#Italian bathroom cabinets

[muretti]

Custom Italian bathrooms

Throwback to the cabinets we installed for this beautiful bathroom.

[zerotide]

Laundry Laundry Room Portland Dedicated laundry room - small modern galley ceramic tile and gray floor dedicated laundry room idea with an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, white walls, a side-by-side washer/dryer and white countertops

[design-and-html]

Bathroom Kids in Phoenix

Bathroom: Small transitional kids' bathroom with gray tile and stone tile, a marble floor, gray cabinets, a one-piece toilet, and gray walls.

[esteponatarot]

Portland Laundry Room With an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartz countertops, white walls, a side-by-side washer/dryer, and white countertops, this small, modern galley has a gray floor and ceramic tile.

[newmas]

Kids Bathroom Bathroom: Small modern kids' bathroom idea with limestone flooring, a wall-mount toilet, and beige walls.

[g0dlyunsub]

it takes two.

spencer deals with a lot on the field, but nothing can prepare him for when he’s stuck inside a locker with you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: 18+ due to sexual themes but no smut, slight claustrophobia triggers

word count :: 2.2k

author’s note :: inspired by a scene from s9e23, i'm imagining spencer in a fitted collared shirt and tie, reader wears a skirt

accompanying song :: stuck between by dutch criminal record

“nothing’s showing up on vicap. i’ve cross-checked records against everything you’ve mentioned, sir, but there’s literally nothing. zilch,” you hear garcia let out an exasperated groan as she ferociously taps at her keyboard. 

you watch as hotch kneads the skin between his brows with growing impatience while morgan starts to pace around the room. you’re not doing any better yourself, your stressed-out fingers threatening to tug at the strands of hair neatly holding your ponytail together. 

it’s too frustrating. the leads are clearly there, but your team is lacking the final puzzle piece to complete the profile, to confirm that it’s someone in the department that’s deliberately injecting themselves into the investigation.

“your answer is probably written down on paper. ugh, i hate when bad guys try to act all smart,” garcia fumes, and sulks as she gives an apologetic wave from her side of the screen. hotch nods, relays a thank you, and cuts the call before rounding the whole team together.

“think about it, those two are the perfect scapegoats. all of these agents have everything to lose, so why not just blame them? they’ve been in and out of cells already, and it makes perfect sense to craft a narrative that’ll point fingers at them,” morgan starts, making small gestures as he speaks with his signature cadence, topped with a honeyed rasp.

“and they’ve got all the authority to influence the public’s opinion,” jj nods in agreement.

“we need to try to get those two to talk again, but we also have to take extra precautions. jj and prentiss, go interview them one more time to see if they’ll spill any names. morgan, i need you to work with garcia to look for other possible leads. reid and l/n, go to the records room to review the files of the agents working with us. dave and i will try to hold down the fort,” hotch instructs, nodding at each of you as he rolls out the orders. 

“and try not to draw suspicion. if all else fails, say that you need to run to the bathroom,” rossi adds with a wink. it always amazes you how calm the italian agent is during such high-pressure situations, a trait you’ve grown to immensely appreciate.

“shall we?” you say as you nudge spencer, and he hums back in response. you bid a wish of good luck to emily and jj and traverse the hallway to the records room with the doctor, your heels clacking beside the cushioned steps of his slightly worn converses. 

after looking left and right to make sure no one’s around, spencer opens the door. you silence the sounds of your heels as you follow inside, and let the bolt of the lock plunge into the frame by slowly closing the door. 

“alright, you take the left, i’ll take the right,” you whisper, and spencer gives you a thumbs up. 

the two of you work silently and as fast as possible, sifting through the piles of records that lie on the tables and beside the cabinets. you feel your heart jump into a cartwheel every time a sheet of paper slips out of the manila folders, the sounds of rustling and creasing setting you on edge. 

“i found mcgregor and drew, but i don’t think it’s either of them,” spencer declares with a voice that isn’t supposed to sound loud at all, but it feels hundreds of decibels higher than the bare whisper you spoke with earlier. 

“okay, i found weaver and lee, but they don’t fit the profile either. let’s continue looking for the other two,” you call back. 

spencer walks over to you and kneels beside your left to help you with your search. once you spread the folders on the floor, you spot one of the two remaining files, and spencer soon finds the other. you’re about to turn through the sheets in the folder when the doorknob starts to shake, startling the both of you.

“shit. spence,” you blurt as spencer takes his file in one hand and grabs yours with the other, and shoves them into an open drawer. after he slides the compartment back with his careful and nimble fingers, you grab his arm and squeeze into a spare locker. you barely manage to seal the opening shut in time.

you could say that it was quick thinking that saved your and spencer’s cover, since the door jiggles and thrusts open a mere second later.

you never would’ve imagined that the day would come when you would draw air directly from spencer’s breaths, let alone enclose yourself in the same room as him. 

and yet here you are, perched on top of spencer’s knee, the scratchy fabric of his trousers resting under the hollow space of your pencil skirt and between your legs. his other leg presses against your side of the wall with an uncomfortable bend, while his chin sits an atom’s width from your forehead.

it’s a nonnegotiable consequence that comes with his tall figure, the way his clothed knee has to rub against your inner thighs under the draped fabric.

one of your hands lies awkwardly on his chest while the other is on his thigh, right above the knee that’s using you for leverage. your attention immediately shifts to your left when you see the rays of the intruder’s flashlight scope through the room. 

you stop mid-exhale when the light pours through the gaps of the locker, casting shadows on spencer’s face and your body. he looks stressed, anxiously wetting his lips with closed eyes, face turned away from you.

and he looks overwhelmed. rapid bursts of inhales and exhales fire from his body, likely due to the collar of his shirt being bound tightly around his neck with the tie. with shaking fingers, you slowly reach for his tie, waiting for approval to loosen it. 

you feel his forehead bury into the cave of your shoulder, and he whispers his desperate ask into your ear: “please.”

despite the lack of light around you, you’re able to locate the small end of his satin tie, and you tug lightly. the knot unfurls as you pull, and spencer lets out a small sigh of relief before breathing a low thank you in your ear.

as this happens, you hear the intruder surf through the piles of papers, unlocking drawers and lifting boxes left and right. hurry, hurry, hurry, you pray desperately in your head. beads of sweat start to form at your temple and threaten to fall down to your exposed neck, which happens to be situated directly in spencer’s line of sight.

“come on,” you hear the guest in the room complain, angrily flipping through papers and slamming the cabinets. you think it’s finally time for him to leave when you hear the high-pitched ring of his phone. 

but your eyes widen when instead of heading to the door, he makes strides towards the locker right across from yours, and leans his back against it before holding the phone up to his ear. holy shit.

“jensen speaking,” he says with a gruff voice, and plays with the button of his flashlight so it turns on and off spontaneously. as the light flickers, it dimly shines the space inside your locker. 

spencer turns his head to meet your eyes, a panicked expression covering his face. you’re about to mouth a small sorry for the helpless situation you’ve dragged him into, but just as you’re about to do so, spencer’s trousers slide against your legs, creating friction so unbearable that you let out a squeak. 

you freeze, looking up to see spencer’s eyes flash warningly. he instantly clasps your mouth with his hands to cover any further sound from escaping your lips, but with no form of support to maintain his position, he starts to slip, and his shirt lightly skids against the locker’s slippery walls. this is somehow even worse for you, because spencer’s knee starts to dig further up your legs and into your cotton underwear, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

luckily for the both of you, jensen seems to be distracted by whatever words are being spewed from the other end of his phone call to pay any mind to your suppressed yelps. 

