#dancing in the kitchen

[jen-with-a-pen]

Dancing in the Kitchen

summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him. or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.

parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention

a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3

If I've missed any tags, please let me know!

gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Everything was cold. 

Everything was ruined.

Everything was a fucking nightmare.

Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.

You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.

Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you. 

“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”

You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.

“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”

You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.

“Tony, please, I–” 

“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”

Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.

Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop. 

“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”

The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.

“Fuckin’ cunt.” 

Click.

You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses– to heal each wound he was responsible for. 

This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family. 

A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–

Knock. knock. knock.

In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.

Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked. 

Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.

This time was unlike the million other times.

You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.

“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him. 

It was then, everything came crashing down. 

You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.

All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip. 

Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home. 

“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.

“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.

“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”

“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”

“What, angel? What about Tony?” 

“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”

Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone. 

He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.

Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake. 

“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”

You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”

The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind. 

He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him. 

Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.

In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.

All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve. 

Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able. 

And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.

Had he always looked at you like that?

“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him. 

You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”

You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin. 

“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.

He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners. 

“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”

Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs. 

As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend. 

“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”

A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.

“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.

“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”

You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”

You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.

“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”

Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”

You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room. 

Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.

You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it. 

Or, liked it.

You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee. 

Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards. 

Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve. 

You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.

But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.

Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach. 

You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.

The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind. 

Bzzt.

You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.

⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready 

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”

The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs. 

“Fuck.”

You opened the door. 

⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.

More like you. 

You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.

You mentally scolded yourself.

“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”

“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.” 

He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed. 

He was what you needed. 

Was he?

You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“You’re welcome, angel.”

You pinched yourself, then took another sip.

Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock. 

Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down. 

“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?” 

His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.

And your life.

“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.

“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”

Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety. 

“Why?”

You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.

“What?”

“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”

“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–” 

You felt tears again. 

“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”

“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!” 

You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat. 

The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.

As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.

Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.

He’d do it all again for you. 

Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.

“May I have this dance?” he whispered.

You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.

Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.

It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.

Steve had been there. 

Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years. 

He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn. 

And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over. 

Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision. 

Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.

“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you–”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.” 

Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”

He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating. 

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”

He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you. 

“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”

You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”

Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding. 

“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”

His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed. 

You crashed together. 

Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.

He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. 

Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Never?” 

“Ever.”

You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild. 

#dancing in the kitchen #jen writes #fluff #angst #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x reader #college!au #modern!au #college!steve #modern!steve #modern!steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #captain america x f!reader #curvy!reader #best friend!steve rogers #best friend! reader #cap quartet au #chris evans #chris evans characters #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers onshot #steve rogers imagine #protective!steve rogers #slightly posessive!steve rogers

[miakate-writes]

domestic romance prompts 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

"woke up in your new apartment in your twin size bed, coffee starting" જ⁀➴♡

dancing in the kitchen while making a meal together.

waiting to hear their key in the door after counting down the minutes and watching the clock for the whole day.

a: “you’re finally home!” b: “told you I would be.”

laying in bed together and talking about your day, each just listen to each other’s stories and enjoying their company.

accepting that clothes will be stolen and not even bothering to call the other out.

a: “are you not going to comment on the shirt?” b: “i’ve given up at this point, my love.”

knowing exactly what music the other would want to listen to or what movie they would want to watch without having to ask.

b: “how did you know?” a: “because I know you better than I know myself.”

#domestic romance #romance prompts #writing prompts #dancing in the kitchen #stealing hoodies #music #romance #prompts #otp prompts #book tumblr #writing #writerblr #writing motivation #writing ideas #dialogue prompts #Spotify

[abiiors]

Your lips, my lips // M.H.

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: Singing along to your favourite song in your kitchen and then dancing in your lover’s arms. 

Warnings: None, this is just a lot of sappy, fluffy stuff

Word Count: 600 (a short one)

A/N: I would actually pass away if this happened to me but I hope you enjoy it. This is for @mountingmason​ because I saw them asking for a sober, fluffy Matty and that’s kinda what gave me this idea. 

I would really appreciate feedback and engagement. Also, my requests are open.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0yc6Gst2xkRu0eMLeRMGCX?si=b79cc9523de144c0

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

*****

It was a cosy winter evening and you were just in the kitchen, prepping for dinner. Matty must have been somewhere in the house but this was your “me time”; this was when you put on your nice, relaxing playlist, got yourself a glass of whatever you felt like and swayed along to the music in your warm kitchen. 

The last of the notes of Body Paint petered out into nothing, leaving you with just the crackling of the fire. But then the familiar notes of the next song began. You smiled to yourself as the music picked up. You absolutely loved singing along to Apocalypse, swaying to the synth and chopping up parsnips. You laughed at the domesticity of the picture.

‘Got the music in you, baby / Tell me why’ you sang softly, ‘Got the music in you, baby / Tell me why’

And then there were fingers on your waist, warm and gentle. You were enveloped by Matty’s cologne and aftershave; a scent that was so unmistakably him. You breathed him in, humming softly. 

‘Hello, you…are you going to finally help me with dinner?’ you teased him.

Matty placed a lingering kiss behind your earlobe and then turned you around to look at him. Your heart melted at the sight. He looked so soft in the yellow glow of the kitchen, all cosy in his big jumper. 

