#temporary braces

[3liza]

ugly neoprene foam plastic tacky mobility aids are a form of disability oppression. to me

[unboxt]

fuck you. *shrinks your kitten*

[vetchtibbles]

Youre the mutual who could drop the wildest piece of lore and I would not be surprised

Like being a mime, for instance

YOURE JUST SO COOL

Once I was staying away from home in the middle of nowhere for an extended time, and my braces started coming off and sticking into my tongue. I couldn’t get to a dentist so I had to rip them out myself

[goldeneyedgirl]

Twilight Advent Calendar Day 5

Dec. 5 - What is each Cullen's favorite college major so far? What new major should they try someday?

Carlisle's favorite: Neurology. I think that Carlisle is someone who connects his faith and his medical practice together, and learning about the brain from a medical standpoint would have fascinated him. I see him studying this in Europe in the late 1700s/early 1800s, and then again in the very early 1980s.

Try someday: I'm going to say Pediatric Oncology. He's never specialized in children's medicine before, and the oncology specialty is particularly difficult because of the amount of loss associated with the department. But if he can use his abilities and lifetime of skills to get one child diagnosis or treatment a little bit sooner, then it's worth it. But the emotional toll would affect his family, so he hasn't tried yet.

Oh, or something revolving around English History, with a specific focuses on religion's role. He'd like to examine that part of his past from an analytical and academic perspective.

-

Esme's favorite: Interior Architecture. It's one thing to decorate a room, which Esme enjoys, but it's a totally different thing to build the room from scratch to capture a specific kind of light, and be a specific shape, accentuate the sound of Edward's piano, and work with the movements and behaviours of her family. She just loves how she gets to create this sanctuary from nothing. And getting to explore that across residential and commercial spaces was magical to her. It's also one of those degrees she gets to use regularly.

Try someday: Languages. Like the rest of the family, she can speak quite a few, but she'd love to go back and get a formal qualification so that she could do translation work professionally. Esme always seeks out her favourite books in foreign editions to compare the translations, and would love to work on book translations.

-

Edward's favorite: Music. It's his passion, and he loves to be able to study it so in depth, and get feedback from an academic and practical perspective from someone with a similar interest and passion. Carlisle insists he can only study music once every two decades to encourage diverse interests and prevent a connection being made between identities, so he really savors it when he gets to study it again.

Try someday: Family Law. As as a way to honour his biological father, but Edward has no use for more money or fighting for the prestige in law school, so he likes Family Law the best. It would also come in handy for the Cullens' cover story, and with his gift he believes he could make sure children are protected. Realistically, though, he would only get away with practicing for a year or two, so he keeps putting it off. With the rise in video conferencing and online consultations, though, there's potential for the future.

-

Rosalie's favorite: Nothing will ever take away the joy and pride Rosalie felt graduating from her very first Engineering degree. It's the one degree she prizes over the others because she was one of the first girls allowed in the program, and she graduated with honours (second place in the class because the school didn't want controversy, but Rose knows they fudged the grades.)

Try someday: Either Social Work or Early Childhood. Rosalie would love to advocate for women, especially those struggling, but she also recognises her bad temper would probably make a mess of the situation. Maybe one day. Early Childhood is more likely; it sounds wonderful but it's still hard - a little easier after Renesmee, but something she's working towards in the future.

-

Emmett's favorite: Video game design - he loved every aspect of that because it was such a great mix of hardcore coding and computer work combined with more creative aspects. He also loved the diverse applications of it, and explaining how it was valuable for medicine and engineering. His final project was technically a failure because it ran too fast and the controllers were buggy according to his professors, but it was also the first vampire-speed video game to be made and he still adds levels to it every so often.

Try someday: Emmett puts a bunch of degrees that sound mildly interesting or really weird in a hat and draws one out each time. He claims that this creates diverse interests and keeps him on his toes. He just loves the looks at his family's faces when he announces that he'll be tackling a degree in Turfgrass Science or Amusement Park Engineering. Gunsmithing and Surf Science have both caught his eye, though.

-

Alice's favorite: The very first fashion design degree she ever took. She went from being a girl that stole most of her clothing and wore them until they were destroyed, to learning how to choose fabric, how to draw patterns, cut and sew her own clothes. She learnt about designers, about how fashion shaped society, and it allowed Alice to build herself up from nothing - clothing is such a comfort to her, and being able to make it from scratch is just another level of security.

Try someday: Finance Law. It would be useful for her own wheelings and dealings, since most of her education in finance is from the 50s and 60s night school, playing the stock market, and what she gets from her visions. Having a formal degree in that area would also streamline a lot of stuff for the family. It's just so dry, Alice keeps putting it off. And yes, there would be major Elle Woods vibes if she gets around to it.

-

Jasper's favorite: Philosophy. The boy does love a little bit of navel gazing and contemplation about humanity as a concept. It's helped him deal with a lot of things that happened in his past, and the choices that he made, as well as how to move forward. He loves getting out the old books and sinking into them for days; it's the only study area where he's actually worked as an online professor.

Try someday: Forensic Psychology. Jasper would love to understand what makes people tick, especially abnormal ones. He would love to understand how he became such a monster, and if it was inevitable or if there was a trigger. And he would really enjoy figuring out the motivations behind crimes. Everything about Forensic Psychology appeals to the strategic side of him.

-

Bella's favorite: English literature. Bella loves it. She loves classic novels, and getting to study them is a dream. She loves discussing them in depth with other people who are just as passionate about them, and examining the difference in language and media portrayals, as well as the reflections from the author's real lives. She gets to shut herself up with a stack of her favourites, write about them, and get graded on her thoughts. It's perfect.

Try someday: Education or publishing. I think Bella would enjoy teaching literature to high school students, especially at a selective school where the kids were high achievers and invested in their education. She'd be a deadly serious English teacher, maybe even aim for a year or two teaching at a college-level. Or I could see her going into media to get into publishing and editing, allowing her to commit extensive time into reading, but also helping shape future books.

[ruvviks]

decided that when vitali gets older he ends up needing a wheelchair for like. the very bad chronic pain days. so he doesn't have to walk around the office the whole day when he's at work

[hgirasol-blog]

[kingflups]

My fucking cat jumped onto the door of the terrarium I was building and shattered the glass

[violet-jessop]

i think that after spending $11,691 on my teeth in the last 18 months, if one of my front teeth falls out then killing myself can't be considered drastic or unreasonable action

[liinos]

tbz please never let the veneer trend touch you 🙏🏻

[dutifullycolddeer]

TURTLE WITH BRACES !!!11!!1!

the only good wof dragon to human designs are @killzilla's everyone else's fuck off

.

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should���ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[kitkatscabinet]

YOUR WHAT?!

pairing(s): dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, kyle rayner, wally west, hal jordan x fem! reader.

summary: their reactions to the "current partner" trend.

a/n: mute Cass you are canon in my heart <3

DICK GRAYSON

[You step backwards from the camera, showing off the outfit you'd coordinated with Dick, trying to prevent yourself from bursting into a fit of giggles as you anticipate his reaction.]

"He wanted us to match, isn't my current boyfriend so cute!" You smile as you watch his reaction through the phone screen.

[The camera zooms in on your boyfriend, who immediately stumbles mid-step like you punched him, as his smile drops into a horrified stare.]

"Current???" He gasps, a hand clutching his heart dramatically. "I’ve met your family. I fold your laundry. I shared my dessert with you last night, willingly!"

You brace your hands on your knees, hunched over as you burst into laughter. You go to speak, but Dick's on a roll.

"No. No, no, no. I’m not some temporary man. I’m not a placeholder! I’m..." He sputters, trying to articulate his point as he waves an acussing finger at you "I'm an endgame boyfriend. The endgame boyfriend!"

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his back to sulk.

"Aw, is the endgame boyfriend gonna cry?" You hug him from behind, resting your cheek against him.

"Maybe."

[The camera cuts to a sulking Dick, drinking poutily from a mug you bought him earlier that says "#1 Boyfriend." Just managing to pick up his mumbled words.]

"Current boyfriend… ridiculous… I’m soulmate material"

JASON TODD

[You prop your phone up, resting it against your mug to show off your still groggy boyfriend who is currently mid-sip of coffee]

"Breakfast with my current boyfriend."

This instantly catches Jason's attention, making him cough a little as he lowers the mug. "…The current what now?"

"Boyfriend." You beam, as if nothing in the world is wrong.

He squints as you, his coffee long forgotten. "See that's what I thought I heard, current boyfriend, but I must be wrong. What happened to 'ride or die'? What happened to you’re it for me, Jay'? Did I hallucinate all of that?"

"Hon, relax."

But he cuts you off, "No, no, no. See, now I’m wondering if I need to get my duffle bag and my helmet and hit the road. Am I getting replaced? Are you conducting auditions behind my back?"

"Oh, here we go." You mutter under your breath as Jason stands and begins pacing.

"I’m tall, I give the best hugs, I'm rich." He pauses and just when you think he's done he spins to face you. "I read! I literally read books. That's like a dreamboat hobby. What more do you want from me?"

"Babe. It’s a tiktok trend. It’s literally a joke." You giggle.

[You pick up the camera, zooming in on his squinting face as he freezes]

"…I better be the final boyfriend. I swear to God." He grumbles and your heart melts a little.

"You are, honey. You're the last one." You stand, leaning in to kiss him softly.

"Damn right I am. Put that in the caption. Tattoo it on your forehead. I will not be dethroned by some stupid trend." He huffs, but doesn't hesitate to recieve your affection.

TIM DRAKE

[You're leaning against the headboard, Tim resting his face against your stomach, his arms wrapped around your waist as you hold your phone out to the side.]

"Y'all wanted him in more content, so here he is, the current boyfriend."

It takes a few second for your words to register, but when they do he lifts his head to stare at you so quickly he nearly snaps his neck.

"A, wha? ah!" He sputters, his mouth taking even longer to catch on.

"Ah, wha? Lipstick in my Valentino white bag?" You mocked and the glare he threw you was mutinous.

"You're such a bitch."

You raise a brow, "Oh, so we're updating that status to ex-boyfriend?"

"You wouldn't." When you simply stare at him, his face drops a little. tone turning more uncertain, "...would you?"

You let the charade continue for a few more seconds before his deadly puppy eyes do you in and you drop a kiss to his forehead.

"No, baby. Never."

With your confirmation that no, you weren't breaking up with him, the brattiness abruptly returns.

"Ha, knew you didn't have the balls to leave me." He crows, and you roll your eyes, shoving him off you and consequently the bed when he tries to snuggle back into you.

STEPHANIE BROWN

[The video starts selfie style, with you standing behind Steph, still dressed in her fuzzy hello kitty pyjamas, as she pours herself a bowl of cereal.]

"So, here she is, the current girlfriend."

[Stephanie freezes mid-bite, turning to look at the camera in sheer disbelief]

"…Current?" You try not to laugh at her reaction but a few giggles slip out and Steph launches into a tirade.

"CURRENT?! Like I’m a seasonal limited-time offer?! Babe, what is this, a McRib romance?!"

"Would you prefer ‘temporary live-in menace with nice legs’?" you tease.

"Okay first of all, accurate. Second of all, current?! Babe, I’ve already picked our wedding colors. I’ve named our hypothetical cats! I have a whole pinterest board dedicated to our future life together!"

"Steph—"

"CURRENT?!? I'll kick you in the fucking head!" She grouses, forgetting her cereal as she storms off in a dramatic huff.

CASSANDRA CAIN

[You and Cass are cuddled together on the couch surrounded by fluffy pillows and blankets. She smiles softly and leans into your side when she notices the camera.]

"Date night with with my current girlfriend."

You feel the way she stiffens against you and instantly regret your words. The TikTok long forgotten, as you turn your full attention to your girlfriend.

"Hey, love, I didn’t mean it like that. It's a stupid TikTok trend. You’re not just some current flavour of the month, you’re my person. Always."

[Cass blinks, the tiniest smile breaking through her usually serious expression. She reaches out and squeezes your hands softly, before pulling back to sign an "I love you"]

You beam, leaning your forehead against hers, you're stomach erupting into butterflies as you thought about the ring you had hidden inside your pillow.

KYLE RAYNER

[Kyle sits across from you, paintbrush in his hand as he focuses intently on the canvas in front of him.]

"Painting the cats with my current boyfriend, look at him go!" You laughed as he looked up at you with a dopily in love grin, before he registers what you've just said.

"Wait. Current Boyfriend?" His brow furrowed as he put down his brush. "Current boyfriend cause we're gonna get married and then I'll be your husband right? Right?"

He looks like a kicked puppy and you stand, moving around to slide into his lap.

[The phone's discarded on the table but it still records the conversation]

"Yeah, baby, we'll get married." You hum, hokking your arms around his neck.

"Oh, that's good, should I go and get the ring I bought a few months ago then?"

"Kyle?!"

HAL JORDAN

[You’re walking through your apartment, filming, Hal is in the kitchen wearing sweats and an obnoxious tank top that says 'welcome to the gun show.' He's making pancakes while humming something off-key.]

"Fit check with my current boyfriend!"

Hal smirks, turning to face the camera. "Damn right. Look at this—pilot, sexy, short stack master... wait." He squinted, analysing your previous sentence. "Hold on. Back up. Current?"

[You try to keep the camera steady as he turns around fully, eyes squinting like you just told him Batman’s funnier than he is.]

"Current boyfriend?? Excuse me?? I—I live with you. We have two cats together, is that what you're telling our sons I am?"

You practically howl with laughter at his meltdown, "It’s just a trend!"

But it's like he doesn't even hear you, too busy on his warpath. "I fixed the leaky faucet. That’s not ‘current boyfriend’ behavior, that’s husband energy."

[He points dramatically at the pancakes sizzling in the pan.]

"That right there? That’s commitment. That’s ‘I’ll be there in your 80s cutting your meds into quarters’ energy."

[The camera cuts to show you sitting with your face resting against your palm as Hal continues to pace in the background, widly gesticualting.]

"Just a current boyfriend... The betrayal..."

WALLY WEST

[You're sitting on the couch, flipping the camera to show off an unsupecting Wally sitting cross legged on the carpet as he works on constructing the $1000 Lego Millenium Falcon you'd gifted him.]

"Y'all look what a nerd my current boyfriend is."

[Wally pauses. His head turns slowly like a confused golden retriever.]

"...Current?...Current?! Babe. Babe. What do you mean current? Did I miss a breakup?! Are you firing me?! I just bought us matching toothbrushes!”

"Well, technically you are the current one." You tease.

"That makes it sound like there could be a next one! You think you can upgrade from this?" He runs a hand down his body. "Limited edition! No returns!"

"You're right. Nobody wants to take the model back anyway." You snort.

[He clutches his chest like he's been shot, fake-sobbing as he collapses against the carpet.]

"We made a spreadsheet for potential baby names just for fun! What about Wallace junior huh?"

"No child of mine will be named Wallace." You deadpan, humour momentarily forgotten until he suddenly crawls toward you, making it impossible not to laugh.

[He buries his face into your lap, and you burst out laughing, pulling him into a hug while he dramatically clings to you like dead weight.]

[luxuki-1]

Death-marks headcanon part 2!

This more goes in depth with Danny, will probably do Vlad later

Part 1

As mentioned before, Danny's "death" was by electrocution. Danny has the scar that never faded but parts of his limbs were also affected in the shock.

Electrocution can cause damage to the nervous system. Severity can span from temporary weakness or full on paralysis. Danny thankfully wasn't paralyzed but, his legs and arms were weakened (mostly on his left side).

Danny was able to heal, but not fully which is possible without death-marks. Danny wore leg and arm braces for a while, and did physio but I think by the time the show would "start", he would only wear braces when necessary.

This can surprisingly line up well with the canon, ya know with Danny being considered a "weakling" and "clumsy". Can also explain how Danny knows these martial arts and fighting moves, but is unable to really do them in human form because of his injuries.

I just thought it would be a fun detail to add between the differences of his human form and ghost form.

(may also just be projecting from the fact that I used to wear knee braces and go to physio after an injury I had when I was around 14)

[theonion]

Warning that Americans should brace themselves for an economic “period of transition,” President Donald Trump told reporters Monday that a recession would be an unfortunate but necessary step on the way to all-out depression. “Look, what we’re doing is very big and will cause some pain, but that pain is necessary to cause total economic collapse,” Trump said during a press conference, adding that while his decision to implement billions of dollars in tariffs on foreign imports and fire 20,000 federal workers could cause a temporary disturbance, Americans would ultimately emerge much, much worse for it.

Full Story

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][childhood friends][semi-public][cowgirl][oral (f! receiving][female orgasm][reunited][he's got anxiety][romantic][raw][fingering][implied facial][suggested creampie, if that's even a tag]

Jason's not the type of man to get giddy.

Not by a longshot.

In fact, he's not even the type of man to look in the direction of a woman, just because he knows that he'd need to find a girl who's big backed enough to carry his emotional baggage and he's not ready to burden someone with that.

Clearing away his thoughts, Jason takes a step into the one part of Gotham he wouldn't deem as a total shitshow.

The public library.

Walls are strewn with red paper hearts on string, tablecloths are changed to heart prints and there's a gigantic, glittery Cupid cutout right above the librarian's desk. And with each breeze, it dangles and Jason can't hide the amusement in his eyes when the flying baby spins, arrow in his direction. And he scoffs under his breath.

Before moving towards the front desk and he feels the way his breath stutters in his chest at the sight of you.

"Where's Beatrice? Old, short lady, curlers, mole with the hair?" He's damn near frantic. He's not prepared for this.

Pretty hair framing your face, a bright red bow in your hair and sparkling eyes that stare up at him, and your pretty, pouty lips curl at the corners.

"Oh, she's out for a few months. She got her hip surgery, so I'm her temporary replacement." You give him the sweetest smile, staring at him from beneath long, luxurious lashes that could almost rival Bruce's and Jason swallows, nodding his head.

"I—uh— I'm...— excuse me."

Jason leaves through the same door he came in, muscular hands braced on his hips and he lets out laboured breaths. If someone were to accuse him of being a blushing mess, he wouldn't even be able to deny it, instead, only being able to empty his Glock.

Because no one accuses the Red Hood of feeling feelings.

Carding muscular fingers through his hair, Jason tries to hype himself up, trying to give a pep talk that doesn't involve internal screaming and a potential panic attack.

He doesn't understand why HIS Selina Kyle needs to be working at the library he frequents. It seems like a sick joke.

Especially because you probably don't even remember him. Because not only was he like, 10, but he was also, masked whenever you two came across each other.

Quite literally, his first everything.

First solo save.

First crush.

First Valentine.

First kiss.

First fantasy.

First boner.

Jason steps back into the library, his boots heavy on the carpeted floorboards and he steps to the front desk, his chest puffed and a purpose in his voice.

"I'm Jason." He introduces. "I read to the kids on Wednesdays and Fridays."

He watches you glance towards the clipboard in front of you, glossy lips pursed before you nod your head, giving him that exact smile that used to be painted on the forefront of his brain for majority of his adolescence.

"Yeah, Beatrice told me about you." Your head tilts, and you give him that sweet, lovely leer you've always had.

"You're 'tall fella'." And you introduce yourself, before handing him the pen to sign in. A pretty fountain pen, patterned with hearts and he signs the notepad, adding the exact time as well. 12:13pm.

Jason passes into the library, immediately met with the excited squeals of kids no higher than his hip, and he glances at the multiple tables, colourful chairs occupied by excitement incarnate.

"Okay, okay." Jason hums, before sitting on his seat. A bright red wingback, although, the back of it is covered in snowy lace, undoubtedly for the occasion and he places his hands on his knees.

"What books are on today's list?"

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

Jason's halfway through his 9th 'happily ever after' before he glances towards the doorway, your form leaning against the doorframe as you listen intently. Although your attention isn't as much on him, as it is on the children scattered in front of him, wide-eyed stares as though they've never heard the fairy tales before.

The softest and most gentle smile remains planted on your lips, cheeks rosy and brows relaxed, and your arms are crossed over your chest. Before you glance towards him.

Overing him an even sweeter smile.

And Jason stumbles over his words, before his lips purse, and he feels the way his ears burn with embarassment.

"Oooooh, he's shy." A tiny voice calls out and is immediately followed by a flurry of 'ooh's.

And they're right. He is shy.

But he also cannot empty his Glock.

And Jason glances towards you, or at least attempts to, because right above your head, there's another fucking Cupid pointing an arrow at him. And his fist clenches in annoyance at the convenience of the smirking infant, ruddy cheeks and tiny wings that, speaking aerodynamically, should definitely not be able to lift that chubby body higher than a foot or two.

Jason lets out a deep, controlled breath before lowering his gaze to meet yours, pretty doe eyes stare at him with the intensity of a thousand suns and his compression shirt seems a bit too stuffy right now. But he doesn't tear his gaze away.

At least not immediately, because once your pretty lashes flutter when you blink, he looks away. To the complete opposite direction of you.

"You've been reading for a while, so I wanted to ask if you want a juice box?" You offer him sweetly and God, he feels like a pervert because he wants your juice box.

Your sweet, tantalizing and snug juice box.

"Please." He damn near breathes out the word, and you nod your head, carrying in a tray with multiple juice boxes, as well as snacks. Sliced fruit in labelled bowls, incase something isn't immediately identifiable, chips, raisins, cookies.

And Jason looks at the juice box you place in his hand.

Pineapple.

He doesn't know if he's being paranoid, but it's a bit on the nose, but he slides the straw into the hole, unable to hide the snicker that tumbles from his lips at the sight.

And you let out a snort. "Perv."

God.

You even laugh the same.

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

When the library empties out, you're left all alone with Jason, golden light streams into the library, although, it's dimmed by the frosted glass windows, and Jason clears his throat.

"Shouldn't you be heading home?" He questions you softly, absentmindedly picking up books that have been scattered across the tables and he sets them back into their places on the shelves. The actions so practiced and familiar, that it leads you to believe he's reading to these kids for far longer than you originally thought.

"I still need to update the system as to which books were taken, so, that'll take a bit." You respond with a sweet hum, clearing out the bowls and empty juice boxes from the tables and wiping them down.

You're methodical.

He likes that.

You've always been methodical. When it came to putting bandaids on his scuffed and knobby knees, when it came to speedily mending his cape before Bruce could find out.

Although looking back on it, Bruce could probably tell.

The lime green thread wasn't too difficult to spot against the shade of his cape, but he just never mentioned it.

"You don't have Valentine's Day plans?" You question him this time, glancing at Jason over your shoulder as you begin to take down the bulk of the worst of the decorations. Mainly the Cupid's. And the origami flowers that dangle from the corners of the room and he shakes his head.

"Not a big fan of Valentine's Day."

"You've never had a good Valentine's Day?" You hum softly, pausing your motions to stare at Jason while he continues to reorganize the shelves, and you get the honour of watching the muscles of his back flex and move with every motion.

"I had like, one." He hums softly. "When I was younger."

"You wanna have another one?"

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋❤️་༘🎀˚˖𓍢ִ🌹˚.

There's something so stupidly romantic about the way the two of you are seated next to each other, a packet of chocolate chip cookies between and conversation flowing like water from a river.

And Jason doesn't know if it's the way the flame of the scented candle reflects in your iris, or if it's the way you thumb away the crumbs from the corner of his mouth or if it's even the way you compliment the colour of his eyes.

But he leans in, impulsive and stupid, but he leans in, his lips ghosting over yours in a sweet peck.

And you stare up at him, eyes wide and brows raised in surprise before a smile spreads across your face. Wide and dimpled, before you place a manicured hand on the side of his face, leaning in and you whisper so softly, just before your lips meet his.

"If it isn't the Boy Wonder."

Jason wastes no time in pulling you into his lap, your thighs pressed against his waist as your hands cradle his face so sweetly, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones as his hands find your waist. Warm, rough palms pressed against the skin of your waist and he pulls you closer.

He doesn't need to say he missed you. He doesn't need to say that you were the only person he wanted to see after the Lazarus pit.

Jason pulls away, pressing soft, sweet kisses along the curve of your jaw, lingering on your erratic pulse and your nails scratch at his scalp, carding through thick, wavy locks. Your head tips back, trying to give him the maximum amount of access to the sensitive flesh as your hips roll needily.

And your lips part to let out a shaky breath, lashes flutter and you whine softly, glossy lips letting out sweet moans that fill his ears, just like that sweet, lingering perfume on your skin fills his nose.

It's all too much.

Too much and not enough.

The way you grind against the bulge in his pants does nothing to sate that burning feeling in the pit of his belly, but the way your thighs press against his waist, as if you're trying to pull him closer.

That.

That does it for him.

It feels like a fucking dream when you hop up on the table, thighs parted and he watches the way your slick forces your pretty panties clinging to your cunt. Outlining the pretty folds and puffy lips, and he groans under his breath, his head moving to rest against the plush flesh of your thigh.

"You're so perfect." He breathes out. "Can I?"

Jason asks you softly, even as his fingers hook around the soaked gusset of your panties, pulling it to the side and clingy gossamers of your slick snap against his fingertips. And he whines when you lift your skirt better, thighs moving to rest on his broad shoulders and his face is nestled between your thighs.

Jason's tongue drags through your slippery folds, wet muscle gathering the stickiness of your slick before he groans at the taste, lunging the glob at the hood of your clit, before he circles the sensitive nub with mastered precision.

He feels the way your pillowy thighs press against his blazing ears, sweet sounds slipping past your lips as your nails scratch at his scalp, fingers massaging his head as your hips lift to meet the curls and flicks of his tongue.

Meaty hands paw at your thighs, and Jason pulls away occasionally, just to press sloppy, wet kisses against your skin, glancing up at you through his lashes as you push his hair out of your face. Right at that snowy tuft, and all the way to the nape of his neck, and Jason could fucking paint the inside of his pants when your nails dig into the flesh of his neck, pulling his face back to your cunt.

"You taste so fucking good..."

One of your hands support your weight on the surface of the table, your head tipped back and hickeys littered across the expanse of your neck and your eyes are half-lidded, moans falling from your lips with the kind of ease that only comes with unbridled and unfiltered lust.

But Jason knows it's not lust.

And if he didn't know it before, he definitely knows it when you pull him away from your cunt, his chin and lips glistening with slick and you lean down, pressing a sweet yet sloppy kiss against his lips.

Before you usher him back below your skirt.

And he sucks at your needy clit, feeling the way your hips buck and twitch, slick coating his lips, his tongue as well as his chin. And thick fingers dig into the fat of your thighs as he laps at whatever trickles from your sloppy hole.

And Jason brings up a hand, pushing your thigh further from his ear, before sliding two fingers into your drooling cunt, feeling the way you spasm around his digits, your belly caving inward and you whine.

"You're so tight..." Jason breathes out, tongue flicking against your overstimulated clit, just as his fingers curl against that spongy spot that makes your eyes flutter shut. "And you're so warm..."

You whine, your body breaking out in goosebumps and you can barely give a warning before you're coming on Jason's fingers, feeling the way he keeps sucking on your clit, coaxing a damn near screaming orgasm from you and your thighs wrap around his head.

And only when you let him up, does he let out panting breaths, before slumping back in his seat, carding his fingers through his hair. And he looks up to you with hazy green eyes.

And you barely wait before you're fiddling with his belt buckle, trying to unzip his charcoal coloured cargo pants, and he lets out a hoarse laugh, before helping you undo the loop and he shifts, just enough to pull his cock out.

And it's so pretty.

Long, thick, beads of precum trickling down that pretty upward curve and pooling just above his cock, flushed red tip weeping and twitching.

And you swallow.

Wrapping a hand around the base of him, and you give Jason a few slow, tentative pumps, watching the way deep breaths escape his lips.

"Ride me." Jason sighs, a soft whimper leaving him. "Please ride me."

Jason whines when your hips meet his, his cock nestled so firmly in your gooey walls, your cunt pulsing around his cock, your arms wrapping around his neck and your face tucked in the crook of his shoulder.

And his hands bracket your hips, fingers kneading the fatty globes of your ass, as his hips tilt upwards, rotund tip pressing against your cervix so sweetly. And he groans, pressing the sweetest kiss against your temple.

And he whines when your hips roll against his.

The air is thick with tension, the scent of cinnamon from that candle that's still casts a pretty gold glow and the smell of his cologne.

Earthy, smoky and so, so intoxicating that it makes your eyes roll back in your head, your nails digging into the back of his neck.

Your hips roll, the plumpness of your ass meeting his thighs in rhythmic movements and Jason's pretty sure the Lazarus pit was bullshit and he's actually dead right now.

Because you're so fucking heavenly.

The sluttiest squelchy sounds ring out from your pretty cunt, and you keep slobbering around his cock, as he bullies your insides so eagerly. Each of his hips move to meet your sloppy movements and Jason's hands massage at your hips.

He savours the way you feel in his hands.

The last time he had you on his lap was exactly 12 days before he died. You had placed the sweetest kiss on his lips, giving him the prettiest little doe eyed gaze.

And you're doing the exact same fucking thing right now.

Bleary eyes staring up at Jason, your lips parting to let out the prettiest, sluttiest little sounds while he fucks up into you. Each ridge and each vein drags against your sloppy walls, and watching the way your brows knit into the cutest little frown.

You look so pretty.

"So fucking pretty..." Jason whines, his face buried in your neck as he moves your hips, harder, faster, meaner but so, so sweetly.

"Shit, can I come inside?" He begs softly. "Please, please, please."

He begs so prettily, his blunt nails leaving indentations in the fat of your ass, his face hidden and you can only murmur a weak 'uh-huh' as you pummels into you so...

Meanly.

Hips snapping vigorously while he keeps cooing, kissing your neck and wrapping his arms around your waist so tightly, he might break one of your ribs. His muscles bulge underneath his already tight shirt, his brows bunch and his hips still.

Jason edges himself just a bit, before whispering.

"No..."

He needs to fulfill his fantasy. He owes it to himself.

"I wanna come on your face."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@jasontoddswhitestreak 🌸

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@allycat4458 🪻

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

[3liza]

I bought some foot brace things to stretch my joints out and do some opposite pressure on the inexorable process of developing horrible bunions (you can't win this one, human feet just can't take the pressure, but you can stave it off for a long time) and I'm looking at these gross blue nylon and Velcro shits that are like physically spreading my toes using little miniaturized bondage straps etc and getting mad that it's now impossible to buy any modern medical assistive device that isn't profoundly desexed. they definitely do this on purpose, if you need a wrap or a brace or a sling etc it's going to look like a piece of really ugly sports equipment or a child's Velcro shoe. god forbid you want your cane to look dapper or formal. god forbid you want a """"waist trainer"""" that doesn't look like a sausage casing (just get a corset seriously). or a sling that isn't scratchy shitty nylon. I could write a big post about the distancing of disability from aesthetics and the insistence that all imperfect function is temporary and therefore investiture in beautiful medical items is eccentric. you can get nice looking canes if you really look but certainly not in a hospital or medical supply store, your insurance won't pay for a chestnut piece with a brass handle. the bunion straps that could be so interesting in leather or even canvas are reduced to fuzzy rustling clown shoes. extremely annoying. and infantilizing frankly. and just ugly