Gift Fic: Special Night
A Special Night
Pairing: Brendon/Reader
Prompt: New Year, Dinner
----------------------------------------------
Brendon worked hard to make this night great and it showed the moment you entered the living room.
The furniture was gone, replaced with a table in the center of the room, facing towards the window spread wide open so you could see the fireworks as the exploded in the night sky. The lights were off, the only light coming from the scented candles scattered around the place, placed on top of boxes that were covered in glittery material, and the fireworks themselves. Roses petals, black because Brendon was original damn it, scattered across the floor.
The table itself was decorated beautifully. A golden trimmed, red tablecloth was spread over the large oak table. White porcelain dishware with little golden accents was laid out, along with polished silverware for two people and two, long-stemmed champagne glasses.
But it was the little things that you adored. The things that showed Brendon actually did it and not from others who he paid to do it.
The linen napkins with music notes on them, the roses inside the colorful vases and the little plush dolls of you and him as the center piece as they held the other’s hand with stitched smiles on their faces.
“You like it?” Brendon whispers in your ear, as he hugged you around the waist and took a deep breath to inhale your perfume. “Happy New Year, baby girl, and I hope your night will be memorable.”
“Of course it’ll be,” you replied. “This is so sweet of you to do Brendon. Really, I…I don’t know what to say.”
He shushes you, directing you towards the oak chair and gesturing you to sit down. “Don’t. I’ll do all the work and you just relax yourself while I make my patent Brendon Urie five-star dinner.”
“Oh no.” Warning bells were ringing. Warning bells were ringing. Brendon, to be frank, couldn’t boil water without burning it and his idea of ‘meals’ were instant cup noodles. This won’t end well.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to cook?” you asked with some concern as Brendon made you sit down. “Because I can still cook even in this dress.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured you, kissing your cheek. “You do so much for everyone as it is. This should be the night you get to rest and I get to be your bitch.”
You try to laugh but the fear of your kitchen going up in flames hinders your ability to do so. When Brendon turned his back to go to the kitchen, you can’t help but make a quick sign of the cross and pray to St. Lawrence of Rome.
Entrée
There was a smell of smoke coming from the kitchen and you jumped up off the chair (a feat in those heels you’re wearing) and dash to the door where the living room and kitchen was conjoined.
“Brendon, Brendon,” you cry out. “What’s going on?!”
“Don’t come in,” he said, sounding alarmed himself. “I’m just making Pancit Molo. You know; the one you like.”
You reply, “so why do I smell smoke?”
“Err…because it could have been burned a bit?” You pound on the door harder, cursing that it was locked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be done soon. Just relax.”
After reminding him that there was a fire extinguisher in there, you go back to sit down and wait. The smell of smoke is gone but you still can’t help but feel nervous as you wait. Maybe you should have told him how to use said fire extinguisher.
He finally comes out with a large bowl on a silver tray, looking proud of his achievement in not burning down your home and not spilling a drop on his gray tux. You’re glad yourself and feel proud as well. Brendon is trying really hard to make this night memorable and it was working so far.
“Ta-da,” he says, placing it in front of you as you two sit down to dig in the meal. “I hope you like it.”
Surprisingly, the soup did taste good. If not a bit…ashy.
Main Course
“I’ll go make the main course now,” he said as he takes the bowls and the larger one on the tray. “Just sit tight because the grilled chicken will knock your socks…er, I mean pantyhose off.”
“You didn’t make the main course when you were making the entrée?” you say. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t be as fun,” was his only reply before whisking back into the kitchen. And so the cursing and odd clangs and clinks resumed. This time, you don’t feel worried. Brendon already proved he won’t do anything silly. And he knows how to work the fire extinguisher (you think).
Brendon finally comes out with the grilled chicken, the smell heavenly enough to make your stomach growl audibly to the both of you. He laughs and you blush a bit.
He sets the chicken down and gives you a drumstick, making sure all the skin was on. It was good enough to make you moan a bit, making Brendon’s grin get a little bit too…excited.
“Wow Brendon,” you say as you dab your mouth with the napkin, “I didn’t know you could cook so well. Not that was meant as an insult-“
“It’s cool,” he assures you, kissing your cheek, “Besides, I really didn’t know how to cook until last week. I had some cooking lessons from William.”
“I didn’t know Bilvy could cook,” you comment as you take another bite.
“Me neither,” he replies, "and I didn’t think he would be such a hardass if I got a mistake wrong.” He unconsciously rubs his hands, wincing from some imaginary pain.
You won’t ask.
Dessert
“What is it this time?” you asks, looking at the item he was holding behind his back. “A cake?”
“Nope,” he says with a sly grin on his face.
“Ice cream?”
“Nope.”
“Muffins?”
“Nope.”
“Candy?”
“Nope.”
“M&M?”
He laughs, “I’m not cheap! And, no, it isn’t. Something better than all of that combined.” He whipped it out, revealing it to be a large bottle of chocolate fudge syrup.
“We’re just going to eat chocolate syrup here?” you asks, somewhat disappointed now.
“Who says we’re going to eat it here?” he says back, wiggling his eyebrows and gesturing to the bedroom.
----------------------------------------------
Requested by bookxbuttefly.
Sorry for taking forever. I’m tired as hell these days, really.
And for those interested to know: St. Lawrence of Rome is the Patron Saint of Cooks and Chefs. This is due to because when he was burned alive, he reportedly said to his executioner ‘turn me over...I'm done on this side.’
And, no, I don’t have anything witty to say right now. My brain is fried like a hard drive.
Oh hey, something witty!
