#the rest make me want to roll myself up dip my body in flour and fry myself so long i turn into charcoal

[litrallymad]

another day i question why i am in stem

this shit sucks balls bro it fully deleted my love of science as a kid

[sunhavenkitten]

Vulnerable

Liam x fem!reader

Notes: This is the mostly sfw part 1. Part 2 is nsfw on my ao3 😊

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯ ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯ ✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The girls were with Jun, and even though it was the middle of the day, it was one of the only times you and Liam had alone together.

It had started with helping him around the house, tidying up and getting some dough started for the next day's batch of croissant rolls. You knew he always had an impossible amount of work on his plate with the bakery and raising two girls, so you stopped by to help out any chance you could.

However, this time a few shenanigans had gotten in the way. It started with a playful tickle fight in the kitchen, then, a bag of flour falling off the counter and exploding into a puff of white dust, and finally, here, with Liam's wide doe-eyes frozen still on your cotton bra as he walked in on you while trying to give you a new shirt to put on.

A gasp caught in his throat, his flour-dusted cheeks turning dark as baked gingerbread as he started to look around frantically in any direction other than yours.

"OH! I- I didn't mean-... Sorry, I-..."

"Liam, it's okay."

One armed wrapped around himself tightly, clutching the shirt he was going to bring you while his hand rested against his mouth, he looked at you as if desperate for reassurance.

"I'm sorry," you continued, "I didn't think it would be such a big deal for you to see me like this. Things have been pretty serious between us for a while, after all. Sorry if I got a little too comfortable."

Slowly, Liam's guard lowered, "No, I'm the one who's sorry. You're right. This sort of thing. You- Seeing you like this, I mean. Should be okay, right? I mean, only if you're okay with it, of course."

You smiled and walked towards him, which caused him to visibly tense up, "I don't mind. You're the person I love and cherish. So you get a pass on seeing me without my clothes on."

His eyes were wide as dinner plates as he processed your words, "Oh..."

"You get a pass to do other things, too. But that's only if you want to."

You could tell he was nervous just to question you, but his intrigue clearly outweighed his anxiety, "Other.. things?"

You smiled, reaching out to pull his hand away from where it was scrunched up underneath his chin. You pressed your palm against his, suspending your hands in front of your faces.

"Anything, really. I love you, and I want to share myself with you. All of myself. To see..." your lashes fluttered as you glanced up at him.

"To touch..." you continued, delicately interlacing your fingers in his.

"To feel," you placed his hand on your chest, not breaking his stare as you watched him jump from the sensation of touching so close to such an intimate part of you. However, he didn't recoil.

Liam's heart was pounding in his ears and his head was buzzing. He felt anxiety, sure, but there was something else there, too. Desire, of course. But he worried that indulging in that feeling might be taking things way too far. However, seeing your gentle eyes on him, feeling your hand nestled firmly over his, he felt more secure.

He swallowed the saliva pooling in his throat, fiery amber eyes not leaving yours as you stepped closer, closing the gap between your bodies. There, with your lips inches from his, you muttered softly.

"Is this okay?"

He swallowed again. He was terrified that he would open his mouth and a torrent of gibberish would come spilling out and ruin the mood. He didn't know how to express how he was feeling without making a total mess of things like he always did. So, he just nodded.

You smiled as you kissed him. Soft and chaste. Dipping your toe in and showing him the water felt fine. He released a deep, yet quivering exhale from his nose. The air tickled your cheeks.

Waiting for his eyes to open, you smiled when he finally looked at you. When he smiled back you kissed him again, this one longer and full of warmth. Then, you slowly moved from the corner of his mouth, to his cheek, to his neck, peppering kisses all along the way.

There was a song in his voice when he sighed, starting to feel more comfortable. It wasn't too different than it usually was, but there was this hovering mist of tension in the air. Not anything negative or foreboding, he recognized, but something unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

You kissed his neck again, deeper this time. The feeling sent tingles down his spine. At first, he smiled, thinking that it tickled. Then, his face relaxed as your kisses deepened more and he felt himself starting to melt against your lips. A small moan escaped him, and it wasn't until he heard the sound of his voice that he realized how carried away he was starting to get.

He pulled away again, worried that maybe the noise he made was weird. That perhaps he let his guard down too much. Your gentle, kind expression was unchanged, however, and you merely smiled at him as you tucked a curly lock of hair behind his ear.

"Do you want to go to bed?" You asked, not mentioning the noise at all.

Liam's cheeks grew even darker as realization set in. You did mean sex, right? That's what other couples did. Of course, the thought of having you in that way did things to him that he couldn't even begin to describe. Just thinking about it made his face burn and his head feel impossibly dizzy. But what if he did something super embarrassing? What if he was clumsy and terrible at it? What if you saw him without his clothes on and found him unattractive?

You could see Liam reeling in on himself again, hand slipping from yours before kneading the muscle in his arm nervously.

"Do-? You mean-?"

You chuckled, "We don't have to, Liam. And if we do, we don't have to go any further than what you feel is comfortable. Even if we just lie in bed and hold each other. It would be nice to just be with you without any distractions for a while."

He smiled then, his shoulders dropping as the tension faded just a tad, "That does sound nice... Okay. Though, I'm sorry if my bedroom's a mess."

"It's fine, Liam. I don't care if your bedroom is messy."

"Right, thank you for always being so forgiving with me. I know I can be a lot sometimes. And I apologize too much. I'm trying to work on that..."

"I think you're doing great," you replied, rubbing his arm soothingly as you walked towards his bedroom.

Once inside you noticed a stray apron draped across a chair, a piece of paper that had fallen to the floor by his desk, and a few empty mugs. Otherwise, the room was spotless.

You tugged at the front of his flour-caked apron, "Do you want to take this off?"

"Oh. Right. I probably shouldn't get flour all over the sheets," he said, pulling the apron up over his head and folding it before setting it on the chair beside the bed, along with the shirt he was going to bring you.

"In that case, I probably don't want to get in with these pants," you said, looking down at the flour dusted across your knees.

You could almost see the exclamation mark popping up above Liam's head as he paused from setting the apron down. Were you really about to dress down to your underwear and get into his bed? The bed he was about to get in, too? With you? In your underwear? His brain began to short circuit.

"Would you mind?" you asked, putting his comfort first.

Liam shook his head nervously, "N-no. I don't. I don't mind if you take them off, I mean. Maybe we shouldn't get flour on the bed," he looked down then, "Gosh, I hope that doesn't sound like an excuse to get you to take your pants off."

You laughed, "Well, I was the one who offered."

He smiled, looking back up at you. However, his expression fell as you undid your button and slipped your pants down your ankles. He was watching, mesmerized. You could see his eyes tracing over the curves of your body. Slowly, they snaked their way up your figure until his wide amber eyes met yours. And again, he panicked.

"Sorry! I don't mean to stare! You're just-... You're really beautiful, you know that?" he exclaimed.

You chuckled, "Thank you. And it's okay. You can look, remember?"

He nodded before looking down at his shirt. Timidly, he reached for the buttons.

"Maybe it will be less weird if I at least take this off? Not that I think you're being weird, or anything! I just... don't want you to feel odd being the only one. Is that okay?"

You nodded, helping him lift his shirt over his head, "That's fine. I bet your skin will feel so warm against mine."

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him like a furnace. The skin on his chest was smooth and a little damp. You brushed your fingers over it before hugging him close. The breath caught in his throat as you embraced him, but after a moment he embraced you back fully. His voice was soft by your ear.

"You're right. You are warm," he said.

You pulled him towards the bed then, hopping in and scooting over to make room. He slipped in beside you, the late afternoon sun filtering through the window and illuminating off your skin. Your eyes danced over his warm complexion.

"Liam, you're gorgeous."

His face got hot at the compliment, burning to the tips of his ears.

"Oh- I don't know about that. I've been hoping to put on more muscle lately but so far, I haven't seen an improvement. But thank you."

"I think you look perfect," you replied, brushing your fingertips softly over his skin.

He was nervous but encouraged by your touch to reach out and touch you himself. His hand smoothed over your shoulder to the curve of your waist, resting at the valley there. Then, you kissed him, pulling away only to brush your nose against his.

The two of you laid there like that for a while. You could tell Liam was steadily growing more brave, or maybe just curious, or both. Every once in a while his hand would roam. It wouldn't go anywhere too racy, but slowly he was getting more comfortable feeling all the curves and angles of your body. You did the same to him, your fingers experimentally gliding over his flesh and weaving through his hair.

Liam felt like he was floating on a cloud. As the two of you lay there cuddling and exploring one another he finally felt himself start to relax. His heart was still thumping wildly in his chest, but all the fears and anxieties clouding over him before were starting to dissipate. As though your mere presence was the sunshine that shooed them away.

He wove his fingers in with yours, holding them up and watching the sunlight dance across your skin.

"I really am so lucky to be with someone like you," he said warmly.

"I feel the same way," you replied.

Then, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and soft. He lingered a little longer than he usually would, savoring the taste of you before pulling away.

"I could try a million different recipes, but I don't think I could ever bake anything as sweet as your kisses. Oh-! Uhm, sorry... That was pretty cheesy, wasn't it?"

You smiled, brushing your hand over his cheek, "I thought it was sweet."

You leaned in a stole another kiss, this one deeper. You could feel the warmth spreading over every inch of you as you parted your lips. Liam felt it, too. He opened his mouth slightly, timidly inviting you in as the tip of your tongue brushed his lower lip. He opened one eye and peaked at you, seeing you entirely entranced and carried away in the moment.

Closing his eyes again he tried to lower his walls more. He knew you were enjoying yourself. He knew that. Right? You always told him how you were feeling and spoke up if something was wrong. If you were put off by him opening his mouth up more for the kiss, you would just pull away, and he would apologize, and that would be that.

With slight hesitation he opened his mouth more and felt the warmth of your tongue swipe across his. A small huff of hot air escaped him as he felt a fire spread over his loins. Okay. Wow. Was this still okay? His head was getting so hot and fuzzy he was having a hard time keeping track of whether or not he was doing the right thing. The thought of losing control of himself like this put him on alert again.

You felt him hesitate so you opened your eyes and pulled away for a moment. Liam looked like an absolute sight. His eyebrows were pulled in desperation, a few stray curls were starting to stick to the sweat on his forehead, and his eyes were so dazed they were like swimming pools of copper.

You held your hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly.

"S-sorry... Did I do something wrong?" he asked.

You shook your head, "Not at all. I was just checking in."

He smiled, relieved, "Oh, okay. Thanks for checking in, then."

"Do you want to keep going?"

He leaned in, his nose inches from yours as you could tell he was waiting for a chance to kiss you again. He nodded.

"I- Uhm," he swallowed, "yes," he finally said, his voiced tinged with vulnerability and longing as the warmth of his breath flicked across your lips.

You smiled, meeting him halfway.

[lubdubsworld]

Falling for you ( Falling from Grace) Jungkook x OC

Summary : Friends with benefits? Or maybe Enemies who just happen to be each other’s best fuck? Areum and Jungkook love driving each other crazy, but also can’t keep their hands off each other.

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

Chapter 7

“A two hour lunch break and a limp? You’ve been busy , I see.....” Hobi remarked mildly , when I slinked back to my desk, thighs still shaking . 

I winced when I sat down, glaring at him.

“I sprained my ankle....” I snapped, internally cringing at the ridiculous lie. 

“While riding his dick? How did that happen?? ” Hoseok rolled his eyes and before I could pretend to be properly outraged he continued, “ No matter.... i want you to compile those memos from last week and write up the report for last week’s meeting. The minutes are in the file.” 

I didn’t particularly enjoy my job or hate it. It was just something I did to make money and I was fine with that. As a kid I’d had some vague dreams of being a photographer and while I did occasionally take my camera out to click candids of my family or the occasional cherry blossom tree, it wasn’t a major component in my life. 

Or at least, it hadn’t been, for the two and half years I’d worked here. Right about the time I started sleeping with Jungkook. I stared at the screen, feeling myself drown in the redundant words. It wasn’t that I didn’t imagine a life with Jungkook.....but... I wasn’t sure if we would work well, as a couple. I had never been on a date with him , never met each other for anything that didn’t end in mutually ( enjoyable ) orgasms and just.... most of the time we did piss each other off incredibly. 

But I could feel the clock ticking....I wasn’t really a co ed anymore, was I? There was more to a relationship than just sex and ... I wanted it. Of course I did....

I couldn’t spend the rest of my life doing this with Jungkook. But I couldn’t for the life of me, imagine not  doing this with him. 

And in the wake of that thought came the thought I had always avoided.

 What if I could have both? What if I could have the dirty , raunchy , mindblowing sex , along with the Sunday brunches, picnics in the park and skinny dipping in the pool at midnight? 

What if, possibly, Jungkook could be the one I had dinner with on a Friday night? What if he was the one I woke up to everyday, made pancakes for and with, smearing flour on each other’s noses as we chased each other around the kitchen in our PJs?

 Fuck. 

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook was busy for a couple of days with his training and I couldn’t get a chance to meet him . On the day before his supposed match, he told me he wanted to ‘unwind’ . Would I be kind enough to join him for the night? 

I agreed, 

My phone buzzed, just as I stepped out of the shower. I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous contact name that Jungkook had probably put in himself. 

 From Hungkook 

You have an appointment tonight m’lady. 

An appointment to ride this dick.

On my terms.

You’re gonna stay over right?

 I scoffed at the last bit., When had it ever  not  been on his terms?? I ran the towel through my hair before carefully coating my fingers with lotion and threading them through the damp strands. 

~~~~

From me,

When did you change your fucking contact name , dickhead. Yes, I’ll stay over and we’re meeting at 7.00 PM right?? Will you pick me up?

~~~~

From Kook,

 Wasn’t me.... must’ve been you subconsciously. Don’t tell me you aren’t thinking about how big I am,  all the fucking time. 

I’m still  setting stuff up. Get a cab. Or I can send my chauffeur if you want? 

~~~~

From me,

 No. I’ll drive myself over. 

