#Raisin water clear skin

[foodnutra]

Does raisin water clear skin?

Raisin water is a toner you can make at home that’s said to have a variety of skin benefits. Some people use it as a face wash or toner, while others soak raisins overnight in warm water and drink the water as an antioxidant-rich beverage. The benefits of raisin water for skin include softening wrinkles, reducing acne scarring and even bleaching your face. You can buy ready-made raisin water, but it’s usually more affordable to make on your own.

Raisin water is a toner you can make at home that’s said to have a variety of skin benefits.

Raisin water is a toner you can make at home that’s said to have a variety of skin benefits. It can be used as a toner or face wash, and it’s also said to help with acne and aging.

Ready-made raisin water is available online and in stores, but it’s usually more affordable to make on your own. Here’s how:

Place 1/2 cup of dried grapes in a jar (or use 2 tablespoons of fresh grapes). Cover with 2 cups of boiling water; let sit overnight in a cool place; strain out solids; store refrigerated for up to two weeks.

Some people use it as a face wash or toner, while others soak raisins overnight in warm water and drink the water as an antioxidant-rich beverage.

Raisin water is also a popular remedy for skin ailments. Some people use it as a face wash or toner, while others soak raisins overnight in warm water and drink the water as an antioxidant-rich beverage.

To make raisin water:

Soak about 1/4 cup of dried grapes (raisins) in warm water for at least 6 hours or overnight.

Strain out any solids and discard them before using your homemade infusion as you prefer–for example, pour over cereal or smoothies; add to lemonade; use as an eye mask or facial toner by steaming your face with hot vapor from this liquid until it cools down slightly then applying directly onto skin with fingertips; drink straight up!

The benefits of raisin water for skin include softening wrinkles, reducing acne scarring and even bleaching your face.

Raisin water can help with acne.

It can help with wrinkles and bleaching your face.

It can even whiten your skin, which is great for people who want to look younger!

You can buy ready-made raisin water, but it’s usually more affordable to make on your own.

You can buy ready-made raisin water, but it’s usually more affordable to make on your own. Raisin water is a toner or face wash that uses the antioxidant properties of raisins to help clear skin. You can also use this product as a soak for overnight use and/or as a facial cleanser for oily skin types.

Raisin water has potential positive effects on your skin if used correctly.

Raisin water is a natural product that can help with acne, skin whitening, and even wrinkles. It also has properties that are beneficial for treating scars caused by acne.

The main reason raisin water works so well on the skin is because of its high vitamin A content. Vitamin A is essential for healthy hair growth and proper functioning of the sebaceous glands (1). The sebaceous glands produce an oily substance called sebum which helps keep our skin moisturized while preventing it from drying out too much (2). However sometimes too much sebum production can cause clogged pores leading to blackheads or whiteheads (3). This leads us back to vitamin A again! Vitamin A helps reduce inflammation in our bodies which means less redness around those pesky blemishes we’ve been trying so hard not to pick at!

Skin is the largest organ in our bodies, so it makes sense that we would want to take care of it. There are many ways to do this, including using raisin water as a toner or face wash. The benefits of raisin water for skin include softening wrinkles, reducing acne scarring and even bleaching your face. You can buy ready-made raisin water, but it’s usually more affordable to make on your own.

For more visit: Does raisin water clear skin? — FoodNutra

[puddingyun]

tupelo . ݁₊ ⊹ j.yh

hollywood star!yunho x up-and-coming actress!reader

18+ mdni

: 3.6k words, smut, fluff, implied age gap, praise kink, light dom/sub, grinding, oral (f receiving), petnames (honey, sweetheart, darling, baby, little lady, bunny) :

day 9 of fff24 ♡ (a/n: this took me forever but i love it so much, hope you all do too!)

Humiliation bloomed in your chest, prickly and sour as it climbed up your neck and to your cheeks. It stung, digging its thorns into your skin and making tears fill your eyes. You sniffed and quickened your steps, determined not to let anybody see you cry. Your rush to get away from all the prying eyes around you had you out of breath by the time you reached Yunho's dressing room, your lungs screaming for air as you meekly pushed open the door. 

Inside you found Yunho, your senior in the industry both in years and fame, looking through outfits he'd commissioned for an upcoming show, his eyes narrowed and critical as they scanned over every stitch and wrinkle in the fabric. He was concentrated, but didn't startle at all when you cleared your throat.

"Are you busy?" you asked quietly, your voice croaky thanks not only to the absence of air in your lungs but also due to your aching heart. Yunho turned his head to look at you, his eyes widened at the sight of you and then quickly softened, a smile playing on his lips.

"No, honey, come in," he replied with a wave of his hand. You let out a sigh of relief and quickly shut the door behind you, trudging over to the plush sofa Yunho had ordered special for his dressing room and quickly curling up in the corner. 

Yunho's dressing room was often busy with other actors and singers and his friends, making it one of the busier and louder spots around the different sets, but Yunho's presence had made it a life preserver in a rough sea for you. Ever since you'd set out to become an actress Yunho had kept an eye on you, knowing that you were both from small towns and were something close to fish out of water in the big city where everybody else seemed to have connections. 

He let you nap on his sofa between lessons and auditions, helped you with your lines, and made sure things were going as smoothly as possible for you. He'd gotten to know your family when they came by to visit you and made it his business to look after you and guide you through every rough patch you faced. He was your protector and made life out here a little more bearable. His sweetness stoked the crush you'd had on him from the moment you met him, but you kept that to yourself, lest you lose the only friend you had out here. You weren't the quickest with learning lines or picking up the different publicity rules that were being thrown at you left and right, but you were eager to learn and always trying your best - that was all that really mattered to Yunho. 

Unfortunately, Yunho was the only one willing to look past all of your flaws to see the hard work you were putting in everyday.

"What're you doing here, sweetheart?" Yunho asked you suddenly, eyes still focused on the rack of clothing in front of him. "Aren't you supposed to be at a table read this afternoon?"

"I don't wanna go," you mumbled, feeling the nasty heat of humiliation prickling in the back of your throat once again. You felt Yunho's gaze move to fix on you and stubbornly pulled your knees up to your chest to hide your face against them. It was no use with the intensity of Yunho's stare, burning through any shield you tried to put up.

"C'mon, honey, you can't be skipping things just like that," he scolded, albeit gently. "Why're you here instead of where you're s'posed to be?"

"I just don't wanna go!" you yelled, all of your embarrassment and bitterness pouring into your voice so that it came out harsher than you'd meant it to. This only served to embarrass you more and you desperately pushed your face further into hiding.

"I don't appreciate you raisin' your voice at me like that, alright?" Yunho answered, firm without being harsh. "I promised your momma I would see to it that you got all your work done, I don't intend on lettin' her down." 

While it stung to be reprimanded by somebody you admired so deeply you found some comfort in the patience he had for you. You sniffed and worked up the courage to speak up, your voice trembling.

"I know, I just- I had a real bad day," you mumbled. You felt the couch dip beside you as Yunho sat by your side, stroking the top of your head to try to get you to come out of hiding. 

"I'm sorry, baby. Why don't you tell me what's going on so we can get you back to work, hm?" he asked, gentle as ever.

Reluctantly, you lifted your head and let the tears you'd been holding back roll down your cheeks. Yunho's expression melted immediately and he hugged you to his side so that you could cry quietly against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and squeezed you closer to him, humming fondly when you held onto a fistful of his shirt to ground yourself.

"Hush, baby, it's okay. What's got my darling all worked up, hm?" he cooed. As he spoke you could feel the rumble of his deep voice in his chest against your clenched fist, the feeling soothing you. 

"I can't keep up with everybody else, Yunho. Everybody's so far ahead and I'm always stuck rereading the same sentences like a dummy," you managed to push out between sobs, squeezing your eyes shut to push away the memory of everybody rolling their eyes at you and muttering cruel words when they thought you couldn't hear. "They all hate me and they're right to, I don't have the same talent everybody else does-"

"That isn't true at all, baby," Yunho interrupted sternly. You felt his thumbs brush across your cheeks, wiping away your tears and with them the sour feeling of your embarrassment. "I ain't seen anybody work as hard as you do. All them other kids are here 'cause their mommies and daddies are rich, you worked your ass off to get here and you deserve it more than any of 'em."

"You really think that?" you whispered, wanting oh-so-badly to believe him but struggling to forget the callous words you'd heard from everybody else. "You aren't just sayin' it to make me feel better?"

"Darlin'," Yunho said, pulling back from you enough to tilt your chin up to look at him. You opened your eyes and through the film of tears saw Yunho smiling at you, looking so enamoured and endeared that you could feel your stomach tying itself into knots. "'Course I think so. You work so goddamn hard, and you get better everyday. You're smart and gorgeous. Don't pay them any mind."

A different kind of heat flooded your chest this time, a kind that made your heart skip a beat and made you smile even when you willed yourself not to. 

"Thank you, Yunnie," you murmured, sniffling and letting go of his shirt where you'd had it held tightly in your fist. Even as you let go, wrinkles remained in the crisp fabric. You felt your smile turn to a pout at the sight of them and reached out in a futile attempt to smooth them out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mess up your shirt."

Yunho only clicked his tongue, taking your shaky, damp hand in his and stroking your knuckles with his thumb.

"You're too sweet for your own good, hon," he sighed, smiling when your eyes met his. "Listen. Anythin' you need, I'm right here for you. You don't need to worry your pretty head about anythin' at all."

"You're not gonna make me go to that table read, are you?" you whispered. Yunho shook his head, seeming amused that you would even ask. 

"Not today, no. How 'bout you stay here with me? Help me with some of my lines, hm?" he offered, leaning back against the sofa with one arm resting against its back, creating the perfect place for you to nestle against him, resting your head on his chest while his fingers drew shapes against your neck. The idea of helping Yunho with anything seemed so silly, as if there was anything he could learn from you, but when he patted his lap you laid your legs across his thighs without hesitation, giggling at how tolerant he was of your wrapping yourself around him. "There's that gorgeous laugh."

You bit your lip to stifle a giddy smile and hid your face further against his warm chest, concentrating your hardest as he began to recite lines from his latest script. 

For the rest of the afternoon the two of you worked through his script slowly, laughing at the cringeworthy lines and joking about the different characters' speech patterns. It didn't take you long to realise that Yunho must not be getting much work done at all, but any guilt you felt was quickly smoothed over by the proud, fond smiles Yunho would shoot your way each time you spoke a line in a cadence that was just right. 

By the time you'd finished reading through all of the sections Yunho had dog-eared you were almost falling asleep, eyelids heavy and heart soothed by his voice and all of his gentle touches. You lifted your head from where it had been resting on Yunho's chest and took in just how handsome he was. All the pictures you'd seen of him back home hadn't done him any justice. They couldn't capture the slope of his nose right, or the way his bottom lip looked when he distractedly bit it. They hadn't made your heart pound in your chest like it was doing now, its steady rhythm loud in your ears.

"Yunho?" you spoke softly, making him set his script aside and turn his attention to you. 

"What is it, bunny?" he asked, the sweet nickname making your heart do all kinds of somersaults. "You look sleepy, want me to take you home?"

You shook your head no, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you thought over your words.

"Thank you for... takin' care of me and all," you whispered, fidgeting nervously. "I know you got an awful lot of work to do but you always say you're not busy when I need something. Thank you, Yunnie."

"Oh, it's no problem, sweet thing. I got all the time in the world for you, you're my special girl," he said, the words so casual on his tongue that they seemed like second nature to him. To you, they lit a fire in your belly, one that warmed your cheeks and made your fidgeting multiply tenfold.

"You mean that? I'm your... girl?" you asked, unable to bring yourself to say the word 'special'. Yunho watched your expression and finally seemed to catch on to what it was that you were really trying to say. Instead of rolling his eyes like you'd expected him to do, he huffed a short laugh and smiled at you.

"Yes, darlin'. My special girl," he repeated. "Pretty, sweet little thing who comes to my dressing room and sits on my lap when she's tired, stealing my heart without realising." 

Your eyes widened and you went still, even the heartbeat thrumming in your ears seemed to get the hint and quieted down. Yunho's smile softened like butter in the hot sun and his hands moved to hold your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

"You alright with that, honey?" he asked, putting your comfort first just like every other time you came to him needing something. You bit your lip, letting his words sink in before you smiled at him and nodded. 

"Yeah," you breathed. At the sound of this Yunho leaned in and kissed your warm cheek, soft and tender unlike how you'd seen him kiss women in all the movies he'd starred in. You found that soft and tender made you far more dizzy than any rough approach would have, your head still spinning when he turned his head to press his lips against yours. 

A soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, rose in your throat and escaped your lips as Yunho shifted to press another kiss to your lips, his lips parting against yours this time. He tasted like cigarettes, expensive bourbon, and Cola, and his lips made your mouth tingle the same as the carbonated drink did. You smiled into the kiss when he nipped at your bottom lip, giggling and clambering into his lap with the help of his hands on your hips.

"I could get drunk just from kissin' you, little lady," he murmured, your dress bunching up where he squeezed you tight. Your hands came up to shyly hold his face, his barely-there stubble grazing your soft palms. When you tilted his face upwards he indulged you with another kiss, licking into your mouth when your tongue tentatively swiped at his lips and swallowing each and every little moan you couldn't hold back. The kiss was warm and wet, sticky like a summer evening and intoxicating like the first beer you'd ever drank. When you finally parted, you were just as breathless as when you'd arrived at Yunho's dressing room, only this time your lungs couldn't have cared less about how empty they were. 

"You taste good," you mumbled without thinking, whining softly when Yunho laughed at you, his thumb stroking your hip through the fabric of your dress.

"That so, sweetheart?" he asked, chuckling again when you nodded your head yes. His eyes were dark and concentrated as he took in your flustered appearance, lips wet with spit (his spit) and breath coming in soft little pants that reminded him of hiccups. He let out a groan, head tipping back as he drew you closer to him, your fronts pressed flush together. "God, if you ain't the prettiest thing I ever saw."

His compliments, which you'd gotten used to the longer you knew him, now made you squirm on his lap, tummy warm from his affection and brain fuzzy from his words. 

"You've met some awful pretty women before," you countered, which only made Yunho's brows furrow and the corners of his lips draw downwards. 

"They don't have your doe eyes," he whispered, using two fingertips to close your eyelids so that he could press a kiss to each of them. "Or this cute little nose." He kissed the tip of your nose. "Your soft cheeks." His lips ghosted over each of your cheeks. "Or your beautiful neck..."

He trailed kisses down the side of your neck, hot and open-mouthed just like the kisses he'd left on your mouth until he latched onto your skin, biting down and sucking until you were whimpering from the sting of it.

"And all your beauty marks are like constellations, hon," he murmured, stroking a fingertip over the spot where he'd bitten you. "Feel like I could get lost lookin' at you."

"Yunnie," you whimpered, growing hotter with each word that he spoke. The fire he'd stoked in your belly now danced on  your skin, every part of you feverish with a want for him that was making your breath tremble and your panties wet. 

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, dutiful even as his lips wandered and left kisses along your collarbones. 

You pressed your hips down against his, trying to communicate without having to use your words. Yunho's chest rumbled with a low moan and his hands moved to squeeze your ass, accidentally dragging your hips against his lap again so that you could feel the bulge in his pants pressing right against you. You gasped at the feeling, eyes falling shut as you began to grind against him, chasing more of the pleasure that was growing between your legs. 

"Fuck, darlin'," Yunho moaned. His fingers kneaded at the plush fat of your ass and thighs, slowly sliding your dress up until his blunt nails were digging into your skin. "You like it when I talk sweet to you, that it? Like when I tell you how stunnin' you are, how you make my head spin and my cock ache?"

