#like I’d like to think he’d be trying to knead dough

[magnolia-miraculous]

I know that I’ve been dead for like eight months and there’s absolutely no precursor to this on my blog but,,

I can’t stop thinking about the whole “Plagg replaces Adrien’s arm” possibility for the All Left AU, and more specifically the fact that it wouldn’t be safe for Adrien to hold food in that arm bc it would mysteriously go missing.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Lead Me To The Garden

pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl

“Who do you think it’ll be this year?”

Peeta didn’t look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of my brothers.” He said finally.

“Don’t even joke. I better never hear “Mellark” out of that crazy sparkly lady’s mouth.”

“I told you, she’s not crazy. That’s just how people dress in the Capital.” Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.

“I don’t care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?” You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.

“What would you wear? If you had Capital money?” He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“A yellow sweater.” You said with a sheepish smile.

“What? That’s it?” Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.

“Don’t laugh.” You gasped playfully. “You can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely can’t get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own that’s pretty. And that’s new. I would be the first person to wear it.”

“If I had any money, I’d buy you one.” Peeta said with a soft smile.

“Really? You wouldn’t spend your money on yeast or milk?” You teased him.

“Baking isn’t my whole life, you know. I like other things too.” He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods he’d been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.

“Like what?” You asked as you leaned in as well. Peeta’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends weren’t supposed to think about each other that way.

“Stealing food from you.” He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.

“You’re really good at it.” You humored him.

“Thank you. I try to be.” He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed “thank you” before taking another bite.

“So what would you really buy?” You asked once you swallowed.

“I’d buy a house.” He said without having to think about it.

“Really? But you have a house.”

“I know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And I’d have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.” Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.

“That sounds really nice.” You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.

“You could live there too.” He told you.

“Why? So I could take care of the garden for you?” You teased.

“So we could be together everyday.” He said, making your laughter stop. You didn’t realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.

“That would be nice.” You agreed. “We could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because we’d always talk to each other with love.”

“I think we’d be really happy there.” Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.

“But what if they call my name later?” You said quietly.

“They won’t. There’s dozens of girls in the district. They won’t call you.”

“What if they call you?”

“Theres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.” Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didn’t believe himself.

You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.

“See you after?” You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.

“Peeta Mellark.” Effie said with a poised smile. You’d never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.

You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.

“Peeta.” You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.

“I’m so sorry.” You said into his ear.

“It’s okay.” He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.

“We can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.” You whispered.

“We can’t. They’ll catch me and kill you first trying.” He shook his head sadly.

“But we have to do something. They can’t do this to you. They can’t take you away.” You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.

“There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.

“I guess you’re right. So I’ll see you when you come back, okay?” You said and cupped his face.

“Oh, honey.” He smiled sadly. “I’m not coming home.”

“Shh.” You covered his mouth. “Yes you are. You’re gonna come home to me and we’re gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.”

“There’s never going to be a garden. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.

“No you’re not. You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.

“Our district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I can’t hunt or protect myself. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta cried into your shoulder.

“Shhh. Don’t say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.” You said but even you didn’t believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peeta’s arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.

“I need to tell you something.” He said hastily.

“What is it?” You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.”

“Peeta, what?“ You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

“I have always loved you. I’m sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.” He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.

“Now you have to come home.” You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.

“I love you!” Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.

“I’ll wait for you!” You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.

You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. You’d only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.

“Is there anyone special at home?” Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.

“Actually, yes. There is a special girl from home that I’ve loved for what feels like my entire life.” Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.

“Well that’s great. If you win the games, she’ll have to go out with you.” Cesar said and patted his shoulder.

“Unfortunately winning the games isn’t going to help me.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Oh no? Why not?” Cesar asked him.

“Because she came here with me.” Peeta answered.

Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed he’d live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasn’t shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldn’t blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.

Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didn’t have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didn’t even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didn’t have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.

On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katniss’s little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katniss’s hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didn’t mean it didn’t deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.

After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peeta’s brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.

Then, he looked at you.

Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.

“You’re here?” He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m here. You’re here.”

“I thought you’d be mad.” He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but that’s not what you came for.

“I still had to see you.” You said simply.

Peeta gulped when you didn’t deny that you were mad but nodded his head.

“So where’s Katniss?” You asked him with fake politeness.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “With her family, probably.”

“Oh.” You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.

“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.

“I, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.” Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.

“You found a yellow sweater?” You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. You’d never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.

“I tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.” Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadn’t even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasn’t sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.

“I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.

“Of course I’ll still talk to you. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. I’m just confused.” You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.

“I know.” Peeta nodded. “And you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, I’d be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasn’t what it looked like. It was all an act.”

“An act?”

“Yeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasn’t real and I’m so sorry about that. You don’t know how badly I wished I could tell you.” Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.

“You were just pretending?” You smiled in surprise.

“Of course I was. What did you think? That it was real?” He laughed softly.

“Well, yeah. That’s what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.”

“Our acting got us through.” He corrected. “Haymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?”

You didn’t share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peeta’s eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.” Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.

“So you don’t love her?”

“No. I never did. I’ve only ever loved you.” He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.

“You know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.” Peeta said as he stared into your eye.

“You did?” You smiled shyly at the memory.

“I did.” He nodded. “It was the only thing keeping me warm.”

You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.

“Will you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.” Peeta asked you.

And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.

But you didn’t feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.

[i-didnt-do-1t]

“fine, i get your cereal-soup argument, but there’s nothing you can say to convince me that a hot dog is a damn sandwich.” (from the midnight rambling writing prompts) for Henry and Finch? (does not need to be romantic)

Thanks for the prompt! :D hope you enjoy, this was so fun to write

The lodging house was quiet, and maybe Henry would’ve been asleep by now if Finch wasn’t so insistent on stealing the entirety of the thin blanket that was meant to be shared between the two of them.

In fact, it was a specific condition he’d made Finch promise to before allowing him to sleep at the foot of his bed at all. He’d volunteered, partly because he was a good friend, mostly because Finch’s own bed had been doused in jugs of water that morning and the mattress was still sopping wet. (Henry could sympathise, he needed his sleep. He also took that as a further indication to avoid getting on Albert’s bad side at all costs)

The lack of blankets was bad enough, but then Finch made it worse somehow.

“Hey, Henry.” He was at least attempting to whisper but his voice still felt all too loud amongst the snoring.

“What?”

“You ever think about how cereal is basically soup?”

Henry wanted to cry, actually. If he could’ve pulled the blanket up to cover his eyes he would’ve.

“No.” He said, pointedly, “Because it’s not.”

“It is though right? There’s liquid.” He paused. “With y’know, bits, in it.”

Maybe while Finch was distracted talking utter bullshit Henry could steal back his share of the blanket.

“N’ how would you feel if you went to Jacobi’s n’ ordered soup and got cereal?” He asked.

(God, Finch must've had a fist of steel gripping his end of the blanket.)

“I’d faint on the spot I think,” Finch said, making less of an effort to whisper now because apparently he didn’t have any regard for anyone else’s sleep. “I ain’t had cereal in years.”

“Oh. Your biased then.”

Finch dug his foot into his side. “Stop using big words you learnt from Davey.”

“Skittery actually.”

“Oh.”

“Think he got it from Dave though.”

Henry could practically feel Finch rolling his eyes, and grinned.

“Shut up. Anyway, I’m right.” Finch continued, and Henry began to consider that maybe Albert wasn’t being unreasonable when he decided to douse Finch’s bed in water. “Soup is liquid with bits in it. So’s cereal. So cereal is soup.”

Henry thought about it for a second and wondered what his Da would’ve done if Henry had ever tried to claim that; wondered whether or not he could’ve persuaded him to put it on the deli menu.

He could’t have, it took all of three seconds to conclude, but he knew his dad would’ve looked at him like he’d grown another head. Knew he would’ve ruffled Henry’s hair and turned around muttering about young boys and their ridiculous thoughts and continued kneading the dough for that day's bread.

The thought made him smile a little.

And then Finch made it worse. Again.

“And a hotdog is a sandwich.”

This time Henry sat up, the bed creaking underneath him. “What.”

“Bread. Meat. Bread. Sandwich.”

He stared down at Finch, who was still curled up, blanket pulled to his chin, eyes open staring at the underside of the bunk above him, looking to the world like he was deep in thought.

And Henry had to deal with it.

He flopped back down on his pillow, letting his body mimic the unconsciousness he so desperately wished for as he slammed into the mattress and privately thanked God for both the bed not breaking and the fact he didn’t land on Finch’s feet

“Fine. I get your cereal-soup argument, but there's nothing you can say to convince me that a hot dog is a damn sandwich.”

Finch was silent for a second.

Too long, almost.

.

“Bread. Meat. Bread.”

“Oh my God.”

“Are you gonna try and tell me I’m wrong?”

“You are wrong.”

“I don’t think I’m ever wrong.”

At this point Henry had little to do but accept his fate. No sleep, no blanket, no friends with morals when it came to sandwiches. This was it.

“Oh trust me, we know.” He said.

He waited for a response, five seconds… then ten…

But Finch had seemed to finally go silent.

Cautiously, as to not wake him up, Henry readjusted the thin yet somehow lumpy pillow behind his head, shuffled a little to the left so Finch’s foot wasn’t digging into his stomach, said a prayer to his Da and closed his eyes. He had no blanket, but he would live, it wasn’t even cold anymore coming into June but it was more so the principle of the thing.

Henry could move past that, he decided, be the bigger person.

“Hey Henry.”

His eyes shot open.

“You think water is wet?”

[strnilolover]

Properly Introducing !Bakery Owner Matt and Reader!! (how they met and how the bakery became to be)

Matt : long sleeve shirts and button ups, comfy jeans, fluffy hair, light stubble, bandanas/headbands, flour covered clothes, apron always around his waist, new recipes everyday, puts his girl first, dad, frank ocean, mac miller, malcolm todd, determined, passionate, hardworking, focused, devoted, visionary, creative, gentle, observant, and more.

It was junior year when you first noticed Matt in the crowded halls of your high school. He wasn’t loud or overly outgoing, but there was something about him that caught your attention— a quiet confidence and an ever-present smirk.

You met officially during an elective class neither of you had particularly wanted but needed to fill credits. It was a mistake of scheduling, really — Home Economics — but fate has a funny way of placing people exactly where they need to be.

Matt’s culinary skills were evident even then. While most of the class bumbled through simple recipes, his dishes consistently stood out. You remember the first time he handed you a plate of cookies he’d baked, the warmth of the pastry soaking into your fingertips, and the burst of buttery sweetness that followed your first bite.

“These are amazing,” you mumbled through a mouthful, barely able to form the words.

“Yeah?” He didn’t look at you, focusing on wiping flour from his hands on the apron he wore around his waist. There was that smirk again — tugging at the corner of his lips like it always did.

From that moment, there was an ease in your interactions. A friendship forged over the exchange of recipes, kitchen mishaps, and inside jokes about the temperamental ovens in the Home Ec room.

It wasn’t until senior year that things began to shift. Matt would bring you experimental recipes he was trying, and you’d sit in the empty classroom together after hours, critiquing the texture of his pastries and the sweetness of his glazes.

One evening, as you were packing up after another impromptu tasting session, Matt stopped you with a hesitant, almost sheepish expression.

“Hey, so, I was thinking,” he began, scratching the back of his neck, “would you want to go out sometime? Like, not just here. Maybe somewhere that’s more…enjoyable?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the slight tension breaking as you agreed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

From that moment, it was like something clicked into place. You spent the rest of the school year inseparable, navigating the uncertainty of graduation and future plans with intertwined fingers.

After graduation, you and Matt decided to move in with one another. Finding a small place to manage with the jobs you both had, enjoying each others company even more.

Though, the transition to college wasn’t easy. Matt had been accepted into a culinary program at a university not too far from home, and you decided to stay nearby, working odd jobs to support yourself.

Matt dove headfirst into his studies, immersing himself in classes and late-night baking labs. He’d come home exhausted most days, flour dusting his clothes, dark circles forming under his eyes, but there was always a grin spread across his face when he saw you waiting for him.

“Guess what I made today?” he would ask, eyes lighting up despite his weariness.

“Something delicious?” you teased, knowing the answer.

Matt would reach into his backpack and pull out a carefully wrapped bundle — a slice of cake, a new type of bread, or a pastry he’d spent hours perfecting. It became a ritual for the two of you, sharing his culinary triumphs and failures, talking late into the night about his dreams of opening a bakery.

“You’re going to do it, you know,” you told him one night, watching as he absently kneaded dough on the counter of your tiny shared apartment. “You’re going to open that bakery, and it’s going to be amazing.”

Matt looked up, flour streaking his forehead, and smiled softly. “Not without you.”

Everything changed during his senior year of college though. You’d been feeling off for weeks — nausea, exhaustion, a strange sense of something being different. When you finally worked up the courage to take a pregnancy test, the results hit you like a tidal wave. You were pregnant.

Matt was at his part-time job when you found out, and you spent hours pacing the apartment, rehearsing how you were going to break the news. When he had finally walked through the front door that night, looking worn but happy as usual, you felt a lump form in your throat.

“Matt, I need to tell you something,” you blurted out before you could second-guess yourself. The change in his expression was immediate — concern creasing his brow as he dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room in two quick strides. “What’s wrong?”

You handed him the positive test, your hands trembling slightly. His eyes widened as he processed what it meant, and for a moment, you feared he might bolt. But then, he let out a slow breath and reached for your hand.

“Okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself, as if piecing together a plan. “Okay. We’re going to figure this out.”

“Matt—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted gently, squeezing your hand. “It’s not going to be easy, but we can do this. I want to do this. I want this with you.”

Tears stung at your eyes as relief flooded through you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. In that moment, you believed him.

The months that followed were a whirlwind of changes. Matt continued his classes and worked late hours, saving every extra dollar he earned. You found yourself in a constant state of awe at his determination, watching as he navigated the chaos. There were nights when he came home utterly exhausted, but he always made time to check on you, to hold you close and remind you that he was there.

“How was your day?” he’d ask, leaning against the counter while you made tea.

“Uneventful,” you’d reply, keeping the details light to spare him any unnecessary worry.

Matt would nod, and you could see the weight of the day lifting slightly from his shoulders as he focused on you instead. It wasn’t always perfect — there were arguments, moments of doubt, and fears about the future — but you faced them together.

Eventually, Matt graduated, and with his degree in hand, he threw himself into making his dream a reality. Every cent he’d saved went toward the bakery, and you watched with a mixture of pride and awe as he meticulously planned every detail. He spent hours on end fixing up the old storefront he’d rented, sanding floors, repainting walls, and building shelves for the displays he envisioned.

“You’re really doing it,” you whispered one evening, standing in the middle of the nearly-finished bakery, surrounded by the scent of fresh paint and sawdust.

Matt turned to you, eyes shining with pride and relief. “We’re doing it.”

Opening day had came faster than you expected. You stood beside Matt as the first customers trickled in, watching with nervous excitement as they sampled his pastries and complimented the warm, welcoming atmosphere he’d created.

The bakery was everything Matt had dreamed of — a cozy space filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, pastries, and memories of late nights and early mornings spent chasing this dream.

You often helped out behind the counter, greeting customers with a smile or setting out trays of Matt’s newest creations. The regulars got to know you by name, asking after the baby growing steadily in your belly and congratulating Matt on his success. It wasn’t long before the bakery became a staple in the community — a place where people gathered to share coffee, pastries, and stories.

One evening, after the last customer had left and the bakery was closed for the night, you found Matt sitting at one of the small tables by the window, his head resting on his folded arms. The exhaustion was evident in the way his shoulders slumped and his breathing slowed, but there was a contentment in his expression that hadn’t been there before.

“Long day?” you asked softly, sliding into the seat across from him. Matt lifted his head, a weary smile tugging at his lips. “Long but worth it.”

You reached across the table to take his hand, and he squeezed it gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft glow through the windows, illuminating the quiet moment between you.

“We did it,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.

You smiled, feeling a swell of pride and love for the man sitting across from you. “Yeah, we did.”

a/n : AHHH here’s !Bakery Owner Matt!! (Baker!Matt) and how him and reader met and what started where they are today!! I honestly don’t know much about doing AU’s but! i’ll be navigating it along the way with all of you!! i hope you like this and i hope you love them too. (p.s - reader is pregnant toward the end of this. this just shows how they met, how the bakery was opened and such. so it’s not present time)

[r0und3bitch]

Twin Flames ❤️‍🔥 Blurb: Our Lord and Savior (Taylor’s Version)

MASTERLIST

Y/N’s Notes App

Synopsis: Rafe finally discovers what you’ve known for quite some time now — in Taylor Swift, we trust.

Warnings: Pure fluff and self indulgence. I wrote this one for me.

Notes: this video is crucial. Also reminder “I’d Do Anything To Make You Smile” is a Jack Harlow song. Full notes are actually at the end this time! Enjoy loves

Y/N 🦋: if you come over after work I’ll make pasta and we can open that bottle of wine we stole from Topper’s 😇 Y/N 🦋: and I can play you the new Jack Harlow album - OBVIOUSLY 😈

Boy Wonder 🍤: “I’d Do Anything To Make You Smile” 🫠

Y/N 🦋: cheater! You already listened to it without me?!

Boy Wonder 🍤: like you haven’t already played it a thousand times today…

Y/N 🦋: 🤐

Boy Wonder 🍤: I only listened to a few songs, the ones that stuck out

Y/N 🦋: that one’s already one of my favorites 😈

Boy Wonder 🍤: same Boy Wonder 🍤: made me think of someone…

Y/N 🦋: 🥺

It’s just an emoji but the image planted in his brain of you making that beyond cute, pouty face at him doesn't leave his mind throughout the rest of his work day. 

And it’s exactly how he finds you hours later as he walks into your kitchen, stirring something over the stove, slightly swaying back and forth to the music you have on. He takes notice of the wine bottle on the counter - the extremely expensive one you both drunkenly managed to steal from Topper's family’s wine cellar at the party he threw last weekend. He chuckles at the memory, gaining your attention as you turn towards him, meeting him with that pouty, needy smile he’d been dying to see on you all day. 

You’re so happy to see him you could honestly burst. 

“Shit, I didn’t even hear you come in!” You say loud enough over the music. 

“It smells amazing in here…” he beams, already reaching his arms around you. 

“Thank you.” You smile sweetly up at him before setting the large spoon back down on the counter. 

Rafe looks down at the multiple pots and pans on the stove, chucking slightly as realization dawns on him. 

“You made Gigi Hadid’s pasta recipe didn’t you?” He giggles into your ear, pulling you further into his arms. 

“No way, you noticed?!” 

Of course he noticed. It’d been everywhere on Tiktok and Instagram. Not to mention, Wheezie - the future influencer of the Cameron Family, hadn’t shut up about it lately. 

Rafe’s mouth was honestly watering while looking down at your creation, the smile breaking out on his face was inevitable at this point, taking note of your good mood and breezy nature about you in this exact moment. It’s one of those rare times he sees you just relax. You’re not running around like a chicken with your head cut off between meetings, screaming arguing back and forth with Sid about god knows what, you’re not literally losing your mind trying to manage all of that - including your obligations back in Miami. 

Seeing you like this, so free and happy and full of light touches Rafe deeply, making him pause. 

This is how she should always look. This is how it should always be for her. She deserves to always feel like this. 

“Seems like you’ve had a day, baby.” 

“My dad didn’t need me at the office today so I got high and made fresh pasta too…”

You’re grinning from ear to ear now as you turn to look up at him fondly. He notices small patches of what must be flour on your leggings, proof of your handiwork and he’s beyond elated that you didn’t change for him, didn’t put on some fancy outfit before he came over, loving nothing more than getting the realest, most raw version of you. 

