#i might work on flaky next or...

[an-aura-about-you]

guys I must be bored I'm contemplating making puff pastry

[aronaut]

Warmth

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x gn!reader Summary: You're a former researcher that was working before the blacksite lockdown. Forgotten and abandoned, you have no other choice but to work with a certain shopkeeper. Needless to say, you have your differences. Warnings: Explicit mentions of blo/od and inj/ury in the beginning. Not beta read Word count: 4,191 (This is a drabble I plan to include in a long list of loosely connected ideas. Consider it the middle of an enemies to qp partners plot :] )

...The low, ominous groan and creak of metal is enough to put anyone on edge, you think, as you traverse the seemingly endless halls.

Rifling through the cabinets and drawers, scrounging up scraps left behind by hasty thieves, the unsettling ocean ambience is all you have for company. You wonder, just when did your life derail so horrifically, when the sight of a crumpled body on the ground fills you with elation. The heavy, steel doors slide open with little fanfare. Beyond the mangled corpse, your eyes immediately set on a black light laying just a few feet away. Stepping over the expendable, you collect the item. There is little battery left in the light you note, before stashing it in the worn messenger bag slung over your shoulder.

With a heavy sigh, you eyes scan below. Scarlet scatters across the floor in a chaotic spray, drawing your eyes towards the deep crimson pool steadily crawling towards the toe of your shoe. In the center of it all, lays the head of a late expendable, expression locked in a display of permanent shock. From below their eye, a coat of flaky, dry red webs down from their chin to all the way down their shoulder.

The collar of the expendable’s wet suit is torn completely; black shreds of neoprene fray out from below the sternum. It's hard to tell the rubber from the darkened crimson spilling out from the brutal tear in the prisoners neck.

Z-90– the Wall Dweller, you determine. Recent too, if the wet shine on expendable's neck is anything to go off of. The considerably uneaten state of the body leads you to believe it might still be in the area, biding it's time until it can claim the expendable's companions as well.

Or, well, possibly even you…

With that thought in your mind, you crouch down, your hands roaming over surface of the expendable’s clothes for any other possible hidden goods. Sparing glances every so often behind you, straining your ears all the while, you’re cautious during your search.

Any research the expendable might have had is completely useless now, waterlogged with sticky blood and pasted to the body. Attempting to reach into the pockets only rewards you with a sharp jab in your palm, the tips of your fingers cold and wet with spilled vial fluids.

Withdrawing from the body, you finally stand back up to full height. The sudden rush to your head is enough to make you sway, your stomach starting to pinch from the overwhelming, metallic stench permeating the room. With a shaky exhale, you urge yourself forward.

The persistent stinging in your eyes doesn��t do any favors for you as you try and navigate the dimly lit halls of the facility, an incredibly sore ache pulsating in your feet with every step. You are… so tired.

A distant roar of an entity sounds suddenly, reverberating across multiple rooms and rocking the facility. The floor rumbles faintly below your feet, and you can almost barely make out the disorderly sound of blinking lights. Bracing yourself against a wall, you wait out the tremors.

Though exhaustion tugs at you, you acknowledge that you cannot rest here. The dark corners of the room whisper dangerous promises, and as you traverse the rooms you can’t shake off the ever persistent feeling of being watched.

Any human in this place is simply prey, and as you tuck your hands into the pockets of your tattered, beaten white coat, your mind rings out with a grim thought; if every human here is prey, you are high game.

Approaching the next door, the screen doesn’t label it with a number but instead a red line. Taking the keycard from your lanyard, you unlock the door, and step inside. Instead of being met with lockers and scattered drawers, you find yourself in a familiar office. The small room is crowded with desks, computers that have long since powered off, and fake potted plants that fill you with a bittersweet sense of longing. Tucked under the desks, the rusted office chair beckon you to rest, but you push the thought out.

There is no doubt in your mind that he is getting aggravated over the fact that you’ve taken this long already.

Behind the desks there is another door, bracketed by two item lockers long since rummaged through. It’s marked by another red line, but you already know where it leads.

The door opens with an exhale, the frigid air greeting you as you walk on through. Unlike the rooms before, this room is brightly lit, the florescent lights buzzing loudly. Your eyes burn momentarily from the sudden change, taking a moment to adjust. The hall is short this time, and in your view you see another door marked ‘50.’

Your bag is disappointingly light on your shoulders, only holding a gummy flashlight, a few batteries, and the black light you just found. You’re not looking forward to the condescending comments that awaits you behind that door.

Resigning to your fate with a heavy sigh, you begin to trudge forward, but stop short suddenly when you hear what sounds like a loud flash, followed by a furious shout and the rush of footsteps. You only have a split second to react, hastily throwing yourself into a locker, the clang of the metal door muted by the hissing of an opening door.

Laughter rings out in the room, accompanied by a multitude of heavy footfalls. The light peaking through the vent of the locker momentarily obscures as you count three expendables pass by, completely unaware of your presence. They are loud and boisterous, a harsh rhythmic squeak of their boots resounding as they run through the hall, the dull thuds of drawers being pulled out to their full extent in a fruitless endeavor to find more loot. They don’t stay long, and soon enough you hear the hydraulics of the door once more and the footsteps dissipate.

You wait a minute before exiting the locker, hurriedly making your way to the fiftieth door. There is a low, agitated hiss drawing out low from the ground, echoing through the tunnel next to your calf. Crouching down, you crawl on into the vent, your elbows clanging against the thin metal.

Emerging on the other side, you find yourself once more in the confinement of Sebastian’s shop. It’s possibly the smallest room in the facility, the walls looming over you in a claustrophobic fashion. Or, perhaps, it’s just overcrowded with stacked crates strewn about, the floor littered with various gadgets inoperable by you, and piles of paper files scattered across the floor. Your eyesight leads to probably the most useless thing in the room, roaming over the giant tail fin flicking against the wall and up the elongated tail it was attached to.

Sebastian is rubbing furiously at his eyes, lure blinking not dissimilarly to the way the room lights do when in the presence of Z-283. He’s grumbling low beneath his breath, mumbling incoherently between rushed clicks and growls.

When he’s done, he acknowledges your entrance with very little care,

“About time. Stock’s so low, I’ve had to sell half-charged flashlights to the last gaggle of idiots,” his arms drop, and he glares to you. “What the hell took you so long?”

The messenger bag drops from your shoulder with little care, the metal of the flashlights clinging with the floor through the thin material. You fix him with a similar expression to his, squinting up at him.

“Trying not to get caught, asshole. If you want shit sooner get it yourself next time.”

He chuckles sardonically at you.

“Please, I’ve got better things to do,” he responds. “You keep up your half of the deal, and I keep up mine.”

You roll your eyes pointedly, breaking away from the staring match when the brightness of his lure starts to cause dark spots to swim in your vision. Crouching down, you begin to rifle through the bag. He looks unimpressed at the pitiful amount of batteries you set beside yourself, but you do notice the room getting ever so slightly brighter when you pull out the black light.

“Just keep being a good little errand boy, and your efforts won’t go unpunished,” he purrs. You clench your teeth, face warming in anger.

“Oh yes, your part. Totally. I go out, digging around for junk, risking my neck to monsters and delinquent prisoners, while you get to sit in here and play retail worker,” you ramble, frustrated, rolling the gummy flashlight over to his general direction with a not too gentle shove. “Fairest trade in the world.”

Your heartbeat picks up ever so slightly as you feel a shadow cast over you, the bulb of Sebastian’s lure hanging overhead as he leans down towards you, slow. You urge yourself to keep his gaze and stay there as his smile stretches into a sharp grin, light glinting off the razor sharp fangs. His hand stretches towards you, and your shoulders jolt in a half-flinch as they reach towards your neck. You don’t look down from his eyes as his claws pull at your lanyard, the thin fabric brushing against the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows furrow as he pinches the card between his thumb and index, his claw sweeping over it’s laminated surface.

“Would you like to switch roles, ‘doctor?’”

You reach up, and promptly slap his hand away.

Instead of retaliating, Sebastian merely laughs at you.

“I didn’t think so,” he drawls, before slowly ascending back to full height, away from you.

The bag, now empty, sits lightly on your shoulder as you pull it over your head. It’s weight is nearly nonexistent. You approach one of the stacked storage containers and with a tired groan plop down, leaning back and stretching your legs out in front of you.

It’s instantaneous relief, you note, your joints popping in rapid succession of one another as you stretch your arms up, crossed at the wrists. Your shoulders are practically buzzing, no doubt having been pinched at some point during your venture in the facility. Your knees creak and ache from crawling through vents and desks, your legs stiff and feet beyond sore. After your stretch, you slump down in your seat with a sigh. Finally, you get to relax.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Ugh.

“Resting, Sebastian.” You respond dryly. “I’m freaking tired, okay? Leave me be.”

Sebastian simply scoffs. You don’t acknowledge him as your eyes draw shut.

“Go somewhere else for that, I have a business to run.”

“And where do you suggest I go? Where is there that doesn’t have a wall dweller lurking or some other hellish atrocity waiting to get at me?” You argue, opening your eyes to challenge him with a glare.

“That isn’t my problem,” he leans down slightly, arms crossed and third arm tucked in awkwardly. “Leave before someone comes in.”

You mirror his pose, crossing your arms and tilting your chin up at him.

“Get out.”

You shuffle in place, legs crossing. Sebastian scowls, growling low in his throat. His arm shoots out, pointing to the vent and shouting.

“Get OUT!”

Your shoulders jump, but you’re stubborn. Drawing your arms around yourself tightly, you shout back.

“Screw you, man! There isn’t anyone coming!”

Sebastian hisses, the only warning you get before he darts down toward you, your arms pushed into your chest as he holds you in a tight grip, claws pinching your skin underneath the thin fabric of your coat.

He is directly in your face, eyes glowering at you as he spits,

“You absolute, goddamn MORON. If you do not LEAVE-”

He cuts himself off suddenly, and in your peripherals you catch the way the fins on the side of his head seem to twitch bizarrely. Soon you hear the pang of metal resounding off the walls of the vent and echoing into the room. With a quick, uttered curse, Sebastian quickly draws back, but he doesn’t let you go, instead pulling you up and with him.

Your arms sting in his hold, your face twisted in a grimace as suddenly your feet are no longer touching the ground. The weight of your body hangs as he effortlessly lifts you up.

“What the hell???” you wheeze. “Let me go!”

A cold hand slaps over your mouth harshly, clasping your face nearly entirely as Sebastian growls.

“Shut the hell Up!”

You get little warning as Sebastian all but stuffs you behind him, crowded by his tail. You try and leverage yourself with his tail, pushing up with your arms as your chest pressing uncomfortably against him. His tail coils and folds in response, pushing over your chest and weighing heavily till you fall back to the floor. The air punched out of your lungs, and you let out a strangled gasp. Panic seized you as you wriggled beneath him, writhing in place to try and breathe. Noticing your struggle, Sebastian lifts his tail ever so slightly, no longer crushing you. You jumped at the opportunity, attempting to sit up before Sebastian’s third arm came down, hand tangling into your hair and shoving you back down.

“Stay down,” he says, low, with a hint of a threat tracing the edges of his voice.

The weight of his hand on your head disappears, and you watch from behind him as his attitude immediately shifts from disgruntled to a calculated calm.

“Welcome, welcome!” he greets, near automatic and practically off a script. You cannot see who he is talking to from your position, but based off the sound of shuffling and whispers, you assume another group has just entered. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not gonna hurt you. Despite what you have seen, heard and/or been told, my name is Sebastian.”

He goes on with his typical spew, and you surrender to the solid weight laying over you. It’s a bit awkward for Sebastian, you realize, as he attempts to move along with his usual transactions now that the upper part of his tail is occupied keeping you hidden. You feel almost smug about it, counting it off as a win in the mentally constructed chart in your mind that keeps loose tabs on the constantly tipping scale between you and Sebastian. It’s not like you want to be seen by the expendables, as it risks the possibility of them reporting back to Urbanshade that one of their esteemed researchers were still alive down here and working against them with the active saboteur. Though, given how long you and Sebastian have spent down here, you highly doubt that is likely to happen anytime soon. The expendable project was a long going mission that has yet to bare any fruit.

As Sebastian drawls on, you can feel his voice reverberating through his tail. As much as you hate to admit it, the rumbling was soothing. The weight of him was less of a burden than it was before, instead it became rather pleasant in grounding you, not unlike a weighted blanket… and a cooled one, at that.

The transaction seemed to be dragging on longer than usual, or maybe that was just you. The events of the day quickly starting to catch up with you, slowing your perception of time as you stared up hazily at the ceiling, with Sebastian’s elbow and back occasionally coming into view. Pressing against the wall, you could feel the way the facility subtly rocked in the waters. Holding your ear to the ground, you could almost hear the ocean, the cold metal soothing against your flushed face.

You could barely make out the voices of the prisoners, and what you could you pieced together that they must be attempting to negotiate. Puffing under your breathe, you smiled, bidding them luck with that endeavor as your eyes drew shut.

When your eyes opened once more, the room was dark. You could no longer hear the prisoners, or even Sebastian for that matter. Lifting your head, you realized also that the weight over you seemed to have disappeared. Sebastian was no longer laying over you.

You couldn’t make out what was in front of you, but you still attempted to look around. Your thoughts were slow and disorientated, but slowly you discerned that you must have fallen asleep. How you managed in such an inconvenient expression, next to Sebastian of all things, you couldn’t fathom. You suppose you were more exhausted than you originally thought.

He must’ve moved you, you think. You could imagine the sneer he must’ve made at realizing you had fallen asleep. Where did he put you, exactly? You jostled awake fully at the thought that perhaps he threw you out in the cold, or simply dumped you in the nearest, darkest room to be preyed on by the experiments.

At this thought, you rushed to push yourself up with your hands, having awoken on your stomach. The floor was… odd in texture. It was rougher, not the smooth, biting cold metal that you were accustomed to. It was, also, ever so slightly warm. As you pushed against it, you noticed that while it was solid it also had a little give to it. Your mind reeled for answers, trying to piece together just exactly where or what you were laying on, when all of the sudden you realized you were moving. Or, more like, the ground was moving.

Your breath quickened as you slid ever so slightly down, and it registered finally that your legs weren’t supported by anything, instead hanging over an edge. Your thighs held together as your arms scrambled to hold on to whatever it was you were on, leaning forward with your face pressed up against something cool.

You could smell an an odd, distinct combination of what you could only describe as leather and fish. Cold air gently brushed down your forehead as you heard someone sigh.

Adjusting to the darkness, you could finally make out what was in front of you– or below you, rather.

Below you was a chest belonging only to Sebastian.

Clad in a white dress shirt and draped in a rough leather jacket, his chest rose steadily under you, raising you in tandem. Looking to his face, all three of his eyes were closed and you couldn’t make out his lure in the darkness. His expression was… peaceful. Relaxed. Despite this, you could see the dark crevices in his forehead and eyes, groves crafted and paved by long-term stress that he refused to let on existed. He was completely unguarded and vulnerable, and considering your position you concluded that he had willingly put himself there.

But why?

You couldn’t comprehend it. Maybe it was a mistake? You had never seen him asleep before… Given all of the traits he was spliced with, you wondered how long he could really go without sleep? Maybe he slept when you were gone? That wouldn’t make sense. He’s a research-fiend by nature, he’d never let a potential customer pass him by.

However, looking more closely, you took in his features. Unlike the rest of his body, his face was smoother; More akin to a human. Between his eyes and on the bridge of his nose, there was a very faint line– barely noticeable even in the light– a paler blue than the surrounding skin. A scar he had when he first came into the facility as a convict. As a human…

You doubt even Sebastian could reject the very notion of sleep. Beneath it all– the razor sharp teeth, the blue scales, and thin web veils on his ears and clawed fingers, you never stopped believing that he was human. You doubt he did, either.

It still didn’t make sense for you to be here, but that didn’t matter, because there was the definite possibility of him screaming at you when he woke up and saw you there in despite of his protests.

You gently tried to creep down, stretching your leg and trying to feel the ground with your toe. You stretched and stretched, flexing your foot before realizing that even at this angle you couldn’t feel the floor. You were up too damn high. Looking down, you could hardly make out the messy floor.

In the midst of your struggling, you felt a rumble pass through you from Sebastian’s chest. His hands, which you hadn’t at first noticed were resting on your hips, slowly caressed over your back before stopping at your shoulders. You laid there, frozen, peaking cautiously up at Sebastian to see he was, thankfully, still asleep.

Your situation got that much more difficult, you realized, as his arms laid heavy over your back and prevented you from moving any further without disturbing the serpent, likely into waking.

Huffing a sigh, you relented.

