SUNDAY CANDY (I’VE BEEN PRAYING FOR YA’)
synopsis: one should not attend the end of the world without a good breakfast. thankfully, its just sunday.
warnings: exactly one (1) swear, mentions of food, sfw!
It was a simple spread, according to Kiyoomi.
Vibrant strawberry jam filling the airy pockets of fresh ciabatta, smothered in dandelion-yellow butter and warmed comfortably. Fluffy eggs sprinkled with fragrant black pepper and fat flakes of himalayan salt, dazzled with parsley and green onions cut from the small windowsill garden. Rows of thick, fatty slices of bacon; crispy on the edges but softened everywhere else. Orange juice so bright it mimics the sun, thin pieces of pulp dancing alongside the cool ice chips.
You think you might cry.
Sakusa floats around the kitchen, his shirtless torso pressed against the cool granite counter as he mixes ingredients in a pale plastic bowl, flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips. He hears you before he sees you, throwing a look over his shoulder to take in your appearance, his face softening into something that looks a lot like love.
“Good morning,” He hums by way of greeting, “Rest well?”
“How could I not?” You joke, tossing yourself onto the counter stools and swiveling around just because you can, “Your thread count is in the millions. Where are your sheets from? Dubai? Honduras? Fucking Mars?”
“Egypt, actually. And they’re only a 1500 thread count.” He corrects playfully, breathing out a quiet laugh, “But I’ll take the compliment, I’m glad you slept well.”
“Only a 1500 thread count.” You mutter to yourself, toying with the hem of your faded club shorts you’ve had for years, “Practice today?”
“Hmm? Oh, no, not today. Meian’s letting us have the day off.“ He says, idly scratching an itch on his torso, a gentle smile pushing the apples of his cheeks, “Just us today.”
Between the two of you, quality time is worth more than gold. Breakfast, especially, has become a ritual of sorts. And Sunday brunch is always holy. You hum sleepily, happily, thinking of all the tasks you won't do today. You watch him shelter the food from your prying eyes, and you nearly call him out for it. He acts like you can’t smell the flavor profiles of every individual dish; like the pile of dishes in the sink and colorful spices on the countertop aren’t giving away his not-so-secret recipes.
“What’s for breakfast?” You say instead, just to make him happy.
“It’s a surprise,” He grins, flour dried across his cheek like a phantom kiss, “But I’m almost done.”
It continues like this. Him defending the food as you try and knab a bite. Lazily waving around the hard plastic spatula as he talks, and ignoring the speck of egg that flies off to save himself the embarrassment. Playfully flirting with him as he tries not to lose focus.
“Close your eyes,” He whispers, as he flicks off the gas stove, “Food’s ready.”
You push your hands over your eyes, spreading your fingers to take peaks at him. He plates your food, heaping portions that nearly topple off the plate. You grin, promising yourself to finish it all.
At one point, his eyes meet yours and you snap your fingers shut with a squeak. Whoops. He laughs, and you both pretend you weren't peaking.
“Okay, open your eyes now.” He mumbles, wiping his hands on a dish towel, “And tell me what you think.”
Removing your hands from your eyes, you gaze down at the plate below you. It’s a confession, a declaration of love. All of it.
A heavy porcelain plate, a housewarming gift you gave him when the two of you were just friends. The edge is chipped from dropping it in the sink one too many times. The memory makes you feel warm.
The food itself is plated with enough space between each dish that it doesn’t touch, remembering your disdain for mixed textures. You never mentioned anything, but he picked up on it.
Your favorite fork, one of the prongs bent a bit abnormally. You joke that the weight of the metal is just right – you didn't think he’d remember.
Your heart melts out of your chest, raw feelings pooling on the floor. Every dish is an offering, a sacrifice. You stuff your face full of it.
“Good?” He smirks, flirtatious and knowing. You nod with a mouthful of egg and bread and bacon and jam. “Then slow down. Breakfast is not to be rushed.”
Your heart beats a little faster when you notice the satisfaction on his face. Kiyoomi’s glowing, shining with a happiness that only shows around you. “It’s just us today. Take it easy.”
based on my core belief that breakfast is the absolute Most Important Meal of the Day. take care of yourself <33
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Okay but why do François and Arthur keep separating if they are the only ones who understand each other that well? It's their arrogant personality? Their vicious habits and need to be correct? Bc I actually see françois more aggressive and Arthur more permissive in the end which seems to be contradictory to what I see people writing in the fruk shippers. I don't get it, no hate
Nah nah all good valid question and i do agree actually on most of what you say.
They dont separate in the traditional and common way we associate humans and human relationships with. Not fully.
Lets say they spend a vacation together. They go to the beach and drink and find bars and terorrize supermarkets during their stay. They are happy and content and a destrucrive power couple. But they are still nations and nations have more responsibilities than two moddle aged human men could ever have. So they clash on a thing or two. One takes a stab at an old phychologial wound thought healed. The other gets irritated but doesnt express it (cus emotional repression is legal apparently) and he takes a jab at the other at their weak spot. And they are irritated at each other and start to bicker bc both are too hardheaded to apologize or talk like people who didnt grow up during the middle ages. Now any small mishap irritates the other. A big fight then separation. They dont see eath other for a longer period of time after that. They might hit it off again with an old friend/enemy/lover and its fine. The problem is that François knows exactly what to say and what nerve to pick and get on it to get Arthur to react as he wants. And Arthur is too much of a sarcastic person and generally a man who enjoys a good challege which he might not get from everyone he interacts with. At least not precisely the way he likes. Like Alfred, Arthur gets bored seemingly quickly with a person. Also his affection can be missinterpreted as belittlement or even a jibe or taunt. He portrays himself as polite and appropriate but in truth he is a hard man to get along with. And few people know how to deal and distinguish his comments.
So after a randevouz with Portugal whom he hasnt seen in a while, he is once again sitting at home by himself pondering what takeout to get bc who has time to cook these days. He is still annoyed with francois but doesnt think too much of it. So after a while something happens and he wants to talk to someone about it, so having all but forgotten their little feud he picks up the phone and dials the french phone number. François picks up and you can hear the irritation in the "I thought the lord is still pissed at me. What a surprise." To which Arthur responds with "Oh do shut up. Now listen I've recetly got word that......" because who can be as stubborn as mules yet forgetful as fish at the same time? These two.
I do think to a certain degree Arthur is more permissive. Especially as he got older and saw his empire sink into that ocean he loved so much. François has more of a need to prove that he is still on top of the game so he does tend to be more assertive in some situations and discussions.
Even if they dont speak to eachother for multiple years at a time, something will come that hauls them back to one another. Be it shared history, mutual understanding or good gossip.
In short, small things break them apart and smaller things bring them together.
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alright alright i know that fic ain't up yet but it's just bc it keeps getting longer so here's a lil bedtime snack
You undid his fly and slid your hand into his pants, feeling him up through his boxers. He was thick. He writhed as you stroked him purposefully, caught between working his jeans off and melting into your touch.
“What’s the matter?” you teased.
“Driving me fucking crazy. Hold on. Fuck.” He swatted your hand away and stripped off everything at once and you must’ve been on your game at least a little bit tonight because he did indeed have a gorgeous cock. You wrapped your hand around it before he could even settle back beside you and he groaned, collapsing onto his back.
“Jesus Christ, Murph.” Your fingers only just met around his girth. “You’re huge.”
“I know,” he grumbled. “We can take it slow, it’s – fuck – it’s okay.”
You didn’t expect him to be so considerate. “That’s awfully sweet of you.”
“It’s nothing, c’mere. Let me touch you.”
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ok another floating thought:
Jason Todd does not tolerate bad eating habits.
Iced coffee for breakfast? Absolutely not.
6pm and you had not a single sip of water? Forget it.
Having a single slice of toast for lunch AND dinner? Naur babes.
You will be eating 3 square meals a day will allowance for snacks and 'happy foods' as he likes to call them.
As soon as you complain about a headache, stomachache, light-headedness, fatigue he will tell you to go fucking eat something with a glass of water, not coffee.
Its even worse if you live together like i strongly believe he would wake up early just to make you a balanced breakfast before you go about your day.
GOD BUT IF UR IN UNI??? babe be ready bc he will break into your dorm to bring u food that he cooked u himself. (he's a loverboy duh)
no time to cook or order? He's gotchu
too tired? already on the way
exam season with barely any time to take a breath? already on it babe he'll spoonfeed you while you revise your textbook
and plus, how else are you supposed to grow as big and strong as him when you're only eating half a meal a day?
I WANNA MUNCH ON HIS MOOSCLES SO BAD FUCKKKKK
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