end of one of your monthly vlogs. He’d noticed a slight downtrend in your content output shortly after you posted the collab video and while he hadn’t spoken to you since that fateful night, he hadn’t gotten any hints that you were feeling this way.

“I’ll still be active here and there, I have some other things already filmed and ready to be uploaded and some sponsored stuff for my Instagram but I just…” The heavy sigh you let out as you tried to find the words to articulate your feelings made Nanami frown. Watching the rest of the video with a heavy heart, he took a glance at the time.

“Let me make something to cheer them up.” He mumbled to himself. Yes it was nearing his usual bedtime and he was typically very strict about adhering to the schedule, but you needed him; or at least Nanami hoped you needed him in some way to make you feel better.

Burrowing around in his cupboards, he grabbed random ingredients and placed them on the counter. When Nanami wanted to make something, especially a baked good, he always had a plan on what he wanted to make. But now he was going off the cuff, coming up with a recipe on the fly and hoping it worked. He also grabbed his filming equipment and set it up, hoping that even if the recipe didn’t turn out well you would still find enjoyment in his videos.

It took him nearly two hours to make a chocolate souffle and he didn’t regret a single second of it. His whole apartment was warm and smelled of chocolate, steam rising and blurring the lense of the camera as he presented them. Taking a deep breath that turned into a loud yawn, Nanani felt proud of himself for completing the recipe even if it was an ungodly hour.

He was nearly a zombie by the time he put everything away and uploaded the footage to his computer but he couldn’t find it in him to go to bed just yet. He wanted to edit and upload the video as soon as possible so that you could have something to watch to take your mind off the hard time you were having.

The rising sun was Nanami’s indicator that he’d been up all night without even ten minutes of sleep, but he could proudly say he pulled his first all nighter for Youtube and finished the video right as his alarm went off. Posting it immediately, Nanami rushed around to gather his things and head out the door before he missed his usual train.

Dragging his feet throughout the day, he collapsed on the couch the moment he stepped through the door. He tried to keep up with his work while also checking to see if you’d liked the video or maybe commented but there was nothing from you, not even a cheeky little post on Twitter or your Instagram stories.

Running a dejected hand through his hair, Nanami pulled himself up from the couch and to the kitchen. Thankfully he was meticulous about being clean so there was no mess from last night waiting for him, easing his mind at least a little bit. Making a quick dinner, he ate over the kitchen sink as he thought of what to do next.

It only took a few seconds for him to decide to make another video at that very moment. Shoving the rest of his food in his mouth, Nanami turned to his cupboards once again, quickly deciding to make cookies as his hand landed on a box of chocolate. Ignoring the souffle sitting patiently in the fridge, Nanami set to work making another dish for you with no plan in the foreseeable future of actually giving you any of them.

This habit repeated until the end of the work week when Nanami had quite literally passed out on his couch after the repeated all nighters. None of his videos seemed to have the impact he wanted them to. You didn’t like or comment, your social media posts were either retweets or sponsored content and you hadn’t posted a new video in a while. He could hear you in your apartment sometimes, talking to yourself or playing music and singing along, so he knew you hadn’t run away.

Waking up in a haze well after the sunset, Nanami felt at his wits end. He was doing everything he could to get you to cheer up without having to face you directly and it wasn’t working. He had a fridge full of desserts he was going to give you at some point and a horde of videos up on his channel you could watch but he needed to do something more.

(S/N): hey, I hope you feel better soon

As Nanami prepared for a shower, he wasn’t in his right mind to care about the fact that he’d just messaged you on Twitter instead of through text like he originally meant. Talking to you through his online persona wasn’t something he really wanted to do but he couldn’t turn back now.

Taking a long hot shower, Nanami forgot about the message he sent you, too wrapped up in finally getting to unwind. Doing his nighttime routine and burrowing into bed, he checked his phone one last time.

