Work Text:
One thing Ryland knew for sure was that he hated cooking.
Ever since he was a kid, he had burnt every single meal he has ever attempted to make. From boxed macaroni and cheese to toast, if you can name it, he’s tried and failed to make it.
Yes, even oven baked pizzas. That was one you never let go.
But when it came to your anniversary—the first one Ryland has ever had with someone— things were different. He knew he had to do something special. Since you were the one always cooking or baking in the shared kitchen of your apartment, he thought he’d return the favor.
He woke up early before you did, reluctantly untangling from your form and sneaking into the kitchen.
He’d researched everything before you got up, watched at least 3 YouTube videos on different breakfasts before settling on pancakes.
But you? You woke up colder than usual.
The familiar warmth of Ryland pressed to your spine was missing, though you still were tucked into the blankets like a little kid. You frowned, and with your eyes still closed you turned and patted the spot where he normally slept.
The sheets were still warm under your touch.
You sat up, blinking blearily in the morning light, staring perplexed at the empty space in your bed. The alarm signaling your wake up time for work blared next to you, but you were too busy puzzling over his absence to turn it off just yet.
Never in your one year of dating Ryland had he ever left you in the morning.
In fact, he had told you before that morning cuddles were his favorite.
“I swear,” He mumbled the other day, before swallowing the mouthful of the omelette you had made him. “My favorite part of the day is waking up right next to you. You’re so cozy and warm it makes me never want to go to work.”
“Ryland.” You said with a smile that made your cheeks hurt.
“What? It’s true.” He smiled right back at you. “You’ve gotta be the most cuddly person I’ve ever met.”
“Ryland.”
“Oh come on, honey,” Ryland grinned, leaning his chin on his hand. “I’m just saying. The second best part is squishing you at night. I swear you could get a job as a professional cuddler.”
So when you woke up without his hand splayed over your stomach or lower back, it was no wonder why you were confused.
You turned off the alarm and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. His morning sweater was gone from where it hung on the closet door, so he didn’t get kidnapped or anything.
Kidnapped? Really? What were you thinking?
You were startled out of your thoughts by a loud clang! and a muffled “Oh, shoot,” from down the hall.
That answered your question. You followed the noise into the kitchen, bracing yourself for a mess. Ryland in the kitchen, unsupervised, was definitely a recipe for disaster.
But what you saw surprised you.
Standing there by the stove, humming along to the soft song playing on the radio was your boyfriend. He was wearing your apron, along with the sweater he always wore in the mornings before work. His plaid pajama pants skimmed the floor as he reached into the fridge for the gallon of milk. The pants that you had bought him for his birthday, the ones that he insisted on keeping even though they were the wrong size because you picked them.
Ryland was mixing a bowl of something, staring intently down at your recipe book like he was studying a new microbe. He was trying so hard, and the sight was so endearing, so domestic that it made your chest feel warm and light.
You walked up behind him, mindful of the bowl, and slid your arms around his waist.
“Look at you go,” You said, a smile spreading on your face. “I should tell Gordon Ramsey that he has some competition.”
“Good morning to you too,” He said, his face lighting up as he caught your eye over his shoulder. “Go on, sit down. I’ve got breakfast this morning.” He reached down and squeezed your hand, and you reluctantly pulled back.
“I can see that.” You responded, settling into the chair by the kitchen island. “Is there a reason for this wonderful breakfast?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” He chuckled, mixing the batter in the bowl. “You know it’s our anniversary, and you deserve a nice breakfast.”
You sat quietly for a minute or two, just watching him make breakfast. This was one of your favorite sides of Ryland, when he’s completely focused and his brows are slightly crinkled over his eyes. When his hands work quickly and efficiently over whatever project he’s concentrating on, and his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth.
Ryland was too busy to notice you staring.
“Anything I can help with?” You offered. He hummed in response, shaking his head with his brows furrowed like that was the most ridiculous thing you could’ve asked him.
“Yeah,” He said, carefully pouring the batter into the pan. “If you want, you can get the chocolate chips out of the fridge?”
“You’re really going for it,” You said as you slid off the stool and retrieved the chocolate chips from the fridge. You handed the bag to him, his fingers brushing yours against the plastic. The smell of pancakes and butter spread through the air as the mix sizzled in the pan.
