#we had extra milk so was like 'why not bake bread about it!' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years ago

Text

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons. Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie.

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth.

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink.

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list.

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.”

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter.

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart.

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly?

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist.

Bliss.

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip.

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare.

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.”

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens.

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers.

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine.

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut.

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon?

It’s worth the mess.

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener.

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display.

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor.

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department.

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down.

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally.

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.”

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace.

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

2K notes · View notes

postwarlevi · 3 years ago

Text

Farmers Market

Content: It's literally you and Levi at an outdoor market. Enjoy!

"Levi, look here!" You call to him from another stall.

It was your favorite time of year, fall, when the weather cooled down. The outdoor markets were starting back up and it was opening day at your favorite one.

"Look at the size of the peppers, only a dollar!" Somehow produce sales just got you excited.

"They look alright." He says, wondering why they're so cheap.

"We got a good crop right on time this year." The vendor says.

"Let's get some." You say, ready to pull some cash out.

"Gonna go any cheaper?" Levi asks the man behind the table.

"Levi! How much cheaper can they be?" You're a bit embarrassed that he's starting in already. But Levi knows that if it were near the end of the day and there's too much left they always give a better deal.

The vendor laughs though. "Maybe. You know what? You were such good customers last season, if you want to buy in bulk, how about half off? Anything you want today." There really was a lot and he remembered how much you always picked up.

"See?" Levi tells you, kissing your temple, looking at what else there is.

You were convinced Levi could talk anyone into anything, and were happy to use it to your advantage.

Soon your rolling fold up cart is already half full with bell peppers, cucumber, cauliflower, bags of kale and a huge butternut squash that Levi was sure you'd make him cut into, even though he showed you how last time.

He handed the vendor the cash as you thanked him and were already off to another stall. It really was a good deal, not that you needed ten peppers.

You were already haggling over dried fruit and nuts, coming away with eight bags for a decent percentage off, stuffing them in the tote you had.

"I got you hazelnuts and beets." You say, seeing a small smile from Levi. When you weren't looking he rolled his eyes a bit, knowing the vendors must love seeing you coming. But you always made sure to throw in his favorites, and since you didn't come as often as you would like, Levi never minded.

"I'm gonna go to the tea stall. You want the cart?" He asks and you nod.

"What kind of fruit do you want?" You indicate where you're headed next.

"Citrus." As if you didn't know. You kiss his cheek before parting for a little bit.

Levi heads to his favorite tea vendor and sees she has some new stuff this year.

"Hi there Mr Ackerman!" She always tries to remember her returning customers.

He gives a polite hello and soon has overspent on not only his favorites but some new assortments he doesn't remember her having last season. He makes sure to get cinnamon as well, one of your favorites.

Levi passes by someone selling hats, the wide brim straw sun hat with with a purple ribbon catching his eye.

He's pretty sure you've mentioned wanting one, especially on warm days. Picking one up along with some long stemmed sunflowers at the next vendor, he goes to find you.

You're no longer at the fruits, thank goodness, so he goes towards the back.

He stops dead in his tracks after he spots you. In the short time you've been away your hair has been done into one long braid and you're currently modeling a blue and yellow sun dress in another vendors mirror.

You're beautiful in anything, and Levi can hear his heart pounding. Truth be told you could probably wear rags and would still outshine everyone else.

"Levi! You like?" You say, bounding towards him and breaking this thoughts.

He can only nod, reaching to pick up your braid.

"Oh! Some young girls are learning about business and charging five dollars and I wanted to support them. Only took a few minutes. They did so good!"

Levi leans forward to give a quick kiss to your lips, place then hat on your head and holds out the sunflowers.

"This is so great! Thank you." You gush about the things he's gotten you.

You go back to the dress stall to pay and pick up the cart, leaving your other outfit in the tote. Levi takes both the cart and your tote bag, leaving you with the flowers and an extra paper bag you didn't put in the cart.

Levi sees you got the oranges he requested, along with apples, pomegranates, pears and a whole pineapple that, again, you'll probably make him deal with.

You both take a seat for a little while, enjoying warm pastries and agua frescas.

"What's in the bag?" He asks as you've not let go of it yet.

"Your favorite tea vendor? Well, her partner is running a second stall full of products." You pull out the things in the bag.

"It's a tea warming plate." You say as Levi examines it. "Charge it and it'll last for days. Now when you get busy with work it'll always be warm."

"Why don't I already have one of these?" He wonders.

You shrug and dive back into the bag. "Well, now you do. And also, Bath Brew Pockets, and socks."

Levi stares at what surely are gag gifts. "You mean, I can bathe in tea?"

"Or we, unless you want it all to yourself." You then hold up the socks. His black pair with pink writing reads 'If You Can Read This' on one and 'Bring Me Tea' on the other. Your pink pair with black writing reads 'If You Can Read This' and 'Get Your Own.'

Levi chuckles. "These are ridiculous."

You grin. "Well yeah. You gonna use everything?"

"Of course." He would always love everything you picked.

After finishing your snack it's on to grab multiple varieties of honey, apricot and also cherry jam, two loaves of fresh bread and some muffins from your favorite bakery stall, a focaccia and a dozen rolls from another one, and a two pound block of feta, which Levi says you don't need, but in the tote it goes.

You can't help but want the hummingbird mosaic wind chime, and Levi agrees if you promise to put it up, and not store it away. He then goes for yet another plush throw blanket for you to cozy up together under while you pretend there's room for coconut bowls with matching utensils in your cabinets.

It's soon clear that your tote, cart, and both yours and Levis hands are full.

"I think that's all we can manage, love." He tells you.

You know he's right but think there's something you're missing. You could pass on the chocolates this time, but there's something else.

"Oh, what about the orange juice? It's always so good!" You couldn't leave without that.

"Right." He sighs lightly. No use reminding you of all the actual oranges you just bought.

Balancing another bag on the carts handle he tells you to wait for him and is soon back with a gallon of fresh squeezed orange juice.

"Yay!" You are happy to see the new bag.

You start back with all your items and suddenly gasp, remembering one more thing.

"No, I'm sorry, there's no more hands." Levi says, trying to guide you forward with just his knee.

"But the soaps!"

"Yes and the candles and the olive oils and the pies and the goat milk." Levi lists off some random things you'll probably want next time you come. "I mean, we have to get through all this first."

"The pies." You frown at what you missed, but there really is a lot of food.

You get to the car and load everything in, settling into the passenger seat for the ride home.

"How about we bake our own pie with the stuff we have? We can always come next week." He says, taking your hand in his. You usually only came once a month during the season since you always bought so much, but there were exceptions. Besides, there were things he'd forgotten about, too.

You look at the sunflowers you're holding in front of you. It's been a lovely outdoor morning with the man who holds your heart. "What kind of pie?" Everyday with him was a good day.

He looks over and smiles, bringing your hand to his lips. "Anything you want, angel. But first, we nap."

You look back and return his smile, wondering if Levi knows how happy he makes you, and hoping you do the same for him.

Silently, he's thinking the same about you.

an- In honor of my favorite outdoor market that just opened for the season! I'll mention again that domestic fluff with Levi in everyday life is my favorite thing. And pairing him and reader with food haha.

#levi ackerman #captain levi ackerman #captain levi #aot #attack on titan #aot fluff #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi ackerman fluff #levi fic #farmers market #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #levi

216 notes · View notes

whospilledraspberryjam · 3 years ago

Text

the invisible life of addie larue *review*

This review WILL contain spoilers (probably). I like to cut up my reviews into segments, pieces of cake holding individual thoughts. Let’s get started.

WHAT I THINK THIS BOOK TASTES LIKE:

Something dark, yet with hidden surprises. Black milk tea with boba pearls, maybe. Definitely coffee, black with sugar. Yuck.

WHAT ITS GOOD FOR:

SOME bi representation (an extra special point for male bi representation, because it’s sadly so rare in my reading experience. Give me book reccs with masc bi people pls!).

A beautiful historical piece quite literally woven through time.

Absolutely gorgeous prose. You can smell the woods outside Estelle’s hut and the bread baking in Henry’s kitchen. Luc’s presence alone is burnt smoke and terrifying.

WHAT ITS NOT GOOD FOR:

A DIVERSE historical piece. It’s very euro-centric. I’ve seen many POC readers note this.

Insightful depictions of mental health. Every time Henry compared his emotions to a storm I gagged. I really felt as though it was cliche cop out give him some deep sense of character that just didn’t work for me. Actually, a lot of things about Henry’s character don’t work for me. The introduction of his family and friends as sketchy characters to offer him some sense of background doesn’t really hold much weight. I feel that trying to elevate him to the same level of importance as Addie by giving him his own scenes was a mistake, as they just fall flat and lull in comparison.

PREDICTIONS I HAD AS I READ:

I genuinely thought Henry was going to be a vampire for a little while. I don’t know why. I can’t find evidence of this. I’m just really bad at putting two and two together and really like vampires.

I also thought maybe Henry would be some sort of celebrity.

I knew from the get-go Henry remembering Addie could not be an accident or a fluke but a sort of game on Luc’s part.

I thought maybe Addie would finally surrender her soul in exchange for Henry’s to go free? It would be a sweet story of sacrifice, but at the same time, I didn’t like the idea of it. I didn’t think Addie’s insatiable curiosity about the world should so easily be put out.

CHARACTERS I KIN:

I found no personally kinnable characters. If I had to choose, I would probably point to Henry. Though I don’t like most of his characterization, there are certain relatable aspects because he is VERY human (which makes sense, considering Addie is becoming less and less “human” over time). I also feel like I’m late to everything and wasting time and that days go by too fast. Even if I don’t know when my death date is, I suppose it’s always impending. I think everyone who relates to Henry in some regard should collectively work on this.

WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT WRITING:

Dialogue doesn’t always have to be written out explicitly if it means creating beautiful prose. Seriously, as an editor, I always tell my clients “SHOW DON’T TELL”. Don’t tell us how a conversation went, show us! V.E. Schwab entirely ignores this convention and I applaud her for it, because in this case, it works, for the most part. Many conversations in this novel are described in ways people don’t actually speak (or if they did speak this way, they’d probably be seen as pretentious or trying too hard to be profound), but because Schwab describes an interpretation of the conversation rather than the conversation itself inside that beautiful prose of hers, we are able to capture the beauty in how the conversation made the characters feel. It may not exactly be what is said, but we are able to catch the imagery, subtle communication, and the way Addie and Henry read between each other’s lines (which, might I point out, Luc is never able to do because he cannot love Addie unselfishly enough to know her subtle nuances, and instead assumes he knows her best because he has shadowed her for 300 years.) (spoiler alert, I’m not a Addy x Luc shipper, but I’m not exactly a Henry x Addy shipper either, read my hot take below lol). At the end of the day though, the amount of telling instead of showing does make it difficult to get to know the characters ourselves, but rather through the eyes of whoever is narrating (Addie or Henry) which makes us question the reliablity of the narration. I can see why some people think Addie is wrong when she claims Luc is incapable of feeling love because we are told that he is, not shown (though I would argue there are at least a couple of instances when we are, indeed, shown).

Sex is best written when described as feelings and not actions. As an editor (and general reader of romance) I’ve read some bad sex scenes. Most of them include listing the motions, swapping out words for penis and vagina, and a quick finish. Those sex scenes last a paragraph. What I really love about the scenes in this book is how downright intimate they are. I don’t know the exact actions the characters are taking, yet I do because of the passion that is so tangible between them. I as a reader can fill in the gaps in imagery of the scene while the author fuels the emotion behind it.

WHAT I LEARNED EMOTIONALLY:

Honestly, not much? Which is surprising considering the heavy topic of the book. The plot itself was more or less watching people struggle against time, and declaring overall that time constraints define humanity, but the epiphany is never directly stated nor is much done with it. There aren’t many plot advances either, with the climax of the novel seeming like it should be the reveal of Luc and Addie’s relationship and the mysterious night in New Orleans, but once we get there not much happens with that either. I enjoy the very every day, human aspect of the book, in which not much happens except they hang around New York city. It makes me feel like maybe I should chill out a little bit more. Maybe that’s the overall message: chill out.

HOT TAKES:

ADDIE x LUC

When I first discovered just how many people shipped Luc x Addie I was SHOCKED. Leave it to Tumblr to turn a soul-trading god into a personified Hot Boy™ (then again this is coming from an avid creepypasta fanfic writer but that’s a little different because there’s barely any canon material for those characters anyway). Luc and Addie are a prime example of a toxic relationship, in my opinion. Being alive for 300 years, Addie was bound to have one at some point. Luc and Addie fit well together for all the wrong reasons. They are each other's foils (Luc is the dark, Addie is the stars, as spoken by many other bloggers on this app) and they fit so well together because they were quite literally made to, but I don’t think that means they are good for one another. It is ironic, because while they are tied to one another, Addie can never be “free”. She is always waiting for him with bated breath (out of fear, boredom, or desperation I can’t tell, but those three emotions are not typically a concoction for a healthy attachment). When things are good between them, they are so good. Maybe even euphorically so. But then when things are bad, they are so bad. Like, he’s collecting the soul of an old woman on your evening stroll, type of bad. Getting into an argument and throwing things so violently you knock over a spire of candles and burn down an entire block of the French Quarter is not healthy, guys! In some ways iconic, maybe, but not healthy! They certainly hold passion for one another but in no way are they good for one another. I can admire their relationship as a tragedy and not a romance. Hence why I simply cannot ship.

ADDIE x HENRY (and some more Addie x Luc)

I enjoyed the relationship between Addie and Henry because of what they were able to offer each other. Henry was able to be Addie’s human love, the one that made her discover that maybe she is not fully human anymore, but rather a lover of humans and all their innovations. Addie was able to give Henry another chance at life, one she never got. The way they are able to sacrifice for one another is heartwarming to me. Would they be together without the specific circumstances that allowed them to grow close? Maybe not. But they were what each other needed in the moment and were able to convey it in a healthier way than Addie and Luc did (though still not entirely healthy. Maybe the irony of this book is that Addie will never truly be free because she will always be dependent on the people she meets and falls in love with, no matter for how long they remember her.) I will admit, I did not think there was a lot of romantic chemistry between Addie and Henry, but there’s no doubt in my mind they were perfect as best friends, and I think that’s terribly important for romantic relationships. Addie and Luc were never best friends. They couldn’t talk like best friends do, and though Addie and Luc’s bantering made for a perfect enemies to lovers relationship, I think any opportunity for that was squandered by toxic behavior on both sides. Addie was always waiting for some sort of trick in something he said, or something to go wrong, even when they were, by every technicality, dating. There was no trust whatsoever. With all this being said, I think the development of their relationship was one of the more gripping parts of the novel.

THE ENDING

I don’t think Addie’s story was ever about her ending up with anyone and in many ways I’m glad she didn’t. Which brings us to my second hot take, the ending! It was lackluster to a degree, though I can’t exactly imagine it ending in any other way. I don’t think Addie’s story was meant to be a triumph about finding true love necessarily, but experiencing love, and all kinds of it. She experienced a myriad of fiery one night stands, a passionate yet unhealthy codependency, and the inklings of a whirlwind, love-at-first-sight connection. It didn’t matter how they ended (and many of them didn’t, not really), just that it happened. I like it, if that’s what you meant by the ending, V.E. Schwab.

HOW I THINK (philosopher) WOULD FEEL:

AKA a segment in which I discuss how a philosopher would feel about this book if they were around to understand the historical and technological context because idk I like thinking about this stuff.

PLATO would most definitely compare Addie and her story to that of the Ring of Gyges. Especially considering one of her few belongings is a literal ring. For those who are unfamiliar, the Ring of Gyges is about a ring that allows the wearer to be invisible. It brings into question morality. Do people act morally because they are moral beings? Or do they act morally because there is a social expectation to act morally? The only difference is that Addie cannot turn her invisibility off, leading to a necessity to be immoral rather than a simple want of true human nature to be immoral. Plato is a big believer that acting immorally taints the soul, and quite frankly I think he would suggest Addie simply die and hand her soul over rather than act immorally, though he’d be enraged at the idea she so carelessly traded her soul in the first place. Secondly, I also think Plato would suggest Addie simply die because she cannot truly know herself due to always being alone. Plato believes the best way to see yourself is through the eyes of another. Your friends are your mirrors. You cannot cultivate your soul if you do not know yourself and therefore he would likely believe Addie should simply die. I do not think Plato would support the novel overall.

OVERALL:

The overall prose, aesthetic, and beating heart of this story has me ranking it fairly high, but certain issues with characterization and its overall inconcise nature do present as a few complaints. As I read in a Youtube comment section somewhere (if I can find the account to offer credit I will): “This book is purely vibes and that’s it.” The commentor claims that to be the issue with the novel, but if you’re okay with just vibes, read it and let me know if you agree!

8/10 would recommend, mostly because there is such a wide variety of opinions on this novel. Tell me what you think! Let’s discuss and or argue! Let’s burn down a block of the French Quarter together!

#addie larue #the invisible life of addie larue #addie and luc #addie x luc #addie x henry #booklr #booktok #philosophy

67 notes · View notes

theskywaslookingback · 3 years ago

Text

[AO3]

“Why do you even have that?”

Sasha looks up from her laptop to give Jon a quizzical look. They’ve been deep in a research hole for hours now, Jon with his files spread out before him like a buffet and Sasha picking her way through line after line of code to access things that she really shouldn’t be able to access - although, the government should have better security if it didn’t want to get hacked so she tried not to feel too badly about it. Jon’s not looking at his files now though, his gaze appears to be drawn to her shoe-box sized kitchen.

“Why do I have what?” She asks, “A kitchen?”

“No, the--” He flicks his fingers in a vague gesture to the counter, and his eyebrows pull together in a fetching little wrinkle that Sasha desperately wants to smooth away with her thumb, “the absolutely massive thing you have taking up half your kitchen.”

“Oh!” Sasha says, and then starts to laugh.

The stand mixer is large, honestly, too big to store in the meagre storage space of her cabinets and taking up half the countertop next to the stove. It’s also a garish bright red, loud against the backdrop of beige walls and a white lino countertop. She wonders why on earth Jon’s bringing this up now, they’ve been working for hours now and this certainly isn’t the first time he’s visited her flat, and decides the answer to simply be that ‘it’s Jon, he’s probably just never noticed.’

He’s fully scowling at her now, in a way she knows is defensive. He probably thinks she’s making fun of him. He can be so sensitive. “Sorry,” She says when she stops laughing long enough to speak, “I think you just caught me off guard. It was cute.”

“Cute?” Jon starts to sputter, the tips of his ears darkening and his nose wrinkling.

He is cute, Sasha thinks.

She waves it off. “It was a wedding present. That’s one of the big ones, I think, for most people. First thing I added to the registry.”

Jon couldn’t look more blind-sided if he’d been hit by a lorry. He even drops his pen, staring at her with wide eyes. “You’re married?”

Sasha snorts. “Don’t be daft. Does it look like I’m living with someone?”

Jon looks around anyway like he’s looking for evidence. “Divorced?”

“Nope.” She says, popping the ‘p’ with extra emphasis and grinning at the helpless confusion radiating from her friend.

“Then--” Jon trails off. He looks at the stand mixer again, like maybe it holds the answers he’s seeking. He looks back at her, and then down at his files. Suddenly his head jerks up and he says, “Wait, have you ever even been engaged?” He says this so seriously it tugs at Sasha’s heart. His eyes narrow like he’s caught her in some kind of trap, as though that wasn’t what she was expecting.

Sasha grins. “No.”

Jon looks at her incredulously, like he’s fitting together a bunch of puzzle pieces in his mind. It’s fun. Jon is so fun. “Sasha, did you fake an engagement just to get a stand mixer?”

“Yes!” Sasha slams her laptop shut and points at Jon, “But do not tell my great aunt that, do you understand? It took me years of work to get that stand mixer, Jon!”

Jon stares at her silently for just a moment, absolutely bewildered, before he dissolves into laughter, curling in on himself and digging his fingers into his sides. It shakes his shoulders and Sasha swears there’s tears in his eyes and before she knows it she’s laughing too, hard enough it hurts her chest and blurs her vision. To an outside viewer they must look positively loony. It takes ages for them to stop and gather themselves back together. Jon takes off his glasses to wipe tears away from his eyes while Sasha rubs at her face and tries to stop the giggles that keep bubbling up when she looks at Jon.

“God,” Jon says at last, “I haven’t laughed like that in--” he clears his throat, “anyway.”

“Yes,” Sasha agrees, “anyway.”

She looks at the clock and is both shocked and completely unsurprised that it’s after midnight.

Jon must follow her gaze because she hears him utter a quiet, “good lord.”

She’s dangerously close to laughing again.

Jon starts to shuffle his files away back into their folders. “Later than I thought.” He says.

Sasha hums in agreement, putting her laptop away and sorting her notes into neat piles. “No use trying to get home this late, you might as well just stay the night.”

“Ah,” Jon’s nose does that cute wrinkle thing again, and Sasha’s lips twitch, “that’s quite alright. I’m sure I can just find a cab.”

“Could do,” Sasha agrees, “but it’d be easier if you stayed. I’ve got an extra toothbrush and everything. Plus, tomorrow is Saturday so it’s not like we have to rush back to work or anything.”

Jon’s got all his things put back in his messenger bag, a solid olive green canvas affair that Sasha privately thinks is dreadful looking. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your weekend. I’m sure you have plans.” He’s stalling, looking for a reason not to go. Sasha wishes he’d just tell her what he wants.

She smiles, because Jon isn’t easy but she knows him and she likes him anyway, “Well, I was going to put that stand mixer to work and make myself some bread. But other than that--” She shrugs.

Jon’s eyes go once more to that bright red piece of kitchen equipment. “You make your own bread?”

“Sure. It’s cheaper and it tastes better.”

Jon makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, I suppose… that is, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Lovely,” Sasha beams, and then adds slyly, “I’ve even got some of Tim’s things you can sleep in.”

Jon goes properly red at that and buries his face in his hands with a groan.

Sasha busies herself with getting her ingredients together while Jon wakes up. Before they’d become friends she’d always just kind of assumed he’d be a morning person. He had that air about him at work, sharp and alert even when she was still trying to get her head on. The truth is that while Jon has difficulties getting to sleep, he would happily sleep until mid-afternoon if she let him, so she makes sure to wake him at a decent hour and then goes back to check and make sure he hasn’t fallen back asleep. Since her flat is basically a glorified closet, and Jon sleeps on the sofa, this is not a hard task to keep an eye on.

It takes a good twenty minutes before Jon comes and sits himself down at what she generously calls a kitchen table. His hair hangs in curls around his shoulders and he impatiently pushes a hand through it where it covers his face. He’s still sleepy-eyed, the sleeves of Tim’s jumper she’d let him borrow pooling around his hands.

“Good morning.” She says with amusement.

He grunts, flopping into a rickety chair. “Coffee?” He asks.

“All out. Tea alright?”

He nods.

“Great. Kettle is over there.” She gestures vaguely to the area next to the fridge, “Tea is top cabinet.”

Jon sighs, like it’s a great effort for him to make his own tea, but offers no further complaint as he retrieves the kettle and fills it with water.

With Jon out of the way Sasha appropriates the table for more space to set out her scale and bowls. She won’t need anything too fancy today so it doesn’t take long to get set up. She hears the kettle and turns around just in time to see Jon half-way climbing onto the counter. “Jon!” She scolds, similar to the way she would her cat when she was a child.

He freezes and gives her a sheepish grin. “You said top cabinet.”

She did, and she hadn’t thought about the almost foot of height she had on Jon. She snorts and waves him down. “Grab the mugs, I’ll get the tea then.”

He grumbles something about doing it himself but obliges, plucking two mugs from the drying rack.

“Green tea alright?”

Jon makes a dismissive noise. “Black?”

“Out.”

“I’m taking you shopping after this, Sasha James, this is downright unacceptable.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She hands him the box of tea bags and he rolls his eyes at her, muttering as he fills their mugs with water.

“Do you at least have milk?”

“Yes.”

“Thank god.”

Sasha rolls her eyes and gets back to her scale, weighing out her dry ingredients.

“Why are you doing it like that?”

“By weight?”

Jon hums.

“It’s more accurate by weight than by volume, typically.”

“You can’t just, I don’t know, eye-ball it?”

“Jonathan Sims have you ever baked anything in your entire life?”

She takes the jerky shrug he gives in response as a no. She shakes her head and dumps her flour and yeast into the mixing bowl of her stand mixer. Jon hovers there at her shoulder, watching, so close she can almost feel his breath.

It gives her a wicked idea.

She reaches a hand up, like she’s checking something, and then flicks the mixer on high.