‘Keep singing, please keep singing,’ he whispered. There might even be something like awe in his voice. And of course, out of the two of you, he was the singer but here in this kitchen, in his arms, you were ready to give him just about anything. So you kept singing.

‘Kisses on the foreheads of the lovers / Wrapped in your arms’ he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead making you giggle a little.

‘You've been hiding them in hollowed out pianos / Left in the dark’ 

He joined in on the humming, making sure his voice was never louder than yours. It was your show after all and he just felt lucky to be your favourite audience. 

You tried to wiggle your way out of his grip, turning around to go back to the food.

‘Absolutely not,’ he breathed, somehow pulling you closer than before. 

You laughed at his antics, ‘so what are we going to eat then? Don’t tell me you want to try your hand at cooking today,’ you teased. 

‘I don’t need food, I just need you,’ he sighed into your hair, ‘dance with me, my love.’

And how could you not absolutely melt into his touch? The two of you stayed like that,  arms around each other, your face nestled in the crook of his neck and his head on top of yours.

‘You've been locked in here forever / And you just can't say goodbye’ he started singing again, encouraging you to join him as you slowly stepped from one foot to the other; perfectly in sync. 

Is this what it feels like to be perfectly, incandescently happy, you thought to yourself. The food could wait, hell the rest of the world could wait. What really mattered was here and now, being held in Matty’s arms as he sang to you with his magical voice. 

You tilted your face up to look at him and found him already gazing at you with eyes full of love and adoration. 

‘Kiss me,’ you whispered. He didn’t need to be told twice.

It was slow and gentle, just like the song, just like your waltz. You could stay like this forever, locked in this one moment stretched to infinity. And just like that, the parsnips lay forgotten on the countertop. 

*****

A/N 2: This is my first time putting song lyrics in a one-shot so pls let me know if it works <3

#matty healy x reader #matthew healy x reader #the 1975 #matty healy #matthew healy #fluff #one shot #matty healy fluff #y/n #apocalypse #cigarettes after sex #dancing in the kitchen

[throatofdelusionincarnate]

Honeybee

Horror! Sans x Reader Oneshot

Here’s a little self indulgent crap from me to you because I cannot get my mind off of Horror Sans lately :)

Might be posted to AO3 later under the same username throatofdelusionincarnate

Word Count - 2,478

—

The soft grumble of thunder draws you from your sleep. You turn, glancing at the clock on the bedside table and blink a few times. Six thirty. On a Saturday. You rub your eyes and sigh. Soft rain patters against the window of your apartment and beside you Sans slumbers on.

You watch his large chest rise and fall for a moment. When you first got together, you thought it was a choice he consciously made. Something to make him seem more human. Though, after months together, you had realized it was just something he did. Perhaps it serves a purpose, pumping magic through his body as yours does blood. Or maybe it’s just a subconscious habit that he’s picked up. Either way, his large breaths comfort you.

Gently, you place a hand on his skull, just directly under the large wound that decorates the top of his head, and stroke his cheek with your thumb.

You won’t be able to go back to sleep, not with the growing thunderstorm outside. Still, there’s no reason to wake him up. You know how difficult it is for him to sleep, and you’d prefer that he gets the rest he needs. You can entertain yourself for a couple of hours.

You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on his brow bone. He stirs for a moment, then returns to his rest, a stifled snore escaping. A small laugh leaves you and after one final peck on his nasal cavity you swing your legs over the bed.

The apartment is cold, per usual, and goosebumps climb up your legs before spreading to your arms, then tips of your fingers. You shuffle towards the closet, each step feeling like ice beneath your feet.

You disappear inside the small walk-in, shutting the door before turning on the light. The sudden brightness causes you to squint, and for a moment you only stand there, adjusting to the feeling of being awake.

Once you can finally see, you rummage through your clothing for pants and some socks. You slip on a pair of very loved sweatpants, tying them at the waist so they don’t fall down. Then, you perform your best balancing act as you put on your socks. Regrettably, you roll the sweatpants over them, hiding the bacon decal and the phrase “make today sizzle!”

After your legs and feet are successfully bundled up, you turn to Sans’s stash of clothing and grab out a comically large grey sweatshirt with red lettering that says “BAD TO THE BONE” on it. You slip it over your pj shirt, allowing the hem to hang just above your knees. You swim through the sleeves for a moment before your hands emerge and you can push the cuffs to sit at your wrist.

You shut off the closet light then stumble out of the dark bedroom as Sans continues to softly snore.

The world is quiet save for the interspersed roll of thunder. So long as you’re up, you might as well make some breakfast. By the time you finish Sans will most likely be awake. His rest comes in short bursts.

If you remember correctly he crawled into bed at two last night. Four hours is longer than he normally sleeps, but the rain does tend to make him more tired than usual.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and click on the music app and press shuffle. A soft song radiates from the speaker and you leave the phone propped up on the counter to play as you cook.

Slowly, you collect your ingredients, settling for pancakes and bacon. You hum along to the song, whisking pancake mix together with milk, extra vanilla, and a dash of orange juice.

The rain grows heavier outside, pounding against the kitchen window. The occasional streak of lighting brightens the room before thunder overtakes it.

You pry open the package of bacon and set a few slices in the pan, watching them curl and sizzle against the heat.

Thunder booms and you jump as a large set of arms are folded around your waist.