“i think their agents might be on to us,” he scowls, and you watch from the corner of your eye as he tosses the last of his files into a box and opens the adjacent locker to ram it inside.  

“yeah, i’ll try to stall them for as long as i can. they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.” 

jensen curses and promptly ends the call, returning his phone into the pocket of his shirt. he finally walks to the door, sighing as he twists the knob and steps out. the two of you lie in wait for an additional three minutes before trying anything. 

“i think we’re good,” spencer huffs, finally opening the locker door with a thud as the sounds of steel clashing against steel echo throughout the air. 

“yeah,” you nod, taking a breath to collect yourself as you step out. you watch as spencer runs a hand through his hair and moves his fingers down to adjust his tie. 

he returns the stare, his adam’s apple bobbing when he eyes your wrinkled shirt and scrunched up pencil skirt – which looks more like a mini-skirt with how it sits right below your hips.

“i um, i need some air. how about you?” spencer asks at last, clearing his throat. you bite your lip when he starts to brush the dust off his thighs and knees, the moments of earlier flooding into the back of your mind like the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“yeah, i could use some fresh air too,” you respond breathily, averting your eyes and focusing instead on smoothing out your shirt and retying your loosened ponytail. when you’re done, you turn around and stagger to the door, not looking twice to see if spencer’s following you. an intense flush spreads across your cheeks, and your only viable path of escape is to the bathroom.

“you, um, missed a spot,” you hear from behind, and you follow spencer’s gaze to see that he’s referring to the back of your skirt.

“oh,” you say as embarrassment swamps you, and you hurriedly pat at the fabric. “does that look better?”

“it’s still folded there. if you want, i can- may i?” 

the question tumbles from his pretty lips and messes with your head. his hand hovers right around your waist, the same way yours lingered on his tie as you waited for his consent. and his softening eyes. his slightly smoldering gaze looks so innocent and alluring at the same time, your heart starts to feel heavy with the weight of desire. 

note to self: never wear a pencil skirt again.

“please,” you utter like a silent prayer, and mentally prepare yourself to endure the test of his fingers against your skin.

as soon as he receives your word, his hand lightly brushes against your thigh and trails down your skin. he takes the hem of your skirt and pulls down, giving several tugs before releasing the stretched garment. 

he clears his throat when you don’t move even after he’s retracted his hand.

“all good now.” 

spencer’s words drown out your thoughts and snap you back to reality. he’s already standing by the door, holding it open for you with a patient smile.

“thanks,” you say as you walk out and rub your hands together, nervous for what you’re about to say next. “spencer, um, i’m so sorry about that whole ordeal, it was really unprofessional of me to drag you in there, i wasn’t thinking when i-”

“you did the right thing,” spencer interrupts your ramble with the shake of his head, and his flawless smile pulls at your heartstrings.

“i would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn't. that door’s the only way in and out if you don’t count the windows,” he continues, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks you to the elevator.

“oh,” you shyly murmur back, your cheeks flushing with a shade of bright pink as his words pour over you like warm water. he would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn’t?

“yeah, but how about we try a bigger locker next time?” spencer almost reads your mind as he half-mindedly jokes, causing you to drop your jaw in shock. he doesn’t acknowledge your reaction, however, because he starts to dial rossi’s number on his cell.

“by the way, the uh, new look suits you. the grey skirt and all,” spencer says with a lopsided smile before he raises a hand to excuse himself and call rossi. you’re saved the embarrassment of responding when rossi accepts the call, but your palms are already profusely sweating at his compliment.

note to self: maybe wear the pencil skirt again.

[gqutie-blog]

Exterior - Brick Idea for the exterior of a large, two-story, traditional beige brick home with a hip roof and shingles

[blackbirdsofrye]

New York Kids Bathroom

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Lovely 1875 Italianate Victorian in San Francisco, CA has 6bds, 5ba, $3.995M.

The doors open to a side hall entrance.

The floors seem worn for this price, though, and I'm wondering if there were pocket doors that were removed and replaced by double doors. This home is very elegantly trimmed in gold.

Beautiful ornately carved fireplace.

Very elegant, ornate room.

Now, all of a sudden, the decor turns to delightfully whimsical. I love this room. Since it's right outside the kitchen, I'm wondering if it's the dining room.

I can't believe that this is the only photo of the kitchen. I appreciate that it's not renovated and modernized, but it doesn't look nicely finished either. Especially for a home in this price range.

The powder room.

The stairs are whimsical, too.

And, so this is a bedroom. I'm wondering if they left any paint for touching up the walls in here. It's a nicely painted bedroom.

Updated vintage bath.

This could be the primary bedroom. Love the color of the carpet. The paint in these rooms is amazing. The sink was removed from that alcove.

Isn't this beautiful?

Even this plainer room is nice.

I'm not sure if this is a rear stairway or another floor.

But, this is a lovely bedroom with a sink in the alcove.

There's a modern shower room here. Don't like the sink cabinet. I hope that's not mold between the floor and the wall.

And, a vintage half bath. The sink is nice, but the finishes on some of the wood in this house is done very sloppily. Like this room has paint showing thru and the finish is rough. A haphazard DIY job in a $4M home.

The attic is large and unfinished, but is that a wood stove there?

Apparently there's a bathroom up here.

This is a nice rooftop deck, but it's deteriorating.

The home has no yard. The houses are so close, they seem to overlap.

I know it's San Francisco, but I'm not feeling the $4M price.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/390-Page-St-San-Francisco-CA-94102/2060469081_zpid/

[totaly-obsessed]

Unexpected Meetings

Alessia Russo x reader fic

-> The reader forgets Alessia's team bonding and bursts into the room, her teammates don't know about the reader

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Alessia had been at the Arsenal Women’s Football Club for about three weeks now. She was settling in nicely. The girls were welcoming and happy to have her, most of them already familiar with each other in one way or the other.

Every Friday there was a team bonding session, those were quite helpful for the new girls to get to know the team and form friendships. The blonde had offered a movie night at her place for this week's ‘Team Date’ as she liked to call them.

None of the girls had been around to her place after the move. It was her family and Ella who helped her move. Oh – and you of course! Being the striker’s girlfriend of just shy of two years you were living with her. So, it was not only the blonde's move, but yours as well, being offered a position as a teacher at one of London’s many schools. It could not have been more perfect.

You knew that the girls were going to be at your apartment, you really did. A co-worker of yours, a quick new friend offering you a place to stay for the night. But somehow, you forgot.

The girls were arriving at your apartment, one after the other, getting comfortable on the large couch Alessia had insisted on buying as you moved in. The floor in front of the TV had been covered with a mattress as well as a mountain of blankets and pillows.

“Less this place is incredible. Just look at your kitchen, man!” Beth was in awe of the apartment. To be fair you had put a lot into making it as comfortable and homey as possible for the both of you.

