nellnightlywrites

[nellnightlywrites]

Ezra makes Roasted Garlic & Fennel Bagels. For Niko. Obviously. Not because he’s obsessed. Not at all.

“He’s not a vampire… right?”

1 bulb garlic (small, about 8–10 cloves) 1½ tablespoons fennel seeds (optional, coarsely ground) 500g all-purpose or bread flour 18g sugar (1½ tbsp) 10g salt (1½ tsp) 7g instant yeast (2¼ tsp) 300g warm water (1¼ cup) — maybe a splash more if it feels dry 1 egg (with 1 tsp water, for egg wash) Fennel seeds, again. (For flair. For seduction. For proof he wasn’t a vampire.)

Ezra rolled his eyes and shook the flour bag like it owed him answers. That vlogger Lydia Saint was completely unhinged.

“Niko Duran is a Vampire! Here’s this definitely-not-photoshopped Daguerreotype from 1888!” Ezra had laughed, then clicked it anyway.

It was good photoshop. Too good. Disturbingly good.

And somehow… she had 80,000 followers now.

He felt his stomach twist as he dusted the counter with a little more flour. He reached into the bowl with both hands, the dough sticky and soft like pale skin, and slammed it onto the counter with a satisfying thud.

He grinned.

The garlic had just started to roast. Its scent was earthy, golden, real. Vampires can’t eat garlic, right?

Ezra let out a small laugh. It slipped out of him before he could catch it.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

Then again… knowing Niko, he was probably gluten-free. Or macrobiotic. Or one of those terrifying humans who drank broth instead of dinner.

Ezra shook his head and kept kneading. He pressed his palms into the dough and watched it spread under the pressure, then folded the edges in and pressed again. And again.

The repetition helped. The kitchen was quiet except for the rhythmic thud of dough on marble and the gentle hiss of oil bubbling around the garlic in the oven. The smell was getting stronger. His mouth watered.

And yet—his stomach flipped. Again.

He flour-dusted his hands and kept kneading like it would fix everything.

He didn’t know if Niko would even eat them.

Didn’t know if he’d laugh, or smile, or touch Ezra’s wrist the way he had that night, after the match, when the locker room was empty and the air smelled like eucalyptus and sweat.

Ezra didn’t know anything anymore.

Except that he was still here, baking bagels for a maybe-vampire with beautiful hands and sad eyes.

And the garlic was burning.

recipe source

[nellnightlywrites]

From Ezra Hale's Journal

Undated Entry

What is this? This feeling of being so filled up with someone I can’t think, can’t breathe, can barely see?

Practice was hell today. Dad ranted about “wasting time and money” — Coach just shook his head and left the courts without a word.

And him. All I could think about was him. The kisses I traced along his jaw. The way my lips tingled against his cold, impossibly smooth skin. His dark eyes, heavy with something like desire. And maybe… hunger?

“Why don’t you age?” I’d whispered it into the quiet, curled against his chest, damp and spent. He squeezed me tighter. “Sleep,” he murmured. So I did.

Hillary walked past me on the way to the kitchen. A few seconds later, the couch dipped beside me.

“Who is he?” Her voice sharp. Her gaze piercing. Like she could smell him on me.

No one. No one. No one. He hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Will probably ignore me when we get to Indian Wells.

“No one,” I told her.

She snorted. “Well, you look like shit. Do I need to teach you how to use concealer? Get some fucking sleep.” Then she was gone. Her lavender perfume lingering like a soft warning.

I’ve got to do something. I think I might be going crazy. If this keeps up, Dad’s going to have a stroke. Honestly? I wish he’d go back on tour — since he’s the one who wants these trophies so badly.

But the silence from Coach… That’s worse.

Do I call him? I don’t want to seem like some piney little kid who can’t get over a crush.

But God — the way he held me. The way he sniffed my neck and laughed before kissing just behind my ear.

“What’s so funny?” I’d asked, already half asleep.

“You’re just so alive. And delicious.”

What I would give to feel that chill again. Even that bit of dread.

“Just don’t eat me while I sleep,” I’d mumbled.

But now? The idea of him devouring me, Savoring me — It’s all I want. It’s all I want.

[nellnightlywrites]

LOVE ALL - Coming Soon

🩸 A queer vampire tennis romance in infinite sets.

Two players. One centuries-old secret.

Niko Duran — the most decorated tennis player in history. Graceful. Cold. Untouchable. But no one ever asks why he never sweats. Or why his backhand hasn't changed in 30 years.

Ezra Hale — a soft-hearted lefty born into a brutal tennis dynasty. What he really wants is to open a bagel shop in Vermont. What he doesn’t expect is to fall for the man his father once played... in 1997.

Fog-drenched courts. Leather gloves in July. Fangs hidden beneath polite post-match interviews.

Love All is a slow-burning gothic romance full of longing, secrets, soft hands, and rallying hearts.

🕯️ Posts begin soon.