“m’ sorry. didn't mean to scare you.” You settle into the grip, looking up to see Sans standing over you.

A small laugh spills from you. “The thunder startled me, though I still can’t get over how quiet you walk.” He leans his head down and you press a quick kiss to his teeth. “Did I wake you?”

He straightens back up and shakes his head. “nah, storm got loud. slept for too long anyways.”

Gently, the two of you begin to sway. He rests his skull on top of your head. You pull an arm free to grab a fork then flip the bacon over to let the other side darken. “Ah yes, because five hours is such a crazy amount of time to sleep.”

Sans just hums in response. The two of you will probably end up on the couch today, so you’re almost certain that Sans will get another couple hours of sleep. You might sneak in a little nap yourself. The rain is definitely making you drowsy despite just having woken up.

“Chocolate chips in your pancakes?” You ask, pulling out the bacon and setting it on a paper towel-lined plate.

“you know me so well,” he rumbles above you.

“I should hope so,” you grab a small measuring cup and dip it into the batter, then pour it onto the pan to cool. “We’ve been dating for almost a year now. I’d be a poor partner if I didn’t know how you liked your pancakes,” You pour more batter into the pan.

“You’re gonna have to let me go if you want chocolate chips.”

“or we could awkwardly shuffle over to the cabinet together.” Sans offers.

You roll your eyes and tap on his arm, “C’mon big guy, let go.”

A small gasp escapes you as you're lifted off your feet. Sans cradles you, a large grin on his face. “hmm… don’t think I will.”

You squirm a bit in his grasp, giving him a playful glare. “Sans the pancakes are going to burn.”

“i like mine a little crispy anyways.” He says.

“Well i don't!”

He shrugs, red eyes tracing over your features. “i ‘spose i can be persuaded… if ya got something good to offer in exchange for your freedom.”

“How about a not-charred breakfast?” You answer.

“tempting, but i might need a bit more. inflation is crazy right now.”

You sputter under his gaze. “You’re unbelievable!”

Though despite your protests, you stretch upwards, pressing your lips to his teeth. Sans returns the gesture, melting into you before pulling away. “There, now can I flip the pancakes?”

“m’ afraid you forgot tax.”

“Oh my god,” you deadpan. “How do you stay open with these business practices?” This time, you reach your hands up and pull his skull to you. Your nose presses against his cheek and you nuzzle him.

“what can i say,” Sans beams, red eye blown out and a light blush on his face. “my customers are very loyal.”

Finally he sets you down, though one hand still holds yours. “No accounting for taste,” you say, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before letting go.

Sans lingers, turning to lean against the counter as you grab chocolate chips. You scurry back to the pan and open up the bag before sprinkling the chocolate all over the pancakes. Then, you grab a spatula and flip them.

The tops are a very dark brown, verging on black. “These are yours,” you declare, nudging Sans with your hip.

He shrugs, “m’ not picky.”

You smile, “Yea I know. You’re my big cuddly garbage disposal.”

“who else is gonna eat the tomatoes off your burgs?” Sans’s hand sneaks forward, slipping into the bag of chocolate chips. He pulls out a small handful and tosses them into his mouth.

Playfully, you swat at him. “We’re not gonna have enough for the pancakes if you eat all of them.”

He ignores you, and grabs a single chip out. Sans makes eye contact with you, and you silently return it, daring him to. He does. With a self-satisfied grin he pops it into his mouth.

“You little shit!” You exclaim, snatching the bag up and setting it on the opposite side of you, away from his reach.

“awhhh c’mon hun,” he attempts to reach over you but you place your full weight against him to keep him back. You know he can easily move you if he wants to, but this is just play. Plus, he enjoys letting you win. “it’s just a few chocolate chips, i ain’t hurtin’ anyone.”

“I would like some in my pancakes,” you huff. “Once I’m done with them you can have as many as you wang.” You let up on the pressure and grab the spatula, putting the two slightly burnt pancakes on a plate. Gently, you push it into Sans’s hands. “Go butter these, hm?”

He sighs, “making me do manual labor this early in the morning? butter be grateful you’re cute.”

You snort, “Awh, you’re making me melt.”

“heh, good one. this is why you’re my butter half.”

Sans moves past you, plate in hand. As he crosses, you can see a skeletal hand try to reach into the bag. You gasp, and slam your hand down on the opening just before Sans can steal anymore chocolate.

“my genius plan, thwarted.”

“Butter luck next time,” you grin, hand still over the bag.

He chuckles, “you might’ve won for now, but I’m gonna get that chocolate eventually.”

He walks to the table, stopping quickly to grab a knife from the silverware drawer, then sets to work on doctoring up his pancakes.

With him gone you whip up a couple more batches, saving a generous handful of chocolate chips for Sans. The lull of rain and music settles you after your playful banter and you find yourself lightly humming along as you gather various accouterments for your meal.

You set the plate of pancakes in front of Sans and he gets to work on buttering those while you travel back and forth from the kitchen. You bring out the bacon, whip cream, syrup, and then two glasses with a couple juice options.

Finally, you settle in your seat across from Sans. He offers you the plate of pancakes first, knowing that you’ll take whatever you want and then he can have the rest.

You take two of the six and stack them on your plate before handing it back to Sans. Then you grab a couple of slices of bacon before sliding that over too. He eyes food and grabs the syrup, dousing his plate with it.