“Yeah w- I am really happy with it.” With a deep blush, she was hoping, that no one noticed the deep blush on her face. And no one did – except the ever so attentive Leah Williamson.

“It is quite big though Less. Don’t you get lonely?” The Italian sputtered out some weird response about getting a dog to fill the void.

“Where is your bathroom then Russo?” Katie had been suspecting nothing to this point, but it was in the bathroom, where she noticed it. Two toothbrushes, towel sets, and bathrobes. Upon further inspection, she noticed the many shoes in the cabinet, many of them with heels and a lot smaller than the sneakers that undoubtedly belonged to her teammate.

The brunette saw Alessia’s gaze, wary of her wandering around her apartment. Then her eyes fell to Leah who had a subtle smirk on her face. “Oy, Viccy! Change with me, would ya?”

And just like that McCabe had gotten what she wanted, leaning close to Leah. “When do ya reckon she’ll tell us?”

The blonde shrugged. Carefully she pushed aside the fringe that had fallen into her eyes, once again. “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile: You have had a shit night. The school was holding a teacher conference until late in the evening wanting to discuss changes in the school. You had not even been there for longer than three weeks and you were already starting fights with misogynistic, homophobic, old, white men.

With all of that still fresh on your mind, you could not wait to tell Lessi everything. The footballer understood that you did not need or want solutions, you needed someone to be angry with you and still hold you when you cried.

And she could do that incredibly well.

In a hurry you threw the apartment door open, it was freezing outside and you could not wait to fall into bed with your girlfriend. How you did not notice the massive number of shoes in your hallway, you still do not understand to this day.

It was quiet, aside from a movie blaring from the TV. Alessia liked her movies and shows, always having something on in the background. “Less! You won’t believe what happened, baby!”

Hastily you threw your coat onto the bench, stumbling over one of your own shoes. The woman in question shot up in her position on the couch, as did every other woman in the room, looking at her with wide eyes, but keeping quiet.

“That old twat Mister Grimm, or whatever-“ you were out of breath stumbling over your words, still loaded with anger, “said, that it is ‘okay for boys to slack off but girls need to work even harder’.”

An angry huff could be heard from the hallway, where you were fighting with your scarf, not finding the way out of it. “And he wants the girls' grading to be harsher, because ‘boys need more concentration to pay attention than the girls’”, while Alessia couldn’t see you yet, she could imagine the air quotes you were inevitably doing – her teammates were quite amused by your annoyance, but interested nonetheless.

“What does that even mean? How can someone be so-“ By that point you had wandered into the living room, at least twenty women were looking at you.

Fuck.

You had forgotten Alessia’s team night. “

Less I am so sorry.” The blonde however wasn’t even mad (or surprised).

“It’s fine baby, I wanted to introduce you to them anyways – just made it easier.” She stood up, hugging you close to her. “C’mon Russo! Don’t be shy, give ya missus a kiss!” It was Katie who found her words first, wanting to embarrass the Italian.

But Alessia was not as bashful as expected, and instead pulled you into a bruising, passionate kiss – her teammates cheering in the background, hollering at the two of you. After pulling away, because you were still out of breath due to your ranting, she mumbled a quick “I missed ya, amore.”

Now it started to sink in, the reality of standing in front of the entirety of the Arsenal girls, who didn’t even know you existed up until now. Alessia however was beaming next to you, swaying your joined hands between you. “Guys, this is my girlfriend. Baby, these are my teammates.” 

“Hi. Nice to meet you guys.”

It was silent for a second, but it was Caitlyn who started the conversation – “So what did that Mister Grimm say?”

Just hours later Alessia could not help but smile – you were cuddled on top of her, in a deep conversation with Lotte, next to her, about some book both of you had read.

This day could not have been better if she tried. She was home.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

liked by stanwaygeorgia and 44.331 others

alessiarusso99: Team-Bonding Movie Night style!

[muretti]

Italian bathroom furniture

Wooden cabinetry in the bathroom adds a touch of warmth to the space. ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​Taken from our recent multi-unit project.

[keeksandgigz]

Chapter 1: Les Usurpateurs

Part 1 of Words are Futile Devices- A Steddie x Reader Call Me By Your Name AU

Somewhere in Northern Italy, 1983

cw: ~3k words, no smut (yet), EVERYONE IS OF AGE!!!, a lot of unnecessary description for the vibes, reader is a bit of a cunt

notes: I'm back (I think)

Despite the lack of smut in this chapter, this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

There was something of a quiet intimacy in hearing the summer sparrows in the morning. Nothing but the gentle hum and chirp buried in the ripe peach trees. Thus marking the beginning of your yearly summer stay in Italy, of doing nothing but lounge around and savor the crickets at night, lying down on the couch of the villa your mother had inherited from her great grandparents. 

What you liked about your summers in Italy was that time seemed to go slower, at your leisure, spending it between the lake with your friends, the town just a short bike ride away or staying home buried in the pile of books you had brought over just to keep in your room, a bit overgrown, but unable to make it “too yours” because of the guests you’d have to concede your room to a mere four weeks after your arrival at the villa. 

Every summer, your father would host literature and art history students at the villa, aspiring professors, authors, archeologists, to help with their dissertations. They’d come with their american ways, obnoxiously disturbing the peace that you had created for yourself in the idyllic world you’d surrounded yourself into. Like that was a different astral plane you’d projected into, with the same friends as always, the same views, the same places to go. A different guest you’d have to surrender your room to for ten weeks, while you were banished to the communicating room, divided only by a shared bathroom. A small twin bed, an old desk and chair, a big enough window to let a good amount of light in, so you don’t suffocate and turn into a vampire. You despised that room. 

They always arrived on the first day of July, when the weather seemed to turn from needing a light pair of jeans in the evening  to clothes being unbearable. If you were in your room you’d limit yourself to a long enough shirt to keep you decent for the ghosts in the villa. There were no ghosts, but Giovanna, the housekeeper, would pop in from time to time to drop off your clothes– washed, ironed and folded. They smelled like citrus. 

You were reading The Count of Monte Cristo when the guest arrived. The rippling sounds of the gravel under the heavy tires of the car sounding like an alarm. You placed your book face down on the page you had been reading and ran to the window. Curious to see what the tide had brought this year. Maybe someone whose English wasn’t very good. Or some lunatic who could only stay inside because of his pollen allergy. You wondered what they would have looked like. Tall? Ugly? Obnoxious in the sense where you could hear them play shuffle and slam and bang doors and cabinets and drawers in the morning when getting ready? 

The car came to a stop in front of the door, right under the window of your room. The driver’s door opened, Giuseppe, the groundskeeper of the villa went around to open the trunk. Your heart thumped as you saw the passenger door open. It was a man. He was wearing a pair of white linen shorts, a blue flouncy short sleeve button- up shirt and gold- rimmed glasses. He pushed them up as he placed two hands on his hips, quickly removing one in favor of running his hands through his hair, styled and coiffed like he had not just come off an eight- hour flight. 

“You must be…” You’d heard your father say, placing a finger on his bearded chin, the name of the boy must have slipped him. 

“Steve. Piacere” the boy said, in an Americanized Italian, sounding like he had a hot potato in his mouth. 

