#and that time I forgot a soup recipe but couldn’t find it and tried to make it from memory

[teaaleefs]

Second Best - K. Bakugou

word count: 1746

pairing: 3rdyear!Bakugou x nb!reader

cw and notes: might be ooc because i’ve literally never written this guy before Hurt/Comfort, Cussing it’s bakugou idk what you expected. Soft bakugou, Hopefully i did it right tho- comparing yourself to others, jealousy, envy, low self esteem, pet names (baby), unedited asf good luck reading it because i certainly didn't, good ending :)

synopsis: you can't stop comparing yourself to your boyfriend and one day it just gets to you

Always second best. That’s what you were.

Second best to Katsuki since… Well, always. Your boyfriend always strove to be number one, always strove for perfection in everything. He was number one in class, the most promising student in class 1-A despite his rough and brash personality. But even then, he was the best at everything. Even things you told yourself you were good at.

Cooking? He could make your mom’s recipe almost exactly the same way she did, always fine tuning the details. But you? You always changed something up, always forgot a step. Too much salt, too little garlic, not enough pepper, forgot the vegetables… and despite being with him for some time - for nearly 3 years now - during your time in UA, you grew almost resentful.

At first you felt guilty, because why would you ever compare yourself to him? Why should you be upset that he’s doing well for himself? But the thought that you were always falling behind, always miles behind and him miles ahead, it bubbled up jealousy. You never acknowledged it when you were around him. You always acted normal, acted the same. Had your usual spats and squabbles with him, had your small dates with him and exchanged vulnerable words. But the feeling kept gnawing at you. Especially during finals, always during finals or big exams. You both would work your asses off. Hell, he even helped you to study the majority of the time. 

Still, everytime you found that he was just better. Better at everything. Better with his quirk, better at studying, better at retaining information, better at testing, better at cooking your mother’s damn soup, better at planning dates, taking you out, getting gifts, better, better, better.

It left you upset late at night most times. Whenever you weren’t sleeping in his room your mind would whir with ways for you to improve - for you to catch up. And even when you were sleeping in his room, when he was already asleep you would still find yourself comparing and comparing and wishing you could just be better at one thing. Anything, just one thing.

Sometimes it made heat rise to your face when you would have these thoughts while looking over his sleeping form. His chest rose and fell with soft breaths while your eyes stung and burned and you tried to blink back your jealousy. Usually blinking them back and telling yourself to get over it did the trick. But one night it just didn’t. And you ended up wiping your eyes and turning away from him, settling into the pillow beneath your head and forcing yourself to fall asleep. 

But this night wasn’t like the others and no matter what you just couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. Your eyes kept flooding full of tears just for you to keep wiping them away, just for you to keep quietly sniffling and hiccupping and for your mind to keep milling over your jealousy and underlying disappointment with yourself because it honestly wasn’t fair! You were trying just as hard as he was, but he was always more driven, always more something and tonight you couldn’t take it anymore.

He heard you before he saw you. Back turned to him, quiet sniffles filling the otherwise silent room save for the sound of the fan. Scooting closer to you, he wrapped his arms around your waist. He knew better than to ask - he knew you weren’t the type to say it outright. 

“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” He asked anyway, his gruff voice having gone soft. It didn’t hold its usual snark or aggression, only a hint of the underlying concern he actually felt. When you didn’t answer, he sighed and held you tighter, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder. 

You could feel light kisses brushing against your skin, murmured words of comfort that he normally wouldn’t utter. See, he was even better than you at comforting his loved ones. All you usually managed was an ‘it’ll be okay’ or a hug, feeling too awkward when it came to making others feel better. Your throat tightened as did your chest, the heel of your palms pressing against your eyes as you tried to will yourself to stop crying over nothing. To stop being a baby and a jealous little shit. There was no reason to cry from an outside standpoint. But here you were, silently balling your eyes out for no reason (that’s what you thought Katsuki might be thinking at least). 

“It’s not fair.” You managed to choke out, words mumbled and muffled between a sharp intake of air. 

His hands rubbed soothing circles against your skin, his hold on you never faltering, but his lips stopped their soft brushes against your shoulder. “What’s not fair?”

You fell silent again. Should you tell him? But that would be selfish, what if it caused him problems? No, realistically, he would hold back for no one. Not even you. but what if he decided that you were being dramatic? What if this lead to one of your usual tiffs over nothing? What if you really were just being a crybaby? What if, what if, what if he’s too good for you? 

One of his hands abandoned your waist in favor of caressing your hair, rough fingers running through the strands all the way down, down, down to your neck and then back up again to the top in a calming fluid motion. “Breathe, baby. I can feel you tensing up.” He murmured against your ear, his rough voice growing increasingly softer. 

You stiffened for a moment. You hadn’t even realized you were taking in shallow breaths, but now you were hyper aware of your breathing and how tight your chest felt. Nodding to show that you heard him, you drank in slow, deep breaths, holding them for a few seconds before releasing them. 

You could hear him shifting behind you, both of his hands moving to cup your face. You could sense him hovering over you even as your hands stayed pressed to your eyes. You could feel the feather light kiss he pressed to your cheek and how quietly he asked you to move your hands. When you didn’t immediately comply, he gently encased his hands around your wrists, pulling your hands away himself.

Through bleary and wet eyes, you could make out the crease between his brows, his expression hardened into displeasure as he released your wrists. His displeasure wasn’t directed at you - never at you when you were like this.

He brushed the corner of your eyes free of tears with each thumb before pulling away. Settling back onto the bed and laying on his side, his warm hand brushed from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you towards his chest. You let out a breath before you finally let yourself cry without holding it back; without the sniffling and bit back and choked sobs.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He asked as he held you tight, chin resting atop your head.

You swallowed thickly, not wanting to tell him that you were crying because of him. It wouldn’t be fair and you had convinced yourself you were being childish. He let silence fall between you two, not wanting to push anymore when it was obvious that you weren’t going to say.

But that was fine. He was fine with just holding you tight and grazing his lips on your forehead. He held you for a while after that, murmuring sweet words into your ear, rubbing your back and hair and telling you that everything was okay, meanwhile you just couldn’t stop for the life of you comparing and wondering about how he’d react if you told him why you were crying.

Until eventually, you broke it down to him, blubbered and mumbled and choked words of explanation finally tumbling from your trembling lips. You told him about your jealousy, about the comparisons, how you felt he was miles ahead and you constantly fighting for a way to at least catch up. How he was just better, how you thought you were being silly and dramatic and that “there was no reason” for you to be crying like this - breaking down over this. How he felt out of your league, how he was just too good for you. But as soon as he heard you tell him all that he fell silent and that made your stomach drop. Was he silently agreeing with you? Did he also think you were being a crybaby? Childish? Dramatic–

He held you so tight you thought your bones might break. His head buried in the space between your neck and shoulder, he scolded you.

“Don’t fucking say shit like that.” He rasped, voice barely above a whisper, “There’s no way I’m out of your league. If I was, I wouldn't have dated you in the first place.” His words were honest and straightforward, blunt but needed. “Baby, you’re fine the way you are. Stop comparing yourself to me, it’s unfair to yourself.” He said before pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your eye, kissing away your plump tears. “We’re different people, of course things are gonna come differently to each of us.” He soothed as he pulled away to kiss the corner of your other eye. “There’s a lot of shit that you're better at than me, so give yourself some credit, baby.”

You managed a few soft noises of acknowledgement and muffled “okay’s”, taking in a few heaving breaths as you worked to calm down. He didn’t stop holding you, he didn’t stop muttering comforts to try and quiet your tears, didn’t stop telling you all the ways you had one upped him, even in the smallest of ways. He tried to show you that you had your own accomplishments, that even he couldn’t do it all - and that was the thing absolutely hated to admit, but he did it for you.

He didn’t stop holding you, his calloused fingers tracing soft patterns against your arm, not even as your breathing regulated and you sniffed here and there. Not even when you fell asleep against his chest, your fingers clutching onto his shirt in an attempt to keep him there. Not that he was moving anytime soon. He didn’t even let you go when he fell asleep too, his arms falling slack around you, but still there. Still resting against your waist, his legs tangled with yours and his face buried against your shoulder.

[vanillann]

double sided recipe card (pietro maximoff x reader)

a/n: hi, pietro is literally the love of my life so OF COURSE i’d do this!! also request are always open so don’t be scared to send an ask whenever!!

word count: 2.3k

“Has anyone seen Pietro?”

I swung around the kitchen of the compound, walking in to find Clint and Nat in a conversation about who knew what. They both smiled when they saw me but Clint's face dropped slightly when he realized my words.

“Why do you need Roadrunner?” Clint crossed his arm, leaning back on the kitchen island slightly.

“I have his physical and if he wants to go to the mission tomorrow,” I tried off, smiling at Clint when he rolled his eyes.

“I think he’s in Wanda’s room,” Nat pointed over her shoulder, patting my shoulder when I passed her.

I did the lightest jog to the evaluator, finding Wanda’s floor number and smashing the button. The folder played between my fingers, my eyes begging to look but I knew I’d get in trouble if I was caught on camera.

The smallest ding drew me from my stares, informing me I had made it to the correct floor. I skipped out lightly, smiling when I noticed Wanda's door slightly ajar, the slightest bit of laughter spilling out into the hallway. I didn’t think much of him in Wanda’s room, he tended to sit around everyones room beside his own.

I stepped closer to the door, my knuckles ready to knock but I stopped when I noticed a female voice laugh. I looked closer, noticing Pietro sat in front of the T.V. his back turned to me but his knees were pressed to his chest as he stared at the T.V.

“Pietro,” a little bit of a younger Wanda's face smiled from the screen, her giggles sounded the same as they do now as she looked up.

“I’m shocked you didn’t see it coming,” Pietro's voice sounded around the room, the entire video was starting to catch up. Wanda mentioned she had a few older home videos in her room, she didn’t watch them but she never had to heart to watch them.

“I’ll kill you.”

Pietro suddenly slammed his hand on the remote, doing his best to make the video stop but the laughter never stopped. He held in the air, ready to throw it at the T.V. before my feet took off. I don’t know how I made it to his side so fast, my hand wrapping around the remote as I placed my other hand on his back.

“Hey,” my voice was soft as I got his hand to fall, he looked shocked for a second and I realized he probably was upset. I was watching but that didn’t matter as he curled closer to me. His hands pulled at the overshirt hoodie that clung to my frame, his face pulling closer.

He didn’t cry, just took angry breaths and held himself closer to me. By the time dinner rolled around he had drifted off, his hands lose on my shirt as I played with the edge of the folder.

“Piet-” Wanda knocked lightly on the door, a little smile on her face before she spotted us on the floor.

“Hey Wanda,” I spoke softly, trying to get his hand off so I could speak away from my ear, making sure I didn’t wake him. Wanda waited a second, most likely reading my mind for a second before she gave a sad smile.

“The home video?”

I just nodded, following her from her own room to the kitchen, where I could smell the food flooding the building.

“He does alot of bottling up, with the anniversary of mother birth-” Wanda trailed off, upset as she spoke about her poor mother.

“When’s her birthday?”

“Tomorrow,” Wanda shrugged, both of us stepping foot in the elevator.

“During the mission? I’m so sorry, I can lie to Tony and tell him you aren’t clear-”

“Don’t worry about it (Y/N), it’ll be good not to think about it.” Wanda smiled lightly, looping her arm in mine as she leaned on me slightly.

“Thank you, for being there for him.

“Of course, you know I care about you both.” The door slid open, the smell even stronger as we heard Steve’s laugh fill the compound.

“Care isn’t the word I’d use,” her accent was thicker as she rolled her eyes at me, the hint of a smirk on her lips as we walked closer to the kitchen. I pinched her side, laughing when she jumped slightly.

Once we made it to the kitchen the smell well smashed into my system, walking over to look down at the soup that was lightly boiling.

“It’s a Saliva meal,” Wanda handed me a bowl, holding one in her own hand while she waited for me to hurry up.

“Should I wake Pietro? He wouldn’t want to miss this-“

“I’ll make it again, for now he should rest.” Wanda held my arm, smiling at my concern for her brother as I gently picked up the ladle and became pouring my own soup in the bowl. I watched the light brown broth pour into the bowl and suddenly I knew exactly what I had to do.

“Wanda, would you leave the recipe card out for this?”

I stumbled into the kitchen, the reusable bag full of different ingredients practically falling from the bag.

“Aren’t you glad you aren’t an Avenger,” I heard Pepper’s soft voice from behind me, her giggles coming from the doorway. I only shrugged, looking down gloomy as the ingredients that sat over the island.

“What are you making?” I felt her presence beside me now, looking over the food beside me. I didn’t say a word, holding up the recipe card Wanda had thankfully left out.

“This is what we had last night,” Pepper noticed, looking at the side of my face with the smallest smirk ever across it.

“I’m making it for Pietro for when they get back, he didn’t get any last night.”

Pepper bumped my shoulder, my eyes rolling in the back of my head before I reached for a tomato. I let it roll around in my hand a few times, looking down at the card Pepper had placed back down.

“You don’t know what you're doing?”

“Nope,” I popped the “p”, walking around the island to grab one of the pots and filling it up with water. I placed it on the stove, staring at it for a little bit as if waiting for something to happen.

“Would you like help?”

I probably should say yes, I was trying to make this soup when I should barely make a bowl of cereal. Maybe soup was one of the easier foods to make but I would spend half the time as a few words still in Russian on the card.

“I’ve got it don’t worry,” I brushed her off, simply because I was hoping if I could pull this off alone he would be proud of me. I was hoping he’d make a smartass comment with that little smirk and mention that I did a great job.

“Okay, let me know if you need help. I’m always happy to do so for you and Wanda, just not Tony.” I laughed slightly at her sarcasm, waving over my shoulder as I heard her light footsteps leave the kitchen.

I finally reached out and turned the burner on, smiling when I heard the small click signaling it was in fact on and ready to begin boiling the water. I turned back to the island, picking at the index card. I assumed it was a family recipe but the handwriting and the older terms were used within the recipe.

As I finally placed the tomato on the cutting board, a large knife in hand I thought things were falling into place.

I was in fact, wrong.

I panicked when I heard the elevator open, hearing a light noise of voices enter the floor. I couldn’t be everyone as they weren't as loud and also with how late it was. Clint wasn’t going to hang around with everyone at 2:12 in the morning.

“Just go in the kitchen,” I heard a light female voice speak, my panic rising as I realized Pietro was in fact home and probably seconds away from walking in the kitchen.

I hid my bandage hand behind my back, trying to block the few things I managed to chop before I attacked my own hand with it by accident.

“Why?” His accent was thick with sleep, which made a little smile dance across my lips. I understood why Nat was teaching them to lose the accent for safety reasons but I loved the way they spoke with it.

“Just do,” I saw the door slightly move, knowing someone was going to walk in soon and part of me panicked. I was more worried about Pepper finding me like this, she would have my head if she saw this and I didn’t let her help.

“Fine fine,” I watched him finally walk into the kitchen, lucky alone, as he looked around it for a second. When his eyes spotted me against the counter he smiled but it quickly fell when he spotted the mess behind me.

“(Y/N)?”

“Pietro?” I spoke with nerves. my body on high alert.

“What’s this?” He looked down at the island, his eyes spotting the recipe card I had forgotten to put away. His finger picked it up, a sad smile on his lips before he even read the words on the card.

“My mothers,” his voice sounded far away, as if for a second he was back home before the bomb, before they lost everything but each other.

“Wanda let me use it,” I pointed with my unharmed hand, trying my best to make him comfortable with the conversation.

“She told you?”

“Just a few details,’ I brushed off, my eyes suddenly looking everywhere but him as I wanted to leave the kitchen and run into my own room. I had already ruined the meal, let's not ruin a whole friendship.

“You told me you couldn’t cook?”

I laughed at the memory, I completely forgot about the time I told him about Bruce’s birthday. Thor and I thought making a cake was a great idea but it ended up with a weird green blob. I was much younger then sure, but it definitely showed my abilities with making any sort of food.

“You remember that story?”

“I remember all your stories, as you do mine.” I finally stopped looking at the floor, looking up at him as he titled his head at me. His arms were crossed on the island but his under eye bags stood out against the harsh light of the kitchen. The natural light was long gone and it was only the moon that bought light from the outside.

“You should probably get to bed,” I wasn’t thinking straight as I walked forward and lightly pushed open the door for him. I high when my fresh cut hand hit the wooden door slightly too hard.

Even as tired as he was, Pietro was at my side in milliseconds, looking over my hand with the awkward bandage across it.

“What did you do?” I ignored the little pet name, trying to pull my hand from his grip.

“I’m really bad at cutting potatoes,” I shrugged, the awkward smile making its way across my lips. He said nothing, looking up at me with a disapproving look.

“You must be more careful,” he looked at it a little longer but eventually let my hand fall to my side as he smiled slightly at me.

The silence felt like it lasted forever, like it would never end, but it eventually did when he spoke.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t exactly make it,” I pointed to the brown sad water with nothing else in it. I didn’t make it far before things started going bad. Pietro frowned at me, speeding around the kitchen quickly before he stood in front of me.

A bowl was held in his hand, the brown water now had a few of the vegetables floating around in it, it looked much better but still not what Wanda made last night.

“I don’t know what you mean, I have it right here.” He held a spoonful up, taking a wide bite. I could tell it wasn’t what he thought but he didn’t look like he was going to be sick.

“It’s not your mothers recipe,” I looked up at him, trying my best not a smile at his little pout every time I said something.

“No, it’s your own.” He placed the bowl down, flipping the index card around and grabbing a pen that stayed in the kitchen for any reason. I panicked when I saw him start writing on it, my hand shooting out to stop him but he just quickly moved to the otherside of the island.

“That was your mother Pietro!”

“Now it’s your and my mothers! Two of my favorites on one card, don’t tell Wanda that,” he pointed at me with the last part, his smirk painted across his face making me feel little butterflies in my stomach.

I watched him write my name across the top with the ingredients he saw I had used. Once he was down he slid it across the table, smiling when I laughed at the title.

“(Y/N)’s Happy Mistake.”

“Yes, it’s my personal favorite,” he smiled, my own growing wider as the seconds went on with his looking at me like that.

“Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you, for everything,” he walked slowly, for the first time, around the island. He leaned beside me, his arm touching my own. I let my head rest there, smiling when I felt him leave a gentle kiss on my crown.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything Pietro,” I felt myself lean closer to him. I knew we would have to talk about this feeling in the morning, but we were both too tired to care for now.

“There aren’t any potatoes in my mothers’ soup.”

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[formenis]

Likeness

Anon asked: "I really love your one shots 💖 and was wondering if you could make a one shot for Matsuda? 😅" 

*slams hands on the table* OF COURSE!

(and thank you, Anon-san~♥)

pairing: Touta Matsuda x gn!reader

warning: fluff floof maybe

requested: yes

D/N: dog name

A/N: as I always say, English is not my first language so you’ll find some mistakes in my stories. I’m sorry! ><

«The total amount is 6600¥» (A/N: something like US$ 60 or 50€ with the current exchange rate)

«Alright»

Y/N searched for their wallet and payed their groceries. That evening they wanted to prepare a magnificent dinner so Y/N needed many things to buy.

They left the konbini (A/N: a small retail business that stocks a range of everyday items, they're also called "convenience store") with two large shopping bags. They were not much heavy but Y/N could already sense a slight pain on their hands.

It stopped raining few minutes ago, everything was wet and shining: cars, buildings and even the road. There was not much people around them due to the weather but the streets were congested, filled with vehicles. A freezing air hit Y/N's face and once outside the konbini they took a deep breath before leading back home.

During the walk, Y/N thought at the menu for the dinner: rice, soup and three side dishes for sure. Yes, but which side dishes? Tempura, grilled fish, hamburger steaks or something like salads and boiled veggies? Luckily Y/N brought everything in case they were unsure once at home.

Cooking was a sort of "ceremony" for Y/N. Why? First, because they liked it (A/N: sorry if you don't); and secondly, because that was how they met their s/o Touta Matsuda. But he was a detective, how could they meet? Simple (and rather cliché, Y/N admitted it): they bumped into each other in one of the aisles inside a konbini. The two of them were doing their grocery shopping when both of them aimed at the same bag of seaweed.

«A-Ah! I'm terribly sorry!» he immediately apologised.

«Omusubi I guess?» (A/N: it's another name for onigiri, a food made from white rice formed into triangular or cylindrical shapes and often wrapped in seaweed).

«Yeah…I always bring them at work»

A normal conversation with a stranger would end there, they would come back at their normal life and maybe forgetting about each other the next day. But not with someone as Matsuda: he was so outgoing, chatty and…somehow cute. Y/N got along with him immediately: the initial simple acquaintance changed into friendship; and friendship turned into love. And cooking helped a lot: they would exchange recipes and tricks every time they would meet.

