#hey you remember my baker fic?

[grinchwrapsupreme]

you ever get partway through writing a fic and you just go ‘oh i’m just writing an original novel rn’

[luvyeni]

FUCK MY WIFE ,, 방찬

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ bangchan x fem!reader wc. 3.9k+

genre. neighbor!au, smut

𓄷 includes ... cheating, unprotected sex, oral ( both receiving ), daddy kink

「 authors note 𖹭 」 you don't technically need to read the lee know fic , but it doesn't reference parts from the story so.

❪ masterlist! ❫

chan watched you go inside minhos house; he also saw minho following behind you, like he was on a mission. “hey baby.” he felt the lips of his wife's on his cheek. “hey.” he said looking around for your mother and minhos wife. “Who are you looking for?.” his wife asked, he shook his head. “no one.” he saw them both talking to each other; both of them so unaware of what their daughter and husband were up to. “just looking for the host or hostess.”

“ah she's over there talking to their neighbor that lives across the street from them.” she pointed. “i'm not sure where her husband is though— hey!” she waved as the two ladies approached them. “Mr. and Mrs. Bhang , how are you enjoying the barbecue?” the lady of the house asked him, chan tipped his drink with a smile. “You guys know how to throw a party , and the desserts are amazing.” he complimented. “well that's courtesy of Ms. y/ln here , she owns the bakery as you know.”

“Well you are an amazing baker.” the lady gushed, “thank you.” she said, his wife spoke up. “Hey, where is your husband?” He watched her look around much like he did before , but he knew where he was — and to say he was jealous was an understatement. “Probably inside feeding the cats.” she shrugged it off. “That man and those cats , sometimes I swear he loves them more than me.” she laughed.

“ah! there he is.” She said, the man standing around, his face red but chan didn't comment on it. “I told you those damn cats, I knew it.” she said. “yn seems to be missing as well , that girl probably snook off and went home.” your mother said, chan couldn't believe how oblivious the two were, it was almost comical how right on the nose they were but also so wrong.

both the ladies walking away; leaving him with his wife. “should we get going soon?” he asked, she nodded. “yeah, let me say a few goodbyes to the girls then we can head home.” he nodded , and she was off , he turned back to Minho who was adjusting himself, finally making eye contact; chan just gave him a nod like he knew— lucky fucking bastard.

Chan remembers the first time you came home from college for winter break; it was your freshman year, you were twenty-one years old; coming home from a grueling day at work to see you sitting on his couch; it was a cold day out but you were still wearing the tiniest skirt only with fleece tights, with the tightest long sleeve shirt that made your tits pop.

he couldn't remember why you were there and honestly he didn't care, you were sitting there waiting for his wife; so cute , so carefree— so fuckable. The obvious fuck me eyes you were giving him made his 30+ heart beat; and his cock stirring in his pants. that was the first night he ever fucked his wife.

no it wasn't the first time he ever fucked his wife in general; but it was the first night in a very long time; probably since before they got married all those years ago that he fucked his wife with so much lust and hungry, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of her— but his mind wasn't on his wife; no, he was thinking about you being under him, and him filling your tiny little cunt with his cock.

his wife was none the wiser either; thinking he just finally had a spur of the moment, and she wasn't complaining it was the best sex they had in a while, she was happy— blissfully unaware that her husband was thinking about the young girl down the street while he filled her with his load.

After that he thought it would go back to normal; and it did, you went back to college for the rest of the semester, and his sex life with his wife returned back to normal; slow and mundane , much like before— then you returned back for the summer, it just got worse from there.

Not only did you somehow get hotter over the last few months; now due to the heat you were wearing less and less clothing; miniskirts and shorts so short you didn't even need to bend over for people to see your lacy panties, your tiny crop tops; shiny titties bouncing up and down as you made your way down the hot streets.

Then it was the sunbathing; fuck the sunbathing. he didn't know if you did it for attention or what; and he didn't care he prayed every time he walked his dog that you were out there in the tiniest bikini soaking up the sun; and everytime you were, you'd sit up, lowering your sunglasses, parting your lips as you waved at him, wishing him a good day; he watched you purposely push your titties together— because you knew he was looking at them. that was the second time he fucked his wife, much like he did that winter.

That entire summer; it was like a routine, he'd walk the dog and you were out there in your bikinis; you'd have a small conversation where you'd subtly push your tits together; or your eyes would lower to his cock that knowing you; could see twitching in his shorts, biting your lip before he'd walk away— and then he'd go home and fuck his wife, he fucked his wife so that he wouldn't fuck you.

His wife must've been in heaven the entire summer; but she was surely let down once again when you went back to college for your second year— and their sex life returned back to normal.

“You know Mrs. Lee?” his wife said from their bathroom; bringing him back to reality. they had finally made their way back to their home. “she thinks that girl across the street from them, yn i think that's her name.” she walked into the room “she thinks she's trying to make a move on her husband.”

‘She's not wrong’ chan thought, but he didn't say it out loud. “How so.” he said, not bothering to look up from his phone. “just the little thing she does, the looks she gives him; and how she talks to him, she even said she started the sunbathing again.” he finally looked at his wife. “Sunbathing?” he said; of course he knew what she was talking about. “Yeah , half naked in her front yard, the other wives said it too.” fuck he couldn't wait to walk the dogs again. “that girl, her poor mother is none the wiser either, her daughter parading herself around seducing women's husbands.”

she climbed into bed , moving his phone out his, climbing into his lap. “not my husband though.” she kissed his lips. “My husband isn't desperate enough to fall for a young girl that's looking for attention?.” he groaned as he felt his wife grinding against him. “Mhm of course not.” he didn't move , letting her do what she wanted. “Good, now fuck me.” she moaned out

He flipped her over, slotting himself in-between her legs; his cock hard, from his wife yes; but also from the thought of you into those tiny bikinis, especially that red one; fuck that red one that barely covered your titties, the bottom not even covering your ass. “chan baby fuck me.”

And that he did, but much like all the times before; his mind was on you, how tight your pussy would be, your titties covered in his cum, how loud he would make you scream his name; you you you , that's all was on his mind as he plowed into his wife. “fuck chan, I'm gonna cum.” his wife screamed. “fuck cum.” he pulled out of his cum jerking his cock off, thinking it was you as he came all over her , covering her in his cum. “fuck.”

He quickly finished his wife off , rolling on to his back. “fuck it's been a while since you fucked me like that.” she kissed his cheek. “you even came so much.” She stood up. “Next time do it inside me, it's so messy like this.” he nodded breathlessly as he watched his naked wife walk back into the bathroom. Chan closed his eyes, the vivid image of you still there making his cock hard again. “shit.” he cursed.

Pulling his shorts up; ignoring his hard cock. “you're still hard.” his wife made her return , laying in bed. “What's got you so wound up today?” she asked. “stress probably don't worry it will go down.” she nodded, turning on her side. “Well get some rest.” he hummed. “okay.” he waited until his wife fell into a deep sleep before making his way into the bathroom to jerk off to the thought of you.

The next day; he came home from work and his wife was holding the leash in her hand. “walk the dog.” So before he could even put his things down , he was heading out the door with berry.

After doing his daily walk with the dog , he started on his way home; telling berry about his day. “oh hi Mr. Bahng.” you were coming from across the street; the lee house. “hi yn , going to see Mrs. Lee?” he watched as your eyes widened for a split second , before going back to normal. “yeah, my mother let her borrow a dish and she needed it back.” you lied right through your teeth , and he knew it , but could he really judge you if he wanted to do the same thing. “yeah, where is it?”

“Oh she wasn't home, I asked Mr. Lee but he had no idea what I was talking about.” you said so smoothly; like this was nothing to you. “Guess mommy will have to wait to make those brownies.” you smiled so sweetly, he wondered if you tasted as sweetly as you smiled. “You'll have to bring me some,” he said. “your mother's brownies.”

“Of course.” you toyed with the necklace that sat nice on your titties, he noticed the hickey on top of your left breast , wanting to groan so bad; they probably fit perfectly in his hand. “Mr. Bahng?” you asked. “you okay, you're a little red?” he laughed nervously. “Of course, it's just a little hot out today.” he fanned himself , you pouted. “isn't it?” your whiny voice , he felt his cock move. “I heard it's gonna be like this all week.” you sighed, before perking back up. “but it's perfect for sunbathing.”

You smirked watching his eyes widened a bit. “sunbathing?” he asked. “Yes , it's the perfect weather for it , I might do it tomorrow.” of course you were gonna do it tomorrow; because you knew he'd be by with his dog. “Yeah?” he said, you nodded. “yup!” you bent down slowly, giving him a good peek of your tits. “Hello berry.” you patted the dog's head. “She's so cute.” you looked up at him, giving him the image of what you would look like kneeling in front of him , right before you took him into your mouth. “yeah she is.”

the way he was looking at you made your panties wet; you were ready to go again, even though you had just come back from getting the best fuck of your life from Minho— who's to say you can't get the second best on the same day. “well I should go.” he said , simply because he was losing his mind. “My wife is probably waiting for me.” you nodded. “yeah my mom should be on her way home now, i have to start preparing for dinner.” You gave the dog one last pet before standing up. “Goodnight Mr. Bahng.”

He watched you walk away, your ass peeking from your tiny skirt as you made your way into the house. “Mr. Bhang.” He heard a voice from across the street where Minho stood with a smirk. “Mr. Lee.” He gave a head tilt. “Off to see the wife.” he air quoted the word see. “you know it.” he winked before making his way home— his wife might catch on if he comes home after a walk ready to fuck like a dog in heat.

The next day he once again found himself walking the dog; for a split second, he wondered if his wife knew what she was doing sending him on these walks; but that thought quickly went, of course he would think that his wife was a cuck for the young girl down the block. “Hello Mr. Bahng.”

There you were, laying on a towel in the grass; red bikini, fuck he was really about to cum in his pants. “Hello again.” he gave a little smile. “I see you were true to your word.” you smiled , nodding. “It was so nice out today, I couldn't resist.” you sighed , your tits barely covered. “Oh yeah , my mother got the dish.” you said. “huh?” He questioned. “for the brownies , it turns out it wasn't Mrs. Lee but the couple next to them, the kim's.” he nodded. “Their son Seungmin brought it today.”

“that's good , so your mom will be able to make the brownies then.” you nodded , sitting up , now giving him a full view of your tits as you sat back on your hands. “yup , she's making them now.” You said. “I can bring you some tomorrow if you'd like.” You tilted your head to the side. “I'm sure your wife would enjoy them.”

“Oh yeah for sure,” he said. “I would like that very much.” you hummed. “okay!” You smiled. “See you then.” you waved , before turning back on your stomach , the view of your ass; the bottom's barely doing anything. “fuck.” he cursed as the dog began to pull at the leash. “come on berry.” he gave your ass one last peek before continuing down the block.

“Fuck baby if you keep fucking me like this I don't think I'll be able to keep up.” he rolled off of his naked wife. “Where are you getting this energy from all of a sudden?” He smiled , pulling his shorts back up. “Just love for my wife.” and the lust for you; the need to fuck you. “mhm i like it.” she smiled.

“i'm going to visit my mother tomorrow.” his wife spoke up. “yeah, when?” he said. “I'll leave tomorrow and I'll return within two days.” she said. “I’ve prepared the food for those two days, just heat it up and eat.” he thanked her. “Oh and the lady down the street has some treats she said she'll bring them as well, you better save me some.” He completely forgot about that; you did say you'd be by— he thought his wife would be here; to stop him from taking you right there in the living room. “She'll be here in the afternoon.” He nodded , tomorrow may just be the day he gives in. “okay.”

He waited for you the entire day; he knew you were coming and he was ready, he made a decision the night before; if giving the opportunity he was gonna fuck you; he knew it was wrong, his wife did satisfy him , but it was clear his thoughts of you were infiltrating his mind; and it wasn't getting any easier. maybe this would be the first and last time , maybe he just needed to get it out of his system — he tried to justify himself, just as he heard a knock on the door.

He opened the door; and there you stood, your daily outfit that consisted of a skirt too short and a shirt too tight— this most definitely wasn't gonna be the last time. “I bought the brownies.” you smiled.

“So you slept with the neighbor across the street?” jisung asked, you nodded. “it was good too.” he scrunched his nose up. “didn't ask , but now you're going after the guy down the street?” he asked. “Who's also married?” you shrugged. “Babe, your mother still has to live on that block.” he said. “Yeah , I've had your mother's cooking and it's phenomenal.” Felix started. “but I don't think even the most chocolatiest of brownies can be made to fix this fuck up if people find out.”

“trust me they won't.” You said. “Once again I feel like I'm inclined to stop you as your best friend, but as someone who loves drama , I kinda wanna see where this goes with these two guys just for the plot.” you laughed watching Felix scolded his boyfriend. “Be careful yn.” He said , his hands yanking at jisungs hair. “and don't get pregnant.”

After hanging up with them you made your way downstairs where your mother had the brownies already packaged up for you to take; this allows you to go back to retrieve the pan once he's finished; if you're successful with your plans today, hopefully this will be soon. “Perfect.”

You made your way down the street; standing in front of the house , walking up the walkway, anticipating bubbling up in your stomach as you knocked on the door, waiting for him to answer; putting your best smile on as he opened the door. “I brought the brownies.” he smiled; fuck he looked good, a plain white tank top and black shorts, so simple, but so fucking attractive. “Come in.”

You walked past him; his eyes following you as you walked into his house; closing the door before looking out making sure no one saw; that was the last thing he needed. “You can sit them on the counter in the kitchen.” He followed behind you , watching your ass move, you sat the treats down , turning around where he was standing in front of you. “Mr. Bahng?”

you were taken aback but not surprised when he pushed you against the counter, grabbing both sides of your face; kissing harshly, his hand coming down to your ass squeezing. “oh fuck.” you moaned as he roughly grabbed your tits, grinding his hard cock against you. “fu-fuck you see what do to me?” you reached down grabbing his cock in his shorts. “I did this?” you bit your lip. “you want to fuck me that bad?”

he groaned as you palmed him through his shorts. “fu-uck been thinking about this for a year.” he groaned. “making you take my fat cock down your throat.” he groaned. “yeah? wanna cum all over my face?” you brought your lips to his ear. “cover me in your cum -fuck- i wanna taste you so bad.” you said biting down. “fill my mouth with your cum.”

“Fuck.” he pulled away from your, the look on your face made him move quickly , pushing his pants down to his ankle right there in the kitchen. “on your knees princess.” you sunk down to your knees. “gonna -fuck- gonna suck my fat cock?” he groaned , stroking his cock right in front of your face, your mouth watered. “yes.” he smiled , grabbing the back of your head. “open up princess.”

he filled your mouth up, throwing his head back, holding on the counter as you took him into your mouth. “that's it, suck daddy's cock.” you moaned around his length, your panties sticking to your cunt as you bobbed your head up and down his length. “feels so fucking good.” he moaned. “gonna cum all over your face.”

it was the best experience he'd experienced in a while; his wife wasn't the biggest fan of giving head; so he almost never got it and when he did, it was half-assed. “sh-shit.” the way your throat tightened around his pulsing length , the gagging noises coming from your mouth , eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. “fuck I'm gonna cum.”

He thrusted into your mouth a few more times , before pulling out. “open your mouth princess.” he stroked his cock , hips twitching as the cum shot from his tip landing all over your face. “oh fuck!”

you smiled , holding your mouth open as his cum hit the back of your throat. “taste good, baby? you like my cum that much.” you nodded , he lifted you up onto the counter. “wanna taste this pussy so bad.” he lifted your skirt. “wet fucking cunt.” he groaned. “yeah , you think about my pussy when fucking your wife?” he grunted , biting your thigh. “fuck!” you yelped , moaning as he licked your cunt. “sweet fucking pussy.”

your hands tangled up in his hair as he tongue fucked you on the counter where he most likely shared food with his wife. “Oh fuck daddy that feels good.” you fucked yourself on his tongue, his nose bumping against your clit deliciously, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “fuck I'm gonna cum , i'm gonna fucking cum.” you squealed. “fuck!” you came all over his face , hips jutting against his face riding out your high.

he pulled away, giving your clit little kisses before pulling away. “You liked that princess?” you smiled , nodding. “so much.” He lifted his shirt over his head, revealing his abs. “fuck.” you moaned, running your hands down his stomach, stomach churning in need for him again. “pl-please fuck me daddy.”

“fuck, you want daddy's cock?” he grabbed the base of his cock on your folds. “ye-yeah , fuck me please.” you moaned. “pl-please fuck me.” he slid into your slippery cunt. “oh fuck your pussy is sucking me in.” you moaned. “you-you're so big.”

he huffed with a smile, “yeah? my cock stretching your tiny pussy?” he moaned. “fuck , slutty pussy.” he grabbed your hips. “just let anyone fuck you.” he began to plow into your cunt. “me , Minho -fuck- just love fucking men that aren't yours.” you moaned out. “fuck yes!” you screamed. “I love it.”

“I know you do, slut.” he slapped your tits, pinching your nipples. “gonna cum inside this pussy.” you gasped as he thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot making your mouth hang open as he hit it over and over. “oh fuck you look so fucked out , gonna cum for daddy?” he rubbed your clit. “hmm?” you nodded. “fuck yes, i'm gonna cum.”

