#built in l shaped desk

[protestooucopa]

Home Office - Freestanding Inspiration for a large, modern, carpeted study room with beige walls and a freestanding desk

[eternalthrills]

Home Office Freestanding in San Francisco Inspiration for a mid-sized modern freestanding desk study room remodel

[bonehead-forever]

Home Office Sydney Large transitional built-in desk medium tone wood floor study room photo with white walls

[sassafras-manson]

Seattle Home Office Built-In Idea for a study room with a large craftsman built-in desk, a carpeted floor, and white walls but no fireplace

[revolverthemes]

Built-In Home Office New York Example of a mid-sized trendy built-in desk medium tone wood floor study room design with beige walls and no fireplace

[catholicloveblog]

Built-In Home Office Calgary Remodeling ideas for a modern study room with a large built-in desk, light wood floors, and gray walls

[tajedler]

Built-In Home Office Inspiration for a small, modern built-in desk, a dark wood floor, and pink walls for the home office and library

[skzdelf]

Recording | Bangchan

⭑PAIRING: Bangchan x f!reader

⭑SYNOPSIS: After a long and exhausting day of work for Chan, you decide to accompany him, offering the possibility of helping him unwind.

⭑WARNING: Suggestive content (neck/breast kissing; hickeys)

⭑WORDCOUNT: 2k (2015)

2:47am

The car’s screen displayed the time alongside the radio station number, which was fortunately playing music at such a late hour. The music wasn’t the best or the latest since there aren’t many listeners at this time of night, but anything was better than an endless silence.

The city streets were deserted, except for a few teenagers heading to a nightclub and the occasional taxi.

The lights from apartment buildings and traffic signals reflected off puddles left behind by the rainstorm earlier that evening.

You were driving comfortably with two disposable cups of coffee sitting on the passenger seat. Thin white tendrils of steam rose from the lids, signaling that the liquid inside was still hot.

Chan hadn’t returned from the recording studio, so you decided to go and keep him company. You knew he was too polite to ask any of the guys to stay and help him during his frustrating late-night sessions of writing songs and creating new beats.

The recording studio wasn’t far from the apartment you both shared, but considering how late it was and the unpredictable weather, you didn’t want to take any chances.

You slid the copy of the studio key into the lock, the heart-shaped keychain Chan had gifted you for your anniversary a few months ago tapping softly against the door.

You stepped into the studio’s foyer, a spacious and tidy area where the guys usually hung out while one—or a few—of them worked behind the recording booth’s closed door.

On the coffee table in front of the couch sat a few open packets of chopsticks and a half-eaten cup of ramen, which you assumed belonged to Chan. Spending so much time here must’ve made him hungry.

As you entered the recording room, you found him there. Chan was seated at the desk in front of his multiple monitors and recording equipment. His back was to you, but you could see how he hunched over the desk, scribbling something onto a notebook or piece of paper. The sound of pencil against paper filled the otherwise silent space.

You set the coffees down on a spot far enough from Chan’s equipment to avoid any accidents, then quietly approached him from behind, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

“Hi, Channie” you murmured to the dark-haired man, nuzzling your cheek against his before planting a soft kiss on it.

Chris let the pencil slip from his hand to clasp yours, the warmth of his touch both comforting and familiar.

“Hi, darling” he replied in his low, slightly raspy voice—likely strained from overuse.

You leaned in slightly, tightening your embrace as you rested your chin on his shoulder, sneaking a glance at the papers in front of him.

“How long have you been working, Channie?” you asked softly, letting a note of concern seep into your tone.

He sighed, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. “Since the morning… but I wanted to finish this before more work piles up” he admitted, a hint of exhaustion lacing his voice.

You shook your head with a faint smile but kept your hands resting in his. “You should take a break, even if it’s just to clear your head a little.”

Straightening up, you gently pulled your hands from his and placed them on his tense shoulders, starting to massage them lightly. A few muffled groans escaped Chan’s soft lips as he melted under your touch.

His eyelids fluttered closed as he gave in to the sensation of your hands easing the built-up tension in his shoulders. You felt his muscles gradually relax beneath your fingers, and a small smile tugged at your lips, satisfied to see him finally surrender to the comfort you offered.

“That feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and still tinged with raspiness. He tilted his head forward slightly, giving you better access. You took the opportunity to lean in closer, letting your lips lightly graze the skin of his neck in a barely-there gesture.

“Maybe you should take more breaks if this makes you feel so good” you whispered near his ear, your warm breath sending a shiver down his spine.

Chan tensed for a brief moment before relaxing again, turning his head just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze shimmering with both surprise and something deeper. “What if I always needed your help to unwind?” he asked, raising one brow, his tone light but thick with intent.

Your smile widened as your hands moved to his neck, massaging it gently. “That sounds like a lot of work for me. What do I get in return?” you teased, leaning close enough for your lips to brush against the edge of his ear.

“I can think of a few ways to make it up to you” he replied, his voice dropping an octave as he spun in his chair to face you. His hands found their way to your hips, firm yet delicate, as if afraid you might pull away, positioning you between his open legs.

“Then show me” you challenged, your hands now resting on his chest, feeling the quick rhythm of his heartbeat under your palms.

Chan didn’t need any more encouragement. His gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before leaning forward to close the distance, capturing them in a slow yet desire-filled kiss. His fingers tightened on your hips as he pulled you closer, determined to leave no space between you.

His hands left your hips, tracing the curve of your body before settling on your thighs, which he gripped gently to pull you onto his lap.

The kiss deepened, becoming messier and more urgent, your tongues moving together in an almost rhythmic dance.

Your hands buried themselves in Chan’s curly hair, tugging lightly every now and then, making his lips break from yours momentarily as soft sighs escaped him.

“Lemme take this off” Chan murmured between ragged breaths, his hands already tugging at the hem of your shirt. You raised your arms to make it easier for him, leaving you in nothing but a black bra.

His hands roamed your skin as if tracing an infinite path, leaving invisible marks behind, claiming you.

Chan took a moment to admire you, his dark eyes trailing over your figure with an intensity that seemed to ignite the air between you. His hands found your waist again, his fingers pressing into your skin with a mix of gentleness and firmness that sent shivers through your body.

“You’re absolutely stunning” he murmured, his voice rough with sincerity as his lips began trailing kisses from your neck to your collarbone.

The warmth of his breath against your skin left you breathless, and before you realized it, your legs moved to wrap around him, pulling yourself even closer. Chan let out a soft growl of approval, his hands sliding down your sides to your rear, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered at that moment.

His kisses continued their descent, stopping at the curve of your breasts, where he sucked lightly, leaving behind reddish marks that made soft moans escape your lips.

The closeness of your bodies made it impossible to ignore how hard Chan was, and the sounds he let out left no room for doubt.

You started moving your hips in a slow rhythm that drove him wild, making him throw his head back with a few low groans, his neck fully exposed to you.

Chan’s hands, now settled on your hips, guided your movements, making them slightly faster, drawing soft moans from you and curses from him.

“I don’t know… if I can last much longer” the taller man admitted, his raspy voice filled with raw honesty as his dark eyes locked onto yours.

His gaze reflected nothing but carnal desperation, a need that seemed to consume him. It was as if every part of him screamed that he needed you—that you were his release after endless hours of work.

Chan easily lifted you, placing you on the desk, sweeping papers and objects to the floor in one swift motion.

“This is exactly what I needed after such a long day” he confessed with a mischievous smile before lowering his head to leave a trail of kisses along your jawline and neck.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, feeling each muscle tense beneath your fingers as he explored every inch of your skin with almost reverent dedication.

“Chan…” you whispered, your voice barely audible between shallow breaths, but it was enough to make him pause for a second, looking at you with an expression that mixed devotion and pure desire.

“I’m going to make sure you never forget this night” he promised before leaning in to claim your lips again with unrestrained hunger.

His lips moved fervently over yours, his large hands firmly planted on the desk on either side of your body, keeping you slightly arched backward.

Your fingers tangled in his soft curls, tugging him closer as though you could somehow eliminate the space between your bodies, no matter how impossible it seemed.

The friction of your bodies pressing together sent sparks flying between you, and the low, guttural sounds escaping Chan’s lips were nothing short of intoxicating. You could feel how hard he was—completely and undeniably for you.

Your hands wandered down his body, trailing over his strong arms and broad chest before settling at his hips. Your fingers found his belt, fumbling slightly as you tried to undo it without breaking away from the feverish kiss.

A deep growl rumbled from his throat when he felt your touch there. In response, his hands moved to your hips, pulling you even closer to the edge of the desk, the heat between your bodies now almost unbearable.

“I know you can feel how good you are to me” he whispered in a husky tone against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there before planting a warm kiss. His mouth began a slow descent, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites along your neck and down to your collarbones.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you finally managed to unbuckle his belt, and he noticed. A sly grin spread across his lips as he cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up to lock eyes with you.

“You’re trembling, love. Am I making you nervous?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement and raw desire.

Before you could respond, his lips claimed yours again, this time more deliberate, more consuming. His hands resumed their exploration, sliding down your sides until they reached your thighs. He gripped them firmly, coaxing a soft gasp from you.

“Chan…” you whispered, your voice breathless as his lips trailed down to the valley of your chest, leaving wet kisses and reddened marks on your skin.

Your hands gripped the waistband of his pants, pulling him impossibly closer, and you began to roll your hips against him again, creating delicious friction that drew groans from both of you.

Finally, his fingers found the button of your jeans. With practiced ease, he unfastened it, his dark, intense eyes meeting yours once again, silently asking for permission. You nodded faintly, as if you could ever deny him.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips as he slid the fabric down your hips, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. The cool air of the studio brushed against your exposed legs.

Chan’s lips returned to yours, devouring them with a desperate hunger. His hands found the edge of your black underwear, his fingers teasing the delicate fabric as his breathing grew heavier.

“Tell me to stop” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and laced with restraint, though his actions made it clear he hoped you wouldn’t. And you wouldn’t

And there, in the recording studio, the coffees sat untouched where you’d left them, their surfaces now cold and void of the steam that once danced above them.

What a surprise Chan would get when he realized that everything that happened that night had accidentally been recorded.

⭑A/N: Este humilde fic va dedicado a mi Omega bri, espero te guste corazón. Se que lo pediste más hot pero me da wiwi escribirlo (tal vez más adelante)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Interesting design. Instead of a 2 car garage, they made 2 single garages and put the house in the middle. The 1972 home in Lillington, NC has 5bds, 4ba, and was reduced $15.1K to #349,900.

The entrance hall is a little claustrophobic.

If you like built-ins, you'll love this house. As soon as you walk in the back door, there's a huge desk with shelving to the right. The living area is huge and gets tons of natural light.

There's the dining area with the kitchen off it.

Compact kitchen. It has a good work triangle setup.

The stone fireplace in the living room, seen from the huge family room. Look at the built-ins.

There's a dining area off of this room, with a built-in cabinet.

It also has access to the kitchen from another doorway.

All of the bedrooms have built-in desks. This one has shelving, also.

This one has just the desk.

This one has a large L-shaped desk.

Look at this original blue tile.

There's a large finished basement with a nice stone fireplace.

Plus a brick wall, and built-ins galore, including a sink.

There's a laundry room and shower down here, too.

Plus, an extra bedroom.

Interesting yard. The lot is .99 acre.

There's also a long paved cement area, too.

And, if you like college sports, the house is just across the street from Campbell University's playing fields.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/25-Howard-Ln-Lillington-NC-27546/71855143_zpid/?

[xxlea-nardoxx]

Let's take a look at the bedrooms + plus the au kids bedroom in the lair!

Please note that I took creative liberty when making the rooms. Plus, the app I made the rooms with doesn't really allow a shabby look, so it will probably look fancier than it actually is.

Let's start with Donnies bedroom!

As you can see I gave it a darker palette. There's two big bookshelves and an L-shaped desk for him to work at (beside the lab, lmao) and I added a few toy vehicles to show his love for cars. Imagine he has dozens of vehicle-posters on his walls.

Next in line is Raph!

I tried to take some inspo from the show, but added my own little twist to it. Still I kept the drums and just added some really random pictures. I seriously didn't know which kinda pictures to put, so they're a lil random.

And here we have Mikeys room!

As you can see it's the friendliest and brightest room, but also the messiest. I made sure to add a few toys and just throw random objects onto the floor. Again I took my own twist to it, but it's an AU after all, so no surprise there. xD

Leos room was probably the hardest to decorate. Despite the books I wasn't really sure what else to put, since there weren't any fitting objects that screamed "Leo" at me. Just imagine lots of Space Heroes stuff, I suppose??

And last but not least: the au kids' bedroom!

And yes, your eyes aren't deceiving you: This is Splinters old room. About a year after initially meeting the kids, the Turtles decided to give the room of their late father to the kids. Each of them has their own bed (all built by Donnie truly) and was able to decorate it however they wanted.

The kiddos cherish this room dearly, knowing it probably wasn't easy for the Turtles to just give it up like that. :>

[littlepinebed]

Little Pinebed: Trouble Sleeping

Sam quietly approached the closed door to Isaac's room. He sat down and crossed his legs. Leaning back against to door, he closed his eyes and focused. He imagined a hand larger than his body reaching down towards him. He imagined it scooping him up, fingers curling around him as he's gently held in a warm embrace.

      He knew he had successfully shrunk when he only felt his shoulders touching the door. He got on his belly and crawled through the gap under the door. A single light illuminated the room, which came from the laptop sitting on Isaac's desk, partially blocked by the looming silhouette of its owner. Looks like he's still studying. Sam concluded. Does he ever sleep?

     Sam began the trek towards his friend. He knew it would take a bit to reach Isaac at his ‘tiny height’ of eight centimeters tall, but it would allow him to reach his friend without being noticed and interrupting his class. As he got closer, he noticed how the light illuminated his face and made his dyed, red hair stand out like a glowing beacon in the darkness of the room.

      Halfway into the room Sam tripped, his body hitting the ground with a quiet thump. He quickly looked up, hoping the yelp that he made in surprise wasn't loud enough for his giant friend to notice. After a few, tense moments with no response, he stood up. Looking behind, he barely made out the vine that snaked down from a plant pot sitting against the wall. Isaac really needs to trim his plants.

     The rest of the trek went rather smoothly, and Sam was able to make it to Isaac's desk without being spotted. The L-shaped desk was positioned in the corner of the room. Sam followed the wall to the right until he reached the built-in ladder made out of half-punched staples between the wall and desk. The climb up was both shorter and easier than the walk there. Soon as he reached the top Sam ducked behind a stack of botany textbooks that usually sat on this side of the desk. Peeking out gave him a better view of the giant.

     Isaac leaned on his hand, hunched over his laptop. The light coming from the screen that illuminated his face was partially reflected in his glasses in a way that reminded Sam of a projector from his old school back when he was a kid. He could see the giant was looking at from this angle. A diagram of two plants Sam couldn't recognize. It pictured cutting off the tops of the plants and matching one plant's top with the other. The title read “Grafting and You: Getting the best of both plants.” Isaac scrolled down, showing a new picture of the plant fully grown, with what looked like a tomato plant above, with potatoes under the soil. Sam didn't know how much time had passed since he got to the top, but if he remembered the numbers right he must have been reading along for like… ten pages? It was enough for him to realize how cold he had gotten.

     At his small size, Sam got cold really easily. Even Will, who was naturally tiny, was surprised with how poorly Sam retained heat. I must have been cold for a while then… I hate how I can't notice I'm freezing to death half the time. He stood up, and waited for Isaac to turn to the left and reach for his drink. Sam knew he couldn't jump straight into the giant's hood, Isaac would feel him and they'd be caught, so they aimed for the back of his chair when they leaped, smacking into it with a quiet thump. Gripping the sides, Sam's body went rigid as he waited to see if Isaac had noticed. They made the mistake of looking down, remembering the fall they had when they first met Will, and the two swapped sizes. Sam had fallen off the kitchen counter then, leaving his whole back bruised for a few painful days. This was at least a foot higher than that drop.

     Hearing the music leaking through the giant's headphones, along with the distinct lack of a giant grabby hand, Sam crawled into their friend's hood. He was immediately met with  a pleasant warmth as he slid into the bottom of the pouch. He leaned into the source of the heat, the shape of the hood enabling him to curl up against the wall of fabric. This is Isaac's back… It was only a couple weeks since he first met Will, and discovered he could trade sizes with tiny people, and shrink himself to a specific size. He could still find wonder in how vast everyday objects could feel when he shifted. I mean, he fit in his friend's hoodie for crying out loud! It felt so strange, so magical, so right. He had never felt more himself than when he could fit in a person's hand. This feeling was only compounded with the fact that Will perfectly mirrored him in that way, being a tiny person who wanted to be ‘human-sized.’

     Sam gently swayed as the giant continued his study. Occasionally leaning into the chair, gently squishing Sam into his back. Tiny people were surprisingly durable in that way. It was difficult to hurt someone without actively trying, which made what Sam was doing only mildly risky. He could still get hurt if Isaac happened to move too quickly, or put too much weight on the little guy he didn't know was in his hood. Thinking on it, it was pretty risky. I'm too comfy now, though. Sam thought. What seemed like an hour passed until Sam felt a considerable amount of movement, and a booming voice sounded out.

     “Alright. I think that's enough for tonight.” Isaac declared before letting out a groan that sounded like a deep rumble to the tiny in his hood. Sam could make out giant's arms above him through the top of the hood as Isaac stretched, the simple action lifting him a few inches, along with the hood. They began to sway as Isaac made his way to his bed, almost collapsing onto it before Sam could react. They were thrown back before a heavy weight fell onto his chest and pinned him to the mattress. He gave out a loud yelp of pain in response.

    “Shit!” Isaac bolted upright, unknowingly tossing Sam around in his hood. Turning back, he didn't see anyone on the bed. “Sam? Will?” Sam could hear the urgency in his voice as Isaac quietly called out. “Where are you? Are you alright?”

“I'm in your hood.” Sam managed to call out. They felt the world shake again, along with the sound of a ziiip, as the giant slowly removed his hoodie and turned it around. Sam felt the hand before he saw it, as he's gently lifted out and brought to a billboard-sized face.

     “Are you alright?” Sam could feel the concern they saw on Isaac's face in that moment. They nodded, watching Isaac's face soften as he let out a large sigh of relief. “That's good, that's good." Isaac was still concerned. "I am so, so sorry I didn't notice you.”

Isaac dropped his hoodie off the side of his bed and laid down. He placed the tiny on his chest, and gently rested his hand on them. Sam immediately curled up, pressing his back against their friend's curled up fingers. It was silent for a few moments, and Sam was left listening to the ambient sound's that came from Isaac, that only the tiny friend on his chest could hear in the moment. He focused on the rhythmic beating of his heart, but also made out the gentle breathing that came from above him. The near-silence was eventually broken with a question.

     “Trouble sleeping?” Sam looked up towards Isaac's face, and nodded. “You could've asked me,” Isaac responded, “I would have let you sleep here.” His tone wasn't accusatory, but Sam looked away shyly and muttered, “Didn't want to bother you…” they braced for it, knowing how Isaac would respond.

“Sam,” They still winced. “You could never bother me.” Isaac's tone was a little more direct, but his gaze quickly softened as he continued, “You're family to me. You know that, right? I care about you, Sam.”  Sam nodded, and couldn't help but smile as well. “We're both tired, so we can talk about this more tomorrow if you'd like.” Sam nodded. “Goodnight, Sam.”

     The next morning, Sam found himself in a tangle of limbs. He opened his eyes to a familiar black hoodie, and glanced up at Will's sleeping face. They must have had trouble sleeping as well. Their arms were wrapped around Sam's chest, while both of their legs were tangled together. I don't know how I forget how clingy they are… Sam looked towards Isaac's face, and saw he was looking to the side, angling his phone away from the two tiny folk laying on his chest. Isaac glanced in his direction, and said a quiet “Good morning!” he smiled, causing Sam to do the same. “You two are really tangled,” He laughed under his breath. “Want me to wake them up for you?” Sam shook his head “No, thanks.”

     “Is that a no because you're good, or because you don't want to bother them?” …Sam looked away. Isaac seemed to think for a moment. “Alright. I gotta get up in an hour for work anyway, so you don't have to decide if you don't want to.” That was one of the things Sam liked that about Isaac. He doesn't force Sam to speak, or make a decision if they were having trouble, and was endlessly patient with them. Sam reached out to hug Will, who seemed to squeeze Sam a little tighter than before. Sam winced at the sudden pressure on his aching ribs, but the pain subsided as he pressed his head into their chest.

“Isaac…” Sam muttered, “I can't get back to sleep. Could you-” He already felt Isaac's thumb as it begin to gently rub his back. Sam was asleep the moment he closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

[dr-demi-bee]

Writing Interview Tag Game!

Thanks for the tag @lastlight-inn! 🥰

When did you start writing?

TBH, that's hard to pin down! I was drawing clumsy comics with story lines as early as 4th grade (so like 9 or 10ish?) - and I've always had a thing for telling stories. I don't think I started earnestly writing until maybe 12. But I know for sure I was writing in middle school, and was well and truly into it in high school. There was a brief once-upon-a-time I thought about going that way for a career (but I also considered being an artist or musician ha).

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

So, I find I often write a lot darker than I read. Broadly speaking, I read a lot of fantasy, sci-fi, and some non-fiction. But I write predominantly fantasy. I've dabbled in sci-fi, but I find it a lot harder (perhaps because I'm quite picky about science accuracy).

But thematically, I much prefer to read romances and lighter hearted drama. I think my writing might lean a bit darker than I typically consume (more focus on harsh/traumatic topics).

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Ahhh this is so hard to answer. I've not had anyone really compare my work to others (at least not by name). I don't try to copy anyone's style, but I definitely am influenced by many.

If I have to pick some - Oliver Sacks, Tolkien, and GRRM.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Well! I have several!

My main office is in an open loft in the second floor of my house - past the railings are large picture windows that look out into my woods and let in a lot of natural light. I've got an L shaped desk stocked with supplies/notebooks/snacks. It looks like the kind of organized chaos one expects with ADHD.

On the left hand is an easel for painting/drawing, and on the right hand is my dual monitor set up (slightly lofted). My space is covered in cute knickknacks and things my husband has made for me. He's a wood worker, so there's lots of cute little things - including a little ghost and a miniature zen garden. I also have an owl skull and spine. My keyboard/mouse/mat and wrist pads are all space themed, as is the desktop (not that you can ever see it.) Beside my desk is my behemoth, very colorful PC tower I built myself (named Eureka).

I also have a yoga laptop that doubles as my writing on the go platform and drawing tablet (named Epiphany). I'll take it downstairs to write on my armchair, or into one of the bedrooms for some more quiet and soft surfaces. And I also take it with me on trips. Had a nice period on vacation at the beach where I got to write in a rocking chair on the porch looking out at the ocean. Ahh... (take me back :sob:)

Very occasionally I will write on my phone. But this is mostly just for notes and short form RP sort of writing.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

So aside from becoming obsessed with something (e.g. media or my own imagined world) usually I get my ideas via listening to music or taking a shower.

Or, inevitably, whenever I'm doing something else that doesn't give me time to write. I wrote several chapters of my novel while writing my dissertation... procrasti-writing.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

On the positive side: found family, loving through pain, helping each other to heal, platonic love.

On the less positive side: the effects of trauma, the way danger and stress hurts our bodies and our minds. Fighting through adversity and oppression. Chronic pain/conditions.

I'm not super surprised by either of these, really - they're all a big part my scientific life too. Before I left clinical practice I primarily helped individuals recover from trauma and addiction - and that involved a lot of working on finding self worth. My research was all devoted to studying stress and cognition - and I tried to pioneer new work on intrusive cognitions. I think this probably comes out heavily in my writing for fun, too.

What is your reason for writing?

Fun, mostly. Catharsis. And a bit of dissociating, I suppose. I've always just kind of had the urge to spew stories out into the world, even if it's just for me. I also write to connect with others.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Ohhhh, any comment makes me incredibly happy. If someone says they like something specific I am over the moon. I'm especially thrilled to hear anyone connecting with or caring about my OC characters.

When another writer I really admire or respect gives me a comment or praise (like @alpydk or @sorceresssundries) my little heart feels ready to burst! Recently had the absolute delight of having friends read and react in real time to some of my work and gooood grief is that ever motivating. (@crimson-and-lavender and @lastlight-inn I'm looking at you lol)

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want to be approachable and interesting as a person. I hope people want to read my work or even collab.

I want my writing to be novel, engaging, and exciting. I want to subvert their expectations, but also tell them a story that's approachable and will resonate with them.

Mostly I want my writing to make others feel (good).

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

The longer I've been writing things - honestly, I think it's patience. Being willing to change ideas, move them around, or even abandon them if need be. It took a long time to be okay with those things.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Oh, we have a love hate relationship. I know I can be a bit...verbose. But I also find my own writing pretty fun and interesting. I know I've done a pretty good job if I enjoy re-reading it.

Tagging some lovely mooots with affectionate no-pressure boops: @abysskeeper, @feedthepheasants, and an open tag for any other lovelies that want to!

[abigailspinach]

Could I ask 48 and 58 for the 30s meme?

Question 48 If you could build your home from scratch, what outrageous feature would you want to build into it?

Oooooo assuming I have a little bit of an extra budget to go real hog wild.

Kitchen first... double oven for sure. A full wall of cabinets with clever drawers so I can organize all the flours/sugars/spices and baking pans. Let's build a standalone freezer next to the fridge right in the kitchen cause I have so much frozen food I'd like to have handy.

Currently I have a cramped little sewing nook now and my home office is shared in the bedroom. So let's make my bedroom just for cozy sleeping. I'd want to upgrade my bookshelves from perfectly servicable Ikea to study custom built-in bookcases with drawers and glass doors to cut down on dust. I'd paint my bedroom ceiling a deep indigo night sky with little silver and gold accents for subtle stars.

A sewing craft space with beautiful wide plank wood floors, something pine or light wood. A big old farmhouse table for my cutting table, an L shaped desk for my sewing machine and ironing station. Maybe a whole attic to be my creative space. Soft rugs everywhere. Plants in pots. I'd want a corner for writing desk with plants and a window perfectly positioned for good light and a soft breeze. And a big plush armchair for naps and brainstorming. Quilt ladders everywhere. A design wall space. A roomba to trundle about and vacuum. Pillow dog beds everywhere with heating pads. Gingham curtains in golderod or sage green.

A projector for movie nights in the living room. A super cozy couch.

I'd like a little backyard with jasmine and gardenia flowers and a small patch of grass or moss so my dog can sunbathe. T'would be peak cottage coziness.

Upon reflection... is this thinking too small? Can I request a robot to do the dishes and clean the bathrooms?

Basically I yearn for cabinets and storage apparently.

Question 58 What kind of bag do you use for your bag full of bags?

LOL California makes you pay for bags so I'm usually got the reusable totes in the car. The rare plastic bags go in the hall cabinet for when guests need a bag. (Got to actually buy small bathroom trashbags cause grocery bags are a rare 10 cent commodity)

Two years ago I got to buy refrigerated tote bags for a work project. We had ~100 extra when the project concluded so everyone got to take home ten totes as a little treat. So the bags live in the blue fridge tote with zip top from my Clinical Trial project. It was very funny cause I needed a non-branded cold totes with zipper top to maintain blinding in the clinical trial so participants could carry their eye drops about the clinic and my supply vendor was befuddled by this request and sourced something that was like 20 bucks a pop. I googled cheaptotebags.com, found what I needed for 1.75 a bag if we ordered 500, and I made them use cheaptotebags.com. Bless the power of google and saying no to outrageous quotes.

[laughingogre]

The Recluse and The Huntsman

Chapter 1: Open Season

Hey y’all, thanks for the love on this already. I’ll have an AO3 account soon so the formatting will get better but bear with me for now. I’m incorporating certain parts of the comics version of Miguel’s powers and the city, so it’s more dystopian cyberpunk and he doesn’t have a spidey-sense.

Premise: Miguel has always felt like an outcast in spider society because of the way he got his powers. But after meeting Saanvi, he’s never felt more proud to be one-of-a-kind.

Pairings+Tropes: OC x Miguel O’Hara, anti-hero x hero, enemies to rivals (it’s complicated) to lovers

Warnings: violence, depictions of alcohol and drug use, adult language, and the objectification of an unconscious Miguel

Here’s the playlist for this story. Songs 3-5 fit this chapter.

Sunlight poking through the blackout curtains of the studio woke Saanvi up gently. The involuntary stretch and yawn felt like heaven after a night asleep at the large L-shaped desk. She pushed the chair back and stood up, noticing the soft blinking notification lights on the idle holo-screen and her cellphone. In a fluid motion she pushed in the chair and grabbed the phone, scrolling down the notification board while making her way through the loft towards the kitchen.

🔘 Jai Drago (3) WHAT ABOUT THE SAMPLES…

🔘 Nekyo (1) What’s in it for me?

🔘 Rordan Hilt (5) I can try to get you some…

🔘 Guavin (1) Sure, but only if you get me…

A smirk played on her lips as she pulled the fridge open with one hand and jammed the phone in a pocket with the other. After breakfast, she called her team to set up a meeting.

***

“So, what are we getting dragged into now?” Nekyo probed the group sarcastically. Chuckles resounded in different voices as they all got more comfortable.

The five of them were all gathered in the basement of Drago’s workshop. They sat around a table with a built in holodex that Saanvi had projecting her research notes.

“I’m going to personally investigate Spider-Man and you’re all going to help me. You know I’ll make it worth your while.” Saanvi smirked.

“When you say investigate… what do you mean exactly?” Drago chimed in, not wanting to lose his best customer.

“I’m going to figure out what kind of beast he is, and then figure out a way to stop him.” Saanvi didn’t want to explicitly tell them that she wanted him dead, that would reveal her fear too much.

“Isn’t he just some buff freak who has a lot of tech? I mean his webbing is neon…” Guavin trailed off to stuff some chips in his mouth, letting crunching sounds finish his sentence.

“I thought that too, until I was in the same room as him during that data pirate job. He’s… like me… but man-made.” Saanvi struggled to choke down the cocktail of disgust and fear that stirred in her as she said that. The only people who knew exactly what she was were sitting in the room with her. Saanvi was from a race of spider demons. They could take human forms, lived well beyond centuries, and spoke what was now a dead language, thanks to Thanos. As a brown recluse, her kind never had large numbers due to their behavior. She was an even more rare creature in the universe now since the destruction of her home world.

“How could you tell?” Guavin grumbled through a mouthful. “I thought it was all a gimmick.”

“Instinct. He reeks like a huntsman and has the size of one, but we all know it’s not possible he was born that way. Someone made him like that, and what if they make more?” Saanvi’s question threw electricity into the air, as if forcing all their minds to imagine an army of those self-righteous pests in the city.

“Okay so what? You’re going to stalk him and then…?” Nekyo piped up. She was already wavering on her interest in this, and Saanvi wasn’t close to convincing her to lending a hand.

“No, I’m not going to stalk him,” Saanvi rolled her eyes hard before cutting them at Nekyo. “I’m going to get close to him, find out who and what gave him those abilities and then…” She searched for the right words. “Get rid of the source and deprive him of them. At the least, he’ll be completely out of our way so we can have our way in the future.”

Now everyone was listening with real interest. A city without Spider-Man’s morality keeping trash alive was a city to smile about. They’d be able to take out their competition and deal with the psychos that terrorize their home permanently. A sigh came from Nekyo that let Saanvi know she would cooperate.

“What’s the plan then?” Rordan finally said something. Always soft spoken, his question finalized the discussion’s move from “convince the group” to “create a play”.

“I can’t see how you’d get him to come out of hiding without making yourself an enemy.”

“It’s easy… I’m going to use his nature against him. When I sensed him, I took to hiding in the vents. I was able to watch him for a bit—he had no idea I was there.”

“He doesn’t have any spider senses?” Saanvi shook her head and Rordan made a note of that, mind immediately running to ways of exploiting it. “We can definitely work around that.”

Their meeting went on for another two hours until their game plan was finalized.

***

Nekyo had cashed in a few favors to get the intel that led to their setup a few weeks later. She found out there was a group of anti-Spider-Man enthusiasts who were planning to use hostages as bait to lure him out and kill him. They made sure that Saanvi would be among those hostages tonight.

In the city’s most prestigious museum there was a gala being held for charity. No doubt those funds were just being recycled back into the rich pockets they came from but that wasn’t uncommon. Saanvi had an invitation and came dressed to the nines. A black form fitting gown that skirted the floor showed off her toned hourglass figure. Matching black heels with a silver ankle strap complimented her jewelry. Her long, dark hair was curled and worn in an elegant updo. As she made her way through the lobby she surveyed the room, noting exits and taking stock of the guests. A familiar voice spoke to her through a nearly-invisible earpiece.

“Their plan should kick off in an hour, feel free to enjoy yourself until then.” Rordan playfully suggested, noting the fact that on his feed from the contacts she was wearing a tall, black haired woman hadn’t left Saanvi’s field of vision. “Try talking to her instead of just staring.” His comment made her face burn, and she took a glass of champagne off a tray held by a nearby waiter. Waiting around in big crowds was never her strong suit. She felt naked without her usual mission gear—she hadn’t done anything like this in over eight years.

The hour passed uneventfully, conversations with the extremely wealthy weren’t interesting at all. However the energy shifted immediately as the opening speaker’s speech took a dark turn announcing that everyone in the museum was now a hostage and how they’d been given poison via the champagne.

How cliche… Saanvi thought, taking another sip of her third glass of champagne. Her resistance to poison making this reveal a non-event. Soon enough, she could hear far-off sirens coming towards the front of the building. First the cops, then the spider… She opened her clutch to look for the weapon that Rordan and Drago had devised for this night. Using an isolate compound from her venom, they devised a perfume that would make their target immobile and a sickness would follow. All she had to do was wait for him to take out the group before spraying herself with it and then haul him off as soon the commotion granted her enough cover.

Everything happened so quickly. Saanvi’s spine tingled with the awareness that her quarry was near. Once he appeared he made quick work of his attackers. His combat abilities were actually impressive to her. As his fight came to a close and cops and emergency responders flooded the scene, she saw her opportunity and gave herself three sprays of the perfume before putting on her best performance of a terrified socialite. She threw herself into him, screaming with fake tears in her eyes.

“You have to get me out of here! I’ve been poisoned! They laced the champagne!” Her hands thumped against his well-muscled chest as dramatically as possible. She watched his mask contort in shock and then turn serious.

“Ma’am please calm down! The EMTs are aware of the situation and they will help you, they already started pumping a neutralizer into the air.” His voice was stern and deep, she noticed a Spanish accent as well. He was grabbing at her wrists and missing each time, his reflexes already affected by the perfume wafting off her chest.

“No you don’t understand! It’s not enough!” Saanvi’s theatrics had her ear piece erupting in giggles from both Rordan and Drago now. She watched as her quarry started to sway on his feet and that was her signal. In a swift motion she pushed him through a set of doors that led to a closed off gallery where they were alone. His body stiffed and he tried to speak but no noise came. The world swirled around him and the floor came up to meet him. Standing over him, sure he was down for the count, she finally spoke to the two men privy to her sight. “Time for extraction. Send a nice car, please.” She removed the contact lens that was streaming her vision and took a long look at the man on the ground beneath her. His body was certainly a marvel, every muscle pushed past normal human standards. He might as well have been made from spun steel, or sculpted from marble. Even unconscious he had a menacing effect on her, like he was made to be aggressively intimidating. His waist was almost impossibly small compared to the broadness of his shoulders. Instinctively she knelt down and reached out to gently touch his face. The mask buzzed to the touch, as if it was full of electricity. She could feel the prominence of his cheekbones and began imagining what he might look like. The arrival of her extraction vehicle shook the images from her mind. She picked him up and threw him over her shoulder, making her way to the car.

“Talk about role reversal,” Guavin snorted a laugh as he watched Saanvi lay the hulking figure down in the back seat. “Where are we dropping him?”

“My place. I’ll take it from there.”

[harryandpedro]

uppercut - two

summary: Maisy moves in with Pedro to care for his son. An irrationalizable infatuation with the thirty-four years old boxer puts roots in her heart.

parings: boxer/singledad!pedro x nanny!fem oc

warnings: none

wc: 3k

series masterlist here.

Maisy

From the gym, I head home to pack up my wardrobe and essentials.

I try not to overthink this whole situation. I'm just helping this handsome-looking man, nothing else. And besides, this is my opportunity to be spontaneous for once in my life.

I fill two suitcases then take an Uber over to Pedro's.

The car pulls up by the curb of a three-story renovated brownstone in Tribeca. I pay the driver and climb out, spotting Pedro sitting on the steps holding what I presume is a baby monitor.

When he sees me, he leaps to his feet. I struggle with my suitcases and he comes over to help. "Thanks," I mumble sheepishly.

"No worries." He shoots me a warm smile over his shoulder as he leads the way inside. He holds the heavy mahogany door open and ushers me inside. "Go ahead."

I enter and notice how tidy everything is. Peeking past the foyer, his home is spacious but not empty. Sure, there are telltale signs of a toddler living here—a play mat here and a stack of building blocks there—but for the most part, he keeps his space neat.

I take off my shoes and place them by the end of a row of sneakers, mostly New Balances. Footwear he can easily put on. Dad shoes. A smile lifts on my lips at my conclusion.

"Thank you, Maisy. You're really saving my ass by watching my son," he says, and he sounds genuinely grateful. "As soon as the agency finds a replacement, you can go back to your big plans," he promises.

My big plans of wallowing in bed and regretting my life choices? I'd rather not.

"That's okay," I give him a smile. "Think this will be better for me than doom-scrolling and bed-rotting all summer."

"One piece of advice; enjoy those summers while you still can," he tells me, winking. "Let me show you around."

I hum and he rounds me and leads me further into his home. He faces me, walking backwards. "Oliver's room is on the second floor. I'll let you explore on your own when he wakes from his nap, but the main part of the house is this way." Hands in the pockets of his jeans—he changed out of his workout clothes, he nods towards the opposite side of the house.

I trail after him as he gives me a tour of the first floor. We pad barefoot across the hardwood flooring. "Living room, dining room, kitchen," he rattles off the open spaces as we pass them. The interior follows the same colour scheme—white, charcoal grey, navy blue and a pop of burnt orange on textiles. His kitchen is pine green with stainless steel appliances. The living room has a pillowy L-shaped couch and a nook for Oliver to play with a playpen and a basket of toys. A monstrous flatscreen television is built into a custom-made bookshelf system that takes up the entire wall.

"Why the big screen?" I tease him.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. "I like to make it an occasion when I watch a movie."

I scoff. "What movie do you watch that requires this many pixels?"

"Nothing mature-themed, if that's what you're getting at. More like The Big Lebowski. Blade Runner. The Gladiator, to name a few," he shrugs.

"Never seen them."

"Well, I have them on DVD so you can give them a watch when Oliver's sleeping." A beat of silence mushrooms us, and I use it to scan his book collection. He has a vast array, spanning from Dostoevsky to Daphne du Maurier.

"Let's go upstairs." We take the stairs to the third floor. "My room's up here," he motions to a closed door. "As is the guest bedroom. I got it all set up for you."

I follow him and he shows me to my room for the next ten or so weeks. I immediately notice how much direct sunlight it gets because of the south-facing window. The floors are the same hardwood as the rest of the house. The furniture is all white—a desk, a dresser and a built-in closet—except for the double bed that has an anthracite curved headboard.

I leave my spot and opt to explore and while I do, I hear him walk away and come back, placing down my suitcases by the door. I turn to face him.

"There's a binder on the desk for you with everything listed about Oliver in there. His routines and daily schedules. What his gibberish is supposed to mean, that kind of stuff. Also emergency contacts. You got my number right?"

I thumb through the pages. "Yeah, I have it saved in my phone."

"Good. That's good."

"You're really organized," I say more like an afterthought.

"I got to be. My son's relying on and I'm not about to let him down." He scratches his chin. "All right, I'll let you get comfortable. Oli's gonna wake up soon from his nap, come find us when you're ready to meet him."

He backs out of the room, leaving the door ajar. I don't bother to close it. I quickly change out of my jeans and into some shorts that go with the basic white tee I have on before unpacking. First, I put my clothes in the drawers and the wardrobe, then I move on to stacking my summer reads on the nightstand—all romance because if I don't have romance in my life then at least I can fantasize about it. I didn't bring much clutter, only a scented candle and a framed drawing of New York's skyline from when I was big into creative stuff. They find their new home on the desktop. I fluff the pillows and inspect the sheets Pedro got me. They're white and ironed, like in hotels. I smell them, and they smell fresh and something musky.

I store away my toiletries in the bathroom across my room and as I walk the two steps it takes back to my quarters I pick up on the babble of voices coming from the living room downstairs.

Anxiety rises in me as I contemplate the what-ifs, my biggest concern being what if Oliver doesn't like me. I take a cleansing breath to get over myself and make my way over to them.

Pedro

Oliver and I are in the living room, practising our walk when Maisy appears in the archway. She's wringing her hands so I shoot her an encouraging smile, prompting her to come closer.

"Look, Bug, someone's here to meet you," I say in a baby voice. I'm hunched over and I let him use me for balance as he clutches onto my hands and takes wobbly steps ahead of me. We stop and I lift him into my arms. "This is Oliver." I nod my head towards him, shifting my hip so Maisy can see him better.

"Hi, Oliver," Maisy coos, her eyes melting.

My son blushes, burrowing his head into the crook of my neck. He's being shy, but he's not afraid of her the way he is with most strangers. I think he's simply aware of her attention, and even though he's acting like he doesn't, he likes it.

"He's being shy."

"That's okay. We all get shy sometimes." She tells my son in a soft voice.

At that, he picks his little head up and peers at her curiously.

"Should we show Maisy all your stuff?" I ask my son. He makes a gibberish sound.

"He's not walking on his own yet?" Maisy asks.

My head snaps to her, looking for a judgmental glare to accompany her statement, but there isn't one. In fact, nothing in her tone was judgmental either.

It's a me thing, thinking others are judging my parenting skills or my son's progression. He's fourteen months old. Maybe he should be walking. Maybe he should have more words in his vocabulary. I don't fucking know. To be honest, I don't want to know because I'm doing my best.

"Not yet. It'll happen any day now, though." I shift my attention back to Oliver, not letting her see the concern on my face that I'm screwing up this whole "dad" thing.

"That's kind of a relief. I'm glad I don't have to worry about him running away on me," she chuckles.

Looking at her, I catch her watching my son with a fond smile. She's not judging us, not judging me.

"He's a hell of a crawler though." We make it to the second floor where Oliver's nursery is located. I close the stairs gate and then place him down and he immediately starts crawling. "The house is baby-proofed so you can let him crawl as much as he wants, just make sure the stairs gate is shut."

I steer her in the direction of Oliver's nursery. She enters first and I stop in the doorway, watching her take in the room.

"We're at the stage where he naps two times during the day and he's sleeping through the night. If he gives you trouble when you put him down, you can give him a bottle."

She nods along as she inspects Oliver's crib.

I push off the doorway and meet her by the dresser. Pulling drawers, I go over with her what where to find.

We make our way back to the kitchen. "We're doing baby-lead weaning. I try to introduce a new food every four days but basically, he sets the pace." I point to the fridge. "I have an ongoing list of foods he has tried. Please don't give him anything allergenic if I'm not here."

"Noted," she says before finding Oliver sitting at her feet, staring up at her with big eyes.

She gets down on her haunches, making herself as eye level as she can. "Hi, buddy."

Oliver gives her a giddy, toothy grin and I lean against the kitchen counter, watching their interaction.

There's something about this image of her standing in my kitchen with her big, beautiful brown eyes and the thick lashes framing them, that makes me forget she is the nanny and my coach's daughter and not one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. For just one second.

I erase the inappropriate thoughts.

"What do you say? Wanna hang out with me while your dad is working?" Maisy pokes my son's belly playfully.

Oliver makes grabby hands at her, his way of telling her he wants to be held. "Up, up," he babbles, smacking his lips together.

She picks him up with ease, positioning him on her hip, an arm securely wound around him. My son lies his head on her shoulder with a sweet sigh, his little palm settling on her collarbone. She gazes down at him, fondness glistening in her eyes.

Oliver has never been this keen on being held by a stranger before, least of all a random woman. I blame his general shyness around women on the fact that the one who gave birth to him left him to be raised by a single dad and a team of boxers.

Witnessing how quickly Maisy has gained his liking eases away a small amount of my hesitation about this situation.

Maisy

My nerves wake me before my alarm. I lie in bed for some time, listening to the soft sounds of Pedro getting his day started. I hear the coffee maker, him unloading the dishwasher, Oliver's sweet little squeals.

"Whoa, Bug. Let's try to keep the volume down. We don't want to wake Maisy, do we?" I hear him say and my insides go all warm and fuzzy.

I press down this foreign tender feeling and throw off my covers. I pull on a hoodie, hiding my bedhead with the hood and set out to find them. They're in the kitchen, Oliver in his highchair, elbow deep into some kind of puree while his dad watches him like a hawk over the rim of his mug of coffee.

"Morning," he rasps in a bourbon-backed voice, "Did we wake you?"

His morning rasp has my tummy doing cartwheels. I try to ignore the sensation but it spreads through my body.

I've never had sex but I do know what it feels to be drawn to someone. And this funny feeling his voice just wrought out of me is so wrong on many levels. For starters, he's my dad's client and friend. Secondly, I'm nannying his kid. And perhaps most importantly, he's twelve years my senior. I shouldn't be attracted to him.

"No, you didn't," I say, swallowing past a lump in my throat.

He does a casual peruse of my get-up but his gaze doesn't make me feel objectified. It's not predatory, it's curious. His eyes linger on my bare legs before lifting to meet mine. "Coffee?" he offers.

"Yeah, thanks." The grinder of his coffee machine gets to work.

"Black or—?"

"With milk, if you have some."

"Sure. Suit yourself."

He cleans up Oliver while I fix up my coffee. "We're gonna get ready. You can join us if you feel up for it," he prompts. Effortlessly, he holds his son up with a single forearm and the two of them wait for my answer.

Naturally, I agree and, as he has taken me through Oliver's nighttime ritual last night, I shadow him as he performs their morning routine.

An hour later, I come to the conclusion that Pedro is a bit helicopter-y. All morning he refuses to put Oliver down. Though he's needy, I can sympathise with him; he's probably trying to soak up every minute he gets with him because he's leaving his boy for the rest of the day and Oliver won't be awake when he gets home.

"You should go or you'll be late to your session," I remind him. He ignores me and continues to blow raspberries on his son's tummy and cheeks. I try to respect him but he's been saying his goodbyes for the last five minutes. "Seriously, Pedro, just go. I promise I can handle this."

He reluctantly hands Oliver over. "Call with anything," he says to me, boring into my eyes.

"We will be fine," I assure him.

