onceeuponadreamm

[onceeuponadreamm]

Moving While Old Pairing: Mac (Warfare) x Not-So-Single-Mom!Reader Summary: Mac gets hurt and needs you to come get him and take him home and maybe pretend to be his nurse for a little while. Contains: An injury, assistance in the shower, taking care of a not-so-little problem, the ever-present banter of two losers in love. Words: 1.5k

Buzz. Buzz.

Your eyes land on your phone, and your stomach drops. Mac never calls you in the middle of the day. Something must be wrong. You reach for it and accept the call with trembling hands, wishing your brain would stop running through every horrible possibility.

"Hey," you breathe, fearing the worst.

"Hey babe," Mac says, not sounding like he's dead or dying. "You uh… you busy?"

It's a Wednesday at 12:04 pm. You look down at the stuff cluttering your desk, suddenly having no idea what you were doing thirty seconds ago.

"Not really," you answer. "You okay?"

He sucks in air through his teeth. Oh boy.

"Well…" he chuckles awkwardly. "I kinda maybe fucked my back up a little?"

Is that all? You're fearing near-death or dismemberment, and all he did was throw his back out? A common injury amongst the elderly? You resist the urge to bang your overactive brain on your desk.

"How?"

"Moving while old?"

You snort, feeling lightheaded at the relief. He's okay.

"I've been cleared to go home for the rest of the week, but I can't exactly… y'know, drive," he explains.

"Are you asking me to come get you?"

"…please?" he asks. "If you're not busy?"

You're so happy he's alright, you'd drop everything to do anything for him. But you can't make it that easy on him.

"I'm getting a real sense of deja vu here…" you tease. "Are you really hurt, or are you just trying to get out of a math test? Should I talk to the nurse?"

Mac scoffs, and you laugh.

"If I just show up at the gate, will someone tell me how to find you?" you ask, imagining red sniper dots following you around the endless maze that is the base.

"Yep."

"Are you coming home with me?" you ask.

He quiets, like he's afraid to answer.

"Because I guarantee I'll look better in that little nurse uniform than any of your roomies would," you grin.

Mac laughs.

"You sure?" he asks.

"Yeah, babe," you smile. "I'll take care of you. Let me wrap up a few things here, and I'll be there in a little bit?"

"Okay," he breathes. "Thank you."

"Take your time," you encourage him quietly, standing a few steps below him on the stairs with his big-ass duffel bag. You picked him up. You went to the pharmacy to get his meds. You went into that frat-boy nightmare he calls home to get his essentials and enough comfortable clothes to get him through the rest of the week. And now, you're waiting on him to get his ass up your front steps and into your bed.

"I'm gettin' one of those old people stair chairs," he grunts at the halfway point, "this is bullshit."

"Almost there, Gramps," you tease, knowing he can't retaliate.

He growls and lifts a finger to flip you off.

Eventually, he gets up the steps and into the house. You dart ahead of him, clearing a path to the bed where he'll be laid up for a few days. Can't have him tripping over any errant laundry baskets or runaway Hot Wheels.

He hesitates when he gets to the doorway.

'What's wrong?" you ask, dropping his bag at the foot of the bed.

"I got sweaty as fuck today," he says apologetically.

"What else is new?" you smirk.

"You're lucky my movement is limited right now," he warns, "or you might find yourself over my knee."

"If you say so, old man," you laugh at his idle threat. "Think you can get over the side of the tub? A little hot water will probably make you feel better, anyway."

Mac chews on his lip for a second, then looks down at his boots.

"Let me," you offer, dropping to your knees on the floor in front of him to unlace his boots. He's still in his fatigues, from whatever he was doing when he fucked up his back. You get his boots unlaced, and he braces himself on the doorframe and carefully lifts each foot so you can pull the boot off and set it aside. You peel his socks off, too. And then reach for the button on his pants. He tenses, and then hisses.

"Not now, dammit," he grumbles at his crotch.