“fucking cum for daddy.” he slapped your pussy , moving his fingers back and forth as your juices gushed out of you, coating his abs in your cum. “fuck i'm cumming.” he groaned. “daddy's gonna fill you up.” he grunted. “fuck!” he cursed, stilling his hips as he came, filling your warm hole with his sperm. “shit.” he slowly pulled out, watching the cum leak from your hole. “Keep it inside princess.” he pushed it back inside you. “good girl.”

“Do they taste good?” you straddled his waist, feeding him a piece of brownie , the both of you now in his bed; you were wearing one of his shirts. “mhm.” he moaned at the taste. “So good princess.” you smiled , wiping the chocolate from his plump lips, licking it off your thumb. “When will your wife be back?” You asked , he rubbed your waist. “tomorrow evening.” you hummed. “perfect.” you bent down, kissing his neck. “fuck princess don't leave any marks.”

“I know.” you whispered against his skin. “you can fuck me over and over.” leaving more kisses along his neck. “until your wife gets back.” he hummed. “fuck yeah.” he moaned as you grinded your hips down.

yeah he knew he could no longer fuck his wife to get you out of his mind.

©️LUVYENI

[navybrat817]

Bucky needs to be smothered in kisses. No sex has to follow, just him allowing you to pepper kisses all over his cute face simply for being him and for looking so pretty and cute. Like, "Shut up, Bucky and take it" - proceeded by dozens of kisses 💋💋💋

Bucky deserves all the kisses! How about a little something for our tattoo artist?

What Dreams Are Made Of

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You're on Bucky's mind before your date. Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Ki-ssing, Fluff, slight insecurity if you squint, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Bucky edit - Nix, Moodboard - yours truly A/N: My second Connect 4 (C4007 - Square 1) / Into an Alternate Juneiverse for @buckybarnesevents! Set in my Sin on Skin AU, but can be read as a standalone.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky flopped down on the break room couch with a tired smile. He had a hard time sleeping the night before and wanted a little rest before his first client of the day arrived. It didn't surprise him when he struggled to sleep. He could sometimes be a night owl when he wasn't dealing with the occasional nightmare, but last night was different. You consumed his thoughts after he went home.

Every single one of them.

You thinking of me, Sugar? I hope you are.

Hell, you hadn’t left his mind since he first walked into your shop. His beautiful, sweet baker with the warm smile and humor to brighten his day. You looked too pure to be with someone who looked like him. He wasn't blind to the stares he received whenever he went out. With his physique and exposed skin littered with ink, many wrote him off as dangerous without a second thought. They would’ve been shocked to learn he was a bit of a science nerd who loved to read in his spare time or that he served his country alongside his best friend.

Something told him you’d appreciate all those little details about him, especially since you asked him out.

"Wish I was taking you out now, Sugar," he whispered to himself as he shut his eyes.

Bucky didn’t want to admit to himself that he was a little nervous. From his chats with you, he gathered enough of an idea on where it would be good to take you for your first date. He didn’t want it to be generic though. If he couldn’t make it unique, it at least had to be special. Something you’d remember. You deserve the best.

And he wanted to show you he was nothing like your prick of an ex.

"Hey."

The sound of your voice beside him made his eyes open, his heart racing as you smiled. He hadn’t even heard your footsteps. When he tried to sit up, you pushed him to lay back down. The sugary scent that lingered on your skin from the shop had him licking his lips as you moved on top of him. But instead of your normal work clothes and apron, you wore a sundress.

One that was dangerously riding up your hips as you straddled him.

And he was too in awe to stop you.

“How did you get back here?” he whispered, not at all upset that you managed to sneak into the room.

“Steve let me in,” you whispered back, framing his face. He couldn’t decide where to place his hands. He wanted them all over you. “I had a break and couldn’t wait to see you.”

“You saw me last night,” he smirked as you leaned down, your lips dangerously close to his. “Not that I’m complaining.”

While the guys heard all about you and expected to meet you at some point, no one thought you would rush into the shop the way you had. You didn’t know it yet, but they all had a soft spot for you because of Bucky. Even if they didn’t, not a single one of them would’ve put up with how your dick of an ex spoke to you. Respect meant everything in their establishment and any man who talked down to someone the way he had with you had no right to be there.

The fucker made you cry, but I wiped that smug look off his face just for you.

“Too long to wait,” you smiled, your breath skimming his mouth. It paralyzed him as he waited to see what you would do next. “And I know our date isn’t until Friday, but I want to kiss you now.”

“Why do you wanna kiss me?” he smiled because yours was contagious.

“Because I want to thank you.”

“You don’t need to,” he promised. He’d stick up for you no matter what the situation called for. Call him smitten or a decent guy, that was just how he was.

“I want to. I also want to kiss you because you’re pretty. And, yes, you are pretty because I say so,” you teased, which earned an almost bashful smile from him. He was far from pretty, but any sort of compliment from you meant the world. “But mainly because you’re a good man and deserve a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?” he asked as he did his best to keep his hips still. You didn’t just deserve the best date, but you deserve a gentleman as well. Fuck, did he want you though and the things he wanted to do to you were far from innocent. He wondered if you felt through his jeans just how much he did.

“Just a kiss. For now,” you said, closing the gap between the two of you.

There was no hunger or desperation when your tongue slipped past his lips. Even when he deepend the kiss, you didn’t rush. It was soft and tender, but held the promise of something more just like your first kiss had. He wasn’t just a moth drawn to your flame. He carried the fuel and wanted to douse you in it.

Bucky craved to be the one who brought your fire to the surface until it consumed you both.

“Am I dreaming?” he exhaled, finally gripping your hips when you dragged your lips along his face. The featherlight motions were enough to drive him mad, tempting him to flip you over so he could explore your body properly. No, he needed to let you stay in control for now. “Sugar, you’re killing me.”

“And what a way to go, Hottie. So, shut up and take my kisses,” you giggled.

He chuckled as you smothered him with your lips and he took the opportunity to hold you closer. It felt right to have you in his arms. He couldn’t recall the last time he fell for someone so quickly, if ever. What if that scared you?

What if he scared you?

“It’s time to wake up, Bucky,” you whispered in his ear. “I’ll see you soon.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed as you faded from his arms. “Sugar?” he asked. Where did you go?

“Buck, you need to get up!”

Steve’s shout startled Bucky awake and it was a miracle he didn’t fall off the couch. His heart pounded before he realized he had been dreaming. You weren’t in the back room with him. You hadn’t smothered him with gentle kisses.

He was all alone.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, tossling his hair as he sat up.

Figures. It was just a dream, but I’m glad I had it.

“You okay?” Steve asked as he carefully approached his friend. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to scare you. Called your name a couple of times and that didn’t do the trick. Didn’t think I should touch you either.”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Bucky huffed a little. Both of them had their share of nightmares after being overseas. Steve wouldn’t have yelled his name if he thought something was wrong, so he must’ve appeared peaceful enough. Peace. That was what you gave him, even if his jeans felt a little tighther and uncomfortable.

“You need a minute?” the blonde smirked when Bucky adjusted a bit.

“Why did you wake me?” he replied, avoiding his question. The guys knew well enough how crazy he was about you and didn’t need to know he was dreaming about you in the shop. “I’m sure it was extremely important.”

“Because your client should be here in a few minutes and I wanted to make sure you didn’t sleep through the appointment. So, yeah, extremely important.”

With a nod, Bucky slowly got to his feet. “Space is already cleaned and disinfected. Stencil’s done, too,” he said. He liked to prepare as much as he could and they prided themselves on having a clean and safe workspace. “Um, Sugar hasn’t stopped by, has she?”

Steve shook his head. “No, she hasn’t,” he answered, giving Bucky a small smile when he frowned. He knew all about the date. “But Friday is just around the corner if you don’t see her before then.”

He tried not to feel disappointment and swore he could still smell the sugary scent of you in the air. It must’ve lingered on the couch from when you were there the night before. He wished he could have that smell on his pillows and sheets. “I like her.”

“I know you do. We all do,” Steve said, leaning against the wall. “We even told Hal he wasn’t allowed to go into the bakery out of fear that she’d fall for his charm,” he added with a wink.

I’m charming, too.

“No, punk,” he said, not wanting to be more vulnerable than he already had. “I really like her.”

The playful look on Steve’s face fell, replaced with something softer. “I know, jerk. And I think she really likes you, too. So be the good guy we know you are and sweep her off her feet.”

That’s exactly what Bucky planned to do.

Bucky, our hearts are yours! Check out more of Hottie and Sugar wiht Sweet and Strong. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[drvscarlett]

Let Him Cook pt5

Charles Leclerc x MasterChef! reader

A/N: I'm really so happy with all the love that you have given to this fic. I enjoy writing about it, let me know if you have any blurbs or scenarios that you wanna see. This series will continue on and on

Let Him Cook Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

taglist: @bookstore-of-dreams @barcelonaloverf1life @ririyulife @minseok-smaus @mehrmonga @sltwins @charlesgirl16 @six-call @spideybv28 @casperlikej @weekendlusting @janeholt3 @evie-119 @leilanixx @randomgirlnumber-13 @itsjustkhaos

lec lerc challenge

"As you all know by now, Charles is planning to launch his own ice cream store"you started talking to the camera "And you know what funny story, he didn't even tell me"

Charles, who was by your side, was laughing like a hyena. He actually wanted it to be discovered on the the first day of April so everyone might think its a prank but then he will announce that he is very serious about it. It was an elaborate prank on top of prank. However, the news sites got a hold of it earlier.

"That's another story time. We have to get down to business" Charles reeled the topic back to the video that you two are making.

"Okay so in order to test Charlie's knowledge about ice cream, I have here ice creams that I made myself" you explained.

In front of the two of you were 10 paper cups. They have been covered on top so that Charles won't get a hint about the color.

"So my main task is to identify what's the flavor of the ice cream"Charles confirms "Easy"

"I made some unconventional flavors to throw you off" you informed him.

You can't help but giggle as you remember how you made some weird flavors for the ice cream. But hey, this was supposed to be a challenge to see if Charles' taste buds are working so it doesn't necessarily have to be a delicious ice cream.

"Okay, I am ready to scream for ice cream"

The first five cups were easy peasy. It's common flavors such as chocolate, vanilla, cookies and cream, caramel, and pistachio.

"I'm good at this mon amour"

Charles is pretty confident now. Time to throw the curveballs.

"I'm excited for you to try this"you excitedly give him the cup.

Since Charles is blindfolded as he does this challenge, the first thing he does is smell it. He is usually confident upon spelling but the frown lines forming on his face suggest that he might be confused about the flavor profile.

"This feels strange. I smelled this before but I can't put my name on it"Charles notes.

He takes a scoop from the cup and tasted it. It was evident to his face that he didn't enjoy this ice cream a lot.

"That's so sour, mon amour there are definitely strawberries in that"Charles complained.

"Strawberries and?"

There was a string of italian and french word from Charles as he tries his best to identify it. Finally, he had a lightbulb moment where he remembered the taste of it.

"BALSAMICO" Charles screamed "That is not a flavor I will put in my store, definitely"

Y/NCooks posted a photo.

Y/NCooks turns out Charles is pretty good with his taste buds. Watch me test Charles with his ice cream skills [link]

User1 Atleast we know that Charles is committed to being an ice cream man

User2 Charles_Leclerc you should definitely try the bourbon and corn flakes in the menu

User 3 Highly agree, I would love to try that User4 were all acting like were so close to milan. Babes we live across the world.

LandoNorris do you have some plain ice cream left for me

Y/NCooks i have some but its good to try other flavors every now and then Lan LandoNorris mmm, i'll try that black sesame one. that seems like a good flavor Y/NCooks brilliant. message me when i can see you Charles_Leclerc im amazed how Y/N managed to convince you of different food choices

MasterChefAU is this Charles' entry to master chef blind taste test challenge?

Charles_Leclerc MasterChef Monaco soon??? User4 I'm laughing at the number of sidequest Charles has. SIR you are an f1 driver!!!

Charles the baker

Charles_Leclerc posted a photo.

Charles_Leclerc okay i did all the measurements right. WHY DID THEY EXPAND

User1 I can hear Charles screaming with the caption

User2 Charles is such a mood when I try to bake things

User3 But is it edible tho?

Charles_Leclerc it is but its not as pretty User4 this is an internet highlight wherein Charles is sulking and asking the internet where he went wrong

maxverstappen1 recipe reveal?

Charles_Leclerc no ✨✨ maxverstappen1 don't want it anyways. i just wanted to know what you did so i won't end up like that User5 MAX!!!!! User6 your honor we love the lestappen crumbs

Y/NCooks honey maybe you should consider giving it some space, bread do expand when they get baked.

Charles_Leclerc they do?? Y/NCooks Yes they do. But in all honesty they look so cute, its alright honey Charles_Leclerc love you mon amour!

SebastianVettel maybe we should have a baking session one of these days, I can teach you a lot about baking breads

Charles_Leclerc sounds good, miss you already Seb User7 oh to be Charles Leclerc having the Sebastian Vettel teaching him bread and MasterChef Y/N encouraging him

tiktok pasta challenge

It was a fairly simple tiktok viral recipe and in your mind its something that Charles will be able to follow instructions with. So you set up your camera and told Charles about a cooking challenge that he has to do.

"Today's challenge, Charles will be using his listening skills. Lets see how well he listens to me"you greeted the camera "Are you ready mon amour?"

"More than ever, I look good in an apron"

You stayed behind the camera as Charles stayed in front of the kitchen counter. He was tying up his apron and grabbing your chef hat from one of the drawers.

"First of all, I need you to quarter an onion"you instructed.

Charles was immediately grabbing the onion and you immediately face palmed yourself when Charles started quartering the onion without even peeling it.

"Honey, you are supposed to peel it" you sigh

"Honey, you didn't say anything about peeling it. We have three cameras set up and editors should replay that you said quarter it and not peel it" Charles argued

You raised your hand in defeat, you should have been more clearer.

"Okay, I'm not gonna be vague. I'll make it clear"

The whole cooking went along smoothly until its time for Charles to cook the pasta. He has been heavily stressing to get the texture right this time or else it will further the allegations that he can't cook pasta.

"Calm down Charlie"

"I am very very very calm, I'm just checking" he lifted the lid for the fifth time "They have to be perfect"

"Charles is very honored to be taught by Gordon on a 1 on 1 session"you informed the camera.

The two have exchanged numbers and Charles will often ask his culinary questions to Gordon when you were not available to answer them right away. Gordon seems to enjoy the new friendship with the driver since he often send Charles link for cooking recipe to try.

"I don't wanna be an idiot sandwhich" Charles muttered, stirring the pot of pasta.

Charles got a perfect al dente to his pasta. He pulls out the baked feta and tomatoes out of the oven then mixed it with the pasta. It seems as if the dish looks pretty especially with the garnishes that Charles insisted.

"Plating is also everything"he says to the camera as he grates some lemon zest to the plate "Whatever this taste like, just remember that Y/N was instructing me so if there is anyone to blame then its Y/N"

"Way to throw me under the bus Charles"

Y/NCooks just posted a photo

Y/NCooks The dish vs the chef. I think they are equally yummy [link]

User1 CHARLES CAN COOK!!!!

User2 alternative title charles stressing 10 minutes straight if the pasta is al dente or not

User3 The girlfriend effect on Charles is that he is now able to cook pasta

User4 I really want to try that pasta

Arthur_Leclerc i hope you never get tired of the pasta, its the only thing he will cook from now on

Charles_Leclerc i mean she loves it!!!! Y/NCooks its pretty good arthur, you should try it!! Arthur_Leclerc next family dinner? Charles_Leclerc im on it! User24 oh to be a fly at the Leclerc family dinner

User5 I think everyone ignored the caption, miss maam thirsting over her boyfriend

User6 if i was Y/N i would too Y/NCooks facts only!!! User6 Mother replied to us!!!

scuderiaferrari so charles is approved for a cooking challenge in the channel soon?

Y/NCooks he is born ready User8 kind of missed the c2 cooking challenges

everything i cooked

Charles_Leclerc posted a reel

here is everything that I did to celebrate Y/N's birthday. This isn't a common day, its really special so I have to run at 5 to get the flowers I ordered for her. Then next I cooked up breakfast which is some pancakes, thank you Carlos for the recipe. And then I surprised her with a little bit of breakfast in bed

and then I started making our lunch after clearing the table. Y/N had been craving butter chicken and I purposely did not take her so I could make some at home. Its a fairly easy recipe, I just had to mix some spices, cook the onions then you have the tomato paste and then cream. thanks Gordon I owe you one. She loved it so much.

and then I started early on the dessert for dinner. I didn't do the ladyfingers from scratch, I don't have a lot of time so yes here we are. The tiramisu is in the fridge. And then since Y/N loved the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti meatballs scene. I did my own take on it. Needless to say she loved it. So yes happy birthday once more mon amour, I love you so so much.

User10 I know we have been making fun of Charles but the man can actually cook.

User11 My boyfriend be forgetting my birthday but Charles here is slaving in the kitchen for Y/N's birthday

User12 CHARLES IS THE STANDARD!!! User14 Imagine cooking a whole breakfast, lunch, dinner, with a birthday dessert???!!! GOD I SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS

MasterChefAU Im glad to hear you are treating our girl well, happy birthday Y/NCooks

User13 OUR GIRL??!!!! Y/NCooks he is treating me well, thank you for all the greetings

Gordongram That's a beautiful dish and effort Charles!

Charles_Leclerc Thank you !!! Y/NCooks he is screaming btw Gordongram

PierreGasly when will you cook for me

CarlosSainz55 and me?? i think there is some former teammate privileges out here LewisHamilton the current teammate is also wondering SebastianVettel you boys are not Y/N. Y/N is special. Charles_Leclerc what seb said!!!

Y/NCooks one of the sweetest gesture anyone did for me. Thank you honey for making this day extra special. I don't need any five star restaurants when I have you in the kitchen.

Charles_Leclerc I love you. You deserve the world User21 Them your honor. User22 Happy Birthday Y/N, you two are excellent for each other

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— THE CULT OF DEVOTION

SUMMARY : “Hii! New follower here, can I request a smut with yandere dean winchester? :)” — anon

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : Andy Halle (OMC)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, chronic illness, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 4.8k 

A/N : fob song title. the last time I read a yandere fic was like seven years ago about Min Yoonngi of BTS, I hope it's accurate. this series is for the square for stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. this is super fricken late, but come on, vampire!Dean has my heart (and pu*sy), lmao. Let’s please pretend that vampires have sexy teeth, ‘cause what the fuck, Supernatural? xx

September, 2023

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he felt this alive.

What was it about you that made his breath catch? And the irritating tease that his heart should flutter? As if at any moment his desiccated heart would start beating again after twelve years of being in between dead and alive? 

Why did your existence call to him and become the centre of his life since he met you? How had only thirty minutes passed since he felt a gravitational pull from you? Like waves, gentle, invisible waves that weren’t meant to be felt by anyone. Somehow, they caressed his… something… God, his heart? His soul? Did he even have one of those anymore?

He wasn’t sure of anything. But he was sure that he loved you. 

He heard your quiet, but excited “Oh, my God.” from the entrance of the bakery he’s proud of being the owner of. He looked up to gloat, but the smile fell from his face when he saw you smile tenderly, in awe, at the decor and then the dozens of menus on a rack by the entrance.

You didn’t know, unfortunately, but as the glass door shut behind you, the sun poured over you like honey. The sunlight dripped down your skin and hair and made you glow brighter and more captivating than any angel he’d ever seen. The wind carried the scent of you to his nose, your saccharine shampoo and sugary skin overpowering the confectioneries he’d created. 

The Milky Way Galaxy lived in your eyes when you looked over at the displays, admiring his hard work. You swiftly took one of the menus from the rack, the one hiding in the back, and your eyes avoided the counter at all costs. You made yourself small and unnoticeable by standing in a corner that no one would go near as you whispered—but he heard you clear as an angel’s voice—“oh, yum.”

The door opened again and your hair teased your skin like soft tendrils and every move you made was painfully, naturally graceful. You sneaked a quick glance at the door and then thoughtfully watched as the unimpressive person walked straight towards the counter. 

Dean could feel his throat burn and his lips turn dry. Not hungry for blood, more than anything, he longed for a taste of your lips.

He could smell the rose tint on them and smelled traces of it on your cheeks. He could only feel you. The flutter of your curled lashes, the delicate breaths you took, the way you shivered from the door opening. You huffed in irritation, pulling your green cardigan closer to your warm body. He felt his skin tingle as the cotton brushed against your skin, against the tight white tank top wrapped around your torso. 

He loved the way your cropped shirt rode up at your waistline and the sight of your warm abdomen over your mid-rise jeans. If he could, and he really wanted to, he’d kiss every inch of your sweet skin to feel it blaze against his cold lips. From your ankles hidden beneath bunny-print socks, to the top of your breasts teasing him from the dip of your shirt, up to your neck where your pulse ran with the blood of your heart, but mostly, to your reddened lips as your white teeth sank into the plump flesh after being swiped by your pink tongue.

You looked better than anything he’d ever baked.

“Hey, Dean-o, how’s work?” 

He hated to turn away from you, but he did, to momentarily put his attention on Andy Halle, who came by every weekday around 5:35 every afternoon. His hazel eyes scanned the menu above, but Dean didn’t expect him to change his order anytime soon. 

“Work’s fine. What’ll it be today?” Dean’s eyes flickered back over to you. You stared with nervous familiarity at Andy and Dean noticed your hesitation. Your eyes darted to the exit and Dean was so desperate to talk to you for the first time that he considered shouting after you. But he didn’t know what to say to make you stay, he might even scare you off. 

“I’ll just have what I always have,” Andy mumbled sheepishly. 

“Alright,” Dean huffed out a distracted laugh and held his breath the moment your eyes locked on his. It felt strange that his heart didn’t react, he waited with frustration for it to start beating again, pumping warm blood through his body, and up his face at the way you regarded him curiously. You smiled after a few seconds and averted your gaze shyly, seeming somewhat embarrassed. Dean bit his lip, unsuccessfully stopping his smirk from growing, and focused back on Andy just to ease the blood that had risen up to your cheeks.

Dean took the crumpled money from Andy and handed him his change, but the rest of Dean’s senses were still fixated on you. You sighed bravely and your heeled boots brought you closer to the counter that Andy was now leaving after murmuring a thanks.

Unfortunately, your introduction to Dean was stalled when Andy looked up from his phone to avoid bumping into you. Your name slipped from his mouth in quiet awe and Dean reeled at the knowledge he’d been yearning for. He somehow managed to tear himself away from the place he was rooted to, and murmured your name under his breath, dreamily. 

He started making Andy’s drink and eavesdropped on your conversation with him. He’d glance up at you and Andy in between tasks. 

He caught the awkward, uncomfortable hug Andy seemed to enjoy more than you did and your calculated gaze in his direction again. Dean couldn’t help smiling at you again when your eyes found his and you returned it bashfully before focusing back on Andy. 

Dean wished you would keep your gaze on him. That you’d smile at him longer and bid Andy farewell so you could finally interact with him. 

But you seemed slightly excited to see Andy, despite the nervousness that settled beneath. And Dean’s stomach sank, like a mini black hole that sucked in his insides, a heavy feeling inside him as he considered that maybe you were immune to his charms. Every woman he came across seemed to lose their composure and train of thought. 

But you didn’t do that. You ignored him as if he were just debris in your orbit. To him, it was unacceptable that you would allow the light of your smile and eyes to shine on someone as ordinary and undeserving as Andy. 

He didn’t have a problem with Andy before. But now he did. Dean could point out a hundred physical flaws and a billion flaws in his personality just to make you see that Andy didn't deserve to consume a single second of your precious time.

Dean couldn’t believe he was jealous. 

He relaxed his grip on the counter and breathed air he didn’t actually need to relax himself and focused on making Andy’s coffee—which Dean believed was unnecessarily sweet—while he seethed. 

Why was he jealous of Andy Halle, a boring ex-military guy? Maybe because Andy seemed to know everything about you that he wanted to know. Why did you give Andy your time when you could be talking to him instead? Sure, it’s just be you ordering your drink or your dessert, but something was better than nothing and he needed to be in your galaxy, to be a part of your stars. Even if he was just Pluto in your solar system, as long as he got to be around your perfect, burning light.

His stomach churned, his jaw clenched, irritation burned at his chest, and he considered making Andy’s drink incorrectly just to spite him. Andy puffed his chest, flexed his arms beneath the Henley as if trying to get your attention, to impress you, but you seemed distracted by a tiny imperfection on the marble floor.

“You look amazing, how are you doing?” He asked, slowly reaching over to touch your arm. You snapped out of your daze when he did and subtly pulled yourself away from him. 

You seemed nervous again, your words came late and they were careful only when responding about yourself, because after that, you rambled like a person inexperienced with socialising. “I’m great. How was Poland? I know that was ages ago, but that’s the last I heard of you, I’ve been so busy with my PhD-”

“You got your PhD already?” He interrupted you. Dean smelled the blood rush up to your face again and you stuttered to dismiss such a big achievement. “I’m still working on my Bachelor’s-”

“Everyone works at different paces,” you interrupted him before he could put the spotlight on you and intensify the light. “Bela double majored Accounting and Economics and graduated a year earlier than I did. There was a 55 year-old in my graduating class, as well. He was very smart and he helped me out a lot whenever I was stuck. Every person is different and education doesn’t have to be rushed.” 

Your words had Dean wondering what you would say if he told you he dropped out of high school and only acquired his GED? Would you be as kind? Would you downplay and dismiss all your greatness just to lift him up? Would you work twice as hard to bury yourself in the nonexistent shadows just so you could hide in plain sight? As if you could ever be ordinary. As if anyone had a shadow big enough to hide you, his Sun. 

Andy just laughed, fondly and reminiscent. He must have caught the hint that you didn’t want to talk about yourself. He must have forgotten and only then remembered the way that you were, and that maybe you were still the same in some ways as you were before, because he changed the subject for you. 

Dean felt worse. He wanted to have had all that time with you. To have all that intimate knowledge of the inner workings of your mind. He wanted to have an intricate map of your soul and your heart. He needed it like he needed blood to keep himself soft and far away from being desiccated. 

“Poland was alright. I just did a tour there. Met some great guys there. We went to a couple of other places in Europe and the Middle East. What about Bela and Daph? They didn’t follow you here?” His tone was teasing and your exhale was sad, but your words didn’t reflect the grief Dean felt coming from you in agonising waves. 

“Come on, we’re not gonna be the Three Amigos! forever,” you laughed halfheartedly. Your reference excited Dean, but he focused on closing the lid to Andy’s hot drink and carefully pulled the chocolate croissant out of the heated oven beneath the counter. Could you be any more perfect for him? “Daph’s starting to work at some fancy law firm in California and Bela dragged her girlfriend to New York for some high-paying job,” you shrugged indifferently, but Dean noticed your loneliness. 

He knew better than anyone what it felt like when people weft and weave themselves into your life only to find those threads completely severed from you. Separate destinies. Like seeing himself as a vampire now, having his traumatised brother now trapped in a psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future, and his best friend being consumed by thick black goo—ceasing to exist. 

That was his life now: all alone and out of place in a bakery. 

At least he had something now. You, and in the fifteen minutes that he prepared Andy’s order, he knew more about you than he imagined he’d get on a first meeting. 

You were born here in Lawrence but you’d moved away to go to university with your two best friends. The three of you were focused on separate majors, but somehow the cardings of the three of you were of the strongest metals. You built your resume, prepared yourself with your knowledge and skills in genetics there, before coming back here. 

While Daphne focused on ambition, being the best lawyer, Bela focused on accumulating wealth and building a family with her girlfriend Rose. You… What were you up to? What were your dreams? Your hopes? Your ambitions?

You sounded as dead as he felt. As dead as he was. Like nothing mattered to you. When did that start? Was that always a thing with you? He figured it must have been since Andy seemed to be unsurprised by your jaded attitude towards life.

Imagining you in a lab coat was suddenly the sexiest thing ever. Even the image of you with your hair pulled up looked sexy in his mind. Were geneticists supposed to be sexy? Or was that just the porn-induced image his mind produced? Maybe you were just sexy in every way and discovering what you’ve been up to since you’d last seen Andy, only made him want you more.

Dean couldn’t fathom objectifying you. You were too good for that. 

“Have you had any flare ups?” Andy asked and Dean frowned as he placed the warm snack into a small paper bag on the counter about to call Andy’s name to gain his attention. But he was curious and slowed down. Flare ups?

“No,” you replied, but Dean heard the jump in your pulse. You liar. What were you sick with? “I’m better now. I think your order’s ready.” Dean tried to act calm when you said that and needlessly took two napkins to put above the brown bag containing the hot croissant to look busy. 

“Oh.” Andy stole a look at Dean just as he pushed the cup and bag to the edge of the counter. Andy wavered. “I’ll see you around, right? We can catch up? Go somewhere, even?” He seemed pathetically disappointed and desperate to get to see you. 

Your delayed response made Dean’s lips quirk up. He wanted you to crush any chance or hope that he would spend time with you. But you were probably too kind to be that cruel. “Maybe not for a few days. I’m still unpacking and settling into work. But maybe once everything is calmer, we can hang out.” 

Dejected, Andy nodded, forcing a smile so dimples appeared on his cheeks. He looked down at you when you looked away at the counter, with love in his gaze, romantic love. Dean wanted to vomit in his mouth, but his body didn’t work that way anymore. “I hope everything goes well for you. I really missed you.” 

“Um, thanks,” you smiled and nodded towards the counter. Wow, that’s cold, Dean thought as he held back a sneer. But you seemed more distracted than intent on hurting his feelings. “Before it gets cold. Any suggestions?” You began to walk towards Dean and if he could, he’d pant and hyperventilate at your closeness, even if you were still a distance away from him.

“Right,” Andy inhaled and shook his head gently so his light brown waves shook against his forehead, “you should probably try the rhubarb pie. You still like pie?”

“Yes,” you grinned, bright and playful. Dean would marry you if you were even remotely interested in him. 

You were standing right in front of him. 

Finally, Dean could see you clearly. You wore no makeup besides the tint that brought colour to your lips and cheeks. Your smooth skin against the light was downright kissable. But not as kissable as your plump lips, even if they were slightly chapped beneath the pinkish tint you wore. He bet your mouth felt amazing. 

You smiled, relaxed, showing your pretty teeth. For the first time, Dean wished you’d sink your canines into his neck. And then, your tongue poked out to ease the dryness of your lips and he imagined you’d lick the bite marks you’d leave behind on his throat. He’d love the burn of your saliva on his cold skin, the trail of wet warmth along where his pulse would be pounding with excitement if he were alive. 

He ached for you. Could you please just be his already?

Andy took his drink and the bag with napkins on top. 

“Can I text you?” He asked as he began to retreat.

“Uh, sure,” you shrugged, noncommittal. “I’ll give you my new number so we can message each other outside of social media, just remind me.” Andy grinned happily at your response and Dean looked down to hide the way he rolled his eyes. 

Dean wished you hadn’t done that. He wanted you all to himself. The only hope Dean had that you didn’t return Andy’s feelings was the lack of warmth and heat in your gorgeous eyes, a look which only seemed to steam from Andy’s hazel-greens.

“I do gotta get home, my dog’s all alone.”

“Don’t keep Price waiting,” you teased. Andy laughed as he made his way out and your smile relaxed more into something neutral once you were alone with Dean.

Except, now, Dean couldn’t find words. What happened to his brain?

“Hi,” your shy little smile was an electric current that jump started his entire body. Dean swallowed, but smiled as he gazed down at you, he hoped he didn’t look as in love with you as he felt. 

“Hey,” he breathed out. 

He watched you still, your longing gaze intensified as your eyes swept over the desserts on display once again. He didn’t want to rush you, he wanted to keep you from leaving as long as he could, but you didn’t want to waste his time. He could tell by the way you’d look up at him with your adorable wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” you smiled ruefully.

“No, don’t worry about it. You want the rhubarb pie?” He asked softly. You relaxed visibly at his patience and fumbled with something in the small front pocket of your jeans. 

“Um,” you looked around at the displays indecisively. “Yes, I’ll have that,” you confirmed and Dean was only slightly disappointed that you’d made up your mind so quickly. He nodded and prepared to take a slice from the pie. Should he serve you a big size? 

He felt your gaze on him as he moved around. Fuck, he wanted to blush. Could you reignite his soul already and just allow him to feel human again? 

“What do you think I should try?” You asked curiously, breaking him out of his reverie. He could feel you leaning forward carefully, not enough so your body touched the glass that protected the desserts, but enough so the thin silver necklace resting against your collarbone clinked against the glass. 

Dean looked at you through his lashes and retrieved the generous slice of pie from the rest of its body to place it into a small cardboard box. Your eyes moved over his face inquisitively. 

“Currently, I’m having fun making Sweet Rolls,” he suggested.

You raised a brow, inquiring silently about what exactly that was and he chuckled, but your explorative eyes still moved to every little detail on his face as he spoke and smiled.

He wondered what you saw. What would you discover about him? Could you see his imperfections? The scars from his previous life. Did you like what you saw? The freckles that he hated. Could you read the pain he feels? Or the love you rekindled? 

He dropped his stare to focus on the way he closed the slice of pie inside the box, hoping to hide himself from you. Only he could contain you in his gaze, because he already knew you were beautiful. He didn’t know what you’d think of him and he didn’t think he could bear it if you saw what he saw in the mirror: the opposite of everything that you were.

He grabbed another small box and stole the sweet roll from its warm home. The small confection looked like a miniature version of a Bundt cake, the white glaze poured over the sides looked too perfect to be real. Well, he chose the perfect one for you. He slid the box towards you and looked up to find your eyes still navigating his face. You averted your gaze and bit your lip, flustered. God, you were so cute. 

You clenched your small hands and placed them behind your back as you admired the sweet roll instead. He smirked at you, he would kiss you if it wouldn’t have freaked you out. How could someone be so beautiful and soft? You looked just like the sweet roll to him. 