Flour explodes from the mixing bowl in a cloud of white, covering her and Jon and the countertop.

The little shriek Jon gives will stay with her for a very long time.

“Why?” He asks, mouth agape and positively covered in flour.

“Because I knew it would be funny.” Sasha says, laughing. There’s flour in her hair, and she’ll definitely need to wash her clothes, but the look in Jon’s wide eyes and the slowly blooming smile on his face is worth it.

It takes less time than she thinks to get everything clean again, and the second time she even allows Jon to help her measure ingredients and start the mixer. He’s very serious about the whole thing, watching the scale with a grim kind of determination like it would mean death if he added just a bit too much yeast to the dough, but it’s the most fun Sasha’s had in forever. By the end of the day she has enough bread to wrap a loaf up for Jon to take home, and he looks at her like she’s just given him the greatest gift he’s ever received.

“Same time next week?” She asks as she wraps his scarf around his neck.

“I suppose.” He says, ducking his head to avoid the kiss she tries to plant on his cheek. “If you’re amenable.”

“I’m amenable.” She says, and kisses the top of his head anyway.

Sasha watches him leave and Jon turns back at the end of the hallway to wave, before disappearing into the stairwell. She laughs, bright and happy, and closes the door.

#fic #my fic #jonathan sims #sasha james #days before; unwinding

92 notes · View notes

pressedinthepages · 4 years ago

Text

Family Business

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: Another day, another collab with Maragret @sometimesiwrite cause we just cannot stop. And this one will have cHaPtErS!!!!!!

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Modern Coffee Shop AU. Eskel and his brothers run a coffee shop. Jaskier pops in one morning. Neither can anticipate what is to come.

The bell above the door of Happy Goat Coffee and Snacks tinkled quaintly as Eskel returned from the corner store, carton of almond milk in-hand. He slipped the receipt into the till and opened the milk fridge, taking stock to see if there was anything else that couldn’t wait for Wednesday’s delivery. All seemed to be in order—Barista Blend soy and oat milks, a few bags of regular milk. He didn’t like carrying almond (bad for bees), but it was the only thing some customers could drink so… here it was.

He turned to make himself another coffee, taking stock of their baked goods: chocolate zucchini muffins, banana bread, blueberry muffins (a few missing, Geralt’s been here…), and an assortment of granola-based snacks. The overall business plan was plant-based and/or sustainably sourced in the hopes of filling a void left by the larger chains that were the only other options in the neighbourhood. It wasn’t a bad plan, and with the increasing number of conscious-consumer parents, they were establishing a strong and loyal customer base.

Lambert carried a tray of sourdough paninis around the counter and began transferring them into the display case, arranging them as neatly as his energetic hands would allow. It had been hell working with him for the first little bit. Lambert took after their sainted mother only in being a morning person. His general pissy attitude skipped a generation and came directly from their grandmother. But the prickly bastard knew what he was talking about, and after some… heated negotiations, they managed to agree on finding a local butcher who could provide pork belly which Lambert would turn into proper bacon in the back. They barely had the space, but he somehow made it work, and it sold very well as an add-on. I mean, he wasn’t wrong. It did taste better.

Of course, this didn’t stop the young brother’s grumbling. He simply did it while chewing. “Lambert, could you please, please, stop eating the bacon?”

“I’m sorry, I must be doing this wrong. Do I look like I give a fuck???”

“No, you don’t. That’s why I’m doing it for you. Just...” he sighed “don’t eat us into bankruptcy.”

“What, so Geralt can drink all the fuckin organic ass lemonade he wants but I can’t have a piece of gods-be-damned bacon???”

“Geralt drinks the—oh my God you guys are killing me—look, I will talk to Geralt about the lemonade, you can have some, some bacon, and I’m going to try my hardest not to put my head through the fucking wall. Capiche?”

Lambert watched over Eskel’s shoulder as Geralt chugged the remainder of the lemonade from his cup through narrowed eyes in his direction.

“Fine.” Lambert growled, turning back to the kitchen. “You’ve got a fucking customer, by the way, boss.”

“Don’t call—oh never mind. Hello, sorry, welcome to the Exasperated Goat. I’ve changed the name.”

“I love it,” the young man on the other side of the counter crooned, cocking his hip with a smile. “Think it’ll really capture the true essence of the neighbourhood.�� Eskel was struck dumb immediately, his words falling flat on his tongue. He was trapped in a pair of dazzling blue eyes and the brightest, most open face he’d seen in a—well, a depressingly long time, if he was honest. The young man was eccentrically stylish with bright splashy colours and patterns that had no business going together as well as they did.

Eskel wasn’t the only one transfixed. His vivacious new customer was too busy marvelling at something inexplicable behind the proprietor’s hazel-green eyes and his… aura? Was that even a thing? How long have I been standing here? Oh God, am I staring? Shit.

Geralt swaggered behind the counter and bumped into Eskel's shoulder pointedly.

“What can I get you?” He fumbled, working hard to regain his senses.

The young man recovered more smoothly, “Cappuccino, dry please. And a chocolate zucchini muffin. Please,” he added with a cheeky grin, holding out a twenty.

Eskel took the money and their fingers brushed, just the tiniest bit—was that a linger?—but he felt the sparks fly under his skin nonetheless, and as he got to work steaming milk, he desperately tried to remember how small talk worked. The young man beat him to it.

“How’s the morning so far?”

Eskel sighed, glancing up at him. “Not...terrible,” he said, peering over his shoulder to find Lambert now munching on a mini quiche. “Lambert keeps eating the merchandise, but I suppose it could be worse.”

Eskel was caught up in the man’s smile again until the rapidly rising temperature of the milk that brought him back to himself. He tapped the pitcher to settle the foam and wiped the steam wand, “How’s your day been...?”

“Can’t complain,” the man shrugged, taking a sizeable bite out of the side of his muffin—an act that Lambert would have seen as a criminal offense. Eskel disguised an amused grimace. “Had a gig last night, decent turnout. One or two people I didn’t know actually showed up on purpose.” Eskel knocked a portafilter empty, cleaning it with a well-practiced twist of the wrist. The man’s eyes drifted to the espresso-stained microfibre cloth that was currently being handled so expertly and found his mind wandering, jarred back to reality as the grinder kicked on. He jumped a little.

“Ah, you’re a musician, then?” Eskel asked over the noise.

He nodded, swallowing thickly as he took in the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders. “I like telling stories,” he called back.

“Ah, you write your own stuff, then.” Eskel knocked the edge of the portafilter against the palm of his hand to settle the espresso and Jaskier was lost again, watching large, graceful hands working with strength and precision, all in the name of a decent cup of coffee. Eskel looked at his mesmerized conversation companion, “Or do you prefer to cover?”

“Hm? Oh, well, a bit of both. I like to cover because it gives people a sense of familiarity, like they can trust you with their evening. It sets the tone. Then I do my own stuff once I’ve got them on my side.”

Eskel cut the shot as the rich caramel colour of the dark espresso began to run lighter, and he gave it a sniff, ensuring the extraction was good before pouring in a little milk, and dolling out large quantities of foam. He passed the drink to the young man. “Extra dry.”

“Ah, my hero,” the young man wrapped his hands around the cup and brought it to his lips. “Mmm, delicious as always.”

“Always?” Eskel asked, tearing his eyes away from the young musician’s long, slender fingers. “Y-you’ve been in here? I don’t—I’d’ve thought I’d remember you.”

“Mhm, I usually pop in in the afternoons though, it’s typically Geralt over there who’s working.” He waggled his fingers over Eskel’s shoulder and he heard Geralt grunt in acknowledgment.

“Ah, yes. He takes over from me so I can go home and sleep. Well, rather forces me to. It’s hard to remember there’s a home when you spend most of your time at your own business. You hear people talk about self-care? Mine’s Geralt.”

And the young man, who Eskel thought was incapable of being any more charming, laughed so brightly and earnestly that Eskel could’t stop the grin that spread to his own face—not that he’d’ve wanted to.

"I suppose that's what partners are for, isn't it?" he said flippantly, adding a dash of nutmeg to the foam in his cup and stirring in a little honey.

"Pardon?"

"To remind you there's something other than work, you know, house and family and—"

"Oh, uh, no—business partner. Geralt's just a—well not just. He's my brother."

"Ah! I'm so sorry, I just assumed... You know, urban cafe, tasteful decore, and then you mentioned he’s your self-care. Most people aren't that close with their siblings is all."

Eskel nodded, "Our other brother's in charge of the kitchen. It's... a long story, but, here we are!"

Eskel watched as the young man took a deep breath through his nose, seemingly steeling himself. He was then met with those striking eyes again as a napkin was slid across the counter, just barely brushing his fingertips. “In that case...would you like to get dinner sometime?”

"I—what?" Eskel shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing.

The young man smiled again,"It's alright. I'm just giving you a napkin with my number on it. You can use it to communicate with me. You know, texting? Call me? Maybe eat some food?"

"But I—I don't understand, why?"

The young man playfully rolled his eyes, "If you're not interested, you can just say so."

“No! No, I absolutely am, I’m ju-“ Eskel stammered, trying desperately to keep from sticking his foot in his mouth and driving the young man away,“I’m just not sure why you are.”

The young man just laughed brightly, his blue eyes flashing beneath dark lashes, "Because you're handsome, hard-working, and the way we've connected just now gives me a hunch. Besides, how long has it been since you had a chance to get away and go to dinner with someone?"

Eskel eyed his customer, thought for a moment, and tapped the napkin before picking it up. "Walk first, then dinner. I hate starting dates like a third-degree."

The young man set down his coffee and held out his hand, beckoning to Eskel over the counter. As he came around, he offered his hand in return, and was shocked by the—could he call it intimacy?—of the musician’s hand gently closing around his. It may as well have been an embrace. “I-“ and of course his voice cracked. Eskel cleared his throat with a chuckle, finding those beautiful baby blues once more. “I’m Eskel.”

"Julian. Stage name is Jaskier. You can call me either, it doesn't really matter."

Eskel smiled warmly, "It's nice to meet you, Julian."

"Likewise, Eskel. I, uh, I should get going. But. Text me, we'll make plans."

Eskel watched as Julian left, his stride long and confident. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring into empty space, but at some point Geralt once again appeared to nudge against his shoulder. “Better save that napkin, brother.”

Eskel nodded at the flimsy paper in his hand, looking at the digits like they were an ancient cipher that needed decoding. "Better yet..." Geralt said, surreptitiously grabbing Eskel's phone from off the counter, unlocking it, and texting, Hope you have a good day.

"Here you go," Geralt said, handing the phone back to Eskel before pouring himself a drip.

Eskel’s stomach simultaneously lept into his throat and fell onto the floor. “Geralt,” he breathed, watching the *read* message pop up, “well now what? By the way,” Eskel suddenly turned, wagging his finger at the end of Geralt’s nose, “quit drinking all of the merchandise!”

“First off, now he can actually text you back instead of waiting to hear from you all day, which is exactly what would happen if left to your own devices. Secondly... Lambert said he wouldn’t tell you.”

Eskel shook his head, mouth agape, “Unbelievable.”

Eskel’s fingers itched as he continued about his morning business, his phone silent in his pocket. He had nearly given it up as a lost cause when it finally chimed, and then he almost sent the phone flying across the store in his haste.

So sorry for the late reply, Eskel. I was on the metro and then I had to run off downtown and then, alas, my phone died. I should really get one of those portable battery things. Ah well. Thank you for the well wishes!! It really brightened my day once I finally got them 😍😍😍

Eskel exhaled deeply. Okay, this was okay, this was good. He typed and deleted. Retyped. Deleted. Geralt reappeared over his shoulder, glancing at the text no worries, wanted to make sure you had my number. Geralt shook his head and took a sip of coffee before grabbing Eskel’s phone and typing, no worries, glad you got it sorted. Hope the metro wasn’t too much of a disaster. Geralt handed Eskel his phone to peruse the message.

“When did you get good at texting?” Eskel murmured as he pressed ‘send.’ Geralt merely shrugged as he ambled away, clearly in search of something to snack on as he finished inventory and ordering. Eskel called over his shoulder, “Would you please make more lemonade since you drank it all?!?!”

As Geralt’s hum in the affirmative hit his ears so did the chime of his phone.

Not bad at all! Only one shouty person, and he didn't even hurl obscenities after me :D Although a mother with a very large stroller gave me a rather impressive side-eye as I sat down with my guitar tucked between my feet and mumbled something about manspreading. Some days it's the little things that get you through 🙃

Eskel replied, That sounds about right for 2 in the afternoon. Too bad you didn't see the Singing Man, he'll really give your day a kick you didn't know it needed.

You know what would give my day a good kick? A lovely walk with a lovely man ;)

And Eskel blushed. Full on blushed. Lambert snorted from where he hovered in the doorway.

“Go on, lover boy,” Lambert smirked, taking a bite out of another goddam slice of bacon. “We’ve got it covered.”

He rubbed his face. It was hard to think straight. He'd been up since 4:30, and part of him just wanted to go home and sleep, but it was also the first sunny day they'd seen in what felt like over a month, and the idea of a nice walk with some light conversation wasn't unappealing in the least. He frowned at Lambert, "How do you even know it's him that texted?"

"Because you just turned three shades of pink and stared at your phone like it's a piece of alien technology."

Eskel grumbled and turned back to his phone. Would be nice to get some company and fresh air. What part of town are you in? Meet in the middle?

Meanwhile, Julian was on the metro. Again. His leg bounced where he was sitting, reading the same paragraph of some random book over and over again. He knew it was a long shot coming all the way back to the coffee shop—Eskel might be done for the day and gone home or out doing shopping or—but it could be worth it. He lept off at his stop and bounded up the stairs, and his phone dinged with a delayed notification. He smiled at his phone and stowed it away, walking as fast as he possibly could until he saw the familiar sign of the coffee shop. Julian slowed down so that he didn’t cross the line from ‘windswept’ into ‘desperate’ and peered into the little window. He spotted Eskel immediately, his back to the door and speaking with another man behind the counter, presumably Lambert. Julian smiled and pushed open the door.

"Whoa-ho-ho, Pretty Boy at twelve o'clock."

Eskel looked up from Jaskier's Spotify account and quickly closed his phone. "I suggested halfway, I hope you didn't come all the way across town."

Now it was Julian’s turn to stammer a bit, his tongue feeling too large for his mouth as his eyes swept across Eskel’s form. Since this morning, it had clearly been a busy day. His cheeks were flushed and his hair curling at the nape of his neck, and he had even caught a glimpse of luscious chest hair peeking out from the sharp v-neck that pulled across his chest. “I-“ Julian grinned to himself, come on, keep it together, “I was already on the metro when you texted back, so I figured I’d just...come here!”

Eskel narrowed his eyes and hummed. "Want a drink before we head out?"

"Oh sure, we can't eat the merchandise but you can give away free drinks to anyone who flirts with you?"

"I—You—would you just..."

Jaskier cut in, "I think you'll find that actually exactly how it works. Bit of an unspoken code. People have started taking advantage of it to get free coffee, though. Makes it hard for those of us who mean it..." Julian's eyes met Eskel's for a lingering second and Eskel had to remind himself to breathe. "London Fog, please, Eskel. But I'm happy to pay. I know tea is less expendable."

"Hm. See, Lambert? It's a barista thing."

Lambert rolled his eyes as Eskel steeped the Earl Gray in a bit of hot water, added vanilla, and steamed some milk. He carefully slid the finished beverage over the counter, one of his hands finding the tie at the back of his apron. “So...” he said, trying to decide between meeting or avoiding Julian’s intense gaze, “would you like that for here, or to go?”

"I think you'll find it's already in a to-go cup," Julian said, raising an eyebrow.

"That's because we're getting the hell out of here," Eskel said, and—much to Julian's instant pleasure and amusement—fluidly traversed the service counter, landing deftly on the other side. "I just need to change my shoes, and I'll be up in a second." Julian looked down to see Eskel's black work shoes covered with espresso and nodded, blowing on his tea as he watched, leaving him with the Prickly Brother, staring at him as he chewed his bacon.

Julian sipped his tea and peered over the rim at Lambert, who had been scowling at him the entire time. Though he didn’t take it personally, it was likely that was just his face. “So,” Julian started, thrumming his fingers on the side of the paper cup, “you’re the one who’s been eating all of the merchandise?”

Lambert scoffed and scowled sideways, the last piece of bacon sticking out from the corner of his mouth. He nudged himself off the back counter and swaggered close to Julian. "Listen. I don't know what your deal is. But if you fuck him over, you will have two very big, very pissed off brothers to deal with. Got it?"

"Fuck him over what?"

"'Scuse me?" Lambert said, scowling harder.

"You said not to fuck him over, but didn't specify what."

It took Lambert a moment, but he granted himself one singular chuckle for the little shit. “Alright, kid. Just- be careful with him.”

Julian smiled gently, peering over Lambert’s shoulder to where Eskel was striding back into the shop. “He seems like the kind of guy that I will certainly be trying my best to keep around.”

“Better believe it. You can spend your whole life looking, you won’t find a better guy than Eskel. He’s a fucking goldmine. But he’s our goldmine. Take his shine, you answer to us.”

“Yes, sir,” Julian mock saluted as Eskel handed something to Lambert. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a piece of bacon.

“Geralt’s in charge,” Eskel rumbled (which Julian found enticing) and with that, he turned on his heel and pulled open the door. He held it open and Julian smiled as the two of them stepped into the evening sun.

Eskel took a deep breath as soon as they stepped into the fresh air, letting the warm sunlight spill across his face. It was beautiful to look at. His hair glinted with little chestnut highlights and his arching eyebrows became even more pronounced in contrast with the brightness of his skin in the evening glow. Julian watched the muscles of his face relax, the pressure of greeting people slowly dissolving. His shoulders dropped, and he looked truly exhausted for a moment before opening his eyes and smiling softly. “So, Julian. Do you like dog parks?”

Julian braced an excited hand on the swell of Eskel’s arm (and my gods it was firm), “I would love to go to the dog park...but will it be odd if we just show up, without a dog?”

Eskel laughed and Julian felt his knees go a bit wobbly and he tucked his arm around Eskel’s for support. He noticed Eskel glance down. Ah, right, a bit forward. Easy Jaskier. Julian smoothly transitioned to holding his cup with both hands and Eskel smirked privately, appreciating the non-verbal understanding. “No, not really. We can find a bench if it’s not too cold, lots of people come by and watch. Not everyone in the city can have an animal, people are pretty understanding of onlookers.” Julian still looked skeptical, “c’mon, it’s not like going to a playground. I promise we won’t be creepy.”

“Well...” Jaskier smiled, flipping his hair out of his eyes, “lead the way.”

Eskel walked slowly, stretching their time (and his legs) as much as he could. They made polite, easy small talk, finding little details about each other as they walked.

It turned out that they had surprisingly similar tastes in music, and Jaskier was both pleased and intimidated to learn that Lambert doubled as a DJ on weekends at one of the more popular clubs downtown. He was further surprised to learn that their father owned and operated one of the oldest Italian restaurants in the city and was quite famous because of it—he’d opened it as an homage to his Italian wife when she passed away unexpectedly—and while Papa Vesemir himself was Polish, he’d learned to cook from the best.

It seemed they were a culinary family, in fact. Both Lambert and Geralt had trained in professional settings—Geralt had a background in baking, while Lambert had trained on the line with his father. Eskel, it turned out, preferred to be behind the bar. He liked people. Enjoyed making drinks. His father always joked that he had the “magic touch.” Every drink he made always came out tasting better, even if he followed the recipe to a T.

“So, why the coffee shop?” Julien asked as they rounded the corner of the dog park. They both smiled as they saw fluffballs of all shapes and sizes bounding around, and Eskel led them to a small bench.

He kicked his feet out in front of him and sipped his own coffee thoughtfully. “It was something we all knew how to do, and we saw a niche missing in the neighborhood. We had originally wanted to make it a bit more of a hub for artists and public resources—you know, host workshops, put up fliers, put artists’ work on the walls to sell. It isn’t quite where we want it yet, but it’s our old neighborhood. Wanted to give something back to the community. Plus, we like having regulars. You don’t get the same thing with restaurants. Cafes, though, you can get to know people better. Build loyalty.”

Julian sat for a moment, looking at Eskel with a deeper appreciation than he already had. “You’re amazing,” he breathed, the words spilling from his lips without so much as a second thought.

Eskel flushed even deeper, his neck a very pretty shade of pink. “I wouldn’t say all that...”

“But I would,” Julian nodded, downing the remainder of his tea. “You’ve created something beautiful in a place that’s meaningful to you with your family, that’s amazing. And I’m allowed to say that, because I personally decide what is and is not amazing.”

“Fair enough,” Eskel raised an eyebrow and hid a smirk behind another sip of coffee. “It’s just... well everyone’s gone and opened up a coffee shop now, and it’s getting harder to see where our niche still sits. It’s a diverse neighborhood, we don’t want to alienate anyone, but we have to stay open... ah, I dunno. I suppose anything seems unremarkable if you’ve been waist-deep in the logistics for long enough.”

“Do you have open mic nights?”

“What?”

“Open mic nights, you know, local artists bring their instruments, read poetry, play music, promote new albums while people buy alcohol and food?”

Eskel tilted his head, “Huh...”

“Yeah. Huh.” Julian nudged Eskel’s shoulder playfully.

“The only issue with that is hours. We’d have to hire more staff and/or open later in the day so we can stay open.”

“You could man a proper bar again,” Julian sang, jiggling his foot at the end of his crossed leg.

Eskel reached an arm up and over and around Julian’s shoulder, “Julian, either you’re a remarkable person and I don’t know what on earth you could possibly want with me... or you’ve been sent by one of our competitors to play a long con and put us out of business.”

Julian tried valiantly to hide the shiver that ran down his spine just with the proximity, the weight of Eskel’s arm resting comfortably on his shoulders. “Well, if I told you that, then I’d have to kill you,” Julian smirked. Eskel threw his head back and laughed, reveling in the rejuvenating aura of the delight of a human that had deposited himself at his side.

“Hmmm, shall we keep walking? Or—I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got things to do,” his gaze on Julian was sincere and unassuming and the young musician was certain he’d never had less sense of any ulterior motives than he did in this moment.

“I should drop my things home before work, actually. But we can walk for a bit in the same direction if you like.”

Eskel shrugged, “Sure! Which way are we headed?”

“I’m an Eastender,” Julian smirked. “Off we go!” He offered his elbow for Eskel to take, which he did—a little tentatively and far more gently than Julian would ever have expected from someone so... physically imposing.

Eskel could feel the persistent thrum of blood under his skin, but not in a way that signalled any particular desire. He felt comfortable, more content than he had been in a very long time, and he felt like he could easily waste an entire day doing exactly what they’d been doing for the last hour. Walking, talking, laughing...

“What are you thinking about?” Julian asked, looking up at Eskel and stealing his breath in the same movement.

“I’m—uh—“ he cleared his throat again, “I’m thinking about how pleasant this has been and... also how comfortable I feel. I—well, I get the jitters, usually. With this kind of thing Which is not to say I haven’t still got them but,” they stopped walking for a moment, and Eskel turned to face his date, “what I’m trying to say is you’re very comfortable to be around. And that’s new.”

“Wow... honesty. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m sorry did-did I...?”

“Just make me more impressed?” That damn smile, “yes, I’m afraid you did. How tragic.”

Just like that, Eskel was lost again, caught up in those eyes that shone with an enigmatic innocence and penetrating observation that kept him looking and left him speechless. And Julian... well Julian was uncharacteristically at a loss for words in front of this stunningly kind, unbearably-gentle man he'd impulsively taken a chance on just a few hours ago because of a hunch.

Eskel wondered whether Julian had leaned a bit closer during their few seconds of silence and countered, leaning forward a little himself. But he didn't want to make the young man think he was in it for the wrong reasons. The fact that he was older and larger wasn't lost on him, and the last thing he wanted was for Julian to feel any pressure. Those bright blue eyes flitted to Eskel's lips, and he swallowed, waiting. But Julian's intuition was too strong—Eskel was hesitating. Instead of following his eyes to the full, soft-looking lips in front of him, Julian placed his hands on Eskel's chest and dispersed the tension.

“If we don’t keep walking I’m going to freeze my ass off,” Julian finally said.

Eskel huffed a small laugh. “Come on then,” he jutted his chin, and the two started walking again.

After a brief silence, Julian spoke, suddenly worried that Eskel felt rejected in some way, “For what it’s worth, I also feel quite comfortable. With you, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“I find I’m starting to move away from the Village scene. It’s always nice to have a community, of course, be able to go to a bar and know you’re in good company but... in the city, everyone’s trying on identities and—it’s all well and good, they should, but it’s just... well, it was fun for a while. I just want to play music and make people happy.”

“Hm. I can relate to that.”

Julian stopped at the top of the street that would lead him to his apartment, not really wanting the evening to end, wondering whether Eskel was aware exactly how much he’d brightened Julian’s day.

“C-would you...I mean, if I- or-“ Eskel stuttered, his fingers fiddling at his sides.

“Go on...” Julian crooked his head with a gentle smile.

“Would you mind if I came to one of your shows?”

Julian closed his hands around Eskel’s shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “Good God, please come to one of my shows so I can look at a face that wants to be there instead of my bored friends.”

“Well, I’m sorry it has to be my face,” Eskel fumbled in his self-consciousness, hearing the sound of his own distasteful insecurity. He grimaced inwardly. bad form, Eskel.

“Hm. Clearly, you haven’t met my pimply weak-chinned-not-at-all-utterly-dashing friends.” It was so easy. Ludicrously easy, the way Julian made Eskel smile in that moment. It truly was a remarkable feat, one that none of Eskel’s former failed romances had ever navigated as easily, or as quickly.

“Thank you,” Eskel said quietly, only for Julian’s ears.

“Whatever for?” Julian’s brow crinkled adorably and Eskel wanted to smooth the creases away with his thumbs.

“For...for being bold. Because I know I wouldn’t have.”

“Oh please. This is all stage presence and bravado. I’ve been on the verge of a nervous breakdown since I wrote my number on that napkin. Listen, I’ve—ahh I hate to do this but I really have got to run. We can text later or I’ll pop by the cafe tomorrow and—“

“Absolutely, do your thing, I don’t want to make you late. Let me know when you’re free and we’ll grab dinner.”

“I’ll check my schedule tonight. Should be free in the next few days. Have a good night, Eskel. I mean that.” Julian turned to go, but turned back, quickly pecking a kiss to Eskel’s right cheek, leaving the man standing with a half-smile of surprise on his face as he watched his new love interest scurry into his apartment.

Eskel walked back to the coffee shop, his cheeks pained from the smile that still hadn’t faded. The little bell above the door chimed and Geralt looked up from where was wiping down the counter, and Eskel heard a loud clang as Lambert dropped a metal pan and came running to the front of the now-empty cafe.

Eskel stood in front of his brothers. Geralt’s hand stopped where it was mid-wipe and Lambert fidgeted where he stood, hands on his hips. “So??”

Eskel hadn’t seen Lambert this energetic in a long time, and stood silently, drinking in his little brother’s excitement. Geralt came out from behind the counter, “Eskel. I don’t want to beat it out of you, but you’re leaving me with very few options.”

“Nah, Geralt, you gotta use smaller words. He’s clearly having a stroke. Eskel!” Lambert clapped loudly, “How did. It go. With Pretty Boy. C’mon, we’re tryna close up here!”

Eskel finally spoke, “I—yeah, it was great. I, uh, I really like him.”

“Fucking finALLY, BROTHER, THAT’S FUCKIN’ AMAZING!” Lambert practically jumped on Eskel, and Geralt sauntered over to put an arm around his shoulder. “You call Dad yet?”

“No, I want to wait. I want to make sure this time. Don’t wanna get his hopes up. Plus he’s... well, he’s a bit younger—“

Lambert cut him off, “Whoa, I’m gonna stop you right there. What do you always do?”

“Self-sabotage.”

“Exactly. So shut up with that shit. You like him, yes?”

“Yes. Definitely, very much.”

“And he likes you.”

“Well I mean—“

“That wasn’t a question. He likes you. End of discussion. He’s an adult, let him decide what he wants. Geralt?”

“Surprisingly sound logic, coming from you. Frightening, actually.”

Eskel nodded along as his brothers bickered back and forth. He felt like he was floating on air, without a tether to the ground.

“Oh, fuck, he’s really gone for him isn’t he?” Lambert muttered, watching Eskel’s eyes glaze over once more.

Eskel smirked and shook his head, “Fuck off, Lambert.” He playfully shoved his brother’s head to the side and went to count out the till and take it downstairs. He just sat down by the safe when his phone pinged.

Free for dinner day-after-tomorrow, playing a gig tomorrow night and Friday. Which would you prefer first?

Eskel smiled and typed out a response of his own, sending it before he could rethink it. Could I come to tomorrow’s gig and take you to dinner Thursday? I really want to see you again.

He felt his breath immediately quicken, but his hand was steady as he waited for a reply.

*...*

Oh Jesus God please just reply...

Gig tomorrow is at 8:30, Gibson’s Pub in Corktown. $5 cover and also $5 Mill St. on tap. Dinner on Thursday it is. Not fussy, but nothing too spicy. Your choice ��

Not quite sure what we should do for dinner, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. I won’t miss it for the world. Meanwhile, Eskel knew exactly where he’d be going for dinner. He shot off a text to his father and requested a quiet table for 2 at his restaurant. Papa Vesemir never asked too many questions, but he knew he’d have to explain later.

If you have the opportunity to save the world rather than listen to me play Wonderwall at someone’s request, please do. You can hear that literally any time you want.

For my favorite son, what wouldn’t I do?

Eskel replied to both: That’s a tall order. Watching you begrudgingly play Wonderwall could let me die a happy man.

Thanks, Pops. I know you’re not working that night, just tell Giulio nothing fancy, okay? Just a normal two-top.

Eskel’s phone dinged twice more: Oh my gods, you really are trying to kill me aren't you? You’re too sweet ;)

Mhm.

Eskel continued on with Julian, content with leaving Vesemir to finish his night. Don’t get me wrong, there would be a deep amusement in knowing how much you definitely hate that song by now.

Oh, I absolutely despise it and it needs to go die horribly in a dumpster somewhere. At least now I’ll have a confidante tomorrow evening. You know, someone to really share my suffering with.

Will you play any of your originals?

Would you like me to?

Only if you want. I understand if you’d rather not share them right away.

Julian was quickly realizing the extent to which he had, very much, struck a gold mine. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what was waiting around the corner to make things not work out This Time. But he shoved those thoughts back. I share my music every week with people who’ve either heard it all before, or are too distracted to really care. Mostly Tinder dates trying to gain hipster points. Please. I would be so happy to know you’re there and actually wanting to listen.

Eskel felt his heart flutter in his chest as he rested his elbows on the desk with a crooked smile.

I can’t wait, I’m sure they’re wonderful :) Eskel wasn’t really one to use emojis, but this one just kinda...slipped out.

He was whistling by the time he got to the top of the stairs and his brothers were already waiting for him, jackets on, lights out, floors mopped, door ready to be locked.

“Dinner? Eskel said, trying to wipe what he knew was a stupid grin off his face.

“Where to, lover boy?”

Eskel deferred to Geralt, “Hmmm. China down?”

“Mother Dumpling?” Eskel offered, pulling his collar up as they headed out, Geralt and Lambert sounding their agreement. With the cafe door closed and locked, the three brothers headed out into the evening.

#eskel/jaskier #jaskel #fluff #coffeeshop au #modern au

100 notes · View notes

jubilantwriter · 3 years ago

Text

Jaspvid Week 2021: Day 2 - Baking

(AO3)

@jaspvid-week

Togetherness is Soft and Warm

Summary: Based off of Ellohcee's Kiki's Delivery Service AU.

David forgets that working for Clementine means more than just making deliveries. An impromptu lesson is all it takes to remind David of how rewarding it is to create something to share with another. Bread isn't always meant to be eaten alone, after all.

Word Count: 3121

////

It's a rather slow day in the bakery today. David blows his bangs out of his face as he slouches behind the cashier, watching as the townspeople go about their merry way. It's a nice and sunny day out, and he's only a little bit jealous that he's in here working while everyone else is enjoying the sunshine. Ah, well, he needs a little bit more money anyways - there was a nice looking cat dish that he wanted to get for Max since the little black cat keeps complaining about the dish he has now. A bored sigh escapes him as yet more people walk by the bakery. Not a single customer so far, and he's been sitting here for what feels like ages.

"Davey?" A sweet voice calls for him from the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come here for a mite?"

"Okay!" He hops off the stool happily and walks into the kitchen, the heat from the ovens blowing up against his face as he blinks in surprise. "...Oh!"

"Oh, sorry, hun." Clementine dusts off her hands with a laugh and gestures towards him to come closer. "I take it's pretty borin' out there, huh?"

He fidgets with his black shirt and shrugs. "I mean, it's not too bad. Sometimes someone will wave at me when they pass by!"

"Hmm, do they now?"

"Yeah! And, um, they all seem to be enjoying the sun too, and they all look so relaxed..."

Clementine chuckles as she bends down to David's level. "Do ya wanna take a break from work for a bit?"

"N-no!" With an embarrassed blush, he waves his hands frantically in front of him. "I don't mind working! Who knows, maybe someone will need a delivery soon!"

"That's very true!" Clementine nods along, her bun bouncing as she straightens up. "But... hm..." She taps her chin, looking off into the distance. Curious, David follows her line of sight and sees her staring at nothing in particular.

"Is something wrong, Ms. Clementine?"

"Just a bit." She cradles her head in her hand as she sighs dramatically. "Ya see, the bread's been sellin' like hotcakes since you joined with your lil delivery service, but I haven't been able to keep up with the demand!"

"Is that so?" He gasps and covers his mouth. "Oh no, I'm so sorry!"

"Now now, that's not a bad thing!" She takes his hands and lowers them from his mouth. "It's a good thing, really! It just means I gotta work a little extra harder to keep everyone happy." With a wink, she lets go of his hands to reach for a spare apron. "And since it's mighty slow out there, I was wonderin' if you'd like to help me in here instead?"

"You mean... to bake bread?" He looks over at the roaring ovens, and then to racks of cooling baked goods that lined the walls. "But... it looks like you've already got enough to sell."

"Don't be silly!" She walks over to the flour covered counter and pats it. "What I've learned in all my years of bein' a baker is that there is always someone who needs a little treat, be it a roll or a muffin or even a warm, fresh loaf." She smiles and gestures him over, helping him put the apron on with ease. The old thing covers up most of his dark clothes, and she adjusts the bandanna around his neck so that it too can be partially covered with the apron. "Plus, it'll be loads of fun to bake with someone else for a change! I know I do most of my bakin' in the morning, but it won't hurt to do some smaller batches during a slow time, don'tcha think?"

"Mmmm..." He rocks back and forth on his heels, looking out to where the front of the bakery is still quiet and empty, and to the kitchen where Clementine is grinning with a bright smile. With a nod, he smiles back bashfully. "Okay, I wanna help!"

Baking bread always did seem like a lot of fun! Whenever he crept down a little too early, he'd always see Clementine hard at work, the dough she prepared the previous night already being shaped and kneaded and worked to perfection, and the smells...

Goodness! And now he gets to help in making such treats!

"Wonderful!" She claps her hands together and giggles, a small puff of flour erupting from her hands as she does so. David laughs along and stands eagerly by her side as she pulls out a dusty bowl. "Now, we'll be startin' from scratch here, so would ya kindly get me-"

The door to the store opens as the bell jingles. Max walks in from the front, his feline face scowling as he yowls at David. "Hey! You've got a visitor!"

"Hold on," he keeps the apron on as he stops Clementine from going to the front herself, "I've got this! It'll just be a sec."

"Alrighty, hun."

He grins as he races to the front, intent on helping their customer as quickly as possible. "Hi, how can I-!"

"Davey!" Jasper rests his arms on the cashier's counter, grinning brightly as he does so. "There you are!"

"Jasp!" He runs over and hugs the other boy, the two of them laughing brightly as they part. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was feeling kinda hungry, and I thought, hey! The bakery's got some sweet bites, and I'll get to see Davey!"

"Oh! If that's the case, is there anything you want?"

"Hmm..." Jasper looks around the bakery, hovering by the shelfs and displays as he sizes up all the treats. With a grin, he turns back to David and shrugs. "Dunno! What do you suggest?"

"Um, lemme see..." He walks over to Jasper's side and looks at all the baked goods on sale. There's muffins, rolls, biscuits, sweet breads, and so on... but perhaps, because he's been living with Clementine for a good few months, despite the good quality of all the food, he can't help but think that they've been sitting out too long and gotten a bit... cold.

When he thinks of a pleasant treat, he imagines it fresh from the cooling rack, warmth still radiating off of it, but having rested long enough that when he bites into it, all of the flavors that Clementine had carefully worked into the dough comes out perfectly. He taps his chin and looks around the bakery some more. His gaze lingers to the back of the bakery, where Clementine still waits for him.

Maybe... if he asks nicely...

He grabs Jasper's hand, shocking the other boy as he tugs him towards the kitchen.

"W-woah! Davey, hang on-"

"Ms. Clementine!" His call startles the woman, her reverie broken from where she was busy petting Max as he drank some milk. "Is it okay if Jasper joins too?"

"Hm?" Her gaze lands on the brunet standing next to David, the boy suddenly bashful and nervous as his hand is held tightly in David's. "...Oh! Of course, I don't mind at all. You know what they say - the more the merrier!" Before Jasper can protest, she looks around and finds one more spare apron. She quickly puts it on Jasper, the poor boy being dragged about too quickly for him to keep up with the energy of both redheads. "There we are!"

"What- what are we doing?" Jasper finally manages to get a word, looking at David bewildered as the other boy grins and tugs him towards the counter.

"We're making bread! Or something! Actually, I'm not too sure." He looks over to Clementine as she begins setting the ingredients on the table. "What are we making?"

"Well, it can be anything you'd both like." She hums thoughtfully to herself as considers the options. "We can make something small, like biscuits and cookies. Or we can make something filling, like pies if I've got the ingredients for it. Or we can just do something simple! Like a bread of sorts."

"Hmmm..." David taps his chin and looks to Jasper. "What do you think?"

"Mmm, how about something sweet?" Jasper meets David's gaze and grins. "I think sweet breads are pretty stellar!"

"I'm okay with that!"

"Sweet bread it is then."

Clementine is incredibly patient with them as they bumble their way through her instructions. Flour is spilt here and there, but she merely laughs it off and helps them make the right measurements. David is intent on following her instructions through and through, though Jasper tries to have his own little ideas once in a while.

"Jasp!" David bats away a giggling Jasper as he holds an orange up in his hands. "We don't need that!"

"Hmm... actually." Clementine holds her hand out and Jasper places it into her hand. "I think we can do something with this."

"Like what?" Jasper's mischief changes to genuine curiosity as she takes a tiny looking grater out.

"Well, oranges are sweet, aren't they? And the rinds of these fruits make for a lovely smell." She rubs the rind against the grater, producing a zest as Jasper and David ooh and ahh next to her. "Why don't you keep this up for me, Jasper?"

"Yes ma'am!" He dutifully takes the orange from her and mimics her actions, his tongue sticking out a bit in concentration. David can't help the giggle that escapes him as he watches Jasper work. The brunet looks over at his giggle and makes a confused grin. "What's so funny?"

"You were making a funny face, like this!" He mimics Jasper's earlier look, earning a laugh from the other boy as he then makes a more exaggerated face. This draws a stronger laugh from David as they continue to make faces at each other.

"Now now, no horsin' around! We still have bread to make," Clementine chastises, but her tone is anything but harsh as she smiles fondly. "We still got plenty to do!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

The rest of the time is filled with aimless chatter as the two boys follow her instructions, mixing the fresh orange juice and zest into the dough. Jasper at one point managed to smear some flour on David's cheek, resulting in David smearing some flour on his face in retaliation. Before they can start chasing each other around the counter, Clementine has them watch her knead the dough before letting the boys each take their turn. Jasper is all gusto as he pushes and pulls the dough energetically before getting tired. David takes over, and he tries to be more precise than Jasper, making sure the dough isn't too sticky before looking over to Clementine for her nod of approval. When she dubs it done, she takes the dough and places it to the side and covers it.

"And now we wait for it to rise."

"Won't it take long?" David looks out the window and frowns, the sun setting in the distance as worry sets in. "Jasper, will you be able to stay long?"

"Mmm... well, I think I can push it until a little after eight." He folds his arms behind his head and smiles wide. "I should have some time until then!"

"That we do. Why don't we bake some other things like cookies?"

"Yeah!"

Baking, as it turns out, is much more exciting than he anticipated. There's something amazing with being able to make something from scratch with his own hands. Sure, he's made eggs and pancakes before, but he's never truly baked. And having Jasper next to him adds to the fun as the boy turns to do silly things that make David laugh. For instance, trying to juggle a few eggs before one of them lands on his head. Or even mixing the batter a little too fast and getting bits of it all over his face and apron.

Whatever Jasper does never fails to bring a smile and a laugh to David's face. Nighttime comes far too quickly, and by the time Clementine pulls out their final batch of muffins and cookies, Jasper makes a startled jump as he checks the time on his watch.

"Shnikes! It's super late!" He rushes to pull the apron off in a panic. "Aw man, my mom's gonna kill me-"

"Hold on, let me help!" David unties the knot from behind and takes the apron from Jasper. "There we go!"

"Now just a min," Clementine says as she walks to the front of the bakery, grabbing a paper bag and dropping a few of their recently baked goods into it. She hands it to Jasper with a smile. "For you and your ma."

"Oh, thanks," he says, fumbling to reach into his pocket to pay.

"No need, hun!" She begins pushing Jasper towards the door as he stammers and tries to argue.

"But I gotta pay-!"

"Sweetheart, you helped make the treats, you don't gotta pay a cent for them!" With a chuckle, she gently pushes him out the door and winks to David. "Now why don't y'all say goodbye real quick while I go clean up and close the shop?" She waves to them as she retreats back to the kitchen, leaving David and Jasper by themselves. Jasper grins easily, holding the bag with one arm as he turns to face David.

"Honestly, I didn't think I'd be baking today when I came to get a snack," he says lightly, making David laugh awkwardly as he rubs his arm, "but I had a lot of fun! It's... kinda nice to learn something else for once."

"Yeah, and it was nice to hang out with you here in the bakery. I know I haven't been around much since I've got to do my deliveries and stuff but... I promise to hang out with you more!"

"Nah, don't sweat it." Jasper winks easily as David looks away with a blush. "If anything, I'll just come find ya myself!"

"Like today!" They both share a laugh before Jasper shuffles his feet awkwardly.

"Well," he says with a soft smile, "guess I'll be catching you on the flipside later?"

"Of course! I miss flying with you, especially since the weather is so nice right now..." He sighs, disappointment settling in as he realizes that he'd been spending more time working and training than he did taking time for himself. A small voice reminds him to be careful, before he burns himself out again. Before he can dwell anymore on his thoughts, a hand lands on his shoulder as Jasper's crooked grin greets him.

"We can do it whenever you're free. I'm always willin' to wait for ya, no matter how long it takes. You know me, I won't get upset."

"...Of course not." A smile finds its way back to David's face. Jasper always did have that special talent of cheering David up.

It's probably why...

"Oh- shoot, I really should go now." Jasper backs away quickly when he realizes the time yet again, awkwardly running backwards as he waves to David. "We'll fly again soon! See ya later, Davey!"

"Bye, Jasp!" He waves to his retreating figure until he can't see him no longer. As he walks back into the bakery to lock up, he finds that the entire place feels... more empty than it usually is. Max coils around his feet, looking up at David with an unimpressed look.

"Stop moping," the cat says, stretching himself out as he leads David back to their room, "it's not like he's gonna be gone forever."

"Still..." He sighs softly and looks around the kitchen, Clementine already gone now that their mess has disappeared. "I kinda miss him already."

"Oh YUCK, that's DISGUSTING." Max makes a hacking sound, making David chuckle at his dramatic antics.

"What? It's not wrong to miss friends after they leave!"

"Sure. Friends." Max quickly walks away, looking over his shoulder to glare at David. "Now hurry up! I wanna fucking sleep."

"Max!" He follows after the cat, a little thought tugging at this thoughts. "We talked about this- OH NO, THE BREAD!"

-----

Clementine wraps up the loaf in paper and slips it into the bag. It's a start of another day, and he's actually got a few deliveries to make. She smiles as she hands him a slip with a name and address.

Jasper McFadden.

She winks and pats his shoulder. "It's still gonna be warm if you manage to fly as quickly as you normally do."

He blushes and hugs the delivery close to his chest. "Right. Um, see you later, Ms. Clementine!"

"Fly safely now!"

He runs out of the store and quickly settles himself on his broom, concentrating with an ease that comes second nature to him. The lift off is seamless, and he launches himself high into the air, already soaring towards his destination.

As he circles around the familiar neighborhood, a voice calls out to him from high walls as the brunet signals him down. "Davey!"

"Hey! I've got a delivery for you!"

"What's it? I don't remember ordering anything." Jasper takes the offered bag from David and pulls out a nicely braided loaf. The soft sheen and sweet smell of oranges immediately has Jasper widening his eyes. "Oh! This is the bread we made yesterday!"

"Yeah, Ms. Clementine wanted me to deliver your fair share." He stays on his broom as he hovers by Jasper. "It should still be warm so you should try a slice!"

"Hmm, actually," Jasper looks up at David with a mischievous smile, "do ya have any other deliveries to do?"

"Um, no I don't think so."

"Sweet!" He holds up the bread to David's eye level and gestures him down. "Wanna try some with me?"

His heart soars at the suggestion, and he lands all too quickly as he stumbles into Jasper. The other boy catches him easily and laughs as David straightens himself out.

"I take it that you wanna eat some?"

"Yes!" He grins brightly, already looking forward to spending more time with Jasper. The scent of the warm bread wafts between them as Jasper leads him towards his house. As they tear into it with jams and butter, the softness of the bread shows of their combined hard work, and Jasper makes a show of pointing out each little bit of zest that he made to his mother and David. The bread is fluffy as he pulls the braid apart to eat it. Perhaps its his bias to freshly baked goods, or maybe just simply the fact that he made it himself with Jasper and Clementine - whatever the reason may be, David just can't help but think that this bread is the sweetest he's ever tasted.

#camp camp #cc david #cc jasper #cc cute waitress #cc max #jaspvidweek2021 #this is uhhh pure fluff #which is something i struggle with #but lmao it's fluFF LIKE FLUFFY BREAD #AMIRIGHT FOLKS-#ANYWAY YEAH ITS BASED OFF OF ELLO'S GOOD GOOD KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE AU #ive been meaning to write for this au for so long #finally #AN EXCUSE #jaspvid #IM SO GOOD AT FORGETTING A TAG OR TWO NOWADAYS

39 notes · View notes

themadlostgirl · 4 years ago

Text

When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor.

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

---

(Previous) (Next)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #roommate au #felix's pov is in 2nd person

75 notes · View notes

dinosaurtsukki · 4 years ago

Note

Tsukki fanfic owo S/o is always loving and caring towards tsukki but one day tsukki keeps being emotionless and neglecting s/o. He thinks that s/o will always be there cuz s/o has always been the one saying how much she loves him. But s/o gets mad cuz it was a bad day and tsukki is still emotionally off. S/o ain’t like screaming or anything but silently crying cuz that’s how tsukki is and thinks that she should take care of her own emotions. Tsukki sees this and opens up about being stoic.

Heyyy if you’re taking requests for tsukki fic, can you do a wholesome tsukki and s/o kinda thing. I wanna have one where tsukki laughs and enjoys his time with s/o. like he secretly thinks a lot about how much he loves s/o. idk but I just wanna read fanfic where tsukki laughs and smiles a lot :”)

okay i know these two were probably sent by two diff. people but i kind of wanted to do both of these in one, slightly long drabble hehe. i hope you all like this i had a ton of fun thinking of it and writing it :). also, i made reader a university professor because that’s an occupation i’m more familiar with. and,,, i hope this is what you were looking for ? (i kind of went off a bit ahh i’m sorry!)

You and Tsukishima struggling with being around each other 24/7 during quarantine

(feat. arguing, pen-clicking, and then some singing and fluff later on)

between you and tsukishima, it was him who predicted that the pandemic would inevitably lead to a long lockdown period where you two would have to live in the same space, twenty-four hours a day. it was your one ray of light during that dark time when the world was essentially on fire. you and tsukishima tended to have busy work schedules with him at the museum and you teaching at the nearby university so you saw the lockdown period as a way to spend more time with your boyfriend.

the first few weeks were fine aside from the constant caution whenever you or tsukishima went out for groceries. neither of you had work yet with the university and museum still adjusting so you two spent the time learning how to bake bread, sleeping in until noon, and staying up late, curled up on the couch and re-watching the Jurassic Park series.

the next few weeks were... less than fine. both of you had to get back to work, which meant a whole lot of online meetings. tsukishima spent hours working on the new online exhibits that the museum was doing while you were grading papers for days. that’s when you started picking up on some of the annoying things that your boyfriend did, like: not putting the milk back in the fridge, hogging the blankets when you guys slept, and playing the music on his headphones really loud that you had to remove them yourself to talk to him. but you weren’t the only one picking on annoying habits. tsukishima felt that he was just now realizing how many products you had in the bathroom that he couldn’t even find his own shampoo. he hated that you always finished the hot sauce by dumping two tablespoons on your food whenever you ate. and he absolutely loathed the sound of you frantically clicking your pen whenever you were stressed.

but, those few weeks were still somewhat alright. the two of you either dealt with things by talking it out or just ignoring them altogether. tsukishima would still carry you to be whenever you passed out on the dining table and you still made him an extra cup of coffee in the afternoon.

and then, the next few weeks happened. at this point, tsukishima barely had any work to do with the museum’s online exhibit up, except for answering the occasional dumb question on their website. he spent most of the day pacing the house, looking for something to do unless he was going to lie in bed while blasting music. you, on the other hand, were chest-deep in writing course packs, syllabi, compiling readings, emailing students, and conducting online classes. almost everything you two did led to you or tsukishima jumping at the other’s throats.

and that’s when the metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan.

you were in the middle of checking papers, knowing very well that your deadline was fast approaching and if you wanted your students to get on with their next task, you had to send them the drafts of their papers as soon as possible. as per your usual habit when you were stressed out, you were clicking your favorite violet pen like crazy. tsukishima, who was at his desk on the other side of the room that you two shared as your office, could feel his sanity hanging by a thread that was unraveling with every click of your pen. and you were clicking your pen a lot.

‘it’s their nervous habit, it’s their nervous habit, it’s their nervous habit,’ tsukishima repeated as he closed his eyes and increased the volume of the music he was listening to in hopes to drown out the sound.

click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-cl--

“can you not?” tsukishima tugged his headphones off and swiveled around to yell at you. the sudden volume of your boyfriend’s voice made you jump in your seat but unable to react fast enough when tsukishima stood up and plucked the purple pen from your hands.

on any other day, you would have simply apologized and reasoned with tsukishima about your nervous habit. but, you weren’t grading a shit ton of papers on any other day.

“easy for you to say when you don’t have all these papers to grade!” you stood up and looked at your scowling boyfriend right in the eye. both of you had dark circles under your eyes and unwashed hair and neither of you cared. “why don’t you get out of the room if it’s so damn annoying?”

“maybe it’s because i also live here and i have every right to be comfortable in the office without having to hear the sound of your pen 24/7!” tsukishima yelled.

“well it’s not like you have anything important to work on,” you snapped, putting emphasis on ‘important’. that struck a vein with tsukishima and you could see the irritated quirk of his eyebrows.

“are you saying that i’m useless here?” he said slowly and menacingly. “it’s not my fault that the fucking museum isn’t open at this time.”

“i’m not saying that but it sure would be nice for you to give me a helping hand once in a while when you know what i’m going through,” you huffed. you knew that you two were straying far away from the discussion about your pen-clicking habits but all those weeks of putting up with each other’s habits and other frustrations were bubbling from the surface.

“don’t you think i wish i could just take a break from all this? it sure would be nice if you just asked me how i was doing or cooked dinner more than just a few times a week!” you yelled.

“what am i, your mom?” tsukishima scoffed.

“no, you’re my boyfriend,” you emphasized. “and you’re just supposed to do things like that especially when you know what i’m going through. like, i get that you like keeping to yourself most of the time and you’re not super into cuddles or anything but, i don’t know, a ‘how are you?’ once in a while would be fucking great!” you gasped for air after your rant ended. for a fraction of a second, tsukishima looked almost sad or sorry and you began to hope that maybe you got through him. but, as quickly as it came, tsukishima scowled and turned away.

“if dinner’s what you want then fine, i’ll make something later. but for the love of god, stop clicking your fucking pen,” he sighed and sat at his desk before putting the headphones over his ears. you fumed at his indifference, you could practically feel your face heat up from anger. in a few strides, you crossed the room to his desk.

“we’re not done talking tsukishima!” you yelled over how loudly you knew tsukishima was blasting his music. in one quick motion, you unplugged the aux cord of his headphones.

unluckily for tsukishima, his phone did That Thing called ‘Playing Your Music Out Loud After Removing the Headphone Jack’ that he desperately avoided again and again by constantly lowering the volume on his phone before removing his headphones. even more unluckily for him, he was blasting his playlist full of taylor swift songs that had somehow held his sanity for the past few weeks.

and you, a sworn taylor swift fan, heard the very familiar opening track of ‘Wildest Dreams’.

both of you were quiet as the intro played, both very shocked from the sudden interruption that had broken your heated argument. and then, tsukishima reacted by reaching for his phone. unluckily for him again, you reacted faster and grabbed the phone first.

“no way,” you exclaimed as you opened his playlist and scrolled through the songs, your anger quickly forgotten.

“y/n, give it back!” tsukishima gritted his teeth and swiped at the phone in your hand. he could feel his own face heating up from embarrassment at his secret being revealed.

“why are you embarrassed about it? it’s cute! you should have told me way sooner and we could have listened to folklore together,” you grinned at him. “and i love this song. ‘you said let’s get out of this town--’”

“give it!” tsukishima grabbed the phone out of your hand while you were distracted singing.

“no, no, no! don’t pause it! i love this!” you whined, grabbing at his arm as he sat down. tsukishima was one press of a thumb away from ending your enjoyment. but, it was exactly that which stopped him from pressing ‘pause.’ now that he thought about it, when was the last time he heard you laugh.

and besides, ‘Wildest Dreams’ was a good song.

“come on tsukki,” you grinned cheekily. “look! it’s about you! ‘he’s so taaalll and handsome as heeeellll,’” you sang, trying to reach taylor’s high notes.

“do you realize how embarrassing you’re being right now?” tsukishima sighed, but the hand over his mouth hiding the grin on his face betrayed how flattered he was.

“sing with me! sing with me!” you chanted, jumping up and down on the balls of your feet. “come on, nobody’s watching! in case you haven’t realized it, it’s literally been just us here.”

tsukishima looked at you. he wasn’t that unhinged from the lockdown yet that he would start singing taylor swift out loud.

but the ecstatic look on your face was something that he undoubtedly missed, along with his favorite strawberry shortcake at the cafe you two frequented. and you were right. it was just the two of you.

“...say you’ll remember me,” he sang softly. the grin on your face widened and you let out a giggle before joining him.

“standing in a nice dress staring at the sunset babe,” you sang. tsukishima smiled freely as he sang and watched you enjoy yourself. and then, you held at his hands and tugged him from the chair.

“what are you doing?”

“we’re going to dance. duh.”

“wh-what? no!” tsukishima shook his head even as you successfully tugged him out of his chair. “singing is one thing and dancing is another thing.”

“think of it as more like, you already sang so might as well dance,” you smirked at him. tsukishima stubbornly kept still even while you held his hands and swayed from side to side. “tsukkiiiiiii,” you whined when he still refused to move. you kept swaying while pouting up at your boyfriend. finally, he let out a sigh and put a hand behind your back before pulling you closer to him.

“that’s not how you dance, idiot,” he muttered.

“so... you’re going to show me how?” you smiled cheekily. tsukishima rolled his eyes but proceeded to sway you back and forth as he hummed along to the music. you enjoyed the slow dance before, without warning, tsukishima grinned and spun you around.

“hey!” you laughed, feeling yourself stumble before being pulled back into tsukishima’s arms.

“what? i thought you wanted to dance?” this time, it was his turn to smile cheekily at you.

“yeah but--” you were cut off with tsukishima spinning you around again. “tsukki-- i-- stop!!” you attempted to say in between your boyfriend laughing and repeatedly spinning you around.

“stop! i’m dizzy!” you erupted into fit of laughter as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend to stop him from spinning you again. “where the hell did you learn that?”

“mom always had this thing where she would suddenly dance during christmas and new years when she had too much to drink,” tsukishima smiled at the memory as his hands circled around you. “usually, it was akiteru who she pulled to dance. i kind of, picked up a thing or two.”

“hmmmm, a new fact about tsukki,” you hummed and looked up at him. “i’ve learned two new facts today.”

“two new facts that you’re going to keep secret,” he emphasized, flicking you lightly on the forehead.

“yeah, yeah. you can stop burying yourself in your headphones now and blast your favorite artist on loudspeaker,” you sang.

“fine,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around you tighter. tsukishima realized that he hadn’t hugged you like this in a while. hell, you two hadn’t had this kind of break in a while. after weeks of feeling like he was ‘putting up’ with you, tsukishima remembered what he was doing sharing a living space with you in the first place.

“hey... i’m actually not that bad at grading papers. like, i know grammar and how to write a proper argument. also, i had to tutor two idiots throughout high school,” tsukishima said. you looked up at him with a relieved smile on your face. tsukishima felt a knot in his chest loosen. maybe he should have offered that weeks ago.

“that would be great, tsukki,” you smiled. “i’ll... try not to click my pen too much.”

“yes please,” tsukishima sighed with relief and let you go. “i’m getting some water from the kitchen. need anything?”

“some tea would be great right now,” you nodded and sat back in your chair.

“got it,” tsukishima nodded and started for the door. but before he left, you called out to him.

“love you, kei.”

tsukishima smiled as he reached for the doorknob. “love you too, y/n.”

taglist (still open to anyone who wants in): @montys-chaos @miyumtwins @strawberriimilkshake @pocubo @sugawara-sweetheart@akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan@therainroguefanfiction@atetiffdoesart@stephdaninja@oikaw-ugh @charliefredb @dramaqueenweeb1469@tremblinghearts @applepienation also you @janellion because you’re responsible for any swiftie!tsukki content that i write from now on

#haikyuu!!#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu!! drabble #haikyuu!! fanfic #haikyuu!! requests #i absolutely loved writing this in case you couldn't tell #i want to sing and dance with tsukki ;-;#also if you want something fluffier maybe i could do that ?

156 notes · View notes

ombreblossom · 4 years ago

Text

speaking words unspoken

This is my gift for @bluejayblueskies for the 2021 @tma-valentines-exchange! I hope you like it!

AO3 link is located in the source :)

Summary: They're a week and some change into their stay at Daisy's safe house, and Martin is still having some trouble with the Lonely. Jon picks up on this and tries to make things better. And he does! In his way, but not before some miscommunication and exhaustion waylay his efforts (about 6.5K words)

The grocery store is awfully busy for a small town nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. Residents of the village wander among a haphazard collection of shelves ranging from middling height to impossibly tall. There seems to be little rhyme or reason for where items are placed from aisle to aisle, forcing Martin to have to search around in order to find anything, increasing the number of people he inadvertently bumps into.

If Martin gave it any more than a cursory thought, he'd come to the conclusion that it's not entirely unexpected, the nearest Tesco many tens of kilometers away and only a smattering of towns in between.

Martin isn’t really in a position to have that cursory thought, though, as freshly escaped from the Lonely as he was. Nervous energy thrums along his skin, speeding his movements and making him quick to avert his eyes in the infrequent event someone meets them. Most people still easily pass their gaze over him, as if he were merely a wisp of tepid air lazily making its way across the store room—a left-over effect of his association with the One Alone. Martin doesn't mind so much the lack of attention paid to him, but he can't help but feel an uncomfortable pressure against his skin when other people are near.

He can't even be near Jon sometimes, not without the pressure overwhelming him, and doesn’t that just smart.

Martin resolved to brave the thick, after-work crowd for this, though, “this” being gathering the supplies needed for a relaxing night in Daisy’s safehouse following a rushed and terrified flight from London and everything that had happened with Peter and Eli-Jonah, Not!Sasha, and the hunters. They weren’t on holiday, Martin had to keep reminding himself. They weren’t on holiday, but he was probably the happiest he’s been in years, and he wants to celebrate that. With Jon.

With Jon. What a concept. He was elsewhere in the store, continuing an extended effort of picking up things they'd conceivably need for the long term. Just in case. Martin’s trying to not examine his shaky optimism too closely, but he is in love, and it's impossible to not consider his current position beside Jon as anything but a miracle.

Ah, there’s finally some room in the sweets aisle. Flanked on either side by various baking paraphernalia, Martin enters the aisle and heads straight for a small section of colorfully-wrapped bar chocolate. Not that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London likes sweet chocolate—goodness, no. Or sweets at all for that matter. At least not things he classified as “obnoxiously sweet,” an ambiguous term if Martin had ever heard one. Over time, Martin has come to understand it to mean barely sweet, like an echo of sweetness that had once been present and is no longer. He's never said as much, but Jon likes his sweets like he likes his tea: oversteeped to the point of bitterness with the barest hint of sugar and the slightest bit of added color from milk.

And Jon does this unbearably adorable thing where he breaks the bar up into smaller pieces, not even according to the pre-set perforations, mind you, and nibbles on the thing for hours at a time, either to savor the flavor (which Martin cannot possibly fathom) or because Jon is a lying liar who lies about liking bitterness to that degree, and this is the one thing he has managed to successfully lie to anybody about.

It’s probably the former, but Martin would be delighted to find out it’s the latter.

So, he gladly picks up a couple of ninety-percent dark chocolate bars for Jon and turns them over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the plain, if colorful, wrapping paper surrounding them. Martin does his best to dodge around other shoppers who've entered the aisle, picking up some granulated sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon for banana bread (his personal favorite). It stirs feelings in his chest that Jon had bought bananas several days ago with the (if not explicit, then quite obvious in hindsight) intent to let them over-ripen. Martin starts to head toward the cashier with the rest of his items when he feels a cool hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers together.

“Hey,” Jon begins, a soft warmth in his voice, “Did you get everything we needed?” Jon rubs his thumb in light, rhythmic circles onto his own, and it takes everything Martin has in him to not instinctively pull his hand out of Jon’s gentle hold. It feels nice—Jon feels nice—but it's very nearly too much right now. He hates this, hates constantly putting Jon in a position where he has to somehow intuit Martin’s feelings because not even Martin himself quite understands what exactly sets off the chain reaction of fear and pressure and too many people and the roaring—

There’s suddenly nothing but air around his hand, and Martin misses Jon’s solid presence acutely as much as he found it altogether too much. He doesn’t want to look over at Jon to see his placating smile, the one Martin imagined Jon wore as he all but dragged the both of them through King’s Cross station to barely make it on time for the soonest train to Inverness. That same smile that Martin watched Jon affect as he took on the bulk of the dusting and washing that needed to be done upon arrival at Daisy’s safe house. The same smile that Martin woke up to every morning, knowing that Jon had very likely spent several hours just sitting in their bed waiting for Martin to wake up to make sure he didn’t do so alone.

Martin looks anyway and isn’t surprised to see the smile in question.

If Martin had to describe it, he’d say it conveyed a sense of loss, of mourning, of wanting to protect what remained of a previous whole. It’s an implicit acknowledgement of the pieces of Martin that have been irreparably warped by the Lonely and an acknowledgement that Martin had already lost much to mundane loneliness long before Peter took advantage of his grief and recruited him in waylaying the Extinction.

He never wants to see that smile again, and so he looks away.

“Is there anything else we still need to get, Martin?” Jon rephrases and, after a long beat, continues, “Why don’t I finish up here and we can meet up in a few moments at the bookshop?” The bookshop that Martin knows that Jon knows is likely deserted at this time in the late afternoon, not too long before the elderly shopkeep, Fiona, closes her doors in anticipation of beginning her own nightly rituals. “I’m almost finished with the books we brought from London, and last time we were there—”

“Jon—” Martin sighs while Jon continues.

“—you mentioned Discworld, and it occurred to me that I have somehow managed to avoid reading any Pratchett, despite reading what I can only imagine was nearly every book left at all the second-hand bookshops in and around Bournemouth. Did you know—”

Jon keeps going with tidbits of what he knows of Terry Pratchett, which is an awful lot considering he just admitted to having not read anything by the man. Martin missed this, listening to Jon talk about anything and everything. He dare not interrupt him, even with everyone walking around them. He also refuses to throw Jon’s gift of distraction back at his face.

Color rises in Jon’s cheeks and his brows furrow when he presumably realizes he’s been talking for a while. “My point is I don’t mind finishing up here. Really, I don’t.” Jon’s trying to help. He’s trying to help, damn it, he repeats to himself. Lord knows that all Jon has ever done is try to help, in his way. Martin’s the one who can’t go five seconds without his fear around other people flaring out of control. Jon shouldn’t have to go it alone to preserve his comfort.

Martin takes some deep, steadying breaths. Jon waits patiently for him, his free hand fidgeting unobtrusively.

“No, I'm good," he asserts, threading his words with as much certainty he can manage, and decides then and there that it is so. "I have everything we need for dinner tonight here and a couple extra things, too." He waggles his eyebrows a little at this. "I assume that you're over here because you've finished getting the essentials."

Every time Jon laughs is an exercise in appreciating opposing extremes. His eyes close as if he can’t bear to look at the object of his amusement any longer, and the corners of those eyes crinkle in the prettiest way, taking the breath right out of Martin’s body when it happens. And he holds his hand in front of his mouth like his laughter is something to be smothered, never to see the light of day, the reasons for which Martin can't be certain, but he suspects he wouldn't like them. "Indeed. And a few extra indulgences," Jon teases, winking. Winking! Does Jon wink? Clearly he does, but this is new information, a treasure trove hidden among stormy seas. “I picked up some sausage; sausage always adds an extra depth of flavor to this sort of thing.”

Laughing lightly, Martin says, "Let's get going, then. We have an extremely full evening of relaxation ahead of us."

"Since when do you find cooking relaxing, Mr. Microwave Meals?"

"Since it's a safe activity that we can do together now that we're away from the Institute of Terror, Mr. Will Subsist on Granola Bars and Spite For Days at a Time If Left to His Own Devices."

Jon looks thoughtful suddenly. "Safe. Now there’s a concept," Jon says with no small amount of incredulity.

Martin pauses. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jon?” Martin goes cold at the thought that Jon might have seen something and not told him.

“What? Oh, no. It’s just…” He trails off, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “This, being here—with you—is probably the safest I’ve felt in a long time. It-it almost doesn’t feel real. Like any little thing I do or neglect to do could potentially burst this bubble of happiness I’ve all of the sudden found myself in.”

It’s moments like these that Martin might actually be willing to believe that Jon is in his early 40s, the age he’d be now if the ridiculous lie he told about his age when they all started in the archives had been true. The pressing weights of repeated trauma, responsibility, and regret age his features considerably, and it hurts to look at. Martin wants so badly to smooth away the lines that seem to have taken up permanent residence between Jon’s brows however he can.

Martin ventures that he’s calm enough now to at least comfort Jon, if not enough to accept any for himself. He grabs the same hand that grasped his own minutes before and just. Holds it. Jon goes taught, like a newly-strung bow, words of reassurance waiting on Jon’s lips, that no, it’s okay, Martin, you don’t have to do this.

Well, too bad. Martin wants to do this, the Lonely’s lingering influence on him be damned. Martin draws Jon’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Jon gasps quietly, eyes wide. His grey-streaked dark hair is slipping out of its loose braid, whether from Jon playing with it in idle moments or from the wind that is altogether too often present in the Highlands, Martin couldn’t say, but the image endears him to Martin all the same.

“Well, take it from someone who’s spent a lot of the last year feeling not-quite-real: this is real, Jon. We’re here and safe, at least for now,” Martin assures him, grinning. “Let’s go pay for this stuff, yeah? And let’s go home.” Jon, momentarily speechless, simply nods his assent.

They’re able to leave the store with their purchases eventually and decide to make their way to Fiona’s bookshop anyway, picking up a few volumes while they’re there: a collection of Robin Robertson’s poetry for Martin and a geographical history of the Scottish Highlands and Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards for Jon to chew through. And neither of them would dare leave without giving Maggie, the resident feline guardian, some well-earned scritches. “It takes an awful lot of energy to mind an entire bookshop, after all,” Jon says every time they visit, all the while accumulating what could only amount to an unhealthy amount of cat hair—so much so that Martin’s started to find it laying about in the safe house. Jon doesn’t seem to mind it and says it reminds him of living with The Admiral.

It’s a decent walk back to the safe house. They started late enough in the day that the sun is already beginning to sink below the horizon, so they end up leaving after giving Maggie far fewer scritches than any of them would have preferred. Jon rebuffs Martin’s offer to carry all of their purchases, stubbornly hanging onto their books and his share of the groceries. This is becoming a familiar game to them, one that tends to escalate to silly, frantic grabbing for the others’ bags and eventually devolves into giggles and light shoulder bumping. Today, Martin manages to relieve Jon of his groceries, opening up one of Jon’s hands for holding, which Martin promptly attempts to take.

Jon turns his head to him and gives him a look that practically asks in his stead, “Are you sure this is okay?” The likewise unsaid “I don’t want to hurt you” bounces back and forth between them, and Martin answers by interlacing their hands and giving Jon’s a squeeze in hopes that it will quell the worry that’s carved into the lines of Jon’s face.

It does, and the contented sigh Jon makes is one of the loveliest sounds he’s heard. They continue their trek home, the route long and winding.

Not too much later, though, Martin notices something...off about Jon. He notices in increments almost minute winces when Jon steps on the leg Prentiss' worms ravaged, more frequent bumps into him that had nothing to do with showing affection but allowing Martin to take some of his weight for a moment, and some far-away looks.

Martin doesn’t quite have the shape of it until they’re talking about something or other, something simple, easy, meaningless in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, and Jon stumbles. He tries to laugh it off, but there's something not quite right about Jon's laughter this time. The way he bounces his shoulders in suppressed mirth is subdued—sluggish, even. An increasingly concerning picture paints itself in Martin’s mind.

A long, hard look at Jon forces him to confront the deep, dark circles under his eyes set against skin uncomfortably grey, nearly all traces of flush gone from his face, a stark contrast to earlier in the day.

How had he missed this? Maybe he’s been more absent than he thought. He’ll have to keep a close eye on Jon throughout the evening, maybe shepard him to bed if he seems to get any worse.

Only a sliver of the sun remains visible above the horizon when they arrive at the safe house, casting a soft orange glow over the vast grassy spread of the Highlands. Martin pays the sight little mind, though, all of his focus intent on the man in front of him currently unlocking their front door, and he can’t not notice how long it takes for Jon to insert the key into the locking mechanism.

As they’re putting away their groceries, visions of Jon doing the very same thing by himself play in his mind’s eye. He’s only able to summon disconnected images of the first several days of their....could he call it an elopement? Their not-so-great escape from the Archives? He recalls Jon preparing meals for them, bundling up to leave the safe house for groceries, washing their clothes in a small, foot-powered washing machine and later hanging them up on a clothesline outside to dry. Martin also recalls Jon bringing him overly-steeped tea and an old crocheted blanket when all he could do was sit on Daisy’s ancient green corduroy sofa and stare into the void in front of him, the sounds of lapping waves Coming ever closer.

All the while wearing that damnable smile. Shame pools within Martin, shame that Jon had had to take up so much responsibility recently and that Martin can’t say how well Jon’s been sleeping or taking care of his own needs in the meantime. If today is anything to go on, Martin supposes the answer to both of those questions is likely “no.”

“Martin, could you turn on the lights? We’re losing daylight fast.” Jon has a balancing hand on the countertop and is putting their dry and canned food items. Martin does as he’s asked, bathing the entire kitchen and living area in warm light. Martin walks back toward the kitchen area and is greeted with a “thank you” and a kiss. He could get used to this, used to feeling loved and appreciated.

“Is something bothering you, Martin?”

He looks at Jon, concern writ large on his still ashen face and eyes boring into him. Concern has no place being there right now. If anyone has any right to be concerned at the moment, it’s Martin.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve just been awfully quiet since we got home, and after what happened at the store, it’s not surprising that you might still be feeling...off.”

Projection, much? Martin wants to say but has the wherewithal to hold it back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Jon. I’m all right.”

Jon eyes him up and down, and after seemingly not finding what he’s looking for, nods once and smiles (again with the smile...) once more. “All right. You’ll tell me if something’s bothering you, though, won’t you?”

“Yeah, Jon, of course I will.” And he intends to mean it.

“Good,” Jon says and walks over to where Daisy keeps her cooking vessels, grabs her Dutch oven, and places it on the stovetop.

“Why don’t I be your line chef today, Jon, and you work the stovetop? You’re much better at the actual cooking part than I am.”

“Mmm. There’s a lot of prep work that goes into this and not a whole lot of actual cooking, so let me help you,” he says, shakily opening a couple drawers in search of a suitable chef’s knife.

“You sure? You’re looking a little peaky over there,” he replies without meaning to and curses his loose tongue.

Jon pauses midway through grabbing one of Daisy’s old wooden cutting boards and blinks slowly. “Oh…. Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean, looking ‘peaky’?”

“It’s just,” Martin starts, collecting the fennel seed, basil, rosemary, and the rest of the spices they needed for their meat sauce and a bowl to mix them in. Too late to not approach the subject now. “You’re exhausted, Jon. You spent most of our walk home either tripping over air or leaning on me for support.” He had wanted to be subtle, but subtlety is no longer on the cards.

Considering this for a moment, Jon’s eyebrows scrunch up in a way that Martin finds so endearing and opens a nearby cupboard to take out a couple onions and a bulb of garlic. “Sure, I’m a little tired,” he concedes, “but we have all evening to relax. I’d like nothing more than to cook with you, Martin.”

He should’ve known Jon was a sap. The signs were all there. “Well, how could I say ‘no’ to that?” He says and means it, though worry continues to percolate in the back of his mind.

“You can’t, and you know it.” Jon teases.

They go about preparing their meat sauce, Martin double- and triple-checking each measurement before pouring the appropriate amount of each spice into the mixing bowl and Jon dicing onions.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Chop onions without tearing up and cursing your hubris that ‘this time will be different’?”

Chuckling softly, Jon apparently thinks better of sliding his hand down his face before answering, pivoting to the most level deadpan Martin thinks he’s ever heard from him, “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I spent years perfecting my abilities. Training with the best of the best to strengthen my tears ducts to such a degree that they are, quite literally, incapable of passing tears from my lacrimal glands to my eyes.”

Martin raises a dark eyebrow, amusement in his voice as he replies, “You should probably see a doctor about that, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he draws out. “The real answer, of course, is my grandmother devoted a lot of her time to making sure I could at least cook according to a recipe along with providing some general rules of thumb. I chopped many an onion in search of culinary adequacy. Never progressed much past following recipes, though. Ask me to create something from scratch, and you’ll witness a horror the likes of which has never been seen before.”

“Just out of curiosity, which fear do you think takes credit for culinary disasters?”

“Probably depends on the nature of the disaster, honestly, but…. Hmm. Maybe Corruption? Or Flesh, maybe? Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about, especially not while we’re preparing to eat ourselves.”

While Martin is rummaging through the fridge in search of where Jon put the ground beef and sausage, he hears a hiss coming from Jon's direction.

Martin whips his head over to where Jon's been dicing onions and his heart clenches at the sight of deep red blossoming over the wooden cutting board.

"Jon! What happened? You're bleeding," He says, stating the obvious, feeling like his throat is closing up behind his words. "Where are you bleeding from?" Martin crosses the room in record time, places a hand in Jon's shoulder and surveys the area in front of him.

Blood leaks sluggishly from a cut on Jon's middle finger. A splatter of crimson on the knife Jon has been using clues Martin in to what happened. "Jon, just stay right there, okay? I'll go grab the first-aid kit. I’m sure there’s some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant in there. I’ll be right back!”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but Martin’s already gone, heading for the cabinet under the bathroom sink, head abuzz with worry and heart hammering in his chest.

When Martin returns, Jon’s running his hand beneath the running tap and blood trails down into the sink in pink rivulets. Jon glances at him, the same exhaustion that stared back at him when Jon and the rest left for Great Yarmouth on his face, a combination of physical exhaustion and the culmination of several months of emotional upheaval, of bitterly contemplating his own humanity and his role in Elias’ inscrutable plans.

“There’s no need to worry about the first-aid kit, Martin. Didn’t you hear? I heal, ah, preternaturally fast these days. See?” Jon holds up his hand to Martin, and, much to Martin’s surprise, the seeping cut on Jon’s finger is completely gone, no trace even of a faint scar.

“I...I didn’t know, Jon,” he almost whispers. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since I—since I woke up. From the coma.”

Martin mouths an “oh” and considers what this means in the context of what knows about Jon’s actions while he’d been working for Peter. It’s almost sadder that Jon ventured into Ny Alesund knowing that he couldn’t be permanently harmed—or into the coffin, for that matter. Walking into extreme danger knowing that he’d likely bring pain on himself but he’d almost certainly live despite it—”self-destructive” was even more accurate than Martin had imagined at the time Daisy said it.

Martin heaves a tension-relieving breath and hopes it doesn’t sound like a sigh. Making Jon feel guilty about something he can’t exactly help isn’t something he wants to do tonight. Or ever. “Why don’t I go put this back, then, and let’s pick up where we left off. I’ll take over the solemn duty of chopping onions if you start preparing the beef and sausage.”

“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Jon concedes too easily.

The room is quiet after that. Not much sound ever permeates the safe house’s walls, trees and hills absorbing much of the ambient noises of the surrounding area before they even get to their cottage. And they’ve both gone silent, the only sounds filling the room the sharp thuds of a knife hitting wood and the squelching of ground meat.

By time Martin’s done dicing one onion to replace the one Jon bled on and an extra onion that the recipe didn’t call for because “onions are flavor vehicles, Martin,” or so Jon claims, Jon’s still mixing the beef and sausage together.

“H-hey, Jon, I think you’ve mixed those pretty thoroughly, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” He stills, hands still submerged in the mixture.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks slowly, head and gaze drawing downward, like he no longer has the will or strength to work against gravity.

Martin reaches out a hand to shake him out of his stupor but thinks better of it. Has he somehow lost more color in his cheeks? “Jon, I think you should maybe go lay down or at least sit down.” Nothing. “I’d love to hear you talk about Discworld if you’re not ready to lay down yet.”

This seems to break him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “Oh. Ah, yes. Right. I understand. I’ll, um, just go.”

What is there to understand, Martin wonders as Jon turns back to the sink and runs water and soap along his hands, movements almost comically slow if not for how worrying they are and the frenetic energy that usually accompanies Jon completely missing.

Martin reaches out a supporting hand, intending to grasp Jon’s upper arm. “The bedroom’s awfully far away; let’s get you to the sofa, and I’ll bring over some tea and blankets, yeah?”

With energy summoned from the aether, Jon leaps out of the way of his hand, throwing himself boldly against the lip of the countertop with a cry. “No. No. That’s all-that’s all right. I can get there by myself,” he says, chest heaving and the trembling Martin noticed more pronounced than even a moment ago.

“Jon, love, you’re not in any condition to be doing anything by yourself. In the most affectionate way possible, you look like you feel awful right now. Please let me help.” Martin’s unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Jon looks—Looks?—looks at him, eyes wide, almost bulging, fear and a host of other emotions dancing wildly in them. “No, n-no. You don’t have to…. Please, don’t. I didn’t want this.”

“Don’t what, Jon? What didn’t you want?”

“This. I didn’t want this.”

“Um. I don’t really understand, Jon, but let’s talk about it over on the sofa. We’ll be more comfortable there.” Martin takes a small step forward, palms of his hands facing forward in a gesture of openness and safety. This time when Jon leaps backward, he slips. Martin’s not close enough to grab onto him, and a split second later, the deafening crack of Jon’s head hitting the wood floor fills the room and clamps a vice around Martin’s heart.

Too shaken to yell his name, he bounds over to where Jon lies still and slides into a sitting position beside him. All Martin can see for a terrifying, desolate moment is Jon in that familiar adjustable hospital bed, crisp, undisturbed white sheets carefully arranged over top of him, attached to various monitors that have been silenced to not alert staff of his absent heartbeat and non-existent oxygenation levels.

“Jon. Jon. Come on. Don’t do this to me. Jon, do something—say something if you can. Please, don’t….” Should he move Jon at this point? Martin remembers from a rudimentary first-aid class he took when his mother’s worsening condition started to accelerate that you shouldn’t move people with suspected head or neck injuries without first stabilizing them, but they had nothing like that here. And there was still some question as to how far his healing ability really extended.

He has to be okay. Without giving the action any thought, Martin gently places a hand atop Jon’s chest to check for breathing. They’re shallow breaths, but his chest does rise and sink in a slow rhythm, and Martin lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.

“Love?” He near whispers, as if Jon were merely asleep. “Come back to me.” He brushes away some of the fly-away hairs that have fallen onto his face. That is when Jon begins to stir.

“Jon? Jon!” Martin exclaims. For whatever mysterious reason, Jon is trying to wriggle away from him. “Don’t try to move yet. You hit your head pretty hard, and your healing isn’t immediate, Jon. Just stay put!” Jon wasn’t listening to him, still scrambling to move out of Martin’s reach.

That’s enough of that. Martin lays himself over Jon’s chest and holds him while he waits for him to calm down.

It takes some seconds, maybe a minute or two, but Jon does calm down eventually, becoming boneless in Martin’s arms.

“Hey,” Martin starts, “you with me, Jon?”

Jon lifts a hand slowly, making a so-so gesture.

“Okay. How’s your head?”

He winces. “Hurts.”

Martin hmms. “Do you feel dizzy?”

Jon gives a minute shake of his head.

“Okay. I’m moving us to the sofa, then. And don’t try to protest,” Martin warns.

Martin gets half-way to his feet, slips his arms until Jon’s legs and back, and proceeds to pick them both up off the floor. In the short time it takes to cross the room, Jon nuzzles his head into Martin’s chest. The frustration and concern and worry Martin’s feeling subsides somewhat in the face of overwhelming affection for this man, and he hugs him just a little bit closer.

“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he lays Jon down gingerly onto the sofa. He puts their dinner ingredients back into the fridge for the time being and puts some water on for chamomile tea. His thoughts drift as he waits for the water to come to a boil and some more as he waits for the tea to steep. He glances at Jon every so often, who has rolled over onto his side while Martin’s been gone.

“Hey, you,” Martin says as he sits in front of Jon at the edge of the sofa, the mug of chamomile making a soft thunk on the table.

“Why are you doing all this, Martin?” Jon murmurs into the worn fabric underneath him, and Martin can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”

“Why are you staying so close to me, touching me? Taking care of me?”

“I would have thought the answers to those questions were pretty obvious,” Martin says mildly, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair.

Jon’s silence says everything.

Martin exhales and then steels himself for a delicate conversation. “I love you, Jon. Have done for quite a while now. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your pain and discomfort, I want to do it.”

Jon clenches a fist and refuses to look at him. “I know that, Martin, in every way possible. But...” he stops, apparently to think. He sounds wrecked. Tabling this conversation for when Jon is feeling better might be a better idea, but it’s rare that Jon gets the gumption to speak openly about the things really bothering him, so Martin’s remains quiet. “Things haven’t been easy for you since…. Christ, for a long time, I think. Since Prentiss, at least. But since leaving the Lonely, you’ve been…. You go away for long periods of time, and it seems like you can’t handle people being around you, too.”

It occurs to Martin that they’ve never actually addressed any of this together, not their individual traumas, not their shared traumas, not this thing, these feelings, between them. They’ve been testing the waters, so to speak, bit by bit. Touches and soft barbs and sweet words pass between them unacknowledged but nevertheless heartfelt. But so much else has also remained unsaid in the interim, he now realizes.

“And I get it. No one escapes one of the fears without being marked, and you’ve been marked thoroughly by the Lonely, Martin. It’s...it makes perfect sense that these things are happening, that you feel overwhelmed when people are near.”

He stops again, and Martin gives him ample time to gather his thoughts. Martin is still running his hand through silky salt and pepper strands when Jon lifts his head and looks up at him. His complexion still carries that worrying gray tint and his eyes are and cheeks shine with moisture.

It’s the darker green spot on the sofa where Jon had had his face pressed that really does Martin in, that causes him to throw caution to the wind

“Move back a little, Jon. Just a little, okay?” He says, low and soft. Jon mutters a “yeah” and does as he’s told. “Thanks, love. Now, hold still.”

Daisy’s sofa is by no means a large sofa, and Martin is by no means a small man, but he’ll make this work. He lays himself down beside Jon and works his arms around him, tucking himself into any space he can against him, the lines of their bodies almost completely flush with one another. His back is close enough to the edge that Martin constantly feels like he’s about to fall, but it’s worth it to have Jon in his arms like this. “I’m listening, whenever you’re ready to continue.”

Jon buries himself in Martin’s chest before picking up where he left off, prompting Martin to cup the back of his head and pull him in closer.

“You’ve borne the brunt of maintaining our relationship for so long, Martin, and now it’s my turn. I can take care of you when you’re far away, when you can’t be around people. I can do the shopping, I can cook. I can do all these things.

“And I can stay away when it’s too much for you to be around me.” He clenches the fist caught between them even harder. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain, Martin. That’s the last thing I want.”

Martin considers all this for...several moments, really, and comes to an ugly conclusion.

“Jon...is this why you didn’t let me touch you earlier?”

A muffled “yes” reaches Martin’s ears, and his heart just breaks.

“We really should have a long conversation about this in the near future—preferably when you’re feeling better—but I want to say a couple things right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, Martin. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

Martin gives a little squeeze of gratitude and then continues, “For one, you’re right. There’s leftover stuff from the Lonely I’m dealing with right now, and sometimes it’s hard to be around anyone. And I hate it so much that ‘anyone’ sometimes includes you. From here on out, I’m going to try to tell you when I’m feeling this way, so you don’t have to try to guess. And if I’m reaching out to you, please trust me that I’m okay in that moment.”

“I do trust you, Martin. I trusted you to handle Peter. I trusted you to handle the Extinction. I’ll...do my best to trust you in this, too. I...I’m just deeply afraid of ruining this, ruining us.”

“Thank you. And I understand. I worry about that, too, but please also trust me when I say there’s not much that you could do that would ruin this.”

Nodding into Martin’s chest, Jon whispers, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. And second, I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to feel like you need to make up for anything.” Jon is tensing up, preparing to protest—he can feel it. “No, I mean it. Our relationship isn’t transactional. You don’t have to meet every comfort I offer you with one of your own just for the sake of reciprocation. That’s not how it works. You’ve done so much for me Jon, just by being you. That’s not even including the Lonely and everything that’s happened after, though I’m grateful for all that, too. You’re already here for me in every way that matters. You don’t need to do anything more.”

Martin places a kiss on the crown of Jon’s head, and they just lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, previous evening plans all but forgotten. Martin thinks Jon dozes a little bit, the stress of the evening finally taking consciousness away from him, but he’s proven wrong when Jon speaks up once more, muffled slightly by Martin’s jumper.

“For the record, I love you, too. In case that needed to be said.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘need,’ necessarily, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like hearing it!”

“I see,” Jon croaks. The man needs to rest. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it, then I won’t bother saying it.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” He laughs and feels the smile on his face widen.

“I have an idea, yes.”

“Good. Now, drink your tea.”

Martin pushes himself away from Jon to give him some room to sit up and to get a good look at this face. His face isn’t covered in tears anymore (now probably absorbed by the fibers in his knitted jumper), but he looks positively exhausted, eyes lidded and face otherwise lax in an easy smile, not at all like the one he wears with the intent to soothe. Martin places the still warm cup of chamomile in Jon’s hand.

“Still feeling up for a little dinner?” He asks.

Jon hmms and replies, “Yeah, I could eat a little. Just give me a few minutes to—”

“Absolutely not, Jon. I’m going to make dinner while you take a nap here. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. A nap sounds wonderful.”

“Good. I’ll wake you up when everything’s finished.”

Martin starts to dislodge himself from Jon when Jon reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Love you. And good luck.” Jon gives him possibly the most self-satisfied wink he’s seen before taking a sip of his tea.

It’s not terribly cold in the safe house with a fire going, but Martin lays Daisy’s crocheted blanket over Jon anyway, and starts taking everything back out for dinner.

It’s meat sauce—how hard could it be?

#tma valentines exchange #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #tma #scottish honeymoon #set between mag 159 and mag 160 #idk if there's a unifying scottish honeymoon tag on here #miscommunication #panic #hurt/comfort #sickfic (arguably)#ombre writes #ombre writes fic

44 notes · View notes

justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

Text

Butter: A Collaborative Fantasy

A collaborative fantasy... please feel free to add to your master lists, to reblog and leave comments, to tag other writers. If more people write chunks, I will update this as the MAIN Butter & Unsalted collaborative filthy fantasy.

IF I MISSED YOUR POST - TAG ME PLS

Additions to the story are getting lost in the other likes/reblogs (who ever thought I’d say that?), so PLEASE tag me! If you add on to the story - try and do it on the original post!

Banner - me

OG prompt: Okay who is writing the fic Butter and it’s sequel, Unsalted?

@xjoonchildx

what was her name again? margeríne?

sounded french. hoseok couldn’t exactly recall. all he could think about was her golden glow, the way she glistened. how smooth and creamy and delicious she looked in the candlelight.

just one look and hoseok knew —

he was toast.

@hauntedlilies

Nothing could compare to. her - not even Olivia, with her dark eyes. and long lashes fluttering so prettily against her cheeks when he took her extra virginity.

He knew she deserved better, not a man functioning. like an. emotionally detached, well-oiled machine, but as he got lost in her heat all he could think of was how badly he wished he was churning someone else.

Her.

The image of skimming her sweet cream played like a feedback loop inside his head and when he spilled himself all over the woman underneath him, it was someone else’s name that slipped past his lips.

As Olivia peppered a row of kisses along his jaw he buried his face in her hair, ears burning and the mess between their bodies a sticky reminder of his shame. Even after all this time, he knew no one could ever butter his croissant like Margeríne.

@hesperantha

Her memory was as sweetly-salted as the tears that ran down his fresh-baked cheeks

—the way she had rendered at his touch, creamy and moist, oleascent, at least 80% fat.

He bid his farewells to Olivia, the taste of their lovemaking already rancid on his tongue. Without a second glance he slid out the door and melted into the night.

@jinpanman

It is fate when he sees Margeríne next on a Friday morning at Cat’s Tall Milk Café. Olivia is all but forgotten as Margeríne strides up to serve him with his plate, hot and ready.

The morning light that filters through the windows envelopes her in the softest glow and he once again wonders if her skin is as supple as it looks. Hoseok watches, hypnotized with the way sweat rolls down her forehead and drips onto his toasted bread, painting it in splatters of milky white and golden yellow.

Oh, how he would much rather her cream be drippin’ elsewhere— He takes in a sharp inhale and wills away the dirty thoughts. All in due time…

Boldly, he takes her hand before she can leave. “Please, let me take you out to the pastures this weekend!” It is to his great delight that she accepts.

Later that evening, a freshly waxed and glistening Margeríne tosses in bed and recounts her meeting with the most dashing man. She can’t wait to see if Hoseok will be The One who can whip her hard enough to make her cream.

THE STORY DIVERGED IT WAS MY FAULT

@justasparkwritings

Seokjin stared at her, perplexed. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Hoseok answered, cheeks burned from the summer heat.

“I just can’t believe she’s not butter,” Seokjin stared mystified at the spot she seemed to have melted from.

@ladyartemesia

“I know... She looks just like her doesn’t she?”

“Yes, but it’s been centuries... The odds of her reappearing are spread so thin—”

“You saw the same thing I did. I don’t care what she’s calling herself this time around.”

“Well,” Seokjin drawled, a clever smirk drifting across his lips, “there’s only one way to find out isn’t there.”

Hoseok knew what was coming next, but the words still sent a sizzling shock of sensations down his spine.

“You’ll have to taste her.”

The younger man shook his head wryly.

“And how exactly do you propose I do that?”

Seokjin leaned back against the bar, letting his smirk deepen into shameless grin.

“I can tell you right now it’s going to take a lot of bread.”

@taegularities

"Are you serious? I can't just walk over and butter her up. What if I scare her?" Hoseok hissed as the older man rolled his eyes in an annoyed manner.

"Look, either you take your chances or crumble for another century without her. We both know what that did to you."

Hoseok knew Seokjin was right. He'd waited for far too long to let this opportunity pass — but how would he control his churning stomach when he approached his girl, suppress the urge to call her by her old nickname Buttercup? As he'd always used to.

"Go and tell her you loaf her, Hoseok."

The man in question turned around, eyebrows furrowing as he asked, "What did you say?"

Seokjin sighed. "You love her. Tell her."

@hobipaint

"Love her? Straight away? Won't that be a bit too.. greasy?" Hoseok asked.

"There's nothing like too much grease, Hoseok. We literally saved the burnt bread in the morning by over greasing it. Go ahead."

Hoseok sighed. His friend was about as useful as a butter knife in spreading cold butter.

"Look, unless you jam your way into her life, she's going to see you as this unnecessary, ignorant hole in the bread she's baking."

"That's why we use butter, right? clog up the hole-y bread and relish the creamy goodness surrounding the hard centre?"

Focus, Hoseok, focus.

"Yeah, but there's a very small margarine of error you can loose your Buttercup by. Unless you go overboard, you'll slip all over and make a mess. Butter her up, figuratively and literally."

@joheunsaram

Before Hoseok could gather his nerves to make his way over, he and Seokjin were joined by Jimin, their golden haired friend sauntering over excitedly.

“Did you guys see her?” He asked in a theatrical whisper, groaning with his hands on his chest. “She’s absolutely divine, can’t wait to melt her on my tongue!”

Seokjin grimaced at his choice of words, opting to flick him not so gently on the forehead as he scowled. Hoseok, however, was still processing his friend’s comment.

“You like her?” He asked, incredulous, suddenly worried about competition.

Jimin smirked, an eyebrow raised, before chuckling. “Don’t spread this around, but me and her? Let’s just say we’ve been enjoying each other since the time I lost my jams.”

Hoseok could not help the way his heart jolted with envy.

(unsure which came first, @joheunsaram or @hobipaint)

TO BE CONTINUED

24 notes · View notes

chierafied · 4 years ago

Note

hi there! jilychallenge here to give you your prompt for the 'quarantine with me?' month ❤ hope you are safe and well! your prompt is: "lily had a random one night stand but when she tries to sneak out the morning after she finds out that her one night stands' flatmate tested positive and so lily, james and sirius all have to quarantine together in james tiny apartment for 14 days, chaos ensues" looking forward to seeing what you create! :)

A very belated one shot for April’s @jilychallenge quarantine edition!

Muggle AU, fluffy goodness, 4,352 words!

A Two Week Trial Run

Casual sex wasn't something Lily Evans had. Ever.

She didn't judge those who chose to do so, but it just wasn't for her.

Or that’s what she had thought, anyway, because whoo, last night...

Last night had sure taught her to never say never, Lily mused, staring at the bloke beside her softly snoring in the mussed up bed.

He'd been funny and fit and charming when they'd met at the pub. Lily had appreciated the flirting; she'd had several drinks in her and had been feeling down and in a need of a pick-me-up.

And her girlfriends – Marlene especially – had egged her on until Lily had finally given in. Why the hell not? What did she have to lose?

So she'd left the pub with him, had some really good sex back at his place and fallen asleep.

It was only now in the harsh light of the morning and with her head pounding from the hangover that regret was starting to creep in.

Well, not regret exactly, Lily amended, watching the guy's face scrunch up in the most adorable way in his sleep.

More like a minor existential and/or identity crisis because Lily wasn't this person who got shit-faced and went home with a guy.

Except she’d proven herself wrong on all accounts last night.

Not only had she had a one night stand with a total stranger, she had also enjoyed every second of it – that she could remember at least.

These mental crises were not making Lily's head hurt any less so she pushed them aside.

Priorities: find her clothes, dress, find her handbag, dry-swallow a pain killer, sneak out, walk of shame.

Lily hadn't even got out of the bed when the door of the room suddenly banged open.

"Mate, you are not gonna believe – who the hell are you?"

Confused, Lily stared at the young man standing in the doorway wearing a band t-shirt and a disgruntled expression.

Briefly, Lily wondered if he had a hangover too because judging from that pale cast of his face and the hoarse voice he seemed to be doing just as poorly as Lily – if not worse.

The bang from the door being so rudely flung open had startled Lily's companion awake.

He was sitting up now, his black hair sticking up every which way as he groggily reached for his glasses from the bedside table.

"None of your damn business," Lily snapped, crossing her arms.

The man swung to glare at the yawning man next to Lily.

"What did or didn't you do to her, James? Being so cross first thing in the morning."

"Maybe she is cross because first thing in the morning because you decided to burst into the bloody room," James replied.

He slanted Lily a glance and offered a small, crooked smile.

"This is my flatmate, Sirius. He can be a bit of a prick so just feel free to ignore him."

“I wouldn’t recommend ignoring me,” Sirius immediately retorted. “Not until you hear me out.”

James sighed and flopped back, his head slapping against the pillow.

“What is it?”

“I got the results.”

“What?”

“The test I had to take, remember?” Sirius huffed. “I tested positive for the thing.”

James sat up again, his knuckles white where he clutched at the blanket.

“What? You what?”

Lily’s gaze flitted between the two men, the heavy feeling in her stomach having nothing to do with the nausea she’d been trying to ignore.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice faltering.

“Sirius has the virus,” was James’ grim answer.

“What?”

“I got orders to go into quarantine for at least two weeks,” Sirius continued. “And so should anyone who I may have exposed to the stupid thing so… Welcome to Chez Potter-Black, Miss None of your business.”

Beside her, James was cussing up a storm and pulling at his hair.

Lily crawled under the blanket.

Was this karma? she wondered. The universe agreeing that one night stands weren’t her thing and eagerly teaching her a lesson?

Whatever the reason behind the current mess of a situation, Lily didn’t like it one bit.

She pulled a pillow to cover her face. And screamed.

Once the anger had gone, panic settled in.

James could understand it, he was feeling rather upset for the turn of the events himself and swamped with guilt at having dragged Lily to this mess. He probably shouldn’t have gone out to the pub last night, but he’d just been so sick of Sirius’ drama queen act and bitching that he’d had to get out.

And just because Sirius had been on the skiing trip in Austria with Remus recently didn’t have to mean anything. He certainly hadn’t been showing much of the symptoms the media kept talking about. The virus had felt like a distant thing; the test Sirius had been to little more than a formality to make sure everything was fine.

But now nothing was fine, James thought glumly, slumping against his headboard.

The only tiny glimmer of light in the current mess they’d found themselves in was that Lily was still here, and would remain here at his flat for the next two weeks.

It was a rotten thing to cling to, James was ready to admit that. But even so, he didn’t mind at all having her around.

He’d been so surprised that she had even agreed to come back to his place last night. He’d been halfway in love with her, cliché as that was, before they’d as much as crossed the threshold of his flat.

And those feelings hadn’t faded in the light of the day.

He sat, still in his bed and watched Lily as she paced his room. She made for a fascinating sight, and even with the pale, wan face and the mussed up hair she was so beautiful James’ heart ached. She was muttering to herself while she paced, and from the snatches James could hear, he understood she was comprising a to-do -list of some kind.

James was more of a spontaneous nature, so seeing someone come up with a plan so fast was super impressive.

Then, Lily stopped pacing and went to dig around in the handbag she’d had with her last night. She pulled out her phone and swore.

“Do you have a charger I can borrow? I need to ring a ton of people.”

“Of course.” James scrambled out of the bed. “And if it isn’t compatible with your phone you can use mine to ring as many people as you need.”

They found the charger, and soon enough Lily’s phone was charging.

The two of them sat back down on the bed, side by side, and looked out of the window to the grey London skies.

“I’m sorry,” James blurted out. “This isn’t how I thought this morning would go.”

“It’s okay,” Lily said. “I mean it’s not. It’s messed up. But I don’t think this is your fault.”

For a moment, they sat in silence.

James’ fingers itched to pull Lily close, but he didn’t want to presume or overstep. Just because they’d been together last night didn’t mean they were, well, together.

“So,” Lily said after a while, “out of curiosity, how did you think this morning would go?”

James swallowed. He buried his nervous fingers in his hair.

“Um. That, well… I was hoping to cook you a nice breakfast I guess. And get your number.”

James slanted Lily a glance and saw a wry smile twist her lips.

“A nice breakfast, huh? I suppose we can have that much at least. As soon as my stomach is settled and I sort this thing out a bit.”

“Sure, of course.” James met her eyes. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can so you’ll be as comfortable here as possible.”

Warmth flashed in her stormy green eyes. “Thank you.”

“Right.” James tugged at his hair. “I’m going to leave you to it. Give you some privacy so you can ring whomever. And get that breakfast started.”

James was already getting to his feet when Lily’s arms came around him.

He froze, his giddy heart leaping into his throat as he held her close for a much too short a moment.

But any moment with Lily in his arms was better than one without her, so he welcomed it, and the small glimmer of hope that sparked in his heart.

Lily had called in sick to work. She’d got Marlene to bring over a bag with a bunch of clothes and other essentials. And she’d more or less settled in, awkward as it had been at first.

James had been wonderfully accommodating and had pretty much given his whole room for her to use. He wasn’t the issue.

Neither was his flatmate, Sirius. Despite their less than favourable first meeting, Lily was starting to slowly like Sirius, ridiculous as he was. He didn’t appear to be all that sick, but he was milking it for all it was worth.

Having had a male best friend, many many years ago, Lily had personal experience with the whole man-flu thing. And it hadn’t taken Lily very long to realise that Sirius was all about the drama.

No, both blokes were kinda brilliant in their ways. The awkwardness of the first few days was mainly because of the minor identity crisis that still haunted Lily.

Besides, she just didn’t know how to feel about James, because, well… He seemed like a great guy but it was odd to have had shared such intimacy with someone she was only now starting to know.

And that’s why you don’t do one night stands, Lily chided herself while furiously kneading bread dough in James’ tiny kitchen.

The kitchen was barely bigger than a cupboard, but it had become a retreat for Lily. As long as she was in there, baking, the boys would leave her alone.

Much as Lily did love socialising with her friends, she was an introvert at heart.

And suddenly forced to share very limited living quarters with two strangers, one of which was ill and very extra and the other super fit and sweet and confusing and also utterly going stir-crazy though it was only their third day in, well…

Fun as the guys seemed, Lily needed some time for herself.

Baking had always been one of the ways she dealt with stress, and with two young men in the house, both in a possession of a bottomless stomach, it all worked out pretty well.

Lily had reached her inner zen and was just finishing shaping the loaf when the sound of James clearing his throat bought her back to reality.

“Sorry. I’m gonna squeeze past you,” he warned, then walked into the kitchen.

In the very confined space, it was impossible not to be aware of him. She had to bite her lip when he slipped past her, his arm brushing her back.

Her nerves were humming, instantly standing at attention. And much as Lily had chided herself about the one night stand in the past couple of days, it once again became painfully clear that her body had no regrets.

Thankfully, James appeared oblivious about the reaction his presence and proximity caused because he proceeded to open the fridge.

“Didn’t wanna bother you so I tried telling Sirius he could wait a while and I’d get him a coke later but… Well, you can imagine how that went down.”

“I’m half surprised I didn’t hear the resulting tirade,” Lily said, staring at her loaf of bread.

“Well, clearly you’re preoccupied.” James stood in front of the fridge for a while, and Lily could feel the weight of his gaze on her. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“Doing what?” Surprised, she looked up and at him, though just a moment before she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. Ignoring him was safer.

“Baking. We can cook. Sirius is a pretty great cook when he isn’t busy playing the sickly frail little princess. And you’re our guest. And –”

“And nothing,” Lily cut in. “I know Sirius is milking it but he is sick, and letting a contagious person prepare food isn’t the best idea.”

“You’re right. Sorry. Still, it’s not fair to you. Let me help.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Lily said, her heart beating just a little faster. “But there’s only enough room for one chef in this kitchen.”

“Quite right,” James admitted with a chuckle. “I can all but feel the walls closing in on me.”

Lily smiled at her loaf. “Look, I promise I don’t mind. I enjoy baking and it relaxes me and I need relaxing in my life right now.”

“I hear that,” James said, with a rueful edge to his tone. “Every time I open the news it seems this virus is getting worse and worse.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, as long as you’re sure we’re not taking advantage,” James said, shifting from one foot to another.

“You are not,” Lily assured him. “And you are helping out a lot; you can’t really expect me to eat this all by myself.”

James cast a look around the kitchen. When he spoke, Lily could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, that might take you a while.”

“And then I’d burst and that wouldn’t be pretty,” Lily said. She gestured at brownies that were cooling on the counter. “Take one to Sirius, maybe it will shut him up for a moment.”

“You are amazing,” James told her, sending her heart into a wild flutter.

Then, he left the kitchen with the bottle of coke and two brownies he snatched from the pan as he passed.

His laughter, however, lingered. And when Lily finally slid her bread into the oven, she was still grinning like an idiot.

The days dragged on slowly, even though the three of them had found various ways to entertain themselves in the small two-bedroom flat.

They’d had a video game tournament, which Sirius had naturally won. The surprise – to all of them, it seemed – was that Lily had come in second. After that, they had gone on to binge-watch every single episode of Queer Eye available on Netflix.

There had been many long conversations spanning a whole variety of topics.

And, of course, endless squabbles because that’s what happens when three differing temperaments, all of them in various states of ill-humour, were forced to share a confined space for an extended period of time.

There had been one spectacular evening of badly sung karaoke to songs found on Youtube. That had helped to balance nicely the countless hours they had spent playing Scrabble or Texas hold ‘em.

Lily had been filling their kitchen with all manners of baked goods and James had become a clean freak, tidying up the place and disinfecting surfaces several times a day.

And despite all these diverting pastimes James was still the one who was handling it the worst, which was a feat considering that this was his flat and unlike Lily, he hadn’t been stuck in an unfamiliar environment with two strangers.

But James was an active person. And an extroverted person. He loved going out. Without his regular morning jog, the stress was really building up.

He’d tried getting some move on with the help of the home work out videos that the internet was suddenly full of, but it just wasn’t the same.

Lily’s presence wasn’t exactly calming either. Although James loved to have her around, she seemed to possess the unique ability to render James instantly back to his fifteen-year-old self: jittery, stammering, and desperately wanting to appear cool in front of his crush, the initials of whom he kept doodling in the margins of his notes.

It was a state he hadn’t found himself in since those early days of his very first bout of puppy love. And while a part of him felt giddy about the unexpected return and what it might signify, the timing of it was decidedly unfortunate.

Oddly enough, the moments of the day he had come to appreciate the most, during which he had found most calm, were the ones in the late evenings that he would spend in Lily’s company.

He’d handed his room over to her use and had gentlemanly volunteered to take the couch in the living room. One evening, he’d come in to get a fresh shirt out of his wardrobe and had found Lily lying on the bed.

So as not to blush at the sight and the memories it evoked, he focused his attention on the device she was holding.

“Is that a tablet? Looks small.”

Lily glanced up and spared him a smile that immediately made his heartbeat pick up.

“No, it’s an e-reader.”

“Really? I haven’t seen one up close. Must be convenient.”

“It is. Reading relaxes me so it’s a good way to ensure I always have a whole library with me.”

Lily grinned at him, and by that point, James had wholly forgotten about his shirts and his wardrobe.

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“What are you reading?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Just started this murder mystery,” Lily said. “It’s been nice so far.”

“Sounds cool,” James said. Then, a little wistfully, he added: “Haven’t been able to read a book in ages myself.”

“Really?” Lily, who clearly must be an avid reader seemed almost scandalised by this. “How come?”

“I guess all the research papers in uni put me off from some of it. Mostly though it’s like I just can't concentrate enough to take in the information, you know?”

“Ahh, makes sense. Sitting still doesn’t seem to be your forte,” Lily commented, her eyes twinkling in a way that softened the teasing.

James let out a short laugh. “That’s too true.”

“Maybe you should give audiobooks a try,” Lily suggested.

Feeling bold, James took a leap. “Maybe you could try reading out loud.”

Lily blinked, but rather than outright sputter at the idea, she tilted her head in thought.

“Would you really like that?”

“Yeah I think that would be nice,” James said, the glimmer of hope in his heart gaining strength.

And that was how, every evening now, James and Lily would both be lying down on his bed while Lily read the murder mystery aloud to him.

It settled James, in a way few things in life did. He wasn’t sure if it was Lily’s nearness, the warmth of her voice or the engrossing story they were reading.

Most probably some combination of all of them.

All James knew was that he already was dreading their quarantine coming to an end, because as maddening as being stuck in the flat was for him, this new evening routine was something he would sorely miss.

But even more than that, he would miss the company of one Lily Evans.

Time had become a strange, mystical creature. Though each day had felt like a slow crawl, the weeks had taken flight.

One morning, while sipping her tea, Lily was momentarily stunned as she realised twelve days had passed.

In just two more days, she could go home.

Sirius was still sick, but his symptoms had remained mild and he had improved in the past couple of days. By some miracle, neither James nor Lily had contracted the virus, as both of them still felt completely fine.

Perhaps all James’ maniacal cleaning during the long, slow days of their quarantine had paid off.

She was smiling into her cup of tea when a bleary-eyed James sat up on his makeshift bed on the sofa and ran his hand through his hair.

“What time is it?”

Lily glanced at her phone. “It’s almost half-seven. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You did,” James said, putting his glasses on, “but it’s fine. I usually wake up much earlier than I have been this whole week.”

“Ah, right,” Lily said, remembering their conversation from several days back. “Well, soon enough you’ll be back jogging every morning.”

“I can’t wait,” James said fervently, earning another smile from Lily.

James got up from the sofa and stretched.

Lily unashamedly admired his physique while he bent to retrieve his trousers and pulled them on.

While James walked past her into the cupboard pretending to be the kitchen, Lily busied herself with her breakfast.

James emerged a moment later and sat down at the small table next to her, a cup of coffee in hand.

“You know what’s funny?” Lily asked, after a moment of quiet companionship.

Sirius wouldn’t wake up before 10 o'clock, so they always had mornings to themselves.

“What’s that?” James asked, his elbows propped on the table, biceps curling just below the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“I felt so awkward being here with you guys at first,” Lily confessed. “And now in less than two weeks I’m almost used to this.”

James was silent for a moment, one nervous finger tapping at his coffee mug, his jaw clenching.

Then, he swallowed and met her eyes.

“You know what else is funny?” he asked in a soft voice.

“What?” Lily managed, her own voice hushed by the storm she could see in his hazel eyes.

Anticipation crept up her spine and she leaned towards him. Her breath caught at the expression flitting across James’ face.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Lily’s heart leapt and her stomach erupted with the butterflies. She’d barely even processed the words, when James continued, a definite blush colouring his cheeks.

“I mean,” he said with a slight stammer, “obviously you’re looking forward to going home and I want you to go home too and this whole thing has been just one big mess and I feel like we’ve done everything the wrong way around –”

Lily reached across the table and gently took James’ hand that had been restlessly drumming against the tabletop.

He fell silent and when their eyes met, his blush deepened.

James sighed, and run his other hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

It was a gesture that had become both familiar and endearing to Lily in these past twelve days, and her heart ached.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone,” James said at last, squeezing her hand.

“Well then, after I get home you’re gonna have to ring me and ask me out for a real date,” Lily said, unable to hold back the smile blooming on her lips.

She wasn’t sure either if she’d ever quite felt the way she did right at this moment, wrapped up in the tenderness of James’ obvious regard.

“Does that mean I’m getting your number after all?” James replied, grinning at her as the mood lightened.

“Yes.”

They smiled at each other.

And because it was ridiculous how much her heart could race from just holding hands, Lily couldn’t help adding: “If you fail to ring me, I will hunt you down. After all, I know where you live.”

James burst into laughter.

Lily had thought she couldn’t be happier than she was just then, watching James laugh. But she was proven wrong in the next moment when his thumb brushed across her knuckles.

Maybe they had done everything the wrong way around as James had said… But it had certainly worked out.

If this was just the beginning, she couldn’t wait to see what would come next.

Two days later, early in the morning, they parted ways.

There were no tears, but they held each other for a long moment, both of them just as unwilling to let go. And the kiss Lily pulled James into in the doorway was lingering as well.

The memory of it still warmed her, as Lily got safely back to her flat.

The peace and quiet that greeted her were both welcoming and unsettling. After not being alone for so many days, being on her own felt strange.

But also good.

She kept busy for most of the day, making sure she was stocked up on food and that everything seemed clean and nice.

She might no longer be in quarantine, but the news of the virus seemed to get worse and scarier day after day, so she was in no hurry to get back out there.

That evening, Lily was happy – no, she was ecstatic – to be lying in her own bed at last.

It was smaller than the one she’d slept during her quarantine and her sheets didn’t carry James’ scent… But snuggled into a small mountain of pillows she was perfectly comfortable even as she frowned at the e-reader in her lap.

She couldn’t continue the book. The words kept getting stuck somewhere between her eyes and her restless brain. She couldn’t concentrate on the story when her mind was busy reminiscing the evening moments spent in James' company.

A smile tugged at her lips until the sound of her ringtone dragged her away from the memories.

Lily reached for her phone, the smile turning into a proper grin as she saw the name on the display.

“Hello?” she answered the phone.

“So I’d ask you out,” James’ voice drawled from the other end, “but it seems there’s a global pandemic out there.”

“That does sound like a small drawback,” Lily replied, falling right back into the easy banter, as if she’d never left.

“Raincheck on the date?” James said.

“Definitely. I’m not letting you off the hook so easily,” Lily said.

“Good. I’m very comfortable on the hook,” James said, earning a laugh from Lily. “But now to the real business.”

“Which is?”

“So the investigator was lured into the cellar, right? And then the door was bolted shut. Does he get out? How?”

Lily snuggled back into her pillows, her smile so wide her cheeks were starting to hurt.

“Well you’ll have to listen and find out,” she told him.

Then, she picked up the e-reader with her free hand and began to read out loud.

#pottinglilies #jily #jilychallenge #quarantine fic #jily fanfiction #fluff #This took me way too long to write #chie writes #fic: JL

124 notes · View notes

the-tubbo-admisitration · 4 years ago

Text

His L'manburg

Sorry it's so late!!!

Niki glanced around, her eyes wide. Everyone was staring- no- glaring at her. She had somehow come out the bad guy again, she had no idea how Tubbo kept getting one over on her, it was like some kind of power. Her hands shook as she realised she was alone in her confusion, in everyone else's eyes she’d just made a child cry for no reason. She felt her breath quicken before she turned to run, she sprinted all the way down to her bakery.

Fundy had no clue what had just happened, Tubbo had never cried like that before- was it a calculated risk or a view into his real self? Fundy didn’t know, all he knew was that everyone but him currently hated Niki almost as much as Schlatt. He stood up, ready to follow her to the bakery when his eyes landed on the clipboard, Tubbo’s clipboard, laying face down on the ground. He hopped off the wall he was sitting on and before running off, he picked it up in his jaw- figuring he’d be faster on all four legs.

When they were both in the bakery, Niki felt warm tears filling her eyes- her brain began to ponder if she was the bad guy here… maybe Tubbo was right.Fund had hopped up on the counter and wiped her eyes with his paws, offering a smile. “Hey, it’s ok,you did what you had to.”

She nodded and smiled weakly back. “Thanks, I just- he’s very good at this manipulation thing…”

Fundy nods and sits on the counter, licking his paws calmly. “That’s true, but I really think you got him to panic- he didn’t account for you calling him out like that. I mean; he made some rather large oversights.” He added, gesturing to the clipboard.

Niki gasped at that. “His clipboard? You think it might have important documents on it?”

“Well I wouldn't have grabbed it otherwise.” He chuckled, going quiet for a moment when Niki scratched him behind the ear.

“I couldn’t have a better partner in crime Fundy, thank you.” She grabbed the clipboard and began to read through the papers. “Taxes...ideas for new laws...ways Pogtopia could sneak in?”

Fundy glanced over at that. “Huh really? He’s really ok with that sort of thing huh… I would’ve expected him to fight Schlatt on that at least.”

“I know right? It feels like we’re missing something…” She frowns and continues to read through the papers. “Some ideas for new buildings and community services...including a new base/office for himself?” She frowns, looking at the small pen sketch, it looked more like a castle then an office if she was being honest…

Fundy hummed at that. “New base, or ego booster?”

Niki nodded and chuckled. “Exactly what I was thinking, a bit dramatic.” she checked the rest, all of it was just things she thought Schlatt should handle instead of pawning it off on a child. She put the clipboard down and began to work on baking, Fundy noticed and ran over, hoping to steal some bacon or something when she got to making the pies.

When he got to her side, he noticed the pointed lack of any mushrooms in her pantry. He tilted his at that. “Have you stopped stocking the mushroom pies?”

She sighed at that. “Mushrooms are banned because goats can't have them. Tubbo confiscated my stock.”

He frowned at that, a bit of a self centered move by Schlatt there- not all the food is for him. Who cares if mushrooms would make him ill… Fundy froze, an idea popped into his head that he so very hoped wasn’t the case. He hoped it so much he wouldn’t even tell Niki, she didn’t need that little more stress in her life… He just nodded. “That explains why he smelt like mushrooms.”

She nodded, humming as she worked on her baking. It always made her feel calmer, she supposed it was the routine that allowed her to cut thinking out of the equation. She was working on sausage rolls first, happy to let Fundy steal some of the sausage meat, he deserved in honestly. She then moved on to some bread rolls, she’d taught Tommy how to make these and wondered how he was fairing right at this moment. Tubbo had always been Tommy’s best friend and Niki wondered if he’d known about the other side to him… she figured probably not, he had an awfully strong moral code and would never condone some of the things Tubbo has said or done.

This made her wonder about Tubbo’s endgame, was it simply power? Or was it something more- she knew he always considered every possibility when planning so she wondered what role Tommy had in his grand plan. What role did she and Fundy even have? She hoped she was at least more than cannon fodder to him, or at least that Fundy wouldn’t get hurt. She wondered if Schlatt was means to an end or something more- and what was his plan for Eret?

When she got pulled out her thoughts it was by Fundy putting a gentle paw on her face, he looked concerned and she realised it was because she’d been preparing packed lunches for the lads like she did before the election. She sighed and actually finished up, looking at Fundy’s confused face. “These shouldn’t go to waste, we can get that to them later.” She put the packed lunches aside, noticing the custard she’d used for Tubbo’s tart was plain and not vanilla, she didn’t really care but she wondered if he would even notice. She also whipped a quick one up for Techno; baked potato, veggie pie, an apple, a sweet bread roll and a bottle of cool milk.

After that she started on her and Fundy’s own lunches, she took extra care with the amount of butter in Fundy’s little pastry sausage bites- too much of it could make him ill. She just had a sandwich herself, making some tea for the both of them, putting Fundy’s in a dish so he didn’t accidentally burn his nose. They sat by the shore to have their lunch, both quiet for quite a while until Niki spoke. “So how do you think Wilbur and Tommy are fairing?”

Fundy was quiet for a moment, pain on his face as he glanced away and sighed. “I don’t know...I hope they’re alright…”

Niki nodded. “I’d hope so too, do you want to run and bring them their lunch? I’ll take Tubbo’s to him.” She smiled when Fundy agreed to it and went to grab the bags, she grabbed Tubbo’s bag and headed up to the president's office where she knew Tubbo would be.

#dream smp #the tubbo administration #tubbo #tubbolive #tommy #tommyinit #tommyinnit #nichachu #niki #fundy

33 notes · View notes

emybain · 5 years ago

Text

Quarantine: Renegades Edition

so please don’t take this seriously. i honestly don’t remember writing half of it, but it be like that. this is simply a glimpse into the lives of Nova and Adrian during a global pandemic, aka snippets of the few months they’re in quarantine together. also, happy birthday to my girl nova. there’s a bonus/crack scene at the end that was inspired by tiktok, as well. i regret nothing (other than this poorly written fic)

ao3

“They’re saying this thing could spread into June, July, maybe even August,” Adrian said, relaxing back into the leather couch, pulling the laptop with him. Nova adjusted against him, pulling the blanket over her legs just a little higher as the AC powered on.

“That’s if people keep being dumbasses,” Danna replied from behind the screen, leaning forward to rest her head in her palm. “It’s our job as citizens to prevent the spread of this disease. Why can’t people get that through their thick heads?”

Nova and Adrian were on a video call with the rest of their friends, who were all also quarantined in their homes. Nova had her own apartment, but at the very start of this outbreak—a new disease that was rapidly spreading around the world—she decided that quarantining by herself for an unknown amount of time wouldn’t be good for her mental health, so she packed up clothing and other essentials and headed over to the Everhart-Westwood residence. Not to mention that a mansion was vastly better than a one room apartment. Oh yeah, and she supposed being stuck with her boyfriend every day wasn’t so bad.

“They’re being ignorant,” Nova chipped in. “People think that they’re immune, or that this virus is being blown out of proportion.”

“When they get sick, I’ll laugh.” Ruby popped a cracker in her mouth before the camera became blurry as she moved. She appeared to have shifted from lying on her back to her stomach from a spot on her bed. There was minimal background noise from her end, which was suspicious since she shared a room with two teenage boys. They must’ve been off playing video games, probably who Max was laughing with from his room upstairs.

Narcissa poked her head out from behind a lengthy book from her place on Danna’s bed in the background of Danna’s screen.. Like Nova, she lived by herself, and would rather be with her significant other than be alone. “This isn’t the first time a pandemic has spread throughout the world. There was the European Virus fifty years ago, coronavirus back in the 21st century, the Spanish Flu in the 20th century, and so on and so forth.” She waved a hand in the air. “Hopefully, people will come to their senses. History always repeats itself, no matter how hard we may try to prevent it.”

“Thanks for the optimistic input, babe.” Danna rolled her eyes and cast a glance back at her girlfriend.

“It’s what I do,” Narcissa replied, returning her attention back to her book, but there was a smile on her face.

“Well, maybe when things start to calm down a bit, we can all hang out. A picnic or in cars or something.” Oscar shrugged. “Six feet apart, of course. I’m not about to catch something from you nasty people.

“Did you just suggest a picnic?” Ruby snorted. “You might want to check your temperature. I think you’re getting sick.”

“You seem to forget all about the many picnics we’ve had.”

Ruby stuck her tongue out in response, then straightened a little and turned her head to the side. “What?” she yelled. After a moment, she turned back to the screen and groaned. “Ugh, I have to go. Mom’s making me bake with her again. Maybe this time we’ll try something besides bread or cookies.” She waved at them before she vanished from the meeting.

At that moment, the front door clicked and opened, revealing Hugh and Simon, both carrying multiple grocery bags.

“My dads just got home from the store. We should probably go help.” Adrian sat up, leaving Nova to fall a little in his direction as she had been leaning on him.

“Hi Adrian’s Dads!” Oscar yelled, though they were already out of the room when he did so. Nonetheless, they both shouted back their greetings from the kitchen.

“I should probably go, too. There’s this show I started bingeing and I finished the fifth season last night. I’m dying to know what happens after that cliffhanger.” Danna leaned back in her chair.

“Oh, is it that one you were telling me about?” Nova raised her eyebrows. “Based off of that movie series?”

“Yes! And watch it so I can rant to you about it! I’m so pissed off at the main characters. They’re just...so stupid.”

With that, the remaining five waved and said their goodbyes. Adrian set the laptop down on the coffee table in front of them, and they both stood up. Nova stretched, her muscles tired from sitting for nearly an hour.

In the kitchen, Hugh was unloading the bags while Simon busied himself with spraying the items with cleaner and wiping them down with a paper towel. A couple of weeks into quarantine and Nova and Adrian knew what to do. They got to work putting stuff away, with Nova on pantry duty and Adrian at the fridge.

Although Nova hadn’t been out in public since the world went into quarantine, she could tell that the grocery stores and other places were beginning to recover from the initial shock of the pandemic. With each trip to the store, Adrian’s parents came back with more and more food and supplies. Hugh had even decided to buy a fridge to store out in the garage for extra food that didn’t fit inside. She found that to be a bit ridiculous, but it seemed to make him happy. What was it with men and having fridges out in their garages?

“Is Max upstairs?” Simon asked, pushing a milk jug toward Adrian.

“Yeah. I think he’s playing video games.” Adrian shot Nova a look, and she repressed a smile; they both knew what was about to come.

“Has he done any schoolwork since we left two hours ago? Or at least left his room?”

“I think he left to use the bathroom about forty five minutes ago,” Nova said. She glanced at the knock-off brand of her favorite crackers in her hand and sighed, placing it on a shelf. The off-brand wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t the same. It was the type of product that you had to buy name brand, as the imitations were just a waste of money. Alas, with the pandemic, she knew it was a fight to get the good products before anyone else.

“He’ll get it done, Pops,” Adrian reassured. “He’s been doing fine the last couple of weeks. Just going at his own pace, is all.”

“I know.” A sigh escaped Simon’s mouth. “And I’m glad that he’s able to be a kid now, but being a kid includes doing your homework.”

Nova thought of the classes she was taking at a local university. She was doing her best to keep up with her online work, but as the weeks dragged on, she was losing motivation. “This quarantine is probably nothing for Max, remember? I’m sure he does his work whenever he wants to because he actually enjoys doing it.” She shrugged. “Better than sitting around surrounded by glass walls.”

“You’re probably right,” Hugh added, washing his hands once the last of the groceries were out of the bags. “I’m not too worried about him, just as long as I get to see his face once a day.” He chuckled at his own words. Simon offered a smile in support.

Once all the groceries were stored away, Nova and Adrian headed downstairs, taking the laptop with them.

__________

Adrian stood from his seat, where he had previously already been on edge.

“Nova, where are you going?” The glare he received was enough to scare off anyone else. He had seen this side of her before, though, and was unfazed. “It’s almost midnight,” he added, only increasing the glare.

“Anywhere but here.” Her eyes turned to Hugh, who crossed his arms in response. The two were arguing. Again. It was something that was new to their quarantine, having only surfaced about a week ago. They liked to argue over literally anything, from who got to have control over the remote to whether or not Nova should be a part of their daily “family walks” to the current state of the government and the involvement of the Renegades, who were no longer in charge but were still heavily tied into politics. Hell, even the weather wasn’t safe from their growing agitation with one another. Today, everything had been going fine, for once, until Hugh just had to bring up a curfew, as Nova liked to leave the house at odd hours.

“This house is a fucking nightmare.” She gripped the keys to her motorcycle in her hand and turned to the door. From beside him, Adrian heard Max mutter something about irony under his breath. He too, despite entering the years of being a disagreeable teenager, was sick of the fighting.

“Language, young lady,” Hugh said, warning laced in his tone.

“Once again, you’re not my dad,” Nova gritted out. She opened the front door, revealing the darkness outside. “And you never will be.”

“Nova, what he’s asking isn’t completely unreasonable.” Simon ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in our home for who knows how long, so as parents, you’re now our responsibility. Even when you’re not under our roof, you’re our responsibility. We just want you to be safe.”

“If you don’t want to follow our simple rules, then why are you even here? We’re paying for an apartment not two miles north from here, and you’re not even there. Instead you’re here, wasting our time and resources.” Even though the words weren’t directed at him, Adrian felt a chill go down his spine.

Nova’s mouth opened, and she stared at Hugh blankly. Adrian could’ve sworn he saw her eyes welling up. “I’m here because I didn’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone my entire goddamn life, and I didn’t know if I could handle doing it again.” She swallowed, hand turning on the screen door. “But it’s not like I expect you to understand.” And then she was out the door.

Adrian rushed forward, eyeing his dad coldly. “Seriously?”

“She’s out of line!” Hugh defended, although Adrian could see the regret in his features.

Choosing not to answer him, Adrian shook his head and went outside. Nova was at the end of the driveway, sitting on her motorcycle and looking down at the ground. Adrian approached her slowly, making sure his steps were loud so that she knew he was there.

“I don’t walk to talk about it.” She hid her face even more from him when he bent down. “You’re welcome to come with me, but I don’t want you to get in trouble for breaking curfew.” Her voice soured at the word.

“I understand why you’re mad, but don’t avoid me because of it.” He lightly nudged her chin with his knuckles.

“He’s just so...so…” she lifted her head up, running a hand through her hair in frustration as she tried to find the right words

“Stubborn? Controlling? Self righteous?”

“Yes.” She let out a laugh, though it was void of humor. “It’s just...who does he think he is? I’m an adult. Even if he was my father, he can’t control what I can and cannot do.”

“You seem to forget that I’ve had to live with him for years,” Adrian said dryly. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. “I’m an adult, too, but that doesn’t matter because he pays the bills.”

Nova gave him a long look. “You really need your own place.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“But you get what I mean.” She looked down at their hands, turning them around to examine the back of his. “I’m not his kid. It’s different with you because you’re his son.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to keep you safe.” Her grip on him tightened, just slightly. Even though it had been a few years since the events surrounding the supernova, Nova still had trouble believing that her former enemies actually cared about her. It was hard to trust them when it had been ingrained in her from a young age that they were the bad guys.

“I can take care of myself fine. I’ve been out in the middle of the night so many times I’ve lost count. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

Adrian sighed and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. There wouldn’t be any reasoning with her, at least not tonight. He had to let her cool down and return to the subject when she had a clearer mind. “At least come back inside? We can go play video games downstairs, or watch a movie, or do anything you want. I’m sure once you and Hugh are both calmed down, you can reach a compromise.”

“But I don’t want a fucking com-”

“Or he’ll see things your way,” he tacked on quickly. Right. When she got like this, it had to be her way. It was funny, how she resented Hugh at times for his stubbornness, when she was equally as stubborn if not more so. This quarantine was really getting to all of them. Adrian couldn’t wait for the day life could go back to normal.

“Adrian? Nova?” Adrian turned his head around to see Max, who was squinting at them through the dark, despite the outside lights being on.

“What’s up, Max?” Nova shifted her body on the bike to face the teen.

“Pops wants to know if you’re coming inside soon. He needs to set the alarm so he and Dad can go to bed.” Max paused, eyeing the bike. “Unless you’re going for a ride, then he’ll leave it off.”

Adrian waited for Nova to answer, as it was up to her. Nova ran her free hand over the bike, then sighed.

“We’ll be in right behind you. I was just...checking some things on her.” All three knew she was lying, but Nova was still learning how to express her emotions in front of others. Even in front of Max, someone she got along with as well as she did with Adrian.

“Alright.” Max turned to leave, then glanced back at her. “You know, things are rough right now, and I know it isn’t easy for everyone to be in isolation for so long, but,” he shrugged, “at least we’re together. I was able to make it in a quarantine for ten years with no one but myself and the doctors for company, so this is easy for me, but I know I’m probably the only person on this planet who thinks that way.” He let out a soft laugh. “I guess I’m just trying to say that I’m glad you’re here, and that I’m glad our family is quarantining together.” The smile he shot her was genuine. He turned back around and walked back to the house, where Adrian could see the outlines of his dads watching at the door.

“Huh.” Adrian watched his brother go inside. “Just when you think he’s starting to learn how to be a proper kid-”

“-he goes and spouts shit like that?” Nova finished, shaking her head. Adrian could see the small smile on her face through the curls hiding her features.

“Yeah.” Adrian squeezed her hand. “C’mon, let’s go back inside.”

“Okay.”

__________

Nova placed the mixing bowl in the sink and turned on the faucet. She reached into a drawer and grabbed a towel, placing it under the running water. The kitchen was a mess, although she had seen it in worse states. At least the ingredients were all stored away so that she could get started on wiping down the counters. Hugh and Simon were at headquarters for the day, as their presence was required for something Nova didn’t care enough to know about, and they figured it would be best to work from there instead of coming home. And, according to Simon, them being out in public and at headquarters would be good for publicity. It had been a while since they stepped into work, seeing as even the Renegades had to obey social distancing orders.

Point being, they were out of the house, so Nova could do whatever she wanted without questions being asked. And she had grown to appreciate baking during quarantine, among her long list of new and revisited hobbies. The Everhart-Westwoods always, to Nova’s surprise, had sweet tooths, so they never minded that Nova made a mess of their kitchen; it was just when Hugh or Simon entered the kitchen and started asking a bunch of questions that got on Nova’s nerves. Today, she could bake in peace.

Or so she thought.

“Mm. Smells good in here.” She looked up at her boyfriend, who just entered the room. He peeked at the oven. “Cupcakes?”

“Muffins,” Nova corrected, setting the used towel next to the sink. There was dried paint on his forehead, as well as on his hands. She had to shake her head. How was it possible to get so dirty? Well, she should speak for herself and her flour-covered apron.

“Oh, well, same thing.” He shrugged and grabbed a water glass from a cabinet.

Nova blinked and reached for the remote, which was sitting beside her, and paused the show she was watching on the kitchen’s small TV. “No. No not really.”

Adrian chuckled and nudged her lightly as he passed her to the fridge. “Yeah, kind of. The only difference is cupcakes have frosting.”

Nova scoffed. “The only difference? They’re two completely different things. That’s like saying ice cream and gelato are the same.”

Adrian turned to face her, leaning against the fridge. He took a sip of his water. “Ice cream and gelato are the same. One’s just claimed by the Italians.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Those aren’t the same, either, dumbass. Ice cream, clearly from its name, has more cream than gelato. And gelato’s more dense than ice cream. Those are just two differences.” She crossed her arms. “There are more.”

“And? What does that have to do with muffins and cupcakes?”

“Because they’re not the same.” Nova had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. And Adrian claimed he was a smart person. Yeah, maybe smart compared to sloths. “Muffins are considered a bread. Cupcakes are...well...cake. Two completely different recipes. You can’t just slap some frosting on a blueberry muffin and say it’s a cupcake. Maybe it looks like one, but the flavor and textures are way off.”

“They both are made the exact same way, babe. No difference.” With the way he was smirking, Nova had the thought that he could just be messing with her.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me.” She glared at him. “Fine. If you won’t believe me, the baker, then you don’t have to eat any of my muffins. Not cupcakes.”

He groaned and reached for her, but she dove out of his reach. “Nova, don’t be like this. I’m sorry. They’re not the same, okay? Happy?”

“Not until you’re honest.” She checked the timer above the oven. “I’m going downstairs for a minute.” Pointing a finger at him, she added, “Don’t mess with them. I’ll know.”

“Admitting defeat?” he called at her back.

“Hell no,” she tossed over her shoulder. “This conversation is far from over, buddy.”

She definitely heard him mutter rudely how he knew, but chose to ignore it. After all, she was the bigger person in the relationship.

__________

Adrian turned into a parking spot and turned off the car. He glanced over at Nova, who was giving him a very pointed look.

“The park? What did you plan? A picnic?” That was, in fact, the plan, but only part of it.

Leaning over, he planted a gentle kiss on her lips. It only softened the look a little. “You’ll see, nosey.” He unbuckled himself and opened the driver door. “Now, come on.”

She rolled her eyes, but got out as well. Seeing her in a pair of cutoff shorts and a simple t-shirt was refreshing, as she had been wearing sweats for the past two months, ever since the world was sent into quarantine. She and Adrian both had been dawning the same three pairs of pants and shirts for weeks now. But, this was the first time they both actually got out of the house, save for their daily walks or motorcycle/car rides, so it was only fitting to get dressed up for the occasion. And by dressed up he meant ditching the sweatpants.

Also, it was Nova’s birthday. Adrian hated that she was being forced to spend it unceremoniously, when so many of her birthdays had gone practically unnoticed growing up with the Anarchists, so he took it upon himself as her boyfriend to do what he could for her. And that meant having a socially distanced picnic in the park with their friends, who they hadn’t seen in person in months.

They walked down the sidewalk hand in hand, going into the grass whenever a biker or runner passed by them to maintain distance. Adrian almost wanted to pull his mask out from his pocket, but knew he was probably fine. Besides, if he put his mask on, Nova would follow, and he knew how much she hated wearing them, for obvious reasons. They were outside, and there were hardly any people in the park.

“You’re an idiot, Adrian Everhart,” Nova said once they could see their friends, but there was a smile on her face. They were all spread out on blankets, making a circle, and in the center sat an unoccupied blanket piled with food and gifts.

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit.” He squeezed her hand, grinning down at her.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Oscar said, checking his watch. “We’ve been here for hours. We’re starving.” He stood and went to the middle to start making a plate. Adrian made a face at his back. He had specifically asked that they wait for Nova until they started eating in the group chat, so he guessed Oscar was holding his word. He waited, after all.

“Twenty minutes,” Danna corrected from her spot beside Narcissa. She looked at them and rolled her eyes. “Happy Birthday, Nova.”

Everyone chorused in their ‘Happy Birthdays’ and Nova thanked them as she and Adrian sat down on the one remaining blanket. “You guys didn’t have to go and do this for me.” She turned her gaze specifically toward Adrian. He raised his hands in defense.

“Blame Oscar for putting the idea in my head. All he ever talks about when we video call is how bored he is.”

“That’s true.” Nova shook her head in amusement. “This is very sweet, but don’t expect me to cry or anything.”

“You cried on your seventeenth birthday, and that’s enough for us,” Ruby teased.

“That was literally two years ago.” Nova ran a hand over her face. “It meant nothing.”

“Mhm,” was Ruby’s response, but Adrian could tell she wasn’t convinced. None of them were, obviously.

Nova peered at the food pile. “Is that Mediterranean pizza I see?”

“Yeah, and it’s all yours,” Oscar clarified, passing a plate he made for Ruby to her before sitting down himself. “I still don’t understand how you like that. There’s not even meat on it!”

“There’s also cannoli’s.” Adrian stood to go make them both plates. He knew that cannoli’s were one of the few desserts she liked, probably because they weren’t that heavy. “Do you want one or two?”

She pondered the question for a moment, then smiled at him. “Two.”

When he returned with their food, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“What was that for?” He handed her plate over.

“For being you, and for giving me the best birthdays ever.” She shifted her body to lean against him. “How’d you know I wanted to see everyone for my birthday, anyway?”

“Because I know you.” He kissed her forehead. “Happy Birthday, Nova.”

__________

Bonus crack scene:

“I would like to thank everyone for joining me today,” Nova said, swirling the water in the wine glass she snatched from the cabinet. Since Hugh wouldn’t let her drink actual wine, this was the next best thing. She cleared her throat. “I took it upon myself to observe the members of this household over the course of a week and rate everyone on their performances.” She pointed to the pyramid of papers set up on the wall, held there by type. There were pictures of everyone in the household behind a white sheet of paper. Starting at the bottom on the left side was the worst member, and the one at the top was the best. Why she decided to do this, she had little clue, but she figured it would be an entertaining activity to spice up everyone’s day.

“Is that what this is? I thought it was something actually serious.” Hugh leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. There was a smile on his lips.

“It is serious.” She pointed her glass at him. The fast movement caused a bit of water to slosh over the side. “It has come to my attention that there are people in this household who have some improvement to work on if they want to move up next week.”

“If I’m not at the top, I’m breaking up with you,” Adrian joked, adjusting the glasses on his face. She narrowed her eyes at the camera he was pointing at her.

“I do not accept bribes.” Tearing off the first piece of paper, she began. There was a snicker, probably Max. “Hugh.” He immediately started protesting, but Nova silenced him. “No, no, no. You’re mean to me. Always looking to post up or some shit.”

“Language,” he warned, though his tone was light.

“Not to mention you don’t let me express my true self by cussing,” she added sharply. “Also, you tried to kill me three years ago and I’m sorry, but I just can’t forgive my haters like that. Try better next week, okay?”

“Hold on, wait a second.” Hugh held up a hand. “First of all, young lady, if you want to bring up the past, it goes both ways, but we’ve both changed for the be-”

“No comments at this time,” Nova interrupted. She ripped off the next sheet of paper. “Next up is Nova.” Laughter broke out in the room. Even she couldn’t help from smiling. “Not gonna lie, I held out hope for this one, but she’s got a lot of issues, if you know what I mean. Always picking an argument, refuses to participate in family activities, and is kind of just there. Doesn’t really do much of anything. The only reasons she’s above Hugh is because, for one, she’s far more attractive, and she bakes stuff for everyone.

“Adrian-”

“Oh, come on!”

“-you refused to cuddle with me yesterday and watch guilty pleasure movies because you said you were busy. You argued with me the other day on the validity of the Star Wars prequels and sequels.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “And you’re filming me without my consent. Other than those things, though,” she shrugged, “pretty cool boyfriend. You didn’t say anything when I stole one of your sweatshirts the other day, so that gets you some points.”

“Wait, the gray-”

“Max is next.” She tossed the white paper to the ground. “You never say anything mean to me, unlike some members in this household, but that could also be because you spend all day on video games. Because of that, I’m afraid you can’t be higher.”

“Hey, I’ll settle for third.” Max shrugged, grinning.

“And that’s why I like you!” She nodded firmly. “In second place, we have Simon. Who doesn’t like Simon? You always have something nice to say, and on occasion, you’ll back me up in an argument because you’re an intellectual. I always enjoy our deep conversations, too. Truly a wonderful person.”

“Thank you, Nova. I enjoy our talks, as well.” Simon chuckled. He looked pretty pleased to be on top.

“And that leaves us with,” she ripped off the last paper at the top, causing the room to erupt in laughter and clapping, “Obi Wan Kenobi. Truly an iconic and handsome man. Every time I watch Star Wars, he brings up my serotonin levels. Not just because he’s cute, but because he can land some sick burns.”

It was easy to say that, thanks to Adrian’s video, Nova started a trend all over the world.

#nova artino #adrian everhart #danna bell #oscar silva #ruby tucker #narcissa cronin #max everhart #hugh everhart #simon westwood #renegades #archenemies #supernova #supernova spoilers #my writing

87 notes · View notes

kaleidoscopeminds · 4 years ago

Text

I’m going blind from this sweet craving

This came about because I wanted to write some Cake and my brain just went bakery!!! au!!!! Anyway this is very self-indulgent and driven by my own baking obsession. Please enjoy 6k of me talking about cake (literally) and a cheeky bit of side mashton because I couldn’t resist. For the club because everything I do is for the club <3

Warnings: horribly tooth rotting fluff, too many baking metaphors

Title from Cake by the Ocean by DNCE because I think I’m funny

Luke places the last piece of broken Oreo carefully atop the whirl of buttercream and wipes his hands on his apron, reviewing the set of cupcakes in front of him. He knows he’s hypercritical of his own work; he gets called a perfectionist by Michael at any opportunity (and not in a complimentary way), but he still maintains that it’s the only way to be to make anything good.

He deems this double dozen of the Oreo chocolate as close to perfect as he’s going to manage this morning and slides them next to the strawberries and cream set with mini meringue topping he just finished. He goes to the walk-in refrigerator and pulls out the layer cake that he made before he left yesterday, and then crosses over to dry storage to wheel out the trolley containing the carefully wrapped crates of bread that Ashton, their bread supplier, had dropped off about an hour ago.

He pulls the trays of croissants, pain au chocolat and pain aux raisins out of the oven deftly, and slides them onto a cooling rack to leave for a couple of minutes, before he can transfer them to the cabinet in the front of the bakery, and checks the clock. It’s 6:40, so he’s just on time to get everything stacked up in the front if he has a bit of help.

He hears the door at the front of the cafe slam, handle jangling ominously as it closes again and Luke smiles to himself, grabbing the trays of cupcakes and heading out into the front, opening the swing door with his hip.

“Hi Mikey,” Luke calls over as Michael struggles out of his jacket, pushing his glasses up onto his nose and grumbling incoherently.

“I’m not late,” Michael starts, attempting to pull his apron out of his backpack and hang up his jacket on the hook at the same time.

Luke doesn’t say anything, just turns his head to look deliberately at the large clock hanging over the coffee machine behind the counter and raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly.

“Well, barely,” Michael responds defensively. “You’re not the boss of me, Luke Hemmings.”

Luke laughs, “Unfortunately for you, I am. Supervising baker remember?” He opens up the display cabinet and slides the cakes carefully into place.

“Promotions gone to your overly large blonde head already, I see,” Michael says, struggling with his apron ties where they’ve got tangled around his belt.

Luke laughs again and goes over to Michael, untangling him and turning him round to tie his apron for him. “Go and drink your coffee Mikey, I made one for you about 10 minutes ago, should still be hot. I’ll get the rest of the stuff out to the front.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” Michael says genuinely, quickly walking behind the counter and finding the insulated travel mug Luke had filled with a latte earlier that morning. He pulls off the lid and Luke watches him practically inhale it, smiling fondly as he makes his way back into the kitchen.

“Remind me again why I always seem to be making coffee for you when you’re the trained barista?” Luke calls out as he carefully lifts the 4 layered cake onto a stand and carries it back out to the front.

“Ooh that looks fucking good what’s in that?” Michael asks, eyes lighting up at the sight of the cake in Luke’s careful grip. “And it's because you won’t admit it but you’re in love with me too,” He adds, putting his coffee down so he can take the cake off Luke to put on top of the cabinet.

“Chocolate hazelnut with Nutella and praline,” Luke replies with a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you Michael but we would never work, I couldn’t be with someone who hates mornings,” He says solemnly as he returns to the kitchen, lightly checking the pastries to make sure they’re cool enough before tipping them onto another tray.

“You’re going to be on your own for a while then!” Luke hears Michael call, and he laughs as he comes back through the swing door. “No one likes mornings,” Michael continues crabbily, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp.

“You know who does like mornings?” Luke asks as he passes over the tray to Michael. “Our lovely bread baker.”

Michael blushes and ducks his head at the mention of Ashton. “Why don’t you ask him out then,” He grumbles, lining the pastries up neatly with the tongs in his hand.

“Not my type.” Luke wiggles his eyebrows at Michael. “Plus I think he might be more interested in barista types than cake-making types.”

“Shut up Luke,” Michael groans back. “I’ve told you before, he barely knows who I am. I only see the man for about 5 minutes every day when he comes to pick up the crates.”

“And yet every morning. I have to tell him that ‘No Michael’s not here yet, sorry,’” Luke smirks. “Honestly Mikey, you’re missing out not being here at half past five, lots of Ashton content.”

“Yes but that would involve, you know, being here at half past five,” Michael replies sarcastically. “Did Em make any tarts for today?” He asks.

“Yeah they look great, she’s done a new orange curd one with chocolate pastry which I’m excited to try.” Luke accepts the change of subject and goes back towards the kitchen. “Do you want to come and grab your boyfriend’s bread? Think that’ll be the last of it then.”

Michael glares at Luke and pretends to trip him up as he walks past, then follows him into the back.

“You’re such a dickhead sometimes you know that,” Michael says grumpily, pulling out the loaves of bread and stacking them on the counter.

Luke laughs, it’s too easy to get a rise out of Michael, particularly first thing in the morning and especially when it comes to Ashton. He opens the fridge again and as always sends a silent thank you to the angel that is Em, their evening baker, and the only reason they’re able to produce enough goods for the cafe. It honestly changed his life when his boss decided to employ an extra baker, now he can actually leave when the cafe closes; she picks up anything that Luke doesn’t manage to finish, as well as shaping the pastries to chill overnight and producing a few dozen tarts for the next day. He checks the new orange curd tarts and their customer favourite, the strawberry ones (perfect as always), and slides them off the shelves.

“You were literally declaring your love for me not 10 minutes ago I believe,” Luke says, checking the fridge to make sure he’s not missed anything.

He turns around frowning at the lack of a bitchy response, but Michael’s distracted by something in one of the crates.

“You okay there?” Luke questions.

“Yes,” Michael mumbles, blushing furiously, attempting to pull the crate out of Luke’s view. Luke quickly walks over, interest piqued, and grabs the crate out of Michael’s hands, ignoring his noise of protest.

In the bottom of the crate there’s one of Michael’s favourite chocolate chip hot cross buns, but instead of a cross on top there’s a carefully shaped ‘M’. Luke laughs delightedly.

“He barely knows who you are, hm?” Luke teases.

“Its..” Michael coughs embarrassed. “It’s probably just a friendly thing.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Come off it Mikey, that’s the most obvious display of affection in enriched dough form that I’ve ever seen. Where’s my L eh? Nowhere to be seen.”

“Shut up,” Michael says, but he reaches into the crate and pulls out the bun, wrapping it in some baking paper with utmost care, before walking out into the front of the cafe.

“You’re meant to be stocking the actual breads!” Luke calls after him, grabbing the tarts and following Michael out.

Michael just raises his middle finger at him as he gently slides the wrapped bun into his backpack, still blushing.

Luke laughs and goes to fetch them himself, stacking them in the baskets at the side of the counter, ready to be sold or to be sliced for their toasties.

“Right I’m gonna start on tomorrow’s cake, let me know when you need a hand.” Luke says, turning to Michael who’s absentmindedly filling up the coffee grinder with beans and not looking like he’s heard Luke in the slightest.

“Earth to Michael, come in Michael.” Luke nudges Michael’s arm with his elbow and Michael looks up with a start.

“Oh yeah, sorry. That’s fine,” Michael replies quickly.

“Are you going to be okay out here on your own?” Luke jokes. “You look like you could burn yourself on steam or tip grounds everywhere at any minute.”

“Yes Luke,” Michael replies testily. “Now go and make some cake and let me do my job, I’ll call you when it gets busy.”

This is the way it works with the two of them in the morning, Luke getting a head start on his batters while Michael deals with the dribs and drabs of the early customers. When it gets to 8am and the little cafe starts getting really busy, Luke will step out to the front to help, and they will work seamlessly together; Michael tamping coffee and steaming milk expertly, whilst Luke takes orders and fills bags with breakfast pastries and muffins. After the rush dies down, Luke will retreat back into the kitchen and start the doughs for the next days’ croissants, until lunch time and he’ll be back out to give Michael a hand with slicing bread and toasting sandwiches.

He enjoys the buzz of service with Michael, moving round each other with a well practised air and smiling at customers, his favourite bit is getting glimpses of the joy they get from something that he’s created. He’s most comfortable in the kitchen though; in the sweetly calming clouds of icing sugar and the reassuring warmth of the ovens, most at ease on his own with slightly sticky hands, flour perpetually dusting all of his clothes and with a speaker quietly playing his favourite songs into the vanilla scented air.

“Luke!” He hears Michael’s voice float through the door, just as he’s closing the oven door on 3 sandwich pans of fresh raspberry filled sponge.

“Coming!” He responds, setting his timer for 30 minutes, and pinning it to the top of his apron, before washing his hands and heading out of the door to join Michael. He sees there’s a queue building up and quickly steps behind the counter and smiles at the next customer as Michael pours milk into 3 flat whites in quick succession, a perfect leaf in milk foam appearing in each of them with an artful flick of his wrist.

“Hi, what can I get you?” He smiles at the man who’s just approached the counter.

“A small black Americano to take away, and make it quickly, I’ve already been here 15 minutes and some of us have actual jobs to work you know,” an older man in a suit barks at him, not looking up from his phone.

“So sorry for the delay Sir, we’re very busy as you can see. Can I take a name for that?” Luke grits his teeth but maintains the smile on his face with some effort.

“It’s Richard,” the man says pompously. “And maybe you should employ more staff if you’re this busy.”

“We’ll take your feedback on board,” Luke replies, his smile coming forced. He writes the man's order, and “Dick” in tiny writing underneath on a cup before turning round and putting it on top of the coffee machine, rolling his eyes at Michael as he does so. Michael smirks in return, pressing his lips together to quell a laugh and slotting the portafilter into place under the grinder.

“That’ll be £2.00 please.”

“Actually I think I’d like to speak to the manager about the poor service before I pay,” The man says brusquely.

“She’s not here at the moment unfortunately,” Luke responds, not bothering to maintain the smile.

“Well then I’d like to speak to the most senior person here,” The man continues.

“You’re looking at him,” Luke replies coolly, crossing his arms. He’s never been good at dealing with difficult customers, which is why he prefers being in his quiet domain in the kitchen, but he’s dealt with men like this before, all talk but no action when pushed.

“I think you’re being incredibly rude, you’ve made me wait a ridiculous amount of time for a coffee which is priced extortionately, and now you’re going to be disrespectful to my face,” The man snaps.

“Maybe if people like you just paid and left then nobody would have to wait as long.” A calm voice comes from behind the man.

Luke looks around the rapidly reddening man in front of him to see the source of the voice and sees a man around his age in a suit, with a pair of headphones slung around his neck. Luke tries not to stare but the man is gorgeous, all deep brown eyes the colour of rich dark chocolate ganache, and swooping dark hair, his eyebrows raised and plump lips pursed slightly.

The older man starts spluttering angrily, “And who do you think you are to say something like that to me?”

The younger man just shrugs and continues to look at him calmly, not bothering to elaborate. Luke takes the opportunity to hold out the card machine towards the older man.

“£2.00 please,” He repeats.

The man scowls and taps his card against the machine.

“You can wait at the end for your drink,” Luke says with a dry smile.

The man grunts but moves away to the side with a glare.

“Thanks,” Luke says quietly, smiling at the younger man as he approaches.

The man’s lips spread into a genuine smile and Luke thinks they look even better that way if that were possible. “No worries, I think you were handling it fine, it was just an observation.” His voice is warm and deep, reminding Luke of a buttery caramel sauce.

Luke bites his lip and tries not to blush. “What can I get for you?”

“Flat white, please,” The man says, still smiling at Luke.

“Name?” Luke attempts to hide his face behind the cup he’s just picked up.

“Calum,” He says. “But I think I’ll take that to have in if you don’t mind?”

“Of course!” Luke says quickly, fumbling his pen slightly as he switches the paper cup for a ceramic one, peeling a sticky note so he can write Calum’s order. “Anything to eat?”

“I’m new here, what do you recommend?” Calum says, cocking his head slightly before looking over the display case. “It all looks amazing.”

Luke definitely blushes this time and clears his throat. “Well the pains au chocolat are quite good I think,” he says nervously.

“Let’s go with that then.” Calum smiles again and Luke thinks his legs might have melted into his shoes but he can’t seem to move them to check if that’s true or not.

“Or if you wanted something sweeter you could go with one of the lemon muffins, or the strawberry cupc-”

“Luke,” Michael interrupts from behind him. “Please stop flirting with this nice man and get on with serving the other eight nice people we have waiting?” He begs.

If Luke thought he was blushing before it's nothing compared to the heat he feels in his face now. He turns to Michael and throws him daggers.

“The pain au chocolat sounds perfect.” Calum fishes out his wallet. “And your colleague’s right, I’m being a bit of a hypocrite after telling that twat to hurry up aren’t I?” He pushes a hand through his hair and smiles apologetically.

“No, you’re fine it’s no problem at all,” Luke manages to get out. “That’ll be £5.60.”

Luke lets Calum tap his card on the machine and then busies himself with pulling the pastry out and onto a plate which he places on a tray with a napkin, ready for Michael to put the coffee on when it's been made.

“Why don’t you go and sit down, Luke will bring it over in a few minutes if you’re not in too much of a rush?” Michael suggests, pressing the buttons on the coffee machine and sliding a cup underneath to catch the espresso starting to stream out.

Calum looks bemusedly at Michael for a second before shrugging. “That’d be great, yeah. My office is just round the corner so I’ve got a few minutes. Thanks… Luke.” He says Luke’s name like he’s deciding how he likes the taste of it in his mouth, before quirking his lips once more, and heading to a table in the corner of the cafe.

“What are you doing?” Luke hisses at Michael as he takes the next customer’s order, writing quickly on another cup and fishing change out of the till when the woman hands over a five pound note. “You were just making a point about how busy we were!”

“I’m not telling you to go and sit down with him,” Michael whispers back, only just audible over the sound of the coffee grinder. “But he’s obviously into you, just take his coffee and flirt a bit and then come back and help me!”

Luke takes the most recent batch of completed coffees and distributes them to the waiting customers, smiling slightly when the rude man snatches it off him and storms out on his phone without even checking the name on the cup. He takes another order and passes it to Michael, just as Michael finishes off a flat white with a perfect heart.

“There,” He says in a pleased voice, setting it down next to the pain au chocolat on Calum’s tray. “Now off you go.”

Luke smiles at the woman he’s just served then glares at the tray and at Michael. “What have you put a heart on it for!” He yelps.

“It’s called flirting!” Michael starts steaming another jug of milk.

“He’s going to think you like him not me!” Luke protests.

“Just go!” Michael hisses, finishing up another coffee and handing it to a waiting customer. “Hi, how are you?” He intercepts the next person waiting at the counter before Luke can do anything about it.

Luke huffs noisily and picks up the tray reluctantly. He wouldn’t go over at all, but Calum did help him with the arsehole customer so the least he can do is actually provide the service he came in for and give the man his coffee. He heads over to where Calum is sat, with his headphones on and jiggling his knee as he types something into his phone. He looks up at the sounds of Luke putting his plate down on the table and smiles gratefully. Luke then sets down the coffee next to the plate and tries to tamp down his instinct to run away immediately. Calum looks at the coffee and then up at Luke, eyes twinkling and a blush in his cheeks.

“Hope you have a great day!” Luke squeaks out and speed walks back to the counter.

“So?” Michael asks as he fishes out a croissant and places it in a bag, tapping the end of the tongs on the glass.

“Uh, I told him to have a good day then ran away before he could respond,“ Luke mutters, snatching the bag off Michael and handing it off to the customer in front of him.

“Luke -” Michael starts.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Luke snaps. “Make coffee.”

“Okay boss,” Michael says, barely repressing a giggle.

Luke spends the next 15 minutes regretting every life choice he’s ever made and resolutely not looking towards the corner Calum is sat in, focusing entirely on the rush of customers. At about 8:45 he sees out the corner of his eye that Calum has stood up, brushing a few crumbs off his knee and patting his pockets. Luke turns around and busies himself with writing the next order on a cup for Michael so that Calum can leave without making eye contact with him. When he deems that it’s been long enough, he turns back to the counter, but standing just off to the side is Calum, scuffing a hand up through the back of his hair and smiling shyly at Luke again.

“Just wanted to say, an inspired choice on the pain au chocolat.” He says. “Send my compliments to the chef,”

“Oh erm, thanks, I will.” Luke stutters out.

“Bye, Luke,” Calum says. “Maybe see you tomorrow, and... Hope you have a great day too.” His face breaks out into a wider smile that reminds Luke of the feeling of getting just the right consistency for macaron batter, or a perfectly smooth finish on a cake or the way good puff pastry flakes into the perfect fragments when you cut through a mille-feuille. Or something.

With that Calum slips his headphones back onto his head and leaves the cafe.

“You are a useless sack of shit you know that,” Michael scoffs at him.

“Fuck off,” Luke mutters under his breath. “Two words. Ashton. Irwin.” Michael glares back at him.

They get through the last half hour of the rush as normal, Luke pausing only briefly to pull the sponges out of the oven, and he’s twitching more than ever to get back into the safety of his kitchen with some dough in his hands and the comforting whirr of his mixers.

“Okay I’m all good here, you can go,” Michael smiles at him shaking his head.

Luke basically runs through the doors into the back and inhales deeply. God, he needs to get a grip.

It continues like this over the next few weeks. Calum will come in most mornings, and sometimes he’s in a rush, smiling apologetically as he orders to take away. Most mornings though, he will appear earlier, choose something to eat on Luke’s recommendation and sits at the table in the corner for 20 minutes before complimenting what he’s eaten on his way out. Luke never speaks to him short of suggesting a new pastry or muffin (and maybe he’s also developing new options everyday just to be able to give Calum something else to praise), but he does spend quite a lot of time looking at Calum sitting in his corner, long fingers wrapping around his mug of coffee and mouth chewing thoughtfully on whatever Luke’s provided him with whilst he jiggles his knee to his music.

Luke swears that sometimes when he chances one of these looks over to him whilst he’s serving a customer, Calum is looking back at him, but his brown eyes always blink away as soon as Luke’s catch them.

Predictably, Michael is absolutely insufferable about it.

“Loverboy’s looking at you again,” He smirks, checking the most recent order Luke has written for him.

“Shut up, Mikey,” Luke says petulantly. “He is not.”

“He’s always looking at you, Luke,” Michael laughs. “You’re actually driving me mad, please just ask him out or something, you two have the most obvious thing for each other ever. ”

“We do not, he doesn’t like me like that,” Luke protests. “He could be looking at you for all we know, you were the one who put a heart on his flat white,” he adds, sourly.

“You should see his face drop when he comes in here and you’re already in the back,” Michael responds knowingly. “He looks like someone’s pissed in his coffee every time you’re not here to stammer at him about what cakes you’ve made.”

Luke’s face flames red and he turns his back on Michael deliberately to serve the next customer, as he hears Michael’s suppressed giggles behind him. Look, he knows Michael might have a point and that he could just talk to Calum, but Luke doesn’t really know how, unless he’s talking about pastry or ganache or sponges words just don’t come that easily to him. Especially when faced with someone who looks like Calum does. He sighs and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, as if summoned by Luke’s thoughts, there Calum is at the edge of the counter.

“Blueberry muffin was particularly good today,” He says quietly with his usual smile. “Have a good day, Luke.” He gives a small wave and exits the cafe. Luke opens his mouth to say something before he can leave, but nothing comes out so he just closes it again. He kicks the edge of the counter grumpily.

“I’m literally the worst ever,” He groans, spinning round and going through to the kitchen, swinging the door behind him, Michael’s laughs following him through.

Luke is having what he thinks might be the most disastrous day ever. It’s after 5pm, the cafe has just closed and he would normally think about going home soon but Em’s got the day off and he’s not been able to make half of the stuff he needs to for tomorrow. Every ganache he’s attempted has split, he’s burnt one batch of cupcakes and under-cooked another so they’ve sunk in the centre, he’s crystallised his caramel so its unusable, and the chocolate he tempered for the triple chocolate layer cake he has planned has come out mottled and dull. He hates to admit it but the worst part of it was that he didn’t even see Calum this morning, he worked out the front much longer than he normally does in the hope of seeing the other man, but he never turned up. Michael had just raised his eyebrows and given him a knowing grin as he had slumped back into the kitchen at well past half-nine. He sighs at himself as he pushes a hand through his curly hair which he’s had to pull back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck, and tips another set of cakes into the bin.

He hears a knock on the back door of the kitchen, and the door opening. A curly brown head appears round the door frame.

“Hi Luke, Is this a bad time?” Ashton says, surveying the disarray before him, bowls and utensils on every surface, half finished cakes and fillings littering the other available spaces.

Luke huffs out a laugh and wipes his hands on his apron. “No you’re fine come on in, just having one of those days. Sorry for the state of it in here.”

Ashton smiles at him and steps into the kitchen, going to the store where he knows they keep the empty bread crates. “No worries at all mate! Oh I brought my flatmate with me, hope you don’t mind. Calum had the day off today and I roped him into helping me do the pick-ups.”

Luke’s mouth drops open as Calum Calum sidesteps into the kitchen and smiles at Luke embarrassed. “Uh, hi?”

Luke just gapes, spatula limp in one hand.

“Just going out the front for a sec, Cal, just need to check something with Michael!” Ashton calls quickly exiting the room. Luke thinks he spots a smirk on Ashton’s face and his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Uh, sorry for barging in on you like this,” Calum starts, standing awkwardly by the door still. “When Ash said he did deliveries for cafes in the local area I didn’t know he meant yours as well.”

“Missed you this morning,” Luke blurts out, then promptly feels himself turn red, again. Jesus Christ where did that come from? He wants to disappear like, immediately and wonders whether he could shut himself in the walk-in without Calum noticing.

A small pleased smile appears on Calum’s face and he blushes slightly. “I thought it might be a bit desperate to also turn up when I’m not even in the office. But I guess I’m here anyway.”

“Well I’m glad,” Luke says quietly, ducking his head and biting his lip.

Calum’s eyes twinkle at him. “So this is where the magic happens?” He asks, examining his surroundings.

Luke groans. “Don’t look at it like his,” he begs. “I’m usually such an organised worker I promise, I’m just, having a few issues.”

Calum smiles and comes over to stand next to Luke. Luke inhales sharply and thinks that Calum smells like the freshly baked bread in Ashton’s van but also something else, sweet and spicy, like a hot cinnamon and apple cake or a warm speculoos biscuit just out of the oven.

“Can I help with anything while I’m here?” He asks softly, reaching out hesitantly and barely grazing Luke’s elbow. Luke focuses on trying to regulate his breaths which is proving almost impossible with Calum standing so close to him, the feeling of his warm hand through his sleeve and the sight of the concerned smile on his face.

“It’ll be okay I think,” he manages to get out breathily. “Thanks though, that’s very sweet of you.”

“No, I think that’s you,” Calum says quietly, reddening a bit but looking up to meet Luke’s eyes.

He reaches out and brushes a hand gently through an escaping curl on Luke’s face.

“You’ve got a bit of flour here.” He says quietly, tilting his head to one side and twisting Luke’s hair around his finger briefly. “And here,” Calum continues, skimming his fingers across Luke’s cheekbone. “Here too,” he murmurs, stepping even closer to Luke and dragging his fingertips under Luke’s chin and down the side of his neck, leaving them to rest curling slightly into the collar of Luke’s shirt and looking at Luke in the eyes. Luke’s not sure if he can breathe, lost in the gentle stroke of Calum’s hand and the swirling chocolate of his eyes, feeling the pink blush dusting across his skin, left in the wake of Calum’s touch. His eyes flicker down to Calum’s lips, and he sees them curve into a smile, before he leans forward slightly and catches Luke’s own lips in a soft kiss.

“Hm,” Calum murmurs as he pulls away slightly. “You taste sweet too.”

Luke honestly thinks this might be the best moment of his life so far, and slides his hand over Calum’s shoulder to pull him back towards him, but just as he does he hears a scuffling sound from outside the swing door into the main cafe.

“Mikey is that you?” Luke asks suspiciously, stepping away from Calum slightly and turning towards the door. Calum steps back too, but loops an arm loosely around Luke’s waist, fingers playing with the ties of his apron.

“No,” a voice comes through the door.

“Get in here,” Luke says bossily, “You too Ashton I know you’re out there.”

The two of them appear in the doorway, Michael having the good grace to look a little ashamed but Ashton doesn’t even bother, a huge shit eating grin on his face.

“What is going on here?” Luke demands, narrowing his eyes at the pair of them. He’s trying to stay stern but it's proving very difficult when he can feel Calum’s hands skim along his side and him gently nose his shoulder blade as he huffs out a giggle behind him.

“What I think is going on is that you, Lukey, and dearest Cal Pal might have been having a moment?” Ashton smirks at the two of them.

“I don’t know how you two are involved in this but I know you are and I want you to explain yourselves,” Luke says petulantly. He then looks at Ashton and Michael closer and catches sight of their hands clasped, hidden slightly behind Ashton.

“What is going on here?!” Luke repeats again, gesturing at their hands. He sees Michael (and Ashton come to think of it) every day, how has he missed this? Probably because he’s been lost in thoughts of Calum for the last 3 weeks he reasons with himself.

Michael blushes to the roots of his hair and pulls away from Ashton slightly but Ashton just tugs him into his body, curving his hand around Michael's hip and pressing a kiss into his neck before releasing him.

“Well Michael and I started talking the other week, and we found out that by some miracle that the Calum that happened to be coming in everyday to stare at Luke for 20 minutes and leave, was the same Calum who lives in my flat and won’t stop talking about the gorgeous cake maker who works at the cafe round the corner from his office.” Ashton says, laughing, as Calum makes a wounded noise of protest and hides his face in Luke’s shoulder. “And this very Luke that Calum wouldn’t stop talking about happened to be the Luke that I deliver bread to every morning and apparently won’t stop throwing longing glances at Calum from the other side of the counter when he thinks he’s not looking.”

Luke squeaks, and feels Calum giggle behind him, both arms coming round his waist and dropping his chin onto Luke’s shoulder.

“And you two thought you would mastermind a plan then I suppose,” Calum says amusedly.

“Why aren’t you more annoyed by this,” Luke gripes, turning his head to try to glare at Calum but managing only to brush his nose against his cheek.

“Because I got what I wanted out of it, regardless of the method,” Calum says sweetly, and Luke blushes again.

“That doesn’t explain.. This!” Luke gestures at Michael and Ashton, he doesn’t know quite why his brain has fixated on this development when he has Calum basically draped along his back but what has happened in the last 10 minutes has been too much for his brain to handle.

“Well we had to come up with a plan so I asked Ashton if he wanted to go for food,” Michael finally pipes up, a small pleased smile on his face.

“You did?” Luke asks in what he acknowledges is probably quite a rude way but this was a turn of events he was not expecting.

“Well maybe watching you pine so disgustingly made me want to do something about it,” Michael retorts, but there’s no heat in it.

“I knew the hot cross bun would work,” Ashton says solemnly, and Michael jabs him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Okay, I’ve decided that’s enough of the two of you,” Calum says. “Go and scheme elsewhere now please.”

Ashton laughs and salutes them before tugging Michael out of the back door.

“I honestly can’t believe this,” Luke begins, “they think they can just meddle in our business and force us into the same room together and that we’ll just kiss and they can pat themselves on the back for a job well done?”

Calum is quiet beside him and Luke turns to look at him. “Well?”

Calum smiles at him, that one that makes Luke feel like he’s floating in sweet mallow clouds and tips his head slightly to the side. “I mean I’m sorry Luke but that’s exactly how it happened, so yes I suppose they can.”

Luke begins to make a noise of protest but Calum just grabs the front of his apron and pulls him back towards him.

“You can carry this on later, but can we stop talking about Michael and Ashton for one second? I was sort of busy before they came in,” Calum whispers over Luke’s lips.

“Yeah okay,” Luke responds, leaning into Calum and catching his lips back against his own.

Calum pulls away after a couple of minutes and brushes another rogue curl out of Luke’s face. “So about that help you turned down earlier, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll start cleaning some of these things up and you can get on and do what you do best.” Calum leans in and gives him one last peck before heading over to the sink and starting to run the tap.

Luke smiles, slightly dazed and runs his fingers over his lips, thinking Calum tastes pretty sweet himself, a little bit like the warm vanilla air in his kitchen and a lot like home.

#5sos fanfiction #cake fic #5sos fic #cake #meg fic #this is meg from the past as i have SCHEDULED this as i am busy #ya girl wrote some cake content and it's entirely self-serving #this is probably too long to read nicely on tumblr i should probably sort an ao3 acc #also apologies for any errors im still getting to grips with this and i didn't get anyone to read this for me first #also FUN FACT all the things luke talks about making are my own recipes and things i make 😌 thats how self serving this js

27 notes · View notes