#i'd make scene packs and everything

[roomwithanopenfire]

the way there are so many snowbaz edit ideas just floating in my brain but i'll never be able to make them because there's no movie or tv show

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town���and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[flanaganfilm]

Good day Mr Flanagan. please what does "the rest is confetti" mean to you and in the context it was used in hill house??

Okay, here we go. Buckle up for a long read.

To answer this, I've got to explain a little bit about what was happening and where I was when I sat down to write episode 10 of The Haunting of Hill House.

Hill House was not a fun shoot. The picture above is from very early in production, when I was still chubby and happy.

It was my first foray into television. I was absolutely terrified that I'd mess it up. So I'd opted to direct all of the episodes myself, figuring that - if nothing else - I'd have no one else to blame if it went south.

It was the most grueling professional experience of my career. The shoot was by no means a smooth one, every day was an uphill battle from a budgetary perspective, and between the three giant production entities involved with the production, I spent a lot of time fighting over the creative and logistical elements of the series.

I began losing weight. I was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.

By the end of the shoot, I had dropped almost 40 lbs.

I was very depressed. Every day was a battle, and for the first time in my career, I wasn't excited to go to work in the morning. We were fighting for basic resources, fighting for the show we wanted, and even fighting amongst ourselves by the end. It was grueling.

We hadn't written all of the scripts when we started production. I believe we had finished through episode 7, but the rest of the scripts had to be finished while we were already shooting.

We'd mapped everything out in the writers room, and I had great support on the other episodes, but I was writing the finale solo. I'd thought I'd be able to juggle it with everything else. I quickly fell behind.

I finally got to the script about halfway through production. I'd work on it between takes at the monitor, and then get home to our tiny rental house in Atlanta, where Kate was waiting with our baby son. (One of the rare bright spots of this shoot came when Kate found out she was pregnant about halfway through production. We even named our daughter Theodora, in honor of her origins.)

I'd typically fall down from exhaustion when I got home, but I had to push through it and work on the script. My weekends were spent shotlisting and prepping for upcoming episodes. We didn't have enough time to stay ahead of prep, so every available day was used for that... I went three months without a single day off at one point.

I'd sit up late staring at the script. I was in a dark, dark place. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and feeling like I lived in an eternal present. Each day bled into the next and it didn't feel like there was an end in sight. That feeling of unreality was heightened because we kept returning to the same sets, same locations, and even the same scenes throughout the 100 shooting-day production. Stepping back into the exact room we had shot in days or weeks or even months ago made the whole thing feel absolutely surreal. Making movies is always an non-linear experience, but this one felt particularly so... it was like the days of our lives were happening to us all out of order.

I remember feeling something like despair creeping into my daily experience on the show. And I remember dwelling on that when I got into the scene work of episode 10.

As I worked through the draft, I recall that despair coloring a lot of what was on the page. My filter was breaking down. There's a monologue at the beginning of the episode where Steven's wife Leigh (played by my dear friend Samantha Sloyan) spews out a torrent of eviscerating insults about Steve's value as a writer. That is just me vomiting onto myself. She was voicing all of my deepest insecurities about myself at the time, and of what I was doing with this series.

She says "Is anything real before you write it, Steve? The things you write about, they're real. Those people are real, their feelings are real, their pain is real - but not to you, is it. Not until you chew it up, digest it, and shit it out onto a piece of paper and even then, it's a pale imitation at best."

This was the mindset I was in for a lot of the shoot. The writing became a reflection of a lot of that turmoil, and I knew who I was referring to in that monologue - I was talking about my family. I was talking about how much of their lives I'd used as building material for this show. I was talking about the fact that I'd lost two loved ones to suicide, and seen what it had done to my mother in particular. And I knew I was using - possibly even exploiting - those people for this series.

There's a lot of despair in this episode. The Red Room, as we conceived it, was a place that would feed upon those emotions. Grief, sadness, loss... those were the real ghosts of our series, and where our characters find themselves at the start of the finale. They're being slowly digested - eaten alive - by those feelings.

So finally, it came time to write Nell's final scene with her siblings. I knew from the outline we'd constructed in the writers room what this was supposed to accomplish - she was supposed to be their salvation. She was supposed to take all of these feelings that we'd been wrestling with and finally provide catharsis... finally say something that would free everyone.

I remember sitting with a blinking cursor for a long time. The Crain siblings had just turned and seen Nellie standing by the door, and suddenly were able to hear her speak. But what should she say? What would I say? What would I want someone to say to me?

What she ultimately says lays bare a lot of what I was thinking about when it comes to grief. It exists outside of linear time, much as I felt I existed at the time. That sense of eternal present, that sense of a nonlinear eternity of moments and memories - it all came out in her speech to her brothers and sisters.

I remember feeling, looking at my insane present and looking back at my past, how strangely overwhelmed I was by memories. That I wasn't experiencing time in a straight line, and hadn't been for a while - for the better part of a year, I'd felt more like I was standing in a whirlwind of moments. "Our moments fall around us like..." Nell said, and I recall sitting back and trying to find the words.

"Rain," for certain, but there was something too uniform about that. The moments of life as I experienced them weren't that orderly, they weren't that small. They didn't fall the same way. Some sailed by, fast and unremarkable, while others lingered in front of me, twisting and stretching. So it was a good word, but not the right word. I left it on the page though.

"Snow" was my next attempt. Better, in that I imagined the snow blowing in the wind, swirling and dancing and feeling more organic. More chaotic. More like life. But for some reason, the word that stuck with me, the word I felt Nell Crain would connect with was...

"Confetti."

And that was because I was thinking not of Victoria Pedretti at this point, but of Violet McGraw.

Violet played Young Nell, and I wondered what she might have said if she experienced time this way. As an adult, Nell was despairing. Nell was overwhelmed. But as a child... there was an innocence to the word. There was a joy to the word.

I imagined moments falling around her, this little girl with the big smile and the wide eyes. Her moments would be colorful. They would be of different shapes and sizes, some falling fast and some falling slow, flipping and turning and dancing in the air, independent of the others. Sparkling, whirling, doing lazy summersaults as they sauntered down to Earth.

I thought of myself, and of the members of my family. I thought of those we'd lost. I realized what I hoped for them, and for us all, in the end... was to look upon that mosaic of experience, that avalanche of days and minutes and moments... and to smile with some of the joy we had as children.

And this, I thought, was something that gave me hope. This gave me a glimpse of some kind of salvation for them. This was also how I hoped my life might seem if I was a ghost - a cascade of color and light and shape and movement, something I could dance in.

So Nell smiled and said... "or confetti."

It stuck with me. The rest of her monologue gets heavy again, and gets to the real point of the show - the point of the whole series, if I'm honest - and that's forgiveness.

I figured the only thing that would let the Crain children out of the Red Room was to be forgiven. I thought of the losses in my own family, and I thought of what I wished for my mother and for my aunts and uncles and cousins and I tried to pour that into her final words.

"I loved you completely, and you loved me the same," she said, "that's all." And this was the point I wanted the most to make. That at the end of our life, if we can say this about each other, the rest doesn't matter. The rest is that rainstorm, or that blizzard, that fell around this one central truth, and maybe built itself in piles around it, to the point we lost sight of it along the way.

And I thought again of that little girl, and almost as an afterthought, wrote "The rest is confetti."

I liked the way it sounded, but I was insecure about the line. I almost took it out, in fact. I remember asking Kate to read the scene and talking about that last line with her. "Is it too cute?" I wondered. She was on the fence. "Depends on how it's acted," she said, and I figured she was right. We could always take it out if it didn't work. The scene could end with "I loved you completely, and you loved me the same. That's all."

Why not shoot it and see what happened.

I turned in the script, we published it quickly so that we could start breaking it down and prepping it. And the next morning I was back on set. I'd deal with episode 10 when it came down the pipe again, sometime in the coming months. We had a lot of shooting to get through before I had to worry about it.

I recall Netflix asking me to cut a lot of that monologue, and I remember them also having questions about the "confetti" line. I pointed out that it didn't cost us any extra to shoot it all, it was only words, and fought to keep the script intact.

Ultimately, they insisted I make a series of cuts on the page. I begrudgingly agreed, but left Nell's speech alone. I made superficial cuts around it, throughout the draft, and even considered changing the font size to fool them into thinking it had gotten shorter (I ultimately was told I wouldn't fool anyone and not to risk starting a war). But Nellie's final goodbye stayed intact.

It must be said - Victoria Pedretti SLAUGHTERED this scene.

By the time we got around to filming it, things had never been worse for the production. There was almost nothing left for a lot of us. Tensions were sky-high, resources had been exhausted completely, and we were all ready to give up.

Filming in the mold-ridden Red Room was depressing, morose, and led to a lot of arguments and unpleasantness. The room itself just felt gross, always, and we were in there for days at a time. The last thing we had to shoot in there was Nellie's goodbye.

Victoria came to set having to push through pages of monologue, and she did so with captivating bravado. I recall being teary-eyed at the monitor watching her work. And when we finally made it to the last line, I watched her deliver it with... a smile. A sincere, innocent, longing, joyful smile. A smile informed by the sadness, grief, and loss of her own situation, of her own life... but a smile that finds forgiveness and grace after all. Pedretti knew how to say the line, and how that word would work.

And as she said it, I knew it would stay in the show.

Over the years, that sentence has become something of a tagline for The Haunting of Hill House. I'm always a bit mystified and touched when I see people approach me with the line on T-shirts, or even tattooed on their bodies.

I started signing it with autographs back in 2020 after enough fans asked me to. Now it's my go-to when I sign anything related to Hill House.

The line, for me, represents a lot of things.

It's about the insane, chaotic, non-linear experience of making that show. It's about trying to find and hold onto joy, even in the grips of despair.

It's about the way the moments of our lives aren't linear, not really, and how we may be unable to understand them as we exist in their flurry. It's about finding hope, innocence and forgiveness in the final reckoning.

And it's about how, outside of our love for each other, the rest is just... well, it's fleeting. It's colorful. It's overwhelming. It's blinding. It's dancing. And, if we look at it right, it's beautiful. But it's also light. It's tinsel. It flits and dances and falls and fades, it's as light as air.

The rest is the stuff that falls around us, and flits away into nothing.

It's the love that stays.

[letsgetbigger]

My Roommate

Part One

Moving day arrived with the sun shining brightly over the city. I had decided to find a roommate to help pay the mortgage, since my salary at the clothing store wasn't enough. The idea of sharing my space with someone new made me feel both anxious and excited.

Erik arrived early, dressed in a large, comfortable tracksuit. He was a handsome 25-year-old, recently independent, working from home as a programmer. In contrast to my usual work suit and tie, his relaxed style caught my attention immediately.

"Hi, Frank," Erik said with a broad smile, extending his hand.

"Hi, Erik. Let me help you with the boxes," I replied, shaking his hand.

From our first meeting when he came to see the apartment, we got along well. As Erik unpacked his things and arranged them in his new room, I couldn't help but watch him. There was something about his presence that attracted me.

After a few hours of work, we finished settling everything. Erik collapsed onto the sofa, sweating slightly from the effort, and I noticed that his clothes, though large, didn't completely hide a slight roundness in certain areas of his figure. It was then that I understood why he had brought so much food. The fridge, which usually held my fruits and vegetables, was now packed with ready meals, cheese, whole milk, and various sauces. The cabinets were filled with pasta, rice, chips, cookies, and other snacks.

"Wow, you have quite an appetite," I commented, trying to sound casual as I observed his provisions.

Erik laughed. "Yeah, I like to eat."

I couldn't deny it puzzled me, but I decided not to dwell on it and simply accepted that my new roommate had a different lifestyle from mine.

One night, weeks later, I came home after a bad date. I was feeling disappointed and frustrated. To my surprise, I found Erik sitting on the couch with two empty pizza boxes beside him.

"Hey, Frank. How was the date?" he asked with a carefree smile.

"There was no spark," I said, shrugging.

Erik looked at me with interest. "Maybe he wasn't your type," he said, a sympathetic look on his handsome face. "Sometimes it's hard to find someone who we really click with."

I sank into the armchair across from him, feeling a bit better hearing his words. He always had a way of making me feel understood and less alone.

"Maybe you're right," I admitted, letting out a sigh.

As we talked, I noticed something different about Erik. His tracksuit no longer fit as loosely as when he moved in. In fact, his sweatshirt seemed to hide a growing belly. It was clear he was enjoying his food, and his body showed it. He got up and walked to the kitchen. His sweatpants clung to his rounder butt in a way I hadn't seen before. He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a huge tub of protein powder, which surprised me.

"Have you been to the gym?" I asked, trying to understand why he needed a protein shake after two pizzas.

Erik laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't go to the gym," he said as if the idea amused him.

"Oh. Well, I think it's time for me to go to bed."

"Goodnight, Frank."

Maybe he was right. Maybe the slim guy I went out with wasn't simply my type. I'd always been more attracted to burly men, bears.

One hot night in late spring, I woke up thirsty. I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I reached the doorway, I stopped in my tracks. The scene before me left me paralyzed. Erik was standing there, illuminated by the light of the open fridge. He was wearing only a pair of briefs that dug into his skin, highlighting his curves and revealing the increasing roundness of his body. His belly slightly spilled over the elastic waistband, and his thighs looked thicker, but what stood out the most was his butt. That round, prominent ass completely filled the underwear, stretching the fabric to its limit. Erik had a box of donuts on the counter and was eating one after another with insatiable voracity using his left hand. His right hand was inside his briefs, moving rhythmically as he masturbated. The pleasure on his face was undeniable. I couldn't help but stand there, silently watching. The sight of Erik pleasuring himself like that, enjoying the food and his own body, was mesmerizing. I felt my erection grow quickly.

I backed away from the doorway carefully, trying not to make any noise, and returned to my room. The image of Erik lingered in my mind: his increasingly plump body, his hands occupied with the donuts and his cock, the expression on his face. I knew something had changed within me and that my attraction to Erik had grown in a way I couldn't ignore.

Part Two

With the arrival of summer, the heat in our apartment became unbearable. Erik started walking around in just his briefs, and every time I saw him, my heart pounded harder. His physique had changed noticeably. His belly had grown larger and stuck out proudly. His butt had become even bigger and rounder. The briefs barely contained his cheeks, and the integrity of the fabric was tested with every move. Erik seemed comfortable with his body. Seeing him so natural and carefree drove me wild.

One afternoon, as we sat on the couch watching TV, I couldn't contain my curiosity. I looked at him intently and asked:

"Erik, are you... gaining weight on purpose?"

Erik remained silent for a moment, then a mischievous smile spread across his face.

"Yes, Frank, I am doing it on purpose."

"Why?" I asked.

"I've always been excited by the idea of gaining weight, feeling my body grow, my belly expanding, and my butt getting bigger. I love seeing how my clothes get tighter," he explained.

My eyes widened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and at the same time, I felt incredibly aroused. His confession had only intensified my desire.

The next morning, as I headed to the kitchen to have coffee, I noticed the bathroom door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Erik in the shower. Water cascaded over his naked body, highlighting every curve, every fold of his skin. Watching his hands deliberately move over his fat belly, his chest, and then his enormous buttocks was fascinating. I clung to the door, my erection painfully hard. Unbeknownst to me, a damp spot formed in my briefs, a sign of my extreme arousal. Erik saw me. He didn't say anything, but his smile and the gleam in his eyes said it all. He pulled back the shower curtain and gestured for me to join him. Without thinking twice, I stepped into the bathroom. I quickly dropped my briefs to the floor and approached him. He turned, offering me his back. My eyes were fixed on his round, firm butt, a view I couldn't resist. I began to caress him, and Erik shuddered under my touch. I couldn't wait any longer; my throbbing cock sought its target. I aligned myself with him, and with a slow, deliberate motion, I entered him. The sensation was incredible. A moan escaped my lips. Erik arched back, bracing his hands against the shower wall as I started to move inside him. My hands gripped his love handles, and I increased the pace. The thrusts became stronger, more desperate, and Erik responded to each one with moans of pleasure. I felt his breathing quicken as we neared the climax. Finally, with a muffled cry, I came inside him. Erik shuddered and cried out too, his own orgasm following mine. We stayed like that, connected and panting, as the water continued to fall, washing away the sweat and passion we had shared.

That night, after a long day at work, I couldn't stop thinking about the morning's experience. When I got home, I found Erik relaxing on the sofa. I approached him and sat down beside him.

"Erik, there's something I need to tell you," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "I love how fat you're getting. Especially your butt. It drives me crazy. And I want to see you get even fatter."

Erik smiled, his rounded face filled with satisfaction. "I like what I'm hearing, Frank."

I stood up and went to the kitchen, where I pulled a two-liter tub of ice cream from the freezer. Returning to the sofa, I placed it in front of Erik, who had already eaten two huge plates of pasta for dinner. His eyes lit up at the sight of the ice cream. I sat beside him and started feeding him. The ice cream melted in his mouth, and his lips moved with delight, swallowing each spoonful. My hand slid over his belly, feeling the fullness and warmth of his flesh under my fingers.

"That's it, Erik," I whispered in his ear, leaning in to kiss his neck. "I want you to eat it all. I want to see you grow."

After what seemed like hours, Erik finished the ice cream. He lay back on the sofa, his breathing heavy, his eyes locked on mine.

"Thank you, Frank," he murmured with gratitude and desire.

"This is just the beginning," I said.

I knelt before him, and ran my hands along his thick thighs. My fingers then played with his nipples while I kissed his belly. Erik panted as my mouth traveled down his body. I nibbled his cock through his briefs, feeling his hardness against my teeth. With a swift motion, I slid the garment down, and freed his erection. My tongue traced its length, savoring every inch before taking it into my mouth. My hands continued exploring, caressing his thighs and balls. Erik moaned and writhed. With a cry of pleasure, he came in my mouth. His hot cum filled my throat.

Part Three

A few months had passed, and Erik was incredibly fat. I woke up one morning to the sight of his enormous, round, jiggly butt resting on the bed next to me. I admired its size, along with the cellulite on his thighs and the stretch marks on his love handles. Still groggy, I moved closer and placed my hands on his buttocks, gently shaking them. The flesh wobbled, semthing that excited me like nothing else in the world. I lowered his new XXL briefs and kissed his cheeks with devotion.

"You've gained so much weight, Erik," I murmured against his skin. "And it turns me on so much seeing you like this."

Erik moaned in response, and my hands became bolder. I squeezed and kneaded his butt, feeling the fat beneath my palms as my tongue explored every inch too.

"I love you like this, so big, so sexy," I whispered.

Erik writhed in pleasure.

"Frank, bring me breakfast in bed," he requested. "I want to start the day well-fed."

I got up quickly, my erection throbbing with anticipation, and headed to the kitchen. I prepared a tray with everything I knew Erik loved: plenty of buttered toast, a cheese omelet, two enormous chocolate-filled croissants, and a giant protein shake made with equal parts of milk and cream.

When I returned to the bedroom, Erik was waiting for me, reclined on the bed with a satisfied smile on his face. I placed the tray in front of him and watched as his eyes lit up at the sight of the food.

"Perfect," Erik said.

I sat beside him. He began to eat with enthusiasm. The way he enjoyed each bite, the joy on his face as he ate, filled my heart with deep satisfaction. I thought about how incredible it was to see his body expand, full of fat, more beautiful each day. And I knew Erik loved it too, every bite, every touch, every look of desire.

When he finished breakfast, I stayed in bed watching him get up and walk to the bathroom. His body had changed so much over the past few months; it was an intoxicating spectacle.

"You're such a fat pig, Erik," I said, sliding my hand over my own body. "Look at all that meat moving. Damn, you're so obese."

Erik stopped and turned to me, his eyes shining with excitement. He loved it when I talked to him like that. I started to jerk off, watching every move of his body.

"You love being this fat, don't you?" I continued, my voice husky.

Erik moaned softly, his hands caressing his bloated belly, fingers tracing the stretch marks that adorned it.

"Yes, Frank. Tell me," he begged with desire. "Tell me how fat I am, how much more you're going to make me gain."

"You're insatiable," I whispered lustfully. "I'm going to keep feeding you. I want you to be the fattest man I've ever seen."

My hands moved more urgently, my eyes fixed on Erik's body.

"You look so sexy stuffed with food," I told him, feeling my own excitement reach its peak. "There's nothing I love more than watching you turn into a satisfied, obese pig."

Erik bit his lip, and I saw his own erection grow beneath his belly.

"Yes, Frank, make me fatter," he replied. "I can't wait to see how many more pounds I'll gain for you."

With those final words, I came, my semen shooting across the room.

Final Part

It was Saturday, and I decided we needed to go to a buffet. Erik was sitting on the couch in his now extremely small XXL briefs, his enormous belly resting on his thighs. I watched him for a moment before saying:

"Today we're going to a buffet, and I want you to wear something tight. I want everyone to see how big you've gotten."

Erik nodded, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He went to his room, and I followed, knowing he would choose the tightest clothes he had. He opted for a shirt that clung to his belly, highlighting every roll, and pants that squeezed his thighs and huge butt. I felt instantly aroused seeing him like that.

We arrived at the buffet, a paradise of greasy, abundant food, and we took our seats.

"I want you to eat non-stop. OK? Do not stop until I tell you to."

Erik nodded, stood up, and headed to the buffet tables. He returned with something for me and a plate full of pizza, fries, and fried chicken for himself. I watched him eat, savoring every bite he took. When he finished, I said:

"Go for more."

Erik got up and fetched another plate. This time he returned with burgers, onion rings, and more fries. The obvious pleasure on his face as he filled his body with more and more greasy food was thrilling.

"You're a fat pig," I whispered when he finished. "Eat more; I want to see you get even bigger."

Erik obeyed without question, rising again to get more food. I watched him walk, his huge, round butt bouncing with every step. He came back with a plate of mac and cheese and ribs. His belly was already peeking out from under his shirt.

"More, Erik. Don't stop," I ordered as he took the last bite.

Once again, he obeyed, getting up with difficulty, his tight clothes highlighting every inch of his fat. He returned with several pieces of cake.

We went home hours later. As soon as we got in, Erik collapsed heavily on the couch. I approached him, my excitement palpable.

"You're pure lard, Erik," I whispered, starting to undress him.

First, I removed his shirt, releasing his broad chest and enlarged nipples. My fingers caressed them, and Erik moaned.

"Look at you, with those huge tits and that round belly. You're such a glutton."

I struggled to remove his pants, the fabric clinging to his thick thighs and butt, which looked like two beach balls. He was left in his briefs, which I slowly pulled down, revealing his erect member, partially buried in his pubic fat.

"I love how huge you've gotten."

My hands roamed his body, groping his soft flesh. I caressed his swollen belly, feeling its warmth and smooth texture. Then I directed a hand to his cock and began to stroke it. Every movement made everything jiggle, especially his nipples, which bounced with each thrust.

"You're so sexy, so obese. Tomorrow we'll go back to the buffet," I murmured, increasing the pace of my movements.

Erik moaned louder and climaxed, his hot semen spurting into my hands. I fed it to him, then kissed him, feeling a deep satisfaction knowing I had helped him become the man he so desired to be.

[hgfictionwriter]

Handy

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Sometimes you forget Jessie’s an engineer. A very thoughtful, but shy one at that. One who feels more comfortable renovating your apartment than telling you she likes you.

Warnings: No warnings.

A/N: I'm hearing some fluff is in order. Hope you all enjoy!

"Where do you want this?" Jessie asked as she stood holding a large box in the doorway to your new bedroom.  

You looked over your shoulder and pointed to the walk-in closet. "Over there would be great. Thank you." 

"No problem," Jessie replied as she walked over and set the box down. She looked around as she stood. "Are you doing anything with the shelving in here?" 

"Oh yeah," you said as you got up and joined her. "I'm going to move these shelves up and add another set here to create more storage." 

"Smart. That'll be good," Jessie affirmed as she scanned the space.

You tried not to stare, but her profile, curious eyes, and the way her baby hairs stuck to her face after several trips to and from the moving truck made it challenging.   

"Hey, I think that's everything." 

Both you and Jessie turned when Janine's voice filtered in from the bedroom, seeing Kelli standing beside her.  

"Oh amazing. Thank you so much, all of you. I'm sure your coach would have my head if he knew you helped me move, but I'm very grateful. And hey - no injuries! Knock on wood. I guess you all still have to make it home in one piece," you joked.  

"Anytime," Janine said as she crossed the room and gave you a hug. "The new digs look great. Condo ownership looks good on you." 

You laughed. "Thank you. And it's even better when highly trained athletes do all the heavy lifting for you." 

"No unpacking though," Kelli joked. "That's where I draw the line." You held up your hands in mock surrender. 

"I can handle that part. Thank you. Next round of dinner and drinks are on me." 

Once everyone left and you continued the tedious task of unpacking, your phone dinged with a text. You retrieved it to see Jessie's name on the screen. 

"Hey. I hope unpacking is going well. I just wanted to say that if you need any help redoing your shelves I'm happy to swing by. I like projects like that." 

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.  

"Sometimes I forget you're an engineer. You've done so much as is - I already rolled the dice by getting you to help me move furniture and precariously packed boxes. I don’t want to push." 

"I really don't mind! And setting up shelves is a lot less risky than holding the bottom end of the couch on the stairs while Kelli and Janine argue about how to angle it through a doorway." 

You laughed recalling the scene in your mind. She had a point. Plus, spending some time alone, just the two of you, wouldn't be unwanted.  

You'd met through Janine a few months back and had become friends in your own right since then, but it was still the norm that you typically only saw each other with Janine. This could be a nice change of pace. And, you know, if seeing her work in such a capacity would turn out to be eye candy - so be it.  

"Alright. You've convinced me. When are you free? And please, please know that if you change your mind it's really not a problem at all. Please don't feel pressured or obliged." 

"Excellent! Does next Sunday work for you? I'd say Saturday, but we have a game that afternoon." 

"I'm aware lol. I'll be there, after all. Sunday sounds great." 

"Right lol. Okay, Sunday it is! Let me know if you need me to pick anything up prior. I'm happy to." 

"You're too sweet. See you then." 

----- 

"You brought your own drill set?" You asked with an amused smile. The blush on Jessie's face was immediate. 

"Well, I didn't know what you had." Her voice rising in pitch. "And I have a spare battery. There's nothing worse mid-project than running out of a charge." 

"Nothing," you mocked affectionately and she averted her gaze as her cheeks grew redder. You smiled at her and ushered her to the walk-in. "Okay, well, between the two of us I think we're all set. Let's get started." 

It didn't take long for it to become Jessie leading and you helping. Going in, you felt you had a decent grasp of what to do, but as the work progressed, you realized how good it was that Jessie was here because she guided things with confidence and ease that you had to admit you probably wouldn't have had in her absence.  

You were expecting this to be an all day venture, but with Jessie at the helm the work went by quickly and smoothly.  

"Hand me that last shelf, please," she instructed calmly as she double-checked her work. 

You were ready with it and handed it up to her. You watched in what you hoped was subtle appreciation as she set it in place.

She stood perched on the ladder, wearing her black hat and her shirt was tucked in. The tape measure was hooked onto her pocket and she wore a soft look of concentration on her face. When she took the shelf, her biceps popped as she lifted it and set it down on the brackets with ease. The pencil tucked behind her ear was the cherry on top.  

Once she was confident the shelf was secure, she turned to you with a bright smile.  

"All done! What do you think?" 

"It's fantastic," you relayed, forcing yourself to refocus. And it was true. Not only was her workmanship thorough, but she'd tweaked a few things in your plan to optimize the setup even further. "Thank you so much. This is better than what I could've imagined. I owe you big time." 

She shrugged and focused on her feet as she stepped down off the ladder. "No, it's all good. It was fun." 

"Well, I really appreciate it. Truly," you went on, seeking eye contact, but she seemed to readily avoid it as she began cleaning up her tools. Eventually, she looked to you with a small smile. 

"Don't mention it. Thanks for letting me help." 

You rolled your eyes teasingly. "You're funny. Can I at least order us in some dinner and make you a drink or two?" You saw her begin to hesitate, a blush creeping up on her cheeks as she fidgeted. Early on, you would've immediately backed off, fearing you were making her truly uncomfortable, but by this point you knew she was just shy. And a bit skittish. You went on gently. "Consider it a small token of my appreciation." 

She gave you a crooked smile as she distractedly readjusted her hat before seeming to catch herself and clasped both hands in front of her. "Okay, sure. That sounds good." 

You two talked fairly late into the night and you noted how Jessie relaxed into the evening. Conversation was easy and naturally weaved from the light and fun to the more serious and heavy without getting uncomfortable or awkward. The night only came to an end because you had to work in the morning.  

"Thank you again for all of your help," you told her as she stood at your front door, shoes, jacket and backpack on. "Not only does the closet look great, but it was a lot of fun - thanks to you. I can't help but think about projects half that serious that I've done with exes and they've turned into all out brawls. So, thank you." 

Her posture straightened slightly and as she blushed with a nervous laugh. "Well, what can I say. We work well together." If you were right, the flush of her cheeks deepened. She averted her gaze, shuffling her feet a bit before she shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and nodded over your shoulder.  

"You said you were going to change out the lighting fixtures in the living room, right?" She asked. Her smile morphed into a smirk. "I mean, I'm not an electrical engineer, but a couple lighting fixtures is no big deal. I could come over next week and help with those." 

You gave her a smirk of your own, unknowingly looking her up and down.  

"If you'd really like to. I certainly won't stop you." 

The easy confidence she was trying to channel a moment ago flickered before she gave you a nonchalant shrug.  

"Sure. It's not a problem." 

"Alright," you accepted. "I'm looking forward to it. Thanks again, and good night." You leaned forward and pulled her into a short hug - something you hadn't done before - and it seemed to catch her off-guard as she very belatedly put her hands up around you as you were already beginning to pull away, and even then, her movements were stiff and tentative. When you fully broke away her face was beet red.  

"Okay." Her voice was high and tight. She gave you a quick, awkward wave before turning to leave. "Have a good night."  

----- 

The next weekend rolled around and Jessie was yet again up on a ladder in your new apartment. She tilted her head and frowned in concentration as she installed the last set of screws on your new lighting fixture.  

"Okay, go ahead and turn the breaker back on," she told you as she stepped down and walked over to the light switch. You did as you were told. 

"Okay, done." 

The switch went on with a soft click and light filled the room. You watched her before looking up at the newly installed fixture. She smirked.  

"Looks good," she said. “How do you like it?”

“It's brilliant. Thank you again. But what I’m really interested in is this,” you said as you closed the space between you two and grasped her hand, she tensed at the contact, but didn’t pull away. You lifted her hand to see the cut on her knuckle.

“I knew it. Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said and at that she pulled her hand back, hiding it behind her back.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“I know you are, but still,” you told her gently, noting the embarrassed look on her face. “Indulge me. Let me at least put a bandaid on it.”

She grumbled in contemplation but eventually conceded. You smiled to yourself at how her head jerked away when you glanced up from her hand to catch her staring at you.

When you finished placing the bandaid on her you released her hand and took a step back. You waited to catch her eye and spoke, “Make sure you clean that up more when you get home.”

Her cheeks grew pink and she rolled her eyes. You caught the hint of a smile on her lips though.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jessie stayed for dinner and a drink once more. Conversation flowed even easier, if that’s possible, than last time. You tried to hide the smile over how pleased you were by this since you and Jessie had been texting all week in between. It would've been understandable if you ran out of things to talk about by this point, but you didn’t - at all.

"I noticed there were a couple of dings in the drywall - probably from when we were moving stuff in. Probably Janine's doing - I'm much more conscientious," Jessie relayed with a facetious eye roll. "I could patch those up for you. I imagine the previous owners left some of the original paint or we could just get it paint matched." 

You smirked at her from across the couch.  

"You know, we could always just hang out - no reno job required. You don’t have to do something every time." 

She blushed and took a sip of her drink.  

"Oh, well, you know. I don’t mind." 

"Well, how about we just hang out next time. If you are desperate to repair the drywall even after that, well, have at 'er. But maybe a work-free, normal hang out would be nice," you told her with a soft laugh. She nodded, blush fading as she returned your smile.  

“Okay, that sounds like a plan." She swirled her drink, looking down at the churning liquid and speaking into it. "You could come over to my place? I could make us dinner. Or whatever." She finally mustered up the courage to look back up at you.

Now it was your turn to blush. You fiddled with your glass and offered her a hint of a smile. "Okay. That sounds nice." 

————

“Whoa. That’s fancy,” Jessie commented as you set down a nice bottle of Chardonnay on her counter.

“Well, it’s my first time over. I had to break out the good stuff for you.”

Jessie grinned and retrieved a couple of glasses for you before setting down two plates of food on the kitchen table.

“This looks amazing,” you told her as you looked at the meal she prepared. “And I can’t help but think this just isn’t fair. You did all this free work for me and now you’ve made me dinner.”

“Was it free?” She squinted at you teasingly. “You had to listen to me babble on about metric versus imperial for a solid 20 minutes there.”

“I didn’t mind. I’d listen to that any day. I like hearing your facts and tidbits and about whatever you're interested in,” you assured her and she tried to conceal her smile. “How’d you become so handy anyway? I mean, I know you have this engineering background now, but still.”

She shrugged. “I liked helping my dad with projects around the house. Helping him build stuff. It was just always fascinating to me to see things come together like that and to know you did it with your own two hands.”

“That’s cute. And very sweet,” you told her as you took a bite. She dismissed your comment with a small wave of her fork.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Well. I still think it’s cute. And I certainly reaped the rewards. Thank you again - seriously, for all of your help. You didn’t have to help me, and I really appreciate all the work you did.”

She took a sip of wine and peered at you over the glass, taking a moment to contemplate.

“There’s still that matter of the drywall,” she joked.

“You’re still on that, huh?” You said with a laugh. “What are we going to do when there are no projects left to work on?”

A faint blush began to form on Jessie’s face and she shuffled around in her chair a bit before taking a bite of food.

“There are always projects to be done. And if not, well, you’re the one who said we could hang out without a project to work on.”

You propped your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your open palm. “And the offer still stands. Clearly,” you gestured around her apartment. “If you’re interested.” Jessie dropped your gaze and flushed a deeper tone of pink.

“Yeah. I mean, we get along alright.”

You snickered a bit before taking a sip of your drink.

“What resounding affirmation," you said dryly and she shot you a bashful look. You smirked. "I guess it’s settled then.”

You polished off the bottle of wine that evening and your conversation carried you late into the night. You made a point of not checking the time and Jessie made no attempt to either. You had to work in the morning, but you just didn't care. You'd deal with the consequences later.

At some point though, an inevitable yawn escaped Jessie.

“Oh, I should let you get to sleep,” you offered, though not yet moving from your spot on the couch next to her. You were sitting across from one another and you were very aware of how if either of you shifted in a particular way, your legs would brush.

“No, it’s fine,” she dismissed. “I’ll get my second wind here in no time.” You chuckled and finally checked your phone. Your eyes went wide.

“Oh shit,” you laughed. “Well, I’ve worked off of less sleep before.”

“You didn’t tell me you were working,” she frowned at you. “Yeah, some clients are in from out of town. It’s okay, I wanted to hang out with you.” You reluctantly rose from the couch and she followed. “As much as I'm enjoying myself, I should go. I can get about 4 hours of sleep if there are no delays on the train.”

“You are not taking the train,” Jessie told you in the most stern voice you’d ever heard from her. It actually caught you off guard and you ignored the stirring in your chest at her display.

“Fine. An Uber,” you conceded.

“No. I’ll drive you,” she countered.

“Don’t be silly.” You waved her off. “You’re tired too and I’m not making you drive 30 minutes across town and back at this hour.”

“Then…I don't know, just spend the night.” She immediately held up her hands in defense. “Not like that. I just mean…it’s super late, getting home is going to be a pain. I’ll drive you home in the morning whenever you’re ready.”

“Jessie…” It was tempting. The logic wasn’t entirely bulletproof, but reasonable enough.

In the time you took to start contemplating, Jessie had run to the closet and started pulling out spare pillows and blankets. You looked at them when she returned and gave her a discerning look. You didn’t feel uncomfortable, you just didn’t want to intrude.

“I’ll take an Uber in the morning.” You told her and she gave you an easy smile as she began setting up the couch.

“I’ll drive you,” she repeated nonchalantly.

“Oh my god. You’re so stubborn,” you complained half-heartedly.

“Sometimes,” she admitted with a shrug as she went to her room for a few moments and came back out with a set of pyjamas.

“Don’t tell Janine. She’ll never let me hear the end of this,” you warned in mock petulance as you went to take the clothes from her. She pulled her fingers across her lips, feigning a zipping motion.

“She wouldn’t let me hear the end of it either, so I'd say we're now partners in crime,” she laughed, but held the clothes back from you. “These are mine. Yours are on the bed.”

“Huh?” You asked, giving her a blatant look of confusion.

“I’m sleeping out here. You take the bed,” she returned lightly and before you could retort she gently began to corral you towards her bedroom.

“Jessie.” You protested. “Are you nuts? I’m taking the couch.”

“Incorrect,” she refuted before giving you one final, soft push into the room. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She looked up at the ceiling, seeming to calculate something in her head. “6 am?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, still giving her a lingering look of disapproval. Before you could conjure a retort, she went on.

"This is my house, so what I say goes," she said rather haughtily, coupled with a subtle smirk. She was evidently very pleased with herself and her mannerisms had you too distracted, a small flutter echoing in your chest, so you let it be. You rolled your eyes.

“Fine. Okay. Well, if you change your mind - feel free to kick me out. Of your bedroom or the apartment - either is fine.”

“Now who’s nuts,” she quipped. Her light and easy demeanour wavered slightly as she paused in the doorway and ran a hand through her hair. “Um, well, bathroom’s through there. Help yourself to whatever. Good night.”

You were still in vague disbelief about how the last part of the night had unfolded as you lay in Jessie’s bed, wearing her clothes. Had you previously imagined being in Jessie’s bed? Yes. Did you imagine this? No. Certainly not.

All things considered, you slept pretty well. You didn't expect yourself to, so it was a surprise when your alarm went off. It took you a few moments for your mind to reconcile the unfamiliar surroundings, but you quickly came to. You sat up, the first rays of morning light illuminating the room and you observed them in a more lucid headspace than you had the night before.

The room was neat, organized, minimalistic in a way, but still had plenty of things that made it Jessie. A few framed photos of family and friends, her camera, a few, select books neatly displayed, some cute trinkets from her trips around the globe - no medals on display though. How typical.

A sound from the kitchen pulled you from your observations with a frown. You thought you were hearing things at first until you heard a few more faint sounds.

You quickly got changed and tentatively opened the bedroom door a crack to peer out. Not only was Jessie up already, she was in the middle of making breakfast. You opened the door the rest of the way with a puzzled look on your face. She turned to you with a smile.

"Morning! How did you sleep?"

"How long have you been up?" You asked instead. She glanced at her watch.

"I don't know. 30 minutes maybe? So, how did you sleep?" She repeated her inquiry.

"Shockingly well," you replied with a light laugh as you leaned on the kitchen counter and watched her work. "How about you? Miss I-insist-on-taking-the-couch."

She shot you a smirk over her shoulder as she scrambled the eggs in the frying pan. "I slept perfectly well, thank you," she relayed pointedly. "Coffee?" She asked.

"Please."

"Black, right?"

You smiled at her. "Yes, thank you. Can I do anything to help you?"

"Nope, just about done," she told you as she handed you a travel mug with steaming hot coffee. "For the road," she explained.

You watched Jessie as she turned back to the stove and continued making breakfast. For a split second, you pictured yourself as a couple in this moment. Easy mornings together, sharing breakfast and coffee, talking about your day ahead, kissing each other goodbye and going your separate ways until you came home to one another. You cleared your throat and shook out your head subtly as you came back to reality. You didn't want to get too far ahead of yourself.

You both ate a quick breakfast together, and took your toast and coffee to go. Jessie navigated through traffic on the way to your apartment. You scolded yourself internally for how you found something as simple as Jessie driving, attractive. Okay, maybe you really had it bad for her.

"I have to say, I feel like I'm 18 again or something," you joked. "Getting 4 hours of sleep, going through a whole bunch of hoops just to get to school - or work in this case - on time. It's ridiculous. But it was fun." You took a sip of your coffee. "I bet you were in bed by 10 every night in uni - minus late game nights, if that was a thing. But 8 hours of sleep, very responsible, all your readings and homework done."

Jessie shot you a mild glare.

"I've had some wild nights," she countered, not sounding entirely convincing, or even remotely, really. It endeared her to you more.

"Oh yeah, I bet you were a real bad girl," you teased. Jessie rolled her eyes.

"Oh, and like you were."

You sat primly and gave her a sly smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know."

You bantered back and forth the rest of the drive, and again, it felt like you were already something you were not. You found yourself lamenting your arrival as she pulled up to your building. Pushing aside your disappointment, you instead leaned over the middle console and gave Jessie a fleeting kiss on the cheek. She startled at the touch.

"Thanks for driving me. And for letting me spend the night. And for dinner," you frowned as you added things to the list. "I've gotta start pulling my weight here."

"No," she said in a strained voice, her cheeks flaring up as she glanced at you before her eyes darted away. She laughed nervously and scratched the back of her neck. "Don't mention it."

You gave her forearm a quick squeeze, a blush threatening to form on your own face at how firm the muscles were there, and stepped out of the car. You walked to your door, quickly strategizing if or when to turn back and wave when you heard her call out your name. You turned around with a puzzled look on your face.

"Uh, I could drive you to work? When you're ready?" She offered from the car through the now-open window. Her face burned impossibly brighter red. "It'll be faster than the bus."

You smiled openly at her.

"Oh, you're just spoiling me now." She smiled in return. "Well, who am I to say 'no'?" ------

A/N: Part Two is available here.

[wyrmzier]

Artists that inspire me!

I'm a huge fan of art and these are only skimming the top of the wonders of the artist community and those that inspire me.

@iliothermia a trans Jewish artist who creates undeniably trans and Jewish art!!! Hyde's linework and composition is masterful, and his attention to detail is immaculate. He has a shop where he sells beautiful high quality prints, stickers, pins, bookmarks, and a few other odds and ends! Oh, did I mention he draws everything with a MOUSE!

@eleheba another trans Jewish artist I adore. Skilled in black and white work and color. Composition is crazy. It's the kind of work I'd think to find in old medieval books. They're definitely a modern day master artist. They also have a shop!

@stayatsam this artist has inspired me endlessly and got me into portraiture. Another transgender W. Sammi creates beautiful portraits with a unique coloring style. Edgy, gothic, and beautiful.

@littlestpersimmon I'm struggling to find the words to describe how incredible this artist's work is. Dreamy, ethereal, romantic, and detailed. He create enchanting mlm pieces inspired by southeast Asian art and culture.

@godivaghoul an erotica artist who creates dashing gothic scenes. Beautiful women with spectacular line art...need I say more?

@wiltkingart dark and moody paintings with incredible use of color. A focus on trans mlm. Another artist that deeply inspires me.

@skulkingfoxes on instragram and Twitter (edit: and now tumblr!) Rowan has incredible lineart and character design. They have several comics as well as a shop! Their composition and use of black and white is skillful and immaculate. I wish I could steal their hands

@the-nothing-maker their art always wows me. They have amazing control over color and use colored pencils!!! Genuinely their work GLOWS I wish I could see them in person.

@bunabi another master of color and character design. All her art feels soft and dreamy. She also make brush packs!

@rennybu where do I start... Adrienne's art is colorful, soulful, and dreamy. And so so tender. Not to mention they're incredibly kind! Here's a commission I got from them...agh I'm tearing up

Unfortunately I've run out of image space. The list could go on until I've named every artist on the internet. I hope you give these wonderful people a follow!

And of course all my wonderful art friends but you can just check out my tag #friend art

[lucysarah-c]

—

A little sneak peak from the Arranged marriage Omegaverse Alpha! Levi x Omega! Reader fic I've been working on!

Let me know what you think as I had been writing some chapters and so far this is one of my favourite scenes.

—

The pressure that his fingers applied to the bridge of his nose was so strong that the pain of it overcame the migraine. Strong footsteps echoed in the corridors as cadets moved aside to make way. Since the Scouts were almost wiped out, more and more people had been joining their ranks, and Levi was not enjoying the crowded halls.

"The day I decide to call all this shit off, I'd like to see them surviving without me," Levi thought, clenching his teeth. The stress was taking a toll on him lately. The military was expanding so much, particularly the Scouts, and they simply lacked soldiers in higher positions to handle everything from mundane tasks like organizing lines to making highly important decisions regarding the Marley issue.

Swinging the door of his chambers open, his eyes fell on her. She was looking out of the window, book in hand and cat on lap, dying of boredom as if she were either waiting for rescue or for her death. His grimace was a mix of empathy and annoyance. He had insisted at least five times that she could help in the kitchen, sew uniforms, or work in the laundry room. All his proposals had fallen on deaf ears. Yes, he pitied her, closed up in his office all day and night with nothing better to do. But her privileged upbringing, which made her repulse the idea of helping with anything related to housework, rubbed him the wrong way.

And the horrendous day he was having, having to listen to all of Zeke’s demands from the other side of the damn world, was simply not helping. Slamming the door shut made her turn and look at him.

"Pack your stuff, we're moving," he spat out, already moving to his room to gather the few belongings he actually had. He threw the black trousers of his uniform out of the drawers onto the bed to pack them, regretting the decision as soon as he saw his immaculate, perfectly washed trousers covered in cat hair.

"Moving? Moving where?" Y/N jumped from her place at the window and followed him, excited. Her eyes shone brightly, feeling her prayers had been answered.

Eyes shut as tight as his clenched teeth, he took a deep breath in and out. He was fond of animals, and the white Persian cat was lovely, but the fur was something he wasn’t getting used to easily, and it just added to his day.

"Where are we moving?" she insisted, not sensing his lack of patience. "Are we finally moving to the Capital facility?"

Levi, trying to find any remaining good mood inside him, turned to his side and raised an eyebrow. "No," he said, "To the south."

The excitement dropped substantially, and she frowned at him. "We ARE in the south."

That made Levi quickly realize this was not going to be a quick and easy conversation. "No, we are in Wall Rose."

"I'm not moving to Shiganshina," she said, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together, and her voice raising.

Levi sighed as he folded one uniform. "Lucky for you," he said, each word dripping with his remaining patience, "we're not going there."

"Then… where?"

Levi knew he should have delivered the news more gently, but he had no time to spare and no energy left to deal with her lately. "South, we're setting up a camp next to the coast. Construction has already taken place, so we'll have a room. Pack your stuff; we're leaving by horse to arrive sooner and organize everything. The luggage will be taken by carts that will probably take a week to reach."

"What?—NO!" she quickly complained, her voice filled more with tears than anger. "I don't want to go to the end of the shitty world!"

"The soldiers from Marley are already arriving, and we need to be there to make sure everything evolves as planned—"

"Aren't you listening to me?!" She screamed loudly enough for Levi to close his eyes at how it reverberated in his ears, only fueling his headache. "I'm NOT moving there. We will be in the middle of nowhere; there’s no communication with the walls. I want to be closer to my friends and family, not there."

The air began to fill with her scent, demanding she wasn’t submitting. Challenging him, and Levi felt how each breath he took through his nose was tinged with it. He had no good temper left, and her insistence on asserting dominance was the final straw. Her even daring to assert dominance over him. Her, the omega the government had saddled him with.

Turning to his right, his piercing eyes locked onto her. "Don’t," Levi ordered, his own pheromones mixing with hers and warning her. The stare of a high-breed alpha, his own body warning her that fighting with him was a bad idea. Maybe it was because he had been hearing demands from Marley soldiers and allies all day long, people challenging his authority. But Levi wasn’t going to allow an omega to step on his dominance. He had been, in his opinion, more than good and patient with her—probably more than any other alpha would have been. He wasn’t one to use his stare to force omegas to do what he wanted, but he was having none of it.

Lips trembling, fists clenching, deep frown, and her eyes struggling to keep eye contact. Fighting against her own biology, she could feel how each fiber of her body trembled in trying to maintain the resistance. Eventually, she couldn’t keep it up and looked to the side, breaking the stare and lowering her head in submission.

A long sigh left his nose as his demand withdrew once she ceased the claim. “Pack your stuff,” he ordered, lowering his voice sensing that the rebellion was over.

But it hardly was. “I’m not going. I’ll move in with my parents. I’m not going to some rotten, muddy camp in the middle of nowhere.”

Levi shook his head. “You’re coming because that’s the arrangement between your parents and the military board. So pack, and that's the end of the deal.”

“No! I don’t want to go, I’m not going to pack!”

“NO! NO! NO! NO!”

Her complaints echoed in his head as the headache pounded against his skull, his teeth clenching so hard he was even showing them. “ENOUGH!” His hand slammed against the drawer, the loudness of it ceasing all noise. The room fell silent, and the scared cat ran to hide under the bed.

Levi finally turned to fully face her. “We are going to do this whether you like it or not,” his voice harsh and leaving no room for interruptions. “It can be the easy way or the hard way.”

Raising his hand in the air, showing three fingers. “I have a meeting, and in three hours I’ll come back and pick you up. Either you pack and get ready for when I return, or you don’t pack and not only will you be in a shitty, muddy camp at the end of the world stuck with me, but you’ll do it without any of your fancy stuff. And I warn you, there are no stores there.”

As he left the room with the same urgency he came in, he said, “You choose!”

But as the door was slamming shut, a cadet interrupted him. “Ehm… Captain?” The tremble in the kid’s voice indicated he sensed the environment was not conducive to another demand. “Commander Hange needs a signature?”

“Fuck off!”

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 1

Summary: An encounter with a cashier leaves Jungkook ready to cause a scene Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1K~ Warning: Explicit and suggestive language. Jungkook threatens to kill someone but like not really lol that's pretty much it a/n: This was an ask I got but both the anon and I'm sure a bunch of you love seeing jealous Jungkook so here's a short chapter of something that happened after they started dating 🤭 p.s. written in one sitting and barely edited Start from the beginning

"Can you wait in line for a second Darling? I forgot I needed to get one more thing" Jungkook asks me and I nod my head, humming as he places a kiss on my temple and rushes off to another part of the store.

While I wait mindlessly in line I end up getting lost in the different covers of magazines that are displayed around me in line. Leaving me obvious as to the fact that the cashiers have been switched out. Now having changed from a older man to one who's closer to my age that has been shamelessly checking me out since he laid his eyes on me.

Once I get closer to the front of the line I start to get a little antsy, seeing as Jungkook hasn't come back yet and I had forgotten my purse in the car. Lucky for me though there's no one else behind me in line so I won't have to worry about holding someone up.

"Did you find everything alright miss?" the man asks, having his eyes tracing up and down my figure after he finished helping the customer before me.

"Oh um, yes I did thanks. I'm just waiting for my boyfriend to come back" I point out, quickly seeing the look in his eyes.

I turn around and get on my tippy toes as if that would aide me in finding him faster but I can't seem to spot him anywhere.

I turn back around to face the cashier and notice that he's started to scan each item slower and slower and I'm not sure if it's his plan to keep me here longer or to prevent an awkward lull in the process.

Once he's scanned the last item and is ready to accept payment I look back at him and awkwardly laugh and he gives me a crooked smile in return.

"So about this boyfriend of yours, are things pretty serious? Because if you were mine I would never do something like this to you. Always make sure to keep you close and comfortable" he says, dropping his voice an octave, clearly trying his hand at seducing me.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself" I say and pull out my phone to pay instead, deciding that I'll just have Jungkook pay for whatever else he went to look for separately.

Once the cashier cues the system up for me to pay I feel a hand on my waist and relax, knowing exactly who it is.

"Add this one too" Jungkook says, coming back with my favorite ice cream that we had ran out of a few days ago.

The cashier clears his throat and cancels the payment, quickly adding on said item to the total before cueing up the system again and Jungkook places his card on the reader to pay.

"I thought I'd lost you" I say, laughing awkwardly while the cashier packs up our groceries. "I told you I'd be back. I just couldn't find it because you like the most random flavors that are placed in the weirdest of sections" he teases, placing a quick kiss on my lips.

He glares back up at the cashier who is nervously watching our exchange and audibly gulps once Jungkook cocks a brow at him.

"Next time, take a second before you start thinking with your dick alright?" Jungkook growls out, clearly holding himself back but needing to say something regardless.

"Yes sir" is the only response the cashier gives him, bowing his head as a means of apology but it still doesn't sit right with Jungkook leaving me having to physically usher him out of the store.

"Are you okay?" he asks once we're at his car, loading up the groceries after he's taken a second to calm down.

"I'm fine, although I'm glad that you came when you did. I was beginning to think he was going to try to ask me for my number or something" I say and I watch as Jungkook tongues his cheek, knowing that I probably should've kept some of this interaction to myself.

"Did you tell him you have a boyfriend?" he asks, placing the last bags in the trunk and shutting it a tiny bit harder than he usually would.

"Yeah but he didn't seem to care, asked if we were really that serious" I say, digging his grave deeper and deeper.

"I'm gonna kill him" he growls, making moves to head back inside and I run after him not being able to keep up with his long strides any other way and yank on his arm.

"No come on, let's just go. I'm perfectly fine alright. Let's just go home. Please?" I ask, making sure to add a little more pout than I usually would. A tactic that I hope will work to get him to calm down and forget about it.

He takes a deep breath and nods his head, letting me lead him back to the car and he opens the door for me but before I get in he put a hand on my waist and leaves me frozen in place.

"When we get home I'm gonna show you just how serious I am about you. Okay Bunny?" he asks, posed as more of a threat than anything else leaving me shivering, thinking about what I've gotten myself into.

I let out a choked back 'okay' before he slaps my ass and tells me to get in the car leaving me already clenching, dying to know what he's going to do to me

When he sits in the drivers side beside me he starts the car and places a hand on the back of my seat looking out the back window to help him back out before switching gears back into drive.

He immediately places his hand on my thigh, sliding it up my skirt and starts tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh, driving me absolutely insane from just these simple touches.

I'm fucked.

Hopelessly, painfully, deliciously fucked and I can't help but count the minutes until we get home.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @00frenchfries00 @bangtans-momma @coralmusicblaze @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater @marvelbun @j3nni-rs @evidive @beomieboi @forevrglow @jesssssmaybankk @teugiie @chaconnelatte @whoa-jo @snehal @xumyboo @mindurbuzznezz @diorh0seokie

[kchasm]

Ryu Number: Kevin Bacon

Let's be real, this is the obvious ask. The Ryu Number is the Bacon Number for video games, so one of the first questions anyone's going to put out there is whether Kevin Bacon has a Ryu Number.

... Is what I'd like to say, but the fact is, most of the time when I try to explain the concept of a Ryu Number by saying "It's like the Bacon Number, except for Ryu—you know, six degrees of Kevin Bacon?" the response I get is, "What's 'six degrees of Kevin Bacon'?"

Hey, when was the heyday of the Bacon Number, again? Oh, thirty years ago. That doesn't feel good.

Anyway, Kevin Bacon has a Ryu Number of at most 4.

Jimmy Fallon (who I keep confusing with Jimmy Kimmel) has a cameo in Jurassic World.

This is enough to get him a place as one of the oodles of minifigs you can trot around in Lego Jurassic World. And if you think that's a kind of flimsy foundation to stick a character into a game over, please understand that this is par for the course for the Lego series of games. In Lego Jurassic World alone, you can play as Donald Gennaro, the "Unlucky Bastard" from The Lost World (here called "Unlucky Bystander"), the kid Alan Grant terrorizes at the dig site in Jurassic Park, Steven Spielberg, and Jophery Brown.

What, you don't know who Jophery Brown is? You know, the guy who gets killed in the opening scene of Jurassic Park. Muldoon goes "Jophery, raise the gate," and everything. And then he dies. Because raptor.

We didn't even know his last name was "Brown" until this game. He was named after his own actor, that's the rank of character we're dealing with here.

... Wait, does this mean we can go straight from Owen Grady to certain baseball games? I've got to think about this. Is "Scientist Phil" allowable as Phil Tippet? Is "Pilot Pat" the same person as Patrick Crowley, who produced Jurassic World and cameoed as a pilot? If Patrick Crowley has an actual pilot's license, does that change the answer?

I am entirely uninterested in answering these questions until the issue is unavoidable!

The version of You Don't Know Jack available for play in The Jackbox Party Pack 5 is You Don't Know Jack: Full Stream, hosted by YDKJ longtimer Cookie Masterson. Depending on this or that, Cookie might just welcome Jimmy Fallon to guest-host one of the questions, which Jimmy is pretty hyped up about. So hyped up, in fact, that he'll refuse to leave afterward, much to Cookie's bemusement. Which makes sense: If you're gonna have Jimmy Fallon cameo in your video game, you're gonna squeeze as much Jimmy Fallon out of Jimmy Fallon as you can.

Dude really is a longtimer, by the way. He's been around since the original You Don't Know Jack, and while he doesn't host the game in You Don't Know Jack Vol. 2, he does get to rush the players through game setup. And the actual host, Buzz Lippman, has the chance to dial out to one of a number of celebrity guests—Kevin Bacon included.

That's an appearance both ways! Counts!

[savannahsdeath]

Is there a chance you can toxic Ellie x reader. Where Reader was leaving Ellie for good and she never came back.

just a drabble since im still really busy but i had to write it because we all deserve something better than toxic!ellie!! i know i know we love ellie just, please, not the toxic one🩷

: ̗̀➛ the scene was going on for hours. you kept packing your things, she kept taking them and placing back on the shelves. your shirt had wet stains in places where your tears dropped and soaked into it.

"you're so dramatic." she smirked, taking a step forwards.

: ̗̀➛ you shook your head and wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand. "no, i am not. i won't let you ruin me. not anymore."

"who told you i ruin you?" her amused smile faded as she put her arms on her hips. "can't you see that this person, whoever it was, is manipulating you? they know you're nothing without me so they're trying to separate us. they're praying on your downfall and you? you're just helping them."

"why would my own best friend do something like that? no, ellie, you're just— insane, crazy, a fucking psycho, whatever!" you zipped up your backpack and picked it up.

: ̗̀➛ she watched as you carefully walked over the stairs. "you haven't even packed like... half of your things."

"oh well!" you sarcastically laughed. "you'll have a souvenir."

"so you don't plan on coming back for them?" she frowned, finally realising that, this time, you're serious.

: ̗̀➛ you didn't answer, putting your jacket on. she walked over to you and tried to kiss you, but you dodged her with a hiss.

"come on, babe" she sighed. "y'know how i can make it up to you..."

"just leave me alone" you begged and took a few steps backwards, until your back hit the door.

"don't make a scene" she bit her lip as she watched you make your way through the doorstep. "come back inside and we'll figure something out."

: ̗̀➛ you shook your head and finally turned around.

"okay" she nodded. "have a day off. but i'll find you. you know i will."

: ̗̀➛ you chuckled through your tears. "good luck"

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

: ̗̀➛ two days later you were in a train to a different state. this decision was spontaneous and you could as well end up being homeless but you were sure you'll survive, somehow. your friend - luccy called you, waking you up from a nap.

"she paid me a visit, to put it politely."

"god" you fully sat up and straightened up, immediately waking up. "how bad was it?"

"i expected worse" luccy chuckled. "it was kinda hilarious, actually. i didn't want to let her in but she, of course, made her way inside anyway. she quickly realised it's too late."

"but she didn't..." you paused, thinking of all the possibilities. your girlfriend, now ex, was capable of a lot of crazy things. "...uh— hurt you or anything?"

"oh, she was mad" luccy laughed again. "but no, she didn't do anything. i'd say we're safe, for now."

: ̗̀➛ you hummed. your plan wasn't too brilliant, but you did everything you could to not leave any clues. she won't find you, you knew she won't. and eventually, she'll completely give up and stop trying. maybe she'll even move on and find someone else? maybe even a healthy relationship?

let's hope so.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

CYOA

You know what screw it, I wanted to finish chapter 59 today but I feel horrible and it's just not going to happen so for now you can have this completed scene under the cut with my great affection love love peace peace feel free to react as it'll make me happy etc. etc.

Private WhatsApp Chat Resumed: Friday 18th March, 2022, 07:57 Members: Lily Evans, James Potter

================================

James Potter: i think it's pretty amazing that you and beatrice know the exact date that you first met when you were two

Lily Evans: Lollllll Hello to you too

James Potter: although idk how sirius would react if we knew and i suggested celebrating that hello, also beautiful hello beautiful is what i meant to say

Lily Evans: Suave of you.

James Potter: i'm only just having my first coffee of the day, alright? give me five minutes and i'll be on my game

Lily Evans: I suppose I can allow you five minutes. We didn't always know, but my mum's been journaling every day for most of her life, so a few years back we did a little detective work and it turns out she'd written about my first day at Little Tots. We've done something for our anniversary every year since, but she's blown my gift out of the water this time around.

James Potter: why, what was your gift?

Lily Evans: I bought her a ladyship. She's Lady Beatrice Booth now. Officially. Incredibly it only costs £30 and you get a tiny plot of land in Cumbria with it. I gave the pack to her housemate to leave out today so she'll get a huge kick out of it when she gets home later.

James Potter: how ironic is it that you got her a ladyship and i was looking into getting her canonised earlier

Lily Evans: Lol why?

James Potter: because i really really really liked that video, evans

Lily Evans: I see. I see. I see. Not embarrassed about you having seen that AT ALL. Although I suppose I don't have a right to be embarrassed when I've seen all of your childhood photos, do I? It was probably about time that you saw some of mine.

James Potter: what would you have to be embarrassed about? you were an adorable child i loved watching you grow up on an instagram reel with, inexplicably, flo rida's musical accompaniment

Lily Evans: Lollllllllll I know that probably seems like a weird choice, but it was our go-to dance song when we were eighteen. And on that note, I was a very awkward teenager, as you've now seen.

James Potter: almost everyone on earth was an awkward teenager and the ones who weren't awkward peaked in their teens, so think of how they've suffered since then although i guess sirius is the exception anyway you say you were awkward, but fifteen year old me would have been DESPERATE for fifteen year old you's attention

Lily Evans: Oh, you say that now.

James Potter: no i would have been and i wouldn't have gotten it because as we've previously established i was a prick when i was fifteen so if i'd gone to school with you i still would have been a prick, but a prick who wanted your attention and did all manner of stupid things to get it i would have driven you mad

Lily Evans: Twenty-seven year old you wants my attention and I've not been driven mad over it once, to be fair.

James Potter: twenty-seven year old me has much improved with age and is more deserving of it you however have been a delight your whole life which i now have visual proof of hence i'll be calling your best mate saint lady beatrice from now on

Lily Evans: I wasn't a delight my whole life, I promise you. As a child I was a precocious little shit who thought she knew everything and couldn't be told otherwise. That's why I got into so many scrapes, doing stupid, dangerous things because I couldn't just listen to my mother when she told me "no, Lily, that's dangerous." I was like a working class Peppa Pig, honestly, no wonder my sister couldn't hack being around me half the time. So you're not the only one who has much improved with age. And fifteen year old me would have had a massive crush on fifteen year old you, BELIEVE me.

James Potter: oh really?

Lily Evans: Would I have let you know about it? Absolutely not. But it still would have been there.

James Potter: you mean like the crush you've had on me this whole time?

Lily Evans: I already have to get you back for some nonsense you pulled yesterday, Potter, so I'd advise you not to pile on and add this to the list.

James Potter: lollllllll

Lily Evans: I'm serious!

James Potter: oh i'm sure you are to which i say go on then do it

Lily Evans: I will do it.

James Potter: you go right ahead i can handle it

Lily Evans: You're being very cocky right now and while I can't pretend I don't like it, it'll also prove to be your downfall later.

James Potter: we'll see, we'll see

Lily Evans: We will see.

James Potter: whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetheart

Lily Evans: I think the fifteen year old you has taken over the controls in your head, mate.

James Potter: he probably has, yeah but what can i say he's really chuffed about your crush on me

Lily Evans: You mean the crush you've decided I have that I haven't confirmed?

James Potter: right, yeah, of course, clearly i'm the one in the wrong here still sleeping in my bed, are you?

Lily Evans: I have to go do a work thing now.

James Potter: oh, sure, that old excuse

[springtyme]

Hi, I'm so excited your requests are open! I love the way you describe scenes, you take the reader around the full area to understand how the setting affects the emotions of the story so beautifully (thinking of your Simon piece, Homeward Bound, especially).

I'd like to put in a request for Sydney Adamu x reader (gn afab is fine!), something very tender and intimate. I'm imagining an established relationship that's still very new, like maybe they're sharing a night routine for the first time, or on a date at a garden/museum?

Craving something v sweet with a bit of "healthy tension" lol, maybe a little soft smut if you are up to it! Thank you so much for sharing your work, if you don't feel like writing this no worries!

𝐀 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡

Thank you so much dear! I love scene setting so hearing that you enjoy it makes me so happy! <3 I had so much fun with this Syd piece (seriously, I love her so much!) so thank you so much for this request, I hope you like it :)

Sydney Adamu x afab!Reader || Masterlist || Sydney playlist

summary: You and Syd are about to spend your first weekend together. Dinner is being eaten and so is something else.

word count: 3.7k

warnigs: Smut! (18+, mdni!) Food. Fluffy smut, cunnilingus/face-riding, vaginal fingering, nipple play/sucking. Reader is afab but there is used no gendering terms. I'm sorry if there is mistakes or anything seems rushed, I wrote this in one sitting and I haven't had time to proofread yet.

As you step onto the crowded L train, the familiar sounds of the city surround you. The rumbling of the train, the chatter of fellow passengers, and the occasional screech of brakes fill the air. You find a seat by the window, your packed weekend bag in your lap as you gaze out at the passing cityscape with a mix of excitement and anticipation. 

The weekend ahead holds something special for you – it is the first time you’ll be spending it entirely with Syd, just the two of you. Sydney finally has a whole weekend without any restaurant related obligations which just happens to align with the week her father is out of town and as the train glides through the city, you can’t help but think about how happy you are to have her in your life. 

The two of you had met on a cold afternoon in late February. Little frost crystals had formed at the outside of the windows of the little café you were seated inside of. You had come there to get some work done, your small studio apartment didn’t really allow your creativity to flow and you had hoped that a change in scenery would help you, but without any luck. You had instead ended up staring out of the window at the freezing Chicago. Your laptop closed shut as you sat inside the little warm cocoon that was Kasama, feeling small and alone as you looked out on the outside world of Chicago. You had, at some point, looked up and there she was, Sydney, seated at the other side of the café already looking at you. That’s how it all had started. The two of you had started talking, which then had led to Syd inviting you to join her on a culinary journey across Chicago after she told you that her friend and business partner wouldn’t be able to join her, which otherwise had been the plan. 

You can’t help but smile  as you think back on that day and as the train nears your destination, your smile only grows wider. You walk the short distance to Sydney’s apartment building, your heart beating a little faster with each step. You just can’t wait to see her, she has, in the short amount of time you have known her, become very special to you. 

You press the buzzer, hearing the faint sound of Sydney’s voice through the intercom. “Come on up,” she says, her voice filled with warmth and excitement. With a smile on your face, you step into the elevator, your heart pounding in anticipation. As the elevator doors open on Sydney’s floor, you take a moment to compose yourself. You want everything to be perfect, to show her just how much this weekend means to you. You knock on the door, and when it swings open, you’re greeted by Sydney, clad in a comfy sweater, looking gorgeous as always.

“Hi,” she greets you, her eyes sparkling with joy and a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

In that moment, all your worries and nerves melt away. You step into the apartment, right into Syd’s outstretched arms, feeling an overwhelming sense of ease fall over you.

“Hi,” you answer her, enjoying the feeling of her arms around you, as she hugs you tightly. You tow off your shoes and shed your coat which Sydney takes from you to hang up for you before taking your hand in hers, leading you into the apartment.

As you find yourself in the kitchen, Syd kindly takes your bag, and tells you to sit down while she puts your bag into her bedroom. The warm, inviting aroma of simmering spices fills your nostrils  and you can’t help but smile at Sydney’s culinary prowess. The soft glow of the day’s last sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a comforting glow upon the apartment, adorning everything with a soft golden hue.  

“Whatcha cookin’?” You ask, loud enough for her to hear in the other room.  

“Butternut squash soup with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg as an appetizer. And for the main course, we’re having rosemary roasted chicken with a maple glaze and caramelized Brussels sprouts.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing, smells delicious too. Are you sure you don’t need any help?” You ask from your seat at the kitchen island. 

“Nah, I’m good, and I’m almost done anyway, I’ve wanted to try this recipe out anyway,” she tells you, like cooking the enormous amount of food was nothing. “You can help with the dishes after though,” she adds with a cheeky smile on her face as she reenters the kitchen. 

“Well, that, I surely can. I might also just be more in the way than any help with the food,” you say with a light laugh.

It’s not that you’re bad in a kitchen, but you are nowhere near Sydney’s level and even though a part of you feels incredibly guilty for not helping you can’t deny how much you love watching her work. Completely in her element. So you let her do her thing and stay put . Nimble fingers dancing across the pots and pans, her brows knitted with focus as she begins to compose the meal, orchestrating a symphony of flavors. “No, you wouldn’t be in the way, that’s not what I meant, I just want to cook for you… It’s like the thing I know how to do, and…” she trails off for a second, eyes staring down at the food before continuing. “I love cooking for the people that are special to me, I guess you could say that it is my ‘love language’ or whatever.” 

She does air quotes at ‘love language, but you can’t help but smile at her words. You feel incredibly lucky as you watch her work her culinary magic, especially after what she just said. The way she moves with such grace and confidence in the kitchen is truly mesmerizing. As the mouthwatering aroma of the cooking food fills the room, you find yourself captivated by her artistry, her words really tugging at your heartstrings. 

You understand her desire to cook for you, to express her love through her culinary creations. You reach out and gently take her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I know,” you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and appreciation. “It’s one of the things I admire the most about you, you know… It’s not just about the food, it is about the care and thought you put into it. It really is something special Syd. The way you care… It’s really admirable.”

Her eyes soften, a small smile playing on her lips. “You know what?” she says, her voice filled with gratitude. “Having someone to cook for means the world to me. So, thank you for wanting to eat my food, just having you sit there is actually a great help, it helps remind me why I love cooking.” She lets out with a warm laugh, but the sincerity of her words aren’t lost in the slightest by it. 

So you stay put. The sizzle of vegetables hitting the hot oil and the occasional clatter of utensils against the countertops create a rhythmic melody that fills the room. And so, you continue to sit at the kitchen island, watching Sydney work her culinary magic.

You watch as she gracefully garnishes the soup with a sprinkle of fresh herbs, roasted pumpkin seeds and pieces of finely sliced chili, transforming the dish into a culinary masterpiece. The delicious smell of the dish wafts through the air, teasing your senses and making your mouth water in anticipation. 

Finally, Sydney places a steaming bowl of soup in front of you. The vibrant colors and rich aroma enticing you.“Well, bon appétit,” she says, during a little hand gesture towards the bowl, an almost shy smile on her lips but her eyes gleam with excitement as she sits down at the other side of the table with a bowl of her own.

As you take your first spoonful, the velvety texture and warm spices dance on your tongue, filling you with a comforting sensation. You savor each bite, cherishing the meal Syd  has cooked with so much care and love. 

The two of you eat and talk and laugh and after the meal you do the dishes together, the jokes and banter flow freely, and occasionally a blob of soap sud will playfully be flickered at the other, turning the usually so mundane task into a delightful ordeal, the clinking of dishes becomes the applause for your comedic genius.

With the dishes done and the kitchen cleaned up, you both find yourselves in the cozy living room, contemplating what to do next. Sydney suggests watching a movie, and the idea immediately sparks your interest.

“Sounds good,” you say, a smile forming on your lips. “Anything in mind?”

Sydney thinks for a moment, her eyes scanning the shelves of DVDs. She has told you about her father’s love of physical media, which has led to a sumptuous collection of movies, music and books filling out multiple floor to ceiling shelves of the apartment. “How about a rom com? I could do with something light and heartwarming.”

You nod in agreement, appreciating the idea of a feel-good movie to complement the warmth and happiness you already feel being in Sydney’s presence. Together, you browse through the collection, but you don’t really find anything that peaks any of your interests. Finally she turns to you when it is clear between you that maybe a movie wasn’t the right call after all, something about the idea of having to look at a screen instead of each other suddenly feeling immensely silly to both of you. 

“We could also just sit for a little while,” she says, a lovesick gleam in her eyes. 

You smile at the suggestion and feel your heart flutter at the adoration in her eyes. The idea of simply enjoying each other’s company without any distractions sounds perfect. “I like that idea,” you reply, your voice filled with affection. 

She redirects her attention from movies to the record collection, pulling one out from the shelves. Shedding the vinyl from its sleeve before delicately lifting the lid of the beautiful vintage record player. Placing the album onto the turntable, handling it with utmost care, gently lowering the needle onto the vinyl. The smooth sound of the Delfonics filling the room, as they start to croon for you. 

You settle onto the soft couch, leaning against each other as you both take a moment to soak in the tranquility of the room. With the sun now fully set the only source of light in the room comes from a single table lamp and the candles which Syd had deliberately lit for the two of you, their warm glow casts flickering shadows across the walls, creating an ambiance of cozy intimacy. 

You lean your head on Sydney’s shoulder, feeling the warmth and security of her presence as your body’s intertwine. The silence between you is comfortable, filled with a deep sense of understanding and acceptance. As you sit there, Sydney’s hand finds its way into yours, your fingers lacing together. The gentle touch sends a wave of comfort and contentment through your body, and you can’t help but feel grateful.

Without needing words, you understand each other’s thoughts and emotions, and it feels like time stands still. In this moment, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of love and tranquility. It’s as if nothing else matters except for the connection you share and the giddy happiness that comes with new love. 

“God, I’m so glad Carmy was being a little bitch and ditched me that day at Kasama,” Syd lets out a breathy giggles, shaking her head gently as she finally breaks the silence.

You lift your head, your eyes finding hers. “Me too,” you say, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

“Yeah?” She grins down at you. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a grin of your own now plastered on your face. 

In fact the word ‘glad’ doesn’t even come close to how you feel about it, the word seems way too weak to hold all the feelings you have on the topic. Grateful, ecstatic, completely and utterly over the fucking moon, those are words that might be a little closer to describe how you actually feel about it. But you don’t say that, not yet. It’s not that long since that fateful afternoon when you and Syd had first met, and even less time has passed since the two of you got your shit together and actually confessed your feelings towards each other. One day, you’ll tell her just how incredibly happy you are that Carmen decided to be ‘a little bitch’, to use her own words, which led to you and Syd meeting. 

“You think Hallmark sells ‘thank you for being such a little bitch’ cards?” Syd giggles. You know that, despite her choice of words, she actually cares a lot about Carmy. Her and her coworkers are basically family, maybe sometimes a bit dysfunctional, but nonetheless one that does care deeply for one another. Syd had, apparently, stabbed Richie in the ass one time, which they seem to have reconciled nicely from, and somehow only has made Syd all the more attractive to you. 

“I don’t think so, but I can get you some paper and crayons if you wanna get crafty,” 

Her warm, affectionate laughter fills the room while ‘If I ever saw a girl that I needed in this world you are the one for me’  is sung from the speakers and you can’t do anything but agree with the statement. You snuggle a little closer into her and she does the same. The two of you have become completely entangled by now.  

“I love moments like these,” she whispers, her voice filled with affection.

“Yeah, me too,” you reply with a soft sigh.

She dips her head down as you lean up, and your lips meet. What starts out as a slow and gentle kiss soon turns more heated. The two of you move in sync, changing the position on the couch, with Syd now lying beneath you, her back pressed down into the soft cushions, with you  hovering over her, maintaining the kiss without breaking it even once. And you continue until your lungs are burning and you have to stop to catch your breath again. The both of you panting heavily as you break apart but you don’t take long before you again plant your lips on her, this time kissing down her jaw and neck. You feel how she squirms under you, little muffled whines escaping from her closed lips as she grows more desperate for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper into her skin, your voice filled with admiration. You lift your head again, your eyes finding hers . “Can.. Can I take these off?” Your voice laced with a little shyness as you ask her, your fingers ghost over the hem of her pants. But your shyness disappears when she nods with eagerness, pulling off her sweater as you start to undo her pants which she is quick to kick off, leaving her in only her panties and bra. You take a second to take in the view of her all spread out on the couch for you and you can’t believe how lucky you are to have met her, let alone that she reciprocates your feelings. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you sigh with admiration, dipping your head down again, this time planting a trail of kisses down from her collarbone towards the vale between her breasts, continuing down her stomach until you get to the band of her underwear. 

“You want me to take these off too?” you ask, looking up at her, through heavy lids, your heart beating loudly in your ears. You and Syd have been taking things slow, the two of you never have been this intimate before, but it feels so right in the moment and the sweet sounds she is making for you only makes your need to taste her even greater. Your eyes lock, she moves her hand down towards you, sweetly cupping your cheek, stroking the pad of her thumb gently over your cheekbone before nodding. “Please, do,” she almost pleads.           

You keep eye contact as you get into a better position. Your fingers tug at her panties as you start to slowly glide them down her legs. As the garment has left her body, Sydney spreads her legs wider for you, offering you a better view of herself, her pussy already dripping from eagerness.         

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” you purr before lowering your head, kissing up her thighs until you reach her glistening cunt. Burying your face between her legs you flatten your tongue against her entrance, sliding your tongue through her wet folds, a warm shiver running through you as you taste her for the first time. You hum into her, loving the way she tastes and feels against your tongue, lapping into her, flicking your tongue against her clit, making her whine out with pleasure which just makes you even more eager to hear more from her.      

“Fuck, right there! Right, fucking, there…” she pants out as you work your tongue a little harder against her.

She bucks her hips upwards, gently pressing her mound against your face. This makes you hum into her pussy again as you feel a warm rush run down your spine by the firm feeling of her against your mouth, which makes her let out a breathy moan from the vibration. Your hands find her hips. Tender fingers, softly digging into her skin as you help her find a rhythm as she starts to gently grind into your mouth.   

Her moans grow louder and higher in pitch, which only makes you move your tongue with even more determination and her body starts to tremble. You move your lips, beginning to slowly suck at her clit as she comes closer and closer to her release. You let your thumb take over the work on her sensitive clit, circling it gently as you start to lick into her again. 

“I-I’m… I’m so close,” she whines out, making you hum into her again, letting her know that you don’t have any intention to stop. You feel how her walls tighten around your tongue, as she starts to cry out in pleasure, sensing how her muscles relax as she starts to come undone on your tongue. You keep going, keep lapping into her, keep fucking her with your tongue as she rides out her climax, and you have never tasted anything sweeter. 

You finally detach your mouth from her entrance, your chin and lips glistening with a mix of her arousal and your own saliva, your eyes blown wide, feeling light, almost drunk from her juices. 

“Come here,” Syd whispers, her pupils dilated, making her already dark eyes look like two glistening forest lakes at night. She is so beautiful, you almost can’t take it. A sweet, gleeful smile on her face as she pulls you up to her again, pulling you into a sweet kiss, the taste of her still on your lips. 

Her hands sneak under your shirt, palming your warm skin underneath before pushing the cotton up your body, prompting you to shred the garment like she had with hers just before. You break the kiss, only for long enough so that you can pull it over your head, flinging it on the ground before connecting your lips again. Her hands find your exposed chest, gently kneading at the soft skin before she ends the kiss, moving her head down, taking your right nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before starting to gently suck it into her mouth. Her hand starts playing with your left nipple. 

You let out a series of soft moans as she works so tenderly on your tits. She lets go of your nipple with a soft ‘pop’ before moving on to your left breast, taking the other into her mouth. Her now free right hand starts to travel down to your entrance, sneaking it into the hem of your pants and down your underwear. 

She slowly slides a finger through your folds before beginning to tease your clit with slow firm circles. You gasp out from the sensation, your body feeling lighter and lighter. after a while she moves her hand, slowly gliding first one, then two, fingers inside of you, stating to slowly fuck you with her fingers. The wet squelching sound of her fingers pumping into you now rings in your ears. 

She keeps going and when she curls her fingers at just the right angle you feel how the last string snaps, falling over the edge. Your eyes roll back in your skull and your toes curl as your climax washes over you in electric hot rushes. You tap her shoulder, making Syd release your nipple so she can kiss your lips instead. She kisses you through your climax, turning you into putty in her hands.      

“That was nice…” She pants when the two of you finally brak apart, a lovesick smile on her face. 

“Yeah… very nice,” you agree, wit a smile mirroring hers. “Should we go get cleaned up?” 

“Yeah, we should, but let’s just stay here for a little while first,” she replies, a tired but blissful smile painting her lips.

So you do. You both lay there, breathing heavily, bodies intertwined, basking in the afterglow of the moment. The room is filled with a mix of warmth, desire, and a fulfilling sense of contentment. Time seems to stand still as you cherish the intimate connection you’ve just shared.

The world outside this moment seems distant and unimportant. All that matters is the warmth of Syd’s body against yours, the rhythm of your heartbeats synchronizing, and the blissful intimacy you’ve found in each other’s arms. The silence between you is comfortable, filled with unspoken words and a profound understanding of the depth of your connection.

[prettypinkporkchop]

hiii, I've been reading some of your work n i love them so i decided to make a request

could you please write a paul lahote x oc where in during the bella pregnancy she is in the side of the cullen family (she could be a bella friend that know about everything because paul imprinted on her) and after the fight between the uley pack and the cullen's he is trying to make her forgive him

(sorry if i spelled something wrong english is my second language)

Flashback:

"Bella! Stop!" You yell at your best friend as she angrily makes her way towards the three shirtless guys. You're not so sure what is going on. All you know is that Edward moved away, Jacob was helping Bella cope, he disappeared, and now she's mad at his friends?

"What did you do?!" She yells at them. The middle guy instantly caught your attention. Who is he? "Bella, please.." You beg her to step back. Paul hears your voice and faces you.

How could things turn out like this? You two are bonded. It's supposed to be easy. It has been.. until now.

"Esme made food if you want some?" Jacob sits next to you on the stairs that lead up to where Bella is. You look up at him with tears in your eyes. "It hurts, Jake. I need him." You sniffle. Jacob frowns and looks down in between his feet. "He is hurting, too. I know that's a fact. When was the last time you guys saw each other or spoke?" You pull out your phone and read the text you sent him that was left unanswered all day. "I stopped by at his place a couple of days ago just to get a little quick fix of the pain. I stayed for maybe ten minutes. He said nothing. Just sat there in silence. I messaged him this morning. I texted, 'You're being an ass. Just accept my decisions.' He never responded." You put your phone back down.

Jake goes to say something but screaming and panicks abrupt the room upstairs. You and him jump up and run in there. You are horrified by the scene. Carlisle takes Bella into the operation room. Jacob and Edward go in there as well. You start panicking and go outside where Leah and Seth sit. You sit in front of them on the ground. "It's happening." Leah breathes out.

A little bit later, Jacob comes outside in tears. He falls on the ground. Seth looks at him with sadness. "She didn't make it..?" Seth croaks. Jacob shakes his head, rocking back and forth. You are in shock but fall next to Jacob and let the tears fall.

You just lost your best friend.

Jacob turns cold and stands up, stomping his way to the house. You turn to Leah. She reaches for your shoulder and stares at the house. "Everything is falling apart." You whisper.

Suddenly, wolves come in. Leah and Seth shift instantly, and they begin fighting. You jump back far enough to not get hurt. You see your Paul... your heart.. it aches.

You can't run inside because you're scared of what's going on there.

Jake comes out and tries to make them stop. He seems.. different? What's happening? He shifts when they don't listen. They all stop, backing away. The cullens step out, and you hear Edward behind you on the porch, "He imprinted."

You walk closer to Paul, who stands before you on your front step. You close the door behind you and cross your arms, looking at him with a sad face. "I've missed you, you know." You say with attitude. His eyes turn red and water. He swallows and then lands on his knees. "I'm so sorry." He cries softly. "I'd do anything to make it up to you, but we can't be away from each other any longer. Please come home with me." He looks up at you. You sit next to him and pull him into your chest. He breathes in your scent and wraps his arms around you. You sigh and put your head on his shoulder. "It's going to take a while for me to forgive you. I can't believe you'd toss me because of an opposing opinion." He grips you tighter. "I'd do anything. I love you more than you could ever imagine." He breathes out.

You wake up on Paul's bed naked, and you are greeted with candy that you love. You sit up, holding the blanket over your chest and grab onto it. There's a note taped on the back.

'Had to go help, Sam. Be back in a bit. Date 2nite get ready. love you.'

You smile and begin to forgive him, but you don't want to let him know just yet. Even though you guys slept together last night... Oops.

You put on your favorite dress on and finish up your makeup. Paul walks in his room from the bathroom, adjusting his shirt. He looks so handsome! He matched you! He looks at you sitting at the vanity he built for you. His eyes widen. "Oh my God, baby. You're so beautiful." He smiles and blushes. You wink at him and stand up. "Now, you look handsome."

The dinner was amazing! He opened doors for you, which he always does anyway. He listened to you talk all night. He's made up for cutting you out by being his usual best boyfriend.

As he drives you two home, his hand sits on your thigh. You run your fingertips up and down his arm. "I love you, Paul. I forgive you." He smiles widely and glances at you quickly. "I love you too. Thank you. I won't take this for granted. I'm never making that mistake again." He slightly squeezes your thigh.

[r-is-typing]

peter | s.r

summary: in which love didn't outlast the challenges of time

requested?: no!

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: angst

content warnings: honestly just hardcore angst (sorry)

word count: 1k

based on 'peter' by taylor swift

The year was 1994. The sweltering heat in Las Vegas beat down on the quiet neighborhood. Two children stood in front of a white picket fence.

"Do you really have to go?" The young girl looked at her best friend with a frown. The pair was twelve, having to say goodbye. "I'll come back." The boy said, voice full of promises. The girl's breath hitched, looking towards their mother's who watched the childrens exchange.

"You'll keep in touch." Another promise. Y/N nods, the naivety of it all not dawning on her. She knew Spencer had to go. Caltech wanted him. He'd be stupid to turn down such an amazing opportunity and Spencer Reid was anything but stupid.

I thought it was just goodbye for now.

Y/N sighed, hugging her best friend tightly as they whispered promises to eachother. "This isn't goodbye. I'll be back. We'll write each other. It only takes 6 days approximately for letters to go from here in Las Vegas to Caltech." Her friend was too smart for his own good. No wonder he was starting college at the ripe age of thirteen.

You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

Y/N stood with her mother, tears swimming in her eyes. "I'll come back, okay?" Spencer comforted the girl one last time. "Okay." The girl nods, hugging him tightly, memorizing everything about him she can before it's too late.

Words from the mouths of babes; promises, oceans deep.

Before his mother and father pack his entire life into a car and drive to Caltech. Before he starts a new life. Before Spencer Reid forgot about her. Before promises were broken.

But never to keep. Oh, never to keep.

"Happy birthday to you!" The voices of her friends droned on like background noise as Y/N stared at her cake. The '22' candle staring at her. Here she was, working two jobs to pay for community college all while her childhood best friend had just joied the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit.

The next few years go by quick, but somehow slow at the same time. She thinks often of him and what he's doing as the time goes on. Did he think of her like she thinks of him? Does he even remember her?

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer.

Now, Y/N turns 25. Spencer is now a well-known agent in the FBI, numerous PhD's. Again, she isn't surprised. She knew from the moment she met him at seven that he'd be brilliant.

I've heard great things, Peter.

One day, while working a shift at the diner she worked nights at, the bell rings. Her eyes dart up, ready to welcome the customers. She freezes. She hasn't seen him in years, but *she knew.*

"Hi."

You said you were gonna grow up

Spencer stood in front of her, of course looking older than she had seen him last at thirteen. Her eyes studied him, unable to move from her position. She studied the outfit he wore. The button up, the watch turned inwards, the gun in the holster at his hip. It was her Spencer, but grown.

Then, you were gonna come find me.

"I, uh, got this address from your mom." He says. She looks up at him, snapping out of the trance she was in. "I promised I'd come back, didn't I? I know it's been a long-"

"Twelve years."

Her abruptness makes Spencer cringe. He knew exactly how long it had been, but hearing her say it was a huge slap to the face. "I'm sorry." He pleads, but it's no use.

"I love you."

Twelve years ago, those words coming out of his mouth would've made the girl giddy inside, but now? She sets the coffee pot down and looks back at him.

And I won't confess that I've waited.

She scoffs softly. "You can't be serious." Y/N shakes her head, averting her eyes. "It's true." Spencer swears. Y/N steps closer to him. "You seriously think after twelve years I'm just going to let you swoop in like nothing ever happened?"

But I let the lamp burn.

"I waited for you. Days, weeks, months, years." Y/N says. She shakes her head, thinking about what to say to him next. She thinks about her past relationships, how they weren't him. Every person, Y/N pictured him, compared them to him. Y/N wished Spencer would come back, taking her away from it all like he promised all those years ago.

As the men masqueraded, I'd hope you'd return.

"And, finally, I got it through my head you weren't coming back." She spoke, her voice on the verge of breaking down at any moment. Y/N looked at him. "I stopped planning that fairytale reunion a long time ago, Spencer. I gave up hope that you'd ever come back."

And the shelf life of those fantasies has expired.

"I'm sorry that you came all this way, Spencer." Y/N says, standing in front of him now, her hands resting in the pockets of her sweater. "And I'm sorry that I couldn't wait thirteen years for you to realize you loved me like I loved you."

Forgive me, Peter. Please know that I tried to hold on to the days where you were mine.

"I'm not a naive little girl anymore, Spencer." Y/N says. She lifts her hands out of her pockets to grab a cup from the counter and that's when he sees it. The glimmering rock shines in his eyes as it hits the light. How could someone so smart miss something so obvious?

But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light.

Spencer stares at the ring on her finger. "You're..." His head nods down in front of him and her eyes follow. She nods. "I am." She mutters. "I couldn't keep waiting. I had to move on sometime."

Spencer nods, understanding but upset. "I'm sorry." was all he could say. She looked at him with a tight-lipped smile. "I know." If only Spencer didn't make her a bunch of empty promises when they were younger, maybe it would've ended differently.

Promises, oceans deep; but never to keep.

r is typing...

so, yeah! i haven't written in months so hopefully this is my redemption! i hope you all enjoyed. sorry about my hiatus! i nearly cried writing this haha. i've been obsessed with this song for ages so it oly seemed necessary to make my first post back something based off of this song!

as always, check my masterlist here, leave me a request or say hello here, and join the taglist here!

all the love!

r is signing off...

taglist: @liltimmyst @elsiebishh @psychosociogentleman @louderfortheback @conniesanchor @cynbx

[explosionkatsu]

AGE DOESN'T MATTER 23

Dad!Bakugo x Teacher!Babysitter!Reader

22

7 p.m. is what it says to the clock and Katsuki hasn't arrived yet. It seems like Eijiro is quite busy as well for Kazui is still with her.

You were starting to feel uneasy since something must've come up that caused them to be this late. After checking your watch once again, you've decided to just drop Kazui yourself. The thing is, you don't know where Katsuki's parents live and you doubt you'll get a detailed answer from him.

'Well, no harm in trying.' You thought to yourself and poked Kazui who was busy watching some cartoons on your phone.

"Kazui-chan." You called out making Kazui look up at you confused.

"Hai?" He responded.

"Do you know where your bachan lives?" You asked.

You were surprised when Kazui told you the complete address, including the lot number.

"H-how?" You were amazed.

"Papa told me if I got lost, I can state Bachan's address so that someone can take me there safely!" Kazui beamed.

"That's very smart of you, Kazui-chan." You praised and gently patted his head smiling.

"Thank you!" Kazui answered.

"What do you say I drop you instead to your bachan?" You suggested. "I don't think Uncle Eiji will be here anytime soon. Something must've come up."

Kazui just nodded when you noticed him yawning. Of course, he's exhausted.

"Alright. Let's pack our stuff and head out." You said.

Y/n began fixing her things as well as Kazui. Once finished, she checked everything and left the school taking Kazui's hand to hers. She plans on buying something to consume on their way as well since it's been hours since Kazui ate anything.

Y/n took Kazui to a ramen house where Kazui finished his meal almost immediately and ate his yogurt on the bus. You intentionally made him sit at the window seat so that he'd be able to point out the place.

"We're here!" He suddenly exclaimed while pointing to a certain house.

Y/n pressed the stop button resulting in the bus halting a few blocks away from where Kazui's pointing. Carefully, Y/n guided Kazui out of the bus and headed to where he was pointing.

'If this is the wrong house, she could just apologize and say it's the wrong house.' Y/n thought while internally praying, as well as readying herself for the excuse.

When they reached the porch, Y/n shakingly pressed the doorbell twice. She was ready to make an excuse, chanting it over and over in her head. Her dread vanished when a woman who looked exactly like a female version of Katsuki opened the door.

"Can I- Kazui!?" Mitsuki shrieked. "Where the hell is your father?!"

"Bachaaan!!" Kazui beamed hugging Mitsuki.

"That brat," Mitsuki mumbled. "Masaru! Your brat left Kazui to some- wait." She blinked, finally looking at you. "Who are you?"

"O-oh!" Y/n stuttered. "I am Y/n L/n." She said and bowed down. "I am Kazui-chan's homeroom teacher, as well as his babysitter."

"Did Kat-, Bakugo leave Kazui to you?" Mitsuki asked and let Kazui in the house.

"Oh, not entirely." Y/n sweat dropped. "Kazui has been waiting for Kirishima to pick him up. But it seems like something came up. I realized it was getting a bit late so I decided to drop Kazui myself, which I am a bit thankful he knew the whole address." She explained, chuckling in the end.

"Oh what am I doing, come in!"

---

"Glad we were able to catch that villain. Man, I thought I'd leave patrol early today." Eijiro said while sitting on the stretcher and letting someone treat his wounds. "Sorry, I couldn't pick up Kazui today."

"Shit!" Katsuki cussed.

"What is it?" Eijiro asked looking at Katsuki in panic.

"I have a fucking date today!"

"What?! With who!?" Eijiro exclaimed. "Bro. You realized it's 8:30 in the evening already, right?"

"I'm supposed to fucking pick her up at the daycare."

Without hesitating, Katsuki told the medic to stop treating him.

"Who!? Where- Dynamight!!!" Eijiro called out. "Awe man."

Katsuki darted away from the scene focusing on getting to the daycare fast, hoping Y/n and Kazui were still there. But as soon as he reached the establishment, he saw that the lights were out and the portico was locked.

"Fuck!" He cussed loudly.

'She must've taken Kazui her. But where? At her home? Yeah. Probably it.' Katsuki thought to himself and blasted himself towards Y/n's apartment.

It took him a few minutes to get there only to notice that her lights were off as well.

"What the hell?" He mumbled. "Where the hell are they.." Katsuki said. He went to the window to check closer but saw no one.

The only place he hasn't gone yet is his own house and his parents.

"Damn it." He cussed once again and blasted away.

---

"So, you've been spending time with Katsuki." Mitsuki was surprised after learning this. It irritates her that Katsuki never tells him anything. "So, how's he?"

Y/n, who was sitting in the dining with Mitsuki smiled. "He's very-"

"Difficult?"

"A-ah. No..." Y/n sweat dropped. "He's really sweet." She giggled. "Whenever I come over to take care of Kazui, I usually cook dinner for 3 people. He'll get mad at me for cooking instead of ordering takeout since he always leaves enough cash for takeouts."

"What do you do to the money he leaves?" Mitsuki asked before sipping her cup of tea.

'Ah.' Y/n thought. It seems like she knew what Mitsuki was doing.

"I bought groceries." Y/n looked down as she said this. "I noticed that there aren't any greens in the fridge. It's usually meat, cereal, a bunch of juices, and a few spices."

"What happened to Katsuki." Mitsuki facepalmed. "That kid is always passionate about his cooking."

"He always complains whenever I cook for him, but he'll eat it anyway." Y/n giggled and took a sip of her tea.

"Why do you do it?" Mitsuki's getting interested in Y/n.

"I can see how tired and exhausted he is whenever he gets home from work."

As Y/n went on to explain, she didn't know that Mitsuki was watching her facial features. Her expression changes whenever she mentions something about Katsuki.

'He'll be so lucky to have this woman.' Mitsuki thought smiling to herself. "Ah. I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself." She smiled. "I'm Mitsuki Bakugo, and here my husband, Masaru Bakugo. You can just call me Mitsuki."

"Oh. It is a pleasure, Mitsuki." Y/n stood up and bowed as a sign of respect.

---

Reaching his own house, Katsuki can see the lights are as well off.

"What the hell?"

He's starting to get worried. Did someone kidnap them? Did they know who Y/n is?

"Fuck!" The only thing he can think of now is to call. But as he tries to reach for his phone, he realizes he left it in his office which frustrates him more.

The only place he hasn't checked is his parents where he doubts, they will be there, but he was hoping they are.

---

"Masaru," Mitsuki called out for her husband signaling him to come over.

Y/n was with Kazui in the living room, obviously spending time with him.

"Yes, dear?" Masaru responded.

"We haven't fully known Y/n right here but I'm liking her for Katsuki right now." She was grinning ear to ear while murmuring what she said.

"What makes you say that?" Masaru said placing a palm on Mitsuki's shoulder.

"I heard the things she did for him. She's the woman I want for our son." Mitsuki smiled.

"You know we just can't-"

"Set them up," Mitsuki answered mischievously.

"Katsuki's smart, dear."

"Not with us." She snickered. "Y/n dear! Come here!"

Y/n blinked curiously but stood up anyway and went to Mitsuki and Masaru.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Eh?

This question made you blink again. "Huh?"

"Oh! We apologize for snooping around. You are a very lovely woman so we're guessing you have a man in your life." Mitsuki's a great actor alright.

"U-um. I don't have a boyfriend." You stuttered but confused. "It's been years since I last had one."

"Why's that, sweetie?" She was curious, okay?

"I just don't have enough time to look for someone..." You answered truthfully. "If someone came into my life, then I'll accept them wholeheartedly."

"I swear to god if they aren't here-"

Just as Y/n finished her sentence, Katsuki came barging in. Everyone was jolted by his entrance, making them all look at him, and Kazui, well, ran to Y/n in fear.

Mitsuki though, after seeing it was only her son, stomped her way to Katsuki and gave him a hard smack on his head which made Y/n gasp.

"That's normal, Y/n," Masaru says assuring her.

"Ooh.." Y/n said in response.

"Why the hell are you barging in here like that!? You gave us a heart attack you idiot!"

"I was looking for Y/n and Kazui!"

"That doesn't change the fact that you almost killed us all!"

"How the hell would I do that woman!?"

"Who are you calling woman, hah!?"

Then Mitsuki gave Katsuki another smack whilst Masaru just sighed in the background, smiling.

"A-ano.." Y/n's voice halted both the blonde-haired.

Both blonde-haired paused in bickering when they heard Y/n's voice making them look at her.

"Kazui!" Katsuki called out as he reached for Kazui, embracing him tightly. "I was so worried." He breathes out what after seeing Kazui safe.

"Papaaaaa." Kazui groaned, squirming a little while being embraced by his father. "I'm okay!"

Mitsuki just slightly shook her head while witnessing the scene.

"How did they get here?" Katsuki asked as he stood up looking at his mother.

"They knock at the door, genius," Mitsuki answered crossing her arms.

"I- whatever." Katsuki facepalmed.

"A-ano.." You stuttered. "Kazui-chan gave me the address."

He was so focused on Kazui that he almost forgot that you were also here in his parent's house. So when his eyes gaze upon you, he can't help but blush a little which goes unnoticed by Mitsuki who smirks seeing this.

"Tsch." Katsuki tched. "Thanks for keeping Kazui safe."

"It's my responsibility as his teacher and babysitter." You smiled.

"I'm guessing you've met my old hag here," Katsuki mumbles as he scratches his cheeks.

Y/n was a bit distraught. She never focuses on what he is saying because Katsuki is covered in bruises, scratches, wounds, and dirt. She was tempted to heal him.

"Katsuki.." Y/n called out softly.

Katsuki stopped talking and looked at her raising an eyebrow.

"I apologize for cutting you, but I hope you don't mind if I take a look at your bruises. It might get infected... Especially those open wounds.." Y/n said staring at Katsuki worriedly.

"Now that you mentioned it," Mitsuki spoke up. "You look terrible! I was just watching you and Eijiro defeat that villain! Why aren't you patched up!?"

Katsuki only rolled his eyes hearing his mother yell at him, but deep inside he kinda missed it. "Eijiro was getting patched up." Katsuki started. "I was going to as well when he fu-, mentioned Kazui. Since I made plans with Y/n as well, I thought of picking him up instead. But I realized it was a bit late, and looked around for them."

"Be glad that your son knows our address." Mitsuki sighed.

"Son, why don't you use your old bedroom and stay here for tonight?" Masaru walked towards them, smiling. "Your mother can help you with those while I prepare dinner. I'm sure Miss Y/n and Kazui are starving as well."

"A-ah! You don't have to-"

"That would be lovely!" Mitsuki beamed.

"Tsch." Well, it was not a bad idea. "Fine. Only because I'm exhausted."

"Alright then! I'll bring the aid kit while your father-

"Give it to Y/n," Katsuki said finally removing his combat boots.

"Ha?" Mitsuki was confused.

"She's a healer." Katsuki simply said making Y/n's eyes wide open.

"How did y-you know?.." Y/n stuttered.

"Doesn't matter," Katsuki said.

"Oh? That's very interesting, Y/n." Mitsuki smiled. "You can patch Katsuki in his room. I can finally spend time with my grandson!"

---

Katsuki went to his old bedroom along with Y/n following him. He didn't expect his night to turn this way but he was a bit glad to have some a little privacy with Y/n.

"This is my old room," Katsuki said stopping in front of a door.

He slowly pushed the door open and switched the lights on revealing a tidy room with a bunch of Almight stuff around the room.

"I see a fan." Y/n giggled while they both walked into the room.

"Whatever," Katsuki answered. "Be thankful it's not like Izuku's." He mumbled.

"Hm?"

"I'll go shower." He said. "You can wait here. Just sit on the bed, I guess."

"Oh. I'll prepare the med kit while waiting for you." Y/n smiled.

"Alright. I'll be quick." Katsuki said and left.

A few minutes passed, and Katsuki got out of the shower fully clothed. He decided to just change in the bathroom so that it wouldn't create any awkwardness between him and Y/n. He also wore something that might help Y/n while she heals him.

"Would these clothes be a bother?" He asked slowly approaching Y/n who was comfortably sitting on the bed.

Hearing his voice shook her a little bit. Luckily she managed to hide it.

As she looked at Katsuki, her eyes widened on seeing what he was wearing. A loose black tank top along with what seems like sleepwear shorts stops a few inches above his knee.

"Oi."

Y/n blinked when he called out. "I-it's okay."

Katsuki sat across from her, not too close but not too far either. He watched how she took a bunch of stuff out of the kit as if she was familiar with what she was doing. Like a muscle memory almost.

"I have a question." Katsuki suddenly blurts out.

"Oh, uh. What is it?" Y/n asked while focusing on the liquid disinfectant.

"Why didn't you take the medical field?" As if hitting a sensitive spot, Katsuki noticed how her movements turned slow. "You don't have to answer if it's something sensitive." He quickly added.

"No, no. It's fine." Y/n smiled at him. "It's not sensitive as well." She said. "I just dont like seeing people die. Especially under my care." She sighed as the smile never left her lips. "I get attached easily which is not a good thing as a doctor, or so I was told. Haha."

While reading the formula of the disinfectant, Y/n managed to answer Katsuki. "I wanted to be a doctor. But since I am a very emotional person, I decided to just teach."

"Why didn't you tell me your quirk is healing?"

Y/n giggled remembering her reason.

"The hell is so funny about it, hah?" Katsuki was confused as to why she found his question amusing.

"Sorry!" Y/n apologized immediately. "I just think that you might find my reason foolish."

"I won't if you tell me." Katsuki tsked. 

"Well. I watched you a lot on the television. All your interviews." Y/n started.

"Right," Katsuki smirked. "I forgot that you're a fan of Dynamight."

"S-shut it.." Y/n blushed. "Anyway," after clearing her throat, she continues, "Dynamight is a very protective person and doesn't want to cause any harm to anyone. Since my quirk causes self-harm, I know you'd be against it if I used it on you or Kazui when I started working for you."

She does have a point.

"So, the day you got home injured, I told Kirishima to not say a word when I both mended you two," Y/n explained while dabbing the liquid on a cotton ball.

"You think I'll let you use it on me, huh?" Katsuki said looking at her.

"H-huh?"

"Of course fucking not." He added and looked away. "You're precious to me. I don't want you getting hurt." He said while his face was turning red.

Y/n's face was worse though, hers was redder than tomato. "U-um.. Your a-arm, please.."

"Wha t do you even like about Dynamight, huh," Katsuki asked out of nowhere while he raised his arm and felt her gentle grasp on his skin. For some reason, it feels very comforting.

"What do I like about him?" Y/n smiled. "He was very passionate about saving people. I admire how bold he is in every situation. No matter what kind of villain he faces, he assures people that he'll defeat them. I just hate it when people misunderstand him just by judging him. They didn't know that without his hero suit, Dynamight was a very different person."

---

"Hey, Masaru." Mistuki called out while preparing the food with her husband.

"Yes, dear?" Masaru answered.

"Did you notice what Katsuki said earlier?" Mitsuki said pausing on washing the vegetables.

"Hm.." Masaru thinks for a second before answering, "Which part?"

"Katsuki said he has plans with Y/n." Mitsuki looked at Masaru as she said this. "I think Katsuki doesn't need our help."

Masaru just smiled at his wife. "Like I said, our son is smart."

24

---

Happy New year, everyone!! I am back!!! I hope you like this part!

Thank you for all your patience! 🥺🥺

[luvtonique]

Hey.

My mom's really depressed. We found out today that our house does not qualify for insurance unless we jump through like 500 more hoops and pay thousands of dollars for a bunch of tree removal, and we're losing our insurance in March, so my mom's officially finally at the point of "Okay, we need to leave California."

We have hardly any money, we don't know if our house will sell if we put it up, and my mom and I sat in the living room just now at 4 in the morning to cry together about how we both think that we might lose everything we've worked for in this house. A nest egg, a promise of a future for our family, some form of hope.

And now we're barely scraping by.

My fundraiser to get out of California didn't make enough. Even with a few behind the scenes donations that were absolutely major, we still couldn't get out of here. We're on our last hope and prayer.

So, why'm I making this post?

Because I'd like you, if you can find it in your heart, and if you're a religious type, to pray for my mom and my family. We've spent years now trying to get out of California and we're right in the middle of putting in new floors which my mom is doing almost entirely by herself at age 74, and we've still got so much stuff packed into this house that we're gonna need to just pack up our car and go throw a ton of it in the junkyard just to get it out of our house.

We need help. Of course we need financial aid of some kind, my mom's retirement can only afford so much when our electric bill is $875 (California!), but this post isn't about that.

This post is about my mom needing a miracle, and I don't know how to give her one. I'm nowhere near having my game finished so I can't make money on video game sales.

So all I have is just this little bit of faith that maybe this post will find enough people who can pray for us that God will hear and will send my mom that miracle that makes her happy again.

Thank you for reading. Please reblog if you can't do anything else. Blaze the post. Something. I don't know.

My mom's been through so much pain in her life that I can't just let her be sad like this. I can't watch the state of California take not just her money but even her happiness from her and leave her stranded and alone.

Thank you again.

I love you.