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eddies-house · 4 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Twelve - The Holiday Season Begins

W/C: 8.7K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"I've got my eye on you."

Say Yes To Heaven - L.D.R

A/N: Wow I think this is the longest I've gone without posting a chapter. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. I wrote it in bits and pieces and read it over several times. I would really really really love to know what you think, this one is so special and personal to me.

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Sugary apple goo.

You think back to Thanksgiving back home, a ruckus constant in the kitchen as dinner is prepared, more than enough food to feed an entire village. Pots and pans clank together, trays create an echo as they are not-so-carefully placed atop the counter. Dinner rolls are burned but still enjoyed with warm cinnamon butter. The potatoes are a touch too lumpy but still desirable with notes of rosemary and an ungodly amount of garlic. Various smells, both sweet and savory flood the house, your poor, stressed out mother churning out dish after dish, siblings all engaged in some kind of ball game out in the street just after watching the Thanksgiving Day parade.

You tend to the green bean casserole, an easy dish that you couldn’t screw up even with your limited attention span. Cream of Mushroom soup from a can seemed so repulsive in itself although it brought the whole dish together. It didn’t matter that seconds prior it slumped against the green beans still in the shape of the can, nearly gelatinous. Once stirred in and baked with crispy onions layered over the top, it was a masterpiece. A five star dish in your book.

It would only be a matter of time before grandma showed up with her famously delicious apple pie, the crust coated in extra amounts of grainy sugar, the dish still piping hot. And the “sugary apple goo” as you used to call it at the age of three already had your mouth watering just thinking about it, crispy apples so fresh and topped with syrupy caramelized sauce topped off with cinnamon and nutmeg, all wrapped up in a flaky, buttery crust.

You sigh, piling the apple mixture on top of the homemade graham cracker crust. It wasn’t clear to you just how lonely Thanksgiving morning would be without anyone around. Sure, you had Donnie’s to look forward to this evening but until then, you were on your own, the parade quietly playing on the TV though you hadn’t been very impressed with the floats this year. Holiday depression was kicking in, a kind you hadn’t experienced yet. They were usually always a happy time, family surrounding you and distracting you from the lonesome thoughts you usually had. This year it started feeling more like a ton of bricks was sitting on your chest, no one able to aid in providing you with some kind of task such as the honor of making the green bean casserole to ease the pressure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t just make the controversially delicious dish, you had everything stashed in the pantry. It just didn’t feel right. It went unnoticed by you that tears were slowly sliding down your cheeks until a fat one landed on your wrist as you finished spooning the apple filling.

Again?

In that moment you swear you looked the most pitiful you had ever looked in your entire life, tears trailing down your face silently, all alone, homesick. You should be in your pajamas playing some kind of a board game on the coffee table in the living room, surrounded by your siblings. Not throwing yourself a pity party while spreading apple goo. To top it off, your hands had gotten completely covered, the sauce making your fingers undesirably sticky. You hadn’t quite reached the point of sobs yet though you suppose if you let the goo linger on your hands any longer you would.

Some comforting folk music your grandpa used to play religiously rang through the house though you felt no such comfort. Not as much as you’d hoped anyway. It brought a familiar sense of his essence to you, his passing three years ago not settling right in your heart. It only made you more homesick.

But you weren’t going to let yourself soak in salty tears and sticky apples. No, you washed your hands in soothing warm water, the sludge sliding right off and into the metal of the sink, eyes puffy and red but void of tears for the time being. You’d sucked them back and changed the music to something more upbeat, some Elvis that your grandpa had also engrained deeply into your brain though you hoped the faster tempo would brighten your spirits and ignite the happy memories.

Only, it landed you on the couch in a whole new sea of sobs this time as Unchained Melody lingered in the lonely room. There was no getting a grip on the gut-wrenching, stomach-aching isolation you were feeling, sanity was long gone. You were supposed to be trimming the dough that was meant to create the criss cross pattern for the pie, you were supposed to be enjoying your glass of wine as you sang under your breath to familiar tunes, you were supposed to be okay.

It was you, after all, who had made the decision to move, right? It was you who picked up your entire life and plopped it right in the middle of some unknown mountain town in search of yourself. You feared that you were just losing yourself instead, forgetting just after a few months what it felt like to be surrounded by loved ones, forgetting how it felt to come home to a full house after a grueling shift at the local Denny’s. You smelled of burnt coffee and dry eggs, your hair greasier than the literal grease trap, but none of that mattered the second you stepped into the coziness of the living room, all family dysfunction left at the door.

The tears wouldn’t stop though you still managed to force yourself off of the couch, wiping snot away with the back of your hand as you stared at the messy kitchen in despair. Everything suddenly seemed so…impossible. How were you meant to do anything while simultaneously questioning your entire existence, your entire meaning of life?

You had been in such disarray that cleaning up as you went didn’t even seem close to an option, nearly every pot and pan either set on top of the stove or thrown in the sink, whisks and spatulas scattered among the mess, and apple skins littering the floor. Now you were taking in the aftermath, not even having the finished product to show as an excuse for the complete disaster, even the dough still rolled out on the cutting board. You had hours left to prepare though it felt like seconds ticking by to inevitable disappointment.

The end of the world felt like it weighed down on your shoulders yet you did what you did best each time. You set it aside and pressed on. It was never simple, weak hands grasping the dull knife, slicing through the dough to create uniform strips. Motivation was running dry, the desire to grace everyone with the most delicious apple pie they’d ever tasted was out the window, you could only do what your body allowed.

And like every other time you had to pull yourself out of the gutter. Life began to bleed back into your eyes as your creation came back to life. Puffiness still remained throughout your face, eyes still droopy but slowly your drive kicked back into gear. Sniffles from previous snotty tears continued but nothing felt better than laying down the last layer of dough over the apple filling, a quest conquered.

Finishing off your cheap red wine, you reward yourself by licking off the spoon you’d used for the filling. The kitchen still required a good scrub down but you could live with the mess a little while longer as you indulged in the sweetness. Something well deserved. You didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that Christmas was about to become, decorating your tree with only the company of your dreaded thoughts. That was a scenario you were not willing to wander into, at least not until it would actually happen. There was no sense in making yourself live through it twice, your brain longing to torture you with irrational possibilities.

Elvis’s voice continues to carry through the living room, a second glass of wine being poured in hopes of easing your homesickness, attempting to neglect thoughts of what you would usually be doing right now. It was barely working, only leaving you feeling slightly lazy with a good layer of sadness still looming over you like a storm cloud. There was no extinguishing the sorrows you felt for familiarity and the comfort the holidays were supposed to bring you.

Sudden knocking sends you into a brief panic, unexpected guests were not in the cards for your lonesome morning that had only served to encourage your crybaby tendencies. At the very least you got a pie out of it.

The knocking persists as you scramble up from your depressing divot on the couch, a certain urgency waving over you at the speed of the knocks. They were rapid, quick pecks at the wood, a worrisome speed that usually constituted an emergency in the end.

Why today, why now?

With a heavy sigh, you swing the door open, glass of half-finished wine in one hand while the other runs down your drained face. You expect some kind of eviction notice; god knows why since you own the place. Maybe the check hadn’t reached the mortgage company, maybe it had been intercepted in transit. The last thing you expect on your doorstep is a wide-eyed Eddie cradling a large bowl in one arm. His gray sweatpants swallow his legs and hang low on his hips, a sliver of his tummy on display in between his t-shirt and pants.

It’s conflicting. Do you act concerned and start begging the questions: Did something happen? Who’s injured? Or do you exhale in relief as a tiny smile tugs at the corners of his mouth even in his somewhat distressed state? It can’t be that bad if he still finds it in himself to smile, right?

“I, uh, I need help.” He says sheepishly.

Ever since the night of the hoedown, he’d been a new kind of shy with you. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t adore it because truth be told, big bad Eddie Munson who previously chewed you out for being so bashful was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Except you had been much kinder than he initially was, though it was fun to tease him and force his face to turn a vibrant tomato red.

“Help?” You smirk, swirling your wine as if you were some kind of connoisseur. “My, my, how the tables have turned.”

“Bambi.” He groans, still maintaining focused eye contact with the wood planks of your porch.

“Eddie.”

It’s said so softly, in a way that reduces him to a puddle, his knees could give out at any moment if you so much as looked at him a certain way which had been why he refused to catch your gaze. He internally curses himself for automatically counting under his breath, unable to stop himself: one, two, three, one, two, three.

In an instant your face falls, he only ever counted when he was stressed from what you could gather. It was a learning curve, navigating Eddie’s quirks.

“Hey.” You soothe, gingerly grabbing his wrist with your free hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

His curls bounce with a shake of his head, his eyes fluttering shut. The counting stops but he still comes across as fuzzy. Disoriented.

“Come inside.” You whisper, gently tugging him through the door, your wine abandoned at the entry table in the process. “It’s freezing out.”

Instinctually he hands you the bowl he’d been cradling close to his body with a wooden spoon sticking out. Upon further inspection, a mountain of mashed potatoes-or should you say lumps of potatoes are piled up within the bowl. The skins are still intact, way too many if he intended to make smooth and creamy potatoes. They’d be much less than enjoyable in the state they were currently in.

“I fucked them up.” He whispers.

The sight you’re met with is that of a small child in a grown man’s body, his large eyes pleading. You’re forced to realize that today may very well be much worse for him than it is for you. He’d warned you that he didn’t do holidays and here he was, a nervous wreck turning up on your doorstep in a panic with lumpy potatoes. And suddenly you felt so selfish.

“That’s okay.” You assure him, tracing a tender thumb over his bicep. He looked so lost. “Eddie, it’s okay.” You repeat with a nod.

“I just, I was gonna buy something from the store, and then, I just thought–I dunno maybe I’d at least try.” He tugs on his curls, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I don’t know why I even tried.” He sighs in defeat.

It’s enough to break your heart.

“Eddie.”

Turmoil flashes in his eyes, stress apparent in the way his brows furrow and his frown lines grow deeper. His lips are red, most likely bitten, and he can’t stop twisting one of his rings around his finger. He looks to be as much of a wreck as you felt although the symptoms seem to be much more apparent in his appearance than yours. Your slightly swollen eyes were nothing compared to his tousled curls, anxieties littered across his face and trembling hands unable to be subtly hidden without the crutch of sleeves.

“I, uh, I-I shouldn’t have bothered.” He mutters, reaching for the door.

You intercept him, your hand wrapping around his elbow while you attempt to meet his eyes. He freezes in his escape, your touch rendering him paralyzed, your fingers suddenly too determined in digging into the meat of his arm. Not meanly. Never meanly. More concerned. Concerned for the way he cowers away the second he’s offered any fraction of help. Perhaps it’s hypocritical of you to regard him with such worry when you yourself present the same behaviors under the same circumstances and expect no such treatment.

Your expression offers a certain softness that he’s come across one too many times since you’d barged into his life and taken his heart hostage. You’d never know you committed such a crime. And he’d never outright tell you of the ache that sat deep in his chest that he had no clue how to satiate. All he knew was that he could not jeopardize this. If he could get through the holidays, if he could get to January and you were still around, then, and only then would he be convinced that he had finally lifted whatever fucked up, out-of-this-world curse that had haunted him all his life.

“It’s okay.” Barely above a whisper, you assure him.

Eddie doesn’t remember making his way into your kitchen, he can’t recall your delicate hand pulling him along until you let go to discard his potato concoction onto the counter and he realizes he’s taken the warmth for granted in a haze of existential dread. Like a lost puppy, he stares at your fingertips as they linger on the counter while you lean over to reach for an empty casserole dish. The entirety of your kitchen cabinets had thrown up all over the counters, a reflection of the way his brain felt. Scattered.

“Potatoes are actually super complicated.”

His ears perk up, unsure of how to conjure up a response. Instead, he raises his eyebrows, fearful of how dumb he could make himself look with just a few syllables. It wasn’t like him to care so deeply what others thought of him.

“That’s why I avoid them. Instead–” You turn around only to pull out a can of green beans and a can of cream of mushroom. “-work smarter, not harder.”

Eddie knows he should be hanging onto every word you say and usually he would be, he knows. Except he can’t help but tune into the melody of Blue Christmas that had been echoing off the kitchen walls from your record player across the room.

The damn record player. And the records.

He didn’t realize how much the records still affected him. He had his own collection now, sure. But anything that resembled the essence of his Mama, lived safely and soundly on its dedicated shelf in his room, untouched. It took him years to rebuild Mama’s collection.

“Sorry can we-” He makes his way toward the record player, his face contorted nearly painfully before lifting the needle. “I just-I can’t think.”

Your motions were paused, can opener halfway through the can of beans as your eyes meet him with questions splayed across your face. You don’t ask them. An understanding smile works its way across your lips and god, he doesn’t know why you’re so patient with him after he stepped into your house and suddenly had the uncontrollable urge to shut off your music. As he strides back into the kitchen, a series of apologies haven't even left his mouth and yet-

“So…Green Bean Casserole.” You state, fingers tapping against the tin of each can. “And Sugary Apple Goo.” A vague gesture toward the uncooked pie. “Kind of a…weird duo. Or it will be if I actually get it in the oven-”

“Sorry, what?”

“Apple pie. The apple pie. At home we just call it sugary apple goo, don’t ask why it’s just–it’s just a thing we do.” You clarify, shoving the dessert into the comforting warmth of the oven, shivering at the sensation as goosebumps begin to prick your skin.

“Apple goo.” He repeats. A raised brow disappearing beyond his messy bangs.

Eddie almost forgets the reason why he’d been in such disarray, almost forgets why he even bothered knocking on your door in the first place, only remembers the fact that he was in a panicked state.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

You busy yourself with slopping the now drained green beans into a nearby glass bowl. Your blotchy skin and puffy eyes catch in the stream of sunlight, the kitchen window betraying you as it showcases your true state. Avoiding those large brown eyes is the best you can do, the theory that if you can’t see him he can’t see you dumbly being put to use no matter how aware you are that it makes no sense. Maybe if you act “okay enough”, he’ll chalk it up to the common cold, placing the responsibility for your rudolph-like nose on the yearly infection.

What you fail to realize is that by this point, he’s become too familiar with your teary eyes and sad worry lines that only seemed prominent in your times of distress. Times that he had regretfully been the cause of previously. Words can’t escape his practically sewn-shut-mouth, all sounds dying long before forming on his tongue. It’s impossible to create comfort when he himself has trouble doing so for himself. How could he possibly offer such comfort to someone who deserved kinder words from someone of a higher regard?

“Here, dump this in and mix.” You instruct, forcing a can of cream of mushroom and a wooden spoon in his hands, yanking him out of his mind.

There’s no room for protest, not that he even intended to. Not when you’re standing there with the ghost of tear tracks down your cheeks. Not when you’re this kind. Not when you’re you.

“Okay.” He mutters, a disgusting sound filling his ears from the lumpy soup falling into the bowl.

“After that, pour it in here.” You place a ceramic casserole dish to his right, the dish nearly too large to fit on the cluttered counter though you’re too occupied with tidying up other parts of the kitchen to bother.

“Got it.”

Eddie Munson absolutely hates Thanksgiving. But he doesn’t mind it so much when you’re rustling around behind him, a silent conversation hanging in the air that neither of you are alone in your holiday sorrows, whatever they may be.

You don’t ask why he continues counting under his breath behind you or why his hands are shaking.

And he doesn’t ask why tears linger in your eyes or why you pause to regain your composure after dropping a pan a bit too loudly for your liking, your lip wobbling.

Because the collective understanding is that neither of you is okay. And maybe that’s okay.

–

“Careful, the bottom is–”

“Shit!”

“-hot.”

A ringed hand waves around in an effort to rid it of the burning sensation caused by the bottom of the piping hot casserole dish. Eddie releases a series of curses, the side of the dish pushed against his chest as he balances it between his body and his single arm protected by one of your generously donated dish rags. Your wide eyes caution him in his balancing act, a perfectly crafted green bean casserole at risk due to his negligence as he had taken the liberty of knocking on the door.

“What the fuck, how can fuckin’ beans be so goddamn hot?” Brown eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, his fingertips more than likely singed an angry red.

It’s no laughing matter, not according to the scowl that makes its way across his handsome features but you can’t stop the pull of your lips from forming a large grin, giggles caught in the back of your throat. His irritation disappears just as quickly as it came, harsh edges blurring into softness at the sight of your puffed out cheeks, inflated due to the humor just dying to crawl out of your mouth.

“Oh, shut up.” A nudge of his shoulder against yours has you shaking your head, laughter finally escaping your perfectly glossed lips.

He could write paragraphs about them if it didn’t seem so creepy and stalkerish. So he allowed himself the tiniest of glances, only hoping to paint the full picture in his head ever since you’d quickly puckered your lips in front of your mirror at home to complete your finishing touches while he viewed from the porch where he waited in his black button up and nicest pair of jeans. He’d never been so jealous over a tube of lipgloss. In fact, he’d never in his life been jealous of a tube of lipgloss and he never felt like more of a loser than in that moment.

“I told you.” You mutter, an endearing side eye delivered right into his line of sight. It was something almost child-like, something innocent and not at all like what he’d ever really been on the receiving end of. Maybe because there was a certain flirtiness you were hinting at although he was no expert and had no right to assume.

“I told you.” He mumbles back with a higher pitch, mocking you.

You turn toward him, a comeback on the tip of your tongue when his own tongue interrupts with a taunt, peeking out between his lips swiftly, his nose scrunching up meanly before his full attention is back on the door as it creaks open. And then, a quick wink that only you yourself were a witness to, only creating a stir in your brain as you decipher that no one else would be able to confirm the action.

“Hey!” Donnie greets, arms flung up in excitement as she ushers you into her welcoming home, smells infiltrating your nose, sweet and savory galore.

Before either you or Eddie can even get a simple “hello” in, she’s talking your ear off, something about who all is already in the living room, how far along the turkey is, where the bathroom is, all while guiding you into the spacious dining room. She must have set out her fine china, the gorgeous dishes set all around the table lined with champagne colored silver on the edges of the plates. Two tables had been pushed together, creating enough space for the large number of guests expected. In the center sat an exquisite arrangement of various orange-hued flowers and some greenery.

The house was comforting; not too large and not too small, a two story dream that no doubt had acres of backyard. The Christmas tree had already been set up and decorated, the branches and lights hinting at you from the other room where men roared with laughter, a football game blaring from the TV that contrasted with the familiar voice of Frank Sinatra coming from the stereo. Combined turkey and Santa decorations adorned the interior everywhere you glanced, surfaces that would usually be empty year around were occupied with tacky little figurines that were more endearing than anything. Plastic garland traced the rails of the stairs, littered in fake plastic cranberries, the front room being far more grand than your entire home as you inspected it through the archway of the dining room.

Suddenly your nerves were simmering down, a familiar feeling nestling into the bottom of your chest as your shoulders fell from their tensed position, your fingers letting up on their grip on the pie tin you clutched so desperately. Women squealed from the kitchen, a series of “oh my god”s erupting into the rest of the house, some kind of juicy gossip initiating several gasps as well as some laughter. Your homesickness began to lie dormant, warmth overtaking you as Donnie went on and on about her family members, which ones to avoid sitting next to at all costs and warning you of the aunties that would corner you and beg for details on your love life.

“Just pretend I’m calling you and run as fast as you can in the other direction.” She advises. “And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you had too much wine and that it’s making a reappearance. They’ll scatter like flies.”

You laugh along, taking mental notes as she grabs the pie from you, complimenting the smell as she sets it among several other desserts, a whole table dedicated only to sweets. When she goes to grab the green bean casserole from Eddie, you can’t help but pause and watch as his doe eyes trace his surroundings, a clearly unfamiliar environment to him. There’s uncertainty dripping from his demeanor, his single finger tapping against the dish: One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

“Green bean casserole-Eddie, do you know how many green bean casserole we’ve got? Like you all read each other’s mind, I swear.” Donnie jokes.

“It’s-um, it’s hot.” He cautions her.

Sauntering toward the main table, Donnie proudly sets it on top of a place mat to protect the wood from the heat. Eddie doesn’t budge, seemingly glued to the carpet, his hands still lingering in the air like he had still been holding the dish.

“You okay?” You mouth to him, looking up into his worried eyes, only hoping to soothe the crease in between his eyebrows.

He nods though you suspect he’s being a bit dishonest.

“Oh, c’mon Eddie! You know I’m just pullin’ your leg.” Donnie reassures, a heavy hand falling against his shoulder. “Shoot, I have to go check on the oven. Yell for me if you need anything, both of you, okay?”

“Sure.” You mumble. “Thank you.”

“There’s a fully stocked bar right over there, help yourselves.” She calls as she backs herself up toward the kitchen. “But don’t go too crazy.” She sends a knowing glance, recalling both of your tendencies to take on more than you can handle.

“Why don’t we get some air?” You suggest, unable to comprehend exactly just what was happening in Eddie’s mind although you knew enough to understand that he was miles outside of his comfort zone.

“No, no. I’m good.” A cleared throat doesn’t reassure you enough but you let it go for the time being. Prying wasn’t going to help. “”M gonna get a beer.” He murmurs, chain jingling from his belt as he makes his way toward what you can only assume is the kitchen where Donnie had just disappeared to.

As pathetic as it seemed, you weren’t going to allow yourself to wander around alone, vulnerable to various conversations trapping you in small talk with strangers: an absolute nightmare. Timidly, you follow behind Eddie at a safe distance, holding your breath as you take in the new room full of busy women and many glasses of wine. The smell of gravy heavily lingers, a tinge of the sourly sweet alcohol peeking through as you release your breath and inhale finally.

And then-they were all over him. Sweet older women, ranging from around fifty plus years, all doting on him, cooing at him while complimenting how tall he is and his handsome features. It only forces you to lean your hip against the counter and take in the most captivating scene you’d ever witnessed. His cheeks redden, his entire face matching shortly after as he nods in response, small “thank you”s sneaking past his lips with a sheepish grin threatening to spread across his face, dimples prominent. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, has no recognition of the power he currently holds.

“Is this one yours?!” One woman shrieks, taking your hands in her bony ones.

“Oh-”

“You’re so lucky, he’s such a looker!” Another chimes in.

“We’re not-”

“You better hope he holds onto all that hair throughout the years.” A third nods.

Eddie’s face has never been redder, crimson painting his usually pale skin, a beer pinched in between his fingers as he avoids every single eye in the room. You can only imagine the look on your own face, maybe slightly mortified with a hint of pink pulling at your cheeks due to the unnecessary attention.

“Alright, alright.” Donnie interjects. “Enough, you’re gonna scare ‘em away before they’ve even had a bite to eat!” She waves her hands around, dramatics on full display as she shoos them away like pigeons.

“Thank you.” You whisper, eyes large and surprised.

“Run, run.” Donnie displays wide eyes, gently shoving you both out of the kitchen.

–

Throughout the evening, you kept Eddie in your peripheral. Sure, he was grown and fully capable of taking care of himself but it didn’t worry you any less when holidays weren’t necessarily his favorite thing. Anxieties lurked in the back of your mind the second he started counting earlier, never once fading away no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that he was fine, now bantering back and forth with Sam.

“That Steve kid really can’t dance.” Nathan laughs, pulling you back into the initial conversation you were having, perched on the couch with a glass of wine set in front of you on the coffee table courtesy of Donnie’s excellent hosting skills.

“Well that’s why he excused himself off the dancefloor.” You softly smile, earning another hearty laugh from the man.

“Hey, but Eddie’s no better.” He jokes, taking a swig of his beer. “Looked like a damn giraffe stumbling over his own legs.”

“I wasn’t very coordinated either!” You defend. “We were a hot mess.” You bury your face in your hands.

“Yeah, I bet Eddie thought you were hot.”

The recliner adjacent to you creaks beneath Jett as he makes himself comfortable, slouching with a beer in his hand.

“Whoa.” Nathan leans forward, ready to reprimand him. “What-”

“That’s okay.” You speak softly, your hand covering the older man’s as an act of keeping the peace, something you did best. Several seconds of contemplation and a glance across the room toward Eddie change your mind.

“Actually-it’s not.” You turn your body toward Jett, a man–child before your eyes that refused to even look at you after his comment. Your hands shake and your cheeks heat with embarrassment, chalking your sudden confidence up to the glass and a half of wine you indulged in.

“What?” Jett furrows his brows, examining his beer far too aggressively as a means to avoid you.

“It’s not okay.” You whisper, a wimpy excuse of a defense.

“What’s gotten into you, boy?” Nathan scolds through gritted teeth.

Jett’s nearly-black eyes resemble something opposite in comparison to the warmth in those across the room currently harboring a twinkle in an engaged conversation. The boy is unable to get a word in as you quietly begin to address him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” You regret the tremble in your tone, confrontation was well out of your comfort zone, especially with someone who had been so hostile for no reason. It wasn’t in your DNA to be the “bad guy” even when it would benefit your wellbeing.

Something in your words softens Jett’s eyes, pulls a piece of him back into reality. You weren’t terrorizing him and he couldn’t seem to grasp that ever since that night you had argued with Eddie behind the bar. And you hadn’t spoken a word out of line but you weren’t clueless. Clearly he had an agenda against you and Eddie, it never left your mind since Eddie mentioned that Jett got all over-protective suddenly that night and took it out on him. But what could you do when all he did was puff out his chest rather than have a decent conversation? His frayed emotions were not your responsibility, you owed him nothing if he was going to insist on acting like a toddler in adult situations. You suppose some of it could be due to his lack of years behind yourself and Eddie, Jett still a teenager, almost twenty whereas you had been in your twenties for a few years now. It wasn’t an excuse, just your brain attempting to work out his logic.

“You didn’t–you didn’t do anything wrong.” He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

You don’t offer any words. Only an expectant look. Expecting of some kind of explanation as to why he’d been acting so cruel. And as if the universe decided you didn’t live in enough anguish with your homesickness that morning paired with the current unwanted confrontation, Eddie’s eyes met yours for a brief moment before darting away, a deep sigh and suddenly slouching shoulders clearly indicating some kind of defeat before he quietly stepped out of the room.

“Can we get into this another time?”

You don’t wait for a response, excusing yourself to slip out of the room and follow the trail of cold out the front door, the chill seeping into your bones as your cradle your arms close to yourself. The porch is spacious, something you hadn’t taken notice of earlier when arriving. To your left, Eddie sits on a wooden bench with the family name “Scott” carved into it. A cigarette takes its place between his fingers, his lighter flickering while he lets out a frustrated groan. He places the stick between his lips and cups the flame to hide it from the wind, finally succeeding in lighting it, puffs of smoke escaping through the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not fragile, Bambi. Stop following me around.” He mutters, pulling the cigarette from his lips. There’s no malice detected in his words, just something lacking hope as he stares straight ahead.

Carefully, you sit at the very edge of the bench, your skirt a tad too short to allow you to fully sit back due to the cold surface. You catch a wave of his warmth as he rests his arm on his thigh. It hurts, how far away he feels even being inches from you; his mind might as well be on Jupiter. A momentary glance over at you causes him to sigh deeply, his head dipping down while he shakes it in disappointment.

“And dammit!” Eddie snaps, face twitching in aggravation. “I don’t have a jacket for you this time. Learn how to dress for the cold.” He gestures to your posture, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt to savor any warmth, and your jaw clenched shut as a means to keep your teeth from chattering though you can’t seem to contain the shivers nearly rattling your bones.

“I don’t need one.”

He scoffs, disbelief evident in his movements, a fidgeting hand reaching up to scratch the barely-there stubble at his jaw.

“I don’t!” You lie.

You were never one to willingly be dishonest but a little white lie in this case didn’t seem like the end of the world. Not when Eddie’s fragile state of mind seemed to gnaw away at him. You wouldn’t leave him out for the wolves to feed on him; wolves being his never ending thoughts that always without fail, won him over and forced him to crawl back into his comfort zone of isolation. You suppose you weren’t so innocent either, always succumbing to the very same habits.

“Go back inside.” A flick of his cigarette ash towards the ground ignites in the thin layer of snow barely coating the porch before extinguishing.

You can’t help the furrow in your brows, staring at him as if to figure him out, attempting to glance into his large coffee colored irises, to no avail. His shiny eyes dodge your attempts, the windows of his soul closed off, even from you. Not that you were immediately entitled, though you figure with each trauma he had shared with you, he’d at least be able to look you in the eye.

“Come with me.” You chirp. “We’ll taste all the wines. C’mon, and then we’ll be nice and hungry. Drunk eating is the best.” You extend a hand out toward him, your freshly painted nails perfectly imperfect in his peripheral.

“I’m not in the mood, Bambi.”

His gravelly voice has a certain effect on you, one you find not appropriate to dissect right now. He lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, the chance to take one more drag stolen from him as you pluck it from his fingers, tossing it into the snow without regret, stomping your foot on it for good measure.

“Well, get in the mood. Let’s go.”

Boldly, you tug at his arm, unable to move him by yourself, you know. But he willingly melts into your touch, allowing you to pull him up despite his protesting frown. Though he follows you to stand, he doesn’t budge much further than that as you try to drag him back into the cozy warmth of the house. The rounded tip of his nose glows red, the threat of a cold only pushing you to tug on his sleeve with no success in ushering him inside.

“I think ‘m just gonna head home. You think someone else could give you a ride back?” The question is hesitant, no longer wanting to participate in the festivities but still concerned for your well-being, especially if you were going to continue to drink.

Your track record with alcohol wasn’t exactly great and he’d never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there just because the sight of you talking to Jett had left a bad taste in his mouth. But he couldn’t stand it any longer, watching you act so graceful all the time, especially to someone you didn’t particularly like, and then having to pretend that a simple kiss on the cheek didn’t absolutely wreck him. A kiss that you hadn’t since mentioned, and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself by insinuating that you wanted him in that way. No one wanted him in that way.

“What?” You breathe, face shifting into a sadness Eddie wanted to kick himself for. “No, you can’t go–”

“I’m sure Jett is ready and willing to entertain you.”

Low blow. He could always count on himself to deliver a low blow at the worst of times.

Eddie knew now that you had a distaste for Jett, he knew that. And yet he was stupid enough to continue using Jett as ammo against you for no reason other than his own insecurity. If he continued to push you away then it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized he was scum of the earth. Trailer trash. A nobody. That’s what he kept telling himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You fume, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know, Bambi. You tell me cause I can’t figure you out.”

The use of his nickname for you stitched together with words of anguish only further confused you. You couldn’t seem to win.

“Can’t–can’t figure me out?!” You widen your eyes at him, only hoping to convey how ridiculous of a statement it is. “Can’t figure me out. What about you?! You’re the one no one can figure out!”

You’re on the verge of whining, begging in a sense. Pleading with the most stubborn man in the world and god only knows what you’ll do if he doesn’t stand down.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” He states simply, monotone. It makes you want to yank your hair out by the roots and offer it to him, asking him if it’s enough. If it’s enough to shut up the voices in his head.

“Yeah? Because you don’t wanna let people in?!” Uncharacteristically, you jab a finger into his chest, frustration making itself known across your face and you only know because his eyes ever so slightly soften. “Eddie, all you do is give me mixed signals! How many times do I have to tell you I want nothing to do with Jett?! What do I have to do to get that through your thick fucking head?!” He tries to get a word in but you don’t give him an opportunity. “No, seriously! I need an instruction manual or something because I’m trying! I have been trying-”

“-I didn’t ask you to!” He finally interrupts, sorrow filling his eyes.

With a deep breath, you calm your heaving chest. It’s apparent you’re no longer cold, your skin hot from working yourself up. Steam may as well be coming from your ears though it wasn’t your intention to get so irritated with him.

“I wanted to. I want to.” Your voice comes out softer, a gentler approach to his sudden internal conflict.

“No.”

Turning away, he doesn’t quite move to leave but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s trying to shut you out. He’s trying to escape like some kind of feral animal but you refuse to give in. You refuse to let him.

“Yes. Eddie–look at me!” You demand with a small pull of his arm.

“No.”

He goes to turn his body even further away from you but the firm hold you have on his bicep stops him. He keeps his gaze on the floorboards below, his nose twitching and eyes burning with the threat of tears. You only know because you’re all too familiar with the mandatory frown that comes with holding them back.

“Stop doing that. Please.” You beg.

“I can’t be here right now–”

“What makes you think I can?”