“Of course,” he nodded, flipping the pancake with a precision he usually saved for his labs in college. He sprinkled some into the batter, and you leaned over to steal a handful from his palm.
“Hey, hey,” He protested, and you giggled as you tossed a few into your mouth. He caught your wrist and made you drop the remaining chocolate chips back into his waiting hand. “Be patient, you little thief.” He said as he pulled your hand up, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
“Ugh,” You complained, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove. “Fine,”
He hummed, leaving the pancake for a moment to step between your thighs. His hands spread over your legs as he looked at your sleepy expression through his glasses. “Don’t pout, you menace.” He smiled, pressing a warm kiss to your lips before turning back to his cooking. “It’ll be worth the wait, honey, I promise.”
Ryland moved the pancake from the pan onto a plate, then cut a small piece off with a fork. “Here,” He fed you a bite of pancake carefully. It was something he always did with you, and he never stopped even when you called it cheesy.
You took the bite of the pancake. It was…surprisingly good. Not overcooked, and definitely not doughy or burnt, with the perfect amount of chocolate. That was a new record for Ryland.
“So?” He looked at you expectantly in that nervous, excited way of his. “How is it?”
“It’s good,” You said, smiling as you caught the satisfaction in his eyes. “Really good.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You talked around another forkful of breakfast.
“Really really?” He asked, and when you nodded, he let out a giddy laugh. “Oh, thank god. I thought I used way too much milk. I mean, is pancake mix supposed to be that runny? It was horrifying, honestly,” He shook his head in disbelief, watching you with that adoring look on his face as he untied the apron from around his waist.
“Pancakes are horrifying to make no matter how many times you do it,” You said as he hung the apron on its hook. You swung your legs as you ate your pancake right there on the counter.
When you finished it, he leaned over with his hands planted on the counter on each side of your hips.
“You’ve got chocolate, right there,” He said as your tongue swiped out to reach it, only to miss it completely. “No, nope. Stop, stop, I’ll get it.” He chuckled, licking his thumb and smudging the corner of your mouth. “There,” he muttered.
Still cupping the side of your face, he leaned in and kissed you softly. You tasted the chocolate from the pancakes on his warm lips. His kisses never failed to make you feel breathless, even after a year’s worth of them.
“Happy anniversary, honey,” Ryland whispered against your lips before he kissed you again, his hands sliding to your waist. The warmth of his large palms spread through your skin from where they rested on your hips.
“Happy anniversary Ryland.” You whispered back between kisses, your hands sliding into his hair and lightly scratching his scalp in the way you knew he loved. That was confirmed by the content sound that came unbidden from his throat.
“Don’t do that to me,” He let out a breathy laugh, his forehead pressed against yours. When you opened your eyes, you could see that his glasses had fogged up a bit. “You know that’s…you’re a menace, honey.”
“Well,” You said, a smile spreading on your lips too. “You love it.”
“I do.” He admitted, chuckling again. “I love it, and I love you.” Ryland then started peppering kisses all over your face. You giggled, letting him continue the onslaught of kisses. A light kiss on your forehead, another on the tip of your nose, one on each cheek. You closed your eyes and preened under the attention, before he finally landed on your lips again.
“I love you too,” You grinned so hard your cheeks hurt. “But I do have to work today, Ryland.”
“Oh no you don’t,” He said, tugging you into his arms. He slid his hands under your thighs and started to carry you back into the bedroom. “You’re not leaving me today. Nope. I’m not allowing it.”
“Ryland,” You protested weakly as he gently set you down on the mattress.
“What? Are you coming down with something?” He gasped, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Oh, no. You’ve been diagnosed with loving-Ryland-itis. Very serious.” He grinned, climbing into bed next to you. “Don’t worry, I’ll call your office and tell them you can’t make it in.”
“Ryland,” You protested again, before he pulled you into his arms.
“Shh,” He mumbled, kissing the top of your forehead as he pulled the covers over both of you. “Doctor’s orders.”
“You aren’t that kind of doctor,” You grinned against his neck as he sighed dramatically.
“It still counts.” He said, slipping his hand under your pajama shirt to spread it over your lower back. He rubbed your back slowly in that familiar soothing rhythm, and you felt yourself melt against him.
“That’s what I thought,” He whispered, humming in satisfaction as he relaxed too. “Told you this was my favorite part.”