(Y/N): hearing my idol say this has made my day so much better, thank you so much T_T

“Your idol?” Nanami chuckled to himself, a light blush coming over his face as he sunk into his pillows.

(S/N): you’re welcome. If you ever want to chat about how you’re feeling or anything, I’m open to listen.

Pushing through sleep to send that final message, Nanami tossed his phone onto his bedside table and promptly went to sleep with a small smile on his face.

Generously oversleeping, Nanami woke up in an overheated, messy pile of blankets. Thankful for the weekend, he took his time coming to his senses and getting out of bed. His hand automatically drifted to his phone, tired mind eager to see if you had responded.

(Y/N): I would definitely love to chat!

(S/N): you called me your idol, I take it you’ve been watching my videos for a while?

Nanami had to ask, he needed to know just how much you liked his content. He didn’t have to wait long for a response, just as he poured his first cup of coffee his phone went off.

(Y/N): I’ve been watching your videos since you first started posting!! Your content is the number one reason I started my own channel

(S/N): I’m really touched, I’m glad I could be such a big inspiration for you

(Y/N): you really are! I admire you so much, you’re so serious about your craft

(Y/N): especially the fact that you put out a new video every day this week! I want to be as dedicated as you someday

While your statement bolstered his confidence greatly, it also put a heavy weight on Nanami’s shoulders. As you chatted more and more, Nanami felt the urge to go and make something else to keep the trend of uploading daily. There was a possibility that you were going to start posting again, you’d said so yourself, and Nanami wanted to make it a reality.

Ignoring the food in his fridge and on the counters that still needed to go to you or be eaten, Nanami pushed himself to film two videos that day. It was hard to make sure everything was perfect twice over but he managed and by the end of the day he was sitting at his computer eating flan and editing the videos.

Taking advantage of the weekend, Nanami pulled another all-nighter and filmed as many videos as he could. He ran himself completely ragged between filming, cooking and making sure to message you back consistently. Your conversation progressed naturally, flowing from one topic to another as if you were speaking face to face with each other. Nanami felt the urge to tell you it was him, that your idol was actually your neighbor, but the memory of your rejection still stung and he held off. You probably wouldn’t like him anymore if you learned the truth, so for now he was going to hold off.

By the time Monday rolled around and his alarm went off in the morning, Nanami had gotten a solid two hours of sleep and was nursing a growing headache. Somehow he managed to edit all the videos he filmed, putting them in a little queue to be uploaded everyday while he struggled through the work week.

Zoning in and out for the whole day, it was a miracle that he managed to come home in one piece. Nanami didn’t remember stepping into his office building let alone getting on the train home. Lacking the strength to even eat a proper meal, he stripped down to his underwear and slept on top of his blankets while running a high fever.

Waking up throughout the night in a cold sweat, Nanami knew when he woke up to the sound of his alarm that he couldn’t go to work. With a heavy head and runny nose, just looking in the mirror made him cringe.

“I look like shit.” His voice was gravelly and thick and he had to clear his throat several times after speaking. Leaving a quick message for his boss, Nanami splashed cold water on his face and went back to bed.

The next two days melted into each other and there were several instances where Nanami went into a coughing fit and was sure you could hear through the walls. With only enough strength to feed himself soup and cough medicine, Nanami was left to suffer alone. He heard notifications on his phone go off and every once in a while he would respond to something you sent but for the most part he was dead to the world.

A knock at the door roused him from a deep slumber in the middle of the day, sweating under a pile of blankets but too cold to take them off. He tried to ignore it at first, but the sound refused to stop and through his muddled brain Nanami was sure he could hear your voice.

“C-coming!” Grunting loudly, Nanami’s usually quiet footsteps thumped against the floor. Passing a mirror in the hall, he was glad he at least had an acceptable top and bottom on before he opened the door. Leaning heavily against the doorframe, Nanami sniffled loudly as he made eye contact with you and drifted downwards to the stack of mail in your hand.

