#it’s been comforting to wear actually. sweaters are such awesome things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellfirenacht · 6 months ago

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Wing Man 13

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Chapter Summary: You remember.

6.5 Words

(1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12)

March, 1977

You hated the sweater that your grandma had picked out for you to wear on the night of the Hawkins Middle School Talent Show. It was slightly too small for you and you couldn’t comfortably raise your arms without your midriff accidentally showing, the material was itchy and the tag was poking at the back of your neck which made you scratch the skin there which only made the problem worse, and you know that when you stepped out onto the stage the lights would make you feel unbearably hot.

What you hated slightly less was the poem that you were supposed to recite. You didn’t really have anything against The Owl and the Pussy Cat, but it wasn’t exactly your first choice for the show. Actually, you had about 8 more ideas for your forced performance that had all been shot down by your teachers or parents.

Being forced to be in the talent show wasn’t the worst thing in the world. You really did normally like being on stage if it was by your own choice and you got to choose what to do. Now, here you were in 8th grade, getting ready to be on stage because of some stupid rule that said that all students must participate in the talent show once in their 3 years.

You didn’t have a talent in 6th grade, and in 7th you ended up getting the flu which had kept you in bed for a week. Now for 8th grade you had been cornered and forced to recite a poem that put you to sleep and was sure to give every bored parent an excuse to take a bathroom break.

There were way more interesting performances than you, and you’d rather trade with almost anyone. The girls from the cheer squad always did an original routine despite using the same three cheers at every sports game, there were the Tyson brothers who did their traditional “Who’s On First?” stand-up that killed every year, a few kids playing piano or singing some random song, and one girl doing what you assumed to be some sort of martial art demonstration. The talent here was only marginally better than the ones you had sat through in elementary school.

Okay, there was one performance that you were looking forward to seeing. Dougie, the guy who sat next to you in English, had been going on for weeks how he was in a band now and that they were making their debut at the talent show that year. He excitedly rambled to you about how they were going to play a Judas Priest song and it was gonna be awesome.

You had never talked to Dougie before then, but you had made eye contact with him once when he was talking about the talent show and that meant that you were now going to listen to him every time he wanted to talk about his band. Having a full live band at this show sounded a lot more interesting than most public school acts, and the idea that they were going to get away with playing a song that was not school board approved sounded awesome.

The irony of it all was that about three minutes before the show started he admitted that they had all practiced together a grand total of twice beforehand.

Dougie was currently jumping up and down in an awkward rhythm from foot to foot, clinging to his bass like it was his last lifeline. When you tried to talk to him, he only responded with a line from the song they were going to sing, having forgotten the rest of the English language in an attempt to make sure he remembered the words to the song. It made you feel a little better, because you could at least recite your poem in your sleep.

You leaned against a wall and looked up towards the catwalk above the stage. There were two kids up there, and you were pretty sure that they really weren’t supposed to be. One was a girl in a ponytail, wearing a sparkly outfit that matched the group of cheerleaders in the hall, and one was a boy with a buzzcut wearing ripped jeans and a dark t-shirt. Quite the opposite pair.

You watched them for a moment, unable to hear a word they were saying but they both kept looking out at the crowd. When the five minute warning came, they each scrambled back down to the floor and Buzzcut Kid made his way to Dougie and the girl went out to join the rest of her squad.

Maybe this would be more enjoyable if you also had friends to do this with. The few friends that you did have had either done their stint in the years before or had decided to do something completely different than you.

Your only saving grace was that you were up second, right after some 7th grader sang along to the latest pop song that hit the charts about a month ago. This meant that you at least got it over with, and could spend the rest of the show alone and unbothered to watch everyone else.

That was the plan at least. Unfortunately for you, you had completely overlooked one crucial thing about your fellow peers.

They were fucking mean.

You really hadn’t thought much about the poem you were going to recite, it was just supposed to be a very quick poem that no one would remember. You had actually learned the poem a very long time ago when you were a kid, so you never made the connection that part of the poem could be taken... incorrectly.

When your name was called, you stepped onto the center stage, shoulders back and head up straight. You were going to say your poem from the diaphragm, make your parents and grandma happy, and then get off stage. It would take less than two minutes and then you were home free.

The second you started talking about how the Owl and the Pussy Cat went to sea in their pea green boat was when you started to hear the giggles from backstage. And when the Owl started to sing on their guitar, that’s when you realized your fatal mistake.

"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Oh.

Oh no.

The giggles from backstage grew louder and you felt your face heating up from more than just the horrible sweater. You could barely focus on the last two verses, where the Owl buys a ring off a Pigs’ nose to marry the Pussy Cat, you could only finish the poem in a deadpan voice before walking off stage as quickly as possible without even waiting for the first applause to start.

Backstage, everyone was giggling every time they looked at you. Whispers of ‘O pussy, my love!’ and ‘O lovely pussy!’ and (less creatively) ‘pussy lover’ followed you as you made your way out into the hall, trying not to cry.

They would all call you “pussy poem girl” until you skipped town and left Indiana forever, you just knew it.

You slipped into the bathroom, had yourself a small bout of embarrassed frustration tears, and then stomped your way to the art room. Ms. Teedee, the art teacher, was infamous for forgetting to lock her door which meant that it was easy to sneak in and make your way over to the large box of construction paper and get to work.

It started out as just a way to calm down after the horrible embarrassment you just faced, but then it became a plan to hopefully soften the blow.

It took you about a half hour to make, roughly, a million paper flowers from the various sheets of construction paper, which you then shoved into a discarded cardboard box next to Ms. Teedee’s desk. With a final deep breath you made your way back to the gymnasium where the cheerleaders were now doing their dance.

When they all filed off stage, you stood there with your box of fake flowers and handed each of them one with a “Congratulations!” and “You guys were amazing out there!”.

Maybe if you were nice enough now, they’d drop the Pussy Fiasco and leave you alone.

While the next act went on, you retroactively passed out paper flowers to the students who had already been on. Everyone stage right was waiting to go on while stage left was for those who already went. The plan seemed to work well enough, and you found the sooner you shoved a flower in someone’s face, the less likely they were to make a crack about your poem.

At least until Monday when the snickers would follow you for the rest of the school year, and partially into high school by a few asshats who had nothing better to do.

When you finally had a moment to catch your breath and take a moment to watch the talent show, there was a cacophony of noise coming from the stage. Drums, guitar, base, cracked vocals, were blasting from the speakers, making most of the parents in the audience wince.

You skirted around to the side of the stage, just out of sight from the audience to see what was going on. Dougie’s act was up and they were... loud. Loud was definitely the right word to use. You couldn’t see Dougie well, he was on the far side of the stage away from you, and a girl with a drum set was behind him. She was banging away on the drums in a way that reminded you of Animal from The Muppets with how much energy she was putting into it. You were expecting her to hit the drum so hard that the stick would go flying.

Speaking of flying...

The guitarist was the one who captured your attention the most. Under the spotlights you could forget that he was just an awkward 8th grader like you, he looked like... almost like he was flying. That didn’t make much sense because he was standing in place, but it was the only metaphor you could think of that made sense at the time. His vocals were rough, but the passion in his voice was clear. Most students were half-assing their performances out of obligation because they were forced to but not him. Buzzcut Kid played like he needed to, as if his life depended on it.

The sting of the guitar and the thrumming of the drums drowned out any snickering from the students that had been following you for the past forty minutes. For the next three, you were absolutely enthralled by the kids on stage. So much so that when they all filed off you completely blanked on handing out flowers, your ears still ringing from the act.

“That was great!” you had managed to spit out to Dougie, who gave you a quick thanks before turning back to the rest of the band, the three talking excitedly about their very first performance.

Dougie’s band was the second to last performance, followed by a grand finale of a kid playing a medley of old tv show themes on piano. You remembered to give that kid a flower at least. Afterwards, you were all ushered on stage for a bow, your hands felt clammy as you gripped the hand of one of the Tyson brothers, not wanting to look at the audience at all.

With the show over, everyone filed out into the main area of the school. Kids reunited with their parents and siblings to talk about the show and give congratulations. You saw a few of your flowers already being dumped in the nearby trash can, which stung a little. You sighed and clung to the remaining flowers in your small cardboard box and realized that you never did hand them over to Dougie and his friends.

Ignoring the fact that your parents were looking for you, you pushed through the sea of people and found Dougie, handing him a flower quickly before moving on before he could say anything else to you. The girl drummer was easy to find next, as she was at the edge of the crowd with an old woman who you assumed was her grandma. You handed her a flower too, with a stuttered “You were so good!” before disappearing again into the crowd.

There was only one flower left to give out, and you were shaking slightly at the idea of approaching the guitarist. You didn’t know why; shy was never a word that your friends and teachers would use to describe you. But this guy was just so cool and he played guitar in a band! Okay, so Dougie was also in the band but that was different! This guy had played in a way that put air into your lungs and made you forget the disaster of your own performance. You wished that your family had brought their clunky camcorder to tape the show so that you’d never forget it.

You spotted Buzzcut Kid standing with an older man as they headed out the door of the school, and you panicked for a second. You shifted from one foot to the other quickly as you tried to make a decision. If you didn’t give him a flower then- then- then he wouldn’t have a flower! Then he’d be the only one without a flower and then what? What if he made fun of you for your poem? What if you gave him a flower and he decided to ignore your horrible social blunder? What if he did that anyway when you approached him? What if no one else was going to tell him that he had the coolest act in the show?!

It was that last thought that had you barreling through the crowd towards the door, clinging to your box tightly. You definitely shoulder checked some people on accident as you pushed your way out of the school and started walking quickly to the kid.

“W-wait up!” you said, nearly stumbling over your feet as you caught up to the kid and the old man he was with. The kid stopped and looked at you, as if confused as to why you were speaking to him.

Under the lamps hanging outside of the school, you were met with the prettiest brown eyes you had ever seen and your heart thrummed in your chest.

“Hi...?” the kid said, his brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at you. His voice snapped you out of it.

“I really liked your act it was really cool and it’s cool that you got away with playing that song without someone pulling the plug or canceling the show!” You blabbed, not stopping for breath or punctuation.

The kid froze for a second, and then looked a little bashful giving you a crooked smile. You noticed a slight chip on one of his front teeth.

“We got yelled at pretty bad backstage for it.” the kid said, looking almost proud of himself for it.

The man who was with Buzzcut Kid placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at the truck.” he said, walking off and leaving the two of you alone.

“It was still really good!” you insisted. “It was my favorite part of the show!”

Had it not been past sunset you might have noticed the way his ears burned from the compliment.

“Thanks.” he said, shifting slightly. “Uh, which act was yours again...?”

“Nothing interesting!” you said, a bit louder and higher pitched than you meant to, secretly relieved that he hadn’t heard your embarrassing poem. “Oh uh, this is for you!”

You reached your hand into your box of flowers and pulled out the nicest looking one left, a dark blue one that matched his t-shirt. He took it, his hand barely brushing against yours as he did, and he stared at it for a moment. The way he was looking so intently made your stomach turn and you suddenly felt very stupid for rushing after this guy who had no idea who you were just to give him a paper flower that was just going to end up in the trash can later.

“I gave one to everyone” you started blabbing again. “‘Cause you know not everyone gets flowers after a show but everyone did a really good job so I thought I could let everyone know that they did so that’s why I made them also what song was that that you guys played?”

It was a lie. Why were you lying? Were you so desperate to not look like a total loser in front of this guy that you’d just lie about the real reason why you made the flowers?

Well, you were in middle school. So, yeah, you were.

“The song was ‘Prowler’ by Judas Priest.” the kid said, “It was the easiest one we could learn at the last second.”

You knew that. Right, you did know that, Dougie only mentioned it every single day for the past two weeks. You felt so stupid asking that question, but at least Buzzcut Kid didn’t know that you knew.

“You guys were really good.” you repeated, not sure what else to say. You were rambling now, and Buzzcut Kid probably thought you were a total dweeb. “I hope you guys keep playing and you’re really good at guitar and I’ve never heard anyone play electric guitar live except for one time when I went to the Indiana State Fair in fourth grade.”

