Gotta another idea for you (I think? Don't know if I already submitted this)

Anyway.

"Take it off . . . Or I will."

Maybe the oc/reader is wearing something sarcastically or mocking - a hat, t-shirt, or what have you. And oc/reader would respond with "Make me" and it ended up a wrestling match of a sort then make out session?

Ohhh, I enjoyed this and I hope you all do too ;)

The Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

He was supposed to be back within 3 days. 3 days.

It was going on 5. 5 kriffing days without your Mandalorian Tin Can.

Not you were worried. Sort of. Maybe. A little bit.

More so than anything else you were bored. Bored and stuck on the ship in the middle of nowhere. You couldn't even leave and go and anywhere. Luckily you had the small green bean with you but still.

You missed the grumpy, disgruntled Mandalorian. The kid was great and all but he even he was missing Din.

Part of you was wondering if he was doing on it on purpose, just to get a rise out of you. He'd done it before...just not, you know, for days.

Maker.

As much as you trusted him and knew be could handle himself, there was a tiny part of you that was worried. You hated the effect he had on you sometimes.

Normally you accompanied him on business, as his right hand...person. Friend? Partner? Lover? You'd never really put a label on your relationship, and sometimes it left you wondering. The line between just being work partners had become thinner and thinner over time and what had started off as a one time deal ended becoming a...very often type of deal.

You'd promised you wouldn't catch feelings. But that had happened a long time before your first night spent tangled up together. Not just for you, but for your Mandalorian too. The Mandalorian. Not yours. Just the.

But...kriff. Here you were. Missing him and worried about him. You'd get him back for that later. Now all you could do was wait for him to get back. You could go out and look for him, you supposed, but then you'd have to take the baby and you weren't about to subject him to anything dangerous if you didn't need to. And you had no clue what awaited you in the lawless land.

Instead you waited around. And waited. And waited. And cleaned the ship from top to bottom. Made some of the small repairs you spied. Made sure the weapons were pristine and properly stored away. You were tired - listless. But sleep wasn't going to come to you. It hadn't come in more than a few hours here and there since Din had left.

Instead you focused on your green bean, making sure he was bathed and had a full belly before trying to singing him softly to sleep. It took a while, but not long enough. Not long enough for Din to make a grand reappearance.

Once he was tucked safely into his pram for the night you found yourself wandering aimlessly. You sneaked into Din's quarters. Sneaked was a strong word; it wasn't like you weren't in there on a semi regular basis. But without him...it felt odd. Wrong even.

But you missed him, ached for him both mentally and physically. His presence was often the only thing that kept you feeling safe and sane.

Opening the door to the small space he called a wardrobe, small sigh escaped your lips at the familiar smell. No matter how often his clothes were washed, his scent always clung to them. It was comforting, reassuring in the times he was gone. Touching over some of the worn fabrics, you wondered what would happen if you happened to take a shirt and wear. It would only be for a little while...and you'd put it back before he came home. He wouldn't even notice.

So you pulled one of long sleeves out and quickly discarded your own shirt, opting to wear the Mandalorian's. Immediately you felt a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you. Maybe he wasn't there physically, but this was pretty close. It would do for now.

Eventually, despite the late hour, you were still wired. Maybe you shouldn't have had all that caf earlier, but it was too late to regret those decisions.

Instead you turned the holo-radio, playing some music softly as you danced around the hull of the Crest. It was a vain attempt to wear yourself out, and you were in nothing but Din's shirt and your underwear, totally engrossed in the music.

So engrossed that you didn't hear the ramp open or the purposely heavy footsteps of one Din Djarin.

Din chucked his gear onto one of the nearby crates, before deciding to wait and see how long it took for you to notice his presence.

While you didn't hear him, you could practically feel the gaze of his helmet burning holes into your back. When you finally turned to face him, his arms were crossed over his broad chest, his head tilted to the side. Kriff.

"D-Din! You're back," you almost stumbled over your own feet at you stared back at him. Your heart was fluttering as you tried to determine whether he was happy, angry, or...something. Your smile was flattering as you followed his gaze and realized he was staring at your chest, "oh! I didn't...think you were...coming back tonight."

"I said 3 days," his voice was rough and gritty, as tantalizing as it was when he was growling in your ear under the cover of dark while he was inside you. That alone was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Its been 5," your resolve was already weakening as he took a step closer.

"Exactly," his intense gaze was already starting to make you weak in the knees, "you should have been expecting me anytime."

"I-I-I..." you backed up but soon hit the wall and found yourself trapped, "didn't..."

"Is that my shirt?" he tugged at the collar with his gloved hand as you swallowed thickly. The room was filled with nothing but pure tension, sexual tension, as you stared at him wordlessly. When you remained silent, he roughly, although not hard enough to do any lasting damage, grabbed your chin and turned your face up to meet his, "I asked you a question, sweet one. Is. That. My. Shirt?"

"Mhmm," you mumbled as you looked at with the widest and most innocent eyes possible.

"Take it off," he said sternly. If you didn't know him, didn't know about your relationship with him, you might have been scared. But you weren't. You knew right where this was going. You gave him a defiant little look before catching him off guard and ducking out from under his arm.

"No," you insisted, sticking out your tongue at him, just to rile him up a little bit, "what are you doing to, Big Bad Mandalorian?"

"Take it off," his voice was low and dangerous as he came back to you, "or I will."

"That doesn't sound much like a threat," you raised your arms up, letting the fabric ride up and expose some of your soft bare skin, "come and take it off then."

"You are such a brat sometimes," he sighed before slowly stripping off some of his armor.

"And what about it?" you teased as he came over and you started to dart out of his grasp. But it didn't take much for his long legs to catch up as he wrapped an arm around your waist, and quickly flipped off the lights, leaving the Crest in darkness.

"Such an easy catch," he snorted as you tried to squirm out of his grasp laughing as you wrestled him to floor. Of course, if he'd been trying at all, he'd never let you get the one up on him. But he easily acquiesced and let you pin him to the ground as you straddled his waist. His large hands made quick work of pulling off your, his, shirt and throwing it onto the floor.

"Maybe I wanted to be caught," you grinned at him, despite the darkness as his hands found purchase on your waist, "I was worried."

"About me?"

"Who else, Tin Can?" you as you leaned down, hands going to the sides of his helmet. When he didn't stop you, you slowly pulled it off and set it to the side, "you were gone for too long."

"Getting all soft on me?" his rich, warm voice was like music to your ears as you leaned down and kissed him, finding his lips warm and soft, "I was fine."

"I am not soft," you instead as you kissed every part of his face before going back to his lips. A hand went to the back of your neck as he held you tightly against him, his own kisses becoming more and more heated. You paused for a moment, running a hand through his mussed curls, "just don't be gone that long next time. Or tell me if you'll be longer, or send a message or something."

"Fine," he promised as he pulled off his gloves and stroked your cheek. You keened into his touch before going back to kissing him again, "softie."

"Shut up," you insisted weakly as you held onto him as tightly as possible, already feeling relieved that he was back and safe in your arms, "I know you missed me too."

"How so?"

"You always do," you insisted, "I can tell- the way you kiss me. Its different and I can feel it."

"And what about it?" he repeated lightly as you groaned your hips against his, "tell me what you need, sweet one."

"You, Din. I need you."

"And then you shall have it."

Baby, It’s Cold Outside! (Ben Hardy x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: You are excited to be with your new boyfriend, Ben, for Christmas in a cabin. But a sudden snowstorm means it’s just you two alone without your families. You use the time to get to know each other a little bit better...

Warnings: brief smut-ish scene (nothing super graphic but right on the line), language, mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of families, reader being insecure, Christmas, but otherwise full of fluff

Word Count: 3K

Hello there @asphalt-cocktail​. It’s I! Your puppy Secret Santa!!! I hope you enjoy it! This is for @thosequeenboys​ and @warriorteam1924​‘s Get Down, Give Joy Event. Thank you guys for organizing something so fun that brought creativity and light in this especially dark year!

“Y/N! Your bag’s ready?! Blimey-snow’s pouring down!”

Looking down at the Dungeon’s Master Guide peeking out of your bag, you stuffed it before he walked out of the cabin and could see. You hoped he wouldn’t notice. No, not Ben. Not your new boyfriend. Your new, perfect boyfriend.  You thought you could sneak a peek when he was gone to plan a campaign with some  friends. But he couldn’t no. No.

Looking out, the snow falling lightly down onto your hat, you shrugged, pretending to admire it while still holding your bags.

“It’s just so pretty…and…uh, I was thinking, we could make some hot chocolate! It’s in the big blue carrier…” you improvised, pointing to the blue bag still in the car.

He gave you a biting smile and went to retrieve it. Taking in a deep breath, you stepped inside, your hands getting used to the warmth again.

Besides, you were supposed to be focused on just Ben and your family. That was what the cabin was for. A cabin that had everything: a location in the snow-inclined woods, two floors, a fireplace, and a few basics.

But as Ben opened the blue bag and excitedly got the canister, you realized at least one basic had already gone dry.

“What do you mean we’re out of hot chocolate?” Ben questioned.

You let out a little laugh at the slight pout as he tapped the container and saw two measly tablespoons of chocolate powder. You went to him and wrapped your arms around.

“We’ll get more at the store,” you promised.

He sighed in deep, accepting the feeling of your arms. Limbs stiff from travel, the stretch felt divine.

“Besides, we need to go to that grocery. I don’t know what people will bring but we need all of the basics for the family…when they get here…”

You saw lots of your decorations from home were pre-moved there into big, blue bins. Everything was set. What was missing was the people. The one element that could make or break a holiday.

“Hmm…we should get started. It’s a sad sight to come into a place that’s not decorated…” Ben suggested.

The twinkly ornaments jingled as you unwrapped them from their plastic Looking at the great green fir in the main room in the corner from the fireplace, you wrapped the tin on a bauble around a branch.

The box seemed to have every ornament in the world. It was full of tinsel that was even longer than Ben was tall. You wrapped it around together like a woman dressing in a crinoline skirt. In an hour, golden and red baubles blossomed like fruit on the greenery. Placing them on, they felt so fragile that it moved you with the tenderness Ben’s hands had when he held them. It made you chew on the inside of your lip a bit to watch him fondle them and wrap them on gently. Reminding you of every time he used them otherwise…

Which was why you could not mess up your first Christmas as a couple.

“Do you know where on Earth the topper is?” he asked.

Looking around, you noticed a little star that seemed to be the topper. It had a bottom that looked like it could latch securely to the top bit of a tree. But there was a big black button right near it.

“Huh.”

Creeping down to a plug, you put it in and pressed the button in curiosity.

At once, the star began to radiate disco lights and twirled around in a circle in a mechanical ‘whhhrrrrr” as it blasted a funky “We wish you a merry Christmas.”

Ben jumped in surprise and cursed.

“Oh my gosh…all these fancy decorations and…and this…it’s just so corny, oh my gosh!” you guffawed, wiping away a tear from laughing.

Ben found himself laughing a little too, taking it in his own hands to watch it.

“Phew okay…but let’s get it on…” he said, orderly as ever.

“Can I put it on top of the tree this time! Please!” you begged, along with fake puppy eyes.

“Alright, give it a go…” he offered.

As you stepped on a chair to reach it, you waved your arm up to get it, but you couldn’t quite reach it. Even with your arms stretched high as it could go. It was still a good deal taller than you.

“Argh!”

“You’re the one who wanted to put it on the tree!” he teased, his cheeks turning pink from the sight of you.

“Could you help me!” you asked with a slight pout.

“Of course!”

He wrapped his large arms around your waist and hoisted you up. He grunted a little bit and you felt him walk back and forth to try to keep his footing. When he was secure you kept trying to reach the topper up, but somehow you kept missing it and giggling when you did.

“Just! Put! It! On!” Ben huffed.

Finally, you reached the top and got it on. Using an extension, it was plugged in and the gaudy little top could do its magical swirl again.

Ben placed an arm around your shoulder as you watched the tree in completion.

“It’s…it’s beautiful…” he admitted.

At once your phone rang in your pocket. You ran over to pick it up and recognized the voices of your family.

They explained it plainly, but it was still sad.

“Wha…what is it? “ Ben asked, his eyes softening at the worry on your face.

“Ben…there’s going to be a huge blizzard…they already got it and…they’re stuck home. They can’t join us out of safety.”

You both sighed and he gave you a hug.

“There…it’s alright, we can make it work. The two of us…” Ben assured, patting your back. Your chest hurt with disappointment, but his hugs were always so nice and soft.

“We’ll have to wait until new years to see them…and I was so excited…”

“We can make it work. I mean-it’s a cabin in the snow, Y/N. Could be worse…”

Both of you rushed to the store. People were already there trying to get what they could before the storm could get there. Ben insisted going to the liquor store to get what drinks were available. Though among some favorite ales and beers of his, he got two bottles of champagne.

“Huh…why the bubbly?” you asked, leaning forward in your cart to see the silver wrapper around the green bottles.

Ben was very much a lad’s lad. Into rugby, soccer, sports, and pubs. Enjoying nights with the boys. It never struck you he liked drinking something a bit…feminine.

“It’s a tradition. My family drinks champagne on Christmas morning. And I’d…I’d like to drink with you on Christmas morning with you, Y/N,” he offered. You noticed his green eyes darted to the floor in a fit of bashfulness.

“I’d love that!” you assured.

“I mean…since it’s Christmas on our own…might as well make the most of it…” he reasoned with a shrug.

Once you both got home, you promptly began stuffing the groceries into the fridge. Nothing fancy. Just what you could grab and what ingredients you could see to make any special dishes. It was a holiday after all.

Let him know I can cook, I’m a good girlfriend. I’m a cool girlfriend. And a cool girlfriend cooks for her man…

Ben then grabbed you and began to kiss you passionately. Your hands ran up to his hair. His own went down to your butt.

“Jonesy!”

“We’re alone without the folks…” he teased. “We can do whatever you want…and I couldn’t leave you in that sweater all day…”

“Wait a minute….” You suggested, glancing over.

He stopped. His breathing desperate as his nostrils huffed.

“We have the entire place to ourselves…let’s use every inch of it…”

Walking over to the fireplace, you flipped open the switch. There was the sound of a fwoooom and a crackling noise. Looking over the fireplace was lit up in an orange blossom over the “wood.”

Ben grabbed a few blankets for the cold and tossed them to the ground. Soon, you both were making out passionately. Feeling the deep heat on one side, he stared at you to ask. You gave a clear nod and voiced out a breathy, “yes.”

His hands got inside your sweater and pulled it off of you in a heartbeat. You had changed into your prettiest, fanciest bra and underwear in case this would happen. And Ben approved. But they didn’t stay on you for long. He then laid you down, before removing his own clothes. You watched the orange glow of his skin. How beautiful and intimate to see his body reflected in this way and how the firelight reflected off of your own as well before desperately peeling off the last of what you wore and throwing in over the couch.

You let your anxieties soothe as you focused on the pure bliss of union and togetherness with only the fire to witness it

 Little did you know that Christmas on your own meant spending time together. You were used to having Ben sleep by you. You were used to him hugging on your from behind as you stirred up some soup for lunch. Yet you both had plenty of time alone. Here in a cabin as snow blanketed to your thighs, there was precious few alone times you could get.

But what you were slow to realize that this was a bit more complicated when it came to presents. And his wasn’t ready yet.

“Ey-Y/N, where is…“

You let out half a scream and half a yelp of “no!” Ben’s golden head ducked back to behind the door as he let out a curse. You charged for the door.

“Hey, no peeking!” you insisted, before shutting the door.

“Oh! Sorry! My-my phone. Y/N! I just need it for a sec!” he begged.

“You honestly forgot it!” you replied in disbelief. You grabbed a blanket from the bed and draped it over the bed.

“Yeah it’s…it’s the band…gotta check the band! Joe’s been chatting all morning!” he insisted.

Looking over you saw that his phone was on the desk next to your messy bed with pajamas and shower towels strewn all over it. Walking over a few shoes on the carpet, you reached over and got it and handed it back.

“Just knock next time, okay sweetheart?” you ask.

“If it means you call me sweetheart again, I just might!” Ben added with another wink that made your face heat up.

Turning around with a sigh, you removed the clumsily tossed blanket. There was a long line of yarn you had been working on for a while. Knitting and knitting, albeit with joy, every change you got. Even when your fingers became sore and a little calloused. You prayed you could get it done in time. Turning the television on, you flipped to the opening of White Christmas and clicked away on your needles in a fury. It was good to have noise and maybe minor visuals. As the Haynes sisters twirled their mammoth fans in their blue dresses, you peeked at the red pile on your lap. You hoped it was a good enough present for your Adonis of a boyfriend.

Would he like it? Maybe he would like a bottle of an alcoholic drink. A watch. Something sophisticated and masculine.

But now it was too late. With a little huff you clicked away. Taking out your pink measuring tape you saw it was now the right length. Now it was time to darn off and add another prayer on top of that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christmas morning you wake up because of the thin white line of daylight creeping across your room in a thin line. Everything else is darkness. Ben and you had cuddled all night and you woke up tangled up in his arms. Clothes were half strewn from the more intimate activities you had the other night. Smiling at the memory, you watch him slowly until he shows signs of waking. Rather than spend morning in an excited, sleep deprived haze, both of you grin and wake up with the feeling of being well-rested, yet still slow and relaxed.

You brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, lovie….” He yawns.

“Merry Christmas to you too Ben…” you coo back, enjoying how warm he always feels.

Both of you stay in bed under blankets for a bit. When you shift to look out the window, you see fluffy snow gently falling down.

“I can’t wait….to…”

“To what….” You ask. Open gifts?

“I…I think we could both drink some champagne…”

“Oh my gosh- you found it! On Vinyl?” you ask, holding wide LP in your arms.

In the background, your music shuffle changed to a tinkling rendition of The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

“I know I…I searched everywhere, but I found it!” Ben boasted. He swirled his champagne in his tiny glass, taking careful sips.

“But Y/N, you’ve opened my present…and there’s only one left …” he said, eyeing the red box with a plump, shiny ribbon on top.

“Ben, here it’s for you…”  Nervously gulping down your champagne in one go, you force your eyes to watch.

He looks at the package with a lightness in the corner of his smile. He is still in his light blue robe. With his tousled hair and puffy lips, he could never seem so soft and perfect to you. It might be the last image before he leaves you for some Victoria’s Secret model, you muse.

You feel yourself wince as he starts to rip open the paper. He then opens the box, eyes amazed at the red pile of yarn before him.

“Oh-Y/N! This is…this is amazing!”

The pulse inside you raced and you breathed a little deeper.

“Oh- It’s warm! Where’d you get it, Y/N…I may have to shop there…” he said, as he tried it around his own neck. The smile on his face was genuine.

“I…I made it, Ben…” you voiced out.

“What? How? You make things?!”

“I knit, Ben…” you confessed.

“Oh! You knit!”

“Yes…yes I do…”

There was a pause. He wove his large fingers across the stitches.

“Y/N, that’s amazing!” he said happily.

“Wha-really!” you replied, blinking.

“Yeah!”

He took your hands in his and hugged you tight.

“You don’t think…you don’t think I’m too…too nerdy…old-school, you mean?” you ask, still blinking in your surprise.

“No! Not at all my darling!” he said, giving you a big smooch.

When you video called your parents and his to wish a Merry Christmas, he forgot to take off the scarf. He wore that scarf on your wintry, Christmas walk. Even when you settled down to eat dinner it still lingered around his neck, draping down. It grazed candy wrappers as you both had your fill of sweets, and even when you watched every special on television together.

The credits of Elf rolled by as the clock struck ten at night. Ben looked down at you as you laid your head on his chest.

“So, Y/N…is there anything you’d like to do…it’s Christmas night…and then we got that whole week before new years and the family coming over…that’s a whole week. And they’ll be ‘ere in what, four days?!”

Biting a part of your lip, you stared at the fireplace and began mumbling.

“Yes…I’d really like to…oh gah, I don’t know…”

“What?”

“Ben, can I be honest with you. Really honest? You already know about the knitting…”

“What is it?” he asked, stroking the top of your head.

“Let me show you…”

Reluctantly getting up, you ran upstairs and then returned with your Dungeon Guide.

“Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons…it’s my…my other hobby…” you confessed.

“I haven’t!?” Ben replied.

“What do you think? Of me now?

“Nothin’ different.” He said with a shrug. He reached over to get a snowman sugar cookie on the platter before you and bit off the head.

“You don’t think I’m…I’m too…” you babbled, head whipping around as you tried to search for the word

“I’m not too much of a nerd for you?”

“Y/N, I play video games. Passionately. That’s perfectly nerdy! And why should that bother me!”

“Well we…we’ve been dating for three months and…I really wanted to impress you. Badly,” you shrugged.

“Well…I have to tell you… yu impressed me the minute I saw you.”

Grinning, you opened the book to try to explain as much as you could. To your surprise he knew a few basic things. It made making his character easier.

“We will need a few other people, but we can try it with just ourselves…” you offered. Maybe one of your own campaign friends would volunteer.

He leaned toward you with a playful smile.

“Internet isn’t bad here. I know of some nerdy blokes in need of something to do tomorrow night…”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 The next day, without shame you brought out your projects and knitted on them as Ben enjoyed his games. But every hour you wrote notes for tonight and developed Ben’s characters and helped them build their own. Anticipation fluttering in your chest for the next few hours to arrive as you listed names, races, and abilities.

 It was a lovely night. You saw the snow as it drifted down by the light. It still looked puffy and like it fell out of the great dark expanse on the sky to be illuminated and then pile on the ground.

Grinning, you cupped the two cups of fresh hot chocolate and watched it for a minute. Just to savor the moment. Listening right outside the door, you bit your togue to hold back your laughter before you joined the boys again and begin the session.

Now you were truly yourself with Ben. And that was the greatest gift of all.

Taking in a deep breath, you read from the guide over the faces on the laptop screen. Seeing them light up as well as they awoke in their area and began their fantasy journey decided by markers and dice.

Now you didn’t have to hide yourself from them either. And the cute blonde next to you seemed especially happy.

“You come across a monster resembling a dog….” you narrated.

“Can I roll to pet it?” a voice on the laptop screen asked.

“Joe, No!”

Taglist: @queenlover05​ @ewannmcgregor​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @gwiilymslee​ @cherry--coke​ @queenismyprimejive​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @isitstraightvodka​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @coincidence-ithinknots-blog​ @rogermeddow​ @chriisxvans​

Riding On

Ch5. Chilli Fries And Appletize

Summary: Fliss hormones are raging so Frank decides she need something a little special

Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW NO UNDER 18s!!)

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF ALERT!!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 4

Who can take you higher, than twin deep mountain blue, oh well I’ve built this thing for you, and I love you true…

 “Fuck!”

Frank heard Fliss’ shout from the living room where he was sprawled on the sofa. She’d gone to take a bath, Mary was at Roberta’s so the pair of them were simply taking a bit of time to relax after what had been a fairly draining week, both physically and mentally.

“Fliss?” he called back as Thor stood up from where he had been curled on the rug, Fred leaning against him using him as a pillow as the feline always seemed to do. He watched the dog pad to the door and then stood up following him down the hallway. He entered the bedroom and found Fliss was stood in a pale blue dress, tears in her eyes.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” He frowned.

“This fucking dress!” She practically exploded, her voice cracking. I only bought it a few weeks ago for Jake’s wedding and I just thought I’d try it on with my new shoes and it won’t do up at the back.”

Frank looked at her, feeling a pang of sympathy for his girl. She’d been really up and down in particular over the last two days with her hormones and she looked absolutely distraught, even if it was something so ridiculous as a dress that had set her off.

“Let me see.” he said, crossing the floor towards her. She turned and he gently reached for the zip, pulling the back of the dress together but it wasn’t going to fasten.

“See…” she sighed as he let go of the zip and rubbed the top of her arms. “I’m not even at the five month mark yet!” “You’re a week off.”

“And I feel huge! This is ridiculous!”

Frank slid his arms around her from behind, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. “Lissy, Bean has just sprouted all of a sudden that’s all. You got a proper bump now.” “I am aware of that, Frank.” She snapped.

Frank took a deep breath, not rising to her in the slightest. Instead his hands moved to either side of the offending swell in her abdomen and he turned her gently towards the full length mirror in the corner of the room.

“Look.” He said, fixing his eyes on hers in their reflection as his hand skated over her belly “You’re beautiful, and you’re cooking our baby in here…”

“That still doesn’t help that I have no dress!”

“Ok, well, let’s go shopping tomorrow. Mary’s at that party in the afternoon so we’ll drop her off, head into town and grab you something.”

Fliss paused as she looked at him in the mirror, her face slowly rearranging as she realised that actually the solution to the problem had been fairly simple all along.

“Sorry.” She mumbled. “I flipped again didn’t I?”

“Its fine.” Frank dropped a kiss to her cheek. “You didn’t throw a mug on the floor today so that’s an improvement.” “In my defence,” she turned to look at him, “you did ask me about five times if I was feeling ok in the space of ten minutes” “And clearly you weren’t as said mug is now in three pieces.” He shook his head and let out a long, dramatic sigh “You know I loved that mug too. It was a sad day.” Fliss snorted “You got it free from the Tack Store when we took Mary for her new hat.” “And it was a treasured memory. A reminder of how she stung me for another hundred bucks…” “Can’t put a price on safety Frankie.” She smiled and he chuckled.

“So, tomorrow afternoon then?” He asked and she nodded eagerly.

“Can we go to Tampa? The shopping is better there.”

“Sure.” And suddenly the bones of a plan began to form in his head. And it was a good plan…if he could pull it off… “Crisis averted?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Crisis averted” she nodded.

“Good.” he smiled, kissing her cheek before he turned to leave the room to allow her to change for bed.

“Frank?”

“Yeah?” He stopped to look at her.

“I really want fries.”

“McDonalds again?”

“No, I want Chilli Fries.” She said, her voice almost puzzled.

“Chilli fries?” He frowned “Really? That’s a new one.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “I just got a hankering, specifically for the ones we get from Tequila Mockingbird.”

Frank glanced at his watch “Sweetheart, it’s almost Eleven. The truck will have shut now, he only opens late on Saturday.”

“Oh, okay.” She said quietly, and he could see to his horror that her bottom lip was starting to wobble. Fuck, not another meltdown. Was this seriously how it was going to be for the next four damned months? Fucking hormones…

“Why don’t I nip to the store?” A sudden idea popped into Frank’s head. “I can whip up a batch of the dirty ones you showed me how to make?”

“Yeah, yeah that could work.” She nodded.

“Ok, well, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He smiled, turning on his heels.

It worked out quite well actually, as he used the short drive to the store to put his plan into action. First off he messaged Jake who called him straight back.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I need you to do me a favour.” Frank said, explaining his plan.

“Short notice pal.”

“Yeah but you owe me so pull some strings with the man you know.”

“I owe you?” Jake snorted “What for?”

“If you hadn’t been tagged on those damned photos no one would have seen them and I wouldn’t have been couched for a night nor would I be suffering with blue balls.” Frank said simply, turning right across a junction.

Jake snorted “Leave it with me Frankie boy…I’ll see what I can do.”

Satisfied he cut the call and once he arrived at the store he shot Verity a quick message asking her if she would mind helping him out as well. He felt a little guilty, as they’d only gotten back from Italy that morning but she replied almost instantly telling him that she thought it was a great idea and her and Bill would be happy to do what he needed them to do.

Smiling he put his phone back in his pocket, and headed to the frozen food aisle at the back of the 24 hour mini-mart. He stood there, unable to decide what fries to buy so in the end he grabbed a bag of every available frozen ones there were- thick cut, curly, southern fried and thin, along with a tin of ready-made chilli (yes, disgusting but on dirty fries it was the only thing Fliss told him worked) and a block of cheddar cheese. As he walked towards the till he stopped, grinning as he spotted they had the big bottles of Appletize too, so he shoved 4 in his basket and headed to the counter.

The woman at the counter looked at him as he began unloading and Frank realised that it was a pretty odd combination.

“You either got the munchies or your girl is pregnant.” She quipped and Frank laughed.

“It’s the latter.” He smiled, and the woman grinned at him as she scanned the items through the till.

Once he had paid he headed home to find Fliss was led on the sofa with a toasting waffle in one hand and a glass of apple juice in her other.

“Couldn’t wait huh?” He asked as he walked through to the kitchen.

“I know.” She looked at him over the back of the couch. “I had an apple and a waffle and I feel okay now.”

Frank stopped dead and turned to face her, the paper grocery bags clutched to his chest. “Seriously? You don’t want the fries?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not anymore.”

Frank took a deep breath, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek in frustration as he walked into the kitchen, depositing the bags on the side.

“The kid ain’t even born yet and it’s already a pain in my ass…”

“I can hear you grumbling from here.” Fliss called back.

“Good.” He retorted as he shoved the bottles of drink in the fridge and crammed the four bags of frozen fries into the freezer. Grabbing a beer he walked back into living room and dropped heavily onto couch next to her.

“Don’t be so grouchy.” She teased, listing her feet into his lap. He shot her a glare and she dropped her hand to her belly. “Bean is sorry.” She flashed him her best puppy dog eyes, those fucking eyes that could get him to do whatever she wanted.

“Don’t pull that one.” He narrowed his own eyes at her and she cocked her head to one side.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” He asked as she looked at him, smirking.

“Bow job?”

Frank snorted, shifting slightly in his seat as that had really got his attention. But, not wanting to give himself away too much he simply arched an eyebrow at her. “You think you can win me over like that?”

“Sailor, I know I can.”

“I’m not that cheap.”

“No, but I know for a fact you haven’t had any since the night before you went to Vegas.” she grinned “What was it you said in New York after a mere three days? Frankie has needs.”

Okay, so she’d got him well and truly. Like he had said to Jake before, he really was feeling frustrated, but he hadn’t pushed anything on her at all since he’d come back from Vegas, deciding to let her make the decision as to when she wanted to get physically intimate with him again. As he looked at her she simply smiled and drained her glass of juice before setting it on the table.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Frank shook his head. “Was just trying to figure out if you were being serious or not.” She held his gaze for a moment before she looked back at the TV, teasing over. With a deep breath Frank shifted a little, getting himself comfortable, trying to push the dirty thoughts from his mind as he concentrated on the episode of ‘911’ which was playing. His hands gently began to massage at her feet, thumb gently pressing into the arch of one and Fliss gave a soft sigh of satisfaction as he continued, before she sat up and looked at him.

“Did you get any curly fries?” She bit her lip.

“Are you for fucking real?” He looked at her, blinking.

“Don’t blame me…”

“Yeah, yeah blame Bean.” He shook his head “I swear to God by the time you’ve actually given birth to the little crotch goblin I’ll have aged about twenty years…”

“Crotch goblin?” She scoffed, “I’ll remind you, pal, you put it there!”

“Not on purpose!” He looked at her.

“Are you calling our baby a mistake?” Fliss narrowed her eyes at him, mock horror on her face

“Mistake, no, that’s a little harsh.” Frank shook his head “Accident, most definitely.”

“Bastard.” Fliss grabbed a cushion from behind her and hit him with it as he laughed, grabbing it out of her hands.

“Our little Boston Bean is a very pleasant and welcome surprise.” Frank smiled, shifting her legs out of his lap. Grinning he leaned over her, caging her on the sofa with his arms “Although right now, as I’m about to start cooking dirty fries at fifteem to midnight, I’m debating the use of the pronoun pleasant.”

Fliss chuckled as he leaned over to give her a soft kiss. Instantly she felt a little flutter again and her hand dropped to her bump.

“Bean’s moving again.”

Frank smiled and shifted a little so he could press his hand to her side, but after a moment or so shook his head, feeling ever so slightly deflated.

“I can’t feel anything.”

“You will do soon enough.”

“Can’t wait.” Frank kissed her again and stood up, heading to the kitchen.

Fliss watched him go, before she turned back to the TV, but she wasn’t paying attention, she was too busy thinking to herself how quickly Frank had headed out to get her what she wanted before, even if she had then changed her mind, and then reverted it back to its original state. She hated comparing the two of them, and tried not to do it, but as she sat there she couldn’t help it. Frank was as far from John as could possibly be. Her ex-husband wouldn’t have ever done anything like that for her, whether she as carrying his kid or not. But Frank hadn’t even hesitated. And now he was actually about to cook it too. She wasn’t sure John had even known how to turn the damned oven on. When she’d met Frank, his cooking skills were also limited but he had wanted to learn. He helped her cook, listened and managed pretty much once she’d made something with him, to make a fairly decent version of it on his own. And he did this simply because he wanted to. He had openly admitted that he didn’t like the fact she felt like she had to cook every day, despite her protests she didn’t mind, and specifically on the evenings she got home a little later than normal, he wanted to be able to have something ready.

As she sat there, those thoughts whirring in her head, she felt a surge of affection for her Sailor. Since their talk on Monday, she’d let Frank back into their bed but there’d been no intimacy, although she’d let him cuddle her, she’d kissed him back, she hadn’t been unaffectionate per se, but in all honesty she hadn’t been in the mood for anything else, which was probably something down to hormones as well as her still being a little angry at him, but now…well, she’d seen it in his eyes before when she’d been teasing him, he was frustrated as hell.  And if she was honest, she now found herself in the mood for giving him a little spontaneous pleasure…

With a smirk she stood up and walked into the kitchen, her arms snaking around his waist as she pressed herself to his back (well as much as she could thanks to the football she had in her stomach) and pressed a soft kiss to his back, just beneath his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice vibrating through his back into her chest and she nodded as her hands rubbed at his stomach under his T-shirt. She felt him tense a little, and grinning to herself, she gently moved her hands upwards to rake down the line of hair that led from his chest all the way down his belly. She knew what that did to him and right on cue, Frank gave a grunt, jolting a little and her hand continued to move downwards, palming at his crotch through his sweats.

“Lissy.” His voice caught in his throat as she continued, her hand working him up over his clothing. “What I said before, you don’t need to-“ “I know, but I want to.” She stood on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear. He tilted his head downwards slightly, allowing her to nip at his jawline and as he spun round to face her, she pulled his head down to hers giving him a slow kiss, her tongue sliding against his before she leaned back, his bottom lip between her teeth.

By the time his brain had caught up with what was going on, Fliss had gotten to her knees and flipped the waist band of the sweats he was wearing down, taking his erection firmly in one hand, making him hiss slightly. She stroked him to full hardness, which didn’t take that long at all, before she looked up and locked eyes with him, giving him one final smirk before she took him in her mouth.

“God, Baby.” Frank groaned, his left hand gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her eyes still locked on his. His right hand gently dropped to the back of her head, tangling in her long hair as her head bobbed back and forth. It was bliss, her mouth was warm, lips soft, but her tongue…God she knew just how to work him with that thing and as he felt it wrap around the base of his cock he gave a grunt, his hips bucking forward slightly. At that, Fliss pulled off of him to suck at the swollen tip of his dick and worked her hands over the rest of his length which sent shivers up his spine. Groaning, his head dropped back slightly, as she continued to lick, suck before she took him in, this time all the way, her cheeks hollowing and one of her hands reaching round from the back of his thigh to gently squeeze at his balls.

“Fucking hell!.” He hissed, his hand tightening in her hair and once more he looked at her. Her eyes locked back onto his and he felt that tell-tale warmth pooling in his groin and stomach.

"Lissy, sweetheart, shit." His voice was raspy from desire and pleasure and at the mere sound of how turned on his was Fliss felt the wetness beginning to pool in between her legs. He continued to babble curse words and her name, before he gasped again, letting out a loud moan. “Fuck, honey, "I'm gonna-" his words caught in his mouth as Fliss took him all the way to the back of her throat. At that, he was gone, his fingers gripped her hair tight the other clutched at the kitchen side, noises that sounded alien even to him tumbling from his mouth as he spilled himself down her throat and slumped back completely blissed out against the kitchen side.

Fliss grinned, her hands gently running up the outside of his thighs as she stood up, pulling his boxers and sweats with her, pressing herself to his chest. With a soft hum of contentment, he opened his eyes and looked down at her.

“Good?” She asked, but the look in her eyes told him she knew exactly what the answer was. Still, he gave it her anyway. “Damned right it was.” He grinned, leaning down and kissing her, his hands holding her face in position. She let out a soft moan into his mouth and he pulled back slightly, arching an eyebrow.

“You all worked up baby girl?”

“Don’t suppose you fancy helping me out…” She whispered, and Frank grinned.

“We got fifteen minutes till the fries cook so…” He smirked as he gently spun her round so her back was clutched to his chest.  Fliss grinned to herself as his lips gently brushed on her neck, his beard scratching at her skin as he nipped his way down to her shoulder, his hand splaying over her bump before it worked beneath the waistband of her pyjama shorts. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers skated her entrance.

“You are worked up.” he muttered, his fingers sliding through her slick, as her head fell back against his shoulder and she bit her lip.

“I told you…” she muttered as his fingers slipped further into her folds, finding that little bundle of nerves. His other hand slipped up her vest top and ran up her side to her breasts, which he knew would be tender, but the plus side to that was that they were goddamned sensitive, so heightened to his touch and it got her off like nothing he’d ever seen before. True to form, she let out a soft squeak as he rolled a nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger. Sliding his fingers inside her he curled them against the fleshy spot on her walls, both his hands working in synch, a coordinated attack on her senses and within minutes she was putty in his hands.

“Frankie…I’m…fuck!” she cursed, her head falling back further as her knees began to shake.

“I got you.” He said softly, his mouth caressing her neck again “Go on baby, give it to me.” With a desperate groan she shuddered, her hand wrapping around his wrists as he felt her pulsing and squeezing around his fingers as she came, the trembles wracking her entire body. Frank held her steady until she took a deep breath, giving a soft sigh as she leaning back into him. She tilted her head round to look at him, a smile on her face, her cheeks tinged with pink underneath those gorgeous freckles and he smiled at her, giving her a soft kiss. Setting her clothes right for her, his hands skated over her bump once more and he kissed her shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yep.” she nodded, popping the P as she turned to face him, leaning up to kiss the underneath of his jaw. He looked down at her, before a wicked smirk crossed his face and he popped his two fingers in his mouth, sucking her taste off him.

“Francis!” She scoffed, slapping him round the back of the head and he let out a loud laugh.

“You don’t complain about me tasting you when I’m down there…” “You’re so vulgar!” she snorted.

“Says the woman who just blew me in the kitchen.” She cocked her head to one side, shrugging slightly “Touché….”

He smiled again before she turned to the fridge “Want another beer?”

“Sure, thanks.” he said.

She pulled open the fridge door and let out a little shriek of delight “Where did you get that?” she asked, her eyes widening as she pulled out a bottle of Appletize. “I couldn’t find any in the supermarket!”

“The Mini-Mart before.” he said, “Woman thought I was high when I bought 4 bags of fries and 4 big bottles of that”

“My hero!” she grinned

Frank grinned “if fetching you fries and Appetize means you get on your knees for me then hell, I’ll go every fucking night.”

“Don’t get used to it Sailor.” she looked at him, “Soon I'll be too big to kneel down.”

Frank chuckled, “Why don’t you go wait in the lounge?”

"I'm good.” Fliss shrugged “I'll help."

The two of them stood in the kitchen making their food. Frank warmed the chili through as Fliss grated the entire block of cheese and when Frank challenged her as to why exactly they needed that for 2 of them she simply replied “3 of us Frankie…” whilst patting her bump. Soon they were sat on the sofa, Fliss cross legged with a plate on her lap as she devoured her snack. Frank watched her as she eagerly ate, eyes fixed on the latest episode of Rick And Morty, every so often she would chuckle at something on the screen. Frank smiled to himself, it had felt like a long 5 days since Monday, but they seemed to be on an even keel. She was joking and laughing with him, had been reasonably affectionate and to be fair her affections certainly had upped a notch when she just sucked him off in the kitchen. Granted, all things considered, he’d rather have carried her to bed, taken his time over her, loved on her a little but…well, he certainly wasn’t complaining. It seemed like she’d finally decided he was completely out of the dog house, which suited him absolutely fine.

Fliss let out a happy sigh and placed her now empty plate on the coffee table on top of the one Frank had discarded a few minutes ago. She stretched out her limbs before she shifted and snuggled into Frank’s side.

"Love you." She said, her hand rubbing his tummy softly under his t-shirt. "So does Bean"

Her touch and words made him feel all warm inside. Not horny warm, just fuzzy warm. Smiling he dropped a kiss to her head “Love you too, both of you.”

****** “What do you think?” Fliss asked, giving him a twirl. Frank smiled, nodding approvingly. With the help of the assistant in the little independent Mother and Baby boutique shop they’d stumbled across, aptly called “Bump In The Road” she’d chosen a maxi dress with a pastel rainbow tulle style skirt. The top half was baby pink with spaghetti straps which hung on her toned shoulders and It had a V-neckline which plunged to the high waistband where it cinched in and then flared over her bump. It hung loosely and comfortably over her lower body whilst still being sexy enough on the top half, accentuating her cleavage.

“You look beautiful.” He said honestly and she flushed a little, twirling in the mirror.

“Do you think the colour is ok or should I go for the yellow one? I mean is it too much boob? The yellow is a halter neck so you don’t see any-” “Lissy!” He shook his head, chuckling “It looks fine, more than fine. I like it.” “It’s also elasticated at the back.” The assistant spoke. “So your worry about bump growing more over the next week won’t cause an issue. You’ll get a few months I expect out of this.” Fliss hummed, looked at her reflection again before she smiled “OK, yeah, great…I’ll take it.”

The assistant smiled and Fliss turned back to head into the changing cubicle. Once she was out of ear shot Frank looked at the woman.

“Can we take the yellow one too?” he asked, “Just ring it through before she comes back, I want it to be a surprise.”

The assistant nodded and smiled “Sure, I’ll get it ready and bagged now so she doesn’t see it.”

“Thanks.”

He headed to the till, producing his card and shortly after Fliss joined him and he let out a chuckle when he saw she’d also picked up another little baby-grow on the way. This one was white and bore an apple on the front, with the words “apple of our eye” arched over the top.

“I thought it was kinda fitting.” she grinned and Frank had to agree considering her craving. He handed it to the assistant who was smart enough not to announce the total to him, given the additional purchase as he handed his card over. Fliss pouted at him but one look and she stopped the fuss she was about to make over the fact he had paid. They’d already had that discussion on the way over, Frank insisting that he wanted to buy her the dress considering it was “his fault” as she had put it that she was in this position in the first place.

He took the bag from the assistant and thanking her once more they headed out and back down the street. Frank stole a glance at his watch, it was just after 3. He could do with killing another hour or so before he put into play his surprise plan so he suggested they grab a drink and an ice cream at the little parlour on the corner. Fliss eagerly agreed so that killed another 40 minutes as they sat and joked over a sundae each, before they headed back to the truck taking the long way round, checking out a few other shops as they went, Fliss suggesting the grabbed Mary a few new pieces of clothing as she was growing again. Picking a few t-shirts and a pair of shorts they knew she would like they then headed back to the car and Frank checked his phone, memorising the directions. They weren’t far away.

When he didn’t take the turn for the freeway, Fliss looked at him. “You missed the turn off.” “No I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did, it was back there.”

“We’re not going home.” Frank replied simply and at that she frowned.

“Where are we going then?”

“You’ll see.”

Refusing to give her anything else, despite her questioning, he kept driving until he hit the coastal road and continued along the bay and their destination appeared in front of them. Hanging a right, he drove his truck down the little winding road which opened up into a circle drive way flanked by palm trees and bright flowerbeds just outside the reception of the Grand Hyatt.

“Frank.” Fliss looked at him, her eyes shining. “We’re staying for the night?”

“Yup.” He nodded turning to face her. “I packed us a bag this morning whilst you were at the yard, Mary’s staying with your parents as is Thor and I suspect Fred and we have a dinner reservation for dinner at the Oyster Catcher, which is on the bay at the back.”

“I don’t…how did you manage to pull this off at such short notice?”

“Jake.” Frank said simply “Come on.”

He hopped out of his truck and smiled to the bus boy who had approached him and nodded for them to collect their bags out of the boot. “Including the large paper one.” he said discreetly and he nodded before he turned to collect the slip of paper from the valet. He took Fliss’ hand and led her into the huge reception area to the hotel, the floor a gorgeous white marble as they walked over to the desk and he smiled at the woman who looked at him.

“Good afternoon Sir, Ma’am.” she smiled, and Fliss suddenly felt a little self-conscious. Everyone was milling around in various states of what she would term upper-class smart casual, in blazers and open necked dress shirts with jeans that probably cost more than her fucking jeep. Frank, however, in contrast didn’t give a shit. He wasn’t here to impress or blend in.

“Reservation for Adler.” he said smiling at the receptionist who tapped at a keyboard and nodded.

“Yes Mr Adler, you’re here for one night and have an executive double.” she scanned the booking “The room rate is already settled, but I can set up-…” “I’m sorry, did you say the room rate was covered?” Frank frowned. “Yes, Sir.” She nodded, “It’s already been paid.” “Take it that wasn’t expected.” Fliss looked at him and he shook his head, smiling.

“No, no it wasn’t. I’ll thank Jake later.” He smiled, before he turned to the lady at the desk “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No problem. I was just saying if you want to give me your card I can set up a tab so you can charge items to your room…” “Sure.” He nodded, fishing for his wallet before handing her the small square of plastic. As she took a scan of it he turned to Fliss and dropped a kiss to her temple as she smiled, her arm looping around her waist.

“Is this where we’re staying for Jake’s wedding?” She asked and he nodded.

“Thought we could give it a test run beforehand.” He looked at her “You are okay we’re staying, right?” “Of course.” She smiled “It’s really sweet of you.” “Well, I try.” He winked before he turned back to the brunette behind the desk who asked him for his signature in a few places before she handed him the key.

“Ok so you’re on the 5th floor.” she said nodding, “Room 512. Take the elevator up, go right once you reach your floor and you’ll see it on the left. I’ll have your bags brought up for you Mr Adler.”

Frank thanked her and they both headed off following the directions. Frank led Fliss out of the elevator an down to the room over to it and picked up the note attached to it.

“This one’s on me pal, well, my Loyalty Scheme Free Stay points anyway. Sorry about the balls.” She read as she turned to him and Frank rubbed at his neck. “I’m not even gonna ask what that means.” “Yeah, probably best.” He grinned, and then there was a knock at the door. Frank opened it and in walked the concierge with their luggage, setting it down for them before Frank thanked him, slipped him a ten and he headed out.

Fliss looked at the overnight bag and then frowned. “What did you bring me to wear to dinner?” “Nothing” Frank said, before he grinned and picked up the bag from the boutique. “But I got you something before.” “That’s for the wedding.” She looked at him, “Although I could wear it twice. Not like anyone is here tonight to see it.” “Check in the bottom.” He instructed. She frowned a little, before she took the bag and set it down on the small table, before she let out a gasp as she pulled out the lemon yellow dress she’d tried on before.

“You bought me both of them?”

He nodded.

“Frankie, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of this.” She whispered, her eyes misting over.

“I know but I wanted to.” He stepped forwards his hands dropping to her hips. “I figured it would be nice for us to have some time together, just the two…well…three,” he grinned, nodding to her bump, “of us.” “Thank you.” She looked up at him as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

Once they’d unpacked their overnight thing, Fliss headed for a shower and emerged a little while later in a robe and Frank walked back in from where he’d been on the balcony with a beer, having fired a thank you message to Jake. He smiled at Fliss and headed to shower himself, coming back about five minutes later also wrapped in a robe. They sat out together on the balcony talking for a little while as Fliss pretty much drank the entire bottle of juice before she announced she was going to get ready.

“You look gorgeous.” Frank said as she stood in front of him, wearing her dress. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and her make-up was light, despite the fact that Frank had shoved pretty much every item in her vanity case into their bag not knowing what she would want and wouldn’t want.

“You look pretty dapper too, Sailor” she smiled, taking in his black button down and smart jeans. Dropping a kiss to her cheek he gestured to the door and they both left the room and made their way to the restaurant which was located through the back of the hotel. They were led through to the outside patio which had a spectacular panoramic view of Old Tampa Bay. Fliss ordered herself a mock-tail, whilst Frank asked for a beer, grinning when the waiter told them they had Stella on tap.  Fliss busied herself with the menu, and Frank took a moment to watch her. She really was glowing. He’d thought that was such a shit cliché about pregnant women, but at that point in time he couldn’t think of any other way to describe her. Her face was slightly fuller now, but with it she carried a soft look, which just complimented her personality anymore. The changes her entire body was going through reminded him daily she was carrying his baby, and each day he woke up and was convinced he was slightly more in love with her than he had been when he’d fallen asleep, even though he knew that wasn’t actually possible.

“The mahi-mahi looks really good.” Fliss mused as she looked at the menu. “As does the lobster but not sure I can eat that.” “Well, actually…” Frank leaned forward and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I knew this was a seafood restaurant so Mary did her usual google and found this.”

He handed it to her and waited for her reaction. As she scanned the list of seafood that she could eat she shook her head and let out a little moan.

“So all this time I could have been eating prawns?!”

Frank shrugged “According to that.”

“Damned it!” She cursed “I’m going to kill my mum.” “Well I don’t doubt guidelines have changed a little over the years” 

Before she could reply the waiter came back to take them to their table which was on the large veranda at bay level. He left them alone for another ten minutes before returning for their order. Frank raised his eyebrow as Fliss ordered the fishcakes to start and then the Lobster tail for main, not that he cared how much it cost, he wasn’t worrying about that tonight. With that in mind he went for the same starter but then the surf-and-turf option, with a fillet steak.

“I can’t remember the last time we did this.” Fliss said, reaching out over the table, her hand tangling in his. “Just had a meal out, the two of us.”

“Me neither.” He mused. “It was before Christmas I know that much.”

“Probably before Boston actually.”

“We should do it more often” He smiled, his thumb skating over her engagement ring.“I like spending time with you like this.”

“Me too. And don’t worry Sailor. Once Bean is here you’re taking me out for an evening of fine dining where I’m gonna eat my bodyweight in blue cheese and drink a swimming pool full of wine…or champagne…or maybe both.” He chuckled and nodded “Whatever you want honey.”

Their conversation turned to their house hunting, both agreeing that they really needed to step it up a notch. They hadn’t even made an appointment with a bank yet to find out what they biggest budget they had was, so that was first on the agenda, Frank saying he would call to make an apartment on Monday. And then when their starters arrived they switched to the biggest question of all at the moment, whether they were going to find out if Bean was pink or blue.

“I think I wanna know.” Fliss said, swallowing the last of her starter, giving Frank a smile

Frank looked at her, his head cocking to one side. “You wanna find out?”

Fliss smiled shyly and paused as the waiter came along to remove their now empty plates before she continued once he had left.  “I wasn’t sure…but…yeah, I think I am now. It struck me before in that shop, that once we know how much easier it will be, buying blue or pink stuff instead of yellows or greys.”

“I dunno, I quite like the yellow item we bought.” He quipped, taking a mouthful of his beer as he nodded to her dress. She grinned.

“You know full well what I mean.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I do.” He leaned forward a little, both arms resting on the table as he looked at her, “Ok, so that’s decided then…we find out?”

She nodded, holding his gaze for a moment and he blinked, a soft mile spreading across his face. “I can’t wait.” he admitted to her, almost bashfully and she smiled back.

“Me neither…” she whispered.

*****

“Frankie, that was such wonderful evening.” Fliss turned to look at him as she kicked off her sandals whilst he locked the hotel room door behind them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart.” He said gently, pulling her to him as his hands wrapped around her back.

“It was really thoughtful” She whispered, as her hands slid up his chest. “You didn’t have to do it though you know, I mean as an apology, I’m not-“ “No no, it wasn’t that.” He shook his head, “I just wanted some time with you, that’s all. I do have my sentimental moments when I’m not being a complete jack ass.” he quipped and she looked at him, her face soft.

“You’re my jack ass.” She smiled as her arms looped around his neck.

“Always.” He returned her smile as he leaned down to kiss her.

“Can you help me out of this dress?” She whispered into his mouth, and fuck, he didn’t need asking twice.

Frank reached round to the zipper at the back and gently slid it down as Fliss moved back, allowing the lemon coloured fabric to pool at her feet. He followed the line of her body upwards, over her thighs, that neat little bump, up past her hips, her breasts before he finally met her eyes again. He looked at her for a second before his lips crashed to hers, noses bumping slightly as he flicked his tongue teasingly into her mouth, his hands cupping her face as hers fisted in the back of his shirt.

In a quick movement, Frank reached down and hooked his hands round the back of her thighs, easily picking her up, bump and all. She giggled, wrapping her legs round his waist, her nose brushing against his as he carried her over to the bed, setting her down gently on it.  He shucked off his own shoes as he reached behind his head and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, yanking it over his head without even bothering with the buttons, before he dropped down on the bed, settling his hips in between her legs in the space she made for him as she ran her hands through his hair. He smiled softly at her before he pressed his lips back to hers, kissing her deeply, his large hands keeping him propped above her so as not to put any of his weight against that precious cargo she was carrying.

She pushed on his chest, sitting up slightly as she reached behind her to undo her bran and Frank leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on each shoulder as he slid the straps down over her arms, removing it completely. As she lay back against the bed, Frank shifted so he was led on his side by her, his mouth hungrily covering hers as his hand trailed up the outside of her thigh, to her hip, up the side of her body and then onto her breasts teasing gently. She groaned, rolling her head back on the pillow at the sensation, her hips bucking upwards as he shifted, hovering over her. He buried his face in the side of her neck working at the pulse spot, the little noises of pleasure she was making were music in his ear. Her hips began to move, rolling against nothing, groans falling from her lips at the sensation as he nipped slightly at her neck and then moved his mouth to her chest, taking her right nipple in. Her groans were growing louder now and Frank couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be in her, surrounded by her, feel her. Moving back to shed the rest of his clothes, he stood up, undoing his jeans and kicking them off, all the time his eyes on Fliss’ as she watched him, her gaze travelling down his body to where his cock now stood angry and red against his abs. He leaned down, hooking his fingers in the lace of Fliss’ panties, pulling them down over her legs before he settled on the bed once more, Fliss moving so she could straddle him. As she did so, his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her face down to kiss him as she reached down between them, taking him in her hand. He groaned but didn’t release her mouth as she adjusted position to take him in, slowly sliding down onto him. A filthy moan flew from her mouth which he swallowed with his kiss as she stayed pressed against him, and she began to move, rolling her hips forward. She was quick to find a rhythm and her mouth fell open against his lips and she let out a shaky moan before sitting up fully.

The sight of her on top, illuminated by soft light streaming in through the slight gap in the curtains was almost enough to tip him right over there and then. He wanted to touch her, so he did, bringing her hands up to run them up her sides until his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples as she let out another moan. As she picked up the pace his hands went to her hips, pulling her down onto him harder, thrusting upwards to meet her for every move she made. She continued to move, quickening, her eyes never leaving his.

“Frankie…”she groaned, as he tilted his hips up harder and he let out a groan himself, increasingly determined to get her there again before he lost it. As he felt the coil in his own belly tightening, his hand moved from her hip to stroke at that spot between her legs and that did it. He felt her tense up and tighten around him, crying out loudly and unbridled as she shook. The sight of her coming undone on top of him, her cheeks flushed, lips pink, mouth open in a now silent scream, would always be the single most exquisite thing Frank had ever seen, no matter how many times he got to see it. All of that, coupled with the force of her heat tightening even, more made him lose himself. 

“Fuck, Lissy…” the curse fell from his lips as he thrust upwards, before he spilled himself inside her again, the wave of pleasure washing over him as the world fell silent and he could hear nothing but ringing in his ears. Fliss collapsed forward onto his chest, her tremors subsided, both of them panting as they came back down, turning back into the world. Frank held her close, his fingers running up and down her spine as she let out a soft “hum” of contentment and he sat up, wanting to see her face to face. Still cradling her close he pushed the hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ears and she reached up, running her hands through his, causing him to close his eyes at the sensation of her nails on his scalp.

“God, I love you.” he whispered, pulled her closer, his nose rubbing up against hers.

"I love you too.”

Frank moved so that she could roll off him and to the side, before he pulled the covers back, allowing them both to shuffle under before he turned off the lamp at the side of the bed. Fliss moved so that her head lay on his chest, her arm resting over his stomach and he placed a soft kiss to the side of her temple, his hand moving to softly card through her hair. For the first time in a week, Frank felt like things were completely back to where they should be.

***** They had a lazy morning in the hotel, making the most of the breakfast before they headed back to collect Mary. The drive home was relaxed, the pair of them singing along to whatever came on Frank’s Spotify play-list, Fliss snorting with laughter when the Spice Girls Wannabe hit her ears.

“Hey, it’s a classic.” Frank defended himself as she looked at him, shaking her head.

“Sure it is.” She laughed, cranking the volume up.

When they reached Verity and Bills, Thor came bounding up the drive to greet the truck, running after it and almost sending Fliss flying as he barrelled into her legs. Frank caught her, steadying her as he shot the dog an exasperated look. Whilst he wasn’t growling at Frank anymore, the dog was ridiculously clingy to Fliss, more so than usual and had clearly been unhappy at being away from her. They headed round to the pool area, where Mary was busy wrestling with Steve in the pool, swinging on his arm, trying to pull him under the water. She hardly spared them a second glance as they greeted her, until Verity called her out for a drink and a slice of lemon cake.

“Sit down, sit down!” she ushered Fliss and Frank to the outside table on the decking, where Frank moved a chair back for Fliss, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. Steve and Mary padded over later, Mary wrapped herself in a towel whilst Steve moved over to give Fliss a hug, causing her to squeal as he was wet. Mary hopped onto Frank’s knee and gave his cheek a peck.

Bill appeared a little while later, smiling at them all as he took a seat at the table, an envelope in his hands. He paid it no attention though, simply setting it on the table. They talked for a little while, Fliss telling them all about their hotel and meal before the conversation turned to chatter of house hunting, at which point Verity and Bill shared a glance and Bill cleared his throat

“We wanted to talk to you about that.” Bill said, looking at Fliss.

“Okay.” Fliss frowned, glancing at Frank where he sat to her right. She turned back to her parents. “Is something wrong?”

“No, quite the opposite.” Verity smiled as she glanced at Bill. Both of them looked at Steve then who smiled as Mary looked around.

“Is this one of those adult conversations?” she rolled her eyes and Frank nudged her slightly. Bill chuckled.

“It is kiddo, but you can stay.” he said, before he took a deep breath and leaned forward a little “Ok, so you know I handed the business down to Steve when we left England.” “Yeah…” Fliss looked at him.

“Well, when I did that it was valued at just over 2 million pounds” he said and Frank felt his eyebrows shoot up into his head. He knew that Bill and Verity were affluent, but he hadn’t appreciated just how much.

“I know all this.” Fliss frowned. “I’m not following…” “Well, the deal was that I took a million out of the pot straight away, for me and your mum to retire on.” Bill said, “That didn’t leave a great deal of cash left in the accounts,  just enough to keep the cash-flow straight, the rest was tied up in the assets. But the other part of the deal was that whilst I was giving it to Steve, half of it was yours…and as soon as he was able to…he had to give you your share of the remaining value.” Fliss felt her mouth drop open as she wheeled around to look at Frank. “What…I…” “I never told you any of this, because I didn’t want that bastard getting wind of it.” Bill shook his head. “And obviously, we gave you what we could to set up your business and everything when you moved here…but…” “Basically, Titch, the last year or so the profits have sky rocketed.” Steve said. “And…as a result.”

Bill slid the envelope he had brought towards Fliss and she reached out for it with a shaky hand. Opening it gently, she pulled out a cheque and glanced down at the amount. Just short of four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

“Fuck me.” she mumbled, as she handed the paper to Frank who took a deep breath, gulping as he saw the amount.

“Holy shit…” Mary mumbled as she too read it, but no one payed her the slightest bit of attention, as Fliss broke the stunned silence that had fallen over her and Frank.

“Dad, Mum, I…” she looked up at him, tears in her eyes, “I can’t…” “So, you don’t need to fanny around with a mortgage or a bank loan when you find a house.” Bill smiled at her. “You’ve got enough to buy outright.”

“Bill, Verity, this…this is too much.” Frank looked at them both in turn, the tears stinging his eyes.

“Nonsense.” Verity scoffed “It’s Fliss’ inheritance.”

“I’ll sign a pre-nup.” He stuttered suddenly, “Anything, I…”

Fliss frowned as did Bill, and she turned her eyes to him ���Why would I want you to do that?”

“That’s your money.” He protested. “Yeah, and I’m sharing my life with you. Hell, I’m having your baby Frank.” She said gently “I don’t need a pre-nup. You intending on leaving me?” “No of course not.” “Well then.” She shrugged, simply, as if that settled the matter. And in her eyes it did.

“You’ll also still retain your shares.” Steve said gently, “Which means you’ll get the dividends each year and if things keep going the way they are, you might want to consider buying a few more sharpish. They’ll be worth a lot if we land this contract.”

Fliss nodded, taking the information in before she stood up and headed over to her dad who rose from his chair.

“Thank you…thank you so much.” she said, her tears falling as he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her back.

“You’re my little girl.” Bill said, his voice choked “I’ll always see you right, you know this.”

She stepped back and turned to her mum as Frank shook Bill’s hand before the man pulled him into a hug.

“Just look after her.” he whispered in Frank’s ear. “I know I don’t need to say it but…”

“You have my word.” Frank pulled back and looked his future father-in-law in the eyes. “I’ll die before I let anything happen to her.”

“Does this mean we can get a house with a pool?” Mary piped up, from where she was now situated in Steve’s arms.

Frank looked at Fliss before they both grinned and he turned to her.

“Not sure.” he said “Don’t want you getting all spoilt now do we?”

“Fine…” she shrugged “I’ll just move in here. That’s ok isn’t it?”

“Of course.” Verity grinned “Although you do know if you do, its bed at 8 every night, no treats before dinner, no…” “Who are you trying to kid?” Mary scoffed “Frank says you’re both a pair of right soft touches.”

Frank groaned as the room erupted into laughter and he shook his head at Mary who stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Mary simply shrugged and Fliss slid her arms round Frank’s waist and he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“So, house hunting starts tomorrow?” he asked, and she grinned nodding.

“You bet Sailor…”

“Ohhh we could buy a boat!” Mary said suddenly, and Frank paused.

“Actually, that would be kinda cool…”

“Yeah, I’ll buy you a remote control one to play with in the pool” Fliss grinned and Bill laughed as Mary let out a loud yell.

“See, Fliss want’s a pool…”

“Mary, for god’s sake…”

“Ok…Bean wants a pool” Mary grinned and everyone in the room let out a loud laugh, as Fliss looked up at Frank who simply snorted and shook his head.

**** Chapter 6

Riding On  Ch 5: Chilli Fries and Appletize

Summary: Fliss hormones are raging so Frank decides she need something a little special

Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW NO UNDER 18s!!)

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF ALERT!! And PLEASE give the song a listen, this is one of my all time faves from one of the best ever band to come out of Manchester! Thank you to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for her brilliant little spark of an idea in here (you know which part Ambi!) and as always @icanfeelastormbrewing​ for being my unofficial Beta! Chapter Song: Ten Storey Love Song by The Stone Roses

Series Masterlist //  WIYPT Masterlist

Ten Storey love song, I built this thing for you. Who can take you higher, than twin deep mountain blue, oh well I’ve built this thing for you, and I love you true…

“Fuck!”

Frank heard Fliss’ shout from the living room where he was sprawled on the sofa. She’d gone to take a bath, Mary was at Roberta’s so the pair of them were simply taking a bit of time to relax after what had been a fairly busy week, both physically and mentally.

“Fliss?” he called back as Thor stood up from where he had been curled on the rug, Fred leaning against him using him as a pillow as the feline always seemed to do. He watched the dog pad to the door and then stood up following him down the hallway. He entered the bedroom and found Fliss was stood in a pale blue dress, tears in her eyes.

“Honey what’s wrong?” he frowned.

“This fucking dress!” she practically exploded, her voice cracking. I only bought it a few weeks ago for Jake’s wedding and I just thought I’d try it on with my new shoes and it won’t do up at the back.”

Frank looked at her, feeling a pang of sympathy for his girl. She’d been really up and down in particular over the last 2 days with her hormones and she looked absolutely distraught, even if it was something so ridiculous as a dress that had set her off.

“Let me see.” he said, crossing the floor towards her. She turned and he gently reached for the zip, pulling the 2 sides of the dress together but it wasn’t going to fasten.

“See…” she sighed as he let go of the zip and rubbed the top of her arms. “I’m not even 5 months yet…” “You’re a week off.” he said softly.

“…And I feel huge! This is ridiculous…”

Frank slid his arms around her from behind, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. “Lissy, you’re not huge at all. Bean has just sprouted all of a sudden that’s all. You got a proper bump now.” “I am aware of that, Frank.” She snapped.

Frank took a deep breath, not rising to her in the slightest. Instead his hands moved to either side of the offending swell in her abdomen and he turned her gently towards the full length mirror in the corner of the room.

“Look… “ he said, fixing his eyes on hers in their reflection as his hand skated over her belly “You’re beautiful, and you’re cooking our baby in here…”

“That still doesn’t help that I have no dress!”

“Ok, well, let’s go shopping tomorrow. Mary’s at that party in the afternoon so we’ll drop her off, head into town and grab you something.”

Fliss paused as she looked at him in the mirror, her face slowly rearranging as she realised that actually the solution to the problem had been fairly simple all along.

“Sorry.” she mumbled. “I flipped again didn’t I?”

“Its fine.” he said, dropping a kiss to her cheek. “You didn’t throw a mug on the floor today so that’s an improvement.” “In my defence…” she turned to look at him “You did ask me about 5 times if I was feeling ok in the space of 10 minutes” “And clearly you weren’t as said mug is now in 3 pieces…” he shook his head and let out a long, dramatic sigh “You know I loved that mug too…it was a sad day.” Fliss snorted “You got it free from the Tack Store when we took Mary for her new hat…” “And it was a treasured memory. A reminder of how she stung me for another hundred bucks…” “Can’t put a price on safety Frankie.” she smiled and he chuckled.

“So, tomorrow afternoon then?” he asked and she nodded eagerly.

“Can we go to Tampa? The shopping is better there.”

“Sure.” he said, and suddenly the bones of a plan began to form in his head. And it was a good plan…if he could pull it off… “Crisis averted?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Crisis averted” she nodded.

“Good.” he smiled, kissing her cheek before he turned to leave the room to allow her to change for bed.

“Frank?”

“Yeah?” he stopped to look at her.

“I really want chilli fries.” she said, her voice almost puzzled.

“Chilli fries?” he frowned “Really? That’s a new one…”

“I know.” She shrugged. “I just got a hankering…specifically for Tequila Mockingbirds fries…”

Frank glanced at his watch “Sweetheart, it’s almost 11. The truck will have shut now…he only opens late on Saturday.”

“Oh, ok.” she said quietly, and he could see to his horror that her bottom lip was starting to wobble. Fuck, not another meltdown. Was this seriously how it was going to be for the next 4 damned months? Fucking hormones…

“Why don’t I nip to the store?” he said, a sudden idea coming to him “I can whip up a batch of the dirty ones you showed me how to make?”

“Yeah, yeah that could work.” she nodded.

“Ok, well, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” he smiled, turning on his heels.

It worked out quite well actually, as he used the short drive to the store to put his plan into action. First off he messaged Jake who called him straight back.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I need you to do me a favour…” Frank said, explaining his plan.

“Short notice pal.”

“Yeah but you owe me so pull some strings”

“I owe you?” Jake snorted “What for?”

“If you hadn’t been tagged on those damned photos no one would have seen them and I wouldn’t have been couched for a night nor would I be suffering with blue balls.” Frank said simply, turning right across a junction.

Jake snorted “Leave it with me Frankie boy…I’ll see what I can do.”

Satisfied he cut the call and once he arrived at the store he shot Verity a quick message asking her if she would mind helping him out as well. He felt a little guilty, as they’d only gotten back from Italy that morning but she replied almost instantly telling him that she thought it was a great idea and her and Bill would be happy to do what he needed them to do.

Smiling he put his phone back in his pocket, and headed to the frozen food aisle at the back of the 24 hour mini-mart. He stood there, unable to decide what fries to buy so in the end he grabbed a bag of every available frozen ones there were- thick cut, curly, southern fried and thin, along with a tin of ready-made chilli (yes, disgusting but on dirty fries it was the only thing Fliss told him worked) and a block of cheddar cheese. As he walked towards the till he stopped, grinning as he spotted they had the big bottles of Appletize too, so he shoved 4 in his basket and headed to the counter.

The woman at the counter looked at him as he began unloading and Frank realised that it was a pretty odd combination.

“You either got the munchies or your girl is pregnant.” she quipped and Frank laughed.

“I’m not high.” he smiled, and the woman grinned at him as she scanned the items through.

Once he had paid he headed home, and found Fliss was led on the sofa with a toasting waffle in one hand and a glass of apple juice in her other.

“Couldn’t wait huh?” he asked as he walked through to the kitchen.

“I know…” she said, looking at him over the back of the couch. “I had an apple and a waffle…and I feel ok now.”

Frank stopped dead and turned to face her, the grocery bags clutched to his chest “Seriously? You don’t want the fries?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not anymore.”

Frank took a deep breath, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek in frustration as he walked into the kitchen, depositing the bags on the side.

“The kid ain’t even born yet and it’s already a pain in my ass…”

“I can hear you grumbling from here…” Fliss called back.

“Good…” he retorted as she shoved the bottles of drink in the fridge and crammed the 4 bags of frozen fries into the freezer. Grabbing a beer he walked back into living room and dropped heavily onto couch next to her.

“Don’t be so grouchy.” she teased, lifting her feet into his lap. He shot her a glare, taking her right foot in his hands in an automatic response, and she dropped her hand to her belly. “Bean is sorry.” she said, flashing him her best puppy dog eyes, those fucking eyes that could get him to do whatever she wanted.

“Don’t pull that one.” he narrowed his own eyes at her and she cocked her head to one side as he ran his thumb up the arch of her foot. She let out a sigh.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” he asked as she looked at him, smirking.

“Bow job?”

Frank snorted, shifting slightly in his seat as that had really got his attention. But, not wanting to give himself away too much he simply arched an eyebrow at her “You think you can win me over like that?”

“Sailor, I know I can.”

“I’m not that cheap.” he said as his hands returned to massaging her foot.

“No, but I know for a fact you haven’t had any since the night before you went to Vegas…” she grinned “What was it you said in New York after a mere 3 days? Oh, yeah, Frankie has needs.”

Ok, so she’d got him well and truly. Like he had said to Jake before, he really was feeling slightly frustrated, but he hadn’t pushed anything on her at all since he’d come back from Vegas, deciding to let her make the decision as to when she wanted to get physically intimate with him again. As he looked at her she simply smiled and drained her glass of juice before setting it on the table.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.” he shook his head, “Was just trying to figure out if you were being serious or not.” She held his gaze for a moment before she looked back at the TV. They stayed still for a moment and Frank moved his attention to her left foot, before she shifted a little and then glanced back at him.

“Fraaaank.” her voice was an unmistakable whine, which meant she wanted something. “What?” he said, his word turning into an exasperated laugh.

“Did you get any curly fries?” she bit her lip.

“Are you for fucking real?” he looked at her, shaking his head.

“Don’t blame me…”

“Yeah, yeah blame Bean…” he shook his head “I swear to God by the time you’ve actually given birth to the little crotch goblin I’ll have aged about 20 years…”

“Crotch goblin?” she scoffed, “I’ll remind you, pal, you put it there…”

“Not on purpose!” he looked at her.

“Are you calling our baby a mistake?” Fliss narrowed her eyes at him, mock horror on her face

“Mistake…that’s a little harsh.” Frank shook his head “Accident, most definately.”

“Bastard.” Fliss grabbed a cushion from behind her and hit him with it as he laughed, grabbing it out of her hand.

“BB is a very pleasant and welcome surprise…” he said, shifting her legs out of his lap. Grinning he leaned over her, caging her on the sofa with his arms “Although right now, as I’m about to start cooking dirty fries at 15 to midnight, I’m debating the use of the pronoun pleasant.”

She chuckled as he leaned over to give her a soft kiss. Instantly she felt a little flutter again and her hand dropped to her bump.

“Bean’s moving again…”

Frank smiled and shifted a little so he could press his hand to her side, but after a moment or so shook his head, feeling ever so slightly deflated.

“I can’t feel anything.”

“You will do soon enough.” Fliss smiled at him.

“Hope so.” Frank’s smile became even softer as he kissed her again and stood up, heading to the kitchen.

Fliss watched him go, before she turned back to the TV, but she wasn’t paying attention, she was too busy thinking to herself how quickly Frank had headed out to get her what she wanted before, even if she had then changed her mind, and then reverted it back to it’s original state. She hated comparing the two of them, and tried not to do it, but as she sat there she couldn’t help it. Frank was as far from John as she was likely to get, her ex-husband wouldn’t have ever done anything like that for her, whether she as carrying his kid or not. But Frank hadn’t even hesitated. And now he was actually about to cook it too. She wasn’t even sure John had ever known how to actually turn the damned oven on. To be fair, when she’d met Frank his cooking skills were also limited but another huge difference in them was that he had wanted to learn. He helped her, listened and managed pretty much once she’d cooked something with him to make a fairly decent version of it on his own. And he did this simply because he wanted to. He had said he didn’t like the fact she cooked every day, and on the evenings she got home a little later than normal he wanted to be able to have something ready instead of merely calling for a take out.

As she sat there, those thoughts whirring in her head, she felt a surge of affection for her Sailor. Since their talk on Monday, she’d let Frank back into their bed but there’d been no intimacy, although she’d let him cuddle her, she’d kissed him back, she hadn’t been unaffectionate per se, but in all honesty she hadn’t been in the mood for anything else, which was probably something down to hormones as well as her still being a little angry at him, but now…well, she’d seen it in his eyes before when she’d been teasing him, he was frustrated as hell.  And if she was honest, she now found herself in the mood for giving him a little spontaneous pleasure…

With a smirk she stood up and walked into the kitchen, her arms snaking around his waist as she pressed herself to his back (well as much as she could thanks to the football she had in her stomach) and pressed a soft kiss to his back, just beneath his shoulder blades.

“You ok?” he asked, his voice vibrating through his back into her chest and she nodded as her hands rubbed at his stomach under his T-shirt. She felt him tense a little, and grinning she gently moved her hands up his top to rake down the line of hair that led from his chest all the way down his belly. She knew what that did to him and right on cue, Frank gave a grunt, jolting a little and her hand continued to move downwards, palming at his crotch through his sweats.

“Lissy…” his voice caught in his throat as she continued, her hand working him up over his clothing. “You don’t need to-“ “I know, but I want to.” she stood on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear. He tilted his head downwards slightly, allowing her to nip at his jawline and he spun round to face her, where she pulled his head down to hers giving him a slow kiss, her tongue sliding against his before she leaned back, his bottom lip between her teeth.

By the time his brain had caught up with what was going on, Fliss had gotten to her knees and flipped the waist band of the sweats he was wearing down, taking his erection firmly in one hand, making him hiss slightly. She stroked him to full hardness, which didn’t take that long at all, before she looked up and locked eyes with him, giving him one final smirk before she took him in her mouth.

“God, baby….” Frank groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, her eyes still locked on his. His right hand gently dropped to the back of her head, tangling in her long hair as her head bobbed back and forth. It was bliss, her mouth was warm, lips soft, but her tongue…God she knew just how to work him with that thing and as he felt it wrap around the base of his cock he gave a grunt, his hips bucking forward slightly. At that, Fliss pulled off of him to suck at the tip and worked her hands over the rest of his length which sent shivers up his spine. Groaning, his head dropped back slightly, as she continued to lick, suck before she took him in, this time all the way, her cheeks hollowing and one of her hands reaching round from the back of his thigh to gently squeeze at his balls.

“Fucking hell….” he hissed, his hand tightening in her hair and once more looked at her. Her eyes locked back onto his and he felt that tell-tale warmth pooling in his groin and stomach.

"Lissy, sweetheart, shit…" His voice was raspy from desire and pleasure and at the mere sound of how turned on his was Fliss felt the wetness beginning to pool in between her legs. He continued to babble curse words and her name, before he gasped again, letting out a loud moan. “Fuck, honey, "I'm gonna-" his words caught in his mouth as Fliss took him all the way to the back of her throat. At that, he was gone, his fingers gripped her hair tight the other clutched at the kitchen side, noises that sounded alien even to him tumbling from his mouth as he spilled himself down her throat and slumped back completely blissed out against the kitchen side.

Fliss grinned, her hands gently running up the outside of his thighs as she stood up, pulling his boxers and sweats with her, pressing herself to his chest. With a soft hum of contentment, he opened his eyes and looked down at her.

“Good?” she asked, but the look in her eyes told him she knew exactly what the answer was. Still, he gave it her anyway. “Damned right it was…” he grinned, leaning down and kissing her, his hands holding her face in position. She let out a soft moan into his mouth and he pulled back slightly, arching an eyebrow.

“You all worked up baby girl?”

“Yeah…don’t suppose you fancy helping me out…” she whispered, and Frank grinned.

“We got 15 minutes till the fries cook so…” he smirked as he gently spun her round so her back was clutched to his chest.  Fliss grinned to herself as his lips gently brushed on her neck, his beard scratching at her skin as he nipped his way down to her shoulder, his hand splaying over her bump before it worked beneath the waistband of her pyjama shorts. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers skated her entrance.

“You are worked up…” he muttered, his fingers sliding through her slick, as her head fell back against his shoulder and she bit her lip.

“I told you…” she muttered as his fingers slipped further into her folds, finding that little bundle of nerves. His other hand slipped up her vest top and ran up her side to her breasts, which he knew would be tender, but the plus side to that was that they were goddamned sensitive, so heightened to his touch and it got her off like nothing he’d ever seen before. True to form, she let out a soft squeak as he rolled a nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger. Sliding his fingers inside her he curled them against the fleshy spot on her walls, both his hands working in synch, a coordinated attack on her senses and within minutes she was putty in his hands.

“Frankie…I’m…god…fuck!” she cursed, her head falling back further as her knees began to shake.

“I got you…” he said softly, his mouth caressing her neck again “Go on baby, give it to me…” With a desperate groan she shuddered, her hand wrapping around his wrists as he felt her pulsing and squeezing around his fingers as she came, the trembles wracking her entire body. Frank held her steady until she took a deep breath, giving a soft sigh as she leaning back into him. She tilted her head round to look at him, a smile on her face, her cheeks tinged with pink underneath those gorgeous freckles and he smiled at her, giving her a soft kiss. Setting her clothes right for her, his hands skated over her bump once more and he kissed her shoulder.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yep.” she nodded, popping the P as she turned to face him, leaning up to kiss the underneath of his jaw. He looked down at her, before a wicked smirk crossed his face and he popped his two fingers in his mouth, sucking her taste off him.

“Francis!” she scoffed, slapping him round the back of the head and he let out a loud laugh.

“You don’t complain about me tasting you when I’m down there…” “You’re so vulgar!” she snorted.

“Says the woman who just blew me in the kitchen.” She cocked her head to one side, shrugging slightly “Touché….”

He smiled again before she turned to the fridge “Want another beer?”

“Sure, thanks.” he said.

She pulled open the fridge door and let out a little shriek of delight “Where did you get that?” she asked, her eyes widening as she pulled out a bottle of Appletize. “I couldn’t find any in the supermarket!”

“The Mini-Mart before.” he said, “Woman thought I was high when I bought 4 bags of fries and 4 big bottles of that”

“My hero!” she grinned

Frank grinned “if fetching you fries and Appetize means you get on your knees for me then hell, I’ll go every fucking night.”

“Don’t get used to it Sailor.” she looked at him, “Soon I'll be too big to kneel down.”

Frank chuckled, “Why don’t you go wait in the lounge?”

"I'm good.” Fliss shrugged “I'll help."

The two of them stood in the kitchen making their food. Frank warmed the chili through as Fliss grated the entire block of cheese and when Frank challenged her as to why exactly they needed that for 2 of them she simply replied “3 of us Frankie…” whilst patting her bump. Soon they were sat on the sofa, Fliss cross legged with a plate on her lap as she devoured her snack. Frank watched her as she eagerly ate, eyes fixed on the latest episode of Rick And Morty, every so often she would chuckle at something on the screen. Frank smiled to himself, it had felt like a long 5 days since Monday, but they seemed to be on an even keel. She was joking and laughing with him, had been reasonably affectionate and to be fair her affections certainly had upped a notch when she just sucked him off in the kitchen. Granted, all things considered, he’d rather have carried her to bed, taken his time over her, loved on her a little but…well, he certainly wasn’t complaining. It seemed like she’d finally decided he was completely out of the dog house, which suited him absolutely fine.

Fliss let out a happy sigh and placed her now empty plate on the coffee table on top of the one Frank had discarded a few minutes ago. She stretched out her limbs before she shifted and snuggled into Frank’s side.

"Love you." She said, her hand rubbing his tummy softly under his t-shirt. "So does Bean"

Her touch and words made him feel all warm inside. Not horny warm…just…fuzzy warm. Smiling he dropped a kiss to her head “Love you too, both of you.”

****** “What do you think?” Fliss asked, giving a twirl. With the help of the assistant in the little independent Mother and Baby boutique shop they’d stumbled across, aptly called “Bump In The Road” she’d chosen a maxi dress with a pleated tulle overlay in stripes of bright pastel pink, orange, lime-green, purple, yellow and blue. The top half was a baby pink with spaghetti straps which crossed at the back and It had a plunging V-neckline which complemented the fit and flare silhouette which meant the skirt hung comfortably over her lower body but still made her feel sexy enough thanks to it accentuating her cleavage...which, to be fair, she’d noticed when trying the dress on, was a lot more noticable now thanks to her boobs being swollen.

Frank’s eyes took her in and he smiled, nodding approvingly.  “You look beautiful.” he told her honestly, and she flushed a little, twirling in the mirror.

“Do you think the colour is ok or should I go for the yellow one? I mean is it too much boob and the yellow is a halter neck so you don’t see any…” “Lissy…” he shook his head, chuckling “It looks fine, more than fine. I really like it on you.” “It’s also elasticated at the back and the straps adjust.” the assistant spoke “So your worry about bump growing more over the next week won’t cause an issue. You’ll get a fair few months I expect out of this.” Fliss hummed, looked at her reflection again before she smiled “OK, yeah, great…I’ll take it.”

The assistant smiled and Fliss turned back to head into the changing cubicle. Once she was out of ear shot Frank looked at the woman.

“Can we take the yellow one too?” he asked, “Just ring it through before she comes back, I want it to be a surprise.”

The assistant nodded and smiled “Sure, I’ll get it ready and bagged now so she doesn’t see it.”

“Thanks.”

He headed to the till, producing his card and shortly after Fliss joined him and he let out a chuckle when he saw she’d also picked up another little baby-grow on the way. This one was white and bore an apple on the front, with the words “apple of our eye” arched over the top.

“I thought it was kinda fitting.” she grinned and Frank had to agree considering her craving. He handed it to the assistant who was smart enough not to announce the total to him, given the additional purchase as he handed his card over. Fliss pouted at him but one look and she stopped the fuss she was about to make over the fact he had paid. They’d already had that discussion on the way over, Frank insisting that he wanted to buy her the dress considering it was “his fault” as she had put it that she was in this position in the first place.

He took the bag from the assistant and thanking her once more they headed out and back down the street. Frank stole a glance at his watch, it was just after 3. He could do with killing another hour or so before he put into play his surprise plan so he suggested they grab a drink and an ice cream at the little parlour on the corner. Fliss eagerly agreed so that killed another 40 minutes as they sat and joked over a sundae each, before they headed back to the truck taking the long way round, checking out a few other shops as they went, Fliss suggesting the grabbed Mary a few new pieces of clothing as she was growing again. Picking a few t-shirts and a pair of shorts they knew she would like they then headed back to the car and Frank checked his phone, memorising the directions. They weren’t far away.

When he didn’t take the turn for the freeway, Fliss looked at him. “You missed the turn off.” “No I didn’t” he said simply.

“Yeah, you did, it was back there.”

“We’re not going home.” he said simply. She frowned.

“Where are we going then?”

“You’ll see.”

Refusing to give her anything else, despite her questioning he kept driving, until he hit the coastal road and continued along the bay until his destination appeared in front of him. Hanging a right turn, he drove his truck down the little winding road which opened up into a circle drive way flanked by palm trees and bright flowerbeds just outside the reception of the Grand Hyatt.

“Frank…” Fliss looked at him, her eyes shining “We’re staying for the night?”

“Yup.” he nodded turning to face her. “I packed us a bag this morning whilst you were at the yard, Mary’s staying with your parents as is Thor and I suspect Fred and we have a dinner reservation at 7 for the Oyster Catcher, which is on the bay at the back.”

“I don’t…how did you manage to pull this off at such short notice?”

“Jake.” Frank said simply “Come on.”

He hopped out of his truck and smiled to the bus boy who had approached him and nodded for them to collect their bags out of the boot. “Including the large paper one.” he said discreetly and he nodded before he turned to collect the slip of paper from the valet. He took Fliss’ hand and led her into the huge reception area to the hotel, the floor a gorgeous white marble as they walked over to the desk and he smiled at the woman who looked at him.

“Good afternoon Sir, Ma’am.” she smiled, and Fliss suddenly felt a little self-conscious. Everyone was milling around in various states of what she would term upper-class smart casual, in blazers and open necked dress shirts with jeans that probably cost more than her fucking jeep. Frank, however, in contrast didn’t give a shit. He wasn’t here to impress or blend in.

“Reservation for Adler.” he said smiling at the receptionist who tapped at a keyboard and nodded.

“Yes Mr Adler, you’re here for one night…and have an executive double…” she scanned the booking “The room rate is already settled, but I can set up-…” “I’m sorry, did you say the room rate was covered?” Frank frowned. “Yes.” She nodded, “It’s already been paid.” “Take it that wasn’t expected.” Fliss looked at him and he shook his head, smiling.

“No, no it wasn’t. I’ll thank Jake later.” he said, before he turned to the lady at the desk “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No problem.” she smiled “I was just saying if you want to give me your card I can set up a tab so you can charge items to your room…” “Sure.” he nodded, fishing for his wallet before handing her the small square of plastic. As she took a scan of it he turned to Fliss and dropped a kiss to her temple as she smiled, her arm looping around her waist.

“Is this where we’re staying for Jake’s wedding?” she asked and he nodded.

“Thought we could give it a test run beforehand.” he looked at her “You are ok we’re staying, right?” “Of course.” she smiled “It’s really sweet of you.” “Well, I try.” he winked before he turned back to the brunette behind the desk who asked him for his signature in a few places before she handed him the key.

“Ok so you’re on the 5th floor…” she said nodding, “Room 512. Take the elevator to the 5th floor go right out of the elevator and you’ll see it on the left hand side. I’ll have your bags brought up

Frank thanked her and they both headed off following the directions. Frank led Fliss out of the elevator an down to the room, opening the door to let her in. The room was large, with a huge king bed in the middle and a large TV on the wall, and a balcony overlooking the bay. But what caught Fliss’ attention straight away was the 4 pack of beer on the small table and the large bottle of Apple juice for her. She nudge Frank and he gave a snort as she walked over to it and picked up the note attached to it.

“Enjoy the room on me pal, well, my Employee Free Stay points anyway…sorry about the balls.” she read aloud as she turned to him and Frank rubbed at his neck, “I’m not even gonna ask what that means.” “Yeah, probably best” he grinned, and then there was a knock at the door. Frank opened it and in walked the bus boy with their luggage, setting it down for them before Frank thanked him, slipped him a ten and he headed out.

Fliss looked at the overnight bag and then frowned “What did you bring me to wear to dinner.” “Nothing” Frank said, before he grinned and picked up the bag from the boutique. “But I got you something before.” “That’s for the wedding.” She looked at him, “Although I could wear it twice…” “No, check in the bottom.” he insisted. She frowned a little, before she took the bag and set it down on the small table, before she let out a gasp as she pulled out the lemon yellow dress she’d tried on before.

“You bought me both of them?”

He nodded.

“Frankie, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of this.” she said, her eyes misting over.

“I know but I wanted to.” he said, stepping forwards his hands dropping to her hips. “I figured it would be nice for us to have some time together, just the two…well…3…” he grinned, nodding to her bump “of us.” “Thank you.” she said, looking up at him as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

Once they’d unpacked their overnight thing, Fliss headed for a shower and emerged a little while later in a robe and Frank walked back in from where he’d been on the balcony with a beer, having fired a thank you message to Jake. He smiled at Fliss and headed to shower himself, coming back about 5 minutes later also wrapped in a robe. They sat out together on the balcony talking for a little while as Fliss pretty much drank the entire bottle of juice before she announced she was going to get ready.

“You look gorgeous.” Frank said as she stood in front of him, wearing her dress. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and her make-up was light, despite the fact that Frank had shoved pretty much every item in her vanity case into their bag not knowing what she would want and wouldn’t want.

“You look pretty dapper too, Sailor” she smiled, taking in his black button down and smart jean. Dropping a kiss to her cheek he gestured to the door and they both left the room and made their way to the restaurant which was located through the back of the hotel. They were led through to the outside patio which had a spectacular panoramic view of Old Tampa Bay. Fliss ordered herself a mock-tail, whilst Frank asked for a beer, grinning when the waiter told them they had Stella on tap.  Fliss busied herself with the menu, and Frank took a moment to watch her. She really was glowing. He’d thought that was such a shit cliché about pregnant women, but at that point in time he couldn’t think of any other way to describe her. Her face was slightly fuller now, but with it she carried a soft look, which just complimented her personality anymore. The changes her entire body was going through reminded him daily she was carrying his baby, and each day he woke up and was convinced he was slightly more in love with her than he had been when he’d fallen asleep, even though he knew that wasn’t actually possible.

“The mahi-mahi looks really good.” Fliss mused as she looked at the menu. “As does the lobster but not sure I can eat that…” “Well, actually…” Frank said, leaning forward and pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket “I knew this was a seafood restaurant so Mary did her usual google…and found this.”

He handed it to her and waited for her reaction. As she scanned the list of seafood that she could eat she shook her head and let out a little moan.

“So all this time I could have been eating prawns?!”

Frank shrugged “According to that.”

“Damned it!” he cursed “I’m going to kill my mum.” “Well I don’t doubt guidelines have changed a little over the years” he chuckled.

Before she could reply the waiter came back to take them to their table which was on the large veranda at bay level. He left them alone for another 10 minutes before returning for their order. Frank raised his eyebrow as Fliss ordered the fishcakes to start and then the Lobster tail for main, not that he cared how much it cost, he wasn’t worrying about that tonight. With that in mind he went for the same started but then the surf-and-turf option, with a fillet steak.

“I can’t remember the last time we did this.” Fliss said, reaching out over the table, her hand tangling in his. “Just had a meal out, the 2 of us.”

“Me neither.” he mused. “It was before Christmas I know that much.”

“Probably before Boston actually.” she mused.

“We should do it more often” he smiled, his thumb skating over her engagement ring “I like spending time with you like this.”

“Me too.” she smiled at him. “And don’t worry Sailor. Once Bean is here you’re taking me out for an evening of fine dining where I’m gonna eat my bodyweight in blue cheese and drink a swimming pool full of wine…or champagne…or maybe both.” He chuckled and nodded “Whatever you want honey.”

Their conversation turned to their house hunting, both agreeing that they really needed to step it up a notch. They hadn’t even made an appointment with a bank yet to find out what they biggest budget they had was, so that was first on the agenda, Frank saying he would call to make an apartment on Monday. And then when their starters arrived they switched to the biggest question of all at the moment, whether they were going to find out if Bean was pink or blue.

“I think I wanna know.” Fliss said, swallowing the last of her starter, giving Frank a smile

Frank looked at her, his head cocking to one side. “You wanna find out?”

Fliss smiled shyly and paused as the waiter came along to remove their now empty plates before she continued once he had left.  “I wasn’t sure…but…yeah, I think I am now. It struck me before in that shop, that once we know how much easier it will be, buying blue or pink stuff instead of yellows or greys…”

“I dunno, I quite like the yellow item we bought…” he quipped, taking a mouthful of his beer as he nodded to her dress. She grinned.

“Well, yeah, I do too…but you know full well what I mean.”

He chuckled “Yeah, I do.” he leaned forward a little, both arms resting on the table as he looked at her, “Ok, so that’s decided then…we find out?”

She nodded, holding his gaze for a moment and he blinked, a soft mile spreading across his face. “I can’t wait.” he admitted to her, almost bashfully and she smiled back.

“Me neither…” she whispered.

*****

“Frankie, that was such wonderful evening.” Fliss turned to look at him as she kicked off her sandals whilst he locked the hotel room door behind them. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it Sweetheart…” he said gently, pulling her to him as his hands wrapped around her back.

“It was really thoughtful” she said, as her hands slid up his chest. “You didn’t have to do it though you know, I mean as an apology, I’m not-“ “No no, it wasn’t that.” he shook his head, “I just wanted some time with you, that’s all. I do have my sentimental moments when I’m not being a complete jack ass.” he quipped and she looked at him, her face soft.

“You’re my jack ass…” she smiled as her arms looped around his neck.

“Always.” he returned her smile as he leaned down to kiss her.

“Can you help me out of this dress?” she whispered into his mouth, and fuck, he didn’t need asking twice.

Frank reached round to the zipper at the back and gently slid it down as Fliss moved back, allowing the lemon coloured fabric to pool at her feet. He followed the line of her body upwards, over her thighs, that neat little bump, up past her hips, her breasts before he finally met her eyes again. He looked at her for a second before his lips crashed to hers, noses bumping slightly as he flicked his tongue teasingly into her mouth, his hands cupping her ace as hers fisted in the back of his shirt.

In a quick movement, Frank reached down and hooked his hands round the back of her thighs, easily picking her up, bump and all. She giggled, wrapping her legs round his waist, her nose brushing against his as he carried her over to the bed, setting her down gently on it.  He shucked off his own shoes as he reached behind his head and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, yanking it over his head without even bothering with the buttons, before he dropped down on the bed, settling his hips in between her legs in the space she made for him as she ran her hands through his hair. He smiled softly at her before he pressed his lips back to hers, kissing her deeply, his large hands keeping him propped above her so as not to put any of his weight against that precious cargo she was carrying.

She pushed on his chest, sitting up slightly as she reached behind her to undo her bran and Frank leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on each shoulder as he slid the straps down over her arms, removing it completely. As she lay back against the bed, Frank shifted so he was led on his side by her, his mouth hungrily covering hers as his hand trailed up the outside of her thigh, to her hip, up the side of her body and then onto her breasts teasing gently. She groaned, rolling her head back on the pillow at the sensation, her hips bucking upwards as he shifted, hovering over her. He buried his face in the side of her neck working at the pulse spot, the little noises of pleasure she was making were music in his ear. Her hips began to move, rolling against nothing, groans falling from her lips at the sensation as he nipped slightly at her neck and then moved his mouth to her chest, taking her right nipple in. Her groans were growing louder now and Frank couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be in her, surrounded by her, feel her. Moving back to shed the rest of his clothes, he stood up, undoing his jeans and kicking them off, all the time his eyes on Fliss’ as she watched him, her gaze travelling down his body to where his cock now stood angry and red against his abs. He leaned down, hooking his fingers in the lace of Fliss’ panties, pulling them down over her legs before he settled on the bed once more, Fliss moving so she could straddle him. As she did so, his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her face down to kiss him as she reached down between them, taking him in her hand. He groaned but didn’t release her mouth as she adjusted position to take him in, slowly sliding down onto him. A filthy moan flew from her mouth which he swallowed with his kiss as she stayed pressed against him, and she began to move, rolling her hips forward. She was quick to find a rhythm and her mouth fell open against his lips and she let out a shaky moan before sitting up fully.

The sight of her on top, illuminated by soft light streaming in through the slight gap in the curtains was almost enough to tip him right over there and then. He wanted to touch her, so he did, bringing her hands up to run them up her sides until his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples as she let out another moan. As she picked up the pace his hands went to her hips, pulling her down onto him harder, thrusting upwards to meet her for every move she made. She continued to move, quickening, her eyes never leaving his.

“Frankie…”she groaned, as he tilted his hips up harder and he let out a groan himself, increasingly determined to get her there again before he lost it. As he felt the coil in his own belly tightening, his hand moved from her hip to stroke at that spot between her legs and that did it. He felt her tense up and tighten around him, crying out loudly and unbridled as she shook. The sight of her coming undone on top of him, her cheeks flushed, lips pink, mouth open in a now silent scream, would always be the single most exquisite thing Frank had ever seen, no matter how many times he got to see it. All of that, coupled with the force of her heat tightening even, more made him lose himself.

“Fuck, Lissy…” the curse fell from his lips as he thrust upwards, before he spilled himself inside her again, the wave of pleasure washing over him as the world fell silent and he could hear nothing but ringing in his ears. Fliss collapsed forward onto his chest, her tremors subsided, both of them panting as they came back down, turning back into the world. Frank held her close, his fingers running up and down her spine as she let out a soft “hum” of contentment and he sat up, wanting to see her face to face. Still cradling her close he pushed the hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ears and she reached up, running her hands through his, causing him to close his eyes at the sensation of her nails on his scalp.

“God, I love you.” he whispered, pulled her closer, his nose rubbing up against hers.

"I love you too.”

Frank moved so that she could roll off him and to the side, before he pulled the covers back, allowing them both to shuffle under before he turned off the lamp at the side of the bed. Fliss moved so that her head lay on his chest, her arm resting over his stomach and he placed a soft kiss to the side of her temple, his hand moving to softly card through her hair. For the first time in a week, Frank felt like things were completely back to where they should be.

***** They had a lazy morning in the hotel, making the most of the breakfast before they headed back to collect Mary. The drive home was relaxed, the pair of them singing along to whatever came on Frank’s Spotify play-list, Fliss snorting with laughter when the Spice Girls Wannabe hit her ears.

“Hey, it’s a classic.” Frank defended himself as she looked at him, shaking her head.

“Sure it is…” she laughed, cranking the volume up.

When they reached Verity and Bills, Thor came bounding up the drive to greet the truck, running after it and almost sending Fliss flying as he barrelled into her legs. Frank caught her, steadying her as he shot the dog an exasperated look. Whilst he wasn’t growling at Frank anymore, the dog was ridiculously clingy to Fliss, more so than usual and had clearly been unhappy at being away from her. They headed round to the pool area, where Mary was busy wrestling with Steve in the pool, swinging on his arm, trying to pull him under the water. She hardly spared them a second glance as they greeted her, until Verity called her out for a drink and a slice of lemon cake.

“Sit down, sit down!” she ushered Fliss and Frank to the outside table on the decking, where Frank moved a chair back for Fliss, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. Steve and Mary padded over and Mary wrapped herself in a towel whilst Steve moved over to give Fliss a hug, causing her to squeal as he was wet. Mary hopped onto Frank’s knee and gave his cheek a peck and then squished his cheeks together as she often did, making him jerk his head out of her reach before he blew a wet rasberry on her neck, causing her to shriek and pull away.

Bill appeared a short while later, smiling at them all as he took a seat at the table, an envelope in his hands. He paid it no attention though, simply setting it on the table. They talked for a good 10 minutes or so, Fliss telling them all about their hotel and meal before the conversation turned to chatter of house hunting and how they needeed to step it up a notch really if they wanted to have a place before Bean was born, at which point Verity and Bill shared a glance and Bill cleared his throat

“We wanted to talk to you about that.” Bill said, looking at Fliss.

“Ok…” Fliss frowned, glancing at Frank where he sat to her right. She turned back to her parents. “Is something wrong?”

“No, quite the opposite.” Verity smiled as she glanced at Bill. Both of them looked at Steve then who smiled as Mary looked around.

“Is this one of those adult conversations?” she rolled her eyes and Frank nudged her slightly. Bill chuckled.

“It is kiddo, but you can stay.” he said, before he took a deep breath and leaned forward a little “Ok, so you know I handed the business down to Steve when we left England.” “Yeah…” Fliss looked at him as Frank’s eyes flicked to Steve who was lounging back in the whicker chair, smiling softy.

“Well, when I did that it was valued at just over 2 million pounds” he said and Frank felt his eyebrows shoot up into his head. He knew that Bill and Verity were affluent, but he hadn’t appreciated just how much.

“I know all this.” Fliss frowned. “I’m not following…” “Well, the deal was that I took a million out of the pot straight away, for me and your mum to retire on.” Bill said, “That didn’t leave a great deal of cash left in the accounts,  just enough to keep the cash-flow straight, the rest was tied up in the assets. But the other part of the deal was that whilst I was giving it to Steve, half of it was yours and as soon as he was able to he had to give you your share of the remaining value.” Fliss felt her mouth drop open as she wheeled around to look at Frank. “What? I…” “I never told you any of this, because I didn’t want that bastard getting wind of it.” Bill shook his head. “And obviously, we gave you what we could to set up your business and everything when you moved here, but…” “Basically, Titch, the last year or so the profits have sky rocketed.” Steve said. “And, as a result..”

Bill slid the envelope he had brought towards Fliss and she reached out for it with a shaky hand. Opening it gently, she pulled out a cheque and glanced down at the amount. Just short of four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Fliss swallowed, speechless, as she handed the paper to Frank who took a deep breath, gulping as he saw the amount.

“Holy shit…” Mary mumbled as she too read it, but no one payed her the slightest bit of attention, as Fliss broke the stunned silence that had fallen over her and Frank.

“Dad, Mum, I…” she looked up at him, tears in her eyes, “I can’t…” “So, you don’t need to fanny around with a mortgage or a bank loan when you find a house.” Bill smiled at her. “You’ve got enough to buy outright.”

“Bill, Verity, this…this is too much.” Frank looked at them both in turn, the tears stinging his eyes.

“Nonsense.” Verity scoffed “It’s Fliss’ inheritance.”

“I’ll sign a pre-nup.” Frank stuttered suddenly, “Anything, I…”

Fliss frowned as did Bill, and she turned her eyes to him “Why would I want you to do that?”

“That’s your money…” he protested. “Yeah, and I’m sharing my life with you…I’m having your baby Frank.” she said gently “I don’t need a pre-nup. You intending on leaving me?” “No of course not…” “Well then.” she said, simply, as if that settled the matter. And in her eyes it did.

“You’ll also still retain your shares.” Steve said gently, “Which means you’ll get the dividends each year and if things keep going the way they are, you might want to consider buying a few more sharpish. They’ll be worth a lot if we land this contract.”

Fliss nodded, taking the information in before she stood up and headed over to her dad who rose from his chair.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” she said, her tears falling as he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her back.

“You’re my little girl.” Bill said, his voice choked “I’ll always see you right, you know this.”

She stepped back and turned to her mum as Frank shook Bill’s hand before the man pulled him into a hug.

“Just look after her.” he whispered in Frank’s ear. “I know I don’t need to say it but…”

“You have my word.” Frank pulled back and looked his future father-in-law in the eyes. “I’ll die before I let anything happen to her.”

“Does this mean we can get a house with a pool?” Mary piped up, from where she was now situated in Steve’s arms.

Frank looked at Fliss before they both grinned and he turned to Mary.

“Not sure.” he said “Don’t want you getting all spoilt now do we?”

“Fine…” she shrugged “I’ll just move in here. That’s ok isn’t it?”

“Of course.” Verity grinned “Although you do know if you do, its bed at 8 every night, no treats before dinner, no…” “Who are you trying to kid?” Mary scoffed “Frank says you’re both a pair of right soft touches.”

Frank groaned as Bill, Verity and Steve all sniggered and he shook his head at Mary who stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Mary simply shrugged and Fliss slid her arms round Frank’s waist and he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“So, house hunting starts tomorrow?” he asked, and she grinned nodding.

“You bet Sailor…”

“Ohhh we could buy a boat!” Mary said suddenly, and Frank paused.

“Actually, that would be kinda cool…”

“Yeah, I’ll buy you a remote control one to play with in the pool” Fliss grinned and Bill laughed as Mary let out a loud yell.

“See, Fliss want’s a pool…”

“Mary, for God’s sake…”

“Ok…Bean wants a pool” Mary grinned as Fliss looked up at Frank with a shrug and a smile.

“It would be kinda cool...” she said softly. 

Frank simply snorted and shook his head. 

The Surfer And The Siren

Chapter Four:The Hook,The Line,and The Sea Monster On The Other End

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You pushed the paper bag under your shirt,holding it there as you swam through the cool water.Getting back to your cave from Richard’s was muscle memory,you could do it with your eyes closed if you wanted.You went slow today,fins swishing slowly as you swam only a few feet below the surfing,knowing damn well that it was way too early for anyone to be out on boats.

This was one of the areas without sharks,those pests knew better than to come around your grounds.Well,they knew better than to come around your waters.You ducked deep as you got to the large mount of deep tan rocks that formed an island a couple of hundred feet away from the shore.It was bumpy and slippery so it was pretty shit for parties or whatever but made it perfect for you.There were patches of grass and wildflowers coming through the cracked rocks.The one large patch covered the entrance to your cave in particular but no drunk teen out for a joy ride could ever find it.

You dived down to wear the rock met the sand,swimming through the large opening and up into the inside of the cave.When you came out of the water you were inside the large pool that was sheltered by the rocks walls,lifting yourself onto one of the smooth rocks that your loose scales usually fell onto.You pulled the bag out from under your shirt,tossing it onto the semi dry sand.You pulled off the string bag that had become wet,tossing it next to the paper one.The clothes inside had become wet but they would be dry by the time you had to wear them next.Sunlight was coming through the grass patch,the sun rays hitting your head and back.The day after being on land was always a long one.

You could always sleep in the warm,cushion like sand at the bottom of the pool but something about the way the current was moving and the sun was drying your blue curls gave you the urge to go for a swim.You sighed,wiping the saltwater from around your eyes even though it wouldnt matter when you went back in the water.You slid off the walk,smacking your fin off the side of it to give yourself a headstart.

You let the water drag you along,seeing seals and dolphins start their morning routines.You could feel a whale far out in the ocean,how strong its fluke was as the large creature moved through the water.You could feel the sharks cockiness and how afraid the little crabs were.Waves crashed at the surface,creating walls of microscopic white bubbles that fizzed across your skin and scales when you went through them.You body brought you to the marsh,the older dolphins swimming slowly and practically begging to be raced.You spun through the water,a blue curl getting caught in splintered wood.

You frowned,releasing it.You were far under the surface,probably twenty feet.You went to the top,hiding behind the wooden pillar as you observed your surroundings.There was a boy leaning over the railing of the dock,face staring down into the water tiredly with a red hat backwards on his head.You felt the water go cold,realising who it was.It was JJ motherfucking Maybank,fishing at the dock in the marsh.This would definitely be a fun morning.You sank back into the water,tail grazing the sand lightly as you saw the shiner swimming around,trying to break free of its torturous device.You grinned,tugging at the line.

It began moving rapidly but you held onto the hook tightly between your fingers,releasing the poor shiner before letter go of the hook.You heard a shout of frustration as he realized that the creature that had been holding onto his hook had gotten away with his shiner.He tossed in the line again,casting it out around ten feet in front of you.You smiled,swishing your tail through the water and getting a good grip of the hook,swimming around the dock with it and letting yet another shiner go.

He tried to rail it in,running to keep up with the fish that he thought was on his line.You let go of the hook,watching as it dangled at the surface. “DAMMIT!”The boy shouted in defeat,pulling off his shirt and jumping into the water.Somehow he thought that was a clever idea,blowing out air bubbles until his feet hit the bottom,squinting his eyes so he could see a bit in the salty water.Knowing he couldnt see properly you let your fin graze his calve,making a large bubble come from his mouth as he kicked his legs a couple of times,trying to find the scaly thing again.You let a giggle slip past your lips,the sound echoing through the water as bubbles escaped your mouth.

JJ’s mouth opened,going to inhale water as his eyes flashed back and forth.You mentally cursed,grabbing him by his belt loop and pushing him up towards the surface.He reached it,coughing and looking around in the water.Mermaids didn't have this problem.They didn't have to worry about accidentally killing someone every time they opened their mouth or accidentally sinking a ship while trying to sing their favorite movies soundtrack.It wasnt fair.You swam just beneath JJ,his toe feeling hundreds of scales just under him.He let out a nervous shout,making Pope come outside to see what was going on.JJ tried to explain that there was some sort of dinosaur shark in the water,telling the boy that the sea monster was real and that it was here.

Pope rolled his eyes,coming to the edge of the dock and looking around for anything that resembled what JJ was rambling about.JJ lifted himself out of the water,running inside to grab binoculars while you hid under the dock,trying not to laugh.You heard two more sets of footsteps walking down the dock.Kiara and the other boy,the one that you had rescued. “Oh,shut up.Dont tell me John.B got you believing that bull shit too.”She sighed,hopping into the boat that was tied to the side of the dock,only a few feet away from you.You wanted nothing more than to have legs now,jump in the boat with them and be their friend.

You listened as the four of them got into the boat,JJ still talking.You knew all of their names now which made you just the tiniest bit closer to being their friend.The motor started up,the boat moving quickly through the water.You followed close behind,wanting to observe them.They stopped about a mile away from the dock,floating in the marsh.You heard the crack of beer cans opening,excited shouts as Pope launched himself off the side with a loud splash.You watched as he sunk to the bottom,kicking off the sand and going back up to the surface as Kiara dove in,hands going into the sand and scattering it as she felt for shells or something.Her fingers latched onto something,going back up to the surface.

You squinted,trying to get a good look at it from where you were.It was a baby conch,pink and purple and filled with tiny holes that your voice could come through.You watched in delight as she handed it to John.B,asking him to put it in her bag for her.He was the next to jump in,cannon balling and getting water up his nose.JJ was hesitant,probably because of the earlier encounter but jumped in none the less.He blew out air so that he was sitting on the bottom,struggling to stay there with his eyes closed like he was trying to meditate underwater.It wasnt an uncommon thing to see,you had seen statues of it that had been eroded by water and forgotten.He sat,blowing out bubble rings.

The other three were at the surface,moving their feet slowly to keep still.You felt the urge to reach forward,come out of your hiding spot and touch the blonde hair that was flowing in the blue water.You resisted the urge,watching as he launched himself like a rocket back to the surface.JJ and Pope had been trying to see who could stay at the bottom longest and you had watched closer,studying the way the blonde boy looked when he was concentrated.His eyes weren't clenched shut but his eyebrows were knit together slightly,his hands were stilled and he was careful not to move a lot.He had definitely done this before,maybe as a breathing exercise for surfing.

You wished you had a watch so you could keep exact track of how long he had stayed there but you had estimated it to be about a minute and a half before he was gasping for air at the surface again.They had eventually got out of the water,sitting in their boat which meant you had to close your eyes and focus,listening for anything they said.You could hear the faint tune of music,it sounded like a tune by The Beatles or maybe Queen but it was too quiet to tell.The sound of fingernails hitting tin,making you wonder if someone was flicking a beer can.You left it to your imagination,imagining the expressions they wore on their faces and what JJ looked like when he laughed.What got your full attention was your name falling from someones mouth.

“So I met (Y/N) last night.”Kiara sighed,the boys falling silent.You closed your eyes,listening very carefully to what they were saying. “What?”JJ asked,putting his beer down. “I met her last night when we were getting fire wood.”She repeated herself.JJ glanced over at Pope,an unreadable expression on his face. “And you didn't think to tell us last night?”He asked,seeming disappointed by his friends choice.Kiara shrugged. “I mean she was just walking her dog and taking him for a piss,I didn't even know it was her until she was just about to leave.”Kiara defended herself.JJ huffed,sipping his beer. “But you agree,though?You agree that shes gorgeous and that she has a pretty voice?”JJ asked.Kiara laughed,John.B rolling his eyes.

 “I mean it was dark out,I couldn't see her,but she has a really nice voice.But I don't believe that shes from around here,she has like,an accent.I don't know what accent but its just...different.”She answered.JJ nodded,agreeing. “Yeah,yeah she does but I think it makes her prettier.Right,Pope?”He asked.Pope nodded. “Yeah,(Y/N) is pretty.”He agreed.JJ rolled his eyes. “No,no Selena Gomez is pretty,(Y/N) is like….shes just wow,you know?”He asked. “No,JJ,I don't know.You guys are making such a big deal out of her and I don't get it.”The brunette shrugged.

JJ scoffed,looking over at his best friend. “Of course you don't,idiot,you haven't even seen her!”JJ exclaimed,annoyed with the brunette.You grinned,listening to them speak. “Ok,so what if she is wow?She could be a bitch.”John.B argued.JJ bit his lip,his eyebrows casting shadows over his blue irises in a glare. “She’s not a bich,John.B.She’s cute and shes...shes kind and shes smart and shes just...shes different.”The blonde sighed,scratching at the back of his scalp. “She’s different because she’s 100 years old and saves people from ship wrecks!”John.B exclaimed,setting his can of beer down with a loud clink.JJ shrugged. “Yeah,Okay,maybe but that’s good for her.”The blonde sighed,closing his eyes and feeling the sun on his face.

 A larger wave came along,causing you to lose your ability to hear over the surface and making you miss a good two minutes of their conversation. “So then ask her on a date!”John.B exclaimed,sounding frustrated.Your eyebrows furrowed,trying to focus on the conversation again when a school of fish came along,having their own conversations.You swam under the boat,now on the other side and closer to JJ. “How?”You heard JJ ask. “Old Richard,figure something out.”Kiara answered him.You felt your heart beat quicken,not fully understanding this conversation.

The boat engine started up again,making you dart back down so you wouldnt get caught up in the propellers.You tried your best to keep up with the boat without getting too close to it,memorizing the path to John.B’s dock.You went to the bottom,following the pillar of the dock and searching a conch shell,or any shell that you could use.The one you could find was a simple baby of a shell,covered in scratches and some barnacles.You quickly grabbed it,tossing it up to the surface and listening as it hit the wood of the dock. “What the actual fuck?”

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 46

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 46: The Widow of Willard’s Rest, Pt. 1

***BEGINNING OF PART IV: AMERICAN PASTORAL***

Most days at Deer Cottage, Arthur would wake up early. He would go outside to chop firewood, and then he’d kindle the fire and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside. Most mornings, he would fish, but as the days were getting colder and shorter, sometimes he would just set up a trap line on the Kamassa to leave out all day instead, and then hike back up the ridge to the wooded hinterlands and hunt whitetail. He always rode home with enough to cook, smoke, and cure. He would then come back down to the river, empty out the fish trap and with any luck find a sturgeon or a largemouth bass. His new filly Leah, who he named for another character that he remembered from the Old Testament, which he had learned to read from many years before, was a fast girl and even in her temperament. She did not always take well to strange animals, and she had a wary look in her eye upon most passers-through. But she was wise to predators and upon Arthur’s constant and gentle reassurance, mostly a brave and kind girl.

Mary Beth seemed to need a lot of sleep, meanwhile. But she would stay up late knitting sweaters for everybody she knew, as winter was coming now, and she was anxious, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Most days she did not wake up until Arthur was already busy with his routine, elsewhere, having left her a note or sometimes a little drawing with a pot of coffee on the stove. She wanted to be useful. She was used to having chores, hence the sweaters, and they were scarce on laundry so she made sure to keep things clean. She tidied the cottage in its every corner. There wasn’t much for berries this time of year, but Arthur had found an apple tree and with the dwindling autumn crop, she would bake. She read everything she could find, over and over again, and she wrote prose here and there, but her mind was occupied with a lot of worry and restlessness those days. The baby, the gang. Arthur would take her out shooting, and this seemed to help. He taught her to use every kind of gun. She tended the horses in the barn, which Arthur had built with help from Hamish over a period of one week. It was ramshackle business, but it would do.

Arthur and Mary Beth had been lying low in Roanoke Ridge now for three months. Together they rode into Annesburg at the end of every week, on Sunday, to check the post for word from Dutch, and to buy supplies and the newspaper. Annesburg was a mining community, and its little camps of gutter homes all lined up in a row made Mary Beth sad. As a boomtown, however, Arthur had said it reminded him of Virginia City, Nevada, a place to which he had traveled many years before right after he’d been more or less adopted by Dutch and Hosea. “They took me there,” he told her one Sunday, as they rode into town, down from the hills, “and we set up shop for many weeks. I pulled my weight in the gang at the blackjack tables for a long time, and I knew how to wrangle, and looking back, weren’t nobody better at keeping his head down than me.” He then sighed and grew stoic with concern. “Virginia City is where Susan taught me a thing or two about dancing,” he said, too, chewing on a reed or a piece of bark, smoking a cigarette, wearing an old cowboy hat given to him as a gift from Hamish. He was trying to make her feel better. The gunsmith in Annesburg was chatty and liked their company, too, so they would often make conversation with him. He thought they were implants from the western plains, looking to start a new life, and they supposed it was not altogether untrue.

There was still no word from Dutch. But the papers were quiet, which was a good sign. There had been a story on the “riverboat massacre” some weeks back—that’s what they’d called it down at the St. Denis Times—but no civilians had been killed, and authorities did not seem to know who or what had caused the blow-up. It had been reported that Angelo Bronte, foreign national and local philanthropist, had gone missing for a time, but he was back now, and safe, having claimed to be on vacation up the river, and though this was suspicious, there was not much to make of the feeling. Meanwhile the Mayor was in trouble with the state government for something or other. It looked like he might even get ousted from office. But Arthur did not keep up with politics. He didn’t care what happened to Lemieux nor Bronte, for he and Mary Beth were long gone, and they were never going back to Lemoyne.

There had been one letter in all those months—from Ranger Call. He kept coy and symbolic in his language, but in the letter, he hinted at a complicating factor involving John and the federal penitentiary. This worried them both gravely. Apparently, there was a hold-up on moving the gang to a more permanent relocation, and they’d had to take temporary shelter in Lakay until the problem was solved. But this had been weeks before. The letter also said they were going west, maybe. Or continuing north. That was what Dutch had claimed, but there was uncertainty.

Some members of the gang had gone, claimed Woodrow. Namely, Micah. The asshole feller with the handlebar mustache, he wrote. He went by the wayside when the Man attenuated their plans to rob a city bank. Some wonder if he is even still alive, as a couple days before his disappearance, he had gotten in a tussle with Mr. Matthews, who threatened his life. He said there would be more news when the gang found camp once more. Do not come to Lakay, Mr. Morgan, said the letter. For the Man has sent scouts high and low, from the Grizzlies East to the Big Valley. There will be salvation soon. In the meantime, Mr. Matthews thinks it would be safest, per Mrs. Morgan’s condition, and for how recognizable you have become down here in Lemoyne, for the two of you to remain where you are. The letter also contained information about the Wintersons. They are okay, it said. They are in Chicago and will return in a matter of months. This was a relief. Of course, they tried not to fret too much over John, as all they could do from here was, ironically enough, have faith that it was under control, counting on both Dutch and Hosea as so often they had done in the past.

In the end, there was very little else that Arthur and Mary Beth could do now but survive, not until they got word on where to go next. Hamish had traveled up to visit them on a few occasions. He was doing okay, and he and Arthur would hunt big game during the day and then at twilight they would all go fishing. Other than the constant worrying over John and the rest of the gang, and the occasional fears for the coming winter, and the baby, the way they were living up there in the Roanoke Valley, it wasn’t so bad. There was so much solitude, privacy, time to just be together. It was a privilege they had not been able to entertain in a very long time. Sometimes at night, Mary Beth would cook up a fine dinner, and they would play music on the gramophone, dance as they had that first night they had admitted their love to one another so long ago. Of course they laughed while they did it. It was silly, and they were rare to approach these sorts of sentimental affairs without sarcasm those days. But that was the point. Arthur would fashion a flower from behind her ear, little magic tricks that he had picked from Josiah, and they would talk and play cards and sip whiskey tea. Arthur had a way of letting it all roll right off of him, like raindrops on a tin roof, and that reassured Mary Beth and got her to focus on the day-to-day. She knew how he held the big picture in his mind like a story, navigating the plot, keeping calm. He had not always been so calm, he thought. This was such a positive development for him that had taken some time, and a lot of work. She was starting to show a little bit now, under her dress. They both saw it. Whenever he himself wanted soothing, he would place his head in her lap in the evenings while they listened to music and looked at the fire. She would tell him stories she made up out of the ether. Stories about escaped princesses with swords and poison arrows, and the country knights who loved and defended them. In Mary Beth’s stories, the knights needed protection, too. They were not immortal, or demigods. Just men, she would say. Arthur liked her stories very much.

One day, when the weather was nice, Arthur and Mary Beth rode north up the river with a mind to do some fishing near Brandywine Drop. They kept riding as the sun was warming their backs from its place in the sky, and it felt good. There had been snow already up in these hills, but it was melting off the trees that day and muddy, and Arthur shot a cougar from a distance with his rifle and then together they observed a moose nosing its way through the pines. They decided to camp after clearing the area for Murfree Brood. There were none about that day. Before the sun went down that day, they were just riding up the river, looking for a place to camp when they came upon a woman up the hillside, under a ridge, crying. When they found her, she was sitting on her knees in front of a wooden cross stuck in the dirt, a grave. She was not dressed warm enough for the weather, and she was very dirty. She had dark hair falling apart all around her face in pieces. Both Arthur and Mary Beth were concerned. They approached on horseback. When she saw them, she staggered to her feet and looked terrified. She clutched herself. Arthur stayed back, but Mary Beth got off her horse. She went toward the woman carefully, with her hands in front of her. She said, “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The woman looked around, like she was hopeless. She seemed to trust Mary Beth, as most did. “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Mary Beth, and this is my husband Arthur," she said. "We’ve been living in a cottage just down the river. We’ve been there a few months. How long have you been up here?”

The woman looked back to Arthur, who removed his hat in chivalry. He still did not dismount his horse. He knew what he must have looked like out here to a woman all on her own. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Um,” said the woman, as if gathering her faculties. “We came here—a month ago? Maybe more. I don’t know.”

“Who’s we, ma’am?” said Arthur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“My husband and me,” she said. She seemed to brace herself, then looked back at the cross, the grave. She was crying, a little. “We came out here from back east, Philadelphia.”

Mary Beth got a little closer. She stood beside the woman. “What happened?”

The woman dried her eyes on her sleeve. She shook her head in a combination of sadness and shock. “A bear,” she said, staring at the grave. “It was horrifying. He survived, but only a couple of days."

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth, in near on disbelief. She placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. The woman did not protest.

“I buried him, maybe a week ago," she said.

Mary Beth glanced back to Arthur, who shook his head in sadness. This was worse than it seemed, they both thought together, and they were needed. He got off his horse and came over. When he did, the woman looked up at him. She was very small, smaller than Mary Beth even. But Arthur had a way of softening his demeanor when he wanted to. He took a deep breath. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you.” She seemed confused, like she was getting lost in his eyes, or like somehow she had forgotten where she was.

“Is there a town, or a train station that we can take you to?" he said. "You shouldn’t be out here alone. I know you’re—I know you’re grieving, but it really ain’t safe.”

“What?” she said. She snapped out of it then, almost immediately. “No. No, I can’t leave.”

“All do respect, ma’am, but why not?”

"Because it was our dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman, almost defiant. “We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true. Something real. I hate to say that we found it, in the worst possible way, but we did. And I can’t leave now. I can’t leave him behind.” She looked back to the grave. She closed her eyes. "For you." She said his name then, which was Cal.

Mary Beth, still with her hand on the woman’s shoulder, was looking at Arthur like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. They couldn’t leave the woman alone up here. It was feral country, and winter was coming. Surely, she would die. Arthur shrugged. Mary Beth did, too.

“What’s your name?” she said, to the woman.

“Charlotte,” said the woman. “Charlotte Balfour.”

“Well, Charlotte,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe we can help you then, get back on your feet.”

Charlotte looked at them like they were crazy. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “Me and Arthur—well, Arthur especially—we been living on the range a long time, and like I said, we’re so nearby.”

“You’ll starve out here,” said Arthur, watching the woman, closely. “That is, if something else don't get to you first. Bear, mountain lions, or worse. You know how to hunt?”

Charlotte laughed to herself then. It was a strange sound amidst all the sadness. “No,” she said. “Of course not. And of course, I’m nearly out of food.”

Arthur smiled at this. “Well, we’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Mary Beth here, even she knows how to use a rifle.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” said Mary Beth.

Charlotte watched them, like she didn't fully understand, but she was listening. Somewhere far away, there was a loon going off, ringing in the twilight. The air was getting colder as the sun was going down past the ridge line. “Okay,” she said, with hesitance.

“Good,” said Arthur, almost soft now. He was half-groomed that day. He’d let Mary Beth cut his hair, had trimmed down his beard. It was probably a good thing. When you could see his eyes, his whole face, he had a kind and a sturdy look that most people trusted. He really was a warm man. “You got a rifle?” he went on. “If not, that’s okay. We got guns.”

“I do,” she said. “I have a couple.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Up the ridge,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

They followed her up a long path to a small homestead painted green. There was a barn and a chicken coup. The coup was bustling, but it looked to Mary Beth that the eggs had not been harvested in a while. “You got eggs here,” she said. “Do you mind if I bring some in for you?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, like she had not noticed. She was so thin. It looked like she probably had not eaten or slept proper since her husband, maybe not since Philadelphia. “Of course not. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Mary Beth gathered a dozen or so into her skirt. When she came over, Charlotte seemed to notice then that she might have been pregnant, but she didn’t say anything. They stood on the porch. Arthur was quiet and calm, chewing on a toothpick.

Before she let them in the house, Charlotte stopped with her hand on the door handle. She looked inquisitive and she said, “What—or, who exactly are you?” She seemed embarrassed by the question, like she’d meant to say something more formal. “I just mean—why have you come to the Roanoke Valley? What is it that you do here?”

Mary Beth smiled.

“We’ve had all manner of jobs,” said Arthur. “We been on the road for some time now, and the road gets weary. Like you, we’re looking for a new life.”

This seemed to reassure Charlotte. She smiled down at her muddy but elegant boots. “Oh," she said. "Well, I should say, you look like farmers, or ranchers, maybe? Salt of the earth, if you will.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. But he said not more. They went inside then, where Charlotte showed them around her modest home. There was lovely wallpaper and heavy oak furniture. Charlotte was digging around in a big leather trunk by the window, and Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting patiently, but by the time she finally found the rifles and the bullets, it was getting dark, and too cold to go back outside.

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, looking out the window, then at her watch. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur.

“Would you stay the night?” she asked them, like she was desperate. She’d been picking at the skin around her fingernails, Mary Beth had noticed. She was so nervous, and worried, and scared and sad and alone. Mary Beth had not met another woman like her since they'd picked up Sadie up near Colter. “I have an extra bedroom," Charlotte went on, "with a bed big enough for the two of you. I just—now that you’ve come, I—”

“Sure,” said Mary Beth. She went to the kitchen table to sort the eggs into a basket, and Arthur was just sort of wandering around with his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. There were some pictures hanging on the wall of Charlotte and the man who must have been her husband, pictures which he was looking at. “We’ll stay. Right, baby?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, only half-listening as he looked at the pictures.

“I said, we’ll stay. We can go out and have a fresh start in the morning. Right?"

He surfaced then, looked at her, easy-going. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Charlotte was relieved.

She showed them to their room. It was simple but beautiful with a high, brass bed and a white comforter stuffed with down feathers. There was not much for food that night, so Arthur stoked the hearth and went back out in the dark to hunt some rabbit, alone, while Mary Beth fried a couple of eggs and made her famous whiskey tea. Charlotte ate the eggs hungrily, though Mary Beth could still sense her trying to be demure about it. They sat on the small sofa together, sipping the tea then, looking at the fire. Mary Beth felt warm and comfortable and though she felt bad for Charlotte, and she could not herself imagine losing her husband and still finding a way to survive, she tried not to pity her, for she, too, had once been a woman all alone in the wild, and after all, she was glad to have a job now, something to do, somebody to help. For a while there, it seemed she and Arthur were always the ones who needed saving.

“Your husband,” said Charlotte after a little while. She was distant, sobered. “He seems very…sturdy, and wise. And you do, too. Do the two of you always know exactly what to do?”

The question was earnest. Mary Beth found it amusing. “Of course not,” she said. “We have found ourselves in our fair share of trouble over the years. But when it comes to surviving in the wild, it's true that we’ve got skills.”

“How long have you been married?” said Charlotte. The fire crackled. The room was warm.

“Not too long,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe four or five months? I am losing track of the weeks now. But we have known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“How did you meet?” said Charlotte.

Mary Beth took a long drink of her tea. She looked at Charlotte and could tell that she was just desperately lonely, that she needed preoccupation and companionship. Mary Beth didn’t want to lie to her. “We met in Kansas City,” she said, shoving the hair out of her face. Her curls were messy from the day. “I was only nineteen, living completely on my own. I was an orphan, and I didn’t have nothing to my name. I was in trouble back then, and alone. Like you. But I met Arthur and his…well, his family, I guess. They took me in.”

Charlotte was listening, rapt. She seemed surprised, maybe, that it was so bad. Like she did not know what to say. It seemed her instinct then to back off. She didn’t ask for anymore details, but she did not close herself off emotionally. She just had a certain polish about her, a certain sheen, even despite her current predicament. For this, and coupled with everything else from the wallpaper to the fine quality of her leather boots, Mary Beth could tell she came from money. “You're so brave," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "It's terrible you had to go through all of that."

"I am no worse for the wear," said Mary Beth. "I found Arthur from it. But thank you."

"My husband and I had all the safety in the world,” she said then, shaking her head like it was just so stupid, so small and silly in comparison. “And still, it wasn’t enough. What a pair of fools.” She closed her eyes. A little tear plopped out. “This was his dream, to escape our lives," she said. "Our lives of privilege, of predictability. And I followed him.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Beth.

“How is it that you’re not afraid?” she said then, opening her wide, pale eyes. “Living…on the range, as you said earlier. All alone? Everything you’ve been through. It sounds so hard, and terrifying. I’ve never known hardship before—before all this. I am a stupid woman, and I am starting to wonder now if I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have been more argumentative, said no. Maybe we never should have come here.” She looked away, at the hardwood floors, which looked new.

“Well, I do get afraid,” said Mary Beth, sincerely. She placed her hand on Charlotte’s hand where they sat in front of the fire. “I get afraid all the damn time."

"You do?"

"Yes. Mostly of losing Arthur," said Mary Beth, "as I have lost so much before him, and I know what that’s like. Losing. As I said, I understand. But listen, Charlotte. It don’t matter where you come from, or who you are. There’s always something better out there, waiting. That's what I'm learning. There’s always something to escape from, and there’s always somewhere better you’re trying to be. You should try not to regret what you did. You don’t know what might’ve happened if you’d stayed in the city. Life is so fragile, I think, and you got to do what you want. It’s easy to worry too much. We gotta...keep perspective. For as long as we can. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm keeping perspective. Arthur helps me with that. There's a lot going on in my life, that's scary, but you know, you don't really find the meaning in life on your own. It finds you. Like with me and Arthur. We was friends for…years, before love found us. Life can be real bad, I reckon, but you never know what’s gonna happen that’s good. Right? So you just gotta keep living, and that’s it, right?” She sat back and placed her hand on her little tummy, as if to reassure herself with the same words she was using to try and reassure Charlotte. "You just gotta try." She sipped her tea and smiled in such a way so that she would seem strong, and like she knew what she was talking about. It was true, she herself was struggling with such similar predicaments, but her husband was alive, and in that, she was the sturdier woman on the sofa that day, by far, so she acted like it.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring at Mary Beth, and then looking down into her tea and then back at the fire. They heard Arthur’s heavy boots then, out on the porch. They both glanced toward the sound with immense relief. Charlotte then suddenly looked back to Mary Beth, brightening up a little. She was not okay, but Mary Beth had hit on something it seemed—she was reassured. “Thank you,” she said. “So much. I hate to be a burden to strangers. But you are good people.”

Mary Beth waved her off as the atmosphere between them changed and grown more comfortable. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And I hope we won’t stay strangers for long.”

Charlotte smiled. “Me, too.”

Arthur came in the door then. He took off his hat and shook the cold off. He had two rabbits, skinned and cleaned and tied together, laying over his shoulder. “Lord in heaven, it’s cold out there,” he said. He looked at them fondly then, huddled on the sofa, blowing into his hands. “But you two ladies look nice and cozy.”

“Is those rabbits ready to cook?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte. She rose from the sofa. Went to him and took the rabbits off his hands. “Thank you, so much, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked at Mary Beth. “You got anymore of that tea, my lady?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She got up to pour him some. He took off his jacket and went to warm himself by the fire, and when she handed him the mug, he thanked her and kissed her on the head. Then he came and sat at the kitchen table. Mary Beth helped Charlotte to prepare a stew and they all three of them chatted for a while. Charlotte had some carrots, cabbage, and salt in her pantry, which they chopped up and used generously. As they were sitting down for dinner a little while later, they looked out the window. It was starting to snow.

“Sweet Christmas,” said Mary Beth. “Is that snow?”

“I guess we’re in it,” said Arthur, amused. He seemed so relaxed there, so deeply in his element. He tucked one of Charlotte’s fine cloth napkins into his collar. “Winter is upon us."

“I guess so,” said Charlotte, like she was unsure. They ate their stew.

As they did, the wind howled through the chimney, filling the room with its strange reminder of all the uncertainty beyond, all of which seemed so inconsequential while they were safe and sound there inside those walls. So much had started, finished, been found, and lost. And yet, there was still so much to do, it seemed, to weather the storm.

109. buddy steps out (1935)

release date: july 20th, 1935

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: jackie morrow (buddy), bernice hansen (cookie/campbell’s soup kids)

it’s been awhile since cookie’s been in a buddy short—or it sure feels like it. this would be her last appearance, and buddy’s second to last. i also find the animation credit for chuck as “chas. jones” funny, that’s a new one to me. buddy and cookie go out on a date, and the objects in cookie’s house come to life, including a framed portrait of buddy.

cookie ends her career the way she began: dolling herself up for a date with buddy. she coos at a bird in her birdcage to come on out, and together they sing/chirp “about a quarter to nine”. the sound of a doorbell interrupts their brief song number, and sure enough it’s buddy, all bundled up in some scrooge-esque winter garb, tipping his top hat and greeting “hello, cookie!” i’m probably wrong, because i can’t see why they would do this, but buddy’s voice sounds a lot like jack carr’s than jackie morrow’s—yet later on in the short, portrait buddy is jackie morrow. it’s probably just poor hearing on my part, but strange regardless.

the bird senses the coast is clear, and flies over to the window, which is slightly ajar. a photograph of buddy and a book also adorn the scene. finally free for the night, the happy little bird flies through the window, singing its song and doing figure-eights in the night air.

a snowy draft begins to pick up, forcing the bird backwards against the wind. portrait buddy is no exception to the perils of the wind as the draft blows through the open window. he clings to the edge of his portrait, losing his hat in the process. a moment of peace as he crawls out of the portrait, opening a book to use as a bridge towards the windowsill. he hops onto the window, but his diminutive size does little to close the window. another draft rips through, and he cries “help! help!”

thank goodness for a random statue of atlas holding the globe. he places the world down gingerly, running to the rescue. he places buddy inside the book and closes the cover, shutting the window with ease. our hero plucks buddy up and positions him back into his picture frame, much to buddy’s gratitude. buddy snags his hat from outside the frame and all is well.

elsewhere, the bird, who has sought refuge on a weather vane, braves the storm and flies back towards cookie’s house. unfortunately for it, the window has been closed. the bird wipes away the frost and pecks its beak on the glass to get buddy’s attention. buddy notices the bird and enlists in atlas’ help once more (“atlas! atlas ol’ boy! give us a hand, partner!”) when he struggles to open the window. atlas lifts up the window, and buddy plucks the frozen bird from the snow, the bird’s talons frozen in an ice block. i had to read atlas shrugged (gag) the summer before my senior year of high school, so seeing these atlas references gives me some flashbacks, but i like how they’re executing the metaphor that the world is on his shoulders—only atlas can open the window and bring in a frozen bird and prevent buddy from flying out into the cold.

buddy scoops some snow off of the bird and scratches his head, pondering how he can thaw the frozen canary. he lifts the bird over his shoulder and coos “poor birdie!” ideas hatch as he jumps on a window blind, pulling the blinds down and hopping to the floor, bird in hand. he dashes across the floor to another window, riding the blinds up so he can land on a table. though the “come to life” trope has been tried and true (emphasis on tried), it’s almost nice to see it again. it’s been awhile, or so i believe. the cartoons blend together in the buddy era.

turning on a lamp, buddy positions the bird onto an elaborate lamp base with a woman holding out a bowl. buddy lights a match beneath the bowl, melting away the bird’s ice block restraint. water fills the bowl as the ice melts, the bird sneezing hot water onto buddy. buddy grabs a handkerchief and laughs, saying “blow your nosey!” the bird obliges, blowing its nose (beak?) like a car horn. once more buddy gives a laugh and pats the bird on the head, saying “atta boy!” delightfully disgusting and puzzling as he ties the same snot filled handkerchief around the bird’s head. obviously it was supposed to read as cute and endearing (i’d argue disney-esque, seeing as jack king had his disney roots) but it comes off as amusingly gross. the bird gives a few hearty chirps and kisses buddy’s forehead in thanks.

to celebrate its newfound freedom and vitalization, the bird clicks on the radio and chirps another verse of “about a quarter to nine”. thus begins a tap dance routine with buddy. i’ve really missed the tap dance routines! whenever i think of bosko, i always think of that great tap number in bosko in person. it’s refreshing to see it make a comeback, even if it is with buddy. the movements are crisp, fun, and flighty, music jolly. a nice detail of one of the knick knacks positioning a lamp like a spotlight.

to further the harman-ising nostalgia of tap dance routines, some more objects come to life. a joker leaps out of its playing card and does some not so soft soft-shoeing, whereas a chorus of campbell’s soup kids sing “about a quarter to nine” in the trademark bernice hansen baby voice. a pig on a “SNIFF’S SPECIAL HAMS” label also lends his voice.

some sort of ambiguous bug also sing a chorus, lazing around in a sink, rowing itself along in the water with a spoon. conveniently, a tin of bug spray is positioned by the sink. the soldier on the label comes to life and sprays the bug to eradicate it. naturally, the bug flees. it attempts to climb out of the sink, grabbing at a box of suds instead and filling the sink with bubbles. the bug pops it’s head out of the water, expelling bubbles out of its mouth and singing some more. the harman-ising feel is certainly strong in this one.

meanwhile, an alarm clock perched by the window spots buddy and cookie bracing their way through the snow squall. urgently does the clock ring, its piercing alarm sending everyone scrambling back into their places, including portrait buddy.

everyone situates themselves just in time as cookie unlocks the door. she steps inside and bids buddy goodnight, buddy kissing her hand. what a charmer. cookie admires her portrait of buddy, sighing “isn’t he a dear?” she showers the picture in kisses, adding “you darling!” we get a view of photo-buddy covered in lipstick. he glances at cookie before glancing back at the audience, giving a lipstick covered wink as we iris out.

as far as buddy cartoons go, this wasn’t bad at all. it had more excitement than usual. it felt fresh, which is ironic considering it calls back to the days of harman-ising. the song numbers were very fun to watch, with buddy doing his rap routine and bernice hansen lending her squeaky baby voice for the campbell’s soup kid chorus. both buddys, real and photograph, lacked discernible personality, and cookie wasn’t very riveting herself, but at this point you develop a tolerance for it. while i think you’d be fine if you skipped it, this is one where it wouldn’t kill you to watch it, either. nothing particularly riveting or enthralling, but much more endearing and watchable than some of the other buddys we’ve seen. his clock is ticking! one more short and he’s kicked to the curb.

link!

12 Days of Christmas - *11*

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader

Warnings: one mention of sex, like one swear word I think, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 1450

A/N: SURPRISE! listen i know its late and i know its short, i dont know what to tell you. this part was inspired by a request for a kiss blurb so thank you anon!!

December 24th

There were three rules for The Holland’s Annual Christmas Eve Party. One, Christmas jumpers are mandatory (the uglier the better). Two, you must take a Polaroid and pin it on the corkboard in the kitchen. Three, Christmas jumpers are mandatory.

The house was teeming with festive cheer, films playing on a loop in the living room and music blasting from the kitchen. Dogs and children blocked the stairways, family and friends gathered in every room with drinks in hand. You and Tom had managed to secure a single seat in the snug just off the kitchen, you perched on his lap with his arm around your waist.

Despite such confined quarters, you were involved in entirely different conversations. Tom was having a heated discussion with your friend Lucy about whether or not you should have Yorkshire puddings with Christmas dinner, while Tom’s cousin Abby was commenting on the absence of a mutual friend of yours.

“...yeah they stayed home since it’s their first Christmas with the baby,” you explained.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Abby laughed. “That’s mad, can’t believe they’ve got a kid now.”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. Your twenties are a weird time - half your friends are engaged and having babies and the other half are just about dragging themselves through the week to get to Gin O’Clock on a Friday.

“What about you guys,” Abby waved her beer bottle in the general direction of you and Tom, not catching your eyes widening and your drink catching in your throat. “Is this your second Christmas in the flat?”

“Jesus,” you swallowed harshly, laughing. “I thought you were asking if I’m pregnant!”

“You’re pregnant?!”

You groaned as both Tom and Lucy’s attention snapped to your conversation, conveniently overhearing just the very end of your statement.

“No no no no no-” Shaking your head vehemently, you scrambled to clarify, looking to Abby for assistance.

“We were talking about Julia’s baby, and then I asked if this was their second Christmas living together,” she explained.

Lucy hummed, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed you suspiciously.

“I swear, Luce,” you chuckled.

“Anyway, no, it’s our first Christmas since this one moved in,” Tom’s arm tightened around your waist, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Came home to Santa’s workshop in the spare room.”

A mock-indignant scowl on your face, you gave Tom’s arm around your waist a quick squeeze back. You’d already dealt with the onslaught of questions from his relatives about when you were getting married and having kids - not if, when - so you were grateful for the diversion.

“Why am I not surprised?” Lucy sighed with a smile - you’d been friends long enough that she knew all about your enthusiasm for all things festive.

“When did you come home? You’ve been back a while, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tom nodded, shifting underneath you to look at his cousin as he answered her. “Been home all of December, pretty much.”

“Oh man,” Lucy grimaced. “Are you not sick of her yet?”

You twisted on Tom’s knee, fixing him with as stern an expression as you could muster after three drinks.

“Be very careful how you answer that.”

Tom’s eyes darted from side to side, his fingers tugging at the neck of his jumper.

“I, er, - is it warm in here - are you warm? I’m warm -”

Abby and Lucy giggled, watching you scowl as Tom feigned panic. You tried your best to keep your brow furrowed and your lip curled, but that became difficult when Tom chuckled, leaning back and to the side so he could see your face properly.

“Nah but it’s been really nice actually, y’know?” Tom smiled as your face softened, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “Missed her a lot, so yeah, happy to be home.”

Maybe it was the champagne, or the festive atmosphere filling the house - good will to all men and all that, but your heart swelled in your chest at his words. It wasn’t anything new, of course you already knew he missed you and he was glad to be home, but it was different hearing him say it to someone else. You smiled as Tom shrugged, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, tilting his head up to press his lips to yours. It was only a quick kiss, a peck really, but it made your lips tingle all the same, feeling him smile into the kiss.

You heard Abby and Lucy’s ‘aww’ing beside you, but they were drowned out by Harry’s ‘eurgh’. You pulled apart to scowl at him, sticking your tongue out playfully. He was weaving through people taking photographs on the camera hanging around his neck, a beer in his hand. Kevin McCallister’s face was knitted into the front of his jumper, ‘Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal’ embroidered underneath.

“Have you stopped being gross long enough to take your picture yet?”

You shook your head, peering over his shoulder at the cork board hanging on the kitchen wall. Polaroids were pinned on haphazardly, too far away for you to make out any of the faces in them, but you could see the blur of the lights on the Christmas tree in the background of a few of them.

“Where’s Tess?” Tom looked around the room, trying to spot her. “She’s gotta be in it.”

Eventually Tess was discovered in the dining room, apparently trying to pull the nibbles off the table by the sheer force with which she was inhaling, sniffing around the edge of the table when she thought no one was looking. Tom scooped her up into his arms - much to her dismay - and brought her back to the snug. The spot beside you had been vacated now, so he was able to squeeze in next to you with Tess across both your laps. You pointed at Harry in an attempt to get Tess to look at the camera, whispering excitedly at her. It was a futile effort, though - she just stared at your hand, trying to give you her paw in the hopes you might give her a treat in exchange. Harry soon gave up, snapping a photo and handing it to you before darting off in the direction of a tin of mince pies making its way around the kitchen.

White spots clouding your vision from the flash, you blinked hard as you waited for the picture to develop. Soon enough, details started to emerge from the darkness, the image coming into focus. Matching jumpers covered yours and Tessa’s torsos, red and green santa hats printed onto the material in a classic festive pattern. You’d begged and pleaded with Tom to get him to wear one too, but he wasn’t having it - no matter how many blowjobs you offered him. He’d had the same Christmas jumper for years, and he wasn’t about to change that. So there he sat, his orange and burgundy fairisle jumper ruining the family photo. You took a picture of it on your phone before pinning it up, though, despite your uncoordinated outfits. Your head was thrown back as you laughed, Tessa balanced precariously on Tom’s lap as she tried to lick your hand and give you her paw at once, her tongue a pink blur. Her tail was a blur, too, mid-wag and thumping against Tom’s chest. He didn’t seem to notice, though - his eyes were fixed on you, a wide smile across his face.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur of food, drinks, and Wham! singalongs, and it wasn’t long before everyone was saying their goodbyes and Merry Christmas’s as people made their way home. You stayed long enough to help tidy up, but once the last glass was out of the dishwasher you were on your way. Tom’s parents asked at least three more times if you didn’t want to just stay - and you were tempted, especially when you opened the front door and felt the cold midnight air - but you declined. After much deliberation, you and Tom had decided to spend Christmas Eve Night alone. You’d be coming over to spend the day anyway, but seeing as it was your first Christmas living together you both really wanted to spend Christmas morning at home.

So, with tummies full of mince pies and hearts full of festive cheer, you sighed a contented sigh as you settled into bed. Tom slotted in behind you, his arms snaking around your waist as he pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder. You shuffled back further into his embrace, twisting your neck to kiss him softly, feeling him murmur against your lips as much as you heard him.

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

-

tags: @starksparker , @bi-writes , @snowflakespideys , @buckyparkerish , @thwippeter , @cutiehollands , @loserparker , @madmadmilk , @hollandlovely @spiderboytotherescue , @santahollands @dtftomholland @moonkissedtom @cabbagebag @iknowisoundcrazy , @spiderman-n , @luvnyuh , @parkerpuff @thwip-it-real-good @positiveparker @ap93mcu @popculture-parker @rainbow-marvel @younglove16 @girlreaderr @pineapplwz @thequeensardine @idk-who-cares @hollandroos @mikalaka @thot–holland @awkwardfangirl2014 @booksaremylife602 @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @dacrekaydaddict @lovelyspidey @summernykole @smashley816 @unicorn-princess-1999 @uwu-peter-parker-uwu @sleepwalkingdragon @adisneygeek01 @hs-medicine @thelazypangolin @curlyhairedparker @curlytoms @darlingxholland @smexylemony

Out of the Sun

Masterlist

Part 36 - 1,455 words - rated PG-13

Ellra watched Poe open the cabinet and examine the smaller caliber blasters hanging inside.

“We don’t have a lot of low power blasters,” he said absently, chewing his lip. “I want something with little kickback and high accuracy…”

“I don’t need a low power blaster,” said Ellra. “You’ve trained me. I can handle a standard issue.”

“Yes, you can,” said Poe, fixing her with a stern gaze over his shoulder. “In training, surrounded by other trained soldiers, in a quiet setting, uninterrupted. You and I are going to be in a very busy spaceport, surrounded by civilians. I trust your judgment and training, but I don’t trust circumstance to let you work to the best of your current abilities. I’m not putting innocent people at risk just because you want to show off.”

“I thought you said nothing was going to happen,” said Ellra, squinting at him knowingly, referring to the short explanation he had just given her of the mission.

“Nothing is going to happen. But we prepare for every eventuality. I want you able to defend yourself and others when the need arises. And you will…” Poe selected a blaster from the cabinet and turned, placing it in Ellra’s open hands, adding, “…With this.”

Ellra looked down at the weapon in her hands. It was a third the weight of the standard issue blasters the soldiers trained with, sleek and pewter instead of clunky and grey. It was accented with yellow and black stripes.

“They call it the Stinger,” said Poe as Ellra held the weapon at arm’s length and winked at the sight, tilting her head this way and that.

“The Stinger?” she repeated, looking up at Poe, lowering the blaster.

He nodded, grinning.

“You get to shoot the Bunker Blaster Nine-Thousand and I run into a life-and-death situation with the Lil’ Stinger at my hip?”

Poe laughed, tossing his head back.

“You got it!” he said, clapping Ellra’s shoulder before kissing her on the cheek.

She shook her head slowly, feeling the weight of the blaster in her hand, hoping she wouldn’t need it.

 “Now, our cover is we’re newly married moisture farmers on honeymoon,” said Poe, typing the coordinates into the nav computer of the small transport they were using.

“This sounds like a spy holo,” said Ellra, knotting and unknotting the scarf around her head in a nervous repetition.

“Can you make your hair any flatter under there?” he asked. “Your silhouette is a little unique.”

Ellra made a face.

“Poe, no one knows me.”

He sighed. “If you go on multiple undercover missions, you need to make sure you blend in and don’t leave an impression. You need to be forgettable, and Sunshine…?”

“Yes?”

“You’re unforgettable.”

“Poe, you charmer,” giggled Ellra.

“But seriously, please wet it or something. You look like a Twi’lek under that scarf.”

“Poe,” said Ellra, plaiting her hair smoothly down the back, “I know what you’re worried about. I know why you’re nervous. Please don’t be. If things get sticky – ”

“Things won’t get sticky,” interrupted Poe.

“If they get sticky,” she reiterated, emphasizing the first word, “you have my word I will follow your every order to the letter.”

“Promise?”

“On my life,” she said, reaching across the space between them and patting his arm.

 Ellra had never seen so many different kinds of fruits.

The central market of Mos Denma on Tattooine was twenty times bigger than the market in the town near her village. There were hundreds of different kinds of fruits as well as vegetables, roots, seeds, plants, nuts, preserved meats, pickles and jams, folk art and crafts, carpets, pottery, entertainment devices and computers, health and beauty products, textiles, clothes, and shoes.

“Poe, am I allowed to pick up a souvenir?” she asked, eyeing a tin of roasted nuts.

Poe chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her temple as cover for leaning into her ear and muttering, “It’s your credits. Just don’t get distracted from the mission.”

“Yes, yes,” she said softly, exchanging some credits for the tin of nuts and a basket of popped seeds, tucking them safely in the woven bag she carried.

As the pair walked away together, Poe said, “Okay, I may have spotted our contact. I want you to go over to that booth of knitted things and hold up some baby clothes and ooh and ahh over it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“But keep your eye on the man in the blue turban. We’re looking for hints that he’s the one.”

“Gotcha.”

Ellra approached the tiny booth, its table piled high with knitted hats and scarves and tiny outfits, and grabbed what looked like a dress for a tiny human. She picked it up and gasped and affectionately called for Poe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a human male in a blue turban, looking at fruits at a nearby booth, but also looking around nervously. Poe was a meter behind him, asking a seller a price.

“Darling, come look at these baby things,” she called, turning to Poe.

Poe turned and bumped into the man in the turban, knocking the man’s bag out of his hand.

“I’m sorry, pal, let me get that,” said Poe, kneeling.

The barrel of a blaster was visible, sticking out of the bag. Poe closed it up and handed it back to the man.

“Have you seen the twin suns rising?” Poe asked, repeating the code they were supposed to use. “I hear it’s gorgeous.”

“What? No. Go away,” said the man, gently shoving Poe’s side and walking away.

Ellra was quickly beside Poe, wrapping her arms around his middle and leaning up for a kiss.

“What happened, darling?” she asked.

“Wrong guy,” Poe said softly into her ear.

“Weird.”

The first of the twin suns was sinking behind the dunes when the pair spotted their real contact. He was a green man with a small mouth, large black eyes, and a smattering of course black hairs on his head. He wore pale desert garb and a patterned poncho. He spotted Poe at a café table and approached them.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, Clove,” he said to Poe, using his code name.

“Something something twin suns?” said Poe, sipping the last of his drink.

“It’s too late for that. I’ve been following you all day and you’re an embarrassment. Come with me.”

The pair rose and followed the man back through the still crowded market and to a narrow alleyway. Ellra walked a step behind Poe and listened for any hints of danger from the spirits.

Somehow, over all the noises in the busy market, she picked up a modulated voice. She didn’t hear what it said, but everything in her told her that they were walking into a trap.

“Poe!” she called, stopping short.

Poe didn’t hear her. He paused at the entrance to the alleyway and looked around him before following the contact between the sand plaster buildings.

Ellra reached under her poncho and slipped the blaster out of her belt, flicking off the safety. She rushed around the corner into the alley, stopping to see Poe frozen with his hands up.

She didn’t think. Her body made the movements and she went along for the ride.

Three shots. And a fourth. Through the poncho.

Two Stormtroopers clattered to the dusty ground and the garment sizzled.

The next three shots were fired at the retreating traitor. Two hit the alley wall, but the last one hit between his shoulder blades.

“Nice shooting!” yelled Poe, grabbing Ellra’s arm.

He jerked her away, out of the alley, back through the thick crowd of the market, and down a side street.

The paused by an empty fruit stall to catch their breath.

“How did you know?” asked Poe, leaning on the side of the building that protected the street from view of the market.

“The spirits,” breathed Ellra, turning the safety on her gun and slipping it back under her belt.

“Spirits my ass,” said Poe. “You’re as Force Sensitive as the day you were you born.”

“Maybe!” she cried, exasperated. “I don’t know! It’s not what I was taught!”

Poe smiled and stepped in front of Ellra, snaking his arms around her waist.

“Thank you,” he said, his lips brushing her ear through the scarf. “You saved me back there.”

She kissed his temple before whispering, “Anything for you, my love.”

Poe leaned back to look at Ellra’s face for a moment, smiling wistfully as he did.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said, looking around them. “We need to find some place to hide. I’m sure our transport is being monitored at the lot.”

Ellra nodded. “Let’s go.”

68

Tea and then gone, out into the day, tin-bright and brittle. Felt like it was waning no sooner than the dawn had finished and the sun got into the fullness of its rise.

Llolamae and Simra hurried their way through the morning. Tramping shuffling feet through the snow as the cold set it stiff and their boots crushed and packed it. They went quick. The hustle that falls just short of a run, hard to keep up, harder still to keep time, keep gait. No matter how gliding your walk or graceful your run, that mixed gait always comes graceless.

They’d kept an incomplete quiet so far. Breath short from a long time keeping up their loping pace; wind invasive and aching in their ears, for all Simra had shawled his scarf up and over his head. But Simra’s thoughts were loud, and sometimes it was hard to say nothing when there was someone around to hear him, even if the wind would steal his words like as not. Better that way maybe, to talk and not be heard.

He’d asked questions. Pointed out what stuck out, interrupting the snowfields. Hard not to, when a surprise comes so sharp at you out of all that sameness. A rock carved with a worn old face. Shrubs labouring up through the snow and out of the stony soil, fighting the breeze in vain for their right to be trees one day. Shrubs, their fingertips blistered with small stiff purple flowers, their wood looking it might be fragrant when burnt: dry, corded and twisting, all perennial with hidden resin maybe, or why else would they flower and leaf this late in the year. Simra asked if he ought to go over. Who knew when they’d next see wood for burning. Llolamae said nothing. At first he reckoned she hadn’t heard, and he asked again. Leave them alone, she said. Why? Simra asked. They poisonous? No, she said, just doing their best in a bad place to do it. And Simra kissed his teeth and went on shivering. Said at least it wasn’t snowing again. At least they weren’t wet as well as cold.

The headland was the next thing he called out as it sheered from the distance. The sea chased deep into the land ahead, cutting a curving channel through the island’s side. A long peninsula spurred high and stony on the far edge of it. Along their side, a low rocky headland bearing slow and northward.

They crested up and along it. The sea spat and raced on their right. He didn’t know which way the tide was turning but whether in escape or assault the run of the water was furious.

Here the rock was too rough or dark somehow for the snow to have settled on. It had turned straight to rain. That was what caught his attention, even from afar. A ragged crackle of black in all this scorching whiteness of snow. Salt, Simra realised. The stone was crusted with it, sprain up from the sea and warding the snowfall away. Putting out his tongue to wet his lips, he tasted it too. On a sunny day – a dry day – the rocks might have glittered. What became of this island in Summer? What Spring might come after a Winter that cuts the rest of the year from memory, from imagining, till all you can think of is snow and shuddering, frozen mud, like that’s all a year might be made of? It was that way in Windhelm. Maybe here too. Or maybe just inside Simra. Some leftover linger of Eastmarch, never quite gone from him.

“Got a question,” he said, breaking the silence again. He wasn’t panting, from the way up the headland, but exertion still made his words taste wrong. Sour, strange, cold.

“Ask it then,” said Llolamae. Didn’t turn her head. Simra watched her back, draped with a shapeless coat of sealskins stitched together and billowing lazy with the wind and their own thick heaviness. “Don’t reckon I could stop you, could I?”

“S’nothing important. Just a curiosity. Just…Yianni. What is she? Some auntie of yours?”

Llolamae gave a bleating laugh. “Not hardly. She’s just an old widow is all.”

“Yeah?”

“Heartshare was a fisherman, see? Only he got lost at sea, like fishermen do. Came back after days out there, adrift, but he came back with a chill and that carried him off, like chills do. But even after that she had five children. Way back, way way back, mind. All gone to sea, in their time, and not come back. One out in a fisherboat, saw a dreugh in the water, and that’s luck you know – a good catch – and she stayed out too long on too bad a sea chasing that catch. Lost the same way as her father. The others off on boats bound for the red lands – Vvardenfell – maybe to get rich in ways folk can’t here. Chasing trueglass and such.”

Llolamae paused a moment, hands on hips, in front of a shoulder-high ledge in the headland. Then scrambled up in a kicking of feet and wrench of arms. She turned and faced Simra, crouching, face framed small by a big hat of waxed leather with earflaps hanging long to the level of her chest.

“Why you come over so curious about her?” she says.

“Maybe I’m just hungry,” he said. “Might be she surprised me. Kind, right?”

Llolamae’s face fidgetted between expressions. Flash of disbelief, flickering confusion, a purse-mouthed scowl of disbelief. “Do folk not feed each other where you’re from?”

“Feasts, summoning days, yeah. But not like that, just because they’re — what? Worried? For someone else’s child?”

“Strange.” A flash of pity, then gone into a wrinkled nose and squinting eyes. “Not like she’s made to. She likes to is all. Whole town knows she’s lonesome, and bored worse than that, and still keeps the best kitchen-garden on the island. She’s got the habit leftover from birthing five babies, feeding and clothing ‘em, and that doesn’t just go away.”

“I reckon not.” Simra glanced along the ledge. No better way to get up than here. He set his hands and reached with his leg and shinned up and onto it to crouch then stand beside her. “D’you have kin though?”

“Wouldn’t have Vidanu if I did.” She shrugged. “Not since I was a fry. Ma and Da got dust-sick one Summer and I’ve been a Mouth since then.” She stood up and shrugged again, and turned and walked on.

Simra stayed rooted a moment, a downcurl in the corner of his mouth as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He found himself hoping Vidanu fed her right, knowing full well that he didn’t, or why else would she know Yianni so well as she seemed to? Found himself hoping at least Vidanu was kind when he wasn’t absent. That he treated and taught her well. An uncertain unwelcome pang of something that might have been pity or sadness or foreboding. Anger, almost, at what this child had been given for a childhood.

A twisting deep-reaching feeling, then, like a frown with roots that gnarled in his belly, conflicting him. In between pitying her, Simra realised he envied her. What must it be like, growing up with a teacher, in letters and magic and how much else besides? Knowing that however little you have now, you have prospects, and promise, power all laid out ahead of you, bright and better things. Not just the place you started out, sucking like mud around your feet and trying to trap you, keep you, sink you to the neck and deeper unless you struggle your way free of it…

Stepping fast to catch up, Simra followed after her. Shook his head and closed his eyes for a long blink and told himself there was no good comparing. The past was the past and behind him, and the future was his to set forth. She couldn’t say the same. Not like he wanted to be a Mouth anycase. Not like he’d do it if they begged. Bad enough to be a left hand for some magelord like he was now. How much worse would it be, to be a whole body for them?

Llolamae scampered over the rocks ahead, meandering just for the joy of movement, playing her way across the island. Simra watched as he walked, and went back to feeling sorry for her. Outclipsed by pity, his envy shrank up so fast it turned almost to shame.

rock-a-bye, baby

Steve liked being the Sheriff of Timely, he truly did. The job had its up and downs, some worse than others, but it was important work, work he was duty-bound to uphold. Sometimes, however, the citizens of Timely asked things of him he was thoroughly unprepared for.

I'm about 3 weeks too late for the 'Tony goes to orphanages and holds babies' party, but I couldn't resist doing a little 1872 fic because why not. Basically just self-indulgent kidfic, like it says on the tin. (Read here on AO3.)

Steve liked being the Sheriff of Timely, he truly did.  The job had its up and downs, some worse than others, but it was important work, work he was duty-bound to uphold. Sometimes, however, the citizens of Timely asked things of him he was thoroughly unprepared for.

The baby in his arms squirmed, restless for some reason he couldn’t determine. She’d been sleeping peacefully when her mother had handed her to him, asking for just a few hours of peace to help prepare a family funeral. Steve could hardly say no.

It felt a lot easier to say no now. His experience with caring for children was limited, having none of his own, and he frowned at the fussy baby he was trying (and failing) to rock back to sleep. In fact, it seemed like he was only making matters worse, and soon enough Clara began to cry. Steve rocked her in his arms, wondering if it would look bad to go find help.

“You’re holding her wrong.”

Steve looked up, surprised to find Tony Stark of all people in the doorway giving him advice. He appeared more put together than usual, and a look of curiosity crossed his face as he took in the scene of Steve nearly desperate to calm Clara down.

“Stark?” he said rather dumbly, unsure what the man was doing here.

“You should support her head better. Here—” He held out his hands, clearly intending for Steve to pass him the child.

“I don’t think I should give a baby to a drunk,” Steve replied, wary. Mrs. Barton had entrusted her daughter to him. He couldn’t just foist her off onto someone else. Especially Tony Stark.

“I’m not drunk,” Stark insisted, and stepped closer as if to prove it. True, Steve didn’t smell any alcohol on him, and he seemed sober enough. His reservations wavered as Clara began fussing harder. Hesitating slightly, he carefully passed the baby into Stark’s waiting arms.

It was like watching a miracle performed right before his eyes. Stark adjusted the blanket around her, situating Clara more comfortably in his arms. He began to sway, whispering soft, calming words as he rocked her back and forth, and amazingly she quieted down, her fussing slowing until it stopped completely.

The truly stunning part, however, was the look on Stark’s face. He was smiling, eyes only for the baby, his expression one of warm contentment. It was the happiest he’d ever seen Stark since, well—since he’d come to Timely.

“How’d you get so good at that?” he blurted out, only realizing he’d interrupted the mood after. But he couldn’t recall Stark ever mentioning children, nor did Stark spend much time with the children in town.

Thankfully, Stark didn’t seem disturbed. He looked up at Steve, momentarily turning that affectionate gaze toward him, and Steve blinked at the unfamiliarity of it. “A cousin of mine has a big family,” he said simply, still gently rocking Clara. “Suppose I picked up a few tricks.”

He fell silent as Clara burbled some unintelligible baby speak, but then he smiled like she’d just said something clever and responded, “You just needed a little patience, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

A warm knot of something Steve hadn’t felt for a long time blossomed in his chest as he watched Stark. Despite Steve’s misgivings, Stark clearly knew what he was doing, and even more astounding, he looked happy doing it. Steve ignored the part of himself that said Stark wouldn’t care for the imposition and asked,

“Would you mind staying a bit? I could use the help.”

“Why, Sheriff,” Stark replied with a grin, “seems you’re not completely perfect after all.”

Steve let out a snort, though he noted that Stark hadn’t turned him down. “Whoever told you that clearly ain’t a reliable source.”

“He’s been known to embellish a few things,” Stark said lowly, head bent over the baby.

Steve didn’t press the subject, going to sit at his desk to rest a moment. The sheriff’s office wasn’t particularly homey, and Steve considered getting up and offering Stark the chair, but before he could say anything Clara began to whimper and fuss again.

“Maybe you don’t got the magic touch after all,” Steve teased, though he looked on with concern. Stark just shot him a look before turning his attention back to the baby.

“All right, Clara darling, tell Uncle Tony what ails you,” he murmured, just as sweet as before. Steve was surprised Stark knew what family the baby belonged to, let alone her name. Perhaps he’d been underestimating Stark all this while. He’d certainly never pegged him as any sort of family man, but he seemed surprisingly at ease holding Clara.

“I think she’s teething,” Stark said, interrupting his contemplation. “Do you have anything she can chew on?”

Steve let out a startled laugh. “She ain’t a dog, Stark.”

“Obviously.” He sounded like he was barely resisting rolling his eyes, but for some reason it just made Steve smile. “A cloth, or a strip of leather?”

“Missus Barton is going to regret leaving her child in my care,” Steve retorted, but got up to look around anyway.

“You asked me to stay,” Stark reminded him. “You have to listen to my expertise.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” He closed the last drawer in his desk, not finding anything suitable, and moved to the bookshelf situated in the corner.

Stark took the opportunity to sit down in Steve’s vacated chair. “It’s more than you��ve got, thus it’s expertise,” he replied, a tad pointed.

Steve couldn’t really argue with him there, but he also wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing.

The bookshelf was a dead end, but before he could check the back room, the front door opened, one of the townsfolk calling to him, “Sheriff Rogers, come quick—there’s some kind of altercation down at the saloon.”

Steve groaned at the terrible timing. He hoped it was just some drunken fight and not one of Fisk’s men causing trouble, and looked over at Stark, who was still rocking Clara in his arms.

“A bar fight that doesn’t involve me,” Stark remarked, unperturbed. “Can you imagine that.”

“Hardly,” Steve replied with a wry smile. Truth be told, Steve rarely ever had to haul him in for fighting, and even then he’d usually just been defending himself. “Keep an eye on things, would you? I’ll be back soon.”

Rather than protest about being left alone with the baby, Stark nodded. Hoping Stark could handle things here, Steve grabbed his hat and left.

To his relief, the altercation turned out to be a drunken fight as Stark had predicted, with minimal damage caused. Rather than arrest either of the men involved he sent them home, both of them looking somewhat abashed. Then he helped clean up the broken table and shattered glasses before finally making his way back to his office.

On the way he caught sight of Susan Richards and her kids, and he paused, detouring over to make a quick inquiry. By the time he made it back to the office, he hoped Stark was still there, and that he hadn’t handed off the baby to someone else.

His fears, it seemed, were entirely misplaced. He could hear Stark’s quiet singing as he entered the building from the back, and he stopped in the doorway between the back room and the main office to listen. It was some soft ballad Steve didn’t recognize, two lovers professing their devotion as they met in secret. Steve stood still until Stark finished, and there was silence for a moment until Stark said,

“If you want an encore, you’ll have to stop lurking in doorways.”

Steve entered the room at last, Stark sat right where he’d left him, Clara still held securely in his arms.

“Everything all right?” Stark asked.

Steve nodded, hanging up his hat. “Just a squabble gone too far. But I did get you this.”

He held out the rubber ring he’d gotten from Sue, and Stark blinked in surprise. “Why dear, you shouldn’t have.”

Steve didn’t blush at the endearment, but it was a close thing. “I asked Missus Richards what she used when her kids were teething. She still had this to give me.”

Stark took the teething ring and offered it up to Clara. She merely waved it around for a bit, but like with all things babies got their hands on, it eventually ended up in her mouth.

“Another problem solved by the wonderful sheriff of Timely,” Stark said, but there was nothing in his voice that sounded sarcastic or teasing. In fact, he sounded sincere.

“I’m just doing my best,” Steve replied honestly. “Same as anyone.”

Stark looked down, away from both Steve and the baby. “Better than some.”

“Stark—”

“Tony,” he interjects, looking back up. “The least you can do is call me Tony. I am carrying your baby, after all.”

Steve did flush this time, the tips of his ears heating as Stark—Tony—laughed. “Seems like it’s the least I could do, with how you’re helping me out,” he said.

“Don’t go startin’ rumors now,” Tony warned. “I won’t babysit for just anyone. My services are very selective.”

Steve gave him a sideways look and a smirk. “Glad I rate top service.”

“Not you!” Tony retorted, feigning outrage. “Laura Barton and this bundle of joy.”

“That bundle of joy threw up on my only clean vest this morning.”

Tony lifted Clara higher, grinning at her. “Did you, Clara? You’re going to be a troublemaker like the rest of your family, aren’t you, darlin’?”

“Like a certain town blacksmith,” Steve said dryly.

“I’ll teach her all I know,” Tony replied without missing a beat.

Steve fell silent, thinking on that. Tony was smart, Steve’d known that from day one. He’d never applied himself though, spending more time with a bottle than anything else.

“That might be good for you, I reckon. Both of you.”

Tony didn’t respond; he looked somewhat startled, as if he hadn’t expected Steve to agree with his joke.

“You’re smart, and you seem to have a way with kids.” He gestured to Clara still silently mouthing at the teething ring. “You could do worse.”

Tony chuckled. “I think Ms. Frost would object to my taking over her duties as schoolteacher.”

Steve stepped closer, gazing down at baby Clara, and Tony followed his gaze. She looked so small, fragile, cradled so tenderly in Tony’s arms. “It’s not so ridiculous as it sounds. You surprised me, St—Tony. I’ll admit it.”

Tony looked up, then away so they weren’t staring at each other. “No need for flattery, Rogers, I’ll stay as long as you need.”

It’s a flippant response, but Steve let it be for now. He stepped back, dragging over a stool from the corner and sitting down. “Could you sing some more? One of those Irish tunes you apparently know so many of.”

Tony blinked back surprise, but then his expression twisted into a smile. “I knew you liked my serenades,” he said, and proceeded to do just that, singing sweetly to the babe in his arms and the sheriff who sat back, listened, and smiled.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles to the Women’s March on Washington By, Julie M. Casey

It’s 10:00 a.m. on Friday, January 20th, yes Inauguration Day. After a two and a half hour car ride north from my hometown of Bloomington, Illinois, I am currently sitting at a terminal in O'Hare Airport in Chicago waiting for a flight to take me onto Washington, D.C. I am not going to the inauguration or any of its other celebratory events, rather my purpose for this trip is to attend the Women’s March on Washington tomorrow. A Civil Rights protest which took me less than two seconds upon hearing the announcement of its birth to arrive to the decision of attending. My plans were immediately put in motion without a moment’s hesitation. In less than an hour I had called my friend Betty Romero who lives in Virginia to tell her “We are going!”. Then proceeded to put in my time off and booked my flight. I’ve not felt so sure about the importance of something regarding my gender in a very long time. In the weeks leading up this historical event I was constantly being struck day after day with the reality of women’s Civil Rights literally being plucked from our very wombs one by one. Did they not think we were taking notice? Had they banked on us just standing in our kitchens, presumably barefoot and pregnant, as they began tossing the Constitution with all of its amendments in the GOP’s conveniently hidden paper shredder? The very thought of a group of men making decisions about my body was almost as painful as the labor leading up to the births of both of my daughters over twenty-plus years ago. These rights that I had somehow comfortably taken for granted were now in clear and present danger of literally being aborted. I’m a bit tired today because I was unable to sleep last night. Not because of fear of the what ifs regarding tomorrow’s protest, no, I couldn’t sleep because of the excitement and pride in knowing so many women from all around the country and beyond coming together as one to say “No, we will not allow this!”. My hero Gloria Steinem once said “Any woman who chooses to behave like a full human being should be warned that the armies of the status quo will treat her as something of a dirty joke. That’s their natural and first weapon. She will need her sisterhood.” Indeed, her words are the premise for this march. Finally, Saturday, January 21st has arrived! Betty and I along with her daughter Lily and best friend Bisma are taking the Metro out of the Franconia-Springfield station into the Capitol . The sea of people is massive. Thousands and thousands waiting in line to go into D.C.. Lots of pink hats, signs, and best of all positive energy amongst this crowd. Happily surprised to see so many men joining in on this history in the making! And the children, the very reason we need to be taking a stand now so it’s not completely destroyed for them. It is an anxious wait, but an incredibly enriching one. My friends and I are meeting people from all over this beautiful country. One remarkable lady stood out, Carol Saft from Manhattan, New York. She is here with a group from We Make America. Carol is a retired teacher and artist. After sharing our reasons for marching, and exchanging our Facebook information so we can keep in contact, Carol brings all four of us these beautiful hand-painted cardboard torches to carry in the march. Finally after a nearly three hour wait we have boarded. Looking like sardines packed in a tin can, everyone is still in an almost euphoric positive vibe. A family of proud Trump supporters from Arkansas are tucked inside the car overflowing with marchers. The mutual respect between us is refreshing. The obvious question of “Why Trump?” was asked, their answer was simply “We are just a hard-working family of farmers and don’t want to lose what we have.” No one argued their reasoning, I think the majority of us want the best for this country, but some choose to focus on specific issues while others, including myself are eyeing the bigger picture. So understandably we are going to have different opinions. We’ve arrived at our destination. We begin to make our way to the designated route. To say the sheer magnitude of the number of participants is mind-blowing is an understatement. After a year of feeling increasingly frightened for our future, I am suddenly overcome with this intense sense of hope. That feeling seems to be mutually shared amongst this crowd of a half million beautiful human beings of every creed and color, from babies to a woman in a wheelchair holding a sign on her lap that exclaimed today is her 100th birthday, Attempting to break out of our shells, our small group timidly tried to start a chant, we began to laugh and I joked “No one is listening to me!”, suddenly a young girl, I’m guessing about seven, turned around clinging tightly onto her handmade sign and looking me right in the eye says “I’m listening.”. A prophetic moment to say the least. Two words spoken from a child’s lips had more meaning than an entire year of rhetoric from a 70 year old man who is now the leader of this country. Will today make a difference? I whole-heartedly believe so! Will we be met with strong resistance? Absolutely, but we are ready for battle! Do we need to “Make America Great Again”? No, we are already great, we just need to make America whole again!

Excerpt from "Platitudes of Gratitude" releasing March 20. Day 15 - What tradition am I most grateful for? There are two traditions that come to mind. One is with friends, the other is with family. Both are Christmas related. And both are the reason I have a bit of a grudge against Christmas. Every year since I was twelve, my best friend, Anna, suckered me and our friend, Jodi, into coming to her house the day after Thanksgiving. After high school we added my friend, Gerry, to the mix. This was not your average get together. We weren't Black Friday shopping. We weren't watching movies. We weren't calling boys. We weren't playing with a Ouija board, summoning the forces of evil to destroy all the boys who refused to date us. No. We were decorating Anna's house for Christmas. There were rules and measurements. There were notebooks and checklists. The final stages of inspections came from Anna's brother, sister, and finally her father, Big Vic. It all started with the tree. The seven foot monstrosity that greeted you at the door needed crystal clear lights. Not white. Not clear. Crystal clear lights. One hundred per branch. The tree had its own circuit breaker box. We wrapped each strand of lights around the branch in a manner that left no green visible. The lights stayed lit 24/7 from Black Friday straight through until the sixth of January. Boats were pulling in and docking in front of her house. Helicopters tried to land on her roof. I saw her dad's electric bill one year; it was more than I made all year at my three jobs. After the lights were up and acting as beacons to aliens searching for a landing site, we had to put the ornaments on. Three hundred and fifty ball ornaments. Sixty three feet each of four different garlands. Eighty four family heirloom ornaments. Each spaced so no gaps, bare spots, or color clusters happened. Under the tree was the village. This was a little battery operated town complete with sledders that slid down hills made from the white tree skirts and cotton stuffing, ice skaters twirling on a mirror lake. Santa's sleigh with nine little reindeer hung by a fishing line from a bottom branch. Rudolph's nose blinked SOS in morse code. I think he felt our pain. Once the tree was set and acting as a lighthouse for wayward ships on the Delaware River, we moved onto the entertainment center. We might as well have been decorating Macy's window on Fifth Avenue. We measured and weighed the fake snow on kitchen scales so each individual cubby got exactly the same amount of powdery coating. To get an even coverage we used flour sifters. I plead the fifth when asked who wrote, "I hate Christmas!" next to the Franklin Mint commemorative Godfather chess set. Next was the railing. Five hundred feet of bannister. One thousand feet of garland. Two thousand feet of lights. We used rulers to make sure proper spacing occurred. Three flights of stairs fully decorated for the coming of the baby Jesus. The house was so lit up three wise guys showed up thinking they were following a star. They brought gifts of five pinky rings, all three "Godfather" movies on Blu Ray, and an I Roc Z. We didn't work for free. My weakness was Anna's penne pasta with vodka sauce. I said it before and I'll say it again, Mama didn't get fat by not eating. I miss that pasta. I miss that sauce. I miss my friends. And I would gladly lose more of my eye sight to that second sun of a tree in my best friend's living room. Like my friend's family, my family is Italian; tradition is life for us. Every family has them: certain candlesticks Grandma only uses at Christmas, a plate used for generations to serve the Thanksgiving turkey, stealing all the chocolate from trick or treat bags after the kids go to bed. The day before school starts, we go to Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. On the Bunny's birthday, we go to the movies to see the new Pixar film. But there is one that stands out among all others in my family; that is the Christmas fruitcake. Back in the early turn of the century, a young Italian woman was on her way to America. She had heard of the streets paved in gold and handsome young men. What she found was piles of laundry and my Irish grandfather. In December of 1918 my grandmother, Elizabeth, went to open a bank account with two dollars and eighty seven cents. As part of the bank's new account promotion my grandmother received a fruitcake in a tin. I'm a fan of the free gift. I signed my fair share of credit card applications just for the free shirts, hats, frisbees, coffee mugs, pens, towels, bobble head dolls of various sports players, and even a free pizza. It's genetic. Our family motto is, "If it's free it's for me." But even I'm confused why they gave out a fruitcake. My grandmother, not wanting to appear ungrateful, took the tinned, baked monstrosity home. This was no easy feat. It weighed as much as Santa, his reindeer, and his sleigh filled with toys all packed into an 8x13 inch tin. Using a pulley hanging from the dining room light, Grandma hoisted the cake onto the table where she tried to figure out what it was. She had to work fast, the table was moaning and cracking under the weight. She opened the tin, poked at it, and looked at it under a magnifying glass. The ingredients were unrecognizable as anything edible. She poked at it again; it absorbed the pen and its weight increased exponentially. She slammed the lid back on and decided then and there the fruitcake was far too dangerous to just throw it out in the trash. Who knows what terrors it would unleash on the city? When my grandfather got home from work, he helped my grandmother push it off the table and across the floor. They made it to the bedroom door where it stayed for about sixteen years residing as a door stop and occassional breaker of toes in the middle of the night. Over the course of the years, my great grandparents had three children, Joseph, Diane, and my father's mother, Florence. As they grew up in that apartment they often tried to guess what the tin in front of their parents room was. Dares were made on summer days to open it. The growling from the tin defended the cake from prowling eyes. Attempts to move the box were futile. Joey pulled a groin muscle that prevented him from pursuing a professional sports career. He went into insurance sales instead, The kids grew up and started their own lives with their own families. But the fruitcake remained. Until one year at Christmas dinner, Florence's children, my aunts, uncles, and father, came up with an idea. Every year they would all put their names in a hat. They would draw a name from the hat and that person would become the keeper of the fruitcake for a year. My great grandfather, Joseph, loved this thought. He may be able to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without having to splint his toes for a two weeks after. It took a full year to ensure the proper safety precautions were in place. The unlucky family member had to figure out how to get it home. Then they needed to ensure the fruitcake would not escape. Some bought fireproof safes. Others bought heavy duty chains and locks. My father, having worked for the Department of Defense, had access to retinal scanning and cryogenic theft detractors. He made sure he even had motion activated alarms that would give you two minutes to deactive or it would explode by lighting the oxygen in the air on fire. Soon, the time of the choosing was upon them. Everyone gathered at Florence's house. The fruitcake stayed outside with guards around it. Al the Snitch, Jeff the Menace, and Senesio the Rat kept watch while the family waited for the right time. Every Christmas Eve, my grandfather Peter goes to midnight mass. At this stage in his life he could steal the priests clothes, give ass in Latin, and not need three by five cards to keep track of what he's saying. At my grandmother's house we waited and waited and waited. It was the most agonizing thing ever. Not just because of the fruitcake terror waiting for its new home. No. Because to be pure as the driven snow for the birth of the baby Jesus we fast. All Christmas Eve. Not one candy cane, Hershey kiss, or clam. Yes, I said clam. Because not only can we not eat all Christmas Eve but waiting for my grandfather's return from church at one in the morning Christmas Day is the Feast of the Seven Fishes. Clams, mussels, octopus, squid, shrimp, eel, and anchovies in various forms of fried, seared, baked, broiled, grilled, roasted, and smothered and covered in sauce. When finally my grandfather returned from church, all names went in a Flyers cap. My Uncle Keith got caught trying to cheat by writing my father's name instead of his own. So my grandmother put his name in twice as punishment. The family held a collective breath as the first victim was chosen. I was only five at the time so I was the most trusted. I put my chubby hand in the hat and pulled out a name that made the family laugh for years. Florence aka my father's mother aka my grandmother. My aunts yelled out the kitchen window to the guards to bring in the fruitcake. They used an engine hoist to transport the abomination to the place set forth by my grandmother. In the basement, there was a closet. In the closet was a gun safe capable of withstanding the winds from an F4 tornado, the shaking from a 6.5 earthquake, and five foot flood waters. The salesman made mention of being too heavy for aliens to suck it up with a tractor beam but that was too much for even my grandmother to believe. After all she was talking about fruitcakes and he was talking about aliens. Too far fetched. It's been thirty years since that first drawing. My mom says they haven't done in it years. The whereabouts of the fruitcake are unknown. We think my Uncle Keith took it to California and dropped it in the ocean. This would explain the earthquake that caused the tsunami that destroyed the nuclear powerplant in Japan. You see how diabolical this thing is? The family still refrains from eating all day on Christmas, except for the kids because that's just cruel and unusual punishment. My cousin and I look at them as weak. We did it. We survived. That's why our present piles were always bigger and better than their's are now. Grandpa still goes to midnight mass and everyone still waits for him to get home before eating and opening presents. The Feast of the Seven Fishes is still laid out on the table next to the spice drops, walnuts, and pizzelles made with Great Grandma's cast iron, imported from Italy pizzelle maker using her recipe that has just a touch too much Anisette. My great grandparents have been gone over twenty years now but I am grateful for traditions they passed down to us while they were here. And I'm grateful to that bank for giving a confused Italian woman a story to pass on for generations. And to you, Demonic Fruitcake, where ever you may be, I am grateful for you as well. Because no one believes this story where I live now in Jomo. So they will never know it was my family that did our best to protect the Earth from you and your wave of destruction. Where ever you rest now, Fruitcake, I wish for you a silent night and peace on Earth. And thank you for giving my family this tradition. For you and for this tradition I am grateful.

18. I'm still smoldering a little, so it's with a tentative hand that Caesar reaches out to touch my headpiece. The white has burned away, leaving a smooth, fitted veil of black that drapes into the neckline of the dress in the back. "Feathers," says Caesar. "You're like a bird." "A mockingjay, I think," I say, giving my wings a small flap. "It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token." A shadow of recognition flickers across Caesar's face, and I can tell he knows that the mockingjay isn't just my token. That it's come to symbolize so much more. That what will be seen as a flashy costume change in the Capitol is resonating in an entirely different way throughout the districts. But he makes the best of it. "Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!" Caesar gestures for Cinna to rise. He does, and makes a small, gracious bow. And suddenly I am so afraid for him. What has he done? Something terribly dangerous. An act of rebellion in itself. And he's done it for me. I remember his words ... "Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself." ... and I'm afraid he has hurt himself beyond repair. The significance of my fiery transformation will not be lost on President Snow. The audience, who's been stunned into silence, breaks into wild applause. I can barely hear the buzzer that indicates that my three minutes are up. Caesar thanks me and I go back to my seat, my dress now feeling lighter than air. As I pass Peeta, who's headed for his interview, he doesn't meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta's confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that's on everyone's minds. "So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quell?" asks Caesar. "I was in shock. I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next ..." Peeta trails off. "You realized there was never going to be a wedding?" asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. "Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?" An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. "I feel quite certain of it," says Caesar. "We're already married," says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can't see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? "But ... how can that be?" asks Caesar. "Oh, it's not an official marriage. We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don't know what it's like in the other districts. But there's this thing we do," says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. "Were your families there?" asks Caesar. "No, we didn't tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss's mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it," Peeta says. "And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us." "So this was before the Quell?" says Caesar. "Of course before the Quell. I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew," says Peeta, starting to get upset. "But who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?" "You couldn't, Peeta." Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. "As you say, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together." Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. "I'm not glad," says Peeta. "I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially." This takes even Caesar aback. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?" "Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Peeta bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby." There. He's done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna's talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can't ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can't absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don't make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn't it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn't it? If I hadn't spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can't rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar's lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can't hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem? I look back to the crowd, but the faces of Rue's mother and father swim before my eyes. Their sorrow. Their loss. I turn spontaneously to Chaff and offer my hand. I feel my fingers close around the stump that now completes his arm and hold fast. And then it happens. Up and down the row, the victors begin to join hands. Some right away, like the morphlings, or Wiress and Beetee. Others unsure but caught up in the demands of those around them, like Brutus and Enobaria. By the time the anthem plays its final strains, all twenty-four of us stand in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity among the districts since the Dark Days. You can see the realization of this as the screens begin to pop into blackness. It's too late, though. In the confusion they didn't cut us off in time. Everyone has seen. There's disorder on the stage now, too, as the lights go out and we're left to stumble back into the Training Center. I've lost hold of Chaff, but Peeta guides me into an elevator. Finnick and Johanna try to join us, but a harried Peacekeeper blocks their way and we shoot upward alone. The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. "There isn't much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?" "Nothing," I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I'm just as glad I didn't know, didn't have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered. Somewhere, very far off, is a place called District 12, where my mother and sister and friends will have to deal with the fallout from this night. Just a brief hovercraft ride away is an arena where, tomorrow, Peeta and I and the other tributes will face our own form of punishment. But even if all of us meet terrible ends, something happened on that stage tonight that can't be undone. We victors staged our own uprising, and maybe, just maybe, the Capitol won't be able to contain this one. We wait for the others to return, but when the elevator opens, only Haymitch appears. "It's madness out there. Everyone's been sent home and they've canceled the recap of the interviews on television." Peeta and I hurry to the window and try to make sense of the commotion far below us on the streets. "What are they saying?" Peeta asks. "Are they asking the president to stop the Games?" "I don't think they know themselves what to ask. The whole situation is unprecedented. Even the idea of opposing the Capitol's agenda is a source of confusion for the people here," says Haymitch. "But there's no way Snow would cancel the Games. You know that, right?" I do. Of course, he could never back down now. The only option left to him is to strike back, and strike back hard. "The others went home?" I ask. "They were ordered to. I don't know how much luck they're having getting through the mob," says Haymitch. "Then we'll never see Effie again," says Peeta. We didn't see her on the morning of the Games last year. "You'll give her our thanks." "More than that. Really make it special. It's Effie, after all," I say. "Tell her how appreciative we are and how she was the best escort ever and tell her ... tell her we send our love." For a while we just stand there in silence, delaying the inevitable. Then Haymitch says it. "I guess this is where we say our good-byes as well." "Any last words of advice?" Peeta asks. "Stay alive," Haymitch says gruffly. That's almost an old joke with us now. He gives us each a quick embrace, and I can tell it's all he can stand. "Go to bed. You need your rest." I know I should say a whole bunch of things to Haymitch, but I can't think of anything he doesn't already know, really, and my throat is so tight I doubt anything would come out, anyway. So, once again, I let Peeta speak for us both. "You take care, Haymitch," he says. We cross the room, but in the doorway, Haymitch's voice stops us. "Katniss, when you're in the arena," he begins. Then he pauses. He's scowling in a way that makes me sure I've already disappointed him. "What?" I ask defensively. "You just remember who the enemy is," Haymitch tells me. "That's all. Now go on. Get out of here." We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won't let him. I'm certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I'll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don't know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we'll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. "See you soon," he says. "See you soon," I answer. Cinna, who will help dress me for the Games, accompanies me to the roof. I'm about to mount the ladder to the hovercraft when I remember. "I didn't say good-bye to Portia." "I'll tell her," says Cinna. The electric current freezes me in place on the ladder until the doctor injects the tracker into my left forearm. Now they will always be able to locate me in the arena. The hovercraft takes off, and I look out the windows until they black out. Cinna keeps pressing me to eat and, when that fails, to drink. I manage to keep sipping water, thinking of the days of dehydration that almost killed me last year. Thinking of how I will need my strength to keep Peeta alive. When we reach the Launch Room at the arena, I shower. Cinna braids my hair down my back and helps me dress over simple undergarments. This year's tribute outfit is a fitted blue jumpsuit, made of very sheer material, that zippers up the front. A six-inch-wide padded belt covered in shiny purple plastic. A pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles. "What do you think?" I ask, holding the fabric out for Cinna to examine. He frowns as he rubs the thin stuff between his fingers. "I don't know. It will offer little in the way of protection from cold or water." "Sun?" I ask, picturing a burning sun over a barren desert. "Possibly. If it's been treated," he says. "Oh, I almost forgot this." He takes my gold mockingjay pin from his pocket and fixes it to the jumpsuit. "My dress was fantastic last night," I say. Fantastic and reckless. But Cinna must know that. "I thought you might like it," he says with a tight smile. We sit, as we did last year, holding hands until the voice tells me to prepare for the launch. He walks me over to the circular metal plate and zips up the neck of my jumpsuit securely. "Remember, girl on fire," he says, "I'm still betting on you." He kisses my forehead and steps back as the glass cylinder slides down around me. "Thank you," I say, although he probably can't hear me. I lift my chin, holding my head high the way he always tells me to, and wait for the plate to rise. But it doesn't. And it still doesn't. I look at Cinna, raising my eyebrows for an explanation. He just gives his head a slight shake, as perplexed as I am. Why are they delaying this? Suddenly the door behind him bursts open and three Peacekeepers spring into the room. Two pin Cinna's arms behind him and cuff him while the third hits him in the temple with such force he's knocked to his knees. But they keep hitting him with metal-studded gloves, opening gashes on his face and body. I'm screaming my head off, banging on the unyielding glass, trying to reach him. The Peacekeepers ignore me completely as they drag Cinna's limp body from the room. All that's left are the smears of blood on the floor. Sickened and terrified, I feel the plate begin to rise. I'm still leaning against the glass when the breeze catches my hair and I force myself to straighten up. Just in time, too, because the glass is retreating and I'm standing free in the arena. Something seems to be wrong with my vision. The ground is too bright and shiny and keeps undulating. I squint down at my feet and see that my metal plate is surrounded by blue waves that lap up over my boots. Slowly I raise my eyes and take in the water spreading out in every direction. I can only form one clear thought.

This is no place for a girl on fire.

The Lily Farm - Chapter 41

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 41: Animal Kingdom

“Have I told you yet tonight, Mrs. Morgan,” said LaBoeuf. He had removed his hat. He was chewing that cocaine gum. “You look like one million dollars.”

They were standing at the entrance to some sort of grand and ostentatious ballroom on the riverboat—Arthur, Mary Beth, Call, and LaBoeuf. The room was set with a bar at the top and about a dozen poker tables, yet unfilled. The adornments were gold, and the room was teeming with overdressed dandies and their women, posing and looking like birds. Waiters moved about obsequiously, bowing in adulation, their trays overflowing with champagne flutes.

“Why, thank you, Mr. LaBoeuf,” said Mary Beth in her fake accent. Her dress was sleek, indigo lace. Her hair was in many curls all piled atop her head. She curtsied, her arm linked in Arthur’s. “You are quite the gentlemanly Texan.”

“It’s Mrs. Kilgore,” said Arthur. He wore a slick three-piece suit and had a toothpick in his mouth. A waiter came by and offered him a cigar. “Try to get that right from now on. We don’t need to blow our cover quite yet. We only been here ten minutes.” He ran the cigar past his nose. It was obviously expensive, and Cuban. He thanked the waiter and tucked it into his pocket.

“Apologies, Mr. Kilgore.”

“It’s okay.”

Josiah had already melted into the crowd. It was not entirely clear what his role was here. Dapper liaison? Friend with friends in high places? Rogue magician?

“Mr. Kilgore,” said Call, standing stiffly with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a huge cowboy hat and a belt buckle shiny as can be. “It looks as if the crowd is beginning to disperse.”

“Indeed it does,” said Arthur.

Mary Beth turned to him. She took his hands and looked up into his eyes. “You can do it, baby. I believe in you.”

He smiled down at her. “You listen to these men now,” he said. “You do what they say. You know I mean that in the most progressive of fashions, but they have your best interest at heart, and they are professionals.”

“Okay,” she said.

A valet came along then, a real young guy in gloves and tails. He said to Arthur in a very thick French accent, “Mr. Kilgore? May I escort you to your seat?”

Arthur puffed up then, spat the toothpick, took out the cigar, and placed it between his teeth. “Ab-so-lutely,” he said, clapping the boy to the back so hard he lurched. He turned to Mary Beth, kissed her on the hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said.

He then addressed Call and LaBoeuf, and they nodded to him reassuringly. He was off.

Almost immediately, LaBoeuf leaned close to Mary Beth and said, “Mrs. Morgan, we have spotted Angelo Bronte.”

“And?” she said, whipping her fan about.

“He is coming this way, though he is mightily distracted by this and that. He is holding a bottle of what appears to be Limoncello, a common I-talian liqeur. His entourage looks inebriated.”

“Not much surprise there,” she said. She took a deep breath. She glanced at Call. He was the stern and serious one. His brow was set so heavy as he scanned the room, it was like a fallen redwood. She reminded him of her daddy, or at least what she had known of him. His eyes finally settled upon one fixed location. When she followed his gaze, she saw Arthur, accepting his hand of five-card draw and smoking his cigar in handsome concentration. The ballroom was then cordoned off with velvet ropes and armed guards.

It did not take long then for several women of about Mary Beth’s age and stature to seize upon her. They were staples of this heathen society, and she was not. They wanted to know all about her and her beefcake husband. One of them was the daughter of a newspaper man from Philadelphia. She said her name was Heather Moriarty, something like that, and she was stoned off her rocker, swaying to and fro.

“Is that one yours?” she said, pointing across the room to Arthur. “That prime slab of beef at table five?”

“Indeed he is.”

“Well I would sell myself to the devil to let him ruffle my skirts for just one night.” She laughed wildly, and her friends along with her. Their mouths were painted a hideous pink. “Bet he likes it rough.”

“He likes it all sorts of ways,” said Mary Beth, smiling to a different tune. “Though I am not one to kiss and tell.”

“I suppose then he is as good as he looks.”

“He’s better,” said Mary Beth. “Though you’re rather narrow in the hips. Ain’t got the chops to take it, I suspect.”

Heather the newspaper debutante stood with her jaw dropped wide open as a tin can. “Excuse me?”

That is when Josiah came along, out of nowhere, as was his tendency.

“You might want to close that thing, dear girl,” he said to Heather Moriarty. “You’re going to catch flies.”

“Who are you?” said Heather.

He smiled and turned to Mary Beth, fashioned a red rose corsage from behind her ear. “For you,” he said.

The women scurried off like mice. “Ugh, thank god,” said Mary Beth. She had been sucking in her gut as hard as possible. “I was not aware I’d have to entertain the likes of high society vermin.”

“Not a fan of the women here?”

“I’m sure there’s one or two I'd love to entertain,” she said. “But wasn’t her.”

“Did you happen to pickpocket her?”

"I would have,” said Mary Beth. “If I’d let her get close enough. Wasn’t worth it.”

Josiah laughed. He addressed Call and LaBoeuf who stood in their Texan stoicism. “Ah, the cavalry,” he said. “How are we tonight, gentlemen?”

LaBoeuf tipped his hat. “Just fine. Thank you, Mr. Trelawny.”

“How is Arthur doing?” he said. “Can you tell?”

“He is biding his time,” said Call. “Ingratiating himself to the table.”

“Of course he is.” Josiah grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels dramatically. “Arthur has always excelled at playing the lovable blowhard. People are so easy to underestimate him.” He glanced to Mary Beth. “Except for you, dear girl.”

She went red in the cheeks. “I ain’t so easy.”

There was a ruckus then, an awkward scuffle between two suited geese breaking out over the chips, coming from one of the other tables. Everybody looked to see.

“Oh dear,” said Mary Beth.

“I see the insanity has already begun,” said Josiah. “Shall we walk?”

She went with him, arm in arm. Call and LaBoeuf kept a close distance. They ignored those who inquired upon them, cordially. They did not drink or smoke cigarettes, though LaBoeuf was always chewing. Mary Beth was handed a glass of champagne when they arrived at the bar. She sipped judiciously as she looked around. Bronte had gone on his way, which relieved her for now. She did not see him anywhere, not at any of the tables. She mentioned off-hand then that she was hungry. Josiah snapped his fingers once, and a waiter appeared with a silvery plate of hors d'oeuvres. Mary Beth ate four or five finger sandwiches, absorbed in the debauchery of the room. She watched Arthur win one hand of cards and collect his chips. The men at his table were congratulatory so far. It was just as Josiah had said. They thought him a dumbass. She was very proud.

While Call and LaBoeuf had a conversation about some such to do with their lives back in Texas, Mary Beth forgot momentarily that she was on a boat. She thought about Abigail, and she wondered what had happened, if she had made her move with John, if they had given into love. It was easy to get swindled by the beauty of the room here, and the drunken, oafish herds, and in this she oddly missed Shady Belle. Their room, their bed, and the window that they would lean beside, reading in the evenings. Here, it was cold. The women were foreign beasts. They draped themselves upon total strangers, lavish ornaments of wealth, and the men smoked their fat cigars and became red-nosed and aggressive with drink. She had lived with men all her life, seen the most shameful of that vice-driven void. Booze, women, and dope. This was no exception. In fact, money, she thought, in its proposal toward validation of such behavior, seemed to make it worst. The room smelled of smoke and alcohol. It admittedly made her woozy. She leaned into the bar and closed her eyes. She wished the night would end soon so that she could go home with Arthur.

“Mrs. Morgan?” said Call, steadying her. When she opened her eyes, Josiah had gone away. When she looked around, she saw him showing magic tricks to a group of college boys across the room. He had them looking one way, and then he pulled a rabbit out of his hat. “Are you feeling all right?”

She blinked many times, looked at Call and his deeply lined face. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, a little embarrassed, patting his hand on her shoulder. “Just the baby. It makes me want to vomit half the time.”

“Perhaps some fresh air,” he said.

She looked around, found Arthur one more time and noted his state of being. He was doing just fine. So she nodded in agreement, set down her champagne. “Yeah that would be nice,” she said.

They went to the deck. It was down a long, narrow, velvety hallway full of grinning sycophants and flickering candelabras. When they got out to the deck, they were not alone. There were many of the women, including a couple Mary Beth had seen before, smoking cigarettes and talking lofty shit to one another. They gave her dirty looks and she plowed into them with a smile and ironic curtsy. It was almost like they could smell it on her, that rambling, orphan existence, even if they couldn’t place it, and she could not have cared less what they thought of her, but she did fantasize about punching one or two of them in the face.

On the far end of the deck was Angelo Bronte and his cronies. They were throwing huge chunks of bread off the boat into the water, chiding the fish, and shouting obscenely in Italian. A huge herring had come along and landed on the rail. They shouted at this, too. Threw bread to distract it. It picked up into the sky and dipped with impressive speed, proceeding to dive in after the bread-addled fish. The men laughed and cheered.

Bronte was smoking a cigar when he finally abandoned the rail and saw her. He became ecstatically loud, boisterous in his excitement. He came over with his cronies, dressed in his tuxedo and some kind of jewel-encrusted slippers and a scarf in the colors of his Italian nation. He bandied about his cigar and drank wine from a huge goblet. He regarded her with courtship appeal, kissed her on both cheeks. His reeked of alcohol and tobacco. He said, “Mrs. Kilgore! I thought I saw you from across the room before, eh? Look at you. A fucking vision in the night. Where is your burly outlaw of a husband? I thought I saw him before, but now he has escaped me.”

Mary Beth had his watch up her sleeve. She was ready, and her Texas cavalry stood by in all of their cartoonish intimidation as well, prepared in their excellence to aid in her plan, of which she had informed them that very night in the coach on the way to the river. She smiled, very coy. “Well, Tacitus is inside, making his mark, I expect.”

“Very good, very good,” he said, chewing on that cigar. "Who are these cowboy men?"

“This is my security detail, ordered by daddy,” she said. “Texas Rangers Call and LaBoeuf.”

“Texas Rangers!” said Bronte. This seemed to entertain him immensely. “Good god I never seen something so American in all my life. How do you do, signors?”

Bronte regarded them. LaBoeuf raised his hat. “Very well,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Tacitus and I wanted to thank you for inviting us tonight,” said Mary Beth, leaning in to place her hand on the side of his arm. “We were indeed surprised, but pleasantly so, of course. The swamps sure do get boring after a while. I’ve been going out of my mind for a party.”

He sort of eyeballed her darkly, puffed off the cigar then tossed it absentmindedly overboard. “Well, bellissima, as thrilled as I am to see you here tonight, know that it was not me who sent for you. Though I wish it had been, of course.”

Mary Beth straightened up, feeling the watch in her sleeve, pressing up against her wrist. “It wasn't you?” she said. "Well, that's a surprise."

“No, it was uh…the mayor,” he said. It was off-hand. One of his cronies handed him another cigar, clipped off the end.

“The mayor?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes,” he said. “Mayor Lemieux, of St. Denis. Foul piece of shit.” He laughed. His cronies laughed. “Owes me big. I remember now. He thought the invitation would be more enticing, coming from me, seeing as he is a bore and a money-grubbing asshole of the highest degree, and I am, well, me. In any case, he said he had some sort of business to conduct with your husband."

"Business?"

"Yes. Something to do with that dreadful good ol’ boy with the mutton chops. What was his name?—the writer.”

“Evelyn Miller?” said Mary Beth.

He slapped his knee once, almost aggressively so. “Yes! Evelyn Miller. That is his name. The native sympathizer Evelyn Miller. Ha ha. I merely reached out to your associate—the magician? I cannot remember his name either, though he did have a big hat and a big fucking mustache.” He had the cigar in his mouth. It was unlit. The stars overhead seemed to be slipping down, a curtain on the night. LaBoeuf took the liberty and lit Bronte’s cigar with a match from the brim of his hat. “Ah, grazie, Signor Texas. You are a man of your order indeed.”

Call took a step forward then. He was standing very tall, imposing, and serious. He spoke softly, very close to her ear. “Mrs. Kilgore, I hate to interrupt, but might I suggest we make our way back inside? Mr. Kilgore may grow concerned if he finds you missing for too long.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” said Bronte. “Go and find your indelible cowboy. And the two of you find me again when this is all over. I’ll get you good and drunk, the most expensive way in town, eh?”

Mary Beth smiled. “We’ll do that,” she said, and she curtsied, emboldened by his candor. “But first—can I ask you something, Mr. Bronte?”

“Anything.”

“Why’d you tell us there was money at the trolley station?” she said, innocent. “Turns out there’s nothing.”

Bronte stared at her. She worried briefly that he may do something regrettable, but he did not. He looked lost, then pissed, but not at her. He puffed off the cigar, looked around, then he turned to one of his entourage and threw the wine from his goblet in the man's face. He then tossed the goblet, smacked the man in the back of the head as hard as he could, then again, and again, was shouting something in angry Italian, and the man shouted back, and after this went on for a while and Bronte's man had been sufficiently shamed, Bronte turned back to Mary Beth and said, apologetically, “You must excuse me, Mrs. Kilgore, for I must go. It turns out I was mistaken. The information I received from my asinine associate here must have been false.” He shouted some more. He smacked the man again, put out his cigar on the man’s lapel and turned him around, shoving him in the opposite direction. He looked back to Mary Beth. “I’ll see you soon, no?”

Mary Beth watched after him, not sure whether she should feel confused or relieved. “Stay outta trouble," she said.

“Oh, you, too, bellissima,” he called back over his shoulder. “You too!”

They could hear his bluster echoing all the way around the corner to the other side of the boat, and then it disappeared.

On their way back to the ballroom, Mary Beth was pensive. She was relieved about the watch, but something didn't make sense. She stopped Call and LaBoeuf in a lonesome corner across from a man chewing on another man’s ear in a drunken fashion. “What the hell is going on?” she said, her voice real quiet. “Everything we thought we knew, it was all bullshit. Is it coincidence?”

“Maybe,” said LaBoeuf.

“Has Arthur ever worked with the mayor before?” said Call. He seemed sufficiently concerned, and he was looking around, eagerly, like a hawk on the wire.

“No,” said Mary Beth. “But he did help Evelyn Miller, right before he helped you all with that bounty hunting business in the Roanoke Ridge."

"How did he help Mr. Miller?" said Call.

"He helped him and some Wapiti men from up the north by robbing a document from an oil field in the Heartlands.”

“Cornwall oil?” said LaBoeuf. He had spit out his cocaine gum. He had his hands on his hips, and he seemed to be thinking.

“Yes,” said Mary Beth. “Leviticus Cornwall.”

"Does Cornwall get on with the mayor? Do they share any connection at all?"

"Could be," said Mary Beth. "Come to think of it, yeah. I think we learnt he does. Why?"

“Mrs. Morgan,” said Call. “Do you have any idea what business the mayor of St. Denis might currently have with your husband?”

Mary Beth thought hard. She tried searching every last scrap of her memory, but her memory felt bonkers. “I don’t know. I mean, they met, at a party. Arthur did steal something from him. On orders from Dutch."

"He stole from him?" said LaBoeuf.

"Yeah, but when we saw Evelyn Miller on the street in St. Denis, he said it weren't no big deal."

"What did Arthur steal," said Call.

"I—”

There was a commotion then, in the ballroom. Some men were coming in the door, but she couldn’t see who they were yet. It was too far away, and there were too many people in between. Mary Beth tried looking for Arthur, but he was not in his spot at the table. Everybody was there at the table, except for him. “Where is Arthur?” she said.

“Hmm,” said Call. He placed his hand on her shoulder, stretching his gaze past hers. “We’ll find him. Don't worry.”

She had shimmied Bronte’s stolen pocket watch out of her sleeve. She squeezed it in her hand. She felt a funny realization coming on, but she couldn't place it. "Let's go," she said.

But then.

“Is those Pinkertons?” said LaBoeuf out of nowhere, tilting his head to see.

“What?” said Mary Beth.

“Just now, coming through the door. It is. What the hell are they doing here?”

Mary Beth whipped around, stood on her tip-toes. She saw two men she recognized coming through the crowd, and several she did not. The one was tall and ugly, with that unforgettable pock-marked face. They were grabbing people every which way, asking questions. She hid her face, and then she turned around.

“Mrs. Morgan?” said LaBoeuf.

"Shit," she said.

She was already halfway down the hall before anybody could stop her. She was headed back toward the deck. She did not know why. She just was. There were the candelabras everywhere, illuminating dark corners and flickering with menace. There were people she had to cut past, bump into, big, dumb, lovely, laughing people. She hiked her skirt up past her knees so that she could move faster.

She felt a hard grip on her arm. She wrenched it away.

It was only Call. He looked concerned. “Mrs. Morgan,” he said. “Where are you going? Don’t run off like that.”

“I gotta find Arthur,” she said, flustered. “Those is Pinkertons. What if they're here for him?”

A trap.

They heard gunshots then, jangling through the chandeliers. It startled Mary Beth. There were footsteps banging on the carpeted floors inside as people fled, women crying out, the same ones she had earlier smited. Looking forward, she could see the deck, see the black hole of the river. Looking back, she saw nothing. She thought to cry out but just as a nightmare, she was choked.

“There’s some sort of disturbance,” said LaBoeuf, catching up to them with his hand on his pistol. “I ain’t sure what caused it. Or who.”

“We gotta find him,” said Mary Beth.

People had begun to rush past them, pressing against the rails. The gunfire picked up behind. Call looked at LaBoeuf who looked miffed, but he nodded in a kind of procedural affirmation. Call then looked upon Mary Beth cautiously, with a great deal of intent. “Mrs. Morgan,"  he said. "Please do not fret. But we must get you off this boat, pronto.”