Sweet Pea Imagines

Eight | Apple Pie

A/N: I need your opinions on smut, just tell me what you want because I'll write it if you'll read it also this is a crappy chapter

The smell of fresh apple pie surrounds you as you bite into your second piece. You could eat this damn pie and nothing else your entire life and never get tired of it. It isn't as sweet as regular apple pie, but it isn't sour either, it just tastes right. Not many things in life are right but this pie is. Just cinnamon-y enough, just warm enough, just enough. Now that's a feeling you could get used to.

You hum into your next bite, speaking around the mouthful of pie, "this is amazing Jocelyn!"

Sweet Pea chuckles lightly, tightening his arms around your waist. A week ago you wouldn't have imagined that you would be sitting on Jocelyn's vinyl counter, eating homemade apple pie while staring at the most handsome boy you've ever seen. You wish this kind of peace could last forever; you could capture the warmth of his hold and the sugar on your lips and be perfectly content for the rest of your life. But you would be naive to think you could stay in this little world forever. Going home is inevitable. For now, though, you ignore the worry seeping inside you and finish off your plate.

"Well thank you sugar," she sweeps a strand of raven hair that fell out of its clip behind her ear, "I'm glad you like it. Sweet Pea will never eat more than one slice. I was starting to think I'd lost my touch."

You can help but let your jaw fall at her statement; how could anyone not want more of this heavenly baked goodness? You would jump for joy at the opportunity to eat it as often as he gets to.

"I'm saving it for Penelope! Don't do that," he feigns a hurt look but laughs while shaking his head at his smiling mother.

"Well," you hop down from the counter top, wobbling slightly on your knees that are still a little weak as you wash off your dishes in the sink, "anytime you want some of that pie to just disappear you can count on me!"

You let your hands soak in the hot water for a few seconds. You hadn't noticed the chill until now, with the cold seeping out of your bones. You close your eyes too, just while you let you hands submerge, and savour the moment. Your stomach is full and you're wearing one of sweet Pea's flannels with the sleeves rolled what seems like a billion times. Everything is alright.

"Oh, y/n you don't have to do that," Jocelyn's voice breaks through you warmth induced trance, "you should be relaxing, you've had a rough couple of days."

You draw your hands out of the water, drying them in the faded orange tea towel and turning to face two sets of concerned chocolate eyes, "it's really not a problem, I'm feeling much better. I think maybe I should go home, though, and stop imposing on your family, you know?"

You have to suppress the chill that immediately returns upon saying those words. You don't want to go back to your house. Here is where your home is because home is where the heart is and your heart is resting in Sweet Peas hands. You don't ever want him to let it go. At the same time, though, you don't want to crowd their close-knit family just because you don't want to face your own reality.

You avoid Sweet Pea's eyes, already hearing some protests coming from him. You choose instead to look at his mother. Her eyes are kind and full of understanding but her hands, like her sons, twitch at her sides like she wants to hug you. She's a mother, one of the best you've ever seen, and she makes you miss your own. She takes a few careful steps towards you, lifting one of your hands into both of hers.