#so before you come for me about forgetting cheddar cheese

[jungle-angel]

This Cozy House (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob spend a chilly fall evening goofing around with the babies

It was absolutely freezing out, more so than it had been since last year despite it being only early October. It was already dark out in early evening, the sun having set around five-thirty in the evening while dinner was left to slow cook in the crockpot, but the house was as brightly lit and cozy as ever.

Auggie and Patrick's squealing giggles soon reached your ears as Bob tickled them, the three laughing up a storm in the living room. You laughed just as they did, your hands trailing to your bump as your baby girl kept rolling over.

A sudden noise made you jump a little along with Bob's stern warning to your son. "August Robert," he chided. "If you're gonna rough-house, take your glasses off."

"Ok Daddy," he chirped, quickly removing his glasses and setting them down on the endtable.

You pulled the grainy loaf of bread out of the oven and put it on the back of the stove, cutting it with great ease and putting it on the plate. The rain battering the roof was growing louder and louder, rattling the pipes that held up the stove vents whole a menacing roll of thunder was heard outside.

"Storm's rollin in (y/n)?" Bob asked as Patrick rolled onto one of the couch cushions on the floor.

"They said it was gonna get bad in a few hours," you told him, bringing the bread to the table. "Not sure how these two are gonna sleep tonight."

Bob nodded in agreement. Storms in California had been nothing compared to those in Montana where you were currently living. All summer long, you and Bob had not only worried about tornadoes but the wildfires which tended to spark up close to towns and cities. Luckily for you, Bob and his family had worked with a local hotshot team to create a burn line so that the ranch would survive.

"C'mon Patrick, roll to Daddy," Bob encouraged.

Patrick squealed and giggled as he somersaulted off the couch and into his father's arms. It always ended the same with Bob putting him back on the couch and having him roll right off, over and over again until finally the timer on the crockpot went off.

"Auggie, grab your glasses, then come eat."

"Ok."

You and Bob were soon seated at the table with Auggie and Patrick, the four of you just having said grace before dinner was passed around, hot pieces of bone-in fried chicken, white-cheddar mac n cheese with toasted breadcrumbs, green beans and the grainy crust of bread that had smelled so good warming in the oven.

Everyone ate their fill and talked about their day and all that had come about. "Oh," Bob said suddenly. "Sweet cheeks, before I forget, I've got next week off so I can go and get the boys from school."

"Does Luanne know?"

"She knows," Bob assured you. "Dad helped her and Magnus fix their windows last week since he had his rotator-cuff surgery. He told her I was gonna pick the boys up as soon as they were done on their nature walks."

Excellent....you thought. One less thing to worry about......

As soon as the boys had finished, you and Bob took care of the dishes and the leftovers, putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and putting the leftover food into clean plastic containers to store in the fridge for tomorrow's lunch.

"You want me to take care of baths tonight?" you asked Bob.

"Absolutely not," Bob insisted. "You're eight months pregnant and I don't want you having to hurt yourself."

"Bob, c'mon, we've been through this twice already," you chuckled.

"Which is exactly why I don't want you to hurt yourself," Bob informed you.

"I'm just teasing," you told him.

You leaned into his embrace, happy and content as ever in his arms as he lovingly kissed you, his hand resting on your bump when he felt the tiny little feet of your daughter against his palm.

"You get some sleep my sweet little pea," he mumbled as he stooped to one knee to kiss your belly. "I have a feeling you're gonna be trouble like your brothers."

You laughed a little bit before Bob told you to go and settle in and to get the Friday night movie ready. It was an odd choice of Auggie and Patrick's, but they were beginning to really love Disney's "Fantasia", one that Bob had grown up watching. Even if neither of them understood it, they loved the images that matched up with the music.

Bob quickly gave them their baths and stuck them both in their warm little pjs just in case they fell asleep during the movie. Auggie had run to his room to go and grab his little Dumbo stuffie off his bed while Patrick waddled out with his little brownie bear in its soft knit sweater that you and Bob's mother had both worked on when Patrick had been born.

You and Bob pulled out the couch bed and piled it with blankets, pillows and anything else to keep warm, snuggling in with your boys between you, your family dog jumping up to warm your feet and the movie playing on the tv screen in the living room. You and Bob couldn't have been more content than at that very moment, with both your boys between you, all snuggled under the warm quilts and blankets as the storm passed you by outside. Yet here you remained, unaffected by the rain battering the windows and safe in each other's arms, just as you knew, you always would be

[hexgaywire]

LUXIEM Bedtime Routine

Writing type: Headcanons

Rating: SFW

Total Word count: 1036≈(before edits)

Other notes: Implied some sort of established relationship with the reader (you can interpret as platonic or romantic, it's up to you)

Featured?: Ike, Myta, Vox, Luca, and Shu

Author comment: HA! with a blog name like mine you'd expect a XSOLEI headcanons first but gotta keep them guessing ig.... Please enjoy;; my headcanons are a stream of my consciousness if anything; I haven't written anything publicly in like a year ahaha (killme)

Disclaimer and Reminder; this is based on the characters made by NIJISANJI, not the people behind the character voicing them. If in the future the person expresses or states that fics of this nature makes them uncomfortable I will 100% remove this or anything I write about the characters involved.

Bedtime routine:

Always has a cup of sleepy time tea before bed

Will force you to drink one too (because you both have no sleep schedule <3)

For nights where you both go to sleep on time, skin care routine

Hear me out.... I'm talking face masks, creams the full sends baby

Once all of that is taken care of y'all will eventually change into whatever you sleep in (Oliver-sensei outted Ike the other day for sleeping in only boxers lmfao but that's not relevant)

He will spend at least an hour reading in bed before falling asleep, be prepared with a sleeping eye mask maybe?

Or start a night time books club with him because he will not change this

He is a novelist after all

Once he's done reading and the glasses come off, one of two things will happen

He will fall asleep immediately

Or you guys will be up for the majority of the night talking about deep stuff

You know those sleepovers you have with your homies where it gets deep, that's what I mean

Regardless what time you pass out you are sure to sleep safe next to Ike!

Extras:

Ike doesn't strike me as a guy who likes to cuddle in bed, if anything you accidently snuggle up to him he'll shuffle away from you

He sometimes will fall asleep at his desk which is a habit he only started since streaming, back when he was novelist he didn't have this problem for some reason

Ike sleeps with like one blanket? I hope you like the cold &lt;3

Bedtime routine:

I feel like Mysta's bedtime routine is a wildcard, you never know what he's gunna be doing to eventually end up in bed

You brush your teeth and he goes "OoOOoh I knew I was forgetting to do something."

Sleeping feels more like a chore to him then a necessity

You'll catch this man up at 3 am playing Minecraft and he'll still be like "Oh shit, is it bedtime?"

He's a piece of work to even get him to start to migrate towards the bedroom

Once he finally changes and lays down; he's kind of like Ike, where he'll immediately pass out or will spend hours talking to you

However the conversations are more like "Why is cheddar cheese orange do you think?"

GOOGLE IT IDK I'M TIRED

Once he finally falls asleep he 100% mumbles in his sleep, you find it endearing as you slip on a pair of headphones or earplug's

Extras:

Opposed to Ike; you will wake up either cuddling or being cuddled by Mysta

Despite the struggle to get this man into bed, he sleeps better next to someone

Known to occasionally sleep walk

You found him in the bathtub one time it was kinda scary

He firmly denies this ever happened

Bedtime Routine:

Vox is very ritualist when it comes to bedtime

He's also a very sleepy demon and enjoys maximizing his sleep to its full extent

So with him it's very "no nonsense"

He takes a shower

Blow-dries and cares for his hair

He brushes his teeth (While still in a towel)

Again h e a r m e o u t....

He's a voice demon that came back to life, he has a skincare routine for bedtime (Still in a towel btw)

All luxury products of course

After that he change into something comfy

For some reason after all of that this man sleeps in mismatched socks like a sociopathy

Once y'all lay down he'll watch some stupid memes on his phone of a bit or do some light reading

There is no in between

Once he's done however he is out like a light, usually within an arms reach of you

Extras:

Similarly to Mysta, you will wake up in his arms

It's funny because he insists it's entirely your doing

On the rare occasions where he can't sleep he'll get up and cook something

He says it helps him relax

The delicious aroma however wakes you up and the two of you share a lovely midnight snack

Bedtime Routine:

Luca tends to stay up really late

This is partial because of old work habits (if no ones awake to see you get rid of a body then it isn't a problem)

Luca like Vox though has bit of a ritualist bedtime getting ready routine though

Shower

Brush teeth

Change

Without fall no matter how late into the night (morning) it is

Once in bed, he crashes

The man is out like a light

I think because his bedroom is definitely his own space he feels at ease and can just doze off

It does help that he has a very nice bed I guess too

Once again you know you can sleep safe next to Luca, he wouldn't let anything disturb you

Extras:

Like Mysta, Luca does occasionally talks in his sleep, but not nearly as loud as Mysta does

He doesn't strike me as the cuddling type either, i think if you tired it wake him up

Despite being able to sleep easily he also wakes up super easily

Again probably due to his pat

Fear not though, once Luca let's his gaurd down again he passses out pretty quickly again

Bedtime routine:

Shu, like Ike, has a big cup of tea before bed

He swears up and down that drinking something warm before bed gets you to sleep faster

He's also diligent with his night time hygiene needs

Once again; for the final time, I'm asking you to hear me out

Skin

Care

Routine

You cannot sit here and tell Mr. Shu Sorcerer Yamino (eyyyyyyyyy) doesn't take good care of his skin

Off track but anyway

Kind of like Luca, once he's in bed he is out

I also feel like Shu snores but like not loud? It's kinda like white noise (like listening to ocean??)

Sleep well sweet sorcerer

Extras:

Shu is also not a cuddler, he's more the type to like accidently fall out of bed if you snuggle up to him

He doesn't like feeling the extra body heat on him while he sleeps

Off topic again but he also has a strict morning routine which consists of him getting up early

He's be trying to get you on board but like sleep ya know?

(My request are open plz send me some)

[imagineyourgassyotp2]

There was a special ball being thrown in town, and A & B were organizers who had been helping prepare for a couple months, making sure everything was right. The decor, the bouquets, catering, waiting, bussing, and music. They were more than excited to see the turnout and spend the night dancing with each other, rubbing elbows with their colleagues and friends.

Come the night of the ball, A and B rode together, singing to their favorite music. A wore a deep purple suit, with floral embroidery, and a bowtie to match. B wore a matching gown that hugged from their shoulder to their behind, becoming loose and flowy around their legs. The two of them chatted happily about who they'd invited and what business they'd talk about, A keeping their hand on B's thigh the whole way.

Upon arriving, the ballroom was set up splendidly, just as planned. There was already quite a few people and healthy chatter. Gorgeous bouquets placed around the edges, the dining areas along the sides of the dance floor in two tiers with candle lights, and two long charcuterie table spreads at either end.

A and B both went their separate ways to socialize and take part in the appetizers and drinks. A went with their friends and a couple business partners to a balcony with a classic old fashioned, a plate of cheeses and fruits, and a cigar. B stayed inside, meeting with friends at the spread they arranged. The spreads A and B agreed on with their team was frivolous in taste, with great variety. There were assorted crackers and bread, and fruits both dried and fresh. For the cheeses, there was muenster, brie, yellow and white cheddar, blue cheese, and feta. For meats, there was prosciutto, salami, and pepperoni. It was impressive and incredibly tempting.

"B, you and everyone else did amazing organizing this, I'm sure I'll be stuffed when I go home tonight."

They smiled, "Thank you, I ordered catering in excess to be sure," they gestured to their full plate, "Don't forget there's an open bar between the balconies."

The others looked over, ears perked.

"Oh, do tell me you have rosé.."

"And some good vodka, with a good bartender ?"

"Of course, I did say it was open!"

After ordering from the bar and heading to a table, B chatted and laughed with friends, finishing their plate a while before dinner would be served. Having eaten so quickly and having a glass of champagne, B's gut was already feeling some turbulence, letting out a noisy gurgle. They felt bubbles coming up their throat, and swallowed them down, blushing. B's friends heard the noise, piping up to tease,

"Your belly rumbling already?"

"Awe, are you still hungry B?"

They put their hand on their stomach under the table, gently rubbing, hoping to silence it. "Ha, just a bit," they laughed, "but I'll wait for dinner so everyone else can get some of the spread. And like you said, C, we'll all definitely be full after this, just wait till you see what we've planned."

To B's dismay, their belly let out another loud series of gurgles and squelches. They felt their food and air shifting around, emptying into their small intestine. Some air bubbled upward, leading to a belch that couldn't be stifled this time. They covered their mouth quickly,

"E-excuse me, that must be from the champagne..."

Their friends laughed, C, patting their own gut and letting out a rattling burp.

"Oof, I'm there with you, B. Just wait till after dinner."

They laughed along, feeling less embarrassed, for now.

"Don't forget dessert, too."

Before dinner, A returned inside, finding B to have a dance with them. They held each other close, providing some relief for the pressure already in B's stomach. A noticed, feeling some vibrations against their own stomach, but they didn't say anything.

"Did you have a good time with your friends, darling?"

"I did, we have a good deal of laughter you know. C is doing very well, she has a fiance, now. Did you, my love?"

"I did, we discussed some projects moving forward from next month, and planned an outting soon."

"I'm glad to hear that, you don't relax nearly enough."

After a short while of dancing to the lovely musicians tunes, the waiters all walked out with platters, and more bottles of wine.

Once they all lined up, it was announced by the lead organizer that the main course would be served. A and B headed off to sit together with all of their friends. B put a hand on their belly, feeling a dull ache beginning, regretting eating so much so soon.

Upon everyone sitting, they were served. First was soup and salad, the soup being a mushroom bisque. Following shortly after, they were served with choices between the main dishes. There was a creamy pasta with mushrooms cooked in wine and garlic, lasagna with fresh herbs and parmesan, or a steak with shrimp, and various sides to satisfy any guests. B contemplated, knowing the steak would be far too much, and they didn't want to leave any food on their plate for the staff to clean. Either pasta would surely mess with their belly even more, but it was better than being rude or anything of the sort. Making their way through the mushroom pasta, they sipped on a glass of red wine and some water. They felt full and bloated already, wishing for relief. Soon enough after finishing their meal, dessert came, and they rubbed their stomach passively with pressure. At first, they declined the cake and ice cream. Though, their dear friend, C, spoke up again,

"Come on, you've earned it, working hard to make this night happen. You deserve to indulge with the rest of us."

A, having noticed their trouble, stroked their side, "Only if you feel like it though, love."

B smiled, trying their best to uphold their politeness, "C is right, and I wouldn't want to be rude to the chef and cooks when we've hired them to cook for so many."

Despite their stomach's protests, they ate the cake, and the ice cream, still sipping their wine. They were glad they decided to eat it, as it was delicious. The salted caramel was rich and wonderfully gooey. They chatted and laughed for a while, rubbing the tender spots in their tummy under the table. B was blissfully unaware that their partner was looking in concern. A had indulged a bit themself, sharing the bloat with B. But B, they ate much more than usual, their gut even more rounded out than during their dance. A knew that B's belly would be throwing a fit, remembering their wedding night. God, their belly was so rumbly and full of air.. it was amazing.. A shook off the thought, knowing they'd see it all the more later, and returned to socializing and eating.

Like clockwork, B's tummy cramped, feeling like lightning. They felt rumbles all around their sides and lower belly, in their large intestine. There was enough chatter and music to cover the noise when a fart rumbled out of B without their permission. They clutched their belly, blushing and embarrassed all over again. A saw their expression change, and watched in worry and interest as the smell hit and B stood up.

"Excuse me, I've got to visit the powder room to freshen up a bit. I'll be back shortly."

A few of their friends looked over, seeing B's pooched out gut, understanding quickly. They walked away quickly, a hand still cradling their stomach. Once across the ballroom and out of their friends' eyeline, they pulled the drawstring off the curtain to the balcony door for privacy, and went outside. They sat and rubbed their stomach, letting out a belch. "Ohh... .. I should not have eaten so much dairy..."

Their belly grumbled, and they felt the bubbles move through their intestines and downward. A few seconds later, they couldn't control it, and a toot rumbled out, deep and long, not at all quiet. B groaned, rubbing their gut in circles, letting out some more gas. They were deeply regretting their dietary decisions at this point, everything sloshing and bubbling, cramping all over. Their dress was definitely a bit stretched from this evening. Not to mention, the foul and impolite gas leaving either end of their digestive tract... They felt terribly embarrassed having stuffed themselves, and having digestive troubles in public with their friends and colleagues.

Their belly didn't quit pitching a fit, gurgling and squelching, pushing air up, down, and out, so B didn't dare leave their seat on the balcony. Inside, A was still chatting with all their friends and enjoying themself. Though, they noticed B's prolonged absence, and checked their watch. It had been well over fifteen minutes, and A worried they were having some rough tummy troubles, so they excused themself,

"I'm going to check on B, they've been gone for a while."

C was also a bit worried, "Ah, there was a lot of dairy served and I may have encouraged them to eat more.. I do hope they're alright."

"I do too."

As A approached, B heard the knob to the balcony door turn, and they straightened up, removing their hand from their stomach.

"Are you doing alright darling? You've been gone from the table for a while."

"I suppose you are right.. I'm okay though, just getting some fresh air."

A sat next to them, putting their hand on B's shoulder knowingly. Inevitably, B's stomach emitted a deep rumble, and their hand flew to it for comfort. They clenched, trying their best to hold in their pungent and obnoxious gas in front of their partner.

"E-excuse me, dear. I'm sorry about that noise."

"Oh love, you don't need to apologize for that, I know your stomach is unhappy."

B blushed, looking down, and squeezing A's hand. A squeezed back, putting their other hand on B's stomach. They felt it, applying pressure. It was hard, and the pressure caused a gurgle and a hiss of discomfort from B.

A continued rubbing B's belly with pressure, causing more gurgles, and more for B to have to hold back.

"Oh, darling.. it's very bubbly in there, you must have so much gas."

B was successful at least for a minute at holding it back, even if it meant more grumbles and cramps.

"I'm so sorry you have to deal with this, A.. all the dairy is disagreeing terribly with me."

"I thought so my, dear," A smiled softly, blushing, "I felt your tummy rumbling while we danced, and I saw later at the table you were getting more.. uh.. bloated and you held your stomach."

B blushed, looking away, speaking quietly,

"I really shouldn't have indulged so much.. I feel so embarrassed. I'm sure everyone saw.."

"Don't worry about that, now. If anything, they're worried and hope you feel better."

More deep rumbles sounded off in B's intestines, cueing A to apply more pressure. This made B's belly cramp terribly, the rumbles heading downward toward their rectum. Their hand flew to A's to stop the pressure, but it didn't make a difference. A low and bubbly fart rumbled out of B's backend, lasting a few seconds.

B blushed and looked down, clutching their lower belly. They could still feel the bubbles rumbling through.

"E-excuse me, A, I'm so sorry. I-I couldn't hold it…"

Another cramp hit B, and they gasped, a long string of bassy, gurgly gas leaving them. It smelled a bit of rotten eggs, making their belly churn even more.

"Oh lord, I'm so so sorry. I really don't feel well."

A smiled, and chuckled lightly, trying to comfort B.

"Darling, it's alright, like I said. I know your stomach is quite gassy. I honestly think I will be later, too," They said, unbuttoning their jacket to show B their own rounded out tummy. "It's alright to indulge on special nights. I want you to feel better, so may I rub it again?"

B frowned, unsure, but looked up to see A's smile and loving eyes.

They nodded, "Yes, y-you may."

A returned their hand to B's bloated gut, and slowly began rubbing, more pressure with each circle. B rested their head upon A's shoulder, gripping their jacket. They both felt the bubbles and stomach contents shifting very easily, intriguing A. Most of the activity remained along their sides and below their belly button. A pressed a bit harder, working B's lower stomach. They whined, gripping tighter. A few short toots bubbled out of them, and more gurgles followed, everything in their intestines moving down.

"Oh.. Please excuse me for those…"

"Of course, B. I want you to let it out and feel better."

"O-okay, only if you're sure.. dinner is disagreeing with me more than a little bit…"

"I'm sure, darling. Relax your tummy."

B did as their partner said, hesitantly. As they relaxed their muscles, their belly groaned, and showed how bloated they truly were. They came to the party with a toned, nearly flat stomach. Now, their dress was stretched slightly, and they looked pregnant.

B whined into A's shoulder, their guts twisting and cramping as an airy fart exploded out of their rectum.

"Ohhh, my belly.. I'm so sorry, please make it stop, A."

"I will my love, just let it out and I'll keep rubbing."

A began using both hands and used their fingers to apply pressure on B's stomach. The gurgling was deep and low, and it smelled even more of eggs now, as B couldn't help letting out their gas any longer. Below B's belly button, it was rumbling constantly and audibly.

"My goodness, you're very bubbly, B…"

A decided to start rubbing with one hand around B's belly button, hoping to soothe their troubles. Not long after, a liquidy rush of bubbles was heard, and B felt it move downward. They squeezed A's shoulder, a cramp rolling through their colon.

They were very lucky no others decided to utilize the balcony to the left, as following that ominous gurgle, B let out the worst of their gas yet. It was deep and long, ending with a string of wet and gurgly bubbles.

"God .. I'm so sorry," B moaned out as more wet gas exited them freely.

"My bowels are a mess… please excuse me, I can't control it…"

"I promise, I don't mind. Would you like to go home early darling? I-I have something to share with you, and I can give you medicine to make it feel better."

Their belly gurgled, and they sighed, "Yes please. I would only embarrass myself if we stayed. What is it you would like to tell me?"

A stood and held their hand out for B, wanting to tell them now, "It's nothing much, and it should wait till we're home and you're relaxed anyway, love."

B tooted again as they stood, the sound ending with a sputter, "Alright my dear. Excuse my gas again, please."

"It's quite alright, love."

B was not looking forward to what else the heavy dairy would do to them if their gas was already like this. A, on the other hand... they were lucky to be wearing a long enough jacket to hide their excitement.

A patted B's stomach gently, "We'd better get going quick."

"I agree, I can barely hold it back.. and I'm still feeling bloated.."

They both walked inside from the balcony, A with their arm around B's waist and a hand on their tummy. B put their hand atop A's, and clenched their rectum to keep from letting out too much gas. They made their way to bid their friends goodbye, C wishing them to feel better.

They left the ballroom, walking through the parking lot to their car. A helped B into their seat, quickly getting in the drivers side. As soon as B buckled in, they unclenched, a series of gurgles echoing in their gut, and a long and gurgly fart burst out. They groaned, pressing their tummy, worried for their underwear. They felt just awful, letting out such foul gas in front of their partner. The sound and smell were offensive. The endless bubbling and cramps in their tummy were ignorable. Though, they just couldn't stop thinking on how their friends heard and saw their upset tummy, and they ended up leaving because of it. Just because B was gassy with the bubble guts.

"I'm so sorry for ruining the night, A. I know you don't want to be hearing or smelling my stomach troubles…"

A turned on the car and A/C, then squeezing B's thigh, "I'd rather be with you tonight after all the activity anyways. Plus, that one was the most impressive yet, dear. I want you to get all of that out of you and feel better. Let's hope there isn't much traffic for your poor stomach."

B groaned in unison with their gut, farting again.

"Ugh… let's."

[six-white-venus]

if you ever see him, there is just one thing you would like to ask him:

how do i forgive?

because you've been trying, lord knows you have. it's been a year. he never loved you. it's as easy as that. why can't it be as easy as that?

you recently came across a letter you wrote him after he left, one where you're begging him to come back. you tore the paper copy into shreds a long time ago, but this one must have escaped your notice. you remember his response to the message. a thumbs-up emoji.

"whose name will i call, a thousand times over?" it said, "who will I call my love, my love, my love- exasperated, scandalised, laughing? who will I call?"

it's been a year and you know the answer to that question, more or less. no one. you will call no one. you will sit and stare at the paint peeling off your wall, that ugly, powdery blue that has started making your skin crawl. you will sit on the cold kitchen floor till your mom pulls you to your feet and brings you tea. you will call no one. you will make yourself forget.

except, it's not that easy.

he pops up in every mundane aspect of your life. the other day you found a keychain you bought him a month before his birthday, a month before he left you. you give it to someone else because why waste money? it's not like he lives in it.

(but he does, he does, he does.)

he is dating someone you used to know. you don't care. you want to throw up. you just want to ask: how do I forget?

a friend recently asked you, "do you think you had a savior complex, when it came to him?" you said you didn't, but maybe that's not the whole truth. maybe you did have some sort of twisted need to save him in every single way possible just so that he'll love you.

i would help you stitch yourself up. i swear i won't scream when you gut me like a fish. i will feed you soup and keep you warm. i won't sob when you knock my portion to the floor. you bleed. i do, too. no, you're right. i don't bleed as you do. I'll never understand. i am so sorry. i love you. do you love me?

after a week, you receive two texts:

lol kys ily <3

you are so happy you could sob.

he does none of this now, apparently. he smiles instead of smirking. he cradles things. he tends to wounds. he calls her baby. he says, "I love you so much." the whole thing, all spelled out. how crazy is that?

and you just want to ask: how do I stop caring?

he always held you between his teeth. there was nothing gentle about it. the bite marks on the back of your neck still hurt and you could swear it still bleeds. your mom says you're imagining it. you must be.

but here's the thing! you have people who hold you in their arms now. they are so gentle, so careful with you. you didn't cry, not once, under the clutch of his canines but now in their arms, all you do is cry. it's so strange. and you really are happy. it's so much better than what it used to be. you wake up and he's not the first thing you think of, not anymore. you dream that he apologises to you (you forgive him every single time). you go to therapy. you don't remember the last time you cried over him. you are loved, but not by him. you never were.

it doesn't matter, because you know what love feels like now. it is popcorn and nacho cheddar cheese seasoning and mutton curry. it tastes like tea and chips in an orange package and instant noodles you made with your best friend the day before she left for college. you know love now. you know happiness.

but in moments like these, you can't stop yourself from thinking that if you see him again, you would like to ask him one last thing:

how do you stop missing being held between one's teeth?

[motownfiction]

an old fashioned love song

Lucy’s not sure when it happens. Maybe around her thirtieth birthday. Maybe it was earlier. But over the past few years (decades, actually, but who would admit that?), her favorite songs have been … migrating.

She noticed it the first time on a trip back home to Detroit. She was driving past what used to be Elenore’s dance studio when she heard the Dexys cover of “Jackie Wilson Said” on the classic rock station, where it should never be. It freaked her out, but maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe the classic rock station went a little almost college rock for a minute there. Yes. That must have been it. It couldn’t have been anything else.

But in the past few years, Lucy hasn’t been able to live in that much denial. As soon as the grocery store becomes the most likely place for her to hear most of her favorite songs, she knows she’s gotten very, very old.

To be fair, most of Lucy’s favorite songs are older than she is. A little older, anyway. When she was a little girl, she listened to music like her parents and like her very cool babysitter in Connecticut with the short dark hair. She always wanted to be older, and she thought music was the best place to start. And, of course, it was … until they started playing her favorite songs in grocery stores.

It hits her harder than ever on July 3, 2023. She and Will took the rest of the family to a little town in North Carolina for the holiday, and they’re shopping at a local market for tomorrow’s meals. As they peruse the aisle for the best hot dog buns, Lucy hears it. “An Old Fashioned Love Song” by Three Dog Night. She begins to sing under her breath, almost like she can’t control herself.

Just an old fashioned love song / playing on the radio …

Will looks up from the hot dog buns and smiles at her like he knows too much. He always knows too much. That’s what you get for marrying your boyfriend when you’re both sixteen. You memorize each other like … well …

Just an old fashioned love song / one I’m sure they wrote for you and me.

“I always forget you like this song,” he says, tossing a good package of buns into their cart. “It always seems too cheesy for you.”

“Please,” Lucy says. “I love cheese. And not just cheddar and gouda. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t like a little … production.”

“I love how you can make everything sound just a little dirty.”

“I love how you can take it that way, even when very few people would.”

“Hey. It’s a testament to how well we know each other.”

“And how well we fuck.”

“Same thing?”

“If one is lucky. Which we are.”

“You’re right. We always have been, haven’t we?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Will laughs and pushes the cart down to the next aisle. The song follows them there. It doesn’t seem to bother Will that they’ve gotten a bit old. Aging never really seems to bother Will. He’s one of those guys who’s happy being alive … who loves taking a deep breath before blowing out the candles on his birthday cake just to prove he can still do it.

Lucy loves that about him. Every corner of him is so … breathing.

“You don’t also secretly like 10cc, do you?” Will asks.

“Oh, fuck no,” Lucy says. “We do many things for love, but listening to 10cc for more than three seconds while you fiddle with the station is not really one of them.”

Will stops pushing the cart. He spins on his heels, takes Lucy in his arms, and kisses her swiftly, like a cartoon character counting his blessings before the anvil gets him on the head.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Lucy says.

Will chuckles. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. With Lucy, he never really does. The song still follows them into the next aisle.

Just an old fashioned love song / coming down in three-part harmony.

[softcarebears]

POOKIE

WHERE R U

I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM U IN WEEKS

POOKIE I'M ALIVE I PROMISE....I JUST WAS SO SICK THIS WEEK😔(still sick) i did read the asks but did not have time to post on tumblr because of school but i also was not in the mood to post i was taking a mini idk tumblr break idk myself...😔i'm doing good i promise...its just my life is lowkey boring lmfao (no crushes no bitches lol) while my friend's (chingching bestie) life is a freaking kdrama

because of school i can barely do shit and also im bad at time management and also since our school's turning 50 next month we are doing weeks....for example "french week" "science week" yea alot of activities...its so fun!!...kinda slayful our school is doing entertaining stuff and is not monotone af😭

this week was french week it was so fun...we decorated the school the week before,on monday we had a whole ass assembly where we sang + prayed + had poems and the ambassador of fucking france was here boi,he also was present to give students their delf b2 (a french exam) diplomas

...fun fact: i'm gonna go do this exam in july😔..and did i start practicing?...no...i mean i've been starting to speak french at home and with my friends haha...its fine...haha...ha..😭,(since there's so many weeks we only did the delf introduction class...so yea...we haven't practiced yet...deadass) uhh what else we also had poems read in the assembly and there was karaoke session during recess on tuesday, then wednesday there was a dance in recess ,thursday there was a mini tea party for the teachers during the break, a FUNNY AND GOOFY ASS play about a disaster wedding done by the 11th graders😭

(here's some lines i translated since i have the script)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bride: You Gerard Two by Two, as soon as I saw your snags, I knew I could endure your jackal breath until the end of my days. Your orangina body gives me gas.

The Groom: Shake me,Shake me

The bride: Your eyes…uh your eyes, well I don’t know anymore. I loved you I love you and I will love you until the end

Thanks WHO?

Everyone:FRANCIS CABREL!!!

The groom: Wejdene Macaroni. My little sugar macaroni, oh no i meant macaron… honey of my life, my chocolate, my couscous.

Disgusted bride: ewww

The Groom: As soon as I saw your girlfriend I knew you were sexy but her...she's really hot. Winks to the girlfriend*

Guests: She's sexy but her girlfriend is hot (shook)

The bride: Wait, you're still talking about my girlfriend!

The Groom: Wait, I’m not finished. Wejdene you are the plum of my eye…uhh no apple i meant

Your Nicki Minaj Shein version body is driving me crazy… *literally sarcastic*

Love youuuuu.. Come on bye.

Priest: Let's exchange alliances *Exchange

Priest: let's not forget that a woman's place is in the kitchen.

The bride: But uhhhh, that's sexist. I didn’t come here to suffer okeh! Ah no eh. You just have to go to ti baz (local pizzeria in the country)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------on the same day our class did a lil party we did those french charcuterie board and we tried french cheeses...i only liked the camembert one, the gouda skewer and the tartare cream cheese..the blue brie cheese was so bad on god (there were two types so i think i got the stronger one because my friends thought theirs were ok...tasted like dirty socks...bro😔) and that comté cheese...nuh uh traumatising...😭the sausages were good ofc...i will stick to my craft cheddar cheese and creamcheeses boi...

and on the last day we all wore blue,white and red shirts and also facepainted and there was a mini concert...my french teacher (she was also both my homeroom and french literature teacher last year sang AND SHE ATE!!😩🌹 and my ex-french teacher from last year also sang AND HE DIGESTED FR 😱....

but yea main reason i did not post this week until yesterday was because i was sick😔 @1-800-pastelskies

[cevansbrat0007]

Forever Partners: Part Two

Summary: Apparently your asshole neighbor doesn't know when to quit. Thankfully your husband, Andrew Barber, isn't having any of it. Takes place after the events in Forever Partners.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Protective Andy Barber, Confident Reader, Spanking (mentioned), Slight Daddy Kink, Cursing, Pet Names, Talk of Racism, Minors DNI

A/N: Thanks to @writer84 for the prompt. Part of my Growing Pains Series. As always, I’d love your feedback, so please let me know what you think. Semi-proofread. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

___

It had been over a week since your street-side confrontation with Richard Jeffries. A week since your husband had delivered a deeply emotional spanking that had been one for the books. Shit, he’d worn your ass out.

But true to his word, he’d cuddled you when it was over and then had gone to find you a pillow to sit on while the two of you enjoyed the roasted chicken you’d made, along with the salad and your homemade vinaigrette, and your garlic whipped mashed potatoes. You’d never gotten the chance to whip up that gravy, but everything else had been delicious. 

Per Andy, you knew that Jeffries was due to be issued with a restraining order any day now. And you could not wait. That’s what the fucker deserved for coming after you and your man like that. 

You had just finished cooking a quick, delightfully fluffy breakfast scramble with cheddar cheese, diced ham, mushrooms, onions, and peppers when the doorbell rings. Who could be stopping by this early? It was only a little after 8:00am.

Wiping your hands, you walk through your foyer to the front door. You weren’t ready for company just yet. You were still in your pajamas for Christ’s sake!

Standing on your tiptoes, you peer out the peephole. You feel the bile rise in your throat when you see who it is waiting on the other side. 

Richard Jeffries.

Immediately you panic. He rings the doorbell again. 

“Andy!” You shout for your husband. “Andy, get down here now, baby! I need you right now!”

“What is it, Y/N?” He comes to the top of the stairs as he works on buttoning his light blue dress shirt. “I’m trying to get dressed. I’ll be down in a minute for breakfast.”

“No, Andy!” You hiss as your dickhead neighbor rings the bell yet again. “Jeffries is here!”

“What?” Now you had his full attention. 

“He’s at the door!”

Forgetting all about his shirt, Andy takes the stairs two at a time. “Baby, go grab your phone and be prepared to call 911 if you have to.”

“It’s in my pocket.” You tell him, nervously wringing your hands. 

“Good. Stay behind me. I mean it, Y/N.” He growls before opening your front door.“What do you want?” Andy snarls at the gray haired, slightly balding man in front of him. 

“It’s about time you answered your door.” Jeffries responds gruffly. “I just stopped by this morning to talk.”

“There’s nothing for us to talk about. I will be courteous and let you know that the courts have already granted us a restraining order, which you can expect to receive…hmm…probably within the hour.” 

“Wow.” The asshole rocks back on his heels. “And all because I expressed my opinion? That seems fair.” 

Andrew, baby, I’m going to need you to move so that I can slap the taste out of his mouth. You think to yourself.

“You know, son, I get you’re some hotshot attorney and all that. But I’ve been around longer than you. It really might benefit you to listen to me. Besides, this is America. We’ve got free speech, and I chose to exercise it. Now what you do with my wisdom is up to you.”

His words make you snort. “Okay, you idiot.” You grumble, prompting the man to shoot you a glare. 

“Uh uh, buddy.” Your husband growls. “You don’t look at her, you look at me. Let’s get that straight. And do not ever, ever refer to me as your son again or I will knock you down where you stand.” The other man blanches, as if shocked. “Your so-called wisdom is nothing more than misguided stupidity, laced with unbelievable ignorance.”

You place a calming hand on your man’s back. Silently pleading with him to relax. His big shoulders were tense, his spine rigid, and his breathing was slightly labored. 

“Yes, we have freedom of speech in this country, you dumbfuck, but it doesn’t mean that you get to say whatever you want without impunity. The way you talked about and talked to my wife was absolutely unforgivable. And I can say that, not just as some hotshot attorney, but as the District Attorney for the fucking county.”

Andy still hadn’t forgotten that the man had threatened to hit you. It kept him up at night.

You smile when you see Jeffries face go pale. Surprise motherfucker! Would Andy get mad if you did a little dance from your place behind him? Because you were about to do a little dance from your place behind him. Perhaps The Dougie. 

“Well, I didn’t know that.” The ornery old man admits. “But still. It’s my opinion. I’ve had more encounters with people like…well like her.” He vaguely gestures to you. “You may think that you’ve found a good one, Barber. But let me be the first to tell you that the good ones are few and far between.”

Andy opens his mouth to offer a retort, just in time for your tether to snap. 

That’s it. You try to duck under Andy’s arm. This man had just earned himself a punch to the throat, and to the kidney. Too bad your Big Man was faster than you. Within seconds, he’s got one thick arm wrapped around your waist, effectively immobilizing you. Damn it, Andy!

“Y/N, baby, stop.” He whispers as you continue to struggle. “I’ve got this.”

“Just one hit, Andy. Just one. That’s all I’m asking for. It’s what this pompous ass son of a whore fucking deserves.” You snarl.

“And they’re naturally violent. You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed that, especially in your line of work.”

Taking a moment to set you safely back behind him again, he returns his attention to your neighbor. “I’m only going to say this one time, and one time only.” Andy grits out through clenched teeth. “You watch your fucking mouth whenever you talk to or about my wife. I gotta warn you, buddy. You have no idea how close I am to breaking your fucking jaw right now.”

“Again, it’s my opinion -”

“Well, fuck your opinion, you goddamned racist pig!” Andy’s voice booms. “My wife is the loveliest creature on this fucking planet. She is the light of my goddamned life! Her skin is fucking beautiful and in no way indicative of her character. Moron.” 

Your husband pulls you to his side to brush a swift, loving kiss against your forehead. “My god, baby. It’s almost like we’re dealing with a goddamned caricature of a human being.” He mumbles, making you nod.       

“Told you his ignorant ass was stupid.” You tell him, looking Jeffries dead in his face. 

“You two are destroying my reputation in this neighborhood!” The man finally yells. Ahh, so that’s what this was all about. “I used to be a pillar of this fucking community and now people ignore me on the street as if I’m nothing. So you two are going to drop this restraining order, if it even exists, and go back to treating me with the respect I have earned and deserve.”

You can’t contain the laughter bubbling up inside of you. Was this man…serious?

“You’re delusional, bruh.” You tell him with a shrug as you wipe a tear from your eye. “Ain’t no way in hell. Fucking comedian.”

“Like I already told you,” Andy’s voice thunders. “The order has been granted. And you will follow it. Show up on our doorstep again and I will gladly break every bone in your body and laugh while I do it. We clear?”

Your neighbor steps back onto your porch. 

“Say some crazy ass shit to my wife again and I will twist you like a goddamned pretzel. Now get the fuck away from my door, fucking bitch.” With that, your husband slams the door in his face.

“You good, baby?” He fumes as he punches the wood. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, honey.” You wrap your arms around him and snuggle up to his sculpted back. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He growls. “But if he even so much as breathes at you the wrong way, know this baby girl, Daddy will end him with the quickness.” You press a soft kiss to his shoulder.

“I know. I feel the same about you. But we’re in this together, right?”

“Damned right we are, Y/N. Because what are we?”

“Forever partners. We are forever partners, my love.”

END

[shoverse]

leftovers

oikawa knew it was wrong. yeah,well, obviously it was wrong. i mean, is there any situation when cheating on your s/o is wrong? but he's never seen someone half as beautiful as you, let alone on the same level. it was bound to happen, right? that's what he told himself. just one night, then i'll go back to y/n. that was what he said. they'll never know. oh, but their eyes, their lips, their bodies. they knew just how to keep him coming back. what, he knew he should've stopped before he fell too deep, but he couldn't. there was something so...so enticing about going out with someone behind your back. in your shared apartment, even. well, he knew you would find out eventually. you didn't know what he was thinking, he was terrible at lying.

that day, you came home early. you fully expected him to be with his, well, you know who.

you push the door open and throw down your bags. you were heartbroken, but it wasn't like you could just start crying. 'oh, hey oikawa.' he got up from your shared bed almost instantly. 'uh, hey y/n. i-' 'yeah, yeah. i bought cheese.' 'why are you thinking about cheese at this time?' 'if you don't want it, then...' 'it's just... why are you so unbothered?' 'assuming you don't want it.' you reach into your bag and pull out a two pound block of cheddar cheese. you start to take a bite out of it, then you glance up at the other person in the room. they seemed pretty chill, so you sat down next to them. 'you want a bite?' 'hell yeah, motherfucker.' 'cheese.' you both get caught up in your dumb conversation, completely forgetting that oikawa was still there. 'uh, what is happening right here.' 'cheese offer is still up if you want it.'

and it ends. a relationship that never would've worked out. because he ruined it.

running away is easy.

but it's the leaving that's hard.

he regretted it. but there's nothing he can do. you fell in love with the person he cheated on you with. but he chose to do this. and he still loves you. karma's a bitch, huh?

he sits in his bed, crying over you. he misses your warmth, your touch, your love. well, now that he thinks about it, your relationship did start going downhill once he started cheating. he's waiting. for what. though? you? a sign? he just knew something would happen. he could feel it.

turns out he was right. some of it, at least. what he was waiting for was a phone call, apparently.

just a normal day for him. as normal as heartbroken person could be. his classic ringtone started, and he rushed over to check who it was.

it was you. the moment he was waiting for has finally come. he picked up immediately.

'y/n! did you change your mind?' 'no.' 'then, why did you call?' 'i found one of your old hoodies. do you want it back?' it was you! it was really you! but, why did you sound so different. there was a different tone to your voice, a sort of... flatness, he supposes. 'oh, i don't need it if you wanna keep it.' 'dev told me to throw it out if you don't want it.' his heart dropped. 'who's dev?' 'oh, my s/o. didn't you know?' apparently not. 'o-oh. of course.' 'do you want it? i kind of want this call to end.' no. why would you want to leave. 'yeah, i'll take it.' 'k. i'll come over to your house soon.' come over? yes!

the call ends so abruptly that he doesn't get time to register it, and he sits listening to the dial tone until he hears the doorbell. he doesn't go over to it, and he misses you.

he goes over to his door just in time to see you get into your car and drive off.

unedited because fuck editing <3

[clairenatural]

destiel, 1.9k, post-series human!cas. this isn’t fully angst but it is me addressing castiel’s trauma since the writers never will. hurt/comfort-esque. cw for the stuff he went through at the beginning of s9. also: stargazing.

Castiel’s grace burns up when they pull him out of the Empty, but he doesn’t care—he doesn’t even notice, really, not when Dean is clinging to him, and kissing him like he needs him to breathe, and filling the gap his grace left with a love that feels even more holy.

It hits him halfway back to the bunker, when he’s riding shotgun and Sam is asleep in the backset and a passing streetlight bathes Dean’s freckles in yellow-gold. He’s been in love with Dean Winchester as a human before, and it was overwhelming, all mixed up in guilt and panic and a bone-deep betrayal he’s been trying to forget. But this time—this time is different, right? This time…it’s okay. It has to be. He’s not quite sure what he’s allowed, just yet, but he takes the risk anyway and reaches out for Dean across the bench seat. Dean meets him half way, catching his hand with his own, and it calms Castiel’s newly-human heart.

He wakes up the next morning, in Dean’s bed, and he’s forgotten how nice sleep is. Real, human sleep, on an actual mattress—memory foam, he remembers Dean proclaiming, excited. It’ll remember you now, too. He tries not to remember the concrete floor of the gas station, and his cold, thin sleeping bag, because now—now, he’s warm. He reaches out for Dean, who is still asleep but moves on instinct, lifting an arm so Castiel can curl up against him. He lets his bones sink into the warmth of Dean, the comfort of the mattress. He tries to remind himself he’ll never sleep on a storage room floor again.

He stays in bed even longer than Dean, which Dean calls impressive when he returns to the bedroom with coffee. Castiel plays it off as being exhausted, which is true, but he’s also trying to commit the feeling of the mattress to memory.

When he drains his coffee and finally decides to go brush his teeth, he stares for a long time at the toothpaste tube. Long enough that Dean comes looking. He leans against the bathroom door with a smile, raising an eyebrow at the sight. “It’s not gonna bite you,” he starts, and pushes off the doorframe to walk closer. “You have done this before, right? You know—last time?”

Castiel blinks and then nods. It’s just toothpaste. “You know, the first time I did this, I—” he pauses to smile, attempting levity. “I squeezed the tube directly into my mouth,” he chuckles then, trying to joke at his helplessness, and he thinks Dean will too—and he does smile, eventually, but not before a look halfway between guilt and grief crosses his face. Castiel isn’t meant to catch it, but he does—he sees all of Dean. He knows every expression better than he knows his own.

Dean doesn’t respond to his toothpaste comment, but he does wrap his arms around Castiel’s middle from behind, more securely than the situation demands, and he hooks his chin over Castiel’s shoulder with a hum. Castiel stares at the whole picture in the mirror, himself and Dean and his toothbrush, and he can’t help but smile when Dean brings a hand up to brush his thumb across his cheek. “You’re already gettin’ peach fuzz,” he murmurs. “Remind me to teach you to shave sometime.”

The smile falls as something thick settles in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. He remembers stumbling his way through a razor. “Oh. I, um. I taught myself.” The last time is unsaid.

“Oh.” Dean’s arms loosen around his waist, and the stricken look is back. “That’s—awesome.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Castiel turns his head to try and look at him, but Dean is already stepping away. “I’ll let you get to it,” he mumbles, and claps Castiel on the shoulder as he leaves the bathroom.

He watches Dean leave, then stares at the empty doorway for a few long seconds before turning back to his toothbrush. His hands are shaking as he squeezes out the toothpaste.

When he wanders into the kitchen a few minutes later Dean is waiting for him, armed with more coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and he grabs Castiel by the shoulder and guides him into a seat at the table before sliding in across from him. He’s smiling—he’s eager—and it’s such a tone shift that Castiel briefly wonders if a witch snuck into the bunker while he was brushing his teeth.

But he knows this. He’s seen it before, with Sam—how Dean will set a meal down in front of him in the library and won’t leave until he takes a bite, waiting for approval. It’s love.

“Dean, you didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did,” he cuts him off in a tone that’s not unkind, but is final. “Wanna take care of you,” he shrugs and covers up the intimacy of that statement by reaching over to steal a slice of bacon, and Castiel hears the I love you buried under all the layers, so he smiles and eats. Predictably, it’s delicious.

“This is much better than molecules,” he commends, because he knows Dean’s waiting for it, and Dean grins and it’s beautiful and all the weirdness of the morning is forgotten.

They talk, and they eat, and they laugh, but when Dean clears the dishes he sits back at the table with a much more serious expression. “Alright, come on. What do you want to know?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “About…?”

“Being human.”

Oh.

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s already stumbled through all the basic human functions, albeit clumsily, and he’s trying to figure out a way to explain to Dean that being homeless gives you a painful crash course on how to survive without putting that sad expression back on his face when he realizes Dean is still talking.

“Listen, Cas. I know I fucked up last time, alright? Big time. I should’ve been there to teach you to brush your teeth, and shave, and—and tie your freakin’ shoelaces, and I can’t take that back now, okay? But maybe I can—I don’t know. Do it better, this time. I know you already got most of it figured out, but I could—”

“Dean, it’s alright.” He reaches out to place his hand over one of Dean’s, which he’s been fidgeting on the table. “I forgive you.” Dean looks up, then, and they make eye contact, and Castiel does forgive him. Of course he does. There was never another option.

Dean breaks the eye contact but he moves his other hand on top of Castiel’s and squeezes. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean it’s okay,” he grumbles, and Castiel loves him for that.

“You can teach me to cook,” He offers, after a moment, and Dean looks up at him with a genuine smile. “I never got much further than PB&J.”

“Hell yeah,” Dean is already standing. “Come on, let’s go.”

Castiel blinks up at him. “Go?”

“To the store,” Dean rolls his eyes, as if this was obvious. “I ain’t gonna teach you to cook with whatever we have lying around.”

He’s already off before Castiel can clarify he just wants to start with grilled cheese. Dean buys the fanciest cheddar in the store anyway.

Castiel manages to burn it on both sides.

“I’m sorry,” he stares down at the mess, mournfully, and manages to look pitiful enough that Dean picks up the blackened sandwich to take a bite anyway. He grimaces when Dean chokes on it, but he’s trying so hard to not visibly react that it makes Castiel’s heart warm, and by the time Dean finally gets the lump washed down with beer, he’s staring at him with a wry smile.

“I've fed Sam worse,” is his only comment, and Castiel can’t help but huff out a laugh, and then Dean is grinning back, setting the plate down, and reaching out to pull him close. “Tomorrow we’ll tackle spaghetti.”

Castiel scoffs. “Do you enjoy burnt tomato sauce?”

“Sure do.” Dean tilts his head down, and Castiel meets him in the middle. He tastes like burnt toast, but Castiel smiles against his lips and grins into the space between them when they separate to lean their foreheads together. “What’s next, Cas?”

“Teach me how to drive.”

Dean pulls back farther, surprised. “You can drive.”

“Not well.”

Dean snorts, then sighs. “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow though, alright? It’s getting dark.”

Castiel considers him for a moment, then nods. “Then drive me somewhere. I want to see the stars like this. Human.”

Dean hums and presses a kiss to his forehead. “That we can do.”

He misses the contact as soon as Dean steps back, but then Dean takes his hand and leads him into the garage, only letting go long enough to climb into the car. They drive through the sunset until the stars are peeking out, and Dean pulls onto the shoulder by a field far enough outside town to avoid all light pollution. He climbs onto the hood and Castiel follows, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush.

Castiel can feel Dean staring at him but doesn’t look back, not yet—he’s staring straight up, at the stars. He misses them, aches for them like he aches for his wings, but he also feels warm in their presence. The stars are solid. They are unyielding. They are trustworthy.

“How you feeling, Cas?” Dean asks after a moment, quietly, not loud enough to disturb the silence. Castiel hums before responding.

“Small.” He feels Dean shift, leaning into his shoulder.

“Small?” He questions, and he can hear that Dean’s worried. He shouldn’t be.

“Small,” Castiel confirms, tearing his gaze from the night sky to smile warmly back at Dean. “Back then—” last time  “—it was terrifying, being this small. I thought I was going to drown. The stars were out of reach. I longed for them.”

“And now?” Dean has shifted, angling himself so he’s facing Castiel.

“The stars are out of reach, but they’re still there. And you are also still here,” this time, “and you are not out of reach.” Anymore. Ever again. He reaches out for Dean’s face, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone. “I’m small. But we’re small together. And that makes it alright.”

Dean stares at him like he does sometimes, like if he blinks Castiel might disappear, and then he leans forward and kisses him like that first time, like if he stops he’ll forget how to breathe. He pushes Castiel down onto the hood of the car and doesn’t break for air until the metal groans under the pressure. When he backs off, then, it’s still not far—not out of reach.

“What’s next, Cas?” he asks, and Castiel knows what he’s asking. And that’s the thing—the biggest thing—he wants to forget about last time. 

He looks up at Dean, who looks like he’s holding his breath. He thinks maybe he can still let Dean teach him that, too, if he wants him to. He thinks he does want him to. 

“Let’s go home,” he replies, finally, and Dean breaks into a grin before the words are fully out of his mouth, “and you can show me.”

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Hey! A new wlw short story is up on my Patreon. Check it out! And please consider becoming a Patron for more wlw writing and more. As a struggling artist anything helps.

Here’s a free preview:

Headlights Girl

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the land, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they shrank away from my gaze deep into their cages into the nooks and crannies. Most things do.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness and sleep. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There have been stranger kids born in the age of spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for small articles and mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy with fire on his breath. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father calls it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He doesn’t look at me much. And I know what he means. I know what he means when he calls it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They could barely afford to send me to That School. I didn’t want to be there either.

We weren’t the same, not really. None of us are the same age and most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons under flat mattresses. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or have a pig-nose or blackhole for a nose. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he runs away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I’m 16 when I heel-toe my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with a collection of loose clothes, change, a bath towel, sewing kit, a bible written in a language I don’t speak, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he’s at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at Target and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There’s a beer in front of his idle hands and he glances at the bag on my shoulder.

He sighs like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafs through a wad of cash he kept in a safe in the garage. He hands me almost three hundred bucks and we nod at each other. I’m out the door before the midnight bus arrives.

I watch the headlights of the bus approach through dense summer night and think it must be like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I get on the bus and kick my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet move like tides. They toss me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I taste the painted deserts toward the west. I dip my toes into the largest cities with lights brighter than my own. I graze my palms on neon signs and hunch my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touches me. They don’t come close enough when I open my eyes and they see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that will smite them.

I find my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gather. I don’t talk much, I don’t like to, and people stare at me whether I’m speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it aches. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’ve never seen a movie in any theatres, but I can imagine what it’s like.

I like the ocean cities best with their pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding white paths, and crushed seashell parking lots. I like the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkles from the ocean water as it sun-dries. I camp out on beaches and bum cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I’m good at taking care of myself once I get in a rhythm.

Sometimes, or often, I dream of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dream of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I am weighted down through the cold to where no human has ever been before. I open my eyes there, I open them all the way, lightning-bright, and in my dreams, the salt doesn’t sting. It doesn’t hurt, instead, I light up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I do something good then. Maybe I do something good and bring the sun to places that have forgotten it.

I meet Mags on the beach. She’s got one eye and five teeth and carries around string and scissors everywhere. She smells like seawater and roasting kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes are neat despite her leather-cracked skin and her arms and neck are covered with tattoos of shipwrecks. She cackles and pulls me aside the first night we meet.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is old creaking wood. I am quiet. “I could give you one.” She offers with a grin that is more empty space than anything.

I shake my head. “Nana.”

“What do you like, kid?”

I shake my head again.

Mags likes me more than I deserve. I pocket her last pair of socks when she’s not looking. She never mentions it and drags me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She takes me to the soup restaurant for something that isn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackles, she spits when she talks, people glare at her as well.

I think she’s normal, not touched by the spirits, but she likes me more than most people and I don’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snort. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap.

“Lippy-wild thing. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heats the needle before she uses it, red hot and untouchable. She dips it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she calls them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin with color and movement. She shows me on her right foot first, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It takes her six hours to make a little shipwreck right above her big toe. It’s a schooner going under and I’m the only witness to the way she makes the waves come to life and crash against its sides. I can’t look away and I forget to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washes another needle. She heats it red-hot. She dips it in ink and hands it to me.

I practice all over my thighs first, there’s enough meat there and it’s easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looks like nothing but squiggles, a wobbly stick figure on a skateboard, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practice designs in the sand. Mags takes me to the museum on Sundays. They’re free on Sundays.

Something stirs in my chest, even as the guards yell at me about how flash photography isn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I’m shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rots roars to life in my chest.

I stab in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake next, and then finally, something good, something that gives people a reason to stare. I make it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than the others.

I don’t want to leave the ocean city. Mags says she has to keep moving though. She gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackles. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winks as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I want to make her pinky-promise like I’m a kid again and begging one of the other kids to tell me if I’m actually beautiful when I close my eyes. I can’t do that; I wave as she totters up the steps of the bus and is taken away with the tides of her own feet. ------------ I get an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked to them first and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but coach surfing and camping out on beaches is a tiring pastime. Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie run a tattoo shop together. Davies walks like he’s never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie has a throw-pillow that says “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies is nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie has topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’s been asked to leave a number of stores before the children start staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me, it’s not that type of town. I rankle at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. I brush off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie calls me “Shadow” and I think it’s a joke. Davies says I must be possessed by the ghost of a dead star and now I’m nothing but a blackhole: take everything in and let nothing out.

Neither of them lets me touch a needle in those first six months. They have me practice on pig skin and stand by their shoulder as they work. I feel like a dental assistant except I’m the hanging light above shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stand at their shoulder as they draw thick lines and thin dots and make hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They ask me to stop blinking and stand still. I almost walk out and find a new cliff to crash against, almost. No one had ever expected me to show up to something before. No one cared if I went to school or when I got home. And no one kept any tabs on me after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, it didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow.” She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I am eloquent in the morning.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want the desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

I grumble. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before. I tell myself I’ll just try it out, no harm in having a bit of a savings anyway. No harm in seeing what the fuss was about.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with my eyes. I don’t let up though. I put on pants for this, after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder now.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, he had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me now as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “The line’s barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” He chuckled darkly. His grin is crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.

“Look at you go. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun before the new year. I tell myself I’ll only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I don’t have to actually stay. I’ll just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chases after girls with eyes that glow.

I don’t break my lease. I draw cartoon heroes in speedos on tipsy college girls who swear they’re sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I have to give two refunds for a duck that turns out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with nothing but doors ahead of her. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I’m best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It’s dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hide my smile when she goes to my bosses and points at it while jumping up and down. The best thing she’s ever seen. She should pay us double. Where did you get this girl? I try not to blink so they can’t see the wetness under my eyes.

Sometimes I still stand by the bus stop to check who’s coming off. I don’t expect to see Mags again so soon, but sometimes I want to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

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[yuzukult]

effortlessly, the epilogue (m) || jjk & reader

title: effortlessy, the epilogue pairing: jungkook x reader word count: 5.6k genre: the after high school :) + my infamous poorly written smut a/n: it’s shorter than intended but... it’s out guys! because someone asked me when I planned on posting this and I thought that I was the only one who cared about this epilogue. ;u; Thanks for mentioning it to me, because it motivated me to write it again. Enjoy! series masterlist can be found here

"I want to take care of the planet like Greta Thunberg!"

"Noooo, wouldn't you want to be something cooler? Like a soccer player? How about Lionel Messi?"

"Forget soccer! I want to do something even better... make computers like Steve Jobs!"

One of the children frowns, shoulders slouching in disappointment and frustration of his classmates. Leaning down, you brush away the bangs that cover his eyes, gently pinching his chubby cheeks full of love and care. "What's wrong, Jaemin?"

"I don't want to be like Greta Thunberg or Lion Messi or Steve Work!" He exclaims, arms thrown in the air. 

"It's Lionel Messi and Steve Jobs, Jaemin!"

"Okay, okay," You say soothingly, hands cupping and thumbs rubbing against the flesh of his cheeks delicately. "That's fine, Jaemin, you don't have to be like those people if you don't want to. You can choose whatever profession you want, and whomever you want it to be like." 

"I want to be a swimmer, like Jeon Jungkook!"

"Mm," You hum, tapping your finger against your chin as if you're pondering about Jaemin's idea. "You could, if you'd like. Have you ever met Jeon Jungkook before?"

"No," He pouts, his bottom lip jutting out in dismay. "But momma showed me videos of hyung online and he seems like a very kind person." Nodding, your hands fall into the ones of Jaemin's, swaying your arms together to calm his nerves. Children tend to be very emotional, you learn after the many years of experience with them, and Jaemin is no exception. Finding ways to tame their anxiousness was the true challenge. "Want to hear a secret?"

His eyes widen as large as the cartoons he watches on TV. "Yes! What's the secret?"

Pretending to glance out to confirm that the coast is clear and that the other children had walked away to find something more interesting to direct their attention to, you whisper into Jaemin's ear. "Jeon Jungkook was my best friend."

Jaemin gasps. "No way. Your friend? Are you just saying that to me so I can feel better?" Yes, is what you really wanted to tell him, but truth to be told, you weren't lying. Kids were incredibly smart for even noticing that adults would say things to water down the situation, but you weren't just saying anything. "Of course not. Jungkook and I go way back, way before he became a professional swimmer. I used to go to all his practices, hung out with him after them, and even attended classes with him... just like you're in one right now!"

"Do you think... Do you think you can ask Jungkook hyung to come visit us? Maybe? If you're still friends with him..." He drifts, the thought of not being able to see his hero weighing down on his shoulders again. "I'll see what I can do," Standing from where you've been crouching, you ruffle Jaemin's hair with a soft sigh escaping your lips. "Now go play with the other kids. Remember, you can be whoever you want, and everyone else can be whoever they want as well."

Right before the clock hits 3:00PM, you verify that all the little kids are geared up in their beanies, puffer jackets, shoes, and some with gloves, in preparation for their parents' arrival. When the doors open and the children line up, leaving one by one, their nose and cheeks tint pink at the harsh winds, shivering yet at the same time cheering in glee when they see their guardians pull up. 

Watching the smiles on their faces reminds you of the time that you hated the winter; brisk air smacking your cheeks in pain, freezing your face in position, fingers stiff from being exposed to the outside, and constant shaking just to warm yourself up in a clownery large winter coat. Yet, this time around, you find yourself fond of the weather, the thought of being able to spend time with your loved ones approaching and activities that could only be done during this specific season. 

"Ready to head out?" One of your co-workers asks, just as bundled up as you are, learning your lesson after leaving without a jacket that wasn't thick enough before a day ago. "Yeah, I am. Let me just get my purse first, Naeun."

It's a constant cycle everyday: swipe your transit pass onto the bus, get off, walk an obscene amount of distance, if it's a good day then you'd stop for coffee, get to school, and prep for the day before calling the students in to take attendance, then that's when the teaching starts. 

But something about today feels great, despite the snow falling from the sky that nearly has you slipping on the ice from lack of attention to anything in front of you. So, you grab something hot. After all, what's better than a cup of hot chocolate in the morning right before you're stuck in a classroom full of twenty first-graders?

Following your medium sized peppermint hot chocolate (you're rather quite enamored that you're able to find a peppermint flavor because it's your favorite), hopping out of the coffee shop with glee, you're ready to be on route to work again.

Then someone obnoxiously honks their horn.

You show no regard to this, mostly because it makes no sense to. Someone who's driving a flashy neon yellow Porsche is already gaining all the unnecessary attention in the first place, and you're not really in the mood to be categorized within that population. 

But the beeping doesn't stop.

Oddly enough, it actually feels like the car is following you. Sweating profusely, you're debating whether or not to glance to see who the driver is. Just then, your phone dings.

jeon jungkook [6:57AM]: i've been trying to get you to turn around for the past 10 minutes, could you please stop walking faster? at this rate you're going to be a runner?

Instantaneously, you stop in the midst of your steps, sharply twisting on your heel to see the owner of the flamboyant vehicle. There he was, with the driver's side window rolled down, exposing those pearly white teeth of his, paired with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

Typical.

"Jeon Jungkook, fancy meeting you here."

"Not really fancy if I had to check your location services to see where you've been. It's not fun being ignored, love." He has his arm rested on the opening, watching as you purse your lips and bounce on the tips of your toes. "Mm, wonder why that is."

"Don't be like that," He frowns, chin sitting on his arm. "Come, I'll drive you to work. Maybe we can talk along the way."

"I'm not really in the mood to talk to you at seven in the morning, Jeon."

"Please?" He begs, pools of brown that match the liquid in your cup and the sweetness it entails. Just his voice alone was warm, shooting into your chest and you're trying to convince yourself that it's the drink, not him. "Fine." You respond through your gritted teeth, rounding the hood of the car to enter the passenger seat.

Jungkook looks so happy he could burst.

On the ride to work, you don't talk. He speaks casually, sharing stories about his adventures, ones that you don't really want to hear about or was it that his current attire that's causing your mind to get fuzzy? Baby blue dress shirt with just a couple of the buttons let loose, tucked into those dark grey slacks that hug his thighs so well, that you needed to avert your eyes or else he'd see you checking him out.

He does in fact, to the point that he needs to hide the smirk that dangles on his lips, but he refrains himself because getting you to forgive him is a difficult task alone, and teasing you wouldn't get him anywhere. 

"Pull up here," You demand when he's driving by the perimeter of the building. "You don't need to drive into the yard. I don't need the teachers thinking I'm hanging out with someone driving a construction safety yellow car."

Jungkook is admittingly disappointed, hoping that he gets more time with you but he did choose a work day to meet you. "Can I see you after this?" He's suddenly bashful after approaching you confidently earlier, no semblance of high school Jungkook hinted in his personality anymore. "I don't know. Maybe. We'll see." With that, you slip out the car, greeting the parents that you pass by, sharing that beaming smile that he was wishing was for him instead. You're prettiest when you're working—the way you're talking to your students as they begin to line up to enter class, tapping their noses with your drink in hand, drowning in your oversized coat. You seem at your happiest, suddenly regretting his recent absence from your life.

Reminiscing back to the time of when you didn't know what you wanted to do with your life, where you wanted to go, and who you wanted to be were questions that were constantly thrown up in the air. He recalls those nights where he'd hear your whimpers through the wall between the bedroom and the living room, sitting at the coffee table in frustration while he prepped for bed. Life had been a crazy journey for the both of you, especially when he had gotten invited to pursue in other work opportunities. 

You're thankful when you leave work that day and don't spot the rubber duck colored car anywhere near the schoolyard, yet at the same time, slightly despondent that he didn't return. "You look down," Naeun points out, nose peeking from her scarf with her hands dug deep into the pockets of her jacket. "Expecting someone?"

"Kind of, not really," You confess, letting out a heavy sigh with water vapor in the air. "But not surprised anyways."

"Does it have anything to do with a cheddar cheese looking car?"

Choking on your saliva, you attempt to clear your throat at her recognition. "How'd... you know it had to do with a yellow car?"

She leans over, gesturing in the direction behind you with her chin. "Other than the fact that it's hard to miss a car that bright in the morning, you coming out of it is also attention grabbing. Plus, he's over there, parked in the corner with a swarm of little kids around him."

Flinching, you look in her direction, the sight of Jungkook seated on the hood of his ridiculous vehicle, uncomfortably bending over to reach the height of the flock of little children with their parents, signing autographs and exchanging words with them.

You can't tell if it's cute or making your blood boil.

When you walk over to him with Naeun by your side, he looks up with that annoying smile on his face again. "Jeon Jungkook." 

"See, Jaemin? She does know me." Jungkook teases, messing up the little boy's hair. Jaemin has a look on his face that screams nothing but elation, spilling with happiness that couldn't be fulfilled until he met his idol, Jungkook, the Olympian swimmer. "You were right! He is your best friend!"

"I said was, but you get the point." Jungkook jerks up, quickly shuffling to dip his head in the window opening of his car, pulling out a drink, handing it to you. "Would someone who was your friend get you your favorite drink?"

In a medium Starbucks cup, there's an iced cold brew with cold foam sitting on top—a drink that you had grown attached and addicted to in your first year of University, ordering it so frequently on the daily that you had to wean yourself off it. "Cold brew," You clarify, taking the drink gleefully. "I guess you remembered."

Naeun extends her hand at Jungkook, requesting a shake. "Oh my god, Jeon Jungkook, I'm a big fan. I heard that you were recently sponsored by Nike—crazy! She—" She's referring to you with a glare "—never mentioned that she was friends with a professional swimmer!"

"Didn't think it was important," You add, swirling before taking a sip of the liquid gold. "Knowing someone who swam for your country's Olympic team isn't usually brought up in an everyday conversation."

She rolls her eyes as Jungkook gifts her a warm handshake, hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. He's dressed for comfort, this afternoon as opposed to this morning, and you're curious of his schedule yet you don't ask. "Kids, time to go home, don't leave your parents waiting." You dismiss the children who whine in reaction. "But we want to talk to Jungkook!"

"I'll be back tomorrow!" He confirms, and they run away in excitement, earning a groan from you. "Tomorrow? You're actually expecting to be back tomorrow?"

"Why? You don't want to see me?"

"Jungkook, why are you even back?" You exasperate, fingers running through your tangled locks. Jungkook is starting to frustrate you and all you want to do is go home and snuggle under the covers while watching a movie while possibly grading some papers. "What's the point of all this?"

He pouts, an arm snaking around your waist to pull your frame close. "I literally came to see my girlfriend and all she does is push me away. Isn't that crazy, Naeun? The girl of my dreams agreed to date me then she pretends that I don't even exist."

Jaw dropped, Naeun can't even formulate a sentence with the new information. "I know what you're going to say next, 'why didn't you—'"

"Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend this entire time? Why didn't you even mention that it was Jungkook! You just faked the entire time that you weren't with someone while I was tricking you into going on dates—"

"You set her up with guys?" Jungkook's brows furrowed at Naeun before looking down at you. "You let her set you up with guys?"

"I didn't go to any of those dates she organized," You mention, bringing the drink to your lips again, truly the only thing that calms your nerves despite the chaos unfolding in front of you. "I vaguely said I wasn't interested."

"You could've just said that you had a boyfriend!"

"Well, you weren't around to prove it, so did it really matter?" Shrugging your shoulders, you escape from his grasp to drag the zipper of your jacket up higher. "Anyways, I'm out. Get home safe, Naeun, let me know how it goes with that mechanic guy tonight." Tugging up your sleeve for a better view of your watch, you nod. "My bus is coming soon—"

"—I'm literally standing right here and you're still going to take the bus?"

"I'm going to take this as my cue to leave..." Naeun chimes in, quickly waving goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Jungkook-ssi?" And he nods in return, watching as she walks away.

"I can't believe you would just waltz in here like you can do whatever you want." You hiss, nearly squeezing the cup in your hand but the cold brew inside is too valuable to let go to waste. "This is my workplace, not my house."

"I would go to your house if I knew where it was. You turned off your location yesterday."

"Maybe you shouldn't have outed yourself the first time, then you would've known." He moans, pushing his hair away from his face. The length has grown tremendously since the last time you saw him,  reaching his chin with the ends curling into the shapes of his eyes when he's gleaming with a grin. "Why are you making things so difficult for the both of us?"

"I'm not." You respond nonchalantly, blinking blankly at the man before you. 

Jungkook tugs on your arm. "Then let me take you home, to our home, really, since you decided that you wanted to move out without me here when the lease ended."

"I told you I didn't want to live where stalkers were standing outside my place."

"And I told you that you should call the bodyguard my company said they'd provide for you. Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell me?"

Truthfully, you didn't want to go through the complications of the process of getting someone to consistently watch over you on a daily basis—it was easier to just up and leave, find somewhere else to reside instead of getting attacked by his fans. "It was too complex," allowing him to pull you in between his open legs as he rests on the hood of his car. "Plus, why would I want to ask help from a guy who wouldn't even come home for our anniversary? Easier to leave instead of being disappointed all the time."

The edges of his mouth drops. "Don't say it like that. I had to work, or else I would've taken the first flight back home. All the opportunities just so happen to be in the States."

"Go live there then, you don't need to come back. It's convenient for you to find a place there anyway."

"I'm not leaving you, idiot." He counters back, irritated that you're even making such suggestions. "I told you this every single time we meet again, every phone-call, every facetime. I won't move unless it's with you." The look in his eyes is hypnotizing mixed along with his words, swaying you into his direction unless you shake your head from the thoughts, stepping back. "Fine. Drive me home, whatever. Your stuff is still there anyways. I guess you still somewhat live with me."

Jungkook takes this as a victory.

In all honesty, he loves the idea of a domestic relationship. Jungkook loves having to wake up in the morning with you sleeping on the other side of the bed, corners of your eyes filled with dry boogers that'll probably hurt when you decide to get up, and brushing your teeth together, side by side, shoving each other just to be able to spit in the tiny little sink in the apartment. He argues that he could help pay for a better place, but you reject him regardless, wanting to stay in a more affordable place, one where you can go halfsies on.

He misses watching you hover over the stove, obnoxiously monitoring whatever it is you're cooking for dinner, only for him to call you out and take over instead. Or when you're doing work on the floor with your papers and laptop sprawled across the coffee table, leaning back when your shoulders get tired, resting in between his legs with your back against the body of the couch. 

So on the route of driving you home, that’s all he can think about as you sit in silence. 

This was definitely not the plan. 

Parked in the garage of your apartment complex, the fluorescent lights don’t do a good job of piercing through the tinted windows of Jungkook’s car, which you’re super thankful for despite the obnoxious primary color he chooses. The steam fills the glass, hand pressed against the armrest on the door as you’re panting heavily, an uneven match with Jungkook’s. He has a grip on both your ass and hips, guiding as you’re grinding yourself on him, wishing to be closer than you already were.

How he has you out of your jeans is unknown. Your jackets have already been throat into the some-what backseat, your dress shirt unbuttoned with your breasts spilling from your nude bra, and his shirt is hiked up just enough to catch a glimpse of his abs. Swimming requires him to keep his body in shape and there’s no complaint from you on that.

Mouth opened, he let out a groan, feeling your tightness around his cock that made a drop of sweat fall from his forehead. “Fuck,” He curses, the sight of you in front of him clenches his heart. Jungkook thinks you’re so pretty under this light— even prettier than when he knew you in high school, it’s like the longer he knows you, the more infatuated he is. When you gyrate your hips aggressively, he suddenly can’t take it anymore, hands trailing up your spine, pushing you down against his chest before he digs his feet into the carpeted floors, hips piston up into you. 

The new angle has your stomach in knots, a soft gasp falling from your lips that only encourages him to go harder. “Can you come like this?” 

“Touch me,” You respond, and it comes out nearly as a whine but you’re too busy being fogged up by pleasure to even care. “Jeon, please,” Begging at this point, he slips himself between the two of you, thumb rubbing against the bud as your grip on his shoulders clasp firms, lips against the flesh of his neck. 

“You’re going to come now, aren’t you?” 

The way he says it hints an arrogant smirk, one you’re bothered with but you’re in the middle of something currently. It’s rhetorical, to him, because your pussy is convulsing around his dick that he’s almost reaching his limit yet he waits for you patiently. “I’m gonna—”

“Let go, baby,” He manages to say through a heave, your eyes tightly shut closed before you reach your orgasm; a melodic moan finally releasing into his ears that he’s been expecting all night, one that you’ve been holding back to showcase that you’re still mad at him. Jungkook couldn’t care— well, just right now, since he has his dick in you, thrusting away until he hits his own orgasm, ropes of cum coating your swollen pink walls.

You’ve grown limp against his body, nose snuggled into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy but slowed from previously. He misses having you like this, bare and close to him, skin feeling light from post-sex. “I love you,” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up?”

Nodding, you barely have the strength to push yourself off his body, but he doesn’t let go of the grip he has around your mid-frame anyways, sliding the back of the seat up to straighten yourselves. Leaning over to the glove compartment, he snatches a couple tissues before slipping his limp dick out of you, wiping away your mixed come. 

When he eventually has the both of you dressed, you lead him into the building, in the elevator and up to the floor of your apartment, cheeks still tinted rosy from the act in the car. Jungkook doesn’t mind it though, he thinks it’s cute that you’re embarrassed.

If this is what it’s going to be like forever— the warmth that you give, despite the words that come from your mouth, the affection and care that you distribute just for him, and the newfound confidence you’ve discovered during college that you’re not afraid of showing him... he wants it. Forever.

“Mm, so you’re telling me that you still fucked him even though you said that you were mad at him?” 

Yura is adorable with her little baker’s hat on, working endlessly in the kitchen of her new bakery that she decided to open in Seoul after graduating culinary school. Luckily for you, it’s close enough to your apartment that you found yourself stopping by to visit frequently, stealing the goods that don’t make it out to the display fridge.

“... Possibly. I don’t know. I couldn’t help it— I didn’t get dicked down in forever. And no, don’t talk about using the dildo you gave me last year, I haven’t even touched the thing.”

“What? Nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s meaty, girthy—“

“Oh my god, please don’t continue that sentence,” You wince, palm against your forehead. “It was good, alright? I mean, sure, I finished myself off when I’m alone but yesterday, in the car—”

“You hoe— you didn’t only give your vagina to him, but you gave it to him in the car? You couldn’t even wait, could you? And what now, is he living back at the apartment?”

“I mean... he said he didn’t get a hotel because he wanted to sleep in his own bed again...”

Yura laughs, clapping her hands in amusement as the powder hits her face. “You’re so funny, you know that? Why do you keep playing this charade when you could just... let him back in?”

You sigh, plopping your body down onto the stool by the counters, elbows against the floured tops. Truthfully, caving into all the mistakes Jungkook made was something too common from you, wishing that he wasn’t good with his words and affectionate whenever he’s around you. He missed an anniversary, a 6th year anniversary, and from what you read on the forums online, it’s one of those years where relationships start to get bumpy.

“I just— I don’t want to be easy, you know? I let him get away with everything, and it’s not fair that he’s all the way in the States, doing whatever it is he’s doing, while I’m here, watching twenty to thirty little kids everyday. And I can’t tell him to stop what he’s doing because well— it’s his dream, Yura, who am I to stop him?”

“You don’t,” She responds sharply, glaring at you through her floured lashes. “You should’ve gotten on a plane to the States. It’s your anniversary, as in both you and Jungkook. It’s not his designated job to come here when it’s an anniversary to celebrate the both of you.”

There she goes again, even 6 years later after high school, Yura exhibits the realities of a situation, especially the ones that you’re in. 

“I guess...” You say faintly, slowly reaching your surrender. 

“No guessing. Please leave and go look for him. Tell him that you’re sorry, that you’re not going to be a big baby anymore. You’ve been with him for six years, and no matter how mad you get at him, he’s always coming back for more and attempting to make it up to you. Also, it’s 6:30AM... shouldn’t you already be on your way to work?”

“Oh, right, fuck, okay, thanks, Yura!” Jolting out of the bakery, you’re practically running to the school when you halt in your route at the sight of the familiar neon yellow car that’s parked on the school yard, yet again.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, and I’m on South Korea’s Men’s Swim Team. I’m training for 800M Freestyle Swim again, and possibly, maybe, planning to retire soon.”

Retire? The word that slips from Jungkook’s mouth is unfamiliar, mostly because he had never discussed this with you before, causing you to furrow your brows in perplexity at him as he stands in front of the black chalkboard in your classroom full of children. 

“I actually lived next door to your lovely teacher here, and we grew up together. She even coached me early in my years since I didn’t have anyone with credentials to show me. We both used to stare at the computer, day and night, renting videos from the library, and spending most of our time together just so that we could improve on my skills...” As Jungkook babbles on to the students, Naeun nudges you in the stomach.

“What?” You hiss in a whisper. Softly, she responds, “You never told me any of this! I thought we were friends! You’ve been hiding from me that you’re dating an Olympian and that you guys knew each other since you were little? What else haven’t you told me?”

“Mm,” You hum, arms crossed over your chest. “I got recruited to shadow coaches back in the university Jungkook and I attended. I rejected their offer and went undecided before coming to terms that I’d teach.”

Naeun is taken aback by all this information, stumbling back to the edge of your desk to regain her balance. “You were recruited to coach? And you rejected that offer? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because swimming is Jungkook’s dream, not mine.”

During college, evidently enough, you had been struggling endlessly trying to figure out what you wanted to do with yourself. There were moments where you considered taking a gap year— a break from it all, go somewhere maybe to finally understand yourself and what you want to do. Jungkook’s eyes when you mentioned it to him grew wary, sad that he couldn’t be there to help you but just stare at your helpless expression through the screen of his phone. 

One thing you knew for sure, you didn’t want Jungkook to pity you. (Although, he never did. He was just too in love and couldn’t see the girl of his dreams sad.)

So you pushed harder. Met with people, asked about their experiences, requested for a mentor, and just researched. It was exactly like the time Jungkook told you he wanted to swim, so you obsessively tried to find any information on it so that you could teach him and show him things he could do in the water.

You learned that if you wanted something bad enough, you grew a drive for it.

It might’ve been when Jungkook realized that you were great at coaching. When he tried to sway you into coaching people because you were great and motivating people to do better, to try harder, and all of this without overworking them to the point of turning into dust. Despite everything, you didn’t want to coach swimming— and soon learning, you didn’t want to coach any sport. But the closest thing to it was teaching.

And a teacher was what you became.

There was already enough experience in teaching someone, or in this case, tutoring, because Jungkook sucked at it back in grade school. He always needed help, and that’s where you swooped in. Arms filled with notebooks, backpack dragging you full with textbooks while you stood at Jungkook’s front porch, ready to confuse him with letters and numbers that he learned he didn’t even need now.

“Did you know he was thinking about retirement?” Naeun sneaks in again. You shake your head, watching your boyfriend answer questions from the crowd. “No, I didn’t. He’s never even mentioned that word to me, ever.”

Just as Jungkook finishes, you holler out for the class to settle down, pushing him aside as he bumps back into the wall with a grin on his face. “Ok, class, since it’s 5 minutes before recess, I’m just going to let you guys go off. It is a Friday, so enjoy yourselves!”

Jungkook joins in when you’re zipping up the jackets and tying the shoes of the kids; they’re all too excited for an extra five minutes of recess time, saying something along the lines of, “we should ask hyung to come more often, he makes her happy enough to give us five extra minutes!” and Jungkook stifles a laugh.

Standing against the brick masonry of the building, Jungkook accompanies you. “You’re going to ask me about the whole retirement thing, aren’t you?”

“Was. But you didn’t seem like you cared enough to bring it up to me.”

He sighs, adjusting the beanie on his head. “I didn’t decide until yesterday. I’m going to be in the next Olympics then I’m retiring. I’ve made enough money from the sponsorships and I’m sure I’ll be able to keep my affiliation with Nike ‘til past that.”

Glancing over at him before looking back at the children playing in the yard, you snuggle your nose deeper into your scarf. “Why’s that? Isn’t swimming your dream?”

“It is,” He says, voice genuine and filled with honesty. “I might do some things here and there, maybe train some kid with potential. I just... I don’t know how much longer I can do this thing between us. I’m never going to give up on swimming, and there’s so many opportunities out there for me to do that includes it. But this whole... training for the Olympics thing— I’ve done it already. It’s great, I’ll do another year of it. But by the time the second time I enter, we’ll be hitting that age where it’s time to settle down.”

“We don’t need to have a set time to settle down—“

“I know that we don’t but I’m tired of this whole long distance thing. You’ve been so supportive of my dreams, and I’ve accomplished them already. It’s time that I’m here, by your side, supporting yours.”

There’s silence between the two of you, despite the constant screaming and laughing that’s coming from the playground. 

“I’m sorry,” You blurt and he only looks at you with bewilderment on his face. “I should’ve came to visit you on our anniversary instead of expecting you to come here. It was selfish of me.”

Jungkook laughs, beaming brightly with the sweetest smile upon his lips. “You used to be so timid and shy back in high school. You’ve developed into this woman who’s confident and fierce, sometimes scaring me because I never thought you could ever be like this.”

“Does it make you like me any less?”

“No,” He turns to you, tightening the scarf around your neck in prevention of slipping. “But... it makes me love you more. You’re also admitting things and apologizing. Very huge character development if you asked me. Say, how about we go home tonight and celebrate our anniversary, to make up for the one we miscommunicated about?”

“I’d... like that, very much.” You respond, chewing on your bottom lip bashfully. 

“Now,” He begins, pinching your frozen cheeks gently. “I told you I love you about... a million times since I came back. I’m still waiting for you to say it too.”

He’s still somewhat the same Jungkook from back then, hidden underneath the blanket of adulthood and experiences through college but nonetheless, just as much as he changed, you’ve loved him through every stage he’s gone through. He felt the same. “Love you too, Jeon.” And there it was, the smile that tugs on the edges of your lips that he’s been waiting for, dedicated just for him.

[taran-chan]

on a Wednesday, in a cafe (chapter 24)

Read on AO3

thursday lunchbox: shrimp pan-toasted sandwich

There's a knock on the door. Gil hurriedly puts the leftover sandwiches inside the microwave then rushes out of the kitchen. On the other side of the door is Sprite, who just returned after finishing her last day of the final exam.

“I heard Thena’s back early,” she beams, “Is she in there?”

Gil glances back at the living room, lowering his voice sadly, “Yeah, but she’s tired. She had a bad day. Do you still want to come in?”

Sprite’s smile wavers a bit, “It's alright, I’ll let her rest. I just came up to thank her for helping me with the exam. I did pretty good.”

“Good job!” Gil rubs her hair and she struggles to dodge his hand, “Thena was worried about you, you know. She’ll be very proud of you, and so is everybody.”

Sprite returns his smile, her cheeks pink, “Then please tell her the results for me. Also, this is the flyers for my school’s annual Sport Event,” she hands him the colourful papers that she’s been holding onto.

“Oh, it’s happening already? Are you competing this year?”

“Of course. I’ll play for my badminton club and participate in a relay race.”

“Two competitions?” Gil raises his eyebrows, looking impressed, “How about your theatre club?”

“As usual, we’ll perform in the afternoon. This year we’re doing the Hadestown musical,” She says proudly, “I’m the director.”

“As expected.”

“Ajak invited Makkari and I invited Sersi and Kingo. It’s not anything big but if you have time this year, I’d be glad if you can go, any time of the day is fine.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we’ll be there! Last year was a real blast, I’m sure Thena would want to come too.”

“But why do I remember that someone fell asleep half the time of our play last year?”

Gil scratches his head, “In my defense, I was tired at the time because I had to participate in that three-legged race for parents with Makkari. Remember? When Ajak had a sprained ankle?”

“Gotta admit, you played the role of my foster dad pretty well.”

“I can’t do that again this year though, I have Thena. But unless she wants me to,” he shrugs.

“Yeah, sure pal,” Sprite waves her hand dismissively, “We don’t have that this year anyway, instead we hold a 100 meters race for the parents.”

“So Ajak will run then?”

“Absolutely. She’s been waiting for her revenge because last year we only got third place. Not great.”

“That’s because Makkari and I weren’t familiar with each other's rhythm,” Gil pouts, “Ajak’s steps and mine are two very different things! Give us one week and we’ll snatch that first place without sweating.”

“Just messing with you,” Sprite giggles, “But don’t forget to come. If you don’t want to see me kick some seniors' and freshmen’s asses then just come to see Ajak run, it’d be worth it.”

“Won’t miss it for the world. I’ll cook something for lunch that day, we can have a picnic.”

“Alright, send my regards to Thena, will you? I hope she'll feel better soon.”

“I’ll take good care of her.”

“I know,” she nods, “My shift is starting. Are you staying with her for the rest of the day?”

“Yeah, it’s a slow evening but call me if you need. And I bought ice cream for you in the fridge.”

“Cool! Thanks, boss,” Sprite gives him a thumb up, then skips down the stairs.

“Oh shit, my sandwiches!” Gil mumbles to himself and dashes back into the kitchen. He takes the food out of the microwave, hissing because of the hot plate. He puts it on the table, covers it with a bigger plate before moving into the living room.

Thena barely touched her lunch today, even though she kept mentioning that shrimp pan-toasted sandwich ever since Sersi found the recipe on the internet and brought them some of those. Shrimp is covered with flour and deep fried, then mixed with a mixture of mayo-ketchup sauce. Then they are sandwiched between two pieces of bread that are buttered with mustard, along with a slice of cheddar cheese and some shredded cabbage. Finally, the sandwiches are fried on both sides to make the bread crispy. He made her three small ones, she left two and hasn’t eaten any of the tomato salad.

According to what she told him, there was a fight between the court attendees this morning when she was in the middle of her part. She wasn’t injured but the screams and loud noises triggered her. She didn’t have a panic attack either but it was a very damn close call. After the court adjourned, she locked herself in her office for the rest of the afternoon, avoiding everyone and eventually, she had to call Gil to come and pick her up early with a small and trembling voice, saying that she was having a massive headache. In the safe space of her car, she sobbed in his arms for a sole 10 minutes. Then he drove them back to his place. He absolutely doesn’t intend to leave her alone now and she doesn’t protest either.

She's lying in a fetal position on his couch. Her hair hides away her face so it’s hard to see if she’s sleeping or awake. But her breaths are not even and her shoulders are shaking slightly. Gil crouches down and touches her arm.

“How’s your headache?”

She just shakes her head but doesn’t flinch when he touches her forehead, which is a good sign. He parts her hair and feels like someone just pierced his heart with a knife. The woman he loves more than life itself opens her eyes to look at him, another wave of tears leaks out, rolling down her beautiful, already wet cheeks. Her lips tremble, she holds out her arms and he immediately scoops her up and into his arms like she was a little kitten. She draws her knees to her chest as she clings to him, burying her face into his neck.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he holds her with one hand, the other stroking her hair, feeling her tears soak his shirt, “I’m right here. I’ve got you, it’s alright, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers.

“What are you sorry for?”

“You put a lot of effort into my lunch but I couldn’t eat.”

“Thena…” Now it’s him who feels like crying, “All I care about is your well-being. I can make as many sandwiches as you want.”

“Still,” she sniffles, “I hate wasting your food.”

“You’re not wasting them,” he rubs her back, “They’re still edible so I put them into the microwave. But leave them to me, I’ll make you something else.”

“What are you going to make?”

“What else? Your comfort food, of course.”

“Who eats blueberry pies for dinner?” She says, but the thought of a scalding hot pie makes her stomach rumble. Surely Gil feels that because his palm is pressed to her belly. He just laughs, lifting that same hand to stroke along the bridge of her nose, wiping away the remaining tears on her cheeks.

“We do.”

“What about your shop?” She has asked this many, many times, not just today but nearly every time he puts his work aside to stay with her when she needs him. She knows what he’ll say, she just wants to hear it again. And Gil always indulges her. He’ll repeat it as many times as it takes for her to truly believe it.

“You’re my biggest priority,” he starts rocking her back and forth gently, his voice tender and soothing as a lullaby, “And Eternal doesn’t serve dinner so there isn’t much to do, really. I’ll just come down if there are so many customers that our friends can’t handle it. But I doubt that could happen.”

For the first time in the day, Thena manages a smile. She pulls herself up a bit to kiss both of his cheeks. He scoots them to the edge of the couch to reach for the glass of water on the coffee table and brings it to her lips. She takes a few sips, then asks.

“Did Sprite come up earlier?”

“Yeah, she passed by to tell us that she did great on her exam and to thank you for tutoring her.”

“I’m glad,” her smile grows wider and she’s playing with his fingers, “I’ll text her in a minute.”

“There’s a Sport Event at her school this Sunday, she’ll be competing in badminton and a relay race.”

“Two competitions? It’s great to be young,” she rubs her cheek on his shirt. She doesn’t have many memories from her high school years, all she can recall is that it was quite dull even though she went to the same school as Sprite. And she skipped the final year to attend Oxford.

“Hey, we’re still relatively young,” he snorts, pulling her out of her thoughts, “But she’s truly having the time of her life, even directing a musical play the same day.”

“Ajak must be very proud.”

“No shit. And the girl invited us there,” Gil hands her the flyers, “Wanna go together? Could be a nice trip back to school.”

“Certainly, it’s a must. I want to see a Hadestown high school version,” then she sighs, sagging against Gil, “But I still have to survive that stupid banquet tomorrow night.”

“So you decided to go?”

She shakes her head, “After what happened today, I want to stay home even more.”

“It’s just a party anyway. If you don’t want to go, you can stay home and we’ll have a big dinner then watch TV until we fall asleep,” he runs his fingers through her hair, giving her head a light massage as he drops a kiss on her temple, “And if you wanted to go, would I still be your plus one?”

She huffs a laugh, “My one and only.”

Gil tugs at their clasped hands, “C’mon, let’s get to work. I bought some cute cookie molds, you can use them to cut decorating crusts.”

“Which shapes do you have?”

“A rabbit, a cat, a moon, a star. I think you should use the star mold, because you’re my superstar.”

“I don’t feel like one right now,” she trails off. However, she lets him lead them into the kitchen.

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’re incredible!” He turns around to face her, “It’s just that you had a hard day, it can’t deny all of your improvement. You’ve come this far,” he squeezes her hand, “I can’t say how proud I am of you, but I’ll say that if you need some rest, please know that you deserve to rest.”

“Will you be there? When I’m not feeling like a superstar,” The vulnerable, silly question that she only asks when they are alone. She absolutely doesn’t allow anyone else to see this side of her.

Gil picks her up and puts her on the table, then steps in between her legs.

“Forevermore, and after,” he promises. Even though they’ve known each other less than a year, he's sure about that more than anything.

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

He did say that to her, not so long ago, on a very different day than today. But he’s always there, seeming to be the most solid thing that’s ever been hers, the one person that she trusts enough to hold on to, lean on, or hide in. She hopes that she would never take him for granted and forget to give back, to cherish him, to let him know that she loves him with every breath she takes. But all worries evade her when he palms her face in his large hands, brushing her hair out of her face so he can kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her lips, then he says, “Let’s make our pie.”

Our pie - the word makes her smile. She likes the sound of it. She likes it a lot, a lot, a lot.

[turtle-steverogers]

she is very long so. enjoy😌

- Steve n Bucky going to the bodega down the street from their apartment. it’s open till like 4am and they go at all hours. sometimes they’ll go separately but they always go together when they go in between 12-4 am and no one who works there questions why

- they get a cat that they treat her like their child. it’s Alpine ofc😌 steve loves her so much but he knows it’s Bucky’s Cat and he’s fine with it

- you know how some siblings or partners or friends can communicate with their eyes and basically have telepathy? they totally have that and it annoys the shit out of every single person they meetjdksndks. someone will be talking to them and they will just make eye contact with each other bc it reminded them of an earlier convo they had or they both got annoyed by the other person or it reminds them of an inside joke or something and it just irritates EVERYONE. no one is able to intercept it and it’s just a thing that no matter what - even though they don’t mean to - you’ll feel a little left out when you’re with steveandbucky. it just comes with the gig. i like to imagine that depending on if it’s an au or not, its either really obvious or not. like in an au then yes it’s obvious they can have non verbal conversations, but if it’s not an au then it’s not entirely obvious bc they’re enhanced humans and they know how to hide their secret conversations. but everyone they talk to is essentially an enhanced human or has special abilities so it’s obvious to them and they catch them in the act LOL. if they’re interacting with regular people then it’s not very obvious though

- DATE NIGHT!!! yes they’re old yes they have date night. when they go out it’s usually to places in their neighborhood, but a lot of the time they like to stay in bc. they’re old men <3 steve is better at cooking and bucky is better at baking bc you can get creative with cooking and steve likes that more. he enjoys baking a lot too but he thinks bucky’s stuff tastes better. whenever they stay home though there’s ALWAYS a movie. always. they alternate choosing but there is always a movie to watch. bucky usually falls asleep nearing the end and steve plays with his hair😌 he rolls his eyes cause it happens every time but he actually likes when it happens bc he can braid strands of hair together

- pet names oh my god. so many pet names. every single one. mainly from bucky. steve uses them but maybe like two. he favors sweetie and buck and that’s it really. sometimes he uses hon. bucky though oh my god. every single pet name under the sun. so many variations of doll you wouldn’t believe - baby doll ofc, dolly, stevie doll. sweetheart. sweetness. blondie. pretty boy. hot stuff. stevie. baby. hon. honey. sunshine. angel. it’s just so many. and it’s like very sickening insane twisted etc but hot at the same time. most people are like jeez barnes do you ever shut up… but most of these people secretly think it’s a little hot theyre thinking damn where is that affection for me…. i need me a bucky barnes :| steve is the only smitten kitten outwardly even if he huffs and puffs sometimes but it’s obvious he enjoys it. like they are so annoyingjdkssn for real they aren’t a pda couple really but the petnames….. so many. so so so many it’s sickeningly sweet but bucky dgaf! steve is his sweetheart his dolly his baby his angel so he’s going to call him these things!

- steve knows his body is what is considered “perfect” but he still is insecure about it around most people and bucky knows this so when steve lounges at home in bucky’s boxer briefs and his own tee shirt or he kicks off his pants when he’s too hot at night in bed bucky is reminded of just how much steve loves him and feels comfortable around him which is something he always strives for - to make steve comfortable. not baby him because steve bitches at anyone that does that to him but to make him feel comfortable

- and on the subject of feeling comfortable i imagine that they always check in with one another but it’s very subconscious they hardly realize they do it. like steve will bitch at bucky to pick up his shoes from their doorway or to clean his hair from the shower drain but the next second he will ask him if his back still hurts from being kicked by sam and from where steve AND alpine scratched him (in very different ways)

- steve is the sweater husband and bucky is the sweatshirt husband. they trade off a lot but that’s just how their closets look

- steve takes a liking to crop tops 😌 but ONLY around the house bc again he’s really truly only comfortable around bucky. he wears em with boxer briefs or sweatpants but you can guarantee that the briefs and sweats usually just end up on the floor 9 out of 10 times

- hair ties everywhere. they can be found on the floor in the laundry in their bed in the couch on top of the fridge on their fire escape. they are literally everywhere. steve just picks them up and puts them in the bathroom but they always make their way back. he doesn’t say anything to bucky until he finds alpine chewing one and she ends up smacking herself in the face with the hairtie

- their fridge is always full with leftovers and food from sam or clint’s or whoever’s house or takeout. they always eat it all but they get and make a lot of food so the fridge is always full

- subconsciously bucky always has a hand on the back of steve’s neck. like it’s not ENTIRELY a possessive thing but he used to do it a lot when steve was small because it was easy and it was comfortable. for him and just for him and steve. it was like swinging an arm around steve’s shoulders or putting a hand on his shoulder. it was just natural and easy so he did it. a part of him back then prewar did it possessively too, but he always tampered that down bc steve wasn’t his. now he does it without shame

- steve really likes tofu and vegan meat, non dairy milk like almond and soy, and overall a lot of non dairy vegan foods, and a lot of fruits. he gets made fun of for a lot specifically about the vegan stuff but his reasoning is that there’s so much food accessible for people with allergies in the future that he wished existed a hundred years ago so he’s going to try it and stick with it if he likes it. people shut up after that

- he also tips a little more than he needs to everywhere he goes. everywhere. like it’s cool when steve rogers walks in to a restaurant bc he’s a superhero or whatever but its REALLY cool because he leaves a generous tip and that’s what really makes peoples day

- before they get legally married they are still very much married. like “i packed you lunch, meet me at the restaurant instead of me going to pick you up bc it’ll take longer, i got takeout let’s bitch together while we watch shitty reality tv, let’s bitch at EACH OTHER through the phone in public, let’s send each other ugly pictures of each other or funny texts while we’re right next to each other, i’m out with a group and you’re not there and i say multiple times ‘i miss steve/bucky’, let’s yell at each other from opposite ends of the apartment instead of getting up to see each other, steve i’m going to fuck you on the couch bc our room is too far, etc.” they are just very much married without the documents and legalities and it’s very obvious

okay all of these were ABSOLUTELY wonderful and im really going to restrain my urge to respond to each and every one but that might be futile

-okay YES they definitely go to that bodega at all hours, and usually it's for normal things when they go separately: milk, cereal, toilet paper. but when they go in the middle of the night, they almost always purchase some like odd assortment of candies and deli meat. also, they're always in their pajamas. like bucky's in plaid pj pants and a star wars sweatshirt, and steve is in like 5" shorts and a huge crewneck and they're both in slides and they definitely only speak russian to each other when they're in there after hours

-yes alpine! they also have a dog, that is more steve than bucky's!! his name is norman in my headcanon (and a couple of my fics) and he is best boy

-okay i need more of this in my general stucky life: steve and bucky being like,,, best friends as well as lovers and being so seamlessly close. like yeah, they definitely talk with their eyes, or just one glance, or half-sentences ("hey, did you ever get to--" "yup, on the way home. it was so--" "yeah, good. glad to hear") and they know exactly what the other is saying.

-yes to the date nights!!! and when they stay in to watch movies, they make Tons of popcorn. and they Have to make separate batches, because steve will Only eat his with like half a bottle of that powdered white cheddar on his

-YES we share the same fucking headcanon for petnames on god

Steve: love you, buck:)

Bucky: love you, pumpkin

-Steve definitely has body dysmorphia, probably even post serum (I have lots of thoughts on this, that might be a different post) and yeah, Bucky definitely knows its Big that he feels comfortable enough to be exposed around him (and he's even more honored that steve lets him be intimate with him, because that's really hard for steve, too)

-yeah! and easy check ins like "ur stomach still bothering you from last night?" "oh, no it was just a little bug turns out" or like "my head hurts:(" "i have meds in my bag. you want?" "yeah, just two" or like subtly checking on injuries, yeah

-yeah the sweater versus sweatshirt tracks tbh i picture steve in a lot of crewnecks so yeah

-STEVE IN CROP TOPS STEVE IN CROP TOPS and i raise you they're often ones he's cropped himself and he's also painted on! or bleach painted!! and theyre so cool and bucky never wants to make a big deal out of it, but he's so proud of steve for expressing himself like that

-ALPINE SMACKING HERSELF ALKFJALSDKFJA also steve always has a hairtie on HIS wrist in case bucky forgets one for himself

-they also always have Steve Staple Foods cuz i headcanon steve as a picky eater (adhd!steve + serum enhancements, it's down to a formula) so they have a lot of Kraft mac and cheese and easy heat up meals and lunch meats around for when he's having bad food days

-OMG and steve absolutely MELTS i raise you, too, bucky will especially hold the back of his neck when he needs to get steve to Chill Out. so like if he sees him stressing he'll put his hand on the back of his neck and squeeze and literally feel the tension drain from him or like if steve is having a panic attack, he'll hold the back of his neck while they breathe together

-yes and also any time that steve is Choosing food for himself and feeling motivated to eat it, it's a win, so people learn to back off there, too

-yes! he tips generously, but never awkwardly or offensively. he's also super kind and patient to food service workers!

-this last point is so perfect i cant. like yeah, back to steve and bucky just being,,,, the best of friends. ugly selfies galore, shoving their feet in each other's face, flicking each others ears. and yes, all the fucking gossiping. on the phone gossip, venting, fun gossip from around work. they talk about it all. and it's so great for them

thank you again for stopping by! your thoughts are impeccable!

[candycityy]

Some (established relationship) Rivetra birthday crack/fluff, ft. awkward!Levi, because I can.

Levi sucks at giving gifts.

Maybe it's just the fact that he's awkward as fuck, but the notion of having to find something nice for another person fills him with equal parts dread and exhaustion. Honestly, how would he know what they'd want, anyway? He'd much rather just shove a couple of coins in their direction and call it a day.

The whole concept of gifts had been a culture shock to him, after leaving the Underground—not that he didn't understand what it meant to get someone something, but just the whole song and dance about it, of how every even remotely special occasion called for a gift of some sort. The first time he'd heard of it, a squadmate was asking him to contribute something to Erwin's promotion hamper, and he'd almost snorted, assuming it was a joke; the fucker had just been promoted to Commander of the Survey Corps, honestly, wasn't that gift enough?

Fortunately, his squad knows better than to ask him to contribute things; they just ask for money whenever they're doing a group gift, which he's happy enough to part with. And with matters outside the squad, well...he still doesn't really get why people thing he's so fucking terrifying, but in this, at least, he's happy to be excluded.

Well, until now. Unlike him, Petra actually does enjoy gifts; she's one of those crazy people who likes giving them, who handwrites cards and wraps presents in nice paper and glittery ribbons (another thing he doesn't get. He's supposed to spend time and money on wrapping paper that's just going to get torn into shreds?) and somehow, considering how they're dating and all, he doubts she'd be content with his usual fare of a few coins and a curt happy birthday over breakfast.

He briefly considers staging a training accident; surely, she wouldn't expect a gift from him if he were in the med bay recovering from a debilitating but non-life-threatening injury?

"Aha," Hanji says, briefly pausing in her monologue about Titan reproduction (he hadn't been listening in the slightest, but that's never been a deterrent) to point her spoon dangerously close to his face. "I recognise that look. You're thinking again, aren't you."

"None of your business." He pokes morosely at his dinner, and misses. The tines of his fork strike the porcelain with a rather unpleasant metallic screech that makes them both wince.

"It's not a good look on you, you know," she comments, shovelling a fragment of potato into her mouth as Levi watches with barely veiled disgust. "Thinking. You're much better off playing the role of the macho action hero, all brawn and no brain—"

"I will stab you with this butter knife," he threatens, with a kind of despondent savagery. The woman just leans on her elbow and waits, perfectly unruffled.

He chews, swallows, and after a long pause, finally admits, "Petra's birthday is coming up."

"And you're thinking about what to get her?" Hanji smirks. "Sweet."

"I'm thinking about why surface-dwellers have so much time and energy to bother with stupid things like gifts," he grumbles, spearing a chunk of broccoli with more aggression than strictly necessary.

"Well, they're a welcome distraction from the terrors of daily life, don't you think?" She pushes her goggles up her nose with a kind of practiced impatience, and continues, "I think...Petra probably would want something heartfelt. You know, something you wouldn't give to anyone else."

"I wouldn't give anyone anything, from the start."

"You know what I mean." Hanji rolls her eyes. "The gift's gotta make her feel special. Maybe something with a sort of significance, or meaning, or...oh! Something handmade? How good are you with handicrafts?" She eyes him, looking rather less hopeful than he'd like. It rankles him.

"I'm pretty good at carving," he snaps. Hanji brightens.

"Ooh. Wood?"

"Flesh." He shovels the rest of the stew into his mouth, ignoring her snort of indignation, and stands up. "Don't choke on your food, Four-Eyes."

==

In his time in the Underground, he'd learnt precisely two things about food: one, to defend it with your life, and two, if you chuck a bunch of ingredients into a pot and apply heat, you can call it a casserole, which is a fancy-sounding name for something that barely counts as a dish at all.

Furlan, being unable to cook for his life, had been put on permanent ingredient-gathering duty (read: theft) instead. Isabel, on the other hand, had an irritating tendency to get distracted, disappear off to fuck-knows-where with the food still on the stove, and promptly forget all about it. By the process of elimination, Levi had took over most of the cooking.

Being easy, flexible, and requiring very little attention, casserole had quickly become his signature dish. And yeah, he wouldn't call himself good by any means, but as far as he's concerned, no-one'd ever gotten food poisoning from a dish he'd made, which he counts a win.

Still, he figures that not poisoning anyone is a pretty low bar to set for a birthday dinner for his girlfriend.

For the eleventh time since entering the store, Levi wonders if he should just forget it. Get her some bauble or trinket, that glittery shit that girls always like. But against his will, Hanji's irritating voice drones in his head: something heartfelt. Something you wouldn't give to anyone else.

Levi scowls darkly at a shelf of cheese. "What the fuck's the difference between cheddar and mozzarella, anyway?" he mutters to himself, before giving up and shoving both into his basket.

He continues wandering through the store, grabbing whatever he thinks will go well together. He barely glances at the price tags as he goes, too distracted by his thoughts—does she like chickpeas? Or was it lentils? Are those different?

(Of course, he pays for his inattention dearly, when the cashier coolly informs him of his total and he almost chokes. Well, he really should've known; the storekeeper in the Underground always did seem to loathe them with an aggressive vengeance.)

==

Carrots—potatoes—beef. Levi measures out the ingredients carefully and scoops them into the pot, eyeing the stew bubbling cheerfully over on the stove, and allows himself a brief moment of smugness.

He's outdone himself, even if he says so himself. Everything's been planned, down to the last detail. In the morning, he'd presented Petra with a new fountain pen, a perfect decoy gift, especially since she'd mentioned earlier how she'd been needing one. He hadn't missed the flash of disappointment in her eyes—shitty Four-Eyes had been right for once, he supposes—but she'd schooled her expression into one of appropriate delight quickly enough, and exclaimed over it as necessary, and he'd known she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

He's even timed this whole dinner thing perfectly, getting the guys to keep her back for a bit after training (which they'd agreed to, albeit with some snickering) so he could prep for the meal. She'd be in the showers now, he guesses; and now, with the brick oven all heated up and the dish nicely in place, he probably has about twenty, thirty minutes before the next step of the plan, when he'll go to retrieve her from her room under some pretense or another, lead her to the dining hall, and—

"Levi? What's going on?" Petra rubs her eyes, strolling into the room and and sniffing the air curiously. "Are you—are you cooking?"

What the fuck.

"Petra." He tries his best to block the stove, desperately searching for a way out. "You're back early. This is, uh...an experiment. For Hanji. It could blow up any second, so off you go now."

Petra does not oblige. Her eyes narrow, and she tries to peek around him. "Your experiment is stew?"

"It's not stew, it's...Titan bait," he improvises wildly, making her brows lift in disbelief. "Seriously, Petra. Go away." His eyes dart to the wall clock; he needs about fifteen more minutes, at least. "Didn't Eld...didn't the guys ask you to stay for a bit?"

She shrugs, still craning her neck to try to see the contents of the kitchen counter. There's a hint of a grin on her face now. "Auruo was bragging again about something-or-the-other, and bit his tongue, and I slipped away in the commotion. Levi, is that cake?"

"I told you, it's Titan bait. Now get out, that's an order." He tries to keep his tone cold and steely, a feat which is proving much more challenging than usual with his very pretty, very annoying girlfriend standing on tiptoe, trying her best to peek over his shoulder.

Judging by her expression of keen amusement, he fails quite spectacularly.

"Levi," his irrepressible subordinate goes, her eyes gleaming, "your cake—sorry, Titan bait—says 'Happy Birthday, Petra'."

With a frustrated exhale, he gives up trying to block her, and slumps back to the kitchen counter. Petra waits, tapping her foot, still looking thoroughly amused. Her hair is still damp from the showers, he notices. But despite the fact that she has a towel around her neck and is dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—her standard evening attire—his breath catches in his throat. She's beautiful.

"Okay, fine," he grumbles, tearing his gaze away. "I'm cooking. It's for you. Happy birthday. You're still a brat."

She laughs, and the sound makes his lips pull into a reluctant smile, too. "I never took you for the domestic type, captain," she teases, leaning into him and winding her arms around his back. "Stew? But didn't you already give me a gift, though?"

"Casserole," he corrects. "It sounds fancier. And that was a decoy—this was supposed to be a surprise. I mean, I thought...since it's the first time you're having a birthday, well. With us, like. Together." He clears his throat, and silently wills himself not to do anything stupid and embarrassing, like—Walls forbid—blush. "Remind me to have a talk with Auruo, will you."

"Well, count me surprised," she says, leaning in and grinning up at him.

He rolls his eyes.

"Anyway. Since you're here so early," he goes, gazing at her with a look of utmost seriousness, "here. You can help to chop the onions."

Petra blinks, indignant. "Seriously?"

"Nah, I'm kidding. That's for ruining my surprise, you brat."

==

"...Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Happy birthday, Petra."

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

@ravenfan1242​ You said short and it started short and well, it just became this the way only an open prompt can... I hope it’s remotely decent!!!

----

Raven leaned against the table and under her light weight, Jason could swear the solid structure shifted. From the moment she arrived, brandishing an eco-friendly tote, she was weighted down. Even after relinquishing the heavy bag, she still seemed to sag into it.

"I'm worried, Jason."

"Raven, don't be," he offered quickly. "I mean, look around you, it's fine."

"No, it's not fine." A heavy sigh exited her body. "There's something else I'm forgetting... I just feel like I should do something... Something more."

"That's pretty clear." He pointed at the huge bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. It was all organic and more than enough fodder to sustain two down and out Jason Todds for a month. Completely and utterly unnecessary. But, if you spent enough time brushing the tuxedo-covered and satin gloved elbows of the Gotham elite, you grew familiar with the concept of overcompensation. "I don't know why you're worried. I have everything I need here - and some. Oh and good morning - by the way."

Her blue-violet eyes narrowed and then ran their lap around the space for about the eighth time. "Natural light... That's the problem." She wrung her hands together. "There's no natural light... But, I should have figured that bulbs alone weren't enough."

"You think I need exposure to sunlight? That's certainly rich." Jason's chin jutted in her direction. "It really means so much coming from you." The half-demon's pallor was pretty standout in the tight black v-neck, more than usual, which was saying something. It was like someone had flipped a switch to change the settings to negative, then pointed it solely on her, leaving the colors of her skin and sweater equally inverted.

"You're vitamin D deficient - probably... Definitely. Or you will be..." Once more, she fussed about the beige corded string tote. She held up the carton of milk and then a container of yogurt, examining percentages, as if expecting these offerings to remedy the problem in the short term.

Jason half considered telling her she'd do well to down a glass or a spoonful herself, but he held his tongue. This was clearly about alleviating what she could, so as not to focus on the real problem.

"Underground to underground bunker...?" Jason stretched his arms behind his head leaning back onto the small couch in the hideout. "I can't help but consider this a vast improvement." The space was so very much like a studio. So it was practically palatial compared to his previous digs in the cemetery. He barely stifled a scoff as he contemplated yet another bitter realty. B couldn't be bothered to spring for a bloody crypt. It was probably confirmation of where he ranked. What did it matter? There was a revolving door of Robins anyway.

"So, I suppose... it can't be helped," she said somberly.

"Exactly. If you've been deep down enough, natural light becomes a cursory concern." It was meant to be an offhand remark, as he was sure she knew what lay underneath the earth's surface better than most. But Jason watched as the daughter of Trigon actually flinched. She was quivering slightly with her small shoulders starting to shake. Some part of this had to be beyond her, it was the only way for someone so powerful to seem so fragile.

Raven was the only one who could say with certainty that Jason Todd's coffin in Gotham Cemetery was empty.

The hardest part was supposed to be over, but neither of them really knew what was going to happen now.

Would he have good days and bad days? Or just all bad? What were the long-term after effects?

He could try to be proactive and take some preemptive actions. Perhaps he could borrow a leaflet from the shelf of one Raven Roth and start meditating to pinion the chaotic churn burgeoning inside him.

Steady the mind... You are neither a puppet nor a proponent of mania, or the voices inside...

He had a couple of chants he was mulling over. Raven knew the value of a good chant.

She also knew what it was like to have multiple forces pressing themselves upon her at any given time. Sometimes literally.

But the occasional moment in front of the crimson and gold strewn sky of dawn, brought her solace.

She'd told him that once, so he could believe it.

Maybe if he too could feel the sunlight, smell dewy grass, or hear the chirping of birds, it would make him feel less apart from the world. Or maybe he would just feel more strange and inhuman, like he was something indecent that didn't belong. And all the organic groceries and housewares in the world wouldn't be enough to rehabilitate the reanimated corpse of Jason Todd. Though Raven sure seemed willing to try.

Wait.

Did she really?

He sat up straight and craned his neck, not believing it. Among the health food items, Jason saw a flash of bright packaging. An orange tin of biscuits. He also spied a familiar looking paper carton. Well, well. Cigarettes.

Circumstances aside, wasn't Raven a do-gooder supreme, even among her fellow Titans? She didn't strike him as one to approve of cigarettes. They kill and all that. Though now she probably figured what was the harm? And he had to painfully agree.

In a state of delirium, he vaguely recalled mentioning something about a smoke. But how on earth did Raven find his favorite English biscuits? His weakness for Hobnobs was something he figured only Alfred knew about.

How did she always know?

Perhaps Raven had seen a small package on his place setting while visiting the manor and filed it away somewhere. In, but never out, she was Fort Knox. And like a fortress, one rarely ever knew what lay within her walls.

Hmm. A cigarette, black coffee and a biscuit for breakfast. Yes, the familiarity of it sounded comforting. Made the place feel downright homey. And suddenly Jason wanted her closer to him, to hold her, at the most. At the least, reach for her hand to squeeze it, if not to reassure her that she had done more than she could ever know.

"It's nice - the blanket... Wool, right?" He patted the soft blue throw resting over the back of the couch, another furnishing, courtesy of Raven. She pursed her lips, probably thinking he was being facetious again. "But, really. I appreciate this - and the food. Didn't I make that clear?"

"No, you didn't." She thumped the back of the couch, now hovering above Jason. "But, of course that would mean that nothing has changed."

"So..." A smirk spread onto his face, as he replayed the last fifteen minutes of their conversation. "That Vitamin D..." Raven blinked slowly, then rapidly, her expression no longer blank. "Being that you're a bit of a recluse, I always guessed that it's pretty difficult to come by... Is that by choice, or -"

"Raven?"

But the half-demon's body stood frozen like a statue. It was always so sudden and swift when it happened. Jason watched helplessly as the emotions arisen from her depths started to vanish themselves. The bloom of red left her face almost as quickly as it had come.

"Raven?"

It was utterly useless to even try. She was somewhere else now. On another plane - a private one - somewhere beyond this secret room to another. Raven was speaking with people he couldn't see and having conversations he couldn't hear. The severe line of her mouth softened and then curved over, as she bit her lip to stifle a tiny smile.

Well that was just great.

Currently, she was holding back a laugh at a joke that wasn't his. So, not people, a person. The only person it could be. And that man's timing was nothing if not spot on.

He stood up abruptly and -

Wait, was it even abrupt if no one noticed?

Who was to say?

But Jason wasn't going to sit around and wait for her to thaw. He figured he'd at least just pick up where she left off. He shot one more glance at Raven before he opened the empty fridge and filed in milk, eggs, and cheese. Huh. She'd gotten mild cheddar, not sharp.

Did anything at all get by her?

Of course, the fall of footsteps meant she was cooked. Defrosted, no longer in suspended animation. She glanced back and forth, calling out when she didn't see him.

"Jason... Jason?"

"Polo. It's not the manor. There's only one door and it's for the bathroom." That was harsher than he meant it to be. He stopped and sighed. "It was him, wasn't it?"

This was Raven, she didn't often lie, not even to spare feelings. "Yes. He... uh..." She paused for a while. Longer than was necessary. Five whole minutes went by. Was she conversing with him again? "Sorry... That was him. Dick hadn't seen me this morning and he seemed worried."

What did he somehow forget what Raven looked like?

Not likely.

Besides, didn't a mind meld render the need for that redundant? Or did theirs not work that way?

"Twice in twenty minutes, that's got to be serious."

"Well... Yes." She shrunk inwardly, holding herself tightly, amethyst orbs darted to the very corner of her eyes. It was the kind of shape someone twisted themselves into when prefacing a breach of something uncomfortable. "He wanted to make sure I was coming."

"Coming? To what - Birdy Book club?" Jason picked up another package. More cheese? Shredded and sliced in addition to the wedge. And Gods, was there crumbled in there too? He was perfectly capable of slicing or shredding or crumbling his own cheese. After all, he was well-versed in knife handling and had plenty of interesting shapes to carve things into.

Or had Raven removed all the sharp objects and replaced them with throw pillows?

"I told you." He shrugged. "You forgot? It's today." Then Raven's voice went low and quiet, as if she were about to speak about something improper. "It's the opening of the..." She swallowed. "Memorial today..."

The memorial.

His memorial.

Of course, he forgot, he hadn't wanted to think about it.

A can of tomatoes slid from his shaking palm and started to roll past his feet. The ghostly burn of verdant followed the steady path of the cylinder, until it bumped into the couch's leg, unable to go on unaided.

"Yeah..." he said after a while. When Raven didn't move, he nodded. "You should go..." He attempted what he believed to be an encouraging smile. Raven winced and Jason wished she wouldn't. He almost preferred pity. "You definitely have to go to that, don't you?"

"Well, yes I have to go. As a Titan and a friend of the family. I have to go and show my face." The half-demon avoided his gaze.

In spite everything that was thrown at her, Raven did the right thing. Why was it that he always seemed to say and do the wrong thing? He could feel a pull towards it now. Amplified. Not lulling like white noise. Loudly, it was rising, roaring in his ears. Burning, red noise.

All he could think about was why? Why this? Why today? And was he seriously unpacking groceries, when he should be in a grave?

What the hell was he doing?

When he shut the fridge, Raven was standing next to it, with her eyes glazed over, nodding at that which he couldn't see.

And she was talking to him again. In the middle of their conversation.

Perfect.

Raven was on it. She was taking care of everything. And everyone. This was best for everyone right now.

But that certainly didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Raven would climb out of here once this was over. She could go out there and stand in the bright light - with him and their friends and family. Jason was stuck in a damned bunker and what did he get? A tin of biscuits and a pack of cigarettes. Concrete walls. Stale air. No sun. In his former life, Jason had never fully appreciated the sun or the air. He glared at the spotless, dustless, windowless room.

Was she really going to go off and fake it for the world?

And was he going to stay here underground, like he was dead - or as good as?

"Go, I'm all set here," Jason tried flatly. "You can go and put on a dress. Stand there at Dick's shoulder...let him hold your hand."

He had tried his hardest not to think about what his memorial would be like. And now, he couldn't help but picture it.

The specter of Jason Todd would hang silently above those in attendance. But since he wasn't dead, perhaps the only shadows would be cast by this latest slab of stone. Would it be a statue or a sculpture or an engraved tablet? He hoped this one would at least have a better inscription than the one in the cemetery.

Something like:

Jason Todd.

Never fully at rest in life or in death.

The war wages on.

Eternal.

A little noise ripped the image from him. Raven was staring at him with her eyes widened and shocked. She hadn't ever looked at him like that. Not even when she saw him covered in graveyard soil, suit torn to shreds, body broken. The empath faltered and took a clumsy step backward.

"Are you scared of me, Raven?" He felt worse than terrible. "Where is all that talk about not giving up and not letting go?"

"Gods. There's no doubt you're the same Jason. Still the same arrogant -" She clenched a fist. Was she contemplating shoving him? No. Ironically enough, he was too breakable.

"-ass with a selective filter, you mean?" Jason laughed, though the humorless sound of it was probably cruel. "That's crass of you, Raven. Don't they teach you not to speak ill of the dead in other dimensions? Better practice up on that custom before you step out of the town car."

"Stop it." She reached for him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. It was just a hair too big. Because there was a side effect that they could count on: atrophy. Notably, it was one of his least favorite. "It's not me you're mad at. But it is your day. So you can yell, or throw things, and...you can cry if you want to." Her eyes were brimming over with tears enough for the both of them.

He swallowed, wondering if it was too much, if she was taking on too much.

"Crying already?" Jason tried to smirk if not fall back into usual patterns, but he was finding it exceedingly difficult. He had never seen her cry, not even when she was brushing the dirt from his face. "Don't waste it all here. I know they're for me, but... I think you'll need to save some of those, for later."

"Yeah, I do." And then she laughed bitterly. Miserably.

She wiped her face on her sweater sleeve right as Jason felt a sharp impulse to brush them away for her. He ground his teeth. "You'll give 'em a good show - for me?"

"I won't have to, Jason." There was no need to glance at her to know the mask of Raven that everyone knew was back in place.

"Because... it won't be a show."