“Ah! Steve, Benvenuto” your father said, bidding his welcome and shaking the boy’s hand. Your mother extended a delicate hand as well, introducing herself with a bright smile. At the same time, the opposite passenger door opened. Another boy. 

This one had long, frizzy hair. His face was framed by the bangs that stuck on his forehead. He was wearing a black t- shirt of a band you’d never heard of before tucked inside a pair of cutoff denim shorts held up by a belt, a chain clinking at the boy’s side as he stepped off the car. He wouldn’t let Giuseppe take his bags, insisting he could have done it himself. 

Your father followed the boy with his eyes as he carried what appeared to be a duffel bag and a beat up suitcase towards your father. 

“And this must be Eddie, then” your father said, as Eddie released his suitcase to shake your father’s hand. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” the boy said, and from this new angle you could see that he sported three chunky rings on his left hand and a chain necklace around his neck. Your father saw you peeking out the window and motioned for you to come down. 

“Shall we go inside? Show you around before dinner?” He motioned towards the boys as Eddie picked his stuff up once again and followed inside. You rolled your eyes. That was your cue to put on some pants and come downstairs. 

Your father’s office was just on the right at the bottom of the stairs, as you hopped down the marble steps. You heard chatter. 

“Oh there she is” you heard your father announce as you leaned against the doorframe of his office. You tended to dislike his theatrics “Boys, this is my daughter” the two guests turned around, reaching their hands to squeeze yours, as you firmly told them your name. 

“Hey, I’m Steve,” he said, fixing his glasses with his other hand. He was soft, but his handshake was firm. Hands bigger than yours. 

“You’re the archeology and history nerd” you quipped, a slight curl of your mouth followed it. 

Steve didn’t seem to like the name, as he let go of your hand, mouth in a straight line. Embarrassed. Put off. You needed them to know that they weren’t welcome here. 

“Hey, what’s up I’m Eddie” the other guy said. His hand was much more rougher and calloused than Steve’s, likely a guitarist. 

“You’re the soon to be failed author?” you tilted your head at him,

 you tilted your head at him, you heard your mother gasp, the indignation dripping from her mouth as she said your name. Eddie chuckled, a bit taken aback, but amused. 

“How do you like daddy’s money, hm?” It was your turn to be indignant. You heard your father snicker behind the boy, followed by Steve. Your hand brusquely retracted from Eddie’s, as your mother poured springs of apologies on your behalf. 

“She’s not like this, usually,” your mother said. Which was a lie. You were always like this. Rude, witty, sour. 

You heard the disappointment in your dad’s tone “Go show them their room” he said, an intimation for you to leave. 

“Make yourselves at home,” he said, before you guided them back upstairs. 

Eddie huffed up the stairs. You didn’t offer to take his bags, as he seemed to not need nor want any help. 

You opened the large pinewood door. 

“You guys are gonna sleep in here. This is my room, but it’s gonna be yours for the rest of your stay. I’m gonna be in the next room over. Unfortunately we’ll have to share a bathroom” You could see sleep calling to them, as their eyes opened and closed slowly at the sight of a made bed. 

Eddie dropped his bags and thumped on the bed, sleep immediately overtaking him. 

“You have to excuse him, this is the first time he’s traveled outside of the States,” Steve said, sitting on the bed, leaning to take his shoes off. 

“Nervous or what?” you asked, examining your bookcase in case you wanted to steal a book to take to your room. 

“Just not as lucky as many” Steve shrugged, laying himself down on the mattress “this is his big shot. If your dad likes his stuff it’s all uphill from here” Steve groans, voice full of sleep “thanks for lending us your room, let us know when dinner is.”

And that was that. The boy fell into the arms of slumber.  

And when Giovanna rang the bell to announce dinnertime, once again you peeled yourself away from The Count of Monte Cristo. You wondered if they were still sleeping. 

You wandered into the bathroom and towards the door as you shot a quick look at the two sleeping bodies on the bed. Eddie was snoring. You were unsure if you should have woken them up. 

You toyed with the bathroom door, swinging it between your hands. A grin decorated your face as you decided to slam it. Steve jumped awake, annoyed and scared. 

“Dinner’s ready” you muttered, reaching for the handle of the door. 

“I’ll pass, thanks” Steve said, shaking Eddie from his almost comatose state. The boy mumbled a semi- discernible “huh?” 

“Dinner, Ed. ‘m not going, but you can feel free to” Steve said to the other, but he just turned around and sleepily muttered an “‘mgood, thanks.”

“He’s good. We’ll apologize to your mother in the morning” Steve said, laying back down, ignoring you completely. 

Where’s my apology? 

You were thankful for the lack of guests at dinner. That way you were able to silently eat and then slither back into your room. Back into your book. Lulled by the crickets, and the whisper of the trees in the weak evening breeze. You ended up falling asleep. 

In the morning, Steve was already outside having breakfast with your parents. He looked like he had showered, but you didn’t recall the faint sound of the water running. He was wearing another pair of shorts, another flouncy shirt. Fumbling with a slice of toast, buttered with jam as he talked to your father about the morning paper. 

“This is gorgeous by the way” Steve admitted, looking around “your orchard?” he looked at your mother, who was smiling proudly at the compliment. 

“We grow a lot of fruit here, Giovanna makes apricot juice fresh every day” she smiled, biting into a slice of bread.

“You had a lot to say yesterday, now you’re a quiet little mouse?” your father teased, elbowing you lightly as you rolled your eyes. 

“It’s okay, she apologized” Steve said, an assuring look in his eyes “she didn’t mean that stuff. She told me, it’s just her welcome wagon” he chuckled, and you felt yourself grow red. Why would he save you like that?

Eddie popped out from the door, hair in a bun, changed out of his shirt in favor for a new one. 

“You should show them around some time, dear. Take them into town, maybe at the lake, I hope your father is not gonna keep them cooped up in his office for ten weeks” your mother giggled. 

“Yeah, no we’d love that. Maybe I’ll get some inspiration for the book” Eddie sat down at the breakfast table, between you and Steve as he fumbled with a soft boiled egg Giovanna had to crack open for him. Embarrassment was veiled on his face. 

You looked at his ringed hands, fumble with the small spoon. Did it always look so small? 

“We’re not gonna start until the beginning of the week, but I might ask you to go get some supplies into town today and take these two with you. Eddie’s gonna need some nice paper for his typewriter, won’t you?” your father gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder, at which he smiled. 

“Have another egg” your mother encouraged the boys. Eddie dug into the pot again, getting more confident with the way he spread the runny yolk on a slice of toast. Some of the runny egg dripped in between his fingers.

Just not as lucky as many.

Steve passed. “I know myself too well, if I have a second, I’ll just have a third and a fourth and a fifth and then I’m just gonna have to get rolled outta here” he joked. I know myself. Self- assured, cocky. You wondered what it felt like to really know yourself, to have everything figured out like he did. 

You lent Steve Giuseppe’s old bike, Eddie got an old one of yours, the squeaky rusted tires alerting the two strangers’ presence. You were afraid you would have been pressured into giving one of them your own bike, seeing as you had already surrendered all of your possessions to them. 

It was a pleasant day. Not too incredibly hot to be embarrassed if the two boys were to see you, face riddled with uncomfortable beads of sweat, breath heaving irregularly from the dry air of July. Instead, a nice breeze came through the mountains, as you debated on going for a swim later in the day. 

That’s what you liked about your summers there. A swimsuit was always the wardrobe of choice under your summer clothes, the freedom to subsist in a plane of existence where your obligations began and ended within the span of a few miles of green grass and honeysuckle flowers. 

The two boys followed you down the graveled road into town, which seemed to be deserted, families abandoning their houses in favor of driving to the beach for the weekend. 

You asked them if they wanted to get a coffee, as you dismounted your bikes and parked them in front of a coffee place. 

You sat outside as you sipped from your espresso cups. 

“So” Steve broke the silence “What does one do around here?” you put down your book, the device you so desperately tried to ignore them with, trying to drown them out. 

“Wait for the summer to end” you mumbled carelessly, going back to the words on the page.

“Ok and then in the winter you wait for the summer to start?” Eddie snickered. 

“Seriously though, what do you do here the whole summer?” Steve interrupted, taking you away from your book again, as you tossed it on the table. 

“I read, mostly. Play music, swim at the lake, go out” you huffed out annoyedly, reaching for the book. Eddie preceded you.

“Kafka? What happened to Monte Cristo?” he flicked through the yellowed pages.

“I finished it. How’d you know I was reading that?” you snatched the book back from his hands. 

“It was on your bed before I slammed onto it. You should read something a bit more substantial,” he said “Kafka isn’t gonna teach you shit, why don’t you read Dorian Grey instead?” it annoyed you how patronizing his tone was. 

“I read that last year, thanks for the help” you retorted, taking the book back from him with a roll of your eyes. 

“Your dad seemed to make it abundantly clear that you need to be nice to us” Steve intervened, whining like a petulant child. 

“Or what? You’ll snitch on me?” you snapped, the two boys looking at each other. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” your nose curled at the nickname, “we’re not your enemies or whatever you think you’ve made us out to be. We really don’t want to be a nuisance to you” nothing about what he said seemed sincere. You rolled your eyes in response.

“Well,” Steve stood up from the metal chair with a violent noise, Eddie following suit “we’ll see you later,” as the both of them mounted their bikes and left. The creaking noises of the rusty old bikes followed in their pedaling. 

They finally got the hint. 

You spent the rest of your day at the lake, not really in a mood to interact with Chiara or Alessandro, two of your longtime friends. Instead, you made the slushing of the water current your friend, staring at the words on the page. Meaningless words. Kafka didn’t seem so enticing after all. 

When you got home it went back on the dusty shelf. Your hand lingered on the spine of Dorian Grey for a moment. The cover was brown and worn, it was your mother’s before it became yours, your heart picked up at the words on the spine, gold lettering. You thought about what Eddie had said earlier. 

You picked up Heart of Darkness instead. 

Read Part 2 Here

tagging: @littlexdeaths, @xxbimbobunnyxx, @aphrogeneias, @rowanswriting, @stveharringtn, @impmunson, @strangerstilinski, @lavendermunson, @rebelfell, @bimbobaggins69, @cryingglightningg, @thornsnvultures, @jamdoughnutmagician, @take-everything-you-can, @eddiesxangel, @ali-r3n, @emxxblog, @corrodedcoffincumslut, @str4ngergirlw0rld, @yujyujj, @gregre369, @subconsciouscollapse, @aol19, @cooljadejacksonthings, @maeneedsabreak, @eddiesguitarskills, @freak-of-hawkins, @eddiesghxst

[tinytalkingtina]

Dough

Written for the @steddiemicrofic March prompt pin.

388 words | Rating: T | CW: implied shower sex Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Baking, Implied/Referenced Sex, Steve is Italian

Ao3 link (also contains the recipe that inspired this) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve, half covered in flour, squinted at the smudged and slightly greasy index card. “I can’t make out the handwriting here, does that say 4 or 9 cups?” He pushed it under Eddie’s face, wincing as a little shower of flour sprinkled down to the floor. Eddie stopped rummaging through the cabinets to look up at his boyfriend incredulously. “Isn’t 9 cups like half the bag? Exactly how many people is this recipe for?” Steve shrugged, dislodging yet more flour from his hair. “Nona had…” He trailed off muttering names to himself. “6 siblings, and they all had at least 2 kids. Her Sunday dinners were for the entire family, so she was feeding an army of hungry Italians.” He moved back to the mixing bowl. “Okay, executive decision time, we’re going with 9 cups, I want everyone to take home leftovers.“ “Sound goo-AHA” Steve didn’t glance away from the mixer at the outburst. “Did you finally find the measuring spoons?” “I’m telling you, they don’t exist! But behold my liege:” Eddie brandished the rolling pin. “Your mighty weapon to slay this culinary dragon!” Steve was now preoccupied kneading the dough, his arm muscles flexing distractingly. “Can’t use that. Nona goes out of her way to say you have to roll it out by hand. And before you ask,” he said, holding up a hand at Eddie’s open mouth, “no, I don’t know why she had a grudge against spoons either. Just mix the filling with your fingers okay? It’s not like you mind getting dirty.” Eddie smirked. “No, I certainly don’t.” Draping himself over Steve’s back, he placed a kiss on his neck. “In fact I could show you how much I don’t mind right now.” Steve shook off his now flour-streaked koala of a boyfriend. “You know Robin’s rule, no sex in the kitchen. But,” he said, with a smirk of his own, “if we put this in the oven before 2 we probably have enough time to shower together.” “Oh you are so on, Harrington.” Eddie dashed over to the counter and began furiously chopping up chocolate. And if Robin came home to find a red-faced Steve cutting burnt edges off the baci di dama while Eddie mopped up the bathroom of a tiny amount of excess water, well, that was nobody’s business but theirs.

[goldenempyrean]

Under The Same Roof

〚 Notes - These two cuties are my new favourite obsession for the time being so please excuse this. For some reason these fics do far better on ao3 compared to here :P anyway! enjoy ;D 〛

〚 Pairing - Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca 〛

〚 Summary - After moving into Maya's apartment, Carina is meant to spend her day off unpacking her stuff. Instead Maya comes home to a very sleepy, sick Italian asleep on her sofa. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2600 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Thing’s had been going really well between Maya and Carina lately. The two were currently in the midst of moving in together, there was a plethora of boxes with various possessions strewn about the apartment. They’d both been so busy that unpacking had been forgotten about in favour of making the most of their newfound closeness. However today had been Carina’s day off from work, she had been planning to make the most of it – to spend the day cleaning, unpacking, organising. Doing everything, she could make this place into their home. 

But her body had clearly had other ideas. 

Carina had woken up that morning with a scratchy throat and a heavy head. She rolled over with a groan, her arms searching for the comfort of her girlfriend but the bed beside her was cold and painfully empty - the firefighter’s shift wasn’t due to finish until later tonight. 

She sniffled, pulling her fluffy pink robe around herself as she dragged herself out of bed. The fabric did little to ward off the shiver that ran over her olive skin. The Italian coughed weakly, tracing her fingers down her throat afterwards as she whined softly to herself. This really wasn’t how she had planned to spend the day... 

Shuffling through the maze of boxes that littered the floor, she headed to their bathroom. She stood over the sink, staring at her bleak reflection in the mirror, grimacing as she took a dose of the cold medicine she’d found in the cabinet. 

Carina sniffled again, reaching for a tissue as she blinked away the tears she could feel welling up at the corners of her eyes. She had been looking forward to this day, to finally settling into their new home together. But now, with her body feeling like it had been hit by a truck, the thought of unpacking boxes and cleaning all day felt almost impossible. Carina didn’t know why she felt guilty about it., it wasn’t like it was a job she’d been asked to do specifically. But still, the thought of being sick and miserable all day, unable to do that one thing she’d wanted to get done had the corners of her lips wobbling slightly. Maybe she was just overtired and feverish – that always made her easily tear up but there was something else. Something she hadn’t felt in a while – a longing. All she really wanted was to be with Maya right now. 

She longed for the warmth of Maya's embrace, the soothing touch of her hand on her forehead, and the comfort of her presence. But Maya was out there, saving lives and fighting fires, while Carina was here, feeling utterly helpless. Neither of them had been sick in their relationship yet. Infact according to the firefighter herself “she was incapable of getting ill” which the OB/GYN obviously knew was impossible but nodded along lovingly anyway. At least she could relate to it somehow, the feeling weakness was something she hated. Carina prided herself on being strong and independent, yet she was here clinging to a stupid bottle of blue liquid just to make herself feel better. 

Hold on, blue liquid? Carina’s eyes furrowed as a sinking realisation hit her. Her eyes cast down to the bottle she’d just discarded. Nyquil? She quickly swung open the cabinet to see the bottle of Dayquil sitting innocently, untouched on the shelf. Of course she had taken the wrong one...  

Well, at least that explained why she had still been feeling so drowsy. With a resigned sigh, Carina simply just grabbed the tissue box from the countertop and shuffled back over to their bed, snatching her pillow and the duvet from the unmade bed before stumbling out to their living room. She didn’t even bother opening their curtains before flopping down onto the sofa, letting the tissue box fall onto the floor beside it.  

Carina sank into the plush cushions of the sofa, her body feeling heavier with each passing moment. She buried her face into her pillow, seeking solace in its familiar scent mingled with Maya's. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional sound of a passing car outside or the faint creak of the floorboards as their upstairs' neighbours moved about. Alone in the dimly lit room, Carina closed her eyes, allowing herself to succumb to the exhaustion that weighed heavily upon her. 

... 

Maya had, had a good day. Honestly work had been fairly uneventful – mainly calls for the aid car. She’d tried ringing Carina around lunchtime, but she’d gotten no response so had left her a voicemail instead. It was a little weird that her call had been unanswered, but she simply presumed the Italian had forgotten to charge her phone again. 

The first thing that caught her attention was the boxes still stacked up in the entranceway. She could’ve sworn she remembered Carina mentioning that she was going to unpack them on her next day off. It’s probably fine, she must’ve just gotten busy with something else, Maya thought to herself as she hung up her jacket. But the second thing she noticed was just how quiet it really was. Typically, whenever she came home Carina would be bustling around, maybe cooking something delicious or buried in a book whilst playing some music in the background. But today, there was an unusual stillness in the air.  

“Honey I’m home.” She called out playfully as she finished taking her shoes off, placing them neatly on the rack, “Carina?” 

Maya’s brows furrowed at the lack of a reply. As she moved closer to the living room, she noticed the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the curtains. Any worry she had been feeling quickly melted away as she caught sight of familiar brown curls hanging loosely over the edge of the sofa.  

“Hey, didn’t you hear-” The firefighter began but stopped, her mouth open still as she brought her hand to her face to silence a laugh. 

Maya couldn’t avert her eyes – no matter how hard she tried. The scene in front of her was just too cute beyond belief that she couldn’t quite look away. Carina was asleep on the sofa. But she wasn’t just curled in on herself or huddled under a blanket. One of the Italian’s legs was half hanging off the edge with the fabric of her pyjama pants rolled up above her knee, meanwhile, one of her arms similarly was actually touching the floor, hanging limply by her side. Her usually perfect brunette hair was now messy and tangled as her head rested an angle which just couldn’t be comfortable. Meanwhile the clearly discarded duvet was sitting in a heap on the floor beside numerous balled up tissues. 

Honestly, she was torn between waking her up or letting her rest, by the looks of it, Carina clearly needed the sleep. The flushed pink hue sitting on her pale cheeks told her all she needed to know. Carina was sick. As quietly as she could, the firefighter crept into the kitchen, searching through her dedicated “Junk drawer” before finding what she was looking for. The thermometer.  

Pruitt, their old captain, had pestered her into getting one a few years ago after a bug had gone round the station, and it was easier for the crew to check their temps at home instead of lugging themselves to the station to use the one they kept there. Truthfully, it had never been used, which is exactly why it had ended up in the drawer to begin with. Of course, Maya would prefer it to be under any other circumstances but least she was finally getting to use it now. 

Maya tiptoed back to where Carina lay. She knelt down beside her and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Carina's forehead, revealing the slight sheen of sweat there. With a soft sigh, Maya slipped the thermometer under Carina's tongue and waited anxiously for the beep indicating it had finished its reading. 

Honestly, she was quite amazed that Italian hadn’t woken up throughout the whole ordeal, but it made a lot more sense when the device beeped quietly, and she looked down at the screen to see “102.2” displayed on its small screen. 

“Oh sweetheart.” Maya murmured softly, her hand gently cupping her girlfriend’s cheek, “You should’ve called me silly girl, look at you, I could've looked after you. Poor thing.” Her musings fell on sleeping ears, but it didn’t really matter. The blonde leant forward to press a loving kiss to Carina’s forehead before standing up, tiptoeing back to the kitchen. 

Truthfully, she wasn't the best cook. She usually opted for taking any leftovers from the station or just heating something up. It wasn’t to say she didn’t cook sometimes but it wasn’t necessarily her favourite thing. But Maya knew what she needed to do. She quietly searched through one of the brown boxes sitting on the kitchen floor, searching through Carina’s stuff before eventually finding what she had been looking for. 

Carina loved cooking. It was why Maya had remembered that one night, as they were cuddling and mumbling sleepily to each other. Carina had mentioned one of the recipes in her cookbooks. It wasn’t anything super complicated, quite the opposite. Soup. The doctor had told her it was something her mum used to make for her, she’d described it as “homely and warm” and the Italian had promised to make it for her the next time Maya had a rough day. Now Maya was going to make it for her. 

She flipped through the pages for a moment before landing on the right one. Gathering the ingredients, she laid them out on the worktop before dawning an apron and grabbing a knife. The recipe said to ‘cube’ the vegetables and while her technique wasn’t perfect, she made it work. The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board was oddly soothing It was strangely therapeutic and she had really gotten into the zone. It was probably why Maya almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden noise from the living room 

“Hih’tshhu!”  

Maya’s head perked up from the vegetables she’d been chopping, glancing over her shoulder to peek into the living room. She could see her girlfriend sniffling quietly against her knuckles before watching as her shoulders tensed up, her upper body bending forward slightly she silently stifled another sneeze against her wrist. 

“Bless you princess.” She called out from the kitchen, pivoting on her feet to come over and press a soft kiss to Carina’s cheek as the sleepy Italian rubbed her eyes tiredly. 

Carina blinked a few times, trying to focus. "Maya? What... what time is it?" She mumbled groggily, pushing herself to sit upright. 

“Around 6-ish sweetheart,” Maya checked her phone, flipping it around to show her the time, “How long have you been asleep for love?” She asked before picking up the duvet from the floor, and tucking it over her girlfriend, not having to worry about waking her up anymore. 

Carina rubbed her eyes again, trying to shake off the grogginess that clung to her. "Feels like I've been out for ages," she muttered, snuggling into the blanket as it was pulled over her. "I just feel so... bleh." She found herself leaning into Maya’s touch as the blonde cupped her cheek once more. 

The firefighter came to sit beside her, smiling fondly as Carina instantly leaned against her, letting her head rest against her shoulder, “I’m sorry sweetheart, did you wake up feeling bleh?” She asked, gentle concern lacing her voice as she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from Carina's face. 

Carina nodded tiredly; her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she managed to open them again. "Yeah," She admitted softly, her voice slightly hoarse, "I think I caught something from work. My throat feels scratchy, and my nose keeps racing.” 

“Running, baby, your nose is running.” Maya corrected her fondly, her hand gently combing through the brunette’s tangled curls. Carina’s knowledge on English phrases had come far but she still slipped up every now and then, and honestly nothing was more adorable, “Did you take any medicine or anything before you fell asleep?” 

Carina let out a tired chuckle, her cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment. "Right, running," She murmured in acknowledgement. She was probably too tired to actually remember it for the future, but it was enough for now, “I accidently took some of the blue goo, instead of the daytime one. I forgot its name.” 

Maya nodded, knowing what she meant, “You took Nyquil then? No wonder you were so knocked out, poor baby, did sleeping help a little at least?” 

The Italian mumbled and shrugged a little, instead choosing to wrap her arms around Maya as she cuddled up to her. The two stayed like that for a few minutes, neither one wanting to ruin the silence as they just simply held each other. 

But suddenly, Carina’s stomach emitted a loud growl, breaking the quiet moment. She hid her face in the blanket slightly, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. "Oops," She blushed sheepishly, "Guess I'm hungry." 

Maya chuckled softly, "No worries, sleepyhead," She said affectionately, "I've got something that’ll help, I just need to finish it off.” With that, she stood up, gesturing towards the kitchen. "Come on, let’s get you something warm to eat." 

As they made their way to the kitchen, Carina kept the whole duvet wrapped around herself, looking like she was in a cocoon as she shuffled her way there. Maya wrapped an arm around her waist and hid a giggle before helping Carina get settled on a chair. 

“Just sit tight.” She said lovingly before turning back to her ingredients. It didn’t take long for her to prepare the rest of the soup, stirring the simmering pot and occasionally tweaking the flavours until it was just perfect. They had recently bought a fresh baguette from the nearby bakery, so Maya buttered a few slices, sitting them on the edge of the bowl before serving it up with a giddy smile, “Here you go sweetheart.” Her eyes gleamed with pride as her girlfriend looked up at her in surprise. 

They ate in a comfortable silence, the only sounds filling the room being the occasional clink of utensils against bowls and the occasional sniffle or cough from the doctor. After finishing her soup, Carina leaned back with a contented sigh, feeling a bit more energized already. "That was amazing, bambina," she complimented, her eyes shining with appreciation. 

Maya beamed at the praise, feeling a swell of pride at being able to provide comfort for her girlfriend. "I'm glad you liked it, sweetheart," she replied warmly, reaching out to intertwine their fingers. She gently squeezed her hand, concern etched on her face. "You should probably rest some more baby," Maya suggested softly, her voice laced with tenderness. "I can clean up here, and then we can snuggle up together on the couch? 

Carina smiled gratefully and let her girlfriend help her to stand as she yawned, "Thank you, Maya," She murmured sleepily as the blonde helped her back over to the sofa, "You're the best." 

“You don’t have to thank me love,” Maya smiled as she made sure Carina was comfortably settled, “We’re under the same roof now, I’m always gonna look after you.” She knew it was likely that by the time she finished cleaning up that Carina will have already fallen back asleep already but that didn’t matter – she was still going to do all she could to make sure her girlfriend was okay. 

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[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: this is our place (we make the rules)

Chapter 2 - Probably should read ch1 first Gun has a new neighbour. Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

Good manners cost nothing.

Certaining when you barely had a few wons to your name, that was all you could afford. And your pride.

So just because your neighbour essentially said ‘leave me alone, have a nice life’, he still did you a favour. 

That you owe him for.

Love thy neighbour and all that.

.

.

Gun Park’s home is not homely by any stretch of the imagination.

All black and white and grey, nearly industrial in taste with wooden accents. Straight lines and sharp edges softened by nature’s hues.

Very few furnishings adorn his apartment, minimal and just shy of clinical. Anything that has a place is the best of the best, luxurious and with an exorbitant price tag to match.

Handcrafted bed from Sweden, which apart from Gun’s, has not experienced the same body twice.  

Imported italian coffee machine, used only with beans from Kenya. Drink of choice: 2 shots of espresso, taken as is. 

Never-used cooking appliances, still brand new and silver and top of the range. 

L-shaped sectional sofa from one of the hottest designers in South Korea, selected and praised by HNH’s own Interior Designer with words that held no interest to Gun.

An obscenely huge bathtub in the corner of a spacious bathroom and facing a breathtaking view. A shower with a rainfall head amongst other sprays and nozzles. Both having washed away a lifetime (and then some)of dirt and grime and blood.

Enough space for a personal home gym in one room (even if the building does include a gym and pool for communal use), and a walk-in wardrobe the size of most other pads in Gangnam.

He’s not much for sentiment, just a couple of more meaningful trinkets here or there. Reminders of Japan and souvenirs from his victims. 

Most surprising of all, in a lone forgotten corner, outlined against the impressive, sprawling cityscape and where the best sun spot should be, sits a plant.

Given to him by Goo Kim as a joke for housewarming, “Let’s see how well you can keep something alive”.

Gun’s first urge was to throw it back in his face. Though. The idea of keeping something living intrigued him. A little challenge.

Healthy and vibrant and green with long spiky leaves when it was thrusted into Gun’s hands. 

It didn’t hold his attention for long.

Kept alive in the early days by the cleaner, before Gun realised he hated the idea of someone touching his things and being in his space. 

Now a sad, neglected eyesore. Shrivelled and brown and hanging on for dear life. Lucky to get a few squirts of water once a month; momentary rejuvenation until it is left to wither again.

And lastly.

Hidden in the cabinet below the huge TV, regularly rotated out for the latest model, lives a few gaming consoles.

...Because Gun is still a young bachelor after all. He isn’t completely immune from the psychological thrills of video games.

.

.

Minimal as it is, and busy as Gun is - it’s still his home.

A sanctuary full of things he has collated and deemed worthy enough to be in his life that he makes sure to regularly return to. 

Today, he’s ready for a weekend of nothing. No doubt his leg will bounce and get twitchy after a few hours, but the last few weeks of being on the go with the Four Crews has taken a toll.

Not to mention the hijinks with his neighbour yesterday. Someone that looks like they don’t belong in this district, nevermind in the building.

Yet you knocked on his door. 

On Shiro Oni’s door. 

Exuding a quiet confidence even as your body betrayed your nerves. Even as two spots of pink appeared on your cheeks once you took in the full view of Gun Park.

Most fascinating of all is that you saw his eyes, treated it as an everyday occurrence, and did not hesitate or flinch.

Huh.

.

.

You ring the doorbell again.

At first, you thought this was an excellent idea. 

But now, as you wait (seriously, what is Gun doing in there), you’re feeling more and more foolish.

Tupperwares of homemade kimchi stew, and kimchi sits in the crook of your elbow. 

Because when someone has enough money to drown in, and obviously someone living in this building should have, then there’s nothing like a homemade touch.

Here he comes. 

The footsteps don’t sound irritable today. Thank the heavens. Maybe antsy, a little too quick footed to be relaxed.

The door is flung open, and your neighbour greets you. 

Ok, his footsteps didn’t sound irritable but his face certainly is.

And how does this guy have this effect on you? 

Your throat dries up as you notice his hair flopping over one eye, no longer messy after a full day of what must be work, instead likely just leftover from his bedhead. 

(Bed. Head. your horrid nasty brain repeats as you think about his BED.)

The linen shirt and pants. Chest bared, pretty collar bones on show and teasing the outline of hard pecs. 

Relaxed mode, weekend mode.

Sleeves again rolled up and highlighting the tattoos and faint veins protruding on his forearms.

Seriously, did this guy choose the tattoo placement just to highlight his muscular forearms? Fuck him, it absolutely works. 

Gun crosses them, leaning against his open door and observing you. His face, previously not bothering to hide his annoyance at being interrupted by you once again, only shows amusement. Amused to see how hard you are ogling him. It’s not new, though many don’t make it this blatantly obvious.

“Morning,” You hear your voice cracking and clear your throat. “Here.”

You hold out your tupperware boxes.

No hands receive them. They just hang there, in the air between you both.

Gun doesn’t move, continuing to look at you with a hint of a smile and an arched brow.

“It’s thanks. For yesterday.” You give the boxes a little shake. Why the hell can’t this guy just take it. 

“No.” is all he gives, retreating back and closing the door.

Your foot darts out, jamming itself into the gap just before it shuts.

“Just take it,” you try to shoulder your way in a little, "it’s for you.”

“I’ve broken people’s necks for less. Move your foot.”

“Just take it,” you repeat again, “then I don’t owe you anything. We’re even.”

Gun considers this. 

He didn’t think you owed him anything for yesterday, but you obviously did. It was a quick job in exchange for a peaceful evening, not out of the goodness of his heart.

If this right now is what it takes to get you out of his hair-

“I promise I’ll leave you alone,” comes your voice.

And out of his life forever. Fine.

Gun relents, stepping back as you stagger forward and into his domain.

You hold out the boxes, avoiding his gaze, face bright red at how much of an idiot you feel and what a fuss this has turned out to be.

He finally takes them, once again fingers grazing yours. “Thanks.”

Your eyes meet his as that singular word catches you off balance. You didn’t think it existed in his vocabulary.

“Now get out.”

Ah, that’s more like it.

[darkwing-katy]

I…can live with that, I guess? Thoughts on Evil’s final episode under the cut (aka SPOILERS)

-I’m sad in general that this show is ending and it will take me forever to recover from this show in the best way

-I guess my dream where I shoved Leland into a bathroom to keep him alive kinda worked???

-the main trio reliving their cases as they burn them was fucking adorable

-I’m gonna miss those girls so much

-the fuck are we gonna do about Lexis???? She seemed normal this season but, like, she had fangs and a tail and was born from a place tainted with demonic stuff. I wanna know how that resolves.

-okay so I guess since Timmy was baptized he can’t be the Antichrist? They were just gonna pivot and make another one? That’s fun.

-the sheer bureaucracy of the online meeting of the 60 had me cackling. “Norm. You’re muted.”

-NORM. IT’S THE BUTTON SHAPED LOKE A LOZENGE poor Leland has to deal with so much shit with these incompetent demons

-“you’ve protected Kristen for four years, Leland.” Uhm. What? He’s been protecting her? Why????? I NEED MORE OF THIS EXPLAINED TO ME????? It can’t just be the whole mother of the Antichrist thing, right???? THERE’S MORE TO IT.

-all things considered, I firmly believe Leland would not have actually killed Timothy. I dunno why; I can’t explain it. But I don’t think he’d do it. Not after that nice little drop of David’s goodness in him.

-Leland putting in earphones while creeping into the house to murder Kristen?? And singing and bopping along in the basement? Iconic. Iconic and adorable. I love him. I have a problem, I know.

-I WAS TRYING NOT TO FREAK OUT WHEN SHE CAME AT HIM WITH THE CORD (“oh shit, guess the bathroom didn’t work after all” was what I told my husband)

-but also the hilarious irony of Kristen strangling him with a red cord like that when that’s how Michael Emerson’s character kills John Locke in LOST???? Like I was stressing but also giggling like a psycho

-the reveal of the meaning behind the countdown was so on point for this show. This fucking show. (What about the bricks, though? Why did they want people to remove the bricks in Kristen’s basement?????)

-DAVID I DON’T THINK LOCKING HIM IN A CABINET IS ANY BETTER THAN STRANGULATION WITH A CORD???? IS HE JUST GONNA ROT IN THERE????

-(okay but all things aside, Leland technically didn’t die on screen and I love to imagine that he was released somehow) (o shit did I just come up with another fic idea????)

-FENNA!!!!!! FENNAAAAAAA!!!! THAT LIL SHOULDER BUMP!!!!!!!

-Kristen’s Dutch counterpart convincing her to move???? Wonderful

-Kristen and David in Rome??? With the girls and Timmy? And cool Italian sunglasses? Wonderful. 10/10. They get to be together but David doesn’t have to choose between her and God. Sure, there’s still sexual tension, but, they’re TOGETHER and not all meaningful relationships have sex as an active component

-BEN SHOULD HAVE GONE WITH THEM AND I STAND BY THIS

-THAT ENDING???? And the fact that Katja decided that was how Kristen should react on the fucking day of filming???? 10/10 no notes, only undeniable curiosity as to what would happen if we miraculously got a season 5

-that cliffhanger is satisfying but also I need a season five. And six. And seven eight nine.

Anywho. That’s, uh, about where I am right now. I’m extremely sad. I ate sushi and ice cream and it helped until it didn’t. I’m gonna continue rewatching the whole dang thing. I’m gonna finish rewriting my Leland fic. I might actually make the shirt I was joking about in an earlier post. Hell, I think the idea of a circle skirt with the map of the different demonic sigils would be amazing. And then I’m probably gonna wanna write more fanfic because I’m still in denial that it’s actually over.

But hey! In my head, Leland is not dead! That’s a win!!! Good job, Dream Kate! You sorta succeeded in protecting your favorite character!