#so i figured shutting myself up was for the best

[zorosangell]

zoro x mihawk daughter! reader 👁️👁️

⛥ﾟ・。 nurse

synopsis: a mysterious man crash lands on your gloomy island, and you patch him up... unaware of his odd relationship with your father.

cw: part 1/3, fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a lovable idiot, reader's a bit soft spoken, reader is FIONE, i imagine she dresses like morticia addams but its not explicitly described, mihawk clocks zoro's tea a lil bit

a/n: what i would give to bandage this man up myself

"Never thought I'd see the day..." you sighed, grabbing a vase of water off the end table.

The sound of clanking and pouring echoed throughout the room, slowly waking the swordsman up.

"A man on this island..."

Zoro fluttered his eyes open, the golden rays of morning light ushering him back to the land of the living.

'I'm... alive? ...But where am I?'

"Morning," you greeted, softly, a warm smile on your face as you approached the bed. "You scared me for a moment. With the rough shape you landed in, I thought you were dead for sure."

Suddenly, his eyes shot wide, memories from Sabaody all rushing back.

Pacifistas.

Sentomaru.

Kizaru.

The crew.

Now fully awake, he greeted the world with a deafening yell, you letting out an equally loud shriek of surprise.

And, in your fear, you dropped the entire vase and fell backward, too occupied with trying to back away from the screaming man.

Hearing the commotion, Zoro shut up, weakly turning to see its source.

You had managed to retreat into the shadows, hiding yourself from the intruder.

"Who are you?" he asked, sharply, eyes zeroed in on your silhouette. "Where am I? And why are you here?"

"I could ask you he same..." you replied, warily. "And don't scream like that again. You're not dying, I made sure of that."

Painfully, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, letting out a few winces and curses as he attempted to stand up.

He was missing a familiar weight on his hip.

"What did you do with my swords?!" he barked.

"I'm keeping them hidden until I can ensure you're not a threat."

Brows furrowed deeply, Zoro grit his teeth, thoroughly pissed.

"I'm warning you..." he stood on shaky legs, attempting to step forward, only to fall on his knees.

Guilty, you let out a sigh, suddenly feeling sorry for his poor shape.

"Sir, please, get back in bed. You'll re-open your wounds," you sighed, imploringly, moving forward to help him up.

Annoyed, Zoro scanned the area, eyes landing on your figure as you emerged from the shadows, widening at the sight as your hips swayed side to side.

Long, (h/c) hair...

Plump lips...

Heavenly curves, made evident by your long, black dress...

Smooth brown skin...

Alluring, (e/c) eyes....

Goddamn.

'Curlybrow'd lose his mind...'

You were dripping in beauty and mystery.

Zoro, so mesmerized, didn't even realize that you'd already cruised your way over, and were now standing directly in front of him, helping him up.

"I found you laying in a crater in the woods, unconscious," you explained, pulling him back to the bed. "You looked two steps from death's door... so I brought you back here, and tried to fix you up the best I could."

It was almost funny.

You had little to no medical knowledge at all, so majority of the first few days was spent teaching yourself how to do it all.

With a smile, you sat him down, "I'm glad to see you're alright."

But Zoro didn't register a single word.

He couldn't help but allow his mind to drift to the way your lips moved, enunciating each syllable so smoothly.

Though, when he realized you'd stopped speaking, his eyes found yours, an embarrassed glow rising to his cheeks.

"I... uh... can you repeat that?" he replied, bluntly.

This was the first time he was talking to you, and he wasn't even paying attention.

It was easy to say you were a little irked.

"I'll get you your swords," you sighed, flatly, giving up on any hope of conversation as you turned around to exit the room.

Without giving him a chance to speak, you walked away, hair swishing across your back as you moved.

Zoro, on the other hand, still sat there, more flustered than he'd been in a long time.

He thought back to how close your body was to his, your breast slightly rubbing against his back as you helped him up.

Watching you strut out the room, his gaze drifted to your backside, internally cursing himself for being so pervy.

Something about you flipped a switch in him—be it your mystery or your unspoken grace—and he had never found himself so entranced and intrigued in all his life.

And all you did was talk to him.

'The hell's wrong with me?'

This was the type of behavior one expected from Sanji or Brook.

Not him.

Not the cool-headed swordsman.

Not the Roronoa Zoro.

Hand rising to his face, he roughly shook his head, snapping himself out of it.

"I gotta get the hell out of here..."

"Father, please, I—"

"Not only did you bring an unknown man into our home while I was away..." Mihawk started, tone sharp as he cut you off.

You flinched, instantly piping down as you took a step back, hanging your head.

He hadn't taken such a tone with you since your teen years.

"But you nursed him back to health... and returned him his weapons before confirming that he was of no threat."

Hearing it laid out like that, you sounded stupid.

But in the moment, you swore that Zoro meant you no harm, your observation haki not sensing any malice or ill-intent even when he was yelling at you.

"He's not unknown to you, Father, you've met him before," you attempted to plead your case, albeit quietly. "And from what you've said about him, he's perfectly honorable. He wouldn't have hurt me."

"You didn't know that," he corrected, brows furrowed. "For all you knew, he could've slit your throat the moment you lost sight of him."

"That's a little extreme..."

"That's the world."

After returning Zoro's swords, you left to go make him something to eat, but returned to find that he had escaped.

Frantic, you searched the castle for hours, combing through every nook and cranny in an attempt to find the swordsman.

But, of course, it would be your luck that your father would find him upon arrival—somehow he had found his way through the woods and to the ruins where he attempted to fight off some of your monkey friends.

Safe to say, when your father finally arrived home, he was less than pleased.

Even still, you patched up the swordsman once again, unable to leave him in such a precarious state.

"Father, please try to understand. I was only trying to—"

You stopped in your tracks, both you and the warlord sensing a new presence.

And, like clockwork, the man of the hour weakly pushed open the door, heaving, as he seemed to be struggling to keep himself upright.

Worried, your brows furrowed, concerned for his health.

"What are you doing out of bed?" you asked, softly, "You're hurt... bad."

But Zoro pressed forward, using the sheaths of his swords as walking sticks as he approached your father.

"You shouldn't be walking in this condition... you can barely stan—"

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, bowing his head before his arch rival, much to your surprise.

"Will you... train me as a swordsman?" Zoro asked, fervently, pressing his forehead into the stone floor.