You nodded eagerly, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and holding on tight to him as you rubbed against his hard on. Your senses were flooded with the scent of his cologne, floral and musky all at once, making your brain turn to cotton as your soft pants turned into moans. 

"God, baby, look at you," Yunho cooed. "So fuckin' good and eager for me, getting yourself off without even taking off your panties."

You nodded against him while he continued to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. You wanted to be good for him more than anything in the world, to hear him call you special and pretty and talented and his. Each of his words pushed you closer to the edge, your soaking cunt clenching around nothing each time you moved your hips just right and put pressure on your clit. You were so close to falling apart, muffling your sounds against Yunho's neck, when suddenly his hands stopped your movements, gripping your hips tight and stopping you from reaching orgasm. 

"Yunho," you cried out, lifting your head and shooting him a weak glare. Unfortunately, your look only made him grin fondly, one of his hands tapping your ass lightly. 

"I can't let my special girl cum in her panties," he said firmly, smoothing your hair out of your face and leaning in to kiss you tenderly. "Let me take care of you properly, baby, make your pretty pussy cum as good as you deserve."

Though you were still pouting from being pulled back from the edge, cunt throbbing and aching for release, you managed to utter a soft 'okay' and earned yourself another kiss from Yunho, this one hungrier than the last. 

Your heart hammered in your chest as Yunho laid you back against the sofa, his hands warm as they pushed up your dress to reveal your soaked panties. He groaned at the sight, looking at you like he could eat you alive. Even so he pulled your panties down your legs with care, watching you kick them off of one foot with an amused smile. 

"Look at you, sweet thing. So fuckin' wet for me," he mused, thumbing over your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jolt. He laughed, kissing your inner thigh before leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath against your sticky lower lips. "You're such a good girl without even trying."

You opened your mouth to reply but the words died on your lips when you felt Yunho's tongue press between your folds, lapping up your wetness then swirling his tongue around your clit. The warmth of his mouth made your eyes roll back in your head, back arching as he sucked on your clit.

"Tastes so good," he hummed, pushing one of his fingers into you and bending it so that it pressed against a spot that had you moaning his name loud enough for anybody outside the dressing room to hear. Instead of scolding you, Yunho just smiled and pressed a messy kiss to your thigh. "Sweet just like you, baby."

You clenched around his finger, thighs trembling and squeezing his head as he began to lick you again. His tongue pressed flat against your throbbing clit while his finger continued to knead at your insides, seeming to know just where to press with every little movement. 

"Yunho," you moaned, head falling back against the sofa. "I can't- feels so good."

"Perfect girl, takin' everything so well," Yunho praised. His finger slid out of you with a lewd wet sound and began to rub circles around your clit. "Cum on my face whenever you want, honey, you deserve it."

No sooner had he pressed his tongue into you, nose nudging your clit, than your orgasm hit you, washing over you like a summer heatwave and making you shake all over. Yunho's name fell from your lips over and over again like a prayer, a smile on his face as he let you ride out your orgasm until you were limp and spent. 

"That's my girl," he praised you, sounding close to infatuated. He wiped his mouth off before leaning in to kiss you once more, rewarding you even though he'd done most of the work. "You're perfect, doll."

You whined softly, still catching your breath, and reached up to pull him down into another kiss. You didn't care if your release was still on his tongue, you just wanted the familiar comfort of having him take care of you. 

"Okay, pretty girl," he whispered, cupping your face with his clean hand and stroking your feverish cheek with his thumb. "I'm gonna take you home so you can freshen up, alright?"

You began to protest but Yunho quickly shushed you, still stroking your cheek with a care that had your heart aflutter even through your mushy state of mind. 

"I'll go out and get us somethin' to eat, whatever you'd like, then I'll come right back and we can have dinner together. How does that sound?"

You smiled, pushing yourself upright so that you could wrap your arms around Yunho in a tight hug.

"Thank you, Yun," you mumbled, heart flip-flopping at the feeling of Yunho's hand rubbing up and down your spine.

"'Course, honey," he replied with a kiss to your head. "Anything for my special girl."

[m4ttsturn]

my brother's best friend (part 3)

pt 1 pt 2 pt 4

pairing: Matt Sturniolo x y/n

summary: you find yourself falling for your brother's best friend

warnings: none

(not proofread)

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

I watch as the sun sets over the water, painting the sky with different shades of reds, oranges, and yellows. the air has now grown frigid, goosebumps beginning to set along my skin. I curse at myself for not bringing warmer clothing as I wrap myself in my towel. even with the brittle air the boys are still in the water, pushing each other around and launching their bodies over each wave that comes.

with nothing else to do, considering it's now grown too dark to read my book, I watch them. well, mostly Matt. He shoves Chris into the next wave, laughing as the water crashes over his face. seeming to feel my eyes on him, Matt faces in my direction. he smiles at me and begins to wave, but since he's distracted Chris takes this as his chance to get him back. I can't help but laugh to myself as he gets knocked down.

when he gets up he mutters something quickly to Nick, Nate, and Chris before walking over in my direction. "hey" he greets me, "hi" I smile at him. "you cold?" he questions, "mhm, it's freezing out here". he reaches down and picks up his hoodie, dusting the sand off of it and hands it to me. "thanks" he just smiles and nods in response as I put on the sweatshirt.

"you think they'll be ready to go soon?" I ask Matt. "uh probably, Nick said he was starting to get all wrinkly from the water and wanted to get out soon before he starts to look like a raisin" "of course he did" I giggle. our conversation dwindled away quickly since we were both tired. we sat in comfortable silence as we waited for the others to get out of the water.

I laid back in the sand, staring up at the stars that have now formed in the sky. I sigh contently, picking up a handful of sand and admire how each grain feels as it falls back to the ground. I turn to face Matt, only to find him already looking at me. I find myself appreciative of the darkness that surrounds us which hides my blush.

Matt looks like he wants to say something, but as soon as he opens his mouth Nate pushes him on the shoulder. "you guys ready?" Nate asks. "uhm" Matt pauses and looks at me "yeah we're ready" he answers. Matt stands up, offering me a hand. I take it gratefully, using it to pull myself off the ground. I notice that his touch lingers on my hand as he looks me in the eyes ones again. After a moment he pulls his and away and clears his throat.

everyone grabs their stuff off the ground and begins to walk towards the cars. each of us rinsing off at the showers to help get rid of the sand that has accumulated on our skin. we decide to meet up at mine and Nate's place before we get into the vehicles and start driving.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

a/n: sorry this ones a little short but I wanted to get the next part out

[angle31]

Give raisin water Clear glowing your skin

[nelapanela94]

Hi Nela !! Congratulations on 1k follower. So I’m submitting prompt no. 16 and 49

Enjoy!

Thank you so much San. Writing this fic was therapy for me, so thank YOU for the request.

16. “I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” 49. "You deserve no less than this."

Nela's 1k event

WC: 6k

TW: SMUT, MDNI. Soft, mawkish smut <3 Oral(Fem!Receiving). Mentions of abusive relationship.

A moan flees from your mouth as water melts the grime and weariness off your skin. An upcoming expedition translates to a double or even triple training load, and every inch of your body was pleading for a nerve-untangling bath. Upon ducking into your room, you lit up the vanilla-scented candle, letting the sweet, mouth-watering aroma suffuse your sweat-smelly cave. The straps and soaked clothes traced a path to the bathroom–tomorrow you’d mind about them. That same morning, you had filled the tub before scurrying to the training fields. Two buckets and six trips it took, but your forethought paid off.

Drops of lavender oil dappled on the water, little dots uncoiling in irregular blotches with thin rainbows warping at the edges. You stepped inside, mollifying in the warmth. A you and you moment, though, you regretted not having snuck some wine and cheese. You pinned that in the corkboard of your head for next time.

You scoot down, letting water skim your shoulders while your hands whirl underneath, cajoling bubbles. Some strands of hair fall from your messy bun, wicking and hanging in wet tendrils over your shoulders. You close your eyes and yield to the bath, clearing your mind, abiding by your plan to stay in there until you look like a raisin.

However, the little smile on your lips fade; your schemes have been torn and tossed to the bin. You crack one eye open, and it drifts towards the ajar door, the steps growing louder from the other side. You can put a face by the heaviness, the pace, the confidence, and you sigh when the hinges squeak.

“Your hand won’t fall off by knocking,” you scoff and then pop a half smile. What if I walk in while you taking a shit?”

“That won’t happen.” A smirk plays on his lips as he drags the stool next to the tub. “I never forget locking my doors.”

“You’re ruining my solo moment,” you pout and stick the tongue out, crossing your arms over the chest.

“Is it a fun solo moment?” One of his eyebrows rises, and his dimple meets daylight. He reaches a lock of your hair, birls it gingerly and twirls it like a spring around his finger.

“Sorry, but not, it’s not that kind of fun, Levi.” You wink. Without taking his eyes off you, his hand falls to your shoulder and remains there, lazily whisking, oblivious to the tingles and fire he stokes in you. You part your lips to talk, but instead, your eyes fidget around as your mind tries to dump icy water on the flames. And you’re here naked, in a so compromising position. Things can’t get worse. Now all your dignity relies on the thin layer of foam.

In fact, you want them to get worse.

But it seems Levi has thrown you to the friendzone, or the sisterzone.

His linen shirt is half open, letting you steal tiny peeks of his chiseled-by-gods chest; his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins crawling along his forearms. His hair is swept back, except for a few unmoored locks flicking over his forehead. His cheeks ruddy, and not by the incandescence of the sun.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Only a pewter. Bumped with Miche and Moblit on my way here.” A finger makes its wat to your chin, and he tips your face up, scrutinizing you. Something you hate. You can feel the heaviness of his gaze rummaging through you.

“What’s bugging you?” He probes. Life ruthlessness to him has hardened his exterior and sensitized his interior like a raw-boned dog twitching his nose at the faintest smell of food. To survive, you need to focus on details.

Your eyebrows plunge into a scowl. “You.” Water sprinkles on his face, and he snaps away, wrinkling his nose. “You’re interrupting my bath.” You growl. But he doesn’t leave. No trace of irritation is embedded on his brows when his eyes drift back to you. Golden light peeking through the tiny window graces his features, sculpting his face in marble, and you notice something you’d never appreciated before.

He looms forward. One of his hands dangles from the wood rim while the other lazily coaxes whirlpools, moving dangerously close to your skin, and even though the foam is fading, you don’t stop him. You feel the waves crashing against the stretchmarks gnarling across your breasts.

You tilt your head, bringing your knees to your chest, huddling like a grounded child. “He dumped me, Levi.” You utter. The coil in your chest untangles; for the first time in weeks you breathe, and at the same time, you feel like hiding and crying. You gaze down, enthralled in the pattern he draws, and mindlessly seek his hand. His fingers intertwined with yours, and for a brief moment, it all feels right.

They fit.

And that scares you.

You try to pry off, but he chases your hand and tightens his grip.

“What happened?” His voice is diaphanous, yet he can’t hide the uneasiness.

You shrug. “I guess… I wasn’t as lady like as he expected me to be. You know, wifey material.”

“Bullshit.” He fiddles with your fingers, tipping his head by a fraction, and raises an eyebrow.

“I hate you right now.”

He shakes his head and extricates from you, resting his wrist at the rim of the bathtub, and watches you, sweeping his tongue between his lips. “I’m just worried.”

You heave a sigh that blows off a lock of hair off your face and lean against the head of the tub, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. You breathe in and when you muster the energy you need, your hand falls from your face, your eyes crash with his. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” You shift your body until the water whisks your chin, folding your arms over your knees. “I dumped him, Levi.”

And even though he knows he shouldn’t be feeling that way, his heart beats with respite.

“He hit me.” You say stolidly as if it were a trivial fact.

His eyes bang open, and his insides rot with unbridled anger. His lips are pressed into a white slash, gray irises trembling, his grip threatening to rip the bathtub. You have triggered an implosion; you can see the echo of the fireball glinting in his eyes and oozing through every pore.

“Do I go on?” You suck on your bottom lip, averting his flaring gaze.

“You do.” He says with a throat-scourging gulp.

“Don’t forget your promise.”

“I promised no shit. If I need to break some arms and legs, I will.”

“Always so delicate.” You roll your eyes.   

“Tell me.”

“He got drunk.”

“That’s no fucking excuse.”

“I know. I know. It’s just… he’s nice, he really is, when sober, but I’d never seen him intoxicated like that, he turned into someone else. I found him at the bar around for bells and beg him to go back home, but he wasn’t there, I mean, not mentally, and anger with alcohol doesn’t go well together. He slapped me so hard I fell on my butt and scratched my hands.” You exhale for a pause and tip your head back. Your chin wobbles, crackling your voice. “We got home and as soon as the front door closed, he grabbed my hair and yanked me to the couch, not giving me time to recoil. Then, his hand was around my neck, and he towed me back on my feet. He said horrible things I don’t want to say…” you sniff, and run a hand down your face, tears and water trickle down your cheeks. “I… I was scared and helpless. I froze. He tore off my clothes and pushed me down on the couch. I wanted to scream, but I just couldn’t… then I saw him pulling his pants down…and…” You roll your head from side to side following the curve of the rim. “He was too drunk, it… didn’t work. You know… and when he left a gap open, I managed to escape.” You snort. “He lost his balance, fell and ended up snoozing in the middle of the living room.” You sob and rub a hand on your nose. “That’s it.” You look at him with glassy eyes. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened?” He grinds his teeth, his chest heaves, smoldering with rage.

“Levi.” Your hand lands on the back of his and squeezes it. “Just leave it.”

But he reels closer to you and settles his idle hand on your cheek, his warmth spreading, giving you a respite. The solace you needed, the first beam of sunlight caressing your face in a winter morning. A tear rolls down, and he wipes it away; you close your eyes and nuzzle against his palm.

“Tell me where he lives.” He seethes, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know where to find him, I don’t even want to find him.”

“If that piece of shit and I ever cross paths, I’m fucking gonna–“

He cuts his sentence when you turn your head away.

“Thank you, and sorry for not telling you before.”

“Don’t be.”

“I was scared.”

“I know.” He presses a feather-like kiss on your temple and whispers in your hair, “you know you can count on me, always. And you did the right thing.” He pulls away, and you give him a timid smile. A tiny blush creeps on your cheeks.

“You smell good,” you say. “You always do.”

“Tch.” He jerks his face away. A warm, annoying tingle crawls from his cheeks to his ears, and he can’t stop twiddling with his fingers.

“Look at me.”

He sighs, and his shoulders hunch. Tipping his chin up, he scratches a fake itch under his jaw and when he meets your face, only an inch away from his, steam oozes from his ears. His eyes pop and all his neurons freak out, looking for the emergency break. They better find it soon before his heart bangs to a halt, and his system collapses.

“I didn’t know you had freckles.” You chuckle, and he lets that pretty sound nest in his heart next to your laugh, and the way you roll his name on your tongue. Yes, he has a collection, and hopes one day to open a museum of you, maybe your smile should be at the beginning of the exposition.

You’re fucking pathetic, jerk.

His jittery lips part, but nothing comes out. His brain is a mesh that can’t string anything coherent. So close, yet so far. He can feel your breath fanning on his lips as you toy with his hair. But the tinge of self-restrain holds him down in place. If you knew he sometimes drink form your cup to get an idea of how you taste…

“Levi. Levi!” A finger snaps bursts before his face, and he blinks waking up from his reverie. “Wanna see me naked or what?”

“Yes! No! What?”

“My towel, dummy.” You point to the rack. “Could you hand it over and get out?” Levi groans and rake his fingers through his hair before getting on his feet. He snatches the towel from the nail and before you can thank him, the world turns off, blinded by the thick serviette.

Levi stomps to your room, kicking your clothes off the way, grunting, not for your carelessness but the strain against his pants. Maybe some sprints and push ups will divert blood to other tissues.

“Thank you.” You sarcastically remark as you dodge into the room, your arms popping out of the sleeves of your oversized white T. “At least a corner was left dry.” You pad to your vanity, while a flustered Levi averts his eyes, trying to focus on something else rather than your legs. Why did you pick those tiny shorts? “You’re too slow.” He retorts and plops face down on your bed, hiding the scorching blush and his growing erection.

You unclip the pins, and your mane unfurls over your shoulders like a warp and weft that traps the bristles of your brush. You grumble, losing the fight.

“Give me that!” The blurry edges of his face smooth down on the mirror, and surly, you hold the brush over your shoulder.

“Start by the ends.” You perch your feet at the edge of the chair and wind your arms under your knees.

“Brat.”

He catches your scowl through the mirror and sticks out the tongue. Smoothly and silkily, his fingers slip through your untangled curls, and as he reaches the middles, you can feel him grazing your scalp with gossamer strokes; it’s lulling, and eventually you begin dozing off. Your weariness sinks into a sigh, and your eyelids give up. “You feel good, Levi.” In another context, he would’ve exploded right there. He cranes closer, too close to imbibe the fading strawberries and rosemary of your shampoo.

“Levi.”

“Uh?”

“When were you planning to tell me?” You mumble.

He tilts his head, and a querulous look etches in his brows.

“Tell you what?”

You’ve been putting it up for weeks, afraid that the answer might break your heart, and it hurts too that your best friend can’t confide his love life to you. What are best friends for then?

You open your eyes, and they stumble upon his.

“I mean…” You trail, take a deep breath, and spew it. Either he plucks the thorn, or he hammers it deeper. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“I saw the ring. It wasn’t my intention, I sweat.” You raise your palms in the air and hurl them down again. “I was looking for a candle in one of your drawers and found it… She’s lucky.” You blush at that, hating yourself for exposing your green-eyed monster. You have no right, yet you couldn’t help it.

“Are you jealous?” His snort and smirk feed your irritation, you set your lips into a thin line, and hide your face in your knees. “There’s no she, Y/N.” He sets the brush down.

“Is it a he?” Your head lurches up, and you stare at him wide eyed.

“What?”

“What?”

“There’s no one.” He huffs and flicks a finger on your temple.

“Ow!”

“Then–“

“It belonged to my mother.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. That’s what you get for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” He plants a kiss where he had just hit you, swivels around and scuffs to the door, but you don’t follow him.

“Not having dinner?” He casts a look over his shoulder and takes his hand off the knob.

“I’m more tired than hungry.” You traipse to the bed without bothering to muzzle a yawn, stretching your arms over your head. “I think I’m sleeping twelve hours straight.” The mattress sags under your weight, your legs bent, knees pointing upward. The flannel of your shorts rumple at where your thighs fuse to the curve of your butt.

Nibbling on his lip, Levi shoves his hands into his pockets and curls them into fists, making more room to alleviate the repression. “I have work to do,” he says, rocking on his heels and gazing down.

“No.”

“Uh?”

Maybe he should stop uh-ing.

“Stay.” You turn your head in his direction. “I’ll help you with paperwork tomorrow. Please.”

“Do you want me to stay?” His chin is tucked against his chest, only his eyes rise, and you prop yourself on your elbows.

“I do.”

“Isn’t it too early to go to bed?”

You shrug. “We could just lie here.” You shift your weight up and make room for him in your single bed. “I hope you don’t mind sharing pillow.”

A weak smile peeks on his lips as he shakes his head. You fling the covers; he scuffs off his shoes and crawls in, wriggling himself until your shoulders touch.

Your sheets smell like you.

Specks of dust dance on the golden glow creeping through the window. The room is warm, and silence hovers over, giving way to the soft murmur of the breeze and your steady breathing.

“Wake me up at eight.” You nudge his foot with your toe. “I’ll bridge the gap to dinner with a nap.” Your hands thread on your belly, and you close your eyes. “Levi, you’re a great friend.” You say.

A stab right in the chest would’ve been less painful.

He slips a hand beneath his head, his cotton-clad feet swinging in and out, wishing it was more than your shoulders touching. He wants to touch you everywhere. Everywhere. His ears are in flames.

Stop thinking with your dick, asshole.

“Levi, are you awake?” You whisper.

“Uh-huh.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“You hardly do.”

“I know, but this time it’s different.” Usually, it’s the fear to see death in his dreams that keeps him awake; but this is the first time in years he can’t sleep out of excitement, the last time, his mother brought cake for his birthday.

“It’s hard…when a pretty girl is lying by your side.” He coyly says.

“What’s hard?”

“Sleep, but that’s not the only thing hard right now.”

“Are you stoned? Or did you catch a brain eating bacteria?” You elbow him on the arm.

“What?”

“You called me pretty, didn’t you? And you said you’re having an erection.”

“Yeah.” He scratches his head. “I think I did.”

“It just doesn’t make sense! The nicest thing you’ve ever said to me is that my lashes look like your horse’s. What did they put in your drink?” Your head is turned facing his. But a scowl grazes his features; he clicks his tongue and rolls over, his back facing you. “Leave me alone.” He grunts.

“This is my bed, Levi.” Your fingertips languidly pat your sternum. You want to reach out for him, kiss his head, snuggle your face and smell his hair, or taste it. So black it must be liquorice flavored. His eyebrows and eyelashes too. He’s recoiled in a fetal position, trying to capture and burn the butterflies in his belly. You don’t know what a sweet torture it is like when you roll his name in your tongue. The way you honey it. You’ve been using it too much today.

“Levi.”

There it goes again.

“I want to kiss you.”

Luckily you can’t see the stupid face he pulls out. He nuzzles in his bit of pillow, and his voice comes out in a hardly decoding slur. “I want to kiss you too.” But for you is loud and clear, or maybe is what your brain wants to hear.

“Why don’t we?” Your hands clutch into fists, and all your body tenses. One little question, harmless for others, might ruin what you have built. Years of friendship slipping through the gaps of your fingers like water. You chew the inside of your cheek and turn over on your side, bracing for his reaction.

The mattress slumps and wavers under his weight, and when his nose bumps with yours, a quiet contentment spreads through your chest. Tea lingers in his shaky breath, and a trembling hand flies to your cheek, he studies your eyes and this time you don’t hate it, instead, the vail falls, you open the door.

His steel gray orbs glint, white flecks dancing on them like stars glittering on the lake; his heart bangs in his chest as if it’d eventually breach out to meet yours.

The edges of your world narrow to his silhouette.

Nothing else matters.

An invisible blanket of mutual adoration wraps around you.  

It’s you and him and the mingle of vanilla, black tea and lavender.

In a flick, his eyes land on your lips, you’re moistening them in anticipation, and in a wordless agreement, you both slowly lean in, watching each other’s reaction until your mouths lock for the first time in an awkward, bumbling peck. You don’t even close your eyes; you don’t know what to do with your hands, they’re clinging to the hem of your shorts, expecting. But his eyes close first as his lips hover over yours, tender and shy like a preteen kissing his crush for the first time. And it’s perfect. You pull apart and clasp his cheeks in your hands, letting out a string of giddy giggles; he laughs too, his cheeks suffused with an impossible red that contrasts against his pallor. His freckles get lost in the blobs of sheepishness. It’s an alien feeling to him, to let someone in this far. But he loves the tickling in is stomach and hands, the lightness in his chest, and the warmth grazing his cheeks. It’s frightening and beautiful.

“That was awful.” You quip.

“I know, but we can try again.”

And you bring his face to yours as his hands make their way to your waist and pull your closer to his body. Your lips crash, and this time they mold and move in a sloppy, teeth-clashing, perfectly imperfect kiss.

And it feels right.

But your body craves more.

Panting, you reel away, and your hands slide to his chest, drinking the reckless beat of his heart through the weave.

“I want… I want to touch more of you, Levi.” You coo, blushing, as your fingers traipse to the first button.

“I want more than touching you.” He breathes.

“Is that you trying to say you want to fuck me?”

He grins. “I tried to be decent, but yes. I’m glad you grasped the idea. But… we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

All you want is to make love to him.

You feel his thumbs stroking your hipbone over the clothes, “Just kiss me now before I change my mind.”

Men asking for consent makes them one hundred times hotter. You want to curl against him, to mold with him like the Valdaro lovers you read about. As wicked as it sounds.

You open his shirt and run your palms over his chest and abs, muscles rippling under your touch. “You’re so good, Levi.” You say without taking your lusty eyes of his sculpted body, stealing a snort form him.

“Stop objectifying me.”

“I’m not.” You trace his edges and ridges, the scars etched on his skin. “A little, yes.”

You feel him tugging at your shirt. “So…” One eyebrow climbs up. “Can I?”

A chuckle bubbles out your mouth, putting a coyly smile on your lips as you seek another kiss. A gasp melts in your mouth as your daring hand caresses him over his clothes. How can he think with all his blood mustered down there?

You peel off by a fraction and look him in the eye. “Yes Levi, you have my permission to–“

He cuts you with a kiss and tears away from you. “Should I close the windows?” His voice comes out huskier than ever, and you thought it couldn’t get hotter. His notes and waves ripple straight to your core.

“No,” you say, skimming his chest. “I want to see you.”

“Great.” Another smirk creeps on his lips. Great, because he too wants to see how he disappears in your body. He hisses by picturing it; all the nights he thought about you in indecent ways.

He brings his lips to your ear, but what has been pricking his heart for years doesn’t come out.

“What?” you venture, tracing an invisible line along the bridge of his nose.

“Nothing.”

“Now you have me intrigued.”

“You’re beautiful.” He lightly pinches your cheek between his knuckles while his other hand sneaks under your shirt, breaking goosebumps, and shivers on your skin.

You flinch.

“You don’t like that?”

You shake the head. “I’m just nervous.”

“Me too.” He confesses. “If you want to stop, just tell me.”

You tug at the collar of his shirt and urge him. “Take this off.”

He laughs and tows himself up into a sitting position, and so you do. Levi has a pretty laugh, and you wish you could hear it more often.

Levi shrugs his shirt off, and you slip off yours as well, rumpling it before your breasts, blushing hard and looking away. It’s not the first time a man sees you naked, but before him, you feel more self-conscious.

He scoots closer so your knees are touching, and you snap your face back at him. His hands fondling your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers and brushes your hair off. Adrenaline, fear, desire rushing through your veins, sizzling your fingers and toes, and you finally drop the meddlesome piece of fabric.

You want him to see you. To discover you; to choose you; to reinvent you.

“You’re beautiful.” He coos.

You feel his scorching fingertips striding down past your collarbones, still hesitating, but you take his hands in yours and guide him to your breasts. “Touch me.” Your words teeter in your mouth. You let him explore by himself and close your eyes, your hands anchored to his waist. He strokes gently as if you were the most delicate china set, afraid to hurt you.

Soft moans seep past your lustrous lips as he rolls and tweak your nipples in his fingers. Your head falls backward, and through leaden eyes you cast a glance at him, smiling, and he smiles back. Ruby hues tinting his cheeks.

Heartbeats bang behind your ears. The itching in your neck, a pang of pudency across your chest, teeth sinking in your bottom lip; sweaty hands, reckless mind, nails raking his waist.

“Levi.” You moan his name as he takes one pebbled nipple in his mouth, and that sound goes straight to his private collection. He laves and sucks and nibbles while his fingers pepper the other nub, he will never grow tired of cajoling those pretty sounds.

A string of drool snaps, smearing his chin as he goes for the other nipple, and the air feels cool, crashing against the glistening one. “Levi,” Your back arches, begging for more. You roll your hips to nothing with unbridled eagerness, and he chuckles, draping his arms around you, nuzzling his face between your breasts, pushing you down on your back. The bulge in his pants strains against you indecorously, and he rocks his hips, seeking alleviation. “Fuck, this is how hard you get me.” He groans and press a kiss on your chin.

You love it, you love being desire this bad.

His skin melting with yours, your hearts beating with the same frenzy.

“Let’s do something about it then.” You shove your fingers through his hair and tip his face to meet his eyes.

“I want to taste you first.” You can feel his fingers tracing the waistline of your shorts; one anchors to the hem, dragging it back and forth, waiting for your reaction. “I bet you’re damn wet already.”

“Why don’t you find out?” Your fingertips caress his temples.

“You’re gonna make me come in my pants.”

“How old are you?”

“Shut up.”

You raise your hips, and with a quick move, he pulls your bottoms down. He kneels, slips them off your feet and toss them away. Damn. He feels a twitch under his pants; damn, he can’t take his eyes off you. The musk and sweetness of your scent is driving him mad like a man who has fasted for months. He plants a kiss on your knee and wedges between your legs.

He kisses you as if his purpose were to tear off your lips, moans, whimpers and groans coalescing in your mouths you can’t tell whose is whose. He breaks apart and blesses your eyelids, your nose and your cheeks, kisses trailing down from your ear to your chin. He wants to pitch his flag in every inch of your skin. Your hands; he kisses the tip of each finger, pampers your arms, your shoulders, your chest, the valley between your breasts, your navel, your mound. He spreads your knees and kisses the crease where your legs meet your hips, your thighs, tickles spreading across your flesh as he goes down, your shins and calves, your ankles, and heels to the tip of your toes. Then his hands roam to the back of your knees. He yanks your legs over his shoulders, and you watch him, parting your folds with his tongue, making your jaw drop with a moan.

Like cats, people look for dark, vailed places to have sex, but you choose to do it in plain daylight when the late afternoon sun still percolates through the windows. You didn’t want to miss any details, like the creases on his forehead or the way his eyes are black instead of gray.

“What?” He sweeps his tongue along his dewy lips.

You prop on one elbow. “You look pretty.” You say, swinging your head kittenishly, and taking a piece of his hair between your fingers. “Le–“ His name is sheared by gasp, and your eyes close to slivers. His tongue probing around the hood.  

“You look prettier like that.” His lips curve against your slit and he continues savoring you as if you were the ripest peach. The view obscenely beautiful. He doesn’t even take his eyes off you, reading every reaction. Your dull eyes, your parted lips, your erratic breathing, and the way your chest rises and falls, the muscles across your belly twitching, sweat pampering your cheeks. You plop back and clutch fistfuls of the sheets, your knuckles white and tensed as his tongue and lips work wonder, you can feel it building in your core, your entrance clenching, begging to be filled, and that’s when the tension snaps. Your hips lurch up and still.

No one has ever made you feel so light, no one has ever put your pleasure first.

His weight hovers over your body. His tongue coaxes his entrance to your mouth, muskiness and sweetness bristling up your taste buds.

You squeeze his butt, and he reels away. “Take your pants off,” you mutter. “Fuck me. Now.” Kiss. “I need you.” He looks so beautiful, his rosy-tinted cheeks, his heavy-lidded eyes, the shine on his lips, the way he gazes down at you as if you were the most precious thing worth of her own temple.

He leaps of the bed and kicks his pants off, sighing in relief. Yes, everything in Levi is beautiful, beautiful. He’s built like a god. That holy V-line pointing down, the thin line of hair crawling down from beneath his bellybutton, and that pretty cock. Thick, reddish and throbbing… He takes himself in a hand, and you make grabby hands and puppy eyes. Chuckling, he crawls back to the bed, making room for himself between your legs.

“I want your cock in my pussy.” You rake your fingers down his chest. You should consider write poetry. So blatant and effective like him. When you spend a big part of your day everyday next to someone, you start learning them and adopting some of their traits. Molding them for you.

“I still remember when you couldn’t say shit without getting all flustered?”

“Levi, I’m not in the mood to talk about shit.” Your fingers burrow in his butt and squeeze, pulling him toward you, but he doesn’t move an inch. “Please.” You flit your lashes and smile, bucking your hips to chase him, but he jerks back.

