#garlic senior

[marlynnofmany]

Me, eating garlic bread: "Yum, this is a good one! It's even got bits of fresh garlic on it! Love it."

My garlic-sensitive taste buds, chuckling evilly: "Remember that for the next 24 hours. Hope you enjoy the garlic toothpaste in particular."

(This happens with onions too. Uncooked, both of those foods are a COMMITMENT.)

(And no, the chocolate I just ate wasn't very good, why do you ask?)

[colleenclarkmusic]

Salad Recipe This colorful pasta salad features a medley of crunchy veggies! Combine pasta with broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, celery, bell peppers, mushrooms and fiery sweet red onions. A sweetened mayonnaise and vinegar binds the salad.

[ragequeen94]

imagine cooking/having dinner with the Papas

sfw... kissing? lots of wine.

fanon understanding that Terzo is very bad at speaking English.

Primo

It had been a nice surprise when the Papa Emeritus the First had invited you to his quarters for dinner, you hadn't assumed it would be... just you and him though. You both had been dancing around each other gently for a while now. He was older, and so where you, did that mean that romance was not something you could dream of? He opened the door to his private quarters, the smell of fresh basil and faintly nicotine rolled out passed him as he stood over you, a grin spreading over his face. "Ciao Bella...."

"Papa." You bowed you head, the air around you intoxicating. "I brought wine, Papa." You stepped into the rooms, this was when you realized it would be just you and him. You stepped further into the room, he closed the heavy doors behind you as you took in his personal space. You'd never been here before, you assumed few had. dried garlic and sun dried tomatoes hung from the windows, spices and dried herbs on the shelves, the surfaces all covered in flour from what ever he had been cooking. But it smelled amazing. "Papa...-"

"In here you may, call be Primo, it is my name." He walked passed you, jumping to turn the heat down on a boiling pot, he lifted the lid and the smelled of spiced tomatoes mixxed in the air. He reached into a drawer and without really looking at you handed you a bottle opener. you stared at it, almost confused, like the metal spiral was foreign technology. "For the wine, Bella."

"OH!" you accepted it from him and went to work uncorking the bottle, a little panicked you didn't know where the glasses were kept. You placed the popped cork on the counter top, the screw still buried inside. "Papa.... er... Primo... do you have glasses."

"Si.." He turned back to you, turning off all the stove burner. What ever he had made was done. He walked straight to you, he was close, so very close. His long fingers slowly wrapping around the neck of the bottle and and taking it from you. Instead he brought it to his lips and sipped straight from the bottle. "Very good. Red wine is best of all, is it not?"

He reached over your head, his body pressing against yours as he brought down two wine classes from a cupboard you hadn't noticed before. He put them on the counter behind you, the glasses clinking lightly on the tiles, he still held the bottle, bringing it to his lips again for another sip. Both of you were flush against the other, staring into the other eyes. The smell of wine on his breath made you brave. You tilted your head, getting closer, there was no way he didn't know what you wanted. "Primo... let me taste it then..."

He leaned his head down and his lips met yours. He tasted of the wine, but of dinner. He had been sampling as he cooked. Your stomach growled. But you both stayed still, you still stealing little kisses from him, he let you doat on him a little. "We should eat, Bella. Then, plenty of wine and plenty of this. All the time in the world."

Secondo

Dinner had been fun, you enjoyed your time as a senior member of the church. You had worked hard, been dedicated, given up everything... you had happily done so in the name of the One Below, but there were parts of you that were... sad. That felt like you had missed out of parts of what life was meant to offer. Odd, considering you were a sister of sin and there was no vice in life you were not almost duty bound to sample. It wasn't until now, now that you sat at the same table to those who always seemed so far from you, so superior, and now you were equal. You sat back, swirling the rest of your wine, your third glass, as the espresso was brought out. You sat at the table with the head clergy, with Papa and his inner circle, with his family. And his family was loud, and very Italian. You felt eyes on you, eyes that had been on your all night.

Sat besides his older brother Papa Secondo smirked at you he sipped his coffee. There was an added bonus to your newly found power and position. The attention of Papa Emeritus the Second, he grinned wide at you, his gaze sliding away from you as his rowdy younger brother stood, telling a tale with wild hand movements, the quiet cardinal sat besides him was splattered with wine from the glass Terzo had apparently forgotten he was holding. Secondo barked a laugh, his eyes sliding back to your seat, only to find you gone. He quickly sat up in his seat, trying to find you in the mostly empty canteen. His family always sat at the dinner table for hours, it was the way things were done. Usually not headed to bed until Papa Nihil had fallen asleep in his chair.

He saw you slip into the kitchens. Secondo got up to follow, not bothering to excuse himself or offer explanation to his family as they called after him. You were searching through wine fridges that lined the underside of the kitchen counters. There always had to be enough wine on hand. "Cucciola... you could not be searching for more wine..." He teased as he strolled straight for you.

"Papa..." you murmured. "Jus' making up for lost time." You grinned. He was very aware of your sudden head first dive into hedonism, and he longed to be the one to lead you to your deepest desires.

"Cucciola... perhaps it is late in the night to open a new bottle of wine." He got close to you, his hand reaching up and running a thumb over your lip, it was stained dark red already. "Are you not sated?"

"Never, Papa." You smiled, drunkenly, reaching for him, grabbing him by the front of his button up shirt. "Papa... I'm still hungry... still thirsty..." You inched close. If you had been sober you would never have been so brave. But a lot could be said for the magic found wine and fresh bread. Secondo grinned like a predator, his sharp canine teeth gleaming passed his lips. He leaned down the rest of the way and pressed a kiss to your lips, quickly pushing you up against one of the cold stainless steel fridges, what ever was inside rattled. You didn't care as you gripped onto his shoulders and let his devour you.

"Papa... Papa..."

"Quiet Cucciola, be good for Papa... I will show teach you to live deliciously."

Terzo

You were nervous. It had gotten into your head to invite Papa Terzo over for dinner. You'd been getting to know one another, had gone out, slept together a few times; it hadn't gotten much deeper than that, and you couldn't really tell if he was interested in more than your company in his bed.

You looked at the meal you had prepared proud for only a moment. you were the best cook, you often got carried away with ingredients and ended up going rogue when it came to following recipes. When you had picked out what you wanted to cook your first instinct had been to go for Italian food. Terzo was Italian, so you hoped at least he would like what you pulled together. Then you remembered... he was Italian, and had probably grown up eating the best authentic Italian food on the planet. With home made spaghetti and everything! Suddenly you wanted to throw it all in the garbage... he was going to be so disappointed.

He knocked on your door, a little late but that had only given you time to clean up the kitchen and get the table set how you liked it. You hadn't really noticed his tardiness, only that he yelled it in your face when you opened the door.

"Cioccolatino! I am late! I am much sorry's!" He pranced into your dormitory apartment, flowers in his hand and two bottles of wine. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a kiss before he made a show of breathing deep. "Smells so good in here!"

He walked into your home like he belonged there, instantly pulling down a vase from a top cabinet and popping the flowers into some water before putting them on the dinner table. you dug through the kitchen utensils looking for a bottle opener (you didn't want him to know most of your wine came from a box). "they are beautiful, Papa..."

"Terzo, you knows this. I been telling you, when it me and you, it can just be Terzo." He leaned in and kissed you again. "I like how it sounds when you say it, your accent so cute."

You raised a brow, smiling at the thought that to him you were the one with the funny accent. God knows how it sounded to him when you had tried to say thing in his native language. "Then sit down, Terzo, or you'll have a cold dinner."

He pulled out your chair before opening the wine and pouring you a very full glass. "I am very hunger, I am excited to be invited for dinner." He chirped, dropping himself in his chair and you both served yourselves, though you watched closely. staring at him as he put the first bite in his mouth.

"Do you like... it?" You worried your lip watching his face as he chewed. "I know its probably not what your used to but i tried..."

"It is very good! Molto saporito! were is from? We shall order again some time!" He nodded excitedly. Your mouth dropped a little. Not really sure how to correct him, or if he was joking.

"Oh... well i made it myself." You muttered. A little shy about it for some reason. Terzo looked down at his plate and at the food still on the serving pans.

"You make for me?" Terzo reached out and grabbed his hand. "I am much sorry i not understand this earlier! What is called this dish? No one make as good as you, surely." Terzo started to shovel his dinner into his mouth, so interested in his food he hadn't even touched his wine.

"Oh... its not really anything... just kinda, a bunch of italian flavors put together. I think i was trying to make cacciatore but got a little carried away with sides and... yeah..." You smiled and sipped your wine. He obviously was very impressed and it stroked your ego to see him do so. "Just like back home, hu?"

it had meant to be a joke, nothing more but he looked a little sad and a little confused at the idea. "Back home food is not always so good, i have never had this before. Abbey kitchen cooks are not always so talented... Primo not a good cook like a mama when we are young" he put another very full fork full into his mouth, trying to laugh at the same time. "If i have this every day i'd be a round Papa."

You reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, he leaned down and kissed your knuckles (neither caring he got sauce from his lips on your hand). He smiled at you gently, pausing his gluttony to stare at your face. he looked like he wanted to say something more, some thought danced around on his tongue but didn't make it passed his lips. he signed and seemed content to just enjoy looking at you. before he realized what he was doing.

"Sorrys i... um... lost my thinking." He let go of your hand. "i thanks you, cara. This is most best meal i shall eat."

Copia

You sat at the small kitchenette in Papa Emeritus the Fourths private quarters. You'd been officially dating for a little over a month at this point, and he had been so very sweet. Sweeter than any man you'd ever been with up to this point, being with him was kind of like being in... puppy love. He was a little awkward, a little nervous, and very unsure. He apologized a lot and stumbled over his words, when he held your hand it was always clammy and his grip a little too tight. You had guessed his awkwardness had been because of social anxiety, which he was in no short supply of. It had been your idea to have dinner in, to cook together and enjoy a meal.

Copia had had other plans, he always wanted to treat you like a princess, was determined to do so to a fault. Sometimes you didnt mind being treated like a whore. He would figure that out eventually. You hoped. You'd kissed and cuddled and there had been some more heated movements between the two of you but he had failed to make an assertive move on you. The plan was to get enough wine in him tonight to help him shed any anxiety he had.

You watched as he cursed and shook his hand, he had burned it on the hot saucepan some how. It had been like this for a while. You sat at the made table, the candles not yet lit, a once very full glass of wine now... not so full sitting by you hand. There was bread that had been taken from the kitchens (you had insisted he not try cooking and baking in the same day) with very room temp butter waiting. He had apparently had to restart everything when the pasta he had boiled had boiled for too long without his attention and had turned into a glutenous blob. Now he was trying gnocchi. You'd eat dino nuggets at this point you were so hungry.

but you waited.

and waited.

"Copia... my love. My sun and moon, stars in my sky." You stood from your spot, you ass sticking to the chair in places, you'd been in one place for so long. He was sweating, dark brown hair sticking to the back of his neck, sleaves rolled up to his elbows, flour he had no real reason to even have out was covering him in small splotches, there was a burn on the inside of his wrist you noted was getting red and angry. "Let me help you..."

"Im sorry." He muttered. He looked defeated. "Im just no good at this kind of thing. Cooking... looked easy in the movies." He grunted. He had been trying to slice up zucchini for some other dish. Looking over the pantry of ingredients he had dragged out onto the counter top you tried to make head or tails of what he had been trying to accomplish but it was a mess. You knew there was chicken in the oven, you were sure he had poured as much seasonings onto it as possible without knowing what they even were. There were raw potatoes on the counter, for some reason a bag of frozen fish he seemed to have forgotten about. all kinds of vegetables half chopped and ignored, the only thing actually cooking were the gnocchi and some very chunky pasta sauce he had made by putting a dozen tomatoes in a blender with half a bottle of wine and some garlic.

"I want to help. I get to be close to you." You kissed his cheek, he leaned into your touch. You started to clear the counter tops to try and declutter what you really needed and help his stress. "I don't need anything fancy my love. A pizza and your company is enough-"

Copia frowned and looked a little angry. He stayed silent to a while then rather aggressively threw open the oven to check the chicken. It actually looked pretty good and smelled nice. He slammed shut the oven door and crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to do this nice thing for you, vita mia. I want to be a good boyfriend and be able to make risotto. Not burn pasta."

You looked around, trying to spot any trace of risotto. He gestured to the trash can. You smiled and walked over to him. Leaning up to kiss him, gabbing is belt to pull him close to you. "You are the best boyfriend with or with out risotto."

He nodded still upset but obviously defeated.

The gnocchi caught fire,

After the fire alarms had been turned off and the destruction cleared you couldn't help but giggle. You lead him to the living room, after having moved the setting from the kitchen table to the coffee table. And with two large glasses of wine you both sat and watched a horror movie picking at a whole chicken, still in the baking pan, with your fingers.

[reallaiz]

iii. deuce fucking it up | "looking for (your) attention" masterlist

. . . riddle rosehearts x gn!reader

a/n : lowercase intended and possibly grammar mistakes

"stop playing with your food, [name]."

"i'm not? i'm just trying to pick out the bean sprouts."

yuu could only give [name] a look of doubt, still thinking that everything they did was the result of the lack of attention they got from riddle. but, they were seriously just not in the mood to eat bean sprouts.

both of them, along with deuce, were at the school's cafeteria enjoying their lunch. and ace? well...

"by the way, i've been meaning to ask this since the first period but where is ace?", the only non-heartslabyul student in their group asked.

deuce and [name] were either too busy chewing on their food or picking out the last few bean sprouts to answer, leaving yuu to suffer in silence. it was only after a few seconds did both of them speak up, at the same time.

"gluttony got the best of him."

"he's saying his last goodbyes."

they made it seem like ace had committed a severe crime and was getting executed tomorrow. yuu could only deadpan, "okay... what did he do?"

[name] simply rolled their eyes and one would think that they were annoyed, but they were actually amused. "he ate a tart."

"...", yuu was waiting for them to elaborate further, yet they didn't utter another word after that. to say he was flabbergasted was an understatement. it's so absurd to think that ace got punished just because he ate a tart.

before he could comment on it, deuce spoke up. "well, a whole tart that's made for a party in heartslabyul tomorrow."

'nevermind, it was his fault.' was what yuu thought, though he wasn't able to say anything at all because someone else decided to join their table and intrude on their conversation.

"oh~ are we talking about ace?"

ah. cater diamond, their upperclassman and someone who's quite close to riddle rosehearts. well, good thing they weren't talking shit about the redhead. (not like [name] would let that slide if someone did)

no one invited him, but they didn't have the heart to kick him anyway. the only person that was able to do that was ace but he wasn't there.

"uh, maybe?", deuce replied.

the oldest one among them merely grinned before he said, "alright! let's stop talking about him from now on." chills ran down the others' spines, clearly taken aback by his tone.

despite being a little scared of his senior, deuce still decided to take one for the team and ask the question they were all curious about. "why?"

cater sighed in response, "because of him, riddle became quite upset and was being stricter than usual. now i'm the one who's suffering, you know?"

the mention of riddle's name caused [name] to perk up. this didn't go unnoticed by their upperclassman, who raised an eyebrow at their behaviour.

"oh, [name] has a crush on riddle."

deuce, no matter how much of a sweetheart he is, was being utterly stupid at that moment, for who would be dumb enough to reveal that kind of information in front of someone you're unfamiliar with? much less a friend of said crush!

a sound akin to someone choking could be heard at their table. [name] quickly chugged a cup of water down their throat.

it was like their world shattered right then and there, with no more will to live anymore. they placed both of their hands on deuce's shoulders, and violently shook him. on the other hand, cater was taking his sweet time to process this newfound information.

yuu just watched it all unfold with garlic fried rice in his mouth. he took out his phone and started to record the scene, even narrating it.

"welcome to another episode of 'deuce fucking it up', everyone."

fun fact :

× ace wasn't suspended or anything, he just didn't want to have any accidental meetings with his dorm leader, so staying in his dorm room is the safest option.

taglist (send an ask to be added!) :

@kunimix @fluffimemes @agaygothicmushroom @astro-stars @onlybrie @bubiblossom @hoshimochicchi

[hellyeahsickaf]

Cooking While Disabled

One of the things I miss most about being less disabled is cooking. It was one of my favorite things to do and something I've always been good at.

On good days there are things I can do that make it easier. It's not the same as before, but I hope that sharing what makes it possible for me to cook helps others who struggle with it.

Tips for cooking while disabled:

You can incorporate precooked food in your meals. For example, stir fry with precooked rice with the ingredients of your choice, or taking frozen pasta (like the ones with maybe sauce and a couple other things) or plain microwave pasta (I prefer these, but heat it first) and putting it in a pan adding other ingredients like vegetables, cheese, garlic, etc

If it comes frozen or canned that can really help. Frozen rice you can just microwave, frozen cut veggies and garlic and onions are good as well

Buy a chopper with different shaped blades, spiralizer, electric slicer/grater, food processor, or any appliance that will save you energy. Ideally machine washable. Stand mixers are also better than manual ones. Especially helpful if you have joint/wrist issues

You can always prepare ingredients ahead of time. I find that sometimes it helps to prep (chopping or mixing ingredients, etc) earlier in the day or even a day before. Then you can put it in the fridge or freezer until you're ready to cook the full meal

Look up easy recipes or recipes for elderly/seniors. With the latter you may find more nutritionally balanced food but an unbalanced easy meal is better than none

You can sit while you prepare ingredients.

You're allowed to take breaks. You can turn the stove off, maybe put a lid on it to retain the heat, sit down, maybe take something for your symptoms. Some things you may not be able to stop in the middle of like making pancakes or deep frying something, but if you're making soup or curry or chili or something, often you can turn it off for a bit and take care of yourself.

If you need help and can get it, please ask for help. I know many of us need to work on asking for help including myself. Even if it's just washing the pots and pans or chopping something. You are not a burden you hear me?

Stretch before and after cooking just as one would before a workout. It will likely lessen any joint pain or stiffness as you are still exerting yourself

Listen to your body. Just as you're allowed to take a break, you are allowed to decide you won't be able to finish what you're doing. You may put away your food before it's done (if this won't ruin the meal). You are allowed to leave a dirty pot in the sink and come back to it later (just make sure you or someone else does before it gets gross). You can wash them in the dishwasher. I know this is bad for the seasoning on pots and pans but you can reseason them to be nonstick again and use nonstick spray

You can buy seasoning mixes rather than using individual seasoning. Instead of parsley, oregano, basil, etc you can buy Italian seasoning. Instead of paprika, pepper, cumin, oregano, salt, etc, you can just get taco seasoning. This may sound obvious but it can save a lot of time and energy

An issue I have is buying perishable ingredients thinking I can use them, having a bad week or two, and the ingredients have gone bad. Try to plan out your meals before shopping and ask yourself if there's an easier alternative for any ingredients. Maybe pre chopped fresh onion instead of a whole one, sliced mushrooms instead of whole, frozen vegetable blends instead of individual, powdered ginger instead of the root, bullion instead of stock that you may not be able to use all at once. I know this is like one of the other points but these are what I find most helpful

Use supercook.com! You input the ingredients you have on hand and you'll get a list of recipes you can make with what you have. Often there's a wide range of complexity and difficulty

Make enough food to freeze or refrigerate leftovers. It helps if you can portion it into single servings in Tupperware or freezer bags. You can prepare frozen burritos for your next few lunches or dinners, separate portion sizes of spaghetti, portion salads, etc

Feel free to add any additions!

[anarchy-and-piglins]

The painful thing is that what saves the fledgling's life is that he looks like Wilbur.

Not when you give it more than a cursory look. Long pink hair, red eyes, a face so pale it reminds Phil of the morgues they visit for their investigations sometimes. The ones where a coroner swears they ended the day with one less corpse than they started with. All of those things are starkly different in this boy than they are in Phil's son.

And yet, for one fleeting moment when he entered the room and saw the teen cowering in the corner, he seemed so similar to Wilbur that it took Phil's breath away.

Something about the shape of his cheeks and nose, the lanky frame, or the way he folds his arms around himself in fright.

"Shit," Phil mutters to himself. Because there are no other words to describe the situation. Sometimes he has nightmares about one of his boys being turned. Comes with the territory really. You deal with the most fucked up creatures the darkness has made, and you start to fear losing yourself or a loved one the same way. 

But Phil has a plan.

It's deranged, and dangerous, and he knows he could be killed by the other hunters for it. But years ago he already came up with what he would do, should the curse ever strike one of his sons.

Phil could never kill them.

And looking into the eyes of this fledgling, snarling and hissing and one second away from throwing himself at Phil's throat if it weren't for the silver cross Phil holds out in front of him, makes him feel so deeply that he can't kill him either.

"What the fuck!" Tommy gasps behind him when he enters the room. Phil doesn't know if he can see it too.

"Give me a muzzle," Phil says.

"What?" Tommy asks, taking a step back. "Dad, we need to kill it, we-" He's pulling out his bow, the tips made of that same metal that will burn any vampire to ash, soaked in garlic.

"Give me a muzzle," Phil repeats, firmer.

Tommy might be his son, but when they're on the job Phil is his superior. He is a senior hunter and Tommy is a fourteen-year-old in training, he will do as Phil says. Slowly - as if hoping he'll change his mind - Tommy unclips the leather muzzle from his belt. It's one made especially based on Phil's design, for the rare occasions they need to apprehend a vampire for interrogation rather than outright killing it. Taking it, he shoves the cross into Tommy's hands instead. He starts to walk toward the fledgling.

"It's okay," Phil says, getting ahead of Tommy's questions. And maybe also partly in the hopes of calming the fledgling down a bit. He won't be able to move with a strong source of holy silver so nearby. "He was very recently turned, no more than a day ago. And there's no sire."

A sire would never leave their fledgling alone like this. Maybe even more than looking like Wilbur, the fact that he was abandoned has saved this little one's life. Phil pulls a knife from his pocket, drawing it over his own wrist. Tommy gasps. Phil ignores it. He allows a small trickle of blood to flow into the frozen fledgling's mouth.

Phil watches as the teen swallows it automatically, licking at his own lips. How he tastes it and savors it and instinctually feels drawn to it. And then Phil watches as the fledgling's eyes catch his own.

The fledgling relaxes instantly, going pliant. He chuffs, looking for comfort.

"How did you do that?" Tommy asks, perplexed.

Reaching forward to slip the muzzle onto the fledgling just to be sure, Phil smiles, helping him stand up. The fledgling leans on him, clings to them.

"When they're this young, they need a sire to function," Phil says. "Somebody to feed them and keep them safe."

Nobody ever said that sire had to be another vampire.

"Let's go before somebody catches us," Phil says. "We need to bring him home."

[thissortofsorcery]

Hiii, Gabii 💕

For the soft fic prompt meme:

14. Phone calls

and/or

17. fixing the other persons clothes absentmindedly or like tucking their hair behind their ear U KNOW WHAT I MEAN THAT SOFT STUFF

Thank you 🫶

YAM I FINISHED IT

I'm sorry it took me so damn long to fill this prompt for you. I know you like it when they're soft! I hope you like this one.

--

Steve never feels more grown-up than when he and Billy cook together.

It started during senior year — as a dare, of all things. They weren’t even together then, Billy hiding behind a wall of toxic masculinity to protect himself from Neil. He still tracked Steve’s every movement with his eyes. Steve was completely oblivious to his feelings and why his gut twisted every time Billy gave girls that look of his.

“I doubt you can cook anything with the shit you got in your house, pretty boy,” Billy had said, lip curling derisively at the content of Steve’s fridge. “When’s the last time you bought groceries?” 

Steve proceeded to cook the best improvised scramble he’d ever done out of sheer determination to make Billy eat his words. He’d had no idea it would turn out good when he started. Usually, his cooking attempts had a 50/50 chance of turning out wonderful or having to be tossed based on the smell alone.

Two years later, and Steve’s a lot better at cooking. He can make all the basics and some fancy stuff, too, with Billy or on his own — but the favorite meals are the ones he and Billy cook together, arms brushing, hips bumping each other out of the way, spoons being offered to taste. 

Cooking together is mostly a weekend thing since their shifts end hours apart. Steve’s used to fixing something up quick when he gets home from work so it’s ready by the time Billy is done at the garage. Saturday and Sunday are the days they go all out.

So Steve is caught off guard when his phone rings fifteen minutes before his shift ends on a Wednesday, and it’s Billy calling.

“I wanna try making Ceviche,” is what Billy says, skipping the ‘hello’ and going straight to the point. “So, do you want fish or shrimp?” 

“You want to make what?” Steve frowns, barely recognizing the name. He flails toward his work computer to open Google, but he doesn’t know how to spell it out. “Wait, where are you?” 

“At the grocery store, Harrington. Keep up,” Billy snarks affectionately. “It’s, like, cooking fish with lemon juice. It’s great.” 

“What are you doing at the grocery store?” 

“I got off work early. Fish or shrimp, Steve, come on.” 

“You know how to make this thing?” Steve says. He’s known Billy long enough that he doesn’t doubt Billy’s cooking skills, but he’s never heard of this dish before or that Billy had and liked it. 

“Yeah, pretty boy, it’s called YouTube. It has cherry tomatoes in it; you like those.” 

Steve grins. “I do,” he says. “Go with fish, I guess.” 

“Great,” Billy says and hangs up immediately. Steve smiles at his phone for no reason.

He’s home half an hour later, and he finds Billy at the kitchen counter already, dicing up the fish fillets into little cubes. Billy’s freshly showered, his work clothes traded for soft sweatpants and a tank top. Steve stops to admire the curve of his strong shoulders and the swell of his biceps, his eyes following the familiar expanse of golden skin that still makes his heart flutter years later.

“Hey,” Steve says, announcing himself as he enters the kitchen, so Billy has time to put the knife down before Steve hugs him from behind. Steve buries his nose in Billy’s shoulder, breathing deeply. Billy leans back against him, humming contentedly as Steve strokes Billy’s sides. 

“Hi,” Billy says. “I’d hug you back, but my hands are gross.” 

Steve kisses Billy’s shoulder and snorts. “It’s fine. How can I help?” 

“Can you get started on the garlic?” Billy directs. Steve follows, and they fall into a familiar dance in their tiny kitchen, sharing counter space and anecdotes about their days.

Cooking together is peaceful, the way few things in their lives have been, and Steve lets the feeling of home and family wash over him. His shoulders relax, and the headache that’s been threatening to bloom in his right temple fades away, insignificant in the face of Billy’s laughter at Steve’s impressions of his coworkers. 

A light touch to Steve’s forehead makes him blink. He looks away from the lemons he’s squeezing to find Billy brushing away a lock of hair that had started poking Steve in the eye the second he got lemon juice all over his hands. Billy’s hand is light, his fingertips soft as he tucks Steve’s hair behind his ear, and a pleasant shiver goes down Steve’s spine. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, a dumb smile on his face. Billy’s eyes are soft, watching Steve with familiar warmth. 

“Anytime, pretty boy.” 

The quiet, gentle gesture spreads warmth in Steve’s chest, down his spine, down his arms, all the way to his sticky fingertips. There have been thousands of them over the years they’ve been together, but they never fail to make Steve blush and duck his head like a preteen. They’re affectionate with each other really often, but there’s something about finding the space to have these little moments in the middle of doing mundane, everyday things that strikes a deep chord in Steve. 

“I love you.” The words escape Steve’s lips, the reflection of a feeling so natural to him that they’re behind every other sentence he says. 

The corner of Billy’s mouth ticks up, expression morphing into what used to be a smug smirk when he was younger, and now is a soft, fond expression that’s only ever aimed at a very select group of people.

“Sap,” is what Billy says, but the warmth in his tone is clear. 

“I know you like it,” Steve teases, smiling.

“What I’d like is for you to be done with those lemons,” Billy snarks, his elbow brushing Steve’s.

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs. “I’m done.” 

When they’re finished, and the glass tray is in the fridge, Billy pulls Steve to the couch so they can make out for the hour it takes for the lemon juice to cook the fish. And it comes out pretty damn good — though Steve’s pretty sure he’s biased, only because he and Billy made it together.

[angryschnauzer]

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 7

Summary: Finding a new life in a new town, you stumble upon a Honey farmer at the town market. You both have pasts that have shaped the way you now live your lives, but can you find a way of putting them behind you to find happiness?

Pairing: ‘Lucas’ Syverson x Female Reader

Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sandcastle (Movie).

Ongoing Genre: Fluff, Angst, and Smut

Story Warnings: Slight Angst, Talk of a car accident in the past, Anxious Sy, Mild Embarrassment, First Date Nerves, Kissing,   NSFW, 18+, Smut, Fingering, Grinding, Hot Tub Frolics, Handjob, Titty Sucking, Nudity, Blowjob, Oral Sex.  

Chapter 7 Warnings: Graphic descriptions of an abusive relationship, descriptions of domestic violence, description of murder attempt. NSFW, 18+, Smut, Blowjob

Wordcount: 3114

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2,  Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, 

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 7

Sy's truck crunched over the gravel of his driveway as he pulled into the covered parking spot at the side of his cabin. As he shut the engine off you could hear Akia barking when she recognised the sound of the engine, Sy gently patting your leg;

"She's going to be so excited to see you"

He smiled, but you could see the concern in his eyes. Back at your cottage Tamara had arrived in a tornado of hugs and reassurances, but it'd done little to calm your nerves over the fact your abuser had not only finished his parole and was allowed to leave the state, was hundreds of miles off route for what he said his destination was, and you knew how he'd always insisted on taking the most direct route anywhere he went, even if it meant dangerous roads in bad weather.

The first few spots of rain started to hit the ground and you felt Sy squeeze your thigh;

"As much as i'd like to see that pretty little dress of yours go see through in the rain lets not hang around, once Akia gets wet she stinks the cabin out with wet mutt scent"

Smiling you hopped out, Sy grabbing the bag you'd hastily packed with some clothes and your laptop, the pair of you running quickly to the front door, Sy darting out to the yard to release Akia from her leash before the pair of them ran back under the cover of the porch. The big dog was all wriggles when she saw you, a now familiar face in her life. You petted her and gave her fuss as Sy moved around his cabin, switching lamps on and getting you settled in. He lifted your bag and pointed hooked his thumb to his bedroom;

“I’m gonna put this in here, i’ve cleared a drawer for you to keep your stuff in”

You could feel a lump form in your throat at his gesture, the casual thoughtfulness something you weren't used to in a relationship.

Once he'd dropped your bag he pulled you into his arms, enveloping you in his strength and warmth. You felt like the worries of the world slipped away whilst you were in that cocoon of his arms, that the big wide world was just a bad dream. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and pulled back, waiting for you to meet his gaze;

"Dinner and a movie? Or dinner and talk?"

"Dinner and talk"

-

Your meal had been quick and easy, but no less delicious. Sy had made garlic bread from a loaf he'd baked that morning, combined with what Antonio had gifted him from the restaurant; fresh burrata cheese which had been drizzled with delicate honey and sprinkled with chopped pistachio nuts.

With the dishes cleaned away the two of you had curled up together on the couch, your time to explain your past had finally arrived;

"We met in college, James was a Senior when I was a Freshman. I didn't have that much experience with boys so I was flattered that he was interested… turns out he wanted someone he could control. We got married over the Summer between my Junior and Senior years, and when it came to returning for the Fall semester James started to change. He would have my timetable synced with his phone, and if I was more than 2 minutes late getting out of class he would start the mind games and accuse me of cheating. So many times Tamara walked me to his car and wouldn't leave until James accepted that class ran over. That worked fine until she had to have her workplace assignments in the Summer semester and wasn't around campus… that's when the hitting started."

You heard Sy exhale through his nose but didn't look to his face, you weren't ready and still had more to tell;

"James would never hit me when we were in public, he would just act like the perfect husband, but the second the front door to our apartment shut…" you paused, the memory of it causing you to tense; "He would hit me, just the once each time, but he'd use his fist and hit me in my back. The pain was excruciating. He knew exactly where to hit to cause the most prolonged pain, but to make it look like an accidental injury, that i'd fallen on something. There was one time…" your voice started to waiver but you paused and took a deep breath; "I'd gotten a ride home with Tamara as he'd had to work late, but because i'd invited her in for a coffee he was furious as hadn't 'checked' with him in advance. Tam was in the bathroom whilst i was rinsing some dishes in the kitchen, i heard footsteps but thought it was her, only for him to just come up behind me and land a punch in the center of my back. That was the beginning of the end if i'm being honest as Tam walked in whilst my legs were buckling. I'd learnt not to cry, i just compartmentalised and disassociated when it happened by that point"

You finally looked up at Sy and it almost broke your heart. He was blinking away the tears, you hadn't even considered that what you were saying would be difficult for someone who cared about you to hear;

"Sy, it's ok. It's over now"

He let out a very shaky sigh, nodding;

"I know Honey, but I just… I mean, we all have our emotional scars, but you're just so strong now. I'm sorry you went through that"

You reached out for him and he pulled you onto his lap, pressing his forehead to yours and laying a light kiss to the end of your nose to which you looked up at him;

"Do you need a break?"

"A break?"

"Before i tell you the rest"

He paused, before shaking his head;

"No, it's good that we get this all done in one go"

"Tam at that point pulled me aside at school one day, and with the help of our student support made me realise that what was happening wasn't my fault. Her husband was a cop and on his day off, he explained plainly what kind of evidence would be needed for an arrest and conviction, and at that point they helped me set up Nanny cameras"

"So you took that to the cops?"

"Not quite. It was around Thanksgiving and we'd travelled upstate to see his parents. The roads were icy and even after his Dad had said he shouldn't drive after drinking, he still insisted we head home. On a narrow road we spun out going over a bridge and the car ended up in the river below. The car was half submerged and when the cops arrived they found James first and pulled him out, but as they did the car got caught in the current and was washed over a waterfall. James had said there was no-one else in the car…"

"Fuck" Sy's voice was quiet; "How did you…"

"How did they realise I was still in the car? James was still drunk so when he was in the back of the ambulance he let slip that he hadn't been alone. The EMT's radioed back to the cops that were still on scene and they went into the water and pulled me out. They rushed me to the ER in their cruiser as by that point hypothermia had set in"

"You're not angry that they missed you the first time?"

Thinking about Sy's question you considered your thoughts before shaking your head;

"No, it wasn't their fault. It was dark and they'd had verbal confirmation from the driver that no one else was in the vehicle. If anything it increases my anger and hatred for my abuser" you paused; "but that doesn't diminish the feelings of fear i get of him being anywhere near me"

"How did you get away from him in the end?"

"The cops arrested him for driving under the influence whilst he was in hospital. When the statements of the First Responders came in about how he'd lied about me not being in the vehicle they added attempted manslaughter. My emergency contact was Tam so when the hospital called her she brought the evidence from the Nanny cams too. It was enough to get him locked up until trial as no-one posted bail"

Sy was silent for a long time, thinking over what you’d told him and he was absolutely positive that you had held back on a lot of the details, but that didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that you were safe with him and he’d do everything in his power to keep you safe;

“So you haven’t seen him since that night?”

You shook your head;

“I testified via videolink. The city had a great public defender that made sure domestic violence survivors didn’t have to face their abusers in person. Tam testified in person and said that James tried to stare her down the entire time, but she just ignored him. He was sentenced to 4 years but got out after 3 for ‘good behaviour’, however throughout the whole time he sent threatening letters to my old address. The second he was released he was served with the restraining order. He’s not allowed to come within 200ft of me or my property”

“Does he know where you live?”

“I don’t think so, but the fact that he has entered the state has enough to make sure i don’t turn my back to a room at the moment, at least not until i know he’s heading in the opposite direction.”

There was a moment of silence before he pulled you to his chest and you instinctively hooked your nose beneath his chin. Warm hands smoothed over your back, comforting you. You felt like you were in a cocoon, safe and secure where nothing could threaten you or all you’d worked so hard for. With the brush of Sy’s beard on your face you relaxed to the point of slumber, drifting off into a calm and peaceful sleep.

-

When you woke it was dark, the warm embrace of Sy’s arms still around you, but this time you could tell you were in his bed. Twisting onto your side you smiled wearily and fell back into a deep safe sleep.

-

The sound of a shower woke you a second time, soft pale daylight of the early morning hinted at the windows of the cabin. Turning you realised you were alone in the bed, slipping silently out from beneath the covers you had a thought and a smile spread over your face. Quickly locating your bag you pulled a shower cap from your wash bag and pulled it on, before shedding your clothing and stepping into the steamy bathroom.

You could see the outline of Sy’s tall body where the window on the other side of the bath cast a silhouette through the shower curtain. He turned towards the shower and you could tell he had raised his face into the water, so now was your time to strike. Crossing the small room you carefully pulled the far end of the shower curtain and carefully stepped into the old enamel tub. As you pulled the curtain back in place one of the metal rings clinked against the rail, making you freeze, your eyes darting to Sy who still stood with his back to you, his face in the jets of water, and he let out a little chuckle;

“Honey, if you think you can sneak up on me you’ve got another thing comin’”

He turned and grinned at you, watching you watch him as the soapy bubbles trailed down his body. You couldn’t help but to gratuitously look at Sy in all his naked glory. You missed the smirk tug at the corner of his mouth as he watched you watching him, instead your gaze was transfixed upon the slow creep of his hands as he started to softly tug at his dick, watching it start to swell and grow from its already impressive state. Taking a single step forwards closed the space between you, tilting your head as your mouths met for a brutal kiss, whilst your hand moved to join his, wrapping around his hot girth. 

When you pulled away from his lips, Sy let out a small whimper of loss, before watching as you got to your knees, never breaking eye contact. He was hot and heavy in your hand, filling your grasp as you moved your fist up and down. Tentatively you leaned forwards, taking just the tip into your mouth and letting your tongue lave against the smooth red tip.

Sy let out a strangled groan and his knees trembled a little, his hand shooting out to rest against the windowsill whilst the other settled atop your head;

“Baby… please…” he begged quietly.

Staring into those ice blue eyes you opened your mouth and took him as deep as you could, relishing the feel of marble beneath silk, his hardness growing until your cheeks were filled and your throat was cut off from precious air. With what little room you had left in your mouth you worked your tongue softly against the underside, the thick ridge of muscle that ran the length pulsing under your ministrations.

You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, grasping him tightly as you moved your head back and forth, letting saliva pool in your mouth and escape from the corners of your lips.

“Oh fuck…” Sy cursed; “That’s so good, get me nice and sloppy, such a good girl”

Sy cupped your cheek, his hand moving back to the top of your head, unsure where to put his hands. Reaching up you grabbed both and pulled them down until they were resting on the back of your head, nodding slightly so he got the message that it was ok.

“Oh god… you’re fucking perfect” he muttered as he started to rock his hips back and forth just a little, fucking your mouth as you relaxed your jaw a little more; “So fucking perfect… look at you with my dick in your mouth, feels so good, that’s it girl, take it deeper”

On a couple of thrusts he got just a fraction too deep and you could feel your eyes start to water, but thankfully your gag reflex behaved itself. You rested your hands on the tops of Sy’s thighs, the muscles tense beneath your touch, and you could tell he was getting close. Slipping one hand between his legs you softly cupped his balls and was rewarded with a guttural groan from above;

“Fuck… do that again and i’m gonna cum down your pretty throat”

Maintaining eye contact you did exactly that, softly cupping and cradling his balls in your palm. You heard him groan as they pulled tight to his body, then the tell tale tremble of cum travelling through his shaft before that salty splash as it hit your tongue. Quickly swallowing he finished on your tongue, pulling free of your mouth as his hand flew to the windowsill and his knees wobbled. His other hand hooked under your arm, helping you to your feet until he could pull you flush to his chest, kissing you fiercely before you pushed him away;

“Sy! I haven’t even brushed my teeth, you’ll be tasting yourself!”

“Nothin’ wrong with that Honey, just a reminder that you were kind enough to do that for me” he let out a contented sigh, before his demeanor immediately changed and he let out a string of ‘OH’s. Quickly spinning around he shut the water off before turning back to you;

“Hot water just ran out… it’s gonna be a while before the tank refills i’m afraid. I know you don’t like cold water…”

With a smile you were thankful for his actions, even in the post orgasmic haze he was probably in;

“No problem”

At that moment a series out loud woof’s and barking came from the other side of the door;

“Uh-oh, need to let Akia out, she only gets like that when she’s gotta ‘go’ go”

-

It didn’t take long until you had dried off what parts of you had gotten wet and dressed in yoga pants and loose t-shirt loaned from Sy, assuring him that you were fine by yourself for the half hour it would take him to walk Akia across the meadow as he did the morning check on the beehives. Setting your laptop up on the small desk in the back of Sy’s bedroom, you plugged your headphones in so you could listen to the morning zoom meeting.

It was 45 minutes later when you glanced at the time in the corner of your screen and you realised that Sy wasn’t back, your stomach grumbled so you decided to seek out some coffee. Switching your wireless headphones to connect to your playlist, you were in your own little world as you wandered into the kitchen, turning the corner only to be greeted by a stranger leaning into the fridge. Shocked blue eyes stared at you from behind floppy dark hair, a youthful attempt at stubble dusted over the stranger’s face. You let out a scream, stumbling back until your hip touched the table as you scrambled for something to protect yourself with, your fingers curling around the handle of the iron skillet Sy had seasoned on the stove the previous night. Holding it up like a baseball bat you yelled;

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

The young man dropped the slice of cooked bacon he had been about to eat, holding his hands up in surrender;

“Okay crazy lady, i could say the same about you”

“I asked first!” you demanded, shaking the pan a little, before suddenly the back door of the cabin opened, Akia running in and making a beeline for the dropped bacon, Sy standing in the doorway as both you and the startled young man faced off in his kitchen.

Crossing the room to you in just a few strides, Sy pulled the skillet from your grasp, trying but failing to contain his amusement;

“Darlin’, i want you to meet Mike, Walter’s kid”

Your eyes went wide;

“This is Walter’s son?”

You looked to the man by the fridge who had now shut the door and was giving Akia ear scratches as she leant against his leg;

“Sure am Sweetcheeks”

Chapter 8 >>>

[simpishly]

High School Years More Cafeteria Food

Are you getting tired of the same boring cafeteria food for your high school teens?

I certainly was, so I made this More High School Cafeteria Food mod! It adds a handful of recipes from the University Life cafeteria station to your high school, including breakfast options for Sims who arrive at school hungry. I also adjusted the prices to be closer to the High School Years food prices--this price change will show up at your universities, too.

This mod requires University Life. (Sorry! It was a lot simpler to do it this way, because then I could be positive I wouldn't accidentally pull food from a DLC. There's a lot of duplicate salads...) DOWNLOAD @ SIMSFILESHARE simpishly_MoreHSCafeteriaFood-UL.package

Full menu below the cut.

* Photo depicts my own "That HS From the Trailer" build, available on the gallery! ID: simpishly

@maxismatchccworld

Full Menu

from High School Years

Junior Lunch

Senior Lunch

Chicken Slider

Hamburger Slider

Veggie Slider

Meatball Tamale Bites

Tortilla-Wrapped Hot Dog

Tortilla-Wrapped Veggie Dog

Rainbow Brownies

from University Life

Avocado Toast

Eggs and Toast

French Toast

Chili

Fish Tacos

Garden Salad

Garlic Noodles

Grilled Cheese

Grilled Chicken

Mac n' Cheese

Cheese Pizza (slice)

Pepperoni Pizza (slice)

Rice and Bean Burrito (vegetarian)

Spaghetti

Chocolate Chip Cookie

[i-am-still-bb]

FiKi Week by @gatheringfiki - Day 3 - 06.24.24

Never have I known a soul more familiar than yours, more worn into softness, more moulded to the very shame of my fingers, so that they may curl in it and hold you fast and steady. 

A/N: This isn't quite finished, but I'm not going to finish it tonight and I need to get tomorrow's piece done tomorrow... so... I ended it at what felt like a good point. It will continue in a couple of days when I have the other prompts filled. Until then... <3

--

Fast Car AU - Before

Fili’s house was quiet. His mother was out of town for the day. She had driven down to Fresno to see a show with some friends. They were even going to be staying the night in the city. She told Fili that she wouldn’t be back until around noon the next day. She had reminded him to take the bins to the curb in the morning, left $20 dollars on the fridge of pizza, and told him to behave himself. 

“Why would I ruin my choir boy reputation?”

His mother had rolled her eyes with a smile before she backed the SUV out of the driveway. 

//  Want to come over? - FeeD  //

// What’s on cable? - KiliO  //

//  Law and Order. American Dad. Movies featuring spiders. James Bond. The history channel is doing a Roman Empire weekend again. - FeeD  //

//  Hmm… Tempting… I’ll have to check my planner. - KiliO  //

//  Did I mention that the house is empty until tomorrow? And I’ve got pizza money? - FeeD  //

//  You mean that you have garlic bread knots money. - KiliO  //

//  So? Or do you have a better offer? - FeeD  //

//  Now that you mention it Max did say something about having a fifth of tekela… :p - KiliO  //

//  If that’s all it takes… ;) - FeeD  //

//  I’m not _that_ easy. - KiliO  //

//  Don’t I know it :p - FeeD  // 

//  Rude. - KiliO  //

//  Do you need a ride? - FeeD  //

//  I’m at the library. I’ll just bike over when I finish up here. - KiliO  //

//  Can’t wait. - FeeD  //

They had settled for the Law and Order themed reruns. It was warm outside, but the house was dark and cool with the curtains drawn and the A/C running. Kili was stretched out on the chaise lounge of the couch. He was wearing jeans—he hated the way that his legs looked in shorts—and a dark band t-shirt, but he still had an afghan pulled over his legs. He also had a Fili draped over his lap. Fili had stretched out on the main body of the couch. He had his head on Kili’s lap and his arms around Kili’s waist. His face was pressed to Kili’s belly.

A commercial came on flooding the room with light and always being a bit louder than the show. Kili adjusted the volume down and dropped his head back on the couch cushion. He slipped his hand down the next of Fili’s shirt and absently massaged the muscles there.

Fili groaned and shifted to provide better access for Kili.

Kili chuckled. “I thought you were asleep.”

Fili stretched, toes pointing, legs stiffening, back arching before he relaxed again. “I was,” he nuzzled his face against Kili. “That feels nice,” he hunched his shoulders. “Dwalin’s been killing us at practice on the field and in the weight room. I’m just so exhausted. And sore,” he winced when Kili’s fingers worked over a particularly sensitive spot.

“That sounds like a you problem. You chose to do football again this year. You could have been a bum like me and done cross country or nothing.”

Fili grumbled. “And be the guy who didn’t get the pin his senior year?”

Kili rolled his eyes.

“Still sounds like a you problem.”

Fili retaliated by biting Kili’s stomach through the blanket and Kili’s shirt, but Kili still shouted in exaggerated pain.

—

The pizza box was open on the coffee table and the bread bites were balanced on the arm of the couch waiting for an errant arm or leg to knock it over. The two litre bottle of Sprite that they had been sharing sat where the two parts of the couch intersected. It was almost buried by the blanket when it had been pushed aside.

Neither of them knew what was playing on the television anymore.

“I forgot to ask earlier—are you staying the night?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to?” Kili looked uncertain.

“Only if you want to,” Fili assured.

“I didn’t bring any of my stuff.”

Fili shrugged. “We’ve always got spare toothbrushes and stuff in the bathroom.”

“I don’t have clothes for tomorrow or pyjamas.”

“For tomorrow you can just borrow one of my shirts, but for tonight what makes you think you’ll be wearing clothes?” Fili asked with a lopsided grin. He caught his fingers under the exposed waistband of Kili’s underwear and gently snapped it.

Kili’s cheeks flushed even in the dim and flickering light of the television screen. He pulled away from Fili and looked over Fili’s shoulder before asking, “Do I… can I… do I have to…” he looked down. He pushed himself off Fili’s lap. Fili’s eyes were wide with concern.

“Hey…” Fili reached for Kili’s hand.

“Can I wear pyjamas?” Kili asked quietly.

“Of course you can!” the word rushed out of Fili. “I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I—”

“I know you were teasing,” Kili took Fili’s hand. “I just…” he sighed. “I don’t want anyone else to see me… I guess.”

“But we’re the only ones here?”

Kili looked away. “I know. I just…” he shrugged. “What if like your mom came home early or your uncle let himself in or… I don’t know…”

“Pyjamas it is.”

Kili’s smile was weak.

Fili pulled a pleading face. “Will I still get cuddles?”

Kili pushed Fili’s foot with his own. “Only if you let me have the last of the Sprite.”

“Deal.”

—

“Uncle Dwalin, can I ask you something?” Fili asked. He was watching Dwalin work on someone’s second-hand chopper. 

“I’m not letting you skip out on fifty 40s just because I know your uncle,” Dwalin replied without looking up.

“Good to know. But that wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you know if Uncle Thorin is going to be using the cabin this weekend or next?”

“I dunno, why?”

Fili glanced to the open door of the work bay, “I’m just trying to help Kili feel more comfortable with… you know,” Fili lifted his shoulders. “And I thought hanging out at the cabin would help him feel safer, you know, less like his fuckhead dad’s going to walk in any minute.”

Dwalin rubbed a wrench with a rag, checked to see if the dirt had come off before resuming the motion. He looked at Fili. “And why are you asking me instead of Thorin?”

The tips of Fili’s ears turned pink. He stuffed his hands in his jeans. “I just… I figured you would know, I guess…” he kicked at a patch of dirt with his boot. “And thought you’d be less likely to tell my mom?” he finished hopefully.

Dwalin laughed at that. “Kid, your mother busts my balls about that stuff and has given more sex talks to more guys in the club than I can count, she’s not the one I’d be worried about finding out about you using your uncle’s cabin as a love shack.”

Fili’s flush deepened. “It wouldn’t be a love shack,” he said defensively. “Kili’s just a bit jumpy, and I think it’d be nice for him.”

“And you,” Dwalin teased.

Fili scowled.

—

The key for the cabin was hidden in a birdhouse that was shaped like a motorcycle’s fuel tank. 

Kili crossed his arms, his sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big hung from his sharp shoulders, and looked around. “Why are we up here again?”

Fili shrugged and fiddled with the lock. “I just thought that it’d be nice to get away from everything… everyone for a while.”

“It’s just going to be us up here?”

Fili looked over his shoulder, “Is that alright?” 

“Yeah,” Kili grinned. 

They had been up here many times before, sometimes with just Thorin, sometimes Dis, Thorin and Dwalin, Thorin and Dis, sometimes whole groups of the club. When that happened the area around the cabin would be filled with brightly coloured dome tents. They would roast marshmallows, hotdogs, toasted sandwiches in pie irons, chase each other with sparklers (depending on the fire warnings), play in the trees, and star gaze. All things that they remembered fondly.

“Can you get the cooler?” Fili asked, tossing his bag inside the now open door. “I’m going to open the windows, it smells like Thorin and Dwalin hotboxed it last time they were up here.”

They’d brought some basic sundries for the nearly two full days they’d be here—milk, cereal, materials to make toasties, energy drinks, boxed mac and cheese, chips, and packaged snacks. Kili busied himself putting things in the fridge while Fili did some dusting and pulled out the linens that had been sealed away from the dust.

The cabin was small. You walked onto a small porch before turning into the main living space. There was a couch to the left, a coffee table, and low bookshelves with games. Beyond that was a small kitchen table, the far wall had a fireplace with built-in bookcases. The books were mostly old thrillers, and books about the Sierra Nevada. The two chairs in front of the fireplace were well worn. There was a narrow kitchen, only room for one person, a cramped bathroom, and then a bedroom that was mostly filled with a king sized bed. The cabin often served as a base for hiking and backpacking, but all of that gear was stored in the  shed that was nearly as large as the cabin itself....

TBC

--

Tag List @silvermoon-scrolls @metztlilua @I-am-pinkie @dubhlachen

[saltyinternetflower]

A Toji x reader mini fic

Both are adults with an age gap.

(Art by nendesignx on Instagram)

You: Uh... Excuse me, Mister. I think we need to talk.

Toji: Now isn't the time, lady! I'm here on some business.

You: Actually, it's kind of important. Do you remember beating up two boys on the street yesterday, while I was talking to them?

Toji: Talking? Those two were groping you and harassing you! You don't talk to creeps, sweetie, you BEAT the sh*t outta them.

You (angrily): Sweetie? Really? I'm a Jujutsu sorcerer, Tough guy, I had it under control.

Toji: *snickers* A jujutsu sorcerer, you say? Well, that explains the attitude. You're welcome, by the way.

You: So you expect gratitude for saving someone who didn't even asked to be saved in the first place!

Toji: *shrugs* You didn't have to ask. I was gonna do it anyway.

You: Why? You don't look like a guy who goes around randomly saving people.

Toji: No, I'm not really the hero type. But I know you, Miss y/n, you used to go to the same school as my son...

You: *gasp* You have a son?!

Toji: *chuckles* Megumi, my son, is studying in Tokyo Jujutsu Academy.

You: You're Gumi-kun's dad? Oh...He... He was my kohai, I was in his senior class.

Toji: *nods* I'm Toji.

You: S...sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, Toji sama! Thank you for standing up for me.

Toji: *grimaces* Err...forget it. Those pesky rats won't dare touch you again. Now, if you don't mind, I'm kinda starving, and I gotta go.

You: I know a place that makes the best garlic noodles!

Toji: *raises eyebrows* Do I look like a man who visits fancy places, hun?

You: Let me thank you properly and buy you lunch, at least!

Toji: *scratches chin* Ah, well, if you insist...I can't say no to pretty ladies.

You (smirking): Did you just flirt with me? I'm afraid you're not very subtle, Toji sama.

Toji: *scoffs* Definitely less subtle than you checking out my abs, sweet pea.

*leans closer* see something you like, miss?

You: WHAT THE HELL! Who's the creep now, old man?!

Toji: Fool yourself as you want. You're the one who followed me and found me on a busy street, fight with me for defending your delicate...uh, modesty, and look at me like I'm a three course gourmet meal! So you decide who's the creepy stalker here. Good day, and good luck finding me again.

You: *exhale sharply* You're so rude, mean, arrogant, full of wormsh*t...

Toji: Then why are you grabbing my shirt?

You: Toji sama, we're not done yet. I'll prove to you I'm not the least bit affected by you. For starters, we'll go to a restaurant, have lunch sitting side by side, and I'll not even take a single look at you.

Toji: Hmmm... Sounds like a challenge. Interesting!

You: *huff* Are you in or out?

Toji: I like challenges, specially when lovely ladies are involved.

You: Careful, I'll win easy, grandpa!

Toji: Maybe we can level up the challenge by going to a movie later.

We'll see.

[kleenexwoman]

Part 2 of this prompt by @russolaw : A TKK3 AU where Daniel and Johnny end up together.

TW: sexual exploitation.

4) Johnny gave Terry Silver the only nickname he ever really liked.

Sometimes, when he had a lot of money in his wallet, Johnny thought about skipping town. Landing in someplace small and boring, enrolling in high school for his last year, being a pretty and dangerous stranger on a motorcycle like James Dean, and having the kind of senior year he’d always wanted to. Someplace where tall blondes with perfect bodies weren’t a dime a dozen and turning yourself into a lethal weapon wasn’t just another accomplishment to put on your college application or your acting portfolio.

But then he’d catch sight of the city from the beach, the hills glowing with neon, and he’d remember that this was where people from those small towns skipped town for, the place everyone wanted to be. That Los Angeles was the City of Dreams. That it was better to be a hooker in L.A. than the mayor of any shit hick burg in Idaho or Iowa or Indiana or wherever it was that people who weren’t from someplace cool like Los Angeles came from.

Because the thing was that you could only ever be who they let you be in a small town. But you could be whoever you wanted to be in L.A., that was kind of the point of the place. And there was always a chance that you’d make it.

Johnny kept an eye out for nice cars that weren’t flashy. That meant professional men, not dealers. Professional men like Sid, although he didn’t want to get with someone like Sid, someone old and mean and demanding. He slept with them, but tried not to spend the night if he didn’t like them. One night could turn into two too easily, and then you were trapped if you weren’t careful. You didn’t need to get pregnant to be trapped, all you needed was something only he could give you. Car payments, a phone line, anything long-term. Johnny took gifts, but never anything that needed to be cared for or kept alive, and nothing that couldn’t fit in his Avanti.

Tiger had a long black ponytail and looked young, maybe like he was only a few years older than Johnny. He drove a silver Porsche Spyder the night they met, just like James Dean, and Johnny liked how well he handled the car. He told Johnny to call him something, but a motorcycle roared by and Johnny couldn’t quite hear.

“Tig?” Johnny asked, and leaned forward to show off his pecs. He was wearing a thin white tank top that he’d torn the bottom off to make it a crop top. He giggled and fluffed back his hair, which was growing out pretty long around his shoulders at this point. “Like Tigger? The tiger?”

“Yeah, Tiger,” the man said, and grinned. “Call me Tiger. I like that.”

Tiger liked it when Johnny pulled off the elastic band of his ponytail. He laughed and let his hair stream in the wind as they drove up winding canyon roads to his big sprawling house, pulled Johnny out of the car and carried him over the threshold like a bride, then crawled over him growling and kissed him on the mouth. He claimed Johnny and left red bite marks on his throat and shoulders, then carried him to a gigantic tub and fucked him again before sponging him off with something that smelled like sandalwood and leather. Then he ordered them gigantic burgers, bright red in the middle, and steak fries with garlic sauce instead of ketchup. He drank wine while Johnny drank beer, dipping his fries in the white sauce and eating them one by one as Johnny wolfed down the burger.

Johnny felt baptized, and slid into Tiger’s lap the next morning after a breakfast of lox and bagels.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying the hospitality,” Tiger said, and let him stay. He moved the Avanti into his garage and gave Johnny a Firebird, set him up in the guest room next to his and insisted on having it redecorated to match Johnny’s tastes. Johnny didn’t have any particular tastes in decorating, so Tiger picked out a riot of neon shapes and checkerboard that he said mirrored Johnny’s youthful dynamism and beautiful chaos.

Tiger said a lot of weird shit and liked weird shit, which Johnny was mostly alright with except when he’d huff and puff because Johnny didn’t get some weird movie or enjoy some dish Tiger served him with green stuff in it. He liked dressing Johnny up in shiny leather and plastic and putting makeup on him, liked taking him to clubs where people got tied up and hit each other with weird shit or shocked each other with what looked like little cattle prods. He’d pause in front of watching some guy get wax dripped on him or some girl get hung from the ceiling by her tits and ask Johnny if it turned him on, if he’d like to try it. Sometimes Johnny tried getting zapped or hit with something just to see if he could take it, but he never could say he got out of it what any of the rest of them did. It just looked too complicated, all the electric stuff and the special clothes and the tools – wasn’t sex supposed to be about body to body, skin to skin?

Tiger liked giving him presents, but after a while he stopped giving Johnny money. When Johnny asked for it, he’d ask why. He paid for everything Johnny needed, after all. Did Johnny want more clothes? More jewelry? Another car? He’d get Johnny another car. He’d take Johnny out to dinner, send the maid out grocery shopping. What did he need quarters to call home for if he had a phone in his car, a phone that Tiger paid for?

5) When Johnny saw Daniel, he knew something was very wrong.

As far as Johnny knew, Tiger was just a rich guy with a taste for Japanese decorating. All the rich guys were into that, since they were going over to Japan to make deals all the time. So he had a few katanas on his wall and liked to swan around in a yukata sometimes, that didn’t have to mean anything.

He hadn’t mentioned to Tiger that he did karate. He didn’t tell anybody about that, since that kind of brag could pretty easily get you on the wrong end of a gun out on the streets. Nobody was all that impressed with karate once you got out of high school.

So it was a hell of a surprise for him to come downstairs in a pair of briefs and an Aerosmith crop top one afternoon, hoping to find Tiger bored in his office, only to come face-to-face with Daniel LaRusso rambling about something dumb at his boyfriend while Tiger wrapped LaRusso’s bloody knuckles in bandages.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Johnny yelped from the staircase. He stopped short, body frozen, eyes on Tiger.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Daniel yelled at about the same time, pulling away from Tiger’s with a betrayed look. He backed away toward the front door, hands up in a defensive stance, ready to strike.

“I’m helping him.” Tiger seemed caught between the both of them. “Both of you–I’m helping you. I’m trying to help you both.”

Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head.

“Help me?” Johnny shook his head. “What am I, a fucking charity case to you?”

“Your sensei,” Tiger blurted out. “I knew him. It was his last wishes–if I found you–”

“You knew Kreese?” Johnny gripped the banister. The room reeled. “His last–he’s dead?”

“Oh, this is bullshit,” Daniel said. His mouth stretched out in a sardonic grin, and his eyes darted around the room. “This is such bullshit. I can't believe you right now."

“How did he die?” Johnny’s legs went numb, and he let himself drop to the stairs. “How?”

“Brick to the gas pedal.” Tiger imitated dropping something, then cocked his hand in an L and placed the tip of his index finger to his temple. “Gun to the forehead. He sent me a letter–”

“I can’t believe you’re actually listening to this,” Daniel interrupted. “You know he’s lying. He’s gotta be lying, right?”

“He sent you a letter?” Johnny repeated, dumbfounded. Puzzle pieces spun in his head, bouncing off each other. Everything was too big and nothing fit together, and he wanted to retch it all out suddenly. “About me. And that’s why–that’s–”

“I thought you’d get scared and leave if you knew.” Tiger shook his head. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you, Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“He’s not sorry.” Daniel’s voice broke in clear and loud. “Look at him. He’s not sorry. He’s not even telling the truth. How useful is that? He’s just making up whatever he wants you to hear. I bet there’s no letter. I bet that asshole isn’t even dead.”

The look on Tiger’s face told Johnny everything.

6) Tiger didn’t even try to stop him from leaving.

He stood there, smug, while Johnny fished through his wardrobe for the jeans and T-shirt he’d brought with him. Asked Johnny where he thought he was going to go, since Tiger paid for everything he had.

“It’s not like I’d tell you,” Johnny said, and shoved a handful of silver and sapphire jewelry into his backpack. Tiger bought him sapphires to go with his eyes all the time.

“But you’re taking my presents,” Tiger said, pointedly.

“You gave ‘em to me,” Johnny said, and didn’t mention the cash that he kept in a pair of gym socks stuck in the lining of the backpack. That was nearly every bill he’d ever squirreled away from Tiger at this point.

“I’ll be able to find you no matter where you go,” Tiger said.

“Whatever,” Johnny said, and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“You’ll never truly be able to escape me.” Tiger followed him down the hall. “I’ll always be looking over your shoulder. I’ll be everywhere you go.”

“Have fun with that,” Johnny said.

“Every job you get,” Tiger said. “Everywhere you live, everywhere you so much as lay your head. Every time you swipe a credit card. Every phone call you–”

“You and the goddamn United States government,” Johnny said.

“You’ll never, ever be free of me if you choose to walk out that door,” Tiger said. “Never. Not in your life.”

“Let me ask you something.” Johnny grabbed the keys to his Avanti and turned around. “Why bother with me? If you were training him?”

“You should be asking me why I bothered with him,” Tiger said. “When I had you.”

“Why didn’t you train me?” Johnny asked. “Is it because I lost?”

Tiger blinked.

“It’s because I lost,” Johnny said, and stepped into the garage.

“He wanted me to avenge you,” Tiger said. “To avenge Cobra Kai. I was training him wrong, Johnny, I’ve been training him to lose. I have this fighter, his name is Michael, he’s amazing–”

“But you didn’t train me,” Johnny said, and opened the door to the Avanti.

“I wanted to keep you,” Tiger said, and it sounded like he was about to cry. “I didn’t want to put you out on the mat, Johnny. I just wanted you to be mine.”

Johnny sat in the Avanti and didn’t look at Tiger.

“Sensei is alive, isn’t he,” Johnny said, finally.

“I’ll take you to him.” Tiger sounded desperate. “Yes, he’s alive. He’d want to see you, Johnny. He’d want to know you’re okay.”

“But he doesn’t know.” Johnny’s voice cracked in his ears.

“No,” Tiger said. “No. He doesn’t. I didn’t tell him I found you.”

Johnny started the car.

“I don’t have to, Johnny.” Tiger raised his voice. “It can just be us.”

“You can tell him I don’t need his goddamn avenging.” Johnny swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Just leave Daniel alone. He’s not the one who tried to fucking strangle me.”

Tiger put his own hand around his throat. His expression didn’t change as he watched Johnny drive away.

7) Finding Daniel was surprisingly difficult, but finding Miyagi was easy.

Of course there was no “Daniel LaRusso” in the Yellow Pages. That would have made it too easy. There were fifteen entries for LaRusso in general, but none of them were Daniel. Johnny called all of them, but two of them weren’t even in order, five just rang for about a dozen rings, and three hung right up on him when he asked for Daniel. The rest said they didn’t know of a Daniel at all.

He even called Ali, but hung up before anyone picked up. How the hell was he supposed to explain what he was doing anyway? That he’d dropped out of high school because he suddenly couldn’t face being himself or living in anything like the life he’d been living? That he’d uncovered some kind of bizarre revenge plot against her ex-boyfriend that was somehow his fault in the first place, and that he had to make it right? That he didn’t even want to talk to her, but that he knew the boy he’d tormented for half a year was somehow his only chance at making anything right for himself?

It had been Miyagi that saved him, but there wasn’t even a single Miyagi in the Yellow Pages. Johnny wiped away a frustrated tear and switched to the White Pages. Cobra Kai was listed under the Karate Dojos, and he had to stop and breathe hard for a few minutes when he saw the name. But there wasn’t any Miyagi dojo, so that didn’t help him. He switched over to Japanese Cultural Businesses, and there between Marukai Market and Nihon Books and Art was Mr. Miyagi’s Little Trees.

Johnny sped across the valley. Miyagi came out just as he parked the car outside the store.

“No trouble today,” Miyagi said, like Johnny was selling it from door to door. “Please. Enough today.”

“It’s about Daniel,” Johnny said. “There’s something I think he needs to know.”

“Revenge plot, yes.” Miyagi sighed, and looked tired. “Daniel-san drop out of tournament already, okay? That enough? Revenge, good? Over?”

“It’s not me,” Johnny said. “I promise. It’s not me. I never wanted this.”

“Then what?” Miyagi glanced over his shoulder into the shop.

“I just wanted to see him,” Johnny said.

“Shop closed,” Miyagi said. “Daniel-san no seeing anyone.”

A high whistle filled the air.

“Kettle,” Miyagi said. “For tea.”

“Tell him Kreese is alive,” Johnny said, and remembered what Tiger had said about watching him everywhere he went. “Just… Just tell him to watch out, I guess.”

“Oni sensei alive.” Miyagi frowned, then looked over his shoulder at the shop.

The high whistle sputtered and faded.

“Five minutes!” Miyagi called towards the store. “Wait five–excuse Miyagi, please–”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” The words came tumbling out of Johnny’s mouth. “This is the last place I can go and I don’t have anywhere else, okay? And I think I need him. Or you. Or whatever’s in–whatever it is that you teach. I think I need to at least talk to him. I need to protect him, okay? I don’t know why Tiger’s obsessed with him, I don’t know why they’re obsessed with him, but I need–I need to figure it out. At least let me try to figure it out. Please?”

“Ahh.” Miyagi nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. “Your rival. Like Rikiishi to Joe Yabuki.”

“I don’t–who?” Johnny shook his head. “Who’s that?”

“From Ashita no Joe,” Miyagi said. He glanced towards the shop one last time, then beckoned Johnny to follow him. “A comic book from Japan. Come, have tea. Miyagi have all twenty volumes.”

That was good enough. Johnny followed him.

[pokemon-void]

howdy, im lupi (they/neos) 16 👍

im a pokemon trainer (not too into battles anymore though lol) and i like helping pokemon and learning about them :] i currently live in hoenn but i was born in unova and i often take in retired battle pokemon and espurrs (from shelters, trainers and the like) to evolve them so theyre no longer nuclear threats lol

here are some of my current pokemon! (will update if i get anymore (yes i have space for them all and they are happy))

*below are my house mons, not ones with the professor

pierogi- my dear partner banette, caught him as a shuppet when i was like 8ish, battler

igris- my dear second partner ceruledge, battler

dumpling- my service riolu. non battler

sailor boy- my leucistic fomantis, non battler

sammich- my shiny mimikyu, a rescue with seperation anxiety, battler (sometimes)

meatball honk- my half blind hisuian zorua, malformed front left leg, non battler

lil man- my lil morelull, non battler

jimbo- my blind hisuian growlithe, has an everstone, non battler

hamburger- my vulpix with paralyzed hind legs, has an everstone, non battler

rui- my ralts, born without legs (has prosthetics), everstone, non battler

svetlana- hamburgers adopted mom, a shiny senior ninetales, retired from battling, non battler (for the most part)

herbert- my senior floragato, hard of hearing and has joint pain, retired battler

pudding- my corviknight, amputated right leg, retired battler

cheezit- my raboot, half blind, retired battler

muddy (nickname)- my senior vaporeon, retired battler

mango smoothie- my senior buizel, everstone, retired battler

rufus- my senior arcanine, stiff joints :(, retired battler

toaster oven- my luxray, battler

zucchini bread- my dragapult, blind, retired battler

vincent- me and my partners haxorus! we share custody, battler

fosters!

tsurara- a visually impaired froslass, non battler

my foster(?) espurrs

strawberry milk- an albino espurr

burnt cheesy garlic bread- a melanistic espurr

nuclear jalapeno popper- a common coloured espurr

theres also a few mons that hang around my house, but they arent actually mine

sooo yeah! 👍 feel free to ask me stuff, i might not know what im talkin about though lol

//very new to pkmn irl stuff! probably wont post a lot (at first at least) any pkmn irl blogs r welcome to interact but i still havent fully figured out tumblr lmao so replies and stuff might be late. in character hate is allowed as long as it aint too scathing. pelipper mail is a solid maybe, depends on what it is. no magic anons. no musharna mail bc it confuses me. interaction and asks very welcome!!

i have pokemon violet (no dlc) and am willing to trade away violet exclusives and some shinies! dm me and we can trade via pokemon home :]

might change the blog around a bit every so often, dont mind it. i think thats all :]

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (34)

part 34 of ?? | 534 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

(I'm tired of updating the link list on every post whenever I put up a new chapter. 🥲 Here's a link to my "Steddie Blackmail Fic" tag instead.)

Summary:

He doesn’t buy that Steve had ‘forgotten’ he was supposed to go over to Robin’s tonight, and it’s weird that he cooked a meal that he didn’t even stay for. The guy didn’t have to do that. They could’ve ordered a pizza or something.

They are going to kiss in part 42 or so help me.

Anyway, enjoy Wayne calling Eddie tf out and Eddie is just like,

34.

“Nice of Steve to make dinner even though he had other plans,” Wayne says. 

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbles, dragging a piece of garlic bread through some of the orange-y red sauce on his plate. He doesn’t buy that Steve had ‘forgotten’ he was supposed to go over to Robin’s tonight, and it’s weird that he cooked a meal that he didn’t even stay for.

The guy didn’t have to do that. They could’ve ordered a pizza or something.

His uncle sighs and spears another bite of pasta with his fork. “Ed, are you going to quit finger painting with your food, or are you gonna say what’s on your mind?”

“No,” Eddie scoffs. 

“Your sides hurting?”

“No.”

Wayne gives him a Look. “Is it about Steve?”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie drops the garlic bread and scrubs both hands across his face, getting his cheek greasy in the process. “Yeah, fine, I think he’s avoiding me.”

“This got anything to do with why you look like a puppy that tracked shit in the house around him?” Wayne frowns. “I thought you talked to him about that money.”

“I did,” Eddie grumbles. He’d also talked to himself about killing the crush before it got any worse, for all the good that had done him. “I told you, we agreed that he could move in and we’d call it even, it’s fine. He's . . . a busy guy.”

Translation: too good to spend one on one time with Eddie. Which, truce or no truce, Eddie morosely figures he deserves. 

Things like this have been happening ever since the Hellfire rising seniors and alumni came to the house a few days ago. Eddie hopes that he hadn’t overheard some of the guys’ King Steve comments. 

But . . . the only other explanation he can think of is that Steve is going on dates. And the way Eddie’s stomach twists whenever he contemplates that possibility tells him that he’s done a terrible job of weeding out that crush. 

Is it just a crush when it’s on someone who has literally saved your life?

Fuck. Oooooh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, it’s not a crush. It’s so much more than a crush, when the fuck did that happen? 

He’s falling in love with Steve Harrington. Not the one everyone in Hawkins knows from school, but the Steve who helps him hang band posters and bakes amazing chocolate chip cookies. Who painted his own bedroom a soft, buttery yellow after admitting that he’d always hated the wallpaper his mom picked out for him when he was little. Who gave away basically all his paycheck for months trying to give a sad story a happy ending, and keeps playing the tank for a bunch of kids who can’t seem to shake their dangerous adventuring habit even away from the D&D table.

Who will never like him back, because Steve is good and Eddie is a human cockroach. Even though sometimes, sometimes, Eddie almost thinks. . . . But that’s just from looking through hopeful, falling-in-love goggles. Jesus H. Christ, Eddie thinks as he feels Wayne’s questioning gaze still on him, he should have realized how utterly gone he is for Steve much, much earlier than this.

Fuck.

[lilywily143]

WHITE GHOST!!!

EEEE I MISSED YOU SO MUCH

I missed her so much

....btw i had this question ever since i first saw her story. Is she a teacher or a student?

I have been thinking teacher forever but i mean

This doesn't help. "Keeps an eye on all the students" but "no one knows ... what grade she is in"

This brings more confusion?? Is this like meant to be.. senior grade??

Also how would that work for Black Garlic? ....And that fanon ship?

Hhhhhhhhhhh Why do ages never REALLY get shown besides something general like, child or adult? Unless its super obvious like Almond Cookie because he's a father to Walnut..

This is frustrating. In multiple ways. For the undetermined teens or adult characters to do safer ships because sheesh i dont wanna be a gross bitch.

But also proportionsssssssssssss

[talia-rumlow]

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Six

WORD COUNT: 5178

TRIGGERS: Sex talk, heavy emotion, virginity, age gap

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER SIX - I FEEL THE LOVE!

When Calleigh returned home around 4:30 pm, Brock's truck was not there. She wasn't sure how to react. Part of her wanted to be greeted with a hug and kiss, to prolong the feeling of being an adult. But another part feared that his few hours alone had made him change his mind about this whole thing.

Though they were both betraying Jack, it was harder for Brock. If Jack found out, he could completely cut ties with Brock. But it would be harder for him to turn his back on Calleigh - she was his daughter, and he had to love her no matter what. So if anyone was going to back out, Calleigh thought it was more likely to be Brock. 

As Calleigh maneuvered her car into the garage, she took a moment to admire the meticulously crafted exterior of their home. The house required minimal maintenance, save for the intricate patterns around the windows. The driveway and front lawn were Jack's pride and joy - he loved washing the driveway and mowing the lawn, as it gave him a chance to chat with and get to know the neighbors.

With the recent expansion of their neighborhood and Jack's busy work schedule, tending to the garden had become an excellent way for him to connect with the community. Personally, Calleigh never understood why Jack didn't simply hire someone to handle the yard work. It seemed he was incapable of sitting still, always needing to keep himself occupied. Even their vacations were jam-packed with activities, not that Calleigh disliked the experiences, but sometimes the constant busyness felt a bit excessive. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As the massive garage door closes, Calleigh steals a glance at Jack's Impala. She can't help but take a deep breath, her mind drifting to the memory of Brock standing there - his worn work jeans, the cloth tucked down the side, that sweaty, oil-stained upper body. Calleigh feels a surge of desire; she's more than ready to take their relationship to the next level. But the prospect of confessing her feelings fills her with uncertainty. What if he rejects her? How could she even broach the subject? Should she just be direct and tell him? Or would that be too forward? Calleigh's head spins with these unanswered questions, wondering if her uncertainty will prevent anything from happening at all. 

After a brief internal debate, she decides to take it slow. She recalls spotting flour, yeast, spices, and herbs in the pantry this morning. And she knows the fridge is stocked with milk, cream, eggs, and an assortment of cheeses. Cooking for him seems like a good idea. While she doesn't consider herself a culinary master, her specialty Cheese and Herb Bread, Garlic Bread, and Cheese and Jalapeño Dip are unparalleled - dishes she executed flawlessly every time. Not that she expects her cooking to seduce him, but there may be some truth to the notion that "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach". At least she could try, and see where it gets her. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As Brock completes his final checks in the garage, ensuring everything is secured, his mind drifts to the events of the past weekend. His heart had skipped a beat the moment he laid eyes on her. Brock had always been drawn to blondes, though he couldn't quite explain why. And Calleigh - she was a rare beauty, a once-in-a-lifetime woman. Her skin felt like silk against his touch, her lips soft and warm. The mere memory of her hands on his body sent a tingling sensation down his spine. God, how he wanted her. But she was a virgin, and he was 26 years her senior. Could he really go through with this? 

He remembered the first time he had sex. The whole thing was really awkward. He was 17 years old and had just joined the ROTC program at school. The military uniform he wore seemed to attract girls like a sugary drink attracts ants. 

The girl he had been crushing on, who had never given him the time of day before, suddenly seemed to like him. It didn’t take much to convince him. They fumbled through the experience, both nervous and unsure, but determined to make it work. 

He recalled how his hands shook, the awkward pauses, and the nervous laughter. Now, looking back, he couldn't help but chuckle. It was clumsy and far from perfect, but it was an important, if awkward, moment in his life.

Of course he had way more experience by now. But still; the mere thought of having sex with Calleigh filled him with both lust and a weird sense of responsibility. If anything were to happen, if a real and lasting relationship even could happen. He wanted to; no he needed to be able to tell Jack that he was respectful towards Calleigh from the very beginning. That he put her first in every situation, and that he never pushed.

Even before that last thought was finished, a new even more frightening thought entered. Because what was he doing now? He pushed, just in the opposite direction. He pushed her away. He didn’t lie when he said that he wasn’t ready. But the reason for him not being ready was that he thought that she wasn't ready, that she wasn’t 100% sure about what a step like that really meant. And who could possibly know that, when it was their first time? He should probably talk to her about his thoughts around this; it was just that he didn’t know how to. If this thing they started was ever going to work, he couldn’t come off as a father figure to her. He needed to weigh his words carefully. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

After a quick shower, Calleigh starts gathering the supplies for her culinary adventure. A wave of confidence washes over her. This dish was typically reserved for girls' nights with Molly and Jess, and Brock was probably used to more sophisticated fare. But Calleigh felt confident she could pull it off perfectly. If it had been any other guy, she would have called Molly to cook something amazing and then passed it off as her own. But Brock would see right through that. So tonight, he was getting bread and dip. 

Totally caught up in her own mind, fantasizing about Brock praising her food and them eating and having a nice quiet, intimate evening in front of the TV. Maybe even share a kiss or ten, and then; when the day came to an end, they would once again get into her bed together. Or, she hoped they would. 

Brock's voice suddenly rang out, "Wow." Calleigh looked up from the cutting board as he chuckled and gestured to the counter, now overflowing with ingredients. "Did a tornado run through here that I didn't know about?”

"Ha ha, very funny," she replies, brushing a stray hair from her face. A quick glance over the counter confirmed the tornado comment wasn't far-fetched. "Oh," she utters, her tone sheepish. "I may have overreacted a bit," she continues, flashing Brock an innocent smile.

“Home cooked food. I feel honored," he smiles as he walks over to her side of the counter. “What are we having?” He asks, lifting his hand up to caress her face. He smells like garage, mixed with new car smell, and Calleigh can't help but to find that smell safe, like home.

“Bread and dip,” she replies. And then that feeling of inadequacy comes back. What is that? She had never felt anything like this around Brock before. And he was still Brock. That didn't change. “I know it's not a gourmet meal, but-,” she starts, but he cuts her off. 

“It's perfect. I love bread,” he tells her, before he removes the same strain of hair Calleigh removed just a second ago. “You need any help?” He asks, closing the distance between them. 

Calleigh swallows nervously. Should she move closer and make the first move for a kiss? "Yeah, that would be great," she says, her voice tinged with defeat. "I was just about to knead my dough," she continues, betraying her desire to lean in for the kiss she yearns for. "But you should probably wash up first," she adds when she notices his oil-stained hands. "I can't remember seeing motor oil anywhere in the recipe," she quips, mentally chastising herself for her timidity. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

When Brock finishes washing up in the downstairs bathroom, Calleigh quickly clears the counter and prepares it for them to knead the dough. Just as she sprinkles flour for both of them, Brock returns. "You can knead that one. It's the cheese and—" Calleigh's sentence is interrupted when Brock suddenly grabs her behind, giving it a gentle squeeze that elicits a happy squeak from her. "Not THAT!" she laughs. 

"Sorry," Brock whispers in her ear from behind. "I couldn't resist. It looked so delicious," he continues, giving her behind another playful squeeze.

"Are we going to make food, or are we gonna play?" Calleigh asks, throwing a handful of flour at him as she emphasizes the last word. Flirting is her forte, but she's unsure of what comes next.

Before she can think of her next move, Brock grabs her by the waist, pulling their bodies closer. "Oh, you asked for it," he chuckles, scooping up flour in his palm and smearing it across her face. It's been ages since he indulged in playful flirting, but he couldn't resist the temptation. The liberating feeling made him happier than he'd been in a long time. Calleigh truly brought out the best in him. “I think I'm winning,” he whispers in her ear. 

Still held in place by Brock's strong grip, Calleigh scoops up flour herself. “Oh, really?” She laughs, before moving her hand behind her, getting flour in both his hair and his face. Everything about this is perfect. The sensation of his strong body against hers, his breath on her skin, in her ear. His deep, husky voice. She wants to turn around and kiss him, but her stupid mind won't let her. 

Brock inhaled deeply, captivated by Calleigh's alluring scent. It evoked the delicate fragrance of a rare flower, though he couldn't quite place it. The subtle, comforting aroma made him feel safe and drew him closer, as if he could stay by her side forever. "Calleigh," he whispered reverently.

Calleigh turned her head at the sound of him uttering her name reverently, almost like a prayer. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the flour dusting his face and hair. The stark white powder against his dark locks gave the impression of premature graying, which, to Calleigh's surprise, she found rather appealing.

For a minute they just look at each other, eyes filled with love and admiration. Calleigh almost feels like she's in the middle of one of her favorite romance flicks. But she knows from her pounding heart that this is reality. “You are so beautiful,” he says, in a whisper meant only for her. He lifts one of his hands to caress her face, before he leans in for a soft kiss. 

As he breaks the kiss and slowly pulls away, Calleigh's gaze lingers on him. Her eyes likely reveal the emotions she feels, but she doesn't seem to mind. After all, he told her she was beautiful, and in his company, she feels that way. However, the intensity of her feelings suddenly overwhelms her, almost to the point of fear. Desperate to diffuse the loaded silence, she blurts out, "Looks like you got gray hair, Mr. Rumlow" - instantly regretting her ill-chosen words. She just had to say something, anything, to cut through the tension. How foolish she feels. 

Lifting a hand to drag it through his hair, he lets out a hearty laugh at her remark, creating a cloud of flour around them. "It's just snow in June, Princess," he chuckles. Calleigh joins him in laughter, though she's uncertain if it stems from his infectious mirth, her own deep feelings for him, or the nervous anticipation of what's to come. Nonetheless, the shared laughter feels good.

Another deep kiss shared. Brock puts his arms around her, pulling her into him, deepening the feverish kiss further. Calleigh feels like she's floating. It's like she's levitating off the floor into his embrace. Lightheaded and breathless she mumbles “We should get started with the doughs, or else they'll dry out.” She hates herself for being this squeamish. She doesn't understand how her body can tell her one thing, and her head tells her something completely different. What is she so afraid of?

Brock clears his throat. “Yeah,” he mutters. Unsure about what this might have led to if she hadn't stopped it. Unsure if he was moving too fast for her, or for himself. His body was more than ready, with that tingling sensation every time they touched; it was impossible to deny. His head however; that was a different story. He should probably tell her that. But he needed to find the right time for it; and the right words. 

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh closes the oven door and dusts her hands on her t-shirt, glancing up at Brock through her lashes. "We have about 12 to 15 minutes. Any ideas for activities?" she asks, attempting an innocent yet alluring look, though she's unsure how to pull it off. 

He flashed her a playful, teasing smile. "Oh, I might have a few of those," he said, licking his lips suggestively. Without warning, he grabbed her behind and lifted her off the floor, eliciting a surprised yet delighted scream from her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him. His familiar, comforting scent enveloped her, and she marveled at his strength. Surrounded by his embrace, she felt utterly safe and cared for. Burying her face in his neck, she allowed that secure, protected feeling to wash over her as he carried her to the couch. 

Brock pulls Calleigh close as she straddles him on the couch. This intimate moment is new for her, and the thrill is palpable. Brock gently runs his hands along her back, a soothing motion that eases Calleigh's nerves. Her concerns about their age gap and Brock's commitment fade away. It's evident he cares for her deeply, perhaps even more so now. Calleigh buries her face in his neck, inhaling his spicy, masculine scent that stirs a flutter in her belly. 

He's consumed by an all-consuming desire for her. Every inch of his body burns with need, impossible to contain. Her warm breath on his neck sends his blood racing, pooling with arousal. A shiver runs through him as her lips graze the sensitive skin behind his ear. Breathless, he murmurs "Come here" before their mouths crash together in a desperate, feverish kiss.

Calleigh can't contain the sound that's leaving the back of her throat, as their lips meet. He pulls her even closer, if that's possible at this point. Without realizing that she does, she rolls her hips against his. Pulling a deep groan from him, as his hands come to a rest at her lower back. Is this it? She thinks, a thrilling sensation fills her. Maybe tonight is the night. 

Brock is struggling to hold back his intense desire for her. The temptation to pin her down on the couch and take her is about to overpower him completely. He knows he needs to stop this before it goes any further. If he's going to be intimate with her, he wants it to be a positive experience for her. He needs to let her take the lead and be in control. He wouldn't allow himself to just take her like this. Slowly, he lifts his arms to remove hers from around his neck, his mind racing with what to say to her. How does he explain that he wants her, just not like this - not in the heat of the moment when he might hurt her? What has he gotten himself into?

He closes his eyes, pausing for a moment. "Ca...Calleigh," he breathes, his hands gliding down her arms as they hang limply by her sides. He senses her defeat, even without looking. The last thing he wants is to hurt her, so he knows he must tell her how he truly feels - that this is not the right path. That this isn't the way he wants it to happen.

“I get it, Brock,” she says; moving to get up from his lap. Why doesn't he want to do it with her? What is she doing wrong? Is it because she's so much younger than him? Is it the virgin thing? She prays to God that it's not because of Jack. If her dad is going to become a problem, this will never work, no matter how much they want it. Or well, how much she wants it. Because Brock obviously doesn't. How could she be so stupid as to even entertain the thought of them being together like that?

Brock takes a breath to regain composure. Then he grabs her wrist to stop her from moving away from him. “Hey, Princess. It’s not you,” he says. Perfect, he thinks, being transported back to high school for a moment with the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ deal. Only this time it’s the truth. 

Calleigh let out a sarcastic "Yeah, right," as she plopped down next to him on the couch. "What is it then?" she continued, rolling her eyes at him. Inwardly, she knew she was coming across as a silly teenager, but that's often how she felt. His constant rejections only exacerbated the issue.

He steeled himself, turning towards her. “Okay,” he said, searching her eyes to see if he had her full attention. “If I were to,” No that didn't feel right. He cleared his throat, trying to start the sentence over. “If we were to do that,” he continued, emphasizing that. No, that didn't sound right either. How come the words always failed him whenever there was a serious issue. “If you were to have sex with anyone,” he started again. His voice almost breaks at the word ‘sex’. 

“Let's stick with you,” she told him. Her eyes determined as they looked into his. “I don't want anyone else,” she added, promptly looking away again. 

Again he had to clear his throat. “Okay,” he started again. “If I.. If we.. If I were to sleep with you,” he finally got the words out. Sorta clumsy, but screw that. “I would be entering you,” he continued. 

“I know how it's done, Brock. I'm not an idiot,” she says, obviously annoyed by his childish approach to the subject. 

He lets out a nervous chuckle along with the words “I know that.” Clearing his throat again he continued “That's not what I meant,” he moved his hand nervously letting it rest on her knee, thanking higher Powers when she didn't move away. “What I meant was that you'll be letting me in,” he informed. “Into your body. Literally," he continued. “I… I just want you to be absolutely sure that you want it. That you want ME,” his eyes searching hers for a reaction, vocal or not. 

“I do want you. I don't want anybody else, Brock,” her eyes sparkled, but he didn't know if it was from her feelings for him, or if it was from sadness from his rejection. “It's you,” she continued. “It's you who don't want to,” she finished, sniffling a bit. 

“I want to. God, I want to, Calleigh. You have no idea how much,” he informed. “But I need for it to be a beautiful experience for YOU. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt you in ANY way,” he continued. Taking a deep breath, as to tell his body that he got it out there. That she knows now. He just hopes it's enough.

Calleigh looks at him for a bit, just to make sure he’s really telling the truth, that this isn’t something he’s just saying to comfort her. “Yeah?” she finally asks, swallowing audibly when his hand moves from her knee up to caress her face.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding carefully to emphasize his words. His thumb gently brushes over her bottom lip. Then he slowly leans in for another tender kiss. Her lips feel like heaven on earth, and his breath hitches as their tongues meet and start to slow dance together. It’s like the whole world disappears. He’s so caught up in the sweet sensation of his tongue wrapped around hers that he doesn’t notice at first the smell of burnt food slowly filling the kitchen and the living room. “Is something burning?” he murmurs into the kiss.

It takes a second for Calleigh to realize what he just said. Sniffing the air, she lets out a startled gasp before jumping up from the couch. “The food!” she yells, sprinting into the kitchen.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Heavy smoke pours out of the oven as Calleigh yanks open the door. “Fuck! Fuck!” she mutters, angrily waving the smoke away. She’s on the verge of crying. Everything seems to be falling apart around her, and now she can’t even get her signature dish right. Was life really supposed to be this hard? “Damnit!” she yells as she slams the tray with the two blackened lumps that were supposed to be Garlic & Cheese and Herb bread onto the counter.

Brock slowly enters the kitchen, unsure how to handle the situation. Though he has minimal experience dealing with angry teenagers or young adults, he knows enough to keep his distance when they are having a tantrum. But this is different—this is someone he loves, someone he wants to take care of and protect. Carefully, he places his hand on her back, then quickly peeks into the oven. “Don’t worry about it, Princess,” he begins in a soothing tone, grabbing the oven mitt to retrieve the cheese and jalapeño dip. “At least the dip survived,” he says, hoping to defuse the tense moment.

“Arrrgh,” Calleigh lets out a frustrated sound before kicking a half-open cabinet door. The door flies open before it closes again with a loud bang. “I can’t do ANYTHING right,” she continues. “Why is this happening to me?” she cries out, her tears streaming freely. She can’t help it. All these new feelings, everything. She had hoped that everything would be like it was before she moved back. But instead, everything has changed, and then there’s Brock, and all these new, unfamiliar feelings. It makes it even harder to keep her secret at bay. To have someone who cares that deeply about her, and that she cares about, makes it so much harder not to open up.

Brock instantly envelops her in his embrace. “Shhh, Princess,” he whispers into her hair, doing his best to comfort her. “Don’t worry about it.” He doesn’t quite understand why two burnt pieces of bread have affected her so deeply, but then again, it’s been ages since he was 20. The world is a vastly different place now, and he has little insight into the struggles young adults face these days. Brock decides against pressing her, hoping she will open up to him when she’s ready.

“Oh God,” Calleigh suddenly blurts out, pulling away from his embrace. “You must think I’m such an idiot,” she continues, drying off her remaining tears. She feels so embarrassed, crying like a spoiled brat in front of him. She recalls one of those stupid gatherings at the golf club when she was younger. There was a family there with their daughter, who was about the same age as Jack, but she behaved like a spoiled brat. Calleigh couldn’t have been more than ten years old when that girl almost cried to her richy-rich dad because her mom, Gen, had sat down in what the girl decided was her seat. Calleigh would never forget that. And now, here she is, behaving in the same exact spoiled, childish manner. God, how mortifying.

Brock gently cups her face, looking into her eyes with a reassuring smile. “You’re not an idiot, Calleigh,” he says softly. “Everyone has moments where things just feel overwhelming. It doesn’t mean you’re spoiled or childish. It just means you care, and sometimes things don’t go as planned. It’s okay.”

Calleigh takes a deep breath, his words slowly sinking in. She nods, feeling a bit more at ease. “Thanks,” she whispers, leaning into his touch. “I guess I just needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, Princess,” Brock replies, kissing her forehead. “Now, how about we salvage what we can and make the best of it? We can always order pizza if we need to.”

She chuckles softly, the tension beginning to melt away. “Pizza sounds good,” she agrees, feeling a bit more like herself.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Since the case he was sure would come to an end today seemed to drag out further, Jack had decided to take his legal team out for a nice dinner, his treat. The choice fell on ‘Ever’, a sophisticated high end restaurant, located in the heart of downtown Chicago. Given his business arrangements and his friendship with the owner, it wasn't hard to get a table last minute. 

The dimly lit restaurant exudes sophistication, with its dark interior, wooden beams separating the tables, and a Michelin-starred chef serving an 8- to 12-course tasting menu. Tonight, Jack had opted for the 10-course experience - a two-and-a-half-hour dinner that would allow him and his team ample time to discuss business over a carefully curated meal and hand-picked wine pairings. 

“Leave it,” Pepper tells Jack, when he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone for the hundredth time. “She is twenty years old Jack, and she spent four years in New York. She knows how to handle herself,” she continues. 

Jack slowly drags his hand through his hair. “You,re right. It's just..,” he lets the sentence die out. He's not here to talk about his difficult relationship with his daughter. He's here to find out how they can get fucking Kevin Saunders to leave the business without giving them too much of a headache. 

“You hate to leave her,” Pepper finishes his thought. “I know, my sixteen year old has a game tonight,” she continued. Earning a sympathetic look from Jack. 

“I'm sorry, Peps. I didn't want to have to drag you away from your families,” he tells everyone, not only Pepper. 

“Eh, we all knew what the job required of us when we started,” she replies with a smile. 

“And the pay is really good,” Maria shoots in. The petite brunette always seemed to have a way to turn even the hardest situation into something funny, if she felt the need to do so. 

Jack chuckled as he replied, "You deserve it." Though grateful for Maria's intervention, he couldn't shake the guilt he felt about leaving Calleigh to manage the business alone. After all, she had only been there for three months. Jack knew Calleigh was a quick study who had mastered most of the necessary information, but he still felt it was wrong to thrust her into the role so abruptly.

“Aisha says the office is in good hands,” Clint enters the conversation. He knew that Jack trusted his computer genius receptionist with his life, so if she says everything is in perfect order, that should help Jack to enjoy his dinner. “Your daughter even handled Karen Jessop today,” he continues. In any other business he would never have talked to his boss about family things, but he did work in a family business, and they were a tight-knit group. That was one of his favorite things about working at Rollins Delivery. He had been in the business only a couple of months longer than Jack's daughter, but he had felt at home from day one, and if life wanted it that way, he would never want another job. 

As the first course is served, the diners fall silent, savoring the delectable dish before them.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Brock sat propped against the headboard, the covers draped over his lower abdomen as he watched Calleigh rummage through her closet, searching for clothes for the next day. He was grateful for the covers concealing his lower body, as the sight of Calleigh in only her pink silk Louis Vuitton sleep shorts and bra was having a noticeable effect on him. The tantalizing glimpse of her slightly tanned, bare skin made his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her softness against his own.

She had already decided what to wear, but she wasn’t ready to have the conversation with him about Jack just yet. All night, she had been trying to find the right opportunity to bring it up, but the timing never felt right. With Jack currently in Chicago, everything seemed fine for now. However, she knew he would eventually return, and she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen then. Could they continue seeing each other if he was around? And how could she possibly keep another secret hidden? Her drawer of secrets was already dangerously close to overflowing.

Holding up a white, short-sleeved shirt and one of her black, knee-length skirts—her typical work attire—she turned to Brock and asked, “Is this okay?” The sight of his sculpted, broad-shouldered physique nearly caused her to lose her balance. Brock was a veritable Greek god, and she still couldn’t believe he was there in her bed for the third night in a row.

Brock shifted in the bed, taking in the sight before him. “P…perfect,” he rasped. “You’re perfect,” he added, earning a smile from her. “Wanna… err…,” he continued, “wanna come to bed?” God, why is he talking like a fricking teenager all of a sudden? ‘Wanna come to bed?’ Jesus, how stupid he feels.

She couldn’t help but smile at his clumsy nervousness. It added to the thrilling sensation inside her, knowing that he was also nervous. It gave him a… she couldn’t find the right words for it. Human touch? It showed a vulnerability she almost didn’t think he had. It didn’t help that Jack had portrayed Brock as a hero her whole life—the hero who saved his life, so that he could come home to her. God, she thought, as she made her way over to the bed. How on earth could Jack ever be okay with her and Brock being together?

As she climbed into bed beside him, Brock reached out, pulling her close. His touch was gentle yet firm, a comforting blend of strength and tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, as if reading her mind. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Calleigh nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into hers. For now, the future could wait. She was content to be in this moment, wrapped in Brock’s arms, letting the world outside fade away.

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