#but if you make baked goods or ice cream... ask friends and family to pass them on to you

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

I could say that I messed up bad on my first two batches of blondies. Nothing burned, the flavor was right, but the texture and consistency were way off. Like, I somehow missed fudgy, chewy and cakey and ended up at the hard crack candy stage. On a tray bake. Which was also oily af on the bottom. (Long story short: batter height matters, don't pour bubbling hot butter into room temp ingredients.)

Instead of admitting failure, we're gonna call this a learning experience and also an opportunity to make the world's most failsafe brownies.

The lady presenting this is a trained food scientist, but I'm still amazed each time I make this, either from stale baked goods, or cake scraps or "hide the evidence" situations. The batter just looks wrong. Every time as I'm patting it into the mold at a different height, it looks like it's gonna fail in a different way. Too stiff, too dry, too grainy, too imbalanced with whatever crumbs it's based on this time. This time, I think, this time it won't work. Especially if it's made with a failed bake.

20-25 minutes later, there's brownies. Sometimes cakier, sometimes fudgier, and not always the prettiest, but always yummy.

So I might have messed up, but no one is going to find any blondie brittle in our house. Brownies are on the counter in the haribo tub, though.

[dedeinthewild]

oliver bearman x reader, special encounters

-"she was so much better than a creamy croissant"

The drivers loved grabbing their bikes and pedaling toward Italy from Monaco, with the sea on their right and the endless blue sky stretching out like an infinite expanse of happiness.

Ollie had a thing for good training sessions with his friends, always thinking about a creamy croissant to end the morning and the weekend trip ahead, where he’d visit his family. Ever since his Formula One commitments had packed his schedule, he’d made it a habit to spend time with his dad. Saying he missed his mom and Thomas was an understatement. Still, he was proud his little brother had begun his own rise with a British F4 contract, and he knew his mom kept busy with work and her new passion for sourdough baking.

“Why can’t I get ice cream now?” Ollie asked, while Kimi pedaled a bit faster to catch up with him after a stretch of road where they’d had to ride single file.

“We’ve been awake just half an hour, Ollie,” the Italian laughed, reaching him and letting go of the handlebars to grab his water bottle for a sip.

The threatening clouds they’d seen hovering over the principality began to break up as they passed Menton, nearing the Italian border.

“Can we stop?” asked the Brit in Italian, spotting a sweets stand just as they entered Ventimiglia, where they’d planned a quick break before heading back to Monaco for an evening of PlayStation.

“Cut it out!” joked the younger of the two, earning an exaggerated glare from Ollie, who turned around with raised eyebrows and an Oscar-worthy pout.

“I’ll kill myself.”

Moments later, a small rock caught under his tire, and Ollie found himself sprawled on the pavement, sitting against a signpost, clutching his scratched leg.

“I didn’t think you meant literally,” Kimi quipped, crouching beside him, noticing the grimace on his face and hoping it wasn’t a broken leg—they’d be in serious trouble if it were.

“Shut up,” Ollie replied weakly, smiling at his friend’s joke while inspecting his calf to gauge the damage, turning it to look from different angles.

“I should call Andrea.”

“No!” Ollie quickly said, grabbing a handkerchief from his cycling jacket and wetting it with water from his bottle to clean the wound of asphalt dirt.

“You can’t stay there like roadkill!”

The Haas reserve driver shook his head, settling against the post and noticing that no one had stopped to help them.

“Maybe the emergency services?”

“Who the hell made me do this?” sighed the young Italian, unlocking his phone and leaning against one of the railings overlooking the port.

Before long, just enough time to argue over whether or not to inform Andrea—one of their managers and friends—about the fall, an ambulance arrived and parked nearby.

“What do we have here?” said one of the paramedics as he approached the drivers with a kind smile, noticing they were calm and the injured one seemed more embarrassed than anything.

“We were talking, and I didn’t see the rock,” Oliver explained, setting his helmet on the ground and fully revealing his flushed face, while behind the paramedic came another woman with a stretcher and one carrying a first-aid bag.

“You’re lucky you didn’t fall into a pothole,” the two women chuckled as the man prepared for transport, and they worked to assess the situation.

“This is definitely sprained, if not broken,” said one of them, making both drivers groan. If Ollie could have buried himself, he would have done so then and there, knowing this meant his trip to see his family was canceled, and Andrea wouldn’t be thrilled. His ankle looked terrible and was already starting to swell and bruise.

“Do you usually put much weight on it?” They likely needed to know how carefully to handle it for a smoother and quicker recovery.

“We’re racing drivers,” Oliver answered with a heavy British accent.

The two paramedics glanced at the third, who was preparing the stretcher and hadn’t initially noticed who they were sitting on the sidewalk. Now she recognized them but maintained her professionalism, waiting for the others to give the all-clear for transport.

“I feel so stupid,” the driver said, staring at his ankle as they moved toward the nearest hospital.

“This happens more often than you’d think,” she smiled, sitting beside him. “I’ve mastered immobilization thanks to reckless cyclists.”

The boy chuckled softly, despite his semi-reclined stretcher feeling so comfortable it tempted him to move—though he knew that would only make things worse. Kimi stayed in Ventimiglia, sitting glumly by the roadside with both bikes nearby, dreading calling Andrea, who would undoubtedly have words with René once he heard what had happened.

“At the hospital, they’ll give you something to ease the pain.”

“But I don’t feel any.”

“You will,” she replied, taking out a form.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Ollie shook his head, grabbing his phone to check for notifications from his teammate while she filled out the hospital protocol form.

Soon they arrived at the hospital, and the three paramedics transported him to the ER. They handed him over to a doctor, who, before taking him beyond the doors to determine whether it was a fracture, noticed Ollie’s adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was kicking in. To help, they administered something, and they started walking toward the exit.

As the doctor injected the substance, Ollie felt a strange lightness and happiness, like he was in one of those cheesy teen movies that try to soften the blow of summer ending.

“Hey, yo!” he yelled, spotting a guy leaning against a column, holding a pink jacket, likely waiting for a relative.

“My paramedic’s hella cute, yo!”

The paramedics turned, eyebrows raised and amused, toward the source of the outburst.

“It’s the driver,” chuckled one of them, nodding toward the young man wildly gesturing from his stretcher as the doctor looked on, baffled at such a reaction to something far from anesthesia.

The two women smiled, and the one who had sat with him during the ride blushed slightly, knowing her colleagues would tease her endlessly about this.

Ollie was on cloud nine, smiling sweetly with dilated pupils, fist-bumping the bystander, who had put down his phone and jacket to chat with him freely. Normally, Ollie was shy, reserved, and polite, but now? He was entirely different.

“She’s hella cute! You should’ve seen her,” he said, flopping back onto the stretcher and resting his arms behind his head, gazing at the fluorescent ceiling lights.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked the stranger.

“I’m Andrea,” came the reply in Italian.

“My best friend’s called Andrea! He’s so funny; you’d definitely get along,” he said confidently, shaking his head as if making an unshakable proclamation worthy of a bet.

Meanwhile, the paramedic girl was amused, much like the doctor who, half-annoyed, wanted to kick Ollie out for disrupting the whole ER. The young Brit, with his Ferrari cycling jersey and dirt-smeared shorts, had his brown hair disheveled and his fair skin slightly flushed with its distinctive freckles and moles. He was a sight.

“I’m Ollie,” he fist-bumped like they were lifelong friends.

“You know, that jacket’s smooth. Give me the name of the shop.”

The stranger burst into laughter, turning away slightly not to laugh directly in his face.

“She was so much better than a creamy croissant,” Ollie added, sprawled out in contented delirium.

The paramedics shook their heads, patting the blushing girl on the back before leaving the ER for their next call.

Ollie disappeared with the doctors and nurses, while the ambulance crew resumed their morning shift.

Back in Ventimiglia, Kimi had finally called Andrea and René, taking the scolding meant for both him and Ollie. Still, with the next Formula 2 race in Qatar nearly two months away, Ollie had time to recover and get back in shape. Kimi stored their bikes at a café he knew, asking for a favor, then took a taxi to the hospital.

Walking into the ER still in his cycling shoes, he asked for Oliver, noting the nurse at the desk chuckled upon hearing the name but didn’t question it. He made his way to the casting room, where they had taken Ollie after confirming via X-ray that the bone was indeed broken.

“How are you?” he asked, sitting beside him.

“Good. Did you bring me the croissant?” Ollie replied with a grin.

“We gave him a painkiller, but he’s out of his mind,” the doctor laughed, raising Kimi’s eyebrows.

Rarely had Kimi seen his teammate act so unhinged—so unlike the reserved Brit he knew. He hadn’t seen this side of him since their laughing-filled night in Singapore when Ollie’s Italian had nearly become fluent.

A week later, as they sat in the apartment Prema provided them in Monaco, Ollie showed Kimi a video.

“This is a prank,” Kimi declared.

“I swear, I wanna kill myself after this,” Ollie groaned, utterly embarrassed.

“Should I remind you what happened the last time you said that?” Kimi teased, glancing at Ollie’s casted leg propped on the coffee table. The past two days had been an adjustment—navigating the apartment, dealing with itchiness, and Ollie’s outbursts as Kimi laughed at his struggles on one leg.

“Do me a favor,” the Haas reserve driver asked, watching as Kimi prepared lunch.

Kimi sighed, crossing his arms. “What is it?”

“Go to the paramedics and apologize for me.”

“I hate you,” the Italian grumbled, plating the omelet he’d just made. They ate together before Kimi reluctantly set off for the Italian Red Cross station where the ambulance that had picked them up was based.

Once there, he asked to see the three paramedics from that day. Only one was on duty.

“Ollie wanted me to apologize for the other day,” Kimi explained. “He couldn’t really control himself.”

“Don’t worry. He actually brightened up our day,” she replied with a smile, leaning against the wall. “Wait here a second.”

Kimi watched her disappear through a door behind her. He glanced around the station until she returned holding a paper bag.

“Maybe I’m being silly, but he kept going on about a cornetto alla crema, so I wanted to give him one.”

“But you didn’t know where we were,” Kimi said, amused.

“Exactly,” she replied with a small laugh.

The driver smiled, thanking her, knowing Ollie would definitely appreciate the gesture. And maybe Ollie had been right���under the influence of painkillers, he’d called her cute. With her soft features, honey-colored eyes, and hair tied back in a braid, Kimi could see what he meant.

“You met her?” The British driver was in shock as his teammate hung his jacket on the apartment’s coat rack. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Kimi laughed, tossing the paper bag with the cornetto inside to him.

If he could have, Oliver would’ve broken the other ankle just for a chance to see her again.

Meanwhile, at the paramedics’ station, she was sitting on a stool, preparing cookies for that evening’s meeting, a soft smile on her face and the image of the driver etched in her mind.

@charlieblacks-world and I had this idea, and we really hope you like our drugged Ollie!

not proofread, there might be a few errors :)

[beeslibrarycorner]

Father Paul during the holidays

Halloween

* He likes to dress up in a simple costume

* He also likes to give candy out to the children of crocket island

* If you pass by the church he will compliment your costume if you’re dressed up.

* He also insists on giving you a candy. “You could never be too old to go trick or treating y/n”

* When everyone settles down for the night and everyone is almost asleep your door bell rings signaling his arrival.

* “Trick or treat”

* The two of you would probably watch a scary movie and eat alot of candy.

Thanksgiving

* Cooking lots of different dishes and desserts

* “All of this looks so delicious, thank you angel”

* Before the two of you start eating dinner he tells you that he’s thankful for you.

* I can picture this convo:

“Would you like some more sweet potato casserole Paul?”

“I can’t eat another bite”

“That’s smart, your saving room for dessert”

(Groans in full stomach)

* He goes into a food coma and falls asleep on your couch. (it was all apart of your plan)

* Sending him home with leftovers to eat.

Christmas

* He loves to decorate the rectory for the holidays.

* He loves the snow

* He loves the cookies and other baked goods that you make for him.

* But he also loves the look on your face when he gives you your Christmas gift.

* You get him a gift too and he’s happy that you gave him such a thoughtful gift

* Yes it’s a religious holiday but he would find you to be just as important. Spending time with the ones that he loves is his favorite part of the holiday.

New years

* Most of the people leave crocket island and head to the main land for family and friends

* Around 12 am he would pop over for a new years kiss.

* You guys cuddle and watch a tv marathon playing on one of the channels.

Valentine’s Day

* He leaves chocolate and a bouquet of flowers on your porch early in the morning.

* He gives you a love letter

* There’s a lot of secret kissing going around when no one’s looking.

* Candle light dinner

* Candle lit bubble bath

* Watching romcoms till three in the morning and sharing chocolate

St Patrick’s day

* You get Irish food from the mainland and you ask father Paul to have dinner with you.

Easter

* He likes celebrating Easter, it’s an important holiday and he enjoys doing Easter mass

* the town has many festivities after mass.

* He enjoys watching the churches egg hunt happen, it’s chaotic

* There’s a pot luck after wards with all different types of food.

* Everyone is pulling Paul in every which way and all he wants is to be near you.

* The night before the two of you decorate eggs together.

* You hide his favorite candy in the rectory for him to find with a note that says the Easter bunny visited.

Fourth of July

* There’s a cookout in the island, everyone is there.

* There’s ice cream and popsicles to cool people off, it’s the perfect night.

* One of the towns people shoots fireworks off the doc and you gather with the rest of the town to watch.

[camille-lachenille]

The Bakery Witch

She doesn’t even know she’s a witch, she just lives her happy life with her three cats and her bakery, selling the best bread and pastries in town.

She loves singing as she works, a bit of rock, a bit of opera and a bit of everything. The music infuses her pastries with power. People know to buy something from her bakery when they need a little nudge in the right direction in their life, they don’t know why but it seems her bread and pastry can boost one’s day.

There’s the anxious student stopping by the morning of an important exam to buy a chocolate croissant, and the witch sends them away with a kind smile and words of encouragement. They have the best grades of the promotion. Today, the witch was singing ‘We are the Champions’ while baking

There’s the lonely old man across the street wishing he could mend his relationship with his family. The witch always takes time to chat with him when he comes to buy bread. One day he comes in accompanied by a younger woman and two children and introduces them as his daughters and grandchildren. When she bakes mixed seeds bread, the old man’s favourite, the witch always hums songs about family and forgiveness.

After she closes her shop for the night, the witch always gives part of the leftovers to the homeless woman across the street and the rest to a shelter for abused women. When they bit into a cream pastry or a bun, they all feel loved and safe, and all of them end up building a new life for themselves quickly, a life full of hope and laughter. One day, the homeless woman across the street enters the bakery with a bright smile and tells the witch she found a job and a home.

The witch’s reputation spreads without her knowing and, one day just before the closure a man in a smart suit comes in and asks if she can help him break the curse on him. He’sHe was a businessman cursed to age thrice as quickly as normal and die if he doesn’t find love. He’s already tried everything and seen more pseudo-wizard and other sorcerers and he’s heard of the witch’s bakery and how her spells really work. Everyone in town assured him of it. Yet, the witch tells him she doesn’t know about breaking curses and isn’t interested in romance either but she could use some help with the bakery.

Having nothing to lose, the man accepts and becomes her apprentice. She teaches him how to make the bread rise to exact fluffiness, and bake pie crusts to perfection. And all along, she keeps humming and singing, telling her apprentice it’s half the fun of making bread. The man isn’t a very good singer but he picks the habit and makes up for his lack of skill by singing with wild enthusiasm. He’s never had so much fun in his life as he had kneading dough while singing cheesy pop songs or icing cinnamon rolls as he tries to keep up with an opera singer on the radio.

The customers are a bit surprised by the new assistant baker but quickly take a liking to him because if the witch works with him, he can only be a good man, right?

And, two years into his apprenticeship, the cursed man realises he has stopped aging. He’s even starting de-aging now. He doesn’t understand why, he hasn’t found love in all the time he has spent at the witch’s bakery. It’s only when he tells the witch about it that he understand, because she loo at him with raised eyebrows and asks: don’t you love baking? Singing? Making people’s day just a little better with a smile and a kind word?

And the man realises that he has, indeed, found love. He has a job that makes people and himself happy, he knows all regulars of the bakery by name and chats with them, the witch is his dearest friend and he has found a hobby in song (he’s still not great at it but it makes him happy so why stop?) His life is full of love, he just didn’t see it. And maybe, he’s a bit of a witch himself too, because his pastries seem to give people just what they need that day.

Years passes for the witch and her assistant, and their bakery is as popular as always. The anxious student graduated and is in a PhD program (they come before each important milestone to buy a chocolate croissant for the confidence boost), the old man from across the street comes once a week with his daughter and grandchildren, the formerly homeless woman comes to introduce her wife to the witch.

And maybe, one day, the man will meet someone and fall head over heels for them. And they will marry and have children or cats or even a lizard pet because why not. But in the meanwhile he’s in love with his job and lives with his best friend and her cats and, together, they are the bakery’s witches.

[verfound]

FIC: Coffee Shop Soundtrack: 10/11 (MLB; Luka)

Notes: @goldenlaurelleaveswrites saved this chapter. 🖤🖤🖤 I was so close to scrapping it all if not for her. One more to go!

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9

Song URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEYiUjfVKj4

Coffee Shop Soundtrack

Chapter Ten: That Saturday He Started to Breathe Again

The rest of the meal seemed to pass in a blur.

…it was a good blur, though, compared to the blur the rest of the week had been.  A happy blur.  One filled with laughter, and smiles, and more than a few awkward blushes and secret smiles.

Mateo had joined them for drinks – and appetizers – as he caught up with the family.  For all the times that Luka had been to the restaurant with Marinette, this was the first time he was actually meeting the man, and he was surprised to learn how close they all really were.  Tom had said they were old university buddies, but it turned out Mateo was actually Tom’s roommate through those years – and the reason he had met Sabine.

“This goof could not string two coherent words together around her,” Mateo laughed, slapping a hand against Tom’s back.  “She worked at her parent’s restaurant, making the desserts.  It was love at first sweetheart cake!”

“…sweetheart cake?” Luka asked, looking at Marinette.  She giggled and leaned in, ignoring the old argument Tom and Mateo were falling into (“It was not – I loved her for more than her baking!”).

“It’s a sweet melon pastry,” she said.  There was a glimmer in her eye as she leaned in and kissed his cheek.  “Maman’s are the best.  I’ll make them for you sometime.”

“I thought it was love at first sweetheart ice cream?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.  Sabine chuckled as she patted his shoulder.

“You’ve met Tom, dear,” she said, smiling at the arguing friends across the table.  “He’s such a hopeless romantic.  It’s sweetheart everything with him.”

[sysboxes]

what are some weird food concoctions (example: m&ms on pizza) that yall like? And what’re some weird drink concoctions?

(a cultural thing that is regarded as “weird” by others counts)

and is there a backstory to why you like the food and drink? Like is it a childhood thing, something a loved one liked, something you just randomly discovered, something passed down by generations, etc

mod wonder - for weird drink concoctions, i love mixed drinks, like cranberry and apple juice or a variety of soda mixes. for food, depends on what you’d count as weird. oh except, don’t cancel me for this, i eat damp cheerios. i can’t have liquid milk, or any kind, but hard cheerios are sometimes too dry for me, so i add a little tiny bit of water to make them damp, but not full on wet. i also eat matzah with charoset or butter, which isn’t really weird, but might be to someone who’s not jewish

Mod Luxray 🐈‍⬛️⚡️- OKOK SO FOOD watermelon, Tajin, creole seasoning, and whipped cream[cool whip works best], mush it all up and freeze it, you get a sweet with a slight spice sorbet-icecream ass things its SO GOOD. Drinks have to be Lime Jarritos, brisk ice tea-lemonade, and milk/cream, creates a cream soda type thing, back story for both is my mommas friend growin up would always make these for me while i was in the hospital, which was alot, so its become something of a comfort food

Mod Avon 📖 - Lmao I just talked about wildcard sodas! Love that. But for me, I don’t tend to go too wild on concoctions (the autism texture thing goes hard for me). People get upset with me over gummy bears in blended custards though. Like those blended custards at Rita’s? Love gummy bears in those. It reminds me of the good memories I still have of my family.

Mod Jester 🖍 - Not really sure if it’s weird but we love mac and cheese and peas so much. We first thought it was weird when our mom introduced it to us but we tried and loved it. The texture is mainly why we keep going back to it.

Mod Weeping ❤️ - Mac and cheese and peas, mac and cheese and plain lays or salt and vi what lays in between bread (Mac and cheese chip sandwhich 😎), mayo on peas-, spaghetti and peas, and chicken sandwhich with mac and cheese (preferably baked mac and cheese tho?). Mac and cheese and peas was a childhood thing, the Mac and cheese and chip sandwhich was something my brother and I made up, the mayo on peas is something my hip moms family taught me and they called it “cowboy peas” and said it was a southern USA thing but I have never met another person who did this so they may have been lying lmfao, spaghetti and peas was something an upstairs neighbor did and we had to eat it or not eat basically-, the mac and cheese chicken sandwhich was bc of that Chick-fil-A TikTok hack that went around for a bit. Also, and this is a PICA thing that we just never stopped doing, those fucking paper lollipop sticks bro- also some middle eastern foods and thing that ppl generally dont like in the USA unless they’re from there? Various things we ate bc we had PICA as a kid but I don’t count those. And then drinks idk. (Fuck that was so long sorry-). Oh wait- also something a little in our Sys likes- is these wack ass snack concoctions she makes of really spicy chips plus sweet cereal (like O’s) plus something more “plain” like pretzel balls she picks the salt off of

mod plush 🌻 — unfortunately i’m a very average food concoctor. fries and milkshakes, ketchup in mac and cheese (bonus if it’s cheeseburger mac), etc. if you asked me what foods i didn’t like, well, we could be here for hours…

[ofxlilac]

(chris wood) [THE GOOFBALL]. Please welcome [WESLEY "WES" RIVERS (HE/HIM] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [32]-year-old [RESIDENT] who lives in [THE COMMUNE]. You may see them around working as a [CASHIER AT THE FAMILY VIDEO]. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

BASICS

NAME: Wesley Rivers AGE: 32 BIRTHDATE: September 22nd SIGN: Libra LABEL : The Goofball GENDER: Cismale ORIENTATION: demi sexual, it is based on who he develops a connection for. LOCATION: Huntsville

PHYSICAL

HAIR: light brown hair EYES: brown/amber if in the right light HEIGHT: 6'0″ MARKINGS: none

FAMILY

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single SIBLINGS: none PARENTS: ------

SKILLS - probably a gatherer and not hunter

PHYSICAL PROWESS: not athletic at all, would probably die or faint if he had to run for a long time. he is more on the lean side, though he played sports in high school, he's got some build in his upper arms. ABILITIES: He has a charm about him where he feels the vibes, he tries to make a bad situation a good one. he can be witty, and funny. he doesn't care if he looks stupid doing so. SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Italian. HOBBIES: cashier at the family video, can recommend some good movies, discounts, and coordinate an awesome movie date.

TRAITS

POSITIVE: trustworthy, loyal, brave, attentive, daring, focused NEGATIVE: dependent, insecure, stubborn, cautious, not confident

PREFERENCES

COLORS: dark blue, black, sunrise – lilac, blue, orange sky that mixes. SMELLS: fresh baked bread, ocean breeze, smell of wood burning, peppermint and cinnamon. DRINKS: open to all drinks FOOD: pizza, tacos, steak, ice cream, – not a picky eater at all.

OTHER

FUN FACTS: loves thunder storms, left handed, he can actually play guitar and play it well, not a fan of the heat, prefers the cold.

CHARACTERS:

HUMAN : steve harrington - stranger things, peter parker - spiderman, best friend in any movie VAMPIRE: Lestat - interview with a vampire FEARS: to lose people he cares for. Losing himself. TRIGGERS : can get a little anxious if he somewhere where it can't get out, or if its a small space.

Song - Paralyzed by NF

“ I’m paralyzed Where are my feelings? I no longer feel things I know I should I’m paralyzed Where is the real me? I’m lost and it kills me inside I’m paralyzed ”

BIO - tw mentions of alcohol.

Wesley grew up in Huntsville, Virginia. His father was not one for high spirits. as most of his childhood days consisted of cleaning up after his father's drunken messes. He didn't have material things or fancy clothing. During his childhood, he would hear whispers and chatter from other kids about his clothes, and his looks. That didn't bring his self-confidence up throughout his teenage years.

however, that didn't get to him, he wouldn't allow it too, he had too big of a heart and wanted to always see the good. even if it meant going through difficult times and pain. so where did that lead him? well, it lead him to using humor as an outlet. if people focused on what was funny, then they wouldn't question his background or ask about his family. anything to get the attention off of him in regards to that.

during his high school years, he played baseball, and he found he was good at that. he was a high school pitcher. wesley was one to blend into the crowds, still, he made people laugh, and that was enough for him. whether people liked him for that---he didn't want to really know what their intentions were. however, his father ended up moving out of Huntsville and wesley ended up leaving once high school was over. he didn't really continue his education, just found himself going from one state to another.

eventually settling in West Virginia, after the storm had passed, he realized there wasn't much of an escape from the town. the monster thing also didn't help either.

PERSONALITY

Wesley is a bit of a goofball, he jokes around, and likes to make people smile. even if he is unwelcomed or can't make others open up, he is pretty chill, and in high spirits. he decided to make the most of the town. he can be trusted, and if you end up breaking that trust, it impacts him, because he believes that people can be good, they just tend to hide all their insecurities and pain.

CONNECTIONS

Friends Enemies fellow cashier buddies at the family video a crush people he helps best friend

[staggersz]

Omg I love ur tbp fair hc’s, do u have any hc’s ab what tbp boys do for their birthdays/ how they celebrate it? I love this blog literally so much 😭

OMG I LOVE THIS QUESTION AAAAA AND AHENJSHW IM GLAD YOU LIKE MY BLOG AAAAA 🤭

I’m gonna start with Finney, and say he’s not much of a birthday party kind of person. Growing up he just liked having a small event with his family. Robin would give him a present at school though!

Finney is the type to ask for just. Anything space related for his birthday. When he was really little, his mom once made an astronaut suit for him for his birthday. He was so happy about it. When his mom passed, he brought out the suit every year just to look at it and reminisce about his mom, even though it didn’t fit him anymore.

He usually has a good day, even if his birthday lands on a school day. He always asks for a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and those small star sprinkles. It never gets old to him.

Finney’s dad kinda sucks at baking, but Gwen will help him make the cake for Finney. It was a day they could bond peacefully. Terrence saved enough money so he could get Finney a telescope for his 14th birthday, Finney’s birthday out of the basement. Finney was really happy about it.

Terrence and Finney were starting to have a better father son bond, so Finney felt like he could start having normal conversations without feeling on edge now. That night he went outside with Gwen and their dad to look at the stars through the telescope. Finney thinks it’s the best birthday ever.

-

Robin always had a nice birthday. He had a bit of a big family so he always had a lot of fun on his birthday. Robin was given the choice to invite someone not in the family ever year; he chose Finn, always.

When Robin was about 8, Robin’s mom told Finney about the tradition of pushing someone’s head into the cake and convinced him to do it to Robin. Finney was nervous at first but he did it, and Robin could barely breathe from how hard he was laughing. They both still think about that a lot.

Robin is indecisive about what he wants for cake and a present every year, so sometimes his family had to wing it since Robin couldn’t decide. He was always grateful for what he got, though :)

When Robin’s mom passed, it was around Robin’s 12th birthday so Robin was kind of down in the dumps for that birthday. Robin’s uncle made him a marble cake with chocolate frosting as best as he could. Robin’s uncle didn’t typically cook a lot so it was a lot of trial and error, but the cake still turned out good! He wanted to make sure Robin had a good birthday, even if Robin was struggling mentally. His uncle set up a birthday sleepover for Robin and Finney, and he was happy to see Robin smile.

-

Bruce likes his birthday! He has a few friends over sometimes but as he got older he just invites people he’s close with. He gets Vance to sleep over at his house for a few of his birthdays. When they start dating, Bruce asks for a “birthday kiss”, of course 😭

Amy always gets Bruce a vinyl or something when she starts having enough money saved to get him one. Bruce’s parents typically get him stuff related to baseball and other interests he has! :)

I feel like Bruce would like vanilla cake with chocolate frosting. He likes the sweetness of it! There’s mint ice cream on the side, of course. Amy always does the “cha cha cha” in the happy birthday song, which makes Bruce laugh.

Bruce is such a funny guy on his birthday. Lowkey self absorbed but it’s okay because it’s his birthday y’all!!

-

Vance always felt indifferent about his birthdays. He always felt like he was supposed to be excited, but he never really was. (cOUGH autistic vance COUGH) It just feels like a normal day to him.

Bonnie always makes him handmade clothes, buys him records for his record player, and gets him posters and stuff like that. Griffin crochets something cool for Vance every year, typically stuff related to sharks (Vance would like sharks, guys!!)

He had one birthday in the basement, but just one was enough to traumatize his birthday experience. He gets really awful nightmares the night before his birthday and the night of it, and he gets really scared typically. Bruce usually stays the night both nights to comfort Vance when this happens.

Vance pretty much isn’t a fan of cake now, so Bonnie makes cherry pie for Vance, and they don’t sing happy birthday, since Vance doesn’t ever really want them to do that. Luckily, he’s also never had to have a birthday at his dad’s house.

-

Billy LOVES his birthday, even though he had three birthdays in the basement. THREE!! (hello trauma blocking!) But either way, sometimes he still gets that weird eery feeling on his birthday.

Billy is a huge fan of peanut butter chocolate cookies, so he asks for those instead of any kind of cake for his birthday. Since he shares a birthday with Donna, he doesn’t inconvenience her if she does want cake. They blow out candles together! :3

Billy’s parents get him a calligraphy set for his 14th and some dinosaur models as well. Billy LOVES dinosaurs guys.

Billy invites Griffin over to sleep over, and Griffin gives Billy a (boy)friendship bracelet and a crocheted stuffed animal of a dog. They’re legit so in love and they’re happy!!

Billy’s parents are divorced, so Donna and Billy have two birthdays. Billy doesn’t mind all that much. He likes spending time with his family :)

-

Oh, Griffin likes his birthday also!

Griffin also gets that eery feeling on his birthday. His brain also somehow managed to block out his trauma, including his three basement birthdays.

Griffin is a huge fan of strawberries. So, Bonnie made Griffin creampuffs for his birthday, made with chocolate frosting and a lot of strawberry filling. <3

Bonnie makes Griffin handmade clothes and stuffed animals, and Vance gets him more stuffed animals along with candy, and sometimes a really cozy blanket. Griffin loves blankets.

Griffin has a small get together with the others, since he was usually alone on all his past birthdays. This includes Gwen, Amy, and the other boys. Billy stays the night, and if the night is warm enough, they’ll sleep out in Griffin’s treehouse.

[purplesurveys]

1686

Do you prefer bar or liquid soap? Liquid, I guess, but it’s nowhere near being a passionate preference.

What's the speed limit on your street? I’m not actually sure but probably like 10 kph max. It’s a narrow street and a kid or pet could come running out of their house’s gate any second.

When was the last time you wore your favourite article of clothing? I don’t really have a favorite one.

Do any of your family members have an upcoming birthday? The next one is my mom’s in September.

On a scale of 1-5, 5 being the best, rate your last kiss. 0, It was a nothing kiss at that point, but I didn’t feel so at the time which to me makes it even worse.

What is your favourite flavour of Jolly Ranchers? I’ve never had those.

Where was your Facebook profile picture taken? Somewhere in Zambales.

Do your parents smoke? Neither of them do.

Would you rather bake cookies or a potato? Cookies.

Who was the last person to stay the night at your house? Reena on my last birthday.

Do you live close to a park? Private, tiny subdivision parks, yeah. Those barely count as anything though.

Is your favourite animal endangered? One of them is.

Have you eaten pizza in the last week? I haven’t. I did buy pizza-flavored Pringles here in Thailand the other night but I haven’t had pizza here yet. I don’t think I’ll have the time to do so either.

Who was the last person you added to your contacts list? I have no clue; I never add people to my contacts anymore. Since I greet people with “Hi [name]!” anyway I always know whose number I’m texting even if I don’t designate a nickname for them anymore.

How long does it take you to shower? Around 10-13 minutes. I’m usually able to finish a whole vlog in the shower, no more no less haha.

Do you prefer a brand of bottled water over others, or is it all the same? I don’t drink bottled water enough to have a favorite brand, but yes I do prefer certain brands over others because the taste difference can be super blatant.

Have you used Wikipedia today? I don’t think I have today.

Are you better at writing fiction or non-fiction? Non-fiction.

Do you know anyone who has moved to a different state? I know very few people who’ve moved out from Manila to the province. People do the opposite like 90% of the time, but moving to the province happens too although a lot more rarely.

How many pens can you see from where you’re sitting? There aren’t any.

Have you ever dated someone one grade/year above or below you? Nope.

What language do you think you’d be good at? Not sure, maybe Spanish. I have a decent handle of the language from the colonization anyway. :) What language do you think you’d fail at? Any Chinese language.

Do you still have a landline phone at your house? Yup, my grandma still calls via landline so we keep it.

What is your current desktop background? BTS.

How big is the television you last watched? No idea, it’s an Airbnb TV and I can’t be bothered to ask about the specs.

Have you ever been stung by a bee or a wasp? Nopes.

How many schools have you been to in your lifetime? Just two; I stayed in one school from kinder to high school and only switched when it was time to go to college.

What is the middle name of the last person you texted? Her middle name is her nickname, so Angela.

Are you of legal age in your country? Yep, I think 25 is legal everywhere?

Why did you last visit a doctor? Needed to get my braces readjusted.

Would you prefer an ice cream cake or a regular cake? Pass for the most part, but fine I’ll go for the regular. I don’t understand ice cream cakes. Why get a cake that, like, disappears?

How old is your best friend? She’s turning 25 this year.

What is/was your high school’s mascot? Both of the schools I attended don’t have one.

Do you carry pain relievers with you at all times? Nope.

Where is your mother right now? She’s in Siquijor vacationing with my dad.

What was the last thing to make you smile? This nice lady who was helping me get back into our Airbnb room without the building cat entering through the door. I think she’s the one who runs the laundry shop attached to this very Airbnb.

Are you currently saving up for anything? Not right now but the moment I land back in Manila I most definitely will have to save in general because I went balls to the wall crazy with the shopping.

What’s the view like from your bedroom window? An abandoned house on the right, two very quiet houses behind, some trees.

Generally speaking, do you prefer sweet or savoury? Savory. I don’t like desserts.

What would you do if you got home and you saw your house had been destroyed? Depends. Destroyed by a fire? Was it trashed and some shit got stolen? Did Agi tear off all the tissue rolls? Idk I could either have a panic attack, cry, get angry, be frantic, or anything else depending on what the house looks like.

When did you last go outside, and what for? I wanted to look for a cafe here in our neighborhood area in Bangkok and found one on Maps, so I tried walking to it but when I got there there was nothing :( So I just went back to our Airbnb since I don’t want to wander too far all alone.

Who is your favourite Sesame Street character? I didn’t really have a favorite but if you asked me now I would probably go with either Cookie Monster or Bert.

How often do you check your emails? Only when I’m on shift.

Do you have any plans for this Thanksgiving? I don’t celebrate that.

What colour is your backpack? I don’t use a backpack anymore but my main handbag is brown.

Would you slap the last person you talked to for twenty dollars? No.

What search engine do you usually use? Google.

How much did the shirt you’re wearing cost? No clue, my mom got this for me hoping I’d use it in Thailand. And now I am :)

Patrick Stump or Pete Wentz? I never preferred one of them over the other.

Do you know anyone who gives way too many hugs? A little bit, yeah.

What time do you usually wake up on Sundays? 8 AM.

Have you whispered today? I don’t think I have.

What grade did you get on the last test you took? The last kind of anything I was graded on was like this writing workshop for work where we were given a prompt and we got a seasoned journalist come in to review each of our works...anyway, I got like a 48/50.

[egcdeath]

Prompt!

Dad!Steve is grilling for his son, the picky eater.

Because whether Steve is Dad or not, he is absolutely for sure a Grillmaster™️ and on this hill I will die.

dietary restrictions

summary: steve is a god on the grill. unfortunately, your son can’t attest to this.

warnings: fluff, domesticity, kids being kids

word count: 752

author’s note: i kinda put my own spin on this prompt, but i hope you still enjoy it!

you can find more of dad!steve here!!

One of the best parts of domesticating your husband was how he’d taken on an affinity for cooking. Being a full time stay at home dad, he had plenty of time to try out new recipes, make creative meals, and bake you loaves of bread for you to pass onto family and friends.

Though Steve had become very comfortable in the kitchen, he was truly in his element when he used the Blackstone in your backyard. You certainly had no problem with this— you’d be a fool to complain when you got to take in the sight of Steve standing on the patio with sunglasses perched on his nose while your children frolicked around your back yard.

Steve announced that the food was done, and everyone sped to the grill. You assisted your children as they grabbed the toppings of their choice for their burgers, along with grabbing them a few skewers of grilled vegetables. You gave Steve a quick peck of gratitude on the cheek before heading over to the patio table.

Sarah dug right into her food, quiet and deep in thought as she chewed the food in front of her. James… not so much. He pushed some grilled zucchini around his plate, and side eyed his burger.

“What’s wrong, bud?” Steve asked James. “You’ve barely touched a thing.”

“I’m actually vegetarian now.”

“Are you really? When did this start?”

He shrugged, “all week I’ve been one.”

“All week? James, I packed you a turkey sandwich every day this week.” You could see the hint of amusement on Steve’s face, but there was curiosity there as well.

“But turkey isn’t meat,” James countered, finally eating a grilled vegetable. You had to restrain yourself from giggling at the comment.

“It… uh, it is. Have you seen a turkey before? They’re like, really big birds. And birds are meat.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay though! I can start packing you something else now that I know. But next time you go vegetarian, please tell me right away. I mean, I could’ve grilled you a mushroom instead of a burger.”

“A mushroom? You know that’s fungus, right?”

“What’s fungus?” Sarah asked, a bit of ketchup on her cheek.

“A mushroom is fungus, Sarah, and funguses are dirty little plants that grow from the ground. Never eat them,” James warned.

“I don’t know if that’s a fair assessment,” you chimed in. “They can be pretty tasty if you cook it right. I don’t think there’s anything Daddy grills that isn’t good. Even a ‘dirty little plant.’”

James mulled over your words for a moment before making a declaration. “Not even Daddy could save a fungus.”

Steve did not like having his grilling skills questioned. He was ready to move onto the next topic. “What prompted this decision anyway, big guy?”

“Well Max is a vegetarian now, so I wanted to do it too.”

“If Max was jumping on a cliff, would you jump too?” Sarah chimed in.

“That’s not how the phrase goes at all! It’s if your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do it too? And I would. But only if it was a cool cliff.”

“Vegetarian is a boring cliff.”

“You’re a boring cliff!”

“No, you are!”

Steve finally interrupted their little argument after a second, “okay, alright, that’s enough about cliffs. Neither of you are boring cliffs. You’re both my exciting, interesting cliffs.”

“Can your more exciting cliff have dessert early?” James asked.

“You’re equally exciting. I guess since you’re not having the burger…” Steve looked over at you for approval.

“Christ, Steve,” you muttered. “Finish your vegetables first, then you can have ice cream.”

Zucchini and bell peppers were quickly being stuffed into mouths, no manners attached. You would’ve said something, but you were honestly just relieved that the cliff discourse was over.

“All gone,” James beamed, showing you his mostly empty plate.

Sarah was far too busy chewing to announce that she was done, but it was clear to you anyway.

“Good job, guys. I’ll be right back,” you grabbed their now empty plates and walked inside, dropping them in the sink before grabbing bowls, a pint of ice cream, and a scoop.

Sarah and James cheered as they saw you come back to the patio, far too excited to be having dessert this early.

If you didn’t know better, you’d guess this was some elaborate scheme your children set up to have dessert for dinner. But it couldn’t be. There was no way they were that clever.

Right?

[babymetaldoll]

So happy together (Spencer Reid / Reader)

Summary: Spencer bumps into an old annoying classmate, who brags about his perfect family, and Reader decides to pretend to be Spencer’s wife to shut him up.   

Warnings: As fluffy as you can get 

Word count: 2,3K

Part II

Masterlist 

. 

It wasn’t strange that Spencer and (Y/N) spent their free time together when they weren’t on a case. Their job at the BAU left them just a few weekends off, and though they were all day on each other’s faces at work, they loved going out whenever the opportunity arose. 

It might have been related to the fact they were best friends. 

Also to the fact they were in love, but neither of them had still said a word about it. 

Years had passed. Years. Morgan and Penelope were going nuts waiting for them to confess their feelings, but though they had literally pushed them together - once they were “accidentally” locked in a supply closet of the BAU for two hours- nothing had happened yet. 

Even Hotch was annoyed. He was happy Spencer had someone he loved around him, but all Aaron wanted to tell him was: 

- “You have to act on your feelings before it’s too late, ‘cos you never know what will happen tomorrow, not just in this job, but in life. Take what makes you happy and keep it close”. 

Of course, the day he tried to talk to Reid, all Hotch managed to say was: “Tell (Y/N) wheels up in thirty” and that was it, but he was planning on giving the kid a speech about love, as soon as he got a chance. 

Then again, when did he have time to do anything besides work? 

It was Saturday, and Spencer was taking a calm walk in a park with (Y/N). She had promised Mrs. Sanders from 307B she was going to take Lizzy - her five years old corgi - out to play for a while, ‘cos it was making the old woman insane. Mrs. Sanders was the only neighbor (Y/N) actually talked to…. mostly ‘cos she was never long enough in her house to meet the rest of them. (Y/N) took her dog for walks as often as she could, and the old lady always baked her brownies and cookies for her “and her boyfriend”

- “Your boyfriend is too skinny, take him these and tell him you made them for him, men love when a woman cooks for them”- the old lady smiled and gave (Y/N) a tray with freshly made cookies- “And tell him to cut his hair, he looks scruffy”.

(Y/N) never told her otherwise, a part of her loved the idea of Spencer being her boyfriend…. and besides, it would be rude to break an old woman’s heart. Right? 

- “Do you want an ice cream?”- Reid asked her and took her from her thoughts. 

- “Yes! I need sugar ‘cos I’m so tired I’m gonna fall asleep standing here”- Lizzy barked at them and left her ball on the ground- “You on the other hand, never get tired, do you?”- the young woman threw the ball.

- “Go fetch, baby!!”

Spencer walked to the ice cream truck and got her a chocolate chip cookie dough cone - he didn’t even need to ask- and a mint chocolate chip for himself. He stared at her playing with Lizzy and for a second, he imagined she was actually his girlfriend, and they were spending their day off together, walking their dog, eating ice cream, holding hands. It was perfect in his mind. 

- “Here”- he gave her her cone and smiled. (Y/N) was about to thank him when a stranger’s voice stopped her. 

- “Spencer!! long time no see! how are you?”- a man stood next to them, he was maybe five years older than them, tall, good looking, he was carrying a little girl in his arms, and holding a woman’s hand tight. She was pregnant and smiling happily. It was the portrait of a perfect family. 

- “Carl, hey, hello, how are you?”- Reid was surprised to see him, it had been years since he had seen his old classmate, and he could have lived a long happy life if he hadn’t seen him again. 

Carl wasn’t really nice. He wasn’t mean, or a bully, or anything like that. He was just… an asshole sometimes. He was always bragging about everything he had: grades, cars, girls, anything you might think of. Spencer always thought it was because he needed to be validated over and over again as an alfa male, which wasn’t really his problem. But still, after hearing him for years when he was younger, Reid had enough of him. 

- “It’s so weird to find you here, I thought you would still have your nose buried in books like you always did on weekends!”- Carl laughed at his own joke, and Reid just nodded, with an awkward smile. 

- “No, I… sometimes I go out now”- that was all he managed to say

- “This is my wife, Andrea, and our little angel, Anna, she is three… and Carl Jr is on his way”

- “Nice to meet you”- Spencer waved and couldn’t even introduce (Y/N), ‘cos Carl continued talking. 

- “Can you believe I got married? I always said I was never going to settle down and here I am! with a happy family! you should come and visit us! We just bought this fantastic house outside town, with a big yard and lots of space for the kids to run and play!”

(Y/N) stared at Carl and bit her tongue. She had heard about him a lot in the last few years. Spencer told her all about the classmate who kept telling him about the dates he had with the girls he wanted to ask out. And all the fun he had at the parties he wasn’t invited to. And how he managed to always make him feel smaller, though he didn’t actually mean to. Sometimes people can’t help being assholes. 

- “And who is your friend?”- the assumption (Y/N) was his friend and not his girlfriend (although it was actually accurate, that was another problem) made Reid’s blood boil. Why couldn’t he have a pretty girlfriend too? 

- “Hi! I’m (Y/N), Spencer’s wife”- she waved and smiled- “Sorry I can’t shake your hand”- she added and showed them the dog toy she was holding, and the ice cream cone.

- “Come here Lizzy! come here!”- the dog sat next to her and (Y/N) pet her sweetly. 

- “Wife! man! I never thought you had it in you”- Carl didn’t realize he was an ass, he didn’t mean to, but that didn’t stop him.  

Spencer just smiled, and in what seemed to be the boldest move he had ever made, he wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s waist and moved her a little closer to him. 

- “Yes, we’ve been married for two years already”- she added, resting her head against his arm, feeling her stomach tighten. Spencer’s perfume was all around her, and she loved it. Besides, the fact he was now holding her close was killing her. Literally, she could feel she was about to have a heart attack, and it was completely worth it. It took her a few seconds to realize her ice cream was melting in her hands. 

- “Shit!”- she jumped and moved from her “husband” to clean herself. 

- “Here”- Carl’s wife handed her some baby wipes and looked at her hands for a second- “Did you lose your ring?”- shit, Andrea was nosy and annoying, just like her hubby.

- “I usually won’t wear it playing with the dog, or at work”- lies came out of (Y/N)’s lips as easy as breathing- “You know… we are both FBI, and you don’t know when someone might actually take advantage of any kind of information they have about you”

- “FBI? you?”- Spencer looked at Carl and sighed. Right, he wasn’t done teasing him yet. 

- “Yes, I’ve been working at the BAU for the last couple of years, profiling serial killers”- Reid made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, and (Y/N) decided it was time to brag a little. 

- “Honey, don’t be so modest, you are the best profiler, we are the only team with a Doctor in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering”- and Reid blushed- “Besides, you joined the FBI when you were 22 years old”- (Y/N) smiled and looked at Carl- “Did you know he is the youngest SSA the bureau had ever have? there was no psychological exam or test the FBI could put in front of him he could not ace inside of an hour”  

Carl looked at Reid and nodded, trying to find something to say. 

- “That’s great, I’ve got my own law firm by the way, in case you ever get in trouble”- he joked and looked at (Y/N)- “Or in case you want to divorce him ‘cos he ignores you over books”

- “I could never! did you know he has saved around 352 lives in the last two years? he actually got the FBI Medal for Meritorious Achievement a few months ago… I am so proud”- (Y/N) leaned in and kissed Spencer’s cheek. He looked at her blushing and just smiled. 

- “You look adorable”- Andrea finally said- “It’s like you just started dating!” 

- “Well, we have to go”- Carl didn’t manage being overshadowed very well- “It was very nice to see you, Spencer” 

- “Same! take care, nice to meet you, Andrea”- Reid waved and smiled. (Y/N) did the same and kept eating her ice cream. 

- “I hate him”- she whispered as soon as they were far enough not to listen- “I’m so glad we didn’t invite them to our wedding”- Reid laughed and shook his head

- “You didn’t have to do that”

- “Nah, I wanted to”- she really did- “He was being a jerk, just like you told me he was” 

- “He doesn’t mean to… I think” 

- “Well, he got what he deserved”- (Y/N) felt Spencer’s eyes on her, looking at her in adoration. 

- “Thank you, buttercup”- and she giggled

- “You are very welcome, honey bunny…”- and the silence seemed to last for ages until Lizzy started barking. 

(Y/N) smiled and looked away from him, knowing she was blushing. She really loved that nickname, and he didn’t call her by it as often as she would like. She grabbed the dog toy from the ground and threw it to Lizzy, who ran immediately.

- “Mrs. Sanders made you cookies”- she said after a few minutes- “But she said I had to tell you I baked them for you, ‘cos that what’s girlfriend’s do to get men’s hearts”- Reid’s cheeks were still red, and those words didn’t make it better- “But considering we are already married, I guess I don’t have to do that anymore”. 

They both laughed and then, stayed quiet again. Reid could hear Rossi’s voice yelling in the back of his head “Ask the girl out, for crying out loud”, but he couldn’t even open his mouth, petrified. 

(Y/N) finished her ice cream, watching Lizzy playing with other dogs, and sighed. They were standing side by side, both looking ahead. 

- “We should head back”

- “Doyouwannagooutwithme?”

The slur of words was so fast, not even Spencer understood what he had just said. But (Y/N) did. She stood next to him feeling her knees shaking, as well as her hands. It had happened. It had finally happened. In her head, she was screaming “YES, OF COURSE I WANT TO”, but her lips weren’t moving, and Reid was starting to panic. Maybe Morgan was wrong, and (Y/N) did like him that way. Maybe he had just ruined the best friendship he had ever had. Shit! what had he done. 

- “I mean, I understand if you…”- but she didn’t let him finish 

- “Yes, I do”- that was really all she could process. And he didn’t know what to say next. There was no random fact to kill the silence, they would always have a lot to talk about, but that time they were speechless. 

- “Tomorrow?”- he managed to whisper

- “Ok”- she nodded as the two of them kept looking at Lizzy 

 - “I’ll pick you up for dinner”- Spencer’s voice was so soft he was scared it was going to shake and embarrass him  (he was already embarrassed, but he didn’t want to make it worst). 

- “Sounds good”- (Y/N) slowly turned her head and looked at him, nearly holding her breath. Her best friend finally asked her out. The best friend she had been in love with for years had just asked her out on a date. And all she managed to say was: 

- “So… do you want a cookie?”

- “Sure…”- he nodded and smiled. (Y/N) called Lizzy and put on her leash. Gave Spencer the paper bag with homemade cookies she carried in her purse and smiled.

.

- “Did you know Christmas cookies date back to Medieval Europe?”- and there it was, Spencer’s random fact of the day, just on time to kill the silence when they were about to reach (Y/N)’s apartment. 

- “Really?”

- “Yeah, the traditional Christmas flavors, like cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger, became very popular, and those are exactly the same spices medieval cooks would have used in their cookies ages ago”

- “I love Christmas cookies”

- “I know”- he smiled and looked at her- You bake them all year long 

- “I can’t help it, they are too good”- she giggled and stood outside her building door. They just stared and smiled, Lizzy trying to get (Y/N)’s attention rubbing her head against her leg. 

- “I’ll see you tomorrow then”- Spencer blushed at the hint of their date and (Y/N) nodded

- “See you tomorrow”- and neither of them moved. Lizzy barked again and forced (Y/N) to wave and open the door. Spencer just stood there for a second, staring at the empty space in front of him where (Y/N) was standing a few seconds ago, and suddenly, it all sank in.

- “What the fuck did I just do?” 

[kanene-yaaay]

Full of Life

Random Notes: This fanfic contains Cheer Up Tickles, Mouth Tickles, Rapberries, Tickly Kisses, Gang Up Tickles, Nice Nicknames, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and the power of friendship. This fic is about 3.000 words. This fic is Lee!Patton with Ler!Logan and Ler!Roman with also implied Lee!Logan. Virgil is mentioned. I did not prrofreaded this yet :’v.

Kanene’s Notes: Heya!! Holy gosh, I started this fic with a very clear direction in mind and then proceeded to ignore it xDD. Gosh, I literally forgot how natural writing can feel. I hope you have as fun reading this as I did writing it. <3

[~*~]

Patton was not sure how Logan knew about the Blanket Rule, but he did. Maybe they talked about this one day.

 About how, when Patton opened Logan's door and immediately went to hide under the grey comforter of his friend's room, that meant he didn't want any kind of contact. No touches. No words. No acknowledgment.

 And Logan respected that. He was just so good like that.

 Actually, in Patton's opinion, Logan was amazingly good at a handful of things, but especially in dealing with sad days.

 They didn't expect sad days to go as smoothly as they did in each others' company, but now that they lived through tough and hard moments, it really couldn't go any other way.

 Logan, for his part, didn't know how to comfort and preferred the silence instead of the possibility of saying the wrong thing and upsetting the person further, obligating him to deal with things he hardly understood, such as feelings. And, in Patton's turn, he would rather cry and let himself feel all the bad emotions far away from any judgmental eyes or unsolicited advices.

 Now, Patton wasn't really sure what he had to offer on Logan's Bad Days, but the other confirmed that he helped with such certainty and unavoidable security that it left no other options than trusting on his words.

 Patton trusted him. A lot.

 The cat lover mused this sentence on his brain, trying to focus better on his senses than the overwhelming thoughts that fought desperately for his attention. It was also good that Logan's house wasn't the quietest, too. Above the heat that started to bring his mind to the present and to the now, Patton could hear the sound of Roman in the kitchen, talking fiercely on the phone, hitting by accident - between curses and 'Who the hell put this here?' - cabinets, pans and bouncy containers.

 He chuckled. It was a low sound, barely there.

 But still.

There was also the quiet sound of Logan moving the books and cups from his table, turning on his computer and typing.

 Also, there were cars passing outside. Cars filled with people and sometimes even pets. There were purring cats and lazy dogs and families out there. Stars and fireflies and kids laughing because their parents finally gave in and bought them ice cream before dinner. There was the wind ruffling someone else's hair, a parrot learning new words and an old couple enjoying a cup of coffee on a low night who could, as well, be found outside.

 There was so much life outside.

 His hand touched his chest and Patton felt his heartbeats and the way his torso would go up and down at every breath. The way the comforter squished under his fingers in a feeling of soft and secure and...

 There was life inside too.

 There was a vivid life in the way Logan put one of their favorite movies, letting the opening to fly unashamed across the room in a silent invitation.

 There was life in the way Patton knew that, the moment he opened the door, the smell of baked goodies would fill his senses and his heart.

 And in the way the stars kept their light and the planets their rotation and meteors continued to fly around that gigantic amount of things we call the Universe, as if nothing else really mattered.

 And...

 And maybe that was true.

 Maybe, while the stars were in the sky, the cats continued to purr, a child kept bothering their parents for a snack and best friends kept caring about you during your bad days...

  Maybe then nothing else mattered.

 Patton pushed the blanket away from him, taking a deep breath. 

 It was much less stuffy outside.

 "Logan." The other turned in his direction immediately, fondly scoffing when he found the other making grabby hands in his direction. A couple of seconds later his hoodie was flying across the room and falling from Patton's awaiting arms, since his skill of catching things was still a work in progress.

 After a few seconds and a couple more, Patton found himself melting on his friend's half hug, watching the movie - which had to be played again from the beginning, since when Patton arrived it was already in the middle of the plot’s clímax, but neither commented on it - and barely jumping on the bean bag when Roman opened the door with no discretion.

 "If that is a sad movie that I hear I will slay you all. Except for you, Patty Cake, I will fight for you." He came in, phone still pressed between his shoulder and ear, his hands too occupied in not letting the bows full of cookies, popcorn, chocolate and a lonely pot of ice cream to fall. He lightly hit Patton's thigh with his foot. "Move, I'm gay."

 "Hi gay, I’m Patton." He chuckled, that time it sounded a bit stronger.

 "We are not eating this absurd amount of sugar." Logan replied, profusely ignoring Patton's pun.

 "Thank you for your input, Microsoft Nerd." Roman answered with a joyful, fake tune, totally unfazed by Logan's half not-amused and half but-also-not-surprised stare. "If you have any complaints in regards to the attendant's service we ask for you to fill a complaint form that will be carefully read by our team, who will do their best to apply the necessary changes in a near future. Roman's company-" a loud gasp cut his words when Logan forcefully grabbed one bowl and took part of the cookies and chocolates inside it. "Hey! This is mine!"

 "No, this is Virgil's. He won't be able to come for our movie night so he asked us to keep some food for him."

 "Do you think if we watch more movies we will be able to wait for him to come back?" Patton questioned.

 "I can't say for certain since I am not sure how long his date will be."

 Roman snorted. "If I taught him well, he is not coming for tonight. Gotta enjoy the-" Patton shoved a cookie on Roman's face, successfully stopping his sentence.

 "Nope!" He smiled, now proceeding to shove a cookie on his own mouth before trying to give Logan the same treatment, pouting when he saw that the other was already munching a sweet, eyeing him warily. He unpaused the movie. "He is my baby brother and I'm not thinking about that!"

 The movie night started quiet. For today, quiet was more than nice to Patton.

 Then, in the part when the protagonist learned that there was magic in her world, Logan grabbed his hand and started to trace lightly, in slow shapes all the way over the lines across his palm, his fingers sometimes traveling to his pulse and forearm in a few swirls before going back to the previous spot. A small, however permanent smile began to gleam on Patton’s face.

 He knew this was going to happen. Logan was one of his first friends who discovered his liking for tickling somewhere on the beginning of their journey to their friendship, as well as how comforting that activity could be for him.

 A faint blush still dotted his cheeks when he thought about that. Today was not an exception, the soft touches made butterflies wiggle their wings in excitement on his tummy, a wobbly tune taking over his smile, especially when he saw Logan’s slight grin at his quiet reactions.

 Patton glued his eyes on the screen, refusing to acknowledge his friend’s antics, which led to a yelp escaping from his barriers when a hand rested on his side, pulling him closer to the half hug and sneaking a couple of pokes on the ticklish spot.

 “You good, Pat?” Roman quirked an eyebrow in his direction and Patton felt his face get hottier, giggles beginning to bubble in his throat when the pokes evolved to a drag of fingers that went up to his ribs and then down, back to his hips, blunt nails spiraling and teasing carefully the sensitive skin. He did his best to not squeal and squirm away.

 “Yes! I aham.” He beamed, trying to dislodge the walking tickles and dissipate the giddy energy spreading across his nerves. “I just really like this sce-eene!”

 Logan hummed innocently under Patton’s pout thrown in his direction, as if didn’t just squeeze his side right when he was talking. “I believe it’s an important scene for the plot, yes.”

  Roman squinted his eyes at the screen. "She's literally just asleep.”

 “Yeah!” Patton giggled, scrunching his nose as he did so. “I think that part is very-” Logan decided that was a very good time to concentrate his efforts on prodding and exploring every single ticklish inch of his right lowest rib, knowing very well each weak spot and wasting not a single effort to put his best friend in stitches. Patton felt his resolve break, uncontrollable titters pouring from his lips. “Funny!” He squealed. “Very, very funny!”

 “Really, can you explain why you think that, please?”

 “Logan!”

 “I am merely curious to understand your concept of humor, Patton.” Logan mused, finally letting go of his hand to attack his sides, making the cat lover to clap his hands on his mouth, hiding the snorts who were trying to fly from his lips. “Maybe I will even start to see why you’re so adamant on making so many puns on your daily basis.”

 Patton shook his head, giving up from trying to not react to his friend’s attack in order to wiggle away from his curious hands and silly scribbly fingers. Sadly, he ended up making the mistake of turning his back to Roman, who, watching the whole ordeal, let a devilish smirk take over his face.

 Before Patton could even protest against Logan’s words, two arms hugged him from bei, hands squirming to rest, in a mock of safety, on his armpits. “Hey, Specs, guess what!”

 “No! Roman!” Patton squeaked, kicking at the feeling of one more attack concentrated on another ticklish spot, crackles beginning to paint his laughter here and there as Roman’s fingers began to tease the skin, his thumbs just barely twitching on the place, fingers clawing at his high ribs. “No, no, please!”

 “Yes, Roman?” Logan answered, using the opportunity to give the other a break and stop his tickling.

 “You know what I realized? That Patty Cake here,” Patton’s giggles only got higher when Roman decided to nuzzle his neck, words coming out muffled as they hit the sensitive skin. “Who has the purest, sweetest dazzling smile, haven’t told us how amazing he is today.”

 “Nonono, please not this! Not this!” Patton turned to Logan, who was the more susceptible and within his field of view. He put the best puppy eyes he could muster through his giggles and uncontrollable titters that still fell from his lips. “Lo-lo,” he pouted in order to give his face a stronger power. Logan stared at him as a deed caught in the light. “Plehehea- nahaha!” A shriek flew from his mouth. “Roman, not fair!”

 Roman smirked, dramatically preparing himself for another raspberry.

 “Don’t even think about using your evil Puppy Eyes on our defenseless Microsoft Nerd!” He drowned Logan’s protest by making Patton shriek with another attack. Peals of loud laughter filled the room when he decided to release smaller raspberries, traveling from one side to other of the cat lover’s neck.

“Anyway,” Logan ruffed, concentrating a sea of squeezes on Patton’s knees as a revenge, relishing in the way his blush travelled over all his face when snorts and squeals began to become more and more frequent. “You were talking about making Patton tell us something?”

“Oh, yeah! I was thinking about being really nice today, since our dear Laffy Taffy Patty looks a bit tired.” As the words came out of his mouth, Roman changed his technique to something softer, watching amused as Patton wiggled non when he decided to drag his fingers on his sides, scribbling them to his chin - and, of course, resting a couple of kisses on his neck, he wasn’t a monster - and them tapping his way down, this time choosing to give a bit of attention to his shaky tummy. “So we could just make him admit something small and simple, really! You won’t even notice when the words come out, dear!” He changed his attention to the victim on his arms, hugging him close and nuzzling him.

“Please! Not there, not there!!” Patton tried to dislodge the other’s tickly affection from his ears and neck, but being constantly distracted by Logan, who kept sneaking horribly, unbearable scratches to the sensitive skin under his knees everytime he stopped trying to pry his hands from his legs. “I wihihill give you my cohohokies! All of them! Plehehease.”

“That is very kind of you, Patton. However, I think it isn’t very polite of you to interrupt Roman like that.” Logan tsked, now letting  go of both his knees to concentrate his efforts in tormenting the weak spots of just one. “Please, I do ask for you to refrain from laughing about such a serious matter. I can almost believe you’re not taking your cheering up as seriously as we are.”

“I am! I am!!”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because you-” he snorted, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “You are t-tickling me!”

Logan’s eyes lit up with mischief, a playful wink being thrown at Roman’s direction before he returned his gaze to the previously-sad friend. “I can guarantee you I am not.” 

“Falsehohohood!”

“Very well.” The one with an unicorn onesie lifted his arms, crossing them on his chest just as the other attacker also stopped his tickling. “See? I am not even touching you. And yet you’re still giggling yourself silly as, ah, Roman would say.”

Patton clamped his mouth shut, trying to keep the remainescent giggles trapped on his chest, a slight feeling of dejavu hitting him. He shook his head.

“No? You’re not a Smiley Laffy Taffy, you say?”

“Stop stealing my sweet nicknames!”

Just as the one with a big, truly gigantic smile would shake his head again, his giggling actually being subdued, Roman decided that was just the perfect moment to vibrate his hands on his lower stomach, his barrier crumbling, again, in a matter of seconds.

“Roman!”

“I see.” Logan mused, in between Patton’s high pitched squeaks when the other failed to cease his attack. “So, you're a serious case of Giggle Bug.”

“Am not!” He cried in protest, holding Roman’s pulse, not really trying to push it away.

“Oh, no!” Roman dramatically cried, fishing more laughter from the puppy lover. “What are we going to do Patton? Are we doomed to hear your cute, amazing giggly giggles and delightful laughter forever and ever and ever? What shall we do, Specs?”

Logan sighs, deep and serious, adjusting his glasses. “I fear there is nothing we can do except mitigate this unfortunate situation. As you can see…” Logan poked Patton’s torso, prodding some of the most ticklish ribs with a tiny, soft smile when the other bounced around, happy yelps pouring from his lips. He cleaned his throat, going back to the character. “This ribcage is full of all sorts of trapped squeals, snorts, squeaks, titters and giggles. As Patton’s friends, we must free them all to help him.”

“Crofters!” Patton suddenly blurted out, his laughter almost making the words untelligible. “I will tell you where Ro-ro keeps his Crof-nahahaha!” Patton squirmed when Roman kneaded his hips, a mischief glint still present on his smile. “Rohohoman!”

“Dishonesty! Trickery! Treason!” The one with red pajamas protested with a betrayed shriek. “Patton! After all the adventures we had gone through, after accepting you in my family as a brother, how could you do that to me? Oh, jail for friend! Jail for the Giggle Bug for one thousand of years!”

“I am sorry! I am very sahahaharrey!” Patton’s eyes widened when he saw Roman form a claw with his both hands, slowly descending them to his belly. “Waitwaitwait! Ro! Ro-ro! Ple-please!”

“No can do, Patty Cake.” Roman sighed in faux sadness, wiggling his fingers for a good effect. “Now I have no alternative except having to getcha, getcha, getcha! Your yummy tummy is all mine, now. ~”

But then nothing happened.

Roman’s hands stopped, leaving a puddle of giggly Patton to basically melt more in his embrace, lost in titters and phantom tickles.

“Oh,” Roman said, carefully, the tune of his voice making a shiver run across Logan’s spine. “Hello, Logan.”

Logan accepted his fate, trying another experimental squeeze at the dramatic friend’s side and receiving, just like his first try a few seconds ago, no reaction. He sighed. “I presume you’re not ticklish on your sides, then.”

“And I presume it just takes the mention of Crofters to make you turn the tables.” Roman gave Patton a last quick kiss on his neck, gaining another happy giggle before ruffling his hair. “Excuse me, Giggly Bug, it seems like our dear Blushy Bear is craving for a bit of my tickly attention right now.”

Patton hugged his sides, smile shiny as the sun, the clouds which previously assaulted him haven been already disappeared for a long time, now. His gleaming eyes glued on Logan, smile widening when he remembered he was the one who started everything.

“Get him, Ro-ro!”

And, as pleas and teases felt the air, Patton took another deep breath, letting his friends have some fun before he turned the tables at Roman, since he also deserved some good, nice tickles for being such a caring friend. Soon enough Logan’s laughter rang across the room and Patton only smiled wider.

Full of life, indeed.

[eeriefeelingsat3amuwu]

Man, it’s like- Sometimes, I get too caught up in everything bad in the world, all the Sadness and pain that people are experiencing, or just the fact that in the same moment in which I am typing away on my phone, terribly bored and sad, someone is dying, crying, going through something so much more terrible.

But then. I hang out with my friends and we laugh at a very stupid joke. Someone tells me I made their day better by being Nice to them. I see a pretty flower and it smells good.

I see the sun setting, the moon barely visible in the sky, the evening is warm and I’m smelling like smoke bc I had a bbq with my family. I make a child smile. My favourite song plays, my best friend texts me.

Someone hugs me and plays with my hair, my sister says she’s proud of me and sees me as her idol. Someone tells me my singing is Nice, I hit a high note in a song where I wasn’t able to before.

My linework is cleaned in my drawing, I get an amazing story idea, I bake something that tastes good and share with my friends and it makes them smile.

Someone listens to me ramble about my favourite book/show, or just asks me how my day was, a stranger compliments my outfit. I see a chonky bird, I drink a Nice cup of tea.

I finish an annoying and hard assignment, get a good grade from a test, I eat a homegrown grape or a strawberry. I convince my mom to go to a coffee shop and just talk for two hours.

I buy really good ice cream, hug my favourite plushie, take a fucking amazing shower, a cat lets me pet it. My English teacher compliments my writing.

My Dad takes me to a hockey match, watches my favourite show with me, I swing on the swing set, I finish a great hike.

I order good food and it arrives earlier than it said it would, I manage to throw a corny pun. Someone tells me they like talking to me. My hair looks Nice, I don’t feel dysphoric, I wear a dress.

I manage to catch a great stream live, I find the BEST fanfic, I watch a wonderful animatic. My favourite youtuber posts a new video, my roomie and I have a deep talk.

I figure out what brand of deodorant I like to use, my friend gives me a hug and I make them laugh. My bread dough rises the way it should, I drink water at three in the morning, someone reccomends a song that I fall in love with.

The love of my life says they can’t wait to meet me, they promise it will be soon. I understand a particularly difficult topic in school. I wear a comfortable hoodie, buy a skirt.

My back doesn’t hurt, my friend asks me to go out, I finaly get that one achievement in my favourite game. I like the face and clothes of the character I just drew, I stim so hard I get out of breath.

Someone gives me a gift, the bus driver knows which stop I’m getting off at, I paint my nails. Someone comments on my fanfic, someone reblogs my Tumblr post.

I win a Mario Kart game, I make a good pasta, I remember a funny situation. I breathe fresh air, I see a funky rock. My roommate brings me water, my mom makes me breakfast.

My sister plays so well on her guitar. I will play the piano once more someday. I get home after a long week. I call with my love.

Life is so full of beautiful things. Even if it hurts, it’s worth it. I’m not saying the stupid ‘it will get better’ bulshit.

No, I am saying that you deserve to be alive, despite everyone who tries to make you think otherwise. You deserve to see the pretty flowers, you deserve good food, long hugs, friends who adore you, family that has your back.

Every Single good thing on this earth is here for you. For you to see, to smell, to hear, to laugh, to love, to LIVE. Just. Don’t forget that, please. You matter. Even if you think you don’t.

You matter to the cat you pass every morning on your way to work, you matter to neighbour you helped with their groceries, you matter to the child who smiled at you. You matter to your friends, even if you don’t have many of them. You matter to your family, biological or not.

The good things are here for you, but you are also one of the good things to so many other people. Hey, I love you. Even if only one person sees this, I love you. You deserve the world.

Stay in it and it will come to you.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

sweet as pie.

a/n: please join me in welcoming sam wilson to the page. first story dedicated to this classic man, surely not the last.

pairing: sam wilson x black!reader

rating: 💙

main masterlist | taglist | divider © @whimsicalrogers

sum: sam is home. although times have changed, his sister’s intentions for him have not. sarah would love for her brother to settle down, and she knows the perfect person to make him do it. but when sam gets caught up with work, he misses the date sarah has set up for him.

words: 2.3K

It’s funny how the human mind works.

How easily certain moments can slip through its cracks. Names, dates, songs, conversations, faces lost to the wind, never to be remembered again. In the same turn, how those same things can be retained, recited down to the last detail in perfection.

Sam Wilson has seen enough in his lifetime--more than most men. No one could condemn him for forgetting the smallest of details from time to time. Sometimes he does. He is human. But, strangely, he can never forget a single detail when it comes to you.

Sam can still remember the first time he saw you.

The coffee-colored, cardboard box you carried in your arms--'living room' written across the front panel in your mother’s flawless penmanship. The dark curls pineappled to rest atop the crown of your head--a last-ditch attempt of fighting the Louisiana heat. The oversized Purple Rain t-shirt faded from too many runs through the wash. The round, black sunglasses sliding down the brim of your nose as you paused to take note of the boy watching you from his front window. Down to the scuffed, worn high tops that could barely pass for white.

He even remembers the soft smile you gave him once he froze--too embarrassed to move from the window after being caught watching you for the third time--before turning to lug the box up the steps of your front porch.

It was the summer of ‘94, and Sam Wilson was running late. He was expected to be at the docks assisting his father. Instead, he was peeping around his mother’s powder blue curtains, attempting to score glimpses of his new neighbors. Primarily their teenage daughter.

It’s not every day that Delacroix welcomes a new resident--let alone an entire family. Later that night, over dinner, his mother shared that you were entering your senior year--same as him.

He still remembers the knotting of his stomach. The strange and unusual experience of being tongue-tied when he’d tripped over his name--his name for god’s sake--that morning, you opened your front door to find him and Sarah on the other side. The kindness of your dark brown eyes as they met his, the soft giggle you released as you ignored his sputtering to accept the chocolate chip cookies his mother sent her children to deliver.

He also remembers the vision of you in your wedding dress. The smile he had to keep plastered on his face the night he learned his skepticism, surrounding death by broken heart, faded. You’ve never felt pain until you’ve seen the woman you love marry another man.

Sam must admit. When he returned, he expected--hoped--that those feelings would have disappeared. That they would have been erased from his life. Only, the moment he returned home, Sam discovered those feelings remained--were stronger even.

Five years later, he found you in the same house. Your parents no lived there. After their return from the blip, they packed up their things. Suddenly, tackling their bucket list was their main priority. You still had your husband’s last name but no husband. He was gone, lost to a younger woman.

Five years later, and Sam Wilson finds himself still frozen by the sight of you.

The long-sleeved maroon shirt he’s tugged on is not his number one choice. It’s all he had in his bag. The time on his watch had forced him into an ultimatum. Either run home, shower, and change into the outfit Sarah helped him pick out and risk being five hours late. Or head straight to your house, and risk being four hours and forty-five minutes late.

Sam opted for the latter.

Flowers in hand, he stands in the gateway of your backyard. His eyes admire the glow of the string lights against your skin. The yard has been transformed. Several tables and chairs, enough to host the entire neighborhood, squeezed into its space. Filled with music and laughter a few hours before the backyard is now quiet. Only the sounds of crickets, and the rustle of the trash bag in your hand, can be heard over the racing of Sam’s heart.

“Hey.” Sam takes a step forward, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Late is an understatement.” You don’t bother looking up from the plates stacked in your hands. Dumping them into the black trash bag, you move towards the next table. “You missed the entire party.”

After dumping the trash, you realize that Sam is no longer in the backyard. You find him in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, coming to a stop in the doorway.

Sam glances up from the soap-covered glass in his hands. “Helping you clean up.”

You glance around the kitchen, only to find that he’s managed to wash nearly the entire stack of dishes you’ve been dreading the entire night.

“I didn’t realize you still did stuff like this,” you tease. “What with you running off to save the world. Figured you’d just hire someone to do it for you.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I got you to keep me humble,” he winks.

Sam dries his hands with the bumblebee printed hand towel, a satisfied grin on his lips as he takes in the spotless kitchen. He’s too busy admiring his handiwork to realize you’re standing alongside him.

He turns, the snarky comment he’s prepared lost in his throat as he takes you in.

You can’t deny him a smile as you watch his eyes widen, a boyish grin brightening his face as he takes in the plate you’re holding. On it rests a single slice of homemade apple pie, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and perfectly drizzled caramel.

“I think you’ve earned this.”

“You saved me a piece?”

“No,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll. “I actually saved it for me. But if I have to look at your pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes one more second--”

“You were hoping I’d show up.” The grin on Sam’s face has morphed into a trademark smirk, the sight pulling a giggle from your lips. “You and I both know you don’t save, or share your pie with just anyone.”

Sam’s observation is spot on.

You don’t share your pie--or food, for that matter--with just anyone. In the chaos of hosting the neighborhood, you didn’t have a moment to stop and enjoy your own party. Let alone a slice of the apple pies you’d spent the previous night preparing.

Apple pies--specifically yours--were Sam Wilson’s true weakness.

The moment he sees you lugging home a bag full of granny smith and macintosh apples, he’s on full helicopter mode. You’re not sure how he knows, but he’s got a radar. One that somehow allows him to prophesize the exact moment the pies are out of the oven and set aside to cool.

He’ll show up, stopping by to say hi, or to see if you still need the drainpipe your ex-husband never got around to working on fixed, or to “pass along a message” from Sarah--as though your best friend couldn’t pick up the phone and call. Whatever the excuse Sam Wilson always manages to be the one to get the first slice of your apple pie. He’s smart enough to know that once the children of the neighborhood catch a whiff, they’ll show up on your doorstep. And as much as he loves the kids--Sam isn’t letting them steal his pie.

Sam’s words come out muffled through a mouthful of apples and crust. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Y/N. You should sell these. You'd make a killing.”

“And I’ve already told you, it’s just for fun,” you dismiss his advice, taking another spoonful of ice cream. “Besides, what do you expect me to do? Quit my good paying--although painstakingly boring--job in the hopes that enough people will like my baking to keep me afloat?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sam nods, a smile growing as he watches your eyes roll.

It’s a conversation the two of you have had for years. Here is the rundown of how it plays out--every single time.

Sam: suggests that you finally open up the bakery you’ve been talking about since your teenage years.

You: dismiss his words of advice, reminding Sam that most teenage dreams are foolish.

Sam: ends the conversation with, “I’d show up every day for a piece.”

You: spend the rest of the night wondering if he’s right, about taking the chance, only to psych yourself out before going to bed.

“I’m just saying,” Sam sighs, sliding the plate to the side. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned. Life is going to pass you by, regardless, no matter what you do. If you give it a shot, and it fails--which is never going to happen--your life isn’t going to end.”

You glance up from the table, a tiny smile on your lips as you take in his soft smile.

“Maybe you’re right,” you shrug. “If all else fails, I’ll just tell everyone it’s the Falcon’s favorite pie--”

“You’ll have people flooding in from across the country.”

“It’s settled,” you giggle. “I’m using you in my business model.”

“Hey,” Sam chuckles. “As long as I get a cut, I’m not complaining.”

A silence falls over the tiny kitchen as your gaze drops from his.

Sam lightly raps his knuckles against the table before pushing his chair back.

“Uh—I should probably head out. You’re probably tired. I just wanted to come by and apologize...again.”

“Wow,” the light laugh you release halts Sam’s act of standing up. “The second you get what you came for you hit the ground running?”

The response is automatic. The chance to tease him is one you never pass up.

Sam’s brow raises as he takes in your smile.

“That’s not what I came for,” he admits.

“What did you come for then?”

“To ask you over to my place for breakfast tomorrow.”

The proposition hangs in the air, Sam nearly squirming in his seat as you take your time studying his gaze. You let out a sigh, your shoulders shrugging lightly, once you finally speak.

“I don’t know, Sam” You shake your head. Picking up the plate, you stand and cross the kitchen to the sink. “You just have so many responsibilities, nowadays, running around trying to save the world--”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he’s quick with the reassurance. “Or any day, until we get through that date you promised me.”

You turn to face him, arms crossing over your chest as he comes to a stop before you.

“Say I show up. You have to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want.”

He knows that promise can end up being a slippery slope, depending on how hard you’re willing to make him work for it.

“If something comes up, in the future, you call me. And you tell me exactly why you can’t be here. Nobody gets to stand me up. Not the Falcon. And sure as hell, not Sam Wilson. Understood?”

Sam’s eyes drop to your interlaced fingers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Standing on your toes, you place a kiss against his cheek. “Now, go get some sleep. You’re making me breakfast in the morning. I’m expecting waffles, bacon, freshly squeezed O.J.--the works.”

if at any point you would like to be removed from the taglist, just message me

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[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Charlie Dillon

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You and Charlie see each other a few times before you actually meet. You’d been going to the all girls boarding school since you were fourteen so you’d obviously seen “the big men on campus” from time to time; usually at your schools joint dances. 

- And you’d always thought Charlie was handsome but you didn’t know him just yet. You thought he was handsome in the same way you think a person on the street is handsome, you give them a passing glance, acknowledge the obvious in your mind and maybe have a little “what if” sort of idea but then you move on. 

- It isn’t until you manage to be introduced to each other that things start looking up.

- It’s before a big football game and you’re there with your parents, or with a guy friends parents, to cheer on the football playing boy in your life. It’s then that Charlie appears and is greeted by the boy as he passes, prompting him to stop and chat for a few minutes.

- Your brother/friend introduces the two of you and you exchange a few quick pleasantries before him and the other boy go off and find their team. After they do so, you and the family find your seats and watch as the team plays; and later as they win the game. 

- Once the game is over, you meet back up with who you were there for and start to say your goodbyes. You pass Charlie as you’re walking back to your car so you stop and congratulate him on the win, telling him that it was nice meeting him. 

- He gives you an award winning smile and tells you that it was nice meeting you too, and for a split second, as he watches you get inside your car and talk with the other boy through the window, he forgets about how disappointed in himself he is. 

- He spends most of the night thinking about how many times he fumbled the ball, but every now and again, the image of you drifts though his mind and he finds himself picturing you in vivid detail: how you smiled at him, how earnestly happy for him you were, how pretty you looked in the fleeting sunlight. 

- It seems at least one good thing came out of that day....

- The next time you meet is a chance encounter as you’re out with your family and some family friends for dinner. He’s a few tables away and takes notice of you as you’re sitting alone, waiting for your group to be back from their separate conversations elsewhere in the dining area. 

- Once he sees you, he excuses himself and walks over, saying hello and talking with you for a little while before asking if you’d like to dance. Once you agree, he takes your hand and helps you up from your seat, leading you into the dancing area. 

- At least on the outside, Charlie is the exact type of boy that most parents want their daughter to date. The all American, upper class football player who pretty much has a full ride into Harvard, what better is there? So when they return to find you dancing with him, chances are, they aren’t going to rush to pull you back to the table. 

- So, you and Charlie dance and talk until one of your families decides that they “really must be going” and excuses you from your embrace. 

- But that little dance was all it took, he smiles at you and tells you that he hopes to see you again, already planning on how to ask you out before you’re even out the door. 

- Chances are, someone probably spotted you on the dancefloor together and later asks Charlie about you, to which he makes some bragging ambiguous comment that leads everyone into thinking that you’re a couple. So it’s really quite lucky that, when he calls you up a few days later, you do agree to go out on a date with him. 

- Regardless of the fact that most of his school and some of yours think that you’re already dating, the two of you go out to an ice cream parlor for your first date that next Friday and you have a really great time with him. 

- And, though he considers the fact that you went on a date to sort of mean that the two of you are dating, you share your first kiss after a couple more dates. He’d sort of surprised you with it but you weren’t really complaining.

- Technically, he’d been trying to kiss you all night so I guess that’s mainly why it surprised you: the only way he finally managed to do it was by doing it swiftly before you could cluelessly turn your head or move onto something else. So yeah, it was a little abrupt but it was still pleasantly accepted by you. 

- You don’t get a formal “will you be my girlfriend” but after that, he calls you “his girl” and everyone thinks that you’re dating. And since you have no issue with that, you just accept that you’re dating a handsome, Harvard ready preppie. 

- Charlie wants to show off that you’re “his girl” no matter where you are so there’s quite a bit of Pda in your relationship. Although, if you’re around his parents then his mother probably scolds him for “being all over you”, which him and his father usually laugh off. 

- His hand on your back or his arm wrapped around your waist.

- Temple and cheek kisses.

- Chaste, cheerful kisses when he’s happy and excited.

- Soft, slow kisses when he’s in a more serious mood. You’re probably his first girlfriend; or one of his first girlfriends, so these types of kisses are usually laced with hesitancy. He’ll look into your eyes and lean in slowly, softly brushing his lips to yours waiting for you to kiss him back. 

- Long makeout sessions. He always ends up with mussed up hair and his lips tinted the shade of your lipstick. 

- How the two of you cuddle really depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. It isn’t exclusive to this but if he’s having a bad day or you want to talk, then you’ll wind up with his head tucked under your chin and his hands tracing patterns on your back and sides; along with your hands running through his hair. Other times, you’ll spoon interchangeably. 

- Charlie loves using pet names; particularly when he’s trying to show off. Like I said before, he calls you his girl, but he’ll also call you things like honey and sweetheart. 

- Considering the way your lives are, the two of you don’t get to see each other incredibly often, but you learn to make things work. There’s a lot of waiting around for phone calls and spending holidays together and trying to shuffle around activities to find time for dates. 

- Jumping into his arms when you reunite. Like I said before, you don't get to see him extremely often, so you’re always ecstatic when he shows up and/or surprises you; and he loves seeing you all excited to see him. 

- Phone calls. He likes calling you to say goodnight or plan a date every now and again but he definitely gets at least somewhat embarrassed to say “I love you” if his friends are around. 

- Says “god, I know” when you tell him that he looks good or handsome. You always roll your eyes and push him as he smiles a shit eating grin. 

- He really cares about his looks, especially his hair, and it’s always immaculate which makes you want to mess it up; the fact that it annoys him only makes you want to do it more. 

- He absolutely does the real life equivalent of an 80s movie dress up montage as he gets ready for your dates and I will not be convinced otherwise. 

- He brags about you constantly. Everyone who knows him knows that the two of you are dating.

- Dancing together. He likes pressing his face to yours and keeping you as close as he can. 

- Family dinners and get togethers with his parents. They always insist that you join them whenever they’re going to do something. 

- Going to the diner and other teen hangouts. 

- He definitely steals your food constantly. This boy is almost always eating so if you’re into baking or cooking then you’ve found the perfect man.

- Ice cream parlor dates. 

- Soda shop dates. 

- Pool dates. He definitely has a pool at his house and you can’t deny that it’s nice seeing him without a shirt and watching as he shows his different jumps and flips into the water or the show of him shaking the water out of his hair. The only downside is his occasional; or frequent, attempts at throwing or carrying you into the pool.

- Picnics in the park. I can just picture him laying between or resting against your legs and tossing a football in the air as he talks with you.

- He always gets the biggest smile on his face when he sees you and when he’s with you. He especially gets a big smile on his face when he sees you all dressed up; he just thinks you’re the prettiest.

- Late night dates; and maybe sneaking out to see each other.

- He’s probably taken you out to that lake and the two of you have sat there on the dock and talked all night; probably with him giving you his jacket because it’s cold.

- Helping him study and reassuring him that he’s gonna do fine. Study dates are some of the only times where you get to see the magnitude of how stressed out and serious he can get. 

- Trying to help him calm down and loosen up whenever school and all other aspects of his life get too hectic, stressful or upsetting. 

- He definitely has your picture in his dresser drawer and it’s one of the things that bring him the most comfort when he’s frustrated. 

- Wearing his class ring. 

- Having quick conversations before football games. He thinks it’s good luck to see you and talk before he plays; and he finds it comforting to get a little reassurance from you before he goes out on the field.

- Him trying to impress you with his football “skills”. Charlie isn’t awful but he certainly isn’t the greatest, but you didn’t get with him for his football playing so you just congratulate him on wins and pretend like you didn’t notice his fumbles; if you even did to begin with.

- He loves being able to make you laugh; it makes him feel so cool. 

- He definitely spoils you. It’s both because he loves you so much and wants you to be happy; and grew up with his father doing the same for his mother, but also because he wants to show you that he can provide for you and that you won’t find another boy your age who can do the same thing for you, which isn’t the greatest mindset but he is a rich kid. 

- He got you this special necklace pretty early on in your relationship and it might arguably be like, a little too much, but you accepted it anyways because you really liked him. 

- Charlies got a big mouth, he blurts stuff out without thinking, so you’re oftentimes giving him looks or hitting his arm or telling him what not to say. 

- Charlies also; on the outside, the stereotypical all American good boy that every parent in the 1950′s wanted their daughter to date. He’s rich, he’s clean cut and he’s pretty much perfect. He can probably do no wrong in the eyes of your parents so they'll likely be very happy to let you go out with him. 

- Being a little jealous of Sally. I mean, the girls gorgeous and she’s been around and is around your boyfriend constantly. You don’t think he’d cheat on you but it’s still a bit difficult seeing them together. 

- He’d be completely surprised when he realizes that you’re jealous; and jealous over him. It might not be the nicest but he’d absolutely find a sort of sick satisfaction in you being jealous. Like, the fact that you value him that much and feel the same feelings that he does would be reassuring to him. 

- Being a big part of the David situation: whether it be you forcing him not to do anything or breaking up with him for a while or otherwise being the reason that he doesn't find out or at least do anything about his findings. 

- He’s legitimately a bit insecure about himself and his family ties s he might, on occasion, think that you’re just with him for his name and his status. But at the same time, he’s okay with that because at least he has you. 

- You constantly reassure him that you love him and that you love him for him, and scoff whenever he even insinuates that you might not. And sometimes you’ll prove to him that how you feel is real, which might not be the best resolution but it’s certainly one of the funnest. 

- He’s a pretty jealous person. He cuts in whenever someone tries flirting with you or shows interest in you, though how he does it depends on where you are or who they are. Sometimes he’ll save face and just excuse you from the situation or politely join in and show that he’s your boyfriend.

- Other times he just goes straight to throwing around his popularity and status, acting like a bit of a jerk and maybe making you a little annoyed in the process. 

- He rarely has a reason to be protective over you so he tends to not be, but he’s definitely one of those naively ignorant boys who was raised on the belief that women are dainty and more fragile. So there’s that and his possessiveness which accumulates into him being; in theory, somewhat protective. 

- Charlies a bit hot tempered, he’ll say and do things he doesn't mean; particularly when he’s upset, so the two of you might fight quite often and possibly temporarily break up from time to time. 

- He gets a little worried when you’re obviously angry or upset after an argument and he almost always tries to smooth things over and apologize; which he oftentimes does so fairly quickly after or during arguments regardless. 

- If you do wind up ambiguously breaking up then he’ll probably curse your name; not meaning it, and cry a little: both in frustration, anger and sadness. He’ll later do whatever he can to make things up to you and apologize, trying to get you to forgive him however he can and possibly finally get a hug or kiss. 

- He prefers to show you he loves you rather than tell you. He just gets a little shy about actually saying the words; though he loves hearing you say it. 

- He already acts like your husband so it’s pretty much a given that he’s going to propose. He probably wants to do it as soon as possible and start your life together; the all American dream: a white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. It’s a sitcom story but with him it’s possible to have a future that idealistic. 

[yeojaa]

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi?  Answer:  Jeon Jungkook.

pairing.  french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating.   hybrid!au set in college.  super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out.  explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself.  oops.

tags / warnings.  honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning.  but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns...  the usual.

wc.  4.4k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as always become, c’mon.  i’m me.  she’s her.  

author note.  this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub​‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii​​).  i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy.  feedback goes a long way!  xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in.  Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant.  (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.)  He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile.  All the girls swoon.  So do the guys.  Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes.  You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur.  His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes.  He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag.  They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him.  You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his.  (You try not to think about it much.)  

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change.  It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air.  Weird. 

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother.  Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does).  “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that.  Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball. 

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there.  Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.  

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible.  But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it. 

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama. 

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something.  Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time.  Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,”  he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes.  His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often.  Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”  

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak.  Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?”  Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,”  you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”  

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever.  But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural.  You wonder why that is. 

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest.  Not bulky by any means, but big.  Strong.  Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind.  It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut.  “Got a problem with me standing here?”  

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point).  “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?”  You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop.  “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.”  You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’.  He’s cute like this, you think.  Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.  

“I do?” 

There’s that cheek thing again.  It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.  

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin.  “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,”  he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright.  They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable.  So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”  

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours.  You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine.  A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.  

“What’s what?”  You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest.  (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.)  “Are you okay?”  He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton.  It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.  

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later.  The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind.  It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid.  True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare. 

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”  Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie.  The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails.  “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell.  He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee.  It’s made up of too many moving parts:  the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth.  You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class.  (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A.  You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,”  he hums, looking down at you.  You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night. 

“It’s not bad.”  Really, it isn’t.  It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another.  But it isn’t unwelcome. 

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar.  It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars.  You can practically taste it.  Him.

“Is that so?”  

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations.  It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting.  Should you?  Shouldn’t you?  You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.  

He beats you to it.  “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”  

You don’t think you could want anything more.  “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch.  The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures.  There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours.  It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air. 

“So—”  You start.

He finishes,  “do you wanna go on a date with me?” 

That’s surprising.  (Or is it?  You’re not really sure.)  You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person.  Something something all or nothing. 

“What?”  

“Do.  You.  Want.  To—”  He’s being insufferable for the hell of it.  You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.  

“Not if you keep that up,”  you retort, though you both know you’re lying.  You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him.  Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning.  Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.  

“Is that a challenge?”  

“You won’t get it in.”  

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief.  How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature? 

“What do I get if I do?”  The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim.  He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.  

“A pat on the back?”  As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms.  A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers.  (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.)  “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.”  He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose.  It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch.  “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you.  Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!  

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.  

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking.  He must be joking.  This is your third date.  

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest.  It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor. 

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?”  It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No.  I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.”  You should say no.  Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news.  Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.  

“Is that a yes?”  He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it.  (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag.  What comes out isn’t what you expect.  “Okay.”

Damn you.  Damn him.  Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over.  (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)  

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din.  It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.  

“Cool,”  he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool.  He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing.  You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.  

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth.  How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream).  How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro!  How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists).  How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch.  How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special?  Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?  

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?”  He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple.  It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in).  You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes. 

“Let’s.”  You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine.  It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place.  He takes the blue gun, you the red.  

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon.  “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,”  you return.  

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen.  Neither of you mind that much though.  He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.  You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.  

“Kook!”  Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.  

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips.  “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over.  Not even your second or third.  You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court.  You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different.  You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.  It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.  

“Are you hungry?”  He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.  

“I’m good.”  You are, really.  You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness.  You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you. 

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack.  Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours.  Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair.  “Are you tired?”  

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.  

“No bed then?”  

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?”  You’re only teasing.  A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets.  (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home.  He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home.  “Can you blame me?”  

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.”  Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders.  He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid.  “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?”  He asks, just to make you laugh. 

“If you don’t shut up—”  

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks.  “Don’t be mad, kitten.”  The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter.  “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again.  Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.   

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”  

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day.  You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage.  He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.  

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them?  Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do.  Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.  

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook.  Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.  

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look.  Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?”  The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.  

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood.  (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.)  “Don’t ignore me,”  he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,”  you retort.  You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest.  You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay.  People don’t tell him no - only you.  Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.  

“Sorry.”  

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves.  How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.  

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go.  Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around.  He’s impossibly big, thick and long.  The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.  

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him.  He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips.  (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,”  you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his.  The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.”  When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine.  He’s demanding and unrelenting.  It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”  

“Not.”  Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder.  “A.”  He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with.  “Wookie.”  Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.  (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.”  It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.  

His rhythm stutters.  The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame.  No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.  

It doesn’t work.  You love it anyway.  Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head.  You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care.  You can’t.  Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.  

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?  

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out.  It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base.  It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it.  It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.  

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

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