You still couldn’t see very well in the darkness, and you would no doubt sprain something trying to dismount Sebastian. He’s so cranky awake, you don’t want to imagine what he’d be like shorted a few hours of beauty sleep.

And as much as you loathed to admit it, the position wasn’t… uncomfortable. You felt warm, but not stuffy despite the room. Sebastian was like a pillow with two cold sides, and you discovered that as you sunk back down into him, that his skin seemed to absorb your heat.

You shut your eyes.

There was no point in struggling to leave, or worrying about Sebastian’s reaction right now. Bottom line is, you could go for a couple more minutes of rest. Chances are Sebastian would tell you to hop right back to work first opportunity he got, so you might as well take advantage of the situation.

Your breathing slowed, and as you relaxed you could just barely make out a very soft rumbling crackle coming from Sebastian’s chest, reminiscent of a cat’s purr. His fingers absently curled over your shoulders, the weight of them strong and comforting. You could get used to this, you thought, and didn’t bother to fight against the absurd belief as your thoughts slowed down, sleep creeping in.

A shrill scream roars outside, and the body beneath you jolts violently, jostling you in the process. You hear lights flicker discordantly, before hushing entirely.

You don’t dare to open your eyes as you feel Sebastian move under you, hearing him exhale loudly. From behind the lids of your eyes, you notice the room get slightly brighter. Sebastian is awake.

You brace yourself to be grabbed, or even thrown, as his claws curl that much tighter over your shoulders. But that doesn’t happen.

His hands go lax, and you feel him sink back down, his third arm coming to rest over your lower back. The upper arms gently soothe down your back before brushing back up. Your brows furrow in confusion when a hand rests on your head, combing through your hair.

Warm breath ghosts over you as he leans down with a sigh, arms pulling you further up his body as his chin sets down over your head.

You dare to peek your eyes open, met with the light blue hue of Sebastian’s neck, gaze tracing over the smooth transition between human skin and scales. You feel Sebastian’s clawed hand leave your scalp, once more joining it’s counterpart in soothing up and down your back, the third hand picking at the frayed edges of your shirt.

You can see the bob of Sebastian’s throat as he swallows, coughing lightly in an attempt to clear his throat. His nose presses ever so slightly further into your hair, and you have to suppress the sudden need to jump when the third hand traces up your back, under your shirt.

Your hands brace against him, ready to launch yourself upward and ask just what the hell he is doing, before acknowledging that his hand doesn’t go any further than that. You decide to wait it out, see what he does. Maybe you can catch him doing something embarrassing, and use it as leverage in your next argument. Another point to your metaphorical score.

The other arms continue to stroke over your back, albeit more slowly, as his third hand continues to trail up your spine, leaving a path of goose bumps. The hair of your back raises at the temperature change. His hand is freaking cold. Colder than the rest of his body. Why is that?

As this continues, you feel him slump ever so slightly, all three of his hands slowing to a stop. His chest evens out once more, and you realize, he is asleep.

The hand under your shirt has become significantly warmer, and that is when you realize; Sebastian is cold blooded.

Well, you didn’t just realize, you knew this from the start. It explained his bizarre actions though, and as you took in your position you pieced together you were no different than a weighted blanket you accused his tail of being not long ago. A heated rock for his comfort. Like a snake or lizard basking in a lamplight, you were his source of heat.

Your mouth twitched into a smile. You were totally going to hold this over his head.

[ki-yomii]

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.4k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fwb, angst w/ a happy ending, teasing, finger fucking, squirting, praise kink, frottage, dirty talk, pet names, commitment issues, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, dom!jk, idiots in love, misunderstandings ➥ summary | after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do. ➥ notes | istg i've re-written this more times than i care to count 💀 enjoy!

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cnt make it 2nite

The text is blunt - biting. No explanation offered, and certainly no false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Rather simple and straight to the point.

As you should have expected from Jungkook. He wasn’t known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.

But as you chew the fat of your cheek, reading it over and over again in an attempt to glean some hidden meaning that isn’t there, you admit to yourself - at least privately - there’s no more avoiding the truth.

One that’s been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest you can’t ignore anymore: Jungkook’s been avoiding you.

It shouldn’t be surprising.

Moreover, it shouldn’t hurt.

There shouldn’t be an ache in your chest every time you see his contact or the plummet of your stomach when that inevitable excuse comes through.

In the end, he owes you nothing. The arrangement between you is casual, just a little fun between good friends.

It still fucking sucks though, you think, sucking your teeth.

Night thoroughly ruined before it’s begun, it’s only a matter of deciding how to respond now. In the past you’ve used a plethora of options, but you’re stumped. Unsure how to correlate the level of hurt to the nature of your not-relationship.

Should you be petty, passive-aggressive, indifferent - or worst of all: honest?

Hah, no way. I’d rather die.

Beside you, the bartender politely averts his gaze and busies himself with polishing a stack of pint glasses. It’s a slow night, and that’s saying something as this bar’s a little hole in the wall.

It’s never overly busy, which is one of the reason’s it’s a favorite meeting spot of yours. The floors might be sticky, but the music’s decent, the strobe lights they kick on after 10 PM aren’t offensive enough to induce a migraine, and the drinks are cheap with a heavy pour.

Watching him work is impressive - and almost distracting enough for you to ignore the needle sharp ache taking root beneath your ribs, the churn of your stomach.

Humiliation burns hot, creeps up your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks as you’re stood up.

Again.

It isn’t the first time - it won’t be the last.

But it cuts deeper than all the rest combined, harder to shake off. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. The growing distance between you throbs like an open wound, as if Jungkook himself plunged a hand into your chest.

Scooped out any tender, soft thing he could find and left you hollowed out. Drained.

Not taking his flakiness personally used to be so easy. And now… well.

Goddamnit. A palm scrubs over your decolletage roughly to soothe the throb of your heart. What the hell did you expect to happen, getting involved with Jeon Jungkook, huh?

Everything from his stupidly pretty eyes to the dangerous curl of his mouth, the thick soles of his boots to the lapels of his leather jacket scream walking red flag.

Never mind the fact his proclivities are an open secret among the group. He’s never tried to hide his distaste for commitment. Finds it too monotonous. Predictable.

An eternally free soul much preferring to flit from one experience to the next, never shackled down for long. The Icarus of myth made flesh.

He runs through women like he runs through shoes, and you witnessed enough of the ensuing heartbreak and tears to be wary.

But knowing and feeling something are two very different things.

The dichotomy throws you off-kilter and finds you abandoned in a bar, once again, to choke on a regret so bitter you swear it’ll burn a hole through your throat.

What’s going on with me, you think, this is nothing new. He does this all the time.

You used to get on so well.

Any initial misgivings faded away in the face of Jungkook’s blinding attention, his unfaltering kindness lurking just beneath that surface of grit and gravel.

Even after you fuck, he never acts any differently, as casual between the sheets as he is lounging on your couch.

It's been great, it's been enough - until now.

Just the thought of going back to your empty apartment, alone, only to wake up and fall back into Jungkook’s orbit tomorrow when he swings by with a half-assed apology on his lips, and your favorite drink in hand is enough to make your skin crawl.

Stomach twisting itself into knots, everything in you rebels against the sudden cold realization: nothing will change - least of all Jungkook.

He’ll continue to take-take-take.

You'll continue to give-give-give.

On and on you'll go; a distant star orbiting a black hole, losing little bits of itself until there's nothing left.

Then he’ll leave your life as quickly as he entered it, a blurry after-image there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Fuck, I - I can’t do this anymore, you think, a shiver rattling down your spine, Because I…

An errant thought gains teeth, sinks them deep. Refuses to budge as an awful truth - one buried so deep you forgot it was there, ever lurking in the shadows - rises to the forefront of your mind.

And then --

Oh.

It’s because I love him - because I’m in love with him.

Suddenly it hurts to breathe, your lungs burning as you drown on the air itself. The steel band cinching around your ribs threatens to crack you open.

Your heart lurches in your chest, despair following swiftly to settle over your shoulders. Moreover, there is no one to blame except yourself.

Even if you want it to, it will never work out because loving Jungkook is to love the ghost of a long-forgotten memory.

And there are too many hurts to soothe, too many disappointments to name.

I can’t believe I actually -- shit. You swipe a shaky hand over your forehead. When you swallow, a sour taste clings to the back of your tongue. Should’ve known better.

You glance at your phone, the cursor blinking back at you mockingly. Should’ve done a lot of things, I guess.

Now, you're in too deep.

Waiting without ever realizing you began to do so in the first place; a life on pause, surviving off scraps of half-measures and maybe's, what-ifs, and if only's.

Now, it's clear the only way out is through.

The time to let go is here.

You need to muster up some semblance of self, and work to untangle the threads of connection binding you together. You need space to rediscover the pieces of your heart you left with him.

How to live without the taste of his kiss, the clench of his muscles, the thrust of his cock.

A new life sans Jungkook which begins with a simple reply in place of everything you really want to say: ok.

Then you wave the bartender over.

He does you a kindness once more, pretending not to notice the tears brimming along your lower lash line. “You ready to order?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah - sorry, I was…”

His mouth twitches. You waver.

Then the screen of your phone lights up with a notification.

Refusing to look lest you cave, emotions too fresh -  scraped raw and tender, you switch on DND and turn it face down where it will remain until you go home.

You're far too fragile (and sober) to think about reading Jungkook’s reply, let alone engage with him in any meaningful way.

“I’ll take a double vodka cranberry.”

Maybe if you get drunk enough, you'll forget about the home he carved in your bones.

Bottoms up, bitch.

w8 nvm guys cnt make it

y/n?

i cn b ovr in 10

???

gn ttyt

hey, sorry. called it early.

wyd?

nothing much. you?

nm running some mtchs

cool, cool. you able to swing by today?

yeh b there in 30 :)

In hindsight, trying to have this conversation with Jungkook face to face isn’t the brightest idea. But if anything, last night showed you every choice you’ve made lately is a disaster waiting to happen.

Your life’s already a mess - and you’re hopelessly in love with a man that’ll never love you back - so what’s another mistake added to a long string of misfortune.

So what if your hands tremble and your stomach churns as you unlock the door to let him in.

So what if he leans in for a kiss and you duck to the side, his lips brushing the slope of your cheek.

So what if he pauses and gives you a long, searching look before toeing off his shoes and offering you the drink he picked up on the way.

It can’t get any worse, right?

Only the hungry, molten mixture of rage and rebellion fueling you thus far fizzles away the minute you see him head towards your bedroom with a wink.

Anguish and despair follows in its wake, nipping at your heels.

This is all you’ll ever be to him, you remind yourself as you step into the room. A fun time. Nothing serious. You have to break it off.

You shoot him a tight smile. “Did you have a good night?”

Jungkook shrugs, glancing around at the decorations littering your dresser. “Nah, not really.” His gaze slides to you, traveling from your head to your bare toes in a slow once over. “I definitely would’ve had a better time with you.”

Swallowing roughly, you rub your hands over your arms and suddenly feel far too naked - exposed in your light summer dress. “Hah,” you intone without humor, awkward and stilted. “Probably not. I was out by 11:30.”

“Mm, that’s not like you.” Jungkook hums, moving forward until he’s right in front of you. His hands reach for you, grabbing your wrists gently. His thumb strokes over your pulse point. “You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about, baby?”

Of course he’d notice.

It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. Jungkook always pays attention to the details, makes leaps of logic based on little more than quiet observations.

You stitch together a chuckle. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, his lip ring dimpling the swell of his bottom lip. Your chests brush with every inhale, sharing space and breath. 

“Nothing,” he agrees.

It’s torture. It’s too intimate.

The glow of your overhead lamp highlights the sweep of his cheekbones, the curl of his lashes as he blinks slow and happy. The barely there impression of his body is too much.

You shrink back, clearing your throat.

“No, don’t do that. Where are you going?”

His eyes, shimmering with warmth, plead with you to stay, his shoulders curving towards you. A large palm settles over your shoulder, sparks igniting wherever he touches.

“Stop hiding. You can talk to me about anything. Come on, I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steeling your resolve, you inhale and exhale with a shudder. His expression is open, soft. You know it won’t last, and take a few seconds to commit how he looks in this moment to memory.

For all you know, this will be one of the last times you’ll be this close to him again. At least until you can beat your feelings into submission.

And then you can’t put it off anymore, unable to take the ginger strokes of his fingers. The calming caresses as if he thinks you’re something precious. Quick like ripping off a band-aid, otherwise the words will never get past the bend of your throat.

“I want to stop.”

You catch the way his eyes darken, sharpen in the dim overhead light. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, but his half-smile never falters.

Of course, he refuses to make this easy on you. To acknowledge this is happening. He’s always been a greedy man; wants what he can’t have, and destroys what he does.

“Stop what?” Jungkook says. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, baby.”

“Kook,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “You know what I mean. I just - I can’t do,” your voice cracks, a hand motioning to the space between you, “this anymore.”

A vein throbs on the side of his neck, his jaw working in response. Muscles tense and release with every grit of his teeth. He asks, “You gonna tell me why, huh? Or are you just going to ditch me and act like it didn’t mean something?”

“Kook…”

There’s a certain grief that can’t be spoken, gnarled roots burrowing deep in your chest. A sense of loss so keenly felt it almost steals your breath.

You wish this wasn’t happening, you wish you could take it all back but this pantomime of a relationship isn’t fair to you. Not anymore. And you knew this conversation wouldn’t be fun, but Jungkook’s staunch denial still manages to surprise you.

“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say.

At least, not to you, you think. To me, it meant the world.

-- And that’s the problem.

You need to stop whatever this is between you from building. He’s already shown he doesn’t share your desire for more in a multitude of ways. He’s been avoiding you for a reason, whether he was consciously aware of your feelings or not.

Undoubtedly, you trust him with your life but not your heart.

As sweet as he is, has been, he won’t treat it gently. Not through any intentional ill-will but because he can’t contain his own commitment issues let alone make room for yours.

It’s better this way.

Let what you have - had - stay a memory unmarred by the ugliness of your hurt feelings and bitter disappointments.

Jungkook’s shoulders draw up towards his ears, his gaze glacial as his hands slide away from you. “Is there a reason you’re done with me now?”

Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. Everything about him looks weighted down.

“Well, is there? I mean, shit, I think I’ve earned an answer after all the time we spent together.”

Your heart breaks for him, everything in you calling out to close the gap and offer him comfort. But you can’t. You don’t trust yourself to touch him without wanting more than your heart can bear.

“I’m not done with you,” you say. “I would never do that to you, Kook. I just - I can’t be with you like that anymore, that’s all. I need space but I’ll still be around, I promise.”

The glare he shoots your way freezes the blood in your veins. “Cut the bullshit,” he snarls. “Tell.me.why.”

You avert your gaze, arms wrapping around your chest. “Why does that - I -”

You only had one rule at the very beginning of this mess: if there’s someone you’re serious about, you stop fucking. It comes as a handy lie - a believable excuse that’ll stop any further questioning.

You don’t think you have the fortitude if Jungkook keeps pressing you, cracking under the weight of your grief and the anger in his eyes like fine china.

“I think I - I think I want to start looking for a boyfriend again.”

An expression flashes across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But there’s no doubt he recognizes it for the goodbye it’s supposed to be.

This is it, you think.

You can put what you had to rest and move on, a memory on a shelf you’ll dust off years down the line when the hurt isn’t so prevalent. And hopefully, with time, you can relearn how to be friends.

Though the strange gleam to his eyes sends a prickle of apprehension down your spine, and then you find yourself being manhandled as he snaps forward like a snake coiled to strike.

Air flees your lungs as Jungkook shoves you with a firm palm, your feet stumbling over themselves as you trip backwards into your bed frame.

Wood knocks into the backs of your knees, and you fold like a stack of cards. The sheets puff out around you, the scent of your laundry detergent tickling your nose.

You blink at the textured ceiling, mouth agape as you try to process what happened.

The empty space above you doesn’t stay vacant, Jungkook quickly crowding you into the mattress with his weight as he settles over top of your body.

He molds himself to your front, his firm hips slotting themselves between your thighs. Broad palms, warm and calloused, skim your sides and ruck up the skirt of your dress as he reaches under you to grip the soft globes of your ass.

He yanks you into him, your pelvises slotting together. You whine before you can stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the heat of his body.

Teeth scrape along the delicate skin of your neck, the sharp pricks of pleasure-pain coaxing a shiver down your spine.

Lips brush the shell of your ear, his minty breath puffing against the side of your face as he speaks, low and husky, “So that’s it, huh?”

“What--!”

Teeth nip your earlobe, and you wince.

“My girl thinks she’s going to leave me for someone else?” Jungkook snorts. “Like I’d ever let that fucking happen.”