You laugh and pull his pants off as un-sexily as you can, then rise quickly to work on his jacket. His face is beet-red, eyes rolled to the ceiling in embarrassment. He's adorable.

Once he's stripped to his boxers, he shuffles into the bathroom. He stands beside the tub and looks back at you nervously.

"You need help?" you ask.

His mustache twitches while he contemplates, sizing up the tub. Finally, he sighs in defeat and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"If I strip and get in there with you to help, you promise to behave yourself?" you tease.

"That is… not a promise I can make."

"Eh," you shrug, whipping off your shirt, "at least you're honest."

You lose the rest of the clothes and get him into the shower, under a relaxing stream of hot water. Mac behaves himself, standing still while you lather him up and rinse the soap from his body, enjoying the heat and the steam and his light massage. He lets you wash his face and his hair, closing his eyes and tilting his head when instructed, moaning quietly as your fingers work his scalp. He looks almost asleep by the time you finish.

"Alright, baby," you whisper as the last of the suds circle the drain. "We're gonna have to take care of that sooner or later." You glance downward at the erection that's been silently begging for attention since you got his boxers off. "Do you want to lean back against the wall, or do you wanna go lie down?"

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes dark and chest heaving. "What did I do to deserve you?"

You smile and kiss his wet cheek in response.

"Where do you want it, baby?" you ask.

He sighs, weighing his options. "Bed's probably safer."

"Okay," you whisper, turning off the water. "Don't move."

You get out and wrap a towel around yourself. And then you help him out of the tub, dry him off, and wrap a towel around his waist too. You lead him back to the bedroom and get him settled on his back in your bed. Once he's comfortable, you tug at the towel around his waist, moving it aside and letting his cock stand at attention.

Mac breathes heavily, staring up at you. You stand beside the bed, only inches away from him, trying to figure out your next move.

"You don't have to," he whispers. "You've done enough for me today."

"And now I'm going to this," you smile, letting your towel drop. His breath hitches. You ease onto the bed slowly, carefully, not wanting to jostle his back. Your knees sink into the mattress on either side of his legs, straddling him. Leaving you spread wide open above him. You lean forward, downward, slowly approaching where he needs you, on all fours.

He whimpers when your lips meet his leaking head. His hips buck with a swirl of your tongue, and he hisses in pain. You rise in concern, and he begs you not to stop. You only have to remind him to stay still once more. You take him in your mouth, as far as he'll go, and smile around his girth at the sound of the whines and moans of pleasure you're sucking out of him. Soon, he erupts with a strangled cry, and you swallow him down.

You ease off the bed and find a t-shirt to throw on. It's one that he left behind a few weeks ago; one of your favorites. You're glad he hasn't reclaimed it yet. You slip his t-shirt on and ease back onto the bed, lying beside him with your head propped up on your hand.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he chuckles sleepily. "I gotta get hurt more often."

"No, you don't," you sigh. "You don't have to be hurt for me to take care of you."

"Stop spoiling me," he whines.

"Nope," you grin, reaching out to smooth down an eyebrow that's drying weird. "You're mine, and I'll spoil you if I damn well please."

"Yes, ma'am," he whispers, his eyes sparkling.

You glance at the clock and sigh.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," you smile. "I've just gotta get dressed and go pick up the kid in a little bit."

"He gonna be okay with me rotting in your bed for a few days?"

"Of course." You lean over to kiss his cheek. "I'm gonna have to wrestle some clothes on you before I go, though. Can you at least try not to get all hot and bothered this time?"

"Oh, God," he groans, his face going red again.

This is going to be a fun few days for you.

[onceeuponadreamm]

Funfetti

lt. derrick “mac” macdonald (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k+

summary: It’s your birthday and between having to get Waylon to soccer and then to Courtney’s— it seems like Mac’s forgotten to celebrate.

warnings: some swearing, Courtney’s a bitch again, suggestive dialogue, lots of cake

notes: Happy birthday to one of my favorite girlies @wheels-of-despair! I hope you can enjoy this as much as I did writing it lmao.

