#it's well over 30 slides and i keep having to add to it

[asurrogateblog]

waiting for the day I get invited to a powerpoint party and lose everyone's respect for me when I pull out immovable.pptx

[vigilante-3073]

Diamonds

Carlisle Cullen x Human Female Reader

Summary: Carlisle and his significant other take a final trip together before her transformation.

TW: Mentions of illness and death.

Y/N and Carlisle sat across from eachother at a table on the Trocadéro platform in Paris. They had been in Paris for almost a month and it was their last night before returning to Forks. Y/N sat back in her chair, taking a sip from her wine glass before her eyes shifted to the Eiffel tower. The lights of the tower began to twinkle, lighting up the structure and bringing a soft smile to Y/N's face.

She looked over at Carlisle, cheeks flushing when she noticed that he was already looking at her. Y/N set her wine glass on the table, Carlisle picked up the bottle and wordlessly refilled her glass.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were trying to get me drunk, Carlisle," Y/N said with a teasing smile.

"You should take the opportunity to enjoy every part of being human, especially fine food and drink," Carlisle said, setting the bottle back down on the table.

"Very well said," Y/N nodded, sliding the glass closer to herself.

Carlisle watched her for a moment, "How are you feeling?" He asked, her smile fell, "I thought we weren't going to talk about that tonight," Y/N said softly.

"We should," Carlisle replied.

Y/N sighed, "Well, I have a brain tumor that over 30 oncologists and specialists have told me is going to kill me within two years... But aside from that, I feel fine," She stated.

"Are you worried about what will happen when we return to Forks?" Carlisle asked, searching her face for any sign of uncertainty.

Carlisle knew that losing her would destroy him, but he still offered her the choice of whether or not she changed into a vampire.

Carlisle left the decision up to her and tried his best to keep his own feelings out of equation. He explained to her what the transformation would feel like, how long it could take and what life could be like as a newborn.

The decision was an easy one for Y/N.

The couple had decided to get away from Forks for a bit to enjoy some time together before she was turned. The Paris trip was coming to an end and Carlisle knew that the time to change her was coming up fast.

They would return to Forks and the family would help her through the transformation as they had done for Bella. The werewolves were aware of the situation and agreed to allow the Cullens to add another vampire to their coven.

"I'm not worried at all, Carlisle... I'm excited to live out the rest of my very long life with you," Y/N said.

Carlisle smiled softly, "On the topic of our future," Carlisle began, reaching into the pocket of his coat.

Y/N straightened up in her seat when he pulled out a small velvet box. Carlisle stood from his chair and moved over to her side of the table, lowering himself down onto one knee beside her chair. He flipped open the lid of the box, holding it up for her to see. The engagement ring glittered underneath the soft lighting of the restaurant.

"Y/N, you mean absolutely everything to me. Every day that I have spent with you makes me long for more and I couldn't imagine my life without you in it. All of my love belongs to you and it always will... So, will you marry me?" He asked.

"Yes," Y/N said, tears gathering in her eyes, "Yes, I'll marry you," Y/N said shakily.

Carlisle smiled, plucking the ring from the box and sliding it onto her finger. Y/N cupped his cheeks, pressing her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

"I love you so much," She mumbled against his lips before pulling him back in for another kiss.

....

Y/N and Carlisle returned to Forks the next day. That night Carlisle held her in his arms and told her how much he loved her before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of her neck.

Carlisle's venom coursed through her bloodstream, igniting every nerve with white-hot pain. Carlisle stayed by her side throughout the transformation, holding her close to himself as she writhed in pain.

Seeing her go through the transformation was awful and knowing that he was responsible for causing her that pain made it so much worse.

Her transformation took almost two days before she woke up with bright red eyes.

The hardest part of living as a vampire was coping was the sudden bloodlust, especially with Renesmee in the house. It took a while for Y/N to adjust to being a vampire, but the Cullen family was there to support her through every challenge.

After Y/N learned to control her thirst, she and Carlisle were able to look into planning their wedding. Y/N couldn't care less about having a big wedding, she only needed her family and Carlisle.

Luckily for them, Alice had been planning the wedding from the minute she discovered that Carlisle was going to propose. The only adjustment made by the Y/N and Carlisle was a decrease in the amount of attendees.

They were married in the backyard of the Cullen house as Edward and Bella had. It was an intimate affair meant to celebrate the love that they fought so hard for.

...

Y/N stood on the balcony of the Cullen house, staring out into the woods. The air was cold, morning dew shimmering on the dark green foliage of the forest in the soft morning sunlight. The door to the balcony opened as Carlisle moved outside to join his mate.

He stepped up behind her, his hands resting on her hips as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "What are you thinking about?" He asked softly.

"It's been three years since you changed me," Y/N stated.

"It has," Carlisle nodded, staring down at her as he waited for her to continue.

"I would be dead right now if you hadn't saved me," Y/N said.

Carlisle frowned, "Can I ask why you're bringing this up, darling?" He questioned.

"After I got my diagnosis, I just stopped living my life... I never planned a future for myself because I didn't think I would have one. Now there is just endless possibilities and I don't even know what to think," Y/N said.

"It's a normal response to feel overwhelmed after a sudden change. Is there anything I can do to help you adjust?" Carlisle asked.

Y/N turned to face him, "I don't know, but having you with me definitely helps," She said, sliding her arms around him and pressing her body against his chest.

Carlisle smiled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer to himself. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, "I think we should get away from Forks for a bit, just you and me," He said.

"Where would you want to go?" Y/N asked, tilting her head to look up at him.

"Wherever you'd like. We've got all the time in the world," He smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

[kamii-2]

omg!!! you should do a paige x softball player!reader fic where paige and the reader are in situationship and reader wants to make things official and paige doesn’t fully know what she wants until it’s like one of readers big games and paige is there in readers jersey and asks her after they win!

i read your kk hcs and saw the a/n and was like omg i love that bc 1)i’m a softball player 2)i love paige sm!

hi anon! i love this idea so much but im gonna change it up (i dont like the idea of paige wearing readers jersey but i like everything else) sorry if its nothing how you wanted it, if you want me to redo it just ask :) !!

warning(s): none (surprisingly)

genre: fluff

pairing(s): paige bueckers x softball player!reader

not proofread (i keep forgetting to add this 😭)

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

today was senior night and one of the most important softball games, paige and a few of your other friends were coming as well. you and her had been messing around for a few months now and you were starting to fall deep in love with her.

everything about her made you feel weak in the knees. her smile, her voice, the way she treats you, everything.

-

it was and hour and 30 minutes before the game and you were in your off-campus apartment getting ready. you were putting all of your things in your bag when you got a facetime call from paige. you answered and propped your phone up on the desk in your room, continuing to shove things in your softball bag. “hey.” she said with the phone set up in kk’s room somewhere. “hi.” you say back, “why’d you call?” you asked her. “to tell you that ice and kk are coming with me.” she answered, you smiled and said “okay, well i have to go get dressed so i’ll talk to you later. bye!” you said before hanging up.

you walked over to the uniform sprawled all over your bed and put it on. after you put it on you went in the bathroom and put your hair in a low ponytail. when you were done you put on some slides, grabbed your phone and keys, then went to your car to head to the field.

-

when you got to the field the game was starting in an hour and 13 minutes. the field was ready and most of your teammates were there. “hey y/n.” one of your teammates said as you walked in the dugout. “hi.” you said with a smile and clipped your bag to the fence, grabbing your cleats out and sitting on the bench to put them on. “are you ready for senior night?” another teammate asked you while sitting down next to you, “yes but i’m gonna miss you guys.” you said in a sad-ish tone.

after you got your shoes on, you talked with your teammates and coaches till the other team arrived at 5:00. the game started at 6:00 so this gave both teams an hour to practice before it started. you got a catching partner and threw back and forth till your coach called you guys over to practice batting and fielding.

-

it was currently 5:55 and both teams were in the dugout waiting for the game to start. when paige, kk, and ice got there you came out the dugout and said hi and giving them each a hug then going back in.

since you guys are home team you’re in the field first. you waited for coach to you where to go, “y/n, you’re gonna pitch.” he told you, you nodded and put your glove and face mask on.

you got some practice pitches in and the in and out fielders threw a ball around. at 6:00 the first batter walked up and got ready, you pitched right down the middle, she she swung and it went straight to you. you caught it and she was out.

-

in was now the last inning and you were on third base. your teammate had one more strike before she was out and you guys lost. the pitcher pitched a perfect pitch and your teammate swung, it went in between second and first and you ran to home. the pitcher had the ball when you about to be at home so you slid and the pitcher tripped and landed on you really hard, her face mask flew off her face.

you were safe but your hips hurt really bad and you were gonna be bruised and hurting worse for sure tomorrow. besides everything that jsut happened, you sat up after the other girl got up and cheered, winning one of the most important games of the season.

-

you were in the dugout sitting on the bench with your head thrown back, when ice and kk came in. “where’s paige?” you asked as they sat next to you. “she had to go back to her dorm real quick but she’ll be back in a little bit.” kk said. “i bet your hips hurt.” ice said while looking at you. “they do and bad but it’s fine it’ll go away.” you said while standing up, wincing in pain.

they got up and walked out the dugout while you put your stuff in your bag and said bye to them. now it was time for senior night.

“first up we have y/n l/n, she can play any position and is one of your best pitchers. despite being super clumsy and somewhat reckless, she’s one of our best players.” the coach looked over at you and you limped over to her, stand next to her at the pitching mound. “now on to her stats.” she said as she flipped to a page full of numbers, “she has played all 20 games we’ve been in so far, batted 28 times, struck out twice, hit by pitch 6 times, got on base by hitting 16 times, and got on base by balls 4 times. her highlights of the season are hitting 3 home runs, 1 grand slam, and been the winning runner 4, now 5, times.” your coach informed everyone while you stood next to her smiling super big. “y/n is a great player and i’m gonna miss her when she leaves.” your coach was tearing up and she turned to you and gave you a big hug, and you returned it, starting to cry too.

your turn was done so you walked back into the dugout being hugged by everyone and staying for everyone else’s turn.

-

it was 9:04 and you were walking out the dugout going to find paige and her friends. they were standing by the bleachers talking, “hey guys.” you said to them and they went up to you and said hi and gave you guys and were talking about the game. “are your hips okay?” paige asked you, “they hurt alot but it’ll go away eventually.” you said while placing your heavy bag on the ground.

“well me and kk are gonna go back to our dorm, our uber is here.” ice said and she game you one last hug before walking away, kk giving you a hug and leaving.

“y/n i have a question for you and something for you in my car.” paige said as she grabbed your hands. “what is it?” you asked her. “y/n l/n will you please be my girlfriend?” said asked with a smile and grabbing your waist softly so she didn’t hurt you. “yes, yes i will!” you said as you gave her a kiss.

she kissed back then quickly pulled away. “i have a big as basket full of stuff for you. i had nika and azzi help me pick out things for it.” she said as she held your hand started to walk. you grabbed your bag and followed her, “im excited to see it.” you replied as she took you to her car to get the basket. she opened the car door and handed the basket to you.

“thank you so much p.” you said to her giving the taller girl a kiss. “you’re welcome baby, ill see you tomorrow.” she smiled and got in her car to leave.

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

sorry if this sucks 😭 but anyway i hope you enjoy, have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

[izvmimi]

cw: fluff. reader wears a dress and is in their late 30s, as is bakugou.

Despite your best hopes, you and Dynamight are late to the charity ball. Not because of anything particularly sexy, at least not this early in your budding relationship, but because traffic decided to be hell at 7pm on a Saturday evening, and while many precious seconds were lost both in his prolonged gaze at your dress and your inability to find the words to tell him how handsome he looks in his suit, there wasn’t much you could do about the highway congestion.

(You’re thankful at least that he respected your suggestion that explosions and chiffon would not mix.)

The two of you manage to shuffle in right before everyone’s finished taking their seats. Katsuki is of course seated with the remainder of the top 5 ranking heroes, and their partners, and he pulls out a chair for you to be seated, your name tag placed right in between him and Deku’s partner. She watches him slide your chair in and help you place your shawl in a safe place, then whispers something to her husband who’s smiling as he always does, splitting glances between the emcee, his wife and his flustered friend.

