#ON THE STOVE. WITH THE FIRE. HE IS IN THE NEXT ROOM OVER THIS HAS HAPPENED MORE THAN TWENTY TIMES AND IM SICK OF IT

[kellystar321]

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[pucksandpower]

Burn, Baby! Burn!

Lando Norris x firefighter!Reader

Summary: Lando almost burns down his house (twice) and meets the throughly exasperated love of his life in the process

The shrill screech of the alarm pierces through the calm of the fire station. You jolt upright in your chair, coffee spilling across the table. Another firefighter bursts into the room.

“We’ve got a call! Some bloke has managed to set his kitchen on fire boiling pasta!”

You shake your head in disbelief as you follow your colleague out to the truck. Who in their right mind manages to burn water?

The sirens wail as you weave expertly through the London streets. You’ve lived here your whole life and know every nook and cranny. As you near the address, plumes of smoke curl up in the distance. Sure enough, you pull up to a posh townhouse billowing with black smoke.

You hurry to unravel the hose, pulling on your heavy fire gear with practiced ease. As you blast water at the licking flames, they hiss and retreat. Within minutes, the fire is out.

Your captain does a sweep of the place to check for any remaining embers. You start to inspect the damage. The kitchen is completely demolished — cabinets charred and counters blackened. And there, in the middle, stands a lanky man with a mop of brown hair. His eyes are wide as saucers as he takes in the ruin.

You stride over. “What in blazes happened here?”

“I, uh, was just trying to make some pasta,” he stammers.

You spot a scorched pot in the sink. “Pasta? All you need for that is water, salt, and noodles. How did you manage to incinerate the whole bloody kitchen?”

“Honestly, I’m not really sure,” he says, raking a hand through his hair. “I filled the pot with water, turned on the stove, went to get my phone and next thing I knew, the place was up in flames!”

You rub your temples, frustration simmering. This overgrown child clearly can’t be trusted alone.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Lando. Lando Norris.”

Lando Norris … why does that sound familiar? You rack your brain trying to place it.

“Well Lando, unless you fancy burning down the rest of London, I suggest you leave the cooking to the takeaway. Or hire a personal chef or something, sure looks like you can afford it.”

Lando chuckles at that. There’s a twinkle in his eye that irks you.

“Will do, firefighter ...”

“Y/N,” you supply.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful firefighter,” he says with a wink.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. The last thing you need right now is an incompetent flirt.

Your radio crackles to life. “Y/L/N, need you to hang back with the resident until a building inspector can come assess the safety.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before responding. “Copy that.”

You turn back to Lando. “Looks like you’re stuck with me till the inspector shows up.”

“Well I certainly won’t complain about that,” Lando says with a dimpled grin.

You plop down on his couch, which by some miracle remains unscathed. Lando sits down next to you, angling his body in your direction.

“So, do you rescue fiery damsels in distress often?”

You snort. “Wouldn’t exactly call you a damsel. But putting out idiots’ fires? More often than you’d think.”

Lando clutches his chest in faux offense. “Idiot? I’m wounded!”

Despite yourself, you feel your lips quirking upwards. There’s something endearing about him, even if he is concerningly incompetent.

“Gotta admit, this is a new one,” you gesture around. “Never been called for someone catching water on fire before.”

“Ah well, I like to keep things interesting,” Lando says with a wink.

You’re about to respond when your radio crackles again. “The inspector’s been held up across town. Gonna be another 30 minutes.”

You lean your head back and groan. Lando perks up beside you.

“Well, lucky me! More time with the lovely firefighter.”

You toss a decorative pillow at him. “You’re incorrigible.”

Lando just laughs, dodging the pillow with ease. “So tell me, Y/N, what made you become a firefighter?”

You debate shutting him down, but something about the open curiosity on his face makes you open up.

“My dad was a firefighter,” you explain. “Some of my earliest memories are of playing at the fire station with the other firefighters’ kids while our dads were on calls. I was maybe 5 or 6 when my dad let me slide down the fire pole for the first time.”

You smile at the memory. “I knew then that I wanted to be just like my dad. I thought firefighters were the coolest people in the world.”

Lando is watching you intently as you speak.

“What about you?” You ask. “What is it you do, besides wreak havoc in the kitchen?”

Lando smirks. “I’m a Formula 1 driver.”

Your eyes widen — no wonder his name is so familiar.

Lando looks pleased at your recognition. “So you’ve heard of me then?”

You nod. “Guess that explains how you can afford a posh place like this. Though I’d think a racing driver would have a bit more common sense in the kitchen.”

Lando shrugs sheepishly. “Never really had to fend for myself until now. I’m a bit hopeless at all things domestic.”

You shake your head in exasperation. “Been living off takeout, have you?”

“You know it,” Lando says with a wink.

You’re about to retort when the building inspector arrives. You greet him as Lando shows him around the thoroughly singed kitchen. After an extensive examination, the inspector deems the place safe, reminding Lando to get repairs done immediately.

With that settled, you make your way outside, Lando following at your heels.

“Don’t suppose I could get your number?” Lando asks as you reach the fire truck. “You know, in case I have any other domestic mishaps that require rescuing.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “How about I just pray we don’t meet again? Since that would likely mean you almost burned your place down … again.”

Lando clutches his chest in mock offence. “You wound me! And here I thought we were really hitting it off!”

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” You pause, considering him for a moment. “But seriously … try not to burn the place down again, yeah? I’d rather not have to peel you off the floor next time.”

Lando grins. “I’ll do my best to keep the place flame-free. Though I can’t promise I won’t still need rescuing from time to time.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Take care of yourself, Lando Norris.”

As you hop into the fire truck and speed away, sirens blaring, you catch Lando waving out of the corner of your eye. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

What an absolute disaster of a man.

***

It’s been nearly two weeks since the incident at Lando’s place. You’ve replayed that day in your mind more times than you’d care to admit. There was just something about that hapless yet charming Lando Norris.

Speak of the devil — the fire alarm at the station suddenly blares to life.

“Never a dull day, eh?” Your captain jokes.

You hustle to gear up, a sense of deja vu washing over you. As you near the now familiar posh townhouse, plumes of smoke once again curl into the sky. Your disbelief grows when you see a very sheepish looking Lando standing outside.

He grimaces as your truck pulls up. “Before you ask, yes, it was me again.”

You leap out of the truck, pulling the hose as your team gets to work quelling the flames.

“What the hell happened this time?” You shout over the roar of water.

“I, uh, may have tried to microwave some leftovers,” Lando says, rubbing the back of his neck.

It only takes a few minutes to extinguish the fire and assess the damage. Thankfully, it seems contained to mostly the microwave this time. Lando leads you inside, where smoke still lingers in the air. Your eyes immediately zone in on the microwave, or rather, what’s left of it. The interior is completely blackened and melted.

You whirl on Lando. “Please tell me you didn’t put something metal in there.”

Lando winces. “Right, so, funny story. I may have left a fork in the takeaway box.”

You drag a hand down your face in exasperation. “Lando, are you actually incapable of functioning like a normal adult?”

He has the decency to look ashamed. “I know, I’m a disaster, truly. But in my defense, the microwave came with the place already. I didn’t even think to check for a manual or proper usage instructions.”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure not putting metal in the microwave is common sense.”

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets. “Suppose I don’t have much of that.”

You sigh, suddenly feeling a bit bad for berating him. He really is just hopeless, not malicious.

“Look, maybe it’s best you just avoid the kitchen altogether,” you suggest gently. “At least until you get some proper instruction.”

Lando nods enthusiastically. “You’re absolutely right. In fact, why don’t I just take you out for dinner? Be a lot safer than me bumbling about the kitchen.”

You cross your arms, biting back a smile. “Are you asking me out while I’m on duty?”

Lando’s eyes widen. “No no, of course not! I would never compromise your professionalism.”

You can’t help but grin. “I’m just teasing you.”

Lando looks relieved. “Right, sorry. But truly, I’d love to take you to dinner, if you’re open to it.” He smiles sheepishly. “I could certainly use the company of someone responsible in the kitchen.”

You consider him for a moment. There are about a million reasons you shouldn’t agree to this. But despite the situation, you find yourself charmed by Lando.

“Tell you what, why don’t you swing by the station once my shift is over in ...” You check your watch. “Four hours. You can ask me again then.”

Lando’s face lights up. “It’s a date! Well, hopefully, if you say yes.”

You chuckle and turn to leave, but Lando calls out your name. You glance back and he smiles warmly.

“Thank you again for rescuing me … in more ways than one.”

Four hours later, you’re wiping down the fire truck when an expensive sports car pulls up outside the station. Lando hops out, beaming when he spots you.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he calls out cheekily.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t you know this is a strictly no-playboys zone?”

Lando clutches his heart. “You wound me, Y/N! I’m much more than just extraordinarily good looks.”

“What good looks?” You challenge.

Lando strolls over and holds open the passenger door. “Have dinner with me and see for yourself.”

You pretend to consider it, then shrug. “Eh, why not. Beats more takeout on my couch.”

You hop into Lando’s flashy car and he zooms off towards the restaurant. Lando insists on opening every door for you and pulling out your chair. You poke fun at his over-the-top chivalry, but find it endearing nonetheless.

Over dinner, you learn there’s much more to Lando than his hapless antics. He’s unexpectedly clever, with a sharp wit to match. He’s passionate about racing, his eyes lighting up as he tells you about life on the circuit. And despite his lavish lifestyle, he’s remained remarkably down-to-earth.

Conversation flows easily between you two. You’re amazed at how you manage to lose track of time, the restaurant emptying out around you.

When Lando finally drives you home, you linger in the parking lot, neither of you wanting the night to end.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” you say softly.

Lando smiles. “Me too. Think it’s safe to say there were definitely some sparks between us.”

You groan at the terrible fire pun, shoving Lando playfully. His eyes gleam with mirth.

“In all seriousness, I’d love to see you again,” Lando says. “If you’re willing to take another chance on this walking fire hazard.”

You pretend to consider it. “Well, seeing as I’m trained to deal with hazards ...”

Lando perks up hopefully. You grin and lean over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I would love to see you again. And until then … just please stay away from anything flammable.”

***

A few months have passed since your unusual first encounters with Lando. To your surprise and delight, you’ve settled into an easy relationship that feels almost like second nature. Lando has been actively planning creative dates, seemingly determined to take you on adventures across London.

It’s been a whirlwind of posh restaurants, West End shows, helicopter rides, and more. Lando delights in lavishing you with exclusive experiences. While you appreciate the gestures, your favorite nights are spent cuddled on the couch playing video games.

You’ve helped Lando gain basic competency in the kitchen. He can now make scrambled eggs and pasta unsupervised. Progress.

In turn, Lando has taken an interest in your life as a firefighter, asking for crazy stories and even visiting you at the station with treats for those on shift. He greets you after work with hearty meals — takeaway warmed up in the oven without any explosions — a welcome respite from having to worry that you would come home to find his house burnt to a crisp.

You’re touched by how you’ve each become such a fixture in the other’s unusual life so quickly.

One morning, the two of you are lounging on Lando’s couch during a rare shared day off when he suddenly perks up.

“The British Grand Prix is in a few months! I know it might be tough for you to get the weekend off but I would love it if you could come,” Lando suggests excitedly.

Your eyes widen. “Seriously? I would love to see your world up close.”

Lando grins and pulls you in for a kiss. “It’s a date then! Fair warning though, the garage can get a bit chaotic. But I can’t wait to show you off to my team.”

You laugh. “Well in my line of work, chaotic is the norm. I think I can handle it.”

On race day, Lando picks you up in a sleek McLaren emblazoned with his number. You take in the organized chaos of the paddock, amazed by the scale of it all.

Lando guides you through the sea of team members prepping for the big day. He greets his mechanics warmly, introducing you with a hand on the small of your back.

“Lads, meet my girl Y/N,” Lando announces proudly.

The mechanics appraise you curiously. One whistles under his breath. “Nice catch, Lando. She’s clearly out of your league.”

You laugh as Lando flips him off good-naturedly.

Another mechanic, Dan, gestures to your athletic frame. “So what is it you do, Y/N? Personal trainer? Athlete? Fitness influencer?”

You smile wryly. “I’m a firefighter, actually.”

Dan gapes in disbelief. “A firefighter? No way! But you’re so ...” He vaguely gestures at you.

You quirk an eyebrow. “So what? Girls can’t be firefighters?”

Dan holds up his hands quickly. “No no, course not! Just didn’t expect it, is all.”

Lando grins and squeezes your shoulder. “She’s saved my arse more times than I can count.”

You laugh. “He’s not wrong. Man’s a walking fire hazard.”

Lando’s team ribs him fondly about his cooking mishaps. But you can tell they’re impressed, regarding you with newfound admiration.

“Go on then, show us what you can do!” Dan cajoles.

You grin mischievously. “If you insist.”

Before Dan can react, you swoop down and lift him effortlessly into a fireman’s carry. The other mechanics whoop and holler as Dan flails comically over your shoulder.

After a few seconds, you gently set a very flustered Dan back down.

Lando lets out a low whistle. “Have I mentioned how hot it is when you go all firefighter on me?”

You smirk. “Never gets old seeing you boys underestimate me.”

Dan rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, fair play. Reckon I earned that.”

You laugh good-naturedly and pat Dan on the back, assuring him no harm done. As you all chat, you notice Lando’s gaze lingering on you admiringly.

As race time nears, Lando has to start prepping with his team. But he keeps glancing over at you with a newfound awe. Your little display of strength clearly left an impression.

Soon it’s time for him to get in the car. You wish Lando luck with a quick kiss, giggling at the mechanics’ dramatic groans.

Once the race gets underway, you stand behind the monitors with Lando’s performance coach, cheering him on with every overtake. You join the crew in jumping to your feet when Lando crosses the chequered flag for an exhilarating podium finish. The garage explodes into celebration, and Lando sweeps you up into a spinning hug when he arrives.

“My good luck charm,” he proclaims, keeping you close as champagne sprays wildly.

Later at an afterparty for the drivers and teams, you sip cocktails under strings of lights. Lando proudly spins you around the dancefloor, making sure everyone can see you on his arm.

“Have I told you how amazing you are?” Lando murmurs into your hair.

You grin. “Might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well I’m saying it again. You’re incredible, Y/N. Today was so much better getting to share it with you.”

Your heart swells at the sincerity in Lando’s eyes. You cup his face gently.

“Couldn’t imagine a better first Grand Prix. Thank you for inviting me into this part of your world.”

Lando smiles softly. “You’re the best part of my world now.”

Over the following weeks, you start to notice Lando looking at you with a new hunger in his eyes. The easy affection between you has shifted into something more wanton and primal.

One night, as you’re cooking a simple pasta dish together, Lando comes up behind you, hands encircling your waist. He plants a trail of kisses down your neck as his grip tightens possessively.

You lean back into him with a pleased hum. “Well hello there.”

“Mmm, ever since I saw you lift that mechanic, I just keep thinking about all the ways you could put that sexy strength to use,” Lando murmurs against your skin.

You grin and turn in his arms. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me more about that?” You purr teasingly.

Lando crashes his lips to yours, backing you against the counter hungrily. You just barely remember to turn off the burner before completely losing yourself in the feel of him around you — one burnt pot of boiling water is more than enough for your relationship, thank you very much.

Later, lying spent and sated in Lando’s bed, he nuzzles against you. “Have to say, your skills in the bedroom rival your skills as a firefighter,” he jokes.

You swat his chest playfully. “Careful or I may have to break out some new moves on you.”

Lando’s eyes gleam. “Promise?”

You grin and roll on top of him, ready to stoke the flames between you once more. Though your relationship started unconventionally, it seems things with Lando will never stop burning hot.

[eroselless]

UNDERNEATH YOUR CLOTHES

summary => Request: Could you write a one-shot about Charles’ girlfriend wearing one his Ferrari jerseys or like his merch w his name on it and he fucks her with it on? [2.1k]

[charles leclerc x reader]

warnings: 18+ for explicit language and smut 

note: I’ve had this request in my inbox for so long and I’ve been absolutely itching to get this out. I’m such a sucker for friends to lovers so I changed it a bit to fit with the idea that I ended up rolling with.

School’s out until July so if anyone has anything they want written, send it in :) Hope you guys enjoy this first Charles request! 