«Gee, I took too many Mentsuyu bottles» (A/N: it's a noodle soup base)

But back to the present. During their way back home, Y/N felt a set of steps behind her. At first they thought it was some weirdo who was following her but when they turned they didn’t see anybody. So they kept walking; after five minutes the steps became four.

When Y/N turned again, they were ready to use the shopping bags to beat whoever was following them but they saw something else instead: a puppy. Very thick, pure white double coat, two large black eyes and cute tiny ears (and no collar). Y/N opened the mouth in disbelief.  

«Oh my-a white cloud fell from the sky! Come here, cutie» Y/N kneeled down and the puppy walked closer right away. It must be hungry, it was a bit skinny…poor floof.

«Do you wanna come with me? I'm a rather talented chef, you know» Y/N asked the dog with a hint of presumption. The puppy wagged its tail in response, it must love that idea. «Then, jump in» Y/N opened one of the largest pockets of their jacket and the white floof stepped closer to it: it sniffed the cloth and once it verified there were no dangers, it jumped inside. Once it found a comfortable position, its head popped out from the pocket.

«You're so cute, just like Matsu~» Y/N took the shopping bags again and walked back home. The few people on the streets looked with cute awe at that pocket.

.

.

♰ TIME SKIP ♰

At home, the same apartment they shared with Matsuda, Y/N was cooking peacefully when a sudden thought appeared in their mind: «What if Matsu is allergic to dog fur?»

They never asked him since none of them never talked about pets. Y/N's gazed moved from the tempura to the floof: the puppy was drinking from the bowl still wigging its tail. They smiled, everything about that dog reminded them of Matsuda.

Y/N was so focused on the floof that they almost didn’t hear the front door open. «I'm home!»

In a rush, Y/N took the dog and hid it behind the armchair and put the bowl in the sink. Then they pretended to cook again. «I-In the kitchen!»

Few moments later Matsuda appeared in front of them: tired face, messy black hair and loosened dark tie. When he smelled the air his lips curved in a smile.

«Welcome back, Matsu. How was work?»

«I'm so tiiiired» he sighed walking closer to his Y/N and kissed their cheek. «Is that tempura?»

«Good nose, dear» Y/N chuckled and let him taste a piece.

Matsuda yummed in bliss and tried to steal another piece but Y/N hit him softly with the chopsticks. «You have to wait»

Touta complained but didn’t say anything else. Instead, his gaze moved to the sink. «Why did you use the bowl?»

Y/N froze. Damn, they forgot to hid it. «Uhm…I was trying a new recipe but I failed…eheh» they laughed nervously.

Matsuda could be naïve sometimes but he was a detective after all. «And you used the bowl…and nothing else? Nor a pot or a ladle?» he asked with suspect.

«As I said, new recipe» Y/N kept cooking the tempura playing it cool. However, this didn’t convince Matsuda and continued analysing the "crime scene".

He was walking closer to the armchair, Y/N was sweating cold. He almost reached the point where the floof was hiding but then, as to save the situation, someone knocked at the door. «Coming!» Matsuda yelled and ran towards the front door.

Y/N ran towards the armchair and took the little floof. It started wigging its tail when it saw them, its ears were all up. Y/N went towards the bedroom and put it down half-hidden under the bed.

«Stay here cutie, I'll come back soon» and with that, they ran back in the kitchen. In that exact moment, Matsuda appeared again.

«Who was it, dear?»

«Uhm…it was Ogawa-san. She gave us some cookies she did today»

«Really? So gentle of her» was Y/N's reply. They were mentally hoping the floof would not do noises.

.

.

.

After dinner, as usual, Matsuda was relaxing on the couch watching TV with Y/N beside him. They were watching a documentary about rainforests around the world when Matsuda started giggling quietly.

«Pff Y-Y/N…please stop»

«Uh?» they looked at him in confusion. Soon enough that giggling became a proper laugh.

«You know I'm ticklish, please~»

«I'm not doing anything-» Y/N stopped talking when, despite the slight darkness, they could recognise the floof's white fur: it was playing with the hem of Matsuda's pants and the fur was tickling his feet.

Y/N started panicking was going to grab the dog but Matsuda was faster. «A dog?» he said in disbelief. «Y/N? Why there's…a dog here?»

«Uhm…ah…well…I-» Y/N wanted to explain but no words (or good excuses) came out from their throat.

A loud sigh marked their defeat. «It was following me when I went at the konbini…I couldn’t leave it there! Just…look at it, Matsu!» they took gently the puppy in their hands so it was looking directly at the detective: tiny ears up, soft white fur and large dark eyes. The dog tilted the head in confusion and so did Matsuda.

«See? You two are so similar, so cute! Can we please keep it?»

The initial confusion of the young detective soon turned into a gentle smile: in that moment Y/N was doing the cutest "puppy eyes" he ever saw. So he was not the only one who looked like that dog. It was the main reason that made him smile.

«Did you choose a name yet?»

«Hmm…what about D/N?»

«It sounds perfect»

«This means we can keep it?!» Y/N asked happily and D/N wigged swiftly its tail as if it was even happier. A series of cute barks could be heard as Matsuda said yes.

[trvelyans-archive]

my baby’s sweet as can be

a comm for the lovely @montliyets of her adorable detective miss honey hudson and one stunning felix hauville trying to make pancakes !!! these two are so cute and sweet so i hope you enjoy <3 <3 <3 

-

“So, are you a vampire now, too?”

Honey stops scrolling through her phone to glance over at Felix with an amused smile. “No,” she says before good-naturedly rolling her eyes and returning to her search for the right playlist, “I just found this recipe online when you were in the bathroom and I thought it looked cool.”

Felix doesn’t say anything – he just stares at her with round amber eyes until she turns to look at him again, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“What?” she asks.

“Well – what is it?” he prompts. “You can’t just say that and not tell me about the recipe!”

That wasn’t actually why he was staring at her – it was because a bunch of hairs came loose from her bun and were hanging in little blonde curls at the nape of her neck that he couldn’t help but stare at and want to push back up into her bun – but it’s a good enough excuse. He hopes it is, anyway.

She giggles, grabbing her phone and presenting it to him – on the screen is a plate of fluffy pancakes topped high with whipped cream and strawberries. It looks good – it even looks good to him, which is saying something, considering vampires rarely ever enjoy food. It also looks incredibly complicated, though, and Honey hasn’t slept a wink tonight – Felix would know, because they’d been watching musicals on the couch until now and the clock on the oven reads 2:06 am. Way past her bedtime, especially if she has work in the morning.

He can hear Adam’s scolding in his head, but if she doesn’t want to sleep, who is Felix to stop her? Especially because he needs at least ten more minutes of staring to commit all her curls to memory… and then another ten minutes so he can work up the courage to ask her if he can tug on one of them to see how springy it is.

Besides, he likes spending time with Honey. She’s just so sweet.

“Should I make some to bring Tina for breakfast?” Honey asks, taking the phone from Felix when he hands it back to her. “Yeah, okay, I’ll do it. I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish so many myself, anyway.”

“Wish I could eat some,” Felix says, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout as he hops up onto the counter.

Honey returns his pout as she opens the fridge door. “I know,” she says sympathetically, glancing down at her phone before looking up at him. “But – maybe you can try these? The ingredients are pretty, y’know, normal – they might not be too bad!”

“What are some of them?” Felix asks. He’s managed to stomach the odd potato chip or sugary cereal in his day (though usually only because Mason dares him, considering - as much as he enjoys the first bite - he doesn’t always enjoy every bite after that).

“Milk, eggs, butter… oh, what?”

Felix leans over, trying to read her screen. “What?”

“These use mayo,” she says. “Hm. Okay, well, maybe you won’t like them!”

“That’s okay!” he says brightly. “I might try one anyway… With the right motivation.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, but she already turned to the fridge and started looking for ingredients. Damn. He’ll have to try that again later.

After she collects everything and places it all onto her counter, including a bottle of vanilla that Felix spent five minutes helping search through her cupboards for until she revealed it was actually hidden behind a couple of plants, he settles back in beside her and watches her pour everything into a medium-sized mixing bowl with mushrooms painted on the sides and starts mixing it together, only occasionally flinging batter over the side of the bowl onto her counter. She bites her bottom lip as she focuses, swaying back and forth to the music playing from her phone, and he forces himself to look away for a second before he gets stuck thinking about how cute she is (which happens more than he’d like to admit).

“So…” He leans back against the cupboards and crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you come here often?”

He can picture it in his head – a sleepy Honey dragging herself out of her bed and into the kitchen to make a full Thanksgiving turkey or something at four in the morning. (He’s seen her half-asleep some nights when she sleeps at the Warehouse. It’s incredibly cute. She’s cute right now, too, but there’s something extra special about seeing her right out of sleep.)

She glances up at him and laughs. “Sometimes,” she says. “I mean, I try to get enough sleep before work, but – I get distracted, and if I get distracted, it’s hard to sleep.”

Felix understands that – he gets distracted easily, too, sometimes. Especially when he daydreams about beating Mason in a game of darts, because then it’s hard for him to do any of his Agency work when he knows that the dartboard in the games room is just down the hall at the Warehouse. “Distracted by fancy pancakes?”

“It’s not always food!” she protests. “One time I went to the convenience store with Tina at three in the morning because I thought there might be stuff I would need to do, like, embroidery there… surprisingly, there wasn’t any. And then I forgot by the end of work the next day, so… there went my dreams of embroidering a pillow.”

“I’m sure you’d be great at that,” Felix says.

Honey smiles. “Well, play your cards right and I might crappily embroider you a pillow for your next…” She trails off uncertainly. “Uh, I was gonna say birthday, but… do you have one?”

“I do!” Though he probably would’ve made one up even if he didn’t, because he doesn’t want to miss out on a gift from her, especially if she was planning on embroidering a cute little flower onto it. He doesn’t need to sleep that often, but he might end up doing it more just because he’d get to use the pillow she made him. “You don’t have to get me anything, though!”

“Of course I do, Felix.” She stops to dip her finger in the bowl, scooping some batter up on her finger and licking it off. “What kind of chef would I be if I didn’t get a birthday present for my cooking assistant?”

“Well, I don’t know how good of an assistant I’ll be, but I can try!” Felix says. On the rare occasion Nate is cooking, Felix lingers in the kitchen to watch (and almost always ends up getting swatted away when he tries to add more ingredients than necessary).

“Well, I don’t know how good of a chef I’ll be with this recipe, either, so…” She grins at him. “We’re in this together, I guess.”

Felix grins back at her. ‘Together’ makes his heart flutter. “Good.”

When the pancakes are finally finished at exactly 3 am (with Felix only trying to add honey to the batter once or four times throughout the course of cooking), she crams the pancakes that she set aside for Tina into a tiny container and stuffs them into her fridge before the two of them sit down at the dining table. “Alright,” she says, her cutlery clattering together as she picks them up in her hand and moves her plate onto her placemat with the other. “Moment of truth.”

The truth, from his end, is that the pancakes look good. While Felix is having trouble smelling anything but the mayonnaise which is super overpowering and – well, it doesn’t exactly make him think of nice, sweet pancakes, they still look good. They look like they belong in one of those food magazines he’s seen lying around Haley’s. He’s about to tell her that she should take a picture of them to send to Tina when she cuts a piece off and barely gives him enough time to start his drumroll before she sticks the forkful of food into her mouth.

Felix just sits there and watches her while she chews until she swallows the pancakes. There’s a long, thoughtful pause before she nods and her face breaks out into a bright, pleased smile, and she immediately picks her cutlery back up to slice off and scrape up another forkful of pancakes. “Good,” she says. “Yeah, they’re good.”

“Yes!” Felix claps. He wasn’t ready to see her disappointed if they weren’t good. “Good job!”

“My middle-of-the-night baking is almost never good,” she laughs, running a hand over her hair, “so I’m really glad that I didn’t embarrass myself.”

“Psh. Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

Honey fixes him with a disbelieving stare. “I once set off the fire alarms in the building trying to make soup,” she says. “Soup, Felix.”

“Well… that’s okay!” Felix smiles at her. “Besides… maybe this means that I should come over more often when you’re trying to cook. Maybe I’m your lucky charm!”

“You are,” Honey says, grinning when he wiggles his eyebrows at her. Nice. He knew that’d work. “Don’t tell Tina, of course, because she probably thinks that she’s my lucky charm. Do you want some pancakes, by the way?”

He’s tempted. Mostly because she’s looking at him so hopefully, but also because the slice she cut off looks super pretty and it would be hard for anyone to turn it down (except maybe Adam and Mason). Still, he can’t exactly get over the smell of mayonnaise…

And then he gets an idea.

“Hang on,” Felix said. “Hold that thought!”

He stands up and darts into the kitchen, then turns around to poke his head through the doorway and add, “But you can eat that slice, y’know, if you want!”

Her kitchen is a mess after all the baking – he doesn’t even know where she’s going to start in terms of cleaning off her counter – but he somehow manages to find what he was looking for within seconds. He holds it close to his chest as he heads back into the living room, sitting down in his seat a little closer to her than he was before and placing a small yellow bottle on the table in triumphantly.

“Honey,” she says, looking up at him. “You know syrup is basically the same thing, right? I mean... isn’t it?”

He places a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Are you questioning your cooking assistant, Chef Hudson?”

She laughs, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair. “Not at all,” she says. “Be my guest! Just… don’t throw up on my table, okay? And if you do get sick, please don’t tell Adam it was because of me!”

Felix’s genuinely offended that she’d even have to say that – he’d blame himself a million times before he’d even think about blaming her – but now he’s too distracted by his mission to respond to it, grabbing her plate and pulling it towards himself until it’s sitting perfectly in the center of his own floral-printed placemat. He cuts off a slice of pancake and flips open the top of the honey bottle, pouring an amount of honey onto his fork that makes her gasp and cover her mouth, but he only looks up at her and winks as he grabs it and shoves the pancake into his mouth.

Yep, it tastes like mayonnaise and eggs just like he knew it would, but the honey is sweet.

(Felix already knew that, too.)

“Good?” she asks, placing her elbows on the table and leaning towards him expectantly.

“Good,” he replies, nodding. “If you ask me, you could quit your detective job and become a full-time pancake chef.”

Honey smiles. “Only if you’re my full-time cooking assistant.”

Felix reaches out and curls a strand of hair around his finger. “I’m fine with that… on one condition.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“We have to incorporate honey into every recipe,” he says. Before she can protest, he adds, “It’s the perfect business model!”

“Alright, alright, you have a point.” She glances at the plate of pancakes again, biting her lip. “Do you want another bite?”

He doesn’t – what he wants to do is lean closer and closer to her and see if she’ll let him kiss her. Or if she’ll kiss him first. Or if they’ll kiss each other at the exact same time like in the movies. He can tell that she wants another bite, though, and he’s nothing if not a gentleman, so he pulls his hand reluctantly away from her and pushes the plate towards her again.

Besides, if he doesn’t get to kiss her tonight, it’ll give him a good excuse to come over another time.

[jaskierswolf]

@dapandapod - Part 6 (I’m sorry, I forgot)

Jaskilion - They keep falling into bed with each other and making excuses for it.

part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

CW: None? A fluffy end.

____________

Jaskier was pacing back and forth in the kitchen. It looked as if a bomb had hit it. Flour was everywhere, including all over his hair and clothes, and the tomato soup he’d tried to make was now coating the walls after a mishap with the blender. It was a complete disaster. The recipes he’d chosen were supposed to be easy, meant for beginners but apparently Jaskier didn’t even count as a beginner. He had many talents in life, most notable he could play almost any instrument he picked up with some skill, he could sort of knit as long as the pattern wasn’t too complicated and Dandelion was around to help him change the yarn balls if necessary. He could suck cocks like he was born for it, and he was a rather talented poet too.

What he couldn’t do, even if his life depended on it, was cook.

So naturally that had been the first thing that Jaskier had decided to do when he’d realised he was in love with his best friend. Yes they’d already fooled around a few times, but this was different. Jaskier wanted to woo Dandelion, seduce him, make him fall in love with him.

But instead he was on the verge on crying in the middle of the kitchen.

And Dandelion was due home from work at any moment.

“Oh bollocks,” he groaned, as he heard the key in the front door. “Cock!” he yelled, kicking a pile of onion that he’d dropped earlier in his attempts to make soup. The bread was rock-hard and inedible, the soup… was alright but there was barely any left in the pot. The main course was still in the oven but honestly Jaskier didn’t have much hope. It would probably either be raw or dry as fuck, the poor chicken had died for nothing.

“Jask?” Dandelion’s melodic voice trilled from the hallway.

“Kitchen,” he called back, sinking to the floor in defeat.

“Oh bloody hell…”

“Shut up.”

“Is this better or worse than my attempts at dinner?” Dandelion said, barely concealing his laughter behind his hand. The bandages were off now, but there was a long pink scar that ran along his palm. Jaskier had caught his friend tracing the line with his fingers on more than one occasion, a new habit that Jaskier found endearing.

He laughed, still feeling pissed off that his attempts to cook had ended so badly, but Dandelion’s laugh was infectious and he was apparently smitten. “Honestly, I’m not sure?”

“At least I won’t have to take you to hospital,” Dandelion teased, causing Jaskier’s cheeks to flush red.

“Yeah well…” he trailed off, not really knowing what to say to that. Dandelion let out another peal of laughter and flopped down next to him. His friend’s hand landed on his knee and Jaskier felt his heart jump.

“Why on earth were you cooking anyway?” Dandelion asked softly.

“Wanted to surprise you, I. Well… I realised I’m sort of in love with you,” he said too quickly for any reasonable human to understand, but judging by Dandelion’s stunned silence, he’d heard just fine.

Cock.

“Dandy… say something?” he pleaded.

“Oh you fool, you unbearable adorable and lovely fool!” Dandelion laughed, shuffling so he was kneeling opposite Jaskier. “You didn’t have to try and seduce me, darling, I was already yours. In fact, well, I was trying to do quite the same thing for you when…” he waved his scarred hand, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“God, I’ve loved you for… years, it must have been years, but you were always out and about with all those friends of yours.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Friends?”

“I’m being polite,” Dandelion chided, “Anyway you never seemed interested in me… until that night… with the porn.”

Jaskier groaned. “The porn.”

“And after then my crush went downhill. I couldn’t hide it anymore, not when there was hope. Hope is a dangerous thing,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I kept finding ways to be close to you. If you’d wanted to be fuck buddies, I would have taken it but it would have hurt.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Jaskier cupped Dandelion’s cheek and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. “If I’d have known, fuck… god we could have been doing this for months…”

“Years,” Dandelion corrected and Jaskier moaned, feeling like every bit the fool he was.

So he did the only thing he could think of, and pulled his friend into another kiss. It had lost the desperate heat of their last encounters, the passion fading into something more tender. It could have been more romantic. Jaskier had been hoping for a kiss at the end of a candlelit dinner after successfully wining and dining Dandelion, but this felt right… it felt like them.

Jaskier’s head was spinning by the time they broke apart. “So what now?” he asked, pressing his forehead against Dandelion’s.

“Well, we should probably order pizza,” Dandelion suggested, gesturing to the mess of the kitchen. “But first, I’d like my boyfriend to take me to bed.”

[apenapaperandadoofus]

fluff 20 Yoosung pls ;-;

Sure! It's 1AM and I'm pretty tired so ignore the writing mistakes for now, I'll edit it tomorrow when I wake up :)

Warm Soup (Yoosung fluff)

It had been a long and cold day at work and you couldn't wait to get home!

The whole time you kept messaging Yoosung about how tried you were and how you wanted to go and cuddle and with him.

This day wasn't exactly one of your best, you woke up late, after having to pull an all nighter doing the work a colleague gave you last minute, you had also spilled coffee on your shirt and didn't have time to eat breakfast. The worst thing though was that you forgot to bring your wallet, so you were running on an empty stomach and that made you super irritable. At lunch time instead of going to the cafeteria like always, you decided to go to the bathroom and call Yoosung. He would always call around this time to check up on you, but this time you called a bit earlier than usual. After two rings he picked up. "Y/N?" You heard his groggy voice ask from the phone. You laughed.

"I see you were sleeping. Probably from pulling that all nighter yesterday huh?"

"Hehe, well I wasn't the only one who stayed up late~"

"I was working!!!"

"Yes and what have we said about staying up late to work?" He nagged.

"I...you don't get to stay anything Mr. Let Me Play Five More Minutes But Actually I'll Stay Up Until 4AM"

"That's a long name! You can't call me that!"

"Oh yes I can, just watch- actually no you're right it's way too long."

You could hear him smugly say 'told ya so' but here you didn't really replied he cleared his throat and his tone became a bit more serious. "So how's work? You should tell someone about that coworker of yours...it's not fair they take the credit for something you did."