You needed to shut up, you were really running your mouth for no reason and just talking at this poor guy who was just trying to go home.

“I’ve been playing since I was a kid.” Buzzcut Kid said, and he was still giving you a look. His eyes were so round. “My dad taught me what he knew and I just picked up the rest from there.” He was holding the fake flower carefully, running his finger along the edge of one of the petals. You hoped he didn’t get a paper cut from doing that.

“That’s so cool.” you said, your voice a little bit slower now as you tried desperately to hold your tongue.

“Thanks.” he said again, and you immediately ran out of things to say. Of course, later you realized you could have probably kept the conversation going by asking for his name, or offering yours, but there are many downsides to being in middle school and piss-poor social skills is one of them.

“Okay well you were good and I gotta go, bye!” you said and quickly booked it back to the school, your heart pounding and your cheeks flushed from more than just the horrible sweater. You didn’t even look back at the kid that you had just left standing there with your paper flower.

You didn’t talk to him again after that. For a small school it was really easy to miss people. Your schedules never lined up, you never saw him in the hallways except for maybe one or two glances before or after school. Dougie never talked to you again, and by the next semester you’d been moved to a different schedule anyway. By the time Spring came around, you barely remembered the kid who you’d gushed to, and when high school came around he was just a distant memory of a night that you really tried not to think about.

The only evidence of that night lay now in your lap. The Hawkins Middle School yearbook from when you both were in eighth grade had a full color spread of the talent show. The Tyson brothers and the cheerleaders got solo pictures of their acts as well as a small collage of every kid that played the piano.

But there, in the bottom of the second page, was a larger group photo of every kid that had been in the show that night, the picture taken thirty minutes before the curtain. You were stationed on the second row, on the far right and there on the top row was Buzzcut Kid, the girl drummer (who Eddie had explained was his friend Ronnie), and Dougie.

No wonder you didn’t recognize Eddie or his band before. Besides Eddie, the whole line up of the band had completely changed since their middle school debut. There was no way you would have placed the tall and lanky kid with the buzzcut as the guy who you’d been seeing for the past few weeks.

When you had been looking at Eddie’s pictures in your own copies of the yearbook, you had been only looking at high school. It hadn’t occurred to you to try and dig further than that.

“So this is what you’ve been so cryptic about.” you said finally, looking between the flower and the yearbook.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal you didn’t remember me.” He shrugged, falling onto his back on the bed next to you. “I wouldn’t remember me either.”

“Eddie, I was obsessed with you for like, a month after this.” you admitted, staring at him hard. “You were the only good part of that night. I stopped thinking about that night when I didn’t see you again. ”

“You were obsessed with me?” He lifted his head and looked at you with a shit-eating grin. “Stalker.”

You grabbed a flimsy pillow from beside you and smacked him in the face. “Says the guy keeping count of how many times we met!”

“The second time was when you got in trouble with Higgins for skipping class- hey!” Eddie lifted his arms as you whacked him with the pillow over and over.

“Why-” Smack! “didn’t-” Smack! “you-” Smack! “tell-” Smack! “me-” Smack! “this-” Smack! “earlier?!”

Eddie grabbed the pillow out of your hands and smacked you back. “Didn’t think it was important.”

“Not important?!” you gaped at him. “Edward Munson, I’m going to use that pillow to suffocate you. I’m so embarrassed now. I remember you as this super cool guy who made me feel better and I was just some random kid who was always crying- oof!”

Eddie smacked you with the pillow a bit harder than intended, but it didn’t matter with how much you two were laughing.

“You think I’m super cool? Aww, I’m flattered. Maybe I will give you a few autographs to sell, seeing as how you’re my biggest fan.” He teased.

“I take it back, I take it all back! You suck, and are super lame and not cool at all.” you grabbed the second pillow, slightly less flimsy than the one he was holding and smacked him again.

“Sweetheart, you’re hurting my heart here.” He held his hand on his chest and gripped his shirt dramatically. “You were the first girl to ever come up to me and tell me you liked my playing, and now you’re taking it all back? I’m wounded.”

“I was?” There was no way that was right.

“Okay, you were the second. Ronnie might count as the first, but all she did was say ‘Fine, I guess we’re good enough we could try and start a band.’”

“And now you’re good enough to possibly get a record deal.” you said, smiling at him.

“I’ll be sure to thank you when I get my first Grammy.”

You leaned against the wall that his bed was cornered into and sighed. “I can’t believe you were Buzzcut Kid and that nice guy who stopped me from having a meltdown in the Principal’s office.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t recognize you until halfway through the night at the arcade.” Eddie offered. “I just saw Harrington with a pretty girl and assumed you were more like him.”

“Steve and I are more of an ‘opposites attract’ pair. I didn’t think I’d end up friends with him, but he’s surprisingly fun to hang out with.” you picked up the flower again, noting how worn it looked. Wait, was that your phone number scribbled on it? “What tipped you off?”

“Air hockey.” Eddie said. “It was when you decided that we should pit freshmen against each other that I remembered Chris telling me once about a girl wanting to join Hellfire. He had made you out to be some sort of stuck-up who wasn’t actually interested and was just asking to fuck with us.”

“Fuck Chris Morrison.” you said, bitterly.

“Fuck Chris Morrison.” Eddie agreed. “So when we were in the middle of making Wheeler and Henderson fight for our own entertainment, that’s when I recognized you. At the Hideout that’s when I was sure.”

“How did you figure?”

Eddie leaned in close with that same shit-eating grin from earlier. “Because you looked at me the exact same way you did the night at the talent show when we played.”

“Oh, shit.” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh of embarrassment. “I’ve never had a good poker face. Do I even want to know how I looked at you?”

“Only like I’m the coolest guy you’ve ever seen in your life.” He said with a nonchalant shrug, but his eyes still had that glint that made you want to smack him with a pillow again.

“I’m mad, but only because I know you’re right. You, Eddie, are actually the coolest person in Hawkins and also the biggest nerd I’ve ever met.” You crossed your arms and nudged him with your knee.

“I find that hard to believe, since you’ve met Henderson.” Eddie nudged you back with his knee and you didn’t miss the way he shifted closer to you. “Kid’s probably the smartest person I know. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I’m telling him.” you said instantly, giving your own shit-eating grin. “I am forever in Dustin’s debt. He can rent any movie that’s not porn from Family Video as long as I’m on shift and he gets first dibs on any almost expired candy. There’s no way I’m not gonna tell him when someone says something nice about him.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, or at least you assumed he did because his bangs moved slightly as he looked at you. “And what, pray tell, did the little shrimp do to garner such favor with you?” He shifted a little closer under the guise of getting comfortable, and now his leg was oh-so-casually touching yours. The movement was as subtle as your poker face.

You might not have had Steve’s long track record of dating and sex, but you weren’t completely oblivious. There was no way you were going to keep any sort of neutral expression with what would inevitably happen here soon, so you decided to just lean into it. It’s not like anyone was here to interrupt this time.

You moved yourself closer to him now, adjusting yourself so that your shoulders were now touching. It wasn’t exactly an ideal position, but it was at least your sign to him that you were not against body contact.

It occurred to you that you were also sitting on his bed, alone. Okay, that thought had occurred to you earlier, but that had been a hypothetical. A fleeting dirty thought about Eddie as a way to blow off steam while you tried to stop your simmering anger for Chris from boiling over.

This was starting to feel real now, and you absently licked your lower lip, your cheeks warming up. Eddie’s eyes flicked from yours, down to your mouth and then back up to your eyes for a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it move.

Perfect.

“Well as we are now both aware, Steve and I had this thing where we would try and wing man for each other. I’d help him get dates, and he’d help me in return.” you said.

“And I am still trying to figure out how Mr. Popularity was having trouble getting dates.” Eddie shifted his body towards you, but the contact remained.

“Turns out that high school tactics don’t work after high school.” you shrugged. “So I gave him some tips, and it turns out he’s a fast learner. He really didn’t need my help, just a good smack in the head.”

“What about you? Am I one of a long line of boys whose hearts you’re breaking?” It was a good thing you were sitting down, because he was giving you the most unfair puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. Had you been standing, that look might have made you weak in the knees.

“You are the only guy I’ve been on a date with this whole time.” You admitted.

“How long has this thing been going on?”

“Late September, I think?” You tried to think back to that original conversation, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

“That long and Steve could only suggest little old me? I thought you’d have people lining up to date you.” There was a sincerity behind his teasing that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Steve said that it’d be easy for me to get random dates, but I am horribly picky, and the dating pool in Hawkins sucks.” You explained. “Steve didn’t even start holding up his end of the bargain until weeks in.”

“Okay, so walk me through how Steve Harrington cares enough about my existence to suggest me as a potential suitor for you.” Eddie looked at you. “I can’t get that out of my head.”

“Again, if you need me to set you up with Steve I’d be willing to-”

“No.” Eddie gave you a look that you were sure scared the freshmen at school, but it only made you laugh, which softened his gaze.

“It was Dustin.” you managed to say between giggles. Your hand reached out and casually rested on his thigh, and you felt his leg twitch slightly under the denim of his jeans but didn’t pull away. “He loves to come in and talk to Steve and it turns out that there is one good thing about being in that stupid school, and that’s you.”

“Henderson said that?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Dustin Henderson has two male role models in his life, and that’s Steve Harrington and you.” Your thumb rubbed absently along his jeans. “Steve knew I wasn’t going to be interested in just anyone, so after hearing all about the kid’s grand adventures with you, Steve and Dustin set up the meeting at the arcade.”

“That little shit.” Eddie leaned his head against the wall.

“And when you totally ditched me, Steve decided to try again at the Hideout.” you nudged him with your shoulder. “I figured that I’d blown any chance with you, so there was nothing to lose by hitting on you and playing up my alcohol intake just a little bit.”

Eddie’s head snapped to yours so fast that you were surprised he didn’t hurt himself. “What? I thought Steve ditched you.”

“No, he’d never!” you said quickly. “I.... told him to leave so that I could spend more time with you because he was, hm... how do I say this- he was cockblocking me.”

Eddie’s laughter echoed through the trailer, filling the small space up with life in the exact opposite way that Chris’s laughter had done in the theater. The sound alone washed away any remaining anger about the day. “Shit... I was ready to fight him in your honor. I thought he left a drunk girl at the Hideout alone with no way to get home. You’re a crafty one.”

“I have my moments.” you said with a grin, waving the paper flower.

Eddie plucked it from your hand and looked it over, before leaning to set it aside on top of his copy of The Hobbit. He sat close to you and his arm casually draped around your shoulders as he leaned back against the wall with you.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, despite the palpable tension between the two of you. You knew what was coming, it was written all over your body language as well as his. Everything was out in the open now, no more cryptic words, or weird miscommunications. Whatever was next, was anyone’s move.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, taking in the moment to enjoy how nice the weight of his arm around you felt. When was the last time you had any sort of physical intimacy with someone outside of hugging your friends? Eddie’s thumb rubbed along your shoulder soothingly, and your hand mimicked the movement on his lower thigh.

Every time he shifted, your stomach tensed up and you wondered if this was it. It wasn’t. Time slipped away from the two of you as you rested on his bed, cuddling with each other. The tension between you never eased up- even when your heart beat slowed down, it wouldn’t be long until a simple touch brought it back up.

Finally his fingers started sliding down your arm, calloused fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. Sturdy fingers found yours and laced through them, and you felt the heavy rings on his fingers press into your skin. It was a slightly awkward position, with his arm now between your back and the wall, but it was progress.

The stillness between you was different. Normally, the two of you were unable to shut up, always finding new things to talk about, to learn about each other, to explore with this tentative new bond forming between the two of you. Now? There wasn’t the same rush as before, the two of you could just exist by each other. More talking would happen in the future, but for now you leaned against him and waited for something better to do with your lips.

You shifted and looked over at Eddie, realizing how close his head really was to yours. He wasn’t looking at you though, his eyes were watching the way your fingers were now messing with the torn fabric of his jeans, your thumb moving between denim and skin. You wondered if that spot on his leg burned the same way that your skin currently was.