“It looks perfect.” And you grin even further at his compliment. “Maybe we can make some together next time.” 

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek. 

The image of Rafe covered in flour makes you giggle before your mind wanders to how good he must be at kneading dough considering he has huge hands - your brain instantly going haywire  at the mental image alone when he speaks up. 

“Now, what do you say we bust open this bottle that we worked our asses off for—” (you pipe up, “and nearly shattered in my driveway!”) “—and your fine ass puts on that Jack Harlow album I know you’ve literally been dying to play for me all day, sweet girl.”

A final, meant to be loud giggle from you seals the deal as Rafe looks up at you, cute as fucking ever, but slightly confused at your best words. 

“Okay, shrimp…”

You’re on the second full run through of the album, the bottle of wine just about polished off between the two of you as you spread out on the massive couch in the living room, bellies full of pasta and laugher as Rafe clutches his sides, abs almost sore from his bodies reaction to your story. 

“Listen! I don’t even remember doing it!”

Rafe can barely get words out, choking down his own giggles rising again. 

“Fucking, shrimp…”

“I just remember waking up the next morning after that party…barely alive and hanging on by a thread…”

Rafe’s almost cackling at this point of your story. 

“No, I’m serious! I slept in my contacts and could barely open my left eye. I had a full on predator eye going! It was rough. Anyways! I wake up, finally find my phone buried deep in Sarah’s bed only to look down at your contact name, seeing that fucking emoji there and thinking — welp… I guess he’s shrimp now!”

The way you deliver it has Rafe nearly spewing wine out of his mouth, literal tears beginning to form in his eyes, both of you on the verge of hysterics again at the story of how the emoji in his contact name in your phone came to be. 

“Literally, don’t even remember changing it! I don’t even know where it came from!”

But Rafe does and it makes him double down harder as his never ending reel of memories of you from that drunken night come flooding back. 

“Because Kelce and Sarah wouldn’t stop quoting that fuckin�� scene from Forest Gump—”

Your hand clamps over your mouth harshly at his words, as if that would stifle any of the near snorting laughs coming out of you, quite honestly on the verge of peeing your pants as you lose it with laughter again. 

“Then I had to listen to your beautiful, drunk ass literally beg for coconut shrimp the next three hours!”

You reach over and cup his face with your hand, face going momentarily serious and you try to keep an even keel to deliver your next words as you stroke his cheek affectionately. 

“Awww, shrimp…” 

Silence only hangs in the air for about half a second as you both full on lose it, Rafe nearly rolling over onto the floor with how hard he’s laughing. 

It’s at that moment Noah slips into the room, looking quite dapper himself as he grins at the sight of you both so clearly at ease with each other. 

“Having fun, kids?”

You and Rafe whip your heads in his direction, grins not even slightly dampening as you both do a once over on him. 

Noah’s sometimes floppy hair is pushed back over his face, accenting his ‘only visible in the summer’ freckles that glitter his glowing face. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, showing the chain and tattoos poking out beneath the brilliant shade of gold and black fabric. One of his most expensive watches adorns his left wrist as he looks down at the time. 

“Shit, look at you!” 

Rafe cat whistles loudly. 

“Ya got a hot date?”

Noah just sends both of you that trademark grin, lips sealed knowingly as to not give any of his secrets. 

“No, I’m actually thinking of heading to the beach and going swimming.”

You forget sometimes that he’s your twin and can play the smart ass game just as good, if not better than you, at times. 

“Wow, someone’s feisty. Tryin’ to keep the girl a secret? OH!” You squeal loudly. “That’s a song in the album too! Have you listened yet?!” 

“Listen man!” Rafe pipes up “If you’re taking Emma out, I get it. I’d probably lie too…” he laughs and scratches his nose as you slap him in the arm, earning brownie points from you for equally giving Noah a hard time. 

Noah signs loudly. His sister was one thing. But Rafe…maybe you both needed to be knocked down a peg. Or two. (affectionately). 

“God, I just love the two of you together. Honesly, just a fuckin joy!” 

His sarcasm is relentless. 

“You’re really not gonna tell us who you’re wearing your favorite cologne for?” 

You can smell it from where you’re sitting as Noah just rolls his eyes, your persistent questioning beginning to irritate him in a way only a sister can. 

“Not a chance!”

“It probably is Emma…” you whisper to Rafe, full on earning Noah’s annoyance as he sparks an idea in his head, knowing just how to push your buttons. 

“Andddddddd on that note, I’m out! Enjoy your evening lovebirds…” 

He pauses briefly before turning to you fully, delivering the kill. 

“Oh — and call Jordan back before I fucking smack you, Y/N!”

You almost drop the wine glass in your hands. 

“Excuse me?!”

Your high pitched response is proof enough of your defeat for Noah. 

“Ya! You heard me! He called me again to check in on you. I’m not getting into the middle of it but this is getting kind of ridiculous, you know that right? Are you mad at him or something?” 

Noah’s fully aware and knows that saying this in front of Rafe would ruffle your feathers, his game plan exactly. 

“What?! No—” but you’re already sputtering an attempt at a response to his words. 

“Then call him back! It’s not fucking rocket science, Y/N.”

He shoots you both that frustrating, almost downright cruel grin, muttering a “later” in your direction before turning on his heel and heading out the back door to the garage. 

You’re too stunned to react once Noah’s out of the room, taking into account the huge shift in energy in the room as his departure. Are you sure you were laughing just moments ago?

It seems impossible that you could’ve been feeling light as a feather only minutes ago in Rafe’s presence as nothing but guilt threatens to consume you. As it threatens to knock the wind out of you. 

Jordan called Noah again. 

As if his never ending thread of unread texts hadn’t already permanently been tormenting you, along with Whitney’s persistent questioning on the rare occasions she could even get you on the phone these days. 

Rafe’s still on the couch next to you, letting you process a moment or two, gauging your reaction. 

You take one look at his face and already know what he’s going to ask, bracing yourself. 

“You don’t want to talk him?” He asks cautiously. 

“It’s not that…”

He feels you tense up slightly, panicking only for a second before he settles. Rafe takes a deep breath before gently continuing.  

“You never really talk about him. Or any of them, really. Whitney, Kendall…”

He’d been privileged enough to earn just a small amount of conversation with Whitney (the girl LOVED to talk), outside of hearing your call with her on your second day in the Outer Banks. Kendall’s name popped up from you here and there - along with some others, yet literally not a single peep about Jordan. 

“It’s uh…” he heard you shakily release a breath. “It’s just hard.” 

You’re looking around the room briefly before casting your eyes downward at your hands. Anywhere but Rafe’s all too knowing eyes as you shift back farther into the couch, farther away from him. 

You may have only moved an inch, but mentally he feels you pulling back miles as his mind goes into overdrive, reaching out to take your hands in his. 

“Baby — Hey, please don’t pull away from me, it’s just me.” 

His words sound like honey as they come out of his mouth; wrapping around you like a warm hug, making you momentarily forget what’s happening. 

He lifts your hand to his face and lays soft kisses to the inside of your wrist. He’s being so gentle and sweet that it actually makes you want to puke but you can’t help but fall for him even deeper at the action. 

He’s trying so hard. Trying so hard to break through to you that you can’t help but give in, knowing his efforts have been worth it. 

“I didn’t really want to leave any of them.” you’re looking down at where his fingers are still gently grasping your wrist. “And when I had to…”

You choke slightly and Rafe notices, eyes furrowing downward with concern, immediately wanting to embrace you. He compromises by squeezing your wrist encouragingly, giving you the space and time to get whatever it was you had to say out. 

“Sometimes it just makes it harder, ya know?” When you look at him, eyes brimming with tears, his heart actually breaks a little bit because your face says it all. 

The next part comes flooding out of your mouth of its own accord.

“I didn’t want to leave any of them. And when I had to, it felt like —like m-my whole life was torn apart. It felt like I had part of my identity —part of my soul taken from me by having to be away from the only people in my life that ever cared about me.” 

You take a shaky breath before letting the rest out, your voice strained. 

“Miami was so isolating, it just became easy. It became…” you trail off unsure of how to put words to the feelings you’re having.

If Rafe’s heart was breaking before, it’s full on crushed now under the impact of your words. He’d known if had been hard for you — you always kept this part of your life so guarded and part of him was now fully understanding why. It was to protect yourself. It was your defense mechanism. 

“I don’t want to push them away” your voice is barely above a whisper now. “It just—”

The tears are full on ready to brim over now but Rafe won’t allow them to make a home on your beautiful face that was minutes ago laughing at his shitty Game of Thrones jokes. 

“Hey, Y/N” He reaches down under your chin to tilt your eyes back to his. 

“I get it. I know, baby.”

“I don’t think they do, though…”

Rafe contemplates a minute, his words tenderly melting you. 

“I can’t really blame them for missing you, Y/N.” 

You look up at him curiously, hanging on tightly for his next words. 

“I can’t imagine my world without you in it.”

It happens again. Everything stops. The paradigm shifts and alters the weavings of your universe. Time stands still and it’s just the two of you staring at each other, eyes swarming deeply into the others. You’re absolutely positive the rest of the world has melted away and it’s only you and him left, completely and utterly okay with that actually. 

“And if they’re feeling any ounce of what I’d be feeling at that thought…” Rafe shakes his head, his own panic bubbling within him at the thought as he chokes his own terrifying, haunting, insecurities down. 

“They probably hate me…” 

Rafe breaks out of his own subconscious of insecurities as yours come tumbling out of your mouth. He wants to shake every single one of them out of your head, to prove you wrong at all costs. He wants to turn to you and say “not a single person in this world could hate you” yet chokes as he thinks of your father, of Zach… of the laundry list of names who’ve failed you. Of the laundry list of names of people who are inevitably next in line to do the same—, to chew you up and spit you back out, Rafe all but refuses to sign his name to that blank space.

“They could never and will never hate you, Y/N.”

His arms reach around your waist and pull you fully into his lap now, his hands brushing up under the bare skin of your tank top making you shiver in his grasp. Your goosebumps are soon soothed by his warm body against yours, your back pressed against his chest as he places kiss after kiss on your cheek, hearing that glorious giggle as a sign of victory. 

“They love you…” He whispers slowly into your ear, sending chills down your spine. 

Just like I do…

He dips his head further down, his lips planting themself to your shoulder briefly before turning to your neck, resting them against your flesh as he whispers. 

“You just have to let them, yeah?” 

And then his final words that travel through every cell in your body before making a home in your heart. 

“You deserve to be loved, Y/N.” 

His words stay hanging in the air for a moment or two, letting them sink in fully, the gravity of which is enough to pull all the breath out of your lungs.

Only if that means by you too. 

You’re grappling with your own thoughts —thoughts that no one in the world's love matters if you don’t have Rafe’s— as his arms squeeze around you, kisses literally attacking the flesh around your neck, fingers pinching playfully into your sides as you shriek in his arms. 

That giddy, unrelenting feeling of being loved by Rafe Cameron swells through your body until it’s bursting through you in the form of wild laughs and high pitched giggles as Rafe’s equally goofy grinned face shines down on you pressed back against him. 

You turn to face him now, eyes zoning in on the spot you desire the most —his lips, before meeting his eyes fleetingly.

“Okay, shrimp…” giggling for the thousandth time that evening as you both take into account the Jack Harlow album still playing in the background. 

“Do you think the DJ will let me change the playlist? There’s this song I found for this really hot girl that I want to play for her…”

“Hmm…I think the DJ might allow it. The album is almost over anyway.”

“Here…” you slowly break out of Rafe’s arms to reach for your phone on the coffee table. After opening the app, you hand it to him as you slowly stand. 

“The ‘hot girl’ is gonna grab more wine, you cool with that?”

“Who said I was talking about you, baby?” Rafe bites his lip, your eyes rolling at him but shooting him a wide mouth grin nonetheless. 

Rafe’s still chuckling to himself as you walk out of the room, his fingers already scrolling up on the app to the search bar, eager to find the song he'd heard earlier in the day on the way to meet his client for lunch. 

His fingers freeze though when a certain playlist catches his eye. Or rather the name of the playlist. The same contact name you’d given him in your phone…

His fingers hover over the words “Boy Wonder” for only the slightest of seconds before he presses an ardent finger to the screen, mind full on blowing apart into little pieces at what he finds. 

He feels his heart race quicken rapidly, needing to psychically stand from the couch to mentally process what was happening as he runs a shaky hand through his hair. 

Absent-mindedly, partly in pure bewilderment, he presses play to a song at random before him. 

You’d only been gone a moment or two. Long enough to reach far, far back into your fathers wine cellar to pull out a bottle that could contend with the one you’d stolen from Toppers but wouldn’t have your dad threatening to cut off your inheritance if he so happened to find out you took it. 

You’re proud of your selection, ready to show it off to Rafe. You’re beyond giddy, the effects of the first bottle still in very real effect even after your very sobering conversation. The first thing you notice the moment you step back into the living room was that Rafe had undoubtedly held true to his promise; the song had changed.

What you hadn’t, in any world or universe, even remotely expected to hear, was this Taylor Swift song playing — only to be met with Rafe’s frozen, towering stance as he clutched your phone in the middle of the living room. 

The wine bottle almost falls out of your grasp when it slowly starts to piece together. Your phone in his hands…the song playing…the fucking playlist. 

Embarrassment truly doesn’t even begin to touch the surface of the emotions taking over every inch of your body. Rafe’s unreadable face looks up at you as you both stand frozen with what feels like millions of miles between the two of you. 

The muscles around his mouth twitch, and the act alone cuts the distance between you tenfold, immediately pulling you into his orbit. 

It’s one of those rare moments in your life where you’re truly at a loss for words, trying to find the right ones to say that doesn’t make you sound like a psychotic, love struck, teenage girl. 

Fuck me, this is not happening right now! 

“What, uh…” unbeknownst to you, Rafe’s feeling equally giddy and love struck as he tries to process everything. 

“Oh, that’s…”

His muscles are twitching again and you can see the dimples forming in his cheeks, brightening yours what must be a crimson shade of red. 

“…is this…Uh…” his fingers feel shaky as he grips your phone. “Is this for me?” He asks eagerly. 

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. 

I mean you suppose it’s his? You’d made it for him certainly, although had literally no intention of him ever knowing it fucking existed! 

You truly feel like you’re about to faint but Rafe’s warm aura encircling the space between you two seems to magically keep you from full on panicking before him, still unable to move a muscle as you just watch one of your most embarrassing moments ever unfold before you. 

“Sort of…”

You meet his eyes again, lost in those ocean blue orbs that seem to read you like a magazine. 

“They’re uh…” Rafe’s heart is swooning so incredibly hard for you, not used to the beyond endearing embarrassment adorning your features, feeling like he’s seeing a brand new side of you for the first time. He briefly wonders what other marvelous versions of you he’d yet to discover. Willing to spend forever seeking them out…

“They’re songs that remind me of you…” you finally say, trying to unclench your jaw as you release a deep breath to try and calm yourself down. 

“Taylor Swift songs that remind you of me?” He questions softly, in total awe. 

You truly have never wanted to crawl deeper into a hole and never come out. 

Internally, permanently, forever cringing at his words. 

HOW IS THIS HAPPENING?!

“Yeah. So, I’m just going to crawl into a hole and—”

“No, no, no!” It’s Rafes turn to panic now, words coming out jumbled together, unwilling to let you feel even an ounce of embarrassment at something that is making him feel like he’s falling for you all over again. “It’s—”

His genuine smile, the one that only Rafe can seem to break through to you with, is the only explanation as to why your lips start moving as words somehow magically leave your mouth. 

“I started making it right when I came to the Outer Banks…”

The thought alone of you spending the past few months casually adding songs to this playlist whenever you’d hear one that particularly reminded you of him —mind floating back to all of the memories the two of you had shared this summer— is a powerful enough feeling to nearly bring him to his knees. 

What in god's name made him lucky enough to have you? To deserve you? Why him?

His mind touches a box of compartmentalized memories —his hands, hands that’ve roamed dozens of girls bodies in the Outer Banks —of those same hands coming down harshly over their ass, meeting their ears with the most degrading of words —of literal slaps to the face as images of random faces cry as he tries to slip out of their bedrooms undetected…

Rafe wasn’t sure what the hell he had done in his life to positively deserve to feel the way you made him feel. Hell, he still wasn’t entirely sure he did in fact deserve it, deserve you. It didn’t make sense at how so sweet and sincere of a gesture could be playing at his heartstrings before him…

How are you real, Y/N? How did I do this before you? 

“It’s uh…” 

HOLY SHIT - his brain will NOT compute. Is he short circuiting?! Fuckin say something idiot! WORDS! 

“Will you play one — well another one—” taking account of the song already playing. “Will you put on another song for me? 

His eagerness slowly, subconsciously, melts away at the anxiety building within you. 

“You want to hear another one?” 

“Yeah —actually I uh…I do.” He’s glancing back down at your phone in his hand again, his thumb slowly moving down the screen. “I’m not sure if I know any of these songs though”

He knows that's not true even as he says it. 

You laugh, confirming you know the truth behind that, further proving his point. Rafe has been hanging around you day in and day out for the better part of summer — there’s no doubt he knows quite a few songs on the playlist better than he thinks…

“Okay…” you oblige softly, already reaching for your phone back. “I can pick one.” 

“Or, uh…..” his heart starts beating erratically as the thought pops into his head, his turn to be embarrassed. 

You see his face falter for a moment, cheeks turning red as he fidgets.

Is he nervous? Why is he embarrassed?! You’re the psycho fucking girl who made a playlist of Taylor Swift songs that remind you of this beautiful man standing in front of you —only for said beautiful man to find THE FUCKING PLAYLIST— OH MY GOD— THE FUCKING TITLE OF THE PLAYLIST—You’re pretty sure you’re fully going into cardiac arrest now. Please God, if you’re out there, just come and strike me down, RIGHT NOW, at this moment. 

You’re waiting for the heavens above you to open and a lightning bolt to blast through the sky, blissfully ready for its strike. You’re saved from fate's seal though, realization dawning that this might actually be your worst nightmare as Rafe finally speaks again. (Thank God…)

“You could…” Rafe feels his hands get tingly, shaking the one at his side jerkily as the other tries to hold your phone steady. Briefly, you see his eyes glance towards the corner of the room where your guitars rest. “Um… would you, shit— will you play one of them for me?”

It takes two whole seconds for your brain to go where his has already landed, freezing when you reach the same destination. 

Only Rafe. 

Was this sweet, too perfect for your cruel world, brilliant boy really asking you to play one of these songs out loud for him? 

Rafe’s gaze on you only intensifies as it turns to panic when you don’t say anything, feeling like an idiot for even saying something, wanting to shove the words back. 

“Y/N/N, you don’t have to— its—”

He doesn’t realize you’ve had your mind made up the second the words left his lips. 

“No!” You nearly yell, your voice entirely too squeaky for your liking as you try to clear your throat. “No, I…. I will. I want to. I just have never really played so… intimately (you cringe—WHY is that first word that comes to mind) in front of another person before…”

The next words fall out of both of your mouths simultaneously. 

“But if I did, I’d want it to be for you—”

“I don’t want to ever make you do something you’re not comfortable with—”

Rafe hears your words loud and clear, like you do his. They wash over him with more purpose, that stupid fucking grin breaking out over his face at record speed. 

