#get it? ��fry”day? cause a baby fish is called a fry?

[imagionary]

Happy Friday the 13th!! 🐟🔪⛈️ [Posted on time on Twitter, but late here,, whoops!]

Uncolored version under cut:

[queerofcups]

no one has ever (or at least not recently) asked me about the titles of my fic, i'm stealing this idea from sekrit because a. i think sekrit is cool (@skrtomg), b. i actually already have a playlist of nearly ever fic i've ever titled and c. i like this kind of personal record keeping and archival work. the vast, vast majority of my fic titles are from songs and you'll quickly notice i like re-contextualizing or just futzing around with them. maybe i'll include the lines songs come from when they're relevant? we'll see. (links are to the songs, not the fics).

my fairly eclectic taste in music is one of the things that i love most about myself and i think its...not really on show here, hah. i promise i listen to more than 30-40 year old white men who are just like, regretting some things man.

a long night is alright (glee, 2009) so a hot kiss is alright / so a long kiss is alright / so a long night is alright / and all night is alright

Tightrope (the bear, whether you're high or low/ you got to tip on the tightrope / T-t-t-t-tip on the tightrope

(tried to) let go my lover (p-valley, i tried to let go my lover / thought if i was alone / then maybe i could recover

your candle, your statuette (schitt's creek, so i'll be your candle / i'll be your statuette / i'll be your lashing loop of leatherette / o philomena / if only you'd let me go down

starting from zero, nothing to lose (shameless any place is better / starting from zero, got nothing to lose / maybe we'll something / me, myself, i got nothing to prove

invisible and weightless (challengers, 2024) don't have a sunnyside to face this / i am invisible and weightless / you can't imagine how i hate this

the table, set and shining (challengers, 2024) call your boys / now that the table's set and shining / no one seen any of them in many days

(also that series is titled sometimes friends are mean)

you and your (perfect) girls (omgcp, 2024) If this what you truly want, I can wear her skin…over mine. Her hair, over mine. Her hands as gloves. Her teeth as confetti. Her scalp, a cap. Her sternum, my bedazzled cane. We can pose for a photograph. All three of us, immortalized. You and your perfect girl.

(tell everyone) you were a good wife (omgcp, 2020) in my life / i hope i lie / and tell everyone you were a good wife / and i hope you die / i hope we both die

do you still take a long time to get ready? (iwtv, 2024) do you till take a long time to get ready? / cause you used to make too much / out of that kind of stuff

a lush little miss (iwtv, 2024) We knocked on the door and it opened with ease / And a lush little miss said, "Come in, please" / And before we could even bat an eye / We were right in the middle of a big fish fry

rubbing ghost on ghost (iwtv, 2024) they were rubbing on each other / rubbing ghost on ghost / there were junked out punks and Jesus freaks

Right so, I’ve posted 79 fics in phandom and i’m simply not doing all those fics, particularly because most of the titles aren’t even that interesting? So I grabbed some of the most popular ones and my faves and if you’re just dying to know about that one fic, send me an ask or something.

shapes and weights to choose (phandom, 20??) Made of plastic and elastic / He is rugged and long-lasting / Who could ever, ever ask for more? / Love without complications galore / Many shapes and weights to choose from / I will never leave my bedroom

unashamed, wide open for joy (phandom, 2017)

out with the dumps, in with the condom'd orgasmic friend-- still rubbery muscular, unashamed wide open for joy hard times, baby (phandom, 2018) I'm gonna reach Gloria / She’s holding her hand to me / You gotta little of the hard times baby / Hard times baby

lost the map (phandom 2019) And it's true that I stole your lighter / And it's also true that I lost the map / /But when you said that I wasn't worth talking to / I had to take your word on that

now what have we learned? basically nothing! i love (a) parenthesis. titling fics is the very last thing i do and sometimes its a well thought out title that's connected to the fic and sometimes it just like, what i was listening to at the time. The Decemberists are the most represented in terms of titling but i think that's just because they're so incredibly verbose, its easy to clip something from their lyrics that seems to Say Something.

[the-phantom-ender]

okay okay as requested by @redwinterroses herself, i give you the story of the crawdad that ate the pearl, a folktale within the cod empire (under the cut, because. story.)

Gather around, kids, and listen good, y’hear? Now you fries know fine and well all them human stories about peril and danger and whatnot, yeah? Now listen up for just a minute as I tell you a tale from our own kind. It’s an old, old story, and I’m sure you’ve heard all yer parents mention it. But, but, let me be the first to tell ya’ the old tale proper because it’s somethin’ you small fries can learn from.

Have you ever heard yer parents say they felt like that ol’ crawdad that swallowed a pearl? You’ve said it before? Not knowing what it meant? Well stick me in a salad and call me seaweed, alright.

Well. I’ll tell ya’ that there story since you kids don’t seem to know it in and of yourselves, alright? Good, good. Settle down, all of you.

A long, long time ago, much longer ago than any of you were livin’ on this here world, the world was ruled over by animals and the like. Some were more clever than the others, the bugs were particularly stupid. But some of the bugs went on to become some of them fae folk, so they didn’t all stay stupid. Don’t go tellin’ none of them Overgrown folk I said that now, y’hear? But there were lots of sorts of folk livin’ in the world way before us.

Our folks, the cod, were well known for swimmin’ round and givin’ warnings to those that weren’t so savvy with the waters and all that. And they were real kinds of careful with them who could be on land and in water both, and them folks with shells. Freshwater pearls were all kinds a’ valuable back then, and they still are now but it was more so back then on account a’ the animals weren’t such savages and had to wait for the clams and oysters and muscles to die proper before takin’ their pearls.

Some who weren’t so savvy with the waters didn’t realize how important them freshwater pearls were, though, and would just gobble ‘em right up with the rest of the stuff in the shell.

-I said they weren’t savages, fries, not that they weren’t animals. Animals eat animals, that’s how it goes.-

And so sometimes folks who do stay in the waters won't know ‘cause the old wise cod wont tell ‘em otherhow. The cod weren’t the smartest there was but they were clever for the fish and that was well more than enough. So they warned folks plenty ‘bout how the pearls meant somethin’ and how they had to be protected and whatnot.

So once a crawdad who was a little less clever than the cod stumbled upon a muscle. And them crawdads have claws like a lobster so this little fella checked to make sure it wasn’t still livin’ and cracked it open. It went on eatin’ all the insides -no I don’t know if crawdads eat the insides of muscles, it’s an old story. Sit back down- but it went on eatin’ all the insides of the muscle not payin’ any mind at all to the shiny pearl that popped up and out, treatin’ it just like any old food.

And then a particularly old and clever cod came a’ swimming by. The cod stopped and watched the crawdad for a moment before swimmin’ up to ‘em and going,” Mind yerself ‘round that pearl, crawfish, it’s worth a lot more than your snappy little claws.”

But the clever cod was just a little too late in his speakin’ because just before he spoke up, the crawdad had swallowed the thing without a care in the world. Of course, hearin’ the cod’s call of concern, the crawdad turned around, stalky eyes wide and worried.

“How much is it worth, Mr. cod?” they asked, scuttlin’ around like that’d get the pearl out of their stomach.

“Plenty more than something to just go ‘n swallow.” says the old cod, turning away from the crawdad,” On account ‘a the fact that most muscles die natural ‘cause of their shells, and most a’ the ones that die don’t have pearls. Cost you more than yer snappy claw, like I’ve told ya’.”

So the crawdad looks down all dejected-like and goes,” Well how was I s’posed to know all that?”

“You couldn’ta.” says the cod,” not less someone told ya or you asked. All you knew was that you knew ya’ could eat the stuff in a muscle and no one told ya’ that you couldn’t eat all of it.”

And that’s the story.

… Well what d’ya mean ‘what’s the moral’? I thought it was all kinds a’ obvious. Listen fingerling- yeah I know ya’ ain’t a baby I’m teasing- listen fry, the moral’s all subjective and such, yeah? But it’s simple enough to just say that sometimes you’ll come upon somethin’ that means a lot more than you figure. Maybe it’s some kinda fancy event that you came underdressed for, maybe it’s just that you passed up what ya’ thought was lapis only for it to be diamond.

It’s a story. Run along now, all you, go find your parents and bother them. Tell ‘em you got told told the story about the crawdad and promise ‘em real well that you’ll be very very careful with things that you don’t know much about. Shoo now, go on, have a good day.

[obeymeluv]

Red String of Fate (Pt. 2)

See “Red String of Fate” for the drabble lead up + Lucifer, Mammon, and Asmo. This post has Levi, Satan, Belphie, and Beel

To Levi:

Doesn’t understand what it is

Tries to shake it off without breaking his game mojo

Ends up getting it accidentally wrapped around the joysticks, losing the match, and spends the next few minutes silently fuming and trying to untangle everything

His tail slaps angrily against the floor as he grumbles and huffs, trying to be extremely delicate with whatever disaster this is

 Finally succeeds and stares at his finger in silence for a few seconds, trying to pick the knot.

Starts trying to pull it off. It doesn’t work.

Asks his friends what it could be

Asks whatever the Devildom equivalent of Google is

Makes the “OooOOOOooh!” because this sounds like a sure thing?! A definite soulmate?!

THERE IS SOMEONE FOR HIM, A LOWLY, YUCKY OTAKU?!

Levi explodes out of his room like the aquarium has busted and will flood the whole house

His pupils are doing the slit-narrow hyperfocused hunter thing as he tracks the red string like an enemy through a scope

Accidentally mows you down trying to speed walk to the end of the string.

Is super excited about the string now. HOW LONG IS IT? WHERE DOES IT GO? WHO’S AT THE END?!

You hear his tail wagging and slapping things before you see him, and that’s 0.5 seconds before he mows into you.

Accidentally steps on your foot in the process, so you fall in an graceless lump.

Levi’s pulling at the string like an excited kid. WHERE DOES IT GO, WHERE DOES IT GO? WHERE DOES IT GO?

Realizes he’s pulling your hand up and tugs on it a little in disbelief. Ends up making you wave at him and he gives a little giggle.

Then it hits him all over again and you get another “OooOOOOoooH!”

Scoops you up off the floor, tail wagging enough to take the breath out of Asmo.

He holds you to his chest and feels like some victorious Henry. Hopes the lighting is good and that this moment is as magical for you as it is for him. (Does his hair look good?). The pinky-red smoke is basically like a cool anime effect, right?

Levi gives the shyest, softest ‘mine’, as he cradles you to his chest. He purrs a little, tucking his tail up towards your body, basically offering it for you to hold.

His room is your little private palace. He hopes you like it.

To Satan:

Was quite content minding his own business, reading for pleasure after a long day of reading for necessity (i.e: school)

Doesn’t really feel it at first. He turns a page and hears this absolutely maddening drag of a scrape that makes him want to stab someone.

Sees the string. Tries to flick it off. Proceeds to shake his finger. That doesn’t work, so he tries to roll it off or at least roll it to the tip of his finger

Satan slams his book down with a furrow in his brow and transitions to his demon form. Starts trying to fray it with his claws. When chewing on it and trying to break it on his horns don’t work, he stalks up his bookshelves to find the section on Hexes and Curses

Imagine his surprise (and yours) when you and Asmo enter his room. The supposed love or your life is in full demon form and splayed across his bookshelves like a spitting lizard. Or a dragon defending its hoard.

Asmo is BEYOND disappointed. Kind of aggravated. “THE worst way to find a soulmate EVER!” Asmo picks up the closest book and throws it at him for good measure (it misses by a long shot).

He yanks on the string, trying to rip him off the bookshelf.

Satan drops down, already back to his normal form by the time he lands on his feet, and stomps over with mild indignation that someone could call him THE WORST at something

Also: what the hell is going on?!

Asmo explains and Satan goes very, very red. He’s completely at a loss.

Well...at least he knows you’re a sure thing! In a way, it’s good to know you’ll have someone no matter how much of an ass you make of yourself

You take the hand from his mouth, the pinky-red smoke seeming to frame you both, and jokingly ask if he has any good books to take your mind off things.

“Certainly, but perhaps you’d be more interested to hear about that over dinner?” (”That’s better!” Asmo nods and crosses his arms, walking out of the room as if he fixed the problem).

To Beel:

You should be grateful he was already at the House of Lamentation, having a post-homework snack, when the red string appear.

Who knows how hard or how far you’d be dragged if he was at sports practice?!

Beel doesn’t notice it until his next bite, when something catches against his fangs and slips out of his mouth. It tickled his lips and made him do a double-take

He’s in the middle of sucking sauce off his finger when he confirms the string is not flavored or edible.

Is kind of annoyed he has to switch to eating with one hand

Wants to ignore it because he can still reach the fridge and cabinets but gets annoyed when it catches across the table and tries to knock over little things like salt and pepper shakers

Takes a big bite of his current food item (a sandwich), sets it down, and starts fishing through the draws for knives

None of the knives work. He has moved to the cleavers

Chips away at some of the prep table so he stops with the cleavers.

Tries to burn it off. Does not work

Beel isn’t sure what to do, so he grabs his sandwich and goes to Lucifer

On the way to Lucifer, he hears Asmo crow down the hall “AHHH! IT’S TO BEEL! MY DARLING BABY BROTHER! OOH, THE CUTEST! IT’S PERFECT!” way before he sees him or you

This lovely big boi just stands there, a little confused and expecting Asmo to explain it (as he always does. Asmo always has something to talk about)

Asmo’s got you by the arm and is running towards Beel. Beel finally notices the excess of red string, and that you’re tangling in it.

You fall against him and a cloud of sweet pinky-red smoke explodes around him.

Smells like sweets should taste. He wants some Celestial Realm sweets now

“A soulmate, huh?” Beelzebub looks down at you. His cheeks slowly pinken as that genuine but sly smile spreads on his face. There could be worse people, for sure. “Want to go celebrate?” he gives you the biggest puppy dog eyes.

You can’t say no. Beel holds your hand all the way to the restaurant.

To Belphegor:

There is a new texture near him and he doesn’t like it

Belphie doesn’t open his eyes, but he tries to adjust his blankets and pillows until he doesn’t feel it

When this doesn’t work and he sense the thing is still around, Belphie opens his eyes to see he’s tied up in the stuff

Grumpy, sleepy boy

Demon chirps/churrs for Beel to help him

After his big bro helps him untangle, Belphie sulks around, dragging his pillow, to figure out where this thing goes and what the hell it is

Probably tries to fry it with a bit of magic, but it fizzles out the second sparks touch the string.

Belphie may be the sleepy kind of lazy, but he knows his magic spells. That one SHOULD work.

A spark of interest has him a little more awake now. Belphie straightens up and walks a little lighter

“I didn’t expect anything grand since Belphie’s so tired, but this has its own charm.” Asmo critiques, touching a few fingers to his lips to smother a giggle.

Belphie does look quite adorable, standing there with a dash of confusion amongst his exhaustion. Bonus points for his cute little pillow dragging the floor behind him.

All of the bros know better than to mess with his naps and Belphie’s glare is slowly powering up. Asmo has a few seconds to explain before Belphie knocks him into the nearest wall with the pillow. It WILL hurt.

Asmo keeps teasing and hemming and hawing, and it’s not until the pillow is literally over Belphie’s shoulder (gearing up for the down-swing) that Asmo blurts out “SOULMATES! YOU HAVE A SOUL MATE! THEY ARE YOUR SOUL MATE!”

You become the sacrificial lamb, Asmo shoving you towards Belphegor to save his hair (mostly)

The pillow slides over the top of your head and down your back as Belphegor slowly brings his arms around you in a hug. A nervous hug. A shocked hug.

Someone like him gets a soulmate? That almost seems to generous.

That pinky-red smoke explodes in his face. Belphie sneezes cutely. Cuter than he’d like to own up to.

The action causes him to bump his head against you. At first it hurts but his brain quickly overrules the inconvenience to realize how nice your hair is and how he can lean his head on you

His body melts into yours and Belphie barely has the forethought to tuck the pillow under your head as his body weight sends you both crashing to the floor.

Totally ignores Asmo yelling “BELPHIE, NO!” in the background as he tries to catch you or prop you up. Belphie actually slaps him with his tail and continues to the fall to the floor.

The pillow will protect you. He has full confidence

“Sleepy,” he mutters, readjusting his head until it fits nicely in the curve of your neck. He kind of wishes he brought a blanket.

You tentatively pat his head and play with his hair. Belphie purrs, tail sweeping the floor.

[neokollection]

Reaction To Their S/O Feeling Ugly While Pregnant

WayV

‘hi if you get the chance could you please do a wayv version of “s/o feels ugly while pregnant” reaction? i really enjoyed the first two parts! thank you 💕💕💕’ NCT 127/U ver. is here~

Kun:

He’d be such a good dad-

You let the pads of your fingertips trace down the stretchmarks among the side of your stomach- You’d tried a variety of lotions & oils known for reducing scar visibility and yet they were still very much present.  With a sigh you rubbed the oil in as you examined yourself in the mirror. Would you ever be able to get rid of them-? It donned on you once again how nearly impossible it could be regain your previous body.

The ajar door opened slowly, revealing your fiancé, his eyes questioning and brows raised. 

“Yes?”

He gave his usual gentle smile, “I was just checking in on you- You’ve been in here for a while.”

“Oh-”

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been in there, having showered, shaved, and lazily towel dried your hair, you stood in front of the mirror for a matter of minutes in your joggers and bralette. He also took notice of your appearance, skin glowing with moisture, lips rosy, hair damp, droplets of water decorating your soft shoulders, the valley of your breasts calling to him, the large swell of your stomach reminding him you were the mother of his child. Words couldn’t express how he felt just looking at you- He slipped in, his grin growing as he positioned himself behind you, his hands sliding along your very bloated waist to the front of your balloon of a stomach. His hands were so much warmer and larger than yours.

“You smell good,” he noted, pressing his cheek to your damp hair, his breath tickling your ear.

His hands continued to roam along your stomach, his rougher fingertips glossing over the stretchmarks at your side repeatedly, the patterned indentations rapturing his attention.

“I can’t get rid of them,” you informed, lips pulling into a frown.

“You don’t have to,” he informed softly, his mesmerized hands tracing over them once more.

“Even after-” you choked up, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to normal.”

The wells in your eyes spilled over, causing you to bring your hands to your face.

“Shh,” he coaxed, his hands going to your own as he turned turned your head gently, causing your feet to take tiny steps until you faced him, immediately letting your head fall to his shoulder.

“You’re perfect now- You were perfect before- And you’ll be perfect after,” he reminded, referring to your body, “You’re so beautiful, you have no idea-”

Ten:

Any chance he could, Ten would have his cheek pressed to your stomach, the small bump having enraptured his attention for the past months. He listened intently for signs of life, his hand going to rest of the expanse of your stomach, patiently awaiting a kick. At first it was quite endearing, but with time you felt more self-conscious as he’d lift the front of your shirt up.

Today he was feeling quite lovey, having been wrapped around you since he came home. His damp hair tickled your skin, his scent vanilla- You were glad he’d showered before climbing into bed with you, but wish he’d dried his hair. He pressed a tender kiss to your collar before nuzzling into your neck, drawn to the warmth as his hand slid from the mound of your stomach to your chest, giving one of your clothed breasts a gentle squeeze-

“Ten,” you whined slightly, shying away from the droplets of cold water that greeted you.

Reaching down as he hummed, he started pulling the front of your shirt up. With a kiss to your jaw he drew back- Before he could feast his eyes on the glory of your tummy you pushed your shirt back down, attempting to sit up slightly. Confused, he held your gaze for a long moment of silence, trying to decipher if you were mad at him, if he’d done something wrong.

“I’m not in the mood,” you informed, breaking eye contact for a brief moment.

Registering your words, he open but shut his mouth before breaking into a beautiful smile, collapsing toward you with a light chuckle. 

“That’s okay,” he replied, wrapping himself around your arm as he snuggled closer childishly, “I just want to be with you~”

He expected a reaction, a smile or giggle, even a roll of your eyes would suffice, instead you sighed quietly, turning your gaze from him.

“Um,” he began, “Am I being annoying or something-? You seem upset...” he trailed off.

You couldn’t think of how to express yourself, replying with a simple, “No,” with a voice crack- You now turned your face fully from him, knowing what would come next, tears.

“Baby,” he called, his tone serious, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so ugly,” you whispered- “I’ve gotten so fat-”

Ten wore an incredulous expression, judging you.

“What are you talking about?”

You couldn’t reply, you didn’t want to be a crying mess.

He wrapped himself around your body, leg draping over your hip, you were surprised he had the strength to pull your body into his own.

“No, you’re not-” 

You still couldn’t reply, taking deep breaths to calm yourself and dry your eyes.

“I love you,” he reminded, pressing a kiss to your temple as he held you.

WinWin:

“Some girls you just can’t tell if they’re pregnant or just fat,” your friend ranted, stabbing another french fry with her fork before enlarging her eyes, “But like you- I can obviously tell you’re just pregnant,” she added in attempt to not be offensive. Yikes.

A dinner with friends was fun for the most part, but there were certainly characters who had rather strong opinions- Lately you simply felt you were matured, in different places in life- Less of a connection.

Distracted, she began to ramble about something else and you noticed Sicheng refill your glass of water. You hardly had an appetite, taking small bites of food before downing your water.

“Why don’t you eat more?” Sicheng prodded gently, leaning into your side.

“I’m not hungry.”

He pursed his lips in response, struggling for a moment for how he should proceed. Perhaps you didn’t like the meal, with his fork a stabbed a piece of your calzone, seemed fine. Using his fork to push your food aside he scraped some pieces of steak from his plate. 

“Sicheng,” you fought, not wanting him to waste his food on you.

“Try it-”

“You should just-”

“Eat,” he ordered, more authoritative this time.

With your fork you toyed with your food as Sicheng engaged in a new conversation.

As were pulling on your coat you could tell Sicheng was in a mood- Likely because you didn’t listen to him, idly pushing the food around your plate. You knew once you were in the car with him he’d expect an explanation. 

“You have to eat more-”

“I feel sick when I eat too much,” you retorted.

He gave a small sigh- You knew your body better than he did, but he still was worried for both of you, casting a quick glace at your belly.

“Is it because of what your friend said?”

“No!” you argued defensively, crossing your arms- He’d caught you.

“Babe,” he spoke, his voice low.

You couldn’t help but look at him for longer than you should have, the blurring lights of the city behind him fading as his masculine profile ensnared your attention, a hand on the wheel.

“Forget what she said- You’re beautiful,” he praised, eyes on the road, “You have to eat well, for both of you.”

His free hand stretched out to feel your bump- Mentally he promised himself he’d keep an even closer eye on you.

Lucas:

“Boy or Girl?” the elderly woman behind the register cheerfully asked.

Taken slightly aback you unconsciously placed your hand upon your stomach.

“Not sure yet,” you informed politely with a forced smile.

Lucas stood proudly next to you, a dumb smile playing on his face as he fished out his wallet.

“Well, you must have some prediction,” she yammered, “Mothers’ intuition!”

“I’m not sure,” you chuckled.

“A boy,” Lucas cheered quietly from beside you causing the elderly woman to smile.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, collecting the bags momentarily before your big strong boyfriend took them from stand, shooting you a look so as to ask why you even thought about carrying heavy grocery bags. A few strides in front of him and you were turning to him as the automatic doors parted.

“Is it that obvious?”

Though you were showing some, you thought the relatively loose sweater hid you enough- You still weren’t completely comfortable with the idea of being so... pregnant. Time was going so fast you felt yourself bloat day by day, suddenly you were walking around with a big bump to match the big oaf you were with.

Lucas’ eyes flitted around as he tried to figure out what you meant, a blank expression present as he waited for a car to pass.

“That she could tell I was pregnant...”

He gave you a once over followed by a nod and a hum of affirmation. You pursed your lips slightly before they puffed out in a small pout. 

Pulling the seatbelt over yourself you were once again reminded of the large bump. You suddenly felt much fatter than you’d previously thought... Every so often Lucas cast you glances, noticing your quiet demeanor. He remained quiet for a long while, just taking in the atmosphere, mulling over what he should do or say- If he’d done anything to cause the situation or if was simply baby-hormones... Once home to two of you quietly put the groceries away, Lucas trying to make idle conversation, but your mood was just down...

Finally, he asks what’s wrong. You shake your head, but he knows something’s up so he keeps pestering about it, asking if it was him or-

“Nothing! I just don’t feel ready or good or anything!” you burst.

He tries his best to piece together what you mean, scratching his head slightly.

“Not ready for the baby?” he asks, stepping closer to look down at you closely, his large hands going to the front of your bump.

“I wasn’t ready to be pregnant and now I- It’s going so fast and- I feel so ugly and I didn’t think I was showing so much, but now everyone knows and I-”

He quieted you by moving his hands to either side of your face, pulling you into his chest gently. He didn’t say much, just held you, letting you whine into his chest in frustration. 

He’d let you get it out and later try to cheer you up by being dorky and sweet then shower you in compliments like ‘uR the MoSt BeAUtiFuL gOrL N dA w0rLd BABIEE!’ Eventually I think he’d take on a more serious tone as well and tell you seriously you’re doing amazing and so beautiful, he loves you so much.

XiaoJun:

okay, this one is less planned & romantic tbh, but this is like my worst nightmare as a vain hoe..

No, that couldn’t be right- You were NOT pregnant. You’d always used condoms... There was still a chance, but so small you never thought it’d be you... You’d go out and buy another one. Maybe this test was just a dud- Yet there was a gnawing feeling in the back of your mind, you’d missed your period and felt pretty sick, which was why you’d chosen to take the test in the first place. What if you were pregnant? What would you do? The father could only be DeJun (or should we call him XiaoJun), your boyfriend of two years. What would he do? What would your parents do...? Neither of you were ready for that. You weren’t ready for that... Imagining yourself bloated and pregnant made you want to shrink into a ball. That couldn’t be you. You weren’t ready for your life to end so quickly. You saw the man you’d been waiting for, adjusting the strap of his shoulder bag as he perused the library in search of you.

“Xiao!” you called out in a rather loud whisper, trying to be discreet. Perhaps it’d been a bad idea to take the pregnancy test in the university bathroom

Once he saw you he bounded over to you, his thick brows knitting together once he saw your frazzled expression. 

“So, where did you want to go? I was kind of craving Pho-”

You’d called him over but now you weren’t sure what to say... You couldn’t just tell him point blank right here- Should you?

“Or...” he pondered, taking in your silence, “Pizza?”

Yep, if you were with him you’d definitely get fat- Knowing him he’d want to do everything for you and pamper you even more than he already does- Definitely one to give into your cravings. It was still so early on, yet you were already too deep down the rabbit-hole.

“I- don’t want to- Do you know how many calories that is-?”

“So... You never cared before,” he teased, “Are you on a diet or something,” he asked hesitantly, his expression flattening.

You were still thinking what to do.

“You don’t need to,” he added, clasping your hands in his own, swinging them idly by your hips as he puffed out his lower lip.

OMG so, doesn’t exactly fit the scenario I guess, but it’s really hard to not make it repetitive,,, but you KNOW he’d be so caring and supportive. He’d tell you over and over you’re still just as pretty as before and that you’re overthinking, but if it’d make you feel better he’d assist you with dieting or light exercise, just to make your mental feel a bit better. 

Hendery:

“Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

You nearly choked on the M&M between your lips at his sudden question.

“I think,” you paused, imaging him with a child in his arms for a moment, “I think you’ll be an amazing dad! I wouldn’t have let you get me pregnant otherwise-”

He guffawed, his chest vibrating against your back on the sofa as his forehead fell to the nape of your neck, his hand stilling on your hump as he collected himself. You giggled with him for a moment, eyes trained on the television as you dipped your hand into the bag of M&M’s once more.

“And I think you’ll be a great mom,” he informed, causing a blush to dust your cheeks.

At times it still felt unreal, that the two of you would be parents in just a few short months- Though technically you already were.

“I can imagine it,” he murmured, resting his cheek upon your hair as he spooned you, the television simply background noise as the two of you attempted to picture your futures.

Though you knew there were more important things than appearance, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself next to Hendery, married with a child... Though before being pregnant you still felt your body wasn’t good enough, you now realized how much you’d taken for granted - You couldn’t even wear pants comfortably... You wanted to envision yourself as your previous weight and body, but what if you could never- What if you could never feel confident again...?

“What are you thinking about?” Hendery prodded, just from his voice you could tell he was smiling. 

“Nothing.”

Even though it gnawed at you, you felt stupid- It wasn’t important, but it was something you tended to selfishly hyper-focus on. You knew if you told Hendery he’d brush your worries aside, he was rather biased in that regard. You wondered if he saw envisioned you as back at your former weight or-? What sort of expectation did he have?

“I love you,” he murmured, almost tickling you with the way his fingers crawled across you, his bare feet toying with your own.

He had a way of putting all your worries to ease without trying- Without even telling him your concerns you felt relieved and loved. Turning a bit clumsily in his arms you faced him, his smile growing as your bump knocked into him.

idk im just super soft for him okayyyyyyyyyyy and trust him with my life

YangYang:

He’s so baby, I can’t imagine it-

You had a hard time seeing your own feet, craning your neck to see the numbers on the scale.  With an exhale you stepped off. It was the heaviest you’d ever been; it was to be expected that you’d gain weight carrying a child and all, but seeing the digits didn’t feel great either.

“Oh- 2 kilograms (4.4 lbs) since last week- Our boy is growing big and strong,” YangYang smiled excitedly, his hand going to your stomach out of habit.

You weren’t so sure it was the baby growing- It was probably just you- The late night binges you’d had over the weekend making you feel nauseous just thinking about-

“Woah!” he exclaimed, steadying you for a moment.

“I’m fine,” you assured, voice bland.

“Let’s sit down,” he suggested, expression etched with concern.

If you fell, there’d be no promise he could come to your rescue- You felt you’d probably squash him.

“I’ve got you,” he assured nonetheless.

At your side he held your hip, his other holding your hand as he guided you from the bathroom. You just wanted to climb into bed, your eyes felt heavy.

“Easy,” he coaxed, positioning you to sit down on the side of the bed slowly.

Your own strength was zapped, unable to even push yourself to the pillows. He hesitated to even leave you, but quickly side-stepped to your other side, his back facing the headboard as he reached down, scooping you into his arms princess-style, sliding you upwards into a comfortable position as he knelt on the mattress. Your hand gripped his denim jacket deathly, scared for a moment he would drop you or fall into you due to your imbalance of weight. 

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, having no trouble.

He knew you were probably just scared in the moment, but he wanted you to trust and rely on him.

“I’m heavy-”

“Not really,” he retorted, comfortably positioning the pillows behind you for a moment.

“Actually,” his actions stilled, “I’m worried about you- You’ve become thinner,” he explained, pinching the flesh of your upper arm softly. He was just worried for both your health and the baby’s.

[wreckofawriter]

Strawberries

Restaurant AU!

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Lewd language, swearing, a small mention of sexual harassment. tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: You hate being a waitress for rich assholes, but maybe the new line cook will make it a little better

A/n: this is for week three of my Cliche Month. Sorry for being inactive. I suck at time management and have no motivation.

    You never aspired to be a waitress. You didn’t sit down in primary school on a ridiculously colorful rug and tell your underpaid depressed teacher that you wanted to wait on prestigious assholes and rich men who thought a 20 dollar tip bought them an ass grab. You never wanted to wait on entitled white women and spoiled brats. But shit happens.

   

“Yes ma’am I understand but that was last week’s special, we don’t serve it anymore.”

    The woman rolled her eyes, “I don’t think you do understand. I said I want the sea bass, just have them make the sea bass.”

    You bit back cusses, “I am very sorry ma’am but we don’t have the ingredients in the kitchen to make a sea bass. I can recommend our halibut it’s severed with a delicious mango chutney and-”

    “Shut up about the mango crap. She said she wants a seabass, give her a seabass.” The man who sat on the opposite side of the table spoke.

    Your smile almost faltered, “Sir, we don’t have sea bass.” 

    “Then get some.” The man huffed, “There are plenty of stores around.”

    You had already taken the fork beside him and jabbed him in the eye in your mind four times, “I am terribly sorry sir, we cannot do that.”

    The look on his face could only be described as disgust, “I would like to speak to your supervisor.”

    You took in a deep breath, “Sir, he will not say any different.”

    “Now girl.” He snapped, his wife’s smirk making you want to smash her champagne glass over her head.

    “I will be right back.” You forced a smile, notebook flipping shut as you turned, the click of your heels disappearing into the chatter of diners. You almost rubbed your tired eyes only to remember the makeup which coated them and dropped your hands back to your side. You walked towards the pass of the kitchen, the smell of fish and meats becoming stronger as waiters weaved around you. 

    “Denzel.” You called, the man in question turning towards you.

    He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

    “Can you pretend to be my supervisor?” You asked, “Some idiots still want to order the sea bass.” 

    “I’m assuming you told them that was last week's special.” He spoke as you began to lead him back to the couple.

    “Multiple times.” you sighed.

    He nodded smiles finding both of your faces as you stood in front of the table.

    “How can I help you both tonight?” He spoke, his voice dramatically shifting tones. 

    The woman went on to explain your complete incompetence just to hear your friend restate everything you had. She eventually ordered the halibut.

    Denzel left thanking them for their cooperation as you went on to take the man's order and pretending not to hear his wife calling you a bitch as you walked away. 

    You wanted to be a journalist, a warrior of justice. You wanted to expose the one percent, shattering their ivory towers with a mallet of words. 

Instead, you served them halibut and ribeyes with a smile as fake as their trophy wives tits. 

James had fallen in love with many things in his life but cooking had been the most prevalent. Most hobbies were tossed out windows, they became phases, leaving nothing but footprints in his life. But cooking had been different. Since he was five years old and would hop onto a stepping stool to peer into the cast-iron pan his mother would be sauteing in he had been hooked. By age 10 he was making things like meatballs and stroganoff. At fourteen he began to engage in more complicated dishes and by the time he hit culinary school he was easily the best in class. 

Now as he washed his hundredth dish of the night he wondered if all of that love had been for absolutely nothing. When applying for a line cook position at one of the most prestigious restaurants in London he definitely didn’t expect to be stuck as a dishwasher. 

James’ hands felt raw from scrubbing, his apron soaked with warm water and unscented soap. His feet were aching in his shoes, his jealousy for those putting together the night’s last desserts burning hot.

He ignored his anger and pushed on, washing plate after plate just to place them into an industrial-sized dishwasher which was supposed to thoroughly clean the dishes which he already spent hours scrubbing. Dessert plates and wine glasses seemed to replace every dinner plate he had washed, his work seeming endless as his coworkers said goodnight and walked out the back door. 

It took James another hour to finish. He felt like he could pass out on the kitchen floor. His glasses were a greasy steamed mess as he pushed them back up his nose for the nth time that evening. He sighed out in a mix of exhaustion and relief untying his apron and preparing to leave.

“So you’re the newbie?” 

James jumped letting out a small yelp as his heart leapt in his chest. 

You let out a snort hand coming to cover your mouth, a poor attempt of hiding your giggles.

“You scared the shit out of me.” James huffed his glare only holding for a moment as you came into focus. Your hair was up in a reckless bun, your waitress uniform slightly crumpled, heels held in your left hand. Yet your cheeks seemed to be painted, the smirk your visage held tantalizing. 

“I saw.” You snickered padding past him and dropping your shoes onto a counter with a small clink. You headed for the refrigerator, opening it and scorning over its contents. You finally settled on a container of cut strawberries, which were to be used as a garnish the next day, “You won’t tell will you?” You muttered peeling open the top and snatching a fork from the dishwasher.

James nodded, what for he wasn’t quite sure. 

You jumped onto the counter spinning to face him, “Sooo, what’s your name?”

“Uhh, James, James Potter.” He said leaning back onto the sink.

“It’s very nice to meet you, James.” You grinned, “I’m y/n y/l/n.” 

An awkward silence followed as you plopped a berry into your mouth, its flavor bursting as you side-eyed the man. 

“You’re a line cook right?” You asked, legs swinging in front of you. 

James pouted a bit, his cheeks puffing for a brief moment, “Well I’m supposed to be but so far all I’ve done is wash dishes and take out the trash.”

You hummed in understanding, swallowing fruit before speaking again, “They do that to every newbie. They want to make sure you can do the dirty work before they let you burn on the line.”

James started at you, “Really?” 

You shrugged, “That’s how it’s always worked.”

“That’s a relief I thought I was going to be stuck doing this shit.”  James relished in his found happiness feeling a bit more energized, “Hey what are you doing back here anyway, didn’t most of the waitresses leave like an hour ago?” 

“I just had to see if the new cook was as attractive as all the girls said he was.” You grinned.

James felt his cheeks flame, eyes going wide, “Are you serious?” 

“No,” You snickered, “I got hungry and didn’t feel like cooking.”

The heat of his cheeks only worsened, “That’s rude.”

You cooed, “Ooh poor baby I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, are you going to be okay?” 

“I don’t know.” James huffed, “I don’t think I can take this harassment.” 

The laughter that echoed around him caused a smile to break onto his face. 

You suddenly realized he was as attractive as the other waitresses were saying. Even if his hair was a mess and his glasses were smudged. 

You hadn’t been lying. By his third week, James was helping with both garnish and desserts. His thirst for cooking finally being fulfilled even by the small tasks he had been given. He was still forced to do dishes at the end of service but usually, someone would help him or even trade-off with him so he could take part in prep. 

Most nights when he was left alone in the kitchen you would appear, always claiming to be hungry and that cooking was for “the weak.” so you would raid the fridge instead. You stated many times that veggies and leftover slices of cake were a fine dinner much to James’ distaste. 

“That's it.” The newbie announced, hands in the air in mock surrender as you opened a container of cauliflower. “This has to stop.”

Your heart sped in your chest, was he going to turn you in? 

“You can’t keep eating shit, I’m going to cook something for you.” James huffed, moving you aside and beginning to pull stuff from the refrigerator. 

You lifted your brows, “Are you sure?” 

James nodded, “You need to taste actual food.”

You rolled your eyes, “Couldn’t you get in, like, a lot of trouble.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” He smirked pulling out salmon and bok choy. 

“Obviously not.” You huffed taking your usual seat in the counter as James began to work, “What are you making anyway?”

“Asian inspired salmon.” He mumbled, lighting the stove and grabbing a frying pan. 

You sat in comfortable silence, watching as he cut the vegetable in half placing it into a pan and the salmon into another. James’ hands moved quickly, not hesitating with the large knives he handled and weaving through the meal as he grabbed seasonings and sauces.

By the time he was pulling the fish from the heat, the kitchen had filled with the scent of soy sauce and warmth.    

Grabbing a plate James placed on the salmon followed by the bok choy and the lemon sesame sauce. He wiped the rim with a damp rag and presented it before you with enough dramatics to earn a giggle.

“You’re ridiculous.” You spoke through a smile taking the fork from his offering hand and digging in. 

You placed the tender meat into your mouth and was greeted by an explosion of flavors that danced on your tongue like pixie dust. You hummed, a facade of deliberation on your face, “It's overcooked.” You started plainly watching as James’ face dropped. “I’m just kidding it's delicious.” You laughed as James rolled his eyes. 

“You are such a dick,” he mumbled, beginning to clean the slight mess he had made. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. James gave you a strange look, “Get a fork dumbass, you can’t make rich people food like this and then not eat it.” 

The smile that crept onto his face caused wings to erupt in your stomach. 

You had always hated teenagers. They were spoiled and greedy and gross. So when an older woman walked in with four 17-year-old boys you had fled the scene. Unfortunately, the waitress head placed you at the table anyway. The second you reached the table all four adolescence had fallen silent and you were positive it wasn’t them being polite. One of them started at your boobs the entire they ordered and you could feel their eyes on your ass as you walked away. 

You were used to the gross stares, every waitress was. It didn’t matter how expensive the food was there always seemed to be creeps asking for it. What you had not been prepared for was the boy closest to you to reach out and grab you. 

You didn’t hesitate, hand snatching his wrist before he had a chance to fully pull away. The woman the boys were with gasped. You squeezed his arm tight hoping he could feel your nails biting his skin. 

“Touch me again and I will cut your hand off. Am I clear?” You hissed, a whimper left the teen’s mouth and you released him. You placed his plate in front of him with a clatter and didn’t waste time walking away. 

Your anger didn’t diminish the rest of the night and by the time your shift was over you considered going straight home, a shower and an extra hour of sleep would serve you well.

You glanced into the kitchen, there were three chefs left, James stood in front of the sink smiling at nothing as he always seemed to do. A sigh left your lips, who needs sleep anyway?

“I’ll close up.” You called to the head waitress who shot you a skeptical look.

“You used to hate closing.” She mused, “What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

You shrugged, “Nothing in particular.”

She smirked, “So it has absolutely nothing to do with the new dishwasher?”

Pink bloomed on your cheeks, “He’s a line cook and no it doesn’t.”

“Uh-huh, sure it doesn’t.” She mocked, “If you’re gonna fuck just don’t do it in the kitchen.” 

Your face twisted in disgust and you almost dropped the napkins you held, “That is so gross.” 

She laughed, dropping the keys on the bar, “If I find any bodily fluids in my office you’re fired.” 

“You are disgusting.” You hissed, face hot and she only laughed harder.

You finished cleaning off the remainder of the tables, peeking into the kitchen occasionally as the last two cooks left for the night. 

The weight of your exertion hit hard as you entered the kitchen, legs seeming to give out as you bent down to remove your heels. 

James noticed your discomfort and let out a chuckle, “Let me.” 

You stood up a bit too quickly, head spinning for a second as you were lifted onto the counter, James crouching to slip off your shoes. You sighed leaning back onto your palms. 

“Tough day?” he asked, turning back to open the fridge. 

You nodded, “Kids are assholes.” 

James laughed, “And why's that?”

You yawned eyes watering from its force as you answered, “Well one little highschool shit grabbed my ass.”

James froze, he hand hovering midair as he processed what you had just told him, “What?”

“Oh yeah, entitled rich kids always think they can touch whatever they want. It's why I hate serving teenagers.” You complained not noticing the distress you had put James under.

“This happens regularly?” He was appalled.

    “Well not really regularly more like once a month, it’s not always teenagers though,” You explained, “Oo what’s that?” 

    James set the container of chocolate-covered strawberries in front of you. His mouth still agape “Once a month isn’t regular?”

    You huffed, “Can we stop talking about it? It happens to every waitress.”

    “Yeah, sorry,” James mumbled watching as you bit into a strawberry, lipstick smearing.

    “You going to have one of these?” You asked, holding one between your thumb and pointer finger. 

    “Sure.” James went to grab the strawberry only for you to pull it away with a grin.

    “No, no, I get to feed it to you.” Your smile was sweetly arranged. 

    Heat tingled on his neck like tv static, “Don’t be ridiculous y/n.” 

    “Oh come on James, don’t be a pussy.” You taunted waving the fruit in front of him as color painted his cheeks. 

    He glared at you in mock annoyance as his heartbeat began to run, “Fine.”

    You giggled as he took the berry into his mouth, lips barely grazing your fingertips as he pulled away. 

    James had never been more embarrassed in his life, he chewed the sweet fruit refusing to meet your eyes as you continued to laugh.

    “You’re cute ya’ know.” You giggled.

    James scoffed, a mix of bittersweet coming from your words, “Whatever.” He walked away from you hiding his flushed face. 

    You whined, “I’m not joking. You are really cute.”

    “Seriously y/n stop,” James spoke, his voice laced with disappointment and melancholy. 

    You rolled your eyes, “You’re such an idiot James.” 

    He leaned against the refrigerator as you plopped another berry into your mouth. His arms crossed as a pout you had found yourself obsessed with took his lips. 

    “A few girls actually did want your number.” You hummed watching as he seemed to perk up, reminding you of a puppy given a toy. “I was supposed to get it for them, but I didn’t really want to.”

    James scrunched his brows, “Why not?”

    “Cause I wanted your number dumbass.” You scoffed, “I wasn’t about to give it to someone else.” `

    This only confused him more, “Why would you want my number?”

    A groan lifted from your lips, “Your skull is so thick James. I want your number because you’re cute and funny and all that shit.” your voice fell to a mumble and your eyes became glued to your swinging feet.

    “Why didn’t you ask for my number?” James challenged and you felt your already warm face grow hot. 

    “I was nervous.” You muttered bitterly not liking the vulnerable position you had been put into.

    James was suddenly stepping towards you “What was that?” he grinned hand to his ear mockingly.

    “You’re enjoying this too much.” You grumbled, “Look I like you, I think you’re cute and sweet and funny now are you going to continue being a dick or give me a proper response?” 

    James continued to beam, stepping closer to you as you glared up at him with pink cheeks. 

    “Well, you’re really cute too.” James said, “And I think you were being the dick for making me try to impress you for three weeks only to say you liked me the entire time.”

    You were tempted to bury your head in your hands but considering that would mean you breaking his gaze you stopped yourself, “Oh fuck off.” you muttered heart thudding so loud you wondered if James could hear it.

    “Is that really what you want?” He questioned already knowing the answer. He leaned over you cupping your cheek.

    “Just kiss me already asshole.” You murmured.

    James tilted your head up to meet his lips. They were soft and plush, a thousand times better than you imagined them to be nights before. Your thighs parted as his own pressed against the counter between them in desperation to be closer to you. Closed kisses turned to open-mouthed ones, leaving the pleasant taste of strawberries on your tongue. 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings @coldlilheart

Masterlist

[bellakitse]

Cooking with Friends 

for @madamewriterofwrongs​ 

(inspired by the bts pic of the trio at Carlos’ place)

“Do you need any help?”

Carlos Reyes looks up from the fish pieces he’s frying to find Marjan looking at him curiously, a glass of the sparkling grape juice he’s taken to having in stock since he and TK officially started dating in her hand.

There is lively laughter and conversation behind them as his boyfriend entertains his other two crew members, Paul and Mateo.

“Sure,” he starts with a smile, getting one back from the girl TK is so fond of. “Can you chop that?” he asks as he points at the herbs on the cutting board. “The rice is almost done and ready for it.”

“Cilantro lime rice?” she questions, placing her glass down to wash her hands before she picks up a knife.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, taking out some finished pieces of fish, placing them on a paper towel to soak up the extra oil.

“And Baja tacos, yum,” Marjan continues, nodding towards the fresh tortillas he’s placed on the dishes before adding the fish.

“With a chickenless southwest salad,” he finishes for her, raising an eyebrow when she chuckles. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she says quickly, grin still firmly in place on her pretty face. “It’s just that TK is a shit cook. He gets out of it at work by trading the chore with Paul when it’s his turn, and now he has a boyfriend who is also awesome at cooking, so he doesn’t have to do it when he’s off shift either. It’s kind of hilarious.”

Carlos chuckles at her observation; she’s not wrong. TK has many talents he’s come to learn about in the weeks since they’ve gotten serious. Talents and habits Carlos either finds adorable or hot beyond belief. But his boyfriend is simply not cooking-compatible and would live off takeout and cereal if left up to his own devices.

“He’s only with me for my cooking,” he jokes with a grin, raising an eyebrow when Marjan snorts.

“Yeah, no,” She corrects him. She points at the pot of rice that now sits off the stove; when he nods at her, she starts to fluff the rice with a fork a few times before pouring the lime juice he’d squeezed earlier. “Trust me, if you heard the way he rambles on about you, you would know that while he does mention your cooking, is just one of the million things he goes on and on about when he brings you up.”

Marjan gives him a pointed look. “Which is all the time.”

Carlos feels his face go hot, and he knows it has nothing to do with having been in the kitchen for the last hour cooking. “He does not talk about me all the time,” he replies with conviction for a moment before continuing, hesitant. “Does he?”

“We can bring Mateo and Paul into this conversation if you’d like; they’ll back me up,” Marjan answers, opening her mouth again to call for their friends.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he hisses quickly, shooting her a look when she smirks. “You just want to embarrass TK,” he continues with gentle reproach, knowing she doesn’t mean it with malice. Teasing, he’s learned, is the way Marjan and TK show affection towards each other.

Marjan’s smile grows even wider, proving his observation correct.

Carlos shakes his head. “Troublemaker,” he tells her, unable to hide his fondness for her as she throws him a wink. “Here, take these plates to the table.”

Marjan rolls her eyes at him jokingly but does what he says. He calls out to the rest of the guests, calling them to the table as he readies the other plates. Mateo and Paul take their seats along with Marjan, while TK comes to meet him in the kitchen, taking a plate from him.

“This all looks and smells delicious, baby,” TK tells him with a sweet, happy smile on his face. He’s been grinning like this for the last three days since Carlos agreed to host this little get together. The bashful look on TK’s face when he asked him if it would be okay to invite the trio over, and the smile that followed when Carlos said yes, still tugs at his heartstrings. Carlos would do anything to keep that smile on TK’s face.

“Hopefully, it tastes delicious too,” he answers, chuckling when it makes TK roll his eyes.

“When have you ever made something that isn’t delicious?” TK questions teasingly.

“I made a beef wellington so bad once that it would have sent Gordon Ramsay into a rage,” he answers, cringing as he remembers that particular culinary fail.

Gordan Ramsay is always in a rage,” TK answers, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins. “That’s his shtick, babe.”

“Cute,” Carlos mutters dryly, causing TK to light up.

“I’m glad you think so,” TK answers, turning sideways to keep the plates out of the way as he leans into Carlos’ space.

Carlos tries not to react, but it’s impossible when his boyfriend is this close, his lovely pouty mouth inches from his. He closes the small gap, his stomach doing a somersault as TK’s eyes flutter shut a second before Carlos covers that gorgeous mouth with his. His body sings at the soft sigh TK lets out as he kisses him gently. He can feel himself starting to get lost in the kiss when a loud whistle startles them both. Turning his head towards the table, he sees Paul pulling his hand away from his mouth.

“Yeah, we get it, you’re in love,” he says with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. “But we’re waiting and hungry.”

Carlos feels his face go red once more, his heart racing at Paul’s words, but TK, instead, just laughs joyfully.

“No need to be jealous of me and my gorgeous man, Strickland,” TK teases his friend as they come to sit at the table, passing the last of the plates around.

Paul narrows his eyes at TK, but Carlos can see the hint of a smile on the curve of his mouth. “Love makes you obnoxious, brother,” he tells him, wreaking havoc with Carlos’ insides as he casually drops the word love around once more.

“Maybe,” TK agrees easily as he starts to dig into his salad. “But it’s doing amazing things to my complexion, don’t you think?” he asks, batting his eyelashes aggressively at Paul.

Paul rolls his eyes while Marjan and Mateo exchange a grin, obviously used to this simple ribbing between all of them. It makes Carlos happy to witness it, and hopefully, be part of it.

“Okay, you two can continue,” Mateo waves in their direction. “But I’m eating, this smells really good, and I have been living off pop tarts I found in the back of my cupboards for the last week. Pretty sure they were expired.”

Marjan raises an eyebrow at the man next to her, judgingly, before turning back towards the rest of them. “Gee, why can’t probie get a girl?” she asks, drawing a pout from Mateo and laughter from the rest of the table.

Carlos joins into their easy camaraderie, teasing and sharing with the group as they eat. Halfway through the meal, when the trio is busy recalling an incident earlier in the week, TK leans in close to him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his green eyes soft as he smiles at him shyly. He shrugs when Carlos gives him a questioning look back. “My ex never cared about getting to know my crew, and he sure as hell never made them an amazing dinner to get to know them better. This means a lot to me – ” TK pauses, looking over at his friends, all smiling and enjoying themselves. “They’re – “

“Your family,” Carlos finishes for him. TK looks back at him, eyes now shining, pleased that Carlos gets it. He nods back at him. “Then they’re my family too, Ty.”

TK lets out a soft sound, another beautiful smile on his face. He leans in further, pressing his forehead to Carlos’ temple gently. “You’re my family too, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing over Carlos’ cheek.

Carlos exhales, a little shaky, his heart thundering at TK’s words and the meaning behind them. “And you’re mine.”

[seasonsofeverlark]

Oktoberfest Effect

Author: @alliswell21​

Prompt: Town boys (drunk?) dare each other to venture into woods (Halloween night? [Oktoberfest]). Katniss saves Peeta (from peacekeepers? storm?) by pulling him into a cave for the night. (Drunk Peeta talks too much and is cuddly?) [submitted by @567inpanem​] 

Rating: Teen (for drunkenness)

Author’s Note: Thank you to @mandelion82 for lending me her beta services, and being a generally awesome cheerleader! Thank you @567inpanem for the prompt, I hope it brings you joy! Thank y’all for reading! 

Oktoberfest, originally from Munich, Germany, is a two week folkloric festival, celebrated between the third Sunday of September and the first Sunday of October. Copious amounts of beer get served worldwide to celebrate Oktoberfest…👀this fic doesn’t reflected the cultural richness of the festival and or what it represents!👀

Tags: In Panem AU; No Games AU; Not representative of Oktoberfest; Drunken Shenanigans; Thunder storms; Snarky!Everlark; Humor; Blink-and-you-Miss-it fluff. One Shot.

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Oktoberfest is one of my least favorite festivals in the small repertory of celebrations my District is allowed. 

It’s usually held in the beginning of October, after the first showers of Fall, and tends to last all day long, severely cutting into my hunting time in the woods, which comprises the bulk of my family’s livelihood. My mother is a healer, but people used to struggle to pay for her services back in the day, so she stopped charging anyone; people gave her what they could: rations, produce from their squalid gardens, old clothes and such. You’d think people would pay with coins, now that things have improved for common folks, but some habits die hard.

It’s probably the same reason we keep observing a holiday that’s real meaning has been lost to Panem since before the Dark Days; people just know that at some point, Oktoberfest was celebrated around this time, and people ate and drank ale by the bucketfuls, so that’s what they do today. 

By the same token, it’s the most popular festivity in District 12, since it’s the only day of the year in which drinking is sanctioned and even encouraged by the higher-ups of government. Trains come carrying ale, spiked ciders, and even hard liquor for the celebration. People like Ms. Ripper, who sells moonshine and white liquor in our black market, better known as The Hob, have free range to sell their wares openly, without suffering repercussions. 

The meek, dull denizens of District 12 drink the spirits by the gallons, just for the one day, and pass out in the most unseemly places around town, like savages. If something had become clear to me with the passing years, it’s that people tend to enjoy drunkenness to soothe their woes away, so it’s natural everyone embraces Oktoberfest.

But, as with everything, things aren’t as bleak as I tend to see them myself.

“Katniss!” My sister, Prim, calls breathlessly from the maypole circle, beckoning me over with one hand, while holding a bright, yellow ribbon in her other, “There still are a few ribbons left!” She shouts excitedly, her meaning plain: she wants me to join in the festivities.

Normally I’d shy away from any and all activities that would have me interacting directly with the townsfolk. It’s nothing personal against them, I’m just not used to being touched by anyone, except for my family, and weaving ribbons around the maypole practically ensures I’d be brushing up against any number of strangers …but, there are worse games to play, and I could never deny my sister anything, not even this. 

I make my way to Prim and reluctantly snatch up a pale blue ribbon from the ground. My sister’s smile is so bright I almost relax when the music starts, and the dancers take to moving in and out around the pole. 

It isn’t as bad as I was dreading it to be. The music is lively; the fiddler follows the dancers while the rest of the band plays on the makeshift stage a few feet away, and the pole is relatively short and moderately wide, so we make quick work of braiding a pretty pattern in one go. Also, people are at a respectable distance from one another, and most everyone feels as awkward around me as I feel around them, so they just give a wide berth when they pass me by.

Prim and I are laughing when the song comes to an end, and we take a minute to admire the pole’s multicolored design. 

There’s a line of smiling people waiting in the fringes to take the ribbons the opposite direction to unravel them and weave them together again. 

I pull Prim into a hug and kiss her blonde head, fondly. “Let’s give somebody else a turn, Little Duck.” Prim narrows her eyes just a smidge; she’s almost 16 and doesn’t appreciate the nickname as much anymore. “Let’s put some warm apple cider into you, yes?” 

Joy returns to her baby blues immediately. “Yes! We should go find Mother as well!” she says excitedly. 

“Let’s go then!” 

After finding our mother in the crowd, and haggling over three cups of cider and one bag of boiled peanuts, our mother suggests we go home early, before the party gets rowdy. 

An unfortunate byproduct of Oktoberfest with all the unchecked drinking is men get loud, bold and stupid. Better to clear out before that happens, because while crimes aren’t tolerated— under the influence or sober—people tend to get belligerent when alcohol is involved. 

President Snow died years ago, when I was Prim’s age. Many things changed drastically, like the abolishment of the Hunger Games, and a slightly better salary for miners, but the seemingly tolerant new government of Panem gives men a strange leave to criticize the Capitol while drunk…which technically, is still a crime in today’s Panem, just not as mortally dangerous anymore. Still, women try to haul their spouses home before they can say something incriminating and land themselves in prison.

Nothing can be done about the youngsters, though. 

With women trying to keep a leash and muzzle over the men, the teenagers have unhindered access to alcohol and close to no supervision; although spirits are supposedly only served to people 17 and older, I wouldn’t put it past the vendors to look the other way if a group of merchant kids pass a few extra coins across the table, when nobody is watching. 

If grown up men are loud, bold and stupid while drunk, teen and young adult men are even worse, and that’s without a gaggle of equally intoxicated girls egging them on.

This year— as in every Oktoberfest— the electric fence surrounding the district lays dormant and harmless, lest one of the hundreds of inebriated fools roaming the meadow fall into the wires and fry themselves upon accident.

Not that the Capitol cares if a few malnourished— probably discontented— miners fall dead during a district festival; people in 12 used to keel over from starvation all the time back under Snow’s regime, but those deaths were usually chalked up to any number of unrelated causes: pneumonia, heart weakness, black lung disease…anything, except starvation. But dying electrocuted on the very fence that’s supposed to keep us safe in our little district is unthinkable! The fence is there to keep dangerous beasts— and nutritious game alike— away from us.

District 12 remains that enduring jewel of Panem, where you can starve in safety! All we need is to drink the memory of our empty pantries away for another year, and everyone is happy. I sigh. At least they did away with the Hunger Games; now we have singing contests and trivia challenges playing on national television instead of the blood shed of innocent teenagers, which is certainly an improvement. Somehow it’s still not a fair bargain, but district folk will never complain about this particular trade; our children are safe, and we get to watch Capitol people make fools of themselves in front of everyone.

Mother, Prim and I make it home early enough to make a quick supper of roasted potatoes, salted fish and the last of the bakery bread I traded for this week. I make a mental note to bring down a couple squirrels to trade with the baker for more bread. The man is one of the few I can regularly count on to trade fairly with, so I always save him the best of my squirrels. 

By the time dinner is being cleared off the table, I can hear the murmur of families returning home from the meadow. A surge of nervous energy takes over me. I start bouncing my leg restlessly, peeking at the old clock hanging on the wall. 

“Are you going out again?” asks my mother. Her tone is light and her eyes focused on the heap of plates and forks she’s balancing in her hands. I know better than to believe she’s alright with me leaving again. 

“For a while,” I answer. 

“You could get stuck out there!” says Prim, clearly displeased. 

“I’ve been working on a shelter, just in case. I’ll be back before dawn if I can help it,” I say, brokering no arguments.

“Be careful,” Prim mumbles, her blue eyes pleading.

I stand up from my chair and plant a kiss on the crown of her blonde head. “I promise. Now, go make sure Lady is secured before I leave. I don’t want anyone getting any ideas seeing a goat loose out there.” Not that anyone would cross me knowingly, but people get a lot dumber while drunk. 

The sun set on the horizon long ago, but all my years sneaking around urge me to blend instantly with the river of dark-haired children trailing their dark-haired mothers and fathers all over The Seam. It certainly is an entertaining sight; the children are immensely happier than their parents, of course, bouncing and giggling, carrying in their spindly arms their Oktoberfest bounty of apples and freshly picked ears of corn stuffed into old burlap sacks, prizes given to them by the Capitol for every one of those silly games they played at the festival. At least they know supper won’t consist of tesserae bread tonight.

Reaching the fence will be trickier now that the meadow is crawling with blond merchants and peacekeepers patrolling the perimeter of the fence ‘for our safety’. A few miners remain, helping with the cleanup process to earn some extra money, but they are so few I can’t use our physical similarities to hide in plain sight. The merchants, meandering around the meadow, throwing nervous glances at the fence every so often, pretending they don’t care the thing is off, certainly hinders my ability to sneak around. 

I wasn’t the only person who ventured outside the fence by any means. Historically, people have snuck under the barbed wire links in the past to steal apples and berries, when the hunger pains were scarier than the bears and wild dogs roaming the woods; necessity is a great incentive, it either makes you very brave or very reckless…but the few merchants still hanging out here only linger ‘cause an alcohol-fueled thrill holds them captive. Tomorrow, when they’re home nursing a head-splitting hangover, they’ll go back to cowering at the sight of the fence. 

There’s a group of towheaded youngsters, singing obnoxiously, near the edge of the meadow. 

I roll my eyes and try to ignore them for the time being. Meanwhile, I skirt around the maypole, pretending I’m admiring the workers’ effort, pulling the pole out of the ground to haul it into storage until next year. It’s a massive effort, but all I can do is lament how now there’s gonna be a soft spot in the ground for a while there, even after they fill it back with dirt and rocks. 

I curse darkly under my breath when I startle at the sight of two peacekeepers passing by the merchant boys.

The singing stops while the townies nod politely at the albino buzzards. The boys stare at the peacekeepers until they disappear at a bend behind a big, tall retention wall where the fence stops into a jagged corner, and then the young merchants do something very peculiar…they start a round of ‘Row Your Boat’, holding up their fingers in some sort of countdown. Their voices are so shrill and out of tune, everyone around covers their ears and looks the opposite way.

I cock my head, studying the boys. They’re clearly intoxicated: red noses and ears, laughing at nonsense, and the biggest telltale, a bottle of white liquor passing around their misshapen circle. I realize, they’re not all teenagers. A few of them I recognize from my days in school, and I know for a fact two of them are married, and at least one of them has a child on the way already. 

I roll my eyes at their childish behavior. 

The peacekeepers appear again in the distance, and the singers stop their song abruptly. One of the older guys lifts his fingers up, showing all ten digits; he closes his fists quickly and opens them again, now showing seven fingers. They all giggle like lunatics, and I lose interest in them.

I round the cleaning crew closest to the fence, but suddenly, one of the townies stands up and starts calling at the top of his lungs, startling me.

“Hey, you! The girl with the braid!”

I whip around, because I’m 99% sure he’s talking to me! I’ve worn my dark, Seam hair in a single braid down my back for the last 8 years or so; it’s practical, really, to keep it that way. But that’s besides the point.

I wear my fiercest scowl on my face, and I get an uncomfortable jolt to the stomach when I realize I know this guy, the one waving at me while his companions guffaw around him, still intoning their childish ditty. 

Peeta Mellark, the baker’s youngest son, a boy I owe the biggest debt of my entire life, and for the first time since I can remember, he’s meeting my gaze without wavering. 

Debt or not, I have half a mind to stomp his way, grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest tree in retaliation. My mouth opens to ask him what his problem is, when out of nowhere a pair of peacekeepers pop up from behind the retention wall, walking in the opposite direction of the previous set of guards. 

“Did you know it takes about a minute and a half to sing ‘Row Your Boat’ seventeen times?” Peeta Mellark chuckles, pink cheeks and nose, tilting his head towards the fence, and then his blue, sparkly eyes flit to the peacekeepers passing by; all the boys stop singing and nod at them in greeting. “Then, it takes like five minutes to sing something else, until we go back to Row Your Boat!” 

These guards must’ve crossed the other ones at some point while out of sight without me noticing. If I hadn’t been distracted by Peeta calling out to me, I would’ve run right into them on my way to the fence, if not flat out caught red-handed crossing into the woods, and how would I explain myself then?! Everyone in District 12 knows of my poaching proclivities, peacekeepers included, but that doesn’t mean I should go flaunting around my intention to trespass. Panem is still not completely free and whether people should have the right to escape into the woods for sustenance is still a murky topic…I’m not too keen on finding out if hunting is still a punishable crime by today’s parameters.

I turn my eyes back to Peeta, but he’s already singing and joking with his buddies, and although he seems to be invested in whatever shenanigans they’re doing, I’m not too sure he’s oblivious to me.  After all, he had to be watching me pretty closely to accurately guess I was close to being discovered. 

I huff. My debt to Peeta just increased, and I have no idea how to start paying him back for it. 

The peacekeepers are again out of sight; the merchants are singing again, and like before, people look away from their ruckus. There’s one boy with his fingers up…counting. 

Peeta’s watching me; he lifts 4 fingers offhandedly and turns to face his friends. 

Clever!

It’s a code, I gather. 

They’re timing the passing of the peacekeepers into the ‘blind spot’ with one song, then start a different one to predict when the keepers will be back on the retention wall.

I shake my head to clear off the hint of a smile taking over my face. The silly drunks aren’t as stupid as I thought, I guess. 

I make sure no one is looking my way; I also check the kid counting how many boats they’ve rowed, and leap closer to the spot I know there’s a loose link. I only have ten rows before the peacekeepers come back, so I make quick work out of the wires and slip to the other side fast. 

The drunk boys break into hoots and cheers once I’m in the woods, and despite myself, I look in their direction just to make sure nobody saw me scurrying out. I’m partially hidden by a tree, and should be safe now.

The cheering isn’t because I slipped out of the districteffectively; the boys are either harshly ruffling Peeta’s hair, or slapping him on the back. They’re all laughing and crowing something I can’t make out, but soon I see the glint of white uniforms out of the corner of my eyes, and hide deeper into the woods. 

I decide to check on my snares around here and head home right away. This was perhaps the worst entrance I’ve made into the woods, and too many know I’m out here as it is, but, if the townies are gonna act as a siren of sorts, better to use their system to my advantage. 

Then…I need to figure out how to finally speak to Peeta Mellark and start getting my ledger even with him. 

It’s completely dark by the time I reach my snares. I look at the sky and scowl. The stars are obscured, and the moon has a hazy ring around it. Clouds are rolling in too fast for my liking. Rain is coming, soon. So I make haste and run my fingers along the first wire I find. 

My snare wields two rabbits, and I bag them without resetting the traps. I figure one of these will be enough to hold my family over for a couple of days. I can make some coins out of the second rabbit, which should be enough until Oktoberfest has died down and business resumes as normal. It’s a good plan if I say so myself.

A peal of thunder breaks in the distance, and I grunt lowly. This night keeps getting worse by the minute; it’s good that I’m almost back to my entry point. I head back to the fence, where I can still hear the faint howls of laughter of the merchant boys. 

I’m 30 yards from the fence when another clap of thunder roars overhead, loud enough to reverberate in my bones; people beyond the fence shriek. I’ve only taken a step forward when lightning strikes, and I know the storm is hot on my heels. 

The chanting of the merchants is getting louder. I never thought I’d think this, but it’s a relief, knowing I can count on them to distract the patrols while I sneak back into the district. 

They’re egging and heckling each other like a bunch of rowdy hoodlums. 

“Go on! Ten coins says you won’t last a second!” 

“I say fifteen, if he brings back proof he was there!” 

Somebody belches loudly, making the rest giggle like school kids. 

I roll my eyes and try to concentrate on finding my loose wire in the distance. I’m only a few feet away from the fence, but it’s dark and windy. 

“Seeriouslee, though,” hiccups another, mispronouncing his words. “Gwhat should he…” hiccup, “bring?” Hiccup.

“Don’t know. A berry maybe,” 

“Or a bear bite!” cackles another. They all laugh boisterously. 

I wonder what they’re up to now. The fools! Don’t they know they should be running home for cover? The first raindrops are already falling. 

“Fine! Okay…I’ll do it! But I wanna see all that money now!” slurs a voice I recognize, because I heard it calling me less than twenty minutes ago. “Pay up!”

No! Not him! I think, feeling my stomach drop. Whatever it is they’re doing, doesn’t sound very smart. 

“Dis it?!” Peeta Mellark groans, “I’m taking all your money, so I can buy me a hen house! Dis not even ‘nough to buy me chicken feed!”

I hear grumbling nearby, and the clicking of metal, suspiciously similar to how coins sound falling on each other. I assume they’re shedding the rest of their money for Peeta to see. 

“‘Kay…‘Kay…better now. Okay. Imma go now. Hold me money, Rye…and don’t spend any of it! I counted it… it’s me money! Don’t steal it, or I tell Lavender you were smooching girls a week before you got married!” 

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t steal me money!”

“Fine!”

“Fine! And don’t tell father ‘bout dis either!”

Somebody yells, “Mellark, stop stalling!”

“Yeah! Get—“ hiccup, “on with it al—“ hiccup, “…ready!”

“Goin’, I’m goin’!” I hear a few murmurs.

I swear, Peeta Mellark! If you set foot in my woods, I’ll shoot you in the toes! 

I’m close enough to the fence to see a few lights flicking close by, but then another thunder drums, with a lightning to boot, and the rain droplets fall heavier. 

“Wait! White helmets!” hisses someone, and even I drop to the ground to hide. 

“Evenin,’ officers!” says Peeta. 

I can picture him in my mind’s eye, smiling the same way he used to in school when covering for one of his friends to the teachers. 

“Evening? It’s almost nine o’clock, boys!” says a woman. I’m not quite familiar with her voice, but I can surmise she’s one of the peacekeepers on patrol. “Curfew starts in 30 minutes, and a storm’s on its way. I suggest you all head to your houses.” 

“Yeah, we will finish pickin’ up our garbage and head right home, officer!” says Peeta, all polite and pleasant like. 

“Very well. You better clear out by the time we return, or we’ll have you spend the night in a cozy cell at the Justice Building,” says a gruff male voice, most likely the second peacekeeper. “Now, get on with the cleaning, gentlemen.” 

There’s a chorus of voices murmuring stuff like “Right away, sir!” and “Of course, officer.” A lot of movement and hushed conversations go on for a minute or so while I lay on my stomach like an idiot. 

I can only assume the peacekeepers are out of earshot when Peeta exclaims happily, “Aight! I’m goin’ in!” 

The others start fussing and protesting, talking over each other frantically: “You can’t go in!”, “Are you crazy?! You heard them, there’s a storm coming!”, “Stop being a damned hero, Mellark! You already showed us up, by speaking to Everdeen!” 

Peeta calls out, “Guys! Shut up! She’s the reason I wanna go in there! She ain’t back yet!” 

I frown. 

“Everdeen? Dude, she’s probably stalking a deer or somethin’…she’s fine!” says who I believe is his brother. 

“Well…but what if she needs help? Shouldn’t some’ne go get ‘er?” He sounds concerned and strangely hopeful. 

My stomach does a strange little flip at Peeta’s words, and then I have to shake my head to stop myself from being grateful for his concern. Outside of my family, Peeta Mellark seems to be the only person in this entire district who cares about me. 

“No! That girl’s half feral! All them wild things in the woods are probably more afraid of her than we are!” says Peeta’s brother. 

I find myself nodding in agreement, but scowling at the same time, because I’m not feral! I just hunt and enjoy the respect— bordering on fear— people have for me. 

It doesn’t matter, though! Right now I feel almost as silly as they sound, and I just want them to take Peeta home, so I can climb back into the district and go home myself.

“I’m still goin’ in!” I realize Peeta is looking for the spot I used to come into the woods, and I hear muttering and hissing trying to dissuade him from coming in, but he’s already pulling the wire the same way I did, and a moment later, he’s wiggling his broad frame under the fence like an inchworm rolling on salt. 

“No!” I huff under my breath, scrambling to get up, to push him back in the other direction, but then somebody is whispering harshly. 

“White helmets!” 

I’m not even surprised to hear Peeta’s so-called friends run away then. Coward merchants the lot of them!

A thunder booms above us, and I see Peeta struggling to pull through under the flash of the lightning that follows. It’s a miracle the peacekeepers haven’t seen him, splashing in the muddy pool forming rapidly under his body. 

“Ugh!” I finally find my feet and practically throw myself on top of his arms, to pull him in. 

Peeta shrieks, startled by my sudden appearance, so I slap a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. 

“Hush! Or they’ll find us!” 

I pull him further out from under the wire. He seems to realize what I’m trying to do and relaxes his muscles, letting me guide him forward while propelling himself with the toe of his boots. 

There’s a bush just two feet away from us. I drag him with me on all fours and crouch behind it until the peacekeepers’ flashlights disappear. 

“Hi!” says Peeta.

“Shush!” 

“Sorry!” he whispers…loudly.

“Quiet!” I hiss, bringing a finger to my mouth, as if I was dealing with a toddler instead of a 20-year-old man. 

“‘Kay,” he responds, this time in an actual whisper. 

I still roll my eyes at him. 

Thunder and lightning and cold, stabbing rain fall from the sky unrelenting. 

“Listen, we can’t stay here too long; we need to crawl back into the district!” I tell him, peeking from behind our hiding spot to make sure we are alone. I can’t see very far ahead, but it’s obvious the meadow is empty now. 

“What?!” he calls loudly. 

“For goodness sakes!” I mutter in frustration. “We need to crawl back into the district, or we’re gonna drown out here!” I’m having to yell so he can hear me over the rain.

“Oh! O-kay!” he says, smiling beguilingly at me. “I came to get you!” he yells. 

I look at him, trying to convey all the annoyance I’m feeling towards him right now with just my facial expression, but I guess the moonlight is so minimal he can’t see me, because all he does is smile back at me.

“You’re welcome!” he yells after a second in a self-satisfied tone.

“For what?” I snap.

“For rescuing you, of course!” 

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Rescuing— you…  what?!” I screech.

More thunder and lighting make it impossible to keep doing this where we are. And thanks to the storm, it’s too risky trying to crawl under the fence, too. Negotiating Peeta’s humongous body back under the railings in these conditions is just calling for trouble; we’ll either get found by the peacekeepers— if they’re still patrolling— or get hit by lightning; after all, the fence is meant to conduct electricity and fry whatever touches it. 

I’m lost in my head, thinking about our options at this point, when a bright flash cracks overhead, so strong, it makes everything look like it’s day time, and I fall back on my butt for how close Peeta’s face is to mine. 

“What are you doing?” I rasp.

“Wow! Has anyone ever told you, you have freckles over the bridge of your nose?” He asks, placing his two paw-like hands on my shoulders, pulling me back onto my haunches. “From close up, your face is as pretty as the night sky with all its coteslations!” 

“Hmm…no—nobody’s ever said…” I huff. “Come on. We can’t stay here.” I tell him, pulling him by the hem of his coat’s sleeve. “I think you meant ‘constellations’ by the way. Alcohol really messes up your speech, you know.” 

I think he says something, but I’m not sure, since the storm is swallowing up all the sounds around us. 

The going is slow, because we have to wait for lightning to illuminate our way, and once, I realized we were straying onto a different path from the place I have in mind. Plus, I have to keep trying to untangle myself from Peeta’s grasp, so I can feel around the way with my feet. Peeta talks too much…nonstop, and I think it’s mostly the alcohol talking, but ugh! Would it kill him to just be quiet for a second?!

He’s awfully clingy for such a big man. I mean, he’s grown a few inches since we were in school, and he used to be stocky and broad-shouldered, even as a teenager, on account of him being wrestling champion two years in a row, plus having to handle those heavy trays in the bakery and whatnot. 

I forgot where I was going with this?

Anyway, I hope the alcohol clears his system soon. He seems like an overgrown puppy at times, the way he trails after me and touches the end of my braid, which I guess he might be using as some kind of leash or rope to tether himself to me. Surprisingly, I don’t find it as annoying as I should. In fact, I find the warmth of his fingers… reassuring. 

“Stop!” I tell him, when I hear rustling nearby I know isn’t from the rain. 

A wild dog jumps in front of us, and I curse loudly. I should’ve grabbed my bow on our way out here, but I didn’t want Peeta to see my hiding spot; not that he’ll remember how to get to it, but he was able to find my loose chain in the fence, so…

I think the dog is coming after us. But before I can tell Peeta to run, he pulls me flush with his chest and somehow lifts me over his head like I weigh nothing. The dog is momentarily confused, and I take the chance to chuck one of my rabbits past it. The dumb animal looks at us curiously, but after a second, loses interest and goes for the easier, smaller prey.

I just got reminded of how strong Peeta is. 

“Thank you!” I call out when he lowers me back to his chest. “You can let go of me now. The dog’s gone, but there might be more around.” 

Peeta nods. His blue eyes are wide and alarmed, his cheeks, ruddy with booze just a few minutes ago, are drained of color. “Alright!” he gasps, clearly shaken.

I grab his arm and squeeze, leading him away from the spot. 

It’s times like these when I miss my old hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne; for starters, he would’ve had a bow on him…he would’ve shot and killed the dog. He would’ve had my back… but Peeta had my back this time, and he surely is no seasoned hunter, not even an outdoorsman, yet it was his quick thinking and sheer brute strength that saved my hide.

It’s also the reason Gale and I broke our partnership to begin with. Given the chance, he would’ve left Peeta stranded out here, instead of finding him shelter. But that’s his style, not mine, and Peeta has shown his worth twice tonight, inebriated as he is. 

I release a sigh of relief when I see the opening of a burrow on the side of a small hill. It’s not truly a cave; it’s much too shallow to be called that, but, I found it about a year ago, and have been carving it out little by little for these kinds of emergencies, when I need shelter on the run, and the concrete little shack by the lake is too far, and I want to stay close to the fence, anyway. 

“Oooh! Is this a cave? Is it abandoned? We ain’t gonna walk into some bear den or somethin’?” Peeta asks, bumping into my back when I stop to remove a few branches from the entrance of my little hiding spot. 

“Get in!” I command him, and he obeys at once. 

I take a few minutes to rearrange the branches at the mouth of the cave, just to keep the water from splashing inside, although we are soaked through our jackets. 

“Sit,” I tell him, bumping into him again when I turn to feel round the wall of the cave for my provisions. The little hollow is only 5 ft wide by 6 feet deep, so there isn’t much room to wiggle for two people even if we were both my size. 

Peeta has to hunch down as it is.

He’s quiet for the time being. My fingers touch the cool glass of the oil lamp I was feeling for, and right next to it, is a box of matches. I can finally breathe! 

I make quick work of the lamp, and we are finally in better shape than we were a moment ago. Peeta blinks owlishly at the lamp, and I can tell he’s surprised, but blinded by the sudden light. 

“Where are we?” Peeta asks in awe.

“It’s my emergency shelter,” I tell him, kicking a log from the back of the cave towards him. “Here, you don’t have to sit on the ground.” I tell him, watching him sitting almost directly in front of the entrance with his legs crossed.

“You have a shelter out here? I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know you were a genius!” 

My cheeks heat up for some reason. “Nah. It’s just common sense. Too many experiences out there without one. Whatever. Intelligence has nothing to do with this, really.” 

“So…do animals come in here?” he asks, turning his head around to study the place, not as nervously as before.

“No. It’s too small for a big animal’s den, and too big for a small critter’s burrow. It’s ‘me’ size because I’ve been digging it out little by little, and putting stuff in it for when I find myself in the same predicament we are in right now.” 

Peeta shifts to his knees and slowly stands up, hunching a smidge, ‘cause the cave ceiling is too low for him. He lumbers to the log I offered him earlier and sits on it heavily. 

“This place is great!” he states, looking at the crude shelving carved into the dirt where I keep the lamp, matches, a couple of cans of food I’ve agonized about leaving here because it feels like a waste, and things like spare arrowheads and fletchings; things that’d be useful in a pinch. 

I have a knife hidden inside the very log Peeta’s sitting on, but I’m not about to divulge that secret. It’s my last line of defense, and since I don’t have my bow on me, I feel safer knowing there’s at least one weapon in the cave I can count on. I need to bring a bow here at some point; I just haven’t found a good way to camouflage…yet.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. 

“Um, you can sit here,” says Peeta after a long moment passes in silence. “Plenty of room!” He motions to the log, scooting to free up some space.

It looks ridiculous, because there truly isn’t any room left on that log for me to sit. Peeta looks like a smushed rag-doll, sitting on a match box, and all the room he’s leaving next to him, is only big enough to accommodate a toothpick. 

“It’s okay,” I tell him, with a reluctant smile. “I’ll stand for now.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, biting his lip guiltily. 

“Yeah. Let me be a generous host.”

His face falls. “I’m sorry,” he rushes to say. “You wouldn’t have to be playing host in your lovely cave if it wasn’t for me. Sorry I was so stupid,” he says sheepishly, “I should’ve known you had it under control before I tried coming in after you.”

“Oh…it’s alright. It was…touching. All those things you said back there.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. 

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he says, sounding almost sober. 

Another long minute goes by in silence. “Was that a wolf out there?” he asks suddenly. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought about kicking it, but I was afraid it would mangle up my leg, and then I’d get blood poisoned and since medicine is hard to come by, I probably would’ve lost my leg, and I’m not sure I’d be able to master a fake one…unless it was like a Capitol grade thing with robotic nerve connectors and the such… I read some man in District 3 figured out how to make prosthetics that you can control with a chip implanted in your brain!” 

I find myself laughing at his nonsense. And he seems to enjoy my laugh, because he keeps saying outrageous things, I can’t tell if he’s just making them up on the fly, or if he really read about them somewhere. 

I slide against the wall after a while, until I’m crouching close to the wet floor. Our clothes cling to our bodies, but most of the water has leaked off of us already, which is good, since I can’t light a fire inside the cave. 

“Are you hungry?” I ask him, interrupting his musings about how chewing gum is inherently evil, since we don’t have dentistry accessible in the districts. The boy really talks too much!

Peeta cranes his neck to glare at my game bag, which I recently placed by my feet. 

“What do you have there?” He asks, interested. 

“A rabbit. But we can’t eat that raw. We’d get sick with fever if we try. I wouldn’t recommend it,” I tell him. “But I have canned fruit we can share,” I offer. 

He makes an agreeing noise at the back of his throat. “I could eat.” 

“Fine. Um…close your eyes for a second. And don’t peek!” I chide. 

As with everything else I’ve commanded today, Peeta obeys without questioning, and soon I’m darting my hand into the end of the log, retrieving my knife. 

“Open your eyes,” I say. 

“Where did you get that from?!” he screeches, staring open-mouthed at my knife. 

“Secret compartment,” I deadpan.

“Well…I hope you’re not planning on stabbing me with that thing. That blade is bound to be dull now that you hacked into that can with it.”

“What does it matter if the blade’s dull?” I ask, exasperated.

“It’ll tear up my skin if you try stabbing me with it!” Peeta answers, arms moving in exaggerated arches,  “I much rather get a clean cut through, thank you very much!” 

What’s wrong with this boy?! He’s acting like discussing his own potential stabbing is an everyday thing.

“For your information, I’m pretty adept at sharpening things! And…Eww! Gross! Why would I wanna stab you?” I shudder. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do wounds, and I don’t do blood.” I pull a face, shivering.

“You kill things for a living!” He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Why, the inside of your bag is covered in dried blood from those bunnies right now!”

“Animals! I hunt animals! I don’t do people’s blood and stuff…gross!”

“You’re kinda squeamish for such a lethal thing, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up and eat your pears!” I shove the open can into his hands, and he stares suspiciously at me for a minute before digging in.

Peeta moves over a few more inches, and the toothpick space widens to a Katniss’-rearside-size spot. This time, I take his offer gratefully and sit down next to him. He passes the can to me when he’s done. 

“You know…this is the first time we’ve done something normal together,” he says, pensive.

“It’s the first time we’ve done anything together, Peeta, period!” 

Peeta gasps, and there’s silence for a second. “You’re amazing!” He says, staring and blinking at me while I chew, as if I truly was some extraordinary sight to behold.

I scowl. “Why? Because I fed you canned food in a torrential storm in the middle of the woods?” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. 

“Yeah…” he says dreamily, then scowls, then shakes his head. “Nah! You’re just…amazing! Even my mother says that you’re a survivor and the only thing District 12 has of worth…a better version of Haymitch Abernathy!”

Haymitch Abernathy is District 12’s one, and only living, Hunger Games Victor. He’s also a grumpy hermit, and a drunk, and the richest person in the district. Like me, he was born in the miners’ sector, nicknamed the Seam. People say Haymitch used to be smart as a whip, and a looker too, but now he’s just a paunchy, middle aged man, with anger issues. 

“Well, that’s not much of a compliment, is it?” I wrinkle my nose.

Peeta laughs, brushing his shoulder against mine…but that’s to be expected, he’s a giant after all, and the cave is practically a tall dresser. 

“No, I guess it’s not. But father always gushes about your squirrels. Says you never hit the pelt. You always shoot them right through the eye!” 

“Well, anyone can do that with enough practice.” I shrug.

Peeta snorts, and his knee presses against mine. “I wish I could do even half of the stuff you do. You’re an amazing hunter, and smart, and so pretty, and you can bring down deer, and the way you are with your sister…well, my big brothers have never been doting with me as you are with Primrose.” He sighs, looking at the flickering flame of the oil lamp. “You are something else!” 

“I— that’s not…” I’m frustrated and embarrassed, so I snap, “I wouldn’t have been able to do, or be, any of those things without your help, so…there!”

He scoots closer to me. His body is strangely warm, even under the layers of wet clothes. There’s bewilderment in his blue eyes, and for some reason, I can’t look away from the way his hair is all matted to his forehead. He looks boyish. Kinda cute. 

“What do you mean?” He asks in a small voice. 

I chuff. “Well, it was like today,” I start, leaning back, averting my eyes. He smells of spirits, but weirdly enough, I’m not repulsed by the scent. “You called out to me in the meadow, and I was about to rip you a new one, but then I realized you were trying to help me. Then, you save me from a wild dog, by doing something as simple as lifting me over your head, like I weighed nothing.” I feel small, all of eleven years old, and the fact that I’m wet to the bone and cold to the marrow doesn’t help my case. My voice comes out tiny, “You fed me when we were kids. I’ve never been able to even thank you for that!” I purse my lips to keep them from trembling, and blink some 28 times to keep from crying. 

Peeta sidles up against me. “Oh, Katniss,” he says low and reverently. I realize with a jolt, that it’s the first time he’s said my name. “You’re talking about the bread when we were kids?” His eyes glass over. “You can let that go now… after saving my ass tonight from the storm and the peacekeepers, I think you can count us even.” 

“How can you say that?” I demand, “You keep saving me, and I don’t know why?!”

“Really?” he asks, cocking his head sideways, scrunching his face, and shutting one eye like he can’t quite see me clearly with both eyes open; his tone isn’t malicious, just surprised. “You know why…at least, I think you should,” he says, shrugging and leaning closer. “I thought you’d notice how all of my friends were roasting me because I finally said something to you, and all I said was something lame about Row Your Boat.” He chuckles. “Fifteen years I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you, and when I finally do, I call you ‘ Hey, girl with the braid’ like an idiot!” He practically leans into me.  

“Fifteen years?” I ask, bewildered. 

“Yeah…” he trails off, his ears turning cherry red. “I seem to have harbored a crush on you since the first day of school, when we were five.” He slumps back against the wall, and suddenly I wish he was still draped over me, warming me up. 

“Really?” I ask, because this story seems far-fetched. 

“Oh yes! It’s a whole thing! Me being a goner from the moment I heard you singing that very first day…remind me to tell you all the gory details some day.” 

“You betcha,” I say, amused. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a dork, but hey! At least imma buy me some chickens to sell eggs, and save, to buy my father’s bakery one day, and then I’m gonna ask you out on a date or somethin’.”

“Uh— what? Really?!” I chuckle. 

Peeta yawns. “Yeah, Imma take you somewhere nice for a picnic, like Victor’s Village or something, and I’m gonna bring good bread this time! None of that burnt, soggy crap I threw at you when we were kids, but real, freshly baked bread. With butter. And probably canned pears, ‘cause those are my favorites now!”

“Okay,” I tell him, not completely sure why I’m agreeing to this. After all, I decided a long time ago I was never getting married or having any children, at least, not as long as the Hunger Games loomed over me; I won’t be stringing Peeta along either. Gale accused me of doing just that once, which I don’t think I did? The accusation still stung. 

Right now, it feels nice to think I could go on a date with this crazy merchant boy; and who knows?! 

“Buttered bread sounds nice,” I say, sinking next to him. 

“This is nice!” Says Peeta, sleepily, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah…it is,” I agree, realizing just how steady and warm his arms are, even encased in wet clothing.

“Will you go out on a picnic with me, then?” He asks hopefully, yawning again. His eyes drooping with sleep. 

“I think I might,” I tell him. I haven’t felt this safe in anyone’s embrace since my father died when I was 11 and I stopped trusting my mother. “I think I will,”

I’m beginning to think that the alcohol fumes clinging to Peeta have gone to my head, and left me as simple minded as all the intoxicated people back home, maybe I have it wrong, and Oktoberfest does have its charm, because despite myself, it feels right to indulge in that fantasy tonight. After all, Peeta was the only person in the district back then, that cared enough about me and my family dying of hunger, to do anything about it. He gave me bread he purposely burned for me, all he gained was a bruised eye from his mother, and my inability to repay his kindness, for his generous gesture. 

“Good! Just a heads up, though, I’ll prolly propose to you at that picnic, ” he says. His eyes are already closed, and I roll mine in response. “What you think my odds are of you saying yes?” He snuggles up to me, his head falls onto my shoulder. 

“The odds might be in your favor,” I tell him softly; I’m not so sure I say that to humor him, though. I am really tired, and sleeping in his arms does sound like a luxury right now, so I’m gonna blame it on the ‘Oktoberfest effect’ in the morning. Plead sleep depravation insanity or something. “Night, Peeta,”

He mumbles a response, which turns into a slow snore. 

I close my eyes, smiling. 

I’ll indulge in the drunken ramblings of Peeta tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, and if the saying is right, the sun shines brightest after a storm…maybe it’s time I bask in the rays. 

[captainjimothycarter]

Peggy bumps into Ms. Fry while she and steve are grocery shopping (maybe Peggy's noticeably pregnant, and she's wearing her wedding ring on a chain around her neck because of swollen fingers, or something like that) and miss fry starts scolding her for her 'poor life choices,' seeing a baby bump and no ring, until steve comes back from grabbing something across the store and they set the record straight

Nonny, I love this so much. I’m gonna be honest, I forgot who Ms. Fry was and had to look her up and have never written her before so bear with me? This is so not gonna be what you want. I just...couldn’t stop writing.

Insert Steve works at the SSR

--

The day that her wedding ring became too small for her swollen fingers was a day Peggy didn’t like to remember. It was a simple gold wedding band with sapphire blue stones right dab in the middle. It was elegant, yet simple, and everything Peggy could’ve wanted. She didn’t care much for jewelry and didn’t care if Steve asked her to marry her with just a piece of twine or even nothing in his hand.

She would’ve said yes either way.

It was Steve who suggested they put it on a chain, so she could still have it near her while at work. It felt odd not having it on her hand, missing the weight of it, but she felt grateful for her fingers to be free while she poured over the stacks of files the SSR boys kept dropping off thanks to officially being taken off of field missions by no more than Phillips himself.

The man had come down from DC to discuss things with her, taking over as Chief of their simple office, and causing much ruckus and rifling through the workplace. Rumors of the SSR being disbanded started to take place, rumors Peggy ignored.

Agents like Thompson and Sousa got to see first hand how just Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter got along. Meaning there were many shouting matches between them, at one point Peggy had threatened to throw Phillips out of the office himself. The entire office had sat and watched their fight go down, making bets on when Carter was going to be sacked or not until Phillips broke out into a rare smile and laughed at her.

It was odd, to see such a chiseled and grave man from all he’s witnessed to laugh at her like that. And for Carter not to get angry and laugh right back.

There were many rumors on favoritism and Peggy didn’t bother to shoot them down. Phillips did favor her but not for what laid between her legs, for the fact she did her damn job, and two times as better as any seasoned agent. 

Of course, none of them would believe that.

“Go home,” Phillips sighed at her for an unkempt time that day. He stood in front of her desk, wafting a freshly brewed cup of coffee in her face.

Peggy scowled at him, her eyes narrowed. She knew she looked like crap. Morning sickness meant she’d spent a good portion of the daily debriefing in the toilet and had to be caught up by Rose. Her face was pale and sheen with sweat, her normally poised hair was done in a hasty bun on the nape of her neck to keep it out of the way.

And her clothes, something so simple and precious to her, that made the point of the matter that she was a woman and she wasn’t going to let any others treat her different. Due to being heavily pregnant with what the doctor assumed were multiples, she’d been forced to adjust many of her outfits. Ana had struggled to adapt so quickly too, but even then she couldn’t keep up.

Steve, her, and even Howard had suspicions on if this was multiples or because of the serum.

Point is, Peggy was still cursing Steve’s name with the infant hit the right spot on her bladder.

She’d been forced to wear a hastily put-together outfit that did nothing for her figure and the lack of either time or ability to keep up her appearance showed.

And what really showed as her face turned a shade of green from the coffee wafting in her face, was her annoyance at Phillips. He knew one of her triggering scents was coffee. It had been mostly banned from the bullpen.

He’d been trying to get her to go home all morning, each time she ignored him.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she mused, leaning far back as her seat allowed. “No one else is here to do the paperwork with the 084 in Manhattan. Get that out of my face.”

She brushed his hand out of the way and Phillips smirked around the mug. “This?” He waved it under her nose and Peggy’s lips pursed to prevent herself from upchucking what little breakfast she could keep down. “It’s just coffee, Carter. Besides, Thompson’s on the way back, he can handle the paperwork. You’re too sick to be here.”

“With all due respect, sir, I feel perfectly fine.” The humph from him said otherwise. “I do. I can handle doing my job. Especially if Thompson is going to take over, I assume you don’t want these properly filled out, do you? Or legible.”

“Fine isn’t upchucking in the communal toilet loud enough that we can all hear it. You’re pregnant, Peggy. There’s more than just you to worry about.” He set the coffee on her desk and leaned over, not threatening her space. He knew how quick she could move, pregnant or not, and didn’t desire his own beverage in his face. “I already called Rogers - he’s on the way to come pick you up. As of today, you’re on maternity leave. We can converse over the phone the finer details of what that entails, plus your ideas later.”

Peggy’s heart sunk straight to her stomach. Maternity leave. She’d avoided it long as she could, despite how she needed the rest, wanted the rest. She didn’t need this used against her what so ever by the SSR boys when she came back. 

“My ideas can be discussed as normal after office hours.”

“For Christ Sake, Carter!” Phillips groaned and rolled his eyes. “I can see why you and Rogers make a good pair - you’re both too stubborn for your own good. We will discuss the installments later.”

The hard look in his eyes told Peggy she wasn’t winning this and part of her, a large part of her actually didn’t want to fight this either. Phillips had taken over for a reason - a big reason, long before Peggy had revealed she was pregnant. This had been planned for so long, between them, and taking the first few steps carefully would be crucial to them.

“Traitor,” she grumbled, seeing the entrance door opened and a familiar broad figure standing there, no doubt with a cup of ginger tea.

Steve knew her so well.

“Never been so glad to be called a traitor in my life. Rogers, get your wife, and take her home. Make sure she stays there. If you’re so back in this office without my permission before that little squirt is born, Carter, there will be hell to pay.”

With that being said, Peggy found herself being lead down the exit elevator, sipping on the tea. She avoided Steve’s smugged look.

“Told you so,” he mused, wrapping her in one of his larger coats as they braced the cold wind outside. The tea did nothing to warm her up, but plenty of her belly as he sat her in the passenger seat. She’d long have to give up the ability to drive with her belly.

“Say that again and you’ll be sleeping on the couch. I don’t need to hear it,” Peggy snapped, instantly regretting it at Steve’s pouting look. “I’m sorry, darling, I am just irritated.”

“I know you are.” His hand slid over hers and squeezed before he started the car. “Phillips is just worried, hence I was taken off of duty with the Commandos a while back. He wants me near you in case something happened. Least this way you can relax and slowly plan the aspects of SHIELD.”

Peggy made a noise in the back of the throat, agreeing with Steve. Her eyes falling to the snow and ice outside the window.

“We need to stop at the store and get groceries if we’re to be inside for so long.”

If Steve disagreed, he said nothing as he made a turn to head to the nearest store.

Insisting she could walk, Peggy brushed off Steve’s concerned hand and held her own to her belly when there were kicking and movement. 

She could feel Steve’s eyes on them as they walked the aisles, commenting on the price of peanut butter or bread. The smell of the fish Steve was looking at made her naughtius and this time, unavoidable urge to get sick, having her running to the bathroom. 

“I’m getting some more ginger,” Steve commented when Peggy emerged, using the end of his sleeve to clean some of the sweat from her face. “And licorice. Don’t make that face, it’s good for you.”

“It’s disgusting, is what it is, but I’ll take anything at this point,” she sighed, rubbing over her belly again. “You go do that and I’ll get the tea and sugar.”

At least watching Steve walk away left Peggy with a view that reminded her as to how she got pregnant in the first place.

The last she expected to find when she waddled down the aisle, Steve having taken the cart, was a familiar face. The last familiar face she wanted to see. Ms. Fry.

She hadn’t seen her since she’d told the old coon that she was leaving the Griffith and the woman had gone on some bizarre tantrum about Peggy ruining her life, hanging around men who would do nothing but bring her down, needed to settle down, and find a husband, to train herself to do this and that. And how she was going nowhere, the same with Angie…

It made Peggy want to roll her eyes and avoid the woman but she wanted the tea and to go home and put her damn feet up.

The second she was in the aisle, the woman spotted her. Eyes lit up and trained on her.

“What do we have here?” Her voice was downright sneering and Peggy didn’t miss it as she turned to look at her.

“Hello to you too, Ms. Fry. I’m surprised you remember me,” Peggy replied cooly. 

“I don’t forget the rift raft rulebreaking ones, darling. I always remember their faces.” The term darling was anything but endearing. “I see I was right.”

“About what?” When the woman just looked down at her hand on her belly and back up at Peggy with that grin, the brunette scoffed.

“Still unladylike as ever, I see. Well, which one was it?” When Peggy didn’t respond and just raised a brow, the woman scoffed. “Which one? Whose the unknown father of your child? Or do you just not know and slept around with far too many of those agents you work with?”

Before Peggy could respond, Ms. Fry seemed to be on that tantrum again, “You always did make the poor life choices. Always going out, past hours, or before hours. Always stealing food for the other residents who never bothered to even show up for mealtime. You were always running around, flirting and flaunting with men. A woman doesn’t do that! Now look at you, not even having the decency to marry one of the fellas that knocked you up. You’ve made some poor life choices here, dolly and they’re going to bite you in the can. And I suppose that while you’re here, buying the cheaper version of that tea, that you’ve lost your job too. No one is going to hire a pregnant lass and certainly not hire a single mother. Your best bet is to drop that kid off at the orphanage and to marry the first fella who makes eye contact with you. That poor kid…”

Peggy was seeing red, her chest aching. She didn’t even know when to start, where to start, with what to counter. To yell at this old hag to prove how wrong she was.

Now Peggy never considered herself a damsel in distress. She never needed to be saved, she could handle herself perfectly fine but just this once, she was glad to see Steve strutting down the aisle behind them. She knew that look, had seen it a hundred times during the war, and a hundred times after during his exports with the Commandos or running strategics for the SSR.

The set jawline, the determined look in his eyes, the fierce look that followed after. The way his shoulders were set back and his knuckles turning white around the cart, despite he’d never dare to hurt someone. Even if the thought just barely crossed his mind in a fit of blind anger that came when to defending his wife.

He said nothing to Ms. Fry, even nothing to Peggy. Dropping the cart so it hit the floor, the contents jostling inside. He cupped the small of Peggy’s back before dipping her down for a long and hearty kiss that reminded the brunette why she loved the man in the first place.

Her hand laid on his chest and felt his strong heartbeat underneath, feeling his lips smile against hers as she was settled on her feet. Her necklace with her wedding band on it had come out of the contents of her shirt and laid right in the open.

“Good afternoon to you too, Ms. Fry,” Steve mused as if they hadn’t just made out in front of her. “I see you’re still doing just as lovely. I’m afraid I never got to introduce myself, by the time I was found, and set for duty, Miss Carter and I had eloped and moved in together.” 

He didn’t offer his hand to her, just a shit-eating grin as he grabbed at their basket. The woman was still staring at them, blinking slowly as if to put this all together.

“You see, you’re wrong on many accounts. Peggy does what in the hell she wants, when she wants because she wants to. No one can control her. Not her mother, not me, and certainly not you. Those ideas she puts in the other girl’s head at your home? Those were there, to begin with. You’d be surprised what goes on under your nose,” Steve snorts. “Top it off. The only bad choice in life Peggy has ever made was perhaps to marry me.”

Peggy gently smacked his chest, drawing herself out of her thoughts. “It was not. I love you, darling.”

Steve caught her hand and kissed it. “I love you too.” He looked back at Ms Fry and shrugged. “You were lucky to have Peggy under your roof for the short time you did and I’m lucky I was able to get her back. So, no you’re wrong. She hasn’t been knocked by any of those Agents, just me. We’re expecting our first in an already paid off home, one I’ve been remodeling while Peggy still worked. She’s only just starting maternity leave today, actually. We just came by to pick up a few essentials.”

He waved the basket in her face with a small laugh. “So Peggy’s ‘bad choices’ in life had actually turned around great for her. She has a promising career, a loving husband, and a household full of kids, and love. In fact, not that it’s your business, but Peggy will actually be working while I stay at home to take care of the children. Perhaps not to your ideals of traditionalism but…” 

Steve shrugged before taking Peggy’s arm. Before either could say goodbye, they left. He plopped the tea box from Peggy’s fingers and tossed it into the cart. 

“And the only reason you did get the cheap box was that the others give you a headache,” Steve scoffed, once they’d unloaded the groceries at the house. He watched Peggy from across the way, her feet settled into a bucket of warm water, with a towel around the back of her neck, her hand cradling her belly. 

Peggy looked up from across the way and into their kitchen, seeing Steve staring at her from across the breakfast nook. “How long do you think it’ll be until she figures out you’re Captain America?”

Steve snorted as he brought his wife her cup of ginger tea and sat down with a book in his lap beside her. He’d been reading it to her for the past week. “With luck, she’s still standing in the aisle, looking confused.”

[kikiyakno]

✧ Little Star

Date → Some day during the week prior to the Masquerade event. Feb 2021 Setting → Kian’s Grandparent’s Home. Santa Monica, California Triggers  → None, but does include descriptors of fish cutting so if that’s not your cup of tea... Mentioned  → Yi Jae-Sang , Seong Sunwoo , Brandon Kelly, Song Minjoon , Maverick Maxwell, Yong Chul Synopsis  →  ★ Stars are born when large gas clouds collapse under gravity.

The invitation was weird, it was random, it definitely was fishier than whatever fish it was Kian’s grandmother was scaling on the cutting board, but Kian held the weirdrandomandveryfishy invitation close to his chest. This was it. This was exactly the shimmering gold ticket his family and their restaurant needed that would definitely turn everything around.

Except…Gyeonggi Grill was having no part of it.

Just about every eatery in Pico was on board, even the ones Kian didn’t particularly think should be serving food (looking at you Pete’s Palace) and the ones he personally considered to be competition. There was no haste in the flood of Facebook posts on his feed of businesses confirming and promoting their attendance in response to the mysterious invite. It was hard not to feel the clamoring excitement over a party at an art museum. The more he refreshed pages, the more he heard about people talking of it between deliveries, the more Kian felt that this was possibly the shining light for Gijis to be seen again. They would sign up, get paid for it, and best of all to serve new people ~rich people~ to ultimately bring business back in. 

This big chance and his grandparents were radio silent. Kian couldn’t understand.

“Momo,” Kian whined loudly to his grandmother with a soft bounce on his heel. Even with his call the older woman didn’t look up from her work and feed into his melodramatic call. He huffed, the lack of response making his brows deepen further in frustration. “Momo, everyone who’s anyone will be there. They’re paying vendors to be there. This went out to a ton of people, probably everyone we know! Seriously! Everyone’s talking about it. This isn’t just something someone planned on the block, yakno. It’s a huge deal.” 

The pressed enunciations of his words make Kian stop to take a breath. In consideration, he defaulted to speaking in Korean when he was at home and not surrounded by any of his friends. His grandparents had never requested that he do so, but on his own Kian decided that it was a  respectful gesture. Just because English was his preferred language, forcing them to speak it with him didn’t seem fair. It takes him seconds to catch his breath before Kian starts up again.

“This party is exactly what we need, Momo. We can serve…..we can serve the soy garlic chicken! And you know people absolutely love our fried chicken. They talk about how good it is all the time! You know normal chicken places in America don’t double fry. And when they try, it sucks. That’s what makes ours so good! We can stand out with that! Guaranteed!” 

His grandma still didn’t respond, head down and much busier in her re-work of separating scales from the fish. However, there was a soft smile that had made a way to her face now. The passion and sincerity in his voice tickled her ears, especially when a little twist of the accent Kian had arrived at her doorstep with slipped free. Her grandson spoke with fire but not the kind that sought to burn others. He also spoke awfully fast. Which wasn’t too out of the norm for her grandson. Years ago she noticed Jae, Sunwoo, and Kian all shared that oddity.

The lull in the room pressed in on Kian and he broke through it with a giant huff. He waited still, watching her work the knife with expertise. He bit his lip to stop the clench of his jaw and the tightness from impatience building in his throat.

 “Mo—“ “Do you want to cut the fish? It’s your favorite before I clean it.” 

Cut short mid breath, Kian blinked wide at the knife being placed aside for him. She still didn’t look at him, but stepped aside for him to join her. The words sitting on his tongue blew away on a sigh, obediently setting the invite away and beelining to the sink to wash his hands. He steps beside her to take the knife as he starts cutting through the skin. The silence lingers on, aside from the edge of the knife occasionally drags against the cutting board. Kian works as asked, but fast. His cuts are clean and precise despite having his conversation stalled.

“You aren’t listening to me.” He says in an undertone, looking down at his work as he goes.  “I am, Ki-Hyun. I am listening.” Her voice is fond and silvery. Kian knew he was doing his cutting well. “Then why aren’t we joining everyone? Why aren’t we preparing for the event, Momo. We can serve food there.”  “...” “They will give us money. They pay, it won’t be free yakno.” “...” “A lot of people will be there. A lot of people who will love our food like they used to.” “...” “Maybe it’ll be enough money to help us catch up, Momo.”  “Kiki, please slow down and watch your cut.” “Please stop ignoring what I am saying.” Kian’s voice rises a few notches from his soft mutter. He pauses his cutting, noting how his clean work had suffered as he had tried to discuss. He evaluates briefly if his volume had gone too high to be seen as disrespectful, or if he could go on. Soon after he disregards his worry. He was tired of making these pleas and not getting answers. “Why are we not participating? Why aren’t we going?”

The sharpness in his tone takes her by surprise, but she is no stranger to determination. She can’t fight the look on her grandson’s face anymore, sighing herself before she gingerly responds.“...We can’t afford to close an entire day, Ki-Hyun. That’s a day’s business lost.” 

“They’ll pay twice that! Maybe triple than what we make in a day!” 

“We can’t guarantee that, Ki.”

“I can! It’s all over Facebook! Twitter! Other businesses saying they’ll be there and got paid! Remember when I made those accounts for us? People have tagged us—ah, mentioned us! They want to know if we’ll be there.” His voice brightens, contrasting her modulated one. His falters down instantly, however, seeing how her eyes widen then dampen in gentle confusion. Social media was still an entirely new world language for her. “Customers that are going to the party are asking about our food being there. They want us to be there too, Momo.” He defines for her with warmth. Kian can see her understand with his explanation, but she looks away from him before he can see a different turmoil in her eyes.

“We can’t gamble on something everyone else sees as lucrative. And...it would have to be more than a day to prepare for such a large number of people…that means we would have to close for longer to accommodate. Everyone on our staff would have to work longer.”

“Right, and then I’ll get Jae and DaeDae and Mason, and some of my new friends to help us all out and make things easier. And-and Minjoon loves being in the kitchen. If not, him and Chul have networks online too! I know they’d be super happy to help us find the hands we need. Maverick likes food trucks and stuff, he could talk to people! Oh, and Brandon might could help us with clothes and let us borrow something nice to go in!”

“Ki-Hyun.”

“He would find you a really nice dress. Remember I told you that’s what he does, yakno? He’s really good at it. Remember he called me from out of town? He was in a Fashion Show out of state! People love his stuff!” 

“Ki-Hyun.”

“And you know Jae would probably take off all his jobs to help. DaeDae would help too. Buuttt he’s the only one we might have to pay with food, so—” “Ki-Hyun.” Kian stops. Moreso to take a breath than to listen.

“Ki-Hyun, we don’t even have enough in our inventory right now to do so.”

“Yes we do, we—” “Kiki.” 

Kian blinked wide, and she simply shook her head against it. He hadn’t even finished! Each idea of his was shot down in seconds.

Excuses, excuses, excuses. These weren’t answers they were excuses. He didn’t notice how his hands had started trembling or how an ill taste of bitterness wrapped around his tongue. 

“Maybe if you stopped preparing that sweet chili wing combo every Monday and Wednesday night, we would have enough.”

“Kian!” 

“Momo, if Sunwoo was going to come back he would’ve by now. I told you that. But you still do that every night for two days a week. It’s been a month. That’s four weeks. Combos come with six pieces, but you give him two extra. So that’s about thirty-two pieces of meat we’ve had to throw out in the last month because of one person that could’ve fed five or more people.”

Kian knew he had crossed a line and he could see it in her face. He braced for anything, but she only fired right back at him.“And I will keep making what I want for him because those are his nights he works late. It’s too late and dangerous for him to stop anywhere else!”  

“You don’t get it. He doesn’t CARE!” Exploding, Kian lets knife go to drop onto the table as his world suddenly blurs. “He doesn’t care! He-He doesn’t care and he won’t come back! They aren’t coming back. Cause they don’t care. They don’t care. And YOU don’t care!” Kian steps back, immediately remorseful but a throaty sob obstructs his apology. The busy pattern on his grandma’s shirt melds into one in the watery world. “You don’t care! You won’t let me help. You don’t think I know we’re behind! I work because I know we’re in trouble. But you and Grandpa keep...trying to HIDE it and not make me worry. But that just makes it worse! I worry anyways! I’m 27 now and you’re getting older, but I see you work every single day. Then you come home, tired, but then for ME you pretend we’re doing okay when we’re not. We’re NOT!! No matter what we do it’s not enough. I keep working and working and working and working but it’s just not enough! It’s not enough for you to stop pretending like I can’t help! It’s not enough for my friends to feeling like they don’t have to baby me and take care of me and pay for me to eat all the time! It’s not enough for me to ever see you stop working, or rest well at night, or for us to think about taking road trips like we used to or flying away on vacation!” Kian stops to wipe his face with his sleeves in a rush, face wet as though he had been standing in rain. He pushes his face into them to have his cry, only to feel his chest heave in harder when in the brief darkness he only imagines the glittering, serene lights of Paris. He shuts his eyes tighter and tears his face away in a hurry, feeling the accumulation of months of his world caving in on itself finally collapsing on top of him. 

“I-I’m tired, halmeoni. I’m tired of us pretending. This is our one chance and you say no! Why are you giving it up so easily? Why are you giving up?! Wh-wh-why am I the only one who cares? N-N-No one cares! No one cares but me!”

Kian feels like he’s going to give way again before strong arms pull him close from behind. He breaks regardless, knowing now that at some point his Grandfather had come into the room. At this point Kian’s grief commanded his outburst.

“I’m sorry i’m not Kyung-soo. I’m sorry i’m not good like Kyung-soo so you could finally rest and have plenty of money and friends and nice clothes like he does. If I wasn’t here your family would love you and send you the money you need and you wouldn’t be dealing with this. They won’t even help you because of me. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry we can’t be happy and enjoy things like normal people. I’m so—!”

Kian felt warm hands take his cheeks and his body be squeezed harder. Momo had been hushing him and only at her touch had he quieted. He didn’t know how long she had been trying to, but his Grandfather’s face was buried heavy into his shoulder. Momo smiled, relieved to see that she had gotten through to him, but Kian could finally see her face was just as wet—and tired—as his. As familiar as she was to determination, her heart ached to see overwhelming frustration cripple the brightest heart she knew. She could be angry, she could be upset, but while Kian said one thing, she heard another. Hopes, wishes, blame, and shame but most of all that passion and sincerity.  Yes, it hurt to be the one hit by his fire this time, but this detonation of Kian’s was different than all the others she seen before it. She swiped over his cheeks with her thumbs, still working on a smile despite her own tears.

"Don’t let go of any of those dreams of yours, little one. We will figure this out just like we’ve figured out everything else. Keep hoping. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

[alexalblondo]

I was about to say pancakes but someone beat me to it 😔

So how about this: which one of Seb’s 4 wdc wins is your favorite and why?

Hahahaha 🙈😂 I’m so sorry 😢

And DAMN!!! That’s a hard one!

Oh oh ohhhhh, okay, okay!

First off: Sorry for clogging up people’s dashes but I’m to lazy to get my laptop and who knows how to do a read more in the app? (Not me)

There’s the first one were no one ever expected him, I mean, let’s be honest despite being runner up in 2009 and SOMEONE *cough* Mark *cough* saying Seb got preferred treatment by the team he was never that favoured and no one - NO ONE - expected him to win? Like every interview beforehand was whether RedBull would pull team orders and would Seb go along and then THEN Mark messed up a little and Ferrari messed up a lot and the bastard babe got his first title and he cried so hard and I may or may not be getting a sun tattoo for him cause damn that one hits so hard still!!! He did so good, my baby!

And then there is 2011 which is (as a season) kinda boring but it might just be Seb’s most deserved title simply because he won it BY BEING THE ONLY BITCH WHO CARED ENOUGH TO LEARN ABOUT THE TIRES!!! (Also cause he was that good and the car was superb but yeah, bastard man knows his tires!)

I mean, Seb really just looked at every podium that year and went: 👉👈 and that is sooo sexy of him (his worst finish that whole season? 4th place ONCE and 1 DNF! And 11 wins out of 19 races! Bitch snapped that year! (Even Lewis only managed sth like that in 2014 and he had 3 DNFs that year, soooo...)

(Also Martin Brundle hates it sooo much? Like damn, every time he says “Is there anything they can do against this boy?” or whatever condescending shit he was spouting Seb gains another second on his opponents! 😂)

Then we have 2012 which many call the best season ever (when 2009 and 2010 are right there? M’kay? I mean, haven’t watched in a while so maybe I should) which really ... didn’t have Seb pegged as a favorite at all?

Cause McLaren had the best car and Alonso drove supremely well and the Lotus? Came out of nowhere?

But RedBull nailed the development and it’s sort of the beginning of spite driven!Seb cause once the asian leg of the season hits Seb is basically like: oh, Alonso is the clear favorite and leading by quite a bit? Well. Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone where to win 4 races in a row? And get another 2 podiums?... like, go off king, do drive two of your best and messiest races just near the end to prove to people you CAN overtake! I’m not mad, just, why do you hate having an easy life?

(Also that brought us the iconic moment of DC having to stand on a podium with Seb and Kimi swearing and having to say: english isn’t their first language, they don’t know what they are saying - they did and Jean Todt threatening disciplinary actions for SWEARING is just hilarious, does the FIA not have bigger fish to fry?)

And of course, OF COURSE, who could forget 2013? THE 2013?

If the TV show we will someday get based on Lewis and Seb’s career has titles for their seasons 2012 will be called “adjusted expectations” and 2013 will be “SPITE” (done in a really toxic green)

God, I love all of them but thinking about it 2013 must be my favourite cause it gave us so much!

We have Seb the ultimate bad bitch with the iconic Multi21 incident and the “I was faster. I passed him. I won.” and wow, 9 wins in a row? And 13 total? OUT OF 19 races? Well, do go off king, I beg you!

Like, Seb bleached his hair and he bleached his remorse and he turned into the baddest bitch and just went, if ya’ll wanna hate me I’ll be the best damn villain people have ever seen! And he made fools out of everyone else in the most stylish fashion only someone driving for the tox-factory that is RedBull could manage!

Cause I love RedBull and I love Seb but they are one toxic ass bitch and damn, love that for them (but also fuck them and I’ll see you in court once the Stockholm Syndrom wears off!)

But like, if you actually ... really ... officially ... here ... on tumblr ... on this day ... on the 26th of November 33 years after a short bastard man was born ... if you want me to choose my favorite title? It gotta be the one he wins with Aston Martin to equal Fangio, the man who holds so many oldest driver to do X titles! Like, let Lewis break all of Michael’s record - as he should and deserves - but also let Seb have one more (or two or more - dear racing goddess, I am not the boss of you!)

So there you have it:

Chris’ fave titles Seb has won (so far)

Hugs and kisses and lots of spite to motivate you 😍💖😍

(Bonus mention for 2009 aka: if only he didn’t crash into Kubica, crashed out a lap later in Malaysia and didn’t let Jenson past in Turkey that title would have been his!)

[httpjeon]

— 04. bunny blues: guilt | yoongi & jungkook

yoongi/reader/jungkook | angst, fluff | hybrid!au

wordcount: 1.7k

― synopsis: you’re left alone for the first time with jungkook.

contents: mentions of past hybrid abuse, mentions of abandonment, mentions of weight loss & depressive behavior, (hybrid)scenting, still fluff tho

note: short update but,,,we got shit comin’. reminder reader is a bunny hybrid, jk is a dog hybrid, and yoongs is human!

blog masterlist ɪɴᴅᴇx: 01 | 02 | 03 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08

© httpjeon 2019. do not repost, modify, or translate.

By hiding in your bedroom for the next couple days, you managed to avoid all confrontation with Yoongi. Neither man bothered you, opting to give you space. However, they would come to your room to let you know food was ready. You'd taken to simply eating in your room, or getting up after they went to bed to eat leftovers that Yoongi always left wrapped in the refrigerator for you; all to avoid them. It wasn't healthy and you were sure you were losing weight but you couldn't shake yourself out of the negative headspace you'd dug yourself into.

You took Jungkook's words to heart so seriously that you couldn't even realize the damage you were causing in the process.

It was a Monday, you knew because Yoongi came in to let you know. If not for him, you were completely out of the loop on the day.

"Wake up, honey," He whispered, using the opportunity to pet your ears until your eyes opened. "I've got to go to work, my leave is over."

"You're leaving?" You whispered, sitting up a little bit to see it was still dark outside.

"I'll be back tonight, don't worry," He smiled, petting your bedhead down. "Jungkookie will be here with you, so you won't be alone, alright?"

"Okay," You muttered and laid back in bed. You felt the urge to hug him but managed to suppress it.

"See you," He called before leaving the room.

You faintly heard him leave the house altogether as you drifted back to sleep.

The sun was peeking through your curtains the next time your eyes opened, but it wasn't the sun that woke you up ― it was a knock on your bedroom door. It could only be one person.

"Yes?" You grumbled, sitting up in bed.

"Get up and come eat," Jungkook ordered, voice more strict than you'd ever heard it.

"I-I'm not hungry," You muttered, still feeling bad about lying to him.

"I don't care. Get up," He snapped before turning away and walking down the hall, footsteps fading.

You sighed, knowing you had no choice but to do as he told you to do. You pulled yourself out of bed and changed into some comfortable house clothes ― just a sweater and some shorts.

Once you were in the living room, you found a plate on the coffee table of what appeared to be some kind of soup. Jungkook was sitting on the floor, watching cartoons on the television.

"I uh...I've never made food for bunnies so...I hope it's okay," He admitted, looking over his shoulder after pausing his own eating. "Yoongi-hyung left me the instructions so if it's bad, blame him."

You smiled fondly at his admission and picked up the spoon, immediately fishing out a couple of the cooked carrots. You hummed, sipping the soup to help wash them down.

"It's yummy, Jungkook," You complimented and though he didn't turn around, his tail thumped against the floor happily.

You finished the rest of the soup just as he finished his own food.

"I'll wash the dishes," He offered, taking your bowl. But instead of going to the kitchen with them, he put them on the table to bother with them later.

Typical Jungkook move.

It fell into sudden silence and you found yourself fidgeting. You didn't feel comfortable but Jungkook didn’t seem to even notice as his gaze was fixed on the TV.

"I-I guess I'll leave," You finally stuttered into the awkward atmosphere, preparing to go back to hiding in your room.

Jungkook reached out and snatched a hold of your wrist, halting you from taking even a step. He scooted back so he was sitting on the couch as well, pulling you to sit beside him.

"Don't go," He muttered, his ears drooping sadly. You both sat in silence for a moment, the cartoon playing on the TV while Jungkook continued to hold your wrist.

"I'm sorry," He said suddenly and it had your ears twitching in interest.

"F-For what?"

"You know for what," He whispered, reaching up to scratch nervously at his own ear. "I-I didn't mean anything I said that night. I was scared and jealous and...it was an ugly feeling. I lashed out on you and I shouldn't have done that."

"...Scared of what?" You asked, taking his hand in yours as you sat beside him, ready to listen to everything he had to say.

"O-Of losing Yoongi-hyung," He admitted, voice beginning to wobble as he admitted his fear.

"Yoongi wouldn't leave you just because I was there, Jungkook. He loves you," You reassured, squeezing his hand for emphasis.

"I know that, but...at the time I just...all I could think was that he'd choose you over me and I'd be all alone again," He croaked, swallowing thickly.

"Again?" You pried.

"My owner before Yoongi-hyung," Jungkook sniffled, beginning to cry. "He was really mean and he would leave me alone for days with no food, When he was home he would be really mean to me ― you know, he'd hit me and call me names. It was horrible."

Your heart ached at Jungkook's confession. You'd never guess he had such a horrible life before you met him.

"Y-Yoongi-hyung saved me," Jungkook choked out, leaning over to rest his head on your shoulder. "And I was excited you were here, I was! B-But I didn't want him to love you more than me and I'm sorry..."

"It's okay Jungkookie," You admitted, wrapping your arm around him to give him a hug. "M-My first owner was a little boy when I was young," You began, earning his attention. “His mom got me because she thought I'd be easier to care for than a kitty or puppy. But...when they found out how much care I needed, they sent me to a shelter."

"That's so mean," Jungkook whispered, his full attention on you.

"Joonie brought me to his home...and now I'm here." You sighed. "I-I got scared when you told me Yoongi didn't like it when I was needy because that's the reason I lost my last two homes. I really like you and Yoongi and I didn't want to mess up my chance again."

"I shouldn't have ever opened my mouth," He sniffled. "I saw how much my words hurt you but I was...I was too self-absorbed in being the only one Yoongi-hyung paid attention to again! And then I heard you crying the other night and I knew I went too far and that it wasn't fair for you to be miserable because I'm a jealous baby."

"You're not a baby, Kookie," You whined, wrapping your arms around his middle to hug him. "I understand why you did it, I really do. And I forgive you!"

"You do?" He asked, looking down to peek at how sincere you were.

"I do," You smiled, pulling away so he could see your face.

"I'm so glad," He hugged you back. This time the hug lasted for a long while. "And Yoongi-hyung will be glad too. He was really worried about you."

"I know," You whispered. "I felt bad...I could tell he was worried but I thought he just didn't want to get in trouble for mistreating a hybrid."

"Yoongi isn't like that. He cares about you and I more than he cares about himself," His words had you smiling because you knew, deep down, that it was true. Yoongi was selfless, a kind and gentle soul who would give up anything to make others happy. He had a big heart and you could feel his love.

The two of you finally settled down, laying on the couch together to watch the cartoon.

"So what is this?" You asked, making Jungkook gasp.

"You don't know Scooby-Doo?!"

You and Jungkook were sitting together on the floor, you in his lap, watching Scooby-Doo when the front doorknob began to jiggle.You bolted out of Jungkook's lap and raced to the front door. Jungkook trudged along behind you, obviously not understanding your utter excitement.

The second Yoongi stepped into the house, loosening his tie, you launched yourself against him. He sputtered in surprise, eyes wide as he looked at Jungkook, who began to grin.

"Y-You're in a good mood," Yoongi stuttered, slowly returning your hug until he was holding you tightly against him.

"Did you have a nice day?" You chirped, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him while keeping your arms around his waist.

"Yeah I-I did," He laughed, petting your head so your ears were pressed against your head. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah!" You replied, finally pulling away from the hug.

"Go wash up and I'll start dinner," Yoongi cooed, gently tapping your back s you bounced away into the bathroom. Once you were gone, he fixed his questioning gaze on the dog-hybrid.

"We had a talk," Jungkook confessed, shrugging sheepishly.

"I see it did some good," Yoongi reached up and scratched Jungkook's ears fondly, showing how proud he was of his hybrid's work. "Come help me make dinner."

You splashed water on your face, wiping away whatever dirt or sweat accumulated through the day. You made sure the clean under your fingernails with the sweet-smelling soap Yoongi had chosen for you; a special kind made for bunnies.

You looked in the mirror, smiling to yourself. You looked much happier than you had in days. It was like there was a huge weight lifted off your shoulders thanks to Jungkook apologizing. To say you were happy everything could go back to normal was an understatement.

After drying your hands, you crept out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where Jungkook was sitting at the table doodling on a paper and Yoongi was standing at the stove.

"How do you feel about vegetable stir-fry, ______?" Yoongi asked, tossing you a beaming smile over his shoulder.

"Sounds delicious," Just as you were about to sit in your chair, Jungkook was tugging you to sit in his lap.

"Draw with me," He whispered, his breath fanning over your ears, making you shiver.

"I don't know how," You admitted, taking the colored pencil in your hand. You nearly shrieked when you suddenly felt lips grazing across your neck, right where your scent gland was. You shivered at the realization of what was happening.

Jungkook was scenting you ― for the first time.

"That's okay, I'll teach you," He cooed, kissing your neck ever so softly that you missed it.

With Yoongi humming and cooking and Jungkook wrapping you up in his arms with his scent emanating off of you ― you felt happier than ever.

[treason-and-plot]

George takes her to a bistro across the street from the station, where he is a regular. The waitress greets him by name and asks them what they would like to drink. George says he’ll have a beer.

“Just a coke, thanks,” says Anita. “That’s not the Anita I know,” says George. Anita ignores his comment and browses the menu. “What are you going to eat?” says George.“ I can recommend any of the seafood dishes. What about the prawn risotto?”

“No, not today. I’ll have the beef and cashew stir-fry,” says Anita. George orders tempura battered swordfish steaks, served with chips and grilled lemon and lime. While they are waiting for their food he starts telling Anita about his divorce, which he blames on his punishing work schedule. After their meals arrive he continues to talk while shoving food into his mouth. “In the last couple of years Jeannette and I were probably lucky to spend one whole day a week together,” he says thickly. “And the last time we tried to get away on holiday, I was called back to Bridgeport after less than 48 hours to work on the Landgraab kidnapping case. I don’t blame her for getting fed up.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” says Anita. “Was your ulcer caused by the stress of your marriage break up?” “The doc said it was caused by too much booze and coffee and aspirin,” says George. “I woke up one morning vomiting blood. Scared me half to death.  And the pain was pretty intense, too. Dunno how I managed to drive myself to the hospital, really.” “That’s awful, George,” says Anita. “And you’re an absolute fool for not calling an ambulance.“ 

He gives a stoic shrug. 

"You look a lot better than when I last saw you,” he says. “Healthier. I like women with some meat on their bones. You know…more cushion for the pushin’.” 

He smirks at the piece of fish dangling on the end of his fork. Anita lays her own fork down.

"George, I’m pregnant,” she says.

George rapidly blinks.

“Fuck me,” he says. “Who’s the father?” “My fiance, Joël. It’s amazing news, but a bit of a shock. I mean, considering my age.” “How old are you?” he says. “How old do you think I am?” says Anita. “This is a trap and I’m not falling for it,” says George. “Anyway, I asked you first.” “Fifty,” says Anita. “I’m fifty years old, and pregnant. And two weeks ago, before I had any idea I was expecting, I took a white llama at The Grind, and now I’m petrified I may have hurt the baby. Which brings me to the favour I want from you. I have two more white llamas from the same batch in my handbag, and I want you to send them to the lab for testing. Just so I can know once and for all if there was anything in them that could pose a risk to my unborn child. Can you do that for me, George? Please?”

[luamaya]

Songs I Like

People Ii: The Reckoning- AJJ

Sleepwalking- The Wild Life

Honeydew- Small Talks

Graceless- The National

Humans- Big Thief 

Sleepy Tigers- Her Space Holiday

Cafeteria- Frankie Cosmos

Two Beers In- Free Throw

Waves- Beach Bunny

The Move- Laura Stevenson

Cody’s Theme- AJJ

Lemon Boy- Cavetown

Motion Sickness- Phoebe Bridgers

I’m Already Gone- A Day To Remember

Lost Cause- Beck

I Am So Mad at You- AJJ

Neutral Spirit Hotel- Local News Legend

Lua- Bright Eyes

Here Comes the Anxiety- The Wombats

Dammit- blink 182

This is Home- cavetown

Fish Fry- Slaughter Beach, Dog

Brave as a Noun- AJJ

Sea of Love- Cat Power

Living Room, NY- Laura Stevenson

School Globes- Removebeforeflight

Prom Queen- Beach Bunny

The Girl- City and Colour

A Moment of Silence- Toh Kay

The Internet Is Everywhere- Jeff Rosenstock

Acolyte- Slaughter Beach, Dog

Barbie- Lili Trifilio

Mega Guillotine 2020- AJJ

is your bedroom ceiling bored? (feat. Cavetown) - Sody

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea- Neutral Milk Hotel

Bottle Rocket- Lili Trifilio 

Would You Be Impressed- Toh Kay

Better By Myself- Hey Violet

Emotional Anorexic- Svavar Knutr

First Day Of My Life- Bright Eyes

Shoegazer- Beach Bunny

Bad Bad Things- AJJ

929- Halsey

Nothing Gets Crossed Out- Bright Eyes

You Swan, Go On- AJJ

Headless Horseman- The Microphones

You- The Pretty Reckless

Hate, Rain on Me- AJJ

Break My Own- Taylor Bickett

6 Weeks- Beach Bunny

Garden Song- Phoebe Bridgers

Linda Ronstadt- AJJ

A.M. 180- PUP

Dear Sergio- Toh Kay

Saint Bernard- Lincoln 

when the party’s over- Billie Eilish 

Get Bummed Out- Remember Sports

July- Beach Bunny

Holocene- Bon Iver

Take Me To The Riot- Stars

A Line Allows Progress, A Circle Does Not- Bright Eyes

Nosebleed- Tigerwine

Suffice- Born Without Bones

Papercut- Linkin Park

Blonde Hair, Black Lungs- Sorority Noise

Satellite- Guster

This Charming Man- The Smiths

A Part of Me- Neck Deep

Timothey Leary- Wilco, Bright Eyes, They Might Be Giants

Favourite Tune- The Swellers

Tiny Vessels- Death Cab for Cutie

Counting Stars- One Republic

Situations- Escape the Fate

World- Citizen 

The Quiet That No One Ever Knows- Brand New

5 O’Clock- T-Pain, Lily Allen, Wiz Khalifa

Days Were Golden- Sunny Day Real Estate

R U Still There- Chris Farren

Samson- Regina Spektor

Such Small Hands- La Dispute

...For Anyone- Mat Kerekes

The Summer Ends- American Football

I’ve Set Sail- Toh Kay

Girls- MARINA

Bang On The Door- Jeff Rosenstock

Bad Day- Daniel Powter

Writing On The Walls- Underoath

The Memory- Mayday Parade

Cut Your Bangs- Girlpool

She’s A God- Neck Deep

Future Me- Worriers

Jet- Citizen

back again- flor

Call Me Baby- Beach Bunny

Calling All Cars- Senses Fail

2009- The Swellers

Breaking the Habit- Linkin Park

What’s at Stake- The Swellers

Out Like a Light- The Honeysticks

Swear To God The Devil Made Me Do It- The Front Bottoms

The Widow- As Cities Burn

Trap Queen- Fetty Wap

Baby I Love You- Ryan Adams

dragon eyes- Adrianne Lenker

Passion Fruit Tea- Retirement Party

Reptilia- The Strokes

Spare Change- Just Nick

Sarah- Alex G

Calendar Girl- Stars

Boss Bitch- Doja Cat

Haven’t Had Enough- Marianas Trench

Get Ghost- Mark Ronson

Poe- Stick and Poke

End of Time- Bad Moves

Beautiful Day- U2

June 21st- Jeff Rosenstock

Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous- Good Charlotte

Inside My Head- The Swellers

Sick Boy- The Chainsmokers

In Another Life- Ashlee Simpson

hope is a dangerous thing for a women like me to have- Lana Del Rey

Look After You- The Fray

Fall Right In- Beach Fossils

Don’t Let Them See You Cry- Manchester Orchestra

Animal- Miike Snow

Blood In Your Mouth- Colour Revolt

You Are a Memory- Message To Bears

Handclap- Fitz and The Tantrums

Stranger- Rarity

Sleepless- Girlpool

Bruises- Lewis Capaldi

Two High- Moon Taxi

Cattails- Big Thief

If I Tremble- Front Porch Step

When We Were Young- Adele

Look What You Made Me Do- Taylor Swift

Young Folk- Peter Bjorn and John

Where the Buffalo Sleep- Sik Oheso

Ripcord- Real Friends

Rearview- Beach Bunny

Do You Really Want To Not Get Better- Joyce Manor

Somewhere I Belong- Linkin Park

Don’t Let Me Down- The Chainsmokers, Daya

LTCTLYBP- Pet Symmetry

hate u love you- Olivia O’Brien

Black Cat- Mayday Parade

Alice and Gertrude- Nana Grizol

American Lies- Pennywise

Second Letter From St. Julien- Sorority Noise

Stale Device- Girlpool

Be Nothing- Beach Fossils

Can’t Stop- Red Hot Chili Peppers

Piece of Me- Britney Spears

Would You Be So Kind- dodie

buzzcut- lovelytheband

Better Than Revenge- Taylor Swift

She’s A Lady- Forever The Sickest Kids

Lessons- Beach Fossils

Here’s a link to my playlist if anyone is interested:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4jAli1LWjjPmehumgt52bY?si=HgM-dd04T9q_FEDsjqZTaQ

[what-big-teeth]

Spark (Male Fire Elemental, pt. 1)

When graduate student Simone Price inherits her deceased grandmother’s house, she hopes to mend bridges that were long burned prior to the sudden passing by way of fond memories. But she soon learns two important truths. One, the cause behind those severed connections is still around. Two, the childhood fables her grandmother told her are more rooted in reality than imaginative fantasy.

Female Human (POV) x Male Monster [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] ”It’s...charming, you know? Really rustic.” Mica carefully chooses her words and attempts a cheerful smile. When she fails, she settles on tucking a loose microbraid behind her deep brown ear. “Right, Mason?”

Mason hefts the large, black garbage bag full of cleaning tools off the ground, gives the old house a once-over from top to bottom, then snorts. Loudly. Mica swiftly elbows her twin in the ribs for “being rude”, but even I can’t stop my nose from scrunching up in displeasure. 

She can dress up her opinion with as many euphemisms as she wants. But the truth is plain as day: Nana’s place has gone to the dogs. 

The two story’s once brilliant white paint is a dingy, chipping mess that reveals the underlying dark decay. The windows, always transparent enough to see through when the curtains were drawn back, are caked with grime and rust. And the front door, a deep, beautiful burgundy my mind can still picture, has dulled into a paler shade of red. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nana’s little garden in the backyard has been choked by weeds and overrun with wild plants. It saddens me to see the current state of her home compared to when my visits were more common. That was before Dad suddenly severed all contact with Nana ten years ago, when I was only thirteen.

A warm weight settles onto my shoulder, fending off the morning’s autumnal chill. Mica wears a sympathetic smile.

“Are you alright, Simone?”

I’ll never be able to thank Mica and Mason enough for sacrificing part of their Thanksgiving break to help me out. But I can try by remaining as positive as possible. 

“I will be,” I say. “Once Nana’s place starts looking like it used to.”

“It’s your house now,” Mason says, adjusting his grip on the garbage bag. Oddly enough, his words sound sad. “You sure you don’t want to do anything different with it?”

It came as a shock when Nana’s last will and testament bequeathed the entirety of her property and assets to me. Dad did all he could to contest the document, but his attempts failed. I’ll never forget the haunted look in his dark eyes when I asked him why he disagreed with my newfound inheritance.

“That place isn’t a home, baby. Not with what it’s got locked inside of it.”

I later refused to budge on the matter, even when he begged me to. After that, Dad told me to do as I wished, but to be careful and stay vigilant. I didn’t understand what he meant then and I still don’t. But I hope, with some hard work and lots of love, Nana’s house will be whole again. Then with time, Dad will come to visit and remember the good times before his mother’s passing.

“Earth to Simone,” Mason says. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, and I’m sure.” I fish out the front door key from my coat pocket and smile. “Let’s get to work.”

We hang our coats in the entryway. Once the buckets, brooms, and mops are divvied up among us, Mason works on doling out the cleaning solution. We then decide on who gets what area. Mason is quick to claim the upstairs, citing the possibility of rotten wood weakening the floor.

“I’d rather fall to the first floor and get hurt than see it happen to you two,” he says in an obstinate tone. “Especially since you two might end up worse off.”

“Always the gentleman,” Mica mutters, rolling her light brown eyes. “I’ll take the kitchen and dining room. Might be worth it to see what condition your Nana’s cookware is in.”

“Good idea,” I say. “Just be sure to yell if you find anything interesting.”

“Will do!” She grabs her broom, bucket, and mop,then leaves the foyer.

“Guess that leaves me with the living room and fireplace,” I say.

Mason replies with a hum I can’t discern, which is weird since Mica and I are fluent in Mason-ese. Always have been since we were little kids.

“Something up?” I ask.

His neutral expression doesn’t reveal a thing and that worries me. He’s always had a tell or two, even when he’s tried to hide something from me. Instead of talking, he just ties back his dreadlocks, grabs his share of the cleaning supplies, and walks towards the stairs.

“Call me if you need anything.”

I follow his old sneakers until they vanish from my line of sight. That was weird. But there’s no point in digging to figure out what’s going on. He’ll tell me when he feels like it.

After locking the front door and grabbing a broom, my feet guide me down the main hallway towards the living room. And my heart nearly breaks at the sight. Just about everything is covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs, including Nana’s knitting basket and needles. The floor and rug are worst off and I’m somewhat scared to tackle the fireplace. But if I don’t, no one else besides Mica and Mason will. Especially not anyone in town.

After asking for directions and mentioning our reasons for being here, nearly everyone bid us a swift farewell, claiming they had something to do. Only a few upfront people told us to leave the estate alone and head back home, claiming that a witch once lived there.

My grip on the broom handle tightens to the point of pain.

Nana was many things; a huge sun tea addict, an amazing storyteller, and a wonderful knitter. She may have used Black folk magic to help me with my childhood night terrors, but she wasn’t a—

“Ow!”

A thick wooden splinter peers up at me from my index finger alongside a bead of blood. This is why I told Mason we should’ve packed the plastic brooms instead. I lean the broom against the brick mantle, swiftly remove the sliver, and flick it into the dead fireplace.

The piled ash sparks with light and heat, singeing the cobwebs. 

“What in the…”

“Simone!”

“Gah!” I wait until my racing pulse calms a bit then respond. “Yeah?”

“I found your Nana’s bundt cake pan,” Mica yells out, “but I can’t tell if it’s still usable.”

“I’ll be there in a moment!”

I look back at the fireplace. Nothing but cold ash. I shake my head and make my way to the kitchen, trying to recall where Mason keeps the mini first-aid kit in his pickup truck.

Midday sneaks up on us, warming the chilly house a few more degrees. Mica decides it’s the perfect time to break for lunch and Mason agrees.

“We passed by a burger joint on the main road,” Mica says, wiping off her hands. “Wanna give it a try?”

Even with the tempting prospect of a patty melt, my mind keeps drifting back to the fireplace. And what I think I witnessed.

“Sure, but do you guys mind going without me? I want to get more cleaning in before the day’s out.”

“Seriously?” Mason is quick to call out my attempt at an excuse. “We’ve been at it for four hours.”

Before Mica can chastise him for being, well, himself, I think up a compromise.

“What if I took an extended break instead? I won’t touch a broom, mop, or bucket while you guys are out and I’ll eat with you once you get back. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect!” Mica chirps up. She grabs Mason by his forearm and starts hauling him towards the foyer before he can object. “We’ll be back soon. A patty melt with onions and a small fry?”

“And a bottled water too, please!”

The front door slams shut, the sound echoing until the truck’s engine revs up. I let out a heavy sigh and plop down onto the couch, uncaring of the weak cushioning.

“Finally. I thought they’d never leave.”

I stop myself from launching off the sofa, but my feet still slip on the area rug. My ass slams onto the floor with a hard thud and a deep chuckle follows soon after.

“You’re not very graceful, are you?”

“Who—!”

A large, bright flame emerges from the ash piled in the fireplace. It twists and curls in random patterns until it settles into the distinctive outline of a humanoid face. It grins. I scramble away and slam into the opposite wall.

“What’s this?” it says. “A descendant of Abigail, afraid of me?”

No shit. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? But, as the barely-calm-and-reasonable part of my brain points out, I won’t get any answers if I let my tongue turn into lead.

“Who are you? How do you know Nana?”

The flame…face…creature remains silent far longer than need be. Its eyes narrow.

“Don’t mock me, girl. You know very well who I am. Or did you forget Abigail’s tales all too quickly?”

The creature’s words slowly begin to make sense, as much as my mind begs them not to. Nana used to tell me all kinds of stories when I was little. But she’d always retell my favorite whenever I asked: the story of a fearless Black girl who trapped an evil flame spirit, thereby saving the town she lived in.

“Oh my god. That story was about you?”

“Cruel, isn’t it? Conditioning a child to believe a lie through a simple fable. All whilst I could hear and see everything. Abigail was always a manipulative, abusive wench.”

Hot, white anger floods my body, wrenching me to my feet. 

“Like hell,” I hiss, stalking towards the fireplace.

The creature peers up at me, stunned and silent. Good.

“Nana would never harm anyone. But she sure as hell didn’t take shit from anybody. Ever. What did you do?”

The story always characterized the fire spirit as evil, but never gave a reason. So why not ask the source?

“Well?!”

“Simone?”

My gaze snaps up. Mason stares at me with brows furrowed with concern and confusion. My rage dissipates into nothing, leaving me drained.

“You alright?” he asks.

I glance down at the fireplace. The creature’s vanished. Leaving me to look like an utter fool.

“Uh, yeah! I was just…re-enacting a scene from my favorite drama! Nothing else to do while waiting for you guys to get back, right?”

Mason’s eyes narrow, the simple action screaming ‘bullshit’. “Not even looking at your phone?”

I jam my hand inside my back jeans pocket and pull out my smartphone. Surprisingly, there’s service.

“Not enough bars,” I lie.

Mason doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but thankfully, he lets my horrible excuse slide. He holds up a large, white paper bag stained with grease. The scent wafting from the inside makes my empty stomach clench with anticipation.

“Mica and I will be in the dining room. Be sure to come and eat while the food’s hot.”

He walks off, the wooden floor creaking underneath his every step. With a heavy sigh, I start to follow.

“Perhaps you are more like Abigail than I first believed: utterly stubborn and foolishly brave.”

I stop moving. If the creature’s words were meant to insult me, they fail. Pride wells up in me and it takes all my willpower to not smile. It somehow notices and scoffs.

“To answer your earlier questions, past humans have called me a fire elemental. And one gave me the name Ignis.”

The creature...Ignis begins to recede back into the ash pile, but my mouth opens before it can vanish.

“Wait.”

He does, to my surprise.

“You weren’t awake before we arrived, right? Which means something made you come around.”

I carefully recall Nana’s story, then all of the related events leading up until now. My eyes widen.

“It was my blood on the splinter. That’s what woke you up. Because I’m of her bloodline.”

Ignis continues to sink further into the ash, but says one last thing.

“You have a sharp mind as well. How interesting…”

The fireplace goes dark, but I stand before it, staring.

I get it now. I understand why Dad severed contact with Nana ten years ago and never wanted me to inherit this place. Why Nana told me those childhood fables and willed her home to me.

But Dad’s still wrong. This house will be a home. But first, I have to finish what Nana started.

[kasdeyathebitterwoman]

*pigion crashes into thy window with a scroll* * "what is up gorgeous, *wink*. If 't be not too much ado and annoyance, may i requesteth something again? The reader is usually quiet about what she can do, so one day she thinks H has left the house so she starts playing something (guitar or piano or something like that). H walks in on her playing and is in awe, and asks them to teach him. Fluff ensues. S'rry f'r requesting a lot, thee executeth ideas so well 😅😓 -Le Frenchiest Fry"

*knocks loudly and repeatedly on door* LE FRY, IT IS I. MEOW. I AM HERE WITH YOUR REQUEST! 

Seriously, Le Fry my love, I am so sorry for how long this took me to put together. I hope this is close to what you wanted. Also, you could never send me too many requests! Send me all of them! By carrier pigeon, smoke signal, Morse code, cryptic tapping on a wall....I love your requests, I love you, and I’m always happy to write for you! 😘

You were typing away on your computer when Henry poked his head into your office to let you know he was going for a run. Unlike him, you were an early, early bird. Generally up before him, you were usually well into your morning routine by the time he got up to do his fasted cardio for the day. 

Today, you were feeling rather antsy. Work on your novel hadn’t been going according to plan or schedule for some time. After pushing yourself for a good thirty minutes, you allowed yourself a break. Standing up, you stretch your arms and your back then make your way to the kitchen. 

“Henry?” you call out. There’s no answer so you check your watch. He wasn’t usually out this late for a run, but you figured he’d stopped somewhere to take a break. Heading back to your office, you stare at your computer, feeling no desire to write or edit. Instead, you feel a little antsy. The only thing that’s helped calm you down in the past is playing music. You weren’t the best, but technically you were pretty good. 

From the back of your closet, you fish out the guitar that was once your dad’s and strum a few strings. They’re a little out of tune, so while you sit on the edge of the bed, you twist the nobs at the head, getting everything ready. Once you’re satisfied, you begin playing the first song that comes to mind, “Walkin’ After Midnight” by Patsy Cline. 

“I go out walkin’ after midnight, out in the moonlight - just like we used to do; I’m always walkin’ after midnight, searchin’ for you,” your voice is a little rough with only coffee, but you figure your way through it. The song isn’t a hard one, just a few chords and a few lyrics, but it’s one of your favorites. In less than three minutes, you’re done so you start a whole new song. “River” by Leon Bridges. 

“Been travelin’ these wide roads for so long. My heart’s been far from you; ten-thousand miles gone,” you sing out. As you’re playing the second verse, you hear a small shuffle from behind you. All the sound stops when you turn and are startled to see Henry standing in the doorway, staring at you in awe. 

“Please don’t stop,” he murmurs, stepping forward. He sits down across from you, not noticing the bright red blush that has invaded your cheeks. Your eyes immediately shoot to Kal who was still lounging on his bed in the corner. Some guard dog, you thought to yourself. 

“How much did you hear?” you ask him, unsure you even want to know the answer. Henry is still sweating from his run, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. His eyes are trained on your hands which are resting on the guitar. 

“I came in right as you started singing Patsy, then quietly stood there while you played that other song.” He states. His blue eyes moved up to yours and you felt your cheeks blush even harder. “Could you teach me?” he asks and your jaw drops open slightly. 

“Oh, I’m not that good. My dad only taught me the basic chords and a few combinations. I’ve just learned by teaching myself different melodies,” you stutter, feeling heat trail down your neck. Henry shifts a little in his seat. You glance up at him through your eyelashes and connect with his baby blues. 

“Please?” he’s genuine with his interest and you just can’t say no to him. 

“Okay, but get a shower first,” you agree. A wide, beautiful smile opens up across Henry’s face causing butterflies to take flight in your stomach. He agrees to your terms, jumping up to hastily kiss you on the lips, then dashes for the bathroom. You can hear the water start and the shower door open up then close. Moments later, Henry is shuffling back out to the bedroom in shorts and a clean shirt. His biceps are bulging past his sleeves as he towels off his curls. 

He sits down next to you and accepts the guitar from you. You explain the major chords, how to find them with your fingers, and a basic chord pattern to play and learn. Henry seemed to enjoy every moment of the impromptu lesson. His hands were dexterous as you helped guide his fingers to the correct places. For almost an hour, he brokenly strums along to “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and “Brown Eyed Girl”. Eventually, he looked up at you, smiling wide. 

“Would you play that other song?” he asks. You look back curiously. 

“Which one? The Patsy Cline song?” 

“No, the one you were playing when I walked in and startled you,” 

“Oh! The Leon Bridges song.” You state with understanding. Nodding, you take the guitar back, sit down on the edge of the bed and begin playing. Henry’s eyes never leave yours as you strum away the song. “But there’s blood on my hands and my lips they aren’t clean,” you croon. It’s a surprise to hear as Henry’s low baritone begins to harmonize with yours, but you don’t stop. You glance up to see him smiling slightly as you sing along with him to the chorus. “Take me to your river. I wanna go. Oh, take me to your river. I wanna know.” When the song is over, you look up at him feeling nothing but love. Henry is staring right back at you, a gentle smile pronouncing the dimple in his cheeks. 

“You know, if I had someone like you offering to teach guitar when I was a kid, I would have taken this up much sooner,” Henry states with a smirk. You stare back, slightly in shock, before you snort and collapse into a fit of giggles on the bed.