Imagines. | Band of Brothers [𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡]

chocolate cake. | george luz

as requested by @vogueliebgott on tumblr

***

"That smells terrible," George whispered in your ear, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, and he placed soft kisses on your cheek.

You pouted, putting your hands on your hips, pushing him off of you gently. "Thanks, everyone loves hearing they're terrible cooks," you jut out your bottom lip, elbowing him in the stomach. George chuckled, trying to wrap his arms around you once more, but you wiggled out of his grasp. Instead, he leaned down on the counter, resting his head in his hands.

"I was just kidding, doll," he mimicked you and jut out his bottom lip as well, but noticing how exasperated you were, he quickly stood up straighter and extended his hand. "How about I cook, and you go relax for a bit?"

That made your frown deepen. "Is that how bad my cooking is?" your voice was small, but you took a step back anyways, handing him the wooden spoon, "Do you still prefer Domingus' canteen soup?"

George winced at the mention of his almost daily meals when he was burrowed up in Belgium. He stuck his tongue out at you and pushed you away with his hip, giving him full control of the kitchen. You plopped down on the living room couch, and the second your head hit the throw pillows, you almost fell asleep.

The truth was, you haven't been sleeping well, what with George's nightmares and constantly tossing and turning in bed. You stayed awake most of the time, holding onto him til he calmed down. If he was aware this was happening nearly nightly, he made no indication other than being extra kind to you the next day.

Last night was one of those nights, and it explained why he was now in the kitchen trying to salvage the sloppy joe you had managed to mess up. You weren't complaining; George was always the better cook, which was surprising since you had worked in a kitchen during the war.

That was where you met him actually.

George had come up to the kitchen in Toccoa, his tray in his arms, and his eyebrows furrowed. "I can't eat this," were the first words he had spoken to you. If you were the mess officer, he would've swallowed the food with no complaint, but you were the only one in the kitchen that evening, "I think it's inedible."

You gulped, resting your arm on the mop you were just using. "What do you want me to do with it?" you asked, and winced. It sounded rude coming out of your lips, but the man smiled at you, leaning down on the counter in front of you.

"How about this," he whispered, urging you to come closer with a wave of his hand, "Sneak me in after. I can make us dinner." Your cheeks reddened instantly, but you had no clue what to say, so instead, you nodded. "It's a date then."

Then the date, obviously, became something more.

You watched him work in the kitchen, his back to you, mixing something into a bowl. You had no clue what he was making now, realising you had dozed off while you were reminiscing the first time you had met him. George was humming show tunes, as though he was enjoying what he was doing.

"Haven't been sleeping well, huh?" George teased you, sneaking a peek at your figure watching him from the couch, "I can tell from all the drool on your face." You frowned, wiping at your face. There was no drool.

Standing, you made your way towards him, wrapping your arms around him like he had done to you countless times as you worked in the kitchen in the past. Snuggling your face against his back, you took a deep breath. He smelled like sloppy joe that wasn't terrible, and something sweet.

Shutting your eyes, you stuck yourself tighter to him as he worked, his humming sounding like echoes against your ear. George moved a lot, throwing something into the oven while your eyes remained shut, despite knowing how hard it was to work in the kitchen with someone attached to you.

"Dinners ready," he whispered, turning around slowly and catching you in his arms, "Like really. It'll burn if you don't get off so I can turn off the stove." You groaned, peeling yourself off of him, and trudging to the dinner table.

Surprisingly, the table was already set. George winked at you as he placed a plate of buns and a pot on the dining table. Instead of sitting down, he rushed back to the kitchen, coming back out with a bowl of corn and what looked like french fries. "How long was I asleep?" you breathed, eyeing the food in front of you. There was no way he had all the time to do all of that while you were on the couch without you noticing.

"Pretty long, actually," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly before taking a seat. He served you first, making sure you had everything you needed before he began eating as well. "You are one deep sleeper."

"This is amazing, George," you gasped after taking your first bite, and you meant it, "This tastes nothing like what I made awhile ago. I can't believe you managed to fix it!"

He bit down on his sandwich, chewed thoroughly before answering. "I kinda threw yours out," he began, his eyes apologetic, "So I started over." Instead of getting upset, you laughed.

"Thank God, that was inedible," you grinned, and continued eating. The food was genuinely good. You knew George was a far better cook than you were, and despite sloppy joes being so simple, he had prepared everything, including the fries, in the few minutes you had fallen asleep.

Taking your plate, he went back into the kitchen, placing it into the sink before crouching down to get something from the oven. Your eyes were wide as he took out a cake, still in its pan. "You made a cake too?" you exclaimed, clapping your hands together, "So that's what I smelled."

George bowed, careful not to drop the pan, and placed it on the table for it to cool in front of you. The chocolate cake in front of you was your favourite; He was being extra nice today. "What's the occasion?" you asked him gently, watching him as he took another seat.

Reaching out to put his hand over yours, George gave you a genuine smile. "Cake for all your troubles," he mumbled, avoiding your eyes, "You seem really tired. It's time I properly appreciate you, I suppose."

"You appreciate me just fine, George," you furrowed your brows, intertwining your finger with his, "What's this really about?"

He was silent for a moment, as though trying to figure out how to properly put his thoughts together. "Well, you haven't been sleeping well," he started, chewing on his bottom lip, "And I know it's my fault, but you never say anything, and you still do everything for us. I don't appreciate you enough."

"Baby," you nearly teared up, squeezing his hand twice, "I do that because I love you, but thank you. I'll do everything for us for as long as I have to."

A smile was plastered onto his face. "Until I figure this all out, that means more cake for you."

"No," you shook your head, scooting closer so you could place a soft kiss on his lips, "Until we figure this all out, you'll be making me more chocolate cake."

"Oh, you bet," George grinned, tapping your nose, "I'll make you so sick of chocolate cake."

***

A/N: thanks to @Angelica_writes_ for helping me figure this one out! this is definitely just slice of life, but i loved the idea of the men just worrying about regular things after the war!

i hope you like this one!

with love,

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