#ENGLISH MUFFINS HERE I COME

[abandoned-as-mustard]

Goshdangit I know exactly what I am having for breakfast tomorrow. Do you know how important this is to looking forward to tomorrow? Plan one (1) thing you're going to eat.

[muffinmoonn]

nozomachi fans make some noise *crickets*

[andy-clutterbuck]

[adelliet]

Bob reynolds x f!reader

FATAL ACCIDENT

Summary: When Bob accidentally caught you in a deeply inappropriate moment, he decided to make it up to you. He brought muffins and suggested a movie night. Neither of you expected what would happen next… or how everything would change between you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, unprotected sex (piv), dry humping, multiple orgasms, stimulating through clothes, cum in pants, soft sex, creampie, sleeping inside of each other, sweet ending, sub!Bob, use of Y/N

A/n: Hi there! I hope you'll like this story/smut! I really tried my best so…anyways, if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

It was late, well past midnight, when Bob found himself standing outside your door. The rest of the tower had gone quiet hours ago, wrapped in the peaceful hush that only came once the chaos of the day had settled. Lights were dimmed, hallways empty, and the low hum of distant generators was the only thing keeping him company. But he knew you. You were a night owl, always the last one to go to sleep. That’s what brought him here in the first place.

He told himself it was just a small question about the mission briefing tomorrow. Something minor. Something he could’ve asked anyone else, sure—but not at this hour. And not with the way his brain kept coming back to you, no matter how many reasons he tried to invent.

So, he knocked. A quick, rhythmic tap. Nothing.

He paused, waiting for your voice, footsteps, any movement. Silence. He knocked again—same rhythm, a little firmer this time. Still, nothing.

He called out your name gently, voice soft but just loud enough to carry through the door. Not a yell, but enough that you would’ve heard it if you were in there.

Still no answer.

That ache in his chest started to grow—tight, warm, and completely irrational. He knew you were probably just asleep, headphones in maybe, passed out after a long day. Nothing bad had happened. He told himself that twice, then again, like repetition would make it true.

But it didn’t ease the tension building behind his ribs. It didn’t stop the way his fingers curled against his palm or the faint pull in his stomach as the silence stretched on. And still—no sound from the other side of the door.

Bob’s worry was growing by the second. He knew that you were probably fine. But still, that uncomfortable knot in his chest didn’t go away. He lingered by the door, biting the inside of his cheek before clearing his throat softly.

“Can I come in?” he asked, still hopeful for a response.

Nothing.

He hesitated only a second longer before his hand reached for the doorknob. He turned it slowly, carefully, as though the metal itself might protest. The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, just a crack at first.

He peeked inside, half-expecting to catch you mid-change or in a situation where he absolutely should not be present. But the room was empty.

No one in sight.

He stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room smelled faintly like your perfume and something warm, like vanilla and fabric softener. Familiar and comforting.

But then he heard it. The sound of running water. A soft, steady stream. His eyes darted toward the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, just enough for steam to be drifting out and curling into the air.

You were in the shower.

Relief rushed through him like a wave. You were safe. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and smiled to himself, already turning to quietly slip back out of the room. He could talk to you tomorrow. No big deal.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice rang out from down the hall.

Bob froze. Panic hit him like a truck. The sound of footsteps rushed toward the door. She was heading this way. Fast.

“Oh no no no,” Bob whispered under his breath, looking around in a frantic circle. His brain went blank. If Yelena saw him in your room, especially this late, especially without you even in the room, well, that would definitely send a message. One he wasn’t ready to explain.

His eyes darted to your closet. No good. Not enough room. Under the bed? He’d never fit. His thoughts were racing. The doorknob outside jiggled slightly as Yelena neared—

And in a moment of sheer panic, Bob made the only decision he could. He turned and slipped into your bathroom. The steam hit him like a wall and before his brain could yell STOP, he realized where he was. Inyour bathroom while you were still in the shower.

Bob’s hands were up like he was surrendering to an armed SWAT team, his fingers trembling as sheer panic rushed through his entire body. His chest was tight, breathing shallow, and every cell in his brain was screaming, Why are you here? Why the hell did you think this would be a good idea?

He stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, as the sound of the shower continued, taunting him. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. He was in the bathroom. With you. While you were still in the damn shower.

And before he could even string together a plan, or even a thought, he heard her again.

“Y/N!” Yelena’s voice echoed louder now, clearly already inside your bedroom.

Bob’s soul practically left his body. From inside the shower, your annoyed voice finally rang out over the sound of the water.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, clearly frustrated.

Then the stream shut off. Bob’s heart jumped into his throat. His tongue felt dry as sand. His skin was burning and cold at the same time. Oh no. Oh no. Oh God.

He stared helplessly at the fogged-up glass of the shower door, and when you slid it open— he saw you.

Completely naked.

Water still clung to your skin in droplets, sliding down the curve of your neck, your collarbones, gliding along your thighs like liquid silk. You hadn’t seen him yet, but he was already about to combust from embarrassment and sheer secondhand shame.

And then your eyes landed on him.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you screamed, your voice pure panic and fury as you instinctively reached for a towel and yanked it around your dripping frame.

“I—I’m sorry—I didn’t—” Bob choked out, immediately spinning around to face the wall, his entire face a violent shade of red. His hands went back up, this time like he was trying to blot himself out of existence.

But fate wasn’t done dragging him through hell just yet. Because just then, Yelena pushed the bathroom door open. And paused.

“Woah. What the fuck is happening here?” she asked in her signature deadpan tone, heavy Russian accent slicing through the awkwardness like a hot knife through shame.

You, still clutching your towel and dripping on the floor, looked absolutely stunned. “I have no idea what he’s doing in here!” you snapped, eyes wide with a cocktail of betrayal and pure what-the-actual-hell.

Bob didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He was practically vibrating with anxiety, lips pressed into a thin, miserable line. His whole body was trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

He was so unbelievably screwed.

It was the next afternoon when you heard a soft knock on your door. You didn’t even need to ask who it was. You knew instantly.

“Come in,” you called calmly, already anticipating the awkwardness that was about to step through the door.

Bob peeked his head in first, like he was making sure it was safe before fully entering. Then, with a hesitant “Hey…” he stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him.

He looked… guilty. Shy.

His cheeks were flushed pink, his posture small and careful, and his legs? Slightly shaking. He was holding a plate of something in his hands—and the second he came closer, the sweet scent of freshly baked muffins filled the room like a warm, edible apology.

You were sitting on your bed, a book in your lap, one brow raised as you watched him silently. You weren’t mad anymore—but you were curious. And you were definitely going to make him squirm a little first.

For a moment, the room was wrapped in silence. Bob shifted awkwardly, his weight bouncing between his feet, clearly searching for the right words.

“I, uh…” he started, eyes flicking to yours then immediately down again. “I wanted to apologize… for yesterday. I—I didn’t mean for any of that to happen and… as an apology, I… got you these.”

He stepped forward, extending the plate like a peace offering, holding it out to you with a hopeful look in his eyes.

The muffins smelled amazing—still warm, soft in the center with little chunks of what looked like chocolate and banana. You looked up at him and took a deep breath.

He looked so genuinely remorseful. That kicked-puppy look on his face nearly made your heart melt. You knew he didn’t mean to barge in on you, and you definitely knew he wasn’t some creep.

Still. You had one burning question.

“Why were you even in there?” you asked gently, but there was still a bit of edge in your tone. You needed to hear it straight from him.

Bob’s arms retreated slightly as he clutched the plate back toward his chest, like the question caught him off-guard.

“I—I just wanted to ask if you were coming with us to the England mission,” he said honestly, blinking fast. “That’s all. I swear.”

Ah. That explained it. That put the final puzzle piece into place.

You nodded slowly, letting out a small breath and placing your book aside. You scooted forward, settling on the edge of your bed, resting your hands down on the mattress beside you.

Your expression shifted, now more playful than stern.

“So…” you said, tilting your head just slightly. “How much did you see?”

Bob blinked, clearly caught off guard by your question.

His eyes widened just a bit, and his shoulders tensed.

“Uh—I didn’t see anything,” he said too quickly. Way too quickly. “Like… nothing at all. Swear.”

You raised a brow. Just stared at him. That stare that you knew always made people squirm. Bob shifted awkwardly, the plate of muffins now looking like the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

You didn’t say anything. You just waited and it worked. Eventually, he cracked. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, gaze flickering down to the floor like it was the only thing willing to forgive him.

“Okay… I—I saw a little. But I barely remember, I swear. It was just a second.”

His voice was soft, guilty. And you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head with a smile and stood up from the bed.

“It’s fine, Bob,” you said with a gentle wave of your hand. “I’m over it.”

You walked up to him, close enough to smell the sugar and chocolate clinging to the muffins.

“You made these?” you asked, nodding toward the plate.

He nodded sheepishly. You narrowed your eyes, suspicious.

“You don’t bake.”

“I don’t,” he admitted with a shy chuckle. “But… I looked up your favorite recipe. I figured if I’m gonna apologize, I should at least do it right.”

His voice was so genuine, and there was something so… stupidly sweet about the way he stood there, just hoping they were edible.

You smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to pick up one of the muffins. You took a bite. It was warm, fluffy, and the flavor hit perfectly. Just the right balance of chocolate and banana.

Honestly? Kind of impressive.

“They’re actually really good,” you said, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thanks.”

There was a moment. A quiet beat between you where something sparked. You looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Try one,” you offered, nudging the plate toward him.

“Oh, no, I—” Bob took a tiny step back. “They’re for you.”

Before he could make another excuse, you rolled your eyes, grabbed the plate from his hands and picked up another muffin.

“You’re eating it,” you said, no room for negotiation.

He opened his mouth to protest, but you were already pushing the muffin into it.

Literally.

He choked out a laugh as you shoved it into his face. He bit down instinctively, chewing with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, crumbs already on his lips. You giggled, watching him use his fingers to wipe his mouth, and that’s when something shifted.

Suddenly, time slowed. The laughter died down, but that flutter in your stomach didn’t. A pulse between your legs sparked to life, and you became acutely aware of the heat building inside you.

You watched the way Bob chewed, the way his jaw moved, the way his tongue darted out to catch a crumb near the corner of his mouth.

And just like that… you were wet. Soaking.

And all you could think about was how pretty he looked. How soft and gentle.

Of course, Bob had always been cute to you. From the very first time you saw him, with that messy hair and his little giggle that felt too soft for someone who flew jets and handled missions like a pro.

He was sweet. But never hot. Not in a “I want to drag you into bed and ruin you” kind of way. But now? Something had shifted.

You didn’t know if it was the ovulation hormones messing with your brain chemistry, or the fact that he saw you naked in the shower, or maybe it was his maddeningly addictive cologne, but something clicked.

And suddenly… he was sexy. Like, you-couldn’t-stop-thinking-about-his-mouth sexy.

You bit your lip and watched as Bob finished chewing the piece of muffin you’d shoved into his mouth. His lips moved slowly, tongue catching a few crumbs.

He swallowed, glanced at you and said, “It’s not that bad, actually.”

His voice pulled you out of your internal spiral. You nodded a little too quickly, letting out a soft hum in agreement, a smile playing at your lips. He smiled back, a little shy, a little unsure.

“Well…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should probably let you get back to your book.”

You tilted your head. “You’re not bothering me.”

But he still insisted. “Yeah, but… I mean—you probably wanna, y’know, process everything. I just—yeah.”

He moved toward the door, slowly, awkwardly, and you returned to your bed, settling into the pillows with your book in one hand and another muffin in the other, though your eyes weren’t exactly on the page.

Bob was halfway out the door when he paused and turned back.

“Oh! Uh—one more thing,” he said, his voice just a bit higher than usual. “Bucky finally helped me set up that TV in my room, so… I was thinking maybe, tonight, if you’re not busy, we could watch a movie?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want me to be your test subject?”

He shrugged, smiling nervously. “I just don’t wanna sit there and watch it alone like a loser.”

You laughed softly. “Sure, Bob. I’m in.”

His smile widened, that same boyish grin that somehow made your stomach twist now in a very different way.

“Cool. Uh—great. I’ll… come get you later then?”

You nodded, trying not to look too eager. “Sounds good.”

He gave you one last smile before he disappeared behind the door, and the second he was gone your book was forgotten. Your thighs pressed together, the ghost of that look he gave you still lingering.

The lights were dimmed in Bob’s room, the only real glow coming from the soft flicker of the TV screen. You were both sitting on his bed, technically his bed, but it didn’t really feel like that now. Not with the way you were both perched on the edge of it, backs resting lightly against the wall, a shared blanket covering your legs.

You sat just far enough apart for it to be considered “friendly.” A safe distance. But god, you wanted to move closer.

The movie playing was some classic, older film, one of those feel-good, slightly cheesy ones with warm lighting and 90s nostalgia oozing out of every frame. It was so Bob. Of course he’d like something like this. Comforting, predictable and sweet. Just like him.

From time to time, your eyes would drift toward him. He was so focused on the screen, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly during tense scenes, mouth curled just faintly at the corners when something funny happened.

And maybe that was the problem. Because his pure, oblivious cuteness was driving you insane.

Your eyes trailed down to his hands, resting in his lap. To the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. To the way his Adam’s apple bobbed whenever he swallowed. You could practically hear the blood rushing in your ears.

You licked your lips, trying to focus on the movie, but the images blurred. You weren’t even listening anymore.

Why the hell was this happening to you? Why are you suddenly feeling like this? Was it the way his thigh was just barely brushing against yours under the blanket? Or maybe it was that familiar soft scent of his cologne, sweet and woodsy and him?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t fair. Not when he looked that innocent, completely unaware of the storm building inside you.

You’d been pretending to watch the movie for the last ten minutes, but let’s be honest—you hadn’t registered a single scene. Your mind was elsewhere. On him. The steady warmth beside you, the way his scent filled your lungs, the shape of his jaw in the soft glow of the screen.

And then… you cracked. You turned your head slightly, looking at him from under your lashes, your voice soft—almost too soft.

“Hey… um, I’m kinda cold. Mind if I scoot closer?”

It wasn’t even cold.

Bob’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, like you’d just asked him to recite Shakespeare in Russian. He blinked, then gave the tiniest nod.

“Y-Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

You moved closer, slow and deliberate. Your shoulder brushed his. He didn’t flinch—didn’t pull away. Good. But his whole body tensed like a drawn bow.

And then came the real move, you gently laid your head on his shoulder.

Bob didn’t breathe. Like literally, he just froze. His fists clenched in his lap, not from discomfort—but from sheer sensory overload.

He could feel you. All of you. Your warmth sinking into his hoodie, your hair brushing his jaw, your scent melting into the air around him. His brain short-circuited.

This wasn’t a dream, right? You weren’t just… doing this?

He swallowed hard, throat dry, trying not to move or ruin the moment. Your thighs were just barely touching under the blanket. That soft friction, the tension—goddamn.

You noticed everything. The way his jaw clenched. The shudder that ran down his spine. The way his breath stuttered ever so slightly.

Your lips curled into a small smile. He was nervous—but not in a bad way. Not because he was uncomfortable. He was nervous because it mattered to him. And maybe that made it all the more intoxicating.

The sexual tension was practically radiating off his skin—buzzing in the tiny space between your bodies, where your arms nearly touched.

You shifted just a little closer. So close now that you could hear his heartbeat pounding like a drum.

The movie was still playing, but your focus had drifted miles away. Not on the screen. Not on the plot. But on Bob.

The air felt thicker somehow, heavier with something unspoken. Every small glance at him only made it worse. That gentle look on his face, the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked, his throat bobbing every time he swallowed—everything was unbearable in the best kind of way. You had this ache, low and steady, impossible to ignore.

So you moved.

Under the blanket, slow and casual, your hand found his thigh. Just a gentle rest, as if you needed a place to land. Bob tensed immediately, his whole body reacting like a live wire being sparked. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop you. Not even a flinch. He stayed still, as though frozen in place, except for the way his chest was rising just a bit too fast to be calm.

Your thumb began to brush soft circles along the fabric of his sweatpants. Just small, teasing motions, and yet you could feel how it made him react—his thigh twitching slightly beneath your touch, his jaw clenched tight, lips slightly parted as though he didn’t trust himself to breathe through his nose anymore.

You turned your head and whispered, slow and velvety, “By the way… those muffins? They were amazing.”

Bob blinked, once, twice, and barely managed a grunt of a response, like speaking full words would crack him wide open. He gave a slight nod, clearly trying to keep his composure, but failing beautifully.

You smiled, wickedly pleased, and lifted your head from his shoulder so you could really look at him. His eyes locked on yours immediately, wide and uncertain—but undeniably filled with heat. And hope.

“Did you…” you started, voice dipped low like velvet on skin, “like what you saw yesterday?”

He froze.

His lips parted, but no sound came out. His hands, still clenched in his lap, curled even tighter. It was obvious he was trying to say something, trying to figure out if this was real or a fever dream he was about to wake from. The red on his cheeks deepened, and his eyes darted from your face to your lips and back again.

“I—uh—I didn’t mean to—I mean—I didn’t really see—”

You leaned in closer, your hand still warm and steady on his thigh.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind.”

And then you moved your hand. Just a little higher, right where his twitching dick was.

Bob let out a shaky breath—one of those breaths that almost sounded like a prayer, or a curse, or both. He looked like a man on the edge, hanging by a thread spun from every suppressed feeling he’d ever had for you. The tension in his body, the nervous flicker in his eyes, the way his lips parted and didn’t quite close again—all of it screamed one thing:

He wanted you. Badly. And you knew. You leaned in, lips inches from his ear, and asked one last question, barely more than a breath:

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your fingers moved slowly, so slowly it almost felt like an accident. A barely-there stroke through the soft fabric of his sweats. He twitched. You felt it. And still, he didn’t move. He just stayed still, frozen, his breath hitching in his throat and he couldn't even answer you.

Bob’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. His lips parted slightly, a quiet sound slipping from his mouth—a mix between a gasp and a helpless whimper.

You turned your head just enough to see his face. His brows were drawn together, his jaw tight, and he looked so unbelievably vulnerable. Lost. Struggling. But not stopping you.

“You like it?” you whispered, voice low and warm.

He nodded, quickly, too quickly, but didn’t speak. You kept going, slowly, tenderly, through the fabric, feeling the way his whole body reacted to your touch. He was holding onto the edge of the blanket with white knuckles, his other hand hovering, as if unsure where to go or what to do.

“And did you like yesterday?” you asked softly, meaning the shower incident. You leaned a little closer, lips brushing his ear.

Bob choked on a breath, and his head tilted back slightly. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to— I mean—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His voice cracked.

You smiled.

“I think you did,” you murmured.

And then, just as his breath caught and his hips gave the tiniest, helpless twitch beneath the blanket, you felt it. His whole body tensing, stuttering, a soft, broken noise escaping his throat as he came apart completely under your hand.

Bob froze, then practically curled into himself. Face flushed deep red, breathing erratic, shame washing over him like a wave.

“I—I’m so sorry,” he whispered. His voice was small, strained, like he wanted to disappear.

“No I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” you felt guilty, more than Bob did. You just wanted to tease him a bit, just a few touches. Who knew Bob was that sensitive, but in the end you didn't mind.

“I uh…it's been a while since I've been with someone…” Bob tried to explain himself, even tho he didn't need to. You understand. You smiled at him, sighing.

“It's okay…we can go slow,” your sweet tone calmed Bob down, his chest wasn't raising that fast, and his eyes softened.

The eye contact was so loud, but at the same time so quiet. Soft and gentle, barely brushing your lips against his, just testing the waters, but when you kissed him again, he melted. Your lips were making wet sounds, as you explored your mouths, touching your tongues and mixing your salivas.

After a long make out session, you slowly swung one leg over his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, the quiet rustle of your clothes and the soft shift of the bed were the only sounds for a moment.

Settling on top of him carefully, you totally made him forget everything else but the feeling of you, the heat between you, the way your mouths moved together like they were made for this.

His hands finally moved to your hips, trembling just slightly, like he needed the confirmation that this was real.

The pressure of you settling onto him was electric. Your bodies fit together like matching puzzle pieces, your chest pressed gently to his, and you could feel the way his breath stuttered beneath you. Your forehead met his for a moment, just a shared breath, your fingers tangling in his tousled hair.

Then, really gently, you began to move. Not urgently, not to finish something, but to explore. The softest grind of your hips into his, dragging fabric against fabric, building friction that made his lips part in a quiet, broken gasp. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes kissing his cheeks, and his hands clutched your sides like he needed grounding.

You could feel it all. The growing heat pooling low in your belly, the ache between your legs intensifying with each shift, and the clear tension in Bob’s body as he whimpered helplessly. His head tipped back against the wall, exposing the long line of his neck, and his thighs tensed beneath yours.

“Is this okay?” you asked softly, your voice breathless but sure.

He nodded quickly, voice cracking. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, please.”

The desperation in his whisper made your stomach flip. You leaned forward, kissed along his jaw, his ear, and then back to his lips—this time slower, deeper, letting him feel how much you meant it. How much you wanted him.

And still, your hips moved. Measured rolls that made his breath catch and his hands dig just a little harder into your waist. The tension between you thickened like honey, sticky and warm, and everything slowed down.

He whispered your name like a prayer, and when you whispered his in return, voice thick with want and wonder, he shivered, completely undone beneath you.

Your fingers moved cautiously, tracing the hem of his shirt. You paused, eyes flicking up to meet his, giving him a silent chance to pull back. But he didn’t, he just nodded slightly, and that was all you needed.

You slid your hand under his shirt, your palm meeting the heat of his skin. He shivered immediately, muscles twitching beneath your touch, and you felt him grip your hips just a little tighter — not to stop you, but to anchor himself.

“Still okay?” you murmured against his lips.

He swallowed thickly, nodding. “More than okay.”

Piece by piece, you began to remove each other’s clothing, slowly, like unwrapping a secret. Every inch of exposed skin felt like a discovery. His shirt first, then yours. His eyes widened when he saw your chest, and for a moment, he just stared, completely speechless.

You smiled softly, brushing his cheek with your fingers. “You’ve seen me before, remember?”

“Not like this,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent.

His hands ghosted over your sides, hesitant at first, as if afraid you might vanish. But you didn’t, you leaned into his touch, and his hesitation melted into something bolder.

The more skin you revealed, the more the tension between you tightened, until it was a living, breathing thing. And when the last layer of clothing fell away, when you were both completely bare, there was nothing left to hold back.

Bob looked up at you, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on your hips. His eyes, full of something deep, searched yours, like he needed your permission again, even though you were already here, already his.

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, your lips moving against his in a way that made both of you sigh quietly into the space between. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell faster, how his body tensed beneath yours as you slowly rolled your hips, letting the sensation build gently, teasingly.

He moaned — not loud, but broken, like the sound had been pulled out of him without warning. His hands flexed against your skin, not guiding you, just holding, grounding himself in the reality that this was happening. That you were here. That you wanted him.

“God… you feel so good,” he breathed, voice low and shaky.

You smiled softly against his neck, then whispered, “So do you.”

When he finally slid into you, it was careful — almost reverent. There was no rush. No hunger to claim. Just the slow, aching press of bodies coming together, like a deep breath being exhaled after being held too long.

Both of you stilled for a moment, your foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync. You were full of him — not just physically, but emotionally. And in that moment, you swore you felt something inside you settle. Like a missing piece had finally found where it belonged.

You began to move together, slow and deliberate, each thrust more about connection than release. His hands roamed up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blades, like he couldn’t bear to let go of even an inch of you. Every time your hips met, a soft gasp or whimper left your lips, answered by the way Bob groaned low in his throat, utterly overwhelmed by how good you felt around him.

The air between you was thick with warmth, your bodies slick with sweat but never frantic. The way you kissed him between moans, the way his hands stroked your sides with a trembling tenderness, it all spoke louder than anything you could’ve said out loud.

“I’ve never—” he choked out, voice cracking, “—never felt anything like this.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Me neither.”

Your pace quickened slightly, not from desperation but because your bodies knew each other now, moved together naturally. You could feel yourself getting closer, and from the way Bob’s grip on you tightened and his hips stuttered slightly, you knew he was too.

But neither of you chased it. You let it build, let it take its time, let it matter.

And when you finally came — together, as if perfectly timed — it wasn’t explosive. It was soft. Like sinking into something that had always been waiting for you. You held each other through it, every muscle trembling, your mouths finding each other again and again as if to say, I’m here. I’m still here.

Even as your breathing slowed and your bodies softened, you didn’t pull away. You just stayed there, tangled together in warmth and silence, hearts thudding gently in the same rhythm.

The world had gone quiet. Neither of you spoke for a while. There was no need to. You were both still coming down from the high, your minds slow, your bodies heavy and satisfied.

Bob’s chest rose and fell beneath you, his heartbeat echoing faintly in your ear where your head rested against him. You could feel that he was still inside you, the connection unbroken, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to move.

You shifted just slightly, a tiny sigh escaping your lips as your thighs twitched from the lingering tension. Bob pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, the gentlest thing, like he was afraid he’d wake you even though you were still very much awake but fading.

Your voice was quiet, half-murmured against his chest. “You okay?”

He let out a breath, almost a laugh, and nodded slowly. “Yeah… I just… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this calm before.”

You smiled, your eyes closing at the sound of his voice, that low, warm rasp that made your chest flutter even now. “Me neither.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, not heavy, just peaceful. The kind of pause where two people are so content, silence feels like part of the conversation.

You felt yourself drifting, your body melting further into his. Your legs tangled with his, your arms limp, every inch of you relaxed in a way you hadn’t known you needed. You were safe. You were full — in every sense of the word. And his presence beneath you was like an anchor, a soft place to land after everything.

Your breath started to slow. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy. Sleep pulled at you like the tide.

And then, just as you began to slip under, Bob’s voice, barely there, a whisper made of breath and feeling, broke the stillness.

“I love you.”

He didn’t say it like he expected an answer. He didn’t even say it like he meant for you to hear. It was quiet. Almost scared. Like a secret that had waited far too long to be set free.

But you didn’t stir. You were already gone, lost to sleep in the safety of his arms, your face soft and peaceful against his chest.

Bob looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, then full of something tender, something real. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, let his fingers rest against your naked back, and closed his eyes.

He will never forget this moment.

And so do you.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY,

BYEEE🫑🍋‍🟩

[bunny-jpeg]

can i pls order crostata, english muffin, and mango sorbet with a side of margarita and a vodka shot w/ lando norris

bakery menu

thank you for submitting to the bakery. i hope that you enjoy the fic! i've been still trying to get into the groove of writing again. i've been recently working on original fiction so it's been a bit of a struggle to balance both kinds of writing. but i hope that i can provide more in the future! thank you! <3

crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.” + english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?" + mango sorbet: "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?" + a vodka shot: rough sex served by lando norris (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, rough sex, mean!lando, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship (dating), after care, clit teasing, dirty talk/degrading language, doggy style, protected sex, mild spanking

you liked when it hurt. not that it was a bad thing. but you liked the feeling of when sex got a little rough. it was something that excited you to no end and often made you squirm at the thought of.

everyone sort of assumed that you and lando would be into simple, vanilla sex. lando adored you, it was like you hung the moon and all its stars! you were the center of his world in some respects.

but looks could be deceiving. for every gentle hand on your lower back there was a swift smack across your ass. for every caring hand on your shoulder there was that same hand wrapped around your throat. every "i love you" had it's equivalent, “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”

together in his apartment in monaco, the season was going to begin soon. it was hard not to squeeze every last moment together, especially when pre-season testing made it a reality that there would be some distance between you two for a while.

lando wasted no time making sure that you didn't forget who you belonged to. not that you could forget, the ache of his last fucking could still be felt between your thighs. he had you in his bed, with one hand teasing your clit and the other scrolling through his phone.

he told you he was checking emails, but he was in instagram for several minutes now. his nose practically in his phone as he played with your clit. he knew he was overstimulating you, you weren't keeping it a secret.

"lando."

"shut up." he said as he got more rough with his movements, "i'm trying to focus on something here. i swear if you cum, you won't get anything until i come back. but, you'd like that right?"

the dirty talk was unmatched, it made something fire in your brain as you squirmed next to him. you were naked, he was clothed. you were falling apart, he seemed uninterested. you were a mess, he was in total control. that was how the game was played.

"please, lando."

he loudly sighed, "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate? like honestly! did daddy pay for that degree." he rubbed faster, his quick fingers made your eyes roll back a little, "i'm doing everyone a favour by keeping your slutty little body busy. they'd pass you around like the slut you were."

you whined and arched your back a little. the feeling was intense and it made your pulse leap. it was erotic, you knew that for certain. lando knew exactly how to make you feel hot.

he put his phone down and finally gave you the attention you needed. he pulled his hand away, fingers slick with your wetness. he eyed his digits for a moment and said, "what a slut. getting off to this? shame." then licked his fingers, "on your stomach, slut. i don't wanna see that whorish face tonight." and you were eager to get on your stomach.

you whimpered when he pressed his hand onto the back of your neck, pushing your face further into the covers. how sweet, how cute.

"have to get a condom." he pulled away and got his clothes off. once everything was shed, he grabbed the gold and black wrapper from the drawer and put it on. he stroked his cock a little at how obedient you are, "gotta protect myself. you're such free use that i'm pretty sure if i got you pregnant you wouldn't even know it was mine." his words were like venom and it made you core clench.

he soon sank into you, his force was heavy and it made you toes curl at the feeling. you gasped into the covers then whimpered from the stretch. lando's cock was big and sometimes it took a little while for you to get accommodated. but yet, the pain made you wet.

"aw, is someone crying?" he asked.

"no." you squeaked.

he slapped your ass once before he planted both hands on your hips. his pace was brutal, there was little room for tenderness. and why did he need to be tender? you got off to this. you loved when he took what was his without little remorse.

it got you off being used like this, to give up a sense of autonomy and power to have your boyfriend fuck you rapidly. to feel him deep inside of you from the angel. it was erotic and it made you heart shudder. you felt a haze came over you, the pleasure jolted in your body as lando made the bed squeak from how intense his movements were.

"fuck, only thing you're good for, huh? keeping my cock wet. can't find another whore like you." he chuckled lightly as he pressed his chest against your back, "special, huh? that's what you think you are. at least i found use for you. keep you dumb and quiet with my cock in your throat. i know you drool when you see me in my fireproofs. i bet you finger that tight cunt of yourself to thoughts of me. i've ruined you, and it's an honour. to know that you may be dumb, and you may be a total slut. but at least there's only one cock in your empty little head." his breath hot in your ear as he continued to fuck you with such a feverish pace that you felt yourself losing track of most things.

nothing else mattered at that moment besides lando's cock inside of you. his balls hit against you and the angle meant that he was deep inside of you. he kept you pressed under him. you held onto the covers and felt the pleasure wash over you.

sex with lando was unlike anything else, you never had another partner like him and you never would. this was all you craved for, in every respect. his words were filthy and it made your pussy flutter around him. eager to keep him inside of you.

"lando."

"shut up." he purred.

he could feel the thump of his heart in his head. the rush from it all made him excited, he loved the feeling. he loved you, even with your need for such filthy language. he would be happy to provide it. because the sound of your pussy soaked around his cock was more than enough incentive to talk to you the way he did.

you held onto the covers tightly. you felt the pleasure surge through you. everything felt hot and heavy in your head. you felt the sweat on your body and how painfully slick your cunt was. only lando could make you yearn for it all so badly. for the language and the pain. how he could move yu and fucked you as so desired. it left you a panting mess in bed.

it all belonged to him.

and he knew that. he could feel the tension in your body and worked you harder to get you to climax. this is what heaven felt like, this was everything he so desired sexually. he heard your sweet noises and it only encouraged him. spurred him on as he fucked you. he panted heavily and gripped onto you tighter.

"fuck, baby." he said, "that's it. see. see what happens when you behave. when you take cock like a champ. it's only my cock you want. fill that head of yours with thoughts of me fucking you. i'll come back and you'll still be soaked for me. you're mine, right?"

you whimpered loudly, "yes, lando. fuck yes!" you sounded so desperate. it was no surprise to him that soon you arched your back and buried your face in the pillows as you came around his cock. orgasm hit you hard and it made you swear under your breath between heavy pants. you tensed up and it made lando shudder.

you relaxed soon after against the bed and lando held on tightly as he fucked you quicker to get to his own climax. the entire thing felt intense in his core. he swallowed back the pleasure in his mouth. he swore under his breath as he gave it a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you.

"fuck, that's it. that's my special little slut." he purred as he rocked against you through his climax. it felt good, so good.

you moaned in response and he slowed to a spot. he rubbed the spot where he smacked you earlier before he gave you ass cheek a firm slap once more.

he pulled out and threw the condom out. he got back into bed with you and threw the covers over top of you. he asked, "too hot? too cold? do you need anything?" his voice was so gentle. you just looked at him and nodded your head.

"i'm okay."

"not too much right?" he got under the covers with you too and rubbed your shoulder, "you have to tell me." that was also part of the game. feedback and communication, they went had in hand.

you reached for his face and pulled him in for a tender kiss. he kissed you back, eyes closed as he got his arm around your middle. he pulled you in close and you smiled against the kiss.

"anything you need? water? snack? anything." he said when he pulled away and looked into your eyes, "tell me, baby."

"right now." you said as you yawned, your heavy climax made you exhausted, "i just want to be held by you. but after... maybe we can have some of that frozen yogurt in the fridge?"

lando chuckled lightly, happy that you were okay. he kissed you on the forehead, "you drive a hard bargain, baby. but anything for you." and you knew that didn't just mean dirty talk and rough sex <3

[leaderwon]

CHAPTER 01 — JUST ANOTHER YEAR

wc — 600+

masterlist — next

You’d think that by the time you’re a senior, everything would feel a little more... cinematic. Like the coming of age movies always show, messy romances, dramatic confessions, some sort of existential growth montage set to a soft indie song.

But here you were, sitting in homeroom, staring at the clock and wondering if your English teacher would notice if you just evaporated into thin air. Same old desks, same old fluorescent lights, same old you.

You pulled your hoodie over your head a little tighter, slouched low in your seat, and ignored the cluster of loud voices echoing from the hallway.

“You’re early,” came a familiar voice as a bag dropped beside your desk. You didn’t have to look up. “So are you.”

Lia plopped down beside you, her hair slightly windblown and a muffin clutched in one hand. “You’re lucky I stopped by that bakery near the bus stop. Banana walnut, your favorite.”

You reached out for it wordlessly. She rolled her eyes but handed it over anyway.

Lia had been your best friend since freshman year, back when you accidentally spilled orange juice all over her sketchbook in the cafeteria. Somehow, that turned into a friendship built on late-night facetimes, shared playlists, and synchronized eye rolls in class.

“Are you mentally prepared to suffer for the next ten months?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.

“No,” you said through a mouthful of muffin. “But I’m emotionally numb, so that counts for something.” Before she could reply, the classroom door slammed open and three voices filled the room.

“Hey, did you seriously bet that I’d trip over that curb?” Jay’s voice rang out, loud and borderline offended. Jake grinned unapologetically, tossing his backpack into the seat behind you. “I just knew you would. You have the coordination of a soggy carrot.”

“I didn’t even see you bet anything,” Sunghoon muttered, clearly unimpressed. “I didn’t need to. Manifestation works, bro.”

You turned slightly in your seat as the trio took over the desks behind you, the way they always did, Jay tossing his notebook onto your table without asking, Jake already trying to steal a bite of your muffin, and Sunghoon settling in with a sigh like this was just routine. Which, unfortunately, it was.

They’d been a package deal since middle school. Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. The kind of best friends who were annoyingly in sync, always bickering but somehow moving like one chaotic unit.

Jay reached forward and plucked a corner of your muffin. “Still not banana chocolate chip? You disappoint me, Y/N.” “You’re literally eating my food. Shut up.”

Jake leaned in with a lazy smile. “So, what’s the plan after school? Celebration milkshakes like old times?” “For surviving our first day of senior year?” you raised an eyebrow.

“For making it through homeroom without jumping out the window,” Sunghoon said dryly, not looking up from his phone. Lia snorted. “Charming.” “C’mon,” Jake said, nudging your arm, “it’s tradition.”

You sighed but smiled despite yourself. “Fine. But you’re paying.” “I always pay.” “Because you always forget your wallet and we guilt-trip you into it,” Jay added.

Jake just grinned.

You turned back around in your seat, nibbling on what was left of the muffin as your teacher finally walked in. You weren’t ready for college applications, deadlines, or whatever adult responsibilities were creeping toward you. But in that moment, with Lia beside you, and the boys bickering behind you, it almost felt okay.

Almost.

But deep down, you had a strange feeling you couldn’t shake. Something was going to change this year. You didn’t know how, or when, or why. But you could feel it.

And you were right.

You just didn’t know how messy it would get yet.

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[hurtspideyparker]

The team learns about Peter's stress baking fairly quickly after he moves into the tower.

"Why does this place smell like cookies?" Tony asks suspiciously, "Pepper put an end to homemade care packages after that Cap incident."

Steve protests from the dining table. "Hey, that fan seemed totally normal. Y'know in my generation you do not mess with baked goods, that's sacred."

Natasha pats his back comfortingly as she joins the conversation.

"They came from the kid. They're actually pretty good, here."

Nat hands a still-warm cookie to Tony, who bites it curiously.

"Damn, it melts in my mouth like buttery ambrosia and still has a perfect crunch around the edges. Is that a nutty aftertaste?"

"Yes!" Peter yells from the other room, a clatter sounding before his head pokes around the wall, oven mitts still attached to his hands.

"I brown the butter, it really deepens the flavour!"

"Good on you kid. What's the occasion?"

Peter stutters, "uhhhh, no occasion. I just like cookies!"

He disappears around the corner again, and Tony sends a confused glance towards his teammates.

Steve shrugs his shoulders, mouth still full of cookie, and Natasha sends him an arched brow. Tony isn't sure what that means, but feels intimidated enough to exit the room anyway.

* * *

The baking lasts the rest of the week, until Peter comes home yelling, "I aced my calculus midterm!!!" running out of the elevator with a stapled set of papers in his hand.

"So no more baking?" Nat asks neutrally.

"Nope! Woohoo!"

Just like that the kid is gone, jumping down the hall towards his bedroom.

Tony looks at Nat quizzically.

"It was midterm week. He baked 3 dozen cookies, 2 types of muffins, and a cheesecake."

"So he stress bakes?"

"He stress bakes."

* * *

It becomes a "thing" in the tower.

Sam eats toast from freshly baked bread one morning while watching Bruce quiz Peter on his upcoming AP history test. Each slice is cut, toasted, and buttered to perfection by Peter while he explains sectionalism in the 20th century.

* * *

Bucky grates carrots while Peter mixes a bowl of dry ingredients furiously, the boy mumbling to himself non-stop.

"Has he gone insane?" Clint asks from the doorway.

"Spanish oral exam," Bucky replies.

"Ay caramba."

"Tal vez pueda sobornar a mi maestra con glaseado de queso crema..." Peter starts mumbling. (Maybe I can bribe my teacher with cream cheese frosting...)

Bucky and Clint share a concerned look.

Clint approaches the boy, "put down the spatula Pete, let's talk about this."

Peter looks up in alarm.

"In English! Just English!"

* * *

"What's up kid? It's spring break, what could you possibly be stressing about."

Today Tony walks into a full kitchen; Wanda, Natasha, and Pepper are occupying the space while Peter pours something creamy into a metal bowl.

"He's asking MJ out tonight, so he's making cookies and cream ice cream in case it goes wrong." Natasha crosses her arms when she replies to him, eyes focused on Peter's mixing.

"Does ice cream even count as stress baking? The very meaning of 'bake' is to put under heat. But I suppose it does feel wrong to call it cooking."

Peter looks up, his brown eyes large and sad like a baby cow, "I still baked the cookies from scratch."

"Yeah he's a real Nara Smith!" Wanda adds enthusiastically.

"Oookay... I'll pretend I know what that means. And since when do we have an ice cream maker?" Tony points to the fancy hardware out on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, I got that for him. We lacked a lot of the tools for basic baking recipes," Pepper informs him.

Tony ponders how ice cream machines count as a basic baking tool, and decides not to argue with three powerful women and their favourite lovesick teenager.

Peter picks up his bowl and moves it into the freezer, clearing away a couple frozen pizzas and a bag of peas.

"Should I even bother with the cones?" Peter asks with a pout.

"Pete she's gonna say yes! Also if you're wallowing in misery with a tub of ice cream we still want our cones so we can emotionally support you with a crunchy treat," Wanda says with a supportive smile.

The others nod along.

"You're right!" Peter agrees before turning around and grabbing an honest-to-god waffle cone maker, with the cone shaping kit to boot.

"Why..." Tony begins to protest, "y'know what, I don't care. Let me know how it goes kid."

The man is ignored as he moves through the kitchen to grab a banana, the women coaching Peter on his manners, flirting, and first date ideas as he exits the room.

* * *

Thor hums around the delicious treat.

"Mmm. You know young Peter, you could have a shop for your creations. Is there a Stark Industries for baked goods?" Thor asks the young lad, crumbs falling from his mouth as he chews the cookie bar.

"I didn't invent the blondie Thor. I was just trying to explain what it is, a cookie brownie! I did decorate them all by myself though," he says with a satisfied grin.

"Ah yes," Thor lifts up another blondie by the pretzel stick Peter put in the squares, attached with a bit of melted chocolate so they're shaped like Mjolnir, "now you are all worthy of the hammer. Ha! This is funny, I'm sure the others will find your talents equally amusing."

Peter picks up his own mini-Mjolnjr and waves it around, "it is I, son of Odin. Don't worry puny Midgardians, I will protect you with my mighty hammer and beautiful hair!"

Thor laughs thunderously at the impression, clapping.

Bruce walks into the room, enticed by the laughter.

"Ah! My friend, Peter has made edible Mjolnirs so you, too, may be worthy. It's delicious and hilarious. Imagine Banner wielding my hammer, ha! Ridiculous," Thor is all too amused by the situation.

Bruce gives Peter an offended look as Thor continues laughing with himself, the younger just shrugging. Bruce takes one of the treats anyways, pointedly not holding it by the pretzel stick.

"Y'know Pete, have you ever considered opening a bakery? You are quite talented. I think the Avengers alone would keep you in business," Bruce asks politely.

"Well I only like to bake when I'm stressed. That wouldn't be a very stable business model," Peter points out.

"True. Although running a business can be quite stressful, so maybe you'd have a continuous supply?"

"Hm. Efficient and unhealthy," Peter nods like it's the perfect plan.

"Wow you really are Stark's intern."

Thor bursts out into another bout of raucous laughter.

"Imagine Stark wielding my dessert hammer," Thor barely gets the words out, "Stark being worthy-AH HAHA."

Bruce and Peter share a look of wide-eyed alarm before joining in on the laughter.

They all share the moment before Bruce straightens up a bit to ask, "what are you even worried about anyways Peter?"

Peter wipes a tear from his eye, "I forgot to call Aunt May this morning like I always do and she only let me move here if I promised I wouldn't neglect her. So now I'm too scared to check my phone."

"I see," Bruce sympathizes.

"Yeah, baking is good for procrastinating. I pretend I'm being productive while also creating comfort food for after my breakdowns."

* * *

Tony steps into the dining room one afternoon to find Peter slicing apples while Steve sits across from him cutting intricate patterns into pie crust. There is an array of leaves and flowers set out on the flour-sprinkled table.

"So is the ornamentation necessary, or is Cap also developing a delicious self-soothing habit," Tony inquires.

"I was just talking to Peter about pie recipes from the 40s and he asked if I could help make his prettier," Steve smiles up at his companions, "it's actually a lot of fun, I can't say I've ever used food to make art before."

"He's a natural talent Mr. Stark!"

Tony agrees with the quirk of an eyebrow and cheeky sideways nod. He observes for a moment before asking something that's been bothering him recently.

"Pete, I gotta ask. Why baking? You inherited your Aunt's terrible cooking skills, and it's not like you're built for other domestic duties. Your room is a mess. What gives? How are you so... refined?"

Peter pauses his chopping to look up incredulously.

"It's science Mr. Stark. Baking is just chemistry! I'm great at chemistry," he says with a grin.

Tony thinks about it.

"Huh. I guess you're right. So, what has you stressed this time? Girl troubles? You get too good a grade in P.E. and Flash is suspicious? Decathlon competition?" Tony lists off some of his previous turmoils.

He hopes it's the decathalon again, those butter tarts were divine.

"Um. Can I finish my apple filling before I tell you? I'll lose motivation if you start yelling at me..." Peter says with a hopeful smile, strain lying underneath it.

Tony's eyes narrow.

"Okay so I maybe blew up your test tubes when trying to develop fire webs and Dum-E may have covered your entire lab in fire supression foam."

Tony's jaw clenches, "I'm gonna let you stew in fear for a bit longer because apple is my favourite - if this was pumpkin you'd already be squashed - but best believe I'm not done with you yet." Tony slowly takes a deep breath before pointing a finger at Peter. "Never change kid, never change."

Tony leaves, distinctly in the opposite direction of his lab, and Peter goes back to slicing apples, now with a genuine smile on his face.

[caxde]

bright eyes | eddie munson x reader

summary you're a new neighbour in the trailer park, you meet his friends, and go on a date to figure this out, navigating your relationship with him and his little girl (4.4k)

warnings fem!reader, girl!dad Eddie!!!!, fluff, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn strangers to lovers, idiots in love!!!, , english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read! 

a/n: thank you guys for the support, i think that for a while i'll just do drabbles of this story if requested so enjoy! part1 part2. part4 (they can be read seperatly)

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Both the phrase and your customer service voice came as second nature by now. Practice makes perfect you once heard. 

“Hi, yeah… Um, do we know what they want?” The tall boy with floppy hair asked the girl following him, she agreed with a smile and he looked back at you. His face looked familiar, though you had never seen him come here before. “I’d like milk coffee, and uh.. what do you want?” He asked back at the girl, who had been grinning with a smirk that you weren’t quite sure if it was dedicated to you, or it was just a nervous reflex from her. 

“I’ll have an iced tea, and a cinnamon bun.” She waited for you to write it down, before she continued, which you’d never admit out loud how frustrating it was, if they knew they were going to order more. “And uh, a large black coffee, with no sweetener and a chocolate milkshake with a… did she like scones or blueberry muffins?” She turned around to the wild haired boy, who had its eyes lost in the horizon. Something in you told you he was trying not to stare, and if you were being honest, you didn't know if that was a compliment or not. 

“Muffin.” He muttered, as he scratched his closed eyes. 

“Muffin.” She affirmed with a cheery tone. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” 

You placed the order under your waitress number. Lucky number 17, even if there only were two of you. You prepped the coffees with your usual care, enjoying both the process and the smell that filled the air. Two small plates with a paper napkin under each pastry. You wrote down where they were seated while you waited for the milkshake and the iced tea. You still didn’t dare to make them. You had tried, you just never managed the right balance between ice cream, milk and cocoa powder. You did have fun however with the whipped cream and the chocolate shavings. Mainly because it was an excuse for you to eat the chocolate that you didn’t grate. 

The bell above the door rang and your attention turned to it. A wide smile appeared on your previously concentrated face. 

It wasn’t strange considering Lua was running down the small entrance corridor so she could meet you, your body already kneeling down at the floor so she could greet you however she decided to. 

“Hi dude! I didn’t know you were coming” Your voice got high in unexpected excitement as she hugged you in her particular way. “How are you doing?” 

“Happy.” She beamed, her hand hiding her face in her usual shy manner she always had when she was someplace that wasn’t as familiar to her. 

“I hope you are, you’re getting a milkshake.” Eddie followed her closely behind, offering his hand for her to take it, she did as soon as she heard the word milkshake. Jumping a bit, knowing that that was an unusual treat. 

It clicked in that moment, where you knew that boy from. He was in a lot of the photos Eddie had laying around, some were in frames, some were laying around his coffee table. 

Though you knew him as uncle Stevie, you doubted that was his name. And if that really was uncle Stevie, then the girl had to be auntie Rob. It would explain the weird energy they had while ordering, and the grins that they tried to hide. 

“Chocolate?” She asked back, her head moved around the both of you, she had to look up now, both of you doing what you didn’t realise you always did. While your feet stayed separated, your bodies always found a way to get closer, your waist pushed forward, his arms did too. 

“And a blueberry muffin.” You added, with glee. The contrast between the excitement coming from Lua and the exhausting anticipation coming off from Eddie was comical. He grabbed the skin between his eyes, knowing that this sugar rush was going to tire him out. 

“She’s not gonna eat dinner.” He adds, in a somehow frustrated mumble, as he looks back up at you. “And Wayne made Spaghetti with tomato sauce… And garlic bread…” He was making that exaggerated whining voice he knew made you laugh. 

“I can have the leftovers.” He smiled, even if he knew that that was what he originally wanted. Another quiet night with you, Wayne out at work and an exhausted Lua, the promise of some alone time with you. 

“Deal.” He tried to mask his excitement, with his usual grin, the upside down smile that curved to the right, where his dimple was, and you just giggled back at him, with a scoff and a playful roll of your eyes. 

“Your friends are over there, I’ll bring your stuff in a minute.” He winked as a form to say thank you, he swung his arms so his and Lua’s hands moved in a way that made her smile, as she squirmed as soon as she saw his friends. 

“Stevie!” She screamed in midst of laughter, she waved him hi, as she walked to Robin’s feet. 

“Hey Lua.” Robin’s enthusiastic way of calling her name won her a high five, which she used to tease Steve. “I got a high five.” She sang her works in a mocking manner, knowing that Stevie would push her shoulder with his, she ducked a bit, the playful manner making Eddie smile. 

“Hello to you too.” Eddie teased back, sitting down on a chair, helping Lua get up to the one next to him. He had forgotten to ask you for a booster, but nodded in an attempt to say thank you as he saw you approaching the table, milkshake in one hand, booster in the other. 

“I’ll be right back with the rest of your order.” Your customer service voice becomes a bit more informal everytime you lock eyes with him, the stupid pink flush coming to your cheeks as he just smiled, his friends looking at him with a cheeky grin. 

“Is that her?” Robin wasted no time, her hands on the table, and body pushed a bit too forward. 

“Jesus! We said we were gonna be subtle.” Steve pushed her back into the chair, the softness of his gesture contradicted his harsh inane tone. 

“What? She can be the rude one…” 

“C’mon Eddie wouldn’t fall for the rude waiter.” 

You heard that, and you weren’t sure what to believe. Were you the rude waiter? Did Eddie actually fall for you? And what does that even mean? You decide to act as if you hadn’t noticed, as if it didn’t really matter. You placed everything in front of who asked for it, but that comment was still on the front of your mind. You didn’t think you had been that rude, it was your eight hour of work, and you were leaving soon so you were exhausted, and maybe that had come out as rude, but still, it kind of hurts knowing that someone might think you are. Even worse if that someone is the best friend of the guy you had a stupid crush on. 

Then there was the whole fall issue. Had that been just a poor choice of words? Probably. It had to be, because there was no way that Eddie had fallen, not really. Not in the scary four letter feelings. It was soon, way too soon. You hadn't even had an opportunity to go on that date that he had asked you on three weeks ago. 

You were decidedly panicking, fidgeting with the blue pen you used to take orders. Your shift came to an end, and even if Eddie kept looking at you, waiting for you to come so he could actually introduce you to his friends, or alternatively he was trying to find a moment where he could stand up and go ask you if you wanted to meet them, he looked back and you weren’t there this time. 

You were having a stress relief smoke that you’ll never admit to once he inevitably asks you about. You can’t think about it, you want to go home, have a shower and stop thinking. 

So you did. 

-

Eddie was worried about you, but he was a little too preoccupied with the little tornado in front of him. The sugar rush had hit as soon as he stepped into the trailer. She had been playing “the floor is lava”, placing everything and anything on her way so she wouldn’t actually fall. Once she got tired of it, she started playing house with dolls and teddys she had, now scattered around everywhere. She eventually got tired of that and just danced around to music that for once he could choose, until she passed out, the sugar crush came as fast as the rush had. 

Quiet for once, Eddie let out a long exhausted breath, before picking her up. He enjoyed picking her up, knowing that the day would come when he wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. She was already with her stolen sleepshirt that she begged to put on as soon as they had arrived. So he put her hair up in a small ponytail, and left her to rest on her small bed, in the same room as he slept. 

Someday, when he has more money,  more security in himself, he would get a nice place. A house with an extra room so someone can come and sleepover. A house that had their own garden, so she can run around without Eddie having to watch over her anxiously, worried that she somehow stumbled over into the woods, or found trash that didn’t belong in a play area for such a small girl. 

That was the goal. 

The long term one anyway. Right now he focused on cleaning the mess her little sunshine had made. His hair out of the way, he quietly got into it. The cushions, blankets and -previously- folded laundry was out of the way, the toys were sorted, and the remains of her laughter could still be felt on the walls. 

Something was missing. And  that was you. And the promise that you had made to come over and have dinner. 

So the worrying came back. 

Doubt invaded his mind. He didn’t want to bother you, maybe you just forgot. Maybe you had fallen asleep. Maybe you had had enough of him. 

But for once, he decided to trust his intuition, and if something deep in his gut told him that it wasn’t okay, he trusted it. He had to. 

So he checked that Lua was still sleeping soundly, and he rushed to your door. The frown between his eyebrows appeared once again when he realised that your light wasn’t on. He knocked, slowly, not even realising that he was biting his lower lip, or that he was playing with his rings. 

The light didn’t come on, but you did. 

The faintest trace of runned down mascara was under your eyes. If that didn’t give away the fact you had been crying a bit, your red runny nose did. 

A wave of guilt filled him, though he wasn’t sure why or what to do.

Truth be told, it wasn’t his fault, not really. You just had a tendency to overthink it all. And a weakness for words of people you didn’t know. 

the mean one had followed you since you had gotten home. It was stupid, and definitely not that big of a deal, but it had bugged you enough that you had a breakdown nonetheless. 

Maybe it was just one more thing that had sent you over the edge, that coupled with the fact that you had your insecurities over not feeling enough for him, or his little girl. 

“What happened?” His voice came out softer, lower, imploring for an answer. 

“Nothing, long day.” Eddie could tell that you were lying through your teeth. And you knew that he knew by the way his body reacted. Arms crossed through his chest in a self-defense movement he still conserved. 

“I’m gonna heat up dinner. If you want some you can come.” You couldn’t decode if his tone was regretful or resentful, but his eyes shined with hope that’d you’d come, so you nodded. 

“Give me a second?” He mouthed a muted yeah, as he turned around, his feet skipping the ground in a nervous manner. 

Maybe they didn’t mean for you to hear it. Maybe it had been a joke that you had the misfortune to hear. But it still stings, so you switch your uniform for something comfier. 

Those jean were barely hanging on by a threat, the seam on the inside of your thighs had started to open in some points, and they didn’t fit you as snuggly as they once did, but they were the comfiest they have ever been, and the most comforting ones -oddly enough- so was the black shirt that had been previously splattered with bleach. It didn’t really matter to Eddie, he still thought you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. 

He was trying not to show his worry, but he wasn’t that good at it. He was  quiet, which he never was, and he couldn’t stop playing with his rings. 

He sat down on the stool, right in front of you, the kitchen aisle separating you both. 

“Okay look...” You broke the silence. His fork clinging on the cold surface makes your attention shift into it. “I had a little cry over some stupid shit, but I’m fine.” You take a sip out of your water, looking back into his questioning eyes. 

“You want to talk about it?” Eddie tries to get more information out of you. His expression softer, caring deeply for you. 

“It’s stupid. Honestly.” You try to brush it off, playing with your food in a lazy manner with your fork, avoiding his stare. Because you know that if you do look at him, you’d crumble. 

“I don’t care, I like listening to you.” His voice was deeper when he was mid bite, but his world made you fold, and you give in. 

“I overheard your friends…” You think he might say something, but he just stays quiet, an embarrassed expression on his face. “They said that you fell for ‘the mean one’” You add, drawing air quotes with your fork still in your hand. 

“Jesus…” He added in disbelief. His head was buried in the palm of his hands. 

“I know it’s dumb I just… I told you I don’t know how to go around this whole thing and your friends saying that it's just-” He cut you off, even if he didn’t mean to, he knew you were rumbling when it was all a misunderstanding. 

“It’s not dumb it’s just… They weren’t talking about you.” Your eyes widened in embarrassed shame. “They were saying that they were glad I didn’t fall for the mean one. They’re happy I have a thing for you, and not Brittany.” 

“oh” 

“Yeah, they like you. I think. And we met up in the café because they wouldn’t agree to babysit Lua so I can go on a date with you if they didn’t meet you first but I didn’t wanna make it a big deal so…” 

“oh” 

“Yeah…” 

The type of silence had changed. He had that dumbfounded, love-sick smile on his face. Your eyes were shining and your cheeks had become red. His hand was caressing yours, the soft touch invading you with a sense of calmness and warmness. Your lips curled upwards, some of your teeth showing. 

“So we’re going on a date?” 

“Next Friday, if that works for you.” 

“It does.” 

“Good.” Amusement clear on his tone, his dimples showing as he went back to eating. His hand not letting go of yours. “Now, finish eating.” 

“I will, but I need my hand.” He chuckled with you as he slowly pulled away. 

“Okay, sorry.” 

“Idiot…” You sentenced before going back to eating. His amusement makes you smile deeper. 

“Suddup, you like it.” 

-

For once, Eddie let you help clean up in the kitchen. 

After the conversation and the quiet dinner it was hard trying to keep away from him. It felt like magnetism. 

And he couldn’t keep resisting you for that long. You were cleaning the dishes, whilst he dried them. His waist bumped into yours every so often with the excuse of dancing to the low music, not wanting to wake Lua up. 

“This has to be Led’s best song” He mumbled, watching as you silently mouthed the lyrics. 

“Their most popular, maybe… Best one? No way.” You shook your head in disbelief that he would say such a thing, hearing him chuckle at your reaction. 

“What do you mean? It’s literally rock history! Jimmy Page’s solo has become one of the most famous ones” He tried to fight back with you, as you continued to smile in disagreement. You stopped the water, looking him dead in the eyes, seeing the way his smile only grew fonder, his usual grin present in his face. 

“Sure, Stairway to Heaven had like a huge cultural impact and blablabla but c’mon… Dazed and Confused? Immigrant Song? Black Dog? Tangerine? You Shook Me? You want to talk about guitar solos… Achilles Last Stand has some of the most incredible ones” You argued back, he was impressed, but he was not used to losing, even less so when it came to music. 

“Achilles Last Stand is a ten minute song, that’s too long…” You chuckled at that, his eyebrows raising as he looked deep into your half closed eyes from your laughter. “What?” 

“If you think ten minutes is too much… We’re gonna have a problem.” 

He laughed in deep shock from your words, making you giggle a bit more as a reaction. He didn’t think about what he was doing, he just had an impulse and followed through. His arms wrapped around you, pushing you in for a deep hug, your head hitting his chest, as your arms find a way in his waist. 

Eddie gave the best hugs, you thought. This being your first one, you were over observant. His fingers were buried deep in your hair, playing with it. His chest was softer than you had expected. And even if his house smelt of sandalwood and the faint smell of the food you had just eaten, he smelt of aftershave, shampoo and a trace of car grease. You closed your eyes, enjoying it all. 

Eddie couldn’t resist the urge to kiss the top of your head. Or let his forehead rest on yours, enjoying the closeness he got to experience. He hadn’t been this close to anyone since before Lua came around. And he wasn’t used to this nervousness or excitement, this electricity with the way your breath mixed with his. 

You pulled away a bit, close enough to still count his eyelashes if you wanted to, far away enough that nothing else could happen. You had to be careful, you had agreed to be careful until you could figure it out. 

“Moon I…” 

“I know.” He whispered back, his left hand cupping your cheek, his thumb caressing it slowly. 

You heard the small steps coming from Eddie’s room, Lua had woken up and was looking for him. 

“Dada?” She sounded half asleep, with a small panic in her voice. 

“Coming.” He added, a frustrated look on his face, his tone remaining calm. He kissed your hand before stepping back. “Duty calls. See you friday?” 

“Yes, tell Lua I said goodnight? You asked back, finding your way to the front door. 

“Definitely. Sweet dreams princes.” 

“Night, moon.” 

You closed his trailer door as you saw him walking the corridor where his room was, the little night light giving you a little inside to what his room and his usual  nights looked like. 

You went to bed that night with a lovesick smile on your lips and hoping that Friday came soon enough. 

-

Friday came faster than both of you had anticipated. You got the whole day to yourself, the morning was slow, and Eddie let you sleep for once, they didn’t come over for breakfast. You wouldn’t admit it, but you had missed them, and Lua’s happy mumbling as she ate whatever you had made. Since it was only you, the bowl of cereal had lasted you until lunch, you just picked at it every time you felt hungry, amidst various house chores. 

Clothes were cleaned. 

Floors were mopped. 

Bathroom was shining. 

With a clean bathroom, you stared at yourself in the mirror. It had been two months since you met him, and your smile lines had come back. Your hair had become lighter from the sun, and your eyes shone again. You felt pretty, and you couldn’t wipe the lovesick smile out of your lips if you thought of him. 

The water was hot, and it helped your body relax. You were starting to get that nervous excitement, before a date. A date with someone you actually (really) like. 

When the time came, you crossed the road, knocking gently on his door, your hands playing with the hem of your dress. 

Eddie got choked up as soon as he saw you. The black dress hugged you in a way he wished he could, your legs looked longer and he could get lost in them, even if they were hidden under black tights. But he really got lost in your lips, and the red that you layered over them. 

“Hi.” Your voice came out shyer that you intended to. But your smile remained the same. 

“Hi…” He couldn’t really form a sentence, his words seemed to be stucked in his throat. “You look amazing, jesus…”

“I could say the same.” He shook his head in disbelief, not really believing you. 

He stood there in his usual white shirt and leather jacket, though this time his washed out jeans switched for black jeans that hugged his thighs in a way that made your head swing. 

“I uh… I’m going to say bye to Lua, then we can leave.” You nodded, and peered inside for a moment. 

Lua was playing on his living room floor, Robin and Steve by her side. He kissed her daughter’s cheek and whispered something that you didn’t catch, his friends waved at you, Robin mouthed a silent wow as she gave you a thumbs up that made you giggle on the inside. 

-

The dinner was finished, and you had downed a couple bottles of wine. You ended up walking for a bit, before deciding to put an end to the night, the stars shining bright. 

Eddie had done everything right. He had paid the bill, he opened the doors for you and made an effort to get to know you better. His eyes shining with every word that came out of your lips. He was definitely enamored by you, and the same could be said by you. His hand had not let go of yours since you had left the small restaurant. 

His thumb played with the back of your hand, sending sparks through your whole body. You played with his rings, which only made him smile more. He told you that it was the only thing he ever bought for himself. Every year when his age changed, he’d get a new one. “Maybe you’ll get me one” You had teased back, which made him chuckle as he nodded. 

His van parked behind his house, his fingers still intertwined with yours. You sat on the back of it for a while, looking at the sky in comfortable silence for a bit. 

Eddie’s heart was racing, he couldn’t look at anything but you. You and the way your skin looked under the moonlight, you and the way your eyes looked at the moon. You and your red lips that he really wanted to taste. 

You noticed. 

Your head left his shoulder, so you could look at him. His breathing mixes with yours, your chest moving faster as your breathing quickened. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, his trembling hand came up to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your lower lip, asking for permission. 

You were the one to break the distance. 

In a swift movement, your lips pressed against his. Your heart felt at peace once you did. As if something had finally clicked, something was finally right. He smiled through the kiss as it grew deeper. He kissed you as if you were air and he was drowning. He had been dreaming of this since the moment he first saw you. And he finally got to kiss you, as much as he desired to. 

Before pulling away, his teeth caught your lower lip. He was smiling like an idiot, his nose touching yours. 

“We should…” You tried to be the voice of reason, knowing that you both had work tomorrow and he had someone to take care of on top of that. 

“I know I just… I’ve been waiting for this for a while.” He admitted with glee before kissing you again, giggling in between kisses. His hand getting lost in your hair. 

“I know.” It didn’t help that your tone came out in a more intimate matter that you intended to, the wine working its magic for the both of you. 

“Do you wanna talk about it tomorrow?” He offered, thinking that you would need time to think things over. 

“There’s nothing to think.” You admitted, determination in your voice. “This makes sense. If you’re okay with it I… We could try it? Maybe?” 

Eddie couldn’t contain his happiness, kissing you senseless until his breath ran out. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Positive.”

“I can call you my girlfriend and everything?” He teased, a stupid grin on his face that drove you crazy, your head shaking as your smile gre big enough that your teeth showed. 

“Girlfriend and everything.” You confirmed. 

This time you were the one kissing him, your hands lost in his hair, pulling him in a bit more than he had dared to. 

He walked you to your door even if nothing could happen to you, and kissed you goodnight for the first time. And his friends teased him and celebrated with him when he walked in with red lipstick on his lips. 

He went to bed that night, knowing that things could only get better from now on.

-

if you enjoyed it please leave a comment or reblog. i promise it makes a huge difference <3

-

requests! are open

@took-me-hours-to-steal-those @edens-vices-art @micheledawn1975 @peachystenbrough @mewchiili @bylermaxmayfield @yujyujj @honeymoonmunsonn @paleidiot @ali-r3n @sunshineandwitchery @supernaturalstilinski @womencriedpower @saramelaniemoon @cultish-corner @babyloutattoo89 @witchwolflea @serenadingtigers @readergf

part 3 is up, thank for the support dudes <3

[amethystarachnid]

hey! i JUST saw your love is in the air game (and im so happy im online right now)

could i request trope 1. baker with logan howlett and fem!reader? thanks! surprise me with the plot, i love reading your ideas and writing 🤍 (like seriously, you’re a magician) my only plot-wise detail is fluff fluff and more fluff 🥹

thank you so much!!!

SUGAR & FLOUR

⤷ JAMES LOGAN HOWLETT

ᯓ★ Pairing: James Logan Howlett x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ Story type: short story

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.4k

ᯓ★ Summary: Logan keeps telling himself that the reason he keeps coming back at your bakery is because your food is good, defitnely not because you're the most beautiful woman he has ever seen

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes, nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Timeline: modern days

ᯓ★ omg your words are so sweet, I'm so happy that you like my works <3

ᯓ★ From: MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier lover click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn't my first language and this isn’t proof read

It starts with a craving. Not for violence, for once. Not for a beer, though that's a close second. Just a simple, nagging, stubborn craving for something sweet. Something good.

Logan doesn't know why. Maybe it's because dinner at the mansion sucked tonight—something suspiciously green that even Hank avoided. Maybe it’s because it’s been a long week filled with headaches, Charles’s lectures, and Scott being Scott. Or maybe it’s just the damn cold creeping into his bones, the way winter in Westchester always does, no matter how many years he’s been here.

Either way, he’s out, walking through the quieter part of town, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, when the scent hits him. Warm sugar, butter, cinnamon. Vanilla, maybe. It curls in the air, thick and golden, like something out of an old memory he can’t quite place. His stomach tightens in response, and his feet follow before his brain fully catches up.

The bakery is small, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, the kind of place you don’t notice unless you’re looking for it. A little bell jingles when he pushes the door open, and the warmth inside immediately wraps around him, chasing away the winter chill. Soft light, wooden shelves lined with pastries, and a glass display case filled with enough sugar to put someone in a coma. But none of that is what makes him pause.

It’s you.

You stand behind the counter, apron dusted with flour, a smudge of chocolate on your cheek, completely oblivious to the way you just knocked the air out of his lungs. You’re talking to an older woman, smiling as you tuck a small box into a bag, laughing at something she says. It’s a good laugh. A real one. Logan tells himself that’s not why he lingers.

He clears his throat.

You look over, and damn if it doesn’t hit him again, something warm and strange settling in his chest. You blink, surprised—maybe because he looks like he just walked in from the woods (which, to be fair, he kind of did). But then your expression softens into something friendly, open.

“Hey there,” you greet, wiping your hands on your apron as you step closer. “Welcome in. What can I get you?”

Logan glances at the display case, like he didn’t just come in here because his gut told him to. There are cookies, muffins, little cakes. Delicate pastries that look too pretty to eat. A basket of croissants that reminds him of—

He shakes his head, clearing that thought before it forms.

“What’s good?” he asks gruffly.

Your lips twitch, like you’re holding back a smile. “Everything,” you answer easily. “But if you want my personal recommendation… the cinnamon rolls just came out of the oven.”

Logan considers. He likes cinnamon rolls well enough. But mostly, he likes the way your eyes brighten when you talk about them.

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Gimme one of those.”

“One?” you tease, already reaching for a paper bag. “You sure?”

His lips twitch before he catches himself. “Fine. Two.”

You flash him a smile as you bag them up, and Logan tells himself the warmth in his chest is just from the damn oven.

That should be the end of it.

Logan has his cinnamon rolls. They’re good—better than good, actually—but he’s not the kind of guy who goes out of his way for pastries. He eats, he leaves, he doesn’t think about it again.

Except… he does.

Because two days later, he’s back.

This time, it’s for the muffins. Blueberry, fresh out of the oven. The way you light up when you see him walk in? That’s not why he comes back.

And then it’s three days later, for the croissants. Then again for something called a bear claw (which he orders just to make a joke, but you smile and say, “Good choice,” like you mean it, and he forgets whatever smartass comment he was about to make).

And, well. He’s not a complete idiot. He knows exactly what’s happening.

So does everyone else.

Because when he shows up at the mansion carrying a box filled with sweets for the third time in a week, he barely makes it two steps inside before—

“Well, well,” Scott drawls from the staircase. “Look who’s got a sweet tooth.”

Logan grunts. “Back off, One-Eye.”

Scott smirks. “I’m just saying, you’re bringing home a lot of pastries lately. Like… a lot.”

Jean walks by, peeking into the box in his hands before glancing up with knowing amusement. “Oh, those are from Sugar & Flour downtown, right?”

Logan frowns. “You been there?”

“Of course. It’s amazing. Their cinnamon rolls are the best thing ever.” Then she pauses, raising a brow. “Wait. How did you find that place?”

“Luck,” Logan mutters.

At that moment, Charles wheels into the hallway, glancing between Logan and the box like he’s already reading way too much into this. “Ah,” he says, amused. “I see we have another delivery from Logan’s bakery of choice.”

“I don’t have a bakery of choice,” Logan grumbles.

“Strange, considering how often you return.”

Logan scowls. “You want a damn pastry or not?”

Charles chuckles. “I wouldn’t mind a croissant.”

With a sigh, Logan drops the box onto the nearest table and stalks off before they can get any more ideas.

You’re wiping down the counter when the bell chimes again, and there he is. The gruff, broad-shouldered, flannel-wearing mystery man who keeps coming back.

Not that you’re complaining.

He’s got that same look—like he’s not quite sure why he’s here, like his feet brought him inside before his brain caught up. You like that look. It makes you want to smile.

“Back again?” you tease, setting down your rag.

He huffs, like he wants to be annoyed but can’t quite manage it. “Yeah, well. That last batch of muffins was pretty good.”

“Uh-huh.” You prop your elbows on the counter. “And what’s the excuse this time?”

He hesitates, like he’s debating how much to say. Then, finally:

“Needed to clear my head.”

Your expression softens. “Long day?”

Something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say much, just nods.

You nod back, understanding. “Then you’re in the right place. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that good food makes everything better.”

That earns a quiet huff of laughter. “That so?”

“Absolutely.” You grin. “So, what’ll it be?”

He hesitates again, glancing at the case like he’s searching for something. Then, finally, he looks back at you.

“What do you recommend?”

The words are simple. Casual. But there’s something else in his expression—something warm, something fond. Like he’s not really asking about the pastries at all.

Your stomach does a little flip, and you smile.

“Well,” you say. “I just pulled a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”

Logan’s mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And when he says, “Alright. Gimme two,” you swear you hear something unspoken in the words.

Something you really, really hope is real.

Logan becomes a regular before he even realizes it.

At first, it’s just every couple of days. Then it’s every other day. And then, somehow, it’s every damn morning.

Not that he’s counting.

And sure, maybe at first he convinced himself it was just the food. Because the food is good—ridiculously so. But if that were the only reason, he wouldn’t take the extra five minutes just to make sure his flannel doesn’t smell like cigars before stepping inside. He wouldn’t always wait an extra second after ordering just to hear you talk. He wouldn’t leave the bakery feeling a little lighter, like the weight of the world isn’t quite so heavy.

The fact that you always smile when you see him? Yeah, that’s got nothing to do with it.

Of course, the X-Men don’t let him live it down.

“Tell me, Logan,” Charles says one evening as Logan walks in with yet another bakery box. “Are you purchasing shares in this establishment? Or is there another reason for your continued patronage?”

Logan glares. “I hate you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Jean, seated at the table, hides a smile behind her hand. “So, what’s today’s selection?”

“Apple turnovers,” Logan grumbles, dropping the box down. “They looked good.”

Scott snickers. “Or someone looked good.”

Logan grabs a pastry and shoves it into Scott’s hand—maybe a little harder than necessary. “Eat your damn turnover, Summers.”

But despite the teasing, Logan doesn’t stop going.

And the more he shows up, the more you two start talking.

At first, it’s just light chatter. You ask him about his day, and he shrugs it off. He asks how business is going, and you smile and tell him about the customers, the new recipes you’re testing, the early mornings that come with the job. Sometimes he just listens, watching the way your hands move as you talk, the way your eyes brighten when you describe the perfect rise on a loaf of bread.

And then, somewhere along the way, the conversations change.

One morning, after he complains about the cold, you tell him how you grew up in a place where it never snowed, and winter still feels like a novelty. Another time, after you mention being up before dawn, he tells you about the long nights on the road, the places he’s been, the years that blur together.

It’s easy.

Easier than it should be.

And Logan? He’s not used to that.

Then February rolls around.

The first time he walks in and sees pink and red creeping into the bakery—heart-shaped cookie cutters on the counter, little pastel sprinkles in glass jars—he almost turns around.

But then you spot him and smile, and, well. There’s no walking away from that.

“Morning, Logan.” You set down a tray of what looks like strawberry muffins. “What do you think?”

He blinks. “About what?”

You gesture around the bakery. “The decorations! I’m getting everything ready for Valentine’s Day.”

Logan eyes the little paper hearts now pinned to the walls. “Huh.”

You tilt your head. “That’s it? Huh?”

Logan shrugs. “Never been my thing.”

You gasp, clutching your apron dramatically. “How dare you. Valentine’s Day is great.”

“Yeah?” He raises a brow. “What’s so great about it?”

“Oh, come on.” You lean against the counter. “It’s a whole day dedicated to love and affection and just… happiness. Even if you’re not in a relationship, it’s nice seeing people make an effort for each other.”

Logan watches you for a moment. You’re serious. You really believe that.

“Huh,” he says again, but this time, it’s thoughtful.

Then you grin. “And also, it’s an amazing day for bakeries.”

That makes him chuckle. “Yeah, I bet.”

You nod, excited. “I’m thinking of doing a special menu for the holiday. Heart-shaped cookies, pink velvet cupcakes, maybe even some fancy chocolates. What do you think?”

Logan exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Dunno if I’m the guy to ask about that.”

“Come on,” you tease. “You’ve basically tried half my menu by now. You’ve got opinions.”

Logan smirks. “That so?”

“Absolutely.”

And, well. He figures there are worse things than helping you brainstorm ideas for heart-shaped baked goods.

So he does.

He listens while you bounce ideas off him, tells you which pastries sound best, even reaches up to help pin some of the paper hearts a little higher when you struggle to reach. He doesn’t let himself think about how domestic it feels—just you and him, alone in the quiet morning, talking about something as simple as sugar cookies.

He definitely doesn’t think about how good it feels.

Then February 14th arrives.

Logan wakes up that morning already annoyed with himself.

Because for the past week, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. The way you lit up when you talked about Valentine’s Day. The way you stood on your tiptoes to hang decorations, laughing when he grabbed the tape out of your hands and did it for you.

The way he almost—almost—let himself imagine what it would be like if he had someone like you.

Which is stupid.

He’s never been the flowers-and-romance kind of guy. He doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t do soft, doesn’t do happy endings.

Except.

When he walks into town that morning, his feet don’t take him straight to the bakery.

They take him to the flower shop next door.

The bell jingles as he steps inside, and an older woman behind the counter looks up with a bright smile. “Good morning! What can I—”

Then she pauses, eyes flicking over his flannel, his scowl, the whole him of it all.

“Let me guess,” she says knowingly. “Valentine’s Day surprise?”

Logan grunts. “Somethin’ like that.”

She hums, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Roses? Or maybe something softer… tulips? Peonies?”

Logan hesitates, then exhales sharply. “I dunno. Just… something nice.”

Her smile turns warm. “I’ve got just the thing.”

By the time Logan walks into the bakery, there’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand. Nothing over-the-top. Just a mix of soft colors, something simple. Something nice.

You’re at the counter, already busy with the morning rush, but when the bell chimes, you glance up—and freeze.

Logan shifts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Your eyes flick from him to the flowers.

Then back to him.

Then back to the flowers.

And when you look back up, your expression is—

Oh.

Something in Logan’s chest tightens.

Because you’re looking at him like he just handed you the world.

“Are those…?” Your voice is softer than usual, like you’re afraid to break whatever this moment is.

Logan grunts. “Yeah. They’re for you.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, lips parting like you’re about to say something. Then, suddenly, a customer calls your name, and you blink, snapping back to reality.

“One sec!” you tell them before turning back to Logan, flustered. “I—um. Let me just—”

You reach for the flowers, hands brushing his, and damn it, why is his heart beating faster?

“They’re beautiful,” you say softly.

Logan swallows. “Yeah, well.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Seemed like the kinda day for it.”

Your smile turns shy, and Logan tells himself he’s not melting.

Then he exhales, shifting his weight. “Listen. You, uh… got plans tonight?”

Your breath catches. “Tonight?”

He nods, trying not to look as damn awkward as he feels. “Yeah. Figured… maybe I could take you to dinner. If you want.”

For a second, you just stare. Then—

“Yes.”

It’s immediate. No hesitation.

Logan blinks. “Yeah?”

You laugh, still holding the flowers close. “Yeah. Of course.”

And, well.

Logan might not be the flowers-and-romance kind of guy.

But as you smile at him—bright and happy, like he just gave you the best gift in the world—he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could be.

For you.

You don’t consider yourself a nervous person.

You run a business. You wake up before the sun, manage suppliers, handle customers with difficult requests. You can face a crowd and talk about your pastries with confidence, even when the pressure is on.

But as you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing down your dress for the fourth time, you feel nervous in a way that’s completely unfamiliar.

Because this isn’t just a date. It’s a date with Logan.

The gruff, flannel-wearing, cinnamon roll-loving man who somehow wormed his way into your daily routine—and, if you’re being honest, your thoughts, too.

You take a slow breath, stepping back to look at yourself.

The dress isn’t anything over-the-top—simple, flattering, something soft and flowy in a color that makes your skin glow just right. You’d debated going more casual, but… something told you Logan deserved the effort. And judging by how he showed up earlier with flowers, he might be making an effort too.

That thought alone makes your stomach flip.

Then the sound of an engine outside draws your attention.

Not the deep, familiar rumble of a motorcycle.

A car.

You peek through the window, and sure enough, there’s a sleek black car parked outside.

And standing next to it, looking more put-together than you’ve ever seen him, is Logan.

You blink.

Because—okay. He still looks like Logan. But the usual flannel has been swapped for a dark button-up, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and his hair looks… good. Like he actually ran a hand through it with intention. And he’s standing there, leaning against the car like he’s trying so hard to look casual but can’t quite pull it off.

You grab your coat and step outside, feeling the winter air nip at your bare skin.

Logan straightens the second he sees you.

His eyes sweep over you—down, then up again, slower this time. And for a moment, he just looks.

Then he clears his throat. “You look… good.”

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thanks.”

Then you glance at the car. “So, what’s this?”

Logan exhales through his nose, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Charles’ idea.”

Your brows lift. “Charles told you to get a car?”

“He suggested it.” Logan scowls slightly. “Said if you were gonna wear a dress, showin’ up with the bike was a dumbass move.”

Your lips twitch. “I mean, he’s got a point.”

Logan sighs. “Yeah, yeah.” Then, hesitantly, he gestures toward the car. “You ready?”

You nod, and he opens the door for you.

It’s a small thing, but something about it makes your heart do another little flip.

Dinner is, unsurprisingly, very Valentine’s Day-themed.

Which means that when you walk in, you’re immediately hit with dim candlelight, soft music, and an overwhelming number of couples sharing desserts with tiny forks.

Logan pauses just inside the door, scanning the restaurant like he’s sizing up a fight.

You bite back a laugh. “Regretting this already?”

He grunts. “Didn’t think it’d be this… pink.”

You grin. “What, no love for the holiday spirit?”

Logan just gives you a look, and you laugh as the host leads you to a table.

Despite the overly romantic setting, the dinner itself is nice.

Logan is awkward at first—not in a bad way, just in a Logan way. He doesn’t do small talk, and you can tell he’s still getting used to this whole… thing.

But then, as the evening goes on, the tension in his shoulders eases.

You start talking—really talking—and he starts listening.

You tell him about how you fell in love with baking. How, as a kid, you’d sit in your grandmother’s kitchen, watching her mix ingredients with practiced hands. How you saved every penny to open your own shop, how you still wake up every morning excited to do what you love.

And to your surprise, Logan opens up, too.

It’s not much—not at first. Just little pieces of himself, scattered through the conversation. How he’s been all over, seen more than most. How he likes Westchester more than he lets on. How, lately, he’s been feeling a little less like a drifter and a little more like he belongs.

The words are simple. But they settle warm in your chest.

Then dessert arrives—because, obviously, you can’t not have dessert.

It’s a shared plate of something rich and chocolatey, and Logan looks at it like it’s some kind of challenge.

“You don’t have to share,” you tease.

He raises a brow. “Oh, I know.”

But despite his gruffness, you do share—just passing bites back and forth, talking between mouthfuls, laughing when Logan grumbles about the tiny forks.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize—

You’re having fun.

Not just the surface-level kind, but the real, deep kind. The kind that makes your heart feel full.

Then, after you both finish off the last bite of chocolate, Logan shifts in his seat.

He looks like he’s debating something.

Then, finally, he exhales.

“So… this was good.” His voice is rough, but his eyes are softer than usual. “The whole thing. You and me.”

Your heart does a little flip. “Yeah,” you say. “It was.”

Logan nods once, like he’s locking that truth into place. Then he clears his throat. “So, uh… maybe we do this again sometime?”

You smile.

Because of course you do.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I’d like that.”

And the look Logan gives you in return?

It’s the kind that makes you think this is the start of something good.

Dating Logan is easier than you expect.

Not in the sense that he suddenly turns into some smooth, lovesick romantic—God, no. He’s still gruff, still stubborn, still awkward as hell when it comes to some things.

But there’s something honest about him.

He doesn’t play games, doesn’t beat around the bush. If he wants to see you, he shows up. If he likes something you made, he tells you. If he’s had a rough day, he lets you see the tiredness in his eyes instead of covering it up with grumbles and sarcasm.

And as the weeks pass, “seeing Logan” becomes less about dates at fancy restaurants and more about something real.

Some nights, it’s dinner at a cozy little place in town, where he glares at overly complicated menus before ordering the simplest thing available.

Other nights, it’s takeout at your apartment above the bakery, curled up on the couch while you argue over what movie to watch.

Sometimes, he even helps you close up the bakery—wiping down tables (grumbling the whole time), locking up after your last customer, staying with you until the lights are off and the doors are locked.

And then, one evening, after he walks you upstairs, it happens.

The first kiss.

It’s not some grand, dramatic moment.

It’s just the two of you standing in your doorway, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. The night is quiet, the street below nearly empty. And when he looks at you—his expression just a little softer than usual—you realize you’re standing on the edge of something big.

Logan hesitates for half a second. Then—

He kisses you.

Slow, warm, deliberate.

And just like everything about him, it’s honest.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, pressed close, trading soft, lingering kisses between unspoken words. But eventually, when you pull back, Logan looks at you like he’s never letting this go.

And the best part?

Neither are you.

From that moment on, Logan starts spending more and more nights at your place.

It’s not planned—it just happens.

Some nights, he falls asleep on your couch, arms crossed, head tipped back, snoring softly. Other nights, you fall asleep on him, curled up against his side while the TV hums in the background.

And then, eventually, it stops being falling asleep by accident and starts being something else entirely.

You wake up together.

In the mornings, you find yourself wrapped in Logan’s warmth, tangled in soft sheets, your face pressed into the crook of his neck.

And Logan? For all his gruffness, he’s a cuddler.

You’d never say it to his face (not unless you want a grumbled response and an exaggerated eye roll), but once he’s asleep, he melts into you. A heavy arm slung around your waist, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on your back.

And when you wake up and start moving, trying to slip away for the early bakery shift?

He grumbles, tightens his grip, and refuses to let you go.

Which is how, one morning, you end up exactly where you are now—trapped under Logan’s arm, pressed against his solid chest, while he pretends to still be asleep.

“Logan,” you murmur, shifting slightly. “I have to get up.”

He makes a low, half-asleep noise. “Mm. No, you don’t.”

You laugh softly. “Yes, I do. My customers want breakfast.”

“They can wait,” he grumbles.

You roll your eyes. “You are one of my customers.”

“Exactly. Tell ‘em all you’re busy with your best one.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You are so dramatic.”

Logan smirks slightly but keeps his eyes closed.

You sigh, relaxing back into the warmth of him for just a few more moments.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Y’know,” you say idly, tracing a finger over his chest, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you bake anything.”

Logan snorts. “That’s ‘cause I haven’t.”

You blink. “Wait. Ever?”

He huffs. “Nope.”

“Like, not even as a kid? Not even boxed brownies?”

“Darlin’, I burn toast.”

You gasp dramatically, sitting up. “This is a travesty.”

Logan groans, throwing an arm over his face. “Here we go.”

“I have to fix this,” you declare. “We’re going downstairs right now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

And before Logan can argue any further, you grab his arm and drag him out of bed.

Ten minutes later, Logan is standing in your bakery kitchen, looking as out of place as a grizzly bear in a flower shop.

“This is a bad idea,” he says as you gather ingredients.

“This is a great idea,” you correct. “We’re keeping it simple. Sugar cookies.”

Logan exhales sharply. “You say simple, but I know how this ends.”

You smirk. “With delicious cookies?”

“With me screwin’ up so bad the oven catches fire.”

You laugh and hand him a mixing bowl. “I’ll make sure the fire extinguisher is close by.”

Logan groans but takes the bowl.

And, well… you were right.

Sort of.

The cookies don’t catch fire. But everything else is a disaster.

Logan somehow manages to spill flour everywhere. The egg doesn’t crack right. The dough is lumpy, and he absolutely refuses to use the heart-shaped cookie cutters.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, using a knife to chop the dough into rough squares instead.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tease, nudging flour at him with your fingertip.

He huffs. “Why’s bakin’ so much harder than cookin’?”

“Because baking is a science.” You grab his hand, guiding it as he presses the dough onto a tray. “You have to follow directions.”

Logan raises a brow. “You tryin’ to teach me how to follow orders?”

You grin. “Maybe.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away.

By the time the cookies are in the oven, you’re both covered in flour. There’s dough on the counter, sugar on the floor, and Logan has somehow managed to get butter on his shirt.

It’s a mess.

But it’s also… fun.

Then, as you’re cleaning up, Logan suddenly reaches over—

And swipes flour across your cheek.

You gasp. “Logan.”

He smirks. “What?”

“You did not just—”

Before you can finish, you grab a handful of flour and smack it onto his chest.

His smirk drops.

You blink.

Silence.

Then—

Logan grabs an entire handful of flour and pats it onto the top of your head.

You shriek, laughing as he dodges your next attack, grabbing your wrists to stop you.

“You play dirty,” you accuse, breathless.

Logan grins. “Always.”

And then—before you can even think—he kisses you.

Flour-covered and laughing, lips brushing yours in a warm, lingering kiss.

You melt into it, into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

By the time you pull away, you’re breathless.

And Logan?

He just smirks. “Guess bakin’ ain’t so bad.”

You shake your head, smiling.

The cookies might be a disaster.

But this?

This is perfect.

Logan’s kiss is slow at first. Lazy. Like he’s savoring the moment.

But then you shift closer—pressing against him, your fingers gripping his shirt, the warmth of his body seeping into yours—

And that’s when things start to change.

Logan makes a low sound, something deep and satisfied, and suddenly his hands are at your waist, fingers flexing, pulling you in like he’s starving for you.

Your heart pounds as you kiss him back, heat curling in your stomach.

It doesn’t matter that you’re covered in flour. It doesn’t matter that the bakery kitchen is an absolute disaster.

All that matters is Logan—warm, solid, real.

You feel his hands slide up your back, fingertips pressing against your spine, and it sends a thrill through you. Your breath hitches as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his lips brushing yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until your back bumps against the counter.

Logan doesn’t break the kiss. If anything, it just spurs him on—his hands gripping the edge of the counter on either side of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the flour-dusted surface.

And God, you don’t mind.

You gasp softly as his lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Logan,” you murmur, tilting your head to give him more room.

He hums against your skin, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl—a low, rumbling sound that you feelmore than hear.

And you swear, if he keeps kissing you like this, you’re going to—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You jolt.

Logan stills.

And for a full second, neither of you move—breathless, flushed, frozen in place as the loud, sharp beeping of the kitchen timer cuts through the moment.

Then, reality slams into you like a brick to the face.

“The cookies!”

You shove Logan away—not forcefully, but urgently—and scramble toward the oven.

Logan blinks, still catching up. “Wait—what?”

You don’t have time to answer. You grab an oven mitt, fling open the oven door, and—

A thick puff of smoke billows out.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you breathe.

Logan steps up behind you, peering over your shoulder. “That ain’t good.”

You groan, reaching in to pull out the tray. The cookies—if you can even call them that—are dark, charred, and completely ruined.

You set the tray down with a defeated sigh.

Logan crosses his arms, inspecting the damage. “Y’know… I don’t think that’s what they’re supposed to look like.”

You turn to him, exasperated. “Really? I never would have guessed.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying so hard not to laugh.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Logan smirks. “I told you I was bad at this.”

You sigh dramatically. “It wasn’t just you! I got distracted.”

Logan raises a brow. “Did you, now?”

You cross your arms, giving him a look. “You know I did.”

Logan just grins.

And God help you, that grin—all smug and teasing and unfairly attractive—makes your stomach flip again.

You scowl, jabbing a finger at his chest. “This is your fault.”

Logan chuckles. “Oh, mine?”

“Yes.” You poke him again. “You and your stupid, distracting—”

Before you can finish, Logan grabs your wrist, tugs you forward, and kisses you again.

It’s fast, playful, over before you can even react—

But when he pulls back, the smirk on his face is even worse than before.

You huff. “You are impossible.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile.

Then you glance at the ruined cookies and sigh. “Well… at least we tried.”

Logan snorts. “Pretty sure we failed.”

You groan. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

Logan eyes them. Then, slowly, he reaches for one.

You watch in horror as he takes a bite.

There’s a long pause.

Then he chews.

Then he grimaces.

And finally—

He spits it out into the trash.

You burst into laughter.

“I told you they were ruined!” you say between giggles.

Logan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling. “That was awful.”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe. “I cannot believe you actually tried it.”

Logan mutters something under his breath, but his lips are twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, too.

Then, suddenly—before you can react—he dips his fingers into the leftover flour and flicks some at you.

You gasp. “Logan!”

He smirks. “Payback.”

“Oh, you’re dead.”

And just like that, you’re both at it again—flour flying, laughter echoing through the kitchen, ruined cookies forgotten.

Eventually, when you’re both completely covered in flour and thoroughly exhausted, you collapse against the counter, panting.

Logan glances at you, brushing a bit of flour from your cheek with his thumb.

His touch lingers.

Your heart stutters.

Then he tilts his head slightly, voice lower now—soft, warm. “Y’know… I wouldn’t mind tryin’ again.”

You blink. “What? Baking?”

He nods. “If it means spendin’ more time with you? Yeah.”

And God help you, your heart does another stupid little flip.

You smile. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

Logan smirks. “We’ll see.”

And then he kisses you again—flour-covered, cookie-failed, and absolutely perfect.

[letmedixonyou]

i'm not yours - part 9

summary: Daryl and you are friends. He dated Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

Daryl keeps looking for the clues connecting anyone to your beating incident, and you try to fix his vinyl player while he's out of the house. When he comes back you have a sweet conversation and finally go back to being friends again.

words: 2.8k

warnings: swearing, mentions of killing (walkers and people)

A/N: Hello, muffins! Here I am with another part. I checked for mistakes 3 times, but it seems okay to me. Again, English is not my first language so the errors will probably occur to the English natives. I can also say already that there are going to be 15 parts to this, so we have 6 parts to go! <3

Daryl visited you and took care of you every single day for weeks. It almost felt like nothing had changed between you two; like everything was normal again. But was it really? Or was it just a façade that you two put up so you didn't have to deal with the unresolved issues? You tried not to think about it too much and just enjoyed the fact that Daryl was close again, even though he wasn't very chatty these days. Maybe he's still holding a grudge about your feelings for him, or maybe he just doesn't know how to return to being your friend again. He would bring you new books and some comics to read, so you wouldn't get bored, but boredom got you pretty fast after reading your third book in a week. You started missing movies right about then. You thought about your favourite TV shows and how your family would watch them all together after dinner. Now, all you can do is push through with your memories of it and an incredible imagination.

He would cook for you, usually something simple and quick that you could reheat if you wanted to, before vanishing for entire nights, trying to find out who had beaten you up. You had your suspicions, but you didn't tell him about it. Why? You were scared of what would happen. The information, or rather a clue, would make him go into a fight mode, for sure. You knew him well enough to admit that. So you kept your thoughts to yourself.

That didn't stop him from continuously asking you about the details or anything you remembered from the fight. No matter how many times you told him that it was dark and you didn't see or hear them, as they did not speak, just occasionally grunted while driving their feet into your body. He kept asking and trying to make sense of who would want to do this to you. Your tongue itched with an answer. For you, it was obvious.

You were glad that he was clueless like this. Maybe he just didn't want to believe it or found it hard to create that type of scenario in his head. Maybe it was too much for him to handle right about now. You didn't blame him, he had a lot on his plate as of late - his best friend fell in love with him, his girlfriend broke up with him because of the best friend, and he has chores and duties in Alexandria that he has to do, even if he is tired and doesn't want to, and now he turned into a detective, trying to solve a case - all of it probably making a huge mess in his brain.

You busy yourself with some reading once again, but it was starting to get excruciatingly boring. How many times can you read the same plot in multiple books? Putting it down on the sofa armrest, you suddenly remembered that you still had Daryl's vinyl player that needed to be fixed. That would be a good distraction, you thought and slowly pushed yourself up. The pain was less prominent now, so you could move a little bit better, although Daryl would scold you for even trying. It didn't matter how many times you said you felt fine and walking and moving around didn't hurt much anymore, he dragged you back to the sofa every single time. This time, he wasn't here, so you could freely roam around for a while.

You step into your bedroom and open your wardrobe. Reaching up onto the shelf, you pull the vinyl down, alongside many different tiny parts in a white cloth bag. You also pick up your screwdrivers, glue and anything else you'd need before attempting repair. Once you got everything you needed, you took it to the living room and put it on top of the coffee table. Leaning down, just enough to not feel pain in your ribs, you examined the vinyl player. You were a good tinkerer and you had a good understanding of electronic shit, although the player was old which required some knowledge about old electronics. You didn't have that, but you decided to try anyway.

After hours of fiddling and fidgeting, glueing and trying to pull tiny bits apart and put them back together again, you sigh deeply realising that making that playing vinyl records on this thing is going to need more than just a couple hours of repair. You most definitely will need some help from Eugene, as he is the only person with enough knowledge about this stuff.

After another hour of carefully glueing the tiny, broken bits to the exterior of the machine, you feel drowsy and you close your eyes for a minute, just to rest them. Before you realise it, you start quietly snoring, a screwdriver loosely in your hand. Your mind is blank for the first time since the incident. You feel like you can fully enjoy some sleep. Using your brain for more than reading books was a good idea, after all.

Daryl's head started to hurt about two hours ago when he checked the path you were beaten up on for the bazillion times. He was trying so hard to find out who attacked his best friend that the rage of not knowing was slowly sipping out through his veins. He could've sworn there was a red, hot, bright aura around him.

He went to the place where she was beaten up, thinking that he would get some good clues - maybe a blood trail or some footprints, or maybe a goddamn piece of fabric that was tugged off of the aggressor's clothes, but whoever did this was smarter than that and cleared everything within a couple of miles radius, making sure that there was no way to track them. He felt impressed at how meticulously they'd worked to cover the tracks, but most of all he felt helpless and angry.

It's been weeks since he started looking and Y/N wasn't much help. She kept saying it was too dark to see and she didn't catch a glimpse of any of the people. It didn't help that they hadn't spoken during the fight either, because maybe if they did, Daryl could've track them by the tone of their voice, questioning everyone in Alexandria one by one. But since there were no clues, he had a hard time finding anything. It bothered him to the point he kicked and punched an innocent tree a couple of times.

He finally decided that it was time to go back and check on his best friend. He wasn't going to find anything anyway, so he may as well use his time to help her recover and get on their feet again. Frankly, helping her recover helped him relax, even after the hardest of days. He didn't speak much around her, his mind still recalling the fact that she was indeed in love with him, but he tried to move past it as best as he could. Nothing was more important than her getting better right now.

Besides catching the people who did this to her, and potentially beheading them.

When he opens the doors, the sound of her snoring comes to his ears and he can't help but huff a half laugh at it. He remembers the countless times they went on supply runs and her snoring attracted walkers to their location. He never told her about it, he just took care of the walkers silently.

He takes his crossbow off his back and leans it against the wall before walking into the living room. He stops in his tracks for a second when he sees what lies on the coffee table in front of her.

The vinyl player.

The same one that ended up being chucked out of the window by Leah when they had a fight a few weeks ago.

His brow furrows as he steps closer to the table. He realises that she must've been present when he and Leah had a fight. Has she heard them? What exactly did she hear? How did she end up at his house that evening? How did she get the vinyl player and why would she take it?

He looks at her, asleep with a screwdriver in her hand. She looks peaceful. The bruises on her face faded a little, changing colour from purple and reds to blues and greens. The cut on her lip was healing nicely, a scab was drying out. Her hair looked messy, brought up in some sort of ponytail, where many different strands were sticking out from the sides of her head.

He looks at the vinyl player again and takes another step closer. He wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping, in his confused and surprised state, and his boot kicks the coffee table, making one of the tools roll off and fall to the floor with a clash.

It wakes her up with a jump, and she rubs your eyes a little, trying to make her vision less blurry.

"Daryl?" her voice sounds groggy and faint.

"How did you get my vinyl player?" Daryl asks with no hesitation, the urgency in his voice is enough to make her come to her senses.

She looks at the coffee table and her eyes widen a little, like she was surprised to see the vinyl player too. But no, it wasn't surprise, it was... embarrassment. Like she got caught doing something she shouldn't. She keeps looking at the vinyl player and he can see her cheeks flush and uncertainty flashing across her face. She was definitely feeling the need to escape from the situation, but she knew there was no escape. All she could do was face it.

"I...I found it on the ground," her voice is quiet. When she looks at him, he knows the answer to the questions yet to come, but felt like he must ask them.

"Found it on the ground?"

"Yes."

"Where exactly did you find it?"

"Outside your house," she says, avoiding his gaze. Her cheeks burn a deeper shade of red.

"When?"

"If you are asking me if I've heard you and Leah fighting, then yes. I have," she says; a sigh escapes her lips.

The silence was deafening for good couple of minutes. Daryl decided to take a seat next to her, staring at the vinyl player. She stayed quiet, looking at it as well. He was trying to figure out how to ask more questions; how to prod about what she's heard... what she knew. His hand reaches towards the platter, dragging his fingers on top of it, feeling the cracks.

"I haven't heard much," she finally breaks the silence and he looks at her. "I left pretty much straight away."

"But you've heard something," he says slowly.

"Yeah," she licks her dry lips. "Is it worth getting into it?"

He thinks about her question. Is it? Is it worth it? Does he really need to know what she heard? It wasn't that important, Leah and him are over now. But part of his brain believed it was crucial to know. He needed that information, needed to know how much she knows...

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I want to know."

"Well, I've heard her screaming about me..." she starts carefully, biting the inside of her cheek. "Something about me knowing more than her."

Daryl looks at her for a second, maybe trying to gauge her reaction to it, or maybe he was trying to focus on anything else than Leah's words echoing through his mind. He knew that she indeed knew more than Leah, more than anyone ever. He felt the most comfortable sharing with her. He remembers all the times he opened up and it felt great to be heard and listened to, probably the first time in his entire life. Somehow, he knew she was the right person to tell things. Trustworthy.

Back at the CDC, when he first opened his mouth to share, he was nervous. What if she judged? But all of this melted away when she sat there, listening, nodding, not asking questions, just soaking the information in. Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins, but it made him want to open up even more, get the stuff off his chest. Once he finished, it felt... cathartic. Like he was lighter.

He looks up to her eyes.

"I also heard her saying that... you're not worth it," she added and looked away. He could sense her anger in the words spoken, spitting them out like they were acid on her tongue.

"Mm," he murmured quietly, looking away from her and at his boots. He doesn't get embarrassed very easily, and yet his cheeks seemed to burn a little.

Again, the silence resounded in the house, you could almost hear the buzzing of electricity from one of the lamps. Daryl couldn't look up. Leah's words seemed to be burned into his mind, slowly making him believe he is not worth anything. He started to believe he doesn't deserve good things in life.

"It's not true. Leah was wrong," she says, putting her hand on his knee and squeezing it tightly.

"And you say that as a person who's in love with me?"

"I'm saying it as your best friend," her words hit him like a tone of bricks and he finally looks up at her, eyebrow raised. "You are worth so much."

Daryl wants to believe her. No, he needs to believe her. For his sake, for the sake of his mental stability. He takes a few deep breaths and and then looks down at her hand on his knee. His hand gently places over hers and he squeezes it lightly. Her reassurance was everything. You could say the only opinion he cared about these days was her, even though they haven't been great friends for awhile.

He beats himself up for not reaching out sooner. He hated he fact he's lost her for so long, and lost himself in the process. She loves him. Yes, it is more than a friend, but ultimately, she loves him. For who he is. She never judged, never tried to change him or push him to do things he didn't enjoy. She's one person he always felt comfortable with. He still does, even after she told him she loved him.

He thinks back to the time and thinks about why he was so angry at her for that. She wasn't making moves at him. She just... shared her feelings. Angrily - that was an understatement - but still. He sort of understood why she'd blow up the way she did. He spoke about Leah quite a lot and thinking about it now, it may have been to convince himself and her that he was happy with her and he did love her. Part of him did love Leah. But maybe it wasn't as strong feeling as he thought it was...

"You okay?"

Her voice brings Daryl back. He huffs and nods lightly.

"Yeah. I will be," he says and his lips curve into a smile.

"I mean it, Daryl. You're worth it. And I hope you do find someone who appreciates you," her little smile makes him scoff.

"Someone like you?" he retorts.

"No," she shakes her head vigorously. "Not me. You made it clear it's never going to happen and I accept it. But I hope you find someone who can make you believe you are worth everything and more."

Daryl looks at her with a grimace on his face. He did say that, didn't he? He said that her and him will never going to happen. For some reason, her words made him feel sad, just for a second. He wouldn't have been able to register it if he wasn't focusing on it that much. He shakes his head.

"I've sworn off love and relationships," he leans back on the couch and put his head on the sofa back. "It's just going to be me, my crossbow and my best friend."

"Your best friend?"

Her smile beams from ear to ear and Daryl can't help but notice the shine in her eyes when he said it. Like she wasn't sure if he was serious about it. Like she waited months for him to come back, to finally be her friend again.

"Of course. Can't live my sorry ass life without ya," he sighs. "Who else am I going to tease and laugh at?"

"You mean laugh with?"

"That too."

She giggles and he realises how much he really missed her all these months. He missed her laugh and their banter. The way he felt so free around her. The way he knew she could tell him she killed someone and he would help her cover up the tracks. She was his best friend. And going back to being friends with her felt good.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Babysitting Chronicles II

Your wedding anniversary with Sylus is coming up and lucky for you he’ll be leaving for a day and half which gives you time to prepare your surprise for him. Let’s hope all goes well. You just need the twins to watch your daughter for a few hours what could go wrong? A/N: Nika why'd you use this photo? I like it. Why not use a photo of Sylus? He's not here right now.

[Decision Made: You cook & talk to the twins over breakfast] ↢ previous

You turned and padded down the hallway to you daughters room. You open her door to find her already climbing out of bed pulling her blanket with her. “What are you doing up?” You cooed at her to catch her attention. She made a grumbling noise in the back of her throat as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes — she acts just like her dad.

She dropped the blanket and waddled over to you as fast as her little legs could carry her. “I’m hungry” She mumbled before wrapping herself around your legs. You giggled at how cute she was you never understood what the twins were talking about when they said she was a little menace — she was always so cute and well behaved with you. Especially considering she was only three years old turning four soon.

“Do you know what you want for breakfast?” You squatted down so she could be eye level with you. Her lips quivered as she tried to answer “You can yawn baby” You chuckled a little with a confused look on your face. Her little fist raised high in the air as a big yawn escaped. “Why were you trying to hold that in?”

“Daddy said it's rude to yawn in someones face” Her big ruby red eyes shined bright as she repeated what Sylus told her. You tilted your head and smiled at her affectionately.

“Your Daddy is correct it is rude but all you have to do is go like this” You moved your hand in front of your mouth. “Now you’re not being rude” she mirrored your gesture and you gave her an assuring nod. Her little giggle gave you so much cuteness aggression you couldn't help, but gently pinch her nose.

“Mommyyyyy no I don’t like that anymore” She puffed her cheeks out and swatted your hand which wasn’t helping the cuteness aggression at all, but you respected her boundaries.

“Mommy’s sorry” You stood up and reached your hand out for her to grab, but instead she darted past you out of her room and down the hall. When babygirl was up she wanted everyone up so you knew she was headed straight for the twin room. You followed close behind her as she came up on their bedroom door. She pounded on the door with all her might. You could hear their shocked voices and a myriad of thuds and bumps behind the door.

“We’re awake!” They shouted in unison.

“Uncle Key! Uncle L!” She shrieked continuing her onslaught of tiny fists. “It’s time for breakfast hurry!” Suddenly the door flung open and two identical faces popped out. Your daughter fell head first into the room, but Kieran managed to catch her. He set her back on her feet and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

“We’ll be right down!” They mumbled.

Your lip quirked at the sight of them being so disoriented from that abrupt wake up call. Feeling bad that they got woken up like that you decided to save them. “We can meet them downstairs come on��� You grabbed her hand pulling her along. She didn’t protest instead she opted to tell her uncles she’d eat all the food if they don’t get there fast enough.

The kitchen was fully stocked per usual so finding something quick ti whip up was no problem. You decided on breakfast sandwiches since it was something that could be filling and delicious. Also lucky for you that was babygirls favorite. Which truly was shocking considering she’s had gourmet breakfast more than your regular home cooking. It took little to no time to fry a couple eggs and cook up some bacon. You assembled the ingredients together on an English muffin and sliced it right down the middle.

“One breakfast sandwich with ‘cado because she doesn’t like avocado for the princess” She giggled and did a happy dance in her seat. She was only three one day when she’s older you’ll tell here that this ‘cado she loves so much is the same avocado she claims to hate. You checked the time and saw It was about half past eight, the twins weren’t down yet and you were starting to get antsy. “Luke! Kieran! Get down here!” You yelled from the middle of the kitchen. This place may be big, but you know they heard you when you hear two sets of heavy footsteps barreling down the stairs.

“Sorry” Luke said out of breath.

“We fell back asleep” Kieran explained.

“Please don’t be mad” They said in unison.

You eyed them as you sat two more plates on the table. “Sit down” They scrambled into their seats so fast Luke managed to knock his knee against the table. You sighed at how discombobulated they become when they think they’re in trouble. “I need you two to babysit your niece for a few hours I have some errands to run”

“Okay” They agreed.

You gave them a blank stare “That’s it? No whining? No rebuttal?”

“Nope we’ll be the best babysitters just like always” Luke said around a mouthful of food. Kieran shoved him knowing how much you hate when they speak with food in their mouth. Luke gulped down the bite and gave you an apologetic smile.

You checked the time again and just shrugged it off. For the first time in months the twins aren’t being bratty about babysitting so a win is a win. You threw your hands up in surrender and nodded “Good to hear alright-” You turned on your heels and grabbed your keys and purse off the counter. “I’ll be back soon take good care of her and remember boys if anything happens to my baby” You gave them a stern look that sent shivers down their spine. “I’ll fold your clothes with you still in them”

“Mommy how is that possible?” Your daughter chimed in tapping her chin trying to understand what you meant. You sashayed over to her and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll explain when you’re older” She tried to protest, but you managed to redirect her attention back to her food by pretending to take half of it. You chuckled as she pried your fingers off and took a bite. So greedy. “Okay you three be good”

“Wait!” Luke yelled.

“Who’s in charge?” Kieran asked.

You propped your hand on your hip and gave them an ‘are you two serious?’ look “You’re both in charge” You deadpanned.

They shared a look before focusing back on you. “But which one is the main one in charge?” Luke gestured between himself and Kieran.

“It’s doesn't matter you’re both equally in charge” These two are such handfuls sometimes.

“You have to choose” You looked at Kieran who was pleading with his eyes. He obviously wanted to be the quote on quote ‘main one in charge’. You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed heavily; you don’t have time for this.

↢ previous

[noisynaia]

𝑀𝑈𝐹𝐹𝐼𝑁𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐽𝐴𝑀

Written for the lovely @pedrostories Secret Santa event 2023

My dear giftee is @katiexpunk, hope you like it! 💕

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader 

word count: 3.2k 

summury: You moved into your new house six months ago, and you love your new home. It is spacious and has a lovely little garden, and it also just so happens to include the hottest single dad with the sweetest little girl you’ve ever met as your new neighbors. Over the months you have gotten to know them more and more. Little Sarah has fallen head over heels for your labradoodle Sofie and often comes over to play with her in your garden, and as you have gotten to know him more and more, you have fallen head over heels for her father, Joel.

note: Pre/no outbreak. Next door neighbors. Fluff. Baking. This is the first fic i've written in seven months, so sorry for being super duper rusty. English isn't my native language. This was supposed to be something completely different, but my laptop broke, (the 'screen part' literally just fell off?!) so I didn't have near as much time for this as I would have preferred, so sorry if this seemed rushed (it sadly was). But nonetheless, happy holidays ya'll! I'm so happy to be back, and aiming to write much more again in the new year ♥︎

Joel stands in the kitchen, staring hopelessly at the empty sugar canister while cursing under his breath, feeling the dull pressure behind his eyes and nasal cavity which usually indicates an incoming tension headache. He had been sure that it was full, but no, it’s as empty as his hope for successfully making these damn muffins. The curse words escape his lips like a symphony of frustration, echoing off the empty walls of the kitchen. Joel can feel the frustration sinking into his bones. 

He had promised Sarah that he would bake muffins for her school function, despite not being a very good nor patient baker. But he would do anything to make his little girl happy. He had thought that they could bake them together, that it would be a fun father-daughter activity, but work and chores and Sarah’s soccer practice and honestly just life in general had gotten in the way of those plans. 

So now he stands here, the night before Sarah needs the muffins, without one of the most essential ingredients. It’s late, way past Sarah’s bedtime, who is sleeping soundly in her room.  Joel would  have to wake her up and take her with him if he’s going out to buy more sugar. But he really doesn’t want to wake her, she needs her sleep, but there is also no way in hell he’s leaving her alone while he runs to the store even if she’s just sleeping. 

As he stands here contemplating his options, you appear in his mind. You do that frighteningly often these days, and deep down he knows exactly why, but he has to suppress it. He is too busy, and too grown, to go around getting crushes on pretty women with cute dogs who move into houses next door to him, and who is always so sweet and funny, and who is so sweet and nice to his daughter, and…. No. He has to stop this. He shouldn’t think about you like this. 

He is mature enough to admit to himself that he is attracted to you, very attracted to you, but admitting to the feelings he has caught is a whole other can of worms, which he is not going to even attempt to look into. He is a single dad to a six year old, focused on taking care of his daughter and providing for her needs.

But in this moment, as he stands in the kitchen with an empty sugar canister mocking him, he feels a tug in his heart, a desperate need for help. He reluctantly gives in to the idea that perhaps you might have some sugar to spare… 

It would be nice to see you, but he also really doesn’t want to disturb you, and something about knocking at your door this late at night gives him a funny feeling in his stomach. 

Joel shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he focuses on the task at hand. He glances at the clock on the wall, realizing that time is slipping away. With a sigh, he reluctantly decides that he has no choice but to go next door and ask you for some sugar.

As he walks across the lawn and up to your front door, Joel can feel his heart racing. Why does he feel so nervous about such a simple request? He hesitates for a moment, contemplating whether he should knock or just turn around and forget about the whole thing. But the thought of disappointing Sarah and ruining her school event pushes him forward.  He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, attempting to calm his racing thoughts.

Shortly after, the door swings open, and there you are, standing with a warm smile on your face. Your eyes light up as you see Joel, and Sofie, your adorable dog happily greets him as well. Joel can’t help but feel his heartbeat quicken even more at the sight of you.

“Hi,“ you smile at him. “What brings you here at this hour?” you ask curiously.

Joel awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his nerves getting the best of him. “I hate to bother you, but I’m in a bit of a jam. I promised Sarah I would bake muffins for a thing at her school tomorrow, but I ran out of sugar. Do you, by any chance, have some to spare?" 

Your smile widens, and you tilt your head slightly. “Of course, I’d be happy to help you out. Come on in, I’ll grab it for you.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief as you invite him inside. He steps into your warm and inviting home, noticing the pleasant aroma from what he guess must be a scented candle or something of the sort. It feels comforting and familiar, contrasting with the chaos and frustration that he left behind in his own kitchen.

He follows you into your kitchen, taking in the sight of the cozy space. The countertops are clutter-free, and a few potted herbs sit on the windowsill, basking in the moonlight. It’s a stark contrast to his own kitchen, which is always a whirlwind of activity and unfinished tasks.

As you retrieve the sugar from your well-stocked pantry, Joel can’t help but admire the ease with which you move around the kitchen. Your familiarity with the tools and ingredients is evident, invoking a sense of calm in him. He wonders how you manage to maintain such a serene environment amidst the chaos of daily life.

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Joel finally musters the courage to ask, “How do you do it? How do you manage to keep everything so neat?”

You pause for a moment, a kind smile on your face as you hand Joel the sugar. “Well, for starters, I don’t have a kid," you chuckle, “and I guess it’s just about priorities, and since I work from home, I find that having a clean and organized space helps me stay focused and reduces unnecessary stress.”

Joel nods at your answer. He can’t help but admire how put-together you seem, both in your home and in your life. It’s something he strives for but often falls short of, with the chaos that comes with being a single parent. 

“You’re doing really well by the way,” you smile at him, interrupting his thoughts, as if you can sense his doubts. “Sarah is really lucky to have you.” Joel’s cheeks flush at your compliment, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. He never believed he was doing enough for Sarah, constantly doubting himself as a parent. But your words validate his efforts and provide a much-needed boost of confidence. “Thank you,” he says softly, a mixture of appreciation and relief lacing his voice. “I always worry that I’m not doing enough, that…” he pauses. 

Your expression is filled with understanding. “I can’t talk from experience, but I know that parenting is never easy. But trust me, Joel, Sarah knows how much you love her and how much you’re doing for her. And I think you are doing a wonderful job,” Joel’s eyes meet yours, and he sees genuine sincerity reflected in them. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, the burden of his self-imposed expectations slowly dissipating. You speak with such warmth and wisdom, Joel’s heart swells with gratitude for your presence in his life. He never imagined that a simple request for sugar would lead to such a meaningful conversation. 

“Thank you,” Joel says, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

 You smile warmly at him, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm. “Joel, you’re a great dad. Don’t ever doubt yourself.” As Joel thanks you once again, he can’t help but feel a warmth spreading throughout his heart. It’s a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time, and it fills him with a sense of hope and possibility. Before he leaves, Joel can’t help but ask, “Would you wanna come over for dinner sometime? I am a much better cook than baker and Sarah has begged me to have you and Sofie over and visit.” 

You smile and nod, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “I would love that, Joel.” 

Joel feels a surge of warmth, at your smile. Thanking you again he turns to leave, sugar in hand, he musters up the courage to say one last thing. “I’m happy that it was you who moved in next to us.  It’s been nice getting to know you and having you around.”

You smile warmly, your eyes twinkling, and an almost bashful expression on your face which catches Joel a little off guard. “Likewise, Joel. I’m always here if you need anything, whether it’s sugar or just someone to talk to.” you add the last part with a teasing smile, but the sincerity in your words are clear. 

“I really appreciate that,” Joel says, his voice filled with sincerity. 

“And just so you know…” you give him a bashful smile.“That includes help with baking muffins.”  

Joel feels how his stomach does a flip as he understands what you’re saying. “Would you like to help me bake some muffins?”  

“I’d love to,” you say happily, your smile growing and Joel can’t help but feel a sense of excitement through his body. “I’ll be over at yours in ten, how’d that sound?” you ask. 

Joel’s heart leaps at the thought of spending more time with you. “Sounds good to me.” 

“Cool, see you in ten then.” You grin at him. Joel smiles back at you, feeling a sense of anticipation building within him. 

As Joel heads back to his house, sugar in hand  he can’t help but smile, he had been so tired and frustrated only a little while ago, but now he suddenly feels fully recharged. 

____

Ten minutes… You have ten minutes to make yourself look somewhat decent, in a casual, ‘I’m just going over to my extremely attractive dilf neighbor whom I have a big fat stupid crush on’ way. No pressure at all. 

As you race to your bathroom to check yourself over in the mirror, you take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. You touch up your makeup, adding a touch of lip gloss and swipe on a new coat of mascara, you brush your teeth, and spritz on a little perfume. After making sure you look presentable, you opt for a comfortable yet cute outfit, realizing that you don’t want to come off as too overdone. 

Satisfied with your appearance, you grab a small container of homemade blueberry jam from your fridge. It may not be muffins, but it’s a sweet treat that you can bring to share. With jam in hand, you head out the door, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

As you approach Joel’s house, you can’t help but appreciate the calmness of the night. The moon shines brightly above, casting a soft glow on the neighborhood. You hear the faint sound of crickets chirping, and the warm breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers. Everything feels serene and magical, heightening your excitement.

You reach Joel’s doorstep and take a moment to collect yourself. You remind yourself to be casual and relaxed, even though your heart is pounding in your chest. With a steadying breath, you knock on the door.

Joel opens it with a warm smile, and you instantly feel at ease. His eyes light up as they land on you, and you can't help but blush under his gaze. “Hi,” he greets you softly. “I'm so glad you could make it.”

You return his smile, extending the container of blueberry jam towards him. “I brought some homemade jam. I thought it would be nice with the muffins and I remember Sarah telling me she loves blueberries.”

Joel's eyes widen in pleasant surprise, and his smile widens. “That is so thoughtful of you. Thank you, darlin’.”

‘Darlin’...’ Your heart flutters at the endearment as you step inside his house, the word falling so naturally from his lips. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the scent of warmth and comfort. It’s a homey and cozy feeling that instantly puts you at ease.

As you enter the kitchen, you notice the ingredients for the muffins laid out, ready to be used. There’s a twinkle of anticipation in Joel’s eyes as he gestures towards them. “Do you want to get started?”

You nod eagerly, not wanting to waste any more time. “Definitely. Let’s make these muffins amazing.”

For the next few hours, you and Joel work side by side, measuring ingredients, mixing, and chatting as you go. The conversation flows effortlessly between you, ranging from lighthearted jokes to more personal stories, and the atmosphere somehow turns more and more flirty, making excited butterflies flutter in your stomach. With each moment, you can feel the connection between you deepening, like ingredients coming together to create a perfect blend.

As the muffins bake in the oven, filling the kitchen with their delicious scent, the two of you take a well-deserved break. Joel pours two cups of coffee, and you find yourselves sitting at his kitchen table, sipping the warm brew in comfortable silence.

The soft glow of the overhead light casts a warm and cozy ambiance over the room. Despite the tiredness in his eyes from a long day, a smile tugs at the corners of Joel’s lips as he watches you take a sip of your coffee. There’s a comfortable silence that envelops the two of you, a sense of ease and contentment that comes from being in each other’s company.

As you set your cup down, you turn to Joel, your eyes filled with a mix of playfulness and sincerity. “You know, Joel, I have to say. These muffins wouldn’t have turned out as amazing as they did without your expert baking skills.” A teasing smirk dances on your lips.

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I may have had a little help from a certain someone,” he says, a hint of affection lacing his voice.

You playfully nudge him with your shoulder. “Oh, so now I’m just your personal baking assistant, am I?” you retort, pretending to be slightly offended.

Joel’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with humor. “No, no, not at all. You’re so much more than that,” he reassures you, his voice brimming with sincerity. “You’ve brought light into my life, darlin’. Ever since you moved in next door, things just feel...better.”

The warmth in Joel’s words seeps into your heart, igniting a deep stirring within you. A connection that goes beyond the simple act of baking muffins is forming between the two of you, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Before you know it, the timer for the muffins goes off, snapping both of you out of the gentle bubble you’ve created. You share a laugh, realizing that you may have gotten carried away in the moment.

Joel stands up and walks over to the oven, his movements fluid and confident. He takes a deep breath, a look of anticipation on his face. “Well, here goes nothing,” he mutters to himself as he opens the oven door and retrieves the tray of freshly baked muffins.

The delightful aroma wafts through the kitchen, filling the air with its tantalizing scent. Joel carefully sets the tray down on the counter, the muffins still warm to the touch. He reaches for a plate and begins arranging the muffins, creating a beautiful display.

You watch him with admiration, seeing the dedication and love he pours into everything he does. In that moment, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming surge of affection towards him.

As you join him by the counter, your hands instinctively reach out to brush against each other, sending a spark of electricity up your arms. Your eyes meet, and in that instant, everything else fades away. It's just the two of you, connected in a way that feels destined. 

Joel's gaze is warm as he gazes at you, and his voice is filled with sincerity as he speaks. "I just want you to know how grateful I am for your help, for everything. You've brought so much happiness into our lives."

You smile softly at him, feeling your heart swell with affection. “The feeling is mutual, Joel.”

Joel takes a step closer, his gaze unwavering and filled with a mix of vulnerability and longing. You can’t help but notice how his gaze keeps darting from your eyes to your lips, and you feel your own heartbeat quickens in response, but a sudden surge of bravery fills you as well. You can’t just be imagining this. “You can if you want, you know.” you whisper.

You can almost see how Joel’s breath catches in his throat by your words, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. He searches your face, trying to comprehend your words. “If I want...what?” he asks, his tone laced with both curiosity and hope.

A soft smile graces your lips as you reach out to gently take his hand in yours. “You can kiss me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “If you want.”

“I want to, more than anything.” He brings his free hand up to gently cup your cheek, his fingers grazing your skin with tender affection.

With bated breath, the world seems to stand still as your faces draw closer together. The anticipation hangs in the air like an electric current, and as your lips finally meet, it feels like a rush of warmth cascading throughout your bodies.

The kiss is soft, tender, and filled with an underlying passion that has been building between you. It's a culmination of longing, uncertainty, and hope, all coming together in that single moment of connection.

As your lips move against each other, the outside world fades away, and all that matters is the tenderness you share. Time seems to stretch, allowing you to savor each second of this newfound intimacy.

When you finally break apart, breathing slightly heavier, Joel's eyes search yours, seeking reassurance and confirmation. "Was that okay?" he asks, his voice laced with vulnerability.

You smile warmly at him, a sparkle in your eyes. “More than okay,” you reply, your voice filled with sincerity. “It was everything I hoped it would be.”

A wave of relief washes over Joel as he pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms enveloping you in a sense of security. Resting his chin on the top of your head, he whispers, “I'm glad, because I've been wanting to do that for a long time.”

And in that moment, as you stand in Joel's warm embrace, you realize that sometimes the sweetest moments in life come unexpectedly. As you snuggle into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek, you can't help but be grateful for the empty sugar canister and the twist of fate that brought you together. Love has a funny way of sneaking up on people, and you can’t wait to see where this new chapter with Joel and Sarah takes you. With muffins in the oven and love blossoming in your hearts, this late-night adventure is just the beginning of a sweet, heartfelt journey together.

[atlaswav]

ACE! ➷

INFO: 3246 words, oikawa x fem! reader, olympics au, timeskip SYNOPSIS: In the heat of the competition, you find more enemies in the Olympic dining hall, rivalling for the last infamous chocolate muffin, the social media sensation. WARNINGS: none. AUTHOR'S NOTE: i wrote this ages ago when the Olympics were still happening and just finished it so uh....... ANYWAY!!! this is my attempt at a crackfic because it makes sense. Writing quality and pacing may be off sorry BUT IT COUNTS RIGHT watch this flop because the haikyuu fandom is dead

There are few things left in this world that still hold unequivocal beauty. Few things can exist with such suffering and turmoil. Few things, too, could quell this hopelessness, and in sleepless nights, scrolling on your phone with blue light illuminating the room in eerie shadow, you’d come to see the legendary Olympic chocolate muffin as one of these beautiful things.

The night was quiet, and the dining hall was almost empty as you walked up to the dessert stand. 

There was one muffin left,  molten chocolate glowing under the warm lamplight, oozing with liquid bliss, illuminated in a halo of gold.

But where there is beauty, there is also ugliness. There was someone in the way of your pursuit of enlightenment. You could only dream of the bliss of sweet chocolate ganache dissolving on your tongue with angelic grace, only imagine the taste it would leave lingering in your mouth. But now – as womankind may always find – there was a man in your way.

“Excuse me.”

“Huh?”

As he turns around, your heart drops into your stomach. The giant of a man lays his hands on the muffin in front of you. All hope you had for humanity diminished in one touch. 

“...that was mine.” you mumble. 

The shuffling of sandals on the ground echoes through the empty dining hall. His gaze awkwardly flits between you and the muffin. 

“...Sorry? Finders keepers??” He replies in the same language – almost perfect English. He shrugs. A giant movement. He was taller than you’d have liked, towering over you as you attempted to argue for custody of the muffin.  It didn’t help that his dark brown eyes seemed to glint with challenge, and you felt yourself indignantly rise up to this unspoken provocation.

“What happened to chivalry?”

“Guess its dead, sweet heart.”

“You’re not even gonna attempt to be a gentleman?”

“You’re not ladylike, so I won’t be a gentleman.”

“So you’re admitting you’re a douche.”

“At least I’m a douche with a muffin.”

You sigh dejectedly. First, your first loss in the preliminary games – crushing, really, losing by two points – second, the massive specimen of a man standing in front of you with his hands on your consolation prize.

This was going to be your last straw.

Well, at least the asshole was handsome. The ‘Argentina’ scribed on his uniform, however, didn’t make sense. He looked Asian, and yet he spoke English fluently. He was confusing, but one thing you knew for sure was that all those guys on the Argentinian men’s team were jerks, based on the few of them that snickered at your team as you exited the stadium following your loss in the prelims. 

“Fuck you. I hope you lose your next match.”

“Oh–”

You storm away before he can get another word in.

This was your first encounter with Tōru Oikawa. Maybe an overreaction, but you really didn’t care.

The following day, your warmup is interrupted as the Argentinian men's team decide to enter your warmup stadium, raucous and impossible to miss. 

“Do they have the wrong court, or something?” your coach murmurs, tearing his attention away from the practice game. 

“Oh! It’s you!” a distinctive voice calls. 

You turn from your rally – a mistake – and see the handsome thief from the day before staring at you, carrying a sports bag, wearing a light blue jacket with a white stripe down the sleeve. So he was an Argentinian player. Why was he here, though?

“Wait! Ball!”

You turn back to your rally just in time to get hit in the face with a volleyball, nose aching, eyes bleary with tears, reality tilting on its axis as you fall on your hands.

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” the coach yells, distinct through the cacophony.

“This is our court, isn’t it?” the thief says. His voice is smooth like honey – like a liar. 

“No, It’s ours until noon.” 

“Is it not a quarter to noon?” 

“Exactly, so get out. You’ve already injured one of my star players.” He swears in Japanese, and you hear the thief snicker, saying something back. Is he Japanese?

You don’t know what happens next, except being hoisted up, braced on someone’s arms and being sat on a bench. Someone hands you a tissue for your watering eyes, and you feel a biting cold on your nose, wincing as someone gives you an ice pack to hold to your face. 

“I always hated those Argentinian volleyball players. So cocky.” your teammate says. 

“Their captain is a handful. I wouldn’t want that bastard on the Japanese team either.” your coach echoes. 

So he was their captain. And Japanese. And an asshole.

How dare he? 

This is how you, in your head, earn the right to one of Oikawa’s apologies – how you find him in the cafeteria once again, nose lightly bandaged, lined up for dinner, and are intent on getting a “sorry” from his perpetually smiling lips. 

“Oh, you.”

His lips twitch into a half grimace, half smile. “Me.”

“Are you going to apologise?”

“I – for what?”

“Are you being stupid, or an asshole right now?”

“Neither. I don’t see what I need to apologise for.”

You mutter something under your breath about “Stupid, hot Argentinian volleyball players.” 

“What was that?”

“Move up. You’re holding up the line.”

He shuffles forward, but turns around again to continue your exchange. “It’s not my fault you were too slow.”

“Which incident are you talking about? The muffin, or today?”

“The muffin, obviously. What, like it's my fault you lost concentration?”

“Mother–”

“Hey, can you guys quit arguing and move along? You’re holding everyone up.”

You both shut up and collect your dinner, parting with scalding glances toward each other. 

“...you okay?”

“Does it look like it?”

“Is it that Argentinian captain again?”

You groan, stabbing your lukewarm mashed potatoes with your spoon. “I hate him.”

Your teammate casts you a sidelong glance. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Your third encounter with the Argentinian captain is when you file into the stadium, teeming with people decked out in red and white, to watch a preliminary game of the Japanese men’s team – your competing country. You’d been scouted for their women's team, but you were never able to witness the men’s team in action, only heard about their strengths. 

“What the hell?” 

You turn, and behind you is Oikawa. He wears a cap with a sports logo on it, and sunglasses that are almost comically large. You find it within yourself to resist a howling laugh. 

“What? Why are you here?” you ask – slightly too loudly, as people cast their attention toward you. He shrinks down in his seat in embarrassment. 

“I’m scouting the enemy, of course. What, are you stalking me or something?” he mumbles, glaring at you past the rims of his sunglasses. 

You scoff. “Of course not. I’m watching my country play, obviously.”

“Really? You’re Japanese?”

“I’m a citizen. Aren’t you?”

He crosses his arms, huffing. “And I thought I’d tanned when I was in Brazil.”

You scoff at his childishness. “Brazil? Why aren’t you playing for Japan?”

“I need to crush them.”

You let out a barking laugh at his antics. “Really? You have vendettas that need fulfilling?”

“Don’t laugh, you’re drawing attention.” he sighs, leaning forward as if passing on some great generational secret. “But yes. I do.”

“I can’t begin to imagine who could ever be your enemy.”

“Well I sure can.”

This man has to be a social experiment. “That was sarcasm, captain.”

He pouts, and you turn straight ahead for the national anthems to play and the first serve. 

The first server is the Japanese setter, Kageyama. The stadium’s volume seems to drop slightly as he prepares to serve, making the impact of the ball with his hand even louder than it would’ve been. The ball hits the other team with frightening speed, ricocheting from their libero’s arms into the spectator’s stands. 

The Japanese supporters begin to cheer, and you applaud with them, before you hear a scoff from behind you. 

“What, is he one of the guys you need revenge on, or something?”

He turns away, but you see his pout. 

You laugh. “Afraid he’s better than you?”

“Of course not. I’m better.”

“Hey, you know what, why don’t we switch seats?” Oikawa’s teammate suggests from beside him. The captain looks completely betrayed at his teammate’s suggestion, but he can’t rebuke before the teammate gets up, crossing the stands. 

You decide it’d be fun to mess with him, so you comply. 

But you don’t forget that he owes you an apology. Two. You’re not growing fond of him, either. 

The crowd erupts into cheers as Japan scores another point, and you applaud with them, but Oikawa only sinks further into his seat – now beside you – narrowing his eyes and lowering his sunglasses on his nose, only to glare at the court. 

“What?”

“I hate that guy.”

“Who?”

“The one who just scored.”

“...Ushijima? Why?” 

“I hate him.”

“...sure you do. Should I ask who else you hate, or will we be here all day?”

He ends up listing every wrong Ushijima had done to him since middle school, going on an angry rant about how he failed to bring his high school team to victory because of Kageyama. You can see his inferiority complex showing by the end of this. By the end, the game had reached the second set that Japan was also about to win. 

“...Okay, wow, a lot to process.”

“So yes, I have a vendetta. Thought you should know.”

“That was a really big dump on some stranger you haven’t even known for a week.”

“You asked.”

“No, not really.”

He rolls his eyes, and you both go back to watching the game. What you don’t realise is that he’s smiling. 

And despite himself, he is clutching the edge of his seat as Japan gets to the game point in the third set, locked in a deuce with their opponents. The score climbs higher and higher, neither team willing to let up. 

“Oh my God, I’m going to throw up.” you groan, watching the next server prepare. 

“Want a throwup bag?”

“You look like you could use one too.”

“I’m not nervous, unlike you.”

“I can see the sweat on your shorts. You’re not subtle when you wipe your hands on them.”

“Damn you–”

“Shut up, they just served.”

Maybe it's the adrenaline running high from the match, or from the ceaseless energy of the spectators, but you both nearly cry in relief when Japan finally pulls away from the deuce, securing the game. Despite his grudge for the entire Japanese team, it seems, he pulls you into a side embrace as you both cheer. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be ‘scouting the enemy’?” you say through laughter. 

“I am. This is all a disguise.”

You roll your eyes, but as you begin to file out of the stadium with the rest of the stadium, he decides to linger, signalling to a man on the Japanese team – tall, muscular, handsome, spiky brown hair.

“Really? Leaving just like that?”

“I have a friend on that team.”

“You?” 

“Shut up.”

You shrug, smiling as you turn to leave. “Bye then, muffin thief.”

“That’s Toru Oikawa, to you.” 

“Muffin thief,” you call over your shoulder as you disappear into the crowd. 

“Oikawa.” 

“Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s eye twitches, but he grins nonetheless, pulling Oikawa into a hug. “Was that your girlfriend?”

“What? Huh? Really? Is that the first question you ask me after so many years?”

“Nah, she probably isn’t. She’s too pretty for you.”

“Mean.”

But nothing had changed, and he was grateful. 

It’s only late into the night with the fan whirring beside his bed that he can’t help but think about the prospect of you as his girlfriend. He was truly delusional. Especially since he somehow reached the conclusion that he wouldn’t mind it if you just so happened to fall to his charms and confess his love. He’d expect that much, at least.

You barely remember your fourth encounter, but it’s during your final game of the preliminary matches – the one that you have to win, else be cut from the competition. 

You could think of no moment more stressful than serving at a time when you were at game point for the fifth time, and your opponents were creeping up behind you, waiting to snatch the game from you with one mistake. 

It was deafening, the way the spectators roared as you prepared to serve. 

You wished they’d all go quiet. 

The whistle blew, and you let your serve fly, watching as it barely skimmed the net, landing in their court just short of the metre line. 

Your teammates cheer, patting you on the back, but you don’t hear them. 

This is when your coach calls a time out. 

You stand to the side, breathing deeply, the air thick with noise and sweat and air so hot it becomes suffocating around your skin. 

Distantly, the buzzer sounds for the end of time out, and you return to the service line, drowning your thoughts in the noise. 

“Don’t lose concentration!” you hear from the stands behind you. Despite it all, you turn around, searching for the heckler. 

Oikawa sits in the row closest to the front, having lost the cap and sunglasses, waving his arms like a madman. 

“What the fuck,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Look closely!”

“I’m losing concentration because of you, you absolute –”

Then the whistle blows for you to serve, and you abruptly turn back to the game, the insult dying on your tongue. 

What did he mean by ‘pay attention’? He’d just broken the laser focus you were in, and now you didn’t know where you were going to serve. 

Except, there was a massive hole in the opponent’s defence. 

They were now accustomed to your short serves that just landed within the metre line. 

You make a mental note to thank Oikawa if your serve went in, and slam your serve so hard that their defence has no time to register the change. 

Your serve lands on the line, nearly out of bounds. 

Your team sighs in relief, finally pulling ahead of the deuce, securing the match. 

“Japan takes the win! That’s their star player for you, landing service aces all across the court!”

“I told you!” you hear from behind again. 

You turn around, meeting his eyes. 

His smile is endearing. Dimples, and his nose slightly scrunched. It’s contagious. 

You smile back, waving, then become crushed underneath the weight of your team as they jump onto you, screaming and laughing and crying. 

He helped you make it to the finals, and somehow, it was better than an apology. 

The fifth time you meet – and one of the last – you’re, once again, in the cafeteria, craving molten bliss in the form of one of those chocolate muffins. You hope the Gods have heard your prayers, and that there would still be some left, even at this late hour. 

“Oh, you’re here?”

“Yeah, why are you?”

“Is that the first thing you wanna say to me?”

“...yes, why would it be any other way?”

He smiles, rubbing the back of his head. Averting your eyes. “Muffin?”

“Huh?”

“This was the last one.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What have you done with Oikawa? This isn’t the whiny, vengeful guy I know.”

“And you’ve known me for, what, a week?”

You shrug, snatching the muffin from his hands before he changes his mind. “Thanks.”

He sighs. Sits down at one of the tables. You follow suit. 

“So, why Argentina?”

“Really?”

“What? It’s awkward with silence.”

“...I looked up to Jose Blanco.”

“That’s surprisingly sweet.”

“Hey, I can be sweet.”

“I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about the muffin.”

“..Oh.”

“Sorry. You’re alright too, I guess.”

He pouts, but you can’t care less as you bite into the muffin, savouring the chocolate as it melts onto your tongue. 

“Thanks, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“For today. Game point.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Shut up and take my thanks.”

“Alright, fine, fine.” He tilts his head, watching you with his sharp eyes. “You didn’t need my help though. You were good enough on your own.”

“Thanks.”

Quiet lapses in the empty dining hall as you sit, the rows and rows of chairs and tables almost eerie in the dark. 

“Well, I’m going to bed. Too tired after today.”

“Rest up, you deserve it.”

“Seriously, you need to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“This niceness. It’s off putting.”

“I can be nice.”

“No, you can’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Fine, I won’t.”

“...right. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The night carries a chill in it, a cold bliss as the breeze brushes against your skin. Nostalgic, with the moonlight’s glow. 

Oikawa regretted many things. Many of those included not working hard enough, not being fast enough, not being strong enough, but that night, he regretted his cowardice. 

The sixth and final time you meet is after his finals game. You barely see each other after your late night encounter at the dining hall, and you’re both too busy with training now that you’d both qualified. After being knocked out of the competition in the running for second place and barely winning your third place match, your team is exhausted, and your spirits are still high. 

The air of the Olympic village is thick with lethargy and simultaneously the buzz of relief and excitement, cheering echoing across courtyards and buildings. You mill about the front entrance, watching people come and go, waiting for him. You don’t know why, but you feel obligated to congratulate him, your heart still spiralling with the spirit of the stadium. 

You vividly recall his plays, the way he moved as if the world made space for him, the efficacy of his movements and the focus in his eyes that had Japan by the neck. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“Did you watch my game?”

“I did. Congrats.”

He smiles, and your heart melts a little. “Thanks.”

You smile back, and quiet fills the space between you once again. 

“Are you staying in Japan for a bit after the games?”

“I’m planning to.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you? I mean, you live here, but–yeah. We should play together”

“What?”

“I could set for you?”

You burst out laughing, hunching over, and don’t see as Oikawa's face flushes profusely. 

“Sure. I’d love to see you try to pick up one of my serves too.”

“Wanna bet? I could easily pick up every one of your serves.”

“Sure, pretty boy.”

“No aces, you owe me another muffin.”

“Huh? How does that work?”

“Figure it out, loser.”

You indignantly narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “And if I do score an ace on you?”

“You get a muffin.” 

You roll your eyes at his childlike antics. “Sure. Just make sure you’re ready to go bankrupt.”

You wake the next morning to your team manager banging on your door, slamming it open, and shoving her phone in your face. You blink blearily, abruptly pulled from senseless dreams and the warmth of sleep to a grainy photo of the unmistakable tall, broad shouldered figure of Oikawa, and you beside him, laughing together. 

“Care to explain? Why are there dating rumours? What do you think you’re doing?”

You grumble, turning over. For now, you’d relish in your dreams of a certain volleyball player and glorious chocolate muffins. 

written by @atlaswav , published 28th of January 2025

[rougepearl]

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader (NSFW)

The thought of Chuuya wanting a kid wanders through his mind, until his impulsive thoughts finally let out

1893 Words || Rough Sex, Consensual Non Consensual, Baby fucking, Small age gap implied, Dark Content (?)

(Not proof read!!)

English isn't my first language any mistake found please notify me about them and I do take criticism!!

___________

“One wouldn't hurt…”

You were sitting at the dining table with Chuuya on the opposite side.

His rambles going on and going about wanting to start a family.

“Really? I just don't think-” “I'll take breaks from my job to take care of you and the baby.”

Pressing your lips together, and darting your eyes to the side you weren't sure if this would he a good idea.

He was an executive of the mafia…And there was an age difference, not a big and drastic one…But there was one. The thoughts and issues kept wandering your head more than the concept of spending wonderful time with a child.

“Y/n…just really think about it-” “You know what sounds so good right now!” Cutting him off purposefully, you stand up from your chair and begin to head your way to the kitchen before stopping in your tracks to face him.

“Some muffins? Don't y'a think?” A big smile on your face as you kept cutting him off “What about-”

“Do you want blueberry or strawberry? You know what? I'll just pick last minute!”

Saying it in a giggly tone you headed to the kitchen.

You begin to take out all the ingredients from the pantry. Flour, sugar, eggs, you name it.

Bringing out the bowls, one fell on the ground creating a loud noise as it hit the kitchen floor.

“You alright dear? Need some help?” His voice could be heard, getting nearer towards you

“Uh- Uhm no I'm okay!!” Reassuring him.

You didn't want him to come to the kitchen and hear about his blabbers about trying to convince you on a kid.

Without lying, you have thought about it. As much as you would want one or two, you knew you had to say no to him. Because the dangers could be high.

So as much as your heart wanted to say yes, your head always responded with a long complicated answer leading to a no.

As these thoughts kept wandering through your head, you continued on mixing the wet ingredients perfectly and shifting the powder with the dry ingredients.

Now you weren't sure whether to use vanilla or almond extract… Or maybe both…?

Not like it mattered, Chuuya liked everything you made.

Taking out the small muffin tray pan and prepping it, you made a small little gap in the center of the dry ingredients and added the wet ingredients, continuing toefold the mixture together.

Now here came the hard part… Were you gonna use strawberries or blueberries?

Resting your hand on your chin, looking back and forth between the two berries deciding which to use, you felt a pair of lean arms slther around your waist.

Catching you off gaurd, you turn around and saw Chuuyas face in the crook of your neck as he held you, slowly rocking you side to side.

“Whichever, I don't mind” “Ugh…You're so clingy~” Trying to get out of his grasp to continue baking, he held your closer and tighter.

“Take a break, you seemed overwhelmed.” His soft voice could be heard as he whispered into your left ear.

He turned you around and kept holding you close.

Just from the close proximity, you could feel your face becoming hot as he just starred at you with half lidded eyes. “C'mon doll…”

His face leaned in closer and closer, pressing his lips against yours.

At first you tried to push him away and get your face away from his, but you knew that wouldn't work.

He kept on kissing you, slowly leading himself to your bottom lip, then to your jaw kissing it upwards and going lower.

No matter how much you tried to resist this sudden act of affection, he continued to keep his kisses close to your collarbone before stopping.

Looking at your eyes directly “You're so pretty doll.” “...What's up with you today?”

“Nothing!” He said in a whiny voice “But I think I want something sweeter than muffins today…”

He let go for a second before leaning down and grabbing your legs together, carrying your over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down! Chuu ” Hitting his shoulders in an attempt to stop and put you down “Not a chance~”

Lifting your head, you couldn't really turn your head around much, but just by the path he was going you knew where you were ending up.

You heard him slightly kick the door open and walk inside the room. Plopping you on the bed, bouncing one or two times from how he placed you.

He closed and locked the door, not letting any of the lights from the living room or kitchen nearby show, only making the room darker.

He hovered directly over you, lifting your short slip on dress up a bit in the process.

You moved to your side trying to avoid his gaze. Regarding his face caught your jaw and forced you to look at him. “Don't act stupid doll, I've read your diary when you leave it open. You want one too, but your afraid…”

“Huh” Your eyes open slightly upon hearing that.

“Promise, I'll take care of you.” His stuck pinky out waiting for you to grasp it with his.

Raising your hand to do the same. Just milliseconds before you were about to though, he shoved his lips onto yours.

Kissing you deeply, and with your hand right there he held it tightly from the wrist.

Suddenly moving his head lower

He pressed deep kisses onto your neck, causing you to moan.

Letting go of your hands, he lowered himself in between your thighs and slowly with a stern voice “Lift your dress up for me will ya doll?”

Embarrassed, you did so at a slow pace.

He pressed soft kisses on your inner thighs. But you tried to move away a bit. Because of this, his hands went to your hips to try to keep you from moving.

Keeping his soft kisses in a trail as he got to your clit. Slowly pressing his tongue on it and sucking it. Making you throw your head back on the pillows.

“Mphm, want- a taste…” He said before he trailed lower to your entrance.

Teasing you with his mouth as you kept moaning softly trying not to make so much noise.

“Don't be like that dear, I want to hear you.”

He said before he stood slightly up. And without realizing you had noticed he was already out of his pants.

He probably took them off with his spare hand while he was eating you out.

Chuuya hovered over you again, starring into your eyes, caressing your face before he kissed you deeply again, but this time teasing your entrance with his tip.

Using his pre-cum as lube.

Your were sensitive, and he knew that. This was just cruel “C-Chuuya~” “Say what?” “Please…”

“Please what dear? I need to hear it…” He brought his ear closer as he had his hand on your chin adjusting it upwards. “I need you in me please please please…”

He leaned away from you face, starring down at you. Until he picked you up and without any warning trusted into you.

“Agh~” Your hands gripped his back, as he continued to thrust into you with any warning.

“God- Ah…you're so-mgh”

Your pussy twitched around his cock, as he kept his fast pace, making you scream his name out to slow down.

He was rough, but at the same time he was loving. Telling you sweet things as he practically tortured you with his cock.

With one hand around your waist, and the other fingerings your clit, you couldn't help but whine at his roughness. “Ah~ Chuu- Chuuya…”

He kept his fast thrusts, plunging into you second by second.

You felt the tension inside you grow more. Wanting to release you heard your boyfriends voice. “Cum when I say so.”

“Mhm- Mphm~!” Nodding as twin tears fell from your cheek.

Feeling that tingling feeling down there, Chuuya wouldn't stop going hard inside of you. Only causing you to let the walls hear your scream out in agony and pleasure.

“Youre- so pretty hah~”

As you arch your back, his cock thrusting inside of you becomes sloppier. “Mph… Gonna fuck a-baby into y'a.”

His cock was so girthy and wide, he was basically forcing it into your tight little wet pussy.

Turning your head to the side in embarrassment he notices and grabs your jaw again. “Don't look away..”

You could feel your orgasm approaching, and Chuuyas as well.

He began to start to let out noisy yet sharp and heavy breaths.

While you kept moaning loudly as well as letting out deep breathy complaints.

Chuuyas mind was going wild. He held you down more and more, grabbing more of your hips to push his cock inside of you. “Cum!- for me doll, cum…”

His body and yours tensed up, slowly stopping, as he kept groaning into your ear.

Your thighs were shaking, as you finally came on his dick. allowing the tension to release.

“Hah agh- Ah~” Rolling your eyes back and arching your back once more as you felt his warm cum inside of you.

Allowing it to drip out of your fucked up pussy.

Orgasming a few seconds little later than Chuuya,

Eachothers mixing together. You held him close as you were sore from how he practically forced his cock inside of you.

You let go and laid spread on the bed, panting, trying to catch your bbreath.

Chuuya finally took his cock out of you, as it continued to drip onto your upper thighs and lower stomach.

“Mmm.. So tired..”

Chuuya swept his hair, upon hearing you say that he look at you again.

“Huh? You think I'm done with you…”

Your panting stops, you look up at him, you notice his half lidded eyes still checking you out from head to toe.

“You still have this damn dress on… I also have to make sure I fuck that baby into you…” He pressed his finger against your forehead “Got it?”

___________

It was the morning after a dreadful and long night.

You were snuggled tightly into the comfy bedsheets and a blanket Chuuya had brought for you after he was done with you.

It seemed like what, 2 or 3 hours of him going at it non stop?

You thought he wouldn't stop…

“Rise and shine!”

You heard the door open, and to your surprise you see Chuuya standing at the door, but with something in his hand.

“Huh… What?” Your voice was still groggy from taking him all night too. “While you were asleep, I had the muffin batter in the fridge, I just popped them out the oven here doll, try one…”

He handed you a muffin,

Taking a close look at it, -it was true. They were nicely baked and toasty at the top.

Taking a bite out of it, your eyes widen, “Mmm!”

“I picked strawberries for the muffins, even I'd I don't prefer them. Read it in your diary too.”

He then sat next to you in bed, with the plate full of muffins. He placed his hand over your shoulder causing you to fall onto his chest.

Hugging you closely

You both stayed like that until the plate had 3 little muffins left.

Maybe having a kid wouldn't be all that bad?

___________

for @chuuyasbxtch ✗⚬ﾒ𝟶

[strangesthirdeye]

Quiet Mornings and Coffee Beans (Arthur Morgan x deaf! wife reader)

Summary: Day off is spent with loved ones.

Warning: IT'S ARTHUR FUCKING MORGAN. HE'S HOT ASF AHHHH. Fluff, Arthur being lovely hubby, Arthur being Arthur, café, desserts, coffees. Love, cute, love, idk what else. BUT NO ANGST. MODERN ERA

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Arthur Morgan had seen a lot during his week on patrol - car accidents, long nights, city noise, paperwork, and the same lousy vending machine coffee. But today? Today was his. And he was spending it with you.

You were already awake, hair pinned back and apron folded neatly on the couch, ready to open your café. You didn't expect Arthur to wake up early - not after the week he had - but there he was, standing at the kitchen doorway in his joggers and gray NYPD hoodie, a steaming mug in one hand and that signature sleepy smirk on his face.

He signed lazily, "You thought I'd slept through your big muffin-baking morning?"

Yeah, ever since that day. He continued his sign language lesson just to communicate with you without him reaching out his phone just to type something on you. He is too lazy to type. Being a police officer really makes him sick of typing especially to make reports. So that's why he learned sign language. He goddamn learned it fast.

You blinked, surprised, then smiled, signing back. "You worked all week. I wasn't going to wake you."

He set the mug down and stepped closer, signing slowly and with purpose. "I miss you when I work. Let me help. Please."

You smiled at this and nodded before reaching for your car keys. You turned to him again.

"come on, love" you signed and walked out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

You unlocked the front door while Arthur carried in a crate of new supplies like it weighed nothing. A streak of morning light spilled across the floor, catching dust in the air like tiny stars.

Arthur whistled, surveying your little café. "Still the coziest spot in the city," he muttered before turning back and flashing a grin. "So, boss... What's first? You want muscle, charm, or height?"

You chuckled and signed. "Height. You're on top-shelf duty."

Arthur sighed dramatically as he climbed the small step ladder to hang the new "Summer Specials" sign. You held it steady from below.

"Don't fall. I'm not carrying you."

Arthur looked down, gave a mock-serious nod, and signed, "If I fall, just marry someone shorter next time."

You rolled your eyes, signing with a smirk, "That's your plan to get out of chores?"

He winked. "Every man needs a strategy."

Arthur leaned slightly to the left, stretching out to adjust the "Summer Specials" sign just a little more to your liking. You could tell he was doing it because he wanted it perfect for you - not because it needed to be perfect. His hoodie lifted just enough to expose the back of his police badge clipped to his belt, a reminder that your gentle giant of a husband spent most days fighting the harshness of the world.

You stood with arms folded, studying the placement of the sign. You tilted your head thoughtfully.

Arthur looked down, brows raised. "Too high?" he said aloud, but also signed it just in case.

You gave him a thumbs-up and nodded.

He exhaled in relief and climbed down, boots landing on the floor with a soft thud. "I swear, that thing was about to come down with me."

You raised an eyebrow. "Dramatic."

He laughed. "Only a little." He glanced around the cafe. "So what's next, darling?" he signed.

You walked behind the counter and pulled out a box of cups and lids, holding them up with a shrug. 

Arthur rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles dramatically, like he was preparing for battle. "You're really putting me to work on my day off."

"You volunteered." you signed, rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, but I thought it'd be like... cute help. You know, wiping windows, stealing kisses, lifting one box and getting praised like I moved a mountain."

You grinned. "You can still steal kisses. But you're lifting at least four boxes first."

Arthur leaned over the counter to press a quick kiss to your cheek before grabbing the box. "One down," he signed, smirking. "Three kisses to go."

With soft jazz humming from the Bluetooth speaker in the corner, Arthur helped you stock sugar packets, sweep the floor, and fix the tilted barstools. Every now and then, he would lightly tap your shoulder or wave in your periphery just to make sure you saw him before he signed something. He always made it a point to face you, always made sure you felt seen. He never missed it - not even after long shifts, not even in a rush.

You passed him a dish towel and pointed to the glass panels near the entrance.

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to be your window washer and your handyman?" he signed, pretending to be sour.

"You offered charm earlier. Prove it." you signed, rolling your eyes with a grin.

Arthur chuckled. "Damn. You remember everything, don't you?"

You nodded. "Especially when it works in my favor." you signed, simply.

You both worked in sync, communicating with touch, smiles, and signs. He refilled the sugar jars while you arranged fresh pastries behind the glass. At one point, you caught him sneaking a chocolate chip cookie and shaking his head as if he was deeply disappointed in himself.

"It looked lonely," he signed with exaggerated guilt.

You gave him a look, to which he quickly added. "I adopted it. Out of kindness."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, still wiping down the pastry case as Arthur finished the last bite of his "adopted" cookie, savoring it like he'd just made a life-changing decision.

"You gonna adopt the rest of the tray, too?" you signed with an arched brow.

Arthur placed a hand dramatically over his chest, signing with mock heartbreak,

"No, no. That would be unethical. One cookie is already a heavy burden to carry."

You chuckled silently and tossed a dishrag at him. He caught it, twirled it, and tossed it right back. The two of you stood there for a moment, smiling at each other across the counter, the quiet kind of moment that didn't need anything more than each other.

He glanced at the clock. "Alright," he said, brushing his palms together. "Ten minutes until opening. How's my hair?"

You gave him a long, deadpan look.

He frowned. "That bad?"

You signed, "You're the only cop I know who shows up with cookie crumbs in his beard."

Arthur blinked, then scrubbed at his face with the back of his sleeve, chuckling. "Damn. Caught by the muffin queen herself."

By 9:15, the smell of freshly baked blueberry muffins filled the café, and Arthur was leaning against the counter, eyeing the tray like a starving man. You caught him and narrowed your eyes.

"You already had a cookie." you signed, eyes narrowed.

Arthur widened his eyes in mock innocence. "I was ensuring freshness!" he signed, fast.

You handed him a muffin with a sigh. "This is bribery so you don't eat five later."

He took a dramatic bite, closed his eyes, and sighed. "I married a genius." he signed.

You sat beside him on one of the stools, arms brushing. For a moment, the world slowed down. Outside, cars pass. Inside, everything was soft and peaceful. He leaned towards you slightly, not to speak, not even to sign - just to exist beside you.

You reached for his hand and gave it a little squeeze.

Later, while you were putting finishing touches on the corner display, Arthur sat on the floor nearby, reorganizing the box of tea sachets by flavor. He looked up suddenly and tapped twice on the floor to get your attention.

"Hey," he signed. "You ever think about how weird it is that we ended up like this?"

You tilted your head. "Weird how?"

"Me. Big dumb cop. You. Café queen. I dunno… It just works."

You chuckled. "I don't think I could've married a barista. I needed someone who'd fight the world for me, then mop my café floors like a teddy bear."

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I do make a damn good mop."

"And a good husband."

His expression softened instantly. He set the tea down and knelt in front of you, taking both your hands. Slowly, he signed with careful precision. "I love being your safe place. Even when I'm tired. Even when the world's loud. You're my quiet, and I need that more than anything."

You didn't reply with words. You just wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your forehead to his. His hands found your back, holding you gently.

No sound. No movement. Just steady breath and warmth.

When the doors finally opened, the café slowly began to fill with regulars. Arthur stayed a bit longer, greeting a few familiar faces - off-duty officers, elderly neighbors, even that little boy who always came in with his grandfather for banana bread and left you hand-drawn doodles on napkins.

Arthur squatted beside the boy's table, ruffling the kid's hair as he looked at the napkin doodle of a blocky, square-jawed robot.

"Good drawing. Your robot looks strong, partner" he said, gently.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "He fights space pirates," he said proudly.

Arthur smiled. "I get that. Gotta protect the galaxy somehow."

You watched from behind the counter, leaning against the espresso machine as Arthur patted the boy's shoulder and stood up with a soft grunt. 

He caught your gaze and signed, "Kids these days - draw better than I do."

You replied, "I've seen your drawings. He definitely does."

Arthur put a hand to his chest, staggered back dramatically, and signed, "Betrayal. In my own wife's café."

The café was humming now - steady foot traffic, warm chatter, the clinking of spoons and coffee cups - but there was no urgency in your bones today. Arthur, still dressed in a soft gray NYPD hoodie and jogger, had no radio on his belt, only badge at his side (in case something happens) and no obligation but you.

"Y'know," he said between sips of your best cappuccino, "this place of yours? It's got magic in it."

You raised an eyebrow.

He leaned back in the wooden chair near the window and signed with one hand as he spoke, "People come in tired and grumpy, but they leave with that look - like they've remembered something good."

You tilted your head slightly. "Maybe it's the coffee."

Arthur chuckled. "Or maybe it's the woman behind the counter." He signed it so simply, so matter-of-fact, and then took another sip of coffee like it hadn't just made your heart flip over.

Around 11:00, things started to quiet again. You flipped the sign to "Back in 10" and nodded towards the back where your little kitchenette waited. Arthur followed like a golden retriever, ducking under the doorframe with a grin.

You pointed to the skillet. "Your turn to cook."

He raised his eyebrows. "Dangerous idea, ma'am."

"You promised pancakes."

Arthur scratched his neck, pretending to think. "I also once promised to cut carbs. Didn't work out."

Still, he tied your spare apron around his waist - comically small on him - and started cracking eggs like a pro. You leaned on the counter, watching him, amused.

"You should open your own cafe."

"Only if you run the register and scare away the health inspector," he replied, flipping a pancake with far too much flair.

You stuck your tongue out at him. He gave you a wink in return.

Because it was just the two of you, and because the moment called for it, you ate pancakes sitting on the café floor in the sunbeam near the front window - legs stretched out, syrup on your fingers, his ankle lazily brushing against yours.

Arthur chewed thoughtfully and then signed, "This is perfect."

You tapped your chin. "It's just pancakes."

He shook his head. "It's you and pancakes. That's what makes it perfect."

The afternoon rolled in like warm honey. Arthur helped wash dishes while humming some old outlaw folk song under his breath, the same one you'd caught him mumbling during late-night laundry. He dried the plates with a rhythm, occasionally tossing you a dish towel like a basketball, missing terribly each time.

Later, when business picked up again, Arthur helped serve coffee, wiping down tables and clearing trays while you manned the espresso machine. Some of your regulars looked up in surprise. Even your workers too. 

"Ye finally got the husband t'work, did ya?" Sean teased, your loud mouthed waiter.

Arthur leaned down with a grin and whispered just loud enough for you to see. "She pays in muffins and forehead kisses. I ain't complainin'."

As the sun dipped low and golden light painted the inside of the café, you found a rare quiet minute to breathe. Arthur was sitting at the bar, spinning a spoon between his fingers, tired but calm.

You walked over and leaned your elbows next to him.

He glanced sideways at you, then reached out gently to tap your hand, signing. "Thank you for letting me be part of your world."

You shook your head, smiling softly. "It's our world."

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and soft - long enough to make your cheeks warm.

Outside, the city kept moving. But inside that café, everything else was still.

After the last cup had been poured and the floors swept clean, Arthur locked the door behind you and offered you his arm dramatically like some cowboy prince. You looped yours through his and leaned your head against him.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Happy tired."

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You know what I was thinking all day?" he asked aloud, then signed to match.

"We should do this again. You and me. No badge. No rush. Just pancakes, bad mop dancing, and quiet."

You reached for his hand and signed,

"Let's make it a monthly thing. 'Arthur Day.'"

His eyes lit up. "Hell yeah. But I want it in writing. And snacks in advance."

You laughed.

And with that, you walked home together in the quiet evening, the scent of coffee still on your clothes and the warmth of a shared, simple day stitched into your hearts.

[spoonfulofmilo]

Hey! Could you do fic about Fernando Alonso x baker!reader from prompt? Tag me later! Thanks

of course darling. im so sorry it took me this long to get it out for you <3

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

and my masterlist is here <3

fernando alonso x baker!reader

“Hola, welcome to pan y amor, what can i get for you?”

“Your number?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh are you taken, my apologies. ”

“...no I’m not taken, just wasn’t expecting you to be so bold. How about you buy something and if you like it you can have my number and take me on a date?”

“I am not usually this bold, I apologise. Okay then, what would you recommend, mi sol?”

“Well, I mean, I have to recommend our natillas de leche, unless your allergic to something in them, then I’d try and think of something else.”

“Not allergic, though if my trainer heard how many of these I was eating.”

“Trainer huh?” as Y/N passed over the natillas. “so , you’re an athlete?”

“F1 driver, Fernando Alonso” he held over his hand to shake, after paying “i’m from here, so I like to come in and spend time with the locals”

“Oh, well I’m not the biggest f1 fan, but I’m sure happy to help the locals, maybe you could introduce me to F1.”

---

“Darling, I’m trying to make some brownies before the bakery opens, you cannot come in here and distract me.”

“Can I make something to help?”

“Do you swear that you will follow my instructions to a T?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, you can make some caramel slices. You need to grab almond meal, vanilla protein powder, rice malt syrup, coconut oil, peanut butter, and dark chocolate, did you understand that?”

“Yes chef!”

“Okay good. It needs to go in the fridge, and then you can work on the strawberry lemon scones and then when i'm working on the tiramisu you can work on the orange loaf.”

“You’re telling me that when i rock up before my girlfriend officially starts work to hang out with her, all that happens if I have to do unpaid work.”

“Well i can’t pay you a f1 driver wage, because i can’t afford it and also you are not an f1 driver equivalent baker. I don’t even know if it’s worth giving you these ingredients for fear that I cannot sell what you make.”

---

“Okay, welcome back to pan y amor, as you know we in Cogollo, are massive f1 fans, so we have made some pumpkin cream cheese muffins to celebrate Fernando’s 33rd win. We had a little birdy tell us that this was his favourite flavour, so here’s how we make it, as always the full recipe will be on our blog y si quieres ver esta receta en español, ve a nuestro perfil, donde repasamos exactamente la misma receta, pero en español, para que todos nuestros fans de habla hispana también puedan seguirla. We’ve started this recipe by preheating the oven to 175 degrees celsius, which is 350 degrees fahrenheit for our American fans. 

And as my boyfriend gets in the way, the pumpkin cream cheese muffins are gonna be made slower. He loves this flavour so he’d better get out of my way so I can make the muffins, si, comprendo?”

“Comprendo, capitan!”

Bien, bienvenido de nuevo a pan y amor, como ya sabéis, en Cogollo somos grandes fans de la F1, así que hemos preparado unas magdalenas de calabaza y queso crema para celebrar la victoria número 33 de Fernando. Un pajarito nos dijo que este era su sabor favorito, así que así es como lo preparamos, como siempre la receta completa estará en nuestro blog and if you want to see this recipe in english, go to our profile, where we run through the exact same recipe, but in english, so all our english speaking fans can also follow. Comenzamos esta receta precalentando el horno a 175 grados centígrados.’

'Okay call me delusional, but was that Fernando in this tiktok?'

'Why is fernando voicing a random bakery’s tiktoks?'

'this bakery is in his home town, so maybe he knows them'

'WHY IS THE BAKERY OWNER SO PRETTY'

---

i am going to apologise now because I doubt this made sense :)

taglist: @leosxrealm, @pear-1206, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3