“I uh, I have your mail.” Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you didn’t know where to look. This was the first time you were seeing each other in two months and Nanami hated that he looked and felt absolutely awful. “Nanami? Are you okay?” The concern on your face was outweighing the awkwardness in the air.

“Not really.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders mindlessly. “I feel like shit.” His brazen statement made you snort. Taking the mail from your outstretched hand, he was about to thank you when you suddenly spoke.

“Have you eaten today?” Your eyes scanned his face and the bad dark circles under his eyes.

“No.” Answering truthfully, Nanami didn’t protest when you made the move to enter his apartment, not that he would have stopped you in the first place.

“Let me make you something, you need to eat properly if you want to get better!” Slapping his mail on the dining table, you pointed to the couch. “Go sit down and relax.” Turning on your heel as soon as you finished speaking, you dug around in the kitchen for something to cook. Dragging his feet, Nanami grabbed a small blanket from his bedroom before returning to the living room and taking residence on the couch like you asked.

“I haven’t- haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while.” Coughing loudly, Nanami ran a hand through his hair. He could hear you rummaging through the fridge and making little noises in the back of your throat.

“There sure is a lot of moldy desserts in here.” Looking over his shoulder and into the kitchen, Nanami chuckled watching you pull out some of the desserts he’d filmed and throw them away. They were unrecognizable from when he first made them, all of them having gone bad and disintegrating in their containers. It was a shame he didn’t get a chance to eat most of them, but he was so caught up in filming as much as possible that the thought of having all the leftover food to deal with didn’t cross his mind.

“Hey, how about we order takeout?” Running hot water over a dish that used to have chocolate cake in it, your lip was curled up in disgust.

“Takeout sounds good.”

Twenty minutes later, Nanami had taken more medicine at your request and had a plate of steaming food in his hands, his first proper meal in a very long time. Putting on the TV for some light background noise, the two of you ate side by side.

“I’m glad I came to deliver your mail, I was worried about you, Nanami. I could hear you coughing at night.”

“Sorry.”

“Why’re you apologizing for being sick? It’s not your fault! Just promise me you’ll get better soon, okay?” Giving his shoulder a brief squeeze, your fingers lingered on his body for a few seconds before sliding off. There was a comfortable lull in the conversation for a moment, the two of you eating quietly and fiddling on your phone. Nanami tried not to snoop, but he could see you silently watching a Youtube video on your phone.

“Do you want to watch that on the TV?” He asked quietly, sliding the remote towards you. Giving him a sheepish smile, you quickly put the video up for him to watch as well. Nanami wasn’t surprised that it was one of his videos you were watching, he still had many queued up to be posted, but he was surprised that he didn’t remember a single moment of filming said video.

“Look at the flowers he made on the bread!” Pointing to the screen, you lightly stamped your feet on the floor. “I’m so jealous, whenever I try to make focaccia bread like that it always turns out so ugly!” Nanami nodded along silently; once he was finished with the video for the bread he ate it all in one sitting and had a massive stomach ache.

Grabbing your phone, you tapped away in the comment section of the video, leaving an abundant amount of emojis along with your praising words. Going to Twitter, you tweeted about his video as well and as soon as you hit send Nanami got a notification for the post. His eyes darted to see if you had noticed and luckily you hadn’t, but soon there was a flurry of little dings on his phone.

“Woah Nanami, someone sure is messaging you a lot.” You chuckled and Nanami nearly grabbed his phone off the coffee table and threw it across the room; there was no way that you couldn’t see all the messages were from you. You even leaned forward a little bit to take a peek at who it was.

“Y-yeah, they are.” Fumbling to grab his phone before you could put the pieces together, Nanami had forgotten about the plate of food in his lap and it slid to the ground, immediately beginning to soak into the rug and stain it. Letting out a string of curses, Nanami forgot about his phone and rushed to clean up the spilled food.

Hearing his phone clatter to the ground, Nanami was torn between abandoning his cleaning efforts and stopping you from seeing his phone. He tried to stutter something out, a feeble attempt to draw your attention away as you clearly saw your screen name on his phone.

“What’s this?” You asked quietly, too quietly for Nanami’s comfort. He was still stammering out some excuses, but as you picked up the phone and read your name out loud, he knew it was over.

“I can explain.” His adrenaline was pumping and it was making him begin to sweat profusely. He could clearly tell there was a blush on his face much deeper than the one already there from his fever. Picking up the ruined plate of food, he tried to buy himself more time to try and explain what was happening.

Looking you over, all the excuses Nanami had were coming apart. Every word he could say was falling flat, not just because of his illness but because he found it less and less appealing to try and lie. Forcing himself to take deep breaths, Nanami turned to face you.

“I...I’m (S/N).” Taking the phone from you, he showed you the Twitter messages between the two of you. As he went through the evidence, his social media pages and Youtube channel, he could see your face changing and he couldn’t read your expression. Worrying his lip, Nanami was afraid to ask what you thought of him now.

“This is insane.” You finally spoke after a few minutes, looking down at your own phone. “Who would have guessed my neighbor would turn out to be my biggest idol, too?” Slapping a hand over your face as you came to terms with the realization, you laughed a little. “Oh god, that means you saw my reaction video to your hands.”

“Yeah, I did.” Laughing along, Nanami let out a sigh of relief. You seemed to be okay with what he just told you and there was something else weighing on his mind. “You know, since I’m already confessing to secrets, there’s something else I need to tell you, (Y/N).”

“What is it?” Tilting your head to the side, your brows furrowed slightly in concern. Forcing himself to make eye contact despite the nerves he felt, Nanami let out one short breath before speaking.

“I like you, a lot.” He was surely running the highest fever he’d ever experienced now, there was no doubt about it. He was absolutely boiling, sweating buckets waiting for your reaction to this news.

“Really?” You whispered, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Really.” Based on your reaction, Nanami was steeling himself for a rejection. He should have known you wouldn’t feel the same way, he was a fool for getting his hopes up and reading into signals that weren’t there-

“I like you too.” Yet here you were, slowly weaving your fingers together and squeezing his hand. You refused to make eye contact anymore, too embarrassed from the onslaught of emotions going through you. Squeezing your hand back, Nanami ran his thumb over your skin.

“Well then, when I’m better I’d like to take you on a date.”

“As Nanami Kento or as (S/N)?” You teased, giggling to yourself as Nanami made a noise in the back of his throat.

“You already know the answer.” Finally able to relax in his seat again, Nanami let a big smile overtake his face when you cuddled into his side. “You shouldn’t be so close, you might get sick too.”

“I’ll take the risk.” Looping your arms together, you suddenly sat up. “Hey, Nanami.”

“Hm?” Turning to face you, Nanami’s eyes went wide as you kissed him. Your lips were soft, a pleasant feeling against his that he wanted to experience again and again. Kissing you back, it was a short interaction as he quickly parted to cough into the crook of his elbow.

“(Y/N), you shouldn’t kiss me, you’re going to get sick.” As much as he wanted to kiss you again, he didn’t want to be the reason you wound up in the same position as him.

“I’ll gladly take that risk.” Giving him a peck on the lips and one on the cheek, you resumed your position cuddled into him. “So all that rotting food in your fridge was from your videos?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Next time you want to upload a video everyday, call me, okay? I would gladly like to eat your cooking again.”

“Well you don’t have to wait for that, I’ll cook for you anytime you want.”

“Will you cook with me on my channel?” You looked at him hopefully.

“I’ll think about it.” He would have to make sure you didn’t accidentally expose his identity or your new budding relationship.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Giving him a big hug, you fixed the blanket over the two of you. Nanami wanted to protest and reaffirm that he would think about it, but with the way you were pressed into his side, he couldn’t find it in him.

“Alright, it’s a yes.”