“It looks like videogame sweet rolls,” you remarked and glanced up at him again. He would never tire of you. 

“Heh, I really liked how they looked, so I decided to make them.” He shrugged. You hummed, this time he watched you as you pondered and turned the sweet roll. You nodded in agreement.

“I like how they look, too, I’ll try it.” Dean smiled and closed the box, placing it next to the pie. You smoothed your hands against your jeans then rubbed your nails together as you watched him. 

“Want anything to drink?” He asked, anything to keep you around. 

Your eyes flickered up to the menu, your expression was thoughtful, so Dean allowed himself to be distracted by thoughts of you. 

At least you didn’t hate him. That was something, right? 

He still wondered how you felt about him and what you thought of him. How much did you like him? Did you think he was cute? Pretty? Did you want to see him again? Maybe outside of the bakery? Or did you just think he was nice and unintrusive? Just… ordinary. Not even friend material. Just the local baker. An acquaintance. 

“Just, uh… hazelnut coffee with creamer. Small. That’s okay?” Hmm, an unpretentious, but delicious coffee. Just like you. Effortlessly amazing. But why were you asking for affirmation?

“Yes,” he reassured you with a laugh. No matter how many times you became flustered, you were unwaveringly confident and brave. You glanced at the sewn word that spelled his name over his unbeating heart and his lips twitched into a wide smile.

He turned around to start making your drink despite longing to keep admiring you. At least he could feel you, your heat and your sweet air. He could hear you, your gentle breathing and your nervous heartbeat. And smell you, your expensive perfume and flowery shampoo. Even the sweet honey of your lotion. 

“Do you live near?” He asked, because… well, you didn’t think he was a creep, right? He looked over his shoulder and you contemplated him. Your eyes locked with his, he watched them soften and then you looked down at the boxes of sweets in front of you. 

“Smack in the middle of the forest,” you admitted. He hummed softly and put a lid on the cup of your hot coffee. Conveniently enough, you wouldn’t have too many neighbours. Maybe he could have a look around your place and not get caught. “It’s my childhood home,” you added methodically, he could sense you were editing parts of your story. He wanted the raw and dirty details, but whatever you wanted to give him was enough. “My mom moved away when we all left to start up our lives. My siblings prefer to live in cities, but my mom and I never did, so she left me the house. It wasn’t favouritism, just sentimentality.”

You were more like your mom, then. He wondered what she was like. What was her name? Did she look like you, too? Did you two talk at all? What was your relationship with her like? Were you like your father at all? What was he like? And what about your siblings? How many did you have? What were they like? What role did you play in your family? 

And why else did you like Kansas? It can’t just be about the forests. Did you like the people? The memories you made with your old friends in town? Did you like the locations? Where did you hang out the most before you left? He couldn’t ask you those questions now, they were too invasive. 

“And your dad?” Dean asked, scribbling your name with a loving smile on the cardboard sleeve. Why didn’t you say anything about him? 

Your silence didn’t go unnoticed. He frowned when he turned to see you and your distant eyes, the troubled pinch between your brows, and your pouty frown. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” he lied, he wanted to know everything about you. Were you like him? Cursed with daddy issues? 

You blinked and smiled tightly. No, please, let the light shine on him with your genuine smile. 

“No, it’s fine. My mom and dad got divorced…” He wanted to know more, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that would make you frown. He smiled at you, hoping it would comfort you as he brought you your coffee. You struggled to maintain his gaze this time, but you must have felt something because you waited when you took the coffee from him. He could feel the warmth accumulate in your palms and he waited with you. “Do you… have you ever felt that you wanted to hate someone because they’re so horrible to you, but you just can’t? Like… sometimes you’re sure you hate them, but when you realise who you’re hating… it all just goes away and makes you feel awful?” 

Has he ever? Of course. He understands how much it hurts. He felt that way forever about his dad and his mom. Especially when he learned everything that he did about their past—thanks to the angels and the demons. He hated his dad, but he also respected him, and would even take a bullet for him. He even found that he hated his mom, but he also loved her to pieces. All at once. It’s enough to tear anyone apart inside. 

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” he murmured, it took everything in him not to reach out and caress your warm cheek. But it was as if he had, because you pressed your face into your shoulder in embarrassment, then you did a double-take at the cup of coffee. You seemed intrigued as you pressed your fingertips against the black ink that spelled your name on the cup sleeve in his neat, capitalised lettering.

He bit his lip and wondered impatiently what you were thinking of. Couldn’t you just spill your sweet words—completely uncalled for—like every other woman he came across? 

Instead he turned to the cash register and placed bogus numbers in because he really liked you. He lowered the prices for what you purchased and he was relieved that you didn’t question the cost when you tapped your phone against the screen to pay. You were gonna cost him more than he would have liked to admit to himself, but you were so worth the loss. 

He grabbed a paper bag and carefully placed the boxes inside for you. He wanted to give you his number. Would that throw you off? Would that scare you away? How can he be close to you without being so creepy and annoying?

“Thanks… Dean,” you exhaled softly. Dean’s stomach tightened and he struggled to keep himself from getting too visibly excited about his name sounding so dreamy and mellow blooming from between your pillowy lips. 

“No problem,” he whispered, his voice incapable of being as normal as he wanted to appear. He watched you pick everything up to leave and he dreaded that you’d have to go away to your own life. “Have a great evening, sweetheart.” You looked up at him, amused and delighted with something that he did. What was it? Tell him, so he could do it again, so he could see the light burst in your eyes like your stars had been born because he was the missing element needed to bring life into your universe. 

You breathed out a laugh, heat flooded your cheeks, and Dean felt triumphant. He didn’t know what made you smile the way you did, but at least he finally discovered what you had in your pocket when you took it out. You dropped a green bill folded into a small square straight into the tip jar he kept beside the register and he raised a brow curiously.

The countless bills and coins inside didn’t surprise him, but they appeared to interest you. People found him charming. They liked him. Women loved him. Did that mean the same thing to you? Did you like him? Or find him charming? Did you.. love him? 

“Thanks, you too,” you turned away after a short pause and Dean really couldn’t help his leery gaze once you had your back to him. You were so hot. Even from the back. 

He waited for you to leave before fishing the tip out of the box, he wanted to have it framed, he’d do anything to keep it as a reminder of you. He unfolded it and blinked in shock at the hundred-dollar bill. Then, he grinned boyishly, you definitely liked him.

-> an introduction to creative captivity

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[honeys-hotties]

I Don't Deserve You-Julien Baker x Reader

my first julien baker fic, because the jb brainrot is SO REAL i love her with my whole heart

jb x fem!reader

angst but happy ending (have i ever written anything without angst??) anyways! as always, this is all made up!! jb is a little mean in this one, and in real life i am so sure she would never act like this

word cout: 2222 <3

After a horrifically unproductive day at the studio, all Julien wants to do when she gets back to her house is sleep for approximately 17 hours. The clock on the wall reads 6:13 when she drops her jacket on the couch, completely forgetting about the dirty breakfast dishes she had promised you she would clean up that morning. You had an obnoxiously early start that morning, but wanting to see you before you left for work, Julien had woken up and you two had made breakfast together.

“I’m so sorry I don’t have time to clean everything up,” you had whispered apologetically, perched atop the counter while Julien stood between your legs. “If you could put everything away before you go to the studio for me please baby? And I can make us dinner tonight? I shouldn’t be too late? I think they were saying 7:00 wrap tonight? So I’ll be home by 7:45 at the latest.” Julien had agreed, if mostly to quiet her excited girlfriend so she could get a few kisses in before you left, but had gone back upstairs and fallen asleep after you were gone. She had slept through her alarm, and in her panic to get to the studio on time had forgotten to clean the kitchen.

Julien walked up the stairs, pushing the door to their bedroom open and falling face-first onto the large, unmade bed, and immediately passing out. She sleeps peacefully for about an hour and a half, until the slamming of the front door startles her awake. Rubbing her eyes irritatedly, Julien sits up in the darkened bedroom, a headache growing behind her eyes. 

“Babe?” She hears you call from downstairs. “Where are you?” Grumbling to herself, Julien sits up and stretches, her back popping from the movements. You pad up the stairs, and poke your head into the bedroom, smiling at the sight of your tired girlfriend. “Good nap?” you ask softly, walking towards the bed and sitting down next to Julien, who wraps her arms around her girlfriend’s waist, resting her head in your lap.

“Yeah, baby.” Julien hums. “Really good nap.”

You laugh softly, stroking Julien’s hair in your lap. “I’m glad, babe. You’ve been working yourself to death recently. How was the studio today?”

Julien rolls her eyes, sitting up abruptly. “I really don’t want to talk about work right now.” She says, irritated. Your eyes widen slightly, shocked by your girlfriend’s sharp tone, but ultimately chalking it up to her exhaustion. “Oh, okay. I’m sorry, Jules. I can go start dinner, if you want to nap a little longer?”

Julien looks at you guiltily. “I’m sorry, princess.” She pulls you into her lap, kissing your forehead repeatedly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I love you.” You laugh quietly, relishing in the comfort of Julien’s arms, the kisses being pressed to your face. 

“It’s okay baby. I get it. Want to come start on dinner with me?” 

Julien nods, and follows like a puppy after you, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Julien is so lost in thought that when you stop abruptly in front of her at the sight of the kitchen, Julien smacks directly into you, knocking you forward a couple of steps. 

“Whoa princess, what’re you doin’?” She asks, reaching out to steady you. You swat her hands away, turning to face Julien with an unamused expression on your face. “Hey,” Julien takes a step back. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to bump into you, I swear, I just wasn’t expecting you to stop there…” she trails off at the look on your face. “What?”

“The kitchen, JB.” You say, gesturing to the dirty dishes behind you. “You promised you would clean up this morning, remember? I specifically asked if you could take care of it this morning so it wouldn’t be a problem tonight, and you told me not to worry, that you would clean up before you left.”

Julien rolls her eyes, her girlfriend’s irritation only adding to her bad mood. “Seriously, babe? You barely see me all day, and now you’re getting mad because I didn’t do the dishes? So I wanted to get some extra sleep this morning? Don’t you think I fuckin’ deserve it? I work so damn hard, I deserve a break, and having you flipping out on me isn’t helpful, baby.” Her tone is biting, her words harsh, and she barely notices the tears glazing over her girlfriend’s eyes. 

“I work hard too, Julien!” You grit out. “Just because I’m not some incredible singer doesn’t mean I don’t work hard, doesn’t mean I’m not exhausted when I get home. You told me you would clean up and you didn’t, I don’t understand why you’re getting so defensive-”

“Exactly!” Julien yells. “You don’t understand. You have no idea what it’s like to have this pressure on your shoulders every goddamn second, the eyes of so many people, waiting for you to fuck up. But guess fucking what, princess? The world doesn’t revolve around you.” She stalks closer to you, her voice loud. “You have no idea what I’m dealing with, how exhausted I am constantly, how hard I’m working. So I forgot to do the dishes once? So what? Look at everything I do for you, everything I bring to the table, versus you, and then try to tell me off again, princess.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Julien wishes she could take them back. You look like you’ve been slapped across the face, and the unshed tears in your eyes finally begin to fall. You let out a choked sob, backing away from Julien who, in her anger, had cornered you against the table. 

“Wait, baby…I didn’t…” but it’s too late. The damage is done. 

“You’re right, Julien,” You manage. “I don’t know what it’s like. Maybe you should find someone who understands you, because obviously I never could.”

“No, princess, please-” Julien starts, before you cut her off.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” You snap. “I’m not your ‘princess’, I’m not your ‘baby’, I’m not your ‘doll’, I’m not anything to you, apparently.”

“No, please. You’re everything to me, I swear, I was just being mean because I’m tired, please, I didn’t mean it” Julien’s eyes fill with tears. You turn away from her. “I think you should leave, Julien. Before you say something else you ‘don’t mean’”. 

“No, please, you know I can’t leave when we’re fighting, we have to fix things, please let me fix things.”

You turn to her, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t know if you can fix this, Julien. I’ve put up with a lot of your shit, when you snap at me because you’ve had long days at the studio and I let it slide, when you chainsmoke because you’re stressed and I hold my tongue because I don’t want to make you more upset, when you make my problems feel small because I’m not part of some huge band. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. It’s not fair to me.”

Julien drops to her knees in front of you, reaching gently for your hands. “Please let me fix this” she cries softly. “Please, my love. I will do anything to make it up to you. Anything.” You pull your hands from Julien’s grasp. 

“I’m going to bed” you say, brokenly. “Just, wash the dishes, please.” 

“I love you” Julien calls out after you, watching you retreat up the stairs. “Baby, I-I love you.” You say nothing, and as soon as you disappear up the stairs, Julien breaks down in tears. She sits on the kitchen floor and cries, cries because she thinks she might have just ruined the best thing in her life. Julien cries for what feels like either ten minutes or ten hours, until she has no tears left and her sobs turn into pathetic sniffles. Eventually, she stands up and finds her phone, calling the only two people she trusts to help her fix her relationship. Phoebe and Lucy both pick up almost immediately, and listen dutifully as Julien fills them in on the fight while she tries to tidy up the kitchen. 

“Wow” Phoebe manages when Julien finishes the story. “Julien, fuck, I don’t know what to say.”

“I do,” Lucy chimes in. “You fucked up. Big time. Like, I don’t even know how you fucked up this badly.”

“That’s really helpful, Luce.” Julien retorts. “Now, how do I fix things? She’s the best thing in my life, and I can’t do this without her.”

“I think you and her need to have a really serious conversation about your relationship and what she expects of you” Phoebe says seriously. “It sounds like you’ve been neglecting her, however unintentionally, taking her for granted. She’s put up with it for long enough, JB, and honestly, she deserves better. I love you and I’m here for you no matter what, but you’re in the wrong here, babe.”

“You guys will work it out, but just try to understand where she’s coming from. You’ve got a pretty short fuse when you’re stressed,” Lucy adds. “I know you both and I know how much love you have for each other. Just, talk things through with her, see it from her point of view.”

“Okay. I’ll try. And you’re right, she deserves better. I’ll do my best to try harder for her, to be more attentive and more patient for her. I love her so much.”

“We know,” Lucy says. “We love you both so much, and I know you two will work it out. It’s hard right now, but you’re going to come out on the other side of this so much stronger as a couple.”

“Tell her we say hi, and call us tomorrow with updates, okay JB. We love you.” Phoebe says, bringing a small smile to Julien’s face.

“I will. Thank you guys, I love you both so much.” Julien disconnects the call and wipes down the counter, before turning off the kitchen lights and heading upstairs. Her footsteps grow soft as she reaches the door to your shared bedroom, and she pushes the door open softly, her heart breaking at the sight of you curled up on the bed, eyes red and puffy. 

“I don’t want to talk right now, Julien.” You say quietly, your voice raspy. 

“Will you listen then, baby? Just, I have a few things I want to say to you, to apologize for, and then you can kick me out, okay?” Julien asks hopefully, walking slowly towards the bed. You sit up wordlessly, gesturing for Julien to go ahead.

“Um, okay. Here goes. Baby, I’m so, so fucking sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been so tired and stressed lately. And I know that’s not an excuse. I just want to tell you where I’m coming from. That gives me zero right to take it out on you, though. And I’m so sorry because through everything, you’ve been here for me. You’ve stuck with me, through good and bad, no matter what. And I’ve been taking you for granted, which is so unfair to you, and you deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone who listens to you and values your opinions, someone who loves you so much they can’t stand the thought of life without you. Someone who knows how hard you work, someone who is always there for you, someone who is patient and protective and treats you like a queen. I want to be that person for you, if you’ll let me. I want to show you how incredible you are and tell you every day for the rest of our lives how much I adore you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to imagine my life without you. I know I don’t deserve you, but please, give me another chance. You make my life worth living, you make everything better. I love you more than I can ever say, but if you want me, I will spend the rest of our lives proving how much I love you.” By the end of her speech, you're sobbing. 

“Oh, fuck, baby, doll, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Shut up and kiss me” You cut her off, and Julien’s eyes widen at your statement. “I, what?”

“You heard me,” you laughed, your throat still choked with tears. “Kiss me, Julien.” Without hesitating, Julien surges forward and connects your lips in a searing kiss. She can taste the salt of your tears mixing with her own, and when she finally breaks away, she rests her forehead against yours, gently wiping your tears away.  “I love you” she whispers. “And I don’t deserve you. But I love you so much. And I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” you say. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now. I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep, we can talk more in the morning.”

Julien presses her lips to yours once more. “You’re the boss, princess. I’ll start making it up to you first thing tomorrow.”

“You better.” You say, letting out a watery chuckle, cuddling into her. “And I have a few ideas for how you can start.”

honey's notes: to anyone reading this right now, i love you you're amazing, all the forehead kisses in the world for you! this fic was so fun to write, lmk if i should write more for jb or the boys!

love always, honey

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - One

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

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

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@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps. 

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings. 

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs. 

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face. 

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight. 

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.  

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs. 

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles. 

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.” 

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?” 

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough. 

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.” 

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated. 

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!” 

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.” 

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.” 

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.” 

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.” 

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt. 

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options. 

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.” 

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.” 

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly. 

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”  

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?” 

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin. 

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?”  “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you. 

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you. 

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him. 

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench. 

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.” 

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door. 

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again. 

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.” 

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench.  “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple. 

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.” 

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool. 

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.” 

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go. 

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses. 

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.” 

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months. 

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. 

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat. 

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn. 

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.” 

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan. 

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough. 

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks. 

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks. 

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.” 

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods. 

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?” 

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?” 

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is. 

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl. 

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.” 

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread. 

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge. 

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.” 

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside. 

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand. 

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.” 

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.” 

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel. 

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.” 

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.” 

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.” 

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?” 

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.” 

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.” 

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots. 

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you.  “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!” 

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine. 

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.” 

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.” 

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?” 

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity. 

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek. 

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk. 

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.” 

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till. 

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.” 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back. 

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want. 

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin. 

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier. 

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth. 

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.” 

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head. 

“No, not at all.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you. 

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for. 

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee. 

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath. 

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements. 

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter. 

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you. 

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray. 

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl. 

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.” 

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.” 

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon. 

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.” 

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.” 

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth. 

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.” 

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling. 

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.” 

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?” 

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste. 

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?” 

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough. 

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out. 

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.” 

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours. 

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him. 

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that. 

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh. 

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist. 

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face. 

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.” 

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check. 

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.” 

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.” 

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him. 

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.” 

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer. 

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge. 

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile. 

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go. 

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread. 

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews. 

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.” 

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip. 

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite. 

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better. 

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see. 

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder. 

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair. 

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head. 

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again. 

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.” 

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.” 

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him. 

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive. 

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor. 

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase.  “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box. 

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door. 

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights. 

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them. 

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting. 

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D” 

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

[edwardallenpoe]

My first ever Sherlock & Co. Fic, it's ofc about Sherlock's DID. One of Sherlock's headmates fronts after being dormant for a number of years and meets John. Very fluffy, kind of angsty but more comfort less hurt. Mentions ofc of dormancy and allusions to past trauma, plus mentions of panic attacks.

I wrote this mostly inspired by some of my own dormant headmates coming out of dormancy, it's a weird and wonderful and relieving experience for us.

This fic is now on ao3 (link)

Fic under the cut (no editing, I wrote this in a flash, do not judge lol):

When he opened my eyes, he knew immediately some time has passed since the last time he did. 

He looked around the room, trying to discern and deduce where he was- definitely an apartment, so not a dorm or his parents place, somewhere he resides, mainly. He stood on wobbly feet, noticing the tightness of his trousers on his waist- they've gained weight, how odd- and made his way outside the bedroom, finding the bathroom to be right next to his bedroom, seeing in the mirror his- no, Sherlock's- reflection. 

He touches his cheek, sees new scars, and old, familiar ones faded. He runs his hands through his hair, clean and scented and soft. It's been a considerable amount of time. 

“Sherlock? It's around that time, Mariana wanted to talk about some potential clients, remember?” He heard a voice, and he felt a small sort of panic rise in him. 

“Er, j-just a minute!” He lets out, and wonders at how full his voice sounds. 

“uh… alright, then… you alright, mate?” The voice just inside the doorframe now, the reflection of a man with shaggy blond hair and a scruffy beard leaning on the frame, his blue eyes piercing through him. The silence in his head, a void only a minute ago, helpfully supplies him with some help as he hears John play over. 

“Yes, I'm fine, John.” He says, and the man's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, his eyes wide. 

“You called me John, and it wasn't even a tense emotionally charged moment of stress and trauma, now I definitely know somethings wrong. What is it, Sherlock?” He asked, and he damned his parts. 

“I…” then, fear rises. He had no idea if this John person knew, knew of the secret that they had held since Trevor, new of the myriad of thoughts and voices this body shares. 

John's eyes softened. “Hey, it's okay, whatever it is. You can trust me.” 

He wishes desperately for someone, anyone to confirm or deny this, and he gets the overwhelming trust his host feels for this man. 

“I… I'm Scotty.” He says. “I haven't… not since…” 

Understanding blooms on John's face, and he smiles. “It's really nice to meet you, Scotty. I'm John Watson. Sherlock has told me about you.” 

Scotty crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at John's shoes. “What has he told you?” 

“He told me you left, a long time ago. Dormancy, he said?” 

Scotty nodded. “It's been a very long time. I don't know what…” he intended to add time, year, anything, but it was a given. He didn't really know anything. 

“The year's 2024, it's July. We're in London, 221b Baker Street. I'm your roommate, and Sherlock's best friend. We have Mariana, and Archie downstairs.” John explains softly. “D'you want something to eat?” 

Scotty nods. 

John smiles. “I've only just started getting Sherlock to eat, it's nice to have some cooperation, c'mon.” 

John leads him out of the bathroom and to a small kitchen area, in complete disarray but generally nicer than most kitchens Scotty has seen. It looks like the people that use it care, not only for the stationary and cutlery but for their living space, their home. It makes something warm inside of Scotty bubble. 

“This is… nice.” He says to John, and the man snorts. 

“Glad you think so, I think I about given up on keeping it tidy, keeping track of Sherlock is a near impossible task.” John motions for the and, and Scotty sits, placing his hands on the surface. “How does, um… eggs? Eggs sound?” John asked as he rummaged through their fridge. Scotty smiled at John, tried not to laugh at the effort the man was putting into this. 

“That sounds good, John.” he looked around more, peering into the living room a bit. It was also messy, papers and books and mugs and wires everywhere, hoodies and dog toys and dvd's as well, and Scotty furrowed his brow in fascination. “How long have we been living together, John?” He asked. 

“Oh, uh,” he blew out some air as he thought, clicking his tongue. “Around, I want to say, nine months now? Moved in around the end of october, I think?” 

“Wow…” He mutters. All the trinkets, all. The pieces, the papers, the studies Sherlock loves and cares for so much, integrated so deeply into John's own life. To be honest with himself, he wasn't sure where Sherlock's things started and John's ended. “You're… really important to us.” 

He hears John sputter a little. “What? I mean, not that I didn't know, just- y'know. Odd to hear it.” 

Scotty shook his head. “Even with Trevor, or all of Sherlock's other friends, things weren't like… this. We really care for you, and you care for us.” 

John clears throat. “I'mean, 'course I do, Scotty. Your system has helped me in a lot of ways, ways I'm not sure even I understand.” 

Scotty looked to John, fascinated. “You've met the others?” 

“Fleetingly,” John clarified. “I believe his name was… Arthur? He helps Sherlock go to bed, sometimes, when he stays up for longer than four days. And Shelley, she's fronted a couple times to help with my panic attacks.” 

Scotty's heart warms. To know that his parts were still around, doing good when he was away, it was reassuring to know. 

“I'm glad, then.” Scotty says. “It's good to know we've met you, John Watson. Things weren't always… like this. This nice. Things were…” he closes his eyes as he tries to not think of that night, that man, once so high, now brought down by his own hubris, and the rushing torrent of your fault, your fault, your fault- he felt that night. “Hard. It's good.” 

John comes to sit across from Scotty, smiling. “I know. It was the same for me. I'm glad I met you, Scotty.” 

John makes the eggs, and Scotty eats about two before he's finished, and John goes downstairs to explain that Sherlock was having a bad day, and Scotty stayed upstairs, petting Archie, who slobbered all over his lap, though he found he couldn't mind. 

We made it, he thought, over and over. We made it. 

By the time John had come back upstairs, The body of Sherlock's system was curled up on the couch, nuzzling Archie to find comfort. “Scotty?” He asked, and got a negative hum in response. 

“Sherlock?” He tried, and he got a nod. “Hey, how are you doing?” 

Sherlock lifted his head, his face red and tear streaked. “I'm… I'm okay. I'm good. Thank you, John.” 

John's heart melts, and he comes to sit next to Sherlock, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades. “Of course, Sherlock, of course. It was really the least I could do.” 

Sherlock sniffled. “Frédéric had said that there was a chance Scotty wasn't ever coming back. That he wouldn't until he felt complete and utter safety.” 

Realization slowly crept onto John. “I… you feel safe. Here, with us?” 

Sherlock nodded. “After what happened… I couldn't blame him. But I'm just-” he turned away from the dog and instead found comfort in John's embrace, and John immediately wrapped his arms around him. “Thank you.” 

John squeezed, rubbing his back. “Of course, Sherlock, of course.” 

Scotty popped up a couple times over the next few days, but his fronting activity dwindled. John had almost worried he had gone dormant again, but Sherlock seemed happy, whole, and good, and he found that wherever Scotty lay in that great big brain of theirs, he would do what it took to make him feel safe. 

[rninies]

Baking Nights

synopsis: The last time you baked, disaster happened. But, with Gojo helping, it might not be so bad.

warnings: fluff, gojo is a good baker (not great but manages to bake without causing a big disaster, gn!reader — wc: 1159

notes: my headcanon of gojo loving to bake has made me write a fic

You weren’t exactly the best baker in town. Once, you tried making a simple chocolate chip cookie and ended up burning the cookie — Satoru said it looks fine but you know he is just trying to make you feel better. It was not edible, even someone who loves cookies would not eat your cookies.

So when Satoru asked if you wanted to help him bake something tonight as a snack for your weekly movie night, you declined almost immediately.

“Come on, love! I promise you won’t burn them again. I’ll help you this time.” Satoru begs, giving you the puppy eyes. “Please?”

You groaned. “What if I manage to burn the cookies again? You never know what could happen. I can accidentally forget to set the timer, have the oven on way too hot, or even-”

“Stop, you won’t. Don’t jinx it.” Satoru reassures you. He takes your hands in his, holding them tightly. “Come on! I promise you’re not going to burn the cookies again.”

“Please don’t bring that up again.” you groaned. “I’ll help only if you never bring me burning the cookies up ever again.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up, a big smile forming on his face. “Okay, deal!” he lets go of your hands, quickly grabbing everything that is needed for this baking session. “Do we want sugar cookies or chocolate chip? You pick.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, thinking about it. “Chocolate chip cookies since I failed to make one last time.”

“Pft,” Satoru lets out a small laugh, making you glare at him. “Hey, I was not the one who brought up your burnt chocolate chip cookies. It was you.” He gives you a cheeky smile, throwing an apron at your way. “Here, use it. I’m afraid you’re the messy type when it comes to baking.”

“Hey-!” you tried protesting but you know he is right. “So, what must we do first, Satoru the master baker?”

“Master baker? Really?” Satoru raises an eyebrow at the ridiculous nickname but shrugs it off. “Well, according to the recipe I found online-”

“Wait, you looked it up?” you cut him off swiftly. “I thought you said you knew how to make them?! Without looking it up!”

Satoru scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah well, I am not the master baker you had in mind, my love. Just because I can make a few desserts doesn’t mean I remember the recipe.”

You huffed. “You are a liar, Gojo Satoru.”

Satoru immediately gasps, offended. “How dare you call me a liar! I’ve been nothing but honest and truthful to you. Oh, how you’ve wounded me.” he places a hand over his heart, giving off a more dramatic vibe.

You giggled, amused by his antics. “Oh shut up and start baking.” Satoru gives you a smile, a bowl, and a pack of flour.

Satoru got quiet as soon as he started mixing the ingredients, carefully measuring each ingredient to make sure it was the perfect amount. With all that happening, you stand behind him awkwardly, not knowing what to do. “Satoru… Do you need help with anything?”

“Hm?” Satoru turns back, seemingly having forgotten that you were there. “Well, just stand there and look pretty for me, yeah?” he teases and a scowl immediately forms on your face. “I’m just kidding! You can come help mix the batter while I prepare the oven.”

He hands you the bowl and you carefully grab it from him, mixing the batter slowly. “It looks good already.”

“It doesn’t look burnt, that’s for sure.” Satoru snickers and immediately dodge when you try throwing a pair of mittens at him. “Hey, don’t drop the bowl!”

“I fucking hate you.” You angrily say, turning your back to him. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Baby don’t do this to me!” Satoru whines, hugging you from behind. “I can’t function without your attention!” He tries to look at your face, peeking from your left and right but you manage to look away every time. “You’re so mean, you know that right? Come on, look at me.” He uses his hand to gently turn your head to look at him. “There you are.” Satoru gives you a small kiss on the cheek, resulting in you getting all shy and flustered.

“That was not fair.” You complained, but still happy that you got a kiss. “Is the oven ready? My hands are getting a cramp.”

Satoru takes the bowl from you and hands you a cookie scoop. “Here. You can do the honor of scooping the cookie dough onto the parchment sheets.”

You happily take the cookie scoop from his hands and start scooping. Satoru watches beside you, his heart melting at the sight of your happy face. As soon as the parchment sheet was filled, you set the cookie scoop and lifted the baking sheet. “Done! Now that was easier than when I tried doing it alone.”

“Well, I did most of the work.” Satoru brags, making you roll your eyes. “Here, give it to me. I’ll put it in the oven for 12 minutes.” He places the cookies inside the oven and closes it. “While we wait, we can either relax or-”

“Relax.” You immediately say, to which Satoru gives you a funny look. “I want to sit down! I’ve been standing for like ten minutes and my legs are hurting.”

“Okay, you go sit down on the couch. I’ll clean the kitchen.” Satoru says in defeat, and you cheer, immediately making a beeline for the couch. He shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he sees your content face when you finally sit down.

As soon as you hear the ‘ding!’ from the oven, you immediately stand up. “Are they ready?”

Satoru opens the oven, grabs a pair of mittens, and takes the cookies out. “Mhm, and they smell good too.”

You walked closer, took a whiff, and hummed in delight. “Looks like you managed to remember the recipe well this time.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I have a perfect memory,” Satoru says. You are about to take a cookie but Satoru quickly stops you. “Careful, they’re still hot.” He grabs a pair of chopsticks, for some reason, and hands it to you. “What? That’s the closest thing to me right now!”

“Satoru, that is not going to-” You immediately stopped what you were about to say, seeing Satoru easily transferring each cookie onto a plate with ease. “Okay, never mind.”

Satoru smiles proudly, setting the chopsticks down. “Well, we can now enjoy our movie night with our perfectly baked cookies. What should we watch tonight? You can pick this time.”

“Really?” you asked once more and Satoru nodded. “Okay, then we’re watching every single Barbie movie in existence.”

He immediately groans, clearly regretting his decision to let you pick the movie, but he doesn’t say anything else (because he secretly loves seeing the happy smile on your face when watching these movies).

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

I love your writing so much! Always got ur notifs on

Can we get a bittersweet fic where boo has a panic attack?

Panic attacks suck ass.

TW: Panic attack just like requested.

Boo couldn't hear the boy's, the two were yelling at a costumer. Who began berating Boo after 'messing' up her order for the third time. The old hag, ended up saying something of the lines of 'You'll never be good. God why did you become a baker?' it struck Boo hard.

"-okay? Um.....Mx baker?" Someone asked from the side of them. Their breathing was erratic, the blonde next to them was watching Boo. He seemed worried, what was his name again?

"hhhgggg ssdddfffggg!!!" Groaning out Boo felt their chest tighten as they covered their ears. The loud noises were making Boo panic more, this caused the three arguing to stop.

"shit." Quietly hissing out Alphonse cursed, then turned back to the lady and addressed the whole bakery. "Everyone out! I don't care if ya ordered something we'll figure that out later." Some tried to say something but Alphonse shot a glare. The blonde next to them helped usher the people out.

"Sugar, honey. you need to focus on my voice okay? You having a panic attack, that's fine just focus on me okay?" Soothing words came form the brunette that rushed to their side. Boo shook as they clutched their head, trying to focus on their breathing.

Alphonse, closed the shops door and flipped the sign to 'CLOSED', hopefully that will keep people at bay. Rushing back he slowly sank to the ground where Boo is, feeling like he could say a thousand things. But nothing came out, until Boo reached for his hand.

"Wwnnntt hhoolldd pleeasss?" Grunting out Boo sobbed into Seth's lap. Moving to their side as Seth gently caressed their hair. Alphonse gripped their hand tight matching their strength holding his.

"Sugar, you need to steady your breathing. Here, follow me. Breath in..." loudly breathing in Seth watched as Boo followed, "...Breath out. Your doing so good, darlin'." Praising them, he continued for a couple more times.

Alphonse pulled their hand gently to his lips and kissed it. Hoping it would help, looking down he saw Boo flash a quick smile before continuing the breathing exercise. As they continued together, Boo slowly lessened the grip on his hand.

"Boo, I'm going to be honest. I don't know what to say. But we're here. And your safe with us." Soothingly saying Alphonse whispered in the shop. His heart broke as he heard his lovers almost controlled breathing echoing in the four walls.

Boo closed their eyes as they finally seemed to calm down. Everything wasn't blurry or muffled anymore, Seth using technics grounded them to the present. Face flushed by the tears they weeped, they felt a gentle hand clean their cheek.

"Hey Boo, do you feel better now?" Cautiously asking the baker. Who, slowly nodded but didn't lift themselves up. Seth, gently placed a hand on their shoulder.

"You want to say here a bit longer?" Whispering and his question got a nod. Alphonse then remembered something that Boo might want.

"Do you want your headphones and phone?" Asking gently he saw Boo think. And then got another nod, slowly letting go of their hand. He felt them grip him but Seth spoke gently to them, taking their hand.

"Don't worry, Sugar. He'll come back, he just needs to get your things okay? I'm here." Soothing their third Seth eased Boo. Who simply nodded and closed their eyes again, letting Alphonse slowly get up and hurry to the back.

After running he started looking for Boo's bag. Finally founding it in a locker Boo had, grabbing the items he needed and rushing back to his partner. As he opened the door he heard Boo's broken speaking.

"I...I feel so....so stupid...why..." Mumbling Boo sobbed a bit more. Seth frowning hushed them and continued to sooth Boo the best he could.

"I know, Sug....I know. But you shouldn't feel that way. That...customer...shouldn't have stated a ruckus like that." Logically explaining to Boo, who only nodded. Alphonse final reached them sat back down, extending the items Boo wanted.

"Thank....you..." Whispering Boo slowly plugged the headphones in and turned their phone on. After fixing the way they laid on Seth's lap they played their music. Alphonse smiled as Boo seemed to become more at ease.

The boys shared a look and smiled, happy they were able to help the third in the trio. And now need to speak with that woman that caused all of this. She from the moment she made Boo cry, was banned from the bakery till one of the boys die.

•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•

I do hope I did the ask justice! And if I did write something down that wouldn't help or work please tell me!!

[outofmydepthatapublicbeach]

comfort from the rain- Julien Baker x fem!reader

summary: Julien takes care of your after a bad day.

jj chats: this was originally gonna be a blurb but then it turned into an entire fic!! i really liked writing it though and i hope you guys like it too!! love y'all <;33

word count: 1100ish

warnings: RPF, undressing (not in a sexual way), kisses, hugs, no use of y/n, pet names used (honey, princess, baby).

feedback is encouraged and i'd love to get some just please be kind!!!

It was one of those days.

The sky had gotten increasingly dark as you walked from the bus stop to your apartment. Funny how after a long day those 2 blocks felt like 4 miles. Trudging through the sidewalk, hands in your pockets trying to keep warm. It was freezing this year, especially at night. The wind wouldn’t stop whipping into you, causing you to freeze even more. When you left in the morning it wasn’t even that cold, so you thought a sweater would suffice for the day. Forgotten was the memories of how cold it gets when the sun goes down. The trees had no leaves due to the coming of winter, the small patches of grass were dirt brown, and your shoes were covered in muddy slush. It seemed like wherever you looked you just saw negativity. 

Your eyes felt heavy from your lack of sleep over the past few days. A co-worker was transferred and so all their leftovers went to you. You made the fatal mistake of trying to be helpful and ended up stuck in a trap, unable to refuse at risk your job, you accepted the later hours and more work. Regret filled your mind. You just wanted to get home.

Finally, your building came into view, only a little while longer until you were within the safe walls of your shared home. An abandoned apartment that you and your long-time girlfriend Julien had transformed into a home. You saw the green painted door and approached it fast, excited to finally be home, sweet, home. You tried the door handle, expecting it to open with ease since Julien was inside. Except it didn’t. It was locked. You sighed before taking your bag off and rifling through for your keys. You moved around a pack of gum, a half empty notebook, wallet, but you found no keys. 

“Come on!” you whisper yelled to yourself, frustrated. And as if the little cloud controllers in the sky could hear you. Suddenly you felt droplets of rain plummet to the ground and hit your body. You had forgotten about the chances of rain today. Great. The rain was cold, soaking into your sweater as you now desperately tried searching for your key. But to no avail. The rain came down hard, it almost immediately drenched your clothes and hair.

Even on a good day it didn’t take much for you to cry, and with your horrible day the chances were up 100%. And with that rain, came your tears. You leaned against the door, starting to gently sob. It was a minute or two before you remembered that Julien was home, and you could have called her at any time and she would have come sprinting to the door to let you in. You quickly clicked on her contact, the call screen filling your phone. 

“Hey baby! Are you almost home?” Julien asked, her voice like a rainbow after a storm.

“Yeah-” your voice cracked halfway through your attempt to communicate.

“Honey, are you okay? You sound like you’ve been crying,” Julien murmurs to the phone, of course she would already know how you're feeling.

“I forgot my keys this morning and I’m locked out and it's raining.” You say, tears still falling from your eyes, mascara running down your face. 

“Oh baby, I’m almost at the door,” as soon as the sound of her voice travels from your phone to your ears the door is already open. You see Julien, bundled up in one of your sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants, her hair soaked. 

Julien immediately surged forward, hugging you tightly despite the downpour of rain and the fact your sweater is soggy. She steps back, following her form back into your home. You feel another wave hit you and you wrap your arms around your love, holding her for dear life. 

About a minute passes by, Julien just holding you, rubbing your back through your clothes. She says “It’s okay baby, you’re home now.” You start to pull away from her, but your hand falls right into hers to which she squeezes it lightly: reassurance. “Let's get you all warm. Then we can go lay down and cuddle?” Her smile is warm, full of love.

Julien leads you into the laundry room. You sit on a bench as she bends down to unlace your boots, then she gently places them to the side. “Can I take off your sweater? I don’t want you to catch a cold.” She asks, hands placed on your sides.  You hum a sound of approval and she continues, gently sliding it over your head and returning to you, clad in a pair of jeans and a bra. She moves to go hang up your sweater, an attempt to dry it out. You reach down to unbutton your jeans, the material tough, sliding them down your legs you feel a shiver. Julien turns back around and graciously takes your jeans from you, hanging them up alongside your sweater. You slip your socks off and leave them next to your boots. 

“Wait right here,” Julien says, kissing you on the forehead before quickly running out the room. She’s back within 20 seconds, a fluffy towel, pair of sweatpants, and a hoodie in her arms. She hands the towel to you, and throws the clothes into the dryer, turning the heat to max. 

“I’m sorry Jules,” you sigh, using the towel more to warm up than to dry off. The guilt of causing an inconvenience to Julien starts the flourish in your mind.

“Why are you sorry princess?” Julien asks, head tilting to the side. “You were doing something before I got home, I didn’t mean to throw a wrench in your plans.”

“You didn’t throw any wrench in any plans baby, I was waiting for you when you called. I’m sorry I left the door locked. I must have forgotten to unlock it after I got out of the shower.” She smiled, then opened the dryer, pulling out your clothes and handing them over to you. They were warm enough to melt your sadness, warm enough to remind you of the positive side. 

“Thank you for this, it means a lot.” You confess to your girlfriend.

“Of course, I’m always here for you and I will do anything you need, anything you want.” 

Quickly you threw on the clothes and then walked over to Julien, leaning in to meet in a chaste kiss. Pulling away you both smiled at each other. “I love you Jules,” You fall into another hug, “So much.”  Your face, buried in her neck.

You could feel her smile in the crook of your neck, and then she sighed, then whispered “Love you, forever princess.”

[fiveredlights]

I saw you mentioned you liked kid fic and had bookmarks— do you have any reccs for maxiel kid fics?❤️❤️

do i ever!!!! one thing about me is that i will eat kid fics up, like i think i’ve read about all the tagged kid fics in the maxiel tag. i love seeing what names authors choose for their children and it just makes me happy. here's a couple and if you want more lmk!

listen to the slow parts by @nobrakesdown [T-7.2k]

Neither Max or Daniel are the one to find the baby. That honor belongs to Christian, and Christian alone.

a lil you, a lil me, a perfect being by 3_33 (@maxcuntstappen) [G-4.8k]

The three of them stand outside, looking at the entrance, August in the middle, clutching tightly onto Max and Daniel’s hands.

“Okay, I need you both to repeat after me.”

“Daniel, we already did this in the car. Can we please just go in?” Max asks, desperately, which only confirms to Daniel the need to remind all of them of the ground rules.

“Baby, please. We need to remember, okay? We are here to meet some new friends and play with them. It is okay if we don’t meet anybody we like. We can always come again. There is no need for us to be upset. Yeah?”

“Yes, Daddy,” August says and drops his hand to give Daniel a mock salute and Daniel really didn’t know he could love someone so much.

“Max,” Daniel implores, knowing that it is as important that his husband acknowledges the plan as much as their kid.

“Yes, yes, Daniel, okay,” Max rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Daniel says. The three of them walk in through the doors.

Or: Daniel and Max visit an animal shelter for their son, August's fourth birthday. Daniel is apprehensive. Max and August are vibrating out of their skin.

That's Where I Am by @flawlessassholes [E-47.8k-6/8]

“Her name is Emily,” Daniel says softly. Max’s eyes snap down to the baby, still sleeping on Daniel’s chest. It’s—she’s snoring a little. In that snuffly way that babies snore. “Short for Emilian.” His eyes snap back to Daniel’s face, so serious, and Max knows it’s a joke, of course, but he still opens his mouth to say— Then Daniel’s face breaks into that wide grin, the real one, the one Max hasn’t seen since. Well. In a while. It feels at once so familiar, and also like seeing something rise from the dead.

There’s a month between Melbourne and Baku. A month to convince Daniel to return to racing. A month to learn and relearn how to love. A month for everything to feel right amidst a season that has felt nothing but wrong. A month to create a family, and a month to maybe lose it all.

keep me in the open by Aurelia (Lily_Rizzy) (@lilyrizzy) [E-11.7k]

"Chrissy Baker sounds like a cunt,” Daniel says, then cringes at the pointed look his mum shoots him. “What? It’s not like they’re old enough to repeat that yet.”

Grace laughs, the sound audible now over Livia’s cries, which are quickly fading into miserable whimpers. Of course, she behaves for grandma, and not the dad who dotes on her endlessly, feeds her, cuddles her, and wipes her smelly ass.

“Three words, Daniel,” she says, eyebrows raised. “Cash, money, bitches.”

or, Daniel navigates bed times, bath times and jealousy, while Max races his last season in Formula One

summer sun after the rain by gentleau [T-11.7k]

“Papà? Is Max your friend?” “He used to be.”

then you came by beforemidnight [G-4.5k]

Daniel looks at Max swiftly but pointedly. Smiling, he looks back at the camera. “Marrying him was the easiest decision of my life.”

(don't let) the days go by citydreaming (@thewindowatkirkland) [M-11.3k]

“Hey” Daniel says “thanks for coming over.”

“Is now a good time? If you are busy I can come back later.”

“Now is fine, she’s already asleep so we should be able to talk without being interrupted.”

“Talk about how you have a daughter.”

Daniel bites his lip nervously “yeah, about that.”

OR: single dad daniel returns to the grid for one final year with red bull, max doesn’t plan on falling in love with him and his daughter, but somehow it happens anyway.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

I want to request an eddie fic where Jason finds out eddie has a crush on reader and maybe she's semi popular or a cheerleader. And jason calls reader over to where he's picking on eddie and says sonething like "hey. Have you heard the news? The freak has a crush on you" and she kisses eddie in front of everyone and confesses that she likes him too and jason is just stunned

Requests have resumed. You can submit yours here!

Currently writing for Eddie Munson. I write for a variety of reader inserts (male, female, gender neutral, readers of color too).

The more details you had to your request, the better it is for me. EX: “What about some fluff for Eddie after he’s had a long day?”

Feel free to look through my masterlist here!

Eddie Munson x Female Reader. 

CW: Some name calling/bullying. 

_____________________________

Eddie know he's being obvious. He should truly tattoo the truth on his forehead. But he tries to give the passing decency that he’s not this deep into the hook and line. Eddie tries to pretend he is not sinking. Whenever you pass him in the hallways, he tries hard not to follow you the entire length of it. 

This all started a year ago, when you moved into town moving in from the city. He’s not sure what caused the move though the town rumors are your mother begged for the change of scenery to stop a wandering eye of your father. But Eddie doesn’t buy into small town gossip. 

He doesn’t have to imagine the bullshit they say about him. He hears it every day and the last thing he wants is to stoop as long as them. So he didn’t think about what the reason what. He only thanked the gods that you did land here in Hawkins. You sat next to him on the first day of school, even asked him if he had a pencil you could borrow. 

Eddie cursed himself when he had to tell you no, but he waltzed over to Mrs. Bakers desk, batted his lashes and got one for you. You laughed at the way Eddie leaned into the edge of the desk, fingers twirling a pencil in the mug she had on her desk. When Eddie returned to you, pencil in hand, he gave you a small smile. “Secured just for you.”

And from the second he heard your laugh, Eddie was a goner. 

He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere--Eddie was supposed to graduate that year. You were supposed to just be the girl that Eddie had a crush on and that maybe flirted with if the heavens would be that gracious. But it’s just supposed to be a fleeting things. 

Now he’s year, repeating his senior year and the fleeting crush burns brighter in his gut every second he sees you. At lunch, if Eddie is behind you in the line, he leans in closer, asking what you think is best off the menu for today. You always laugh. “Let’s add a fruit to that skinny pale you call a lunch,” you tease back. 

It’s entirely obvious. 

So Jason Carver really doesn’t need to slide up behind him now on a Friday, which had been rather mundane, and start a scene. 

“Oh, please, not the freak flirting with you. You can tell him no, you know? If he doesn’t take a hint, let me show you how a real man should treat you and intervene,” Jason spits. 

You scoff and move your tray down the line. “So, Eddie, why don’t I ever see you at the games?” 

Jason had been trying to get with you every since you showed up, but he wasn’t your type. Or he was the type you’d go for at your old school, but Jason always felt like he was a predator, stalking you to seize a praise where Eddie also seemed to keep a distance. Sure you could tell he liked you but he never imposed. He inched in momentarily to make a joke and then just as quickly as you could blink your eyes, he was gone again in the distance. You couldn’t tell if it was just shyness or if Eddie was just like that as a person. But you enjoyed having a slower pace, you got to spend more time feeling Eddie out rather than jumping in immediately to things. 

Eddie turns the heated glare from Jason towards you. His heart nearly skips a beat when he remembers you’re in the cheerleading outfit, the skirt barely brushing the first half of your thighs and the tank exposing your midriff. He’ve forgone your sweater--one that Eddie had seen you wearing earlier. “Sports, well, sports aren’t really my thing. I’m much more into intellectual games.”

You giggle for just a moment and then Jason shoves into Eddie’s back. Eddie mindful of you in front, takes the loss of the milk carton to the floor between your feet and slips an arm around your waist to keep you from hitting the metal railing. Eddie does manage to break your sure fire hip bruise and even keeps your tray up on the railing in the process too. 

“Watch it freak!” Jason hisses. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks you. 

You nod, one hand subconsciously reaching for the chain on his jeans. You reach for it to keep you steady and also because it’s pressing into your thigh and the chill of the building has settled into the metal as well. It almost stings against your skin. “Yeah, you?”

“Peachy,” Eddie smiles down at you. 

“News flash, freak, you really need to watch where you’re going. You’re pathetic with your gawking,” Jason presses on. 

Eddie realizes now Jason is just trying to pick a fight. As the new school year crept on, it felt more obvious to Eddie too that maybe you liked him back. But he still never pushed it. He’d be out of here soon enough. It would never work with him. It would always be fleeting. But now, as Jason seethes down Eddie’s back, Eddie wonders if Jason’s mood is less at the fact that you don’t like Jason and more ten times more pissy because it’s Eddie who you actually like back. 

Eddie’s learned in his years that sometimes not giving in is much more effective. So once Eddie is sure you’re stable, he nods on. “Why don’t you pick a fruit I’ll add to the skinny pale I call a lunch box?”

Your smile dances over your lips. “I’d say sun, because you’re so pale but why don’t we get some potassium in you today.”

“Potassium sounds good to me.”

“And,” you add on, the hand on his chain, trailing up to his neck. Eddie eyes widen and he nearly rears back out of your grasp, but you push up and capture his lips just fast enough to keep him from totally pull away from him. Eddie whimpers into your mouth--as embarrassing as it is, but it is his first kiss that is not game induced or alcohol riddled. It’s a real kiss.

So real it’s got his toes curling in his Reeboks. He feels like a child. The way he wants to whimper again because you’re still kissing him. The point would’ve been made with even just a simple peck. But you’re still holding onto the back of his head, you’re still pulling him even further into you. Eddie’s hands which had been hovering over your skin, dig in just a little on your waist and he tugs you into his body too. 

Your lips finally part, a little wet from the kiss. “And some vitamin kisses too,” you whisper. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie whispers. It is not the thing to say after a kiss. It’s not. And neither is, “I think I died.”

You snort at Eddie’s confession and the cross of his eyes as he buckles just a little in your hold. He catches his own weight but you get arms under his pits, laughing as you. “Eddie, get serious,” you laugh. 

He stands erect again. “Seriously--what was that?”

“I like you too, Eddie.”

It’s five words but Eddie swears they light his skin on fire. “Would-do-a date?” he stumbles out. 

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes--if you want,” he adds on quickly. “Movies? Do you want to go to the movies?” He realizes now he didn’t properly get the question out as his brain is still lagging behind after the kiss. 

“I’d love to go to the movies. Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods. “Yes, sure. Uh, can I call you later after looking in the paper about the releases?”

“I would be disappointed otherwise. I’ll look too, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

You reach for the fruit, which you know you’ve been standing in front of for far too long by the pursed lips of the lunch lady and hand Eddie the banana you’d teased about earlier. He laughs but takes it with a wink. When you look at Jason, he’s pushing out of the lunch line and heading for the side doors to th cafeteria. You’re not sure how much he saw, but you hope it was everything so he’ll finally get the hint. 

Eddie walks you to your table. He hovers for a moment unsure if it’s too much but the end he goes for a peck on your cheek and then flies over to the table he normally sits. You catch the wind of his run pushing his hair up and laugh as his friends greet him with enthusiasm, hands slapping on his back. 

Saturday can’t come quick enough. 

[hearts-hunger]

four weddings and a funeral — part one

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Series Playlist ♫

Series Summary: You and Danny haven't spoken in years. When the two of you stumble upon a week of weddings, funerals, and the hotel rooms in between, will fate rekindle your friendship or put the old flames out altogether?

Chapter Summary: The last place you ever expected to see him again was a funeral.

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Reader | Genres: friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, mutual pining | Word Count: 3.6k | Chapter Warnings: smoking, drinking, funerals

A/N: Danny's cabin fic! The real one! I'm hoping this one goes better than Wild and Blue - I'm sorry again for abandoning it, but I hope this one makes up for it. Also, this fic has nothing to do with the movie of the same title; I haven't seen it, and I just liked the idea of social events pushing a couple together. I hope you like it, my loves! ♡

Of all the places to be without a lighter, you decided this was one of the worst.

You fished around in your little crossbody bag, already knowing you didn’t have one but hoping you’d get lucky. The American Spirit between your lips was stained with the most neutral lipstick you could find; you figured there was no use looking glamorous for a funeral, and you’d gone for an understated look when dressing in your plain black cocktail dress earlier.

You gave a frustrated huff. You hated funerals, and you’d only gone to this one because your mom hadn’t wanted to make the drive alone. The visitation service was for the relative of a friend of hers from years ago; you didn’t even know her name. You’d made sure your mom was settled talking about the good old times with a few of her friends before you’d stepped out to get a little nicotine in your system.

But, no lighter, no luck. You abandoned your search, leaning on the railing of the gazebo that stood on a hill out behind the funeral home.

You hadn’t been standing there two seconds before cigarette smoke wafted past you, and you frowned in confusion. Looking down, you saw someone standing at the foot of the gazebo, leaning back against the post. He held a lit cigarette in his hand.

“Hey!” you called.

He tilted his head back and looked up at you from under a mop of curly brown hair. 

“Hey yourself.”

“Can I borrow your lighter?” you asked. You came down the stairs and around to the side where he stood without waiting for an answer, and he held his lighter out for you without protest.

“Thank you,” you said, returning it to him and taking a drag. You felt a brief sensation of butterflies when your hand brushed his; he was young, about your age, and almost too pretty to be somewhere so ordinary.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said.

He chuckled. “No problem.” He took a long drag and exhaled through his nose. “Needed a break from all the fun inside, huh?”

You gave a wry smile. “Yeah, I guess. I’m not a huge fan of funerals.”

He raised a brow. “No? That’s strange. Most people love them.”

“Okay,” you conceded, and you couldn’t help but smile when he gave a soft laugh. There was something oddly familiar about him, though you didn’t have the faintest idea where you could have seen him before.

“Were you close with... uh, the deceased?” you asked. You felt bad that you couldn’t remember her name and felt heat rise to your face. “My mom was friends with the family years ago, so I’m kinda just here for moral support.”

He brushed a wayward curl back from his face. 

“Her name was Janet Baker,” he said. “She was a really old lady who lived a good, long life, so it’s not so terrible to see her go. She was ready.”

“Did you know her well?” you asked.

He shrugged. “She was a friend of my grandparents’. My mom spent a lot of time with her. I didn’t really know her, I guess, but it’s nice to see how many people loved her.”

You hummed in agreement. “That is nice.” You finished your cigarette and looked around for a place to throw it out. Your mystery friend held out his hand.

“There’s an ashtray up by the back door,” he said. “I’ll take yours when I take mine.”

“Oh,” you said, putting it in the palm of his hand. “Thank you.”

You looked up at him. “I didn’t even introduce myself before I accosted you for a lighter,” you said with a nervous smile. “I’m — ”

“I know who you are, sunshine.”

You blinked. You couldn’t remember the last time somebody had called you that. It had been over a decade, certainly, and in fact the only person who ever had called you that was a skinny thirteen year old boy who lived down the street from you when you were in eighth grade.

“Danny?” you asked, incredulous.

He grinned, flashing that millionaire smile he’d had even when you were kids. “Yep.”

You stepped back and shamelessly looked him over head to toe, all six-and-some-odd feet of him. He spread his arms and did a twirl for you.

“Not too bad, huh?” he asked.

You almost didn’t know what to say. You’d always figured he’d be a good looking boy, but seeing him now — he’d grown into that lankiness, all broad and strong and lean. His curls were bouncy and healthy, streaked with blonde highlights; his features were dark, defined, and beautiful.

“Uh, no,” you said stupidly. “You look... great.”

His smile was a little crooked. “You’re not too bad yourself, sunshine.”

You were surprised at the flood of butterflies you felt. You’d had a crush on him all those years ago, and it seemed that it had grown up with you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” you said. Granted, it was kind of bizarre to run into him again after all these years, especially at a funeral.

He shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ve actually been trying to look as different from middle-school me as possible, so I’m glad it’s working.”

You laughed. “I can understand that.”

He shook his head. “No way. You were always going to be beautiful, sunshine. Even back then.”

You blushed vividly, a surprised and nervous giggle escaping you. “Oh, well, I don’t know about that. But thank you.”

His smile was too genuine and warm for him to be teasing you, and you allowed yourself to enjoy his compliment. You couldn’t let yourself get too far down the rabbit hole, though; you were in a place in your life where you’d be likely to take any attention that was offered, even if it wasn’t in your best interest.

You smoothed your hands over your skirt and tried to think of something intelligent to say. You’d almost settled on something when you felt a drop of rain on your shoulder; you looked up towards the darkening sky and felt a few more drops on your face.

“It’s raining,” you said.

You looked back at Danny to see him watching you with a gentle, decidedly interested gaze.

“Do you want to go back inside?” he asked.

You were a little lost in his pretty hazel eyes. Had they always been that dreamy?

“No,” you said. “I...”

All of a sudden, the heavens opened; rain came fast and heavy, and you would have been drenched if Danny hadn’t grabbed your hand and ran with you around the side of the gazebo and up the stairs. You stopped, a little breathless and damp, under the shelter of the roof while rain poured down around you.

You brushed your wet hair from your face. “It sure is a gullywasher, huh?”

He laughed, and the sound was sweet and musical. “A what?”

You smiled. “A gullywasher,” you said. “A heavy rain that usually doesn’t last that long.”

“I’ve never heard that before,” he said, amused. “But I’m filing it away for future use.”

“I’m pleased to be of service,” you said. The two of you made your way to a bench on the opposite side of the gazebo. “I teach vocabulary for a living, though, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge you for that information.”

He raised a brow. “Is that so?” He angled himself towards you on the bench. “And just how much does that word cost, sunshine?”

You smirked. “Give me a swig of whatever’s in that flask you’re hiding, and we’ll call it even.”

“Me, hiding alcohol at a funeral?” he said, aghast. He pulled the flask you’d noticed earlier out of his inside jacket pocket as he spoke. “Do you always assume the worst about people, or am I just special?”

“Whichever one makes you feel better,” you said, taking a drink when he offered it to you. The oaky sweet taste of bourbon spread a pleasant warmth through you that warded off the chill of the rain.

“So, you said you teach vocabulary for a living,” he said, taking the flask when you handed it back and having a drink of his own. “Does that mean you’re a teacher? Or some kind of weird freelance vocabulary tutor?”

You smiled. “I’m a teacher. Elementary school.”

“That’s great,” he said sincerely. “I bet your students love you. How long have you been teaching?”

The two of you talked for a long while as the rain continued unabated, passing the flask back and forth occasionally. He was eager to hear about your life since you’d parted on the cusp of high school, and you found him a more attentive and interested listener than most of the guys you’d ever tried to tell your life story to.

“Enough about me, though,” you said, when you couldn’t think of one more interesting thing to say about your job or your tiny apartment or your failed and infrequent attempts at dating. “I want to know what you’ve been up to, Danny.”

He looked a little bashful, then, and it endeared him to you.

“Well, you remember how I was always messing around with my garage band?” he asked.

You smiled. “Yeah. The neighbors loved you guys, turning your speakers up as loud as possible when you were playing.” You’d always liked the rock n’ roll they played, but you’d never been brave enough to ask if you could sit and watch them practice.

“Your bandmates were brothers, weren’t they?” you asked. “What was their last name again?”

“Kiszka,” he said. “The twins, Josh and Jake, and their brother Sam who’s my age.”

“Oh, right,” you said, remembering well the matched trio that had taken up all of Danny’s time that wasn’t spent with you. “Are you still in touch with them?”

“I am,” he said. “We actually play professionally now.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” you said, sincere and polite, figuring playing professionally meant they had a semi-regular gig somewhere local.

His smile was knowing. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Sure I do,” you protested. You shivered a little as a cool breeze started to cut through the rain.

“We’re bigger than you think we are,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he was trying to stroke his ego so much as he was trying to convince you of the fact. He shrugged his suit jacket off and draped it over your shoulders. 

“What band would you guess we’re kind of in the same popularity bracket as?” he asked.

You were a little embarrassed at being caught out with what he thought was fake enthusiasm, not wanting to hurt his feelings but still unsure he could be as famous as he claimed to be. Wouldn’t you have known if your childhood friend had made it big?

“I don’t know,” you hedged. You burrowed into his jacket, his warmth and the smell of his cologne a heady mix. “I don’t really listen to the stuff on the radio these days.”

“But you know popular songs,” he pressed. “You don’t live under a rock.”

You shrugged. “I guess.”

“Can I play you one of our songs?” he asked. “Just to see if you’ve ever heard of us?”

You smiled. “Go for it.” You were curious to see if you had ever heard it, but you still held your doubts. His band might have been big in the indie scene or something you had no knowledge of, but that wouldn’t do you much good.

He pulled out his phone, hiding the screen from you so you couldn’t see what he was searching. After a moment, the first few notes of a guitar lick started to play, and you recognized it immediately.

“Ha ha, very funny,” you said, giving him a dry smile. “Now show me your song.”

“This is my song,” he said, looking for all the world to be absolutely serious.

“That’s not your song,” you scoffed. “That’s Greta Van Fleet.” You decided to tease him if he was so intent on teasing you. “And if you don’t show me your song, I’ll just assume you were making the whole thing up to impress me.”

He only laughed. “I hope it did impress you, but I’m not making it up. This is my song. I’m the drummer for Greta Van Fleet.”

You have him a fondly exasperated look, over the joke by now. “Sure. And I’m the lead singer.”

Danny grinned. “That’d be something, wouldn’t it?” He gestured to your bag. “Humor me. Get out your phone and look it up.”

You gave a dramatic sigh and pulled your phone out, googling “Greta Van Fleet members”. The page took a moment to load.

“So?” he asked.

“It’s loading,” you told him.

When the page finally popped up, you had to read it more than once to believe what you saw. There it was, in black and white: Daniel Wagner, dum kit.

“You’re not...” You looked up at Danny. “You’re — you’re really the drummer for fucking... Greta Van Fleet?”

“Minus the ‘fucking’ part,” he said. “We tried to pitch it to the label, but they shot us down.”

You could only laugh. 

“How can you — Danny, how the hell can you be so nonchalant about this? You’re, like, famous famous.”

He chuckled. “I told you. Do you like our music?”

“Yeah,” you said sincerely. “I mean, I’m obviously not a mega fangirl for them, uh, for you, if I didn’t even know your names, but...” You grinned up at him, too charmed by his down-to-earth warmth to feel very starstruck. “I think your music’s some of the coolest stuff to come out since they invented classic rock.”

He smiled. “Thank you, sunshine. That’s sweet of you to say. I’m glad you like it.”

You shivered again, and he reached over and buttoned his jacket around you.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to give you,” he said. “We can go in if you’re too cold.”

“No,” you said, a little too quickly. You blushed. “I mean... I like sitting out here with you.”

He gave a soft laugh. “I like sitting out here with you, too.” He lit another cigarette, leaning his arm on the railing. “So, sunshine, I gotta know... what’s your favorite Greta song?”

“Hm... I’ll have to think about that one,” you said with a teasing smile. “I really like that one everybody says is a Zeppelin rip-off.”

He rolled his eyes with a long-suffering smile. “Which one?”

You laughed. “I think it’s called ‘Flower Power’. It’s very romantic.”

“I wrote the guitar solo for that one, actually.”

Your smile was delighted and surprised. “Did you really? I thought you said you played the drums.”

“I do,” he agreed. “But I know enough about guitar to write some stuff here and there.” He shook his head. “Jake’s an incredible guitarist. He took what I wrote and made it fantastic when we recorded the song.”

You liked the way affection and admiration softened his features. “What do the others play?”

“Sam plays bass and keys,” he said. “He plays piano like nobody I’ve ever seen. Josh — ” He laughed, like he’d remembered an inside joke. “Josh likes to say he plays the vocals.”

You smiled. “So he’s the Robert Plant devotee.”

Danny chuckled. “You should hear his vocals now. It’s really amazing to hear his growth as a vocalist.” He angled his exhale of smoke away from you. “We did mimic a lot of Zeppelin’s style on our first album, and I wouldn’t change it, but I think we’re starting to come into our own sound. It’s exciting to be experimenting with different stuff and figuring out what we like. Our last album went a different direction to what we’d been doing before, that classic rock kind of thing, and I think it turned out really cool.”

“Sure,” you said, a little dreamy. There was something so alluring about the sound of his voice, the interest in his expression when he spoke. You felt that he could be reading a phone book and you’d be invested in it.

“You’re very polite to listen to me go on and on about it,” he said, sincerity and warmth in his tone. “I must be boring you to tears.”

“Not at all,” you said, shaking yourself out of your dreaminess. You felt your cheeks warm. “I’m sorry. I’m just... still reeling from the fact that we bumped into each other after so long, and that you turned into a rock star since I last saw you.” That was partially true, anyway. You wouldn’t spill that you’d been daydreaming about what it would feel like to kiss him for longer than was strictly appropriate.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Maybe it’s fate that we met again,” he said. “What do you think?”

You didn’t say that it would be just the kind of cruel trick fate would play on you to bring you back the guy you’d always crushed on and have him turn out to be a rock n’ roll god that women threw themselves at in every city.

“Maybe it is,” you said with a smile.

“We should keep in touch after this, so we can stay up to date on major life changes.”

You breathed a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll give you a call when I play Madison Square Garden.”

Danny put out his cigarette and looked out towards the funeral home where people were starting to gather out on the porch. The rain was beginning to taper off; ladies in their shiny black shoes were starting to brave the wet grass to get to their cars.

“Looks like people are starting to leave,” he said, a hint of regret in his voice. He looked back to you. “I was serious about getting your number, if you’d like to share it with me. I’ve had a great time catching up with you.”

“Me too,” you said. You put your number in his phone when he handed it to you, and your fingers brushed again when you handed his phone back.

You stood, and you had the strangest feeling of something slipping through your fingers.

“Hey, Danny,” you said, hesitant. He watched your face with patience and interest and waited for you to continue.

“I don’t know how long you’re in town,” you said, nervously fidgeting with a pull in the skirt of your dress. “You probably have somewhere to jet off to, thousands of adoring fans to see...”

He gave a soft laugh, and it gave you a little spark of bravery as you looked up and met his eyes.

“Do you want to get coffee or something this week?” you asked. “I’m off on spring break, and... well, I don’t know. It might be nice. Maybe.”

He smiled, but there was something less than happy in it that made your spirits sink.

“I’d love to,” he said, and you almost thought he meant it. “But I do have kind of a busy week — I'm trying to cram as much into this break as possible, you know?”

You nodded. “Right, of course,” you said quickly, trying not to let it show how much you’d really, really wanted him to say yes or of course or let me move around my entire rock-god schedule just to have coffee with you. Something along those lines.

He fidgeted a little, like he was upset he’d hurt your feelings. 

“Let me take a look, okay?” he said, and you hated the thought that he was saying it out of pity instead of any real desire to see you again. “I’ll text you.”

You smiled, but it was a little strained. “Sure.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course the drummer for Greta Van Fleet wasn’t going to get coffee with you. 

“Can I walk you back inside?” he asked.

“Um...” You saw your mom among the people on the porch. She waved at you, and you waved back.

“I should probably just go meet her by the car,” you said to Danny, feeling shy around him for the first time. Shooting your shot and getting let down gently would do that to you. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course,” he said. He walked with you as far as the gazebo steps. “Thanks for talking to me, sunshine. I’m glad you didn’t have a lighter.”

You couldn’t help a soft laugh. “Me too.”

You didn’t look back as you made your way over to the porch, and your mom was excited to see you when you came up to her.

“I see you found Danny,” she said, a beaming smile on her face. “His mom and I talked for a long time inside.”