He'd managed to take a look at the News Coo you left on the end table, discovering Luffy's message to reunite in two years.

Which meant that the whole crew would have to get significantly stronger if they wanted any hope of surviving in the New World.

Him included.

"You disappoint me," Mihawk stated, brows furrowed. "Stand up."

He turned away from the sight, annoyance dripping from his tone.

"I can't believe you would ask your enemy for instruction... Have you no shame?"

He rolled his eyes, swirling around his wine glass.

"Get out of here. This is pathetic," he scoffed. "A pity, perhaps, but I overestimated your worth."

'Father...'

You felt bad about his harsh words, not wanting him to kick a man while he was down.

But the swordsman didn't budge, remaining in his exact position without fault.

"I said stand up... you're making a fool of yourself."

"Please help me!" Zoro tried once again, not moving an inch.

"First of all, the baboons beat you... and even after that, you couldn't make it to sea," Mihawk shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. "I can't help you. It's hopeless."

"They didn't beat me."

The two of you froze for a moment, shocked.

'No way... did he really?'

"You're the only one left to take down... but, I'm just not good enough to win against you the way I am now. Anybody can see that."

"I don't follow," Mihawk stated. "Clearly, you still consider me your enemy, yet here you are bowing down, begging for my help."

Zoro lifted his head, his expression one only attributed to a man on a mission.

"What do you mean to do?"

The swordsman's glare sharpened, not a doubt in his mind.

"Kill you, of course."

With that, your father let out an amused laugh, a rare smile cracking on his lips.

"You admit you want to kill me, and you expect me to assist you in that?" he asked, knowingly. "You're strange. What a ridiculous request. Aren't you the least bit embarrassed?"

Though he was quick to reel it in, a new question popping into his mind.

"Perhaps... your priorities are different now, Roronoa?"

Zoro's breath hitched at the insinuation, slightly surprised by his perceptiveness.

"(y/n)..." you father turned to you by his side. "Tend to his injuries."

(y/n).

'So, that's her name...'

It was oddly fitting.

With a quiet nod, you stepped forward, silently heading toward the door.

"We start your training once you've recovered."

At that, Zoro's face lit up, gratefully.

It was finally time to get stronger.

Throughout the entire two years, he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into his training, working diligently to become the reliable swordsman Luffy knew him to be.

But, little did he know, those two years would bring him ever closer to you, as well, as you acted as his personal nurse and cheerleader on the sidelines.

You two would become inseparable, spending your days together as you watched him train, cooked him dinner, did his laundry.

Your presence and company became as constant as he air he breathed.

So, when the day finally came for him to depart, it was safe to say that both sides had a particularly hard time letting go...

To be continued.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

day 20 of @hprecfest - a fic with fanart

Heart Like Neon by @lqtraintracks - E, 41k, 2020, with art by @bluebutter-art

Summary: Bored of being The Chosen One, Harry discovers he rather likes sex and becomes a professional. He’s good at it, and part of why is that he can read people. Not minds, not Legilimens, but their whole self, and he can give them what they don’t even know they want. Enter Draco fucking Malfoy, enigma to everyone, including himself. Harry can’t help but want to break into him, to figure him out. And Draco, thinking he’ll fuck Potter on a lark, has no idea what he’s in for.

Excerpt:

He’s not sure if he expected some form of resistance, but that’s not what he gets. Potter blooms against him, his lips parting readily, hot breath exhaled on an aroused sigh. He kisses Draco back, instantly deep and hot and sexual. He lets Draco press him back hard, runs his hands up under Draco’s jumper and onto his bare back. Draco hears a thunk and realises he’s dropped the wine in order to grip Potter by the fabulous arse and tug him closer. Potter breathes a seductive little laugh against Draco’s lips. But there’s no artifice in it. It’s only seductive because it’s so fucking genuine. Draco shuts him up, and Potter hums contentedly into the kiss.

The lift dings their floor, and even then they’re slow to step away. It takes a moment to do anything other than look at Potter’s flushed face, at the swell of his lower lip, the heavy dilation of his eyes. It’s Potter who reaches out quickly to stop the doors from closing on them once more.

But before they step out, Draco has to give voice to this nagging feeling inside. “That thing you do,” he says. “Are you doing it right now?”

Potter looks at him steadily. “No, I’m not.”

Draco nods. “Good. I don’t want you to. Not tonight.”

“I won’t,” Potter says, hand still staying the lift doors, hair dishevelled by Draco’s hand, pulse beating hard beneath his jaw.

Draco snatches up the wine bottle, and they step out into the hall.

This is one of my absolute favourite LQT fics. I always tell the story of the day it posted, when I took my kids on a playdate, and claimed, er, tummy issues, so I could lock myself in the bathroom and finish it! Ah, fandom life. This fic just really hits the spot, every time. It's so well paced, I always think, and Drarry are a brilliant match; Harry really self-assured, Draco faking confidence in a slightly arrogant way, but underneath anxious and uncertain. The sex is obviously super hot, and I love the way each sex scene feels like it really has a purpose in driving the story and the relationship forwards. The ending of this fic is cinematic and romantic, illustrated to chefskiss perfection by one of my favourite artists (and people), @bluebutter-art. Big rec, for both creators!

If you read it, and especially if you love it, please do let me know! And as always, please do take the time to leave the author a kudos/comment <3

day 1 - first fic you remember reading

day 2 - a fic rated G

day 3 - a fic not on ao3

day 4 - a comfort fic

day 5 - a romantic fic

day 6 - a fic for a ship you don’t normally read

day 7 - the best of your OTP

day 8 - a fic that was recced to you

day 9 - a WIP

day 10 - a fest/event fic

day 11 - an underrated fic

day 12 - a fic from your favourite author

day 13 - a rare pair

day 14 - a fic rated T

day 15 - a fic over 50k

day 16 - a podfic

day 17 - a fic that makes you cry

day 18 - a fic that makes you laugh

day 19 - fanart

[froidefille]

Day 18: a fic that makes you laugh

📚 The Superfluous Man by peu_a_peu

🎧 by @sweaters_in_the_summer, 2.5h

Draco/Harry, 24k, E

Summary:

A child for Harry Potter is a miracle of magic. And it's the second act of Draco Malfoy's sorry little life.

This fic is absolutely unhinged in the best way there is. It was written for this year’s @hd-tarot. It’s actually been recorded as a podfic BEFORE THE REVEAL, which made it a super interesting experience to try to put 2 and 2 together and figure out the author.  And it was my first time correctly guessing the anonymous work’s author! I was pretty proud of myself, I have to admit :D However, it was a bit easier for me because I was getting to know peu_a_peu’s classic Rookie Moves via SITS’ podfic. The flow of the narrative, the story structure and, which was the biggest tell – the humour, were so splendidly narrated! And when I started listening to the podfic I just thought of Draco and Harry in Paris being ridiculous 😂

The whole series of Twenty Cards has some excellent comedic moments. And then there is our The Superfluous Man. In which Harry gets pregnant with Draco’s baby. With a twist – they didn’t have sex xd *it’s magic* Then, understandably, Draco is a panicked father-to-be who travels to outlandish places with Luna Lovegood to gather some crazy ingredients for a nutty potion.

And it only gets curiouser as it goes on! I absolutely loved listening to the story unfold! As you know I listen to a lot of podfics, and lots of it while in public transportation. Well, the problem with this fic was that I could only listen to it at home because I would HOOT from laughter in regular intervals and was getting real suspicious looks on the train xd

Just have a look at names of parenting guide books Hermione is researching:

Male Mothering: The XY How-To What to Expect When You’re Exceptional  The Carrying Wizard Accio Village! Potioneer’s Guide to Conception and Gestation Vol. 2

Tag yourself, I’m Team #AccioVillage! 💜😂

Thank you for the delightful prompt @hprecfest and see you tomorrow!

Ps. Remember when I said „see you tomorrow” 3 days ago? Xd Well, fingers crossed it works this time

Hilarious quotes under the cut <3 I had to limit myself to first chapter only, it was simply too much ^^

Choosing not to participate was not the same as failing, Draco decided. “We don’t all hit the ceiling when Potter says Leviosa. In fact it’s possible to build a life that doesn’t even revolve around him. Probably not for you two, but I’m sure being an adult sidekick has its rewards.” “Merlin, listen to him,” Weasley said, not to Draco but to Granger. “Did we step through a Floo or a Time-Turner?” “As if, Ron, look at him,” said Granger, who was not exactly a nubile eighteen-year-old herself, thanks. “Can we please go? If Lucius and Narcissa come in here, I think I’ll scream.” Draco slipped his heel into his shoe and stood. “Am I being kidnapped?” “Dunno, are you a kid?” Weasley said. “Harry’s at ours,” Granger said, as they bullied Draco to the Floo. “Say, ‘Pig’s Nest.’”

I honestly don't know what is funnier, Draco's "We don’t all hit the ceiling when Potter says Leviosa", " I’m sure being an adult sidekick has its rewards" or Granger-Weasley house being called "Pig's Nest" 🐖🏡

“WHO are YOU?” bellowed the presumable Hugo. “Where’s Potter?” Draco demanded. He looked behind him at the fireplace, which was glacially slow in bringing forth this person’s parents. “HARRY is PREGNANT!” screamed Hugo. “Shut up, Hugo!” said another child, a girl and slightly older, clearly of the same stock. “Harry, Hugo told a man you’re pregnant!” “What man?” said Harry Potter, who followed the girl into the room. “Finally. D’you not get owl post or what?”

Rose is such a big sister in this one, IMMEDIATELLY telling on Hugo xd

“Now that I’ve met your charming progeny,” Draco said, “and seen your charming home, would anyone like to tell me what the fuck is going on?” “SWEARING!” said the children, from some distance. “ALL THE WAY OUTSIDE, PLEASE,” Granger said. “Hugo already told you,” Potter said. “I’m pregnant.”

All the way outside 😂 Kids love finding those little openings in direct requests like going just "outside" of the room instead of going outside-outside xd

„Art, though,” Weasley said, shrugging. “And you know what about art,” Draco snapped, not continuing: you slackjawed ginger yokel? You stupid, unfortunate hanger-on? Who should be absolutely fucking anywhere else on earth at this moment? Or perhaps not on this earth at all? “I’m an artist, mate. I’m chief dreamweaver for Tri-Dub,” Weasley said, impenetrably.

Draco, what even are those words 😂😂😂

[seitmai]

You knew he was on Team Baby. He wasn't pressing it; he couldn’t. That wasn’t fair to you… to him or anyone else. You’d said your piece well before you got engaged, and well before today.

Of course he is team Baby, that is so Bradley lol

“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished, his eyes glued to the digital reading before him. “Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley’s honey eyes flicked to regard you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, but not disappointed, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head.

I think it's very fair of him to hold in his excitement, I really love that

“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt too warm and he protected you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there. “If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly.

He knew she needs a hug 🥺

Bradley nodded. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak and as the facial one between the pair of you? Well. So he just continued to hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided, a lot or not he wasn’t sure. He thought you were on the same page. He thought you both wanted this - “No, love. But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom.

🥺🥺🥺

"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck. "I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. "I won't let you do this alone."

I think those are the right words to hear in this situation 🥹

“What do you mean?” God, you hated lying to such a delight as Bob. He was so sweet, and although Bradley had alluded to his well-guarded playboy-like ways, he was always darling to you.

Bob, a playboy? Shut up!

“I have four sisters,” he sipped his water. “She pretended she was drinking bourbon and ginger ale to throw everyone off the scent she was…” he chuckled quietly and you’d be damned if you’d figured him out. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “I understand if you’re just not drinking tonight.”

He's a smart one 🤭

“Phoenix guessed a little less,” he winked. “I won’t tell, but I’m very happy for you both. This baby will be so loved. Or smothered,” he shrugged playfully. “One of the two.”

Hahah of course Phoenix guessed it too 😅

“This is how you do it, isn’t it?” “Do what?” He played dumb. “Find women. Because you watch and listen.” And suddenly it all made such sense as he blushed, toying with his glass. “I can’t reveal all my trade secrets, but showing a little interest helps,” he admitted. “I wanna know all your tricks. You’re absolutely fascinating to me.”

Wow, I wanna know it too!!

He nodded. Dear God, he knew. The most danger Bradley Bradshaw had ever been in was at this moment. And as his baby girl kicked him from her little cocoon in retaliation for making her Mama wild, he knew that nothing g else mattered anymore and that someway, somehow he was going to find a way to be home for his girls.

Oh, he knows he is in trouble 🫣

dying to know how reader reacted to finding out she was pregnant in the boyfriend experience uni 😫 likeeee ik she wasn’t ready for kids in uncle brooster but bradley was so were there mixed feelings abt it? especially since there was no telling when he’d be deployed again

Hi nonny, I don’t know where you are in the cosmos. But this is for you x

A/N I forgot I had this. I don't have the time this close to Xmas/at all to proof/improve so for those of you still in the TGM, I hope you enjoy and merry merry, happy happy xx

“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”

“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered, the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes.

You knew he was on Team Baby. He wasn't pressing it; he couldn’t. That wasn’t fair to you… to him or anyone else. You’d said your piece well before you got engaged, and well before today.

The day you married him.

But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he still wanted to try for a baby. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley agreed. You didn’t want to be thinking about periods and not drinking and having the time of your lives. Bradley was busier with work now than ever before, and with the work extensions complete, new staffing, and more small business to take care of, even though you were together every night? You were still doing your own things, barely getting into bed at the same time.

Thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley. And even babies. You loved your niece and nephew and Uncle Brooster was fantastic with them - it always left a pang in your heart that he would be such a good father. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly an example of patriarchal learning.

You didn’t want to add the stress of calculating ovulation even if an app would do it for you, the disappointment of periods coming… you just wanted to have fun fucking, and pleasing each other as you moved into the next phase of your lives. The stress Annie went through and the lengths she was going to with IVF therapies - overwhelming hormones, nausea, mood swings, sore boobs, abdominal discomfort. God, when you had a difficult period, you could assume similarly but as Annie went through her treatments, at a fairly young age, it was eye-opening at best.

You remembered one sentence so vividly that it scared you to your bones, “When your biological clock starts… it’s all that your brain hears. You can’t undo it and it messes with your head.”

See? Terrifying. Fair for all involved.

But when your period was late after about two periods since going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens.

But there was something different as you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the (motherfucking, finally renovated) kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you pressed against the pulsating pressure and made a face. Sighing, you unfolded yourself from the couch and moved to your handsome husband. You tenderly kissed between his shoulder blades and he gave an over the top shudder, as you giggled into his skin. He put his utensil down and turned to you, holding your chin in his calloused bug hand and giving you a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself, but not yet willing to admit to him it was to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.

“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished, his eyes glued to the digital reading before him.

“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley’s honey eyes flicked to regard you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, but not disappointed, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head.

“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Love…” his fingers light as they sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “My sweet girl,” he called to you.

“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch.

“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”

“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt too warm and he protected you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there.

“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly.

“I saw how hard it was for Annie and just expected we’d be on our own a bit longer. Genetics and shit."

He bit back his smile and your inadvertent joke, or necessary sarcasm. Bradley hummed. “I think your genetics are pretty fine, if you ask me.”

Eyes rolling in corny, you muttered his name as a warning that jokes were unnecessary at this time.

“Okay, okay,” he answered, palms up, teasing off. He knew you were withholding and he knew he was holding everything back in his body not to go over the top with the excitement bubbling in his entire being. “Love, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”

I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to…” your voice trailed.

Bradley nodded. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak and as the facial one between the pair of you? Well. So he just continued to hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided, a lot or not he wasn’t sure. He thought you were on the same page. He thought you both wanted this -

Like you, his insides were much and could feel himself lightheaded. He grounded himself and carefully reminded himself this wasn’t about him for now. It was getting your beautifully convoluted brain and heart to the same place his was:

Ready.

“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - “ you shut your mouth and the guilt of situation started to overwhelm you. Bradley only hummed, still choosing to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”

He remained reflective a moment, choosing his words carefully his best option.

“No, love. But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes, his large palm resting gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have and it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

His baby in your protective, strong body.

He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow as you snuck under the cold sheets, thinking maybe you could sleep a year. He climbed in after you, the warm skin of his chest against your back under the slowly spinning ceiling fan. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay.”

There was your voice of reason.

“But it's still something you'll need to consider pretty quick..."

Always offering you both sides.

It was silent a while and while Bradley’s excitement was guarded carefully, even he knew this conversation was not the light and excited one he thought you’d share instead.

"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck.

"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. "I won't let you do this alone."

The fateful night you told your family and the Dagger Squad was when it really started to feel real. Your pregnancy to that point has been pretty good. You only turned green as food cooked around you so it was easy to excuse yourself and the extreme exhaustion that overwhelmed you the first trimester slinked away entering the second. You weren’t horribly unwell but things were definitely changing within you.

Boobs sore and off limits to Bradley even though he’d playfully volunteered his palms but your personal support system. It went about as well as expected.

“Just ginger ale tonight?” Bob smiled a while later. You’d been chatting quietly together while Bradley’s squad played pool and generally one-upped each other around you.

“What do you mean?” God, you hated lying to such a delight as Bob. He was so sweet, and although Bradley had alluded to his well-guarded playboy-like ways, he was always darling to you.

“I have four sisters,” he sipped his water. “She pretended she was drinking bourbon and ginger ale to throw everyone off the scent she was…” he chuckled quietly and you’d be damned if you’d figured him out. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “I understand if you’re just not drinking tonight.”

And while your family was aware of your news, Bradley had sworn not to tell his friends just yet. You weren’t ready to be looked in on 24/7 by overzealous Navy pilots.

“Nearly four months,” you said quietly.

“Phoenix guessed a little less,” he winked. “I won’t tell, but I’m very happy for you both. This baby will be so loved. Or smothered,” he shrugged playfully. “One of the two.”

“Bob?”

“Yes, ma’am?” He responded as you rolled your eyes playfully.

“This is how you do it, isn’t it?”

“Do what?” He played dumb.

“Find women. Because you watch and listen.” And suddenly it all made such sense as he blushed, toying with his glass.

“I can’t reveal all my trade secrets, but showing a little interest helps,” he admitted.

“I wanna know all your tricks. You’re absolutely fascinating to me.”

And for the first time, you heard Bob Floyd cackle as he nodded. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s never gonna happen.”

"You're getting deployed?" you look at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly between you. His head fell back.

"I know."

"You know?" you screeched, spoiled for months of your husband home and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter."

"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick.

"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"

"Of course I did. Baby, this classification is my first real role as team leader. As command.”

"Who's going with you?"

"Payback, Fanboy," he confirmed softly.

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. “Even if I have to jump overboard and swim back myself, I will be here for Christmas. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise a baby in my own,” you said, the fear in your evident.

“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair.

"If you see one ounce of action, I swear to you, don't dare come home."

He nodded. Dear God, he knew. The most danger Bradley Bradshaw had ever been in was at this moment. And as his baby girl kicked him from her little cocoon in retaliation for making her Mama wild, he knew that nothing g else mattered anymore and that someway, somehow he was going to find a way to be home for his girls.

masterlist.

[goldensunset]

i cannot stand those quirky overly-friendly-to-the-point-of-crossing-boundaries teachers and professors who make you do icebreakers or fun facts about yourself at the beginning of the semester bc their questions are always the exact sort of stuff that you never wanna answer. but they just keep asking bc they think you’re just being shy and cute. ‘what are your hobbies? what kind of music do you like? what’s a topic very personal and important to you?’ MAN i am not subjecting myself to public humiliation like that for being very far removed from the norm nor am i opening up about my deep-seated personal problems. i don’t know you i don’t respect you you are not entitled to anything outside of my graded work. i’m just trying to prevent everybody in the room including you and i from becoming incredibly uncomfortable. just take the hint when i deflect your questions and pretend to be boring

[lightbulb-warning]

this is getting ridiculous there's so much stuff i wanna draw i need to clone myself immediately

[philsmeatylegss]

There is nothing to being a mentally ill 14 year old fan of shane dawson in the 2015-2018 era. That man travelled to a town absolutely devastated by the 2018 forest fire, people who lost absolutely everything, and just turned to the camera and was like “a laser in space is the reason for this. The government did it.” And you would just be like yep. Checks out.

[doerot]

So.

[twilve]

ive been more social the past three months than i have been the past three years and it feels really great i hope i can keep this up

[eorzea80]

G'raha on G'thoma

Among the texts G'raha acquired in his long tenure in the Crystal Tower, those that served both as ominous portent and beloved bedtime story, G'thoma Tia was little more than a footnote. The pivot upon which Hydaelyn's fate only lightly turned. The man who made the Warrior of Light…a Dragoon, I guess. He wandered into her bar one night and at that moment, fate diverged. (Which, as G'raha drolly observed, thumbing through the pages, it does with alarming frequency when it has anything to do with his work.)

But Thom was not more than anecdata in the Warrior of Lights' journey, according to the history books. A spouse who was tragically lost on the Fields of Cartenau. Beyond that, the library of The Crystarium was mute.

But now, through another quirk of Hydaelyn's mercy, G'raha knows better.

He has his suspicions that Thom carries a heavier fate, pulling it in his wake like a tender ship. He feels a similar pull when that rogue Ascian darkens his door. He remembers the sheer weight of Pryne's presence; the sensation that she carried the fate of stars on her shoulders, along with her very recent grief.

Now, watching Thom grin in the dim morning light, carrying their customary basket of Musicalis bagels and coffee up to the Tower, G'raha heart can't help but burst for this forgotten hero. This man whose immeasurable contributions will go unsung, just as his will be, if all goes to plan. This man who G'raha loves with all the strength left him, as if he could deliver Pryne's longing across the sundered universe.

If he could write the ending of his own story, G'raha would wish for family, this family. For Pryne and Thom to bring him back to The Source and shelter him in their embrace. But that cannot happen. In order to preserve the balance of life, he will need to sacrifice. He will sacrifice Thom. He will sacrifice their steadfast desire for each other, across the rift. And he will sacrifice his love for them both.

All to rescue the only hero he knows who can save all worlds.

"Raha, you ok? You haven't chewed your food in…uh, about a minute?"

The bread has turned to ash in his mouth. With great effort, G'raha musters the energy to swallow.

"I'm fine. Mind's wandering, is all."

[neverendingford]

.

[r4di0h3ad]

just practice

paring! bsf!jj x reader

in which! you have a date coming up and you still haven’t lost your virginity, so you go to your best friend in the hopes he will help you out and save you from embarrassment

warnings! smut. loss of virginity. oral sex (f. receiving) pnv sex. unprotected sex.

part 2

you find jj at the chateau, laying in a hammock on the porch with his shirt off and a joint between his fingers. you could smell the scent of weed before you even made it to the door and jj gave you a smile when he noticed you.

“hey, j.” you greeted, now standing in front of the bench. “you busy?”

“what’s it look like?” he took a long drag from the joint and exhaled. you couldn’t help but grin at his glazed over eyes and his genuine, high smile.

you glanced into the screen door, looking for john b, or anyone else, but couldn’t see well from the smoky haze.

“anyone home?”

he shakes his head no.

“kie and pope are working, think john b’s out with sarah.” he says. “why? you okay?” his eyes soften and you notice his look of concern.

“yeah,” you smile, “everything’s fine, just need to uh- talk to you.” you had no idea how you were gonna go through with this without making it incredibly awkward. you already felt sick to your stomach at the thought of him rejecting you and never seeing you the same way after this.

jj nods and stubs out his joint. he stands up and opens the screen door, motioning for you to enter first.

“after you.”

you smile and step inside, but you soon begin to feel ill at the fact that you were really going to ask him this. you wanted this to happen, but you were terribly nervous.

you lead him to his room and close the door behind you. he sits on the edge of the bed and you follow, sitting crisss cross, facing him.

“you sure everything’s fine?” he asks, obviously questioning the fact that you wanted to speak to him in his room, and that you were silent.

“i told you about that guy i’ve been talking to for a few weeks, yeah?” you start, not wanting to make eye contact with the boy.

“yeah.” he nods.

you try not to pick at the skin of your fingernails.

“okay, well, he asked me out.” you say. “the date’s tomorrow.”

he furrows his eyebrows in question, noticing that you sounded kind of disappointed about something that was supposed to be good.

“well that’s a good thing, right?” he scoffed. “i mean, i cant remember the last time you went on a date.”

“shut up.” you nudge him. “yeah, it’s a good thing… i like him- i think.”

“alright, well, that’s all you wanted to tell me?” he asks. “you don’t need dating advice right? because i can’t help you in that department.”

you fight a smile at his remark and shake your head no.

“okay, here’s the thing.” you sigh before you force out your next words, absolutely dreading his reaction. “i don’t know if he’ll wanna sleep with me eventually, and, well he’s kind of experienced with girls and all that, and i’m kind of…. not.” you cringe at your choice of words, already regretting coming to jj out of embarrassment. you glance at him momentarily and he seems to be studying you, waiting for you to keep talking. “what i mean is, like-“ you sighed. you knew you sounded like a complete idiot, but you didn’t want to back out now.

“you know i’m a virgin, right?” you didn’t even want to look at him after the words came out of your mouth.

he smiled a little.

“i, uh, i figured.” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly and cleared his throat.

“don’t be a dick.” you shove him once again and he chuckles, which allows you to lighten up just slightly. “i’m saying that i don’t know what i’m doing - y’know, with guys and all that. i don’t want to embarrass myself in front of him.”

“so you want… sex advice? from me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows with suspicion.

you nervously bite the inside of your cheek and your face grows hot.

“well, i thought maybe a little more hands on.” you said before you could even stop yourself. you knew you had to just come out and say it or you would’ve backed out and nothing would ever come of this situation. you searched his face for a reaction.

he looked confused, but he didn’t seem whole heartedly against the idea. the silence between you both was becoming awkward and you felt the need to explain yourself, hopefully making the situation sound less like you were coming on to him and more like a friend just asking for help.

“i mean like, because you’re a guy and all, you would know what guys like best, i guess?” you said, as you watched him cross his arms over his chest and lean against the headboard of the bed. “and i was thinking about the fact that i’m going on a date for the first time since freshman year and now there’s a very high chance that i’ll sleep with him in the coming weeks, and it just- i don’t know, the idea of losing my virginity to someone i’ve known for a month didn’t really sound good to me.” you we’re rambling at this point to try and defend your case. “i would rather do it with someone i know, and trust.”

“you want me to take your virginity?” he asked, blatantly. “that’s what you came here for?”

you nod, probably chewing a hole into your cheek now.

“if it’s too weird for you, you don’t have to do it at all, it’s okay.” you said. “you were just the only person i felt like i could ask without it being awkward.”

“no, no,” his expression softens and he shakes his head, pulling his arms from his chest and taking his back off the headboard. “i’ll do it.”

“really?” your eyes light up because you expected this to go far south.

“yeah, no big deal.” he shrugs, even though in his head he knew it was a huge deal. he was going to be your first time and if he screwed it up, there was no telling what would happen between you two. “but, this won’t change anything between us right?” he asked. “like i just don’t want it to be awkward afterwards.”

“i swear.” you said, although you didn’t entirely know if that was the truth. “you’re just helping me out, right?”

“alright.” he responds. “you, uh, you wanna do this now or..?” he clears his throat again, visibly getting nervous, but your fears seemed to be disappearing now that you knew he wasn’t against the idea.

“the sooner, the better.” you said.

jj gets up from the bed and flips the lock on the door on the off chance someone were to come home.

“just a warning though,” you start, “i’ll definitely be really bad at this compared to the other girls you’ve been with.”

“that’s all right, you gotta learn somewhere.” he says, walking back to you and stopping right in front of where you were sitting on the bed. your heart started to race as the reality of what you were about to do started setting in. he sits down next to you and you could smell salt water and weed on his skin. “i’m gonna start with kissing you, is that okay?” you searches your face for confirmation and you nod, giving him the okay. “and you’ll tell me if i’m taking things too fast or if you wanna stop, right?”

you giggle a little at his attention to the matter.

“yes jj.”

you see a very slight smile appear on his lips before he slowly leaned in and connected them with yours. he tasted like weed but in the most perfect way as he skillfully moved his lips in sync with yours. his tongue softly swiped your bottom lip at the same time his hands found their way to the sides of your face and he held you there gently. you took him touching you as a sign to occupy your own hands with his body as you brought your hands around his back, feeling his bare skin.

his kisses started leading down your chin, and further down onto your neck where he connected his lips with your skin. you shivered at the new feeling of someone kissing your neck as he went lower still, reaching your collarbone. he pulled away and tugged at the him of your shirt, asking for more access to your body and he helped you out of the fabric.

“you doin okay?” he asks.

“totally fine.”

he connects his lips to your collar again as he carefully lays you down onto your back. he fights the urge not to leave any hickeys on you, knowing you had a date tomorrow.

you scoot your body up until you’re in the middle of the bed so that he can easily get on top of you. he continues kissing your body, getting lower and lower and with each passing second, you could feel yourself getting hotter and your arousal getting stronger. his mouth reached the waistband of your jean shorts and he looked up your for permission to take them off. you nodded and he unbuttoned them before sliding them down your legs and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

jj kissed the curve of your hipbone and you mindlessly rolled your core up towards his mouth, to which you could feel him smirk against your skin at your neediness.

“i’ll get there princess.” he said against the space under your bellybutton. you practically lost your breath at his words and your cheeks flushed out of embarrassment.

he continued kissing you even lower, placing his lips over clothed core and hooking a finger underneath the hem of your bikini bottoms.

“can i take these off?” he asked.

“please.” you nod, almost sounding too desperate.

he pulls your bottoms down your legs, leaving you exposed to him. the first time anyone had seen you like this, and you were thankful it was jj and not some random boy who didn’t know the first thing about you.

“you still alright?”

“jj,” you giggle. “i’ll tell you if somethings wrong, okay?”

“just being courteous.” he joked.

he brought his hand to your now bare core and used his thumb to swipe a line from your entrance up to your clit, making you whine from just one touch. he spreads your wetness around your clit, his pants growing tighter at the sight of your arousal. as he rubs painfully slow circles, he searches your face for signs of enjoyment, but your eyes were shut tight and your lips were parted, quiet whimpers leaving your mouth.

“just relax, okay?” he said, to which you nod eagerly. you were totally not relaxed at all. in fact you were amped on adrenaline from the way he kissed you.

and then before you could register what was happening, you felt something new touching you. you opened your eyes and looked down at jj’s face in between your thighs, seeing his tongue swirling over your clit. it felt better than any time you had ever touched yourself. his eyes met yours for a second and you wondered why you never asked him to do this any sooner even though you pictured him going down on you many times before

your hands found their way to his blonde locks, your fingers tangling into his hair as you threw your head back on the pillow.

“oh my god, jj” you moaned, to which he picked up the pace a little. he gripped your thighs firmly, holding them apart, occasionally rubbing circles into your skin with his thumbs to relax you.

his lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked, making you jolt your hips up in pleasure at the new sensation. your legs were trembling under his grip and jj didn’t think he could get any harder, but he was, in fact, getting harder by the minute.

“jj,” you moaned his name, “please don’t stop!” you were pulling his hair tighter, trying not to be too loud in case anyone were to come home, but it was impossible to keep your mouth shut with the way he was eating your pussy. “feels so good” you cried.

your hips were rocking back and forth, rolling in the same rhythm as his tongue, practically riding his face. he knew you were close based on the fact that your moans were getting closer together and your legs were shaking harder. he suddenly switched the direction of his tongue, now going side to side and occasionally sucking on your clit, swallowing your juices.

your back was arched off the bed, your hands flying to the sheets for something to hold on to as your high approached in small waves. you moved one hand to cover your mouth, trying to stifle your moans, but jj immediately reached up to your arm and pulled it from your face, not stopping his movements.

“need to hear you cum” he said against your clit before harshly sucking on it.

“fuck” you moaned, his words alone almost leading you over the edge.

he snuck two fingers into your entrance and slowly moved them against the sweet spot inside you. the mixture of his mouth expertly lapping at your clit and his fingers pushing into you had you coming undone.

“fuck- don’t stop- please- don’t st-“ you couldn’t even get the last words out as you felt yourself completely lose control. you didn’t know how loud you were moaning because all of your senses had faltered as the tidal wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

he kept licking until you had fully ridden out your orgasm, and even then, he continued, his grip still tight on your legs as they trembled. you pushed his head away from the overstimulation and then lay limp, your chest rising and falling as you came down, your eyes still closed.

“need a second?” he asked, mockingly, his hands running up your torso and to your still covered breasts. he felt your nipples harden under your bikini top and he desperately wanted to get you out of it.

you wrap your arms around his back and pull him on top of you, connecting your lips with his again. he immediately kisses you back and reaches behind you to undo your top, which quickly comes off and jj’s eyes land on your breasts. he takes them both in his hands and leans over you to suck your nipple, making you shiver.

you occupy your own hands with his belt, fumbling with the clasp until it’s undone and pulling it through the loops.

he pulls himself away from your tits and starts undoing the zipper before his eyes meet yours.

“you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks.

“i wouldn’t be fully naked in front of you right now if i wasn’t.” you joke.

he gets up from the bed to take his shorts off and look around the room, presumably for a condom.

“john b’s gotta have some around here, hold on.” he says, opening up the top drawer of the dresser and rummaging through the pairs of socks and underwear.

“you don’t have to, jay.” you say, but he doesn’t listen, still looking inside the dresser for any small, silver packages. “i’m on birth control.”

he turns around cocks his head at you.

“what?” you question. “makes my periods lighter.” you shrug.

“i’m still pulling out though.” he says before he walks back to the edge of the bed and slides his boxers off, revealing his achingly hard cock. you visibly got nervous at his length, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. jj notices the redness in your face and gets into the bed, pushing hair out of your face with his fingers. “i’ll stop if it’s too much, just tell me.” you nod, anxiously and he positions himself on top of you, stroking his cock a few times before you feel his tip at your entrance. his eyes meet yours for confirmation and you give him a nod.

his cock slowly pushes into you, not even an inch as he doesn’t want to hurt you. you shut your eyes hard, preparing for it to hurt, but you feel barely any pain. he kisses your neck and pushes himself in a little farther.

“this feel okay?” he asks against your skin.

“feels good, j.” your hands find their way to his back again.

once he bottoms out, you feel a slight pressure at your cervix before he slowly starts moving, giving you time to adjust to the feeling.

you hear jj moan in your ear from the painfully slow strokes he was taking, trying to keep himself from going too fast for you. his cock rubbed against your g-spot and you kiss the area in between his collar and neck.

“i’m okay jj.” you reassure him. “faster, please.”

he picks up the pace and continues kissing your neck. your nails dig into the skin of his back.

“you feel so good” he moans. “doin’ so good for me- fuck.” he didn’t even realize what he was saying, but you enjoyed the hell out of it. his praises added to the pleasure of him inside you.

he was going fast enough now that you could hear your skin hitting against each others as your hips connected. every thrust was stroking your sweet spot and you were pretty sure you were leaving scratches on his back, but jj felt too good to even notice.

he leaned back a little so that all his weight was on his knees and his back was straight as he grabbed one of your legs for support and used his other hand to rub your clit at the same time he was fucking you. the double stimulation illicited a loud moan from you that encouraged jj to keep going, almost nearing his end.

his thrusts were getting sloppier and his breathing was heavier but he wanted to make you finish before him. your chest heaved, feeling the new sensation of him filling you up at the same time as his fingers worked on your clit. the pressure was building up and you knew you were close. you suddenly pulled him against you so that your chests were pressed against each others.

“fuck- jj” you moaned. “m’so close.”

his heavy breathing sounded like heaven to you as he started to fuck you even harder, his cock sliding perfectly in and out of you.

“sweetheart” he moaned into your neck. “m’not gonna last much longer.”

almost immediately after he said those words, you felt the band in your stomach snap as you came around his cock, squeezing and pulling him deeper inside you. you cried out his name as he fucked you through your second orgasm.

“fuck, baby-“ he pulled out of you and stroked his cock that was slick with your wetness. you watched his face contort in pleasure, his eyes barely open and his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowed. his cum shot onto your stomach and tits.

he tried not to stare too long at the mess he made of you, realizing almost as soon as he finished that this was a one time thing he may never get you like this again.

he got out of the bed and grabbed a shirt of the floor, which he cleaned you up with and tossed it.

“you okay?” he asked again.

you rolled your eyes.

“how many times are you gonna ask that?” you scoffed. “i liked it, j. don’t know how my date’s gonna top that.” you joked.

then, jj remembered that this was all practice for you to go and have sex with another guy and he suddenly felt sick. he pulled his boxers back on and picked up your articles of clothing from the floor and tossed them to you.

the truth is, you didn’t even want to go on that date anymore. not after the way jj took care of you.

“hey, jj!” a voice, john b’s, ripped through the chateau and both of your eyes widened, looking at each other with panic. “you home?”

you swiftly put your bottoms and shorts back on in under 30 seconds and shrugged yourself into your flimsy shirt while jj was putting his belt back on. you quickly exited john b’s room before he could see where you both came from and you nervously greeted him in the living room to see that sarah and kie were home as well.

“heyy, jb.” jj said, awkwardly.

“what have you two been doing all day?” john b asks.

kiara walked over to the kitchen to grab a beer and when she turned around, she noticed the marks on jj’s back. she paused in her steps.

“jj, what’s with all the scratches on your ba-“ and then she realized. her face contorted in disgust. “ewwww, are you guys fucking serious?”

your face grows hot with embarrassment and you wanted to dig a whole to die in, but john b seems barely faced as he walked past you, saying something near you.

“at least you made that boy’s dreams come true.”



[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[blueskiesagain]

.

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Easy breezy beautiful premature ejaculation. Hypersexual!Simon/fem!reader. Discussion of edging. Cumming untouched.

-

“If we do this,” he says around his cigarette, “then we do it my way.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit cautiously, turning your hands palm up as if to show you have no weapons, no tricks up your sleeve. I’m innocuous, your posture says. His own says: I’m still deciding, with his tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. “This weird, femdom thing. So I appreciate your guidance. Because I know fuck all—“

“You’re no femdom—Jesus, fuck, I can’t talk about it anymore,” he grits out. He takes a step back and away, creating distance, exhaling a plume of smoke that makes him look strangely ethereal in the evening light. Against your will, your eyes flicker down to just below his belt buckle and oh god. He’s hard. 

“Just from talking about it?”

The look he gives you could melt ice. It could sublimate it. You cringe, knowing you were in the wrong, wishing you could reach out and snatch the words right out of the air. He’s trusting you with this. The last thing he needs is to feel like a joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have—you’re not a, a science experiment or something—“

“Wouldn’t mind that so much. Might figure out what the fuck’s wrong with me. Less interested in being treated like I’m part of a circus troupe,” he grumbles. He drops the cigarette and grinds it to ash beneath his boot. He asks: “Inside?” 

-

Gingerly, so gingerly, he undoes the button of his jeans and unzips them. He holds his breath as he works the denim down his thick thighs. God, is he built: muscles made for more than just show. His history is inscribed on his body in its strength and in its scars, scars of white and pale pinks that darken to purple in the lamplight. He’s wearing boxer briefs, straining at the front from his erection, and they are soaked. You’re surprised that he hasn’t soaked straight through to his jeans. 

“Don’t look,” he grits out through his teeth. You look away, unsure where to cast your eyes to, and settle for shutting them. He explains: “Can’t take the way you’re looking at me.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling your face flush hot. 

“Just—let me—” you hear the sound of fabric rustling. He kicks off his jeans—you can tell by the soft sound of them landing against the floor off the side of the bed. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenching in your lap. 

“Nothing just—fuck. No way I’m going to last.” He sounds bitterly disappointed. 

“That’s the point of this, right? To get better at lasting?” 

He sighs, a long-suffering sound, like this discussion is well worn and frustrating to him. Something in you shrivels, and it takes your body with it as best as it can, sending your shoulders hunching inwards, your head ducking down. You pick at one of your nails by feel alone, eyes still closed, and nearly jump when his fingers brush your knee. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re right. That’s what this is for. Might as well get used to embarrassing myself.” 

“That’s the spirit." 

He snorts. More fabric rustles, and at length he says: “Alright. You can look. Just…you can look.” 

You open your eyes hesitantly. His cock is right there—and Jesus. It makes sense, proportionally, but it is frightening in a very real sense. You’re already doing the math, measuring in your head and comparing to your past precedents. Ghost would have them all beat, quite comfortably, in length and girth. He’s cut, which surprises you, but isn’t a turnoff. He keeps himself landscaped nicely, which you appreciate, even if it isn’t necessary. 

He is flushed a ruddy pink, the head darker than the rest. As you stare, it jerks, a bead of precum welling at the tip. Suddenly one of his large, scarred hands reaches down and grips the base of his cock in a painful hold, hissing in a breath through his teeth. 

“Can’t look at me like that,” he admonishes again. 

“Like what?” you ask, a little defensive. You’re just looking! You have to look, right? 

“Like you want it,” he mutters. 

God, does he really have no idea? No inkling of how badly you want to sit on that monster in his hands? No notion of how wet you’ve been since your conversation in the parking lot? Sure you aren't like him, not about to spring off if the breeze was just right, but you are anything but unaffected. Still, it seems like the wrong moment to educate him on your attraction to him and his cock, so you do your best to morph your expression into one of unimpressed ambivalence and hoped it helps. 

“I’m ready when you are,” you say, interrupting his deep breathing exercises. He nods but doesn’t give you the go-ahead, not for another minute or two, until his chest stops heaving and he can remove his hand from the vice grip he has around his balls. His cock has a near purple tinge, and you wonder if maybe he should have rubbed one out in the bathroom beforehand just to take the edge off. Oh well, it’s a thought for next time. 

“Go ahead,” he says, like he’s giving you permission to pull the trigger on him during a game of Russian Roulette. 

You reach out—his cock twitches, a nice warm welcome if you’ve ever seen one, but you hesitate. Your hand is dry. Should you ask for lube? How does he usually jerk off? Dry? You have a feeling he doesn’t mind the discomfort; he seems like he has a self-destructive streak a mile wide. His eyes are fixed at a point on the ceiling, his chest unmoving as he holds his breath. You decide that some sort of lubrication is better than none—so you lick a broad stripe up your palm. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, a little punched-out sound. Sometime between opening your mouth and licking your palm, his eyes had transferred from the ceiling to your face, to the flash of your tongue and your wet palm. His eyes widen, irises swallowed up by the pupils, and he says again, more urgently: “Oh fuck.” 

He reaches down to grip the base of his cock again, but it is too late: he cums. His abs are thrown into sharp relief as he tenses with each pulse, cock jerking against his brutal grip. He doesn’t even jerk himself off—just ruins it as you stare with your mouth open and your hand wet, watching him splatter seed against the coarse line of hair that runs from his belly button to his cock all because he watched you lick your hand. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, throwing one arm across his eyes, breathing heavily. His mouth is flushed a pretty red, like he has been kissing. His hand clenches into a fist as he says: “I’m sorry. I tried not to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, your nearly brain blue-screening from how turned on you are. You lower your hand and wipe it dry on your leggings. “That’s what this practice is for—so you don’t do it when it really counts. We can try again tomorrow or something.” 

He snorts. “Tomorrow? Give me five fucking minutes.”