Eddie smelled nice. There was the faint smell of cigarettes that lingered on his clothes, but whatever body wash and detergent he used seemed to neutralize most of it. Other than that, he didn’t smell like any object or scent that you could put your mind on. You took a slow deep breath through your nose and decided he smelled earthy and warm like late summer or early autumn, with an undertone of boy.

What was he thinking right now? Was Eddie feeling the tension between the two of you the same way you were? You didn’t think you were misreading this situation, you’d done this before. Something would have to give soon, were you not being obvious enough? Shit, maybe some of Steve’s advice would have been good here. The two other times you had been in a situation like this, you were the one to make the move first, having grown impatient. But Eddie had clearly been the one to start leaning in first at the movies, right? Was it so wrong for you to want him to make the move?

Maybe he didn’t want to start because of what happened with Chris? Did he think making a move on you when you were upset over being hit on was tacky? That might be it. Why did that only make you want him more?

You did a quick check in with yourself over this. Were you mad at Chris? Yes. Were you mad he hit on you? Yes. Did you want Eddie to make a move? Yes. Did you only want Eddie to make a move so that you could forget about Chris? No. You wanted Eddie to do it because you liked Eddie.

Why was this so-

Something bumped your forehead and you realized as you were zoning out that Eddie had been staring at you now. This close, you could see every shade of brown in his round eyes. He shifted slightly again, and your heart jumped into your throat. Warmth flooded you from your cheeks to your toes as you felt his finger twitch against yours.

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice was quiet in your ear, and it made the back of your neck tingle. “You good? You’ve been staring at my knee for a while.”

“Sorry, it’s just the sexiest knee I’ve ever seen.” You said, smiling at him.

“Yeah? What about my other knee?” His breath ghosted over face as he let out a laugh.

“It’s just okay.” The tension was easing a bit between the two of you, and you were torn on if this was a good thing or not.

Eddie moved so that his shoulder was against the wall and he was facing you. You adjusted yourself accordingly, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flicked down to his lips for a second before meeting his eyes again.

“Are you sure you’re good?” He asked, staring at you intensely.

You were good. You were so good. Actually, if something didn’t happen here soon then that would be the reason you would be not-good.

“I am now.” You squeezed his hand and gave him a look that you desperately hoped he read as ‘Yes you can do it Eddie I am of sound mind and body and if you don’t do it I may actually explode from the tension between the two of us-’

Eddie’s lips finally found yours for just a brief moment before pulling back slightly. You followed his lips, not letting him get away that easily. Your lips met again, and this time he didn’t pull back. His hand reached up to cup your jaw, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of your neck in a way that made the delicate hairs there stand on end.

When the two of you broke apart, it was you who pulled back after a few moments with a smile.

“So...” Eddie said, looking at you.

“So...” you echoed.

“Still good?” he asked.

“Hmm...” you considered for a moment. “I don’t know. I think you should do that again, just to make sure.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up in a way that you had only ever seen on stage so far. This time there was no hesitation in his movements as he pulled you closer again and kissed you. You grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down on the bed with you, not letting your lips part.

One of his hands rested on you side while the other was used to keep himself from squishing you under him. If he had, you wouldn’t have minded.

In a lot of romance stories, you had always heard phrases like ‘he kissed her breathless’ or ‘she let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding’. You had always waited for the day that someone would kiss you like that, but now with Eddie you realized that wasn’t what you needed.

Because for the first time in a long while, with Eddie nipping at your lower lip and slipping his tongue into your mouth, you felt the exact opposite.

For the first time in so long, you felt like you could finally breathe.

a/n: Holy smokes, y'all finally got smooched! But don't worry, the party's not over yet. I still have a few chapters before everything wraps up! I've had the First Meeting written out since March or April, and I though that would make the rest of the chapter faster to write. I was wrong lol

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n

@mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea

@vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirly93

@perpetualmessmachine @thebook-hobbit @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh

@siriuslysmoking @huffledor-able541 @pookiesnatcher @eddiesguitarskills @browneyes-8288

@sheneedsrocknroll92 @kores-mun-son-n-more @eddiebuttcheeks

#nacht fic #wing man #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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froggibus · 11 months ago

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Colder Weather - Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor

Genre: fluff headcanons

Summary: how the boys act when it’s cold + snowing outside

CW: cold weather, snow, asmo forcing you to go outside (ew), lots of cuddling, pretty mid writing on my part

okok so no Lucifer or Satan for this one cause I just had no ideas :((( like I had a few but not nearly enough for complete hcs so sorry guys

also holy fuck it’s been a while since I wrote obey me hcs lmao so im a little rusty…sorry guys

also I promise I’ll shut up but it’s gonna be almost -50 celsius here this weekend (yay, Canada!) so I will be stuck inside if you guys have any obey me (or other fandoms) ideas!!

Mammon:

Mammon and to snow DO NOT mix

biggest baby in the entire Devildom when it gets cold

he has this super tacky fur coat that he insists is real rabbit fur (it’s faux—the big softy couldn’t bear real fur)

refuses to leave the house, even if he has to work

worse than that: he refuses to let you leave the house, even if you have things to do

“hey, human. where d’ya think you’re going? it’s cold out there. you’ll get sick, or worse, dead!”

invites you to his room cause he has this ‘super awesome heater’ (read: himself)

you end up lounging on the couch with him and watching movies with excruciatingly long car chases

you start shivering despite the sweater you’re wearing, and Mammon not so begrudgingly beckons you over to come sit under the blanket with him

honestly he forgets how to breathe because you’re so close and you smell nice and you’re relying on him for warmth

at some point it gets colder and you start shivering again

goes to grab another blanket but you stop him, looking up at him with those pleading eyes

“don’t go, mams. i’ll freeze without you.”

pretends to be humble about it but inside he is screaming

not sure how it happens but you end up in his lap??

he has both arms around you, cocooning you between him and the blanket

you both fall asleep on the couch, snow storm long forgotten

Leviathan:

locks himself in his room to spend the whole day watching anime

also sorry but this man’s room is a whole terrarium

he’s got his heater, his fan, his air purifier, his humidifier

his place is always the perfect temperature and the perfect place to take refuge in a blizzard

he pretends like he’s annoyed when you come into his room, dressed in warm clothes and fuzzy socks, a blanket draped over your shoulders

but really he doesn’t mind—he actually has to hide his rosy cheeks with you because he’s so flustered at the idea that you chose him

orders an insane amount of comfort food to eat during your anime marathon

like heaps and heaps of food that the two of you couldn’t possibly finish

offers you to share his blanket with him, wrapping it around the two of you to keep warm while you munch on food

somehow it turns into you leaning your head on his shoulder, eyelids getting heavy in the warmth of his room

Levi can’t even be annoyed that you’re missing episodes of the anime—you look so cute like this

Asmo:

HATES the cold, LOVES the snow

it’s a weird dynamic…

dresses you up in the cutest snowsuit ever, and forces you to sit outside in the cold for over an hour taking pictures

“asmo we’re gonna catch a cold”

“demons don’t get sick from the cold, don’t be silly”

you’re not a demon????

when he’s finally done with the pictures don’t expect any attention from him after

he still has to edit, caption and post them to Devilgram

you sit under his comforter in the corner of his bed, shivering miserably and shooting glares at him from the corner of your eyes

Finally he puts down his DDD and looks at you, his eyes sparkling when he sees just how cute and cold you look

uses the cold as an excuse to get as close to you as possible, cuddling you tightly

he’s so tempted to take a selfie of the two of you in bed together but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment

probably insists on your laying between his legs with your head on his chest for ‘maximum warmth’

really he just want to feel you

you end up falling asleep in his room, and who is he to wake you?

Beel:

honestly indifferent to the cold

he’s just built differently

he’s not the biggest fan of it, but he’s not as much of a baby as some of his older brothers

still, he doesn’t quite like the idea of you going out in the cold (at least, not without proper protection)

offers to get anything you need, but if you insist on going out, he’ll come with you

and of course he bundles you up first

has you dressed in one of his sweaters with one of his old winter jackets over top

you look tiny in his big clothes

when you get home after he’ll make you stand in front of the heater to warm up while he disappears into the kitchen

of course he’s going into the kitchen

but you’re pleasantly surprised when he comes back with two steaming bowls of chicken noodle soup

you guys eat and watch a movie in the living room, Beel asking you every five minutes if you’re cold

you take another one of his sweaters just to get him to stop bothering you about it

insists on feeding you every hour and piling snacks on the coffee table

“don’t give me that look. you need food to stay warm, y/n.”

Belphie:

hates blizzards because they interrupt his sleep

he can usually sleep through anything—from sunny days to volcanic eruptions

but the cold??? no way

his bed gets cold and even his thickest, softest blankets don’t help

but…maybe a certain warm human could help his sleep

ends up crawling into bed with you in the middle of the night, hardly making a sound

you only wake when you feel the bitter cold on your body slowly fading away, a new warmth pressed against you

“go back to sleep—don’t move! im comfy....”

you’re not even phased by Belphie sneaking into bed with you at this point

and the warmth is honestly really nice

you cuddle back into him, shoving your back as tight against his chest as it will go

he throws an arm over your waist, holding your hip flush against his

definitely stays with you the whole night—and the next few after that

with the excuse he’s just ‘keeping warm’, of course

checks on you every time he wakes up in the night, groggily reaching out to make sure you’re still warm and okay

Obey Me! Masterlist

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beautification-tales · 7 months ago

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The Tapes part 1

A slow burn transformation story

“It’s quite simple Linda. The tapes should remove your anxiety and fear.” Brian said as he pushed his glasses up his nose. Linda looked at him then at the floor at her ballet flats. “You.. really think it can help me?”

Linda and Brian had been friends since childhood. They definitely were textbook geeks. They even dressed like nerds from a 1980’s movie. Linda had auburn hair and she was wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that pressed on her nose. Her sweaters and skirts were cute but did nothing for her plain face and body. Brian and Linda were no stranger to bullying. They were both bullied for being too smart and too socially awkward. They found solace in each other and often would spend hours together discussing their favorite books and movies.

Brian over the years was able to find confidence and self-assurance, but Linda never quite found it. She was always anxious and nervous, especially around new people. Her lack of confidence had started to affect her life, even in the one place where she thought she was safe: school. The large classes at college were becoming too much for her to handle. Brian googled how to handle anxiety and found a website that sold the tapes. Brian spent hours reading the reviews and was blown away. The tapes were always successful and the clients not only lost anxiety but actually thrived.

Brian passed the book of tapes to her. “Yes, they should work. The only weird thing is that they said they can only be on cassettes. They seem to be an old-fashioned kind of company.” Linda smiled weakly, taking the book. She flipped through the tapes, noting their titles: "Confidence Boosters," "Standing Out," "Overcoming Social Anxiety," "Grabbing Attention ." Each one sounded too good to be true. She glanced up at Brian, who was watching her expectantly. "Okay," she said finally, "I'll try them."

Linda went home and found an old Walkman that belonged to her father. She decided to take the first tape hoping to boost her confidence. She took the old headphones and placed them over her ears as she pressed play. The hissing of the cassette filled her ears. The voice on the tape was soft, soothing, and calming. It was definitely a woman, but her voice had been altered in some way. It was as if she was speaking from a great distance, and yet she seemed to be right there in the room with Linda.

The affirmations seemed basic as Linda began to repeat them. She felt foolish at first, but as she continued, she found herself nodding along with the woman on the tape. "I am confident," she repeated, feeling the words begin to sink in. "I am in control of my life." The more she repeated them, the more she started to believe them. Her shoulders relaxed, and she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She closed her eyes, letting the voice of the woman guide her through a series of deep breathing exercises.

Linda listened closely as she imagined herself as a more confident woman. “Stop being afraid Linda!” the voice on the tape said, interrupting her thoughts. Linda’s eyes opened as she pressed stop and rewind. Linda pressed play “You do not need to be afraid. You can live your life.” The woman continued, and Linda listened intently. She felt a surge of determination as the words sank in. She closed her eyes again, imagining herself in a classroom, speaking up and participating without fear.

The next day Linda met Brian on campus. She surprised him with a strong hug. “Brian! I listened to one tape all night. I went to class and I wasn’t nervous at all!” she gushed. Brian smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose. “That’s awesome! First we get you comfortable in class and next maybe other crowded places like theaters or concerts.” Linda nodded with a huge smile. “Are you asking me out on a date Brian?” she teased. He blushed and laughed.

That night Linda put in tape two as she put new batteries in the Walkman. “These old things are a pain.” she muttered as she put on the headphones. The hissing started again and the soft feminine voice began. Linda listened to the tape about standing out and grabbing attention. She imagined herself walking with confidence, her head held high. The affirmations made her feel powerful and in control.

“Yes Linda did you see how you made Brian blush today? Don’t fear your power! Use it! Embrace it! It’s time to be what you truly want to be!” Linda’s eyes opened as she jerked up from her bed. She had fallen asleep listening to the tapes. Linda’s heart was pounding as she gasped trying to catch her breath. It was like when she felt frightened before but something was different. She put her hand over her heart and felt her chest vibrate. The feeling was amazing. Linda felt so alive as she decided to go for a walk.

The fresh air felt amazing on her skin as she found herself on the Main Street. All the stores and businesses were closed as it was late. The streetlights cast long shadows across the empty parking lot, revealing a dimly lit entrance to a bar. The neon sign above the door read "The Den of Iniquity." Linda hesitated for a moment, feeling curious as she felt her heart beat quickly.

She took a deep breath and walked inside. The smell of stale smoke and alcohol assailed her senses. The dim lighting made it difficult to see clearly, but she could make out a long bar on the left, a few booths scattered about, and a small stage in the back. A lone figure was playing pool. As she took a step forward, she felt so out of place.

The bartender, a tall, burly man with a five o'clock shadow, approached her. "What can I get you, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice rough with cigarette smoke. “Umm can I get a …” Linda wasn’t sure what to say as she never had alcohol. “She’ll just have a beer Terry.” The lone figure from the pool table came close. “And it’s on me”

Linda looked at him with surprise. The man was handsome in a rugged sort of way, his dark hair messy, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He was wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a black t-shirt. He smiled at her. "We definitely don’t get your type often in this place.” He gestured to the stool beside him. Linda sat down and replied “Women?” The man shook his head. “People who never been in a bar before.”

Linda sat and drank the beer. She learned the man’s name was Dave. He was a member in the local motorcycle club. He flirted with her and teased her for the innocence that she displayed. She was surprised when he offered her a ride home. Linda agreed as she got on the back of his motorcycle. The wind brushing against her face, the feel of the bike beneath her, and the warmth of Dave's body next to her made her feel alive. She bit her lip as a new sensation overcame her.

She felt a bit unsteady as she stepped of his bike. Dave smiled at her as she felt her heart beat faster. She walked quickly to her home as she felt her thigh muscles quiver. Linda crawled into bed as placed her head on the pillow. She put her headphones on as she listened to the affirmations.

Linda’s mind raced as she listened to the words as she recalled her little adventure. She smiled as she closed her eyes knowing she was becoming more confident. The tape’s voice got quieter as Linda’s imagination grew louder. “Yes Linda! You already so much more confident! You flirted with a man tonight.” Linda nodded her head in agreement with the voice in her head.

She thought back to the bar and the way Dave made her feel. The wind in her hair, the freedom of riding on the back of his motorcycle. It was exhilarating and she wanted to feel that way again. The voice in her head continued, "He was interested in you Linda, you could see it in his eyes." She couldn't help but blush at the memory.

Linda felt that new sensation again as it grew stronger. She felt a new need to increase it. She traced her hand against her thigh and trembled. The memory of the motorcycle against her thighs returned. Linda plunged two fingers into her wet pussy.

Linda shook violently as she felt electricity flow to her toes. She arched her back and moaned into the pillow as her hips bucked against her hand. The tension in her body was almost unbearable as she imagined herself on the back of the motorcycle again. She couldn't help but picture Dave's strong arms wrapped around her, guiding her through the wind. Her fingers dug deeper into her wetness, seeking release from the overwhelming desire that consumed her.

“Oh, oh, oh! Ohhh Fuck!” Linda’s voice lowered an octave as it sounded sultry as she muttered profanity. Her hand movement increased speed as she felt her body getting close to something. Something she had never felt before. Something she wanted to feel again. Her hips moved rhythmically as she grinded against her palm. Her fingers dug deeper, her body arched and trembled.

Linda felt a release, a release of all the tension, all the longing, all the desire that had been building inside her. Her fingers slid against her wetness as she orgasmed. She moaned loudly, her head thrown back, her eyes closed tightly. Tears streamed down her face as she came undone, as her body shook uncontrollably.

Linda collapsed and quickly fell asleep as the tape continued to play affirmations in her ears.

#beautification #transformation #f2f transformation #breast expansion #bimboification #origin stories #beauty is power #ass expansion #mind corruption #the tapes

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ineffable-rohese · 4 months ago

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Sounds like "Rose"

New pinned post! Cause some stuff needs updated. :)

Demographic info: Mid 40s white fat queer poly pagan genderfluid transmasc human living in the wet corner of North America. The genderfluid thing is newly realized and shiny and I’m sure I’ll be talking about it often over the next... while.

Personal (public facing): I'm an Aziraphale-coded hobbit. Like, so cozy and wholesome you might want to puke. I rewatch just the first disc of the LOTR extended edition because I love the Shire so much. I drink Earl Grey with milk and one sugar. (Or a good scotch, cause every Aziraphale needs a little bit of Crowley inside them, right Sheenie?) Outside of fic, I read mainly historical fiction, especially anything set in (actual, not fantasy) medieval Europe and I was at one point a medieval music history nerd. I wear cozy sweaters. I love rain on ferns and April flowers. I make soup with things I've tended and harvested. I work a Wholesome AF job. I unironically hug trees. I'm in love with the world.

Personal (in private): I'm kinky and loving it. I'm primarily a Sensual Sadist with a significant Dominant streak. I often play as a Panther. I love consensual violence, and get great joy from hurting people who want me to hurt them.

Fandoms: I fell in love with Good Omens in 2000 when a college roommate gave it to me. It was genuinely the funniest, greatest thing I had ever read, and I evangelized about it to anyone who would listen. S1 of the show immediately became a comfort show, and it got me through a time of massive loss and upheaval. I put it on when everything was too hard and I needed something that made me feel like it would be OK. S2 - well we're all here still, aren't we? It dropped when I desperately needed One Good Thing for my brain to latch on to as I got through some intense pressure, and boy howdy did it lodge itself in me. (I’m deeply upset about NG’s actions, but I’m also not about to throw away something so personally meaningful because one asshole involved made some really shitty choices.)

Other fandoms in roughly chronological order: Star Wars (original trilogy made me a child nerd), X-Files (first real social fandom, and intro to fanfic!), Buffy/Angel/Firefly, LOTR, Doctor Who, Torchwood (the only other show I've been driven to write fic for). OFMD and WWDITS are great fun, though not obsessions. Any of these and more might show up.

My Writing: Writing Index Here I’ve written nearly 100K of fic in the past year! My writing signatures are vivid sensory descriptions and kinky smut. Some angst, some fluff, some really dark stuff. My Ineffables tend to be deeply in love but also kinda fucked up in their own special ways. I’m still writing, a bit slowly at the moment due to Life, but there’s some great stuff in my docs I can’t wait to share when it’s ready.

What I post/don’t post: This is my fun space filled with things that I find interesting and/or bring me joy. Expect lots of Good Omens, GO Extended Universe (aka anything Tennant and/or Sheen), queer and kink-related content, other fandom things, my writing including NSFW snippets (below a cut if I remember), fat/body positivity, cats, nature awesomeness, things that make me laugh. Posts I write off the cuff as I wake up in the morning seem to be the ones that get shared, for some reason. I almost never post about current events unless it’s good news. The world is full of fear and despair; I try to keep this space one of hope and joy. There will be NSFW content on the regular (because kink, sex, and other such adult activities are a joy for me), so if you’re uncomfortable with that, I’m not the person to follow.

Tags: Honestly, I’m inconsistent about tags so please don’t rely on my tags for your safety. I do try to spoiler tag things if it’s close to when something comes out, but other than you’re at the whims of my ADHD.

Yay! I bring back my cats as a gift for reading all of this.

#pinned intro

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iboopedyournose · 2 years ago

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Ask Game!

I was tagged by both my fav authors! Thanks lovelies! @faye-tale @colettebronte 🥰🥰

nickname | full name is Emily so ‘Em’ is what most people call me but ‘Emmy’ is my self-appointed nickname lol (+my little Tori when I met her bc she couldn’t pronounce my name yet 🥹)

height | 5’5.5’’

last google search | jobs near where I go to school 😭🙃

song stuck my head | yesterday, ‘Womanizer’ by Brittney Spears, but also ‘Copacabana’ everyday for like 10 years lmao

number of followers | 173 which is higher than I thought tbh 🤣

amount of sleep | my sleep schedule is fucked rn and the weather is depressing me so I’ve been going to bed at like 1 and sleeping til noon soooo like 11 hours?? ��

dream job | omg idk. I mean ideally NONE but I’m fabulously wealthy and can do whatever I want and not stress lol but since that’s crazysauce until Chris Evans marries me I’m not sure. I’m a fashion design student and part of me really want to make costumes but is terrified I don’t have what it takes. I think designing toys would be fucking awesome!? Designing clothes for Barbie would be awesome I think!

wearing | my beloved sweatpants that I live in, a comfy rib-knit long-sleeve tee, and my giant hideous granny panties from Walmart 🤣 (super comfy)

movie/book that describes you | this is really tough 🤔🤔 one of the most relatable movies I’ve ever seen to this day tho is Pixar’s ‘Inside Out’. Still makes me cry every time

aesthetic | hmmm pumpkins, kitty cats, periwinkle blue, sparkly things, fairies, pastels, witchy, daydreaming, twinkly lights, clicky boots, autumn, woodland creatures, flowers & greenery, romantic, historic fashions, cozy, spooky but soft, sweaters, Keds, berries

favorite author(s) | I already told you! 😆 @fayes-fics & @colettebronte are my favs fr! 🫶🏻🫶🏻seriously I’ve only JUST started reading actual books and it’s still not really my thing tbh and I’m not particularly loyal to any authors. I just read whatever looks interesting (trashy romance mostly 🤷🏼‍♀️)

favorite song | no fucking way I could ever choose! So I’ll just list a bunch of artists whose music I love- Taylor Swift, Dave Edmunds, Cruel Youth, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Panic at the Disco, Harry Styles, Sweet, Don Mclean, The Driver Era, Boston, The Monkees, plus a ton of Broadway shit and soundtracks

random fact | I never sleep under my comforter and sheets?? Idk why I just hate it so I sleep on top with a fleecy blanket or two

No pressure tags | @spookysexy @benedictscanvas @thespaghettighost @kathanisharmaa @waterlilyrose

#ask game #about me

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a-passing-storm · 2 years ago

Note

1, 4,5, 9, 13

OOO! Another ask! Thank you! :D I shall assume this one is also for the trans ask game. I probably won't answer 5 again since I answered it here.

1 - What is your gender? What words do you use to define your gender?

If only I knew! Here are all the gender labels I've ever used: trans, transmasc, masc, nonbinary, demiguy/demiboy, genderfluid, genderflux, guyflux/boyflux, androgynous, bigender, multigender, agender, and I think that's it but I'm very likely forgetting some.

Nowadays, I try to stick with more general labels. My gender is fluid, but in that weird ADHD way where as soon as it switches, I have a bad habit of being like "OH WOW CLEARLY I WAS A GUY THE WHOLE TIME AND I WAS NEVER [OTHER GENDER]!" or "WOW CLEARLY I WAS AGENDER AND IN DENIAL THIS WHOLE TIME!" It's very silly. And I used to try to dress to what masculine looked like to other people as opposed to what actually made me comfortable. To avoid all of that, I try to just think of myself as trans or nonbinary and focus on what specific things are giving me gender euphoria than what overall looks I want (eg. not "I'm gonna dress masc today" but "I'm gonna wear a button down and dress-pants today").

4 - What future transition aspects do you hope to do?

I have no clue, honestly. Kind of going from the previous question, my gender changes on me enough that what's gender-affirming one day might be dysphoria-inducing the next. I honestly might never do hormones or get any surgeries, but top surgery is something that would make me more comfortable on my masc days and wouldn't have an effect on my more feminine days. It's not something that would make a huge difference either way, though, so I likely won't get top surgery.

I kind of wish I could temporarily change my voice, actually. I wouldn't want to fully commit to it, though. And I wish I could temporarily grow facial hair without also inducing the other hormone-based changes.

9 - What is your favourite item of gender affirming clothing?

I don't know if I have one. My most memorable bit of clothing, though, would probably be this really beat-up sweater that I've had for a little longer than I've been trans. It was my first ever bit of Guy Clothing, and I wore it nearly every day for a little over a year.

13 - What is one thing that gives you gender dysphoria?

To be honest, I don't get too dysphoric anymore. There are some small things that I don't like, but I wouldn't necessarily it's dysphoria. I wish high-waisted men's clothing was more common, because most men's clothing seems like it's supposed to fall low-to-mid waist, and I just don't like the look of that, so I tend to wear women's pants anyway.

Oh actually! Just remembered my biggest dysphoria trigger! My hair. When it's cut in a gender-affirming way, I feel like the most Gender person ever, and it's awesome, but when it starts to grow out and stick to my head (I have very flat hair), it kind of looks like I have it back in a low ponytail, and it just has... the worst vibes. I used to always wear my hair in a low ponytail when I identified as female, and seeing it look like that in the mirror always makes me feel awful. :(

#ask tag #dante dicit #trans #transgender #these were fun to think about! thanks for the ask :D #skipping queue

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ladylilithprime · 2 years ago

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Through The Wind And The Chill

Series: Fluff Is My Jamstiel

Fandom: Supernatural:

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Witch Sam Winchester, Hunter Novak Brothers, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Blood Loss, Do Not Drive While Sleep-Deprived

Summary: The Novak brothers heard quite a bit about Sam's impressive handmade cloak long before they had the opportunity to see it in use. Cas regrets that he wasn't in shape to properly appreciate it at the time.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 9: Breezy

Read on AO3

HARDLY ANYONE EVEN blinked anymore at seeing a six-foot-five man in a black hooded cloak walking around. Most of the people who would look askance at him were tourists, and they weren't so far from San Francisco that a man in a cloak really stood out too terribly much. Locals were quite familiar with the sight of him, particularly when accompanied by either a very well-groomed and well-behaved golden retriever or by a cheerful blonde woman in flowy earth-toned skirts and dresses, going into and leaving The Long Brew which most of the locals knew as the tea and herb shop with a few extra trinkets offered. Those same locals also knew that the shop was run by a self-professed practicing witch named Sam Wesson, though not too many people would connect the tall, cloaked man with that description unless they had previously met him or one of his close friends.

Among his close friends, the Cloak was spoken of with a reverence that seemed disproportionate to apply to an item of clothing.

"It's so warm," was repeated the most frequently, and often in conjunction with, "Getting hugged by Sam is already amazing, but when he's wearing the Cloak? So awesome!"

"It's like the ultimate comfort accessory," Max Moore said in admiration. "Big enough to fit five people at a football game, wind-proof and warm, and it has pockets to hold snacks!"

"It took us ages to put it together," his wife, Jessica, groaned in remembrance. "The outer layer was super discounted, but the inner layer was so expensive we had to buy it a couple yards at a time over several months, nevermind the time it took to sew it! We sized it to Sam since he was the tallest of us, but if I ever get around to getting the fabric together to make my own you can bet I'm paying him to embroider those rune wards of his on it!"

"Can you believe it was inspired by some dude he met at an SCA event?" Andy Gallagher gushed, not quite bouncing from the excitement and completely ignoring his audience's lack of familiarity with what "SCA" even was. "And he made it himself! I mean, you've seen Sam! The dude wears thrifted jeans and flannel when he's not wearing one of his sweaters, but he puts that on and he could go play court wizard to the Queen of Moondoor if he wanted!"

"It's the most witchy thing he owns," Dean Smith sighed with a minor head-shake. "Probably also the one thing he's spent the most time on making, too, him and Jess and Brady. Almost thought he wasn't gonna wear it again after Brady died. Dunno why you haven't seen him wear it yet, it's not like you two don't already know he's a witch or give him shit for it."

"It's honestly a coincidence," Sam assured the Novak brothers when Jimmy finally broke down and asked about the cloak. "I don't wear it all the time, obviously, and most of the time it's like a hooded jacket or raincoat. There just hasn't been a need to pull it out any of the times you've been out here before."

The solution to that, concluded John Castiel and James Constantine Novak, was to make sure that they stayed for longer periods of time and returned more frequently. It wasn't until after they were both subjected to a paintball match that they rather unexpectedly lost and the subsequent revelation that Sam Wesson and Dean Smith were, in fact, the missing and presumed dead sons of the late and infamously unlamented John Winchester, that they actually saw the Cloak in use at all.

The last hunt they had been on had been longer than usual, with the evidence trail they needed to follow colder than the grave of the ghost they had thought needed to be laid to rest. They had already been on their way back to Palo Alto and had only stopped in Laguna, Arizona, because it was on their way and should have been what amounted to a milk run. Instead, they ended up going up against a couple of ghouls who were a lot more trouble than a ghost and had left Jimmy and Cas both in pretty rough shape with Cas's arm needing stitches and Jimmy's ribs probably broken underneath the extensive bruising.

It had taken them twelve hours trading off driving and downing a probably unhealthy mix of Red Bull and 5 Hour Energy shots to get from Laguna up to Palo Alto, pushing the limits of their lingering adrenaline to get their tired and rattled selves somewhere they regarded as "safe" before they could relax. Unfortunately, they had forgotten a little thing called a calendar and had arrived outside Sam's house only to discover that it was not only dark but locked, the witch and his familiar off to work. Exhausted and aching and thoroughly unable to contemplate getting back in the car until they had actually slept but unable to sleep until they had fulfilled the requirement of "safety" that had been built up in their minds, the twins had sort of collapsed down against each other sitting on the front steps. There they sat, huddled and shivering in the alcove barely shielded from the wind, and fell into a kind of fugue state until they were roused by a warm tongue licking over their faces amid the soft whines of a worried golden retriever.

"Cas? Jimmy?!"

"Hello, Sam, Bones," Cas mumbled, reaching up with cold-numbed fingers to pet the dog in what he hoped was reassuring but probably fell short of the mark.

"Sorry for not calling ahead," Jimmy mumbled next to him, shifting like he was going to try and sit up more. Cas whined embarrassingly at the loss of heat, but it forced his eyes open to look up and see Bones peering up into his face with concern that was almost more human than canine, and behind her--

Oh, sweet Mother of God, was all that could make its way through his befuddled brain at the sight of Sam striding across the lawn with a massive black cloak billowing around him, practically swooping down on the two of them is if carried by black wings--

--huge, massive wings that spread wide to encompass time and space--

--and then the hood was pushed back and Sam was crouched in front of them both, reaching up to touch their foreheads and cheeks with gentle hands as his eyes tracked over every visible scrape and cut and bruise and bandage. What all he saw clearly did not make him happy as the worried frown on his face deepened, the sight causing a tightening in Cas's chest. The sun went dark... I miss the sun....

"The sun?" Sam asked, his frown changing to more confusion than worry, which was a little better but still didn't solve the problem of the sun being gone.

"He's been having moments like this for hours," Jimmy sighed, leaning back in against Cas and propping him up. Cas hummed and leaned against the solid warmth of his twin as he went on, "I can't tell if it's the blood loss or the concussion or the sleep deprivation, though."

"Sleep deprivation," Sam said with an absent-minded certainty as he put two fingers under Cas's chin and tilted his head up to look in his eyes, distracting Cas with the pretty sunbursts of shifting color. "His pupils are the same size and if this was from blood loss you'd have already taken him to the hospital for a transfusion. Why didn't you two use your key to go inside instead of waiting on the front steps?"

"You weren't home to let us in," Cas answered, though he thought the question might have been directed at Jimmy. "Can't come in without permission... S'a rule...."

"I'm going to assume this is more of the sleep deprivation talking and address this again later," Sam said dryly, "but when I gave you two the key to my house and told you to keep it, it was with every expectation that you both would use it to let yourselves in and make yourselves at home even if I'm not right here to greet you. Especially if you're showing up needing medical attention!"

Later, Cas would be able to parse his disjointed recollections to understand that Sam leaned forward and enveloped him in his cloak before picking him up to carry him inside. He would even manage to be mortified at Jimmy's description of the sound of rapture he made amid babbling about suns and moons and the vacuum of deep space. All he knew in the moment was that he was swallowed up in darkness and warmth and the smell of Sam - sweat and musk overlayed with lavender and sage and cloves - and then he was floating, leaving the earth and floating away, but it was okay because he could still feel Sam and Jimmy near him, each tethering him in their own way, banishing the chill in his bones with tender touches and words that held promises of safety and home.

#fluffyfebruary2023 #supernatural fic #sastimmy #jamstiel #castiel #sam winchester #jimmy novak #return of the awesome cloak

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placegrenette · 2 years ago

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Every Ninety One Song Reviewed: “eMoji,” 2023

youtube

“eMoji,” released as an album pre-promotion single, 2023 Music credits: Dulat Mukhametkaliev (ZaQ), Daniyar Kulumshin (Bala), Batyrkhan Malikov (Alem) Lyrics credits: Dulat Mukhametkaliev (ZaQ) Music video director: Adil Kazkenov

Ohhhhhh Lord. Okay, confession time: I might have delayed posting my review of “Drift” because I absolutely did not want to deal with this one. I still don’t.

Let’s give the guys credit for mixing things up: it’s a soft, sweet R&B-ish song, and ZaQ, of all people, has the chorus. (Continuing the surprises, Ace has no music credit; I absolutely would have guessed that this was his kind of sentimental show.) And just as how party jam “Señorita" was designated the vehicle for showing off the Kazakh-Spanish punning, so somehow the soft, sweet R&B-ish song is designated the vehicle for the guys’ showing off that they’ve been studying how to swear in English. Which leads to a soft, sweet rendition of what my ear cannot parse as anything other than fuck, fuck, uke shit shit fuck, tek love, baby, love, baby.

I know those aren’t the actual lyrics. I’ve tried, y’all. I have stared at the transcription of the Kazakh and gotten nowhere. At the Jukebox we did our level best not to complain about awkward English lyrics if there wasn’t a native English speaker involved, and I’m trying to hold to that, but the gap between ZaQ’s delivery and the actual sounds...

Also, guys: this is not the kind of song in which you break out the profanity! “Fuck” in pop music is generally reserved for anger or wild abandon or lust, not sweet...whatever this is. I still don’t know if it’s a love song, or a breakup song, or a let’s-get-back-together song, or what. All those fucks, both accidental and deliberate, are throwing me off.

Also also: why did you put together a sweet and presumably emotional love song and make the theme emoji? You’re not teenagers! Half the group is turning thirty this year! I’m assuming there’s some kind of pun involved, given that they keep dropping the leading ee sound. Still! Can you pull your new awesome lyrics translator in on this one? Because without them this ain’t coming together.

To be clear: I would take this over “Órik" or for that matter “Jurek” in a heartbeat. I probably would not take it over “Suraqtar,” but I would at least have to spend some time considering the question. I like it when the guys try mixing things up! And ZaQ handling a delicate chorus works far better than it had any right to. It’s just that what he’s actually singing works far worse than it should.

How’s the Hair/Styling? A RED AND PINK TURTLENECK SWEATER AND CLOUD-THEMED PAJAMA PANTS. REALLY, BIBOTTA. REALLY. (She’s said on Instagram that they’re old friends, and at this point I have two competing headcanons, one being that they’re comfortable enough with each other that Ace is willing to try and wear her most adventurous combinations, and the other, that he can be annoying and her passive-aggressive revenge is to give him the least flattering outfits.) Everyone else looks appropriately sweater-ly or worn-in-plaid-shirt-ly comfortable. Should You Start Here? No. You should start with some future song in which they actually know how to wield a well-dropped fuck, and then come back here for a good laugh.

#ninety one #every ninety one song reviewed #music from kazakhstan #come find me eaglez

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transbodydreams · 2 years ago

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Things transwomen should think about before they start transitioning - clothes edition!

Okay, I'm a month into committing to transitioning, and one of the first things I've had to deal with is building a brand new wardrobe. I had a handful of feminine items, but nothing that was practical and nowhere NEAR enough to actually have something to wear every day! It's been really hit or miss so far - I do now have enough cute, wearable clothes that I could wear something different every day for a week, but that included buying at least as much stuff that didn't fit, was poorly made, or turned out to look terrible on me. I've had to entirely relearn how to shop for clothes and wade through a ton of confusing, contradictory information about sizes, fabrics, styles, and all of the things that make women's clothing so much more fun (and infuriating) than men's. These are a few of the key lessons I've learned that I wanted to share - hopefully someone will see this and not make at least some of the mistakes I made? 😏

Trying to build an entirely new woman's wardrobe all at once is f*cking expensive! Women's clothes cost more than men's in general, and bigger sizes cost more than smaller sizes - sometimes a LOT more, since often the sale prices you see online only apply to the smallest sizes. As a man I could walk into Old Navy or someplace like it and pick up a couple pairs of pants, 2-3 shirts, and some underwear for less than $75, but the equivalent women's basics at a will cost you anywhere from $100 to $200, even if you're shopping at a discount chain like Marshall's. You'll find better deals online, but still expect everyday clothes to cost you at least 25% more for even the most simple items, and don't even get me started on the cost of a really nice dress!

Set a budget and plan your purchases based on what you need, not just what you want. You need to start with basic FUNCTIONAL items like practical, wearable underwear (hose, panties, bras. etc.), season appropriate tops, leggings, skirts, dresses, and if winter's coming, don't forget sweaters and outerwear!

You really do need to know ALL of your measurements before trying to buy clothes - don't guess, you'll get it wrong! There are lots of online resources that tell you what and how to measure. Get yourself a measuring tape and write it all down! Oh, and good luck trying to figure out what a listed "bust" measurement means for a top or dress - does it mean underbust or chest or overbust or bust, because those are all different names for two different measurements 😒

You're going to want to throw out all of your boy clothes, but remember that some female things are just not going to fit you yet, no matter how badly you want them too. Pants are a good example, especially fitted jeans. Unless you're really lucky or you plan on wearing a padded girdle all the time, you probably don't have the butt or hips yet to make most women's jeans work. If you already have some men's slim-fit stretch jeans, for example, very few people will notice the difference from women's low waisted jeans (other than the fly going the wrong way) and they'll look better on you. Plus, some men's items can be repurposed to be worn in a more feminine way, so resist the urge to burn them all!

If you're only wearing your fem clothes at home you can afford to be a little impractical, but if you intend to start wearing them in public remember that you'll need practical stuff that you can wear to do mundane things like grocery shopping or going to work. Don't be that girl in the bodycon mini-dress and 6" platform heels in the produce section!

If there's someplace you feel comfortable going in person, you really should start by trying some things on in a store to get a sense of how things fit and what will work on your body vs what you WISH would work on your body. Online ordering is private and safe and awesome, but there's no telling if what you buy will fit or work for you. If you take the time to try on a bunch of things on for real first, at least you'll have a basic idea of what might work and what definitely won't.

Think about what you want your personal style to be, and try to be realistic about it. Much more than men's clothes, women's clothes are really designed for very specific body types, and no matter how much you wish you could pull off a look, you need to figure out what actually works for your body now. Are you thin enough or young enough to carry off that super cute ultra-stylish street and clubwear, or is it just going to make you look old and fat? Do you really have the hips and butt to pull off those booty shorts? Think about all the times you saw someone dressing inappropriately for their age or body type and cringed, and don't be that person. If your goal is to look good in those styles then figure out what you need to do for it to work for you, but don't waste all of your money buying things that don't look good now and won't fit when you achieve the body you're working toward. Patience, woman! You'll get there!

All that said, if you really feel great wearing things that aren't necessarily "right" for your body, then f*ck anyone who tries to judge you for it. You be you, girl!

Just because it says it's a size 12 doesn't mean it actually IS a size 12. Women's sizes vary a LOT depending on what brand you're buying or where you're buying it from, especially if they only use small/medium/large etc instead of numerical sizes. Find a store or brand that fits you consistently and use that as your gold standard. that way if you buy something from a different brand or store you can get a sense of whether their items are going to trend bigger or smaller.

Finally, a word about wish.com. Someone suggested this site, which is basically the Chinese version of Amazon, as a place to get some stuff really inexpensively, but it is definitely a buyer beware situation. The prices are jaw droppingly low, it's true (seriously, you can find just about anything for under $5!), but it's REALLY hit or miss, like you should expect at least a third of what you buy to be unusable. The sizes are all over the map - some items don't list a size chart at all, and in general everything is a size or two smaller than you would expect it to be, except when it's not. Plus, a lot of the less expensive stuff they have is really poor quality, and their shipping times and costs are RIDICULOUS! I ordered a bunch of cute summery things and not only did the shipping cost more than the items, it's taken so long for them to get here that it's now too cold for me to wear them anywhere except around the apartment with the heat on full blast! I love the site and will probably keep using it (who could resist getting 3 dresses, two tops, two pairs of heels, 2 pairs of leggings, and a couple of cute bras and panties for under $100, even including the exorbitant shipping and the likelihood that at least 4 of those items will be unwearable?) but do your homework and at least read the product info and reviews before purchasing! And remember, it's really easy to get a refund on wish, and given that they only ask you to return items that cost more than $25, all that cheap stuff is basically free to try if you're willing to wait 4-8 weeks for it!

#mtf trans #trans #cute outfit #things I wish I'd known before I started transitioning #transgender #transitioning tips

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kokiifish · 3 years ago

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Different Slashers reactions to you coming out as Trans!

(FTM cuz I’m FTM and ya, sorry MTF :( </3 )

Also this is technically my first work of writing I’ve ever posted so I’m sorry if it’s short and bad I just write when I’m sad or bored so I don’t think I’m actually that good so akahajahkaha sorry if I make grammar mistakes

Freddy Krueger

When you tell ol’Fred here your trans, he’s probably gonna be like… “What in fucks name is a ‘trans’ ?!”

Your gonna have to explain to him that your a dude and want to be treated as one

Once you explain this to him he’ll be really chill with it: “Ha! I can shape-shift too you know!”

Takes awhile to get your name right and winces every time he deadnames you by accident

NGL he probably thinks you being trans is hot…it’s Freddy after all *cringes*

Gives you one of his sweaters to wear because obviously if he’s a man then he wears the most manly clothing there is

Is really proud if you actually wear it around him

Can and will torture anyone who refuses to take you seriously

Jason Voorhees

This poor boy would be so confused

But-…. aren’t you? A woman???

Your not??? *immense confusion*

Jason’s gonna need a whole in depth walk through of what you mean because right now he’s really going through it

Once he finally understands that some people are born in the wrong body, he’ll be like ‘ohhhhh okay!’

Wants to know anything and everything he can do to help you feel more comfortable

Your name won’t be a big issue for him since, well, he can’t exactly talk. But he still makes a mental note and changes what he calls you in his head <3

Honestly this man just falls more in love with you for being brave enough to tell him what’s been bothering you the past few months

Michael Myers

…. What?

Michael kinda just knits his brows and side eyes you

If you start to explain yourself he just shushes you, No no… he understands he’s just… ?!???

Hush, he needs a moment to take this in

After anxiously awaiting any kind of response from the man whom you assumed was upset with this information he kinda just-…

*Shrug*

Wha-? Now your the one confused… he just… shrugged?? OKAY BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN EXACTLY MICHAEL?-!?-&-

The bastard just smirks as you start to rant, pacing around the room like a little angry gremlin after the lacklustre response he gave

In the end Michael doesn’t care too much, your still his if you like it or not, he didn’t pick you because of you gender after all

If him seeing you as a guy makes you happy then fine, he can grant you this one pleasure

Ghostface (Billy & Stu)

oh….. Oh…My. G O D. THATS AWESOME!!!

Stu would probably start to literally jump for joy thinking about the 3 of you

Billy would have to rip Stu off of you because he’s latched on like a feral cat

Stu wouldn’t stop spewing ideas of things y’all should do and asking questions about your transness until Billy smacks him upside the head

Billy is the kind of guy who would want to have a serious conversation with you alone about it to understand what your going through better

Meanwhile Stu just instantly accepts it and asks questions along the way: Whats your name? Do you wanna go shopping? Do I have to kill anyone??

Stu does not shut up about how he has the best two boyfriends in the world and brags about it at every twist and turn

On the other hand Billy shows you his appreciation and love for you more privately, getting you a new sweater or writing you a poem

All in all these two are the best two most accepting boyfriends you could have ever asked for

Leatherface (Bubba)

Oh Bubbs, sweet innocent bubbs

When you initially tell him he doesn’t understand because that term is something completely foreign to him, he just squeals and tilts his head

Once you explain then he COMPLETELY understands! He also feels like a different gender sometimes!!

Oh, you always feel like a man? Oh! Okay! That’s fine!

Squeals and spins you around in happiness, finally someone who kinda understands what he feels sometimes!

Your gonna have to tell ChopTop and the rest of the gang as well because Bubbs can’t exactly explain it to them verbally

ChopTop is ChopTop so he’s totally chill with it, just another day with the family

The rest of them are hesitant but eventually warm up to your new name and identity

I mean, if they didn’t then Bubba and Chop would definitely have something to say about it and that’s just to much drama

In the end Bubba is just happy your here for him and loves you every step of the way

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captain-kinda-trash · 4 years ago

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Hi! I wanted to request some headcannons for rottmnt boys with a reader who gives great hugs and gets a plush hoodie this winter, so hugging them feels like hugging a teddy bear now

Of course!! Thank you so much for the request!!

Teddy Bear (ROTTMNT Headcanons)

This was what I had in mind while writing 🤔🤔⬇

Leo

Let's just be clear about one thing

Leo LOVES your hugs

CANNOT get enough of them

Long night of fighting for justice? Huggies

Gets into an argument with Donnie? More huggies

Hell, even walking past you in the lair, he'll do little grabby hands and act like a whiny baby until he gets his daily hugs 🙄 😩

But then you get a super soft, super fluffy, super warm sweatshirt?

Dead

He's dead

You're basically like a human heater for this cold-blooded blue boy

Since you've gotten it, you can hardly stop wearing it, because it's the most comfortable thing ever-

And Leo has gotten even more excuses to hug you

"Leo, im cooking!"

"bUT YOUR SOO COMFFYYY 🥴"

Will, without a doubt ask you to carry his lazy ass, just because he wants to snuggle into your sweatshirt

And don't even get me STARTED on movie nights with him

Because what begins as a cold-blooded turtle hanging onto your arm like a baby koala

Ends up being Leo curled up in your lap or somehow wrapped around you with this hot sweater

So while he's practically purring with comfort, you are sweating like a dog

Not to mention, this bitch is just heavy

like 200+ pounds of straight muscle, so I hope you don't have to use the restroom any time soon because it's going to take a while to pry this big baby off of you

I'd also like to mention, that you don't need to tell him not to steal your hoodie

because he’s gonna do it anyways 😎💙

You discovered this one day, when you slipped the article off to bake with Mikey

After a nice batch of cookies was made, your jacket was gone and you began parading around the lair to find it

Only to see Leo, snuggled in his bed and playing on his phone, with your hoodie practically swallowing him whole

If he hadn’t looked so comfortable, you would have been angrier, and just settled for scolding him playfully for stealing it

it was hell trying to pry it off of him, though...