~~~~

From Kook,

Wear something easy to take off. c u. 

~~~~

Jerk, I thought fondly. Staring at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly vulnerable. I wanted to talk to Jungkook about us. And I would.... eventually. When I felt ready enough.... 

For tonight, I would indulge him. .  

I had gone the extra mile today, soaked in the tub for a whole hour so my skin was completely imbibed with the  scent of strawberries and cream, with little whiffs of lavender. The body scrub had done its job and my skin fairly glowed, plump and soft. 

I decided to forego makeup, only putting on the barest minimum : some gloss and a moisturizing spray. I grabbed the short kimono style dress from the closet, slipping it on without anything underneath. 

I stared at myself from all angles, just to make sure I was still decent. Not that it would matter. Jungkook’s condo had a private elevator that no one but he used . Perks of owning the entire apartment complex , I guessed. I hesitated before rummaging through the  small jewelry box I kept hidden in the back of the closet. 

It had a small necklace, the only gift I’d ever accepted from Jungkook. I stared at the small , pendant : a small heart with the words, JK’s engraved on it. It had been a gag gift, meant to aggrieve me during one of our ridiculous spats. But i traced the words and wondered why the prospect of belonging to him didn’t feel quite as infuriating as it used to . 

Slipping it on, I quickly grabbed my wallet and keys. 

Well, time to get this show on the road. ‘

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook opened the door, freshly showered, dressed in a white linen shirt, a few sizes too big and opened half way through. As always, a glimpse of his gorgeous face was all it took for arousal to pool in the pit of my stomach. I smiled at him.

“Hi.” I grinned.

He stared at me for a second taking a deep breath.

“Jesus, you smell fucking delicious....What  is that?” He groaned, grabbing my wrist and tugging me in. I followed him to the dining space, blinking when I saw the two small glasses of wine. 

“Ooh...fancy. Looks like you’re looking to spoil someone tonight. “ I teased. 

“Yeah, just had my girlfriend over. You must’ve run into her on the way up.” He winked and I shook my head, laughing as I grabbed one, taking a small sip. 

“So....? Should we get started....”

Jungkook hummed, grabbing the satin ribbon tie that held my dress together and tugging on it gently. I kept my eyes trained on his face , just so I wouldn’t miss the look on his face when the fabric fell apart. 

He didn’t disappoint. 

Doe eyes widened in shock, lips parting in a sharp little exhale as he stared at me, completely naked in the golden spool of light, cast by the small chandelier overhead. 

“Oh fuck.....is that...?” He lightly pulled the pendant at the base of my throat, staring at the inscription.

“Thought it may turn you on....” I shrugged. Jungkook’s eyes ran up and down my body and I felt an inordinate thrill at how open he was with how much he enjoyed looking at me, even though it was far from the first time. 

“That’s my biggest weakness, darling......I’m always turned on for you...” He grinned , winking. 

“So should we go open that toy box of yours?” I prompted when he stepped closer. 

“Hmm... Not like this. “ He grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and off his torso before carefully slipping it on me. “ I can’t concentrate if you’re standing here without clothes on.” 

 The linen shirt, big on Jungkook’s broad frame , practically swallowed me up, hanging somewhere near my knee. I watched the way his pupils dilated when he stared at me.

“Fuck... you in my clothes.... This may be worse than you being naked...” He said, sounding slightly strangled. 

I flicked his forehead playfully.

“I’m beginning to think you’re just stalling.... ” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Nope, just thinking of a couple of drawings I could make with this particular shirt on you.” 

I felt my insides quiver as I remembered the art and the very enjoyable time I’d had seeing all of it. 

“If you hurry up , I may model for you. “ I said casually and Jungkook froze.

“Better not joke about that, Areum...” He said harshly.

“Well, what if I’m not?” 

“Are you?”

“Only one way to find out.” I smiled, yelping when his arms shot out, wrapping around my thighs and throwing me over his shoulder as he stalked over to the bedroom.

I whined because his shoulder blades dug into my tummy , feeling slightly dizzy from all the blood rushing to my head.

I stumbled a bit when he set me down , blinking to orient myself. I stared around at the room, my throat going dry. 

The bed was covered in satin sheets in a rich shade of burgundy . The entire room was lit only from the backlight in the bedframe, low and demure as it lit parts of the bed while the rest of room stayed plunged in darkness. An ornate table stood right next to the bed with what looked like a hundred or so sex toys and I flushed red, my face heating up. 

I felt my heart begin to pound inside me. 

It was so foreign, this desperate sort of anticipation, something I didn’t usually feel because this was Jungkook and I knew him ....knew his body better than my own. 

“Well, since you wanted to pick the toys we’d use today....”

“No.” I whispered softly.

“What?”

I turned to him , smiling before carefully walking over to the bed and climbing on. I crawled to the center before carefully sitting down on my heels, kneeling. 

“You can pick.”  I shrugged. 

Jungkook stared at me thoughtfully.

“You’re joking.” He said softly.

“I trust you.” I replied. 

His eyes widened, lips parting. He licked his lips, before tugging his lower lip between his teeth. 

“Really? You trust me?” He asked, looking incredibly skeptical.

“I do. “

“Trust that I ....?” 

“That you won’t hurt me.”

“Hmm... I’ve gone soft on you haven’t I? Haven’t left bruises on that perfect body in a while... “ He said casually and I felt my heart jerk a little. 

Earlier in our relationship, Jungkook had always skirted the edge of too much, sometimes leaving marks and bruises  that lingered for weeks after our sexcapades. And he was right...we had toned it down the past few weeks,

“Even then...You never did anything I didn’t want.” I pointed out. 

He smiled.

“That’s true... my pretty little slut, you wanted every single one of those bruises, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“I did...” 

“So , I can just go pick any toy I want and you’ll let me put it on you....?  In you?” He prompted. 

“I trust you.” I said again. 

He narrowed his eyes at me  before moving slowly to the table. I stared back, holding his gaze as I watched him carefully pick up something from the table.

My heart dropped when I saw the small flogger, his ivory fingers curling on the handle as he carefully, swatted the inside of his other palm with it.

“You sure you’re up for this?” He brought the flogger down on the bed with enough force to make the sheets crackle and the noise was so sharply frightening that I couldn’t help but jump a little.  I flinched so bad, my lips wobbled.

He watched the way I was shaking and scoffed.

“Thought so, fragile little thing like you could never--”

“Yes.” I snapped, willing myself to stay calm. “Yes.” 

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to mine. 

“Color?”

I swallowed, trying to get my senses together. I calmed myself down, trying to think rationally instead of impulsively. 

“Green.” I whispered. 

He hummed. 

I watched as he grabbed a small vibrator , holding it up for me to see., I shrugged, 

“I told you ...I trust you. Looks like you don’t trust yourself... What’s the matter, Jeon,  too chicken to be a real man?  “ I whispered.

His gaze narrowed dangerously. 

He moved briskly to the table and grabbed things quickly. I bit my lips as I saw the nipple clamps, the small whip, the handcuffs and the pinwheel among other things. 

I pulled my gaze away from the toys and stared at him. 

“If anyone can make me enjoy those things...its you.” I whispered and his eyes softened visibly.

“Fuck...don’t say shit like that....” He whispered.

I laughed a little, nodding. 

“Okay. “ I agreed. 

He grabbed a small strip of cloth from the table and held it up between his hands. 

“I’m going to put this on you first. “

I nodded, as familiar with the thick, satiny length of it as i was with my own skin. Jungkook sometimes liked using it to tie my wrists together , especially when he intended to take his time. 

i held my hands out but he shook his head, holding it up and then placing it over my eyes. 

I faltered a little when my vision went black, swallowing as the scent of his bodywash hit me, his body just a few inches away and the urge to touch was so strong , my mouth watering with the urge to run to my lips all over his delectable body. 

He finished tying the fabric at the base of my skull and pulled away. I felt the bed dip as he moved away. 

“ Take that shirt off.” 

I grabbed the hem and stripped quickly, tossing the shirt aside. 

“Lie down. On your back.” 

I nodded before doing just that, letting my arms rest on the side, palms facing up. 

The sound of the flogger cracking through the air made me wince. 

“You’ve ever been hit with one of these....” His voice came from somewhere to my right and I bit my lips, shaking my head.,

“Use your words doll....” 

The nick name made me squirm. 

“No.”

I jumped when I felt the soft strips of the blogger brush against my thigh, so gentle it felt like a kiss. 

“Hmm.... I want you to stay quiet from now unless i ask you something and you will only say, yes or no. Got that?”

“Yes.” 

“Good girl.” 

I felt like I was over heating, my body thrumming with anticipation.

“i don’t use it too often because I prefer my hands. Like bringing it down on the curve of your ass or maybe your thighs.....Nothing quite as satisfying as feeling that soft flesh give under your palm, hot and burning. And man the way the red just blooms on the surface when i pull away....addicting.”

His fingers closed over my thigh and squeezed. 

I jerked a bit. 

“It hurts at first....but it also feels good. A good , fiery burn that makes you feel alive .... that makes your skin thrum with life....and after the tenth hit, the pain is so numbed down that your mind only experiences the pleasure ..... “ 

I bit my lips to stop myself from saying anything. 

“The pinwheel is what really hurts.” I felt the sharp prick of it on my cheek, and i jerked back a bit., “  It’s very sharp and precise....like the stab of a hundred needles on your body...I like using it between the thighs....You know, right on that swollen little nub in the middle.... usually makes the girl lift right off the bed....”

He chuckled .

I was panting a bit, every word translating into a phantom touch on my body. Although he was only saying it, my body seemed to experience it physically. 

I felt the air shift around me, and then the familiar press of him body on mine, my arms instinctively shooting up to grip him as he straddled my waist, his hands grabbing my wrists and yanking them away. He pushed my hands up against the headboard, and I felt his breath right against my neck, feather light kisses that traced a path up to my ear and then he gently blew air against my earlobe. 

“And man, the vibrator is my favorite.” His voice was low and deep, whispering dirty, right into my ear and I clenched around nothing, feeling wet and empty as he went on, “  I’d leave it right up against your clit while I eat you out, two of my fingers fucking into your sweet little cunt, tongue lapping up that sweet , sweet slick of yours..... Fucking delicious , makes me want to bury my face into it.... fuck.....baby, i could eat you out for hours.... “

I choked out, struggling to get my hands free, desperate to feel him, desperate to feel him inside me .

“I would eat you out so good but I wouldn’t let you cum.” 

I felt my heart drop. 

“Please Jungkook-”

“Uh-uh-uh....Nope...” Jungkook muttered.” Don’t want you begging so soon baby.,... we haven’t even started yet...Didn’t I tell you not to say anything till I asked you to? What's the matter baby, you like hearing what I want to do to you? Doesn’t it make you wet...make you want to fuck yourself on my cock?”

I bit my lips, trying to regulate my breathing , bucking up into his hardness as he rolled his hips into mine. I kicked out , trying to dislodge him, just a little bit so I could feel him where i wanted and he grunted when my heel hit his shin. 

I whined when his fingers tightened on my wrists, hard enough to make the bones grind together. Pain shot up my forearm and I whimpered when a hand wrapped around my throat, gentle but with the threat of force behind it. 

“Stop fucking wiggling and listen to me. “ He snapped and I froze. 

“If I eat you out.... turn the vibrator up, and then tell you to not cum till i ask you to.....Can you do that?” 

“Yes.” I sobbed out, 

He grinned.

“Really baby? No protests? You’ve never let me edge you before....I wonder what’s changed?” He whispered.

“Trust you.” I whispered and his breath caught again. 

“You trust me that much?”

“Yes.” 

“Trust me when I say if you cant hold it off...if you cum without my permission, well....that’s when I’m gonna get the fucking whip.” 

My body screamed in protest at the very thought of it. 

“Well? “ He demanded, squeezing down on my throat just a bit. “ Still trust me?”

I felt the first gush of tears, feeling my heart thud against my ribs. All i could think about was Jungkook’s face when he’d held me that day, when Junho had hurt me. The way his eyes had flooded with tears at the sight of me hurt and it was absolutely laughable....the idea that Jeon Jungkook would somehow choose to hurt me voluntarily. 

“Trust you.” 

For a few seconds, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t move either. 

“Should we get started then?” 

“Okay.” I whispered.

I felt a pang of loss when he moved up and off my body, and I blinked against the blindfold, trying to ground myself. Fear and arousal made me disoriented , my mind struggling to decide whether I was enjoying this or not. 

I heard the crack of the flogger again and screwed my eyes shut. 

“You ready?” , the bristles traced up my leg, from my feet right up to the top of my thighs. 

I took a deep shuddering breath.

“Yes.”

I bit my lips, bracing myself for the hit. 

It never came. 

Instead, all i felt was the gentle brush of lips against my brow, and then against my cheek, soft, feather light kisses , peppered across my jaw and down my neck. I gasped as his lips parted slightly, opening and closing on the soft skin, suckling gently for just a second before his tongue followed, soothing the slight sting. 

I licked my lips , gasping when his fingers fluttered up and down my arm, so gentle that I wanted to cry. 

“I like the idea of taking you apart...., having you tremble with anticipation because you’re scared of what I’d do next , but you know what I like more, Areum?” 

Fingers lightly gripped my wrist, pulling them up till my hands rested on his shoulders. 

“Jungkook?”

“I like it when you touch me. I like it when you’re trembling, not because you’re scared or worried but because you’re feeling good....because I’m making you feel good.” 

I smiled despite myself. 

“Can i touch you?” I whispered.

“You don’t ever have to ask...” He breathed against my lips, and i surged up to kiss him. Letting my fingers drop down to tug at the hardened length of him. I ran a finger over the tip, mouth watering at the mound of precum leaking out of him, enough for me to get my palm wet , so I could stroke him without any abrasive friction. 

He growled , rolling over me and nipping sharply at my neck, before pressing a quick kiss to my lips.

“Gonna eat you out. “ He growled and i grinned.

“No vibrator?” I teased and he grunted, already crawling down my body.

“Don’t need it.... Gonna make you cum just with my tongue.” 

I let my head fall back against the pillows as he grabbed my hips, lifting my waist up before shoving a couple of pillow underneath.

“Bend your knees and spread your thighs for me angel.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my ankle and I nodded quickly, doing just that. I dug my heels into the soft sheets. 

“You want to me to get the vibrator?” He bit my thighs lightly and I jumped. 

“Not really....” I breathed out .

Warm wetness closed over my center and I gasped, fingers reaching down to grip his hair . 

“Gonna ride my face , baby?” He laughed against my slit, tongue tracing the seam with soft little kitten licks and I groaned. 

He lost no time, slipping two fingers straight into me, parting them in a V and licking into the gap, tongue pushing into me with the kind of ease that came from doing something you loved, something you enjoyed doing. 

Pleasure shot straight up my spine rendering me boneless, my limbs turning to jelly as he used his thumb to gently run circles on my clit, all the while licking into me, tongue curling inside me, pushing against my walls and lapping up the wetness like it was the sweetest drink he’d ever had. 

And nothing was a bigger turn on than how much he seemed to be enjoying it and i found myself falling apart embarrassingly fast. I felt my thighs start to tremble and Jungkook hugged against me, slipping another finger in, the fit now tight and I whimpered when he curled his fingers inside me, fingers tips reaching back to nudge the spot the usually sent me spiraling off the edge. 

“Don’t want you to cum yet,....hold off for me.... “ He whispered suddenly, squeezing in a fourth finger and I blacked out when my orgasm hit before I could even try to stop it, clenching down on his fingers so tight that he couldn’t even move them , my muscles screaming as I gripped the duvet under my fingers.

“I ....” i  couldn’t form words. 

“Thought I told you not to cum.” He said softly, somewhere over me. 

I swallowed.

“You... You did it on purpose ...you... fuck...”

“Did what on purpose...” He was laughing a little, and I mewled a little when his fingers rubbed on my clit again, thumb dipping into me playfully.

“Told me to not cum just before you.... Oh fuck” I choked out when he slipped his fingers right back in, and my body screamed in protest , the overstimulation making my eyes water. 

“Sould i get the whip as promised?” He laughed and I froze.

“I would let you, you know. “ I said softly.

He didn’t respond but he did draw his fingers out of me. I let my legs drop down to the bed and waited for him to say something but he didn’t , so I continued, stammering a bit.

“It’s not the kind of thing i would want in general...” I admitted, “ But I didn’t like half the things we do now, once. You’re... you’re my kink.” I chuckled, feeling a bit like i was laying myself bare . 

“Areum...”

“Its you...anything that makes you feel good is what makes me feel good... I love the way your eyes darken when you tie me up...The way you always want to hold me down with a little more force than necessary and the way you sometimes , purposely leave me handcuffed in a way that makes it hurt..... and its not because I’m a masochist or because i love pain but i just... I like doing it for you. “ I admitted. 

I waited for him to say something, and the silence made me nervous. Had I said too much? Had I made him uncomfortable? Oh God, did he think it was too weird?

I opened my mouth, ready to apologize for making things weirds, but before I could , the blindfold came off and I blinked , confused to see him hovering over me. 

“I...” He looked like he was shaking. 

“Jungkook?” I asked, confused, hand reaching up to grip his cheek, concern blooming inside me because of how scared and terrified he looked. 

“You.... You...What you said...” He was definitely shaking, 

“I’m sorry.” I said softly. “ I didn’t mean to imply I didn’t like it..I just want you to know that I’m open to doing new things with you and you don’t have to hold yourself back......”

"Fuck .,.. Areum.. I...” He closed his eyes, laughing a little. 

Genuinely worried, I brushed my thumb across his cheek in worry.

“Hey...what’s wrong?” I asked gently. 

His eyes fluttered open and he stared right at me. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered. 

My breath got knocked right out of my lung and i gasped out loud, my mind turning to complete mush. 

“I-uh...whu-buh???” I said intelligently and he laughed.

“Fuck.. i didn’t... I didn’t mean to blurt that out.. I...”

I grabbed him before he could move away, tugging his gorgeous face closer to mine.

“Did you mean that?” I croaked out, my voice raw from shock.

He stared at me doe eyes wide and open and so damn vulnerable. 

“Uh...yeah.. I... “

“you stupid fucking bastard...” i choked out, raising myself up to capture his lips with mine. He groaned as he kissed back, lips opening beneath mine and tongue slipping into my mouth with the practiced familiarity of a thousand kisses behind us ad it was so amazing, how incredibly new and exciting this felt, when we had done it so many times. 

I found myself grinning into the kiss as I slipped my fingers into his hair, tugging on the thick dark locks , to pull him away for a second. 

“Can i take you out on a date?” I panted and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah.... Yeah... you can.” 

I smiled and bit my lips, tears spilling out before i could stop myself. 

“I love you so fucking much...” I whispered and he brushed his thumbs across my cheek, wiping away the dampness.

“So fucking sappy.....” He said fondly. “ Now , tell me....can I fuck you....?”

I shook my head. 

Jungkook’s face fell, lips jutting out in a pout and I pressed a finger against his lips when he began to protest.

“You can’t fuck me....but you can make love to me. If you even know how.” 

His gaze softened. 

“I’ve always made love to you Areum.... I may have been rough but I never had anything but affection for you when I touched you.”

I couldn’t help but trace my fingers over his features, taking in the handsome curves and ridges of his face. 

“ I know...but I’d still like to do it gently. Sometimes.” 

He nodded.

“Anything for my gorgeous girlfriend.” He pecked my nose. 

My heart leapt right up at that. 

I could get used to being called that. 

I wrapped both my legs around him, drawing him closer.

“How do you want it?” He whispered.

“Just you... inside. “ I rubbed my nose against his as he nodded.

He barely let me catch my breath before lining himself right up against me and sliding right in and this time, I got to hold his gaze as he slid home, saw exactly how it affected him, how pleasure hit him, hard and fast as he sank into my warmth. 

“Oh fuck...” He whispered . 

“Fuck me slow.... like you have all the time in the world.” I demanded, slipping my fingers in his hair and gripping hard and he grunted, gripping my waist and squeezing hard enough to bruise . 

“ As you wish.” He moved his hands up to shape my breasts, thumb brushing my nipples till the nubs perked right up and I groaned when he bent over and took one of them into his mouth, all the while sliding in and out of me at a tortuously slow pace.

"I'm glad we skipped over the part where we deny our feelings.." I whispered against his lips and he grinned.

"I've never denied shit. If you remember..... This whole sex only business was entirely your idea....I asked you on a date two years ago...."

I flushed.

" I thought you were mocking me."

He shook his head , gripping me close and rolling us over so I was on top. Taking the cue, I dug my knees into the duvet and gripped his shoulders, biting my lips at the new angle .

" No , You thought I was a fuckboy..... I wasn't and I knew that I would have to work hard to prove it to you. "

"Prove that you weren't a fuckboy?"

"Prove that just because I liked sex doesn't mean I don't care about anything else.....Prove that, yes, I wanted to fuck your brains out but i also wanted to hold your hands and lick ice cream off your nose...." He rolled his hips into me and I moaned. 

“Well, thank you for that. Point taken . “ I choked out. 

He hummed and jugged the chain on my neck, fingers lightly tracing the inscribed JK’S.

“ So this is official?” He grinned. 

I rolled my eyes.

“I belong to no one.” I said loftily and he responded my moving his hips just a little too harsh on the next thrust, making me yelp in surprise. 

“This feels good...” He kissed the tip of my nose. 

“Nothing like good old vanilla sex after a heartfelt confession. “ I hummed. 

“But just so you know, we are definitely. playing with my toys someday.” 

I gave his ear a sharp tug.

“Stop ruining the moment and fuck me.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE :  See.... not a smidgen of angst to be seen anywhere :D :D :D Please leave feedback I’m thirsty for it :’( 

taglist :   

@veronawrites

@ladyartemesia

@jincentvangogh

@unicornbabylover

@ggukkieland

@yoongisdragon

@aamxxrii

@brooky95

@apollukee

[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor. 

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[zekroudon]

Dinner with the in-laws

Adrien's first dinner with Marinette's parents since they officially got together. A lot of puns ensues. As usual, you can read it on Ao3 here.

This was the fic I wrote for my application for the Totographs zine, but I didn't get picked, but I'm proud of myself for applying! Once again, beware, lots of puns ahead. 

P.S. I won't be writing fanfics during November since I'm attempting Nanowrimo for the first time! It might not have been the best idea since I still have my classes, but I'll manage.

Edit: Thanks @komorebirei for beta-ing and their insightful tips.

   As Adrien stands in front of the door to Marinette’s home, the bouquet he got for her feels heavy and useless. He has already given so many roses to her, but they feel meaningless compared to how grateful he is to still have her in his life. Her parents must know how amazing she is — they’ll be disappointed…

   He’s hit by flashbacks to the events that led to Tom being akumatized into Weredad. Coming to the bakery after a lonely breakfast. The grey gloomy sky. The awkward kissing Marinette on the cheeks. The pink rose. Admitting he loved Ladybug, Ladybug and not Marinette, an irony Plagg kept teasing him about now that he was fully aware of her identity. Marinette being too good of an actress at being hurt. The enormous tower of vines with the angry beast on top protecting his princess. Ladybug only appearing at the end when everything was crumbling…

   Even though Nino assured him it was casual enough, yet fancy, and that Marinette would like it—a light green buttoned shirt, with only the top two buttons undone, and dark jeans—Adrien feels like he’s underdressed. Plagg phases through his shirt and looks him in the eyes.

“Just press the doorbell! I’m starving and I can’t wait to see Sugarcube!”

“Plagg, what if I mess up again? What if they hate me?”

   Adrien starts fidgeting with the bouquet in his hands. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants.

“How could they hate you? I’m pretty sure Pigtails couldn’t hate you.”

“But, what if…”

   The kwami presses the doorbell and returns to his warm pocket while dread fills Adrien. He hears the steps creak lightly as someone comes down to open the door. Is it Tom? No probably not—he’s heavier and the steps would creak more. Maybe Sabine? She can also be very scary when she wants to…

   The door opens and relief floods his body at the sight of his lady, princess, and girlfriend. Marinette is wearing a pink dress with a black jacket. He didn’t fail to notice the small cat paws and the kitty she embroidered on the jacket. The dress is fairly simple to the casual eye, but having been raised in the fashion industry for so long, he recognizes all the hard work she put into the hems and her trademark flower motif. Her black hair, free from the usual pigtails, cascades in waves over her right shoulder.  

“You look… beautiful,” are the only words that escape his lips.

“Thank you, you look great too!”

“So… These are for you!” he says, extending the flowers to her.

“Thank you! They’re pretty...” She leans her head into the bouquet, smelling its perfume. “They smell amazing too! Let’s go upstairs so I can put them in some water.”

   Adrien follows her as they enter the apartment over the bakery. Delicious scents hit him as they step inside. Except for the usual sweets from the bakery, he can smell a plethora of aromas he is not familiar with. An overly excited Tom practically bounces to him, followed by Sabine, who looks more calm and composed. Adrien swears the man is about to burst from how much he is shaking and buzzing with energy. He kisses Sabine’s cheek and extends his hand to shake Tom’s, who gladly accepts.

“Welcome, Adrien, we’re glad you could make it! We could not wait to meet the young man that stole our little daughter’s heart.”

“The pleasure’s all mine! Thank you for having me for dinner.”

   Once Tom let go of his hand, it instinctively went to rub the back of his neck, his usual tic when he’s nervous. Fear fills him as the man’s eyes grow big like saucers when a ray of light hits his ring, making it shine a little. Does he recognize him as Chat Noir? Marinette looks at him, unsure of what to make of her father’s reaction.

   He then turns and picks up Sabine. He whirls her before doing a pirouette himself.

“Our little daughter is engaged! She proposed to Adrien! We need to prepare the wedding cake, it’ll be the best Paris has ever seen!”

“Tom, dear…” Sabine says, trying to bring back her husband to Earth, with no success.

“What?” is the only word that escapes Adrien’s mouth.

   “Is it another case of Oblivio?” Adrien asks himself. ”Last time I checked, we were only dating…” He realizes at the same time as Marinette what gave Tom the idea, but she’s quicker to react. He thought that Adrien’s miraculous was an engagement ring. Though, it’s not on the correct hand…

“We’re not engaged, Papa!!” shouts Marinette, calming her father. “The ring’s, um…”

“It was from my mother, it’s not a wedding ring. Not that I would mind being engaged to Marinette, she’s amazing and any guy or girl would be crazy to turn her down. I mean, I’d gladly propose to her, but I don’t want to go too fast and I’d rather have your blessing before…”

   He is stopped by a hand on his arm. Sabine looks up sweetly at him, just like she did with Chat Noir all those years ago.

“It’s okay, dear, we know you love our daughter very much—it’s obvious in your eyes. Tom just tends to get ahead of things. That poor Chat Noir, I hope he wasn’t too traumatized.”

“I don’t think he is…” Adrien shyly replies.

   Since he arrived a bit early, Adrien offers to help make dinner. Considering his lack of ability in the kitchen, he gets vegetable duty, since it’s pretty straightforward and he won’t risk ruining the meal with a beginner’s mistake by putting in too much spice or causing a fire.

“You know, I can’t believe no one ever taught you to cook—but at the same time, knowing your father, it does make sense.”

“Yeah, I  carrot  believe it either. I guess he expected me to  stew  in the mansion and have a cook for my entire life.”

“Even for you, that was pretty bad,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Finish slicing them, it’s nearly ready...”

“I don’t know about that, young lady—there’s always  thyme  for puns,” replies Tom with a smirk, a fire lit in his eyes. “Once you’re done Adrien, I’ll  knead  some fruits for dessert

“Of course! Would you help me,  gourdgeous  princess? We make the perfect  pear , after all.”

“I think you’ll be  apple  to do it yourself, my prince.”

“Ah, you leave me  floured  ! You know I only have  pies  for you.”

“You’re such a weirdo…”

“Maybe, but I’m your  weirdough  and you  loaf  me.”

“See, Sabine, they were  baked  for each other. I’m sure  muffin  could break them apart.”

   A little bit later, once they are all sitting at the table, plates set and food served.

“This is so delicious! I don’t think my chef has ever made me something this good!”

“I doubt your chef would have cooked this—it’s not really suited for a model’s diet,” Sabine says. “But thank you. I could show you some recipes if you want.”

“I’d love that, Mrs. Cheng! Well, I’m  bacon  track now, I’m no longer following a diet as strict as before: no more drumsticks and crumbs.  Dough , I have to admit that I would have been  toasted  if my father had found me eating a meal like this.”

“You can call us Sabine and Tom, dear, no need to be so formal.”

“I’m glad to hear that! You sure could add more meat to those bones of yours,” Tom adds jokingly.

“The  yeast  he could have done was to let you see your friends more often,” Marinette replies drily.

“It’s okay, it’s all behind us now. The  bread  of akumas, the  pain …” He adds, giving Marinette a slice of bread. She shakes her head, but still takes it.

“Doughnut  worry, son, you’ll always be welcome here. I could show you the ropes of a baker’s job! I  croissant  your talent.”

   The rest of the main meal goes well—more puns, talking about their future and hopes. Adrien loved the fact that Tom and Sabine didn’t expect him to follow in his father’s footsteps and take the reins of Gabriel, unlike almost everyone else in his life. Instead, they encouraged him when he said that he would need some time to figure out what he really wants to do with his life, to forge his own path.

   As Marinette ices the cake, Adrien finishes slicing the fruits and placing them. His fingers are all sticky and stained from the juices, but he’s the happiest he’s ever been. He feels like he’s part of a family, in a house filled with love, warmth, and fun. He dips his finger in some cream that has fallen from Marinette’s pouch. She’s fully focussed on the task at hand, just like when she was figuring out an especially complicated lucky charm in a face-off with a strong akuma. He gets an idea. It’s a bit mischievous, but a good one.

   Smirking, he carefully sneaks behind her, channeling his inner Chat Noir. Once he’s close enough, he pokes her nose with his cream coated finger. She jerks back into his arms and squeezes the icing bag, making it explode. Their faces and clothes are covered with icing.

“Ch-Adrien!”

“See, m’ lady, I always told you that you’re  la crème de la crème  . Getting my miraculous was an  ameowzing  day in my life, but meeting you was the  icing on the cake ,” he whispers in her ear.

“Shh! They’ll hear you!”

   Her scolding expression lingers for a bit longer, but she soon bursts out laughing.

“I can’t believe you! All this for puns?”

“I felt like I needed to remind my girlfriend of how amazing she is...”

   Tom and Sabine turn the corner to the kitchen, taking in the mess the two made.

“What are you two  loafing  about… Oh, that’s quite the mess, isn’t it?” Tom asks, stopping in his tracks.

“Go change into your pyjamas, I’ll finish icing the cake in the meantime,”Sabine sweetly adds, opening the fridge to get more icing.

   As they walk past the counter to go change, Marinette picks a cherry and perches it on Adrien’s nose.

“You don’t need to remind me, Adrien, I’ll always  cherrysh  the  koalaty  time I get to spend with you.”

[muselover1901]

Re: prompts. “Quarantine.” Alternatively, something based off urban legends. Thanks!

Well it took me forever, but hey, the world is crazy and I am just so proud of myself for finishing this Quarantine AU for you! It’s definitely WAY bigger than a drabble (at just over 2700 words) but I had a lot of fun writing it and it really pushed my abilities as a writer. Thank you for the ask! Enjoy :)

Edit: Now posted to AO3

Here With(out) You

“Are you getting close to finishing? It’s almost eight o’clock and we haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Zen says as he plops down beside Shirayuki—well, not exactly beside her, but just outside the orbit of her ever-present sticky notes, journal articles, and scratch-paper lesson plans. She acknowledges his presence with a noncommittal hum before continuing her vigorous typing on the laptop balanced on her knees. Even before the pandemic, it wasn’t totally unusual for Shirayuki to work late—she is a graduate student, after all—but lately she has been spending every waking hour on either her lab’s vaccine research or creating online lessons for her introductory biology students.

Zen’s work-life balance honestly hasn’t been much better, but since most of his work as the Mayor’s Chief of Staff involves writing reports and attending video call meetings, he can turn off his computer at the end of the day and walk away from work. Shirayuki, unfortunately, does not have the same luxury.

His stomach growls, upset at the lack of food this late in the evening. Zen reaches over, guiding a stray hair behind her ear before setting his palm against her shoulder to get her attention.

“I can make us something easy, if you want. You really should take a break to eat something.”

Shirayuki doesn’t respond. He squeezes her shoulder gently and dips his head to try to catch her gaze, but she reacts with naught but a firm pursing of her lips as she scrutinizes her screen even more. Zen gives her a small shake, as if to wake her.

“Hm?” She blinks up at him, broken from her trance, her voice sounding thin and tired. “Sorry, Zen, I really need to get this done tonight.”

She gestures vaguely to the smudged sticky-note to-do list by her laptop keyboard, the usual tasks of exercise, meal prep, and do something fun with Zen and friends crammed between terms he half-recognizes as different types of data analyses.

“We have our Friday meeting tomorrow and I need to have the preliminary results ready to present.”

“It’s fine,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down her arm and offering her a tender smile as she turns back to her spreadsheet. She is such a hard worker, and right now she’s both working to save lives and to educate the next generation of scientists. Now was not the time to be selfish—even though he misses spending time with her, they just have to push through. And if that means Zen has to cook meals by himself, without Shirayuki’s incredible culinary talent for support, then he will gladly put his limited skill to use.

“How about I make pancakes?” he suggests, “I think we still have some eggs that need to be used, so I could scramble them too—if you want?”

Without looking up, Shirayuki murmurs a dry, “Sounds great, thank you.”

Zen stands and makes his way to their kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he goes. Even after three years of living together and countless Sundays spent chopping endless armies of vegetables as they prepped meals, there are few dishes he trusts himself to cook properly. It’s Mitsuhide and Kiki’s fault, really. When they were his roommates sophomore year, he tried his hand at a simple vegetable stew to feed Mitsuhide’s hockey team at their annual fall party. The final product honestly wasn’t half bad, but he forgot to peel the vegetables, which gave the soup a mild dirt-like aftertaste.

He honestly thought he would be able to laugh it off and learn from such a minor culinary mistake, but it turned out almost no one was willing to let him live it down—even Shirayuki couldn't resist the occasional jab when they cooked together. Indeed, one of the last times they enjoyed quality time together was during a massive day of meal prepping after their first pandemic shopping trip. Hours of chopping and grating and sautéing had driven them a little crazy, and Shirayuki had broken out in giggles while he diligently peeled his seventeenth potato.

It had taken some prodding, but eventually she managed to hold back her laughter enough to snicker, "It’s nice of you to actually peel them this time."

He’d responded with the most convincing glare he could muster before selecting a particularly long piece of peel from the pile on the counter, turning to her with a dangerous smirk, and depositing said peel on top of her head. This only served to bring back her laughter in full-force, the contagiousness of it gripping him and dragging him along until their whole house reverberated with the ridiculousness of it all.

Unlike vegetable soups, Zen had yet to mess up a batch of pancakes in his lifetime, a fact which he was quite proud of. That’s why he’d chosen to make them for Shirayuki the first morning after she stayed the night at his place. They’d groggily rolled out of bed, blushing furiously as they realized that their late-night study session for Advanced Composition had ended with both of them passed out on top of Zen’s covers with their laptops discarded by the foot of the bed. He’d insisted on making her breakfast before she left, partly because he felt bad about their awkward start to the day, but mostly because he’d been smitten with her for months and he just wanted to keep doing things with her.

Zen smiles at the memory as he gathers the ingredients and begins measuring out the flour. Even after all this time, he still treasures every moment together. And now, as they are stuck working from home for the foreseeable future, he misses her more than he did before they moved in together. Although they are around each other nearly all day, every day, they hardly interact outside of breakfast and a kiss goodnight. He sighs and forces his focus back to mixing the batter. Shirayuki is working hard and here he is being selfish again. He should be stronger.

Pushing down his loneliness, he flings himself into scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes with gusto. He quickly finishes the first set of pancakes, butters them, and stacks them neatly on Shirayuki’s plate next to her portion of eggs. For the final touch, he sprinkles a hint of powdered sugar across them and places a little dollop of fruit preserves on top. Hopefully these would look appetizing enough to entice her into taking a break from work to eat. With her plate in hand, Zen makes his way back to the living room and sets her meal on the coffee table.

“Food’s ready,” he announces. “Please don’t forget to eat.”

Shirayuki pauses, tired eyes flicking away from her screen to meet his and offering all the gratitude she can muster. “Thank you, Zen. I promise I will eat as soon as I finish this analysis.”

Zen offers a quick smile in return before heading back to the kitchen to make dinner for himself. He’d better check on her soon, just to make sure she doesn’t get sucked into her work despite her promise—although it is never intentional, her basic needs often fall by the wayside when she is hyper-focused like this.

Fifteen minutes later, Zen returns to the living room with his own stack of pancakes (chocolate chip) and scrambled eggs (sprinkled with his friend Obi’s homemade hot sauce, because the pain was always worth the flavor). And just as he feared, Shirayuki hasn’t touched her food.

“How’s it coming? Are you going to eat soon?” Zen settles into his spot on the couch next to her and cuts into his pancakes with his fork.

“Hm? Oh yes, I figured out why that regression was behaving unexpectedly, I had just flipped the variables.” She bites her lip. “I guess after I fixed that, I just moved on to the next thing.”

Zen reaches out to tenderly place a hand on her cheek and guide her eyes away from her screen and to his own. Her eyelids droop a little, and he notices a small crease between her eyebrows—she looks so tired. He drags his thumb across her cheekbone and her eyes flutter shut as she relaxes into his hand.

His heart skips a little at the intimacy of their position; after all, it had been weeks since they had really shared a moment like this, just comfortable in stillness with each other’s full attention. Eyes still closed, Shirayuki reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek and sighs as she turns her head to press her lips against his palm. With a gentle squeeze of his hand, she releases him and turns to exchange her laptop for her plate.

Although she continues working while they eat, Zen is relieved to see her diligently taking bites between bits of code. It doesn’t take long before she cleans her plate entirely. With a yawn, Zen stretches and rises from the couch before collecting their dishes and returning to the kitchen to clean up. The clock above the stove reads 10:08pm.

How did it get so late? He’d just have to head right to bed after this. Dozing off during his morning call with the Mayor was not how he wanted to start his day tomorrow.

After finishing the dishes and changing into his sleep shirt, he returns to the living room to let Shirayuki know he’s going to bed—apparently she still has a couple hours of work ahead of her, but she promised she’d come to bed as soon as she was done. With Shirayuki resigned to her work for the night, Zen heads to their bed and does his best to get comfortable. As the weight of the blanket settles over him, he melts into the mattress and takes the deepest, most relaxing breath he’s taken all day. Despite his body giving in to its need to rest, Zen’s mind still races with thoughts of the meeting tomorrow morning and of the latest case counts in the city. God, he can’t wait for the day when all of this chaos is over. He and Shirayuki could take a weekend off and hike Mount Koto just like they did senior year after finals. He sighs at the thought.

Visions of them packing their picnic supplies into his old backpack flash through his mind. He’s smiling as he makes Shirayuki’s sandwich with the mustard by the meat and the veggies under the cheese, just the way she likes it. The sunshine warms their faces as they walk along the trail, and Shirayuki is a vision in her button-up hiking shirt and sunhat, all glowing skin and bright smiles. He reaches their picnic spot first, so he spreads their blanket and sets out their food. Shirayuki’s still a ways behind, but she’ll be there with him soon, he tells himself. She will. He busies himself smoothing the blanket and making sure her sandwich is arranged just so with a nice serving of chips and a gleaming red apple.

He’s just about to polish her apple for a second time when he realizes he doesn’t hear the crunch of her footsteps on the trail anymore. Panicked, he shoots up from his seat and runs over to the trail to try to find her, to no avail. Maybe she went off-trail to relieve herself? No that can’t be it, she’s taking way too long, and she would have told him if she was going off trail, right? Oh god—what if she hurt herself and she’s stuck somewhere down the trail? Zen abandons the picnic and runs as fast as his legs can take him down the trail, until—

He hears the faint tapping of fingers on a keyboard. Looking across the trail, he sees the edge of a laptop screen poking out from behind a tree. As he approaches it, the sound gets louder and louder, until it feels almost deafening and Zen has to cover his ears to avoid the incessant din. He looks around the tree’s thick trunk and sees Shirayuki in front of the screen, her hair disheveled and eyes unblinking as she types away.

She’s absolutely overworking herself! Zen can’t let her keep doing this. He should have caught it before it got this bad, he should have pulled her away from work and made her take care of herself. Regardless, he refuses to let this go on any longer. He takes a deep breath, removes his hands from his ears, and reaches out to set his hand on her shoulder as he always does when he needs to get her attention. His hand goes right through her, as if she were a ghost.

He wakes to find her side of the bed empty.

Zen’s sleep shirt is clinging to his sweating chest and the sheets are tangled up in his legs. He kicks them off and rolls over with a groan. So much for getting a good nights’ sleep before the meeting tomorrow morning. He reaches for his bedside lamp, trying to feel the small switch in the dark. It takes him a minute, fingers clumsy and sleep-addled, but he finally finds it with a click and squints against the soft, yellow light. He yawns and drags his phone towards him by its charging cable and groans again when he sees the time. 2:37am.

With little desire to return to the stifling sheets, he decides it’s best to just get out of bed and have a glass of water before trying to sleep again. He shuffles out of the bedroom, and as the door clicks behind him, his tired mind peripherally registers that the living room light is still on. But with water being his body’s primary goal, he drowsily continues on to the kitchen and downs a full glass in three big gulps when he gets there. With his mind cleared from the coolness of the water, he realizes that even though the living room light is still on, Shirayuki’s persistent typing is absent.

When he reaches the living room, he finds Shirayuki on the couch, slumped to the side with her lips parted and a quiet snore escaping her with each exhale.  Her laptop is open and teetering dangerously close to the edge of her lap, but the screen has long since shut itself off. There’s still a pencil behind her ear, too.

With as much gentleness as he can muster this late at night, Zen extracts her laptop and moves it over to her desk so it can charge overnight. He removes the pencil from behind her ear and brushes her hair away from her eyes.

“Shirayuki, come to bed.” Her eyes crack open ever so slightly, and she grumbles but does not stir. Zen sighs. Even in sleep—no, especially in sleep—she’s as stubborn as ever.

“I’m going to pick you up, okay?” She mumbles something unintelligible, but’s all the affirmation he needs. He pushes his arms underneath her knees and shoulders, steels himself, and scoops her up. At first, her head lolls to the side, but then she turns and nuzzles against his chest. He can’t help but smile down at her as he carries her back to the bedroom and slowly places her on top of the sheets.

“Shirayuki, you should change out of your clothes,” he says.

She stirs a bit before slurring, “Don’t wanna. Wanna sleep.”

“If you don’t change now, you’ll regret it in the morning. You know you will.”

At this, Shirayuki groans and pushes herself up off the mattress. She insists he help her take off her clothes, which makes him laugh and blush in equal measure.

It’s only after she is changed and settled under the sheets that he finally lets himself sink into their bed again, mind and body finally relaxed with the knowledge that she’s next to him and already half asleep. He turns off his bedside lamp with a click and lets the rhythm of her breathing lull him back to sleep. Just as the last remains of his consciousness are about to slip away, he feels the delicate press of fingers against his shoulder, the tickle of a whisper against his ear, and the softness of a kiss against his temple.

“Thank you, Zen. I love you.”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

How do you like NaNo so far?

Okay tea! It’s going okay! Honestly, it’s not going as well as I expected but also going... better than I expected (simultaneously lol)!

I’ve been tracking a LOT of things, so on my MyWriteClub, I track if I’ve written that day (I’ve written 12/19 days of the month so far), and I’ve also been tracking on NaNoWriMo’s website (I’ve written just over 4300 words this month). This is a pretty solid streak, and I’ve definitely been writing WAY more often than I usually do, and enjoying it WAY more because of where I’m at in the book.

Y’all, I gotta say it... I love Feeding Habits. I’ve got a huge, huge problem with writing a book, loving it, then feeling embarrassed by it after a few weeks of finishing it, and with Feeding Habits, I’ve been extra hard on it. It’s not that I feel embarrassed by it like I do Moth Work (this is a whole other issue), it’s just been two moods: grueling to write, or magnificent. Most of the time, it’s been grueling, and I have a really hard time not enjoying drafting because it’s my favourite thing about writing and so that affects my mental health, etc, etc. So when I, in this moment, am saying I love Feeding Habits, I just want myself to fully, 100% feel this way, because I know, with the last few books I’ve written, it doesn’t last (not to be pessimistic, but to be grateful for where I am).

NaNo is actually not all that different to me usually writing proces. I actually always think about writing every day, it’s just about 1/7 days a week I may actually do it, more if I’m in a good patch. I can’t give NaNo full credit for my productivity, however. I am in a really great place in Feeding Habits right now, and NaNo occurred right at the start of that, so it was really coincidence and timing that I’m currently doing okay in the book, and therefore, able to produce. I’ve mentioned that I just can’t write when I’m mentally unwell, and that not writing furthers that mental unwellness and so I’m really, really happy with how this month is going with writing right now. I don’t feel heavy, I feel I’ve written a lot of great (and very gay <3) stuff, and I’m so pleased.

I am only tracking NaNo progress for Feeding Habits specifically because I wanted to put more attention on it, and I definitely think it has been successful in that regard! I’ve been doing tons of other writing though, either for classes, or personal stuff (do not ask me how submitting a poem at 11:59pm on the day of the deadline went hahaha), so I feel like I’m... thriving??

Excerpts from Feeding Habits stuff I’ve been working on recently under the cut!

This is the boys’ first ever conversation in months and in the book:

A canoe-rental kiosk ruching the Hudson River. Harrison pays for a two-hour time slot with the last of his savings and lugs it to the shoreline by himself. It is nearly midnight, the sky clogged with fog and moonlight.

Lonan will not enter the water. Back near the kiosk, he fiddles with a beachstone, bathing in tungsten from the streetlamp above him. He gave no reason for his rejection, just picked stones as they walked along the boardwalk, through the parking lot, to the kiosk. As if he’d polish them, feed them through a rock tumbler as if he has patience for that, tend to them like infants, shape, polish, burnish, sell them for thirty dollars a piece and donate the money, as if has the mind to.

Harrison shifts the canoe perpendicular to the water and steps in. The boat cranks under his weight, its coldness seeping through his jeans.

Lonan stoops for more stones. His knees luminescing in white sand. His hair oilslick, cropped to his scalp like blunt grass. His fingers arrowing through sand, a raven filching seed. He unearths the stones with urgency, a paleontologist, a gravedigger.

“You’ll never make a sale on those,” Harrison shouts from the canoe. His voice splinters the night and puffs with the sand.

Lonan nearly drops his handful of stones. It takes him a moment to look up, and when he does, he searches the treeline first, the windows of a parked SUV, the gaps between a thicket of lifejackets before reaching Harrison, and he’s so deerlike, Harrison thinks, he’s so limp, so feeble, so susceptible. His hair jutting briefly from his scalp like an accordion, badly cut probably because Eliza likes it that way. His skin nearly lilac in places, a gauntness in his face, a hunger.

“My mother tells me you like her cooking,” he continues. “That you’re here for your sister. That you’re here alone.”

Lonan reaches for another stone.

“Eliza wants you to look like a deacon.” Harrison frills a hand toward his hair, snaps his fingers like scissors. “So holy. I could ordain you right now. Make you born-again. There’s so much water.”

“I don’t swim,” Lonan says. He reaches for another stone, then another so his palms turn into one.

“You don’t? You’re a land mammal. Rhinoceros. Hippopotamus. Is it the stones? You’re afraid they’ll sink you?”

CANOE SHENANIGANS (#BOYSINABOAT):

Harrison shuffles forward until their knees touch. He reaches. He makes contact. He touches his skin. He touches his ear. He touches cheek. He touches eyes, fingerprints his irises, wrings the tears from his eyelashes, pulls his face by the jaw, cradling his land mammal. He is crying. They should both cry. They are both crying. Their own lake puddling in Harrison’s palm. Theirs as Harrison dips his free hand into the water. Theirs as he hushes Lonan’s writhing. Theirs as he christens him, the water gorging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Theirs as he promises it will be okay. Theirs as he says he will get to know this stranger. Theirs as they promise to both regrow. Theirs as Harrison jerks the canoe. Theirs as they capsize. Theirs as they reunite in fizzing tide, caught in the river, both animals trapped in amber.

Some context for this next excerpt: Lonan and Harrison get into shenanigans the night before, Harrison ~robs Lonan, abandons him, and yeets himself to the barn mentioned in chapter six where he falls asleep for the night. Here, he wakes up at dawn and is coming up with an excuse to explain why he’s there early to the homeowners. He decides, since they hired him to fix up their barn, he’ll just say he was trying to be a good worker:

Harrison fixes himself in the reflection of an overturned wheelbarrow, its silver belly clouded with rust. He exists the barn dry, well-rested, a richer, more fashionable man.

Before he even finishes ascending the veranda of the Harvey house, Sharleen opens the door. Her white hair is pearled into a bun. She wears a paisley patterned apron, chartreuse.

“Raspberry danishes,” Harrison says. “All I wanted was to bring you some fresh raspberry danishes, but all the bakeries were closed.”

Sharleen rolls up her sleeves. Her hands are caked with flour and fat.

“I considered tulips, but realized I’ve never asked for your favourite flower. Is it tulips? Hydrangeas? Chrysanthemums?”

Sharleen juts open the screen door and holds it open for him. He enters the foyer, and it smells like cinnamon, like sugar.

“I’ve heard marigolds are helpful for warding off squirrels,” he says, taking the hand she offers for his jacket. Sharleen doesn’t jump when he runs his finger across her wedding band and pecks her knuckles with his mouth. She doesn’t even speak. “Is that true?” as they usher toward the kitchen. “Pretty and purposeful. Sounds fake.”

Sharleen dusts her hands on her apron and jars open the kitchen door.

“Could be a double whammy. Or a scam. Or an old wives’ tale,” Harrison says as they walk into the kitchen, so occupied with the marigolds he does not notice when Sharleen returns to the stove to flip a pancake, so occupied, when he turns to the kitchen table, expecting only Harvey but seeing Lonan, all he says is, “Sounds too good to be true.”

The embarrassing aftermath of that lmfao :)

Harrison eats his pancakes on the porch. The Harveys’ dog joins him, a golden retriever named Leila. He cuts her a rift of cake and slots it into her mouth when she whines. One bite for him, another for Leila. Him, Leila, him, Leila. The good news is since he fixed their coffee machine, he now drinks drip.

It does not take long for Lonan to follow him outside. Harrison’s known this was inevitable and has dreaded the last five minutes because of it. He slits another triangle of pancake and feeds it to the dog.

It’s too cold to be out without a jacket. Wind nips Harrison’s ears and icicles his fingertips. Lonan’s shirt, the pale blue button-up he nabbed knowing he’d have cash, brays under the breeze, barely denser than a tissue.

So, after Harrison knocks them into the water (lol), this happens. My favourite description of Lonan: grass, and speck. (TW murder-y??):

“Pull me under,” Lonan said, spitting water, his voice grating under pressure. He trembled, his limbs his betrayal, tremoloing in the waves.

And Harrison did. Dousing him by the shoulders and holding him under so only he floated in the miniscule gap of air, Lonan a sunken, thrashing speck. It was thrilling, holding a body in his hands, determining its fate. And equally as thrilling to hold it as he lulled Lonan back up and over his shoulder where he deflated, gasping. At first Lonan coughed, once twice, heaving saltwater and saliva. But then a birdlike sound, compact but jittering, the wisp of a laugh, and Harrison couldn’t help but wonder if he was thrilled, too

“Do you feel accomplished, Harrison?” Lonan asked, his teeth prattling like an accordion. His hand trailed up the tail of his jacket, scrawling along the soaked leather. Lonan shifted, his body dead weight nearly drowned. And there was the sound again, chirping, “You’re not the first person who’s tried to kill me this year. Congratulations.”

So the tea is that Harrison robs Lonan by swapping shirts with him (tea tea tea), so here’s that scene where they re-swap and Harrison pesters Lonan about not marrying Eliza:

“Why won’t you marry her?” Harrison asks. “You could have children. A honeymoon.”

Lonan stuffs his free hand into his pocket. His breath fogs with every exhale, his nose pinkish with cold. Harrison doesn’t feel any of it, the breath, the cold, his hands. He doesn’t move to button up his flannel. He doesn’t want to move.

“You’re going back to her. You’re here to check on Reeve, and then you’re going back. To get married. To have children. To honeymoon forever.”

Lonan’s hair is awful. Spoking from his scalp like a raven’s wings, some sections ragged, uneven. Not a haircut, but punishment.

“You’re perfect,” Harrison says. He should being shivering, be freezing, but he feels nothing. “Why can’t you say you’re perfect?”

Lonan moves first. They could reabsorb. Go back to blue. But he only reaches for the flannel with his free hand and drapes it around Harrison’s shoulders. Arm by arm, slotting them through the sleeves. Button by button, securing it up his abdomen, his chest, right up to his throat. If Harrison looks closely, one of his eyes is rimmed with scarlet, like a vessel there popped, and a pool of lilac simmers, almost undetectable, across his temple.

“You could’ve married her,” Harrison says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. Lonan swings his jacket around his shoulders, securing his arms through each loop of leather, one, two. Zipping so his exposed skin may rewarm.

“I need to take you home,” Lonan says. Lonan with the broken eye. Lonan with the blackberry skin. Lonan with the teeth-shorn shirt. Lonan with the mowed hair. Lonan with the burned palms. Lonan with the wedding ring that was never really a wedding ring. Lonan who looks as if he’s always prepared to blink, just in case something comes out to get him.

(lonan’s dialogue IS SO SOFT gay PINING said WHOMST i did i am whomst)

god i want to share more but I need to save stuff for the writing update, here’s one MORE THEN I AM GONE:

Harrison sleeps in the car on his way back and doesn’t wake until the next day. In that time, Suzanna slots takeout boxes through the unrolled window, three full meals: sweet corn and tomato fusilli, beef stifado, meatless cassoulet. What she doesn’t know is they sit, untouched, under the passenger’s seat, not because Lonan is averted by her cooking, but because he’s saving them to share, just in case. She brings a vacuum sealed bag of extra comforters the first evening when flurries dot the windshield, Harrison is swathed in them all by the time the snow reaches half an inch. One lined with Sherpa closest to his skin when he stirs, the bulbs of fabric like cottage cheese. In the time he’s in the car he dreams. Of driving into the ocean. Of haircuts. Marriage.

OK BYE

[howdoyousleep3]

it’s this sunrise

Here is yet another Ask response that has turned into a goddamn fic. I hope it’s the soft fluffy smut clothes sharing vibes that were desired. I tried to keep it soft af but honestly it got away from me. It also made me realize I rarely write in Steve’s point of view. Enjoy! 

If there is ever a time when Bucky gets out of bed before Steve it will truly be the end of the world. Aside from maybe Christmas morning and the nights he spends working away on homework or essays, Steve is always the first one out of bed. Even on weekends when the two of them are free to sleep in and wake up at their leisure, Steve is the one waking at an earlier hour, the one out of bed earlier, the one starting his day earlier. That remains the case on this gorgeous Saturday morning. Steve feels like it’s the first time in months he hasn’t been woken by a call on his day off and he hadn’t realized how nice that was, or had forgotten at least. After kissing Bucky a few times on the forehead and cheek he wanders out of the bedroom in a pair of sweats. 

He makes some coffee, spends a few minutes going around and opening all of the blinds and curtains (Bucky will hate him but it’s all fine), sips on said coffee and thinks about the things they need to do this weekend. They need to head to the market for a few items, maybe go out to lunch or dinner, not having gone out in so long. He’s sure Bucky has some homework to do, knows they need to do chores around the house. Maybe they can walk around the city some, leave the car at home. 

He’s so wrapped up in his deliciously domestic thoughts when he decides to level up the domesticity and make some pancakes. Bucky loves pancakes. He thinks there are some peaches in the fridge that he could cut up too; Bucky loves peaches. Luckily, they have all the ingredients they need and Steve whips up a batter: eggs, flour, buttermilk, a hint of vanilla. He’s pouring the batter onto the griddle, swaying a little to an Adele song, when in walks Bucky. “Mornin’, sugar,” he sing-songs, setting the bowl back down on the counter, and he gets a grumble of a huff in response. Oh, so it’s a grumpy Bucky. Steve isn’t surprised; he learned the hard way that he should never force the younger man out of bed before he wanted to face the day. He hears Bucky pour himself some coffee and when he turns to face him his heart isn’t nearly prepared for what he sees. He knows Bucky being grumpy and sleepy shouldn’t be so goddamn cute but, fuck, it’s the most adorable thing Steve’s ever been witness to. Having showered the night before and just gone to sleep, Bucky’s hair is in all sorts of disarray, his natural curls free to move the way they wish. His cheeks are flushed a rosy color, always running hot when he sleeps but insisting on using a blanket, crease marks pressed into the skin of his face and arms. He’s got that grumpy eyebrow wrinkle probably a preface to the complaint of how bright it is in the house. The cherry on top is Bucky’s attire. He’s being swallowed up by one of Steve’s old shirts, an old volleyball tournament shirt of his, and it hits Bucky right above the knees, sleeves almost hitting his elbows. It makes him look damn near miniature, much smaller than his actual six-foot size, and Steve’s gut stirs. Bucky doesn’t seem to be wearing anything but briefs either and that…that’s nice. The entire picture Bucky paints makes Steve stir in his sweats, makes him chub up almost immediately. It brings him a sense of pride and ownership and so much fucking love that it almost makes the older man short of breath. “S’that my shirt you’re wearing?” Steve asks off-handedly as he flips a pancake and Bucky makes a noise in protest, already, mumbles out, “Yeah, so what?” and it makes Steve want to chuckle. Like a feisty kitten this one is. “Nothin’, baby, nothin’. Just sexy is all,” Steve explains in a low light tone, walking up to Bucky, pressing him back into the counter with a gentle nudge. Bucky huffs again, seems to be full of them this morning, rolls his eyes some, almost goes to push at Steve’s chest before he grabs Bucky’s hand. “S’not sexy, Steve. I just woke up, shut it,” Bucky protests in a gruff voice, brings the mug up to his mouth to take a sip as Steve brings Bucky’s hand up to his mouth, runs his lips across his knuckles. Bucky wiggles where he stands, a little movement in his toes and in his knees, and Steve’s heart feels like it’s in his throat on his next swallow. “No, honey I’m for real. Seein’ your sweet little grumpy ass in my clothes is…it’s somethin’ else,” Steve rumbles, pushes Bucky a tad harder into the counter, and the younger makes a feigned offended noise at the description of him. Steve doesn’t want to let Bucky’s hand go, doesn’t want to stop touching him now that he’s started, drops the hand at his mouth to grab at Bucky’s sides instead. “M’not…I’m not grumpy,” Bucky argues and this time Steve can’t help but let out a low chuckle, chide in response, “You gonna fight me on everything this morning, sweetheart?” Steve squeezes at his hips, runs his hands over the thin fabric of his shirt on Bucky’s body, decides he can get addicted to the way it feels under his grip. This morning might turn out differently than he had originally thought. “You wanna gimme a kiss?” Steve murmurs, tilting Bucky’s chin up with the touch of two fingers and he’s so physically close to the other man that he can feel the morning moody tension leave Bucky some, yields and moves for Steve without much reservation. The kiss is brief, so soft, a breath of a thing, and all it does is make Steve hungrier, make him grow a little harder in his pants. He knows Bucky can feel it, has to be aware of it, crotch pressed into his lower stomach, his hip, sighs heavily when Steve’s tongue dips against his lip in a tease of a movement. “Just woke up, Steve come on,” Bucky gasps when he pulls back, Steve’s lips moving gracefully down Bucky’s jaw, nipping and licking as he goes, movements unrushed and syrupy. He grabs for the coffee mug in Bucky’s hands, places it on the counter behind him. With his hands free, Steve is able to move with more freedom, rubs his hands up and down Bucky’s sides, squeezing a little roughly, sliding them down to cup his ass. “Steve, the pancakes. M’hungry,” Bucky whines into his mouth and it makes Steve hot all over, that tone of voice Bucky uses when he wants to put up a fight just so it seems like he isn’t being easy. Steve just hums in response, squeezes his fingers firmly around the handfuls of ass he’s got in his palms, movement making Bucky whimper and clutch at Steve’s chest. “I’m hungry too, Buck,” he purrs into his mouth, squeezes and pulls Bucky up until the younger realizes to jump a little, delightfully moving without any physical resistance, and Steve hauls him up onto the counter. “That was awful, Steve oh my god.” Steve nips at Bucky’s ear. “It’s true though. Was hungry for pancakes before you came out here lookin’ all sweet in my own goddamn clothes. God, baby what you do to me…” Steve’s voice is low, hands still moving and squeezing wherever he can, soaking in all the little noises and breaths Bucky lets out. He loves Daddy’s hands on his body, Steve knows this, that he can get a little overwhelmed by it even, such a sensitive littler thing. Seeing Bucky in his clothes is doing things to Steve, a number of different things, but something he couldn’t have anticipated was Bucky appearing so small. Bucky isn’t a physically small man, is above average in height, but he is smaller than Steve, the older man being even more above average in overall size. Bucky in his oversized shirt, draping off his shoulders a tad, grazing the tops of his thighs, makes him look so little, makes his physical appearance show the side of him that only Daddy gets to see, show the true sweet boy he is for Steve. It makes Steve want to go feral. It also makes his next squeeze a little harsh, makes his next kiss a little deeper, makes Bucky’s hands clutch for purchase at Steve’s torso, his chest.   “I thought I was the one who was supposed to have the high sex drive as the younger one in this relationship. Sometimes this verges on ridiculous, Steve,” Bucky taunts a little breathlessly, nips at Steve’s chin when he gets the chance. What a brat. “Can’t help myself. And you’ve got some nerve complaining about how often you get fucked.” Steve nibbles at Bucky’s bottom lip in retaliation, his hands coming to rest on the smaller’s hips where he sits on the counter. For once, Bucky has nothing to say in response and that’s a goddamn miracle; Steve wants to mark the date on the calendar. He feels Bucky’s feet curl around the back of his knees, his arms coming up to also wrap around Steve’s torso, and it makes him want to purr like a goddamn cat. He pulls Steve in tight enough and it makes the older man’s erection entirely too obvious to ignore, his tented sweats rubbing a little lewdly against Bucky’s stomach, his own growing erection. Bucky feels it, the same time Steve does and lets out a loud exhale, he makes a warm noise, a purr of a thing right into Steve’s lips. “Daddy…” he coos, grins when Steve’s mouth drops open, gives his lips a few far too sensual kisses for someone who was grumbling about sex seconds before, “Is that all for me?” Steve might melt right through the goddamn floor. “A’course it is, kitten. What are you gonna do about it?” Steve asks, gives Bucky a few more filthy kisses, not bothering to close his eyes, not wanting to close his eyes. He bears witness to yet another adorable blush, one that makes Steve’s gut curl, loves how transparent Bucky is. Steve calls him a lot of things, too many things, but Bucky seems to be a sucker for “kitten”, being up there with “sugar” and “princess”. There’s a shift Steve can see in Bucky’s eyes, feel in his grip, one that has his dick perking up even more, the gleam in Bucky’s eyes having a mischievous edge to it.   “Bet I won’t need much prep because of last night…” is what he ends up whispering, attempting to make it sound casual but failing, his suggestion ending a little too breathlessly. Steve is pulling at the waistband of his sweats without wasting another second, his eagerness making Bucky giggle some more. Steve wants to eat him alive. At just the mention of being inside of Bucky, Steve’s heartrate notches up, his hands twitch at the urge to pull him closer, his dick aches and throbs. He’s reaching for a drawer that he knows has to have a tiny bottle of lube shoved in the back, always prepared, and with success he finds it and tosses it onto the counter. When Bucky sees it, he huffs, Steve needs to do something with that mouth, mumbles, “Ridiculous,” as he hops off the counter. He begins to turn but Steve grabs his hips and turns him the rest of the way around by force. “Turnin’ into the Boy Who Cried Wolf, sweetheart. Pissy about how prepared I am and how often you get dicked down, but you’re damn near gagging for it, aren’t ya?” Steve murmurs into his ear, hand reaching around to cup the stiff erection contained in his briefs, Bucky gasping at the contact. Steve rolls the younger’s package around in his hand, squeezes and tugs on what he can, kisses at Bucky’s cheek as he lets out a low moan. “Just a spoiled fuckin’ brat is what you are,” Steve continues to taunt in a light tone, voice low as he moves to slowly peel Bucky’s briefs down his lithe thighs, dropping to pool around his ankles. Bucky goes to take his shirt off, but he stops him, whispers, “No—keep it on,”, his hand running up and under the shirt, up the soft skin of Bucky’s stomach. Bucky nods his head, exhaling shakily. There’s something about a weekend morning fuck that digs deep into Steve’s bones. The unhurried pace, no place to be and no rush, the serene quietness that fills the house and the neighborhood. There’s something about greeting the day and your partner in such an intimate way, almost ethereal, movements slow and savory, simply feeling the other person and the way they make you feel, the reactions to the way you make them feel. Steve loves it, needs it, can never get enough of it when it comes to Bucky, kisses him on the back of the neck as he wets a few fingers with lube, lifts his own shirt on Bucky’s body, and— “Oh,” Bucky sighs and Steve feels that noise in his core, in his center, that noise like Bucky is finally right because Steve is inside of him, like he isn’t whole until Steve is there pressing within. He can’t think to say anything, his tongue heavy in his mouth, just kisses the piece of Bucky’s shoulder that peeks out of the coverage of his shirt. His finger is met with not near as much resistance as it normally is, Steve able to press in with another finger within a few pumps of the first. This second one makes Bucky gasp a little, makes him whine, and it’s so goddamn beautiful to Steve’s ears that he can’t help but make a pleased noise of his own, a little sympathetic moan that he lets out into the skin behind Bucky’s ear. “Daddy…” Steve’s gut clenches. “Yeah, sugar s’feel good?” “Ngh, I…gimme a-another. Please?” Their voices are so low, hushed for no reason but it simply being that morning kind of vibe. Bucky’s eager, a little too, and Steve pumps his fingers a few times, curls them a little bit, finds that sweet little spot they’re both looking for, force of it making Bucky fall forward some, brace his hands on the edge od the counter. “Just greedy, baby. There’s no rush,” he whispers, his other hand coming around to give its best attempt at jacking Bucky off slowly. Bucky lets out such a long and low moan Steve swears he can feel it in his own teeth. “Fuck, Steve holy shit, feels so good,” Bucky whimpers with another moan, head falling back some which gives Steve easy access to run his lips along the line of Bucky’s neck. “So sensitive in the morning aren’t you, Bucky? Sensitive all the time but in the mornings especially, always have been.” Bucky has nothing to say in response to that, just bites his bottom lip and arches his neck into Steve’s mouth some, clenches down on Daddy’s fingers. “Alright, alright hush, sugar.” Steve gives Bucky the third finger he wants, pumps his other hand around the brunette’s cock and if he wasn’t right before, he’s right now—Bucky is damn near gagging for it. The third finger gives him the pressure and the fullness he craves, gives him the closest thing he can get to Daddy’s cock, makes his mouth drop open some and Steve can’t help but kiss and coo on Bucky’s cheek. His movements are deep and slow and delicious and he can only fathom to work his fingers a few more times, in and out, before removing them and smearing what is left of the lube onto his cock. Steve is moaning before he’s even entirely slid inside of Bucky, can’t help it when he’s so wrapped up in the feeling of the younger man in his arms, of how hot and wet he is around Daddy’s cock, of how pretty he sounds when Steve slides home. An arm around Bucky’s waist, one tucked under and arm and across his chest, it’s achingly intimate, so close, perfect for a slow morning fuck. Bucky arches back into him beautifully, feels so good against the line of Steve’s body, feels so small, just the way he looks in Daddy’s shirt. “Ohh, fuck that’s nice, baby so nice,” he coos gently into Bucky’s ear as his crotch comes to press snug up against Bucky’s bottom, that sweet little cushion that in engrained in Steve’s brain for the rest of time. Bucky gives him a weak moan in response, a few heavy exhales to follow, lets his neck go a little lax as it rolls back into Steve’s shoulder. He knows Bucky wants to grab onto something, knows he likes to hold and feel grounded, so Steve grabs his hands, presses them into the counter in front of them. Bucky’s a gift, a treasure, no other way to describe him when at a loss for words like this. His body was made for Steve, he’d bet his life and soul on it, has never felt anything like being inside of Bucky. He fits so perfectly against Steve’s body, so soft and supple against his harder and muscled one, feels sublime all around his cock, all warm and tight as sin. He rolls his hips in tight, slow, little movements, grinds and presses in balls-deep, Bucky whimpering softly at the feel. Steve takes it slow, let’s the feel of the morning take them away, lets the music in the background unintentionally sway his movements. He pulls out slowly, presses those hot open-mouthed kisses he knows make Bucky weak all along his neck, up to his ear, wraps an arm back tight around Bucky’s middle. “Oh shit,” is all he can choke out in response to Steve’s movements and that’s totally okay with Steve, is acceptable, presses back in just as slow and fuck that’s nice, that’s beautiful. He does this a few more times, keeps his mouth close to Bucky’s face, keeps the line of his body pressed in tight, movement only being in his hips. He feels like he’s high, like he’s hypnotized, is only pulled from his mind when Bucky whimpers, “More, Daddy more,” and he nods his head, brings his arm up to curl his hand loosely around the base of Bucky’s throat. “Yeah, baby yeah, of course,” he coos out, picks up his pace and pumps his hips a little harder, movement making Bucky lock his elbows for more support, forcing the two of them let out little noises of their own. “Always feel so fuckin’ good for Daddy don’t you, sugar? Yeah? So fuckin’ ready, so fuckin’ hungry aren’t you?” “God, Daddy. Shouldn’t feel so good but it does. Why…fuck, why does it feel so good all the fucking time?” Good fucking question. Like almost every other attempt at talking this morning, Steve isn’t sure what to say back, feels like that’s more of a rhetorical question when he can’t think of a valid answer to begin with. Instead he continues to fuck into Bucky’s body, the body that feels so small in his hands, pumps his hips harder and deeper than before. The little noises that seem to be inadvertently let out by Bucky are so fragile, so full of emotion, so delicate that it makes his grip on the younger man a little tighter, wants to ensure he’s safe and protected. Bucky moves to arch his back, a small movements with a large payoff, lets out a high-pitched whine after a heave of a gasp that Steve feels under his palm. He knows what that gasp means, knows what that change of angle has to be doing for him and it makes him want to do it more, makes him want to hit Bucky’s sweet spot over and over again, wants to send him soaring. He winds his other arm tight around Bucky’s slim waist, under his shirt, keeps the other hand curled about his neck, and Bucky sobs, that little overwhelmed noise. “Steve,” he mewls and fuck he loves that, loves how Bucky sounds saying his name, it making him fuck harder, deeper. He purses his lips at the hinge of Bucky’s jaw. “Yeah, sugar,” he breathes, not really a question but an acknowledgement, lets himself groan heartily on the next exhale. “I’m gonna come.” It makes Steve groan again, makes him thrust harder, the slow pointed sound of skin slapping skin merging with the noises of a Saturday morning. He isn’t surprised it’s taken such a short amount of time for Bucky to reach the point of climax; he’s such a sensitive thing when he wakes up. “Yeah?” “Uh-huh, yeah, you’re gonna make me…god, gonna make me come, Daddy.” Fuck yeah. Steve might say it out loud, he isn’t quite sure, but he is damn sure his vision and focus narrow in on those words, make it all Steve wants, wants Bucky’s pleasure more than his own quickly approaching orgasm. The hand under his shirt (still swallowing up Bucky’s body, fuck) reaches up, finds one of those perfect little nipples, pinches it softly at first, then with a little more bite to it. The younger lets out his loudest noise this morning, a shout of a moan, so good. Bucky loves having his nipples played with, always has. It makes his knees buckle a little which then has Steve holding onto him as Bucky’s hands come up to grab onto Daddy’s head, hands in his hair.   “Yes, god j-just…uh-huh, yeah,” Bucky cries, finally passed the point of formulating words. Steve turns, sucks Bucky’s earlobe into his mouth, lets out a hearty groan at the feeling of hands in his hair, of that little bit of pain of Bucky getting carried away and not realizing it. He moves his fingers to the other nipple, twists the first before he leaves, gives the second the same treatment. His eyelids drop, a side effect of Bucky’s sweet little cunt eating him up, trying to keep him inside, so tight and so goddamn good. “You want me to touch that pretty cock? You want Daddy’s help, baby?” The way his own voice sounds to his ears makes him realize he’s close himself, a little frantic and a lot breathy. Bucky makes a pitiful noise, shakes his head and lets out another hefty moan, much louder than the last. The hands in Steve’s hair go taut, he hears a tiny, “No, I-I’m gonna come, oh Daddy, I’m gonna—” He feels it before anything else, feels that clench on his cock, feels that heave expand Bucky’s chest beneath his grip. He fucks in a little deeper, jars Bucky’s body forward with the force, grinds in tight on that perfect angle and Bucky’s coming and it’s so beautiful, always is. His little legs tremble at the force of his climax, said tremble running up his torso, and Steve can feel it, that’s his favorite part—when he can feel Bucky’s orgasm. His voice is so low, feeling so much, he bites out every syllable onto the side of Bucky’s slack face. “Fuck, sugar that’s so pretty, look at that, god you’re gonna make me come, that sweet little cunt squeezin’ and milkin’ me, oh shit—” He can’t hold Bucky close enough when his orgasm quite literally crashes through his body. It’s low and tight and he feels it everywhere, makes him dip his knees a little and take Bucky with him only to press back up firmly, lean forward and put a hand on the counter to hold them both up. His own torso trembles alongside Bucky’s, just like his own noises of pleasure are spouted from his mouth, groans mixing with whimpers. It’s the perfect way to start a morning. Steve finds his nose digging into Bucky’s hair, breathing him in, snuggling the other man there on his feet. Bucky reaches forward with both of his hands, takes them out of Steve’s hair and moves to place one of his smaller hands on top of Steve’s own. He can’t stop looking at it, the gesture, the two of them together, intertwined in a plethora of ways, but so very easily. It’s so easy loving this man. An uncomfortable grumble rips Steve out of his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re already grumblin’, Buck.” “No, no,” he starts to chuckle, moves his head in the movement to look down, “This just isn’t how I pictured this morning going. It’s…it’s nice.” Steve purrs, squeezes his arm tight around Bucky’s waist, kisses him loudly on the cheek. “Mmm, is nice. Too bad breakfast is ruined.” Steve has been smelling the burnt pancake for quite some time now, is honestly concerned about whether or not his smoke alarms work. “How about we go back to bed since you wore me out and then we go to lunch?” Steve smirks. What else are weekends for? “Sounds like a plan, sugar bear.”

Hope you loved. ILY. 💗

[lemonsandstrawberries]

A (not) Special Day

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony), MCU, imagine Avengers 2012

summary: Tony and Steve became a couple not so long ago and came a day, that started as every day in Steve's dating life with Tony Stark, but the more it progressed, the weirder it became, almost as if the universe was hiding something from him... Meaning, it is Tony's birthday and everyone knows except Steve.

length: 2 513

a/n:  yes, I posted yesterday already a happy birthday fic for Tony, but felt inspired and wrote another one. so, once again, Happy Birthday, Tony! Hope you will like the fic and as always, feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated and needed!

——————–

A (not) Special Day

"Sooo... Any plans for today?"

Steve looked over his shoulder, hearing the question. It was a regular question but said in that sing a song way as if suggesting something and the way Clint had put his elbows on the table and leaned in, eyebrows raised expectantly just added to the mystery. And Steve had no clue what that was about.

"Uh. No, not really," Steve answered, cracking some eggs into a bowl and adding milk, not measuring it, just eyeballing. Pancakes for breakfast. That was his nearest plan.

"Wait... You didn't make any plans?"

"Why should I make any plans?" Steve asked back, adding melted butter into the mix, before leaving the bowl on the counter and taking flour from the cabinet, digging through boxes of cereals and pop tarts. There was not a single kid in the Avengers Tower, but the content of the cabinet told a different story.

"So, you don't know that-"

"Morning, handsome!"

Clint immediately zipped his mouth shut, when Tony waltzed into the kitchen. In black tank top, drawstrings pants, still ruffled from sleep. Tony Stark in his most natural state. Steve puffed out his cheek for a good morning kiss, and Tony pressed his lips into the soft skin, his stubble leaving a light scratch behind.

"Hi, babe. Clint, you were saying?" Steve turned his head to look at the archer, just in time to see the stumped expression on Clint's face, and Tony's gentle bewilderment. Something didn't add up.

"Uh, nothing," Clint said quickly, focusing on his bowl of multicolored cereals and small marshmallows. A perfectly balanced breakfast.

"You are making breakfast for me?" Tony turned to Steve, smiling brightly.

Steve felt suspicious for a second longer but decided to let the topic go, seeing that Tony didn't dwell on it either. Oh, well, probably it wasn't anything important.

"Actually, I am making it just for myself," Steve teased, adding flour into the mix of eggs and milk.

"Ouch, harsh," Tony narrowed his eyes, scoffing playfully. "Didn't know you were so selfish."

"That's not what you said last night," Steve pointed out with a smile, going on with the banter. Behind their backs, Clint made some gagging sound.

"And that's my cue to go," Clint said, taking his empty bowl and spoon, and put it into the dishwasher. Before he could walk out of the kitchen, his eyes lingered on Tony, and after some hesitation, he reached his hand in brunet's direction as if to pat him on the arm, but instead pulled him into a hug in the last second.

"Uhhh," Tony smiled awkwardly, hugging Clint back and patting his back, "thanks," he said. Clint moved away from the hug and nodded to Tony doing some thoughtful face, and walked out of the kitchen.

Okay, that definitely was suspicious.

"What was that about?" Steve asked when he and Tony were left alone.

"Jealous?" Tony asked, smiling happily. One look at Steve's face and it was clear that it wasn't jealousy, just a heck lot of confusion. "I don't know. Maybe he fell into a dumpster again and bashed his head?"

Steve thinned his lips, muttering a concerned 'hmph'. Seemed that the whole team needed another 'safety during world saving' kind of talk.

"Coming back to that breakfast... You are seriously not going to include me?"

Steve blinked, hearing the complaint. He looked at his boyfriend and saw Tony giving him an extra pleading look as if he didn't eat for days. Which for sure wasn't the case, because Steve made sure that Tony ate regularly, and on most of the days, Tony was pretty good of keeping track of his meals. Food was too good to skip.

"You mix, I fry?" Steve smiled, handing Tony a whisk. Teamwork at its finest.

Tony groaned in disappointment, finding the hour too early to be useful. But fine, he would comply. "I am adding chocolate chips though," Tony said, dipping the whisk in and carefully mixing before he would go faster and try not to splatter the batter everywhere.

"Fine with me," Steve took a step back, and sat at the table, just appreciating the view, because the faster Tony mixed, the more he wiggled his butt, something Tony wasn't aware of, but Steve knew and found very attractive.

***

"Steve, let's get hot-dogs!"

"Sure," Steve agreed, taking a stroll with Tony around the park, seeing the cart in the distance. It was a calm, sunny day, the air was crisp and Tony looked very elegant in navy blue coat paired with some slacks and sport shoes, giving it a casual look. Steve didn't look too shabby either, in a faux leather jacket in brown color, jeans, and a white shirt. Wherever they went, the superhusbands couple, as the press named them, was always attracting attention, but this day differed from others. Meaning, they attracted even more attention. Especially Tony. During their walk, Tony already heard a couple of 'yeah, Iron Man!' which made him smile and wave to whoever shouted it, and while it was sweet, Steve couldn't help to think that everyone around him knew something he didn't.

"Steve, what topping you want?"

"Oh," Steve blinked, too deep in his thoughts to notice that they reached the hot-dog cart, "um, mustard and ketchup, please," he said to the mustached man running the cart.

"Traditionalist," Tony complained about Steve's basic choice and started placing his order, enlisting almost every topping and sauce available.

"Please give him extra napkins. Or a bib," Steve said to the seller, and the guy laughed friendly, while Tony scoffed and playfully pushed at Steve's shoulder.

Maybe he was just being paranoid. People always talked about him and Tony and today was no different. Tony thanked for the hot-dogs and paid, and they resumed walking. Steve held his regular looking hot-dog, while Tony measured every bite, trying to get all the avocado, salsa and sliced jalapeños in his mouth, without getting it all over his clothes, while still holding hands with Steve and watching it, Steve felt somehow calm and happy. Being with Tony really made him happy.

"You seriously need a bib," Steve pointed out in good humor, biting his hot-dog and observing Tony struggle with his food and failed attempts to eat neatly.

***

"Babe..."

"Hm?"

"Don't you think it was kinda weird today?"

"What, why?" Tony leaned against Steve's bare chest, rubbing hand cream over his hands. All the work with heavy machinery and different machine oils and greases was drying his skin and Tony used to rub a ridiculous amount of moisturizing cream into his hands each time before going to sleep.

"I don't know," Steve frowned, lifting his arm so Tony could fit better into him. He pulled the covers over them and sunk into the bed, making himself more comfortable. Overall, it was a nice day, just something felt odd. "People kept staring at us."

"People always stare at us," Tony smiled patiently. That wasn't anything new, and Tony thought that Steve already got used to their public status.

"Yeah, but - it was different today," Steve thought out loud, stroking Tony's arm with his thumb. Usually, people flocked to them, trying to initiate small talk, ask for autographs. Today, it was only staring. As if everyone made some silent agreement to give them some privacy, while just observing. It was eerier than openly going crazy over them. "You even got donuts for free," Steve pointed out.

"Yeah," Tony laughed, sounding embarrassed. After they had eaten hot-dogs, Tony had a craving for something sweet and talked Steve into visiting his favorite donut place. He was a regular and usually his order was prepared even before he had placed it and today a smiley girl handed him a box, saying that it was on the house. Tony had a rule of not accepting free stuff, but the smiley girl, who turned out to be the manager, insisted. Begrudgingly, Tony had agreed, not to cause a scene, but had left a generous tip, which was more than enough to cover three boxes of donuts. "I kinda feel bad about it. But the donuts were good, right?"

"Yeah, they were," Steve agreed, not quite satisfied with the answer. The day was ending, and he still had more questions than answers.

"Alright, I see that's something is bothering you. And you know what is good for that?"

If Steve had hope for some explanations, he was quickly proven wrong, once Tony rolled on his side and put a leg over Steve's thighs, straddling him. Warm hands resting on his chest and Tony moved in closer, evoking some heat in lower parts of Steve's body.

If he couldn't get any answers, it was the best way to silence his brain.

Until Tony's overly moisturized hands slipped on his skin, and Tony instead of leaning in intimately, fell forward, headbonking their foreheads and temporarily blinding Steve with pain, while both screamed.

"Ow," Tony rolled down, massaging his forehead, "okay, that wasn't how I planned it," he admitted, hissing the words out.

Steve shook his head, getting the shocked feeling out of his system. He growled and threw himself over Tony, who squeaked in self-defense and started laughing, laughing some more until Steve kissed him quiet, planning to make his boyfriend loud again later.

And it was sweet again.

***

The mystery resolved itself the next day when a colorful cover of a magazine got in Steve's line of sight while he had been standing in a queue to the cash register in his regular supermarket. It was one of those gossiping magazines, ones Steve usually paid no mind, but the photo on the cover was of him and Tony and it was a recent one, snapped yesterday. The headline, written in bold letters, sounded absurd at first, but the more Steve focused on it, the more it made sense and he felt as if someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on him. He had grabbed the magazine, paid for the groceries, and hurried out, different feelings brewing in him and making his steps heavier.

Shock. Anger. Betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

Tony's shoulders jumped when a colorful magazine fell on his lap, covering his tablet and interrupting his work time back in the Avengers Tower. He quickly scanned the covers, seeing himself and Steve, holding hands and walking down the sidewalk, chatting and smiling at each other, Tony holding a paper bag with the box of free donuts. It wasn't the worst picture, they both looked happy and in love, but it was when Tony saw the headline and understood the snappy tone.

'Tony Stark celebrating his birthday with Captain America on the streets of New York'.

Exclusive material. Of course.

Tony carefully lifted his eyes, meeting Steve's judging look. The way Steve crossed his arms below his chest and furrowed his eyebrows made him look intimidating but also pronounced his biceps and chest and the clenched teeth gave nice definition to his jawline. Unfairly attractive.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," Tony blurted out, feeling only minimally sorry. For him, birthday wasn't that grand. True, back in the days, he liked to throw big parties, but since he joined the Avengers, calm days were rare, and he was happy to spent his birthday calmly, just with Steve.

"Not a big -" Steve raised his voice, stopping himself on time, when Tony cocked his head to the side, sending his boyfriend a quizzical look. With a sigh, Steve closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish you had told me," Steve admitted, more mad at himself than at Tony. Definitely more mad at himself. How he could not know that it had been his boyfriend's birthday? He saw Tony's SHIELD file and his birth date was right there, in front of his nose, how he could skip it? He was supposed to have a photographic memory and even memorized Tony's social security number, which was the easiest combination of numbers in the world and it was a true puzzle how someone as intelligent as Tony couldn't remember the combination of nine digits.

"Baby, it's fine-"

"No, Tony it's - It was your first birthday since we started dating and we didn't even do anything special," Steve continued, frustration and embarrassment clear in his voice.

"Well, if that counts, I think yesterday was pretty great."

"You do?" Steve opened his eyes, seeing Tony smiling warmly at him.

"Yeah. We ate breakfast together, went for a walk, got hot-dogs and donuts, and had sex," Tony listed, counting on his fingers and showing five of them, "that hits every mark of great birthday in my notebook."

Steve's eyes softened. It was a relief to hear that Tony saw yesterday like that, but Steve still felt that they could do something better and more memorable. But as long as his boyfriend was happy...

"You just didn't tell me, because you didn't want me to have my revenge," Steve pointed out in humor, feeling relieved about his screw up and sat on the couch next to his boyfriend.

"Revenge?"

"For my birthday. You hired two girls in Captain America USO girl's costumes to follow me around and sing 'The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan' for the whole day."

Tony laughed, remembering that day well and how embarrassed Steve had tried to lose the girls, who were surprisingly fast on their high heels. They had even followed Steve to the bathroom, singing their hearts out in front of the closed door, something Tony had to pay extra for.

"They were two actresses in training and did a great job. I am sure that it boosted their CVs," Tony giggled, unbothered by Steve's unamused look. "Besides, what revenge? We were not dating back then!"

"Oh, so you think that I forgave you all the things you did to me just because we are dating now?" Steve asked, lips curling into a smile.

"I thought that since you started to find me pretty, I got a clean slate," Tony smiled, sounding smug.

"I found you pretty back then too. Pretty annoying!" Steve summed up before Tony could get too smug. There were no hurt feelings, just Tony bursting into laughter again. One of the prettiest sounds in Steve's opinion. "Hey," Steve took his boyfriend's hand, trying to get Tony's attention and end the laughing fit. "Can I at least wish you a happy birthday now?" he asked. It was delayed, but Steve really would like to do that.

"Sure," Tony smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. To make it sweeter, Steve moved in closer and cupped Tony's chin, locking their lips in a delicate kiss. Sweet and simple and full of love.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," Steve whispered when the kiss ended, looking into Tony's brown eyes with all adoration he had for his man.

Tony smiled, eyes and nose scrunching with the movement, his face having that happy, soft glow that showed on Tony's face only during special moments. "Thank you," Tony said, going in for more kisses.

[orionwhispers]

Beware Of The Dogs - Part III

(A/N - here she is lads, part 3 of BOTD, there will be one more part after this! sorry for any mistakes i am half asleep and cba to double check everything. pls let me know if you enjoyed it, you are my world.)

Part I

Part II

The winter was cold, and you often felt as if the frost might swallow you whole, but one look at Alfie and your heart thawed and melted into a puddle. The weeks passed by quickly, a mixture of tangled bodies, muffled giggles, soft touches and Alfie made sure to lay his claim on you like footprints of pure snow. You were entranced by one another, devouring each other in a sickly sweet way that no one who knew Alfie would ever believe, he’d bark orders and pistol whip a man at work, then come home to you and touch you like your body was made of glass, like you were the most precious thing that he had ever seen.

You were tentative at first, dipping your toe into the waters of your relationship, timid and apprehensive, not wanting to accidentally push him away. You had never done anything like this before, and you were treading lightly, not wanting to break the surface and plunge into the deep, losing everything you held dear. You spent weekdays working with your head down, trying to avoid the distractions of a certain man that lingered in your brain for far longer than he should. Alfie told you his house was always open for you, and you sincerely believed him, but you couldn’t stop the nagging thought inside of you that you should keep your distance for a while.

Alfie was not a man of grand gestures or sentences that weren’t filled with expletives, but he realised that he liked having you around, he loved seeing you on a Sunday after you had spent the night and he had to rush to the office to sort whatever shit had gone wrong in his absence. He loved coming home when the sky was still blue and you were curled in his armchair, wearing nothing but his shirt, Cyril curled at your feet, the whole room smelling of you. He loved the way you looked at him when he came through the door, happiness and concern in your eyes, asking him about his day, genuinely caring about his answer. He could tell you were hesitant, the way that you declined his offers to stay the night on a working day, how on a Sunday you would take everything home with you, no toothbrush left beside his as a token of your presence, no clothes in his drawer that made his smell like wildflowers and honey.

The next Monday as you strolled into work with tired eyes and a soft smile, you rummaged in your pockets for your notebook, frowning when you instead pulled out an envelope. Inside was a key with a note attached, scrawled with broken handwriting that simply said,

“In case you miss Cyril.”

The gift was so small but the gesture was so grand, a token that contained an unspoken promise, that he wanted you around, and he trusted you.

He got antsy quickly, his own worries prickling into his skull like bullets. He was paranoid, convinced that someone would take away the treasure he had finally found. He tried walking you home after work every day, leaving his workers watching with curious glances as their boss who usually stayed until well after midnight was rushing out as soon as the clock struck five. He’d wait outside your office, far enough away that he wouldn’t be noticed by prying eyes, but close enough that he could observe the street and those who walked it. The first few times it was sweet, tugging on your heart strings that he cared enough to escort you back to your flat, but it wasn’t long before you were greeting him with an exasperated smile and a roll of your eyes.

“Alf, I’m a big girl, I can walk home by myself.” You’d say, standing on your tiptoes and planting a syrupy kiss on his jaw in an attempt to disarm him, letting him know you weren’t upset but remaining firm on your viewpoint.

“No girl of mine, right, is going to walk the fucking back streets of London alone.” He replied, trying to stop himself from buckling at the tiny kisses you were smothering him in, he had barely been without you for eight hours and yet he craved you like a cigarette. He tried his best to stay unwavering, knowing that it would be completely counterproductive in his attempts to keep you safe and out of sight, but he couldn’t help the hot desire to take you into the back alley and have you up against the wall.

“Alfie.” You sighed, running your fingers across his face and cradling his jaw so that your eyes met, “You’re so thoughtful, but I don’t need an bodyguard every night. Besides, it’s hardly the back streets, this is one of the safest parts of town.” You knew that you were being stubborn, but you wouldn’t budge, you finally found some freedom and you weren’t going to go back to being followed, you needed your independence, and even your feelings for Alfie wouldn't change that.

He grumbled something that you couldn’t quite comprehend but you took it for a begrudging agreement, watching the way his hat tilted with the movements of his head. You kissed him in thanks, smiling when he pushed back against you playfully, reminding you of a child that didn’t get their own way.

“But you better call me OK? When you get in, to let me know that you haven’t bloody tripped on the ice or fallen down a drain or something.”

You rolled your eyes once more, nodding sarcastically at his relentlessness.

You’d work on it.

————————————————————

You fell into a routine, something so beautifully romantic that it almost made you nauseous. You laughed more than you had in years, drank rum until you saw stars and talked about everything and nothing until the sun rose and the birds whistled. The streets belonged to him and now so did you, his power and authority evident whenever he walked into a room, and you admired him, longing for the sparks that lit up your skin whenever he touched you.

On Sundays he made bread. You’d watch him, legs curled up and hazy eyes following him under the morning sunlight. He’d make thick sourdough and rich rolls filled with and seeds he’d purchased from the foreign market by the river. He rarely spoke, history hands moving expertly, kneading and folding and rolling the dough, it seemed so intimate, a side of him that he never showed the outside world, and you felt privileged to witness it.

The soft glow of daybreak would illuminate his features, making the usually burly man look soft and gentle, something that made your stomach do cartwheels. The kitchen would be filled with the smell of sweet and comforting warm bread, flour covering his hands and the surfaces, white fingerprints like marks in the snow. When it was done he’d tear off the dough with his hands, smothering it with jam and butter and handing it to you, oblivious to the teasing glint in your eye.

He’d make enough for the whole week, wrapping loaves in brown paper for you to take home, your whole flat smelling like him and tantalising warmth. You’d smile to yourself at lunchtime as you sat behind your small desk, Alfie ingrained in your mind as you took a bite of your sandwich, thoughts of him occupying your days rather than the paperwork that sat incomplete beside you.

By Saturday, whatever was left would be fed to the ducks in Regent Park. You’d stand by the edge of the pond, tearing the crust from the stale loaves and tossing them towards the mallards and geese that danced by your feet. Alfie would watch, a wide smile gracing his face as he watched you squeal like a child when a swan lunged towards you, ivory coloured neck thrusting towards the goods in your palm. Cyril would get overexcited, ignoring Alfie’s stern words and your pleas as he leapt into the water, the birds scattering and cawing in distress, icy droplets soaking you both. Alfie would pull you under his arm, laughing into your hair and swearing at the dog that bounded by your feet once again, shaking his wet fur and drenching the both of you.

You’d return home, your clothes wet and your feet cold, barely pulling your boots and stockings off before Alfie hoisted you over his shoulder, not caring about the inevitable pain on his lower back that would come tomorrow, only focused on dragging you upstairs and having you underneath him and warming you both up. The fire would flicker and the logs that had been left in the damp would hiss and tear from the heat, crackling like gunfire around the small room. You’d be in his arms, skin to skin, his fingers tracing the length of your spine, your chin resting on his torso.

You covered apple slices with cinnamon and sugar, baking them into rich pies and eating them cross legged by the fireplace, your head in the crook of his neck. Mornings were filled with sweet coffee and baked bread and the evenings were spent with drives at sunset, the city lights illuminating your skin, his cockney accent rough in your ear, his laughter infectious. You felt like nothing could dull your high, the rush that overtook you like a wave, dragging you under the surf, Alfie the reason that you felt electricity in your veins, but at as always, something shattered the perfect bubble you had created, shards of glass lying at your feet.

It was a Wednesday, and you were in Alfie’s cottage having spent the better part of a week curled up with him already, any attempts to go back to your flat were fruitless as Alfie would pull you back under him, mumbling excuses that were pitiful but more than enough to persuade you to stay. You were making a thank you dinner, using up whatever baffling ingredients Alfie had in his cupboards and some fresh meat and vegetables you had purchased on your way home from work. You were slicing carrots, careful not to nick your finger as you simultaneously studied a cookbook, and tried to keep Cyril from stealing any stray food.

You heard the moan of the front door and the familiar clatter of boots on the tiling, your heart pounding at the noise.Cyril immediately left your side, bounding into the hallway to greet the man he loved the most. You heard the commotion, the dogs soft whines and Alfie’s appreciative grunts, the thump of his cane on the floor as he walked through the foyer.

“Dove?”

“In here!” You called, glancing quickly at the clock, “You’re home early!” You felt his presence and spun around, your eyes meeting.

“Yeah, I’ve had a shit fucking day right, but er...” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close, his pupils flicking to your lips, his mouth upturned, “It’s a lot better now.” You started to roll your eyes at his cheesy line but couldn’t as he dragged you closer, pressing his lips onto yours, his hands roaming over your body. The feel of you enough to temporarily wipe the anger from his brain, allowing himself moments of peace from his battling thoughts.

You pushed him off you quickly as you heard the pot overheat, flames rising and water bubbling from the surface. You swore, turning down the gas and grabbing a cloth, wiping down the counters and trying to restore order in your once peaceful workstation. Alfie watched as you rummaged around the pantry, and he pulled the lid from the pot, looking down at the potatoes boiling inside.

He clicked his tongue, “What’s all this, pet?” He asked, a teasing hint to his words.

“It was supposed to be a nice dinner, but someone came home early and ruined the surprise.” You said, swatting him with the tea towel in your hands.

“Isn’t that sweet.” He winked in jest, but you knew that he was beyond grateful for your gesture “Well, it smells fucking good, right, you ever thought of becoming a chef?” He asked playfully, swiping a carrot and dodging as you went to hit him again.

“I tried, but all the restaurants turned me down,” You teased, “I was far too overqualified.”

He laughed, resting at the table, legs askew and shirt untucked, a stark contrast to how he left in the morning. You continued cutting, the rhythmic sound of the knife was just enough to ease the tension in the air. You could see the cogs in Alfie’s head whirring, and noticed the psoriasis on the sides of his face were inflamed, something that you had come to realise happened from stress.

“What’s got you all in a tizzy?” You murmured, turning to look at him, his features illuminated in the dim light.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” He cleared his throat, extending a leg and playing with the salt shakers on the table, letting a few grains hit the ground like fallen snow. “Just these stupid fuckin’ gypsies right, think they fucking run the joint.”

Your heart stopped, feeling like all your blood had drained from your body, like you had completely deflated inside. You regained your composure and mentally slapped yourself, inhaling and exhaling quietly, trying to regulate your breathing. There are plenty of “gypsies” around, you told yourself, drilling it into your skull, pleading to the universe and hoping it wouldn’t be so cruel.

Alfie was oblivious to your inner turmoil, too caught up in his own anger to notice you quietly steaming, “Coming in to my territory, acting like big fucking men?” He laughed, “And you wanna know the worst of it?”

You let out some kind of strangled noise of agreement, covering it with a cough, focusing on cutting and slicing, cutting and slicing, anything to take you away from the conversation.

“Tommy fucking Shelby, wanting to do business with me? Ha! What a fucking liberty!”

The knife went through your finger.

You yelped under your breath, watching crimson bubble and pool onto the chopping board, the stinging relentless, but no match for the dread rising in your stomach. You hissed and covered the wound with a tea towel, wrapping it so tight that your fingers grew numb. Alfie’s head perked up at the distraction, spotting the blood travelling down your hand and he jumped at the sight, standing next to you in an instant.

“Oh fuck. What the hell happened, Pet?” He covered your palm with his, his eyes full of concern and surprise and you fumbled out an excuse, practically tripping over your words.

“The knife slipped. I don’t know how it happened but the knife...” You stopped, and Alfie pulled you over to the table, sitting you down on a chair and gently inspecting the gash on your hand.

He clicked his tongue, yanking on the chain around his neck and looking down at you through his glasses, under any other circumstances you would have giggled at the sight, but right now you just felt sick.

“Right, well. The good news is I won’t have to amputate, but the bad news is it looks pretty fucking deep, no worry though dove, I’ve got some bandages and whatnot somewhere, I’ll get you fixed up, good as new.”

His fingers clasped around your face, gently pulling you to look at him, you tried your best to act nonchalant but your entire body had lost feeling, you felt like you were watching yourself through the window. He dragged his forefinger across your cheek, stroking it softly and looking at you with round, caring eyes.

“Bloody hell, Pet. You look peaky. Let me get you some chocolate or something, how about some rum?”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the hall, rummaging around and muttering under his breath. Cyril approached and laid his head on your lap, sighing and nudging you with his nose. You stroked him absentmindedly, clenching your wounded hand and feeling the blood trickle down your palm. The pot bubbled and hissed, overflowing with hot water once more, but you left it to boil over, your mind completely elsewhere.

That night you hardly ate, Alfie watching you like a hawk as you pushed peas around your plate, flattening them under your fork and watching them explode. You had completely lost your appetite, your mind filled with dark clouds, panic settling in your gut. Alfie asked if you were alright, and you once again lied to him, saying that work had been overwhelming and that the sight of blood made you feel faint. He accepted your words but you could tell he didn’t quite believe them.

He told you to stay, he wanted you next to him so he could check you were okay. You pushed back, hazy excuses that you had an early start and you needed a good nights sleep, Alfie just swallowed your words, nodding his head. He drove you home, one hand on the wheel and the other just grazing your thigh, as if he was anchoring himself to you ever so slightly, not willing you to drift into the tide that was fast approaching.

You kissed him, softly, on the side of his mouth, not allowing yourself the maddening feel of his lips against yours. You pulled away quickly and he felt as if he had been scalded, your eyes met for the briefest of seconds but you looked away, ashamed.

“Goodnight, Alfie.”

With that you left, bundling yourself in your coat and darting up the stairs to your flat, not looking back because you knew it would break your heart. You slipped into your home, bare and cold and empty from the days you had spent beside Alfie rather than in your own bed. You crawled under your duvet and pulled it over your head, letting a tsunami of warm hot tears rush over your face, leaving you gasping for breath.

Alfie looked at your front door, his foot hovering over the pedals. His tongue was between his teeth, biting down just hard enough that he could start to taste metal. He wondered if he should follow you, bang on the door and demand for you to speak to him, not leaving until he got the truth and you were back under his arm. He dealt with problems methodically and systematically, he knew how to work as a business man, and there was rarely a puzzle he couldn’t solve. But now he was dealing with emotions, trying to stop the flare up of anger that usually approached when something wasn’t going his way, trying to navigate the magnetic pull you had forced on him, and for the first time in a long time he felt out of his depth, unsure of his next move. He pressed down on the clutch, the car rolling forward, the headlights shining on the cobbles.

Fucking women.

—————————————————————

For the next few weeks, you avoided Alfie like the plague. You loathed yourself for your actions, you knew you were being pathetic and childish and cruel, but it was so much easier than facing him.

Tommy had been here. In London. In Camden.

He had sat across the table from the man whose bed you had been sleeping in for the past few months, and had tried to make a business deal with him. Everywhere Tommy went trouble followed, which meant that now Alfie was going to be swept up in the storm that seemed to only occur around your family.

Above anything else you wanted to tell Alfie the truth. He deserved that more than anything, you knew that, but the words crumbled before you could ever get them out, even when you were practising in front of a mirror. The truth was, no matter how you explained your actions to Alfie, if any of your brothers caught wind of the fact that you were in London, you would be driven back to Birmingham before you could even blink. If anyone found out who your siblings were, what they were capable of, they would use you as a way to get to them, the same way they had threatened to your whole life.

You couldn’t risk Alfie getting hurt because of you, fraternising with a Shelby would put a target on his back and a bullet in his head. You didn’t care about yourself, you had been dealing with your own bounty since the Blinders had been formed, but you refused to let him get dragged down with you. There was also the nagging thought that if you came clean to Alfie, he would accuse you of being a mole or a rat, accuse you of working undercover for your brothers and simply using him, and the mere thought made your eyes prickle with tears.

You couldn’t tell him the truth because it was too dangerous but it also wasn’t fair to keep lying and stringing him along like some kind of puppet. So you did the only thing that made sense to you, which was to distance yourself from the man you were falling for, and once again you felt utterly, entirely alone.

You arrived at work early, surviving off of coffee infused with milk and sugar and you made sure you were the last to leave, only when the sky was dark enough that you could hide in the shadows. You only saw him in the flesh once, waiting outside of your flat after five days of no contact, you darted back to the office, inviting your friend Mary out for dinner, spending the night at hers instead. You were a coward. The phone had finally stopped ringing, you didn’t sit on edge behind your desk wondering about surprise visits or impromptu meetings. You knew that it was easier if he hated you, but that didn’t stop the ache in your gut at the feeling of him not by your side.

It was a Wednesday when you noticed things were amiss. You were playing with your food, peeling off the crust from your toast as you sat curled up on your windowsill, cold feet pressed against the radiator. Watching the stars was a distraction from the pity party that seemed to happen whenever you were alone, and you traced the constellations with your finger, your eyes growing blurry and you dragged them to the pavement to try and clear them,

You noticed the car again.

It had been there since you had left for work in the morning. It wasn’t one of the other tenants, all of their vehicles were lined up haphazardly below, and this car seemed far too swanky for the postal code you lived in. You moved slightly out of view, shielding yourself behind the curtains as you looked down. You could just about make out the silhouette of a man sat behind the steering wheel, eyes trained on your building. You glanced at the front door, doubling checking that the chain was still across, bolting it shut, and then you grabbed the curtains and pulled them closed, the whole room going black.

By morning it was gone, but it still left you unnerved, so much so that as you walked to work you swore you were being followed, you felt as though you constantly had eyes on you. You sat through work with a twisted stomach, wondering if you had been caught out, in the evening you darted home, slipping through back alleys to get to your flat, but still the feeling never left.

On Friday you took the morning off, walking to the markets to buy breakfast and to try and not to let your anxiety get the better of you. The air was frigid, light rain dancing on the wind and leaving tiny droplets on your clothes, you shivered into your coat and tried not to think about what you really wanted to warm you up instead. You avoided the bread. If it was warm and soft and came out of an oven you steered clear of it, turning your gaze to the fruit and the small jars of handmade jam.

Once again, as you mulled over apricot or raspberry marmalade, you could feel the heat of an unwavering stare on your back. The hairs on your neck stood on end, and you tried to casually look over your shoulder to catch a glance of who was watching you so intently, you only saw it for a split second, a hint of black that darted into the crowds as soon as you saw it, but it was something. You put down the pots, slowly walking towards where you knew the stalls thinned and the streets narrowed, hoping you would get a definitive answer as to whether you were actually being followed.

Down an alley, through an open garden and finally behind a fence, you stood completely still, waiting for the telltale echo of footsteps following you. The figure was moving quickly and you could hear him groan in frustration, and as soon as he passed you, you leapt from your hiding spot and grasped him by the shoulder.

“Ollie?!” You yelped, recognising the young boy immediately. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Me? What about you?” He replied, shrugging you off and straightening his coat, gesturing to the empty alley you were stood in.

You scoffed, “Have you been following me?”

He didn’t answer, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than the conversation you were dying to have. You poked his shoulder gently, suddenly having a rush of memories of teasing Finn in the exact same way.

“Look, in my defence you weren’t supposed to find out.”

“Yeah, you did a really good job of hiding it.” You said sarcastically. “Why were you even doing it? I thought you were -” You stopped, not allowing yourself to continue and potentially dig an even deeper hole for yourself.

He rubbed the back of his neck, pursing his lips. “Alfie wanted to keep an eye on you.”

“An eye on me?” You repeated, demeanour faltering. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He just wanted to make sure that you, you know... were okay.”

“Well that’s not his job.” Your voice raised, suddenly feeling extreme deja vu.

“Well he’s been doing it for months now so I didn’t think you would mind.” He retorted, pitch matching your own.

“Months?” You were shocked, mostly at the fact that you had been so oblivious, the only explanation was that you had been so dizzyingly infatuated with Alfie that your mind had been completely clouded.

“Yeah, but can you blame him?”

“Well I...”

“Look, it’s none of my business but, you knew what you were getting involved with. I mean, he told you about what he does didn’t he?”

“Yeah, I know, but...” You trailed off once again.

“So, why is it so bizarre that he wants to make sure you don’t get hurt?”

“It’s not bizarre. I just don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Just because you had a falling out doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

You raised a brow, genuinely curious. “A falling out? Is that what he said?”

“Well, not exactly, he’s not a man of many words.” He stated and you nodded, “I don’t know what happened between you but Alfie, he’s... I’ve known him for a long time and I’ve never seen him like this, it’s strange and honestly I’m a little worried.” His face paled, “Don’t tell him I said that.”

You smiled softly, but your heart was pounding in your ears at his words. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

Ollie shrugged. “All I know is that for the past two weeks he’s been upset about something.” He lifted his hand for you to inspect, three of his fingers wrapped in gauze. “Yesterday he nearly amputated my hand because an order hadn’t been filled, and that was him on a better day.”

You shifted. You felt uncomfortable under Ollie heated gaze, but you had no explanation or reasoning to give him because you truly didn’t have anything that would explain your behaviour.

“I’m sure whatever he did, he’s sorry for, but like I said, he’s not a man of many words.”

“He didn’t do anything.” You admitted.

“Then why are you not with him?”

“It’s not as simple as that.” You gestured with your hands, trying to convey all the emotions in your decision, but it was clear Ollie didn’t agree.

“Isn’t it?”

You sat behind your desk, sucking on a boiled sweet you had found at the bottom of your purse, the caramel flavour a pleasant distraction from the stress migraine brewing behind your eyes. You had barely done any work since returning to the office, instead dawdling and ringing your hands, running over different scenarios in your head.

The truth was you missed Alfie. When it came down to it, you truly missed him. You missed his voice, his hand in yours, the way that his arm cradled around your body as if it had been carved there. You missed his lips, the weight of his hips against yours, the intimacy you had never had with anyone else. You missed his wit, the pads of his fingers and the wiry hair around his mouth, your cold skin missed the warmth of his fireplace and your fingertips missed the feel of his scars and his tattoos under you.

You missed Cyril.

You stayed until long after you should have gone home, you told your colleagues you wanted to call some clients before you left, but instead you sat in silence. Before you knew what you were truly doing, you grabbed your coat and purse and ran through the front door, locking it quickly and making your way down the streets.

The bakery was still filled with workers, steam rose all around you and the smell of sweet bread was all too familiar and all too heartbreaking. A few eyes snapped up to you as your heels clacked against the floor, but as soon as they reached you they fell back to the floor, nobody lingering on you for too long. You passed them without thought, hurrying down the stairs and into the warehouse below. It was dark, the lights were dull and the heavy machines around you hissed and spat, it was much quieter down here and you knew that this was off limits to the rest of the workers, Alfie only allowed people he trusted to this section of the distillery. And that had once been you.

Your footsteps were numbed by the echo of noise around you, and you paced across the floor looking for Alfie’s office, but when you found it, the door was ajar and his seat was empty. His big black coat and tall hat were still hung up, and the weather outside was much too frigid for just a shirt, so you knew he had to be lurking somewhere.

You walked past barrels and barrels of rum, roaring furnaces and crates that were bigger than you, eventually ending up in a part of the warehouse you had never seen before. At first glance it was empty, and you were so dejected you were about to leave until you heard a low grumble and a “Fuck.” from the ground that made you stop in your tracks.

Your heel rang out as it touched the floor, and the noise made Alfie’s body stiffen. He was lying underneath a copper contraption, his head completely covered, only recognisable by his stocky legs and the gold chain you could just about make out snaking from his shirt. He was screwing something together, multiple tools strewn about the floor beside him.

“Ollie? Go get me another fuckin’ wrench, boy.”

“Not Ollie.”

His head jolted up so fast he smacked it against the metal, cursing loudly once again and manoeuvring himself from under it in a swift motion that made a breath get caught in your throat, his body suddenly in front of yours.

“Right, well, I can see that now.”

He allowed his eyes to drink you in for a few seconds, relief and annoyance and hunger flashing in his pupils for the briefest of moments, before he pulled them away. He was covered in grease, staining his white shirt and the sides of his face, but he still made the words jumble inside of your mouth. He was avoiding you now, and you couldn’t blame him, he turned his back to you and started to pick up the fallen equipment, wiping them down with a rag. The tension in the air was palpable, and you hated that you were the reason for it.

“I...” You inhaled, stopping your voice from going shaky, you aren’t a child, you shouldn’t act like one. “I wanted to apologise.”

He shot you a look, curiosity and anticipation in his sapphire eyes.

“I’m sorry, Alfie. I haven’t been fair.”

You could see the darkness under his eyes, his hands were scabbed and red, evidence of a fight on his knuckles. The skin on his cheeks were flared and his hair was tousled, he looked like he hadn’t slept since you last saw him.

He remained silent and that just made you more anxious. You started rambling, not sure what your end game is but knowing that you hate the cold shoulder he’s giving you.

“I don’t have an explanation. I just... I just think I got scared.” You shook your head, pleading for your eyes to stop watering, you felt pathetic, especially as Alfie simply took in your words, no emotion on his features. “I should have told you. I shouldn’t have just left and ignored you, that wasn’t fair of me and, and... I miss you, Alfie, and I’m sorry.”

He kept fiddling with the wrench in his hands, keeping himself busy. His lack of response made your body feel rigid, but you understood. You chewed on your bottom lip, begging for him to say something but feeling unsurprised when he doesn’t. You turned on your heel, wringing your hands together, your eyes prickling and your throat thick.

“Goodbye Alfie, thank you. For everything.”

“Do you do this often then?” He said finally, you spun around, and catch the smallest sliver of a smile on his face, if you blinked you might have missed it.

“Do what?”

“Run away from your problems?”

You smiled gently, thinking of the reason you’re here in the first place. “Yeah, actually, I guess I do.”

“Right, well, that’s a habit we’ll have to work on, innit.” His voice was playful but firm, and he stepped towards you, smelling of rum and green apples and cut grass. He moved tentatively, cautiously, inches apart from you now, reminiscent of the first time you kissed, always so careful with you.

“Are you angry with me?” You asked, lips ghosting over his.

“I was, right, but how can I be? When you come in ere’ looking like that?” He looked down at you, so small under his looming frame, so angelic and ethereal against the blood that stains the floor and the sins committed in this very room. Truth be told, he had spent the last two weeks seething through his teeth, he was adamant that he never wanted to see you again. His blood had constantly been boiling, his fingers clenched and his voice snappy, but even he knew that his anger was a front for the hurt that he felt inside. He really fucking missed you, but the last thing he was going to do was trail after you like some fucking puppy, and he had made up his mind that not even you were worth the trouble, and if he ever saw you in the flesh again, he would just walk the other way.

But then he saw you again.

You had made him look like a fucking mug, and yet as you stood looking up at him through your eyelashes he realised that if you asked him to burn the distillery down he wouldn’t hesitate to light the first match. He felt like a fucking pussy, even just admitting that to himself, but you had him wrapped around one of your tiny little fingers without even trying. He brushed a loose curl behind your ear, and he knew that he would give you anything you wanted, do anything you wanted, if it meant he got to touch you like this.

“And Cyril, he misses you.” He said playfully, wanting to put an end to the pathetic thoughts in his head.

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, walking around all mopey like, with his tail between his legs.”

You met his oceanic eyes.“I missed him too.”

He smiled, his fingers trailing along the edge of your jaw, manipulating your movements. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to your own, wanting to convey more in his kiss than he could ever say out loud. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you backwards, your feet grazing his own. Your back met the cool metal behind you and it made you momentarily gasp. He caged you in with his arms, teasing kisses across your lips, having to stop himself from moaning at such a simple act.

He glanced down at you, eyes flickering over your features. You’re both dazed and drunk and he says the only words that come to mind when he looks at you.

“So fucking pretty.”

You blushed, leaning to hide your face in his neck but he stops you, full of lust and hungry, smashing your lips together, your teeth clashing in the frenzy. You let out a groan, and his hands ran along your body, suddenly hoisting you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. You want to tell him to stop, scold him about hurting his back, but you can’t do anything other than fall onto him.

“Alfie.” You giggle, his lips all over you, possessive and wanting and greedy, desperate for the feel of you after so long. “Alfie, what if someone sees?”

“They won’t, but if anyone comes down I’ll shoot the bastard, alright?”

You laughed in reply, but he’s being sincere, he wants to be the only person to see you this way. He laid his claim on your neck, marking you in such a primal way, it’s hardly been two weeks and yet he’s devouring you like it’s been years. He isn’t stupid, he knows that there is a queue of men that would kill to be in his position, and the thought spurs him on, the mere idea of another mans hands on you is enough to drive him insane.

You try to be rational, try to muster up the strength and be the bigger person and remind yourself about the mess you are in, but you can’t, not when Alfie is kissing you and touching you and making you feel the way he does. You couldn’t avoid him, that much was certain. He had a hold on you, tight like a collar around your throat, one that you couldn’t shake loose. Your plan had been smashed to smithereens the moment you stepped inside the warehouse, if you were stronger you would stop him and tell him everything, but instead you just let his hands wander up your thighs, his lips silencing you.

Winter passed in a blur of snow and ice and naked trees, Spring finally arriving in blooming flowers and blue skies and newborn lambs. Everything fell back into place the way you left it, your lives separate in the streets but always connecting at dusk, linked together under the stars. Alfie hadn’t even mentioned the dreaded Shelby name in months, his business booming and dealing with the coppers in his own city rather than worrying about the gang up north. From what you gathered Tommy hadn’t tried to get in contact with Alfie since the first meeting, and you counted your blessings every day.

You were swept off your feet with ecstasy. Your job was going brilliantly, you had made new friends, ones that slotted in perfectly with your new life. They never questioned your past, just happy to dance and drink and laugh with you. But it was Alfie who crafted the smile that seemed to constantly be on your face, it was him who made you snort with laughter and sigh with happiness. Your days and nights were filled with mutual obsession, engulfing you both like a riptide. He brought you out of your shell and you brought him to his knees, rendering him completely weak at just the sight of you.

The days soon heated up, your skirts become shorter and Alfie’s eyes wandering higher, which led to you almost always being late for work. You spent nearly every night in Alfie’s cottage, sharing dinner and stories and a bed. Alfie had mentioned on three separate occasions, that perhaps it would be easier if you just moved in with him or as he so delicately put it, “Most of your shit is here anyway, why not just bring it all, eh?” Even though his words were teasing you knew he meant it, and Alfie wasn’t the type of man to do things on a whim, but every time he brought it up, you refused.

As much as you wanted to spend every moment with Alfie, your flat was the one thing you had ever owned, and it felt like a token of freedom for you. You compromised however, by filling up one of his spare drawers with your favourite dresses and skirts, and putting your night cream and perfume on his basin. He noticed them almost immediately when he came home and made a spectacle of pretending to trip over the heels you had placed next to his work boots, and moaning about the clutter. But you saw the gleam in his eye and the way he pulled you impossibly closer when you both crawled into bed.

The truth almost came out on a Friday.

It was the peak of summer, when the air was so thick and warm it was like swallowing honey. Your hair was pinned back, droplets of sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, your small office suffocating you. Your fingers darted across the typewriter, pen in between your teeth as you tried to remember your train of thought, your mind clouded from the heat. Three sharp knocks on the door made you jolt, biting down on the metal in your mouth and splattering ink across the table, you swore quietly, murmuring a flustering and incoherent “Come in!” as you tried to clear the mess.

You looked up, noticing Jenny, Edmund’s assistant. You smiled, but faltered slightly at her bemused expression.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes! Er... Edmund said you can leave early.”

You paused, resting on your elbows as your eyes flickered down her face for any kind of explanation, but she continued looking at you expectantly, wringing her hands together like a child.

“Have I done something wrong?” You asked, suddenly feeling your palms sweat and throat constrict, your mind racing to whatever mistake you could have possibly made.

“No!” She said, almost tripping over her words to reassure you, something slightly out of character for the usually demure woman. “Everything is fine! He says you deserve some time off.”

“Right, well,” you continued, “That’s very kind of him, but I have so much work to finish and...”

“No he insists! He says to take a long weekend, come back on Tuesday!”

“What?” Before you could even question her properly, she left, the door creaking from the speed of her movements. You sighed, placing your head in your hands and running your fingertips through your hair, desperate for the relief of the air. Half of you wondered if you should ignore Edmund, his bizarre gesture surely having some kind of motive you weren’t sure you wanted to know, but the other half of you longed to leave the confines of your desk.

You pursed your lips, ignoring the mounds of paperwork beside you and smiling gently, thinking of all the things you could do with Alfie with your newfound free time. You considered stopping by the bakery as you folded your things into your purse, wondering if you should visit the deli he liked and treat him to lunch, but as soon as you left the intensity of the office, you stopped dead in the street, everything suddenly making sense.

“Mr Solomons” you scolded gently, unable to fight the smile that graced your features at the mere sight of the man.

His car was askew on the opposite side of the street, expensive and glossy against the cobbled stones below. Cyril’s large head was lolling out of the window, his tail thumping against the front seats as he spotted you.

“Rosie.” Alfie greeted, with a toothy smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. He looked happy, his hair was loose and he was in a white cotton shirt, his gold rings glinting under the light of the sun.

You practically skipped towards him, your skirt bouncing to your knees, air whipping around your legs. He leant out of the window, swinging his arm and coiling around your waist, pulling you close. He grinned as he kissed you, not caring about the people that might see, his mouth hot and his clothes smelling of patchouli and sandalwood.

“Alfie. What on earth did you say to my boss?” You asked with a playful, quirked brow. You toyed with a ringlet in his hair, Cyril whining in the backseat, the big dog desperate for your attention.

“What? What makes you think I said something?”

“Well, the fact I was just offered a long weekend for the first time since I started is quite telling.”

“And that means, right, that I had something to do with it?” He replied incredulously, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“Alfie.”

“Fine! We had a little chat is all, just about how hard you’ve been working, and how nice it would be for a little time off.”

“Oh God,” You groaned, resting your head on his arm. “I’m going to lose my job aren’t I?”

“Fuck no, not unless he wants me to come back and have another little chat.”

You playfully slapped his shoulder, squealing when he pinched the skin on your elbow, pulling you closer.

“You gonna get in the car or what, love?”

You rolled your eyes, walking around the bonnet, Alfie shifting across the seats and holding the door open for you as you teasingly curtseyed in response. As soon as you sat down on the hot leather, the fabric sticking to your thighs, Alfie kissed you again, both of his large hands cradling your face. You giggled as you felt Cyril sniffing your ear and turned around to stroke his soft head, cooing at him as he wiggled with glee. It was then you noticed the navy trunk stuffed haphazardly in the boot, the cuff of a shirt sticking out.

“You going somewhere Alf?”

“Not just me, right. I’m not that bloody lonely, Pet.” You flicked the side of his face, and he smiled, leaning into your touch. “Besides, what would you do all by yourself, you’d be bored out of your nut, probably get into some trouble if I wasn’t around, and we can’t be having that, can we?”

“Alfie, I...” You tripped over your words when the fact that he was taking you away for the weekend sunk in, his gesture so thoughtful and kind and sweet you practically melted into a puddle but you still felt hesitant. “What about work? What about my flat? What if -”

“Here’s the thing,” He said, cutting you off, twisting the key in his hands and letting his car purr to life. “I happen to know, right, that you’re off until next Tuesday, so don’t even start, OK. I know exactly what you’re gonna say before you even say it, but don’t worry, old Alf has everything sorted. Not just a pretty face, love.”

He played with the hair above his mouth, teasing it with his hands as he navigated down the street. The sun lit the inside of the car but it was no match for the warmth in your stomach, you leant over the gear and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, leaving a pink mark in the shape of your lips. You watched as he tried not to react, but his mouth twitched ever so slightly, his eyes sparkling.

“Thank you.” You mumbled into his flesh, and he reached over and put his hand on the bare skin of your thigh, squeezing softly. You looked in the rear view mirror and at the trunk, Cyril using it as a makeshift pillow as he curled up on the seats.

“Wait. Did you pack my cardigan, Alf? You know the lavender one?”

“Well, actually, I packed everything I thought you would need, and turns out, you don’t really need a lot.” He murmured, turning the steering wheel.

“But you packed the clothes in my drawer, right?”

“Well if by clothes you mean your pretty undergarments and the like, then yeah, yeah I did.”

“Alfie!”

____________________________________

Margate was beautiful.

He had rented a house by the sea, so close you could watch the ocean waves tumble and roar from every window. You felt sand under your toes for the first time since you were a child, the grit clinging to your body and sticking to your feet. You and Alfie sat side by side on a striped towel, sharing chips and stories, you wrapped under his arm and Cyril chasing seagulls. He kissed you under the full sun, open mouthed and greedily, the beach empty for miles. You laughed when you got caught in a wave with Cyril, hoisting your skirt and dancing in the surf and Alfie swore that he would die a happy man if that was the last thing he heard.

That evening, the sun was setting, the sky a dreamy tangerine and your feet bare as you waded through the grass with your heels in your hands. You were watching the colours above you, filled with good food and warm wine as you and Alfie headed back from a restaurant, his eyes never leaving your body as you tiptoed across the fields, looking completely angelic.

“You know what you remind me of?” He said finally as you slowed down and let him meet your pace. His voice was strong amongst the chirping crickets and birds that nested in the trees above and you let it wash over you like silk.

“What?”

His arm snaked around your waist, lifting you ever so slightly off the ground, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck and nuzzling his nose across your flesh.

“One of those fuckin’ gypsies, right? You know, running around a caravan with flowers in your hair and shit?”

You felt your whole body stiffen. Your grip loosened around your shoes, but you willed yourself not to drop them. You allowed Alfie to pull you into his body, adamant not to let him realise something was wrong, you couldn’t let your nerves control you again. You could feel Alfie was about to continue so you silenced him with a kiss, taking the words straight out of his mouth and making him turn to putty in your hands as you all but dragged him back home.

That night as you both laid under rumpled bedsheets, the radio lulling a soft tune and the stars twinkling outside your open window, Alfie nudged you with his knee. He left the room and you watched with drowsy eyes, yawning into your palm. You could hear him rummaging in the hallway and you breathed in the scent of your intertwined bodies as you relaxed under the duvet, your eyes closing ever so softly.

“Ah, fuck!”

You sat up, a sleepy grin on your features as you blinked under the soft lights. “Alf? You alright?”

“Stubbed my fucking toe!”

You chuckled, falling back into your cozy cocoon just as Alfie hobbled back into the bedroom. You felt his calloused fingertips tracing along your nose and collarbone, and your eyelids fluttered open. You whined and burrowed down deeper, groaning at the distraction before squirming as he placed a cool palm on your lower stomach.

“Don’t you dare fall back asleep.” He muttered, before clearing his throat. “I got you something.”

You opened your eyes and hoisted yourself onto your elbows, “Alfie.” You said, looking him in the square in the face. “You’ve done enough already, you don’t need to give me anything.”

“Will you just be quiet and open my present?” He asked, shifting closer to you and handing you a small velvet box.

You toyed with the brass clasps, staring him down. “Alfie... I don’t deserve all this.”

“Well, we have very different opinions then, innit?”

You smiled, the thump of your heart rivalling the sounds of the waves outside your window. You pried the box open, stroking the fabric under your fingers, letting out an audible gasp as you saw what was inside. It was a gold chain with a dainty “A” charm hanging from the middle, it was simple and beautiful and you could already feel the tears prickling in your eyes. Alfie was watching you hesitantly, his fingers running in circles on your knee, the day before he had argued with a client and had a gun to his head, but he felt a million times more anxious now.

“You like it?”

You leapt over to him, straddling his waist playfully and collapsing on top of him, careful not to aggravate his back. You kissed him hard and passionately and then soft and gently, wanting to memorise his taste and feel and smell, wanting to remember the moment forever.

“I take that as a yes then?”

You pressed your nose against his and Alfie felt as if he was in heaven, he swore his heart would give out from the way it was pounding, and the dizzying effect you had on him was stronger than a line of snow. You were ethereal and radiant and more than deserving of the gold he had given you, he would rob the fucking Queen if it would make you happy. He inhaled somewhat shakily, knowing that he had to man up and just tell you the words that were currently trapped in his mouth.

“You make me feel alive.” He said, “For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe, and I...”

You felt weightless, like all the air in your lungs had turned to smoke. His features were so familiar under the light of the moon and your heart was lurching in your chest at his honesty. You could see he was struggling, he kept his feelings under lock and key most of the time but his actions spoke a million times more than his words ever could.

“I love you, too.” Four simple words, but you both exhaled with relief. This was it, the final nail in your coffin, you were his and he was yours. You kissed again, the kind that made your knees buckle and your blood rush and the world still around you, feeling like you were the only two people on the planet, feeling untouchable. You pulled away, running your finger across the chain and resting on your knees, still straddling his lap.

“Can you help me with the clasp?”

He nodded, and you turned around so that he could fasten the clasp, watching as it dangled perfectly around your neck.

“Yeah, well, this is a magic necklace right?” He said, “When you put it on, you have to take something else off.” He tugged on the end of his shirt you were wearing, shooting teasing glances at the skin underneath.

You laughed as he hooked his arms around your waist sending you toppling onto the mattress, his lips were claiming any skin he could find and hands were clumsily unfastening your buttons. You sighed and wriggled around him, your legs wrapping around him, suddenly not feeling tired at all.

The rest of the weekend was magical. The sun never seemed to stop shining, rays of light dancing across your face from morning to night. The ocean was cold and salt water followed you as you moved, sand on your scalp and grass stains on your knees. You felt like you were living out a fairytale you had dreamt of in your youth, but only a thousand times better.

You watched the sun set and rise again from the shore, your feet soaked and Alfie moaning about getting his trousers wet. You ate and drank and forced Alfie to slow dance with you on the tiles in the kitchen, pulling him close as the radio hummed, the world slowing down all around you. You shared sliced peaches on the balcony, reading a book with your legs on his lap as he rifled through the newspaper, occasionally making a snide remark about something he found particularly distasteful. You walked Cyril through the woods, his gingerbread coloured hair shining brightly, something about the open fields and lack of people making Alfie more vulnerable, talking about his childhood as you held his hand.

Even when you returned to the bustle and smog of Camden, you felt like you were floating on cloud nine. You both resumed work and fell back into your domestic routines, but the love and intimacy of your getaway still clung to you both. It was just as hot in London, perhaps more so with the bustle of people and the fumes from the factories all around you. No matter how clouded the sky could get though, you were Alfie’s own personal ray of sunshine. You were a blur of freckles and raspberries and paint stained fingers that had somehow whirled into his life, and he couldn’t believe his luck.

You made jam together, jars and jars lining the shelves, the room smelling of overripe fruit and sugar. You’d visit him at work, helping him with errands, your neat handwriting contrasting with his rushed scrawls. You’d both laugh long into the evening, the kind where you ran out of breath and your ribs ached with exhaustion, and when you finally recovered enough, you’d crawl onto his lap in the dark and watch the stars.

He was so used to being angry, he used to feel as though he had a storm cloud brewing above his head, one that followed him like a shadow. Happiness didn’t come easily to him, he liked order and control and he didn’t have time to live in a fantasy. Somehow you had shattered his illusion, completely turned his world on its axis and bent it to your will, and he didn’t have any complaints. When business got tough and his hands were bloody and raw, when nobody fucking listened to him or the sharp pains in his spine became overpowering you were the one thing that could make him feel whole again. If he ever felt lost, drifting out to sea, you would command him back to shore and he would lose himself in your light, shutting out the darkness.

Life continued at a steady, dreamy pace. You and Alfie spent almost every morning and evening together, whether you were sitting in comfortable silence or talking till the sun rose every moment spent together was bliss. You playfully bickered, he could be jealous and over protective and you could be stubborn and ditzy but you balanced one another out perfectly. You and Ollie became close friends, the young apprentice falling for your charms despite his initial hesitance. The boys at the bakery knew you, and they knew not to look for too long or sport a black eye the next day, but everyone treated you with respect and kindness.

You still had all of your privacy though. Alfie liked for you to be kept out of business for your safety and you agreed in case you got tangled up with your past, so you managed to find a balance. Alfie trusted you more than anyone, but he kept the nitty gritty details to himself, never wanting to worry you. Which is why you didn’t find out that Tommy and Alfie had kept in contact, and the two of them had tried to find a middle ground for dealing with Sabini’s men. Whilst you had been living in a blissful bubble filled with roses and sweet bread and long kisses, your brothers had been setting The Eden Club alight and slashing the faces of those who stood in their way. As you went for midnight drives, watched foreign movies at the pictures and slept in your boyfriends arms, Tommy had been striking a deal with him, the pair of you only separated by a few streets.

Everything came to a head when the leaves starting turning brown. The air was getting cooler and your socks were getting thicker and your hair was almost always tousled by the wind. You were on your way to the post office to drop off some paperwork for Edmund, but you wanted to drop by the bakery and see Alfie. You knew he had a busy week ahead with new workers and he had left some documents at the cottage that you thought might be important.

The bakery was filled with unfamiliar faces but rather than get caught in the crowd you made your way towards the back exit, hoping to catch Alfie at his desk. The machines were roaring, the air smelling of sour whisky and rich dough, you were distracted, counting the stones beneath your feet, until you heard something that made your entire body stiffen and your heart stop.

“(Y/N?)”

You hadn’t been called that in well over a year. It seemed so unfamiliar that it took you back for a few seconds, the name bringing up so much unwanted nostalgia that you almost vomited on the spot. You gathered yourself as quickly as you could, determined to find the source that had blown your cover.

You spotted him immediately, fiery red hair and pale skin, memories jolting through you like electricity. The shock made you speechless, but he filled in the silence.

“(Y/N?), fucking hell. What the fuck are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since - ”

You ran towards him, shoving your hand over his mouth and pushing him to one side. His eyes practically bugged out of his head, completely bewildered at your rudeness.

“Don’t. Please.” Was all you could muster up, the room was empty save for a few stragglers hoisting a barrel from the floor, but you couldn’t take any chances. You felt him nod under your palm, and you slowly removed it, your breathing shaky.

“Jesus. What are you doing here? Nobody’s seen you in... Tommy is going to lose his marbles.”

You shook your head, sirens roaring in your mind, your hands slick with sweat. “No, no, Billy, you can’t, please.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” His eyes hardened, “Is it Solomon’s?”

“No. It’s not what you think it’s... complicated and... I’m not in any danger, I promise.”

“How can you say that? Look at where you are!”

You could feel your perfectly crafted world start to crumble beneath your feet. If Billy Kitchen told your brothers your whereabouts there was no doubt that before nightfall you would be bundled in a car and driven back to Small Heath. You tried to come up with some kind of explanation or plan but instead your eyes fell to his waist, and you inhaled sharply at his apron.

“You work here? Oh God.”

“Tommy made a deal with Solomon’s. Bakery boys and Blinders are working together, he’s sent a bunch of us down here to deal with shipments.”

He reached out and grasped your shoulder, the severity of the situation hitting you both. Billy had always been a good friend, not just to the family but to you. He could always talk some sense into your brothers if they got too in over their heads, he was a great mediator with a kind heart, but this was all far too overwhelming.

“Listen.” You said, your voice firm. “This is my life now, I’m not the same person I was before. You can’t tell Tommy,” He looked down, shaking his head and your voice cracked. “Please, Billy, you can’t.”

“What part of ‘Fill it out and fuck off’ do these fucking gyps find so hard to understand? I mean, fuckin’ hell Ollie I - ” The sharpness of his tone cut through the air like a blade, and you pushed Billy’s arm from your shoulders and took a step back, desperate for some distance.

“Rosie?” Alfie strode towards you effortlessly, his hand snaking around your waist and pulling you into him, the motion possessive and a clear warning to Billy, whose mouth was agape, his eyes trained at yours. “What the hell are you doing here, lass?”

You could hear the slight strain in his voice, he didn’t like you wandering around the warehouse alone, he didn’t trust anybody else around you and he certainly didn’t like the redhead who was staring you down.You squeezed his palm gently, directing his attention away from Billy and towards you, trying to ease the tension.

“You left these.” You handed him the documents and his mouth twitched, determined not to show any weakness in front of his men but also thankful. You could feel Billy’s eyes practically scorching a hole into your head, your mouth was completely dry and you couldn’t feel your limbs, it was as if you were floating in the middle of the ocean.

“Well, I don’t know what the fuck Tommy Shelby does in his business but I don’t fucking pay you to stand here and gawp at my woman. Get out of my sight, Kitchen.”

There was no more hiding it. If his thumb rubbing the side of your waist wasn’t indication enough, Alfie had just confirmed your relationship to the person that could ruin it with one simple phone call. Billy turned on his heel, not wanting to face Alfie’s wrath but also inwardly fighting with himself, his loyalty drifting from his comrade and friend, Tommy, back to you, the girl he thought of as a sister.

You managed to catch his gaze just before he left, pleading with your eyes, desperate for him to listen to you, he held your stare for a moment and offered the smallest of nods, and you felt your insides twist into a knot unsure of what he would do next.

“Fucking imbeciles, the lot of em’.” Alfie pressed a chaste kiss to your crown, before clicking his fingers rudely at Ollie, a habit you would usually scold him for, but all of the fire inside of you had turned to ash.

“Right, Ol, walk her back to work, eh? I’ll see you tonight, Pet. Wish me luck with these half wits.” He winked at you as he left, so unaware of the uproar around him, so unaware of all of the lies that you had spun and the tornado you had directed at him. Ollie tapped your shoulder softly, pulling you from your hazy mind and guiding you towards the door.

All you could do now was wait.

Days passed and you were anticipating a blow that would shatter your world, but nothing happened. Tommy didn’t turn up at your door, Arthur and John didn’t appear when you walked to work, Billy didn’t try to follow you home with an army of Blinders.You had bitten your fingernails down to the nub, red and raw welts of skin on your hands as a sign of your anxiety, but you were tired of living on edge.

You carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. You were more cautious, knowing that you would have to stop your unannounced visits to the bakery and there was a greater risk of running into a face of your past on the street, but you refused to let paranoia rule your life. At the end of the day, after a long bath and a glass of rum, as you sat on his lap in the arm chair by the fireplace, Alfie would tell you little snippets of his day. He often left out the undesirables, like the arguing and beatings that had occurred, but from what you could gather the new employees weren’t causing him any trouble. He didn’t mention meeting your brothers, made no sly digs about any new deals or double crossings and so you naively assumed that everything was fine, that perhaps you could continue living in your fantasy.

Whilst you were trying to rebuild the pieces that were scattered around you, whilst you attempted to regain some normality from the shock you had of seeing Billy, Alfie was preparing for his own war. He had met with Sabini, the man he loathed was at last speaking some common sense, the Italian had struck a deal with him in exchange for an alliance against Tommy, and Alfie couldn’t refuse.

Alfie was a brilliant business man, cunning and authoritative and quick witted, but this was the first time he had something to lose. His love for you could be seen as a weakness, your kind eyes and gentle smile were a rarity amongst the murk that surrounded him. He had to be clever, he had to be calculated, he had to make sure the crown on his head didn’t slip. He had to make sure you were always protected.

That’s why he invited Billy and Arthur around for Passover. The table was set and the candles were lit and plates of food were piled high. Alfie mulled over the taste of wine on his tongue, he ran his finger along the barrel of his gun tucked securely in his waistband, watching the men arrive. He didn’t feel regret as he slashed the throat of the goat he had brought, he knew that it was a sacrifice for a bigger cause. He didn’t feel regret as he shot Billy in the head, crimson splattering the walls and his shirt, dousing him in sin. He didn’t feel anything as he tied up Arthur and called the police, telling them to arrest an innocent man. He only thought of you, waiting for him at home, ready to celebrate with him.

You swore loudly, pulling out the lamb joint you had prepared, wondering why the oven was smoking suddenly. You rifled through pages of Alfie’s cookbook, biting your tongue and trying to restore order in the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you’re smiling at.” You said to Cyril, who was waiting patiently for you to drop something on the floor.

It was your first Passover and whilst Alfie had made a full feast of traditional food, you had wanted to attempt the Zeroah. You knew he had a business meeting, he wasn’t going to be back until mid afternoon and that gave you enough time to fiddle around with dinner without Alfie watching you. The kitchen smelt warm and sweet and like home, a word that had never had much meaning to you, until now. The air was brisk and the sun was starting to set and you watched the birds fly across the sky from the kitchen window as you made the finishing touches.

You heard rattling from outside and perked up instantly, leaving the meat to brown you skipped to the hall, ready to greet Alfie. As soon as the door opened you stepped back in shock. He had tried to clean himself up as best as he could, but with the rush of the police and everything else he had only managed to wipe his face, blood staining his clothes. He had taken the back exit and driven straight home to you, but his eyes widened when he realised how scared you were.

“It’s alright, Pet. It’s not my blood.”

The splotches were darkening like spilled ink, tainting the cream of his shirt. “Oh my God, Alf.” You ran to him, pulling him apart with your fingers, desperate to find any open wounds or bleeding cuts. “Are you hurt?”

He held your face in his palms, his hands chilly from the air. “No, I’m alright. I’m alright.” He dragged you into his chest, careful to not smudge your face with blood, wanting to hold you against him for a few minutes. After a while, when both of your pulses synched and your breathing was regulated, Alfie stroking your hair and humming slightly, you stepped away.

“Is this some kind of Passover celebration I didn’t know about?”

He laughed, loudly, shrugging off his coat and boots. He just wanted to forget the events of the morning, he just wanted to eat and drink and be with you. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You murmured, hurrying to the bedroom to grab fresh clothes and a flannel. Alfie picked at the food on the table, moaning loudly and complimenting you, his over enthusiasm making you smile.

When you returned, Alfie was bent over the kitchen sink, washing his hands. You tapped on his shoulder, making him spin around and smile and you stood between his legs. You started to unbutton his shirt, pulling the fabric from his frame revealing his taut, tattooed stomach. Throwing it into the wash basket, you held the flannel under warm, running water, a question mulling on your tongue.

“Whose blood is it?”

Alfie’s fingers tangled in your hair as you ran the cloth across his skin, his thumb making the same movements on your scalp as yours on his torso. The room was silent for a few seconds, Alfie wondering how much he should tell you, weighing the options in his head.

“Billy Kitchen.”

The flannel hit the floor and you stepped backward, tripping over your own feet. A droplet of water trailed down Alfie’s chest, hitting the waistband of his trousers.

“Oh my God. Is he alright?”

“He’s dead.”

The shock of his words hit you like a bullet in your gut, the blood staining your boyfriends hands that of a man you had grown up with. You weren’t naive, you were well aware of the kind of man Alfie was, the kind of things he did, but now those he killed weren’t nameless of faceless or people you had never met, now it was a friend. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Alfie.”

“It’s Ok, it’s alright, nothing is going to happen to me.” He stepped forward tentatively, trying to comfort you but you stepped back, thinking of Tommy and Billy and every fucked up lie that’s come out of your mouth. You imagined Alfie with a hole in his head from one of your brothers and bile hits the back of your throat.

“What... What?” You could barely speak.

“I’m not gonna go down for this, everything will be fine.”

“What? Who will?”

“Arthur Shelby.”

You retched, gasping for air and placing your head in your palms. You don’t even want to ask Alfie if he’s alive, the thought of your brother in a coffin is enough to make your heart stop and your head pound. “What? What the fuck? Oh God, Alfie. What have you done? Please tell me he’s OK.”

You were in tears, nails digging into your flesh, and Alfie watched you, completely bewildered. He expected you to be upset, but not like this. His skin is hot and he feels as if he’s been set alight, your concern for another man making his blood boil and he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

“Now why the fuck, right, would you care about some stupid fucking gyp?”

“Because he’s my brother!”

The words came out before you could stop them and you covered your mouth when you realised just what you have done. The look of betrayal and hurt and confusion on Alfie’s face will be the reason for a million sleepless nights, the ache inside of you clawed at your organs and in that moment you truly loathed yourself.

“What?” His voice was so impassive and it snapped your heart in two. There’s no point dragging out the inevitable, you had to face the music and own up to the lies you have strung.

“I’m a Shelby.”

The air froze around you. You could feel yourself drowning, as if you were choking on salty, icy water. He inhaled so sharply it sounded like a gunshot, and you had to stop yourself from looking at him, knowing that you’ll collapse if you do.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Never had Alfie spoken to you in a way that wasn’t kind or playful, and the tone in his voice made you want to curl into a ball, but you know that you deserve it. “So you’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?”

You shook your head, stepping forward and biting your tongue when he moved back.“Only about my family, Alfie. Everything else was me, I’m still the same person.”

He scoffed, refusing to look at you, refusing to feel the tear in his heart at your wet face and red cheeks. “So what was the plan then? Come in like a little sweet thing, get my fucking guard down and rat me out to your brothers?”

“No. God, no, Alfie, it was never like that.” You said honestly, “I swear. I... I didn’t even know who you were until we met. I had no idea Tommy was even...” Explaining yourself feels so futile, you can’t take back the betrayal and the deception no matter how much you want to.

“I can’t even fucking look at you.” His eyes were red and glistening under the candle light and you hated yourself more than ever. You’ve never seen him cry, not even when glass got stuck in his wrist or you poured alcohol on his wounds after a fight, and knowing you’re the reason is as punishing as a death sentence.

“Alfie, please, please, I love you.”

He just shook his head, turning away from you. “Get the fuck out.”

You don’t know how you got to your flat but somehow you did. Somehow you turned your key in the lock and somehow you smashed your mirror and then collapsed onto the floor. Shards of crystal sparkling by your feet, you ran your finger along the edge of one, desperate for the pain you felt you deserved. Your flat is so empty, most of your wardrobe is littered on Alfie’s floor, and the rooms around you smell clinical and bare. You longed for the feel of him behind you, his arms around you and his lips on your throat but you’re comforted by nothing but the dull ache in your stomach. You sat on the floor for what felt like days but it’s probably only been minutes and three sharp raps on the door are what drew you from your daze.

“Alfie?” You said into the dark, running towards the door and flinging it open wanting to leap forward but instead you drop to your knees. Warm hands cradled you before you could hit the floor, pulling you in so close you could drown in the scent of unwanted nostalgia. You cried and wailed, the noise sure to wake every person in the city, as soft fingers rub circles into your back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re alright.”

You pushed him off of you, “How the fuck is it okay, Tommy?” You snapped, hitting him in the chest, helpless as he grasped your flailing arms. He looked older and wearier, but his ocean eyes were still the same, despite everything you crawled back into his embrace, soaking the fabric of his expensive shirt, mascara marking his collar.

“Let’s get you home, alright?”

[everlarkficexchange]

1,498 mph (Part 1)

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 47: Modern. Peeta is back home on his time off from the Air Force or army. He meets the newest employee in the bakery, a younger Katniss, who’s working hard to help her family while still going to school. They fall for each other and they didn’t even know when it happened. [submitted by @animekpopxx​]

this chapter Rated: Mature for language 

Warnings: This is the first part of a multiple chapter story. The rating will still be Mature for adult situations and smut once the rest of the pic is posted to AO3

Un-betaed. All mistakes are mine. Several Songs have been quoted in this fic, Rocket Man by Elton John; Girls, Girls, Girls by Motley Crue; Bungle In the Jungle by Jethro Tull… if you see anything else I forgot to create let me know.  

———————-

  “She packed my bags last night pre-flight Zero hour nine AM”

  I’m quietly mouthing the lyrics of Rocket Man to myself while the whistle of engines zoom by at the speed of light filling the muggy Florida afternoon sky.

  “And I’m gonna be high as a kite… I miss the earth so much… miss my wife…”

The chatter of men talking animatedly mixed with tools dropping on asphalt, stomping boots, and even the obnoxious scraping of step ladders being dragged around from place to place, is just another layer of the hubbub in the yard. Just another day at base, working away the hours,  pretending we aren’t swimming in our own sweat and our skin isn’t sizzling under the harsh sun beating down on us.

  “I think it’s gonna be a long, long time ‘Till touchdown brings me round again to find I’m not the man they think… nonono… I’m a rocket man! Rocket maaaaaaaan… dadada up here alone.

Rocket maa—”

  “Mellark!” Someone calls at the top of his lungs. “Move your ass here, quickly.”

  I jump out of a trainer aircraft I was familiarizing myself with, to find one of my superiors looking annoyed as shit for having to come out here to fetch me.

  “Sir!” I salute and wait to be addressed.

  “Lieutenant, your fairy godmother must’ve thought you were a good boy.” He practically spits, as he hands me an envelope. “You’re going home on break. Now don’t let the news interfere with training, keep your head in that cockpit, and you won’t lose any privileges, capisce?”

  “Sir!” I’m saluting again, but this time I’m so giddy with excitement I can’t keep my face straight in front of this bad tempered badger.

  “Go back to work!”

  “Yes, Sir!” I scramble back to my fighter smiling from ear to ear like this is a redo of the day I got accepted into the F22 Raptor training class.

  Holy shit! I’m going home! Can’t remember the last time I was able to go home for a long chunk of time, but my leave papers say I’m excused for four weeks!

  “Rocket man is coming home, baby!”

——————

  Air Force personnel have all the flight benefits they can aspire to, which includes free rides all over the globe during vacation, and since I’m trying to save every penny in my bank account for retirement, I hitch a ride home, to Panem, North Carolina, all the way from Tyndall Air Force Base, in sunny Florida… well, actually I got dropped off at Charlotte Douglas International Airport, and had to call my pal Finnick to pick me up, since I’m trying to get home and surprise my dad.

  What I’m not expecting is for a reception complete with balloons, signs and a man wearing a tuxedo t-shirt with a bouquet of red roses.

  My first instinct is to cover my face in embarrassment, but Finnick spots me and starts waving exaggeratedly while I walk slowly towards him, pretending he’s not there for me, even though his “Welcome Home First Lt. P. Mellark, we love you!” sing has a huge picture of me in uniform, pasted in the middle of the banner, surrounded by hearts.

  The closer I get, the more details I see, like all the glitter on the sign, or how big the bouquet really is. Finnick is not alone either. His wife Annie is there holding the sign up over her head for every soul to see, and their two sons Finnick Jr. and Andy hold the balloons and point at me excitedly.

  Finnick tells the boys something and the pipsqueaks charge at me like a pair of helions, giggling and chanting “Uncle Peet, Uncle Peet, Uncle Peet!” the whole time.

  I admit the part with the boys is actually pretty espectacular, so I drop my bags, get down on one knee and open my arms wide just in time to get tackled by two little boys I love with all my heart, as if they were my own blood.

  “Finny! Andy!” I wrap them both in a bear hug, their little arms circle my neck. I pick them up and spin them around for good measure.

  Out of nowhere, I feel another body collide with my side, and before I can recognize the slim arms hugging me and the kiddos, a bigger body slams into the group hug, knocking the air out of my lungs.

  Finnick uses his longer arm to choke hold me and plants a kiss to my temple, while the boys laugh hysterically at their father’s antics. The boys slide away from me, and as soon as my arms are free, I playfully shove Finnick away and hug Annie fully, tipping her back in a dip and whispering loudly for Finn to hear.

  “Leave the fresh water sailor, baby. I’m way more interesting, I’m an Air Force pilot!”

  Then I proceed to kiss Annie all over the face, except the mouth. “I so much rather kiss you, than that gorila you married,” I tell her dreamily.

  Annie gives me a belly laugh right before Finnick pulls her away from me with a mock frown.

  “Hey! No fair. I slaved all night making that welcome home banner!” My best friend protest, but everything is so ridiculous and silly, we all just end up laughing like lunatics.

  Finnick and I hug quickly, clapping each other on the back.

  “Good to see you man!”

  “Is good to be home!” I tell him.

  “Sure is! Now, let’s get this show on the road or we’ll end up with a pair of cranky boys if we miss bedtime.”

  Finnick dumps the bouquet of roses in my arms, picks up my duffel and walks towards the parking lot, leaving me and Annie to deal with two chatty boys.

  It’s truly great to be home.

  I pick up Andy in my arms and start whistling Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home.

  ———————

  I open the door to my family’s bakery, and the bell above betrays my presence before I can call out to anyone.

  I’m taken aback when a sultry voice I don’t recognize reaches me with a greeting. “Welcome to Mellark’s!”

  A petite, dark haired girl steps in from the back wiping her hands in one of the familiar aprons embroidered with the Mellarks logo. She looks up from her hands to fix on me the most stunning gray eyes I’ve ever seen. The world stops turning for a whole second while we stare at each other.

  Her eyes widen as she takes me in, and then fly to my latest official portrait, on display on the wall besides the registers.

  The girl blushes violently and stammers at rapid shot, “Oh… um… w-welcome home… sir… um, Lieutenant? I didn’t know… I mean… I don’t think Mr. Mellark didn’t he was expecting you… oh my gosh, I’ll go get him!”

  The girl slips back to the kitchen, leaving me standing there like a moron.

  Finnick walks into the shop and looks at me quizzically. “What’s the matter?” He asks, just as my father runs through the doors leading from the back of the bakery.

  My old man’s hands are covered in flour, and his apron has dried up orange frosting in the chest— which I guess is appropriate, since orange is my favorite color. The man bounds up to me like a runaway mastodon, and before I can even form a greeting, he’s squeezing the breath out of me.

  “My son!” Dad cries into my shoulder. He releases me to pat my cheek with his flour covered hand. “What a surprise!”

  “Peeta!” My brother Ryen yells from behind the counter, before jumping over it to hug me as well. “You didn’t call! I could’ve come pick you up, thickhead!”

  I laugh. “It would’ve ruin the surprise. Plus, what else does Finn have going for him besides picking people up from the airport?”

  Finnick glares at me, “I’ll have you know, even wealthy, trust fund babies, have jobs to report to. You ingrate son of a gun.”

  “Yeah… whatever!”

  We are all laughing merrily, when the bell above the door chimes again, this time for a real customer trying to get some pastries.

  The raven haired girl diligently takes the patron’s order as quickly and quietly as possible, trying to give our reunion space, although between my bags, three bulky Mellark men plus Finnick, who’s no dainty daisy either, we take up most of the front of the shop.

  After the customer is gone, Ryen turns to the girl. “Hey Squirrels, come meet my baby brother!”

  The girl with awesome eyes gives my brother a positively murderous glare, just as dad rolls his eyes and shakes his head. The girl steps out from behind the counter, but her eyes— Gray with specks of blue— stay stubbornly on Ryen.

  “Hi!” I pretty much run up to shake her hand— firm grip and a bit rough to the touch, but that just means she’s use to working with her hands. “I’m Peeta. And I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess ‘Squirrels’ isn’t your name, and you actually hate it almost as much as you dislike my brother?”

  I’ve take the girl by surprise, and then it occurs to me I may be crowding her, judging by her stunned expression and the fact she takes a step back from me.

  The girl gives her head a little shake, and smiles awkwardly. “My name’s Katniss Everdeen. Is an honor to meet you sir, and… um… thank you for your service.”

  I’ve heard the same words a few dozen times today, having just walked through a civilian airport, full of appreciative people nodding at me or wanting to shake my hand since I’m wearing my uniform, yet, coming from this blushing girl, Katniss, makes me feel like I’m actually doing something that matters. Even if I’m just training right now. It’s taken a lot of hard work to be where I am.

  “No, ma’am, is my honor to serve this great country. And you.” I’m about to bow, but my brother starts laughing, completely ruining the mood.

  “Wow, ease up the cheese, Captain Braggy Pants. Squirrels will lose respect soon enough after she hears you singing while you bake.” Ryen guffaws.

  I can’t believe I’ve only been home ten minutes and already I have the urge to strangle Rye. It’s gotta be some kind of record for him.

  “Come on boys. I’m sorry, Katniss. My sons don’t usually behave this way.”

  “No. They behave worse.” And just like that, my mother waltzes into the bakery front, sucking the joy right out of the room. “Peeta,” She says by way of greeting. “I’m assuming your on leave since you’re in your uniform. For a moment there I was afraid the Air Force finally kicked you out.”

  Dad sighs, “Matilda, the kid just got home…”

  My parents have a little staring competition, but as usual, dad turns away after a few minutes, letting my mother win the spat.

  Dad sighs again, tiredly, picks up my bag and mutters under his breath, “Come on Peeta, bring your stuff to my office and I’ll get you a snack, you must be hungry.” Then he turns to my friend, “Finnick, are you staying for supper?”

  “Uh… no, no. The boys are asleep in the car with Annie. I gotta take them all home. But another time!” Finn smiles widely. “Hey, Peet, call me when you’re settled in,”

  “Sure thing, man. Thank you!” I tell him and give him a quick hug. “Say by to Annie and the kiddos for me.”

  “You got it.”

  My mother rolls her eyes, snorting. My father gives her an exasperated glare, but she’s too busy counting the cash in the till to care.

  “Everdeen,” Mom calls not looking up at the girl, “You’re closing the shop tonight. I’m leaving $100 in change in the register, and putting the rest of the money in the safe. That should be enough to tie you over until closing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Says Katniss stoically, her face devoid of emotion.

  I’m impressed.

  My mother is not the nicest person ever as a mom. As a boss, she’s even worse. Luckily, she only comes around a couple of hours before closing time to check on the books and put the cash away for bank deposits in the morning.

  “Ma’am, about Wednesday—?”

  “Yeah, yeah… take the whole day off if you need to. Peeta is here, so we’re back to fully staffed. The least he can do is pick up the slack for a few hours on Wednesday.”

  Katniss blinks at my mother for a moment, but then I’m turning away so I don’t accidentally punch mommy dearest in the mouth.

  I’m a fucking First Lieutenant in the USA Air Force. I fly fighters for a living! I’ve been deployed in flight missions twice in the last few years; I refuse to let my mother’s bitchyness ruin my vacation… it’s gonna be a long month, and it starts right now, with me showing how many fucks I give!

  ——-

I’m splashing soapy water all over the sink, holding the brush I’m using to scrub clean the trays like a microphone, like a dork. I keep forgetting where I am and with whom, all I know is that washing pots and pans at the bakery is way better than doing it at the kitchen of the training center.

  “Friday night… need a fight My motorcycle and a switchblade knife Handful of grease in my hair feels right But what I — mmm— me tight are those

Girls, girls, girls Long legs and burgundy lips Girls, girls, girls—“

  I turn around and find myself face to face with Ryen going purple, holding in his laughter. I feel myself jump out of my skin.

  “Geez, Rye! The fuck is the matter with you?!” I yell at my brother, ripping the headphones out of my ears angrily.

  Ryen keeps laughing, but when he steps out of my personal space, I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole, because Katniss is standing by the swing door taking off her apron.

  She blinks at me once with eyes as big as saucers, then looks away, blushing. I’m not sure why she does it so much, blush when she realizes I’m looking at her. Honestly, I don’t know what to think, although I’d be lying if I said I’m not flattered, especially when she regards me with as much respect as if I’m personally some renowned war hero or something.

  “You taking off, Squirrels?” Asks Ryen pulling a tray of muffins out of the oven still shaking all over with a case of the giggles.

  “I am. Mrs. Mellark already knows I have class tonight. She game tomorrow off as well” she says glancing at me apologetically. She adds quickly, “But I’m only taking half a day. I’ll be here in the morning for the rush. See you tomorrow, Mr. Ryen. Lieutenant.”

  “You can call me Peeta, you know.” I tell her with my friendliest smile, hoping she doesn’t think I’m harboring any resentment towards her.

  As if on cue, Katniss’ eyes grow to saucers and her cheeks flush a pretty pink. She nods in agreement and says another hasty goodbye before gathering her stuff and flying out the back door. I watch her go, wondering how long it’s going to take her to get used to me?

  Ryen comes back from the front and squints in my direction. “Dude, if you’re gonna hang out here in the back, you need to keep an eye in the oven, man. The baguettes are gonna burn if you don’t hurry.”

  I glare a Rye and put on oven mitts. The baguettes are fine, just a bit crispier than usual.

  “So, what’s the story with this Katniss chick?” I ask checking on a sheet cake that’s close to being done.

  Rye shrugs, rinsing a rag he brought from the front. “Uh, she replaced Cecilia during her postpartum leave. She was supposed to be temporary, but then Cecilia wanted to stay home with her children, and the girl pretends Mom’s the boss and goes to her scheduling issues, which Mom adores, so she was offered Cecilia’s full time slot.

  “Katniss is finishing her GED. She’s got three nights at week off to attend school, and has a second, part time job when she’s not here, which is pretty much every hour she doesn’t have to sleep or study.”

  “Two jobs and a GED at night? She looks like she should still be in High School.” I say.

  “Meh. She’s nineteen. I think she dropped out and had like three part jobs until we offered full time hours, but I may be wrong. Wheaton was the one who hired her.”

  “So, Dad liked her? I mean if Wheat hired her, and she stayed after he left.”

  Wheaton, my eldest brother, used to manage the bakery before moving out of state. His wife wanted to live closer to her elderly parents to keep an eye on them, so about six months ago they opened up a bakery in a suburb near Atlanta, Georgia.

  Ryen chuckles. “She hunts. Dad likes her squirrels.”

  Now I’m confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Ask him when he comes for closing. He’ll tell you.”

  Later, Dad strolls into the kitchen, ready to help with clean-up and prepping for tomorrow.

  “Boys,” he greets and goes straight to wash his hands after donning his apron.

  I smile at that. Some things always remain constant. Familiar. Like home.

  “Dad, Peeta’s asking if you like Squirrels?” Rye snickers.

  Dad smiles. “Squirrels are delicious. I don’t care if you naysayers disagree with me.”

  “Dad, I think Rye meant Katniss, not the critters…” I’m totally confused now. “Either if you care to elaborate?” I ask watching my father grab ingredients from a shelf and a mixing bowl from another.

  Dad starts talking in that deep voice he used when teaching us a new recipe, “When I was little, my grandpa had this BB gun. He’d take us to his yard and had us shoot squirrels, then we would butcher them, fried them up, and eat them. Best comfort food ever.”

  I make a puking face. I know my grandpa used to make roadkill stews and other mountain folk fare, but I don’t remember dad ever talking about them actually shooting up their own supper like that.

  “Anywho, Katniss comes to me one day, maybe a year ago, and it takes all the courage she’s got, but she offers me a trade. She finds out I actually enjoy squirrel meat and asks if I would take a handful of her squirrels for a loaf, or at the very least a couple of buns.”

  “What? You’re joking right?” Now I’m concern about this girl: GED at night, multiple jobs, now she hunts squirrels and trades bread for them?

What’s going on here? “Is Katniss, okay?”

  “Oh, she’s better than okay,” Says dad smiling fondly. “She gets the squirrels right through the eye every single time! Born huntress, that one.”

  “And you traded bread with her? Isn’t there some kind of regulation or something against that kind of shit?” I balk at my father’s cheerful face.

  “I was hesitant at first, I mean, this is some urchin from the Seam, trying to barter with me like we’re in the 1800s or something. But then she shows me her squirrels, and I’m telling you, that kid has skills with a bow and arrow.”

  “Get out here! Is that even real?”

  “True story, baby bro…” Says Rye smiling wickedly.

  I’m flabbergasted. At least Ryan’s nickname makes sense now. “Why would you do that? How do you know it was her who do the shooting, if she’s got this amazing superhuman aim? I mean, how does she even know to trade with you? That’s just so random.” I ask skeptically.

  “She’s the one shooting. And the reason she knows I’m partial to squirrels, is because I grew up next door to her mother. In fact, and don’t tell your mother this, I used to be a little sweet on Katniss’ mother way back then. But her mama was a couple of years younger than me, and then she met Everdeen, and I realized it wasn’t meant to be.” Dad shrugs, and goes back to measuring his ingredients.

  “Okay, but a kid hunting down squirrels and trading them away, doesn’t sound very sanitary, let alone legal.”

  “So what? Are you gonna report her? Leave her alone, man.” Rye throws me an aggravated glare.

  Dad shakes his head sadly. “Katniss, needed the trades desperately. Wheaton decided to offer her a part time job to help her out precisely for the same reasons you just listed. He gave her a condition, though, she had to go back to school and finish up, she’d just drop out. When I was able to offer her a full time position, I kept the school deal, she’s about to get her GED diploma, and we’re talking community college for her next step, we will see.”

  The bell above the front door rings, and Rye goes tend to the newly arrived costumer.

  “Where are her parents?” I ask dad still puzzled. “She sounds like an orphan.”

  “Mr. Everdeen passed away a while back. Some work related accident. The mother is still around, but she’s not exactly well. Katniss has a little sister, a few years younger than her. She’s pretty much raised the girl herself.”

  Well, now I feel like shit for distrusting everyone’s judgement, particularly Katniss.

  “She seems nice.” I say awkwardly.

  “She is. Hard working, smart, fast study. Honest and a trustworthy. She’s one of my best employees.” He gives me a pointed look and goes back to baking.

  “Yeah… I bet. So… where’s Thom?” He’s been with the bakery since I was in high school. Him and my ex, Portia, were hired the same day. In fact, Portia stayed with the bakery after we broke up, which blowed.

  “Thom is off this week. Jury duty. Your mother was so annoyed she almost wrote him an excuse from serving.” Dad rolls his eyes.

  “And Um… Portia?” I feel a nervous swoop in my stomach at first, but it doesn’t go beyond that.

  Portia was angry I decided to enroll in the Air Force instead of going to college with her, like she wanted. We were both interested in art and design, but she was passionate about it, while I just enjoyed it as a hobby… one I truly loved. I still doodle, and my drawings are still great if I say so myself, but nothing compares to flying a bird capable of breaking the sound barrier.

  Portia couldn’t understand why I had to go away and become a pilot, I just couldn’t stay cooped here, while the sky is so big and free. She accused me of just wanting to run away from home, but the truth is, I love my family, I love North Carolina; being away from Mom is just sweet, gooey icing on the cake, but it’s been ages since I’ve develop a thick skin against her.

  Dad takes his time kneading the dough before answering my question. “Portia got married. Nice fellow named Cinna. I made the cake myself. She left the bakery maybe two months before Cecilia announced her last pregnancy.” He stays quiet for maybe ten minutes, then he speaks again. “Delly has been coming in more often to pick up the slack. But the whole Cartwright clan is in Dollywood, celebrating Grandpa Cartwright’s 90th birthday. Ryen was supposed to be there, but stayed since Thom had jury duty.”

  “Is that why Rye looks so broken up?” I ask sarcastically, because my brother seems happy as a clam.

  Talk of the devil, Rye bursts into the kitchen chewing on a pastry. “Dodged a bullet there.” He says coming to lean by the big fridge, smiling at me.

  “Yeah, it spending time in an amusement park with your wife and in-laws must be nightmarish.” I deadpan.

  Ryen laughs heartily.

  “Its truly is a blessing that you showed up now. It gives us tons of wiggle room to work, and maybe we start training Katniss in more technical stuff. I’ve been meaning to do that, but I never have the time.” Says Dad ignoring Rye’s interruption and the small rude gesture war we’re silently having between us. “She’s still not a very good froster, but she’s a heck of a saucier.”

  I look at my dad for a moment, and then I put the sheet cake on a rack to cool.

  Dad keeps talking placing a batch of cupcakes in the oven I just emptied. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your help here, Peeta. I know you could’ve gone anywhere else in the world, enjoying a well deserved break like a normal person, instead you came home and started working in the bakery right away. All I can say is, thank you. You’re a godsend and very good son.”

  I smack Rye with a tea towel when he starts making kissy faces, addressing my father like nothing’s going on with my brother.

  “Dad… you know I rather be here than anywhere else, even if I’m free labor.” We both chuckle at that. “Seriously Dad, I love being here. More than anything.”

  “That’s good, Peet. Listen, I talked to your mother last night, and I told her it would be a good idea… and you tell me if I’m wrong, but, I was thinking you could use the apartment above the shop while you’re here.”

  “Dad… that’s… I wouldn’t want to impose—“

  “Is no imposition, son. The apartment has been vacant since Ryen and Delly moved to their new place; its fully furnished and you’ll have privacy…”

  “Oooh! Bachelor pad!” Ryen wolf whistles, and Dad fixes him with a glare Rye ignores.

  We all know Dad means I’ll be away from mother, and her nippy remarks and passive aggressive comments.

  “Son, you’re twenty six years old, you’re used to being in your own. Mom and I are just a block away, and Ryen and Delly will be here every day.”

  “I don’t know what to say, dad. That’s awfully generous.”

  “Nonsense! Say you’ll take it and enjoy your time in town. You’re not a kid anymore and you don’t need to live in your parents guest room, when you can have a place for yourself.”

  I smile. “Okay, Dad… if you insist.”

  “No heavy partying without me!” Announces Rye, kicking off the fridge and grabbing his stuff to go home.

  Dad and glare at him, but I’m still so grateful. My vacation just got more relaxing!

  ——————

  I don’t see much of the bakery the next two days, because I take time to clean up upstairs and then decide to take a day off to hang out with Finn and his family at their cabin by the lake.

  Finnick comes from an affluent family, that made their fortune in the seafood business. Finn is a ‘lawyer’ who only represents his family’s business. Annie on the other hand, is a Public Defender who mostly works pro-bono, “to balance the karma” according to Finn.

  Ironically, Finnick’s favorite thing to do, is sit in a kayak in the middle of the lake doing nothing. Sure, he has fishing equipment, but as he puts it, “unless you skewer them with a trident, fishing is not an exciting sport.”

  The thing is, anything we do together, whether is fake fishing in his kayak in the lake, going out for some beers with my brother and his friends, or simply sitting in the porch with the little minions, telling them about what it’s like to fly a fighter, everything is fun with my best buddy here at home.

  “I heard Portia got married,” I say offhandedly late in the evening, when Annie takes the kiddos inside for baths.

  “Yeah. Saw her the other day. She looks good. I think you’d like the husband.” Finnick says scanning my face, like he usually does when he’s trying to gauge my moods.

  I only shrug. “Good for her. She deserves to be happy.” I wait a moment and then ask after another girl I used to date on and off, “How about Cash? She doing okay?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckles. “Cash is on her second divorce, and on her fifth Mercedes. Prettiest thing around… if you’re into fake boobs and artificial asses, that is.”

  We both smirk and shake our heads ruefully, Cashmere was never a subtle one, and her only love has always been bling. Can’t blame the girl when her mother named her kids so ridiculously vain: Cashmere and her twin brother, Gloss, and little Glimmer, who’s got to be around Katniss’ age. All three, golden haired children with the world at their feet, on the back of a dad who could barely afford his utility bills, but hey! His kids had the most expensive clothes, toys and stuff in town. No wonder Cashmere grew up with that askew rich-or-die mindset.

  “And you, loverboy?” Asks Finnick, “any lady friends you’d like to share about? I hope you have some juicy stories for me, I can’t go back to Annie tonight with the same old gossip as always, you know.”

  I laugh at that. Then grow wistful. I shake my head.

  “There hasn’t been anyone in a very, very long time.” I sigh. “I had an arrangement with one Major in my squadron while on assignment. But she’s actually married, and wasn’t looking for a full blown affair. She just needed to scratch and itch and I was the helping hand. But since I’ve been in the training program, I barely have time to whine about my sore shoulders, let alone romance anyone.”

  “Aww, buddy… I’m sorry.” Finnick says sadly, then glares at me and tells me in a serious tone, “You stay away from my wife! I’m onto you and your home wrecking ways, Top Gun!”

  I have to laugh at that, “As if I could snatch her away from you!” because there’s nothing more ridiculous than the notion I could ever try anything funny with Annie.

  She’ll slap me silly for starters, and then there’s the deal of how much I love my friend to ever hurt him. He’s always been there to support me, and when things got rough at home with mom, he was the only one who could help me see the good in life and in myself.

  “You’re an idiot, you know.” I punch him in the shoulder and he punches back.

  “No more than you, buddy.”

  ———-

  “Let’s bungle in the juuungle!

Well, that’s all right by meeee…

I’m a tiger when I want looooove,

I’m a snake if we di-sagreeeeee…”

  I look up self conscious that I’m being watched and mocked, although I’m barely audible, humming under my breath.

  I’m only mildly surprised to see Katniss by the sink, towel drying a few utensils. She’s got the ghost of a smile on her lips and she’s nodding her head rhythmically while mouthing what I think are lyrics to the song I’m singing.

  She most have felt eyes on her, because she looks at me with the corner of her eyes, and actually smiles when it’s confirmed I’m watching her. She stops what she’s doing and rotates her torso towards me.

  “I take it your iPod is allergic to music from this millennium.” She says with a lopsided smirk, gesturing to my earphones with a wooden spoon.

  “Has there been music produced this millennium, though?”

  She rolls her eyes, but her smirk stays in place. “Jethro Tull I can understand. My father was quite the fan and they were geniuses. But I have to question your taste when you sing anything from a band so demeaning to women as Mötley Crüe.” She arches her eyebrows daring me to contradict her. “Those guys were so foul, the Me Too Movement would’ve had a field day burying then in lawsuits.”

  “Ma’am, I have nothing but respect for women. Is not my fault good music is extinct nowadays.” I risk saying something else, and pray she doesn’t crucify me instead. “I think women back then needed the Me Too Movement, maybe groupies would’ve had someone looking out for them, telling them they didn’t have to let some asshole use them like they were trash just to show their love for the scene.”

  Katniss’ lips twitch, her sparkly gray eyes study me for a moment. And then she switches topics.

  “What’s the newest thing you have on your playlist, lieutenant?”

  “Call me Peeta, please… every time you call me Lieutenant I feel underdressed out of my uniform, and I don’t know if I should salute you or order you to do push-ups.”

  She her shoulders shake a little with her silent laughter. She licks her lower lip, and smiles at me. “I hope you don’t make me do push-ups. That will be the end on my employment here. There’s only so much a girl can put up with at work,” Her eyes twinkle in amusement.

  “Well, don’t call me Lieutenant, and nobody has to exercise.”

  “Okay… Peeta. I won’t ever call you by the title I’m sure you worked hard for, then.”

  I go mute for a solid second. My name in her lips sounds… otherworldly. I’m oddly aware that my mouth is hanging open like a dying fish, but by the time I gather my wits around me to respond, Ryen bursts into the kitchen with another set of empty trays.

  “Squirrels, you’re done with that? Good! I need a favor, watch the counter for me. Gotta tinkle.”

  Katniss scowls. But says nothing else immediately marching to tend the front counter.

  Me on the other hand, cry out, “Ewww! TMI, dude! Nobody wants to know that shit!”

  Ryen gives me an outraged face, with his mouth forming a wide open O and his eyes equally rounded. “Language, Lieutenant! What will Captain America say? Shame on you, sir.”

  “Shut up, fuckward.” I tell him laughing.

  “When did you change branches, little brother? You’re supposed to be an airman not a potty mouthed sailor!”

  “Shut the hell up and go pee already!” I ball up a small portion of the dough I’m kneading and throw it at him.

  “My goodness! What’s going on here?” Gasps a clear female voice from the back door.

  Rye and I turn to the voice at the same time, just as my beautiful, extremely pregnant, sister-in-law, dumps her purse and a big tote bag on an empty chair by the door.

  “Delly!” I call excitedly. I leave my station, dusting the flour off my hands on my pants, to hug the woman, boxing Ryen out of the hug. “You look—“

  “Good enough to eat!” Ryen speaks over me, elbowing me out of the way.

  Delly blushes mortified, I gag, and my mother who’s just walking through the door oblivious to everything stares at us suspiciously.

  “Why is everyone just standing around lollygagging?”

  I decide we need to put a bell over the back door too. Too much traffic we missed coming in, in my opinion.

  “I’m on a potty break, Peeta is a potty mouth, and Dells just got here from Dollywood!” Says Rye kissing Delly in the cheek and rushing to the restroom just outside the counter at the front of the store.

  Mother doesn’t react to anything, but marches on to the office and leaves Delly and me finally alone.

  “I will never understand what you see in Ryen. He’s loud, annoying and as mentally advance as a thirteen year old boy, but hell I’m so glad you can stand that idiot!”

  Delly laughs, “Aww… he’s a cute idiot though. At least the baby will be a looker.” We hug each other and she kisses my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re home! Sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you properly.”

  “Well, you’re here now, looking amazing, and I can’t wait to meet the little rugrat. Being an uncle will trump flying any day!”

  The office door opens up bringing my mother back into the kitchen. She stands just outside the office to glare at us. “You’re still just loitering around? Get back to work people!”

  Delly tries to tie her apron on the back, but she’s having trouble, Katniss comes in from the front just as my mother starts for the swing doors, and before I can offer to help Delly with the string, Katniss is making a neat little bow with the very tips of the of the ties.

  “There!” She says.

  Delly turns her head towards the raven haired girl and smiles gratefully. “Thanks!”

  “No problem at all, Ms. Delly.” Katniss nods at my sister-in-law and goes to her peg with her messenger bag hanging from. She sticks her hand in the bag and ruts around blindly for a bit, pulls out a phone to send a text. Then she drops the phone back in the bag and returns to the front.

  As Katniss is passing us by, Delly asks, “Is your shift over, Katniss?”

  “Forty five more minutes. But Jo is picking me up today.”

  “Car problems again?” Asks Delly washing her hands.

  “As usual. The poor girl is in her last legs. Pretty soon I’m gonna have to break down and get a new car. Is too bad, Old Green has been a trooper for sure.”

  “Well, if you need a ride at all next week let us know, you hear?” Says Delly drying her hands on a paper towel.

  “Sure thing! Thank you, Ms. Delly.”

  I try not to eavesdrop, but is just impossible when I’m not wearing my earphones. I simply watch Katniss walk back to the front, and file away the information I just heard in my mind, without any real reason to. I finish my bread, put it in the oven and tell Delly about it so she can pull it out when it’s done. I plan to make myself scarce by time Mom is done with the registers. The less I see of her, the better my vacation will be.

———-

  Saturday morning comes, and I’m too restless to stay in bed past 0600.

  I’m slowly coming down the internal staircase to the apartment, the office sits directly under it, so I’m trying extra hard to be quiet, in case Mom is here. But then I have to snort at myself, because Mom hasn’t been to the bakery before noon in years.

  When I’m halfway down the stairs, a soft, pleasant sound starts filtering up from the kitchen. Some vaguely familiar ballad, and then my heart gives a little jolt, when the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard puts lyrics to the music.

  “Down in the valley valley so low Hang your head over hear the wind blow Hear the wind blow dear hear the wind blow Hang your head over hear the wind blow.”

  I keep trying to stay quiet as I step down, this time because I don’t want to disturb the singer, in case it’s an angel from heaven in the kitchen. I don’t want to spook it away before praying for its blessing.

I reach the landing, just as a new stanza begins, and when I come around the corner, see the long thick braid of Katniss’ hair, swing lazily down her back every time she sways to the song.

  “Roses love sunshine violets love dew Angels in heaven know I love you Know I love you dear know I love you Angels in heaven know I love—-

  “Oh my God!” She screams when she turns to place a tray of cinnamon rolls in the oven and sees me standing in the middle of the kitchen just staring at her like an awestruck dumbass.

  Years of training as a pilot, plus the ones of being in my high school’s wrestling team, not to mention ducking out of my mom’s projectile trajectory when she was pissed off with us, has afforded me great  reflexes. Thanks to those, I miraculously save the tray with rolls without missing any.

  “I’m so sorry!” I start apologizing.

  She’s clenching her chest with one hand, while holding herself upright with the other one grabbing the edge of the counter behind her. She shakes her head vehemently. “No, serves me right for doing it to you the other day.” She says massaging her chest. She cocks her head sideways and peeks at me with one eye half open while the other is shut tightly. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in. I thought I had locked the back door when I came in. Not many people can sneak up on me like that.”

  “Oh no… I’m staying upstairs!”

  “That explains it then,” she gives a nervous laugh. “I had no idea you were living upstairs.”

  “Well…” I tell her lamely. “I’m still sorry for startling you.” I tell her over my shoulder, placing the tray in the oven for her. “You have, the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard by the way.” I try not to sounds so stalkerish.

  She smiles but shakes her head. “Hardly. But thank you.”

  “So, uh… you’re here…” I cringe at myself. What kind of stupid thing to say. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to see you here this early. Not that I have any idea of what anyone’s schedule is. I know I’m supposed to help anytime I’m awake, but that’s just me—“

  She lifts a slightly greasy hand up to stop my rant, and smiles. “It’s okay, sir. I swapped schedules with Thom, the other baker, so he could sleep in after a week of just sitting in the waiting room for his jury duty. Apparently the poor guy is exhausted from doing nothing but reading whatever controversial title that drunkard Abernathy recommended him to read in the waiting room to avoid actually sitting in court.” She shrugs, “I figure I rather have the afternoon off to spend it with my friend Jo or my sister, Primrose.”

  “Cool.” I say feeling like a sixty year old coot trying to sound young. “Uh, that song you were just singing…?”

  She chuckles turning to the sink to wash her hands off. I’m pleased to see a nice pink take over her olive skinned cheeks.

  “I guess you’re not the only one who enjoys old music.” She turns down the volume on the iPod dock by the sink. “It’s a mountain air. My dad used to sing to me all kinds of old, folksy songs. But I don’t sing much unless I’m alone.”

  “Why? You’re voice is incredible.” I tell her earnestly.

  Is a good thing she’s preoccupied wiping down her working station, because I can’t stop gawking at her. I’m noticing all kinds of traits I find just adorable; like the way her nose wrinkles at my words, disturbing the faded smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Or how perfectly shaped her eyebrows are, and how her blush makes her look so pure and innocent.

  “I’m okay, I guess. My father was the real deal. But he’s been gone for a long time now, and all I inherited from him were a bunch of old Appalachian ballads.” She doesn’t sound sad or bitter, just factual.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind working with your voice as ambience noise.” I smile, hoping she takes it as a light hearted compliment.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to serenade me with your 70’s and 80’s jams?”

  It’s my turn to chuckle. “I’m fine, but by all means keep abusing my self esteem.”

  Her eyes go as round as silver dollars, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to—“

  “Katniss! It’s a joke! And remember, it’s Peeta.”

  “I— I know. I’m sorry. It’s just, my father always taught me to be respectful to servicemen and women, and it’s just ingrained in my mind. Um, thank you for volunteering to protect our country. I have a little sister, you know, her safety is the most important thing in the world to me. I’ve thought several times of joining the army. They have so many benefits I could use, but I just can’t leave Prim alone so long, so I’m very appreciative of people who does leave home to train and become… uh, our defenders?” Her blush is so intense now, I feel bad for the poor thing, but my heart is beating wildly in my chest eating up all this undeserved praise.

  “Ugh… I’m sorry. I’m not very good at talking. I always say the most awkward stuff.”

  “Oh no! You’re great!” I try to assure her. “I’m the one who’s done nothing much to begin with. At least not something I’m terribly proud of, other than flying like a fiend when I need to. Your dad sounds like a stand up guy, I’m glad you had a man like him in your life. And as for joining the army, you can serve plenty around home.” I’m not entirely sure about the last part, but in my head it sounded like the right thing to say.

  “Well, I think you’re great.” She says, but as soon as the words leave her mouth, she goes into a mortified rant, avoiding my eyes at all costs. “I mean… um, I think what you do is great. And your folks are so proud of you too!” She stammers and talks so fast I barely catch up everything she said.

  “Oh yeah,” I say before I can stop the sarcasm, “Mom is real proud of the free labor I provide for her while on leave.”

  I look up defensively, not wanting pity from her, but there isn’t any of that in her soft eyes at all. Instead, she smiles at me, and nods towards the swing doors; she waves me to follow her, and then she points at my picture by the register.

  “Mrs. Mellark is not the nicest person around, but see how that picture hasn’t the tiniest speck of dust on it? She pulls a rag or a handkerchief if she forgets the rag, and cleans the frame every day after counting the money in the till.”

  She lets the information sink in for a bit, letting the door leaf she’s holding open for me swing back into place. She walks back to her station and starts on a batch of muffins.

  I stay there for a moment longer before stepping to the shelf with fresh laundered aprons, grabbing one for myself. The cynical part of me can’t accept that my mother would have a sweet gesture towards me without an ulterior motive; maybe she wipes down the frame so her bridge club friends believe she’s a proud, dedicated, mother… or maybe it’s to show up that church deacon lady she’s got this unspoken rivalry with, I don’t know what her angle is, but I keep it to myself, because I don’t want Katniss to think I’m ungrateful or whatever.

  I just get to work on kneading bread. Methodically and repetitive, relaxing and familiar. I work my frustration with each fold and every time my hands squeeze the malleable concoction on the table. I feel like this is where I belong. I’m actually happy working the dough. It’s not the same rush adrenaline flowing when I get in my cockpit, but here, in this place with a sweet country melody in the background, I feel content.

  Me and Katniss start working on the same station when my dad shows up fifteen minutes later. It’s actually nice sharing the counter with her. She’s tidy, efficient, and meticulous and takes suggestions gratefully. So when dad asks if I’d mind teaching her some frosting techniques, I make a stupid joke, but jump to it with both feet in.

  “Katniss, if you want to decorate cakes like the masters, Peeta’s the guy to learn from.”

  “I don’t know, Pops,” I say eying the girl in mock suspicion. “Can she be trusted with my trade secrets?”

  Cue in the blushing and shying her gaze away. I can’t help thinking she’s cute… pretty, really. I feel like I should be doing something to impress her with my baking and frosting talents.

  “Come, Padawan, I’ll show you the ways of the frost!”

  Katniss looks up at me and tries to hide the curl of her lips. “Okay, but I’m not calling you master,” she says low enough I have to strain my neck to hear her.

  “Peeta will do!” I say winking at her, and her cheeks go impossibly scarlet; the sight enthralls me and I wonder if I can keep doing and saying things to make her blush. “Alright!” I give a clap, “let’s do this!”

  We spend the next couple of hours icing cookies, stacking cakes and practicing the basics of mixing colors. She’s very studious, doesn’t blush as much while we’re actually working on the task at hand, which I respect very much about her. Katniss asks questions confidently and tries to figure out things from her own perspective until she has a solid hold on a concept or skill I’m showing her. She’s serious, but scowls less than when Ryen is the one talking to her.

  Delly and Ryen arrive a few minutes into our decorating techniques class, and Dad comes to our station to tells to take a break, but we’re almost done putting on the base layer of frosting on a birthday cake, and Katniss insists she wants to see it through.

  At around 0930, Rye peeks his head through the swing doors and calls loudly. “Hey, Squirrels, you’ve got visitors.”

  Katniss looks up scowling. “Who?”

  “Your sister and her friend.”

  “Uh… I’m a bit busy—“

  “Take a break, Everdeen!” Says Dad walking by us with a steaming mug of coffee, heading to his office. “Or I’ll dock you thirty bucks!”

  Katniss’ face sours right away, and I have to shake my head ruefully at myself for thinking she’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t help it. I think I’m infatuated with the girl, which is so strange to me. I know things about her, but I don’t know her, and then, there’s the issue of our age difference. We’re like six years apart… it hurts my head just thinking of it.

  “Okay, Mr. Mellark. I’m taking my fifteen minutes.” She says morosely, stepping away from the counter, untying her apron and dusting her hands from flour.

  She wipes herself clean, straightens her Mellark’s uniform, and nods at me. “Thank you for taking time to show me how to decorate a cake. I appreciate your help.” She tells me very politely, with a businesslike edge.

  “Hey, I’m not done with you yet,” I tell her and see the color fill her face before smiling, “I’ll make the best pastry chef around out of you. Count on it!” I wink again, and she doesn’t disappoint with her shy smile.

  “Thanks. It means a lot.” She nods, and goes out the front, to see her sister.

  I’ve been in the back on my own for a bit, and Delly calls from the counter, “Hey, Peeta? Are there any more cheese buns in the cooling rack? We need some out here.”

  “Cheese buns coming up!” I answer already grabbing the tray.

  The bakery is packed. There’s a line snaking around the side of the counter, mostly people try to grab something and go, but we also have a few tables by the back wall, cafe style, completely full. My eyes go straight to the long, thick, dark braid in the very back corner. Her back is to me, and a pair of teenage girls sit facing the display case I’m stoking with pastries.

  Katniss’ table is a picture perfect diversity poster. One of the girls is blonde and blue eyed, with ivory skin; her friend has a smooth ebony complexion, with a riot of dark curls framing her thin face, and soulful brown eyes that light up when she notices the cheese buns have arrived; and then there’s Katniss, with her olive skin and gray eyes with streaks of blue in the irises. A beautiful palette of people.

  “Peeta, would you mind taking two cheese buns and an apple turnover to table five?” Asks Delly bagging a loaf for a customer.

  I look up at Rye, who’s busy taking a cake order over the phone.

  “No problemo!” I tell her reaching for a plate and forks.

  As it turns out, table five is Katniss’ table. Objectively, I knew that already from years working in the bakery, but for some reason the two things didn’t correlate until I looked towards table five, and the two teens were craning their necks around a stiff looking Katniss to gawk at me.

  Aw! High schoolers! Not much has changed.

  The girls start giggling quietly and elbowing each other while their amused eyes flit from me to one another; they start swapping hushed comments behind their hands but their voices carry anyway.

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, he’s coming over!”

  “Gah! Are you seeing those baby blues?”

  “No! I’m preoccupied with his biceps! Lord have mercy!”

  Katniss pounces forward, leaning closer to the girls. “Cut it out! He can probably hear you two!”

  “Morning, ladies!” I say loudly, not to startle Katniss since her back is to me. I hold up the plate of pastries to them. “Two cheese buns and an apple turnover. Enjoy!” I give them a polite nod and place the plate in the middle of the table, trying to remain professional for Katniss’ sakes.

  “Thank you, Captain Mellark,” Says the blonde, who’s obviously Primrose, judging by how much her features favor her big sister, except for her hair color.

  “First Lieutenant!” Katniss hisses at her sister, eyes alarmed and full of aggravation.

  “It’s fine,” I assure them. “No worries. Call me Peeta if you’re in doubt.” I smile at them beatifically and then move on from the table.

  I can hear the girls giggling and Katniss’ mortified groan.

  “Oh my gosh, he’s hot!”

  “Primrose! Mind yourself!” Katniss berates her sister in a harsh whisper.

  “What! I’m fifteen, not blind.”

  “Rue, what are you doing? Put the phone down! Oh my god, you’re gonna get me fired!”

  “I’m texting Jo! I’d be in trouble if don’t.”

  “Oh yes! Jo will like to hear all about yummy airman here!”

  Katniss grunts, “Ugh! Eat your snacks and go home! And please, leave Jo out of this.”

  Is the last thing I hear them say. I’m wondering who this Joe person is? It’s the third time the name creeps up in conversation, and I just don’t like the little flash of annoyance I feel when I hear it.

  ———

  It’s a slow Monday, so I give myself the day off and run a couple of errands around town: fill up the tank of the car Delly let me borrow while I’m home, call up a couple of friends to say hi, hang out with Finn during his ‘lunch break’, then go grocery shopping, because I’ve been subsisting on bakery scraps and junk food for the first week of leave, and I should at least try to maintain a healthy diet, so I don’t get too fat. Getting back in shape at training isn’t my idea of fun.

  It’s bizarre how many times I have to stop to say hi to some acquaintance while pushing my buggy around the store. Most of them are my folks’ friends, that want to see the ‘fighter boy’. Sometimes it can be too much, but I try to think of it as supportive. This people saw me growing up into what I am today. It’s understandable they want to let me know I’m making my little hometown proud, just for doing what I’m passionate about.

  What I’m not expecting is to literally bump into Katniss Everdeen in the frozen vegetable aisle.

  She’s walking backwards from the fridge with an armfull of assorted veggies, and I just happened to come around the corner too distracted, because I’m waving a little old lady from mom’s knitting club bye, to see where I’m going.

  All of Katniss frozen bags fall to the floor.

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “Oh my god!”

  We exclaim at the same time. After a second of staring at each other in disbelief, we dive down to pick up the bags.

  “No, no. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have grab all these at once.”

  “No, the fault is mine. I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

  We bring the veggies to a shopping cart a foot away from Katniss, and filled to the brim with groceries, and dump the lot on the very top.

  Katniss pulls a piece of paper and a pen from the back pocket of her jeans and scratches something out, stuffing the writing materials back in their spot. She finally looks up at me, blushing as usual.

  “Um… so, Monday, Monday.” She says nervously, staring hopefully at me while balancing on the ball of her feet.

  It takes me a minute of just gawking at her puzzled, before figuring out why she’s acting so peculiar, until it clicks.

  Lyrics. She’s quoting a song.

  I smirk and answer, “Can’t trust that day.”

  She bites her lower lip, that does nothing to suppress the biggest smile I’ve seen on her so far. “Sometimes it just turns out that way.”

  I’m so enthralled watching her lips that the next line comes all choppy at first. “Every other day. Every other day of the week is fine,”

  “Yeah.” She actually sings the word, which makes me chuckle.

  We continue lobbing lyrics back and forth for a bit.

“But whenever Monday comes,”

  “But whenever Monday comes, you can find me cryin´ all of the time.”

  “Monday, Monday.”

  “So good to me.”

  “Can’t guarantee.”

  And now we’re just staring at each other in the middle of the deserted aisle, and suddenly we’re laughing loudly.

  “That was…”

  “Ridiculous!”

  “Oh, but it was great!”

  “No it wasn’t! It was so… cheesy! I’m just glad you knew the song, otherwise I would’ve looked like a total idiot.”

  She actually puts her hand on my forearm— for balance I assume— and I think this is the first time we touch, other than when we met and shook hands. My skin is all tingly where her fingers lift from.

  But our bubble of merriment gets obliterated with the literal pop of loud gum bubble popping right beside us.

  “Wow… Sunshine is onto somethin’ here, Brainless.” Says a girl with spiky, short, brown hair, wide-set brown eyes with one eyebrow arch in scrutiny, and the most obnoxious gum chewing I’ve ever seen in a female. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me to Captain Muscles here?” She spares Katniss a devious glance, and then returns to scan me head to toe.

  Katniss’ lips thin out, she’s fighting off a blush, but the blood filling her cheeks is winning. Reluctantly, she turns to me, “Lieutenant, my best friend, Jo. Jo, First Lieutenant, Peeta Mellark.” She gives her friend a murderous glare.

  “You’re Joe?” I ask idiotically while narrowing my eyes at the girl… clearly female. “I thought you were Katniss boyfriend.” I extend my hand for her to shake.

  She watches my hand and lets it sit in the air for a second or two before taking it and squeezing hard. She holds a penetrating eye contact while shaking my hand. “Who says I’m not, just because I’m a girl?”

  My mouth goes dry. I scratch the back of my neck embarrassedly, I open my mouth to say something, because really, Katniss could be in a same sex relationship for all I know. Just because she gets all pink in the face when I’m around doesn’t mean she’s attracted to me… or any man for that matter.

  Katniss groans, but just as she’s trying to say something her friend speaks.

  “Johanna Mason,” Says the girl eyeing me with a devilish gleam in her brown eyes, “as deliciously awkward you guys look right now, I have to admit Brainless is not my type. Too stoic and hero like for me. But you on the other hand…” she gives me a mock roar, and Katniss turns beet red with the deepest scowl I’ve ever seen.

  “Jo!” Katniss hisses.

  Johanna rolls her eyes, “I’m just joking, for fucks sakes! Don’t get your panties in a knot, KitKat.” She blows another irritating bubble gum and smirks at me, “see you around Fly Boy!” She winks and takes the handle of the shopping cart. “Come on girlfriend, let’s pay for your shit. I’m tired of meander around like a headless chicken.”

  After waving goodbye at me woodenly, Katniss follows her friend to the registers, and I stay there wondering how the hell such a goofy, cute encounter could have just fizzled down so fast with one single pop of a gum bubble?

  ———-

  Thom is back from jury duty and the workload evens out easier with another experienced baker in the kitchen.

  Katniss has school in the evening, so her shift starts around 0800, until 17:30. Since I get to chose my own hours, as long as I show up a minimum five times a week, I decide to show up after lunch to work on an order of cupcakes easy enough for Katniss to practice the basic frosting I showed her on Saturday.

  After we’re done with those, Thom slips me a piece of paper with an order for a four tier wedding cake in fondant and sugar flowers. Thom looks absolutely delighted passing on the task to me, because after all, decorating the cakes was my specialty growing up.

  “When is this due?” I ask scratching my head with the back of my wrist, trying not to get vanilla filling on my hair.

  “Friday evening.” Says Thom gleefully turning to some easier pastry to deal with. “Figured you’d like the chance to get back on the saddle!”

  “Gee… thanks.”

  Thom smiles, “What can I say? It’s good to have you back!”

  “Let me guess, the bride is a perfectionist. A real bridezilla.”

  “Nah. Bride’s sweet as pie, the mom on the other hand… total bitch.”

  I groan. It’s always my luck, having to deal with crazy cougars, trying to live up their dreams through their daughters weddings.

  “Shit. This thing says the order was placed yesterday. Why am I getting it today? This only gives me three full days to finish.”

  “Well, your lazy ass didn’t come in yesterday, and the boss said to give you the work order, he thinks you’ll have a field day with it, ha! Better start baking those cakes, dude.”

  “Fuck it!” I hang my head low, and shuffle to the pantry to get the ingredients. It’s four tiers in a different flavor each, and one of them is supposed to be filled with fresh strawberries.

  “Mmm, I can help you… if you want. I’ve never worked with fondant, but I can mix a cake no problem, and you need four of those.”

  I look up to find Katniss’ hopeful grey eyes, watching my tower of ingredients shyly.

  “I guess I can teach you how to work with fondant while we’re at it. I’ve heard you take evening classes. We can work on the technical part of the decoration during the morning…”

  “I can come back after classes too.” She offers eagerly. “I get out at 8:15, which puts me here around 8:40 or so. Unless that’s too late?”

  “No, no, that’s perfect. Okay, partner, let’s kick some cake ass!”

  Working the cake with Katniss is actually a lot of fun. We listen to music on the iPod dock, and she makes fun of me for not liking the Beatles, but having all of Johnny Cash’ collection. It’s a moot point, since she knows all the lyrics to every Johnny Cash song that pops up in my device. It’s nice.

  She goes to school, and I take a nice three hour break. No sense working in the cake if I have to show Katniss how to work with it.

  She shows up again at 21:45, and I let her into the back door, promptly locking us in after she steps into the kitchen. The front has been closed for hours already, but I’m not very comfortable with the back unlocked at this time.

  “I just don’t get it,” she says pulling a face, sifting in the flour on the table top to knead the fondant.

  “What’s that?” I ask without lifting my yes from my own batter.

  “Oh, nothing, is just that you’re this greater than life legend here in town— you should hear Abernathy’s tall tales about you— but you’ve been cooped up in the apartment, pretty much all week, instead of going out and stuff.”

  “I’m a house wart. I rather stay in than going out. You?” I look at her under my eyelashes.

  She makes a face. “I’m antisocial according to Prim.”

  “You seem to do pretty well around me, so you’re not completely antisocial.”

  She smiles gratefully. “And I’m not sure how I manage that.” She says softly, looking down at the block of fondant we’re supposed to be working with.

  “Why is that?” I ask haltingly, a small thrilling swoop in my stomach tells me to tread carefully with her. I don’t want to do anything stupid.

  Katniss eyes take an earnest shine, and I finally understand that “Windows to the soul” thing they say about eyes. I can see so many emotions in those big, gray eyes that stare at me like I’m something really special.

  She turns to the fondant, “So, after kneading this thing, we use the rolling pin… how thin do we need it?”

  Oh she’s good! Master deflector I see. I nod almost imperceptibly staring her in the eye.

  “Well, for this cake they only want white, but other times we would have to add a couple of food coloring drops, if the order calls for it. Then we knead with a bit of flour so it doesn’t stick to the table or our fingers, and you’re welcome to wear gloves if you want to, so you don’t stain your hands.”

  I show her for a minute, then let her take over, and keep giving her tips here and there to work more efficiently.

  We put filling in all the separate flavored cakes, and prep them with frosting to place the first layer of fondant down. I tell her we will work on the individual tiers before stacking them together and go on about the correct way to lay fondant down, but her first attempt is a disaster. The fondant is too pasty and thin, so it sticks together and brakes apart like melted marshmallows.

  “I’m so sorry,” she winces. “I promise I’ll get the next one right.”

  “It’s okay, nobody gets everything perfect the first time they try something new.” I tell her softly, wiping away the table so we can start again. “It’s just sugar, you’ll get it. Here, let me help you.” I offer, standing behind her and putting my hands over hers to guide her while rolling the piece of solid icing.

  As soon as I feel her small hands under mine, and feel her lithe body shiver against mine, I realize what a total mistake this is. I should move away, really, but I don’t want her to think she’s done anything wrong, so I bite down on my stupid nervousness and keep teaching her how to make a cake.

  “Like this,” I say softer than I intended.

  Katniss follows the instructions, and then I really should move away, but she says she needs help placing the newly rolled out fondant, and I’m her teacher, I can’t just leave her there on her own; but fuck if my body is not reacting to her like I basket of hormones.

  “We… pick up the rolling pin with the layer of fondant, and carefully… unroll it on top of the cake. Don’t let the rolling pin fall on the cake. That’ll be bad.”

  She chuckles that silent laugh of hers where only a puff of sound escapes her, and her shoulders shake until she’s done laughing.

  I almost groan. The slight of her ass momentarily grazed against the front of my pants, and my dick immediately reacted to it, as it had been called to action… hell… when was the last time I had sex with anyone other than my hand?

  “Okay! Done! I’ll take it from here!” I speak breathlessly and too fast.

  “But it’s my turn to lay it down.” Katniss protests.

  “You don’t have to. I can finish myself…” fuck, “The fondant, that is.” Fuckety fuck! Shut up mouth… now!

  I have no idea why am I still bracing my arms at each side of her on the table, I really should step away now, but she tilts her head almost around to look at me, and those twin moons are so pretty and full of wonder, I can’t move.

  “How’s this?” She asks in this thin voice that tugs at me.

  I look down, and realized she’s been working on the icing all along, and other than a crinkle here, and another there, she’s pretty much done with the last cake.

  “That’s great. Thank you!”

  She smiles widely at me. “Now we just need to set it aside.” She tells me turning in my arms, with the cake in her hands. It’s the only thing that forces me to move away.

  Once she places the last tier on a shelf to rest. She looks up at me. “Thank you, mister Peeta. Working with you is such an amazing opportunity, I have no words to tell you how grateful I am for all your family has done for me.”

  “Peeta. Please.” I say quietly, coming closer to her like a magnet to another. “It’s an honor helping you. You’re a very dedicated apprentice. Tomorrow we will make flowers.”

  “Okay.” She exhales breathily, and her eyes keep dipping to my mouth. “I can’t wait…”

  I’m standing five inches from her… or at least I think that’s how far my chest is from hers.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask her suddenly.

  “I— Yes. I could eat.” Her eyes focus on my face intently. “I’ve never seen the apartment upstairs. Is it comfortable?” She asks.

  I can feel the blood pooling in my groin. “It’s great. I grew up there. I can give you a tour, if you agree to have a sandwich with me.”

  She bites her lip and nods. “Okay.”

  “Let’s go then.”

[cntbtchthevapegod]

Green Apron

 I want it to be with her, non-judgmentally listening to every word she speaks soaking up her joy while I still can. Even if I do most of the work, even if she ridicules my clothes, even if she spends the time telling me to smile when my face is just resting. That is time I want to spend with her, wholeheartedly doing something with her that brings her joy.

A green apron much too large for my tiny 9-year-old body dwarfs me as I stand on the step stool so I can reach the counter. The room is washed in bright LED lights and covered in flour. Green vases and a dog statue, resembling the dog they had in my father's childhood, sit atop the giant white cabinets. My little hands are much too weak to roll out the dough so her’s press mine down and slowly the dough is rolled into a large circle. I cut out circles and she dollops filling into the center of them.

While she’s looking away I dip my finger into the filling. As subtle as I tried to be, she noticed. Closing her eyes, smiling, and letting out the smallest of laughs, she too dipped her finger into the filling then tasted it.

“VT! You did an amazing job with this filling! It is delicious.”

This continued for many years. Going from “This filling is delicious” to, “Aren’t you proud of Ravit, she made almost all of the Hamantaschen.”

This past fall we were making the crepes that the blintzes were going to be wrapped in. In the many years before that day, I would burn or tear many crepes before I started getting them right. We stood at her stove, me taller than her now, no longer needing the step stool. I made crepe after crepe while humming along to the music. Each crepe she made was too thick, ripped or burnt, and very few came out correct. She shook her head and seemed unfazed. Then she ripped the fourth one in a row. “Dammit!” 

“Are you okay Nana? Did you burn yourself?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I just can’t get these right.”

I let out a long breath. “Do you want my help?”

“No.” she responded as she poured more batter into the pan. For so much of her life, she naturally knew when a crepe was done, didn’t even need to think about it. And suddenly her brain had decided, without consulting her, that it was no longer something she needed to remember. Like it had done with so many things, driving, the name of my school, her nephew's age.

She wove my talis for my bat mitzvah and when she presented it to me she said something along the lines of, “When your Ima told me she was having a girl I was ecstatic. Now I was going to have a granddaughter! You are truly the best I could have asked for.” I had never realized that was the reason she wanted us to share baking with each other.

After two sons and a grandson, she finally had me, a girl! Her enthusiasm seeping into everything she taught me. Making me Bake with her since I can remember.  Every year we made blintzes that she refused to take credit for, always saying that they were “VT’s blintzes” whenever someone complimented her on them. 

And every year we’d make hamantaschen that would win the synagogues competition every time. Now I don’t have time for hamantaschen, now there is school, social life, theater, so no award this year. The blintzes were really “VT’s blintzes” this year, for I did all the work. They didn’t taste as good, she hadn’t infused her soul into these ones, she was just too tired. 

The first time we made her famous chocolate chip cookies together, that I can remember, she didn’t even get the recipe out. Pulling sugar, chocolate chips, flour, vanilla, eggs, butter, salt, baking soda, and oats out of various cabinets. I sat on the step stool watching her as she moved throughout the kitchen. Now I can’t even remember the last time she made them, and I have the recipe memorized. It used to be that she could tell me her banana bread recipe off the top of her head. Last week it took her two hours to find the recipe and send it to me. And without her there to guide me, it was nothing compared to the memory of it.

There are times when I lay in bed stomach-churning and bad excuses flying through my head. I wait until the last minute when my mom runs into the room screaming for me to get ready to go. My mind will float off to a distant island of calm thought. And I slowly pull myself from the bed and drag myself to my grandparents’ house, greeted by seven reiterations of “Why are you always so tired?” from my grandma. The reply is always “I don’t know.” never the truth, that thinking about spending time with her is almost as exhausting as actually doing it.

I complain because it’s annoying when she asks me the same question over and over. I get impatient with her and that isn’t fair. I have found excuses to get out of baking with her because she no longer can understand the difference between a compliment and a criticism that has been taken too far. But, oh what I would give to bake with her because the last time I baked with her can’t be me being impatient and angry, begrudgingly doing all the work.

[coronas-dashing-rogue]

smut under the cut from a personal blog suggestion. dash made me do it. blame him! 

seriously this is super sexual and I have no regrets but if you are underage / uncomfortable by sexual things then don’t read this. im warning you. it’s naughty. 

warning: smutty smut  

Rapunzel loved surprises. She loved being surprised, but she also liked being the one to surprise others, whether it be with thing she drew, tasks she did or things she said. She loved polishing Cassandra’s weapons while she was away as a ‘thank you’ for everything she did for her. She loved giving her mother and father artwork that she made; things that they could hang up proudly. But she absolutely loved surprising Eugene. She figured since he grew up on his own, he had nobody to surprise him with good things. So she liked making up for lost time. She liked making him smile that big, shy smile and liked when he’d pull her close and kiss her and thank her. She loved making him feel loved. 

And she also loved surprising him so much that it knocked the wind out of him. 

Which is exactly what she did when he walked into his room and saw her there, laying on his bed, in nothing but that pretty tiara perched on her head. 

He scrambled to shut the door behind him incase anybody had been in the hallway behind him because holy hell he had not been expecting that. 

“Surprised?” The word was so pretty on her lips. He nodded mutely, unable to find the words. Without taking his eyes off of her (because how could he?!), he reached behind and locked his door. Then he pulled a chair in front of it for good measure because he would be hung immediately if anybody walked in and saw this. 

She couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction, blush creeping up on her cheeks even though she was completely comfortable laying bare before him. Once he got his bearings, his eyes raked over her body, memorizing every curve, dip and bump. His fingers twitched to touch her; his mouth watered at the thought of her taste. 

“What, uh, brought this on?” He said, walking towards her while he worked at the buckles of his doublet. Why wouldn’t he undress? She wasn’t here to snuggle. 

She nibbled at her bottom lip, all coy and cute. “You’ve made mention of making love to me in nothing but my tiara, and I figured I’d bring one of your fantasies come to life. After all, it’s not like you haven’t done that to me.”

He smirked, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. She was right; how many times had they gotten intimate in messy things like mud and flour and pond water? He was excited that she was indulging him in one of his silly little fantasies. 

Before he could answer, she rendered him speechless once again. He stopped dead in his tracks while she trailed fingers down her body right down between her thighs with a satisfied hum. Her head fell back, her lips parted and the sound she let out went straight to his groin. 

“Damn.”

“Hm?” She picked her head back up, eyeing him with wicked eyes. Her fingers continued to play, moving easily against wet folds. His knees felt weak. “You like?” 

“Uh huh,” he couldn’t even say anything smart. She had broken his brain. 

She knew this, too, and thought it was adorably sexy. “Figured why not hit two of your fantasies at once. You do so much for me I thought I could return the favor.” He watched said favor unfold, small fingers dipping inside her and oh man he loved watching this but he wanted it to be his fingers making her make those sounds. 

He rid himself of the rest of his clothes, not even bothering to be sexy or alluring or anything. He was downright desperate to get out of these damn pants because it was starting to hurt. 

How the hell did he get so damn lucky?!

He crawled between her legs, snatching up her hand at her core and lifting it to his lips, looking at her with dark eyes before he wrapping his lips around her wet fingers and sucking with a satisfying hum. She tasted incredible. She couldn’t help but stare, the image so erotic and setting her skin on fire. 

“Eugene,” she murmured his name, pulling her fingers out of his mouth and wrapping her arms around his neck, desperate to kiss him and pulling him on top of her. The time for playing coy was done; she needed him and she needed him now. She didn’t want her own fingers inside her, teasing and dancing. She wanted him. 

“Eugene please,” she groaned, reaching down to take him in her hand, pulling and tugging, and if he wasn’t there before he was there now. With a shift, he pushed into her faster and harder than he normally would. She just made it so easy, her arousal warm and dripping, pulling him in with its silent siren song.  

She threw her head back with a moan way louder than she should’ve and he smiled when she bit her lip and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. I’ve been thinking of this all day long.” 

He hummed, burying his face in her neck. Thinking of this? All day? “Even in your classes?” 

“Yesss,” she groaned (quietly, this time!), fingers gripping at his sheets and toes curling. She was always so damn attractive when they fucked; enjoying every single feeling with everything she had. “Even in my classes. All I could do was press - ohhhhhh, right there, Eugene right there - mmm, press my legs together and try to ignore it but it was driving me crazy.” 

How she was able to even form a coherent thought right now, he had no idea. He liked watching her struggle to talk through the pleasure, though. It was fun to see how much she could take. 

He looked down at her, watching the way the light was bouncing and dancing off the jewels atop her head and he groaned. He always did like shiny things, especially that one. It helped knowing that that tiara right there was the one thing that brought them together in the very beginning. Without it, he would’ve never met her. He would’ve never realized that he could be loved so fiercely by someone. 

“You’re beautiful,” he moaned, leaning down to kiss her as warmth washed through him. How’d he get so lucky? How could somebody as wonderful and caring and thoughtful as her love him so much? This beautiful girl who was fulfilling one of his silly fantasies he’d told her in passing was all his, and that thought alone had him pushing into her harder and faster. 

There was no more talking, now. Just moans and pants, nails and teeth. Pulling, grabbing, biting and scratching, pushing harder and harder and harder until they both fell over the edge together in a mess of sweaty limbs and bit-back moans. He rolled onto his side and held her close, reaching for the tiara that had fallen off by their rocking long ago and plopping it back down on her head. She giggled softly, looking up at him with the softest smile. 

“You know, I really don’t care about my crown. I know that it’s mine and always has been since I was a baby, but that’s not what I love about it. I love that you stole it, because when you did that, you found me. Without it, who knows where we’d be right now.” 

He didn’t want to think about that because she’d still be in that tower, and he might be dead. 

He smiled. “And that’s exactly why it looks so damn good on your head.” 

[retro-melanin]

Have Your Cake, and Eat It Too

what up, what up y’all? i’ve been working on this fic for awhile, and i was gonna leave it just as cute food fight fluff, buuuuut that didn’t happen lmao. i LIVE for playful chadwick so this fic is full of it. sorry for any typos and/or ruined panties

Plot: cute Sunday afternoon food fight turns into a fun time in the shower

Word count:2.5k plus

Kinks: oral sex (male and female), overstimulation, EXTREME DADDY KINK LIKE BEWARE LMAO,  Dom!Chadwick

Warnings: swearing, smut (obvi), unsafe sex (raw and it’s in the shower so we’re living life on the edge ksdlfjaoerijapwie)

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Luther Vandross’s melodic voice was crooning from the speakers you had in your kitchen. You were dressed in some shorts and one of Chadwick’s old shirts. Today, you’d decided to try and surprise your lover by making a treat he’d kept asking you for. Chadwick was on the couch jotting down some ideas for a script. At least, he was the last time you’d looked up. You were vigorously stirring the vegan cheesecake batter when Chadwick snuck up behind you. His hands slid around your waist, and you let out a startled yelp. You could feel his shit-eating grin on the side of your neck. You decided to get him back by flicking some of the batter from the drenched whisk on to him.

“HEY,” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry baby. I couldn’t help myself. You’re just soooo...delectable,” he said. His voice was getting dangerously lower with every sentence. Chadwick left a wet line of kisses up your neck and along your jaw, causing you to gasp. You put the bowl and the whisk down and spun around in his grasp.

“Now listen here,” you demanded--pointing your finger into his chest for emphasis. “You have BEGGED for me to try this recipe all week! And noooooow when I have the time you wanna distract me! Nigga, which cake do you want?”

Chadwick giggled at your sass. “Why can’t I have both?” he asked while trying to pull you in for a kiss. You playfully wiggled out of his embrace.

“Because…” you mused. You turned your attention back to the batter to begin beating it again. It was almost time to pour it in the mold, but you just needed a little more air in the mixture in order to assure the fluffiness of the treat. All the while, you were paying Chadwick no mind. You began to dance and twirl around the kitchen as if you were in a disney movie, he was a disney king after all. A devious glint developed in Chadwick’s eyes. He pulled himself up on the counter of the island separating you two and slid across it. Suddenly, your lips were mere inches apart again.

“Because why,” he asked playfully.

“Because I said so,” you sang-song. Chadwick sucked his teeth and gave you this look:

“Maaaiiine that aint a reason,” Chadwick said with a pout. You giggled at his childish antics. He leaned in, and you dipped the your finger in the cheesecake mix and swiped some across his nose. His eyes got comically wide, and you couldn’t help but  paint his face with more batter, hoping to elicit the same reaction from him. Chadwick retaliated by throwing flour at you. You shrieked with laughter. It was war. You dashed across the kitchen to grab at the lemon juice. You squeezed it at his shirt. He was arming himself with fistfuls of cornstarch.

“Oh you done did it now,” he said through is grin. He launched the cornstarch at you, and it went everywhere. The two of you went back a forth throwing any food item that you could reach. The food was not only all over your and Chadwick’s hair, face, clothes, but also all over the cabinets, stove, floor--everywhere! While you were taking in the view of the mess the two of you made, Chadwick came over and scooped you up. He held you bridal style and spun you around. It was your turn to giggle. He was smiling warmly down at you, and your heart swelled.

“Let’s go get cleaned up,” Chadwick said already making strides towards your master bathroom. You struggled like a cat in his arms, but he held you tight.

“We made a mess! I was trying to make your cheesecake!! ChaDWICK,” you wheezed between fits of laughter as he was tickling you now. He was watching you with both adoration and amusement.

“Thank you so so so much, but right now I just want you. We’ll worry about everything else later,” he said fondly. “Shower or bath,” he mused.

“Shower. I don’t want all this gunk in a bath...ew!” you scoffed. He chuckled yet again as he gently placed you on the floor. You began de-robing, eager to rid yourself of your soiled clothing.

“Is that MY shirt,” Chadwick asked.

“Oops,” you replied with a shrug. He rolled his eyes, and went to turn on the shower. You’d slipped the rest of your clothing off before you snuck up behind Chadwick and tugged his loose sweatpants down. A scandalized look swept across his face, and you burst out laughing. He turned on one of the many shower heads and aimed the freezing spray of water at you. You screamed and jerked away. Chadwick’s bodacious laugh filled your large bathroom, and you pouted.

“I’m cold AND disgusting,” you whimpered, trying to sound as frail as possible. You weren’t really mad, but you liked making him feel bad every once and awhile. This time, however, Chadwick didn’t fall for your antics. He was busy pulling his shirt over his head and kicking his sweatpants away from his feet. You decided to adjust the knobs while holding your pout.

“You’re fine, and you’re about to be better. You know why,” he inquired. You rolled your eyes while stepping under the now warm drizzle of the rain shower.

“Why,” you sighed. Your sigh turned into a gasp as you felt Chadwick’s firm chest against your back. His hands ran up your sides caressing your hips, waist, stomach, and finally landing on your breasts. His lips met your neck and he began leaving wet, nibbling kisses on it. His fingers took turns plucking and rolling the nipples on either breast. Between the attention he was paying to your tits and the attention he was paying to your neck, you were in heaven.

“Because….” he teased, mimicking your tone from earlier. He pulled away to grab the soap, and you let out a long disappointed whine.

“No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that,” you sassed.

“You tryna distract me? Nigga, which cake do YOU want,” he kept mocking you, even if it didn’t make sense. You decided to catch him off-guard.

“Well, I don’t cake, but I am craving a certain kinda pie,” you mused as you pressed your wet body against his. His jaw dropped.

“DAYUM-,” he started, but you took his long, beautiful dick in your hand and gave a few firm strokes. He got too lost in the sensations to finish whatever he was going to say. You smirked when he let out a deep, wanton groan as he grew harder in your hand.

“Fuck baby…” he said just above a whisper through hooded eyes. You looked up with the most innocent face you could muster. A slow smile spread across his face, and you couldn’t help but get on your tiptoes to kiss him. Your lips met his in a chaste kiss, and you stole the soap from his hand while he was distracted. You began lathering it and cleaning your man. He returned the favor, sliding his strong hands down your spine. When he reached your ass, he gave powerful squeezes before giving you two hard slaps on each cheek. You couldn’t help the small “ah..ah!” that you let out.

You pulled away from the embrace, just enough to run your hand up and down his perfectly sculpted torso. His muscles rippled under your smoothing touch. He grabbed both of your hands in his much larger one just before you reached your prize. Your eyes flicked up to meet his lustful gaze.The tension between the two of you was palatable, as you both waited for the other to make a move. You dropped on to your knees and took the head of Chadwick’s dick into your mouth. Your boldness surprised him, and he let out a high pitched moan. He let go of your hands, so he could grip on to your head.

You gently raked your nails down is abdomen, to his hips, finally landing on his ass. You pulled him forward, forcing his dick further down your throat. He let out an aborted grunt, and one of his hands flew to the wall to stabilize him. It was nearly impossible to take his entire length into your mouth, so you used one of your hands to aid your mouth. One of your hands rested at the base of his dick, while you used the other one to lightly roll his balls. Something about Chad’s playful mood today inspired you to make this a messy blowjob.

You started slurping nosily. Your hand was twisting in the opposite direction of your head, and you would occasionally go further down to gag yourself a little. He was whimpering and biting the knuckle that wasn’t on the wall. You pulled off with a nasty pop. You let your tongue hang out, connecting it with his weeping slit. You alternated between little kitten licks and broad, confident strokes.

“Ooooohmy gawd,” Chadwick slurred. You tightened the hand that was on his shaft, and you sucked him back in with hollowed cheeks and wicked tongue movements. As you did, you looked up. His knees buckled, and his balls started drawing up in your hand the moment your eyes met. He pulled you off as he gasped, “shit baby, I almost came.” A smirk formed on your face. Chad let out a breathless chuckle and gently pulled your to your feet.

“Do you trust me,” he whispered once you were standing again.

“Of course,” you whispered back. Suddenly, your feet were off the ground. Your back was against the wall, your legs on his shoulders, and your pussy just millimeters away from his plump lips. You gushed when you realized how easily he picked you up, and Chadwick let out a deep, satisfied chuckle.

“Somebody liked that,” he murmured. Air grazed your wet folds with his every word. His hands on the small of your back pulled you in closer, and his tongue connected with your glistening slit. He ran his tongue up and down from your asshole to your clit over and over again, driving you mad. When started doing figure-eights around your clit with his tongue, you hissed while pulling on his curls.

“Ride my face baby,” he moaned into your cunt. You didn’t need to be told twice. You put both hands on his head and rolled your hips up to met his hungry licks. His arms were flexing as he held you up. His beard was burning the inside of your thighs, adding the perfect bite of pain to accompany your pleasure. He was gasping and moaning just as loudly as you were. Your joint moans bounced off the shower walls like a chorus praising your passion. Chadwick growled and forced your hips to his face. He sucked in your clit, and you threw your head back and screamed. You legs started shaking, and your hips were moving on their own accord.

“Ergh, oh, cha-AHHHHH,” you babbled. He could tell you were close, and he pulled off completely.

“CHADWICK WHAT THE FUUU-,” you screamed as he let go, and you slid you down the wall. He caught you when your hips were level with his abdomen. You had just seen your life flash before your eyes, and Chadwick was just standing there chuckling. Your face went on a journey from terrified, to astounded, to confused, to pissed. He watched all of your emotions unfold before him, and he kissed you when he could tell you were about to go off on him. Most of your anger faded away as soon as your lips molded together in an impassioned kiss, but your heart was still racing.

“Are you tryna give me a heart attack oooooor?” you whispered between the nips and bites you were leaving on is soft lips.

“Neva, neva….I’m just tryna keep you on your toes,” he slurred, “or should I say, off of ‘em.” He squeezed your legs that were now secured around his slim, toned waist. Your body was still orgasm deprived, so you started rubbing yourself against his slippery abs. He moaned when he realised what you were doing.

“If ya ask nicely, I might fuck you,” he said as he sucked dark marks on to your neck. His voice was growing low and gravely, and it struck you straight to your core. ‘Okay I’ll play your game Mr. Boseman,’ you thought slyly. You let out the filthiest moans your could conjure and put on your sex kitten voice.

“Please baby, fuck me,” you moaned right into his ear. He slid your hips down so that the very tip of his dick was teasing your entrance.

“I’m not convinced you want it,” he growled.

“Ahhh Daddy, please, pleeeeease I’ll be so good for you. I promise, please daddy,” you gasped in a played up breathy moan--licking and sucking on his ears in between each plea.

“Fuck.” he breathed out. He slid you onto his dick as he gave a forceful thrust up.

“OoooooOoOooOoo fuuuck, it’s that, uhf, easy h-huh?” you tried to quip, but Chadwick was already fucking the living daylights out of you.

“You know it gets me when you call me daddy, fuck,” he groaned. He rolled his hips back and snapped them forward, making his dick hit your sweet spot perfectly on each thrust. His powerful thrust had you scratching at his back for purchase. Your thighs were definitely going to bruise from the force of his grip. Everything felt to visceral and unhinged. Although you loved how Chadwick made love to you, you lived for the moments when he lost control. Your bodies were making lewd slapping noises every time your hips connected with his. His dick was pounding into you relentlessly, and you could feel your orgasm rising again. You clamped your legs around his waist and tried to met his animalistic thrusts as best you could.

“Uh, ah, fuck fuck,” you whimpered.

“You like that,” he moaned into your neck.

“Yes, yes, baby, yes”

“Who’s pussy is this?”

“Your’s! It’s your pussy daddy!” you said and you felt his dick throb. “Fuck your pussy daddy. OoOooh my god.” Your cunt was clenching around him, rearing up for the orgasm of the century. Chadwick’s hips were moving at a rabbit’s pace--you could tell your lover was close too. He was too lost in the warm, wet feeling of your pussy caressing his dick to speak. You slipped a hand down to your clit, and started rubbing to match his pace. As soon as you did, your insides clenched HARD, once, twice, three times before you felt yourself teetering at the top of your release.

“Look at me while you cum in me daddy,” you demanded. His eyes shot open to meet yours, and you shook from head to toe. You both crashed down into the most glorious orgasms of your lives. Your pussy was throbbing, your clit was twitching beneath your fingers.Chadwick’s mouth dropped open and he let out cropped “shit, fuck, AHHHH, FU- FU.” You felt his dick enlarge and shoot inside you. Your eyes rolled back as you yelled out your release. He thrust in you hard while your were still trembling out your high. You started whimpering and pushing against his chest--it was too much. He kept going, and you yelled “FUCK DADDY IM CUMMING AGAIN!” One orgasm bled into the next, and you found yourself speaking in tongues.

He finally held himself against you. He put your legs down, and you leaned on the wall for support. The two of you were breathing heavy, and shaking. He blew out a shaky breath and said, “damn baby what was that.” Even though you were exhausted, you still had a trick or two up your sleeve. You gentle scooted him back, and you dropped down to your knees once again. Once you were eye level with his spent dick, you took it down to the base, and you bobbed up and down. Chadwick let out high pitch moans that almost sounded like screams.

“babybabybabybaybaplease please pleeeease, you gotta stop you gotta i CAN’T,” he was completely incoherent and at your mercy. You didn’t stop until he shot whatever was left from his beautiful dick into your mouth. When he was totally spent, you pulled off and sleepily said, “who’s beggin’ now?”

He pulled you up, and held you close. “I love you so much. You know that?”

“I sure do,” you said with a smile. Chadwick grabbed the shampoo and washed your hair and his since you were near passing out. He finished washing the both of you down before he turned off the shower. You were nearly limp in his arms as he towled you off and lotioned you. You couldn’t help but think ‘wow this man is perfect. I’m so lucky.’ He slipped your bonnet on, and placed you gently on the bed. You were falling into the beginning stages of sleep when you remembered, THE KITCHEN! Chadwick was putting on his durag when he saw you shoot up.

“Chadwick! The mess!!” you tried to articulate in your sleepy state.

“The mess will be there when we wake up. Now we rest.” he said getting into bed and wrapping you up in his arms.

“Chadwick?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I love you, even if you’re a little shit sometimes.”

“I know it.” he said with a smile on his face. You could still distantly hear Luther Vandross playing across the house as you fell asleep cuddled up next to the love of your life.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

What if Claire and Jamie found an empty hammock in an opportune spot aboard ship preTurtle Soup? I've tried getting into a hammock with a significant other and it's comical to say the least. How would Jamie's propensity to motion sickness effect their horizontal tango?

Claire carefully laid out the suture needles on a lengthof mostly clean cloth, patiently waiting for the cauldron to boil. The shiprolled, and she darted away just in time to avoid being scalded, gripping theworn wood of the galley wall.

 Murphy had been so generous in giving her space – and truthbe told, the galley had better light than the cramped cabin she shared withMarsali. Here she could easily lay out the contents of her medicine box, scrubthe drawers clean, organize her powders and tools. Which reminded her – she shouldsterilize the needles Yi Tien Cho used for Jamie’s acupuncture…

 “Sassenach?” Jamie ducked to enter the galley, squintingas his eyes adjusted from the drenching sunlight of the main deck. “What are yedoing?”

 “Washing and sterilizing my equipment. God knows I shoulddo this twice a day – this ship couldn’t be a better breeding ground for germs.”

 “Gerrrms,” he echoed, watching her carefully immerse asmall wicker basket in the boiling cauldron. “What are ye cooking?”

 “My instruments,” she explained patiently. “If I boil myscalpels and suture needles, then I don’t have to clean them later. Same goesfor the bandages.”

 “Mmphmm.” He pursed his lips. “How long do they need toboil?”

 “At least five minutes – ten is better.”

 “Good. I want to show ye something.”

 She quirked her head, intrigued. “I can’t leave the fireunattended – ”

 “You asked for me, milord?” Jamie stepped aside to makeway for Fergus.

 “Yes – milady is cleaning her medical supplies. Would yemind watching the fire?”

 “Not at all,” Marsali piped up from behind Fergus. “Whateverye need, Da.”

 “Good.” Jamie smiled sweetly at his wife, extending ahand. She shook her head, took his hand, and squeezed past Fergus and Marsaliin the hallway.

 “How clever of you to give them an excuse to be alonetogether,” she whispered as he led her down the hall and toward his cabin.

 “Hush – ye dinna want to think I deliberately organizedit for them – or for us – now, do ye?”

 “I *am* intrigued, though – what are you doing, JamesFraser?”

 “Ye’ll see, Claire Fraser. Here we are.”

 They stood before the tiny cabin that had been allottedto Yi Tien Cho at the outset of the voyage; due to his race, none of the sailorshad wanted him in the main sleeping quarters, so Jamie had quietly arranged forhim to sleep in a back-up store room. Jamie gently opened the door. Claire sawseveral hogsheads of water, crates of bottled alcohol, sacks of flour – and alone hammock.

 Now she turned to her husband, brows arched skeptically. “Justwhat are you thinking?”

 Softly he shut the door, bolted it, smiled. “I’m thinkingyou and I sleep in here from now on. Willoughby can bunk wi’ Fergus.”

 “Sleep here? In the hammock? With you?”

 “I hope ye willna be sleeping wi’ anyone else,” heteased.

 “But…” her mind spun. “But how will we fit? You’re solong – ”

 “Ach – dinna fash. I’ve tested it out, myself. And now Iwant ye to test it out wi’ me.”

 Casually, eagerly he reached for her belt, undoing thebuckle, while she wordlessly slipped off her bodice and kicked off her shoes.Then she reached to help him remove his own vest and breeches and boots, untilhe stood before her in his shirt – and she stood before him in her shift.

 Somehow he found her right hand, thumb worrying her – his– wedding ring. “Minds me of our wedding night, no?”

 Three steps and she was in his arms, tasting his breath,holding him close.

 The ship rolled, and they crashed into the wall. He torehis lips from hers, grinning.

 “I suppose I’ll go in first,” he suggested. “Can ye holdit steady for me?”

 She dipped the hammock down to one side, and hegracelessly scrambled in, his long legs dangling off the sides. He scooted andshifted until he lay on his side and opened his arms.

 As carefully as she could, she stepped up, climbed ontohim – and accidentally kneed him in the balls.

 “*IFRINN!*” he choked, wheezing.

 “Oh God, I’m sorry!” She gripped the rough canvas sidesas the hammock pitched together with the ship.

 “Be…careful…” he moaned through gritted teeth.

 She was – she always was, when it came to him. In twentyseconds she had settled atop his chest, legs tangled with his, pelvis at aright angle to his hips. One arm rested beneath the back of his head, the otherstretched over his shoulder, thumb sneaking beneath the neck of his shirt tostroke his sunburned clavicle.

 She kissed the shell of his ear. He whimpered. Thenturned his head to kiss her again.

 They lay quietly together for what seemed to be a verylong time, listening to each other breathe, and the creaking planks of the shipas it bobbed its merry way to Jamaica, and the pounding bootsteps of the men onthe main deck above.

 “It’s like we’re caterpillars in a cocoon,” she musedafter a while.

 Jamie kissed the sweat at her hairline. “You mean,wrapped up like this? I was thinking, now I understand why mothers swaddletheir wee bairns. It’s so…warm. Safe.”

 “I suppose you could also compare it to being in thewomb.” For the eighth time that day, she thought of Brianna. “Protected.”

 “I like being like this wi’ ye, Claire. All tucked awayfrom the world – all close wi’ ye. Almost like we’re no’ two bodies, aye?”

 “Haven’t you reminded me several times in our marriagethat we are one body?”

 The hammock swayed with a particularly large ocean swell.“We are. But it doesna hurt to *feel* it, aye? To…to just be here, like this.It’s no’ the same as when we lie together. We are one flesh, yes – but nowhere, wi’ you, I feel like…” he swallowed, voice thick with feeling. Strugglingto find the right words.

 “Like we are truly one body? One spirit?” she suggested.

 He nodded. “I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable for ye. Idinna ken why I am so…so *needy*.”

 “Sshh,” she soothed. “It’s heaven for me to be here withyou, like this. To have you right here – in my space. Do you feel the same?”

 “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes.”

 “Do you remember how I told you I slept alone, for mostof my marriage to Frank?”

 He pulled her closer into the crook of his arm.

 “I *craved* contact, Jamie. I needed it so badly – I neededto be intimate, like this.”

 “Yes.” Now he swallowed, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Yes.So much.”

 “So don’t ever apologize. I’d rather be here, squashed ina bloody stupid hammock with you, than anywhere else in the world.”

 His hand slid down to her hips as they kissed, dippingbeneath the hem of her shift, bunched up around her thighs. He smiled at hermewl of surprise, but sustained the kiss, waiting for her permission.

 She nodded, and reached down to join them to each other,and they shared a gasp of pure ecstasy. Slowly she shifted on top of him –

 And two seconds later they sprawled on the floor, atangle of limbs and love and hysterical laughter.

[fullmoonimagines]

To Us//Lydia Martin

this is the only gif that semi-worked ok sorry

anon: hellllloooooo!!! could i request a male!reader with lydia martin. the reader and lydia both like each other but none of them will make a move and malia and scott are getting sick of it. eventually they say they wanna hang out with you two but they end up saying they were “busy” and left you two on your own. eventually lydia makes the move and kisses him and reader asks her to be his girlfriend. (if you could sorta make it lengthy that’d be cool but if you can’t that’s also okay! thank you!)

warnings: swearing oops, also i made it christmas-y so sorry if you didn’t want that but here it is (also this is my first male!reader and first lydis x reader, so i hope it doesn’t suck too bad)

Y/N POV

Morning classes came and went as the chilly December morning passed into the afternoon. The halls of Beacon Hills High were quieter than normal, maybe because many students were just ready for winter break, or exhausted as a result of studying for upcoming exams. I weaved through the busy corridors to find part of the pack sitting at our usual table in the cafeteria. On one side of the table, Malia sat uncomfortably in deep conversation with Lydia, sunset orange curls cascading down her back. I took the empty seat across from her, next to Scott, who was giving me a weird smirk. Before I had a chance to ask him about it, Malia grabbed everyone’s attention. “Y/N! Good! You’re here! Sorry Lyd, but now that he’s here, we can finally talk about the bake sale!”.

Lydia and I both shared a confused glance before I spoke, “What bake sale?”. Scott shot me a quick smirk and explained, “Every year, the school does a bake sale around Christmas time to raise money for the community, and this year we thought it might be fun to all get together and make cookies or something” he shrugged, looking around at all of us, Malia already nodding along. “That’s really sweet Scott” Lydia said, “my mom has a bunch of recipes we could use, do you guys want to come over tonight?”. Scott and Malia automatically agree and the pit in my stomach tingled as she looks at me.  “Are you in?” she smiled. “Y-yeah, yeah, I’m in” I replied, as I could feel a blush creep onto my cheeks.

Lunch continued as normal, and soon everyone resumed their previous conversations but I couldn’t help but notice the pink still staining my cheeks. I ran the palms of my hands over my face in an attempt to even out my complexion, hoping no one would notice, when the deafening noise of the bell rang signaling that it was time for fourth period. The day drug by slowly, and my concentration in each class was clouded by thoughts of her. The way her soft, sunset orange hair hung delicately on her shoulder as her ruby red lips spoke made my heart race. The loud sound of the last bell pulled me from my daydream as I began to pack up my bag as students filled the halls.

As soon as I got home, I threw my backpack to the floor and let the door shut behind me, racing upstairs to change clothes before heading to Lydia’s house. I grabbed a navy blue t-shirt that hugged my biceps a bit more than usual, pairing it with a red and blue flannel. I pulled a few different options out of my closet, but decided against them when my heart jumped as I checked my watch: I needed to leave now. Jumping in the car, and driving over to Lydia’s house took about fifteen minutes and by the time I parked on the street in front of her house I noticed the buzzing of my phone in the center console. It was a text from Scott that read: “Can’t make it tonight man, have fun ;) “.

Damn it. He knew how I felt about Lydia, so why would he leave me hanging like that? At least there would still be Malia there to act as some kind of buffer, but to cancel last minute? Real dick move.

I stepped out of the car and made my way up the long sidewalk towards the Martin residence, trying to settle the racing of my heart before reaching the door. I took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell and all that had been done to settle my fastly pacing heart had been completely tossed out the window when she opened the door. Her long hair tied up in a messy bun and her school clothes replaced with leggings and the lacrosse hoodie I let her borrow a while back. I should’ve known I wouldn’t be getting it back anytime soon, and to be quite honest, I didn’t care. “Y/N, hey, come in”, she smiled.

I enter through the doorway and am immediately enveloped by the sweet scent of cinnamon. Glancing around the Martin household, the Christmas spirit is as alive and as vibrant as ever. The tree is lit, and there’s a small fire burning in the fireplace. I greet Lydia with a small “hello” and a smile, as she lead us back into the kitchen. While on the way through the hallway, she looked over her shoulder before speaking, “Oh, Malia said she couldn’t make it tonight. She has a test to study for. Do you know when Scott’s coming?”. Shit. My heart dropped and I could feel my cheeks start to burn and my palms start to sweat. Apparently I had stayed silent for too long because when we reached the kitchen, she leaned against the counter and looked up at me with concern. “About that.. he can’t make it either”, I said nervously. Within a split second of the words coming from my mouth, she replied and looked almost, relieved? Happy?

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me then. Good thing too, I’m going to need your help getting some things from top shelves” she joked. The anxiety I had melted away when she smiled at me that way. I don’t know what it was about her that made me feel as though I could truly myself.

I watched as she pulled out the recipes and different utensils we’d need, helping when she’d let me. That is, until one of the ingredients really was on one of the top shelves and she refused to let me take it down for her. She stood on the tips of her toes and even did a few small jumps trying to get the container out of the cabinet. I smiled when she refused my help a second time and this resulted in Lydia climbing onto the counter herself to retrieve the ingredient. “Lyd, you’re gonna fall” I plead, walking over and placing my hands right above her knees to steady her legs.

Once she pulled the container out of the cabinet, she bent down to sit on the counter; my hands moved from her legs to her waist to keep her from falling and they stayed there until after she sat. There was a faint blush on her cheeks as she thanked me, biting her lips softly. I realized my hands were still connected to her hips and quickly pulled them away. “You-ah you’re welcome” I told her, rubbing the back of my neck and lowering my head just enough to avoid her gaze falling upon my fiery red cheeks.

After that, the tension got higher and the amount of conversation got lower. All the dough was mixed up but needed to be rolled out and cut into shapes. I removed the plaid shirt I was wearing and took a large ball of dough, rolling it out while Lydia went through all the cookie cutters and decided on which shapes to use. The only thing to be heard was the rolling pin, the clattering of metal cutters, and the Christmas music playing softly in the background. Every once in a while, I’d steal a glance at Lydia, and every once in a while, I’d catch her already looking at me. Just as I could feel her eyes on me, I could feel the sleeves of my t-shirt hugging my arms every time I rolled out the dough.

I smiled a bit to myself, silently thanking past me for the outfit choice when I looked up at her. Her eyes met mine a few moments later but this time I didn’t look away, I didn’t want to. “What?’’ she asked, with a sheepish smile. I just shook my head at her, not knowing what to say, smile still remaining on my lips. “Tell me” she said with a bigger smile, yet I remained quiet. The next thing I knew a white powder was flying towards me and covered my shirt and neck. I gasped as I realized what she’d done.

She bit her bottom lip before shooting me a toothy grin. “Oh it’s on” I told her, dipping my fingers in the flour beside the dough and fligning some back in her direction. She squealed and tried to run but before she could get very far, the flour hit the garnet colored hoodie and I wrapped my arms around her waist, not allowing her to run from the war she had just started.

She turned around quickly in my arms and had flour at the ready, sending it straight into my hair and onto one side of my face. We laughed together for a while until we realized how close our bodies were for the second time in one night. Her hazel eyes were locked on mine but flickered down to my lips. She brought her right hand up to my cheek and brushed away some of the remaining dust, her thumb wandering to run over my lips. “You-um, you have something right here” she says, running her thumb over the corner of my mouth, eyes on mine. She slowly brought her soft lips to mine and it felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off my chest. My hands came to rest on her back, then in her hair: anything to bring her closer to me.

When the our lips broke, and our breathing steadied, all I could do is smile. “You know, if you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just asked” I teased. Lydia laughed as she rested her head against my chest, “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry about your hoodie”.

“Don’t be, if you’ll be my girlfriend, I’ll let you flour as many hoodies as you’d like..?”. My heart was racing, and when she lifted her head off my chest to look at me, I knew. She just nodded and giggled before placing her lips back on mine. When our lips broke, Lydia looked at me with a content smile and wrapped her arms around my flour-covered torso. “Remind me to thank Scott and Malia for canceling” she said.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to us”.

Writer’s Note: Merry Christmas everyone!! I hope you liked it anon, and I'm sorry it took so long. I probably won't be active tomorrow or the day after but still have two more Christmas themed requests :)

Forever Tags: @redstringlovers @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @hoodforcalum @rosecoloredshawn @barrett86861 (also tagging @lovefilledtragedy because I know Audrey is a sucker for Christmas fics lol luv u)

let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list!