You sighed and leaned against the bathroom's wall. "I don't know Yoosung...I don't really feel like they'll listen to me, you know how this works...besides this is only a temporary job, as soon as I see the opportunity I'm leaving this place."

"It's just...you're working so hard and I feel like no one is seeing that...they don't understand how hard you're trying. It's not fair."

You stood in silence for a bit but felt a smile take over your face. Yoosung was such a great boyfriend, and you were going to smother him with kisses when you came home.

"Thank you, Yoosung. I'll see what I can do."

You both said your goodbye's and then you went over to talk to your boss. It actually went a lot better than expected, and you even got a raise since you were the one who was doing basically everything the co-worker was supposed to do.

That night you quickly made your way to Yoosung's place, the cold air making you shiver. You quickly went up go Yoosung's floor and opened the door, letting out a satisfied sigh as you felt the warmth in the room.

It was so warm...so warm....and it smelt like.....like something was burning.....something was burning!!!

You suddenly heard Yoosumg cry out from the kitchen and you made your way over to him, only to find him in the corner of the kitchen, a big spoon in his hand pointing towards the heating discs. He had tears in his eyes and was actually shaking. "Y/N BE CAREFUL! I THINK I ACCIDENTALLY MADE A DEMON!"

"Yoosung that's not-"

"BEGONE YOU EVIL SPIRIT"

Yeah in the end it didn't work so you ended up having to splash the soup, and then Yoosung with water. When the chaoswas over you put both your hands on Yoosung's face and lightly pressed.

"Yoosung, mind explaining why there was almost a fire in the kitchen?"

Yoosung stiffened and then he tried to look at anything that wasn't you. Suddnely his fingers had become very interesting.

"Uhmm...well...I....I was cooking something."

"what exactly?"

"...Soup. I wanted to make it for you. Whenever my dad came home from a stressful day, my mother would end up making him this soup who's recipe has been passed down forever. It's made go give your loved ones strength...so I wanted to surprise you with it so you could feel better." He blushed and you couldn't help but chuckle, making Yoosung look at you with a very offended expression.

"Sorry, sorry! You're just....you're amazing Yoosung, you know that?"

Yoosung blushed but then looked up at you, a shy smile on his face. "The amazing one here is you. You've been working so hard, and you deserve to rest for a bit. Working non-stop is not healthy, so how about you take tomorrow off and spend it all with me? Then maybe you could help me make the soup so this time it doesn't burn and try to kill me."

You giggled and kissed Yoosung on the nose. "Alright chef! Let's see what we have here! I'm sure it'll be delicious"

You ended up having to take a week of work due to being sick. But hey, on the bright side you got to rest and cuddle with Yoosung every moment of the day. Sometimes you'd be laying on top of his chest and hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest and you'd smile. Then Yoosung would find your smile adorable and he'd pull you up so you two could kiss.

Eventually he did learn how to make the soup though, and now everytime you feel stressed, no matter the time of the day, he'll make a bowl of warm soup just for you to make you feel better!

[mariequitecontrarie]

Tickled

A Rumbelle Dark Castle Fic

Summary: When Belle first hears Rumplestiltskin laugh, she’s determined to make it happen again. A/N: My @rumbellechristmasinjuly present for @silwenworld. I’m so sorry this is late, friend. I tried to weave some references in to Polish culture and hope it makes you smile. This fic is basically two Dark Castle Dorks squabbling like old marrieds.   On AO3

Rumplestiltskin laughed. It wasn't his usual twittering giggle or the short, falsetto snicker reserved for particularly irritating nobles who called upon his power. It was a low, rumbling laugh, deep and genuine. His sides shook and his eyes crinkled at the corners, the lines fanning out almost to his temples. Even the crimped mop of hair on his head quivered with amusement. As soon as Belle heard it, she wanted to make it happen again. The sound was so surprising that she almost dropped the heavy basket filled with bread balanced on her hip. She slid the rolls and baguettes to safety onto the kitchen counter and spun around to give him her full attention, waiting for more. But the laughter was gone, the sparkle in his gaze shuttered, and all traces of mirth wiped from his expression. And though the atmosphere in the kitchen had shifted, she couldn’t let the moment go by unmentioned.

“You laughed,” she said, astonished at the generous, happy sound. She could almost hear its faint, deep echo in the kitchen rafters.

“Stop gaping at me, woman, I did nothing of the sort.”

“Deny it all you like,” she said with a growing smile. “But I heard it.”

Rumplestiltskin affected a dramatic pose and waved his arms in his signature flourish. “I laugh all the time,” he said and punctuated the words with a maddening giggle. “You’ve never commented on it before.”

Belle crossed her arms. This had been different and they’d both known it. The panicked glaze in his eyes was proof enough. “You laugh in mockery or to protect yourself. Just now you sounded happy. Joyful.”

“What an impertinent caretaker you are.” He wagged a finger at her. “Did you trouble your father this much when you lived in his household? No, don’t bother answering. The hairs on my head are turning white even as we speak.”

Belle rolled her eyes. Rumplestiltskin was immortal and although he was somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 years old, he didn’t have a single grey hair that Belle could find. Besides, any grey hair he’d earned came long before her arrival.

“Always changing the subject.” She rewarded his discomfiture with a sassy grin, then sashayed to the other side of the kitchen behind the large island, putting a safe distance between them. Alongside her delight and triumph at hearing his laughter, there was a strange, unfamiliar sense of warmth overtaking her. Smoothing the skirt of her dress with damp palms, she watched a spider methodically weave its web into the corner of the kitchen wall while she thought up a task to soothe her jitters. She wasn’t sure why, but the sound of Rumplestiltskin’s laughter had made her pulse skitter and her breath quicken. And when he’d stood close, his breath fanning her face as he laughed, the sweet aroma of magic and straw had overwhelmed the yeasty fragrance of bread.

Closing her eyes, she tried to commit the sound to memory. A shiver chased up her spine. His laughter had been intoxicating. Primal and full of life.

Shaking herself out of her daydream, Belle opened her eyes. The nearness of her employer didn’t typically affect her this way. At any rate, dinner and dessert wouldn’t make themselves, so she needed to get back to work. She squatted down to peruse the cookbooks on the shelves beneath the countertops, searching out one filled with cake recipes. Something with peaches would do nicely. The village bakery usually delivered cakes for Rumplestilsktin’s tea with the bread, but today they were out. It was her own fault; the riveting story she’d been reading yesterday had so engrossed her that she forgot to place the usual order. Thankfully there was always plenty of bread.

Burned cakes, Rumplestiltskin often said, were tolerable. Burned bread, however, was an abomination.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh!” She stood up too quickly and narrowly escaped banging her head on the underside of the counter.

His voice had floated as though he was standing right behind her, but he was clear across the room, a wicked grin plastered across his face. One leather-clad hip leaned indolently against the molding of the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

She hated it when he tossed his voice. “Rumplestiltskin!” She stomped her foot. “Don’t you have a potion to mix or a nobleman to vex?” Raising an eyebrow, he snapped his fingers. A bialy from the top of the breadbasket floated across the kitchen island and into his outstretched hand. “What a peculiar little thing you are,” he said. And before she could respond, he disappeared in a poof of red smoke.

Belle peeked around the corners and opened the pantry door just in case he was still hiding. No sign of him. Her sigh of relief met the cool kitchen air in a puff of steam. Alone at last, she put the kettle on to boil water for tea.

Ordinarily, Rumplestiltskin’s grand exits were frustrating—most people couldn’t poof in and out of rooms and realms at will. He also had a distressing penchant for disappearing in the middle of an argument, and often right before she was going to make a point. Yelling into an empty room was both embarrassing and disconcerting. Today, however, his presence was an unwelcome distraction.

She needed a plan.

Something had amused him enough to inspire the most wonderful laughter she had ever heard, and Belle was determined to discover what it was. The kettle whistled and while she prepared some black orange peel tea, she mulled over the possible events that had led to his laughter. When the sweetness of oranges perfumed the room, she brought her cookbook and tea to the worktable and sat down on her usual stool.

They’d been here together in the kitchen. He was pilfering a sweet snack, and she was accepting the bread delivery from the bakery. When she sidled by him with the bread basket, he laughed like he was hearing the finest tale in half a century.

Most people considered him a monster and would sooner relegate him to the pit of hell than care about what could possibly amuse the Dark One. But after almost a year of living at the Dark Castle in his service, Belle knew there was more to Rumplestiltskin than he revealed to the world.

Hadn’t he gifted her with a beautiful room overlooking the castle gardens and outfitted her with lovely and comfortable clothes in every shade of her favorite color blue? He encouraged her to correspond with her father and even allowed her to visit with a friend a time or two. He fussed over her when she worked too much and tucked her into bed with soup and tea when she was ill. And then there was the sumptuous tower library built just for her. It was her room alone and no one else was allowed inside without permission, he said. When he sought her out, the library and her bedroom were the two places he knocked and waited for her invitation before entering, even when the doors were wide open.  

Rumplestiltskin was a dangerous person—she wasn’t oblivious. But beneath his otherworldly exterior and mystical trappings lurked a sad, melancholy man who had lost his son and faced more than two centuries of loneliness. From the scant handful of stories he had willingly shared, she knew the life he’d had before he met the darkness had been years of rejection and ridicule. Life, she suspected, had offered him precious few reasons to laugh.

While a future as an indentured servant wasn’t the life she would have chosen for herself, living with Rumplestiltskin wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, if she were forced to choose between Rumple and her father, it would be a hard choice to make. Besides, she was here and she had promised to stay forever. It gave her a sense of purpose to care for someone other than herself. Perhaps if she could offer him more reasons to laugh he wouldn’t be so distant, so angry. Maybe he wouldn’t always choose to hide behind a mask. Now, how could she get Rumplestiltskin to laugh again?

A commotion from the ornate cuckoo clock spurred her to action. With only two hours until supper, she needed to hurry. Off to the pantry she went in search of the flour and sugar for the cake.

xoxo After the supper dishes were cleared away, Belle watched carefully from her perch on the settee as Rumple picked up a slice of her freshly baked babka and sniffed. “It’s Wednesday. I thought there would be peach tarts.” The remark drifted down the long table in the center of the great hall, his tone carrying a hint of accusation. She decided against telling him she’d botched the bakery order. “There are peach preserves in this,” she said, hoping to mollify him. “And I made it myself.” Shrugging, he gulped the slice of cake in two bites. “Not the worst I’ve eaten.” Belle hid a smile. Coming from Rumplestiltskin, that was a compliment. He slurped sugar-laced tea from the cup she’d chipped on her first day of service in the castle and ate three more pieces of pastry from the tray. Belle edged forward in her seat, knocking a pillow to the floor when she shifted. Now perhaps he would laugh again. But although he hummed his appreciation for the food, there was no laughter. Disappointed, she scooped up the fallen pillow and hugged it to her middle. Perhaps she should have slipped up to his laboratory and taken some laughing potion to stir into the recipe. Surely such a thing existed. “Aren’t you having any?” he asked, then filled her cup with tea without waiting for an answer. He set two slices of cake on a plate and walked the length of the room to deliver them. When she accepted the plate, their sleeves brushed at the wrist. He backed away as though her clothes were on fire. Belle chewed her lip. It wasn’t like him to be so skittish. “Do I have germs or something?” “No more than usual.” His gaze shifted to the discarded novel on the floor and he settled in the wingback chair opposite the settee. He steepled his fingers. “You’re quiet today. What ails you? Plotting my demise?” “Nothing ails me.” She mustered her sweetest smile. “Everything is fine.” “Indeed?” He harrumphed. “Take a bite of your cake so I know you’ve not a mind to poison me.” “You’ve already eaten five pieces and you’re no worse for wear,” she pointed out, but she bit into the sweet cinnamon-laced confection to appease him anyway. It was good. She congratulated herself on her most successful baking venture thus far, since it seemed no one else was going to. “Touché,” he grunted. “Keep eating, please, so you don’t waste away and force me to send you home to your papa as a bag of bones. You barely touched your supper.” It was true she hadn’t had much appetite. She had been too busy watching him and wondering how she could inspire more of this afternoon’s beautiful laughter. She sank her teeth into a massive bite of cake and lifted her chin. “Why Rumplestiltskin,” she said after swallowing, “I didn’t know you cared.” He left the table in another poof of smoke and maniacal laughter. Not quite the reaction she was hoping for, but she could be stubborn as well. The game had only begun. xoxo

Over the next few weeks, Belle tried every technique she could think of to amuse Rumplestiltskin. Jokes, stories, a feather duster to tickle his sharp nose. She even traipsed through the great hall while he was spinning with a basket overflowing with bread, the same as she did the day she first heard his laughter. Jogging his memory of that day in the kitchen would surely work. But she was so focused on his reaction that she tripped over her own feet and dumped the basket on the floor. Rolls flew in every direction--onto the carpet, into the fire, and under the display cabinets filled with treasures from other lands. One piece of bread even landed on her head.

No reaction from Rumplestiltskin. Not even a snigger at Belle's expense.

Sweeping up the mess took so long she got a cramp in her shoulder. The crumbs tangled in her hair had to be washed out. At least there would be plenty of stale crusts to feed the birds.

Turning to the vast Dark Castle library, she scoured the dust-choked shelves for entertaining comedies. Without question, one of these was bound to make Rumplestiltskin laugh uproariously. Each evening for a week she read to Rumplestiltskin by the light of the fire, producing book after book until her fingers had papercuts and even she wanted a break from words. She’d even gone so far as to translate the work of a Polish author from The Land Without Magic by the name of Elżbieta Cherezińska.

Rumplestiltskin had snorted a time or two and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t laugh at a single story. On the seventh evening of reading, he ordered Belle to her bedroom with a pot of hot tea and a dram of whiskey to soothe her raw throat.

“That’s the fifth time you’ve coughed in an hour and your voice is starting to resemble a giant,” he’d said.

Too bewildered by being packed off to bed with Rumplestiltskin clucking at her like a mother hen, it didn’t occur to Belle to be insulted. Next, she tried concocting a potion for laughing. Yes, she should have tried this on the first day, she’d thought as the burgundy syrup bubbled on the stove. Magic helped Rumplestiltskin achieve his ends and there was no reason it couldn’t work for her. If only she hadn’t gone into the laundry room to wash Rumplestiltskin’s aprons. But she had, forgetting that the contents of the spell required complete concentration. Most of the potion boiled over leaving her without a key ingredient—whitehaven petal—and it wouldn’t become available again until the summer. Chagrined, Belle looked between the mess on the stove and the snowdrifts blowing against the window. Four months was too long to wait.

Hoping for the best, she scraped some of the sticky gooey liquid off the counter and stirred it into Rumple’s lunch.

Once consumed, his platter of beef and rice cabbage rolls produced so many ridiculous high-pitched giggles that Belle wanted to throw a five-armed candelabra at his head.

Hardly the sort of laughter Belle had been hoping to hear.

After a month of trying and failing, Belle was growing impatient. How many harebrained schemes could one caretaker enact for the sake of a simple laugh? Rumplestiltskin was not only unfazed by her efforts he seemed blithely unaware of them.

For someone so fond of claiming he wasn’t a man, he was terribly dense. Belle began to despair. If she ever hoped to hear his beautiful, rumbling laughter again, drastic measures were required.

xoxo

“Go on,” Belle urged, pushing open the heavy door to the great hall. The shaggy grey puppy scampered over to the square dais where Rumplestiltskin was spinning and whimpered a greeting. He dragged some golden stalks of straw onto the carpet covering the platform and began to chew. Belle hovered in the foyer, watching and listening. The young Polish Lowland Sheepdog’s hair hung into his sweet brown eyes and he had the sweetest little pink tongue Belle had ever seen on a dog. Even Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t be able to resist laughing at such a lively, intelligent ball of fluff.

Or so she thought. Absorbed by his spinning, a full ten minutes went by before Rumplestiltskin deigned to notice his new companion.

“Belle,” he called without looking away from the wheel, “some vile little creature has wandered into the hall. Come dispose of it.”

She burst into the hall and inserted herself between Rumplestiltskin and the puppy before he had the notion to transform the poor animal into a less-than-pleasant creature, like a skunk or a beetle. It seemed to be the fate of most who displeased the Dark One.

Belle’s skirts swished against Rumplestiltskin’s thigh as she elbowed her way into his space.

He rocked back on the three-legged stool’s hind leg, his feet in the air. Gripping the creaking wheel for support, he rebalanced, his boots hitting the dais with a decided thump.

“Don’t topple me in your excitement, woman. It’s only a dog.” The words were crisp, dismissive. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. The twist of his lips was sour, his eyelids drooped in boredom. “I have work to do.” He glanced pointedly at the dust-covered shelves in the hall. “As do you.”

Belle shuffled backward, putting space between them, taking care not to pitch backward off the dais. He righted the stool and returned to spinning, but not before she noticed a slight tremble of his fingers.

Such large, strong capable-looking hands he had, those long, elegant fingers tapering into short black claws. Artist’s hands.

Heat filled her face while a lightning-quick shiver danced up her spine, and Belle quickly turned her attention to the puppy with an adoring coo. “Isn’t he darling? His name is Kacper. ”

At the sound of his name, Kacper barked his approval and stretched his scruffy neck, angling to be pet. Belle bent low to oblige, stroking his back and scratching his ears.

“Darling.” Rumplestiltskin’s sniff was aloof. “Not the word I would use.”

“And why not?” She straightened and brushed straw off her skirt. “What’s wrong with him?”

Together they watched the dog drag more bright yellow pieces of straw off the platform and onto the floor. After a minute of chewing and jumping in the little pile, he climbed into Rumplestiltkin’s gold-laden basket and fell asleep.

“There’s straw everywhere,” he complained. “You’ll go to the village to replace it, too. By sundown tomorrow.”

“Yes, master.” She dipped a saucy curtsy.

The wheel came to a squeaking halt and Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flashed, warning Belle she was treading on dangerous ground. “Where did this hell dog come from anyway?”

“He was in the side yard chasing butterflies while I was hanging sheets on the line.” The memory of the butterfly landing on the pup’s nose while he barked and pawed at them made her giggle.

As usual, she was the only one laughing.

“Most likely a trap sent by one of my enemies,” he mused. “Perhaps Maleficent or King George.” He frowned as he reached around the puppy for more straw into the wheel. “Too tame to be Regina. Subtlety isn’t that one’s strong suit.”

The dog snuggled deeper into the basket and let out a whiffling snore. “Yes, he looks absolutely terrifying,” Belle supplied. “Ha! This from the one who lectures everyone who will listen about judging a book by its cover.” Sarcasm hung in the air like thunderclouds before a storm. “If you recall, dearie, the last time you found a beast in the yard, it was one of those devil hounds Cruella de Vil is so fond of. Like a fool, you followed it. And like an even bigger fool, I found myself bargaining for your life at midnight on Demon’s Bluff.”

Belle chewed her lip. He wasn’t wrong. The dalmatian puppy she followed had been sweet, but as judgments went, it hadn’t been her finest hour. “I did thank you profusely for saving me. What did you need that ridiculous magic gauntlet for, anyway?”

“We’ll never know now, will we?” He pouted.

“Come now,” she said, trying to tease him out of his rising temper. Thus far, the puppy was proving to be her worst idea yet for making Rumplestiltskin laugh. All she wanted at this point was a bit of credit for trying. “Why not admit you would be lost without me?”

“Indeed.” The stool pushed back with an angry scrape and he shot to his feet, stalking out from behind the spinning wheel. “Where in all the realms would I find a housekeeper who reads all the day, allows the kettle to run dry whilst I wait hours for my tea, and creates more messes than she cleans?”

A slap across the face couldn’t have hurt worse. Every failing he’d listed was true. No, she wasn’t the best caretaker, but what she lacked in capability and efficiency she tried to make up for in spontaneity and heart. She cared about him, the cantankerous bastard, which was more than could be said of most people. It was sobering to realize she cared so deeply for someone who seemed to think so little of her.

Stung by the criticism, she approached the platform and bent down to scoop up the sleeping pup.

Rumplestiltskin stepped down off the platform. They stood in the middle of the hall glowering at each other, she cradling the slumbering dog, and he rubbing nothingness between his fingers. The picture of awkwardness and pent-up frustration.

Why, she wondered, searching his cold, closed-off face, was she so determined to amuse a man who was so determined not to laugh? Was it a game? A challenge? Her stubborn nature? Belle didn’t know the answer, but she was fed up with trying.

There was no doubt in her mind now--he was purposely withholding his laughter for no other reason than meanness.

Tears threatened, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking down. “If that’s the way you feel,” she said.

“Aye, that’s the way I feel.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Sounding as exasperated as she felt, he threw up his hands. Startled, Belle stumbled, the slight weight of the puppy overbalancing her. She tipped forward, falling headlong into Rumplestiltskin.

Forgetting about the sleeping puppy in her arms, she grabbed Rumplestiltskin around the waist, her fingers scrabbling for purchase, her head bumping against his chest.

