#thermostat guide
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harriswalter004 · 18 hours ago
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theacguys · 3 months ago
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stupendoushvaclife · 28 days ago
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💡 “7 Ways to Save Money on Your Air Conditioning Bill This Summer”
By Jonnier Exposito – HVAC Technician, Florida Air conditioning is a blessing in the Florida heat — but when the electric bill shows up, it can feel like a curse. As a full-time HVAC technician, I’ve helped hundreds of families stay cool without breaking the bank. In this post, I’m sharing 7 proven ways to reduce your cooling costs, keep your system running efficiently, and protect your…
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acrepairdallas2 · 2 months ago
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Smart thermostats are revolutionizing how we manage our home’s heating and cooling systems. Beyond just setting the temperature, these devices offer unique features that help save money and enhance comfort. Whether it’s through advanced scheduling, integrating with other smart devices, or optimizing energy use, Smart Thermostats provide far more control than traditional models.
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furnacerepair7 · 10 months ago
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Top 10 Warning Signs Your Furnace Needs Repair
Furnace not working: Identifying and Addressing Complete Furnace Failures One of the most obvious signs that your furnace needs repair is if it stops working entirely. If you turn on your thermostat and nothing happens, or if the furnace starts but then quickly shuts off, there is likely a significant issue that needs to be addressed. Common causes include a malfunctioning thermostat, a broken…
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lieyarzy · 1 month ago
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🎀Wherein the supposedly “attention”, “fame”, and “fans” are questioning whether the idol is the Manager or the Saja Boys? I don’t know what Gwi-Ma thinks about this..
🎀author is obsessed with the Saja Boys and is now posting her draft one by one.
🎀Not proofread(lol)
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A Manager's Unexpected Fame: 9:30 of Saja Boys Simping Over Y/N
(0:00-0:30)"Get ready to witness the ultimate simping session AND a manager's unexpected rise to stardom!"
(0:30-2:00) Y/N walking alongside the Saja Boys, leaving a concert venue. The initial chaos is shown more clearly—fans screaming, pushing, and chanting a mix of the Saja Boys' names and "Y/N! Y/N!". Close-ups show the Saja Boys' expressions shifting from initial self-congratulatory smiles to bewildered confusion as they realize the overwhelming majority of the attention is directed at their manager. Y/N, initially surprised, gracefully navigates the crowd, accepting a few gifts and waving to the fans with a gentle smile. One fan manages to slip a handmade card into her hand, causing a ripple of excited whispers in the crowd. The Saja Boys, meanwhile, try to subtly shield Y/N from the more enthusiastic fans, their protective instincts kicking in.
Fan comments:
User67357:"OMG, the sheer number of fans for Y/N!"
User62915:"The Saja Boys are low-key bodyguards now!"
User461022: "This is epic!"
User0461: "Y/N's grace under pressure is amazing!"
(2:00-3:30) Jinu's Intense Stare…The video cuts Jinu, his eyes fixed intently on Y/N as she's meticulously organizing paperwork in her office. The camera focuses on the details – the way he subtly adjusts his tie, the way his gaze never leaves her, the barely perceptible twitch of his lips as he observes her concentration. He approaches her, offering a steaming mug of coffee. Their fingers brush as he hands it to her, a moment that lingers on screen, punctuated by the soft clinking of ceramic against ceramic. He whispers something in her ear, causing her to laugh softly. The camera then focuses on a small, almost imperceptible detail: a tiny, almost invisible scratch on Jinu's hand – a hint of a recent struggle, perhaps a fight he endured to protect her.
Fan comments:
User72019:"The unspoken tension! 🔥,"
User2016491:"Jinu's dedication is palpable,"
User620861:"That coffee exchange…my heart!"
User069126:"The scratch on his hand! What happened?!"
(3:30-5:00) Baby Saja's Puppy-Dog Eyes! The scene shifts to Baby Saja, who's attempting to help Y/N with a complicated equipment setup. He's clearly struggling with the technical aspects, but his focus is entirely on Y/N, his eyes wide with a mixture of concentration and adoration. He keeps accidentally bumping into her, each time offering a profusely apologetic, slightly stuttering explanation. Y/N patiently guides him, her touch light and reassuring. He manages to fix the equipment, beaming at Y/N with a triumphant grin. He then proceeds to dramatically trip over a cable, landing in a heap at her feet, but manages to catch himself before falling on her. Y/N laughs, and Baby Saja, flustered but happy, helps her up.
Fan comments:
User9236:"Baby Saja's clumsiness is endearing!"
User60137:"Y/N's patience is saintly!"
User56103:"The way he looks at her! 😍,"
User042324:"This is pure cuteness overload!"
(5:00-6:30) Abs Saja's Subtle Gestures? Abs Saja, usually stoic, is shown discreetly performing small acts of service for Y/N throughout the day. He subtly adjusts the thermostat when she shivers, silently brings her a blanket when she looks tired, and discreetly removes a bothersome fly from her workspace. The camera focuses on the small details—the way he subtly checks on her throughout the day, the slight softening of his usually stern expression when she smiles, the way he seems to anticipate her needs before she even voices them. He offers her a glass of water, his hand lingering slightly longer than necessary as he places it in front of her.
Fan comments:
User565657:"Abs Saja's silent devotion is powerful!"
User6969:"He's such a caring person!"
User4444: "This is the definition of a supportive partner!"
User666:"I'm in tears!"
(6:30-8:00) Mystery Saja's Enigmatic Admiration!Mystery Saja is seen leaving small, thoughtful gifts for Y/N in unexpected places. A rare book on her desk, a delicate flower tucked into her coat pocket, a beautifully crafted keychain on her bag. The camera focuses on the mystery and intrigue—the gifts are always unexpected, always perfectly suited to her tastes, and always left without a trace. He observes her from a distance, his expression unreadable, but his eyes(what eyes Author? Damn)always seem to follow her movements. He leaves a cryptic note on her desk, a single sentence that hints at a deeper, unspoken understanding between them.
Fan comments:
User1111:"Mystery Saja is a master of subtle romance!"
User888: "This is so mysterious and captivating!"
User131313:"What does the note say?!"
User3333:"I'm dying of curiosity!"
(8:00-9:30) Romance Saja's Open Affection?Romance Saja is shown openly and unabashedly flirting with Y/N. He serenades her with a heartfelt song, presents her with a bouquet of her favorite flowers, and even attempts to cook her dinner (with hilariously disastrous results). The camera captures Y/N's genuine amusement and affection. He writes her a poem, which he reads aloud with a charmingly awkward grin. Y/N laughs, and he beams at her, his eyes sparkling with adoration.
Fan comments:
User4545:"Romance Saja is a hopeless romantic!"
User30127:"Y/N is so lucky!"
User2323:"This is pure, unadulterated sweetness!"
User010101:"I'm melting!"
P.S I’m so normal about them that I’ll let myself be eaten either my soul idc I love it here.
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totalhomehandbook · 1 year ago
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How Do I Install a Programmable Thermostat to Reduce My Energy Bills?
Installing a programmable thermostat is a straightforward way to manage your home’s heating and cooling systems more efficiently. By allowing you to set temperatures for different times of the day, it can significantly reduce your energy bills. This guide provides a step-by-step approach to installing a programmable thermostat, including the tools you’ll need and some helpful tips and…
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oatmealwrites · 6 months ago
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JJK Warming You Up!
how they warm you when the heat is out! [NSFW]
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non-curese au ig -> let me be happy
regular master list | JJK masterlist
Tags: established relationships, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, creampies galore, no protection, couch sex, semi public sex, car sex, breeding kink [sukuna], pure filth, maybe there's some plot [not rlly], 18+, MDNI, im so sorry in advance fr
Characters: Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Toji, Kamo Choso, Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Higuruma Hiromi, Ryomen Sukuna, Shoko Ieiri
not proofread
word count: 5.2k [IM SORRY OK im ovulating it's not my fault]
~~~~~~
Nanami Kento -> the heater is out!
The shared apartment is colder than you expect when you and Kento return home from a long day of work. Kicking your shoes off and heading for the thermostat to check the frigid temperature, you move to prepare dinner while your husband calls the heating company– confirming your suspicions that it was down for the whole neighborhood given the winter storm. You both eat a warm meal while heavy snow falls outside the window and the temperature remains steadily dropping. 
After finishing dinner, you lay against his chest in a cuddled position on the couch beneath several layers of throw blankets. Kento always insists on watching the evening news to stay up to date on current events while you nuzzle into his neck in an attempt to stay warm. 
His gaze is intently focused on the news anchor going over the current stock market reactions to geopolitical tensions, but his hand falls from your waist to play with the hem of your work skirt. It’s a long, professional, knee-length fabric that he pushes up slightly to rest his hand in between your plush thighs.
“Kento– your hands are cold.”
“Hmm?” he hums, clearly not caring. “But it’s so warm here.”
You can’t see his fingers underneath, but you can certainly feel them. He keeps kneading and pinching the flesh as you paw at him to keep his cold hands to himself. Kento keeps up his ministrations for a few more minutes until he eventually guides you to lay flat against the sofa cushions; without a word he plants a quick kiss to your lips before dipping under the blankets.
It’s his favorite to warm you up, so why not do it now when you really need it the most? ;)
He takes his time eating you out from underneath the fuzzy fabric; your skirt is hiked up to your waist and he simply pushes your panites to the side to make room for his mouth. Breath hot on your weeping cunt, his nose ruts against your puffy clit as his tongue works its way inside. The sighs escaping your lips are a siren’s call as he pathetically grinds into the cushions in a poor attempt to relieve the erection hard in his slacks. 
No matter how many times you and Kento get physical, it always feels so fresh and erotic. The messy french kiss he’s giving your pussy leaves a pool of saliva and slick staining the fabric of the couch beneath your hips. Slipping in a slim long finger, he drags his tongue further up to lick and suck at your clit.
He continues pumping his finger in and out, adding in a second one to grind against your walls in search of your g-spot; the way you whimper and twitch is indication when his finger pads rub against it. The feeling is euphoric and the temperature no longer causes you discomfort. Sweat beads at Kento’s forehead and pulling back and up from the blankets, his hair is slicked back from the heat generated.
He doesn’t let you pout long, upset at your denied orgasm, before he shimmies down his slacks and boxers and kicks them to the living room floor. Delicious length grinds on your lower navel a few times, admiring the way his length measures to just how deep it’s about to be inside you, before he slaps your clit with his flushed tip for good measure and slides in.
Sex with Kento when it’s cold out is never one round; his stamina keeps up as he’s determined to make sure you keep warm. And the best way to do that? With your feet on his shoulders as he pumps you full of multiple loads of his hot cum. He’s not satisfied until he’s shooting blanks, there are fat tears coating your eyelashes, and there’s so much cum leaking from your pussy it makes you groan at the sensation of being so stuffed. 
What a gentleman~
Fushiguro Toji -> no cold feet!
It’s impossible to get warm at all as you shuffle beneath the covers of your shared bed. Your knees are originally tucked into yourself for warmth, but when your back hurts from the angle, you kick them out again with a shiver. You’re tucked into Toji with your back nuzzled in his chest, but the body heat isn’t enough to ease the chill in your bones. With a gruff sigh, you frown when he holds you still as if the temperature doesn’t affect him at all.
Though you’re pretty sure he’s the one who forgot to pay the heating bill.
You shuffle around once more before a strong forearm holds your waist firmly into him.
“Stop fucking moving.”
With a sigh, you halt your squirming; the deep and tired sound of his voice making you feel a little guilty for the way your movements have woken him up. But it’s no use, the cold sheets keep you shivering despite the way his hot breath pants on your neck.
You wait to hear his light snores even out before shuffling once again; the grip on your hips tightens to a vice.
“Stop putting your cold feet on me.”
“Ughh, Tojiii” you whine out and place the soles of your feet on his hot calves again. “I can’t help it.”
An annoyed sigh escapes his lips and with minimal effort he flips you over and onto your back; a strong muscular thigh splays your legs with his knee grinding into your cunt. A whimper escapes you at the movement. 
“S’to keep your damn feet off mine.”
You furrow your brows at him and he responds by peeling an eye open and smirking devilishly at you. He flexes the muscles of his thigh to pulse against your clothed pussy and leans in to place a few hot open mouth kisses along your neck.
“Toji–” You warn.
He chuckles into your throat and lifts himself up to hover over you; his leg still between your own. “Hmm? Not my fucking fault, you’ve been grinding your ass into my crotch all night.”
You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down a bit, a bratty look on your face. “I can’t help it! It’s too cold!”
He latches his lips to yours and slowly replaces his thigh with the erection pulsing in his gray sweatpants; a small stain of precum already pooling from arousal. A calloused hand pinches your pajama pants and tugs them down and off your ankles before tossing them to the floor.
The coolness makes you shiver and huddle into yourself while Toji tuts in disappointment before splaying you open once more. Impatient hands tug down his own sweatpants and kicks them off somewhere under the sheets before a long finger dips to slide up and down your slick folds.
“Shiiiit, you all worked up already? Did you plan this?”
You roll your eyes and tug him down to kiss you again, that way his cocky mouth wouldn’t piss you off anymore. He chuckles a few times before sitting back on his heels to peel off his boxers and free his cock from the confines of fabric; instead of reaching forward to place himself at your hips again, he throws your calves over his shoulders.
“S’the only way to keep those fucking ice cold toes off of me.”
The rest of the night he ensures each position he fucks you in is one where your feet are no where near him. Over his shoulders, behind him when he pounds into you in doggy, even in a mating press he ensures your icicle-like appendages are nowhere near him. Even when you're both panting, covered in sweat, and loads of hot thick cum is seeping pathetically from your abused cunt, Toji ensures when you lay back down for bed, your cold feet are as far away as possible. 
Kamo Choso -> matching sweatshirts look better on the floor!
When your boyfriend initially invited you to his and his brother’s apartment, you figured it would be like any other casual movie night. Instead, you sit shivering at the kitchen island while Choso and Yuji try to figure out why the central air is stuck on ‘cool’ instead of ‘heat’, and Nobara and Megumi move to turn the oven on in an attempt to get some sort of hot air. 
Arms tucked into yourself, you’re beyond grateful for wearing a hoodie to the apartment and not the original tee you had initially planned on. It’s a sweatshirt that matches with Choso, having exchanged them during the holidays as a cute couples gift; though now the fabric barely warms your chilled skin up at all. 
“Here, let’s get you something thicker to wear ok?”  Choso’s voice mumbles concern in your ear as strong arms wrap around your waist; gentle kisses litter your neck in a silent apology for the temperature. 
You hum in agreement and hop off the island stool while Nobara, Megumi, and Yuji head over to the couch to start a movie and collect every throw blanket available. Choso’s room is slightly messy, his bed unmade and some clothes littering the floor, but you don’t mind as he digs through his drawers in search of sweatpants. 
When he tosses them to you, you don’t hesitate to slide down the cool fabric of your jeans and kick them to the side; Choso stands idly by the door eyeing the way your purple panties hug your ass just right.
“Take a photo perv, it’ll last longer.” You muse while holding up the sweatpants to see how long they might fall on your legs.
Choso laughs gently before twisting the lock on the bedroom door and pushing down the fabric in your hands, preventing you from putting them on.
“Hm? What are you doing Cho?”
He hums and reaches up to pull the elastic bands from his hair; ears pink from the cold and now hidden from his shaggy hair falling freely down. It’s a move he only does when he wants you to notice him, and with a knowing smile you wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head to the side. “Oh, what are you thinking?”
Warm hands rub circles on your pelvic bones before dipping down to knead the flesh of your ass. “Just that I know another way to warm you up…”
“Really? What’s gotten you so suddenly in the mood.”
Choso leans down to sucks gentle marks on your neck above where the fabric of your sweatshirt rests; his hands peel back the waistband of your panties before releasing the elastic band to smack against your hips. “Just really like seeing you in that hoodie… s’cute when we match.”
Ever the possessive boyfriend, you giggle at his honesty and drag him backwards until the back of your thighs meet his disheveled bed; he tugs off the matching sweatshirts from both of your bodies. Planting a few more kisses to your neck before pushing you flat against his comforter and tugging the wet gusset of your panties down slightly. Large dark eyes bat innocently at you in a silent request for permission.
As soon as you rest on your elbows and nod, the fabric is tugged down your ankles and thrown with the other pile of clothes that litter his floor. Sinking immediately to lean against the bed, Choso throws a leg over his shoulder and attaches his lips to your cunt like a starved man. He doesn’t stop until your hands are nearly ripping out chunks of his hair and his chin is shiny with your slick painting his flesh.
Choso just likes to make sure you’re comfortable in this cold weather is all! He may be a bit jealous, overprotective, and possessive…but it’s just ‘cause he loves you so much. He just wants you to be warm– so he leaves your pussy dripping out loads of his cum while you all watch a movie. Sitting on the couch in his sweatpants, pussy aching from the abuse and rounds it just took, Choso keeps his hands under the blankets and cupping your cunt, pushing his seed back inside when too much leaks out. 
Geto Suguru -> steamy shower sex!
It’s sooo damn cold in his apartment to the point you’re wondering if you two should call a friend to stay somewhere else. Your flat’s electricity went out in the winter storm and it seems like the heat in Suguru’s building has just cut as well. Your boyfriend sits at his laptop in the kitchen while you shiver at his side, convinced you can see your breath in the room.
Suguru has already recommended you simply head to bed, but the cold sheets without your personal space heater left you wandering back to the kitchen after only 5 minutes. Peering at his laptop screen, you notice the way his work load seems to be more intense than initially anticipated and with a small sigh, you head to take a warm shower.