Yeah! Something witty is great! Because it's love! Like the Basement. /shotshot/
Pairing: Brendon/Reader
Prompt: New Year, Dinner
----------------------------------------------
Brendon worked hard to make this night great and it showed the moment you entered the living room.
The furniture was gone, replaced with a table in the center of the room, facing towards the window spread wide open so you could see the fireworks as the exploded in the night sky. The lights were off, the only light coming from the scented candles scattered around the place, placed on top of boxes that were covered in glittery material, and the fireworks themselves. Roses petals, black because Brendon was original damn it, scattered across the floor.
The table itself was decorated beautifully. A golden trimmed, red tablecloth was spread over the large oak table. White porcelain dishware with little golden accents was laid out, along with polished silverware for two people and two, long-stemmed champagne glasses.
But it was the little things that you adored. The things that showed Brendon actually did it and not from others who he paid to do it.
The linen napkins with music notes on them, the roses inside the colorful vases and the little plush dolls of you and him as the center piece as they held the other’s hand with stitched smiles on their faces.
“You like it?” Brendon whispers in your ear, as he hugged you around the waist and took a deep breath to inhale your perfume. “Happy New Year, baby girl, and I hope your night will be memorable.”
“Of course it’ll be,” you replied. “This is so sweet of you to do Brendon. Really, I…I don’t know what to say.”
He shushes you, directing you towards the oak chair and gesturing you to sit down. “Don’t. I’ll do all the work and you just relax yourself while I make my patent Brendon Urie five-star dinner.”
“Oh no.” Warning bells were ringing. Warning bells were ringing. Brendon, to be frank, couldn’t boil water without burning it and his idea of ‘meals’ were instant cup noodles. This won’t end well.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to cook?” you asked with some concern as Brendon made you sit down. “Because I can still cook even in this dress.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured you, kissing your cheek. “You do so much for everyone as it is. This should be the night you get to rest and I get to be your bitch.”
You try to laugh but the fear of your kitchen going up in flames hinders your ability to do so. When Brendon turned his back to go to the kitchen, you can’t help but make a quick sign of the cross and pray to St. Lawrence of Rome.
Entrée
There was a smell of smoke coming from the kitchen and you jumped up off the chair (a feat in those heels you’re wearing) and dash to the door where the living room and kitchen was conjoined.
“Brendon, Brendon,” you cry out. “What’s going on?!”
“Don’t come in,” he said, sounding alarmed himself. “I’m just making Pancit Molo. You know; the one you like.”
You reply, “so why do I smell smoke?”
“Err…because it could have been burned a bit?” You pound on the door harder, cursing that it was locked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be done soon. Just relax.”
After reminding him that there was a fire extinguisher in there, you go back to sit down and wait. The smell of smoke is gone but you still can’t help but feel nervous as you wait. Maybe you should have told him how to use said fire extinguisher.
He finally comes out with a large bowl on a silver tray, looking proud of his achievement in not burning down your home and not spilling a drop on his gray tux. You’re glad yourself and feel proud as well. Brendon is trying really hard to make this night memorable and it was working so far.
“Ta-da,” he says, placing it in front of you as you two sit down to dig in the meal. “I hope you like it.”
Surprisingly, the soup did taste good. If not a bit…ashy.
Main Course
“I’ll go make the main course now,” he said as he takes the bowls and the larger one on the tray. “Just sit tight because the grilled chicken will knock your socks…er, I mean pantyhose off.”
“You didn’t make the main course when you were making the entrée?” you say. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t be as fun,” was his only reply before whisking back into the kitchen. And so the cursing and odd clangs and clinks resumed. This time, you don’t feel worried. Brendon already proved he won’t do anything silly. And he knows how to work the fire extinguisher (you think).
Brendon finally comes out with the grilled chicken, the smell heavenly enough to make your stomach growl audibly to the both of you. He laughs and you blush a bit.
He sets the chicken down and gives you a drumstick, making sure all the skin was on. It was good enough to make you moan a bit, making Brendon’s grin get a little bit too…excited.
“Wow Brendon,” you say as you dab your mouth with the napkin, “I didn’t know you could cook so well. Not that was meant as an insult-“
“It’s cool,” he assures you, kissing your cheek, “Besides, I really didn’t know how to cook until last week. I had some cooking lessons from William.”
“I didn’t know Bilvy could cook,” you comment as you take another bite.
“Me neither,” he replies, "and I didn’t think he would be such a hardass if I got a mistake wrong.” He unconsciously rubs his hands, wincing from some imaginary pain.
You won’t ask.
Dessert
“What is it this time?” you asks, looking at the item he was holding behind his back. “A cake?”
“Nope,” he says with a sly grin on his face.
“Ice cream?”
“Nope.”
“Muffins?”
“Nope.”
“Candy?”
“Nope.”
“M&M?”
He laughs, “I’m not cheap! And, no, it isn’t. Something better than all of that combined.” He whipped it out, revealing it to be a large bottle of chocolate fudge syrup.
“We’re just going to eat chocolate syrup here?” you asks, somewhat disappointed now.
“Who says we’re going to eat it here?” he says back, wiggling his eyebrows and gesturing to the bedroom.
----------------------------------------------
Requested by bookxbuttefly.
Sorry for taking forever. I’m tired as hell these days, really.
And for those interested to know: St. Lawrence of Rome is the Patron Saint of Cooks and Chefs. This is due to because when he was burned alive, he reportedly said to his executioner ‘turn me over...I'm done on this side.’
And, no, I don’t have anything witty to say right now. My brain is fried like a hard drive.
Oh hey, something witty!
Yeah! Something witty is great! Because it's love! Like the Basement. /shotshot/