“I’m not your girl.”

You squirm, a bolt of awareness slicing through you as your body responds to his proximity, the weight of him over you electrifying. Liquid desire blooms behind your navel, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

“I never was.”

Blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, and a cruel mouth latches onto the corner of your jaw. “Ah, is that right?” Jungkook asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your torso, your nipples tightening as they drag over the plains of his chest. “You’re not my girl?”

You swallow, and ignore the throb of your clit as the line of his cock ruts into you. “I’m not your girl, Jungkook.”

“If you’re not my girl,” he grinds into the cradle of your hips, teasing - taunting, “then why the fuck are you so wet?”

Keening, you twitch, involuntarily rocking up into the firm pressure of his shaft. The angle’s just right, spreading your folds beneath the thin cotton of your panties and giving your neglected clit the perfect stimulation.

Exposing your soaked core to the chill of your room as your body warms with mortification.

Jungkook hums in approval, giving the side of your neck a sloppy kiss followed by a stinging nip. “You think some nobody can fuck you better than me?”

“That’s not what I - ffuck!”

Heat pools low in your belly, blood pumping fast. You’re steadily losing control, the aborted rolls of your hips increasing in frequency.

“Answer me.”

A sharp burst of copper floods your mouth, your skin splitting open with how hard you’re chewing on it. Blood clings to the swell of your bottom lip, a ruby red bead you lick away with a nervous tongue.

Sweat dappled your brow, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the molten desire curdling your stomach.

The softness of your body knows the hardness of his, every curve has a matching divot. The heady, pleasant scent of his cologne floods your lungs with every stuttered inhale.

Your senses are overwhelmed as he surrounds you.

“Shit, Kook, please,” you plead, hands tangling in the sheets by your head.

You’re not sure what you’re asking for but at the same time, you’re not sure how you ended up here. Again.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

This was supposed to be an amenable end to a dubious affair. It’s anything but.

“I want you to tell me who your cunt belongs to.”

Fingers inch down to tease along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and play with the elastic of your panties.

You tremble, gooseflesh dimpling the exposed skin of your arms as knuckles brush over the length of your soaked pussy.

Your clit pulses, the pressure enough to tease.

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook coaxes, working his way beneath the fabric clinging to your core, “tell me you’re my girl.”

His cock nestles into the crook of your hip, hot and heavy through his jeans as a darkened patch blooms across the denim crotch. The sticky wetness of his pre-cum smearing into your skin as arousal swells, crashing over you.

Leaving you a whimpering, trembling mess in the cage of his arms.

“You just have to say it - say you’re my girl and I’ll be so, so good to you.” His breath warms the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is say it, and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to cobble together a response, sliding a thick finger through your sticky folds and into your needy pussy just as your lips part.

All words leave you, your mind wiped clean as a low, broken cry echoes out into the room. Swallowed up by the sounds of city life outside your apartment as he works to stretch you open.

You clamp down at the sudden fullness, walls tight and fluttering around his finger like they would be around his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You always feel so soft and wet.”

Whining in agreement, you give up any pretense of resistance, letting primal desire chase away the despair, the guilt that threatens to choke you. Wiping your mind clean of any thoughts until the only thing that remains is the thrust of his fingers and the ache in your cunt.

Your hands slip, scrambling for purchase with sweaty palms. “J-Jungkook!”

Your knees tremble where they dig into his sides, air rushing from you in heavy pants as the space between your bodies heats up. You know you won’t last long, already hanging on the edge.

Never in a million years did you expect to be so turned on by Jungkook’s rough behavior. He usually treats you like something delicate.

Though he holds no such compunction now, raw in his desperate desire to make you cum.

Jungkook peppers kisses onto whatever skin he can reach, spreading your thighs wider with his torso. His knuckles strain against the fabric of your panties, stretching out the cotton and ruining them forevermore as he slips another finger into you.

Then his dark head bows, catching your gaze, and he says, “Hold on.”

Barely seconds after you anchor yourself to his shoulders, he starts finger fucking you to within an inch of your life. His forearm ripples with strength, the movements of his fingers pressing and rubbing against all the right spots. Curling up to massage at your g-spot until you’re shaking beneath him with hitched breaths.

“Shit, shit,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as your toes flex against his side, “Kook, baby, please don’t stop.”

He huffs a laugh, dark and amused. “Wouldn’t ever do that to you, baby.”

“S’good - I - I’m close.”

You sob, tears brimming along your lash line. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your pussy ring in your ears, as embarrassing as it is arousing. He’s making you gush, slick wetting your inner thighs, dribbling down your ass to stain the sheets.

“So close, gonna - hnnng - gonna cum.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Give me that squirt.”

You shake your head. “I can’t - I can’t!”

If you could, you’d suspend time so this moment never ends. The finality of your arrangement hovering just on the other side of pleasure.

In the back of your mind, you know Jungkook’s only behaving this way because he’s jealous. Angry. He doesn’t mean it, and this is a mistake.

It’ll only hurt you in the long run but you’ll take what you can get.

After all, this is the last time you’ll be together like this.

“No,” he shushes, dropping a kiss to your sweaty brow, “No, don’t lie. I know you can. I’ll make you.”

There’s no escape.

He refuses to let you escape, using his weight to keep you pinned as he spreads his fingers open inside you, twisting and fucking so deep you feel a twinge behind your navel.

And then you’re right there, crashing over the edge as the bubble of pleasure bursts, crackling through your limbs.

You cum harder than you ever have before. Nails sinking into his shoulders with a hiss as a wounded, broken wail scrapes its way out of your throat.

Your pussy throbs, gummy walls sucking him deeper as a rush of cum gushes from you in spurts. Your ears ring with white noise, and you’re vaguely aware of the fact your hands have gone numb.

For several long moments, you float with a head full of cotton, only rejoining the atmosphere when warmth dribbles down your ass in sticky rivulets of squirt.

Jungkook’s arm is curled around your waist, holding you close as his nose nuzzles into the side of your head. Tender lips dust kisses over your crown. His cock is still a heavy weight digging into your hip but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to relieve himself.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, a wave of fatigue crashing over you. Your eyes sting when you close them, a lump building in your throat. You ache all over pleasantly, satisfaction settling deep into your bones. In spite of that, a rift opens in your heart. “Jungkook, I--”

He kisses your shoulder, shushing you. “Don’t ruin it. Just let me hold you for a little while longer… please.”

The tears are almost impossible to stop. “It’s already hard enough, don’t make me -- I can’t just…”

Jungkook squeezes you gently. “I love you,” he says, “but I swear to god you can be so stupid sometimes.”

You jolt, eyes swinging up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “What did you just  - I - I  don’t. ..Jungkook?”

“How could I not feel the same?” he asks, tone resigned and wary. “Honestly scared the shit out of me when I realized because, well, y’know I don’t have the best track record.” He averts his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I almost fucked everything up too, but Namjoonie-hyung helped me get my head on straight.”

Something unfurls in your chest, and you feel as light as air. Ridiculously buoyant with happiness. Hope.

Oh, how stupid.

“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” you ask, sniffling as you shoot him a watery smile. “Like… the biggest.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, a boyish gleam to his eyes. “I mean, you said it. Not me.”

[mxstellatayte]

Hi! So I lobe what you have been posting and really want one with either max or mick?

One where they don't realises that they are covered in hickey or scratches?

And it gets called out by either the fans or the press/other drivers?

Please do nsfw either a flashback or one afterwards with a bit of revenge towards our dear reader

Thank yoz and keep up the amazing work 🫶🫶

hey there! i absolutely love all the detail you've given me to work with <3 also i straight up had a physical reaction to this because RAAAAAARGH this is. so hot. also this takes place before singapore 2024 :)

taglist: @vivi-81 @irishmanwhore @lucycowr @benstormy @anat33-blog1

@xoscar03 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @nenamalenaa @champagneproblems17 @marknolee

@toby33b @soloqualcosa @sassyinchident808 @slutmeoutsworld @itsgrlalmghty

join my taglist here!

it was the flash of papaya among a sea of navy blue that snapped max out of the zoned-out daze he'd been in for the past few minutes. lando.

thank christ.

he reaches out his hand, clasping the mclaren driver's own and bringing him in for a brief hug before stepping back. thankfully, there isn't any media around right now, or max might just flip a table. he's getting real sick of putting up a wall of friendliness when all he wanted to do was escape to his driver's room and mentally prepare for the upcoming qualifying session.

they make small talk for a few moments, talking about the track evolution throughout the day, the brutal heat and humidity, the added drs zone, lap times...

"you get up to anything last night, mate?" lando quirks an eyebrow and sips from his black drinks bottle as he asks the question, leaning his hip against a random storage container.

you'd been wandering around the paddock with lily zneimer while max finished up in the post-practice press conference, doing anything you could to escape the absolutely brutal singaporean heat. however, it seemed that the moment max left you alone, any man within a ten kilometer radius immediately decided to flirt with you.

as soon as the press conference was over and max was released from any further duties, he began searching for you throughout the paddock. after fifteen unsuccessful minutes, though, he thankfully ran into someone who might have a vague idea as to where you may be.

"daniel, have you seen-"

"mclaren hospitality with zneimer."

"thanks."

as max approached the painfully orange building, he heard your voice, mood immediately lifting. what he heard, however, pissed him off beyond measure.

"-told you, i have a boyfriend. i'm not interested. now, if you could kindly fuck off, i'm trying to enjoy my lunch."

what the fuck?

when he rounded the corner, he saw who you were talking to, and... really? this guy thought he had a chance with you? if there was anything more about the situation that could piss max off even more, it's the fact that he's leaning in way too close for his- and your- comfort.

"hey, schatje. everything all good over here?" max rests a hand on your shoulder, deliberately placing himself between you and this creep who won't leave you alone.

"yeah, everything's good. how did the press conference go?" you tilt your head back, and max immediately understands, ducking down to kiss you quickly.

it's that moment that the man bothering you chooses to speak up, and he somehow says the one thing that wouldn't help his situation right now, embarrassing as it is already. "could've just said you had a boyfriend. fuckin' bitch." max's hand twitches on your shoulder and you bring your own up to rest on it, holding him in place. instead of any other reaction, max offers him a fake smile before he storms off, leaving the two of you to burst into laughter.

max sits down next to you, steals a bite of your croissant, and leans back in his chair, a cocky smirk on his face as he chews the flaky pastry. "i was eating that, thank you very much."

"i'll buy you another one," max replies nonchalantly as if he didn't just stare daggers into the heart of the man that was flirting with you. "it seems like you need something that tells people you're taken, though."

later that night, max's lips and teeth ghosted across the skin of your neck, breasts, and thighs as you squirmed beneath him, promising that the blues, purples, and yellows that mottled your skin would ensure that no one would even think about flirting with you.

"nah, nothing much," max lies. "just the team debrief, some sim work, checking over numbers with gp, that kind of stuff. what about you?"

"nah, nothing much," lando responds with a shrug, teeth still clamped around the bendy straw. "played some padel games with max but we were roasted by the end of it. fell dead asleep by nine."

"yeah, the heat always beats it out of me here. i'm probably going to sleep for thirteen hours straight after the race on sunday."

"i probably will, too, honestly, but mostly because i can't beat the jet lag here." max nods in agreement, taking a sip out of his own drinks bottle. "a little birdy told me that you got up to more than just racing review, last night, though."

max's eyebrows furrow in confusion, and he swallows the gulp of water he'd taken. "what do you mean?"

"your neck, mate."

max whined as his hips canted up into yours, his hands desperately grabbing at your arms. your tongue laved over your teeth marks, matching blues and purples littering the lower part of max's neck but coming high enough so that they'd be just visible over the high collar of his fireproofs and race suit. "fuck, schatje, feels so good."

"yeah? you like everyone knowing that you're mine?" all max can do is nod pathetically, biting down on his lower lip in order to muffle the sounds he so desperately wants to make. "use your words, max."

"love it, want everyone to know i'm yours. everyone needs to know."

"there you go, baby." your hips resume their previous pattern, and you groan openly at the delicious slide of max's cock inside of you, filling you up so perfectly. he cries out when you shift your lips lower, taking his left nipple between your teeth gently, and you're able to pry one of his hands from your arm, bringing it to your own breast in hopes that he gets the memo.

he does.

max's hand immediately kneads at your breast, and you groan, your mouth shifting over to his other nipple and repeating the same ministrations, letting your teeth graze it ever so slightly between gentle licks and sucks. "mm, fuck, schatje, gonna cum, 'm gonna cum-"

"so cum for me, max." that's all max needs to hear before his head is thrown back and a beautiful moan rips itself from his throat, and you can't help but press your fingers into the bruises that litter his thick neck. the combination of the high-pitched wails that fill your ears and the feeling of max's cum filling you beyond full makes you fall over the edge, too, and you collapse onto his chest with a satisfied giggle.

max's hand immediately comes up to his neck and he tries not to wince at the flashes of pain that zip through his body, stemming from the lingering bite marks you'd left the night before, his eyes flashing wide. "that bad?"

"that bad," lando confirms with a nod and a smirk. "you might want to go find her and make her cover them up for you before qualifying."

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the brie

buttercup, chapter two

a/n: i was originally gonna go into more detail and dive into and actually write the traumatic moments, but i decided to go a little bit more easy on myself, just focus mostly on the healing part and regaining the good.

summary: “well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, wingman foggy, reference to croissant theft, alcohol consumption, drunk munching on cheese, kissing, crying, retelling of trauma (if it gets too much for you, then please feel free to just skip the last part of this chapter)

word count: 4978

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Scooping one divided lump of dough closer with the bench scraper in your grasp, you put it down before first folding the bottom of the blob over itself, then the sides and then stretched the top down as well before you rolled it all up to create that much more tension in the loaf. As you plopped the soft mass into one of the nearby dusted bannetons, nippily pinching the seam and giving it a few stitches, the ingrained dance only kept on as your fingers moved on to shape the next loaf of sourdough. 

To your left, not at the central table where you worked, stood your uncle Howard, a piping bag of vanilla-flaked cream in his grasp as his rotund frame bent over rows and rows of delicate, flaky little pastries, filling the sunken centre up before he could top them off with little chunks of crimson berries. 

“Are you alright, cupcake?” you glanced up to see Walter leaning against the doorframe that led directly behind the counter, “you look like you’re about to nosedive into the dough and use it as a pillow.”

“I’m alright, just didn’t sleep much last night,” you blinked back down at your work, noting how your weary eyes stung slightly from the lack of rest, “I had a nightmare that was really, really not fun, and immediately when I woke up I started crying and shaking, like instant panic attack, so I couldn’t really fall asleep again after that,” you glanced back up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t get why it has to feel so real,” you let your hands halt their waltz as you shared, Howard too glancing over in your direction, “why my body needs to remember it so vividly when I fall asleep. It hasn’t forgotten it while I’m awake, so I don’t feel like I need the reminders… sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s–…” instead of uttering the painful truth, Walter instead let a heavy sigh flow and offered, “…do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Maybe that could be nice, just a little bit?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, “thanks,” before clapping the worst of the flour off your hands, briefly wiping them against the chocolate brown apron that partially covered your t-shirt and jeans, and wandered around the table, shadowing Walter as he fiddled with the espresso machine, making it hum and puff, till he handed you a steaming mug that had a little heart in the frothy foam floating on the top. 

“Here you go.”

Bringing it up to your lips, you offered him a genuine smile, “thank you, Walt.”

Staying behind the counter as Walter disappeared into the back, the chime of the small bell above the door brought your attention to the pair that then strolled in. Setting down your latte and expecting it to be just any other customer, your eyes instead went wide as you saw who it was.  

“Heya, neighbour!” 

“Y/n, hi,” Matthew smiled as both he and the floppy-haired man beside him came to a stop on the other side of the stocked display case, “uh, Y/n, this is my friend Foggy Nelson,” he gestured to the friendly looking fellow, “Foggy, this is my new neighbour Y/n.”

“The pastry goddess!” Foggy exclaimed excitedly, “I bow to the.”

“Goddess?” you giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced over at Matt, secretly in hopes that he’d gotten that nickname from him, “oh, I don’t know about that. My uncle’s the one who oversees most of the pastries. He studied in Paris back in the 70’s, so in other words he’s a bit of a control freak. But, he is getting better! Slowly letting me take care of more things that I’m more than capable of doing… I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?” you sucked in a sharp breath as you noticed 

your rambling, “I’ll shut up. The point was just that he is the one who makes most of the pastries here, not me. He’s the goddess.”

“Well, I tasted one of your croissants the other day–”

“Actually,” Matt raised a hand and interrupted his friend, “you stole it.”