“Did you know they were going to be here?” you asked, walking with her to your car.

She shook her head. “I had no idea. But it was nice to see them again, wasn’t it?”

You got in the passenger seat and leaned your head against the window. “Yeah, it was nice.”

You were halfway home before you realized you were still wearing Danny’s jacket. You felt terrible; you reached for your phone to text him and saw he’d already texted you.

Hey, you stole my jacket! I guess we’ll just have to meet up so I can get it back ;)

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to feel that fluttery warmth that was sneaking its way into your chest at the thought of seeing him again.

Read part two!

danny taglist: @tearsofbri @busybeingtrash @myway-late @gotavansleep

fic taglist: @mydarlingdanny @streamsofstardust

gvf taglist: @malany-gvf @spark-my-nature

@gvfrry @ohhey1293 @the-chaotic-cow @mountain-in-springtime @xserenax-13 @stardustjtk @brooke-gvf @weightofdreams-gvf  @jakeydoesit  @gretasmokerising @hayley1623 @doodle417 @finestoflines @brokenbellz @bowievanfleet @s0livagant @strugglingtodoshit @s-u-t @kay-jordan @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @gretavansteph @gretavanbitches @myownparadise96 @luverleaver @weightofdreamz @greatervanfleet @maedesculpaeusoubi @jakekiszkasbestie @pineapple-photographer @baguettejuliette @alexxavicry @levi-wants-ur-bones  @carlybubs @cowboysamkiszka @dannyandthekiszkas @jordierama

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here!

[senditcolton]

maybe this Christmastime, you'll realize

song inspo: santa doesn't know you like i do word count: 3k warnings: none, just pure holiday fluff (christmas centric)

a/n: i'm back!! and what better way to celebrate the conclusion of my graduate degree by giving you all a barely edited, written last night, self-indulgent fic to feed my delusion of Tyson Jost being madly in love with me. glad to be back and can't wait to write for you all again!!

The heat that blasts from the oven is a welcome sensation, considering that your old apartment often struggled to keep in the warmth from your central heating. You lean in, your oven mitt clad hand reaching and grasping the cookie sheet.

You’d be the first to admit that you weren’t much of a baker. That was never your ‘job’ during holidays with your family. But you figured you would try this year since you wouldn’t have the opportunity to enjoy the homemade goodies your family crafted.

That was the reason you chose to bake cookies. The reason you chose to bake almond butter cookies was because of someone else. Someone who also wasn’t able to enjoy the comforts of home this year.

As if he could hear your thoughts, a knock echoes through your apartment. You quickly finish transferring the cookies from the still hot baking sheet onto the cooling rack before wiping off your hands and running towards the front door. You swing open the worn wood and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you see Tyson standing there.

“Hey. Happy Christmas Eve Eve.”

“Is that the official name?” he laughs, walking into your apartment like it was his own. Which considering how often he was over at your place, it might as well be.

“You haven’t seen that episode of Friends?”

“Guess not,” he shrugs, taking off his coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“Thanks. I tried my hand at baking.”

“And you didn’t burn the apartment down?” he smiles and you wish you could stop the way your knees weaken at the sight.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” you laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You better be nice to me or else you won’t get any almond butter cookies.” This time, you didn’t want to stop the trill of your heart at the way his eyes brightened at your words.

“Almond butter?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards the kitchen, a silent invitation for him. He took your encouragement in stride, breezing into the other room and you were thankful that he was out of earshot when you said your next words.

“I made them just for you.”

You did. You also opened your home to him, welcoming him any day during this, the week of Christmas. But that was just because you didn’t want him to be lonely. That was all. That was the only reason.

It definitely wasn’t because of the crush you had been harboring for him since the first day you met.

No, absolutely not.

You take a deep breath before following Tyson into the kitchen, turning the corner only to find him already munching on a cookie, a grin on his face and some crumbs stuck on his facial hair.

“I know they’re probably not as good as Grandma Jost’s but –” Tyson cuts you off with a gentle call of your name.

“Stop. These are delicious. You did a really good job.”

“Thanks,” you say. It’s only then that you spy the backpack that he carried in with him, one that was now placed on your kitchen table. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Tyson says, as if he just remembered it himself. You are even more curious when you see the blush spread on his cheeks, the rosy color having nothing to do with the lingering cold from outside. “I need your help.”

“Okay?”

“You mentioned that you were in charge of wrapping presents at your house for the holidays. And I’m really bad at it. I mean, usually I struggle through it or just put everyone’s gifts in bags…”

You gently interrupt his explanation with a laugh of your own, your brain goes over all the gifts Tyson has given you; mostly presented to you in gift bags.

“But since I can’t go home this year, I kind of want to – I don’t know – make more of an effort. Make it more exciting for whenever my family does get their presents. If that makes any sense.”

“That makes perfect sense, Tyson,” you reply. “Sit. Eat your cookies. I’ll get the wrapping paper.”

Only a few short moments pass before you find yourself sitting next to Tyson, wrapping the stockpile of presents he brought over and listening to him talk about anything and everything: details about the gift you were currently wrapping, his shopping adventures, the hockey season so far, friend and family updates, anything. You occasionally interrupt with questions about how he wants the presents decorated but he gives you a lot of creative freedom which you slightly admonish him for.

“Tyson, they should feel like they’re from you.”

“I’ll pick out the bows.”

That was how you continued, your focus on the folds and creases of the paper in front of you while Tyson talked.

You had gone through most of the gift he presented to you, your concentration entirely on the folding and taping that you perfected long ago. Tyson had gone quiet for a moment but you weren’t that concerned as you were still able to hear him rustling around in the bag that held all your bows, finding whatever color he chose for the current gift. You are just about to put the last piece of tape on when you feel Tyson’s fingers gently press against your head.

Your eyes snap back to him, only to see that adorable crooked grin on his face. You are pretty sure you knew what happened and your thoughts are only confirmed as you reach up and feel the paper of the bow pressed onto your hair.

“Is this the one you want for this gift?”

“It looks pretty cute on you,” he says and you once again have to force yourself to take a deep breath before your body acts of its own volition, revealing your feelings in probably the worst way.

“I’m sure it’ll look much better on the present,” you quip, taking it off your hair and replacing the tape before sticking it onto the silver paper. “Ta-da!” You push the present off to the side, adding to the slowly growing pile. “What’s next?”

You turn your attention to Tyson, but this time, he’s the one distracted. His fingers tap against his phone,  typing out few quick messages, a small grin appearing on his face occasionally. You wait for a few minutes, just watching him until he feels your gaze and looks up towards you.

“Huh?”

“Which present is next?”

“Oh, last one,” he says, pulling the final gift out of his backpack and handing it to you. “This one is for Kacey.”

“Was that who you were texting?”

“No um, that was Mikayla. She’s this girl I matched with on a dating app a little while ago. We’re just getting last minute details ready before our date tonight.”

His words give you literal pause as your scissors stall on the wrapping paper, your smooth precise cut turning into a jagged edge.  

“Tonight?” you ask, your question answered with an affirmative hum from him. You try to act nonchalant, a shrug lifting your shoulders as you attempt to focus back on the task at hand. “Seems a little odd – so close to Christmas.”

“Yeah, but it was the best day for her and I don’t have anywhere else to be, y’know?”

You try not to let his words sting, knowing he doesn’t mean them maliciously. He wasn’t with his family and you were just a friend. He didn’t have any commitments because he wasn’t committed to you. That was the simple truth.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, forcing your attention onto the cherry red wrapping paper in your hands; the one thing you could control. “I think a gold bow would look good on this one.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Tyson replies, typing out one last quick message before diving back into the bag to find the color you requested.

A few short minutes later, the presents are wrapped and placed back into Tyson’s pack, safe and ready for their return to his apartment. You watched from your couch as his throws his coat over his broad frame before swinging the backpack onto his shoulder.

“If you want, you can always come over tomorrow. I need some help finishing off those cookies,” you playfully tease, trying not to let your heart get too attached to the idea of spending Christmas Eve with him next to you.

“I might take you up on that,” Tyson says, shooting you a gentle smile before opening your door and leaving, the chill sneaking in from the outside and finding a way to wrap around your heart.

You know you had no right to be upset. Tyson wasn’t yours. He didn’t know the way you felt about him and there was no certainty that he would even share your feelings. He might only ever see you as a friend and if that was the case… he should be free to find someone who does love him.

But there was this stubborn part of you that couldn’t imagine anyone else loving Tyson as much as you loved him. You’ve been there through the good and bad. You knew his favorite songs. You knew how to make him laugh. And you would always pick up when he called.

Who else could say that?

You sigh, gently telling yourself that there was nothing you could do about it tonight.

Perhaps Christmas Eve might bring forth some holiday magic. Or maybe you should just throw in the towel, pray for New Year’s to come quickly so you could leave this heartache behind along with the holiday season.

You weren’t sure which to wish for so you just crawled into bed, feeling bluer that ever before as you fell asleep, trying not to think of someone else’s lips pressed against Tyson’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The lights in the tree blurred as you try to hold back you tears. You always seemed to cry during the holidays; you never really knew why. It just always came about this time of year. ‘Tis the season, right?

But this year, you could pinpoint the exact person that caused your tears to fall. Tyson Jost. The worst part about it was that it wasn’t even his fault that you were crying. It was all yours.

You woke up after a listless night of sleeping. When you went to check your phone, you hoped to see a message from Tyson but to your disappointment but not surprise, there was no notification on your screen. You managed to roll yourself out from underneath your covers and go about your morning routine before sending a text to him, saying that you hoped his date went well and that the offer to come over tonight was still on the table.

That was over twelve hours ago and all you received was radio silence from him.

Perhaps that is why you found yourself curled up underneath your tree, staring up at the lights in the boughs, trying to push back tears. It was a stupid reason to cry just like it was stupid to fall for your best friend. Stupid to think that he could ever see you as anything more. Stupid to think that maybe this Christmas would be the one where it all changed.

Stupid to spend your money on a new watch, wrap it up for him with a note documenting your feelings in the hope that he would open it tonight, here, underneath your tree while you both ate the cookies you made specifically for him.

Your fingers trace over the silk ribbon, fidgeting with the bow as the minutes tick by, your hope dwindling with them.

The receipt for it was still in your closet in one of your purses. You could return it on Tuesday, pretend like you never had this grand scheme and go back to being friends with Tyson. Give yourself another year to get over him. Maybe next year you finally would.

A heavy sigh escapes you as you spare one last glance down at the parcel in your hands before placing it back underneath the tree with all the other presents that your friends and family had sent to you.

It was a silly idea, an almost childish Christmas dream and now, you had to wake up. Tyson was dating other people and sooner or later, he would find someone who could give him everything you could and possibly more. Perhaps he found her last night and woke up this morning to her curled up in his arms and that feeling of love just struck him and if so, there was nothing you could do and –

The knock on your door startles you out of your spiraling thoughts, your hand hitting a few ornaments hanging down from the branches. You quickly grab them, stabilizing the fragile decor before you lift yourself off the floor, your blanket pooling beneath you before you wander to the front door.

You had no idea who was knocking at this time of night but you must have been too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to care because you opened the door without a second thought. It took you a minute to fully register the person standing on your doorstep but when you saw those chocolate curls and those big brown eyes, you feel a sense of calm sweep over you.

Tyson always pulled that feeling from you. Even when he showed up unannounced on Christmas Eve.

Although you were happy to see him, the expression on your face was one of confusion. Why was he here, now, without a word of warning, after ignoring you for almost a full 24 hours? You are about to ask those questions but before you could get a word out, Tyson speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

His words catch you off-guard, the meaning behind them not yet clear to you.

“For what?” you ask him. Your breath shallows as he turns his gaze to you and you are struck by the earnestness reflecting in his eyes.

“For not seeing you,” he replies, stepping over the threshold of your apartment and closer to you. “For not seeing how wonderful and amazing and beautiful you are.”

“Wha – what’s happening?” you question, his words sending shockwaves through your body.

“I think a part of me always knew; that you were the one. But I ignored it for whatever reason. Fear, indifference, whatever. But last night, when I was on a date with another girl, all I could think about was you. How you make me laugh, make me smile. Pick me up and encourage me when I’m down. Do silly inconsequential things for me without expecting anything in return.”

Tyson continues to speak, becoming more assured and confident with every word, punctuating each sentence with a step closer to you.

“How you went out of your way to make cookies that remind me of home so I would feel less alone this holiday season. No one else has done anything like that for me.”

You had to be hallucinating or dreaming or something. This felt straight out of goddamn Hallmark movie – it couldn’t be real life. It was a fantasy brought on by sugar and heartache. But when Tyson reaches out to you, gently grasping your hands in his, you can feel the warmth of his touch run through you, warm and as real as it ever was.

“And I realized last night, alone in my bed, that I didn’t need the cookies, the presents, the bows and ribbons to feel like I was home,” Tyson confesses, his voice becoming softer as he pulls you closer. “Whenever I’m with you… that’s when I’m home. You are home to me. And I’m sorry for not being able to tell you sooner. I’m sorry it took this long for me to realize it.”

Tyson silences, looking into your eyes and you know he’s waiting for your answer but you were still trying to fully understand this whole situation. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man in front of you, the man that you had a crush for almost an entire year, just came to your house in the middle of the night and confessed his feelings to you.

Your body slightly jumps at the sound of your front door closing, the breeze pulling it shut but Tyson gently rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands, soothing you. A small jingle of a bell sounds from above you, brought on by the gust of air from the door. The noise pulls both you and Tyson’s attention away from each other towards the ceiling and you feel your cheeks warm at the sight of the green leaves with white berries, tied together with ribbon, hanging above you. The warmth intensifies as Tyson turns his gaze on you once again, that mischievous look in his eyes.

“Mistletoe? Really?”

“It’s tradition,” you mutter, your tongue finally being able to twist itself into words.

“Well, it is Christmas after all. I guess we shouldn’t break tradition,” he grins.

You force yourself to breathe as Tyson leans closer to you, your eyes fluttering shut when you feel his forehead press against yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your cheeks but his movements stall and when you don’t feel the gentle press of his lips against yours, you slowly reopen your eyes.

Tyson is still standing there, his lips only mere centimeters away from yours. It’s only then that you realize you’ve never given him a response to his confession. Haven’t yet told him that it was everything that you had been hoping to hear from him. But how could you possibly respond when it didn’t feel like there were words in the English language to describe the depth of your feelings?

The answer was simple.

You respond by lifting yourself up those final inches and pressing your lips against his. You pour every emotion you felt into that kiss and you could feel a piece of you settle when Tyson kissed you back with as much passion.

And you knew that this – wrapped up in Tyson’s arms underneath the mistletoe, his lips against yours – was the best present you could have ever received this year.

[g-kat423]

Random question time!Favorite Alcina headcanon?What would you have picked for your ideal re8 DLC?Any headcanons for the daughters? ps hope you are able to overcome your writer’s block, but no pressure!

Hey thanks! It’s been so long since I’ve gotten actual questions. Granted, I’ve mostly had my ask box off.

Hmmm, I wouldn’t say it’s a favorite headcanon because I’m not really sure what to pick, but one headcanon I firmly stick by is that Alcina (in a canon compliant universe) never wanted children. I’ve seen a few variations floating around that I’ve disliked. One being that she wanted children, but physically couldn’t have them. Another about her not having any children because she was a lesbian. Then of course the one that she had 3 daughters named Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela who died so she named her new daughters after them. Either way, all of those headcanons end with her current daughters fulfilling this lifelong dream of being a mother. I cannot see canon Alcina wanting to be a mother at all. Alcina feeling that bond between herself and the girls was a surprise to her. I’m sure them being adults had a lot to do with that, perhaps for the companionship and her need to control. She stresses the importance of their obedience.

Spoilers for my fic The Fall of the House of Dimitrescu. There’s a reason why I did what I did with Alcina’s backstory. I hated that people assumed she wanted children and couldn’t have them so not only did I make her capable of having a baby, I had her kill it. It wasn’t with malicious intent considering the context of the situation and her not being the villain we know her to be just yet, but she was relieved.

My ideal DLC would have been the lords each having their own section dedicated to showing how they’d normally operate prior to the events of village. I cannot remember the blog, but I reblogged their art post where they literally had the perfect idea for each lord’s DLC. I wish that we had gotten what the Baker family got for re7. Re7 was loaded with DLC including the goofy ass Jack’s Birthday one, but it was fun. I wish we could have gotten something like the banned footage DLCs.

As for the daughters, god, I’ll admit I don’t give them as much thought as I do Alcina. Everything I’ve written about them (within a canon universe, not Something Sweet since that’s a complete overhaul with major changes) has mostly been based on what we see in game. I should probably put more thought into who they were when they were actually living. I don’t think they remember it or maybe they don’t want to. I always think about the fact that Alcina picked names for them so their names clearly weren’t Bela, Cassandra, or Daniela. Kind of freaky if you think about it because imagine they do retain their memories and personalities prior to their rebirth and then this strange woman who watched them die and be devoured by flies is telling them they have new names. Like, basically just brainwashing them into being what she would want out of adult daughters.

Also, thank you. I hope so too. I think I just fear what’s in my head not turning out how I want on paper, or document rather, and it’s psyching me out of writing at all.