#mix & shake mitts

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |6: A Clarifying Moment|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

a/n: It has been far too long since this series was updated! Hope y'all enjoy! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock @writtenbyred @idontevenknow1359 @scriptedmoon

Startling on the couch as the oven timer beeped behind you, the noise interrupted you from the romance novel you'd been absorbed in for most of the evening. You earmarked the page you hadn't yet finished before leaning over and setting the book aside on your coffee table. Reluctantly rising from your cozy place on the couch, you tossed your blanket off and were immediately met with the faint chill of your apartment.

Breathing in the sweet, delicious scent of chocolate that was currently permeating its way through your place, you stepped around your couch and headed into the kitchen. Tonight you'd decided to pull out the boxed brownie mix you’d had in a cabinet and bake this evening as a comfort to yourself. Partly because doing something with your hands calmed you, and partly because you were craving something sweet to indulge in after the confusing day you’d had. 

You'd been in an unusual mood today ever since your coworker, Stephanie, had once more mentioned the idea of setting you up on a date with one of her friends at lunch earlier. You hadn't been able to shake that weird feeling that had since been growing in your gut. Though today wasn't the first time that she had mentioned setting you up with her friend, Dylan; she had mentioned him a few times to you over the past couple of months. 

Admittedly Dylan had sounded like someone you'd be interested in meeting from what she had told you about him, but you'd always been far too nervous to ever agree to let her give him your number. For weeks there had often been a part of you that regretted not just letting her because you'd long grown tired of coming home to an empty apartment night after night. You always wished that you had someone in your life who'd be here when you returned, someone to spend your weekends and evenings with. Someone instead of just the fictional characters in your books and television shows. But you were also tired of all the failed first dates you'd gone on, too. And a part of you was afraid that's exactly how things would end up with Dylan.

But Stephanie had also first mentioned Dylan to you before the Devil of Hell��s Kitchen had fallen onto your fire escape during that snowstorm. And since then you had gone and stupidly formed a crush on him. Which had left you conflicted about the whole situation now. Did you accept a date with Dylan and potentially risk ruining whatever the hell was going on with you and the Devil–which seemed like it was mostly a whole lot of nothing at the moment. Or did you decline what could possibly be something worthwhile just for the possibility that the strange masked vigilante could actually be a potential love interest for you? Though you were certainly aware of how ridiculous just thinking that sounded considering you had no idea who the Devil even was, what he looked like, or what he did outside of committing illegal acts of vigilantism most nights while apparently not feeding himself. 

Grabbing the oven mitts from off of your countertop beside the stove with one hand, you reached your other hand out to turn off the timer and silence the incessant beeping of your oven. Slipping both oven mitts onto your hands, you bent down and opened the oven door before reaching inside and carefully retrieving the tray of brownies. Pulling them out, you set them on top of the stove to begin cooling. 

Even now as you slid the oven mitts off of your hands and turned off the oven, you could feel that odd feeling continuing to gnaw at your insides. Truthfully you knew the logical thing to do was to just give Dylan a chance. You probably should just finally set up a date with him and see what happened. Maybe things would work out and maybe they wouldn't. 

But even as you thought that, the masked man's smiling mouth appeared in your mind and your stomach twisted into knots while your heart simultaneously beat a little erratically in your chest. The thought of accepting a date with someone else–someone that wasn’t the curious and charming Devil–almost made you feel sick to your stomach. Which was absolutely idiotic and ridiculous. Especially because you hadn’t forgotten his comment about not wanting a relationship from the very first night you’d met him. You recalled how he’d said that a significant other would be a liability and a distraction. Which to you meant that the likelihood of something happening between you both, despite him seeming to constantly flirt with you, was slim. 

Yet still you found yourself clinging to hope with both of your desperate hands.

The resounding tap tap tap of three sharp knocks from behind you drew you straight from your thoughts. Tossing the oven mitts in your hands onto your counter, you spun around in your kitchen, craning your neck to peer out of your window from where the sound had come. Not surprisingly, the Devil was standing on your fire escape and grinning back at you through the glass. 

The sight of him had your stomach pathetically somersaulting inside of you. You were so excited to finally see him for the first time this week that you didn’t even bother fighting the smile that had hastily spilled its way across your lips.

“Apparently you only need to think of the Devil for him to appear,” you quietly whispered to yourself. 

As you began making your way over towards him, you saw his head tilt to the side, the smile growing even wider on his mouth. Though the closer you neared to the window, the more you were able to spot the blood smeared along the lower half of his face just below the black fabric of his mask. Concern quickly replaced the excitement you’d initially felt at the sight of him, your feet hurrying you faster towards the window. 

Unlocking it in a rush, you shoved the window all the way up and stepped to the side so the Devil could climb into your apartment. A cold burst of air flew inside as you watched him bend down, your arms quickly wrapping around your chest to keep warm.

“Are you alright?” you asked anxiously. 

The Devil began to slip his way through the window’s opening, but as he moved with ease through the small gap, your eyes curiously landed on what he was carrying. A bouquet of white and pink lilies. You pulled a face at the sight of them, brows furrowing together in absolute confusion. Why was the Devil running around with a bouquet of flowers tonight?

“Perfectly alright,” the Devil answered, drawing your attention back to his masked face. “Why do you ask?”

You watched as he straightened up, shooting you a wide, blood-stained smile. Grimacing at the grisly sight, you shook your head before turning and closing the window after him. The howling of the wind quieted, though the bitterness of the winter night lingered in your apartment. 

“Because your face is covered in blood,” you said, turning back around and pointing a finger at him. “It looks like your nose was bleeding.”

The Devil raised his free hand up, his gloved fingers dabbing at his nose which was still mostly hidden by the material of his mask. Shrugging his shoulders, his hand lowered back to his side as his attention returned to you.

“Must’ve stopped,” he replied. “Though admittedly someone did manage to hit me in the face tonight. Was actually part of the reason why I’m a bit later stopping by than I’d planned. And why these,” he said, extending the bouquet of flowers out towards you, your eyes widening in shock at the gesture, “are probably looking a little worse for wear now. Had to stop a mugging on my way to come see you, which wasn’t part of the plan, either.”

Standing there in absolute stunned silence, your eyes were glued to the bouquet of lilies. Admittedly a few of them did look a little battered, but overall they were beautiful. You could smell the fragrant scent of them over the strong smell of brownies coming from your kitchen. But you had no idea how to even react to the bouquet that he was offering you, and your lack of response was seemingly becoming apparent to the Devil judging by the way his smile faltered along his lips.

“I–I don’t understand,” you finally stammered out. “Flowers? You brought flowers for…me?”

The Devil’s head tilted to the side, his smile gradually slipping off his face. Though his hand with the bouquet remained outstretched towards you, your eyes still very much focused on them in confusion. Did you dare to hope they were meant as some sort of romantic gesture from him? That maybe he’d planned to stop by and possibly ask you out on a date tonight? Maybe he’d finally tell you exactly who he was? Let you see his face? You felt your excitement flooding through your body at just the thought of that. 

“Of course they’re for you, angel,” he said, his usual charming smile returning. “They’re a thank you. For that Devil’s Pantry you set up earlier this week.”

Immediately your heart–which you hadn’t even realized had begun beating frantically in ecstatic hopefulness at that nickname uttered from his beautiful mouth–stuttered in your chest before slowing back down as the rest of what he’d said registered in your ears. Of course that’s why he’d brought you flowers, it was the only reason that would’ve made sense.

“Oh,” you breathed out. “Uh, well thank you, but you really didn’t need to do that.”

Something about the slight twitch to the corner of his bloodied lips and the shifting of his head caught your eye. You wondered what face he was making behind his mask as you cautiously reached out and accepted the bouquet from his hand. Not for the first time you found yourself wishing that you could see his full expression instead of so much black. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he told you. “Not many people think about me like you do. Worry about me.” With a chuckle he added, “ Or my kidneys.”

You laughed half-heartedly, still trying to recover from having stupidly misread the flowers as you turned and made your way into the kitchen in search of something to use as a vase. You didn’t often receive flowers, which meant you didn’t have an actual vase on hand–something you were currently feeling a little embarrassed about and hoping he wasn't judging you for.

“Well you really should be drinking more water,” you told him, eventually pulling out a large glass from a cabinet. “You’re going to have kidney damage before you know it.”

“Pretty sure there’ll be worse things happening to me before then,” he joked back. “Considering how I spend my evenings, just having both kidneys still intact already sounds like a win.”

You rolled your eyes at him, bringing the glass over towards your faucet and filling it with water. When it was half filled, you turned off the faucet and slipped the bouquet into the makeshift vase, pausing to admire the pretty flowers. Briefly you’d wondered why he’d picked lilies, but the thought quickly vanished when your eyes caught sight of a few specks of blood splattered along some of the petals. The Devil’s blood, you guessed. 

Turning, you set the flowers down on your kitchen counter before your attention returned to the Devil. He was still standing beside your window and silently watching you. With the light from your living room shining on him, you could more clearly see the blood covering the lower half of his face. You winced at the sight.

“What?” he asked. “Something wrong?”

“Just that you have a lot of–” you paused, gesturing a hand towards your mouth, “–blood still on your face. Would you mind if maybe I…helped you clean that up? Make sure your nose really did stop bleeding?”

For a moment the masked man stood there, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet as if he was contemplating your offer. Eventually he slowly nodded.

“I suppose so,” he answered. 

“Alright, let me just grab a wash cloth or something,” you told him, exiting your kitchen and making your way past him. “You can make yourself comfortable on the couch if you’d like.”

As you headed down the short hallway and into your bathroom, you heard the strangely light sound of his footsteps in those heavy boots of his. You assumed he’d done exactly what you'd suggested and sat down. 

Once in the bathroom, you bent down and opened the cabinet beneath your sink, your eyes scanning the towels you had stored in the small space. Finding a navy blue hand towel that looked dark enough to not show a permanent bloodstain, you pulled it out before closing the cabinet door and standing back up. Turning on the bathroom faucet, you gave the water a few seconds to warm up before you wetted the fabric of the towel. Afterwards, you wrung out the extra water before leaving the bathroom and making your way back down the short hall towards your living room. 

You found the Devil sitting on your couch just as you'd expected. As you approached him, you noticed how his masked head appeared to track your movements, following each of your footsteps towards him through the room. For some reason his gaze so closely focused on you had you feeling exceptionally self-conscious, a shudder running down your spine. But you also noticed a spark of something you’d never quite felt before shoot through you like wildfire. You realized that you liked the intensity of his gaze on you. Probably more than you should have considering his face was half-covered in his own blood.

Lowering yourself onto the couch beside him, you bit your lip as you tucked your legs up underneath yourself on the cushion. Resting an elbow on the backrest of the couch, you turned and faced him completely. He’d moved a little towards you in turn when you’d settled down, his masked face shifting towards you. Hesitantly you reached your left hand out, though it immediately hovered in the space between you both, your fingers mere inches from his face. His head canted the smallest fraction to the side at your hesitation.

“Is it alright if I lift the mask just enough to uncover your nose?” you asked, your voice softer than you’d intended. “I promise I won’t lift it any higher.”

The Devil's lips curled faintly upwards at your question before he nodded once.

“I trust you,” he answered in his deep voice.

Something about him so casually stating that he trusted you had your tongue darting out to nervously wet your lips, your heart thudding a little more loudly in your own ears. Left hand closing the remaining distance between you both, you gingerly grasped the black fabric of his mask between your thumb and index finger, very aware of how intimate this felt–especially as your fingers brushed against the skin of his cheek. The moment felt almost as intimate as the time you’d undressed him from his wet clothes and kept him warm while he’d been meditating in your apartment. You figured not many people–if any–had ever been allowed to so easily touch his mask. And yet here you were, raising it just a few centimeters to reveal a fraction more of his bloodied nose so that you could clean that blood from off of him. 

Briefly you held your breath as you raised the mask, too focused on the slow reveal of a little more of this mysterious man's face to do much else. Though you didn’t dare push your luck with raising it any higher than the marginal bit you had once the bottom of his nose was no longer covered. Reluctantly your fingers released the fabric and your left hand gently came to rest along his neck, just below his jaw, in an attempt to balance yourself as you leaned forward towards him. Reaching your thumb up to the underside of his chin, your finger carefully tilted his face at a better angle. Carefully you began to clean off the blood along the bottom of his nose with the damp towel in your other hand. 

You were thankful that the blood washed off his skin fairly easily and required minimal effort of scrubbing on your part as the Devil sat quiet and still beneath your hands. Because truthfully as you worked, your mind was focused on his skin beneath your left hand, finding it hard to believe that you were touching such a vulnerable spot on his neck. It was taking every ounce of your energy to stay focused on your task–as it usually seemed to be whenever you helped the Devil like this. It didn't help that you couldn't see his eyes beneath the mask, making you wonder if he was as focused on you as you were on him.

When you'd finally cleaned his nose, you began to wash the blood from beside his mouth next. While you worked, you noticed that his lips had visibly parted just enough for you to feel the warm breath passing between them. As each of his exhales brushed over the back of your knuckles, you felt yourself becoming a little lightheaded. That's when you suddenly realized just how close you'd ended up leaning in towards him on the couch. 

Your eyes darted up, your pulse increasing when you saw that masked face mere inches from yours. Accidentally losing your balance when you’d tried to shift backwards and put some space between you both, you instead almost fell forward into his lap on the couch cushion you were both sharing. It was the Devil’s gloved hand darting up in response, landing on your hip and easily steadying you, that kept you from tumbling right into him. Though for some reason his hand hadn't just steadied you, it had pulled you back in towards him once he'd helped you regain your balance. And then he’d left it there. 

Trying to calm your heart that was still thundering loud in your own ears, your eyes focused on his mouth as you took a deep breath in. The sight of his plush lips just within your reach was making it difficult for you to think about anything else–like cleaning off the rest of the blood along his stubbled chin. At this point, heat wasn't just creeping up your neck at how embarrassing this all was, but also at the fact that your hand had somehow come to rest along his cheek. It didn't help that his large gloved hand was still gripping your hip and keeping you close.

“Sorry,” you muttered awkwardly.

The corner of his lip twitched before his expression became unreadable once more. 

“Don't worry about it, angel,” he replied in his gravely tone. 

Forcing yourself to return to your task, your hand on his cheek tilting his face once more, you finished gently cleaning off the blood from the rest of him. Though the air still felt tense and charged with something impossible to ignore as you drew the bloodied blue towel away from the Devil’s face. Staring back at him, your eyes couldn't resist memorizing the bit of his nose that you’d revealed a bit ago. You didn't often get to see much more of his face, so you wanted to take full advantage of your current opportunity. But inevitably your gaze dropped lower and you found yourself once more mesmerized by his still slightly parted lips–the same lips that often haunted your dreams lately. Tempted to trace the line of them with a finger, your thumb on his cheek slid closer to his mouth entirely of its own accord. His own hand immediately squeezed your hip in response. You froze instantly.

You'd thought about a moment like this occurring between you both far too often lately. A moment where he'd let his guard down after all of those teasing flirtatious comments you’d endured, one where he actually let you in. A moment when he'd stop messing around with you and just finally kiss you. Because right now you swore you could feel something in the air between you both, swore that he'd even leaned in closer towards you. And his damn hand was still on your hip long after he had used it to steady you, even drawing you closer to him with it. 

There was something going on here. There had to be. If there wasn't, why did he keep giving you all these signals otherwise? Bringing you flowers as a thank you? Letting you take care of him? Repeatedly showing up at your place and considering it somewhere safe for him? With the way you acted around him, he had to know you were attracted to him. 

But before anything more could happen, the Devil’s hand quickly released your hip and simultaneously crushed your hopes. He loudly cleared his throat, his hand reaching up instead to lower the mask back over his nose as he turned his face away from you. Your hand fell from his cheek, embarrassment further burning through you at the obvious rejection. Lips pressing together, you quickly slid away from him on the couch and rose to your feet. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice tense.

“Of course,” you replied, eyes on your feet as you maneuvered around your coffee table. “Couldn't have you wearing your blood while you were here. I'm just going to rinse out this towel and then I can grab you some water.” Hurriedly making your way down the short hallway towards your bathroom, you said over your shoulder, “I made brownies if you want some.”

“I know,�� the Devil called back. “I could smell them from half a block away.”

Stepping into your bathroom, you paused in front of the sink, your hand hovering over the faucet. Your reflection in the mirror stared back at you as your brows knitted together at his comment. That was yet another odd thing for him to say. With a shake of your head, you turned on the faucet and began to rinse his blood from the towel, too preoccupied thinking about what had just transpired in your living room to make sense of the strange things he sometimes said. 

As you stood there watching your sink run red from the Devil’s blood, you felt your stomach drop at what had just happened between you both–or rather, what hadn't happened. Why had he ended the moment like that? Was it because he didn't feel the same way? Or because he believed having someone in his life really would just be a distraction and liability that he didn't want? Because you found it hard to believe that he hadn't felt something after that near kiss on your couch, even if right now you just felt rejected and embarrassed. 

Glancing up at your reflection in the mirror while you continued to rinse his blood from the towel, you released a sigh. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to give Dylan a chance after all. Maybe going on a date with a man who actually gave you his name and let you see his face was the best thing for your heart right now instead of pining after the mysterious vigilante who was fast beginning to feel too far out of your reach despite him currently sitting on your couch. 

Turning off the faucet, you wrung out the hand towel once more. Making up your mind, you decided that you'd finally tell Stephanie at work tomorrow to give Dylan your number. You'd agree to that first date once and for all.

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 12

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, homophobic slang

Part 1

You smacked Billy's hand away from the deviled eggs. "Stu please keep him away from the food." You begged with a casserole in your hands. Stu stood wide eyed with a slice of potato in his mouth. "Quit eating the food before I sit it out." You scolded trying not to laugh. The oven beeped making Stu check the food. "Pork chops are done!" Billy grabbed the oven mitts pulling the hot dish from the oven. "You can sit it here I've got hot plates down." You moved things around leaving room for everyone to sit.

"I'll make drinks." Stu grabbed three glasses pouring out what everyone wanted. "Do you need anything else?" Billy asked ready to help if you asked him to. You wiped your hands off on your apron looking around. "I think that's it. Thank you." Billy sat down at the table as Stu gave everyone their glass. The boys looked at the table like it was Christmas dinner. "Oh shit! I forgot to make the pie." You rubbed your face stressed. Cooking was one of your favorite things to do. Yet it could be the most irritating thing if one thing after another seemed to go wrong. The potatoes were a little over done while the vegetable casserole was a little too crisp around the edges.

"Hey." Billy's hands rested on your arms pulling you back to reality. "It looks great Y/n. Don't worry about a pie when you've already done this." He gestured towards the table full of food. "I wouldn't have room for pie anyways." Stu laughed. "I would." You and Billy both glared at the boy. "Actually I'm already full." You took a deep breath shaking your head. "Okay let's hope it tastes good." You said as you sat down. "It always does." Billy reassured you knowing you needed it. When setting the table Billy made sure to give everyone multiple plates. Stu however didn't need them.

You took a bite of your food mentally telling yourself you were a genius. Billy just stared in disgust at his friend. "What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?" You asked worried he didn't like the food. Stu had everything on one plate. The casserole was sitting in whatever oil you cooked the pork chops with. The deviled eggs sat next to the potatos getting the filling on everything else. It freaked Billy out. "I gave you a saucer for a reason." Stu looked up chewing on the food in his mouth. "What?" He said looking down at the extra clean plates on the table. "Oh! Well there's less dishes to do if I use one." Stu shrugged getting back to eating.

"I'll do the dishes just separate your food." You felt a little bad thinking the scene in front of you was funny. "Why does this bother you?" Billy looked at you like this was a universal opinion. "Why does this bother me? Look you've got your pork chop covered in broccoli casserole and there's deviled egg filling on it too." You took the chance to study Billy's plate. If the food could even be considered a little runny it had it's own plate. You agreed with Billy to an extent but it wasn't at all that serious. "It's going to mix together in my stomach so it really doesn't matter." Billy rolled his eyes knowing it certainly did matter.

Like a child Billy grabbed his plates moving over to sit next to you. "Are you serious?" You laughed even Stu was amused. "I can't eat if I'm sitting next to him." You just shook your head. "Okay besides obsessive compulsive over here, we do need to have a talk." Billy actually began to eat his food that you were sure was starting to get cold. "How long is Stu staying here?" Billy spoke jealousy evident in his voice. "Till we go back to school next week." You said before taking a drink from your glass. "My parents threatened to hire a maid so I couldn't throw any more parties." Stu laughed before shoving more food in his mouth.

You couldn't wrap your head around how parents could care so little about their child. "That's insane but we're getting off track. Stu in an ideal situation where would you want this to go?" You looked between him and Billy. "Can't we just hang out and see where it goes?" You liked the idea, it was one you thought about several times but it wouldn't work. "I wish we could but there's three of us involved. There's jealousy and guilt. Billy is already jealous you're staying with me." The boy next to you dropped his fork holding up his hands. "Hey I'm not jealous." Both you and Stu looked at him with straight faces. "Okay maybe I was a little jealous. Sue me."

"I want this to work out. I want to be able to call you both mine eventually." Billy laughed at his friend. "That's not going to work. I'm not having the world think I'm some sort of fairy." Stu just shot you a look. You weren't sure how to address the situation. With a huff Stu started talking. "I don't care what people think and I know that you do. I'm not going to tell anyone anything you don't want me to. I figured you knew that by now." You knew this was something time would have to fix. Neither you or Stu could force Billy to be okay with himself.

"How's this? All three of us are in a relationship. No two people more than the other. No labels. What we do behind closed doors is our business." Billy continued to eat leaving you and Stu to wait for some homophobic comment. "Works for me." He said as he wiped his lips with a napkin. "Stu?" You questioned. The short haired boy was just surprised with Billy's acceptance. "I'm alright with that. What do we do in public though?" Billy perked up also wanting an answer to the question. "Well we could just say I'm the girlfriend."

"When we're in public you're my girlfriend." A discussion with Billy was him simply telling it like it is. Stu was so used to it he thought he actually had a say in something. You weren't having it. "Is that alright with you?" Stu thought about it for a moment. "I guess so. I don't care for labels. What about holding hands and things like that? Do I just wait till we get home?" Billy seemed disinterested in the conversation. He wasn't expecting so many rules to what should be simple.

"I don't care if you two hold hands or whatever. At the end of the day though the word on the street is that you're my girlfriend." Billy was dead set on this. It sounded like a possessive thing and part of it was. Most of it however was just the security of the title. "Okay then that's settled. My only thing is and I can't be convinced otherwise, there will be no cheating." The boys found the word "cheating" rather funny since this so called relationship was between three people. "What does that mean exactly?" Billy asked resting his elbows on the table. "It means we don't sleep with anyone who isn't in this room."

Stu could live with that but he wasn't sure of Billy's loyalty. "Fair. Speaking of sex though how's that supposed to work? I don't want you two fooling around while I'm away." His hand swatted the air between you and Stu. "I'm going to want one on one time with the both of you on occasion. I'm sure the two of you will want your privacy sometimes." Billy would be fine sleeping with you by himself but the idea of you and Stu alone bothered him. He realized that was hypocritical. "So me and Billy can screw around without you and you don't mind?" Stu asked earning a glare from Billy. The idea didn't bother you.

"Yeah and if one of you comes over after school to spend the night it won't be an issue. This has to be fair to everyone involved. I'm not saying we'll never all be together. I'm sure that most of the time I'll be with the both of you." You took a sip of your drink leaving a small moment for either one of them to talk. Neither of them did. "I want to make it clear that you two are not dating me. We are all dating each other." Billy and Stu gave each other a look one you had a hard time reading. "What's the difference?" Stu asked. You don't know why you thought this would be a quick and easy conversation.

"The difference is we are all equal here. If one of us feels left out or has an issue then we'll discuss it together. Does that make sense?" Stu nodded actually following along with every word you said. "I'm sorry am I boring you?" You asked Billy who seemed aloof with the whole idea of a relationship. "No but is all this really necessary? It's seems like a business deal." Stu had to agree with his friend on that. "It is necessary if you want this to be a long term thing. You are far too jealous to not have rules and Stu is far too sensitive." The short haired boy couldn't even argue.

"Okay fine." Billy wouldn't admit it but he knew you were right. "What about dates?" Stu asked and the question alone made that giddy feeling come back. "Dates should be all three of us." Billy added his two cents. "That's what I was thinking." Stu wanted the same thing you did. For this to be an equal relationship. You listened to the boys not seeing anything wrong with the idea. "Alright any dates have to involve all three of us. Is there anything else?"

You wanted to have hope, be optimistic for once. However the quickness of everything really bothered you. "I hope not." Billy half laughed with Stu nodding in return. "This seems fast right?" You weren't crazy. This whole thing happened in such a short span of time. Part of the reason being the murders. Billy and Stu weren't dumb they knew how quickly all of this developed. Billy was well aware of how swiftly he became infatuated with you. You would say it's because of the scheme you had planned but he knew it was more than that. Stu however just fell in love easily. He was like a stray dog, you feed them once and they'll keep showing up at your door.

"It is fast but it doesn't have to be." Billy tried to be the understanding and caring boyfriend you so desperately wanted. "Yeah! We could go out and try to do this the right way." Stu was all for a old fashioned relationship. He wasn't sure if you could have a gayish old fashioned relationship but you three would be the first to do it. You smiled. Atleast the boys were looking at the glass half full. Billy looked at Stu having one of those wordless conversations. You stopped trying to read them at this point.

The boys helped clean up the table, Billy was tasked with washing dishes as penance for his previous offenses. He knew it'd take more than some corning ware but he was willing to do it for you. "Me and Y/n were listening to some records earlier." Stu talked as he toyed with the record cabinet. "Is that so?" Billy continued scrubbing the glassware only looking up to glance at Stu. "Yeah. Did you know Elvis came in his pants on stage once?" You snickered as you swept the floor. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you tell me that?"

Stu laughed, one of his favorite activities was catching his partner off guard. "Hey she told me. If I have to know it so do you." The boy pointed at you making Billy turn around. His hands were wet gripping the counter he leaned on. "He's already screwed up enough don't encourage him." Stu smiled a big smile falling in the floor in front of you. "Please, oh please encourage me." He begged making you roll your eyes. "See what I mean?" Billy shook his head with a smirk wiping his hands off on a dish towel.

"Okay seriously that hurt." Stu said holding his stomach as he stood up. "Oh my god let me see it." Billy laughed at your aggravated tone. You lifted Stu's shirt just enough to check the bandages. Billy watched wishing he was still in pain so you could look after him. "You're not bleeding but remind me tonight I've got to change your bandages." Stu looked over at Billy trying to read his expression. He felt like shit seeing the wounds that covered Stu's abdomen. Everyone in the room knew who caused the damage but no one acknowledged it.

"I'm sorry about that." Billy said cracking his knuckles. His eyes were focused on the floor not ready to show off the look of guilt on his face. "It's no problem. I'm gonna have badass scars." You looked up at Stu once you taped down his bandage. "You're right about that." You noticed the tension between the two boys and you weren't sure what it was about. "I'm going to go put on some pajamas. You two okay down here?"

"We're not toddlers we can manage." Stu's words were only half true. They definitely weren't toddlers but they certainly couldn't manage on their own. You walked up the stairs shutting your bedroom door behind you. Billy looked up the stairs for a second making sure you were gone. "We should plan a date." Stu smiled at the boy. "Look at Loomis getting all romantic." Billy refrained from smacking him seeing he's done enough damage for while. "Yeah yeah, where would you want to go?" Stu was a little confused by the question. "Shouldn't you ask Betty Crocker?" He figured the impromptu date was to please you. Billy already had Stu eating out of the palm of his hand all he needed was for you to do the same. "I'm taking you both out ass-wipe. That's what we're doing now right?"

Stu hated how excited the thought made him. Billy never took Stu out for anything other than a rented VHS tape. The idea that he could have a semi-normal relationship with the man he's cared about for years never crossed his mind. "We could take her to an antique store or something? She likes those places, they make me sneeze." Billy rubbed his face with his hand. "Stu I'm trying my best here I'd love some cooperation. Where do you want to go?" Stu had no idea. He's never been taken out anywhere. He took Tatum shopping and Casey too but he's never had those favors returned.

"We could go roller skating!" Stu hadn't been to a roller rink since he was a kid. "I like the enthusiasm but stitches, high speeds, and hard wood don't mix well when you're involved." He wanted to be upset but Billy made a valid point. "That arcade opened up down town. Would you be okay with doing that?" It was a better plan than wearing dirty skates. "I'll be fine but you're going to get your ass kicked in Mortal Kombat." Billy watched a smile light up Stu's face. "Oh you're on."

"Who's on?" You asked walking back into the kitchen. Billy looked you up and down admiring the nightgown he picked out in person. "I'm turned on." Stu said raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Well turn yourself off because I'm not in the mood to be spit roasted." Stu's jaw dropped at your words while Billy just stood confused. "What?" Stu stood up whispering the definition into his partner's ear. You watched in delight as Billy's features grew serious and that sinister glint in his eyes returned. "You are more fucked up that I thought." His eyes once again scanned you from head to toe.

"You say that like you don't love it." You walked to the living room turning on the TV. Believe it or not you were just as evil as they were. Just in different scenarios. You majored in the psychological warfare department. "She's going to be the death of us." Billy groaned as you sat down on the sofa. Stu smiled walking backwards into the living room. He held out his arms dramatically looking at Billy. "What a wonderful way to go."

(if your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you.)

Part 13

Taglist (closed): @katie-tibo @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607 @pumpk1n-writes @lovekeeho @tojisblood @zeysartzone @life-of-music3 @flyestvenustrap @littleblondesoprano @loomiscorpse @nicciekawegosblog @reneemunson @miss-puregotti @ksgsfsgaj @zoleea-exultant @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @mistydreamscape @l4venderia @nex-crowley @ashreblogsnow @brynaa223 @your-desire666 @billyloomiswhore4 @holyladyofsorrows @megluv1 @ellieswifeiya @yoluvrz @forallthstarsinthesky @madsothree @youcantbesirius @lubunnii @captainhowdysseptum @geekygremlin @madneedshelp

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #14)

FEB14: Cooking Together

“C’mon, love. We’ve gotta get this cake ready for tomorrow or Garrick is going to pout,” John reminded you, shaking a box of cake mix at you as he stood in the kitchen. 

You had promised to bake Kyle a cake for his birthday, complete with homemade icing and candles, and he had been practically glowing with excitement. He’d begged for funfetti, 

“I’ve never had it, and it looks fuckin’ grand. You’d be makin’ my birthday wish come true, babes.”

“Alright, alright. Cake-in-a-box, coming right up,” you laughed, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

That’s how you found yourself dragging your mixer out of the cabinet and following John’s orders as he read them off of the box.

“It says two eggs, love. Why’d you add the third yolk?” He warned, peering menacingly over your shoulder.

“Makes it a little richer. Just mind your business, sir,” you winked, elbowing him as you scraped the sides of the huge metal bowl, “What’s the next step?”

The batter came together in your mixer and you watched as the suspiciously-bright rainbow sprinkles dotted the inside of the pale cream, dancing in circles around the beater. John held the bowl while you filled each greased tin, making sure to leave some room. 

“Alright, chef,” he smiled, “Thirty minutes at three-fifty in your ridiculous Fahrenheit.”

John was wearing your oven mitts on his hands, using them to pull out the hot racks so he could place the cakes inside. They were shaped like fish, and their mouths were the hands. 

“What icing for the birthday boy, do you think?” You opened your fridge and stared at some of the ingredients you’d purchased.

You were planning on strawberry vanilla buttercream, but you could manage chocolate if you needed to.

John pulled off the mitts and shut the oven door. He wrapped you in his arms and stared into the fridge with you,

“Mmm. I know he’s a vanilla fan. Tha’s your safest bet, love.”

“Is he still planning on borrowing your car? He said he had something in town, but he didn’t elaborate,” you asked, wondering why you had to plan a birthday party in the middle of the day instead of around dinner time.

“Said he has a hot date…” John raised his eyebrows at you and helped you find a clean bowl to make the icing.

“Oh, God. Cana,” you realized, laughing as you started to prepare the buttercream, combining the ingredients manually rather than going through the trouble of washing the stand mixer.

“Yep,” John smiled, stealing an unused strawberry from the bowl he’d pulled from the icebox. 

The juice ran down the corner of his mouth and you caught it with your finger, licking it up and handing him a napkin.

“There,” you said, folding in the vanilla extract, “Give this a try.”

You held up the bowl of icing for him to taste, and he wiped some from the side of the bowl, painting it onto his finger and sucking it into his mouth. 

He groaned, low and deep,

“Mmm. It’s good, love.”

Then, he stuck his finger back in for a second taste, and you pulled the bowl away, giggling at him,

“Hey! Save it for the cake…”

He grabbed you around the waist and held you to him so you couldn’t escape. Using his finger filled with icing, he pointed it toward your nose, threatening to wipe it on you.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he chuckled, letting you writhe against him, giggling and trying to get away.

“John! No! Oh, my God. I’m gonna pinch you,” you threatened.

“Mmm,” he purred, “Careful. I kinda like it when you pinch me, love.”

You gasped, and he took advantage of your shock, smearing the icing on the tip of your nose. He grabbed your face, smiling and laughing with you, sticking his tongue out to lick it off. 

“John Price!” You screeched, craning your neck away from his wet tongue. 

“Mm. Just a taste. C’mere…”

John covered you in icing, kisses, and his lustful caresses until the oven timer beeped loudly in the kitchen, nearly forgotten.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

[callsign-songbird]

Trauma Bond Ghoap X Reader PT 3

BACK FROM THE DEAD!! If anyone is still here for this, I'm sorry it took so long to get out. But, the story has continued, and probably won't get a part 4. If it does, it won't be until after Christmas. The final word count is 3,998 words, so close to 4k! Hope this is more acceptable for those of you who wanted a better less "lazy" ending. ;w; (Insinuations of smut, but nothing too specific)

“Hey, bird. That radiator giving you any more trouble?” The chime of a bell rang out from above the door of the small coffee shop you had taken to tending to. In all honesty, it was John’s. Apparently being a landlord just wasn’t keeping him busy enough, and the only hobbies he had actually been able to stick to were working out and whittling out in the woods. You had tried making a joke once, calling him a “bushwacker” for the way he seemed to like to rough it. But you missed the way his eyes crinkled at the edges just a bit too much, a bit of brightness behind them that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“Doll? You there? Has he been working you too hard?” Kyle’s gentle voice and concerned expression brought you back to the present, snapping you back to reality as your eyes focused in on his beautiful face. You weren’t supposed to feel things for clients, especially repeat customers, but Kyle… Well, things could happen behind closed doors, and you certainly wouldn’t complain. “Sorry, I just, uh… Haven’t been sleeping the best lately.” You admitted with a sigh as you turned to make his regular, shaking your head softly. The nights had been becoming colder, and with that came the chill of paranoia down your spine. It should have been a familiar feeling at this point, especially since this was coming up on your third month away from them. Your feet were under you without them, you had to remind yourself all the time. You had a good place to live, a stable job, and even a couple of friends here in town… Well… You had Kyle and John, really. But they were your friends, right? Your landlord slash boss and favorite regular?

…

You really needed to get out more…

The coffee you slid across the bartop was nearly the same burnt caramel color as Kyle’s skin, and sometimes you swear you can smell the sweet scent mixed in with his natural musk after a long day of being your small towns only repair man. You lean against the counter, elbows propped up on the polished veneer while your chin rests on your palms. “Aww, now that’s a shame, love. Been watching too many of those scary movies? You don’t have to watch them just because it’s that season, doll.” He picks up the large ceramic mug with one hand, though, it may as well have been a teacup compared to his giant mitts. He takes a sip of the still steaming drink, taking an exaggerated sip and getting a dollop of whipped cream on the tip of his nose simply to amuse you. His smile is blinding when your own nose scrunches up in turn, a soft giggle pouring past your lips as you lean over, taking one of the diner’s cloth napkins and wiping the cream from his nose. Maybe you hallucinate it or it’s just been way too long since you got any physical affection, but you almost swear that he leans into the touch, his eyes lidding just on the sweet side of sinful as a hum leaves his lips. “It’s not that, I just… I don’t know… Maybe I just need to get out more, get some friends, you know?” Kyle’s eyes narrow just slightly at that, but he hides it by looking down into his cup, letting out a noise of interest as he lifts the cup to his lips once more, taking a normal smooth sip. “Well, y’ got me an the captain, right? And I heard we’re gettin’ a couple of new guys in town.” The prospect of new people piques your interest, but you try to hide it as you stand and make your way over to do a wipedown of the espresso machine, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “Is that so?”

Kyle nods, reaching up to fiddle with the brim of his baseball cap  while his eyes sweep the diner as if looking for anyone who might be able to overhear what he's about to say, as if it’s some big secret. That alone intrigues you. He leans a bit closer, trying to look casual as he braced his forearms on the counter, and you have to focus on the machine you’re wiping down to keep from staring at the way his jacket has to stretch to accommodate the beautifully sculpted muscles lying just below that you had been blessed enough to see before the fall chill had set in.

“Yeah, a coupla’ fellas who-” You jolt and turn around as Kyle is cut off, John’s hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture as he takes the barstool beside him, giving you a mirthful smile and a polite nod of greeting. You can only blink at him with wide eyes for a moment, wondering how he had gotten there without either you or Kyle noticing. Maybe, if he hadn’t been so reassuring, you might have noticed the flash of hesitation in Kyle’s eyes as he took another swig of his drink, effectively shutting himself up. “Hello, lovely. How has it been today? Slow? Sorry to leave you to mann it alone today, someone had a bloody busted pipe, so I had to go play landlord for a bit. But I'm sure it wasn’t too much, that right, lovie?” His eyes are always so warm, and his smile puts butterflies in the pit of your stomach. You’v ehad a lot of butterflies these past couple of months, especially since both men refuse to call you by your real name, insisting on a barrage of pet names instead that practically make you melt inside. Near every day has turned into a battle to keep your face from warming around them, and you can almost swear they make a game out of it some days. “Yeah, it was fine. Gibbs was pretty upset not to get his eggs since the cook was out, but he’ll live and told me to whack you upside the head for him.” You say with a bit of humor to your voice, sliding a black coffee across the counter to John which he takes with a grateful wink and immediately lifts to his lips. Kyle shifts a bit in his seat before getting up with a soft groan and stretching his hands above his head, his spine letting out a couple of cracks before he rolled his shoulders, settling back into his posture, hands finding their way into his pockets as he turned towards the door.

“Well, lunch break is almost up. Got an appointment in twenty and I wanna grab a sandwich beforehand. Don’t miss me too much, dove. Be back tomorrow.”

You sent Kyle off with a bright smile and a small wave, only wondering momentarily what he was going to say before being interrupted by Price once more, sipping away at his small coffee with an almost worried smile on his face, looking too tight to be on the face of the man you had come to know. “That Kyle, he’s a good lad, loyal to a fault. Well, I should probably head out too before my shoulder starts acting up. Some days, I wish the bastard had shot me anywhere else that wouldn’t get me booted from the service. But, oh, listen to me prattle on. Young bird like you doesn’t have time for the whinging of an old man like me.” And with that, he was out the door before you could even bid him farewell. It was almost… Odd. why was everyone acting so weird today? Shaking there was nothing to do except get back to your job and daydream about the two. Of course, opening your heart was completely off of the table at this point. You had been hurt too much for that, and it was way too soon. But a good lay certainly wouldn’t do you any harm. Especially since you had two more gorgeous ex-military men seeing you on what was basically a daily basis. You spent the rest of your shift daydreaming about sweet words murmured in your ear, thich corded forearms barred across your throat, hips snapping up into yours and forcing your back into a delicious arch while your lips- “Hey, you about ready to clock out?” Gaz’z voice startled you from your daydream, nearly making you drop the mug you were putting away at the end of your shift. THere he was, leaning against the door frame of the open diner door. You must have been deep in thought, because you didn’t even hear the bell ring. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just gotta hang up the apron and clock out.” You laughed out, pulling at the ties behind your back and sliding the apron off over your head. Lately, Gaz had taken to walking you back to your apartment. Something about not letting a lady walk alone in the dark even if you only lived a couple of blocks away. You had tried to invite him in multiple times, but he always gave you that same boyish smirk and told you that he might some other time. But this time was different. When you made your way up the steps of the building, Gaz’s hand stopped you, resting on your shoulder and bringing your attention back to is gorgeous face. He looked worried. “Hey, doll… Y’know… If any dogs ever come ‘round yappin… Just give me a call, k’? I’ll be over quicker than you can say ‘fuck off’, got it?” Your brows furrow in confusion, but you nod along nonethe less, which is apparently enough for the sweet guy, because he walks off without another word, leaving you to head back to your apartment and curl up into your old T-shirt and shorts  on the couch with a movie. A knock at the door stops you right before you can get really settled in, pulling a soft groan from your lips. Was John doing his rounds to check the smoke alarms? This late? It couldn’t be. Maybe it was Gaz finally taking you up on your offer? These thoughts ran through your head like a lazy river, pulling a small smile to your lips as you open the door, looking up and expecting to see one of the two ment that you had come to adore over the past few months of freedom. But your face fell immediately, taking step back from the door as the entire room seemed to shrink in on you, eyes widening and lungs tightening in your chest.

It couldn’t be…

“... Simon?...”  Your voice trembles to see the man you had once loved and devoted your entire life to standing awkwardly in the doorway, but something was off about him, different. Maybe it was the way he carried himself with that thinly veiled confidence of a skilled predator, maybe it was the way that his eyes weren’t as hollow as they had been before you left, maybe it was the way his entire face lit up at the sight of you in your grungy pajamas and mussed up bedhead; practically glowing beneath the familiar skull mask and striped balaclava you hadn’t seen in so long.

…

Or maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t seen him like that in years…

When you left, Simon had practically been a shell of the man you had loved. He was unmotivated, never left the house unless it was to run or he was drug out by Johnny, he never made those stupid jokes you had loved so much, and he treated being alive as if it were a chore. He would tell you every time you could spare a moment just the two of you that being with you was the only time he felt happy anymore. But still he stayed with Johnny. And that still hurt. Speaking of… Where was Johnny? The man who so normally clung to Ghost’s heels like an eager mutt was nowhere to be found, sparking just the smallest bit of hope in your chest that maybe, just maybe, he had chosen you. Better late than never, right?

Or was that just wishful thinking? “We need to talk.” He said, that same blunt nature that you hated to admit you had missed pouring from behind his lips. As if he needed to tell you that. You stand there for a long minute, debating whether or not to let one of the men that had hurt you so much into your apartment, back into your life. But you were still weak to SImon, and he knew it. With a low sigh, you shake your head and allow the huge man into your apartment, ducking his head so as not to knock it against the doorframe. Jesus, you always forget just how BIG he is… He makes himself at home on your couch without wasting any time, looking as cool and collected as ever, like a king on his throne. But you know better, you know Simon. His hand is twitching towards his hip, his eyes are sweeping the room to check for all escape routes, his boot isn’t tapping against the plush rug you have laid out over the floor. He’s nervous. You stand before him, arms crossed over your midsection as you wait for him to start talking, explaining why he’s here. “We got help. Mentally. Me an’ Johnny…” He starts, and you’re almost ready to kick him out when he speaks of the other man as if he were still in the picture. Of course. How could you have been so damn foolish? But Simon raises his hands in a show of peace, his eyes pleading for you to hear him out before flipping your lid, even though it was very well deserved. But damn if you weren’t weak for those pathetic brown eyes of his when he was pleading with you. “I’m listening.” Your curt words may as well have been knives from the way Simon flinched slightly. That wasn’t like you, not his sweet Angel. He had really fucked up. “So… It turns out that I was incredibly depressed… clinically… Had to do with some fucking implant I had gotten back in the SAS to regulate emotions, it was supposed to be a couple year test that would get removed once the blokes in jackets had their damn info… I had it in for seven years…Seven years, lovie. Got a call about a month after you headed off from one of my old buddies. Some bloke apparently fucked up my discharge papers and that little detail had been overlooked. So, I headed back to base and got ir removed… And, oh, lovie… It’s been so much better…” His voice actually cracks at that last part. It didn’t make any sense to you though. Military emotional regulators? Trying to make super soldiers? And his had expired? It was hard for you to believe. But you couldn’t deny that seeing Simon like this again, looking more like himself than he had in years? It was doing things to you that you hated and tried to push down. “And Johnny?” You asked, keeping the same cold tone to your voice, trying not to give him even an inch to work with. He wouldn’t dig his claws into you again, not this time. You could see a deep look of regret and remorse in those deep mahogany irises of his, along with understanding. He couldn’t even blame you for treating him so coldly and keeping him at arms length. “Actually, lovie… That’s kind of why i'm here… I was gonna leave him, really I was. Was gonna kick his arse to the curb and hope that you would take me back. Even got m’self an apartment in the next town over. But in the middle of moving was when I got the call, and a lot of shit happened and then I was just… I was standing in an apartment surrounded by my things and I just…” Simon drug a hand over his face, pulling the damn thing off and revealing the face you hadn’t seen in so long. Damn, you wish he had just left the thing on so you wouldn’t have to see just how pained he looked.

That was your Simon alright. Silvery slivers of raised skin littering across his face and over the bridge of his crooked nose, indents in his face where flesh had been gouged out, and the most gorgeous blonde lashes framing those deep mocha eyes that always sucked you in down to your very soul and melted you like chocolate in his warm hands. But not this time. You wouldn’t let him just have you back, he had to earn that. “Lovie… We were wrong…” What? Wrong? A single quirked brow was all the question for elaboration that Simon needed, taking a deep and shaky breath before continuing. “We both… We both blamed him for so many things, because it was easier to blame him than admit our own problems… I was standin’ in that nearly empty apartment, and all I could think about was somethin’ my ma used to say whenever she thought of leavin’ my pa’...”

Information about Simon’s past was hard to come across, more rare than a penguin in a desert, but you knew some of the basic things. Knew about his brother, knew that his dad beat them all, knew that he was the last Riley left. But that was about it. So for him to suddenly open up like this… It raised your guard just as much as it lowered it. “She used to ask herself, would she be happier without him than she was with him? Sure, he was a drunk, he was an asshole, and he beat us all… But my ma’ could never answer the question. And lovie… Neither could I… I was in that barren excuse of a home and I just… I had nothing… Not Johnny… Not you… And I didn’t know if I could ever get you back…” His shoulders were shaking now while he buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t crying, no. This was still Simon, this was still Ghost, after all. But this shuddering breath and trembling was the closest he would ever let himself get. Here he was, practically rolling over and bearing his belly to you, and all you could do was stand there.

Sure, you wanted to tell him it was okay, to pull yourself into his lap and surround yourself in him again just like you used to… but how could you? This was your Simon again, but you weren’t his anymore. Even still, his broken voice continued. “Tried for so long… hunted you like a fuckin’ bloodhound… but captain wouldn’t let me anywhere near you until we got help… until I got help… And I didn’t want to… But Johnny said that he would if I did, and… I’m not askin’ you to take him back, or take me back… but please… I can’t live without you, lovie… at least… at least let me exist in the same world as you… please…” Kyle’s cryptic words of warning made a lot more sense now, telling you that he would fend off any dogs that came yapping where they weren’t wanted.

But this was Simon.

Maybe you had judged Jonny too much? After all, sure you felt ostracized, but was it all just in your head? Simon had admitted that he was complacent and part of the issue, but maybe you had been too. After all, when your relationship had been falling apart and Johnny stopped inviting you out on dates or to hang out with them, he was still the one who picked up your favorite snacks and drinks on a whim because he was thinking about you, and the one who payed attention to the new movies you liked. Johnny was the one who kept you from SImon’s ire when you forgot to do dishes or the like because he would do them for you, or take the heat off of you by doing something dumb.

Maybe you had been so focused on Simons and your own misery that you hadn’t seen the man cutting his own hands open to pick the pieces back up for both of you. What you thought was ostracization might have actually been him trying to give you space, taking up all of Ghost’s time might have been his way of trying desperately to distract SImon from his own head, and he was just shit at juggling people.

“Love?” Simon’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, realizing that tears stung your eyes and flooded down your cheeks. The arms crossed over your midsection had turned into clutching at your elbows, trying to keep yourself from tearing at the seams while your smaller frame trembled and wracked with silent, shaky sobs. “Oh, lovie…”

Simon’s voice was gentle as he stood, looming over you and reaching out a broad calloused hand the size of your face to gently cup your cheek and wipe away your tears like he had so many times before. So many whispered nights spent curled up on his chest, so many nights beneath the stars filled with giggles, so many days where it didn’t matter what you were doing as long as you were with him. All of them gone. His eyes were flooded with silent agony as you stepped back, recoiling away from his touch as if it were a live wire that had hurt you. SImon had hurt so many people, and Ghost had hurt so many more, and they often kept him up at night with memories of the screams, of his own death, of his brother and nephew. But the look on your face as you backed away from him was an image that would forever be seared into his brain as one of the worst. His angel had fallen from grace, his goddess had cast him from her temple, The very breath from his lungs stolen in the midst of an ocean and left him to drown.

And who was really to blame?

You? Johnny? Himself? The Russian bastards who had captured him and Soap in the first place? The lab coats wo had stuck the fucking implant hin him in the first place? There were to many people he could blame, too many places it could have home wrong.

But it didn’t matter, not when you looked at him like that. “I see.” He said, standing up straight and rolling his shoulders back, going dangerously cold, dangerously numb. A coping mechanism, the psych had called it, dissociation. Simon called it whatever fucking works. He turned on the heel of his boot and scooped his mask off of your little worn-down couch that must have come with the apartment from the way it was much more suited to Price's taste than your own. “That’s that then.”

“Wait.” A small trembling hand on the sleeve of his shirt made Simon pause his stride to the door, looking down at you with eyes that were all too cold so you wouldn’t see the anguish running through his veins. He had lost you, and he was the only person he would let himself blame.

“Friends.” That one whispered word, so soft that Simon had almost missed it over the demons berating him in his own ears was like a godsend. You were allowing him into your life again. Not back into your home or your arms or your heart. But Simon could work with friends, He could live with friends. He nodded, reaching a big hand up and ruffling your hair gently before gently tugging out of your grip and leaving your small apartment, leaving you alone to process and feel what you needed to.

He would wait any amount of time.

You were worth it.

[xlpoww]

Peace

would it be enough?

Anonymous asked: I have a request 🤭 can you write a fic/blurb/imagine (your choice!) where reader surprises sanji with a meal or dish they made for his birthday or something?? bc they wanted to surprise him and how he would react? (reader is a terrible cook 😂)

Warnings: none! (unless you count tooth rotting fluff?)

word count: 619

opla! sanji x g/n! reader

there’s frosting smeared onto your nose somehow, it should be impossible considering you didn't even have a cake to frost yet. the chef’s beloved kitchen is in disarray, utensils scattered about and various powders and liquids covering the counter. you’re trying your absolute best to craft sanji a birthday cake, managing to stay up long enough for everyone else to fall asleep. in the dark of the night you began your plan.

had you ever baked before today? well.. no? but it couldn’t be so hard now could it. you knew better than to attempt anything too extravagant, purchasing a box cake mix from the last island your ship had docked at. the box of triple chocolate cake mix now taunting you from the garbage can you had tossed it into. why wouldn’t your cake bake?

3 eggs? check! you’d added the water- hadn’t you? and you definitely added the oil, so what was wrong? had you not beat the batter well enough? what does vigorously even mean!

you cant help the frustrated grumbling as you pull the pan out of the oven yet again, placing it onto the counter with a clunk. you aggressively pull of your oven mitts, tossing them to the side. unbeknownst to you, your attempts at a surprise had failed. sanji had woken up to the sound of you dropping an egg on the ground and loudly saying “SHIT!” curious to what was happening and if you were safe, the blond had made his way to the kitchen.

the sight he’s met with brings an adoring smile to his lips, as he leaned onto the doorway of the kitchen to watch. the confusion etched on your face was nothing short of endearing, and the pout you were sporting had a vice grip on his heart. his eyes scan the kitchen in hopes of offering you any advice, when they land on the oven he can’t help the laugh that falls from his lips. at the sound you raise your head, eyes wide as he shakes his head with that same loving smile.

“my love, what’s got you up in the middle of the night like this?”

“sanji! you weren’t supposed to be awake!” there’s a frown on your face as you look at him. you make no attempt to hide your plan, the bright colored birthday candles out in plain sight. with a defeated sigh you motion to the table in front of you. “i wanted to surprise you for your birthday”

“all this trouble just for me darling?” he walks towards you, a smile so bright anyone would think he’d just got the best news of his life. when he reaches you his arms wrap around you in a hug, holding you close as he leans down to kiss your cheek. “you’re too cute y/n, what a lucky man i am.” his words and affection warm your heart, a giggle falling from your lips as you wrap your arms around his torso to hug him back.

 “i love you sanj,” you nuzzle your head closer into his chest. the sound of his heartbeat does wonders to ease your tension. 

after another squeeze he pulls away from you, turning to look at the counter. he takes a moment before picking up the pan and placing it back into the oven. you look at him with a tilt of your head, and he winks, pressing a button on the stovetop and the oven roars to life.

“i love you more sweetheart, even if you forgot to turn on the oven.” it feels like your whole body lights on fire, and with a level of shame you didn’t know was possible, you screech.

“I WHAT?”

Taglist: @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @teenyforestfairy @gothicuwusposts @cheesesoda @scentisterror @shuujin @gcldtom

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Kid Philip Week 2024 - Day 5 (Horses)

Horsey Cupcakes Recipe

Summary: A chapter in a cookbook is dedicated to making Horsey Cupcakes.

Story inspired by this commission art.

(DAY 5 OF KID PHILIP WEEK! IT'S HORSEY CUPCAKES TIME! 🐴 🧁 🩵 🤍 💕 ✨️ 💟)

Enjoy!

In a cyan-colored setting, hearts and sparkles share the same color.

The background displays many vanilla cupcakes dressed in light blue liners and topped with sparkly light blue frosting that is decorated with an animal cracker shaped like a horse and another shaped like a horseshoe, as well as a small blue ribbon.

The cute Disney recipe book that is present is the most striking thing.

The book is partially open and in a standing position.

"Good afternoon, everyone. Today, we'll be making...," an elderly, feminine off-screen voice spoke as sparkles were magically sprinkled onto the cover of the book, opening it fully to the half-title page.

This woman was the narrator, and she had an English accent.

As the book rapidly flipped through adorable recipes dedicated to chibi Disney characters, it made an abrupt stop on the page containing the recipe for...

"... Horsey Cupcakes. Let's get started, shall we?"

The Narrator teleports the entire scene into the recipe page, where we see a Chibi Kid Philip looking directly at the "audience" with a simple yet sweet smile.

"Hello there, Philip," the Narrator greets the brunette boy in a kind and pleasant tone as he waves a hand at her despite the woman not being visible on-screen with him.

"Are you ready to make Horsey Cupcakes?" she asked.

The little chibi nods his head.

"Good! First, we'll need to put you in the proper setting."

Philip is soon teleported into a kitchen, where the Narrator magically ties a cute horse-themed apron onto him.

He tests both the top and bottom knots for strength by gently tugging on them before throwing a thumbs up.

The cupcake ingredients that appear in the air are then neatly arranged on the wooden table that Philip is standing in front of for his use.

"So, in order to make Horsey Cupcakes," the Narrator began. "You'll have to follow five simple steps."

A cute sky blue sign with the words 'Step one' written in white overtakes the screen.

"Step one: Add all of your ingredients to a bowl and mix them thoroughly."

Philip begins to beat his butter and sugar in a bowl before adding two eggs, vanilla, and dry and wet ingredients.

Mixing them with a wooden spoon, he created a batter mixture that was both thick and pourable.

He gazes down at the mixture he's made with a pleased smile before attempting to sneak a taste with his finger.

"Ah, ah, ah," the Narrator hummed in a warning tone, prompting Philip not to dip a finger into the raw batter as an embarrassed smile, along with blush stickers and a sweat droplet, appears on his face.

"Step two: Fill your cupcake liners with batter."

With great precision and caution, Philip began slowly filling his light blue cupcake liners with batter using a plastic spoon, making sure not to spill a single drop.

His tongue remained stuck out while he concentrated.

Once the final liner is filled, Philip wipes his brow, blows out a relieved puff of air, and beams at his accomplishment.

"Step three: Have an adult place your pan into the oven."

At the third step, Philip's face displays a sad expression.

"What's the matter, Philip? Do you not have an adult?"

Looking down, he answers with a slow shake of his head.

"Ah, I see. Well..." Chibi Kid Caleb suddenly emerges out of thin air with cardinal oven mitts, causing Philip's eyes to light up as they glimmer in awe.

"An older brother will have to do."

After opening the oven, Caleb places the pan inside, closes it, and turns it on.

The cupcakes then begin to bake for 20 minutes as the boys watch with keen interest as the baked goods slowly form.

When the oven makes a 'ding' sound, the cupcakes are done.

Philip is very excited about this.

Caleb opens the oven, removes the freshly baked cupcakes from it, and transports them to a wire rack to cool completely.

"Step four: Frost and Decorate!"

At the wooden table, Caleb uses a large piping bag to pipe sparkly light blue swirls onto each cupcake.

He then decorates the frosting for each cake with an animal cracker shaped like a horse and another shaped like a horseshoe, along with a small blue ribbon.

While he does this, Philip watches his brother with bright eyes and light blue frosting on the corners of his mouth.

"Step five: Serve a Horsey Cupcake to a horse and observe if they enjoy it."

The brown chibi pony horse from "New Friends From Another Town" is now in the kitchen.

Philip places a Horsey Cupcake on a plate in front of him.

Now facing the cupcake, the horse takes a whiff of the dessert, his dotted eyes now lighting up at the sweet, vanilla-scented treat.

He proceeds to take a small bite and immediately neighs in delight at the dish he was served.

He takes another bite, this time bigger, as he chews quickly before swallowing.

He neighs for a second time.

Philip and Caleb giggle as a result of his reaction, and they give the horse a smile.

...

Philip and Caleb begin to enjoy a Horsey Cupcake of their own alongside the horse, who was given another one.

The Narrator teleports out of the recipe, and we are now brought back to the outside of the Disney recipe book, which slowly closes.

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— flufftober (day 1) —

Warnings: lots of fluff (obviously), pregnancy, hormones

Prompt: Sweet Tooth (11)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: ~600

@flufftober

The sweet cinnamon scent in the air was strong as you hummed to the music, gliding through the kitchen with a bowl of batter in your arms. The early sun sent honey through your windows, a warm hue flittering across the room and a cool breeze blowing in from an open window. The song mixed into another as you poured out the batter into the pan, watching the thick orange liquid splatter the white parchment paper.

You started muttering the lyrics to yourself, slowly tipping the bowl and grabbing a spoon to wipe the access batter off of the rim. Your timer went off as a car honked in the distance, a rare occurrence in the town, and you shoved a oven mitt over your hand. Opening the oven door, the steam of heat hit your face and the scent of apples filled your nostrils.

Grabbing the apple pie and setting it on the stove, you turned around to grab the pumpkin cake batter, swaying your hips slightly as the front door opened and closed. You placed the cake inside to bake and surveyed the mess in the kitchen. There wasn’t much to clean, seeing that you liked to clean between the steps and kept your ingredients in order.

“Smells good, sweets,” a masculine voice from behind called out. You snorted and smiled as your turned around to face him, grinning when you caught the bags in his hands full of candy.

Bucky placed the bag of candy on the counter, leaning his hip against it and bringing a hand up to shove his hair back from his eyes. His eyes lit up at the sight of apple pie behind you on the stove, cooling off and almost ready to eat. You wiped your hands on the apron, watching his eyes dart back to you. You gestured for him to step forward, swivelling around with a small giggle.

His mismatched hands travel up your sides, he reached the neck ties, tugging and letting them falling open. The top half of the apron flopped forward and landed over your growing stomach. His lips landed on your neck, flesh hand coming out front to your bump and rubbing gentle circles. His metal hand slid down and pulled at the string tied around your waist, flesh hand crinkling the front of it as he held it from falling to the ground. His metal arm wrapped around your waist and held you close.

“Bucky?” You turned around in his arm, capturing his gaze. “Did you get KitKat?” You eyed the bag as he licked his lips and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Um, so funny story,” Bucky started, laughing nervously and scratching the back of his neck with the apron still in his hand. His metal hand flexed against your lower back, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

“You forgot?” Your lower lip trembled. Bucky’s eyes went wide as he shook his head furiously, apron flying to the counter to land beside the bag. His hands came to your arms, holding you gently but firmly.

“I didn’t forget, sweets. I swear. They just didn’t have any,” Bucky said, watching your reaction very carefully. You merely nodded and sniffled, smiling up at him.

“Sorry, hormones,” you whispered, letting him place his lips against yours and then quickly shaking his head.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, sweets.” Bucky’s eyes landed on the pie behind you again, grinning. “I’ll get you some tomorrow from the other grocery up north, but, for now, think we can have some of that pie?”

[venuscxre]

⌞ COOKING BY THE BOOK .ᐟ ⌝

summary ; baking with lancelot might seem fun, but you know what isn’t? not being able to bake. luckily, lancelot is a great teacher.

request ; “ HI HIII !!! can i please request a lancelot x reader where reader and him try baking some cookies but reader absolutely sucks at it so he teaches her how to bake and the ending is just lots of fluff 🙏🏼🙏🏼 thank you and i hope u have a great day ilysm :33 ” — @svpremedeity

pairing ; lancelot / fem!reader

wc ; 966

tags ; fluff, established relationship, brutal honesty from lancelot, lancelot is a kitchen whizz like his dad!?? reader absolutely sucks at baking.

notes ; ahhhh!! ilyt!! i'm so so so sorry this took so long :((( i've been in a bit of a slump :cccc

𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠

it’s a rainy saturday morning in the middle of autumn, the leaves have changed their colours and fall gracefully to floor, the drag of the wind sways the trees whilst the gentle pitter-patter of rain chills the air, creating an incredibly soothing atmosphere.

you’re home alone at the moment, taking that as an opportunity to satisfy the endless cravings of a homemade treat. padding down the hallway to your kitchen, you contemplate what you’ll be baking and how much of it.

you rummage through your cabinets, digging through for the ingredients, and once everything is set out on the table, you begin the preparations. it’s just cookies, how hard could it be to make them?

you get out two different bowls, one for the dry ingredients and the other for the wet. considering the past failures in your cooking endeavours, you make it a point to follow a recipe that your mother frequently uses. nothing can go wrong as long as you follow a recipe, right?

elsewhere, lancelot feels a shiver run down his spine, making him rub his shoulders in discomfort. noticing him shiver, tristan sends him a nasty side-eye from who he’d just flung to the side like a ragdoll. “getting sick, lance? don’t tell me you’re bothered by a little rain.”

“shut up and worry about yourself, moron. i’m not the one who’s been sneezing non stop despite suggesting to train in this weather. besides, that idiot is probably in the kitchen.”

tristan scoffs and rolls his eyes. he doesn’t need to be told as to who ‘that idiot’ is; he knows it you. he finds it odd that lancelot refers to you in such a condescending way despite his apparent fondness of you. he guesses that's just how he is.

lancelot cuts their sparring session short and quickly heads over to your house. to his dismay, he does see you cooking from the window. sighing, he opens the front door, and with no warning, a metal mixing bowl is thrown straight at him. he ducks, whipping his head to you with a flabbergasted look as the bowl lands outside with a loud clatter.

“dammit, woman, what the fuck was that for?”

“i thought you were an intruder…” you mutter apologetically. “why’re you here anyway? weren’t you supposed to be busy training today?” you usher him inside, going to get a spare towel to dry him off.

“i got the feeling you were doing something stupid.”

“what? the only thing i’m doing is literally just baking. what the hell are you talking about?”

“exactly my point. you’re shit at cooking and baking.”

“am not!”

“are too.”

“am not– oh, shit, the cookies!”

he shakes his head in disbelief. seriously, could you not go a day without almost burning down something? this is why he’s banned you from the kitchen.

he watches as you frantically hurry about looking for your oven mitts and when you do find them and pull out the cookies, they’re a little charred. “see what i mean? you’re shit at this.”

your bottom lip juts out in a pout. “it doesn’t look that bad.. besides, i followed the recipe, so it should be fine.”

lancelot takes one cookie and examines it. he bites into it and shakes his head again. “it’s over stirred and way too salty. the chocolate chips didn’t melt well either. you wasted a lot of ingredients.”

your shoulders slump. despite the truth in his words, his blunt dismissal of your hard work causes you to feel bad. you’d made a lot of cookies to take to him.

lancelot notices the drop in your mood and sighs lowly. he walks closer to you, patting your back. “hey, it’s fine. not everyone is good in the kitchen.”

his attempts to lift your spirits are futile, and he smacks himself internally. “hey, c’mon, i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” his arm wraps around your waist. “you know i didn’t mean it that way.”

you’re slightly appeased by the physical contact, but still down. lancelot breaks away from the hug and goes to wash up the bowls that you’d used, and also retrieved the one that was still laying outside in the rain from your earlier assault. he looks the recipe and gets out the necessary ingredients.

“c’mere, sweet girl,” he beckons you over and you begrudgingly oblige.

“i’ll teach you how to bake these in exchange for your forgiveness. how does that sound?”

you sniffle but nod anyway. lancelot pats your hip and the both of you get to baking. he makes sure to walk you through the steps and aides you in stirring the batter, making sure that it’sthe right consistency.

“chocolate chip or plain?”

“..chocolate chip..”

lancelot can’t help but smile at your mumbled response. while he puts the cookies in the oven, you decide to make hot chocolate for the both of you. you add in minimal sugar but a lot of milk with just a few marshmallows, just the way he likes it.

whilst waiting for the cookies, the both of you clean up in silence and occasionally take a sip from your beverages. and about twenty five minutes later when the cookies are golden brown and crispy, lancelot takes out the cookies, leaving them to cool off for a bit.

“they smell good..” you murmur. lancelot chuckles, pecking your cheek. “i’m glad you think so. here, try one.”

he holds a cookie up to your lips and when you take a bite, you can’t help but melt.

“good, huh?” he grins smugly.

“yeah.”

the rest of the day is spent with the both of you cuddled up by the window, fast asleep. the cookies and your hot chocolate are gone. maybe you should bake more often– with lancelot’s help of course.

© VENUSCXRE: plagiarism, retranslation or reposts of my work is completely unauthorized.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ

[entityverse-utmv]

here's another work i've done on behalf of @ut-against-genocide, this time for @mystery-fic-anon, who asked for underfell sans doing something wholesome. i agonized for days over this commission but just couldn't get my art hands to cooperate, so with permission from the organizer i decided to write fic instead. hopefully that's alright with you, mystery! and i hope everyone who reads enjoys.

this one-shot was also cross-posted to my ao3!

the fic is below the cut. thank you again mystery for your support!! (also i'm a fan of your work! :))

Today Papyrus turned two.

Sans puttered around the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses to put on the table. The oven beeped behind him, and he hissed as he ran to take out the cake, thankfully remembering to put on the oven mitts this time. The cake was far from perfect, lumpy and under or overcooked in some places—but for a first ever attempt it was edible, and the ingredients had been far too expensive for him to just throw it out and try again.

The rabbits at the inn worked him hard, almost abusively so—especially considering he himself was still in stripes. But he would do anything for his baby brother, including celebrate a birthday he wasn't likely to remember in ten years.

Grabbing a mixing bowl full of frosting out of the mini-fridge in their dingy old kitchen, Sans tried to make this the part he put the most effort into looking good. He whipped the frosting onto the cake, cursing under his breath as the first layer almost immediately melted on the hot surface, and just ended up panic-slathering more on top until it more-or-less covered the thing. It was an absolute disaster, but as he piped "PAPYRUS" onto the cake in red frosting to contrast the off-white base (black was way too expensive a dye, as much as he thought it would've looked much cooler), he couldn't help but smile anyways. Weeks of hard work had led up to this moment.

Carefully moving the cake over to the old, worn-out table he had found a couple months back in Waterfall, Sans hastily sticks a large '2' candle into the center. He grimaced as he heard the hot metal the cake was balanced on sizzle against the table, probably burning the surface underneath. He couldn't afford a hot plate, and the table was a piece of shit anyways, but he still at least tried to take care of the damn thing. But...it wasn't what was important right now. Shaking his head, Sans turned to run upstairs and fetch his brother. The baby-bones was in the middle of Sans' bedroom floor, playing with his stuffed rabbit plush that Sans had hand-sown from one of his old shirts. His crib was parallel to Sans' own bed, each pushed against opposing walls. There was another room in the house that Sans hoped could belong to his brother one day, but the room was still dilapidated and in a state of total disrepair, much like the rest of this house had been before Sans moved in and fixed it up.

Scooping up his brother, Sans carried him down the steps, bare-boned feet clicking against each of the wooden steps as he hastily descended. "i've got a surprise for you, little bro," the elder skeleton murmured to the younger, getting an excited giggle in response. He gently placed Papyrus into a booster chair at the end of the table, and turned off the dining room light—now, the room was only dimly lit by the flickering light in the nearby kitchen.

Snapping his fingers, the tip of Sans' index finger lit on fire. He reaches over and lights the single candle on the top, grinning as Papyrus claps in excitement. The little babybones has only just started to express his magic himself, but was still super young to do so. He was so cool...Sans was sure he was going to be a super strong monster someday.

"happy birthday to you," Sans murmured, and Papyrus stilled as his older sibling's smooth baritone filled the room, the light of the flickering candle casting a warm orange glow over both their faces. "happy birthday to you...happy birthday sweet papyrus..."

"happy birthday to you."

--

Today Papyrus turned sixteen.

He was officially old enough to join the royal guard. The skeleton had mailed his application the moment it became midnight—but not after lots of fretting.

"BUT SANS! WHAT IF APPLYING TOO EARLY MAKES ME SEEM TOO EAGER? I DON'T WANT TO COME OFF AS WEAK!"

"i'm sure it'll be fine, bro. eagerness means passion, right? and i'm sure passion is a valued trait in the royal guard. if you're so worried, why not wait a bit?"

Truth be told, Sans was super nervous about his baby brother joining the Guard. It was a super dangerous line of work. But the younger skeleton had insisted—the status and respect it could bring would help keep them safe, and the paycheck would be enough to finally lift them out of poverty.

"HMM...YOU ARE RIGHT. BUT...IF I WAIT TOO LONG, WHAT IF I SEEM LAZY?! LAZINESS ISN'T A GOOD WORK ETHIC AT ALL!!"

"anyone with eyes knows you ain't lazy, bro. besides. everyone knows i'm the laziest sack of bones in snowdin."

"TRUE AGAIN. BUT! TO ERR ON THE SAFE SIDE, I THINK I WOULD RATHER BE PERCEIVED AS EAGER OVER LAZY! MYAH HAH HAH!"

While Papyrus was occupied with that, Sans was once again in the kitchen. His cake-baking had improved significantly over the years; it was practically an art form for him now. Papyrus wasn't a huge fan of sugar though, so nowadays he tended to decorate the cakes with fresh fruit and dark chocolate- some of the most expensive commodities in the Underground. Sans had to skip a few meals in order to afford it, but it was worth it for his brother.

"c'mon bro, cake's done!" sans called as he set the finished confection onto the table. It developed even more wear and tear over the years, the legs collapsing a few times and having to be hastily glued back together. But it was almost sentimental now, because every cake Sans had baked over the years were put in the exact same spot—the round burnt stain from oven-hot trays marking it perfectly as he set it down.

"SANS! I'M TOO OLD FOR THIS NOW! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU THAT!" Papyrus complained, but he still ran down the stairs all the same, beaming at the sight of his older brother's latest masterpiece.

"too old for the song, paps. not for a sweet treat. a skeleton as cool and strong as you deserves some pampering once in awhile," Sans smoothed over.

"...THANK YOU, SANS." Papyrus sat at the table, watching as Sans flicked his burning thumb over the candles, one by one.

"'course, bro. make a wish."

Papyrus stared in contemplation at his cake for a moment, before blowing it out.

"I LOVE YOU, SANS."

"love ya too, paps."

--

Today Papyrus turned twenty-five.

He'd risen through the ranks of the royal guard at breakneck speed, smoothing over disputes throughout Snowdin and over half of Waterfall. He'd even been acknowledged by the king; and been ordered to fight Undyne for her title as Royal Guard captain. That battle was hard fought, though ultimately won; Papyrus walking away from it with some gnarly new cracks across his right eyesocket.

Sans hadn't made a cake for Papyrus in a couple of years now. Since joining the guard, something in Papyrus had...changed. He was rougher. Tougher. A bit meaner. A lot meaner to others, but only a bit meaner to Sans. He started insisting Sans call him "boss", especially in public. Sans complied, but only after Papyrus agreed to let him apply for a sentry position in the Guard. Sans mainly did it to keep an eye on his brother—make sure he stayed safe. The rabbits weren't too thrilled to let him go, but it wasn't like he could be forced to stay. It wasn't like he needed their bakery ingredients anymore, anyways.

Papyrus started bringing home ludicrous amounts of Gold. Little by little, rickety fixtures in the house were replaced with high-end equivalents. The stained, peeling wallpaper was painted over in deep shades of red, purple, and mustard yellow; the mini-fridge was replaced with a full-sized one, always full of more food than Sans knew what to do with. The lumpy beanbags on the living room floor were replaced with a leather couch.

The only thing that stayed the same was that shitty dining room table. Papyrus had thrown a black tablecloth over it, masking how out-of-place it was and covering that old burn mark, but it seemed to be the one thing he couldn't bring himself to replace.

Sans didn't bake a cake this year, but he spent all day making lasagna, following a cookbook that Papyrus brought home one day. Most of the pages were waterlogged, but everything that was legible usually turned out pretty good in his book. Heh. Inwardly chuckling at the pun, Sans continued rolling out the noodle dough over the flour-covered countertop.

Papyrus rarely smiled anymore, but when he took his first bite of the cake-like pasta later that evening, the small twitch at the corners of his mouth filled Sans' SOUL with love, not LOVE.

A week later, a human fell.

--

Today Sans turned forty, though he feels a lot older than that.

He supposes that RESETs will have that effect on you. He's long since lost count of how many there were, but he knew there were a lot. How couldn't there be, with monsterkind as ruthless and bloodthirsty as it was? The human died many times, but was unshakeable in their determination. One by one they pacified the monsters of the Underground, until they reached the barrier and...broke it.

It's been a few months since then, and monsterkind has since come to the surface. It was hard at first, as much of humanity didn't seem as keen on welcoming a bunch of edgy strangers onto their turf as the lost child had been. Tensions ran high, but by some miracle, the kid was able to smooth things over. Probably something to do with the vast amounts of wealth the monsters had—gold was apparently a ridiculously powerful resource. Sans would scoff at the blatant greed of the humans, but he couldn't be too upset since it got them a pretty nice house topside, and they got to wake up to the sun every single day.

Yeah. Life was pretty good.

Papyrus had been out of the house all day, and refused to tell Sans where he was going. It was a bit strange, but Sans accepted that Papyrus would want to do his own things now. They no longer had to tell each other exactly where they were going and when they would be back, because it was no longer so anxiety-inducing for one of them to be late. Monsters no longer fought or killed each other, at least not publicly. It was no longer Sans and Papyrus against the world. Papyrus could be his own person now.

Without Sans.

Cracking the top off of a bottle of beer, Sans threw himself onto the couch and flipped on the TV. So what if it was his birthday? He'd never celebrated it before now, for him it was just another day. Nobody had ever been around to make a big deal out of it for him the way that he had for Papyrus. He mindlessly flipped the channels for a few minutes before settling for some sort of nature documentary. It was baffling how much biodiversity there was on the surface—and their uncanny resemblance to some species of monster was a new hot subject of debate among human scientists.

Sans doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes up suddenly to the sound of the door being dramatically kicked open. Sounds like Papyrus was home.

"sup boss?" Sans greeted as he rubbed at his eye sockets—opening them to see the skeleton's forearms were completely covered in the straps of fabric grocery bags, each full to the brim with stuff Sans couldn't make out.

"YOU ARE BEING EVICTED FOR THE DAY, BROTHER." Papyrus proclaimed, setting all of the bags onto the kitchen counter before reemerging to point a gloved index at the front door. "YOU HAVE THE PRIVILEGE OF SEEING THE SUN, AND YET WOULD RATHER SPEND YOUR TIME WATCHING IT ON TV! ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE!" When Sans didn't move, Papyrus huffed, heeled boots clicking on the hardwood as he stormed over, picking his shorter but older sibling up from under the armpits before bodily throwing him onto the front lawn.

"DON'T COME BACK INSIDE UNTIL SUNDOWN! THAT IS AN ORDER!" Papyrus shouted, before slamming and locking the door behind him. Sans snorted, rolling his eyelights. He could just shortcut back inside and hide out in his room, but he knew this was Papyrus' way of showing he cared. So he did as he was bade, standing and brushing off his shorts before deciding to take a walk to the nearby park.

As he walked, he wondered if Papyrus remembered his birthday. It didn't matter either way really, but no matter what changed between them over the years, Papyrus had always said 'happy birthday, Sans' at least once. As a babybones Papyrus did more, drawing pictures of them on the surface together holding hands in crude approximations of themselves, complete with the little yellow sun in the top left corner. For his thirtyth birthday he even made a jacket for Sans, complete with a fluffy hood, starting Papyrus' newfound proclivity for making clothes. To this day their wardrobe was mostly made up of the taller's creations, from t-shirts to sweaters to pants and even some socks. But since joining the royal guard, Papyrus rarely had time for such thoughtful gifts—usually just leaving it at a simple verbal acknowledgement of the date.

The park came into view, and Sans spotted a bench beneath a tree. He wandered over to sit underneath it. There was a playground nearby, and children both monster and human often flocked here to play, but it was deserted today. Probably because it rained all day yesterday, and the ground was still pretty muddy. Looking up at the sky, today it was slightly overcast; the sun was still somewhat visible through the fluffy white clouds, but it still struck Sans as a bit of an odd day for Papyrus to choose to throw him out.

Eventually he got bored of just sitting there, so Sans pulled out his phone, watching some videos online. He'd recently discovered a pretty neat cooking channel—Binging with Babish. There were so many more types of food and recipes on the surface, and Sans made it his goal to attempt cooking one of Babish's recipes at least once a week. There was one video where they made a ramen bowl inspired from an anime called Naruto, and Sans begrudgingly forwarded it to Alphys, knowing the skeevy little reptile would appreciate it.

Before he knew it, the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. Papyrus had told him to stay out at least until then, so the skeleton stood up, stretching his arms and back before shortcutting back home.

He opened the front door, and the first thing Sans noticed was how dark it was inside. Every light in the house was off; it was nearly pitch-black, save for a dim orange glow coming from the dining room.

Confused and slightly on-edge, Sans shut the door behind himself before approaching the glow. "boss?" He called, to no response.

He realized his brother was sitting stoically at the table, just out of reach of the faint light, which Sans belatedly realized were candles. He sucked in a breath between his teeth—the candles belonged to a two-tiered chocolate cake. It was...absolutely beautiful. It looked professionally made.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SANS."

Sans' gaze snapped back to his brother, who was now openly smiling at him. Unbidden tears sprang to the corners of the elder skeleton's sockets. There was a tiny smudge of chocolate frosting on the younger's cheekbone, which told Sans that Papyrus had made this. Just for him.

"I HAVEN'T BEEN ALLOWED THE TIME TO CELEBRATE YOU IN THE WAY YOU DESERVE THESE PAST YEARS, BROTHER...AND FOR THAT I HAVE FAILED YOU." Sans sputtered to refute that claim, but clicked his jaw shut when Papyrus held up a palm for silence. "MAKE NO MISTAKE, SANS. YOU ARE DEARLY LOVED. AND I HOPE THAT THIS CAKE CAN EXPRESS EVEN A FRACTION OF THAT."

Sans roughly scrubbed his sockets with his jacket sleeve just as they welled up enough to fall, sniffling. "bro..."

"WELL? ARE YOU GOING TO TASTE MY MASTERPIECE, OR ARE YOU GOING TO ALLOW THE WAX FROM THE CANDLES TO RUIN IT BEFORE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE? MAKE A WISH, SANS!"

Laughing wetly, Sans nodded, sitting across from his brother. He noted that the tablecloth had been stripped from the table. The cake was placed over the burn marks.

'i wish for our life to always stay this perfect', Sans thought, before blowing out the candles.

[cryptid-ghoulette]

Mushy May - First Aid

Poor Phantom just wanted to make some muffins with Aurora. Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows WC - 603 Minor injuries, but mostly fluff!

Phantom's day started off so well. The kitchen was full of sounds and smells as Aurora flitted around, dancing to something playing from her phone, cheerfully mixing the dry ingredients with the wet, while Phantom set the oven and greased the pan.

He reached down to pull out the oven tray, distracted by Aurora yell-singing the chorus to whatever pop song she was currently obsessed with. Not realizing he forgot to put oven mitts on, he ever so slightly touched the metal and pulled his hand back with a yelp, stumbling backward and taking half the bench's contents with him as he tried to stop himself from falling, with bowls and pans clanging to the ground, one large pan bonking him squarely on the head.

He let out a small whimper, his vision blurring at the edges, seeing a shape rush over to him before it all went black.

When he awoke, he was lying on the couch in the lounge room, dizzy and confused, with a dull ache echoing in his head. Aurora noticed his eyes opening and rushed over to him.

“Hey, hey… you back with us?”

Phantom let out a disoriented grunt, slowly pushing himself upright.

“What happened?” He murmured. “Head... hurts.”

“That will happen when a big pan lands on your head,” Aurora said with a slight chuckle, pointing to the large pan still resting on the floor of the kitchen, with an ever so slight dent in one side.

Mountain appeared in the doorway, surveying the scene as he swiftly crossed the room to the couch, crouching down beside a still slightly confused, but already improving Phantom.

“Oh bug, you’re a worry,” he said, shaking his head and pulling out some supplies from a bag that was sitting beside him. “I can see a nasty bruise on your head there, and let me see that hand,” gently grabbing his wrist to get a closer look at the burn running across the palm of his hand.

“I’m going to need you to stay still for me, bug,” Mountain said softly but sternly, tipping a bottle of strong-smelling liquid onto a small cotton swab.

Phantom continued to squirm, letting out a high-pitched squeak as the swab swiped across his palm.

“Ow ow ow, Mounty, that hurts!” He whined, trying to wriggle out of the Earth ghoul's grasp.

“It’s no big deal… Don’t need all of this,” he mumbled, knowing Mount was only trying to help, but it didn't make it any less painful.

“You took quite a tumble, little one, gave us a scare! But we’re almost done, you’re being so brave, ant,” wrapping a bandage around his fingers and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He didn’t feel brave; he felt annoyed, sore, and maybe a little hungry. He never did get to eat those muffins Rora and he were in the middle of making.

“I’m going to keep an eye on you for a little while, but you seem to have gotten pretty lucky, it could have been much worse,” Mountain said with a smile. “I think Aurora has something that will help, right Nova?”

Aurora came bounding over.

“Here you go, ant! This will make you all better!” She said excitedly, holding out her hands to show Phantom a slightly burned muffin.

“It tastes better than it looks, I promise.”

His eyes widened, grabbing the muffin out of Aurora's hand and taking an eager bite, quickly devouring the rest.

“Mmm, ‘s good Rora, worth the ouch,” he mumbled, mouth still full of muffin. He swallowed, a big smile spreading across his face.

“Can I have another?”

[taomyou]

a sip of sunshine - chapter one (B)

!! minors dni !! pairing: levi ackerman/reader word count: 20,191 sypnosis: Life is not easy, and Levi’s made peace with the fact that it never will be. And, yet, as the days pass and he comes to enjoy the company of the baker across town, he learns that the sun will always continue to shine, no matter how unworthy he feels to bask in its warmth. - or, Levi learns to be okay with drinking shitty tea. tags: postcanon, canon universe, birthday, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, found family, survivor guilt, eventual romance, eventual smut, character study, grumpy/sunshine, hurt/comfort, bakery, tea, meet-cute, no y/n, pov levi ackerman, not beta read a/n: no smut in this chapter, will be in chapter two. also sorry this took a while to crosspost www. this chapter is also being broken up into two parts because it exceeds the text limit, this is the SECOND half (,,>﹏<,,) accompanying playlist || ao3

chapter one: white peony beauty, bashfulness | shame, apology

There’s not much said, only instructions from you to him.

“Could you hand me the butter? It’s at the back of the fridge, on the left.”

“Could you pass me the sugar?”

“Could you preheat the oven for me? 180, please.”

“Can you hold this for me? I’m sorry.”

The air is neither sociable nor somber, only still as he moves in tandem with you. He’s careful not to spill, not to slip, not to speak too harshly, and you keep your eyes downturned as you work, mixing and sifting and measuring.

You have a smile on your face whenever he glances over to look at you, but it doesn’t reach your eyes in the way he knows. 

After you put the batter into the oven and the ganache is in the fridge and Levi’s gathered all the sugar and water and butter and eggs and vanilla you need for the frosting, you and him are stood on opposite sides of the same counterspace, neither of you daring to look up.

Your eyes are kept down as you slowly pour hot sugar syrup onto egg yolks, arms tense as you mix, switching back and forth as you tire of the other. There’s the sound of the whisk hitting the sides of the bowl, a scraping of metal on metal, but the kitchenette is still dead silent as you start to add in cubes of butter and continue to mix.

It becomes too much for him, and he gets up, careful not to hit you as he sneaks behind you. He goes to the sink, full with bowls stained with chocolate and spatulas made of rubber, and he turns on the water. As the water continues to run and he continues to scrub at streaks of batter left behind, he hears the sound of metal on metal stop, and he looks over his shoulder to see you looking at him already, your hands still.

You smile at him, “Thank you for washing the dishes. You don’t have to.”

Of course he has to.

“I know that.”

“And you’re still doing them.”

He looks back down briefly and puts a sieve in the drying rack. “Yeah.”

Your smile reaches your eyes, finally, and you laugh, shaking your head as you look back down and mix slowly. “Sorry I’m so quiet, I don’t really know what to talk about.”

“That’s okay. Me neither.”

You hum and tap your whisk on the edge of the bowl, getting off the excess of buttercream. “What’s she like?”

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

Levi quiets, going back to looking at the sink and watching how the water splashes against the metal basin. “Was like.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay.”

Another pause.

“Are you okay making a cake for a dead woman?”

“She’s still your mother, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then, there’s your answer.”

The oven beeps, telling you that the cake has finished baking, so you tap your whisk against the rim of the bowl and hand the dirtied utensil to Levi, who puts it into the sink. You put on a pair of cloth oven mitts, take out the cake, and set it on the counter to cool.

Levi rinses the leftover frosting from the whisk before bringing the sponge to it. “Did you still want to know about her?”

You take off the mitts and put them back in the crevice of the oven handles. “If you don’t mind telling me. If you don’t want to, I get it. I hardly know anything about you to begin with.”

“Yeah.” Levi holds the whisk under the water, washing the soap away. “I don’t know anything about you, either.”

“All the more reason to talk now, I guess,” you say, taking the bowl of cream you’d just made and opening the fridge to cool it alongside the cake and other parts. “I’m going to take a break on the couch. Sit with me?”

He knows he shouldn’t.

He knows he’s already in too deep, and that knowing you—you knowing him—is the last thing he needs.

But, looking over at the drying rack, full with kitchenware and other miscellaneous appliances he doesn’t know the names of, he thinks that…

Maybe, he can do it.

He can know you, and that will be enough.

To know you, in the moments you’re together, and to forget you when you’re not.

He’ll keep you away during the night, when he’s at home alone and sat at his dining table with nothing but a cup of his tea. He’ll keep you away during the mornings, when the sun has gone so deep into sleep that he has no choice but to see the darkness of the lives lived past.

The last two moons will not have gone by for naught—they’ll remind him to keep his distance, but in the ways his soul demands to be hidden.

He can allow himself this, at the very least.

To know you, in the moments you’re together.

He puts the whisk, now cleaned and glimmering underneath afternoon sunlight, onto the drying rack, letting it drip dry, and he nods, walking over to join you on your couch.

When he’s sat enough, the plush of the cushions flush against his skin, he clears his throat. “What do you want to know?”

“About you, or about your mother?”

Levi isn’t prepared to talk about himself.

“Her.”

“That’s not really up to me to decide,” you muse, stretching out your tired arms. “Whatever you have to say about her, I guess.”

He finds quickly that a lot about her, tells of him.

“Well, she’s dead.”

“I’ve gathered that much. I’m sorry, by the way. When did she pass?”

“I was a child when it happened. Don’t really remember much besides her face.”

And the feeling of sitting alone on the floor, waiting for her to wake up again.

And the feeling of putting her clothes over his, trying to feel her warmth again.

And the feeling of his hair, long and covering his eyes because she hadn’t gotten the chance to trim it sooner.

He doesn’t get much chance to think of her, but in spite of the years which’ve passed, he remembers too much.

Yet, still not enough.

“I’m sorry. Must’ve been hard growing up without her.”

“It was.”

. . .

“Is there anything else?”

“Not really,” he sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Does that make me a bad son?”

“From the way you talk about her, I can tell you love her dearly. That’s more than enough.”

“Maybe.”

. . .

“You have her face, don’t you?” You ask after some pause.

His breath halts. “What?”

Where’s this coming from?

“I don’t know, you just seem like someone who’d look like their mother.” You shrug. 

Levi remembers his mother as far more graceful than he ever could be, so he can’t really be the judge of that.

Again, “maybe.”

. . .

“We’re not that great at talking.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

You chuckle, and Levi feels a greater shift in weight as you sink in further, bringing your legs up and putting your knees to your chest. “Okay, then. How about we take turns asking each other about things?"

Easy enough.

“I’m fine with that.”

“You can ask first. You already told me something.”

What is there to know?

“What’ve you been doing, since you aren’t running the bakery right now?”

“I have enough money saved up to get by for a while, so I’ve been taking a bit of a break before I get things back in order,” you muse. “Still baking, obviously. Don’t really know what else to do with my time.”

“No hobbies?”

“No, not really any time for that when you run a bakery. There’s a little field for all the tenants in the building, so I garden there when I can, but that’s about it. I’m pretty boring.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m just as boring,” he says plainly. “Your turn.”

“You already told me, but do you really do nothing with your day?”

“Yeah. Just the normal shit like gardening, cooking, cleaning.” A pause. “I go out sometimes. Go to see old friends, or they’ll come to my place. Help out around the house, have dinner.”

“That sounds nice. You live in a house?”

“Yeah, on the other side of town.” Another pause. “How long have you lived here?”

“A long time. Fifteen years, give or take. I opened the bakery a year after. What about you? In your house, I mean.”

He counts. “Almost four years, not too long.”

“Not from here?”

“Something like that,” he says, looking over and out through the window. “Do you like it here?”

“It’s alright, I don’t really mind it. The people are nice, weather’s good,” you yawn, soaking in sun as you stretch lengthwise. “As long as I have my bakery, the rest is irrelevant.”

He won’t comment on the fact that, right now, underneath the two of you, there’s a barren eating area and display case that’s destroyed.

“Do you?” You ask.

“Do I what?”

“Do you like it here?”

 “It’s nice enough. Haven’t explored much, but I’m content.” He thinks of the sky, the sea, the earth. “I hate the birds, though.”

“Oh? How come?”

“...I just hate them.”

You giggle, bringing up your hand to your face. “Fair enough, they are pretty annoying. At least you’ve got a bakery you can frequent on the Wednesdays you feel like doing anything but nothing,” you tease, looking over at him. “Plus, no birds here.”

His eyes meet yours, and he feels a quiet bloom in his heart. “That, I do.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

Along goes the rest of the afternoon, filled with mundane, meaningless questions as such.

It’s surprisingly easy—how conversation flows after the initial awkwardness, knowing that conversation is happening purely with the intention of knowing as much as possible, in as little time as possible. It’s a catching-up on lost time, and a surprising rekindling of the level of comfortability which’d existed and quietly bloomed in the months spanning before this.

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough.

He learns that you always have a cup of tea in the morning, never at night, because you know you’ll have to get up early and can’t afford to miss out on any sleep.

You learn that he refuses to let anyone else clean his bathroom, because he knows that they aren’t going to do a good enough job anyway, and it’s a waste of cleaning solution to have someone do it half-assed.

He learns of how your bakery came to be, how you’d struggled to find investors when you were younger and eventually just decided to take out a loan and hope for the best.

You learn of Gabi and Falco formally, and how they’d gotten dirt on the floorboards of his house yesterday because they were too eager to come inside and show him the centipede they’d caught from the garden.

At some point, you have to get back up on your feet to assemble and decorate the cake, and although there isn’t much that Levi can necessarily do to help, he stands on the other side of the counterspace and watches as you work.

“What kind of cake is this?” Levi asks, speaking softly to not disturb you as you make careful cuts along the lines you mark on the sponge.

“It’s called an opera cake.”

An opera cake? Like, those fancy singers?

He supposes it’s fitting. His mother used to sing him goodnight, all those years ago.

But, still, “I don’t think I’ve seen it before in your display.”

“I don’t sell it in the bakery,” you say, pulling away your knife and turning the sponge to get the next side. “I hate making it.”

“Then why are you making it right now?”

“...It’s the fanciest cake I could think of.”

“Go figure.”

“Well, I had to pull out all the stops.”

“And why is that?”

You close one of your eyes to get a more accurate look as you start the next cut. “Today is important to you, I can’t have you taking home any ordinary cake.”

. . .

“I appreciate that.”

“I know.” You open both your eyes again and slice a bit faster, still careful not to nip your fingers or chip the stone countertop. “Uh, my turn again. What’s your favorite drink?”

Well, he can’t say it’s tea. He’s gone this long without ever giving up on that white lie.

“Water.”

“How… health-conscious of you. Trying to make it to a thousand-and-one?”

“Shut up.”

You roll your eyes, and you put down your knife. You gently pull away the trimmings of the cake, and you hold out a piece for Levi to nibble on. “Here, tell me what you think.”

He takes it, and he takes a bite. “It’s good.”

“Aw, no ‘this is the greatest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life?’”

“Maybe when it’s put-together, but, for now, no.”

“I never knew you were such a critic,” you sass, turning around and opening the fridge to get something else. “It’s your turn, by the way.”

With your back turned to him, he sees the ribbon in your hair again, and it sways back and forth as you muse to yourself what you’re talking out of the fridge.

“Your ribbons,” he starts, “why do you…”

“Why do I use ribbons all the time?”

Levi nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“Personal question?”

“It’s personal?”

You chuckle slightly, and you turn back to him with the bowls of ganache, buttercream, and coffee in your hands. “It’s a bit of a long story, are you alright listening?”

Levi’s brows furrow.

How could the origin of this trait of yours be that personal?

Again, he nods slowly. “Only if you want to answer.”

“Might as well, right?” You hum, and you reach up to grab a cake board from one of your upper cabinets, and you set that down on some clear space on the counter. “Well, the short story is that my mother was a seamstress, and she’d always sew bows and ribbons onto my clothes when I was a kid because I thought they were pretty.”

“Was?”

“She was a seamstress when she was alive.”

Oh.

“You can ask about her later, if you want.”

Levi nods curtly. “Go on, then. With your… long story.”

You put the slab of cake onto your knife, and you transfer it to the board before turning to grab a spatula from the drying rack and a pastry brush from a drawer. “Long story being that my younger sister was a really sickly child. We were really close, but it was still really hard to see her so sick.”

“That’s tough.”

“Do you have a sister yourself?”

Isabel.

“Yeah.”

“I guess maybe you’ll understand, then,” you take a brush soaked with coffee and run it along the cake. “Anyway, our parents died when I was a teenager, so I had to take care of my sister by myself.

“And I remember her first birthday without them, I got a teddy bear for her. Got it all wrapped up in this huge box, put a ton of bows on it that I got from the store, and I gave it to her as soon as she woke up. I was so excited because I’d just gotten a job as a waitress at a nearby restaurant and finally had the money to do something extra for her.

“And, I don’t know why I didn’t consider it? Maybe because our parents never had the money to get us presents and I’d never really thought about it before, but she just… couldn’t open it. Like, she could peel off some of the tape, but her fingernails were really weak, and she was too drowsy from the medicine to handle a knife if I gave her one to cut it open.”

You grab hold of the spatula again, and  you take a dollop of cream and plop it onto the coffee-soaked layer. “I ended up opening it for her, and she was super happy to have a new friend, but I remember thinking about how my friends from school would talk about how great it was to open presents on their birthdays and tear at the paper, and I felt bad that my sister missed out on that feeling.

“I asked around afterwards to see if anyone had anything else I could try, and the lady who owned the restaurant I worked at showed me how she wrapped presents for her husband who lived in hospice. She’d put a ribbon on the box, and if you pulled on it, it’d just tear off the rest of the paper.

“I used that way of wrapping for my sister when I had the next excuse to get her something—it’s been so long that I don’t remember what day it even was, but she was so happy—and I guess it stuck? I was already kind of obsessed with ribbons to begin with, so I just learned all these ways to tie it, and I’d show her too.” You’ve finished spreading the cream evenly, and go on to put another layer of sponge.

“She died a few years later, I moved on with my life, and now it's just a habit.”

You awkwardly smile. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

It was.

“It’s fine,” Levi says. “Are you doing okay now?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time.” You take your brush again and put on more coffee. “It gets easier, too.”

“What does?”

“Living without people you love. Can you hold this bowl for me?”

“Sure,” he says, taking the bowl of ganache from you, and when you motion for him to tip it slightly, he does. You let a bit of it fall onto the coffee-soaked sponge, and Levi frowns. “Does it really? Get easier.”

“I think so,” you muse. “What other option is there? Being sad forever?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he says softly.

“Everyone’s different, so there’s not really any measure on that sort of thing. But it’s hard to move on if you’re always stuck in the past,” you hum.

What if he doesn’t want to move on?

““You can put that down, now. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

You transfer another layer of cake onto the stack, and then another level of coffee soak, and for the rest of the time you assemble the cake, neither of you speak. What else is there to say after learning something like that?

Though, the inner musings of your grief become louder when, after you take another break and chill the cake in the fridge before you send it off with Levi, you sit at the dining table and slowly unravel a spool of ribbon to start wrapping it up in a box. Levi sits across from you, watching as he usually does as your hands unravel the color and cut strands to lace through the slits.

There’s a faint sad smile that he’s never truly been able to understand before on your face as you carefully set down tape to keep everything in place.

“Oh, shoot! I forgot!” You tug on all the ribbons you’ve just put down, opening the box all over again, and you get up and rush to the fridge to grab something. Levi watches in confusion until you come back to the table with a piping bag, and you steady it in your hands. “Just ‘Happy Birthday,’ right?”

Levi nods, but right before you can put chocolate on chocolate, he interrupts again. “Could you write something else, too?”

“Of course!”

He tells you, and he sits up a bit straighter to peer over the edge of the box as you pipe out the cursive lettering.

Happy Birthday, Mommy

You repackage the box again, needing to cut a few more pieces of fresh tape, and you put it into a cloth bag. And, like those many weeks ago, you move around to the back of Levi’s wheelchair with the cake and a spool of ribbon, and you tie it up onto the handles and secure it in place for him.

You walk him down back through the door from which you’d both came, and after making sure that the cake absolutely will not fall on the commute back (and he's discreetly slipped the proper amount for a cake into the pocket of your apron), you stand up straighter again and hold the door open for yourself, waving goodbye to him.

“Come back again soon, I’ll be waiting for you!”

Can't exactly come back when the bakery isn't... open.

“How soon is ‘soon,’ exactly?”

You lean against the doorframe, looking off and down the street. “I should be open again by the end of the year, maybe?”

The end of the year?

“It’s only May, you need the rest of the year?”

“I guess that isn’t really ‘soon,’ huh?” You halfheartedly jest. “You saw when you passed through, everything's wrecked. Nothing I can really do to reopen quicker, I only have myself to get things back in order.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Huh?”

And with the musings of his heart, he watches as the sun reflects from your eyes, glassy and shining, and he speaks from his soul once more.

“You have me.”

It goes without saying that, to Levi, that means you'll only have him in the moments you're together—in the moments that he's able to give even half of himself to you—but you'll still have him, even if only to rebuild the bakery and the part of your soul that's asking for purpose in the same ways that his is.

He can only hope that it's enough.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

In the early summer, the days bleed together, unified only by the long stroke of orange and dandelion yellow across a sky that’s grander than the opera.

Levi, just as he had in the late winter and early spring, returns to the bakery every Wednesday.

Only, instead of coming to have a slice of cake and people-watch for hours on end, he wears shoes with thick soles so he can sweep away broken glass and step over broken wooden tables, and instead of you having a cup of tea next to him, you’re looking through catalogs of furniture to order new chairs and tile for the chipped floor.

And, unlike when he’d been with you in the bakery kitchen that one morning many moons ago, it’s not quiet. Between the crunching of plywood and the flipping of checkbook pages, he continues to learn more about you, and you him.

He learns that you cannot stand the look of white lights, and that you’d much rather work in darkness than be without muted yellow glow.

You learn that he’s very particular about the way he cleans windows, and that he always ties a cloth over the lower part of his face to keep from inhaling dust.

He learns that your nose is especially sensitive to sawdust, so he tries his best to sweep slowly to keep you from sneezing.

You learn he hates, among (many) other things, the smell of mulch and compost, but he tolerates it because Onyankopon insists that the plants need it to grow, and you tell him you can take out the trash at the end of the day while he gets ready to leave.

He learns that your favorite desserts are cannelés, but you hate making them so you don’t sell them in the store.

He’s never had one, nor can he really pronounce it correctly, but he tells you he’ll visit one of the other shitty bakeries in the area to find them for you one day.

You learn that his favorite flavor of the cakes from your bakery is lemon and mint.

You promise to always keep one in the display, just in case he decides to buy one out-of-the-blue when you reopen.

In earnest, it becomes easy for him to let himself fall into the dynamic once more, with even greater grace.

On this particular afternoon in the late summer, you’re standing up on top of a chair, using a paint roller to get the corners of the wall, and Levi’s holding the chair steady like his life depends on it.

“Can you hurry up? The longer you’re up there, the more likely you’re going to fall.”

“You don't think I'm scared of that right now too?! I’m trying, I don’t want it to look too patchy!”

“Who the fuck is going to care if the corner is the same shade of paint?!”

“Me!”

Levi sighs. “Okay, okay, whatever.”

After a bit more struggle from you, you get off your tip-toes and slowly bend down again to get off the chair. With a shaky hand, you try to find the back handle of the chair to hold onto, but Levi just holds his hand out to you to make it easier.

You take it, and he feels a spark.

He ignores it, but you don’t.

“Did you feel that?”

Levi clears his throat and lets go of your hand, as well as the chair leg he’d been gripping onto for dear life. “No.”

And though his heart seems to be stuck in place, you move on quickly and stretch upwards, now looking up at the spot from the ground, and you put down the paint roller onto the tray. “I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“All we did was repaint a singular wall and decide what tables to order,” Levi deadpans.

“Which, I think, is good enough!"

"You haven't even marked the order in your notebook yet. You're gonna forget."

You sigh wistfully. "I'll get to it eventually, just not right now."

“If you’re tired, I can keep cleaning down here. I don’t mind.”

He’d literally just gotten here an hour ago, he is not about to go home and do… whatever else it is that he has to do today.

“Actually,” you start, looking past him and at the door. “I was thinking we could go out and do something today.”

“Like…?”

“I made reservations at a restaurant, but other than that, we’re free to do whatever we’d like. Obviously, I won’t keep you too late, but I was hoping you'd come along."

A reservation?

Levi raises a brow. “What’s the occasion?”

"What're you talking about?"

"A reservation is a bit much for an 'impromptu' outing, so what's the occasion?"

“Today’s the summer solstice!”

Levi wasn't particularly aware, but the sun did seem to be up higher today than usual. “And that’s important because...?”

“What's unimportant about the longest day of the year?"

"Everything."

You laugh, and you go to grab the sunhat you'd brought down to the bakery today. Looking more closely now, you're dressed a bit more nicely than you normally are, in a long sundress and shoes not quite meant for fixing up a storefront still covered in sawdust. "Well, there hasn't really been much to celebrate lately, so we have to make unimportant days like this mean something."

"If you say so," he grumbles. Seriously, what's all that special about the solstice?

"Besides, if the sun is out longer, that means you can stay later than usual today!" By now, you've got your hand on the door, and you tilt your head towards the door. "Do you wanna come, or are you gonna stay and mull over what kind of wood the tables should be?"

"Yeah, yeah, one second," he sighs. "And you know I thought walnut was the best."

"You still had to go through the catalogue, like, three times, before agreeing with me on that!"

He grabs his cane, and he follows you out the door, the brightness of the afternoon assaulting his eyes and forcing him to narrow them for a second. "Whatever, let's just go."

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

More or less, it's an... interesting time.

You drag him to a restaurant a few streets down, pointing out buildings to him as you pass them by and telling him what they're for. The place isn't all that crowded to begin with, so Levi hardly knows why you'd put in a reservation in the first place, but you seem to be having a decent enough time making small talk with the hostess as she leads you and Levi to a table by an upstairs window. Thank goodness Levi's dressed somewhat appropriately in a black turtleneck sweater and slacks; the people here, even if they look nice enough, are dressed pretty well, and it seems to be on the higher-end of luxury scaling.

It does faintly bring red to his ears to hear that you'd made the reservation for both you and him, being so confident in telling the hostess that the two of you were together. It tells him he's doing enough—enough that you're secure enough to be inviting him at all, and secure in the thought that you have him.

The hostess leaves two menus at the table booth, the two of you now seated across from each other. "Someone will come by to get your order soon!"

"Thank you!"

The both of you grab a menu for yourselves, and Levi frowns when he sees the prices. "Why is everything here so fucking expensive?"

You hum, flipping to the next page. "Don't worry about it, I got it covered."

"You paying for me is worse than us just running out before the bill comes."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Who said anything about that?"

"Great, so we really are going to run out on the bill," he sighs, bringing his menu back up to cover his face. Thank goodness he'd brought enough money with him.

After a few moments wherein you and him are reading through them, you pull down Levi's down to make eye contact with him. "And you can't just choose the cheapest thing on the menu and hope that I won't know that's what you're doing."

"You can't stop me from ordering the," he scans the page, "children's bowl of salad greens."

"Ha, ha, very funny, Levi. Pick anything but that."

"And what if I actually want that? How dare you deprive me of my," he looks back down at the menu, "artisanal assortment of seasonal vegetables, including but not limited to spinach, lettuce, kale, and cabbage."

"Come on, just get what you want! Really, I got it."

Levi sighs. At this point, he knows there's no point in questioning you, even if you aren't making any sense.

A waiter comes by to take your orders, and even though Levi's got no idea what you have cooking up, he orders whatever looks appetizing to him in the moment. The waiter takes away your menus, and you lace your fingers together underneath your chin, leaning forward and looking at him. "So, Levi?"

"What?"

"Do you have to get home early today, or do I get you all to myself until sundown?"

"I don't really have anything to do, so I guess the latter."

"You don't sound all that enthusiastic," you tease, playfully kicking his foot underneath the table. "Tired of me already?"

"I never said that," he deadpans. "You know how I talk by now, you know what I mean."

"Just poking fun at you," you smile. "Is there anything you wanna do for the rest of the day after we eat, then?"

"How should I know? I hardly ever go out."

"Would you mind following me around all day?"

No.

"Aren't you already dragging me around?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, you're right, sorry about that. I probably should've asked you earlier if you wanted to do anything today."

"It's fine, I don't mind."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I trust that you know your way around this place better than I do, anyway."

"Probably, but I don't have any ideas of what to do for the rest of the day, so I guess we'll just go where the wind takes us."

"Sounds good enough."

The waiter returns with two glasses of water, and you tap your cup against his in cheers before taking a sip. "Got any plans for this week?"

This is a pretty routine question, with an equally routine response.

Levi shrugs, reaching over to pull his glass closer to him. "Nothing much. The wind has been a pain, so I have to redo some of the fencing around my house tomorrow."

"Aw, at least the heat hasn't been too bad this year, so it can't be that bad to be working outside. Are Gabi and Falco going to come over to help you?"

"Yeah, but I know they only wanna help so they can force me to get ice cream for them afterwards," he sighs.

You smile. "They're just kids, you can't blame them."

He rolls his eyes. "I can if they do a shit job."

"Well, if they don't do a shit job, I can show you this ice cream parlor down the road later! It's good, I used to go there a lot. Maybe you can take them there."

"Maybe," he takes a sip of water. "Is it expensive like everything else is around here?"

"It's a decent price, I wouldn't worry about it," you wave him off. "Doing anything else?"

"You know as well as I do that I'm boring as shit, so no. You?"

You hum, looking off and out the window. "I have to go and collect bank statements before the weekend, but that's about it."

"That's it?"

You roll your eyes with a smile. "Are you the only one allowed to be boring?"

"You just seem more productive than boring."

"Normally, you'd be right, but I can't bring myself to really get anything done right now."

He doesn't need to ask why that is, but he follows your gaze outside and hums in affirmation. "Not judging you."

"I know."

You and him sit in silence for the rest of the lunch spent, only making brief comments about the random happenings you can see through the window. There's a bird that chases after a teenager for a loaf of bread, a fountain that spits water in the center road, a couple of kids who fall into said fountain. When the food arrives, Levi feels slightly uneasy because you still haven't told him what's happening with the payment situation, but as soon as he takes his first bite of the dish, he just lets himself forget about what you're plotting because it's too good to be worrying himself over. You eat in similar quiet, only once asking if he likes his meal, but it's an easy quiet. One that's familiar, that'd been present in the simpler days where you and him would only spend time in each other's company people-watching.

The both of you finish your food with similar-enough speed, and the waiter takes away both your plates before you yawn and stretch out your arms and legs. "I'll be right back, going to the bathroom," you say, sliding out of your side of the booth.

Levi nods, and he looks down into his glass of water once you're out of view. The ice practically refuses to melt, clinking against the sides of the cup as he rocks it back and forth, but it isn't really all that long before you return. He raises a suspicious brow at you, really doubting that you'd gone to the bathroom at all, but before he can question it, there's a small ensemble of wait staff around your table, and a slice of cake is placed in front of him with a lit candle on it.

"Happy birthday, sir!" They all chorus.

"Happy birthday, Levi!" You cheer.

Levi blinks, looking dumbfoundedly at the candle that flickers in front of him. "What? It's not my birthday."

Levi then looks across the table at you, who's got your hands together in thanks, a grin plastered on your face. "Thank you! Sorry, he's just shy."

"No worries! We'd still love to give you a discount for this special day."

Is this your idea of getting the meal "taken care of?"

Good lord.

"Would you like to be sung to, sir?"

Fuck no.

"No, thank you."

You snicker from behind your hand, and after the wait staff (and the rest of the people in this fucking restaurant) wish him another happy birthday, Levi kicks your feet underneath the table again. You yelp, but you burst into laughter as he continues. 

He hisses your name under his breath. "I cannot believe you said it was my birthday!"

"Come on! It's all in good fun, and we get a discount!"

"How is this fun? What if I wanted to celebrate my actual birthday here someday?"

"Don't worry, I thought that through!"

He groans into his hands. "I don't even want to know, but I probably should."

"Well, this is practically the halfway point between your birthdays, so this is the perfect time for you to be pretending it actually is because the employees will have six months to forget!"

Ugh, he hates that that makes sense. "I'm never going anywhere with you again."

"You already agreed I get you for the day, so you can't really say that," you laugh. "You should probably blow out your candle before the wax melts into the cake, though."

He sighs, and he brings his hands away from his face to blow the flame. You clap excitedly, as does the table directly next to you, and Levi sinks back into his seat. "Let's get out of here."

"Not gonna enjoy your birthday treat?"

Levi rolls his eyes. "Why, do you want it?"

"I'm alright, I'm too full."

"Well, I doubt it's better than anything you could make, so I don't really want it either."

"Can I have it, mister?" A young boy from the table behind him asks, popping up from behind Levi's seat.

His parents shush him, but Levi just gently plucks off the burnt-out candle and hands the plate to the kid from over the divider. "Sure, happy birthday."

You smile as you watch the exchange, but before you can tease Levi for his soft spot, he gets up from his side of the booth and pulls you up to leave with him.

At least he gets the one-up on you when he forces you to let him to pay for the both of you himself, even if it isn't nowhere as much as it should be if it weren't "his birthday."

When you and him exit the restaurant and Levi's left once again at your mercy, the first order of business is you showing him all the ice cream shops up-and-down the streets. You pull him along as best as you both can go, which admittedly isn't all that fast, but Levi still feels a breeze as he walks alongside you and through crowds of people going about their day. Even though you'd said you only knew of one place, it turns out that the whole town is riddled with seasonal ice cream shops that are jumping at the chance to take advantage of the sunniest day of the year.

You sweet talk each and every one of those employees into giving you and Levi free samples far bigger than they should be (it certainly does help that you tell all of them that you're celebrating a birthday), but after the third time you pull it off, Levi just goes along with it and gently knocks at the back of your knees with his cane once you're safely away and onto the next parlor.

With the sun high in the sky and only a gentle zephyr to carry the scent of summer flowers, it feels like the perfect time to be having ice cream, and even if Levi doesn't really have the heart to tell you he doesn't have a favorite flavor for himself, he enjoys the flavors that you pick out for the two of you so that you can try to guess.

He also tries his best to ignore the twinkle in your eye when you inevitably change samples with him and indirectly kiss, but it's hard to miss the way your smile reaches your eyes as you walk merrily alongside him and muse your joy, completely obvious to the gentle sunshine reflecting from the ribbon in your hair.

At some point, though, the both of you tire of eating so much ice cream, and you find yourselves walking along a strip of small shops facing a stretch of sea he didn't know was even here, shadows following you and telling Levi it's been a few hours since having first gone out. You're at the edge of the town, neither of you having quite ventured so far before, so there's no sense of direction other than where the weathervane points.

"What's next to do?" Levi asks.

"What, you don't wanna try more ice cream?"

"You said you were tired of it not even three minutes ago."

"That's me! What if you wanted more?"

"I'm good, thanks," he says plainly. "And I doubt we'll come across any more shops. We've been at this for hours now."

"Don't say that, this is important!"

"Sure it is," he rolls his eyes. "But, still, where are we going? I have no idea where we are."

"You and me both," you hum. "I don't know, see anything interesting here?"

Levi looks up to see the overhanging signs, lined up neatly at the upper edge of his vision. There's what looks like clothing stores and other small shops, none of which catch his eye, but after a bit more walking, he hears a halt in your step next to him and turns to look back at your form still stood three steps behind.

In the window you're looking through is a cake, put up on display against the glass.

A kid with a chocolate roll in his hands runs past you and towards the other side of the street, drawing your attention to this bakery's doors where people come in and out, arms full with pastries and other things you'd also made when you were still opened. The smell of summer berries and brûléed vanilla sugar are carried by the now-strong summer wind, and Levi's eyes catch sight of yours looking at the sign hung from the awning. The skirt of your sundress billows in the breeze, the fabric undoubtedly irritating the skin around your ankles, but you remain standing there, half-stood between walking forward and backwards.

And he's filled with sadness, watching you as the sun overhead mockingly casts down light onto your figure.

It isn't a tragedy for there to be another bakery here, he knows that. It's a good distance away from yours, and there's hardly any reason to be upset that people are able to get their fill of sugar and spice. There's enough room for everyone to do well for themselves, and he knows the look in your eyes isn't that of jealousy, and the longing therein is not for the height of success this place seemingly has. Even if you'd been envious, he wouldn't blame you. He's competitive in his own right, and perhaps if it'd been under different circumstances, he'd scoff at you and tell you that there's no way this place has better scones than yours.

But the windows have no curtains, and the glass on them is whole. The door isn't locked shut, nor is there a sign hung on it saying it's unsure of when it'll open again. The display case is unshattered, there's a light illuminating whatever's in it. The chairs are filled with people, and the paint of the walls don't need to be redone. Whoever owns this place doesn't spend their afternoons sprawled out on a freshly-dusted table that's the only piece of unbroken furniture left, but, rather, with patrons who praise their craft and line their pockets with petty cash and loose coins.

And all those things together explain the frown that's settled on your features, out-of-place and pulling at the strings of his heart.

So, he does what he has to.

Levi grabs your hand, his cane held half-firmly in the palm of his other hand, and he pulls you away. He pulls you in the direction of the wind so your hair doesn't get caught in your eyes, and he takes you off-balance just enough to force you to follow his guide.

You ask where you're going.

He has no idea where he's going or how far he's going to travel, but all he knows is that he has to get you away from there. Again, it's not like he can move all that quickly, his legs not necessarily made for running, but he does his best, pain permitting.

So he keeps his mouth shut, only telling you that it's a surprise.

You ask what's wrong, why he's walking so fast.

He knows you aren't going to say anything to let on that you're upset or admit you need to be somewhere else, so he makes up some bullshit excuse about everything here being boring and needing to leave for something less mind-numbing.

You stop questioning things when Levi squeezes your hand, though. He probably should've thought to do that sooner.

The wind directs you both to a bench facing the water, faraway from the bakery and out of the breeze, and by the time and you've both caught your breath back and sat down, Levi's still got a hold on your hand, and you can only stare at the linking of warmth where they meet before looking up to his face.

He can see the overglaze in your eyes disappear as you blink and take in your new surroundings, looking past him now and around the area you've found yourselves in. He does the same, wanting to see the same things you're seeing.

The sky above the water is clear, only colored in the blue he's used to seeing on land. There's blinding glimmer from the sun above, and the sea is as clear as it is cloudy with sand. There's kids playing in the sand, burying their father underneath a layer that'd certainly break if he so much as moved a finger. The birds give Levi another reason to hate them (not that he needs any more, but it's nice to have more justification) because he can only watch in horror as they fly over and steal sandwiches from plates left unattended.

It certainly does look different when the sun is actually out.

He looks over at you occasionally, trying to figure out what the fuck he's meant to say after he's dragged you to this random ass bench in the seeming middle of nowhere for seemingly no reason, but you look content enough, your eyes only focused on where the sky kisses the sea, so he doesn't say anything. He looks down to where your hands are, still connected and with a grip gentle enough for either of you to pull away with easy, but when you don't make any movement away from him, he decides he doesn't want to either.

And the two of you sit like this for a while, just watching as the sun seems to endlessly light the world in front of you.

Yeah.

This is fine.

At some point, however many hours later, you pull your hand away to instinctively cover your mouth to yawn, and Levi knows then that it's about time to head back, no matter how sunny it is outside. He forces you to get up, poking you at the small of your back with his cane until you are awake enough to be aware of your surroundings, and you're suddenly back to yourself, teasing and smiling and walking alongside him with a smile on your face.

The two of you struggle with getting back to your apartment, only able to track yourselves using vague recollections of shop signs you'd both only seen once several hours ago, but after a lot of walking in circles (and a quick detour through a farmer's market to get things to make dinner), you finally find yourselves back at your home, Levi taking the opportunity to prove he's not totally inept in the kitchen. What comes as a result is a meal that you insist is fit for royalty, and you and him eat while speaking half-truths over two more cups of tea that go cold before you can drink one of them.

With nothing else to do but to wait for the full feeling in his stomach to pass, Levi finds himself slumped back on your sofa, his forearm over his eyes, you right next to him with a fresh cup of tea to keep yourself from falling asleep. You're quite tired for someone who always seems so energetic, but Levi supposes that a day like that would wear anyone down. He's still not penchant to sleep, though, even with all the movement of the day, but he does let himself close his eyes while he tries to give himself the energy to take himself home.

"You can just go to sleep, you don't have to stay awake," he says quietly, adjusting his legs to lay a bit more comfortably. "I'll lock the door on the way out, I'll leave soon."

You yawn. "I don't want to sleep yet, it's too early. You sure you don't just wanna stay over again? I won't wake you up at 3 in the morning again to make tea for me downstairs."

"I have to fix the fence with the kids tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, forgot."

"I appreciate the offer, though."

"Yeah, of course. You're welcome anytime." You hum before stretching and getting up from the couch. "One second, I'm gonna get something real quick."

Levi nods, and he looks out your balcony's glass doors as he waits. There's still plenty of light out, but it's nearing what's supposed to be evening, so he really ought to go soon. Just as he's about to get up, though, his hands about to push himself up off the seat cushion, you're halfway leaned down in front of him with a cake in your hands.

The two of you make eye contact, and you freeze. Levi's eyes flicker back and forth between your face and the cake, a candle lit in the center. You're silent, stuck in place, so Levi takes it upon himself to break the sound barrier.

"Aren't you going to start singing? It's my birthday, you know."

You blink, and, suddenly, laughter sputters from you, and you tip your head back and look up at the ceiling, careful not to drop the cake. Levi rushes to get up, take the cake from you, and set it on the table, and you fall back onto the couch and cover your eyes from the overhead light with your forearm. The rise and fall of your chest as you laugh and try to catch your breath is too much for Levi to watch, so he looks away and stares at the flicker of the candle as it melts shorter.

"Oh, Levi! You're hilarious!"

"I'm really not," he deadpans. "What's this for, anyway? You know it's not my birthday."

You roll your eyes, leaning forward and turning the cake so that it's faced properly towards yourselves on the couch. "So conceited. Who said anything about it being your birthday?"

"You did, all day-" Levi pauses. He looks at the cake, and there, in icing, are the words Happy Birthday.

If it's not his birthday...

"Gonna sing for me, old man?"

. . .

"Today's your birthday?"

"Yep! What, you thought I'd take advantage of that restaurant without it actually being someone's birthday?"

He frowns. Why hadn't you said anything earlier? The entire day, you'd just gone around telling people that it was his birthday, not yours. It makes a lot more sense that you had a reservation for the restaurant, why you cared so much about the other happenings of today, why you wanted to do something different.

He could've done something. Not that he could've gotten you a cake, really, seeing as you're the one who he goes to when he needs that, but maybe he could've-

"I'm waiting," you singsong, leaning over to nudge his shoulder.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"What, so you could get me a cake?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Ah, ah, ah," you wave your finger at him. "You know you aren't gonna win with me, so you can stop with that."

"You still should've told me," he barks. "For fucks sake, it's your birthday."

He's not meaningfully upset, and he knows you know that, but he can't understand why you wouldn't say anything until bringing out an entire fucking cake.

You raise a brow at him, leaning sideways deeper into the couch cushions. "If I remember correctly, you're the one who doesn't care about your birthday all that much, right?"

Okay, well, that might've been true regarding his own birthday, but he's really taken to celebrating for other people's lately, especially with the gradual shift in his attitudes of celebrating things in general. For fucks sake, he's bought, like, twenty cakes from you at this point. You, of all people, know this.

"Okay, and? It's still unfair you spent your day wasting time with me."

You lean your face into your hand. "And it's unfair you've been doing the same with me for the last couple weeks with me, so we're even."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

You roll your eyes. "Come on, Levi, just let me be selfish."

"No, really, what are you talking about? I-" Before he can continue, his eyes drift to the cake (more specifically, to the evershortening candle on it). "Your candle!"

"Oh, right." You tuck a front strand of hair behind your ear before leaning over the table, pausing for a second to make your wish, and you blow out the candle. Your eyes follow the stray smoke as it floats up and dissipates in the air. Levi, though still mildly distraught, claps for you, and you flash him a smile.

You then get up and bring back a knife, two plates, and two forks, and you kneel on the floor in front of the cake while turning it. You'd sat down a bit too quickly, so the ribbon in your hair was brought to the front of your head, so Levi leans forward to pull it back properly and make sure it doesn't get caught on any frosting.

At the feeling of his hands over your hair, you look back at him, and the abrupt movement undoes the ribbon, one end of it held onto by Levi's hand. Levi pauses, unsure of what to do with it, but you only smile at him again before going back to the cake. After a bit more staring at it, you lean to the side to let him see. "That look like a good piece?"

Honestly, he doesn't really know what constitutes a good piece in the first place, but it has a strawberry on it, so he nods, the ribbon still in his grasp. He's still unused to seeing you with your hair down, so he also doesn't really know what to say without sounding like a complete and utter idiot, but you luckily make it easy for him by thrusting a plate with a slice of strawberry cream cake into his hands.

You put down the knife after getting yourself a piece too, and you sink back into the couch happily with a fork between your lips. Levi takes a bite, too, and he wills himself awake to enjoy it properly. He makes no further comments regarding you keeping your birthday to yourself, but when you and him both finish eating, he gets up from the couch and steals your plate from you to do the dishes from this and dinner himself. You try to stop him to no avail, as he threatens to drop the plates to the floor if you try to take them away from him, but you quietly follow him to the kitchenette and sit at the dining table as he turns on the faucet and grabs a sponge, squeezing soap onto it.

He scrubs as quietly as he can, which isn't really all that quiet anyway because the running water is still far too loud, but when he's finally at the point where he can put the sponge down and just wash away bubbles, you yawn again and you look off wistfully, leaning further into your hand as you watch the sun set in the sky.

Well, not really, because it's still very bright outside and the sun is nowhere near actually setting, but it'd ordinarily be around this time anyway, so it feels like it should be.

"Thanks for coming along with me today, Levi. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, I know." He puts a plate onto the rack. "Still don't know why you didn't just tell me it was your birthday."

"I didn't want you to do anything special. You do enough for me as is."

Levi scoffs. "Like washing the dishes is that much work."

You chuckle. "It isn't, but you've been a lot of help. I don't really get much done in the bakery when you're not here."

"You don't?" He thought as much on the front that the storefront doesn't look all that different between the Wednesdays he comes, but he assumed you did other things during the rest of the week by yourself.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't lost sleep over the worry that you'd be alone in the mornings, the time only reminding you of when you used to wake up to start your day down at the bakery, though.

"You can probably read me as well as I read you, right?"

"I doubt it."

"I think you do, since you probably already know this," you muse. "I don't know, it's just hard to do anything on my own about it. It's really overwhelming to think about fixing everything."

"I can imagine," he says, frowning slightly.

There's a brief silence as you get up to get the cake and bring it back to the fridge, and you lean against it as you watch Levi get to wiping dry the rest of the kitchenware.

"Really, Levi. Thank you for coming over so often. I'm sorry I can't give you anything in return."

You think you don't give him anything?

You probably couldn't be any more wrong about that.

"Don't worry about it." He pauses, flicking off excess water on his hands into the sink. "I like being here."

The with you goes unspoken, but he doesn't know if he wants you to know that or not.

Levi turns to look back at you, far closer than he thought you were to him, and he tries his best to match the smile on your face with a softening of his gaze. "Happy birthday."

And maybe because he's already within reach or because you're too thankful for your own good or because the sun has decided he's deserving, you reach out and wrap him in a tight hug, your smile against the skin of his neck as you hold him.

For the first time today, the nagging at the back of his mind is there again, telling him that he's not meant to be held this way. That he's meant to be anywhere else, where the sun is down for as long as he's awake and the sky isn't painted in the same pink that's surely on his face right now.

But, for the thousandth time, he'll ignore that, if only, once more, he can be here with you, to do whatever it is that you wish for, wherever the wind takes you.

And, today, the wind took him to celebrate your birthday with you.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

The sweet months that became of the summertime fly by, as does the progression of repairing the bakery storefront, and in the autumn breeze, Levi’s heart soars alongside the leaves. 

Speaking of much, Wednesday is no longer the only day of the week which Levi returns. After that conversation on your birthday, he's found himself with you for far more days than just the meager third day in the week.

Whenever packages of tables and chairs and tile and floorboard get delivered, Levi comes.

Clear is the sound of delivery trucks which come through the road and drop off boxes much too heavy for the both of you alone, so days consist of dismantling parts, getting them inside, and haphazardly putting them back together. The floor's been repaired for a while now and all the debris is gone, so the two of you will sit on the floor with only a single wrench between the two of you to figure it out. It's not the hardest thing in the world to figure out, but between all the empty-hearted fights over who gets to read the instructions and who gets to use the tools, it takes its time to get completed. In the end, though, it's usually Levi with the wrench, you with the instruction manual, and a kiss to the sky to hope that you're both doing everything correctly. In the moments you have to switch roles and your knees start to hurt after having to get underneath the tables to screw in the bottom panels, Levi is quick to go to the kitchen and fetch you some ice before you're even starting to complain.

Whenever ceramics are set to arrive, Levi comes.

They get dropped off in wooden crates at the bakery's front door, and Levi brings them in on his way inside. You take them from him, hold the door open for him to come through, and the two of you fight over whether or not they deserve to be on display or actually used by customers. The rest of the day is either spent with two teacups between the two of you (always one untouched, but that's not necessarily any issue) and a new dessert you're thinking of putting on the menu, or with a newspaper that Levi brings from the market so you can take turns doing the crossword while the other unpacks the shipments of porcelain.

Whenever it's someone's birthday, Levi comes.

It's never quite sat well with him that he's been asking you to make something for everyone he deems deserving of a birthday cake, but after the first time he'd off-handedly mentioned having to attend a celebration, he just tells you because he'd rather you go ahead and have the cake ready than rush to send him off with something before the sun sets. He speaks very briefly about whomever it is that it's for, but you don't demand any information from him, so it goes without saying that it's just someone important, and you're better off just talking about the weather or how Gabi had made fun of (but still tried to copy) the way Levi'd held his tea-, sorry, water cup while they were out on the benches.

His friends have started to wonder where he gets all these cakes from, all ornately decorated and divine to the soul, but all he can say is that you're closed (for now, and that they should all come by when you're reopened to support you however they can; not that he's ever going to admit to bringing in more customers).

Sometimes, though, when the kids ask, he'll bring them with him, and they'll ask you dumb questions about your life over the cupcakes you make for them while Levi gets to putting up new light fixtures.

Levi's happy they seem to really like you.

Well, not really "seem;" they just do. They love asking him questions they're too shy to ask you in the moment when you're there, and even though Levi's usually quick to shut down any accusations of romance or intimacy beyond what's become of his relationship with you, he answers what he can.

Whenever there's too many bundles of carrots left over and he knows he can't eat them before they spoil, Levi comes.

With the summer warmth, there'd been a great harvest this year, and because all the petals had turned to fruit and vegetable in proper time, there were no issues with allergies to keep him from staying out in the open for too long. He's able to harvest more than enough for himself and whomever he can thrust crates of cabbages onto, but he doesn't really know what else to do with the rest besides bring it to you. You take the fruits and put them into tea syrups and cakes, and if he's brought vegetables, Levi, definitively the better cook between the two of you, will come up to your apartment and make dinners to last you until the next time he's planning to come and bring more squash. 

And, still, of course, when it's Wednesday, Levi comes.

There's always something that needs to be done, whether it be cleaning, counting up loose inventory, or finding a new supplier for powdered sugar, so he might as well just continue with the routine that he's not actually supposed to be following. When there's absolutely nothing else to do, Levi sits next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder, and he listens to you explain how the finances work and how the bookkeeping is maintained, two cups of tea in front of you that always go cold. Days spent like that remind Levi that he made the right decision in choosing a life of relative peace in his quaint little house because the stress of having to file every receipt he's ever received would've killed him before he even opened.

Though, he can't deny there's romance in catching you half-asleep and then rushing upstairs to grab a blanket to drape over you, and he can thank the endless rows and columns on numbers marked in your little notebook, written in with ink and doodled in the margins with the same color pen, for that.

But he holds himself steady in the life he's had for the last four years, in spite of the time he now chooses to spend with you.

He still gardens all the same, only real difference now being that he's not absolutely irritated out of his mind every time he has to put on his gloves. He'd almost forgotten the feeling entirely, save for the time when the pale yellow stitch came undone after a particularly lengthy day of raking out weeds, but you'd resewed the slit back together after he'd brought it back to you.

He still sees his friends, seemingly now more than ever with how often they regroup to celebrate birthdays and other anniversaries. Hange's birthday was just last week, and all the kids came together to hold a little gathering at a bar in memoriam, but more than that, they'd met plenty over the summer to exchange food and recounts of new experiences.

He still sleeps in his chair, waiting for the lull of sleep to take him and keep him away from his mind. His inner thoughts have become much quieter, much more muted, but they still haunt him in the ways they're etched into his skin and bone. It feels almost wrong sometimes, how at peace he is when he's done with his day and there's nothing that comes to mind other than what tasks he has for the following day, but he's done a pretty good job at just ignoring the part of himself that taunts him to think too deeply about anything at all.

He still has his tea, boring, bitter, the same as always. There's no desire to deviate in the slightest, even with how hot the summer wind is, and there's no wavering in the lie that he doesn't have tea anywhere but in the safety of his home, under the roof that's never quite felt like his.

But, nevermind the plainness of his life and the relationships therein.

Point being, Levi comes to the bakery often to do the same nothings that occupy the rest of his time.

But, today, it's none of those aforementioned days where there's a new piece of furniture to pick out of a magazine or a new shipment of vanilla sugar to move into containers or a new batch of squash that Levi needs to get rid of or the third day of the week.

When you reopen the bakery, Levi comes.

It's not a grandiose occasion, by any means. Levi comes in only a little earlier than usual (as in, he leaves his home as soon as there's enough sun to make it to you safely), and you let him in as soon as he's there so he can help around while you continue baking and making sure everything's ready for opening. He makes you a cup of white peony tea, only a little less strong than the cup he'd brewed for you his very first night in your kitchen, and you give him a blueberry muffin to snack on while he pours it out for you. He sits quietly, listening as you talk your head off about vanilla sugar and 

The week prior, the two of you had celebrated the final happenings of getting the storefront back together and better than it had been before all this ever happened, and along the ways back-and-forth to a restaurant neither of you care to remember the name of, you and him had plastered reopening flyers all over lampposts and bulletin boards; so, it goes without saying that you're expecting a lot of people to come through and see what's new.

What you hadn't expected, though, was for Levi to volunteer and man the register and front of the house while you kept at the baking and brewing in the kitchen. At this point in the late summer and after so many days spent sprawled out on the floor arguing over prices, Levi knows the menu like the back of his hand, and although he can't personally attest to the quality or flavor profiles of any of the teas, he forces you to accept the help because you're stressed enough just seeing the line outside.

The day goes about as Levi expects it to, though.

Far too many things are bought, far too many cups of tea are delivered to tables made of walnut wood, and far too many people come. He recognizes some of them, but he doesn't really have the time to remember whether or not they were regulars before you had to close because there's just too many people to tend to. The line dies down as the time ebbs and flows, but the kids that come by with their friends don't have enough money to get something for everyone, so Levi has to shoo them away after paying for their things himself.

Soon enough, though, after many hours spent wrapping up pastries and trying to make sure that he's as nice as humanely possible to avoid scaring away any customers, Levi's sat on the couch in your apartment while you answer the door, having just finished sharing a dinner he'd slipped away to make while you tidied up downstairs and counted up the day's earnings.

"Thank you so much! See you tomorrow!" You close the door, and Levi looks over at you now that you're coming back to him, holding a basket thinly veiled in colored cellophane.

"Who was it?"

You sit down next to him after putting the basket on the table in front of you, and you stretch upwards and touch the wall above the couch. "My landlady came by to give us a reopening gift."

"That's nice of her, but did you just say 'us?' As in, including me?"

"She knows you, why's that such a surprise?"

Levi raises a brow, leaning forward to try and look through the plastic wrapping. "She knows me?"

"Yes?"

"I only see her when you send me to the garden to get tomatoes and shit, how does she know me?"

"I tell her about you!"

His breath catches in his throat. "You do?"

"She asks about you sometimes, too."

His initial instinct is to assume that those questions are either deeply personal or deeply embarrassing, so he only sighs in muted exasperation.

You join him in looking at the basket, squinting your eyes to try and look past the cellophane. "I wonder what she got us, she didn't mention anything when she gave it to me."

"Why don't you just open it?"

"It's more fun to guess first!"

"It can't be that much of a mystery," Levi rolls his eyes. Looking more closely, he can't really make out anything, but there's a faint outline of some sort of bottle. "Do you drink?"

"Not really, no. You think it's alcohol?"

"You don't?"

"It could be a bottle of sauce or something. I ask her for cooking wine sometimes."

"So, alcohol?"

"You know it's not the same thing!"

"My point still stands."

"Maybe it's some other drink? Or something she'd just put into a bottle to throw us off?"

"I really doubt it, but just open it already."

"Ugh, you're no fun, but okay." There's a really tightly-pulled knot holding together the cellophane, so you get up to bring back a pair of scissors. You slip one of the blades underneath the ribbon, and you snip at it before peeling away at the plastic.

Lo and behold, it's a bottle of dark red liquid. Also inside the basket is two wine glasses and some small jars of assorted expensive spices and homemade jams, but it's more than obvious the primary gift is the drink.

"Huh, guess you were right. Don't know why she'd get this for me when she knows I don't really drink, though." You reach forward and carefully pull up the bottle from the mixed paper cushioning the it in the basket, and you bring it up closer to your face to read the label your landlady had attached to it. "Oh! She made it herself, it says it's pomegranate wine. Have you had that before?"

"No. Not really a much of a drinker myself, either."

"Here, you can read the label."

As you move to hand the bottle to him, Levi sees a little piece of paper attached to the underside of the bottle that he doesn't think you saw, so he points to it before you can pass it off. "What's that?"

You swiftly move your wrist to turn the bottle upside-down, and you gently peel it from the bottle and hold it up to your eyes. Your lips move as you silently read it to yourself, but you fold it and tuck it underneath your sleeve. Before he can ask what it'd said, you hold out the wine to him again with a soft smile and tell him. "Just a note from her to me."

He hesitantly nods, unsure of what that really means, but he takes the bottle from you anyway, and he looks down to read the sticker.

Homemade Pomegranate Wine. Store cold. Faintly earthy, slightly sour, sweet, it reads.

"Are you gonna open it?" Levi asks, putting it back on the table.

"I don't know, do you think I should?"

"I asked first."

"Well," you go to grab one of the two glasses in the basket. "I'd feel bad if I didn't have any, especially since she made it herself."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"I don't wanna pressure you into drinking just because I am."

"What? How old do you think I am, twelve?"

"Don't flatter yourself," you sass. "I was just trying to be considerate."

"You don't need to be, I'm not influenced so easily. Just open the damn bottle."

You roll your eyes. "You've really lost your tact over the last couple months, haven't you?"

"You want me to get it back?"

"No, no! I like you this way," you laugh. "I'm gonna go wash this, then."

You get up to rinse the glass, and he reaches forward to pull the basket closer to him, looking at all the little jars sent from your landlady. Going by the difference in lids (some being blue, some being yellow), he's meant to be the recipient of the spices.

You'd probably told her he's the better cook between the two of you.

The gentle clinking of glass against glass sounds sweet to him as he reads the labels on them, many of them listing herbs and spiced seeds he's never heard of before. It seems that there was a decent amount of effort in finding these exotic seasonings. The jams look nice, too, neatly arranged and filled to the brim with the sugared fruits. You'd mentioned once before that you'd wanted to try having your tea with jam instead of honey, and these seem like they'd paid well with the plethora of teas you have in your apartment cabinets.

You could probably make these jams all yourself, but he knows you think the thought is worth more than the practicality. You hate washing pots after making jam, anyway.

Looking between you and the other glass, Levi wonders to himself if it'd be worth the slight headache in the morning tomorrow to try some of the wine. Pomegranates are a pain to peel open so he seldom eats them, but in the rare occasions that he musters up the halfhearted willpower to do it, they're pretty good. One can only imagine how such a fruit would translate into wine, but him especially when he's only used to the hard-hitting liquors that those brats force onto him during Happy Hour.

You had to close the bakery a bit earlier than expected, running out of time to justify starting whole new batches of what was missing to sell, so despite summer coming to its end, it's still bright enough outside. There's more than enough time for him to make it home, even after having something to drink, and even if that weren't the case, he knows you'd have no problems with him staying over anyway. Ordinarily, he'd do everything he could to avoid that, but you'll have to get up early anyway to prep downstairs. It might be fun to go through that again, too, especially knowing that you'd be enjoying that feeling for the first time in months now.

He gets up and takes the glass with him to bring to your kitchenette, slipping past you as you dry yours. You look at him from over your shoulder, and you raise a brow. "I thought you weren't drinking?"

"Might as well try it."

"Will you be able to get home okay? If not, you can stay here for the night."

"It takes a lot to get me drunk, I'll be fine," Levi says. "And maybe. We'll see how it goes."

"I don't get drunk easily either, but I don't know what this exactly is gonna feel like."

"It's okay," he muses. "It's worth it to celebrate, anyway. You worked hard to reopen."

You smile. "Couldn't have done it without you, though," you tell him sincerely, pushing past his frame to hang the drying towel back on the hook on the wall. "But you're right, we should celebrate!"

After you leave and bring your glass back to the table to open the bottle, Levi turns the faucet on and grabs the sponge to scrub at whatever dust or grime might be on the cup. He can hear you grunting to yourself as you try to pry open the bottle with the blade of those scissors, sighing loudly when you lose grip of it. He rolls his eyes as you continue to struggle with it, and after he's finished washing his glass, he comes back to the couch to take the scissors and pull out the cork himself.

He gets it open quickly and without fuss, and you hold out your glass for him to pour a bit out to try. He does with steady hands, and you put your glass on the table before grabbing hold of the wine yourself and pouring some out for Levi. He nods in thanks, taking the glass, before he can bring it to his lips, he sees you looking at him expectantly, your own glass held out in-between the two of you.

Levi sighs. "Do we really have to?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?"

Levi halfheartedly rolls his eyes before adjusting his grip to be holding the glass by the neck and clinking the rim of his glass against yours, and you smile as he does. He takes a cautious sip at the same time you do, and while the initial sting of sour is sharp on his teeth, his taste buds are more than welcome to their helping of sweet silk. The burn of alcohol is hardly noticeable, and it tastes almost like a juice rather than a liquor.

Maybe he ought to add winemaking to his long list of nothings to do.

. . .

Well, not really, because the process sounds hellish enough from the little tidbits he knows about it, but it's the thought that counts.

"This is good," he mumbles over his glass, taking another sip.

You hum as you savor the taste on your tongue, leaning back into the seat and closing your eyes. "Yeah, I could drink the whole bottle."

"Don't fucking do that."

"You can't stop me," you joke lightheartedly, taking a dramatically long sip. "But don't worry, I won't."

You both make quick work of the wine already in your glasses, and you put your glasses back on the table to hold them steady while Levi pours another round. He's not all that opposed to keep drinking, partly because it tastes divine, partly because he wants to keep listening as you start to ramble about all the things that'd transpired while you were working by yourself during the earlier parts of the day. You're nowhere near drunk, only speaking more freely than usual with a tiny bit more laughter, and Levi lets you go on-and-on, only stopping you when your hand movements get too erratic and he has to steady the hand holding your glass.

"Thank you, Levi!" You tell him every time, completely oblivious to the way he looks at you as you speak nothings.

But, of course, because it's just the nature of an activity like this, inhibition slowly seeps from your souls, and about an hour after initially popping open the bottle, there's a call to unbridled honesty that Levi resists. It's hardly difficult, already knowing that he's not as effected by alcohol as the ordinary person, but you're not as staunchly tolerant as he is. You're just barely tipsy at this point, but, still, Levi puts the cork back in the bottle to keep you from drinking yourself into feeling sick the next morning. The sun is just barely out, but it's started to rain, so he's just decided he's going to leave tomorrow after helping you in the morning.

He tells you as much, and you swirl your glass, now only barely holding a sip left in it, and you tip it in Levi's direction with a lazy smile. "You really weren't lying when you said you don't get drunk, huh."

"Can't really say the same about you."

"I never claimed to be invincible," you grimace.

"Sure you didn't."

"Okay, maybe I did, but I'm still not drunk yet!"

"I know."

. . .

"So, you should open the bottle for me again." You grab the bottle from the table, and you hold it out for him with a big smile. "Please?"

Levi deadpans, unmoving.

"Come on! Just a little more, and then you can hold onto it for the rest of the night."

"If you want it so bad, you can open it yourself."

"If you say so." You reach for the scissors on the table, but Levi takes your hand and pulls it back. You lazily try to tug it away, but he holds it firm. Obviously, not enough to hurt you, but enough that you can't get back to the sharp object. "You just said to open it on my own," you whine.

Levi groans. "That was a joke, you're gonna hurt yourself holding those."

"Then you open it!"

"I already said 'no.' You're gonna feel like shit in the morning."

"I won't!" You hold out the bottle to him again, and when he doesn't take it, you groan, putting it back. "You hate me."

He glares at you. "I just don't want you to be hungover when you have to get up later."

"I know, I know, I'm just kidding." You fold your hands in your lap, looking at the room with seemingly newfound wonder (and as if you don't literally live here). "Do you really not hate me?"

"Do you think I do?"

. . .

"No."

"Then, there's your answer."

After a bit more silence where he lets the gentle buzz settle and you look between the ceiling, the wall, and the bottle of wine that's so far out of reach to you, you speak up again, eyes trained everywhere but on him. "Hey, Levi?"

"What?"

"If I can't have any more wine, can you make me some tea?"

. . .

A bit of an odd request, but sure. Beats out having to deal with a drunker version of you, even if you've proved to hold your alcohol well enough to stay yourself.

He nods, and after you tipsily cheer and throw your arms around him in a loose hug, he pries you off of him and gets up to brew you something. It's quiet again, the only noise being that of the running water, the kettle hum, the opening of a tea tin, and the clinking of porcelain as Levi opens and closes your teapot. You take your turn at looking through the things in the gift basket, careful not to make too much noise or break any of the glass jars, but Levi does hear the faint musings of joy when you see a jam you want to try later.

And maybe it's because he's halfway tipsy or because he's brewed that black tea that he drinks at home or because it's made exactly the way he likes it or because he's so used to the simple sight when it's the two of you, but he pours two cups, and he brings them both to the coffee table.

When you see that he's brought two of them, you tilt your head in confusion. "You didn't have to get me two cups."

"One's for me," he says curtly. Before you have to look down and guess which one he'd chosen to brew, he tells you that it's black tea.

He can be thankful that the faint tipsiness you feel makes you forget that he's been insistent on the fact he doesn't drink tea in the first place, because you just thank him and get up from the couch, slightly stumbling over air as you get yourself to the kitchen. "I'm gonna get some sugar to have with it."

He waits for you to come back, a bit of humming from you and the sound of shuffling feet and the ever-growing pitter-patter of the rain outside filling the space as you get a small dish and tip out a small jar you keep on the counter with sugar cubes. You come back and drop one into the cup on your side of the couch, and you hold out the dish for Levi. "Want one?"

He shakes his head 'no,' and you put it down on the table. Levi touches the side of his teacup, and because it's too hot to start drinking, he gently pulls your hand away when you try to pick yours up. You don't start any fuss about it, though, and you go back to looking in the basket, now at the jars with the blue lids.

You look over your shoulder and hold one up. "Have you used saffron before?"

"Don't think so, no."

"I think you'd like it," you tell him, putting it back in the basket. You pick up another jar, and you bring it up closer to your eyes to read it. "Imported nutmeg seeds? She sure put a lot of effort into this, I better make her something as thanks."

"The ones with blue lids are mine, right?"

"Yeah, I think so, and the yellow ones are mine. Unless you want," you count them, tapping their lids, "ten different jars of jams. This pear one looks like it'd be nice, if you want it."

"I'm good. You should have it, it'll taste good with those croissants you make." He looks out the window and out towards the rain, the shine of the fresh rainwater bright against the long leaves of the plants you leave on your balcony. "Did you tell her I cook?"

"Tell who?"

"Your landlady."

"It's come up before, yeah." After a pause and some more clinking of glass against glass, you continue with a chuckle. "She likes to tease me and say I'm lucky to have a man who can cook for me."

It goes over his head completely what the implication of that statement is, but although he'd been too apprehensive to ask earlier, he figures that this is his one chance to pester you for your opinion of him.

Neither of you are drunk to the point of actual misdirection. If anything, the alcohol has only made you both honest, so this is where he won't have to worry about you needlessly lying to preserve his feelings.

He's wanted to know you've felt about him for a while now. Whether or not that fact has been truly bespoken to him, he isn't sure, but right now, where the world is entirely quiet except for him and you, he decides he has to know.

"What else do you say about me?"

You put down the jar of peppercorns, and you look back at him from over your shoulder. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"You said you talk about me, right? What else do you say?"

"Gotta be more specific than that." You pull away from the table, and you adjust to be facing him on the couch, your side against the back of the cushions. "What do you wanna know?"

And though he'd ordinarily recoil in such an intimate setting, the wine in his veins gives him just enough bravery to watch as your eyes flicker with amusement. His body shifts to mirror yours, knees almost touching as Levi tries to get his side to mold into the plush. "I don't know, everything?"

You lean into your hand. "You think we have the time for that?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Because I talk about you a lot."

. . .

"You do?"

. . .

"There's a lot to say about you, Levi."

. . .

"What's there to even say?"

. . .

"For starters, that you're practically live here now. My landlady keeps asking if I need to add your name to the lease."

Not off to the greatest start.

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose. "Seriously? And you let her keep asking?"

"She doesn't really mean it, she just likes to mess around," you laugh.

Reminds him of someone else who liked to meddle in his business.

"Good grief," he groans.

"But, really, what do you want to know?"

What does he want to know?

When he takes too long to think of an answer to give, you take the liberty of continuing however you'd wanted to, powered by only drunken stupor. "Well, you already know I told her that you cook."

"That, I do."

"Where'd you learn, by the way?"

"Just picked it up as the years went by, I guess."

"I'm jealous, you're so good at it, too," you sigh, leaning further into your hand.

Levi rolls his eyes. "As if I don't cook for you all the time."

"And, for that, I love you," you cheer, lazily pumping your first in the air.

And though Levi's heart stops for just barely a second, he knows you're only exaggerating.

Right?

"Hm, what else have I told her," you muse to yourself. "Ah! I've told her you live in a house."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say wistfully, turning around to take a glance at the kitchen. "I've never been there before, obviously, but I think I have enough of an image to have described it well-enough. I don't tell her all about it, but she probably has an idea in her head."

"How do you know what my house looks like, anyway?"

"You talk about it a lot more than you realize," you tease, smiling.

He raises a brow. "I do?"

"Yeah!" You beam. "Your garden's more of a field than a small plot of dirt, so I can't imagine that you have much directly around you. You don't complain about any neighbors, either, so you probably don't have any."

. . .

"You'd be correct."

"See? And you'd mentioned once that it's made of wood, and the interior is painted blue. I think you said something before about getting some new furniture, too. And you have one of those directional things on your roof, right? The horse?"

"My weathervane?"

You nod, now remembering the word. "That! You said you painted it black, which isn't really practical because it's meant to reflect in the sun, so either you're really stupid, or you have a horse that's that color. Or had, you haven't complained about having to clean up manure or anything, so I doubt you have any farm animals."

. . .

Levi nods. "The latter."

Your half-drunken rambling continues, your hands now moving in tandem with your mouth. "And you have a small, circle dining table," you make the same shape with your hands, giggling. "Well, not that small, but it only fits four people, and you refuse to get a bigger one, so you always have to move stuff around so you can make enough space for your friends to have dinner when they come over.

"In my head, you ask them to push the random tables and chairs together, but you always end up being the one to do it because you're too worried about the floor getting scratch marks," you laugh, tipping your head back. "And you take the phrase 'too many cooks in the kitchen' to heart. Can't get anything done if someone's nagging you while you cook, which is ironic considering I'm sure my kitchen is smaller than yours and you have no problem sharing it with me.

"Oh! And there's that loose floorboard in front of your bedroom door you used to complain about all the time. Did you ever get it fixed?"

. . .

"No."

"Oh. I think there's some leftover wood from when we redid the flooring, maybe you could use that?"

"It's alright, I've gotten used to the creaking." Levi kisses his teeth, and he adjusts to lay his arm against the top of the couch. "You really remember all that stuff I told you?"

"Why wouldn't I? We're friends, aren't we?"

His heart pauses again, this time for longer than a second.

Friends.

You consider him a friend?

He'd felt this same feeling before, hadn't he? Where he'd questioned how you could be friends with him in the first place.

But...

This feels different. The quiet tug in his chest isn't that of despair in the way it'd been before. The hurt shouldn't be there, but it's dull. 

Friends.

Is that the correct word for the two of you?

"Hello?" You interrupt him, waving your hand in front of his face.

Levi blinks quickly and clears his throat, and he nods. "Right. We are friends."

It feels wrong coming out of his mouth, but he can't place why. He's long left his guilt over occupying your time.

"I'm sorry, it's probably weird for me to be talking about you so much to someone you don't really know," you nervously smile, tapping your pointer against your cheek.

He raises a brow. "Is it?"

"Isn't that why you're asking me about it? To make sure I haven't said anything too embarrassing?"

"No."

It's weird. He can't quite place it, because even though he knows that the notion of somebody talking about him in any capacity would be irritating otherwise, he can't bring himself to really care in any negative light.

In fact, it makes him... happy. Happy to hear that he exists to you outside of the moments you're together.

And maybe he's selfish in that way—thinking that he's allowed to be happy about it, or that he's allowed to ask more about it.

"I just want to know."

"I suppose I'd be curious too if I were you," you hum. "Maybe, one day, I'll get to ask you what you tell Gabi and Falco about me."

"You could just ask them yourself if you wanted to."

"Bring them by again, by the way. Gabi asked that I show her how to make cookies."

"Okay, I will."

. . .

"Anything else you tell your landlady about my boring self?"  

. . .

"I guess that's something else I told her. That you think you're boring."

Back to square one.

"Do you think I am?"

"What? Boring?"

Levi nods, half-afraid you'll say "yes," half-afraid you'll say "no."

He knows it's immature to think that either answer is indicative of any particular shortcoming in your opinion of him. "Boring" is hardly a negative adjective for him to begin with; boring is routine, boring is stable. He knows there's more to life than chasing fun and distractions.

But if you say "no," you're disagreeing with him. Challenging his disposition about himself.

"I don't," you answer.

And, suddenly, he's afraid you think of him in ways beyond his own world.

What's wrong with him? He'd been happy to hear that you talked about him outside of when he'd existed in front of you, but now he's too scared to think about how anything could go beyond that.

But even if he can't understand why, he'll hope his sober self will remember the details of this night and allow him the grace to continue living as boldly as he is now.

Now's your chance, Levi.

"Then, what do you think of me?"

You look up at him from your hand, and Levi watches as you blink at him, and your eyes twinkle with whimsy. "What do I think of you?"

He swallows down a lump in his throat, and he nods.

"Well," you hum as you lean further into your hand once more, and you look beyond him, your eyes only flickering back to him to make sure he's listening. "I think you're...

"Beautiful."

. . .

Beautiful?

. . .

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," you giggle. You move your head so your hair ribbon falls over your shoulder, and you roll the satin between your fingers. "You just are."

Levi refuses to believe you mean that. You don't know what that word means right now. You're drunker than he thinks you are. "You're lying."

"Come on, Levi. You know I'm not."

Looking more closely at your face, the flush on your cheeks is only attributed to the slightly hot summer heat; devoid is significant affect of alcohol. The smile on your face, though small and reserved, still reaches your eyes in the same way he'd learned to love, and in them, he sees no dishonesty.

"I do," he bites the inside of his cheek. Better now, than never. "But why?"

"Why? Hm," you start, eyes turning down to look at your ribbon. "Well, you're hard-working."

"What the fuck does that have to do with beauty?"

"It's moving that you care so much about what you do with your time," you smile to yourself. "Gardening, taking care of your home, helping me around here."

He lights up in embarrassment, and he covers the lower half of his face with the palm of his hand. "I don't think I care that much," he grumbles.

"There's no shame in caring about things."

. . .

"I know that."

"Sure you do," you chuckle. "Well, continuing on, you're brave."

Okay, now you're actually losing him. Again, what's that got to do with beauty?

"How the fuck am I brave?"

"You put up the new chandelier downstairs all on your own!"

He deadpans. " That's your measure of courage?"

You furrow your brows, and you change from looking dazed to halfheartedly frowning. He's about to correct himself and comfort you, but you don't speak at all in the way you look. "It takes real guts to get on the ladder! I used to have to ask an installation company to do the light fixtures!"

"That still doesn't make sense. How does that make me," he hesitates in using the word, even if it's prompted by you to use it for him in the first place. "...That."

"It just does," you hum, now back to having a relaxed smile on your face. "Oh! And you're kind. That makes you beautiful, too."

"Do I even bother questioning why?" Levi sighs. "I don't even think I'm kind in the first place. I'd go as far as to say I'm un kind."

And that's the truth, isn't it?

He's grumpy.

He's needlessly straightforward.

He's hanging onto something that he should've given the grace to leave.

He-

"Well, I don't think a man who's unkind would help raise two children, no matter how well-behaved they are."

"Actually, they were decently rowdy when I first met them." He pauses. "Well, one of them. Falco's always been respectful."

. . .

"Wow, you really showed me, huh," you tease. 

"Shut it."

"I mean it! I really do think you are kind."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

You groan. "Whatever, don't believe me, then. But you aren't changing my mind."

"Why are you so insistent on it, anyway?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I don't think I've met a person kinder than you in my life."

And that's finally enough to make him freeze.

Or maybe he melts; he hasn't been able to discern the feeling. All he knows is that he's caught off-guard, and he's begging you to clarify and set him straight again.

You don't seem to catch on, though, and you just continue, closing your eyes and speaking with a new melody which resonates something deep within his soul. "From the day I first met you, you've always been so nice. You didn't want to take anything for free from me, and you still wanted to buy out the entire display case.

"Even I can tell you're no sweet tooth, but you still came back to have a slice of cake every so often and get something to bring home for your friends. You let me talk your head off at the counter, and you let me awkwardly sit with you and drink tea."

"That's not special. It's just what anyone would do," he asserts quietly.

Right?

"Maybe, but not just anyone would spend their entire summer trying to rebuild a bakery that's, what? An hour's walk away from where they live? And you never asked for anything in return. You just... did it for me. Even though you didn't know me all that well yet, and you'd only learned I was closed that same day, you still promised to come back and help me.

"You came back, and you installed new lights for me. Read the instructions to me when we had to assemble the appliances. Sat with me while I did property paperwork. Let me drag you around and say it was your birthday when it was really mine."

From the corners of your eyes seeps tears, but even though Levi wants to rush in and wipe them away, you seem content in letting them settle there. Time stills as he watches you speak from your soul in the way he'd so desperately wished he could himself.

"And you didn't just help me.

"You came so often my apartment started feeling empty when you weren't here.

"You brought in your own vegetables and fruits from your garden and cooked for me. Hell, you even started leaving extra portions so I could keep eating your cooking on the days you were gone.

"You ate all the desserts I made out of boredom and brought them home to take them off my hands, too, only to come back and tell me how much everyone you gave some to enjoyed it.

"You let me talk about anything, everything, and nothing at all.

"Fuck, you even memorized the prices of everything so you could help me with reopening today."

And, from Levi's heart, something blooms. Like a peony, flowering in a gentle, autumn breeze, he feels something bloom.

"So, you're not allowed to call yourself unkind around me."

Your eyes remain closed, but you've stopped crying.

And, like a fool, Levi can't keep his mouth shut.

"I think the meaning is still lost on me," he says softly, reaching forward to wipe at the stray tears left on your cheeks with his right hand.

"What?"

"Is beauty not a physical attribute anymore? Last I heard, all those things you just described me as aren't physical."

You laugh, Levi feeling your face light up as he continues to swipe away water from your eyes with his thumb. "Even after all of that, it still doesn't make sense to you?"

. . .

"No."

You sniffle, and you keep laughing.

"What?"

"Beauty manifests itself in a lot of ways, you know that, right?"

"I really don't."

"You want me to prove it?"

"I doubt you could."

"Watch." You grab hold of his hand, already within reach, and you bring it down and hold it in your lap. His thumb is still wet with your tears, so you pull the sleeve of your dress a bit longer so you can dry it. "Remember when you asked me for my name?"

He dumbly nods, his eyes following downwards to watch as you hold his hand in yours.

You look down and rub at callouses on his palm, careful not to press too harshly against the flesh. "Even when I didn't know you, I knew you were a hard worker. I could feel your callouses through your gloves."

Flames licks at Levi's heart, and he's too nervous to speak again. Even faintly drunk, he can't do anything against the everpresent feeling of warmth that comes from you.

"Then I learned more about you, and that opinion just strengthened."

"And you think that's... beautiful?"

"Yeah," you drunkenly smile. "I guess that'd be right."

"Then how exactly does bravery translate into something felt?"

You laugh, and you let go of his hand, bringing your right hand back on the top of the sofa backing. "Well, that's a bit more superficial. I just like having someone who can do things on the ladder so I don't have to."

"Of course you do." He supposes there's a sort of appeal in having someone else who can do the things you can't—namely, manual labor—but it still doesn't make that much sense to him.

"And! And! You're brave enough to try all the things I make, so that's gotta count for something, right?"

"Right, because trying a new flavor of cake is so scary," he deadpans.

"You'd be surprised how many people stick to only one flavor," you hum. "But, for you, I guess what that translates to is you not really looking nervous. You look pretty attractive with your whole 'cool and collected' disposition, you know."

"If you say so," he sighs. "What's left, then? Kindness?"

"Sure, you want me to show you?"

"You can try," he scoffs. "I really doubt you could."

No way you'd be able to point anything out about his appearance that conveys that in any meaningful way. His body's worn down, and the only marks of physicality he has left are the absences thereof.

Hard-work?

Sure, that shows up in the way his hands are weathered. He could've figured that out for himself if he really wanted to.

Bravery?

Just as stupid, but it makes sense; he was a soldier before all this.

The ability to climb a ladder without screaming at the top of his lungs is apparently also something of an indicator of this trait in his physical being.

Kindness?

Yeah, no fucking way.

Then, suddenly, you reach outwards to push aside his bangs so you can see his face more clearly. At the touch of your fingers against his forehead, he burns hot red again. Your hand lingers there, pinning his hair to the side of his face.

Fuck, he can barely breathe with you in front of him like this.

"What're you doing?"

"They say eyes are the window to the soul," you say, looking into his.

Mesmerized by the swirl of care in your own orbs, he can't look elsewhere, and he can feel his heart beating even louder in his chest.

"And what about them?"

"You can tell me all you want that you aren't all these things. That you aren't caring, that you aren't courageous, that you aren't nice-"

"Didn't you just say I wasn't allowed to say any of that?" Levi asks abruptly.

You move your hand to gently pinch his cheek, lightly scolding him. "I know you're gonna say it anyway, so I can't stop you."

"I would've listened," he murmurs, putting his hand over yours on his cheek.

"No, you wouldn't have," you giggle.

. . .

Levi sighs. "You're probably right."

"You also didn't let me finish!"

Levi rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the rising burn coming from his chest. "Then finish."

"Well, now I've lost my train of thought. Um..."

"Something about me not being nice."

"Right, right," you hum, and your hand moves to lace itself in his hair.

And maybe it's because he's drunk, or maybe it's because he's waited for this moment for so long, or maybe it's because it's you, but he leans into your touch, begging to feel your warmth.

And with your next words, you give it to him.

"You could say any and all of that, and I'd never believe you.

"Because when I look in your eyes, all I see is someone kind. Someone beautiful.

"Someone who's you."

And, then and there, time stills completely.

The scent of familiar tea, the burn of your hand against his scalp, the feeling of his eyes locked with yours. All of it is so overwhelming that Levi can barely register you moving to straddle him, only to make it easier to hold his face with both your hands. He lets you, his hands moving to rest on your hips, and he stares up at you, a ring of light around your hair from the overhead lamp.

You lean in closer, looking at him with as much intensity as he is at you.

Maybe you really do believe all those things you'd said.

Maybe, through his eyes, you really can see him in the ways he can't see himself.

And, looking into your eyes, he thinks he sees you, too.

The fragment of light that'd always been there tells him what he'd already thought of you. All the ways he'd described you in his dreams could be rewritten into the way your eyes twinkle here, the way they shine. There's a tenderness in the way your gaze softens when you look at him, and it begs him to admit to himself that you're as beautiful as he'd always known you as. 

And, in your eyes, he thinks he finally sees the beauty in something as simple as sunshine.

"Is this okay?" You whisper in song, your lips hovering over his.

He nods slowly, his eyes fluttering closed, trying to burn the image of rosy cheeks and a breathless smile against his eyelids. But, although his heart wills him to lean further forward, to press skin to skin, it hits him all at once.

With the feeling of your breath hitting his, your fingers laced in his hair, his heart beating in sync with yours, he's sobered up again, his senses overwhelmed with the revelation that already came to him many moons ago. From the very beginning, when he'd only known you through the ghost of your touch through wrapped presents and lemon vanilla, he'd already known this.

He's not supposed to be here.

The feeling of his blood running cold comes quick, and it freezes him. You're still right in front of him, begging for affection to be returned with the confidence that you express in your touch, but long gone is the warmth of your hands all over him.

What’s even wrong with him right now?

His subconscious mind has been nagging him all this time to stop indulging in the simple company afforded to him by you, and now it demands that he give into it entirely? And, yet, he can't find it within himself to do even that. Even when he's meant to be at his most honest, his system flooded with liquid courage meant to give him the clarity to speak from his soul, nothing comes to him other than the taunting call of a sunless sky, telling him this;

If he were truly, wholly, deserving of this kind of love, wouldn't he be ready to receive it?

In this moment, he realizes there'd been love since he'd first crossed paths with you. His soul spoke for him and told him even your smile showed romance, and, still, nearly a whole year later, his heart still demands to be steeled and kept away from even himself.

His own heart isn't even his to give. He wants to believe that, if he had it, he would give it to you, but he can't know it enough to promise that to himself.

And, as if he'd had any control over it in the first place, the light in his soul is turned off, like a lamp with a bulb that's burned itself to the wire.

The only things that occupy his head presently are questions he wish he'd answered sooner, before all of this. He'd exhausted willpower to question all other beauty he'd encountered in this life, but the prospect of romance seemed so impossible, it hadn't ever been paramount enough to mull over completely.

Who is he to deserve compassion from someone else?

Someone so kind?

Someone so far away?

Someone who’s a friend?

Someone who’s halfway a lover?

Someone who’s as bright as the sun itself?

Someone who’s you?

He’s undeserving of a life like that. He can barely even muster up the courage to will himself to breathe now, the realization creeping up too quickly yet sucking him in with its familiar malice.

He should’ve known that the sun doesn’t shine for someone like him. It'd felt so easy to soak it in, to let himself fall, to find himself here, in the arms of someone so inviting. Even with how beautiful this life is and how much he’s come to own, he’s lost too much to consider himself any more than a shell of the person he was forced to be up until this point.

And you.

Even with how much he's tried, he can't even let you into his heart any more than he had when you'd first met. You've been prying at the cracks with your smile and the taunting second cup of tea you've always got in front of him, and, even right now, your touch is far too gentle, and the only way that it burns is in the way your soul threatens to see his.

But who are you to deserve someone so callous?

Someone so self-removed?

Someone who can't be present?

Someone who can't accept the love you give?

Someone who can't give you the love you deserve?

Someone who's him?

You're undeserving of a life like this.

He can't even will himself to talk of himself in ways any more meaningful than what can be prompted by the falling of the sun in the sky, how could he be anymore than a stranger to you? How could he let you be in the company of a man whose soul is weighted down by an island across the sea?

He can't give you the life in the sun that you want.

Sure, the sun exists in his world.

So does the sky, the sea, and all the other beautiful things that just happen to exist at the same time as him.

But none of those things belong to him, and all that is beautiful in this life is not his. All that belongs to him is a life is marred by the loss of all that he's ever held dear to him, and he knows he can't let you in. His life is tethered to the many pasts he doesn't let himself forget, and even though you try to pull him ahead with you, his heart is somewhere only it knows, close enough to allow him the same pain of heartbreak, but far enough to keep him from feeling it beat in his chest.

Flashes of his past lives lived flicker through in his mind, and they tell him, all along, that he was right to keep you away from his own world, and to only be with you in yours.

And they tell him he was wrong to believe that he would be okay with only that.

He can’t afford to lose you in this way, but this isn't about him anymore.

He can't let someone like you fall in love with someone like him.

All at once, he crumbles, just as your lips graze his and he feels a faint calling to the sun.

He doesn't have the heart to stay there for even a second, knowing that if his body had the chance to remember your touch in this way, he'd never forget it.

And, so, with hands made of ice and a soul as heavy as hand, he undoes his fingers from your hair, and though he wishes he had done that to cradle your face instead, he wills himself to gently push you away.

He wants to keep his eyes closed, but he knows he can't. No matter how badly he wants his last image of you to be that of wine-stained lips and the look of tranquility that graces your being, he knows he isn't allowed the luxury of loving remembrance.

He holds back a quiet sob, and he opens his eyes.

"I have to go," he breathes in broken song. "I'm sorry."

He forces himself to look at you, but though his soul etches the image of a broken heart into itself, he sees nothing.

It's as if the sun had already stopped shining, leaving him lonesome in a land without even the moon.

And he wishes he'd let himself be selfish, if only to remember you as love itself, but it's too late now.

From there, his body moves on its own, the only feeling being the burn that the ribbon in your hair leaves behind when it brushes his arm as he gets up to go, the satin branding shame onto his skin through

He thinks he's careful to avoid knocking anything over as he finds his shoes.

He thinks he puts them on correctly.

He thinks he's already grabbed his cane from the dining table.

He thinks he has everything he needs from here.

He thinks he knows the way home.

He thinks the rain isn't so bad.

All the while, you're calling after him, asking what's wrong, telling him that in his haste to get out the door, he's forgotten to tie his shoes.

Telling him that he's forgotten his cane at the dinner table he'd only mere hours ago set food on.

Telling him that he's forgotten to take his share of things from your landlady's reopening gift, namely the saffron you'd said he'd like.

Telling him that he's forgotten what direction to turn in to get himself downstairs.

Telling him that he's forgotten how harsh the downpour is tonight.

Telling him that he'd knocked over the cups of tea he was meant to share with you.

But he doesn't hear any of it.

What he does hear is you telling him that he doesn't have to leave. In the same way only his soul remembers how you'd looked, it's the same here. He has no idea what you're actually saying, only a dull ring in his ears that tells him he's being spoken to. Words travel through his ears, but never quite reach his head, only wounding his heart in the way his hand feels phantom pain.

But you're wrong anyway, no matter what it is that you're saying.

He does have to leave, and even if you don't know why, he can't let himself be here, in your world.

Because no matter how much his heart yearns to be let into the sun, to be bare without caution, the thought that chases after him remains.

He's not supposed to be here, and neither are you.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

next part coming soon! thank you for reading (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

[thecursivej]

SOTU - 2024

Well, I'm forcing myself to watch the State of the Union while I grade speeches, so I figured I'd record my reactions and thoughts here.

Do I hope for the words "Immediate Ceasefire"? Absolutely. Will we get them? Looking at the track record, probably not. But I remain optimistic because otherwise I'd be six feet under by now; ANYWHO here is a list of my reactions/thoughts/general feelings of the evening's watch.

I do want to give a point of clarity: I technically am identified as a democrat; truly, I'm a socialist, but seeing as how the U.S. is stuck in this godforsaken two-party-system, that is where I am. Though both sides have me feeling very french-revolutionary-esque.

Of course the first thing I see if MTG rifling through her purse on screen. I quite literally despise her.

AP is discussing Ukraine's need for weapons and funding; I would truly rather us align with Ukraine than Isr@el. I will stand unapologetically firm for Palestine and Ukraine.

Who is actually in the cabinet? I know Blinken, Garland, and Buttiegeg. Damn, wish he was running again. Would rather have him than Biden.

How insane is it that the Sec. of Defense didn't even let the White House know that he had to go in for surgery because of cancer. Like, that's just bonkers to me.

Republicans truly look like fucking robots right now. No warm greetings, no hellos, simple nods.

Republicans out here wasting fucking time with that impeachment of Mayorkas. Like how about we house the homeless populations with the money they wasted on this circus.

Oh funky fresh look at the Ultra-Mormon(TM) Mitt Romney.

MTG with that stupid fucking MAGA hat on is just... disgusting. Like this bitch is crazy.

Okay Joe, speed it up down the fucking aisle please. I got papers to grade.

Lowkey Joe looks like he might have had a five-hour energy drink with that big-ole look in his eyes.

I do appreciate that Joe still smiles and is kind to MTG. She truly doesn't deserve it.

Okay this is getting just a wee bit too monarchy for me.

MTG holds up a button saying "Laken Riley..." (couldn't read the rest). Riley was a 14 year old girl murdered by a man who was an illegal immigrant of venezuela, and instead of handling this situation with grace, empathy, and love; MTG and others seem to be capitalizing on her death to push their anti-immigration rhetoric.

Okay, cool selfie skills Joe, but let's get on with it.

ALSO HOW IS JOE BIDEN GONNA BE SO IN DEPTH WITH TECH AND "Savvy" WITH IT WHEN MOTHERFUCKER WANTS TO BAN TIKTOK!? Hello?!

BERNIE AND RAPHAEL! I feel like I haven't seen these guys in 10 million years.

Oh thank god we're starting.

Aww the little hand shake thingy he does with Kamala makes my heart happy.

Did Joe just yell "tony"?!

Wow, even got some republicans clapping for him (probs not a good thing but here we are)

Okay, good bit of humor at the top; and a throwback to the 40s. Funky fresh.

Yeah we ain't living in ordinary times for damn sure.

Interesting point of democracy being attacked here in the U.S. AND Internationally. (Mentions Ukraine and Putin; no word on Gaza yet).

Someone busted out a Ukrainian flag and shook it; rock on.

OH SHIT HE GOT MIKE JOHNSON TO CLAP!

Appreciate the insistance that the U.S. won't send troops to UKR.

Good use of Reagan to connect with the Repubs; and compare to the predecessor (aka Tr*mp).

Mike Johnson nodding instead of clapping about the predecessor comment, trying to save his ass in Orange Man's eyes.

Welcome to NATO, Sweden!

If there is one thing that should connect Democrats and Republicans; it's hatred for Putin. Yet there's a mix of Repubs standing in agreement and sitting to back up the predecessor's comment on Putin doing "whatever the hell he wants"

Talking about Jan 6. What breaks my heart? My parents still believe it wasn't an insurrection. Yikes on Bikes for me.

The line "You can't love your country only when you win" hits hard and even got Mike Johnson to applaud in agreement.

Foreign AND Domestic. Need a hefty focus on that with the right-wing republican group (@ MTG, Gaetz, Cruz, etc.)

Discussing IVF in Alabama; good connection to the overturning of Rowe v. Wade. It sucks that Republicans HAVE THE POWER to protect IVF nationally but shot the damn bill down not even a week ago.

ABORTION IS A HUMAN RIGHT. BODILY AUTONOMY IS A HUMAN. FUCKING. RIGHT. (@ The Missouri Senators who support taking away bodily autonomy).

WOMEN AREN'T WITHOUT ELECTORAL AND POLITICAL POWER; WE ABOUT TO TURN UP IN FORCE MOTHERFUCKERS!!! Bring back the strats from the 1900s; time to use our power and go bonkers.

Someone get Joe a glass of water please. Motherfucker looks a bit parched and keeps coughing. I get that when my throat goes dryyy

Can Biden not restore RvW? Can he not by an executive order make RvW the law of the land already?

Revisiting COVID's start from 2020 (Next week is the four year anniversary since the global pandemic).

PFFT idk who just yelled "LIES" but that was comical AF.

Well, the pandemic still controls a big part of our lives... so...don't agree with that shit.

Man, everyone sitting-and-standing must be getting a HELLA calf work out.

Sure, unemployment is down and new jobs are built; but corporate greed is quite literally killing us. Can Congress or Biden do something, damn it?!

Are we beginning to feel it, though? Are we feeling good economics? I doubt we are.

Good job pointing out how both parties have failed to buy american products, but how this admin has established that.

There's a good two rows of Republicans who stand in applause; but the rest just... sit there. Like robots. It's freaky as fuck.

Joe is actually doing pretty great with the flow of this speech. Only a couple of stumbles, but overall pretty gucci. (He'd get a 9/10 on delivery in my public speaking class).

God these fuckers are really gonna make me run for office at this damn point.

Removing poisonous lead pipes... but there's still a water crisis in Flint, Biden. Like, what the fuckeroni do you mean?

Yes, let's invest in family farms; lets stop selling our farmland (especially in Missouri) to foreign countries (@ China buying up TONS of Missouri Farmland).

I love that the UAW president is here, because he straight up is my kind of people. Dude wears eat-the-rich shirts and calls out the unethical-ness of billionaires.

UAW President pointing to Biden saying "It's you!"; nah dawg, it's you Sean.

MIDDLE CLASS DID BUILD THE COUNTRY AND UNIONS BUILT THE MIDDLE CLASS MOTHER FUCKERS!!!

Yes we get back up but right now...we might be getting more french revolutionary-esque if y'all don't stop PLAYING WITH OUR LIVES.

Oh jesus not the 4-more-years chants.

Oh now we talking about the future

YES PLEASE END TRICKLE DOWN ECONOMIES.

Says he's not anti-corp; but points out how trickle down economics has only helped the wealthy.

Yeah, how the fuck does it hurt the wealthy to pay just a weeee bit more in taxes? Like dawg, what are you gonna do with another million? What's the point?

Ooooh is Biden about to rope the repubs into some bipartisan shit? Please do.

What is Republicans huge issue with capping insulin? Truly? Who does it harm? Billionaires still get billions.

[onedumbazz]

Accept Cookies?

Spamton/GNReader

fluff, establish relationship

also posted on ao3

The smell of cinnamon hits your nose as you enter into the apartment and take off the extra layers that protected you from the cold. A sigh leaves your nose, shoulders sags and eyes close as a wave of exhaustion and relief washes over you and settling into your body as you walk over to the couch and flop onto it, instantly feeling like a pile of putty as you do so as your muscles relax even further.

As you lie there you finally notice the sound of humming that echoes through the apartment, the tune seems faintly familiar but your tired brain can't seem to find the answer for now as you push yourself up into a sitting position and feel a small smile form as you continue to listen to his humming. Foot bobbing along with the melody as you sit there, enjoying Spamton's humming.

The humming gets louder as you push yourself of the couch and head to the kitchen, smile growing as you find yourself leaning against the door frame and watching your lover standing on a step as they are doing the dishes as the source of the smell of cinnamon bakes in the oven. His humming continues as they begin to dry the dishes, tapping his left foot along with the melody which seemingly draws you in closer and into the kitchen.

The humming stops mid beat as Spamton turns around at the sounds of footsteps behind them, face a light pink which seems to grow darker as he finds you stopping next to them leaning against the table. "am I interrupting anything?" the question ends with a small smile causing the salesman's blush to become a red hue as he stands there for a moment, mouth slightly agape before he slightly shakes his shakes their head and dries their hands while looking away shyly "N0, NO I [Just get in!] W45N'T EXP3CTING [A full house] SO [Coming Soon!]" the blush fades slightly as they look back up to you, the red cheeks slowly coming in as he tits his head.

"H0W WAS [9 to 5~]?" that draws out a sigh from your lungs as your head flings upwards "Tiring like always" your head bobs as it falls down and you're greeted with a sympathetic smile from Spamton as he places the dishcloth onto the table and begins to put away dishes "[That's rough buddy]" your eyes crinkles at his response as you also begin to put away dishes to aid him "Mmmm, but you know what made it better?" Spamton pauses and looks up to you, tilting his head with curiosity behind his glasses "WHAT?".

You lean down and places a small peck on his cheek and pull back "The thought of being near you~" Your eyes crinkle even more at the sight of the salesman freezing with the blush comes back tenfold "0H" a small giggle leaves your mouth as a hand find its place over your mouth. A sudden harsh ringing sound make both jump at the sound and snap their head to an egg timer setting off, "AH #*&/" Spamton grabs an oven mitt and opens the oven, the heat immediately steaming up their glasses as he takes out a tray of cookies and places them on the stove-top, a sigh leaves their mouth as they wipe non-existent sweat from his forehead "PHEW, That [Reader Beware you're in for a scare] ME" He turns to you as they take of the glasses and wipe of the steam "I M4DE S0ME [Accept Cookies?] WHILE [YOU!] WERE G0NE" His black weary eyes close as they sheepishly smile as you look over to the cookies, the smell of cinnamon from the freshly bake cookie makes your mouth water as the cookies glow with a blue hue and have a mix of milk, dark and milk chocolate in some cookies and some have only one chocolate, your head turns over to Spamton "They look and smell delicious"

Spamton waves a hand in your direction and looks away "YOU'RE JUST [Spit it out already] TH4T" You huff in response as a pout finds itself on your lips "No I'm not, they look absolutely divine and I would inhale them if i didn't want to keep my tongue" Spamton gives a goodhearted chuff to your response as they drag you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist and places a hand on your chin and pulls you closer. Both of your mouths just inches away, heads tilted and eyes locked, "[Canned]N'T B3 [Loosing side] T0NGUES [CALL NOW!] C4N WE?" They get closer, his breath landing on your lips "I guess not" you reply as you close the gap.

A Sweet and tender kiss is shared, as both of you pull eachother closer and hold eachother in a loving embrace. You feel all the tension in your muscle from today melt away from your body as you pull Spamton close, and pull back from the kiss and hold your gaze to the charming puppet, whose hand is now resting on your cheek and you keep it in place with your own hand. "I love you spam" Spamton freezes for a second before their smile grows "I L0VE [YOU] 2 ANGEL"

[halsins-herbal-underpants]

Only Good Boys Get a Treat

Gale x M!Tav Rating: Explicit 18+ PWP, D/s, Puppy!Gale CW: light pain play Kinks: Petplay (Master/Pet), light pain, boot/leg humping Approx. 750 words

Puppy!Gale proves himself a very good boy. short piece I did inspired by some super sexy/cute puppy!gale art Read on Ao3 ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

“Come on boy, be a good pup for me. Sit up! That’s it…” Tav crooned as Gale raised up a bit more on his knees, paws up, cock hard and bobbing gently. Tav slid the toe of his leather boot back between Gale’s thighs, sharp-pointed steel toe nudging just behind his hanging balls, prodding up against his soft taint.

Gale’s whimpering grew high pitched, the man wincing as Tav ground his toe into that tender area. He could see the wizard starting to pull away and the sole of his boot quickly darted back and flattened against the underside of Gale’s cock, heels digging into his scrotum as he pressed down in warning. His puppy froze, a pained whine escaping his throat.

“Ah-ah! Did I say to move? Heel, boy! Stay.” 

Gale exhaled a shaking breath, but eased himself back down onto his heels, his arms shaking a bit from being held up so long, his hands encased in leather mitts. Tav eased his foot back, stroking the steel toe of his boot up and down Gale’s cock, teasing the sensitive spot beneath the head, slowly grinding into the soft flesh. Gale’s hips bucked as he leaked all over the leather, needing friction, needing touch. Tav grinned and pulled on the leash in his hand. 

“Eager, aren't you? Okay, boy..." He tugged the leash. "Come! Do what’s natural, pup.”

He planted his boot down on the ground with a clomp! and pulled until Gale fell forward with a grunt; he whined and crawled to Tav’s leg until he was pressed up against the shiny patent leather. Tav slowly smiled, watching and waiting.

Gale ducked his head, the puppy ears on his headband falling forward as he flushed darkly with embarrassment – and yet, still yanked his hips to grind himself desperately against Tav’s boot, smearing precum on the patent leather. Humping and grinding his cock against it, soft whimpers escaping his throat, the name tag on his collar jingling. 

Tav sighed, pleased, and raised the crop, suddenly giving Gale’s bouncing reddened ass another welt with a loud smack. His puppy howled and buried his face against Tav’s knee, but kept thrusting. Tav watched appreciatively – it was always so cute when Gale humped his leg like a bitch in heat and that little doggie tail plug of his bounced in time. 

Tav gave his plump jiggling ass another strike just for being so adorable, earning another choked cry. He dropped his hand to keep stroking his own cock, getting ready to give his puppy his well-deserved treat, watching Gale start to pant and moan as his grinding increased speed, cock red and throbbing and making a slick mess of his Master's boot.

When Gale finally wailed and spilled himself all over the top of Tav's foot, like he was ordered – such a good boy for listening! – Tav was pleased he didn’t even have to remind his puppy to clean up his own mess. Gale dropped to all fours and immediately licked up every drop of cum he’d spattered over the leather, making the cutest little whimpering noises, still shivering from his orgasm.

He didn’t swallow, just crawled up between his Master’s legs and sat on his heels, mouth open to show he was still holding it all, and tongue out like a good obedient pup. Tav smirked, stroking faster.

“Good boy! That’s my sweet boy,” he praised, reaching with his other hand to scratch in Gale’s sweat-dappled hair, the wizard’s eyes brightening and face flushing happily at such praise.

Tav stroked faster, feverishly, and with a groan gripped Gale’s jaw and pulled his face close, emptying his swollen balls of every drop of seed they held. He spurted right on top of Gale’s tongue, mixing his spend with the wizard's own. He came so much his poor puppy had a hard time keeping it all in his mouth, but he mostly managed. 

Afterwards, Tav exhaled a sigh and gently pushed Gale’s mouth closed. His pup dutifully swallowed both heavy, thick loads, drips of cum dribbling from his lips to his chin and opened his mouth for Master to show he’d been a good boy. If he swallowed it all, he got the reward he loved best.

Tav grinned, scratched Gale's head again and leaned back, patting his chest. Gale jumped up onto his lap and curled up, his little doggie tail wagging as Master cradled him close and cuddled him until he was soft and relaxed and content, showering him with sweet praise the whole while.

[stars-n-spice]

A Piece of Cake - Ch. 2

"Step Two: Prepare"

<< Prev Chapter 🍰 Next Chapter >>

Summary: The Bad Batch & Co. attempt to throw a surprise party for Omega. It should be a piece of cake, right? Only, they realize in order to have a party, you must have a cake, and in order to have a cake, you have to actually have the ingredients for it. Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair struggle in the kitchen. Omega suspects something is up. Jax and Stak get attacked by a crab. Echo and Viram have a lovely walk and conversation through the Pabu marketplace. Word Count: 6.8k Tags: Fix-It, Tech Lives, Post "Canon," Domestic Fluff

Apparently baking a cake was the most difficult thing they’d ever done. 

“Who keeps pots and pans in the oven?!”

Hunter hissed as he held his hands underneath the cold water, doing his best to ignore the sting caused by the mild, red burns on his fingertips and palms.

“Who the kark grabs hot pans out of an oven without an oven mitt?!” Wrecker retorted, pulling said pots and pans out of the pre-heated oven with oven mitts on before placing them up on the counter.

“I wasn’t thinking!”

“Obviously!” 

Crosshair snorted, rolling his eyes in fond amusement as he watched the exchange between his two older brothers. Apparently Hunter has started to pre-heat the hypersonic oven before checking if anything was actually in there and apparently the oven was storage space in the Nultez household, but by the time they smelled burning it was too late.

Hunter had yanked open the pre-heated oven to find a pile of pots and pans stuffed into the oven, with a few plastic containers (some with leftovers in them), and in the mix of panic and confusion, he reached in to grab and pull the items out–barehanded.

“Kriffin’ hell-” Hunter muttered through gritted teeth as he looked down at his hands. It wasn’t anything too bad, definitely something that just needed a bit of ointment of some kind and a bandage, but their resident medic was out trying to get ingredients for the cake. 

Nothing Hunter couldn’t deal with, though his pride was hurt more than anything. 

“Something wrong? We heard screaming-”

Khea poked her head into the kitchen with a small frown, looking between the three clones with mild concern. She then made a face after sniffing the air; “Did you guys burn something already?”

“No!” - “Yes.”

Khea raised an eyebrow and looked to Crosshair who shrugged.

“What can I say, they’re miracle workers,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he tossed his toothpick into the trash bin.

“Everything’s fine,” Wrecker assured, giving his girlfriend a less-than convincing smile as he glanced at the dripping melted plastic in the oven.

"Just, uh, technical difficulties," he laughed nervously as he quickly shut the oven with his hip. 

"Right…" Khea nodded slowly, clearly not convinced, "Do I need to get Tech or-"

"It's fine!" Hunter reassured, shaking his head as he shut off the water and quickly wrapped his hands up in a hand towel, “We’ve got it covered on this end, don’t worry about us-”

“It’s a little late for that, ruus'alor,” Khea chuckled, shaking her head, “but alright…just…save the whole ‘burning a cake before actually making a cake’ for the island talent show.”

“Hilarious,” Hunter grumbled, rolling his eyes as Khea snickered as she grabbed some wipes before heading back out the door again.

“There’s an island talent show?” Wrecker asked, his eyes widening in surprise and interest. 

“She was joking,” Hunter sighed, shaking his head. 

“Too bad,” Crosshair frowned with a shrug, “you two would take the cake.” 

Crosshair smirked as he watched Hunter put his head in his hands before hissing out as he touched the still slightly raw skin while Wrecker burst out laughing at Crosshair’s little joke, quickly recovering from his initial disappointment about there not actually being an island talent show.

“Good one Cross!” Wrecker exclaimed, beaming as he slapped Crosshair on the back, causing him to stumble slightly. 

“Can we just focus on making the cake?” Hunter groaned, furrowing his brow slightly at his two younger brothers.

“Sure, let’s start on that-” Crosshair nodded, his tone playfully sarcastic as he rolled up his sleeve with his one hand, “-since we have all the ingredients ready to go to actually make the cake.”

Hunter rolled his eyes; “Not helping.”

Crosshair just grinned, his smile reading, ‘Not trying to help.’

“Ah, well, even if we had the ingredients we now have to clean out the oven,” Wrecker pointed out with a small frown, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened up the oven and took a peek inside at the melting plastic on the metal grates.

“Wonderful,” Hunter huffed.

Wrecker shut the oven door and shuffled around his kitchen, rummaging around a few drawers before he pulled out a first aid kit and opened it up to grab Hunter some medicine and bandages.

“Eh, ‘bout time we’ve cleaned it,” Wrecker chuckled, trying to make light of the conversation as he held out his hand to Hunter, motioning for him to show him the burns.

Hunter stared down at Wrecker’s hands for a second before sighing softly and placing his hands on top of Wreckers, muttering a small ‘thanks’ as he let Wrecker take care of the burns for him.

“Alright, we’ll clean it, but at least we should get started on some of the dinner items, right?” Hunter suggested as he looked between his brothers. 

“Oh right, dinner,” Crosshair nodded slowly, running his one hand through his hair.

Hunter snorted and smiled a bit; “What? You think we were going to just eat cake for dinner?”

“At this rate, I’ll be surprised if we even have batter made by dinner time,” Crosshair joked, rolling his eyes, as a faint grin tugged at his lips. 

With a kiss to the top of Hunter’s bandages and a quick murmur of “jahaala, jahaala”, Wrecker wrapped up his medical aid and saved the kit while Hunter once again thanked him and flexed his fingers. Already the ointment Wrecker had used seemed to be working its magic and Hunter’s hands felt cool and tingly from the minty feeling the medicine gave him.

“Any updates from Phee or Echo?” Hunter asked, looking up from his bandages over to Crosshair who was scrolling through the datapad now.

Crosshair shook his head, “Not yet. We still planning on making those cold noodles?” 

“Yeah, we have all the ingredients for that, I know that much,” Wrecker confirmed, opening up the cooling chamber to pull out the ingredients for them to at least start on dinner.

With no update from Phee or Echo, Hunter frowned a little, the nerves creeping back in, but as soon as it showed on his face, Crosshair patted Hunter’s shoulder reassingingly.

“Relax, Echo’s on it,” he reminded, “besides, it’ll be worth it in the end. Omega’s going to love it.”

“You think so?” Hunter asked, his voice strained as he glanced up and over at Crosshair.

Crosshair hummed and gave a curt nod, “Yeah. She’ll be surprised for sure. I don’t think she suspects anything, anyways.” 

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[footballffbarbiex]

leaving food out for the hedgehogs with Eric dier please 🥰

from this list.

I've actually missed writing Eric!

-

she runs off ahead of Eric, her little ponytail bouncing as she goes. wrapped up in a thick, warm coat which has mitts attached to the sleeves, black fleece leggings and wellington boots which seem far too big for her little frame, she's well prepared for the cold autumn weather. the days of 20c+ were now a distant memory and in its place is an icy bite.

Eric had discovered that hedgehogs were coming into the garden when one of the dogs had come in foaming at the mouth with a bloody nose, causing Eric to go out and see what had happened. the small creature was still curled up in a tight ball when he'd approached.

"looking for some food, mate?" Eric had asked, more to himself than the hedgehog itself who, of course, could not reply. despite the change in the weather, Eric couldn't believe that it was already weeks before Christmas but seeing the small prickly beings now being out, it was certainly marking the end of the year.

and so today, while she was at nursery, Eric had stopped by the pet store and purchased two shallow bowls, some wet cat food, some dried mealworms and a small bag of specific hedgehog food to mix through it all. her excitement when she'd rummaged through the carrier was contagious, and he'd given himself a little pat on his back for thinking of doing this.

he carries the bag containing everything and follows behind her to where she chooses to set everything up. close enough to watch from the patio, but far enough away to not spook them.

"right here," she declares, waving her arms around with a flourish at her chosen spot.

Eric places everything on the ground and empties out his bag. in one bowl, he empties some of the bottled water into it - because even hedgehogs deserve filtered clean water - and she helped to grab a handful of their food, shake just a little of the dried worms in and help to open up the cat food pouch.

"it smells," she remarks, and he has to agree. cat food was one of the worst smells - other than when it comes out of the other end.

"don't get it on your fingers then," he comments as she scrunches her nose up and carefully squeezes some out with his help. she takes the fork that he offers and gives it a good mix, with some of it coming over the edge of the bowl.

"oops," she whispers, turning to look at him with a grimace.

"it's ok, it just means they don't have to work as hard to get that bit of their dinner," Eric soothes her concerns away, smiling as she looks visibly relieved.

"do you think they'll like it?"

"i think they'll love it. i can't see many others leaving out little snacks for them, but they'll need it."

"why?"

"because they need a nice full belly for when they go for their big sleep before Christmas."

"can't they just ask Santa for a big meal?"

Eric chuckles to himself and reaches forward to ruffle her hair a little. "if only it was that simple bubba."