#the handsomest he's ever been. his hands reaching for her face and sliding to her back. her arm around his neck

[philhoffman]

“Attractive.” “Not my type.” “What is your type, Günther?” “You are, Erna. You know that.”

[seancekitsch]

Could you do situation 31 and whatever quote you want with Diego? I’m sorry if this isn’t a lot to go on but you’re good at funny smut stuff so I trust you.

you trusted me and i hope you can forgive me now

#31 being walked in on

#21 “I’m really busy right now. And what you’re doing is distracting.”

#29 “I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again.”

When Allison went out to her living room this morning, she expected to see her best friend asleep on the loveseat, and her brother Diego asleep on the couch across the living room. She expected them to be wrapped in the blankets she provided with the soft morning sunrise gently lighting up their features as she stirred her coffee and had a quiet moment before she woke up her guests and got their day started. Allison expected to have some nice bonding time with her friend who was in town looking for an apartment and her brother who had been finally kicked out of that back room at the boxing gym. Instead Allison didn’t get any of that. The living room is filled with the moans and laughter of both of her guests, now entangled on the floor moving together under a blanket.

She tries to tiptoe to the kitchen as quietly as possible, and she makes it there. But once she gets to the kitchen, the coffee pot is definitely going to alert you to her presence. But also, her house and her coffee. So she presses the button and puts her mug under the maker and waits.

“I’m really busy right now. And what you’re doing is distracting,” the deep voice of her brother calls out.

Under him, you’re taking the time to kiss the expanse of his chest and to drag your nails hard down his back while he thrusts into you. You’d woken up early to see her handsomest brother bored staring at the ceiling, and you figured... why not see if he wanted to have some fun? But Allison being up this early certainly wasn’t part of this last minute plan. Or maybe you lost track of time, which, easy given how fun Diego was. Regardless, the second you hear Allison’s response you’re lightly smacking at his chest and scrambling to pull the blankets up to cover you completely. Once Diego is off and out of you, both of you sit up, faces hot from embarrassment with your backs against the couch as Allison strolls into the living room in her matching pajama set and matching slippers with her fresh coffee in hand.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again,” Allison sighs, her hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose not for the last time this morning. You shift sharply under the blanket as if electrocuted, because Diego managed to get a good hard poke into your side with his fingers right where he knew it was sensitive from his grabbing and groping at dawn during your first round, before he slides his arm around behind you to hold you just a little closer.

“Wait, do you mean me?” you ask, “or D?”

Allison scoffs, but there’s a little sparkle of mirth in her eyes that you can definitely tell that she isn’t as angry as she’s trying to act.

“You and ‘D’. I can’t trust my siblings not to touch my friends now.”

“Hey now, sis, it was all her idea.”

Diego gets swiftly elbowed in the chest.

[fruitcoops]

Coops truth or drink but make the questions JUICY

You want spicy? I can do spicy ;) Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for many, many mentions of sex, as well as Marlene’s terrible alcohol

“Hey, everybody, welcome back to Truth or Drink!” Remus lifted the bottle of alcohol in a ‘cheers’ motion and Sirius snorted across from him. “I’m Remus Lupin.”

“And I’m Sirius Black.”

“And we’re about to answer some incredibly uncomfortable questions for the world to see.” Remus poured two shots and passed one to Sirius; they downed them together and both grimaced. “Jesus, Marlene, is this gasoline?”

Sirius smacked his lips. “Oh, that’s horrific.”

“It’s motivation to answer the questions instead of drinking,” Marlene called behind the camera. “Ready?”

“Nope.” Nevertheless, Sirius took a card off the top of the deck. “Starting off strong. If our sex life was a porn, what genre would it be?”

Remus thought for a moment. “Gay?”

“My mind when directly to ‘sports’.”

“Is that a thing?” He looked back to the crew. “Does sports porn exist?”

“I think that’s just ESPN,” Sirius laughed, sliding the cards over. “Your turn.”

Remus cleared his throat. “If you could get rid of one of my friends, who would it be?”

“James Potter,” Sirius said without hesitation. “What a bastard.”

“It doesn’t matter that you’re the godfather of his child or anything.”

“Nah. He stole my cinnamon rolls last Saturday and I’ll never forgive him.” Remus shook his head as Sirius drew a new card. “What’s the most hurtful thing I’ve ever said to you?”

“I think it’s more the things you didn’t say, if I’m being honest.” Remus bit his lip. “You’re very careful with your words, so you haven’t said many awful things out loud.”

“What’s the most hurtful thing he’s ever done, then?” Marlene asked.

Remus hesitated. “It’s kind of a tie. Either leaving at the airport or not answering your phone afterward.” Wordlessly, Sirius reached across the table and took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “We figured it out in the end, so I really don’t think about it much anymore.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too. What am I best at in bed, and where do I need improvement?”

Sirius took another shot. “I’ll tell you when we get home, don’t worry,” he said when Remus gave him an offended look. “Have you ever faked an orgasm with me?”

“God, no,” Remus scoffed. “Are you kidding? First of all, it’s kind of impossible, and second of all, why would I have to?” Sirius winked at the camera and Remus flicked him on the arm as he took a new card. “Have you ever thought about breaking up with me?”

Sirius frowned. “No, never. I was afraid I’d lose you after we were outed, but I never wanted to.”

“Ditto.”

“Would you ever consider an open relationship?”

Remus shook his head. “Nah. I totally respect people who do, but I think we’re good as a pair. Would you?”

“It’s not really my thing, either. I get to be selfish and have you all to myself.” He looked rather smug about that particular fact.

“What’s the most annoying thing about me?”

“Besides your terrible sock habits?” He took a second to think. “You’re really slow getting ready, but once you are, we have to leave immediately.”

“That’s fair.”

“If you could sleep with anyone in the world, who would you choose?”

“You.” Remus seemed surprised by the question. “No competition.”

“Really?” Marlene chimed in. “There’s no celebrity crush?”

He stared at her. “I’m sorry, have you seen my fiancé? You think I’m passing up a chance to tap that?”

“Or get tapped,” Sirius added, handing him a shot. They clinked them together and drank. “Merde.”

Remus set his glass down and took another card. “What part of my body would you change?”

Sirius set his elbows on the table, narrowing his eyes at Remus. “Nothing,” he said after a short pause. “You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. Oh, this one should be fun. What do you think of my family?”

Remus’ blush faded and he coughed. “Regulus is great.”

“And the rest?”

“Regulus is really great. I’m so glad he’s your only relative on this earth.” With a serene smile, he pulled a new card; almost instantly, his jaw dropped. “The average duration of sex for most couples is ten minutes. How long do you think we last?” He put the card down and looked over incredulously. “Ten minutes?”

“Are straight people okay?” Sirius asked, mildly horrified. “Uh, we definitely last longer than ten minutes, holy shit. Have we ever not reached that mark?” Remus raised his eyebrows. “Oh, right. Usually, we go longer than ten minutes. Why do you love me?”

“Other than the fact that you’re the best person ever and I can’t wait to get married?” Remus rested his chin on his hand as Sirius flushed lightly. “Hmmm. How much time do we have?”

“Try and keep it to a couple sentences,” Marlene sighed.

“You are kind, and sweet, and funny, and you match my competitiveness perfectly. You love me for exactly who I am, despite everything we’ve been through, and you care so deeply for your friends. There, two sentences.” Remus smiled and Sirius leaned over the table to give him a chaste kiss, tracing his jaw with his thumb. “Alright, my turn. Should we have sex more or less often than we do?”

Sirius reached for the alcohol at the same time Remus offered his shot glass. He scrunched his nose up when he drank, but didn’t outwardly complain. “Whatever this is, it’s really starting to hit.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m definitely tipsy,” Remus laughed. “It’s a good thing we brought Lily with us.”

“Which one—aw, come on—which one of my friends are you most attracted to do not answer this—”

“James Potter,” Remus interrupted with a barely-hidden smirk. “What a man.”

“For the record, he’s joking,” Sirius said as he buried his face in his hands.

Remus quirked an eyebrow. “Am I? How do you know?”

“Lily, my fiancé is going to steal your husband,” Sirius called.

“Good for them!” Lily’ distant voice answered.

Remus kissed Sirius’ forehead. “You know you’re the only one for me. Oof, have you ever thought about cheating on me?”

“Nope,” Sirius said easily. “Never crossed my mind. What were you thinking about the last time we were having sex?”

“When was that?” Remus asked, frowning in concentration. “Because if it was at the rink, I was hoping we wouldn’t get caught, but—” He cut himself off with a stifled laugh and Sirius’ eyes widened. “—I have to admit, I was thinking about grocery shopping the other morning.”

“What?”

“We only had two containers of leftovers in the fridge and I was so hungry.” Sirius continued to pout. “Don’t worry, baby, it was a fleeting thought. Do I get to ask the last one?”

“Looks like it.”

Remus’ mischievous smile softened, and he set the card down to gaze at his fiancé. “Do you think we’ll last?”

“Yeah, I do.” Sirius returned the smile and kissed the side of his hand. “I want to spend my life with you, that’s for sure.”

It was Remus’ turn to kiss him, propping his elbows on the table for leverage. It was deeper than the previous one, but still appropriate for the cameras. “Love you,” he said against his lips.

“Love you more.”

“We’re playing that game, huh?”

“Do you want to sign us off?” Marlene asked before things could get out of hand.

“I’m Sirius Black.”

“I’m Remus Lupin.”

“And thanks for watching Lion Pride. Be sure to like and subscribe for more!”

[stardancerluv]

Doubts

Side-Story

Summary: Reader had a world wind meeting with Roman…a kidnapping…passion…but now its almost two weeks since Roman and her were together. Reader is convinced she knows how Roman feels. While Roman, is wondering where Reader is.

Note: This chapter falls directly between parts & 3 of Creative Fervor. Roman is here is not used to being in a relationship or caring for someone other then himself.

If you have read Gotham Lockdown 2020 or Gotham Surviving the Pandemic 2021, 🤪 Roman has continued to grow as a character, while (my consistent) Reader has been along side him.

You had poured yourself your fourth glass of wine. You were finally feeling no pain. That was exactly where you needed to be as you tried to start your new project.

Roman chuckled. “To think I was going to woo you while we would talk business.”

His voice echoed your mind.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “You can still woo me, but I am all yours.” You could still hear your reply.

Your heart hurt. Why the fuck did it hurt. It honestly had all been a mistake. Thirteen long days since you and Roman came here and looked over what Jareth had done to your studio.

Seriously, his men had kidnapped you, albeit by accident and somehow you both had ended up fucking. He was so magnificent, the power he exuded. Your old infatuation had bubbled to the surface. You had not been in the right state. So what if he remembered you coming in that rainy night. You had not seen or heard from him.

Obviously, after a few quick fucks he had now. Just like all the other girls who apparently caught his eye. At least that is what you had read in the papers.

You refused to let yourself cry one more time. You were a lady, a woman. A casual fuck wasn’t exactly a bad thing, women did it all the time. And heck, he was one of the handsomest men in Gotham.

You could try and bop Bruce Wayne after all these years and have both men as a notch on your scissors. You threw your head back and chuckled. That thought had made you smile. Designer by day, torrid sexual liaisons with all the eligible men of Gotham at night. You chuckled again.

******

This was day thirteen. He paced in front of his desk. Where was she? Why had he not heard from you. Usually he had to push the girls away. But you, you just vanished.

“You can still woo me, but I am all yours.”

The memory of your sweet voice still echoed in his ear. Damn you! Usually he didn’t care but you were different. The memory of you tugged at him.

He wanted your perfume tickling his nose, he wanted to watch your eyes as he was in you. Damn, he wanted to also just talk to you. Something about you fascinated him.

“Zsasz!” Clenching his fists, he hollered.

“Yes boss.” He scratched the back of his head, after he entered his office.

“Was there any response to the flowers or the bolts of fabrics?”

“The what?”

“The fabric I had you order and send to Y/N… The fucking bouquets?”

He watched as the shorter man bowed his head. Rarely, did Zsasz ever look sheepish or even reluctant. But now that look washed over his face. He only ever saw it when he fucked up.

“Zsasz, what did you fucking do?” He snarled.

“I thought you were fucking kidding.”

Roman closed the distance. “What about ‘get a really nice bouquet and send it to Y/N’ was funny?”

The man didn’t look at him, his shoulders slumped.

“Or what about ‘I think these are some great fabrics, go and buy them from here and have them sent over to Y/N with my wishes’.”

“Nothing.” He barely looked at him.

“Then why didn’t you do it?”

“You’ve never done that before.” He could barely hear his voice.

“Man, when you fuck up, you fuck up.”

He stormed out of his office. He went over to his walk-in closet. He chose a fresh suit jacket. He ran a comb through his dark strands.

“Roman, you have a meeting in an hour.”

Roman stopped and turned. “Fucking cancel it. They can wait.”

He made it to the elevator and took it down.

Once there, he eyed the rack of keys.

“Sir, where can I drive you?” His driver, sat up and was alert.

“I’m driving today.”

He grabbed the keys to his ‘66 Mustang. Maybe you’d like that. Maybe the two of you could drive down to the wharf. But first the fashion district and then he’d grab some flowers.

*****

He sighed, shrugged out of his suit jacket and laid it in the passenger seat. He put the bolts of fabric in the back. Turning the corner, he found a florist. This was easier than he thought.

Finally, with a roar of his engine he began making it to the slice of Gotham where your studio was. He even smiled. This would be great, he’d explain the two of you would be back on.

*****

Sliding out of his car, he smoothed his hair and straightened his jacket once he slipped it back on. He grabbed the bouquet, went over and pushed the industrial bell. He stepped back and waited.

******

You turned up your music, feeling a good warmth from the wine. You wiggled happily about as you got to work.

Soon, your hand was moving this way or that way. The Mad Hatter’s chair soon took shape before you.

*****

He pushed the button again. Still no response. He pressed his lips together.

Perhaps he could see if your door was open. If you were out, maybe he could leave it all and then call or perhaps leave a note.

He brought a gloved hand down to the doorknob and he stopped. He hesitated. He could just walk.

Like a ghost, he remembered how strong you looked when he had first approached and even stronger when you saw the full extend of what that Jareth did to you. On principle alone, when he got back into town, he would be handling him personally.

He nodded to himself. He had to get to know you better. Inhaling, he twisted the knob. He could feel the cold metal through the fabric of his gloves.

Music almost as loud as it would be at the club greeted him. No wonder you had not heard the bell.

He closed the door behind him. At a fair distance he stopped and called to you. He didn’t want to startle you.

“Y/N.” He called out.

Nothing. Had you even heard him. He shouted again. Nothing.

As he looked around and he came closer, he saw you and that you had painted over the spray painted vulgarities Jareth had left in his wake. The paint was newish, it made his nose twitch.

Placing the bouquet down, he stopped. Something prickled at him. This was new to him. He looked back at the door, then looked back at you. The way your curves were under your slouchy shirt, the way your shorts were way too short. He was reminded of how much he really wanted all of you.

The urge to go up behind you filled his mind’s eye. He’d let his hands slip under your shirt, you’d feel so soft and warm. It made his breath catch, he bit the inside of his cheek. Damn, he really wanted to nuzzle your throat. Or perhaps he’d lay a hand on it, delighting in how his glove would look against your soft pale skin. His stomach churned.

He watched as you sat back and looked at your canvas. Now or never. He closed the distance.

He placed his hands on your shoulders. “Hi baby.” He managed before you screamed and managed to free yourself from his hands. Leaping up, you were flat against your easel. Your eyes were wide, darting around for an escape. But then when you saw him, your face relaxed. But the expression he could not read.

He stepped back and raised his arms. “Hi baby.”

Now you were the one who closed the distance. You pushed him. He was so shocked he actually stumbled back. But then he composed himself and grabbed your by your wrists before you could push him again.

“What kind of greeting is this?” You wiggled and he wasn’t going to let you go. “Stop.”

Your eyes were aflame, damn if that wasn’t sexy. “I’m not a convenient fuck.” You snarled. He could smell something, maybe wine mingling with your perfume he had so missed.

He brought your hands down. He knew sometimes it worked for him. His migraines made his anger explode. It was only once or twice that he'd allow Black Canary or Zsasz to calm him this way. You continued to wiggle. “Stop!”

“No.” Your voice broke.

“You’re not.” He shook your hands as he continued to hold them and brought them down again. “Zsasz fucked up and never sent my messages.” His voice was firm. Some of the anger he had bottled up came through in his voice.

You stilled. “What messages?” You raised your eyebrows, as the flames that were still burning in your eyes met his.

“That I wanted to see you again.”

“Really?” He had to admit, seeing a breathlessness coming over you was delightful. He finally let go of your wrists.

“Yes, damn it.” He ran his fingers through your hair. “I had told him to send you some flowers. And when I didn’t hear from you after those, I sent some fabrics.

Seeing you rub your wrists, he felt a little bad about that. Though the idea of pinning them above you entered his mind and he did like that.

You put a hand on your hip. “Really?”

He nodded. “To correct his fuck up,” He gestured to the bouquet on the table. “I brought those. And in my car are some fabrics I thought you might like.”

******

You followed him out to his car and gasped. “Roman? Where’s the rolls?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want the driver in tow. I want this between us.” You watched as he pressed his lips together, his eyes softened. “I should have never delegated when it came to you.”

Those words brought a sweet beat to your heart.

“You are a very busy man.” You acknowledged.

“I am, but...” His voice trailed off. He opened the door then. He made a grand sweeping gesture. “These are the fabrics.”

Shock filled you as you looked over the dynamic array of fabrics. There were several types, colors and patterns. You leapt at Roman, hugging him tight. You felt as he stiffened but then relaxed. You smiled up at him. “They all look so wonderful." You enthused.

He smiled, it was that kind of smile that hit you. It was soft, it reached the blue in his eyes. He was behind it. The wine still strong in your system made tears prickle and fall down your cheeks. The smile disappeared.

“I- did I fuck this up too?” His voice was almost hollow.

“No… No. I just drank too much wine. These… These...” You let one arm drop so you could gesture. “These are wonderful. Thank you so much.”

You don’t know what came over you, but right there you went up on your tiptoes the best that you could and you peppered his chin with kisses.

He chuckled and actually kind of wiggled. “Y/N, ok… Ok. That tickles. Let’s um… Get these inside.”

******

Clad now only in his t-shirt and slacks, your messy ponytail was gone and your hair loose. Like Roman preferred. You were cuddled in his lap.

You both had put away the fabrics, after looking at them all. They went where they should and that took a little pulling and tugging till they were all tucked away. So now you two sat and rested.

“Is my baby going to tell me what she has been up to while we were apart?”

You rose your head from the wonderful nook of his shoulder and throat. “I tried working on the Mad Hatter’s chair, but I missed you too much.”

“So you missed me?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to spend time with you. How, I have no idea.” You shrugged. “But somehow.”

“We’ll think of something. I’d like you to spend the night.” A smirk that sent butterflies, curled his lips.

“Oh?”

His eyes twinkled. “Yes. We have more catching up to do.”

@spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @nebulastarr @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97-blog1 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @professionalclown123 @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-stories @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @generallj @thebeckyjolene @sioniss @mrskenobi19 @bdffkierenwalker

[captainamericasbeard]

Warm Cinnamon (Prequel to Honeysuckle Girl)

Honeysuckle Girl

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 1,686

Warnings: None.

Summary: Y/N moves into the Tower and she’s overwhelmed by the scent of a certain Alpha. 

A/N:  My daughter was throwing up at 3 o’clock this morning and this dropped into my head. It’s the prequel to Honeysuckle Girl, a drabble I wrote for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ a few weeks back. Read it in chronological order or release order, whichever you chose. Fair warning, there’s no actual Bucky in this one but isn’t the thought of his scent almost enough? 

“You’re really going to like it here, everyone is really nice,” Steve says, making small talk as the elevator speeds its way up to the residential levels of the tower. You smile nervously at him while your hands fidgeted.

“I’m not going to lie, I am nervous,” you said.

“There’s no reason to be,” the alpha replied, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. The elevator reaches its destination and the doors glide open with a ding to reveal a modern yet cozy living space. Large couches and plush chairs surround a huge tv. To your left is a hallway that seems to lead to private bedrooms. From your right you can hear boisterous laughter and the sounds of cooking.

As you step off the elevator you catch a scent. It’s not fresh but it’s there and it eases your nerves head to toe. It’s all warm cinnamon and spices and leather thats been in the sun. You breath deeply looking for the source of the scent but there’s no one there.

“You okay?” Steve asks at your sudden stop. You realize you’re standing still with your nose slightly in the air and your eyes closed. You shake your head to clear your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I just smelled something is all,” you reply.

“Probably dinner. It’s Italian night and Sam goes a bit heavy on the garlic. Hope you packed your toothbrush,” Steve says chuckling at his own joke. You have to laugh at him as he puts your bags down by the elevator and leads you to the kitchen.

The whole team is gathered there and it’s an intimidating sight that stops you in your tracks. Your overwhelmed with the scents of all the alphas in the room but none of them is the one you caught by the elevator. Your shoulders slump slightly in disappointment.

“Team, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the team!” Steve announces and every eye turns towards you. They’re all friendly smiles and waves and a girl with long red hair gets up to wrap you in a warm hug.

“I’m Wanda! Let me introduce you around,” she says, kindly hooking her elbow in yours and guiding you around the room. She introduces you to everyone and settles you at the table next to her as dinner is served up. You fears and nerves are quickly calmed in the presence of these heroes. After a dinner of traditional spaghetti and meatballs and a dessert of tiramisu (Sam really goes all out) Steve catches you yawning into the back of your hand.

“Ready for bed?” He leans over and asks quietly.

“Yes, please,” you murmur sleepily. Steve gets up and announces your departure to bed while you stand and offer a wave to the group. Wanda stands and gives you another hug.

“Movies and drinks tomorrow night, yeah?” She asks glancing at Natasha.

“Absolutely,” you say, giving her hand a squeeze.

You follow Steve into the hall where he’s grabbing your bags. There’s that scent again and it gets stronger as you move down the hall. You stop in front of a closed door.

“Whose room is this?” You ask Steve, feeling rather sheepish.

“That’s Bucky,” Steve says, “he’s away on a mission. Left today.” The disappointment is clear on your face.

“For how long?” You ask.

“Couple of months at least. Sorry kid.” Steve says, chuckling at your obviously smitten state. He gently puts his hand on your back and leads you to your room. He opens the door to a beautiful cozy room complete with flowers on the bedside table.

“Wanda’s been pretty excited for you to move in. She’s the only omega in the house so I think she’s been looking forward to a friend.” You smile thinking of Wanda as you open your bags searching for a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Thank you Steve. For everything,” you say and the alpha gives you a quick squeeze before he leaves closing the door behind him.

You toss and turn for a few hours until you hear everyone’s doors close for the night. Once it’s all silent you sneak from your bed, down the hallway to Bucky’s door. Looking to your left and right you silently open the door and slip into his room. It’s simple with a messy bed, a set of drawers and an overflowing bookcase. But more importantly it smells wonderful. You lean against the closed door as you breathe in his scent for a few minutes. You feel totally relaxed as waves of spices and leather wash over you.

You know you can’t sleep in here so you slip over to the open closet and sneak out a well worn hoodie. You slide it on and zip it up letting the warmth of Bucky’s scent envelope you. You tip toe back over to the door and slip out, closing it behind you. You turn around and there’s a super soldier leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a shit eating grin on his face.

“Watcha doin’, Y/N?” He asks.

“Nothing!” You reply.

“That’s Bucky’s favorite hoodie, you know.” You wrap your arms tightly around yourself as if Steve is going to try to wrestle the hoodie away from you.

“I can tell,” you say a slow smile stealing over you features.

“Alright,” Steve says with a sigh, “back to bed, kid.”

“Okay, Dad,” you joke sticking your tongue out at him as you follow him back up the hall. You slip into your bed and pull the hood over your head. You breathe deep and slip off into a sleep filled with dreams of a mystery man you’ve never met.

————

Over the next 3 months the entire team learns of your crush. You get caught sneaking out of Bucky’s room several times. Sometimes you slip in there when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Othertimes you just want to feel close to him so you lie in his bed while you scroll on your phone. And you’ve started walking around in his clothes which is pretty much a dead giveaway. Even clueless Clint eventually figures it out.

Sam teases you mercilessly about it. When you learn he’s in contact with Bucky you have to promise to do the washing up for 2 weeks to keep him from saying anything. Nat thinks it’s sweet. You had been most intimidated by the super spy at first but after a few movie nights you realize she’s and old softie with a romantic streak. Wanda shows you pictures of Bucky and you’re pleasantly surprised to find he’s the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

One day Steve comes into the kitchen at breakfast and announces that Bucky will be returning the next day. Your heart skips a few beats and your stomach does flip flops while the rest of the team turns and looks at you.

“What?!” You cry out, crossing your arms defensively.

“Whats your move, kid?” Sam asks. You sit there with your arms crossed, staring at your empty plate and worrying your bottom lip for a few minutes. An idea crosses your mind and you look to Wanda to see what she thinks. The red head easily reads your thoughts and gives a shrug of her shoulders while she nods.

“I think it could work,” she says nonchalantly.

“What?” Sam asks impatiently. You swiftly get up from your seat and dump your plate in the sink as you scurry out to put your plan in action.

You go out and buy beautiful fresh white linens and a new white comforter for Bucky’s bed. Then you come home and spend hours meticulously crafting the loveliest nest you ever seen out of every pillow and blanket you can find in the tower. Finally you put on your favorite bright yellow scarf and curl up in the nest to take a nap, letting your scent fill the room. When you’re done sleeping, you curl the scarf up in the middle of the bed. An offering for having taken so many of Bucky’s clothes.

The next day is torture. Your a bundle of nerves, annoying everyone as you pace the tower and wait for Bucky. Finally around 3 o’clock Steve finds you and informs you that Bucky probably won’t be in till past midnight. You look as though you could burst into tears.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know how anxious you are to meet him. I can smell it off of you.” Steve says with a kind smile.

“It’s not that Steve. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he hates my scent. What if I’ve been dreaming about him for 3 months and it all means nothing.” You spilled out all your fears as Steve wrapped you up in a hug. Steve was all sunshine and fresh cut grass and while it was nice, it wasn’t Bucky.

“He’s going to like you, I’m sure of it. And the way you caught his scent when you first got here, the way it was the only thing that could calm you down at times, I honestly think you might be true mates. Try not to worry about it too much. Just see what the morning brings, okay?” You pull away and nod your head.

You stayed up as long as you could but eventually Steve was shaking you awake on the couch and Bucky still hadn’t come.

“Get some sleep kid,” he says as he shoves you off to bed.

“Okay Dad,” you tease. You get to your room and pull on Bucky’s favorite hoodie, zipping it all the way up. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, it mostly smells like you, but you take comfort in the fact that it’s his. You crawl into bed and you’re asleep within seconds.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning your consciousness stirs at the sound of the elevator dinging. A warm inviting scent wanders down the hallway, slips under your door, and tickles your nose. You sigh deeply in your sleep and roll over feeling calm and comforted like you haven’t felt in months.

[everlarkficexchange]

Sunset on Grass

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 67: Her parents said that it was just a childhood crush and that she will outgrow it. But why does her heart flutters. When she’s finally old enough to get a job, she immediately gets a part time job to be close to him. Will is pursue her love against people’s negative views because he’s so much older than her. Or go for it and make him fall in love with her. Age Gap Older!Peeta. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

  Rated M: for later chapters/ this particular one is actually G. 

  Tags: Age Difference- Peeta is 19 years older than Katniss, but there won’t be any romance until she’s of age, so I might as well tag this as Slow Burn. Time Jump. Mr Everdeen is alive in this one, which makes Katniss OOC. Tags will update according to chapter posted.

Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine. This chapter closed at around 4200 words. Happy reading.

Thank you to @javistg and @xerxia31 for once again hosting Our Beloved Exchange. You guys are the best!!! 

—————

CHAPTER ONE:

It was a very cold day; Mama made us wear hats and gloves and clunky snow boots, but the worst offender in my 8 year old opinion, was the fact she forced me to wear a fleece over my long sleeve shirt with the sparkly pink hearts, and then a heavy winter coat to top it all, covering my favorite outfit that happened to be perfectly apt for the month of February… who had time to worry about layering for the weather, when Valentine’s Day gave us the perfect excuse to wear mushy, pink, glittery hearts in public?! 

  Prim had just turned four recently, and Daddy decided she was finally old enough to sit through a movie at the theater with us ‘grown ups’ like a big girl. Normally, he would’ve let Prim pick the movie, since it was her first time joining us, but when we got to the theater, I begged to see Bridge to Terabithia, because all the girls in my class had a crush on the main character actor, some Josh Hutcher-something or another, and I really wanted to see what the fuss was about with the boy. 

  Well, none of my little girlfriends bothered to tell me the movie was so darned sad! 

  Prim wailed and sobbed despite not really understanding what happened in the story. All she knew was that Mama sniffled and dabbed at the corner of her blue eyes with a wadded-up napkin, and that was enough for her to let her tears fall freely, clinging to Daddy’s neck until hiccups raked her tiny frame. 

  At the end of the movie, Mama’s eyes were red rimmed but she at least was done sniffling. Daddy and I just sat there stoically, like the hardened leaders of our small clan, we were… if my lips trembled, it had nothing to do with the sap fest we just endured. 

  Daddy sighed, “Some movies should come with disclaimers.” He grumbled, adjusting Prim on his hip while pulling open the exit door.

  “I thought it was great. The young actors were marvelous. Such range of emotion…” Mama gushed, before wiping the corner of her eye daintily. “I’d recommend it to other people, personally.”

  Daddy gave her a look, and then Mama amended, “With a warning for grief and depression.” Her lips formed a thin line, but Daddy seemed satisfied, so we walked into the frigid February afternoon and winced in unison as soon as the cold hit our faces. 

  Prim was still intermittently sobbing.

  “Primrose, honey, will a treat help you cheer up some?” Daddy asked quietly, tenderly caressing her cheek.

  My baby sister nodded, her pitiful big o’ blue eyes shining with unshed tears. 

  “Let’s get you a nice treat then. Let’s take advantage of those neatly shoveled sidewalks our tax money afforded us.” Said Daddy smiling sweetly, his gray eyes twinkling. 

  We crossed the street and kept on going until we reached the square a block away and then hesitated for a second in front of the ice cream parlor, finally settling for the quaint little bakery two doors down. 

  Immediately, my cheeks warmed up and I tried to walk with my back a little straighter, just in case a certain baker boy was working that day. My heart rattled against my ribs and I tried real hard to keep my eyes up, but as usual, chickened out last minute and all I could see was the ground. 

  Daddy walked in making the bell above the entrance chimed cheerfully; he held the door open so Mama and I could scoot into the building. We all stood just inside the door, taking a collective sigh of relief at the warmth and inviting aromas of the bakery: Yeast, sugar and freshly brewed coffee mingled in the air, welcoming.  

  “Afternoon Everdeens!” Called a deep, velvety and familiar voice from somewhere ahead. “Come on in and make yourselves at home, please!” Mister Peeta smiled, like us, walking into his family’s shop was the highlight of his day. 

  It surely was mine, of course; not that anyone would’ve been able to tell just by how gun-shy I acted, except from my parents that is. 

  They knew alright. 

  They knew all about my crush on the young baker, and at least Mama thought it was cute. Daddy wasn’t too comfortable acknowledging it, so he usually rolled his eyes at Mama about it.

  But who wouldn’t have a thing for mister Peeta, really? He was nice, polite, and handsome, with a soft looking face and bright blue eyes, always smiling, and wavy blond hair that curled under the many baseball caps he wore (currently, he donned one with the Mellark’s logo on the front.). He was also strong… or at least I figured he had to be, since he was school wrestling champion and all. I hadn’t witnessed it myself of course, mister Peeta and my folks were ancient compared to me, but I grew up hearing the stories. 

  Mama and Daddy had been high school sweethearts who’d been in the same grade as mister Rye— mister Peeta’s older brother— so they knew the Mellark brothers some. Daddy said Mr. Peeta was the pride of the town as a teenager, since he became State Wrestling champion in his senior year of high school, a full two years after my folks graduated Panem

high. 

  “How are you doing, Peeta?” Said Daddy reaching a hand over the counter to shake the baker’s.

  Mama waved and smiled, offering her own little “Hello, Peeta.” Then nudged me to do the same, and my eyes about popped out of my sockets when the baker smiled and winked one of his bright, blue eyes at me. 

   “I heard you’re leaving for Europe soon?” Asked Daddy.

  Mister Peeta smiled widely, “Yes! Got accepted to study pastistry at a prestigious school in France. I can’t wait.” His excitement was contagious.

  “That’s great, Peeta!” Interjected my mama. “I bet your folks are pleased. The bakery will boom with everything you’ll bring back with that training.” 

  Mister Peeta nodded, and though he was still smiling, he didn’t look happy. “Full scholarship ride, and I came up with my own ticket and expenses money from a year’s worth of savings. My mother is really pleased.” 

  For some reason, it didn’t sound like Mrs Mellark was truly pleased. Not for the first time, I thought adults could be so weird when they talked, not saying what they truly meant. 

  Still, Mama and Daddy offered congratulations again and I felt my stomach knot when Mister Peeta spoke again, and for once my eyes were glued to his kind face. 

  “Enough about me. Y’all came in right on time,” Mister Peeta clapped his enormous hands once, “I just pulled a tray of cheese buns out of the oven, and sat them to cool on a rack in the back. Let me go grab y’all some. I heard cheese buns are Miss Katniss’ favorites!” 

  I almost choked at that, and turned my head owlishly to glare at my parents, wondering who’d spilled my secrets behind my back to the handsomest man ever. 

  Mama was already sitting at a table; she was covering her smile behind the gloves she just pulled off her hands, while Daddy rolled his eyes slightly before sliding into the bench with Prim still wrapped around him like a baby Koala. 

  So Mama then. She tattled on me. 

  Traitor! 

  At Daddy’s behest, I came and sat next to him; Prim on his lap, and all of our coats in the space next to Mama on the opposite side of the half booth. 

  Mister Peeta came back with a tray bearing hot chocolate in white mugs engraved with ‘Mellark’s’, and a dish piled high with pastries. He placed four small plates in front of each of us, and gifted us with one more of his wide, welcoming grins. 

  “Tuck in, Everdeens! Enjoy!” The bell above the door chimed with more customers, but right before he left, mr. Peeta leaned closer to me and suggested, “Dip your bread in the chocolate. Is my favorite snack on cold days like today.” He winked again and I almost fainted.

  He truly was the handsomest man ever! 

  Mama’s smile just widened. She tried to hide it behind her cup of cocoa though, but Daddy let out a noise, like a grudgingly amused grunt of sorts. 

  “Lily,” He warned halfheartedly. 

  Mama looked up at him, wide, blue eyes innocently. “What?” She mumbled.

  “Stop teasing.” He said, sinking his straight teeth into his cheese bun. “She’s too young for crushes. Even on bakers that make amazing cookies and cheese buns. Ain’t that right, Catkin?” Daddy looked at me, arching one bushy eyebrow. 

  I scowled and turned my nose up at the lot of them before tearing chunks of my bun and dunking them in my hot chocolate. At the first bite, I had to admit, the baker was onto something! 

  “I don’t know what y’all are yapping about,” I said haughtily. 

  “There you go,” said Daddy grinning smugly at Mama, “That’s my girl!”

  Mama rolled her eyes and waved us off. “Oh well, it’s just puppy love. She’ll grow out of it soon enough, especially when he’s away in Paris and out of sight.”

  I chewed on my chocolate infused cheese bun, and my eyes lifted to watch mister Peeta bagging a customer’s order, taking payment with a grateful smile. 

  My heart drummed harshly in my chest. 

  I had no idea what the love of puppies had to do with anything, but I found it hard to believe the strange feeling of bubbles popping in my tummy would go away any time soon, even if I didn’t see the baker ever again. 

  ————————-

  My 16th birthday brought me a set of wheels, in the form of my daddy’s ancient but still reliable pick-up truck. But with the wheels, came Daddy’s caveats. 

  “Young lady, if you want to be driving around town, here are the rules,” he stated, “You gotta drive your sister to and from school. No boys—“

  “Or girls!” Interjected Mama, passing to the couch with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

  “Or girls,” Daddy continued glaring at Mama, “Unless Mama or I are in the truck with y’all.” 

  That one earned him a big groan from me, not that I’d planned on having friends ride with me places; after all, Gale had been driving his daddy’s old Jeep for the last two years, and Madge just got a new Volkswagen Beetle for her birthday, despite having failed her driving tests… twice! So we all had our own transportation, thank you very much. 

  “And, you are to keep the tank of the truck at least half full at all times.”

  “Alright. That’s cool—“ I started, but was swiftly interrupted. 

  “What your daddy means is, Sweet pea, you are responsible for your own gas. We won’t pay for it, unless it’s an emergency.” Said Mama delicately, her eyes shifting to Daddy’s for support, which he gave in a curt nod of his graying head.

  “Wait… what?” I stared at them in turn. “You mean I need to come up with my own gas money?” I asked just to clarify. “Even while having to chauffeur Prim around, like I’m a courtesy shuttle driver?” 

  “Lily, our daughter is a genius!” Said Daddy with his goofy dad smirk, “Haven’t I said so a million times before?”

  Mama giggled, “You sure have, Dear. Our Katniss is one bonafide genius!” 

  Truth be told, the prospect of having spending money of my own was actually exciting for me. We lived a decent life, not luxurious like the Undersee’s, or as tight as the Hawthorne’s, but comfortable enough to always have a pocketful of allowance dough; but having my actual money, without having to ask for it or justify why I needed it, was very appealing to me.

  I still groaned at my folks for their exuberance. I didn’t mind working hard; I’ve always helped Daddy doing house work around our place, and never complained about the daily chores imposed by Mama growing up; having an honest to God paying job sounded kind of… liberating. Like I was an adult, instead of a kid. 

  “You should try the shops in town,” Mama suggested. “Something close by that won’t interfere with school—“

  “Or archery club—“ Father chimed in.

  “Or soccer.” Said Prim crossing the room out of nowhere and plopping on the couch next to Mama, to munch on her popcorn. The demand was for her, since I didn’t play the sport. “I can’t miss practice. Rue would have a fit if I get kicked out.”

  “Fine! I’ll go ask around town if anyone needs help.” I made a show of rolling my eyes and shrugging, but inside, my blood quickened with the excitement of my impending job hunt.

  Twenty eight hours later, I was stumbling out of the Sweet’s store in town square, walking backwards and grinning like a lunatic. 

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Donner! Really. You won’t regret it! Thank you again!” I gushed and barely repressed a squeal of excitement, “I’ll see you Monday. Bye!” 

  I had to grab on to the frame of the open door, not to fall on my bottom like an uncoordinated noodle when I tripped on my own feet, and finally pulled myself away from the store front. I turned on my heel and practically skipped down the sidewalk, giggling non-stop. I managed to reel it in and climbed on my truck before pumping the air with my fists in a tiny victory dance. 

  Everything was coming up Katniss, and my spirits soared high! 

  I got myself a job, and while it wasn’t my first option— Mr. Mellark said his bakery was fully staffed at the time— I had effectively secured myself a source of gas money, which was my main concern and the literal driving force behind my job hunt. I counted as a perk, the fact that Mellark’s Bakery was sitting across the square from the Sweet Shop and I was granted an unobstructed view of the front room of the bakery from behind my counter, because watching the Mellark men working was just inspiring. And I meant that in a non creepy way… hopefully.

  I tried not to be as obvious with my crush on Mr. Peeta, but I wasn’t deaf and his mama— dubbed The Witch, by the town youngsters— enjoyed bragging loudly about her successful business, and a good chunk of that came from Peeta’s success as a baker. I pretty much knew anything a nosy sixteen year old girl could know about a guy twenty years her senior, hoarding all kinds of gossip about him like a dragon hoards gold.

  Being only a few years younger than my own father, Mister Peeta graduated from Panem U when I was a toddler. He earned a business degree he’d really never used; then, he went to Paris-France for almost three years, and trained with the best chefs in the pastry business, returning to our small town to open up his own high end patisserie, but since the economy had taken a dive those days and his shop was so new and fancy, he was forced to close up and take over the cakes and pastry side of Mellark’s, until things stabilized for new businesses. Sadly, he never ventured back on his own, which was a downright shame, because the man was a culinary genius and so artistic at that. 

  Currently, he worked weekend’s at Mellark’s while teaching at the Pastry school in Capitol City… not that I was keeping tabs on the man or anything. 

  I was just observant that way… 

  Sort of. 

  Mrs. Mellark liked to boast about things she had no hand in doing, like her youngest son’s accomplishments and success abroad and locally, but she was also a ruthless disparager who couldn’t care less when and where she criticized her sons or husband when something didn’t go her way. The Witch was always going on and on about Mr. Peeta going to France and becoming an expert cake decorator, and teaching pastrity at some hoity-toity culinary school in Capitol City, as if she herself had done it for him, and in the next breath she’d be groaning about how much of an inconvenience to her it was he went overseas for the training. The woman was a hag, but I couldn’t help people in town were so gossipy and when she started with the stories. I just perked up my ears and gobbled up all the information she was sharing. 

  Anyway, my mama’s prediction about my infatuation with Mr. Peeta ending, kind of flopped. The crushed endured all the years between his absence to Europe and his return; it was still going strong even at age sixteen, but I had learned to pine discreetly, surreptitiously sneaking peeks at mister Peeta from a distance and daydream about scenarios where the handsome baker finally noticed me, and we fell madly in love with each other and lived happily ever after in a marzipan house, eating all kinds of bread and cake without ever gaining an ounce of weight… Also, in those scenarios, Mr. Peeta was like ten years younger, and nobody batted an eye at us being together. 

  Of course, I wasn’t delusional. I knew nothing like it would ever happen; after all, Mr. Peeta was nineteen years older than me and devoted to his craft. But dreaming was free, and as long as the fantasies stayed locked in my head, I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself.

  ————————

  My first Saturday morning working at the Candy shop, I parked in the public parking lot, diagonal to the town square, before opening time. The lot was built adyacente to a few city offices to accommodate anyone running errands downtown, like paying their license tags, filing taxes, getting permits of miscellaneous natures, or simply taking a stroll around the square at dusk, licking on a frozen treat from the ice cream parlor or having dinner at the pizza place. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to park there if one worked in one of the mom-and-pop shops littering the picturesque merchant center of Panem. 

  I could’ve used the designated parking spaces on the road behind the sweets store, but there was a humongous dumpster next to ours, and Ms. Donner hadn’t given me a key to the back door yet, so even if the threadbare upholstery of my truck wasn’t threatening to absorb the stench of the whole neighborhood’s trash, there wasn’t any benefit to me parking there. 

  I yawned dispassionately tossing my keys in the new purse Prim gave me when I announced I’d found a job, because according to her, I was now a grown-up and needed a proper purse instead of my ratty messenger bag, that honestly had seen better days. I swept the bag off the bench and slammed the door shut without bothering to lock it. There was nothing in the cab worth stealing; everyone knew me and my folks, we were just another run of the mill middle class family, without any wealth to our names. 

  “Ouch!” A velvety, deep voice spoke from a little ways over, and my whole body went rigidly straight. “Shouldn’t treat your steed so harshly, Hunter. I don’t think old Francine appreciates it.” 

  I turned on my heels and peered at Mr. Peeta trying to keep myself from screeching in a panic or something equally embarrassing. 

  The man was just straightening up from retrieving a chef jacket from the back seat of what I surmised was his car, and lifted his gaze in my direction with a slight smirk on his lips that quickly fell off, giving way to a confused expression, as his bright, blue eyes fixed on mine. “You ain’t Hunter,” he mumbled, squinting a little.

  To his credit, it had been a while since he saw me last, despite me keeping tabs on him and stealing glances when I could. He had no reason to seek me out or anything, plus he was a busy man, always in the back room of the bakery working his pastillage gifts. Then again… ‘Francine’— my daddy’s former ‘89 F150– was like forever linked to Hunter Everdeen’s persona or something.

  “Katniss?” Mr. Peeta frowned, like fog was slowly lifting from his mind and vague recognition finally set in, making my heart lurch and beat unbearably fast. 

  I nodded mutely, but soon I answered a spastic, “Morning, mister Peeta. How do you do?” My mama hadn’t drilled sixteen years worth of relentless Southern hospitality for me to stay silent for long. I hesitated a second and trudged along without giving him a chance to respond, scowling at the ground, “Francine, she’s sturdy,” I chance a glance at his face, “But you’re right, she’s too old to be treated poorly. I’ll make sure to be gentler with her in the future.”

  Mr. Peeta arched his eyebrows, as if surprised by my mere voice. He tugged the collar of his plain white t-shirt, and then huffed a chuckle. 

  “Little Miss Katniss is driving now,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. He eyed me curiously, “Well, I guess you’re not little anymore. But wow! What a way to humble a man about his old age.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, making me shift in place in mild arousal.

  He draped his chef’s shirt over his forearm and closed his car door softly. “I have no words to describe how I feel, discovering young Katniss Everdeen is old enough to drive Francine,” He tsked at his boots, but his smile made his eyes crinkle in the corners. “End of an era… for me at least. Beginning of a new one for you, I supposed.” He smiled self deprecatingly. 

  My face burned and my chest tightened at his words, not sure if I felt elation or embarrassment. 

  “Oh… you ain’t old, sir.” I waved him off, still scowling for no good reason. 

  Mr. Peeta laughed. “You’re too kind, Miss Katniss, but my I.D. disagrees. Plus, knowing you’re old enough to drive is a sobering thought.” He smiled kindly again. 

  “I turned sixteen a week and a half ago. Daddy gave me the truck for passing my driving test.” I volunteered without prompting.

  “Neat! Spring baby, then. Makes sense. Suits you.” Mr. Peeta smiled, and I got incredibly shy, excited and happy at his short words.

  “Yeah, May 8th.” I offered softly, “That’s me. Spring baby.” 

  “As I said, it suits you. I’m a wintry kid myself, so I try to be extra warm to counteract any cold disposition I might have.” He said, checking his watch. 

  I panicked slightly; I knew time was closing in, and I’d be dismissed soon, so I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. “What brings you out here so early on a Saturday morning, anyway?”

  Mr. Peeta cocked his head sideways and glanced at me curiously. “Work.” He said in an amused, lilting tone. He lifted his arm to point at his chef uniform laid neatly folded. 

  I clamped my mouth immediately, to prevent any other ‘brilliant’ questions might escape. 

  Mr. Peeta smirked, probably realizing what a dork I was. “How about you? It’s awfully early for a kid to be downtown.” His face took a distant quality for his next words. “When I was your age, my mother would beat me out of bed for my Saturday shifts at the bakery… all I wanted to do was lay in bed until noon, you know. But, baker’s hours aren’t exactly flexible.” 

  My whole face twisted at that tidbit of information. I couldn’t read his emotion about his comment, which bothered me somehow. I started talking just because I disliked the way his face turned blank. 

  “I’m a morning person myself.” I shrugged. But my folks made me get a job so I could finance my gas addiction,” I was smuggly pleased when the baker started laughing heartily at my silly joke. It felt nice, knowing I said something he found funny. “Anyway, I’m working too. At Ms. Donner’s shop.”

  “Nice! Good taffy. Did old Maysilee offer to pay you in candy? I swear she did that to my brother, Bannock, one summer he decided to give another shop a try. ” He said conversationally, activating the alarm of his car. 

  “Oh, gosh!” I laughed, “No, she offered to give me a check every two weeks.” Then I looked at him dead in the eye, “Now the Christmas bonuses, those are in candy.” 

  We both laughed at that 

  Mr. Peeta nodded. “Well, Miss Katniss, I won’t keep you much longer, but if you need anything… a cheese bun for example,” He winked, putting my heart a flutter again, “Don’t hesitate to come in!” 

  With that, he started walking towards the narrow street behind the row of shops, no doubt heading to the back door of the bakery. 

  “Bye, Mister Peeta!” I croaked out belatedly. 

  Peeta waved over his shoulder. 

  All I could think after the encounter was how wrong my parents had been about my “puppy love” being a passing crush. 

……………………………..

Josh Hurcherson starred in Bridge to Terabithia, which came out in February of 2007. To this day, I can’t watch that movie without bawling my eyes out. Everyone should see it!

[romantic-hero]

Homecoming.....

Isabella Rose Poldark was six months old before her father returned from France.  Demelza was hanging up the wash  that August morning when Caroline Enys’s carriage was heard before it pulled into Nampara’s courtyard.

“Caroline! Has something happened?” cried Demelza as she ran towards her friend who had alighted the steps and stood with her hands out,  reaching  for Demelza.

“Yes! But don’t worry, my love. It is good news. Dwight has had word that Ross will land at Plymouth this morning.”

Demelza thought she might faint. She was glad to grasp Caroline’s hands as it kept her from falling.

“I’ve come to get the children and Prudie so that you may have Ross all to yourself.” Caroline explained “If he landed with the tide, you only have but a few hours to make ready!”

“Oh, Caroline.  That is so nice of you, but I’m sure Ross  will want to see the children. Why he’s never even seen Bella.”

“Yes, my dear. And Ross will have the rest of his life to make up for being gone so long. But I can assure you a few hours or days will make no difference.” Caroline reached into the carriage and brought out a large hamper. “Cook sent this, so you won’t have to worry about what to feed him.” She handed Demelza the large basket, then turned towards the house. “Prudie!  Jeremy! Clowance!”

Jeremy was the first to appear. “Aunt Caroline! “

“My dearest, get your sisters and Prudie and come to Killewarren with me. Uncle Dwight has a new microscope and Horace is as lonely as can be. “ Caroline bestowed her most charming smile and when Prudie finally poked her head out the door, Caroline told her, “Get the children and come with me to Killewarren. Captain Poldark is arriving home this very morning.”

Prudie looked at Demelza. “I hate to leave you mistress, but ..” Prudie saw how bright Demelza’s eyes were shining. “I know the Captain will like a quiet welcome.”

Before she knew it, all three children and their clothes and toys were loaded into the carriage and as she waved good bye Demelza ‘s mind was frantic. The house was a mess and oh my God. Ross was coming home!

She ran inside and put books and toys and sewing away.  She gathered papers from the table and when the kitchen and living room were straightened she ran upstairs and made the bed. How she wished she had time for a proper bath, but she did her best. She took off her clothes and washed herself. Then she put  on a clean shift and her newest stays and the her best dress she recently had made in Truro. She brushed her long titan curls and threw the bath water out the window.

Back in the kitchen she unpacked Caroline’s offering, and smiled. So unpractical, but utterly perfect. Two bottles of champagne and one of brandy. Marzipan, strawberries, some fine cheddar and fresh baguettes that Killewarren’s French cook was famous for. There was sliced beef and wrapped carefully was a custard pie.

“Flowers!” Demelza said out loud, and she hurried to her garden happy that a few late blooms of roses were left, but glad for the abundance of dahlias and fuchsia, their gay colors bright against the green hedges. As she was placing her arrangements throughout the house, she looked out the window and there across the fields she spied the familiar tricorn atop the rider galloping towards Nampara.

Demelza raced down the stairs as Ross pulled into the courtyard  and she flew out the door and into his arms.

sexy sex..

There were no words. After months of yearning and longing and loneliness just breathing in his breath, his sent,  made Demelza bold with desire and suddenly she could wait no longer.

She grabbed two fistfuls of of his long, black heavy linen coat and pulled him close. “Judas, Ross. I was beginning to think I’d never see you again!” She  took in his dark unruly curls, the dark stubble that stained his cheeks and chin and stared deeply into his brown eyes. “My god, I’ve missed you!”

Ross laughed. “After all this time, you still desire to be with me?” He put his hands on his wife’s hips and brought her body to him so he could feel her whole length against him.

Immediately Demelza was aware of his arousal, and her hand reached down his breeches and Ross groaned before his lips found Demelza’s and they kissed frantically their mouths colliding, their front teeth knocking on the first try, but in a second his tongue had pushed past her lips and all was sweet and hurried. The kisses as  heady and passionate as their first time. Ross’s hands found the curve of her rump and forced her even closer. Demelza put her hands on his strong, muscular shoulders and jumped up wrapping her legs around his waist as tightly as she could. For now that Ross was home, she didn’t think she’d ever let him go.

Somehow they didn’t fall,  and Ross walked into Nampara and pinned her against the ancient paneling of the entry way.

“The children?” he rasped.

“Killewarren,” she whispered and they returned to the most urgent of matters.

Ross kissed her neck, his hands cupping her breasts. Being together at last was so exquisite that neither noticed the painting they knocked from the wall. Finally Ross was able to let her down and as he stood before her he started undoing Demelza’s clothes, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he slowly undressed his wife.

“Judas,” Demelza thought. “He’s still the handsomest man in all of Cornwall.”

Ross finally had her dress off and then he unlaced her stays and lifted her shift over her head. She stood before him naked and he marveled at her beauty. Perhaps she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Then he knelt before her and looked at her. Demelza felt impatient. It had been almost a year since he’d last touched her and she quivered with the anticipation  of his fingers against her skin. Ross reached up and brushed her nipples with his calloused finger tips and then he took one leg and draped it over his shoulder as his lips kissed a trail up one thigh and down the other. Demelza  made a pleading sound in the back of her throat and then his hands were on her derrière, and he pulled her forward until his mouth was right tnere, and he licked and sucked, his tongue tasing her sweetness which was far more intoxicating than the finest wine he had ever drunk.

“Oh, Ross,” Demelza knocked her head against a sconce, but the pain didn’t register. She lowed her eyes because as busy as he was with his mouth, his eyes had never left her face. She was suddenly shy, but she didn’t want him to stop. The pleasure was so intense it was painful. Her hands were lost in his hair as she tried to keep her balance. She couldn’t help but call his name over and over, and she was glad there was no one near to hear her cries as his lips teased her into a release that weakened her knees and brought tears to her eyes,

Ross stood up, and his lips were wet and she tasted herself and it was breathtaking and urgent. She wanted him more than she thought possible. He lifted  her up and she wrapped her legs around him again, and after fumbling with his buttons finally he was inside of her, sliding in with a groan of deepest pleasure and desire. Demelza squeezed down on his cock and his  thrusts were deep and long, as if he couldn’t  get enough of her. It was all breathing  and moaning and loving, it felt so good it made Demelza’s head spin.

It was all so explosive, things got a  bit rough, a bit careless. The sconce  fell and hit Demelza’s shoulder and she cried out. Her body was on fire and she took Ross along for the ride. He came  with that usual  little moan from the back of his throat, and his knees buckled a little as he tried to keep them both up. Demelza held on as tight as she could  while he breathed hard against her neck. She didn’t want to let him go, but her thigh muscles were jelly and her legs slid  from his hips. Ross’s hands sneaked up  and spread across her back as he got  his balance, his cock slipping out of her as they stumbled apart.

They stayed like that for a minute, with the old wall doing most of the work of holding them up. Demelza kissed the side of his neck and inhaled his musky scent. She looked at him and they both grinned. Demelza sent a trail of kisses along his jaw line. Ross leaned his forehead gently against hers . His eyes stared into Demelza’s until they were finally able to breathe normally.

"Demelza," he said in his deep, yet sweet way, for he truly adored her as much as she adored him. "I love you."

Suddenly it was all too much. His return. The future ahead. Demelza fought off tears. "I love you too, my love ,” she told him as her fingers held onto his shirt, over the spot where she knew his heart was.

Later, they sat at the kitchen table. Demelza naked under his coat, eating strawberries as he cut the bread and sliced the cheddar Caroline had provided.

“Shall we go to Killewarren and get the children?” Ross asked as he lifted one of the bottles of champagne from the hamper.

“Tomorrow,” replied Demelza.

They both laughed as Ross popped the cork and then after taking a long drink passed the bottle to his wife. “Yes, tomorrow, my love.” And he leaned across the table and kissed her once again.

[ahtohallan-calling]

a week of snow days // a fluffy kristanna fic set in my plane au verse for one shot wednesday!

The first real snow of the year is always an important occasion in the Bjorgman household.

(I recommend reading the previous fics in this verse first!)

one.

“Hey, Anna,” he says, that still-shy smile unfurling on his face even though they’re only talking over the phone and it’s been four months and he told her he loved her weeks ago and she said it right back.

“Kris! Thank goodness I caught you in time!”

“In time? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just that the weather channel says the first snow will be tomorrow instead of this weekend, and I’m about to have to go into this huge meeting, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to the store in time!”

He’s confused; he thought in Colorado, people knew how to drive in the snow. “I don’t think it’ll be bad enough that you won’t be able to go tomorrow.”

“No, no, that’s not the point! It’s the first real snow of the year. I have to have the supplies.”

“What supplies, skatten min? I can bring some rock salt over if--”

“No, I need hot chocolate! The kind with marshmallows. And cookie dough and pretzels and--”

“Anna, start over.”

She heaves out a sigh, and his smile grows. “My family and me, we’ve always celebrated the first big snow like it’s a holiday. We always go out and play in it together, and then come in and have hot chocolate and watch a movie or something. And it’s important to me, and-- and--”

She sounds hesitant, unusual for her; he doesn’t interrupt the silence. Finally, he hears her take a deep breath.

“And you’re important to me, too. So if you have time--”

“Of course I have time. I’ll pick up the hot chocolate and drop it off on my way home.”

“Oh-- thank you, but, um. I also meant...it would be really nice to do my first snow day stuff with you. If you want to, I mean.”

His smile is now a full-blown, ear-to-ear, sun-bright grin. “I’d love to.”

two. 

“You remembered?”

He blinks down at her. She is still curled up on her side in bed, her hair somehow all over her face and her pillow and his pillow all at once. There are shadows under her eyes because she had to meet a deadline last night, and she is wearing his oldest, most worn t-shirt.

She is so beautiful he wonders how the whole world doesn’t stop and stare.

He sits on the edge of the bed, puts his mug of hot chocolate on the nightstand and passes her hers when she sits up. “‘Course I remembered. I want to do this every first snow day for the rest of my life.”

The smile on her face is so warm it could have saved the Titanic a whole lot of trouble. And she doesn’t even know about the ring hidden in the back of his sock drawer.

three.

He pulls in to the already-icy driveway so fast for a moment she is frightened until she remembers he put the snow chains on last week. 

“Come on, my love,” Anna says, picking up her infant daughter from her nap, “let’s get you dressed.”

As if the little girl wasn’t already adorable enough with her mussed blonde curls-- the reason Kristoff keeps calling her his little duckling, even though he was the one who suggested calling her Sofie in the first place-- she gives her mother a sweet smile, the one she is already learning gets her whatever she wants.

Kristoff bursts through the door then, his cheeks red from the cold. “You didn’t take her out yet, did you?”

“Of course not,” Anna reassures him, leaning up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek he leans down to receive. “Besides, I’ll need your help getting that snowsuit on.”

His job is mostly to distract Sofie as Anna slides her little kicking legs into the pink, puffy snowsuit, the one they picked because “it has excellent reviews about the quality of insulation” and “the cute little bear ears on top!”

(He did agree once he saw it in person that the bear ears were, as Anna put it, “the cutest thing in the history of the world”, except for of course his daughter. “And you,” he had added, earning himself an extra kiss.)

She lets him carry Sofie outside, knowing that it pulls at him that he cannot stay at home most days like she does. By the way he looks down so solemnly at the infant, she knows there is more on his mind than just this annual tradition. 

As she watches, a single snowflake falls on the tip of Sofie’s tiny, perfect nose; for a moment, she is startled by this new sensation, but then she laughs, for the very first time, and suddenly there are tears in Anna’s eyes.

She thinks there might be some in Kristoff’s, too. “Dette er din første snø, skatten min,” he says softly. “Du vil ikke huske det, men det vil jeg alltid.”

Anna hasn’t picked up enough Norwegian yet to know exactly what he’s saying, but she gets the meaning, all the same, and she tucks her hand under his arm and leans her head against his shoulder, grateful that he will always be there to keep both of his girls warm.

four.

“Are you sure it’s alright?”

“Kris, honey, do you know why I’m so short?”

“Because you didn’t take your vitamins?”

“Because I fell so many times on my head as a baby that it squished me permanently.”

He sighs and leans down to set Sofie on top of a drift of hard-packed snow, though he still holds tight to each of her tiny hands. “That’s not true, Anna.”

“It could be. No one’s ever tested it. But anyway, I ended up fine, didn’t I?”

“Jury’s still out.”

She tries and fails not to giggle at his teasing. Sofie laughs, too, as if somehow she understands. She understands enough, at least: that her parents are happy, and that’s enough to make her happy, too.

“Anyway, honey,” Anna says, moving to stand a few feet in front of the pair of them, “this is better for her to practice than indoors. Out here, all the snow is basically padding.”

“But it’s so cold…”

“Which is why we’ll be here to pick her up and brush the snow off.”

He sighs and slowly lets go of both of the toddler’s hands. She wavers for a moment, and his hands shoot forward to catch her, but then she takes a wobbly step towards her mother.

“That’s it, Ducky!” Anna cheers, “come to Mommy!”

For the first time making this little journey, Sofie doesn’t fall. “You can tell she’s half-Norwegian,” Anna says in between the proud kisses she’s showering on her daughter’s face. “She’s a natural.”

five.

“Hi, Pappa! It's the first snow! Where are you?"

"Hello, my Sofie. And hello Mommy, too. I'm still in New York, remember?"

"But it's the snow, Pappa, it's important."

Anna bites her lip and takes the phone back out of the chubby toddler's hand before she can drop it. "I know," Kristoff says, disappointment in his voice, too. "I was hoping the snow would wait until tomorrow. I'll be home then."

"But it's here today."

She is two and not quite half, and so she does not understand things like dissertations and conferences and the rising costs of air travel.

"I know. But you can drink my cup of hot chocolate for me, okay? From the big cup."

She is, however, old enough to understand that this peace offering is a Very Big Deal.

"Okay!"

Later that night, after she has been put in her favorite pajamas and tucked in with the special blanket and has heard two stories, she remarks to her mother that she would have rather had her father than the special hot chocolate.

Anna calls Kristoff again that night when she has tucked herself in, too. She tells him what Sofie said, and his entire face lights up.

"Now it's only you I have to worry about," he teases.

"What do you mean?"

"That you might love hot chocolate more than me."

Normally she would tease him and say she does, but she wishes he had been here today, too, and so instead she just smiles and says, "You never have to worry about that, skatten min."

six.

“Pappa! Wait!”

He turns, surprised, to see Sofie trailing across the snow towards him, waddling more than usual behind him thanks to her puffy snowsuit and the already-high snowdrifts. 

“Ducky, hva gjør du?” he asks, already turning back to meet her.

“Don’t go to work!” she wails. “There’s snow!”

Before he can reach her, she slips on a slick patch and falls face first into a pile of snow. He breaks into a run, but all of a sudden a massive lump of auburn and white fur is there, using his nose to help push her back upright.

By the time Kristoff reaches her, she’s standing, using the St. Bernard’s back as support; she looks like she’s still torn on whether she should laugh or cry, and so her scoops her up as quick as he can and brushes the snow from her cheeks.

“Tell Olaf thank you,” he says, kissing her forehead to help warm it back up.

“Thank you,” she chirps, and the dog gives a happy no problem woof.

“And anyway, Sofie,” he adds, shifting her to his hip so he can get back to getting the box of Swiss Miss he accidentally left overnight from the trunk of his car, “it’s a Saturday.”

seven. 

“Oh, what’s that big one for?” Anna asks, coming out in the backyard to watch as Sofie struggles mightily to roll a ball of snow that’s almost as tall as she is.

Kristoff’s eyes sparkle with mirth as soon as she asks. Sofie completes another roll and answers cheerfully, “For your tummy.”

She lets out a burst of surprised laughter. “Is it really that big?”

“Yeah, Mommy, it’s ginormous.”

Kristoff tries to hide a snort of laughter by pretending it’s a cough as he comes over to stand with her. “To be fair,” Anna says drily, “I’m seven months pregnant. What’s your excuse?”

She nods at the other snowman Sofie had already built, one that has an even bigger base. “Who do you think that one is?”

Sofie overhears them and calls out, “That’s Pappa!” as if they needed clarification.

Now it’s Anna’s turn to try and hide a laugh. “Perhaps four-year-olds aren’t the best judge,” she says, leaning up to kiss her husband’s cheek. “But just so you know, even if you were that round I’d still think you were the handsomest man alive.”

“You flatter me too much, kjære,” he says, leaning down to give her a proper kiss when Sofie isn’t looking.

“Believe me, I know,” she says, patting the swell of her stomach. “How d’you think I ended up in this situation?”

“Mmm...I thought it had something to do with love at first sight and being married five years to my favorite person and--”

She kisses him again even though Sofie’s watching and will inevitably let out a squeal of disgust. “Well...that too, I suppose.”

“Jeg elsker deg, my Anna.”

She slips her mittened hand into his gloved one. “Love you, too.”

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

Awww honey!!! You are doing an amazing job! As a matter of fact, I love ALL your works!! If you could maybe one more headcanon, can it be reader being helplessly in love with Hop but him being too dumb to notice lmao just because he'd never think a girl like her would like him, so when he gets stood up, he finally realizes her feelings??? Thanks 💕

thank you!! 🥰🥰 writing for hop has been such a fun and wonderful experience. so this one’s got a major age difference and it’s vaguely canon adjacent!

you’ve been halfway in love with jim hopper since you were an 18 year old coed and he was the 40 year old chief of police newly returned from nyc

he came to break up a frat party that had gotten way too out of hand and you took one look at the mountain of a man and decided that he was the one for you

of course he doesn’t notice you other than to shake his head at the company you’re keeping and to tell you to be smarter than to get busted with the drugs and alcohol you currently have in your underage possession

you clean up your act and graduate early, taking the inheritance you get from your grandmother and open a bakery right in the center of town

(that it’s conveniently located right next to the police station is entirely a coincidence)

hopper becomes a constant presence in your bakery, guzzling down coffee like his life depends on it and sometimes you think it just might

he looks older and more tired than he did four years ago when he broke up that house party and you wonder if it has anything to do with the rumors that have been plaguing the town for the past few years

you’re constantly touching him - his hand, his arm - laughing and flirting even though it doesn’t seem to be getting you anywhere

hopper never asks about your life, not really, not for specifics but you always drop in the fact that you’re single or that you went on a terrible date over the weekend

he usually grunts in response to those bits of information, looking strangely panicky

one day you’re both entering your respective places of work at the same time, his blazer parked next to you camaro in the shared lot

“hey chief!” you wave, grinning widely, “come on over on your lunch break, i’ve been trying out some new recipes and i could use a taste tester”

“i’ll be there,” hopper replies warmly (or as warm as he gets) - you’ve learned that offering up sweets is a surefire way to get him into the bakery

“won’t even tell flo,” you promise with a wink and he laughs, shaking his head a bit at his nosy secretary’s actions (you smile privately to yourself just like you do every time you get a laugh out of hopper)

he’s stepping into the bakery at 1:40 that afternoon, the bell over the door tinkling and signalling his arrival. “so where’s this dessert i’ve been promised?” he asks, leaning casually on the countertop

“right here,” you slide a napkin in front of him “sort of like a jelly doughnut but with raspberry mousse inside and powdered sugar instead of coarser sugar”

he raises a skeptical eyebrow - you’re messing with a classic, the eyebrow says. but he takes a huge bite and wow, what you wouldn’t give to know what that mouth looks like open and buried between your legs

there’s powdered sugar clinging to his moustache and he hums in contentment. “s’good,” he mumbles around a mouthful of mousse

“glad you like it,” you reply reaching forward and brushing the powdered sugar off of his face with your fingers - the coarse hairs of his moustache prickle against your fingers and you involtarilt clench your thighs together

hopper pulls back a little, frowning and fuck - you overstepped, didn’t you?

he scratches the back of his neck. “actually. i was wondering. how...asking someone out, these days, how...”

your face flushes and your mind spins. is he actually asking you out? is this happening? play it cool

“um,” you say, “just ask? most girls just like a man that takes charge - time, place, i’ll pick you up, kind of thing.”

“good to know,” hopper replies and he finishes off the doughnut before saying goodbye and heading out.

“what the fuck?” you mutter to yourself once the door is closed behind him. maybe he’s just waiting for a bit so you don’t think he was too obvious?

and then at the end of the day, you watch hopper cross the street to melvald’s and your heart sinks

he’s only in there a few minutes, but he walks out with a big old smile on his handsome face and you know

of course

joyce byers

of course

she and hopper knew each other back in high school, they have history

you’re just a 22 year old with a crush on a man old enough to be your father.

of course

he probably just thinks of you as the harmless little girl that gives him free coffee and desserts

you could throw up

(you do throw up because you work yourself into such an emotional tailspin)

(no one said 22 year olds were rational)

monday morning rolls around and you could vomit again at the thought of seeing hopper all fresh from his date with joyce

you think about calling in sick but you’re the damn boss and if you don’t show up the bakery’s left to useless teenagers and so you trudge in, looking worse for the wear

hopper makes a grand entrance around 11:30 - this time the bell’s tinkling sounds ominous

“hi chief,” you greet him dully, none of your usual spark or excitement

“hi,” he replies, leaning his forearms against the counter. “so uh think i should probably tell you something.”

you raise an eyebrow - he sounds weird

“was stood up this weekend” and it looks physically painful for him to say that

“sorry to hear that,” you reply quietly, turning your back on him to busy yourself with cleaning the counter

“thing is,” he says “is that i talked to her after and she, uh, pointed out that maybe i asked the wrong woman on a date?”

“oh?”

“yeah. thing is. this girl i should’ve asked out, she’s outta my league”

“is she?” down hopes, get down!

“fuck yeah,” hopper replies earnestly. “gorgeous, smart, funny, young. the fuck would she want with an old fat fuck like me?”

you turn around and pinch your lips together to suppress a smile. “maybe she thinks you’re the handsomest man she’s ever seen and really wants to go out with you.”

“yeah?”

“yeah! fuck hop, i’ve been falling over your for years now.”

“yeah?”

“its a good thing you’re handsome.”

you slide him a coffee and a doughnut and he smiles.

“friday, 7pm? i’ll pick you up and we’ll see a movie?”

you beam at him in response

[sweetdeathwrites]

Just A Coffee

Pairing: 40′s! Pre-serum!Steve / Waitress/Waiter!Reader

Summary: Out of all the people to walk in and steal your breath away, it had to be him–– and honestly, you’re fine with it. 

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, i got second hand embarrassment from writing some of this lol

Word Count: 3,116

Finally!! My first fic I’ve written since starting this blog!! I thought it’d be nice to start it off with some fluff and (love of my life) pre-serum steve!

tagging @youngmoneymilla for her kind advice in starting this blog, and @littledarlinwrites and @romanticsteggy for answering some requests I asked of them! You’re all too sweet and I hope you enjoy this!

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

There’s a scrawny man sitting in booth five again.

He’s about your height, rolls up the sleeves on his shirt at least twice, and looks like he weighs ninety pounds soaking wet, max.

He walked in last Tuesday, and since then you’ve found yourself daydreaming about him… You could kick yourself, really. Out of everyone to walk in, why did it have to be him?

On the bright side, he’s got a voice deeper than you expected looking at him, a thin face that’s been shaped by angels, and he’s polite as anything– including the tips he leaves.

You sigh and pick up a menu. A dollar’s a dollar, you remind yourself, then smooth out your apron on the walk to his booth.

As you approach, the blond picks up his head at the sound of your footsteps. Sweet baby blues are focused on you and it makes you bite your lip to keep a demure grin at bay. Jeanie, sitting behind the counter at the register snickers and that’s all it takes for you to let go off your lip and shake yourself into a more professional headspace.

“Good mornin’, sir,” you place the menu on the table in front of him. “Could I interest you in anything to drink while you take a look at the menu?”

He smiles and, good god, exactly who was it that polished that perfect row of teeth, all shiny and chrome? You want to know what the price range is on that baby. Maybe buy yourself one with all the tips he’s been giving.

“Sure is a great morning, now.” He says, almost confident with his ears all pink. “And a coffee would be just perfect.”

“Alrighty, sir, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Sure is a great morning, now…

Now?

With your back turned to him, you mouth the word again in disbelief. What did he mean, “now”?!

Second week of blondie coming in, he ends up seated at the wrong table. Well, not the wrong table, just not the tables you cover. Jeanie’s side of the diner.

You’re writing the orders of a sleepy family on vacation and get distracted by him. He flashes you a dazzling, nervous smile as he walks by you to the nearest empty seat, and waits with fidgeting hands for you to meander his way.

Instead, Jeanie walks by you with an apologetic smile and half-empty pot of coffee in her hand to the blond’s booth. His shoulders fall but he makes an order and a breath you didn’t realize was trapped in your chest melts out.

“ … and an order of hashbrowns–– actually, do you do half orders? I’m not feeling too hungry, is all,” the father finishes.

Aaand crap, you think to yourself, because for the last twenty seconds or so, your hand has been scribbling nothing but hearts over the poor family’s orders. What a way to start a morning.

By the third week, you’ve gotten a feel for his rhythm. Since that day with Jeanie, the blond has stuck to the booth in the far corner of the restaurant that catches the perfect amount of sun without getting too hot–– but most importantly, it’s your table.

“Hey again, sir,” you say, placing the menu straight into his hands. “Coffee?” You raise a brow, offering his usual.

“Thought I came to a diner, not a psychic’s,” is his reply, voice light with humor and just enough of sleep brought roughness to get the skin on the back of your neck to prickle. It’s a lame joke, but you laugh honestly anyway–– a little too hard, maybe, because Jeanie makes kissy faces at you when you go around the counter for the coffee pot. Her squeak and cussing when you kick her in the shin in passing soothe your pride a little.

Out of the few coffee pots sitting, you choose the hottest and freshest one. Not for blondie, of course… You’re just being dutiful in your work, is all… You swing your hip around a grumbling Jeanie and you look up and see him waiting, looking shy and handsome as ever.

Yep, you think as you pour him a cup, I’m just good at my job, is all.

Blondie swallows a lump in his throat and asks how you’ve been doing and as you lean on his table and look at his stupidly pretty face from above, you really can’t deny it anymore.

This man, pretty and in need of a few home cooked meals, has you at his mercy.

Oh, damn.

“Hey, look,” he starts, combing a hand through his short hair… making it all fluffed up. Making you want to run your hands through it, too. “I’ve been coming here a while, and… well, I don’t know your name yet. I’d love to get to know you better.”

He smiles, shaky as a newborn foal, and you wither in the warmest way possible.

Damn it all.

You give him your name–– and you’re maybe a little too eager because your middle name slips in by accident.

Blondie laughs, and he looks so much more relaxed now. It hits you that blondie was just as nervous as you about this, and the whole situation makes you lightheaded.

“Steve,” he says, hand out for you to shake. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

You take his hand in yours and it’s small and soft and perfect. The both of you hold the shake for a little longer than you should, and when he pulls back his elbow hits the coffee mug and sends it rolling, hot coffee spilling all over the table.

Steve curses, apologizing–– then apologizes for cursing, as you both rush to pile napkins over the mess. You’ll get an earful from Jeanie about having your head in the clouds and how you’ve done too good a job of reeling Steve in, but it’s worth it to see his brow furrow and his cheeks glow with embarrassment.

Steve stays until the morning rush is over, talking with you for a quick moment when no one needs help or a refill on their drink. He talks about his ma, a friend named Bucky, and of his passion for drawing. You lean in probably a bit too close, until you’re sitting in the booth across from him. Steve orders a new cup of coffee whenever your boss comes around to glare at the two of you.

“Here,” you place the fresh mug on his table and swing the handle of it over to him. His hand is already reaching for it, though, and his fingers slide up your knuckles and over the back of your hand. For just a second, your heart leaps out of your chest.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, head tucked against his chest and ears on fire, “and thanks.” He takes a sip, turning away from you and his eyes crawling every inch of wallpaper so he doesn’t have to meet your eyes. You’re just as flustered as he is, but he’s looking about as red as a boiled lobster right about now.

Pink, you’ve decided, is a delicious look on him.

“Look alive, sunshine,” Jeanie says a touch on the loud side, “Your boyfriend’s here.”

Turning, confusion written all over your face, is Steve. You want to give Jeanie a swift pinch but he’s watching–– and this time, he’s not alone.

A man is by his side, looking all kinds of fine and polished, but only the second handsomest thing you’ve ever seen. Steve mumbles something to him and nods in your direction. The new man smiles bright as the sun, and the two approach you.

“G’ morning,” Steve says, cheeks looking a little rosier than a second ago.

“Hi,” you say, grabbing two menus for courtesy–– Steve’s long since memorized the menu.

You’re about to lead the two men to Steve’s usual booth when the new man speaks up.

“Hello, sweetness,” he says, nodding at you, “I’ve heard lots about you.”

Brow quirked, you glance at Steve, who looks ready to chew his friend’s ear off when you’re out of sight. It’s another look you find unbearably cute on him.

As they slide into the usual booth, Steve fuming, you hand them their menus. “All good things, I hope?”

The man chuckles, dropping his angular jaw into his palm. From under long lashes, he looks up at you with what is truly a disarming smile, “Hard to paint you in a better light from what I’ve heard, honestly.”

At this, Steve kicks his friend from under the table, and rather hard from the yelp you get from the unfamiliar man.

“Two coffees, please,” Steve grits out. His hands are clenched white around the plastic menu and you hear its squeaking between his fingers.

“Sure thing, sugar,” you toss over your shoulder. Steve blushes again and his friend all but leers at him for it. The two boys are really at it, you can tell–– not only are their whispers loud and agitated, but other customers turn around to watch them box at each other. You shake your head.

Two coffees in hand, they stop fighting just as you arrive back at the table. The new man huffs and takes a sip of his coffee as Steve speaks up.

“This is Bucky,” he says, voice still firm, “And I brought him along because I thought he would be better behaved.”

Bucky’s head flies up like he’s about to start another fight and you intervene.

“Ah, well,” you shrug, “you’ve got enough manners for the two of you.”

Bucky holds his chest like you’ve shot him and you can’t help laughing, and they both seem to soften a little bit at that, then conversation and banter and the slightest bit of flirting flow easily. As it was with just the two of you before, you end up leaning on the table, then into Steve’s side of the booth. You tell them you’re just giving your feet a rest, but Bucky grins and his eyes flit between you and Steve. He looks proud, chest all puffed out and cheeks near sore from how wide he’s been smiling.

You turn to see what Bucky finds so interesting, and you have to stop yourself from bumping noses with Steve. He reels back and turns his head to cough a little to excuse himself, and you’re stuck with a fluttering feeling in your belly.

Bucky’s smiling but has the grace to change the topic.

The vinyl seat squeaks when you lean back into it, and you can see Steve’s hand just a few inches from yours. His fingers tap the seat restlessly, and he is looking at Bucky so intently that you’re sure he’s ignoring how close your hands are.

You roll your eyes but can’t stop your heart from leaping when you loop your pinky finger around his. Steve jolts and whips his head to look at you, then your hands, and back to you again. He’s got to be the least subtle person on the planet, honestly. Bucky’s continuing on with his story but snickering through it.

You really can’t recall a single word he says, though, because Steve squeezes your pinky against his then holds your hand fully. His hand is small and slim but it’s the shape of joy and happiness, and you think to yourself that you don’t want to go another day without his fingers entwined with yours.

It’s safe to say that Bucky’s rambling fell on deaf ears for the rest of their time in the diner.

“Are you doing anything after this?” Steve asks one day, after you take his bill and empty cup from him. You’re startled by his words, but not as much as he seems to be–– redness creeps up his neck until he’s covered with it and he raises his arms up in wild gesticulation.

“Not to assume, or pressure you into anything,” he stammers, “but I thought it would be nice to talk to you outside of this place. I-It’s a nice place, not to say it isn’t, but I just–– I wanted to take you out to–”

Steve just completely stops talking after those words. “Take you out,” he said.

Take you out…

Take you out!

“I’m sorry, I just––”

“Yes.”

Steve’s eyes widen at your interruption. The clatter of silverware and the easy conversation of other patrons fade away. He swallows, and chokes a little.

“Pardon?”

“Don’t make me say it again, Rogers.”

“No, it’s just–– did you hear me right?” Steve’s in disbelief, head tilted slightly. Though he’s the one asking you out, in this moment he really believes you’ve absolutely lost your mind.

You take a pause. Doubt creeps in and your worst nightmare seems to be unfolding right before you. “Well, gee… I sure hope I did.”

The conversation dies out again for a second. Both of you are at a loss for words.

“Um,” you begin.

“Well,” he says at the same time.

At this moment, you want nothing more than to claw your hair out and crawl into the kitchen freezer. Steve looks like he’s going to sprint out of here.

Not knowing what else to say, you default to, “Coffee?”

“Please,” Steve breathes out heavily, slumping his body back into the seat. Truth be told, this went way worse than he anticipated.

As you walk back to the counter, colors and sounds blur. Red becomes yellow becomes blue, and everything is much too loud. The coffee pours slow into a mug and you see every little chip in the handle and the coffee stains on the side of the mug.

Your apron feels too tight, too itchy. Jeanie is a few tables away–– you could probably give her the mug, tell her you’re leaving town, and catch a Greyhound to the other side of the country, all by noon today if you make the move now.

It’s all for moot, though. Your feet remember the steps and you end up by Steve’s side without remembering the walk over.

“Here,” you place the cup in front of him.

His head is in his hands and when he looks up, he stares straight ahead. His hands drag over his face and you’ve never seen a man as tortured as him.

“Thanks.”

You don’t know what to do, so you just stand before him, hands wrestling and sweaty. You can’t not look at Steve, how nervous and conflicted he looks. It’s worrying you, honestly… Did you really hear him wrong?

“I, um,” Steve shakes his head. “Wow.”

You’re cursing yourself for every little look and glance you’ve ever exchanged with Steve, cursing yourself for introducing yourself to him, for ever walking up to his table. You curse yourself for taking this stupid job, for living in New York, for falling in love with this beautiful mess of a man and––

“Okay, let me try again.”

Steve turns in his seat to face you.

“Look, I like you.” He takes a deep breath. “I really like you. And I’d like to take you out on a date, if that’s what you want. If you like me and want that, too.”

And just like that, all the air leaves you. You’re close to fainting, you think, with the relief that just coursed through you.

Steve looks like he’s bracing for impact, for you to physically attack him with the way his eyes are clenched shut and shoulders hiked up high on his neck.

In a way, he’s right–– you launch yourself at him and throw your arms over his shoulders to kiss him firm on the mouth.

You feel his eyelashes brush your face as his eyes shoot open, not expecting this in the least. They close shortly after, returning the kiss and his hands landing on your waist to pull you closer to him.

The kiss lasted no more than a few seconds, but Steve’s winded and gasping when you pull away from him. It probably doesn’t help that you’ve landed, basically, in his lap during the kiss.

“Sorry,” he says, “It’s my asthma.”

For some reason, that leaves you laughing, an absolutely side-splitting and tear-jerking fit of laughter. Steve joins in too, though he’s not sure why.

Your forehead is pressed against his shoulder and his hands on your waist feel like the most blissful, comforting sensation you’ve ever felt. You jolt up with a gasp, however, when you remember.

“You need to pay.”

“What?” Steve asks, incredulous. Sure, he had no intention of asking you to a date then letting you pay for it yourself–– the first time at least–– but he couldn’t deny you outright saying it was a bit rude.

“The coffee.”

He looks over at the cooling mug of coffee that sat untouched. He can’t help laughing again, head rolling back against the seat.

“I don’t know why I offered you it, honestly,” you say sheepishly, and pull back from him a little. His lap probably wasn’t the best place to sit yourself on during work hours, as much as you wished you could sit back down and get kissed senseless, you really needed the work.

“I don’t know why I bought it!” Steve stands, seems to want to move closer to you. He slides his hand into yours, pinky first, and continues. “How about I settle this cup and meet you at the door?”

Your grin is cheshire-like, and you steal a look at the clock. Your shift is over in seconds, thankfully. “I’ll see you there.”

Steve takes a moment of holding you close, his eyes keep sliding back to your lips. He leans in and kisses you again, and this time you allow yourself to melt. Kissing him is sweet and soft and the slightest bit slick–– it’s electrifying and you can’t wait to see all the different kinds of ways he can make you feel with his kiss.

He pulls away and you purr, tongue flicking out to your bottom lip. It catches Steve’s eye, of course, and he reddens and his breath gets caught in his throat.

“Go on,” he struggles to say, voice hoarse and a little strained.

You all but skip back to the counter, untying your apron and throwing it in the back.

You pass Jeanie on your way out, Steve’s thrown a handful of coins on the counter, and you loop your arm in his. Jeanie watches you turn the corner with your head on Steve’s shoulder, walking away from the commotion the two of you caused in the diner from all that tense confession mess and PDA.

“Fools, the two of them,” she shakes her head, “Lovestruck and absolute fools.”

[libraryscarf]

i wrote a piece for a mini anthology zine called “Covenant,” which you can (and should) download for free right here! everybody put a lot of love into this project and i’m so happy to see its reception <3 anyway, i got to write some daifuku, so that was just a big bonus.

closer ( read on ao3 )

There are two lessons Kofuku has learned from humans in her long, long life.

The first is that they hate for little reason.

: : :

“I think he...hic...hates me,” she whines, right before emptying the sake bottle in several despondent gulps. Bishamon gingerly scoots the three other full bottles out of reach before embracing her weeping friend.

“Of course he doesn’t hate you,” she says comfortingly. “He’s your shinki. He adores you.”

This just makes Kofuku cry harder.

“Nooooo,” she whimpers, a sob catching wetly in her throat. “I’m the woooorst. I break everything and I ruin the tea and none of my clothes fit right. Nobody would want me as a goddess. He hates me.”

Bishamon combs Kofuku’s tangled hair through her fingers, the impulse to laugh at her friend’s histrionics tempered by her realization that deep down, somewhere under the ocean of alcohol, Kofuku truly believes no shinki could be happy with her.

“Has he stung you?”

Kofuku goes very still. For a moment, Bishamon thinks she has asked a terrible question. Then Kofuku sniffles, wiping her nose angstily on Bishamon’s shoulder.

“N-no,” she admits. “B-But, I feel how uncomfortable he is around me. There’s this weird weight in my stomach whenever I get close to him, or try to touch him, and it makes me want to...want to…”

Then she’s crying again, her tears soaking clean through Bishamon’s thin robe and trickling down her collarbone. Bishamon’s brow furrows. She has felt a similar sensation to what Kofuku describes, usually from her younger shinki. It fades over time. But Kofuku…

: : :

Kofuku is miserable.

If she really had to put a name to it, she would say it isn’t hatred she feels from her shinki, so much as it is a deep unwillingness to be close to her. And Kofuku craves closeness. She would shower him with affection if he would accept it. It is his due, as her one loyal shinki.

But his responses to her overtures so far have been…discouraging.

“I thought I’d make dinner tonight!” she chirps. “You always do it, Daikoku! It’s unfair.”

She slides up alongside him where he sits cross-legged at the table, and feels his body go rigid when her shoulder brushes his side. Kofuku’s heart sinks to her knees.

“You want to cook?” he asks, hesitantly. “Using…fire?”

“Why not?! You do it all the time!”

Daikoku glances down at her, sidelong. “Because. Uh…mistress.”

“Kofuku!” she corrects, frowning.

“Because, Mistress Kofuku,” he emphasizes the honorific, earning himself a scowl. “You aren’t used to it. And I don’t mind doing the cooking.”

The long months of frustration and yearning and disappointment congeal around this one, completely banal conversation in Kofuku’s heart. She has tried, and tried, and tried to make this shinki love her, to make herself a god worth loving. But he seems determined to keep her at arm’s length, and Kofuku can feel his reluctance to close that distance. She carries it physically: a cold solid lump in the place where her stomach should be.

Daikoku’s face goes very white when he sees the tears collecting at the corners of her eyes.

“Hey!” he blurts out. “Hey, don’t do that!”

Kofuku glares at her clenched fists. “Why not?” she mutters petulantly.

Daikoku shuffles himself to face her, and for a dreadful moment she thinks he’s getting up—that he’s going to leave her like this, sniffling and pathetic. But he doesn’t stand. He just looks at the top of her head.

Kofuku glances up at him through her eyelashes, and the expression on his face is half-panic, half-distress. He has such a nice, strong face: beautiful despite the mean eyebrows and the stern mouth. She has to admire it, even now.

“You’re really crying because you want to make dinner?” he asks.

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kofuku is so startled that her tears abruptly stop, and she looks up at him. Daikoku, realizing what he’s just said, winces.

“What I meant is—”

“No.” Kofuku stops him with a threatening finger aimed directly at his chest. “No backing out of it,” she warns, although her voice is watery and quite the opposite of intimidating

“If you don’t believe me, then what do you think I’m upset about?” she demands.

Now Daikoku looks like he actually wants to run away.

“I…” He clears his throat.

A laden moment passes.

“I’m not…good at this.”

It is Kofuku’s instinct to pounce on that admission, to reassure him that he’s absolutely wonderful, fantastic, the best shinki, the handsomest and kindest she could ask for. But, with a heroic effort, she keeps her lips glued firmly shut.

Clearly struggling, and growing unnerved by her silence, Daikoku continues:

“I’m not very good at…talking feelings stuff. You know?”

Kofuku nods emphatically, an errant tear flying off the end of her nose. Unable to stop herself from reaching out, she grabs his hand and squeezes it. So close, Daikoku, she thinks. So, so close.

“But…I don’t like seeing you cry,” he says, almost inaudibly. Then, in a much gruffer tone: “I’m still not going to let you do anything in the kitchen. You might be a goddess and everything, but that won’t stop you from burning the place down.”

Kofuku’s eyes light up.

“Daikoku!” she giggles. “That’s the first time you’ve ever scolded me!”

He looks mortified at that, and Kofuku is quick to grab his other hand.

“No, no, please don’t worry! I was wondering when you’d lose your temper at me, and this was so much better than what I expected. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve been screamed at before. You’re so nice to me, Daikoku.”

She smiles at him then, broad and bright and generous. The expression on Daikoku’s face is an odd one. It shifts from embarrassment, to shock, to something bordering on pain.

“Oh,” he says simply. “I see.”

Kofuku squeezes his hands again, then loosens her grip so that if he wants to, he can pull away. He doesn’t.

She may be imagining it, but the discomfort in the pit of her stomach seems to lift. And she thinks maybe, if she can teach him fearlessness with her, they may still be able to bridge that small distance.

She should be able to do that. She can teach one human, perhaps, that her heart does not yield the same rotten harvest as her godhood. After all, there are two lessons Kofuku has learned from them. The first is that they can hate for little reason.

The second is that they can love for none at all.

[amairawrites]

⭐

I know most people who follow my tumblr came here because they read To Be Vulnerable.

So I’m going to talk about the story behind Fragile! You can go read it here.

It’s my least-read fic on AO3, currently the newest posted (I’m not counting chapter updates on TBV). But the abandoned WIP it came from is the oldest fic I wrote in the VLD fandom. Fragile was one of the early sections the fic, chronologically.

Stand By Me was always an ambitious project that I was never really going to finish – a full series rewrite, from the perspectives of Pidge and Shiro, completely abandoning the idea that this was ever supposed to be a child-appropriate show and diving straight into the very real effects of war on teenagers and young adults.

I, uh… clearly don’t do cutesy fluffy stories?

So, the basics: very slowburn eventual Keith/Pidge ship, left off at 36k words (some of which had been color-coded gray to mark it as no longer what I wanted), probably rated M or E for vaguely described awkward teenagers having their first time together and references to rubbing one out, and a whole lot of violence.

I adapted small bits of the show adapted to meet the tone or plot twists I had been planning. For example, when Ulaz first infiltrates the castle and flings Pidge across the hall, she collides with Keith, who cushions her fall, then gets back up to attack. In Stand By Me, he stays by her side and instead assumes a defensive pose over her to protect her.

A lot of it was working the song Stand By Me into the story as a thematic element as well as a way for the paladins to bond. Originally, Shiro sings it to Pidge when she’s stressed and upset and missing her family. Later, after he disappears, she finds Keith sitting in the observation deck (Did the castleship have one in the show? Who cares! You can do anything in fanfics!) singing the song to himself, and joins in.

I also jumped on the idea of the paladin bonds extending beyond paladin-lion to allow the paladins to connect to each other. It varied between characters, but the general idea covered sensing basic thoughts and emotions, as well as physical proximity and well-being.

Oh, and that everyone’s bayards could change shape with enough focus and a strong enough bond with their lion etc.

Ultimately, it shaped up to be a far more violent, raw, and emotional story than VLD was. I dropped it because I couldn’t figure out a satisfying ending after the major climax. I also decided a lot of what I had written earlier didn’t fit with what I was aiming for later, and that was a problem when I basically jumped around from start to finish and left huge gaps of plot development untouched. Then a lost of the plot points I was running with felt unsatisfying or downright bad, and then….

Yeah. I’m also a better writer now than I was when I started writing it.

And, if you’re still curious, I’m sharing another snippet of Stand By Me behind the cut. Feel free to message me with more questions about it, too!

Warnings for graphic violence in the first scene, and extremely mild sexual content between teenagers in the following scene.

Context: When Lotor’s crew encounters the paladins in the fanfic timeline’s equivalent to early s3 (Shiro is missing), it gets very violent very quickly. This is at the end of their third encounter, where Lotor is actually trying to kill them.

*****

“Keith! NO!” Pidge screams, spinning towards him.

His skin is split up the side, and she can’t tell where his blood ends and the red accents on his armor begin. The same red splatters up the blade of Lotor’s sword. 

Time seems to slow as her bayard crackles to life. Lotor raises his arm for a finishing strike.

Lotor is a skilled, accomplished warrior. He could easily defeat opponents twice his size, one-handed and blindfolded. He has sent Pidge flying across hallways without any effort. In his eyes, she is not, and never has been, any threat to him.

Which is probably why, when Pidge lets out a feral screech and sprints at him, he barely gives her a second look, a flick of his sword.

A flick that somehow positions it perfectly for her to disarm him.

Keith meets her eyes and mouths some kind of protest.

She’s sure her mind has gone offline. Her body moves of its own accord. Distantly, she’s aware that the other Paladins are charging in behind her, and she knows they’re there, but they might as well be figments of her imagination, shades of reality that don’t matter. All sound is muffled, all thought ceases. She can’t do anything other than keep her eyes locked with Keith’s. She can’t hear anything other than his desperate, shaky breaths. 

She can’t lose him, too.

The grappling hook of her bayard wraps around the blade and her hand yanks it back. Her head turns for a brief moment to track it as it skitters across the floor, as she crouches, scoops it up, and swings it upwards.

Through Lotor’s right thigh, opening his abdomen, and ending at a bone in his left shoulder.

His face is the textbook picture of shock, of surprise, mouth drawn open in a silent gasp, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, as though it was frozen in that position long before his own sword broke his skin.

Blood, purplish and hot, erupts out of his chest in spurts. Pidge relaxes her arm, nearly vomiting at the soft squelch his wound makes as she lets the sword drop.

Sound is back. Time is back. Everything is loud and fast and overwhelming and she’s going to be sick.

And Lotor falls forward, collapses onto her, leaks on her. Someone is shrieking, screaming, crying, and she doesn’t even realize it’s her until Hunk pulls the dying prince off and drops him to the floor. There are entrails on her thighs, and some sick part of her mind actually pauses to wonder if Galrans or Alteans have digestive systems configured like humans’ and maybe those are intestines?

Then, as if it’s not enough already, Lotor actually gurgles his final breaths, and Pidge tastes bile and acid in her throat, feels it in her nose, and – oh, she’s actually vomiting now.

She yanks her helmet off and scrambles over toward Keith, only for Hunk to grab her around the waist and pin her to his side.

“Hunk, let me go! Let me go! I have to – have to get to Keith. I have to protect Keith,” she half-sobs, her voice shrill and pinched. None of her kicks or punches have any effect, and his grip is starting to hurt even as his voice soothes, and she has no fight left in her anyway.

“It’s okay, Pidge. You already protected him. Lance and Allura got him, and he’s going to be okay.”

******

Lotor grins viciously at her, yellow eyes crinkling with joy at his handiwork.

Keith is dead.

He’s dead, and it’s her fault that she couldn’t stop Lotor in time. She cries out, lunges for him, but nothing she does can touch him. He’s too fast, too strong.

The walls start to curve and droop inwards and he just laughs over her.

Purple blood splatters out his chest.

Lotor hisses her name, her failure.

But it’s not Lotor anymore – it’s Shiro, and he’s dying on her bayard, and she’s killed him, she’s killed him, she’s a murderer.

“How could you?” he asks. Purple blood streams out of his mouth and lands on her face, and the droplets start to spread, consuming and erasing everything in their path.

He’s disintegrating outwards from his chest, and screaming at her, and she’s screaming at herself. The blood on her face is dripping onto her hands, staining them red and purple, and her skin turns black and dead.

He glares at her as she begs for him to stay, and she tries to claw at his shoulders but her hands are nothing more than bone now, and she can’t move. Then she can’t speak.

She can only watch as he vanishes, only listen as he tells her how she’s fallen, how she’s a monster, how she has failed. 

Then she can’t hear, can’t feel, can’t…

“Pidge! Pidge! It’s just a dream!”

She lurches forward, gasping and coughing.

She’s in her bed, in someone’s arms. Arms that are rubbing up and down her back.

“It’s just a dream, Pidge,” Keith murmurs into her hair.

She bursts into tears at his voice, and he hugs her tight.

He’s alive. He’s here, done with his time in the healing pod, looking good as new. She doesn’t know how long she clings to his jacket, but he doesn’t complain.

“I… I was too late, and Lotor killed you,” she eventually chokes out, and he holds her tighter. “And… and then when I killed Lotor, it was actually Shiro.”

Saying it out loud brings on another burst of tears, and a third arm around her shoulders.

She whips around, at least as much as she can with Keith still squeezing her. The other three Paladins are in the room as well. Lance is next to her, his face the very portrait of brotherly concern, Hunk and Allura flanking him.

Right. Lance has sisters. He knows the sound of nightmare screams.

The smile on Allura’s lips is meant to be reassuring, but the concern creasing her brows ruins the effect and just makes her look bewildered. The waver in her voice doesn’t help either. “We came to let you know Keith was awake, but…”

The silence stretches into awkwardness, until Lance slides in behind her, all splayed limbs and smug smiles.

“We figured you’d get more use out of the handsomest pillow in the galaxy.”

Pidge giggles, despite herself, and Keith reaches past her to grab her pillow and whack Lance square in the face with it, finally smiling at his muffled “Hey!”

“Pidge,” Allura begins again, “will you be alright?”

Lance’s arms stretch out to her, his smile dropping from smug into sweet, and Pidge scoots up to him, letting him fold her in his embrace.

“I got you, Pidgita,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and it’s almost like having Matt here, and the tears well up again.

Keith snuggles up on her other side, and it’s almost like having Shiro there, and she finally cracks out, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Well, the beds weren’t designed to fit five Paladins, but…” Allura trails off, her tone all mischief. She and Hunk share a look before they both shrug and jump onto the bed anyway, to the immediate protests of the three under them. They crush their victims for a few ticks before Hunk peels off the pile and starts pushing the mess on the floor toward the walls.

“I’ll just go grab my mattress, then.”

It takes a few moments for his words to register, what with the distraction of Lance’s fingers combing her hair.

“Wait, really?”

He shrugs again, as if it’s obvious. “Well, yeah. I mean, you’re already settled in, and Allura and I won’t fit on your bed too.”

They take up their vigil on the floor, mattress framed by all Pidge’s tech clutter, and she wants to thank them all for being so supportive, but the words that exit her mouth are, “You know, Lance, you’d have much better luck with the ladies if you were sweet like this rather than trying to be suave.”

“See if I come comfort you next time you have a nightmare,” he says with an exaggerated pout, but pulls her closer anyway.

Objectively, the pile on her bed can’t be comfortable for anyone except maybe Keith, who is curled up with his head resting on her chest. But the security everyone seems to get from each other, judging by their contented sighs as they settle in to sleep, overrides any anticipated aches and pains.

******

Pidge drifts into consciousness somewhere in the late morning. Her room is still dim, and silent aside from the soft sighs Keith makes as he sleeps next to her. At some point, the others must have returned to their own rooms, or got up to go about their day.

Slowly, she eases out of bed, careful not to wake him, and pads over to her bathroom. Her eyes burn and her face feels sticky and gross and the rest of her body has that odd sweat funk, and nothing sounds as good as a nice, hot shower.

She had taken it for granted, when she first got here, that there were giant showers in all the rooms and they used regular hot water. Over time, after eating nothing but goo for weeks on end and drinking what smells like moldy hot dog water entirely too often, she’s gained a new appreciation for the fact that Alteans don’t clean themselves with dust baths or wash in undiluted ammonia or something else equally unappealing.

However, not even the spray of water feels that great right now, as it stings against the previous night’s dried tears and sears into the raw skin of her cheeks.

Pidge blinks rapidly, but rather than clearing away the old tears, she only succeeds in bringing on a wave of new ones. A high, keening wail tears itself from her throat, bringing with it some kind of directionless grief.

Sliding down the wall of the shower, she hugs her knees to her chest and gasps, trying in vain not to cry.

“Pidge?” Keith, his voice still a sleepy rasp, pokes his head past the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

She tries to answer, but only manages an unintelligible series of screeches and cries, her throat simultaneously weak and tight. A moment later, Keith’s face makes its appearance at the edge of the sliding shower door. She tucks her arms and legs closer around her.

“Hey, can I come in?”

This time, Pidge does manage to croak out a word. “Yeah.”

He leans in, hissing when the water strikes his shirt. “Fuck, that stings. Ugh. Give me a second.”

Pidge nods, and watches mutely as he pulls his shirt and jeans off, movements stiff and slow, far from his usual fluid grace. Now he’s just as naked as she is, and her eyes track to the jagged red scar tracing a line from his right thigh to his right armpit.

Raising an eyebrow, Keith sits across from her, angling his body so none of the water sprays directly onto the new skin, pulling his left leg in to hide behind. “Like what you see?”

Her face flushes, and she’s sure it’s just as pink as his scar is red. “Does it hurt?” She reaches towards his waist, before catching herself, flushing even deeper and snapping her hand back to her lap. “Sorry. I mean, I know it can’t feel that great, even with the healing pods, and… sorry. I should have been quicker to stop him.”

Keith scoots closer, grabs her hand, and pulls it to his chest. Neither of them breathe as he drags her fingertips down the line, to his ribs and waist and pelvis and thigh. His skin is so soft, taut against the muscle underneath it, and her blush probably covers every inch of her body now.

“It’s a little raw, and aches like a bruise,” he suddenly answers, making her jump and twitch back. His lips quirk up into a smirk and he twines his hand with hers. “Thank you, Pidge.”

“It’s Katie,” she blurts out. His eyebrow arches again. Shit, she’s blushing even harder now. “My real name is Katie.”

“I gathered, but….”

Her mouth works faster than her brain, and every word makes her want to die of embarrassment. “I mean, we’re sitting here in the shower, completely naked. It doesn’t really make sense if you don’t know my real name.”

“Sure, Katie,” he answers, smiling. “I already knew.”

“Oh.”

They keep their eyes locked on each other’s face as much as possible, occasionally dropping their stare downward, until it’s too much for Pidge, and she uncurls and flings her arms and legs out.

“Look! Just look! Holy shit, just get it over with!”

His eyes go wide and jaw falls slack. He bypasses pink entirely, instantly flushing a deep red all the way down to his sternum, even while his gaze roves over every inch of her. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he looks away.

“Well?” she demands.

“You’re… very pretty, Pidge,” he murmurs, hunching his shoulders up.

She giggles, hating the sound, but she can’t fight the grin on her face. She pulls her limbs back, sitting in a normal cross-legged position, and rakes her wet hair away from her face. Keith is still red all over, hunching so far that his face is half hidden behind his left leg.

Pidge looks him up and down. “Your turn?”

“Nooo, no please.”

“You’ll have to stand up eventually, you know.”

He doesn’t respond, only pulling his legs closer and folding them in front of his – oh. Ohhhh.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Keith.”

He grumbles some garbled string of words she can’t quite pick up on over the sound of the shower.

“Besides,” she continues with a grin and a nod towards his crotch, “he’s got good taste.”

“Oh my god.” Keith draws his arms around his knees and hides his face entirely. His blush spreads to his elbows.

She sighs. “At least move over so I can take my shower.”

“I – you know, fine. Here, look.”

He stands, slowly, his right side stiff and tense, and holds his arms out, turning in a circle for her. 

He’s all muscle, lean and slim and dangerous. The defined V of the middle of his back is mirrored at the bottom of his abs. A small patch of fine hair trails down the middle of his chest, picking up again just below his navel and down to his crotch. The spray from the shower splashes off his shoulders and back as he stops and drops his arms, framing him with an ethereal mist. His hair is plastered to his face and neck, his mouth pressed into a line as he waits for her to speak.

Her eyes drift from head to toe and back.

He is gorgeous. How has she never noticed before now?

“Wow,” Pidge breathes, then immediately wants to smack herself for sounding like some dazed airhead – and feeling like one, too. She rises to her feet and sweeps his hair away from his forehead. “To answer your earlier question, yes, I like what I see.”

Keith half-gurgles, half-whines, hiding his face in his left hand, as his right goes to shield his groin. He and Pidge both let out nervous giggles. She slides by him, blushing so hard her head spins as her bare thigh brushes against his.

“Pidge!” he squeaks.

“Sorry, sorry. Here,” she grumbles, leaning out of the shower and grabbing an extra washcloth, “you can use my stuff.”

They retreat to opposite ends of the shower, facing away from each other, and hastily clean themselves.

“Hey Pidge? Can you get my shoulder? I can’t quite reach it.”

She turns back around, and before she can oblige, her eye catches on a series of small, puckered scars next to his left hipbone. Because curiosity has been known to override all her other senses, including common sense, she reaches out and brushes her fingers over them.

Keith freezes.

Slowly, his hand peels hers off of his hip. No other part of him moves.

He’s trembling.

“Keith?” Pidge lifts her eyes to his, only to be met with the most fearful expression she’s ever seen. “What happened?”

After a few deep breaths, he lets out a shuddering sigh and droops slightly, looking so ashamed that Pidge has to wonder if they’re self-inflicted. Or maybe he ran with a bad crowd, or –

“Cigarette burns from my foster mom, when she was drunk. My… fourth or fifth home, I think. The last home.”

Her mind short-circuits and her eyes jerk back to the scars. There are at least a dozen, some larger than others. She pulls her hand free from his and places her palm over the marred skin, holding steady even though he shivers and flinches away. She doesn’t miss his sharp gasp when she places her other hand on his right hip.

He’s so tightly wound, so rigid and scared, and she wracks her brain for the right words, coming up empty.

“There’s nothing I can say to make it better, is there,” she finally sighs.

Keith’s eyebrows raise slightly.

Pidge curls her fingers into his hips and mutters, “I suppose she’s lucky I’m not on Earth, because I might just kill her for hurting you.”

His eyebrows raise straight to his hairline.

“Shiro almost did.”

“What?”

“I mean, he didn’t, but he was so angry. He somehow got custody of me instead, even though he’s not an actual foster parent, and he was going to officially help emancipate me after he got back from Kerberos, but…”

She takes a step closer to him, and he draws her into a loose hug, as little of their bare skin touching as possible for it to still count as an embrace. 

He brushes his hand along her left shoulder. “What’s this?”

Pidge knows what exactly he’s looking at without having to ask for clarification, the circle of odd spots that aren’t freckles but dust her skin like them. “Bullies in middle school. They thought it would be funny to stick the nerd with a bunch of mechanical pencils.”

She feels rather than hears his growl.

Then Keith dips his head down and presses his mouth to those little scars and her brain short-circuits for an entirely new reason. Her hands grip his hips even tighter, keeping him in place as she twists forward to tuck her head against his collarbone. The breathy sigh that earns her, hot against her neck, sends a rush of adrenaline straight to her chest.

Which means it’s the perfect time for her door’s comm to buzz. They jolt apart as though zapped.

“Pidge, it’s Allura. I wanted to see if you and Keith are awake yet,” comes the muffled voice from her bedroom comm speaker.

She quickly holds a finger to her lips and Keith nods. “Redirect comms to bathroom,” she states, turning to face the shower door, and a speaker next to it chimes in response. “Hey Allura, I’m just showering. We’ll be out soon.”

“Oh! Sorry, Pidge. Take your time. Is Keith alright?”

“Will do, thanks. He’s doing well, just a bit stiff.”

Keith chokes behind her, and she has to stifle her own laughter as she realizes the other way that answer could be interpreted.

Fortunately, Allura is oblivious to Earth slang. “I should have figured. He had quite a bit of damage to the underlying muscles. Even with the sleeping pod, it’ll take some time for them to be back to normal. Well, when you’re done, we have some data from Lotor’s ship that needs analysis.”

“I’ll be right on it. See you in a bit.” She waits a moment, then, “Reset comms to bedroom.”

After a beat, Pidge half-turns and very, very openly checks out Keith. “Just a bit stiff.”

“Oh my god, Pidge,” he groans.

She bursts into laughter, nearly cackling, as she quickly scrubs his shoulder. “I’m going to go dry off your shirt, and you can take your time finishing up.”

“Take my… what?”

Her eyes flick down again. “Just make sure it all gets down the drain.”

“Pidge!” Keith yelps, flushing bright red again.

She just grins and steps out of the shower.

Ten minutes later, after his shirt has been wrapped up in a towel and wrung enough that it’s only barely damp, Keith emerges from the bathroom.

“You’re terrible,” he says, scowling at her, wearing only a towel around his waist. He slightly purses his lips as he studies her sweatshirt. “That’s getting a bit worn out.”

“And too small,” Pidge grouses. “But I don’t have anything else.”

She towels off her hair, then does the same to Keith, and they quickly get dressed.

The look on Lance’s face as he sees them both exit her room together, hair equally damp, is so priceless that Pidge can’t help but start giggling again.

Keith just curses under his breath.

“Aw, don’t worry Keith,” she purrs, “I promise to do my level best not to think of it during our next group memory exercise.”

“Pidge!”

He’s bright red again, and looking more embarrassed than he was in the shower, but a ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

She can’t even remember why she had been so upset.

*****

[isakwon]

Torrent Nightmare

Pairing: Mark x Reader x Jackson

Genre: Fluff, suggestive but not smutty

Inspired by: Jasmine Cephas Jones’s “Say No To This”

Summary: He thought you were having an affair behind his back until he woke up.

   The plane was ready for the passengers waiting in line to board on. You and your boyfriend Jackson are wrapped up in each others embrace. Jackson counted the days on the calendar to his tour in Thailand , now he is leaving three days in advance. You understood how performing was a living for him, and no matter how far he would go you’d always support him. Except the tours were usually short now this time he would have to work on this tour for 90 days. Jackson pulls his head away to meet your gaze pouting his lips like a puppy, you twirled a lock of his hair as you smile softly. 

“I’ll miss you.” His little whine wasn’t something he showed off, he felt guilty about leaving you by yourself. 

“It’ll go by fast you know how time is.”  

Jackson continues pouting his lips, as he tightens his arms around you. “Once I get back I promise I’ll spend all my time with you. We’ll have all the time to ourselves just kicking back and be as fat as we can with all the chips and soda, whatever saves our allowance.”

You smirk, “Once you get back, I’m going to start going to the gym with you. I’ve been looking kinda chubby when I saw myself in the mirror at work.”

 “Ay, I like my woman regardless especially with a little meat on her bones.”

You laughed aloud and with that, both of you bid goodbye with a kiss on the forehead.

A month later…

   Jackson’s first stage performance ended. As soon as he arrived at the hotel room Jackson removes his face mask and reaches for his phone, thinking of you and how you’re doing. He falls on the giant fluffy bed, unlocking the screen and sliding his finger on the pop up keyboard. He taps the send button on the screen making sure to hear that ‘swooping’ noise before allowing himself to instantly fall asleep. 

 “There’s nothing like summer in the city…Someone under stress meets someone looking pretty.” -Leslie Odom Jr. 

   The night was getting older as the street lamps automatically turned on and the sky was growing darker. You thought working double hours throughout the next few months could help you get certified, so your boss agreed to let you take some paperwork home.

You hadn’t slept in a little over a week, you were bright eyed and bushy-tailed, willingly to take the stress.  Now you’re filled with regret,fatigueness, bitter black coffee, you were more in need of a break.

 Jackson wouldn’t be back until another three months. Other than your untouched bed, you longed for his back hugs and his sweet-yet also annoying aegyo-even if he only did it while drunk.

 “It would be nice to have him here.” You say.

 His arm would be  wrapped around you, watching a movie on the loveseat together, the both of you relaxing from both physical and mental exercising. Suddenly, your phone makes a ‘ding’ sound, you lift it up and a message from him appears on the screen.

9:29 p.m. Text Messages:

Jackson: Hey Baby, just checking up ,I miss you <:(

 You smirk at the at the text.

…

He could move no more than a foot, nor speak a word. All he did was stand outside the door with another unknown man beside him.

…

 Your thumbs fumble over the screen when suddenly three knocks on the door startles you with a whip of your head. You check the time on your phone, 9:30 p.m.

   You get up from your chair, after yawning once again and stretching your back, as you walk to answer the door-with a hint of suspicion.

  People from work, your friends and your Dad knew how hard you were working but they didn’t know about the all-nighters-they all assumed you’d be hitting the hay before sunset. As you unlock the door and pull it open, that’s when you see Mark Tuan from Department 3.

       Looking at the man from head-to-toe, wondering, ‘Why is he here?’

   All around the office Mark Tuan was another skyscraper with an outstanding IQ, most likely to become C.O.O or right chairman of his department. He was calm in the most difficult cases, trustworthy, but naive on the other hand.

Other male associates either admired or envied him, the female associates perk their shoulders up at his name. The very first time you saw him…he may have been-just may have been the handsomest man you’ve ever seen.

  You and Jackson just started dating at the time, and you rarely ever talked to Mark,he probably never remembers the sound of your voice nor you with his voice.

      It was definitely not the first time he attracted a woman’s attention at first sight, but he never realized the many times his eyes stayed put towards your direction, nor the nervousness around you before. Even right now he’s trying not to break a sweat.

 Mark greets you with a sincere smile.

“Good Evening Y/N. How are you?” He says lowly.

You greet him back with a sincere smile.

“Mr. Tuan, I’m pretty good. How are you?.” You whisper.

“I’m so sorry to come at a time like this, but I’m missing several files so I called the chairman and he told me about accidentally handing them to you.”

  “Files?…Oh yes I have them!”

  You walk over towards your desk,stacking the papers neatly. Mark stands at the foot of the door with both of his hands in front of him.

 “P-Please c-come in.”

   “There’s trouble in the air, you can smell it.” 

     Mark takes them from your hand, your feel a bit of heat rise on your cheeks as he smiles sweetly at you; some reason you can only shyly glance back at him.

    “Thank you Y/N,” “You worked on all these and you really jotted down everything correctly. I’m quite impressed.”

   ‘Correctly? After 72 hours of scribbling and erasing those three packets of listings, appointments, open houses, leasing forms and commissions I’ve never seen before; I had everything on them done right?’  You sigh contently to yourself feeling a strip of pride within you, Mark keeps the smile on him.

 “You did an amazing job. Broker Yang would surely raise your status higher.” He says, “I always knew you are a super smart person.”

 You try hiding your shy grin. “Uh Thank you. The small giggles die down to an awkward silence. Mark fidgets with his earlobe. “I understand how you’re very busy with the job and trying to very hard to get certified,” He blushes brazenly, half of the place was dark so luckily you didn’t notice. “But I’d like to-I mean-I’ll..” He mumbles.

 “Sorry?”

“I-! I can buy you a meal or, or anything to drink?” Mark had been asked out by various people on a date or for a drink but he’d politely turn them down. Right now he forgot the last time he asked someone out for anything. You don’t speak at first. “Um…”

  He quickly shakes his head, “As a way of saying thank you” No matter how much attention he gained, he was afraid of rejection himself especially from you. “And how sorry I am that you just did six months worth of mortgages that I was supposed to do.” He interrupts.

Jackson turns his head in his pillow.

 He laughs nervously sliding his fingers in his coat pockets.Your eyelids drop down as you politely smile. You say, “Okay.”

  Thankfully, instead of now bland instant noodles with heavy soda or bitter coffee, like you presumed, Mark takes you a block away from your apartment bringing you to parked food truck vendors. The block was lively active so many pedestrians and lit up mason jars dangling tree to tree, about twenty trucks of an entire earth of foods.

  You had isolated yourself for so long between home and work, now you’re back in the outside world, you almost forgot how going out felt relaxing and inviting. You felt so alienated only a small block of the area you lived in was like you were touring a street in a new country.

 “They didn’t accept debit so, I only had enough to buy a full plate of just for you.” He sits next to you on a curb while handling the bottles of lime soda after insisting on sharing the tacos.

  Mark lets you alone for a moment leaving you on the spot a reminder comes to mind when realizing you haven’t responded to the message earlier. Your hands go through your pockets but you realized you left your phone on the desk. You curse under your breath &”Jackson was probably really occupied at the moment. ”Y/N.”

  Mark comes back holding a smoothie in a large glass out before you. You flicker between the handsome smiling face and the glass.

  He generously smiles at you unable to hide the pink in his cheeks when your fingers graze upon his when you accept the smoothie telling Jackson how he’s too kind.

 Meanwhile Jackson remains asleep in the bed. His eyes scrunch open, turning on his stomach in bed and drifts back to sleep.

  You lift your lips off the straw turning your head to Mark after being asked if you’re seeing anybody. His expression looked innocent and he scooted back a bit laying his hands on the concrete. “Yeah,I..well…”

  You clear your throat, “I actually am…having something with someone for about almost a year.” Your relationship was more likely a restart you and Jackson had been on and off for that year. He began going on the road with his friends and his music more often a real disadvantage to have a relationship, too risky to be considered an “official” couple.

He wanted to make it work between you two, he begged for forgiveness after finding out him and another young woman getting a little tangled with each other. The morning after Jackson pounded on your front door begging for you to open explaining how he wasn’t drunk just had a few drinks and the girl was the one toxicated, nothing went further than a back hug and never meaning to hurt you. His friends stood on his side with his innocence while understanding your ‘jealousy’ at the time. 

  Mark nods his head looking at the street life ahead without another word, parting his lips like he wanted to ask anything more. It was getting awkward again as you lift your lips off the straw.You ask, “Are you?” He smirks ahead of him before turning his attention to you again.

…

 The blanket slid off his shoulders bundling around his hands keeping them warm except for his foot poking out. The temperature set in the room was at a low number however he felt a drop rolling down his temple. 

….

Mark looks at you the entire walk home,“I actually never dated before.” His response struck you like lightning how is someone so very attractive single for his life?

“Really?”

 “Well, I did have something with someone too, however it was complicated then. She was my very first date, she had a liking to me and I thought she liked me back as much, but after a few weeks of seeing each other she treated me wrong in many ways.”

“What were the things that she did if you don’t mind me asking?”

   He looks down to his feet holding his hand up to his head. “For starters, she nearly tore my hair off literally.”

Your eyes stretched wide open.

“There was one time we were eating at a beach themed place and I accidentally spilled a drink on the table. Luckily it wasn’t big yet she pulled my hair and yelled at me for ‘getting her new sweater wet’. Not a drop was on her, thankfully we were the only ones on the patio and no one watched it happen.”

You exhale, “And so, because of the way she treated you, you weren’t considered a couple to you?”

He nods looking back towards you.

 “I’m sorry..”

  You arrived at your door inserting the keys in the hole You eyes remain on Mark most of the time neither of you able to contain the shy grins, you kept thinking how creepy you must’ve looked the entire time. Out of nowhere, you felt the need to possibly pay manners back, what you think of doing and are about to do heats your face entirely.

“No, no, Y/N the pleasures’ all mine.” His brows knit upwards holding his palms out before him keeping the smile. He’s stopping the twenty bucks in your hands whacked out your pocket.

  “No,no, you’re being so kind in buying me lunch and I just have to do something in return, I really-”

 “Y/N..it’s okay.” He blushes lightly and you both snicker as you put the money away. He tilts his head a little thinking if he should head back home your chin stuck in your neck.

 “If you do need help on any uh..paperwork you can always ask me and we can work on it during our Lunch hour.”

  He holds his earlobe, fondling with it again.You look at each other for a bit not saying a word suddenly making the atmosphere awkward around the apartment-which was more like a dorm. Nothing but a small room with a bed in the living room which led straight to the tiny play kitchen and the small bathroom with a closet inside as the only other room.

 You clear your throat before stuttering, “Actually there were a few details that I was going to ask the Chairman about but if you don’t mind staying I could use help now.”

Mark accepts your little request sitting beside you. “Sure.”

“She turned red, she led me to her bed, let her legs spread and said…” -Lin Manuel Miranda

  “Steven thinks business is all about style which is true, but the top priority is our guests, our buyers who come to us.”

 “The way Steven treats them was never to my liking nor do I think anyone else’s. His sarcasm towards Julia is so vicious, how does she still treat him as if he isn’t her junior?”

   The conversation started with sending files to correct residents and customer service now you two are talking smack about the people that are disliked in your departments. Mark had never seen you smile before. Smiling widely that is, the ones he did see before were petite and polite. The ones he sees now are genuine that stretched eye to eye showing the top row of her teeth. Your eyes were like upside down crescents, the lamp’s light reflected in her orbs and he learns that she has a single dimple. The more you two exchange smiles and jokes to one another the faster their heart beated and the more their timidating desires increased.

  All of a sudden you’re more than close to Mark’s face, he stares at you completely shocked nothing came out of him much like how you are right now only face inches away, taking your hands off his face. You’re silent on the outside but in your mind all you can say is “Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck!” now your face is beet red. You had just pulled his face to yours, sucking the next breath out of him.

  “I-uh-I am so so sorry Mar-er, Mr.Tuan I don’t-”

You get cut off by Mark with his mouth crashing against yours and you instantly flutter your eyes close and you begin to follow his actions. His lips massage yours gently, butterflies breach in your stomach and the kiss rapidly heats up causing a few little mewls transporting from him to your throat. p>

  Her lips were plump and the flavor of them were savory, he doubted kissing them again would happen, so he began to take full advantage. He slowly steps forward while you step backwards, holding onto his arms.

  The way he used his index finger to stroke your cheekbone makes the blood in your cheek rush rapidly. His hands grasp the hem of your shirt.Your lips never detached as he moves his hand flat on your back, his other hand trails down your back stopping at your upper hip at the same time. You pull him down to kiss him deeper, scratching the hair on the back of his neck, scratching the hem of his hair. You use your teeth to gently pull his lower lips, earning a moan from him. 

…

   And all Jackson could do was watch. He couldn’t move, he tried to speak, to yell, but nothing came out. He wanted to run before them to shove them off each other, to punch Mark but all he could do was watch his girl and the scene play in front of him. Watching the guy’s thumb draws small circles on her temple shriveled his skin, his throat held a choking pain.

   She would’ve told any stranger, ‘No’, to get out of her face if he wasn’t respecting her. He waited and waited for Y/N to come to her senses and push Mark away.

...

Once you removed Mark’s jacket, he loses grasp of you, grazing lips against each other as he tore off his buttoned up polo shirt. His bare arms were masculine and structured nicely it surprised you how such arms hid under his long sleeve dress shirts worn at work. “I wish I could’ve been yours.” You gasp at his sentence as soon as he catches your lips again. You gripped his shoulders leaving little nail marks on him and your breath hitched in your throat. Hearing their moans back to back repeatedly throughout the night. 

...

Y/N was infatuated by someone who wasn’t him He was being ignored completely, it boiled his skin as he tightens his closed eyes. “Pathetic.”

Jackson opens his eyes and he finds himself in a familiar room with his head down on something soft. He wanted to be resting on top of Y/N’s hair inhaling the scent that lingered on him and exhaling with relief, his arm hugging her waist as he pulls her in closer. Lifting his head up to get a short glimpse of her face, but once his vision cleared he let go of the large pillow whom he thought was Y/N. He got up in sitting position, he ran his fingers through his damp hair then looks around the hotel room.  “Y/N!”

 He reaches for his phone thats charging once he pressed the on/off button he still doesn’t have a text back. She sent him a picture of her desk scattered with paper above a text banner saying, ‘I regret this now. I’d rather have your hugs’ sided with a crying face. He exhales he notices that the picture she sent had been sent yesterday. 

Meanwhile, the same word was moaned back and forth, in the entire little condo. “Y-yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes”

“Yes”

  Mark wasn’t able to stop his finger from stroking your cheekbone because you held his wrist up, loving the way it moved side to side and in rainbow like motions. His long smooth looking skin was wet and covered with fresh red spots on one side something that he began to work on now. He stops and gazes up at you, “So god damn beautiful.” 

No. 

He asks, “May I?”

Even in the most personal moments he’s still too nice. Instead of saying ‘shut up’ you say, “Yes..” He ghostly traces an upside down crescent over your collarbone. “Yes.”

No.

Your palms spread over his hovering firm torso there was a fiery erratic beat of a heart and you knew it wasn’t from you. It couldn’t last long. Mark pants against your skin at the crook of your neck.

And finally…

“Ah! Yes!”

“Y-Yes!”

-Fin...

A/N: Not much to say but Thank you SO very much for reading! Please lemme know what ya’ll think <3

[chipsandwaffles]

sweet like ice cream

Taeyong overreacted too much sometimes, especially when it came to the thought of breaking up with you.

this is a mix of two ideas but honestly neither worked well alone so i smashed them together and got this :D. this is for @cremethorns because she was dying over her finals so i thought i’d write this for her but her finals are over so. whoops? have it anyways <3 enjoy ^^

“She’s not talking to meeeee…”

“Maybe she doesn’t like you anymore and wants to break up with you.”

“WHAT?! She wants to break up?!”

“No, wait, Taeyong, I was- joking.”

You’re resting your head on your books, ready to pass out when you hear a door slam at the other end of the library. You roll your eyes, wondering how rude someone had to be to slam the door in the library of all places. You hoped the librarian kicked them out immediately.

“Y/N!”

You blink a few times when you hear your voice being whispered loudly to you, and let out a quiet groan when you recognize said voice. No way he was here. You were probably dreaming, all your late nights staying up studying finally catching up with you in the form of bad dreams like this.

He didn’t even like libraries, so why would he be here?

“Y/N.” The voice is right next to you, and you raise your head from your books, looking at the guy speaking. Taeyong is sitting there, one of his puppy pouts already on his face. His pink hair is a mess and there’s sweat dripping down his face, which, makes you think he might have run here.

Why, you didn’t know.

“Taeyong, we’re in the library. Why are you being so loud? Why are you even here-

“Because I wanted to see you,” he interrupts. He reaches for your hand but you pull back, frowning at him.

“Yongie I told you I was studying. You’re too big of a distraction for me. Get out of here,” you tell him. Taeyong’s pout melts into a really sad look, and if you weren’t mistaken you’d think he was ready to cry. Did he have a bad day? You guessed maybe you could offer three minutes of your study time to cheer him up-

“Do you want to break up with me?” You blink at Taeyong in surprise and tilt your head in confusion. Break up? Where was he getting that idea?

“Break up?” He’s already sniffling and you sigh, reaching for his hand.

“Taeyong, let’s get out of here. We can talk outside,” you tell him. He looks at you, shaking his head.

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry- I won’t do it again-

You reach your other hand to touch his face, hoping maybe it will calm him down a little. You’re really not sure why all this was brought on, but you needed to stop it before the big puppy decided to break down in the library.

“Taeyong, you didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s go outside. We can talk out there. Please.”

Taeyong hesitates for a moment, probably going through a scenario in his head in what might happen outside. Which would be over the top, and probably ended with him crying on the sidewalk alone. His imagination did things like that.

Eventually though he stands up, wiping at his eyes where tears were ready to fall. He waits for you to gather your things before grabbing your hand as you head outside together. You make your way down the steps of the library building hand and hand, Taeyong standing as close as he possibly can. Taeyong was such a clingy boyfriend sometimes, but, it was so cute so you let it slide.

You reach the bottom of the steps and turn to Taeyong, smiling at him even though he was somehow looking ready to cry again. That wasn’t good. You needed to fix this quickly before he believed you were really going to break up.

“Taeyong, I’m not breaking up with you. Where did you get that idea?” You ask. He sniffles and looks down at the ground.

“You haven’t been talking to me at all and I was with Yuta earlier-

You roll your eyes at the mention of Yuta, because of course Yuta probably said something. “Taeyong, first of all, Yuta always says stuff like that to mess with people. I’m sure he was just joking. And, second, I told you why I couldn’t talk to you while I’m studying.”

“But… I can be quiet-

“I don’t need you to be quiet, Taeyong. You’re just distracting. How can I think about my homework or studying if I have the handsomest guy sitting next to me with his hands up my shirt? Huh?”

A smile breaks across Taeyong’s face along with a faint blush, all of a sudden shy at your words. Even if he was shy, it was true. How could you study when all you could think about when he was next to you was how much you wanted to kiss him? It was impossible to focus on school with Taeyong around.

“You see my problem, babe? I’m not talking to you because I don’t want to, it’s just… I know if I do I’d probably fail all my classes.”

“…School is lame,” Taeyong mumbles. You roll your eyes and lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You just weren’t ever a good student. That’s why you don’t like it. How about I take a break though? We can go get ice cream-

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Your attention is taken away from Taeyong when you see a group of girls standing on the other side of the street, phones up and ready to take pictures of what could only be Taeyong. You frown as you look at them, realizing that your ice cream date probably wasn’t going to happen.

Or, so you thought. Suddenly, Taeyong squeezes your hand and then breaks into a run, you fumbling after him as he runs to get away from his fans.

“Taeyong!” You call for him, but he doesn’t stop, just keeps running. You can barely keep up with him, almost tripping multiple times on your way to your stop. You make it into one of the buildings on campus, taking shelter in an empty classroom. You’re both out of breath and your stomach hurts from running halfway across campus, but it’s almost certain that you lost his fans which was good.

“No ice cream,” he speaks up. You look at him and laugh, shaking your head.

“Yeah, no ice cream,” you say back.

The room gets silent fast and in seconds you’re being pushed against one of the desks, Taeyong’s hands on your hips and his lips mere centimeters from yours. Apparently he had other plans.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask him, a glare directed at his face. His, ridiculously handsome face that you wouldn’t mind kissing right now. He gives you an innocent smile, pretending he doesn’t have any idea what he wants to do with you.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“You have me pushed against a desk and your hands are- slipping!” You slap his hands away when they touch the skin under your shirt and you point an accusing finger at him. He was not about to make out with you in this empty classroom (no matter how much you might want him to).

“Well, it’s just… if we can’t eat ice cream together… then, you’re the next best thing, you know? You’re just as sweet, kitten.”

Taeyong’s words make you want to gag from the greasiness of it all, but there’s no time at all because his lips are pressing against yours already, making you melt immediately. His hands are wandering up and down your thighs, and there’s not much you want to do in this situation besides kiss Taeyong back.

You hadn’t seen him in days, and when you did you mostly just napped or cuddled with him. The last time you had done anything remotely like this had to have been almost two weeks ago.

Fuck it. Even if it was in a classroom and someone could walk in at any moment (especially a professor), you can’t seem to care anymore. He was totally going to make out with you in this empty classroom.

You kiss Taeyong back, your arms coming to wrap around his neck to pull him closer. Your mouths move together so flawlessly, like it hadn’t been weeks since you last did this. The knowledge was there, but the need for each other is stronger than usual. Taeyong already has a knee pushed between your legs and his hands were underneath your shirt once more. His touches make you shiver, and you realize how much you really did miss Taeyong recently.

His tongue prods at your mouth, asking for entrance. You give him it immediately, opening your mouth for him and letting his tongue slip into your mouth, taking control of the kiss. Taeyong had you wrapped around his finger at this point, and you were willing to do anything with him in the classroom.

You kiss each other, your mouths moving against each other’s until Taeyong pulls away, letting his mouth trail down your jaw, to your neck.

“I want to fuck you now, kitten. Will you let me do that?” You’re ready to tell Taeyong that yes, he could absolutely fuck you right now, but one of the doors in the classroom opens and makes Taeyong pull away from you. You both look over to see who could possibly be intruding on such a moment.

A girl is staring right at you and Taeyong and when she stares long enough, realizing what was probably happening, her face blows up into a blush. She quickly apologizes and rushes out of the room, slamming the door shut with her.

You and Taeyong laugh at the situation for a quick moment before his lips are finding yours again, but you quickly push him away, putting your hands up in front of you.

“No. No more of that,” you tell him. He pouts at you, whining.

“But you were ready to do it before she came in…”

“Yeah, well. You distracted me. See what you do? Come on. We can continue this back at my place.”

Taeyong perks up at your words and steps back from you, holding his hand out for you with a smile on his face. “Let’s go let’s go let’s go.”

“We’re going, we’re going. You owe me ice cream for distracting me from studying though,” you tell him as you take his hand. He’s already pulling you towards the other door, barely containing his excitement.

“Yes, okay. I’ll get you as much ice cream as you want.”

“As much as I want? What if I want the whole store?” You ask.

“I’ll get you the whole store then,” he says. You smile at him.

“And you thought I was going to break up with you. How could I when you’re willing to buy me an entire ice cream store?”

Taeyong blushes, embarrassed by your words but smiles back anyways.