With the first touch of her hands, he started to laugh. A great, guffawing, booming laugh so deep and loud it shook the rafters of the Dark Castle.

He caught her with one arm, the puppy with the other, pulling her up and drawing her close so they were pressed together from chest to toe. Her hands bracketed his waist, his leather and silk clothing soft and supple against her palms.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, the mystery finally solved. “You’re ticklish.”

“Rubbish,” he scoffed. “I’m simply giving in to your considerable efforts.”

“You can’t fabricate true, honest laughter,” she said.

To prove it, she wiggled her fingers against his sides once more. She was rewarded with more genuine laughter. Not a single trill or exaggerated snicker in earshot. To her amazement, the puppy slept through all the commotion, curled snug inside Rumplestitskin’s vest.

Who knew that one clumsy move was all it took to make him laugh again? Belle was so happy she could have twirled pirouettes the length of the great hall. But that would have required letting go of Rumplestiltskin. And she wasn’t doing that anytime soon.

She splayed her hands over his waist, and as she explored the contours of his torso she found his belly wonderfully soft and rounded beneath her fingers. He laughed again, his sides jiggling, and the sweet depth of it drew her deeper until she was swimming in the warmth of the sound.

Closing her eyes, she brushed the backs of her fingers along his hip, savoring each ripple of laughter and vibration of his body. She could have touched and tickled and listened to him all day.

“Enough now, Belle.” His tone was rough, vocal cords gravely from overuse. Moving the puppy to rest in the hollow of his shoulder, he gripped her hands and clasped them between his. His grip was firm but not unkind, and those beautiful hands she had studied so often were warmer and softer than she imagined.

Something more than mere humor glinted in his eyes, a tension between them that pushed the boundaries of their current arrangement. Friendship, attraction. The air in the hall was thick with both. And Belle realized that through these silly antics, she had more than an employer in Rumplestiltskin. She had a friend.

“Are you still angry with me, Rumple?” she ventured.

Those dark, fathomless eyes widened a bit at the shortened use of his name, but he didn’t object to the nickname.

“Try as I might, I cannot stay angry with you.” His voice was husky, the sweet thread of laughter still weaving through it. There was no trace of his usual artifice or pageantry.

“So that day in the kitchen?” she prompted, filled with wonder at all of today’s surprises and revelations.

“Aye, it was your touch that made me laugh.” He ducked his head, trying and failing to hide his reddened cheeks behind his shaggy curtain of hair. “ When you were lugging that basket of bread against your hip, you brushed against my waist. It was so innocent and you had no idea you’d done it. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be tickled and to laugh. I haven’t really laughed since…”

“Your son.” He was still holding her hands between his and she loosened his fingers to brush her thumb against the back of his hand. “I’m so sorry, Rumple. I never meant to dredge up a painful memory, to cause you hurt.”

“You didn’t. You made me laugh, Belle. You. Not fancy cakes or translating outlandish books or this little beast.” He patted Kacper’s head. “You brought light and kindness and laughter into this dull, dark place.”

“All that time I spent trying to figure out what would make you laugh.” Bells shook her head at herself. “Those crazy schemes. I felt like…”

“Me?”

Now it was her turn to laugh. Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not persistent. And he certainly excelled at patience. “A little,” she admitted. “But it was worth it.”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” he warned.

“Or what?” She blinked at him. “You’ll turn me into a toad?”

“Becoming predictable, am I?” He sneered, but it was without malice.

“You? Never.”

Releasing her hands, he stepped back onto the platform and settled down behind the spinning wheel. He carefully removed the dog from his shoulder and placed him into the basket of straw. “Kacper can stay here. For now. But you’ll need to find him a bed. This beastie can’t disrupt my work forever.”

“I understand, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Hmmm.” He began to spin and Belle watched for a moment as he easily slipped into that faraway place where he created and made plans, losing himself in the cadence of the wheel. “I’ll take my tea now.”

The words were said so softly, she heard them more in her mind than from his lips.

“Right away, Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered.

The faint smile on his face was the only indication that he’d heard her assent.

As she ambled down the corridor toward the kitchen feeling lighter than she had in weeks, the faint rumble of laughter drifted along with her. Belle wrapped her arms around herself to embrace the sound, her lips spreading in a smile of pure happiness. It was a beginning.

###

[youarejesting]

Femme: 39

[MASTERLIST]

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader,

Rating: Mature.

Warnings: Food poisoning, pregnancy, sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, overstimulation, mentions of past sexual acts: oral receiving, public/work sex.

Length: 2.4k words

Announcement: I am going through a Flare-up at the moment and have been having trouble remembering things, forgot I put food in the microwave and didn’t eat all day. Forgot to pick my sister's kids up from school (they are all safe don’t worry, they were picked up late). I get kind of scared when things like this happen. If there is anything major missing in this chapter let me know. If I forgot some tags let me know. Love you all.

Recap: Fun in America.

Waking just past midnight to a queasy feeling in your stomach you shuffled out of bed.  The soft sheets enriched with the scent of juicy pear seductive gardenia and musky vanilla, it was Jungkook’s very own blend. It was home. You vaguely remember falling asleep and Jungkook carrying you to into the apartment before cuddling with you on his bed.

Jungkook didn’t stir as you slid out from under the sheets. He remained still, in his rather eccentric sleeping position -legs crossed under the blankets- it was an adorable quirk that you had grown accustomed to. You had no time to admire the strong maknae as the sick feeling grew a small burn in your chest. 

The walk to the bathroom was hauntingly still and silent, the air of the apartment cool against your feverish skin. The bathroom had a small flickering glow under the door. Pressing the handle down and stepping inside the smell hit you, it was your favourite candle narcissus, patchouli and amber mixed with something horrific like stomach acid.

Bile hit the back of your throat and you slapped your hand over your mouth holding back from throwing up across the bathroom floor. Beside the toilet, leaning against the wall was Jimin moaning in his sleep. Namjoon was lying beside the bathtub, eyes closed and looking gaunt. Both had a glossy sheen of sweat across their brow.  

Rushing across the space you hunched over the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. Jimin woke, eyes barely open reaching forward to rub your back. His eyes had a dark shadow underneath which was stretched ominously by the flickering candlelight. 

“Did you have the same meal as us on the flight, we think it wasn’t cooked? Jin Hyung has gone to get some medicine, please hang on a little more. He is waiting for the pharmacy to open.” His voice sounded so rough his throat seemed to be causing him a lot of pain.

You sat opposite Jimin a sad smile blooming on his pale face. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you groaned “don’t look at me I am hideous” “I am marrying you and I vow to love you in sickness and in health” he pulled you forward to lay across the cool tiles, he laid your head on his thigh and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his waist. He patted your head sweetly. 

Falling asleep once more, however, this time in the bathroom. No one stirred until the sun started to rise, your stomach grumbling with an insatiable hunger. Slipping from Jimin’s hold and stepping over Namjoon who was so sick his cheeks flushed like he was blushing. You gently shut the bathroom door, the cool air of the apartment greeting you for a second time this very morning. 

Jin stepped in through the front door dropping his keys, shoes, coat, everything, but the bag of medicine from the pharmacy. He walked past you in a hurry, straight into the bathroom. He was worried about the boys and you found yourself smiling softly at how kind and caring he was. The poor boys were suffering, you felt bad for them, food poisoning was pretty serious stuff. But why did you get sick you had different meals

Making some toast, hoping it could ease your stomach, you opened your presents box from the boys next door. It was filled with snacks from your country. Grabbing your favourite spread and enjoyed your toast happily. Your cold had almost passed your nose still a little sniffly but you felt better. 

Deciding to move the boys to the living room futons you took your time in caring for them. A water bottle and a bucket by their side as you waved the other boys off to work. Assuring them the two would recover quickly with some rest and fluids. 

Setting up the video cameras in front of the kitchen, you were going to make chicken noodle soup, it would just take a while as it has to simmer for a few hours. After putting everything in the pot, you began a time-lapse video aimed at the stove to watch the soup come together and sat down in the sun. 

You were happy it was finally getting warmer, you wanted to work as soon as you could. The sitting around and American burgers made your ass and hips a size bigger. The boys didn’t see this as a problem complimenting you, especially when they took you from behind. 

Yoongi couldn’t stop mentioning it when he finally got to fulfil his dream of placing his glass whiskey on the small of your back. He would scold you if you spilt any, while he pleasured you with his mouth. 

But you guess carrying sickness meant you shouldn’t work just yet, the boys seemed to strengthen by noon, but, you still cuddled the day away. Filming as you continued the chicken noodle soup recipe. It amused you greatly when Hoseok got home and started singing behind you “chicken noodle soup” repeatedly. 

Everyone was feeling better after a bowl of soup that night and you read a few comments together. Your channel and social media accounts had been blowing up since your television appearance. 

Another week passed and whatever sickness it was, passed through the boys a few at a time. You stayed by their side keeping them healthy, trying not to get sick yourself, tying their hair back whilst they vomited. Finally, it was gone along with winter, you grinned getting a call about work and you pulled out your uniform ready to start in the morning. 

Waking up early you excitedly brushed your hair and teeth, slipping into your uniform was a struggle. You felt kind of bloated. With a sigh, you headed to work with the boys wishing them good luck and you got to work. Moon Inshik watched you working and he smiled fondly, he left to run an errand coming back before you were to go on lunch “I remember when my wife first got pregnant” he smiled “she couldn’t stop eating these, she said they helped settle her stomach when she was feeling sick”

You smiled taking them and then frozen, “wait what? Pregnant? I can’t be pregna- oh my god, I am pregnant” mouth falling open in shock.  “I am sorry I thought you knew” he held your hand, “how about we pack up early, today and I can drive you to the doctors for a check-up, then you can find out for sure”

You didn’t realise how much you needed Moon Inshik, he was the only parental figure you had and you were thankful for all his advice and support. He drove you to the clinic and you sat in the waiting room nervously. He held your hand and told you stories of his family when they were young and having kids. 

“I’m sorry I just feel so alone, like my mother should be here holding my hand” you refused to cry, you had shed too many tears already.  “What was your friend's name the one with the baby, I can call him if you would like?” You sniffed blinking your eyes until they dried “please can we?” 

Jiyong arrived as you were called into the room, he took your hand and walked you inside. He spoke to you about everything and anything, keeping you distracted. “I really liked garlic while I was pregnant, drove the boys crazy when I tried to kiss them”

The doctor put a cold gel on your lower tummy and pressed the transducer probe. He wasn’t particularly rough, but you did need a full bladder for the ultrasound and his pushing wasn’t helping, “this is your baby here, you seem to be about eight or nine weeks along and everything looks normal and healthy, I will take a picture to send home. There are always many babies conceived at the end of the year.”

“Would you like to know the father?” “Yes please,” he sent away some amniotic fluid to be tested with the boys recorded DNA.  “You’re having a baby congratulations mummy” Jiyong hugged you, you were shaking lip blubbering, “let it out, sweetheart”

Sobs racked your body as it all sank in you were going to be a mother.  “Finally a friend for my misuk” “We can’t tell anyone until after sixteen weeks” “Of course I won’t say a word” Jiyong smiled

Convincing your boss to let you continue working as long as you never overexert yourself. You all went to lunch, Jiyong said he would make you some stylish maternity clothes, pulling out a sketchbook while you ate. Moon Inshik smiled helping you plan in your book everything you needed to get ready for a baby. 

With a list in your bag, you met Jungkook at his work. He was working with a class, he was looking like a man, gone was the maknae. Glistening in sweat his hair slicked back in a ponytail as he demonstrated and led the workout. 

You sat by the side of the room and Jungkook smiled “ladies gentleman we got a guest present let’s not get slack now” they finished up there lesson and Jungkook took them through their stretches, you sat beside him on the stage and stretched slowly with him, it took some strain off your hips. 

Jungkook introduced you, “say hello to my fiance, she is gorgeous, is she not” Some of the other women married and single seemed to glare at you. After class, everyone was packing up their things and leaving you helped Jungkook pack up the equipment hearing the girls talk, “how can he love someone who is so fat?”

“Actually I am six months pregnant,” you lied smoothly, their eyes widened in shock. “I have gotten big haven’t I, but you can’t have everything can you, I mean I was luckily enough to have no morning sickness, so of course I had to gain weight”

They stormed out muttering how you were a lucky bitch, she had forgotten her bag and you kicked it off to the side. Jungkook had finished packing up and you pounced kissing him on the small stage he worked on. “Jungkook I need you.” 

He moaned and kissed you hungrily, you pulled down his sweats and pushed him to sit down removing your underwear. He kissed you like you were water in the desert. Your sensitive breasts through your work dress were rubbing against his tank clad chest which felt so strong and powerful being so fresh from his workout. His hips thrusting deeply into you his muscular arms holding you firmly.

You were physically holding yourself back from coming, trying to prolong the feeling when over his shoulder, you saw the door open, and a few of the girls walk back in. You were being vocal as always and he was growling how you were his and he didn’t want to share. The friction between you was driving you both crazy each in an unspoken war on who could hold out the longest.  

Your eyes met the three onlookers you were thankful Jungkook hadn’t noticed them of this would be over instantly. He whispered in your ear telling you he wasn’t going to lose. His hips tilted forwards inside you rubbing against your G-spot and A-spot. Your back arched pressing your chest forward. Nuzzling his face between your breasts he moaned. 

“Come on, I can’t hold on anymore,” His voice was a cross between a growl and a whimper, he was begging and commending all in one. his hands were shaking around your waist. You were going to give the three women in the room a triumphant smirk as they left but you came hard around him. 

Walls clenching with a strength you had never felt before, this was so intense and heated you could feel your pulse drumming deep inside you. Jungkook must have feal it too because every beat made his body twitch just a little as his hips occasionally rutted forward in aftershocks.  

Usually, he liked to relax for a few moments afterwards before removing himself from inside you, because he knew how sensitive you were after sex. But he whimpered ripping himself from you his seed spilling out “Your pulse it’s too much”

Strolling back through the streets from Jungkook’s work you spotted Jimin waiting on the corner. He looked up and smiled brightly, you carefully crossed the street and you shared a hug, before walking hand in each boys hand. 

A little further up the street, you spotted Seokjin looking in the window of a high-end Femme store right outside the grand hotel with which he worked. You hugged him and buried your face in his chest.

“You're so cuddly today?” Jimin grinned “did you have a good day at work?”

Lying about your day at work telling them what you had done before going to the clinic. The walk home was too quick and you hadn’t decided whether you were going to reveal the news. You untied your shoes and hung up your coat and bag. Jin who had sat on the step to untie his shoes held out your slippers helping you into them.

Feeling a little thoughtful, you started to imagine how much room a baby could take up. The dining table could fit a highchair, Walking down the hall you poked your head into each bedroom. 

Sneaking down the other hallway you stepped into Namjoon’s office, he was in the middle of a conference call eyes meeting yours questioningly. You gave him an okay sign and looked around. This was an option but you didn’t want to steal his space. Walking back out to the hallway and into the next room. 

Yoongi’s studio was dark and clean despite a few coffee mugs. He was listening to music turning noticing you searching his studio with calculating eyes. He didn’t get a chance to ask as you had already left. and you looked around and frowned leaving. 

You went to the last door in the house and opened it, it was full of boxes. “What are you doing Jagiya?” Jumping out of your skin you clutched your chest. 

“I almost peed myself, why the hell would you sneak up on me” Scolding him only made his smile brighter. He pulled you to his chest apologizing his warm body felt like the sleeping under the sun in spring. “What is this room used for?”

“Storage mostly, we always want to clean it and make a computer room but we all have been too lazy to sort through the stuff” You looked at him and began looking at the boxes each were labelled and with a grin you sent a group text.

[You: I want to clean out the spare room.]

Femme Media 39

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[snezfics-n-shit]

Whumptober Day 27: Flu

Fandom: Ace Attorney 

Characters: Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth

Notes: Some 7-year-gap sick!Hobohodo fresh outta the oven. The flu is a powerful beast. Phoenix has been sold the ever common lie that the flu is “no big deal” and “just a really bad cold.” Today he pays the price for his naivety. Also do I really gotta say, established Wrightworth ahead.

     Miles couldn’t help but look at his watch as he witnessed another extended coughing fit that sent Phoenix curled up into a ball. He sighed through his nose as he remembered Phoenix swearing up and down how he had every intention to get his flu shot. Actions or, more accurately, inaction spoke louder than words.

“I think that was,” Phoenix wheezed, “the longest one yet.” He rolled himself on his back on the bed he hadn’t left since returning from the walk-in clinic. “I was kidding when I asked you to keep time.”

“I thought it would be worth a try.” Miles took the oversized water bottle from the end table and handed it to Phoenix. “You’ve barely touched your water. The first rule of the flu is to stay hydrated.”

“How can I drink anything if I’m busy coughing?” Phoenix frowned as he took a long drink of the water. “I’m never calling a bad cold ‘the flu’ ever again.” He groaned. “I think I’m dying.”

“You could have gotten your flu shot when Trucy and I went to get ours, you know.” Miles gently took the water bottle and placed it back on the end table. “I have to admit, I never knew the flu was quite like this.” He pressed his hand on the cooling patch stuck to Phoenix’s forehead; it was still cold enough to stay a while before needing to be replaced. “I, too, was under the assumption it was hardly different from a cold.”

“It felt like one at first.” Phoenix recalled; his breathing was labored as he spoke. “Yesterday morning I thought I was just getting a cold, then I just went to lie down for a couple hours. When I woke up, I--” The coughing started again. Miles rubbed his back and made gentle shushing noises until the fit subsided.

“You did that, yes.” Miles remembered the previous evening vividly. Phoenix had just gotten out of the shower when he started coughing like he was now. Miles found him on the cold bathroom floor, coughing up a storm. By the time Phoenix was done, the strain had discolored his cheeks, which is what originally prompted the trip to the walk-in clinic this morning. “It was a sight I think I would rather never see again.”

“I’d rather never cough like this again.” Phoenix complained. “Not to mention everything hurts.”

“Oh, love.” Miles cooed. He kissed Phoenix’s cheek. Despite Miles having had his flu shot, Phoenix wasn’t willing to take the risk in kissing him on the lips. “Does blinking still hurt?”

“Yeah, that’s the most painful part.” Phoenix turned his head, putting the dark circles under his eyes on full display for Miles. Between the pain that came from the slightest movement of his eyelids and the near endless coughing fits that sent him doubling over, sleep was hardly an option despite him desperately needing it.

“I hope this means you’ll take flu season more seriously next year.”

“Believe me, I will.” Phoenix promised and kissed his boyfriend’s hand. “I wish I could just go back and get the shot, knowing what I know now.”

“I’m afraid that can’t be done.” Miles sighed. “You’ll just have to remember this for next time, dear.”

“You know, just the fever dreams alone scared me straight, I think. I keep having this one where I’m in court cross-examining a witness, but he starts making clones of himself. The witness was also a turnip for some reason.” He liked seeing Miles find amusement in the surreal productions of his fever-influenced subconscious. “You can laugh, it’s pretty funny when I’m awake enough to think about it.”

“In hindsight like that, maybe, but it wasn’t at all funny when your fever spiked early this morning.” Miles fought his smile just as quickly as it formed. Even with Phoenix’s permission, it didn’t feel right to laugh at his suffering. “And you woke up in my car screaming because you thought you had been kidnapped.”

“You could’ve told me what was going on first.” Phoenix wiped his nose on the edge of the comforter. With any other ailment, Miles might have gently directed him to a tissue, but in this case, he was far more lenient. 

“I tried to. You were just completely out.” Miles caught a glimpse of the current time on his watch, paying more attention this time now that he wasn’t simply keeping time. “You haven’t eaten all day, have you.”

“I’m not hungry.” 

“You need to eat something.”

“There were some ice cubes that melted in my water. Does that count?”

“No.” Miles stood up, making the decision that Phoenix was going to eat something. “I’m going to make you some soup.”

“I just said I wasn’t hungry.” 

“You’re getting something in your system. That’s final.”

. . .

     Something didn’t feel right when Miles set foot in the kitchen. Every time he opened a drawer or the pantry, he felt his heart sink as he thought of just how miserable Phoenix must have felt. Miles had to keep reminding himself Phoenix would benefit from the brief peace and quiet. He fought the urge to disturb Phoenix’s potential sleep as he followed the recipe on a laminated card that once belonged to his father. He had only been granted ownership of his father’s recipe cards a few years ago, so he hoped he could do them justice with so little experience. Knowing Phoenix’s reluctance to eat anything in the past 24 hours, Miles poured the soup in a mug rather than a bowl. Perhaps if it was presented as a drink, his boyfriend would be more willing to take it.

“Where were you!?” That was Phoenix’s greeting of choice when Miles entered the bedroom. “I tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up!”