He’s silent. The world instantly feels so quiet, tiny snow flurries fluttering around you, making you feel as if you’re the only two people on Earth. Echoes of the celebrating and hollering inside are faint although they don’t do much to pop the bubble you find yourselves in. Then he breaks the silence, daring to plead with you this time.

“Bambi, please.” He croaks.

Your initial thought is, please what? You’d been pleading with him back and forth for god knows how many minutes straight and here he was doing it right back to you. And for what? It wasn’t a good enough plea, not for you. You weren’t ready to let it go, if you even knew what “it” was.

“No, you’re coming inside and you don’t have to associate with me if you don’t want to but you’re coming inside.”

Your demand only seems to irritate him, his brows knitting together while he pinches the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. If he was agitated then you were about to become enraged. And that is not something you wanted. You never wanted to display that kind of emotion toward him but he was practically pulling it out of you and you had to fight against it. No one had ever been able to pull such a reaction out of you, not ever. Even if you had gotten pretty close, you swallowed it down and hid it.

“Why?!” Eddie seethes.

His outburst takes you back, though with the aggravation boiling within you, you were able to contain any reaction he was seeking, if any. That wasn’t the case for long though as you then launch yourself into another tantrum after staring for a second too long at his snarled lip.

“Because believe it or not, I care, Eddie!” You practically wail, your voice becoming hoarse. “If you leave I’m coming with you because I’m not leaving you alone. Not on Thanksgiving.” Your head shakes in denial.

Against your own will, a single tear trails down your cheek and the moment you feel it, you’re rapidly wiping it away, hoping he never even saw it when you knew damn well his umber eyes followed it all the way down your face. He only pulls his gaze away.

“I’m leaving. You’re staying here.” He decides, regret etched into his features.

In a final attempt to escape your grasp, he succeeds, feeling your fingertips linger for one last second before drifting away as he turns and makes his way down the porch steps, wood protesting beneath him. The noise is the only proof you have that he’s actually leaving, that he actually feels he’s not worthy enough to stay.

You refuse to give up so easily.

Your feet are already on a mission, nearly sprinting down the stairs even with the threat of slipping on the minimal amount of ice beginning to freeze over. Eddie pays no mind to the fast paced footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him, making his way over to Sugar with his head hung low. Your heart is racing, not just because you suddenly decided to sprint a few yards but because a healthy dose of dopamine has started coursing throughout your body, a good amount of anxiety accompanying it but not deferring you any longer.

Eddie makes it to Sugar, his hand reaching for the door only for it to be forced shut with a self-manicured hand. If he didn’t know who the hand belonged to he’d be chewing the owner out for daring to touch his beloved truck. Instead he rolls his eyes and turns as he prepares to reprimand you in a much more gentle manner than he would anyone else.

Except he doesn’t even have the chance when your lips are suddenly pressed to the corner of his mouth, your body pushing him against Sugar. His hands freeze mid air, his eyes wide open. Your hands are resting on his chest and–he can’t breathe. You pull away, inches from him and he can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t move. As far as he’s concerned he isn’t even human anymore.

“Stay.” You whisper, your breath fanning over slightly chapped lips.

His lips won’t stop tingling, he can’t grasp the concept of what just occurred. He refuses to even touch you for fear that you might disappear right before him. Hell, he’s not even sure he’s allowed to.

It’s difficult to gauge his reaction, his heavy breath lingering with the smell of his cigarette that would probably gross you out had it been anyone else but for some reason, because it’s him, you don’t mind very much. You must smell strongly of wine which isn’t always pleasant so you figure you’re even.

“Please stay.” You repeat, nudging your nose into his.

It’s like he’s in a trance, his eyelids becoming lazy and his body relaxing when you reach up to trace your thumb ever so slightly over his jaw. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes squeezing shut, and you can hear a gulp in his throat. With his eyes still shut, he nods and before you can process it, he launches himself into your arms in a tight embrace, wrapping himself around you, his face buried in your neck. A wetness catches against your skin catches your attention, Eddie’s body heaving slightly and you just know.

You know that the tear stains on your skin mean more to him than you could ever imagine.

Slowly, your fingers tangle in his hair, threading into the curls at the nape of his neck to lightly scratch his scalp soothingly. The way he grips onto you tighter, his body shaking, only confirms that physical touch and affection was not a luxury he was allowed in his lifetime. If he let you, you’d spend thousands of hours holding him, even in the cold. Whatever he needed.

But the snow flurries began to grow larger and the wind started to pick up. And you’d be damned if you allowed yourself and Eddie to catch a nasty cold when you could be doing the same thing inside next to the fire. Though, as you thought about it, Eddie would probably shy away from your touch in front of everyone. And that didn’t anger you in the way it normally would. Because you couldn’t blame him, someone so touch starved that he began to sob the second he was willingly kissed and told he was wanted, for shying away from showers of physical affection in front of peers that only know him to be big, bad, Eddie Munson. It would be too much of a change and you weren’t willing to force that upon him.

So as the cold grew more unforgiving, you continued to hold him. He would be the one to decide when he felt he wanted to part from you. And if you both got sick, so be it. A stupid cold would be worth the price if you were able to provide him the touch he went so long without and so badly craved, even if he didn’t quite know it at first.

Eddie parted from you far sooner than anticipated. His cheeks were rosy, his rounded nose matching, endearingly so. His eyelashes were dotted with a few lingering tears, his eyes rimmed with red but sadness was absent from his features. Instead there was a fondness dripping from his expression and though he parted from the embrace to gaze down at you, he still clung to you like his life depended on it.

“Can I–can I kiss you?” He whispers shakily.

You want to laugh, only because he’s acting as if you didn’t kiss him in the first place. But you bury it deep down and only let a smile blossom.

“Please.” You whisper back.

This time, you’re more than happy to beg.

Hesitantly, his shaky hand cups your jaw, the warmth from his skin more than welcome as he gently slots his lips against yours. He’s slow with it, taking his time. As you move in rhythm with him, you encourage him, moving his arms to circle your waist, pressing yourself closer and letting your hands travel up his chest to lock behind his neck.

“I can’t stop.” He laughs quietly, continuously pecking your lips like he can’t get enough.

“Don’t.” You giggle into his mouth.

Teeth clash against teeth and though he hasn’t quite graduated to using tongue yet, you have the urge to introduce him. Before you can pass your tongue along his plump bottom lip, he curses under his breath as he pulls away, only causing worry to spread across your face.

“You’re freezing.” His hands rub up and down your arms to somewhat heat you up and only then do you realize your face feels completely numb.

“No, I’m fine.” You protest against your better judgment. It wasn’t exactly fitting to be in tights while one of the first snow falls of the year ensued.

“You’ll be a popsicle in like three seconds.”

Eddie softly smiles, reaching for your hand and tugging you with him toward the house. A whine escapes you, a pathetic whimper but you manage to shuffle yourself along with him. Before entering the realm of reality beyond the front door, Eddie turns to you, stars in his eyes, something glimmering.

“How’s my nose? Snotty?” He grins, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #smoke signals #eddie munson au #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic

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ddejavvu · 7 months

Note

Hi! If you’re ever in the mood, maybe could we get Hangman going into a florist shop (maybe to get his mom flowers or something idk) or a bakery and meeting reader who works there and she is just overall really sweet and he pretty much falls head over heels

The man that he has to shoulder past in the doorway makes Jake assume that his breakfast voyage to the new bakery on the coast will be a disastrous one, but one glance from you has him reconsidering.

Your eyes are trained on him from the moment he lumbers through the door, but Jake chooses to think that's because he's so impossibly handsome rather than because he's the only person there. You smile at him with all of the warmth of the pastry oven beside you, but none of the bite of its flame, and he steps up to the counter feeling like he's been sun-kissed.

"Hello, sir." You offer, and your voice is sweet like the glaze drizzled over the cinnamon rolls in your window, "What can I get for you this morning?"

Perhaps if you were different - harsher, maybe, sharper - he'd have asked for your number. But you seem too sweet for a savory one-liner, and he bites his tongue until his spit bleeds hot to restrain himself.

"Uh, just a blueberry muffin and a black coffee-" It takes every ounce of self-control not to call you sugar, the word ironically sour on his tongue, "-please."

"Warmed?" You pause from tapping his order into your computer, gazing curiously at him. He blinks, once, twice, then realizes you mean his muffin rather than his rapidly beating heart, nodding disjointedly.

"Alright," You smile, movements smooth like dough that's been expertly kneaded- not that Jake needs to be thinking about kneading you right now, "I'll have that ready for you in a moment, sir. Uh- military discount?"

You eye his bulging biceps pointedly, spying a tan neckline beneath the zipper of his jacket. His face melts into a dopey smile like butter over pancakes, and he tries keeping his voice similarly smooth when he nods, "Yeah."

"Thank you for your service," You nod before totaling his order up, and even if it's a phrase that's programmed into you, memorized just as diligently as the recipes you bake by, he finds that it means more from you than it ever has from any passing stranger.

He lingers at the counter while your system loads his payment, and keeps his head ducked towards the pin-pad though his eyes wander to your busy form.

You brew his coffee easily, and place his blueberry muffin into the oven with enough care that not a single crumb of the topping falls off. You give it fifteen seconds, then package it in a plastic box, retrieving his coffee and setting it on top. You hand him his two items, one on top of each other, and it means that your fingers linger on the babse of the container and the lid of his coffee cup longer than they need to, just to be sure he's not going to drop the precariously balanced meal.

"Have a nice day, sir." You beam at him with more of that celestial warmth, and the tinkle of a bell means that Jake has to step aside to let a new customer order. Otherwise he thinks he might linger, feet stuck to the floor and elbows growing achy as he leans them against the counter to talk with you while you work. He files the plan away for later, a recipe for a first date, and takes his leave, though not before throwing one last glance at you as he opens the door with his back.

Maybe it's wishful thinking, but he's fairly certain you're looking at the new customer a little more like a stale croissant than the sugary feast you'd seen in Jake.

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader

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cozage · 7 months

Text

The Mystery Baker

A/N: just a morsel of Zosan Characters: Sanji x Zoro, but a few of the strawhats are included too :) Total word count: 1.4k

Sanji hadn’t been off the boat for long. He only had to run and grab a few items from the island they had landed on, and he then had come right back, eager to wait on Nami’s and Robin’s every need.

But when he entered the kitchen, the delightful smell of chocolate chip cookies filled his nostrils. On the cooling rack laid a dozen cookies, still warm from the oven.

Cookies that he hadn’t made.

Someone had been using his kitchen while he was gone.

He couldn’t think of anyone on the ship who would bake, especially while he wasn’t around. If anyone had needs, they simply asked him and he fulfilled them. He couldn’t decide if he should be annoyed someone used his space, or thrilled that someone was interested in the art of creating food.

The cookies were still warm, but he picked one up and smelled it. They were made from scratch, he could smell the specialized ingredients in them. An over-indulgent amount of sugar, chocolate chips, vanilla, and a few ingredients he hadn’t expected to sense. Cream cheese, almond extract, and nutmeg..or was it cinnamon? It was so faint, he could barely make it out.

Sanji bit off a small piece, curious how the flavors interacted with each other, and let out a soft moan from the taste. The cookies were a perfect mix of savory and sweet, the chocolate chips instantly melting in his mouth.

Not that he’d ever admit it, but Sanji wasn’t sure if he could make a chocolate chip cookie that tasted this heavenly. The after flavors swirled and lingered in his mouth, making him fall in love with their creator without even knowing who they belonged to.

He shoved the rest in his mouth and plated a few to take along with him, eager to find out who had created them. It was clear that whoever had made this dessert had put extreme precision and care into the process. Such a feat was only handled by a woman’s gentle touch, so he set off to find Robin.

“Robin, my love!” He sang as he danced over to her. “If you wanted to make sweets, all you had to do was ask!”

Robin’s eyes flicked up from her book and rested on the tray of desserts.

“Cookies!” Nami called, walking up behind Sanji and plucking one from the plate. “Sanji, you really shouldn’t have!”

Nami took a bite, eyes rolling back in her head in delight. “You’ve really outdone yourself,” she praised, mouth still full. “These are amazing!”

Sanji gave a smile, pleased to see that Nami enjoyed them. But he couldn’t take the credit for them. “Actually, Robin-chan-”

“I didn’t make them,” Robin interjected, smiling as she watched Nami swoon over a dessert. “But I would like to try one, given Nami’s reaction.”

Robin tried to hide her satisfaction, but it was evident to Sanji that she had the same emotions towards the sweet as both he and Nami had.

But now, Sanji was extremely confused. If it wasn’t Robin or Nami, then he wasn’t sure who had the capability to cook. In fact, there were probably only three other men on the ship who even knew how to use an oven, and he was certain none of them would have the touch to create such a delightful treat.

“Franky!” Sanji called, entering the workshop. “Did you use my kitchen while I was gone?”

Sparks flew from Franky’s project, but the cyborg stopped his experiment and turned his attention to the cook.

“Oh hey, dude! Dinner time already?!” Franky set down his tools and brushed himself off, but Sanji shook his head.

“Did you use the kitchen today?” Sanji asked again, holding up the tray of cookies.

“Weird bribe, but no.” Franky took a cookie and threw it in his mouth. His eyes instantly sparkled, tears overflowing in an instant.

“Hey man, these are like, the most super cookies I’ve ever had! Let me have another one!”

Sanji had a bad feeling in his gut now and quickly moved the tray away from the cyborg.

“You’ll get better ones later!” he shouted, storming out the door and down the hallway.

Nothing was making any sense. The only other person Sanji could see baking was Brook, but he didn’t even have tastebuds to make them. Everyone else was useless in the kitchen; worse than useless.

Perhaps someone had snuck aboard and put poison in the cookies in an attempt to kill or weaken the crew. Perhaps a drug had been added to the mixture, and now half of the crew would be unable to fight if someone were to attack.

That had to be the explanation. Even if he didn’t feel strange now, surely the effects would kick in soon. Of course nobody on the ship had cooked in his kitchen without his permission. Of course they had waited for him to get back. Of course he-

“What the hell are you doing with my cookies?” A gruff voice called from behind him, startling him from his thoughts.

Sanji’s head swiveled around to find that annoying swordman glaring at him from down the hallway.

The blonde scoffed. “These are not your cookies.”

“Like hell they’re not!” Zoro stormed toward the cook and snatched the plate from his hands. “I made them!”

Sanji reached for the plate, his anger rising. “You couldn’t make something this delicious, mosshead! Nice try!”

“What the hell do you mean?!” Zoro held the cookies just out of reach. “I made them while you were gone! I always make them while you go shopping!”

“I’ve never seen them here before!”

Sanji lunged for the plate, but Zoro blocked him with his own body, and Sanji could smell the faint smell of vanilla and almonds on the swordsman’s skin.

“I usually make them and eat them before you get back!” Zoro shouted, pressing his forehead against Sanji’s to keep him locked in place. “Don’t even give me shit about it, because I clean up everything and put it back before you finish your little island visits.”

His words gave Sanji pause. Being this close, Sanji could smell the chocolate and spices across Zoro’s breath, and for some reason he found himself flustered at his proximity to Zoro’s lips.

He quickly ripped himself away from the swordsman, still glaring at him. There was no way that a shitty swordsman like him could create something sent straight from the heavens. Sanji refused to accept that.

“And where exactly did you learn to bake like that?” Sanji shot back, trying to ignore the drumming in his ears.

“The dojo!” Zoro yelled. “We had a baking fundraiser every month to raise money! Now, do you mind? I’d like to go enjoy my cookies in peace!”

“Get out of my sight,” Sanji hissed, turning away from the swordsman. “And don’t use my kitchen without asking!”

“As if you’d ever realize I was in there!” Zoro yelled back, storming away.

God, Sanji’s heartbeat was so loud in his chest, he was certain the whole island could hear it. And his face felt so abnormally hot that he had to go to the bathroom just to calm down.

That damn swordsman was always pissing him off, making him worked up over things for no reason. He splashed some water on his face and checked himself in the mirror. His cheeks were still pink from how angry he was about the whole ordeal.

He had been looking forward to convincing Nami or Robin to make a fresh batch with him by their side. He would have followed their every order and listened to their every demand. And once he had learned how to make them, those ladies would never have to work again. He would make them whenever they requested.

But that hadn’t been the case. He couldn’t even admit that he was craving another one, because even just saying that would give the mosshead an overwhelming amount of satisfaction that Sanji refused to give him.

He finally worked up the nerve to walk into the kitchen, where he found one chocolate chip cookie on a plate. A note lay next to it, and Sanji picked it up to read it.

Since you thought they were so delicious, here’s another one. Will show you how to make them if you ask.

Sanji had to admit, the idea of cooking with the swordsman by his side made his heart flutter.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #zosan #one piece zosan #op zosan #zosan fanfic #zoro x sanji #sanji x zoro #sanji #zoro #✧˚zoro✧˚#✧˚sanji✧˚

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arteastica · 8 months

Text

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (10)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.3k

The holidays had always been your favorite time of the year. You never waited for the first snowfall in order to start daydreaming about generously spiced cookies and thick, melted chocolate. When it came to fantasizing about buttery batters rich in raisins, and biscuits dusted with brown sugar and cinnamon, you were always months ahead everyone you knew.

But the holidays weren’t just about desserts. You also craved the savory dishes your mother laid out on the dinner table, and the equally warm conversations that always came along with them. You craved the familiar sight of your parents sitting by the fire, your father, indulging in his favorite book, and your mother, in a steaming cup of chocolate. You always kept them company, from your favorite spot by the window, where the sight was just as comforting and homey. You enjoyed looking at the white, thick blanket that covered the narrow streets, and the yellow lights that glowed through the neighboring windows. You liked to think that inside those houses people were also enjoying good food and a good laugh in good company.

Everything about the winter holidays was warm and homemade, and that’s exactly why you had never spent a single one away from home. Even during the three years you lived at the training camp, you always made sure to be back home with your family by the time the holidays rolled around. And this year would be no different.

And so, for weeks now, you had been counting the days, as it was tradition. Only that this year, it had felt more like a back-to-school countdown than anything else. ‘Anxiety’ and ‘reluctance’ had replaced ‘anticipation’, in both the sentences you wrote in your journal every night, as well as in your mind. However, you weren’t surprised. Not when the obvious reason was on the other side of the door you were about to knock on.

You lifted a hand and gave the hardwood a couple of tentative taps. He told you there was no need to announce yourself before coming in, but it was already way past working hours, and you weren’t sure he would still be awake.

When you heard his familiar voice, your heart lightened a little. Leaving without seeing him, at least one more time, would be as ridiculous as going to the doctor and leaving before receiving treatment.

You pushed the door open and, as soon as he saw you, he rose from the couch he had been lounging on. If the swiftness of his movement and the tentative smile now present on his lips were anything to go by, he was just as surprised to see you as you were to find him wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a white shirt, partially unbuttoned.

Your nails dug deep into your own skin, all while wishing it was his instead. His bolo tie was discarded on a nearby table, and so were the straps of his gear. The flames dancing in the fireplace behind him, and the steam coming from the mug placed beside the chess board, made it feel as if you were stepping into something intimate and personal. What you had before you, was a sight deserving of a dozen diary entries, and you knew you would write them once you were back home. For now, and for the sake of your own sanity you decided to focus your attention strictly on his eyes instead.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt you, commander, but I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning and…” Your nails buried deeper into your flesh, as if testing to see if you had the courage to say it. “I wanted to see you before that.”

You stared directly into his eyes. There was a certain boldness that only became available to you once darkness descended, a certain notion that whatever impulsive actions were committed under the moon didn’t really matter, because their consequences would reset come morning anyway. That’s why ghosts waited for the sun to leave in order to haunt forests, and so did the howling of wolves. And maybe that was also the reason why your honesty didn’t exactly bother you. Your feet had brought you there to see him. There were no papers he needed to sign, no questions you needed to ask, no tea or cookies you wanted to bring him. No tricks or excuses up your sleeve. He was the only purpose of your visit.

“I’ll confess your absence has me worried already.” He started making his way to you as a playful smile graced his lips. “I don’t know what I’ll do without those butter biscuits and hot tea in the afternoon, but,” you couldn’t help but notice that the innocent crinkle in his eyes didn’t match the picture his exposed collarbones and prominent Adam’s apple were painting, “I’ll try to survive without you.”

Me too. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be just fine without me, commander.” Now that he was close enough, you noticed he smelled like all your favorite spices, and the tinge of cherry on his lips told you it was probably mulled wine in his mug.

“That’s debatable.” His voice sounded several octaves lower than usual, and you didn’t need to time travel to know that you would be missing it for the upcoming weeks. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Go ahead.” You replied, happy to cling on to anything that would help you put off your departure.

“That night, at your doorstep. What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

His eyes were so different in moments like these, when it was just the two of you. It was as if the 13th commander of the Survey Corps was gone, and the only one left in his place was Erwin Smith, the blond man who loved chess, boring history books, and sweet afternoon treats. The owner of those distinctive eyebrows and those sapphire eyes that, right now, were drilling into you, all your emotional walls and reservations, with such piercing vulnerability. If it were anyone else you would drop your gaze, but with him, you were drawn closer instead.

“So much.” You took a deep breath, the type that usually precedes a long speech or a lengthy confession. “For one, I don’t understand why everyone here likes ale so much, and I have no idea how ODM gear works either.” As the words left your mouth, your feet diligently worked on closing the distance between your bodies. “I think I cheated on a test once, and performed so poorly on my physical examinations I almost failed all of them.” His lips twitched slightly, as if wanting to form a smile but stopping halfway in fear of interrupting the flow of your ideas. “I cry at least once a month, especially when I’m bored.” And in that moment, boredom seemed such a foreign and absurd concept, because how was it possible for anyone to be bored when the world had such wonderful views to offer, like his shirt and the way it clung to his body, for example. The fabric was close enough to show the shape of his chest, and unbuttoned enough to unveil skin generously sprinkled with light brown hair. “I’m completely clueless when it comes to chess and I hate to think that I will never be able to impress you in a game.” In such intimate space, the air was even more infused with his cologne, making it all the more difficult to breathe. “I spend too much time in my head, overthinking everything. But oddly enough, the only thing I can never think too much about is you. It is never enough.” Your fingers found his hand at the same moment his eyes found your lips. “Commander, nobody thinks about you as much as I do.” You interlaced your fingers with his. “Not while doing the things I do.”

For a while, the snapping of firewood was the only thing breaking the silence of the night, as he stared into your eyes, and his hand held yours firmly. But then his lips parted slightly.

“Well, for one, you don’t need chess to impress me.” With his other hand, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. “I can’t guarantee I can make boredom disappear, but I’d be delighted to give it a try whenever you need me to.” His thumb stroked your skin lovingly, and his gaze, his touch, as well as his words, all felt like the warmest of cardigans. “There are many young men here thinking about my assistant the way I do. I’ve seen how their eyes follow her, how they linger on her. And I know that look all too well myself.” You could almost feel the rising and falling of his chest against you, and you wondered where had all the oxygen in the room gone. “But I must admit it satisfies me to know they don’t get to have her as close as I do everyday, and especially not as close as I do right now.” His thumb caressed your bottom lip softly, the same kind of gentle squeeze farmers give peaches when trying to tell if they are ripe enough. “Sweet, we like ale because it’s sweet, and also quite nutritious. And on that note, I would explain more about that, as well as how the ODM gear works, but that would take too long, and I really want to kiss you right now.”

You knew that sensation. You had felt it before. It used to happen quite often when you were a child, around this same time of the year. When you woke up, and ran downstairs to find all the presents you had been waiting a whole year for, all of them beautifully wrapped. Excitement filling you up completely and seeping through your lips as you smiled. As you smiled in anticipation of the wonderful time you had ahead.

“But, commander, I thought chess helped you stay away from impulsive decisions.” You used a playful tone to match the beaming grin you were now wearing, as you signaled to the chess board he had been giving all his attention to before you stepped into the room.

“This is anything but impulsive.” He assured you before finally closing the distance between your lips. And you were glad his arms were around you, holding you tightly, because there was no way your legs could, not anymore. Not when his lips were finally moving against yours.

It was mulled wine in his mug, for sure. He tasted like cinnamon and anise, like oranges and honey, spiced with a little bit of brandy. It felt like a summer, a wonderful one, spent under lemon trees; like a rogue spring night in late July. His kiss was smoky, mixing in with the smell of burnt wood and the sweetness of his cologne. His lips were soft, and so was his bristly chin, rubbing against your skin. And you decided this was your new favorite sensation.

His lips moved slowly and gently against yours. He kissed you like this was the only chance he had, like he would never get to do it again, almost as if you were a character in some dream he would soon wake up from. His lips and his hands confirmed in their soft, silent way that this hadn’t been impulsive at all.

His tongue, or rather the sudden appearance of it, elicited a moan, that made you feel as if you were whispering in a library. There were rooms nearby, and in the quiet of the night you knew any sound you made would be magnified, but you couldn’t help yourself, not when his tongue was drawing such delicious patterns inside your mouth. Oh his tongue, turns out it was just as skilled at kissing as it was at forming words.

You didn’t know how long you had been kissing him. It could be a minute or ten or even a century. You didn’t really care. And even though your lips were starting to feel sore, you had no intentions of stopping. Your palms were resting on the toned muscles of his chest, as the slow movements of his tongue patiently unraveled what little remained of your self-control. And whatever little remained was finally lost when his big, curious hands ventured a little beyond the small of your back, making you moan again. Loudly, this time. The same kind of sound you would make when biting into a juicy peach on a scorching summer day. And it all made you aware of the painful discomfort present between your legs. It was hurting like never before. It hurt from thinking about him, naked, hovering over you, strands of gold sticking to his forehead. And most importantly, it hurt from craving to be filled up by him.

And so, despite feeling like you could kiss him forever, you pulled away slowly. He was looking at you through heavy eyelids, his lips were red, a little swollen, and glistening with your saliva. You smiled at your work, the same type of smile artists give their sculptures once they’re finished. And you couldn’t help but think about how wrong you had been on that day in the forest: you didn’t want to fuck him, you wanted to make love with him.

“Commander, touch me.” Your words didn’t seem to register with him, because all he did was staring at your eyes. So you decided to guide his hand under your skirt, and between your legs, where you needed him the most. “I want you to touch me right here.”

“I’m not sure I should.” He said before pulling his hand away.

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis

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i-luvsang · 1 year

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,, ✿ { florist!au — choi jongho

¿ ｡′ gn!reader , baker!reader , fluff , inspired by this ask , cw: mentions of people being rude assholes , wc: 1.5K ！！

✧ florist!jongho is a beautiful concept my fellow simps

✧ he fits his little shop !! so well !!

✧ well organized sections of all different types of flowers fill the space to the brim

✧ and there he stands in the midst of the fragrance, the picture of perfection in his casual but unbelievably crisp and clean outfit

✧ he always wears nice button-ups with slacks or jeans and often has a brown apron over it all as he makes boquets

✧ he’s known for his very classy, crisp, yet unique arrangements

✧ which is why he’s very popular for weddings

✧ honestly most of his time and work goes into weddings ever since he was hired by a fairly popular wedding-planning company

✧ your situation is quite similar to his, in fact your baked goods catering was popularized by that same company, yes, at the same wedding

✧ and what really stood out about that first wedding you worked at together was the very specific theme of the couple

✧ everything was centered around tulips

✧ and of course you both went all out ot match that theme

✧ honestly, for jongho it was a bit easier because he was able to straight up use tulips in all of his arrangements

✧ but you on the other hand made a wide range of tulip shaped treats and detailed icing decorations of tulips on others

✧ and without the two of you ever actually meeting, your dessert table was a perfect match to his flower arrangements in terms of color palette and all of that

✧ they were matching so well that the gorgeous wedding went decently viral online and everyone thought that the two of you worked together

✧ so people tried contacting the wedding planners to ask about “who did the flowers and desserts?” and they all walk away a bit disappointed because you two are completely separate in what you do

✧ of course, you both are aware of this, but you don’t really do anything about it because like

✧ you were both working and it’s just a coincident that your arrangements matched so well

✧ but the next wedding you work at, you somehow find out that the “flower guy” is the same as the last one

✧ this time you actually do see each other, as you end up setting up your work around the same time

✧ yet, neither of you say anything past a polite hello when he sets up his flowers on your dessert table

✧ you definitely can’t help but notice that he’s very handsome

✧ and that once again, though it’s not as obvious as the last wedding, your dessert and his flowers look very cohesive

✧ and honestly it just keeps happening over and over again

✧ so because you run into each other so frequently the teo of you begin chatting and getting to know each other just a bit more at each wedding as set-up happens

✧ and at one wedding, he grabs one of your business cards off of your table while you’re away because he’s become increasingly interested in (and attracted to) you

✧ later that night he takes a good look at the card and realizes almost right away that your little bakery is just a block away from his flower shop

✧ so after a few days of serious debate in his head of whether or not it would be weird to show up at your workplace

✧ his desire to see you outside of a wedding venue wins him over, and he pops into your bakery before he goes to open up his own shop

✧ for you, it’s a very pleasant surprise because you too are definitely attracted to him

✧ when you ask him what brings him here, he gets all flustered, barely able to explain that he noticed that your shop is close to his

✧ so you’re all intrigued like oh! where’s your store?

✧ he tells you and you’re like omg! i’ve always wanted to visit that one, it’s so pretty! i didn’t know it was yours

✧ he thanks you bashfully before asking what baked good you recommend

✧ and you tell him your favorite is the cinnamon rolls, but that you think he’d like the savory scones more

✧ and he’s very curious how you figured that out, because he doesn’t like sweets generally

✧ he doesn’t know that you overheard him telling that to someone at a wedding about a month ago

✧ he ends up ordering a cheddar and chive scone, and when he takes the bag from you, he can tell it’s still warm, fresh out of the oven

✧ only until he leaves and tries the treat does he truly realize all the hype behind your baking

✧ obviously you’re a very popular baker for weddings, you’ve got to be good

✧ but this scone is on another level

✧ the next thing the he knows, he’s visiting your bakery several times a week for breakfast before opening his shop or during his lunch break

✧ you get to know each other better each passing day

✧ and somehow neither of you can catch each other’s hints that you like each other

✧ he brings you small bouquets to brighten up your shop

✧ and you’ll pack extra little goods into his orders

✧ but you remain friends until a few months later, you’re setting up another wedding together

✧ and the caterers for the main meal are being absolutely awful to you, blaming you for a tray falling when you were halfway across the room, passing rude comments about your work, and knocking over one of your displays

✧ jongho has just about finished setting up his flowers in the main room when he hears a tray clattering to the floor and your sharp gasp

✧ he runs over and immediately asks if you’re okay and starts picking up cookies with you

✧ you nod but he can see unshed tears of frustration in your eyes

✧ he knows you don’t want him to draw attention to that though, so he just helps you to clean everything up then insists on helping you set up the rest of the dessert table

✧ unfortunately, he has to wrap up his own work in the foyer

✧ so he bids you a very gentle goodbye so you don’t have to spend more time with the other rude workers

✧ but every chance he gets after you leave, he’s constantly sending death glares to the catering personelle

✧ and late that night when the wedding guests have cleared out and you have to return to collect your catering supplies

✧ you’re surprised to see jongho inside, because he never has to return to retrieve his flowers

✧ but he gives you a soft smile as you approach him as if he was waiting for you

✧ you ask him why he’s there, and he simply tells you that he felt like coming to help you pack up

✧ you can’t imagine why he’d do that, it’s not as if he would get paid, so you tell him that he really didn’t have to do that

✧ but he shrugs because he’s already here, you might as well just accept his help

✧ you relent because he’s right, but also because a part of you is beyond relieved that he’s here

✧ when you came back, you expected to be berated by the other catering team again and after everything that happened before, you were quite worried

✧ but jongho’s presence is comforting to you, and to your relief, no one bothers you once

✧ when the two of you leave the venue, you expect to part ways with him, but rather than allowing you to take the large bag he was carrying for you, he takes it straight to his car

✧ you jog after him, ready to ask what he’s doing

✧ but before you get a word in, he asks a question to confirm his plans

✧ “you’re taking the bus right?”

✧ you nod, so he opens up his trunk and places the bag he was carrying into his car, then takes the rest from your hands without a word

✧ only after he closes his trunk does he calm your protests, telling you to hop in the front because there’s no way he’s letting you take the bus alone this late at night with so much to carry

✧ relenting, you sigh and get into his car, secretly very glad at his extra offer to help

✧ the drive to your bakery is mostly quiet, but comfortably so

✧ he opens the car door for you then does the bulk of the work of moving your supplies back into your shop

✧ then you find yourself standing face to face with him outside, ready to bid him a final goodbye for the night

✧ “let me drive you home,” he says

✧ you protest once again, telling him he’s already done too much for you tonight

✧ but he insists, “i want to. please, let me drive you home.”

✧ the sincerity of his words surprises you, but with a quickly beating heart, you nod and get into his car for a second time that night

✧ in front of your apartment, there just may have been a whispered confession of love that flowed from his mouth, both reckless and thoughtful at the same time, and another that came from your lips in the shape of a soft kiss to his cheek

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yum-bugs · 1 month

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Some (more) agere snack ideas!

Sweet - Cookies, pudding/jello cups, caramel popcorn, fruits, brownies, Lil Debbie/Hostess snacks, Rice Krispies Treats, dry cereal, cereal/granola bars, muffins/cupcakes, candy/chocolate

Salty - Chips, crackers, pretzels, popcorn, nuts, Funyuns, Fritos, veggie straws, trail mix, beef jerky

Cheesy - Nachos, Cheetos/Cheese puffs, Cheez Its/Cheez It Snap'd, cheese & crackers, Goldfish crackers, Ritz cheese crispers/Ritz bits/Ritz toasted chips, Munchies cheese mix/cheddar Chex mix, Combos

Spicy - Takis, flamin' hot Cheetos, watermelon/mango w/ tajín seasoning, buffalo wing flavored Snyder's pretzels, Frank's red hot Goldfish crackers, Hot & Spicy popcorn, flamin' hot Munchies snack mix, spicy nacho Doritos

Cold - Ice cream/milkshake, popsicle, smoothie, cold chocolate/candy, smoothie, yogurt, refrigerated Fruit Rollup/Gushers, cereal (with milk), pickles/olives, string cheese, Lunchables

Hot & Savory/Salty - Tater tots/french fries, pizza rolls/bagels, soft pretzel, bagel/toast, grilled cheese, mac & cheese cups/bites, jalapeño poppers, mozzarella sticks

Hot & Sweet - Toaster Strudel, PopTart, waffle, french toast sticks, s'mores, cinnamon rolls, hot chocolate

#bit of a random post but im hungeeee hehehe #feel free to add stuff!#agere food #agere #age regression #sfw agere #agere snacks #bugs agere journal

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lionsongfr · 3 months

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Crystalline Gala Cuisine

Been a bit since I made a festival cuisine, and since my old ones have been circulating, I guiltily figured I should make one for the Gala before it ends. Gaolers and Tundras are both herbivores (though Gaolers also eat meat), but I headcanon that like most herbivores they will opportunistically eat fish, insects, and meat when given the chance. The dishes have a bit more mixing than the previous cuisine; in the Icefield you eat what you can and as much as you can to survive. Potato Onions are my replacement for potatos, because FR needs potatoes (and citrus and tomatoes and wheat and rice and spices).

Seeker Stew- originally a stew of necessity for traveling Seekers, it was made of dried Sea Grass, small Cragside Mussels, canned Common Minnows, Sour Elk milk, and spoiled Turnips. The dish was transformed back home, using fresh Spinach, meaty Olympia Oysters, Jumbo Shrimp, new Potato Onions, and…sour Snowfall Elk milk. Funk is flavor!

Shalefin in a Fur Coat- this uniquely named dish is a layered salad, like the layers of a Tundra fur coat. It is made of finely sliced pickled Shalefin fillets, grated Potato Onion, Gradish, and Honeycrisp Apple, and chopped hard-boiled Flecked Bushrunner eggs. The key binding ingredient is a flavorful mayonnaise made of Elk tallow, Dappled Clucker yolks, and dill.

Bear in a Cave Dumplings-a favorite of the Fae scholars of the Frozen Sanctum. It is a boiled or fried Potato Onion dumpling filled with fried Wooly Bear, Wild Onion, and Dryad's Saddle. It can be served with melted Elk milk butter and Winter’s Delight jam or a white sauce spiced with dried Dusky Mealworm and imported Golden Pepper.

Tundra Grub- a dish named after the main protein of the dish: a sausage filled with Tundra Grub meat, Longneck-grown oats, and Elk blood. The sausage is fried along with strips of Tundra Cactus before being added to an earthy brown sauce of Mycena Mushroom and Earthworms. It is typically served with an unleavened flatbread made of rye or Longneck oats, or a mash of Potato Onion.

Woodland Turkey Dinner- this was once a seasonal dish, but now is common year-round. While the star of the dinner is the roasted Woodland Turkey, the side dishes are just as essential. The most common is: Deep Sea Lobster and Jumbo Shrimp stuffing, roasted Winter Brussel Sprouts with a Superberry vinegarette, Tundra Grub and Potato Onion mash with Mycena Mushroom gravy, and Stonecorn rolls with Elk cheese and White Lace Honeybee honey. And last but not least, a Cinnamon and Honeycrisp Apple pie. A heavy dinner said to put even Sentinels to sleep!

Trunk Cheese- not actually cheese, but a cold meat dish made of fresh Bullephant Trunk (or Mammophant, though it is not as tasty). The meat of the trunk is removed and cooked in a mix of spices and Wild Onion, and then poured and set with gelatin in the skin of the trunk. Slices are cut from the trunk and served upon rye bread with strong Wild Mustard and pickled Gradish.

Edamame Soup and Pancakes- a popular yet odd combination of savory and sweet. This dish features a Chilled Edamame soup (heated of course, the chilled variety of plants grow better in the hot houses of Icefield) with large chunks of smokey Elk bacon, a sprinkle of thyme, and a dollop of Wild Mustard. The pancakes are made of nutty and mildly sweet Amaranth flour and served with Winter’s Delight jam. The soup is traditionally dished with a silver spoon, after a mighty Tundra king was poisoned by his favorite soup.

Warden’s Delight- a dessert, a snack, a spread upon rye bread, and a delight to every hatchie. It is a mix of Elk tallow, Spotted Seal or Wooly Walrus oil, fresh snow, and Winter’s Delight. As the mixture is whipped into fluffy peaks, it is traditional to sing “Warden’s Delight to fight off the night, no Shade or beast shall fill my sight. Drive away the hunger, drive away the cold, fill my belly and make me bold.”

Frozen Bouquet- flowers are rarity in the Southern Icefield, but this bouquet is made from flash-frozen flowers and fruits. After thawing they are quickly coated in a thin layer of crystalized maple syrup and then arranged into a bouquet. Often the bouquets have hidden meanings like Pretty Pink Mums for courting. Winterbelle for strength, and Wolfsbane for warning. But what every Tundra fears the most is a bouquet of Black Tulips.

Crisp Morning Cider- Vodka is life to Ice Flight, the warmth in one’s chest in a land where winter never ends. And while most drink it “neat”, when rations are low then cocktails are the answer! This drink is a common morning warmer and is a mix of White Lace Honeybee honey with hot water, Vodka, Honeycrisp Apple cider, and Cinnamon.

Boreal Brew-a tea made from the leaves of whatever green tree is available. Birch, Fir, Spruce, and Pine can all be brewed into an astringent tea with a citrus-y aftertaste. Unfortunately, Birch, Fir, and Spruce are typically harvested during Spring-Summer- but Pine is harvested during December. To help remove the bitter taste, Pine can be fermented with sugar for a week to a month (fermentation time depending on temperature) and then filtered and served as cold tea.

#Flight rising #food #FR headcanon #lore #my headcanon #Ice Flight #long post

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mariacallous · 1 month

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The inside cover of my grandmother’s cookbook is inscribed with her handwriting, “Think of me when you cook.” It is a copy of the same spiral-bound book that has been given to all of the women in my family. “The Sephardic Cooks: Comé Con Gana” has somehow made its way from one synagogue in Atlanta to Sephardic communities and families from New Jersey to California. It has all the classic recipes, including a section titled “Main Dish Pastries.” These dishes are the cornerstone of the Sephardic tradition, desayuno.

The word “desayuno” literally translates to “breakfast” in Ladino, the dying Judeo-Spanish language historically spoken by Sephardic Jews. Yet, the meaning extends beyond that one meal. In Sephardic culture, desayunois a category of foods associated with the large Saturday morning meal that would be served after Shabbat, including egg dishes and savory pastries.

These desayuno foods are some of my favorite things to eat and the ones I most associate with my own family traditions. The blocks of crustless quajado (spinach quiche) that always seemed to be in my childhood freezer, ready to thaw for lunch. The doughy, cheesy spinach boyos my grandmother would have ready for our breakfast every time we traveled to visit her. The pasteles (mini meat pies) my great-aunt taught to a room filled with four generations of cousins at our family reunion last summer. The rice-and-cheese-filled bureka pastries my mom comes over to make with my kids and me.

While delicious and crowd-pleasing, these are also some of the most time-consuming recipes to prepare. I picture my great-grandmother standing in a friend’s kitchen as all the ladies of the community work together to knead mounds of dough, mix a vat of filling, fold and crimp sheets and sheets of burekas. Whether this is accurate or just my imagination justifying why it feels intimidating to make these by myself, desayuno pastries do not align well with today’s fast-paced, individual lifestyle. Save for the times my mom comes to bake with us (importantly, bringing a container of prepped filling), making dough and pastry from scratch is not happening in my kitchen.

I hope to be a part of the thread that keeps Sephardic traditions alive, yet I do not want to let perfection be the enemy of my intentions. I think my grandmother would agree. While she baked burekas with all of her grandchildren and always had a freezer full of freshly baked rosca (coffee rolls), she was never one to turn down a good shortcut. She developed her own boyo recipe featuring Hungry-Jack biscuit dough as the base and once described to me a full lentil soup recipe, only to end it with, “or you could just buy a can of lentil soup.” She loved when I would call her to share that I had tried a Sephardic recipe, such as cinnamon biscocho cookies or lemon chicken soup. Whether my attempts had been successful or a flop (like my rock-hard biscochos), her smile would be audible through the phone saying, “I’m just so glad you tried.”

As Sephardic culture and traditions fade and assimilate, food provides an important outlet to preserve history and share it with family and friends. More important than getting it right or spending hours in the kitchen is remembering our traditions, trying recipes, talking about or simply eating Sephardic foods, regardless of who made them.

In that spirit, I would like to propose lowering our standards, for the greater good of keeping traditions alive. Consider a desayuno with fewer parts or with a little help from the freezer aisle. Rather than the large spread my ancestors would prepare for days in advance, consider making one thing from scratch (though I won’t tell if you cook zero things). You could make a batch of burekas or a quajado, arguably the easiest of the Sephardic breakfast dishes, or even just prepare a pot of hard-boiled eggs. Supplement with frozen spanakopita, Ta’amti Bourekas or a Trader Joe’s Greek cheese spiral for a full table.

Nothing will taste quite like homemade pastries fresh from the oven and I still aspire to make them (occasionally). Yet, even when I munch a makeshift Sephardic meal, I will be thinking of my grandmother, just as she inscribed in her cookbook. As long as we are sharing food together, talking about Sephardic traditions, remembering meals and people who matter to us, I will call it desayuno. I think my grandmother would be proud.

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seospicybin · 1 year

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ONE OF A KIND.

Felix x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: When you live in a small island there’s nothing more exciting than meet a new man in town, Felix. It’s getting more peculiarly nostalgic as if you feel like you’ve known him for years. (12,7k words)

Author's note: Last one of my One series and I'm sorry?

Out of all the days in the week, your favorite is Friday.

Not because you're working a 9 to 5 job and the next day after that is the weekend.

You like Friday because you like how everyone seems to be more relaxed on that particular day. It's a day you choose to do everything you wanted to do.

You wake up to the sound of the waves crashing from afar and the sound of the wind-chime you hang in your window, you look out to see the glimmering surface of the sea blinding you.

As the smell of the ocean fills your nostrils, you can tell that it is going to be a good day.

The warm shower washes your sleep away and you pick your favorite summer dress from the closet. Blue like the sky with tiny white roses dotted the fabric and it fits you perfectly.

It's always sunny on this island, it's so small that you can go anywhere with your bike and you know it like the back of your hand, but that's why you like it.

It feels like your small private island.

The first thing to do is visit your sister's bakery for breakfast.

Your choice will always be the cinnamon roll and just from the smell alone, already make you salivate. But what makes cinnamon rolls taste so good and leave you wanting more is the sweetness of the glaze which is made from cream cheese, confectioners' sugar, warm butter, and vanilla extract with a hint of salt.

It's sweet and savory, the perfect treat to start your day with.

"Coffee?" Your sister offers.

"I'll get it myself," you say, going behind the counter to prepare a cup of coffee for yourself.

"Be careful, it's hot!" Your sister warns like she already knew you're about to touch the wrong side of the coffee pot.

You chuckle at the sheer luck, "thank you!"

Carefully, you pour the hot coffee into your cup and before you can get it to the table, a customer enters the place and walks up to the counter to order.

Your sister is in the back kitchen, probably getting a fresh batch of bakery out of the oven. It's not a loss to help her even though it's your day off.

He smiles as soon as you face him, a kind smile, not a flirty one, but one that you rarely get especially in the morning when people haven't gotten caffeine in their system yet.

"Good morning!"

"Morning!" He greets back without looking at you.

"Can I help you?"

He looks at you for a few more seconds as if to wait for you to offer something else than coffee or bread.

After a moment, he finally comes up with an order, "I'd like a cup of latte."

It surprises you how his voice doesn't sound like it belongs to him. It's deep and low, in contrast to his pretty features and slim figure.

"One latte!" You repeat and add it to the till machine.

He saunters to the display counter filled with all kinds of bakery goods and a selection of cakes.

"And... one pain au chocolat," he adds.

A chuckle escapes your mouth.

"Something funny?" He asks with a confused smile.

You feel bad for the way you behaved, making it seems like you make fun of him, "I'm sorry, it's just that people usually called it a chocolate croissant," you explain with an apologetic smile.

"It's the first time someone addressed it by its French name, huh?"

"I'm sorry. I feel bad for laughing," you apologize again with your head down, can't look him in the eyes.

"That's alright," he assures you.

"Anything else?"

"That's it!" He says.

You calculate everything and inform him how much he should pay, take the money and hurriedly hand him the change.

He waits by the end of the counter for his order and you make sure that you get it right, you don't need another embarrassing moment to share with him.

You slide the tray with his order to him, "Enjoy!" You keep it short then run to the back with your coffee and cinnamon rolls.

You're planning on spending the morning drawing a thing or two before you start cycling around the island.

"May I sit here?" Someone asks.

You glance to see the man who spoke little French earlier with his coffee cup in hand.

You consider it for a little while but he doesn't seem like the type to chat a lot, you shrug and gesture for him to sit.

"Thank you," he mutters with another gentle smile and sits across from you.

With the morning sunlight shining through the window, you can see the freckles on his face, like God sprinkled the stars on his face.

He pulls out a book from his bag, you can't see the title since he puts the book down on the table, reading it quietly with his eyes and the beautiful eyelashes that rest along his eyelids.

That makes your head wander off without you intending to. You remind yourself to hurry up and take out your journal from your bag. Nothing makes you feel more excited than a new, clean page.

You look around for anything to draw and see magpies perching on the tree across the street.

In the middle of it though you wonder why your journal seems so empty despite you feeling like you have drawn a lot of things in it.

You take a bite of your cinnamon rolls and a sip of your coffee after.

"You like drawing?" He suddenly asks.

You are too busy drawing and didn't notice he has been watching you. It's too late to hide it now, you decide to let the journal open, then answer him, "yes."

"I like that one," he points to the drawing on the previous page.

You smile and look at it, "it's a drawing of the sunset on the hill."

"The hill?"

You nod, "have you been there?"

"No," he shortly answers.

You take a look at him again and get this feeling that he feels so oddly familiar but you swear you have never seen him before.

"Have we met before?" You dared yourself to ask.

He pauses for a moment and closes his book, "No, I'm new in town."

He puts his book into his bag, "why?"

You awkwardly chuckle and rub your chin nervously, "I don't know why but I feel like I have seen you before."

"Ah!" He nods, "maybe you have seen me around before."

"Maybe," you vaguely answer but that's plausible since it's a small town anyway. You decide to pick up your pencil and continue drawing.

"How long have you been living here?" He asks out of the blue.

"All my life," you answer.

"That means you know everything about this island?"

"I guess I can confidently say yes to that," you answer with a polite smile.

He sips his drink, "Actually, I haven't gone around much," he says.

He leans forward on the table, "I wonder if you can show me around?"

You snort in response.

And just like he knows you thought he was joking he quickly adds, "I'll pay for the service, of course!"

He is serious and he's willing to pay you just to be his tour guide for the day. You make a quick observation and assess it in your head, that he seems smart, polite, and warm, as warm as the morning sun feels on your skin that morning.

There's no harm in taking a sudden job offer, consider this killing two birds with one stone even though you're not that keen on killing animals for that matter.

"Why me?"

He shrugs, "because you are a true local, there's no one who knows this town better than a local," he eloquently answers with that kind smile.

You call it a kind smile because there's no hint of malice in it, just pure kindness like he was born into the world with a smile like an angel.

He's a decent man with no intentions to harm you, that kind smile assures you that.

You chuckle at his remark, "then you should hire the chief, not me."

"I've seen the chief, he's not my type," he jokes with a low laugh.

"And I am your type?" You joke back.

"A beautiful girl like you is my type," he innocently answers like he's prepared that answer beforehand.

You laugh at how straightforward he is and that is enough proof that he's not from this town.

"I can show you a few places," you say while calculating how many places can you visit in one day.

"A few places is enough," he says.

You close your journal and put your pencil back into its case, "can you ride a bicycle?"

He props a hand under his chin, "as far as I remember, yes," he answers.

After telling him that the two of you will be riding the bicycle, you're going to the back of the shop to borrow your sister's bike to lend to the new guy in town.

It comes to your realization that you haven't introduced yourself to him, you bring the bike to him, then introduced yourself.

He holds his hand out at you with that sweet smile on his face, "I'm Felix," he introduces himself.

The moment your hand touches his, you get a funny feeling that resembles something like reuniting with an old friend. You clearly mistake it and decide to laugh it off.

"Get ready!" You quickly hold the handlebars of your bike.

"So, what is our first destination?" He asks, following you and walking the bike to the front of the bakery.

You get on your bike and look over your shoulder at him "we're going to see the stars," you answer with a sly smile.

"Stars? But it's only 9 am!" He says, perplexed.

You ride your bike at a much slower pace since you're guiding someone for a trip around the town and the first destination is close enough that there's no need to rush.

"The observatory?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.

You nod and parked your bike on the available spot, then help him with his.

The head of security of this place is a regular at the bakery, you know his order by heart, half a dozen of glazed donuts and a cup of coffee with two sugars and cream.

He always reminds you to come to the observatory and you're more than happy to come here every day but let's not be inconsiderate because this man works there and you may get him in trouble.

"Don't get your hopes up, we're not going to the observatory," you tell him as he follows you to enter a building.

"But we're going to the planetarium," you add before he gets disappointed, pointing to the other building in the vicinity.

Someone stops you from entering the place with your hand already holding the handle of the door, "I'm sorry miss, but the planetarium only opens to the public on the weekends," he says.

If you haven't seen him before that means he's probably new security. You softly laugh and calmly explain, "I understand that you don't know me but can you tell Mr. Park that it's me coming to the planetarium?"

He stands between you and the door to the planetarium, "I'm sorry, miss, I can't allow you," he persists.

You glance at Felix and it's obvious that you're not the only one uncomfortable about this. It's your first destination and it's already getting embarrassing that you feel like wanting to shrink into a microscopic size.

"Can you at least try and call Mr. Park first, please?" You plead one more time.

"There's no one named Mr. Park in here," the new security says.

You scoff in disbelief, "he's the head of security here," you almost snap but remind yourself to keep calm. It was only yesterday that you packed him a half dozen of donuts and a coffee to go.

Felix has a right to be confused by this but he looks just as upset as you, he steps into the matter and says, "I think we can surely make a phone call to confirm."

He then takes the security aside and you can't hear what they're talking about because they're out of your earshot.

After a moment, they're walking back to you and the security pushes the door open.

"Not more than an hour," he warns as he lets the two of you inside.

Felix grabs your hand leading you inside. Even though the matter is solved, you can't stop feeling embarrassed because of it.

"So, what are we going to do here?" He asks.

You keep looking down at your feet, suddenly feel stupid for taking him here just because you know someone from the inside, "I don't know why I'm taking you here," you meekly say.

"Well, it must be because you find this place interesting," Felix says.

For someone who has just met you roughly an hour ago, he puts his faith so much in you. You don't know whether he's overly chivalrous or you should be suspicious of him.

"It's a bad idea to take you here," you sigh, regretting your choice for taking him here of all places you know on the island.

He gently grabs your elbow and says, "come on, we don't have much time!"

That makes you realize you've been wasting time contemplating your choice. Since you're already inside anyway, there's no use to fret.

You start walking and showing him around with both of your footsteps echoing in the empty planetarium.

You skip right to the place you wanted to show him, to the dome where there's a projection of stars on the dome. Mr. Park has shown you how to turn the projection on, you're not forgetting to turn the lights off before joining Felix in the center of the room.

"We're going to be standing here?" He awkwardly asks.

You shake your head and pull him by the hand to sit down next to you.

"Oh okay, we're sitting," he says as he gets comfortable sitting on the floor

But then you lay down on the floor and Felix follows suit, slowly laying his body next to you. In a second, the ceiling of the dome is filled with countless stars and they're the closest he has ever seen yet they're still out of his reach.

"What's your star sign?" You ask.

"Virgo."

You scan the projection to find his constellation and look between the Leo and Libra constellations.

"There!" You point to the constellation that forms a lazy Y shape.

He looks to where you point at the ceiling of the dome and gasps, "oh, that one?"

"It's the second largest constellation in the sky," you explain.

"Oh, wow!" He exclaims in awe and sounds truthfully fascinated by it.

You turn to look at him to know if he's enjoying this little amusement that is personal to you because you never show it to anyone else before.

Notices that you're looking at him, he turns his head and smiles at you.

"Beautiful!" He softly says.

And you can say the same thing about the constellations his freckles made on his cheeks.

You look away thinking you'll weird him out if you look at him for long, "yeah, it's beautiful."

With the absence of lights, the stars look more vivid and the dark that surrounded the two of you, makes it feels like the two of you floating in outer space.

Just the two of you.

The sun is shining so brightly but the winds are a bit cold for a summer day.

You're not complaining though because it helps you not to sweat a lot, it feels refreshing that the wind slips through your hair as you keep pedaling your bike.

Once in a while, you look over your shoulder to make sure you don't go too fast and leave Felix behind.

"You're supposed to take me to a gift shop at the end of the tour," Felix says but doesn't look like he's complaining at all.

You chuckle, "It's so that we don't have to go back and forth..."

You stop explaining as he keeps staring at you, it's the eyes that tell so much more than just a stare, the eyes making you feel embraced.

It almost feels like he sees someone that he hasn't seen in a long time.

But that's only possible if the two of you had met before.

"Are you sure we never met before?" You blurt out as you park your bike outside the gift shop.

Felix chuckles and parks his bike next to yours, skipping on answering your question.

The gift shop sells handmade products that are made by the locals, ranging from t-shirts to little figurines made of glass.

You let him look around the shop before taking him to the second floor where there's a room with dozens of wind-chime hanging around the room.

"It's where they make wind-chime," you say.

There's a big wooden table in the middle of the room, cluttering with materials from seashells to feathers and tools scattering around.

"Have you ever made one yourself?"

You nod, "I have one in my house."

"I'd like to see," he says.

You chuckle because he takes your answer as an indirect invitation to come to your house. You'll never get used to his bluntness but you don't mind it either. It surprises you how much you tolerate him even though he's a stranger you've just met hours ago.

"Yeah, sure," You joke because it's the only proper way to respond to that.

When a gust of wind blows in, the wind-chime clink together and collectively make chiming sounds that filled the room with music.

They keep swaying in the direction of where the wind blows.

"Do you want to try and make one?" You ask.

"I'm bad at DIY," he answers with a grimace.

You laugh at how honest he is, there's no pretending in everything he says or does which is very rare. When you meet someone new, they usually hide behind their facade of what kind of person they wanted to be perceived as.

Something about Felix convinces you he has no fear of showing his true self to you.

That scares you a little but at the same time, keeps you intrigued.

Felix takes a few pictures with his phone before going back to the first floor where he continues looking around the shop for something to buy.

You wait for him by the cashier while looking at the beaded bracelets on the counter when all of a sudden a little girl comes to you and hugs you.

"Hi, hello," you greet with a confused tone.

She doesn't say anything but wraps her hands around your waist and looks up at you.

"I'm done looking around," Felix comes back while clutching a few things in his chest and sees the little girl hugging you.

You shake your head at him, "I have no idea," you lowly mutter to him.

Felix puts down the things he's going to buy on the counter and squats down to be at the same eye level as the little girl.

"Can you please tell your mom that I need to pay?" He sweetly asks while fixing the little girl's hair endearingly.

The little girl still not saying anything but nods at him.

"Good girl! Now go, go, go..." he's cheering for her as she gets inside the house to get her mom.

You tip your head to the side even more confused than before, "how do you know she's the daughter of the owner?"

He shrugs, "well... that's the only thing that makes sense," he vaguely explains while uneasily looking at a cart of postcards.

A few minutes later, the owner of the gift shop comes out with the little girl trailing behind her.

"I'm sorry for making you wait," the owner says and immediately packs Felix's things while counting them.

"I don't know you have a daughter," you say because as far as you remember, the owner of the giftshop lives with her brother who made all of those wind-chime and they're both not married yet.

She awkwardly chuckles and answers, "she's my... uh, little cousin."

You nod and take a look at the girl again, how she shares an uncanny resemblance with the owner, "she has your eyes," you pointed out.

She takes Felix's credit card to process the purchase, "yeah, many people said the same thing," she sheepishly says.

Then she returns Felix's card and hands him his things, "thank you!"

Felix smiles at her while putting his card back into his wallet, he then turns at you, "shall we go?"

"Sure," you say.

You smile at the owner and wave at the little girl before exiting the gift shop.

After having a quick lunch at a food truck by the beach, you take Felix for a short walk to the ice cream parlor for desserts.

"They have the best ice cream on the island," you brag to him while pushing the door to get inside.

"Oh yeah?"

You turn around as Felix enters after you, "and it's my treat," you say.

The ice cream parlor is a place to go especially after spending time at the beach and you know the owner well, you have been a regular since you were little.

And on Friday, they always give an extra scoop of ice cream.

"Hi, can I take your order?" The girl says in her pink and yellow uniform that matches the interior of the ice cream parlor.

"In a minute," you say and give time for Felix to choose a flavor from the selection displayed on the counter.

"They're all looking good," he says with wrinkled brows like this is a life-or-death decision to make.

"What would you recommend?" He asks you.

You point to the display counter, "Cookies and cream or the... peanut butter?" you recommend but to be honest, you're indecisive too when it comes to ice cream.

"They're all good," you add.

He laughs because you're only making it hard for him to choose.

"What are you having?"

"Chocolate chip cookie dough," you reply.

Seeing that he still needs time to decide, you order first while taking out your wallet from your bag, "I'll have one chocolate chip cookie dough on a cone."

She takes your order and types something on the computer.

"Do I get an extra scoop?" You ask.

"I'm sorry?"

"I get an extra scoop on Friday," you point to the poster on the wall for the promotion. It's clearly written extra scoop on Friday in bold fonts.

"Yes, but it's not Friday," she calmly explains.

Felix grabs your elbow and once again, steps into the matter that you guess he's about to solve.

"And I'll have the butter pecan," he adds and pulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

"Hey, I'm paying," you remind him and hurriedly pull out your card from your wallet.

He looks at you and smiles, "I'll just cut it from your pay later," he simply says.

Felix hands the cashier his credit card and says, "and don't forget the extra scoops."

The cashier looks at him with a baffled expression but after a moment, she takes his card from him.

In the end, you get your extra scoop but something is tugging at your chest. When you look back at all the strange things happening today, it's like you know you missed something but you can't pinpoint what it is.

"Are we going to watch the sunset at the beach?" Felix asks as he walks beside you.

You softly laugh seeing the ice cream on the corner of his mouth, you grab his arm and turn him to face you.

"Stay still for me," you order and take a napkin you brought.

You slowly dab his mouth with the napkin and can't help but notice that he's looking at your lips, you hand him the napkin after and look away.

"I have a better place to watch the sunset from," you say.

The bike ride to your next destination is going to be a tough one since the road is steep and bumpy.

But if you want to make it there for the sunset, you have to keep pedaling even though your legs are screaming in pain.

You both eventually stopped pedaling and get off your bikes, deciding to walk them for the rest of the journey up the hill.

Felix fortunately puts all of his trust in you, he doesn't complain or keep asking where you're taking him, which is normal if he does.

Surprisingly though, he's very calm about it.

You put the bikes next to a tree and you take out a bottle of water from your bag, handing it to him.

"Thanks!" He mutters to you and impatiently uncaps the bottle to drink it.

You take another one from your bag and take a big long gulp before start walking to where you're going to watch the sunset.

"What is this place?" Felix asks while taking another sip of water.

"Ruins of a castle," you answer.

There's a crease formed between his eyebrows in a curl of a question mark.

You softly laugh before explaining further, "not exactly a castle but there used to be a birdwatching tower here."

You lead him climbing up the stairs that remained from the ruins and stopping by the concrete barrier, looking out at the sea that seems to be one with the sky.

Felix stands next to you, taking in the breathtaking view in silence while you're observing him.

"You don't seem to be impressed," you say and you've never been this blunt to someone you recently acquainted with, somehow with him, it feels like okay to do that.

He smiles and takes a long deep breath, "which one do you think matters the most? The place or the people you're with?"

Instead of answering your question, he asks you with a new one that got you thinking long and hard.

Your head starts to make scenarios in your head. One is that you go to a beautiful place but you come with your least favorite person to be with and the other one is you go to a horrible place but it's with someone you love.

If you compare those two, the latter seems to be a better answer.

"The people," you answer.

Felix's head is tilted up to see the sky turning golden as the sun is going down with the day and after a moment, he finally turns his head to look at you.

"I really like this place," he says.

He stares into your eyes as if the reflection of the sunset in them is more stunning than the one happening at the end of the horizon.

Then he leans in a little closer at you, "but I like the person I'm with more," he finishes with a soft smile with his eyes filled with warmth. Even with the daylight almost gone, he's luminescent and bright, how come you've never seen such a face?

However, this feeling and this moment you're sharing right now are almost nostalgic like it has happened before.

Is this what people called as fate? Everything about him puts the pieces right in their places.

"Do you want to go see the wind-chime at my house?" You blurt out the question as if he wouldn't get that the wind-chime is just an excuse.

A smile rises on his face as the sun set for the day, "sure."

Before it gets too dark, you slowly ride your bikes down the hill and take a few shortcuts to your house.

You arrived just in time as the sun fully disappeared and the moon has taken its place in the sky.

You turn on all of the lights in the house before letting him in and quickly excused yourself to the bathroom, aware that he can see all the beads of sweat on your face.

You wash your face, apply lip balm, brush your hair, and spray a little perfume before getting out of the bathroom. You may still look exhausted but at least you smell nice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't offered you a drink," you say the moment you see him standing there in the living room, looking out at the back garden with the view of the sea.

"That's okay," he says.

You go to the kitchen and suddenly forgot where you put your things in there, "water? Soda? Juice?"

"Anything will do!"

You take a glass from the top cabinet, "a glass of anything then!" You joke as you open the fridge to get a carton of juice.

His laugh is deep and echoing in the house, "do you mind if I take a look around?"

"Oh please, make yourself at home," you kindly reply and watches him making his way out to the back porch.

You bring the glass of juice in your hand knowing that he must be in your little studio and find him looking at your drawings.

"Here you go!" You give him his glass of juice.

"Thank you," He doesn't waste time taking a sip and puts the glass down on the table.

He then continues looking at the drawings you put on the wall and doing it so attractively, you get to see his side profile of sharp jaws, a small nose, and lips.

"Your drawings are beautiful!"

His deep voice is enough to get you out of your reverie, you immediately mutter your gratitude, "thanks!"

"You're a great artist!" He praises once again.

It's the way he delivers the praise that got your heart palpitations, "I'm not an artist yet but I got a scholarship to attend an art school this year," you don't want to brag but this kind of opportunity doesn't come often.

"In fact, I'm leaving next month," you add with an excited laugh, still can't believe it yourself.

Felix's gaze turns a shade dimmer like he has just heard something awful, "wow, congratulations!" He says but the excitement isn't there.

"Thank you!" Yet you sincerely thanked him for it.

You remember you haven't asked him his intention on this island, "how about you?"

"Huh?"

"Are you here for a vacation or do you plan on staying?" You ask out of curiosity.

"Or do you like my sister's pain au chocolat too much?" You add a joke at the end to not make it seems like you're pressuring him to answer.

He smiles and turns to face you, "I'm staying."

"Permanently?"

"It seems like that, yeah," he answers.

It's too early to assume that he was sad to know that you'll be leaving soon when he only started living on the island but you can't help it either.

"Well, you'll love it here," you tell him, and deep inside you got inexplicably sad that you only met him now.

You both exchange a gaze that elicits the same emotions, of something tender but sorrowful. How do you even have these sorts of feelings toward someone you know barely hours ago?

It's a mystery but you like how you can comfortably look into his eyes and drown yourself in them.

Felix breaks the eye contact first and asks, "so, where's the wind-chime?"

You slightly got a bit jittery, "it's uhm... it's in the other room," you can't find yourself saying the exact location but leads him there.

You both go back inside the house and turn to the right to enter one of the rooms.

Once he stepped inside, Felix calmly walks up to the window and pushes it open to let the air in.

The wind-chime sways and makes clinking sounds, "yours is beautiful," he compliments.

"I bet you know the wind-chime is just an excuse," you shyly say.

He sheepishly smiles and nods.

You approach him and stop right next to him, looking at his face under the pale moonlight that adds a mystifying glow, and makes him appear like a mythical entity.

"Can I kiss you?" You know your curiosity can only be answered with a kiss.

"I swear to you I've never done this before," you start to blabber because that's what you do when you're nervous.

"But you feel so oddly familiar to me like we've met and known each other for years, I just wanted to—"

Before you can finish your sentence, he leans in and closes the gap between your bodies.

It's like the stars aligned the moment your lips touched, it's ethereal and just right.

Your eyes are still closed when he pulls away and you try so hard to find a name for this peculiar feeling, one that resembles a feeling of coming home.

"Is it bad?" He asks with his hands still cupping your face as you stay quiet for a good minute.

You open your eyes and slowly shake your head, "kissing a stranger," you lowly mutter.

You jerk your head back in confusion, "I've never done that before..."

Felix softly chuckles, "yeah, you told me."

You touch his face and swipe your thumb over his small lips, "can we kiss again?"

Strange that you don't see any signs of confusion on Felix's face, "of course, yeah," he answers while laughing.

You're the one leaning in this time and gently place your lips on his, feeling his warm soft lips against yours for a few seconds then let go.

"Interesting..." you sigh in a perplexed tone.

Felix drops his hands to hold you by the waist and you like how he feels around you, safe and comfortable.

You look at his face and laugh at this funny thought that crossed your head, "can we do more than just a kiss?"

Felix once again doesn't seem to be surprised by the question but cracks a laugh at you, "is that what you want?"

You laugh again while burying your face in his chest, drinking in his natural scent mixed with sunshine and sea breeze.

Then you shyly nod without looking at him.

"We can do that," Felix says with his mouth close to the top of your head.

After a while, you look up at him and do not hesitate to kiss him, "maybe after a few more of this," you say between kisses.

And he caters to your wants, returning the kisses with the same passion while holding you close.

"Should we go to bed?" You ask.

Felix doesn't answer but takes you to your bed, patting the space next to him.

However, you choose to sit on his lap and straddle him, kissing him again only to be the one who breaks it again, "I can't believe I asked you that," you say with a low laugh.

You plant a long kiss on his lips and sigh, "I swear to you I am not the type to ask someone I barely know to have sex with me, I—"

You pause to catch a breath from your constant blabbering.

Felix brushes your hair to the side and endearingly cups your jaw, "are you nervous?"

You put your hands around his neck, "a little."

"Do you want to continue?"

"Yes," you answer rather too quickly but you're way past embarrassing yourself at this point.

Felix sweetly smiles as he puts all of your hair away to the side and holds them there, "you're so beautiful."

It's the sincerity in his voice that assured you that his compliments aren't just empty words, they are genuine.

You want to adore him in the same way, one hand slips in his dark locks, and the other trails his defined jaw, you use the chance to play connect the dots with the freckles on his face.

"And you are so, so beautiful," you mutter back as earnestly as possible your voice quivering along with your heart.

The kisses he places on your lips next feel softer and longer than the previous ones but they hold intensity in them, hungry and a little possessive as if someone will take it from him.

And the next kiss is explosive as if this one unlocked the insecurities in both of you, setting them free.

Felix starts to take the dress off of you, exposing your skin to the cool night air and raising goosebumps all over your body.

"I have to warn you that I might be bad at it," you say as Felix puts your dress away.

"At what?" He asks back.

"Sex," you meekly answer.

He takes your hands and put them on his chest, "I'll be the judge of that," he calmly says.

Somehow your hands know what to do and start working the buttons of his shirt, impatiently parting it open after seeing the muscles he hides underneath that shirt.

He helps by taking it off of him and putting it aside, drawing you close to him again, kissing you hungrier than before.

You both collapse onto the bed and tangled your bodies like two slithering snakes, touching and kneading, lips endlessly attached.

More pieces of clothing are off until there are none but mere skins and limbs on the white sheet.

Felix sinks his mouth onto your neck and kisses you there, wet kisses that make you flutter on the inside. Like you aren't intoxicated enough, he slides his mouth down your chest and hovers there, taking your breast in his mouth in turns.

Your soft moans fill the space and echo in the room, your hand slips into his silky fine hair.

You tug a little harder at it as he sucks harder on your nipple that Felix lets out a yelp.

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologize.

You gently rub his scalp with your fingertips to soothe the pain, "it's just that... they're so sensitive," you meekly admit.

Felix uses his index finger to rub your nipple in circular motions with his eyes looking at you through his lashes, "are they?"

You bite your lower lip to stop yourself from moaning and nod, "If you keep doing that, I may—" your words got cut off as Felix tugs your nipple between his teeth, then takes a mouthful of your ample flesh in his mouth.

Felix lets go with a popping sound, leaving your breast swollen and wet with his saliva.

He hastily kisses your mouth then brings his mouth close to your ear, "you know what?"

You turn your head to the side to look at him and mutter, "what?"

He presses his mouth into your other ear, "I can't wait to be inside you," his hot breath tickling, sending a shiver down your spine.

You feel the knot inside you ever so slowly tightening the more he aroused you.

Felix's hand is reaching for the drawers on the bedside table and you guess he's looking for condoms.

"It's on the second drawer," you tell him while watching his hand pull it open and take a condom out of the box.

It's probably a common thing that people keep condoms close to the bed, you reckon since Felix seems to know where you put them.

He sits on the edge of the bed, tears the wrapper open, and put the condom on, crawling back onto the bed once he's done.

He's smiling so sweetly as he hovers above you, placing small fluttering kisses on the side of your face. A hand glides down your body to part your legs open.

You capture his lips for a long, lingering kiss before letting him go, spreading your legs open for you.

Felix gives his cock a few pumps, wetting it with your essence as he rubs his length down your slit repeatedly.

He then put your legs over his and aligns his cock with your entrance, he holds your thighs as he slowly pushes in.

You grip the sheet underneath you and lowly moan as he keeps pushing the remaining length deeper into you.

The hand that holds your thigh, clawing into the flesh and making crescent marks on the skin.

With the last push of his hips, his cock is fully sheathed in your tight walls and he lets a low growl of satisfaction.

Felix lowers himself on you and places a kiss on your lips, taking a moment together to adjust to being inside each other.

You wrap your legs and arms around him, absorbing the heat his slim body emitting, feeling him skin to skin.

The quietness in the room only adds to the intimacy, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing and your body against each other.

Felix slowly thrusts into you but it's the stares deeply into your eyes that make you feel vulnerable under him. A hand holds the side of your head and brushes your hair to the side with such loving.

He softly smiles before speaking, "you're so quiet," he says and your eyes flutter shut as he places a long peck on your lips.

He cups your jaw and holds your gaze, "Is that good or bad?"

You lowly chuckle, a little hesitating to give him an honest answer but he needs to know.

"Good," you shortly reply.

He raises an eyebrow at you with his head slightly tipped to the side.

"Too good to be honest," you shamelessly admit.

The sweet smile returns to his face although he's deep inside you and fucking you like no one ever did to you.

He kisses your open mouth with his tongue invading yours, tasting more of you.

The moment he lets go, you gasp for air and feel a little lightheaded.

He wipes the mess around your lips and gives you a long peck after.

Felix is back kneeling on the bed, hands gripping your waist as you arch your back for him, giving him the right angle to thrust into you deeper.

He picks up the pace and you can feel yourself slipping away, drunk in pleasure. Your hands seek his but ended up holding his forearms.

"Oh my—" you start mumbling incoherent words and moaning at the same time.

Felix seems to be enjoying the sight as he lowly grunts through his gritted teeth, he lets go of your waist to hold your hands, intertwining them with his.

"You're so beautiful, my love," he murmurs.

Did you hear it right? Did he just call you that? 'My love'? Isn't it enough just by fucking you that he needs to call you that and makes your heart flutter in a heating moment like this?

Unexpectedly, Felix only lets the moment lasts for a while, he lets go of your hands and pulls out of you.

You let out a whine at the sudden emptiness and your eyes snap open, confused at this abrupt stop when it's getting really good.

It seems like Felix isn't as annoyed as you, he flashes you a sly smile and makes space on the bed.

He puts his hands under your thighs and holds them up, parting them open to sink his head in between.

A moan escapes your mouth as his hot mouth touches your dripping cunt and Felix makes out with it, using his tongue and lips.

It's messy but inexplicably hot, he licks you up and down your slit then drags his tongue to your clit to suck so hard on it.

You almost clamp him between your legs but he lifts his head at the right time. Felix makes a trail of kisses on your inner thigh while his hands knead the flesh.

It's like he knows how to touch you the right way, there's not one that you find uncomfortable. It's only possible if you had sex a few times together, it's either that or he knows how to please someone.

Next thing you know, he's back hovering above you, kissing you, all over your face and neck. He lays next to you and turns your body to face the other way with your back against his chest, then he holds his arm out to be your pillow which you gladly rest your head on.

He's peppering your neck and shoulder with wet little kisses and one hand makes its way to your wet core, fingering you even though you're already dripping down your thigh.

When he deems you're wet enough for him to penetrate again, he enters you once again from behind.

You can clearly hear his low groans as his mouth is so close to your ear.

"You feel so good," he murmurs into your ear, lips grazing your ear shell as he speaks.

"Gosh, I can feel you tightening around me," he adds.

Well, guess he knows that you like how he softly speaks into your ear and the deep voice doesn't help but make you even more aroused.

You curve your hand around his face and bring his head closer, turning your head to meet his hungry mouth for your lips.

Felix starts moving once again, a hand pulls your leg higher and thrusts deeper into you.

The knot inside you keeps tightening as well, your hand keeps holding his hand as Felix maintains his slow yet intensely hard thrusts.

"Close, mmh?" He asks you along with a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

Unable to provide a verbal answer, you stifle a nod at him.

Felix wraps your body with his arms and holds you so tightly as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, harder and deeper.

"Let's cum together, yeah?" He tells you.

Still, you can't force your foggy brain to form a verbal answer so you nod again. You can only grab his chin to kiss him again and moan into his mouth.

You cum almost at the same time not long after with your bodies sticking together like you are two puzzle pieces that fill each other's nooks and crooks.

When you think about it, it has been a long tiring day, tiring yet fulfilling, and now you feel so tired.

Felix kisses you and holds you close, cuddling you under the cover without pulling out yet. You like how each kiss gives you the same tingling feeling that you giggle like a schoolgirl. When his mouth is back on yours again, you kiss him back wholeheartedly until your heart aches.

"That was so good," you praise him with a shy smile.

"And you said you're bad at it," he says while clicking his tongue.

Just like your body can't find another time to interrupt, your stomach grumbles and you realize you haven't had dinner yet. You close your eyes in embarrassment as if that would hide you from him.

Felix lowly chuckles and kisses your cheek, "I'll go clean up and cook dinner for us," he says.

He kisses you again to finally get up from the bed and goes to the bathroom, leaving you on the bed alone still high in pleasure.

You allow yourself to lie for a minute before getting up as well, putting on a t-shirt. Since Felix plans to cook dinner, a thought runs into your head, you doubt you have something to cook in your fridge, so you hurriedly go to the kitchen to check the fridge.

You don't remember doing grocery shopping and stocking your fridge with a lot of vegetables, you give up on trying to remember things and shrug it off.

It's a relief that there's something for Felix to cook besides the packs of ramen in the top kitchen cabinet.

It takes Felix a long time in the bathroom and you figure he must be looking for towels or something, you jog back to your bedroom to tell him.

You knock his bag off the dining table on the way there and the contents scatter out of its bag, book, pens, wallet, notes, keys, everything.

"Oh no!" You immediately squat down to pick up the things on the floor, putting them back into his bag.

The book is the last thing you pick and it's the book he was reading at the bakery shop this morning, you turn to see the cover.

It's your favorite book from a Russian writer and Felix comes out of your room.

"I accidentally dropped your bag," you quickly explain before he gets the wrong idea.

"You're reading my favorite book," you blurt out of excitement.

“I think... if it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.”

You proceed to recite your favorite quote from the book with a smile on your face then flip open the book.

The smile fades as you recognize the handwriting on the first page, of your initial so you wouldn't lose your copy of the book.

You glance up at Felix whose eyes turn dim like a candle in the wind, "Is this mine?"

He doesn't answer but takes a few steps closer to you.

"Stop right there!" You snap at him with your hand outstretched to stop him from coming close to you.

"H—how do you have my book?" You ask him and lift the book right at him.

Felix seems to struggle to stay where he is, he keeps wanting to get close to you but resists the urge. He takes a deep breath, then says, "I can explain everything."

He takes a careful step towards you but you take a step away from him, maintaining a big gap between you.

"Don't come any closer!" You snap again and hold the book by the spine, ready to throw it at him if he tries to get close to you.

"Give me a chance to explain everything," he pleads with his arms reaching out to you.

His plead means nothing compares to the fear you're feeling right now. Not knowing who he is yet he has been keeping your book in his bag this whole time and you have no idea how he gets ahold of it. On top of that, you feel betrayed because he has been nothing but nice to you.

"Just tell me how the fuck you have my book?" You raise your voice and aim the book at him, something slips off from between the pages of the book and onto the floor.

It looks like a pamphlet from an art exhibition and you're about to glance away from it until you see it, a picture of you on the pamphlet.

"What is this?" You ask Felix.

"Why my picture is on this?"

He looks so sad rather than panic with his hands staying on his side with his face drops, "Let's sit down and I'll explain everything to you, please?"

You refuse to reconcile with him, you put the book down on the armrest of the sofa to read what the pamphlet says since it has a picture of you.

It has your name on it then a short biography of you, you skim the part you already know about your life, then to the part where it gets strange.

"... known opulent colors and dynamic compositions, she's considered to be one of the best artists of the past decade. With just a few confident lines, she could convey gestures and emotions.

Her love for drawing started at a young age and in her early 20s, she planned to move to the capital city of art after accepting a scholarship to the prestigious art school that's also an alma mater to many talented artists.

A month prior to the plan, she got into a terrible accident that caused severe brain damage which got her diagnosed with amnesia anterograde, a type of memory loss that occurs when one can't form new memories. She permanently loses the ability to learn or retain any new information.

Ever since she wakes up living the same day over and over again, that is August 21 when the tragic accident happened.

But what remains different from her day is the drawing she made that captures the beauty of the island she lives in through her eyes.

Every drawing shown in the exhibition is taken right from her personal journal and has been carefully selected by the person who discovered her talent, a retired dancer, Felix Lee.

This drawing series proves two things: that there are no boundaries in art and just like the title of the exhibition itself, her talent is one of a kind."

It's like reading about a life that isn't yours. You refuse to believe it and throw it across the room. That is not you, someone has been pulling a prank on you.

"I would have known if I got into a tragic accident? What brain damage?" You laugh it off while pacing the room.

"You got hit by a car when you were on your bike, you were on your way to the castle on the hill," he speaks with his eyes closed as if it hurts to tell you that.

"No, that didn't happen!" You shake your head in disbelief and try to block him from messing with your head.

Felix remains where he is but looks terribly sad, "you have a scar on the right of your head to prove it," he meekly says.

"No, I don't!" You strongly deny his words.

He just stares at you with those sad and dim eyes, the ones that you hate to see on him.

"If this is some kind of joke to you, just know that it isn't funny!" You look him dead in the eyes as you warn him.

You know he's lying but you have to prove it yourself, your hand reaches for your head and slowly traces your scalp for any kind of...

There, you feel it, the indentation of a scar along the side of your head. You didn't feel it until you acknowledge it, it stings that your eyes start to water.

"What is this? I don't—" you keep denying it because you don't want it to be true.

You break down onto the floor as tears roll down your face, "I don't understand. I never got into an accident, I swear, I—"

Felix comes to hold you and you don't have any energy left in you to stop him, so you let him. You let him hold you so tight as if he wants to squeeze the sadness out of you.

"It's okay. It's not your fault," he says to you and tightens his hold around you.

"I don't believe it!" You deny still even though now you know that it's true and it hurts so much like a ton of bricks falls onto your head at once.

Felix lets you cry into his chest until you calm and your body stops shaking, he brings you a glass of water, then sits across from you.

He explains everything about how you got into the accident and what caused your memory loss, how have you been living. Everything starts to make sense, the familiar feelings, and the people, how this island stays the same but feels so strange to you.

"Are you the Felix Lee? The one who discovered me?" You ask while holding the glass of water in your hands.

"Yes."

"What are we?" You ask.

The question seems to surprise him, maybe it's too personal or too complicated for him to find a definite answer. You think of another question to ask him.

"Since when did you know me?"

"Last year." He answers.

"You've known me for a year?"

He nods.

"Did you know right away about my condition?"

He shakes his head and leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him, "I met you at your sister's bakery shop."

"Just like today?"

He nods again, "that's pretty much how we met," he confirms.

"Then?"

"You didn't recognize me the next day and we had a little argument, at one point you're about to splash me with your cup of coffee," he awkwardly chuckles.

You cringe hearing that from him but that's one of the things you'd likely do.

"Then your sister explained to me about your condition," he adds.

This is the part that intrigues you, he has the option to leave and remains a stranger to you. But why? He said it's been a year since he knew you yet he's here.

"Then why are you still here?" You ask.

"Because I fell in love with you," he shortly replies as if it's an obvious and the only right answer. As if those words won't make your heart aches from hearing it.

Tears start pooling in your eyes again, "why don't you fall in love with someone else?" Your voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

"Because they're not you," he answers.

You can't believe that he's been doing this for a year when he can have a life out there, and falls in love with someone who can make new memories with him every day.

"Why?" You croak as tears caught in your throat.

Felix's eyes are glossy and they're shining under the lights, "Because I love you and I want to be with you," he reaches for your hands and holds them.

"But I—" you pause to catch a breath, "But I won't remember you—" you can't finish your sentence as you start to sob.

Felix comes to your side and holds you again.

"I'll keep forgetting you every day," you say again and let it sink, in how tragic it is to not be able to remember him.

He holds your face in his hands, wiping the tears on your cheeks with such loving, "But you do remember me," he says.

But that only hurt you more, how you can't remember him and how it's frustrating to you. You kept saying how he feels familiar to you but can't remember who he is and that he's been by your side for the past year.

That explains the feelings you have for him, that it's there and it's real.

"And I don't want to forget you again," you sob into his chest.

It seems that it's not the first time Felix finds you like this and that's sad. Why did it happen to you? Who should you blame for this? The driver who lost control of his car? God?

All you know is blaming anyone or anything won't solve anything but make you suffer.

You're lucky you have someone who stays by your side and tries to remind you of him.

You look up at him and hold his face, "I wish we met the day before the accident," you say.

He shakes his head, "No, I wish you never had to experience all of this," he corrects you.

You kiss him with all of your heart and yes, you do remember him. This kiss, these lips, these hands that hold yours, and the warmth of his embrace.

It's him, your heart remembers him.

To put it simply, you have all of your memories from the earliest you remember until the day of the accident stored in your brain.

You just can't retain any new memories and your slate is wiped clean every night when you go to sleep. You wake up every day thinking that it's the day of the accident, August 21.

You can't believe that the whole town is keeping this from you but you also understand why they chose to do that, they don't want to hurt you with the harsh truth of your condition.

You believe that Felix has the same good intentions, he just wanted to protect you.

"Breakfast for dinner, huh?" You say as he serves you a plate of food in front of you. It consists of sautéed veggies, a baked potato with cheese, bacon, and toasted mini waffles.

"Is this my favorite of your cooking?"

"No," he replies.

Felix makes himself a plate of dinner too then sits next to you at the dining table, "your favorite is the grilled cheese but we had that yesterday," he adds.

When you think about it again, it's sad that you can't remember anything that you like about him. Just anything about him for that matter. You also understand that it takes a lot of patience to be with you and you're so grateful beyond words for him.

You take his hand and hold it there on your lap, "So I guess Mr. Park is no longer working at the planetarium?" You ask while taking a spoonful of food.

"He moved out of the island a few months ago," Felix answers.

"And the child at the giftshop is the daughter of the owner?"

He nods, "her name is Nana and she likes you very much."

You smile while chewing your food, "and what day is it?"

"It's Monday."

"You paid for the extra scoop?" You guess again.

He nods again.

You shove another spoonful of food into your mouth, "I think this is my new favorite cooking of you," you say.

Felix chuckles in response.

"What?"

"You said that to everything I cooked for you," he answers with a sheepish smile.

Apart from your memory loss, you know yourself well that when you compliment someone or something, you mean them.

"Well then that means I love your cooking," you conclude with a smile.

He brings your hand close to his lips to softly kiss your knuckle, "thank you," he mutters so sweetly.

After washing the dinner down with a few glasses of wine, you're snuggling with Felix as he holds you close on the bed, looking out at the night sky through the open window.

You rest your head on his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat, "Did our days always end like this?" You ask out of pure curiosity.

Felix removes the strands of hair from covering your face and gently kisses your forehead, "not always."

"No?" You ask with sad eyes.

"There are good days and bad days, days in between," he vaguely answers.

"Some days are like today, some days you didn't and sometimes, I just let you be," he explains while caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

There's a possibility that you hurt him on one of those days too but he chooses not to let you know.

"It must be hard for you," you feel bad for him, for being stuck in the endless cycle to try and make you remember him.

He shakes his head, "as long as you're happy," he says.

You put your hand across his chest and hold him, feeling him as a whole person with a beating heart that loves you regardless of your condition.

You tilt your head up and look at him, you probably have done it more than a hundred times already but your heart flutters still.

You place a soft kiss on his lips because words can't truly fathom how thankful you are for him.

You pull away from the kiss with a smile while admiring his pretty face from up close, wiping your thumb over his lips.

He holds the side of your face affectionately, "you seem to have another question for me," he narrows his eyes at you.

You get flustered even though you haven't said anything, you lay on your stomach and prop a hand under your chin, nodding at him.

"You can ask me anything," he says with his hand on the arch of your back.

"Did the sex always this good?" You shyly ask.

Felix gets flustered as well that he closes his eyes and scrunch his nose, "I think so, yes," he answers.

You keep nodding while smiling, you hover over his body and have him pinned under you.

"That's all I need to know," you say before lowering your mouth for a kiss.

Felix puts his hands around your waist and holds you still, "are you sure you only need to know?"

He certainly knows you well.

If the sex is always that good, it would be a missed opportunity to not have another round with him. Adding to the fact that he's not a total stranger to you changes everything significantly.

You feel a lot more confident, comfortable around him, and safe.

And he's just so... oh, he's so gorgeous, you wonder how this man comes into your life. What is the possibility of a star falling onto your lap just like that? You're so lucky.

Felix intensely looks at you with his half-shut eyes, shifting between seeing his cock going in and out of you and the way you bounce on his cock.

You lean back with your hands on his legs as support and your feet are on each side of his body.

Your breasts move along with every movement you make on top of him and Felix allows himself to fondle them with his hands.

His other hand steadily holds your waist, gripping it so hard you're sure he's making a mark there.

"So good, my love, oh..." he murmurs as he pinches your nipple between his fingers.

You slow down the pace and roll your hips in circular motions, making him feel you whole.

He squeezes on your breast as a groan escapes his mouth, "the way you clench around me, baby," he sighs with eyes closed.

You fondle your breast together with his hand, giggling at how he looked so intoxicated by the pleasure you brought to him.

You continue rolling your hips, back and forth, slow and steady, feeling his length inside you, nudging the sensitive spot repeatedly.

"I don't think I'll last long this time," he says with a mix of delight and desperation in his voice.

You take both of his hands and clasped them with yours, using them as a support as you pick up the pace of your movement.

You hear him cursing under his breath plenty of times already but that only makes you want to please him more, picking up the pace because you can feel that he's so close to his release.

You're enjoying yourself by pleasing him, whining in pleasure, and touching yourself.

A moment later, you can feel his cock twitching inside you as he fills the condom with his seed. A mix of grunts and moans spilled out of his parted mouth.

"And you said you're so bad at it, huh?" He breathlessly says to you.

You chuckle then lower yourself on top of him, sloppily kissing him on the mouth.

He takes a fistful of your hair in his hand as he kisses you back so hard that your lungs burn from running out of oxygen.

The night is getting late and it has been a very long, fulfilling day. The exhaustion got to you and your eyes start to get heavy while Felix held you close with no gap left between your bodies.

"You're sleepy," he says while brushing your hair with his little fingers.

You widen your eyes to prevent them from drooping, "I'm alright," you lie.

He gently pats your head then kisses it, "it's okay, you can rest now."

You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, "If I do then I'll forget you," you sadly say, feeling a lump forming in your throat.

He places his two fingers under your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him.

"That's okay," he assures you with a tender kiss on your lips.

He holds your gaze and the warmth oozes out of his brown eyes, "I'll make you remember me."

He gives your lips a quick peck on the lips, "tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, for the rest of the week, for as long as I live..."

He takes your hand and kisses it, "I promise that I'll make you remember me," he finishes.

The tears just start to flow out of your eyes and roll down your cheeks, your heart hurts so much like someone stabbed it repeatedly.

"Why did you do this?" You speak between your low sobs.

Felix sadly smiles but his eyes remain kind and warm, "I told you, I want to be with you."

You dive into his arms and into the safety of his embrace where nothing can hurt you. You'll soon forget how his body feels against you, his gentle touch, and his intoxicating lips that always entice you to kiss.

Then a pair of hands that always knows how to wipe your sadness away and protect you from harm, hands that know how to please you and put you at ease.

For the first time you feel so sure about everything, this moment and this person, this feels right because he's right.

With steadfast conviction, you look into his eyes and say those words that are meant to be said to him, "I love you." You dare to let your heart wide open because you know he wouldn't break it, and it does feel like you have said it for the umpteenth time. You don't remember it but your heart keeps the count.

Your brain would soon dismiss him from your memory but your heart will remember him as the one who says, "I love you too."

Felix likes watching you sleep with your hands folded under your head, lost in your peaceful dream.

He would stay the night up, guarding you against the bad dreams that might invade your sleep and admire your beautiful face that you're so unaware of.

When the dawn breaks, no matter how much he wants to stay, he knows it's his time to go.

He allows himself to have a moment to take a long look at your face, caressing it so tenderly like you would break if he touches you the wrong way.

"We'll meet again today," he whispers into your ear then gives a long, lingering kiss on your forehead.

"I love you," he finishes with another kiss on the back of your hand.

He lingers by the doorway to see your sleeping figure under the cast of bluish light, where he questions himself if this is right to keep doing this.

He refuses to give up just because that's easier. He has faith that in that caged heart of yours, you remember him.

He knows his answer would always be to stay with you then blames himself for letting the doubt take over him for a second.

He opens your journal to rip the pages of drawings you did that day and put everything back into your bag. He gathers his things and makes sure that he left no trace of himself in the house.

On the way out, he meets your sister who's going to help him put things back into their place like it's August 21 all over again.

"How was she?" She asks while holding the copy of the same dress you wear every day in one hand.

"She remembered me," Felix answers.

She lets out a sigh of relief, "That's good," she comments.

"You'd better go home and get some rest," she adds.

Felix nods and takes your sister's bike with him, going back to his cottage not far from your house.

He compiles the drawings you did into the collection he has saved in files, email the gallery director if she's interested to display new drawings of you.

He rests for a few hours before getting up and getting ready for a new day.

You always come to your sister's bakery shop around 7.30 and Felix comes a few minutes late on purpose.

When he enters the bakery, he sees you already sitting in your favorite spot in the bakery and silently drawing on your journal.

Felix orders himself a cup of coffee and a pastry from your sister.

"She looks bright this morning," your sister says as she hands him his orders.

Apart from your swollen eyes, your sister is right.

You are as radiant as ever, your smile is scintillating and the morning shining through the window adds a glow to your heavenly presence.

He takes slow walks to your table and he tries not to startle you by clearing his throat to make his presence known.

You look up at him, wide-eyed and curious.

"Good morning!" He begins.

"Morning!" You greet back with zero enthusiasm.

No matter how many times he received this cold expression from you, he believes he'll never get used to it.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Felix asks and careful with the way he says it. He doesn't want to come off as if he wants to intrude on your day, he just wants to be a part of your day, no matter how small it is.

He did this a handful of times already, sometimes you accepted him, sometimes you rejected him, and a few times, you didn't even let him in at all.

He's prepared for both the best and the worst of outcomes.

He feels your eyes scanning him for any signs of red flags and then looks down at your drawing.

"You may sit," you answer without looking at him.

This is categorized as a good result, it's better than you flatly rejected as you did a few days ago.

Felix doesn't want to rush things so he pulls out his book, sips his coffee, and tries not to notice how you quietly glance at him.

He bites into his pastry and that seems to evoke your curiosity.

"What are you having?" You ask but keep your eyes on your drawing.

"Oh it's a..." he pauses to think of a clever way to answer you and one that would make you laugh.

"Pain au chocolat," he answers.

You snort in response.

"What?"

"That's not a pain au chocolat," you say.

"It isn't?"

You put your pencil down and drink your coffee, "that's a chocolate croissant," you correct him.

"I thought it was the same," Felix says with utmost surprise even though he heard it before.

" They are made from the same dough but pain au chocolat is shaped in a cuboid piece rather than a croissant," you explain and take another sip of your coffee.

"Ah!" Felix exclaims.

"I've been misinformed this whole time!" He says with an irritated sigh.

"That's okay, the internet can be misleading sometimes," you sneer.

"How do I know your information is legit?" Felix dares with a sly smile.

You cross your arms in front of you, "my sister owns this bakery," you say with a smirk.

The mischief in that curl of your lips, he likes it on you.

"So that proves your pastry profiling skill?" He leans forward and raises an eyebrow at you.

You got quiet for a while then all of sudden, burst into laughter.

"Pastry profiling— What?"

Gosh, seeing you laugh makes his heart full and he wants to keep doing that: making you happy.

Felix points to your journal, "are you drawing sketches of pastries, huh? Let me see!" He jokes.

"No, I'm not," you say while still laughing.

The laugh dies down after a moment and it's the first time you look into his eyes that day, "How come I've never seen you here before?"

"I'm new in this town," he answers.

You put your journal aside and lean on the table, "and you are?"

"I'm Felix, nice to meet you!" He introduces himself and holds out his hand at you.

You seem to hesitate at first but confidently take his hand and shake it for a few seconds, "Nice to meet you!"

And that's how another day begins.

Another day of trying to make you fall in love with him all over again.

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