You groan at the sound of urgent knocking at your door. Groggily, you pull yourself from your bed and make your way to the door. You don’t bother switching on the lights, neon signs from outside streaming light through your half-closed blinds, making patterns on the carpeted floor. The digital clock above the stove reads 3.27 am. You peek through the peephole, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Charles, shifting from one foot to the other. You swing the door open, a yawn pulling your jaw open. You squint at him, the light becoming too much for your eyes.

“Charlie, what the fuck?” you question as Charles rubs the back of his neck. His hair is dishevelled and his cheeks are a light shade of pink. 

“I, uh, I lost my keys and my phone while I was out and I can’t get into my apartment,” He explains sheepishly. You sigh, shaking your head in mild irritation. You step aside to let him in.

“You owe me big time for waking me up at this ungodly hour.” You state, trailing behind him after locking the door. He chuckles a soft ‘of course, chérie’ before heading into your room. He makes a beeline for your closet, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off of his designated shelf. He pulls them on before reaching back and tugging off his shirt. 

“How exactly did you manage to lose both your keys and your phone in one night?" you call from outside, a hint of amusement in your voice. He shakes his head. "Long story," He replies vaguely. 

He makes his way out, switching on a floor lamp by your bed. His eyes are on you as you collapse on the bed with an exasperated sigh. You roll away from him, facing towards the opposite side of the room. You pull the sheet up to your chest, making sure to keep some for him when he tucks himself next to you. His gaze trails over your figure in the dim light, eyes catching the big 16 and Leclerc written across the back of your oversized, overworn t-shirt. He cocks his head to the side, blinking a few times, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Are you sleeping in my race shirt?” He teases, not having noticed it earlier. You turn at the sound of his voice, letting out a sleep mhmm. Your eyes are heavy, threatening to pull you quickly back into a deep sleep. The look you share is charged with something that makes you grow warm. A familiar feeling blooms in your tummy, a feeling not typically felt towards your best friend. He narrows his eyes at you and you can see a fire beginning to build in his cerulean eyes. He stares at your body, probably longer than he should.

You’re the image of a goddess as you lay on your back innocently, hair sprawled around you, almost like a halo. He can’t help but admire the red fabric against your skin or how it clung to every curve of your body. He can see the dark material of your underwear, poking out slightly from under the t-shirt. His eyes settle on the valley between your breasts and how your nipples have pebbled against the cold air. 

A shiver runs through him as he tears his gaze away from you. He rubs at his arms, turning away from you as he does. He clears his throat, setting his watch and wallet on your bedside table.

“Are you cold at all? Do you need another blanket?” 

You mumble a quiet no, reaching a hand across the bed. He watches as you make a grabby motion with your hand, beckoning into bed. He hesitates for a moment, suddenly self-conscious of what he is wearing, or rather, lack thereof. His pants are hung low on his hips and his shirt lays on the floor by your dresser. He bites his lip as he slips in next to you. His eyes widen slightly as you grab his arm, pulling him into you. It’s not like this was an odd occurrence, having years of comfort between each other. But his mind always seemed to wander, wondering how you’d feel without the barrier of clothes between you. He adored how you proudly wore HIS name in support during races. Here, the red fabric of your shirt contrasts with the white of your sheets, it feels so much more intimate. He couldn’t get the image of how good you looked with your back to him, his name sitting between your shoulder blades. 

You can feel him tense up as you settle under him, his head lying on your chest. The shirt is thin enough that he can feel the goosebumps blooming across your skin as the cold air drifts through the sheets. He has to stop himself from letting his hands (and his mouth) wander over the fabric of the shirt. 

It seems to him like you’re drifting back into sleep as he lays wide awake. He feels your hands wander over the large expanse of his back, your touch sending goosebumps down his spine. Your fingers take their time feeling over every mole and scar littered over his skin. You knead his thick muscles, a rumble escaping Charles’s lips as you dip your fingers in every dip and hill. His breath is hot on your skin as he shoves his head in the crook of your neck. 

Your eyes don’t feel as heavy when your hands find their way closer to the waistband of his pants. They settle there for a moment before you decide to slip a finger under it, pulling at it and releasing it. It snaps against his skin, a yelp escaping him. 

He lets out a laugh, quick fingers poking at your side. You thrash under him, howls of laughter bouncing off the walls. He blows raspberries into the thin skin of your neck, only causing you to squirm further. 

The energy slips from the room as you both stop to catch your breath. He’s suspended over you, supporting himself with his arms on either side of your head. The fire you’d seen earlier burns in his eyes as he looks down at you. It burns at the line you’re both afraid to step over, knowing full well that if it burns it away completely, there’ll be no going back. His eyes are locked on yours. They’re dark, their usual blue now as dark as a storming sea. Your eyes trace over the curve of his cupid’s bow and flicker up to his eyes once again. 

The warmth in your lower belly returns as he leans down and presses a tantalizingly slow kiss on your jaw. His hand cups the back of your thighs and you're suddenly hyperaware of the thin and increasingly wet fabric of your underwear. You let out a quick breath as he drags his lips over the column of your neck. The hand that isn’t supporting him slides up your body and under your shirt, gently grazing at your ribcage. You slip a hand away from his body, meeting his under your t-shirt. Sliding it higher, you bring his hand up to your breast. His fingers pinch teasingly at your puffed-up nipples, pulling a whine from your lips. 

“Charles…” you moan out, eyes opening and meeting his as he pulls away. Your eyes meet, the room going quiet again. 

In an instant, his mouth is on yours, tongue swirling with yours. You can taste hints of tequila on his tongue, no doubt the reason why he lost his keys and phone. He moves to sit on his heels and you follow his lips, already intoxicated with them. 

His arm wraps around you, pulling you snugly onto his lap as he settles at the head of the bed. The bulge in his pants is pressed deliciously against your crotch. You let out a gasp as he grips tight onto your hips, moving you over his hard-on. 

“You look so pretty in Ferrari red,” he murmurs, teeth nipping lightly at your neck. The pads of your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline. A smile tugs softly at your lips. 

He hesitates as his fingers drop to the waistband of your underwear. He fiddles slightly with the fabric, mimicking what you had done earlier and snapping it gently over your skin. You felt a gasp get pulled from your chest as his hands began to move under the fabric, pressing into the bundle of nerves at your very center. Your voice comes out in broken fragments:

”Charlie, please…” you beg.

You don’t quite know what you're asking for. For so long, you’d unconsciously ached for him. Your own fingers would find their way into your underwear and with your eyes squeezed shut, you’d try to imagine that they were his. His touch now feels almost overwhelming. You crave the weight of his body pressing you down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your most sensitive parts —

“Fuck,” he cries out, hips bucking up into yours. He squeezes at your breast, biting at your nipple over the fabric. You go to pull the shirt off, needing to feel his lips on your skin when he stops you, eyes hazy and glazed over with lust.

“No,” he says shaking his head. “Leave it on.” his fingers now travel downwards, pressing at your clit through your wet panties. You take in a sharp breath, head falling back. He circles it, thumb and pointer finger pinching at it slightly. 

“Need more,” you slur. He meets your gaze, a soft pink adorning his cheeks.

“Need my cock, mon coeur?” You nod instantly. You go up on your knees, giving him the chance to pull his sweatpants just enough to free his cock. It taps gently at your stomach, precum already beading at its tip. You draw your finger over its slit, a thin sting appearing as you pull away. Charles lets out a groan under you, eyes swimming with desire.

You climb off quickly, pulling off your panties and dropping them to the floor. Charles can’t take his eyes off of you as you swing a leg over his lap, his hands going to take hold of your thighs. His eyes float to where your grab him and bottom out on his cock. The squeeze you give him is so much better than he had anticipated. His mouth falls open as you take him in fully, he can’t believe he’s gone this long without ever feeling you all around him. You grind your hips against his, setting a rhythm. 

“t’es une si bonne fille, tu me prends tout entier,” he groans. such a good girl, taking all of me. His hands feel like they have nowhere to go but to the globes of your tits as they bounce deliciously in front of him. He pulls at the hem of your shirt, twisting it and pulling it up. Your tits burst out from under the fabric, nipples pebbling at the cold breeze in the air. He wraps his lips around them, teeth teasing them gently. Your back arches at the feeling, only pressing them further into his face. He was hooked how the fabric of the shirt ripples over your chest and the taste of your skin on his tongue.

“P-putain..” he whimpers, coming up for air. He lets out grunt as he plants his feet on the bed, lifting his hips fucking into you with force. Your lips part as the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberates through the room. His hands go to your ass, fingers digging into the suple flesh as he rocks you against him. Your hands take refuge on his chest, gasping as he hits your sweet spot. You feel so full with him as he continues to move at a steady pace. 

He brings his lips up to yours, groaning softly against your panting lips. It only spurrs you further, circling your hips to meet his as he continued to rutting his hips up into you. You can feel your orgasm nearing, a wave of pleasure coming over you. It envelops you, suffocating you as it crashes down. 

Charles can’t hold it any longer, lifting you off of him as strings of cum spill from his cock, coating his stomach. You sit on his thighs, just beyond the reach of the spurts. He looks incredible, cheeks red, lips swollen, chest heaving. You feel like you’re under a spell as you drag a finger through the warm cum on his stomach and tuck it between your lips. His eyes seem to sparkle, a new flame appearing suddenly in them.

“Can we go again?” his voice cuts through the suddenly silence in the room. With an innocent meeting of eyes, there is only one response that can escape you lips. There’s a grin playing on your lips, finger still caught between your teeth. An astounding answer echoes through the room with no words spoken, it has the two of you tossing around the sheets until the sun comes up. You’re gonna have to wear his name more often.

[cherryredstars]

parent!reader waking up one day, entering the kitchen and seeing dad!miguel taking care of their 6 month old baby while he fixes breakfast for the two of them because he didn’t want to wake them up so they could get some rest, and then just absolutely getting the worst baby fever known to man, because why wouldn’t you if that’s what you were waking up to every day 🤭🤭 that is all

(also thank you for all your hard work, you are single-handedly sustaining me and I need you to know that 🥹❤️)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Wanting More Children

Summary: Early mornings with baby babbling and chocolate chips.

A/N: This request is so cutesy!!! Thank you for sending it in, love!!

Word Count: 930

Why is it so bright?

A deep groan leaves your lips as your eyes squint against the beam of sunlight coming through your window. You sigh deeply as you turn over, grumbling into your pillow and closing your eyes again. You can feel your body beginning to melt back into the mattress when you hear something clatter to the ground. On instinct, your arms push your body up as alarms start ringing in your head. Your head feels woozy from home quickly you moved, but your eyes are frantic as you look around the room. The nerve-endings firing throughout your body calm within the next second, the sound of watery baby laughter filling your room from outside. A smile forms on your face when hurried hushing follows, which only makes the laughter louder.

Slower this time, you push yourself up and out of bed. You shiver the moment your feet hit the cold wood flooring, letting out a breath. For a moment you debate on making the bed, but the sound of pans and baby clapping convinces you to save it for later. You walk towards the bedroom door, and the second you open it the smell of batter hits you. Your stomach growls in response, saliva gathering in your mouth as you open the door further and walk out and into the hallway. The further down you walk, the closer the sound of kitchen clutter and baby babbling becomes.

The moment you emerge from the hallway, you can feel the way your heart expands. You lean against the entrance, crossing your arms with a smile on your face as you take in the sight. Your baby girl babbles nonsense to her dad, kicking in her highchair with half-eaten mini chocolate chip pancakes on her tray. On the floor is a missed spot of syrup, and guessing by the discarded baby bowl on the counter, the noise from before was her playing around. Your husband stands at the stove, a mess of pancake batter, fruits, and chocolate on the counter besides him. You don't know why the man needs so many butter knives and bowls to make pancakes, but you let him do his thing since he's the one cleaning them. He responds to your baby with oh's and aw's, pouring batter into the pan and flipping it with a spatula after a few minutes.

You're content to watch the scene forever, but your baby has other plans. Sensing your presence, your baby turns to you, her already there smile growing larger at the sight of you. Her hands slap down on her tray in excitement, happy babbles leaving her. You can't help but laugh, making your way over to her and picking her up the moment she makes grabby hands at you. Her hands are slightly sticky from syrup, but you've grown used to it, already knowing you'll be showering later. Her hands come to your face, cupping each of your cheeks as she gives you a smile. You smile back, giving her a surprised face before laughing at her elated reaction.

Her eyes shift slightly away from your face, moving to something behind you. It's the only warning you get before large arms wrap around your waist. Messy curls brush against your chin as warm breath fans your neck. A soft kiss is placed on your skin and pleasant shivers run up your spine. You turn your head and smile at the sight of Miguel.

"Hey, handsome," you greet, adjusting your baby on your hip so you can run a hand through Miguel's hair. He hums against your skin, placing one last kiss before pulling his head away from your neck.

"We didn't wake you, did we?" He asks softly, his arms unraveling around your waist until his hands are planted on your hips. You shake your head, turning back to your daughter and blowing a raspberry against her cheek. She lights up at the action, babbling and trying to replicate the noise. It causes both you and Miguel to chuckle, and you melt into his chest.

Miguel has a large smile on his face when you turn to him, love clearly shining in his eyes. When he looks down at you, that look on his face softens. He leans down and you smile against his lips when he kisses you. Even after having a kid together and being in a relationship with him for so long, you can feel the butterflies pinging against the lining of your stomach.

"Thank you for making breakfast."

Miguel smiles back, shrugging. He reaches his arm out, taking hold of the corner of your darling girl's bib and wiping away a bit of drool running from her mouth. "Anything for the two of you."

You don't think your heart has ever been more full. You turn to him, opening your mouth to say something when you pause. Your brows furrow as you sniff the air. "I think... your pancakes are burning."

Miguel eyes widen and he curses, ignoring your scandalized gasp and reminder that the baby is present as he rushes to the stove. Your baby simply laughs at her father, clapping her hands. You can't help but join in, shaking your head as you watch Miguel scrape burnt pancake batter off the bottom of the pan. He throws you both a playful glare, sticking his tongue out for his daughter's amusement.

As you take in the scene, you can't help but think that you wouldn't mind expanding your little family. Maybe your heart has a little room left to be filled.

[verstappen-cult]

Lestappen and reader just having a super cozy morning 💗

Waking up in your boyfriends’ arms is your favorite thing in the world. Even if most of the time you’re being crushed between them and feeling too warm to the point of sweating. You like it either way. 

Saturday morning is no different. 

There’s times when the three of you want to sleep alone — each one has their own room, something you talked before deciding to move in together — but in times like these, when they’re about to leave for Australia knowing you’ll have little time to talk between their obligations and different time zones, they want to be with you as much as they’re allowed. 

You wake up with your head resting on Max’s chest and Charles stuck to your back, arms lazily thrown over you. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Max says, holding his phone away from his face. You can see he’s been playing some game while you and Charles are practically crushing him. 

“What time is it?” Charles groans, kissing your shoulder before rolling away to his side of the bed. 

“Is still early,” Max leaves his phone aside, turning to give you and Charles a kiss on the forehead. “You hungry?”

“Yes.” You and Charles answer at the same time, making him laugh.

Max gets up, only putting on some shorts, while you snuggle closer to Charles, who is more than happy to open his arms for you. 

“Are you gonna help me make breakfast or what?” The Dutchman says, hands on his hips. 

You stick your tongue out at him, accepting the shirt — Charles’ shirt — he’s handing you. Charles doesn’t waste any time either, getting up and grabbing Max’s white button-down from last night. 

Max is in charge of the pancakes while you’re by the stove taking care of the eggs. Charles, on the other hand, looks at you two while sitting on the counter, drinking some freshly squeezed orange juice. It’s always like this when they’re home; you and Max will cook while Charles looks pretty doing nothing just because the last time he tried to help, you ended up calling the fire department. 

You curl up with a blanket around your shoulders on the terrace, Charles and Max by your side, enjoying the view of the marina below you while you eat. 

You spend most of the morning there, talking about what you’re going to do when they return home and what race you’re going to attend next, Jimmy and Sassy roaming around trying to earn some ear scratches. Only when it’s too hot and the sun doesn’t let you stay outside anymore, you decide to go back to bed. Because you’re gonna miss them and all you want is to spend every second glued to them. And they can’t say no to you. 

Charles cuddles under the blankets with you, Max joining after putting something on the TV. You try to watch the movie, you really try, but you feel so safe and comfortable between them that you don’t even notice when you fall asleep.

[itstheghostofmypast]

Never Enough

Idol AU Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: “Sannie boy, women…are a mystery…and as a man, you’ll just have to keep pretending like you’ve figured them out, just to keep your sanity intact.” He wouldn't be San if he didn't get to the bottom of this.

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: insecurities, toxic relationships, low self-esteem issues

Word Count: 4.4k

Est.Read Time: 22 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

Tossing his keys on the table, he walked into the apartment, peeking into the kitchen to find Mingi and Seonghwa standing above the stove, deciding the fate of what was supposed to be tonight’s dinner. Considering he had skipped lunch, he only settled for an iced-coffee he really was ready to eat a whole horse. Tapping on the door frame, he caught their attention, raising his eyebrows and gesturing towards the stove, “What’s for dinner.”

The other two exchanged a look before Mingi smirked at the mountain of a man, “Don’t know about us, but I’m sure you’ll just skip to dessert.”

“...”

“What?”

With a heavy sigh, the unearthly gorgeous man next to Mingi shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling the upcoming headache, “Your girlfriend’s here, said she wanted to surprise you.”

His head tilted at the mention of his lover, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he tried to think about her, he had not spoken to her the entire day, or texted her, even her ‘good morning’ text seemed awfully dry. He had asked Wooyoung about it, who had ever so kindly responded with, “Sannie boy, women…are a mystery…and as a man, you’ll just have to keep pretending like you’ve figured them out, just to keep your sanity intact.”

“You sure?” the words left his mouth before he could stop, or even phrase them correctly, eyes darting to the face of his more observant flatmate, regretting it immediately when he met his curious boba eyes.

“Well…unless she has an evil twin, I’m pretty sure it’s her,” Seonghwa narrated, picking up the wooden ladle to taste the soup, only to grimace at the taste, then turn back to the man, “You seem surprised she’s here, did something happen?”

“N-no, no, nothing happened.” clearing his throat he quickly brushed him off, with a wave of his hand, bidding them goodnight as he marched towards his room, making sure to make minimal noise as he cracked open the door, peaking in to find all the lights had been turned off, even the side lamps were off- okay, so they were either playing a dirty trick on him, or something was up.

He flicked the lights on as soon as he entered the room, eyes scanning for the certain individual, only for him to let out a small gasp and turn them back off, scurrying over to a side to turn on the small lamp, before quickly glancing in her direction as he let out a small sigh in relief, glad he had not woken her up. A small smile replaced his pout as he leaned closer, her perfume enveloping his being as he sighed in relief, a hand brushing the hair off her face, before his knuckles gently caressed her warm cheek, taking in the tired expression she wore even though she was asleep. As much as he loved how independent and confident she was, it hurt him to see her like this, burdened and tired, and a part of him wished he could somehow help her- but every time he’d ask, she’d just smile at him and pinch his cheek, thanking him instead, it really did confuse him, especially when she’d add, “Thank you for being the only person who never wants anything in return, Sannie.”

Even though the two had been together for a while, there was much about her he still could not understand, possibly due to the fact that she would never talk about herself- that is unless it was something important, though he was glad that he was at least receiving this much.

More often, it would be about him, what he’d like to do, what he’d like to eat, where he’d like to go on Valentine’s day, if he’d ask her, she’d fire back with the ‘where you feel best.’ Initially, he didn’t like this at all, for him, your partner is supposed to put in the same amount of effort, she’d do any and everything he liked, which is why he had begun to feel as if this was only working out because she’d agree to everything he’d say- he was the one leading this relationship.

Due to this very reason, earlier on in their relationship, he had decided to break things off with her, like the gentleman he was, he had asked her if they could meet in person, and she had instantly said yes. Finding a quiet small diner wasn’t difficult, the difficult part was when he’d have to break the news to her, truth be told he really did like her, but her persistent ‘yes woman’ behaviour had led him to believe that this was unhealthy for both of them. Unfortunately, he was unable to do so, especially when he had seen her smile at him, skipping to his table that was way in the back corner, placing a gift bag in front of the man, urging him to open it.

“What is it?”

“You have to open it, silly, it’s a gift!”

“Why? It isn’t my birthday.” pushing the bag aside, he sighed before glancing up at her, only to notice how her smile had dropped, eyes wide, swirling with an emotion he couldn’t comprehend. Maybe he had spent a minute too long, trying to think of what to say or do, before she cleared her throat and gave him a tight lipped smile, sitting down on her seat across from him, nodding at him.

“You’re right…” she began, that faux smile of hers was present, something stirred within him that night, he’d never seen her smile like that, usually, whenever she’d smile at him, he’d notice how her eyes would twinkle, lips stretched to a beaming grin- that’s not what he saw at the moment. “I just saw this recently and thought…you’d like it…you don’t have to accept it and- I- I didn’t do this to receive anything in return.”

That was all it took for him to reach into the back and pull out a small box, opening it to find a keychain, holding it up to the light he glanced at her and then back at the shining plastic figure, a Tetsuro Kuroo keychain. He had mentioned once how he liked the anime, but he never mentioned his favourite character.

“I have a Kenma one…I just thought you’d like Kuroo…cat and all…you know.” she mumbled faintly, somewhat embarrassed now, “I- I know it’s stupid, it’s just-”

“I love it.”

She glanced up from her hands to meet his sharp eyes, flinching at the way he was staring right through her, before he gently placed the keychain back in the box, after making sure it was wrapping in the pale purple tissue to avoid any scratches. A small smile graced her lips, eyes falling back onto her lap as she nodded, mumbling, ‘That’s good to know.’

“I need you to be honest with me,” he began, somewhat conflicted if he really wanted to end things with her now, only continuing when she looked up at him and nodded, “Do you…chose not to disagree with me out of fear?” He was unsure if that was a rude question, but the way she bit her lower lip, avoiding his eyes, oh he loved how Wooyoung had convinced him this girl was only dating him because he was an idol, but that was not what he could see, leave it to Choi San to fall for someone who was trained to believe that love was a game of exchange, and for her to earn any form of liking, she must first prove herself worthy.

Picking at her nail she glanced up at him, trying not to let it slip, anything slip, instead of choosing to whisper, “I…I just don’t want you to be upset.”

“I think you trying to seek my approval is what upset me the most.” he sighed, leaning back against his seat, taking in her posture, shoulders slumped, hands in her lap, eyes lowered. For a moment, he really wondered if putting in the effort was worth it, trying to be with someone who was already not sure of herself.

“I’m sorry…I just…really like you, and I…didn’t want you to- I- what if you don’t like the same things I like?”

Shaking his head in defeat, he leaned closer, resting his forearms on the table, “Then wouldn’t that mean that I’m not the right guy for you, too? Right?” he watched her nod then lower her head, clenching her eyes shut, and from the way her shoulders had been shaking, he could tell she was trying to hold back. Maybe he was too kind for his own good, because he reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it in his, as he met her eyes, “I’m not saying let’s break up…All I’m asking for is honesty, I don’t care how bitter, how negative or rude, just…be honest with me, you know almost everything about me, but, I still know surface level stuff about you, yeah?”

For once in his life, he was glad to have talked it out, to have handled it maturely, because as the days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, he had learnt more and more about her. The way she had begun to open up to him, even if slowly, he loved it. The first time she had ever refused his suggestion had him smiling like a mad man, almost scaring her as well;

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Sure…”

“There’s a couple’s deal on mint choco-”

“I’d rather starve.”

Sighing, he smiled down at her, knowing that if she was here right now, tangled in his sheets, hugging his pillow, something was bothering her, and perhaps for some time, if she had to retreat to his place as a safe haven. With one more glance, he quickly tucked her in, making sure to press his lips against her temple, before deciding to take a shower.

.

He walked back into his room, humming to himself, his towel draped over his broad shoulders, his blank top clinging onto him like skin, hair curtained over his forehead as his eyes landed on her- “Oh?”

Somehow, the man found himself sitting on the bed, back against the headrest, arms around her waist, with her straddling him, her arms around his neck, foreheading pressing against his chest.

“So…I take it your day was bad?”

“Mhmm…” she mumbled before sitting up straight, her hands sliding off his neck, palms tracing his form before resting on his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles, looking up at him dead in the eye, completely blank and serious, “Do you want to do the deed?”

He blinked at her, letting the words sink in before tilting his head, “Um…you mean have se-”

She covered his mouth with both hands, pink dusting her cheeks, the sound of the AC gently wafting in the room as he let her do as she pleased. His fingers that had been toying with the hem of her shirt stopped, moving to gently place both hands on her thighs, giving a light squeeze, wanting her to remove her hands.

Slowly she pulled back, placing her hands flat on his hands before nodding, “Yes…that.”

“So you want to ‘do the deed’, but don't want me to say the word?”

“No.” She let out a huff, peeling his hands off her and wrapping them around her waist, as she pressed herself against him, “Do YOU want to do it?”

“Well…I’m a man, not only that, I’m a man, who’s girl is literally pressing herself onto him,” he mumbled, bringing his hands to her shoulders and creating some distance as he raised an eyebrow, “Most of all, I’m the same man who agreed to your terms of the deed being done after marriage, so tell me, why are you suddenly changing your terms?”

Pouting at him she slipped her hands between them, placing them on his chest, “Are you sure? Do you not find me attrac-”

“I have good self-control, but it’s not perfect.” he hissed, as he gripped her cheeks, squeezing them gently before lowering his neck to glare at her, his sharp eyes trying to crack whatever the hell was happening in her head, “Now, tell me where all this is coming from.”

“Ish nuthin’ .’’ He blinked at her, taking in the way she let him squish her cheeks, her lips forming a pout as he sighed before leaning closer to press his lips against hers, but only for a moment, too afraid he'd lose composure. With a gentle pat to her cheek he pulled back, leaning against the headrest once more, hands folded on his belly, staring at her, instantly regretting the hold he had on her at the sight of her reddened cheeks, faint imprints of his fingers leaving a mark.

The two sat there in silence, nothing but the slight buzz of the air conditioner present in the room, he was quietly observing her, a small smile gracing his pleasant features, watching her sitting there on his thighs, looking at her hands, examining her freshly painted nails- purple. She really did amuse him sometimes, asking for something like ‘doing it after marriage’ but still choosing to sit in his lap without a care in the world. It brought him great pleasure, the feeling of her blind faith that she held towards him.

“You like?” Breaking the peaceful silence, she raised a hand, showing him her nails, smiling when he nodded in return, “Mhmm…”

“I wanted to get like a diamond on this one-”

“So, are we gonna talk about this…or?” His question cut her off, causing her to sigh, and shrug, “I…” reaching for his hands, still nestled on his belly, she turned them around, his larger hands in hers, turning them to face palm up, “Last week…at work…they were talking about who was still single- guess what, I am.” With the tip of her index finger, tracing random patterns on his stretched out palm, as if she were painting on a canvas, he tried to focus on what she was writing but her statement caused his eyes to lock on her face, pouting at her statement, “But..you aren't.” He knew this relationship was to be kept private, and she did too. Did she want to come public?

“S.A.N” he caught it quickly, looking down at her purple nail, caressing his skin. What was she thinking?

“I know, I just told them I'm waiting for the right person, but…then SHE said I don't have a love language which is why I'm this hopeless…”

Oh. So this wasn't about him, but just her. He knew whom she was referring to, a new recent hire. One she claimed was a two-faced no-good punk. Honestly, her words had caught him off guard, never seen her ‘hate on someone’ this quickly. That was exactly why he believed her. And if one were to speak about her love language, true for a while, San was unsure of how she'd express herself too but then-

“She was like there are five to six types of love languages and I- I don't have any!”

‘♡’ nodding he tilted his head, trying to suppress a smile at the feeling of her drawing a heart, he could easily tell what it was, ever the romantic. Honestly, he wanted to meet this lady, who had been bothering his little overthinker for the past few months, it was and enough she often felt she didn't deserve love, we didn't need a complete psycho adding fuel to the fire. He was about to reply but got distracted when she wrote something else,

‘us’

“I think yours is touch, physical affection! I can tell when you're with everyone, it's sweet.” She smiled up at him, lowering herself, moving closer to him, to make sure she met his eyes that were glued to their hands, his eyes meeting hers for a split second, widening as he realised the lack of response from his end. Glad his freshly washed fluff of hair was covering most of his eyes, obscuring the view of her face, any longer, and his lips would've been claiming what was his.

“Yeah…it is.” He breathed our, turning his head to look at something else. The wall was interesting enough. Maybe having her sitting on him wasn't the smartest idea-

“Do you not like me enough to show me the same way?”

His head snapped back in her direction, hands leaving hers to gently cup her face, making sure she wouldn't look away. The sombre look on her face already had his heart sink to his stomach, “I don't just like you…I love you…and…I'm touching you right now? Right? I just don't want to cross a line, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. That's all.” he gave her a small smile, trying to help her feel the sincerity of his words.

Taking a minute to process his word she just hummed, not saying a yes or no, which in return made him press his forehead against hers, wanting her to understand how he felt, “And she's wrong…you do have one…it's called acts of service.”

“Slavery?”

“No, I-” Letting out a sigh he pulled back and raised an eyebrow at her, “Seriously?”

“What! You said it!” arguing she leaned back, her hands resting on his knees as she frowned at him, “well explain then, ‘master Choi.”

He gulped at her outstretched form, eyes trailing from her face down to her neck, and that loose shirt she wore - definitely raided his closet- as finally stopping at her thighs, it truly amazed him, how she had no clue what she was doing to him, that and he was one strong willed man. Not to mention the little nickname had him squirming in place, he could feel the cold-sweat trickle down the back of his neck, “I…” Clearing his throat he looked back up at her, “It means, you do things that you know will keep me safe and healthy, you take care of all the little things and details usually people overlook, like how you make sure to stuff some oreos in my bag, or how you sometimes get food delivered to our apartment, enough for everyone but it's always my favourite and,” his breath hitched at the way she was looking at him, as if he was her whole world, as if he were the only reason she chose to wake up every morning, “You find enough time from your hectic nine to five to drop by and sleep in my bed, waiting for me, just so I have someone to hug at night.”

By now most of her insecurities were put to rest, the constantly replaying memory of her coworker embarrassing her in front of everyone at work seemed to become a distant memory, especially when he began to move, gently pushing her back, until she was laying on the mattress, looking up at him with a quizzical look, as he hovered above her, his forearms digging into the soft bedding on either side of her head.

“Sannie?”

“Did you…tell your mother about us?”

The way her face contorted into some form of discontentment gave it away, it did not go well. Perhaps she did not approve of him being an idol? Or maybe he just was not whom she pictured her daughter with. Maybe she was not comfortable with her daughter dating someone who had to travel a lot-

“She asked me how long till you realise I'm a waste of time.”

His eyebrows scrunched at the statement, widening his eyes as he looked at her, as if he hadn't heard her correctly the first time, causing her to sigh and repeat,

“I told you, and although she was glad, she was worried that I'd do something to push you away- well, in my case, not enough to have you stay.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I'm incapable of loving, San. There will be a time when you realise I can't match your expectations and you'll finally decide to move on because I'll never be enough.”

The words she had so carelessly slipped past her pretty lift hit him like a ton of bricks, causing him to push himself off her, sitting on his knees instead as he blinked at his dull reflection on the blank TV screen. A part of him wondered what in God's name was that even, wanting to go outside to take a few deep breaths before coming to talk to her in a rational manner, the other part of him, the more immature one, was convincing him to yell at her for being like this.

Sitting on her forearms, she looked up at him, watching him lost in thought. Maybe she should just go now and not wait for the horrid heart break that would eventually conclude this relationship. It's not like she wanted to believe the words of her parent, but at the back of her mind she knew, she knew she'd never be enough, no matter how much she'd try- there just some people who could never meet expectations and she was one of them, which would explain why she felt it was justified if he walks away-

“Do you believe that?”

Her eyes met his, an unusual emotion swirling within his dark orbs, “Do you believe her?”

“Well, she is my mother, so I'm sure she's right-”

“That's not what I asked you,” he snapped at her, an edge to his tone causing her to flinch and lower her gaze, “ I asked if you believe you don’t deserve to be loved?”

“Yes…” she breathed out, licking her lips out of nervousness, “I-I do.”

“Because love is an exchange?” His frown deepened at her meek nod, “Then what do you think I want in exchange?”

“I'm…not…sure.”

“What do you want in exchange?” He flipped the question, borderline scared of her answer, but a part of him knew what it was, but the more dominant side was afraid of his guess being wrong.

“I want…I just…” her breath hitched, biting her lower lip to keep composure before flopping back down on the bed, pressing the heel of her palms against her eyes, whimpering, “... want you to love me.”

The man felt himself relax, expressions softening as he pouted at the way she was crying before him, unsure if he should use words or…honestly he knew he couldn't just pluck this insecurity out of her, especially when it was stitched into her being. She’down often tell him how even as a child, she'd only be able to get a toy if she got a good grade, got praied if she got a good grade or achieved something worth notice but at the end of the day, it was never enough, because after that came another obstacle she’d have to overcome to gain recognition-and till now, he had just discarded those things, thinking they had no real impact in shaping her, boy was he wrong.

The sudden weight pushed the air out of her lungs, feeling his fingers grip her wrists before her hands were pulled away from her face, only for her to stare at the ceiling. She looked down to find his head resting against her chest, a broken laugh causing his head to shake on her chest. He looked up at her with a pout, resting his chin on her, “It's so silly, how that's all I planned to give you anyway.”

“Huh?” she blinked at him, watching him rise up, pressing wrists into the mattress as he approached her, the tip of his nose brushing against hers, “You're so silly…you think if I didn't love you, I would have agreed to your terms?”

“I…I don't know…” honestly she wanted to respond, but this form of intimacy was new to her, sure, they would sleep together sometimes, but that would just be sharing a bed, he'd never really held her down, never pressed himself against her like this.

“I said yes to the ‘deed after marriage’, because,” he paused, ony to brush his lips over hers before kissing her properly, making sure to add enough pressure to leave her out of breath when he moved back, “I want to marry you one day, you think some silly little exchange policy is going to scare me away?”

Her eyes widened at his confession, about to burst into tears once more but he shook his head, “No! No more crying! No more silly sad thoughts!” He declared, yelling loud enough for her to shush him, “I WANT TO SEE YOU HAPPY!”

“I'm happy! I'm happy, Sannie, shhh!” She whispered, only for her to break out in a fit of giggles when he dug his fingers into her sides, smirking at the way she was wheezing and trying to fight him off.

“Are you sure!?” He hollered, following her as she tried to crawl away, grabbing her by her leg and pulling her back to him, giving her a crooked smile, “I don't think so-” his eyes fell to the shirt that had slid up when he pulled her back down, quickly skimming over the expanse of the bare skin, trailing lower to the purple lace, “Did you...where…I…no shorts!?” He asked, not really bothering to look away from a sight he had never witnessed before.

“Well I- I mean I randomly came by and,” she mumbled, pushing her shirt down to cover her naked legs, rolling it down till it reached her thighs, “I didn't wanna go through your underwear drawer…that's disrespectful.”

“You went fishing in my cupboard for this though,” he asked, frowning at the coverage, before gripping the hem of the cotton and flipping it over, causing her to shriek, “San!”

“Hmm” no longer registering anything he slowly got off her, climbing off the bed as he walked out the door, leaving her extremely confused, her only clue was, “Will be back in five.” Was he okay?

Honestly, she would've asked if everything was alright, but after this entire confession, she felt as if an anvil had been lifted off her chest. Feeling much better as she snuggled into his sheets, half awake as she waited for him, only for her to almost doze off till she felt his arm wrap around her waist, sliding her closer to him, till her back was pressed against his chest. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, only she had turned her head to meet his kiss, though she paused, eyes flickering to his went strands, glistening under the dim atmosphere light of the lamp.

“Did you take a shower again?”

“Mhmm.” He mumbled, pressing his cheek against hers, his hand giving her thigh a gentle squeeze trailing back to her waist.

“Why?” She yawned, too tired to really care.

“Doesn't matter,” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose into her warm cheek before leaving a sloppy kiss, enough for her to whine, which he ignored, only to respond with, “Better wear purple on our wedding night too.”

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a @ateezswonderland

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |4: One of the Good Ones|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.9k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Just a smidge of angst in this one! And I've already got a rough draft written for the next part, too! This story has been stuck in my head... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza

Your arm burned from the effort with which you were currently scrubbing your kitchen counter, working hard trying to remove a stubborn stain with the sponge in your hand. On the counter just behind you, your phone was playing music as you stress-cleaned. Truthfully you were too caught up in your thoughts as you'd been frantically jumping from one task to the next to have been paying much attention to what song was currently playing, though.

You'd already vigorously deep cleaned your bathroom, scrubbing your shower hard enough to make your fingers ache. Once you'd finished in there, you'd ended up in your bedroom, finally folding the laundry basket of clothes that had been sitting in the corner of your room all week. After that, you'd changed your bedsheets before bringing the dirty ones down to the laundry facility in your building to be washed. Upon returning to your apartment, you'd begun meticulously organizing your kitchen pantry before cleaning out the kitchen sink of dirty dishes. And then you'd landed on scrubbing your counters with every intention of cleaning off your stove top next.

You'd been cleaning like crazy after you'd come home from work tonight and finished dinner because you'd had a shitty day–though really it had been a shitty week. Everything had gone absolutely wrong at the office and you'd somehow managed to make a massive mistake on a big project the other day. Thankfully today you'd corrected the error, but your anxiety over the issue hadn't remotely disappeared. And of course, Eric, the most obnoxious and irritating co-worker at your workplace, had been at the top of his game of being an absolute asshole to you about the issue all week, too. You'd admittedly had far too many daydreams of throwing your coffee on him just to shut him up these past few days.

But as if that hadn't been enough, you'd found yourself becoming increasingly upset over the realization of your growing feelings for the Devil, who you hadn't actually seen since he'd appeared injured at your place just over a week ago. You were torn between believing his absence was either because he'd been recovering from his injury–which would also explain his absence in the news lately–or that he had zero interest in continuing whatever friendship you thought you'd both been developing. And because you'd gotten your period earlier today, you'd been hormonal all week. Which meant your brain had been telling you it was because of the latter reason.

But you didn't want to think about that. It was ridiculous to have a stupid crush on him. You didn't even know the man's name or what he looked like beneath the mask. You had no clue what he did for a living, if anything at all. And you'd only seen him three times now, it's not like you'd known him for months. It was quite likely he didn't feel the same despite the flirting he'd been doing. 

So that was what your brain continued to tell you this week whenever you got upset about his lack of appearances on your fire escape. That those visits hadn’t meant anything to him. You were just another person in the city he protected. His first visit had been accidental after all. And the second time was just to return the scarf he'd borrowed. The last time he had appeared had been because you'd been a convenient safe place for him to briefly stop and recover at when he'd been hurt, nothing more. 

Though trying to repeatedly rationalize that didn't make the ache in your chest disappear. It didn't stop you coming home every night from work hoping to have another surprise visit from the mysterious vigilante before you went to bed. And it certainly didn't stop you from shedding a few pathetic tears when he continued to remain absent each night. 

You'd begun to miss him. It was impossible to deny that now. And you'd worried about how he was doing with his injury, wondering if he really was alright. Which only had you wondering more about what he was capable of if he could meditate like that because–

“It's a bit early for spring cleaning, isn't it?”

Your hand abruptly paused mid-aggressive scrub of the stain that had long since been cleaned at the sound of the familiar and unexpected voice cutting through your thoughts. Eyes growing wide, you spun on your bare feet to find the Devil standing on the other side of your kitchen counter with a grin on his lips beneath that black mask.

“It's only February,” he teased. “Spring is still another few weeks away. Maybe show your counter a little mercy before you wear a hole in it.”

Hand gripping the soapy sponge tighter, you felt your heart nearly fly up into your throat in excitement. Because he'd come back . 

“You're here,” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” he replied. He gestured a gloved hand back towards the window behind himself. “You left that unlocked, so I may have just invited myself inside since you didn't seem to respond to my knocking. I hope you don't mind.”

You shook your head quickly, still surprised to see he'd actually returned. It felt like someone had loosed a multitude of butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him standing there so casually in your apartment once again. It was something you'd missed all week.

“No, that's alright,” you told him, shaking your head. “I don't mind.”

“You should really keep it locked though,” he stated. “Literally anyone could just climb in here. That's not exactly safe.”

Still trying to shake off the surprise of his visit as you took a step forward, turning off your music, a nervous laugh slipped out of you. “I think you're the only one crazy enough to climb all the way up that rickety fire escape,” you replied.

You turned, heading over towards your kitchen sink in the hopes of busying yourself with washing your hands so he wouldn't see the embarrassing grin steadily growing on your face. 

“I think you might be surprised with what the criminals will do in this city,” he countered.

“Well that's…unsettling,” you muttered, turning off the faucet and drying your hands on the nearby kitchen towel. “With the way my week has been going though I suppose it would be my luck that someone probably would climb through my window. Someone other than you, I mean.”

You set the towel back on the hook near your sink, turning around only to find the Devil had stepped around the counter and into your kitchen. He was standing a few feet away, his head tilted curiously to the side. How the hell did he always manage to move so quietly?

“You're having a bad week?” he asked. “Is that why everything smells like lemon cleaner in here and why you were scrubbing your counter so hard you couldn’t hear me knocking on the window?”

Clasping your hands together in front of yourself, you fidgeted awkwardly with your fingers. Now that your hands weren't busy with an actual task you were feeling your anxious thoughts beginning to spiral again. Especially because it was only Thursday night and you still had to go into work tomorrow and deal with Eric and everyone else when all you desperately wanted to do was crawl into bed for the duration of the weekend and pretend this week never happened. 

“What's wrong, angel?” the Devil asked softly.

You glanced up at the sound of the name he’d called you just before he left your apartment last time, watching as he took another step towards you. You sniffled lightly, trying to ignore the confusing and conflicting feelings arising inside of you at the nickname. The smile disappeared from his lips, his mouth instead pulling a bit downwards at the corners. Swallowing hard, you waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Nothing, things are good,” you lied. “I'm fine.”

The frown visibly deepened on his face before he took another step closer. “Someone who's fine doesn't generally deep clean their place on a random Thursday evening,” he pointed out. “And it seems like you've been on the verge of tears for a bit now. What's going on?”

You swallowed hard, wondering how he could’ve possibly known that when he’d only just entered your apartment. Yet another one of his mysterious little powers, you figured.

“Nothing,” you answered. “Really, I’m good. I just got into a random cleaning frenzy. It happens.”

The Devil’s head canted further to the side, his lips thinning along his face. He shook his head slowly, taking another cautious step towards you.

“You’re not fine,” he replied. “And for the record, I know when someone is lying, angel.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around your chest and trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted nervously at that name again. Surely it was meant to be more of a joke than a term of endearment considering you always called him Devil.

“Another useful skill of yours?” you asked curiously. “Like your ability to heal?”

Briefly a smirk slid over his mouth, one you caught just before it disappeared. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously back at him.

“Something like that,” he answered. “So believe me when I say that I’m not buying the line that you’re okay. What happened?”

Eyes darting down, your nails began to pick at your sweatshirt nervously. The memory of your boss chewing you out at work the other day resurfaced in your mind, quickly followed by one of Eric’s heartless comments to you afterwards. The continual disappointment of an empty fire escape night after night before you went to bed also reared its head, tears starting to sting at your eyes at the memory of those lonely nights. Blinking rapidly, you tried to stop the tears from coming.

You did not want to cry in front of the Devil.

“Nothing,” you muttered, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s all stupid in comparison to what you’re usually dealing with anyway, so don’t worry about it.”

“Hey,” he murmured, closing the remaining distance between you and gently grabbing your shoulders, lowering his masked face into your line of sight. “It’s not a competition.”

His light, reassuring touch only had the tears welling up faster in your eyes. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that. With comfort and care. A touch that made you feel both safe and seen. And here he was doing it with such ease, like you deserved that sort of attention–and from him no less. 

It suddenly became all too much. A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye as you gazed up at his face half-obscured by that mask, unable to blink it back before it made its way down your cheek. The Devil’s hands carefully began pulling you in towards himself barely a second later. Surprised at his response, your arms remained wrapped around yourself as his arms slowly encircled your shoulders.

He was hugging you. Comforting you.

Somehow that managed to open the floodgates to your emotions, the tears beginning to spill down your cheeks hot and wet in a continuous stream that you couldn't seem to control. Your hands gripped your sweatshirt tighter, unsure if you should hug him in return or not. Instead, you pressed your face into the thin fabric of his black shirt, attempting to hide how fast the tears were flowing from his sight.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were even crying at this point, either. Was it because of the shitty week you’d had? Because of the gentle touch and compassion coming from the masked vigilante, a touch that you hadn’t felt since you'd last been in a relationship? Was it because of the fact that him holding you like this only stirred up those confusing feelings further inside of you, making you wonder what this weird relationship with the Devil actually was? Or was it just because you were hormonal and on your period?

“I'm sorry,” you choked out.

“Don't apologize,” he replied instantly.

The smokey voice he always used had your fingers twisting tighter around your sweatshirt, your heart beating a little harder at the sound of it so soft beside your ear. You shifted, burying your face further against his chest. Though guilt quickly filled you as you cried. Because he shouldn't be comforting you, not for something so foolish. Not when there were people out there who actually needed him and all you'd had was a bad week, some out of control hormones, and a stupid crush.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “Is there something I can do to help?”

You shook your head, begging the tears to stop falling. This was embarrassing. You didn't want him to see you like this, let alone be comforting you.

“No,” you whispered. 

You have better things to be doing with your time , you thought bitterly. I don't deserve the comfort.

Clenching your jaw, you took an abrupt step back from him. You raised an arm up, using the sleeve of your sweatshirt to aggressively wipe the dampness from your cheeks. Before you, the Devil stood with his arms still hovering in the air as if he was still holding you, seemingly confused about you withdrawing from his embrace so suddenly. There was a large wet spot from your tears soaking the front of his black shirt already.

“I'm sorry, that was embarrassing,” you muttered, still wiping at your eyes as the tears gradually slowed. “I know you don't want to be dealing with an emotional mess tonight. That's not what the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen does.”

“Who says it's not what I do?” he countered, his arms lowering back to his sides. “I'm here to help people who need it–and for the record,” he added, “crying does not make you an emotional mess. Trust me on that.”

“Well,” you began, sniffling a little, “my problems aren’t the type you can punch. And you can't exactly punch away my feelings. Or my hormones. So I think this is a little out of your usual wheelhouse.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, “but you've helped me plenty of times now. Is it wrong for me to want to return the favor?”

So that's why he was comforting you. A sort of quid pro quo. Tit for tat. An exchange of favors, not because he'd genuinely cared about what had happened to you this week and would have offered to help anyway, but because he felt like he owed you something in return. That's what he was saying, wasn’t it? 

“I don't help you because I want anything in return,” you muttered, turning around and wiping the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your eyes once again. Afterwards, you reached up into a nearby cabinet and grabbed a clean glass from out of it. “I help you because I worry about you out there. And because I think you're one of the good ones.”

You closed the cabinet door before focusing on the faucet in front of you, filling the glass with cool water. Sniffling softly, you felt the tears beginning to slow to a stop as you tried to collect yourself. You’d cry about your misplaced feelings later when he wasn’t here. Right now you just wanted to enjoy his company and not scare him off with your tears. And maybe make sure he was doing alright himself tonight.

Once the glass was full, you turned off the faucet and inhaled a trembling breath, attempting to steel your resolve. You were not going to cry anymore tonight. 

“For what it's worth,” the Devil said from behind you, “I think you're one of the good ones.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at his comment, your back still facing him. Now that sounded like a line.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “How many people would help a vigilante instead of turning him over to the police? And how many would just ignore him entirely? And here you are inviting me into your home multiple times now without question. Always offering whatever form of assistance you can when you certainly don't need to.”

Eyes dropping down to the full glass in your hands, you felt your heart flutter in your chest at his kind words. Clearing your throat, you tried to swallow the lump that had begun to form. “I think you vastly underestimate what you mean to the people in this city, Devil,” you whispered.

Gradually you turned back around, the glass of water clutched between both of your hands. His lips were once again pulled in a straight line across his face, his head faintly tilted to the side. 

“You're a symbol of hope to many in Hell’s Kitchen,” you said softly, extending the glass out towards him. “A sign that there’s still good in the world. That there are still people who care about helping those in need.”

You could see the muscles working in his cheeks, the corner of his lips twitching faintly. You wondered what expression he was making beneath the mask right now. Was he not aware of what he meant to this city?

“Here,” you said, holding the glass out further towards him. “Drink it. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

The Devil’s right hand flexed open and shut at his side for a moment, your eyes drawn to the movement. After a minute's hesitation you saw it raise, reaching out to carefully accept the glass of water from your own hand. He murmured a soft ‘thanks’ as he drew it up towards his lips. In silence you watched the bob of his throat as he drank almost half the glass immediately, a satisfied smile eventually landing on your face. 

“You hungry?” you asked, stepping around him and heading over to your fridge. “I have spaghetti leftover from dinner tonight. Unfortunately no garlic bread,” you grumbled, opening the door of your fridge. “Because my week was apparently so bad that I even forgot to grab garlic bread at the store.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he assured you.

Half bent in front of your fridge, you glanced over your shoulder, shooting him a flat look. “Are you planning to go home and eat something before you go to sleep tonight?” you asked him. “From the fridge you have apparently only stocked with beer, eggs, and sometimes orange juice?”

He hung his head in defeat, his gaze behind the mask appearing to drop to the floor. It looked like he was fighting back a grin on his face.

“Well…no,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Right,” you said, focus returning to the contents of your fridge. “So do you eat spaghetti? Because I have plenty.”

“If you’re that determined to feed me, yes,” he answered. “I do.”

Reaching into your fridge, you pulled out the container of leftovers that you’d put away earlier this evening before you’d begun meticulously stress cleaning. You closed the door, bringing the container over to your counter and setting it down before searching for a clean bowl and a fork.

“So how’s your rib doing?” you asked as you worked. “Did your doctor friend tell you it was broken? Have you somehow meditated it back to normal already with that useful ‘skill’ of yours?”

The Devil chuckled good-naturedly behind you as you began scooping some pasta into a bowl for him. Internally you thought it strange that he found that somehow funny, though that warmth of pleasure filled you at once again still being able to make him laugh.

“She's a nurse, not a doctor, and that's hard to say,” he answered. “I’d need an x-ray to know if I had actually broken it, and I can’t exactly go to a hospital because they’d surely call the authorities on me. But either way, it’s feeling better than that night I was last here. Not completely healed with my ‘skill,’ but the pain is…tolerable.”

You stopped mid-scoop of some pasta, your head turning over your shoulder towards him. Quirking a brow at him, you shot him a quizzical look. 

“The pain is ‘tolerable’?” you asked him. “So you mean to tell me you’re still going around tonight scaling buildings and jumping off fire escapes with an injury that’s not even fully healed?”

The Devil shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, shooting you a charming smile. “Yeah,” he answered. “Something is almost always injured or hurting. But it's not like crime ever takes a night off. So usually neither do I.”

Sighing, you focused back on scooping pasta into the bowl for him. “I'm starting to worry about your sanity,” you half-joked. “You know, I've always wondered why you do what you do. I don't suppose you'd answer that truthfully, would you?”

Picking up the bowl, you stepped over towards your microwave and set it inside. Setting the timer to heat it up, you turned around and leant your back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed him expectantly. 

The Devil shook his head, a faint smile on his mouth. “No, not right now,” he answered. “But maybe someday I could answer that for you.”

Hugging your arms tighter around yourself, you tried to hide the thrill that shot through you at his answer. The prospect of him continuing to visit you was clearly layered in his response and you couldn't even begin to explain how that made you suddenly feel.

“Always so mysterious,” you muttered nervously, glancing down at your feet.

“Don't suppose you'd ever give me your name, would you?” he countered.

You grinned, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as the microwave hummed behind you. “I'll tell you mine when you tell me yours, Devil,” you replied. 

“So mysterious ,” he teased back, grinning. 

You tried to bite back the smile growing on your face, laughing softly. The grin only grew wider on his face and your cheeks began to heat at the sight. You could feel your heart beating a little faster as you watched him from across the kitchen, taking in the handsome shape of his mouth and feeling the nervous churning of your stomach beginning to increase at the comfortable silence that fell over you both.

Thankfully your microwave beeped a moment later, pulling you from the moment that surely would have only resulted in you further ogling him, wondering what he looked like beneath the mask. Turning around, you opened the microwave and removed the bowl of spaghetti. You set it back onto the counter, mixing it around with a fork to make sure the entire bowl had been thoroughly heated. Satisfied that it was warm, you picked up the bowl and carried it over to the Devil. 

“You can have a seat at the table if you want,” you offered, holding the bowl out to him.

You gestured your other hand to the small circular table just outside of your kitchen. The Devil accepted the bowl of pasta from you, looking somewhat over his shoulder where you'd gestured. 

“Thank you,” he replied. 

You watched as he twirled a handful of noodles onto his fork immediately, bringing it up to his mouth before he'd even began to make his way towards your table. It was obvious he was hungry with the way he'd shoveled the bite into his mouth–just like when he'd devoured that burrito–and that satisfied smile returned to your face. Even if you'd messed up a lot of things this week, at least you'd managed to do something helpful for him. And that felt good.

You'd been about to turn around and put away the container of leftovers still sitting out on your counter when you saw him suddenly freeze, his entire body tensing. Your own body froze as you watched him chew the bite of food so slowly, your stomach sinking to the floor.

“What?” you asked cautiously, feeling self-conscious and on the verge of tears again. Had you actually somehow messed this up, too? “Is it…not good? I mean I know I'm not the best cook or anything, but I thought I was decent at making spaghetti sauce. It's not that complicated.”

The Devil swallowed the bite of spaghetti, his body still stiff as he stood there. His hand had tightened around the fork in the bowl as he remained silent, which only had your nerves growing. The feeling of being a failure once again this week was suddenly bearing down heavily on you. Was there nothing you could do right this week?

“Look, if it doesn't taste any good you don't need to eat it,” you told him, taking a step closer and reaching for the bowl. “Apparently I just can't manage anything this week. Just one of those weeks I gu–”

“This tastes exactly like the spaghetti my dad used to make,” the Devil whispered in disbelief.

Your hand hovered in the air reaching out for the bowl, your mouth hanging open at what he'd told you. That certainly hadn't been the reaction you'd expected. 

“Wh–what?” you stammered out.

The Devil pointed at the bowl of pasta with the fork in his hand, something like amazement creeping into his voice as he focused on you. When he spoke again, you'd noticed that raspy, deep voice he always used had disappeared.

“The sauce,” he told you, his words gradually picking up speed as he spoke. “It tastes exactly like the spaghetti sauce my dad used to make when I was a kid. I–I haven't tasted anything quite so similar since he passed when I was young. The likeness is incredible.”

You could feel the heavy pounding of your heart in your chest at yet another little piece of the real man beneath the mask being revealed to you. Mouth opening and closing a few times, you quickly realized you didn't know how to respond. Was he going to run away on you now that he'd let another little personal detail slip? Especially considering it looked like he was also realizing what he'd just told you and was beginning to regret it.

“I'm–I'm sorry to hear about your father,” you managed out.

The Devil continued to stare at you over the bowl of spaghetti in his hands, his lips pressing together as his mouth began to twitch. It was as if he didn't quite know what to say himself, but the longer he remained quiet, his jaw grinding back and forth, the more fearful you became that he was going to bolt back out of your window for accidentally revealing more personal information about himself to you. 

Slowly you held up your hands in front of yourself like one might do to a scared animal, hoping not to scare him further. The Devil didn't move, but his jaw visibly tensed at the gesture. 

“Look, I'm not about to tell anyone that you come here sometimes,” you told him. “And I don't go digging around on the internet trying to find out who you really are with the vague information I have, mostly because I don't have that level of motivation, if I'm being honest.” You saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards at your comment and you cautiously lowered your hands back to your sides. “I just want to help. That's all,” you continued. “And personally I worry that if I scare you off, you'll end up out there starving and with kidney damage from constantly not drinking enough water while you're out parkouring around the city.”

“You're worried about my kidneys now?” he asked, amusement in his tone. 

You shrugged lamely, shooting him a small smile. “If I say yes will you sit down and eat that spaghetti and drink some more water?” you questioned back. “Instead of jumping out of my window like a terrified cat?”

Something like an amused snort came from him as he turned, making his way towards your little kitchen table. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to disappear on you.

“For the record,” the Devil told you, voice muffled around a large bite of spaghetti that he'd shoveled into his mouth, “I am not a stray cat.”

“Of course not,” you agreed, picking up the glass of water he'd already finished and set onto the counter. You brought it over to your sink and began to refill it for him. “Because a cat would know better than to keep running around and making a broken rib worse. And I'm not sure how partial they are to spaghetti,” you joked. 

At the bright sound of his laughter over the sound of the running faucet, you found yourself smiling. You'd certainly missed having him here, even if you knew you were going to miss him the moment he finished that bowl of spaghetti and jumped back over your fire escape. All you could really do was enjoy the next few minutes you had with him and hope that he returned another time. 

Though deep down you sort of found yourself hoping he was more like a stray cat than he let on, because at the very least, maybe the prospect of food and water would tempt him to appear again at your window sooner rather than later. 

And that thought was steadily giving you an idea.

[whoistartaglia]

can genshin men cook?

after a long day of work, what do you come home to: the aroma of dinner cooking in the oven or the smoke detector blaring and a kitchen on fire…?

diluc is so house husband that you would ideally come home to a warm meal set on the dining room table, except for the occasions when he overcooks the food. it’s not his fault, really. blame the pyro god who gave diluc his vision, that may or may not flare up when he’s trying to slowly roast some chicken and vegetables over an open flame. one second everything is fine, the next the chicken is blackened and some of the vegetables have been reduced to ash.

if childe is cooking you a family recipe or a traditional snezhayan dish, then you know you’re coming home to a delicious smelling kitchen and fresh flowers set on the table. childe considers it an act of appreciation and love, cooking his home favorites for you. he puts care in his cooking, and has practice from from feeding his younger siblings growing up. the dishes always turn out amazing and you’ll get him blushing from head to toe if you ask him to show you how to make it.

kaeya is more of a takeout kind of guy. that’s not to say he won’t cook for you if you ask—there are at least a handful of dishes and recipes he knows how to make, and pretty damn well, too. but if he’s also coming home from a long day at work, he’ll probably order something from a local tavern or restaurant, and bring it home. kaeya always remembers to order your favorite, and the takeout food is always set out on the table when you get home. and of course, he always takes care to order your favorite meal, which he knows like the back of his own hand.

xiao won’t burn down the kitchen, but he might get close. he doesn’t have a whole lot of mortal food he enjoys, and so doesn’t have much experience in cooking human food. xiao does try his best for you, though, because he wants you to come home to a nice dinner and relaxing evening. so if xiao happens to start a kitchen fire or set off the smoke alarms, he makes sure to handle it before you get home. you won’t even smell the remnants of the fire in the air, thanks to xiao’s anemo powers.

itto is also very house husband, but when it comes to other things, like building or renovating or practicing fighting moves in the backyard. while he can cook, it’s always a gamble whether you’re coming home to a kitchen half-burnt or an actual living fire. he swears he has it under control. he reassures you everything is fine, and to his credit, he does manage to put out the fire(s) and get something edible on the table. itto will also be very proud of his work, and you agree with his “raw, sheer talent” even as your fork is covered in ash and the burnt remains of some poor grocery store food.

ayato has personal chefs and the meals you come home to are always perfect. how could they not be, when crafted by the finest cooks in inazuma? if you actually request ayato himself to cook for you, he’ll do so happily. he’s a very meticulous, methodical cook—chopping vegetables precisely, using measuring cups and spoons for amounts people usually eyeball, and waiting until the stove or oven is at the perfect temperature before use. his meals turn out amazing—more than the private chefs, because this one is homecooked from the heart.

zhongli definitely has extensive knowledge of cooking and old recipes from liyue, and makes warm, delicious homecooked meals for you… but you still come home to a messy, smoking kitchen once in a while. you’re kind of relieved at that, since it shows that, for all his godly powers and extensive wisdom, zhongli still has his moments. so you laugh as you extinguish the fire even as zhongli is apologizing profusely. though if you suggest to go to your favorite restaurant, zhongli will refuse—he’s gonna start again from scratch, because a meal is what you requested of him, and a meal is what he will deliever.

wriothesley will set the kitchen on fire and say it’s on purpose—and most of the time, it is. his cool calculations melt away when he’s in the kitchen, as once pristine counters become rather messy, and the organized pantry and fridge, disorganized. wriothesley claims it’s because this is how he works best on the kitchen, and you suppose that’s true given his cooking style, which is picking out ingredients, throwing them together, and hoping for something tasty. it’s unfair, really, how good he is at cooking without trying. the kitchen is an embodiment of a hot mess.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Mine - Part 4

Pairing: Soft!Dark Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 2643

Summary: Steve and Reader struggle with whether they can trust one another or not. Both have feelings but is it enough to forgive and start over? Will they be able to have the future they each dream of?

Series Warning: NON/DUB CON, Swearing, Angst, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Male Masturbation, Somnophilia, Drugging, Light Bondage, Physical Fighting, Rough Sex, Choking, Female and Male Oral, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Forced Orgasms, Spanking

Please READ the Warnings!! These will be touched on throughout the series.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait with this fic. I just have recently been able to type again after my right shoulder surgery.

A/N 2: This chapter isn’t as dark as the other ones.

Moodboard by @fictional-affairs

Thank you to my beta readers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @pigwidgeonxo

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. Even if you leave an emoji you will make my day. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫 🚫

Time seemed to go by slowly as you sat in the bedroom window watching as Steve finished chopping up logs for the fireplace. A faint sound of thunder echoes throughout the room and little goosebumps rise on your skin. You snuggle into your hoodie to chase away a storm that is brewing not just outside but within you as well. Steve grabs a bunch of logs and starts heading to the house. Light rain falls from the sky covering the ground below. You hear the door open and close downstairs followed by him walking around. 

The storm seems to pick up as the wind blows through the trees. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs and your hands start to fidget in your lap. Will he be in a good mood today? Your heart is beating faster and faster the closer his footsteps reach the door. Suddenly a key unlocks the door and you hold your breath. Which Steve will greet you today? The door creaks open and you sit as still as you can. 

“Doll? I got a fire going in the fireplace and soup simmering on the stove. Why don’t you come join me?” His words held no authority in it but a simple request. 

You slowly stand up and turn to face him, walking over to where he stood in the doorway. Your eyes glanced over him as he stood before you in a flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. He gives you his million-dollar smile and pulls you in for a hug. Closing your eyes you let him envelop you in his arms. Your arms wrap around his body and you just give in. A minute later he is taking your hand and walking you down the stairs. 

The warmth from the fire hits you as soon as you descend the stairs. The smell of wood burning and soup filled the air as you took a deep breath in. Gosh if this was only a different time and place you would swear you were home. 

Steve leads you over to the table and pulls your chair out for you. You offer a shy smile and thank him. Steve kisses the top of your head and walks the short distance to the kitchen where he can still see you. 

Your eyes scan the dining room and kitchen. Steve was right, this is how you wanted your future house to look like. It’s as if he took all the ideas from your head and made it a reality. Everything in here was perfect except the man you once loved was a kidnapping, psychopath who had ripped away any trust you had in him. Tears lightly poured from your eyes and before you could do anything Steve was wiping them away. 

You hadn’t noticed that he brought the soup over to the table. Instead, he kneels next to you and continues to wipe them away gently as he takes in your shaking body.

“Doll, what’s wrong? You know you can speak to me about anything, right?” His voice is laced with concern and his deep blue eyes stare at you taking everything in. 

You shake your head as you continue to cry. What if you shared the truth about everything with him? Would he still carry out this twisted plan?

“Steve I can’t, I won’t share my thoughts cause you will just be mad at me. I don’t want to be humiliated again with your punishments. Let’s just eat and forget about it, okay?” 

Steve just stared at you. He knew something was weighing on you but did he want the truth? What if it was about leaving could he keep his composure? He shook his head knowing that this was tearing you apart inside and being this nervous around him wasn’t healthy.

“Please, doll, I promise I won’t be upset with you. Just tell me the truth.” His hand caresses your cheek. “I swear I won’t punish you for being honest with me. All I want in this world is for you to be happy with me.”

Your gaze drops to your lap where your hands are and you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself. You look back up into his blue eyes and decide it is now or never.

“It’s not that easy Steve to tell you this. There is no question that before all of this, I loved you from the moment I met you. Your smile drew me in and I knew I was yours forever. At that time you would flirt but always held back with me like you were searching for something else or maybe someone else. That was until recently and your emotions shifted so quickly that I felt overwhelmed but excited that you finally wanted me. But that’s a lie 'cause you just want to breed me.”

Steve’s breath hitched and he was about to retort before you cut him off.

“That night we made love, I finally felt like my dreams were coming true and that maybe you had loved me all along. But that’s not the case. You said it yourself last night you want me to listen to you and not question anything you say. But how can I not question your behavior? You’re mean, and controlling and you have a device on me to keep my super soldier serum from working. You talked about how I broke your trust, have you ever considered that you shattered my trust with you? The love I once had for you is slowly falling apart and I don’t think I could ever love you under these circumstances.”

Steve listened as you poured your heart out. A part of him wanted to be angry about what you’re saying, while another part of him couldn’t believe that you were once in love with him. Once? Steve shook his head, maybe he was going about this in the wrong way. He never liked bullies and from what she is saying he sounded just like one.

“Steve trust goes both ways. If you want me to earn yours then you must earn mine as well. This dominant thing you’re doing over me won’t work if you want true love and a family one day. I’m pleading with you to stop this madness and let’s work on us before my love goes out like a flame never to be lit again.”

He takes a breath in and out trying to contain himself. Yes, he could see what she was saying about him. Steve did want her to make a family with but it was more than that. Little did she know he loved her the same, from the very beginning. He didn’t think for an instance that Tony would match them together in a million years, that’s why it never went beyond flirting. Steve took her hands in his and decided he needed to be honest.

“Look doll, I have loved you from the day we met. I never thought I would ever have a future with you. Not until Tony said we matched. I was so focused on finding the right woman who could have my children that I got blinded along the way. I’ve never wanted to hurt you nor do I plan on it. I just want a chance at us. For what could be? But it’s hard to trust your intentions after you tried to run away from me. How can I know if what you’re saying is the truth?” His eyes pleaded to hers as he searched her face for answers.

There is no way he loved her for that long. But, what if he is telling the truth? She closed her eyes and thought back to the beginning. Their awkward conversations, the silly jokes, him always complimenting her, the soft touches when no one looked and then it clicked. Her eyes opened wide and a tear fell from them again.

“I’m sorry I tried to run away but I was scared. I didn’t know what you wanted to do with me. You can believe this to be the truth. With how messed up this situation is I don’t want to be away from you. Look if we both try, maybe we can work towards trusting one another again. What do you say?”

Steve gave you that smile you always loved. He leaned in and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. “Let’s try again and work towards trusting one another. I promise to not harm you or take you against your will again. But know this, if you are lying to me you will know my wrath, and trust me when I say you haven’t seen the mean side of me yet.”

The last sentence sent chills through your body. By the way, he was looking at you, you swore there was something evil brewing. You kept telling yourself to relax and everything would be okay. If you did decide to run, the time had to be right. For now, your feelings were telling you to try things with Steve. What’s the worst that could happen?

The next morning you woke up to Steve cuddling you close and your legs tangled together. You had gone to bed in just his t-shirt and he slept naked.  The rain had ended overnight and the sun was rising in the sky. You reflected on last night after you spoke your truth. Steve let you sit by the fireplace and read a book instead of locking you in the bedroom. It was a nice moment between the two of you when he sat on the other end of the couch with your legs in his lap. 

Before bed, Steve had told you that tomorrow you both were going to try to start over again. That he would follow your lead on this while he learns to trust you again.

You smile to yourself as you soak up all the cuddles from him and let out a sigh of contempt. Just as you wiggle your butt from excitement you hear a groan behind you.

“Keep that up and I’m going to fill that pretty pussy.”

A giggle escaped your lips. “So what if I want you to?”

Steve’s eyes opened at that comment and he had a grin on his face. “Is that so?” He questioned. 

When you wiggled again Steve quickly rolled you onto your back and parted your legs so he could now lay in between them. Steve pushed his shirt up and pulled it off quickly. He rubbed his cock against your already wet pussy. You couldn’t help but be excited cause you knew how well Steve was between the sheets. Steve’s cock started to get covered in your arousal and the tip of his cock kept nudging your entrance until finally, he slid home. 

Both of you let out a groan once he was fully inside you. You wrap your legs around his waist and your hands claw at his back when he starts moving with hard thrusts. Your nails rake down his back with every thrust of his hips. Steve is on his forearms so he can kiss and swallow your moans. With every thrust, you moan and gasp in pleasure. He keeps a steady, hard pace and you end up squealing in pleasure as he hits a certain spot inside you that has you seeing stars. With every thrust, you’re getting closer and closer to your impending orgasm. Steve quickly scoops your legs up with both arms and pushes your legs to your chest deepening his thrusts. 

Your fingernails scrape down his arms as you try to find a way to ground yourself from the pleasure he is giving you. Steve keeps thrusting into you harder and harder while he starts to play with your clit. It brings your orgasm to a peak as you scream his name into the abyss. Your pussy clenches down on his cock as he continues to plow into you. Once you come down from your high Steve pulls out of you and flips you over to your stomach. Pulling you to your knees he sinks back into your velvety walls and fucks you hard and fast as his fingers dig into your hips. 

This is everything Steve has wanted from you. You're being submissive to him whether you realize it or not. Your head is on the bed, fists clenched into the sheets while you moan out incoherent words. He desperately wants to fill you up and breed you. He knows having a baby will link you two forever and the time to start that family is now. 

The faster Steve is pounding into you the closer he is getting to his high but lord he needs you to cum one more time. His left-hand leaves your hip and his fingers move down to circle your clit again. All it takes is a few swipes and you're screaming his name to the heavens above. Your cunt grasps his cock and milks him dry as Steve cums deep inside you. His groans fill the air as he gives a couple more sloppy thrusts into you. Steve looks down on your spent form and leans over your back to kiss your shoulder. 

Once he pulls out of you he goes to the bathroom to clean himself up before he returns to you with a washcloth. Gently he cleans you up and throws the washcloth in the laundry hamper. You’re completely exhausted and feel like you can barely move. If you had your super soldier serum running through your veins instead of suppressed you could have kept up with him, no problem. Now your body could just roll over to your back and look up at him. 

He was smiling down at you looking like a man who just finished a successful mission. You lifted your arms a little to show him you wanted a hug. Steve lay next to you and brought you in for a hug. He held you close to his chest as you snuggled into him. Your cheek rubbed against his chest hair as you enjoyed this feeling of euphoria. 

Maybe things could work out between you both and you could have a happy ending? It just depends on how Steve decides to treat you, like an object or someone to be loved unconditionally. You both promised to start over and this was the best way to show each other how much you loved one another. Hopefully, he will begin to trust you over time and maybe get your super soldier serum flowing through your veins again. I mean it’s not like he wants you like a regular woman, right? There is always going to be that adventurous side of you and you’re going to want a normal life that isn’t just sex. Though you had to admit this is the best sex you’ve had in your life. It’s everything you dreamed of minus the kidnapping part. 

Steve kisses you on the forehead and groans as he stretches. “Why don’t we get in the shower and I will cook breakfast for you? I’m sure you’re hungry. What does my lovely doll want to eat?”

You smile up at him and answer, “Well I do have a craving for pancakes and you sure do make the best ones.”

Chuckling, Steve nods his head. “I can do that for you, doll.”

Steve rolls out of bed and pulls you to your feet. As you walk to the bathroom Steve slaps your butt playfully. “Though first, I think I need another round of you in the shower.”

You squeal in delight as you head to the bathroom. Maybe this could work, you think to yourself as the hot water sprays down on both of you. Today is a brand new day to figure out whatever it is between the two of you. 

Taglist:

@americasass81

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@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@georgiapeach30513

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@thefallenbibliophilequote

@what-is-your-plan-today

@wolfsmom1

[yeyinde]

I need to be railed by price as the team either walks past or is right next door. So upset he's fictional lmao

honestly, same. 

this got away from me a bit, so sorry about that!

warnings: smut, implied near-death experiences, voyeurism, and (??) exhibitionism

For being stationed out in the middle of Siberia, snowed into some long-forgotten gulag on the fringes of the great, inescapable arctic nothingness, the air you breathe has never been hotter. 

Balmy heat pulses, throbbing in tandem with each harsh thud of your heart as it snaps like a rubber band against your chest. 

It leaks in from the old pellet stove that Gaz managed to get working—somewhat—but the stifling heat that simmers around you, clinging your sweat-slicked skin has less to do with fire, and everything to do with the way your captain fills your cunt until you ache. 

"Fuck," he rasps, low and grating, words muffled into the flesh of your neck, when he presses the flat of his teeth. "So wet for me, love. So fucking tight—" 

All you can do is dig your nails into his flexing biceps, legs locked around his waist, heels clinging together at the base of his spine, as he fucks you senseless in the middle of a storm. 

(And with your teammates beyond the thin wisp of a wall.)

You're supposed to be quiet. 

Those are the rules you accepted when he first parted the folds of your pretty cunt with his middle and index finger, and pressed his nose against your throbbing clit, eyes sparking with firebrands when he gazed up at you. 

Quiet—because everyone is gathered in the room beside yours, and no one knows that your captain presses the head of his cock against this soft, fleshy place behind your belly button until you see Nirvana painted behind your eyelids like he's trying to fuck you stupid. To batter all logic out of your soft, sensitive head until only he, and the way he fits inside of you, remain. 

(And sometimes, you think he is.)

Quiet. Quiet. And yet—

They can all hear you, surely. You're not subtle, and you're not silent, despite the growls in your ears to keep it down, now, love, don't want them all to hear you getting fucked by your captain, do you? Filling your tight pussy with my cock—

How can you be when he pulled you into the empty, rotting cell with a fire in his gaze, and his hands rough on your skin, and said I need to feel you, love. I need to be inside of you. Need to keep you warm.

You try to stay quiet. Try to stifle the moans that spill from your lips with each blunt, brutal thrust of his cock slamming against the plug of your womb. It feels as if he was trying to wrench it open, trying to fit inside the only space left that you haven't felt him, that you hadn't taken him in. And maybe he is. Maybe, this is him trying to split you apart at the seams until you unravel for him; unspooled and raw, and all his, and—

It edges into pain, into hurt and anguish, but the pleasure numbs you into a babbling mess of fuck, captain, it feels so good, please please please—

His fat cock splits you apart until you're a babbling mess drooling into the matted, grimy mattress below, chanting nothing but his name amid the hymnals of pleasure that slip out, unmuffled, and loud. 

Stupid. Stupid. 

These sparse walls are barely thick enough to stifle a sniffle let alone the way you stutter over his name—P–Pr–i–ahhh—P–Pri–ce—with each sharp thrust of his cock battering your bruised, gummy walls. 

He doesn't even try to keep you quiet. Seems, in fact, to fuck you harder, aiming for whichever spot he hit inside of you that made you howl the loudest. Like it's a game. Like he wants them to hear. 

And you get it. You get why he's so broken, so stripped, and bare, and fucking you when he knows everyone can hear you, can hear the slick way your cunt opens for his cock; the fleshy slaps of his heavy sack hitting your ass with each deep, hard thrust. The ragged pants broken by your barely stifled moans, or his sharp, smoking grunts. 

You get it. You do—

A near miss. A wayward shot. 

Soap says you should be resting, that you should be recuperating until you all have to move out, have to abandon this safe haven in the middle of the frigid, white wasteland where nothing but withering black trees grow in sparse thickets and the temperature outside drops low enough to freeze the grey matter in your brain within seconds. 

It's scary. Daunting. 

But nothing at all compared to the anguish in his voice when he saw you in shades of blue, in red. Lifeless, and cold. So, so cold. 

It had taken them pushing you as close to the firepit as possible to bring some life back into your cheeks, and this—

This is all he knows how to do to keep you warm, to keep you from turning the same garish shade of deathly white, grey, as the world outside of these mouldering walls while you're stuck in a place that leaches it from your marrow; rapacious for heat in your body.

He fucks you like he's already lost you. Like you're already blue and grey and—

"Never again," he spits, words an angry snarl in your ear. "Never again—"

So, you let him take. Let him take, and take, and take because he never does. Never for himself. 

You offer yourself up to him—however he needs it—and try to stay within the margins of the rules despite the fact that you can feel him bludgeoning into you, further and further until you can feel him in your sternum. Until you can taste him in your throat. Until your lungs are full of sweat and blood and hickory and smoke, and—

"Fuck—"

You choke on the thick press of fingers when he slips them into your mouth, barking out a sharp bite when he pushes his other hand under the swell of your ass to glue your hips together. Closer, closer, but not enough for him despite the stars that erupt behind your eyelids, the too full too much feeling of him grinding against your bruised, battered walls, carving out a place inside of you just for him. 

"Gotta keep you warm," he hisses, pressing his damp chest to yours until the scant air is squeezed from your collapsing lungs, and all you can taste, and see, and feel is the graze of his coarse hair over your sensitive flesh when he smothers you under his bulk. "Gotta warm you up—"

They can all hear you. All of them. 

And maybe, maybe it's the delirium. The fever. The injury. The ever-present threat of that creeping white death that ghosts along the gaps in the doors, searching for a way in to claim the one that got away, snatched from the brink of icy death.

It must be. It has to be. 

But you think you can hear them, too. Under the heaving, desperate gasps in your ear, the broken commands uttered for you to stay quiet, and be good, and stay with him, stay with him, always, always, always, and the slap of his skin branding yours, you can hear it. Low murmurs. Movement. 

Gaz sucks in a breath when Price mutters look'it y'takin' me so fuckin' good; needy little cunt won't let g'of me. 

Soap groans low when you whimper around the thick, nicotine-stained fingers, nearly gagging, choking when he presses them to the back of your throat. 

You hear Ghost shift, the scratch of his denim sliding against the cracked cement when he moves from his spot when you moan low, and broken, and beg for it in a series of please please please pleasepleaseplea—that stick together each time he slides in deep. 

The noises from the other room all react to each whimper, moan, mewl, gasp that Price pulls from the depths of your chest as his cock splits you apart until your cunt is full of nothing but him. Until your head is heavy with pleasure, with the explosive chemical slurry of sex and tobacco and almost dying, and him, him—

It's maddening. Impossible.

It has to be in your head. It has to be because the idea, the absurd idea of it all is enough to make you tremble, to make the molten knot in your belly coil, and coil, and—

Price drops his sweat-slicked forehead to your temple, lips brushing against your ear. 

"Puttin' on a nice li'show for them, love. Almost makes me think you want them to hear," he murmurs, words rasped out in a whisper. Just for you. Just for you. "I must not be enough to keep y'warm, then. Must need some extra body heat, mm?"

(You hear Soap grunt, the noise a tucked plea of Captain, and of something that sounds like a broken amalgamation of your name, and fuck, and please, and—

And all at once, the rules break. Shatter.)

[beomboomboom]

Recipe for disaster

genre: fluff, established relationship

pairing: Soonyoung x reader

summary: You should've known better than to leave Soonyoung alone in the kitchen to make some pancakes. After all, everyone knows that Soonyoung + kitchen makes a recipe for disaster

warnings: a little bit of a cooking fire

note: This fic has genuinely made me laugh so much, and I hope it'll make you laugh too. Enjoy reading <33

Soonyoung is good at many things, but cooking is definitely not on that list.

In fact, you've learned (the hard way) that if you leave him alone in a kitchen, there's a 50 percent chance something will end up on fire (most of the time it's food, but you swear one day it's going to be your house).

So, when you woke to the sound of clattering coming from the kitchen paired with the empty space next to you on the bed, it was easy to put two and two together.

Hurriedly shuffling out of bed, you make your way to the kitchen where you're met with the sight of a singing Soonyoung clad in your tiger-print apron that he gifted you for Christmas, as he gets out a big bowl from the cabinet.

"Love, what are you doing?" you ask with a tense smile, interrupting your boyfriends' cooking and singing session.

"I'm cooking breakfast for you! Pancakes!" Soonyoung exclaims with a smile. "Surprise!"

You feel your heart melt when you hear Soonyoung's loving intentions, but that fondness quickly turns into fear when you see him beginning to measure the ingredients.

Or to be honest, It shouldn't even count as measuring, it was more like eyeballing.

Eyeballing, but he wasn't really using his eyes.

You watch in horror as he attempts to pour a little bit of salt from the bag into the bowl, but ends up tilting the salt bag a bit too much, causing a huge amount of salt to end up being poured instead.

"Oops." Soonyoung says with a sheepish smile. "It's okay though, I'll just add more of the other ingredients so it'll cancel the salt out." Soonyoung says with a confident smile, assuring you everything is fine.

"You can just take out some of the salt-" you begin to suggest before becoming speechless at the sight of Soonyoung pouring half a bag of flour into the bowl, then squinting and pouring a bit more for good measure.

"Soonyoun-"

"Wait this breakfast needs to be a surprise," Soonyoung interrupts you at the realization as he starts to gently push you out of the kitchen.

"I think I could help you out a little-" you start to protest.

But your boyfriend quickly pushes you back into your room and assures you everything will be alright. "Rest a little more, I'll tell you when things are ready." He says while tucking you back into your bed. "And don't worry, I got this all under control. Nothing will go wrong."

It only took 15 minutes for things to go wrong.

"AHHHH—FIRE!!!"

You jolt up from the bed the second you hear Soonyoung's hysterical scream from the kitchen.

"THERES A FIRE! HOW DO YOU MAKE IT GO AWAY."

Quickly jumping to your feet, you hurriedly make your way to the kitchen. When you reach the kitchen you're met with the sight of a panicked Soonyoung as he frantically tries to fan out the smoke that's coming from the stovetop.

"I was going to the bathroom but then I forgot the stove was still on so I—AHH" Soonyoung begins to explain before yelping at the sight of another bright orange flame appearing.

"No, don't fan the flames you're making it worse," you say with a groan as you quickly run to the sink to wet a cloth and throw it over the flames.

As you and Soonyoung watch the flames slowly subside, you both let out a sigh of relief. Coughing because of all the smoke, you slowly stand up and begin to clean up the mess.

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to make you a nice breakfast and now it's all ruined—" Soonyoung says, the disappointment evident on his face.

"It's okay, you tried your best. Let me help you cook next time though," you say with a reassuring smile as you give Soonyoung a small pat on the shoulder. "How about we order some carry out for breakfast instead?"

"Okay! Let me get my phone," Soonyoung says with an excited smile as he gives you a small peck on your smoke-covered cheeks and runs to his room in search of his phone.

You let out a small laugh before shaking your head. Needless to say, you wouldn't be letting Soonyoung anywhere close to the kitchen anytime soon.

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 11

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,508

A/N: Here comes the burn 🔥

Dean’s awoken by the sound of laughter. He quickly sits up, his knuckles rubbing deep into his eyes as night rolls in through the back windows. 

He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep, didn’t even intend to, but the clock above the back console table reads an hour and fourteen minutes since he last chatted with Mary. 

With a groan, he pushes himself off the sunken-in couch cushions, rolling out the kink in his neck that formed while he was napping.

He’s still rubbing his eyes as he steps into the kitchen, the lights bright and the aroma of fresh rosemary, sauteed onions and sizzling garlic immediately assaulting him, inviting him to take in a deep breath. 

“Well look who woke up.” Mary’s eyes are bright as she teases him from the kitchen island. Y/N is behind her, standing at the sink, Mary’s apron partially obscuring your sweater and pants. You look fresh faced, with some still-damp tendrils of hair framing your face. 

Dean then notices the two wine glasses on the island, and a bottle next to it already half drained. Michael Bublé sings quietly from the smart speaker in the corner.

Dean saddles up on one of the island bar stools. 

“Looks like I’m missing a party.” He offers the women a lazy grin as he slowly begins to perk up at the thought of dinner and the two happy companions in front of him. 

This kitchen was no stranger to joviality; Mary was always beloved by her husband and sons for her home cooking. Though she spent her days at the local hospital, serving twenty-three years as an ICU nurse, Mary always made sure to have a fresh-made meal for her family once her shift was over. There was nothing she loved more than having her boys around the dining room table, hearing about Dean’s basketball practices and Sam’s debate team, while John would grumble about his annoying coworkers. Mary’s family meant the world to her. Marrying John and having Dean and Sam were the best things she ever did with her life, and so much of that life revolved around food when you have two sons over six-feet tall and a father close behind. 

Even after John passed, Mary continued to cook. Even after her sons had returned back to their own lives after the funeral. Just being in the kitchen reminded her of all those amazing years together, when John would kiss her on the cheek as she prepared the meal. How, if music was playing, he would steal her away from the stove for a dance when their boys weren’t around to gag at them before she would fight her way out of his arms to make sure the food wouldn’t burn.

The kitchen brought Mary happiness, and it was obvious to everyone who sat in the kitchen with her. 

“Just some meal prep.” Mary brushes him off as she turns towards the stove and gives a pan a stir. 

Dean takes in another deep breath as the pan crackles.

“What’s for dinner?”

After a deliciously filling pan-roasted chicken and potatoes, plus another two glasses of wine, you and Dean are sitting on the back patio, a fire crackling in the pit between the two of you as you relax back in Adirondacks overlooking the pitch black lake. You’re bundled in your winter coat and hat, while Dean is somehow relaxing in nothing more than his jeans and sweater. Another glass of wine rests in your hands, warming you in ways the fire can’t while Dean opted for a bourbon on the rocks after the red wine he had with dinner. 

Mary had excused herself after you and Dean had cleaned up after dinner. It wasn’t late, but Mary was excited about a book she recently started, and decided to say goodnight and head to her room. 

“This has to be amazing in the summertime,” you muse as you look towards the quiet water, lights from houses around the shore reflecting on the thin coat of ice that sits atop of the lake. Soft edison bulbs are strung above the patio, providing a soft glow to your surroundings, and you would love to see this in the summer, when the nights are warm and the breeze doesn’t chill you to your bones.

You take a sip of wine. 

“It’s pretty nice. I keep telling mom she should get a boat, but she doesn’t want to be bothered with the maintenance of it.” He takes a sip from his own drink. “Nor would she actually know what to do with a boat, so it’s probably for the best.” He chuckles to himself and you smile at the sound.

A silence falls between the two of you, and you wish you had a speaker with some music playing just to break up the quiet. 

You decide to let your mind wander, playing back this afternoon, when you padded back downstairs after your shower in some comfy leggings and knit sweater to find Dean asleep on the couch, still sitting up but his head knocked back and mouth open with soft snores filling the living room. You had smiled at the sight, though you didn’t know why, before you had quietly looked for Mary. It wasn’t until you noticed her car gone from the driveway that you realized she wasn’t home. Not wanting to risk turning on the TV and waking Dean, you wandered around the house, taking in all the lake-themed decorations as well as the many pictures scattered throughout the house. A lot of them were from years ago, with a younger-looking Mary – who has aged like a fine wine – and who you assume to be her husband and Dean’s father, John. Two little boys were the subjects of most of the pictures, one with shaggy blonde hair during what seemed like elementary school years, and a lanky, dark-haired, hazel-eyed boy, who must be Sam. The pictures followed them throughout the years; Dean in a basketball jersey, Sam on skis, the brothers looking to be about high school age in tuxes and boutonnieres. It broke your heart as you noticed some pictures from not too long ago, a notable figure missing from the family portraits and the smiles of the remaining three Winchesters not as bright as they used to be. 

You take in a deep breath and look through the fire, shadows flickering across Dean’s face as his eyes stare out across the water. 

You think back to one particular picture that caught your eye, and it brought back a question you’ve been biting back on for a long time.

It’s none of your business. Sort of. You were metaphorically in the middle of their drama, but it didn’t necessarily mean you were entitled to the details. 

It didn’t mean you weren’t any less curious though. 

“If you don’t mind me asking. And you don’t have to answer.” Dean’s eyes dance to you. “But what happened between you and Lisa?” You recall a picture of an adult Dean in a tuxedo standing alongside Mary in a flowing, navy gown, a white rose worn proudly on her wrist, matching the one on Dean’s lapel, resting on the mantle. Clearly from a wedding day – Dean’s you assume. 

“Aren’t you just full of questions today?” He chuckles as he takes a sip from his tumblr, the ice knocking against the glass as he brings it to his lips. You watch as his Adam’s Apple bobs on his heavy swallow, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment. 

You were right the first time. It was none of your business. 

“Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.” You whoosh out, trying to fix your mistake before it can threaten to ruin the night.

“No,” Dean rests his now empty glass on the wide armrest and leans forward. “It’s okay. Especially since Lisa kinda roped you into our mess.” He scratches as the light layer of scruff over his jaw as his eyes look through the empty night. His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath before he begins. 

“We had a good marriage for years, great even. We were young when we got married. Only twenty-four, but we had started dating when we were nineteen, and she was there for me when my dad died, so it just made sense. Which isn’t why I proposed. I really did love her. And back then she loved me too.” Dean’s eyes flick to the fire and hold its gaze. “The downfall started when she couldn’t get pregnant. All she wanted was a big family, we tried for years, then finally found out that she had some condition – I don’t even remember at this point – that made it hard for her to get pregnant. At first, she got depressed. She never wanted to leave the house, just spent her days either on the couch or in bed. At some point, the depression passed, and then the anger appeared. I tried to be understanding and be there for her as much as I could, but the anger never really went away. We started fighting. A lot. Which we had never really done before, and didn’t really know how to navigate. She got resentful, I got annoyed. We just started growing apart.” Dean takes in a deep breath, his lips setting in a hard line. 

“I started working more, just to get away from her and the fighting, then she wanted to get away from me. At some point she found someone, and then I eventually found them. In the guest house, ironically enough.” Dean relaxes back into his chair, though his body is rigid. “That was two years ago now. And we’re still not divorced.” He huffs and picks up the glass, swirling around the ice. 

Your eyes haven’t left him. He remains quiet, his story clearly done, and you have no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry you went through all of that.” You settle on. Because truly, what the hell do you say?

He just shrugs. You’re probably not the first to offer your condolences on the death of his marriage.

“You know what really sucks?” He continues without your prompting. You don’t answer, and let him continue. “We could have been divorced ages ago. We just can’t seem to quit this fighting.” He shakes his head as he deeply inhales. 

“Almost sounds like you two like the fight.” For the first time since he’s started talking, his eyes flick to you. You offer with a gentle smile as you take a bigger sip of wine this time. 

He sighs heavily. 

“It’s exhausting.” He quietly admits. 

“Then why keep going?”

He shakes his head and looks away, his shoulders dropping. 

A moment passes. Then another. Nothing but the crackling of the burning logs filling the dark silence. After another minute, the answer pops into your mind.

“You want to get back together?” You ask softly, and your stomach knots at your words. You expect him to ignore your answer, but he shocks you when he barks out a laugh, his body shaking with the sound before he puts his glass back down on the arm of the chair.

Your body slumps.

What the hell?

“Jesus, no.” He all but wheezes, shaking his head. “There’s no getting back together after what we’ve been through.” His voice drops as the laughter leaves his tone. 

You just stare at him, completely and utterly lost, until he looks back at you.

“We’re being assholes, is what it comes down to,” he admits as he drops his gaze. “She wants the house because I have it, and I don’t want to give it to her just because she wants it. And neither of us wants to be the one to surrender.” He clears his throat as he keeps his eyes downcast. 

“So you’re just spiting each other?” He looks up at your words, and even across the patio you can see the shame in them. 

“Never said I was perfect,” he forces a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Now I would never accuse you of being that.” You drop your voice as the corners of your own lips quirk up. His eyes crinkle at your words as his grin suddenly matches yours. 

And what a gorgeous smile it is. You think as your cheeks warm and suddenly your core clenches. You take in a sharp breath at the response, and you clear your throat and take a long sip of your wine to try and drown out the feeling. 

As you place your wine glass back down, you catch Dean’s gaze through the flame, his chiseled jawline sharp, even covered in a layer of managed scruff, and the fire reflecting in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and try to lean back from his gaze, but you're already against the backrest. 

Your movement seems to break his stare, and he relaxes back as well.

“How about you?” His voice is casual, but the air around you has changed, an electricity crackling through the cool night in time with the fire. 

“What about me?” You pick up your glass for another sip.

“Ever been married?” Now it’s your turn to bark out a laugh. 

“Kinda hard to keep a relationship when you’re married to your job. A job that didn’t even give a shit about you.” You sigh and look out to the lake as you think aloud. “But maybe that was always an excuse.”

“An excuse?” 

You keep your eyes on the icy water. If Dean can be honest, so can you.

“I haven’t had a serious relationship since college. On paper, we were perfect for each other, but we broke up a couple years after we graduated, and.” Your voice catches on your words and you swallow. “We had a nice relationship, but I never really loved him. Not the way you should. We were more friends than anything and we just fizzled out.” You think back to Justin. You had met at trivia night your junior year, and he was everything you thought you wanted; handsome, driven, had a sense of humor, a good family and group of friends, but somehow it wasn’t enough. “After that, the idea of dating just turned me off. If my dream guy wasn’t enough, how would anyone be? So I just started focusing more on work, and I got my first big promotion after the breakup. And then whenever anyone would ask me about dating, I could use work as an excuse.” You shrug. “I’ve dated here and there since then, but never really found anyone worth taking my attention away from my job.”

“Sounds lonely.” You throw your head back and laugh. You look over to him, his elbows now resting on his knees as he leans towards you from across the patio. 

“So does divorce.” He snorts out a laugh and looks down.

“Fair enough.” He starts to lean back but stops himself and looks over to his empty glass with raised eyebrows. 

“If we’re going to keep talking about relationships, I’m gonna need a refill.” He stands from his seat and takes his tumbler with him.

“Me too.” You hold your own empty glass up and wiggle it in the air. More wine sounded like a great idea. 

With an easy stride, Dean strolls around the firepit and over to your chair. The man is tall when you’re standing next to him, but right now he’s damn now towering over you while you’re seated. Despite the heavy conversation, he looks down at you with an easy smile. And maybe it’s the wine, or it’s just him, but you smile back as your heart thrums wildly in your chest. 

He reaches out for your hand slowly, his fingers brushing against yours as they take a secure hold on the stem. His touch is warm against your chilled skin, and his gaze holds yours and you swallow. His chest moves in a controlled rhythm as his fingers wrap around yours. Your lips part, but nothing comes out as you stare up at him, his eyes evergreen in the shadowed glow. He swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing with the movement.

“I–”

A log shatters apart and drops heavily into the bottom of the firepit, and you jump as the logs that had been resting on top of it tumble down, sending sparks wildly bursting and flying into the night sky.

“Holy shit,” you breath out, your eyes darting to the flames just as they begin to die down, as you rest your hands against your chest, just now realizing you had let go of the glass. 

Dean lets out a quiet laugh and takes a step back from you and the movement causes you to look back up at him, your wine glass securely in his hand. 

“More wine it is then.”

You managed to stay out through another glass of wine, until the fire dwindled down to embers, and Dean finished another two drinks. Once the flames had died down, the chill of the night couldn’t be held off, and it was late enough for you to both call it a night. 

You quietly sneak your way through the kitchen, a tipsy giddiness keeping a near constant giggle in your throat as you and Dean bump your way around the darkened room, tossing your jacket and hat on the kitchen table, and doing your best to keep quiet as you place your glasses into the sink before heading up the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the railing as you go. Dean is a half step behind you, so close, the few times you sway on the unfamiliar steps, you brush against his warm frame, even though he sat out in nothing but a crewneck sweatshirt all night. 

As you reach the top of the stairs, you expect Dean to break off, to head down to his room, but as you lazily wander towards your own door, you look over your shoulder to find him a hands-length behind you. You flex your fingers, wanting to reach back and take his hand in yours, but you keep your hand tucked in tight at your side. 

“I know this is my first night here,” you whisper roughly. “But I’m pretty sure your room is that way.” You throw a thumb over your shoulder and he quietly laughs as he leans forward, his chest brushing against your shoulder.

“What type of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door?” His breath tickles your ear and your shoulders tense at the proximity as your feet halt. The sudden stop catches Dean off guard and he stumbles into you, one arm catching you around your waist as the other grabs at your hip. His arms tighten, pulling you against his chest. And hips.

And groin. 

You swallow.

You can feel Dean’s heartbeat at your back, erratic and wild as yours as you close your eyes and lean into him without a second thought. His hand tightens around your waist, his fingers deliciously digging in as you sway your head against his shoulder.

You close your eyes as you hear him take a deep breath. 

Without warning, his lips ghost against your exposed neck, a sliver of warmth playing across your skin and you shiver at the contact. 

Finally. Is the only thing that crosses your mind as you push yourself further into him. A growl stirs in his throat, vibrating his chest as you rest against him, and you swallow. Hard. 

You trail your hand up your body, stopping only when you find his still attached to your waist. His deep breath wafts over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Ever so slowly, he leans over you, his lips locking in on your pulse point, just below your jaw. You sigh out a whimper into the quiet hallway as his lips linger on the sensitive skin, your knees failing you as you let your weight fall against him.

In a heartbeat, his lips are gone, the skin cold without his touch and he takes a step back, his hand around your waist coming to hold your hips at an arm’s length. You spin in his grasp, your head swimming from the wine, his kiss, and the jarring movement. 

He stands there with an easy smile on his lips. The same damned lips that were just on you, making you want more. So much more. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” is all he offers before his hands fall away from you and he turns and heads for his room. 

You don’t move a single muscle, watching him until he disappears behind his door and it clicks shut. 

You shutter out a breath and your shoulders fall. Your fingers come up to your neck, tracing the space where he left his kiss, and a smile grows on your face as you stroke the spot with a gulp.

You were officially in trouble.

Forever Tags

@iprobablyshipit91  @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213 @kaydallas21 @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @magssteenkamp 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Can we see Alfred and shop girl bonding in the Other Half?💕

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Warnings: Mostly fluffy, with a peppering of angst; Shop Girl has nightmares; this is an Alfred-centric chapter for obvious reasons

“I known Frank twenty years. I do that to him, can you imagine what I’ll do to you?”

The words are drowned by a gunshot, and a cruel laugh—

You’re sitting up and scrambling to turn the lamp on before you can stop yourself. You heave in tight, panicked breaths as your memory still crowds behind your eyes and rings through your ears. You look around the bedroom, and for once, you’re relieved to find Bruce’s side of the bed empty. Ever since you’ve returned to Gotham, he’s been hesitant around you. His worry hasn’t disappeared, but he’s been far more careful about voicing that concern. 

You draw a deep breath in through your nose, forcing yourself to hold it for ten seconds before slowly blowing the air out again. You can feel the panicked pounding of your heart as you begin to adjust to your reality, away from your nightmare. 

You look around the dim room, stomach churning in discomfort at the thought of laying back down and trying to fall back asleep with the memories of the kidnapping so close to the surface. You push the sheets aside, tucking your feet into your slippers and taking your bathrobe up from where you’d hung it over the footboard. You pull it open, yawning widely as you head for the door. 

It’s a short trip to the kitchen, but you’re surprised to find the lights on, and Alfred puttering around. 

“Alfred?” You speak up, voice thick from disuse. You smile a little as he turns to look at you. “Is everything okay?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You hum softly, walking over to the stove. “I wanted some tea,” You fib. “Would you like some?” 

“I’d be happy to make it.” 

“I don’t mind. You do these things for us all the time. What are you doing up, anyway?” 

“I had trouble getting to sleep, myself.” 

“Really?” You frown, turning to look at him once you’ve put the fire on under the kettle. “Are you alright?” 

“Quite alright,” He reassures with a gentle smile. “I was trying to parse whether or not Master Wayne may want to do anything for Christmas.” 

“Mm,” You nod. “A good question, consider the catastrophe that was Thanksgiving.” 

You walk over to the shelf that Alfred keeps the tea chest. 

“Would you like a biscuit with your tea?” 

“Oh, yes please,” You smile. 

“Has he said anything to you about Christmas?” 

“Not a word. But communication’s been a little…Odd since I got back.” 

“‘Odd’ how?” 

“Mm, well,” You shrug, opening the lid of the tea chest. “I don’t know, I feel like we’ve been tip-toeing around one another.” 

“That is to be expected, even if it’s uncomfortable.” 

“As long as it doesn’t become our normal.” 

“I’m certain you’ll find a way to work through it.” 

You smile as Alfred joins you at the counter with two clean mugs. 

“Thank you. Chamomile?” 

“How you know me,” Alfred chuckles. 

“Two tea bags?” 

“Yes, please.” 

You set the tea bags down in one mug before taking up a packet of sleepy time for yourself. 

“...Alfred?” 

“Yes?” 

“Can I ask…” You trail off, weighing your words as you put the tea chest away again. “When I asked Bruce about whether or not we were doing anything for Thanksgiving, you know—before the fiasco…He seemed to sort of…Glaze over.” 

Alfred purses his lips, considering. 

“The holidays have always been somewhat difficult for Mr. Wayne, but we haven't celebrated Thanksgiving since he was a very small boy.” 

“Oh…” You slouches back against the counter, scrubbing your hand across your forehead. “I wish I had known that. I’m sure this year hasn't sent him scurrying back to the table for turkey.”

“You couldn’t have known unless one of us told you,” Alfred soothes. “And if you consider it another way: the holiday can only get better going forward.” 

“...That’s certainly an optimistic way of looking at it. Though I may just hop on the bandwagon and never celebrate it again.” 

“It would certainly cut down on the dishes.” 

You snort a soft laugh, jokingly whacking his shoulder in admonishment before turning back to the stove, hearing the kettle scream. You fill each mug, glancing back as Alfred sits at the kitchen table with a plate of biscuits. You sit down across from him, passing him his tea before taking up a biscuit.

“...I take it he’s not back yet,” You hedge. 

“No…But it’s early.” 

Early. Your eyes stray to the clock. It’s nearly half past three. You shake your head a little, peering down into your tea and levering the bag in and out as you think. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“No,” You insist, “I just, um…Every once in a while I have these flashes to when I met Bruce. It was a little over a year ago now.” 

“I remember.”

“How are the gloves holding up, by the way?” 

“They’re in excellent condition.” 

“I better call my old manager. She’ll be so happy to hear it.”

The two of you share a chuckle before Alfred reaches out, resting his hand atop yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Drink your tea before it goes cold,” You nod toward it. “I know that drives you nuts.” 

“There is nothing worse than a cold cup of tea.” 

“So you keep telling me. What are your opinions on iced tea?” 

“That is an entirely different matter. It’s alright if the tea is cold, so long as it did not start out hot.” 

“Something tells me you’ve thought a lot about this. I’m starting to think this is what really keeps you up at night.”

“More than you could possibly imagine.” 

Next Part

[bookobsessedram]

Soap Mactavish x Reader - Mental Health Day

Word Count - 1.1k

Warnings - depression, cursing, very SFW

A/N: This is a gift for my friend @bunnyreaper, so reader is described!! Sorry y'all <3

For bunny, I want you to know that I love you so much and that you are valued and loved. I hope this brings some light to your life :)

For the past few weeks, it feels like every day has been the same. Wake up, cry, eat whatever shitty snacks are in the pantry, cry some more, check your phone, and go back to bed. Rinse and repeat. You know you must look like hell, with unwashed hair and bags under your eyes that won’t seem to go away, but you can’t bring yourself to care – or rather, you care but you can’t find the energy to do anything about it. You haven’t had the energy to do much of anything recently, now that you think of it. Depression is a bitch, you know, but it doesn’t change the fact that when it hits you upside the head with an emotional baseball bat, you’re unable to fight back with the metaphorical pool noodle you have in response.

Your phone buzzes on the pillow next to you, and you groan, opening your eyes blearily and sitting up. Afternoon light is streaming in through the blinds, and you squint at your phone screen. You have a myriad of messages, but you only care about one: a message from your boyfriend, Johnny “Soap” Mactavish, the cheerful, firecracker of a man that barreled his way into your heart and made a home nestled between your ribs. You love him with everything you have, but even speaking to him has taken more energy than you’ve had recently.

Johnny <;3: Mind if I stop by, bun? got something I think you’ll like.

Thankfully, Johnny has always been both understanding and accommodating of your mental health struggles and has never asked more of you than he thinks you can handle. Which is why, you think as you smooth out your hair in the bathroom mirror, he’s coming over to see you. You pull out your phone and fire off a quick text before heading to the bathroom.

You: I’ll meet you at the door :)  

By the time you’ve put on your least dirty pair of pajamas and brushed your teeth, there’s an excited knock at your apartment door. Knowing you must look a mess, you aren’t quite thrilled to open it, but all reservations melt away as soon as Soap sets the groceries he was holding down and sweeps you up in his arms with a bright smile and a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Olivia,” he murmurs, practically lifting you off the ground with the force of his hug. “Missed holdin’ you, love.”

“Missed you too, Johnny”, you mumble into his strong chest, feeling the muscles under his shirt. Yes, you were being squeezed quite tightly, but you most certainly didn’t mind it. It was nice to be surrounded by him again.

As he sets you down, you notice he’s holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his arms. You can’t help but smile at the sweet and romantic gesture, but before you know it hot tears are rolling down your face. Johnny’s brow furrows in worry, and he softly lifts your chin up to wipe your tears. “Shh, shh, bun,” he whispers, wiping your tears with his thumbs before holding you close. “S’okay, I’m here now, yeah? Yer not alone now. Never have been.”

At that, you cry harder, dampening his shirt with your tears, but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind. He lets you sob into his chest, rocking you gently back and forth in the doorway of your apartment until your sobs die to sniffles and shaky breaths. Once he’s sure you’re calm, he doesn’t hesitate before picking you up with ease and carrying you into the kitchen.

“Alright, love,” he declares, a determined glint in his eye. “First order of business? Getting some food in you.”

There’s no room for protest as he sets you down on the counter before turning to the stove. You begin to protest, opening your mouth to speak phrases like you really don’t have to and that’s too much, but the words die on your lips as he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you dare, Olivia,” he teases. “I know you’ve been too unwell to cook.”

At that, you don’t offer anything but a sheepish smile and a shrug, and he grins. “Thought so, hen,” he says as he turns back to the stove and begins cracking the eggs he brought.

You watch as he assembles what appears to be the most perfect breakfast out of all breakfasts, complete with eggs, bacon, and waffles (admittedly, the waffles are toaster brand – while an amazing boyfriend, Soap does not have the ability to make batter from scratch). Handing you a plate and leaning next to you on the counter, he takes a big bite of the eggs. “What do you think?”

You mirror his actions, taking your own bite. Your stomach grumbles in appreciation, delighted at the first taste of real food, and you smile at him, your eyes showing a light in them he hasn’t seen for weeks. “They’re amazing, Johnny. Thank you,” you say, kissing his cheek lovingly in response.

As the both of you finish your breakfast together, you feel the dark cloud that has been surrounding you over the past few weeks slowly lift. By the time breakfast is cleaned up, you’re feeling a lot better than you had been. The flowers are freshly trimmed and put in a vase on the table, and they bring color to the apartment that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Soap gently coaxes you into the shower, and while you scrub the past few weeks’ tension from your body, he does a load of laundry and strips the sheets off your bed. By the time you emerge from your sauna-like bathroom, your pajamas are in the dryer and your bed is made with new sheets, blankets and stuffed animals folded and arranged with military precision.

As you sit with your back to his chest, Johnny gently brushing the tangles out of your curls and massaging your scalp all at once, he murmurs your nickname. “Bunny?” He asks.

“Hm?” You turn your head to look at him, the light of your bedroom lamp reflected on his face.

“I know that you don’t like asking for help. And yer so strong and kind and smart, you don’t always need to. But don’t ever feel like you can’t rely on me, okay?” He cradles your face in his warm hands, sincerity reflected in his bright blue eyes. “When your brain is lying to you, I want to be here to tell you the truth.”

At that, you can’t stop the tears from spilling over again, but unlike before, Johnny is here to hold you close in his arms, running his hands soothingly down your back and murmuring kindness into your ears. Unlike before, your bed is no longer empty, and your brain is no longer full of negative self-talk and racing thoughts. Johnny surrounds you like the warm blankets in your shared bed, his scent enveloping you and lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

You’re just barely drifting off when you feel him kiss your temple tenderly and whisper softly in your ear: “I love you, Olivia.” And then you fall asleep.

[kinardsevan]

30 day fluff prompt: day 8

comfort food

It’s been a shit day when Tommy comes through the door. Every fire he’s been sent out on has been a loss, the one rescue he was sent to ended in a loss, and his shift had ended in a stripping down after his captain had been less than pleased with him for trying—admittedly very riskily—to go the extra mile to make a save on the side of a mountain. 

He really doesn’t want to talk about anything when he gets there. He isn’t even all that interested in having one-on-one time with Evan, mostly just wants to crawl into bed and forget the past twenty-four hours. But as he clomps into the kitchen, fully intent on just going into the bedroom without another word, the smell hits him. He’s stopped in his tracks two feet inside the room as Evan stands back up from the oven, pulling the main course out. 

“You made dinner,” Tommy rasps, his throat tight. 

Evan glances up at him and nods as he places the pan on the stove, reaches up to turn the oven off. 

“I saw the news,” he replies as he reaches behind himself to untie his apron. He pulls collar over his head and hangs it up before walking over to Tommy and kissing his cheek. “Figured after a day like today, you might need some comfort food.” 

Tommy sighs, leans into him with his eyes closed for a beat. They’d texted a few times earlier in the day with his previous calls, but he didn’t know that the woman on the mountain had made the news. 

“Today fucking sucked,” he murmurs as Evan runs a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp lightly. 

Evan nods, pulling him in tightly. Tommy accepts the hug, letting out a long breath as he lets the safety of Evan’s love envelope him. 

“I know,” Evan murmurs back to him. “You tell me when you’re ready.” 

Tommy nods, and closes his eyes, content to just stand there for a few minutes. Between the feeling of Evan’s hands on his head and back, and the thumping of his heartbeat, it helps ground him. 

When he finally steps back, it’s only because his stomach has started to growl. 

“Think you can get through some dinner,” Evan asks, his hand still on the back of Tommy’s head. Tommy nods, leaning over to kiss his cheek. They part a moment later, and Evan grabs the pan off the stove with an oven mitt and walks it over to the table, settling it on a cooling rack. Tommy joins him at the table, sitting down as Evan portions them out each a plate with the main course and sides. Once he’s done, he sits down next to Tommy. They both eat quietly for a bit, otherwise quiet other than Evan’s toes running gently along the side of Tommy’s calf. It isn’t until Tommy pauses to take a drink that he finally speaks. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as he settles his glass back down on the table. “For making my mom’s meatloaf.” 

[drjohndisco]

Title: Tacos

Pairing: n/a

Word Count: 100+

Warnings: minor frozen empire spoilers, mentions of food, ghost!egon spengler.

Summary: phoebe wants to be a ghostbuster again and complains. basil and egon are, annoyingly, no help.

Notes: yeah, i hate thinking about egon being dead but to be honest this universe exists mostly for shenanigans so i'm letting that slide. (also, please, ignore that this has little/to no plot. i just heard callie's 'ghost grandma' line while watching the movie for the first time, and knew i had to reference it in some way at some point - which is now, apparently. i'm also sorry that she kinda just...disappears from this? callie, babe, i feel so bad about that. i love you. i promise i won't do you dirty in the future. <3)

‘It’s not fair.’ Phoebe groaned.

‘Maybe you can spend the next few years being an actual teenager.’ Callie suggested.

‘Yeah, well, if this was the 18th century, then I’d already be a part of the workforce and I’d have four kids.’

‘So sweet. I’d be a ghost grandma.’ Callie said, before sliding down the fire pole with Phoebe following behind.

‘Basil? Thoughts?’ Phoebe asked, once she’d reached the bottom and Callie had disappeared into the kitchen.

(Basil, who had been leaning against a desk as he absent-mindedly chewed on a pen while lost in thought, looked up at the sound of Phoebe's voice.)

‘That’d make you a ghost great grand-dad.’

‘Oh, now I feel old.’ He said, taking the pen out of his mouth and pocketing it.

‘You are old.’ Phoebe dead panned as she walked past him.

‘Rude.’ Basil murmured.

But then, as if he’d forgotten what he was currently doing, Basil looked past Phoebe and saw the food Gary was cooking.

‘Ooh, tacos!’

‘And, apparently, also very easily distracted.’ Phoebe mumbled, unhappily, as Basil floated over to a stool by the stove and sat down.

‘It runs in the family.’ Egon murmured, as he entered the room through a nearby wall.

‘Hi, Egon. Come to side with my mother and chastise me as well?

‘No, actually, somebody mentioned the idea of movie night.’ He replied. ‘But, I am not helping you sort this out. That, you will have to do on your own.’

‘Fine.’

‘Now,�� Egon asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘Can anyone tell me what we’re watching?’