“I was, wait,” Miles pulled his phone from his pocket to find notifications for several voicemails, “you called? I was in the kitchen for hardly an hour.” If only his ringer stayed on. 

“You disappeared on me!” Phoenix accused. “Why would you do that?” He rubbed his right eye with his wrist; his face was redder than before. Whether that had come from more coughing or possibly crying didn’t matter, since neither one was preferable. “I can’t believe you would just leave me alone. The room was spinning and you weren’t here!”

“Well, it’s obvious your fever hasn’t gone down at all.” Miles took a deep breath. “I told you before I left, I was going to the kitchen to make you soup.”

“O-Oh.” Phoenix looked down, ashamed of his rash assumption. “I think I forgot that part.”

“It’s alright.” Miles sat beside him and handed over the mug. “I know you said you weren’t hungry, so I thought I’d give it to you as a drink.” His thoughtful approach got a laugh out of Phoenix; that was good.

“You should, uh, delete those voicemails.” Phoenix blew gently into the mug. “They’re kind of embarrassing now that I think of it.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. You were afraid.” Miles gave the same assurance Phoenix had shown him many times before. “I will delete them, however, as you requested.”

“Thanks.” Phoenix pressed the mug to his lips and smiled as the warm liquid met his tongue. “This is amazing.” He drank some more.

“I’m glad it could please the man who insisted he wasn’t hungry.” Miles teased. “You’re actually the first person I’ve made this for. The recipe belonged to my father, but it was under Mr. von Karma’s possession until he passed. I also recall my father saying it was my mother who wrote it down. I think of this as a sort of game of cooking telephone.”

“I bet you’re a cooking telephone champion.” Phoenix expressed his opinion by taking a longer drink from the mug. 

“Slow down!” Miles instinctively took the mug just in time before Phoenix needed to cough again, likely caused by drinking too quickly. “I’m glad you like it, but don’t push yourself.” He set the mug down on the end table so he had free hands to rub Phoenix’s back. “Let me know when you think you’re done.”

Phoenix needed to catch his breath for about half the time his coughing fit took. He flopped backwards onto his pillow with a weak groan.

“I hate having the flu.” 

“I can understand why.” Miles offered him the water bottle, frowning at how little Phoenix drank since Miles left for the kitchen. Phoenix hesitated at first, but gave in as soon as it was clear Miles would not be backing down. “I’m relieved you’re not trying to go to work like this.”

“I was already stupid for not getting a shot.” Phoenix took a few more small sips of water before Miles allowed him to put it back on the end table. “I’d be a real idiot to go to work on top of that.”

“Phoenix. Darling,” Miles locked eyes with him, “I’ve let a lot slide because you’re sick, but I won’t allow you to speak of yourself in that manner.” He scolded lightly, softening his words with a kiss on Phoenix’s forehead. “Do you understand?”

“I think so. You already have let me get away with a lot.” Phoenix tested the waters by wiping his nose on the comforter again.

“You’re starting to push it, love.” Miles chuckled and caressed his boyfriend’s cheek. “Remember, I love you.” 

“I love you, too, babe.” 

Miles didn’t leave his spot as he watched Phoenix doze off into what he hoped would be a peaceful sleep. He noted how pale Phoenix was and how his slightly overgrown stubble somehow managed to make him look more sickly. Was it unrealistic to hope if Miles watched him long enough, he could witness the color returning to his face within the hour? Possibly, yes, but that wouldn’t stop Miles from staying by his side for as long as he could.

[writerbyaccident]

A Surprise Gift (Yandere Izuku MidoriyaxReader)

Request: Can I request a scenario where the darling has started developing stockholme syndrome for Izuku and wanted to surprise him by seeing on the news or something that he had a long and hard day that they wanted to surprise him but their surprise goes wrong and he comes home to find them crying over their failure to do something nice for him?

           You tried not to care, you really did. You reminded yourself again and again that Izuku didn’t deserve any of your attention, that you shouldn’t care if he spontaneously combusted, but it didn’t help. Perhaps that was just what came of spending so much time seeing and interacting with only one person. During these long, lonely days, Izuku was your only respite. And truthfully, there was something comforting about the way he always smiled when he was with you, the way he tried his absolute best to make you smile too.  Maybe you couldn’t help but form some sort of attachment, whether Izuku deserved it or not.

           How or when exactly these feelings started to grow, you weren’t entirely sure. But you thought that the first time you truly realized their presence was the day Izuku had been late coming home. You were intimately familiar with his schedule at that point and knew from sizeable experience that he was never late coming home. No, he was far too eager to see you for that. You had been in the midst of reassuring yourself that he probably just got held up with some villain, when you paused, wondering why one earth you were bothering to reassure yourself in the first place. Hell, why was that even reassuring? Shouldn’t you be overjoyed if something happened to your captor? But no matter how much you told yourself this, you couldn’t help the sense of relief you felt when Izuku walked through the door. Ever since that day, no matter what you were doing, whether you sat down to watch it or just kept it on as background noise, you always kept the news on.

           It was no different today. You hadn’t really been doing anything special, just working quietly on a puzzle Izuku had gotten you, when you heard the sound of a familiar name being said by some newscaster. Shifting your attention, you saw playing on the screen footage of Izuku fighting some metal-controlling villain.

           “Number-one hero Deku,” the newscaster reported, “arrived on the scene only minutes ago. He’s wasted no time in trying to stop the villain, but currently seems to be acting on the defensive. Although it is still unconfirmed, my sources tell me that this villain is the lead suspect in the deaths of several heroes.” At those words, you felt your heart constrict, rising in your chest until it lodged in your throat. You had seen plenty of footage of Izuku in action, and you had to admit to yourself that he seemed to be struggling more with this villain than he usually did with others. The villain in question appeared to have not only a powerful quirk, but also a great deal of control over it. He sent huge chunks of metal at Izuku, from every possible angle, and even though Izuku was able to dodge most of them, he quickly attained several injuries. The villain didn’t let up, ripping metal from surrounding buildings, throwing whole I-beams and street lamps. With both every hit and every near-miss, you dug your nails into your hand, hating what you saw but unable to stop yourself from watching.

           After quite some time had passed though, you weren’t really sure how much, Izuku finally got close enough to the villain to send crashing into a crumbled stone wall with one of his signature moves. The villain was out cold, and the police quickly restrained him. You weren’t focused on that though. No, your eyes stayed on Izuku, who was currently leaning against a pile of rubble for support. Even though the camera wasn’t focused on him at the moment, you could see blood dripping from his injuries, the way his shoulders were rounded with absolute exhaustion. You couldn’t say why, but your heart broke at the sight. Maybe it was just standard compassion, to feel bad seeing someone in such a state. That’s what you tried to tell yourself at least. But as you watched Izuku try his best to put on a brave face for the public, you couldn’t help the swell of affection that surged in you. You wanted to do something for him, you realized. Didn’t Izuku just save god knows how many people? Didn’t he constantly put himself at risk to keep the world safe? To keep yousafe? He had always told you that he brought you here for your own good, to protect you from the dangers of the world. You hadn’t believed him at first, but after what you just saw, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he knew what was best after all.

           So with that in mind, you got to work. Rifling through the kitchen cabinets and the fridge, you gathered all of the ingredients necessary to make Izuku’s favorite meal: katsudon. In all honesty, you had never made the dish before, but how hard could it be? You had the recipe right in front of you, all you had to do was follow it. Things were going fine at first; you seasoned the pork, covered it lightly with flour, dipped it the egg and then in the panko. Laying the pork chops down in the pan, you turned on the stove. As you were waiting though, you realized you should start on the soup if you wanted the food to be done by the time Izuku got home. Beginning to tackle the soup, you were so grateful that you had thought to start it now that you completely forgot about the pork. In fact, you only remembered it when you checked the clock and saw that Izuku would be home at any moment.

           “Shit!” you cried out. Immediately, you turned off the stove and took the cover off of the pan to see if any of the pork was salvageable. But what stood there burnt beyond saving, black and crisp all over. You simply stared at it for a moment, mind utterly blank. But then, slowly, tears began to pool in your eyes. All you had wanted was to do something nice, but the world wouldn’t let you have even that. Crying thoroughly at your failure, you didn’t even notice the door unlocking.

           “Baby,” Izuku said worryingly, heart sinking at the sight of you crying. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You shook your head at his question, too ashamed to answer. Inwardly, Izuku sighed, praying that you weren’t having another fit. You had been having them less lately, and he had just been beginning to hope that you were settling down, so if you had regressed, Izuku didn’t know if he could take it.

           “Sweetheart,” he repeated, taking you into his arms, “you need to tell me what’s wrong.”

           “I’m—I’m sorry,” you whimpered into his chest. “I saw you fighting that bad guy on the news, and I just wanted to do something nice for you to cheer you up, but I messed up. I—I was trying to make you katsudon for dinner but I burned it. I ruined it, it’s all my fault.”

           As you spoke, the heavy guilt in your heart only grew. Izuku did so much for you, you thought to yourself, and yet you couldn’t do anything to repay him.

           “Oh honey, it’s alright.”

           “It—it is?” you asked, already comforted by Izuku’s words.

           “Of course! You were just trying to do something nice for me. It’s okay that you made a mistake, we all do, even someone as perfect as you. Besides, you cheer me up every time I see you.” With each word that Izuku spoke, you felt yourself growing calmer. He was just so sweet, so understanding. No one else would ever be so good to you, just like Izuku had told you.

[basketofverbiage]

Hold On

This is my first writing post I’ve made. I had this in my head for a while and finally got it out. I have a part two, but it’s still being edited. I am so open to feedback!

Warnings: suicide attempt; hospitals; panic attacks

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

For the past few weeks, Seokjin has known that something is wrong, but has no idea what it is. And without knowing what it is, how the hell is he supposed to fix it? His entire life seems to revolve around the need to take care of the people he loves most, and he can see that Y/n is devastatingly hurt but has no clue how to heal it. It’s like a surgeon trying to operate on a patient in a dark back alley somewhere; he can’t see what’s ruptured, can’t stop the bleeding, and he has this sneaking suspicion that he might lose his patient.

It’s been three solid weeks since he first noticed that something seems to be affecting the woman he loves. She put on a brave face and a faux smile when she knew he was paying attention. But in quiet moments when she thought he was distracted, he could see the darkness wash over her features. He’s tried everything he could think of to draw out what is wrong, comfort her, cheer her up, but nothing has worked and he’s starting to get scared.

It all began on a normal Tuesday afternoon. He was finished with his schedule fairly early in the day and came home to find her sitting in the kitchen floor with her back pressed against the cabinet below the sink, her legs drawn up into her arms and her face hidden in her kneecaps, with dark swirly curls hiding the rest of her features.

“Baby, are you okay?” he called quietly, rushing over to kneel in front of her. Her head snapped up and she smiled the fakest smile he’d ever seen from her.

“Yes, Jinnie. I’m fine. I just haven’t slept well, and just sat down after washing dishes.”

He knew she was lying to him by the darkness swirling in her eyes and the way that the smile didn’t soften the pain in her features, but he decided not to push it. She really hadn’t been sleeping well. More than one night this week he’d woken up in the twilight morning hours to her thrashing about a bit in fitful nightmares, but she’d settle down a bit when he’d pull her in and hum softly into her ear. So, he reiterated to himself that it’s okay not to push it, and that she’d open up once she was ready. He’d scooped her up off the kitchen floor into a tight hug then they’d spent the afternoon curled up in bed with mindless tv shows and drifting in and out of dreams until he started to believe she was okay. She’d laughed at his silly jokes, so Y/n is fine, right?

After that, he noticed that she began sleeping so much more. Sure, she’d had a stressful few months at work with a major project she had been assigned for a high-profile client, but she’d completed that project well and the client had been singing her praises to the heavens. In doing so, she had spent as many sleepless nights slaving away as he had spent missing her beside him in their king-sized bed. It made him wonder how she survived the long months of him being away on tour, lying so tiny in the vast wasteland of a cold, empty bed. Seokjin is not tiny by any means, and without her, he felt so small and vaguely empty in satin sheets, surrounded by so many pillows. And no matter how many extra blankets he added, the bed was so cold without her. So once the project was completed, it made perfect sense that she’d catch up on sleep, right? There is nothing to worry about, right?

Y/n had also pretty obviously stopped eating and cooking. This was driving him insane. The love of cooking and feeding other people is one of the many things that brought them together, and they took turns showing their love to each other with food. She hadn’t baked a single item in three straight weeks. While Seokjin could not bake to save his own life, Y/n baked the most amazing creations and her favorite thing to make was bread. All different varieties of breads from simple, rustic loaves to delicate fruit-filled sweetbreads, she once told him that baking bread made her feel alive. Something about the way the dough responded and how much encouragement it needed to become something from nearly nothing. In fact, in the two full years they had been together, Seokjin had not one time bought a loaf of bread from the store. He forgot that store-bought loaves were even a thing. She kept her own sourdough starter and had to bake at least one loaf a week to keep it growing healthily without it taking over, so he would come home at least one day a week to the slightly sour, yeasty twang of sourdough bread wafting about as two beautiful loaves cooled on a cooling rack. One loaf was always for them at home, and the other for his brothers. Before they shared a home, she would regularly bring her bread experiments over to the dorm and the boys would all ooh and ahh over her creations; Seokjin and Namjoon had had to nearly break up physical fights between the maknaes over who got to eat the last of the loaves on more than one occasion. But it had been two solid weeks since a loaf had been baked in their apartment and he was desperately trying to squelch the worry that was building.

Seokjin realized that he might be out of his element with this. He’d tried everything he knew to do. They’d been on three fancy dates, and he’d sent her a gorgeous bouquet to work. Seokjin bought her the earrings she’d been eyeing subtly when they were shopping for his mom’s birthday present and left them on her pillow one morning when he had to be at an interview at 4 am. He had made love to her slow and sweet on a rainy Sunday afternoon like she loved; it had always been enough to bring her back to him before as he’d remind her of why he loved her both with words and with his body. But not this time. He had told her every joke he could think of, even the worst ones that sounded like they had come off the stick of a melted popsicle. He made her coffee like she liked in the morning, tea in the afternoon, and heady glasses of red wine in the evening. He’d even gone so far as to fly her best friend in for the one weekend he’d had to be away in Japan, knowing that if he couldn’t fix it, she usually could. He had asked if she was okay at least twice a day for more than a week, then given up already when she tried to keep her work mask on all the time and lied straight to his face that she was fine. Y/n was not fine, but he didn’t know what was wrong and nothing he had tried had even made a dent in the darkness, so Seokjin did the only thing he could think of and asked for help to the smartest man he knew.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Namjoon asked when Jin barged into his studio one afternoon without even knocking. The king of manners never forgot something so simple.

“I’m okay, but Y/n is not. I’ve tried everything, and I can’t bring her out of this funk she’s in.”

For the next few minutes, Namjoon asked pointed questions about her behavior and her responses to Seokjin’s attempt at cheering her up. After he had basically verbally vomited all over Namjoon’s lap in RKive for nearly 45 minutes, Namjoon said the most obvious thing.

“Jin-hyung, she sounds depressed. Like seriously, clinically depressed. She has all the classic symptoms. Exhaustion, lack of sleep then sleeping too much, not much energy, disengaging, giving up activities she loves…”

Of course, Namjoon and his sexy brain would identify the thing he’d been seeing wreck the love of his life in practically no time at all. The only thing is that he really didn’t have many solutions other than trying to get her to see a doctor to talk about it. Y/n is stubborn and hates doctors, so convincing her to go would take some doing, but he had an idea of how to go about it. Seokjin thought about it more as he walked down the hallway leaving from Namjoon’s studio and gathered a game plan in his mind. He was done for the day after having recorded all of his parts early in the morning, and it was just now 2:30 in the afternoon. He has time to put things in motion before Y/n should be home from work at 5; if he makes a special dinner for her, then maybe he can soften her heart enough for her to hear him out when he asks her to please either let him in to help or to see a professional. Preferably both if things went well.

Seokjin left the building in a bit of a hurry and drove to the supermarket closest to the apartment. It was a small, family run market that regularly got ingredients in that were difficult to find in other places. Y/n had made friends with the owner’s daughter-in-law as they were from the same home country and had bemoaned how difficult it was to find ingredients for certain dishes, even in a city as big as Seoul. Seokjin planned to make this one soup that Y/n called Comfort Soup that she’d taught him to make; it was the food her mom had made her when she was a child anytime she was sick, hurt, or even just sad, and it brought a piece of her home to her now when she felt homesick. He also wanted to bake a crusty artisan loaf to go with it using the one recipe that Y/n had taught him that he could usually bake without an issue. In fact, Y/n called it the Idiot-Proof Loaf, so surely he wouldn’t screw that up. The best part was that while it took an hour and a half from start to finish, the dough only had to rise once, and finished its growth in the oven instead of multiple risings like most of the breads Y/n made. He rushed in and got all the things he needed, then popped into the florist shop next door for those silly purple roses she loved. His final stop was to a little bakery nearby where their second date had been, and bought chocolate covered strawberries and two beautiful slices of the strawberry cheesecake that they’d shared on that date.

When he finally arrived at their apartment building, Seokjin was relived to see that he’d only used 45 minutes of his precious time and had still had time to bake the bread as long as he did that first. He could make Comfort Soup while the dough rose. After unlocking the apartment door, he kicked off his shoes by the door, then took all his ingredients to the kitchen. He put away the strawberries and cheesecake in the ice box then looked down at his outfit. Even with an apron, he should change so that he isn’t covered in flour and dough.

He didn’t notice it at first. Oh my god, how could he not have noticed? He had walked into the closet to change without turning on the bedroom light, so how could he not have noticed the light filtering under the bathroom door? The light he had turned off before leaving this morning. Y/n had left first since she had an early meeting at the office before he had to be to the recording studio, and there is no reason that she should have already been home. He didn’t see her keys on the hook by the door when he came in or her shoes on the rack where they belonged. Seokjin turned around as he pulled the white t-shirt over his head and stood there perplexed for a few seconds staring at the brightness on the carpet before striding over to open the door and turn off the light.

“Oh my god, Y/n!”

He opened the door to see darkening blood on the white tile of the bathroom floor, and Y/n slumped over against the tub. Her wrist was bleeding in her lap and the shining razor blade was lying beside her on the tile. While the volume of blood was disconcerting, there wasn’t as much as he’d ever thought there would be in a situation like this, so Seokjin knew he might have a chance to save her until he noticed the empty bottle of pills in the sink. Then, came the panic.

Seokjin ripped the hand towel off the drying rack and tied it around her bleeding wrist tight enough to put pressure on the wound while he full-on sprinted to the kitchen for his cell phone. He’d left it lying on the kitchen island when he went to change, and he grabbed it and dialed for an ambulance while running back to her. The dispatcher gathered their address and told him that help was coming, but Seokjin could barely hear her. He was shaking Y/n gently trying to get her to respond. He could just barely hear a pulse when he pressed his ear to her chest and her breathing was so damn shallow it barely grazed his skin when he hovered his hand in front of her face. Oh, god, she’s so pale, he though to himself before hanging up and dropping his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Y/n, baby, can you hear me? Please wake up, please. I need you to wake up.” He didn’t even realize he was crying until he spoke, just begging her to open her eyes.

He barely registered the banging on the front door as help arrived. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had to, so he ran to the door and flung it open for the paramedics and just left the front door gaping open and ran back to the bathroom. Luckily, they took the hint and followed him back to where Y/n was still limp on the floor. They worked quickly and got her all strapped onto a stretcher and told him that he could ride to the hospital with her.

As an afterthought almost, Seokjin grabbed the empty bottle out of the sink and took it with them. Once they were in the ambulance and the paramedics were doing their jobs, Seokjin finally looked at the bottle and immediately felt worse. The empty bottle had his name on it. It had contained muscle relaxers from a couple of months ago when Seokjin had pulled a muscle in his back overworking himself and the doctor had given them to him to help him relax the muscles around it enough that he could sleep. There had been around 10 pills left in the bottle, and Y/n is so much smaller than him in size. Seokjin didn’t know much about medications but he did remember that they were prescribed taking size into consideration, and for the second time in the last 20 minutes, he realized that she might really die.

“Please, Y/n. Please. Oh God you have to wake up.” Seokjin choked on a sob before he could say anything else.

Seokjin felt like the minutes that had passed since he found her were moving through molasses, thick and slow to drip through the hourglass. The ambulance stopped in front of the hospital and the doors flung open into bright late afternoon sunlight, and this nightmare kept going. The paramedics unloaded the stretcher and Seokjin chased them into the emergency room. He kept following them through two sets of double doors, not hearing any words that were being spoken to him until a nurse physically grabbed him.

“Sir, you can’t go any further. We need space to help her,” she said then guided him into a tiny private waiting room. “Wait here and I’ll come back to update you as soon as I can.” She had just made it to the door when he remembered the bottle that he’d been squeezing.

“Here,” he said shakily. “I found this in the sink when I found her. I know that there were at least 10 left in there.”

The nurse thanked him and left quickly, shutting the door behind her. After several seconds of being attacked by the silence in the room, Seokjin’s legs couldn’t hold him up anymore and he just collapsed. He couldn’t stop crying but found the strength to pull out his phone and called Namjoon.

“Namjoon-ah, I was too late. Oh my god, I was too late,” Seokjin sobbed into the phone.

“Jin-hyung, where are you?”

After hearing that Seokjin was at the hospital, Namjoon told him that they’d all come to him. Seokjin had no concept of the flow of time as he remained crumpled on the floor when all six of his brothers tumbled in the door, and he lost it even more when Jimin and Taehyung both wrapped their arms around him. They held him while he sobbed and told them about what he’d found when he’d opened the bathroom door. After a while, Seokjin felt like his chest was gaping open and all of his internal organs were falling out at once, but the tears slowed down as the panic flooded back in; his chest constricted in terror and anxiety and sharp, wracking pain.

“I can’t breathe. Oh, my god, I can’t breathe,” he gasped out as he looked up and met eyes with Namjoon.

Jimin and Taehyung backed up a little to give him some space as Seokjin started hyperventilating. The edges of his vision were starting to get blurry and almost sparkled a bit as his body seemed to reject every breath he tried to take. He barely registered the sound of the door opening as Yoongi ran out to get help. Seokjin struggled to breathe and tried desperately to cling to consciousness as the panic attack really set in.

An unfamiliar feminine face was in front of him then, encouraging him to focus on the sound of her voice. She spoke softly and calmly to him, but she might as well have been speaking to him in Greek because he couldn’t understand any of her words. For that matter, he could just barely hear her over this loud whooshing sound in his ears. The tone of her voice was soft and forced him to focus on nothing else to try to understand what she was saying, and after a few minutes the whooshing noise quieted down enough to hear her properly and he began to lose some of the tightness in his chest.

“Seokjin-ssi, that’s it. Keep breathing slowly and deeply. You are safe. You are just having a panic attack right now, and that’s understandable. Just keep listening to my voice and keep breathing in…then out…now in again,” she murmured to him.

After she was sure that he was calm and wouldn’t panic again, she turned to the other men in the room and asked them to help Seokjin out of the floor. Jungkook stepped up with Namjoon and they physically lifted him up and into a chair. Seokjin couldn’t help them because his legs had been substituted with lemon jello that hadn’t fully set up yet.

Yoongi held a cup to his lips. “Drink, hyung,” he said softly.

Seokjin sipped obediently a few times until Yoongi was satisfied and sat the cup on a nearby table. Seokjin was shocked when Yoongi wrapped his arms around him. Yoongi rarely initiated physical shows of affection, but he understood this entire scenario in a deeper way than he wanted to admit and he knew exactly what Seokjin needed in this moment.

“Yoongichi, I think this is my fault,” Seokjin whispered into his ear.

“No, Jin-hyung. It is not your fault.”

“But I think it is. I must not have loved her well enough. I wasn’t home enough. The pills she took were mine. If I had gone to Namjoon-ah for help sooner…” Seokjin’s voice cracked and he couldn’t finish the thought.

“It is not your fault. Trust me. Do you not remember where I was emotionally when we met? And how close I came to trying too? Do you remember what I said to you the night you walked in and stopped me?” Yoongi countered gently.

“You said that you didn’t want to weigh us all down and that you’d rather hurt yourself than hurt us. And that everything is all your fault.”

“That’s right,” Yoongi replied with a soft smile. “And what did you say back to me?”

“That just because you feel like it’s your fault doesn’t mean that it is. That leaving us that way would hurt more than any burden you handed us. And to let me be your tether when you needed something to hold you down to the earth.”

“Yes, So, now I get a chance to say part of it back to you. Just because you think this is your fault doesn’t mean it is. You saved her, Jin-hyung. You are the reason she’s still breathing now, just like you are the reason I am still breathing now. Yes, she got a little closer to the fire than we’d like, but she can still come back to us. And when she does, Y/n is going to need a tether on the hard days, yeah?”

Seokjin couldn’t speak at that. He still felt like everything was his fault for not realizing what was happening sooner, but Yoongi was right. He had to stay strong because Y/n needed that right now, so he squeezed Yoongi a little tighter then let go before he started to cry again. Yoongi moved from kneeling in front of him to plant himself in the chair beside him. Now that his panic attack had stopped, Seokjin felt like someone had buried him under the weight of about 100 tons of brick. Everything was so heavy, and he was too tired to try to climb out. He finally looked around the room and took it in for the first time.

The waiting room was small but big enough for all of them. Namjoon was in the corner speaking quietly into the phone, presumably updating their managers on what was happening. Seokjin hadn’t thought to call anyone except Namjoon since Namjoon was the only person he’d spoken with about this. Jungkook was standing by the door with his arms crossed, almost as if he was standing guard over his brothers; his stance portrayed his worry a bit in that his first instinct when one of his hyungs was hurting was to cry with them, then protect them if he could. Hoseok was sitting on a small couch on the left side of the room smashed in between Jimin and Taehyung, both folded into Hobi for security and comfort. Hobi had both boys tucked under his arms and was trying to help them stay calm. Both Jimin and Taehyung were empaths and this scenario had them both on edge from the emotions in the room. Jimin still had tears running down his cheeks from the fear of Seokjin’s panic attack and worry for his friend. Taehyung was staring at Jin with wide eyes, seemingly trying to decide if he was okay and what he should do to help.

“I’m okay, Taehyungie,” Seokjin said softly. “I’m just scared.”

Taehyung got up and moved to sit at Seokjin’s feet and wrapped his arms around Seokjin’s legs. It was a small gesture, but somehow it helped to settle some of the remaining anxiety in the pit of Jin’s stomach, and he knew that the physical contact would help Tae relax a bit.

Time seemed to stop moving. Seokjin had no concept of how long they had been in this room. It could have been seconds, or it could have been 10 years, but not knowing what was happening with Y/n was making him crazy. Just when he thought that he couldn’t handle another minute of this stretching unnerving silence, there was a knock at the door, then the doctor stepped in.

“Kim Seokjin?” he asked.

“That’s me. How is she?” Jin stuttered out.

“She’s still alive, but in critical condition. She had lost quite a lot of blood when you found her. We had to give her three pints just to stabilize her. We also did have to pump her stomach for the pills she had taken. We wouldn’t have known about that if you hadn’t brought the bottle in. Honestly, if you had found her 5 minutes later, the outcome may have been very different. As it is, she’s still very weak and unconscious. Hopefully, she will wake up in the next few days, but we still have to wait and see.”

“Can I see her?” Seokin asked.

“Yes, but just be prepared. Her color is still really pale, and she’s hooked up to quite a few monitors. We have also inserted a ventilation tube to help her with breathing for tonight. We hope to remove it tomorrow morning, but we can take it out sooner if she wakes up before then. It’s not standard, but due to the scenario, you may want to bring someone with you,” the doctor advised then smiled softly. “I really think she will be okay, but I can’t be 100% sure.”

Seokjin looked around the room at each of his brothers, meeting eyes with Yoongi last. “Come with me?” he whispered. Yoongi nodded then stood. Taehyung unwrapped himself from around Seokjin’s legs and allowed the two men to follow the doctor out of the room.

The doctor lead them down a seemingly endless hallway before they arrived at a set of double doors. The doctor waved his name badge in front of a keypad and the doors swung open to another hallway. They walked past 4 doors before the doctor stopped and knocked on a door on the left side then let them in.

“Just let me know if you have any questions. I’ll be in to check on her in a couple of hours,” he told them before leaving and closing the door.

Seokjin watched the door close before he finally looked at Y/n lying in the bed. It was like he was standing in his worst nightmare and couldn’t wake up. She looked so small lying there, and so, so pale. There was an IV coming out of her right arm that connected to a couple of bags of fluid hanging limply from a pole beside the bed. There was a plastic mask over her mouth connected with the ventilator at the bedside, and wires that connected from cathodes on her chest to a large beeping heart monitor on the left side of the bed. At the shock of seeing Y/n like this, his knees almost buckled. He would have hit the floor if Yoongi hadn’t grabbed him. Yoongi guided him over to the chair beside the bed and helped him sit down.

“She almost looks dead, Yoongi. Oh my god…” he whimpered.

Yoongi didn’t say anything, he just grabbed Seokjin’s hand and held it tight. It had been nearly 5 years since the night Seokjin had walked in on him with a knife in his hand standing in the bathtub of their shared bathroom. Seokjin had talked him down that night and 3 more times since. Yoongi can’t help but think that while he has recovered so much, this could have been him at some point, and his chest ached. He hurt for his friend lying in the bed, and he ached for his brother who loved her so much and he was upset with himself for not being able to help either of them. He settled on being as comforting to Seokjin as he possibly could and released his hand just long enough to drag an empty chair up beside him, then grabbing his hand again.

Seokjin gently held Y/n’s hand in his right and Yoongi’s in his left. He tried to take the comfort he got from Yoongi’s hand and pour it into the gentle grip he maintained on Y/n’s hand. Tears were dripping silently down his cheeks as he watched the machine take breaths for her and listened to the beeping of the heart monitor. The heart monitor’s sound was comforting somehow as the steady beating reminded him that every beep was a beat of her heart. Seokjin just sat and stared at her motionless form in the bed, and after a while, the beeping of the heart monitor lulled him to sleep without him realizing he’d drifted off.

A loud frantic alarm went off and Seokjin jarred awake, taking a second to remember where he was and why he was there. When he jerked upright, Yoongi’s head fell off of his shoulder where it had landed and Yoongi woke up too. The heart monitor was beeping loudly and erratically now.

“Oh god, Yoongi get help. Something’s wrong.”

Yoongi ran out into the hallway, and Seokjin could vaguely recognize his voice calling for the nurses to come help. Y/n’s eyes hadn’t opened, but she looked paler than she had been and Seokjin couldn’t help but to panic.

“Y/n, no! Please wake up! You can’t leave me like this,” Jin cried, shaking her gently.

The nurses ran in just before that same alarm that shocked him awake sounded again, and they shoved Seokjin out the door and out of the way to have room to work.

“No, please! I need to be with her! Please! Y/n! Y/N! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME. PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” Seokjin started screaming and crying trying to fight off the arms that were holding him back.

Yoongi spun him around to face him then and pulled him into a hug. “Hyung, you have to let them work. You have to let them help her.”

Seokjin felt like he had lost all control and he wasn’t sure he could just stand here when his entire world was behind that closed door dying. At the same time, he didn’t know what he could do to help, and he was so angry that he couldn’t just fix this. Seokjin let Yoongi lead him a few feet away from the door so they wouldn’t be blocking the way if anyone needed to come in or out. After an eternity it seemed, the nurses opened the door and called Seokjin over.

“I’m sorry for shoving you out the door. The alarm you were hearing was the heart rate monitor. Her blood pressure was dropping, and we had to give her a big shot of some medication to correct that. She has stabilized a bit and you can go back in and wait with her if you’d like.”

Seokjin just nodded and walked back in and headed back to his chair at the bedside. Yoongi grabbed his hand and squeezed it for a moment before speaking, “Hyung, I’m going to go update everyone. I know they are all worried about what’s happening. I’ll send someone else to come back with you for a bit so that they can visit Y/n too. They love her too.”

“Okay,” Seokjin whispered. “Would you send Joon-ah?”

“Of course I will.”

After Seokjin heard the door click closed, he took a closer look at Y/n. She was still so pale and looked like she was so breakable. Even through all of that, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t just sit there by the bedside anymore. He needed to hold her in his arms, so he gently navigated all of the wires and tubes to climb in the bed beside her and wrap his arms around her as gently as he could. The bed was so small, but his entire body relaxed a bit when he was able to feel her beside him. Seokjin kissed her gently on the temple before speaking softly into her ear.  

“Baby, I hope you can hear me. I love you so much. I am so sorry that I didn’t realize what was happening with you sooner. I tried so hard to help in subtle ways and not to force you to open up about what was going wrong. I should have pushed even if we fought. I’d rather live with the knowledge that you are angry with me than for you to not be alive at all. Please. Please, don’t leave me.” Seokjin couldn’t stop himself from sobbing into Y/n’s hair, and he was so exhausted with worry and fear. After a few more minutes, he had cried himself back to sleep.

As Seokjin’s sleep addled brain woke back up a few hours later, he had difficulty remembering where he was, but then he opened his eyes and reality bitch-slapped him in the face. He glanced down to see Y/n still unconscious beside him. He needed to visit the restroom and something to drink. He had cried so much that his entire body felt like it was drying up from the inside out. He slowly sat up and maneuvered out of the bed so that he wouldn’t disconnect any of the vital tubes and wires connected to her and got out of the bed. When he did, he saw Namjoon slumped over asleep in the chair he’d vacated the night before and smiled a bit to himself before slipping into the connected bathroom.

Seokjin stared at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. While he still was as handsome as he’d ever been, his eyes were swollen and a bit red from crying and sleeping in his contacts. His hair was sticking up everywhere too from sleep, and there was a big brown streak of dried blood across his white tee from where he’d found Y/n. He looked like hell. He splashed some water on his face a bit then came out of the bathroom. As much as he didn’t want to leave her, he wanted to check on the others down the hallway. After exiting the restroom, he sat down beside Namjoon and lightly shook him.

“Namjoon-ah, wake up.”

Namjoon startled awake a bit, looking around to see what was happening. “Wha…What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing has changed. I just want to walk down the hall to check on the others and get a cup of coffee. Will you stay with her please? I don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up. I just feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I stay still in this room for another second.”

Namjoon agreed immediately, and Seokjin rose and left the room as quietly as possible. He wondered down the hallway and back to the double doors. There was a sign beside the door that notated a 4-digit code so that he could get back in without a doctor’s name badge upon his return, so he committed that to memory before heading back into the room where he’d left the others. He walked in and saw Yoongi and Hoseok curled up on the sofa, cuddled up together asleep. The maknaes were all three curled up in the floor together using cushions they had removed from the chairs around the room as pillows, but they were all touching. Jungkook was in the middle, with Taehyung draped around him. Taehyung had one arm and one leg thrown across Jungkook, and Jimin was holding his hand. Jimin was lying with his left side pushed against Jungkook’s side and his head tilted so that it touched Jungkook’s shoulder. Seokjin chuckled a bit at the sight, glad that he had these men as his family. At the sound of his laugh, Hoseok looked over at Seokjin where he was standing just inside the door. Hoseok had always been the lightest sleeper of the group, and any sound would disrupt him.

“Hyung?” Hoseok asked, “Is Y/n awake?”

“No, Seokie, she’s not. But I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust from not being able to help her, so I came out to get some coffee.”

“Oh.” Hoseok’s face fell as he learned that Y/n was still not awake. “Sejin-hyung brought you a change of clothes and a toothbrush in the middle of the night. Joonie told him about how you…about your shirt.”

Seokjin found the bag in the corner of the room, so thankful at how much like family their managers were with them. They had always looked after all 7 as if they were their own children, so when something happened to 1 member, it happed to the entire staff too. Seokjin stepped into the small bathroom connected to the waiting room to change and brush his teeth and immediately felt a bit calmer. There had been black sweatpants, a white tee shirt and an oversized blue sweater in the bag. The sweater helped immensely. It was the one that Y/n had stolen to sleep in the other day, so her scent was still woven into the fabric and it helped him to stay calm and hopeful. He stepped out into the waiting room to see that the maknaes were starting to stir a bit.

“Jin-hyung, I’m going to get coffee and breakfast for everyone. Can I bring you something?” Jimin asked.

“Just coffee, Minnie. I don’t think I can stomach the thought of food at the moment. I’m going to head back to Y/n, so just call when you get back and I’ll come out and get the coffee.”

Seokjin then headed back towards Y/n’s room in the intensive care unit. He heard Namjoon screaming for someone to come before he got back through the double doors and his heart nearly exploded in fear. What if she’s crashing again, he thought to himself as he was running down the hall. He nearly collided with Namjoon midway there. Namjoon grabbed both his arms to keep from falling backwards, before he said two words that made Seokjin’s heart flutter from relief.

“She’s awake.”

[squirrelly831]

Making Breakfast in His Shirt [Hoseok and Namjoon]

The oc’s are the wives prior to getting married or engaged. You can read this as part of the daddy!au series or a stand alone~~. These are different from the original versions, but I like these better.

Enjoy~~

Hoseok

Elfie hit the alarm clock after the first loud ring then whipped back to see if Hoseok had woken up. Seeing he was still fast asleep, she let out a breath of relief. She tried getting out of bed to feel her legs wrapped up in blankets and Hoseok’s legs. She shifted around, sitting up with her hands pressed against the edge of the bed, and she untangled herself from the blankets and boyfriend. Her victory was short lived as she leaned back too far and fell off the bed with a thump. “Ah, shit” she hissed as she held her head in her hands feeling pain. Her puppy, Mitzy, sat up at the end of the bed, her head tilted to the side as she stared down at Elfie. “I feel like you’re judging me right now…” She whispered towards her dog as she stood up slowly. 

After taking a quick shower, Elfie threw on one of Hoseok’s shirts and one of her gym shorts before she made her way out the room with her cell phone in hand. She pulled out the ingredients she needed for the birthday seaweed soup recipe Hoseok’s mom texted her. She opted not to wear an apron as she whipped up a breakfast for Hoseok’s birthday. She intertwined her fingers together and stretched out popping a couple fingers then flashed a smile to Mitzy. “Alright! Let’s make some breakfast.” 

Mitzy let out a whimper, her ears drooped as she made a quick escape from the kitchen as if she knew what mayhem was about to hit. 

Elfie rolled her eyes, “Fine, you don’t get any leftovers.”

There was a loud shrill followed by a sound similar to roaring thunder. Hoseok shot up in bed in a hurry as the smell of burning overtook the bedroom. His eyes widened as he threw off the blankets, “Elfie!” He ran out of the bedroom, his feet pounded against the carpet hall missing the fleeing Mitzy who sped to the bedroom. “ELFIE!” His voice was high drenched in sheer panic as he entered a plume of smoke in the living room. 

There was a cough and the sharp shrill from the fire alarm in the kitchen. Elfie stumbled through the kitchen to each of the windows trying to air out the area. She mentally cursed as she choked on another harsh breath as she looked back in the kitchen towards the fire alarm. 

“ELFIE!” Her name sounded over the alarm and Elfie grabbed a chair, dragged it under the fire alarm, and unplugged it making the shrill cease. “Elfie?”

“I’m fine” she coughed as she waved the smoke from her face. The smoke was less dense than it was moments ago thanks to the windows making it easier to see in the kitchen. At the entrance stood a frantic Hoseok, chest rapidly rising and falling as he looked at the disaster in the kitchen. Elfie grimaced as she held up her hands and shook them in a waving motion, “Happy birthday…” She awkwardly sang. 

Hoseok’s eyes met hers before he made his way to her side, “Are you okay? What happened?” 

“I just kind of forgot the cake in the oven and it ended up burning… I tried to take it out, but I reached in with my bare han--” 

Hoseok took her wrists and noticed how red her hand was, “You should ice it.” He picked her up off the chair and took her to the counter. “Sit up there” he left no room for argument as he rushed to the freezer and grabbed ice then a towel from the drawer beside him. “You know you need to pay attention when you’re cooking” he hissed. “You’re such an airhead that you space out at the wrong times” he placed the ice in her hand then wrapped the towel around her hand. “Keep that there.” 

Elfie retreated into herself like a kicked dog. Her shoulders slumped as her head fell to her hand. Tears gathered in her eyes and she used his shirt she wore to wipe the tears away. She wanted to say something, but her voice wouldn’t come out as she continued to silently cry.

Hoseok continued to lecture her as he cleaned up the mess. A pile of pots from the cabinets above were on the ground, the culprits of the thunderous sound. He hadn’t realized he was lecturing her until he realized how quiet she was. Hoseok looked back to see huge tears descending down Elfie’s face. “Does it hurt? Should we go to the hospital?”

She shook her head as her tears only grew, “I was just trying to make you a surprise birthday breakfast” her voice was raw and cracking. “I can’t even do that right. I’m sorry.” 

Hoseok walked over to her and hugged her, “It’s okay. I know you can cook, Elfie… But, I wish you didn’t try to cook so much at once--you get so careless and end up hurting yourself.” He rubbed her back as he looked through the semi-clean kitchen. “Why don’t we clean up and we can make some breakfast together, okay?” His hand took her burned hand and he checked the burn, “But first let’s go get this checked out, yea?” Elfie gave a sad nod as Hoseok helped her off the counter and the two changed to go to the hospital.

Namjoon

The sun’s rays were the first to wake Sierra from her peaceful sleep. Her eyes screwed shut as she let out a displeased groan. She shifted in the bed, turning her back to the bright light as the arm resting over her naked body pulled her closer. The tip of Sierra’s nose touched the chest in front of her and a smile grew as she took in her boyfriend’s scent. Finally, giving up on sleep, Sierra’s eyes fluttered open, Namjoon’s chest rose and fell before her. She reached out and touched his chest. Her manicure nails rubbed against his naked upper body as she remembered the night before--their first night together. Sierra felt her face warm at the thought as her hand traced up to his face. Her smile only grew as she looked up at her boyfriend’s sleeping face. Shuffling in bed once more, Sierra reached up and pressed a quick kiss on Namjoon’s lips, “I love you” she whispered. 

Namjoon let out a mumble under his breath before he turned in his sleep releasing her from his grasp. Sierra took the opportunity to climb out of bed and grabbed the first shirt she found on the ground from the previous night. She felt like she was walking on air, she felt so light. She threw it on and got ready for the day after checking out Namjoon once again. After she brushed her teeth and fixed the lingering bedhead, Sierra grabbed her phone and headed to the kitchen to make some breakfast for the two of them. 

Namjoon woke to the smell of food. A deep groan escaped him as he reached over to the other side of the bed to feel nothing but the cold sheets. His eyes opened partially to see Sierra was not beside him in bed and he reached up to his hair as he stretched. He sat up letting the covers pool on his laps as he looked around the room for his girlfriend. He yawned loudly as he got out of bed and sought for a pair of sweatpants then went to find his girlfriend.

Namjoon saw Sierra in front of the oven, she hummed happily as she cooked. He couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face. He couldn’t believe his girlfriend had flown from New Zealand just to be with him for a month while he was on break from work. Last night was their first time alone together since they began dating eight months ago and it was perfect. Namjoon couldn’t help wanting more. It didn’t help when he noticed Sierra wore one of his shirts that barely covered her upper thighs. How could she look so perfect first thing in the morning? 

Sierra jumped when Namjoon wrapped his arms around her waist, “Heavens--don’t scare me like that.” 

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up” his voice still deep with sleep. Namjoon felt a shiver go down Sierra’s back. A smirk graced his lips as he leaned down to her neck. His lips teased her neck, grazed over her skin drawing out a sweet whimper from her. “How are you feeling?” his head moved up to her ear, “I wasn’t too rough last night, right?”

Sierra’s face felt like it was on fire. How could Namjoon, her sweet kind boyfriend, be so sensual first thing in the morning. “I--” Her eyes never left the omelet that was cooking before her. “I feel fine” she cleared her throat. 

One of Namjoon’s hands fell from her waist and touched her thigh leaving tingles in his wake. A hum left his lips as he watched her fidget under his grasp. Namjoon’s eyes grazed  her as he pulled her away from the pan. He turned off the burner and reached around her to move the pan. Sierra turned in his arms to see him curiosity written across her face. His eyes traveled down her body before his lips descended on hers. The heated kiss made her gasp allowing Namjoon to slip his tongue in her mouth. A moan melted in the kiss as Sierra grasped his biceps to hold herself up. 

Namjoon broke the kiss, “Could you handle another round?” 

Sierra shyly looked away as she caught her breath, “But breakfast--”

“Can wait” he whispered as a seductive smirk grew on his lips, “Or I could have you for breakfast?” His eyebrow rose and Sierra’s face heated up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but kept her face hidden in his chest. Namjoon let out a deep chuckle, “How are you so shy still?” 

“Shut up…” Sierra wanted nothing more than to hide under a rock with how embarrassed she felt. Namjoon didn’t let her escape as his fingers pulled her chin up and his lips took hers once more. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him as he took them to the living room for another heated round.

Part I | Part III

Credit to gif owners

Written & revamped by Squirrelly831

♕ REQUEST

☮ BTS MASTERLIST

∞ ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

[meetevieinthehallway]

h-how did flour get there?

in which harry thought the way to her heart was through her stomach.

-

“used to be a baker, y’know.”

the sentence has crossed headlines and articles and tweets and comments and has been the butt of jokes for well over a few years, and harry now suddenly realizes that all of them were right:

working in a bakery is different than being a baker.

he had this overarching confidence today and he was confused but not opposed to the feeling; it was nice to have a change of emotion after being stressed out for the past few days.

it was valentines day— and a sickly sweet feeling was bubbling in harry’s chest as he pondered how he could make their lowkey, casual and simple dinner tonight special. the last valentines day with his girl was celebrated on tour, and the lack of privacy and availability made it lackluster and filled with quickies and short make out sessions and simple cards with messy script.

this year was better. although they both had to work all day before they could celebrate with a nice dinner and a solid night of loving, harry was more than excited to get tipsy off of champagne with his love in low light and serve her dinner and dessert and—

shit.

he forgot dessert.

fuck.

arguably the most romantic part of any meal—feeding one another chocolate covered strawberries or rich chocolate cake or sweet cookies—he forgot it and if that doesn’t make him feel like an idiot he doesn’t know what will. he wanted this to be romantic: a night where he could praise and spoil his girl and make her feel absolutely beautiful in every way possible.

how in the fuck could he do that now that he forgot one of her favorite things?

harry’s girl had the biggest sweet tooth—it scares him sometimes—and he knows that if he doesn’t have any dessert she’ll certainly be whining and pouting. she never failed to not finish dinner to save room for something chocolately; no matter how many times harry chastised her, she’d stick her tongue out and laugh at him.

“let me live, h. just because you only eat leaves doesn’t mean i have to.”

and well, harry typically would pout at her.

“fine. order some.. some double fudge chocolate crusted oreo cheesecake with caramel with a side of a sugar overdose, then.”

“they have that on the menu?!”

okay so, he forgot his girl’s favorite thing. he pouted at himself, scolding himself, wondering how in the world he could have forgotten.

his brain had started to wrap itself in a frenzy— the weather was shitty today and he didn’t want to be that guy that called his driver to come and drive him to a bakery in heavy snow when he just dropped him off about twenty minutes ago.

he felt a small surge of confidence radiate through him—

i could bake something, right?

he bit his lip, pulling out his phone, searching pinterest with nimble fingers.

simple chocolate cake, maybe?...hm.

and up came a million recipes, right at his fingertips; it seemed simple enough.

oh, was he so wrong.

this one author claiming that her chocolate cake was the best in the world and comparable to the chocolate cake in matilda made harry frown; he didn’t like the tone of arrogance in a simple chocolate dessert recipe. it’s fucking butter and sugar, right?

well, it wasn’t.

harry didn’t realize that this recipe required precious tediousness. he didn’t think using regular milk instead of buttermilk was that big of a deal, and that one less egg than written down would cause too much harm. there were eggshells in the batter and it had way more than a “dash” of salt—what even did that mean—but harry pushed it into the oven with flour on his hands and a small, proud smile on his face.

knew i could do it!

he thinks that it had to bake for forty minutes— he’s unsure because pinterest closed out and erased the recipe away and he wasn’t going to try to find it again among the hundreds of thousands of suggestions.

there was some leftover frosting in the refrigerator from god knows when— harry pulled it out with an easy smile, relieved that he didn’t have to go through another recipe list.

but when he was engrossed in a youtube tutorial entitled diy piping bags! two steps! with twenty failed ziploc bags next to him, his nose twitched.

something didn’t smell.. right.

he couldn’t compare it to a smell he had already experienced… this one was just, wrong.

it had been only twenty-two minutes, but the disgusting smell of something…  cooking… didn’t scream safety. so he took it out with a sniffing nose and a what the fuck is that smell running through his mind.

he quickly glanced to the clock, thinking about how fast he could remake it, that he’d have all the time in the world— when took a double take and realized that his girl is going to be home in a fucking hour.

it was a blur then, really: one filled of puffs of flour as he attempts to construct something out of a half baked cake, icing thrown haphazardly on top and huffing when it melted on the hot dessert, gel food coloring resembling alphabet soup as he tried to write a message to his lovie. he was bent over his counter, batter sticking to his jeans and smears of frosting on his cheek, flour covering every surface in sight.

harry was so focused, his tongue poking out between his lips, limbs freezing when he hears her car pull up outside. before he knew it, she was closing the door behind her, calling out his name softly.

she smiled in relaxation. she was finally home, enveloped in warmth and ready to spend a romantic night with her husband. she was anxious; she was wearing something new under her work clothes that had been riling her up all day, wondering what he’d think, how he’d react when he saw it. she shook back her shoulders, sighing, walking towards the sound of him in the kitchen, bags in hand.

“hazza?” she cooed, swaying her hips, confidence stirring in her lower stomach as she sauntered, pushing the doorway in.

she had never expected this.

“uh.. hi, lovie.”

his tone was hesitant and unsure, her lips parting as her eyes widened.

it was an absolute mess.

one would never know their countertops were dark marble: because they were caked in every kitchen ingredient imaginable. there was batter on the floor and spilled all over the front of the oven, two cracked eggs on the floor in front of the open refrigerator. harry was covered in frosting and pink glitter, staring at her with wide eyes as his hands were wrapped around a makeshift piping bag.

she burst out laughing.

she couldn’t help it.

small giggles morphed into loud laughs, her bags dropping to the floor as her arms went around her midsection. harry stood up straight, a pout on his face as he watched her laugh at his stupidity, eyebrows furrowing. she swore her knees almost gave way, tears starting to leak from her eyes as she held onto the wall next to her. her lungs were burning from laughter, shouts of “i can’t!” between her giggles.

harry frowned. he looked around, his eyes widening a bit when he realizes how much of a mess he’s made.

“h-how—” she broke into laughter. her arm reached shakily, pointing to the light dangling over the island. “h-how did flour get there?”

harry looked.

sure enough, there was globs of wet flour and batter stuck to the ceiling and light, a solid ten feet above where harry was working on this cake.

he pouted again when her giggles weren’t quieting.

“y’know… when most husbands mess up or make themselves look dumb their wives tell them it’s the thought that counts, or summat.” his lip was jutted, his hands throwing down the frosting and his arms crossing over his chest.

her laughs slowly calmed, her body trembling and more tears leaking from her eyes. she sniffled, chuckling, fingers wiping her cheeks.

“aw, bub.” she bit her lip, stifling more laughs. “what on earth have you done? i know we talked about redecorating, but…” she laughed again.

harry looked down at his failed cake, the one undisguisable from even being so, heaps of frosting and sprinkles layered on top of a soupy mess.

she padded over to him, grinning. “i’m sorry for laughing.” she lied completely, her lips pulling inward as her arms wrapped around his waist.

his hand came to her back, lips frowning. “wanted this to work.”

“it’s very sweet of you, baby.” she leant up, planting a kiss on his cheek, a bit of frosting catching on her lip.

she hummed, eyes lighting excitedly. “the frosting tastes delicious!”

he pouted. “the one thing i didn’t make.” he mumbled, pouting again.

she could have had another laughing episode right then and there. but she held it in, biting her lip. “i’m sorry, bubby.” her fingers combed his hair. “why don’t you um...” she snorted, “go shower and i’ll clean up, yeah?”

he shook his head and whined. “i wanted to set things up for you.” he frowned. “wanted to make you feel special and all that.” his accent was thick, voice low and posture slouched over.

“you always make me feel special.” she murmured, going on her toes to kiss him softly. he sighed into her, his arms slowly pulling her closer to him. she pulled away, pecking his nose and smiling. “y’can feed me the chocolate covered strawberries i got, yeah?”

he paused, pulling back. “what?”

she gazed at him. “the strawberries i got on my way home.”

“what d’you mean?” his eyes widened. 

“remember i said i would grab dessert on my way?”

he faltered.

there’s no way.

“what— when was this said?!” he breathed out, eyebrows pinching inward.

“last night, bub.” she smiled, then her lips parted. “do not tell me you did all of this because you thought nobody had bought dessert.”

he fumbled with his fingers, cheeks blushing. “...no.”

her head dipped forward, giggles falling from her lips as he frowned in embarrassment. he started this night off thinking he was dumb enough to forget dessert, but he really forgot that he wasn’t even responsible for it.

“i need wine.” he mumbled, his love still giggling into his chest and he smiled sheepishly. “i just— ‘m sorry, lovie.”

she grinned. “you give me a new adventure every day that reminds me why i married your dumb ass, h.”

he chuckled. “i’m glad.” and then a second later “i guess.”

she kissed him lightly. “we’ll remember this valentines day, for sure.” she laughed. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

“you’re gonna join me?” he smirked.

“save that for later, y’know, after dessert.” she smiled.

“or…” he pondered. “i can eat my dessert now.”

her eyebrows furrowed. he grinned charmingly, and bent, scooping her up and holding her under her thighs as he walked, his girl giggling and squealing as he quickly padded to their bedroom. he kicked open the door, hiking her up so her face met his. he grinned impishly.

“i suddenly have a sweet tooth.”

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 6

The Tiger and the Dragon by George deValier

Chapter saved by fluffchemy ♥

"Potatoes," said Francis, looking over Yao's shoulder at his laptop screen before flopping back onto the couch. Like every other item of furniture in Francis' apartment, it was deep red, rather expensive, and completely over the top. He lifted his hand, blew on his nails, and went back to filing them. "I think they eat a lot of potatoes."

"Potatoes…" Yao looked back at the screen. Nothing in the results of his search for 'Traditional Russian Food' was jumping out at him. He sighed and leaned back against the couch, feeling Francis' knee behind his head. "I can't just make a plate of potatoes."

"Why not? That is what Arthur served that one time he cooked for us."

"I believe there were sausages involved as well." Yao shuddered. Possibly the worst meal of his life, and he was still unsure how he was able to get so sick from mashed potatoes. "Besides, I don't think a plate of mash is a traditional Russian meal."

"Too bad Ivan isn't English, non?"

Yao laughed. He was visiting Francis in his apartment upstairs in order to get away from the noise of the thunderous argument taking place in the apartment below. And knowing the way Alfred and Arthur's fights usually ended, with more shouting and screaming and swearing - albeit of a different sort - Yao figured he was probably stuck where he was until after midnight.

Francis held his hand out for Yao to inspect. Yao just nodded absently and Francis started filing the nails on his other hand. "So are you having much luck?"

"Not really." Yao was quickly starting to regret his promise to make Ivan a traditional Russian meal. He knew he was a good cook, he was just also a perfectionist and terrified of messing it up. Messing something up in front of Ivan was the last thing he wanted to do. "I could make Borscht, maybe?"

"Hmm, soup, could be messy," said Francis, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Remember to make something you'll look good eating."

"I didn't even think of that," said Yao, staring blankly up at the wall. "Great, now I have something else to worry about."

"Don't worry cheri, if all else fails, serve bananas for dessert. Works every time."

Yao reached behind him and thumped Francis on the knee. "Could you not give me some actual help here?"

"All right, fine… what about that Buz… Buzhenina thing?" asked Francis, pointing at the laptop screen.

"Takes too long." Yao didn't know how Ivan would feel about him spending two days at his house preparing the meal. Yao didn't know how he would feel about it himself. Either way… impractical.

"Well how about Beef Stroganoff… that's Russian, isn't it?"

"Too simple." Yao wanted it to look like he'd at least made an effort to research something a little less well known.

"There you go, I try and help and you disregard my helpful suggestions. Sorry, now you're on your own." Francis focused intently on his nails.

"Well what do you think of…"

"Uh uh," Francis held up his index finger in a 'shush' motion. "You may no longer ask me for my assistance since you are so quick to dismiss it."

Yao shrugged. Francis could not go more than two minutes without talking so Yao was not worried. At least he could speak with Francis about Ivan. Unlike Alfred, he didn't go on about how only spies wore trench coats, or how Ivan must have serious underground connections to be able to close off an entire zoo. True he went on about the rumoured virtues of Russian men and kept telling Yao to look at the size of Ivan's ring finger, but somehow that was preferable.

It had only been a few days since the afternoon at the tiger enclosure, but Yao was already missing Ivan. Some rational part of his mind told him it was a little silly to be so infatuated with someone he had met twice and who it was quite obviously not a good idea to get involved with. But the rest of him won easily over that rational part. And all he could think of was Ivan's strong hand in his as they gazed down at Siberian tigers, Ivan's proud grin when he unveiled a picnic basket of peanut butter sandwiches, Ivan's violet eyes staring into his, Ivan kissing him, holding him, pulling him closer… in fact for two days straight Yao had thought of little else.

Yao had last heard from Ivan when he had phoned that morning, waking Yao at six a.m. on his day off. Yao had answered the phone, annoyed and half asleep, without looking at the number on the screen.

"What the hell do you want?" he shouted.

The reply came as cheerful as ever. "To ask you to come to my house for dinner tomorrow!"

Yao shot up in bed. "Ivan!"

"Yao!"

"I, um, oh… tomorrow?"

"Yes! I will see you then… please to remember, you are cooking me traditional Russian meal, da? I look forward to it! See you tomorrow Dragon!" And he hung up.

So now Yao was desperately searching for a Russian recipe and he had less than 24 hours to find it. Of course he had no idea how he was supposed to get to Ivan's house seeing as he had no idea where it was. But Yao wasn't so much nervous as he was almost painfully curious. He tried to ignore the knot in his stomach and continued clicking through the search results on his laptop.

Yao came across a promising looking page and nudged Francis with his elbow. "Hey, look at this…" he was interrupted by a deafening thumping coming up the stairs. He looked up quizzically at Francis, who swung himself into a sitting position with a guilty expression.

"Oh, Yao," he said, "I forgot… Gilbert and Antonio are coming over."

Yao closed his eyes briefly. Great. The other two stooges. While Antonio wasn't too bad, Yao had never quite gotten along with Gilbert. They'd known each other even before Yao met Francis… Gilbert's brother Ludwig was one of Kiku's best friends. And as far back as Yao could remember Gilbert had always been an arrogant jerk whose wilful ignorance rivalled even Alfred's. The thumping reached the door and Yao shrunk down as far as he could against the couch.

"I think your neighbours are killing each other," said Gilbert cheerfully as he barrelled through the door before Francis could reach it.

Yao stared fixedly at his computer screen.

"Gilbert only brought beer. Grab me a bottle of red, will you?" Yao recognised Antonio's Spanish accent.

"Bonjour to you too. Help yourself, there is plenty in the kitchen."

"Wine, ugh. Do you have any of those awesome chocolate chip cookies you make?"

"On the bench."

"Francisco, this plonk is only one year old!"

"Mon Dieu, if you want better, bring it yourself!"

"Ooooh, touchy about your cheap wine, eh? Everyone knows you have an expensive stash hidden in your room, run and get me one."

"How about screw you, or beso mi culo if you prefer?"

"No thanks, I don't know where it's been."

"Mmm, these cookies are awesome with beer! What's on the… hey, Chinese kid!" Yao groaned. He'd been spotted.

"You know, amazingly, that isn't actually my name," said Yao as Gilbert jumped the back of the couch and landed in the cushions behind him.

"Hi Yao," Antonio smiled cheerfully. Yao waved half heartedly.

"What's all this?" Gilbert leaned over Yao, taking the mouse from his hand and scrolling through the website open on the screen. He trailed crumbs over the keyboard. "Russian food. Whatcha looking at that for?" Yao leaned away from Gilbert.

"Yao's dating a Russian," explained Francis.

"Ooh a Russian, is she hot?"

Yao paused. Well, in fact, he was incredibly hot… "Well… uh…"

"Ah yes, Feliciano mentioned you had a boyfriend," said Antonio.

"I don't have a boyfriend!" said Yao firmly. "Can that boy keep his mouth shut for three minutes?"

"Geez, Francis," said Gilbert, "am I the only straight friend you have?" At this, both Francis and Antonio burst into laughter. Gilbert shot them a frosty glare. "What?"

"Straight. Hehe. Yeah," said Antonio as Francis giggled uncontrollably beside him.

"That's what I said," said Gilbert through gritted teeth.

"Cough, Roderich, cough," Antonio said into his hand. Francis gripped Antonio's shoulder, laughing hysterically.

Gilbert spun around on his knees, narrowly avoiding kicking Yao in the head, and faced the others over the back of the couch. "As I have told you thirty-five times, I was drunk, it was dark, and I thought he was Elizaveta!"

Francis fell on the floor and howled. Even Yao couldn't help snickering a little, even as he gathered up his laptop and climbed to his feet. He coughed and tried to clear the smirk from his face.

"As much as I'd love to hang around," said Yao, his voice dripping sarcasm, "I really must be heading off."

"I thought you were going to stay?" said Francis, looking up from the floor where he sat clutching his stomach.

"Well, I was… to get away from the noise. And here we are." Yao headed for the door.

"Hopefully you get laid by that Russian soon. You totally need it," said Gilbert. Yao glared at him and, ignoring Francis' pleas for him to stay, walked out the door and slammed it behind him.

