#masonic apron

[paulpingminho]

[didanawisgi]

Statue of Metjetji

EGYPTIAN, CLASSICAL, ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN ART

Metjetji, the subject of this statue, is also depicted in the two wooden statues nearby. In this case he is shown in later life, with the long kilt of a senior official and, as viewed from the side, a rather flabby torso. The expensive addition of inlaid stone eyes with copper rims suggests that this was considered the most important of Metjetji’s statues. A large head, big eyes, and very long fingers often appear on statues of this time; here they seem to suggest wisdom and maturity.

MEDIUM Wood, gesso, pigment, alabaster, obsidian, copper alloy Possible Place Collected: Saqqara, Egypt

DATES ca. 2371–2288 B.C.E. 

DYNASTY late Dynasty 5 to early Dynasty 6 

PERIOD Old Kingdom 

PROVENANCE Tomb of Metjetji, southwest of the Djoser enclosure, Saqqara, Egypt

[ineffableigh]

UHhh is it just me or is Elspeth digging up a fucking Mason

edit: SHE DUG UP A FUCKIN' FREEMASON

(pic from googling 'scotland freemason' sorry about that lol) THAT SURE IS PARTICULAR INNIT

"The “All-Seeing Eye,” or Eye of Providence, while not designed by Masons, has been used by the group to represent the omniscience of God."

GOD'S WATCHIN YE ELSPETH

I'm scared

[sturniqlo]

SPILLED WATER- MATT STURN

summary: where pregnant!reader films a video with the triplets and her water breaks and matt is freaking out. BLURB

cw: cursing, panicking(?)

an: lowercase intended

masterlist | join my taglist

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

"no! the cooking oil! that's y/n's coconut oil!" nick, wearing a chef hat and a white apron, snatches the small mason jar from chris' hands. "what is my coconut oil even doing here?" y/n waddles to nick to grab it. "i went to grab it from your bathroom, i thought nick had said coconut oil." chris explains.

"how'd you hear- nevermind." nick sighs and returns to the mixing bowl. "i don't know where their stuff is!" both nick and chris had came over to matt and y/n's apartment as y/n was nearing the end of her pregnancy and matt didn't want her to be alone in case she went into labor.

"the oil is in the kitchen, genius." matt says, and turns to the cabinet where the oil sits behind. "okay, guys, today we are making a cake from scratch!" nick holds up the empty mixing bowl and talks to the camera. "usually we bake boxed cakes, so we decided to switch it up for todays video. and don't worry, we have the expert here, y/n!" she shyly waves to the camera.

she's been in a couple of their videos and the fans adored her. "guys, y/n makes these really good chocolate croissants, but the boss man nick wanted a fucking cake." chris crosses his arms. "hey, what's wrong with cake? we," y/n points to her face and her swollen belly. "also wanted cake." matt laughs. "thank you, y/n and baby. see, chris, i'm not the only one who wanted cake."

"alright, enough about who wanted cake. let's get this show on the road." matt drapes his arm around his pregnant girlfriends shoulders. "okay, chris, pour in two cups of flour." nick reads off of his phone. "where are the measuring cups?" chris looks around. "ugh! motherfucker look around!"

"don't be mean to chris." y/n walks away from matt's hold and opens the drawer to grab the measuring cups. "thank you-" chris starts off. "it's not our fault he's a little bit different." y/n breaks out into a laugh and nick and matt follow her. "okay, okay stop it! i think i peed a little. she's pressing on my bladder."

"alright now that we have all of our dry ingredients mixed together, we're going to add in our wet ingredients." matt says. "how many cups of water do we need?" y/n asks, a bit in discomfort. she's been having a bit of braxton hicks lately, but her doctor said to not worry. however, these were a bit different but, she didn't really pay too much attention to it.

nick tells her how much and she walks towards the sink and pours it. as she walks back nick gasps. "y/n, you spilled the water on yourself." he points to her stained grey sweatpants. "what? no i didn't, look." she holds up the cup that holds the water.

"babe, your water broke!" matt says with widened eyes. "oh my god!" she sets down the cup on the counter and looks down, sure enough her water did break. "i- i don't know how i didn't feel it." she giggles. "chris go- go grab the baby bag it's in the- in the- fuck- the closet by the uh- the door." matt stumbles over his words. chris doesn't do anything but nod and hurry off to get the bag.

"oh my gosh, she's coming? like now?" nick says, y/n laughs as she can't take him seriously with the chef hat on. "y/n, come on, we need to take you to the hospital!" matt places a hand on the small of her back and leads her to the door.

"matt, baby, wait. i need to change my pants." she turns and walks into their shared room. "what? no, you're fine like this! you're in labor." matt says, running a hand through his hair. "hey, calm down, okay." y/n reassures him and holds his face in her hands. "i'm feeling fine as of now, i think we still have some time until i start getting contractions."

"okay, are- are you sure?" she nods. "i'm sure."

"oh!" y/n shrieks, putting a hand on her back as she stands in front of the bathroom counter. she was brushing her hair until she got her very first contraction. "matt, get the car ready!" she take a deep breath and tries to ignore the pain. "come on, come on! chris has the bag, is it okay if they come?"

"i don't care if- fuck." she gets a strong one. "it's okay, you're okay." he kisses her forehead and walks her out the room. "chris lock the door. her keys are on the table." matt tells chris as nick now holds her and walks her out the door. "how are you feeling?" nick says. "like im about to give birth."

"wait! what about the cake?" chris says.

[kooffeecup]

POCKETS OF STARLIGHT

valentine special!

Your soft boyfriend bakes amazing fortune cookies with love notes inside.

genre : fluff fluffff

Pairing : soft baby boy jk! x reader.

Very short and cute

banner by me @kooffeecup

—

The scent of rosemary and burnt crust greeted You as you stepped into the apartment, your keys jingling softly in the quiet. The lights were dimmed, replaced by the flicker of tea candles scattered across the kitchen counter and there, in the center of it all, stood Jungkook.

He was wearing the apron you’d bought him as a joke last Christmas bright pink with “Kiss the Chef” embroidered in looping cursive his sleeves rolled up to reveal faint flour smudges along his forearms. A lasagna sat half-sliced on the stove, its edges charred but the center oozing cheese.

“You… cooked?” You breathed, unable to hide your grin.

Jungkook’s ears reddened. “Tried to,” he mumbled, twisting a dishcloth between his hands. “The recipe said it was ‘foolproof,’ but I think I—oh.”

You crossed the room before he could finish, cupping his face and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. He stilled, then leaned into your touch, his shoulders relaxing.

“It’s perfect,” you said, thumbing away a smudge of tomato sauce on his cheek.

“Liar,” he whispered, but his eyes crinkled, pleased.

Dinner was eaten cross-legged on the living room floor, where Jungkook had built a makeshift fortress of blankets and fairy lights. The lasagna was, objectively, a disaster undercooked in some layers, volcanic in others but You devoured every bite, laughing as Jungkook sheepishly picked blackened noodles off his plate.

“I have dessert,” he announced suddenly, scrambling to his feet. He returned with a lumpy mason jar clutched in his hands, filled with what looked like…

“Fortunes?” You tilted her head.

“Fortunate cookies,” he corrected, cheeks puffing. “I wrote notes inside. For you.” His voice softened. “Just… things I’ve wanted to say but… couldn’t figure out how.”

Your chest tightened. Carefully, you cracked open a cookie. The slip inside read: “Your laugh on rainy days > all my playlists.”

Another, “I stole your shampoo last week. Smells like home.”

Another, “Wish I could paint the way you look when you sleep. But I’d need more colors.”

By the fifth note, your vision blurred. Jungkook watched you, knees drawn to his chest, gnawing his thumbnail until you reached for his hand.

“Baby,” youbwhispered, “this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever....”

“There’s more,” he interjected, suddenly urgent. From beneath the couch, he pulled a small wooden box, its surface sanded smooth and stained the deep blue of twilight. Inside lay a cluster of folded paper stars.

“Open one,” he urged, voice shaky.

You unfolded a star to find a date scribbled inside: 10/22. First time we danced in the kitchen. You were barefoot. I stepped on your toes twice. You said it didn’t hurt. It did. I saw you limp.

Another, 3/14. You cried during that dog documentary. I wanted to hug you but didn’t. Regret it every day.

The last star, Today. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When you looked up, Jungkook’s eyes were glistening, his lips pressed into a wobbly line. Without a word, you tugged him into your lap, his back against your chest, and wrapped your arms around him. He shuddered, melting into your embrace, his fingers interlacing with yours.

“Why the stars?” you asked, nose buried in his hair.

“So you’d always have constellations,” he murmured. “Even on nights the sky’s too dark to see them.”

You stayed like that for hours, trading stories mapped by paper and ink, until the candles burned low. When You finally fetched your gift a hand-bound book of poems she’d written, each one a vignette of their quietest moments Jungkook traced the words with reverent fingers, pausing at the entry titled “Him, in the Half-Light.”

“You see me,” he said quietly.

“Always,” you replied.

Later, as they lay tangled in blankets, Jungkook’s head resting over your heartbeat, You realized he’d slipped something into your palm a final fortune, unfurled to reveal a single request:

“Let me be yours forever?”

Your answer was a kiss, slow and syrup-sweet, and the way his shy hands finally, finally learned the shape of your without trembling.

[tonyspank]

WHO?

Warnings: GN! Reader, fluffy + my poor attempts at humor

Summary: You find out who Jenna Ortega is.

You stand in front of your kitchen counter, watching your monitor as your viewers load into the Twitch chat. You smile watching the chat fly with questions and comments. "Hi, guys!" You wave at the camera, fixing your apron. "Be grateful I'm even streaming this because it was so difficult to get my setup in the kitchen."

You move from the counter to your camera, adjusting it a bit. "There," you mumble to yourself, glancing over to the chat again. "Happy Anniversary." You read off the chat, beginning to smile, "Thank you!"

@coolasacucumber where's babygirl jenna

@teamed28 anniversary??? TIME IS FLYING BROOO

@Versalcool171 why they look kinda cute in that apron

@TggthegreatRede HIIIIII

You move back to the counter, "Jenna isn't here, she's out doing something. But that's good because I'm surprising her with dinner for our anniversary! I have a table set up and everything on our balcony." You tell your viewers. You then look around the kitchen, gathering all the ingredients you need.

Soon a donation message pops up on your monitor and the bot begins reading it aloud. "What does Jenna's farts smell like?"

You pause your movements, standing completely still for a few seconds before moving again. You ignore the question, acting as if you never got it, but the smile on your face gives away your amusement. "Uh, anyway."

You break the silence and continue with your task. You lift up a salmon, "I'm cooking salmon, rice and broccoli for bae." You look up at the chat, watching thousands of reactions appear on the screen. You begin seasoning your salmon with a mixture of herbs and spices, and then place it in the hot pan.

Another donation rings through, "Can you tell us the story of how you met Jenna? I love you so much by the way." You chuckle and reply, "I love you too! Sure, once upon a time..." You say dramatically, laughing at your own joke.

"I was streaming, you know? The usual, then I got a donation."

TWO YEARS AGO

You watch as your screen shows victory, winning another match of Overwatch. Leaning back in your chair, you listen to the donation ringing through your headset. "Have you watched the new Wednesday show on Netflix?"

You furrow your eyebrows as your eyes are fixed on the screen. "Nah, I haven't. Like Wednesday Addams?" You laugh and tilt your head, waiting for the next match to start.

As you wait you decide to check the chat.

@Yuanycat530 Jenna Ortega's in the show

@zenocentric you gotta watch it for mommy jenna

@Momismme3600 its sooo good stg

@amburntfreemansgf MASONS WATCHING STREAM

You sit back up in your chair, adjusting the hat on your head. "Who?" You begin chuckling, completely confused about what your Twitch chat was talking about. "Guys I don't know who Jenna Ortega is."

Suddenly, a flood of messages appear, all talking about Jenna Ortega and the new show she's in. You close out of Overwatch and start sharing your Google to the stream, typing in Jenna Ortega.

You quickly learn that Jenna Ortega is an actress and you begin to recognize her. "Oh, shit. She was in Scream 5 with Mason and David?" You turn your head to the chat before glancing back at the search.

You smile to yourself as you remember the movie. You search in Instagram, looking up Jenna's username, before following her and beginning to scroll through her posts. She was absolutely beautiful; you shock yourself as you can't believe you could forget someone so stunning.

@y/nsdirtysock NOT HER BLUSHING

@amburntfreemansgf IS THIS JOE GOLDBERG?

@mrsasfjerEgads SHES SMILING HELLA HARD

You're knocked out of your daze as your phone begins ringing. You fumble around for your phone, trying to answer it before it goes to voicemail.

You answer it and it's Mason, facetiming you. Mason's face lights up when he sees you. "Why are you going through Jenna's Instagram?!" He laughs and you join in, showing the camera Mason.

"Bro! Chat asked me if I watched her show. I forgot who she was!" Mason grins at his screen, "How could you forget Jenna Ortega?" You shrug and laugh, "I don't know!" Mason laughs again before he places his phone down on his desk, you do the same, rubbing your hands down your face. "Mason join me on Overwatch."

Mason raises an eyebrow, considering the offer. "Sure, but you know I'm bad at this." You smile, loading Overwatch back up. "It's okay, Daddy will carry you." Mason chuckles and playfully rolls his eyes. "Alright, let's see if you can actually carry me this time." Moments later, Mason is in your party, taking a sip of his water.

"My chat says, how did Jenna's profile look?" Mason grins reading off of his live chat on his own screen. You pick an operator, shaking your head. "Tell your chat to stop harassing me," you joke, your smile never fading. Mason chuckles and raises an eyebrow. "Oh, they're just curious. I still can't believe you forgot who Jenna is!"

"Dude! It completely slipped my mind,"  you admit, shrugging. Mason chooses his own operator before walking over to your character and using the "Hello" command. You watch as Mason's character waves and greets your character on the screen. "Imagine if you joined me on Saturday," he says playfully.

His eyes then widen, and he says, Oh, my god, you should join me on Saturday." You can hear the excitement in his voice as he continues, "It'll be so fun, swear, and! And Jenna will be able to make an unforgettable impression." You shake your head, watching your character run to the point.

"Are you trying to play cupid?" You joke, laughing. Mason chuckles and replies, "Well, maybe just a little. But seriously, it would be great to have you there. I'm sure everyone won't mind."

You raise an eyebrow, considering his offer. "Alright, I'll come." You finally agree, unable to resist his infectious enthusiasm. Mason grins triumphantly, clearly pleased with himself.

"Awesome! You won't regret it, I promise," he says, glancing at his chat, leaving you wondering what kind of unforgettable impression Jenna could possibly make.

You huff out when D.Va kills you, leaning back in your chair as you wait to respawn. "Chat. If someone gifts 100 gifted subs, I'll tattoo Jenna's face on my buttocks." You joke, a small smirk on your lips.

Mason chuckles, clearly amused by your playful banter. "Hey, don't underestimate the power of your chat. Who knows, you might end up with a masterpiece on your backside," he teases, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. You laugh along, secretly hoping that no one takes your joke too seriously.

However, as you continue playing, a notification pops up on your screen indicating that someone has indeed gifted 100 subs. Your eyes widen in disbelief. "Ain't no way!"

A FEW HOURS LATER

*jennaortega started following you*

You rise from your bed, clicking on the Instagram notification that pops up on your phone. Ain't no fucking way.

Jenna - So...Saturday? Will a portrait of my face be on your butt?

You - you would like that wouldn't you?

Jenna - I'd prefer somewhere everyone can see Jenna - Maybe your forehead is a better spot

You - lol, how about we get matching ones then? You -that way when we kiss we can really make it look like we have four eyes

Jenna - Kiss? Who said anything about kissing? Jenna - I'm not that kind of girl 🤨

You - oh, so what kind of girl are you? ;)

Jenna - The kind that doesn't appreciate these cheesy pickup lines

You - ooh, dairy free You - completely understandable You - from now on i will acknowledge that

Jenna - xxx-xxx-xxx Jenna - Text me on IMessage

You - yes ma'am! 🫡

Reacted ❤️ to your message.

ONE YEAR LATER

"Chat, I'll let you know I just woke up. Don't mind this..." You say, motioning over your face, as you try to rub the sleep from your eyes. "Sorry if I seem out of it. It takes time for my brain to boot up."

You don't notice the way your chat freaks out about the hickey on your neck, as your focus is still on trying to fully wake up. The hickey, a remnant from last night's passionate embrace, remains unnoticed by you for now.

@h5therx is that a mf hickey

@TheGrapeNinja WHO WAS SUCKING ON UR NECK

@twizzy1 @TheGrapeNinja BLOOD THIS AINT EVEN MY NECK????

"Valorant, or Overwatch?" You ask, finally glancing over at your Twitch chat.

You notice a flurry of comments in the chat, with some viewers teasingly pointing out the hickey on your neck. You pause, staring at the chat, before quickly covering your neck with your hand, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Brooo, I didn't even know I had this," you mutter sheepishly, rubbing your hand over your neck.

The chat explodes with laughter and playful comments about your unexpected love mark. "Is she going to hear a word out of me." you mutter to yourself, talking about your girlfriend as you begin realizing that even the smallest details don't go unnoticed by your loyal viewers.

"Enough about my hickey! Pick a game!" You jokingly yell at your chat, reaching for a hoodie to cover up the mark. As you put on the hoodie, a donation comes through.

You pause for a moment, glancing at the donation message. "You said you were going to play Sims last stream. Don't worry about the hickey, we're just excited to see you play!"

You chuckle at the comment, grateful for the support and understanding from your viewers. With a smile, you reply, "Alright, alright! Sims it is then! Let's be delulu and create our dream life."

You start up the game and glance over to your chat. "Have you guys ever, like, gone to bed with like a thought or try to preload your own dream? Like, I be going to sleep with a specific idea or scenario in mind, hoping it will manifest in my dreams. It's like I'm trying to program my subconscious to create the perfect dream."

You pause, waiting for your viewers' responses, curious if anyone else has tried something similar.

@ricoottv Yes bruh I be dreaming about Gal Gadot dominating me fr

@24kGoldenRing @ricoottv 😨😨😨

@QuannMeline YESSSSS

As the chat starts flooding with responses, you notice that many of your viewers have indeed experimented with preloading their dreams. Some share their success stories, describing how they have had incredible adventures and even found solutions to real-life problems in their dream scenarios.

Others admit to having mixed results, with some dreams turning out exactly as they had hoped while others took unexpected turns. Excitement builds as everyone exchanges tips and techniques, eager to unlock the full potential of their dream worlds.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one." You chuckle and begin creating your Sim, carefully customizing every detail to make them as close to your ideal self as possible. You then put your face-cam side by side with your sim and ask, "Do they look like me?"

You wait for responses from your viewers, trying not to laugh at the potential comparisons they might make.

@tuneskixx it looks like u if u were mentally unstable

@47SH5T Y/N if they were off crack

@k0hjuh EWWWW

@Shaun Why the sim kinda 😍

"Me if I was off crack? Nah, that's wild." You say, rereading one of your subs chat. "Go to the gallery and find your love interest?" You read off, raising an eyebrow. Intrigued, you decide to take a break from creating your Sim and explore the gallery to see if there's a perfect match waiting for you.

There's a search bar, and without hesitation, you type in "Jenna Ortega." You eagerly scroll through the results, hoping to find a Sim that resembles Jenna Ortega.

Some of them look like her, and the others are far off, but you settle on one that seems to capture her essence the best. Excitedly, you click on the Sim and download it into your game.

"Guys, why does this actually look like Jenna?" You exclaim, unable to contain your excitement. "Yoo! They even have her cleft chin. But to be honest, Jenna doesn't really have a cleft chin, it only appears when she smiles or makes certain facial expressions."

@amburntfreemansgf nah bro a Jenna Ortega specialist

@AlexVsJay "jenna doesn't really have a cleft chin it only appears when makes certain facial expressions" 🤓☝️

@Shaun @amburntfreemansgf LMAOOOO

After adding a dog and cat to your household, you start your sim life as Jenna Ortega, her being your wife. You immerse yourself in the game, navigating through your and Jenna's daily activities and adventures.

"What the fuck!" You shout at the screen, your chat begins to fill up with messages at the sight of what's happening.

@mynames_jeff POV last night

@amburntfreemansgf sorry y'all jenna thought that was me 😅

@ricoottv OMGOMG

"Ya'll, I didn't tell them to do this! They real life just hopped out of the hot tub to make out." You tell your chat, watching as your sim and Jenna's sim kiss passionately. The unexpected display of affection between the sims surprises and amuses you, causing your chat to explode with laughter and comments.

You're so immersed in the game that you don't notice Jenna creeping into your room, a plate of cookies in hand.

@amburntfreemansgf BE SO FUCKING FOR REAL

@n6huh JENNA?????&1'

@t8lyer_44 I KNEW THEY WERE TOGETHER

@AlexVsJay Y/N has now becomepublic enemy #1

She sets the plate down on your desk, causing a wave of delicious aroma to fill the air. The smell wafts towards you, distracting you momentarily from the chaos happening on the screen.

You jump when you turn your head and see Jenna standing there, a smile on her face. Your eyes widen as you shut off your camera. "I'm live!" You say, forgetting that your stream can hear you. Jenna's eyes widen.

You two have been dating for quite a while, but you didn't tell anyone about your relationship.

"Do you think they saw me?" Jenna asks, her voice filled with concern. You shake your head before shrugging, "I don't know, baby. Shit, this is my fault. I should've told you I was live."

A donation rings through, catching both of your attention. You glance at the screen to see a message from a viewer, "Uhhh...the mic is on. Anyways, hi Jenna!" Jenna's face flushes with embarrassment as she realizes that your viewers heard everything.

Your jaw drops, and you decide to turn the camera back on again since it seems like the damage has already been done. You take a deep breath and address the viewers, "Well, I guess there's no hiding it now. Yes, Jenna and I are dating."

Jenna looks at you nervously, unsure of how the viewers will react. You continue, "We wanted to keep it private for a while, but that was kind of difficult." Jenna sits on your lap, waving at the camera. "Hi, everyone." You chuckle nervously, trying to ease the tension.

"We hope you all understand why we wanted to keep it quiet," you add, trying to reassure both Jenna and the audience. "But we also didn't want to hide something that makes us so happy." The viewers' reactions start pouring in, a mix of surprise, support, and curiosity.

Curiosity also makes its way to your and your girlfriend's faces as your Sims start to Woo-hoo in the hot tub. "Is...that us?" Jenna asks, her eyes widening with a smirk playing on her lips. You cover your face with your hands.

"Ain't no way, bruh." You mumble to yourself.

Another donation rings out, "DON'T ACT LIKE YALL WASN'T DOING THAT SAME STUFF LAST NIGHT. WE SEEN THE HICKEY!"

"AIN'T NO WAY!" You shout dramatically, causing Jenna to burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound.

[drjae69]

PRIVATE PRACTICE

Mistress Doctor Tegan recently graduated medical school however instead of going to work at her nearby hospital she had another thing in mind . Along with her associates they founded a private practice that catered to a certain clientele that value discretion and privacy and domination in mind . It officially opened at stores a few weeks ago and already has a devoted following that came with it . Mistress Dr. Teagan begins her day with a warm black coffee from a nearby local café before making her way to the clinic . She first catches up on paperwork for incoming and outgoing patients before preparing to see her first patient . She dawns her boots and latex apron along carefully tying it along with her long black rubber gloves . As she hears her assistant signing in her first patient she gets her medical supplies ready having already decontaminated the theater the night before she waited . Not a moment too soon her assistant came in. She was leading the slave him on all fours whipping him as he went . She would coldly greet the slave and instruct him upright for her to inspect him . Giving the slave once over it was as she expected given the impression from the photo he was a twink and a very fem one too . She would instruct him to sit on her gyno chair and told him that she would begin momentarily. As he got situated, she cleaned her gear. She then would secure the slave to her chair, making sure to restraint his legs and arms .

She wouldn’t let him know why he was here telling him that his mistress has instructed her to castrate him and perform a bilateral orchiectomy along with permanent chastity . She would make herself clear and was this all that he wanted if not, she could not continue he consented as his mistress wished as well and she got started without hesitation . She would begin by inserting the IV drip into his arm before injecting him with local anesthetic and muscle relaxer . As he numbed, she quietly cleaned his genitals of hair and once she was satisfied. She repossessed him to where he could see her work away on him. but before she started she decided to give him something . She begun to stroke him off, waiting until his cock reached that maximum size (which wasn’t much ) . As she went, he grown and moaned and as he reached edging and without a moment hesitation, she begun . As he could feel nothing down there she would begin to cut. Slowly slicing open his scrotum and pulling out a teste with one hand and stroking with the owner . She delicately cut the testy off and there by spoiling the orgasm . As it remain errect, she pulled out the other before cutting it off, placing both in a formaldehyde filled mason jar . As she close him up, his penis contracted in the back to his flaccid state the slave visibly shaking .

Once he was all cleaned up she congratulated the slave and announced that he wasn’t a slave anymore and he can’t graduated from a slave to a sissy and this was his new life now . She then retrieved a small cage from her draw and placed it on his cock tightening it to its maximum extent before locking it . As she wrapped up, she retrieved a catheter from her draw and prepared it slowly inserting it into his urethra and attaching it to a bag that she fixed onto his calf . She would unrestrained him from his seat, bringing him down to a waiting wheelchair . She then wheeled him out to his waiting mistress and reported a total success and advised the mistress to change his catheter regularly and monitor his healing progress. She also prescribed painkillers for when the local wore off gave the couple a gift of the severed testes in the jar . As the other mistress left Tegan got to cleaning up her workspace for the next patient of hers in finished she went off to lunch thinking about her next patient .

[cabotwife]

Johanna with baker reader

Promises

johanna mason x fem!baker!reader

warnings: uh. freak jo.. not proofread

word count: idk im on my phone. i'll check eventually.

a/n: shittily written while at work bc i didnt wanna get home and forget to post today. 💔 writing at work is so embarrassing omfg kms

you don’t expect her to show up.

the bakery smells like cinnamon and sweat—your sweat, specifically—because it’s early and hot, and you’re already elbow-deep in dough.

grease lines your forearms, and there's flour smudged across your cheek, but you barely care. you’re focused on braiding a row of sweetbread when the bell above the door rings.

you glance up, expecting the usual—a groggy merchant, maybe someone’s kid with a coin for a roll. what you don’t expect is your favorite loudmouth, leaning in your doorway like she owns the place.

“well,” she says, eyes raking over you in a way that makes your stomach twist. “you weren’t kidding about the apron thing.”

you blink. “what are you doing here?”

johanna shrugs, stepping inside. she’s all sharpness and slouch, a mess of wild hair and heavy boots that leave muddy streaks on your clean floor. “you told me to stop by. remember?” her voice is casual, but there’s something expectant in her eyes.

you did. kind of. sort of. half joking over coffee two days ago, when she’d sat too close and stolen one of your muffins without asking.

“i didn’t think you actually would,” you say, quieter now. embarrassed by how fast your heart is beating.

she smirks, like she knows. “well, here I am. came for a pastry. stayed for the view.”

you roll your eyes, but your face is burning. you turn back to the counter, trying to remember how to use your hands.

“so…” the brunette says, now right behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of her breath on your neck. “what does a girl have to do to get a bun around here?”

you choke on a laugh. “you’re terrible.”

“debatable.”

you glance back at her. “you want something sweet or savory?”

johanna leans in, voice low. “i want whatever you made. with your hands.”

and that shouldn’t make you blush—really, it shouldn’t—but it does. "i make everything with my hands, dumbass." you hand her a still-warm honey twist without looking at her.

she takes it. her fingers brush yours. you pretend not to notice. she doesn’t.

one bite in, she groans—actually groans—and you nearly drop your whole tray.

“oh my god,” she says, around a mouthful. “okay, marry me.”

you snort. “you’re the worst.”

she grins, licking sugar off her thumb. “still standing in your bakery at six in the morning, though.”

you shake your head, but your lips are twitching. because she’s right. and you kind of love it.

kind of love her, too.

but that’s another recipe you’re not quite ready to touch.

[heykaya]

NPC Reactions to Specific Clothing

Extracted from the game’s code (19th April 2025)

Reactions to specific clothing during combat.

Index: Upper Clothing, Lower Clothing, Upper Underwear, Lower Underwear, Face, Legs.

Upper Clothing

School Shirt

"Always wanted to fuck a student."

"Still going to school, I see."

"Call me teacher."

"I've got a lot to teach you."

(If NPC is a teen)

“The school uniform looks good on you."

"I hate how they make us wear these."

"Call me teacher."

"I've got a lot to teach you."

(If the NPCs are Sirris, River, Doren, Winter, Mason, or Leighton)*

"At least you're following the dress code." (If in school)

"Still eager to learn?" (If elsewhere)

*as far as I know, encounters can only happen with Leighton. The others were likely added in for future use.

Sundress

"What a cute little dress."

"I like your dress."

"So cute and innocent."

Evening Gown

"You look like an expensive whore."

"Classy."

Ballgown

"Beautiful."

"Looks like I stole someone's dance partner."

"I almost feel bad about getting your clothes dirty."

Kimono/Mini Kimono

"How exotic."

"Where'd you get this?"

"You even dressed up for me."

Maid Dress

"Time to service your master.”

"I'm your master now."

"Call me master."

Nun’s Habit

"Trying to look virtuous? No one's buying it, slut."

"You think that's going to protect you?"

"Pious girls are all the more fun to ravage."

"Always wanted to fuck a nun."

Tank Top

"Only sluts wear tank tops."

"Really shows off your chest."

Crop Top

"Really shows off your nice, tight body."

Tube Top

"You're barely wearing anything."

"You may as well be running around in underwear."

Plant Top

"How strange."

"What is that?"

"You look like a mermaid."

"Has an odd charm."

"Lost your clothes?"

"That can't be hygienic."

"Is that made of plants?"

Towel Top

"Were you in a hurry?"

"You need to get yourself some new clothes."

"Nice and easy to take off."

T-Shirt

"That shirt's doing a poor job of hiding your cute body."

Sweater

"You're adorable."

"Why so shy?"

Serafuku/Gakuran

"What a cute outfit."

"Are you one of those anime nerds?"

"Always wanted to fuck a girl in one of these."

Babydoll Lingerie

"You're really asking for it, wearing that."

"So sexy."

"God you're hot."

"You can't expect me to control myself if you dress like that."

Turtleneck

"You look so slutty in that."

"Only sluts dress like this."

"Cute tummy."

"You're so slim."

Tuxedo Jacket

"Looks like you were on your way to somewhere fancy. You're stuck with me now."

"Trying to pass as a boy?" (If PC is a girl)

"Classy."

Pajama Shirt

"Looks like someone forgot to dress this morning." (If not at home)

"How unflattering."

"Don't sell yourself short."

Lower Clothing

Pajama Bottoms

"Forget to dress this morning?" (If not at home)

"How unflattering."

"Don't sell yourself short."

Waist Apron

"Already dressed for service, huh?"

"Cute apron."

Shorts

"These show off your legs nicely."

"Wish you were wearing something tighter."

Tuxedo Trousers

"Were you on your way to somewhere fancy? You're stuck with me now."

"Do you enjoy dressing as a boy?" (If PC is female)

"Nice trousers."

"I'll try not to dirty your fancy trousers too much."

Board Shorts

"I hope you enjoy your swim."

"I prefer shorts to be shorter."

Breeches

"Really show off your legs.”*

(grammatically, isn’t supposed to be “showS off your legs”? idk. this is what the code says tho)

Cycling Shorts

"The sight of your cute bottom in those tight shorts is driving me crazy."

"Those don't leave much to the imagination. I'm not complaining."

"Do I see a wet patch between your legs?"

"That tight fabric is so inviting."

"I want to run my hands all over that."

Jeans

"They really accentuate your legs."

Trousers

"You should wear something tighter."

Mini Skirt

"Only total sluts wear them this short."

"That short skirt is driving me crazy."

"I like them short."

Plant Skirt

"How strange."

"What is that?"

"You look like a mermaid."

"Has an odd charm."

"Lost your clothes?"

"That can't be hygienic."

"Is that made of plants?"

Towel Bottom

"Were you in a hurry?"

"You need to get yourself some new clothes."

"Nice and easy to take off."

School Shorts

"The uniform shorts fit you." (If NPC is a teen)

"Always wanted to fuck a school boy."

"Nice and tight."

"Aren't those for boys?" (If PC is female)

"What a tomboy you are." (If PC is female)

School Skirt

"The uniform skirt suits you." (If NPC is a teen)

"Always wanted to fuck a school girl."

"Do you get off on people thinking you're a girl?" (If NPC is a teen & if PC is male)

"Do your classmates know you're a boy?" (If PC is male)

Long Cut Skirt/Short Cut Skirt/Long Skirt

"I love a skirt. So easy to pull up."

"I'm glad you're wearing a skirt. Makes things easy."

School Trousers

"You're such a tomboy." (If PC is female)

"You should wear something more revealing."

"Always wanted to fuck a school boy."

Upper Underwear

School Swimsuit/Foreign School Swimsuit

"I'll leave you a wet mess."

"Always wanted to fuck the girls in my class in their swimsuits." (If NPC is a teen)

"Always wanted to fuck a student in one of these swimsuits."

"School swimsuits are so hot."

Leotard/Skimpy Leotard/Unitard

"That leotard leaves little to the imagination."

"So nice and tight."

"That leotard really accentuates your body."

"I love athletic girls.” (If PC is female)

"I love athletic boys.” (If PC is male)

Swimsuit

"I'll leave you a wet mess."

"Always wanted to fuck a'girl'in a swimsuit." (If PC is male)

"Always wanted to fuck a girl in a swimsuit."

"What a cute swimsuit."

"Your swimsuit is so hot."

Bunny Leotard

"That leotard leaves nothing to the imagination."

"So nice and tight."

"That leotard really accentuates your body."

"Your body deserves a tip."

"Are you in heat, bunnygirl?"

"You look just like those in magazines."

Bikini Top

"Cute bikini."

"I bet you give people lots of awkward boners on the beach." (If NPC has a penis)

"I bet you've gotten countless pussies wet." (Otherwise)

Catgirl Bra

"You're a cute one."

"Quite the playful one, aren't you?"

Lace Bra

"Sexy and tasteful."

"That's pretty lewd."

Microkini Top

"You're lewd indeed if you go swimming like this."

Plain Bra

"Plain, but pretty."

Sports Bra

"I love sexy sportswear."

"You're quite athletic, aren't you?"

Lower Underwear

Plain Panties

"Plain, but pretty."

Bikini Bottoms

"Cute bikini."

"I bet you cause lots of awkward boners wearing this at the beach." (If NPC has a penis)

"You're making me so wet." (Otherwise)

Lace Panties

"Lewd yet classy."

Briefs

"Aren't those for boys?"

"I might keep these as a souvenir."

School Swim Shorts

"I've always wanted to fuck a school boy wearing these."

"So glad they make the uniform swimsuits so tight."

"Did you steal those from the boys' changing room?" (If PC is female)

"Aren't those for boys? They're nice and tight still." (If PC is female)

Boyshorts

"These really show off your bottom."

"So spankable."

Catgirl Panties

"So cute."

"How playful."

G-String

"I love these."

"They barely cover anything."

Crotchless Panties

"Kinky."

"Don't even need to remove them."

Microkini Bottom

"You must be pretty perverted to go swimming in this."

Striped Panties

"Shimapan!"

"Very cute."

"Cute colours."

Speedo

"Aren't those for boys? Hot though." (If PC is female)

"So tight."

Face

Glasses

"I'll break those if you don't behave."

"Fucking nerd."

"How'd you like to have your glasses smashed?"

"You must be picked on all the time with those."

"How much those cost? Maybe I'll take them."

"I love girls with glasses."

"Cute glasses."

"Fashionable."

"They suit you."

"Nice eyewear."

Legs

Tights

"Your legs look so smooth."

"Makes me want to run my hands all over them."

"Such a tease."

Boy’s/Girl’s Gym Socks

"Cute socks."

Fishnet Stockings/Fishnet Tights

"You look like a whore."

"I love fishnets."

Stockings/Garter Stockings

"Classy."

Legwarmers

"How cute."

Degrees of Lewdity - Text Based Masterpost

[faithschaoschronicles]

Home is where the heart is||Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary—Bucky never had a family to call his own until he met you and your kids and today he wants everything to be perfect.

Word count — 727

You woke up to silence.

Which, as any mom knows, was suspicious.

Usually, Sundays started with eight-year-old Ellie bouncing on the bed and four-year-old Jack trying to put cereal in the toaster. But this morning, the air was soft, the light was golden, and for once, no one was yelling.

You blinked, stretched, and reached for the empty space beside you—only to find it cold.

“Bucky?” you murmured, voice raspy.

No answer.

Then you smelled bacon.

And heard the faint whisper of children giggling down the hall.

A slow smile spread across your face.

Mother’s Day.

You lay there for another minute, smiling to yourself, before sitting up—and that’s when you saw it:

A single flower in a mason jar on the nightstand.

A daisy.

With a note scrawled in crayon.

“Stay in bed, Mama. Love, Jack (and Daddy and Ellie but mostly me)”

You laughed quietly, heart full, and nestled back under the covers like you were told.

Ten minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open.

Jack appeared first, proudly carrying a tray nearly the size of his torso. His tongue stuck out with concentration, and the orange juice sloshed dangerously with every step.

Ellie followed behind, her curls bouncing, holding a folded card that looked like it had at least two glue sticks’ worth of decorations.

And then came Bucky.

Hair a little messy, beard soft and scruffy, wearing a worn “#1 Dad” apron you’d gotten him as a joke last Christmas.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and warm.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Ellie beamed, hopping onto the bed beside you.

Jack wobbled forward and carefully placed the tray in your lap. “We made pancakes! And Daddy let me flip ‘em and only one burned!”

“Two,” Ellie whispered.

Bucky raised his brows. “Three.”

You laughed and pulled them both into a hug, kissing the tops of their heads. “This is already perfect.”

They beamed, climbing into bed with you as Bucky handed you the card.

You opened it to see childlike drawings of your family: You with a superhero cape, Bucky holding a spatula, Ellie with sparkly shoes, and Jack with what looked like… a lightsaber.

Scrawled underneath:

“Mommy, you’re the heart of our home. Love you forever.”

Your throat tightened.

Bucky sat beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles through the blanket. “They came up with that line themselves. I just helped with the spelling.”

You looked up at him, eyes a little misty. “You guys…”

He kissed your temple. “You do everything for this family. Every scraped knee, every school pickup, every bedtime story… You’ve been our glue. We just wanted to give you a morning to breathe.”

“And pancakes,” Jack said proudly.

You nodded seriously. “And excellent pancakes.”

He grinned, and you let him sneak a bite off your fork.

After breakfast, Bucky shooed the kids out with a promise of cartoons and told you to stay put.

You frowned playfully. “Bucky, I can help clean—”

“Nope,” he said, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Your only job today is to feel loved.”

He left, and when he returned twenty minutes later, he was holding something behind his back.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Close your eyes.”

You did.

“Now open.”

In his hands was a photo album—handmade, the cover stitched with your name in messy thread.

Inside were printed photos—snapshots of all your moments together, from chaotic mornings to quiet nights. Ellie’s first piano recital. Jack’s muddy soccer game. Halloween costumes, Christmas cookies, Bucky in the middle of it all.

And on the last page: a family picture you didn’t even remember him taking. All of you in the living room, piled on the couch, smiling so hard it made your cheeks hurt.

Underneath it, he’d written:

“Thank you for giving me a family.”

You looked up at him, your heart overflowing.

He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you sweetly, slowly, reverently.

“I never knew peace until I came home to you,” he whispered.

“And I never knew love could feel this easy,” you breathed.

You pulled him into bed with you, the photo album pressed to your chest, your kids’ laughter echoing down the hall.

And in that moment—wrapped in his arms, your babies safe and happy, love blooming around you—you realized something:

This was the life you built.

And it was beautiful.

[girls--complex]

This is the 12th dimensional Traum that swims inside of the hyperkosmic sun and here are her attributes

6 arms and 6 wings and 4 legs (10armlegs)

Solar halo

Antenna for making intercession and listening to cosmic rays

Yaupon and Bettony wreath for wakefulness and healing

Scales for Justice

Vajra for Discipline

Sword for Truth

Masonic Apron for mastery of ritual technology

Serpent tail that is beheaded and ever bleeding open wound that is topped by the star Acrux that symbolizes the perpetual renewal of human-nature thru apophatic withdrawal.......

Top hands are engaged in Worship

Lower hand reaches to You

[cher-rei]

27 w trent :)

date night [ T.A.A ]

I like the way you stare into my eyes [soren– beabadoobee]

pairing: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: date night? but on a baking show? and he's flirting with you?

genre(s): flufffffff

[wc: 1.9k]

notes: my little take on lando's chicken shop date a few months ago xxx

baking up chemisty: date night. that was this evening's episode and you were all too excited because of the guest that the director was able to reach out to. you'd had your fair share of football players on the show and it was so much fun.

it was a fan favourite to have you bring out a different side to the usual personal football players put up on camera, so it was highly requested. just last week you baked a horrible excuse for a lava cake with marcus rashford which was all too fun.

not too long after the episode aired, twitter was blowing up over the interaction and thanking you for having him as a guest wherein fact it should be the other way around. viewers loved that you didn't shy away from any of your guests and praised you for the chemistry you tended to have with them instead of keeping it formal.

so when the guest of this week's episode was announced, you bet that the show had a trending hashtag again.

you stood in front of the camera, behind the counter of the kitchen-styled set that felt so close to home. you accounted for all the ingredients on the counter one last time before it was quiet on set, everyone's eyes on the director.

"action."

"good evening everyone." a smile set on your lips, "and welcome back to 'date night'!"

from the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of this evening's guest who had you feeling a little more nervous than usual. "tonight, we have a very special guest joining us, a football star known for his skills on the field and his charm off it."

a hearty chuckle came from him off-camera that sent your heart leaping but your eyes remained on the camera. "and before anyone asks–" you sighed in mock disappointment. "no, it isn't mason mount. trust me, I tried."

behind the camera once again, there were a few laughs that lightened the mood of the studio. that's what you loved most about it– the atmosphere and how there wasn't a set script. when you were hired, your director, lewis shaw, gave you one clear instruction– "go with the flow."

and that's exactly what you found yourself doing for every shoot. having genuine conversations with your guests and keeping the atmosphere lighthearted and entertaining. it helped a great deal in making it less suffocating, and more rewarding.

which is why you loved your job so much, being a presenter was one thing. but being given the freedom to do as pleased as long as you do it well was a privilege.

"please welcome trent alexander-arnold!"

the studio was filled with cheer as they greeted the right back as he made his way beside you, adorning a bashful smile and the two of you exchanged a friendly hug that you tried to keep as professional as possible.

after the formalities were set aside it was time to properly start with the segment, and to do so you quickly grabbed something from one of the cabinets and handed it to trent who was more than familiar with what was in the box.

he mocked a gasp and delicately held up the black apron. it wasn't just plain, however, on the right pocket side there was your name and his embroidered beneath it with a heart.

"I've never felt so special my entire life," he said teasingly. "I can't believe I have matching aprons with everyone who was on this show."

you couldn't help but roll your eyes at his comment. it was customary that everyone got an apron with a similar design, only with their name on it. you shook your head to the side and bit back your smile as you looked at him. "yours is different though."

trent cocked his head to the side amused. "oh really?"

you gestured to the apron, "there's a heart on yours, and–" you fished something else from the cabinet and held it up proudly, "we're matching. you're the only guest I have matching aprons with."

a chuckle left his lips once again and you felt something tug at your heart. he was standing beside you so casually, amused by an apron and your quips and you couldn't help but wonder what it looked like from the viewers' perspective.

soon after you were done putting your aprons on, you began with the interview part. eager questions and playful answers leaving your mouths as if it were just the two of you in the studio. " I have to ask. have you any experience in the kitchen? this is a safe space, don't worry."

he looked down at the rolling pin in his hands and gave a lopsided smile. " I'm afraid not. I'm more comfortable on the pitch than I am with a rolling pin."

it was your turn to laugh, your hands absentmindedly adding the dry ingredients into the bowl while trent passed them on. "I mean we're only baking chocolate chip cookies. I'm sure you'll be fine."

he leant in a bit closer, watching carefully as you measured the amount of baking powder to add in. "chocolate chip cookies are actually a favourite in my family. a close friend of mine once baked a batch for a family movie night and ever since then my mum and brothers see it as an essential when she comes over."

a flush of pink rose to your cheeks instantly but you tried to play it off and cleared your throat. "wow she must be really good then."

trent shrugged his shoulders with a flick of mischief in his eyes. "she's okay I guess."

you glared at him from the corner of your eye and handed the bowl to trent so that he could put it in the mixer with the slow adding of the wet ingredients. "well then, what's your idea of the perfect date?"

you listened as he hummed in thought, adding to the whir of the mixer until it was done.

"I think just spending your time with someone special you know? it doesn't have to be anything fancy. just good company and good conversation."

his answer prompted you to nod in agreement. "I'm heavy on the good company part."

the space between the two of you decreased immensely, as you were now standing flush against his side while gathering the batter and putting it onto the cooking tray.

"oh really?" he questioned suddenly which caught you off guard. "what do you look for in a partner?"

your head quipped to look at him with your eyebrows raised but he innocently continued with putting the batter down. a scoff left your lips. "I'm supposed to be interviewing you right now."

"interview?" he asked and spared you a quick glance. "I thought this was a date, love."

you froze in your spot, unable to fully comprehend what was happening because all you wanted to do was wipe that smile off his face. but you had to carry on. once again you found yourself clearing your throat, watching as trent took the initiative to put the tray in the oven.

"well then?" he asked.

"I'm not picky." you walked over to the sink and put some soap on your hands while he did the same. "just someone genuine and passionate. I need to feel loved, not just be in love. and how about you?"

a low hum echoed from beside you and he put on the tap and rinsed the soap from them. he locked eyes with you and grinned, "someone who can keep up with me, both on and off the pitch. and maybe someone who can bake a decent batch of cookies."

you playfully rolled your eyes. "well I think most people can manage that. so, what do you value most?"

unlike yours at the moment, trent's expression softened and before you knew it your hands were in his beneath the running tap, lukewarm water having no match for the feeling of his hands on yours.

"honesty and trust," he looked up at you with his nose scrunched. "and a sense of humour never hurts."

you looked up at him with your eyes slightly squinted, sharing a moment of silent communication, but I know something that will.

not too long after, the episode wrapped up and you bid your goodbye to the viewers until next week, while also thanking trent for joining you for the evening.

he was more than delighted to be as modest as he could and waved it off with a, "the pleasures all mine. we should really do this again sometime."

it took a lot for you not to roll your eyes at him but you remained professional until you heard the director yell, "and cut! that's a wrap, well done, everyone!"

at that. your shoulders relaxed with a heavy sigh. this was by far the most stressful episode that you'd ever filmed, which completely went against your original statement.

you watched as the rest of the camera crew flooded to the break room, leaving you and trent alone on set. when it was all clear you turned to look at him with your lips pursed.

"one job. you had one job," you said blatantly but he couldn't suppress his smile, his hand instinctively finding yours on the kitchen counter and putting it in his.

your eyes bored into his, the sound of a familiar laugh leaving his lips before ge placed a gentle kiss on your hand. "you wanted chemistry and I gave you chemistry. I think I did my job very well actually."

"oh really?" you quipped sarcastically but that wasn't enough to get at him, in fact it only amused him even more.

the space between you lessened in a matter of seconds, his hands were now draped around your waist and slowly reaching for the back of your apron that was still on. he nodded in agreement and continued to gently untie your apron.

"but what did you expect?" he asked again and placed it on the counter. "how was I supposed to act natural around you? you're literally my girlfriend, so this is natural for me."

you couldn't bite back your smile anymore, not with the excited gleam in his eyes. "but you could've toned it down a bit, trent."

his eyes widened slightly and a quick peck was placed on your cheek. "tone it down?" he shook his head at your response, saying that he was being way too obvious but he didn't care. you'd been together for nearly 3 years, so he'd be more than delighted to have people finally find out.

"and miss the opportunity to tease you like this? baby you were an absolute blushing mess and I enjoyed every single moment."

no way you were blushing that much. you refused to believe it, and said that it was just his way of trying to embarrass you right now. you pulled away from his grasp and began to pack up your things, your boyfriends loving gaze watching you as you complained about his behavior.

he wasn't really paying attention, but he loved seeing how riled up you were and considered this as payback for every single day that you've been together that you've had him blushing like an idiot. it was only fair that he got you back eventually.

"I really wished that we had mason mount on today," you muttered and his smile immediately dropped.

"woah there," he interjected in disapproval and you turned to look at him with your arms crossed. "but we had fun today!"

"yeah but I would've had fun with mason too."

"incorrect."

your eyebrows raised at trent's sudden quip, "you can't just say--"

"wrong," he interrupted again with a smile, watching you from the other side of the counter."

you shook your head to the side as he made his way to your side, the same cheeky smile plastered on his face. "you're such a child I swear."

he hummed contently and took your bag, using his free hand to hold yours as he usually did. you felt another jolt in your stomach, the swarm of butterflies only worsening when trent pressed a light kiss to your temple. "it takes one to know one, love."

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.18)

Chapter Eighteen: “Man Flu”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Seventeen: “The Hellfire Club” Next Chapter: Chapter Nineteen: “Soup, Sickness, Stardom”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Eighteen: “Man Flu”

It starts with a cinnamon roll.

Not just any cinnamon roll- this one’s the size of a hubcap, fresh from the oven, still warm enough to melt the drizzle of maple icing that oozes over the edge of the wax paper. You’re two bites in, already sugar-drunk and smiling, when Eddie appears behind you holding an entire bouquet of mismatched herbs like he’s just wandered in from a Renaissance fair.

He presses the whole chaotic bundle to your chest like it’s a dozen roses. “For you, m’lady.”

You blink at the sage, rosemary, and- was that a lone sprig of mint? “We’re making soup, not love spells.”

Eddie winks. “Why not both?”

You laugh, tucking the bouquet into the reusable tote swinging from your shoulder. The late-morning sun filters through rows of canvas tents, catching the glint of Eddie’s rings as he reaches for your hand. The farmer’s market is in full swing: babies in pumpkin hats, fresh cider being poured from mason jars, someone playing acoustic guitar near the kettle corn stand.

A handwritten chalkboard by the bread booth reads: “Thanksgiving orders due by next week!”

You glance at it as you pass, your fingers still laced with Eddie’s. “Gotta remember to ask Wayne what sides should we bring. Assuming the Munson Men Extravaganza is still happening.”

Eddie snorts. “He’s been watching turkey brining tutorials since September. It’s happening. He’s talking about bringing out two folding tables this year. Like he’s expecting the Pope.”

“Or Corroded Coffin.”

“…Same thing, really.”

He steals a sip from your cider without asking, grinning when you give him a mock glare. You stop to admire some heirloom tomatoes so lumpy and vibrant they look like they belong in an art museum, and Eddie holds up a gourd shaped like a goose and does a voice that’s somewhere between Elmo and a villainous butler. You can’t stop laughing. He ends up buying the stupid goose gourd.

The tote fills with produce: sweet potatoes, garlic bulbs with their papery skins still intact, a bag of ruby-colored apples you picked together. Eddie insists on buying fresh sage even though he doesn’t know what to do with it. You snag a pie for later. You share another cinnamon roll. By the time you head home, the air smells like bonfires and cider, and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

The van smells like cinnamon and earth, the heater valiantly fighting off the late autumn chill as you both pile in with your haul. Eddie tosses the gourd-goose into the backseat with a flourish, where it rolls precariously close to the edge before settling against his empty guitar case. He catches your amused look and grins, reaching over to tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear- his fingers lingering, warm against your skin.

"Alright, chef," he says, shifting the van into gear with one hand, the other still resting casually on your thigh. "You’re in charge of the kitchen. I’m in charge of the vibes."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what exactly does that entail?"

Eddie’s smirk is pure mischief as he pulls onto the road, the radio crackling to life with some fuzzy classic rock station. "Me, dramatically taste-testing everything while pretending to be a Food Network judge. Maybe wearing an apron. Maybe not wearing an apron."

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean into the passenger seat, the warmth of him beside you, the promise of an afternoon tangled up in spices and each other. The leaves outside blur into a whirl of gold and crimson, and for a moment, everything feels impossibly, perfectly right.

"Deal," you say, stealing one last bite of cinnamon roll before he can. "But only if you let me feed you apple slices like a noble steed."

Eddie throws his head back with a laugh, the sound rich and unrestrained, filling the van like sunlight. "Sweetheart, you can feed me whatever you want."

The day stretches ahead- full of possibility, full of Eddie.

The gourd-goose watches judgmentally from the backseat. You ignore it.

The door swings open with a familiar creak, letting in a gust of wind and the smell of turning leaves. Eddie shoulder-bumps it closed behind him, arms full of groceries, keys still dangling from his pinky as he nearly trips over a discarded boot.

“Welcome to Casa Munson,” he announces, stepping around a laundry basket like he’s dodging landmines. “Home of fine cuisine, questionable counter hygiene, and one very judgmental gourd.”

You follow him in with your own tote, nose pink from the cold and heart stupidly full. The house soon smells like cinnamon from the pie tucked under your arm and just a hint of whatever incense Eddie lit earlier that’s still ghosting through the hallway. Something vaguely woodsy and mystical. Probably called Witch’s Elbow or Druid Sweat or something equally stupid that he swore smelled like “autumn and sex.”

By the time you set everything down on the kitchen counters, Eddie’s already dumped his tote unceremoniously across the counter like a game show prize. Apples roll in every direction. The fresh sage flutters dramatically to the floor.

“Oops,” he says. Zero remorse.

You sigh, stepping over a shallot. “Eddie-”

“Relax, chef, I’ve got this.” He dramatically tosses on an apron he absolutely didn’t need to grab- black with a red skull on it that says Kiss the Cook or Perish. “Today’s special: chicken noodle soup à la Munson.”

“You’re not even cutting the vegetables.”

“I’m here for moral support and mid-cooking karaoke.”

True to his word, the speaker is queued up in seconds, blasting a power ballad from the '70s while you start chopping carrots. Eddie pulls out a spoon and pretends it’s a microphone, wailing into it like he’s on stage. He nearly knocks over the stock pot twice. You catch the edge of it with one hand while still slicing with the other, giving him a look that says I swear to God, if you start juggling the garlic again…

“Soup!” he sings, spinning in socked feet across the kitchen floor. “The meal of the emotionally stable and incredibly sexy!”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, carefully placing celery into the pot. “Remind me again what you’re contributing?”

“Vibes,” he says, without missing a beat. Then he steals a carrot stick, eats it like a gremlin, and immediately burns his tongue on a noodle you’d just tested for doneness. “Ow… worth it.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. This is normal. This is your normal.

Eddie rummages in the fridge for something that isn’t needed- like capers or grape jelly, and launches into a dramatic monologue about “elevating the flavor profile” while you roll your eyes and quietly season the broth the way you like it. Eventually, he does help, if you can call dramatically crumbling herbs over the pot “helping.” At one point, he dips a finger into the simmering broth and tastes it with all the seriousness of a Michelin judge.

“Damn,” he says, blinking at his finger. “You’re a sorceress.”

“I told you that mint wasn’t going in.”

“Yeah, yeah. But tell me this doesn’t taste like a warm hug from a sexy forest witch.”

You bump him with your hip. “A soup witch.”

Eddie grins, sidling closer, voice dropping to a purr. “A soup witch who owns my heart.”

He’s too much- and not enough, all at once.

Eventually, the soup is done, the kitchen looks like a bomb went off, and you both end up on the couch with steaming mismatched bowls, knees touching under the throw blanket. He makes airplane noises while feeding you a spoonful, just to get you to roll your eyes again. It works.

And even though the dishes are stacked high and there’s flour on your sleeve and a gourd on the windowsill silently judging you both- you’re full. In all the best ways.

The afternoon light paints the living room in warm golds and deep shadows as you both lounge on the couch, soup bowls abandoned on the coffee table. Eddie's arm is slung lazily over your shoulders, his fingers absently playing with the ends of your hair. The gourd sits on the windowsill like some kind of rustic, disapproving chaperone.

"Y'know," Eddie muses, staring at the ceiling with that particular look he gets when he's about to say something ridiculous, "I think we should name it."

You follow his gaze to the gourd. "The goose-gourd abomination?"

"Exactly." He sits up slightly, pointing at it with the hand not currently wrapped around you. "That's clearly a being of great wisdom and judgment. We should honor it."

You snort. "It looks like it's about to call the cops on us."

Eddie gasps, clutching his chest in mock offense. "How dare you. That's Sir Reginald Gooseworth the Third, esteemed member of the Gourd Peerage and part-time soup critic." He pauses, then grins. "Also, he definitely saw me shirtless earlier and liked it, so he can't judge anything."

You burst out laughing, shoving his shoulder as he collapses back against the couch cushions, cackling. The movement makes his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above his waistband, and you don't miss the way his breath hitches when your fingers brush against it as you settle back against him.

Sir Reginald watches on in silent, gourdly judgment.

The record player in the corner crackles to life with the next album- something slow and bluesy that Eddie had put on earlier. The music fills the space between you, warm and familiar, like the weight of his arm around you or the way his thumb traces absent circles against your shoulder.

"You're staring," Eddie murmurs, though he doesn't sound the least bit bothered by it. If anything, he preens under your attention, his smirk lazy and satisfied.

"Just admiring my handiwork," you tease, reaching up to poke at the flour still dusting the collar of his shirt. "You're a mess."

Eddie catches your wrist before you can pull away, pressing a kiss to your knuckles with exaggerated flair. "A hot mess, thank you very much."

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling too much to sell it.

Today was going to be another perfect day…

It starts with a sneeze so violent, he knocks over a mug and blames the “malicious spirit of illness.”

By mid afternoon, Eddie’s sprawled dramatically across the couch like a Victorian poet with consumption, one arm draped over his eyes. His voice is hoarse, a tragedy all its own.

“Tell Wayne I love him… and that I want to be buried with my guitar. He can’t have it.” He lifts a hand weakly. “Promise me, babe. Swear it on the soup.”

You stare at him from the kitchen, ladling broth into a bowl. “You don’t need last rites. You need DayQuil.”

He ignores you in favor of shivering like a leaf in a storm. “I can’t believe this is how I go. So young. So beautiful. So misunderstood.”

Later, when you hand him a digital thermometer, he scowls at it like it’s betrayed him.

“This thing’s busted. There’s no way someone this sexy can run a fever.”

You eye the red digits. “101.8, Romeo.”

“Then clearly it’s jealous.”

When you suggest a cold compress, he grins with cracked lips and says, “What if you take my temperature… the old-fashioned way?” He winks. “You know, for science.”

You chuck a pillow at his face.

Later still, he claims he’s lost his sense of taste- right up until the moment he takes an impatient slurp of soup straight from the spoon and immediately yelps, burning his tongue.

“MY SOUP TASTERS,” he cries, clutching his jaw. “MY INSTRUMENT!”

He’s wearing every hoodie he owns by this point, layered like a feral onion, the outermost one half-zipped and inside-out. He’s also stolen your throw blanket and trails it behind him like a cloak of contagious doom. You find him ten minutes later posted up in front of the TV like a disgruntled cryptid, whispering “Is this how Frodo felt?” while watching daytime television and sniffling pitifully into a paper towel.

Later, you find him sprawled face-down on the living room floor like a crime scene chalk outline, hoodie hood up, one sock halfway off, and a box of tissues just out of reach like it betrayed him.

“Eddie?” you ask, setting down your tea with cautious concern. “Why are you on the floor?”

He groans in response, barely lifting his face off the rug. “It’s over. This is where it ends for me. Tell Dustin I love him too… he can take over Hellfire.”

You step over him to grab the thermometer off the coffee table. “Pretty sure it’s just a cold or something.”

“There’s no just about it. I have the male immune system. I’m basically operating with an outdated virus firewall over here.” He flips dramatically onto his back and coughs weakly. “Leave me. Save yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “You want more soup?”

He turns his head slowly, eyes glistening like he’s starring in a war film. “If I say yes, will you feed it to me from your hand like a baby bird?”

“No.”

He exhales. “Then I choose death.”

An hour later, you catch him lying on the couch with a damp washcloth dramatically draped over his forehead, a box of tissues on his chest like a cursed talisman. He’s making long, theatrical groaning sounds between coughs that are just exaggerated enough to be suspect.

You check the thermometer again.

“That thing’s broken,” he says immediately.

You hold up the box. “Want to take it again?”

He winks, finger guns you. “Only if you do it the old-fashioned way.” He tries again.

“Absolutely not.”

He pouts. “Tyrant.”

He tries more soup. He scoops up a spoonful of your lovingly made soup, insists he still can’t taste anything, and then immediately screams when it scalds his tongue… again.

“AHH! WHY IS THIS STILL LAVA?!”

“You said you couldn’t taste! Didn’t you learn the first time?”

“I WAS LYING FOR SYMPATHY!”

You cross your arms as he writhes beneath three hoodies, the throw blanket trailing behind him when he shuffles off to the bathroom.

From inside the bathroom: “Do not resuscitate!”

“YOU’RE JUST TAKING A PEE, EDDIE!”

Then, you find him in bed scribbling furiously in a notebook. When you peek over his shoulder, he slams it closed like you just walked in on state secrets.

“What are you writing?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you writing… goodbye letters?”

“It’s called closure. My amps need to know I loved them.”

“You’re such a drama queen.”

“Drama king, actually. Thank you.”

By the time you return with another mug of lemon tea, the look has evolved. Eddie is now wearing: socks- mismatched, no pants, a hoodie with no shirt underneath, and your scarf tied around his head like a ninja who's been dishonorably discharged from battle due to a sinus infection.

The tissue pile on the coffee table is starting to resemble a haunted paper mache volcano. Gourd Sir Reginald now resides on the nightstand, sporting a fragile little party hat made of twisted tissue paper and a fierce expression Eddie swears is “stoic support in these trying times.”

“He’s my emotional support vegetable,” Eddie croaks when you give him a look. “Don’t judge him. He’s seen some things.”

“He’s a squash,” you correct.

“You take that back!”

You don’t. Instead, you touch his forehead, still warm but not alarming, and he leans into it like you’ve performed a sacred rite.

Then comes a cough so rattling, so theatrical, it shakes the pile of tissues and makes Sir Reginald’s hat list sideways.

“NURSE HOTNESS,” Eddie bellows hoarsely, flinging his arm over his forehead like he’s auditioning for a soap opera, “I require your assistance at once. The fever’s spiking. I can feel it. My bones are… humming.”

You raise a brow. “You mean aching?”

“No. Humming. They’re singing me out, babe. Like a sad little kazoo band.”

“I’ve written another will,” he croaks, holding a torn piece of notebook paper with scribbles barely legible through the smudged ink and dramatic underlining. He shoves it into your hand with weak flourish. Scrawled across it in blotchy Sharpie:

“To my beloved girlfriend, I leave my collection of battle-worn guitar picks and the goose gourd who judged me fairly in life. Don’t let Wayne give my Iron Maiden poster to Dustin- he’s not ready.”

You’re reading when he gasps, clutches his chest like he's just been stabbed, and moans, “Also… can you bring me a warm towel? Soaked in the tears of angels. Preferably cherubs.”

“What’s the backup if the angel tears are out of stock?”

“Tap water and a kiss on the forehead. But make it tender.”

You apply a cold compress instead.

He flinches. “What is that? A rag of betrayal?”

When you reach for the VapoRub, he straightens, peering at you like you’ve just proposed marriage. “You’re going to… apply it, right?”

“Yes. Like a normal person.”

He closes his eyes dramatically. “I request a loving yet firm touch.”

You pause, deadpan. “I swear, Munson… What does that even mean?”

“Figure it out, Doctor Feelgood.”

The application process devolves quickly into Eddie giggling like a hyena and claiming, “It’s cold! It’s weird! Why does this feel like mentholized regret?!”

Later, once bundled again, he begs you to put something on the TV.

“Choose wisely,” he says, peeking over his tissue mountain. “It must be a cinematic masterpiece befitting my final moments.”

You pop in The NeverEnding Story.

He gasps reverently. “Yes. Let the childlike empress witness my passing.”

Five minutes in, he’s quoting every line with a stuffy nose and wild inflection, crying louder than the horse scene warrants, and yelling “ATREYUUUUU” with a dramatic fist to the sky.

When you get up to grab another mug of tea, he immediately moans from the couch: “Don’t go… I see the light… oh, wait- nah, it’s the hallway lamp.”

You reappear with a spoonful of medicine. He eyes it with suspicion.

“Are you trying to poison me?”

“It’s cherry-flavored.”

“I only take medicine if it’s hidden in pudding like a dog.”

You return with pudding.

He eats it, then groans like it’s poisoned anyway.

You settle next to him, but he immediately starts sinking lower and lower into the couch cushions, narrating the descent in his best tragic pirate voice: “The fever… she’s taking me down to Davy Jones’ living room! Tell my amps I loved them. And tell my bandmates I went out shredding…”

You rest your head in your hand, watching as he slowly slides off the cushion like a sock puppet giving up on life.

“Tell them I died heroically- like a man…” he whispers faintly, already half asleep.

You throw a blanket over his head.

You return from the kitchen to find Eddie curled up under the blanket on the couch like a Renaissance painting titled The Tragic Wastrel, Post Soup.

He looks up at you with bleary eyes and murmurs, “Nurse Hotness… I require assistance again.” Before closing his eyes dramatically.

You sigh, already setting down the fresh cup of tea. “What is it now?”

“I was thinking, maybe…” He cracks one eye open, voice going husky with suggestion. “We reenact An Officer and a Gentleman but instead of lifting me up, you bring me soup in the rain.”

“It’s not raining.”

“Then use the faucet. Commit to the bit.”

He falls into a bout of coughs that ends with a long, drawn-out moan. “Don’t let them taxidermy me. I want to rot naturally.”

You smirk, pulling the blanket over his legs. “Duly noted, Mr. Munson.”

But the humor fades when he suddenly sits upright, a pale grimace overtaking his face.

“…Oh no.”

“What?”

He swallows hard, then bolts. “I’m gonna hurl-!”

You rush after him as he stumbles to the bathroom, dropping tissues like breadcrumbs on the way. The door slams, and you hear him gag, the sound echoing too sharp to be just dramatics this time.

You linger by the door, worry briefly stealing your breath. No more jokes. Not for a moment.

“…You okay?” you call softly.

There’s a pause, then a weak reply: “I’d like to change my will again. Tell Sir Reginald… I’m sorry.”

He emerges a minute later, ghostly pale and trembling a little under the weight of it all. You tuck him back onto the couch without another word and press a kiss to his temple.

For a while, the only sound is the hum of the TV.

And then-

“You should feed me fruit now. Like a baby bird.”

“…The moment’s passed, Munson.”

He sighs. “Then just let me perish.”

The next morning, sunlight streams through the curtains, illuminating the battlefield of crumpled tissues, empty mugs, and one very disheveled Eddie Munson. He's sprawled across the couch like a fallen warrior, his hair a wild halo of curls, the throw blanket tangled around his legs. Sir Reginald Gooseworth III sits vigil on the coffee table, his tissue-paper hat now slightly askew, as if even he has grown weary of Eddie's theatrics.

You stand over him, arms crossed, watching as he stirs with a groan.

"Ugh," he croaks, blinking up at you with bleary eyes. "Am I... alive?"

"Barely."

He lifts a trembling hand to his forehead, as if checking for divine intervention. "I had the weirdest dream... I was a pirate, but also a tragic poet, and there was pudding-"

"You were high on cold medicine all night."

Eddie gasps, clutching his chest. "You drugged me?"

"You begged for it."

He considers this for a long moment, then nods solemnly. "Fair."

He tries to sit up, fails, and flops back onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh. "I think I need a priest."

"You need a shower."

Eddie gasps again, this time scandalized. "You want me to bathe while I'm dying?"

"You're not dying."

He lifts a finger. "That's exactly what a murderer would say."

You roll your eyes and toss a fresh box of tissues at him. He catches it with surprising reflexes for a man who just declared himself on death's door.

"Alright, fine," he grumbles, peeling himself off the couch like a sad, damp sticker. "But if I slip and fall in the shower, I want it known that I blame you."

You watch as he shuffles toward the bathroom, trailing blankets and self-pity behind him. Just before the door closes, he pauses, turning back with a smirk.

"Hey, Nurse Hotness?"

"Yeah?"

He winks. "Thanks for not letting me die."

And with that, the door shuts, leaving you alone with Sir Reginald and the wreckage of Eddie Munson's Great Plague of '86.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged!

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin

Masterlist

[sodapopper]

ornery pony //

ao3 link

The Tex/Outsiders crossover fic no one asked for, including silliness such as:

15k words of McCormick brother shenanigans

breaking and entering in pursuit of a horse

horse girl Soda 🤝 horse girl Tex

Mason McCormick’s perpetual migraine

therapy in the form of horse whispering

rodeos

nightmares

staying & going

disability

Darry wears an apron and bakes a cake

Tagging @damthosefandoms for saddling me with this idea! Us and our microscopic fandom against the world.

[kennahjune]

Teen Dad AU

Part 3!!!

Tag List: @jaytriesstuff @jackiemonroe5512 @netflixisacopingstrategymom @finntheehumaneater @redhoodandhellfire @blackpanzy @blu3stars @goodolefashionedloverboi @strawberryyyenthusiast @bebopbabyy @forest-fogg @silenzioperso @lololol-1234 @thestarslittleking @lingeringmirth @moomkin77 @dragonmama76 @mentallyundone @salty-h0e @sapphireoceansoc @geekyfifi @sirsnacksalot @subversivecynic @rebellatio-03 @thelittleclare @pinkrabit @thelittleclare @jamieweasley13 @just-a-tiny-void @strangeforest @hunterbow04 @fiddledeedee85 @bookworm0690 @pinkrabit @grimmfitzz @irregular-child

…

Steve went to school on Friday with a pleasant pep in his step. He’d be leaving early at 1:30 for work and then leaving work at 5 to go officially move into the trailer. He’d have the whole weekend off to get properly moved, to.

People still eyed him in the halls. They still whispered and they still looked. And yeah, it wasn’t with the same respect as it was before. But Steve found he didn’t care. He stopped by his locker, number 276.

Nancy and Jonathan were already there, both leaning against the lockers and talking quietly.

Steve didn’t say much to the two of them. He’d put away what he didn’t need in his locker and then simply went to first period.

.

There wasn’t ever much to say about school. Sure it was different from his home life, and yes it was different from his work life, but it wasn’t anything special.

It stopped being special when he decided to stick with Louie nearly 7 months ago now.

He left at 1:30, as he usually did. He typically got Nancy or Jonathan to stop by and grab the work he’d be missing for him so that he wasn’t absolutely failing.

At work, Steve couldn’t stop glancing at the clock. A couple of the regulars— Abby, a sweet lady in her thirties, and Mandy, a sassy black lady in her fifties— congratulated him on the new trailer and tipped extra.

Steve was positively vibrating with nerves his entire shift. Every time he went back to pick up an order from Mason and Gwen they shot him cheeky grins and gave him claps on the shoulders.

Everyone could see how excited Steve was, and his moods were usually rubbing off on everyone anyway.

When 5 finally hit, Steve hung his apron, counted his tips, and gave everyone the usual goodbye hugs and high fives. Mason held on a little tighter than usual and even gave him a little spin that had Steve leaving in high spirits.

He took his usual dinner and baby Louie out to the car, talking excitedly to the small child all the while.

“We finally have a new home, Louie! Aren’t you excited baby? You’re gonna sleep in a bed, and sit on the couch, and have floor time!”

Louie babbled back just as excitedly. Steve was giddy with joy.

The trailer park wasn’t too far from the dinner. It was a good 5-7 minute drive, tops.

But by the end of the night Steve had officially moved into number 2718 New Bird Ave.

.

The first night was as rough as expected. The previous occupants left behind most of their furniture so Steve was left with a couch, a bed, and an old dresser that was ready to topple.

Steve took the smallest bedroom, it was barely bigger than his old closet but the tight fit was comforting in a way. He moved the mattress from the left-behind bed into the room, leaving the frame. It wouldn’t fit through the door despite being just smaller than a twin.

Steve took Louie around the trailer, holding him close and happily showing him everything there was to see.

“And this, my dear baby, is the kitchen. I’m gonna get real nice curtains and a small table. I’m thinking yellow curtains. Whaddya say Lou-Lou?”

Louie babbled excitedly and gripped Steve’s hair.

“I’ll take it you like yellow. Me too.” Steve smiled brightly.

The kitchen took up the entire front of the trailer. The windows were large and nearly floor-ceiling and already had blinds set on them. They let in plenty of sunlight and gave a beautiful view to the other trailers and the woods surrounding the park. There was a pantry where he could eventually set up a washer and dryer. And a small area between the pantry and windows where he’d be able to fit in a table and maybe three chairs.

“Now—“ Steve let Louie down on the floor and crouched right behind him, holding him up. “—this is the living room. This is where we’re gonna listen to music and dance and sing.”

Louie immediately started babbling and gurgling, wiggling and bouncing in Steve’s hold. Steve laughed.

“Exactly baby! Dancing just like that. You get your moves from your daddy don’t you hunny?”

Louie gave his best belly-laugh that had Steve scooping him up and holding him close.

“You’re such a sweetheart, Lou-Lou! You’re my sweetheart aren’t you, babyboy?” Steve smothered kisses across Louie’s face and grinned when the baby laughed and pulled his hair.

.

“Alrighty, Louie. What to do now, huh?”

Steve had propped Louie carefully on the couch. The baby sat watching him closely, and vaguely tried copying Steve’s hands on his hips. Steve grinned.

“Do you wanna go to the store? We can see about getting you an actual crib.”

Louie stared blankly.

“You’re right, you’d just end up sleeping with me anyways. What about a new bed for us then, huh? Something that’d actually fit in the room?”

Louie made a squeaking sound.

“And plans have been made!” Steve declared, throwing his arms up. His hand his the ceiling but he didn’t mind the pain when Louie copied him and threw his hands up as well.

“To the store we go!”

.

Steve was pushing Louie around the store in a stroller he’d found in the baby section. Yes, he was going to buy it when they went up to pay.

Why hadn’t he bought a stroller to begin with? It was so much easier than carrying around the car seat.

Little Louie was babbling away and reaching for just about anything they passed. However, he made a particularly loud squeal when Steve passed a certain bed frame. Steve paused and looked it over with Louie.

It was a simple white twin with a high headboard and a low, almost not there bottom board. It almost looked like a wooden princess bed.

“That one?” Steve asked Louie.

Louie answered with a gargle of spit and his fingers in his mouth. Steve grinned.

“That one.”

.

Putting the bed together was the biggest pain in the ass Steve ever had the displeasure of going through.

He’d never been a strong reader. And he’d always needed visual help references in front of him for him to learn properly. The instructions provided pictures that Steve was confident he himself could’ve drawn better.

“I mean look at this sh— crap. I’m sure you could’ve drawn something better, huh bub?”

Louie gurgled and nodded sagely.

The bed was put together with much failure and cursing and input from baby Louie.

Steve stood back with his hands on his hips and snorted delightfully when Louie copied him as best he could with his baby hands. The bed was done and Steve’d finally out the mattresses on. Now he got to sleep in it.

.

Steve entered the back door to the diner in a flurry of limbs. He was pushing the new stroller he’d gotten Louie and was desperately trying to hold open the door at the same time.

Gwen rushed to help, grabbing the stroller and baby Louie and pushing him into George’s office. Steve sighed in relief and let the baby be taken while Mason helped him with the diaper bag.

When they dropped off the bag and baby in the office Steve was surrounded by Michelle, Gwen, and Mason.

“So? How’d it go, kid?” asked Gwen with a cross of her arms.

Steve grinned at them, baring his teeth and gums in a way that showed his giddiness in full force.

“It’s a nice place. I got a bed set up and Louie likes dancing in the living room with me. Isn’t that right bubba?”

The baby in question immediately started bouncing in place on his butt. Steve laughed and picked him up. Louie continued bouncing in his grip, dancing his best baby moves.

“Just like that, lovebug!”

Mason and Gwen cooed.

“You got those moves from your daddy, huh sweet thing?” Mason teased, poking a finger into Louie’s side. Louie grabbed it and messed with the ring there.

“You are just the sweetest freakin thing ever!” Gwen cooed in a baby voice.

.

And for a month it went like that.

Steve and baby Louie got settled into the trailer nicely. They filled up the living room and bedroom with Louie’s toys and as many pillows as Steve could afford.

Back at his parents’ house, the pillows his mother bought were only for show. They were only there because they had looked good. Steve bought his pillows because he liked them. Because they were pretty or cute. Because they reminded him of people he knew. Because they simply caught his or Louie’s eyes.

They got the curtains for the kitchen— a soft yellow with white stripes. Steve hung them while Louie had floor time a few feet away in the living room.

During the month they settled in, Nancy had been watching Louie every Wednesday and Thursday after she got out of school so that Steve could take the closing shift at the diner. She’d watch him early Sunday mornings so that Steve could take the opening shift.

And they built a steady routine.

It was mid-morning on a Friday. Steve was buckling Louie into his car seat and humming Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears to himself when a loud thunk vibrated through his car.

Steve righted himself immediately, hitting his head on the roof of the car in the process. While he rubbed the back of his head to soothe the inevitable bump he turned and came face to face with 2 kids barely older than 9.

They stared up at him in silent fear. Steve saw the offending ball rolling somewhere down his driveway— they must’ve hit the ball into his car while playing.

Steve didn’t think. He simply jogged down the driveway and into the street to retrieve the ball. Then he jogged back to his car and handed the little girl the ball. She took it hesitantly.

“You two alright?” Steve asked gently.

They both nodded. Steve was starting to get a little freaked out.

“Um—“

“We’re really sorry!” the girl suddenly shouted.

Steve startled. “Oh! It’s—“

“We didn’t mean to hit your car, the ball kept bouncing and it wouldn’t stop!” the boy explained. The girl nodded.

Steve huffed and put one hand on his hip. “It’s alright, seriously. Look: no damage done, see?”

And true to Steve’s word, there was no damage done to his car, just a mark from the mud caked onto the ball.

“You’re not angry?” the boy asked hesitantly.

Steve smiled sweetly and shook his head. “No, I’m not angry. Just be careful next time, someone else is bound to be angry.”

They nodded in sync. Baby Louie spoke up at that moment with a gurgled babble.

The kids’ heads snapped to the back seat in scary unison, the girl’s blond pigtails bouncing.

“Is that your brother?” she asked, setting the ball in the grass by her feet.

Steve chuckled. “No, he’s my son. His names Louie,”

He stepped aside and let the kids peer at the car seat. The boy grinned.

“Hi, Louie! I’m Noah!”

The girl smiled sweetly and held her hand out for Louie to grab. “I’m Casey! I’m the older twin.”

Steve watched fondly. Louie didn’t get to interact with many people outside of him, Nancy, and they people at work.

“Noah, Casey! What are you two doing now?” Came a call from behind them. Steve turned with the twins to see an older lady walked over to them.

“Gran, look! He’s so cute!” cried Casey.

Noah and Casey made way for their Gran to look at Louie. Little Louie seemed to be thriving in the sudden attention, babbling nonstop and grinning his gummy little smile.

“He’s quite the charmer indeed.” Gran agreed with a nod and smile. “Now, come along you two. Let this young man leave.”

Noah and Casey turned to Steve with a simultaneous “Bye!” before running off with their ball to the trailer next door. Gran sighed.

“It’s nice to finally meet the new neighbor. I’m Margaret, Margaret Bottomette. Those two are my grandchildren, they usually come over for weekends and breaks.”

Steve smiled at the lady, Miss. Bottomette.

.

Miss. Bottomette and the twins became a new constant in Steve’s life alongside the middle schoolers he’s forced to cart around occasionally.

Noah and Casey are sweet kids, albeit feisty. They come over to the car every time Steve’s out, whether he’s with baby Louie or not.

And it’s sweet, is the thing. It brightens Steve’s day just that much more when he sees the beaming smiles on their faces while they play with Louie or while he listens to them talk about their days.

It was early October of 1984 now, Louie being officially 8 months as of October 14.

Steve wasn’t prepared for the upcoming months.

.

And that’s a wrap!!

Tag list is open always (until I reach a limit or finish the series) so feel free to ask!!!!

Edit: TAG LOST IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED!! Sorry guys, I’ve reached the limit :,)

Part 4: