pieck x fem!reader oneshot??/?:? me thinks
The night is louder than it should’ve been, the stars speak more than they need to. Your house close to the streets filled with dead confetti on the floor waiting to be swept up after the celebration that the ‘honorary marleyans’ came home. You never care much for the warriors whatsoever but every time they come back or get a free break period you often catch yourself being.. watched more or less.
Even so that tonight didn’t feel much different. You just turned 20, you have to focus on inheriting your family’s bakery speaking of which, you forgot to check up on your sourdough ! when will a better time come to check your sourdough.
As you descend from the stairs, into your kitchen you get a whiff of doughs and wheat scents slapped into your face, the way the floors feel slightly more powdered under your feet in this room didn’t go unnoticed. Only then do you look down and see.. footsteps? They weren’t yours, the footsteps were too small to be yours, before you could form a coherent thought a pair of hands strongly grab you from behind around your waist till you’re flushed against a slightly smaller figure, a small voice comes from behind.
“I’ve been waiting for a bit, you know that too, right? But you still didn’t stop me..” a gentle soft spoken yet so sinfully seductive from your shoulder, now a head resting on it.
The long, black, slightly tangled hair draped along your shoulder. The warmth radiated from the head slowly adjusting herself to make eye contact with you. Her eyes were mysterious as obsidian. Her eyes were as unreadable as ever.
"You finally checked the starter," she murmured.
A chill ran through you. You had never told her about the sourdough not even your neighbors have asked or known about it. The woman's gaze drifted toward the bowl resting on the counter that you placed exactly three days ago.
"Three days old, isn't it?" she asked. You froze, hesitantly flicking your gaze towards her before she continues to speak.
"You always leave it near the window when you're busy." The silence that followed felt heavier than any accusation.
You didn’t know how to respond, you didn’t know what to make of it. "How do you know that?" you asked, your voice shook slightly.
The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "I know a lot of things."
She finally released her hold and wandered further into the kitchen as if she belonged there. Her fingers brushed over a sack of flour.
Your eyes could only helplessly follow her figure.
"You never came to the celebrations," she said. "Not once." It wasn't a question. She did know a lot of things.
"And yet," she continued, sparing a glance back at you "you always watch from the bakery window."
Pieck held back a light hearted chuckle. “its hard to miss.” She muttered, almost teasingly.
Your breath hitched. She noticed? She wasn’t supposed to.. “celebrations are intimidating.” You managed to utter.
Pieck slowly nodded, once. “really?”
A pause
“you seem more nervous with me than you do crowds.” Pieck observed, her voice steady but yet it manages to sound flirtatious.