Yao walked down the stairs and groaned in frustration at the noise coming from the bottom floor. At least Arthur and Alfred had stopped fighting. Unfortunately they were making up. Yao went into his apartment and rummaged around for his ipod. Just as he found it in his top drawer, a loud beat starting thumping through his ceiling. Yao stopped himself kicking the wall, plugged in his earphones, and turned the volume up to full. Knowing there was no way he would be sleeping for a while, he fell onto his bed and opened his laptop. For the next hour he looked through the cooking sites he had saved earlier and made notes. Once he was done, he clicked aimlessly through his bookmarks and finally, deciding to check his email before attempting to get to sleep, he found one with the subject line "Hello Dragon!" Yao's heart skipped a beat. He clicked on it and cursed the seconds it took to open. When it did, there was only one line.

My car will pick you up tomorrow at 5pm. Xxx Ivan 

Yao read it thirty times. He finally clicked reply, completely unsure what to answer. After about five drafts, including "I am quite capable of making my own way there, thank you" and "How the hell did you get my email address?" Yao finally typed in "Okay." He clicked send, closed his laptop, and pulled his earphones out of his ears. It had finally quieted just enough for him to try to sleep. Sleep was, however, a long time coming.

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

THANK YOU FLUFFCHEMY FOR SAVING THIS CHAPTER!

[dork-empress]

TAZ Angst drabble 2

Read on Ao3 

Character death warning

Despite Taako’s objections to the contrary, elves were mortal. They aged, so slowly it was barely perceptible by humans.

Taako had an uncle...or great uncle...maybe he was just an old cranky cousin? Anyway, some family member that took in him and Lup for the Elven equivalent of two seconds before sending them off again. He told Taako and Lup never to make friends with other races, because they aged too quickly, and Taako would inevitably end up alone. Taako just thought he was racist, which he was, but it took a good 800 years before Taako was willing to admit MAYBE he had a point.

He kept his glamour charm up nearly all the time, but every once in a while, he put it down to look in the mirror and see what time had done. Not to mention sometimes he just needed the spell slots. His golden blonde hair had turned stark white. His skin, once perfectly bronzed was now wrinkled.

And there were some things no magic in the world could totally fix. His eyesight, for one, losing a good deal of his darkvision and normal vision. His hearing at least allowed him a good excuse to yell at the whippersnappers going about. If there was one thing he enjoyed about being old it was complaining about young people, not that he needed youth as an excuse to do that.

But the worst thing was the memory. It started small, taking a minute or longer to remember an old friend’s name. Making up what happened when he couldn’t remember a story of his own life. A spell or two he didn’t know. His aunt’s recipes.

It was getting worse, though. One fateful day, he couldn’t remember Magnus’ name, and he rushed to the graveyard to see it and apologize to his old friend. It was decorated well, as a hero of legend’s grave should be. Kids went on field trips to come see it.

They were all gone now. Magnus, Lucretia, Davenport, Merle, Ren, Carey, Killian, Avi, Leon, Lucas...even Agnus had grown up before Taako’s very eyes and then died of old age. Many of his friends had had children, who then grew up and died, and then their children….humans were stupid. They were like damn Goldfish with the way they kept dying, what the fuck?

The people closest to him weren’t like that. Kravitz, Lup, and Barry stayed on. They all lived in the same house for a long time. It wasn’t fair, they got to live forever, but they stayed the SAME. Stupid reapers.

After going out to see Magnus, Taako realized one more thing he forgot: the way home. He stumbled around town a bit, trying to retrace his steps, but only found himself more lost, until finally a robed figure appeared out of the mist in front of him. “What did I tell you about sneaking up on me, Bluejeans?”

“Sorry,” Barry said, putting up his hands in surrender. “We got back and you weren’t home. Lup and Krav are worried, so we split up to find you.”

Taako ‘hmph’d’ impressively. One good thing about being old was being able to ‘hmph’ properly. “And what, you were just the lucky bastard to check this…” He looked around. He didn’t know where he was.

“Actually,” Barry covered for his old friend’s lack of memory, “I asked around and the kids said there was a crazy old elf wizard shouting ‘abracafuck you’ and blasting a statue.”’

Taako chuckled, “heh. Classic.”

Barry created a rift in the air and offered for Taako to step in. “I better call Lup and Krav. Get ready for a lecture about wandering around.”

“I’m not a caged animal,” he said, “This guy’s so fine, it’d be a shame to hide from the world.”

Barry smirked, but knew better than to argue. “Where’d you go, anyway?”

Taako collapsed on the sofa and regretted it instantly. He now felt all the misery holding himself upright and walking around had caused him. “Graveyard,” He said, like it was nothing.

Barry put the stone of farspeech down. “Oh,” he said.

He went over to sit on the sofa, but Taako shooed him away. “I miss them too, you know,” Barry said, “Every day.”

“Why?” Taako asked, “You get to go to the land of the dead all the time.”

Barry sighed, “Being in the astral plane and being part of the sea of souls is...different,” he said. “Only the Raven Queen knows anything about what it’s like, and she says she can’t tell us or it’ll melt our brains or something.”

Taako snorted, “Cop out.”

“Probably,” Barry agreed, “But...still. It doesn’t get any easier.”

“Barry...look at me,” Taako said, and he dropped his Glamour. He was well kept for an elf. Had lived longer than most, well taken care of and having a husband who was death didn’t hurt. But still he knew he was a pile of bones wrapped together with some skin wrinklier than an unironed sheet. “This...this doesn’t get any easier.”

Barry tried not to look pitying. He really did. “Hey, I’d hardly think you were more than 700.”

Taako snorted, shaking. He was always shaking. “I’m gonna die, Barry,” He said, “Soon. One of you three are gonna have to drop me in the death soup--”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“--And we both know it’s not going to be the other two.” Taako said, staring Barry down until he understood. Barry sobered instantly, realizing what Taako was saying. “Kravitz and I have had a long time,” Taako said, “Longer than most. But all mortals have to die eventually. And Lup….” Taako twiddled with his thumbs, trying to get them to just stay STILL for Istus’ sake. “We promised we’d never leave each other again. But we can’t...I can’t…”

He took a deep sigh, Barry staying still, “Elves live a long time, but eternity is eternity. You lot are gonna live twice as long as me, and I don’t want them to suffer without my brilliant presence,” he swallowed, “So that’s gonna be on you, Barry, to help them through it. So you’d best start adjusting now.”

Barry didn’t say anything for a long silence. He finally broke it with the quietest, “I, um,” he said, “I’m gonna call them. Let them know you’re ok.”

The next morning, Taako woke to Kravitz gently shaking him awake. He didn’t meditate as much anymore, too much focus. “Wake up, love,” Kravitz said in his low, melodic voice. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re going on a trip.”

Taako grumbled at the intrusion, “Five more minutes,” he insisted, but was surprised to hear laughter at that. It was Lup’s laugh. He peeked his eye open to see she was in the room with him, along with Barry. “What’d’you want?”

“Kravitz already said,” she said, “We’re going on a trip.”

“Where?” He asked, still stubbornly clinging to sleep.

“It’s a surprise!” She said.

Taako grumped. He probably wasn’t going to remember the place if she said it anyway. “Fine. It better not be that museum that keeps pestering me. They can’t have my hat, I don’t care if it’s part of their exhibit.”

“It’s not the museum,” Kravitz assured, offering his hand. Taako took it and allowed himself to be pulled up off the bed and onto the floor. He felt less achy today, that was good. “Come on, now, best we hurry.”

“I’ll take my damn time, and you’ll deal with it,” Taako grumped as Kravitzed held him around the middle to help him walk forward, kissing his cheek. Even at...however old he was, he still blushed. “Sap.”

He was so distracted, he didn’t even realize he’d left his body behind.

Taako didn’t remember much, other than shuffling his feet, left, right, left again, going wherever Kravitz led him. “I’m gonna be hungry in a few minutes,” he let them all know, so this place better have food.”

“It’ll have everything you need,” Barry commented, him and Lup keeping pace behind them.

Taako grumbled, “That sounds suspicious as heck, Barold.”

“We’re here,” Kravitz said, and Taako looked up. They were at the beach. But it didn’t seem like a normal beach. There was an old cottage, long abandoned, sitting on an island (when did they get to an island?). There was the sound of waves, but no people or animals, not even a bird. He looked up at the dark sky and finally realized where he was. The Astral Plane. “Oh…” he said, and then looked between the Reapers, “It’s today?”

“It is.” The voice behind the four of them said, and Taako’s eyes fell on the Raven Queen. She didn’t seem to take steps as she approached, just floating along the ground, a veil covering her face. “I hope I’m not late, I wanted to be here for the departure.”

“Nice to see your son in law off,” He said, but then the four of them were still silent. It was hard to tell, under that damn veil, but the Raven Queen wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at Kravitz. “Krav--”

Kravitz let go of Taako, and he was surprised to find he could stand on his own. Kravitz approached the Raven Queen with reverence, and bowed before her. She lifted him by the chin, looking down at him, and speaking quiet words Taako couldn’t hear. Then, Kravitz summoned his scythe and handed it over. “What are you doing?” Taako demanded, “Stop--

He tried to run forward but Lup held him back. He turned around to see she had summoned her scythe too, as had Barry. Barry stepped forward next to hand his in. “We talked it over,” Lup said, “Weighing everything, but...it was already decided a long time ago.”

“Love,” Kravitz said, coming back to him and taking his hand, “I’ve lived longer than you have.”

“Cradle robber,” Taako accused lovingly, getting Kravitz to smile.

“I’ve seen all the things I wanted to see and done all the things I wanted to do.” Kravitz tucked Taako’s hair behind his long ears, “All I really want anymore is to be with you. In all things.”

“But it’s supposed to just be me,” Taako said, and realized he was crying. How he was able to he had no idea, but he was anyway, “You’re supposed to go on, you’re immortal, you--”

“We,” Lup said, “Are a package deal, goofus.” She handed her scythe over with a respectful nod, “Besides, Queenie says this happens every millenia or so. We helped her pick out some replacements that weren’t total douche waffles. World goes on and all that.”

The Raven Queen didn’t seem to know how to respond to being called ‘Queenie’ and so addressed Taako. “Rarely does a mortal affect the lives of a reaper. Even more rarely three. But I must respect their wishes, even if I wish I could convince them to stay longer.”

Kravitz shook his head, “Not a second without him in the world,” he said, taking Taako’s hand. Taako couldn’t help the little smile on his face.

Then, Lup took his other hand, and Barry took her other hand. “Ready, Koko?”

Taako turned, facing the sea of souls. “Hey, last thing,” he said, looking up at the Raven Queen, “the whole ‘your brains would melt’ if you knew about death is a cop out, right?”

The Raven Queen just smiled, and Taako sighed, frustrated. “Guess I just have to find out myself,” and he stepped into the shallows, his family with him.

[lespetitesmortsde]

I work at home and I haven’t left my house in a while and you think I’m dead in my house beca's the one at home chloe finds her somehow

As requested, lovely anon.

“I need three more hours, Theo, and then it’s good to send, alright?” Beca says through speakerphone, fingers moving dials across her mixing board, one earphone off her ear just enough for her to make out what the guy’s saying.

“Beca, the deadline is in thirty minutes and you’re supposed to be here to present it to the artist!”

Beca pushes one of her equalizer bars half an inch too far, curses under her breath, and then fixes it. “Theo, just tell the client the truth – I’ve been sick and things are taking me a little longer than usual, but it’ll be there. Once they know I might be contagious, they won’t want to see me anyway,” she says confidently, adjusting a lever to correct the timbre.

“Beca,” he says, and she rolls her eyes at his exasperated tone.

“I’ve never let Timberlake down before, he’ll understand.”

“But–”

“Theo, do we have to go over this every time? Who. Is. Your. Boss?”

She can hear grumbles in the background as she hits pause on the song and slips her earphones down to her neck. “I couldn’t hear that?” she prompts.

“You are,” he finally says, begrudgingly.

“Right, so you’re going to do what?” she can’t help a small smirk from crossing her face envisioning his pained turtle expression.

He audibly sighs. “I’m going to tell Justin Timberlake that we need to postpone our meeting by two and a half hours and that you’re too sick to come in. I will also say that we are sorry, but you’ve been sick and haven’t been able to work quite as quickly as usual.”

“Good.” Beca’s finger moves to hover over the “end call” button on her phone. “Bye.” It slams onto the screen.

She puts the phone off to the side, gives herself a little shake, and then stops because it sounds weirdly like someone is knocking on her front door.

Why is this weird? Because she has a small red indicator light on her porch so her friends and family know when she’s busy and they can either leave her alone or enter the house using the passcode they’ve been assigned. She’s given a different one to each person and a message telling her who’s here flashes across the bottom righthand corner of her computer screen.

Everyone who could possibly visit her knows not to bug her. So who’s at the door?

She pulls her blanket tighter around her red panda onesie and walks over to the little CCTV display in the corner of her recording studio. It’s not someone super familiar to Beca; it takes almost ten seconds of staring for her to recognize the redheaded woman as one of her neighbours. Beca shrugs and goes back to her booth.

Two hours and fifty-two minutes later, she drops the song file onto the record label’s secure server and slips her earphones off.

“Riot,” she says, and her phone flickers to life. “Text Turtle.”

“Texting Turtle.”

“Boom! It’s uploaded.”

“Texting Turtle, ‘Boom! It’s uploaded.’ Do you wish to send?”

“Send.”

“Message sent.”

She smiles triumphantly and pulls off her headphones. She stretches her limbs out and gets up, fixing her blanket as she goes. At the door she flicks off the studio light and exits into her hallway.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Bloody hell,” Beca mutters as someone continues to tap on her door. She’d been hoping to boil some water, make some tea, and then crawl into bed for another week. She smiles wistfully at the thought of having Theo cancel her week’s appointments.

Instead of curling up in bed and texting him her plan, she veers toward her front door instead. The camera display in her entrance hall shows the same redheaded neighbour. Beca grumbles, unlocks the door, and pulls it open.

The woman stares at her in shock.

Self-consciously, Beca wraps the blanket more securely around herself.

“Oh my,” the woman says. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Beca says. “This crazy lady’s been banging on my door for the past, like, three hours.”

Blushing furiously, the woman says, “In my defense, after I knocked the first time I went home for a bit and only just now came back.”

“Okay, but no offence, why are you here?”

The blush only deepens.

“Okay, so I know this is going to sound, like, totes stalkery, but I haven’t seen you in like two weeks. Usually I see you every afternoon holding a takeout cup of coffee from Swan’s Beans because I teach piano lessons and my piano is in front of my living room window. And, well, I haven’t seen you for a long, long time so I thought maybe something had happened to you and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

Beca blinks a couple of times in rapid succession at the spiel the woman before her has churned out. “Right, so I’m Beca… What’s your name again?”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, it’s Chloe,” she says and it seems like maybe she’ll leave it there, but instead she continues, “and now that I know you’re alive, I will totally get out of your hair.”

Beca opens her mouth to say goodbye, but all that comes out is a violent series of coughs that she barely manages to direct into her elbow before doubling over to wheeze.

A hand rubs the middle of Beca’s back and Beca’s coughing subsides. She straightens up only to face an inquisitorial squad, population Chloe.

“Do you have enough tea? Have you been consuming enough liquids? What have you been eating? Have you been getting groceries if you haven’t been leaving your house?” the questions come rapid-fire, making Beca’s head spin.

“What?” Beca asks, dumbfounded.

“Okay, I can whip you up a soup in no time, my mom passed down a great recipe, let’s just get you some tea and then I’ll go home and fix it up and bring you some.” Chloe steps into the house, gently pushing Beca back into her home.

“Dude, I’m fine!” Beca protests, catching her blanket once again as it tries to fall off of her.

All Chloe says is, “Cute onesie,” but her step never falters. “Where’s your kitchen?”

On auto-pilot, Beca gestures to the right, and Chloe keeps shepherding them both there. She makes Beca sit at one of the island chairs and then looks around for a kettle. A box of lemon ginseng green tea is open on the counter beside a bowl of lemons, half a lemon on a juicer, a tub of honey with a spoon sticking out of it, and the kettle.

“Perfect, this stuff should really help your throat,” Chloe comments as she starts making Beca tea.

“Dude, what is happening right now? I’m fine, you can just go home.”

A brief flash of hurt crosses Chloe’s face, and Beca almost feels guilty, but almost as quickly as it appeared, it vanishes. “You’re sick, you’ve been sick for, what, two weeks? You need some help.”

“I do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re getting some anyway, sweet cheeks, so deal with it.”

Beca mumbles under her breath.

“What was that?” Chloe asks as she opens various cabinets. Finally, she pulls a mug from the cabinet beside the fridge.

“I could get my security team here in ten minutes and you wouldn’t be able to escape the law.”

“That’s cute, sweetie, but I’m not going anywhere until I make you a nice pot of tea. And then I’m coming back with soup so that you actually eat something.”

“I’ve been eating!” Beca says defensively.

“Oh yeah?” Chloe challenges, raising an eyebrow. Like she has a sixth sense, she heads straight for the trash bin. “And you think eating a dozen packages of instant cheese ramen is going to cure you, do you?”

Beca blushes. “I – they’re easy to make and the freeze-dried vegetables inside don’t suck like most other instant ramens I’ve tried. So I won’t die of scurvy which is at the top of my to-do list, and it has a nice little spice kick at the end to help my sinuses.”

Before Beca’s even done trying to justify her major cheese ramen kick, Chloe’s shaking her head. “You need fresh veggies and vitamins, some protein wouldn’t hurt, and some people find dairy – if we can call this dairy – worsens cold and flu symptoms.”

Blinking widely, Beca says, “Okay…?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it. You should go up to bed and try to sleep or at least rest. I’ll bring your tea up, head home and make some soup, then bring you some dinner in a couple of hours.” Then she turns around, expecting Beca to just acquiesce. A rookie mistake.

“Dude, I don’t even know you!”

Chloe turns back around, “My name’s Chloe Beale, I live across the street, we’ve been neighbours for like two years, I went to Barden University and co-captained the all-female a cappella group The Barden Bellas, I had a 3.7 GPA in education, and then moved here and became a piano teacher. My favourite colour is orange, “Titanium” is my jam, and I love to give toasts at group events.” She smiles. “Now we’re friends and you know all about me, so please go upstairs!”

“You know ‘Titanium’?” Beca asks, totally distracted.

“Have I been living under a rock? It’s great. The song really builds.”

“Yeah, he’s really good at incorporating those rises and falls,” Beca comments, almost absently.

“Go!” Chloe demands again as the kettle clicks off. “I’ll bring this to you, just go rest; you look kind of awful.”

“Thanks, you forgot to mention you’re really nice in your elevator pitch,” Beca grumbles, but starts walking upstairs anyway.

“I’m making you soup and tea – it’s implied, Beca!”

When she gets upstairs, Beca pulls open her thick duvet and climbs in, still wrapped up in her onesie and extra blanket. She burritos under all her layers as best as she can. It takes a few minutes of turning and adjusting, but she eventually discovers that if she props herself up on a couple of pillows and rotates slightly so her head is on an angle to allow sinus drainage, she can almost breathe normally without triggering her cough too much.

Chloe appears in the doorway a few moments later, carrying a mug which she sets down on the coaster on Beca’s bedside table after picking up an old mug.

“Oh, thanks,” Beca says quietly.

“You look pretty snuggly,” Chloe comments, surveying the very large pile of blankets. “Are you warm in there?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, I can help with that,” Chloe says as she walks around to the other side of the bed.

“Wait, what?” Beca says as her eyes follow Chloe’s movements. It takes much longer than it should for Beca to put two and two together, and Chloe is already sliding under the covers towards Beca when Beca says, “Dude, what are you doing?”

Chloe just smiles in what Beca assumes Chloe thinks is a reassuring way. “You’re never going to get warm, even with all these blankets, if you’re cold. The blankets just insulate the temperature. Yes, they can help trap heat, but you need heat to get that started. I, as a healthy normal person, am quite warm in this pseudo-tropic you’ve designed for yourself, so if I can help warm you and your little cocoon, you might actually feel warm for once since nothing else is helping.”

An arm wraps around Beca’s waist, on top of the blanket she’s wrapped up in under her duvet. And, as much as it might pain Beca to admit, even to herself, it’s kind of nice. And that spot actually does feel a little warmer. Her eyelids start drooping a little.

“Okay, fine, but no copping any feels, ginger,” Beca says, her words already blurring at the edges with sleep.

“Scout’s honour!” Chloe promises.

It’s mumbled and very quiet, but Beca manages to get out, “I doubt you were ever a scout,” before drifting off. Chloe laughs softly and inches forward to cuddle Beca better.

“Good guess,” Chloe comments, and then despite her plans to go home and make Beca soup, she finds herself acquiescing to the soporific atmosphere, and falling asleep too.