always dreaming

From your spot lying down on the couch, you could see the heat haze outside. The weather was humid and oppressive in its heat, making it perfect for staying indoors in a temperature controlled home. Not to mention the inclusion of your personal air conditioner, currently resting on top of you, nestled into your chest.

It was a rare day off for the two of you, and you'd both come to the conclusion that neither of you were all that willing to bear the soupy heat of the outdoors.

It'd taken some time in your relationship for you to convince Zayne to rest his body weight on top of you in such a way, and that you genuinely enjoyed it. And you did, truly. It was like being under the most comforting, good-looking, and nicely smelling weighted blanket. He'd been worried about crushing you under his weight, though that's exactly what you wanted. What'd made him finally give in to you was your very casual mentioning of the fact that he'd obviously be resting his head in between your breasts.

Which led to your current positions, and the encompassing feeling of contentment it brought the both of you.

You had your phone in one of your hands, mindlessly scrolling and occasionally showing a funny video or two to your cozy lover. Your other hand was buried in his hair, running your fingers through the short strands and lightly scratching at his scalp. If anything, the boneless way he was melting into you was a great indicator of his pleasure. You swore if he was cat he'd be purring like a motor engine.

His eyes were largely closed, except for when you called for his attention. You knew him well enough to know that he wasn't sleeping, he was just enjoying spending time glued to you.

Having had enough of social media for the moment, you let your phone drop into the couch cushions and moved that hand to rub his back. He hummed at the motion and nuzzled his nose into your chest, somehow molding even deeper with you.

"You look as snug as a bug in a rug," you spoke softly into his hair.

He hummed in affirmation, "You're a very efficient pillow. Or rug, I suppose."

"Only the best for my bug," you said with a kiss to his scalp.

"Though out of the two of us I'd say you're the bug in the relationship."

"Huh? Why's that?"

"You're very small. Minuscule, even."

"I'm average height, mind you."

"For a bug, indeed."

You lightly tugged at one of his earlobes, "You're ridiculous." He chuckled into your skin, the sensation leaving behind goosebumps.

"Well," you continued, "would you still love me if I turned into a bug?"

He opened his eyes and angled his head to look up at you, the affection in his gaze melting you from inside out. "Why wouldn't I still love you? I can put you in my pocket."

You huffed out a laugh, "Stop being cute, mister. Don't think I don't notice you're actively calling me a bug."

"You are a bug," he says matter-of-factly, "my little lovebug." He grabs ahold of your hand and brings it up to his lips, bestowing a sweet little kiss to the back of it.

"Okay, fine. But only because it sounds cute, you hear me?"

"Yes, lovebug."

Most of all, he was normal.

He smiled politely at people, he never stumbled with his manners, and he always knew what to say and when to say it. There was no inner struggle, no staring down at your scuffed shoes while your fingers shook because you said “thank you” a little too late to the cashier, who probably didn’t mind but now an entire line of people pressing against your back knew just how hopeless you were. And what could you do but choose to drive half a mile away to find another grocery store, so you didn’t have to face them again.

“Do you wish I was different?” Abner quietly asked, staring straight ahead.

“What?” you said, pulling your gaze away from the screen. “No, Abner, what are you talking about?”

Abner swallowed back the bile creeping up his throat but made no effort to look over at you. He could already picture the confused knit of your brows, and downturned lips.

“Do you wish that I…” He closed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Do you wish that I was more normal? That I wasn’t so much of a…freak.”

Abner felt you shift beside him, as you draped the fleece blanket over his lap. The fragrance of your perfume clung to the material, the faint scent quelling the nausea that was building up inside his stomach. He finally gave himself permission to look at you.

“No, I don’t, because then you wouldn’t be Abner,” you said, softly smiling at him. “I wish you didn’t have to go through what you did to become him, but I love you, all the same.”

Abner shuddered, feeling as if his chest might cave in. It was strange, living with something buried underneath you. At times he could feel it poking at him, a relic of the past prodding at his insides as if it were a gentle reminder that he was different. His skin felt too tight sometimes, as if he were on the cusp of bursting.

Abner wished he could peel back the layers of his body and tear out what his mother made. Pull at them until strings of muscle and tissue came apart with it, then he would sew himself back up and finally be able to feel the way the man on the screen felt. He didn’t think a part of him would miss it, even if meant finally letting go of what was left of her. Perhaps he would feel lost for a while, like as if he had misplaced a pair of socks or his wallet. But he could forget, eventually.

⇢ "rafaaa — you've been cooped up in there for ages and i haven't seen you eat a lick of food all day! time for a midday treat, courtesy of your favorite Miss Bodyguard"

⇢ he just barely acknowledges you, his face mere centimeters away from his canvas as he uses the thinnest brush in the world to make the tiniest strokes on the portrait he was working away on. "i beg to differ," he replies, not looking away. "i would argue i'm eating right now. this might be the best not-you portrait i've ever done. i can't stop now, i'm in the groove — ok, cutie?"

