˗ˏˋthe bakeryˎˊ˗

forty-two..

i woke up the next morning, west coast by lana del rey playing downstairs (omg i'm westcoust and ldr is lana banana el oh el).

i stood up and made my way downstairs.

"he's crazy y cubano como yo, my love
on the balcony and i'm sayin'
move baby, move baby, i'm in love."

lana lightly sang from the kitchen.

she cooked on the stove as she moved her hips to the music.

i smirked and walked towards her.

i wrapped my arms around her small waist and dropped my chin on her shoulder. she gasped.

"good morning, lans."

"fuck, don't scare me like that, jack!" she scolded me.

"sorry, you just looked hot, singing and dancing." i said, kissing the delicate skin on her neck.

"j-jack, sto-op." she stammered.

i left a trail of kisses on her collarbone to behind her ear.

she let out soft moan.

"stop, jack." she lightly pushed me.

"what?"

"i'm cooking. i can't burn my house down." she said with a raged face.

with that face, WWIII was literally gonna start. literally.

oooooh, booty-fightin gonna start.

we literally (i'm using that word a lot) hit 30k. 30k. that's too much. i mean for a book barely that started like a couple of weeks ago, it is a lot. fuck. i love you guys.

anywhoosies, byyee.