Thank god indeed because all that he’s really thinking is please please please god I beg you of you, baby girl—please let me hear these words that you so strongly associated with me; already doing his best to make a mental note of some of these song titles so he can go home and pick them apart with a fine tooth comb. Who the hell is he? Studying Taylor Swift lyrics to feed his growing ego that you actually feel for him. He barely recognizes himself anymore yet feels the most comfortable he’s ever felt. He’s thrown hard out of his thoughts when he reads the next song title that his thumb just hovered over, heart literally doing actual somersaults as his mind goes fuzzy when he finally registers the words “King Of My Heart.”

“I’m always comfortable when I’m with you…Plus…”

Rafe doesn’t move an inch as you step forward, slowly closing the gap between you two until you’re only an inch or two away from him. 

“I’d do anything to make you smile…” 

Your words make the breath catch in his throat, his eyes only getting a glimpse of the wink you throw at him before pressing your lips to his as he sighs deeply, feeling that sweet release now that he feels you against him. 

Your touch is much too short as your lips pull back, a trade off he’s more than willing to take knowing what was coming next. 

With a final squeeze of his hand, the next few moments bleed together so quickly, they certainly don’t seem real. 

Rafe’s surprised to see you pick up the electric guitar as opposed to the acoustic, quickly plugging a few things in before sitting down on the floor cross legged before him. 

His mind wanders back to the beginning of summer, that fateful day when he’d come home from work to hear the not so faint sounds of you and his sisters singing what he’d only assumed at the time was a Taylor Swift song. The emotions he remembers from eavesdropping outside of Sarah’s bedroom door, (pretty creepily, he might add) that day flood back to him, shivers actually rising on his flesh when he thinks back to your voice. 

There’s only a foot or two of space between the two of you. With the guitar still resting in your lap, you lean forward, Rafe’s arms already reaching up to support you as you speak into the side of his face, pressing a stray kiss or two to his cheek in between words. 

“Remember that day we were driving and you first brought up the shopping thing and I told you that you were kind of a dream come true?”

Rafe shakes his head knowingly as he feels your lips press closer to his jawline.

“I added this song that night…”

Wildest Dreams do in fact come true as Rafe Cameron watches all of his come to life before him the second you open your mouth, music and sound filling the air as he clings to your every word, unsure if he’ll ever be worthy of this feeling. 

He said, “Let’s get out of this town Drive out of the city, away from the crowds” I thought heaven can’t help me now Nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down

He’s so tall and handsome as hell He’s so bad but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins My one condition is

Say you’ll remember me standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you’ll see me again Even if it’s just in your wildest dreams

I said, “No one has to know what we do” His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room And his voice is a familiar sound Nothing lasts forever but this is getting good now

He’s so tall and handsome as hell He’s so bad but he does it so well And when we’ve had our very last kiss My last request it is

You’ll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burnin’ it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around You’ll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burnin’ it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around...

The second Rafe gets into his truck after leaving your house later that evening, Taylor Alison Swift (as you formally corrected him an hour or so ago) is blasting through his speakers, having already had the song queued the moment he was walking out the door. 

His mind can’t move past the moments you just shared and the walls you crashed down to do so. Matching the song he knew he had to play first, he feels like a King. 

When he pulls into the driveway of Tanneyhill, he just shifts the truck into park, making no move of turning it off as he sits contently while rummaging through all of the songs he can remember on his phone. 

He can’t remember a single time in his life he’s felt this giddy. 

That dissipates quickly when that one song title appears on the screen again, almost tormenting him. 

It was the last song on your playlist. And while that shouldn’t have been cause for alarm, it literally throws Rafe into another galaxy as he stares down at it. 

He can’t deny the horrific feeling rising up in him, threatening to take over and manipulate every positive thought and memory of the last few hours. 

He shouldn’t feel this uneasy at a god damn song title. Yet here he sits, hands trembling as he reads the words over and over again, burning them into his brain. 

What could they mean? Why would she add this song to the playlist? 

And then the horrifying last thought: Why did this make her think of me? 

He can’t live with the scenarios playing out in his head, catering to every insecurity he’s ever had in regard to you, feeling as though you’re already slipping away from him even though his lips were literally pressed tightly to yours —hands kneading into your flesh— not even twenty minutes ago. 

Not ready for the answers this song will give him, (or perhaps just not ready to face them) Rafe refuses to hit play, instead trying with everything in his soul to forget it, to push it away — knowing damn well that’s not an option. 

He knows, in his soul, deep down this never before played song he all but refuses to come to terms with is going to slowly eat him alive.  

Notes: This entire thing was SO self indulgent! The idea was that Y/N was adding the lyrics to the notes app in her phone each time she was adding a new song to the playlist. (and the reader was following along live time as I made the posts, my brain is truly psychotic, i know) The video shared is exactly how Y/N sings Wildest Dreams to Rafe. This was truly very fun to make come to life. ✨

...

Taglist: @lurkymurker @mackenzielovee @mor-bs @totallynotkaibiased @aaleksmorozova @onlygetaway @itsalexwin @tsnelf7 @starkeybae @kotzmagoatz @maybanks-cupcake @goldenjo @valentinearc @valeriiecameron

[imaginesupply]

Spencer Reid Imagine: Just peachy

Spencer Reid Imagine: Just Peachy

Summary : Reader (female pronouns, no Y/N, third person) is hosting dinner night at her apartment for the time. Spencer volunteers to help with the preparations. Derek is a good friend.

Warnings: Smut (handjob – male receiving, cum in pants), sub!Spencer, the Lord’s name in vain (only once), one mild curse word. (Because some of this shows Spencer’s thoughts, I had to refrain from using slang words for bodily parts and bodily fluids sometimes. Please don’t judge me.)

Word count: About 1.5k

Note: I wrote this really quickly when I was taking a break from working on my thesis (how Spencer went through the PhD pain thrice willingly, I will never understand) and my brain was fried. Consequently, this is the fic equivalent of the snack you make at 3am when you’re tipsy.

"Remember what we discussed?" Derek asked an exasperated Spencer for umpteenth time as he pulled over in front of their new co-worker's apartment building.

"Yes," Spencer groaned softly, adjusting his hair. "I have an eidetic memory, you know."

Next to him, Derek chuckled. "I know. No need to be so defensive," he teased, "just be yourself and there's no way she won't fall for you."

"Actually, it's not that -"

Derek cut him off before he could say anything more. "Bullshit. It really is that easy, pretty boy and" - he leaned over, grabbing Spencer's satchel from the backseat - "while everyone is due to arrive at seven, I can divert the rest of team if you just send me a text."

Spencer frowned, staring at his friend like he had grown two heads. "Why would I want you to stall -" He stopped in the middle of the sentence, his eyebrows rising high up his forehead and his cheeks turning pink when he finally realized. "Yeah, no, yes" - Spencer shook his head clearing his now corrupted mind - "what I mean to say is that I would definitely text you but - nevermind. Bye." Then he escaped from the car as if it were on fire, almost tripping on the laces of his converse.

Not even thirty minutes had gone by and Spencer already knew he was in trouble.

They walked through the farmers' market, Spencer carrying the fast filling linen bag. She guided him through the crowd, making them stop at the stalls that held anything of interest and buying various ingredients for dinner: vegetarian gratin and peach pie.

Eventually, they stopped at the fruit stand where she approached and asked the vendor if they could taste the peaches. Though they were out of season, they were looking quite ripe. The old man handed her a peach with a smile. "There you go."

She thanked the man and pulled back the sleeve of her lightweight jacket before taking a bite. That was the exact moment Spencer realised this had been a terrible idea. He should never have listened to Derek. He should not have offered to come earlier and help make dinner.

She took in the scent and hummed against the fruit, softly so, that only he would hear and erotically enough that he had to swallow down the saliva gathering in his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing. She bit down on the fruit, the tips of her lips curling up and then licked off a thin trail of juice along the inside of her wrist and forearm, eyes closed. Then, as if nothing, she turned to the old man. "They're delicious!"

She turned back to Spencer and he noticed she was sporting her usual slightly bemused grin. "Have a taste, darling." She turned the pale fruit in her hand and offered it to him, an expectant look in her eyes. And there, in the middle of the busy farmers’ market, Spencer felt like a teenager whose girlfriend had just slipped her hand down his pants for the first time. Which, of course, he had never experienced so he didn't actually know what that would feel like.

Knowing better than to disobey her, Spencer leaned forward into her hand and took a bite of the remaining fruit, leaving behind only the endocarp, while adjusting his satchel to hide the prominent bulge in his crotch. It was the way she looked and the way she looked at him, the way she made him feel like-

“Are you alright?” She asked.

Spencer swallowed the fruit, his throat tight. “Just peachy.”

If he thought that was torture, nothing had prepared him for the actually cooking part. The space between the cabinets and the kitchen isle was narrow, which meant their bodies always brushed whenever she passed behind him, and he was already a sweaty, blushing mess.

Just be yourself, he reminded himself of what Derek had told him. "Hey, umm," Spencer stammered, drawling off, "did you know that until refrigerators were invented in 1834, salt was widely used to preserve meat."

He heard her soft laugh behind him, immediately turning around at the sound before realising she was bent over the counter, trying to reach something on the highest shelf and he had just inadvertently placed himself right behind her backside.

For some reason he couldn't even begin to explain, his first instinct had been to touch. Luckily, though, he had managed to stop his hands mid air before he could effectively ruin everything, but now all he could see was the black fabric of her pants stretching over the roundness of her hips and the warm pressure against him and-

"Spencer!"

He started, finally looking away. "What?"

She chuckled again. "As much as I appreciate your ability to be a walking encyclopaedia, I'd really enjoy it if you could put your height to good use and pass me the pie dish."

"Of course." Spencer shook his head, clearing his mind. "Yeah, I can do that."

She stepped aside, allowing him to grab the item from the cabinet. "Thank you, darling," she said, grinning.

"No problem," Spencer quipped, wiping his clammy hands on his leg pants as he subtly made sure his predicament wasn't too noticeable.

"Great! You can go ahead and knead the dough before stretching it over the dish."

"Yes, ma'am." His brown eyes went wide when he realised that he'd just said it out loud. It wasn’t even his fault. There was just that natural authority about her that made him very compliant.

She laughed once more, softly, looking up at him almost endearingly. "You can call any m word you like, darling."

His start stopped in his chest. Was she flirting with him? He had noticed her body language did not indicate repulsion and she did touch him more than was strictly necessary, but he didn't think she'd actually flirt with him. Spencer considered that he might really have to send Derek the text, but he tried not to get his hopes up too much. He was already nervous enough as it was.

She came up behind him, taking a look at the dough he had absentmindedly tortured and shook her head in amusement. "No, darling, not like that," she cooed gently, coming up closer until her body was pressed up against his. Spencer gulped nervously, acutely aware of the way her breasts were being squashed against his side.

Then her hand wrapped around his over the dough. "You do it like this, Spencer," she whispered. Her fingers lodged themselves between his, applying light pressure, making them bend to her will. "You need to feel it. Are you feeling it?"

Spencer was certainly feeling it, but not in his hand. He would almost be amazed at how a simple touch on his hand could make him radiate warmth and make all the blood in his brain rush to his dick, if he weren’t becoming so lightheaded.

She kissed his arm over the fabric of his shirt. "Here, let me show you." He felt her free hand slide across his stomach and down to his belt. His body jerked at the touch.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice raspy and sounding like a whimper.

Her hand stilled over the now undone buckle. "You want me to stop?"

"No!"

It came out embarrassingly loud and he might have felt ashamed for it, hadn't she managed to remove his belt and open his pants in record time. She pressed her palm to the front of his boxers, cupping his bulge. The fabric was thin and damp, doing little to numb the sensation of her touch. Spencer knew there was already a stain from the pre-ejaculatory fluid he was leaking, but he couldn't get himself to look down. Two senses at once would be too overwhelming and he was already trembling.

At first, she just ran her the tip of her finger up and down his length, making sure to trace the small slit where the wet fabric clung to the damp head. He shivered against her and let out the cutest, most delicious whimper she had ever heard.

"Do you like how it feels?"

"Yes." He choked out the word. His eyes were shut tight, focusing on the sensation but then she surprised him, sliding her hand inside his boxers. And, oh God! Spencer panicked, if her hand alone already felt this good, how could he possibly survive being inside her - "Stop," he moaned urgently, his hand frantically rising to grab hold of hers but it was too late - it was too good.

"Oh, my darling boy," she sighed gently, pressing another kiss to arm as his dick pulsed in her fingers, making a mess of her hand and his boxers.

"I am so -" He didn't know what exactly he was apologising for and he didn't have the time to find out. The bell rang while he was still enjoying the aftermath of his first non-solo orgasm.

Panic set in. He had never gotten around to text Derek.

"Don't worry, darling," she said reassuringly before sliding her hand out of his boxers and bringing it to her mouth to lick it clean. "I'll go get the door and you go clean yourself. Don't want everyone to know how naughty you really are, do you darling?"

[ibis-gt]

I honestly would love to read about the first time Cam finds out Luther is shrinking because he has feelings for him. In that hanahaki disease au.

ask and ye shall receive.... cam figures it out. just shy of 2000 words.

~~~

“Aaaand… there,” Cam said, and gave the screwdriver one final twist. He pulled on the little contraption in front of him a few times to test its stability and sat back on his haunches, finally satisfied. “You’re all set.”

It is one of four little rope and pulley elevator systems that he’d set up around Luther’s apartment. It consisted of a small wooden plank that Luther could stand on and use the rope system to raise or lower himself. Each one was operable at height ranges between about a foot and a half to four inches. They let him get up onto his sofa, his bed, the kitchen counter, and the bathroom sink.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Luther protested from his position just behind Cam. “I mean, I don’t get that small that often, I probably won’t use them that much.”

Cam laughed and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of his face, looking up at Luther. “What are you talking about? You’re always shrinking around me. It’s okay, I’m happy to help. That’s what friends are for.” He watched the usual blush spread across Luther’s face, the telltale shiver run down his spine, and smiled as Luther shrank another inch. He’d lost some height here and there during the installation process as they chatted, and had gone down to about five foot even, if Cam had to guess. “Anyway, you let me know if you have any trouble with these, and I’ll be over to fix ‘em as soon as I can. And there’s the bells if you’re in any real trouble - those strings there, see? They’re hooked up to a bell in my apartment, ring that and I’ll come right over.”

“My cat’ll have a field day with them,” Luther murmured, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should do something other than string.”

Cam chewed on the end of his screwdriver in contemplation. “Hm. Good point. I’ll figure something out later.” He slipped the screwdriver in his toolbelt and slapped his hands on thighs as he stood up. “Well! I’d better get back to my place and start dinner. You’re coming over, right?”

“Oh! As long as it’s not an imposition? I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Nah, s’alright, you’re always welcome. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. See you in an hour?”

Luther’s blush deepened and he lost another two inches. “S-see you then,” he managed.

Cam chuckled fondly to himself as he left. He tried not to think of Luther’s condition as cute or funny, because when the shrinking was really bad it put the poor guy in danger. But he couldn’t help but find it amusing when Luther lost just a little height, ending up just a slightly shorter version of himself. And when he went on one of his long rambles and shrank a little bit at a time all throughout, it put Cam in mind of a deflating balloon, which was just too silly not to laugh at. And when he ended up really tiny, and he was just like a little doll, and fit so perfectly in the palm of Cam’s hand…

Cam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was too far. He shouldn’t think like that, no doubt it was terrifying for Luther to be so small and vulnerable. He sighed as he shouldered his door open, hands full of leftover wood and string. He set them on the little table where he kept his keys by the door, then unbuckled his toolbelt and hung it on the coat rack, lost in thought.

He’d been puzzling over what caused Luther to shrink for a while now. Was it just at random? Was it like an allergic reaction, and some kind of food or environmental thing kicked it off? He had a brief vision of Luther sneezing and instantly shrinking down to bug size. No, knock it off, he chastised himself, not funny. A little funny. But don’t laugh at it.

Anyway, he hadn’t seen Luther ever sneeze when he shrank, so that probably wasn’t it. What were the symptoms? He’d make a list, that would help him narrow it down.

Cam slipped an apron over his head - one of the novelty ones his sister kept getting him, he didn’t bother to read the witty joke about buns printed on the front - and started on the dough for his spaghetti. Whenever possible, he liked to make things from scratch. Besides, having something to do with his hands let his mind work better. He worked the problem around in his mind just like he worked the dough in front of him, kneading it, pushing it around, looking at it from different angles.

So. What were the warning signs? Luther tended to get awkward and shy just before he shrank. He’d blush, stammer or trip over his words, either avoid eye contact or stare like he couldn’t look away, and of course the final sign was that signature shiver right before a loss of height. A lot of those symptoms could be attributed to anxiety as well - was that what triggered the shrinking, just whenever he was anxious? But that couldn’t be it, Luther had been anxious plenty of times without shrinking. Not to mention he worked a high-stress job, waiting tables at a local diner, and wouldn’t be able to make it through the day if anxiety made him shrink. So that wasn’t it.

Cam rolled the dough out flat and cut it into strips. He hung the fresh noodles up to dry and put water on to boil, then opened the fridge and pulled out the meatballs he’d shaped that morning.

His brain kept chugging along on the issue as he worked, hands going on automatic. He came back to the present long enough to taste the sauce he’d made, hem and haw, and add a little more garlic, then went right back to it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

A sound startled him out of his thoughts - the ringing of a bell.

“Shoot,” Cam hissed, dropping the sauce spoon. It clattered onto the stove and left little pools of sauce cooling on the glass surface. He’d deal with that later though, Luther needed him now. He switched the burners to low and headed for the door.

Luther’s door was locked, so he had to duck back inside his apartment to grab the spare key. He opened the door slowly and called out.

“Luther? Was that just the cat, or do you need me?” Cam scanned the room, looking for that distinctive neon green jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with everything, but it was useful for spotting him when he ended up tiny. Sure enough, there he was by the strings for the bell, waving an arm to get Cam’s attention. He was easy to spot, as far as things went, standing about a foot tall. Cam hurried over.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cam took a knee in front of Luther and leaned in close, inspecting him for injuries. Luther took a step back, startled by the sudden rush of worry, and Cam made himself pull back as well. It had to be scary to have someone looming over you like that, he told himself, give him a little space.

“I-I’m fine,” Luther said. “I just… well, this happened, and now I can’t really open my door, so I was hoping you could give me a lift over for dinner? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve used the bell. I could’ve texted you.”

The tension flooded out of Cam and he laughed in relief. “No, that’s fine, I just jumped to conclusions. I can give you a lift, sure.” He cupped his hands and held them out to Luther, who climbed on and settled in, sitting down with his legs crossed. Cam rose slowly, being careful not to jostle Luther, and began to amble back towards the door. A thought occurred to him.

“What did it?” Cam asked.

Luther looked up, startled. “What did what?”

‘“What made you shrink this time? I’ve been trying to work it out on my own and I’m just not getting it. There’s gotta be a common thread, right, you’re not just shrinking at random?”

Luther stared at him in open-mouthed shock, face growing steadily redder.

“I mean,” Cam continued, “if you were just shrinking at random, it’d be hard to hold down a job, y’know? Do you ever shrink at work? And anyway, didn’t you say - ” His eyes widened as that thing that had been nagging at him finally became clear. “You said you don’t shrink all the time! But you shrink pretty often whenever I’m around. Am I doing it, somehow?”

“No, no, no,” Luther said hurriedly, but Cam could feel him getting smaller.

“Oh, liar!” Cam chortled. “Nice try, Pinnochio, but I’m literally holding you right now. Is it actually me?”

“It’s - it’s not - not always?” Luther was practically cowering away from him now, and Cam realized he’d been a little harsh.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

“No, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, it’s just… hard to say out loud, um…” Luther fidgeted with the collar of his jumpsuit, avoiding Cam’s eyes. He was red as a tomato, mouth drawn up in an adorable little pout, and so small and cute that Cam’s heart ached. Then it clicked.

“Oh. Is it me, like… because you like me?” Cam asked. “Like, you have a crush on me, is that it?”

Luther let out a sound like a tea kettle whistling, shrinking down at an alarming rate to only five inches tall. Cam couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard he snorted. When he finally got a hold on himself again, the wounded look on Luther’s face sobered him instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to work this out, and the answer’s been right in front of my face the whole time! I swear I’m laughing at myself, not at you. Anyway, you wanna go out sometime?”

Luther gaped up at him for a long moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Finally he shut his mouth and nodded furiously. Cam grinned.

“Or this could be like our first date, right? I’ll get some candles and dim the lights. We could even 'Lady and the Tramp' it with the spaghetti! Or - okay, okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” Luther had started to shrink again, and Cam didn’t want his cooking to go to waste just because his guest was too small to eat it. “Hey, I joke a lot, but I want you to know I’m being serious here,” he said gently. “I’d like to go out with you, if you’re alright with it. Is it going to cause problems, though? Like are you going to shrink every time we’re together?”

Luther shifted and looked away, finally finding his voice. “I - I don’t know. The doctor said if I told you about how I felt, it would get easier. But he didn’t say it would go away entirely… if that’s not something you want to put up with, we don’t have to - ”

“No, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind it. Just if it was a problem for you, is all. I like you a lot, Luther. I’d love to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

Luther looked back up at Cam with a huge, genuine, relieved smile on his teeny tiny face. Cam’s heart melted.

“I’d like that.”

[ashen-crest]

Ambrose & Eli Baking

I asked for prompt ideas, and boy, y’all delivered. shout-out to @chaotic-queer-disaster for specifically adding ‘baking’ to the prompt, but everyone who requested Ambrose and Eli fluff, here you go!

(also tagging @writeblrfantasy​, @drabbleitout​, @the-orangeauthor​, and @shydreamyechoes​ because you asked for Ambrose/Eli stuff)

Synopsis: Ambrose tries to bake bread for Sherry’s birthday.

Word Count: 900

TW/CW: food mention, pain mention, light flirting/romance

It was days like today that Eli wished the sparring arena wasn’t quite so far from Rosemond Street.

To his dismay, his party had beaten him soundly in the ring. A few heavy strikes with a wooden sword, and he was limping all the way home, bruises blooming across his ankle. By the time he reached the potion shop, he was cursing with every step.

But as he set his hand on the door, he drew his shoulders back and steadied himself as best he could. “Hey, Ames!” he called, walking in as evenly as possible. “I’m back early!”

“Hello,” Ambrose’s distracted reply came not from the workroom, but somewhere upstairs. Eli glanced up the steps to confirm the man wasn’t looking down, then quickly returned to his hobble and grabbed a healing potion from the shelves.

“I thought you’d be brewing today?” he asked, forcing himself up the stairs with the vial in his pocket. “You said you had that commission to…work on…”

His words trailed off as he reached the top of the steps and saw what had drawn Ambrose away from his workroom. The kitchen was an explosion of flour and bowls, one that hadn’t spared the baker in its destruction. When Ambrose turned to face him, Eli could see the smudges of white that trailed from his hair to his waist.

“Finished the commission early,” Ambrose said, then gestured weakly to the sad ball of dough on the counter. “Thought I’d try to make something for Sherry’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Eli set down his pack and slowly approached the mess, careful not to limp too much or step on an errant patch of flour. “And what are you making?”

If the flour wasn’t already enough, Ambrose himself exploded. “Bread!” He threw his hands up, casting puffs of white into the air. “I thought it was going to be easy, but it’s not, and I— look.” He yanked a cookbook off the counter and held it out to Eli. The book seemed to be new, despite the globs of dough now gluing the pages together. “It says to knead until the dough looks like a window. How can dough look like a window, Eli? What in every gods’ name does that even mean?”

Eli had to stifle a laugh. Ambrose’s angry flush, all bright pink cheeks and sparking blue eyes, was the most endearing thing he’d seen all day.

But Ambrose would throw the book at him if he said so now, so instead, Eli bit back his smile and gestured towards the book. “I’ve made bread plenty of times. Here, pass me the book and I can help—“

“No.” Ambrose whisked the book out of reach, his gaze flicking down to Eli’s legs. “Don’t think I didn’t catch that limp as you came in. Take that healing potion in your pocket and go sit in the armchair.”

“But—“

“Go, and don’t put any weight on it for a half hour.”

As Eli grumbled and drank the potion, Ambrose turned back around and stared at the dough. He poked it once, twice. Sighed. Turned to the rose statue on the counter. Sighed again. “You don’t happen to know where Dawn is, do you?”

Eli glanced at the statue, its crystals veins gone dark with its lack of incoming messages. “You wrote to her for help?”

“Twice.” 

Eli set down the empty vial and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think she’s with her parents for dinner tonight.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Ambrose’s shoulders slumped, and his gaze on the cookbook went distant. His next question was so quiet that Eli almost missed it. “Do you think her parents taught her how to make bread?”

Eli’s heart gave a sharp crack, and before Ambrose could react, he was scribbling something on the scroll by the rose statue.

“What are you doing?” Ambrose’s frown deepened when Eli closed the scroll with a snap. “Who did you write to?”

Eli grinned. “No one.”

Ambrose reached for the scroll. Eli batted his hand away. “Eli, come on—“

“You’ll see.” Eli straightened Ambrose’s vest and tried to wipe flour off his cheek. “You’re cute like this, you know. Should just sprinkle you in sugar and pop you in the oven.”

Ambrose glared, even as his face reddened again. “You think you’re distracting me, but I will get to that scroll—“

“I’m here!” Sherry’s voice boomed on the first floor. Ambrose’s mouth fell open. “There’s nothing to worry about, Ambrose, I’ll teach you how to bake!”

“Sherry!” Ambrose whipped around as the woman appeared at the top of the stairs, bowls and spoons and cloth held against her hip. “Sherry, I don’t know what Eli told you, but I’m fine—“

Her eyebrows rose. “Clearly not.” She approached the counter without a second thought and hip-checked him out of the way, leaving him spluttering by the sink.

“But—but—,” Ambrose shot another glare at Eli, who grinned harder, “I was trying to bake this for you, not make you do it yourself!”

“Nonsense.” Sherry beamed at him. “This is the greatest gift you could have possibly given me.” With one hand, she tossed an apron over Ambrose’s head; with the other, she tossed the dough and the cookbook on the floor. “Now, step one. Fetch me that sack of flour, and I’ll show you how to sift it properly…”

[scarofthewind]

Slashers x Chubby!Reader || Lingerie (NSFW)

A/N: Hello everyone, I hope you are having a good Thanksgiving, if you don’t celebrate it then I hope you are having a good day! I am horrible, I know I need to get out the mini series as finish the Farm Life series for Ushijima as well as do a part 2 for the sad thing I posted the other day. 

Warnings: NSFW, R18+, chubby!reader, fem!reader, praise kink, authority kink

Characters: Thomas, Michael, Jason, Bo, Vincent, and Brahms

word count: 2.2k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Thomas Hewitt: 

★ You could tell by the way his shoulders sagged, that Thomas was having a rough day. He’d been busy all day ‘hunting’ and cleaning the mess he had down in the basement and at this point he could barely keep his eyes open.

★ So, being the good little lover you are, you waltz upstairs and prepare for a show. You take a nice hot shower and get yourself all cleaned up before slipping into the lingerie you had saved for a special occasion. 

★ Although, as soon as you put on the baby-doll flowing top and the string of underwear that had came with it, you frowned. The mirror in the corner of the bedroom stared right back at you as you grew more self conscious by the second. Would he even like this? I look terrible - I look like the Pillsbury dough boy. 

★ However, your negative thoughts were soon interrupted when Thomas stepped into the bedroom and froze at the sight of you. 

You chewed your lip nervously as you stood there facing him in all your glory; Thomas’ eyes darkened and you swore you heard a deep grumble from within his chest as he approached you slowly. “And what did I do to deserve this?” He asked with a grin, cupping your face in his hands. 

“You looked stressed so I wanted to make you feel better,” You replied, looking down slightly. “Do you like it? I don’t think it looks right-”

Thomas pressed a finger against your mouth and you closed it, reveling in the feeling of his hands traveling around your body. His large calloused fingers squeezed every bit of flesh they could find and Thomas almost blew a fuse seeing the small covering of underwear you had on under the sheer gown. “I think you look absolutely beautiful,” He said gently, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “The color looks good on you, but,” He trailed off, making your heart beat in anticipation. 

“As much as I would love to sit here and stare at you in this, I’d rather it be on the floor,” Thomas chuckled when you blushed, letting him drag you over to the bed and letting you sit down, his large frame towering in front of you. One hand gripped your chin and you craned your neck to look up at him, “Be a good girl for me and spread those pretty little legs.” You obliged.

Michael Myers:

★ It was your anniversary and you were determined to surprise your bastard of a lover before he returned from terrorizing the town. You made sure to pamper yourself, taking a long shower and relaxing in the tub, using the best perfume and lotions you had.

★ You even went as far as buying lingerie, which you examined on yourself in the bedroom. The straps on the legs were kind of tight but you shrugged and fixed pieces of your hair. 

★ The only thing that annoyed you was the belts around your thighs; they made them look so large, almost as if the belts were about to break. As you went to take them off, you heard the front door slam shut and you bolted to the bed, making yourself look as appealing as possible.

Holding your breath, you made to push your chest forward, exposing more of your breasts to the room and you waited for Michael to come bounding up the stairs. “You will not believe what-” Michael came into the room aggravated, but stopped as soon as he looked at you. He blinked a few times before a large smirk appeared on his face. “Is this my anniversary present from you?” He asked and you beamed in excitement and shock. 

“You remembered our anniversary?” You sat up a bit and his eyes followed the curve of your breasts. 

“Of course I remembered, your presents downstairs,” He replied, advancing towards you and groaning when you spread your legs for him to step between. “What the actual fuck, (Y/N)? Are you trying to kill me?” He growled seeing the small string of fabric that covered your pussy. 

“Do you like it?” You asked shyly and his eyes flew to yours as he grabbed your face in his hands. 

“I love it so much that I almost hate to take it off,” You giggled at his statement and his hands ran down your body, snapping the straps on your thighs, earning a whimper from you to which he grinned at. “We are keeping these on.” 

Jason Voorhees:

★ There was no particular reason as to why you stood in the doorway of your bedroom in nothing but lingerie you had covered with a bath robe. Your eyes wandered over Jason’s figure at the kitchen table, his back to you as he continued piecing together his mask that he’d accidentally broke.

★ You slipped the robe off, letting it fall to the ground before walking up behind him and wrapping your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. 

★ You didn’t say anything, but the minute Jason’s hand traveled up your arm and to your shoulder in a loving manner, he shot up out of the chair and turned to you with a flustered expression. 

He had known from the second that his fingers couldn’t find any article of clothing that you were naked; he just wasn’t expecting the strapless lingerie you wore, framing your body so nicely. His eyes raked over your body a mile a minute, trying to take in all of what was standing in front of him. “Do you like it?” You asked meekly and blushed as Jason nodded his head quickly, moving you both to the couch, sitting you in his lap. 

His rough hands gripped the skin on your sides and you grimaced, knowing he’d probably hate the fat poking out beneath the top of the lingerie. However, Jason only nuzzled his face against your neck as a sign of assurance, his hands continuing to move all over your body. You couldn’t deny the feeling of arousal sweeping over you the more you were being felt up by him and you could already feel his cock hard beneath you. 

When his hands cupped your breasts you let out a soft moan and Jason’s eyes locked with yours, realizing that you had been waiting patiently for him to take you. He could cum from the thought alone of you dressed up for him like this; only for his eyes to see and his hands to touch. “Jason please,” You whined, letting out a small gasp when his hand traveled down to your aching cunt, his eyes widening when he realized you were wearing a thong. He groaned as he moved the fabric to the side, exposing your bare pussy to him. There was something about the small piece of clothing that turned him on; he kept those on you for the rest of the night. 

Bo Sinclair:

★ You could hear Bo torturing someone from across the street in the house you were in and by the sounds of pain coming from the female he had locked up, he was in a mood.

★ So you decided to cheer him up by sorting through your clothes and finding the nicest set of lingerie you had, slipping it on and preparing your trap. You called him on the phone as told him that there was something you had to show him immediately.

★ You watched him run across the street and you waited in the lounge chair by the window; you caught your reflection in the mirror in the corner of the room and you frowned, readjusting your position a few times and growing more and more self conscious by the second. 

Before you had time to change your mind about your plan, Bo flew through the door, making you jump a bit in your spot before his eyes met your figure and he let out a low whistle. “I thought you might need a break,” You smiled sheepishly and he raised an eyebrow at your statement, making his way towards you. “I know it’s a little small, when I bought it I was-”

“Shut your mouth,” Bo snapped at your words, knowing very well what you were trying to say. Resting his hands on the arm rests of the chair, he leaned above you, pressing his forehead against yours, “You look beautiful. I don’t want to hear another self degrading comment come out of that pretty little mouth, do I make myself clear?” He titled his head slightly as he examined your flushed face as you blushed in embarrassment. 

“Yes sir,” You replied and he hummed in approval, his eyes darkening as he pressed his lips to yours, his hands starting their journey in caressing your body. His lips moved along yours heatedly and you let out a gasp when his fingers dipped down between your legs; Bo let out a surprised sound and backed up, looking at your spread legs and smiling to himself at the sight before him. 

“Crotch-less panties? Aren’t you a naughty little girl,” He grinned ear to ear when you blushed deeper, a loud moan coming from your throat as he dove in.

Vincent Sinclair:

★ You don’t expect to get such a rise out of him when you walk into the room wearing a beautiful set of lingerie, covered by a satin robe. 

★ Vincent barely looks up from the book he’s reading, and when he does, you drop the robe and lean against the door frame. You grimace slightly when you feel your back crease, creating what some people call ‘rolls’. 

★ Vincent slams the book shut before making his way over towards you with a heavy look of desire in his eyes.

“If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask,” He teased, pressing an open mouth kiss against your neck as he pressed you against the wall. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you let out a small moan from the feeling, his loose strands of hair that had fallen from it’s messy man bun, tickling your arm. 

“D-Do you like it?” You asked between moans as his hands cupped the swell of your ass, groping the flesh there like a cat kneading a blanket. You could feel his cock twitch against your stomach, his pants did nothing to hide it at this point. A shiver ran through you when he groaned against your neck, pulling back and resting his head against yours, looking you in the eyes. 

“I love it, you look breathtaking,” He cooed, moving some hair from your face, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “I love you in everything, especially your birthday suit.” He grinned when you let out a small laugh from his statement. “Don’t let those negative thoughts ruin the moment; forget about all of them and just focus on us okay?” Vincent pressed another kiss to your lips, letting out a sigh of relief when you kissed him back in agreement.

Brahms Heelshire:

★ You fiddled nervously in the lingerie you had on, trying on different pieces to see what would look the best. You’d already been through half the drawer and you were sure Brahms would come looking for you if you didn’t hurry back soon.

★ Both of you had been working hard lately to keep the house in utmost perfection and you decided to make a nice dinner and spend quality time together as a break.

★ However, nothing looked appealing to you, especially not anything that didn’t cover your stomach or backside. Groaning in frustration, you bent down and rummaged through the drawer again, not noticing the man behind you. 

Brahms watched you with eager eyes, taking in your beautiful form before him and slowly coming up behind you. “I don’t like this.” His voice grumbled from behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin, feeling his fingers trace along the thong you were wearing. As if not bothered by it, Brahms looked through the drawer and picked out a nice pair of lace panties and held them out to you. “Put these on.”

You stared at him for a moment before obliging, slipping out of the thong and putting the lace underwear on. As soon as you did, Brahms hummed to himself in approval. “You look quite ravishing, my love.” He cooed, his hands tracing over your exposed skin and his eyes watching your face as you blushed. “Have I ever told you why I prefer women with more on them than those twig women out there?” His hands traced along the underside of your breasts. 

“I don’t think you have,” You replied and he let out a noise of surprise before stepping closer to you so that there was barely and inch between your bodies and faces. 

“The more there is, the more I can claim,” His eyes gleamed as they stared down at you, your body trembling with arousal as his fingers dipped into the lace panties he’d chosen for you, the pads of his digits finding your clit and rubbing it gently. “You like it when I leave marks on you, isn’t that right pretty girl?” He smirked and you nodded. “Good, because tonight I’m going to remind you why you are perfect just the way you are.”

[nepenthendline]

hiiii! i saw you were doing the mini event and i’d love to be apart if it! ok so i’m not totally sure how to request this but i’m just gonna go for it lol. so imagine (just pick any of them) kuroo, ushi, sakusa, or aone (can you tell i have a type) and they see their cute lil wife making cookies or something and singing and all they think is: “i’m gonna put a baby in her🧍‍♂️” and they walk up behind her, wrap their arms around her, and QUE THE SMUT (size and breeding kink go BRRR)

anyways i’ve got SO MANY ideas rn lol but if this is something you’re uncomfortable with or if i did this wrong, please ignore it!! thank you so much🤍

Size and breeding kink - Aone 

A/N: hhhhhhhhh you’re gonna kill me, this is all I want stop, also I picked aone because... its aone

Aone:

Aone arrived home from work, although you didn’t greet him at the door with a kiss like usual. Instead he heard your voice call from the kitchen with a ‘welcome home’. Taking off his shoes and jacket, he made his way into the kitchen. Each step closer brought a stronger, sweet scent, mixed with the quiet music that played.

Rounding the corner, he saw you dressed in a messy apron, covered in flour, and swaying your hips to the beat. The kitchen was littered with bowls, ingredients and measuring cups, as well as the tray in front of you that was starting to fill up with cookies that you moulded in your hands. 

He couldn’t take his eyes of the way your small, soft palms shaped the pliable dough, or how your fingers flexed each time you grabbed a new handful from the bowl. The balls of cookie dough seemed so small compared to what he was used to seeing you handle and grip. 

Aone bit down on his lip as he watched you turn your head to send him the sweetest of smiles, almost as sugary as the treats you were baking. His mind was flooded with thoughts of you nesting the house as you prepared for a baby, or how you would bake cookies and pancakes for him and your future children. You looked so cute in your apron, but would it look even cuter if it was stretched out over your growing, round tummy? 

Taking a few, large steps forward, he wrapped his arms around your waist and bend down to press a kiss to the top of your head. His hands could fit over the majority of your stomach since you were so much smaller than him, and his thick arms had you completely trapped to his chest. 

He was never usually too forward when it came to his neediness for you, but right now all he could think about was filling your tummy with his child, his cum. Brushing your hair to one side, he dragged kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, reviling in the way your shivered against his touch. You let out a little giggle as his fingers danced over your skin on your waist, 

“Are you feeling a little needy, baby?” You asked, turning around in his hold and resting your hands on his broad chest. With flushed cheeks he nodded, leaning down to kiss you gently.

“Mhm, wanna fill you up,” he muttered against your lips. Even though his cock was strained in his jeans and his mind was racing over you, he was still so delicate when he held you or kissed you, as if you would break. 

His hands shook ever so slightly as he helped untie the apron from your back, and he only broke the kiss to pull it off, along with ridding you of your trousers and underwear. One hand left your waist and trailed down to your folds, dragging a finger across them to smear your wetness. One thick finger prodded at your entrance, sliding in with a slight stretch and pulling a moan from you. 

He continued to kiss you as his hand worked at your core at a steady pace, building up your release but never fast enough to reach your high. He loved having his fingers deep in your pussy, or getting his face soaked as you rocked over his tongue, but he needed his cock in you immediately - he told himself he’d make it up to you next him. 

You whined at the emptiness, clenching around nothing to feel some sort of friction, but that quickly changed to a squeak of surprise when he lifted you by your thighs and laid you down on the kitchen table. Wasting no time, he pulled his thick cock from his trousers, pumping it a few times before lining it up to your pussy. With one look to meet your eyes, he silently asked for your approval, to which you nodded and gripped his arm, preparing for what was to come. 

He stared intensely as his dick stretched out your cunt, filling you well as you clenched tightly around him. No matter how many times you took him, it was always a tight fit - a perfect plug to keep all of his cum inside you. 

His body bent over you as he pounded into your pussy, blocking the light from above with his size. You looked so desperate, so vulnerable beneath him, and a groan was ripped from his throat at the thought of being the only one to take care of you like this. 

One hand moved to your stomach, fingers spread out over your entire lower torso and kneading at the flesh. He could feel the small bulge in your tummy every time his hips thrusted forward, driving him crazy. If he came enough in you he knew that bulge would stay for him to admire whenever he desired. 

“‘M gonna cum inside you. Gonna make you so full, so round baby,” he murmured in your ear between groans. His deep voice alone has you whining and clenching around his dick, trying to force his cum into you. “Wanna see you with a big, beautiful tummy.”

His face and neck were stained with red as he gasped, unable to hold out any longer. Thick ropes of his cum lined your walls as his cock twitched, and the warm fullness was the trigger to send you into your own orgasm. Your back arched off of the table, supported by one of his large hands as your body spasmed around him. 

After your fuzzy sight came back to focus, you watched him panting above you, trying to catch his breath while still towering over your body. He bent his neck down, placing a passionate yet soft kiss on your lips, before burying his head by your throat. Your hand lifted to run through his hair, trying to tame it somewhat and settled on his shoulder. 

“You can take it out now y’know? We can go cuddle on the sofa or take a bath together,” you murmur, too tired to put much effort into it. But you felt him shake his head against your neck. 

“Need to stay here for a bit longer, gotta make sure my cum doesn’t go to waste.”

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Fire and Darkness Chapter 7

The Darkling x reader

Word Count: 1181

Summary: Moving into position . . .

He’d done it. The crazy son of a bitch (for real, considering what you remembered about Baghra) had actually managed to convince the King of Ravka to create a secondary army of Grisha, ‘creatively’ named the Second Army. It’d taken time to gather enough money to dress like something other than refugees and maneuver yourselves into the ideal position to be invited into the king’s presence, but the pair of you had managed it. Both of you tried not to linger on the fact that neither one of you seemed to be aging; that was a problem for later, after everything was settled. 

Success aside, you did not like being separated from him for as long as you had been recently. He’d left you--albeit unwillingly--in a town near to Os Alta to wait for him to be able to bring you in. Months, it’d been, but you weren’t exactly sure how many. The days all ran together as you toiled them away helping a local baker.

Then the signal came, in the form of said baker offhand mentioning, “Lass, they’ve opened up a position at that new grisha place they’ve been buildin’--oh, what’re they calling it? Right, the Little Palace.”

“A position doing what, exactly?” you asked casually. “And why should I care? Someone’s got to keep you on your toes,” you teased as a way to hide the way your hands were now shaking as your heartrate picked up.

The man chuckled. “Apparently that new general of theirs, Kirigan, I think, needs a housekeeper.”

“And they’re not just bringing in other grisha to do it?” You were careful to keep your tone neutral.

“From what they’re saying, he won’t have it. My best guess is he wants someone without magic cleaning his rooms.”

You bit your tongue to silence the argument that grisha abilities weren’t magic. “And you think I should go for it?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “It’s an in at the palace, and it’ll open up all sorts of doors for you in the future. This could be your chance to get out of this place.”

It was sweet that he cared, but you argued against it anyway to keep up appearances. “They’ll never hire me even if I do go for it,” you murmured, eyes returning to the dough you’d been kneading. “There are a million people with better qualifications.”

“They’re saying he’s turned down a hundred people already for one reason or another. And I already signed you up to try.”

“What--”

“Interview’s tomorrow just after dawn.” He winked. “You can thank me later. Now go rest so you’ll wake up on time.”

~

You already had the job, and you knew it. Aleksander would never hire anyone but you to reside so close to him, especially in his chambers, but why wouldn’t your heart get with the program? It felt like it would beat out of your chest as you were escorted to a large ballroom of the Little Palace; you were honestly worried that one of the various healers around would start asking questions.

That racing heartbeat only worsened when you laid eyes on him for the first time since this ploy began. He looked as beautiful as ever, but it was enhanced by the intricately embroidered black kefta he was wearing. There was amusement in those grey eyes as they landed on you, seemingly laughing at a joke that only the two of you were in on.

“And who is this?” his voice carried throughout the room, immediately silencing the murmurs of the other grisha around you. In that silence, you could suddenly hear the sounds of children laughing filtering in through some open door in the wings. The children, you realized, the first children that would be trained here in safety instead of hunted.

“The newest applicant for the housekeeper position, General,” said one of the black-clad guards that’d escorted you.

“Interesting,” he replied as he stalked closer. “Maid,” you jumped in surprise at the address, hating it but understanding why he had to project this air of superiority over you, “what are your thoughts on this new army of grisha.”

You raised a brow. Okay, you hadn’t expected that. Best keep it realistic so I don’t slip later. “As long as you keep the wolves off our doorstep, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you can control the way your farts blow.”

You could see the struggle Aleksander went through to keep from laughing. “And your opinions on me, specifically?”

“I don’t care who you are as long as you pay me on time.”

“A dangerous attitude for a housekeeper to have,” he was smirking. “One might think you could be bribed by the highest bidder.”

“Then you’ll just have to make sure that you’re the highest bidder,” you couldn’t help but jab, “but I know better than to accept that kind of temptation. It always seems sweet at first, but I’d like to live long enough to spend my money.”

The General’s eyes flicked over to the healer closest to you. “Is she lying?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you’re hired.” Several mumbles of surprise raced around the room, seemingly shocked that he was finally accepting someone. Aleksander leaned closer so that he was looming over you a bit. “Let’s see if you can keep that pretty head of yours.”

~

You were escorted to his suite and quickly shown to the tiny little room to the side of the entrance hallway that would be yours. As if you’d actually be sleeping there. Part of you wondered how long it would take for rumors of a more physical relationship between you and the newly-named Darkling to start circling. The rest of you was busy being torn between enjoying the fact that you finally had a place to call your own and hating the shabby-looking appearance of that very place. 

Those thoughts were thrown aside when your lover finally came bursting in the room, instantly cupping your face in his hands and leaning down to kiss you soundly. You of course offered no complaints after all this time away from him. No, instead, your hands found themselves pulling at the buttons that fastened that kefta closed and kept his body hidden from you.

It was several minutes of near-violent kissing, nipping, and sucking later when he finally pulled back enough to talk. “We are never staying apart that long again, do you hear me?”

For a moment, you were too entranced by his kiss-swollen lips to formulate a reply, but then your senses returned, albeit barely. “Or you’ll take off my pretty little head?” you teased.

He snorted a little laugh. “No, but I have half a mind . . .” he trailed off for a moment. “No, my mind is made up. You’re coming with me.” 

You yelped as you found yourself thrown over his shoulder to be carried elsewhere. “Sasha, what are you doing?!”

“I thought it was obvious?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m bringing you to our bed and not letting you out for at least the rest of the night.”

[chrisbitchtree]

The Thrill of the Hunt

This got a little away from me, but I had to write something inspired by @psychicwarfarebaby headcannon about Billy hunting and fishing with Steve's father!

***

Billy had never met Steve’s dad before, but from what he’d heard, John Harrington wasn’t a bad guy, it was just that he and Steve had never connected. He’d had a lot of expectations for how Steve would be, and Steve never really met those expectations.

He’d dreamed of taking his son hunting and fishing and to football games at Notre Dame, and that just wasn’t what Steve was into. He liked to bake and go on nature walks with his mother and showed a talent for swimming and basketball early on, instead of John’s beloved football and baseball. He’d supported Steve as much as he could, but never stopped being disappointed when Steve continued to shoot down his attempts to share his interests with him.

Steve had told Billy that he felt bad about it, but it was too late to really change things. It was better to lead their separate lives, connecting in the few places that they could.

One of the connections they shared was their mutual love of Steve’s mom’s spaghetti and meatballs, always served with cheesy garlic toast. Every once in a while, she would take a Saturday and make the spaghetti noodles from scratch, fully indulging her husband and son. This was one such Saturday, and Billy had the honour of being invited.

He and Steve had been dating for about a year and a half, and he’d come over that particular afternoon to help Steve with his college admissions essays, which were frankly a bit of a mess. He found the other boy in the kitchen with his mother, kneading pasta dough. Billy was a regular enough fixture around the Harrington house at this point to not feel awkward around Steve’s mother. She greeted him as he grabbed a glass of water and sat down at the large kitchen island to wait for them to finish up.

“Hello, Billy! So nice to see you!” She had an extra pep in her step, and Billy was happy to see it.

“Wow, pasta from scratch! What’s the special occasion?” Mrs. Harrington grinned.

“Steve’s father is coming home this afternoon after a long business trip. I’m surprising him with his favourite meal. You’ve never met my husband, have you Billy? You must stay for dinner!” Steve shot a panicked look Billy’s way, shaking his head vigorously. Billy didn’t know what to do. Steve’s mom looked so excited. Against his better judgement, he agreed to stay.

“Of course, I’d love to stay for dinner. Anything you’ve made is bound to be delicious!” Steve’s mom beamed.

“Lovely! Why don’t you boys go up to Steve’s room and work on your project, and I’ll call you down when it’s time for dinner?” Before he could even verbally agree, Steve was pulling him up to his room. As soon as the door was closed, Steve let loose.

“Why would you agree to stay? This is going to be a mess. Things are always so awkward with my dad. Why do you think you’ve never met him before? It’s better to just keep things separate. Whatever you do, don’t engage him in conversation, don’t give drawn out replies. Politely nod or give one-word answers when he talks to you. Do. Not. Engage. I’ve warned you about him. This is your fault. If it goes bad, no blow jobs for a week. I swear.” What had Billy gotten himself into?

They worked on Steve’s essays for the next few hours, until they heard his mother call up the stairs, telling them it was time to wash up and come down for dinner. They washed their hands in the bathroom, then each took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

Steve’s father was pleasant enough if a bit hard on Steve about his lack of drive. He asked Steve how his college admissions were going, and how he was doing in his classes, promising to try to go to at least one of Steve’s basketball games this season.

Things took a turn for the worse when he turned his attention on Billy. Billy didn’t exactly have the world’s greatest dad, so he was always looking to please anyone who acted like a father figure, and add to it the fact that this was his boyfriends father, even if said father didn’t know that particular detail, and Billy was screwed.

“So Billy, do you like hunting? Deer season is coming up.” In an effort to please Mr. Harrington, Billy nodded his head yes.

“I love hunting, sir. My father goes most years, and he’s taken me a few times. There’s nothing like it.” Steve glared pointedly at him, but Billy couldn’t stop himself.

“I’d love to go with you sometime. Maybe Steve and I could accompany you some weekend.” This earned him a kick under the table from Steve.

“I’d love that, Billy, I really would. I’m a big hunter myself. Deer, moose, turkey, pheasant. I even got a bear once. Not the tastiest meat, I’ll say, but it’s a great story to tell. Has Steve showed you my collection of antlers?” He then turned his attention back to Steve.

“See Steve, you could learn a thing or too about being a real man from Billy here. I’m home for the next month. You and Billy will have to come with me to the hunt camp some weekend soon.” Steve looked downright miserable. Billy had to do something.

“Well, Mr. Harrington, as much as I’d love to go hunting with you, I don’t have my gun licence. My dad’s let me shoot the gun a few times, and I have a good shot, but let’s just keep that on the downlow, for legal purposes.” Billy was proud of his quick save. Steve’s dad could not be deterred.

“That’s an easy enough fix. You can take a gun course in a single weekend, and you’ll be ready to go!” Shit, Billy had really thought he’d gotten them out of it.

Steve was not impressed that he had to spend the whole next weekend learning gun safety with Billy, and no, he would not let that count as their date for the weekend, so on top of the course fees, Billy still had to pay for dinner and a movie to get Steve to grumble even a little bit less.

He’d also had to bribe Hopper into letting him borrow his hunting rifle by promising to babysit El for free for the next six Thursdays, so Hopper could have date nights with Joyce. All of his free time was quickly sliding through his fingers.

Then came the actual day of the hunt. They’d been up since 3am, when Steve had pulled the warm blankets off Billy in the spare bedroom, flipping on the lights and shaking him awake. He wasn’t even bothering to be gentle about it, and frankly, Billy didn’t blame him. They’d sat bleary eyed in the truck beside Steve’s dad, sipping coffee, and trying to seem even half as enthusiastic as he was.

They’d finally arrived at the hunt camp, and by 6am, they were on their bellies, out in the woods, in the dark, silent, waiting for any sign of a deer. They were both damp and cold and shivering, despite the multiple layers and hunting boots they both had on. Billy tried to grab Steve’s hand for a second as his father looked the other way, but the other boy yanked it away, and Billy could tell it wasn’t just because he was worried his father would see.

The night before, he’d tried to win back Steve’s favour with promises of foot massages, pastries from Steve’s favourite bakery, and hours of sex where Steve didn’t have to do anything but lay there and let Billy take care of him, but he was not having it. Billy knew the other boy was currently fantasising about waking up in his warm bed, followed by coffee and Froot Loops while he watched old cartoons in the den, and Billy had no way of giving him that.

The mood was slightly saved by the genuine excitement on Steve’s face when his father shot a big buck. He was downright delighted when Billy was tapped to help clean out the animal.

“Come on, Billy!” said Steve’s father, approaching where they sat, eating sandwiches, and drinking juice. “Help me string it up into the tree! I’ll let you do the honours of making the first cut!” Steve silently cackled as the colour drained from Billy’s face.

Steve really thought that Billy had learned his lesson. It seemed that he had, at least until the following spring, when Steve’s father was discussing the idea of taking the boys on a fishing trip. For some godforsaken reason, Billy enthusiastically agreed.

That’s how they ended up crawling around on their hands and knees in Steve’s backyard during the next big rainfall, toting plastic containers and flashlights, digging for worms. Steve’s father said that that was the mark of a true fisherman, resourcefulness. They didn’t need to purchase their worms from the store.

Steve didn’t feel even a little bit bad when the next morning, he raced downstairs to the sound of Billy squealing, only to find sim staring down at a worm that must have escaped from the bucket in the fridge. Served him right for being such an idiot.

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Adore You (Yamato x Reader)

A/N: hi guys. Yamato is your secret admirer and you are desperate to find out who's been leaving all these gifts at your doorstep. Civilian reader. Will be two parts, and since i just found out i have the coronavirus and cant leave the house, i’ll be putting out the second part very soon.

Ps i headcanon that yamato would be very shy and awkward with his crush. i also think that when he is nervous he definitely has really sweaty hands. idk thats just the vibe i get from him lol. please enjoy.

Word count: 4500