⇢ "uh, not ok. i mean it looks amazing as usual, but you can't survive off of oil paint fumes and spite." you step forward, opening the container and stealing a cookie to shove in your mouth

⇢ "umm, that's what i've been doing, like, my whole life. hasn't killed me yet!"

⇢ "i'll kill you if you don't come down from that ladder and come eat some sugar cookies with me"

⇢ he lets out an exaggerated, long-winded groan, lolling his head back dramatically as if you'd asked him to make friends with yet another stray cat you found outside. his lithe limbs make their descent from his perch and he lands gracefully, wiping his hands on his shirt. he pauses, and looks down. paint stains. he shrugs and moves towards you

⇢ "sugar cookies, you say …?" he leans from side to side with his hands behind him, eyeing them suspiciously. "never had 'em. they're good?"

⇢ "they're the best. to me. others might fight me on that"

⇢ " … hmph. feed me."

⇢ "oh rafayel, now what —"

⇢ "i am, quite literally, a starving artist after all. i'm feeling … w-weak. i can barely move my arms! look —" he shrugs his right shoulder, his right arm remains limp and flails like a wet noodle. "i caaan't, miss bodyguard. pleeease, you have to help meee"

⇢ you stare at him. he is so much sometimes. nonetheless, you oblige like the excellent fishkeeper you are. he leans down, hands planted on his bent knees, eyes glimmering and focused on you with his mouth ajar. you break off a piece and slide it into his mouth

⇢ he cannot fathom the experience that is happening in his mouth right now. it's like an explosion of colors and textures that he didn't know could happen at the same time. he makes note that it kind of has a ... kinetic sand feel to it? even better. he loves sand.

⇢ he very politely pulls your fingers one by one off of the cookie and slides it out of your possession and into his. "i can absolutely taste every single granule of sugar in this, but i like it! it's like being able to see each intentional stroke of thick paint or seeing the pores in the surface of a statue! it has such a strong flavor profile but it's somehow sooo soft and fluffy ... and round. like you"

⇢ you give him a look and flick him on the forehead

⇢ "joking, cutie!" he says, laughing with a bright smile. "yeah ... i could definitely have another one of these. it probably tastes way better, too, since i hadn't eaten all day. thanks for looking out for me, as always, my wonderful miss bodyguard"

⇢ you return the smile, fixing your hand to take another

⇢ he shoves half his cookie into his mouth, the other half unceremoniously protruding from between his lips. he silently removes the case from your hands and walks away with it

━━━ safe to say he enjoys them a lot. you may have competition from now on. or at least you'll have to buy two cases and leave one at home for yourself

━━━━━━━━━୨୧

Sylus ノnot impressed but sure ꒰ suggestive. i don't know what happened it just spoke to me ꒱

━━━ sylus isn't particularly picky and tends to have a bit of a bizarre taste in general but he's not quite sure about these

⇢ you tell him that all of a sudden you have a taste for some of those little sugar cookies you used to have as a kid. he has no idea what you're talking about. you have to explain what they look and taste like, and he looks … mildly intrigued

⇢ he's already ordered a couple of packs, on top of some other treats and drinks he knows you like. no point in just getting one thing, might as well spoil you while he's got the app open

⇢ the order arrives and you can't help but smile as you greedily dig through the paper bags to find the jackpot. the plastic container squeaks and crackles as you pull it out, and you hold it above your head triumphantly. "ta-daaa!"

⇢ "indeed," he hums delightfully, entertained by your genuine excitement over such a small thing ... although, perhaps he can relate, in a way

⇢ you make no hesitations to pop open the crate and bite into one. as soon as it hits your tongue, you involuntarily let out a low moan

⇢ he cocks an eyebrow, ignoring the heat threatening to pool in his abdomen at the pretty noise. also ignoring the pitiful jealousy that was beginning to simmer that a cookie of all things could pull such satisfaction from you, so easily, so openly

⇢ sylus quietly strides over, with an idea lurking in his brain, to where you sat cross-legged on the floor, happily chewing away. "may i try one, kitten?"

⇢ you look up at him. you really want to say no. but you don't. because he bought them and you're at his house and he's looking at you with those eyes

⇢ he kneels down on one knee, carefully considering which cookie looked the best. an almost inaudible scoff puffs from his nose; they're all exactly the same. suppose they would be, they weren't made in someone's granny's kitchen with love, he was certain of that much

⇢ he plucks one out with his fingertips as though he was handling something that would bite him first

⇢ he makes a show of looking you directly in the eye and extends his tongue out, lapping a single stripe up the frosting until a line of it sat neatly in the middle of it. a dark chuckle rumbles in his throat at the way your chewing slows and your pupils dilate in the dimness of his living room

⇢ his tongue curls in and he slowly pushes the edge of his cookie into his mouth. he turns his head, showing off his sharp jawline which he flexes as a low moan escapes him. his eyes flutter closed as he chews with a deliberate slowness, his free hand cupped underneath his chin to catch any fly-away crumbs

⇢ … his eyes shoot open. he frowns. this is not what he was expecting. it's not, like, bad. but it's not, like, orgasmically life-changing

⇢ "well?" you say, your eyes twinkling. "it's really good, right?"

⇢ " … satisfactory. this is certainly an edible foodstuffs"

⇢ you lightly punch his bent knee. "you were making all that fuss just now, i thought i had just put you on to the holiest of grails"

⇢ "not quite, kitten," he replies with a small laugh, ruffling your hair. "i was simply inspired by your … initial enthusiastic response. thought i'd play along with you. they're just fine."

━━━ he finishes them off with you. not in one sitting but over the next several days. he only grabs one when you do. they're quite unhealthy so he only restocks once every month, unprompted

━━━━━━━━━୨୧

Caleb ノNo.

━━━ caleb doesn't remember that you both had these when you were little and that he absolutely hated them back then

⇢ you're at the grocery store with him picking up some things to restock for the house. the both of you "just so happened" to pass the snack aisle while shopping so why not pick a couple of things out? you've both worked oh so incredibly hard this week so …

⇢ "oh pipsqueak! what about these? they're soft-lookin' and cute, like you :)"

⇢ " … caleb," you say with a cocked eyebrow and arms folded, "you hated those when we were kids. like. detested them"

⇢ his eyebrows rise and his eyes widen, tilting his head like a befuddled puppy. "did i now? i don't recall ever havin' these

⇢ "well, i'm all grown up now," he continues, placing the plastic package into the cart, "things change — maybe my taste palette has refined since then and i can finally handle a little sugar cookie." he winks and pushes the cart away

⇢ you get home and crack open the casing, the sugary sweet aroma immediately filling up both your nostrils

⇢ "mmmm-mm!" he hums, rubbing his hands together. "smells pretty good to me. but why don't you go first, babe?"

⇢ you go first. it tastes great. duh. "your turn," you say with a mouthful of doughy goodness

⇢ "why, thank you," you replies with a small curtsey. you roll your eyes, taking another bite

⇢ you watch as he sinks his teeth in. his bright, sunshine-y smile sharply drops like a glass vase to a hardwood floor

⇢ " … hm." he frowns. he turns his back to you, snatching a sheet of paper towel to spit out onto. "okay. that's, uh … just as bad as i am now remembering it"

━━━ he definitely prefers home-baked goods, made by his own two hands, over store-bought, any day. to him, it's like he can just taste the factory that these were mass produced in. you laugh, saying well, i told you! but … the scowl nor the darkness behind his eyes don't quite leave his face as he weakly laughs back. haha. yeah. sure did. my bad. he hopes you don't like these more than the cookies he plans on baking tonight to win back your favor (he never lost it. it's just cookies)

━━━━━━━━━୨୧

Valko ノabsolutely yes

━━━ he'll try anything you give him once; not only because he's hopelessly in love with you but because you've genuinely never given him anything he hated or even remotely disliked

⇢ you sit in his spacious lap, introducing him to the concept of a sugar cookie and how much you enjoyed them when you were just a little kid. "they're a little devicive though — people tend to either really really like 'em, or hate 'em and think they're the most disgusting type of cookie you could ever have"

⇢ "i'll be the judge of that," he declares with a confident smirk. "and i promise to be one-hundred percent honest. i won't glaze it just 'cuz you're givin' it to me"

⇢ "good. you'll be the ultimate tiebreaker for all of human- and wolfkind"

⇢ you both nod firmly, and you peel back the top of the case as if you were exposing him to a treasure chest full of gold (you were)

⇢ you look up when you notice he hasn't taken one. he's looking at you expectantly, mouth open.

⇢ "hmph," you scoff playfully, "puppy want a treat, huh?"

⇢ "sure do, boss," he asserts, wolf ears standing tall as his tail thumps against the floor excitedly. his hands squeeze around your waist in anticipation, waiting for your command

⇢ you tilt your head back ever so slightly and whisper, "kisses"

⇢ surprisingly, his tail goes even harder behind him as his lips crush against yours. you giggle, which provokes him into splattering a million and one kisses all over your face, his hands pressing against your back to keep you steady amongst the onslaught of affection

⇢ you're finally able to catch your breath and say, "ok, ok -- good boy, good boy"

⇢ "now that's what i love to hear!"

⇢ you're a bit light-headed and suddenly aware that he has pulled you much closer to his torso, your legs wrapping around him now, in the midst of the chaos. you break off a piece of the cookie and offer the treat to his open mouth, watching him chew curiously

⇢ ... these were not a part of his childhood, but somehow … somehow, he can just taste the nostalgia invading his tastebuds and the roof of his mouth

⇢ he imagines taking a bunch of these back home and sharing these with his younger pack mates, them scrambling over one another and grabbing at the little treats with their little hands, their claws covered in frosting and sprinkles clinging to their fat cheeks. he would share them with his auntie, his grandma, his cousin and watch their faces light up at him, praising him for bringing back such an amazing bounty

⇢ he imagines telling them that he owes it all to the love of his life who told him where the best place to get stuff like this. they can't help but exchange approving glances and telling him that they're so glad you're his soulmate

⇢ he also imagines that these would taste really really good dunked in some chocolate milk