“Don’t be an ass, Levi. You fucking want it too.” Your hands sweep up, taking in the squirm of his muscles, and meet behind his neck, your thumbs stroking the spots under his ears. “I don’t have as much self-restrain as you do.” He leans and kisses you, stealing a gasp as he positions himself, you can feel him poking around your entrance, and your brace for it. Moans mingle in the kiss as he pushes forward, reveling in the tightness, in the warmth and in you. He wants to feel every inch swaddling him, how good you take him. You’re trembling, not because of pain, no; it is because of the way your body molds for his. And when he can’t go any further, he stills. His staggered breaths brushing the pulsing spot on your neck.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with you.” His voice crackles between syllables as if he’s been tucking those words for so long and finally manages to take them out of the chest. When the world turned its back on him, you were the haven of the possible. You knew how to caress him until it didn't hurt, and you stayed by his side those nights when he wished he could sleep and never wake up. You taught him about slow love, you accompanied him through the sadness, one day at a time. And one ordinary day became extraordinary. The day he understood that he loved you. That you had slipped through the cracks in his heart and stayed forever. He never kicked you out. And he will never let you go. If he weren't a coward, that piece of crap would've never hurt you. That same day, he delved into the drawer of nostalgies, grab the necklace that once belonged to his mother and cast it. The moon-shaped pendant gave way to a ring in which he kept all the hope of someday losing his fear and being able to slip it on your finger.

You lie there, wide-eyed and limp, tears swelling in your bottom lash line as you process what you just heard. Levi… Levi is in love with you.

He holds himself up on his elbows, and concern mixed with embarrassment spreads in his eyes. He clears his throat. “This is where you laugh, and I say it was a joke.” You shake your head, your hands curving to his waist.

“If it was a joke, I’ll kill you. Because I feel the same way, Levi.” All your fears to say those words dwindle. “I love you too.” tickles in the tip of your tongue.

The corners of his lips quirk up. His mouth locks on yours before you can see the tears forming in his eyes, and he starts to move. Patient and yearning with every thrust. So, this is what it feels like to love, to have sex with more than just your body. You long to fuse with him, for your skin to melt with every crease of him, your sweat and his sweat brewing ambrosia. You drink his scent, something like sandalwood blended with bergamot.  Your fingers trickling down his back like soft drops of rain.

His face separates from you by a wedge, his fingers trailing down your jaw until they perch on your chin. He rocks his hips faster, and mutters against one corner of your lips, “you deserve no less than this.” Your legs wrap around his waist, imprisoning him, “nothing less.”

Squeezing tight your eyes, your face turns to the side, your nails barking red lines down his back. Your walls flutter around him, wringing out a groan from his lips. Your body arches against him, and his name breaks past your lips in a loud moan.

“I’m… too,” he mutters as he tries to pry your leg off him, but you only tighten your hold. “Fuck Y/N.” He hisses. His eyes twitch, his nose scrunches. You always wonder what his orgasm face looked like. You thought he’d roll his eyes.

He pushes in one last thrust, still swaddled by the cloud of pleasure, oblivious to the potential consequences. And when it disintegrates, his eyes fill with apprehension.

“You sure?” He worriedly pants, and you nod.

“It’s ok.”

His hair is tickling your face. But you can’t stop looking at him. Your eyes always follow him, no matter what trivial thing he’s doing. You could be a fly on his wall to look at him every day.   

“Say it again, Levi.”

“What?”

“That you love me.”

“But I already said it,” he groans and falls at your side. You roll onto your belly, fold your hands on his chest and roost your chin on them. Your knees bend so that your heels almost touch your lovely ass. “I want to hear them again.”

It was easier when pleasure was buzzing beneath his skin.

He turns his head away and tucks a hand beneath his nape, “Love you.” He spews plainly.

You frown. “Say it like you mean it. Look at me and say it again.”

“Tch.” His finger brush circles on your shoulder. “Clear your ears cause I’m not repeating myself.” He flicks his eyes to you. “Our names are carved in the ring.”

Nela's 1000 event

[raisindave]

[Chapter 3] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

The hard water left phantoms of orange streams along the presumably beige shower tile. Most of the time, showers had to be limited to five minutes, ten if you whine about it. Nobody could tell you that you couldn’t indulge in a fifteen this time. It’ll be hard to even think of it as a fifteen-minute shower when you have to punch a button in the wall every 60 seconds to remind the plumbing that it doesn’t have permission to stop. 

Cool streams of water stream over your skin. It feels heavenly. The military isn’t famous for its luxury showers, nor is rural Russia. Every second counts, scrubbing your face and body in pace with your five-minute regular showers, permitting a tranquil ten minutes of nothing but the sensation of trickling water across your searing skin. In a way, the overzealous force of the water flowing from the faucet was more of a perk, offering a kneading massage across aching shoulders. 

One final mouthful of water left the taste of bitter pennies in your mouth, pushing aside the plastic curtain shielding you from the cooler bathroom air. Pessimism aside, the shower did a fantastic job of cooling your nerves, literally or figuratively. A quick towel dry did the trick, making the standard-issue cargo pants chafe against your skin, only reminding you of the bliss you just stepped out of. At least you got to have your own bra and underwear. That’s a luxury the higher-ups didn’t get to take from you, though the natural tradeoff of function over form meant beige and black were the sole options. Wet hair, mostly brushed, clung to the back of your black tee shirt as the bathroom door clicked shut. 

I’ll have to face them again eventually. Just rip the band-aid off and meet them again. At this point, they have every right to shun me. I’ve been nothing but a fucking nuisance. It’s just not meant to be. It’s over before it even started.

Rounding the corner leading from the so-called women’s wing, the common room hosted two of your teammates. Or so it should have been. Craning your neck to see the gym or office, still no one. Maybe what you said was so obscene that they returned to their rooms in shame, or perhaps this is your sign that you can pack up and leave. The shame swirling in your gut grew for a reason beyond your compensation. They’re still assholes, whether they're here or not. 

Just off the common room, a flash of movement passed over the circular window on the kitchen door. A deep sigh and you crossed the distance to press your fingertips on the swinging door. Soap and Gaz were under the sterile fluorescent lighting of a 1970s military-issue standard kitchen. Your appearance halted them in the middle of their conversation. The kitchen was a wreak, open sainted wood cabinets revealing shelves that had clearly been rummaged through.

“Hey,” you breathed, rolling on the balls of your feet, “Sorry for freaking out, heh.”  

“Yeah, Laswell gave us an earful, but even before that, that’s pretty shitty.” Gaz rested against the linoleum countertop, folding his arms over his ‘SAS’ tee shirt, “She’s got us-”

“I hope ye’ like fuckin’ birthday cake,” Soap interrupted through a slanted grin, doubled over a mixing bowl. 

The scene of the kitchen became crystal clear; two grown men, in reality mostly just Soap, were frantically baking a boxed cake at the behest of a disgruntled superior officer. Considering the main tools to work with were tools salvaged from an abandoned bunker, paired with basic MRE equipment. Restaurant-grade single-use butter containers littered the countertops, clearly a last-ditch attempt to make up for the oil requirement. Gaz was trying to dissect a MRE trail mix pack, separating M&M’s from nuts and raisins. 

“Don’t sweat it. Getting chirped at is just part of the fun… I’ll consider it water under the bridge if I can return the favour back at you.” 

Soap looked up from his whisking as if he’d taken some grave offence.

“Of course, you can. Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Not gonna’ lie, when you talked to us earlier, I was scared shitless. Bloody hell , I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice!” Gaz added, scratching at his stubble. 

“Are you ready for this?” he fumbled with the lid of the vanilla extract bottle that had probably been there since the Cold War. “Y’a ready? This is what I like to call the Scottish Touch,” proceeding to deposit a glugging dump of vanilla extract, eliciting a shout from Gaz.

You gave Gaz a raised eyebrow, reaching for and flipping over the boxed cake mix to reveal the instructions, clearly disregarded. It didn’t even call for vanilla. Suddenly, you felt less ashamed of being incompetent while rucking. 

“Aye,” Soap swiped the box from your fingers, “it's gonna be the best cake you ever had, better than mom used to make. And you’re gonna fucking like it.”

—

The cake was a sight to behold. It had finesse in the weirdest locations, delicately displaying evident incompetence. A lumpy, watery topping was the obvious result of applying the icing to a still-hot cake out of the oven. At the same time, there was a delicate, skillfully placed ring of M&M’s arranged in a repeating order on top. 

Standing around the kitchen counter again, Soap volunteered to begin cutting into the lumpy cake with a KA-BAR knife- which he immediately licked clean. Responding to your disgusted face as if he forgot he wasn’t the only person in the room. 

“Look, clean!” showing his knife proudly, catching Price’s gaze as he pushed open the kitchen door. 

Snatching a slice of cake onto a Folger's coffee tub lid, Soap handed you a spoon, clinking others to Gaz and Price. Gaz awkwardly adjusted the fit of his baseball cap, an obvious nervous response to Price’s attempts to hold in his laughter. 

“Sergeant, what the fuck is that,” Price bellowed. 

“No, no, no, no. Gaz, you’re in this with me. This is a team effort.”

“I want nothing to do with this cake. All I did was the decorations.”

“Excellent job on the decorations, Gaz,” Price added.

“Ya’ haven’t even tried the bloody thing yet! Go on, Lua, try your fucking spectacular cake.” Soap took special care to enunciate his words with a chef’s kiss motion with his fingertips. 

“If this kills me, I’m haunting you forever,” you spoke up, smiling widely at Soap’s agitation. 

“Shut it.” 

You lifted the bite to your lips, cautiously biting the spoon and working the flavours over your tongue. Bone dry but paradoxically greasy. Sweet, courtesy of the non-perishable vanilla cake mix, but that’s about it. Despite being below average for a shitty cake mix, at the very least, it had the delightful pillowy warmth of a freshly baked dessert. Raising your eyes to the audience of grown men patiently expecting your response, you thoroughly and teasingly smacked your lips to unveil your conviction dramatically. 

“Tastes like a fuckin’ birthday card.”

“Can’t say I’m familiar with the taste,” Price quipped, timidly placing a piece of the sweet treat into his mouth on the back of his knife. What’s with these men and their knives? 

Soap just shook his head, dunking his spoon into the entire body of the cake, correctly assuming that nobody intended to go for seconds. He, too, momentarily pondered the flavour, only to contort his face into a cringe. 

“What the fuck did you do, Gaz? It’s fucked!” spat Soap, cheeks still full of cake. 

“Me? You’re the one who said we could use water instead of milk, and you said to add all those butter packets!”

A choked laugh barked out of Price. 

“It must just be the Scottish touch ,” you quipped, grinning mischievously as you took the opportunity to slip away from the carnage that was certain to follow. 

The commotion accelerated in the kitchen as you passed through the common room. A member is missing from your cake-walk, not just Laswell, who had the excuse to stay in the commander’s suite. Another glance at the gym on your way down the hall to your room showed that, to your knowledge, Ghost was nowhere to be found. He was probably starting fires or popping beach balls. He seems like the sort. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Your mind is in a tortuous replay of the events of the day. Try as you might. Cold shame forbids your conscience from slipping into the rest it desperately needs.

What the fuck is wrong with me? All that drama over some banter with the rookie. I just got here, and I’m already scrapping with people. What reason do they have not to ship me back home at first light? Chuck was right; there will be no more pity parties. No more resting on my laurels.

After hours of consideration and tortuous recaps, relaxation washed over you, and you drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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Master List

[acceptcryptopaymentsonshopify]

Dry Winter Skin: How to Guide it

Dry Winter Skin: How to Guide it

Feeling like a refrigerated raisin is by and large not the best method for participating in the colder season and the joyful events that go with it. Coming up next are a few signs on the best technique for managing dry winter skin. Shop womens Neckband Trending men's fashion USA

Your skin in winter can become dry with the possible result of being unbearable. I, close to the day’s end, began feeling the effects of the cooler environment around the start of October. My lips became fragile and dried, and I expected to change to a substitute condition of normal facial compound in light of the fact that the stripping spots in my endless cleaning master were upsetting my skin. I’ll require quite far my conventional shedding to just twice. Furthermore my hands and feet ended up being uncommonly dry.

Inside you’re acquainted with dry power and outside you’re pursued with unforgiving winter UV radiates from the sun and chilling breezes. Without question, the sun’s places of help are still much the same way as risky as in summer and they will bob off any contamination surfaces, twisting around the bars right back on to you. You will require a fair facial cream with SPF in it.

Coming up next are a few extra tips to help you with combatting dry winter skin:

Use a lip treatment (preferably with SPF) and don’t lick your lips under any circumstance. That essentially increases it. Keep your hands lowered with a respectable quality hand cream.

Hydrate and cutoff your alcohol use. Alcohol is a dehydrator.

Buy a humidifier if you don’t right currently have one. It could help with holding your warming bills down moreover. You know, the whole thing. Think Amazon rainforest.

Use a shower channel. It will channel through the skin-drying chlorine in your device water. Avoid warmed water regardless of the way that it feels out and out improved a sickness winter morning. It will fundamentally strip your skin of its not startling oils and brief water to quickly disappear significantly more. Furthermore, it pays to change from cleaning expert which can dry the skin, to a smooth body wash which will help your skin with holding wetness. Clear your skin off while leaving the shower, don’t rub. Apply a heavenly balm to help with fixing in drenched quality.

Exactly when the assurance drops to 50 percent or less, you ought to give widely more thought to your moisturization plan. Keep away from unforgiving scours or made substances since they will disavow most of the skin’s oils and dry your skin out more easily. This applies major areas of strength for to things as well as cleaning things.

y #1 winter sound skin tip is before you head to rest, apply a thick, rich cream to your feet, zeroing in on the effect point district. Then put on a nice satisfying plans of socks. Unequivocally when you blend your feet will be fragile and smooth and especially hydrated.

Not zeroing in on extremely dry skin can impel clinical issues and go in all likelihood as a mat for rashes and skin sicknesses. So take remarkable thought of your skin and participate in your colder season!

[elixir-fussigny-seleuss]

SELEUSS - ELIXIR - FUSSIGNY GRAND CHAMPAGNE TRUFFLES

BATCH 1426 - INFUSED WITH GRAND CHAMPAGNE VSOP COGNAC

This somptueux truffle is made with FUSSIGNY’s V.S.O.P. COGNAC from Grand Champagne, fresh organic cream, and our specially formulated 52% REGINA™ dark milk chocolate that complements this full bodied Cognac with notes of vine shoot, candied prune + raisin, vanilla, coconut & toffee. Enrobed in a 72% MORETTA™ and dusted with silver violet sugar. (B1426, 1427, Bottle: LAFCO23031601, 11/04/23, 13:13) ENJOY! This product contains liquor and the alcohol content is one 1% or less of the weight of the product. EXEMPTION: RCW 66.12.160. MUST BE 21 TO PURCHASE  BB: 08/28/24  DRINK CHAMPAGNE, EAT COGNAC TRUFFLES

INGREDIENTS: Chocolate (Cacao Beans, Sugar, MILK, LACTOSE, Cacao Butter, Sunflower & SOY Lecithin, Vanilla), Organic Cream, VSOP COGNAC/BRANDY, Glucose, Spices, SPRINKLED WITH: silver-violet sugar (sugar, corn starch, mica-based pearlescent pigment, artificial aroma, red cabbage extract, silicon dioxide, water, trisodium citrate, citric acid, maltodextrin, glucose syrup). CONTAINS: MILK, LACTOSE, RESIDUAL ALCOHOL. THIS PRODUCT IS PROCESSED IN A FACILITY THAT CONTAINS MILK, EGGS, WHEAT, HAZELNUTS, ALMONDS, PEANUTS AND OTHER NUTS. This product contains liquor and the alcohol content is one 1% or less of the weight of the product. EXEMPTION: RCW 66.12.160

Drink Champagne & Eat Cognac Truffles:

“Marc de Champagne” the main ingredient in all the so called “Champagne truffles” contains no Champagne!

Marc de Champagne is a spirit (industrial alcohol), usually clear, (or aged in oak barrels) produced by distilling the “Marc, or Pomace”, basically the leftover waste cake of seeds and skins after the 2nd (3rd) pressing in the Champagne making process. As for Cognac (a type of Brandy), not made from waste!

[foodvips]

Makeup Artist Tells Us Why Hailey Bieber's Foundation Technique Isn't Worth It

Experts

Makeup Artist Tells Us Why Hailey Bieber's Foundation Technique Isn't Worth It

Static Media/Shutterstock/GettyBy A. R. Hopkins|Aug. 13, 2023 10:00 am ESTThe beauty side of TikTok is aglow with revelations about how Hailey Bieber applies her foundation. Though not every video is about her technique specifically, #foundationhack has 1.5 billion views on the video platform, so there's definitely a market for tips like hers. But what does it entail? Bieber's application "hack" consists of pumping liquid foundation into your palm instead of onto a brush or makeup sponge. Then, you use a brush to pick up the product from your hand and transfer it onto your face. Since the skin on our palms doesn't contain pores, according to Buckhead Dermatology, the foundation isn't absorbed, minimizing waste — at least that's how TikTok user Kelly Strack explains it.Still, despite being über-famous, Bieber isn't a professional makeup artist, so we asked Elizabeth Seropian, an MUA with over a decade of experience, for her thoughts on the application method. In a nutshell, she wasn't particularly impressed by it, and she shared exclusively with Glam why she wouldn't recommend this foundation trick to her clients or other makeup artists. 

You could transfer oil and bacteria to your face

Vogue/YouTubeElizabeth Seropian expressed her concerns to Glam about the hygienic implications of Hailey Bieber's foundation application technique. "The 'palm to brush to face' method in makeup application can raise sanitation concerns," she exclusively told us. "When using this method, the potential issues include transferring bacteria, oils, and dirt from the hands to the makeup brush and subsequently to the face. This can lead to clogged pores, breakouts, and potential skin irritation."If a potential cosmetic acne breakout isn't what you're going for when applying your makeup, you might want to steer clear of this method. Instead, apply your foundation directly onto either your makeup brush or your face. Then, use the same brush or a damp makeup sponge to evenly distribute the product and blend it into your face for a natural, skin-like finish. No direct handling of the product is required or even recommended when it comes to foundation, especially if you're applying it to someone else. 

The hack can lead to product waste and uneven distribution

Rita Almusa Beauty/YouTubeDespite what you may have heard on TikTok, the fact that our palms are poreless doesn't mean that they can't absorb moisture and other substances. Think back to the last time you spent a day swimming or floating in a pool with an umbrella drink, watching your hands and feet absorb so much water that they looked like raisins. According to Scientific American, this phenomenon is thanks to ultra-absorbent keratin, the protein that makes up much of the protective outer layer of our skin, hair, and nails (and the same one found in protein hair masks)."The 'palm to brush to face' method can lead to more product waste due to absorption into the hands," Elizabeth Seropian exclusively told Glam. "A preferable method is applying the product directly to the brush or face. This will ensure an even distribution of the product and a smoother blending process, resulting in a more precise and efficient makeup application." There we have it, folks. At the end of the day, Hailey Bieber's foundation technique might not be worth the buzz after all.  Read the full article

[seabreeze2022]

Bahama Cruise 2022, Part 14, April 12, White Point, Oven Rock Cave.

Just picking up some lunch of Queen Conch before we head south.

This is a small Crawfish hiding under a coral head. He is to small to catch and it is out of season, so we let him be.

This is the north side of White Point, which is 3.5 miles south of Black Point. Black point has a settlement, White Point does not. Contrary to what you might think, Black Point has nothing to do with the skin color of the locals. The rocky shoreline there is a dark iron shore of solid rock. White Point is very obvious from a distance with its high white sandy cliffs.

The shoreline in between the two points has several different types of rock. Most is a limestone with large under cuts. There are exposed pockets of red Sahara dust in the limestone. Then there are flat smooth rocks on shore. Plus the sand on White point.

Nancy is the Dinghy Commander today. Notice the red color in the rocks to the top right. From what I understand, Sahara dust collects over decades and washes down into pockets. Which eventually get covered by other sediments.

Cruisers love building cairns. I prefer to leave nature in its natural state. On the north west side of White Point are these smooth stones some are almost black.

Just a photo showing how the grass rakes back and forth making a design in the sand. Plus a hermit crab has walked through the scene at some point.

I would like to say we were the only ones at White Point, but there was a mega yacht parked on the other side with its beach party going on.

View from the top of White Point.

The holding here is not great so we picked up our anchor and headed south along Great Guana Cay. Welcome to “Oven Rock”. A very unique geological formation attached to shore with a opening in the very middle facing west.

There is a cave nearby called “Oven Rock Cave”, we just needed to find the path. We talked to a fellow cruiser on the beach. He said go to the very north end of the beach and look for the trail. So we did. There were a couple of fire pits on shore. Then we found the markers.

We followed a winding trail through the scrub brush and over tippy slabs of pinnacle rock. Beware of what nearby tree you may want to brace yourself. Poison wood abounds on these islands. Descriptions said the opening was hard to find and very camouflaged. After 15 minutes of hiking there was a fork in the trail.

Turning 90 degrees to the right and a short hike brings you to the end of the trail. A huge buttonwood limb lays across the mouth of the Cave entrance. You could easily sit on the limb and not know the cave was behind you. We were prepared with spot lights.

This cave was found by a young boy from Farmers Cay playing in the hills, while his mom tended the family plot of vegetables. What a cool cave. A Stalactite married up to a stalagmite near the cave entrance. Crystal clear water. A very enterprising cave diver explored this in 1995.

What is a dark spooky cave without bats? There are 8 bats hanging from the ceiling of the cave where the spotlight is shining.

Beware of dipping your hand in the cave water and rubbing your face. I am now scarred for life!

Just kidding. But I do feel like a crew beamed down from the Starship Enterprise to a new planet. What is going to sting, burn, poison or harm me while I am innocently looking at it. Maybe I need to get a name tag on my shirt. Those guys usually made it back to the ship.

After leaving the cave we explored the rest of the trail heading east. Where we broke out on to this deserted beach. Surf rolling in on the right, and sea oats in the foreground.

A deserted beach without a beautiful woman is just another pile of sand. Lucky for me I had Nancy to brighten up the picture.

This was one of several Sahara dust collections points we hiked over in the Exumas.

Cinnamon raisin rolls being prepared for tomorrows breakfast.

To be continued,

S/V Sea Breeze, Oven Rock, Great Guana, Exuma, Bahamas.

[jaeyong-sucker]

(MORE THAN) FRIENDS

PAIRING: Na Jaemin x Male Reader 

GENRE: Smut

WARNINGS: Unprotected Sex, Edging, Teasing, Begging, Choking, Slight Feminization, Daddy Kink, Bottom Male Reader

SUMMARY: With all tasks finished and boredom striking you and your roommate, you try something new to blossom your friendship. 

Word Count: 3,107

Note: Jaemin couldn't last long? (LMAO) 

Feedbacks and tips are very much appreciated. ^~^

♡♡♡

Exams are over. All your (annoying) backlogs are submitted and all the chores are already finished. Finally, boss Kun has allowed you to have a day-off from his busy bakeshop, which always had you completely fried at the end of the day. 

Your to-do list consisting of academic and other responsibilities has been cleared and there's nothing more heavenly than the ecstatic feeling of lying lazily in a tub of warm water and salts and soaps and everything therapeutic. Your tense muscles being put in a relaxed state as you moan at the delight of being free, until work and school gets you chained on your desk again. 

You finally get out of the tub upon seeing your fingers wrinkling like raisins. After toweling and drying yourself up (and staring at the mirror being obsessed with how fucking good you look naked), you head to your drawer to scan which clothes you'll wear before slumping to the bed. Yawning, you roll your eyes and just leave the drawer open and just head to bed with nothing on. Good thing, your roommate has changed the sheets on your shared bed. 

You see Jaemin naked on the bed as he lazily scrolls through his Instagram feed. It's not the first time you saw him naked like this. In fact, you mostly shower together, make out a lot, and even jerk off together (thanks to Jaemin calling you one day to scrub his back full of dead skin). You're also glad everything is going fine. No feelings going on between the both of you, since you're just close friends and nothing more. 

Besides, he already has a girlfriend. 

"Hyungie~," you chime as you approach the bed. His face instantly brightens after turning to look at your direction. His attention on the phone long gone. Looking at you with adoring eyes, he spreads his arms wide, to which you immediately jump on the bed and (almost) crush him with your hug. 

"Y/N-ie~," he hums, closing his eyes and smiling like a fool, before planting multiple kisses on your face. Cupping your cheeks, he scans your whole face, and you smile in return, mirroring the adorable expression on his face. He plants another kiss on your forehead, making you snuggle closer to his warmth after pulling the sheets. 

Cuddles with Jaemin are always common. Being the caring sunbae and roommate he is, he cuddles you almost everyday, in the most unexpected time and places, of course without his girlfriend's presence. You never had problems preparing for breakfast since it's always served to you upon waking up. Not to mention the time when he drew you a bath and cleaned your whole body after being too tired and lazy from all the tasks you had to complete. 

You couldn't blame him though. It's just who he is and you can't help but wonder (and feel a little guilty) if he gives his girlfriend the same treatment he gives you. Hopefully so. 

"Nana, I'm bored~," you childishly groaned, looking at Jaemin with needy eyes. "Is there anything I can do with you," you added, nuzzling his neck after. His natural scent instantly sent butterflies churning in your stomach. You loved sniffing Jaemin like this: fresh out of the shower, with minimal products applied on his body. His warm bare body embracing yours… just the bare Jaemin hyung. 

"We can jerk off," he whispers and you can hear the mischief in his voice. Instantly, you imagine the scenarios that would happen when you do jerk off with him. 

Jaemin definitely knew what to do with his hands. His soft, slow strokes as he swirls his thumb over the crown of your dick. His hands making slow, sensual, twisting movements around your length. How he gently massages your balls and swirls his thumb over your leaking slit. How he messily lathers your dick with his spit before he increases the speed of his strokes, leading to the most magical climaxes you ever had, and still do. The blissful explosion of cum everywhere, leaving you heaving for air and teary eyed and definitely satisfied every single time. 

"We always jerk off, hyungie~," you roll over on top of him and cup his cheeks. To be honest, you were getting bored of cumming from Jaemin's hands alone. And it's been months that you've been jerking off together and nothing else. Just jerk off together on typical Saturday nights and clean up and sleep. I mean, the handjobs and blowjobs are so great. They always are.  But you both know you want more, and neither of you speaks up. 

"I want to do something more, hyung. I wanna fuck with you." You sternly say, looking straight into Jaemin's eyes. "I want you to fuck me the way you dream dirty of me." You added and at that, a glint of playfulness appeared in his eyes. "I've heard you dream about me, hyungie. A lot. And it seems you've always wanted to do it, but you can't. So fuck me. Right here, right now. We both know you need me as much as I need you." 

A cocky smirk appeared wide on Jaemin's face. He feels his cock spring up from your words. His (wet) dirty dreams of you are about to come true, now that you gave him your consent. Licking his lips and his seductive gaze fixated on you, he playfully flips you over, making you the one under him. 

"Three words, y/n. No strings attached." He grins, lowering his head, your lips a few inches apart. 

You return the smirk and respond. "Deal."

Instantly, Jaemin clashed his lips against yours. A moan escaping his throat as he kisses you hungrily. You kiss back with the same energy as him. You pull him closer by his nape before aggressively sucking on his lips and tongue like a starved beast. Smirking in the kiss, Jaemin slyly wraps his hand around your leaking dick. He sensually strokes your cock as he grinds softly against your thigh. 

Drool messily escaping the corners of your lips, you playfully bite on Jaemin's tongue, making him moan sensually. It may be the moan or how he sounded aroused that has sent vibrations to your dick that became harder in his grip. Pulling away, breathless, Jaemin immediately planted kisses on your neck. 

Oh, how he found your sweet spot so fast. Upon hearing your delightful moans, he attacked the spot with kisses and soft bites, making you grip his hair and push his head deeper into your neck. Your other hand made its way to his back before scratching all over the clean skin. Your legs naturally caged Jaemin's waist, making him groan deeply in bliss. 

As you ask Jaemin for more, his fingers make their way to your open entrance before wiggling his fingers around your rim. And god, does he love hearing the sinful noises of pleasure coming from you. The way you moaned out his name only made him push his fingers deeper, hitting your prostate instantly. 

"Fuck! More!" And boy does he give you more. His fingers curled toward your prostate before poking repeatedly, making you tighten your legs' grip on his waist. His head moved down to your chest before sucking your nipple while pinching and twisting the other. The buds instantly got more erected, thus heightening the sensitivity and tightening your grip on Jaemin's hair. 

The extreme arousal and heightened pleasure became evident on your cocks leaking madly. Both sensitive to touch and angry red on the tip, you swear you could cum any minute before the foreplay gets done. He thrusted his fingers harder, and your patience couldn't be extended any longer.

"Hyung, p-please," you whimper needily. 

"Please what, baby boy?" 

"Fuck me right now, please." You look at him with the neediest face you could give. 

"Only because you look so pretty like this," he says before grabbing the nearby bottle of lube before spilling its content, coating his throbbing cock generously. 

"You can stop whenever you want, understand?" He clears to which you nodded before he even finished the sentence. 

He chuckles. "Needy boy." Jaemin fixes his position on top of you before putting one of your legs over his shoulder. Slowly and carefully, despite his raging urges to have something wrapped around his dick, he inserts his cock inside your tight heat. 

A chain of broken moans escape your mouth from the intrusion, giving you bliss and a slight bit of pain at the same time. Jaemin made his best sexually pleased face (yet). His eyes screwed shut and his mouth wide open, releasing a litany of loud moans, louder than his usual moans whenever you jerk each other off. 

After a heated make out session as you adjusted to Jaemin's length, you clenched your rim around his cock to signal him to begin thrusting. And boy, does he deliver. His thrusts were better than expected, his tip hitting your prostate immediately, making you moan and grunt all your hearts out. 

Jaemin couldn't help but grunt and moan at every thrust he makes. How could he not when he has his cock inside your warm walls? Sure he has had his dick inside a lot of girls' pussies and he had enjoyed every sex he had. But this one with you was the best one he has had yet. He could tell even if he just started fucking you. Your warm hole tighter and warmer than all the pussies and fleshlights he ruined. Not to mention the lube adding a heightened sensitivity around his cock, especially the tip. With how satisfying everything feels, he swear he couldn't cum any second from fucking your tight, warm hole. 

"H-Hyung! Faster, please!" You squealed, wanting to increase the pleasure inside you. With hungry eyes, Jaemin aggressively puts your other leg over his unoccupied shoulder before pinning your wrist on each side of your head. He grunts and looks at you with a domineering gaze, instantly churning butterflies in your stomach. He pulls out half of his cock, ready to plow you roughly and you close your eyes in excitement, until you feel… nothing? 

"What?" You open your eyes and instantly see Jaemin looking back at you with pure mischief painted on his face. "H-Hyung, please move," you whimper as you clench tightly around him. 

He grunts in response, holding in his moans as he wants to ram your ass again (since he feels his orgasm building up already). As much as he wants to cum and finish inside you already, he holds his orgasm and just smirks at you. (And it'd be a downfall in Jaemin's ego if he'd cum in just a few minutes.) 

"Daddy," you whimper randomly before clenching around Jaemin's cock. A smirk appears on his face, clearly showing his sexual interest at the pet name you called him. 

"Fuck, say that again," he moans out, looking at you with the most lustful look he has ever done. You feel his cock pulse inside you. His length throbbing against your tight walls sending vibrations all over your body, with the word 'daddy' naturally escaping your mouth. And that was the last straw for Jaemin to hold himself back. 

Swiftly flipping you in a doggy style position, he makes you face the mirror to see him taking you from behind. The sight in the mirror is one to be taken a photo of. So pretty, honestly. A fucking delight. 

Three feet away from you is your reflection staring back at you. A blissed out expression all over your face. Your eyes are barely open opposite to your mouth that is wide open, spewing out the loudest, sluttiest moans. Genuinely pleasured ones unlike the pornstars you jerk off to. The sheets are crumpled from how hard you fist them out of pleasure, a fervent prayer at the back of your head hoping they won't get torn from your harsh grip. But that was the last thing you could ever think of because what only matters is Jaemin's cock ramming you beastfully. 

Jaemin looks so handsome like this. Maybe it's the most handsome look you've ever seen from him. His jaw jutting out and his teeth gritting in pleasure. He throws his head back, occasionally spanking your ass and letting out the loudest, deepest moans. His veins from his neck and arms showing as he grips your waist tight that they could bruise from how tight he holds on to it. Sweat trickles all over his body and oh boy does he look hot fucking you. 

Noticing your eyes barely open, he pulls your head up by your hair, making you moan his name out loud. "Look at yourself, babe," he growls. You obey, forcing your eyes open to meet his dominating look at the mirror. "Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch me make you feel good," he smirks as he spanks your ass, making you wince at the sudden action. 

It is such a challenge to keep your eyes open to see the college crush fucking you rough. Honestly, you felt butterflies in your stomach, knowing that the boy who everyone is gushing on is actually fucking you and making you feel good. He could even do anything he wants to you and he won't hear any complaints from you. It's Jaemin. Everyone's dream boy. It feels like a big achievement to have your ultimate crush actually having a good fuck with you, not just in your dreams. And it's something you won't let pass so easily. 

Clenching tightly around Jaemin, you look at him innocently before moaning out 'daddy' once again, and boy do you love what he does next. He lets out a strangled moan at the tightness of your hole adding more sensitivity to his already sensitive cock. He stutters with his thrusts, clearly struggling from how tight you clenched your walls. 

Liking the new challenge you gave him, he pulls out half of his cock and thrusts it back in at a new angle penetrating you deeper. You both know Jaemin doesn't lack in the size department of dicks, but for him to pound his cock deep inside you is such a feat. You swear you could feel your stomach bulge everytime he thrusts his cock inside you. Not that you're complaining though, to be fucked by the school crush is such a privilege. 

"How does it feel, huh?" He whispers seductively before licking and nibbling your earlobe. "How does it feel to have sunbae's big fat cock inside your pussy?" He asks as he stares back at you with lustful eyes. Slowly reaching for your nipples, he fondles and plays with the buds, making them more erect and heightening the waves of pleasure running through your body. 

With all the things Jaemin is doing to you, you could only moan and whimper 'daddy' repeatedly. Only a string of incoherent words escaped your mouth as you grip his hair tighte and bury his head on your neck, signaling him to devour your sweet spot. Rather than feeling his tongue or lips on your neck, you felt his palm striking your ass cheeks as he looks at you coldly in the mirror. Once again, he slows down his movements and pinches your nipples tightly, making you scream shamelessly. 

"Answer daddy or else," he whispers deeply before wrapping his hand around your dick. "You won't cum," he tightens his hold on your sensitive dick before pressing and swirling his thumb on your more sensitive slit. Maybe it was his voice or his domineering aura that melted you like a puddle. You've never seen or heard Jaemin threaten you of a delayed orgasm, but whatever it is, it weirdly arouses you. 

"Daddy's cock feels fucking good in my pussy," you moan out as you clench your rim tightly around him. "I would never get tired of daddy's big fat cock ruining my boypussy!"

Smirking at you through the mirror, he slowly propels his hips, his tip hitting your prostate at every thrust. "Louder, bitch," he chokes you. "Let everyone know how much I can make you feel good," with that, he resumes to thrusting faster, but mercilessly and not caring about you. Pulling your hair more backwards as he pinches your nipples, he grunts as he feels his orgasm building up, which he only cares about at this point. 

You scream the same words you said louder, followed by profanities and shameless moans which is music to Jaemin's ears. "Fucking shit," he curses as he rams your ass brutally, stabbing harsh thrusts on your prostate as he greedily jerks your cock off. 

His swift thrusts turned inconsistent. His voice cracks as he moans louder at the top of his lunch. A string of curses escapes Jaemin's mouth as he spills his warm load inside you. He never stops thrusting, not failing to hit your prostate as he overstimulates himself. You squirt your load not long after, some landing on your chest and face and some on the sheets. Even Jaemin's hand gets soiled from your cum as he still jerks you off. 

"Shit, shit, shit!" He screams as he pulls out, not able to handle the immense pleasure of your walls tightly hugging his length. He flops himself down the bed before turning you around for a messy kiss. He cups your jaw as his tongue lapped around your lips and tongue. You kissed back messily, drool nastily coating both of your lips.

Jaemin pulls away, breathless from all the activity earlier. You could hear both of your racing heartbeats and heavy breaths across the room as you collected yourselves after being shattered from the most powerful orgasm you had yet. 

After a minute or two, he broke the silence with a chuckle, a happy chuckle. His gaze meets your reflection at the ceiling mirror, a wide toothy smile plastered on his face. 

"You know what, Y/N? I think this arrangement will work out for the both of us." He looks at you fondly before cuddling you close to him. Instantly, you put your head over his chest, to which Jaemin placed soft kisses over the crown of your head while looking at you adoringly in the mirror. 

"Me, too. I really enjoyed everything," you softly giggle, nuzzling his chest as you enjoy the comfortable feeling of his arms around you. 

"I'm glad you did, baby," he smiles before kissing your forehead. "I loved everything, too." 

"Let's clean up?" He pats your back. 

"After another round?" You replied, pure playfulness shown in your eyes. 

Jaemin didn't need to be asked twice. 

[digimakacademy]

चमकदार दात, सुंदर केसांसह मिळतील हे ६ लाभ; तज्ज्ञांच्या सल्ल्यानुसार नियमित खा काळे मनुके

चमकदार दात, सुंदर केसांसह मिळतील हे ६ लाभ; तज्ज्ञांच्या सल्ल्यानुसार नियमित खा काळे मनुके

​काळ्या मनुक्यांमधील पोषक घटक काळ्या मनुक्यांमध्ये भरपूर प्रमाणात लोह असते यामध्ये अँटी- बॅक्टेरिअल आणि अँटी- व्हायरल गुणधर्म असतात काळ्या मनुक्यांमध्ये अँ���ी-ऑक्सिडंट्स गुणधर्म भरपूर आहेत पोटॅशिअम समृद्ध दात चमकदार राहण्यास मदत मिळते (जास्त राग येणं हे सुद्धा आहे पित्त वाढण्याचे लक्षण, उपाय म्हणून काय खावं व खाऊ नये? जाणून घ्या) काळ्या मनुक्यांचे सेवन केल्याने कोणते लाभ मिळतात, हे जाणून…

[crookedfandomquill]

Jang Uk gently placing the raisin tree pill in Mu Deok’s mouth like he’s feeding a baby bird (!) watered my crops, cleared my skin, etc. etc. 

[tippedbykreider]

it’s all coming back to me | c. kreider (i)

Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: Slow burn, exes to friends to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol mention. Author’s Note: So many of you have been requesting for this to be brought back! The consensus was that you’d rather have it in smaller chunks so I’ll be posting each new part weekly and they’ll come in between 6 & 9k per chapter. Not only is it more manageable for you guys but it also gives me chance to keep writing new content for it 💖 There is a playlist for this fic which I posted separately, it gives a chronological feel for their relationship and their story. This has been a tonne of fun to write so far and I can’t wait to tell the rest of their story. Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten? Tagging: @danglesnipecelly - this girl deserves a writing credit on this thing because she’s pushed me to keep going with this and her input and advice has been invaluable. Thank you for all the support on this one, K 💖

*Italics indicates a flashback*

The notion of fresh starts is often something that is associated with the arrival of the New Year. People use the turning of the calendar to turn over a new leaf, to learn a new skill, to challenge themselves to be better than the year before and to let go of all that was and focus on all that will be. There’s something inherently magical about a new beginning, a fresh start; sometimes it’s the excitement of what might lie ahead and other times it’s the comfort in knowing that you can seize the opportunity be whoever you want to be and to reinvent yourself. It’s the line in the sand and the final full stop at the end of the chapter and it’s the anticipation of picking up the pen and writing those first few words on the new page.

For Chris Kreider this feeling wasn’t one that was brought about by the strike of the clock at midnight on New Year’s Eve because while the date on the calendar changed and while he still spent the next couple of weeks dating things with the wrong year just like everybody else, it still often felt like nothing really changed for him. Chris could only feel like the year was truly coming to an end when the first petals of spring exploded like fireworks in a symphony of technicolour blooms and he found himself giving the locker-room clearout interview. That was the end of the year, the full stop, the line and the warmer days and the balmy nights would give him the opportunity to decompress ready for the turning of the page come September when his focus would once again turn back to hockey.

Chris loved New York; that much was undeniably true. He loved the vibrancy of the city but he also loved the way that he could melt into the background or enjoy the feeling of quiet solace his apartment gave him. It was oftentimes a bolthole, an oasis of peace during an otherwise hectic few months between September and May but the end of the hockey season and the arrival of summer had him seeking the cry of gulls on the breath of a gentle breeze and that crisp, purifying sea air that always managed to fill his lungs differently. Rowayton wasn’t far, a little over an hour on a good day but with its coastal Connecticut charm, slower pace and pretty houses, especially the ones that overlooked the water, it was a world away from NYC and exactly what Chris needed to reset and recharge.

It was a Saturday morning in mid-July and for the first time in a long time, longer than Chris could recall, he allowed himself to sleep in. His bedroom window had been open all night and the welcome breeze snaked through the slats in the blinds and carried on it the faintest smell of salt and sunshine. Chris stretched his muscles in big pulls around the bed before he settled on his back and inhaled deeply, the fresh air clearing his mind and filling his body as the last remnants of sleep slipped away on the exhale of breath. Imbued with energy, he climbed out of bed and pulled the blinds all the way up, flooding the bedroom with beautiful incandescence born out of a cloudless sky. He didn’t make his bed though, not yet, because while he had left his room and was padding down the stairs, he had every intention of returning to the still warm sheets to read a chapter or two of the book on his nightstand with a fresh cup of coffee, a cinnamon and raisin bagel, that invigorating coastal air and the oceanscape outside as the soundtrack.

One chapter turned into two and two became three and before Chris knew it, the sun was high in the sky and lunchtime beckoned. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer day in Rowayton and Chris thought it would be a crying shame to spend his time at home, even if the page-turner he’d held in his hands moments ago seemed incredibly appealing out on the back deck overlooking the water. It was then he decided to take advantage of that gorgeous sunshine, take in the scenery and stretch his legs by going for a walk into town to pick up a few essentials at Rowayton Market. For all it was a small, it contained everything he would need to keep him going for a few more days until he’d finally need to drive into Norwalk to do a more substantial grocery shop, something that he’d admittedly been putting off. The Market also had some of the best baked goods and fresh coffee in the village and if you asked Chris it would be pretty rude to not take advantage – it was right there, after all, and Chris never could say no to a still-warm Danish and Americano.

He walked slower than he usually would, a conscious effort on his part due to the fact that his legs seemed to want to go into an auto-pilot primed for life in New York City. He was in no rush though, he never was whenever he came here and even though it was a route he’d walked hundreds of times before, and one he would walk hundreds more, Chris still wanted to soak in all the pretty trees and shrubs that were nestled in amongst those classical New England style homes, all shingled exteriors and white, gridded windows in soft muted colours that mirrored the coastal landscape of the village. It was a world away from the brick and the concrete and the bright lights of the city and while Chris loved all of those things about New York and loved wandering through the streets of Tribeca and Soho, getting lost in bookstores and hole-in-the-wall cafes, he also loved the sand, shale and stars and those were things that he just couldn’t find in the city that never slept.

There were quite a few people out and about, Chris noted, most of them he recognised as being residents with their friendly smiles and waved greetings, but there were a handful of tourists too; there always was on weekends during the summer. Not that Chris minded, of course, because for all the village was a popular escape for those seeking a break from the metropolitan life of the nearby hub of cities, it never succumbed to the all-too-often inevitability of commercialisation and still managed to hold on to its peaceful charm, despite it not quite being the quaint fishing village it once was back in the days before the Civil War.

It was one of the reasons why Chris found himself retreating here in the summer and not making the trip back home to spend the off-season in Massachusetts. He would go back to Boxford for a couple of weeks, naturally, because family was something that had always been important to Chris and he would never miss an opportunity to spend time with his parents and sister, but if he had the choice between spending his entire summer being bitten to death by mosquitoes back home (his father always did say that they were the town bird, after all) or feeling the gentle kiss of the ocean breeze against his skin, there was no real contest. Rowayton would always win.

The main street through town was busier, which wasn’t exactly unexpected and if anything it only seemed to add to the charm of the village. Chris decided to head straight to the market to pick up his groceries, if only to facilitate the Danish eating in a more timely-fashion. He picked up a basket as he entered and proceeded to add only the essentials he’d need to get him through the next couple of days. He’d pay for his shopping before going to the coffee bar, because trying to pack his reusable grocery bag with a full takeout cup was a mistake he’d made once before and was sure to never repeat again.

With his groceries purchased and bags packed in such a way that the couple of bottles of wine he’d picked up wouldn’t clink together when he walked (it was three to be exact but after seeing the selection of cured meats, cheeses and olives available he thought it’d be a crime if they didn’t find their way into his basket to come home with him, and if there was cheese there had to be wine), Chris made his way to the coffee counter situated near the Market entrance.

*

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d taken a trip away without the company of anyone else but the last couple of months at work had been incredibly stressful, with projects seemingly coming out of your ears and while you knew your mother had been worried by your suggestion of taking off somewhere alone for the weekend, she also knew better than to fight you on something you’d quite clearly already set your mind to. If you were being completely honest, your plans for the first full weekend you’d had off in months would have consisted of not setting foot outside of your apartment or engaging in any kind of unnecessary conversation had you decided to stay home in Hartford, at least this way you’d be getting some fresh air and the sun on your face.

It was just shy of a two hour drive down to Rowayton, which had the dual benefit of being close enough to home that it didn’t feel like a huge trek just to get there, but also being far enough away that you would be a complete stranger in this town and could take the time to decompress and recharge while blending into the background, and the place was pretty to boot. You’d found a little studio Airbnb not too far away in South Norwalk, figuring that you’d only be using it as somewhere to sleep as you’d planned on spending as much of your time as possible being right by that ocean with the wind in your hair and the warm sun on your skin.

That’s how you’d planned on spending your Saturday afternoon, sat on the sand of Bayley Beach with a good book and a cup of coffee. It was set to be a balmy day, with temperatures sitting in the mid-eighties and the last thing you wanted to be doing in the heat was any amount of excessive walking. So with that in mind, you’d spent your morning exploring the village and taking in the sights and sounds. The gentle protest of your stomach told you it was lunchtime before you’d even taken the opportunity to glance down at your watch and a quick Google search pointed you in the direction of somewhere to get that all important cup of coffee and a small bite to eat.

Rowayton Market didn’t look like much from the outside in the sense that it was a little on the petite side, but the reviews were great and the coffee was allegedly some of the best in the village and that was good enough for you. You were greeted with the smell of freshly baked goods and ground coffee, which was welcoming enough before you even saw the bright smile of the girl behind the counter. Your eyes drifted over the selection of pastries, each one more delicious looking than the last and you knew that you were going to have a hard time choosing just one. You knew you’d have to make a decision, though, suddenly aware of the small line that had seemingly materialised right out of thin air behind you and while you were sure that these people were more accustomed to a slower pace of life, the city girl in you, who was so used to living life in the fast lane, didn’t want to keep these good people waiting while you deliberated. You’d go with your usual and that would be that.

Chris’s attention was fixed out of the large glass windows at the front of the shop, watching as people milled in the street and went about their daily business. It was something he quite often did, whether he was here or back home in New York. There was something oddly soothing about watching the world go by, he thought, and occasionally he’d catch something that would quirk his lips up into a smile, like the sight before him now of a rather large gull in the process of committing larceny against what he could only assume was an unsuspecting tourist. Their sandwich was held high above their head while their free hand attempted to shoo the bird away with little success. He chuckled quietly to himself then, not least because the gulls seemed to get more brazen with each year that passed and he was sure that one of these days he’d see someone’s lunch get snatched right out of their hand by the feathered menaces.

Chris had no reason at all to believe as he stood in that line that everything was about to change. Why would he? The day had started like any other. He’d picked up his groceries in this store more times than he could count, he’d waited in a line just like this one for his coffee and Danish and yet, in that moment, something as innocuous as a woman’s voice would bring feelings that he thought he was done with, and memories he thought had strayed out of his mind for good, flooding back to the surface. But it wasn’t just any woman’s voice, no, it wasn’t as detached and neutral as that. It was your voice; a voice he hadn’t heard in nine years and it was something as simple as a coffee order, an order that he now knew to have remained the same since the day you’d first met at Boston College all those years ago, that blew the dam wide open and every word the two of you had ever spoken, from day one to the last thing you ever said to him, came rushing back.

The sound of Chris’s voice calling your name was something you never thought you’d hear out loud again. It was a voice you’d only heard in your dreams for many years after he walked out of your life, but even that had faded beyond memory to where you weren’t a hundred percent certain that you’d be able to remember what it sounded like anymore. And yet, in the middle of a tiny supermarket in Rowayton, you heard him clear as day with his tongue rolling around the syllables of your name with the same fondness, even after all this time and it was like you’d never forgotten the sound at all.

*

Autumn was beginning to make her presence felt in Boston. The palette on campus had shifted from a spectrum of vivid greens to shades of deep russet, amber, ochre and vermillion; but even above the changing leaves, the turning of the calendar brought a slight chill to the air that had you reaching for your jacket on a morning as you left your dorm.

Today was no different. The temperature had dropped again overnight as November creeped ever closer and it was chilly enough that you had to draw your coat tighter around you as you walked across campus towards class. Your brisk pace had bought you enough time to make a stop at the coffee stand just outside of Campion where your first class of the day was being held. There was a decent selection on offer, but it wasn’t enough to sway you from ordering your usual.

You rooted around your backpack for your wallet while the barista prepared your coffee and grabbed you your cinnamon roll, unaware of the new presence to your right, before handing over the money and taking the coffee and pastry bag from the young man’s hands.

“Coffee and cinnamon roll, eh? Now that’s the breakfast of champions.”

You turned your head towards the source of the voice, lips quirking into a small smile at the sight of the stranger beside you who looked to be not much older than you were, incredibly tall and broad for his apparent age but not for his height. He was grinning at you with a fullness that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and gave him a unique kind of softness.

“My mom would disagree,” you replied with a smirk. “If she found out I was having this for breakfast she’d be in her car so fast and dragging my ass back to Hartford.”

He laughed at that, loud and bright with his head tipped back slightly before running a hand through his dark brown hair that was shorter on the sides but had the faintest hint of a curl at the longer strands on top.

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not telling her,” you grinned as you swung your backpack over one shoulder. “So looks like you’re sworn to secrecy.”

You studied him for a brief moment, with the way he was still grinning at you and his eyes that seemed to sparkle behind his dark lashes before your brain gently reminded you that you, in fact, had somewhere you needed to be. “Well, I hate to impose a vow of silence on you like some sort of mafia boss and then immediately split but I uh I gotta head to class.”

“No problem at all and hey, your secret is safe with me. In fact, I’ve forgotten already. What were we talking about?”

There it was again, that smile of his that made you want to stay rooted right where you were standing and look at it all day, but class beckoned and so you gave an awkward wave of your hand and a soft laugh before you turned and headed into the building behind you without another glance back. If you had you’d have seen the stranger from the coffee stand watch until you’d disappeared from view, with that smile still on his face.

This little routine of yours would continue over the course of the next few weeks. Every Tuesday morning, at around 8:45am, you’d find yourself stood at that coffee stand outside of Campion to get your coffee and cinnamon roll, and every Tuesday morning, at around 8:46am, the tall stranger would appear beside you with his kind eyes and his bright smile. You’d exchange a ‘hello’ and a friendly grin and you’d laugh more often than not too while you made pleasant small talk before you both said your goodbyes and went to your respective classes, though you would always leave first and he would watch you go until you’d disappeared into the building.

It was mid-November, now, and the campus of Boston College was firmly in autumn’s frigid grasp. The temperatures continued to drop, seemingly overnight, which had you bundled up in your hat and scarf and the trees had shed their branches of leaves, crunching underfoot with the slight frost as you made your way towards Campion. Your hands were shoved deep into your coat pockets to ward off the gnawing chill and you were looking forward to being able to warm them around your coffee cup.

You approached the stand as normal, rooting through your backpack for your wallet ready to order.

“Hey!”

You looked up, your features fixed in a state of mild confusion while you looked for the source of the voice you recognised but couldn’t quite place. It was then you saw him though, all bright eyed and bushy tailed with a medium coffee and pastry bag held up in one of his large hands as if on display. He was grinning at you and cocked his head, beckoning you over with the wordless gesture.

“Hey, yourself,” you smiled as you approached. “What’s this then?” You tilted your head slightly at the items in his hand as he offered them to you.

“Breakfast of champions.”

Your eyebrow quirked as you took the coffee from him before taking a tentative sip, smiling while the warm liquid slid down your throat.

“You got my coffee order right.”

“It wasn’t hard,” he smirked. “You order the same thing every week and if you open that little paper bag I think you’ll find a cinnamon roll in there.”

Sure enough, as you opened the bag you were greeted with the sight of a perfectly formed cinnamon roll and you couldn’t help the grin that sparked at your lips and spread the full width of your face.

“I don’t order the same thing every week.”

“You do,” he replied with a laugh. “Every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks you’ve come to this coffee stand and ordered a medium Americano with half and half and a cinnamon roll and every Tuesday for the last 5 weeks I’ve been meaning to ask you your name.”

Your face flushed warm at that, not only at his words but at the sure little smile he was giving you and the way his eyes were sparkling. In fact, now that you were really looking at him properly, you were knocked back a bit by the perpetual kindness that seemed to rest in them and you couldn’t help but notice how they really were the perfect shade of hazel, like a forest with a deep bark heart surrounded by leaves that were every shade of green. You’d been quiet a little too long though and so you took a settling sip of coffee to give you enough time to find your voice again and tell him your name.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled as he offered you his hand, which was large and warm as you shook it.

“And who should I thank for the coffee?” you asked.

His smile grew into a grin then, the kind that you’d noticed over the course of the last few weeks that made his eyes crinkle and happiness radiate from him, before simply replying:

“Chris.”

*

“Chris?”

It was as if time had stood still in that little Market in Rowayton, where your surroundings become a still-frame and there’s nothing but static in your ears. You’d often thought about what it would have been like to see him again. Those first couple of years after he’d left Boston College had you imagining all kinds of scenarios, much like the one you were in right now where you’d bump into each other in a supermarket or a pharmacy, anywhere really, but now that you were living it, seeing it, breathing it, there was nothing you could have conjured up in your imagination that would have prepared you for what it would really feel like to see him again. If you were to be completely honest, you were glad that your coffee and cinnamon roll were still on the top of the counter because you were certain that they would have fallen right out of your hands and onto the Market floor.

He abandoned his position in the line then, as if you speaking his name was a call to him, and maybe it was, on some level, but the truth and simplicity of it was that you were suspended in a state of pure disbelief and even in the short time it took for him to close the distance between you both, you were still yet to move and fix your features to something more neutral.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting that he gave you and logically you knew that there wasn’t really any tangible meaning behind that single word he spoke and yet there was something about the look in his eyes and the warmth in the smile he gave you.

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” you replied, finally finding your voice. “You look, you look good.”

It wasn’t a lie either, he did look good. The tall college boy you remembered, who was just a little too slight for his height, had filled out; you could tell that just from the way the fabric of his t-shirt stretched across the broad plains of his chest and strained around his biceps, and he was no longer clean shaven, which was something that had always made him look quite baby-faced. Instead he was sporting a neatly trimmed goatee and while he had kept his hair short on the sides, just like you’d remembered it, it was longer on the top than it had been in college and the curls were sweeping in a way that reminded you of the waves just beyond the Market door. He looked older, yes, which is exactly what you would have expected in the nine years since you’d last seen him but his eyes were still exactly the same, sparkling and full of mischief , yet still soft, perhaps even softer than before on account of the faint lines around them drawn by time’s fair hand.

“So do you,” he grinned. “You cut your hair.”

“I did,” you looked down as your face flushed with warmth, unsure exactly what you were supposed to say to him.

It was something you’d thought about during those imagined scenarios where you’d magically bump into each other again and you’d thought about all of the things that you would say to him. You would tell him about how much you’d cried when he left you behind to live out his boyhood dream and how angry you were that he didn’t want you to be a part of that, how it felt like all the plans you’d ever talked about were nothing more than empty words and how hurt that had made you feel. You felt like you at least deserved that, especially given that it was never just a casual fling between you both. After all, you’d been practically inseparable for two years. You’d been inseparable ever since he’d said those three words that mean so much. But now that he was here in front of you, all those words that had swirled around in your head and in your chest like a hurricane for so long, dissipated into nothing and you found yourself clutching at straws to find something, anything, to say.

Chris could sense this though. Of course he could because he was Chris and he had always been so in tune with you and your emotions and the fact that he was still able to read you so well was both a comfort and a knife in your chest, and while he internally grimaced at the fact he was having to fall back on using small talk between you both, he felt like it was what you needed in the moment. He wouldn’t expect things to go back to how they were after all this time, he couldn’t, and so he started with something simple, something he knew you would be able give him an answer to.

“So, what brings you to sunny Rowayton?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you replied.

“Ah,” Chris grinned, trying to keep the mood light. “See I asked you first and also, I live here so therefore the ‘question answering’ responsibility falls back to you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, at both his words and the silly little expression he was wearing and despite all the years that sat between you both like a void and all of your hurt that was held within it, it all seemed to briefly melt away and in that moment it was like you were back at that little coffee stand outside of Campion.

“I didn’t realise this was an interrogation. Wait is this one of those little weird cult towns? Should I be worried?”

Chris knew by the little smirk you were wearing that you meant no malice behind your words and so he responded by sucking in air through his teeth before speaking again with one of those smiles that went all the way up to his eyes.

“Watch it, Pickle.”

Your stomach fell right into your shoes in that moment, that name he used only for you slipped from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do, like he’d never stopped calling you it and like it hadn’t been nine years since you’d last spoke a word to one another. Chris knew all this of course and he didn’t need to rely on intuition either because he could see every emotion written all over your face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly on the exhale of a breath. “I um.. Force of habit, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. “Although not exactly ‘habit’, it’s been how long?”

Chris winced at that, the reality of how he left things between you both slapping him in the face and he was filled with the guilt that he’d spent almost a decade pushing out of his chest and shoving into the darkest corner of his memory where he would hope it would rest undisturbed. He knew that you were angry at him for leaving things the way he did, how could you not be? After all, he was the one who had broken your heart and left you in Boston, but it was never as simple as that, even back then there was so much he should have said but that was something he wouldn’t realise until much later when it was too late to repair the damage. The thinly veiled hurt in your eyes and the way your mouth was downturned was demonstrative of that fact.

“I know,” he all but whispered. “It just-“

“It’s fine, Chris. Can we just forget about it? Please?”

He nodded, watching with a quiet kind of sadness on his features as you turned to finally pick your coffee and cinnamon roll up off the counter before he cleared his throat softly to continue speaking.

“You never did say what brought you into town.”

You took a sip of coffee to give yourself long enough to settle the thundering in your chest before answering him, because for all your heart felt like it was about to burst from all the hurt you’d managed to hide away up until now, there was also a weird sense of nostalgia that came with seeing him and hearing his voice again, and even though he’d shattered your heart completely when he decided he no longer wanted you in his life, your mother had raised you right and you knew the proper thing to do was to indulge him in a little small talk, even if for nothing more than old time’s sake.

“Just here for the weekend,” you replied. “Work has been nuts lately and I needed some time away from home.”

Chris shuffled on his feet for a moment as you spoke while his eyes darted between you and the door that would lead to the outside world and the possibility of the two of you parting once more. It was an unexpected pull that he felt in his chest at that thought, you reappearing in his life out of the blue only to slip out of it just as suddenly by doing something as simple as walking out of that supermarket back out into the wide world. For nine years he’d thought about where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were happy and with each year that passed without seeing your face or hearing your voice, he’d resigned himself to the fact that you were lost to him, drifting out there in the seas of life never to see you again. He didn’t know why you’d suddenly come back to him now, whether by some stroke of luck or twist of fate, although Chris couldn’t have cared less which one it was. All he cared about was the fact that you were here at all and it was an opportunity that he was sure he wasn’t going to waste. He didn’t even know for certain that you would want to give him any of your time after what had happened when he left Boston, but he wanted to at least give you what he should have all those years ago and that was an explanation and an opportunity for you to tell him how his actions had made you feel.

“Hey, what are you up to this afternoon?”

“Not much,” you shrugged. “I was just going to sit on Bayley Beach and enjoy the nice weather.”

“Would you mind some company? No pressure, of course, I understand if you… I understand if you’d rather not want to spend any time with me.”

You exhaled then and Chris’s shoulders visibly sagged, bracing himself for your polite refusal, but your response was not one that he was expecting and truthfully, it wasn’t one that you had expected either.

“Honestly?” you started, getting swept up in the nostalgia of seeing him again before the rational part of your brain could catch up. “That would be nice.”

“Great,” he smiled in what you could see was pure relief. “Do you mind if I grab a coffee before we head out?”

“Sure,” you replied. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

You headed out the door and were sure to stand where Chris could see you, knowing him well enough to realise that he’d be worrying, at least on some level, that you’d slip off into the crowd. You’d never do that to him, of course, even after everything, because while he had broken your heart, he was also the first person you’d ever truly loved and when you’d put the pieces back together, you couldn’t help but keep a part of him wrapped up amongst the tape and string holding those pieces together while you healed. It was in doing that that you understood that he would always have a special place in your heart and honestly? You were kind of okay with that because while the ending hadn’t exactly been perfect, the two years you’d spent together were and you wouldn’t have changed that time for anything.

*

You weren’t sure what exactly had possessed you to let Chris talk you into venturing off campus and out in the early-February snow to get burgers at Eagle’s Deli but you were cursing those sparkling eyes and that roguish grin of his for wearing down your sensibilities as you righted yourself after what felt like the hundredth near-fall. It was slushy underfoot, the kind that’s a twisted ankle or sprained knee waiting to happen and while you’d dressed weather appropriately in your winter boots and heavy parka, you were still very newborn lamb-like in your movements which was amusing Chris to no end.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he called from up ahead as he grinned at you over his shoulder.

“Not all of us can be hockey prodigies and thrive in this kind of inclement weather,” you grumbled, shuffling slowly so as not to slip.

Chris laughed as he came back towards you with confident and purposeful steps, surprising you when he offered his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Now, I’m no expert in geography or meteorology but it snows in Hartford, no?”

He was grinning at you, the kind of grin that you had to fight with every fibre of your being not to reciprocate because you’d already committed to your grumpy act and you couldn’t have him thinking he’d cracked you already, even if he, in fact, had.

“Yes,” you stressed. “But I don’t make a habit of going out in it to get burgers like a crazy person.”

The cackle you received from him in reply was loud and a little wild and you couldn’t help but be completely captivated by the way his cheeks were ruddy from the cold and the snowflakes clinging to the curls on top of his head and long eyelashes. Tuesday morning coffees with him outside of Campion before class had turned into coffees in actual cafes during free periods and getting lunch together. It was even dragging your body out into the cold to the Alumni Stadium with your blanket and your thermos to watch Chris play with the BC Eagles because you couldn’t say no to that damn smile and those damn eyes and even now, as you looked at him taking in the scenery along the Chestnut Hill Reservoir pathway, you knew that they were going to be the death of you.

“It’s really pretty along here,” he spoke, more quietly than before; softer too. “You wouldn’t think we were in the middle of Boston.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice walk,” you agreed before shooting him a smirk and a look. “Would be nice in the spring sunshine too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Little Miss Chilly.”

“I don’t know what you have against being warm, Kreider. Warm is good, warm is nice-“

You shrieked as your feet went out from under you, courtesy of a patch of black ice hidden under slushy snow and you squeezed your eyes shut in preparation for the impact of your ass hitting the cold, hard ground. But it never came.

“It’s okay,” Chris spoke reassuringly, one hand tight around your bicep while his other arm was curled around your waist, holding you upright. “I’ve got you.”

You opened your eyes then to be met with Chris’s looking right at you, all moss and bark and warm. He was smiling at you but it was different to the easy grin he usually wore around you, this was softer somehow and all rational thought was replaced by one of those monkeys playing the cymbals. For the briefest of seconds, and for reasons completely unknown to you, the monkey tried to take the wheel and the idea of kissing him right there, in the middle of the pathway that had made an attempt on your life, flashed into your head.

Maybe it was the snow and how perfect and picturesque the scene around you felt? Maybe it was the fact he’d just saved you from slipping? But the reality of it was that those eyes and that smile held some sort of power over you that you couldn’t yet fully understand. You shook your head quickly, if only to take back control of the situation before you did something more embarrassing than almost falling on your ass.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you regained your composure. “This damn pathway.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Chris grinned as he turned so his back was to you and stooped slightly. “Hop on.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“I never joke about piggy-backs,” he replied in a faux solemn tone with the face to match. “Come on, we’ll get you to the Deli in one piece one way or another.”

And that was how you ended up with your arms looped around Chris’s shoulders and his strong hands holding the backs of your legs as he carried you on his back to Eagle’s Deli.

Not twenty minutes later, the pair of you were shuffling into a booth as you shed your coats, gloves and scarves, Chris grinning at you while you blew on your fingers in an attempt to restore warmth into them.

“See, told you I’d get you here in one piece.”

You scoffed at him and shot a playful glance across the table separating you both.

“You’re not human, that is the only explanation for how you’re able to walk in that,” you nodded towards the window where the snow was still falling to illustrate your point before continuing, “and not fall flat on your face.”

“Or my ass,” he added with a grin.

“Hey, that never actually happened!”

Chris’s face split into an even bigger smile at your little protest and the pout that had formed on your lips and while the gentle teasing between you was simply a part of the dynamic of your friendship, Chris would have been lying if he didn’t admit that the reason he did it so often was because you always looked so adorable trying to rebut him.

“No, you’re right. It didn’t,” he mused with a smirk, not needing to remind you that it was him who had come to your rescue judging from the unimpressed look you were throwing his way.

“All I’m saying is that we could’ve just gone to Hillside for lunch.”

“But the burgers here are superior,” he countered, smiling at you. “And you got to enjoy a beautiful walk in the snow with me so who’s the real winner he- mmpf!”

Chris was cut off by your damp mitten hitting his face, brows knitting into a slight frown before laughing at the proud grin you wore at the accuracy of your throw.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said with mock hurt.

“Maybe I’m not a very nice person.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” he replied, but there was no teasing in his tone this time, only the kind of sincerity that had your face flushing warm and had you reaching for the menu to hide behind under the pretence of looking at the choices available.

He couldn’t help but smile at the awkwardness with which you were trying and failing to hide from him but soon joined you in picking up a menu and perusing it, despite already knowing what he was going to order.

It was a few moments before the waitress came over and while neither of you spoke the silence between you both wasn’t exactly awkward even though Chris knew there was something about his last words that had had some kind of effect on you. He was right, of course, because despite the fact that you’d had hold of this menu for a good couple of minutes already, you hadn’t actually looked at a single thing on it even though you’d made such a show of doing just that and now that Chris had ordered, a cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake, the waitress was looking at you expectantly. Unable to form any kind of rational thought under that kind of pressure, you found yourself simply saying “same” and soon enough it was just you and Chris at the table once more.

Chris was looking at you like he had something he wanted to say and the unreadable expression on his face had you feeling somewhat uneasy for reasons you hadn’t quite ascertained but probably understood on some level if you let yourself think about it for more than a second. He could feel the nervous energy radiating from you though and so rather than pursue his current train of thought, he picked a topic of conversation that was much safer and knew you’d be comfortable with: school.

You talked about your classes and upcoming assignments while he listened intently and you returned the favour while he spoke earnestly about hockey and his own academic workload. It was so easy to settle into a natural rhythm with Chris whenever you talked, as if you’d been having conversations like these for years when in fact it had only been a few months of knowing him and a few weeks of meeting up like this. None of that seemed to really matter though, not when the conversation was good and the chemistry felt right and especially not when it was clear that you were both on the same page when it came to your friendship. There was something else there though, something that was beyond being purely platonic, that much was becoming crystal clear and yet despite the ease in which it was to talk to him about literally anything else, there was something that had you stumbling over the thought of bringing it up.

You were saved from falling down that particular rabbit hole by the reappearance of the waitress, two burgers that were big enough to have your eyes popping out of your head in her hands. Chris chuckled from behind his milkshake at the look of disbelief on your face as your burger was set down in front of you before he reached for the bottle of ketchup between you both. You took the top of your burger bun off, nose immediately wrinkling at the sight of four pickle slices resting on top of the lettuce and tomato.

“Ugh, I forgot to ask for no pickles.”

Chris looked up from where he was squirting ketchup onto his bun, his eyes meeting yours briefly as his face split into a grin.

“You’re not one of those people, are you?”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you began to pick the offensive green menaces off your food and set them at the edge of your plate. “I like what I like.”

Chris reached across and began to transfer the pickles from your plate to his burger, smiling widely at you as he did so.

“Well, I might have found a solution to this particular pickle you find yourself in,” he chuckled at the exaggerated groan and roll of your eyes at the expense of his joke. “You see, I love pickles.”

“You love anything,” you countered. “You’re like a human dumpster.”

“Hurtful,” he replied as he clutched at his chest. “But also true so I’ll allow it.”

You picked up a fry from your plate and threw it at him, immediately filled with equal parts surprise and a strange sense of awe as he reflexively moved and caught it in his mouth.

“You really are a dumpster,” you grinned as you shook your head at the proud little smile he was giving you.

“I am, so how about you don’t ask for no pickles on your burgers and you just give ‘em to me instead?”

It was easy to agree to his proposal, not least because his logic actually made a lot of sense when you thought about it, but mostly because of the way his eyes were sparkling and the way his smile made you feel warm all over, like the falling snow and freezing air outside didn’t exist, like your fingers and toes hadn’t been numbed by the biting cold during your walk here, like there had only ever been sunshine. It was also why you’d agreed to let him carry you back through the snow to your dorm, his large hands hooked around the backs of your thighs and your arms draped over his shoulders much like during the walk to the diner. You’d protested initially, of course, not wanting to burden Chris or put you both at risk of an injury due to the slippery conditions, but he wasn’t about to be convinced otherwise and remained unperturbed by the weather, gently reminding you that he had in fact got you to the diner in one piece in the first instance at your objections.

Truthfully, despite the mild embarrassment you felt at your complete ineptitude when it came to walking on ice, you couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed at Chris’s sheer strength. You wondered then, about how hard he must work in the gym to develop such a strong core because while you knew from first-hand experience how slippery it was underfoot, he didn’t falter once throughout the entire walk home and with the way he was talking amiably about his favourite places in the city he called home, and how his hands were holding your legs so surely and securely, you felt safe as houses with your chest pressed into his back – even with your thick coats and layers of winter clothing between you.

He walked with you on his back right up to the entrance of your dorm, setting you down carefully on the pathway that looked to have been newly shovelled before he turned to face you, his cheeks once again ruddy from the cold and your walk home.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ twice in one day,” he grinned, sucking air in through his teeth and shaking his head slightly. “But didn’t I say that I’d get you home safely?”

“So what if you were right twice?” you rebutted with a playful nudge. “It’s not like it’s ever gonna happen again.”

“Watch it, Pickle. I’ll have you know that I’m right about a lot of things.”

“Pickle?” you barked out a laugh, watching as Chris walked slowly backwards down the path away from you with that smile still on his face. “What kind of a name is that? I don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” he called out into the growing distance between you both. “But I do, remember?”

You shook your head at him, chuckling to yourself with a smile on your lips that mirrored his as you watched him.

“See ya Tuesday then, Trash Can!” you hollered.

His raucous cackle cut through the silent flurry as he continued to walk slowly backwards, his grin clear as day even through the falling snowflakes.

“Trash Can! Fucking, Trash Can! Man, you got some serious chirps, Pickle. Can you throw hands too? I mean, I know you suck at keeping your balance on the ice but we could use an enforcer! I could push you around?”

“Anytime, anywhere!” you laughed, watching him with a grin until he had waved his goodbye and turned away before he retreated into the heavy snow.

Part ii

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hiiii, so I decided to continue my combing through the books for random specific Everlark related content series. This one is Katniss and Peeta taking care of each other. This is Part One and only includes stuff from the first book because it was getting too long. 😭😅. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy.

-

I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He’s badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg.

-

Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he’s lying in what’s become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he’s burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature.

“Swallow these,” I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. “You must be hungry.”

“Not really. It’s funny, I haven’t been hungry for days,” says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That’s when I know how sick he is.

“Peeta, we need to get some food in you,” I insist.

“It’ll just come right back up,” he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. “Thanks. I’m much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?” he asks.

“Soon,” I promise. “I need to look at your leg first.” Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him.

-

I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg . . . what on earth can I do for that?

-

I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg.

-

“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” he asks.

“Maybe I’ll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?” I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton.

-

I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. “Come on. You can do this.”

But he can’t. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he’s going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area.

-

When Peeta’s able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I’d like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it’s only just cooling off, he’s shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he’s not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave.

-

I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don’t know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead.

-

I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage.

-

Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. “Go to sleep,” he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t. He’s still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.

-

I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement.

-

Peeta’s stretched out on top of the sleeping bag in the shade of the rocks. Although he brightens a bit when I come in, it’s clear he feels miserable. I put cool cloths on his head, but they warm up almost as soon as they touch his skin.

-

I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. “Who can’t lie, Peeta?” I say, even though he can’t hear me.

-

I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

-

He doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness.

-

“You need to eat. I’ll go hunting soon,” I say.

“Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.”

-

Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

-

Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of canopy over my head and upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rocks above me.

-

“I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

My socks are dry enough to wear now. I make Peeta put his jacket back on. The damp cold seems to cut right down to my bones, so he must be half frozen. I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us think it’s likely anyone will come in this weather. But he won’t agree unless I’m in the bag, too, and I’m shivering so hard that it’s pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was a million miles away, I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe.

-

I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.

-

Although I’m shaking in the biting wind, I rip off my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible. That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control.

Peeta’s face is gray in the pale moonlight. I make him lie down before I probe his wound. Warm, slippery blood runs over my fingers. A bandage will not be enough. I’ve seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it. I cut free a sleeve from my shirt, wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee, and tie a half knot. I don’t have a stick, so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot, twisting it as tightly as I dare. It’s risky business — Peeta may end up losing his leg — but when I weigh this against him losing his life, what alternative do I have? I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lie down with him.

-

“Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It’s a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop. Even now I can feel the Cornucopia, which burned so when I first climbed it, slowly turning to ice.

“Cato may win this thing yet,” I whisper to Peeta.

“Don’t you believe it,” he says, pulling up my hood, but he’s shaking harder than I am.

-

Somehow, we make it back to the lake. I scoop up a handful of the cold water for Peeta and bring a second to my lips.

-

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there’s no way I’m letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder.

-

“It’s my fault,” I say. “Because I used that tourniquet.”

“Yes, it’s your fault I’m alive,” says Peeta.

“He’s right,” says Caesar. “He’d have bled to death for sure without it.”

I guess this is true, but I can’t help feeling upset about it to the extent that I’m afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta’s shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it’s better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover.

-

[acceptcryptopaymentsonshopify]

Dry Winter Skin: How to Direct it

Feeling like a refrigerated raisin is generally not the most ideal technique for partaking in the colder season and the merry occasions that go with it. Coming up next are several signs on the best method for administering dry winter skin. Shop womens Necklace

Your skin in winter can become dry with the eventual outcome of being excruciating. I, toward the day's end, started feeling the impacts of the cooler climate around the beginning of October. My lips became delicate and dried, and I expected to change to a substitute state of regular facial compound on the grounds that the stripping spots in my ceaseless cleaning expert were disturbing my skin. I'll need as far as possible my ordinary shedding to simply two times. Additionally my hands and feet turned out to be exceptionally dry.

Inside you're introduced to dry power and outside you're gone after with unforgiving winter UV emanates from the sun and chilling breezes. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the sun's points of support are still similarly as unsafe as in summer and they will bounce off any infection surfaces, winding around the bars right back on to you. You will require a fair facial cream with SPF in it.

Coming up next are two or three additional tips to assist you with combatting dry winter skin:

Utilize a lip treatment (ideally with SPF) and don't lick your lips for any reason. That fundamentally intensifies it. Keep your hands submerged with a decent quality hand cream.

Hydrate and cutoff your liquor use. Liquor is a dehydrator.

Purchase a humidifier in the event that you don't right now have one. It could assist with holding your warming bills down additionally. You know, the entire thing. Think Amazon rainforest.

Utilize a shower channel. It will channel through the skin-drying chlorine in your apparatus water. Stay away from warmed water despite the way that it feels altogether enhanced a disease winter morning. It will basically strip your skin of its not unexpected oils and brief water to vanish much more rapidly. Besides, it pays to change from cleaning specialist which can dry the skin, to a smooth body wash which will assist your skin with holding wetness. Clear your skin off while leaving the shower, don't rub. Apply a magnificent ointment to assist with fixing in soaked quality.

Precisely when the determination drops to 50 percent or less, you should give extensively more thought to your moisturization plan. Avoid unforgiving scours or manufactured substances since they will renounce the majority of the skin's oils and dry your skin out more without any problem. This applies to strong skin things as well as cleaning things.

My #1 winter sound skin tip is before you head to rest, apply a thick, rich cream to your feet, focusing in on the impact point region. Then put on a decent pleasing plans of socks. Precisely when you mix your feet will be delicate and smooth and particularly hydrated.

Not focusing in on very dry skin can incite clinical issues and go most likely as a mat for rashes and skin diseases. So take uncommon idea of your skin and partake in your colder season!