You try to keep your embarrassment to a minimum, and are thankful when Katsuki finally rubs your shoulders gently before disappearing to the restroom. Now you are alone, warmed in the cheeks and trying to look very interested in the opening speech. No time for introductions, but you can recognize everyone at the table even if you haven’t formally met. Izuku’s partner’s eyes settle on you again and it takes her exactly five minutes to give into finally shifting closer to you, just so she can whisper,

“You know, it’s the first time I think I’ve seen him fuss over someone like that.”

You can feel your body tense ever so slightly, but her demeanor is friendly if a bit playful. She introduces herself in a whisper, despite the fact that you already know who she is, she’s been on the television on and off for the past decade as Number One’s number one. 

“He talks about you all the time,” she adds. You smile, unsure of what to say back except that you’re thankful that you’re finally here to meet his wonderful friends.

You’re new to all of this, and in many ways, feel very much a fish-out-of-water, having lived a quiet life, single and responsible to no one except your well-loved cats. You’ve been on dates in your 20s and have long since lost your interest in the dinner-and-a-movie combo by the time you turned 30, and now that you’re closer to your 40s than you are your 30s, the butterflies in your stomach with every nervous smile or brush of your fingers Katsuki offers you carries a soft twang of embarrassment. You’re too old to be this giddy you think sometimes. 

She says nothing more to you until the speech is over, and Katsuki arrives at the same time as she turns again. Her eyes narrow playfully as Katsuki slips into the chair beside you, slipping his hand over yours on the table. 

“Kacchan, aren’t you sweet?”

He scowls at her, but his hand doesn’t move. Shoto, you can see from across the table, looks curiously at your joined hands while Izuku pulls his partner in and gently reminds her not to worry you. He’s quick to introduce himself as well with a firm but not-too-firm handshake.

“We’re so delighted to meet you,” he says. Red Riot gets up from his seat and claps Katsuki on the shoulder, and it’s loud enough that it startles you a bit, but he’s grinning ear to ear as he looks at the both of you.

“We were beginning to think you’d die alone!” he exclaims, which has Katsuki gritting his teeth. 

“Will any one of you stop acting like I’ve never had a date before?” He’s seething and you try to stifle a giggle. He hears you and his head snaps in your direction, but your smile quickly softens his look of betrayal. He scoots his chair in and holds your hand tighter.

“Act normal,” he hisses to the rest of them, and the lights dim again for the next speech while Izuku and his wife keep sneaking glances at you and giggling, huddled together, as if they are kids themselves.

You on the other hand are gleeful but keep your laughter internal. Katsuki leans in and asks you what’s so funny, but you both know.

You’d think you’d all known each other since you were kids, the way Katsuki’s friends have so easily assimilated you into the group, and it only mirrors the way you’ve always felt since you’ve met him.

That things have fallen in place, perhaps late, but better than never.

[dracobrooklyn]

|| MDNI 18+ ||

Did anyone ask for Vox x Female!Reader headcannons? No? That's fine. As Thanos said "Fine, I'll do it myself." and I just did.

This is a Cannon x Female!Reader just a heads up. I do take some cannon stuff from the Show, but I also add my own things in their, these are just guess's since we don't know what's gonna happen in Season 2.

CW: There is NSFW stuff in this, Sugar Daddy x Sugar baby theme, pet names, P in V sex, spanking, biting, scratching, and a bit of Age-gap.

Word count: 777

Vox is very much old fashion so dating him, he very much can be a gentleman with his lover. His sweet little sugar baby. Opens the door for you, pulls out the chair for you and gently slides you back in. Kiss's your knuckles as a token of affection and greeting. Vox I like to think absolutely would sometimes sends flowers if he is inspired or saw them thinking about you.

I mean why are you dating him? Isn't he dating Valentino and Velvet? Well yes he is, but why not have more in the circle. Also yes you are probably in your middle to late 20's and he probably in his late 30's Early 40's... But he also offered a good price to be his arm candy. $5,000 Dollars. Welp time to put on that makeup, and cute heels he likes.

Vox isn't into much PDA but he will wrap an arm around you to keep by his side. Sit on his lap in a club or even when he's working onto his chair. May run his Blue neon claws through your hair just to get a good feel of them while listening to someone talk or reading something. Maybe smell the shampoo you used in your hair.

Vox will SPOIL you! And I mean it. The Man will buy you so much Jewelry. Nice new clothes, dresses, shoes, and yes sexy lingerie. Or he will get Velvets stuff for free cause yeah they work together. He likes to dress up his lil Sugar baby. The Lingerie he likes black, anything with black and some blue in there, he will lose his mind! In a good way that is. You see the red blood of the corner of his mouth seeping as he grins at you wearing that delectable outfit.

Vox will want you to call him daddy. I am not kidding he will look at you smirking as he hands you a gift you say "Thank you." to him as he wiggles his brows at you as he asks "How about thank you daddy~?". You're not sure if you like to say the nickname, it's in a way degrading to yourself... but at the same time you can't help but blush and mumbled it out making him grin showing his sharp teeth, and the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth again. Vox is a Switch, I am sure he very much bottoms when it comes to Valentino or maybe Tops the Moth man when Valentino feels like taking it up from the ass. But with you, you're the Sub, and he's the Dom. He will want you to call him daddy while he is thrusting into you. Resting your knee's onto his shoulders trying to bend you as much as he can so he can thrust deeper inside your plush wet Pussy.

Will the man electrocute you sometimes during sex? A little yes, I like to think his blue tongue does lick onto your skin and you feel a little shock. Causing goosebumps onto your skin. Even more so he will do it to your nipples as well. Vox also is a Biter, I mean with those sharp teeth, He leaves marks. The Bite marks glow neon blue but they slowly fade away over night only leaving the bite marks.

Vox's pet names towards you is "Kitten, Sugar Tits, Princess, and Sweet heart." and sometimes "Brat." if you act up because this man is a Brat tamer. He will grab you and give you a soft spank as a warning. If you continue, he will later at night give you a punishment worth deserving.

Vox loves lip play. Gently takes his blue claw thumb gently flicking your lip lovingly tracing his thumb onto them as he licks his teeth slowly. He loves looking at your lips, just thought of them kissing something to vile as he is. Or even sucking him off.

Vox cums neon blue cum... I'm not sorry and I was not the only one who thought that, don't lie.... *squints eyes* Vox uses Sex toys?.... Honey.... the man is the vibrator... XD JK but he does yes, he will get creative though as long you like it of course. I like to think he communicates with his partner, unlike Valentino the rat. And Yes use Aphrodisiac's if you're alright with that. Give you a better sex experience.

His Aftercare is meh, it could be better but he at least make sure you have something to drink after fucking you. Makes sure you didn't get hurt from his claws cause he do have those sharp claws. They hurt guys... ouch.

[biibini]

Could you possibly write something for modern mizu with a gf that bakes alot during the odd hours at night due to insomnia to past the time :^ due to this, mizu gets gifted a bunch of sweets and pastries

modern!mizu x baker!reader (request)

a/n: this is such a cute idea omg,,, personally im more of a cook over baker (my roomie bakes more than me) but i do like a good pastry. time to add my fav gif of mizu … isn’t she just so dreamy 😻

the first few times u stayed over, u were able to sleep in peace with mizu

surprisingly, ur insomnia didn’t keep u fully awake while ur gf was sleeping

feeling her warm arms wrap around ur body made u feel more secure as u started to slumber

u weren’t fully knocking out every night but it became easier to fall asleep and stay asleep for a good duration of the night

it felt so satisfying to finally sleep through most nights

as midterms became closer & closer, the quality of ur sleep began to decrease dramatically

most nights spent with mizu ended up into some

and then some nights became few

at first, u attempted to hide ur insomnia with using homework and projects as an excuse

initally, they weren’t excuses but u had played the card so much that it started to become one

It was a week and a half before midterms week, aka hell on earth. You and Mizu had just finished dinner, now relaxing on her bed. While she was busy on her phone, you were preparing to find the best way to fall asleep successfully. Staring into your laptop in front of you, you felt her get up from the bed.

She walked over to the bathroom and getting ready to go slumber. You on the other hand, are still mentally stuck on how well you will sleep tonight.

Having insomnia meant having many off days and nights. During high-school, it was more difficult to manage your sleep schedule due to the amount of extra-curricular activities and schoolwork you had to balance while growing up. You’ve found a few ways and simple tricks to fight against it.

One way that helped you calm down during high school was baking. A messy task, yes, but the end result was worth it. It had been a few years since it’s gotten this bad. Junior year was a while ago, and the thought of college during that time sent your stress levels through the roof.

Maybe bringing back baking wouldn’t be so bad…

“Hey baby?”

You snapped out of your empty stare and look up at Mizu.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to wash up soon? It’s past midnight and you have a 9 AM tomorrow.” she reminded. Mizu knew how grumpy you could be the next day if you stayed up too long.

“Yeah, um” you glance at your computer only to find a title slide on a history presentation, “I’ll sleep soon, I just want to finish my part of this project.”

Mizu nodded as she turned off every light except for the night next to you. You look up to her, a small smile growing on your face.

“M’kay,” she placed a hand on your cheek and planted a soft kiss on your forehead, “Just not too late.”

She moved to your lips, giving them a good night kiss.

“I’ll try.” You say as you reach for her face to share another good night kiss. You lower the brightness of your laptop as Mizu tucks herself in next to you.

An hour later, you end up finish your part of the presentation. You check your phone to let your group know about your completion. Putting it down, you read the time. 1:30 AM.

Fuck, you should really get some sleep for tomorrow’s lecture.

You slowly get out of bed, checking to make sure Mizu hasn’t waken up from your movement. All you hear is a turn to the other side away from you.

Whew.

You plug in your laptop quickly on the desk, making sure that all the lights in the apartment were closed. You gently tugged at the sheets, tucking yourself in as quietly as you could. As you started to close your eyes, you took a deep breath.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

A grumble could be heard from Mizu, turning back towards you. You feel her hands try to find you, slowly grabbing what she could find. As she pulled you closer, you continued to relax your body.

Eyes closed, mind empty.

Yet, your mind does reach a thought. An anxious thought.

What if I wake up tired, like before?

You try to shake away the thought, enveloping yourself with Mizu’s presence. Forcing your eyes shut, you continue to take slow & deep breaths.

2:30 rolls in and you’re still stuck trying to fall asleep. Technically, you should be in dreamland right now instead of being awake. Your eyes are heavy but they not too heavy to completely close. Your body is still yet your mind keeps racing.

You trusted your old tricks would help you fall asleep. Hoping that they would work, your mind finally begins to clear up and rest.

as the days went by, it got progressively worse and worse

it went to the point where u were just always up, maybe spare an hour or two for a nap, and then the nightly attempt to fall asleep next to mizu

ur aware of what was happening yet ur mind wouldn’t stop running at full speed

u wish ur mind would just shut off

and if it wasn’t ur mind staying awake for once, it was ur body keeping u awake

it was so tiring to think ab peace night after night after night, hoping for a good nights sleep but to end up feeling drained and half awake once the sun rose

on nights where ur mind or body wouldn’t shut down, u ended up succumbing to ur old habits and took out the baking pan & sheets

u thought u could stay quiet like a few years before

on the other hand, mizu began to notice the slight changes in the house

whenever she would wake up for morning workouts, ur laptop would open and on ur lap

or the baking pan and whisks and mixing bowls would be dripping wet on the drying rack

once she found a new loaf of bread in the pantry, something was up

she figured u were just up cleaning late at night as a break from the late night homework grind

but with the random loaf, it didn’t quite fit the story she had in mind

one early morning, she heard a metal noise mid toilet and tiktok session in

(a/n: i’m guilty of doing that too sorry)

concerned, she went go check in the bedroom to find an empty bed

“Y/N?” she quietly called into the hallway.

God damnit.

You had accidentally banged the baking pan on the oven’s metal rack. You quickly slid the pan into the oven, hoping the croissants u had just prepped wouldn’t be seen. You peeked over your shoulder to see Mizu’s eyes half awake, trying to comprehend what she was seeing.

You quickly checked the time on the clock. No way it was already time for her workout.

5:30 AM.

“Morning, Mizu.” A weak smile spread on your face. You felt blood rushing to your cheeks, stemming from the embarrassment of getting caught in the act.

“I just went to the bathroom and heard a noise. What’s going on, Y/N?”

She looked down into the oven, spotting the croissants.

“Did you want a sweet treat that badly?” her voice questioning you and slightly concerned. She walked towards you and gently pressed your hand.

“No, it’s just that…”

“That?”

You took a deep breath as you glanced down at her hand grasping onto yours. You look up to her eyes, ready to tell the truth. Her blue eyes seemed more awake and ready to listen, almost glowing in the dark.

“I have insomnia.” You let the truth spill out. “It hasn’t been this bad since high school but coping with it has been a bit difficult these days. I’ve tried so many ways to shut my mind off but nothing’s working.”

“Aw, baby…”

“And the best way I managed it back when it was worse was baking. It helped me keep my mind off things and pass the time.” You took a step back to find your phone and put on a timer for 12 minutes.

“So here I am. Back to old habits.” You ended, sighing in relief. You weren’t sure of what Mizu’s reaction would be. A little part of you was frightened, anxiously waiting for her response.

You didn’t expect her next actions. She let go of your hand and headed toward the sink, calmly washing the bowls and other dishes that have collected over the night.

Stunned, you watched as she continued to wash up. You looked over to see her reaction only to find a calm face.

“Mizu?” you asked, still confused about her response.

She looked up, her hands still cleaning the mixing bowls you had used.

“Did you need help with anything else before I go to the gym? I know insomnia must be hard to cope with but if this is what helps you pass the time,” Mizu finishing the final bowl, placing it gently on the dishwasher rack. “I’d like to help out in any way I can.”

“No, I’m okay but thank you for cleaning up for me.” Coming up to her, you give her a kiss on the cheek. She smiles at you and nods.

“Anytime, hon.”

She takes a glance at the clock. 5:40 AM.

“I’m gonna get ready now. Let me know if you need anything or any ingredients.” She hurries into the bedroom, getting ready to change into gym clothes.

“Okayyy.” You say, checking your phone for the timer.

A thought comes to mind.

“Actually, there is one thing you can do.” You say, following her into the bedroom. Mizu, mid-tying her hair, paused and gave you her full attention. “You can be my little taste tester.”

She chuckled as she fixed her hair into a bun.

“I get first dibs? For lil ol’ me?”, she says playfully as she grabs one of her light zip-up jackets from the closet, completing her workout outfit.

You nod happily. “Mhm. You can even request a recipe or two.”

How enticing, Mizu thought.

if u were up during her workout days, she would always find a fresh batch of pastries sitting on the dining table

on days that her or ringo had classes, u would leave a little bag or container of pastries that they go bring to school

u would always leave a little love note with a little heart and a “To my Mizu”

mizu loved the little gifts, especially if they were at her request

one night, she asked for a peach cobbler pie

woke up the next morning to find a slice in a container and a sticky note atop reading “a request for my love ♥︎”

she placed the sticky note by her desk

and brought the slice to school with her

after her class she shared with akemi, they decided to get some late morning tea by the coffee shop nearby

mizu’s eyes widen after the first bite settled in

it was bomb

peaches were practically bursting in her mouth

she continued to eat, trying to contain the deliciousness of the pie

she would text u later ab how good it was

in full detail

many paragraphs

many positive critiques

and end with a thank you for ur baking ♥︎

[kinardsevan]

30 days of fluff challenge: day two

"pancakes"

“I think I’m going to regret asking this, but what the hell are you talking about?” 

Evan’s cheeks flush as he looks up at Chimney across the table. He and Tommy are seated next to one another, having just come off shift from a structural fire that had all hands on deck. 

“I think he really wants to know,” Tommy murmurs into his ear, lapping his tongue out against the shell of it. Evan shudders next to him, and he can barely contain the moan that slips past his lips in the darkness of the bar. 

“Seriously, what the hell are you two on about pancakes,” Chimney comments. 

Tommy presses his forehead against Evan’s temple, still laughing softly. 

“Yo-you really don’t want to know,” Evan stammers, grabbing Tommy’s wrist tightly when his hand slides inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his zipper. He almost chokes on the air as he lifts his beer to his lips, taking a long, measured sip. 

“I think he does,” Tommy murmurs into his ear, his own voice full of gravel in the way that Evan knows means he’s in trouble. He turns his head towards his boyfriend, eyes locked on the older man’s lips as Tommy’s thumb brushes over his thigh, just beneath the juncture of his pelvis. 

“We are not close enough to either of our homes right now,” he states through gritted teeth. Still, he can’t stop looking at Tommy’s mouth, thinking about the feeling of Tommy’s tongue brushing up against his, the way his mouth tastes after his signature Jack and Coke. 

Tommy leans over to his ear again as his fingers tighten on Evan’s leg. 

“My truck is in the parking lot.” 

Eddie and Hen slide into the space opposite Evan, pressing his legs tighter together and tighter against Tommy, making him grunt softly. 

“What’s going on,” Eddie asks, glancing over at Evan and Tommy, then Chimney. 

“I feel like we walked up on something,” Hen adds. 

“These two are on about something to do with pancakes,” Chimney states, taking a beer from Eddie. 

Eddie cringes, raising a hand. 

“I don’t want to know. I’ve learned well enough to stop asking about what they’re talking about when they’re by themselves.” 

Tommy laughs again, turning his head to take a sip of his own beer. 

“I can’t be blamed for the fact that someone likes to kiss and tell,” he states in his deadpan tone. 

Eddie narrows his eyes at Tommy across the space between them. “You were the one who mentioned nylon rope.” 

“Hey!” “Whoa!” Chimney and Hen both howl. Hen moves visibly away from Eddie towards the other side of the table, putting herself closer to Chimney. 

“I told you not to ask,” Evan states gruffly before taking another gulp of his beer. 

“Wait what,” Chimney interjects. “How… oh god, I don’t… pancakes refers to sex?” 

Evan glances up at Tommy and his boyfriend squeezes his thigh again, directly up against the curve of his crotch. The squeeze makes Evan sigh, having to bite hard on the inside of his lip to keep from moaning. 

“This is already way more information than I need,” Eddie states, sliding out of the booth. “Anyone wanna play darts.” 

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Hen replies, standing as well. “Chim, I think you’d do well to join us.” Her eyes are focused, darting back and forth between Evan and Tommy. “I think those two are already on fire.” 

Chimney looks up at her, confused, but when he glances back at Evan and Tommy, it seems to dawn on him; the tightness of the lack of space between them. The way Tommy has his hand clasped around Evan’s thigh. They way they seem to be staring at one another like they’re going to have a five-course meal. 

He pushes up from the table with his beer still in hand, ready to follow after Eddie and Hen. Still, as he stares at his two friends a beat longer, he can’t help himself. 

“Seriously? Pancakes?” 

Tommy just laughs at him as he digs into one of his pockets for a his wallet, slaps a twenty on the table. He slides out of the booth a moment later and reaches a hand out for Evan, who takes it and steps out of the booth behind him, pressing his body inconspicuously up against Tommy’s side to hide his erection. 

“We’ll see you guys later,” Tommy announces as he glances over his shoulder down at Evan. 

Chimney can’t look away from the two of them, even though he feels like he should. Something about the way they’re looking at each other feels like he’s invading a moment. The sexual tension hanging between them is so thick, he feels like anyone in their vicinity could choke on it. 

“And don’t call,” he continues, not taking his eyes off of Evan. “At least not before tomorrow afternoon.” 

Chimney mutters something at them before he finally stalks away after Hen and Eddie, but Evan doesn’t hear him, eyes locked on Tommy’s mouth. 

“Let’s go,” Tommy murmurs as he brushes his lips against the corner of Evan’s mouth. 

“Please,” Evan moans. He follows after Tommy as the larger man tugs him through the bar and out of the building towards his truck. They drove separately, but Evan isn’t sure he could focus enough to drive even if he tried. 

“Tommy,” he groans, once they’re both settled inside the vehicle. The older man glances over at him with a cheeky smirk as he starts the vehicle. 

“Ten minutes, baby,” he replies, shifting the vehicle into gear. Once he’s pulled out of the space, his hand is on Evan’s thigh again, and Evan is all but grinding in his seat, trying to do anything to get a little friction from how turned on he is. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it home,” he whines lowly as he clamps his own hand down over Tommy’s. They’re on the interstate, having just merged on, but Evan is so uncomfortable that he’s struggling to keep his seatbelt on.

Tommy glances over at him again, eyeing him more with concern than judgment. After a beat, he nods his head and then switches lanes for the next exit. 

“Where are you going,” Evan asks when Tommy turns towards the exit ramp. 

Tommy glances over at him, another smirk on his face. 

“I’m a gay man in Los Angeles,” Tommy tells him cheekily. “You think I don’t know the places around this town to get in a quickie?” 

Evan stares at him slack-jawed, only momentarily tripping up on the reason for why Tommy would need to find a hidden spot around town to hook up, before his boyfriend has shifted his hand directly over Evan’s erection, squeezing just enough to make him moan. 

“Fuck, Tommy.” 

Two minutes later, Tommy pulls behind an abandoned warehouse and turns off the truck before looking across the space at him. 

“You sure you can’t make it home,” he asks, no judgment in his words. 

Evan can’t even form words at that. He makes a guttural noise, staring at Tommy like he’s never had someone care this much. Tommy nods wordlessly, unbuckling his own seat belt. 

He shoves the center console up in the truck to form a bench seat and then presses on the lever for Evan’s seatbelt. It slithers across his body, back into the frame of the vehicle, and before Evan can fully grasp what’s happening, Tommy has his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, is pulling him out. 

“Well damn, Evan,” he states as Evan leaks over his fingers. “You want my help or you just wanna finish yourself?” 

Evan whimpers, opens his mouth to apologize, but Tommy reaches a hand up onto his cheek with that adoring smile that tells him he’s only joking, and then his mouth is on Evan, and it’s all the blonde can do to keep from coming completely undone, grasping at the doorframe, Tommy’s neck, hair as broken moans fall out of his mouth. 

It doesn’t take much. Tommy’s barely on him for more than a minute before Evan finishes, bucking up against Tommy into his throat. Still, his boyfriend takes it without complaint, finishes him off before sitting back up a minute later, wiping at the corners of his mouth. Evan is still staring at him then, aghast and wrecked. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he rasps, staring at Tommy through his eyelashes. 

Tommy chuckles, leaning back over and kissing him softly. Evan moans against him, wraps a hand around the collar of Tommy’s shirt. Tommy pulls back a tick later, nuzzles his nose up against Evan’s. 

“Think you can make it home now,” he asks. 

Evan nods, flushed warm and happy.

“Great,” Tommy says as he shifts back into his own seat, starts the truck up again. “Because I’d really like to fold you like a pancake again.” 

[strangelyunfinshed]

In a city the size of Chicago, Eddie should be easy to avoid. Or maybe the city isn't as big as you thought?

Masterlist Listen to Sour Girl Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning. 

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.” 

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless." 

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song. 

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”  

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved. 

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can. 

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist,  crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview. 

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve walks into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights. 

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck. 

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower. 

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh. 

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?” 

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door. 

 “See you tonight, okay?” 

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.” 

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket. 

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths.  Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper. 

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting. 

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up. 

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone. 

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back. 

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife. 

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed. 

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge. 

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet. 

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head. 

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention. 

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload.  The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards. 

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label. 

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday. 

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows. 

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow. 

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet. 

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond. 

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday.  He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.” 

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink. 

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.” 

“How did you get so wise?” You ask. 

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.” 

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back. 

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer. 

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin. 

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths. 

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want. 

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure. 

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest. 

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer. 

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

Read Song 3 Here

For updates follow @tornupdates & turn on the notifications

[cybunii]

DOCTOR !!

a/n: I wanted to add smut so bad but writers block is literally killing me...

Pairing: Steve Raglan/William afton x gn!reader

cw: power difference, age gaps, uhh inappropriate doctor? no smut, just suggestive talk, maybe stalker-ish behavior

-

You took a deep breath and walked into the surprisingly cold building, avoiding eye contact with the people waiting in the lobby.

You check in at the front for your appointment, a quick checkup with Dr. Raglan at 2:30. He wasn’t your normal doctor, but since he was the only one available, you had to make due.

You had been feeling well but decided to come in anyway. Besides, what harm could a checkup do? 

You sit in one of the chairs, anxiously bouncing your leg up and down. Places like this always made you nervous, you had no reason for it, but you couldn’t calm the extreme nervousness you felt in hospitals and doctor's offices. 

“…?” 

You hear a woman call your name and you quickly stand up, making small talk with her as she leads you down the hallway to the room.

She takes your blood pressure and asks you questions about allergies and any new medications, the average standard questions. 

“Okay, you’re all set! Dr.Raglan will be in to see you shortly.” The woman cheerfully exclaimed, nodding, before shutting the door behind her.

You look around at all the framed diplomas, degrees, and bunny-themed decorations around the room. 

Your eyes are drawn to the one on the desk. You pick it up and observe it in your hands. A small yellow ceramic bunny sitting down, and the back is decorated with tiny orange spots. Some of the paint is smudged off, and its eye is partially missing, but it’s cute nonetheless.

You hear footsteps getting closer to the door and you quickly place it back, hoping it’s in the same position it was in. 

A few knocks on the door and he steps in. 

You give a small grin to him as he sits down, your eyes roaming his body as he turns the computer on. 

He was wearing the typical white coat, paired with sleek black pants, a tight-fitting button-up shirt, and a grape-colored tie complimenting his rather muted outfit. 

His intense gaze was focused on the digital screen in front of him, his lean shoulders slightly hunched over. The contours of his arms and toned back were accentuated by the tight-fitting shirt he wore. Even when concentrating, his natural charm was impossible to hide behind those piercing eyes and sharp focus. You can't help but look at him, even if he is completely aware of your gaze.

-

Steve- 

No. 

William was fully aware of your staring. 

A slight grin appears on his face as he continues to stalk through your information on the computer, keeping a mental note of each small detail for later. 

He deliberately set up this appointment, making sure he was the only one to see you today. A check-up was a good enough excuse, knowing he didn't have enough credentials to perform any other exams. 

-

Dr.Raglan clears his throat and your eyes dart up to meet his, embarrassment creeping up to settle on your face. 

“Well, today is a simple procedure.” He says, abruptly standing up, walking over to the counter, and grabbing gloves. He casually slides the gloves over his hands, your eyes almost trained on them. 

He walks back over and gestures to the table. You nod and carefully lay down on the hard table, the supposed cushion under you failing to provide any comfort. You try to focus on the uncomfortable feeling, not wanting to bring any attention to the clearly attractive doctor about to feel you up. 

“Just gonna lift this up, okay?” He says, a more gentle tone added to his deep voice. His hands gradually lift the hem of your shirt up and bunch it near your chest. His fingertips barely graze your skin and you take a sharp breath in, your heartbeat quickening. 

His hands press into your abdomen, not enough to hurt but enough so that it's uncomfortable. Your face scrunches a bit before he lets up, testing to see if anywhere is sensitive. 

“Did that hurt?” He whispers, quickly pressing down on another spot. 

You shake your head, your eyes avoiding his intense gaze. “No…” 

His hands trail even lower, pressing a little above your belt. “What about this?” He murmurs, his hungry gaze watching your every reaction. 

You bite your lip and shake your head again, your eyes meeting his when he keeps his hands in place. 

“You sure?” He asks, pressing his hands into you even harder. 

You wince and wiggle a bit, trying to relieve the pain by moving. “Uh- yeah, that hurts a bit..” You say, looking up at him with an uncomfortable expression. 

He hums and takes his hands off, throwing the gloves away in the nearby trash can. You take a deep breath in and rub the sore spot, knowing it'll be a bruise by tomorrow. 

“Let me do that…” He mumbles, his now bare hands rubbing the sore spot, the heat radiating from them feeling very good. 

“..feels g-good..” You stutter, instantly regretting saying anything due to the tone your voice decides to use. He raises his eyebrow and smirks, his look basically mocking you. 

He hums again, his hands grazing across your waist now, almost testing you. 

Time almost stands still for a minute, the only sounds of soft breathing filling the room. His hands pull away and he sits down at the computer, leaving you lying there. 

You frown and pull your shirt back down, finally sitting up and stretching from lying down for that long. 

You stare at the back of his head for what feels like ages. The sound of the quick typing almost drives you crazy. He turns around in the chair and stares at you, almost scanning you with his eyes. 

“You're a little sensitive, but overall everything seems to be okay. You’re as healthy as you can be!” He says, clasping his hands together.

You grin, nodding your head. “That's great to hear-”

“Though, I might have a suggestion” He says, cutting you off. 

You raise your eyebrows, giving him a confused look. 

“There was a study released recently, a huge list about many things someone should do everyday to make sure they stay healthy. The study was conducted by many educated scientists and doctors, so don’t have any worries about whether it's fake or not. We've all seen those websites…” He explains, pretty much rambling at this point. 

“Anyways, there was one on there that I think would suit your…” He pauses, his gaze sizing you up. “Needs.”

Your face scrunches up, the confusion still all over your features. “I’m sorry- My needs?” You ask, slight embarrassment creeping up on your face at the hidden meaning of those words. 

His once innocent grin widens into a wicked smile, quickly standing up and towering over you.

“Don't act so shy…You know what im talking about sweetheart” He murmurs, his rough hand going to rest on your thigh.

His hand gently strokes your thigh, inching its way up. You try to move your leg, but it is difficult, his strong grip keeping you in place. 

His face moves closer to yours, slowly, ever so slowly. 

Your heart hammers away in your chest, your body heating up at his touch and his breath getting closer and closer to you. 

“I'll give you the first dose…” He whispers, his hungry eyes practically glued to your lips. He smirks and leans in, his lips are soft and warm. They meet yours, and he starts to slowly kiss you. 

His other hand moves up off your thigh, and it brushes lightly against your skin. You can feel the touch, but it isn't aggressive or forced. It is a hungry yet gentle kiss, filled with passion. 

He groans and breaks the kiss, looking at you with an amused expression. You shudder at his warm breath hitting your face as he speaks, your face continuing to flush at the closeness. 

“Do you think you would be interested in learning more?” He asks, an expecting look on his face, begging, maybe demanding for you to give in. 

You think for a moment, your mind still reeling from the sudden kiss.

You nod your head a few times and he grins, turning around and finding an appointment card. “For when you need a higher dose” He says, handing you a card with an address quickly scribbled on it. 

“I'll be expecting a visit very soon…” He leans closer to you, whispering in your ear in a lust filled tone. He smirks again and stands up, opening the door for you to leave. 

You lift yourself off the table and quickly leave, glancing behind you to see him still staring at you. 

You stare at the card once you get in the car, your hand going up to softly touch your lips. It's like you can still feel his touch.

Maybe you should make another appointment…

-

word count: 1.5k

[rispwr]

LINGER - JK - MDNI

part two

————————————

part 1

https://www.tumblr.com/rispwr/759138850658566144/linger-jk-mdni-available-on-my-wattpad?source=share

genre:fluff

contents: handjob, a lil bit of tit play, big c jungkook.

What else do i have to do to keep you from lingering in my mind?

pairings : classmate! bestfriend! jk x classmate! reader

genre:fluff

it's a kind of fwb typa stuff so yeah

summary : for 9 years of being in the same class with him since 3rd grade you have developed a small admiration towards him, till it had grown stronger the more you stay with him. will you be able to keep this secret from your bestfriend forever? does he know you like him? or do you both share the same feelings?

RAIN

"kook.." i whined as i try to wake jungkook up for school. "5 more minutes pleasee" he whines.

"kook. it's 5:30 am. we need to get ready." i said getting up "but your massage yesterday was so good, i don't think i can move anymoreeee" he whines as he pulls my arm, making me fall on the bed onto him. 

our bodies presses together. my clothed tit makes contact with his toned abs as we make eye contact. he tucks my hair behind my ear, admiring me. "can we shower together?" his straight forward question suddenly shocks me. my crush asking me to shower with him? 

well we have been friends for more than 6 years, ofcourse we have showered with each other in the past but that was when we were still young. now we're graduating highschool and finally going to college in a year. but this time it was different. 

i felt my cheeks turning red as i slowly start to find it hard to not smile. "pervert" i chuckled "but seriously. wanna? to save time?" he said looking at my eyes with his doe puppy eyes "fine" i said getting up from him as he tightened his hold on me "lets go together?" he asks me with a ginny grin. "i'll just wait for you-" before i could even speak or finish my sentence he got up and picked me up in a bridal style making me squeek as he chuckles. 

we reached the bathroom as he puts me down. "you're so unexpected." i let out a chuckle as he starts slipping the strap of my tank top down as it falls on the ground, exposing my tits. 

he lets out a chuckle with a slight smirk, his eyes stuck on my tits 

"hey eyes up here perv" i teased him making the both of us laugh. 

"i'll undress you first alright?" he said calming. i hummed and nodded. his hands makes his way towards my shorts sliding it down. my shorts fall along with my purple lacey panty exposing my abdomen and my cunt. 

"my turn." i said as i look at him whilst unbuttoning his pants "you know? my closet at home is full of your clothes already. might aswell move there instead?" he said jokingly trying to avoid getting hard. i pulled down his pants along with his boxers exposing his large member.

"dang. i don't remember it being this big kook" i laughed shockingly as i look at his big member "it gets bigger when im hard" he adds "i know, we learned that at school" 

he puts our clothes in the laundry as i open the shower. 

he squeezed the soap on the loofa and his hands as he lather it together making a bubbly consistency. 

his hands then starts roaming over my body as i do the same "enjoying this?" i teased him as his hands lingers around my breasts a little bit too intimately "maybe" he said squeezing it as he then moves on. 

"so..what do i do with your...yeah?" i ask him looking at his member "you do this" he said grabbing my hand from his chest to his member, as he positioned my hand on his member as he slowly strokes it "there." he said "just keep doing that, that's how you clean it" he said smirking at me "if you want a handjob just say so" i laughed as i fastened my pace in stroking him "w-w-we're gonna be late..y/n.." he lets out a whimper. "i'm sure it'll be fast. keep going, clean me." i said as i liked the fact i was in control.

he cleans me as i keep on jerking him off making him bite his lip to restrain himself from moaning. "you enjoy this huh?" he chuckles as he pants. 

finally i felt that he was close "i-i-im close.."  he says. i took my other hand cupping his face "shh" i teased him. 

he then finally releases his cum, getting white stuff on my stomach. "was that good?" i asked him with a grin. he caresses my stomach spreading his load all over me "arghh y/n now i have to clean you up again" he scolds me as he gets the shower head, spraying it all over my body as i rinse his member.

we got out of the shower and wraps ourselves with towels, getting out off the bathroom. i take a look outside the window and it was 

raining very hard

*ping* my phone rings a notif from the school

"hi students of class 1-3, classes today are suspended due to heavy rain and for the safety of our students we suggest all of you to stay at home and relax for today. we will be continuing tommorow if the weather gets better."

"hey kook, we don't have classes todayyy!!" i said smiling to him "let's sleep more. i'll tell eomma i'm at your house" he said pulling me into the sheets with him "let's get dressed first?" i said "okay ma'am" he said sarcastically as he pulls away to change into his clothes as i do the same.

we were now on the bed, spooning each other, as we fall asleep to the sound of the rain.

[mayajadewrites]

I Wish I Hated You (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

summary: You don't do second chances. Especially after you gave your heart to Levi Ackerman, and he decided to throw it away so the next person has to repair the damage. Will Levi put his ego aside and finally admit his feelings for you are far deeper than you imagined? Or is a second chance out of the question?

warnings: eventual smut, this is a slow burn

ao3

C H A P T E R F O U R : B E N E F I T S

It's been over 2 months now since your breakup. 2 months of trying to heal, 2 months of trying to rebuild yourself and the idea that you don't need Levi to survive.

You've started to get dressed again - making sure you spend time on self care and actually caring about your appearance. Work has been the same, the coffee shop has become one of your safe havens honestly. It's like your worries fade away when you walk through the door and you can live a different life than the one outside.

You're about to clock out from your opening shift when Hange strolls in.

"Hi my love!" Hange leaned on the counter, tapping her fingers. "I have someone I want to set you up with." 

"Hange..." You raised your eyebrow. "I don't need to be set up with anyone."

"You need to get laid." Hange doubled down. "If anything, you'll have a little fun. What's wrong with that!" 

You stare at Hange for a moment. You haven't thought of laying in a bed with anyone else besides Levi. You can't imagine someone else touching your skin, caressing your curves, taking care of you in every way to make sure you reach that high.

It has to happen eventually. 

"Fine. Who is it?"

"Great! It's this cute intern at my job. He seems fun and young." 

"I'm 29 years old Hange, please tell me he's old enough to drink." 

"Oh yes of course! He's 23." 

You press your palm to your forehead. "I don't want anything serious. I would want just something casual." 

"Well then hopefully he doesn't fall in love with you! Are you done with work?"

"I am." You slide your apron off, pressing buttons on the register to clock out. "Do you want something before I leave?"

"I'll never say no to coffee." 

- 

Hange has the intern text you, turns out his name is Jean. Hange sent a picture of him to you before he text you - he's not Levi, that's for sure. He's cute though. He has light brown hair with brown eyes to match. He's a lot taller than Levi, which means he's a lot taller than you. 

Jean seems to be on the same type of time as you. He doesn't want anything serious, only fun. He's funny and sends you good morning and good night texts. Seemingly the perfect friend with benefits. 

Jean invites you out to a club on Friday night with him and his friends, which includes Mikasa. This eases your anxiety since you'll know at least one person there. 

Jean: It's all my work friends. I'm sure you know most of them.

You: It'll be nice to see them. Is Hange going?

Jean: I don't think Hange ever says no to drinks. 

When Friday rolls around, you cause a tornado in your closet looking for an outfit. You pick out a lacy corset top with jeans that hug your curves, and a pair of square toe black heels. Your hair is styled half up, half down with some of your hair framing your face. You add glittery lipgloss as the cherry on top of the look, carefully tracing over your lips as you look in the mirror.

This is the first time you're actually hanging out with Jean. It's also the first time in a long time that you're going clubbing. 

You take a picture in your full length mirror and send it to Hange for approval.

Hange: Holy SHIT!! You look hot! Jean won't be able to keep his hands off you. Be prepared to take him home ;)

You: That's why I took an everything shower. Lol.

You grab your purse and call your uber to head to the club. It's 10:30 PM - Jean said he was going to be there around 10 and you wanted to be late but not too late to where he thinks he's being stood up. 

-

You walk into the club and immediately spot Hange at the bar dancing like no one is watching. You smile to yourself as you tap her on her shoulder. 

"You made it!!" Hange practically jumped on you to hug you. "Jean is right there." She pointed.

You make your way to where Jean was standing, which was in a circle with Mikasa, Eren, and a few others. 

"Hey!" Jean gave you a light hug, his eyes tracking your movements. "You look amazing." 

"Thank you." You smile before looking at Mikasa. "Hi you!" 

"You never come out!" Mikasa said. "I'm so happy Jean got you out. Eren's grabbing me a drink, he'll love to see you!"

Jean introduced you to the rest of the group: Armin, Connie, Sasha, Reiner and Annie.

Jean got you a drink and stood close to you as the music blared. The group talked about work projects coming up and how stressful they are. Jean's hand snaked around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him. He smells good - he definitely bought a strong cologne for this occasion. You lean into him, letting your ass graze over his pelvis.

You both start to move to the beat, now Jean's face is in your neck. He kisses your skin gently as his hips move in time with yours. The liquor starts to course through your veins, giving you more courage. You spin yourself around to face Jean, planting a kiss on his lips. His right hand lays on your cheek as he continues kissing you, his pinky moving back and forth on your skin. 

You let your body mend with Jean's, letting yourself have this moment. You haven't kissed anyone but Levi in years and this new pair of lips are taking care of you. Jean is fun. Jean is happy. 

You pull away for a moment to take a sip of your drink, watching Jean's eyes trail over your curves. You smile at him until you hear a familiar voice.

"Where is she?" Guess who.

"You're such a cock block." Hange rolls her eyes. "She's having FUN. Leave her alone." 

"This was your idea wasn't it four eyes." His voice is getting closer. "Ah, my lovely staff." 

You turn to see Levi, dressed in a grey sweater, blank pants and a pair of brand new sneakers. Erwin isn't far behind him. 

"Oh, boss!" Jean waves and then puts his hand back on your hip.

Oh shit. He doesn't know you dated Levi. Did no one warn him?

Levi's eyes went straight to Jean's hand. If looks could kill, Jean would be dead. 

Mikasa and Eren looked at each other - the only two besides Erwin and Hange that know of yours and Levi's relationship. 

Levi's eyes fall to you and you swear you can see fire in them. You lean your ass back into Jean, letting your head fall on his chest. 

"Hi Levi." 

[brighttears]

Let Go

Joel Miller x reader

No physical description, gender neutral, no use of y/n

Summary: When Joel starts to doubt your journey to find his brother, all of his fear and grief crashes down on him, and he finally accepts you as a safe harbor.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst!, pet names (baby), language 

A/n: Here's something dramatic as fuck lol. I’m getting repetitive with Joel because like he has these few core fears and motives so i need to work on that … anyways here's some that-one-scene-from-a -marriage-story type shit (but not the angry part i just mean the like last 30 seconds…. and like waaay more wholesome. I am unable to end angst on an angsty note. If they won’t give Joel any happy endings I will just have to do it for them)

—

When you begin to enter consciousness, the arm you reach out for the body next to you only falls onto the mattress. It wakes you up instantly and you react faster than your body has time to wake up itself, almost falling forward as you hobble to your feet, you yell out for Joel, throat coated in sleep. You swallow, cough, and call for him again. 

“I’m here.”

The sound of his voice soothes your heart rate and you breathe deeply, walking from the bedroom into the dining room. Joel leans against the crooked, dust-caked table, back to you, staring out the near translucent front windows. 

“...What's up?” it isn’t unusual for Joel to wake up first, but normally he’d stay in bed and wait for you. His demeanor is worryingly off. He doesn't turn to face you but you see his head bow. Walking slowly into the dining room and sliding next to him at the table, you read him with ease—observing the rigidness of his body, the lack of response, and then the disheartenment over his face. You sigh. “Look, we’ve been out here for a long time, it starts to wear on you, but it’s just that. You’re tired, of course you are, Joel. But we’re getting close! We’ll find Tommy and then we’ll… well I don’t know but you’re gonna feel so much better once we find Tommy.”

“If we find Tommy.”

His words shock you completely. If he’s ever had any doubt, he’s never expressed it. Honestly, you saw him as drunk on hope sometimes. The more time you spent with him though, the more you learned about the inner workings of his brain, it isn't naivety, it's that Tommy is his brother, and at the very least, the search is a necessity. He needs an answer, and even if it’s not the one he wants, he needs to at least know that he tried, that he did everything he could. 

You’re scared that if Tommy’s dead it’ll break him. You’ve imagined it before, what Joel would be like empty. Even if he decided to stay alive, having lost another family member, the repercussions of that despair would be the death of him. You’d imagined how the acceptance that he never, ever surrendered to would look in his eyes as he gave in to being bitten or shot or stabbed. You simply wouldn’t be enough, and you’re not offended by it. You can’t outweigh the burden of Sarah and Tommy’s death, along with the countless others, many of whom you never met, who live only as ghosts in Joel’s head. Yes, you know loss well and have plenty of heavy ghosts yourself, but that’s only more to why you understand that you just wouldn’t be enough. Tommy would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. But that was all imagination; the contradiction of his behavior and his words were your solace, but now, for the first time, he’s straying from that. And he does it with his back to you, which he never does. 

Keeping your voice soft but firmer, “When we find Tommy.” you reassure him. 

Joel does not respond, only sighs, keeping his eyes forward. You detect a slight downturn in his lips, distance in his eyes and rare relaxation of his brow. He’s scared. He’s very scared. 

“Joel…”

Before you can add anything or your lifted hand can touch his arm, he says, still to the window, “I shouldn'ta brought you with me. I should'a left you in Boston.”

Taken aback, you physically recede. “What?” Is all that comes out of you.

He looks down and blinks a few times before speaking again, and the words march out from his throat—this was planned. While you were asleep, he was running this conversation over and over in his head. “If I was gonna do this I should'a done it alone. You shouldn’t be here.” His tone is perfectly even. Your heart sinks. 

“Joel what are you talking about? Why are you saying this?” your voice comes out at almost a whisper, throat and chest constricted by anxious dejection. 

“It was selfish.” There's a bite now and you see it’s twinge at the corner of his lip. His eyes become stoney, closed off, and he grinds his teeth together. “That’s all it was. N’ I’m sorry. You don’t belong out here.”

The last sentence pricks you with irritation. “I hate it when you patronize me like this, Joel—” you start, but he interrupts by talking over you.

“It was selfish because I’m putin’ you in more danger than you need to be, then you would’a been in in Boston.”

“I agreed to—” you try to interject but he bars you again.

“Jus’ let me finish this.” His tone is serious. “That’s all true. No matter how shit it is, it’s safer there. You know I care about you, I—I love you,” he still struggles with those words, only recently relearning how to pronounce them, “and I want you safe, I need you safe, and that would’a been the smart option. But I’m stupid and I’m fuckin’ selfish.” your brows knit in a micro expression, head tilted, watching him as he speaks, “N' I need you. Look,” he leans forward and closes his eyes before he continues, “I haven’t seen Tommy in a long, long time. All I have is… a loose idea of where he might have been, shit, whenever the fuck it was when we left. The closer we get, the more… lost I feel.” Joel’s voice is beginning to shake and you can't help but slump a little towards him. “I don’t know if Tommy’s out there. I don’t. I don’t. I want him to be but…” his mouth opens, closes, then opens again, but all that gets out is “I—” and then he opens his eyes and turns away from the table, pacing to the other side of the room, sounding frustrated, “Look, I don’t know if Tommy’s out there. I don’t know if he’s” you can hear his bottom lip wobbling and he cracks at the word, “dead. That’s the honest truth. And the farther we fuckin’ go, the more and more shit we run into, fuckin’ Infected, raiders, people—eveyrthin’. The more and more times I think I might be about t’… that you might die, the more I… I think maybe we never should'a left Boston.”

“Joel—”

“At least there I could protect you.” he begins to raise his voice, “I could get cards, I could trade, I had an in with the guards, we had food, somewhere to fuckin’ sleep everynight. I could come home to you, I wasn’t fuckin’ terrified every time you were outta my sight. Yeah, it was shit, and I didn’t think so then—I couldn’t see it then, but it was safe. We weren’t riskin’ our lives every fuckin’ day like we are out here. An’ winter’s comin’ and I barely know where the fuck we are, I don’t know how I’ll—we’ll—I—” he lets out a sharp breath and leans a hand onto the wall he faces.

“Joel, you’re just tired. You’re underfed and underslept. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Stop fuckin’ sayin’ we’re gonna be fine.” he snaps, whiping back to you, “You don’t know that! Every fuckin’ day we…” whatever look he sees on your face interrupts his train of thought and he strides towards you and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I’m not tryna be mean, baby, I just—” he searches your eyes and turns back. This time he turns, passing the head of the table and walking towards the open kitchen. “This was stupid and reckless. I went out n’ risked the only thing I have left. It was stupid.” he hits his head with the heel of his hand and you rush over, grabbing his arm to turn him around.

“Joel, stop it. I understand, you’re scared—”

“I’m not scared—” he glances away from you.

“Yes you are.” you tell him sternly. “And it’s fair. You don’t know where your brother is. And it’s fucking scary out here. I get scared! But I keep going, we keep going. And we’re in Wyoming now! We’re so close! We are going to find him.”

“Well we might fuckin’ not, and then we’ll be stranded here in the middle a fuckin’ nowhere Wyoming, in fuckin’ winter, no protection, not from raiders, Infected, we could starve—shit” his pitch heightens, “I am scared. I’ve started havin’ dreams about…” he digs your eyes again and rips away from you, making a sound and running a hand through his hair. Then his voice is loud and shuddering, “If you get bit, I’m—I’m gonna have to shoot you. I see it every goddamn night. Clear as day.” At that, he cracks, his shoulders jolt once and he stops a sob right before it leaves his mouth. 

The sound startles you. “Joel, baby,” You move towards him once again to rub your hand up his back. He lets you for a moment but then pulls away.

“I can’t—no, I, I c…” he trails off again. “Should’a never taken you with me. Should’a never fuckin’ left, because, becau…” he struggles with himself. When he turns and finally looks to you, Joel’s eyes are wet. “I can’t fuckin’ do this without you.” Joel rakes both his hands through his hair, “And I don’t want to fuck up n’ it gets you killed, and I will fuck up, and I just–” he spins back, then rips his hands away to swing to his sides, “I can’t lose you, I can’t.” when he turns back to you the tears are barely hanging onto his waterline and he raises his voice, “I don’t know what to do, because I–Jesus fuck.” turning again, he takes a few steps forward and then reverses them. His breathing is heavy and he’s sniffling. “I fuckin’ hate this.” His voice is low now, “I hate–I hate carin’ about people, cause I'll just lose ‘em. I just lose ‘em. I just lose ‘em.” he trails off, near whispering. “I can’t fuckin’ lose you. Not you.” he speaks up, shaking his head, “Not you.” He finally turns to look at you but then swings his head down to try to hide the tears that have begun streaming down his face, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I should’t be sayin’ all this. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Joel,” in an instant, you've wrapped your arms around him, holding him to you by his neck. He falls into the embrace, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his brow to your neck. You hold him tightly as he starts to shake, you know that he’s trying to hold back the tears. “It’s ok.” You reassure him quietly, sweeping a hand up and down his back. After a moment Joel complies and his body begins to tremble as he weeps in your arms. You hold him tighter, more securely to you. Losing control, Joel starts wailing, grabbing at you. He slides down to the floor, pressing his face into your belly with his arms still wrapped tightly around you, you lower yourself slowly with him, and on the ground, he crumbles in your arms.

It’s frightening. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve seen him shed tears, get emotional, you’ve had him vulnerable, you’ve seen him even completely relaxed one or twice, but you’ve never seen him torn open like this. You’ve never heard these sounds. His body is shaking uncontrollably, not like you know it to be. His hands grip the fabric of your clothes tightly. The dam has finally broken. It’s heart wrenching. He must have been holding this in for years. 

You hold him for a long time. He keeps trying to stop the crying but the current floods everything in him, and the only way to stop himself from drowning is to let it break and release it out into your body, wearing you like a lifejacket. Once he quiets some it still takes awhile for his body to quit shaking through sob-like breaths. When his breathing slows, you can’t tell if he’s fallen asleep, completely lax in your arms, face weighing into your shoulder. But then he moves, pulling himself up to sit, his head hanging. His voice is quiet and hoarse and he sniffles, “I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be sorry.” you move to hug him now with your arms around his neck, “I love you.”

Joel wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer to him, basically onto his lap, and murmurs, “I love you so much.” After a few deep, slow breaths, he pulls away, removing you from his lap, he rubs his hands over his face, mindlessly searching the floor. “I shouldn’t be putin’ all this on you. I’m sorry. I don’t want y’ to… think of me like this, shakin’ on the ground.” he sniffles hard and then looks up, only to your clothes, “Shit, did I fuck up your clothes? Fuck.” he goes to flatten out where his hands as gripped them, brushing over the wet spots from his face, nose, and mouth. “Fuck.” he mumbles. 

His face is blank and he won’t look in your eyes—he’s trying to cover himself back up. You don’t think he remembers how to not anymore; you’ve seen it so many times, when he really opens up, spreading open his skin so you can really look inside, it never lasts long enough for you to be able to reach into him. But you can tell he’s so desperate for it, to be seen, to let go. You can tell by the way he’ll hold onto you sometimes, when he doesn’t want to let your hand go, squeezes you in this certain way, and this look in his eyes sometimes, there's such a deep longing, and desolation, but then he blinks, looks away, and it's gone. It’s not something for you to bring up. You just try your best when you see it to somehow communicate to him that it's okay, he’s safe with you. You think he knows that, he’s never done anything to show disagreement, he’s let you in much further than he has anyone else, but there's parts of himself you can see him still hiding away. And now, he has just completely broken down before you. And this is not his role—Joel is a protector, he thinks he needs to be armored all the time, that he’s the one to comfort, not to be comforted. He’s the one to hold onto, to crawl into, to be safe in his arms with. It’s not hard to see through him and past it, though. You wonder often if, before all this, did he already have all this concrete stuck on him, or is there’s a version of him you never got to see? Right now, Joel is completely raw, and you want to hold him here, because you need to tell him—

“Joel, it’s ok. You can relax. You’re safe with me. You can let go with me. You can be soft with me. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you, I want you, I need you to know that you're safe, you can let go with me.” You tilt your head to try to get under his eyes and gently pull a hand over his cheek and towards you to lift his face to look at you. He follows your touch but struggles to meet your gaze; and you are patient with him. Always. God, his eyes are devastating when you finally see them, you swear they're going to be the death of you. Unable to help yourself, you start kissing his lips softly. He only lets you—kisses you back, but there's none of the usual zeal. He really did just drain himself. He makes little noises when your lips meet his, but they’re more like chirps than anything else, another sound you’ve never heard from him. These are some of the sweetest, most innocent kisses you’ve ever shared. They need not be rushed, hungry, desperate. They’re basic, simple, candid. 

And then you just breathe with each other, lips still almost touching, and then he pulls you into another tight hug, arms around your neck with you back in his lap, burying himself into your collar. He’s held you like this countless times, but this has a new, full tenderness. He finally surrenders and lets it flush him. His breaths are deep, slow, and even; they feel like his lungs can expand fuller than before. You feel it warm on your skin, under his nose in the dip of your collarbone and his brow against your neck. He’s heavy, resting his weight on you, not holding it back. Never has he been this unwound, the only comparison being sometimes in his sleep, but his sleep is not a safe place for him. This is. 

He takes a deep breath and he doesn’t have to speak for you to hear the I love you. You rub a hand up and down his back, turn your head to kiss his head and then bring him closer to say it back. 

[dallasgallant]

Time period posts: Room types

Now most of this post and the more “modern”home is definitely be more suited for Soc or middle class charecters than it will be the Gang or greasers, as it comes down to affordability. This post will cover the modern (1960s) home and some terminology around it, but also homes in general then. Details across all kinds and poor homes/more greaser aligned. Post was inspired by just - how I despise open floor plans but like older homes so I’ll try to keep that rant out of this lol.

Stories-

First thing to cover is the style of houses at all! Two-story homes didn’t become mainly popular until the 1970s, now they did exist- especially older homes in cities or towns that are 1880s-1900s ish. Or split level! The one story bungalow, ranch… uh… other style, were more common place.

A soc might have a larger two story home, maybe even a basement not just a storm/root cellar. (‘Hidey hole’ according to Oklahomans) Where as greasers would live in older one story homes (for instance the Curtis house was built in the 1920s, likely those on their street are similar)

Closet space-

A reason why in older films and stories especially you’ll see a lot of dressers and wardrobes is because very old houses weren’t traditionally built with closets! Then when homes had them, they’d typically be small so most clothing would be in dressers and trunks. Same reason for these gorgeous vanities is before plumbing there weren’t bathrooms to have mirrors and counter space so you’d have one in the bedroom (carried over well after bathrooms and indoor plumbing became the norm as they’re nice to have)

Linen closets also became a standard, which are typically put in the hall for bedsheets, blankets, towels etc. The linens! (Sometimes napkins and table cloths but those are usually toward the kitchen.

Newer homes 40s on would have closets as the standard, still typically small though. Another reason it’s common to see old furniture and wallpaper (even in middle class homes) is that changing things with trends or modernity was not done half as often as it is now! They didn’t gut the house and furniture even if a magazine told them so— though one will add touches where they can. Think in 50s movies where teen rooms have old floral wallpaper and furniture but there’s posters and pendants plastered about.

Greaser -> may have a closet but heavily dependent/mainly uses a dresser. Sunday clothes are in the closet or its storage

Soc-> has and uses both. Maybe even a slide/double door closet!

Quick aside-

Common for even newer homes to have a single bathroom!! But master baths and additional/half were becoming more of a norm. (Curtis house has one bathroom)

Another aside-

The “big light” wasn’t as common, which is another reason that some older photos look so dark and weird as that there wrent overhead lights, mainly lamps and other features. Especially if a home is older. Now overhead lights did exist, and were standard by this point if not in an older older home. Spotlights and fan lights, then sometimes fluorescent bars in a kitchen. You could sort of tell when lights were installed in an older home.

AC! AC! It had to be added to a LOT of homes wasn’t typically standard so there was a lot of window units and not cenerailized units- a soc would have like full central air and it was a huge deal.

Walls and room size-

Most houses now days are built with a ‘open floor plan’ which essentially means your kitchen, living room, dining room and practically first floor are the same room (except the toilet). Older houses, even houses built just 30 years ago had a lot more walls in place, keeping rooms smaller, cozy and much less of an eco. Some rooms only having one in/out others may have an open archway and then a door on the other side. Enclosed kitchens! Separate dining room and living room!

Formal v informal-

This will be the introduction to my next few points as it’s the beginning of it. I don’t know the exact term but “formal living room” is a solid name. In essence, it’s a room with a nice couch, chairs and art that’s close to or the entrance to one’s house. It’s where you’d host a visit or guests. It’s off the dying idea of “sitting rooms” and “parlors” from the 1800s-1900s. As time went on visits and “calls” became less formal even amongst socials.

Just as a separate “formal” dining room exists, where dinner parties, holidays and special occasion meals are served. It’s off the kitchen and not the same set of tables/chairs that’s in it. Sometimes if a family has a dining room at all they’d use it for supper/the evening meal. However this formality was also beginning to die out by the late 60s.

These formal rooms are more of a soc or upper middle class thing.

Finishing the basement-

Starting in the late 1940s but taking a real rise in the 50s and 60s, post ww2 where luxury and convenience were on the rise, people were getting and able to afford their own homes, cars etc and had time for projects. It was a real flurry to finish basements and often times that included the rumpus room, a space to make ruckus!

Converting basement space goes as far back as the 30s and while names varied (recreation room, game room etc) the idea remained the same as a casual spot for family hang outs. Major for adult parties or teen parties as well, it didn’t have the same pressures as the formal visiting spaces upstairs and was more a place to unwind. More often than not they’d have a bar or a theme to them.

Sometimes, if the TV wasn’t upstairs in the living room it’d be down here or in another room ; the den.

Similar concept to a rumpus room but it’s not confined to the basement, it’s anywhere in the house but with the idea of it being a more private, personal and less formal presenting space. (These rooms are much more soc/middle class. Greasers don’t have the space or the money)

[tardigradesonthemoon]

The Problems With My Bedroom: A Saga

Attempt Number 1: When I first moved in i tried having my bed centered on the wall like an adult, The Problem: it's a small room so it took up basically the whole space. the closet is small too so i was able to make drawers for underneath the bed and access them from both sides but the bed was so tall because of the drawers that i needed a step to get up to it which caused the mattress to slide every time i got in or out of bed. FAIL.

Attempt Number 2: i figured no one gets in or our of the bed except me so I don't really need access from both sides so I did this

I pushed it into the corner which i liked better but every time i moved the bed would scoot around, things would fall between the walls and the bed (the number of hours i spent reaching for my phone cord can never be gotten back.) , pillows would sloooowly slip down and push the bed away from the wall, it was a whole thing.

i tried getting things that would keep the bed from skootching away from the wall and they did work but then when stuff still fell it would be even harder to retrieve.

the other problem was that the bed was still up high because of the drawers so every time i'd scoot my butt off the edge, it would pull the sheet off a little bit and after only a couple days I'd have to re-tuck everything. i tried about 20 different solutions for keeping the sheet in place, the only one i found that worked consistently was this thing:

it worked FABULOUSLY but you have to basically flip the mattress over every time you change the sheets so you can reattach all the clips. i did it like 3 times. FAIL.

As i said before the closet is small, so I've used ikea cube things with a back panel attached as drawers to slide under the bed, and that works pretty well except for 2 things:

these are 15 inces deep so my bed frame is 16 when you add the mattress it makes my bed about 30 inches tall so i need a step to climb onto it which means i have to move the step every time i wanna access that set of drawers.

when i originally conceived of the idea my bed was accessible on both sides (see figure 1) so all 4 cubes of each shelf could be accessed fairly easily (the second drawer would only be about 2/3 open but everything inside was still accessible), when it's like it is currently (figure 2) i can access the first 2 cubes no problem, the 3rd if there’s no depression pile or laundry or whatever else in the way (aka: significantly less often than i'd like to admit) and to access the 4th i need to pull it out almost as far as it goes. Now I’ve worked around this by keeping those drawers reserved primarily for seasonal clothes and special occasion items and telling myself that i'll be better about laundry but it’s a work around so its not IDEAL.

Attempt Number 3: now the plan is this:

i flip my bed around and put the pillows end into my closet. the ikea cubes can be stood back up to be used as regular ass drawers as the king of Sweden (probably) intended and which I'll be able to access all of because none of them will be under a bed.

now, eagle eyed readers will have noted that my closet is 55 inches wide, the problem here is that a standard queen bed is 60 inches wide so I'd have to expand the opening a bit which will be a project but I think i can get it done by myself in a weekend or two (or less if I have help) I'll need to do some drywall patching and repaint but there's nothing structural or utilities in the wall so as wall projects go, a pretty simple one. this will take a couple inches of space away from the closet in the bedroom on the other side of that wall but its only my office over there so the only things in that closet are there is crafting supplies which i need to properly organize anyway.

idk what exactly im gonna do with my nightstand and all the shit in there but this isy plan for right now.

unless it's terrible.

[hoziersong]

for mel @emeraldcas' 30 for 30! happy birthday dear, i hope you had a wonderful day <3

911 - buddie - 2.6k

prompts: muppets/romance/gifts/secrets

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

Christopher loves Kermit the frog.

"I'm starting to think he loves him more than me", Eddie says one morning, sitting dejectedly on the loft's couch with an adorable little pout.

Buck laughs to himself and keeps browsing the internet for Kermit-themed stuff, hoping to find the perfect gift for Chris' birthday next week. "You know that's not true, Eddie."

"You don't know that", he says, pressing his finger to Buck's chest, and he attempts not to freak out about it. Ever since he accepted that he's been head-over-heels in love with Eddie for ages, every little touch makes him scream mentally.

Buck sits up a little straighter, gently pushes Eddie's hand off. He's so close he can see the freckle under his eye, perfectly placed like a little star where the universe made it to be.

"Eds. You're his dad. Nothing will ever win over that."

He just grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay", Buck says, turning to face him fully. "What's really going on?"

Eddie's incredibly brown eyes meet his. He sighs, admitting defeat. "I just... miss him, you know? I guess it's stupid. I mean, I see him every day. But it feels like­—"

"You're not hanging out much?"

"Yeah. Is it my fault? Am I at work too much? Am I too tired to spend time with my son?"

Well, Buck is having none of this. It's completely unacceptable. So, butterflies be damned, he places his hand on Eddie's left shoulder, letting his thumb slide slightly above the collar of his dark blue t-shirt, just sitting there against his skin. He knows Eddie doesn't ask for comfort nearly enough, despite the fact that he deserves it more than anyone. If Buck has to be the one to give it to him, he'll be more than happy to do so for the rest of his life.

"Listen to me. You're doing nothing wrong, okay? Trust me. Chris is just— growing. The love is still there, he just wants to discover some stuff by himself. He needs to do his own thing, hang out with his friends. But he'll never love anyone or anything more than you. I promise."

Eddie deflates under Buck's touch. "Okay. Okay, you're right. It's gonna be fine. I knew this would happen eventually, it just... it's a bit sad, is all."

Buck frowns sympathetically. "I know, man. But hey, if you ever want some company when Chris isn't around, you know you have your own friends too, right? We can get a couple beers, some pizza, watch a shitty horror movie that makes us laugh..."

The last of Eddie’s worry is replaced by one of those blinding smiles that Buck can never help but mirror. "That actually sounds fun. I'll take you up on that offer later", he says cheerily, before they're interrupted by the first bell of the morning.

Eddie's smile stays plastered on Buck's mind for the rest of their shift.

It’s not until Wednesday, two days later, that Eddie reminds Buck of their conversation. They’re working out before the start of their afternoon shift, and Buck is trying with every bit of his might not to stare at Eddie’s arms while he does push-ups. He’s really, really trying.

They finish their sets and grab their stuff, walking towards the locker room, when Buck remembers something. “Hey, I haven’t told you! I found the perfect gift to give Chris on Monday”.

Buck watches Eddie muster his best bitchface in real time, trying not to giggle like an idiot, because how can anyone be that cute?

“Let me guess. It’s something to do with Kermit?”

Buck adds a bounce to his step and grins. “Yup. But I’m not telling you what. You’ll have to see it when Chris opens it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m so excited.”

Buck can’t hold it anymore. He laughs until his belly hurts a little, smacking Eddie’s back. “Oh, cheer up, Eds. I promise Kermit isn’t out to replace you.”

“Well, Kermit might not be, but Chris’ friends sure are. He’s sleeping over at Tommy’s on Friday.” He stops walking to stare at Buck and breathes, building up courage. Buck has seen him do that a lot recently, and is more overwhelmed with pride than he probably should be, because Eddie’s finally relying on the people who love him instead of trying to do everything on his own.

“I was wondering if I could cash in for that offer you made on Monday. Shitty horror movie and pizza?”

Buck’s grin widens. “Of course! Your place or mine?”

Oh no. Did that sound too much like a date? No… He’s just hanging with his best friend so he doesn’t feel too lonely while Chris isn’t around. That’s it. Just a movie and some drinks. No biggie.

He’s halfway through his thought spiral when Eddie answers. “Is it okay if you come by? Tommy’s mom is picking Chris up, so I might take too long driving to yours after.”

Buck nods, shaking off his paranoid overthinking. “Yeah, yeah. That’s great.”

It shouldn’t feel this weird, right? They’ve been doing this for ages anyway. Sit together, laugh at corny lines and bad special effects all night, eat pizza until their stomachs beg them to stop. Buck can’t count how many times he’s passed out on Eddie’s couch after a movie night, tired from his shift or having drunk too many beers. Eddie’s also stayed over at his before.

So why does Buck feel jittery and anxious for the rest of the day and all the way through his Thursday shift?

By Friday afternoon he’s managed to make himself act normal. After all, they’re Eddie and Buck. They’ve got each other’s backs, whether it’s to pull each other out of burning buildings or to keep each other company on a Friday night.

Still, seeing Eddie all messy-haired in a green henley and sweatpants when he answers his door really does not help at all. He stares at the dark strands of hair falling every direction from Eddie’s head, curling against his forehead, and all he can think is pretty, pretty, pretty.

He stares a bit too long, because Eddie notices and runs his hand through his hair, trying to flatten it. “Sorry, I fell asleep a little. Turns out Tommy’s mom picked Chris’ stuff up earlier and just went to get him directly from the school. He was so happy when we talked on the phone. Said he finally got to ride in Tommy’s ‘cool car’.”

Buck chuckles. “Oh, yeah. He told me about that. It’s a red truck with a huge sunroof, apparently. And get this, it has Kermit the frog and Gonzo bumper stickers.”

Eddie’s bewildered expression combined with his hair, which he’s messed up even further, make Buck double in laughter, holding onto the doorframe to avoid simply falling face-first onto his chest.

“How do you find out this stuff? I’m starting to think you know more about my son than I do”, he complains, but the slight crinkle around his eyes tells Buck he’s amused.

“Well, since you refuse to indulge him on his love for Kermit, he decided to start telling me about it.”

Eddie shrugs. “Fine by me. You can handle that, I’ll handle the math homework.”

Buck nearly misses Eddie waving him inside, too busy trying to pull himself out of the delusional, sickeningly domestic fantasies in his head where he gets to be a part of the little Diaz family, and they have the same kind of conversations they just had on the doorway, splitting Chris-related tasks and laughing about his adorable adventures.

When he walks into the living room, he feels like his heart is being ripped apart and sewn back together at an alarmingly fast rate. He’s in love with his best friend and he is so gonna ruin everything they’ve built for years.

He sees himself everywhere. There’s a navy-blue hoodie he left last week, still draped over the back of the couch, and a pair of slippers right next to Eddie’s and Chris’ against the corner closest to the hall. The duck-shaped mug he bought for himself to use in the Diaz household is on the coffee table, sitting on top of a wonky coaster he tried to crochet when he was healing from his broken leg and which Chris insisted to take home.

He’s been haunting Eddie and Christopher like a clingy ghost, and he still wants more. He can’t ask that from either of them.

He thought he could do this. He thought he could live with the fact that he’s in love with Eddie without ever doing anything about it. He thought he could keep offering to pick Chris up from school every once in a while, occasionally sneak into the Diaz zoo trip to make Eddie and Chris laugh with his ridiculous fun facts. He thought he could keep making coffee for Eddie at the 118’s kitchen, with one and a half teaspoons of sugar just like he loves it. He thought he could do all of it without changing everything, without having to fight the urge to hold Eddie’s hand every time they’re at the supermarket, without having to ignore the wish to kiss Chris on the forehead when he scrapes his knees.

Maybe he’s weaker than he assumed.

“Buck. Are you okay?” Eddie’s hand on the crook of his elbow coaxes him towards the sofa. “Hey. It’s okay. Sit down for me, yeah? Just breathe, Buck. I’m here.”

Buck unsticks his eyes from the duck mug, lifts his head up and stares. Eddie’s eyes are so brown and shiny. They’re soft and framed by long lashes, and they’re warm and pretty, and they’re worried, and… no, they’re supposed to be all crinkly and happy, and Buck is ruining everything.

“I’m supposed to be here to cheer you up and now you’re all worried”, he croaks, and Eddie’s frown just deepens.

“No. What? No— Buck, you’re here because I want you to be. Because you’re my best friend and I’m happy to spend time with you any day. I’m not— I’m not using you to make myself happy, I would never do that. Buck, I could never be happy when you look this scared. Of course I’m worried. But it’s not you fault. I just—I want you to talk to me, please. What’s wrong?”

Buck’s trembling breaths feel like lead running through his airway. “Eddie. I’m sorry, okay? I am so, so sorry.”

Eddie slowly wraps one of Buck’s hands between his own. “What are you sorry for?”

“I—” Buck swallows. “I’m everywhere, Eds. And I— I know you just said you want me to be here, but if… but if you knew what I wanted, I don’t know if you’d say the same. I just don’t— I’m gonna ruin everything, Eddie. I don’t wanna ruin everything. I can’t.”

Eddie’s grip on his hand tightens just slightly, and Buck lets himself feel it, every inch of it, just in case he never gets to again.

“Buck. What are you talking about?”

“Eddie… I love you. Just— I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense yet.” Buck pauses. Closes his eyes. Eddie’s soft eyes and the warmth of his hands envelope his heart. “You’re my family, Eds. You and Chris. And I don’t just mean you’re my best friend. I think… I think a while ago you started being much more than that. And I was too much of an idiot to even notice, for so long… I’m in love with you, Eddie.

"And I am terrified of every word that’s coming out of my mouth right now. Just a couple days ago I thought I could just learn to live with it, but then I saw you today and you told me I could handle Chris’ love for that silly little frog and you would handle the math homework and I knew that I really, truly wanted to have that for the rest of my life. And then I came in here and I saw all my stuff strewn around as if I lived here, and I realized that I can’t lie to you about this, Eddie, I can’t. Because I’m taking stuff that isn’t mine to have, and using space that isn’t mine to live in. And I don’t want to lose you, but I also don’t want you to keep having me in your life with only half-truths. I owe you much more than that.”

That’s about as much courage as Buck had in him. He stares down at Eddie’s hands, still wrapped around him, unmoving, and tries not to get up and run out of the room until Eddie’s said something. He waits, watching Eddie’s eyes trace the room the same way he did just a few minutes ago, until they land back on Buck’s.

“Evan, this house has been yours for years. You said it yourself, you are everywhere. And I—” he looks up at the ceiling and grins, and oh. There are those little crinkles. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t.

I haven’t moved your hoodie from the couch because I love seeing it there every day when I come back from shift. I drink tea on that dumb duck mug because it’s the one I keep at the front of the cabinet. Your Top Ten Worst Natural Disasters book is still on my nightstand since the weekend you stayed with Chris while I went to Texas. I honestly wouldn’t really mind it that much if Chris rambled about Kermit the frog to me, but I love that he goes to you instead, and that you spent like four days googling Kermit stuff just to buy him a birthday present that he’ll love.”

Buck’s heart is about to take off running and never return. He turns his palm up, and Eddie’s fingers intertwine with his, and his smile is blinding, and Buck doesn’t need any other sight.

“Buck, this stuff is yours to have. All of it. And… and more, if you’ll have it. The early school mornings and the road trips and the movie nights, and the fights with ignorant teachers and the leak that we still haven’t fixed in the kitchen. And whatever obsession comes after Kermit, and even the math homework if you feel like it. And I’m sorry that I made you believe that this wasn’t a possibility. I guess I didn’t think it was, either.”

He grabs Buck’s face in his hands and pulls him close, close enough that their foreheads touch and Buck can feel the soft little strands of Eddie’s hair against his skin, can feel him vibrate with laughter, can count every one of his eyelashes, even through the blurriness starting to gather on his eyes.

“We’re ridiculous”, Eddie laughs, and closes the remaining space between them.

It takes Buck a couple of seconds to convince himself that this is real, that his best friend is kissing him in the middle of his living room, surrounded by all their stuff, telling him he can have everything he’s been wanting for so long. And when he does, well. He doesn’t let go for a long while.

They end up watching the Muppet Movie (if you can call making out with a movie in the background “watching”), and Buck doesn’t even have time to laugh at the irony of it all. He has much to thank Kermit for.

He thinks the Kermit-shaped mug Chris unwraps for his birthday on Monday says enough. It quickly owns its place next to the duck, at the front of the kitchen cabinet.

[puddlejumpingwriter]

"The Nine Lives of Kylo"

~ A Reylo Holiday Textfic ~

Author's Note: I'm posting these chapters in time for Christmas in July. Chapters 1-5 are also available on AO3. New chapters will post to both Tumblr and AO3 starting this week and wrapping up before the holidays.

~~~

PART III

~~~

Ben always expects stress from his family over the holidays, but he can’t prepare for it this year. He’s too distracted by Kylo…and the woman who’s been helping him.

He shouldn’t have enjoyed kissing her so much…

But a text pulls him back to the family stress.

~~~

Ben needs help with Kylo, so he goes to the text that always seems to be near the top of his messages.

~~~

Ben’s as ready as he can be when Rey arrives at his house at 5:30.

His mother will have appetizers on the counter by 6:00, and dinner will be served exactly an hour after that. He needs to be on the road soon to avoid a lecture on tardiness.

He takes a deep breath, trying not to think of the litany of criticisms he’ll hear tonight and wondering if Lando and Chewie might be willing to sneak off for a bit and partake in some Chandrilan ale. 

That might help things.

It would also help if Kylo behaves for his sitter tonight. As Ben opens his front door, Rey gives him a bright grin that goes well with her happy holiday sweater. 

Ben knows he needs to stop thinking about this woman and her smiles.

But Ben can’t deny what he feels.

If Rey wanted the same things as him, Ben would dump Baz in a heartbeat and ask Rey to be with him.

But Rey doesn’t date now—and when she is finally willing to date, she wants love and probably marriage.

If they were together, Rey would have expectations of him. And Ben would fail miserably at them—the same way he seems to let everyone down in his life. 

It’s better to ignore the yearning he feels whenever he sees Rey. They should just be friends. 

“This is your house?” Rey asks.

“It’s more of a project I’m going to sell at some point, but yes, I live here.”

“It’s so…”

“Boring? Old-fashioned? Run-down?”

Rey’s brow furrows in shock. “I was going to say charming. Who would say such ugly things about this place?”

“No one,” Ben replies, omitting the fact he was quoting Baz verbatim.

“You’d have to be blind not to see how inviting this house is,” Rey adds, as she walks around the foyer, taking in the space. “Sure, it’s traditional, but it’s also cozy and just lovely.”

“If you say so.”

Her hand slides along the rail of the staircase. “Look at these stairs. Whoever built these cared about what they were doing.”

Ben’s no longer looking at Rey. Instead, he’s focused on his feet. He can feel heat rising in his cheeks, and he can’t keep his fingers from fiddling with his ear.

He’s never handled praise well.

“Ben?” Rey says, curiosity clear in her voice. “Did you build this?”

“Yeah,” he admits, his gaze returning to her. “The old stairs rotted out.”

“These look amazing!”

“They’re just stairs.”

“Just stairs? If I were allowed to make changes to my apartment, I’d hire you to make that place feel like a home.”

“If your landlord ever loosens up on his rules, let me know,” Ben says. “Now let me show you a few of the essential spots around here.”

A meow sounds from the top of the stairs, and they both look up to see Kylo’s descent. The cat flies down the steps, slowing only when he reaches Rey.

Kylo rubs against her legs, before looking at her expectantly. Rey picks him up and nestles Kylo against her chest.

“Lucky cat,” Ben thinks, before shoving that thought aside. He shows Rey a few rooms in the house—all the while trying not to envy Kylo.

“This is the kitchen,” he says. “It’s a bit of a mess because we’re putting new flooring down on Monday.”

“How does Kylo handle the construction?”

“He seems okay, but do you think that might be what’s bothering him?”

“He seems fine now,” Rey says, scratching between the purring cat’s ears. “But loud noises can be disturbing to cats. I remember one cat growing up who used to run whenever my brother or I had to vacuum.”

Ben chuckles. “Was it your cat or a relative’s?”

Her grin falters, and Ben can see something sad in her usually cheerful eyes.

“The cat belonged to the owner of a foster home where I lived,” she answers.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not knowing if he’s apologizing for making her reveal part of her past, or for complaining about his troublesome family to her.

“Don’t be,” she says, her smile slowly returning as Kylo licks her hand. “Besides, there were benefits to growing up in different houses. I learned about different kinds of pets—and that helped me decide to become a vet. So how about you—why did you become a fireman?”

Ben sighs. “Let me show you.”

He leads her into the living room, where he has a bookcase covered in pictures.

“Is this your family?” Rey asks, taking in the images.

“Yes,” Ben answers. “Some biological. Some not related but just as close.” His hand moves toward a more recent addition, but Rey’s already pointing at the picture.

“Are these your parents?”

“That’s them.”

“You take after your father.”

“In more ways than one,” he comments, which earns him a quirk of Rey’s eyebrow. “He’s the fire chief,” Ben adds.

“Oh, so he’s the reason you became a fireman?”

“In part—do you happen to know the name Organa?”

“I saw that name on a sign during the last election,” Rey replies. “Are you related to Organa too?”

Ben’s finger moves to the woman in the frame.

“Wait,” she says. “So your father’s the fire chief and your mother’s the mayor?”

“Yep. A whole family of public servants,” he replies.

“Well, your parents are, but surely you must have relatives in other professions.”

“Of the adopted family members,” Ben begins, “Uncle Chewie is a firefighter, and Uncle Lando’s a detective. My mom’s brother Luke is the closest to being an outsider.”

“What does he do?”

“He audits taxes—but at a federal level, not local.”

“What a scandal,” Rey says, jokingly. “I’m surprised he wasn’t disowned.”

“It was pretty touch and go there—especially when he talked about moving to some tropical island away from all of us.”

“What stopped him?”

“He met Aunt Mara,” Ben answers. “She works in the town’s tourism department.”

“Of course she does,” Rey says. “What about your grandparents? Someone in your family must’ve taken another path.”

Ben’s eyes move to two pictures on the middle shelf—one black-and-white, taken decades ago, and the other from just two years ago.

In the older picture, his grandmother Padme wears an intricate white gown and stands in front of his grandfather Anakin. The young man’s nearly a foot taller than the woman, but that doesn’t hinder them. They exchange nuptials and smiles with the lake glimmering behind them.

“My grandmother was the first female mayor of the town,” Ben says. “And my grandfather was the cop assigned to protect her when someone starting making threats against her.”

His eyes move to the newer picture, where the couple is posed for the picture. Padme’s hand is on Anakin’s chest, as they lean into each other, and her diamond and sapphire ring is prominent in the foreground.

“Beautiful,” Rey comments.

Baz said something similar when she saw this picture, admiring the ring, and Ben can only assume Rey is doing the same.

“Everyone loves that ring,” he says.

“I wasn’t talking about the ring,” Rey replies. “Sure, it’s lovely, but look at the couple. They love each other. It’s clear in both photos. They’re so happy and, well, adorable.”

“Thank you,” a female voice says from behind them.

Ben turns to see his grandmother in the doorway to the room. “Nonna,” he says. “ I swear I’m leaving now. You didn’t need to check up on me.”

“I’m not checking up on you, Benjamin,” Padme replies. “Your mother told me you had a kitten, and I just had to see for myself. Is this him?”

His grandmother gestures toward Rey’s arms, and his new friend answers, “Yes, this is Kylo.”

“What a handsome cat,” Padme says before petting Kylo.

The cat purrs at the attention. 

“Are you sure you can’t keep him?” Padme asks.

“You know me,” he answers. “I’m not looking for commitments.”

“But perhaps you can make an exception for such a charming creature.”

Rey smiles. “You wouldn’t be interested in a cat, would you?” she asks Padme.

“I used to love having a cat when I was a child, but I’m not sure how Kylo or any other cat could handle Vader.”

“Vader?” Rey asks.

“Granddad’s Rottweiler,” Ben replies. “I think Kylo could go toe-to-toe with Vader.”

“I wouldn’t be worried about that, dear,” Padme says. “I’d be more worried they’d be bad influences on each other. Who knows what sort of mischief the two of them would cause together?”

“Does Vader have a sitter for the night?” Rey asks.

“The dogs usually hang out together while we eat dinner,” Ben answers. “And they tend to get along.”

“For the most part,” Padme adds. “But I’d love to have a cat join us. Would you like to come to dinner with us?”

The question is posed to Rey—not to Kylo.

“No, I couldn’t,” Rey says. “I’m just here to watch the cat.”

Padme’s brow creases. “Benjamin, this isn’t your girlfriend?”

“No, Nonna,” he answers firmly. “This is Rey. She’s a friend of mine, and she’s good with cats.”

“I can see that,” Palme says, looking at Kylo, who’s still tucked happily against Rey’s chest. “But still, the offer stands if you’d like to come to dinner.”

“I couldn’t,” Rey insists. “I have an exam to study for while Kylo keeps me company.”

“An exam?” Padme questions.

“Rey’s studying to become a vet,” Ben answers. “Couldn’t ask for a better cat sitter.”

“I’m glad Kylo will be well taken care of,” Padme says. “But if you change your mind, Rey, and you’d like to join us, just let Benjamin know. I’ll send him to pick you up at any time tonight.”

“Thank you,” Rey replies with a smile. “That’s really too kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly intrude on your family dinner—especially not when there’s a test I have to prepare for.”

“Suit yourself,” Padme says. “But the option is there if you want it. Now come along, Benjamin, or else we’ll hear an earful from your mother.” His grandmother turns back to Rey, “It was nice meeting you, dear, and you too, Kylo.”

Padme gives the cat a few more affectionate pets before letting Ben escort her to the door.

Ben turns back to Rey. “If there’s anything you need, text me.”

Rey just smiles at him, and then lifts Kylo’s paw to wave at him. “I think we’ll have everything we need here at your house. Now Kylo, say goodbye to daddy.”

Ben’s heart starts to melt, and it has nothing to do with the small noise his cat makes. 

He likes the thought of this place as his house—rather than just some property he’s going to fix up and sell. 

And he likes thinking about his house with Rey and his cat in it.

And oddly enough, Ben likes Rey calling him daddy.