Steam pouring up from the glass wall of the shower door, you shut your eyes and enjoy the boiling water that provides warmth to your skin. The feeling is so comfortable that you remain in the bathroom for longer than you had anticipated, jumping at the sound of Suguru opening the door.
“Hey, I just gotta brush my tee–” He pauses in front of the half fogged wall and raises an eyebrow while letting out a low whistle. “You’re naked.”
Rolling your eyes, you wipe away the condensation as he wolfishly smiles at you. “Yea, how ELSE do you shower?”
Your boyfriend ignores your tease and steps back to peel off his layers and kick them haphazardly to the floor. Steam escapes when he pulls the shower door back and steps in, crowding you to the cool tiles of the opposite wall. 
“Need some help?”
Giving Suguru a knowing smile that his ‘help’ was more than simply washing your back, he lazily smiles and grabs your hips to press against his own. Nipples hard from the cool temperature of the wall and the arousal of your boyfriend’s touch, you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him into the water. 
It starts off tame, kissing under the water and giggling when you’re both nearly waterboarded from the pressure, until he slicks your soaked hair back and gently guides you to your knees. Dark pubes tickling your nose and his weeping cockhead scraping your throat, Suguru sighs pathetically above you at the pleasure coursing through him. 
Gently face-fucking you under the water, he guides your mouth off him before he can cum embarrassingly early and lifts you to your feet to push you flush against the glass door. It’s the easiest way to warm you up of course– from the inside out.
Tits squished against the glass, Suguru guides your ass back and guides his cock up and down your drenched folds a few times before sinking in. It’s the same delicious stretch your poor cunt can never get used to; the length of his shaft is held in a vice grip as you flutter around him in an attempt to accommodate his size.
It’s the warmth you’ve been needing this cold evening, and Suguru is more than happy to provide it. Skin against skin under the hot stream of water, he’s dead set on making sure you won’t be complaining about the temperature again. And if the generous load of cum he pumps into you happens to drip from your swollen pussy and get washed down the drain…he’ll have to be a good boyfriend and simply fill you up again. 
Gojo Satoru -> fogged up windows, even though the heater isn't on!
You’ve told Satoru a million and one times before to get his car checked out before the winter storm, and every single time he’s waved you off. Insisting that he can only get his car serviced at Mercedes dealership mechanics, he put off getting his air system fixed and now they’re booked for the next two weeks. In the middle of a winter storm. 
The two of you sit in Nanami’s work parking lot, waiting for him to finish so you three can meet Suguru, Shoko, and Haibara for a group dinner. 
“It’s freezing” you complain in the passenger seat, shivering despite your puffer coat and scarf.
Satoru tries to act as nonchalant as possible, as if the cold wasn’t that bad, though the puffs of his breath you can see in the air prove otherwise. Before you can mumble another ‘i told you so’, there’s a ping on your phone from the communal group chat. 
From: Nanamin–
Sorry, it will be another 20 minutes. I’ll try to finish as soon as possible. 
You sigh and Satoru moves to shut the engine to save gas; the two of you sit in a small silence scrolling on your phones until your boyfriend has seemingly had enough and unclicks his seatbelt.
“Are you going in to get Na–”
“Backseat.”
An eyebrow raising at the command, Satoru pleads his eyes into yours while plastering a partial smirk on his lips. “We can warm the car that way. If you want to, princess.”
Biting your lip and thinking about it for a moment, you nod and follow him over the center console and to the back row of his car. It starts with you on his lap, grinding on his lap through the denim on his thighs while he pushes your skirt up to your waist. Sloppy kisses are exchanged as his hands squeeze and grab at the plush flesh on your hips and ass until neither one of you can wait any longer.
Satoru guides you off him for a moment to hastily release the button and fly off his jeans before shoving them and his boxers down to his mid thighs. He grabs you by the hips to reclaim your previous seat before whining at the sudden hindrance of your heat-tech tights blocking him from your pretty pussy.
“Ah, I forgot… it’ll be hard to get them off in here..”
Lips pursed in frustration, you don’t notice when Satoru reaches forward to the console cup holder to grab his car keys; sitting back down, he grabs the fabric around your crotch and tears through it with the metal ignition key.
“H-Hey!”
“I’ll buy you new ones. 10 more. Whatever you want…just–just sit. Please baby.” He begs in a desperate breath; needing to feel your cunt wrapped around him now, as if waiting until after dinner might kill him. 
The way you ride him is enough to cause employees getting off work to raise an eyebrow at the way the white Mercedes seems to rock in the parking lot. Windows fogged up from the body heat, Satoru keeps desperate hands on your hips to rock back and forth while his feet are planted firmly to thrust up into you deeper. 
He’s doing his loving boyfriend duties– ensuring the car will be nice and warm for you ;)
It’s mind numbing, and no coherent thoughts can form on your lips when the pace increases to bully your g-spot over and over again. Hips twitching as you grind further to rub your swollen clit on his pubes, the friction makes you fall forward as your orgasm washes over you. 
Satoru throws his head back; Adam’s apple bobbing sluttily as he groans your name like a mantra as he stuffs your cunt full of hot ropes of cum. Panting to catch your breaths, the ping of the group chat leaves you both scrambling back to the front seats.
Your skirt is barely on by the time Nanami opens the back passenger door and clicks on his seat belt. “Oh, did you get your heating fixed, Satoru?”
Higuruma Hiromi -> offering you his jacket!
It’s hard to hide your shivers as you sit across from your lovely boyfriend at dinner; the front door to the restaurant opens every few minutes as people come in and out and cause gusts of cold wind to fill the air. Hiromi had reserved a table with the best view of the city, and unfortunately that also meant being seated near the exit. 
You wave it off at first, not wanting to spoil the evening and just enjoy the night with your boyfriend who was finally able to get out of work early for once. He frowns at each of your shivers and surveys the restaurant in case any other tables might be open; frowning when he sees the place is totally booked. He had planned for this evening to be perfect– he wanted to show you how much your company means to him and ask if you would like to move in with him.
When the door opens again and lets in another cold breeze from outside, Hiromi swallows hard as your nipples harden through the flimsy fabric of your satin mini dress. How you can call it a dress is beyond him– your tits are basically spilling out of it. 
Coughing slightly, he stands up and shimmies off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders to assist in warming you up. The musky cologne he always wears leaves you sighing into the fabric while Hiromi only realizes how fucked he is…you’re even sexier wearing it. 
Wondering if maybe he should just propose to you instead, he snaps out of his thoughts when your heeled foot grazes his thigh from under the table. Before a word can leave his lips, the tip of your shoe playfully pushes on his erection; a coy smile adoring your lips while blink at him. 
The entire moment is too much for either one of you; the door opening every minute and the both of you dripping in primal desire. Naturally, being the doting and devoted boyfriend he is, Hiromi offers to meet you in the single-room bathroom to ‘warm you up’.
That proposition is how you end up with hands on the marble sink counter top, dress hiked up to your waist, and suit jacket still on as your boyfriend fucks you from behind. The intensity of each thrust leaves your acrylic nails painfully bending at the way your fingers attempt to dig into the marble for support and Hiromi doesn't let up the pace when you whimper in pleasure as his tip bullies against your g-spot.
The hand on your mouth to keep you quiet does little to deafen the way his heavy balls smack into your ass and the squelch of your pussy from your prior orgasm. (Hiromi can’t fuck you without eating your cunt out and grinding his nose against your clit– it would be like eating the main course before the appetizer if he didnt.)
His cock reaches deep in your womb as Hiromi is babbling about a million different thoughts from behind you; drunk on the way your pussy wraps around him so perfectly, like it was made to take him. Stuttering his hips and throwing his head back in desperation, Hiromi thrusts a few more times before hot cum spurts into your pussy– all the while he’s begging you to finally move in with him… that way he can always make you warm and full ;)
Ryomen Sukuna -> sharing the bed in his childhood bedroom!
A favor to Jin to watch over Yuji for the weekend leaves Sukuna in his childhood home as a winter storm roars outside; complaining the entire first day, stating Yuji was old enough to be alone and that Jin was being ‘too soft’ on him. Though when his nephew begs to have his friends stay the night, Sukuna snatches the opportunity.
“You can have your stupid friends over… as long as my girl can come by too.”
Yuji rolls his eyes and makes a disgusted face with his tongue out. “Fine, deal.”
It’s freezing by the time you arrive, several inches of snow piled on the roads, and Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to pull you aside as soon as you enter the home. He had proposed you come over to entertain his nephew and friends with movies and cookies, though you knew it wasn't the real reason he called you over after 8pm.
With Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi asleep on the couch not even halfway through the movie, you and Sukuna sneak upstairs and into his childhood bedroom. Any other time you come to Jin’s house, you would spend time cooing at all the photos and memorabilia from years ago; tonight you’re being guided to the twin bed with impatient fervor.
Lips against his in a desperate manner, Sukuna whispers a few scolds when you moan just a little too loud when his mouth sucks fat hickies into the delicate flesh of your neck. Clothing peeling off to take advantage of the opportunity that the group downstairs was asleep, Sukuna pushes you flat onto his colorful childhood comforter. He places kisses down your navel and drags down your jeans and panties in one tug before settling comfortably between your thighs.
“Promise to take extra care of you later– just gotta be quick this one time, ok?”
Drunk in lust, you aren’t really sure if the man between your legs is speaking to you or your pussy, but you don’t care regardless. Sukuna sits forward to plant a few kisses to your puffy clit before rocking back onto his ankles and guiding his cockhead up and down your folds.
A knowing smirk on his face, he sinks in each of his nine inches inside, cursing with furrowed eyebrows at the immediate pleasure coursing through his veins. It’s a familiar stretch your poor pussy can never get used to, though he gives you a few moments to accommodate his splitting size before rocking in and out. 
The small twin bed frame rocks into the wall with each thrust and Sukuna gives up on trying to keep it quiet– too focused on reaching both your highs than what his stupid nephew might think downstairs. It’s a disgusting thought that passes through his head really; fucking his cock deep in your pussy while your slick pastes his pubes to his pelvis, that in his childhood bedroom, the two of you could make a child. 
That would warm you up right? All the times he can’t be there to keep you company while he’s at work– his kid in your stomach could. 
Moans escape your pretty lips while Sukuna places his hands under your plush thighs and pushes them to fold into your chest; tits squishing from the pressure of your knees against them. It’s a mean mating press, and the image of you plump and swollen with his kid unleashes a fetish Sukuna didn’t think he had.
Thrusts sputtering at the image, Sukuna exhales pathetically and rocks his hips into yours a few more times before cumming embarrassingly early. Cum pouring from his weeping cock as he pumps his seed deeper and deeper, you wearily look up at him in shock and longing for your own release.
Sukuna’s a caring boyfriend who makes good on his promises though, and he pulls out before shimmying back down between your thighs. His erection is slowly softening despite his mind not any clearer post-nut; the sight of his cum dripping from your cunt has him reaching forward to push it back in with long fingers.
He mutters about cumming prematurely since you both hadn’t seen each other in a few days, but the way he eyes the photos of Jin and baby Yuji in the hallway later make you question his real motives. 
Shoko Ieiri -> why is the doctor's office always so cold??
Why all medical buildings are freezing cold is beyond you– and your girlfriend’s office is no exception. Sitting in a swivel chair next to her as she fills out mountains of paperwork, you hug your arms into yourself at the frigid temperature. Maybe it’s your fault the cropped and tight baby tee you’re wearing isn’t the most appropriate given the weather, but it’s too cute not to wear. Besides, as much as Ieiri chides you for complaining, you can tell the way her eyes linger on your perky nipples through the fabric that she’s secretly enjoying the show. 
“Ieiriiii”
“Hm?” She hums, not looking up from her patient’s file.
“Are you almost done? I’m freezing and hungry.”
She notes down a few symptoms of her current patient and types a few memos into her desktop computer; a coy eye lingers on your chest once again. “Yes I am. And don’t worry– I’m hungry too.”
Before you can pull up your phone for nearby restaurants, Ieiri is pushing back from her desk and sliding her chair away from both of you. Dropping to her knees, she grabs the bones of your knees and spins you to face her crouched body.
“Ieiri?”
“Mmmm– said I was hungry, didn’t I?”
In a simple motion, she splays your legs apart and peers up your skirt to admire the small arousal stain forming on your cute pink panties she had bought you last Valentine’s Day. You can’t even shut your legs in embarrassment, her strength keeping them open, and her hot breath fanning the flesh on your thighs. 
Ieiri only looks up once with pupils blown wide before she pushes up the fabric of your skirt and happily inserts herself right in front of your cunt. The tip of her nose grinds against your clit through your panties while she licks hot stripes up and down the gusset to taste the slick that’s already been soaked through.
Hands in her hair and hot pants leaving your lips, you arch your back into the seat and shiver from the sensation and cool air of the office. Tugging your panties to the side, she repositions herself to allow her tongue to thrust in and out of your tight hole while an index finger rubs circles on your clit just the way you like. 
It’s a disgusting french kiss she’s giving your cunt; occasionally spitting onto your pussy and using the mixture of saliva and arousal to insert her index and middle finger to replace her tongue. Her name leaves your lips in a desperate mantra as deft surgeon hands massage the rough spot in your cunt that leaves you twitching your hips into her mouth. 
Ieiri peels back to watch your face as you come undone, loving the way that only she is the one making you feel so good; your hands are tugging at the hair on her scalp in a not-so-subtle way of letting her know of your impending orgasm. With a few more grinds of her fingers on your g-spot, you’re cumming hard onto her hands.
She doesn’t stop when you whimper in overstimulation, her lips attaching to your cunt again to lap up all the cum, until you tug her back wearily. Pussy drunk eyes gaze lazily at you through hooded lids as she rests her head onto your thigh; a smirk on her lips and cum coating her chin.
Ieiri is just being the good girlfriend she always wants to be for you. Eating you out in her office to keep you warm is just another task she’s happy to fulfill. ;)
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i have no excuse for this fr...
a/n: am i behind on posting? yes. am i too busy watching got7 promotions for their new comeback? yes.
i really do mean to stay focused but it's hard when you're ovulating these fine ass men are posting for their new comback ok?
anyway~ sorry for the pure filth, I promise im working on finishing holiday hoes and the next chapters for da usual series
also: i need to reply to all the nice comments you all leave on here! i promise i see them and want to respond to each one bc YOU ARE ALL SO SWEET IT HURTS <333
comments/likes/reblogs all appreciated
i luv u sluts -oatmeal
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facthvac · 2 years ago
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Confused about choosing between Nest and Ecobee? FACT HVAC's comprehensive comparison is here to help! Dive into the Nest vs. Ecobee battle and explore their smart features, compatibility, and user-friendly interfaces. Learn how these thermostats adapt to your lifestyle and improve energy efficiency. Make an informed choice for your home's comfort and energy savings today!
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calypso-rt · 18 days ago
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Please Stop Touching the Thermostat
Where Rafe Cameron turns your house into an icebox, all in the name of love
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It happened again.
You woke in the middle of the night, teeth chattering so hard it echoed off the walls. You pulled the covers tighter, but your entire body felt like it was submerged in ice water.
Next to you, Rafe Cameron was warm as a furnace, sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over your waist, lips parted on a gentle exhale.
“Rafe,” you hissed, nudging his ribs. “Wake up, I’m dying.”
He blinked groggily, blue eyes unfocusing and refocusing on your face. “Wha’s wrong?”
“It’s fifty-six degrees in here, that’s what’s wrong!”
He paused, then grinned, sleepy and wicked. “Mmm… snuggle closer, baby.”
“Rafe.”
He rolled toward you, hooking a leg around yours and tugging you flush against his chest. His skin was hot under his t-shirt, arms firm around your back. He buried his face in your neck, stubble brushing your skin, breath sending little shivers down your spine.
“You’re warm now,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “Problem solved.”
You tried to push him away. You tried. But he held you tighter, lips pressing gentle kisses beneath your ear, thumb sweeping little circles over your lower back.
“Rafe. This is manipulative.”
“Nahhh. It’s love,” he said, smirking. “Plus, I sleep better when you’re all over me.”
You glared. “I’m literally trembling.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, gaze suddenly soft. “Baby… you know I’d keep you warm forever, right?” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. “I’d build a fire with my own two hands. I’d carry you around in my hoodie. I’d—”
“Then why not just set the thermostat to a normal temperature?!”
He bit his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Because… then you’d drift to the other side of the bed. And I hate when you’re all the way over there.”
Your chest squeezed at the sincerity in his eyes.
“Rafe.”
“Look, I’m just sayin’…” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your temple. “When it’s cold, you curl up against me. You tuck your little feet under my legs. You tuck your face here—” he guided your head into the crook of his neck “—and sigh all soft, like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Your throat tightened. “You… are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He froze, lashes fluttering. Then his whole face broke into a grin so wide, it made your heart squeeze. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you whispered.
He dipped his head and kissed you, slow, lingering, lips brushing yours like he was memorizing the taste of your breath. One of his hands slid up your spine, warm and gentle, while the other settled protectively over your ribs.
“Love you,” he mumbled, barely pulling away.
“Love you too,” you breathed.
He kissed your cheek. “Good. Now stay right here, or I’m turning it down to fifty-four.”
“Rafe—!”
But he was already chuckling, shifting until he was half on top of you, tucking the blankets tighter around you both, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. His nose nuzzled your temple as his palm stroked slow, soothing patterns across your back.
And despite the cold, your chest felt so warm it could’ve lit up the whole room.
Because Rafe Cameron might be a thermostat saboteur but he was also a big softie when it came to you.
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harriswalter004 · 8 months ago
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moon-ttokki-x · 4 months ago
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not your doll - (bf!bang chan x reader)
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pairing: bf!bang chan x reader
summary: chan comes home upset from the latin american leg of the dominate tour.
genre: reverse comfort, idol!au, angsty, mentions of exhaustion, lots of crying, skz deserve better. reader comforts channie, mentions of delusion, mentions of eating and drinking
a/n: yall who think what happened in brazil is funny, or think it was 'just a joke' or 'fans showing support' get tf off my blog. i don't wanna see or talk to anyone who thinks what happened was okay. leave skz alone, leave chris alone. that man is not your punching bag, he's not responsible for fixing all your fucking problems, keeping everyone happy, or in charge of anyone's but his own happiness. that shit you gotta do yourself. this is so fucking disappointing, i'm ashamed to call myself a stay at the moment. let chris live his damn life and let the kids do the same. fuck yall 'stays'. if you were a real stay you wouldn't be doing this shit.
i stand with skz.
skz masterlist | skz prompt list
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"Love?" You call softly, peeking around the bedroom door frame. "Did you wanna come and eat something?"
All you get in response is a muffled 'no' and the sound of shuffling as Chan shifts slightly on the bed. The warm lamplight from the bedside tables spill across his back, highlighting the skin in a rosy, haloed glow.
You sigh and pad over to him softly, sitting on the bed. "I know you might not feel like it, but you need some good food after all that travelling."
Chan shakes his head again, further mussing his unbrushed hair. The curls are squashed and fluffy from him burrowing his head into the pillows, but he doesn't seem to care. Not once has he lifted his head to take a breath of air, and you sigh and push his head gently to the side to do it for him.
He turns his head away, facing the opposite direction; you can hear the shudder from his lungs as he gulps in the fresh coldness of the air; you'd set the thermostat colder, just as he likes it, but he hadn't seemed to take any notice.
You sigh again, running a gentle hand down the soft, albeit slightly dry skin of his back. His duffel bag and suitcase is still in the corner of the room, the zip on his bag half undone as if he'd had the intention of unpacking, but he hasn't.
You'd left him to sort himself out and shower before coming to eat, but it seemed he'd just stripped himself of his outfit and tossed himself on the bed.
Couldn't say you blamed him.
Chan speaks then, low and muffled from the pillow. "I need to go to the company."
"It hasn't even been twenty minutes since you've been home, love," you chide him gently. "Just rest., hmm? All of that can come tomorrow. It doesn't look like you can even move right now..."
Chan groans and burrows his head further into the pillows; you take a soft fistful of his hair and tug it lightly, guiding his head to the side. Your heart lurches.
Chan is crying.
His makeup is smudged; you immediately rest your hands on his shoulders. They're tense as rocks. A black streak of eyeshadow has smeared itself across the white pillowcase, as well as some of his concealer; he doesn't seem to care, and neither do you.
"Channie, my love," you say as gently as you can. You can't hide the worry on your face. "What's wrong?"
That's a useless question. You know exactly what's wrong.
He sits up suddenly, as if to get up, but he collapses on his knees, digging them into the soft sheets. He throws his hands out.
"It's not fair," he cries desperately. "I do everything I can to make things work, and then it all just gets thrown to the side... I can't even open my mouth anymore without my words being twisted..."
You sit there, eyes wide and bewildered, watching this outburst. It's so oddly unlike him to do this, but you know exactly what he's talking about.
"I- The kids, too, they have to deal with all of this, I couldn't wait for us to leave because of what happened at the hotel... They were taking videos of us, videos of one of the kids just standing outside on the balcony, minding his own business, and I couldn't sleep all night because of them chanting, I just-" He hiccups, a tear spilling from each eye like a shattered crystal.
"I just want it all to go right, but it doesn't, and no matter what I do it's not enough," he keels over then, and you pull him into your lap. He lets his lower half kneel over the bed, his face buried in your thighs.
Your vision starts to blur, and a tear drops into his hair, but neither of you take notice. "Channie..."
"I chose this life, Y/n, I chose all of this, I thought I could handle it but I'm not so sure anymore. I want to be happy, and perform without worrying about all of this, I want everyone to just leave me alone..." He's crying freely now, hands gripping your hips as his back shakes, and it's all you can do not to start crying yourself.
That sadness is quickly taken over by a wave of disapproval and anger, anger at the people who dare treat your lover like this, treat his group like performing monkeys at a circus, to be poked and prodded at.
How dare they.
It's not fair. He's right. And you know you can't fix it, make it all better, kiss it healed like you have so many times before. And it's that feeling of helplessness, that overwhelming powerlessness, that makes you lean down and whisper fiercely in Chan's ear.
"Listen to me," you whisper. "It doesn't matter who did it, it doesn't matter if they thought it was right. I can't sit here and tell you I can fix it, because I can't, and neither can you, because it's not your problem, it will never be your problem. You are not their toy. Channie, my love, all you need to do is keep going. That's it, without looking back.
"Forget about those people who pretend to be Stays, who are nothing more than obsessed delusional idiots. I know it's hard. They are so completely and utterly lost in their own worlds, and you can't tie yourself into knots to fix them, because it's impossible.
"I know it hurts, love, and I know it's frustrating, especially for the kids too. None of you deserve to be treated like that, like you have to be filmed and screamed at and all of those other things-"
"But if I don't let them, then they all start hating me," his eyes are teary, utterly exhausted with emotion.
"Chris, you are not a doll," you say firmly, cupping his face. "You are not responsible for everyone's happiness. You are responsible for your own joy. So are the kids. I know you feel like you have to take the weight of the world on your shoulders, but it doesn't mean that you have to take everyone's bullshit alongside it too...
"You are a musician, an artist, not a miracle worker or some sort of magician that can take everyone's troubles away or perform to everyone's unrealistic standards. And as for those idiots who stalked you outside your hotel, JYP is taking measures to deal with it. And he says it's fine if you want to take a break for a while."
"I don't want to," he says quietly, inhaling your scent as you lean down to kiss the crown of his head. "I just wanted to be home with you, and I am."
"Love..."
"Please," he says, quieter. His tears have slowed. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore. It makes me angry, and being angry is exhausting. I'm already exhausted."
You sigh and crack a tiny smile, tapping his cheek lightly. Already you can see his resilience taking effect. Nothing keeps him down for long, your Chan.
"I'll let it go if you promise to come and eat something," you say. "Otherwise, I'm gonna call the kids to spend the night here and they'll eat all of the food I made for you-"
"Okay, okay," he groans, heaving himself upright. "I'm coming. Please don't call them, I've lost enough sleep trying to keep them all in line."
You laugh and kiss him. His lips are slightly chapped, and you tsk softly into the kiss as he stands up, taking you with him.
"Y/n," he murmurs, burning hands slipping to your waist.
"Thought you were too tired," you giggle.
He doesn't respond, instead tugging you closer. You reluctantly pull back and poke his side, making him gasp.
He pulls back too, fighting a sheepish look as you stare pointedly at the bathroom door. "Go shower, then come eat. Now."
He rolls his eyes and steals another kiss to your cheek as he heads towards the bathroom. "Fine."
Chuckling, you make your way to the door, heading to the kitchen. Your feet slow at the door threshold, and you turn to look back at Chan as he busies himself with pulling out a fresh set of clothes from his drawers. Even exhausted and upset, he's still beautiful. Your heart sinks a little as you watch the tear tracks on his face glisten under the lamplight, but you don't bring it up. Instead-
"Channie," you say softly.
He looks up, a black hoodie in one hand.
Your voice is gentle, almost hesitant. "It'll be okay, you know that, right?"
He nods quietly, solemn as you've ever seen him. "I know."
You feel your lips curving into a soft but sad smile. "I love you."
He blinks. "I love you more."
"That's not possible," you say teasingly as you turn and head towards the kitchen.
His laugh echoes through the house.
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a/n: none bc i'm fucking pissed.
ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude
send a dm, comment under the taglist post, or send an ask to be added !
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buckets-and-trees · 2 months ago
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Thermostat's Set at Six-Nine [Bed Chem collection]
Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x curvy!Millennial female!reader Word Count: 3k Summary: Bucky invaded your bed the night after you bumped into each other at the bake sale, and it trips a streak...
Content Warnings: modern AU; hook up culture/bootycall; established no-strings sexual relationship; explicit smut (vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex and ejaculation)
Logistical Notes: We met Bed Chem Bucky last summer during HBS, so what better time to bump into him again than for the FIRST WEEK of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer 2025?! Using the dialogue prompt "Mind your own damn business" and the themes of secret sex and loosly embarrassment and denial as well.
Previous: Even Better Than In My Head | Collection List ↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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You meant for it to be a one-time relapse, but Bucky’s been in your bed three nights in a row.
The first night, he left before sunrise. The next, he lingered in your bed, snoring with his arm casually possessive across your waist, until you wriggled free and locked yourself in the bathroom, equal parts annoyed and turned on by the hickeys blooming over your breasts and neck. But last night, he stayed so late into the morning that you had to tell him directly to get out, that you needed to get ready for work, that your boss had already noticed you showing up late twice this week. You thought it would embarrass him, or at least make him reconsider, but he only smirked, pressed you up against the wall in your entryway, and left you with an orgasm and a rude little text before you’d even made it to your car.
Tonight, you promised yourself, you’re going to turn him away. 
You never imagined—when you started sleeping with the man who once got you off in the back of a security truck, who barely bothered to learn your last name and only ever texted after midnight—that he would become… clingy.
And yet, night four, 2:07 am, your front door clicks open with the softest of sounds. You should have changed the code on the lock. You shouldn’t have given him the code in the first place. But the truth is, you wanted this. You wanted to be wanted, even by the worst possible man for you.
You lie very still in bed, feigning sleep, as Bucky pads through your tiny apartment in stocking feet, nearly quiet as an assassin. 
You know you should have locked him out—especially tonight, when your phone is full of sweet, anticipatory texts from Aiden about your brunch plans in the morning, about whether you like lemon curd or if you have any allergies. You even set an early alarm, put out the dress you planned to wear, and prepped the coffeepot. But Bucky’s shadow falling across the threshold, the shiver of anticipation snaking up your spine, undoes all logic.
He doesn’t say your name. Instead, he sits on the edge of your bed as if summoned. He runs a palm up your calf, kneading an absent bruise on your thigh he probably put there the night before.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 
You pretend to still be asleep. You strive for even breathing, for a slack jaw and closed eyes, but you know the way your body betrays you—how your back arches with the tiniest invitation, how your breath catches in the silence of the room.
Bucky leans in, his stubble dragging along the inside of your knee. He doesn’t hesitate. Two fingers sweep up to your hip, his thumb hooks into the elastic of your shorts and panties, and then he’s tugging, impatient, taking your bare ass in the palm of his hand.
He pushes your shirt up. His lips blaze a hot trail up your spine that you can’t ignore, and you have to let out a soft, desperately contented moan. 
You feel the grin on his lips against your skin. “Knew you’d be ready to play,” he says, pressing a hot kiss to the crook of your neck. His breath is faintly minty and cool, as if he knew you’d be auditioning him again tonight. 
“I have to get up early,” you say, and you finally open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “I have plans.”
Bucky’s hand finds its way back to the inside of your thigh, two thick fingers gently circling as if the entire world is only the small of your body beneath his touch. “You gonna let some other guy taste you?” His lips curve against your shoulder, half-mocking, half-possessive. The two of you know you’re not exclusive. That’s been the understanding since the beginning. 
You snort, turning your head to glare at him. “Maybe I will. Maybe he’ll let me sleep.” 
He smirks, unperturbed. “You don’t want sleep, you want this.” His fingers slide inside you, slow and devastating, his thumb finding your clit like it was programmed to ruin you. “You don’t need to get up early if you never go back to sleep.” His words melt into the curve of your ear, a criminal’s confession offered in the hush before dawn.
You want to protest, to tell him no, that you need to banish him from your apartment, your bed, and, most importantly, your mind. 
If only he wanted you in the daytime the way he wants you now.
Wait. 
Do you even want that with him? 
And Aiden might be satisfying in bed in the future. 
Bucky’s mouth is on your hip, then your waist, then the lowest curve of your back. “You want me to be gentle, or do you want it how you like it?” he asks, and it’s not a question at all because he already knows.
He fucks you with his fingers until you whimper, until your thighs tremble and your pajamas are halfway down your calves and you don't even remember ever owning resistance.
"I have to…" you whisper, but he cuts you off with a sharp slap—equal parts attention and punctuation—on your left cheek.
"You have to nothing," he says, and then he flips you, one-armed, so you're faceup, and he slides his cock in so slow, an intrusion, invasive and inevitable. He's watching your face, the way the corners of your mouth go slack, the way your eyes glass over. He jerks your thigh up, knee to his ribcage, and leans in to bite your jaw, not enough to break the skin but enough that you know he could. You whimper and he pulses inside you, his breath ragged and animal. 
"Fuck, you're tight," he grits, voice thick with the edge of darkness that always follows him through the door. His hand tightens on your hip until you're sure you’ll bruise, until he’s moving your body to his rhythm like you’re just another tool, a favorite toy finally brought out and admired. You are too tired to protest, too sated by the animal logic his body impresses upon yours.
He fucks you slowly at first, which is almost a taunt. You know how Bucky likes his rhythm—hard enough it feels like a fight, paced at some devil’s tempo—and when he goes slow, it means he’s in it not for the chase but the capture.
You hate that the way he holds your throat now feels like the safest place in the world, or that no one else even comes close to this, to you clinging to the back of his neck as if the entire earth would drop away if you ever let go.
You realize, in the few lucid spaces of pleasure between losing yourself, that you’re not even angry at him for breaking into your apartment or for making himself at home in your bed. You’re angry at yourself, for loving the way he doesn’t ask for permission, for loving that you never have to be good or gentle or careful. Here, with Bucky, you get to be feral. You get to let it all go.
He’s not saying anything, not even the little dirty nothings he usually mutters, just breathing against your skin, breathing with you, in you, all around you. The silence of your room is disturbed only by the slap of flesh and the needy little whimpers slipping past your lips despite all intentions otherwise. He watches you nearly the entire time, eyes open and hungry, as if he’s trying to memorize the exact shape of the moment when you finally break for him, the muscle memory of your shudder and sigh. Every time you try to look away, his hand turns your face back to his, and when you clench around him, he lets out a sharp, desperate sound that tells you more than words ever could—tells you he’s come unravelled, too.
You come. Of course you do. You always do with him. It wrecks you, the kind of orgasm that wracks a sob from you, trembling so hard your teeth chatter. He holds you down, fucking straight through your climax. He doesn’t slow; he chases his own finish with ruthless single-mindedness, the only sign of tenderness the gentle way his thumb wipes beneath your eye as you cry.
When he finishes—when he comes inside you, without a word, only a primal groan—he collapses on top of you. He’s big and warm and so heavy on you. You breathe around the urge to bite his ear, to bury your nose in the salt of his neck, to drag him deeper somehow. You wait for the weight to become unbearable, and then you wait some more. 
You simply lie there, but nothing is insignificant in this simplicity-Bucky heaving, face pressed to your collarbone, his hair damp and loose from its tie. You slide your hands up from his back to his scalp, gentle, selfish, not willing to let him go yet, and you feel the rare tremble in his body, the aftershock of release. He doesn’t move except to adjust his grip, his hand splaying wide over your chest as if to imprint you, mark you out as his. You’re not sure if he’s prepared to fall asleep right there, or if he’s waiting for you to break first and send him away.
He’s so much body, sometimes you think he could just smother you and you wouldn’t even mind.
When you finally speak, it’s not to dismiss him. 
“I’m getting up at seven-thirty,” you say, like an ultimatum. 
He lifts his head, squinting at you, at your hair plastered across your forehead and the haunted redness of your cheeks. His hand drags up from your chest to curl around your jaw, thumb fitting against your lower lip. You want him to say something cruel or lewd, something to dilute the intimacy, but instead he kisses your chin with a slowness that’s almost hesitant. "I’ll wake you up," he says.
The way he says it makes you ache and angry. 
He pulls out carefully, and you feel the mess he’s made of you, the slick that leaks between your thighs. Bucky tugs the covers over you, then lies down on his back, one arm cradled beneath his head, the other crooked so his palm rests on your belly, thumb drawing absent circles near your navel. It's almost sweet—almost—and so unlike what you'd expect from him that it flusters you. From the cast of his profile in the faint city light, you can tell he's still awake, maybe even as wired with adrenaline as you are.
After a minute, he says, "You think he’s boyfriend material, don’t you?" 
You let out a huff that could be laughter or contempt. 
“Mind your own damn business.”
He shifts a little closer, drags his knuckles up your ribs in a way that says I know every inch of this body, and you’re not keeping secrets from me. 
You’re wary of the tenor of the moment. 
“He’s what you’re supposed to want, right?” 
You don't answer right away. You want to laugh, to roll away from his touch and blurt something bitchy and final, but the honest answer is you don’t know. You wanted someone to take you to brunch, maybe even to dinner. You don’t need that, but you want that. 
"I haven't even decided if I like him yet," you say, your voice hollow with honesty.
Bucky grunts. "Yeah. Liar." The hand on your belly tightens, his thumb pressing into the soft curve above your hip. "You wouldn’t agree to go out with him if you didn’t."
"You don’t know that." You want to sound sharp, but it comes out softer, almost plaintive.
He shrugs, then moves his hand. “Sure, I do. Neither of us has slept with someone else for months now, right?”
You’re not surprised—he’s not wrong—but you’d never said that out loud, not even to yourself. You open your mouth to lie, to say “You can’t possibly know that,” but the words never surface. He knows. He’s always known. When you’re together, it’s like the whole world is distilled down to just this; sweat and friction and the comfort of never saying too much. 
The silence stretches, stretching out into a palpable thing. He traces lazy shapes against your skin, his breath evening out, a counterpoint to your hammering heart. 
“Go to sleep,” you mutter, but you don’t mean it as an order. You say it because you want the moment to end before you lose your nerve and ask him to stay. Because you don’t want to tell him to go either. 
He’s already drifting off, you can feel the slack gravity of him giving in. Bucky’s never been clingy, but here he is, falling asleep in your bed on consecutive nights. 
You lie there in the dark for a long moment, feeling his cum start to trickle down your thigh, and wonder what it would be like to have him in your bed every night, to know that’s what you both want. 
In the morning, he wakes you up and tugs you to the shower that’s already running. You step under the spray, goosebumps rising on your skin, both from the chill and from the awareness of Bucky’s heavy presence behind you.
You expect him to crowd you, to push you up against the cold tile and pin your wrists, but instead he lathers up his hands and runs them down your back, scraping gently with his blunt nails. No groping, no sly grabs; he’s just methodically cleaning you, as if that’s what you do when you fuck someone four nights running—you wash them, you take their old skin and strip it off. 
He makes a show of rinsing you off, turning you under the water, palming his hand across your brow to keep the suds out of your eyes. He doesn’t so much as steal a squeeze of your ass, doesn’t press his dick into the small of your back; he just does the job, brisk and pragmatic, like he’s washing a pet or a very dirty child.
You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you settle for lathering up his shoulders, scrubbing down his back, the broad expanse of him. There’s a long, pale scar just above his right hip, and you outline it with your fingertip. He flinches, ever so slightly, but lets you do it. Neither of you talks. You swap places, you share the soap. You know the choreography now, and you almost wish he would revert—grab the nape of your neck, make you look at him, demand you finish things the way only you can. But he doesn’t. 
When you step out, he grabs a towel and wraps it around your shoulders, tugging you into him. He’s still naked, still dripping, but somehow this moment is less erotic than domestic, less slick with want and more layered with something you can’t bother to name. At least not until caffeine.
You look up at him, clutching the towel to your front, and say, “You’re a menace.”
He grins, a wolfish can’t-help-himself grin. “You’re welcome.”
You notice the raw pink marks left by your fingernails across his shoulders, the lingering evidence of your own hunger. He pretends not to see you seeing him, but you catch the smirk on his face, feeling more settled to have that more familiar expression back in its place.
You towel off in the bedroom, Bucky sitting at the edge of your bed, already half-dressed, scrolling through his phone. You think he’ll have a text from one of his buddies, or maybe his ex-wife, but when you catch a glimpse of the screen, it’s a weather app and then, jarringly, a photo of the cupcakes from the PTA bake sale. There’s a text chain open—he’s sent the picture to someone, captionless.
You want to ask, but you think it would be too much, too close to real. You and Bucky are filthy, nasty, relentless sex without strings, no schedule, on a whim when someone sends up a flare. 
Maybe you’re both just fucking lonely.
You don’t ask.
Instead, you get dressed for brunch with Aiden, pulling on the dress you picked out last night and staring at your reflection. The map of bruises and bite marks that Bucky left on your shoulders and chest are somehow miraculously hidden, but you meticulously check to make sure.
Bucky hangs around until you start on your hair and make up, then plants a kiss on your shoulder blades and tells you, “Knock ‘em dead,” and leaves with his hands in his pockets. You tell yourself you should change the code, but you know you never will.
You spend the rest of the morning in a kind of liminal jet lag, floating through the motions of getting ready. You make it to the café five minutes late—a miracle for someone who has slept very little the past four nights.
Aiden is already seated at an outdoor table, sunlight sifting through the awning and lighting up his hair in a soft gold halo. He stands when he spots you, an old-fashioned but endearing gesture, and you feel immediately self-conscious, like you’re an imposter in a skin that doesn’t quite belong to you, meeting up with the prince from a Disney movie. 
He pulls out your chair with a quiet, “You look amazing,” and the words are so gentle your chest aches. 
You’re not sure what to do with this new vector of attention.
There’s nothing to do except order the French toast. 
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rindreamery · 8 months ago
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can i please get a fluffy nagi seishiro drabble with topping one as laying on your head on their chest and topping two as best friends to lovers?thank you!
ORDER 3: READY TO GO !
nagi + sweet + laying your head on their chest + best friends to lovers w.c. 900+
note. thank you guys for your patience with these 🙏 literally drowned in schoolwork for finals so i haven't really had time to write freely as i wanted to
interested in more? check out the lounge !
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the thermostat in nagi’s apartment always feels like it’s cranked to the lowest temperature possible. 
the living room is freezing, the chill is constantly nipping at your skin, and you’re uncomfortably aware of the goosebumps scattered across your skin. you’re shivering in your spot, the type of cold where you can feel it under your skin and in your stomach, and the regret of wearing a worn-out hoodie is finally starting to sink in. it doesn’t help that your once-hot drink has long turned cold, effectively getting rid of your last source of warmth. 
nagi’s so unfazed, and it bothers you how he manages to look so comfortable like this, while you feel like you’re on the verge of contracting hypothermia. but you don’t want to get up; you don’t want to leave the comfort of the corner of the couch and expose yourself even more. (and in some ways, you start to think that you and nagi really are meant for each other. you’re both lazy.)
“it’s freezing, sei.” you nudge him on his thigh with your foot, easy access from where your feet lay on his lap. it’s an exceptionally rough nudge, and he groans softly at the feeling, but he only spares you a quick glance before he’s drawing his attention back to his phone. typical. your eyes twitch, your lips press into a thin line, and you’re visibly unimpressed with the man sitting next to you. you nudge him again, “can’t you crank the thermostat up, or something?”
there’s a brief pause—
“‘m too lazy,” — then comes his predictable response. you’ve had this conversation about one hundred times in the past, and his response is always the same. word-for-word, without fail. you sigh to yourself, because, quite frankly, you’re not quite sure why you were expecting something different from him this time around. you’ve accepted your fate, and you’re just about to throw your feet off his lap, ready to make the five second tread to the thermostat on the wall. but you feel a large hand press down on your ankles, trapping you. “don’t get up.”
a complaint lies on the tip of your tongue, and you have to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. 
“what am i supposed to do then?” you grumble, crossing your arms and defeatedly sinking back into the cushions. (though, to be fair, you didn’t put up much of a fight.) his hold on your ankles never leave, and his grip tightens, ever so slightly. “you want me to freeze to death, huh?”
“c’mere,” nagi tugs at your ankles, pulling your body from its spot by an inch. he’d put his phone off to the side, and he’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to come over to him. your brows subtly pinch together in confusion, and you stay frozen in your spot, unsure of what he wants you to do. “i’m warm,” he adds, as if to convince you. 
your heart does a flip at the sight of him slightly opening his arms, inviting you to crawl over to him. but you don't rush over to him. 
you're nervous. you’ve never outright cuddled with nagi— maybe pressed your shoulders against him, thighs touching, at best. but there’s never been a situation in which you were snuggled up against him and wrapped in his arms. so there’s hesitation behind your movements as you squeeze your way into the space he’s made for you, unsure of where to place yourself and where to put your hands. do you wrap your arms around him? do you lay them on his chest— and you shake the thought out of your head.
too intimate. (but, then again, this whole situation is.)
“lay on my chest,” he mumbles by your ear. his hands are planted firmly onto your sides, guiding you into a position comfortable for the two of you, and you let him. you feel awkward and rigid the whole time, but oddly pliant under his touch, and you try your best not to act like a wooden plank against him. but it doesn’t work, and he grunts at how stubborn you are, resisting him. “try to relax a little,” and you awkwardly laugh, a nervous response. 
it takes a second for the two of you to find your place. as you lay your head on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat wraps you in a sense of calm— each beat like a soft, reassuring thrum, to calm your nerves. you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, and it almost feels like a rocking lull.
you’re becoming aware of the fact that he’s surprisingly comforting. so you allow yourself to melt into him, little by little, and he reciprocates by wrapping his arms around your waist. you feel him press his chin on the top of your head, and the way his fingers sneak under your hoodie to draw idle patterns on the skin of your back. (this feeling is foreign and weird to you, but welcome in a way.)
you’re sure nagi can feel your heartbeat, and the way it threatens to beat out of your chest, but you can feel his too.
his pulse quickens when one of your hands press against the planes of his chest, the other arm falling to your side. you feel him take a sharp intake of breath, the way his chest abruptly rises before slowly falling back down, in a shaky breath. “you warm now?” he whispers, his voice a level of gentle you’ve never heard before. 
“yeah,” you whisper back, completely settling into him, cheek pressed against the fabric of his hoodie. your hearts are still racing from the nerves of being so close, but you’re both relaxed— at peace. a silent understanding. 
you feel his mouth quirk up into a faint smile, as he presses his face deeper into your hair. “let’s take a nap together.” 
maybe, this was nagi’s plan all along.
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© rindreamery, 2024
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furnacerepair7 · 10 months ago
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DIY Pool Furnace Repair: A Step-by-Step Guide
Pool Heater Not Working: Identifying the Problem When your pool heater is not working, it can be frustrating, especially when you’re looking forward to a warm swim. The first step in addressing this issue is identifying the problem. There are several reasons why your pool heater might not be functioning properly. These can range from simple issues like a tripped circuit breaker to more complex…
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sereia4skz · 24 days ago
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a house we build | chapter 3: controlled environment
pairing: established!Minsung x fem!reader
< previous chapter | next chapter >
⋆。°✩
word count: 1.5k
warnings: morning sickness, vomitting
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You stay in the guest room. Technically. The bed is yours, the closet filled with soft clothes you don’t remember packing, and Minho keeps calling it your room, not the guest room. But it never really feels like you’re alone.
The house is big, but you’re never out of sight for long.
Jisung knocks three times every time before entering, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t have to. He always comes bearing something, a smoothie, a warm compress, a question about the baby that leads into a story about something entirely unrelated.
“Do you think the baby can hear music yet?” he asks one morning, handing you a bowl of cut-up strawberries.
“I don’t know,” you say.
“I should play them Stray Kids,” he says, very seriously. “Early exposure to greatness.”
He sits cross-legged at the end of your bed and starts making a playlist. Half an hour later, he’s playing it on low volume through a Bluetooth speaker, narrating each track like a sleep-deprived museum guide.
“This one’s technically about a girl,” he whispers, “but the vibe is gender-neutral, so…”
You laugh until your belly starts to cramp. He looks horrified and apologizes six times in under a minute. Then he starts again, quieter this time, his fingers stroking absentminded shapes into your ankle over the blanket.
Minho is quieter about it all.
You find notes on your nightstand every morning. Tidy handwriting. Black ink.
Don’t forget your vitamins.Tea in the kitchen (not the one with caffeine).I put a stool in the shower. Don’t roll your eyes.
He rarely says more than necessary, but he always notices things. Your shoes are replaced with a softer pair. There’s always a hot bath drawn for you after your appointments. You wake up one night to find him adjusting the thermostat because the room dropped two degrees. 
It’s not loud affection. It’s quiet architecture. Foundations.
You stop noticing how strange it is, how close you’ve become. It happens gradually. One week, you’re politely keeping to your room. The next, you’re wandering down in pajamas to find Jisung asleep with his head on the kitchen counter and Minho making tea in silence beside him.
He hands you a cup and says, “Decaf,” before you can ask.
You sit with them, comfortable, warm. Jisung starts snoring.
The next day, he installs blackout curtains in your room.
The day after that, you start doing yoga in the living room, not for fitness, not even for the baby, but because it makes your back hurt less. Minho joins you halfway through the second session, deadpan serious, correcting your posture like a personal trainer. Jisung joins on the third day and knocks over a lamp doing Warrior II.
“We’re enhancing your environment,” he declares, lying flat on the mat.
“optimal conditions,” Minho says.
“For best baby growth.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t stop smiling.
⋆。°✩
You throw up in the kitchen sink when it's barely morning.
You were fine ten minutes ago, comfy in your warm sheets with a soft fan humming, and then the wave hit. Sharp, sudden, full-body nausea.
Your hands grip the edge of the sink as you retch, and then again, and again, until there's nothing left but bile and bitter taste.
The room swims a little when you try to straighten up. You hear footsteps.
“Hey- oh, shit,” Jisung says, halfway through the door, still in his pajamas. “Shit, are you, hold on…”
He nearly slips trying to grab a towel and a glass of water at the same time. He thrusts them both at you with wide, panicked eyes.
“Don’t die,” he says. “Or if you do, leave a note that says it wasn’t my fault.”
You laugh hoarsely, rinse your mouth. “Just morning sickness.”
“That was more like apocalyptic sickness.”
You’re still a little clammy. He reaches out tentatively to tuck your hair behind your ear, then presses his hand to your back.
“Sit down,” he says. “Minho will freak out if he finds you keeled over.”
You slide onto the toilet cover. He fusses. Water, a cool cloth for your neck. He makes you eat three crackers under strict supervision.
When Minho walks in five minutes later, eyes still puffy from sleep, he takes one look at you and then at Jisung.
“She threw up,” Jisung says, full of urgency. “But I handled it. Like a real adult.”
Minho raises an eyebrow.
“You gave her saltines.”
“Saltines and emotional support.”
You shake your head, smiling despite the queasiness. “I’m okay.”
Minho’s hand finds your shoulder on the way to the kettle. He squeezes once, quietly. “Tell me next time,” he says. “Even if it’s just nausea.”
No panic. No lecture. Just tea made exactly the way you like it, and two men who hover a little too much all morning, but you don’t mind.
It’s kind of nice.
⋆。°✩
They start taking you out on weekends.
At first, it’s for baby shopping. A very necessary outing. Minho drives. Jisung insists on pushing the cart. You pick out clothes too small to comprehend, and he gets weepy holding a yellow onesie shaped like a bear.
“We’re gonna have a real baby,” he whispers, like this just occurred to him. “We made a real one.”
“You made a mess,” Minho mutters, but he keeps glancing at you every few seconds. Like he’s checking if you’re still here. Like he’s worried you’ll vanish.
The baby shopping trip turns into three stores. You come home with more than baby supplies. New sweatpants. A book you mentioned once in passing. Lavender bath oil.
Jisung shrugs when you look at him. “You’re incubating a human. Let us spoil you a little.”
Minho doesn’t even pretend to argue. “You’re important cargo.” He says it with a hand on your hip, steadying you when you lean down to pick up a dropped receipt. You try not to blush.
You start falling asleep on the couch after movie nights. Not on purpose, not really, you just get tired. But you never wake up alone. Minho always carries you back or lets you sleep on him, chin tucked against the crown of your head. Jisung usually stays curled up against your side, drooling, mumbling something nonsensical in his sleep.
One night, you wake at 2 a.m. in the middle of the tangle. Minho’s hand is cradling your belly like a reflex. Jisung has one foot on your calf and half a sleeve shoved into his mouth. You stare at the ceiling, a little dazed.
You’re not supposed to feel like this. This safe. This…wanted. You shut your eyes and pretend to sleep.
⋆。°✩
Jisung is soft-hearted, a chronic oversharer. He tells you everything, unfiltered. He talks about his fears, his favorite noodle shops, the way Minho looked when they first moved in together.
He brings you snacks and cries over baby socks. He says things like, “Sometimes I think you’re the only person who’s ever really seen us, y’know?”
You pretend it doesn’t make your throat tight.
Minho never says anything like that. But when you forget to eat, he brings food before you admit you’re hungry. When you cry during a prenatal video, he doesn’t comment, just offers his lap and lets you bury your face in his shirt. When you complain about morning sickness, he raises an eyebrow and smirks like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
“Careful,” he murmurs, steadying you with one hand. “You’re important cargo.”
You roll your eyes again. He’s still smirking when he walks away.
⋆。°✩
One night, they surprise you with a gift.
Not for the baby. For you.
It’s left outside your door in a neat paper bag, no note, no explanation.
Inside: a soft pair of pajamas, lavender and cotton. A throw blanket, your favorite color. A small, framed ultrasound picture already labeled neatly in tidy handwriting:
Baby Lee-Han, 15 weeks.
You stand there with it in your hands for a long time.
When you finally step into the living room, they’re both on the couch, half-watching a cooking show, half-dozing, wrapped in their own silence. You linger in the doorway.
Jisung notices you first. “Hey,” he says, sitting up straighter. “Did it fit okay?”
You nod. “You didn’t have to…”
“We wanted to,” he says, before you can finish. His voice is gentler than usual.
Minho doesn’t speak, but his eyes meet yours. He doesn’t look away.
You sit between them, quietly. Jisung leans into your side. Minho doesn��t move, but you feel his shoulder brush yours, close enough to feel the heat of him. The frame rests in your lap like a weight, solid and strange.
It shouldn’t mean so much. You’re not a family. Not really. But the picture is already labeled. The pajamas are already soft. And they both look at you like it’s the most natural thing in the world that you’re here.
You keep your eyes on the screen, not trusting your voice.
After a while, Jisung mumbles something about brushing his teeth. Minho stays.
The quiet stretches, comfortable.
He speaks without looking over. 
“Let us know if you need anything else,” he says. “Doesn’t have to be baby stuff.”
You glance at him. “Okay,” you whisper.
That night, you sleep better than you have in weeks, the frame still resting on your nightstand, the blanket tucked around your legs.
You dream of a house full of small footsteps and soft laughter.
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