Y/N walked down the street after a long day of working in the bakery, kneading dough and icing cakes and sweets. It was a great job, and she really enjoyed the company of the two elderly owners. In her arms was another small picnic basket filled with sourdoughs and garlic loaves and cinnamon raisin buns. Those leftovers served as her breakfast, lunch, and dinner most days and it saved a lot of money on groceries.

Sometimes, she gifted the bread to friends and family though, like tonight.

As she walked the bustling streets, people walking home from work for the night, she noticed a couple of familiar faces sitting in the windows of a nearby restaurant. Feeling a little social, she walked into the restaurant and turned the corner, walking through the tables and past other booths full of people talking and drinking. It was busy tonight in Konoha, everyone getting ready for the weekend.

She came to a stop beside their table, and shifted so her basket rested in the slight curve of her hip. With her free hand she waved to the men, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Kakashi, Yamato,” she chirped, “I saw you guys in the window on my way home from work and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.” Kakashi hummed, peering over his glass of golden liquid at his friend, who he could tell was struggling to figure out what to say or do. Yamato wasn’t normally nervous; he was very cool headed. How else would he become such an important Anbu member? But around Y/N, this woman with flour dusted in her hair and the smell of cinnamon and chocolate on her clothes, he crumbled. Just that smell alone could make Yamato lose his composure. And Kakashi knew that very well. “As a matter of fact, we were just talking about you.”

Yamato coughed on his drink, covering his mouth with his arm to keep from spitting up on the table. Even if they were just talking about her, it was completely uncalled for for Kakashi to stab him in the back like that. He turned to face the young woman who looked down at him with curiosity in her eyes.

“Really? What about?” she questioned, raising a brow.

He averted his eyes to the table again where his hand rested clutching at the glass. “We were just discussing the bakery,” he explained sheepishly, a hand going to rub the back of his neck. He felt the stress coming on, and sweat was beginning to gather on his palms. He felt ill, and more importantly, upset with the friend sitting directly across from him, smirking under that damn mask.

What an evil bastard.

“Mind if I join you guys? I could definitely use a drink.” She motioned to the seat next to Yamato, and he scooted closer to the wall to make room for her. She made sure her basket was sealed and secure before reaching over the table to Kakashi. “Can you sit this next to you? I don’t wanna take up the whole table.”

“No problem.”

She slid into the seat beside Yamato, and he realized just how small their table really was. The chair was clearly made for one person, or maybe two small people. They were just inches away. He could literally feel the heat of her thigh beside his. He was losing his mind, he was sure of it. There was absolutely no reason to act or think this way just because of a woman, a little baker from the village. No reason. It was inappropriate.

He took a deep breath and sipped on his drink. Everything was cool. Y/N L/N was cool.

“What kind of goods are you bringing home tonight?” Yamato asked calmly.

“Uh, lets see. A sourdough loaf and a garlic rosemary loaf. Also, I have about eight cinnamon buns in there,” she listed off the top of her head, “Why? You wanna take some home with you, because that’s fine. I’m not gonna eat all of it.”

“No, not this time.”

“You, Kakashi?”

“Yeah, I’ll take whatever.” It was a free meal for the next day? How could he say no to that?

The waitress came around, and Y/N ordered a tall glass of some sweet drink, something she knew wouldn’t taste like shit but would get her all warm and cozy quick, fruit juice covering up the taste of poison. “So, what were you guys talking about before I came around? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“It’s good you came around, actually. We could use a woman’s opinion here.” Yamato glared at Kakashi, pleading with everything he had for the copy nin to just leave it alone. Kakashi was set in his goals though, and pushed forward with what he was saying. “It’s about Tenzo.”

An even brighter smile grew on her lips, one full of mischief and curiosity. “Oohoho? I see. What’s got you men stuck?” She loved to gossip, it was just something so interesting in her mundane life. Surely, it wasn’t as interesting to shinobi who almost die all the time and always have something to do, but for a village girl who goes home every night to read and eat bread, and then go to work where she just makes and sells said bread, a bit of juicy personal information really intrigued her.

“It’s honestly not a big deal-”

“Our boy here, he’s got a crush.”

Her eyes widened and suddenly, she felt the urge to down even more of her drink. He was interested in someone? She never expected that. He was always so quiet and calm, and kept to himself. He didn’t seem like the type to ever care about someone in that way. She sighed, taking a long sip on her drink, which tasted like peaches and oranges. At least it was sweet enough to help her curb the impending sadness.

Maybe she was stupid for it, but she cared for Yamato. He was such a sweet and kind man, so earnest and gentle. He was everything good about her mornings, when he would walk in and ask for the same hot cross bun to start his day. He would smile and compliment the cake decorating she was working on, and tell her about his missions and what he had to do for the day.

Perhaps Y/N had the tiniest of crushes on Yamato. It was something she would never reveal to anyone else, but it was true. She couldn’t deny herself that fact.

Kakashi stared at the woman, gauging her reaction to the statement. From the way she immediately went to sip away half of the drink in her glass, and the way her shoulders curled in on themselves, he could guess how she was feeling. He wasn’t usually a fan of meddling in other people’s business, but he was beginning to feel tired of Yamato complaining day in and day out about how he could never get the girl or express his feelings. He was afraid of rejection, as sad as that might be.

He was just there to give them a push in the right direction.

“I see.”

“What do you think he should do? What do the civilian girls like?”

This crush was just another civilian. It would be one thing if he fell in love with a kunoichi, someone she would never be able to compete with, but the thought of him choosing another normal woman over her, the envy practically oozed from her pores. What did this other girl have that Y/N didn’t?

Y/N ordered another drink when the waitress walked by. And then another after she drank the second one. Might as well get more down and drown out these jealous thoughts.

Meanwhile, she listed off things that random women normally like when men do for them, things she didn't really care about like chocolates and asking them out to dinner and giving them stuffed animals. Boring things. Things they all already knew. Kakashi agreed that the advice was kinda bland, and he could have come up with that easily.

Yamato eyed her down nervously as she practically chugged the rest of her drink. The woman wasn’t a big drinker, just a couple innocent cocktails here or there, never with the intention of getting drunk.

“You okay, Y/N?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” she told him smoothly. “Anyway, I’m not done telling you all about us village girls.”

The third drink came by and she sighed, taking another long sip. At least it tasted good, that made it easy to drink and drink and drink.

“Maybe you should slow down.”

“Maybe you should worry about yourself. I’m grown. I can handle myself, Yamato.” He felt a pang in his chest at her sharp words, ones that he’d never really heard directed toward him. She scolded Kakashi on the daily for being a pervert, but only kind words met Yamato’s ears previously. “Anyway, about this girl. Have you tried getting her anything as a gift? The things I listed before? Love notes? That sorta thing?”

He shook his head. “Well, no. I haven’t tried anything yet.”

“That’s the thing about you, Tenzo. You’re so modest. If you want the girl, you need to go in and get her. You need to show her what she means to you, since you can’t bring yourself to just outright tell her.”

“The whole bold displays of affection aren’t my thing.”

She hummed, her head lolling from side to side as she twirled the straw of her drink in between her fingers. “Maybe you should try some roundabout approach since you’re so scared of rejection. Send her anonymous letters and gifts, give her little clues that it’s you and see how she reacts.”

“Like a secret admirer?"

“Exactly! That’s sooo romantic. I wish some guy would do that shit for me.”

Kakashi raised a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Of course. I’m almost 27 and I’ve never had a long lasting relationship. I just want some guy to really, I don’t know, just love me. Love who I am, not hook up with me for my body or-or only pretend to like me for coupons on bread,” she complained, quite loudly as well. “Fuck those guys and their bread discounts...”

“Y/N-”

“I’d suggest you do something like that for your crush. Make her feel like you really care about her mind and soul.” Y/N clutched her hand over her heart and squeezed the front of her dress. “So many men nowadays act like horny teenagers, and us ladies are sick of it.”

She really did not need to go into such detail, and Yamato could tell she was drinking too much. Y/N would never say these things aloud if she were completely in her right mind. He felt rude just sitting there letting her rant on and on, exposing her own feelings to the table. But at the same time, he was grateful to know what she wanted in a lover. She never really let on what her romantic life was like, other than single for the most part.

That is what he and Kakashi were discussing before she came around. He was desperate to sweep her off her feet and woo her, to make revealing his feelings easier. Kakashi told him to just go to the bakery and tell her right then and there, but that was just too bold. He wasn’t going to go in without a plan, it was irrational.

“Yamato, I’m telling you, if this woman rejects you, she’s fucking stupid. You’re a catch. You and Kashi over there, both of you could get any woman you want, and that’s a fact.” the woman waved her hand to emphasize her point, only to knock the rest of her fourth drink over into her lap, sticky syrup soaking into her apron and through to her skirt. “Oh man.”

“I think it’s time for you to head home, little miss Y/N,” Kakashi chimed in, “This is exactly why we don’t bring you to bars, you know.”

“Shush. I am fine.”

Yamato sighed, motioning with his hands for her to move to the edge of the seat. He rolled his eyes at her words, knowing she was talking out the ass. “Yeah, yeah. Just get up, Y/N. I’m taking you home.”

Both men were surprised when she lifted her hand and pushed him away from her. Her glare was intense, anger behind those eyes. “No! Not you. I want Kakashi to walk me home.” The man was taken aback by the harshness in her tone. She was normally calm tempered, but her head was spinning and she was obviously growing moody.

“That’s fine by me. Yamato, you’ll pick up the bill for us and uh, clean this mess, right?” Kakashi smirked as he slid out from the booth and picked up her bag of baked goods. She followed suit, climbing out of her seat and grabbing onto the shinobi’s arm tightly. He really couldn’t care any less about her nonsense. It had been so long since they became friends, he’d seen her in every mood imaginable, and much drunker than this. He’s walked her home more than a few times in their past years.

“Curse you, cheap-ass.”

“Gotta go.”

With that, the white haired man walked out the restaurant with a woman in tow. They lived in the same direction, so he started down the street as she stumbled after him, tripping occasionally on pebbles. He felt bad for his friend, really. But the answer was clear as day now. Y/N cared for Yamato a lot more than she let on. It was just up to one of them to make a move. He couldn't do everything for them.

She tripped along beside him, letting her head fall against his shoulder a few times. Her eyes slid up to the man’s masked face, and he felt her hands begin to quiver a bit around his arm, just a tiny bit, but it was still there. Those little, very-telling, tremors.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked gently, knowing she would immediately spill whatever was stuck on her mind.

“Kashi, why does Tenzo want some other village girl?” she questioned, her cheeks puffing out and her eyes getting watery with tears. “Why doesn’t he want me? I want him so badly, it hurts right here.” she placed her free hand over her stomach and gagged. “I might throw up, it hurts so much.”

“Trust me, it’s gonna be okay,” he hushed, a tiny smile on his lips. He didn’t want to reveal too much to her, but it was just so amusing pulling the strings like this. Two of his friends, one a subordinate and the other a sneaky baker, falling for each other right in front of him. With all the work piling up, this was definitely a refreshing take.

“Also, you shouldn't throw up. It'll burn your throat, you know.”

She nodded, and just clutched onto her stomach as they made their way down the narrow alleyways toward her small apartment. He unlocked the door for her when she struggled to fit the key into the tiny hole that blurred together with everything else. He was a good friend, she thought, and made a mental note to thank him next time she saw him. Well, she tried to make a mental note, but when her body hit the mattress in the corner of her small studio, she found herself drifting away.

__________

God, her head hurt so badly she thought her skull was cracking open right then and there, as she lifted her head from her pillow. Light shined in through the window only to make things worse than before. She looked around the room and noticed that her coat was hung up properly on the hook and her shoes were sitting by the door. Her basket rested atop her counter.

Most importantly, on her nightstand sat a glass of water and a couple pills, ready for her to take the moment she woke up. Kakashi or Yamato must have walked her home and put her to bed. They were very nice men, she enjoyed having them as friends, she just worried she had made a drunken fool of herself last night in front of them. She rarely drank heavily, for that reason. She couldn’t even remember what happened, just that she met them at the restaurant and then the rest fell empty in her mind, little images blending together until she couldn’t decipher a thing that happened. She was more than ashamed.

How could she lose control of herself so casually, she wondered. She never even wanted to drink, much less enough to give her this searing headache. Something must have happened last night that influenced her decisions. Maybe she had a drinking contest with Kakashi like that one time before. If so, that was completely uncalled for on the man’s part. He knew her tolerance.

Nevertheless, she needed to get ready for work. A hangover wasn’t enough to heed the workings of the bakery.

She took the pills, and threw off her covers, walking over to her counter to take out one of the cinnamon rolls, taking a big bite to curb her hunger pains. After taking a moment to compose herself, she got ready for work. If she was late, she knew the owners would be forgiving, but she still felt bad regardless. She was going to walk in looking like a complete disaster.

As she headed out her door that morning, she stumbled on something sitting right at the foot of her doorstep on the welcome mat. Resting there, in a tiny little ceramic pot, stood a bonsai tree, trimmed and cared for perfectly. Her eyes scanned the area for who could have set it there, but met only empty space.

Hesitantly, she picked it up and brought it into her home. There was no note attached, nothing to signal who’d given it to her. Just a little tree that she would put on her window sill. It was strange, she had to admit that, to receive an anonymous gift at such an hour. She’d have to ask her friends about it later on to see if one of them had given it to her, for reasons she didn’t know.

But as the days went by, and those days turned into weeks, she continued to receive gifts every few days. More tiny trees in pots, sometimes flowers in little glass vases. None of them at first had anything attached until the most recent piece which when she picked it up to take into her home, a folded piece of paper sat beneath the vase. She made sure to pick it and put it in her apron to read on her break when she went to work. She didn’t have the time when she woke up only about 20 minutes before she was due at her job.

She was more than grateful for the little garden she was accumulating on her window sill, the beautiful flowers and trees somehow surviving despite her little knowledge of taking care of them. She stopped by a flower store in town to get some fertilizer just to keep them alive. It would be a shame if they died since someone was being so kind as to give them to her.

With her boring life, the flowers brought a smile to her face and a warmth in her heart that she hadn’t felt before. Regardless of who was leaving the items there, she felt like she was important to someone. Some person was taking time out of their day to show they cared about her.

Truthfully, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished it was Yamato leaving her gifts. She’d been attracted to the man for quite some time, ever since they met really. He was just so strong and brave, and awkward in a cute kind of way. He was truly the only man of her affections, and she could only dream she was the object of his as well.

It was more than unlikely though. He was a strong ninja of the leaf. The chances of someone that amazing wanting to be with someone as simple as the town baker were lower than she wanted to admit. He most likely had his eyes set on some gorgeous kunoichi like Shizune or Kurenai. Someone he could relate to, really.

It was embarrassing to even admit she had a crush on him. It made her feel so tiny and weak, knowing that she wasn’t his ideal.

So she pushed that thought from her mind. Yamato would never be interested in her, and he most certainly not the one leaving her little notes and plants.

What she did know was that this person was a shinobi. Maybe not Yamato, but they were definitely a shinobi. She set up a trap, at least one she thought a normal person would fall for. Right before her door, she set up a tiny trip wire made of floss at the perfect level for someone to pull loose when they walked up to leave a gift on her welcome mat. Her room was at the very end of the hallway, so there was no way anyone else except her secret admirer was the one to set off the trap. Any normal person without the high perception of a shinobi would set off the trap and she would be able to narrow down the results to a civilian.

Only, the morning after she set up the trip wire, when she opened her door, there sat another bouquet of flowers, as well as an untripped strip of floss.

This person had to be a shinobi. She concluded. It was the only explanation in her mind, desperate to find out who the mystery person was all this time.

As she walked the streets that afternoon after the store had closed, her eyes honed in on Yamato, who stood next to a vegetable stand picking up some groceries. Immediately, she turned on her heel and cornered him between the squash and the sweet potatoes.

“Yamato, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Do you mind?” she practically demanded, and his eyes widened. He did not expect such an abrupt conversation between them. He shifted awkwardly to rest his grocery bag in the crook of his elbow and lean on his left side, arms crossed over his chest.

He knew what she wanted to talk about. It was about those gifts that he had been giving her. It was just a matter of whether she had figured out it was him or not, that was the question. He was kinda hoping she didn’t know yet. He was not ready to face what came after the reveal, rejection or otherwise. He really hadn’t thought it that far out yet. How could he. Just thinking up love notes and what plants to give her next was more than enough to worry about.

But damn, when he looked down at her, hair dusted with flour from a days work, a smudge of cake batter still on her forearm, apron a complete mess, he wanted to cave and tell her everything. She was just so beautiful, so clumsily perfect he couldn’t help but lose his train of thought. He swore he’d never seen a woman more perfect than her, not even Naruto’s sexy jutsu could come close to this girl.

He found his ears heating up and no doubt turning red at the thoughts running through his mind, and he was quick to smother them down. He was not irrationally emotional. Hell, he was ANBU, he should be able to control his emotions down to a tee.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“I have a secret admirer, and I know they are a shinobi.”

He felt himself growing nervous. How had she deduced that? “Ah, that’s definitely exciting for you. How do you know it’s a shinobi?”

“I know because I set up a tripwire last night and the person didn’t set it off, so I know they are coordinated enough to avoid it. This isn’t just some random village boy. This is someone skilled.”

“Y/N, he could have very well just avoided the trap with his natural gait, don’t you think?” he tried to reason with her, try to get her off his trail. Admittedly, he thought she was quite clever for setting up the trap. When he walked over it the night before, he swore it was just a spider web. He didn’t even consider the possibility of a trap in his way.

If only he could throw her off his scent. He needed more time. He couldn’t confess to her now. It was too abrupt, too sudden. He would probably die.

“No, I’m convinced it’s a shinobi.”

Shit. “Well, what are you going to do now?”

She thought for a short moment on what she was going to say, tapping her foot on the ground beside her. Her eyes widened and she smiled at the thought that ran through her mind. Of course, it was so obvious. “The gifts come sporadically, so I know that the shinobi can’t leave gifts when they are on missions. Next time there is a long break in gifts, I will just ask around to figure out who has been on a mission for a while. Bam, I’ve got my answer. It’s foolproof.”

She really had thought this through more than him. She was too good, and he felt himself panicking. He had a weeklong mission in 3 days, and if she asked anyone, they would tell her it was him. He felt moisture gather up at his brow, and he internally cursed his situation. He had to find some way out of this mess without her figuring out it was him.

“Yeah, that could definitely work. I hope it all works out for you, Y/N,” he lied through his teeth.

“I know. I’m just smart like that, aren’t I?”

“You sure are,” he muttered, but honestly, he just wanted to go off and find Kakashi. He needed to talk to him. His eyes slid away from Y/N and he sighed. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Don’t forget to stop by before your next mission to get some of our special food pills, okay? I just made a new batch and you can try them free of charge. Anything for a fella as handsome as yourself.” She laughed, shifting her weight to press a hand to her hip.

Jeez. There was no good reason for her looking so adorable. Calling him handsome as well? It was all too much for his heart to handle. Needless to say, he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t walk away right then. With that, he simply nodded before patting her shoulder. “Like I said, gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. See you around.”

“See you.”

He walked away quickly, heading in the direction of Kakashi’s apartment, knowing he just had to do something about the mess he was currently in, and ways to avoid the inevitable. His heart was racing so fast he thought he might be having a heart attack. How could he be swayed so easily by a pretty face. He had no idea, but he really wanted it to stop. For the sake of his sanity, he needed to learn to be calm around her.

He would tell her soon, get all this off his chest and share his true feelings. He just needed a bit more time.

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Chan: Homewrecker (Part Four)

Characters: Chan x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, mention of attempted suicide, mentions of abuse, a tiny bit of fluff at the end

Word count: 2,410

Summary: Chan caught your attention as soon as your eyes met across the market. Something about him drew you to him, and you knew you were meant to be. However, you were already taken and arranged to be married on your next birthday, so you could never be together.

Previous | Next | Homewrecker Masterlist

“No,” Soonyoung stated.

Chan gave the alpha an incredulous look, “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“She’s engaged to the mayor’s son, Chan,” Soonyoung explained, rubbing his temples as he tried to figure out how to go about all this. “We can’t kidnap her, the entire town will be out hunting us. That fucking twerp already has hunters out in the woods every goddamn night.”

“Seungcheol would say--”

“Well I’m your original alpha; your real alpha,” Soonyoung snapped before the younger wolf could even finish his sentence. “Before we found them, I was the one who watched out for you.”

“Jihoon and Seungcheol are my alphas now too,” he stated. “I’d rather listen to them if they tell me I can save _____.”

“Ah, so you have selective obedience now? Fantastic. Well, if you get yourself arrested or tortured or murdered, you’ll know why.”

“I’d do any of that if it meant saving _____ from Donghae!”

Soonyoung sighed deeply, letting his head drop against the kitchen table, “Chan, you didn’t even tell her she’s your mate. You can’t just assume she’d want to stay with you.”

Chan frowned, getting more and more angry with the alpha by the second, “What do you know? You’ve never even had a mate!”

“You’re right, Chan!” Soonyoung stated, slamming his palms down on the smooth surface as he lifted his head up and smiled angrily at Chan. “You are absolutely right. I wish I had one so I wasn’t going out every other night just trying to find my mate, but we don’t always get what we want, do we? Ask Joshua about it, he knows better than anybody. In fact, if you act impulsively, _____ is going to end up like Lilly, too!”

Chan’s mouth closed, his jaw set as his eyes darted to the floor. He knew Soonyoung was right, and he also knew he shouldn’t have said what he said. He didn’t realize the alpha was so lonely and that was why he slept around. He thought maybe he just had a really high sex drive or something, honestly.

“Soonyoung, I’m--”

“I understand your frustration, Chan,” Soonyoung said, his voice much calmer now. “I know you want to protect her, but we need to wait until we have a solid plan. Especially with that tracker on her, we can’t do anything.”

“Her birthday in two weeks,” Chan reported, glancing up to look at the alpha. “Do you think we’ll have a plan by then?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded. “We’ll just need help.”

“Help?” Jia spoke up as she entered the kitchen, one arm hooked through Minghao’s while her other held her cane. “Help with what?”

“Chan’s mate is in a bit of trouble, and we need to get her out in two weeks time,” Soonyoung explained, giving a quick synopsis of the situation. “The problem is she’s engaged to the son of an important man in town, and she’s being tracked.”

“Tracked?” Minghao repeated, settling his mate down in a chair. “Tracked by who?”

“No, they…” Chan trailed off, not even wanting to think about what Donghae did to you.

“Her asshole fiancé put a tracker in her,” Soonyoung spoke up in place of the upset pup. “We need to get her out without anybody knowing.”

Minghao sucked in a sharp breath, “Ouch…”

“We’ll definitely need the assistance of Shua at the very least,” Soonyoung said, already trying to think of a plan. “I don’t know how he’ll feel going into town, though. After Lilly, he doesn’t like going unless he absolutely has to.”

“If it’s to help somebody, I think he’ll do it,” Jeonghan shrugged with a nod. “Especially if it’s to help a mate.”

“Who’s Lilly?” Eunjin wondered, suddenly appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.

The banshee was almost like a ghost, nobody even hearing her walk over or knowing she was listening, but she just appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Although, it was sometimes funny because she’d even catch the werewolves off guard and make them jump.

Soonyoung looked at Minghao, then Chan, then his eyes flashed up at the ceiling, knowing Joshua could probably hear them, “Ah…story for a different time. Is anybody hungry? I can make breakfast.”

“Everybody who can remotely cook is asleep,” Minghao pointed out. 

“Eh, it’s fine,” the alpha waved the concern away as he stood up from his seat. “Jia, how’d you sleep last night? Anything interesting happen?”

The blind girl let out a soft sigh, resting her chin on her palm, “Wonwoo had another nightmare, and Junhui had his bird dream again.”

“…Bird dream?” Chan repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Junhui has a reoccurring nightmare about a giant bird trying to feed him to its young,” Minghao explained, holding back a laugh. “Now he’s terrified of birds.”

“There’s also Josh’s dreams about Lilly,” Chan noted. “She says he dreams about Lilly a lot.”

“Seriously, who is Lilly?” Seungkwan’s mate pushed, wanting to know about the girl she’d never heard about. “You don’t have to tell me everything, I just want to know who she is. I have...a...feeling.”

“Feeling?” Jia repeated curiously, eyes darting over to where she’d heard Eunjin’s soft voice.

Soonyoung shrugged, “Eunjin’s part of the pack now. Might as well tell her.”

Minghao let out a deep sigh, running his slender fingers through his hair as he sat down beside his mate, “Lilly was Joshua’s mate.”

“Was?”

“She…passed away,” Chan replied awkwardly. “Joshua doesn’t like anybody talking about it, but that’s basically all you need to know.”

“Don’t werewolves die without their mate?” she wondered, settling in a chair and curling her knees to her chest.

“If their mate dies, a werewolf has another chance to find another mate. The heartbreak, though…” Minghao trailed off, remembering how awful it was to see Joshua that way.

“It’s difficult to live through,” Soonyoung continued where his brother had left off. “It makes you depressed as hell, but it won’t kill you like being denied will. I can’t even tell you how many times Joshua tried to kill himself because of it. The pain is too much to deal with.”

As the older wolves spoke, Chan just listened and thought about what Soonyoung had said. If Chan did anything wrong, you could end up like Lilly. Just imagining anything like that happening to you made his inner wolf whine softly. But the two werewolves just chalked it up to him being upset over their dead sister.

“I think that’s enough about her for now,” Soonyoung decided after hearing Chan’s whimper. “Back to breakfast. You’re all growing boys and girls.”

Chan just rolled eyes, trying to get out of the negative headspace, “Soonyoung, we’re all adults.”

Soonyoung turned around, pointing at the youngest with the tip of the knife he held in his hand, “No, you and Eunjin are our babies. So sit down and be quiet, pup.”

-

Donghae knew nothing of your meeting with Chan last night -- which you thought you had dreamed, honestly. The only reason you knew it was real was because he had left a note, promising to meet you again tonight. 

Once you managed to get yourself out of bed despite the aches in your body, your mother flashed you a worried look. You knew your family did care about your well-being, but their fear of Donghae’s power outweighed their care for you. Therefore, you felt they didn’t truly care enough about you at all.

Maybe Chan’s promise to get you out of there wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, you trusted the boy much more than anybody else at this point.

“Donghae requested to see you, _____,” your mother told you as she kneaded dough for bread, flour coating her apron, and making patches on her cheeks. “Do you need your father to escort you?”

“No,” you laughed dryly, knowing Donghae would know if you arrived without veering off course anyway, “I’ll be fine.”

“What’s so funny?” she wondered, pausing her actions to give you her full attention.

“Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head. “I’ll be back later.”

You slipped on some shoes before leaving the house, making sure the door was closed behind you before you let out a groan. Why would Donghae want to see you? Hadn’t he done enough? He’d left you alone after he hit you so what made him feel the need to bring you back all of a sudden? You didn’t have any answers he was looking for, so you were basically useless to him.

As you walked to his house, you made sure to avoid the marketplace, knowing he’d get upset if he saw you going through there even if it was just to get to his house faster. Instead, you went around, grumbling unhappily to yourself about how ridiculous he was.

You truly hoped Chan could save you from this life.

Before you could even knock on Donghae’s door, he opened it with a toothy smile that seemed too happy, “Ah, _____! I’ve been expecting you.”

“I know,” you muttered, but he didn’t catch it as he had turned away to walk back into his house. “Is there a reason?”

“Do I need a reason to see my dear fiancée?” he wondered, his voice laced with a charm that would’ve had any girl swooning.

Any girl except the one who knew what he was really like.

“No, I suppose not,” you replied, knowing if you talked back to him, you’d definitely be in for it.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face you as he held an arm out to you, apparently wanting to take your hand, “I thought I could share something with you. Do you happen to know of Kang Soomin?”

Your brows furrowed as you cautiously took his hand, letting him lead you up the stairs to his office, “I believe so, yes.”

You knew Soomin was a kind girl who lived alone on the very edge of town. She used to live with a kind old woman -- strange, but that gave her charm -- until she unfortunately passed away. You used to see the pretty girl alone in the market, but you hadn’t seen her for a long time. So you were curious as to why Donghae brought her up so suddenly.

Donghae’s house had many stories to it considering his father was very wealthy, so he brought you to one of the windows that faced the direction of Soomin’s cottage. Even with her house being on the edge of town, you could clearly see the large pile of black ash from where you were.

You tried not to show any emotion, your gasp getting caught in your throat.

“She had run off with one of the brothers of your little...friend,” Donghae told you, his voice low and menacing as he stared out at what used to be Soomin’s house. “We had caught her and her mate before, but they escaped. Nobody knows where they went, but I can assure you that they will be found.”

He looked at you, expecting a response. You just nodded, not wanting to anger him more. If he thought you were on their side, he’d have you killed for sure.

“This is what happens to those who hang around with those monsters,” he warned. “It happened to Soomin, and it’ll happen to that pack and their disgusting mates when the hunters find them.”

“Good,” you gulped, unable to tear your eyes away from the ash. You had no idea that was what happened to Soomin, but you hoped she managed to get away safely, and that the pack had been protecting her, but you’d never say that to Donghae. “Werewolves are…bad…”

‘Very convincing, ___,’ you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything awful about Chan.

“Of course they are,” he agreed, giving you a skeptical look. “You’d know better than anybody, wouldn’t you?”

As you finally turned away from the awful view to look at your fiancé, who was an even worse view, all you could think was, ‘I sure do.’

-

As promised, Chan showed up again that night. This time, though, he brought you ice wrapped in cloth; lots and lots of ice in cloth. You were sure you needed ice packs for your cheeks considering how warm they felt when he made you lay down so he could place them on your bruises.

“So,” he began once you were relaxed onto the bed, “we have a plan.”

“Already?” you asked, surprised the pack had managed to come up with a way to save you in one day. “That was…fast.”

“You said you get married two weeks from now,” he stated, kneeling on the floor, and resting his arms on the edge of your bed. “The night before, we’re coming to get you exactly at midnight. It’ll be the morning of your birthday, so we need to get you out of here before the ceremony. We just need the spare time until then to...figure some things out.”

You frowned, “Midnight? How will we manage?”

“We have fantastic eyesight,” he flashed you a cocky grin. “Plus, I’m quite fast. I’ll get you out of here in no time with a little help from my pack.”

“What about the tracker?” you asked slowly, almost forgetting the square chip in your arm.

Now, Chan was frowning, “Well…we’ll have to get it out.”

Your face contorted like you were already uncomfortable, “...How bad will it hurt?”

“We’re cutting open your arm and taking something out of it,” he sighed, not liking the idea of you being in pain. Quickly, he added, “But one of my brothers can heal you! It’ll only hurt for a minute, and then he’ll make it feel better. I promise.”

“I’ll do anything if it means getting out of here,” you admitted, your eyes looking toward the ceiling now. “There’s nothing worse than Donghae.”

“_____,” Chan’s voice was quiet and soft when he spoke to you again, but it grabbed your attention as if he had shouted, “if he ever hit you again…you’d tell me, right?”

“Would you want me to tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He was silent for a moment, just staring at you, “I just do.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “I’ll tell you.”

He smiled softly, a soft grumble sounding in his chest. He stroked your hair back, changing the subject, and talking with you until you finally fell asleep, listening to the sound of Chan’s voice.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found - 16

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: fluff, me feeling sad because THIS IS THE EEEEND

Word Count: 3.9k

a/n: there will be an epilogue coming out on Friday, (FROM CHRISTINA’S POV!!) however other than that, this is the end of Lost & Found everyone! I just wanted to say THANK YOU to all of you that have been so involved with this story. I feel like I’ve gotten to see so much of you guys interacting with this story and loving it just as much as I do. I’ve loved your theories and seeing your reactions (lol, some of them were hilarious). This story is...I don’t even know how to explain it. I put a little bit of myself into every story I write, but this is one of those that really made me do some digging. It still is. It was hard to write most of the time. But it was so, so worth it. 

I would LOVE (as always) to hear from you about your thoughts. Who your fav characters were, favorite parts, thoughts on the ending, thoughts on side ships (lol Christina and Tae!) and of course, I’m more than happy to answer any questions! Thank you again for reading, and enjoy!

Chapter 16. I’m Proud of You

series masterlist

The sound of rain battering on the roof of the shop creates a false sense of security. The ambience created by the repeated sound against the tin out in the alleyway lulls me into a dreamlike state.

           Jimin appears to be in a similar mindset, leaning against the worktable and watching with glazed eyes as I knead the dough to a rhythm I pick out in the rainfall.

           “What’s the next question?”

           Jimin inhales deeply, eyes drifting to the appear hanging loosely in his hands. “Um…how do you plan on coping with a life in the spotlight?”

           Jimin and I have been at the sweet-bread shop for the past couple of hours, trying to make up for all the days I missed from work. Yuri allowed for us to come in today much later than normal due to Jimin’s schedule in the morning.

           Last night I’d glanced through the lengthy list of questions with Jimin and Chung-hei. I’d nearly cried from relief when I found out that she would also be joining in on the interview. Apparently Bighit thought that selling the idea of two close friends at the soulmates for two of their idols might prove to be comforting for the fans.

           “I plan on baking a lot of bread,” I respond with a smirk, spreading the dough in a pan and heading toward the large oven on the far side of the room. On the way I prop the back door open just a crack, allowing a bit of air in now that the back will be heating up with baking bread. The sound of rain grows louder, the strong smell flooding the kitchen.

           Jimin chuckles, nodding along. “And texting your friend Jaemin?”

           “Obviously.” Once everything looks good to go, I set a timer and check the time. It’s pushing eight in the evening, and the rain has yet to let up at all. “Ok, that’ll bake for thirty minutes.” I go to join Jimin beside the worktable, beginning to wipe it down.

           “Next…something that’s surprised you so far?”

           The thread now extends nearly twenty feet, which the soulmate specialist we met with last night predicted would happen. “At this rate,” he’d said, “Everything should be back to normal within five days or so.”

           Normal.

           What does that even mean anymore?

           “You.” I keep my eyes on the table, trying to scoop up as much flour as I can. “You’ve been the biggest surprise so far.”

           Jimin lowers the paper, watching my movements as I dispose of the flour before spraying some disinfectant and continuing to clean.

           “Explain that, please.” Jimin effortlessly assumes the role of interviewer. I chew on my cheek, grinning when Jimin takes up a spot on the opposite side of the table and motions for the cloth.

           I slide it toward him, watching as he begins to clean the other side. “Well… I think we’re becoming friends. Good friends.” My absentminded smile grows as I recall the events of last night.

           By the time we’d finished the meeting with Bang PD, we’d barely had enough time to breathe before launching ourselves into another flurry of meetings. All designed to prepare me for the possible pitfalls of this sudden interview.

           When we’d finally made it back to the house, Elle was cranky at not seeing either of us all day and I was bordering on a mental breakdown.

           In the quiet of the living room, Jimin had sat on the edge of my couch-turned-bed and tucked me in.

           “Take your pick,” he’d whispered, unfolding the blanket. “Burrito or lasagna.”

           My startled laugh sounded loud in the quiet house. “What’s the difference?”

           With some sort of reverenced adoration, I listened to my soulmate explain the lasagna method (piling several layers of blankets on top of the victim/person), versus the burrito method (one blanket, snugly tucked in).

           Laid there on the couch, gazing up at Jimin, I understood why I hadn’t fought against the interview.

           I cared. It was a devastatingly simple and perhaps a little lackluster revelation, but I cared about him.

           Jimin looks up at me now from the opposite end of the worktable with a crooked smile. “Are you friend-zoning me?”

           My eyes fall to that smile, wondering what it might feel like to reach out and trace the little divots it creates in his cheeks.

           “…no.”

           After his marvelous explanation of the difference in the lasagna and burrito methods, I’d chosen burrito.

           Jimin had leapt up off the couch and draped the blanket over my body. I laughed when it covered my face, and Jimin chuckled nervously when he pulled it down.

           “Sorry,” he mumbled. “This is a hazardous line of work at times.”

           Beginning at my toes and working his way up, Jimin had meticulously tucked me in. I’d stifled a laugh when he brushed up against my sides, a knowing smile gracing his lips before he quietly instructed, “Arms up.”

           Rather than finishing the job quickly, Jimin took his time. Gently straightening the hem of the blanket and taking my hands in his before guiding them to rest atop the blanket.

           He took a moment to study me, the only source of light coming from the kitchen. A little light had been left on above the stove, but I didn’t mind; not when it illuminated the way he was looking at me.

           Resting on the edge of the couch, Jimin looked like an ordinary man.

           His black t-shirt looked a little wrinkled, and his eyes were tired. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at the other couch.

           “I’m proud of you.”

           Despite the utter silence in the room, I wondered if I heard him correctly. “Hm?”

           His lips turned down in a frown of concentration as Jimin swam in his thoughts. “I think you deserve to hear it.”

           I stared at him like he had suddenly transformed into a werewolf. “I…I don’t think…”

           At my tone of doubt, Jimin returned his focus on me, surprised to see that I didn’t believe him.

           Maybe you aren’t proud of yourself,” he whispered quietly, as though sharing a secret. “But for now, I hope that this is enough.” He reached out to wipe a stray tear from my cheek, quickly followed by another. “You’ve been so brave, and I’m so proud of you.”

           For unknown minutes after, all was silent. Jimin stayed, fingers caressing my cheeks as the tears continued to flow. I had clung to his wrist, unable to verbally convey what was caught in my throat as he continued to look at me with so much pride.

           I don’t deserve you.

           But I will do my best to love you in the way you deserve.

✂

           The rain lets up not long after the bread comes out of the oven, although Jimin is nowhere near the end of the questions. He continues asking them as he and Jolie head out to the car waiting for them, Sunmi greeting them with a cheery wave.

           He watches with a forgotten smile as his soulmate interacts with her friend. Jolie laughs at something Sunmi says, her eyes alight with some sort bittersweet emotion. Jimin is beginning to understand what that look means.

           Last night, he’d seen the way she was doubting herself. If he was honest, he’d been doubting himself, as well. This interview was going to be high pressure. He didn’t want to admit it, but this interview would largely decide how people viewed his soulmate.

           Yet, Jolie didn’t complain. She didn’t say a single thing expressing her doubt or worry. Instead, he watched on with amazement and admiration as she powered through the meetings. Steeling herself against the worst.

           There had been a moment, as Jimin tucked his soulmate in after explaining the different methods (he’d come up with the lasagna method on the spot, but she didn’t need to know that), that he realized why he��d been feeling so odd all day. Like something about Jolie was so familiar, allowing him to fall into an easy rhythm with someone who should have been one of the last he would trust so readily.

           She reminded him of, well…himself.

           Jolie was cut from the same cloth that he was. That younger Jimin of the trainee days, trying so hard to be brave but still quick to make rash decisions that he later came to regret with his whole being. Quick to doubt, quick to love.

           Somehow, that’s who Jimin saw as he sat perched on the edge of the couch. And after a moment of reflection, he felt like he knew what he had needed to hear back in those early days. What Jolie needed to hear as she embarked on this new adventure.

           “I’m proud of you.”

           It was true. It still is, less than a day later as Jolie sits beside Jimin in the backseat and chatters freely with Sunmi. Explaining some of the silly answers she came up with to the possible interview questions, making a bet on some random phrase that Chung-hei will probably say at some point.

           That pride bubbles up until it has Jimin reaching across the seat to grab Jolie’s hand in his, lovingly running his thumb over her knuckles. He grins at the way she stumbles mid-sentence, eyes flashing to him.

           He sees the way she looks doubtful for a moment, and he knows that she’s internally rejecting the notion that he cares as deeply for her as his actions say he does. He just squeezes her hand a little tighter and silently promises to prove it to her.

           Again and again, if need be.

           “You’ll do great,” Sunmi is reassuring as she pulls into a familiar neighborhood. They’ve arrived back to the apartment at last. “I’ll be watching.”

           “That sounds a little creepy,” Jolie teases, glancing over at Jimin as she opens up the door and slides out. “Thanks, Sunmi.”

           Sunmi nods, smiling in the rear view. “I’ll see you guys in the morning!”

           Once they’ve said their goodbyes, Jimin and Jolie head up to the apartment. They can already hear some of the people inside, and Jolie can’t hide her smile as she hears Christina’s voice.

           “Kim Seokjin, I already told you that I’m in charge of the zucchini, now leave it alone.”  

           Jolie wiggles her eyebrows at Jimin. “Don’t tell me she’s moved on to Jin.”

           “Oh, no. Her and Tae and are pining over each other every chance they get,” he quietly confirms. The way Jolie snorts has him smiling at her fondly. “She’s probably just trying to make him jealous by hanging out with Jin.”

           The two of them head inside, stepping into a warzone. People are scattered everywhere, jumping to and fro in an effort to prepare a suitable dinner for all those present. It’s a rare sight to see in the house, it’s not often that they cook at home. Due to their busy schedules, they either cook for themselves or eat out.

           “What’s going on?” Jolie asks with a hint of amusement as she glances at Taehyung. He’s the only stationary being in the entire house, leaning up against the doorway to the kitchen and staring at Christina with furrowed brows. Almost like he’s confused, but he doesn’t quite understand why.

           Jimin comes up behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “How’s it going?”

           Taehyung shrugs, a little lost in thought. “Oh, fine. Fine.”

           Winking at Jolie, Jimin attempts to sidle into the kitchen. “Anybody need help in here?” There’s a round of applause from Jin, who begs Jimin to come and help him with something. Taking up a station beside his oldest hyung, Jimin gets to work to prepare family dinner.

✂

           “So,” I drawl, posting up on the opposite end of the doorframe from Taehyung. “Whatcha thinking about?”

           Taehyung’s frown deepens, his eyes flitting over to mine before sloping back to where Christina chops vegetables at the counter. “Dinner.”

           “Mhmm.”

           Again, his eyes flash over to me, an accusing look on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           I shrug, enjoying the role reversal. To think, it wasn’t that long ago before I was quaking before Taehyung at work. “You just look a little distracted, that’s all.”

           Taehyung chews on his bottom lip, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flit back and forth between Christina, her severed thread, and his own thread which leads out the door and beyond. Connecting him to his soulmate, wherever they may be.

           “I feel a little…strange.” He admits quietly enough for no one else to hear.

           “In a good way, or…?”

           He shrugs, watching as Christina picks her way across the kitchen to where Seokjin clears a space for her to slip the cut vegetables into a steaming pot. “Sometimes good, sometimes bad.”

           “And do you…plan to do anything about these strange feelings?”

           Christina steps out of the room, and the second she disappears from sight it’s like Taehyung woke up from a long dream. He blinks, looking around for a second before looking back at me. “I think it’s more of a question of if I should do something about it. If that’s even plausible.” Again, his eyes drift to his thread, and I mull over this odd situation.

           In the end, it only leads to heartbreak. It just depends on who it will be that gets their heart broken.

           Before I can respond, Yoongi is calling everyone to come to dinner. It takes a few minutes for us to all gather around, and I can’t help but notice the way that Taehyung doesn’t even think twice before settling down next to Christina. The moment he notices what he’s done, however, that same tormented expression from earlier reappears. I offer him a bolstering smile from down the table, which he hastily returns.

           We all dig into the food, everyone expressing appreciation for different dishes and sharing all around. Jimin blows on his bulgogi before extending it to me with a grin, which I quickly take.

           Toward the end of the meal, Hoseok holds up a glass and a hush falls over the table. “I’d like to propose a toast!”

           Jungkook whispers something to Jin, who tries and fails to hide his laughter. A glare from Hobi has the two shutting up in an instant.

           “To more family dinners like this,” he says with a smile. “And to all our new additions.” He pauses, thinking for a moment longer. “Some of you arrived in more…unconventional ways than others. But I will say this: you make my friends happy, and that’s all I want for them. Please continue to make them smile as often as you can.”

           I can toast to that.

✂

           These lights are making me sweat, but then again, that could also be from the way the interviewer is staring me down with a hawk-like glare.

           There’s no studio audience, no this is something to be broadcasted in about a month from now. For now, I sit beside Chung-hei and try not to fidget in my seat.

           At first, there were plenty of generic questions. A few directed toward Chung-hei or I that were easy enough to tackle; questions like: “What’s your line of work?” or “How does it feel to be in an interview?”

           Now, though, we’re reaching the end and the interviewer seems to sense this. They begin to lean into the more difficult questions. Anything to keep ratings going, I suppose.

           “Jolie, I have one final question for you,” they grab their card before crossing their legs and smiling at me. There’s no kindness in that smile, but I try to pretend like there is. “If you could go back in time to before you met Jimin, what would you tell yourself?”

           I blink. Everyone looks to me expectantly, and I find that I’m suddenly sweating much more than before.

           This wasn’t in the list of questions.

           Refraining from chewing on my lip, I glance at Chung-hei. My friend smiles encouragingly at me, and I allow myself to go back to a previous time I saw that same smile.

           I’m standing beside Chung-hei, grinning wide enough that my cheeks hurt as the intro music begins to play.

           “They’re about to come out!” Hei screams despite standing right by me. I laugh at her excitement, even though I know I look just as crazed as she does.

           The entire arena floods with music, the bass making my very bones vibrate. All around me people lift up their army bombs and cheer. Smoke floods the stage, creating a mysterious aura before the lights drop and everything is plunged into darkness.

           And then, light. Two huge spotlights illuminate seven figures who seemingly appeared from thin air in the middle of the stage. Less than a second later, the already deafening arena picks up in sound.

           In a burst of energy, the seven boys begin their routine. I find that I am absolutely mesmerized as my eyes fall on one person in particular.  

           Park Jimin glides across the stage as though he owns it; which, with some quick negotiating and a bit of cash, he probably could. His flowy white shirt makes me understand why he’s so often referred to as an angel. However, it’s when he smiles that I find myself adopting the nickname to use for future reference.

           For a moment, I am blissfully ignorant to all that awaits me. To all that awaits us, as I still have yet to notice the way my thread shifts whenever Jimin moves across the stage.

           What would I tell myself in that moment?

           The answer comes surprisingly quickly. “If I could go back…I think I’d just tell her that I’m proud of her.” I smile softly at the interviewer, who listens to my every word as though waiting for some sort of slip up to cling to. “For all that she’s gone through, I’m proud. And that there’s light up ahead.”

           Right on cue, the producer signals to wrap it up from behind the camera. I spy Jimin’s smile, making me smile in return.

           The interview is wrapped up within the next couple of minutes, and before I know it we’re being herded backstage before slipping into our different cars to head to the Bighit building.

           Jimin and I sit in the back seat as Sunmi drives, listening to her rant about how well we did. I just shrug, explaining that it’s too soon to congratulate us. The real challenge will come when the broadcast airs.

           “You did well,” Jimin quietly affirms. He takes my hand in his like he did yesterday, and it’s a feeling that I can certainly tell I’ll be more than happy with for the rest of my life. “How are you feeling?”

           I shrug. “Alright, I think. Just nervous for what comes next.”

           Once we make it to the Bighit building, Jimin pulls me aside before entering the doors. Once he’s ascertained that there isn’t anyone eavesdropping, he pulls me in close to his embrace.

           I nearly melt in his arms, instantly relaxing as I take in the citrusy scent of his shampoo. It’s the same that I’ve been using over the past couple of days.

           “Let me tell you what comes next,” he whispers before pulling back to see my face. “First off, you quit trying to friend-zone me.”

           I laugh, trying to shove him away but failing as he keeps a tight grip around me. “I’m not! You’re just being overdramatic!”

           He feigns offense, gasping loudly. “I can’t believe you’d attack me like this. It hurts, jagiya. It really does.”

           “Yah, just get on with it.”

           “Ok, ok. You’re so impatient.” His easy smile proves that he doesn’t mean me any harm. “ Secondly, I have a question for you.”

           “And what’s that?”

           Releasing his grip around my waist just long enough to push some of his hair back, he raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to date me?”

           I blink, unsure of whether to laugh or question his health. “I- yeah. Of course I do.”

           “Ah, so you want to date me.” Jimin smirks, and suddenly I realize that I may have just gotten myself into a lot of trouble. “Alright, I guess I’ll allow it. But I do have some conditions for you if you want to be my girlfriend.”

           I scoff. “Woah, technically you’re the one that asked-”

           “And you answered that yes, you want to date me. Will you hear out my conditions?” I nod impatiently. “Good. First, you must allow me to tuck you in burrito style whenever you sleep over.” I chuckle, nodding along vigorously while trying to memorize the way he’s looking at me right now. “Second, you quit texting that Jaemin guy. I’m the jealous type, and he seems sketchy.”

           Now I can’t hold back my shoulder-shaking laughter. “You realize how contradictory that is, right?”

           Completely ignoring my call on his judgement, Jimin continues. “You let me send you chocolates without complaining about getting fat. I get joint custody of Elle. You teach me how to bake bread, your mother’s recipe.”

           His soft tone makes me smile softly. “And?”

           He holds up his left hand, the red thread shining in the afternoon sun. “When this thing starts working properly again, you don’t run away from me. Let me- let me be your best friend.”

           There’s a lump in my throat now as Jimin’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “And?” I whisper.

           “And when the rest of the world is pressing in on you, let me remind you how much you are loved.”

           His grip tightens just a cinch as I let out a shaky breath before mumbling out, “How do you plan to do that?”

           Jimin’s eyes slowly drop to my lips, head tilting to the side as he smiles softly. “I have something of an idea.”

           The sound of the gate opening to let another car in – surely one of the other boys – alerts me to our ending privacy. Before Jimin can change his mind, I throw my arms around his neck and pull him in close.

           The first clash of our lips is a bit sloppy, but soon Jimin is leaning in impossibly closer to better capture my lips. It’s unknown and hurried, and full of promise for the future. The only thing on my mind is the feeling of Jimin’s hands digging into my waist before finding themselves at the small of my back, making me stumble forward a step. He catches me, lips parting in a crooked grin a single second before a black SUV pulls up.

           Jimin’s cheeks are dusted light pink in the afternoon sun, but soon I’m going cross eyed as he leans in and delivers Eskimo kisses. “I knew it was a good idea.”

           “Oi! Don’t tell me you two were just making out in broad daylight,” Jin groans as he exits the SUV followed by a disgusted looking Namjoon.

           “I- no, we were…uh, I…” Jimin sputters, looking to me for help. I laugh, saying nothing as I head for the doors.

           “Namjoon, you can’t even act like you’re disgusted!” Jimin protests, hurrying after me to avoid a collision with the door like he has in previous experiences.  “Don’t pretend like I haven’t seen you and Chung-hei making out like teenagers on the couch-”

           All three boys trail after me as I stride down the hallway toward the elevator. They don’t stop their bickering as we enter the elevator and Jin pushes the fifth floor button, red in the face as he scolds the other two for their behavior.

           Leaning up against the wall, I close my eyes and smile, listening to the accusations flying around the small elevator.

           It’s good to be home.

Previous - Epilogue

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[novelconcepts]

novel, just look at this https://www.instagram.com/p/CMILP2ZAjsw/?igshid=1ve4cwcbiy69y

mayhaps you could use this as a prompt sometime? 👀 (no pressure)

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen Sharma thinks, is in how many women he’s buried. How many loved ones--why are brilliant young women always punished?--he’s laid to rest. How many times he’s looked away for only a second, only to find they’ve slipped through his fingers.

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen thinks, is in how many times he’s stood over the graves of women who should have had so much more time. Women with new recipes untested, new cities left unexplored, new experiences permanently unlived. Rebecca Jessel will never practice law. Hannah Grose will never see Paris. Dani Clayton will never...

Dani will never...

He’s never even there. Maybe that’s the worst part of all--that he’s always just off-camera, always just this side of where he ought to be. At home, when Rebecca drowned; at the manor when his mother passed; looking at his shoes while Hannah...

And now: now, with no warning at all, the phone ringing in the middle of the night. The voice on the other end is almost unrecognizably flat. The voice on the other end, he thinks, will haunt his dreams for years to come.

“Come to Vermont.”

“Jamie?” She sounds wrong. Not simply too calm, not simply too level, but as though all the life has been wrung from her body. As though she’s calling him from another plane altogether, and Owen will later be embarrassed by his first awful thought: She’s dead. She’s calling me from her own grave. It’s Hannah all over again.

But of course nothing ever could be. Nothing could ever match Hannah, the impossibility of her that summer. The impossible, cruel way the universe had of pushing her nearly into his arms before letting that trapdoor fall open beneath his feet. Jamie isn’t dead; Jamie is breathing into the other end of the phone, as though straining to keep herself together. Which can only mean one thing. 

He’s on the first flight. A bag with a few changes of clothes, a passport, a photo he is to this day unable to travel without. The plane juddering beneath him, his legs crammed into the small space, he presses his thumb to the smile beneath the plastic sheet. 

Hannah, I don’t know how to do this again. He’s never quite known how to do it at all, how to be this person--and wasn’t that because of Jamie all along? Jamie, who had found Rebecca’s body and made all the appropriate calls, her expression stony as she’d explained to the police how they’d found her. Jamie, who had answered the phone that night, turning on her heel with eyes that suddenly took up half her face, apologizing as he’d never heard her do before. Jamie, who made arrangements for food and drink while he stood like a puncture wound in blue jeans staring at what was left of his mother’s estate. 

Jamie, who stood beside him in front of a well, looking down even when he hadn’t been able to stomach it any longer. Jamie, always looking down into the face of cold reality. 

He’s never quite where he needs to be when it happens, but Jamie is. Jamie has always been. She is almost unfairly good at it: standing tall, accepting the truth, holding them all up when they shatter. 

And now, here she is: opening the door in cuffed jeans and a rumpled brown flannel shirt. Here she is, a few years older than Paris, looking at him like she’s never seen him before. Like the woman who called was someone else entirely. He thinks he sees a little of his mother in the blank distance of her eyes, and his heart cracks. 

“What happened?”

She turns from him, gesturing for him to come in. The flat, which has every hallmark of home, is surprisingly warm. Surprisingly messy, too--there are clothes on the couch, most of them things he recognizes as Dani’s from the photos they’ve been mailing his way for years. The floor is covered with pots, lemongrass and tiny succulents and a large-leaved plant he doesn’t recognize standing proudly amid clods of dirt, a watering can, several crumpled packs of cigarettes. 

She reaches for one of these now, taps out the final smoke into her palm, crunches the wrapping. “Want one?”

That voice again, that strange timbre--the accent a little less than he remembers, a little ironed-out by nearly fifteen years in this country, though that isn’t what works a shiver up his spine. It’s so flat. It’s so toneless. Jamie has been many things since he’s known her--angry, aggressive, cool, even violent--but never this detached. 

He’s never seen her like this. He’s never thought to worry he ever would. Jamie has aways been the most stable of them, taking up the mantle when even he couldn’t carry it. 

We, he thinks wearily, are the survivors. The witnesses. No one ever talks about what that’s like. 

Untrue. People talk about it. People who do useful things, like attend support groups, or get themselves to therapy. Henry does, sometimes--nursing seltzer, smiling ruefully at Owen over dinner. We think it’s the losing them that hurts the worst, until it happens, he’d said once. It isn’t. It’s the part where you have to keep waking up, dreaming for a split second each morning they’re still here. 

Nearly fifteen years, and there hasn’t been a single morning Owen hasn’t thought absently of calling her up. Not one where he hasn’t thought, Been too long without her voice. Without her laugh. God, that woman’s laugh. 

“Jamie...”

Her head comes up sharply, her eyes flashing--and then, like it was never there, the expression passes. She lights the cigarette with a steady hand, settles herself back on the rug with it clamped between her teeth. There’s soil smudged on her cheek, caked into her hair, and he wonders when last she showered. 

“Jamie, do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t. He knows that. He remembers too well how she’d sat beside him on a sofa in 1987, passed him a bottle of wine in silence. How she’d said simply, covering all bases in two words, “Fuck it.” 

It had been Dani, he remembers, who spoke of it first. Dani, looking paler than normal, looking shaken, saying firmly, “We should do something. We should do something for her.”

“Sit,” Jamie says without looking at him. She’s already getting back into it, he realizes--working her hands carefully back into a terra cotta pot, brushing the soil from spindly roots with loving care. It’s how she looked after Rebecca, brow furrowed, smoking and working in silence. There are problems that can’t be managed, he understands, and the only way someone like Jamie can tolerate that fact is to find new troubles to set right.

“Where is she, Jamie?” She’s not going to like this, he knows. He’d hate it, in her place. Had hated it, whenever someone dared speak Hannah’s name for those first few months. She’s going to hate him for it now.

But someone has to speak. Someone has to throw the line, lest she drift too far to come back. She called. There was a reason for it. 

“Jamie. Where is she?”

She gives him nothing. Jets smoke, taps ash into an empty beer can, keeps her eyes on the work. This isn’t like after Rebecca, he can see--Jamie back then had been hard-edged, furious that she hadn’t gotten to Becca in time, but she’d at least been willing to hold conversation. More than willing. It had seemed to ground her, reflecting on the Peter Quint of it all, on the shame of not being able to help enough, on how to explain it to the kids. 

Now, she sits with her back against the couch, her eyes not tracking the progress of her own hands. Owen, kneeling beside her, feels as though the room is waiting for something. Waiting for a knife to slide into the bubble she’s built, tearing it open to allow all that building water to rush in. 

He changes tack. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Three days,” she says. Her face is scrunched with concentration, her fingers testing something he can’t track in the roots. 

“Have you eaten?”

“’Course,” she says, gesturing recklessly with the cigarette at a stack of pizza boxes, several empty wine bottles, a dozen abandoned mugs. “All the food groups.”

“Slept?” He remembers that was the worst part, sleeping. Before it had all gone wrong, he’d gone to bed each night with a promise: Tomorrow, I’ll tell her. Tomorrow, I’ll finally do it. 

After, he’d stayed up until dawn in the kitchen, kneading dough, testing wilder and wilder concoctions. Jamie would stumble in at three in the morning, still half-asleep, to find him shoving a bowl of batter under her nose. 

Here. Try this. What does it need?

Cinnamon, she’d say gamely, though she’d clearly only been craving a glass of water. He’d slump against the table, head hanging between his arms.

She’d say it was divine as-is. 

Yeah, well. She always did like to see that idiot grin. 

“Jamie,” he says now, patiently. “Have you slept?”

She shrugs. He doesn’t need to walk down the hall to know the bed is likely sitting untouched, perfectly made--or, worse, exactly as she’d rolled out of it the last time. Exactly how she’d left it, when whatever had gone wrong had happened. 

It’s so easy, leaving things. 

It’s nearly impossible, setting them right again when the bigger problem can’t be fixed.

“Where is she, Jamie?” He hates himself. Hates pushing her. Hates the way her shoulders square a little tighter, her jaw clenching, her muddy fingers stretching to find an unopened pack of cigarettes to replace the one burned to nearly nothing between her lips. “Jamie. You called me.”

“Wouldn’t have,” she grumbles, “if I’d thought you’d talk this fucking much.”

Not true. He can see it in her, the shade not of the woman she’d been when they had met--hardy, rugged, a little grin around her mouth that said she’d make him regret it if he even considered pulling on her strings--but the one Dani had loved into being. We are all, he thinks, shaped by the love they give. Changes the molecules. Turns us from dough to something worth serving. 

The woman he’d met, tempered by a past she never discussed, patience she couldn't quite get a handle on, wouldn’t want him to talk this much.

The woman she is now, the one who had sat in his restaurant watching Dani like she was written in the only language worth knowing, called for a reason.

“Jamie.”

“Stop.” She closes her eyes. Her hands are shaking too hard to work out another cigarette, too hard to urge the Bic to light. 

“Where,” he asks gently. She’s shaking her head. When did so much silver slip into her hair? When did those lines crop up around her mouth? How long has it been, since he was where she needed him to be?

Didn’t need me. Not then. Had everything she needed, with Dani, but now--

“Jamie, where--”

“She’s gone.” Her eyes are blazing, her lips trembling. He has never, never seen this look on her face. This shattered, almost exultant misery is impossible to endure. She doesn’t look like Jamie now. She is only a collection of her worst fears made real. “She’s gone, Owen. She’s--”

She hunches into herself, a single crack splitting like a windscreen beneath a thrown rock. One foot lashes out sharply, sending a pot cartwheeling over onto its side. 

“She’s fucking gone,” she repeats in a voice like a woman kicked in the stomach. She raises her eyes, red-rimmed, and almost smiles. “I fell asleep.”

Strange, he thinks as he shuffles across the rug to wrap his arms around her, the last thought that kicks out when they’re gone. Not I should have told her, not I should have been there, but: I was in the kitchen. Not I should have stopped her, not I should have been faster, but: I fell asleep. The should doesn’t matter anymore, once they’re gone. All that matters is what you did. Where you were. What you can never change. 

“I fell asleep,” she repeats, and there’s nothing flat about her voice now. Even speaking of Rebecca, the Wingraves, Hannah, she’s never sounded half this shattered. “I fell asleep, Owen. I fell--”

He’s pressing his face against her shoulder, feeling unforgivably enormous draped this way over her slight frame. She folds double, rocking back and forth, one hand digging so hard into the other arm that he’ll be gently patching bloody gouges in an hour’s time. For now, he only sways with her, allowing the momentum of her grief to rock him back and forth, back and forth.

“She’s gone,” she says again. “She’s gone. She’s--”

He’ll stay a while--not quite feeling secure leaving her on her own, not quite willing to risk letting her slide back into this space. He’ll stay, helping her in the kitchen (She was better at it. Less likely to poison us, anyway.), and with the nightmare of making those phone calls (Her mum needs to know. Hated me, but still. And Judy O’Mara. And Henry. Fuck. The kids won’t even...). She won’t let him near the bedroom, won’t let him tuck her into that bed. The one and only time he’ll offer to help sift through Dani’s belongings, she’ll flex a fist around a bottle like she’s thinking of swinging it at him. 

She won’t look at him when he steps into the bathroom to find the tub draining over the side onto the floor, either, the sink full of clean water. When he opens his mouth to question, she’ll reach past him, slap down the plunger, stride out of the room without a word. 

Leave her whatever rituals she needs, he’ll think, remembering all those unnecessary three-a.m. cakes. Leave her whatever ghosts she can’t let go. 

He’ll stay as long as she needs, he decides with her beginning to sob at last. He’s never quite been there, when it happens--never been able to look death in the eye as Jamie has. It’s the greatest injustice in the world, how many loved ones have gone on without him, leaving only stories in their wake. 

He’s never where he needs to be, to stop it happening--but he can be here. For a little while, at least. He can hold her, and he can look down. 

There is no justice, this time, in letting Jamie believe she needs to be strong enough to do it alone.