“I did not–”

“You came over and I turned away for two seconds and the next thing I knew you’d obliterated the entire bag.”

“That sounds more like your problem,” Foggy joked, managing to keep a straight face as Matt chuckled, “you’ve known me how many years now? You should know not to trust me with baked goods unless you mean for me to enjoy them,” turning his attention back to you, he leaned his folded arms against the tall section of the counter, “anyways, Y/n, that croissant was properly one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really?” your face lit up with a bright grin. 

“Yes, it was so buttery and flaky and urgh!”

“Well, if you liked that, you might like today’s special…” your feet began to carry you further to the left to the very far side of the counter. 

“Oh, please do tell me,” he followed along like a magnet.

Pointing down to the pastry row on the other side of the glass, you explained, “it is this rhubarb danish that also has a little base of pastry cream at the bottom to balance out the tart compote.”

“Oh… my… god…” Foggy nearly salivated, his hypnotised gaze never straying from the treat, “you gotta be some angel sent from above.” 

Busting out a laugh, you grabbed a brown paper bag, “should I take that as confirmation?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded as you plucked one up with a set of tongs. 

“Will that be all?”

“I don’t know if it ever can be all, but slowly but surely I’ll get through your spread, and that is a promise,” Foggy accepted the bag into his waiting fingers, “but for now, yeah.”

“Matt, do you want anything?” you asked, feeling the flutter of butterflies wake up within your stomach as you returned your attention to him, “do you want me to describe the options for you?”

“No, I’ll just have the same as Foggy, as well as–, do you sell coffee?”

“Oh,” the scent wafting off your half-empty mug probably caught his attention, “yes, we do.”

“Then I’ll have a cup as well.”

“Oh, one for me too,” Foggy interjected. When you’d packed up another pastry and filled up two to-go cups, the shaggy-haired man pipped up as they were paying, “hey, what are you doing later tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Properly just head home and rewatch some series for the billionth time,” you said, putting the cash they’d handed you away in the register, “why?”

“Well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

A laugh then rumbled within Matt’s chest, “we’re not gonna go dancing, Foggy.”

“You never know,” Foggy sang, “I’ve got moves like you wouldn’t believe!” he snuck a small sip of his steaming coffee before meeting your eye, “so, Y/n! Please tell me you’re coming?”

“…and then Karen was like what’s that? Turns out a giant piece of glass had stabbed my side,” Foggy clutched onto his drink as he told his dramatic tale, “I nearly died.”

Cutting her sip of beer short, the golden-haired woman sitting beside him at the round bar table objected, “you did not nearly die.”

“Oh yeah?” Foggy squinted light-heartedly back at Karen, “says the person who barely got a scratch. I single handily rescued both you and Mrs. C from that building and got a sick ass scar to prove it.”

Their voices faded away like grown-ups in a Saturday morning cartoon as you glanced back down at your drink and let the radiating heat of the man next to you seep into your bones. As your fingers brushed down the sides of the glass and played with the condensation, Matt suddenly reached out for his own, though in his search for the stout glass that stood ever so close to your own, his touch briefly grazed against your skin. But if that wasn’t enough to spike your heart rate, when his long fingers enveloped his short glass, the back of his hand pressed up against yours at the proximity.

You weren’t sure how long it persisted before he raised his dark drink up to his lips, but it didn’t seem like he was in a rush to let the contact fade. Your breath managed to grow ragged in the chunk of time you got to stare down at his hand, it looking so massive up against yours. Though the light in the dingy bar was low, you could still manage to make out the dizzying pattern of prominent veins that cascaded off the back of his hand like a calm rainfall rolling down a windowpane. 

For a moment there, assisted by the few drinks in your system, you let yourself dream, just for a little while, just until Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and stirred you from your fantasy. 

“… I mean, am I right? I’m right. Come on, Y/n, back me up here!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, uhm…” you blinked, in some ways feeling more drunk than you had a minute ago, “wha–what did you say?”

As Foggy then began to explain what you’d missed, Matt leaned down close to your ear and whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed fuzzily. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you glanced down and noticed how rapidly your chest was rising and falling. 

“Do you wanna go home? I can walk with you if you want,” he offered quietly. 

“Uhm…” you blinked up at him before uttering, “sure, but I don’t wanna end your night before you want to.”

“No, you’re not,” he reassured you, “I’m ready to go home myself.”

“Alright then,” you nodded before Matt turned to the others. 

“Guys, we’re gonna head home.”

“No!” Foggy boomed, “really?”

Throwing her hands up, Karen added, “but we haven’t even gone dancing yet!”

“Sorry,” Matt got up from his tall stool, “another night.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you tugged your jacket back on, “I had a lot of fun.”

To your surprise, they both got up and hugged you in return.

“Thank you for coming!” Karen gave you a tight squeeze before Foggy took over. 

“And we’ll be seeing you for the next one, right?”

“Uh, sure,” you gave his back a light pat, “if I have time and stuff the day that it happens, then I’d love to tag along.”

Casting his glance upon the other lawyer, “bye, Matt,” Foggy then yanked him into an embrace, “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Matt chuckled, clapping his friend’s spine, “I know, buddy.”

“You love me too, right?” Foggy pulled back, though still kept his hands fast on Matt’s broad shoulders, “don’t leave me hanging, it’s bad for a man’s health.”

“Foggy, I started a firm with you. Of course, I love you,” Matt smiled back at his sloshed pal, “good night.”

“Night, night,” Foggy patted his scruffy cheek before letting him out of his gasp, though adding as you turned to exit the bar, “night, Y/n! I love you too! I just met you today, but I love you!”

Soft giggles bubbled out of you as the door slammed shut behind you. 

“So, those are your friends...” you smiled into the night, “I like them. They’re nice.”

“Yeah,” the corners of Matt’s lips turned further up till dimples bloomed, “they’re good eggs.”

As the two of you began to move along, the silence didn’t last very long at all. 

“This is really nice of you, walking me home like this,” you uttered, “I know it’s just because we’re neighbours and headed in the same direction, but–”

“It’s not.”

“What?” your eyes found him.

“It’s not because we’re neighbours. It’s just, you know, the decent thing to do.”

“Right,” you exhaled, casting your glance back down onto the sidewalk as you momentarily got your hopes up. 

“And you know how this city can be,” Matt went on, “it’s not smart for anyone to walk alone at night.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “of course.”

When a street then appeared before you, slicing the path you journeyed on, and even though there wasn’t any traffic in sight, your hand still instinctively shot down to grasp Matt’s forearm before the two of you could cross.

Realising what you’d done, you quietly muttered, “sorry,” though couldn’t find the strength to withdraw your touch just yet. 

“It’s okay,” his low voice slid from his lips like silk. 

“I just didn’t want you to walk straight out into ongoing traffic...” you tore your gaze away from him and forced yourself to look at the road before you, “but there aren’t any right now, so we can cross the street…”

Guiding his palm up to the curve of your elbow, he accepted the gentle aid as you began to cross the lane. 

Once you’d reached the other side and his grasp slowly began to drift back down. When his palm reached the height of your own, you softly caught it before timidly testing, “…do you mind if we–…”

“Hold hands?” with a gentle smile, he filled in before you might wonder if he could even sense your shy touch at all.

“Yeah…”

“No,” you felt him weave his fingers with your own, “not at all.” 

His touch somehow felt even better than you’d imagined. Though surprisingly gruff, with harsh calluses all throughout, he cradled your palm with such care, like he’d held it a thousand times before, occasionally swiping his broad thumb over your knuckles, presumably just a subconscious gesture from his end that still caused shivers to trickle down your spine every time he did so. 

You wanted the latter part of your walk home to last forever, engulfed in the comfortable silence of endless possibilities. But alas, when you did reach your building’s front door and then climbed the steps all the way up to your respective apartments, you couldn’t get yourself to let go just yet. 

“Are you hungry? Because I kinda am,” you weren’t really, but anything to just stretch the night a little longer, “or maybe it’s just my subconscious taking care of me and lessening my hangover by giving me a sudden craving for cheese.”

“I don’t think I have any cheese.”

“I do,” you said maybe a bit too fast, “do you want some?”

Exhaling lowly, a soft smile twitched at his lips as he then uttered, “sure.”

As you unlocked your door, you finally let go of his hand, “make yourself at home!” you placed your keys down on the slender entry table before kicking your shoes off and peeling off your coat, hanging it up on the row of hooks, “oh, do you want me to, uh, describe the layout for you? Or just plant your down on the couch?”

“Just tell me the direction and I think I’ll be fine.”

Facing him, you haphazardly explained, “alright, the hallway goes on for a few steps and then it’s to your right–, no, wait, my right, that’s your left. It’s to your left.”

Whirling around, you delved deeper into your home till you reached the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge, you snatched up a block of half-eaten cheese before seizing a clean butter knife from the dishrack and a roll of seedy crackers from a cupboard. 

Matt was already comfortable on your sage couch as you laid the humble spread out on the coffee table and joined him. 

“I hope you like brie because that’s what I got. Unless you want a single slice of american cheese, then this is all the cheese I have to offer.”

“Brie it is then,” he relaxed into the cushions as you unwrapped the snack. 

“Here, let me make you a bite,” slicing off bits of soft cheese, you spread it both on a cracker for him and one for you. Gently picking up his hand to place his snack in his palm, you then popped your own in your mouth and nearly melted into the couch next to him, “yep… that’s the spot…” you grinned hazily out the tall windows at the night sky as you chewed, “there’s just something about eating cheese when the moon is out that’s just so right in a way I can’t describe…” 

Your murmuring conjured a light chuckle to rumble within Matt, one that swayed your gaze to train on him. Resting your head against the back of the couch, you watched as the moonlight reflected in his tinted glasses. 

When the silence stretched on, Matt eventually cocked his head, “…what?”

Not tearing your eyes off of him, you breathed, “nothing…”

“You’re quiet,” his dark brows furrowed gently, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, feeling almost like you were floating in a calm sea. 

“You tired? Do you want me to go so that you can go to bed?”

“No, please don’t, I–…” you reached out and grazed his arm, “could–… do you want to go?”

Letting his body relax once more, he breathed, “not particularly…”

Gazing up at him, your bottom lip snuck its way in between your teeth, “Matt…”

“Yeah?”

“You–… you’re–… I–…” your pulse pounded in your ears. 

“Mhm?”

“I really, really wanna kiss you right now…” you uttered thickly before you had the chance to chicken out. Like a wave crashing a shore, you didn’t even think as you let yourself dive in and press your lips to his. The kiss however didn’t last too long as you swiftly drew back as soon as your brain turned back on and you realised what you’d done, an apology hastily rushing out of your lungs, “Oh my god… I am so sorry.”

“Y/n,” hearing your name on his silky tongue did not help matters. 

“I didn’t mean to just–”

“Y/n,” he repeated, trying to cut through your fog. 

“We can just forget any of that ever happened, I totally get it if you don’t–”

As he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of your face, your nervous ramble fell short. When he ghosted his thumb across your cheekbone, you swore that you stopped breathing entirely. 

“…can I kiss you?” he slowly asked, leaving you utterly dazed. 

“W-what?”

Drawing in a breath, he repeated for you, “can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Blinking back at him, you hazily hummed, “mhm,” before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own. The kiss was soft, just as your shoddy attempt had been, but it made your limbs feel like they morphed into jelly. When the pecks soon departed, you filled your lungs with a shaky breath as you gazed back at him in total awe, “holy shit…” only staying there a moment before you had to have another taste. 

Slowly growing more confident, the intoxicating kiss gradually grew more hungry. When his fingers then weaved into your hair, you realised that up till now he’d been holding himself back, gatekeeping a kiss that caused your frame to crawl into his lap, starving for more. Your little whimpers vibrated against his tongue as he danced it against yours, growing dizzy as you melted into the heart-stopping sensation. 

But suddenly a tormenting flash stabbed your being, and you abruptly tilted your lips away from his, breathlessly uttering, “wait, wait, there’s-, there’s-, uh…”

“What,” he breathed thickly, nose grazing yours before you retracted further, “are you okay?” 

“I’m…” carefully crawling off his lap, you kept going till you were a safe distance away on your own side of the couch, “Matt, there’s something I need to–, uhm, tell you…”

Staying silent, he patiently waited as you gathered up the courage needed to jump off the cliff and tell him.

Casting your gaze up to the tall and dark ceilings above, you felt your limbs begin to tremble, “okay, alright… I have no idea how to, uh, say this, so I’m just gonna do it,” and like a band-aid, you uttered, “I-, I was raped,” your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to risk glancing at his reaction, “a little over a year ago… and I haven’t–, uhm, done or tried anything with anyone since… so yeah, I just thought that was a good thing for you to know since even though I hope for there not to be any problems, I just don’t know, I don’t know what it will be like for me, if my body will suddenly freak out, but I just wanted to tell you so that in case something does happens, that you know not to automatically take it personally...” drawing in a shaky breath, you fluttered your gaze open and waited for his response, “Matt?”

“Yeah?” he answered carefully. 

“Please don’t say that I’m scaring you away right now…” you shifted your position, turning to face him once more.  

“You’re not, you’re not,” his head softly shook from side to side, “I just–… I really, really sorry.”

“Yeah…” you exhaled slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes, “me too…” staring at him a moment, you then bared your all and uttered, “I really like you, Matt,” a faint smile accompanied the declaration, “I think you might be the only guy in all of New York that I’m not scared of,” every other man you could think of had all had at least a second, a little flicker, of something that over the past year had terrified you, “and I don’t want you to think that I’m made of glass, that’s not what I want, that’s not why I’m telling you this. Please trust me when I say that I want to, I wanna do–…” a weighty exhale flowed from your lungs as your lips remembered his taste, “I wanna do everything with you… if–, if that’s something you’d like as well… but if we do, even though I really, really want to, I think it’s probably smartest to go slow, no pressure, you know, just in case, so that my body doesn’t freak out. Also, I’d really appreciate it if I at any point indicate for you to stop or even just pause a moment, that you’ll do that, that you’ll listen to me,” you briefly glanced down at your fiddling fingers, “and you know, I’m not saying let’s only do PG things, there are so, so many wonderful steps on the way that we can have fun with… I just–, I wanted to let you know now, before, so that we wouldn’t potentially have this conversation when something did happen.”

Only parting his lips when he was sure you were done, he uttered, “thank you for telling me. Are you–… are you okay? Was what happened before too much?”

“No…” you shook your head gently, “no, it wasn’t,” taking his hand in yours, you shared, “and I’m okay, I think… I mean, some days it still feels like it just happened, and others I notice something, something small, that I’ve gotten back, that I’ve regained…” absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb, you asked, “do you–… do you have any questions? Is there anything you wanna know?”

“No, I–… I just want you to tell me however much or little you feel comfortable with sharing.”

“…can I tell you? About it?” you asked slowly and he swiftly offered you a soft nod. Drawing in a deep breath, you began, “It, um, it was a Saturday night… I’d just gotten back from the bakery super late, maybe close to midnight… and when I was getting ready for bed, my roommate came home, he’d been out drinking as he usually spent his weekends. I remember we stayed up a while, just talking about the mundane stuff we always did. It was like any other Saturday, really. That was until I got too tired and went to go to bed, but he didn’t wanna stop talking, so he followed along into my room while I got ready and stuff,” averting your gaze, your bottom lip began to tremble, “we were just talking, it wasn’t anything special and then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. It just–… it happened so fast… his hands were all over me… I remember he pushed me up against my closet so hard that my back was bruised the next day, and I don’t bruise that easily. He was just so wasted that I don’t think he realised or maybe even cared what he was doing. I tried to say something, tried to make him stop, but he didn’t listen to me. If he heard me, then I don’t think he understood what it was that I was saying… I would have pushed him away, slapped and hit him, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t move my body, not even a little, I just froze…” 

“I can still feel what he felt like… like my skin won’t let go of the memory…” tears rolled down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore how your palm tingled with recollection, “how he forced me to touch him and held his hand over mine, making it move as if he just thought I didn’t know what to do… he was my friend, you know? He wasn’t just some stranger who dragged me into an alley and held a knife to my throat. He was my friend. He would always make offhand jokes about seeing me as just a little sister and how he wasn’t attracted to you at all. Made such a big deal of it that I never thought he’d try anything… I have no idea how long it actually went on… I don’t even remember when it was that I landed on the bed, if it was before or after he–… after he–… did stuff, t-touched me… I just remember I was laying there when it happened. The masked man, the devil of hell’s kitchen, he ripped him off of me…”

“He’d somehow heard… I think maybe if I hadn’t opened the window that night to air out the room, he wouldn’t have saved me… he beat him up... knocked him out… he told me to call the police, but I couldn’t, so I instead asked my uncle to come get me… my body’s never shaked the way it did that night… I remember I was so confused because I wasn’t cold, didn’t get it till the masked man said I was in shock… it didn’t stop till the next night… when he was about to leave, I asked what if Mi–,” you couldn’t get yourself to utter Michael’s name out loud without feeling as if your whole world would crumble around you, “what if he woke up before Howard arrived, and so he just stayed there with me, right till he somehow heard my uncle walking up the stairs and then he slipped out the way he came in, right before I heard the front door unlock.” 

Letting out a long and unsteady breath, you raised a trembling palm up to wipe your cheeks. 

For a while, the silence got to encompass the space completely, your left hand still shaking in Matt’s as you eventually heard him ask. 

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“No. In the small window that I had to do one of those kits, I was just way too overwhelmed and confused and I just couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t do anything but relive that moment over and over again, so I didn’t do anything in time. But the longer time that passes and the more it sinks in what he did and the ways that I’m still paying for it, the things he ruined inside of me that I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back, the more I wish that I had gone to the police. But it’s too late now.”

“No, it’s not,” his fingers squeezed slightly around yours, “I could help you, I’m a lawyer after all.”

“No, Matt,” you said firmly, “it is. I don’t wanna sit there and hear them go oh, it’s your word against his, sorry, and have them think that not enough happened technically for them to take it seriously. Enough happened, trust me. I’m eternally grateful that Daredevil saved me from whatever else he could have done to me that night, but enough happened. Just because he didn’t stick it in me doesn’t mean nothing happened. That is the kind of belief that only belongs to people who think that the only sexual act that counts as sex is when a penis is in a vagina, and that is just so incredibly wrong,” an enraged laugh tumbled out of you as you fumed, “they are the kind of people who think that someone queer, disabled or just someone who isn’t into that sexual act isn’t actually having sex when they are. Sex is about connection, it’s about pleasure and there are endless amounts of things that can give a person pleasure,” clenching your jaw, you let out a heavy sigh, “I wish it could be different, I wish many things, I wish it hadn’t had happened at all, but it did, and I hope that at the very least he learned something from it, that he changed, that he wouldn’t do it again to someone else.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[wanda-widow]

Plum Croissants With a Side of Sunshine

Private Chef!f!Reader x Avenger!Bucky

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Bucky isn't used to people caring for him, much less being persistent with it because they think he deserves it. It all comes to a halt when Tony decided to hire a private chef who also has everyone's best interest in mind.

Warnings: slight angst, Bucky's kind of an asshole, fluff

18+ MDNI

Don't forget to like and reblog 🩷

Bucky's usual afternoon routine was work out, go for a run, and then go to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers as dinner. Simple, easy, and he was left alone. He liked the familiar routine, the limited interaction. And he was perfectly fine with it staying that way.

What he wasn't perfectly fine with was walking into the kitchen one afternoon to find it packed with agents and his fellow team members, the vast dining table filled with fresh food. He took one look and turned the other way, deciding to eat later when Steve saw him.

"Hey Buck, you gotta try some of these dishes, they're almost heavenly" Steve yelled over thx chatter, waving him over as Bucky sighed wearily, turning around to almost smack into you.

"Ah, sorry" you said sheepishly, the platter of food wobbling in your hand slightly before you steadied it. Setting it on the counter, you turned back to Bucky to take in his full appearance. Shorter hair, piercing blue eyes, light stubble around his jaw. Tall. You offered a small smile up at him.

"I'm Y/N, Tony hired me a couple days ago but I haven't seen you around. You must be Bucky, right?" you said, excited to finally meet the super soldier that the team had been telling you about.

"Yeah, it's Bucky" he responded flatly before walking to the table to get some food, cutting off any further conversation.

You frowned to yourself but decided to not take it personally. Natasha had told you he was closed off especially after the whole deal with the Accords. Not that you could blame him, he had been through enough in one lifetime. You went to go wash the dishes, wondering how you could get the surly soldier to open up to you.

A few days passed with no sight of Bucky but you weren't surprised. It was late one evening when on a whim, you decided to bake. Taking out the ingredients you needed, you hummed some song that was playing on the radio earlier, feeling yourself slip into your comfort zone again.

Bucky was up, as he always was during these late nights. Sleep seemed impossible at times, flashes of blood and chaos invading his mind every time he closed his eyes. Scrubbing a weary hand down his face, he got up and pulled on a pair of sweatpants to get some water.

As he padded to the kitchen, he paused at the sight of you dancing to your own tune in the kitchen, cleaning a couple dishes. The faint scent of a pastry layered with something sweeter enticed him but he shook himself out of the trace.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, voice rough with disuse as he slipped past you to get a glass.

"Oh! Bucky, hi. Uh, something like that. Just had the urge to make something and since I am getting paid to cook, might as well make the most of it" you said softly, stretching as you made your way to the oven.

His eyes followed your movements as you pulled out a steaming rack of croissants, the flaky pasty littered with strays of purple streaks.

"Plum croissants" you explained after seeing his furrowed brow. "Wanna try one? Steve told me you liked plums"

"No" he said flatly but his eyes kept straying back to the dessert. Frustrated, he left the kitchen with his glass of water, leaving you wondering if you had messed up.

However, in the next 2 days, the croissants were gone. Of course, the team could've eaten them but whenever you asked around, they said that they never knew they existed.

You were finishing up the last of the dinner dishes when you heard quiet footsteps behind you, freezing when you turned around.

Raising an eyebrow, you fought back a smile at the sight of Bucky holding the croissant jar against his chest, the container clearly empty.

"You liked my croissants" you stated as he scowled, putting the jar on the counter.

"They were okay" he muttered, glancing away as you held back a giggle, taking the jar to wash it.

"You uh... you like baking?" he asked awkwardly, grabbing a napkin to clean the grooves in his metal arm.

"Yeah... I think it's a little more calming than cooking" you replied after a moment, turning back around to lean against the counter, watching him.

"What." he snapped slightly, avoiding eye contact like a guilty child.

"I can't believe you actually liked the plum croissants" you laughed softly, a bright smile blooming across your face. Bucky didn't trust himself to look at you, at the sunshine you radiated.

Coming around the counter, you slid onto the stool next to him, observing his expression for a moment. Troubled.

"You don't like it when people take care of you?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Stop prying" he frowned, glancing quickly at you before meticulously focusing on one area of his arm.

"I'll take that as a yes" you hummed, yawning and stretching your arms above your head. "You know it's not a bad thing, people are just looking out for you"

He stayed silent, staring at his arm.

"Bucky?"

"I don't need your pity"

There was a strain in his voice, barely, but it was there.

"Bucky-"

"You're just a fucking chef, what would you know" came his biting reply.

"O-oh. Sorry, I didn't... um, it's late so I'm gonna go to bed" you whispered, the words cutting deeper than you'd like to admit. Sure, you were a chef but you also knew people. Knew how to connect with them.

Bucky watched as you hurried off, wondering why his words felt so wrong after he said it. He could almost feel the dimness of your light, like he sucked it out of you.

It was easy to say he hated himself for it.

It was a week later when you found a brown paper bag placed outside your door. You were oblivious to the pair of eyes watching you, wanting you to open it.

You reached out to get it, a familiar faint sweet smell reaching your nose. Opening it, you saw a somewhat attempted plum croissant and bit the inside of your cheek to stop a laugh.

You glanced around the hall before you spotted him lingering in a corner, watching your reaction. You stood there quietly, waiting for him to say something.

"I'm.... sorry... for lashing out" he finally said, shoulders slumping in defeat as he walked over to where you stood. "I'm not used to people being so insistent on caring about me or going out of their way to make... croissants"

"Thank you for the apology. And the croissant" you said, looking back down at the sad croissant before putting the bag down and wrapping your arms around him.

He paused for a moment, not used to the physical affection before wrapping his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. After a moment, he tilted his head down so that he could nuzzle his nose in your hair.

"Can you make some more croissants though?" came his muffled voice.

"Bucky!" you laughed, slapping his shoulder as he continued hugging you while walking you backwards to the kitchen.

[gouraminnow]

Hii, if you still write, could you do a continuation for the yandere shanks headcanons please?

I haven't done hcs for him before? I can do em now tho :) This is mostly the background idea I was working off of for my drabble but it's not super concrete

The guy is notoriously flaky. Honestly I feel like a lot of OP men are. So if you manage to catch his eye in a way that gets him to fixate on you, well... good luck lol

The idea I had for the mini fic I wrote was a civilian Mc who had managed to bargain for a ride to another island, for whatever reason. Nowhere specific, just anywhere but where you are now, and he obliges. The obsession isn't immediate, but he decides there's something about you he likes, whether your funny, charming etc. And since you aren't picky about where he drops you off, you don't question it when he doesn't let you off the next time the Red Force docks somewhere. You believe him when he cites a lack of safety, whether it's corrupt Marine presence, other pirate crews, etc.

And it's fun, anyway. Whatever reservations you had about running off with a notorious band of pirates are easily quelled. Shanks himself is so easy-going and carefree, you open up without realizing or really thinking about it. They're friendly, they invite you to join the party, and they're more than willing to show off for someone so easily impressed. Towards the end of the night, you're throwing bottles into the air, laughing as Yassop easily snipes each and every one out of the air despite everyone being drunk off their asses.

The parties are fun, the food is good, everyone is friendly and you don't think much of the casual affection given by Shanks. Arm around shoulders if he isn't using it to drink, being pulled into his side... what you do think is weird is when you come down with some sort of minor illness, and he insists you stay in his bed rather than the room they set up a cot in. Isn't there an infirmary? He tells you he just feels personally responsible. Wants you somewhere he can keep an eye on you himself. This... doesn't make much sense to you, but you relent. You are his guest after all, you don't want to be rude... Things start adding up. He's the only one who touches you so much. You start noticing the looks the others give the two of you, the way they seem to be herding you towards him... the safety excuse worked the first couple times they wouldn't let you disembark, but the 4th? 5th? 6th? Eventually you learn to stop asking, and opt to try and sneak off while they're on land- and that's when the Marine incident happens, and you learn you have a bounty.

You don't understand how. You stay below deck any time there's any sort of skirmish- and the Red Haired pirates end any conflict awfully quickly. Even if you had been spotted, loitering on deck before being ushered to safety- you doubt anyone survived long enough to speak of you, let alone get a photo. And it's not one you recognize, either. Did someone back on your island report you to the marines, when you decided to run off with a band of pirates? Did Shanks do it? That wouldn't make sense, so you think it was probably delivered by someone scornful back home...

You wake up in bed with Shanks, resting against his chest. You blink, trying to pull away, and for the first time since you've known him his stern expression is directed at you. You'd seen it when pirates or marines were spotted on the horizon, but never because of you, never at you. He finally confirms that you won't be leaving. That he doesn't intend to let you go. And you have a bounty now, anyway, for associating with him, so even if he wanted to part ways it would only endanger you. And that's when it really hits that you had gotten far too comfortable with a group of men who's jobs include the bonus of might making right, of taking whatever they want. But then again, if Shanks still decided he wanted you, having discretion wouldn't have saved you from a man like him.

Now that you know, he doesn't need to hold back anymore. Gone is the cot and room to yourself, you sleep with him. He smothers you- a hand on your hip, thumb gently rubbing. Always looming if you're on deck with him. Pulling you onto his lap to start a makeout session in full view of the others, much to your horror. He's aggravatingly casual about the whole thing, too. Seems to think the best solution to your tears is to hold you close- in reality he does know better, of course he knows it's because of him. He just doesn't care.

[ichorai]

ties that bind ; nanami kento ; march 30th.

pairing ; nanami kento x reader

drabble synopsis ; you and nanami take an evening walk to feed the stray cats in the neighborhood.

themes ; fluff, slice of life, established relationship (married), parents au

warnings / includes ; suggestive near the end :) also nanami is a cat man and no one can convince me otherwise

series masterlist.

30th march, 2019

“Ah, there’s so many!” you exclaimed in utter delight when another two cats came trotting up to you, joining the three already meandering around your crouched legs. “Kento, we should bring more fish next time. Oh, they’re just so cute.”

You and Nanami were on your routine weekly evening walk around the neighborhood, and this time you’d brought a can of fish for the stray cats you occasionally spotted loitering around. The kind, elderly neighbor the two of you trusted wholly was watching baby Yuriko while you were out. 

Your husband made a soft noise of agreement, before lowering himself to a squat next to you, reaching out to run his hand over one of the stray cat’s heads—a small calico with a long, curvy tail. A contented purr rumbled in her throat at the touch. 

You continued to preen over the kitties, spooning out fish from the single can you had brought. Nanami watched you with a small smile on his face.

“We should adopt one of them,” you mused, more as a pleasant daydream you were vocalizing out loud rather than an actual suggestion. “I mean, I know we already have our plates full with Yuriko and work… but it would be nice for her to grow up with a pet.”

Hungry meows filled the short silence between the two of you as Nanami thought your words over.

“I don’t see why not,” he replied. He was already feeling partial towards the little calico, with her large orange eyes and sharp snout, tail happily swishing as she munched on some of the flaky fish. 

It amused him how you visibly perked, shoulders straightening. “Really?”

“Yes, really. If you want to.”

“Ah, this is so exciting!” You were all smiles then, bouncing on the balls of your heels. You leaned forward to press half a dozen kisses over the side of Nanami’s face in rapid succession. The usually-stoic expression on his face cracked into a bashful, lovesick expression directed towards you. “Looks like these strays have been spayed and neutered. They all have clipped ears.”

Nanami gestured towards the calico, now cleaning her muzzle with her speckled right paw. “I like this one. What do you think?”

“I love all of them,” you admitted with a little sigh. “But I think we can only handle one for now, so—she seems perfect.”

Humming, Nanami reached out to run his large hand over the calico’s back. “We’ll need to stop by a pet store to get everything. Food, a litter box, some enrichment toys, and anything else we might need. Tomorrow after work, maybe?”

“If you’re not too tired,” you quipped with a teasing prod to his shoulder. 

“When am I not?” he dryly remarked, before petting the little cat one last time, and pushing himself back up to full height. He reached a hand out to help you onto your feet, curling an arm over your waist. “We can come back tomorrow with a carrier—and if she’s still here, we bring her home.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you replied with an excited bounce. His warm palms gently squeezed your sides over your shirt—Nanami wasn’t a man who got excited, but your energy was deliciously infectious, much like many other things about you. He kissed you then, somehow simultaneously sweet and desperate, his nose pressed up next to yours. 

You got the message instantly. “Let’s get home, yeah?” you whispered against his lips, words breathy and eyes alight with both amusement and poorly-masked want. There was a carnal tone to your words, one that he recognized in an instant.

Needless to say, your evening walk turned into a brisk jog back home—the neighbor could watch Yuriko for another half an hour, right?

[theyanderespecialist]

The Husband Of FrankenFizz (Scenario) Yanderes Ozzie/Fizz X Male Reader (Helluva Boss)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins, and Welcome to a spooky Halloween-themed helluva boss scenario, which is Ozzie as Dr. Frankenstein and Fizzarolli as Dr. Franestein Monster. This is based on an idea I had where Fizz is Ozzie's monster which Ozzie brought back from the dead more or less. Of course, they did realize they would fall in love with a sinner demon and well one thing leads to another and he became their husband. Now let's do this!] 

(Disclaimer: Ozzie and Fizz are a canon couple, but they are not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Shipping them is fine as well! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon!) 

(Mad Scientist Ozzie and Monster Fizz) (Their FrankenHusband) 

(No One's POV) 

Ozzie and Fizz had loved each other deeply, more than life itself, and when Fizz died Ozzie could not handle it. He could not move on and give up the love of his life. So he found a way to bring Fizz back. It took a whole year but Fizz was back with him and they were happier than ever. People were a bit afraid of how far Ozzie would go. Even Mammon was not getting involved in that shit anymore. Their days were perfect and they thought it could not get any better. 

That was until they met you, they fell for you good and hard, you loved to laugh at Fizz's jokes and were just as lustful and loving as Ozzie. Of course, there was a barrier as you are a male sinner demon and could not leave the pride ring and you ran the risk of being killed by angels during exterminations.  Ozzie was working hard to find a way to fix that so you could leave the pride ring. Of course, the solution he came up with was not ideal, and you did not react well!  "What the hell do you mean you would have to kill me!" You demanded in horror. 

"He does not mean kill you kill you..." Fizz tries to soothe your reaction. "Oz Means that if you are no longer tied to your sinner form you would be able to become something like me! Meaning you could go to other rings as well!" 

"Fizz." You say and take his hand. "I love you, and I Love Ozzie too, but I cannot take the risk of dying... I am afraid."  You were afraid of what would come next, what was left after you died in hell, also you were working on redemption at Charlie's hotel. 

"Besides, I might not want to stay in hell forever." You add. "I have been working on redemption, with what happened to Sir Pentious I learned that I can go up to heaven and be with my family again."  Fizz and Ozzie both frown at that, they could not risk losing you, especially to heaven! So Ozzie looked at you sadly.  "I hope you can forgive me for this, (Name)." He says gently and punches a hole in your chest. 

Your eyes went wide and then everything went black. 

Ozzie and Fizz worked fast in tethering your soul to your body and then worked fast on finding the right parts to make your body hell-born enough. The worked long and hard, sawing off bits of your body and adding new parts. It took one whole week and then you were awoken with bolts of electricity going through your body!  You gasped and groaned as your body felt like you were a corpse and in some ways you were. You found you were in a place you did not know. It was the Lust ring in Ozzie's private lab.  "(Name)!" Both Ozzie and Fizz rushed to you and you groaned.  "What happened?" You ask them. "I hurt."  "Yes, (Name)." Fizz says. "It will hurt for a bit. But you get used to it."  "used to wha-" You lift your hand to your face and your eyes go wide at the two different skin tones and stitches in your wrist. "What the hell!?" You demand and look over your body. 

Finding that you had different types of hell-born demon flesh connected to your own.  "(Name)." Ozzie tries to calm you down. 

"What the hell did you do to me!" You demand in horror. "I-I What did you do!?"  "We made it so we can be together forever," Ozzie tells you. "Do not worry, (Name). We will help you." 

You felt like you could not breathe, which you did not need to but it was still a lot to take in. Ozzie realizes you would have a panic attack so he sedates you. Stroking your hair and telling you it will be okay. That your husbands were there for you, and once again, everything went black. 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS Another chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!] 

[httpstes]

The beauty each sign holds Pt.1

(Aries-Virgo)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧

ꕥ Aries placements are electric and fiery in the way they approach life. They’re ecstatic nature is shown to all quite easily however it is only once you’re in a deep connection with these individuals that you are able to see beyond the surface. You are able to see beyond their spontaneous fun-loving nature. Deep down Aries placements stay loyal to those they consider their loved ones, and so as such, once you have an Aries placement who loves you, they won’t leave. Sure there can be banters and lively disputes along the way, but an Aries can get over these things as fast as they came. Therefore they don’t hold onto the past. They understand that regret, guilt and grief may not ever fade away, and so the only thing they can really do is keep moving forward. The only moment that is important to them is the here and now, so they like to cherish every second of it before it soon becomes a memory. This is why these people hold so much beauty. They have the ability to let go, move on, and continue with life, all the while striving for exciting moments that thrill them.

ꕥ Taurus placements are unmoving yet beautiful. They are the standing rock blocking the rivers path that won’t cease to move. They hold the natural beauty you see in the world. Mother earths living embodiment of nature and peace. These individuals can make you feel so safe and relaxed, you won’t even know that their spell is being undone upon you. Taurus placements hold this elegant poise with the way they walk. Their physical being entices others to come be around them, they let the world know they are a safe space for those that aren’t so lucky. It’s in the way they speak to you, how they care for you and love you that these individuals shine. Taurus placements will go to the ends of the earth for their loved ones, however in saying this they wont just drop everything then and there. These individuals know their worth and won’t waste their time on someone who doesn’t appreciate them. This is what I truly find beautiful about them. The fact that they are able to love and give so much to others while also maintaining boundaries and loving themselves equally is something a lot of people struggle with. Taurus placements might start off in life dealing with people who use them for things, who take advantage of their kindness. However as taurus placements grow they learn how to give to others as well as giving back to themselves. These individuals have learnt the balance between self-love and their love to the world, and because of this they won’t settle for something that they know is not good for them.

ꕥ Gemini placements contradict themselves over and over again. This can cause an internal struggle especially in terms of opinions and beliefs however I believe this is something extremely useful. Gemini placements get bored, they want to try everything possible that’s offered to them in this life time. They are here simply to learn, explore and understand. Their curious nature is what I find beautiful in Gemini placements. Geminis need constant stimulation in everything. In love, school, work, you name it! They like when things are entertaining and if no one is entertaining them, they’re gonna entertain themselves. I really dislike when people call Geminis flaky or cheaters. This really narrows down the beautiful and youthful spirit these individuals have. Geminis are so much more than those negative archetypes. They hold so much intelligence and wisdom of the most random things and it’s so cute. I love hearing these people ramble, reading their well written stories, the jokes they crack at the most unfortunate of times, i simply love taking in anything that they produce. This is because it gives me the slightest glimpse into the mind of these individuals. A gemini’s mind can be..all sorts of things, it can be super dark at times while other times they’re brainstorming the next best thing. Either way their minds deserve to be treasured, obviously by those that can handle it. Many assume gemini placements are complex, this is true, however there is so much beauty and grace that is held within that complexity.

ꕥ Cancer placements are so so sweet. Truly divine beings full of love. They came here to nurture and heal those who felt unsafe in their homes, who weren’t accepted or welcomed. Cancerians don’t just care for you, they notice every little thing about you and they treasure it. Every small detail, they will remember. This is because cancerians strongest emotions come from nostalgia and love, and so when you’re considered a loved one to these individuals, just know you have won in life as you will never meet someone more devoted than them. Stereotypes lead people to believe that cancers are the literal personification of the word saccharine. A individual who is sickeningly sweet, over-emotional, and overly sentimental. While what I explained denotes cancerians as sentimental and loving, they don’t do it without reason. Something that I believe is overlooked is that cancers are symbolised by the crab. A animal with a hard shell, said to be a symbol of defence, having the ability to be resilient and valiant. Though cancerians are beautiful delicate beings, there is this heroism that is naturally in their nature. Because of this they are attracted to the darker apsects of life. They want to save and heal those around them by defending them endlessly even if it’s wrong. They’re loyalty is almost comparable to a martian ruled individual’s idea of loyalty. They have this soft, cunning nature about them that effortlessly captivates those in their presence, and yet they also have so much will to fight and protect themselves and their loved ones. I am enamoured with a cancerians ability to know when to fight and when to nurture and love. They do this unknowingly as everything they do is lead by intuition, and for some reason this makes me love them more.

ꕥ Leo placements are born into this world adorned with jewels and gold. It does not matter if they experienced the limelight at a young age or if they had their light dimmed by those around them, it always comes to them no matter what. Leos are faithful to a fault. The luminaries are considered to be loyal, this of course goes for Solarian beings too. Leos are loyal to their family, their friends, their beliefs and morals, and most importantly, themselves. Leos can expect attention from all walks of life. They make heads turn walking down the street, entering a store, buying groceries, and waiting for a bus. Anything these individuals do, whether simple or extravagant, subconsciously take the attention away from what they’re doing, and onto them. Because of this, people are either enamored with or envy leo individuals. Some may wonder why they have it so easy, why they can easily charm those around them with little to no effort. But don’t be fooled by this facade some of them have built up. Behind closed doors, Leos are finally able to be free from the spotlight that follows them around. With the admiration leos receive, people may put them on such a high pedestal that they invalidate some of the terrible experiences leo placements have gone through because "it simply can’t be that bad" considering how beautiful and powerful these beings are. Leos have big hearts, and so they don’t have it in them to harshly explain some of the faults being glorified to such an extent can have on one’s mental health. I truly adore Leo placements but I understand that they don’t have it as easy as it is made out to seem. They are the sun, the light in people's lives, and if the sun's light were to dim or disappear so does all life around them. The sun may shine forever, but it does not mean it doesn’t ever get tired from the multiple aspects of life they have to entertain and keep alive. I feel for Leo placements with all the expectations and praise put upon them.

ꕥ Virgo placements are the nimble fairies of the earth. They guide those who are lost in this vast forest of a world we live in. Virgos live to serve others, they truly are humble beings who are unselfish and this overlooked fact is what makes them so much more pleasant to be around. Not only are they humble but they are so precise in everything they do! Virgos truly are the people you want to go to for whenever you need help in any matter or situation, because regardless if they’re nervous or not, they will put up a front to make sure those around them feel safe and secure. In saying this everything they do for their loved ones is done with so much love and thought. When they are asked of something, they put all their attention to it and have the precision of a doctor, wanting to make sure that what they’re doing is beyond your expectations. In fact there is this almost melancholic beauty within the way they hold themselves and the judgement they whole heartedly pursue for not only others but for themselves as well. Virgos are quick thinkers and can be very methodical, however in saying this, I think it’s safe to say these individuals can be stuck in their heads sometimes. They may find comfortability in the space they have created within their own minds, though when things turn south this space they have created could easily turn against them. Their own mind will turn against them. Because of this, Virgos tend to have this quick, nervous energy. However even this aspect of them is so, so endearing.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The second part is not coming out any time soon but i’m working on it! As always thankyou for reading :D

[triptychgrip]

Viktor (re)embracing gender-fluidity

Viktor glanced at Yuuri for moral support, feeling emboldened by the warmth in his smile. To buy himself some time, he took a large gulp of his iced tea, then gave Makka a few head scritches.

He then attempted to utter the final sentence of his, admittedly, clumsy speech.

“So…in light of all that, I’ve come to the realization…

His voice faltered, his brain thrown off by the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. 

Fuck. Why was this so difficult? 

Every fiber of his being told him that there was an extremely slim chance of his sister-in-law reacting negatively to this admission, but even so, he couldn’t help it. 

He was terrified.

If it hadn’t been for the squeeze of Yuuri’s fingers around his own, he wouldn’t have been able to continue the monologue that the two of them had painstakingly crafted, the Japanese having been rehearsed nearly ad nauseum.

“I don’t identify as a man…though it’s probably most accurate to say that I don’t identify as only a man,” Viktor murmured, trying and failing to meet Mari’s eyes. “I’ve actually known this for awhile – which is a whole other story that I’m not ready to get into – but it’s only recently that I decided I wanted to be open about it with people other than Yuuri.”

The next half-minute or so was punctuated by little more than the whirring of the two newly-installed window air conditioning units: gifts from him and Yuuri after literally two years of pleading to be allowed to contribute to a few key onsen upgrades. 

If Viktor weren’t already so used to Mari’s stolidity, he might have been more offended by her non-reaction. Other than continuing to chew slowly and methodically on the grilled salmon chunks of her “second breakfast”, her face barely moved. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his husband fidgeting, his eyebrows knitted together with burgeoning anxiety. 

Just when he was sure that Yuuri would beg for her to say something, Mari looked up and voiced a sentence that made Viktor’s chest ache.

“You should let me pierce your ears.”

And…

Oh.

Suddenly Viktor’s eyes were stinging, brimming with tears he was helpless to fight. 

He was too overwhelmed to do anything about them, but he did splutter a laugh at the rapidity with which Yuuri whipped out his favorite Makka-printed handkerchief, put it into his hand and mechanically brought his arm up to his face.

You should let me pierce your ears.

It was a seven word reaction that was so completely Mari: a suggestion offered in the measured, almost subdued sort of tone that someone else might have taken for disinterest. And yet, given the circumstances, it was the most wonderfully validating reaction. It was a simultaneous thank you for telling me and I’m glad you trusted me with this and this doesn’t change how I see you (at least not in any sort of negative way). 

It said: you should tell mom and dad because they’d be happy for you.

Goya gave a loud whine and rose up on her hind legs to paw at Yuuri’s shoulder, and Viktor’s stomach gave a tiny lurch when he realized that he was crying as well.

It seemed that Mari wasn’t feeling nearly as generous towards her brother, though. Quick as lightning, she reached over to steal a flaky bite of Yuuri’s fish and popped it into her mouth, unceremoniously.

“Cut it out, otouto, you’re stealing Vik-chan’s thunder,” she quipped mid-chew, though her lips were twitching. “You’re not allowed to cry more than hi– ”

She stopped, abruptly, her eyes widening in a very uncharacteristic show of hesitation. When she next spoke, it was clear that she felt a bit embarrassed. 

“I was about to say ‘him’, but then I realized I was making assumptions.” 

She looked a bit sheepish and Viktor couldn’t help but beam at her through his blurred vision. 

“Him is fine, for today, anyway,” he croakily replied before turning to Yuuri to begin helping him dry his own tears.

Relief and euphoria mingled in his brain, dizzying him ever so slightly as he worked.

Could acceptance really be this easy? 

If okaasan and tousan reacted even half as well, then perhaps the fissures in his heart that had been growing for over a decade would actually have some hope of mending. 

The decision Viktor had relayed to Yakov in April of 2009 had gone on to taint some of his happiest memories. It had lent them a palpable bitterness, as if his words regarding the forked path in his career had been emblazoned upon his tongue. 

He’d had to give his former coach some credit, however, because Yakov’s trademark gruffness had been nowhere in sight for the duration of that conversation. In fact, his eyes had looked the saddest Viktor had ever seen them, and even now, it brought a lump to his throat when he remembered how Yakov had croakily told him that it might be possible one day: that there might come a time when Viktor could escape the unrelenting grip of the federation…

That there might come a time when he could call himself whatever he wanted, could wear whatever he wanted on or off the ice, and love whomever he wanted. 

Of course, this day hadn’t materialized until after his retirement, but Viktor knew there was little good in dwelling on lost time. Now, the best thing he could do was to look to the future and dictate things on his own terms.

“I plan on taking things in steps,” Viktor now said to Mari before leaning into the solid presence of Yuuri’s arm at his back. 

Though he was still sniffling, Yuuri’s fingers languidly rubbed up and down his spine, carefully tracing the knobs through his thin t-shirt. The casual comfort meant more to him than he could possibly convey.

“It’ll probably be a few months before I’ve decided on what exactly this all means, but for now, I just…wanted to tell you,” Viktor quietly went on, feeling gratified when his sister-in-law accepted his statement with a quick nod.

Amusement then plucked at the corners of his mouth when she made to steal another bite of fish.

Yuuri failed to react quickly enough to prevent it, and his surly, delayed outburst made both him and Mari begin to laugh.

“You’re not piercing his ears, neechan! We’ll go to a proper establishment, this isn’t The Parent Trap!” 

…

Don’t get me wrong: I love canon’s emphasis on acceptance regarding both gender identity and sexuality, but since discovering YOI four years ago, I’ve often found myself wondering about more realistic scenarios as it relates to skating politics/Russia’s conservatism.

Viktor being able to reclaim the gender-fluidity of his teenage years, post-retirement, is one of the things I was most eager to explore in my 2018/2022 Olympic Games WIP series. While this is a theme that appears throughout (especially in part 1), I would one day like to publish a one-shot wholly dedicated to covering Viktor’s journey (which the ficlet above would be part of).

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Slice Of Life. (Waitress Au) Part 1

Doctor!Steve Harrington x Waitress!Reader.

All you wanted to do was bake your pies, but life had other plans for you. Now you find yourself pregnant with your no-good husband's baby, and worried about the direction in which your life was now heading.

Heavily based on the 2007 film, Waitress.

Warnings:Pregnancy, Billy is reader's husband (and he is not a nice guy at all),

Word Count: 2,630.

Next part ->

*divider by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist.

“C’mon, just take the test, and then you’ll know one way or the other and you can take things from there.” Robin shouts from behind the bathroom stall.

You step out of the cubicle and huff out a nerve-steadying breath. Your future is quite literally in your trembling hands. Your blue and white waitressing dress suddenly feels all-too constricting and the fabric feels scratchy against your skin.

You look down at the pregnancy test in your hands, desperately hoping and waiting for a negative result.

“Please, not now, not ever, I don’t want this.” you mutter to yourself. “I don’t need any trouble and I most certainly don’t want a baby. I just want to make my pies in peace.”

“I thought you weren’t sleeping with Billy anymore?” Nancy chimed in.

“Oh you know what her husband’s like.” Robin babbled. “He played nice, took her out and got her drunk. Now look where we are.”

“I should never drink. I always do stupid shit when I drink, like sleep with my husband.”

The timer goes off and you cast your eyes downwards to the test in your hands.

“Oh fuck!” you panic “It’s positive.” 

“It’s positive?” Nancy and Robin exclaim in tandem.

A heavy fist knocks at the bathroom door.

“What’s going on in there? I’ve got a diner full of hungry customers and no waitresses on the floor!” shouts the gruff voice.

“Hold your horses will you Hopper, Y/n isn’t feeling too good.” Nancy shouts back.

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute, Hop.” you chime, brushing the stray strands of hair away from your face.

“Well hurry up!” he grumbles.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks, rubbing a gentle and reassuring hand over your back.

“Shhh..I’m coming up with an idea for a new pie.” 

In your mind you can see the pie so perfectly. The golden crisp shell, with all its fillings and toppings.

“It’s called ‘I don’t want Billy’s baby’ pie.

“I’m not sure that’ll fit on the lunch-board.” Robin laughs.

“Okay, then I’ll call it ‘Bad-Baby’ pie. It’s a quiche, with smoked ham and sharp cheddar.” 

The flaky pastry shell, filled with a savoury, cheesy, egg custard, pieces of salty smoked ham running through it. The sort of thing that would fly off the counters during a Sunday lunchtime rush.

Your mind was never not thinking of new and exciting flavour combinations, In a way it your way of expressing yourself. The ideas coming to you at odd times of the day. Sometimes sweet, and fruity, and sometimes tangy and savoury. No matter what pie it was that you made, it was always served with a smile, and enjoyed by the diner's patrons with an even bigger smile.

You sigh quietly as you hold your head in your hands. You were happy enough with how your life was going. You had a job that you loved, working alongside friends that you loved, and a husband who you were quite content to ignore to the best of your abilities. Two out of three ain’t so bad. 

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to get away from Billy now.” 

You sit beside Nancy and Robin on the bench outside the diner, a pie leftover from today’s dinner rush sitting wrapped up in cling-film on your lap. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Nancy asks.

“I’m not sure.” you mumble, suddenly more interested in the dirt-scuffed marks on your white tennis shoes than thinking about how to tell Billy you were pregnant with a baby that you weren’t even sure that you wanted. 

“In an ideal world I wouldn’t have to tell him. If I could get away from him somehow, he might not ever have to know.” 

“Are you absolutely sure it’s his?” Robin asks carefully, trying not to force the implication of her question.

“Unfortunately yes. I’ve never cheated on him, it absolutely couldn’t be anybody else’s.”

“Here you are; married to this handsome man, you’re pregnant with his baby, anyone else might be happy, and yet neither of us would ever want to trade places with you for a second.” Nancy says.

“No I would not.” Robin agrees. “Well maybe there is one thing I would trade.” She starts.

“What’s that Rob?” you ask, turning to your friend.

“I would love to be able to make pies as good as yours.” she smiles, nudging her shoulder against yours.

“So what if I can make a decent pie. I’m still stuck in a marriage with a husband who I should never have gotten with in the first place.” You sigh.

When you had met Billy you’d both been too young and blinded by love. He was handsome, with soft blonde curls and devastatingly piercing blue eyes. He’d sweet talk you in-between classes, and he made you feel special, made you feel seen for the first time in a long time. Things had been great for a while, and marrying him felt like the logical next step in your relationship, but after that everything changed. He was no longer the man you once knew. Once he’d tied you down to him he stopped trying, so sure that you would never leave him. His words were often cruel and manipulative. Many times you had found yourself dreading leaving work, for fear of what might be waiting for you at home.

The sight of your husband’s Camarro pulls in front of the diner, the wheels crunching over the rocky gravel drive-way, and his horn blaring obnoxiously.

“Yeah, yeah, I can hear you.” you mutter to yourself, when he continues to blare his horn, thumping his fist against the steering wheel.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Nancy nods, bidding you goodbye.

“-and if you do decide to tell hi-” Robin whispers to you, but you cut her off with a ‘shh’ as Billy’s car rolls to a stop in front of you.

“Hey,” you smile, putting on your best brave face. “See you girls tomorrow” you wave goodbye as you make your way to his car.

“You getting in or what?” Billy's clipped tone comes from the driver’s seat.

The sounds of soft rock music filter from the car’s radio as he rattles down the dusty back roads.

“You don’t look too pleased to see me.” he grumbles. “You didn’t even give me a kiss or nothing.”

“I am pleased to see you.” you answer back.

“Well, where’s my hello kiss then?” he demands, taking a hand off the wheel to point at his cheek.

You lean over the centre console to quickly peck his cheek, the harsh scruff of his stubble feeling uncomfortably coarse against the press of your lips.   

“That’s more like it.” he grins, satisfied to have gotten his way once more.

“Where’s the money you made today, huh?”

“Right here in my pocket.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Hand it over.”

You fish the notes from out of your pocket, handing them over to Billy reluctantly.

“Doesn’t feel like much there, now does it sweetheart?” His tone is snide as he takes the money from you and places it into his own shirt pocket.

“It was a slow day today, that’s all.” 

“You’ve been having a lot of slow days recently, I’m not even sure it’s worth you working there anymore.” he scoffs. “Think I might prefer it if you stayed home and cooked me pies all day.” he smirks, his teeth pulling against his bottom lip as he chuckles to himself.

The quiet between you falls once more before he speaks again.

“Aren’t ‘ya going to ask me how my day was?”

“How was your day, Billy?”

“Oh you know how it is, the boss is busting my ass as usual, tellin’ me that i’m not putting in enough effort-” Billy launches into his spiel about how his day went, but it all blends into the background noise, his voice no more than mindless chatter to you as your mind is elsewhere.

Inventing a new pie.

I hate my husband pie, Bitter-sweet dark chocolate, in a crumbly dark chocolate crust, filled with a gooey, salted caramel-

“You’re not even listening to me.” Billy shouts out, taking you out of your happy place. “You never fuckin’ listen to me anymore.” he shoves your shoulder with a free hand.

“Well, aren’t you going to apologise to me?” 

It’s pointless to argue with him. You know this. He knows it. And by god does he hold it over you every single time.  

“I’m sorry, Billy. Sorry that I didn’t listen to you when you were telling me about your day.”

“See? Was that so hard?” 

It’s late in the evening when you get back home, and both you and Billy are sitting at the kitchen table. Your hardly eaten dinner being pushed around by your fork. In contrast to the man opposite you, who hungrily forks up pieces of steak to his mouth.

You have something that you want to ask of him, but for that you know that he’s going to need sweetening up. You smile softly at him, as your hand reaches for his across the table.

“Baby, you’re always so sweet to me, you know that?” you tell him, your voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet, yet false, tone.

“You’re my girl, that’s why.” he says, the knife scratching along the china plate as he cuts himself another piece of steak.

“I was hoping I could borrow some money from you?” you ask sheepishly.

“..And my answer to that question is gonna be no.” he clips, his answer short and curt.

“There’s going to be a big pie bake-off out of state in a few months, and I really like to go.” you continue.

“I already said no.”

“The prize money is really good.” you add on, hoping the promise of bringing more money home might change his mind.

“What do you need money for, huh?” Billy barks out. “I give you everything, and you don’t want for nothing.”

“I don’t want for nothing, Billy.” you sigh. Your plan to get away from your husband starts to look bleaker by the minute.

“I mean why do you wanna go all the way across the state, when you’ve got me to take care of?”

“You’re right, Billy.” you shake your head with a sigh. “Forgive me for asking.”

Late into the night, with Billy heavily asleep in bed next to you, snoring loudly, you’re lying awake. 

Quietly as you can you tiptoe out of bed, trying your best to not disturb the man next to you, you quietly pad over to where his shirt lay discarded on the bedroom floor. 

Looking over your shoulder to where your husband lies undisturbed on the bed, you reach into his pocket to take back the money that you had earned from your shift at the diner that day. Taking the money to hide it away from him in a secure place that you hope he would never find it.

You sit nervously in the doctor’s waiting room. Another pie perched on your lap, ready to give to your doctor.

Your name is called by the receptionist and so you make your way through the door to the doctor’s surgery.

In strolls your Doctor, except, he isn’t your Doctor. This guy wasn’t Doctor Bloom. He had a bountiful bounce of shaggy brown hair that was slicked back. His tan skin peppered with a few golden freckles, a few of them clustering over the sloping bridge of his nose, and his hazel brown eyes seemed to sparkle under the cool white lights overhead. His white over-coat draped over his broad-shouldered frame as he sauntered towards you.

“Mrs. Hargrove is it?” he asks, looking over his clip-board of notes. “Oh and you’ve brought me a pie! How lovely!” he smiles, reaching to take the pie from your hands.

“This pie is for Doctor Bloom. I made it for her, it’s her favourite, peach and raspberry.” 

“Well, Doctor Bloom retired a few months ago, and so, from now on I’ll be taking her place.”

“Well I really liked and trusted Doctor Bloom.” you sigh.

“Perhaps, you could really like, and trust me too.” he says earnestly, before offering a hand out to you. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Doctor Steve Harrington.”

You shake his hand and tell him your name in return.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” he asks, his voice a calming presence as he talks to you.

“Well, I seem to be pregnant.” you say plainly.

“That’s great! Congratulations!” He smiles broadly.

“Thank you, but I’m not as happy about it as everyone probably expects me to be, so if you could be sensitive and perhaps not congratulate me, I’d really appreciate it.” 

He nods as he listens to you talk through your feelings.

“I’m having the baby,and that’s that. It’s not a party.”

“Alright, noted. Not a party.” he nods in understanding. “Okay, well then let’s do a blood test first, make sure that you really are pregnant, and then we’ll do some basic checks, diseases, hormone levels, stuff like that.” he explains.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Alright then, the nurse will be with you in a moment, so don’t go anywhere.”

 “Mrs. Hargrove, come in.” he says gesturing for you to make your way into his office. Doctor Bloom’s peach and raspberry pie is still in your hands as you step through the door.

“Y/n.” you remind him, hating the way your husband’s name tied you to him.

“Sorry about the mess, I haven’t really had the chance to tidy things up around here yet.” he offers apologetically, carefully moving a stack of papers off his cluttered desk.

“Well if you’re going to be my doctor from now on, then I guess this pie belongs to you.”

Steve graciously accepts the pie with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much.” he says, setting the pie down on the desk. “Well, uh, have a seat.”

You sit yourself down in the chair opposite him, ready to listen to what he has to tell you.

“The results of the blood test came back, and you’re definitely pregnant. So for the next eight months, I’ll be right here if you need me, any questions - I’m just a phone-call away. We’ll be monitoring your progress, keeping an eye on how things are going, making sure both you and baby are healthy. Did you have any questions for me?”

“What kind of questions?”

“Anything really, any concerns with regards to your pregnancy, some do’s and don’ts, lifestyle choices, exercise, sex..” he trails off, scribbling his pen down on a piece of paper.

“Oh well I don’t do much of either of those things.” you reply honestly.

“Okay, any diet concerns?”

You shake your head at him. 

“Not really, I mean, it’s just a lot of healthy eating, right?”

“Yeah, just try to maintain a healthy diet, be careful around certain kinds of cheese and fish, here’s a list of foods I would try to avoid,” he says handing over a small piece of paper. “..and here is a prescription for some prenatal vitamins.” 

Despite his nervous energy, something you’re putting down to meeting with a new patient for the first time, he seems sweet. Caring and attentive, and spoken with calming demeanour that immediately puts you at ease, and in the situation in which you find yourself, you are eternally grateful.

“Okay, thank you, Doctor.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/n. I’d like to see you again in about three weeks.”

You leave the doctor’s office with a smile tugging at your lips and your worries put at ease by the calming influence of your new, handsome, kind and caring doctor.

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @ali-r3n

[feedpartysubs]

I had a dream last night where I ordered a whole McDonald’s family meal for you. 6000 calories ready for your eager belly. The first Big Mac goes down easy with you inhaling fries and you’re dipping nuggets so fast that I can’t open sauces fast enough. Before you know it, you’ve devoured half the nuggets and the 2 cheeseburgers. You’re working on fries while letting your belly settle to finish off the rest of the nuggets and the last Big Mac.

As you eat salty fry after salty fry, I grab 2 gallons of ice cream from the freezer and let them sit on the counter to get soft. The irony of them getting soft while your round belly gets harder and harder with every bite, every calorie.

When I get back you’ve taken a break from savory to house a few of the apple pies. You’re breathing is shallow, you’re moaning in pain, but you want more. You’re begging for my hands to massage your swollen belly, but I whisper, only good piggies who finish their nuggets get belly rubs.

With a look of faux reluctance, you oink, “if I have to but I need a little help.l I wipe some sweet and sour sauce from your chins and you suck it from my finger as I dip a nugget into a nearly empty sauce cup. Your greedy mouth slowly devours it as I ready the next one for execution. By the time you’ve finished the rest, it is a graveyard of dipping cups and food containers. Thousands of calories have turned your belly into a tight drum milky white skin turned pink and reddish from the sheer amount of food you’ve inhaled. But we’re not done.

Before the last Big Mac gets cold, I hold it as you weakly take bite after bite. Sauce dripping all over your belly grown so big now it can be used as a table for me to set it down on while I kiss you in between bites. With my hands free I rub them down the sides of your belly, what once was soft and flabby has now turned into a diamond. Fitting because it is as precious as one.

Miraculously, you’ve finished the Big Mac. Not without a price, you’re covered in special sauce, sesame seeds, and lettuce, looking like a fat sloppy piggy. Lucky for you, that you’re only going to get messier. I go to grab the first gallon of ice cream. You beg me to stop. But there is no stopping. You asked to be massive. So fat you can barely waddle. So fat you make Adeline and Jackie look skinny. So fat that they can’t put you on reality TV because you’re too cartoonishly fat and what reality is it where a whale lives comfortably on land?

I tell you not to worry, this first gallon is to help with the last of the pies. As I open the melty ice cream, your eyes grow as wide as your stuffed gut. You wonder if you’ll explode. Terrified it might happen, but you can’t deny the idea of dunking those apple pies into the ice cream doesn’t make you even wetter.

Every bite is creamy with the filling warm and crust still flaky from being popped into the air fryer. It seemed impossible but the last 4 pies are gone. You are drunk off all the calories.

Every bite has made you dumb, wet, breathless, and yet wanting more.

I tell you to wait while I get something. You aimlessly dip errant fries into the remaining ice cream. You wonder what I’m getting but you know deep down. It is making you squirm, well, as much as your painfully full tummy lets you. It is like a weighted blanket pinning you to the couch.

You squeal like the good piggy you are when you see I’ve come back with the second gallon in one hand, and the other is your crown. I strap the funnel to your head. Your eyes glaze over as you prepare yourself to suck down every last drip of ice cream. Blue ribbon hogs don’t get them by not finishing their meal.

Every chug of ice cream pushes your belly to its limits. Limits you thought impossible, yet here you are becoming massive. Each second that passes you see your arms start to form rolls and hang lower, your chins turn to thirds then fourths any illusion of a neck or collar bone long gone, you don’t have cankles your legs just are fat from the thigh down to form rolls over your foot, your ass gets big enough to set a dinner for four on it, and your belly hangs so low that it covers whatever idea of a lap you had and down to your knees that are now swaddled in fat.

You explode into organismic ecstasy as I whisper, all gone. You want to be weighed to see what the damage is but you drift to sleep into a food coma. Even though you’ve eaten enough calories to last a week, you can’t help but wonder what snack I’ll bring you when you wake up.

[the12thnightproject]

My gift for @cheese-ception for the @flash-exchange

Title: Heart's Desire

Starring: Yves and Emma

Prompt: Magical Bakery

WC: 700 Words

CW: Might make you hungry

Yves can bake pastries that make dreams come true... for everyone but himself.

Legend whispers of a bakery...

The whispers aren’t about the food, although everyone agrees the baker’s offerings taste delicious:  cakes piped with lacey buttercream, tarts with crusts so flaky they melt in the mouth, and exotic and mysterious truffles.

Nor does the legend center on the delicate good looks of Yves the baker, his deep blue eyes, eyes that hint of hidden sadness. Many a young woman (and a few young men) sighed over him. But this too is not the Legend.

Legend has it that those who eat here are granted their hearts’ desire.

A widow reunited with her first love… a clerk received a promotion… a childless couple discovered they were to become parents. Even tiny wishes were granted, as when a child found her lost kitten.

The legend grew until Yves had too many customers to handle, though he couldn’t afford help. And so one afternoon, he faced the final customer, Akatsuki the bookseller, and apologized for the wait.

“Think nothing of it. I....” Akatsuki paused at the array of sweets. “One would think I had time to decide but…”

Used to customer indecision, Yves studied Akatsuki, then offered him matcha mille crepe cake.

Akatsuki took a bite. He closed his eyes, recalling his childhood in Kogyoku, when the Sakura bloomed and the air had the fresh scent of the sea. “I wanted a taste of home. You have a gift. What is your wish when you bake for yourself?”

“It doesn’t work on me.”

“Ah. That is a pity.” Akatsuki bowed to thank Yves and left.

Yves might have forgotten the encounter, but the next day, before the lunch rush, a pretty girl slipped inside. “What can I help you with, Miss?” Try as he might, Yves couldn’t determine her heart’s desire.

“I’m here to help you.” She grabbed an apron. “I’m Emma – my father sent me.” At Yves’s shocked expression, she continued. “We own the book store. We’re not busy this time of day, but you are.”

“I don’t need any help.” Yves eyed her with suspicion. Was she here to steal his recipes?

“Yes, you do.” She pointed to a line forming already. “I’ll package the items and ring up the sales.”

Too busy to protest, Yves did as he was told. If he were being honest, having Emma around did make things easier. He had more time to create. Even so, at the end of the day, he told her, “Thank you, but you don’t need to return.”

…She returned.

Every day. She never asked for money, or requested a magic pastry.

Soon, Yves was looking forward to the moment her smiling face appeared. For the first time, he regretted being unable partake in the magic himself, for his heart’s desire was, simply, Emma.

Still, at least he saw her two blissful hours every day when she worked cheerfully and competently by his side.

One day Yves noticed something different about her. A distracted look in her eyes. Pain twisted in the pit of his stomach. He knew that look. She was in love with someone and wanted a pastry.

When the crowd left, he turned to her. “Wait.” He would give her a pastry, but he couldn’t bear to hear her ask for it.

Yves decided he would bake her something new. Nothing but the best, even if he was breaking his own heart to provide it. When inspiration struck, he retreated to the kitchen to create.

Sometime later, he returned, half-hoping that she had given up and left. But… no, she was patiently reading.

With a flourish, he gave her one perfect pale pink macaron. “Raspberry macaron, with lavender ganache and raspberry curd.”

“It looks almost too pretty to eat.” Still, she lifted the confection to her lips, took a nibble, and sighed in bliss. “Mmmm.”

Yves waited, heart breaking. Any moment now, she would leave to find her heart’s desire. But she didn’t move. Finally, heart aching, he asked, “What was your heart’s desire?”

She took his hands. “I didn’t ask for my heart’s desire. I asked for yours.”

Then, with a hint of shyness, she kissed him.

Surprise gave way to joy, as he lost himself in magic’s kiss.

Thank you to @lorei-writes @cheese-ception and @nuttytani for organizing another great event. I always have such fun reading your prompt reveals and writing my gifts (even though the word limit breaks my soul sometimes).

[ros3ybabe]

Daily Check-in:

July 2nd, 2024 🎀

Hello! I'm backkkkk! Now that I'm finally doing stuff again, I figured I'd start my daily check ins again and keep myself motivated and accountable with doing productive stuff daily! no challenges, no pressure, just an understanding that something is better than nothing!

🩷 What I Accomplished:

took a 2.5 hour nap in the morning (had an anxiety attack randomly that left ne absolutely exhausted but the nap was so nice)

reviewed a few Spanish lessons on Busuu

completed 2 new Spanish lessons on Busuu

completed 2 Korean Hangul lessons on Busuu

booked an Italki Spanish lesson for July 15th

booked an Italki trial lesson in Korean for July 24th (pushing myself to learn the alphabet and study as much as possible til then so I won't be an absolute absolute beginner, hopefully)

reached out to a tattoo/piercing shop about some piercings my friends and I want to maybe get while in Colorado

bought a margarita pizza from a little Italian pizza shop and it was DELICIOUS

journaled in the morning

did my night time skincare (I needed it, my face was dry and flaky)

drank ~40oz of water (definitely should've drank more)

reached out to an online health and fitness coach, so we'll see how that goes, if it goes anywhere

💔 What Could've Gone Better:

random anxiety attack stopped me from going to workout so I stayed in bed most of the day, exhausted

didn't get many steps in or do much in general

ate 4 out of the 6 slices of pizza (it was comforting, idk. it happens, so I won't beat myself up. saved those 2 slices for my roommates if she wants them!)

could've definitely spent less time on tiktok and more time studying the languages I'm trying to learn

might even broken my middle toe on my left foot after slamming it into the side of a bottom drawer that I didn't know was open

💗 Stuff For Tomorrow (July 3rd)

make all necessary payments (rent, new apartment, credit cards, etc)

study Spanish a bit (~1 hour or more)

study Korean Hangul a decent amount (~1 hour, or more, preferably)

try to workout or at least keep my steps up

do laundry

wash our towels (housekeeping here in seriously not the best)

find somewhere to buy Tylenol and tape for my (most likely) broken toe

try not to spend too much money eating out today, since I got paid

do not forget to take my medications!

morning journaling and night journaling

doing my skincare in the morning and at night

keeping up with my hygiene in general, like brushing teeth, shower exfoliation, Shaving, etc (kinds like having a self care maintenance day)

💕 Song of The Day: Girls Never Die - tripleS

this is my favorite song to listen to on the bus home from work at the moment

not much left to say, but today will definitely be a good day for me! I'll make sure of it

til next time lovelies 🩷

[upontherisers]

a/n: this was supposed to be all epistolary, no prose but then. but then.

Dear Mr. Rosenthal,

I had dinner with your mother last night. It was wonderful to catch up with her; I hadn’t seen her since the day we packed up your office and you left for Alabama. We ran into each other at Putnam Central last week (you missed a swinging show!) and she invited me for a meal. What a cook she is! Soup and cabbage and those little flaky pastries with nuts and spices for dessert (I hope I’m not making you jealous.) And of course she wouldn’t let me lift a finger to help, both out of host-liness and care that the food would be edible. Jeanette joined us for the meal but stepped out with some friends for the rest of the night, so it was just me and Rose (you don’t mind if I call her Rose, do you? She insists) in your lovely home.

You were the main topic of conversation, of course, but I found my knowledge of you fell short of what your mother hoped. She misses you terribly. I had the sense that she was looking for commiseration for the space you’ve left in our lives, but I was only your legal secretary and I work for another man now. (As much as I despise it. Please do come back to the firm when this is all over. Sidney isn’t half the lawyer you are and twice the hassle.)

I suppose you’re wondering why I’m writing. Your mother mentioned that besides Jeanette, you ain’t got a gal to write to ya and I don’t think that’s right. Every fella should have a gal to write to that’s not their mother or their sister, whether it’s a friend or a cousin or their dame. It’s hard to say certain things to family or you might have a story that they’d find appalling and anyone else would think is a hoot. I’d also like to keep visiting your mother for dinner and have something of substance to say (but all your secrets are safe with me, I promise). Jeannette’s gone during the day and I know how lonely a quiet house can get.

I hope Texas is treating you well. Keep safe and keep warm! I just read the most shocking piece in the Times about how cold it gets in the air. I’ve sent a scarf along just in case. Write when you can (if not me then your mother, please.) 

Yours,

Isadora C. Montgomery

Burnham whistles as Rosie pulls a swath of textured pale cream fabric from the package. Lacy’s hand reaches out to trace over the cloth lovingly, her dressmaker’s daughter heart moving her body before her head could catch up. He doesn’t mind. 

“Who’s that from?” Elton asks.

“My secretary,” Rosie replies as he scans over the long scarf and brings it to his nose. There it is, the faint citrusy spice that comes to linger on all of Isadora’s things. “She’s worried about the cold.”

Lacy snorts.

“Tell her it’s hot,” says Burnham.

“Tell her about the eggs,” adds Elton.

Rosie waves them off, tosses the scarf on the hook next to his hat above his bed, and picks up the letter again as he sits back down. It’s easy to get lost in the inky slashes and swells of Isadora’s handwriting, the practiced rows and roving, squat words as unique as their writer. She brings him back home in an instant with the sounds of Putnam Central on a Saturday night, horns blowing, bass rumbling around the room, and the keys lighting up his spine like his were the bones being played. It might be her up there, nimble fingers dazzling across the ivory and black or his mother and her clarinet, or Nettie and her double bass. All three of their voices eventually combine as they put their spin on the Andrews Sisters or Ella, and he’s the happiest man in the room to have a night of good music from good people.

He’ll have to ask who played, if Fat Bertie bellowed over his saxophone and demanded that his Dora get up and play that piana’, or if they had an out-of-towner. Were they any good? Any singers? Anyone who could remind him that there’s a world outside of Texas, one that’s free from the heat and the dust and the sour-tasting food. He’s pulled back into the letter, to the little flaky pastries with nuts and spices and despite the humid press of air in the barracks, his mouth waters for the warm, sweet dough that still steams when you break it apart. Rugelach, he thinks. They’re called rugelach, Dora.

She’ll know that before long if she keeps having dinner with his mother. She’ll know rugelach and blintzes, matzo ball soup and the good bagels from Schuman’s on Avenue T and Ocean. It makes him smile to think of her in his neck of the woods, her face soaking up the sun of southern Brooklyn’s wide streets not yet shaded by the tall buildings that are stacking up all around the rest of the borough, like in her Crown Heights. He wonders what it looks like now, if the drive to her apartment is more crowded, if she still chuckles at every errant ball that rolls into the street and waves at every older brother dragging their kid sister out of the way. 

Then he’ll watch her climb the stairs and smile over her shoulder at him as she unlocks her door, and then she’s inside and he wishes she would’ve lingered on the steps a moment longer.

I know how lonely a quiet house can get. He wishes he could go back home, even for just a day, and take Dora to a show on Broadway or pick up Delilah and Daniel for a day with their sister at Brighton Beach. She’ll spend all her time in her apartment when she’s not at work, waiting and hoping, unless someone drags her out, someone like Ma.

While he hadn’t considered it before, it’s important to him now, this bond between Ma and Dora. He’s glad they have time for it, he’s sad to miss the raucous conversation that always arises from two jazz musicians in the same room. Hopefully they didn’t spend too long on him; there’s too much he wants them to share—music, movies, their love of fashion—for Ma to keep the conversation on him. The vibrant life that thrums through the both of them will spark, surely, and he can finally put aside some of his guilt.

“Are you gonna do it?” Lacy asks as he stows the letter away in his foot locker. His confusion must be obvious because she smiles softly. “Are you gonna write her? It’s such a beautiful gift. You really oughta.”

Her blue eyes turn to the fabric hanging on the wall and the way it catches the light streaming in from the window, gold and shimmering, reminds him of the Flatbush apartment, the flutter of the curtains in their small kitchen on an evening when they’re all home.

He’s not like other cadets; there are no weekly care packages or pages and pages of letters coming in daily. His mother and sister write when they can and send what they can, but something like this, a genuine piece of home, is a rare find. He’s grateful and as soon as he can wear it without sweating to death, it’ll be airborne and he can take a piece of the ground to the sky with him, and from Dora of all people.

There’s no way he’ll wear it as well as she does, in elegant loops piled around her neck to protect from the snow or draped over her head and tossed over her shoulder as she gets in the car on their way to lunch in Midtown, but he’ll try. He’ll try for her and her insistence on maintaining his ‘lawyerly appearance,’ never afraid to fix his hair or reknot his tie with a tsk when he’s not up to standard.

The memory makes him laugh.

He thought of her often since he left New York. Going from having one friend at work to none left him missing the former greatly, and he’d started a letter to her in Florida but never got around to finishing it. He’s scared, maybe, not of the propriety or the scandal any letter from someone who doesn’t share your last name causes in an Army barrack, but of what she’d think. It might be for the best that he didn’t write—he’s out of her hair for the time being, and she’s busy enough with the firm without him obligating her into correspondence. But as he thinks of her words, every fella should have a gal to write to, I know how quiet a lonely house can get, he’s resolved to do them both a service and write. It won’t be any too prosaic as he doesn’t have much to talk about now, but it’s a place to start for when he might really need a friend in the future. 

Elton barks a laugh. “Of course he’s gonna write her. Not writing is how you get a Dear John letter.”

Burnham smacks his co-pilot in the chest. “It ain’t like that! She’s his secretary.”

And suddenly, three pairs of eyes are staring at him expectantly.

“I–I will write her,” he starts, but doesn’t let Elton gloat yet. “She’s a friend, a good friend, not just my secretary.”

That seems to appease the men as they get up and procure baseball gloves. Burnham tosses him a ball. “You pitching?”

Rosie shakes his head and tosses it back. “Not today, boys.”

“Yeah,” says Elton like it’s obvious, “he’s caught up on a girl.”

Burnham cackles and they chase each other outside, shoving through the group of pilots who just came in from the last practice flights of the afternoon. 

The afternoon break before chow is not to be taken for granted so while the lowering sun of early evening lulls the brashest of personalities to some sort of peace, he starts to write after pulling out some stationery, paper braced on a book Jeannie had sent when he was still in Alabama.

Lacy speaks up after a while. “It means somethin’ when a gal gives you a scarf, y’know, ‘specially when there ain’t enough scarves to go around.”

That gives him pause and he pictures Dora coming in from the cold with a red nose and hunched shoulders. He’s stuck for a moment before Lacy laughs aloud. “Don’t send it back. Just let her know you’re thankful.”

She sits back in her bed and returns to her needlepoint, which her mother had just sent her, and Rosie blinks at her for a few moments. He hadn’t known what to make of her when they got the order to integrate officer barracks. She’s a quiet soul but surprisingly humorous, and steady, always right as rain. Anyone would be lucky to have her in the seat next to them—hell, he’d volunteer if they’d let girls and guys fly together—and he much prefers her company over the boisterous, posturing pilots that fill in the rest of the beds around them. Betty Lacy is good people. Dora would like her, he thinks.

Dear Ms. Montgomery,

I just received your letter and your gift. Texas winters are too hot for scarves, but I’ll put it to good use eventually. I’m sure you’re getting snow in New York and I’m green with envy. I’d do anything for a nice blizzard right about now. We fried eggs on our instrument panels last week (and sometimes we fly in our skivvies. Don’t tell Ma.) There’s no sea air here, not even in the sky, so the heat just sits on you like a wet blanket. Forgive me if I sweat through this letter.

I am jealous, not only of your delicious dinner with my mother (the food isn’t as dire as Alabama, but it’s still bad (again, don’t tell Ma, she’ll have a fit)) but a swinging night at Putnam Central. That’ll be my first stop when they let me out of here. Who played? I hope you got up there and if you didn’t, I got a request for next time. God Bless The Child. They played it in the PX the other day, a brief reprieve from the twangy warbles they like down here, and Billie doesn’t do it quite like you. It shouldn’t surprise you that I’ve been banned from humming in the barracks—all my love of music and I can’t make a note of it. No one in my bunk has a decent voice, so we’re a musicless bunch until we can get away.

Still, it’s a good time. I find myself the fourth in a small group of similarly-minded pilots. John Burnham is from Connecticut, Claybourne Elton is from California, and Betty Lacy is a schoolteacher from Georgia. We bonded over our restlessness and have all passed certification on the B-17, so we should be assigned to crews soon. There’s practice and lots of card games in the meantime.

I hope you're well and warm. I’ll send the scarf back if you need it. There’s no reason to go without for my sake; the Army has taken enough of your silk, coffee, and gas already. And don’t let Sid run you ragged, either—he may have the experience but you’re the senior member of the firm. Go to Mr. Freidin if he keeps bothering you and I’m sure he’ll set him straight. 

They just called us for chow. It’ll be sandwiches or spaghetti—mealy, bitter noodles with tomato paste as sauce. I’ll pass and think of lunches at Rosetti’s fondly. 

Be safe and write back.

Yours,

Robert Rosenthal

“P.S. God Bless The Child, if not for me then for my mother. Well,” Gertie Simmons-Montgomery says as she sets her granddaughter’s letter down, “you gotta play it.”

Isadora sighs. “I don’t know when I’ll be back there. Mr. Wacker’s got a big case coming up and he’s working me until I’m the last one in the office. I can barely keep my eyes open on the bus.”

“Go to this Mr. Weeden—”

“Freiden.”

“Go to Mr. Freidin. Robert seems confident that—”

“Robert is a brilliant litigator who keeps clients coming back. I’m a secretary,” she says and leans down to kiss her grandmother on the forehead before moving onto her brother and sister and taking her seat at the dinner table.

“Are you gonna write back?” Daniel asks.

“Of course she is,” Delilah snaps, “Mr. Rosenthal is very handsome.”

“Mr. Rosenthal is my friend,” Isadora corrects with a warning eye to the teenager, “and my boss.”

Delilah scoffs. “Not right now, he ain’t.”

“Alright,” Delrose Montgomery claps his hands as he enters from the kitchen and moves to the head of the table, “enough of this letter talk. I have my grandchildren all together for the first time in a month. I’d like to revel in family.”

Isadora smiles and Delilah kicks her twin under the table and gets chastised by their grandma, but it’s warm and cozy despite the snow outside. As they take each other’s hands and bow their heads to pray over dinner, Dora feels a playful twinge of guilt as she begins to compose her next letter in her head.

Dear Mr. Rosenthal,

I wouldn’t have sent the scarf if I wanted you to send it back. And yes, I’ll play Billie Holliday for you...