This turtle knows how to wrestle and he will not hesitate to kick your ass over this fluffy sweatshirt 😤

These two things (hugs and your hoodie) combined just make Leo melt into a puddle, and he couldn’t be happier to have all of your teddy bear hugs :>

Mikey

um, have you met this turtle?

KING of hugs

It’s so great how both of you share the same energy

Though he’s more cold-blooded, like Donnie, he needs all of the hugs

It’s just your thing

With Raph, you have fist bumps, Leo, you’ve got a cool handshake, Donnie is more for high-fives

And for Mikey, it’s hugs

He practically tackles you to the ground in tight hugs whenever you get home from school/work and come to the lair, like a happy little puppy

Speaking of puppies…

That’s what he says your hoodie feels like whenever it first arrives in the mail.

Immediately, you throw it on, and Mikey is all over it, petting the soft fabric and squealing in excitement

Can he please wear it?? 🥺

Little Mikey didn’t even have to ask before you shed the hoodie and let him try it on

And OH

FLUFFY...

The amount of cuteness that this turtle radiates when he’s smiling like an idiot and flapping the oversized arms around is just-

He vows to get his own since it’s so warm and comfortable

But he’s very respectful and gives it back to you

Only to attack you in another hug and lift you off of the ground because you look so adorable

“You’re like a little teddy bear!” *excited squeal!*

Mikey 100% respects your space so if you’re ever snuggling, he’s instantly aware of your getting sweaty or uncomfortable and will let up or loosen his arms

Winter days?

Snuggles all day and night

when Mikey (politely) asks to wear your jacket, he’ll throw it on and give you piggyback rides around the lair, because we love fun

And for Christmas, you get him his own, and he’s IN LOVE

Sweater buddies

He gets one in his favorite color and little ears on the hood and once a week, when they need to be thrown in the washer, you’ll keep him warm while he waits.

(Leo gets jealous of all the attention you’re giving Mikey >:o)

Donnie

we all know that Don isn’t the biggest on physical affection

If he wants a hug, usually he’d be the one to initiate, which is totally cool, since usually he’s forced into a hug by his brothers (secretly loves it tho)

He does enjoy your hugs, though he can be a bit awkward and stiff with them at first

If he’s feeling down, needs to be warmed up a bit, he’ll immediately seek your comfort

Even out of his brothers, you’re secretly his favorite

Sure he loves Dr. Delicate Touch, but sometimes Donnie would rather go to someone who isn’t very pushy with solutions, and is willing to listen

And we can also all agree that he has an immaculate fashion taste ✨💜

When he sees the fluffy sweater draped over your arm, he’s immediately running over, analyzing the fabrics, and rushing to get you to try it on

Why? Fashion show

Loves the warmth of your hoodie

And I because “it’s so soofff”

Donnie’s blood runs the coldest out of all of his brothers and he has the most sensitive shell, so he just adores your sweater

Is definitely contemplating on getting one for himself, though he wouldn’t tell you at first, because you might think he’s trying to copy your awesome style, and that would just destroy his massive ego 😩💅

He enjoys it when you sit in his lab with him, maybe rested against his side with your hoodie on, as you play on your phone/read/draw

Also up for snuggles when it’s extra chilly in the Lair, or when his brothers aren’t around, because once again, damaged ego

Movie marathons?

Hell yeah

Donnie will always make sure your comfortable before he gets comfortable on the couch, so you won’t shift around while watching the movie

He’s also very vulnerable when he takes his battle shell off, and in more ways than one

You know he’s got real, strong trust when he does so and will let you carefully hug him from behind with your hoodie on, since it’s so soft

Donnie will also snatch your massive jacket if he gets the chance, and disappear into his lab for days with it on

And he’ll never tell a soul this…

But he loves it the most, because it smells like you, 💜

so it’s like having you right beside him while you’re gone, or when he’s busy building something

Also, tries to use his classic and sarcastic charm when it comes to asking for your hoodie back

“Come on Don, it’s cold outside! I need it!”

“But would you take it from such a luxurious face as this?” 😏

“😒”

“Right, giving it back-“

He totally gets his own hoodie, by the way

Purple (obviously)

But it just isn’t the same as your own, so Donnie might just have yours on and then wrap his own around his waist

Yep

He sure does love his teddy bear 💜

Raph

Okay but Raph is an actual teddy bear-

A big, mom-friend, weapon-wielding teddy bear

He LOVES giving hugs, and most would recognize this, seeing the various pictures and instances where he pulls all three of his brothers in for a great big group hug ❤

He's constantly reminding himself that you are much much more prone to injuries than his brothers, so he holds you like a little baby when he hugs you

(Unless he gets super excited or has a really rough night, so just be aware that you might be restricted of breathing privileges in that case-)

Usually so gentle 🥺

Just picks you up and wraps those huge freaking arms around you like giant pillows

And he LOSES HIS SHIT when you come back with this fluffy ass hoodie

Has this infatuation with petting the fur and running his fingers over it

He has never felt something so soft in his entire life 😩❤

And then when he hugs you with it on-

aUGGGH ❤❤

"Why are you a like big teddy bear?!"

"Buddy, you're just getting a taste of my own world-"

Poor Raph, being the size he is and having such a spiky shell, can't just wear your hoodie like his brothers :(

I mean, sure he could take it so easily

But he doesn't want to disrespect your things, or make you upset, because this man is The Gentleman™

So, rather than asking to wear it, he'll ask to spend more time with you

Not just for the hoodie ofc, but because of your sweet gentleness and warmth

Better quit your job babe, because your new occupation?

Raph's cuddle buddy

He refuses to let you become uncomfortable, makes sure there are the right amount of pillows, blankets, and room for you to move around while you snuggle together etc.

Raph is also a heavy sleeper, so once he gets comfy and warm enough, he'll probably doze off and trap you in his big "arm cage"

Really, his nature is pure and gentle and everything you could ever imagine when it comes to hugging his little teddy bear ❤🐢

@getacactus @turtle-babe83

Hope you enjoyed this little ditty! I LOVED writing these!! 💜💜

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tlcwrites · 4 years ago

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Consequence

A birthday gift for @paper-n-ashes

Summary: When you steal the Supreme Leader's sweater, there are... repercussions.

Word Count: 3483

Tags/Warnings: Kylo Ren x Fem Reader. NSFW, 18+. MINORS DNI; PIV sex, unprotected sex (no glove no love), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, heavy dom/sub dynamic, praise kink, breath play, I'm probably forgetting other kinks but I finished this at 3AM last night and I'm not even sure that I used real words let alone remember what I wrote so if I missed any let me know and I'll update the tags, smuuuuuuut for daaaays, canon what's canon The Rise of Skywalker can go fuck itself mostly except for that beautiful white set of rooms on the Steadfast.

Author’s Note: It's my hetero lifemate @paper-n-ashes' birthday today (at least in my timezone for a few more hours so IT COUNTS sorry Sarah at least you got to read it yesterday) and she has been waiting SO patiently for me to finish this damn fic. I started writing it back in like November? Maybe even October? and have struggled so fucking hard with finding the mojo to finish it. Then out of the blue this week, said mojo came back and I figured Sarah's birthday was the perfect deadline. So, voila. And don't forget to go tell her how awesome she is.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY SISTER IN THIRST AND SHAMELESS HOEING. I couldn't actually get you Kylo so I got you this instead. #throne room hair is the best hair forever the end

You’re perched on the sofa, open book on your lap, when the comm chimes. You can’t help your soft smile; it’s finally that time of the day cycle.

You don’t bother answering the comm, since it’s an alert, not a call. Closing your book, you rise and return it to the bookcase set into the wall of the lounge. With a gentle press, the hatch closes, and the bookcase disappears into the stark white expanse of the rest of the room, precious cargo hidden. Books are an expensive indulgence, even for the Supreme Leader.

Or whomever he choses to share them with.

You cross to the base of the stairs that lead to the chamber’s entrance and open a small compartment, also a part of the structure of the room. You toe off your slippers, setting them carefully inside the cubby. Your soft leggings pants are next, folded carefully. You start to remove your sweater as well, but hesitate. It is chilly. For all of the technology the First Order has amassed, you’d think they’d have figured out how to keep their Destroyers at a comfortable temperature.

You leave the sweater. He’ll definitely have an… opinion about it.

Now bare but for the sweater and your bra, so scant it hardly deserves the term, you take your place at the base of the stairs. The hem of the sweater brushes your thighs. Standing tall, feet together, hands clasped loosely behind you, you wait. You keep your eyes on the blast doors.

When the doors finally open, you smile softly. “Good evening, Supreme Leader.”

His cape billows behind him as he descends the stairs (he’s clearly inherited his family's flair for dramatics). As he reaches the bottom, you respectfully drop your gaze. His boots stop in front of you, your bare feet looking so small compared to his. But then again, everything looks small compared to him.

He raises a gloved hand and strokes the back of a finger down the collar of your sweater. “What’s this?” His voice is throaty and deep. As usual, it sends a thrill through you.

You keep your eyes downcast. “A sweater, Supreme Leader.”

“Clearly.” His finger continues down from the collar of the garment, caressing the soft rise of your breasts. “Perhaps I should rephrase my question.” His finger catches your nipple, and you can’t help but gasp. “What is my sweater doing on your body, when your body doesn’t have permission to be wearing anything?”

You finally risk a glance up. His face is impassive, but there’s a glint in his eyes. He’s amused.

You raise your chin. He loves when you’re confident. “It was cold.”

“Cold.” The finger continues to tease your nipple through the fibers. “In space.” The tease turns into a flick, and you barely smother your gasp. His lips twitch. “Imagine that.”

He’s in a good mood. You decide to toy with him. “Perhaps I simply need something substantial to keep me warm, Supreme Leader.”

One eyebrow raises, ever so slightly. He’s going to play along. “Do you find my care unsatisfactory?”

“Of course not, Supreme Leader.” His finger has shifted to your other nipple. You take a shuddering breath. “I would never dare to question your wisdom.”

He shifts almost imperceptibly closer to you. “And yet-” He brings that accursed finger back up your sternum, tracing up your neck and ghosting over your jaw. “-is that not exactly what you’ve done by ignoring my directive?”

Kriff.

He passes the leather-wrapped digit over your lips, stroking the soft skin. “Nothing to say, pet?”

You drop your eyes again. “My most sincere apologies, Supreme Leader.”

His hum of approval reverberates in your chest. “I imagine they will be.” He applies the barest hint of pressure to your lips. “Open.”

You comply immediately, opening your mouth enough to allow his finger entrance. The leather tastes so different from his skin. He presses the thick digit inside, and doesn’t have to say a word as you begin to suck obediently. He adds a second finger and you can’t stifle your moan.

“Good girl.”

Two words. Just two words, hummed in that honeyed voice, and you can practically feel your arousal dripping down your thighs. You glance up once more.

He’s watching you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Maker, you love his eyes. You can always read him through his eyes. He tries so hard to bury his emotions, but nothing can be hidden in their cinnamon depths. And right now, his eyes say that he’s about half a standard second away from losing what’s left of his famously little control.

Hmm. Time to have a little more fun.

You deliberately graze his fingers with your teeth, the leather of his glove supple under your bite.

His cheek twitches and you know instinctively he’s chewing on it. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he warns you.

Pulling your mouth off his fingers with a ‘pop’, you smile serenely up at him. “Whatever do you mean, Supreme Leader?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he purrs, dragging his spit-soaked fingers along the edge of your jaw, his own clenched as he tries to keep himself in check. “Careful you don’t get burned.”

Your smile becomes less teasing, and more sincere. It’s okay, you think, knowing he’ll be able to feel your emotions. You never guard yourself around him. I trust you, Master.

There’s a split second when his eyes search yours; for permission, for acceptance, for confirmation of that trust that you hold in him and that he holds in you. It’s a breath of a moment, but he leaves his raw self exposed.

He’s affection starved, your Supreme Leader, even if he’ll never admit it. Deep inside, where even his former masters couldn’t reach, is that little boy he once was; still desperate to please and be praised by those too focused elsewhere to pay attention, and terrified of disappointing those who do. It breaks your heart that he’s spent his whole life feeling so alone.

Your dynamic fills that void in a way he feels safe with. It’s on his terms. He needs your adoration; needs your worship. He craves the affirmation. No more abandonment and fear from those he should be able to trust most; no more abuse and gaslighting at the hands of those who are supposed to guide him.

Just trust, and love. Pure, unconditional love.

He presses his lips to yours.

You whimper into his kiss, pressing a hand against his massive chest to steady yourself.

In the next moment, he scoops you up, pressing you against the window and hooking your legs around his waist. You yelp at the coolness of the transparisteel against your back, even through the sweater, but he swallows your cry as he plunders your mouth.

“Kylo,” you whimper when he lets you up for air, but he ignores you, sucking a line down your neck to your collarbone.

“Get this off,” he growls, tugging at the neckline of the sweater. “Or I’ll take it off for you, and it won’t survive the removal.”

You let go of his shoulders, grasping the hem of the top and practically ripping it over your head.

His mouth is on you in an instant, those plush lips teasing one nipple at a time through your lacy scrap of a bra.

“Maker!” you gasp, flinging the sweater in the general direction of the floor and bringing both hands to grip his hair. Frantic fingers twist his dark waves. You could write sonnets to his hair. “Kylo!”

You feel the clasp of your bra come undone. He rips his lips from your breasts, and with one barely-there flick of his fingers, the undergarment is on the floor next to the sweater.

“Did you just-” It’s next to impossible to smother your giggle when you realize what he’s done. “I can’t imagine the Force is meant to be used for that.”

Kylo ignores you, although you’re positive you can detect the barest hint of a blush on his ears. But then you’re not paying attention to his ears, as he’s sucked one of your nipples back into his mouth and is grazing it with his teeth. Your moan turns into a shriek when he hooks his arms under your legs and hefts you higher against the wall, so it’s easier for him to feast on your flesh.

He shifts your weight to one of his massive arms, that paw of a hand gripping the opposite flesh of your rear as he brings his other hand back up to your mouth. “Open,” he commands once more.

You take the two still-gloved fingers as deep in your mouth as you can, gagging slightly as he presses on the back of your tongue.

His dark chuckle is breathless. “Such an eager whore,” he murmurs against your chest, your answering whimper going straight to his cock. Pulling his hand back, he nips the skin at your collarbone at the same time he drags the fingers you’ve just drenched straight through your swollen folds below.

“Do you even deserve my fingers, Pet?” He smirks as you drop your head back and moan. “Such a wanton little thing you are.” He teasingly traces a circle around your clit with just a fingertip, satisfaction growing at the sound the movement elicits from you.

“Master,” you gasp.

Without warning, he twists you away from the window, carrying you with ease to his desk. When he drops into his chair, he’s unable to suppress a sharp intake of breath as he settles you on his lap and brings your core into direct contact with his cock, hard and throbbing beneath his trousers. The contrast of your nudity with his still-clothed body is intoxicating. He guides your hips to roll against him again, your moans simultaneous as your cunt makes slick the leather stretched taut over his arousal.

Already closer to his breaking point than he'd prefer to admit, Kylo clamps his teeth down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to break the skin, the pain working as usual to allow him to refocus his energy and reclaim control of his passions. Unhinged as his reputation is, there is part of his life the Supreme Leader rules with meticulous care- you.

He knows you love him, and you’ve declared time and again it’s unconditional and without reservation. Your submission is a gift he knows he will never truly be worthy of. Maker knows he adores you with every part of his long-shrouded heart. But the fear never leaves him. Decades of distrust and broken promises means he lives in terror of the day his tenuous temper snaps, and he horrifies you or, stars forbid, truly hurts you.

That dark voice lurking at the back of his mind teases him with a possibility somehow perversely worse than fear or injury: abandonment. That you’ll inevitably see him at his most honest; broken, contemptible. Unworthy.

He loathes himself all the more, because he knows if it comes to it, he couldn’t survive letting you go. He isn’t strong enough to endure the loss of the only light he still has.

Unaware of his internal torture, you grip the front of his gambeson and try to rock your pelvis against him, whining as you’re foiled by his hands still gripping your hips. “Master, please.”

Your voice jerks him back to reality, and your begging makes his cock twice as hard. “Something you desire, Pet?” he purrs, grateful you were too wrapped in lust to notice his momentary lapse.

“You, Master.” You can’t help a frustrated whimper as you try once more to undulate against him and are again prevented from doing so. “Please, Kylo, let me please you.”

He reburies his anguish, and smirks at you. “Very well.” He releases your hips. “Please me.”

As soon as he lets go, you’re sliding off his lap and on to your knees, scrambling to unhook his belt. He obligingly helps you open his trousers. You make quick work of the placket and draw out your prize, salivating as you pump his already-leaking cock.

He hisses as your mouth engulfs him. “Yes, just like that. What a good, good girl you are.”

A lewd moan escapes around his length as he fists his hands in your hair.

He doesn’t need to say another word. You can read it in his eyes, every filthy, dark thought as you bob your head on his shaft. How good it feels when you take his cock in your throat; that he knows exactly how hot and wet it makes you when he fucks your mouth; how knowing you’re waiting in his quarters to be used as his personal whore is the only thing that gets him through the day. You moan again, and one corner of his mouth twitches.

You know him well enough to recognize it as a smirk.

“As delightful as this is, Pet,” he finally sighs, a slight waiver to his voice the only indicator of how close you already have him to release, “there’s a different part of you I desire at this moment.”

Releasing his cock with a ‘pop’, you continue to stroke him with your hand as you beam up at him. “As you wish, Master.”

Your mouth and chin are wet with precum and spit. He drags his thumb through the mess and brings it to your lips, his cock jumping in your grasp as you wrap your tongue around the digit.

“Up,” he snaps.

Rising immediately, you can’t help your squeak as he spins you to face the desk and pulls you back onto his lap, impaling you on his cock with one hard thrust. You gasp, unable to cry out as all the air is expelled from your lungs. Your arms are wrenched behind you by invisible bonds, the posture thrusting your breasts out. You hear his low chuckle as he tweaks both nipples while simultaneously bucking his hips, eliciting a shriek from you.

Thick fingers twist into your hair, pulling you back until you're flush with his chest. His breath is hot against your ear as he snarls two words that have your cunt clenching in anticipation: “Ride me.”

No further encouragement is necessary. He works your body over as you rock in his lap, reducing you to a burbling mass of arousal. Releasing his grip on your hair, his hands make their way down your body, the leather feeling so kriffing good as he caresses every inch of you.

Plush lips drag against your jaw as he leans forward, pressing his chest closer against your back. He trails his fingers up your thighs while simultaneously dragging his teeth along your earlobe. The noise that escapes you is undignified at best, and positively libidinous at worst.

The bastard’s smirk is obvious against your heated skin. “My beautiful Empress,” he murmurs, licking a stripe up your neck.

You can’t suppress your panting as he nips at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “I’m not your Empress,” you manage, your voice breathy with arousal as you continue to move.

“Mmmmm.” Kylo hums as his right hand trails up your abdomen to gently cup your left breast, those elegant fingers plucky at your nipple and making you moan. “Not yet.”

“Oh.” You squeak as he latches on to your pulse point, his teeth scraping over your skin as he marks you. His other hand drops to your core, fingertips stroking your folds as deftly as a musician plays a hallikset. You cry out as he deliberately ignores your clit, but your cry becomes a gasp as he abruptly slaps the inside of your thigh. “Kylo!”

“Feel how wet you are, little whore.” He pulls his hand from your cunt and wipes your slick across your cheek. “Only the most depraved whores drip like this.” When he wraps the same hand around your throat, you sob in euphoric bliss. His chuckle is low. “Look at you, reduced to a needy slut who wants nothing more than to be filled by her Master.”

You can’t help but moan as he tightens his grip, the other hand on your breast squeezing hard.

“Speak, Pet.” His order is hissed in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“Need you, Master,” you gasp, deliciously light headed from the lack of oxygen. “Need you to- oh, Maker!- need you to fill me, need you to fuck m-me oh!”

A squeal erupts as he abruptly thrusts up, hard, and proceeds to set a brutal pace. Helpless to do anything but take what he gives you, all you can do is wail and enjoy the desperation in his movements.

When he stands and surges forward, shoving you against his desk while still buried in your swollen heat, it’s just enough to send you over the edge and you crash into your climax with a scream.

Over your shoulder, you hear Kylo tsk in admonishment. “Oh, princess,” he chides, as you feel your Force bonds tighten even more, “you know better than to cum without permission.”

With that, he shoves you forward, pressing your chest flat against the thermoplastic and using his knee to spread your legs. You willingly comply, relishing in his hiss as he pumps into your wet, waiting warmth. He finally releases your throat, and the sensation of your cunt clenching as you cough is too much for him. His pace becomes blistering, each thrust sending your pelvic bone into the edge of the desk; speech is now beyond your power, incoherent babble all that remains as he obliterates your cunt.

The lewd symphony of your coupling is punctuated by his growls and your cries. You can already feel the crest rising anew and you beg for salvation. “Master, please!”

He grips the back of your neck, anchoring your head, snarling as he takes you with rapid, deep thrusts. “Do you think now you'll be able to follow instructions?”

You nod frantically, trying desperately to stave off your orgasm. “Yes, Master!”

His voice is deeper than ever, trembling slightly as he uses your body to chase his own end. “Tell me, my little slut; who owns you?”

“You, Master!” You can’t hold back the shriek that erupts from your lips as you feel that subtle tickling of his powers against your clit.

The sounds you’re making have him right on the edge. “You’re mine, all mine,” he sneers as you cry out once more. “Say it.”

“Yours, Kylo,” you gasp. “I’m yours!”

“You need to cum again, sweet little Pet?” When you frantically nod, he fists your hair and yanks your head back. “Do it,” he hisses next to your ear. “Cum for me. Now.”

You explode around him, screaming your pleasure. His echoing roar is your only warning before he slams into you a final time, ripping himself from your heat and snatching your body off the desk. You land on your knees just in time to receive his spend, splashing across your face and chest as he pumps his length.

---

It takes several moments before you can even start to become aware of your surroundings once more. In that time, Kylo has bundled you in your favorite cozy blanket, and cradles you in his lap as he smooths your hair back and murmurs sweet words of praise. His seed still decorates your body, and you preen as you feel his hands, finally ungloved, gently rub it into your skin as one more claim of his ownership.

Your contented sigh is what alerts him to your consciousness, and he can’t help his proud smile as your eyes slowly flutter open, or the chaste and caring kiss he presses to your temple. “How are you feeling, princess?”

A beaming smile is his reward. “Wonderful,” you sigh, and then giggle. “And filthy, in the best possible way.”

“As requested,” he slyly teases.

You notice that sometime during your torpor, he’s shed his gambeson and trousers, replacing them with soft lounge pants and the stolen sweater. Hooking your fingers over the neckline, echoing his own earlier actions, you tug gently. “Thief.”

He laughs, your favorite sound in the galaxy. “The Jawa calls the Ewok short.” Your answering eye roll elicits another chuckle and another brush of his lips. “Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs against your forehead.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.” Your smile is soft as you raise your face, content when he understands the overture and leans down to press his lips to yours. A/N: Alexa, play "I Want Kylo Ren To Rail Me on a Desk" by Beyoncé or someone.

Likes and reblogs feed my dirty, dirty soul. I always want to tag mutuals but then I feel like that would be super presumptuous even though I love being tagged, so IDK I guess send me an ask if you want me to tag you in new writings?

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honklore · 4 years ago

Text

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Karl.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #pixiecap//

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