“Oh!” You exclaim, standing up. He lifts his gaze curiously as you dart back into the kitchen, grabbing the remaining chocolate chips. You set the bag in front of him. “For you!”

Sans smiles, pouring out a couple, “thanks hun.” He reaches across the table and gingerly arranges them in a small smiley on your pancakes.

You grin down at the happy looking face, “I hate to destroy such a cute gesture.”

“here lemme help,” Sans plucks one of the eyes off and eats it.

“Hey!” You protest playfully, reaching over to nab one of his chocolate chips. “There. We’re even.”

“‘spose we are,” He beams. “eat your food before it gets cold.”

You don’t have to be told twice. The two of you tuck into breakfast, a comfortable silence overtaking the room as you both enjoy the meal before you.

The constant rumble of thunder keeps you company as you finish up. Sans stands first, having finished his large plate of food, and grabs the serving dishes to take them to the sink. You stay behind, a bit slower at eating, and finish your food. Once done, you stand and bring your dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“you can just leave ‘em in the sink.’ He offers.

You nod, setting the dishes in the sink, then reach around to grab the washcloth. Gently, you nudge him to the side so you can wet the fabric down. You squeeze out any excess water and move back out of Sans’s way.

Quickly, you start the music back up and begin to wipe down the counters. A smooth voice comes out of the speakers as “Honeybee” by The Steam Powered Giraffes begins to play.

As you clean off the counters, removing any specks of flour and grease, you sing along. Behind you, Sans also begins to hum. You smile to yourself, enjoying the rasp of his deep baritone.

Everything is a peaceful, perfectly curated mix of noises that comforts you.

The sink shuts off and the clatter of dishes stops. Large arms squeeze your waist then spin you around to face them.

You look up at Sans, washcloth still in hand, and arch a brow. He removes the cloth from your grasp and replaces it with his hand, his smooth bony fingers enveloping yours.

His other hand stays at your waist and the two of you begin to sway. You get the hint and place your free hand on his chest, not quite tall enough to comfortably reach his shoulder.

Sans’s wide eye doesn’t leave you, and his usual expression melts into something akin to fondness.

“You didn’t have to smile at me, your grin’s the sweetest that I’ve ever seen. But you did. Yes, you did.” You sing softly as the two of you hold each other.

He brings your hand up to his teeth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You practically become a puddle. Your head rests on his chest, cheek pressing firmly into his shirt. His smell envelops you. It’s chalky and tinged with blood, but you don’t mind.

The two of you had made peace with his gory past long ago. Survival isn’t pretty, but in the face of starvation one does what must be done. Now, all you can do is keep him full and offer comfort and affection when he has a difficult day.

“you didn’t have to offer your hand. ‘cause since i’ve kissed it, i’m at your command. but you did.”

The world around you seems to disappear, and you cling to him, savoring the rumble that reverberates through his soul when he sings.

“set me free, my honeybee.”

As the storm rages outside, you and Sans remain. You know that neither of your lives have been perfect. His, less so than most. But in this moment, you’re grateful for everything that brought you together. You’re grateful for burnt pancakes and stolen chocolate chips; for thunderstorms and way too early mornings. You’re grateful that you get to call Sans yours.

Hello goodbye, I’m rather crazy, and I never thought I was crazy.

But what do I know?

I let myself go.

#horror sans #horrortale #horror sans x reader #horror sans x reader oneshot #sans x reader #sans undertale #undertale #reader insert #horror!sans #horror!sans x reader #fluff #dancing in the kitchen #I love that big man with all my heart #easily one of the sans ever #ehehheheheh baby boy #mwah ! #my writing #oneshot

[whereifindsanity]

#b&w #romantic #dancing in the kitchen

[brianshood]

brian thomas is a listen to the beach boys and go on road trips kinda guy

#not beach boys but he loooves doo wah diddy by manfred man and WILL scream it #and sherry #bouncing and dancing in his seat in the car or a restaurant etc #tapping his hands on things to a song or while idling #dancing in the kitchen #target and walmart shenanigans kinda guy #always directly or indirectly inviting others into conversations and activities #pre mh brian has so much wiggle room #excuse my rambling hcs #brians stuff #mh #marble hornets #brian thomas

[insomniac1994]

Let’s Begin! @weylerweek2023 Day 1: Dancing in the Kitchen

Tyler's life had continued after Crackstone's defeat, a new sense of normal returned. As he battles with his mental health, he is lacking two things in his life; happiness & Wednesday. Until now.

#weylerweek2023 #wednesday #Wednesday Addams #wednesday and tyler #Dancing in the Kitchen #weyler #wyler

[nagisadelune]

Headcanon: Dancing in the Kitchen with Artem

(Definitely not edited)

I didn't create Artem as a character; Hoyo did.

Now, I'm a huge fan of Artem from Tears of Themis (fight me lol). So I figured that I would write a short headcanon I have about him, but this time it'll be in a closer-to-proper writing style. (Post writing: this was definitely not short lol)

If you didn't know, this man is the closest thing I have seen to a malewife: knows how to cook, always takes care of you whenever you're sick, makes sure you are safe. If you can imagine someone taking care of you somehow, he's probably the person to do those things. However, if you play the game, this is basically common knowledge.

For the timeline, imagine that this is after you/Rosa and Artem already got married, and you guys now live together in Artem's current home in game. (Weddings are expensive which makes you broke, okay? We'll get that nice mansion later lol)

⭐⭐⭐

You've already changed into your comfortable clothes for the night after getting back home from work. Today was rough: all the paperwork and investigations really took it out of you. Because of this and the upcoming weekend, you and Artem decided to have an at-home movie date: just you and your man in your pajamas cuddling while watching a movie.

While waiting for Artem to finish changing, you went to the kitchen to collect some snacks for your date. Considering how dark it is in the room, you only turn on the stove light and play some music from your phone for the vibes. It's a Friday, and you need to relieve some stress. What better way to do that than with some music and some good food?

Dancing around in the kitchen and picking out snacks, you fail to notice Artem watching you from the doorframe. It's only when you look for a bowl in one of the cabinets that you finally see him intently watching you while leaning against the doorframe. You freeze mid-motion, one hand reaching for the cabinet and the other holding a bar of dark chocolate. He also seems to freeze when you realizes that you just caught him staring at you.

With an awkward cough to clear your throat, you asked an a small voice, "You just finished?" Hopefully, your question was enough to break the tension and calm the heat rising to your cheeks. With a soft smile and chuckle, he nods and starts approaching you. Your heart begins to race, and you can feel the rapid beat in your throat. Once he's right in front of you, his hand lands on the corner of the counter, and he leans a little on it while he admires your face. "W-What is it?" you manage to stutter out as his hand brushes a stray strand behind your ear.

"You know you're beautiful and really cute, right?" Artem whispers so quietly even you can barely hear him. Because of his comment, you can't make any eye contact with him, and you know for a fact that your cheeks are red. You hear him chuckle again before he leans away from you and grabs your phone from the counter. Your eyes follow his figure as you watch him swipe and type on your phone screen. Trying to see what he is trying to do, you put the chocolate bar down and stand by his side.

"Romantic music playlist?" you read confused before looking up at him. Although his back is towards the light, you can tell his lips are curved slightly upwards. He clicks on a song before placing your phone down again.

"I'm not really feeling a movie tonight," he starts softly, "so maybe we can try something different." Still confused, he reaches over to the stove to turn off the light, and the two of you are left with only moonlight to see anything. The soft notes from your phone starts playing, and you recognize the song; it's the song from your first dance with him. He turns towards you before offering his hand to you. "May I have this dance?" he asks softly as the moonlight highlights the details of his hands. You giggle knowing that he is probably really embarrassed to be suggesting this.

Playing along with a curtsy, you respond, "You may." You place your hand in his, and the warmth in his hands warms you up from the inside. His other hand gently wraps around your waist while your other hand reaches to his shoulder. Despite the darkness of the room, you see his eyes on you which you return. Following the beat of the music, your feet are in sync as he guides you to glide across the hardwood floor of the kitchen. His hand raises up to make you twirl before catching your waist again.

With the song coming to the end, his arms wraps around your waist, and you lean into his body. His familiar scent fills your nose as you gently sway to the beat with him. You can feel the tension in your body slowly melt away while his hand gently holds you against him. With a hand patting your hand softly, you can't help but to close your eyes and enjoy the feeling.

"Does this remind you of our wedding?" Artem asks carefully as his fingers runs through your hair. You nod against his chest and start listening to his heartbeat. Both of your heartbeats seem to sync up, and you release a breath, feeling a weight coming off of your chest. Even without looking at him, you know that his face has the smile he only reserves for you, the soft one which conveys how much he really cherished you. Artem carefully peels you away from his body to have a good look at your face before his hands cups your cheeks. He places a tender kiss on your forehead, and you just feel yourself melting. "I love you," he mutters just loud enough for me to hear.

"I love you too, Artem."

⭐⭐⭐

I hope you liked this! This is the first time that I've written a long headcanon like this, so it might be a little rough around the edges. Hopefully, this put a little smile on your face. See you in the next one!

#tears of themis #artem wing #tot artem #tears of themis x reader #zuo ran #tears of themis artem #tears of themis x you #tears of themis x y/n #headcanon #tears of themis headcanons #dancing in the kitchen #dancing in the dark #tot zuo ran

[ohgodmyeyes]

the lonesomeness is crushing, but that's not enough to make you worth curing it

lord vader and the captain are overdue for a dance:)

#my babies #i have some stuff i want to answer #etc #dancing in the kitchen #see you soon?

[pinkberrybff]

love is stored in the kitchen

Artist, Puuung / Sunflower, Harry Styles / Gaspard and Lisa / All Too Well, Taylor Swift / Reddit u/rustylustyld / Sweet Nothing, Taylor Swift

#kitchens #cottagecore #web weaving #compilation #dancing in the kitchen #love #musings #heart of the home #poetry #taylor swift #harry styles #gaspard and lisa #rustylusty #kitchencore #dylan #puuung

[cpahlow]

Had to share this @WeHeartIt

#couple #dance #dancing in the kitchen

[pen-and-prose-nw]

#poetry #poems and quotes #poemsociety #words words words #poem #poemsofinstagram #poem of the day #romance #valentines day #letters #letters to a stranger #mine #my poetry #my piece #resolutions #midnights #dancing in the kitchen #happy ever after #in the stars

[olskuvallanpoe]

from january, before i knew what would come of us

#original writing #writing #dancing #childhood #elsie is in love with rat #old writing #my love #dancing in the kitchen

[serendipitouswasteland]

Two-Stepping Into You

ship: buddie pov: third person (see author's note) written: April 3, 2023 first published: April 19, 2023 word count: 2,792 - summary: Eddie loves dancing, especially in the kitchen while cooking one of the few foods he knows how. Buck likes watching him, never having been one for the activity himself. Buck makes a comment. Eddie asks him to join. Things go from there. - A/N: Okay, so this was originally supposed to be from Buck's POV, but somewhere in it I accidentally switched to Eddie's, so we're just going to go with it, because it flows perfectly well, and I'm not really sure how I would even go about changing it. <3

Buck sits with his head resting in his palm, elbow propped up on the countertop as he sits at the island in Eddie’s kitchen. There’s some rock music playing faintly, low enough so they can still hear what’s going on in the living room with Eddie’s extended family, but loud enough to tune them out if either of them so chooses. It’s loud enough that Eddie is hopping around, shaking his head, and humming along to each of the songs. Buck smiles as he watches Eddie, spatula in his hand. Buck’s part, for now, was on hold, so he figured he’d let Eddie try out what Buck had taught him recently, leading to their current positions.

“You’re cute when you dance, you know,” Buck says mindlessly, and he swears he can hear Eddie smile.

“I’m much better with a partner,” Eddie says, waiting for a moment before turning to the side, able to look at his current task and Buck at the same time. “Care to join me?”

“I’m no good at dancing, Eds,” Buck says, tapping his fingers on the counter now.

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” Eddie says, and with how happy and excited Eddie looks in this moment, Buck simply can’t say no.

“Fine, but if I step on your feet you’re not allowed to do any complaining,” Buck says, standing up and going to the side of the island that Eddie’s on, Eddie immediately setting the spatula down and hanging his arms around Buck’s shoulders.

“That bad?” Eddie asks, Buck’s hand coming to rest on Eddie’s hips, the two beginning to sway to the music.

“Well, my prom date never complained, but she did fall into the concession stand during her favorite song that night.”

“You’re kidding,” Eddie says, but Buck shakes his head. “We are going to have to do something about that.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what? Are you gonna take me to the rodeo and teach me how to line dance?” Buck teases, and Eddie grins, their faces coming closer.

“That’s actually not a bad idea. Getting you all dressed up in cowboy gear: a nice button down, some bell bottoms or boot cuts, steel-toed cowboy boots and a matching hat…”

“Are you saying I’d make a handsome cowboy, Diaz?” Buck asks, his and Eddie’s foreheads now leaned against each other.

“So what if I am?” Eddie responds, nudging his face forward, lips almost brushing Buck’s.

“I, uh…” Buck swallows, mouth gone dry. There were some things that Eddie and Buck had never done, some lines they had never crossed. This was one of them. Sure, they would flirt, but it was always subtle, always leaving the question of whether that’s what it was or not. Now, this was blatant, open and honest flirting. Their lips, though, being as close as they are, is the big one in the current moment.

Eddie leans even closer, lips brushing Buck’s as he speaks. “I think we ought to keep dancing.”

Eddie takes one of Buck’s hands off his hips, swinging him out before twirling him back in again, Buck’s back flush against Eddie’s chest, trapped in Eddie’s arms. Buck laughs, spinning himself out before gliding back over to Eddie, one hand on Eddie’s waist and the other clasped in Eddie’s own, the two falling into a simple two-step. They stay by the stove, allowing either one of them to mess with the food if need be, but really, there’s not much that they have to do. Eventually, Eddie reaches a hand over and turns off the stove, using the same hand to dump the chicken he’d been cooking into a salad bowl nearby, letting it go after and bringing his hand back to Buck.

“Look at you, a multitasker,” Buck says, and Eddie laughs, big and loud, throwing his hand against Buck’s chest.

“Aye, cariño,” Eddie says, Buck’s face lights up as he looks at Eddie with what could only be described as heart eyes. “Do you know what that means?”

“No idea,” Buck responds, spinning Eddie around before their hands come back together.

“It’s a term of endearment, sort of like a pet name. I guess it’s most similar to ‘honey’ or ‘dear’, but…I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

“So is that what I am to you?” Buck asks, a question that normally isn’t said in such a soft, caring tone. “Your cariño?”

Eddie nods, a sweet smile appearing on his face. He’d deal with the consequences and implications that come with that later. “Eres mi cariño.”

“Say that again?” Buck asks, and Eddie smiles, being pulled close to Buck, their movements slowing long enough for Buck to lean down so his ear is in line with Eddie’s lips, hearing the words whispered in his ear before they’re right back to dancing again.

They sway for a while, only parting when the oven timer goes off for Buck to take the pizzas, pasta bake, and breadsticks out of the oven, followed by Eddie putting some tamales in the oven, per his father’s request on account of ‘pasta isn’t good food’. Neither told him they’d be having tres leches and sopaipillas for dessert. Instead, they made the tamales, avoiding any potential arguments. They call everyone for dinner, Eddie telling his father that the tamales would be done shortly, offering him a breadstick and some salad for while he waits, only for him to ask where the chips and salsa are.

“You know, Eds, you don’t have to bend over backwards to appease him,” Buck says when he’s in the kitchen making some chocolate while Eddie is grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry and starting to work on homemade salsa and guacamole, something that shouldn’t take him very long.

“I’d rather avoid arguments as much as possible. Besides, I anticipated this, and I prepared. I just wish I had made up all of his potential food requests before he got here.

“You could have asked for my help.”

“Well you were out with Chris, and I didn’t want to interrupt that time with him. It wouldn't be fair to you or him.”

“Eddie, Chris would love to cook with us. I guarantee it. Remember when I first made chocolate with him? He had a blast. There was that night we made our own ice cream while we watched a movie, too. That one was really exciting.”

“Next time I’ll consider it. Taste test?” Eddie asks, holding him a spoonful of salsa, which Buck gladly lets Eddie feed to him.

“Very zesty,” Buck says, and Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “It’s good. Uh, are you almost done with your guac?”

“Buck, I haven’t even started.”

“Sorry. I really like your guacamole.”

“Oh, I know,” Eddie says, cutting up some more tomatoes before throwing them and the insides of a couple of avocados into the blender, some other things going along with. When that’s done, he passes Buck his own plate with chips and guac, smiling at him as he brings the rest of it out to the backyard and the table he has set up out there. He’s greeted by his mother, but she seems almost uneasy.

“Mom? You okay?”

“Pepa says you and Evan are really close.”

“His name is Buck.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Mom—!”

“No, Eddie, I’m serious,” Helena says, and Eddie swallows, grabbing a beer out of the cooler nearby and sitting down.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Eddie says, cracking open the beer and taking a sip. “Although sometimes I wish he was.”

“So,” Helena says, pulling a chair over and sitting next to him, “does this mean you’re gay?”

“Yup,” Eddie says, taking another swig, his mother’s hand coming to rest on his wrist. He'd come to terms with his sexuality a while ago, but everything with Buck fell to a comfortable, domestic standstill after that, and he didn't want to ruin it.

“I’m not mad, Eddie. I’m not upset at all,” she says, as if she knows what’s going through his head. A mother knows. “I just wish you had felt like you could tell me before I figured it out for myself.”

“You never suspected?”

“Oh, no, I suspected,” she says, pulling her hand away. “I have suspected since you were in your later years of elementary school. There was that friend that you had that you would talk about all the time. Ramon never believed me when I said I thought you might have a crush. It’s not surprising, but I think that was just him…projecting.”

“Projecting what?”

“Outdated views and beliefs that he’d grown up with onto you– which he doesn't believe anymore, by the way."

“Well, if his goal was to mold me into a model man, then he’s succeeded. I had the wife, I have the kid, I did my civic duty and joined the military, then when I finished my second tour I became a firefighter. That is about as model man as you can get. The best part is that he hasn’t been around for most of it.”

“Eddie—”

“No, Mom, I’m not– I’m not bitter. I’m just stating a simple fact. He wasn’t around for most of it. He still isn’t, really. Not as much as I might like him to be,” Eddie says, looking over at his mom finally. “So if he was projecting, then I think me not telling you sounds pretty damn right, and is pretty fucking warranted.”

“Edmundo, your language.”

“What? We’re both adults. I can cuss if I damn want to.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Helena says, and Eddie laughs a little.

“If you think that’s ridiculous, you should’ve seen me dancing with Buck a while ago. I was actively trying to kiss him while avoiding kissing him altogether.”

“Oh, I saw,” Helena says, and Eddie looks at her once again.

Eddie is about to prod her about it, but he’s not given the chance when Buck comes bounding out of the house a moment later, leaving a single pat on Eddie’s shoulder as he walks by. Eddie follows Buck with his eyes, watching as he makes his way over to where Christopher is playing catch with some of his cousins. Buck joins in, intercepting the ball every now and then, making all of the kids laugh. Eddie laughs along with them, enjoying seeing his two boys having fun. The whole time his mother’s hand is on his wrist, rubbing soothing circles. There were some things that Eddie would need to talk with Buck about soon (for starters, their almost daily near kiss occurrences).

“Thank you,” Eddie says to Buck later after they’ve cleared everyone out of the house and have finished cleaning up and putting Christopher to bed, the two sitting on Eddie’s couch together. “I don’t know if I would’ve survived today without your help.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who had all the things your father wanted at the ready.”

“Well, you somehow won him over with your chocolate cake. He didn’t even touch the tres leches,” Eddie says, and Buck smiles, leaning his head against the back of the couch. “It was beautiful and delicious.”

“You think so?” Buck asks, sitting up again.

“Well, it came from you, so…”

“Are you saying I’m beautiful and delicious?” Buck asks, his eyes closing and his face scrunching the moment the words come out of his mouth. “Sorry, that was– gosh, I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“No. No, it’s fine. I mean, I know the answer to at least one of those,” Eddie responds, making Buck perk up even more.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

“Is that so?” Buck asks, he and Eddie getting closer with every word spoken between the two of them.

“It is. Well, second to Chris, but," Eddie shrugs, eliciting a chuckle from Buck's lips. “It’s too bad, though, that I can’t answer the other half.”

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, grinning as his and Buck’s noses are tip to tip. “Well, maybe something, but I don’t know if you’d be up for it.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Would you rather me tell you or show you?” Eddie asks, and Buck’s grin grows wider.

“I kind of like the sound of the latter,” Buck says, and Eddie’s smile closes, moving so his and Buck’s lips are centimeters apart from touching.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Eddie breathes, his hand coming up to cup Buck’s face, his thumb reaching Buck’s lips just as his grin falters.

“Yes,” Buck says, already breathless, and so Eddie gives him what he wants.

Closing the gap between them feels like heaven, Buck’s body pushing against Eddie’s and forcing him to be leaning Back against the arm of the couch. The feeling isn’t indescribable, either. Not by a mile.

It feels like hot summer days on the beach, splashing around in the ocean all day long. It feels like the sweat-filled afternoon sat on the sand eating lunch and snack, building sandcastles and attempting to take a nap or suntan. It feels like slightly cooler evenings walking along the shoreline, sea breeze hitting your skin and making you shiver as you hold your lover’s hand.

It feels like autumn flannels resting over your arms and shoulders with your favorite plain colored tank top underneath. It feels like raking leaves into a pile and jumping into them just to rake them all up again. It feels like decorating your house for Halloween and attempting to scare those you’re decorating with just to hear the laughter that follows the initial fright. It feels like clinging to the person you love during a horror movie, even if you’re not really scared, because it’s a reminder that they’ll always be there for you and always protect you. It feels like carving pumpkins and using the remnants to make pumpkin pie. It feels like watching the Macy’s Day parade as you spend all day in the kitchen cooking dinner. It feels like apple cider running down your throat as you sit down to a Thanksgiving feast, the football game on in the background.

It feels like winter’s spent inside wrapped in a blanket while wearing your coziest sweater and fuzziest socks, sitting right up by the fire. It feels like Christmas romances as you and your lover hold hands, already knowing the entire plot of the movie before it even comes on. It feels like catching snowflakes on your tongue during the first snowfall of the season. It feels like snowball fights and making snowmen and snow angels, even as you begin to shiver. It feels like cocoa running down your throat as you warm up from winter weather activities.

It feels like the world thawing as spring rolls around, the grass turning green and the trees regaining their leaves. It feels like rebirth, and life, and the blossoming of something new. It feels like bright colors and big smiles, laughter filling the air. It feels like picnics in the park with chocolate covered strawberries and champagne. It feels like picking wildflowers and bringing them home as a gift. It feels like watching an April shower start to come down and running out into the middle of the street to dance in the pouring rain. It feels like the May flowers blooming in your front yard that you frown at when mowing your lawn, wishing that they could stay.

It feels like time is slipping away. It feels like losing seconds of each passing day, faster than you can keep up with it, even as you run to try and catch it in the palm of your hands. It feels like grabbing at it, wanting more, as you fall into it, not wanting the moment you’re in to end. It feels like getting lost in the moment, laughter and smiles all around, the happiest sounds filling the air as people throw their heads back as they let out full belly chuckles or double over as they enter a coughing fit. It feels like reaching out for each of the people that you’re with, knowing that no moments in life are quite like it, and that it’s something you need to cherish. It feels like all of that, eliciting the highest level of serotonin possible in a single instance without causing either of them into serotonin syndrome.

It feels like life itself, everything falling into place in one singular moment.

“Buck,” Eddie mumbles, and Buck pulls away, listening for what it is that Eddie has to say. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

“What?”

“Just stay here,” Eddie says. “I don’t care where you sleep. You can sleep here on the couch or in my bed with me. I really don’t care. I just want you to stay.”

“Eddie—” Buck cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

#buddie #evan buckley/eddie diaz #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #eddie diaz #getting together #dancing #dancing in the kitchen #pre relationship #fluff #romantic fluff #first kiss #helena diaz

[yomarius]

HBD Harry

Nothing better than dancing with your soulmate in the kitchen after a cozy evening.

A little bit late but in my country is still Harry's birthday (by a few minutes) so I'll post it anyways.

I had this wip for so long and I was finally able to finish it. I really like how it turn out :)

Anyways, I hope you like it and here are the boys dancing without the background and the original bg drawing.

#drarryfanart #harry potter #happy birthday Harry #hbd harry potter #draco malfoy #hp fanart #harry x draco #dancing in the kitchen #draco fanart #myart

[pocket-poly]

24 hrs!

I got 24 solid hours of uninterrupted alone time with redgrasshopper.

I got dressed up, and wore a dress for the 1st time around him. We went to lunch when he got off work. He loved seeing everyone in the Taqueria staring at us. A lil lady walked up and asked him if I was his woman and of id like to buy a balloon flower. We both chuckled.

We had my whole house to ourselves as hubby and my son went on a guy's camping trip. We danced in the kitchen. We asked deep questions that involved vulnerability and acknowledging growth or goals. Even what our lives might look like if we had not met and be in eachothers lives.

We got dinner and ice cream later in the eveing and spent the night together.

We watched the 1st ant man movie because our first movie date was 2nd ant man movie in theaters.

Oh, the amount of kisses my whole body has received, baffling to me. I don't think there is an inch of this plus-sized body this man has not physically loved on.

I made coffee and waffles for us this morning and I'm simply over the moon.

The deep conversation, laughter, oh so much laughter, sex that blows my mind and more laughter.

Our first night together was beyond anything I could have planned.

#polyamory #polyamorous #polyamourous #dating #boyfriend #polyam #poly life #redgrasshopper #healthy after trauma #sleepover #cuddling & snuggling #dancing in the kitchen