Your birthday starts, unsurprisingly, exactly like any other Saturday. It does not start with breakfast in bed or flowers or even a card. It starts with Waylon tearing through the house looking for his other cleat, and Mac— standing over the laundry basket by the door, holding up a shin guard.

“You wanna explain to me,” he calls toward the kitchen with a sigh, “why this was in the damn couch cushions, bud?”

There’s a clatter of what you can assume is toys and a faint, defensive “I don’t know!” from Waylon.

You roll over in bed, press your face into the pillow and really try not to laugh. By the time you climb out of bed and shuffle downstairs, Mac is crouched by the mudroom bench, trying to retie Waylon’s cleats for him because apparently the kid forgot how to use his own hands. Mac looks up when he sees you, and his mouth softens into that little grin you know all too well. “Hey,” he smiles. Then, once he’s done with Waylon’s cleats, he stands and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He tugs you in and kisses your temple gently, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

That’s it. There’s no big gesture. No confetti cannon. Just his hand sliding down your back when you step past him to pour your coffee. Still— that kiss was all you needed to keep your heart warm, at least for now.

But the morning doesn’t let up.

Mac’s phone goes off just as you pull on your hoodie, about to leave with your guys. So you get stuck driving Waylon to soccer practice while Mac finishes his call on the porch, gesturing wildly at whoever’s on the other end.

Soccer practice is uncharacteristically cold for July, the field is wet from the rain this past week, and it’s loud and full of other parents shouting things like “get in position!” while you sit in the car answering scheduling emails from the office and watching Waylon trot around the field like a distracted golden retriever. When you get him home, you think maybe— just maybe— you’ll get an hour to yourself. But the second you step in the door, Waylon stops short in the hallway and spins around, his eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “Mom asked if I could switch this weekend with dad. We’re going to the beach! I forgot to ask.”

Mac, who’s sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out and an unopened beer in his hand, glances up at you, then over at Waylon. His lips twitch like he’s holding in a laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say flatly.

Waylon shakes his head.

Mac sighs and sets the beer down and pushes himself up. “Alright. C’mon, we’ll run you over there. Unless you wanna pack a bag and walk, bud.”

Waylon groans again but disappears upstairs to grab his stuff.

In the car, Mac drives while you sit in the passenger seat watching the sunset through the windshield. He’s got a hand on your thigh. Waylon sits in the back, humming something that sounds like one of Mac’s old records and kicking his bag every few seconds. When you pull into Courtney’s driveway, Mac cuts the engine and leans an elbow on the steering wheel, turning slightly to face you. “You want me to go up?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

You grab Waylon’s bag, climb out, and walk him up the short path to the door. Your routine for the last month or so. Ever since Courtney found it appropriate to comment on Mac’s appearance. 

And Courtney answers after exactly three knocks, like she was standing right there waiting on you. And of course, she looks perfect— slim little dress, her hair done, flawless lipstick. Definitely not beach ready. She takes one look at you— at your sweatshirt and your messy ponytail and your expression— and smiles. That tight, brittle smile she does. “Well,” she says, looking you up and down. “You look… comfortable.”

You frown, caught off guard for a second.

Waylon slips past her into the house with a quick, “Hi Mom!” and then disappears into the living room.

Courtney doesn’t shut the door and just leave this where it’s at. No. She just stays in the doorway, her arms folded over her belly, gaze sweeping over you like she’d like to wring you out for tracking mud onto her entryway rug.

“You didn’t pack him pajamas,” she adds pointedly.

You hold up his bag to hand over. “They’re in here.”

“Mhm.” She glances at it skeptically, then sighs and finally takes it from you. “Well. I guess this’ll do.”

You bite back about six things you could say and settle on a bland, “Thanks.”

Before you can turn to go, she steps just a few steps closer. She drops her voice so only you can hear, undoubtedly not wanting to disturb Waylon or that new stuck up mop of blonde curls sitting on her couch. “You know,” she says, still wearing that faux-sweet smile Mac never fails to mention that he hates, “he really does do better when he sticks to a schedule. Not… whatever all this running-around you two are doing with him is.”

You stare at her for half a second before answering, voice level, trying not to lose your cool. “He’s fine, Courtney. I think we know him pretty well.”

“Mhm,” she says again, like she knows him better. Even if she only has him two fucking weekends a month. Then she glances over her shoulder toward the living room and chirps, “Way, say goodnight to—” She hesitates, her eyes flicking back to you before finishing with, “—dad!”

You bite the inside of your cheek and step off the stoop before you say anything that would make Mac proud in entirely the wrong way.

When you climb back in the truck, Mac looks up from his phone, one brow raised. “You were gone a while,” he drawls.

You shut the door and let out a long breath. “She’s a delight,” You rub over your face and just lean back in your seat.

That earns you a laugh. “Did she give you the ‘he needs a schedule’ speech?” Mac asks as he eases the car into reverse. One of his hands is placed on the passenger seat as he twists to look out the rear window. 

“She did.”

“She give you the ‘you look comfortable’ line?”

“She did.”

He shakes his head as he backs out of the driveway. And by the time you get home, you feel absolutely wrung out.

You still have dishes to finish from breakfast, and there’s so much laundry to fold, and Mac disappears for a little while into the garage to fix something or other while you stand at the sink and let the water run hot over your hands. When you finally shower and crawl into bed, you feel the weight of the day— Courtney’s pointed looks, soccer field wind, the dull ache in your back— they all settle heavily over you.

Mac stays downstairs for a while. The faint hum of the TV drifts up through the floor. You’re just starting to doze when the door creaks open. You roll over groggily and squint.

And there he is— Mac, your beloved boyfriend— standing in the doorway wearing his favorite red plaid pajama pants and that faded old Marine Corps T-shirt that’s definitely seen better days, and he’s holding two plates of Funfetti cake in his hands.

You rub your eyes a bit, blinking as you sit up.

He grins like he’s been caught red-handed. “What?”

“…What is this?”

“What’s it look like?” he smiles, crossing the room. He steps over a laundry basket at the end of the bed and sits on the edge. “Birthday cake. Don’t make me sing.”

You take the plate he hands you slowly, still watching him. But there’s a smile growing on your face.

He sets his own plate to the side and peels off his socks. Then he climbs in bed beside you cross-legged, grabs his plate and digs right in. “You thought I forgot,” he says through a mouthful of frosting.

“You… looked like you might’ve.”

“Nope.” Another bite. “Planned this all along. Tactical Funfetti delivery. Best in the business.”

You can’t help but laugh, and something in your chest finally loosens up. The cake is sweet and soft and absurdly good for something you can assume is from the grocery store. Mac eats like he hasn’t seen food all day, crumbs already clinging to his mustache and a streak of frosting on his knuckle.

“You—” you start, pointing at his face.

“I know,” he interrupts, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Don’t really care. Worth it.”

When you set your plate down to sip your water, he steals a bite of your slice.

“Mac!”

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. His hands up in mock surrender. “Yours tastes so much better.”

You both laugh until your sides ache. When the plates are empty, he sets them on the floor beside your bed and flops back against the mattress with a satisfied groan.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he mumbles after a bit of silence— holding his arm open to let you get comfortable against him. “Even if I didn’t get to watch you square off with Courtney tonight. You definitely handled it better than I would’ve.”

You roll onto your side and rest your head on his chest, smiling against his shirt. “She’s so impossible, I don’t understand how you were married.” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed for a few moments.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “But you’re better than her. And she knows it. S’why she acts like that.” His hand runs up and down your arm oh-so-gently before he starts to fidget beneath you. At first it seems innocent— just him shifting to get comfortable— but then his hand lands squarely on your ass. Not casually. Not accidentally. Definitely on purpose.

You lift your head to give him a look.

“What are you doing?”.

He flashes you that crooked, boyish grin that always has you weak in the knees. “Me?” he says innocently. His palm warm as he gives you a little squeeze. “Just… makin’ sure my birthday girl’s still alive after the absolutely brutal day she had. Just lookin’ for a pulse.”

You snort. “Pretty sure you don’t check a pulse there.”

“Shows what you know,” he laughs, already moving his hand up to the waistband of your pajama pants. He tugs very lightly, testing how far you’ll let him tease you.

You arch a brow at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet—” he drops his voice low, intimate for the two of you, and then he leans down so his mustache grazes your jaw in that way that always makes your skin twitch—  “here you are. In bed. With me. So who’s the real fool here?”

You shove at his shoulder lightly, but he just laughs and rolls onto his side to face you fully. One big hand slides over your stomach, under the hem of your shirt, and rests on your boob like he owns everything under the fabric of your clothes. “Y’know,” he murmurs, running his thumb lazily across the swell of your breast, “it’d be a real shame to let all these birthday crumbs go to waste.”

You just look at him, confused. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says solemnly, though the sparkle in his eye gives him away. He presses a kiss under your jaw, “we could just… roll around in ‘em a little. Make some new memories in the Funfetti battlefield.”

You choke on a laugh. “You’re actually the worst.”

“The worst you’ve got,” he corrects cheerfully, nudging you flat on your back and propping himself up on one elbow over you. He leans down and runs his mustache deliberately along your neck, humming thoughtfully as you giggle and squirm. “Mmm,” he hums against your throat. “Frosting. Still smell it on you. This is a problem. Gonna have to take care of it.”

You can’t help laughing even as you squirm away from his ticklish kisses. “Stop,” you giggle, swatting at him half-heartedly.

“Stop?” he echoes, “Stop? Sweetheart, it’s your birthday. You earned this harassment.”

You glance up at him through your lashes, still grinning wide. “You call this harassment?”

“Oh, it’s about to be,” he promises, already slipping his hand down from your chest to your thigh and giving it a firm little squeeze as he pulls it up around his waist. “We’re talkin’… Grade-A, Marine-issued, birthday-level harassment. You’re gonna have to file paperwork about it in the morning.”

You laugh so hard at that you almost forget to stop him when he starts easing his fingers under the waistband of your pajamas for real this time.

“You’re out of control,” you manage between giggles, finally relaxing back against your pillows.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees happily, kissing your jaw again and again. “Completely feral. Somebody’s gotta keep the morale up around here.” And then he pulls back just long enough to give you a completely straight-faced, ridiculous suggestion. “Tell ya what,” he hums softly, like he’s pretending to think about whatever ridiculous idea is about to leave his mouth. “You lie real still… I’ll eat the rest of the cake crumbs off you. Sound good?”

You slap a hand over your face, laughing into your palm while he grins triumphantly. When you peek out at him from between your fingers, his cheeks are flushed red, his eyes gleaming the prettiest brown you’ve ever seen, and there’s still one lonely little sprinkle stuck in his mustache, which somehow makes him look even more incorrigible.

“Mac,” you groan, still laughing, “you’re truly unbelievable.”

“Mm. You keep saying that,” he chuckles as he finally leans down to kiss you properly. The kiss is slow and lingering and full of that ridiculous affection that always catches you off guard. “But you don’t exactly sound mad about it.”

And when his hand slides fully under your pajama waistband and his teeth graze your jaw, you’re forced to admit— silently and rather breathlessly— that you really, really aren’t mad at all.

tags ;; @dancininseptember @robinbuckleywife @kripkie101-blog @bradleybeachbabe @vinecstasy @thejordiverse @preciouslosers @keeryhours

[onceeuponadreamm]

Across the entire Warfare fandom I have yet to come across a fic for my beloved Jake :( I feel he is such an underrated character. Honestly I don’t really mind what the fic is about. I know you’ll do his character justice after reading your Erik fic 😭🩷

Oh my gosh you’re so right he is criminally underrated!! I’ll get this started 🫡

[onceeuponadreamm]

Hii!!! I see you’re a new writer for Warfare!! Are you taking any requests for certain characters? Lots of love, hope to see more content ❤️‍🩹

Hii! I am absolutely taking requests so send them my way!! Thank you for the love 💕

[onceeuponadreamm]

The Lasagna Lede Pairing: Tindle Builderback x Reader Summary: World-famous journalist Tindle Builderback conducts an interview with a frazzled cook in a local kitchen. Contains: An idiot, the person who loves/tolerates him, dinner, talk of infidelity and a secret love affair, and a lot of suggestive dialogue. Words: 900ish

"Good afternoon, miss."

Oh, God. You know that tone. You don't even have to turn around and see that stupid mustache to know that Tindle Builderback has come out to play.

"What?" you groan.

"It's lovely to see you too! Gosh, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

You love him. You love him. You are not going to turn around and hit him in the head with a frying pan.

"So anyway, sources tell me that it's nearly dinnertime. May I ask… what is that you're making?"

"Mr. Builderback, this is what we in the kitchen business like to call a lasagna."

"A lasagna!" he cries. "Fantastic!"

Damn his charm. Damn the smile that's trying to appear on your face. Damn this overgrown moron that you can't help but play with.

"Yeah, the guy I'm shackin' up with seems to like it," you say, trying to sound uninterested.

"Wonderful," he chortles, coming into your eyeline when he leans an elbow on the counter next to the mess that comes with making his favorite meal. He's put on his Tindle Jacket and his stupid mustache and his reading glasses. You hate how good he looks like this. "Could you walk me through what it is you're doing?"

"Of course, Mr. Builderback," you say seriously. "I'm layering noodles and meat and sauce and cheese, and then once all of those things are in this pan, I'm gonna put it in the oven."

"I see," he nods. "I can't help but notice that you're using sauce from a jar, instead of making it from scratch. Is it because you don't really love the man you're making this for?"

"You caught me, Mr. Builderback," you sigh, turning to him. "It is because I don't really love him. If I'd known you were coming, however…"

You wink, and his jaw drops scandalously. You step closer, sliding your hands up his arms and to his shoulders.

"Ma'am, this is highly unprofessional," he says shakily, trying to back away.

"Oh, Tindle," you sigh dramatically, leaping toward him and capturing him in a one-sided hug. He stands there, arms at his sides, stiff as a board. "When will you leave that awful wife of yours for me?"

"Leave my wife?!" he splutters, trying to peel you off of him.

"We could be so good together," you whisper sultrily, holding him tighter and refusing to let go. "Let's run away, Tindle! I hear Russia's nice this time of year."

"Russia?!" he nearly shrieks. "Ma'am, I am a member of the press! A brilliant, highly respected journalist! A pioneer in my field! I can't go to Russia!"

"Field?" you ask, pulling back to look up at him curiously. "Did you get promoted from the cave?"

His face splits into a grin, proud that you've remembered that little detail he made up the last time Tindle made an appearance. And then he looks down and gives the front of his pants a tug.

"Calm down, Little Tindle. You belong to a married man."

You snort, and he grins at you.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Builderback," you say quietly, sobering. "I don't know what came over me. You're just so handsome, and so talented, it's… it's hard to control myself when you're around."

"You're not the first dame to fall for the legendary Tindle Builderback," he says proudly, puffing out his chest. "And you certainly won't be the last."

You'd kiss him if you didn't know that fake mustache smelled like Doritos.

"I should finish this," you sigh, turning back to your lasagna. "My man will be home soon. Guess I better keep him happy, since you're not gonna run away with me."

"He's not so bad," Tindle shrugs. "He's kinda handsome. Not as much as me, of course, but he has a certain kind of charm about him."

"He does, doesn't he?" you smile, putting the finishing touches on your lasagna. You slide it into the oven and turn to Tindle once more.

"I have a question," he says.

"Yes, Mr. Builderback?" you ask.

"When will this lazy, sub-par lasagna of yours be ready?"

You briefly reconsider your stance on hitting him with the frying pan.

"About 45 minutes," you answer instead.

"Well," he says sleazily, leaning an elbow on the counter and sliding his glasses down his nose with his finger. "I can do a lot of amazing things in 45 minutes. And since you're such a big fan of mine… and that semi-charming fella of yours isn't home yet, to tend to your womanly needs…"

"Fine," you sigh, throwing a kitchen towel at him. "But this is the last time, Tindle."

He slings the towel over his shoulder and pretends to check his phone.

"Ah, yes," he says, putting it back in his pocket. "According to my records, you said that last time."

"You told me that was off the record."

"Did I?" he asks, tilting his head upward and putting his fingers to his chin as he ponders.

"Where is your journalistic integrity, sir?" you tease.

"Riiight…" he says slowly, dragging out the word as he comes closer. He grabs your hand and places it on Little Tindle, who seems to be very happy about the attention he's getting. "Here."

...so this is where I'm currently at in my fanfiction journey. Sorry/you're welcome.

[onceeuponadreamm]

𝗘𝗿𝗶𝗸 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

Fluff! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Warnings: none but pls lmk if any!

Word count: 1027

Summary: Erik has to buy a gift for his mom but can’t help but fall for the book store’s worker in the process.

A/N: first fic kinda nervous! Okay I know it’s cheesy but that’s the whole point! I wanted to encapsulate the same cliché as those cutsie romance books so I kept it pretty light hearted. As always, feel free to critique and give feedback as it’s much much appreciated. Enjoy!

All he wanted from the bookstore was a new release and a birthday card for his mom’s birthday. Not a new crush.

“Hey! Is there anything you need help finding?” A worker asked.

“Oh uh no,” he was a little startled by the abrupt break in silence (apart from the generic store music) “just getting a birthday card for my mom.”

“Oh I see, and is that for her too?” She giggled.

The worker, around the same age as him who had the sweetest smile and bright eyes for someone working a closing shift, pointed at the book he was holding onto.

“Uh yeah,” he slightly reddened as the image of him prancing around the bookstore proudly carrying some romance book that featured two cartoon characters kissing on the front cover. Again, it was for his mom, not him! “I’m not too big on this…stuff.” He paused while glancing and awkwardly motioning at the cover.

“I mean you never know, you meet a lot of people here with some interesting taste, not in a bad way of course!” She shrugged, fully turning towards him as if they were good friends and not just strangers.

He smiled at her but before he could say anything back, she turned on her heels and called over her shoulders “just yell if you need anything!”

He chuckled and watched her leave and for a hot minute—forgot why he even entered the store in the first place. He turned back towards the card stand and stared mindlessly whilst gathering his thoughts. His brain completely short circuited and he was smiling to himself before realizing how crazy he looked.

After gathering himself, he finally chose two of the more expensive cards. The first card was pink with lace and had daisies on the border as opposed to the second card which had a garden with a bunch of colourful flowers. Eventually he was going to walk out of the store with just one but he wanted an excuse just to talk to the girl again.

When he emerged from the card section he briefly looked around for her but unfortunately was met by anyone but her. He sighed and continued to “browse” whichever section he had entered while keeping an eye out for her. It was only when a group of teenage girls had giggled and made a weird face at him carrying the mildly provocative book cover when he realized he was wasting his time wandering for nothing. What if she had a boyfriend or worse - wasn’t even interested. She was only doing her job after all. The sudden change in thoughts sure was defeating but it also carried a sliver of hope in this strongly coffee-smelling bookstore. What if she didn’t have a boyfriend? What if she was interested? No way.

The walk of shame to the cashiers was more humiliating than he thought but what did he expect? He was doing a very bad job at hiding a book clearly not for his demographic in front of a bunch of people staring at him fumbling while attempting to hide the front cover.

The embarrassment quickly went away when he saw her working at one of the cash registers. While standing in line he finally got a good look at her and she truly was beautiful, the type you’d hear about in these little meet-cutes. She was already breathtaking and it didn’t help that the sun was setting and cast a warm orange glow to her already glowing face. He noticed that her hair was tied back but still failed to stay out of her face thanks to pesky baby hairs. He also noticed that she was looking at him too.

There were two other cash registers open so he happily let others go before him, just so he could talk to her again—what a gentleman. Finally, she waved at him to come over and his face immediately lit up.

“Found everything alright?”

“Well yes and no, I was wondering if you’d tell me which is better?” He held up both cards and her eyes darted from one to another. Her brows scrunched up in great focus and she finally pointed to the second one.

“Hmm…that one, it’s more colourful. It’s for your mom right?”

“Yes it is, colourful card it is.” He said in a fake serious tone.

She placed the other card aside and scanned the book and card.

“I’ve been waiting to read this actually,” she said, looking up at him “just haven't been able to get ahold of a copy believe it or not.”

“Really? I mean, kind of hard to believe!” He chuckled and crossed his arms while she bagged the items.

“We can’t put things aside for ourselves and the one chance I had to grab one after my shift, I forgot.” She said sheepishly as she carefully placed the bag on the counter.

“Damn,” he took a quick breath in “maybe I’ll come in and buy it for you tomorrow.” He blurted, without thinking.

She smiled and slightly blushed.

“Well tomorrow I get off at four so just yell and I’ll find you.” She chuckled. The registers beside her had already gone through two other customers but neither of them noticed or cared.

“Sorry, what was your name?” He asked, shaking his head

“Y/N, yours?”

“Erik. Nice to meet you y/n, have a good day or uh- I mean I guess evening now.” He said nervously, scrambling to make his words come out.

He took the bag and turned to walk away, silently begging she’d come along with him.

“You too Erik!” She giggled at his own word mix up.

He repeated her name over and over in his head and smiled to himself all the way to his car where he just sat there with a sigh, smiling to himself like a child but eventually came back down to earth before backing out of the parking lot.

Oh he’s definitely coming back.

Again, pls feel free to send me your thoughts, anything is appreciated!

Ps: I’m taking requests for all warfare men btw so don’t be shy and send me your thoughts/requests!

-𝓮

[onceeuponadreamm]

𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆!

𝖧𝗂𝗂! 𝖨’𝗆 𝖤𝗅𝗅𝖾! (𝖨𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐). 𝖬𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖾/𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖨’𝗆 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖢𝖺𝗇𝖺𝖽𝖺 🇨🇦, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗏 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄! 𝖨’𝗏𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝖨 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌..

𝖨’𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 amazing 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗌.

𝖨 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝖿𝖺𝗋𝖾 (𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟧) 𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨’𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗂’𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋.

𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌!

𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗌𝖾/𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖾𝗌.

𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗌 (𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝗌𝗁, 𝗌𝖺, 𝖾𝗍𝖼), 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍.

𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗁𝗈𝖻𝗂𝖺, 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝖾𝗍𝖼 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾!

𝖯𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒/𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅/𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖽𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗆 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈!

𝖬𝗒 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗍/𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇!!

𝖲𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖨’𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖨’𝗆 𝖲𝖮 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗑𝗑

𝗢𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝗜’𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗵𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗽 𝗻𝗼𝘄, 𝗯𝘆𝗲!! (𝙎𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣?) 𝘅𝘅

-𝓮

𝙬𝙞𝙥𝙨

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘵! 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 *𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬*

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘵! 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 *𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬*