#no plot only fluff

[anemoarchonhoe]

Commissioned by @unkownknowledge

Hmm, how about just having trouble in school then? I'm commissioning this for a friend, and I think that's something else they'd relate to. Something with tests being tiring and a pain if that works?

Thanks for commissioning me and for being super patient! Here's your request.

I decided to make it pure fluff, slice of life with no plot since you didn't provide any other indication otherwise. I hope you enjoy! Again, I'm sorry for taking so long with this. 😭 Life just severely beat my butt.

Venti is the very definition of "work smarter, not harder"

He likes being lazy so that's why as soon as he gets schoolwork from your teacher, he immediately works on it so he can get it over with quicker.

It's probably out of character for someone so carefree to finish work early and even efficiently, but perhaps not?

After all, he can lounge around in bed more if he's got nothing to worry about.

Your childhood best friend is an enigma.

Unfortunately you've got no time to puzzle his logic when it comes to academics when you have to worry about your exams.

While you're cramming for tomorrow's tests, Venti is doing nothing but lay on your bed and playing the flute.

"Oh my Archons, stop playing the flute!"

You irritatingly snatched the offending wind instrument and lightly hits his head with it. Venti lets out an exaggerated "OW!", clutching his forehead with his other hand reaching shakily for the sky.

"Argh, you gave me a concussion, sweet friend! Is this the end for me?"

You roll your eyes, shaking your head at his theatrics. "It will be if you don't get your dramatic butt off my bed and study with me."

He sighs and stands up, plopping down on the floor at the side of the small wooden table where strewn papers full of notes and books laid on the surface. He looks at you. You look like you are pushing yourself past your limits. Venti is tempted to make a joke about what brand your eye bags are, but held himself back just in case you were serious about ending him.

"Hey," he reluctantly calls out to you. "Maybe we– you should take a break? You look like you haven't slept at all. Were you studying all this time?"

You nodded without looking at him, grumbling under your breath the keywords that would help you memorize terms you need to remember.

That's it.

Venti slams his hands down on the table, making you yelp and place a hand on your chest. You glared at him.

"What's that for!?"

"Time for a break! I'll get you some snacks. If I catch you reading a book..." Venti jokingly threatens, even narrowing his eyes at you. For good measure, he places your favorite bookmark on the page you were reading and closes it.

Alright. Perhaps he is right. You were so sleep-deprived that nothing is really registering in your mind anymore, so you let him arrange your notes neatly before leaving to get something to eat. You placed your arms and head on the now clean table, closing your eyes to rest them. About a couple minutes later, Venti is back with some apple juice and sliced fruits to snack on.

"Glad to see you're actually taking a break and listening to me." He cheerfully notes, placing the tray on the table before taking an apple slice for himself. "You know, I can help you study if you just ask. You don't have to needlessly push yourself too hard."

"I know," you reply, taking a sip of the cool juice. You felt refreshed, so you drink some more until the entire glass is empty. "I don't want to be a bother, though. And I want to do this on my own."

Venti's eyes softens as he takes your hands slowly in both of his, his thumbs tracing circles on the back of your hands. "You will never be a "bother" to me."

Your eyes widen, feeling your heart skip several beats like a rock thrown across a lake. You feel the ripple as pleasant tingles that originated from the warmth of his hands, spreading throughout your body. It made you relax. Suddenly, you feel the burden you put on your body and you yawned, becoming tired now that you're not as stressed.

Venti notices this and places your head on his shoulder.

"Sleep."

And so you did.

When you wake up an hour later, he did help you study. Venti explained the topic in a way that you could easily understand. Perhaps it's because both your desire for sleep and snacks were both satisfied, but reviewing what you've learned because much easier. You highlighted the important parts that Venti pointed out on your notes, and wrote down extra information that he explained to you.

"Thank you, Venti. I learned a lot." You smiled up at him. He really did not strike you as an academically intelligent guy. Now, you're not saying he's dumb, but all of his grades are all average that you now begin to suspect that he is keeping it that way on purpose.

"You're very welcome, friend!" He sing-songed, closing the book that he was using and began to put it away. He was humming as he did so. "Remember, I'm your friend! If there is anything, and I mean anything, I could do for you... I'm always ready to help you out."

"...Well, I'm kind of broke right now–"

"Not the financial kind of help." He shoots you a playful glare. "I'm broke too!"

You both laugh in unison.

You both made quick work of putting away books into both of your bags before deciding to hang out and watch a movie. Sure, you could do more studying, but you are both all tuckered out and just wanted to call it a day.

Venti picked a cheesy romantic comedy that is Christmas-themed. You both playfully argued that he should pick something else.

"It's July, for Archons' sake, Venti. Hardly the season for Christmas movies."

"Then let's make it a night for watching not-in-season movies!"

Venti used Cute Puppy Eyes. It was very effective.

You ended up watching Christmas movies all night until you both fell asleep. Thank gods you both shared a boarding room.

The very next day, at school.

You did not necessarily achieve the highest score in your exam. But damn it, you passed and that's what matters. To celebrate the end of both your suffering (honestly, it's just you who suffered. Venti was fine with his average scores and average grades), Venti decides to treat you to ice cream. He bought an ice cream sandwich for himself while you got your cone. He paid for it and took you to a peaceful walk on a nearby park to unwind.

"How's the exam?" he asked you, taking a bite of his ice cream.

"Eh, I passed. How about you?"

He hummed, swallowing his bite. "It was pretty hard, but I also passed!"

"Neat."

He makes a noncommittal hum. You fake-yawn and awkwardly put your arm on his shoulder and he stiffens in surprise.

A pause. Your heart pounds.

He clears his throat and casually lays his head on your shoulder. You smile.

Word count: 1,005 words

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Work is especially traumatizing today, anyone want to send me fluffy kimchay prompts??

[deantfwinchester]

Neighborhood Walgreens

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader like always

This one takes place before the other two timeline-wise, I guess - just a few months into knowing each other. No established relationship, and some ridiculous flirting.

Summary: A busy, sick Joel gets a little care from the people in his life - including the neighbor and friend he's been crushing on for the past few months.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff-fluffity-fluff. Bout to get a standing root canal appointment, tbh.

A/N: The bulleted fics are piling up in the notes app, but boy are the well-crafted girlies a bit of a trek. More to come, if the functioning part of my brain has anything to say about it.

Word Count: 5.9k. absolute unit.

——————————————————————————————

Joel wakes up feeling like shit. He’d felt a bit of a scratch in his throat the night before, but tried to write it off as allergies or something - until he woke himself up coughing before his alarm could even go off. He knows he has a cold the second he tries to breathe through his nose - no dice. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it’s pounding before he can open his eyes. He shivers when he moves the blankets aside to get up, and each muscle in his body begs him to crawl back into bed.

Ever the trooper, he rises anyway, heading to the bathroom and checking the medicine cabinet to find what he’d feared - no cold medicine. Awesome. Resigning himself to trucking through the day, he blows his nose, pops a couple tylenol, and gets ready. His respiratory system isn’t too fond of the assault, however, and he’s coughing up a lung before he can finish. Today should be fun. He’ll need to stop by the drugstore on his way home. 

Once he’s dressed for the day (trying his best to look alive), Joel trudges down the stairs to see Sarah at the kitchen table, half-eaten bowl of cereal in one hand and a pencil in the other as she finishes the last of her homework. She hears him shuffle in and looks up just as he sniffles, locking eyes right before he can still his features into a facade of rested wellness. The  look on her face tells him he’s not getting away without worrying her, and he hates that. She doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to the coffee pot, she just watches him, only speaking up when he shivers at the mug’s warmth in his hands. The weather’s typical for an early autumn morning, but nowhere near chilly. Though the temperature should drop today with rain in the forecast, Sarah knows her dad and he’s never cold. 

“You know, I could just head next door. I guarantee she’d be happy to drive me,” she says smiling into her textbook, trying to be nonchalant with her concern. She was referring to you, their neighbor of a few months now, who’d given Sarah rides, helped her with homework, or checked in on her when Joel needed. You’d been around since the day you moved in, and neither of them could complain — certainly not Joel. Maybe she was hoping to fluster him a bit as well, suspecting his feelings for you were a bit more than the friendship he insists they are. 

He chokes on his coffee and coughs a little, shaking his head as she closes her book and begins leafing through her notes. Joel’s been worried enough lately that he’s taking advantage of your kindness too much — afraid he’s inconveniencing you and you’re too nice to say no, despite your insistence to help on more than one occasion. Besides, he already feels crappy, the last thing he wants today is for you to see him like this, hardly able to keep himself together. Or worse, to get you sick as well. Absolutely not. He opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks first. “It’s not like she hasn’t before. Maybe just one day? You need…,” she trails off, losing the battle with her expression as her eyebrows knit together and she notes the pallor and exhaustion on his own.

He takes a swig of his coffee hoping it will soothe the growing soreness in his throat before responding, “That’s alright kiddo, I-,” but the words catch in his throat before he can finish, and he cuts himself off coughing harshly into his elbow. Sarah grabs a glass and fills it with water while he coughs, longer than he has all morning, and hands it to him when he catches his breath. The look on her face is challenging now — she knows she won’t win this game, but she’ll still put up a fight. Predictably, Joel continues his previous thought as though unfazed by the fit, though his voice tells another story. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to be worryin’ about me, babygirl,” he says hoarsely, waving her off with a sniffle. “You got a science test today, worry about that. You feelin’ ready?,” he asks, subverting talk of both his illness and mentions of you.

Sarah relents with a sigh, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, gesturing to the textbook and notes on the table. He’s more confident than she is, and he smiles brightly at her.

“You’ve got it down, not a doubt in my mind. Now finish getting your stuff together before we’re late. I’ll get the car runnin’,” he says, moving his coffee to a travel thermos before grabbing her lunch from the refrigerator and getting it packed up. She looks back at him hesitantly before leaving the room to gather the last of her school stuff. 

Joel’s got his coffee in hand and Sarah’s lunch in the seat next to him as he waits in the truck. It’s nice enough outside, but he’s still chilly, and wonders if he should run back in and grab a jacket. He forgoes this idea when he realizes Sarah’d put up more of a fight if he did, knowing he’s warm-blooded as all hell, and vocally hot until at least November. Not to mention Tommy’d see right through him the second he shows up to work. No, it’s just early in the morning. The day will warm as the sun climbs to its apex for sure. He’ll be alright. 

While he’s thinking too hard through the fog in his head, Sarah climbs into the car with her backpack on, pulling it off to throw into the seat next to her. But not before she’s placed two additions in the seat between them - a box of tissues and a water bottle. She doesn’t say anything to him, just gives him a knowing look before loading her lunch into her backpack. Joel stills a moment — he’s not surprised by her care, but softens at the gesture. As Sarah shuts the passenger door, Joel wonders how the hell she turned out so sweet, and kisses the top of her head in silent thanks before pushing the truck into drive.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time Joel gets to work, his headache has bloomed into pain behind his eyes, leaving him squinting hard in the bright morning sun. He’s also used quite a few tissues since he dropped Sarah off at school. He’s definitely grateful she thought to grab them, but unfortunately, his congestion won’t budge. He’s not naive enough to think he can hide from Tommy, but hopeful that his brother might at least leave him be today. He can muscle through if he’s just working and not being nagged by his brother for hours. He’s sure of it.

—--------------------

Tommy’s not an idiot, but he lets him slide for the first few hours. It’s clear he knows something’s wrong. Joel’s a quiet enough guy, but never this silent, only speaking up when the work demands. He noticed when Joel got out of the truck this morning looking particularly drained - both in face and demeanor - and had checked in as casually as possible, hoping to avoid his brother’s evident and exceptional irritability. Joel, of course, had promptly brushed him off and clammed up for the remainder of the morning. Speaking only when spoken to hadn’t stopped Joel from making noise, though, much to his brother’s dismay. Tommy had seen him all morning, breaking into intermittent fits of coughing he’d attempt to mask beneath the racket of power tools. Tommy’s just about as good at hiding his concern, and Joel catches him looking in his direction in the thick of it on more than one occasion. After which Joel would rip his eyes from his brother’s fretful gaze, hoping to deter him from moving forward to give him a once-over. 

Despite his many efforts otherwise, Tommy knows Joel’s sick - too sick to be working like he is today. It’s when the guys break for lunch around noon and Joel just quietly nurses a bottle of water (which he only has because Sarah made sure of it, no less), that Tommy decides he’s got all the evidence he needs. Tommy sidles up next to his brother who’s leaning against his truck bed, and by the looks of it, allowing it to hold most of his weight, too weary to do so himself. Tommy sighs next to him, and Joel braces for what’s coming.

“You know, we’ve pretty much got it covered over here today, not a lot left to do before we pour anyhow. Probably a good thing, bottom looks like it’s gonna fall out before long,” he says, gesturing to the darkening sky above them. “We can manage for the day if you wanna head on home, maybe take a nap? Hate to tell ya, but you look like hell.” Tommy nudges his brother’s shoulder with his own playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. Joel rolls his eyes at Tommy, sniffing and clearing his throat to talk.

“Nah. ‘S just a cold. I’ll be alright,” Joel says, hoping to end the discussion with his curt response, but failing when his throat catches on the last word. Tommy’s face is etched in worry at the sound of the cough tearing up his brother’s throat. 

While Joel attempts to catch his breath, Tommy takes in the reddened flush on Joel’s otherwise pale face, and the distant glassiness in his eyes. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Tommy places the back of his hand against Joel’s forehead. He’s barely there long enough to get a read on his temp before Joel swats his hand away, but it’s enough. No wonder he’s caught Joel shivering more than once today. 

“Dammit Joel, you know better. We’ve sent guys home for less and you know it,” says Tommy, face twisting in frustration and concern. 

“Tommy it’s fine I-“ Joel attempts to reply, but Tommy cuts him off. 

“Did you even bother to check it before ya left? You know this is a fuckin’ hazard on the job. Damn accident waitin’ to happen,” his tone is grave, but his expression is worried and achingly sincere. Joel pushes the thought from his mind and shapes up - not his little brother’s job, he can take care of himself. 

“No. I’m fine to keep workin. That’s it. We got stuff to do,” Joel says with finality, turning on his heel and promptly returning to his tasks. Tommy’s not happy about it, but he could spend all day arguing with his bullheaded brother, tiring him out more without making any headway. No, he’ll just keep a closer eye on him while they work. That’ll have to do.

—--------------------

It’s when the rain starts coming down a little after two that Tommy hits his limit. Once he notices a couple drops beginning to fall, he looks to Joel, just in time to see his brother shivering when the drops make contact with his overheated skin. That’s enough of that. Tommy stalks over to his brother, whose reaction time is significantly slowed, and Joel turns to look at him a bit dazed. 

“Alright, that’s it. Rain’s coming down, you’re shaking like a fuckin’ leaf. Go home.” It’s Tommy’s turn to remain steadfast in his convictions. Joel looks over at him with tired eyes and Tommy can’t help but soften. 

Only when a few chilled drops hit Joel’s face and neck making him colder than he’s felt all day that he concedes. “Yeah, alright.” It’s clear he doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight, especially when Tommy pats his shoulder comfortingly and he slumps a bit. Joel’s shivering again as Tommy ushers him back toward his truck. 

“We’re heading out soon as we get cleaned up anyway. How ‘bout I pick up Sarah? Just go home and get some sleep?” Tommy asks, hopeful now that his brother’s folding. 

“Okay,” he breathes out, running a hand down his face before trying in vain to rub out the pain behind his eyes. Joel stops just outside the driver’s side door and looks to Tommy to thank him. 

“‘Course. Now head home. I’ll see you in a little bit,” Tommy responds, to which Joel nods, then climbs into the truck. Tommy takes another look back to find his brother sitting in the driver’s seat gathering himself, mildly satisfied with this result 

_____________________________________________________________

For once you actually make your way to the parking lot right after school on a Friday. You're notorious for staying too late, grading, planning, or straight up yapping, but today you’d made a rookie mistake. You’d showed up to work on Day 2 of your period without checking your advil stash. Fuck. 

After a day of cramping, crabbiness, and guilty apologies after being kind of a bitch to your students a couple of times, you head to your car as soon as the bell rings. You’ll stop in the Walgreens around the corner from your neighborhood for a quick supply run, then head home to be comfortably horizontal for the remainder of this fine Friday afternoon.

—--------------------

Truth be told, Joel is relieved to be done for the day by the time Tommy makes him leave. The last of his resolve had crumbled and fallen with the first raindrops and the chill they set in his bones. He turns the heat on in his truck and settles in, letting the air warm him up and willing the pounding in his head to subside just long enough to focus on the road. A few minutes and a bout of coughing later, he finally works up the strength to drive home, only to realize he’s still horrifically unmedicated. Shit. Guess he’s stopping at the drugstore on his way home if he wants even a little relief.

—--------------------

Joel’s standing in the cold and flu aisle of his neighborhood Walgreens, sniffling miserably and squinting heavy-lidded at different cold medicine boxes in each of his hands. He remembers one particular medicine helping at least a bit more than others last time he was sick, but for the life of him he can’t remember which one it was. Dammit, he really just wants to get out of here. He’d much rather keep this cold to himself than be hacking in public, but he needs something if he’s ever gonna stop coughing long enough to get the sleep he desperately needs. 

The tiny white letters on the back of these orange and green boxes are starting to run together, and the pain behind his eyes digs its heels into his frontal lobe. He squeezes his eyes shut and curses a little louder than he realizes, triggering a coughing fit in the middle of the store. Great. Now everyone in the store knows he’s carrying a respiratory plague. He’s sniffling and feeling like a walking germ when he hears his name called.

“Joel?” you call from the end of the aisle, having heard his voice from a few lanes over. Joel turns his head to see - oh no. Jesus. Boy did he wish you weren’t the one seeing him look so gross right now. As you come closer to find him squinting under the clinical brightness of the drugstore, you get a good look at him. He looks… rough. His hair’s a bit damp, and more disheveled than usual - not the fresh, styled damp you see when he leaves the house after a shower, but a clammier mix of sweat and rain. His posture is far from the typical confidence and swagger he typically wields with each step, and is more evidently haggard. You notice his eyes first though, with dark circles and brows creased in confused exhaustion. They’re half-closed too, like he’s fighting to keep them open. 

He tries to open them wider and stand up straighter as you approach, clearing his throat to speak, but he’s coughing again before he can get a word out. He’s shaking with the force of it and you notice his shirt is damp in places as well - must have gotten caught in the rain. Just minutes ago, he’d have been uncomfortable under your scrutiny, but he’s too wrapped up in catching his breath to be embarrassed at this point. You draw nearer with pure concern in your eyes as his coughing subsides, and his resolve melts a bit more.

“Whoa, hey, you okay over there? That sounded painful,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. He notices the fretful tone in your voice — it’s gentler than his brother’s but carries the same intention. 

“Yeah, can’t say it feels great,” Joel says hoarsely before attempting to clear his throat once again, hoping his lungs will cooperate this time. “Can’t seem to remember which of these damn pills will give me a hand though.”

“Didn’t I just see you on Wednesday? When did you start feeling bad?” you ask, leaning against his side to take a closer look at one of the boxes from his hands. Maybe with some details you can help figure something out to get him feeling better, or at least let him rest.

“Last night, I guess. Came on pretty quick. Was workin’ okay this morning, but once the rain started, Tommy sent me packin’.”

“You went to work like this, Joel?! Isn’t that like, dangerous? You could really hurt yourself,” you chastise, rubbing his upper arm comfortingly while staring up at him looking utterly devastated. Christ he may melt into a puddle right here. He’s seen this look before, and though he doesn’t want you close enough to catch this, he doesn’t have the heart to shove you away like he did Tommy. He bothers to look at least a little guilty, and you sigh before continuing: “Bad idea. And you know it. Now, let’s figure this out. You’ve got the cough down for sure - what are your other symptoms?”

Before Joel can respond, he looks down into the small basket hanging over your arm and notices its contents: a box of pads, tampons, a bag of peanut M&Ms, a resealable bag of bite-sized chocolates, sour gummy worms, two different pain medications, and a box of peppermint tea. Pain relief, pads, and candy salad. Caught. This is not a conversation you want to have with Joel — men get weird about periods for some childish reason, and you’re really not in the mood. You glance down and move the basket behind you a bit, ready to brush him off and keep the conversation on him, but when you meet his eyes they’re wider and his brows are furrowed above you, drinking you in.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?,” he asks, gesturing to the contents of your little black basket. His tone mirrors the worry you’ve been bleeding since you turned onto the aisle. You’re taken aback by the question at all, given the obvious nature of today’s dilemma — one most men you know wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. His voice doesn’t waver, and his expression doesn’t falter, or express an ounce of discomfort. It’s interesting, but you’d rather not dwell on it, and laugh him off anyway.

“Oh, yeah. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before of course,” you smile and wave your hand in the air to brush off his concern, but his eyebrows inch closer to one another, and his head tilts slightly to the side. You’re the one growing warm under his perusal now, so you turn the subject back to him. “Anyway, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Joel stares a moment longer, but begins to rattle off a list of fairly standard cold symptoms. You’re glad it isn’t anything too serious, he’ll probably just feel crappy for a couple of days while his immune system does the heavy lifting. Now to figure out what can be done to make him more comfortable in the meantime. One thing you know for certain after hearing the growing congestion in his voice and the rasp in his throat — he’s gonna need the stronger stuff. You take the boxes from his hands and return them to the shelf. He looks at you perplexed, struggling to sniffle against the congestion that — according to the pained squinting he’s still doing beneath the fluorescent lights — is giving him a hell of a sinus headache, and keeping him from breathing through his nose. Fine as he may be in a few days, at the moment he looks devastatingly uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, this crap on the shelf isn’t gonna work. Let’s get ya some of the stronger stuff,” you say, patting his shoulder before tugging him along to the pharmacy. He doesn’t ask any questions, just quietly follows your lead. Along the way, you explain the useless nature of the phenylephrine in the easy stuff, and how the good stuff requires you to show your ID. You tell him why the drugs with the pseudoephedrine are more helpful, and he nods and snuffles in understanding. Sounds good to him, he’ll let you take the lead on that one. As smart as he knows you are, he more than trusts your judgment.

You approach the counter and begin perusing the options, talking with the pharmacist about what you need, when Joel starts coughing again. You can’t help but rub his back and whisper soft words in comfort when his face twists in pain from the fit wreaking havoc in his chest. As your hand moves in soothing circles across his back, you can feel the heat of his skin through his t-shirt. Shit, he didn’t say anything about a fever. You need to get him home as soon as possible. 

When he’s composed a bit, you wrap up with the pharmacist, and she asks for your ID. You pull yours from your bag and hand it to her, but pause. Should you show her your own? Does she need to see Joel’s too?

“Oh, for sure. Uhm, do you need to see his too, since he’s the patient?” you ask, wanting to get done with this as quickly and smoothly as possible so you can get him out of here. She’s looking at the card in her hand intently and entering your information into the computer, busy with the transaction.

“No ma’am. We don’t need your husband’s ID since you’re the one purchasing,” she responds, not lifting her eyes from the computer. You blush at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice until Joel’s eyes go wide and he chokes, forcing him into another bout of harsh coughing. Jesus, his throat must be torn up. You reach for him with one hand and place your own basket and a few other sick day supplies on the counter with the other before she finalizes the transaction. 

“Thanks for all your help!,” you say a bit frantically as you begin to usher him toward the exit. You walk out of the store in silence, neither one of you looking at the other, each of you trying to keep a nervous smirk at bay. Only when the automatic doors shut behind you do you turn to look at each other and laugh heartily, extremely entertained by the pharmacist’s assumption. The laughter only ceases when it sends Joel coughing again — you need a read on that fever he’s sporting. Once he’s mostly caught his breath, you move closer and place a gentle hand on his forehead, then move it down toward his cheek. Joel closes his eyes and without realizing, leans forward into your soft touch. When your hand leaves his face, his eyes open to find that look again, and he muses that you may make him sweat before the fever gets the chance. 

“You didn’t mention this earlier. Did you know you’re running a fever, Joel?” you ask him, and he looks guilty toward the asphalt. 

“Tommy mighta mentioned somethin’ about it earlier, but I’ll be alright,” he responds, but fails to suppress a shiver when the breeze kicks up. Your heart breaks a little seeing him shaking — how did you miss that earlier? You sigh deeply before telling him you’re hesitant to let him drive home. He insists it’ll be fine, and you understand it’d be more of a hassle to come get his truck later on. You concede since it’s such a short trip back, but you’ll follow him back to your adjacent homes. 

—--------------------

After parking your car in the driveway next to his own, you meet Joel at his truck. You bat his hand away when he attempts to grab the bags from yours, and tell him to go unlock the door. Ever the gentleman, he’s a little perturbed, but follows your instructions anyway. Once you’re both inside the house, you set the items on the table and sit him down next to it before heading for the cabinet and filling a glass with water. After passing him the glass and watching as he slowly sips, you unload the bags, and begin reading the back of the box from the pharmacy. 

“Have you eaten anything today? It’s probably not a great idea to take this on an empty stomach,” you say. He goes a little green at the thought of eating anything before swallowing and huffing a response.

“No, haven’t really felt like it. Don’t think it’d sit well right now, to be honest. I’ll be alright with just the medicine, I bet.” You sigh in response, a little anxious it’ll make him feel worse, but either option could do that at this point. At least the thought of the medicine isn’t nauseating for him at the moment. You’ll let it slide, for now. 

“Fine. But you’ll definitely need to eat something substantial later,” you tell him, giving him a once-over, taking advantage of the single instance he’s below you to get a good look at him. You’re already thinking through take-out options that might help tonight. Another day, you’d make some soup for him — get him full and warm him up. Hell, tomorrow you might. But today you’re exhausted, with the period fatigue and the cramps that won’t let up, you’re definitely ready to get into some more comfy Friday Afternoon Clothes. 

“Alright, you get changed and get comfy on the couch. I’m just gonna run home and get outta these work clothes, then I’ll be right back.” 

“You’ve done plenty already today, darlin’, really. Helped me out more than you know. And I’d hate for you to catch this too,” he explains, looking guiltier than you’d like. You’re plenty aware of the risk here but at the moment you couldn’t care less. You don’t really feel like sitting by yourself in your house right now anyway. No reason both of you should feel crappy alone. 

“Uh, Joel, did you forget that we’re ‘married’ now? I’ll be back in just a minute to check on you,” you insist, smiling at him. He looks at you admonishingly and smiles back, shaking his head. You have no idea how happy that makes him — his stomach flutters at the joke, and it isn’t from his illness. You hesitate on the way out the door, and turn to check with him once again. “If having me hovering is gonna keep you up though, I can totally leave you be. I don’t want to keep you from getting the rest you need.” Your voice and expression are apprehensive, afraid to be a bother. 

He probably doesn’t still his face well enough, and he’s certain you can see desperation in his eyes when he shakes his head. He can’t tell you quite yet, but he’s over the moon you want to stick around. All semblance of nobility is dropped - having you near him could never be unwelcome. “You don’t hover, sweetheart. Nothing about you is bothersome. I’d love the company, actually,” he tells you in earnest.

Your expression settles at the reassurance, and you smile back at him. “Good. I’ll just be a few minutes,” you begin, but your smile turns to a grimace with the last few words as you feel a sharp twisting in your stomach and lower back. Your hand instinctively grips your stomach, hoping to ease the pain. There’s definitely no escaping that one. Joel’s eyes widen, but you cut him off before he can ask if you’re okay. “Yep, I'm gonna get out of these pants and into something loose before my uterus tries to kill me,” you joke, reaching for the knob. 

Joel chuckles in response but he’s frowning a bit. The look from the drugstore is back, and you don’t know what to do with his sympathy. You can’t look long before heading out. 

He hates seeing the pain you’re in, but what upsets him most is the way you brush it off. Like your pain is smaller, or insignificant by comparison — one he wouldn’t draw anyway. It sticks with him more than it probably should, but he can’t seem to shake it. He needs to act, somehow. Once he’s changed, he grabs a few blankets from the closet and the heating pad they keep around for his back and for Sarah’s own cycles. He knows how much it can help her, so he figures it couldn’t hurt to offer, at least. 

He sets up a spot on the couch for you both — a little nest for staring at the tv and, (he hopes), cozying up just a bit for extra comfort. He’s still not hungry, but he microwaves a bag of popcorn and grabs some other assorted salty snacks to join the candy you’d picked up. He’s seen how snacky you can get after school sometimes, and wants to make sure you have an array of options, prepped for any craving. 

You return as he’s placing the last of these items down on the coffee table — he’s rather proud of his little presentation — and sees your hair up and a comfy set of sweats that are just a little too long in the arms and legs. Lord help him, you look fucking adorable. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face when you walk toward him. 

“Well don’t you look cozy,” he says with eyes shining at your improved expression. You give him an exaggerated little twirl to show off the baggy outfit you’ve adorned yourself in for this evening’s activities. 

“Damn right! I’m ready for anything now,” you say, stuffing your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. He’s laughing in response before it catches in his throat again and he starts coughing. 

“That makes one of us,” he jokes once he’s caught his breath. 

“Yep, I want you on the couch. Right now. Go ahead and get comfy and I’ll get the medicine. We gotta get you drugged up enough if you’re gonna get any sleep.” You’re ushering him to the couch when you stop in your tracks. When you catch sight of the coffee table snacks and the heating pad set up on one side of the couch, already plugged in and waiting, you nearly tear up. You’re speechless for a moment — no one’s ever done anything like this for you before. This little thoughtful gesture means the world, and you’re not sure what to say. 

“Joel! You didn’t need to do all this. You’re sick, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you insist, nudging his arm with your own, leaning lightly into his side. 

“Wasn’t hardly anything, darlin’, just some stuff I know helps Sarah when she gets to feelin’ like you do. She likes her snacks salty, and always feels better with this little fire hazard next to ‘er,” he says, gesturing to the heating pad on the couch. His grin turns mischievous before he starts again: “Besides, you said it yourself, we’re ‘married’ now, huh? I oughta know what my wife needs just as well,” he finishes, voice too satisfied, and eyebrows raised in jest. 

You’re giggling when you grab his hand and squeeze it, thanking him. “This goofy little bit we’re doin’ ends the second Sarah and your brother walk through the door, by the way. Not looking to scare her, that’s the last thing I wanna do,” you instruct.

“‘Course, but fuckin’ with Tommy sure woulda been fun,” he says to you, and you laugh in agreement. Once you see he’s settled, you make tea for the both of you, hoping it’ll work magic with the medicine to get him resting comfortably and — with any luck — napping before long. He’ll probably protest, but with a little coaxing, you’ll get it into him. 

When you return with the tea, he takes it from you with both hands, before using one to pull you down on the couch next to him. He’s pulled you a little closer than you may have sat yourself, and he’s pleased when you don’t pull away or readjust. You just grab the heating pad, crank it up, and stick it behind your lower back while leaning forward to grab the medicine. You check his temperature again with the back of your hand while he’s preoccupied taking the medicine you’d doled out to him. He’s a little warmer than he was outside the drug store. 

“Maybe we should get a number on that. Where do you keep your thermometer?” you ask, worry written on your face all over again. You attempt to rise from the couch to go hunting, but he grips your hand again, keeping you in place.

“Nope, nope, it’s fine sweetheart, I promise. You need to get some rest too. Sit,” he directs, his tone leaving no room for discussion. You roll your eyes, but wriggle back against the couch again before pulling a blanket into your lap. Joel fiddles with the cord of the heating pad and readjusts it behind your back, making sure it isn’t folded or sitting uncomfortably against you. You sigh in relief and fall a bit toward him as you settle in, and he inches you way as well. You arbitrarily turn on a movie you’ve both seen, fully aware neither of you will be making it to the end, and snuggle closer. The fevered heat humming beneath his skin is pleasantly warm against you as he settles deeper, and he’s slipping in and out of conversation within minutes. 

_____________________________________________________________

Sarah walks through the door with Tommy in tow while end credits roll across the tv. They head into the den to check on Joel, but conversation falls silent and they stop in their tracks at the sight they discover. You’re sleeping peacefully, legs tucked up under you and head lolled against the back of the couch. Joel’s head has somehow found its way into your lap, and he’s resting warmly on your stomach, no doubt alleviating some of the pain with his warmth and weight. Your hand rests on his shoulder, holding him securely.

Tommy’s face goes slack, but Sarah’s smiling ear to ear, and turns to her uncle, trying to quiet her laughter. He looks at her wide-eyed, but says nothing, and she holds her hand out between them, fingers curling toward her palm.

“Pay up,” she says, way too satisfied for Tommy’s liking, and far too much like her father. He rolls his eyes, and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He really thought his brother would be too chicken to do anything about this — at least for a little while longer.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

saw @chez-cinnamon's absolutely BANGER butterfly!Howdy design and couldn't resist! two fluffy flutterbyes <3 solidarity

[natalievoncatte]

This was a rare novelty: Lena was not the most famous person in a pubic place. In fact, dressed down in jeans, a tank top, and a ball cap, Lena was downright unremarkable. Or at least, it seemed that way.

All of the attention was heaped on Kara. Or rather-

“Supergirl!”

A gaggle of girls of versions ages charged over to them in a virtual mob, and Lena felt almost snubbed. Kara, herself in shorts and a Sentinels jersey, briefly seemed confused at the attention, even though she’d been out as Supergirl for almost six months now.

She quickly settled into meeting and greeting, asking the girls their names and signing various bits and bobs for them while the rest of the group, Alex and Kelly and Nia and Brainy, hung back, just behind Lena.

Finally, Kara managed to disentangle herself when security started breathing down their necks.

Lena had gotten everyone box seats directly behind the home dugout, and the group made their way down.

“This is pretty far from the rent-controlled section,” Kara said, grinning as she gestured at the nosebleed seats, a high above them on the top deck.

Brainy immediately settled in to study the game program and books on baseball he’d brought with him, amiably explaining (mansplaining? Coulansplaining?) baseball to Nia. For her part, his girlfriend seemed content to listen to his excited chatter, so Lena wasn’t bothered.

Alex had apparently appointed herself to keep Kara fed, and had already acquired enough snacks for a small army, and Kara was happy to dig in and take a chili dog in either hand.

Lena didn’t much care for the game, so she was pleased when Alex handed her a beer with a sardonic “things we do for love” look. Kelly was apparently more the fan of the two, and the Sentinels were playing the Metropolis Knights in this game, prompting an intra-Superfriend rivalry.

As for Lena? She was there for Kara.

The afternoon light seemed to caress her features, bringing out the soft glow in her honeyed skin and golden hair, and there were depths in her eyes that no one in the world could ever equal. Lena could stare at her forever and never get bored.

The spell wasn’t even broken when she polished off the first two hot dogs and let out a wild, rumbling belch that made her giggle and Alex roll her eyes.

She already knew that she was in love with Kara, but every time it seemed like her heart was full to bursting, it grew even fuller.

Lena has meant this for them. Lena had offered her the seats, hoping to feel out Kara about the potential for a date-date, to finally get an answer about the maddening tension between them over the last two months. Kara spent more time at Lena’s new house over the last two months than she had in her own apartment, and yet that line had never been crossed.

The line remained unbroken, but they were right up against it. Kara gave Lena’s thigh a squeeze without seeming to realize what she was doing, then yanked her hand back as if she’d touched something hot, and just played it off when Lena looked at her, and kept looking at her.

The start of the game spared her from the awkward conversation.

Kara was eager to explain to her, leaning over to over-explain the nuances of every move and play.

Exactly like Brainy and Kelly were doing with their girlfriends.

Lena paid her more attention than the game, so Lena didn’t even notice when one of the Knights hit the ball oddly and, instead of flying out over the field, rocketed almost straight up. Lena was, in fact, so focused on Kara that she didn’t realize where the ball was going until it was cutting lazily through the air and headed straight at her head.

A yelp jumped from her throat and she jerked back, but of course there was nothing to fear. A moment later there was a hearty slap of cowhide on skin. Kara plucked the ball from the air two inches from Lena’s nose, dramatically holding it in place for a moment.

When she moved her hand, and the ball, Lena followed Alex’s eye-line. Kara’s sister was groaning.

They were all on the Jumbotron, the huge screen over the left field stands, and the crowd was pointing and cheering as the announcer’s voices boomed out about the great catch by Supergirl.

Lena wanted to sink through her seat.

Then Kara said, “Here.”

She held out the ball in both hands, turning in her seat. The way she held it, cupped gently in her palms with great reverence, giving Lena a weird and silky flash of her doing the same thing with a velvet box. Lena took it, grinning like an idiot in spite of herself and clutching it to her chest.

Lena pointed at the giant screen, and Kara looked, waving to the crowd as if she’d suddenly remembered that they were there. Lena gave a half-hearted wave, then turned back to Kara to say something.

Whatever it was, it was utterly scrubbed from Lena’s brain by impossibly soft lips gently brushing her own, then locking with them. Some distant part of Lena’s brain tried to explain, to rationalize. It was a mistake. Kara would get flustered and play it off with something about what friends are for and the moment would slide away, a taste of a dream that would leave Lena starving for another morsel.

No. Kara was full on kissing her. The heat that surged through Lena’s body was all consuming, and she barely registered the thunderous cheers from the crowd. She let herself fall into Kara, hiding against her shoulder as Kara wrapped an arm around her and settled them both lower in their seats, tugging her ball cap down.

The camera finally turned its attention elsewhere.

Alex turned to Kelly and said, “fucking finally.”

“Hey,” said Kara, her voice soft and only for her. “Want to head home after the stretch?”

Home. Not your house. Home.

“I’m not totally sure what that means, but yes,” Lena whispered back, then popped a bit of popcorn in Kara’s mouth.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 12

Geralt has a thing for biting. Jaskier has a thing for not looking like a mauling victim the day he performs at a very prestigious court. Geralt agrees he'll hold off on the biting for a few nights, so Jaskier is "presentable." But now he looks unclaimed. He looks like he has nobody that loves him and watches over him. Nobody that can bite him in the heat of passion. Geralt sucks it up and decides that he'll just have to come along to make sure nobody gets any ideas about doing anything to his bard. And so what if he spends most of the night staring longingly at Jaskier's neck like some kind of starved vampire? Who says you get to judge? *grumpy witcher noises*

[merakiui]

SKULLY HAS RAIDED MERA'S BLOG!!!???

Skully over shining Zuzu?

UNFORTUNATELY...... yes,,, (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) WAAAA I AM SO SORRY, ZUZU!!!! My heart is just too big and I fell for the dead guy with his Victorian rizz and kiss addiction. I couldn't help it...... he charmed me. This obsession is terrible, dear Izuna!!!! OTL he's completely taken over my brain,,, a parasite that I can't shake!! >:(

He's so precious,,, my beloved King of Halloween, oh how I adore you most ardently. <3 I wish him nothing but peace and happiness forever hehe.

[valewritessss]

I’m working on a big Percabeth fanfic recommendations post because someone asked and I just decided to sort through and recommend almost every percabeth fic I’ve read.

I know enough about myself to know that it’s not a good idea to set a due date so I’m just gonna say that I’ll post it by this week probably. If you want to be tagged please say so in the tags or something.

EDIT: school is already taking up time so this will probably take so long I’m sorry😭

[missmorwen]

Chapters: 9/10 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Black Widow (Movie 2020), The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanov Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Yelena Belova Additional Tags: Post The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), mostly - Freeform, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, Black Widow (2020) Compliant, also mostly, Retcon, NATASHA ISN'T DEAD, Steve didn't abandon his friends, Not Hawkeye Compliant, Shameless Smut, Cunnilingus, Hand Jobs, Bucky's favorite meal is Nat Summary:

This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Someone was messing with her head. “No.” Natasha's voice came out as a whisper. Somewhere far off, a familiar voice said, “A soul for a soul. An everlasting exchange. That’s what you told them.” She knew that voice and the man behind it, but no name came to her, only colors. Garish and bright. Red, white, and blue.

*************

A Fix-It fic where Natasha comes back to life when Steve returns the Soul Stone to Vormir. Now she needs to figure out her place in a world that thinks she's dead and gone.

[jubburb]

SatoSuguᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

Looking at the stars ✮

(Lives/afterlives)

From time to time, although not that often, Satoru and Suguru would go stargazing. They're too busy living out the best of their ( ), just being in each other's presence.

It's been far too long since they had this much peace, considering they were on opposing sides. But now, they finally have what they wanted, what they needed the most.

"It was lonely. You know that, right Suguru?"

"You gave me too much free will Satoru, of course I know. But I won't say I regretted my actions, knowing fully well it's too late."

He stated, looking at the stars.

"Don't blame yourself Satoru."

The time they spent talking, Gojo was looking at Geto, his eyes full of pain, regret, and guilt.

He turned to the sky, the comets and stars shimmering. The moon was especially pretty today.

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

Gojo smiles, knowing Suguru knew what he meant.

"It truly is beautiful.."

...

"Me too."

He finally looked at him in the eye.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.── .✦

✮⋆˙You can fill in the blanks with lives/afterlives. This is leaning towards more where they are already dead, living in the afterlife. But if you want to read it as if they are still alive, then go for it.

-Jღ

The ways in which you talk to me, "sugudu" have me wishing I were gone, "SAT OR OOO" - C's shenanigans..

[deantfwinchester]

Hands

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader as usual (let's just assume these No-Outbreak Joels are all the same couple tbh), established relationship

Summary: Friday nights are reserved for sweatpants and relaxation, of course. But when Joel's work week leaves his hands a bit worse for wear, the night may need to include a break for a little extra attention.

Warnings: extreme fluff once again. expect it at this point. i'm a one-trick pony, i fear.

A/N: finally got around to putting one of my many bulleted notes-app idea fics into paragraph form again! Will we get another one before the year's out? It's anyone's guess! -_-

——————

Friday nights are your favorites. No dinner to cook or rattling rolodex of tasks to come in the next twelve hours give you both a little room to breathe — to gently unwind from yourselves and into one another. It’s typically quiet, and when it isn’t, the volume is born of laughter from games or stories the three of you share.

Joel comes home from an exceptionally long week. You know he’s been on site every day—the whole team has—working longer and longer hours to wrap up the latest project before the client’s deadline. You’re pleased to hear his keys rattle in the door not long after five o’clock, and relieved because the air’s rapidly cooling earlier each night. Daylight Savings time is coming to an end, and today he barely beat the sunset getting home. 

You know the hour means little, however, and are less than astonished at the weary grin he bears on catching sight of you and Sarah on the couch when he walks in the room. She’s already got her purse on her shoulder, eager to head out when her friends arrive, and she’s excitedly recounting the events of the trailer for the movie they’ll be catching tonight. He stands idly in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the two of you chat. You make brief eye contact and smile back, assuring you know he’s there. Neither of you wants to interrupt her avid storytelling.  

“Well don’t you sound excited?” he says when she pauses to catch her breath. You both turn to greet him, and he moves more quickly toward you as you attempt to rise, gesturing to you to remain seated. He’ll come to you both.

He plants a kiss on top of Sarah’s head before leaning down to kiss you as he does each night. You place a hand on his chest and pause when he pulls back to get a good look at his face. You see the fatigue in his droopy-eyed smile, but can’t say anything to him. You already know it’s mirrored in your own expression.

The doorbell rings before either of you can speak again, and Sarah jumps up to head out the door. You wish her a good night, and he follows her to the door, checking for a familiar parent in the driver’s seat and seeing her off. You see him hand her some cash to go with his reminder to make good decisions, and he hugs her. You can’t help but giggle when she takes it with a wide smile.

He turns to you laughing when he sees she’s in the car, and shuts the door.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion, but amused at the sound of your laughter.

“Smart girl. I gave her a 20 before you got home,” you grin back at him. He stills in understanding and rolls his eyes. 

“You couldn’t tell me that two minutes ago?” he asks you in mock exasperation.

“But it’s so much funnier this way!” you add, giggling again. You both know he’s wrapped completely around her finger, though she so innocently does not. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him. One of the first reasons you fell in love. 

He shakes his head fondly, and places a hand on his stomach, which begins to grumble softly at him. You raise your eyebrows and meet his gaze. “Any thoughts on dinner?” he asks, and you grin back at him in amusement.

“Handled. Pizza’s already on the way,” you respond and he feigns relief. 

“You’re brilliant.” he says, walking up and grabbing your hand on the back of the couch. You run your thumb in little circles on the back of his hand and give it a light squeeze.

“Duh. Now go get changed! It’s do-nothing time starting now,” you respond, patting the top of his hand in encouragement.

“You read my mind,” he says, leaning down for another quick peck before heading off into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Naturally, you’ve been in sweats for over an hour now, shedding your own outfit immediately, peeling the school day from your skin. The unspoken uniform for these Friday nights is extremely specific.

The pizza arrives before Joel can even return from the bedroom in a feat of incredible timing. You’re gathering plates and filling glasses with ice when he emerges ready for the night. He moves forward to help you grab the dinner, but you shoo him away to the couch. 

“Nope, I got this. You sit,” you say, lightly shoving his chest away. You leave no room for argument. He grumbles a bit and raises his hands, backing away to the living room. You follow behind him with the pizza and plates, and return once more for the drinks before settling next to him on the couch. He sits on one end, and you sit in the middle, leaving little room between you.

You lean forward, putting pizza on one plate you pass to Joel before grabbing your own, then settle back against the cushion, both sinking in so comfortably a nearly audible sigh fills the room. The comfort in this relief is palpable, and the decompressing can begin. You grab the remote and put on the series you’ve been binging together recently, more for background noise than anything else. 

A few slices and sitcom episodes deep, you’ve set your plates down on the coffee table. With your bellies comfortably full, you’ve somehow slumped deeper, though Joel into the couch and you into his side. His arm is draped over the back of the couch behind you, and you’re nearly laying on him, head propped against his shoulder. 

You hold his free hand in both of yours and absently play with his fingers for a second when you notice the aggressive wear this week has lent his hands. They’re a raw, angry red at the knuckles; his nails are cracked in some places and peeling in others. Moving your fingers gently down toward his wrist, you focus more directly on the state of his, catching sight of a few hangnails and stretched cuticles that can’t be comfortable. He looks down as you begin to worry them beneath the soft pads of your own fingers, and you meet his gaze, brows furrowed as you look between his face and hands. 

“Keep doing that, please,” he says with a sigh before closing his eyes, “I wait all day to feel your hands on mine. They’re so soft.” He lifts your hand to his lips before pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. He loves the delicate, reverent way you play with his hands, like they’re small, fragile things in need of tender attention. You take his hand once again into both of yours and gently rub it between them, looking back up at him, concerned. 

“How do yours feel? They look like they’re hurting you,” you gnaw a bit at your bottom lip in thought, and he tries to assuage your worry.

“I’m alright, darlin’. Nothing worse than I’m used to,” he says. He knows from your deepening frown that you’re less than satisfied with this response.

You couldn’t care less if he’s used to it, he shouldn’t be. You know the protective callouses forged there don’t mean those hands are unfeeling in the slightest.

“Wait there. I’ll be right back,” you say, rising from his side and hastening to the bedroom. It’s his turn to frown now, both in confusion and at the sudden draft that’s appeared at his side.

You return not a minute later with a small tote around your wrist, and hands filled with half the manicure items you own. You sit down next to him and unpack, laying clippers, files, cuticle oil, and two different hand creams — a lotion he’s seen you use regularly, and a jar that must be a new addition — on the coffee table in front of you, along with the selected polishes and remover you had in the tote bag. You’ve been meaning to do your nails, anyway. 

Joel looks incredulously at you, unsure where this is going. Not that he’s a stranger to nail polish — he raised a little girl on his own long enough to have worn the rainbow on his fingers, but tonight? 

“Sorry, no color for you today, honey. Certainly not before these are healed,” you say. He’d chip half your handiwork away by Monday afternoon anyway the way he’s been working lately. Facing him, you cross your legs on the couch and smile, holding your hand out expectantly for his. He raises his eyebrows at you, but places his palm gently in your own. 

You grab the clippers and get to work on the hangnails first. Any peeling skin or cuticle right there at the nail you clip as gently as possible, making note of the reddened and slightly swollen areas at the base of his nail from which they protrude. Those will need careful attention at the end. He doesn’t squirm or react in any way, but you know they’re more sensitive than he’s letting on. 

Next, you clip back any breakages and unevenness in the nails themselves. You’d never find Joel Miller with dirty hands — he gets them clean as soon as he gets home, but all the scrubbing it takes to keep them that way takes its toll. A little trim at their length might help reduce the need for so much each day upon his return. 

After clipping, you grab his first hand again and rest it gently in the palm of your left while your right files steadily to even any rough edges left behind and prevent further injury. It won’t take much, but you’re sure to get them smooth so they won’t catch on anything or bother him later on. 

The cuticle oil is next. He looks at it questioningly, clearly a bit skeptical, only having seen it a few times when you or Sarah used it. He’s never ventured so far himself. While you brush it gently onto each of his nails, you explain its purpose. 

“This’ll just help your nails get a little stronger. It’ll get them hydrated a bit, keep ‘em  from peeling so much when your hands get dry. It’s kinda crazy how much better this stuff is for your nails than even water is. Water’ll make the peeling worse, actually. Weird, huh?”

He just nods along, listening to you, content to learn something new as always. Finger by finger, you massage the oil into his nail and nail bed. After the first round you go back through to massage again, both to make sure no oily feeling is left behind, and to prolong the rapidly concluding process. He could use the attention, anyway.

Finally, you pick up the jar he identified as a new addition: a canister of a hand repair cream labeled for “Healing of dry or cracked skin.”

“Never seen that one before,” he says, reading the label, “What d’ya need this for? Your hands are never dry! I think they’ve been soft every time I’ve held 'em since the day I met ya,” he smiles at you, and you bashfully brush off the compliment. 

“I don’t need it. I use the other one,” you say with finality, opening the jar and pulling the first of his hands into yours. You don’t grab a large dollop of the stuff. You don’t want him to feel a disconcerting weight, grease, or stickiness from this unfamiliar formula, so you get a little and begin. You add a bit more each time you reach a new spot on his knuckles, palms, wrists. 

You take your time, gently massaging into those roughened, tender hands far more than a simple healing salve. He understands why you have the jar now, looking at you knowingly, and you smile back. No words need be exchanged.

Once you’ve finished the last finger and the last stroke on his hands, you squeeze the one in your own, then pat it gently with your other, “There. Gotta feel better now, yeah?”

Joel stares at you like he just watched you reach up and place the moon in the sky, if for no reason other than to light his path. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hand back and smiling reverently at you. You blush beneath his gaze and look away, unsure what to do with the admiration rolling off of him in waves. You lean back against the couch, file in hand as you start going at your own nails. 

“Good. Don’t let 'em go that long again, either. Where they start hurtin’ ya? Maybe we oughta make this a weekly thing. Manicure night? Been needing someone to do my right hand,” you grin, wiggling the corresponding fingers at him. He smiles back at you, then reaches over and pulls you toward his side, back to your original position laying against him, head resting once again on his shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says fondly into your hair, planting a kiss to your head in the process. You get comfortable once more, foregoing any plans to do your own nails tonight. You both know those “manicure nights” will be for him — and you’ve got Sarah to do your right hand already, when you do hers.

You grab the same free hand once again and admire your work, then lace your fingers between his own, and rest your twined hands on his leg. You’re satisfied knowing the hand behind you on the couch is comfortable now, healing from the week’s toils and melting into the comforting haze of the early autumn evening.

[snarky-wallflower]

Margaret, whose powers abound. Margaret, who spoke softly when she told him her secrets, intelligent, brave, and determined to find her answers. Whose smile, once so rare, shines far more brightly these days. Margaret, who he’s worked so hard to rebuild with, stone by stone. Margaret, who has forgiven him. Who he is so, so proud of.

How could he be so lucky?

Margaret wraps an arm around him, pulling him further into her. Unconsciously, he leans into the touch, resting his head on her shoulder. Samuel feels the gentle vibrations of her soft laugh, as she holds him close. A fluttering feeling rises up from the very core of his soul, at the knowledge that she sounds this happy because of him.

He feels half-drowsy, which may be the only reason the words slip out. He’s content, and happy. “The first time I heard your voice,” he muses, “I think moonlight must have burst into the room.”

OR

A quiet night on Lincoln Island, weeks after arrival--and a confession.

inspired by a post from @missholloween!

[laniidae-passerine]

rewatching Thor and I genuinely forgot how good Jane and Thor’s chemistry was. I believe in it! and it does elicit that secondhand flustered giggling ‘they’re so cute!’ feeling, which is unfortunately atypical for MCU romances and honestly missing from most movies period. bring it back!!!!

[stolenslumber]

hang your head low in the glow (pjs)

In this moment, you’re glad that you’re anchored in his lap, because otherwise you think you might float away into the night sky, on your way to join the stars in the cosmos. Jay is so crushingly sweet; sometimes, you just don’t know what to do with the weight of all his sincerity. For now, you settle for a fervent, “I like you so much.”

OR: A selection of moments in between the parentheses at the end of devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes (some things may not make sense without reading that first, but it's up to you!).

PAIRING: park jongseong x female reader GENRE: established relationship, fwp (fluff without plot), no like seriously this is just straight up fluff and romance and making out with scant narrative WARNINGS: swearing, kms/kys jokes, kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes WORD COUNT: 10k (derogatory)

to all the boys i’ve fake-dated before (you, jay, sunghoon, yeonjun, chan, vernon, mark, and 5 others)

jay: peace out losers (except for my REAL gf whom i adore and cherish)

*jay has left the chat*

sunghoon: omfg no way???? jay bitchless era no more?

you: are u calling me a bitch

sunghoon: NOOOO i would never haha btw do u still talk to my sister

you: yeah

sunghoon: right so i’m just ur humble liege

chan: congrats, you two! well i guess jay can’t see this

you: i will accept your congratulations on his behalf :DD i’m really happy you guys 

mark: stop i’ll cry

vernon: no rly i’m next to him rn and he’s tearing up

mark: they deserve it so much!!! after everything i put them through 

you: excuse me it was mostly me

you: all jay did was orchestrate an elaborate scheme to get you and mina together (okay so he did a lot)

you: but we ALL participated

you: and i had to pretend to DATE you

mark: only for like two hours!!!!

yeonjun: wait this reminds me i’ve always wanted to know what ur ranking of us as fake bfs would be

you: in first place: park jongseong

yeonjun: and then?

yeonjun: hello??????

“Can I ask you something?”

Jay turns his head to you. “Of course, baby.”

Baby. Hearing it still makes you all silly and giddy, though it’s been four days since you started dating him for real and hearing it all the time. Baby, doll, Cinderella, mine. He sure has a way with words. You clear your throat, hoping that your voice won’t crack when you say, “Why were you so weird about the fake-dating thing in the beginning?”

He makes a face at you. “What do you mean, weird? You’re telling me you thought I was weird about it, even after you had to endure Sunghoon?”

“Sunghoon was just awkward. Really awkward, but still. You stalked me to my front door—”

“Your front door is, like, 90 seconds from mine.”

“— and walked with me to Nat’s at a glacial pace, while not saying a word. And then we talked for an hour about random stuff before you promised to help Mark with Mina, even though you weren’t sure you wanted my help. Why were you so weird about it all?”

“Pretty girls make me nervous?” He offers you a winning smile.

“Flattery won’t get you everywhere, Park Jongseong.”

“Yeah, but it’s getting me somewhere, isn’t it?” He rolls all the way over to hover above you and then dips so low that the pendant on his necklace swings in front of your face. The two of you had escaped the party in the frat’s basement after it had gotten too hot down there; Jay said he “knew a spot”, which made you laugh when it turned out to just be his bedroom. But then he pushed open his window and coaxed you out onto the flat roof, and that’s where you had settled on your back, gazing up at a cloudless sky, scattershot through with faint stars. 

Well, you were gazing up at the stars— now, Jay occupies your line of sight, and he’s all smiles and hearts in his eyes. It’s not an unwelcome substitute.

Your hand slips between your bodies so you can rub your fingers over the pendant on his necklace; you laugh when you realize what it is. “J as in Jay? Like T as in Troy?” 

He huffs, rolling off of you to sit back on his heels. “No, J as in Jopping. Yes, J as in Jay!”

You hold your hands up, still laughing as you sit up to face him. “Okay, okay, sorry! Didn’t realize my boyfriend was also a preppy high school girl.”

He rolls his eyes even as he pulls you into his lap. These days, he’s hopelessly afflicted with must-be-close-to-my-girlfriend syndrome. “I have layers, Cinderella. Like an onion.”

“... Are you paraphrasing Shrek?”

Jay flicks at the tip of your nose. “You know, it reveals just as much about you as it does about me that you caught the reference.” 

“You’re not helping yourself in the high school girl category,” you tease, but it’s all syrupy sweet fondness, punctuated by a playful tug at his reddening ear. 

He turns his head to kiss the inside of your wrist. “Do you want to hear my answer or not?”

You nod and straighten your spine with your hands folded neatly against your chest; the picture of propriety, if it weren’t for your legs straddling his waist as he leans back on his hands. “Yes, please.”

“I was… sussing you out, I guess. You know why I wanted to bring someone to my parents, but I couldn’t just bring anyone. I wanted to get to know you a little better, to see if you were someone I could actually see myself wanting to be with, because anything less would be a disservice to my parents. I didn’t want your help if I couldn’t confirm that you were the real thing. And then I saw how patient but also no-nonsense you were with Mark, and how quickly you were willing to help with a frankly crazy plan, and you just… felt right. You felt right to me; you felt like the real thing.” Jay blushes, ducking his head to avoid your gaze. Everything he said is true, of course, and he doesn’t regret telling you any of it, but saying it out loud like this makes his heart feel like it’s going to fall out of his chest.

In this moment, you’re glad that you’re anchored in his lap, because otherwise you think you might float away into the night sky, on your way to join the stars in the cosmos. Jay is so crushingly sweet; sometimes, you just don’t know what to do with the weight of all his sincerity. For now, you settle for a fervent, “I like you so much.”

Jay’s confidence comes back like a boomerang. He leans up and catches your hands in his, draping your arms around his neck before gliding his hands up and down your back. “Who’s flattering who, now?” 

You shrug. “Where’s it gonna get me, gorgeous?”

“Well, only because you called me gorgeous.” And then he’s kissing you, lush and lovely. 

Fall trickles into winter, and there are final exams and goodbyes to your friends before you and Jake leave on a two-week trip to see your family in Australia. You and Jay FaceTime almost every day; he complains about getting pasty staying indoors in the cold while you’re out tanning on white sand beaches. 

“Should I fly out there?” he muses one day close to the end of your trip. “You could be, I dunno, in danger! Because of the sun. No one to help you put sunscreen on your back… or check that you’ve applied enough on your legs… or your chest… It’s really important, you know. Skin cancer awareness.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the PSA, baby. I’m coming back in a few days, though, so I think I’ll be okay.”

Jay sighs mournfully. “I’m not. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you confess. Living across the street from each other at school and seeing him in person almost every day for the past few months has spoiled you. 

“I miss you, too,” Jake mimics beside you. You’re in an Uber on the way to dinner with your parents, so you can’t commit much physical violence against him, but you do punch his shoulder.

Jay pipes up with, “Was that Jake’s voice I heard?”

You glare at your twin before popping out your earbuds to put the call on speakerphone. “Unfortunately.”

“Yo, what’s up, my man!” Jake cheers, shoving his face into view of the camera.

Jay and Jake chatter about some game they started playing with Heeseung, and you have to admit that you’re really happy about how well you and Jay have integrated into each other’s lives and communities. Of course, Jake had never been a big concern; secretly, you think he loves that his best friend is dating his sister. You’re two of his favorite people in the world, though he’ll only admit it when he’s four shots in. 

Soon, you approach the restaurant, and you have to say goodbye to Jay. He encourages you to keep sending videos of Jake falling into the ocean while surfing, which prompts a loud bout of complaining from Jake.

“You better not have shown that to anyone else,” Jake grumbles.

“Yunjin loved it,” you remark casually, just so you can laugh loudly when he jolts in his seat and turns to you with panicked eyes.

He whisper-shouts, “Why would you say that word? And why the fuck would you send it to her?” 

“What word— love? Oh my god, grow up. And she asked for updates on you.” Your eyebrows furrow. “I think she missed you, or something.”

“She did?” Jake beams; he’s entirely a different man now. “What else did she say about me?”

You point at him accusingly. “You have a lot of questions for someone who claims that they’re just buddies with my girl Jen. Which, again— grow up. Anyways, Jay, we have to go, but we’ll see you soon! Love you!”

“Love you, baby. And you, too, Jake,” Jay adds, before Jake can whine. 

A few days later, you’re finally reunited with Jay at the big New Year’s Eve party his family throws every year. The Parks always get to host the last party of the holiday season; you’re excited to experience it with Jay for the first time. 

An hour before the party is set to start, you let yourself into the Park estate and make your way surreptitiously to Jay’s room. His back is turned to you when you open the door slowly, and you stop for a moment to just drink in the sight of him, comfy and cozy in a cable-knit quarter zip sweater— the definition of huggable. Quickly, you sneak in and wrap your arms around his waist. “Hey, handsome.”

Jay cranes his neck around to look at you. “Hey! You’re here early.” 

You let go of him so he can turn around and hug you back properly. “Couldn’t wait to see you,” you confess. 

“Thank god.” He drops his head into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply. “Mm, the world is finally rightside up again.”

You laugh softly. “We are so dramatic.”

“Unavoidable for hot people,” Jay reasons. He pulls back up to wink at you; it’s so cheesy that you have to hold your hands up to his face to avoid looking at him. He laughs outright, and the return of that sound so close to your ears— as opposed to through the phone across an ocean— makes you smile uncontrollably wide.

“I really missed you,” you murmur. Finally, finally, he leans in and kisses you. It starts as something innocent and comforting, then quickly gets subsumed into fire and passion. You fist your hands into the collar of his sweater, hauling him closer to you with an enthusiasm that makes his fingers dig into your waist.

“Missed you so much. Missed this so much,” he says, right before sliding his tongue against yours. Soon, he transitions to sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, breathing a litany of love you, love you, love yous into you. The kiss is so deep it makes you go lightheaded, and when you separate for air, the sound of your mouth parting from his elicits a faint pop that makes you shudder. He’s considerate enough to back off briefly for you to catch your breath, though he doesn’t make it easy. “Pretty, so pretty,” he whispers against your cheek.

You have to close your eyes to calm yourself down. Right now, you think you could power a whole city with the desire that vibrates underneath your skin. “As much as I want to keep going,” you begin, already doomed with how hoarse your voice is, “I think you have to start getting ready.” The way your fingers pull at the zipper of his sweater is wholly unconvincing. 

He sighs and straightens up to rest his chin on the top of your head. “I should really learn how to reconfigure the time-space continuum. Time needs to stop when I’ve got my girl with me.”

You hum in agreement, curving around him slightly to scrape your teeth over the birthmark on his neck and grinning when he hisses into your ear. “You’re a smart guy; I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you offer, continuing to tug at his zipper until you’re met with the end of the quarter zip. A frustrated sound escapes your throat at the obstacle.

“What’s your new year’s resolution?” Jay asks suddenly.

“What?” You blink hazy eyes at him; he has to pinch his own wrist behind your back to fight the urge to kiss you again.

“Just trying to kill the mood so I don’t go out there with a hard-on,” he explains, half bashful and half serious. “I have to make a speech, you know.”

“Thanks for coming, everyone! Hope you had a great last year, and here’s to an even better new year. There, speech done.” You withdraw your hands from his sweater to make jazz hands at him. “Wow, I’m such a speedy speechwriter! With all this extra time, we should keep going.”

“Brilliant,” he says dryly. “But you were right before; I do have to get ready.”

You frown and rest your cheek against his chest. “Past me was such a cockblock.”

Jay chuckles. “So, tell me, what is your new year’s resolution?”

Your eyes drift to the offending sweater in your peripheral vision. “Throw out all of your sweaters.”

“Very noble of you.”

“And get into grad school,” you say, more serious now.

“They’d be crazy not to take you for the Rhodes, baby.” Jay presses a final kiss to the top of your head. “I, um. I already asked to start in the London office of the company.”

You whip your head up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. “Really?”

“Really. I want to be wherever you are.” He smiles so tenderly at you that your heart breaks and then mends itself back together in an instant; shattered and restored all at once by the strength of his devotion.

Sadly, there’s only so much time you can spend swooning at your boyfriend (Jay’s right; you do have to learn how to reconfigure the time-space continuum). He truly does have to give a speech soon, so he starts getting changed, pulling his sweater over his head and swearing when it gets stuck on the wire frame of his glasses. 

You laugh a little breathlessly at him, distracted by the strip of toned stomach revealed by his current position with his arms stuck above his head in his sweater. “My last new year’s resolution is to close the gyms,” you announce, finally moving into action to help him unspool the yarn of his sweater from his glasses.

“All of them?” His voice comes out muffled from inside his sweater before it’s over his head at last, and he’s shirtless in front of you. 

You drag your fingertips from the top of his waistband to the warm skin of his sternum. “Especially the ones you go to. You’re too tempting like this.”

He shivers at your touch but still manages to smirk when he says, “Just for you, doll.”

You groan. “Seriously, don’t call me that if you want to make it out there in time for your speech.”

“We should get rid of speeches, too,” he declares. He eyes the top of your fingers against his chest forlornly. “But I guess I’ll have to give the last one. Now, for real, tell me something extremely unsexy.”

You quip, “To help you get flaccid?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Excellent work; we’re headed in the right direction.” 

Your phone vibrates with a barrage of texts at that moment, which you check as Jay disappears into his walk-in closet to get dressed. It looks like your friends have arrived, and they’ve brought your outfit with them (you had come straight from the airport, dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt from high school). You tell Jay just as much, raising your voice slightly to be heard in the other room. “I’m gonna go get my stuff and change!”

He sticks his thumb out the door of the walk-in closet, pointing it upwards in assent. He assumes you saw it when he hears the door close, and then his phone goes off as well, inundated with a flood of texts from his newly arrived friends. 

hsm 3’s most underrated song: the boys are back (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon, jungwon, and sunoo)

jake: alright i have to k*ll myself

sunoo: why r u censoring all of a sudden

jake: i don’t want my fbi agent to take that seriously. although i do wanna kms

jungwon: why what happened

sunghoon: oh it’s HILARIOUS

jake: stfu

jake: so there’s eggnog being passed around right? and i see yunjin so i go to hand her a cup to be nice

heeseung: ~to be nice~

jake: kys

jake: anyways then i realize that the cup was really hot so i go and blow on her drink, like a fucking weirdo, and then i blow on SUNGHOON’S drink to make it seem less weird, except he’s drinking a HIGH NOON like an absolute idiot

sunghoon: hey i got the bartender to put it into a nice glass at least

sunoo: that’s my big (derogatory)

jay: perpetual bachelors jake and sunghoon! who’s surprised

sunghoon: NOT true i’m pretty sure the student government’s social media chair was flirting with me in the library before finals

jungwon: ??? wonyoung is a lesbian

jungwon: and she was just asking u to get out of the way bc u were spacing out in front of the printer

heeseung: L + me personally i’d kms

sunghoon: oh i know YOU are not talking

sunghoon: lee “the only time i feel the touch of a woman is when i go to yoga class at the university gym once a week” heeseung

heeseung: THE WOMAN WHO TEACHES IT IS HOT OKAY

sunghoon: oh heeseung mommy kink era?

heeseung: SHE IS MY AGE

sunoo: shouldn’t u be more concerned about breaking ur back every time ur there, grandpa?

heeseung: uncalled for wtf

heeseung: also tbh i wish SHE would break my back

jake: okay i’ve recovered from my earlier embarrassment. upon seeing what heeseung is texting, i’m thinking what i did wasn’t that weird

sunoo: bffr

jungwon: jake why don’t u just ask her out? instead of being emotionally constipated

jake: ew why would i ask her out i don’t want to be in a relationship that’s for pussies (respectfully) (i love women)

jungwon: yeah that’s definitely super emotionally mature of u

sunghoon: it’s 2023 pussy is a gender-neutral term

jay: you rly just say whatever the hell you want don’t you

sunoo: oh hey i see felix flirting with yunjin

jake: WHAT

jake: suddenly i have to go

sunoo: u r literally so pathetic

jay: btw i’m coming down now but if any of you see my gf before i do can you tell her she can change in my room

jake: gross

jay: GROW UP + stay single + kys

heeseung: GET HIS ASS

Jay’s idiot friends aside (he loves them so much), he actually is looking forward to seeing a bunch of his classmates and their families at tonight’s holiday party. Senior year seems to have crept up on him unannounced, and now he’s feeling slightly (a lot) sentimental about the idea of not living down the hall or at most across the campus from all the people who have made the last few years so formative (and entertaining as hell). 

He’s still thinking about how much he’s going to miss that place and those people when he hears your voice floating down from the top of the staircase. It sounds like you’re arguing with Kazuha about how many jello shots is too many for the after-party of the next phase of new member initiation at your sorority, which makes him chuckle quietly to himself. With four humanities and fine arts majors between the two of you, neither of you sound like you have the correct math. 

He opens his mouth, ready to give his two cents, but then he freezes at the sight of you descending the stairs. Vaguely, he processes the fact that Kazuha seems to have stopped arguing and even stopped coming down the stairs herself, just so she can give you two this moment.

This moment, which is making his brain short-circuit, because you are incandescent in a slinky, silvery dress that reflects all the candles that he’s now glad his parents made him light around the place. Countless points of light impart an otherworldly glow upon you, and you’re smiling at him; Jay thinks he must have saved the country in a past life.

When you reach him at the bottom of the stairs and he still hasn’t said anything, you tilt your head quizzically. “Jay? Everything alright?”

“You look like you just stepped out of a fairytale,” he breathes out. He moves on autopilot, bending at the waist as he takes your hand and kisses the top of it before straightening up to simply look at you some more.

“And right into the arms of my Prince Charming,” you respond, only half-joking. Right now, the dreamy look in his eyes makes you want to believe in happily ever after, as if it’s something he could forge with his own two hands. You kind of think he could, with the force of all his ardor.

Multiple phone cameras going off breaks the two of you out of your spell; you turn towards your nosy friends, who hold up variations of thumbs-ups and finger hearts. 

“Sorry, you guys are just too cute,” Yunjin says, not sounding sorry at all.

“Your parents would never forgive me if I didn’t get that on camera,” Sunghoon insists.

“Speaking of, I gotta go find them to make sure everything’s set.” Jay kisses your cheek. “See you later, Cinderella.” His fingers hold onto yours until the last second; your arm and his stretch out absurdly, as if you were parting for years, not minutes. 

“So dramatic,” Kazuha teases, joining you at the bottom of the staircase. 

“Unavoidable for hot people,” you explain wryly. You turn your attention to your gathered friends next. “I’m so glad you’re all here!”

“In 50 years, you could be hosting this party,” Sakura quips. Secretly, you hope it’s a lot sooner than that. 

“New Year’s Eve on Mars?” Jake suggests. 

Heeseung groans. “I’m scared of heights; can we not?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, dude, that’s not how space works!”

Half an hour passes happily like that, chatting and joking with some of your favorite people in the massive foyer. You don’t know exactly where Jay went off to, but the answer to that becomes clear when the music goes low and Jay clears his throat into the microphone set up at the front of the foyer. 

“Thanks for coming, everyone! Hope you had a great last year, and here’s to an even better new year.” Jay pauses to chuckle. “My girlfriend and I were joking earlier about me just saying that and calling it a night, but unfortunately for all of you, I am much more verbose than that.” Another pause for a light round of laughter from the gathered crowd. 

Jay works the audience like a pro as you watch with unbridled pride. A few minutes later, he winds down to the end of his prepared remarks, which you only know because he has asked you to proofread the speech weeks ago. You’re expecting him to wrap up with a final Happy New Year!, so you’re surprised to hear him keep going. 

“A couple of last things. To my parents, and everyone at the company, thank you for putting your trust in me.” Jay bows deeply. “I won’t let you down next year.” He straightens and looks right at you. “This year has been nothing short of wonderful. I’ve been so lucky my whole life, but the last few months have been particularly special to me. I’ve gotten to know people who I want to continue knowing for the rest of my life, who make me feel like my heart is too big for me, because I couldn’t possibly fit all of the kindness and love they give to me in the confines of my chest. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I do know that my life would be bereft without it.” Jay has to tear his eyes from yours because he knows he’s liable to cry if he sees you do so. “Bereft without you,” he continues, sweeping his gaze across the foyer. “All of you, who I’m so glad to call my friends and family. So, please stay healthy and happy this year, and I hope the new year treats you as well as this year has treated me. Happy New Year, everyone!”

Champagne glasses clink around you and people applaud, but all of it sounds far away. The only thing you can focus on is Jay, who’s making his way slowly through the throng of well-wishers to get to you.

When he’s finally in front of you, you have your misty eyes under control. He drops his hands to your waist and smiles gently. “Hi, pretty lady.”

“Hello, my favorite hopeless romantic.” Your palm goes to the sharp curve of his jaw. “You just had to go and say such sweet things. What’s gonna happen to my cool and unbothered reputation?”

“Right, your reputation.” He leans into your touch. “I can think of other ways to ruin your reputation,” he remarks, low and rough.

You roll your eyes, although you can’t stop your other hand from curling into the lapel of his suit jacket. “Romantic and horny! Duality of man.” 

“I meant what I said, you know.” His eyes soften at you. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me this year. Maybe ever. I have a lot of great people in my life, but only one you.”

“I know. You always mean what you say, and I love that about you.” You lean in to press a quick kiss to his mouth. He chases after you, tipping your chin up with his hand to kiss you deeper. Sadly, it doesn’t last for too long; you’re both aware that your friends and their parents are nearby.

But later, Jay makes sure to kiss you from this year into the next one, and you hope that you never forget what it feels like— fireworks exploding above your head and in your veins, lighting you up from within. Radiant, in the glow of someone who loves and is loved.

girlbossing soooooooo close to the sun (you, yunjin, chaewon, kazuha, and sakura)

yunjin: do u think it’d be weird if i got jake something for valentine’s day

you: yes extremely

sakura: don’t ask me i’m gay

yunjin: ???

yunjin: okay thx guys this was super helpful!

chaewon: i thought you weren’t dating?

yunjin: WE MIGHT AS WELL BE. i’m sick of waiting for him to actually ask me out

you: jokes aside, i think he’s really into you, like genuinely. but his head is so far up his ass he will never make the first move

sakura: boooooo emotionally repressed playboy how cliche

kazuha: omg u should try to do something romantic

yunjin: absolutely not i can’t be a SIMP

sakura: boooooo emotionally repressed maneater how cliche

yunjin: WHATEVER

yunjin: more importantly, what are we doing for galentine’s!!!!

kazuha: spa day i thought?

you: yes but i have to leave a little early :(( sorry ladies the community kitchen is doing a pre-valentine’s day dinner and jay and i are signed up to help

chaewon: i can’t even be mad at you that is SO CUTE

Jay gets sick in the week leading up to Valentine’s day, which puts a spanner in the works of his grand plans for your first Valentine’s together. You tell him that it’s not a big deal and he should just focus on resting and getting better, but that doesn’t stop him from moping about it. 

mother is mothering (you, niki, and jungwon)

you: can i just say that this gc name is not helping to put to rest the joke that jay and i are ur parents

you: also i Don’t think u guys know what this phrase means…

you: but anyways what’s up… children

niki: pleaseeeeee fix jay hyung

jungwon: fr we’re desperate

jungwon: he’s been playing sad john mayer songs for like three days straight I CANT LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE

niki: he called the coffee shop yesterday to see if we could set up a valentine’s day surprise for u

niki: we can’t, so i’m not ruining the surprise

niki: but he literally had such detailed plans for the surprise like WE R JUST PART-TIMERS

you: omg… my bf is so cute :(

jungwon: that is SO not the point actually that’s like the exact opposite of the point

you: dw i was gonna come over today after the community kitchen’s pre-valentine’s day dinner anyways

jungwon: THANK GOD

niki: YAY can u ask jay to help me with research material for my history paper btw

you: ask him urself?

niki: i’m scared he’s going to rope me into some other crazy plan to make it up to u for ruining ur valentine’s day plans

niki: which sounds like a HIM problem??? why is he getting ME, a CHILD, involved

you: oh so ur a child now but not when u want to sneak into frat parties

jungwon: omg SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PPL IN THE BACK

you: jungwon i know ur the one who helps him sneak in

jungwon: haha. love u mom :)

you: IM NOT UR MOM

you: btw i’m bringing back extra vegetables from the community kitchen and i expect u to eat them! jay mentioned u were stressed lately and not eating well

jungwon: okay ty… not-mom

It’s almost 10pm by the time you get to the frat house, bundled in your winter coat and weighed down with containers of food. You leave one in the fridge, labeled with a note that says “for jungwon— eat this or niki will forever be taller than you”. You take everything else with you to Jay’s room, pausing at the door when you realize you don’t even know if he’ll be awake or if he’s still sleeping off his illness.

The door swings open before you have the chance to knock, and you’re met with the sight of Jay in a bathrobe, shower caddy in hand. “I must be hallucinating,” he mutters. 

You hold back a laugh. “Nope, you’re still in the land of the lucid. I brought you some food, and I figured we could watch something while we eat. Go shower; I’ll set up.” 

Jay blinks rapidly. “Oh my god, you’re really here?” He drops the shower caddy to the floor carelessly, moving forward to hug you before he halts abruptly, inches away from you. “Wait, no, you shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

“It’s been, like, five days. I don’t think you’re contagious anymore,” you argue, sidling past him to drop your stuff into his room.

“Really?” The hopefulness in his voice makes your heart melt.

“Really. I’ll ask Heeseung to ask his special friend to confirm, if that will make you feel better,” you offer.

Jay's eyebrows furrow. “We should probably stop calling her that, but yes, that would make me feel better. Ask while I shower, but seriously, I’m not touching you if she says no.” 

You salute him. “On it, captain.” Heeseung’s special friend is the girl who teaches one of the yoga classes at the university gym, and she’s also a nursing student. She has a name, but Heeseung refuses to tell any of you what it is. Truthfully, it wouldn’t be hard to look her up, but you think it’s kind of cute how nervous Heeseung is about whatever liminal space he’s in with her.

you: hey can u ask the love of ur life if it’s okay for me to be with jay rn?

heeseung: first of all DONT CALL HER THAT second of all why tf would she have an opinion on that

you: i wouldn’t have to call her that if u would tell us HER NAME

you: and jay came down w/ that nasty virus like five days ago remember

heeseung: oh my goddddd yeah he wouldn’t stop whining about how his valentine’s day plans were ruined

you: ur special friend is in nursing right? so can u ask her

heeseung: i’m starting to think i should tell u her name just so u stop coming up with new ways to refer to her

you: that’s what I'M saying

heeseung: but yeah sure anything to get jay to stop being so annoying

you: thank uuuuu i’ll leave u some cookies in the kitchen so give some to her okay?

heeseung: omfg u made COOKIES i am so glad jay is dating u

Ten minutes later, Heeseung texts to let you know that you’re probably in the clear. More specifically, he says that his friend says it’s ultimately best practice to stay away from Jay for another couple of days, but she thinks the two of you are so cute and she gets why you’d want to be with him, and you’re outside of the most contagious window now, anyways. 

You figure that’s close enough to a yes, which is what you tell Jay when he returns from his shower. He’s at your side in an instant, hugging you like his life depends on it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers eventually.

“What on earth for?” 

“Our first Valentine’s is going to be so lame, just because I got sick.” He sighs deeply. “I wanted to make it special for you, especially because you’re always running around helping everyone, and instead you’re here, taking care of me.”

“Jay.” You pull back from his chest to look at him. “Nothing is lame, and nothing is ruined, okay? It’s literally just a day. And you always make me feel special. Being with you is like— ahem.” You cringe at the words that are about to come out of your mouth; Jay is always effusive and free-wheeling with his declarations of affection towards you, but it doesn’t come as easily to you. The way you feel about him makes you want to try, though. “Being with you is like Valentine’s Day every day.”

He smiles gently at you, one dimple carving a crescent into his left cheek. “You deserve it, baby. And even if you didn’t, I’d still want to give that to you.”

The two of you stand like that for a while, swaying underneath the unattractive lighting in Jay’s room. His hair starts to drip onto your shoulder, though, and you remember that you need to go back down to the kitchen to set aside the cookies you promised Heeseung.

“Why does Heeseung get to have some of the cookies you made for me?” Jay pouts.

“Troll bridge toll I felt compelled to pay, all because you wanted a second medical opinion,” you respond dryly.

“I’m supposed to believe you were the first? And I’m telling Heeseung you called him a troll.”

“Keep that up and you won’t be getting any cookies, Park.” 

Of course, you feed him a cookie as soon as you’re back in his room. Jay has changed into his pajamas while you were away, and he points to another set he’s laid out for you after he’s done eating the cookie. Once you get changed, you settle on the rug in front of Jay’s bed and start an obscure history documentary together while eating the food you brought him. You warn him that it won’t be as good as what he makes (you are a far better baker than you are a cook). Undeterred, he makes an exaggerated effort to fawn over every dish and praise your skills.

Afterwards, you sit on the edge of his bed and let him lean his head on your lap as you blow dry his hair. “I heard you were being a pain in the ass this week about Valentine’s Day,” you mention. 

“That… is a distinct possibility, for sure.”

“Seriously, I think you scared away all of Niki’s coworkers. He wants your help with research for his history paper, by the way. Oh, that reminds me— what’s the name of your group chat with Niki and Jungwon?”

Jay grimaces. “Glucose father slay.”

You suppress a snort. “That’s… creative, if unsubtle.”

He hums contentedly from the just-right warmth of the hairdryer and the just-right softness of your hands. “We’ll get to have lots of Valentine’s Days together, right?”

"Of course, baby."

When it hits midnight, you’re curled up together in his bed, with his laptop still playing the credits of the history documentary. You enter February 14th like that, tucked under his chin, exactly where you want to be.

On one of the first randomly hot days that pop up in late March before the weather actually gets warmer, you’re holed up in the library, eyes aching after staring at the tiny text in ancient manuscripts for too long and shivering in the temperature-controlled special collections section of the library. While the rest of your friends are out at the college’s golf course enjoying the warm weather at a joint charity tournament, you’re stuck here, beholden to the block in your calendar which says “manuscript time :/”. The rare manuscripts you need for your thesis are only available to be looked at during certain times, but today’s research session has proven to be less than fruitful, given how often your eyes wander to the door to the exit and how empty your notes are.

You can feel yourself dozing off for the umpteenth time when suddenly, warm hands land on top of your shoulders, and a smooth voice murmurs in your ear, “Working hard or hardly working, Cinderella?”

Jay. You turn your head to meet his gaze; crescents of affection reflect back at you. “How’d you get in here?” Appointments are usually required for the rare manuscripts room.

He flashes you a smirk. “Charmed the librarian.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you pulled with the 40-and-up demographic like that.”

“Yeah, I told her I missed my girlfriend so much I’d cry if I couldn’t see her today.” He drops a kiss to your cheek, then maneuvers the chair next to you sideways and backwards so he can sit as close to you as possible. He crosses his arms on top of the back of the chair and rests his chin against his arms to stare at you, soft and beckoning. “You look like you want to leave.”

You sigh and turn fully sideways towards him, letting his long legs bracket yours while your knees push up against the back of his chair. “You look like a reason to leave,” you admit. It comes out breathy in a way that you hadn’t intended, but who can blame you— Jay is dressed for the golf tournament in a navy blue polo and crisp white slacks, and as always, his clothes fit like they were made for him. 

In the back of your mind, you make a note to ask where he gets his tailoring done. In the front of your mind, your attention roams from the clean line of his shirt sleeves against his biceps, to the inviting curve of his mouth, to the planes of his chest that peek out behind the top two undone buttons of his shirt. All these months later, looking at him still hasn’t gotten old; truthfully, you don’t think it ever will.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Jay inquires, peering closer at you with a sly grin on his face.

“Like you have to ask,” you grumble, reaching out to pinch his cheek in retaliation for the teasing question.

He grabs your hand before it reaches him and gently bites the tip of your index finger, laughing when you make an offended face and pull your hand back. “C’mon, let’s get out of here, yeah? We should at least make an appearance at the tournament we organized.”

You glance back at the heavy tomes you’ve pulled out today— pages and pages of dense Middle English to get through. Then, you look at Jay, who has chosen that moment to skate his fingertips up and down the top of your right thigh. The decision is almost comically easy to make. “Yeah, fuck this. Let’s go.” 

You dutifully return your books and say a polite goodbye to the librarian, who coos at you both. Jay waves your joined hands at her. On your way out to the main section of the library, goosebumps form on your arms from the change in temperature: arctic vortex to plain old frigid, both of which are wholly inhospitable environments for the sleeveless golf dress you’d worn today in hopes of eventually getting to the tournament. 

“Cold?” Jay halts you both and sweeps his hands across your shoulders and down to your wrists, frowning at the chill he encounters on your skin. Normally, he’d offer you his jacket or sweater or something, but he just has the shirt on his back today. “This won’t do,” he murmurs, and then he’s pulling you in the direction of the secluded stacks.

It’s dark and shadowy there, with not a single soul occupying any of the carrel desks spaced in between the rows of books. Your heartbeat picks up despite yourself; you think you have a good idea of where this is going. This is also something that hasn’t gotten old yet and likely never will. “You know, I’ve always thought it would be kind of hot to hook up in a library,” you comment.

Jay trips over air, then quickly rights himself and shakes his head as if to clear it before looking at you again. “You would, you nerd,” he says, but it comes out low and contemplative. 

As soon as you reach the carrel desk located in the most isolated corner of the stacks, he brings his hands to your waist and lifts you up to sit on top of the desk. Happily, you hook your ankles behind his legs and draw him in to stand between yours. “You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“I just wanted to kiss you for a bit, so you could warm up,” Jay insists. He leans in closer, until your chests are pressed up against each other. “But now that we’re here…” 

“Now that we’re here,” you agree. Then you’re tilting forward to kiss him, and the tension in your body from a long morning at the library dissipates into the heat of his mouth and the softness of his hair.

Jay kisses you long and luxuriously, like he was born to do nothing but stand around and kiss you. “You did so well with planning the tournament,” he tells you in between kisses, smothering the words against your mouth. 

“You did, too,” you reply, dispensing the compliment in airy gasps against his ear as he moves down to your neck, feathering open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. A whimper escapes from your throat when he bites down at the juncture of your neck and your clavicle, transforming into a breathy moan as he soothes over the sting with his tongue. His name slips out of your mouth in a dragged-out whine: “Jongseong.” 

He shudders against you. “Warn a guy before you do that, will you? I don’t actually want to come in my pants in the library.”

You giggle, tugging his head back so you can look at him. You’re met with shiny lips, slow-blinking eyes that drag up and down your body, and tousled hair, messed up from Jay’s meticulous styling by your wandering hands. Temptation, personified. “Fuck,” you breathe out. “What if I do?”

“You’re not wearing pants,” Jay points out cheekily. His demeanor switches to sultry in an instant when he presses down on your bottom lip with his thumb, and he groans when your tongue darts out over it. “God, you’re so hot. C’mere, doll, let me sort you out.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re slipping out of the back door of the library and into the parking lot. You shoot off a quick text to Yunjin, asking her to hold down the fort for a little while longer at the tournament, and then Jay is tugging you into the backseat of his car with an urgency that makes your heart pound. Now, you get to sort him out, and it’s so much better than staring at old books.

yunjin: what is taking so long i sent jay to get u like 45 minutes ago

you: sorry be there in a bit love you babe!

yunjin: woooooooooow remember when i said i would never betray u for dick

yunjin: guess u DO NOT FEEL THE SAME

yunjin: ah well have fun don’t do anything i wouldn’t ;)

to all the boys i’ve fake-dated before (you, sunghoon, yeonjun, chan, vernon, mark, and 5 others)

you: were any of you fuckers going to tell me that jay’s birthday is TOMORROW?!

you: help!!!!! what do i get for him!!!!!

sunghoon: believe me that man wakes up every day thanking god that ur his gf. u don’t need to get him anything

you: as much as i appreciate the reporting of his simp behavior, i am IN A PANIC his birthday is in 12 hours why the fuck didn’t anyone say anything sooner?!?!

vernon: i’m gifting him a new speaker for the basement

chan: bro you’re getting that gift for ALL of us bc you BROKE the speaker in the basement

vernon: and jay is one of the many recipients of that gift!

you: FOCUS on me and MY problem please

mark: yooooo u could write him a song? i still owe u a favor so i’d be down to help

you: and make him listen to me perform it? i’m trying to keep this relationship going, not obliterate it

yeonjun: mans has one single move in his arsenal

mark: HEY it worked out pretty well for me

yeonjun: only bc u had like a million ppl helping u

sunghoon: i got jay tickets to that japanese singer he likes

you: FUCK that’s such a good idea why didn’t i think of that

sunghoon: bc u didn’t know his birthday was coming up

you: thanks genius

sunghoon: but anyways jay never makes a big deal out of his birthday

sunghoon: it’s mostly like a sentimental thing for his parents bc they tried for so long to have him

vernon: strictly speaking, they were trying to have ANY of the sperm inseminate ANY of the eggs so like it didn’t have to be him specifically

mark: dude wtf

chan: i’m sure jay will love whatever you get for him! maybe you could paint or draw something for him?

you: okay yes yes i can bang something out real quick in the studio 

vernon: that’s what she said

yeonjun: this is why ur still single

you: the sperm and egg comment didn’t give it away?

vernon: guys stop ganging up on me wtf

you: okay thank you ONLY to chan the rest of you were useless

you: chan u could start a business. like a gift-giving idea business

mark: like santa claus but without the actual gifts?

yeonjun: ghost santa claus

chan: none of you should ever be allowed to start a business

It’s 5am by the time you’re finished in the studio, and you know your sleep cycle is going to be all sorts of messed up for the next few days, but it’s a small price to pay so you can slide into Jay’s bed and mold yourself against his body, knowing that your painting of the scene of your first date is leaning safely against the wall across from you. 

Unfortunately, the swift arrival of sunrise and birds chirping outside of Jay’s window leave you unable to fall asleep (not to mention the energy drink you’d chugged at 2am). You give up on it quickly, comforted by the fact that you don’t have any classes today and can afford to sleep in when your body eventually gives out on you. 

Staring at Jay is not an unenjoyable way to pass the time, so that’s what you do. Sleep smoothes out all the muscles in his face, but the sharp angles of the underlying bone structure turn him into marble; idly, you wonder how many sculptors would kill to be able to craft something this beautiful, this timeless and exquisite. You’ve tried to sketch or paint Jay multiple times yourself, and you’re still trying (that senior portfolio is going to be the death of you), but to date, you’ve been left unsatisfied. Something about Jay is just too expressive, too lively, too attentive; you haven’t been able to nail down the exact way he moves through the world, much less the way he looks at you like nothing else exists. There’s so much love to give in those steady hands, and so many meanings to divine in those familiar eyes—

Oh.

Jay’s eyes have flipped open, displaying his least endearing habit: sleeping with his eyes open. It unnerves you to no end, even though it makes him look kind of silly, so you have to flip around with a small grin on your face. “You’re lucky I love you so much,” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

His arm tightens around your waist. “Tell me something I don’t know.” The words come out slightly slurred, and the movement of his lips against the back of your neck makes you shiver. 

You flip back around to meet his now closed eyes. “You’re awake?” Jay usually sleeps like the dead.

“I’m trying really hard not to be,” he drawls. Eyes still closed, he tugs you closer to press his lips to your forehead. “Go to sleep, doll.”

You hum tunelessly and fidget with the pendant of his necklace. “Happy birthday, Jongseong.” You can feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, but you’re quick to nip that in the bud. “Or should I say… traitor? Why didn’t you tell me your birthday was coming up? I had to find out from Jungwon.”

“Typical mama’s boy.”

You giggle, even as you admonish him with: “Seriously, that joke needs to die. One of Riki’s coworkers actually thinks I’m his mom, and I just have a really good Botox supplier.”

Jay’s chest rumbles in amusement underneath your ear. Afterwards, it’s quiet for a long moment before he finally opens his eyes to peer blearily at you. “Are you upset I didn’t tell you about my birthday?”

You give him a tiny shrug. “Just curious, I guess. Plenty of people don’t like to celebrate their birthdays. Sunghoon said it’s usually more of a thing for your parents than it is for you.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Jay rubs his thumb over your cheek. “I’m spending the day with them, actually. We go to the same place for brunch every year, and then we just kind of walk around until dinner, which I’ve been cooking for the past couple of years.”

You smile automatically at the thought of his parents. They adore you, and the feeling is mutual— how could it not be? 

Jay’s thumb halts its movements as something occurs to him. “Well, hey, do you wanna come with us?” 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can spot Jay’s Mr. Nice Guy gestures from a mile away. “Nah, you should keep up your tradition with your parents. We’re still getting lunch with them this weekend, right? So I’ll get to see them soon, anyways.”

“My mom said she loves the insoles you sent her, by the way.”

“Right? Super comfortable. I can stay on my feet in the studio all day in those.” Just then, you’re hit by a yawn. “I guess I did the equivalent of a full day last night.”

Suddenly, Jay sits up straight, making you whine about the loss of coziness. “Wait, yeah, why are you here so early? Not that I don’t love waking up next to you, because I really do, but you weren’t here last night, and… oh my god.” He cuts himself off when he spots the painting against his wall.

You sit up as well. “Don’t freak out,” you begin. “I had fun making it, okay? And I don’t have class today so I can sleep alllllll day and if you’re not tired after dinner we can hang out afterwards, and seriously, Jay, light of my life, apple of my eye, etcetera, etcetera— let me do something nice for you without you feeling guilty about it, okay?” You draw in a deep breath. “I know I’m, like, afflicted with a chronic need to be helpful, but c’mon. Pot, kettle.” You point to yourself and then to him. “I love that you’re humble and kind and you know how lucky you are, but there’s nothing… to prove. You hear me? Just because you’ve had a good life doesn’t mean you have to give 110% of yourself to everyone else to deserve it. Please don’t make yourself feel bad because you get to take something from me for once instead of giving.” At the end of your rant, you blink in surprise at yourself. “Sorry, I don’t know when that turned into a lecture. All I’m saying is that you told me once that you’d want to give me Valentine’s Day every day, even if I didn’t deserve it, and I want to give that to you, too.”

Jay’s eyes flick between you and the painting and back to you, staring at you like he’s never seen you before. He’s speechless for so long that you count to 33 in your head in Mississippis that are definitely longer than one second. Finally, he crushes you to his chest in a hug that has your arms flailing around him with the force of it. “I feel like you just crawled into my head,” he says against your ear.

You make a face that he can’t see. “Didn’t need that visual in my head, but okay, baby.”

“I mean… I’m just feeling very perceived; that’s all. And I don’t really have anything else to say except that I love you so much, and thank you, and you’re my favorite person in the world.” He sniffles, and then preempts you with a, “Shut up.”

“Noooooo, I made you cry,” you coo at him, leaning back in his hold to swipe under his eyes with your thumbs. As you continue to fuss over him and he pretends to bite at your fingers, he hopes you know just how much he’s affected by your words and just how much you mean to him. Golden boy Park Jongseong, the prodigal son, the miracle child— he doesn’t think it could fairly be called a burden, because how could it be a burden to be so lucky, to be so loved, to have never truly suffered? But somehow, you get it. Maybe because you’re cut from the same self-sacrificing cloth, or maybe because you just understand him at an atomic level, but you get it. You get that he has dedicated his life to deserving his life in the first place; you get that he tries so hard, all the time, because he wants to be worthy of what he’s been given; you get that he gives, and gives, and gives, and he never wants to take, because he feels like he hasn’t done enough to pay back the gifts with which he was born, let alone take anything else from this world. And here you are, giving him your heart on his birthday— a day he doesn't think is anything special except for the joy it gives his parents— because you love him. Because you're just glad that you were born in the same timeline. He has never dared to ask for a gift like this.

Pathetically, all that he can get out is a simple, “I love the painting, by the way.” He nudges your nose with his. “I’m going to have it framed for our place after we graduate.”

“Our place?”

“Oh, yeah.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I guess this is me asking. Do you want to live with me next year? Wherever it is that we end up. It would be, you know, economical.”

“Right, because we totally didn’t just have a conversation about your hang-ups with being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. And mine, too, I guess.”

Jay tsks at you. “Okay, or maybe I just want to wake up next to you every day. And make you food when you forget to eat, and listen to your horrible true crime podcasts while we clean up around the place, and hold your hair when you get sick because you forgot to take your Lactaid, and make sweet, sweet love to you every night—”

“Okay, okay, stop!” You’re laughing uncontrollably now, putting your hands up to stop Jay and the obnoxious kissy-face he’s making from coming any closer to you. “I didn’t need that much convincing, although I’m not sure how effective your convincing is when you’re just listing my bad habits, Mr. I-Sleep-With-My-Eyes-Open.”

“Yeah, but aren’t I lucky that you love me so much?” Jay smirks at you before tackling you down into his bed.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you repeat to him. Sunlight slants in through the window behind his head, haloing him in a light so ethereal that you could be convinced the sun shines just for him. Like this, your words fade away from you, until all you’re left with is a quiet, heartfelt, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll live with you after we graduate.” Softly, you stroke through the hair at his nape. “Stop wondering, by the way.”

Jay’s eyebrows furrow. “Wondering what?”

You reach up to smooth away the crease in his brow. “Wondering if you’re allowed to be this happy. I just told you, like, a million times. You are. The heavens have decreed that Park Jongseong shall be happy for as long as he lives, and a long time after that.” Dramatically, you tap each of his shoulders, as if you’re knighting him. “It is thus decided.”

Jay swoops down and plants a chaste peck on your lips. “Well, since it’s thus decided. Let me add something to that decree, though: I’m going to make you happy for as long as I live, and a long time after that,” he promises. 

And you know he will.

(London is overcast and dreary when you touch down at Heathrow; typical, for a mid-September day. You and Jay still carry tans from a summer of island-hopping around Asia and the Mediterranean, but you’re sure those will fade soon. Still, there’s nothing you can complain about when Jay’s arm is snug around your waist and he looks like a dream in a light wool coat and admittedly unnecessary sunglasses.

You tease him about the sunglasses all the way to the doorstep of your new, shared apartment. But then he kisses you across the threshold and whispers about how much he loves you and how excited he is to be with you for the rest of his life, and you are so, so happy. Unbelievably happy. Beautifully happy. 

Happy, forevermore. This, the heavens have decreed.)

[sugarycloud1]

Title: Alex Claremont-Diaz-Fox, Henry Fox & their daughters: The Puppy Interview

Summary:

Alex

Hi I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz-Fox

Henry

I’m Henry Fox

Victoria

(slowly enunciating) I’m Victoria

Eleanor

(slowly enunciating) I’m Eleanor

Alex

And we’re doing the puppy interview with Buzzfeed. (pause)

We are here 100% because the girls are obsessed with the puppy interviews, and all our media decisions are decided by our three year olds.

Victoria

Almost four Papa!

Alex

Sorry our almost four year olds.

Alex and Henry do the puppy interview with their twin daughters, 3,7k, rated G, a lot of fluff.

Read on A03

[ssunkissedsunflowerss]

“Nice and toasty”

no plot, no direction whatsoever. i cannot sleep, i cannot get the hush scene out of my head, i have much love for shuri, there is a sara x shinobu fanart (genshin) that i saw and has been stuck in my head ever since, simply wanted to blow off some steam. ***needless to say, it’s smutty towards the end.***

“I’m coming back. I’m coming back for you.”

“Liar.” You mutter, voice soft and shaky, small tendrils of clouds escaping out of your mouth as warm breath collides with the icy cold air.

Around you, fluttering from the sky with such beauty and elegance are a flurry of fluffy white snow. Some of the tiny ice blossoms softly kisses you on your cherry suffused cheeks while others keep making their descend until they grace the ground with their velveteen presence.

Meanwhile, you walk the white carpet, drenched to the bone like a drowned rat, swaying and wobbly on your feet like a sickly leaf precariously hanging onto its branch. It has been amidst creating snow angels on a thick blanket of snow, giggling like toddlers and savouring the little flavourful bits of your shared moment together, that your fun has been rudely spoiled. After all, your girlfriend has left her nation not to have a date with you but to attend an important conference.

Going out tonight with you has been a risk she is willing to take, and you, having been missing her sorely after being apart for quite a spell, have had no reasons to say no. However, walking back to your apartment snow soaked and alone is definitely not how you have pictured the grand finale of your date. You have been having such great time, stealing sweet kisses and drenching each other in saccharine words. Making the most out of your little time together, you have been squeezing it for all its worth. Not a dot is to leave unspared. How anticlimatic that it has to end the way it is.

As your mind has been plagued with rampant thoughts, it is no surprise that you fail to notice the presence of another until a hand is tightly pressed over your mouth. Startled, you struggle. Nothing but foolish attempts that bear no fruits as an arm slithers across your waist. It maintains a strong, unyielding grip, as you are pulled into a body, and being pulled further still into a dark alleyway. Your struggles, however, do not cease, writhing and kicking your feet with all your might.

“Shhh, it’s me, love.”

The warmth of her breath softly caresses the tip of your ear. Her voice, husky and hushed, is a tranquilliser, dissolving in you ear like warm cocoa. Only then do you calm.

Caged in her arms and sandwiched between her body and the wall is you, and suddenly, you find the cold no longer a bother. You watch a finger finding home on her lips, a silent hint for you to keep quiet. As she peeks her head out from your hiding place to survey the vicinity, all you can feel is your heart throbbing giddily. How she can make but a plain gesture, something as mundane as hushing, ridiculously, arrestingly captivating is beyond you.

“I think I’ve lost them.”

She looks mighty fine simply standing before you. So, finding your fingers wandering towards her waist, too, is beyond your control.

She welcomes you eagerly, unclasping your fingers on her waist only to reposition them behind her back. “Come here.” Her arms then find home across your back, gathering you into her chest and keeping your bodies firmly pressed together.

It feels as if a thick, cosy blanket has been settled over you. Her body heat alone seems to instantly thaw the chill in your very bones as you feel pleasantly warm all over. Your face has found sanctuary in the little nook of her neck where you nuzzles her like an affectionate kitten.

“Hmm, you’re so warm.” When you hum, she counters. “You’re so cold.”

Her hands leave you. They are instead brought over to her mouth where she blows warm air into the little cocoon, rubs them against each other. Once satisfied, she settles them atop your cheeks, gingerly cradling the frozen cherries in the warm palms of her hands.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come back sooner, my love.”

Her forehead descends onto yours, her lips whisper-soft as she kisses the lovely, little arch of your nose.

“But, I know just the thing to make you warmer.” You feel her smile on your lips when she presses a kiss that, to your disappointment, do not linger. “Come. Let’s quickly get ourselves out of here.”

And that is how you find yourself back in your apartment, straddling your girlfriend’s thighs as the mighty panther feasts on the succulent swells of your breasts.

Her eyes are a mesmerising dark, two black holes pulling you in as wicked lips leave nebulae in their wake. Like a starved man, she suckles your tender flesh with frenzied desperation. Stars burst beneath her mouth. Fireworks explode behind your eyelids. Your waist is a home to her hands, and her nape, a home to yours. A harsh suckle coupled with a flick of her twisted tongue has you mewling wantonly, back curving and fitting flawlessly into your lover’s front. Two puzzle pieces coming together.

By the time her warm mouth detaches from your soft mounds, she is as salacious a mess as you are. A thin glistening line of saliva bridging the two of you, your breasts are dewy with drool, as well as her face for there are little rivulets of spit raining tantalisingly down her chin. Your lover looks every bit the portrait of a majestic panther, ravenously devouring you as though you are her little morsel. In fact, you are, and the realisation has liquid lava pooling in your gut.

Greatly galvanised and irrevocably aching, you are but a moth to a flame, diving down for her mouth like a madman. She receives you all too eagerly, careful yet determined digits digging into your ribcage as your fingers venture into her healthy curls. They hold her there, grip white-knuckled tight.

“There. I’ve thawed my sweet little meal and made her nice and toasty. Ready for the taking.”

As she fuels your needs with her sinful remarks, all you can think in your hazy head is that there is no better way to end the night than being undone by your mighty panther’s cleverly wicked mouth. After all, you can confirm from experience that they are capable of unimaginable crafts that will have your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.