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hy6erion · 2 months ago

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𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬 ఌ

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮- 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝! / 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞! / 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫), 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, ��𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐳 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝

Viktor knew he was going to hell for this.

It started small—innocent, almost. At least, that’s what he told himself at first. You were his sweet, doting roommate, the one who always made sure he ate something that wasn’t just coffee and stale bread. The one who baked cookies late at night, humming some soft tune while their warmth filled the apartment. The one who, despite his sharp tongue and reclusive nature, still treated him with an affection he didn’t deserve.

He’d been fine admiring from a distance, stealing glances whenever you curled up on the couch with a book or stretched sleepily in the kitchen, unaware of how his golden eyes dragged over every inch of you. He’d been fine with that. Until one evening, he found something that shattered his self-control entirely.

It was a mistake, really. He hadn’t meant to go into your laundry basket—he was just looking for the clean dish towels you always kept neatly folded, but then he saw it.

White lace, soft and delicate, with pink satin bows.

Your lingerie.

Viktor had frozen, fingers twitching at his side as he stared at the matching bra and panties nestled between your other clothes. It was innocent enough, really—everyone wore undergarments. But this? This was something different. This was intimate, private, something that had been pressed against your soft skin, had hugged the curves he’d been secretly obsessed with for months.

His cock throbbed in his pants so hard it made his vision blur.

He should’ve put it back. Should’ve shut the basket and left the room.

But instead, Viktor reached out with trembling hands, feeling like an animal as he brushed his fingers over the lace. It was so soft. Delicate. Feminine. His breath was shallow, sharp as he let his thumb trace the pink bows on the waistband of the panties.

God.

He groaned under his breath, his body igniting with something filthy and desperate. He imagined you wearing them—imagined how the lace would press against your cunt, how it would hug the swell of your hips. His hand tightened around the fabric before he could stop himself, and before he could even process the depravity of what he was doing, he was stuffing the lingerie into his coat pocket and limping hurriedly to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

His heart was pounding, his cock already straining against his slacks as he yanked the stolen fabric from his pocket, staring at it like a starving man. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, his cane clattering to the floor as he leaned forward, clutching your panties in his hands like a relic.

The scent of your detergent, that soft floral fragrance you always smelled like, flooded his senses.

Viktor groaned, shoving the lace against his face, inhaling deep as his other hand fumbled desperately with his belt. He was already leaking, his tip smearing pre-cum against the inside of his pants as he freed himself, hissing when his fist wrapped around his cock.

“F-fuck,” he choked, hips twitching as he stroked himself, the stolen lingerie pressed firmly to his nose.

He was disgusting. A perverted, pathetic bastard who was jerking off to his own roommate’s panties like a deviant.

But he didn’t care.

The image of you burned behind his eyelids as he fisted his cock, squeezing tight at the base as he imagined peeling the lace down your thighs, imagined the way it would stick to the slick between your legs when he finally got his hands on you. He imagined pushing them aside, dragging his fingers through your folds, feeling how warm and wet you’d be—

His hips bucked, a desperate, strangled groan ripping from his throat as his cock twitched in his grip. The pressure built too fast, his body overwhelmed with how filthy this was, how fucking wrong it was, but he couldn’t stop. He was gasping, panting like a dog as he thrust up into his fist, chasing the heat curling in his stomach.

“Mmhh—fuck, fuck,” he gritted through clenched teeth, your name slipping from his lips in a desperate whimper.

The thought of you catching him like this—seeing him sprawled out on his bed, red-faced and desperate, his cock throbbing in his hand while he moaned into your panties—made his pleasure spike dangerously fast.

He came with a guttural moan, thick ropes of cum spilling over his fingers, dripping down onto his stomach as his body shuddered violently. His grip on the lace tightened, his cock twitching as he milked himself through the aftershocks, his mind a hazy mess of lust and obsession.

Viktor sagged against the bed, breathless and trembling.

But even as he stared at the soiled fabric in his hands, shame pooling heavy in his chest, he already knew—

This wouldn’t be the last time. Viktor should have stopped.

He should have shoved your lingerie back into your laundry basket and never touched it again. Should have avoided you the next day, put distance between you, done something—anything—to keep himself from spiraling further into this sick obsession.

But the problem was, he couldn’t.

Because the next time he saw you, you smiled at him.

Soft and sweet, like you always did, completely unaware of what he’d done the night before. You had flour dusting your cheek, your oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder as you pushed a plate of warm cookies toward him.

“Made your favorite,” you chirped. “You’ve been working too hard again, Vik.”

And fuck—fuck, you had no idea.

No idea that just hours ago, he had your panties shoved in his face while he came all over himself, moaning your name like a desperate little pervert. No idea that even now, as you stood there with your soft smile and your innocent eyes, he still had them tucked beneath his pillow, waiting for him to ruin them again.

He barely managed to thank you, his voice hoarse, tight. You just beamed, completely oblivious as you turned back to the kitchen, humming a tune under your breath while you washed dishes.

And Viktor just sat there, staring at you, burning the image into his mind.

That night, he fucked himself to the thought of you again. And again. And again.

—

It didn’t take long for things to spiral further.

Viktor became reckless.

At first, he only stole one pair. But then he found himself rifling through your laundry again, fingers shaking as he pocketed another—something soft and baby pink, satin this time, with tiny white ribbons. He stole a bra too, one that still had the faintest scent of your perfume clinging to the cups, and it made his cock throb so hard he nearly dropped to his knees right then and there.

He spent nights unraveling in his bed, fisting his cock with your lingerie pressed to his nose, moaning your name like a desperate, filthy thing. He dragged the lace over his shaft, letting the delicate fabric catch on the sensitive head, whimpering at the friction.

One night, he nearly lost himself completely.

He came so hard his vision blacked out for a moment, his cum spilling over the soft lace of your stolen panties, soaking them, ruining them. He should have felt ashamed, should have panicked at the evidence of his depravity.

But instead, he just… brought them to his lips, sucking the taste of himself from the fabric, groaning at the thought of you wearing them like this—sticky, stained, his.

He was fucked. Completely, irredeemably fucked.

And then you started to notice.

One morning, as you sorted through your laundry, you frowned.

“Huh,” you muttered, rifling through the pile. “Weird. I swear I had more underwear than this.”

Viktor froze.

You were standing right in front of him, completely oblivious to the way his breath had just hitched, his fingers clenching around the edge of his book.

“Maybe they got lost somewhere in my room,” you mused, tapping your chin before shrugging. “Oh well. Guess I’ll just buy more.”

And then, as if you hadn’t just unknowingly set his whole body on fire, you stretched, your sweater riding up to expose a sliver of your bare stomach.

Viktor swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Vik,” you whined, pouting at him. “Can you help me tomorrow? I need to reorganize my closet.”

That was the moment he knew he was going to die.

Because your closet. Your closet was where you kept everything.

Your dresses. Your stockings. Your lingerie.

Viktor barely managed to nod, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Good!” You beamed, reaching out to ruffle his hair playfully before disappearing into your room, humming.

And Viktor sat there, trembling.

He needed to get a grip. He needed to stop.

But he already knew—when night fell, when the apartment was quiet and you were fast asleep—he would be between his sheets, your stolen panties in his fist, fucking himself into oblivion like a filthy, desperate man.

—

Viktor had never been good at resisting temptation.

The moment you had mentioned reorganizing your closet, he’d known he was fucked. Because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it—about all the things you kept tucked away behind those doors, soft lace and delicate fabrics that had graced your skin, kissed your curves.

So, when night fell and you were curled up in bed, unaware, Viktor found himself standing in front of your door.

He had no excuse this time. No justification.

He was doing something unforgivable.

But that didn’t stop him.

With a shaking hand, he turned the knob, the door creaking softly as it opened. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights through the curtains. He could hear your soft, steady breathing from the bed.

As quietly as he could, he stepped inside.

His heart was hammering, his pulse a deafening roar in his ears as he made his way to the closet, careful, slow. His leg ached with every movement, but the sharp bite of pain barely registered past the haze of arousal clouding his mind.

He swallowed hard as he pulled open one of the drawers.

And there it was.

Stacks of neatly folded lingerie—silks, lace, pastels, all things soft and delicate. All things that belonged to you.

Viktor exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling as he reached for a pair.

White lace, dainty pink ribbons.

His cock twitched violently, pressing insistently against his trousers.

God, he was fucking depraved.

He brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deep, his lashes fluttering as your scent filled his lungs.

And then—

“Viktor?”

The voice was soft, thick with sleep.

His entire body seized.

Slowly, his head turned, terror gripping him as he met your sleepy, drowsy gaze. You were sitting up in bed, blinking at him, your hair mussed from sleep.

The panties were still clutched in his hand.

The silence stretched thick between you, suffocating.

Then— “…Are you stealing my underwear?”

Your voice was gentle. No anger. Just confusion.

Viktor’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His mind was blank, burning with shame, his hands shaking as he fumbled for words, an excuse, something.

But then— Your expression softened.

“Oh, Vik,” you sighed, rubbing at your eyes, voice still thick with sleep. “You could’ve just told me you were frustrated.”

Something inside him snapped.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, crossing the room in uneven, desperate strides. The panties fell from his grasp as his hands cupped your face, his fingers trembling against your soft skin.

“You—” His voice was hoarse, almost wrecked. “You don’t understand—”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, still so unbearably sweet, so soft, and he couldn’t—he couldn’t hold back.

His lips crashed against yours, hot and needy, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped you. His fingers curled into your hair, tilting your head back as he devoured you, pouring every ounce of desperation, every filthy, pent-up fantasy into the kiss.

And you—oh, you melted against him so easily, your arms looping around his neck, a small, needy noise slipping from your throat as you kissed him back.

That was all it took.

Viktor groaned, pushing you back against the bed, his body caging yours beneath him as his hands roamed, desperate, hungry.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your lips, his voice trembling. “No idea what you do to me—how long I’ve wanted—”

His hands found the hem of your sleep shirt, shoving it up, groaning when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra. His fingers dragged over the swell of your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you whimpered beneath him, arching into his touch.

“Viktor—”

“Shhh” he hushed, his mouth trailing down your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Let me have you. Let me show you how desperate you’ve made me.”

You shivered, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips traveled lower, lower, down your stomach.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, he groaned.

Pink. Satin. Tiny white bows.

Just like the pair he had ruined nights before.

Viktor was breaking. No—he was already broken.

He had lost control the second you looked up at him with those soft, innocent eyes, completely unaware of how deeply you’d wrecked him.

He needed you.

Not wanted. Needed.

His body was trembling as he pulled your soaked panties down, peeling the damp fabric from your skin, his breathing ragged, uneven. His fingers clenched tight around the delicate fabric, and fuck, it was wet—sticky with your slick, the scent of you hitting him so hard his cock twitched violently, already leaking inside his trousers.

“Fuck.” He groaned—low, wrecked, almost pained.

His fingers flexed as he spread your thighs apart, and then—

God.

He stared. Your cunt was so wet, glistening in the dim light, your slick already dripping down onto the sheets, so fucking messy—so needy—just for him.

“Shit—look at you,” he rasped, his voice shaking.

Your thighs trembled, your hands gripping the sheets. “Vik—”

He let out a harsh, uneven breath. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He was drowning in you.

His hands clutched at your thighs, desperate, shaking. “You’re dripping,” he whispered, his eyes dark, wild. “All this… just for me?”

You let out a soft whimper, flustered, squirming beneath his gaze.

He lost it.

A sharp, choked noise left him as he lurched forward, his lips crashing against your inner thigh, biting, sucking, worshipping. He couldn’t stop. He needed to taste you—needed you all over his mouth, his fingers, his cock.

You gasped, back arching, hips twitching as he pressed his nose to your soaked folds, inhaling deep, his entire body shuddering.

“Fuck, I need—need to—” He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore.

His hands shook as he slid his fingers through your slick folds, his breath catching as his skin glided over yours. You were so fucking wet it made him ache, made him shake with the need to be inside you.

“Vik—please,” you whimpered, your voice so sweet, so shy.

He growled.

“Please what?” His voice was rough, desperate, his fingers circling your entrance, teasing, barely pushing inside. “Tell me.”

You swallowed hard, hips twitching. “Please—touch me.”

His jaw clenched. His cock throbbed.

“Fuck.”

He shoved a finger inside you. You gasped sharply, your walls clenching down hard around him.

“Shit, you’re—” He whimpered—actually whimpered—as your tight, pulsing heat sucked his finger in, your slick coating him, so fucking warm, so perfect.

“You’re squeezing me already,” he choked out, his head falling forward, his forehead pressing against your thigh. “God, I—”

He pushed in deeper, his breathing ragged, his entire body shaking.

“Feels—so—fuck—so good,” he groaned.

You let out a soft, desperate noise, squirming. “Vik—”

His cock ached.

“More,” he gasped, “need more—”

He shoved a second finger inside you, stretching you open, and you sobbed, your body jerking, your thighs trembling.

His breath hitched. “Shit—shit, you feel so good—”

He was moving before he could even think, his fingers curling deep, rubbing against that spot— And you cried out.

Your walls clenched, your body jerking, slick gushing down his hand.

Viktor groaned, his entire body shaking.

“That’s it—” He moaned, his fingers moving faster, rubbing, pressing, forcing your body to break. “Again. Give me—fuck, give me more—”

A sharp gasp. A full-body tremor.

“Ohhh, fuck—!”

Your body seized, your thighs jerked, and then— You gushed.

Your release splashed against his fingers, soaking his hand, spilling down onto the sheets, so messy, so fucking perfect.

Viktor whined.

“God, you squirt?” His voice was wrecked, slurred, his fingers trembling. “Fucking—oh, fuck, look at you—”

Your face burned, your hands clenching in the sheets, your entire body trembling.

“I—” You gasped, a sob breaking in your throat. “I don’t—ah—!”

Another curl of his fingers, another deep press against that spot, and you gushed again, messy, dripping, soaking his wrist.

Viktor groaned, his cock leaking, precum pouring into his trousers, the fabric already damp from how fucking desperate he was.

“Again,” he rasped, “fuck, do it again—”

You sobbed, wrecked, your entire body trembling, and still, he didn’t stop—he wouldn’t let you stop.

Another press. Another stroke.

And then— You screamed. Your back arched, your hips jerked, your release dripping out of you, splashing onto his fingers, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.

“Fucking hell,” Viktor whined, barely able to breathe. “You’re so—so messy—”

You whimpered, shaking, utterly ruined, utterly his.

And Viktor—Viktor hadn’t even fucked you yet.

His golden eyes were dark, wild, starving, his soaked fingers trembling as he brought them to your lips.

“Taste yourself” he whispered, his voice wrecked, desperate.

Your lips parted, your tongue flicking out—

And Viktor snapped. Because he needed you now. And he wasn’t stopping until you were crying his name.

Every last shred of control had snapped the moment he saw you squirt, saw your body convulse under his touch, felt your release gush out, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything.

And the way you looked at him afterward—eyes dazed, lips parted, your trembling little body trying so hard to recover—

He had to ruin you.

He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

Not until you were his.

Not until he was buried so deep inside you, until you were sobbing with pleasure, until his cum was dripping out of you, marking you, claiming you.

“I—” His voice came out broken, ragged. His fingers curled tighter around your thighs, his whole body shaking. “I can’t—can’t wait anymore—”

Your breath hitched, your soft thighs twitching against his hands.

“Vik—”

He choked out a groan at the sound of his name on your lips, desperate and needy.

“Tell me you want it.” His forehead dropped to your thigh, his voice wrecked. “Tell me you want me inside you—please, I can’t—I need—”

Your fingers threaded into his hair, your nails lightly scratching at his scalp, and Viktor whined, bucking forward, rutting into the mattress like some desperate, depraved thing.

“I want you, Viktor.” Your voice was so sweet, so soft—too sweet for the filthy, depraved things he wanted to do to you. “Please—need you to fill me up—”

Fucking hell.

Viktor let out a shaky, broken noise, his hands fumbling frantically at his belt. He was so desperate, so fucking shaky, it took him three tries to undo the buckle before he was shoving his trousers down his thighs, gasping as his cock finally sprang free.

His tip was flushed angry red, already leaking, smeared with precum—so fucking sensitive from watching you fall apart under his fingers.

He barely had the sense to wrap a hand around himself, stroking once, spreading the slick down his length, before he was reaching for you, gripping your thighs, dragging you down the bed until you were under him, where you belonged.

“Viktor—”

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, and Viktor shuddered, dropping down, pressing his forehead to yours.

His cock was right there—so close, nudging up against your messy, soaked entrance, already dripping, already needing.

“I—I can’t—” Viktor’s voice was wrecked, desperate, his hips twitching, barely holding himself back. “I need to be inside you—need to feel you—please’—”

You reached up, cupped his face, kissed him—and that was it.

A broken, choked moan tore from his throat as he thrust forward, sliding into you in one deep stroke and fucking hell, you were tight.

“Shit—!” Viktor whimpered, his entire body shaking, his cock aching from the way your walls squeezed down around him, sucking him in, holding him so deep.

You sobbed, your nails digging into his back, your thighs trembling against his hips.

“Oh my god—” Your voice was so wrecked, so sweet, and Viktor couldn’t—he couldn’t.

“Too tight—” he gasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his fingers gripping at your waist so hard he’d leave bruises. “F-fuck, you’re—you’re squeezing me so much, I—”

Your walls fluttered around him, your body still adjusting, and Viktor whined, shaking, his hips already trying to move, already trying to fuck you.

“You feel so good,” he gasped against your neck, panting, shuddering. “I—oh, fuck, I’m going to—”

He had to move.

His hips drew back, his cock dragging against your walls—sticky, soaked—before he thrust back in, burying himself deep and you sobbed, your legs trembling, your fingers clutching at him.

“Viktor—!”

“Fuck—fuck—” His voice was so wrecked, shaking, desperate. “You’re perfect—so fucking perfect—”

He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down.

Couldn’t do anything but fuck you, deep, desperate, shaking, his hips slamming against yours, his cock pounding into your wet, tight heat—

Your sweet little sobs only made it worse.

“You’re crying—” he gasped, watching as your lashes clumped together, fat tears spilling down your cheeks. “Are you crying for me? Is it too much?”

You shook your head frantically, your hands gripping his shoulders. “No—feels—so—so good—!”

Viktor moaned, his thrusts deepening, his cock bruising your cervix, every wet, filthy stroke dragging against that sweet spot inside you—

And then— Your walls fluttered.

Your body tensed.

“V-Vik—!”

Viktor felt it the second you broke.

Your walls clamped down, locking him inside, your sweet, soft cunt milking him, sucking him in and you screamed, body jerking, pleasure ripping through you as you came hard, convulsing around his cock, so fucking tight—

Viktor saw white.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—!” He snarled, his vision blurring, his hips slamming forward, burying himself deep—

He came.

His body jerked, his cock pulsing, and then heat flooded you.

“Fuck—f-fuck—” Viktor whimpered, his hips twitching, pushing deeper, shoving himself inside you as his cum poured out, filling you so deep, so full—

And he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

He kept thrusting, slow, deep, pushing his cum deeper inside you, stuffing you full, ruining you— Until finally, finally, he collapsed.

Viktor shuddered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged, his body twitching with aftershocks.

His cock was still buried deep, plugging you up, keeping every last drop inside.

You were whimpering, soft, tired, wrecked.

Viktor groaned, pressing a sloppy, desperate kiss to your lips.

“Mine,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You’re mine.”

Your lashes fluttered, your soft, messy hands cupping his face.

“I’m yours, Viktor.”

And fuck, Viktor felt his cock twitch again, already hardening inside you.

Because he wasn’t done.

Not until he’d filled you again.

And again.

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sturnsmia · 5 months ago

Text

chris always knows how to make crybaby!reader forgive him

it’s a quiet, lazy afternoon. the soft hum of the tv plays in the background as sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm glow across the living room. you’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in your favorite blanket while scrolling through your phone.

after a while, your mind drifts to the pastry you saved in the fridge—the last piece from your favorite bakery. the thought alone makes you smile, and you head to the kitchen, ready to indulge.

but when you open the fridge, the little white box isn’t there.

you frown, scanning every shelf. nothing. you even check the freezer and a few random cabinets, despite knowing that makes no sense. after a solid five minutes of searching, frustration bubbles up.

you stomp back into the living room. “chris?”

he glances up from his phone, eyebrows raised. “yeah?”

“where’s my pastry?” you ask, arms crossed.

there’s a beat of silence before he responds. “uh…” he shifts slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i might’ve eaten it.”

your eyes widen. “you ate it?”

“i was hungry!” he admits, throwing his hands up. “and it was just sitting there, looking all lonely. i didn’t think you’d mind.”

you stare at him, your bottom lip already trembling. “you knew it was my favorite,” you whisper, voice wobbling.

chris immediately picks up on your pout and the tears forming in your eyes. he’s seen this play out countless times. still, he can’t help but chuckle softly. “oh no, princess. don’t cry,” he teases, reaching out for you. “you’re breaking my heart.”

“good,” you mumble, turning away from him dramatically. “i hope it hurts.”

he chuckles before pulling you onto his lap despite your protests. “i’m the worst, huh?”

“the absolute worst,” you mumble, crossing your arms tightly.

chris sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “okay, okay. i messed up. i’ll make it up to you.”

“how?” you ask, still sulking.

“let me take you to get another one.”

you hesitate for a moment, glancing up at him from under your teary lashes. “really?”

“really,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “now go grab your shoes, before i change my mind.”

the drive across town is quiet, the streets bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. chris keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, the soft touch of his thumb drawing lazy circles over your skin.

you steal a glance at him, admiring the relaxed way he leans back in the seat, a small smirk playing on his lips as he hums along to the music. when he catches you staring, he raises an eyebrow.

“what?” he asks, amusement lacing his voice.

“nothing,” you mumble, turning your gaze to the window to hide your blush.

he chuckles softly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. “you’re so pretty, you know that?”

your cheeks heat even more. “chris,” you mutter, voice shy.

“what?” he grins, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “just telling the truth, doll.”

you bite your lip to suppress a smile but fail miserably. “shut up.”

“never,” he teases with a grin.

the bakery is as charming as ever, with warm cozy hues and shelves lined with baked goods that look almost too perfect to eat. the scent of fresh bread and sugar fills the air, wrapping around you like a hug.

you hover near the display case, eyes scanning the pastries. the one you’re looking for is right there, sitting pretty in the middle row.

chris notices and nudges you gently. “see something you like?”

you nod, pointing at the pastry. “that one,” you whisper softly, voice barely above a whisper.

he leans in, pretending he didn’t hear you. “what was that, princess?”

“that one,” you repeat, giving him a small glare.

he smirks but doesn’t push further. “got it.” turning to the barista, he orders confidently. “two of those, please. and a coffee.”

you tug on his sleeve. “can i get a hot chocolate instead?”

he smiles at you before turning back to the cashier. “make that one coffee and one hot chocolate.”

the barista rings you up, and before you can even reach for your wallet, chris pulls out his card.

“chris,” you pout, tugging at his sleeve again. “i can pay for mine.”

“nope. making it up to you, remember?” he says with a wink.

you sigh but can’t help smiling as you clutch the little bag, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping through the cup into your hands.

the ride back feels even softer, the sky now painted in hues of pink and orange. chris keeps his hand on your thigh again, his touch warm and steady. you take small sips of your hot chocolate, savoring the sweetness.

chris glances over, catching the way your eyes light up. “good?”

you hum around a bite, nodding enthusiastically. “perfect,” you mumble.

he chuckles, squeezing your thigh. “told you i’d make it up to you.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “you’re so annoying.”

just as you’re about to take another bite, you catch chris side-eyeing the pastry. before you can react, he leans over and takes a bite out of it, grinning like he’s just won a prize.

“chris!” you yelp, pulling the pastry away from him and swatting his arm. “you just bought me this!”

“couldn’t resist.” he laughs as he wipes the small crumbs off the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you’re the worst!” you pout, holding the pastry protectively.

“i know,” he says, still grinning. “but you love me anyway.”

you huff, but the warmth in his voice makes it impossible to stay mad. “you’re just lucky you’re cute chris.”

he laughs before stopping at the red light, turning towards you. you give him a hard glare before he peppers your cheek with kisses and you can’t help but giggle. because no matter what chris does, you know there’s no one else you’d rather spend your days with.

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: thank u sm to @abbystromboli for this request!! i hope this lived up to your expectations :))

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⋆˚࿔ ౨ৎ ˚. ᵎᵎ @sirenedeslily @freshloveee @ifwdominicfike @matt5sturnioloo @pleasebendmeoverxxx @heartsforsturniolo567 @anyaa2s

#writings ࿐໋. ݁𝜗𝜚 #blurbs ⊹₊⟡⋆#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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ducksido · 28 days ago

Note

how about irish yuu

(Righty-o)

General Reactions

Grim:

“Wait… you have your own weird little magic creatures?!”

“Leprechauns? Banshees? THE HELL IS A PUCA?!”

Refuses to go near Irish!Yuu’s stories after hearing about the Dullahan.

The NRC Student Body:

“Your country is mostly rain and grass? You and Silver must get along.”

Learns about Irish superstitions and immediately freaks out about everything.

“YOU GUYS PUNCHED ENGLISH KINGS?! THAT’S SO METAL.”

Crowley:

"Oh, Prefect, do tell me more about your charming homeland!"

Forgets Ireland exists as a separate country. "Ah yes, a lovely British—"

Yuu glares. "Finish that sentence and you’ll wake up cursed."

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts:

"So your people ignored British rule for centuries? Admirable."

Twitches at Yuu’s tea preferences. “NO, YOU CAN’T PUT WHISKEY IN TEA.”

Ace Trappola:

“So you guys just fight each other for fun?!”

“Wait, you tell people to ‘catch themselves on’ instead of apologizing? That’s amazing.”

Deuce Spade:

Loves hearing about Irish rebels and warriors. “YOU GUYS WERE SO COOL.”

Somehow starts saying ‘feck’ without realizing it.

Trey Clover:

Learns about Irish soda bread. Immediately starts baking.

“Colcannon? What’s that?” (Tries it and loves it.)

Cater Diamond:

Uses Irish slang incorrectly. "Aye lads, we’re having good craic, right?"

Spams Yuu with St. Patrick’s Day filters on Magicam.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar:

“Hmph. Your people are stubborn, huh?”

Finds it amusing that Irish mythology is basically “gods fighting each other constantly.”

Ruggie Bucchi:

"Wait, wait—you put potatoes in EVERYTHING? You’re my kind of person."

Teaches Yuu NRC street tricks, but Yuu already knows a few.

Jack Howl:

Horrified by Irish fae stories. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY STEAL CHILDREN?!”

Secretly loves Irish folklore but won’t admit it.

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto:

Impressed by Irish folktales about clever tricksters. “I see we’re kindred spirits.”

Cannot believe Yuu’s people had entire rebellions just because they were annoyed.

Jade Leech:

"Ah, your culture respects mushrooms. Fascinating."

Oddly excited about changelings. "Tell me, do you believe they are real?"

Floyd Leech:

“FAIRY RINGS?! Sounds like a fun place to fight!”

Has no fear of Irish fae. He absolutely should.

Scarabia

Kalim Al-Asim:

“So you guys just tell stories all the time? That’s so cool!”

Immediately asks Yuu to teach him Irish dancing.

Jamil Viper:

"You celebrate by just drinking and fighting? …Respect."

Interested in Irish myths about snakes, then finds out they’re mostly about St. Patrick.

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud:

Shook that Irish myths inspired so many fantasy games.

“Wait, wait, your ancestors believed in ghost horses?!” (Nods in approval.)

Ortho Shroud:

"Your people feared the color green?"

Confused but supportive.

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia:

"Your land respects the fae? And fears them? How wise."

Wants to visit Ireland just to see the castles.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Knows Irish history. “Ah, I fought a few of your warriors once. Good times.”

Thinks Yuu’s accent is ‘delightful’ but mimicking it horribly.

Silver:

“Your stories are… unnerving.”

Keeps mistaking banshee stories for bedtime tales. Bad idea.

Sebek Zigvolt:

"YOU RESPECT THE FAE?! EXCELLENT!"

Has an identity crisis when Yuu says Irish people don’t like loud talkers.

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit:

Raised eyebrow. “Your people use beer as a skincare ingredient?!”

“Your legends about beauty interest me.”

Epel Felmier:

"Your warriors fought shirtless? That’s hardcore."

Tries to use Irish slang.* It’s a disaster.

Rook Hunt:

“AH, THE IRISH! The poets and fighters! What a passionate people!”

RSA & Noble Bell

Neige:

“Your country looks so green and magical!”

Wants to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with Yuu.

Chenya:

Steals Yuu’s lucky charms. Literally.

Rollo Flamme:

Disapproves of Irish drinking culture.

Horrified by Irish fire festivals. “You set WHEAT on FIRE?!”

Meleanor & Young Lilia:

Meleanor respects Irish battle queens.

Young Lilia wants to fight an Irish warrior.

More Irish!Yuu Chaos

Casually mentions cursed fairy forts like it’s normal. Has the thickest accent. No one understands them. Refuses to let Crowley call Ireland "British." Gives everyone random Irish nicknames. Says "feck" instead of swearing.

#twst x reader #twst #twst wonderland #twst yuu #twst incorrect quotes #twst headcanons #culture!yuu #ireland #ireland!yuu

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

Text

Flour Power - 1

Character: Amnesia!Bucky x Baker!Female Character

Summary: A baker helps a stranger, only to discover that this individual not only aids the bakery but also brings trouble along with him

A/N: Because Bucky got amnesia, his name was temporarily changed to Bob.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , End

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The rain poured down in sheets, thunder echoed through the desolate alleyway, casting shadows that danced around the battered figure of the male agent.

"Urghh."

With each labored breath, he clutched his injured left shoulder, the searing pain shooting through him a constant reminder of the peril he faced.

His once crisp suit was now torn and bloodstained, a testament to the fierce struggle he had endured against his enemies.

But despite the physical toll, his determination burned brightly within him, driving him to press on, to fight against the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume him.

With a grimace, he staggered forward, his vision swimming as he fought to stay conscious. Every step felt like an eternity, his senses dulled by the pain and exhaustion that gripped him. Yet, he refused to yield, his willpower serving as his guiding light in the midst of chaos.

Finally, his strength failed him, and he collapsed to his knees in the murky alley. The world around him spun wildly as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, threatening to swallow him whole.

But even in his moment of weakness, he refused to surrender, clinging to the flickering hope that burned within him.

With a final gasp, he succumbed to the enveloping darkness, his body slumping against the cold pavement.

🍞🥖

The first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, casting a golden hue over the city streets, the bustling sounds of morning began to fill the air.

Shop owners unlocked their doors, flipping signs from closed to open, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted through the crisp morning air.

On this particular street, every storefront seemed to come alive with activity. The aroma of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee drew crowds to the bustling cafes and diners, where people eagerly lined up for their morning fuel.

But amidst the hustle and bustle, there was one establishment that stood out, a quaint bakery with a faded sign that simply read "Sunrise Bakery."

Unlike its neighboring eateries, the bakery remained eerily quiet. There were no eager customers waiting outside, no enticing smells drifting onto the sidewalk. Instead, the shop sat in silence, its windows fogged up from the warmth within.

As the morning progressed, a few curious passersby ventured inside the bakery, their footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.

But rather than browsing the display cases filled with pastries and bread, they simply approached the counter and asked for a tissue.

Tammy's frustration was palpable as she glanced across the street at the bustling bakery, her lips pursed in a tight frown. With a sigh, she muttered under her breath, "Haah... we're hopeless. You should've sued him for stealing the recipe."

Your hands worked deftly, kneading the dough with practiced precision as you listened to Tammy's grumbles.

You are the fifth generation who inherited this bakery. The business was great until one of the employees stole your family recipe.

Despite the lack of customers lining up at your bakery, your focus remained unwavering on the task at hand – making the best bread for hamburgers in town.

"At least we have loyal customers," you replied, your tone laced with a hint of optimism.

Tammy rolled her eyes, a gesture of exasperation that spoke volumes. "But our bread is more delicious. I want people standing in line to buy our bread and going viral."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at her idealistic dreams. "That viral thing only lasts for a while. Besides, we don't have the money to pay influencers."

Tammy crossed her arms over her chest, a defiant stance that betrayed her determination. "I have followers too."

Your eyebrows raised in mock surprise, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "I think I'd prefer to pay influencers than you," you teased.

Tammy gasped in mock offense, her hand flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture. "Heyyy..."

Despite the banter, there was an underlying camaraderie between you and Tammy, a shared determination to make the bakery succeed against the odds.

You washed your hands, the simmering hurt evident in your furrowed brow as you glanced at the bustling bakery across the street. The betrayal of seeing your family's recipe stolen gnawed at your insides, a bitter taste that refused to fade.

Placing the dough on a tray for its required rest, you instructed Tammy, "I'm going to take out the trash."

The mundane task provided a momentary escape from the weight of your thoughts as you stepped outside into the crisp morning air.

You made your way to the back door of the bakery, the morning sunlight cast a soft glow over the alleyway, illuminating the damp pavement beneath your feet.

But as you approached the trash bin, something caught your eye – a strange object lying in a puddle nearby. It seemed out of place amidst the mundane surroundings, its presence drawing your attention with an air of mystery.

With cautious curiosity, you stepped closer, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the dampness of the alley. The object lay partially submerged in the murky water, its contours distorted by the rippling surface.

As you bent down to get a closer look, a sense of unease washed over you.

With a furrowed brow, you reached out to retrieve the object, your fingers brushing against its cold surface. And as you lifted it from the puddle, the mystery deepened, leaving you with more questions than answers in the stillness of the morning air.

You screamed in horror, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of the motionless figure lying in the puddle. "Argh," you cried out, the fear gripping you tightly.

"Tammy!" Your voice rang out, desperate for assistance, as you rushed towards the fallen person.

Your hands trembled slightly as you knelt beside the body, a mixture of dread and concern etched on your face. "Is this person alive?" you called out, your voice quivering with uncertainty.

Suddenly, a jolt of fear shot through you as the person's hand shot out and grabbed onto your arm with surprising strength. "Urgh. Let go!" you exclaimed, trying to pry their fingers off of you.

In a flash, Tammy appeared beside you, her presence a welcome relief in the midst of chaos. With a swift and decisive motion, she swung the rolling pin at the stranger, striking them with a forceful blow.

The person released their grip, their head dropping limply as they crumpled to the ground. You and Tammy exchanged a wary glance, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Did we... kill him?" you murmured, the weight of the situation sinking in as you both stared at the unconscious figure before you, the scene bathed in an eerie silence broken only by the sound of your racing heartbeats.

🏥

"He's lucky to be alive." Relief washed over you as the doctor reassured you that the stranger was fortunate to have survived. However, the fear that had gripped you and Tammy moments ago still lingered, clouding your thoughts with worry.

Your eyes darted nervously between the doctor and Tammy, uncertainty etched in your expressions. Was the stranger's condition solely due to the blow from the rolling pin, or were there other factors at play? Would your actions result in legal consequences, perhaps even imprisonment?

The doctor's words only heightened your apprehension as they continued to explain the severity of the stranger's injuries. "Bullets, knives, poison...". The list seemed endless, each revelation sending a shiver down your spine.

Your gaze lingered on the unconscious stranger, a myriad of questions swirling in your mind. What had led him to this state of peril? Was he a victim of kidnapping, fleeing from unseen dangers?

Suddenly, the patient stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and a collective gasp escaped from you, Tammy, and the doctor.

"Woah."

The sudden movement jolted you all, catching you off guard and sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"This dude keeps giving me a heart attack," Tammy exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and frustration, her hand pressed against her chest as if to calm her racing heart.

The doctor's inquiries were met with a shake of the stranger's head, a gesture that spoke volumes without uttering a word. "Amnesia," the doctor concluded, a somber note in their voice as they delivered the diagnosis.

You and Tammy exchanged a worried glance, the weight of guilt settling heavily upon your shoulders. Could it be that the events of this morning had somehow contributed to the stranger's memory loss?

"Oh no," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, the remorse evident in your tone as you grappled with the consequences of your actions.

Tammy, ever the optimist, interjected with a suggestion. "Bob suited him," she offered, her voice laced with a hint of mischief as she attempted to lighten the mood.

You shot her a reproachful look, silently pleading for her to refrain from further complicating the situation. "Tammy... stop," you murmured, your tone tinged with exasperation.

But to your surprise, the stranger echoed Tammy's suggestion, his voice soft yet resolute as he repeated the name, "Bob."

Tammy beamed triumphantly, her eyes sparkling with delight. "See, he likes it," she exclaimed, a hint of satisfaction in her voice as she reveled in her impromptu success.

Your brows furrowed in concern as you sought confirmation from the doctor, hoping against hope that the diagnosis of amnesia was somehow mistaken. "Is it really amnesia?" you inquired, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and sympathy.

The doctor's response was measured yet decisive. "We will check it thoroughly," they assured, their tone imbued with a sense of professional responsibility.

Hours passed, filled with tense anticipation, until finally, the results of the examinations were revealed. Another inspection and MRI confirmed the doctor's initial assessment – this stranger, now known as Bob, indeed suffered from amnesia.

A pang of empathy tugged at your heartstrings as you gazed upon Bob, a lost soul adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Where would he go from here? What future awaited him in a world where memories held the key to identity and belonging?

"Probably he will end up in a shelter," the doctor remarked matter-of-factly, their words casting a shadow over the room as the gravity of Bob's situation sank in.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of sympathy for Bob, a man without a past, facing an uncertain future. As you watched him, lost in thought, you couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility that weighed heavily upon you.

🍞🥖

As Tammy helped Bob into the apartment, her frustration was evident in her voice. "We're already in debt, and you've decided to take care of another person?" she remarked, her tone tinged with exasperation.

You stood your ground, unable to turn your back on someone in need. "I can't just leave him like that. He fainted behind our store, and now he has no memories," you explained, your voice filled with empathy.

Tammy sighed, resigned to the situation. "Suit yourself. At least we have another employee, and he doesn't need to get paid," she conceded, her practical nature shining through despite her reluctance.

Bob glanced at Tammy, his expression unreadable as he took in her words.

Tammy crossed her arms, laying down the terms of their arrangement. "That's right. You can sleep, eat, and live here. In return, you have to help at the bakery. You have to work."

"Work," Bob echoed, his voice soft yet determined.

"Good," Tammy declared, a hint of satisfaction in her tone as she finalized the agreement. Then, she leaned in to whisper to you, "I felt like I was talking to a kid."

You stifled a laugh, nodding in agreement as you exchanged a knowing glance with Tammy.

You approached Bob with a gentle smile, reassurance radiating from your eyes. "You just need to rest for now. When you're ready, you can join me at the bakery. I won't force you to work if you're still hurting," you assured him, your voice laced with empathy.

"Work," Bob repeated, his voice a quiet affirmation of his willingness to contribute despite the challenges he faced.

With a nod of understanding, you gave Bob a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping back, allowing him the space he needed to recuperate.

As you descended the stairs into the bakery, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread greeted you. Tammy, already bustling about behind the counter, looked up with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as you approached.

"You know what," she began, her voice carrying a note of excitement, "if Bob got a haircut, shave his beard a bit, he will be handsome. I notice that he has a perfect asymmetrical face."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Tammy's candid observation, her knack for noticing details never ceasing to amaze you. "You think so?" you replied with a grin, intrigued by the idea.

Tammy nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm contagious. "Definitely! It could boost his confidence, and who knows, maybe it'll attract more customers too."

Little did you know that Tammy's crazy idea would help the bakery.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #james bucky buchanan barnes #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fandom #bucky fluff #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan character #bucky x female!reader #bucky #flour power

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nervousdiythesimspsychic · 2 months ago

Text

The fox and the treasure hunters

part 8: building trust

pairing: ateez x fox fm reader

genre: mystery, thriller, adventure

warnings: violence, dark themes, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Stress, blood and gore, Physical Danger, Suffering, Emotional Growth, Trauma,

summary: (y/n) has been on the run her whole life. She is accompanied by the spirit of a fox, which was placed in her mind by a witch. Over the years, she has learned to work alongside the fox, but the trauma of her youth runs deep. Because of this, she is wary and trusts no one. One day, eight men walk toward the village; her instincts tell her that they are here for her. Can these men earn (y/n)'s trust and pull her out of the darkness while they search for the treasure, where (y/n) turns out to be a key player in ways they never expected?

xxx Ziezo

previous - masterlist - next

chapter 8: building trust

The stew was finally ready. The scent of spices, braised meat, and freshly baked bread filled the hut, creating a homely feeling—something they all hadn’t felt in a long time.

"Alright, everyone, dig in before Seonghwa eats everything," Yunho joked as he scooped himself a bowl.

"Hey!" Seonghwa protested indignantly. "Why am I always the one being accused?"

San, who was dipping a piece of bread into his stew, shook his head. "Maybe because you literally eat everything that’s put in front of you."

Jongho, taking a hearty bite of his bread, spoke with his mouth full. "If you guys don’t hurry up, I’ll eat everything myself."

Yeosang grinned and shrugged. "Well, we definitely can’t compete with that. Enjoy your meal, Jongho."

Laughter filled the hut as the men filled their bowls and enjoyed the warm meal. It had been a long time since they had eaten so peacefully. The cold outside was forgotten, the threat of hunters and their mission pushed to the back of their minds. For now, they were just a group of men sharing a meal.

Wooyoung stirred his spoon in the stew, stealing a quick glance at San, who ate slowly, his exhaustion still visible in his eyes. A playful smirk tugged at Wooyoung’s lips as he scooped up a piece of tender meat with his spoon.

"Hey, San," he said casually, holding up the spoon. "You better eat faster, or there’ll be nothing left."

San glanced at him from the corner of his eye and sighed. "Wooyoung, I’m not a child. I can feed myself."

"You say that," Wooyoung grinned, "but you’re looking at that food like it’s your last hope in life. Come on, here—" He slowly moved the spoon toward San as if feeding a child. "Open up. It’s good stuff, personally selected and served by yours truly."

San rolled his eyes, but instead of swatting the spoon away, he let out a deep sigh and leaned in slightly. His lips briefly brushed against the wooden spoon as he took the piece of meat and began chewing.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, not expecting San to actually go along with it, but soon a triumphant grin spread across his face. "See? That wasn’t so bad."

San gave him a sleepy look and swallowed his bite slowly. "Shut up, Wooyoung."

The others burst into laughter, filling the hut with warmth. Yeosang shook his head. "Well, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is."

Mingi grinned widely. "Woo, do you want to feed me too? Or is San the only one getting special treatment?"

Wooyoung scrunched up his nose dramatically and waved a hand. "You don’t have the charm, Mingi. At least San is cute when he’s stubborn."

San muttered something unintelligible as he focused on his food again, but the warmth on his cheeks gave him away.

Every now and then, one of them would glance at (y/n), who was still lying motionless. Her breathing was steady, her face relaxed as if she were deep in sleep.

"Shouldn’t we wake her up?" Yeosang asked, looking up from his meal.

Hongjoong shook his head. "Let her sleep. Maybe she’ll wake up on her own from the smell or from our chatter."

Mingi sniffed the air. "If she has a nose as sharp as a fox, she should have been awake by now."

Wooyoung glanced at (y/n) and smirked. "Maybe she’s just stubborn and refusing to wake up because we’re having fun without her."

San chuckled. "Wouldn’t surprise me. She seems like the type to make a dramatic entrance."

The conversation drifted to all sorts of topics—memories from past missions, jokes about each other’s bad habits, and even a short discussion on who had the most annoying sleeping habits.

"Hongjoong snores like an old man," Mingi stated seriously.

"I do not snore!" Hongjoong protested.

Yunho took a sip of his drink and looked at him dryly. "Bro… you snore so loud, I thought there was a bear in our tent."

Hongjoong looked offended as the rest of them laughed.

Meanwhile, Jongho continued eating silently until he casually reached out and, almost unnoticed, snatched a piece of bread from Yunho’s plate.

"Hey!" Yunho cried out indignantly, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

Jongho looked at him with an innocent expression and slowly chewed on the stolen bread. "What?"

Yunho stared at his plate in frustration, then back at Jongho, who simply shrugged and took another bite. "You… You already have a whole bowl of food!"

Seonghwa shook his head with a laugh and patted Yunho’s shoulder. "You need to keep a better eye on your food, Yunho. Apparently, you’re not sharp enough."

"I thought you were the responsible one, Seonghwa. Why are you letting this happen?" Yunho grumbled, pointing accusingly at Jongho.

Hongjoong took a sip of water, watching the scene unfold with amusement. "It’s a jungle out here, Yunho. Food stealing is just part of survival."

Laughter filled the hut again as they continued their meal. The relaxed atmosphere felt almost surreal.

=====

The remnants of their meal still lay on the wooden table. Despite the warmth of their gathering, they all knew they couldn’t stay idle for too long.

"We can’t stay here for too long," Hongjoong began, running his fingers over his chin. "(y/n) needs to rest, but we also need to figure out our next steps."

"The hunters know she’s alive," Seonghwa added. "And if they really suspect what she is… there’s a good chance they’ll come back."

A tense silence lingered in the air. They all knew they were in a difficult situation.

Yunho leaned against the wall and looked at Hongjoong. "We need to map out our route. We can’t just leave without a plan once (y/n) is able to walk."

"Alright," Hongjoong nodded. "Here’s what we’ll do: San, Mingi, and I will scout the possible routes. We need to find the fastest but also the safest one."

Mingi nodded and stood up, already calculating in his head how long it would take before they could move again.

"What about us?" Wooyoung asked, tapping his spoon against the edge of his bowl.

Yeosang stretched briefly and glanced at Wooyoung. "I made an herbal salve last night for (y/n’s) wounds. She needs to be rebandaged. Luckily, her fever hasn’t gotten worse, but she still needs care."

Seonghwa nodded. "Alright. Wooyoung, Yeosang, and I will stay here. Jongho and Yunho, maybe you two can do something useful, like gathering more firewood or keeping watch outside?"

Jongho rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. We get the boring tasks."

Yunho grinned and playfully nudged his shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe we’ll find something interesting."

As part of the group left the hut, Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung remained behind. The air inside was warm but not stifling. The fire crackled softly in the background. (y/n) still lay motionless in her spot, her breathing steady but her face exhausted. Her skin was still a bit pale, and her hair clung to her forehead.

Seonghwa knelt beside her and sighed. "We need to wake her up. It’s time for her to eat."

Yeosang nodded and pulled out the herbal salve he had prepared earlier. "I’ll clean her wounds first."

Wooyoung crouched on the other side and gently tapped (y/n)’s cheek with his fingers. "Hey, sleepyhead, time to wake up."

No response.

He raised an eyebrow and tapped a little harder. "(y/n), wake up. We have food."

She stirred slightly, a faint frown appearing on her face. Her breathing shifted, and her eyebrows drew together. A soft mumble escaped her lips, but her eyes remained closed.

Seonghwa looked up. "Try harder?"

Wooyoung smirked. "I have another tactic."

He leaned in a little closer and whispered in a playful tone, "If you don’t wake up now, I’m eating everything. And trust me, I won’t leave a single crumb."

Slowly, (y/n)’s eyes fluttered open. At first, they were unfocused, still clouded by sleep, but when her gaze landed on Wooyoung, she suddenly seemed to realize where she was.

She blinked a few times and let out a soft groan. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "Do you even know how annoying you are?"

Wooyoung laughed. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Seonghwa held out a bowl of water for her. "Drink this first."

(y/n) turned her head away. "Not thirsty."

She wasn’t used to this—this feeling of helplessness. Normally, she was the one in control of her own situation, the one who could deceive or keep others at a distance. But now? Now she was lying here, completely at the mercy of these men who both irritated and intrigued her.

And the worst part was that she had no way out.

"Alright," Yeosang said calmly, rolling up his sleeves and loosening the bandages around her leg. "I’m going to treat your wounds again. It might sting, but it has to be done."

(y/n) bit down on her lip as the rough fabric came away, her skin pulling painfully with the movement. Her breathing quickened slightly, and she had to force herself not to flinch away from him.

"Stay still," Yeosang muttered without looking at her. His tone was professional, almost distant, as if he were working on an injured bird rather than her.

"Easy for you to say," she bit out, her voice tense.

Before Yeosang could respond, Wooyoung let out a low whistle and rested his elbow on his knee. "What’s this? The great, fearless (y/n) scared of a little medicine?"

(y/n) shot him a deadly glare. "I’m not scared."

"No?" Wooyoung’s grin widened. "You’re practically shaking."

She hated that he had noticed. Wooyoung had a sharp eye for weaknesses, and now that he was back to his usual self after his earlier anger, he was clearly enjoying the chance to tease her.

Seonghwa, who was casually leaning against one of the wooden beams, observed her closely. His keen gaze moved over her face, down to her tense posture, and finally to her fingers, which were gripping the thin blanket beneath her.

She was nervous.

Seonghwa glanced at Wooyoung sideways and sighed. "Enough. You’re not helping."

Wooyoung shrugged indifferently. "I’m just saying what I see."

(y/n) scoffed and looked away, her jaw tight with restrained frustration. Wooyoung was just as irritating as ever, despite being less hostile than before.

When Yeosang finally removed the old bandage completely, she could no longer control her breathing. Her stomach twisted at the sight of the wound. The dark scar, still red and raw from the burn, was a painful reminder of how close she had been to death.

And of how these men had made the decision for her.

She felt her throat go dry, her fingers clenching the sheets again.

Yeosang dipped a cloth in water and carefully wiped around the wound to clean it. The cool touch made her shiver, but she tried to keep her face neutral.

"It’ll take a while before it really starts healing," Yeosang said, more to himself than to her. "But the herbs should help against infection and aid recovery."

(y/n) gave a short nod, but the fear kept gnawing at her.

What if they were deliberately keeping her weak? What if this was a way to make her dependent on them?

Her gaze slid to Seonghwa, who was still watching her. She knew he was analyzing her. He saw it. He saw how weak she was now.

"Do you really think we want to hurt you?"

His voice cut straight through her thoughts.

She looked up and saw Wooyoung gazing at her with a questioning yet playful look.

"Because that’s exactly how you’re acting," he continued, tilting his head. "Like we could betray you at any moment."

(y/n) opened her mouth to snap back, but for the first time… she had no words.

Wooyoung grinned. "Ah. So you don’t even know yourself?"

Seonghwa rolled his eyes again. "Enough, Wooyoung."

(y/n) shut her mouth and looked away. She hated even more that he saw it.

Yeosang applied the ointment, his movements still methodical and patient. When he was done, he began wrapping the wound again.

"Almost finished," he said calmly.

(y/n) nodded slowly and tried to steady her breathing.

"See?" Wooyoung said lightly. "That wasn’t so bad, right?"

(y/n) shot him a deadly glare. "If you don’t shut up, you’ll be the one sitting here next time."

Wooyoung laughed loudly. "I’d like to see that."

Seonghwa let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "I swear, you two are more exhausting than fighting those hunters."

Yeosang tied the bandage securely and checked his work one last time. His fingers rested on the knot for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, but in the end, he just sighed softly and stood up.

"That should do for now," he said, tidying up the leftover bandages. "I’m going to help Yunho and Jongho outside."

Yeosang cast one last glance at her. His expression was hard to read, as cool as always, but there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes. As if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her.

"Get some rest," was all he said before gathering his things and leaving the cabin.

The moment the door shut behind him, a tense silence lingered.

(y/n) held her breath. Now, she was alone with Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

"Alright," Seonghwa finally said, his tone lighter than his expression. "Now that that’s done, it’s time for the next thing."

(y/n) raised an eyebrow. "Next?"

Wooyoung leaned casually against one of the wooden beams, holding a small bowl of food in his hand. "Eating and drinking."

She tensed.

Seonghwa noticed her reaction immediately. She clenched her jaw, her fingers instinctively gripping the sheets like she was bracing herself for something.

"You need to eat something," he said patiently, but with an undertone that made it clear this wasn’t a debate. "You lost blood, and your body needs energy."

She looked at the bowl in Wooyoung’s hand, already feeling her stomach twist at the thought. Her mouth was dry—she knew that—but something in her refused to simply accept what they were giving her.

"I’m not hungry," she muttered.

Wooyoung scoffed and sat on the bed, a little too close for her liking. "Yeah, that’s cute, but no one asked if you were hungry."

The girl shot him a deadly glare. "If I say I don’t want—"

Wooyoung suddenly shoved the bowl into her hands. "Eat."

(y/n) looked at the liquid as if it were poison. Her muscles were tight with tension, her gaze flickering briefly to Seonghwa, who was watching her calmly.

Wooyoung tilted his head slightly. "You don’t seriously think we’re trying to poison you, do you?"

She didn’t answer.

Wooyoung smirked mockingly. "Oh my god, you actually do, don’t you?"

He had leaned closer to her now, resting his elbow on his knee, watching her with an amused smirk. "Listen, princess, if we wanted you dead, we would’ve done it already." Wooyoung shook his head briefly, letting out a dramatic sigh.

(y/n) remained silent, her lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t look up, her fingers still rigidly gripping the bowl.

Seonghwa noticed the tension in her jaw, the subtle way her breathing had become just a fraction faster.

She doesn’t trust us, he realized. Not even a little.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. "You know what?" he said finally, and before anyone could react, he snatched the bowl from her hands and took a big bite.

(y/n) froze.

Seonghwa watched as Wooyoung chewed obnoxiously slowly, his gaze locked on her. "Mmm, delicious," he said mockingly. "Unbelievable how we survive our own poison."

(y/n) stared at him, waiting for any sign that he was feeling unwell.

Wooyoung, enjoying the dramatic effect, turned to Seonghwa and held out a spoonful of food. "Here, you have some poison too."

Seonghwa sighed but opened his mouth and ate without hesitation. He knew this was their only chance to reassure her.

A few seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

They weren’t poisoned.

Wooyoung swallowed dramatically and patted his chest. "Wow, still alive. Incredible."

(y/n) frowned at them, and while she didn’t immediately give in, the panic in her eyes seemed to lessen slightly.

Wooyoung held the bowl out to her again. "You’re smart, we all know that. So let’s look at this rationally: If you want to escape, if you really think you and your fox don’t belong here, then you need to be strong enough to do that. And for that, you need food."

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “Wooyoung is right. No one is forcing you to trust us, but you have two options. Either you eat, or you stay weak and vulnerable.”

(y/n) looked between them.

A long silence followed.

Her fingers gradually relaxed, her breathing steadied.

Reluctantly, she took the bowl back.

And took a small bite.

Wooyoung grinned in satisfaction. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Seonghwa noticed the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. She was still wary, but this was a step in the right direction.

Maybe they hadn’t broken down her walls.

But they had won something.

A tiny bit of trust.

(y/n) ate in silence, her movements small and cautious. Every bite was taken with care, as if she still wasn’t entirely convinced the food was safe. The stew was warm and hearty, and the taste surprised her.

This was… good.

Too good.

She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that she was only eating because she needed to get stronger, but something about it felt strange.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung didn’t even seem to be paying much attention to her as she ate. She could feel their watchful eyes on her, but they weren’t treating her like a prisoner.

“You think Yunho and Jongho caught anything decent?” Wooyoung asked Seonghwa with a playful grin. “If it’s anything like a few weeks ago, we’ll be stuck with just some tiny fish again.”

Seonghwa chuckled softly. “Well, Yeosang knows his way around herbs. He can make anything taste good.”

Wooyoung pulled a dramatic face. “Yeah, but I want meat.”

“You always want meat.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should learn to appreciate what you get.”

“Oh, I do.” Wooyoung smirked. “More than some people here.” His gaze flickered briefly to the girl, but his tone wasn’t sharp.

(y/n) frowned.

Why were they suddenly not treating her like an enemy?

Was it because she was weak now? Because the fox was nowhere to be seen? Or… were they trying to confuse her on purpose?

She had cursed them, insulted them, made it clear she hated them—and yet, they were here.

As if none of that had happened.

She didn’t understand.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed Wooyoung reaching for her bowl and scooping another large spoonful of stew into it.

She stared at him, surprised.

“You eat slow, but at least you’re eating,” Wooyoung said casually. “So here, have some more.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung didn’t give her time to feel uncomfortable in the silence. They simply continued their conversation while gathering the dishes and utensils, their tone light, their posture relaxed.

(y/n) observed them for a moment—how they cleaned up together without tension, as if this was just part of their daily routine. As if she wasn’t a prisoner they needed to guard.

Wooyoung placed a bowl of water in front of her and took a large sip himself before sliding it toward her. “Drink,” he said simply. “You look like you need it.”

She hesitated.

He had just shown it was safe. Still, something in the back of her mind whispered that she should stay alert.

Seonghwa noticed her hesitation but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he turned slightly toward Wooyoung, a playful glint in his eyes. In a low voice, just soft enough that (y/n) wouldn’t hear, he murmured, “Where is this gentle approach coming from? Wooyoung, are you getting motherly instincts?”

Wooyoung made a face and lightly punched his arm. “Piss off.”

Seonghwa smirked. “Well, I’ve seen you be meaner.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. “Mingi said something…”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He said I let my pride get wounded.” Wooyoung shrugged. “And you know what? Maybe he was right.”

Seonghwa regarded him in silence, as if letting the words sink in.

Wooyoung sighed. “I’ve decided to befriend her.”

Seonghwa paused, frowning. “You?”

“Yes, me.” Wooyoung grinned. “The (y/n) without the fox needs friends.”

Seonghwa glanced briefly at the young woman, who was still sipping her water slowly. Her eyes were distant, lost in thought, but he could see the way her shoulders were just slightly less tense than before.

“And the (y/n) with the fox?” he asked finally.

Wooyoung’s grin faded slightly. “That… I’m not so sure about.”

Seonghwa nodded in understanding, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, good luck with that.”

Wooyoung laughed. “I know, I’m amazing.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning up.

As they finished washing the dishes, their earlier conversation lingered in the air, like smoke that slowly faded but left a faint scent behind.

Seonghwa rinsed the last bowl and let the water run over it in silence. His gaze was fixed on the wood, but his thoughts drifted back to the young woman sitting behind them. He knew she was watching them, even if she tried not to show it.

“You might be right,” he said eventually, without looking up. “About the (y/n) without the fox.”

Wooyoung glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.

Seonghwa set the clean bowl aside and dried his hands with a cloth. “That girl needs friends.” His voice was thoughtful, as if he wasn’t just speaking to Wooyoung, but to himself. “And I’d really like to know why someone is so afraid to accept food and water.”

Wooyoung frowned, turning fully toward him. “Now that you mention it…” He cast a glance over his shoulder at (y/n), who was holding her empty bowl quietly, her fingers lightly gripping the rim.

His gaze swept over her. She still looked wary, even after eating. Even after he and Seonghwa had made it clear there was no danger.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That is worrying.”

He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “But you know what might be even more concerning?” His tone shifted, becoming more serious. Seonghwa looked at him questioningly.

Wooyoung tilted his head, speaking in a hushed voice, as if he didn’t want to say it too loudly. “There’s no sign of the fox in her.”

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Nothing,” Wooyoung continued. “No light in her eyes, no posture that suggests the beast is lurking in the background… It’s like it’s gone.”

Seonghwa was silent for a moment before turning back to the bowls. He picked one up and slowly began to dry it, but his mind remained on Wooyoung’s words.

If the fox was truly gone… what did that mean?

Was it temporary? A result of her injuries?

Or was something else going on?

He cast a brief glance at (y/n). Her head rested against the wall, her eyes half-closed, her breathing still a little too heavy.

(y/n)’s breathing slowly evened out, her body relaxing bit by bit. With her stomach full and her thirst quenched, she slipped into the darkness of sleep, as if her exhausted body had finally decided it was safe enough to let go.

But the way she fell asleep… was anything but comfortable.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung observed her for a moment, both wearing the same mix of mild annoyance and amusement. Her head hung forward slightly, her arms loosely folded over her stomach, and her legs were positioned at an awkward angle.

“Seriously?” Wooyoung sighed dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. “Why are you sleeping like this?”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly. “Are you seriously asking that to someone who’s unconscious?”

“Maybe she’ll answer,” Wooyoung muttered before kneeling beside her. He slowly shook his head. “She’s going to wake up with a stiff neck, and then we’ll get blamed for it.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “As if we don’t already get blamed for enough.”

Still, he knelt down as well, and together they carefully repositioned her. Seonghwa placed a hand on her shoulder while Wooyoung adjusted her legs so they weren’t bent at such an odd angle.

(y/n) stirred slightly in her sleep, mumbling something incomprehensible. Wooyoung held his breath and glanced at her face.

Nothing.

She remained asleep.

Seonghwa watched as Wooyoung carefully brushed a strand of hair from her face and adjusted the thin blanket over her. A small grin appeared on Seonghwa’s lips.

“I think this is supposed to be my job, Wooyoung.” He shook his head and slid a pillow closer to (y/n)’s head so she would lean against it if she moved.

Wooyoung frowned. “Huh?”

Seonghwa gestured briefly toward the girl. “I’m the one who’s usually the caring one. You…” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “Not so much.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “I don’t have motherly instincts, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Seonghwa chuckled. “No? Then what is this?”

“I’m making friends.” Wooyoung sat up straight and flashed a triumphant grin. “I’m good at that. Look at how I charmed all of you.”

Seonghwa gave him a dry look. “You didn’t charm us. You were just a persistent nuisance we eventually couldn’t ignore.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “That sounds like love to me.”

Seonghwa sighed, laughing, and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get some rest before the others come back.”

Wooyoung cast one last glance at (y/n), who was now sleeping deeply and peacefully, then nodded.

Making friends, he reminded himself.

That was all.

For now.

=================

The door of the hut swung open, and a fresh gust of cold air filled the room as Yeosang, Yunho, and Jongho stepped inside, their arms full of the day's hunt and a stack of firewood.

“We’re back,” Yunho announced as he carefully set his catch aside.

Yeosang scanned the hut, his gaze briefly settling on (y/n)’s sleeping figure before shifting to Seonghwa. “How did things go here after I left?”

Seonghwa leaned against the table, looking at the three men who regarded him with curiosity. He glanced at (y/n) before exhaling a weary sigh. “Well, it wasn’t exactly easy.”

Yunho raised an eyebrow and settled in more comfortably. “What do you mean?”

Seonghwa crossed his arms and shook his head. “I’ve seen people be stubborn about food before, but this was different. She didn’t refuse because she didn’t want it. She refused because she was terrified.”

Yeosang, Yunho, and Jongho stared at him in surprise.

“Terrified?” Jongho repeated in disbelief.

Wooyoung nodded, immediately jumping in. “She thought we were trying to poison her.” He threw his hands up and turned to Seonghwa with an exaggerated expression. “And you thought I was difficult about food.”

Seonghwa ignored his comment and continued, “She barely moved, kept her body tense, and held the bowl like it was a trap. Every time we urged her to eat, she had that same look… like she expected it to be her last meal.”

Yunho frowned, slowly shaking his head. “That’s… really concerning.”

Yeosang remained silent, deep in thought. Jongho scratched the back of his head. “But in the end, she ate, right?”

Wooyoung immediately beamed and puffed out his chest. “Of course! Thanks to me, obviously.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes and shot him a brief, amused glance. “The best news of the day is that Wooyoung has found a new passion.”

“Oh no.” Yunho instantly looked wary. “What is it this time? Acrobatics? Poetry? Or are you planning to open a restaurant in the middle of the forest?”

“Very funny.” Wooyoung crossed his arms, pretending to be offended. “Listen,” he began enthusiastically, “I saw that she would never take a bite if we kept just encouraging her. So I did the only logical thing. I grabbed a spoon, took a bite myself, swallowed it, and showed her that I wasn’t dropping dead. Then I gave Seonghwa a bite too, just to prove he wasn’t dropping dead either—”

“As if I were some kind of test subject,” Seonghwa commented dryly.

“Doesn’t matter, it worked,” Wooyoung said triumphantly. “Then she had no excuse left and started eating.”

Yunho raised his eyebrows at Wooyoung and slowly grinned. “Wait… you literally showed her the food wasn’t poisoned, like some kind of servant drinking from the king’s goblet first?”

Yeosang smirked and shook his head. “That must have looked ridiculous.”

Wooyoung waved a hand dismissively. “Who cares how it looked? It worked! She ate, and guess what? She’s still alive. So if you ask me, I’m a genius.”

Seonghwa shook his head with a small smile. “If this is your definition of genius, we need to lower our standards.”

Jongho chuckled. “I have to admit, I wish I had seen how you pulled that off.”

Yeosang turned back to Seonghwa. “And how was she once she started eating?”

Seonghwa glanced at (y/n). “Calm. But… confused. Like she didn’t understand why we weren’t being hostile anymore. Like she wasn’t used to people acting normal around her.”

His words left a brief silence between them.

Yunho was the one to break it. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know what happened to her, but if you and Wooyoung are now her personal trust-builders, then good luck.”

“But what’s this new mission of yours?” Jongho asked dryly.

Wooyoung crossed his arms and answered seriously. “I’m making friends.”

A brief silence.

Then, all at once, Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho burst into laughter.

“Wait, wait,” Jongho gasped, leaning against the wall for support. “With her?” He nodded toward (y/n).

Yeosang wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, feigning seriousness. “The girl who hates us and tried to escape? Wooyoung, how hard did she hit your head against San?”

Wooyoung huffed and shot Seonghwa a glare. “This is why I never tell you guys anything.”

“Because I tell the truth?” Seonghwa asked with an innocent smile.

“Well, now you have to explain,” Yunho said, crossing his arms. “Because I believe this about as much as I believe that Jongho would ever share his food.”

Jongho raised his eyebrows in offense. “Hey! I—” He stopped when Wooyoung shot him a knowing look. “… Okay, fair point.”

Wooyoung took a deep breath and turned to the group. “Look, I thought about it… and maybe Mingi has a point. The (y/n) without the fox—” he nodded at the sleeping figure, “—she’s different. She needs friends.”

Yeosang studied him sharply. “And the fox?”

Wooyoung was silent for a few seconds, glancing at the floor before meeting Yeosang’s gaze. “I’m not sure yet.”

The laughter slowly faded from the group. Jongho and Yunho exchanged a brief glance, while Yeosang looked at (y/n) thoughtfully.

Seonghwa finally broke the silence. “We need to stay alert. But…” he turned to Wooyoung, “if you want to be friends with her, go ahead. As long as it doesn’t get us into trouble.”

Wooyoung grinned and casually threw an arm around Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Come on, I’m great at making friends.”

“Or at forcing yourself onto people,” Yeosang remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“Same thing.”

Jongho shook his head and started organizing the pile of firewood. “I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Wooyoung.”

“Don’t worry.” Wooyoung glanced briefly at (y/n), who was still fast asleep. “I’ve got everything under control.”

The day passed in a slow, relaxed rhythm. Outside, the sky was clear, and a soft breeze drifted in through the half-open windows, mixing the stale scent of wood and herbs with the fresh outdoor air. The hut was filled with the quiet murmur of conversation, the scrape of knives against wood, and the occasional crackling of the fireplace.

Yeosang had settled on the other side of the room with a bundle of herbs and fabrics, working intently on grinding and mixing different medicinal plants—something he always did when he had the chance. Yunho and Jongho had rekindled the fire and were preparing a pot of soup, a dish that would be easy to reheat over the next few days.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa and Wooyoung kept an eye on the girl. She lay still, her breathing steady, her face less tense than it had been that morning. Occasionally, she shifted slightly in her sleep, her brows briefly furrowing as if she were dreaming, but she remained deeply asleep.

Wooyoung tapped a spoon against a bowl and looked at Seonghwa. “Your turn.”

Seonghwa sighed, took the bowl of water, and sat beside (y/n). “She’s asleep,” he pointed out.

“She’ll wake up if you say her name,” Wooyoung replied, leaning against the table with a playful grin. “You’ve got that serious, authoritative voice—like you’re interrogating her.”

Seonghwa shot him an amused look and shook his head. “Maybe you should call her, since you’re the one who wants to be friends.”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Good point, but I’m lazy.”

Just then, (y/n) shifted slightly and opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, her gaze hazy and drowsy. Seonghwa gently tapped the rim of the bowl. “Here, drink some.”

(y/n) stared at him for a moment, not quite awake yet, but when she saw the water, she slowly took the bowl and sipped cautiously. Seonghwa watched her closely, while Wooyoung observed with satisfaction.

“So obedient,” Wooyoung teased with a lopsided grin. “You’d almost think you’re starting to trust us.”

(y/n) shot him a tired, narrow-eyed glare but said nothing, handing the bowl back to Seonghwa. She turned her head away and drifted back to sleep.

Wooyoung glanced at Seonghwa and grinned. “See? Friendship in progress.”

Seonghwa sighed and stood up. “Call it whatever you want.”

The rest of the day passed in a calm atmosphere. Jongho and Yunho had begun cutting meat, while Yeosang occasionally moved between them, adding herbs and spices. The hut smelled amazing, and even Wooyoung seemed content as he leaned back lazily, munching on some fruit.

Every now and then, Seonghwa or Yeosang would check (y/n)’s forehead to make sure her fever hadn’t returned, but her temperature remained stable. Wooyoung had unofficially become the designated water carrier, making sure she drank something each time she woke up.

By evening, as the sun hung low and the shadows stretched long, the men had just finished their own meal when footsteps sounded outside. The door creaked open, and Hongjoong, Mingi, and San stepped inside, their clothes dusty, their faces sweaty from the long day.

“We’re back,” Hongjoong announced, dropping the sacks and rolled-up maps they had gathered onto the floor beside him.

San stretched and grinned at the others. “Smells good in here. Did you guys have a day off or something?”

Yunho chuckled and patted one of the pots. “You have no idea what an amazing meal you just missed.”

Mingi glanced from the pot to Wooyoung’s unusually relaxed posture and frowned. “And? How did things go here?”

Seonghwa looked at (y/n), who was still sleeping, then turned back to the group. “Quiet. She ate, drank, and slept all day. No fever. No fox.”

Wooyoung grinned and leaned against the table. “Oh, and I have a new mission.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Becoming friends with (y/n),” Wooyoung declared proudly.

A brief silence followed.

San, Mingi, and Hongjoong stared at him in disbelief.

“…What?” Mingi was the first to speak.

“You heard him,” Yeosang said dryly. “He’s officially on a friendship mission.”

San broke into a wide grin and clapped Wooyoung on the back. “Well, good luck with that. Hope you don’t get your heart broken.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “I’m charismatic. She won’t be able to resist.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head as he sank into a chair. “I don’t know if I want to place a bet on this.”

Jongho and Yeosang began filling bowls with the steaming soup and handed them to Hongjoong, Mingi, and San. The three men, clearly hungry after their long day, accepted them gratefully and started eating as they discussed their findings. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with conversation and teasing remarks about their exhausting journey.

On the other side of the hut, Wooyoung and Yunho were focused on (y/n). Wooyoung filled a bowl with stew and let his spoon rest inside, glancing at (y/n), who sat against the wall, her shoulders tense. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning the men who had now all returned.

She had eaten and drunk all day without much resistance, but now that the hut was full, the voices of the men surrounding her, she had slipped back into that hyper-aware state. Her breathing was shallower, her gaze restless, as if she was ready to spring up at any moment.

Wooyoung noticed it immediately.

He lightly tapped his spoon against the rim of the bowl and held it up. “Hey, it’s mealtime again. You did well today, let’s keep that going.”

(y/n) didn’t react. Her eyes remained sharp, her shoulders tense.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow and tried again. “(y/n), come on. You know it’s not poisoned, I showed you this morning. You trusted me then, right?”

Still no response. Her gaze stayed wary, as if she hadn’t even heard him.

Yunho, standing beside Wooyoung, glanced between them and cleared his throat. “Maybe we should try something different?”

Wooyoung sighed and pulled a chair closer. “Yeah, I guess my tricks don’t work when there’s too much of an audience.” He turned halfway toward the rest of the group and called over his shoulder, “Can you guys do something else for a moment? She won’t eat if she feels watched.”

Hongjoong, Mingi, and San, who had been silently observing (y/n), exchanged glances.

San let out a short chuckle and leaned back. “I’m not even looking at her, but fine.”

Hongjoong, noticing how (y/n) only tensed more under their attention, set his spoon down and nodded at the others. “Alright, let’s stop staring at her like we’re about to eat her. Go on with your mission, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and focused on (y/n) again. He leaned in slightly and gave Yunho a light tap on the arm. “Your turn. She doesn’t trust me enough yet, so now we’re bringing in Yunho.”

Yunho blinked in surprise. “Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re big, warm, and non-threatening,” Wooyoung said without hesitation. “You’re the only one who automatically makes people feel safe. If anyone can get her to eat, it’s you.”

Hongjoong, Mingi, and San, pretending not to watch, couldn’t suppress their grins. San even let out a short laugh. “Now he’s dragging others into his friendship mission. This keeps getting better.”

“You’re my assistant now,” Wooyoung declared, handing the bowl to Yunho. “We’re going for the gentle approach.”

Yunho sighed, took the bowl, and looked at (y/n). Her eyes were now on him, still wary, but he also saw confusion.

He smiled warmly and moved a little closer—but not too close. “I know this might be hard, but you need to keep eating, (y/n). Your body needs it. And don’t worry, we’re not watching. We just want you to regain your strength.”

He lifted the bowl slightly and waited patiently.

(y/n)’s eyes flickered to Wooyoung, then back to Yunho. She was clearly nervous, but something about Yunho’s calm demeanor didn’t put her completely on edge.

“I’ll try it first,” Yunho said softly. He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it lightly, and took a bite himself. Then, he held the spoon out to her again.

A long silence.

(y/n) stared warily at the spoon Yunho was holding out. Even though she had just seen him eat, her body remained tense, as if her instincts were warning her against it. Yunho noticed her hesitation and smiled gently.

“It’s really okay,” he said softly. “Take your time. I know it’s overwhelming with everyone here, but it’s just food. Nothing more.”

(y/n)’s fingers clenched briefly around her blanket before she slowly reached out and took the spoon. She took a small bite, her eyes still alert, but Yunho kept his expression warm and relaxed.

“That’s good,” he encouraged. “You don’t have to eat everything at once, but every bite helps.”

She chewed slowly, her gaze drifting to the others in the room. They were still talking among themselves, but no one was openly watching her anymore.

Wooyoung, who had just been confidently orchestrating the situation, turned back to them. “Look at that, teamwork! This is exactly why I picked Yunho.”

“Picked?” Yunho asked, offering (y/n) another spoonful.

Wooyoung held up a finger. “Yes, because you’re the ultimate gentle giant. No one trusts me right away, but you? Everyone trusts you. Even (y/n) is giving in.”

(y/n) swallowed her bite and raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung. “That probably just means you have a bad reputation.”

It slipped out before she could stop herself.

For a few seconds, there was silence. Yunho raised his eyebrows at her, and Wooyoung blinked in surprise.

Then, suddenly, Wooyoung burst into laughter. “Well, well, look who’s talking.” He patted his chest proudly.

Then, hesitantly, (y/n) finally took the spoon and started eating on her own.

Wooyoung triumphantly threw his hands in the air. “Ha! See? I’m a genius.”

Yunho shook his head, laughing, and glanced at Seonghwa. “This is a really weird day.”

Seonghwa, who had been watching quietly, smirked and took a sip of his tea. “I have to admit, this is the most creative I’ve ever seen Wooyoung.”

Meanwhile, Mingi couldn’t resist whispering to San, “Wanna bet how long this lasts before we lose her trust again?”

San chuckled. “I’d say at least a week.”

But as the group exchanged amused glances, (y/n) kept eating—still visibly tense, but compliant with the way Yunho and Wooyoung handled things.

And even though no one said it out loud, everyone in the hut knew it was a victory.

Wooyoung, still grinning, took the empty bowl from her hands and tapped it playfully. “Anyway, mission accomplished. And I hear it already—time for bed, Little Fox. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

“Little Fox?” (y/n) repeated, confused.

“Yep,” Wooyoung said cheerfully. “You’re officially under my care now, so I’m giving you a nickname. You can thank me later.”

The rest of the men laughed again, and (y/n) wasn’t sure if she should be irritated or just confused. She was so used to hostility that she didn’t know how to react to this playful atmosphere.

With one last glance at Yunho, who still had a calm smile, and Wooyoung, who looked at her like he had already won, she decided that maybe—just maybe—these two could be trusted.

The hut was quiet. Outside, the occasional bark of a night creature echoed, and the wind rustled softly through the trees. Inside, the men were scattered around, some on bedding, others just using their jackets as pillows. The fire had died down to a small smoldering glow, just enough to keep the night’s chill at bay.

Seonghwa sat leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching (y/n)’s sleeping form. Her breathing was steady, her face more relaxed than it had been all day. But still, he had the feeling that even in sleep, she was alert, as if she could wake at any moment.

On the other side of the room, Hongjoong moved soundlessly until he settled next to Seonghwa. “You’re still awake.”

“So are you,” Seonghwa replied dryly.

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “San, Mingi, and I mapped out the route through the swamp today. If we want to reach the treasure, we have to go through it. There’s no other option.”

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “And? How bad is it?”

Hongjoong glanced at the sleeping men around them before continuing. “Bad. The swamp is deep and unpredictable. The ground beneath your feet can disappear in an instant, and some areas are nothing but pure quicksand. San discovered that in certain parts, toxic gases linger. Birds flying over those areas just drop from the sky.”

Seonghwa frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a shortcut I’d recommend.”

“It’s either that or spending days circling the mountains and taking a route that’s even more dangerous because of bandits and wild animals,” Hongjoong said, resting his chin on his hand. “We’ll have to be careful. But I think we can do it—if we prepare properly.”

Seonghwa considered this for a moment before slowly nodding. “If anyone can do it, it’s us.”

A brief silence fell between them.

“And (y/n)?” Hongjoong asked eventually. “How was she today?”

Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair and glanced at her again. “Different,” he finally said. “The fox is gone.”

Hongjoong turned to him, eyes narrowing. “Gone?”

Seonghwa nodded. “Not hiding. Not lurking. Just… gone. Everything about her—her posture, the way she speaks, even how she defends herself—it’s like we’re not even looking at the same person we met at the inn.”

Hongjoong studied (y/n) thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s temporary?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know that this girl—” he nodded toward (y/n), “is different from the fox we knew. And I’m starting to believe she needs more protection than we thought.”

Hongjoong hummed softly. “Then we need to be careful with how we handle her. And we need to see if the fox comes back… because if she does, we need to be ready for it.”

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

A cold gust of wind slipped through a crack in the hut, and both men stared silently into the darkness. The dangers of the swamp ahead were great. But perhaps the most unpredictable factor wasn’t the swamp, nor the treasure—but the girl lying in their midst.

next chapter

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butididntpourthewhiskeys · 1 year ago

Text

Homebodies

A little fluff for your TTPD weekend.

~~~

“No I promise, just sit down, I’ll be done in just a minute, mom.” she says firmly in response to her mother asking if she needs any help in the kitchen. Travis just gives Andrea that one look she’s grown to know too well. His eyebrows raised an inch and a smirk on his face that tells the blonde woman he’s got her daughter all figured out.

Leave it to me.

She giggles quietly at Travis, then slowly walks back into the living room to sit down next to Scott. Travis looks at all the different dishes on the counter behind her. The California sun is slowly setting. He should’ve known this morning when she announced that she’ll cook ‘a few Italian primi piatti’ that the ruthless perfectionist lurking inside of his girlfriend would finally make a come back on this Friday. After running around all day, going to the gym, completing her cardio challenge, baking cupcakes for her parents, finishing a work meeting, discussing a music video concept with her team and signing a few new contracts, she of course decided to hit the delicacy shop she loves out here in LA, just to buy all the ingredients she needs for a total of six different Italian dishes that she wants to make for him and her parents tonight. He knows too well by now that whenever Taylor is in this state of mind, there’s no stopping her. If she sets her mind onto something, there’s nothing anyone can say or do to make her loosen up a little. Even if that would involve her actually enjoying this quiet evening with him and her family instead of standing in the kitchen for a solid two hours now, not having had a single conversation with any one of her parents yet.

“What else needs to be done? I can cut veggies? I’m good at cutting stuff.” he tries one last time, steals a carrot stick from her cutting board and starts munching. While stirring the big blue Dutch oven in front of her, she looks back at him for a second, stressed, clearly not amused that he’s eating her uncooked food.

“No, all good. I just need to make sure the risotto won’t thicken too much and once that’s done you guys can sit down and eat the carpaccio before it gets soggy because I need to take the bread out of the oven and quickly scrap together the bruschetta sauce..”

Travis just sighs deeply, takes a step closer towards her. She’s too stressed whipping up the food in front of her to even notice him trying to get closer.

“How about we just let the bruschetta be? We’ve got so much food, babe. It’s just us four. It’s also really late already.”

She shakes her head, not responding to him and he knows that if he pushes her any more now, she might actually get mad at him tonight.

“How about I start cutting some tomatoes for the bruschetta then?” he says with a sigh, finally gave into her obsession with the tomato bread. For a moment she looks up at him, a weak smile on her face. It immediately lights up his entire body.

“That would be great.” she just says, still a bit hesitant and he knows why. She’s not sure if she should be happy that he’s offering to help her, or if she should be worried about the fact that he might cut off his fingers while doing so.

“Sure.” he says, can see the washed and perfectly ripe tomatoes sitting in the drain by the sink right next to her. He grabs one of the tomatoes, holds it up in the air with a question mark on his face.

“Little cubes?”

She nods, a smile on her face.

“Thanks, Trav.” she says then, still busy stirring the risotto in front of her. She doesn’t even notice that he gets closer to her, and fast enough has stolen her cheek a gentle kiss. She giggles all surprised about his gentleness, then feels him lean in again after a second.

“You’re very welcome, crazy.”

Another kiss leaving her cheek. She just giggles, continues stirring her risotto.

_________

“Taylor, that was absolutely incredible.”

She smiles proudly at her father sitting across from her, takes one last sip from her white wine.

“Thanks so much. So glad you liked it.”

“Honey, it was delicious but you didn’t have to put in all this work just because we’re visiting.” Andrea says, her tone a bit more dunning than Scott’s was before. Taylor just rolls her eyes, a bit annoyed that everyone around her acts like she reinvented the wheel with this Italian dinner. Yes, it was some cooking time to prepare this meal, but she loves hosting and loves being a cook. Her mom should know that better than anyone.

“Tay loves spoiling our guests.” Trav says then, and Taylor looks up at the big man sitting next to her. She starts smiling. Our guests. It was a simple sentence. But it made her feel a certain way. He’s home. This has become his home, too.

“I do. Also, this is Trav’s favorite dish. So..”

“Hey, don’t put this on me now.” He says quickly, jokingly holds up his hands in an innocent gesture that makes the whole table laugh. Taylor can’t help but giggle, too. She playfully hits him in the side.

“I gained fifteen pounds since December, Scott. Fifteen pounds.” he says dramatically to both Andrea and Scott, who amusedly witness the interaction between him and Taylor.

“That’s a good sign, though.” her father laughs, especially because his daughter starts hitting the man’s upper arm some more, looking deeply shocked from him, to her mom and back at Travis again.

“Do not even start blaming me for that. Every time I have food laying around he eats it. That’s not on me.”

Andrea starts laughing, and so does Scott. Travis just rolls his eyes playing pretend, sips one last time on his wine glass before looking at the blonde woman in the black top sitting next to him, giving him a playful side eye. She looks absolutely gorgeous as always, but there’s something in her eyes that gives her away. She’s exhausted. Deeply exhausted and tired, but he knows she won’t ever admit to it.

Without countering her some more, Travis just places his wine glasses in front of him, then wanders with his right hand to her head. He starts gently caressing her hair, wandering down to her neck then, where his thumbs draw some soft and slow circles. He can see her eyes getting smaller and her smile getting softer. His touch helps her let her guard down slowly. But she’s not the only one sitting around this table smiling quietly. Both of her parents witness his gentle gesture silently, a smile on both their faces, unsure if they’ve ever seen their daughter look as loved and taken care of as she does right now.

“You had three hours of sleep last night. How are you even still upright?”

She giggles, his hand now leaving her neck and reaching for her cold left hand.

“Jetlag and being tired is a choice.”

Andrea starts laughing. She knows just as much as Travis that this is the most ridiculous saying her daughter comes up with whenever she’s urged to slow down a little.

“Mhm. Sure.” he just says laughingly, knowing damn well that there’s no arguing with her tonight. Within less than two seconds, she gets up, starts cleaning the dinner table.

“How about you start picking a movie and we do the dishes.” Andrea now takes initiative but before she can even finish her sentence, Taylor shakes her head and makes sure to grab the used plates quicker than her mother can.

“Absolutely not. Trav will go pick a movie with you guys, I’m gonna quickly clean up and feed the cats and join you then.”

“I can feed the cats, babe.” the man who just got up right next to her tries once more but she shakes her head.

“No, please pick a movie with mom and dad.” She asks him with a serious look on her face and he sighs, just shakes his head in disbelief, knowing damn well that he’s got to let her be her obsessive self tonight.

“Alright guys, what do you want to watch?”

_________

“Why is it so quiet in here…”

“Because we are waiting for you, honey.” Scott says from the living room couch, looking at Taylor who stands in the now clean and shiny kitchen preparing the bowls for her cats.

“No, just start the movie already. I’ll be there in a second.” she says, really doesn’t want them to have to wait any longer. After all, it’s past nine already now. The view onto her little backyard is pitch black, and she knows her parents are still jet lagged, too.

“Absolutely not.” Travis says from the very right couch on which he sits, giving her that look she loves so much. With the remote control in his hand, as comfortable as he can be, he smiles at her, looking right into her eyes somehow even though this massive living room is dividing them.

“You can’t miss the beginning. It’s the most important part of this movie.”

“Alright, alright, give me one second.” she says, places the bowls in front of the three impatient cats waiting for their dinner, and washes her hands with her favorite lavender soap in the big kitchen sink one last time.

“Do you guys have drinks? Do you need any snacks, or ice cream? Trav, do we still have the…”

“We have everything, honey. Now enough with all this madness. Sit down on your ass. Now!” Andrea says in a new tone, which Travis hadn’t experienced before. It makes him smile though. Suddenly, Taylor just nods, turns off the lights in the kitchen and finally, after what felt like an eternity, makes her way up to her family lounging in the living room. Travis smiles at the beauty in front of him, immediately opens his arms for her to sit down next to him.

“Come on, babe. Lay down.” he just mumbles, gets comfortable on the big couch himself, a pillow in his neck, and enjoys to feel Taylor cuddle up to him, becoming the little spoon to be able to face the big flat screen.

“Alright, are we ready?”

“Yes.” Both Scott and Andrea answer annoyed from their seats and it makes Taylor laugh. Travis hits the play button and the movie starts. His right hand securely around Taylor’s small body frame, slowly wandering onto her stomach. She places her hand on top of his, and with his head on the pillow behind him, he leans over to her once, breathing in her incredible smelling hair, and steals her neck one last kiss. She moves a bit more, trying to get comfortable, and he can feel how fast her heart beats. He knew it. She’s been running around all day, not even allowing herself a single moment of rest. She’s rattled up, and her inability to just lay still in his arms is proof enough. Sometimes, he feels like whenever she’s not playing a show she needs to run around all day to compensate for her lack of adrenaline rush. It’s not good for her though. It’s not good to be in a constant state of stress.

The movie has just started and he catches himself every so often just staring at her instead. Her silhouette in the darkness, lid up by nothing but the flickering tv light. She’s the most beautiful person he knows. Not a single ounce of badness about her. It terrifies him sometimes, how deeply he loves her. How pure his feelings really are for her. His thoughts manifest themselves once more as she starts laughing about a scene on tv and he realizes that he was way too distracted to follow the storyline until now.

A few moments later, Travis can finally feel her become more and more still in his arms. Her hand still firmly over his, her thumb drawing the ever same slow circles on the back of his hand. She’s slowly coming down from her day. And half an hour later, he knows she’s fighting sleep. Whilst both of her parents are still awake watching and enjoying the movie he chose, the blonde woman in his arms has grown unusually quiet. It takes another five minutes and he feels her spasm once. She’s fighting sleep when really, she shouldn’t. Travis slowly lets go of her stomach, moves his big hand over her cold and naked upper arm instead. Nothing but the tv light lighting up her sleepy face.

“Baby?”

“Mhm?” she answers in her half sleeping state, of course pretending to be fully awake.

“Can you reach for the blanket next to you?”

She slowly sits up, grabs the blanket and just hands it to him, too tired to fully recognize the fact that she’s freezing in her top, and that she needs the blanket more than he does. She just lays down again, her head this time getting comfortable on his upper arm. He opens up the soft blanket over her, feels Taylor finally giving in. With her eyes half closed and the same tired disoriented look on her face whenever she wakes up at night to go to the bathroom, Taylor turns around, signaling him to open his arms for her some more. She’s now fully turned away from the tv, her sleepy face facing his chest. He protectively wraps the blanket around her cold torso, feels her little hand placed on his chest over his sweater. With her wrapped in his arms, and the blanket, Travis looks down at her closing her eyes, finally allowing herself to fall asleep. He leans down to kiss her forehead once, his arm around her, stroking her back up and down.

“Sorry, I’m just..”

He doesn’t know whether her mumbles are an apology to him or her parents about the fact that she falls asleep twenty minutes into the movie. But he’s having none of it.

“Shh. I’ll tell you later what happened.” he whispers, and she doesn’t even nod. Instead, he can watch her breathing get slower and slower and steadier and steadier. It takes less than a minute and she’s fully asleep in his arms. A little sigh escapes her throat. Her toes between his legs move once. In his arms, she slowly lets go. And Travis can now face the TV again, and actually enjoy the movie knowing that the woman in his arms is finally getting some well deserved rest. But his gentleness doesn’t remain unnoticed. Both Scott and Andrea watch Taylor drift off in his big arms, his left hand securely on her head, his right one around her waist, stroking her back over the blanket up and down every so often. Not one of the two can recall a time, in which they’ve witnessed their daughter more effortlessly safe, feeling loved and able to be herself more than in this moment.

#this is is ridiculous #homebodies #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift #fanfiction #fanfic #ttpd #writing #travis kelce #cozy #fluff #fluff on end lol #tayvis

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myloveobbsessed · 2 months ago

Text

Ｋｎｅａｄｉｎｇｙｏｕ

•••

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Characters: Childe x Femreader

Notes: Royal AU

•••

You move around the palace kitchen with practiced ease, expertly preparing supper for the royal family. The rich aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering spices fills the air as you focus on kneading dough, your hands working rhythmically.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a quick movement—a hand snatching a treat from one of the appetizer plates. Your head snaps up instantly, and your sharp gaze lands on the culprit.

The prince.

He stands there, mid-bite, eyes wide with the unmistakable look of someone caught red-handed.

You sigh but give him a small bow in respect before speaking. “Your Majesty, I wish you would not do that.” “it could've been poisoned”

Childe chuckles lightly swallowing his food. “Oh but I know they are not” you give a small huff “yes but what if they were I could loose my job and most importantly my life if you were to get sick. Plus those are for tonight”

Childe leans against the counter, completely unbothered by your scolding. He rests his chin in his palm, grinning like a mischief-maker caught in the act but utterly unapologetic.

“Oh, come on,” he teases, licking a crumb from his thumb. “If someone were foolish enough to poison me, don’t you think I’d notice before it even touched my lips?” He taps his temple knowingly. “I am a Harbinger, after all.”

You sigh, returning to your work. “Even so, I’d rather not take any risks, Your Majesty.”

He watches you for a moment, eyes twinkling with amusement. Then, as if struck by an idea, he suddenly leans in closer. “You’re really dedicated, huh?”

Your hands pause briefly before continuing to knead the dough. “It is my duty,” you reply simply.

Childe hums thoughtfully. Then, before you can react, he reaches over—swift as ever—and steals another treat, popping it into his mouth before darting out of reach.

“Childe!” you exclaim, exasperated.

Laughing, he winks at you as he backs toward the door. “Relax, I’m just making sure everything is really safe for the banquet. You should be thanking me!”

You shoot him a flat look, but he just grins wider. “Your Majesty what are you even doing in here?” childes gazes drifts from yours before connecting again. “Im simply hungry”

You raise a brow skeptical by his response but brush it off and go back to your dough not wanting to be distracted any longer than you should. “Im sorry your Majesty but I can't be distracted”

Childe watches you work for a few moments before scoffing closer to you in a not-so-subtle way your bodies nearly touching, the warmth from his body radiating against your side.

After a few moments of unbearable silence and his close proximity you speak. “Y-your Majesty are you in need of something?” you looks at you as if oblivious to what he's doing. “No”

You swallow, trying to maintain composure despite the tension growing between you. The proximity of Childe’s presence makes it difficult to focus, but you do your best to keep working with the dough, pretending not to notice how close he is.

His response is nonchalant, and yet, there’s something in his expression that makes you pause. His eyes glint with amusement, like he’s enjoying watching you squirm just a little.

You steal a quick glance at him, unsure if he’s playing some kind of game or genuinely oblivious. But his smirk only deepens as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Your Majesty,” you try again, voice a little more shaky this time, “If you don’t need anything, I must ask that you step back. I still have work to do.”

Instead of stepping back, Childe takes another small step closer, his voice lowering as he speaks with feigned innocence. “Why so formal? You’ve known me for quite some time now, haven’t you? Surely a little more… relaxed company isn’t too much of a distraction.”

His proximity is too much to ignore now, and you can feel your heart racing at his teasing. Every inch of your body is aware of him, from the heat radiating from his chest to the way his breath feels against your ear as he leans even closer.

Trying to stay focused, you take a deep breath, willing yourself to remain professional, even as you feel like you’re slowly losing the battle. “Please, Your Majesty…”

“I just want to talk to the prettiest baker I know” Childe steps behind you and wraps his arms around your waist erupting a small gasp from you. You turn your head to him a bit your voice a low “y-your Majesty! This isn't an appropriate in the slightest”

You squirm in his hold a bit trying to shake him off “and…what if someone sees”

Childe only laughs, tightening his hold just enough to keep you in place without truly restraining you. His chin rests lightly on your shoulder as he hums in amusement. “Then they’ll see how much I adore my favorite baker,” he muses, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

Your breath hitches, heat rushing to your face. “Y-Your Majesty, please,” you plead, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you try to maintain some semblance of control. “This is highly improper…”

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly so his lips are close to your ear. “Improper? Maybe,” he concedes, his tone playful. “But you don’t seem to be pushing me away too hard.”

Your heart pounds at his words. It’s true—you could shove him off if you really tried. But the warmth of his embrace, the way his voice drips with mischief yet holds a hint of something deeper, makes it hard to resist.

Sensing your hesitation, Childe smirks. “See? You don’t really mind, do you?” His fingers brush lightly against your waist, making you shiver. “Besides, what’s the harm in indulging me for just a little while?”

You huff lightly trying to cool the heat on your cheeks and your beating heart a feeling you can't stop from happening whenever you're around him. “Theres a lot of food that has to be made and I can't do that if you're here clinging to me.” you try to be annoyed.

Childe just chuckles once again before turning you around to face him. His arms placed on both your sides trapping you against him and the counter. “Alright, alright…Ill leave you alone for a kiss.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening at his bold request. “A k-kiss?” you stammer, your face growing impossibly warmer. “Y-Your Majesty, that’s—”

Childe tilts his head, amusement dancing in his ocean-blue eyes. “Oh? Is that a no?” He leans in slightly, the distance between you shrinking. “Shame. Guess I’ll just have to stay right here, getting in your way until I get what I want.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined by the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. “You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Realizing he won’t back down, you huff and rise onto your toes, intending to press the quickest peck imaginable to his cheek just to get rid of him. But at the last second, Childe turns his head, and your lips meet his instead.

Your entire body freezes. His lips are warm, soft, and the smirk he was wearing just moments ago has faded into something gentler. For a brief second, you forget where you are—who you are.

Then reality comes crashing back. You pull away like you’ve been burned, hand flying to your lips. “Y-You tricked me!”

Childe merely laughs, clearly pleased with himself. “I never said where I wanted the kiss, did I?” He taps his chin thoughtfully before flashing you a wink. “But I have to say, that was much better than I expected.”

You gape at him, half mortified, half flustered beyond belief. “Just go already!”

“Hmm how about one more?”

“Childe!”

Childe throws his hands up in defense. “Alright I'm going” he takes a step back before gently taking your floury hand into his gently kissing the back of your hand then softly rubbing his thumb over it. “I'll let you get back to work… for now.”

While being momentarily distracted by his gentle action the sly prince swipes another treat plopping it in his mouth. Making you gasp and hold back from hitting him with a rolling pin. You push him towards the kitchen doors.

“Out, out!”

Childe chuckles as you shove him toward the door, barely budging as he grins down at you. “So violent,” he teases, licking the crumbs from his lips. “You sure you’re just a baker? Because you’ve got the aggression of a royal guard.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Maybe I should be one. Then I could actually throw you out instead of just shoving you.”

He smirks, leaning in ever so slightly. “Oh? You’d miss me too much, though.”

You freeze for just a second, your face heating up, but then you snap out of it and push him harder. “Go, Your Majesty, before I decide to test if this rolling pin is good for something other than dough.”

Childe laughs but finally steps out of the kitchen, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m going!”

As soon as he’s gone, you let out a heavy sigh, pressing a flour-dusted hand to your face. The warmth from his lips still lingers on your skin. Shaking your head, you turn back to your work, trying—and failing—not to think about the lingering warmth where his lips had pressed against your hand.

•••

#x female reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #childe x reader #childe x femreader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe #genshin fluff #genshin royal au #royal au

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nightmarerodent · 2 months ago

Note

How are each of the Kidz' at cooking?

Hehe I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get into this one! TY 😁

Cassie cannot cook. At least not well. She never had to growing up, Johnny always taking her to wherever her heart’s content and Sonya being too busy with her job for something as time consuming as food and opting for instant meals instead, so she’s never developed any skills in the kitchen. She can follow a recipe just fine for the most part but any nuances outside of written instructions are lost to her. The looks of abject horror on the boys faces when she asked if you really had to wash rice before cooking it…

Jacqui can cook simple meals but prefers baking. She learned fractions using measuring cups with her mom when baking cookies and slicing peaches and apples with her grandmother when making pie is a fond memory of hers. If she ever super stressed she can always whip out some mixing bowls and with in the next few hours all the stress has melted away. The pie and/or cake is a nice bonus.

Kung Jin had helped in the kitchen when he was younger, scooping filling into dumpling wraps and pinching the closed, but those days are bittersweet and long since gone. Most meals since then have been stolen or cooked on an open camp fire. Simple things like skewered meats with minimal spices or vegetables that were foraged. After joining the Shaolin, he’s had cooking duties once or twice. He can make his own bread, which he’s quite proud of.

Similarly to Jin, most of Frost’s early childhood meals were stolen. And in the pits of the Black Dragon’s fighting rings, meals had to be earned with blood. Many of her early days were filled with hunger. Once in the Lin Kuei and food was no longer something to be coveted and immediately consumed, she began to slowly learn, but only because Kuai Liang insisted it was a necessary skill to have when out in the field. Simple things, mostly from cans. Anything quick and easy and easy to carry. She’ll still steal food sometimes. Mostly from Takeda.

Takeda doesn’t just know how to cook, he an expert at it. He’s been in the kitchen since day one, being the clingy child he was, never leaving his mother’s side, and Suchin wasn’t above putting a knife in the hands of a small child. (Kid’s gotta learn sometime, right. This is what responsible parents do.) He picked up quickly and by the time he was eight he could make most simple meals by himself. After being taken in by Hanzo it was necessary to keep and improve upon the skill.

Hanzo is a lot of things. A good mentor. A great father. A skilled and feared warrior. But a good cook? No. Man could burn water if it were possible. So after training and school work and with nothing else to do, Takeda would find himself wandering into the clan’s kitchens to watch and help the other clan members prep their meals, asking questions and picking up new things. It very quickly became a routine and after 10+ years Takeda could now not only make pretty much anything from scratch, but also recreate pretty much any meal based off taste alone. Downside now is that the other Kombat Kids constantly ask him to make things for them and the one skill he’s never learned how to master is how to say no. (He secretly likes showing off).

#mortal kombat #mk10 #mkx #kombat kids #cassie cage #jacqui briggs #kung jin #takeda takahashi #mk frost #frost mk

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 4 months ago

Text

Capernaum's Sweetest | Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - The girl at the bakery

Chapter list

Under a glorious sunrise, Zebedee and his sons find their way back to the Capernaum docks with empty nets folded up inside their vessel. The orange of the sky feels like a softening of the blow, the sole good thing to come from their fruitless journey out onto the water, for the Sea of Galilee has been far from generous lately when it comes to letting go of her fish.

With a sigh, Zebedee drags the boat onto the shore with the help of James whilst John takes the nets and puts them to dry in the warmth of the same sun, a tired look on their faces as they retreat to their home where Salome is just preparing breakfast for the men of the house. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts their way the moment they set foot over the threshold.

“Shalom, shalom!” she greets with a chipper voice, a far cry from the mood of her exhausted husband and children, ushering them to their rooms to freshen up. Although none of them has even touched a fish all night, they still tend to smell after hours on the water.

Wordlessly, the brothers head to their respective rooms to wash themselves and put on something clean, eager to settle in for an easy morning consisting of eating breakfast and taking a nap right after, likely until somewhere in the mid-afternoon, after which they will spend the rest of the day slightly groggy while doing not much.

“Did you have any luck, my love?” Salome asks as she pours Zebedee a cup of water, although the man in question would much rather have something stronger instead, empty stomach or not, as if his wife cannot read from his face that it can’t be good news. The usual easy-going glittering in his dark eyes is far from present, instead something akin to defeat lingering in the action of averting his gaze.

“Perhaps that a disease has struck the fish,” he suggests, “And because of it, the amount of young tilapia this year has drastically dropped…” Running a hand down his face, Zebedee sighs. “It is not like we going hungry, but if this keeps happening…”

Salome puts a hand on his arm and gently squeezes. “We will find a way to make ends meet,” she reassures him, “I know you will not let us get hungry.”

“I am the provider of this family,” Zebedee says with a hint of frustration to his voice, more directed towards himself than the fact that he hasn’t caught a single fish in over eight, nine days by now.

When John and James step back into the room, their parents quickly smoothen out the worry in their faces, but the young men are old enough to notice something amiss. “Out with it,” James demands in almost fatherly fashion, and Zebedee would have laughed if the pit in his gut hadn’t been weighing on him so heavily. John sits down at the table as well, stealing a sip of his fathers’ drink before turning to him, folding his arms over his chest.

“What seems to be the issue?”

“The lack of catch,” Zebedee answers without beating around the bush, knowing there is no need to do so. His sons give one another a look.

“We have had a bit of bad luck,” John says with a shrug, “It will figure itself out, won’t it?”

Zebedee’s eyes find the tabletop with a kind of sadness that has both brothers swallow hard upon witnessing it. “Before John was born, and James was little,” Zebedee suddenly starts, “There were a few months of what you just called ‘bad luck’. I could not be the father and the husband I wanted to be, going out on the water over and over again at different moments of the day in the hopes of catching something — anything — but I just couldn’t get it done. Nothing swam into my nets these weeks, and I saw our savings depleting by the day.”

“Pestilence, it was later established,” Salome adds, gently caressing her husband’s back at the memory both of them had wanted to remain completely banished from their minds, “A few poorer families were financially supported by the rest of the village, but a few older fishermen didn’t live to see the next spring due to the stress it put on their souls…” She heaves a shaky sigh.

James had been too young to remember, but he senses the impact the event has had on his parents. John also leans a little closer in an attempt to convey that all will be well.

“I just don’t want—” Zebedee takes a moment to gather himself and get rid of the tremor in his voice before starting over again, “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to us again. Even though you two are adult men already, I am still your father. I am still the head of the family.”

The brothers let their gazes meet in silent discussion of what to say next. “We are old enough to pull our weight around here,” James comments, “If you need us to do more…”

John nods in agreement, “We could get a job!” James snaps his fingers and points at his younger brother.

“Yes!”

Zebedee and Salome give each other a look. “Nonsense,” Salome says, “You two are fishermen, taking after your own father.”

“We have been going out on the water with the three of us since forever,” James notes, “That is the time and energy of three grown men doing a task that can be done by just one. At least, whenever the fishing industry isn’t doing too well…”

“We could look for something on the side, just for the time being.” John adds, “I mean, as soon as abba continues to catch so many fish that he needs our muscle again, we can just quit.”

James nods at his brother, both of them already sold on their own idea. Zebedee gives them a thoughtful expression whilst deliberating inside his mind what to do with their suggestion, for even though he wants to be the main supporter of the family himself as his duty commands, he cannot deny that it is a great idea.

“I cannot ask that of you,” Zebedee then states, “After all, it is not up to you guys to put money on the table. I will be the one to go out and look for work instead, so that you two can go out on the water and do what I have taught you to do. That way, I will be the one taking the responsibility of this family on my shoulders, and—”

“—Wait a second,” John cuts off his father, “Something smells burnt in here.”

Salome’s face pales at the realisation and she jumps to her feet, rushing over to a steadily burning loaf to lift it out of the oven. The men turn to look at her as her cheeks turn red with embarrassment, a look of dejection appearing on her features as a thick smoke grows from the otherwise perfectly braided challah, blackened beyond the point of saving.

“That was supposed to be our breakfast,” she whispers, closing her eyes, “Made from the last bit of flour left in the pantry.”

“Do we need to get some new flour for you?” James immediately wants to ease her feeling of humiliation. “John and I can quickly stop by the market and get a bag or two.”

Swallowing thickly, their mother shakes her head, sighing as she rubs her forehead. “No… Oh, no, that won’t do. If I were to make a new loaf of bread right now, it would have to rise for hours before I could bake it… It wouldn’t be done before dusk, I’m afraid. Oh… I’ve been baking bread for decades! It has been ages since one of them burnt!”

Before Salome can beat herself up about it any further, her sons rise to their feet to comfort her. “Then we will just head for the bakery to get ourselves some readily baked bread,” John states, “And before you say that it is more expensive, we are aware. But you and abba both need to sit down for a bit and take it easy for the rest of the day.”

After a brief silence, Zebedee chuckles a bit before handing James a few shekels to purchase a challah from the local bakery. “It seems that our own sons are more reasonable than us, my dear.” Salome can’t help but smile a bit as her husband wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Now, you two know our usual. Give Hosea our best regards.”

The boys put on their sandals again. Armed with a large bag, they head out on the busy streets of Capernaum. The sun has climbed the air and warms their faces pleasantly as they traverse the local market, where vendors are crying for attention over their wares.

“You know, James,” John begins as he walks with his older brother, “I think you made a good point in us needing to find a job. I mean, eema and abba are becoming a little older every year and even though they wouldn’t admit it, they could use some occasional rest and recreation at their age. If abba took like one or two days off per week, I think the receding of his hairline would go way more slowly.”

James snorts a laugh. “Don’t let him catch you say that.” John smirks a little before his older sibling continues. “But yes, we should indeed look out for something with decent pay. I could use my strength and try some transportation jobs for people needing someone to lift their heavy stuff. You… Well, what would you be good at?”

With a roll of his eye, John punches James’ shoulder, who holds it in feigned hurt.

“Hey!’

“Shut up, I’m good at plenty of things… For example… I can write! I could help people write down letters to their loved ones for a fee.”

“Would you really cheat a poor elderly lady out of her deceased husband’s hard earned money just because she wants to write a letter to her sister on the other side of Galilee?”

“…Maybe not.”

John thinks for another moment. “Perhaps… I could become a scribe at synagogue? Write down the sermons by hand while they are being given by the rabbis?”

“You would never be able to pay attention for long enough.”

“Oh, as if you always take in everything they are preaching.” John counters.

“You have fallen asleep against my shoulder more often than not!”

“Why should I pay attention to these hundreds of laws, I can just look them up in Torah if I need them. It’s not like that someone listing them once gets them stuck inside my mind—”

“—You’re just making excuses!” James huffs.

John raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then what are all six-hundred laws from the top of your head?”

James inhales sharply. “Well there is… There is the dietary laws… And uh… We can’t wear mixed fabrics.”

“Those are the basic ones, I know these as well!”

“Oh then enlighten me, you insufferable know-it-all!”

The siblings cut short their bickering when they arrive at the door of the bakery, as if they hadn’t been arguing in the first place. The room is heavy with the scent of fresh bread and an oppressive heat hangs in the air, the ovens poorly ventilated. The sons of Zebedee wait for their turn in silence whilst the middle-aged baker known as Hosea helps out the other customers, a handful of people also in need of bread.

“It’s been ages since we’ve been here,” John whispers at James, “And nothing has changed whatsoever. He still has these dusty shelves…”

“Yes, and that one wonky chair is still broken.” James nods at one of the tables on the side, meant for customers to be able to consume their breakfast or lunch at. However, the facilities seem to be hardly used for a long while.

When they were younger, the brothers used to join their eema to the bakery in order to gawk at the pastries whilst she made smalltalk with the widowed baker. Now, the sweet goods that used to be on display on one of the counters are nowhere to be seen.

Hosea peers at James and John from under a pair of thick, bushy brows. He scratches through his beard as he gives them a thoughtful look. “My eyes aren’t as good as they once were,” he begins, “But I believe that you are the boys of Salome, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” John breathes, smiling as he steps up to the counter, his older brother right behind him, “We are here on her behalf to get a loaf of bread.”

“Been a while,” Hosea mutters, “I bet she’s been making bread for you herself.”

James nods and Hosea smiles a bit. “How is she doing? And your father?”

“They have been doing quite well in spite of the fishing business being a little dry these days. No pun intended. They say shalom, by the way.” James rubs at his neck.

“Give them my best. And I see. Sometimes we have poor seasons, no? Same for me when the wheat harvest goes bad. I hope and pray that things may look up for you.”

“Thank you.” John replies.

Hosea hums. “So, what kind of bread can I make you happy with today?”

“A challah would be perfect,” John responds, causing the baker to turn to one of the shelves to get it, only to find it empty.

He opens his mouth to speak, but just as he is about to call out to the back of the shop, a woman with her (h/c) hair neatly tucked into a veil which is bound onto the top of her head enters the room with a tray of warm bread in her arms. A little off-balance, she heads for the empty shelf, smiling a little uncertainly at the baker.

“It took me a while, but I finally managed to get all the challahs out of the oven.”

Hosea hums and nods, stepping aside for you to load them onto the display.

“Good job, girl. You will get the hang of it, don’t you worry now. You will get these muscles soon enough.”

You laugh lightly albeit a bit nervously as you start putting the light bread onto the shelf. “While you are at it, girl, why don’t you help out these gentlemen? You’ve watched me do it, now you can do so, too.”

“Oh, of course! What did they need?”

“Ask them yourself.” Hosea spurs you on with a patient smile on his face.

Wiping your hands on your tattered apron, you turn to the counter with glittering, curious eyes. John feels his throat run dry at the sight of your smile, so he hopes that James will take the lead instead. However, when his brother doesn’t open his mouth, John momentarily looks at him to find him staring at you, equally as tongue-tied.

You mistake their silence as a sign that you must be doing something wrong. “Oh, right, where are my manners? Welcome to Hosea’s Bakery, how may I help you today?”

You give the owner of the shop a questioning look, who nods at you reassuringly.

Suddenly finding their voice, James and John step closer at the same time, trying to reply to you in unison.

“We would like—”

“Could we please—”

They pause, giving each other a nod, until John finally speaks. “One challah, please.”

You hum in acknowledgement and smile again. “One challah, coming right up.” Turning back to the display, you clap her hands together in an attempt to calm your nerves. As if you have forgotten where you have put the bread you took out of the oven barely a minute ago, you search the wall for the requested kind.

“Let me… Sorry, it’s my first day.” You let out a nervous laugh and continue looking, before Hosea steps in your direction and taps the label that says the name of the bread. Instead of looking at the word, however, you seem to take in the appearance of the lightly shiny crust instead.

“Oh, of course! I’m so sorry for making you wait, gentlemen. That will be… Um… What is the price again?”

“A half-shekel.”

“Right! A half-shekel.”

After a moment of both the brothers being frozen in their spot, John bumps James who profusely starts searching for their father’s satchel of money. “Uh… Here!” The older son of Zebedee takes out a whole shekel and pays you, quickly dropping the coin into your palm.

Walking over to the bowl serving as a register, you search through the change for a while. Giving each other a look, James and John wonder silently who this new baker is and why they have never seen you around the village. With Hosea’s help, you manage to find the right amount of money to return back to the customers who are still patiently waiting for you to finish the exchange.

“Here you go, sir! Thank you for buying from Hosea’s Bakery! Have a wonderful day, and please come again. Shalom shalom!”

“Shalom shalom,” the boys greet in muttered unison as they rush out of the bakery, loaf tucked inside their bag, not leaving it open for it to cool down in the slightest.

Once outside, both of them let out a breath as if they have been holding it. With a long exhale, James turns to his younger brother. “Who was she?”

“I was about to ask you the same.”

They momentarily cast a glance over their shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you through the window. “If we had seen her around before, I’m sure we would have noticed, right?”

“Right.” James agrees. “I would definitely have remembered a smile like that.”

“And eyes like that.” John murmurs as they head back to their home, both of them feeling inexplicably light on their feet.

Zebedee and Salome are patiently awaiting the return of their sons and look up from their position at the kitchen table when they enter the house, handing their eema the bag right away so that she can serve breakfast at last.

Only now realising they haven’t eaten in quite some time, they quickly join their parents after washing their feet and hands. Zebedee leads his family in prayer before they start their meal. “How was good old Hosea?” Salome wonders as she cuts a few royal slices from the bread and hands them out.

“Hosea? Oh, yes, he was well…” James answers, voice a bit higher pitched than normal.

“Did you give him my regards?”

“We did.” John immediately responds, “He said shalom back.”

Salome hums and takes a sip from her drink.

“Anything else new with him?”

“No, I don’t think so...”

James shakes his head as well, looking at his brother. “No, me neither. He is the same old grumpy man.”

John mutters: “Still hasn’t fixed his eating area.”

“That’s right.” James confirms.

The woman lets out a long hum, giving her husband a look. Both of them are definitely thinking that something may have happened on the way, for the boys seem oddly agitated about something. “Is everything alright?” Zebedee wants to know, leaning closer.

“Yes! Of course, what ever could be going on?” James defends his brother and himself. John hums and takes a large bite from his bread.

“Hosea is fine.”

“Yes, he is fine.”

Now even more suspicious, Salome narrows her eyes, but doesn’t pry any further.

“Alright then, whatever you say. Thank you for getting us this food, by the way. Otherwise, all of us would have gone through the day hungry until supper.”

Exchanging a look, James and John consume the rest of their meal in silence, deciding to keep the mystery woman working at the bakery between them.

---

Chapter list

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #john x reader #john the apostle x reader #big james x reader #capernaum's sweetest

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madhatterbri · 5 months ago

Text

Recipe for Disaster | Hangman A.P.

Summary: -Cooking together, and they burn a dish from the Thanksgiving prompts. 18+.

Hangman Adam Page x Reader - They are trying to cook, but Hangman, instead of actually helping, keeps distracting her, with the end result being they burn whatever they were cooking.

Requested by: @cowboywritersworld

Happy Dynamite Wednesday, babes. ❤️

Hangman Adam Page Masterlist

AEW Masterlist

Warning: Shitty dad jokes. 😂🤣

Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @magicalbuttertarts @new-zealand-chic

As always, requests are open! Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. ❤️

Fall was Y/N's favorite time of year. The cooler weather and the decorations were two of her favorite things. The last, but certainly not least, favorite part was the baking.

She loved to wow people with her skills. Whenever she and her boyfriend, Adam, were invited to a party, she would be sure to bring a treat. On this particular day, she was baking for her co-workers for work the next day.

Y/N was now in the kitchen baking a pumpkin chocolate chip bread. She managed to find one of her grandmother's old recipes. With all the ingredients neatly organized, she started to make the mixture for the bread.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" Adam asked while walking in the kitchen. He heard the oven beep to signal it was up to the appropriate temperature to make the bread.

"Just making pumpkin chocolate chip bread for work tomorrow," she answered. Her suspicions about his true intentions for being in there were heightened. Adam was known to steal a couple of chocolate chips when she wasn't looking.

Adam smiled at her. "Can I help?"

"You are just going to steal some chocolate chips, aren't you?" She asked while mixing the bowl.

"Well, that was going to be my tax for helping you, but I could think of other ways," his voice drifted off. His hands gripped her waist from behind her. He bent down. His breath tickled her skin. Sweet kisses landed by her ear. Her most sensitive spot. Her boyfriend came to play today.

Y/N closed her eyes and moved her neck. His lips explored the new territory. When she opened her eyes, she saw his hand in the bag of chocolate chips.

"Adam!" She called out. He quickly backed away. His hand secured some of the chocolate chips for his own enjoyment. Y/N grabbed the wooden spoon from the bowm she was using to mix the ingredients. The thick orange mixture fell inside the bowl.

Her grown boyfriend took off to the kitchen table giggling. He sat on a chair and started to eat his chocolate chips. Y/N's eyes narrowed at him. She turned on her heel to get back to work.

"Let me make it up to you, darlin'. What does a pumpkin use to repair its pants?" He asked. A big cheeky grin appeared on his face.

Y/N stirred the contents in the bowl. Her face scrunched as she thought about the answer. "What?"

"A pumpkin patch,"

The room went quiet until she snorted. A smile broke out at how horrible the joke was. Adam smiled at his girlfriend.

"What did the pumpkin say to its carver?" He asked.

Once again Y/N managed to come up with nothing.

"Cut it out,"

Y/N rolled her eyes at him. The next few minutes were spent this way. Adam tells her the absolute worst dad jokes about pumpkins, and she giggles. The blonde man did anything to make his Y/N laugh.

When the mixture was ready, she poured the contents into a prepared bread pan. Adam insisted on placing the pan in the hot oven. Y/N placed the time to fifty-five minutes.

"You know," Adam started. His lips were dangerously close to her ears again. "I just risked my life putting that pan in an oven that was quite hot..."

"My hero," Y/N spoke. Her eyes rolled at him again.

"And as your hero and entertainment for the last ten minutes, why don't we take this somewhere else?" He asked. His lips teased her spot once more. A hand slid up her flannel shirt.

"Adam," she sighed and looked at the oven timer.

The green numbers showed they still had over fifty minutes. She originally planned to only watch television while she waited. This idea was so much better.

After making her decision, Y/N turned around and kissed him. He smiled in the kiss. She grabbed his hand and led him to the bedroom. Their kisses were soft and sweet. She swore she could taste the chocolate chips on his lips.

Adam took things slow. He was in the mood to make love. They hadn't had a downtime like this in a while. Between wrestling shows and her commitments to her job, they usually had to rush things. Not today. The bread in the oven was the last thing on his mind.

Every kiss and touch on her body was calculated. He mumbled how much he loved her. Compliment after compliment fell from his lips. The man was crazy about his woman. He wanted to let her know that.

"Adam, please," she begged. Her body was on fire. Her legs pressed together with the hopes of any friction between them.

"I know, baby," he told her reassuringly. He crawled underneath their blanket. Her legs parted as he kissed her inner thighs. Adam made sure to miss between her legs.

His lips kissed up her stomach. Blonde hair poked through the top of the sheets as he kissed his way up her body. Her nipples were given extra attention. He nipped at her neck before kissing her lips. While their lips connected, he slowly thrusted himself inside of her.

Her moan was suppressed by their kiss. He maintained a slower pace than she had grown accustomed to. Her hips moved to meet his thrusts. The pair separated long enough to catch their breath before locking lips again. He rubbed down her leg. His hand gripped the back of her knee and wrapped it around his waist.

Her fingers snaked through his blonde locks. He buried his face in her neck. His thrusts picked up slightly as he chased his orgasm.

"Adam," she moaned. When his lips nipped at her neck again, she unraveled. Her body clenched around him as she came. He stilled deep inside of her. Her body milked him as he came.

"That was amazing," she complimented.

Adam removed himself from inside of her. He laid next to her. His muscular arms pulled her close to him. Their eyes locked together. His thumb rubbed her cheek softly. After showering the other with compliments, they drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile, the oven kept beeping to signal that the bread was finished.

#fanfiction #aew #all elite wrestling #aew fanfiction #hangman adam page #aew fanfic #hangman adam page fanfic #hangman adam page fluff #hangman adam page smut #hangman adam page fanfiction #hangman adam page x reader #hangman adam page x y/n #adam page fic #adam page fanfic #adam page x reader #adam page #adam page x y/n

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nekoannie-chan · 12 days ago

Text

Confession

Title: Confession.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 385 words.

Square: 1 “Admitting a crush”.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Steve confesses his feelings.

Major Tags: Fluff.

Additional tags: My entry for the @fandom-free-bingo Maritime May Edition.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish, so I wanna improve my writing skills in English. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, and I will correct them.

I don’t grant permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or in other languages (I translate my work) or for the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this). I created them exclusively for my fics; please respect my work and refrain from stealing it. Some people here make dividers that anyone can use; mine is not this type, so please look for the other people's dividers. The only exceptions are those I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @Smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @Harrysthiccthighss @Marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @Here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber

Brooklyn, 1942

The tinkling of store bells opening and closing their doors and the unmistakable aroma of freshly baked bread escaping from the corner bakery. It was a quiet afternoon, and you were walking alongside Steve Rogers.

He was walking a little slower than you, as usual. Not because he couldn't keep up with you, but because he seemed to be deep in his thoughts. Steve had always been quiet, but today, you noticed him differently. More nervous.

“Steve? “you called out to him, tilting your head to get a better look at him.

He blinked as if he had just come out of a trance and looked at you with a shy smile.

“Hmm?”

“You're distracted. Something on your mind?”

Steve cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. His posture was always a little hunched over, as if he was trying to take up less space.

“No...well, yes," he finally said, averting his eyes to the ground as they walked.

“Come on, Rogers. Let it go," you said with a smile, trying to lighten the tension.

He let out a nervous laugh and looked straight ahead as if summoning all the courage in the world to speak.

“It's just that..." he paused, took a breath and then shook his head. “Forget it, it's nothing.”

Oh, no. Now you really needed to know what was wrong.

You stopped dead in your tracks, grabbing his wrist to force him to do the same. Steve stood still, startled by the sudden closeness, and his eyes met yours.

“Steve," you said, but without letting go. “If it were 'nothing', you wouldn't be this nervous.”

He swallowed.

“I just... I don't want to ruin anything.”

You frowned.

“Ruin what?”

Steve sighed deeply, and instead of answering immediately, he looked away toward the street, as if looking for a way out. But there wasn't one.

Finally, after a long silence, he muttered so low you almost didn't hear him:

“I have a...”

“A what?”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment as if he wanted the earth to swallow him up. Then, with a resigned sigh, he dared to look at you again.

“I like you," he confessed, this time more firmly. “I’m in love with you for a long time.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment.

#fandomfreebingo #fandom free bingo: Maritime May Edition #Steve Rogers X Reader

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mesu-senshi · 5 months ago

Text

Title: "Be Still, My Giant Heart" part 3

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Pairing: Konig x Reader

Theme: Comedy, Romance, Fluff

Trope: Arranged Marriage (continuation)

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Living with König on base had settled into a rhythm that, much to his surprise, felt good. Predictable but warm. He had always thought of himself as awkward, too rigid for something like this, but you had a way of turning even the mundane into something special.

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Morning Routine

König was an early riser, though he tried to be quiet for your sake. Tried, but failed.

The first few mornings, you’d woken up to the sound of him fumbling with the coffee maker in the tiny kitchenette. He looked so flustered, his broad back hunched in concentration as he tried to keep his massive hands from knocking anything over.

Now, you made it a habit to join him, padding out in your slippers and one of his oversized hoodies you’d borrowed (he didn’t dare ask for it back).

“Good morning, mein Riese,” you’d say, yawning as you reached up on tiptoe to hug him around the middle.

“G-Good morning,” he’d stutter, his hands hovering for a second before settling on your back, his touch gentle but firm.

Breakfast was simple but cozy. He’d insisted on cooking at first, nervous you’d think less of him if he didn’t take care of you properly. But now, it was a joint effort—you slicing bread or whisking eggs while he handled the stovetop.

“Careful,” he’d say every time, his brow furrowed with concern when you worked near sharp knives.

“Relax, König,” you’d tease, poking his side with the handle of the knife. “You’re more likely to hurt me by worrying so much.”

He’d grumble something in German under his breath, which only made you smile.

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Midday Adventures

The team had quickly picked up on your presence, and while most of them were polite, a few couldn’t resist teasing König about his fiancée.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, big guy,” one of them had joked after seeing the way you’d kissed König’s cheek when he dropped you off at the commissary.

König had flushed so deeply that his neck turned crimson, and you had to fight the urge to grab his hand and assure him it was okay.

Instead, you leaned in and said, “He’s amazing, actually. You should try being more like him.”

The soldier gawked, and König had to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

When König had training exercises or meetings, you spent time helping around the base—baking cookies for the kitchen staff, chatting with medics, or just reading in a sunny corner. But whenever he had a free moment, König would find you.

Sometimes, he’d surprise you by sneaking up behind and clearing his throat softly. Other times, he’d stand at a distance, too shy to interrupt until you waved him over.

“Everything okay?” you’d ask, tilting your head.

“Ja,” he’d reply, his gaze softening. “I just… wanted to see you.”

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Evening Bonding

Evenings were your favorite.

After dinner in the mess hall—where you always made a point to sit with König, regardless of the stares—he’d walk you back to your shared quarters. His strides were long and slow, matching your shorter pace, and you often found your hand slipping into his without thinking.

Once inside, you both relaxed. König would sit on the couch, his massive frame somehow folding itself into the small space, while you curled up beside him with your legs tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” you’d ask, holding up a selection.

“I… I don’t know what to pick,” he’d admit sheepishly, his accent thick when he was unsure.

So, you’d choose something lighthearted—usually a rom-com that made him laugh in that deep, rumbling way that made your heart flutter.

When the movie ended, you’d often find him stealing glances at you, his eyes soft and almost shy.

“What?” you’d tease, leaning closer.

“You’re beautiful,” he’d say, the words so earnest they left no room for doubt.

You’d kiss him then, pressing your lips to his cheek or his jaw, always careful to move at his pace. But lately, he’d started kissing you back, his movements still tentative but full of feeling.

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Cuddles and Sweet Nothings

Bedtime was where König’s nervousness often returned, but you’d made it your mission to ease him into comfort.

“Come here,” you’d say, patting the bed beside you.

“I don’t want to—”

“König,” you’d interrupt, your tone firm but playful, “get in bed.”

He’d obey, lying stiffly at first until you wiggled closer, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his chest.

“You’re warm,” you’d murmur, your voice sleepy but content.

“And you’re… small,” he’d reply, his lips curving into a shy smile.

“Small but mighty,” you’d tease, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

Eventually, his arms would encircle you, his hold protective but tender. He never failed to murmur a quiet “Gute Nacht, mein Schatz” before sleep claimed him.

These little routines, this simple closeness—it all felt so right. Every day, König grew more comfortable, more confident in the idea that you weren’t just his fiancée for convenience. You were his partner, his peace, and maybe, just maybe, his forever.

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fangirlingfromdownunder · 9 months ago

Text

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 8

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

I spend most of Christmas Eve in bed relaxing and catching up on much-needed sleep after days of long, busy shifts at the cafe paired with hours of wedding and party planning, all while trying to stay in contact with my intriguing new phone pal. But much to my dismay, and appreciation, Stella refused to let me stay alone through the night. She insisted I come over for dinner and stay for Christmas. As in her words, “It would be an atrocity for my best friend to spend the holidays alone”. So, I had no choice but to kindly accept her demand.

As I walk towards the subway station my phone starts buzzing in my jacket pocket. I smile hoping it’s Jensen or Stella, but instead, it’s my boss. I sigh and brace myself as I step out of the path of fast-passing pedestrians and lean against the brick wall of a fashion boutique.

“Stewie, Hey!” I answer as brightly as possible.

“Y/N, Hi. I know I agreed to let you have today off, and that still stands. We’re closing soon anyway. But I just wanted to let you know a package got delivered here this morning with your name on it. There something wrong with the mail at your apartment? Your neighbours stealing your packages again?”

“Uh…no. Not that I know of. I didn’t order anything.”

“Ah, well I’ll leave it in my office. You have a key, you can swing by through the back and pick it up whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m actually around the corner right now. Can I swing by now before you close?”

“Sure! I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, Stewie. See you soon!” I hang up and rush down the street in the opposite direction, back towards the cafe. The sign’s already flicked to ‘closed’ when I get there, but there's light on in the kitchen so I go in.

“Stewie, it’s just me. For the package,” I call out as I walk towards the lit-up kitchen. As I get closer, the smell of fresh bread and cookies overwhelms my senses. “You know we’re closing for two days, right?” I call out as I round the corner into the spacious kitchen.

The short, round balding man, with just a few strands of grey hair, comes into view carrying a tray of shortbread biscuits straight out of the oven. His glasses, sitting on the tip of his nose, are fogged up. “Yeah, yeah. But I got a big family to feed and a tiny kitchen to do it with. I put everything I got into keeping this place open. I may as well make the most of it.”

“Good idea. So, uh, the package?” I ask as I eye off the golden biscuits, shaped like gingerbread men, wreaths, bells and candy canes. My empty stomach growls and I clear my throat to hide it, but, despite his age, old Stewie hears it.

“Help yourself. I can spare a few. Grab a takeaway container. You can even have a loaf of bread, they’ll be done soon…Wife wants me home before dark.”

“I couldn’t. They’re for your family. I’m just here for my package, remember?”

“Listen, I ain’t no Scrooge. I know your measly salary may make you think I am, but I pay you as much as I can. Outside the holidays, we’re barely making rent. Least I can do is give you a few cookies and some bread.”

“Stewie, I know you do your best for this place and all of us. We all know it. But if you insist, I do find it hard to resist your cooking. Rudie’s great, but you’re the master.”

“No need for flattery, kiddo. Go grab your package from my office and I’ll package up some cookies and bread for you.”

“Alright, thanks. You’re the best!” I smile at Stewie as I go into his office. Mamma Jo was his mother, who passed a few short months ago. She was the light of the kitchen whenever she visited to check on things. Stewie runs the place with as much passion as she did, yet he hasn’t baked since she passed, that is, until tonight. I smile, hoping he’s finally finding his passion again.

I spot a medium-sized cardboard box on the edge of the desk, I shake my head wondering what it could possibly be. Once I get close enough, I read the label.

To Y/N, Mamma Jo’s Coffee and Chocolateria 204 5th Ave, New York, NY 10019

From Jensen Acklesc/o Management Beverly Hills, CA 90210

I quickly pull my phone out, snap a picture of the parcel and send it to Jensen.

Hey Superstar, this your doing? Thought you were in Texas?

I don’t wait for a reply, I put my phone away and go back into the kitchen with the box tucked under my arm and my overnight bag slung over my other shoulder. Stewie hands me two boxes of warm goods; I don’t look inside but they smell delicious. He looks at me dubiously as I attempt to carry it all.

“How far you headed, Kiddo?”

“Not far, it’s okay. I’ll manage,” I try to assure him, but he sees right through it. He gives me a look to say he doesn’t believe me; it’s the kind of look you would expect from a parent who’s waiting for their child to come clean. “My friend’s place in Lower Manhattan. She and her fiance invited me for Christmas so I wouldn’t be alone. Plus, I’m helping with the wedding planning.”

“If you help me pack all these up,” Stewie says gesturing at the cooling cookies and bread, “and clean up the kitchen. I’ll drive you.”

“I’m happy to help, but you do not need to drive me that far out of your way on Christmas Eve.”

“I don’t endorse free labor, so either you get out of here now, or you stay and help and then I drive you.”

Feeling the strain in my arms already and dreading the walk in the snow, I make a decision. I sigh and put everything down on a clear counter and then start carefully boxing up cookies. Stewie nods and starts packaging the loaves of bread, croissants and other pastries on the other tray. Once we finish packaging everything, I clean the trays, bowls and utensils while Stewie wipes down the oven and benches. Working in perfect harmony, we’re finished in no time.

It takes a few trips to load everything into his delivery van parked in the back alley. Despite his insistence that it’s all for his family, I know he’ll end up sharing with his whole block and it just makes me admire him more.

After shutting off the lights and locking up, Stewie skillfully navigates out of the alley and out onto the busy street towards Lower Manhattan. I provide directions to the best of my ability, using my knowledge of the few times Nick has driven me with some –a lot of–help from the GPS on my phone. As I’m looking at the map I notice a text come through from Jensen, but I swipe up quickly to make it go away so I can focus on providing directions.

After a while, Stewie pulls up in Stella and Nick’s driveway. I thank him sincerely, collect my things and carefully trudge through the light covering of snow to get to the front door. I wave Stewie off once Stella opens the door. I’m instantly welcomed by the warm and enticing smell of roast chicken.

“I come bearing gifts, Merry Christmas guys!” I say as I signal for Stella to take the boxes of treats. She eagerly takes them as she eyes the other box at the same time. Luckily, though the smell distracts her and she hurries into the kitchen to put the boxes down and peek inside.

Nick peeks over her shoulder. “Sourdough? That’ll be perfect to go with dinner. I’ll put the store-bought shit back.”

“Rudie or Stewie?” Stella asks critically.

“Stewie. He’s finally coming back on board after everything,” I offer happily.

“Yay!” Stella says clapping as she reaches for a cookie, but Nick slaps her hand away.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” He looks over at my still full arms and nods towards the stairs. “Guest room’s all set up for you so you don’t have to pass out on the couch this time. And if that’s a gift for us it can go under the tree.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll just go put my stuff down,” I say with a smile before slipping upstairs to the guest room. I dump my bag on the floor and the box on the bed. I stare at it curiously. Then remember the text in the car. I pull my phone out to read it, but Stella bursts in.

“I tried to make it all nice and pretty and festive for my bestest maid of honor!” She says joyfully as she points out the little Christmas tree and tinsel decorating the dresser.

“It looks amazing! You’re the best,” I say brightly, yet distracted.

“You didn’t have to get us anything you know,” she says as she gestures at the box. “You being here and organising the bridal shower and helping with the wedding is more than enough. I know money’s tight at the moment.”

“Good, 'cause it’s not from me…Jensen sent it to the cafe. Stewie called and told me to pick it up, hence all the pastries and cookies. I wasn’t meant to go in today…”

“Jensen sent you a gift?”

“I’m not sure if he did or if he got his management team to. Maybe it’s an NDA and warning? He’s in Texas and it says California so…” I finally look down at my phone screen.

It was and I am

I wanted to put my address, I did

But with no NDA my agent was against it

But I promise it’s from me

“He says it’s from him, his agent just wouldn’t let him put his address,” I explain, half to Stella and half to make myself believe it. As I’m talking another text comes through.

Open it yet, Sweetheart?

“He asked if I opened it yet?”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Stella urges as she pushes the box closer to me.

I touch the tape but then withdraw and text him back.

Should I not wait until Christmas?

After a minute his name pops up on my screen. I look hesitantly between the phone and my best friend. She nods understanding and stands up. “I’ll be downstairs, but I want details when you’re done!”

I nod and shoo her out quickly before leaning my back against the now-closed door.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never

#jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #supernatural imagine #supernatural fic

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