With one final kiss to his son's forehead, he slings his duffle bag over his shoulder and heads for the front door. "I'll be back around seven," he tells me and finally heads out.

I shut the door behind him and peer down at Oliver. "Looks like it's just you and me for a bit." I bounce on the balls of my feet, rooting to keep him from getting fussy now that his dad is gone. "What should we do now, huh, buddy?"

Our day ensues without a hitch. I follow his daily schedule—eat, play, sleep and repeat. I play peekaboo with him but we both get bored of it quickly so when he's down for his afternoon nap, I consult Google about more engaging activities we can do together.

He gets clingy when I'm putting him down for the night—obviously missing his dad's comfort—but rocking him seems to do the trick and he eventually succumbs to sleep.

It's almost eight when Pedro gets in, and I've done the dishes, folded the baby clothes in the dryer and emptied the diaper pail.

Without as much as greeting me or bothering to take his sneakers off, he takes the steps in twos before breaking into a light jog on the second floor. I don't take it personally, I'd most likely be the same. It must be hard to leave your child in the care of someone else.

I watch on the baby monitor as he enters the darkened space of the nursery and hurries over to the crib. Oliver is soundly sleeping in a set of comfy pyjamas. Pedro's posture visibly relaxes. He tucks the edges of the blanket around his son's little body before kissing his forehead and slipping out of the room.

I hear him toeing off his shoes in the foyer. "Maisy?" he calls.

"In the kitchen," I respond, loud enough for him to hear.

I sense his presence and I turn to see him. "Hey," I say with a smile. "He's asleep?"

"He is. Did he go down okay?" He's still in his workout clothes, rocking a grey t-shirt with sweatmarks over it and a pair of basketball shorts.

"He was a bit upset but we managed. Otherwise, he was an angel." I dry my hands on a dish towel. "You hungry? I took the liberties and got groceries delivered with your emergency card."

"Thank you. I completely forgot we were out of stuff," he says. His gaze leaves mine and looks behind me. "Did you do the dishes?"

"Yeah," I mumble tentatively. "Am I overstepping here?"

"No, it's not that," he reassures me. "But you don't have to worry about that stuff. I have a cleaning lady come every three days to help with that."

"Oh, well, it wasn't that much of a hustle," I tell him.

He gives me a tight-lipped smile. "I appreciate the enthusiasm." He moves past me, heading for the fridge.

He starts pulling ingredients for an omelette and I simply stand there, observing him. "Can I ask you something?" I speak up after a beat. He hums in acknowledgement. "Where's Oliver's mom?"

There's a hint of hesitation in his eyes as he looks at me. "No idea. We were a drunken fumble. She didn't tell me she got pregnant, then she showed up one year post-partum out of nowhere and a couple of days later skipped town." He sets a pan on the stovetop. "Said didn't want any part of her kid."

That puts Pedro's overbearing protectiveness of his son into a better perspective. Oliver didn't have anyone and Pedro stepped up, ready to be his everything. My heart cracks.

"You don't need to feel sorry for us," he adds, turning on the stove. "I made peace with Oliver's mom's decision. I'm not saying that what she did was acceptable by any means, but I think Oliver is better off without her than to be loved half-heartedly by her."

I gnaw on the inside of my cheeks. It must've been a lot to take on, to fill in for two and to carry that responsibility.

"I know I've only been here for a day but I can tell that you're a wonderful dad to Oliver. He's lucky to have someone as loving as you are as their parent." I tell him earnestly.

"I do the best I can with our situation."

With that, silence descends on the room. He's in his head and I suddenly feel like I'm intruding. "Well, if you don't need me with anything else I think I'm going to turn in for tonight."

"Okay. Good night."

[littlemissizzy05]

All the things we left unsaid

Finally after 2 months, chapter 5 is out!!!

Fair warning there are some depressive behaviour and thoughts in this chapter.

Here's a snippet of the new chapter:

Namjoon's apartment was spacious and modern. That was her first thought as she stood in the small passage that lead her into the open plan; the big, flatscreen TV mounted on the wall catching her attention next. She noticed the kitchen to her right as she stepped further into the apartment.

There were two stools placed behind the kitchen island, and her eyes tracked the space from the stools to the lounge, where the big TV was mounted. The L-shaped couches in the lounge looked well-loved with a dark coffee table tying the room together. There was a space between the couches and the back wall (which had some artwork on it) and if one walked through that space, they could get to the balcony which provided a stunning view of the city.

She only had a moment to take in the apartment before Namjoon was ushering her passed the kitchen, turned her right, and then lead her into the corridor. To her left were two doors and to her right was one.

Namjoon opened the door to the first room on the left side before looking back at her. She noticed a flicker of hesitancy flutter across his eyes but it was gone before she could ponder too long on his expression. He offered her a polite smile - or she thought he did since he had a mask on, she could see his eyes crinkle though - and told her to step through the room first. 

The room itself was on the bigger side, though she wouldn't describe it as being ridiculously huge like one might see in the movies. The bed was centred against the far wall, there were built-in cupboards on her left and there was a desk placed near the front right corner of the room with a desktop set up and a few trinkets scattered about the surface. 

"This is the guest bedroom. I normally just use the desk in the room for work and gaming when no one is staying over," Namjoon explained. She saw him take a quick glance at her in her periphery. "The bathroom across the hall is all yours to use since I have my own ensuite in my bedroom." 

Finally, she turned to him and gave him a tight smile.

"Thank you for opening up your home to me," she said. "I know this is a strange situation."

"You don't have to thank me. The situation is strange; that's why I offered to let you stay with me," he said, rubbing the back of his head

They fell into an awkward silence for a moment. She averted her gaze to the bed. Namjoon seemed to follow her line of sight because he spoke up again as he took a step back.

"Right, I should let you get acquainted with the room. I'll come in later with some food and masks for you to use when you want to use the bathroom." He took more backward steps to the door. "Remember the quarantine is only two weeks."

Two weeks... If she could survive lockdown, then she could survive two weeks of quarantine in a stranger's home. That's right, Namjoon was a stranger. She may have been familiar with Rap Monster, the famous K-Pop idol, but she knew next to nothing about the man that she had agreed to share an apartment with. But he had kindly offered up his home to her, surely he wasn't a bad person. Then again, you could never be too sure.

Just before he walked out of the room, as if sensing her unease, Namjoon stopped and said one last thing.

"There's a key here for you to lock the room whenever you want," he said, pulling the door forward to show her that there really was a key there.

She offered him one last tight-lipped smile before he closed the door, and let out a long sigh once he was gone. She ran a hand through her hair as she looked around the room once more. It was so empty; bare of anything that showed signs of life. Well, except for the desk but that was Namjoon's so it didn't feel right to go near it. She turned back to the door and took a few steps forward so she could lock the door.

She just had to get through these two weeks. Hopefully by then she would've figured out a way to get back home.

Read more here: