#carpet call rugs

[cinewhore]

first night in new place and i want to crawl out of my skin

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

whatever i think most of the mold has died now that its getting colder outside sometimes which is good cause the rental company likes to go after the tenant who asks them to address life damaging situations in any way shape or form and also go after the tenant who goes through official channels to address things after the rental company tells them its not my problem go get fucked you retard <3

[mcmansionhell]

2007-core nostalgia extravaganza

Quick PSA: someone on Facebook is apparently impersonating me using an account called "McMansion Hell 2.0" -- If you see it, please report! Thanks!

Howdy folks! I hope if you were born between 1995 and 2001 you're ready for some indelible pre-recession vibes because I think this entire house, including the photos have not been touched since that time.

This Wake County, NC house, built in 2007, currently boasts a price tag of 1.7 million smackaroos. Its buxom 4 bedrooms and 4.5 baths brings the total size to a completely reasonable and not at all housing-bubble-spurred 5,000 square feet.

I know everyone (at least on TikTok) thinks 2007 and goes immediately to the Tuscan theming trend that was super popular at the time (along with lots of other pseudo-euro looks, e.g. "french country" "tudor" etc). In reality, a lot of decor wasn't particularly themed at all but more "transitional" which is to say, neither contemporary nor super traditional. This can be pulled off (in fact, it's where the old-school Joanna Gaines excelled) but it's usually, well, bland. Overwhelmingly neutral. Still, these interiors stir up fond memories of the last few months before mommy was on the phone with the bank crying.

I think I've seen these red/navy/beige rugs in literally every mid-2000s time capsule house. I want to know where they came from first and how they came to be everywhere. My mom got one from Kirkland's Home back in the day. I guess the 2010s equivalent would be those fake distressed overdyed rugs.

I hate the kitchen bench trend. Literally the most uncomfortable seating imaginable for the house's most sociable room. You are not at a 19th century soda fountain!!! You are a salesforce employee in Ohio!!!

You could take every window treatment in this house and create a sampler. A field guide to dust traps.

Before I demanded privacy, my parents had a completely beige spare bedroom. Truly random stuff on the walls. An oversized Monet poster they should have kept tbh. Also putting the rug on the beige carpet here is diabolical.

FYI the term "Global Village Coffeehouse" originates with the design historian Evan Collins whose work with the Consumer Aesthetics Research Institute!!!!

This photo smells like a Yankee Candle.

Ok, now onto the last usable photo in the set:

No but WHY is the house a different COLOR??????? WHAT?????

Alright, I hope you enjoyed this special trip down memory lane! Happy (American) Labor Day Weekend! (Don't forget that labor is entitled to all it creates!)

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[dmitriene]

cw: voyeurism, he's a creep you're an angel.

farmer könig who leaves the small town he has his farm in for a couple of days, he needs someone to take care of his livestock, adorable curly sheeps and jumpy goats, pigs and cows, chickens and their chicks, they all need to eat in time, so you answer his paper announcement seeking assistance for a good fee.

he ain't really asks many questions on the phone, knowing that you're a young woman is enough for him to trust you, and when you tell him that you don't fear any possible dirt and the animals, because you seek to get some money, könig assures you that you'll earn some, because your candidacy suits him well.

you get the address, you find the key to the barn under the carpet at his doorstep, and he leaves some keys for the house if you'll need a shower or some rest maybe, not that you felt secure enough to get into someone's house and use or touch things there, but he acted like a trusting man, even answering you when you sent some silly picks of his animals to him during his away time.

of course, he ain't expects to see such a pretty, lovely thing as you when he comes back, you just ended feeding everyone at the farm and cleaning their pens, deciding to catch a quick shower while könig is on his way back home, yet you stumble upon him just as you exit the steamy bathroom, dressed in a clean, flowery dress, with wet hair that drips slightly onto your open shoulders, as they jump in surprise.

könig meets you with crooked, sweet smile on his rugged, lightly covered by unruly strands of hair, face, squinting his sparkling, glacial blue eyes as he hums out a small, hoarse greeting, mingled with a crooning gratitude for your help when he stretches his thick, calloused palm towards you, and in it is a small pack of bills, with amount good enough to close the needs that caused you to accept this job.

surely, you ask curiously and on standing toes why he gave you so much, but könig just shrugs, muscles tensing beneath the flannel button up, murmuring that no one else would accept something like that, and his animals look good, so you made a good job worth of a good pay, you just don't know that there's cameras inside every corner of his house, and you gave him a good shows while showering at his house.

maybe, könig will call you again in the future, what if there's another business out the town that will need his help, and he's been so sweet and charming to you that you can't refuse, just make sure you accidentally leave your panties for him to jerk his aching cock, hübsches mädchen, after all, he needs a little prize after all his hard work.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[shotmrmiller]

response to this but it got so long and ig im in my throuple era rn

@xoxunhinged i listened to one (1) song on repeat while writing this on the phone

okay yeah wait or just

it's ghost x price first.

Big burly men taking up too much space in the little coffee shop you work at or something and they're there like clockwork too. Every wednesday and friday, 8 am, usually the first clients of the day and all they order is a regular cup of joe. Plain. You offer alternative sweeteners, powdered creamer, but no dice.

Plain black. Like the occasional smudge of eyeliner(?) around the bigger one's eyes.

They're cute, in their own way. John is a blend of rugged charm and seasoned wisdom. The other, Simon, is mysterious. Guarded. Speaks only to his companion.

The pet names start to get to your head. Of course, you reason that John's just not from around here. His calling you sweetheart from across the room to grab your attention must be English.

But logic cannot stop the heat from licking up your cheeks when he does. or when Simon calls you something different altogether eventually.

"Mornin', pet."

It's even more gut-twisting when you catch glimpses of the occasional PDA: A large hand curling around an even bigger jean-clad thigh. Faces so close they could kiss (Waterboarding couldn't get the fact that you've rubbed your thighs together at the thought of them actually kissing out of you) and the fact that Simon's usually sharp gaze softens around the edges, pale gold whispering against the puckered pink of a barely visible scar beneath his face mask.

A couple. They're a couple. It's bittersweet, that feeling settling in your chest. Like dark chocolate coating your tongue. Honeyed nectar of love, the bitter bite of it not being your own.

Maybe it's time to go out with your friends to the bar.

Things take a nasty turn when Simon, out of the both of them, had come in alone and propositioned you on crisp, saturday morning.

Oh, the acid in your stomach felt like it was corroding the walls of your esophagus as it rose. You don't remember much of what you said but it'd been loud, vitriolic. You'd been so furious. Hurt that they had something so sweet, something they could call their own, and here comes this big dumb oaf looking for a piece of warm meat to stick his cock into on the side.

Your manager sent you home for the day.

And home you were headed, well more like the bus stop, stomping away and across the street but the hand that wraps around your arm to keep you in place is John's. (You'd been actually fighting to get away and he hadn't even tightened his grip enough to hurt. embarrassing.)

He clears things up. Tells you to forgive Simon, he's not the most verbose or eloquent with the words he does choose to speak. "He's good at receivin' orders instead of givin' 'em. isn't tha' righ'?"

The "yes, sir" that comes out of Simon is immediate. Obedient. Submissive. (gagging, i actually slammed the desk with my fist rn) A man who knows his place because it is etched in stone. Your teeth grind like rusted gears to keep from turning into a pool of liquid in broad daylight.

"What he meant," he roughly clarifies, "is that we would like you to share our bed." your face burns hot enough to sting. "If you want," John continues, limpid blue eyes fixed on your own.

He looks rather handsome in his uncertainty.

They don't even let you go home to wash and clean up when you nod. (Or shave. Simon had very audibly scoffed at your complaint about that. Said something crass about eating lollipops off the carpet)

The dynamic had been exactly what you'd expected it to be in the bedroom. When authority spoke, Simon listened. Intently. Without hesitation. When John ordered Simon— who'd sat with his broad chest curling around your spine, cocooning you in warmth and the faint scent of smoke, mahogany, and leather— to hook his hands behind your knees and pull your legs up to your shoulders, he'd done so in an instant.

The subtle burn of your hamstrings stretching pulled a hiss from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Bit o' pain with pleasure never hurt anyone, eh, sweetheart?" The deepened rumble of John's voice vibrated in your chest and made your toes curl.

Simon's steady breaths are drowned out by your shuddering ones when John puts his mouth on you, the prickle of his facial hair tickling your sensitive, heated skin.

The burning stretch of your muscles is nothing compared to the sweet sting of two fingers sinking into your hot sex. Pleasure wells in the corner of your eyes when he curls and scissors them while his slick tongue swirls your clit languidly.

He sends you over the edge with practiced ease, shaky limbs, and unsteady mewls. The kiss he plants on your still pulsing cunt is tender, as are your now unrestrained legs.

And he slants his lips-- still dripping slick, dewy beads collecting on his beard-- over Simon's whose mask is now long gone, his erection coming to sit heavy on the fatty mound of your pussy. You can feel the heat of his cock even through his clothes.

A saliva strand connecting them two snaps as he pulls away, glancing down to look at you, sweaty and unkempt, glassy eyes shamelessly staring back.

"I'd let Simon get his turn but," hands weave up your shirt and inside your sports bra while John's grab your legs and wrap them around his thick waist, "gotta prep ya first."

(?)

That comes back to mind after your limbs feel like cold syrup, warmth dribbling from your puffy lips and falling onto the damp bedsheets beneath your arse cheeks.

The question answers itself when Simon slots himself between your aching legs, uncut cock fat and hefty.

(dis)Respectfully, you feel thoroughly used and even now, that doesn't look like it's going to go in easy.

"Easy, love," John's voice comes from above you, "He won't hurt ya. Isn't tha' righ', Simon?"

Simon, who's dark eyes hadn't moved from where John's spend still steadily flowed, cut to him instantly. "Yes, sir."

He hums, a low, raspy sound. "How 'bout you tell our bird tha'?"

A rough hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressed on your fluttering pulse. "I won't hurt ya." His grip tightens, and the swoosh of blood roaring in your ears is deafening.

Much.

The world around you fades, senses attuned only to what's currently wrenching your swollen walls apart, going in, in, and in, it feels never-ending, it's so much, too much, until--

Your stomach clenches, it feels like it's folding in on itself, and a sharp feeling radiates below your navel.

Lips kiss your sweaty temple. "That's all there is. Did so well, eh, sweetheart? Took 'im real good, like you were meant for it."

His cock drags along your over-sensitive, raw nerves in a way that has fire licking up your spine as he pulls back. "Easy, Simon. You'll get your fun from me," John assures.

Your cunt clenches unbidden at that, vise-like around Simon who quietly groans.

The first roll of his hips pushes the air from your lungs, the second blanks your jumbled mind, the third has your nails sinking into whoever's forearms are beside your head, and the fourth has you confusing John's glittering eyes with stars.

And then he places your feet flat on his chest, his weight folding you in half, pinning you in place. Nowhere to run.

Your teeth clack when he thrusts firmly, tip of his cock sitting firmly against the plug of your womb.

"Easy does it, love. Jus' be good 'n take it," John mutters into your ear.

As if you had any choice.

After, when you're completely spent, they tell you to lay back, head propped up by a mountain of pillows, but to keep your legs open, let them see that pretty pussy, they want to see their cum spill out of you.

You thought the fucking Simon gave you had been rough. What John gives him from behind is attempted murder. He grabs at Simon's hair like it's the scruff of a bellicose dog. Pins him in place with his words, growled, thunderous, then his grip. Simon doesn't bare his crooked teeth once.

When your tired hand slithers down to between your legs, tips of your fingers smearing cum around your swollen flesh, arousal surprisingly panging deep in your core, the sheer force of John's thrusts rocks the bed with enough force to crack the wall and Simon whines like a dog in heat.

[tarjapearce]

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within  the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm  squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And  definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around  while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that  would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

[rintoshis-archived]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 '𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 - ft. hobie brown / spiderpunk

🎸、 . *. ⋆ warnings; mentions of blood, profanities, 'breakup', makeup sex-ish, slight angst, vaginal penetration, no p in v, biting, mentions of piercings (hobie), poor attempt at British slang, parents in house, lmk if there's more! ✧. word count: 935

The rapid knocking on your window didn't falter even from the stormy weather that the sky was going through. The clock strikes 1:34 am, the light shining on the figure that was trying to get in by your window.

''Let me in... I know 'ya see me...'' The shadow had spikes on top of its head, and a guitar strapped on its back. The voice echoes from your window, only urging you to open the door. The raspiness and toned sound gave you an idea of who it was.

''Holy fuck, Hobie what the hell-'' His body fell on your carpet, limp and covered with bruises and cuts. His suit was busted, the fabric was ripping at the arms and the seams were threatening to open.

''What happened? Speak to me, Hobie.'' You quickly scooped his upper body to lean against your bed frame. You run towards your bathroom to grab a cloth and wet it with warm tap water. Your hands rummage through the cabinets, finding the band-aids and Betadine.

You approach Hobie's wet body on your rug, clearly swinging around the city while it was thundering. Someone didn't check the weather forecast... But you set that thought aside and wiped off the blood pooling on his cheek.

''I'm fine, babe.'' ''Don't call me that.'' Your words only seemed to puncture Hobie's ego rather than his body. ''Why not? Doncha love it?'' Your hands were a lot denser on his skin before he used the corny nickname on you. You and Hobie weren't so 'peachy' after that incident in one of his shows.

''Loosen' up, doll.'' Hobie's hand rests on your cheek, pushing away the stray hair strand from your face. Your hands swat his away and occupied themselves in getting the bandaids and the Betadine. ''Just cause I'm taking care of you now, doesn't solve our relationship, Brown.''

Your sudden call of his last name shot a bullet through his heart. He knew you were tough to crack, but if he had to go on his knees for you to forgive him he gladly would.

''Brown? What happened to 'Bee' or 'Love'-'' ''It died, Hobie.'' You put the last bandaid on his cheek, your face inching closer to his. His breath fanning on your nose and his eyes only piercing through yours.

''You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't love me.'' His words made your hands pinch his ear, a small frown appearing on your face. ''I'm only doing this because we're...'' Your words only faded away from the sudden thought of what you and Hobie were.

You didn't like labels yourself. But Hobie was the only one who could actually play your heart and make a tune. As corny as it sounds, Hobie didn't help the banging of your heart in your ribcage.

His eyes were looking directly at yours, winking at your cute frown. ''Friends?'' You pinched his ear again and rose up from his side. ''Bastard.'' Your words lightened his mood, but the spark remains.

Hobie stands up from your floor and follows your figure in the bathroom. His hand trails across your waist, your two reflections being seen in front of the mirror. Your hands grip the ceramic, letting Hobie corner you between the sink.

''If you didn't love me... You wouldn't let me do this, wouldn't 'ya?'' Hobie's hands slide under your pajamas, his hands pawing at your panties. ''Hobie...'' His free hand makes your way to yours, caging your hand in his.

''Mm, yeah? 'Ya know my name. Say it.'' His fingers set your panties aside, collecting your essence from your slit. A small moan comes out of your mouth. Your hand covers your mouth from spilling any more sound.

'''Bee, parents-' Hobie knew that your parents were in your home. In fact, a part of you thinks he came here for that sole purpose. ''I know, I know. Keep quiet for me, yeah? You can do that for me, can't you?'' You bite your palm once Hobie enters his fingers inside of your cunt, your juices pooling at your panties.

Your moans are muffled by your hand, his thumb toying with your clit. ''You like that, don't 'cha?'' His words enter your right ear, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear. His cold rings hit your hot skin, and the sudden temperature change gave you goosebumps.

Even due to how odd it sounds, Hobie knew how to toy with your body just right. The way his fingers curl and crook inside of you, the pace of shapes circling on your sensitive clit, him pinching your nipples. He had known your anatomy more than you thought he did.

''Mm, right there?'' He was teasing you, the way your body shook under his touch only proved the impact he had on you. You could only moan for a response, your eyes closed at the knot tightening in your stomach.

Your hands let go of the cold ceramic of the sink, holding Hobie's hands through the fabric of your pajamas. ''Close? I can feel you. Fuck, so tight. Squeezing my fingers.'' Hobie kisses your neck, the cold metal of his piercings only made his sloppy kisses more pleasurable.

He bites the skin of your shoulders, ''Wanna keep me inside of you forever?'' You could only nod your head frantically, your legs close shakily. ''Cum for me.'' His words led you to your orgasm, your sweaty bodies sticking to each other from the heat of the moment.

''You know you love me.'' He grabs your chin and kisses your swollen lips.

the thoughts in my head with hobie only spiraled to this mess. i hope you guys enjoy this either way:) ‧₊˚ ⋅ fusaes 2023 do not copy

[chrissdollie]

can you imagine bakugou having a gf whos a teacher?? think of him having a girl who teaches kindergarten :( when he sees u teaching a student ab counting apples or something, his mind is going to be flooded with thoughts of having children with you. just watching you being so gentle nd sweet with the little brats munchkins turns his brain into mush.

one day, he pays a visit to your classroom wearing his hero costume for a requested q&a. everybody's in awe just looking at him, even if they don't know who he is. the students whisper to their friends at small desks as bakugou's large figure just struts in loll.

you give him a tiny little peck when he walks inside, to which some kids snicker and "ooohh". you clap your hands together to grab their attention. "okay boys and girls, let's walk over to the magic carpet for circle time!" you announce, leading your boyfriend to the large rug where two chairs were set.

the kids sit crisscrossed in a circle excitedly waiting to talk to the number two hero. bakugou grows shy as he sits down somewhat awkwardly. he feels silly, speaking to crowds ten times bigger than this on a daily basis was nothing, so what's the big deal? "today we have a special guest joining us for circle time! does anyone know who he is?" you grin toothily as many hands go up. "yes, ryu?" you pick on an adorable little boy in the center of the carpet. "that's mr. dynamite from the news!" he yelled.

"that's right, ryu! but let's use our inside voices, please." you smiled. "does anyone know what mr. dynamite does?" you questioned again. one little girl was squirming in her seat, hand held high. "go ahead, kanako." you nodded to the girl who sat up straighter upon being called on.

"he saves people, l/n-sensei!"

"damn right i do." bakugou smirked pridefully. you lightly nudged his shoulder. "no cursing." you whispered. he rolled his eyes but listened nonetheless. "okay, starting from this side of the rug," you pointed to the left. "you can ask anything you want to the hero, as long as you are kind. and if you don't have a question just say 'pass' and we'll go straight to the next person." you announced. all the children nodded in unison.

"start us off, please." you handed the 'talking mic' to the first kid. "mr. dynamite sir, where are your blasters?" he curiously turned his head to the side. "huh?-" bakugou looked down at his hands. "my gauntlets? left those guys at work. they're too powerful to be here." he answered.

the punks students continued to ask their questions and bakugou replied calmly like this was an everyday event. "you're big." a boy stated. bakugou quirked a brow. that's all this brat had to say? "i know." he replied nonchalantly. "why?" the kid blinked, keeping a straight face.

"uh, why?? i dunno, kid. jus' the way i am." he shrugged, not really knowing how to answer. the kid folded his arms and moved to sit on his knees. "it's my turn now.." a quiet girl next to him tapped on his shoulder, reaching out for the mic. the boy stuck out his tongue at her before turning away to look at bakugou again. "thas' not a real answer."

"kenji, that wasn't kind. you had your turn, now please give the mic to haru." you frowned. haru's eyes turned glossy and her lip began to quiver, but kenji still wasn't letting up. "thas' not fair, sensei!" kenji whined.

"hold it, kid." bakugou stepped in. kenji's attention turned to bakugou, an angry pout written all over his face. "ya ask me sum dumb question," he began. oh gosh, a dumb question? he's not wrong, but he can't say that to a 5 year old! "katsuki." you muttered, trying to get him to stop. but he kept going anyway.

"but i answered it, right? y'r not being a team player to y'r classmate, buddy." bakugou finished, waiting to see what would happen next. the room fell silent. kenji had listened, handed the microphone to haru. he was still upset though, everyone could see it.

"one minute, haru. kenji," you called out. the boy looked up with fat tears in his eyes. "is there something you want to say to your friend?" kenji wiped his eyes with the back of sleeve and mumbled "sorry." to haru. "is okay." haru accepted happily with a toothy grin.

bakugou leaned back in his chair, feeling satisfied with himself as the questions continued. huh, who knew right? you could get used to this.

when the period was over, bakugou waved goodbye to all the kids. however, he bent down in front of kenji and put his fist out. although the child was still somewhat annoyed, he couldn't hold in his grin as he fist bumped a pro hero. "let's all say 'thank you' to, mr. dynamite!" you stood up from your chair, folding your hands together.

"thank you, mr. dynamite!!"

bakugou kissed your cheek and walked to the door with you following behind. you opened the door and he adjusted his mask quickly. he ruffled your hair. "see ya at home, babe."

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

Tag List:

@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581

[oneforthemunny]

what we do in the shadows |familiar!eddie munson x vampire!reader|

prompt: eddie is your familiar, but sometimes, he can be more than just your supernatural servant.

based off the fx show, what we do in the shadows. a little au version with eddie and the gang from hawkins :)

contains: au. familiar!eddie, vampire!reader. mentions of murder. vampire things. blood. types of vampires (energy vampire lol). mean! bitchy! reader. alludes to smut?? sorta smut but not really but slight dom!reader x sub!eddie. language. minors dni.

“Eddie!” 

The muffled screech jolted Eddie from his mundane dusting, the feathered duster falling with a heavy thud onto the dark carpet, dust flying in a cloud at his feet. “Son of a bitch,” Eddie huffed, chains of his belt rattling when he bent, snatching the duster off the rug. 

“Eddie! Can you not hear me?” The piercing scream echoed through the hallway, echoing off the dark, wallpapered walls. Eddie knew he needed to hurry, that the banging on the coffin’s lid would come next, your fury following for the rest of the day. 

“I’m coming, Mistress!” Eddie’s teeth gritted, sliding down the dim, candlelit halls. How this place had managed to not burn down yet, Eddie wasn’t sure. The three of you were careless enough with the candles, always leaving them burning without a care. He supposed it was his job. 

“Eddie! Where the fuck is he?” Your muffled tone came from the coffin, black and dramatic in the middle of the room. 

“I’m here, I’m here.” Eddie huffed, pushing his bangs back out of his eyes. He needed a haircut, desperately, but with his new career, he supposed that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. 

“Finally,” You growled. Eddie was met with your glowing amber eyes narrowing in predatory rage when he lifted the coffin’s heavy lid. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” You snapped. 

“I’m sorry.” Eddie nodded, swallowing back a snapping comment. “I was dusting down the hall, and I lost track of-” 

“-Nevermind.” You snapped, rising quickly into a standing position. “Help me down. I have much to do today.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Eddie stood to the side, offering his hand for you to take as you climbed down. He always wondered why you insisted on being helped out, as if you couldn’t fly out, snap your fingers and be wherever you wanted to be. It was symbolic, he decided, a way to ensure that he knew his place. 

Your hand slid into his. His skin tickled when you brushed your long, claw-like nails that were freshly painted every Tuesday. He’d gotten very good at it, Eddie thought. A hiss fell through the room, your hand pulled back with a sizzling burn, teeth bared towards him in threat. 

“What- Eddie! What have I told you about those rings?” You pointed accusingly at his rings- silver. It was a habit, to slip them on in the morning, one he hadn’t broken yet. “Are you trying to hurt me?” 

“No, no.” Eddie shook his head frantically, tugging the rings off, shoving them in his pocket. “I’m sorry. I-I forgot-” 

“-I’m sure you did.” You rolled your eyes, lips pursed in displeasure. “Don’t let it happen again. I burn myself again on those cursed things, and you’ll not have a hand to put them on anymore. Understand?” You clipped, nose in the air as you climbed down, nails digging into his skin just enough to solidify the threat. 

“Yes, Mistress.” Eddie swallowed, following the commanding sway of your hips. “I won’t let it happen again.” 

“Good.” You chirped. There it was. The whirlwind that was your emotions. Mood swings, Eddie never understood why they called them that until he met you. How you would go from raging to sweet in the bat of an eye. Maybe it came with being a vampire. 

“Get my dress.” You waved your hand, the heavy mahogany closet door flinging open with ease. 

“Which one were you wanting today?” Eddie swallowed his agitated sigh. 

It had been a rough couple of days, the three- fuck, four, of his new found ‘roommates’ had been on a bender of sorts. A bender that would put the rockstars he idolized in high school to shame, much more metal than them. It was fun, Eddie would admit, but it was tiresome. Especially when he was still very much human, and so very exhausted. 

“The black one.” You hummed, looking into a mirror you couldn’t see yourself in. Habit, of course, even after all these years. 

“They’re all black, Mistress.” Eddie gritted, eyes pinching closed. 

“The one with the long sleeves.” You waved him off. “You know the one I like.” 

And he did. Eddie knew most everything about you at this point. Which dress you liked, your preference of food source, how many candles you liked lit at a time. 

Eddie pushed through the racks, stopping when he saw the velvet garment. It was what you were wearing when he first met you. At the Hideout, where he was still bussing tables, hoping to finally get a weekend gig. You strolled in, magnetic from the moment his eyes laid eyes on you. So… intriguing in your tight velvet dress, fastened with a corset that held you up and in beautifully. Initially, he’d went to try and ask you out, and you’d humored his attempts because you were hungry. Then, after a few hours of conversation, you both decided he’d be a better Familiar than a meal.

“Eddie,” You hissed, breath whistling through your fangs. The sound never failed to make Eddie’s spine tingle, hair raising on the back of his neck in fear. “Have you hit your head? Is that it?” 

“No,” Eddie grumbled, pushing the wooden hangers. 

“Then what is it? Hm? Why are you dragging your feet today?” You snapped, hands curling around your hips. 

“My apologies, Mistress.” Eddie huffed. “I’m just- nevermind. Here. I found it.” Eddie pulled the lacy material, hanging sleeves and bouts of black fabric out of the closet, hanging it on the door for you. 

“No, finish what you were going to say.” Your eyes narrowed into his, commanding, but lacking the usual tone of challenge and threat. “You’re what?” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Do you need help zipping up this one-” 

“-No, answer me, Eddie.” You lifted a finger towards him. “Do not make me use compulsion. I know how groggy and moody you get after it, and I have many plans for today. I’d rather not, but if you’re not going to comply, then I will be forced to-” 

“-You don’t have to- Fuck, I’m just tired.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped in defeat, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t sleep much last night.” 

“Why?” Your head tilted, lips pursed in curiosity, reaching for the dress before sliding behind the dressing curtain. 

“Because,” Eddie tried to focus on the carpet, on the candle wax that dripped off the table, anywhere but the curtain you were behind though he ached for even a silhouetted sliver of your frame. “I just couldn’t sleep.” 

“Maybe you should get a coffee?” You peaked over the bamboo wood, a brow lifting in… playfulness? 

“I think Robin has the lock box in her room. Ask her for it and go get yourself one.” As if draining a victim of their blood wasn’t enough, Eddie’s career consisted of stealing from them too. It always left him feeling a little uneasy, guilty, robbing the deceased. 

“I’m alright. I just need a second to wake up.” Eddie muttered, heel of his palm pressing to his eyes, rubbing so hard he saw stars. 

“Fine, but I better not hear one yawn during the house meeting.” You glared, stepping out from behind the dressing curtain. “You know how that irks me. Zip me.” 

Eddie stood, one hand holding the top together, pulling the zipper slowly up your spine, finger brushing over your spine. Your skin was cold, like ice, a chilling reminder of what you truly were. 

“Last chance.” You turned, swiping your shoes from the floor, discarded from the night before. “Before I go and wake the others.” 

“I’m fine.” Eddie nodded softly, lips curling with the hinting of a smile. “Thank you.” 

Your lips pursed, shifting at the sudden gratitude. He knew you were about to say something mean, put him down to establish your own dominance, you were predictable that way. “Don’t thank me,” You scoffed. “It’s not for you. I don’t want to hear your yawning.” You scoffed, eyes rolling hard towards him, before you were stomping down the creaking wooden planks of the hall. 

The Creel Mansion was still standing strong, despite its abandoned looking exterior. It had been your refuge for years, decades even, since Victor had first brought you there. It was his house before, but now all that remained of him was a portrait at the end of the hall, half covered by a black veil you refused to let Eddie move. 

“Robin!” Your shrill tone made Eddie wince, ears ringing at the pitch. “Nancy!” 

“What?” Robin groaned, her voice muffled with sleep from the door of her coffin, which you pulled open, uncaring of disrupting her slumber. “What- Why?” 

“House meeting. Hurry, before he gets home.” You muttered, turning over your shoulder towards Eddie. “Eddie, go check downstairs. Make sure he didn’t slip in early.” 

Eddie nodded, grabbing a small handheld lantern- a gift from you. He kept burning himself with the candle opera you’d gifted him, and when he wasn’t searing his skin off with the flame, he was turning to quickly and extinguishing all the flames. You told him it was because he’d wake you up with his fumbling in the dark. When you’d included the batteries with the small lantern, Eddie was convinced it was because you were growing a soft spot for him. 

A creaking of a door had Eddie jumping, looking through the flickering flames with his bright plastic lantern. “Uh, hey,” Eddie stepped closer. “Anyone there?” 

The silence was an eerie answer, Eddie swinging the lantern around. It was times like this, he really wished that the electricity still worked, that he could flick a light on, and see what was lurking in the shadows. The dining room appeared empty, a few spider webs and lots of dust, but lack of any danger Eddie could see. 

“Looking for something?” 

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck-” Eddie jumped, nearly dropping his lantern, tripping over his own feet to scatter away from the figure in front of him. 

“Did I scare ya?” Jonathan’s lips curled in a half smile, standing rigidly in the doorway. “You know, they say if you get scared easily, you’re not living right. That’s a saying that’s been repeated and found all throughout history. In Christianity, oddly enough, is where they-” 

“-Alright, Jonathan. I got it.” Eddie lifted a hand, his heart still hammering. He could feel his lids beginning to droop, eyes starting to gloss over the way they always did when Jonathan ‘fed’. A shitty excuse for a vampire, Eddie thought, What the fuck even is a psychic vampire? 

“Oh,” Your face fell, contorting into a grimace when you came down the steps. “Jonathan, you are home early today.” 

“Yes, I decided to come home early today.” Jonathan droned in a painful monotone that had your shoulders tensing. “I didn’t want to miss the house meeting.” 

“Wonderful.” You grimaced, looking at Eddie with an annoyed sneer. He fought back a snicker, turning to the bat down a cobweb that he missed. You could be funny at times, when you wanted. 

“I know you three tried to hide it from me, but you always talk too loud. You forget the walls are thin. Which reminds me, did you know that back in the early nineteen-hundreds when this house was first built, that architects of that time used-” 

“-Yes, Jonathan. Please, shut the fuck up.” Robin groaned, falling into the leather armchair. 

“Jonathan, I really can’t humor you today.” Nancy glared at him lightly. “You know the rules, if you’re going to be in a house meeting with us, you can’t feed off of us.” 

“I know.” Jonathan lifted his hands. “Sorry, I can’t help myself.” He turned to Eddie with a grin. “Guess it’s just you I’ll be feeding from.” 

“Not from my Familiar either, Jonathan.” You snapped, teeth baring in territorial threat. “Eddie is off limits.” Eddie’s chest swelled with pride, chin tipping towards the floor, hoping it would hide his blush. 

“Why are we even having a house meeting?” Robin rolled her eyes, the bags under her eyes especially prominent from lack of slumber. 

“Because,” You hissed, shoulders tight with annoyance. “You three need to get your own familiar.” 

Robin scoffed, Nancy rolling her eyes in agreement. “What?” 

“You three always call for Eddie to do everything, and it distracts him from me.” You jabbed a sharp nail into your chest. “I need him to be attentive to my needs, not yours. Go get your own familiar.” 

“Oh, please-” 

“-We only ask him to do a few things that should already be done-” 

“-I have to agree with Rob and Nance on this one.” Jonathan lifted a finger. 

“Do not call me that.” Nancy hissed, her teeth baring in the dull light of the room. 

“Nan?” Jonathan turned, eyes lighting up though his expression stayed neutral, the way it always did when he was feeding. 

“Ok,” You lifted your hands, stopping the attack Nancy was about to launch. “Find your own familiar. Eddie is my familiar, and is to attend to me exclusively.” 

“I’m sure he does.” Robin muttered, Nancy’s snicker making your ears burn- well, it would, if they still could. Eddie’s cheeks did burn a bright red, shifting at the innuendo. 

Your eyes narrowed, a threatening glare that neither of your roommates seemed phased by, only furthering your irritation. A sharp snap of your fingers, heavy soled steps clicking down the hall, and Eddie was following you.  

“Idiots,” You hissed, flinging the door open. “All of them. I should’ve told them no, that they’d have to find their own nest, but oh no. I had to feel fucking generous and kind that day.” 

Eddie stood in your doorway, hands rubbing down the material of his jeans, unsure of what to say, what to do. His eyes on you, waiting for your next command, for you to tell him what you were wanting, what you were thinking. 

“Are you just going to stand there?” You huffed, a lashing tone that had Eddie jumping. 

“No, wha-what do you need me to do?” Eddie stammered, uneasy with the glare you were giving him, so menacing. He knew better, or at least he thought he did, that you wouldn’t hurt him. You’d chosen him to be your Familiar for a reason… right?

“I don’t know, something?” You scoffed, eyes rolling back over his frame. “Maybe start with changing your clothes. We’re going out tonight and I’m not being seen with you in that.” 

Eddie’s lips pursed, jaw grinding tight. He’d blame the lack of sleep on his agitation. “What do you want me to wear then, Mistress?” Eddie’s tone was bitter, toying on the edge of annoyance. 

“Who are you speaking to-” 

“-You.” Eddie snapped, shocking both of you. There was a pause, realization washing over the two of you. “I just- I like what I have on, ok?” Eddie’s tone was softer, looking down at his ripped jeans and holey band tee. “It’s what people from this century wear.” 

Your lips rolled, flattening into a furious line. For a moment, Eddie thought you might pounce- fully preparing himself for the hiss, the baring of teeth, to feel his throat being ripped from his neck. Instead, you simply huffed, turning on your foot. 

“Fine.” A quipping, positively moody huff of a reply came. In that moment, you sounded petulant, human. 

“If you insist on wearing mauled clothing, then so be it.” You shrugged, a snarl still pulling on the edge of your lips. 

“Thank you.” Eddie nodded, swallowing down the tremble in his throat. “And, uh, thank you for before, too.” You turned, brow lifted in intrigue. “For- During the meeting.” 

“I didn’t do that for you.” Your reply was quick, teetering on defensive. “I did that for myself. I can’t wait for you because they’re too lazy to go out and compel their own Familiar.” 

“Right.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He gave up, ready to throw the towel in. Clearly, you were set on your mood and there would be no changing it. No swaying it with charming kindness today. 

“I’m going to go.” Eddie stepped towards the door. “I’ll go dust or something. Just let me know when you’re ready to go-” 

“-No.” Your voice echoed through the halls, bouncing off the walls, a sense of urgency that had Eddie freezing. 

You wrung your hands in front of you, anxiously. “No, just- stay in here.” 

Eddie frowned. “You just told me to go do something.” 

“I know,” You huffed. “But, just stay in here with me. Robin and Nancy won’t be ready for hours, and… and if you go down there Jonathan will try to feed and drain you, and-” 

Eddie recognized the ramble in your tone, a sliver of humanity breaking through the cracks of your cold, monstrous exterior. It was rare, you to turn soft like this- needy, but Eddie knew why you did it. He knew what you wanted. 

“Fine.” Eddie nodded, stepping into your bedroom, shutting the door carefully so the candles didn’t blow out. 

A lingering pause fell between the two of you, thick with an uncomfortable but familiar tension. Routine but an oddity all the same. 

“What do you want me to do in here, hm?” Eddie’s voice dropped, slow steps across the hardwood towards you. “Just sit here and stare at you.” 

“No,” Your chest tightened. It had been years since your heart had beat, but you swore Eddie could make it skip. “Surely, there’s something better that we could do to pass the time.” You declared, voice a little shaky with desperation to regain your control. 

“Yeah? What do you have in mind?” Eddie’s lips curled in a smirk, his face near inches from yours. “I’m at your service, Mistress.” 

Your body tingled with heat, the only warmth you craved, the only warmth you needed. You were shocked, when you first transitioned to your undead state, that this feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger. 

“I think you know what I have in mind.” You glared at him, half heartedly. “Don’t make me beg, or I’ll make you beg later.” 

“I would never, Mistress.” Your thighs twitched, Eddie’s hands sliding over the lacy material of your dress, the swell of your hips. “I’m your faithful servant. You just tell me what you want- whatever you need.” 

“Hm,” You breathed slowly, your body closing in with him, chest to chest. Your nails raked over the etched skin of his forearms, dragging a sharp nail up his neck, to his jaw. Eddie shuddered, fingers sinking into your waist 

Your lip grazed over his, mouth parting just barely, your fangs hovering over his bottom lip teasingly. Eddie swallowed back a moan that you didn’t miss. Your eyes met his, darker now- nearly black, the way they always darkened when you got like this. Aroused and needy, entirely hungry for something. 

“You’ve got to be quiet this time.” You gave him a pointed look. “They heard last time. They’re starting to catch on.” 

“Sorry.” Eddie swallowed, nose brushing over yours. He wanted to press his hand to the back of your head, kiss you with an urgency, but he knew better. That wasn’t how you liked it. Oh no, you liked the anticipation, the adrenaline filled excitement that came with teasing. 

“Who cares if they know anyways?” Eddie muttered brainlessly, eyes glossing when they met yours. “What’s so wrong with it?” 

“It’s unnatural.” You whispered. “Complicated.” 

“What’s so complicated about it?” Eddie scoffed lightly, hand sliding up your spine, towards your zipper. “You’re turning me into a vampire anyways, right? Why’s it matter?” 

You hesitated, breath hitching and ghosting over his lip, chilling him. “It’s just- it makes things difficult now.” You stammered, fingers sliding through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about that now.” Your thumbs pressed lightly to his temples, his eyes meeting yours. 

“For now,” You purred, lips curling in a small grin. “I think you should thank me again, but this time,” Your nose brushed over his. “By letting me sit on your face. That seems fair, right? You thank me, I keep you quiet- a win-win.” 

Eddie blushed, lips spreading in a wide grin. “Yes, Mistress.”

[moonjxsung]

When the Rain Stops

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Read part 2 here.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 9.8k

Warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking, mentions of cheating, brief comment about calories, use of pet names, sex in a public establishment (no one is around), oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting

Synopsis: A passing storm during a road trip forces you to seek shelter in a little dive bar on the outskirts of town, and you find yourself drawn to the bartender.

18+. Mdni!

•

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, wringing out your stringy wet hair onto the black carpet below you. You know the weather forecast predicted rain- hell, your family even warned you about it when you left their place this morning. But true to your bad luck, you severely underestimated just how much of it. Now, you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere while you wait for the storm to pass.

Okay, maybe not technically the middle of nowhere. But a shitty dive bar surrounded by nothing for miles upon miles isn’t really something to write home about. You know it could be worse- at least here you have access to unlimited alcohol and mozzarella sticks. But a quick look around tells you that’s not enough to redeem it for you.

The place is undoubtedly small, pool tables and red leather booths housing most of the space. Where there’s vacancy at the tables, the servers haven’t bothered to clean up yet, passing by stacks of dirty plates and silverware to serve guests sitting at other tables. A group of men chatter amongst themselves at one of the pool tables, and a single man is sat at the open bar.

You settle on a spot at the open bar, sitting two barstools away from the man and drying your feet on the rug below you.

“What can I get you?” A voice overhead says dryly, and you respond without looking up.

“Just a Coke, maybe? Diet, please.”

You hear the man scoff a little as he retreats, and then you finally look up, slightly offended at his reaction.

He’s walking away from the bar when you see him, only the back of his head visible from behind the counter where you’re sat.

As he disappears into the back to grab a coke, you pull your cell phone out of your bag. You wipe raindrops off the screen with the sleeve of your sweater, pushing the lock button to catch up on unread texts. There are only two, both from your parents, warning you about the rain and requesting you turn back for the night.

You shoot them back a text, assuring them you’ve found someplace safe to stay, and that you won’t be driving in this rain until the storm blows over. But the truth is, you’re rather unsure of that yourself. Your phone currently reads at 26% battery, the storm is predicted to go on for several hours, and there are seemingly no hotels nearby to stay the night. Chances are, you’re going to be here for a good while.

A veiny hand places an iced glass of your Diet Coke in front of you as you finish sending the texts, and you look up to lock eyes with the bartender.

He’s rather tall, with light brown hair that falls just above his soft round eyes, totally contradicting the sharpness in his jawline and nose bridge. The man is dressed formally in a white button-up shirt and a black tie, rolled up halfway at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone to reveal just a glimpse of his broadened chest.

“Is that it?” He asks. His stare is cold and serious, and you find yourself a little intimidated in this proximity to him.

“Yes, thank you. Do you happen to have a phone charger?”

He scoffs again.

“This isn’t a convenience store.”

“I’m aware,” you reply with narrowed eyes. “I just need to make a few calls.”

“There’s a pay phone in the back.”

It’s your turn to scoff. He’s calculated with his words, like he’s trying his best to get you to leave the bar. But you’re as stubborn as they come, and it’ll take a lot more than rude customer service to make you leave in this storm.

“Look, I’m not using a pay phone unless you’re supplying quarters. You don’t have an iPhone charger?”

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I don’t have an iPhone charger. And I’m not supplying you with anything- this isn’t a convenience store. Unless you want a vodka sprite or some chicken wings, I think we’re all done here.”

Before you can reply, he turns on his heel, making his way back to the kitchen and disappearing behind the double doors once again.

The doors swing in and out a few times before coming to a halt, and you stare through the circular window as he resumes cooking something in the kitchen.

Unpleasant- the personalities of everyone in your parents’ neighboring town, miles away from your apartment in the city. It reminds you precisely why you seldom visit these parts.

“Don’t take it personal,” a voice from beside you says. He shifts to face you from his bar stool. “He’s always like that.”

The stranger is well-dressed in a coat and slacks, his black hair styled neatly out of his face.

“Surprised he keeps any business at all with an attitude like that.”

“The locals don’t get the worst of it,” he continues. “Mostly us city-dwellers he despises.”

A small smile forms on your face. “You’re from the city too?”

“Yeah!” he replies enthusiastically. “I’m just passing through for the weekend.”

“Me too! Though I got stuck on the way back home. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be able to leave for a few hours.”

“Oh yeah,” the man says. “It’s really bad out there.”

You shift your attention to the large window at the back of the bar- the rain is still coming down in sheets over the glistening black pavement, nothing visible beyond the blurry traffic lights as the trees melt into an abyss of darkness. The roads appear empty and the parking lot seems fuller than usual for a bar like this.

“I’m Jisung, by the way,” he says finally.

You turn back to him and nod once. “Y/n. It’s great to meet you.”

*

As Jisung indulges you in conversation about city life, you learn he’s a businessman who visits the area on Saturdays when he gathers in the town with old friends. He also lives alone in a high-rise apartment, he’s single, and he comes to this particular dive bar for the chicken wings. Ones he insists you have to try, so you waive over the bartender to place another order.

“Excuse me, could we get an order of chicken wings?”

The bartender scribbles something and walks away quickly, hardly acknowledging you the way he did earlier.

“You know,” Jisung says. “Maybe the rain isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve been talking to the prettiest girl in this bar for the last 30 minutes. Beats being stuck in traffic any day.”

You feel your whole face turn a bright shade of crimson as he grins flirtatiously. Of course, the other way around stands true, too; his features resemble that of a model’s, and you're pretty sure the other girls in the bar have been eyeing him since you walked in.

Before you can respond, the bartender returns, setting a plate down in front of you and some silverware.

“Enjoy,” he says plainly, and he blinks a few times before leaving again.

“Jeez, it’s like he doesn’t even want to work here,” you tell Jisung.

He says nothing in response- he simply slides the plate over to you, ushering for you to choose a piece.

And you do, carefully balancing the saucy cut between your forefinger and thumb as Jisung taps his against yours.

“Cheers,” he says happily. “To the rain.”

The chicken is the best you’ve had in a while- in fact, you can’t recall having better food at any bar before this.

“Wow, you were right, Jisung. this is phenomenal!”

“It’s Minho’s recipe,” he replies with a mouthful of food.

“Who’s Minho?”

Jisung nods in the direction of the bar, where the bartender is cleaning off a glass with a white towel. He raises his eyebrows once at you, as if to confirm he’s indeed the topic of conversation, and you turn back to Jisung.

“It’s really good,” you say loudly, with the intention of Minho hearing your compliment.

But Minho doesn’t respond, instead sauntering over and refilling your Diet Coke. His eyes visibly avoid yours, guarded, like you might instigate another quarreling match with him at any given second. But he also blinks rapidly as he pours your beverage, almost as if he’s trying not to say something himself. You analyze his mannerisms briefly, before brushing them off and enjoying your food again. He’s probably just still peeved from earlier.

“Do you want to play a round of pool?” Jisung interrupts your thoughts. “Not to scare you, but I’m kind of terrible at it.”

His eyes form little crescents as he laughs loudly, and the gloomy vibe in the bar seems to brighten from the sound alone.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Three rounds in, Jisung is practically sober again, reeling off the high from winning three times against you. He might be terrible, but you’re evidently far worse than he claims to be.

“If I win this match, you let me take you out on a date. How does that sound?” Jisung says through laughter, though he’s entirely serious about the proposal.

Your cue stick prods at his ribs as you smile back in agreement. “And if you lose?”

“I won’t lose,” Jisung retorts. “Might as well pick a restaurant now.”

It’s a failure already, Jisung having only two stripes left while you’re still stuck with all 8 solids. He takes his aim at the cue ball, halting his laughter briefly to position his cue stick, and then cheering loudly as the ball disappears into its nearest hole. You watch with bated breath as he repeats the process, only this time, he misses.

“Hey,” you whine. “You only brought up our proposal midway through this round. At least I deserve a chance card!”

He scoffs. “Pick a chance then. I doubt it’ll get you 7 balls closer to your competition.”

You scan the room in deep thought, one hand resting under your chin and atop the cue stick; and then, the idea hits you.

“He’ll play for me,” you announce, nodding toward the direction of where Minho is wiping down the counter with a rag. He looks up momentarily, furrowing his brows when he notices the shared looks of you and Jisung.

“Get over here!” Jisung shouts, and a few patrons of the tables nearby encourage the invitation, cheering and applauding.

“No,” Minho says as he shakes his head shyly. “I’m busy.”

“There’s literally no one around,” Jisung retorts. “Come on, I know you can try at least once.”

“He’s scared he’ll lose,” you chime in. “And then you’ll have to take me out on a date.”

You swear you see Minho’s eyes narrow, and then he dries his hands with the same rag before setting it down.

“One round only. If I win, you tip double.”

“Deal,” says Jisung, and you watch Minho strut over to the table.

He’s taller than you assumed, towering over you in a black pair of slacks that lengthen his muscular legs. In preparation, Minho cuffs up his sleeves a few more times, buttoning them at the forearm and loosening his collar. You try your hardest not to stare, but it’s a seemingly impossible task, you quickly realize, as he takes your cue stick and positions himself over the table. One loose strand of brown hair falls into his face, and you resist the urge to move it out of the way for him.

The tables nearby are quiet as Minho pulls back, and then aims, the first of your solids rolling into the hole with ease.

“Oh fuck you,” Jisung groans, and Minho positions himself over the next target. Aim, roll back, perfect shot.

Tables around you begin to gather around yours, watching silently as Minho repeats his method. Aim, roll, shoot. The heavy sound of a solid rolling down the velvety surface, and the satisfying plink as it finds its home inside the hole.

Only two solids remain, and Jisung rests his head on his cue stick as Minho takes aim again. “I can’t watch. Someone tell me if he gets it.”

Aim… roll… and double plink- both solids disappear into the hole beneath them, effectively ending the match between the two. The patrons clap and cheer loudly, and Jisung throws his hands in the air, groaning in annoyance. “Fuck, man! You didn’t say you knew how to play pool?”

Minho shrugs, not a hint of a smile on his face as he retrieves the balls and organizes them on the table again. Jisung slides him a twenty, and he shoots you a quick glance, nodding once as he leaves the table and disappears back into the kitchen. You wonder again what he’s thinking about, briefly worried you’ve annoyed him by pulling him away from his work.

“Hey,” Jisung says, snapping you out of your tranced state. “Did you want to… maybe… get out of here? I know a hotel just a few blocks from the bar. We can walk fast.”

You think it over momentarily, weighing your options. The rain has no intention of stopping anytime soon, and you’re dying for a shower at this point. You’re also persuaded by the idea of a warm bed- not to mention, a warm body, for the night.

“Sure! I’m just going to run to the bathroom, I’ll meet you outside.”

*

The reflection in the mirror looks rough, staring back at you like this, desperately fixing the smudged makeup to the best of your ability and spritzing perfume. It’s been a while since you hooked up with a random person- especially one from a dive bar like this, but somehow you trust him. He’s funny, sweet, and he’s undoubtedly attractive. Plus, maybe a hookup will distract you from the current state of things.

When you exit, you make your way past the barstools, thanking Minho briefly. His lips curl up into a hint of a smile, and you can’t help but feel bad for him- he’s stuck in this shitty bar regardless, dealing with obnoxious patrons seeking shelter from the storm and cleaning up after their drunken messes. He may be a little rude, but it’s deserved, you think, as he cleans off your dishes.

Finally exiting the bar, you look around for Jisung, shielding your eyes from sheets of rain and squinting against the dark sky. The only source of light is a hanging light beside the wooden bar sign, and it illuminates nothing past your immediate eyesight.

“Jisung?” You call, being met only with the sounds of heavy rainfall and swaying leaves.

“Jisung?”

The wind blows violently, and you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering against the brutal cold. A man enters the bar beside you, keeping the door open and ushering you inside. And you do enter again, marching straight to the bar to search for Jisung.

*

“Excuse me,” you say to Minho, who is busy preparing a beer on tap for another patron. “Did you see the man who was here earlier? Tall, black hair, suit?”

“You mean Jisung?” He says without looking at you, and you perk up at his name.

“Yes! Did you see where he went?”

“Yeah,” Minho replies dryly. “I told him you changed your mind about him.”

“You- what?”

Minho says nothing again, filling another mug of beer and sliding it across the counter to a patron.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“He’s bad news,” Minho shrugs.

The words circle in your head for a good minute while you make sense of them. Minho ruined your chances at going home with Jisung- because he’s “bad news”? What does he even know about him?

“Why do you say that?” The question escapes your lips before you can ponder a more insightful one.

“I know him,” he replies casually. “Like I said- bad news.”

Frustration builds up steadily inside of you, turning your ears a bright shade of crimson and knitting your brows together in pure confusion.

“Who are you to determine that? You’re just a bartender! It’s none of your damn business who I leave with!”

He slaps a palm on the counter, not particularly hard, but enough to startle you a little.

“Actually, it is. I have a legal obligation to ensure my patrons don’t leave here inebriated behind a vehicle, or with strange men. And I saved you from the latter. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” You scoff. “Since I walked in here you’ve been nothing but a complete douche! There’s nothing to thank you for.”

“Then don’t,” Minho says. “I did my part either way.”

You stutter momentarily, settling on silence as he exits back to the kitchen and leaves you standing at the counter. The current state of things feels much like they did when you first entered- drenched from the rain, frustrated, and annoyed with the bartender. Only now, you can add cockblocked to the list, all thanks to Minho.

*

Two hours past the incident, your phone is completely dead. It’s just past 11 when the rain stills just for a little bit, and hoards of patrons file out of the bar to complete their short trips home. You remain stuck however, knowing the rain will pick up again if you attempt the six hour drive back right now. The bar is nearly empty at this hour, only two people sat at a far table, and the quiet swing of jazz music is now audible from your little booth. The peeling leather of the red seats below you is rather itchy, and the dim lantern hanging over you gives an orange-ish glow to the wooden table beneath you. You scribble mindless doodles on a stack of napkins in front of you, trying your best to pass the agonizing time spent here.

As you finalize the petals of a messy flower drawn on the napkin, a plate is set down in front of you, along with a glass of what you presume is Diet Coke. The smell instantly makes your mouth water- a cheesy omelet coupled with a side of french fries, steam still wafting off the plate and up into the glow of the booth’s lighting. You look up to see none other than Minho, and before you can protest, he slides into the booth across from you, setting a fork down on your napkin.

“You should eat,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s on me,” Minho emphasizes, and you finally look up from your drawing.

“Look,” he begins. “Jisung has been coming here for years. He’s a cool dude, I get it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly like I have a chance with him anymore,” you turn back to your drawing.

“He’s also married,” Minho finishes.

At that, your head snaps up at him, eyes widened in shock.

“What? But he said-”

“Yeah, that’s what he always says. It’s kind of his thing- picking up girls from the bar and taking them to that one hotel. I told you, he’s bad news.”

Silence washes over the booth as you swallow nervously. He shrugs apologetically, fiddling with his fingers as you begin to speak.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. I just didn’t want you to come back here crying tomorrow morning like the last girl did.”

It hits you like a ton of bricks- Minho really was looking after you. You’d almost left this strange dive bar, in the middle of nowhere, to sleep with a married man in a sketchy hotel. In hindsight, it was stupid you ever agreed.

“At least eat some fries,” he says, and you remember the plate in front of you. You comply with his request, taking a bite of the still-warm fries which almost melt on your tongue.

“These are really good,” you tell him. “He was right about the food, at least.”

“I’m kind of a big deal here,” Minho says as he leans back. He smirks- the first time you’ve seen an expression on his face tonight.

“I’m sure. How did you get so good at pool, anyway?”

“I work at a dive bar,” Minho says. “Girls ask me to play with them all the time.”

“Do they now? Your reluctance earlier says otherwise.”

“Oh they do,” Minho says. “When they’re as shitty as you, I’m the chance card.”

“Hey!” You shout. Minho giggles, his head thrown back as his eyes form little crescents in amusement. His laugh makes you laugh, too, the musical sound of it making your heartbeat quicken a little. It’s melodic and lighthearted, and you almost forget you’re stuck with him in this hell of a bar. There’s a glow to him at this time of night.

“Run it back,” you say as his laughter dies down. “And I’ll show you I’m not entirely terrible.”

“Better hope you don’t lose,” he says. “You won’t have a chance card this time.”

*

You still suck at pool. Minho clears the table in two quick rounds, and you’ve barely had time to practice with your cue stick because it’s hardly ever your turn.

“Alright,” Minho says. “I’ll let you have this turn. It’s boring watching you stand there all night.”

You approach the table, positioning your cue stick and taking aim at your first solid of the match.

“Use your thumb on the front hand,” he chimes in.

“Like this?”

“No, it should be between your thumb and pointer finger.”

“Like I’m pinching it?” You ask confused, and Minho chuckles.

“Here.”

Before you can adjust your cue stick again, Minho is behind you, one hand finding yours at the front of the cue stick and positioning it between your thumb and pointer finger like he explained. His hands are cold to the touch, and you’re intimidated having him this close to you. The other hand gently grips your elbow, moving it back a little as he scans the current trajectory. His face is dangerously close to yours, hair falling beautifully into his eyes as he moves, lips parted in concentration and the gentle flutter of his eyelashes as he blinks.

“There. Try now.”

You do as he instructs, rolling back and taking aim at your solid. Aim, shoot… and the familiar roll of your ball across the table. Only this time, it’s followed by the satisfying sound of falling into its respective hole.

“Oh my gosh!” You exclaim. “That’s only the third one I’ve gotten tonight!”

Minho chuckles, amused with your ardent reaction. “Your aim isn’t bad at all. It’s just your positioning.”

He turns to smile at you, momentarily unaware of how close he is to you. He’s towering over you, lips pulled into a mischievous grin as your eyes glimmer, still reeling off the high of scoring. For a brief second, your eyes flicker down to his lips, maybe a little too obviously, and then back up at his eyes.

“I should probably get back to the kitchen,” Minho says nervously. “I think that table ordered drinks like one round ago.”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little hurt that he’s leaving again. “I’m pretty tired, anyway.”

“You want something else to eat?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Good luck with work, though!” You avert his gaze fully now, mentally tracing the pattern on the rug below you.

When Minho leaves, you can’t help but mentally scold yourself. He’s just a bartender- one whose job is to serve you drinks and keep you out of trouble here. Not some friend to stand around and play pool with, regardless of how good he is, or hypnotizing it feels when he touches you.

*

At 1am, the bar is officially empty. The last few patrons leave after a round of gin vodkas, somehow getting an Uber despite the storm and leaving home for the night. You debate getting a room at the nearby hotel, but there’s no way you’ll be able to reserve a room this late, and your phone is still dead. It would probably be smart to attempt some method of getting home, but a part of you strangely doesn’t want to leave the bar anymore. It feels like a vessel into another universe, like time doesn’t exist here, like the storm or the ride home aren’t important as long as you’re sat in this little booth. You’re well aware the bar closes in an hour, but you’d rather wait until the hour to decide what to do.

Of course, part of it could be the bartender. You don’t want to like Minho, but you can’t quite make sense of him, either. He’s attractive, but reserved. He’s outgoing, but he has his guard up. And his walls break down when he’s enjoying himself, but he builds them up quickly again, and you can’t understand what triggers it. He’s much like the bar is- safe and homely, yet mysterious and alluring.

As you take a sip of your Diet Coke, neck craned to watch the show playing on the tv above you, a familiar face scoots into the booth across from you.

“Subway,” he says.

“What?”

“Jeopardy. Restaurants by slogan: Eat Fresh. It’s Subway.” He's referring to the episode of Jeopardy you’ve been watching for the past half hour.

“Everyone knows that,” you say with a smile.

You expect him to defend himself, but instead he laughs and shakes his head.

“Either our diet cokes are really good, or you’re not in any rush to get home.”

You sigh, swirling your straw around your third can of Coke and shrugging.

“I can’t make it home in this rain. The roads are closed going my direction, anyway.”

“Where’s home?”

“Far from here. In the city.”

Minho sits back comfortably now, arms crossed in front of him as he listens to you speak.

“City girl. I guessed it.”

“What gave me away?” You ask with a smile.

“iPhone charger request. And you drink Diet Coke exclusively.”

“I don’t like to waste my calories!” You argue.

“You’re in a dive bar.”

The two of you share laughter at your admission, and you can feel your cheeks heat up again. He sure knows how to make you laugh.

“I’ll probably get a motel room for tonight,” you say. “I think there’s one walking distance from here.”

“The nearest one is a shithole. I’m pretty sure someone died there, like, a few months ago.”

You exhale deeply, poking around at your drink with your straw.

“I have work on Monday. I have to get some shut-eye or I won’t be able to get home even if it does stop raining.”

Minho glances around the bar, observing the vacant tables and empty parking lot.

“Yah, Jeongin-ah!” He shouts suddenly, and a figure appears around the kitchen door, peering over at your table.

“Yeah?”

“Clock out,” Minho says. “We’re closing an hour early.”

“An hour? But what if-”

“No one else is coming in this rain. Just grab your stuff And get home safely. I’ll handle the rest of the tables.”

Jeongin’s gaze darts over at you quickly, and then back to Minho, as he nods without saying another word. He disappears into the kitchen once again, presumably to gather his belongings.

“You don’t have to close on account of me,” you say finally, a little unsure of his motives. “I can walk to the motel from here.”

He scoffs, sliding out from the booth and gathering a stack of dirty dishes from the table beside you. “I told you, it’s not safe. You can chill here for the next hour while I do closing procedures, and if it’s still raining, I can at least give you a ride there.”

“Why should I trust you?” You ask, hint of sarcasm present in your voice, but still cautious.

“Technically you shouldn’t,” he says with a smile. “But you’re free to call the cops on me whenever you want.”

“Nice try. My phone's dead.” You shoot him a smile, knowing he’s just messing with you, but wanting to entertain his little game nonetheless.

“Back room, third drawer in the file cabinet. There should be a phone charger there.”

You gasp and scoff. “I thought this wasn’t a convenience store!”

“It’s not,” Minho says, flashing you a toothy smile as he makes his way to the kitchen and calls out over his shoulder. “It’s a dive bar. My dive bar.”

*

Minho scrubs grease off the plates while you dry mugs on the counter adjacent to him and arrange them neatly in a row.

“So you haven’t left this town in years?” You ask Minho, continuing the conversation you’ve been having with him for the past 45 minutes.

“I drive to the city probably once a year,” he replies. “Hate it.”

“Why?”

“It’s too busy. I prefer simple. Simple people, simple places. A simple life.”

“How can you say that when you’ve never experienced it the other way around before?”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Experienced a simpler life. Outside of the city.”

“Well… kind of. I mean, I moved out the second I turned 18. Grew up in the suburbs, but I traveled to the city every chance I got. I always knew I wanted to be there.”

“So you’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible?”

“I guess not.”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm.

“I grew up in the city.”

“You did?”

“Hated it,” Minho says.

“Why’s that?”

“I was… easily distracted. Got involved with a lot of bad crowds. Never knew what I wanted. Worked as a private chef for a while, actually.”

You stop drying the mug you’re working on and look at him in utter shock.

“You?”

“Me,” he affirms with a chuckle. “I quit one random day five years ago and moved out here with every penny I saved. Obtained ownership of this bar and haven’t looked back since.”

You nod at his words, resuming your task as he shuts off the water.

“Takes some courage, I’ll give you that.”

Minho leans back against the counter and rests his hands on the table behind him. He smirks at you knowingly, and you can feel his eyes pierce through you out of your peripheral vision.

“What?” You say with a blushing grin.

“Nothing,” he replies. “You make a good employee here.”

“Yeah, right,” you say sarcastically, lining up the last mug on the counter and turning around to face him.

“I’d probably start a fire with running water or something crazy.”

He laughs again, shaking his head as you cross your arms.

“I need to close up the registers,” Minho says. “You want to hang out here until I’m done?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he bows slightly.

“I’ll try to be fast.”

Minho leaves to the back office as you wipe your hands with a dish rag, smiling in a daze.

*

While Minho counts change in the office, you explore the place a bit, making your way around the pool tables to the back of the bar. It’s then that you notice a tall staircase almost hidden away in a back corner. You slowly make your way up the stairs, tip-toeing so as not to startle Minho while he’s in the office closing up for the night. The creaky wooden stairs are muffled by the sound of the rain outside.

When you reach the top, you lean on the banister, looking down on the bar and taking in the view. It looks especially charming like this, illuminated only by the golden neon sign hung over the bar counter and reflecting off the big glass cabinets. Entrance through a small doorway leads to a single, dark room, and you turn on the dim light to explore the room.

There are only two things in the room- another pool table, visibly much older than the others downstairs, and an old arcade game. Upon closer inspection, you find that the game is a run-down version of Pac-Man, one of your favorite arcade games growing up. The giant yellow display is decorated with whimsical little drawings of Pac-Man and ghosts, and you can’t help but crack a smile at the sight, remembering the days you used to play as a kid.

You try the on switch, being met with a buzzing noise and the glow of red marquee lights, but nothing appears on the screen. Bummer, you think to yourself.

“It’s never turned on,” a voice says behind you, and you let out a shout, startled at the sudden noise.

When you turn around, Minho is standing with his hands in his pockets, a black blazer thrown over his button up shirt and a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Got it as a donation a few months ago and it’s lived up here ever since. I think it’d be a hit, if it actually worked.”

You turn back to the machine, observing the gentle hum from the static on the monitor display.

“It’s probably something with the PCB,” you reply, and Minho turns to look at you.

“The what?”

“The printed circuit board,” You repeat, setting your purse down on the floor beside you. “You have a screwdriver?”

Minho’s brows furrow together in confusion, but he nods slowly. “Yeah, sure.”

He leaves momentarily and returns with the requested tool, watching as you drop to your knees and unscrew the door to the cabinet.

“The lights turn on, which is a good thing,” you explain to him. “Means the monitor is still in good condition. So It’s probably just slowed down with general wear.”

When the cabinet door is off, Minho leans back against the pool table and observes as you pull out little parts from the myriad of pieces along the circuit.

“I figured,” You say, sitting back with a tissue in hand. “The EPROMs and ROMs are all warped.”

You pull a bobby pin out from your hair, gently wiggling the pins back in place before cleaning them off with a tissue.

Minho is lost as he watches you, mouth agape at the level of focus in your expression, tongue poking out between your lips as you move with purpose and determination. He realizes he may have undermined you this whole time, thinking secretly you’d crave a simpler life, when all along it was your intelligence and wit that drew you to the city. You’re as complex as the city, he thinks. You can’t be confined within the safety of these four walls like he can. And maybe he’s complex, too. But he’s not sure of himself the way you seem to be.

When you’re finished wiping down the acronyms of pieces, you fit them back in and screw back on the door. Minho watches curiously as you plug in the machine again, reaching around the frame for the switch and flipping it on.

The familiar hum of the screen starts up again, only this time it flashes a bright white color, and then displays PAC-MAN as soft music begins to play.

“Holy shit,” Minho says with a breathy chuckle. “That would've been thousands to get repaired.”

“Take it as a thank you,” you say. “For helping me out tonight.”

You hoist yourself up on the pool table and gesture to the display as he stares in awe. “Try it!”

Minho presses the red START button, chuckling when the familiar tune starts up and the game begins. He makes it through a few rows before getting eaten by a pixelated ghost, groaning when the game flashes GAME OVER and starts up another round.

But he doesn’t resume playing, instead turning around to face you with an unmoving expression.

“It’s drizzling,” he says, looking past you out the little window.

“Mhm,” you reply, though you’re not registering a word he's saying anymore. He’s dangerously close to you again, eye-level with you while you’re sat atop the pool table and not taking your gaze off him.

He seems to be trembling with anticipation, his gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes, hoping you’ll notice the motion and do something, anything with it.

“We should probably get going,” You say in a whisper.

He swallows cautiously. “Yeah.”

“Right now that the rain is a little lighter.”

“Yeah,” he says again, though neither of you make any move to leave.

“Thanks for tonight,” you reply, your eyes fully locked on his lips now.

Minho begins to say something, but his voice hitches in his throat, instead opting to swallow and and take a single step forward. And before you can say another word, his face tilts in front of you, gently pressing his lips to yours.

He kisses you gently, but he doesn’t waste any time, hands caressing your waist in his embrace and pressing up against you. He tastes like mint, his tongue mixing the flavor with the taste of Diet Coke still in your mouth. When he pulls away, he says nothing, searching your expression for a sign of how you’re feeling. You say nothing, too, eyes flickering over his serious gaze and waiting for him to break the silence.

When he still doesn’t talk, you reach out to grab his collar, pulling him toward you again. You kiss him first this time, slipping your tongue inside his parted lips to taste him fully, gripping his collar like you might lose him if you let go.

“Fuck,” Minho says, pulling away and breathing heavily. He squeezes his eyes shut, a nervous expression tugging at his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t do this,” Minho replies. “With patrons. I just… I don’t know what got into me…”

His words trail off as you work little kisses down his jawline and neck, nibbling over his clavicle and humming greedily against him.

“What if I wanted you to?”

Minho stares at the ceiling as you work him, breath hitching in his throat as you trail even lower.

You pull away from him, tilting his gaze down to meet yours with a hand on his cheek.

“Say you don’t want to kiss me again,” you clarify. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

His eyes narrow, piercing through yours as his hands rest gently on your upper thighs.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says seriously.

Your heart drops instantly, the anticipation that had built up pending his answer quickly fizzling as his words pierce through you. Your throat is dry, dozens of questions circling your mind, but nothing that comes to fruition amidst your disappointment. Guess it wasn’t the way you’d read into it all night.

“Okay.” Your voice is shaky, doing nothing to mask your disappointment.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Minho says again quickly, his thumbs tracing circle patterns on your thighs. He leans in again, lips just barely grazing over yours as he speaks in a whisper. “I want you right here, on this table, right now. I want to do a lot more than just kiss you.”

Your heartbeat resumes, pulsing wildly as he scans your face for a reaction. You don’t grant him one through your facial expressions- rather, you pull him in by his collar once again, closing the gap between you and kissing him even harder this time. You can feel Minho smirking into the kiss, amused with how desperate you are at the simple admission.

His hands snake up your sweater, grabbing desperately at your lower back and pressing into you with his hips. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, neck craned to the side for easy access while he begins to work kisses down your neck now.

“You really suck at pool,” Minho says as he smiles against your skin. His lips find yours again, giving you repeated chaste kisses as you tangle your hands in his hair. His lips feel familiar on yours- almost like you’ve done this a hundred times before. You can’t imagine a version of him you weren’t kissing like this.

“You’re calculated,” you say, smiling as you loosen the black tie around his neck.

“How so?”

“No phone charger, you only agree to play pool when a date with Jisung is on the line, and you’ve gotten me to stick around this long? You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

Minho throws his head back a little, his eyebrows arching as he laughs loudly.

“You might be a genius at fixing arcade games, but you don’t have everything figured out the way you think you do.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He pulls away again, completing your task of loosening his tie, and then discarding it completely on the table beside you.

“It stopped raining 15 minutes ago,” he says slyly. “And suddenly you’re in no rush to go home anymore.”

His eyebrows are raised as his hands caress your thighs, moving higher until he’s grazing your hip bones with his fingertips. You don’t reply, suddenly hot at his words, and knowing he’s in fact entirely correct about it. It’s the opportunity you’ve been waiting around for all night- a break in the rainfall to get back to your car and make it to a hotel for the night. But paired against the other opportunity right in front of you- the one wearing nothing but a loosened white shirt and a devilish smirk on his face, you can’t do much but resort to the latter.

“You gonna spread for me?” Minho asks in a gentle teasing tone, his voice much quieter than before as your breath hitches in your throat. You nod, disregarding his first statement and doing as you’re told, slipping off your jeans and opening your legs just enough so that he can move his fingertips to graze your inner thighs. It feels dirty like this, so sinful for your skin to make contact with the velvety table below you. But you’re too dazed with lust, completely encapsulated by his movements to do anything except obey him.

“Good girl,” Minho replies, and your heartbeat quickens at the praise.

His hands dance in gentle back and forth motions along your thighs, gradually getting closer to your core, until his middle finger rests gently atop your clothed clit.

Your eyes dart down to his hand briefly, waiting desperately for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.

“Look at me,” Minho says.

And you do, making eye contact again with his cold stare, piercing salaciously through your doe eyes.

Another smirk grows on his face as he crouches lower, and lower, dropping to his knees until he’s eye level with your aching pussy.

“Please…” you say, resting your weight back on your palms and spreading your legs further for him. Your breaths are labored, eyebrows arched up at just the thought of his tongue on you.

“Please what?”

“Please, would you… eat me out?” You request quietly, somehow internally panicked that he’ll decline.

But he doesn’t- instead he loops a finger through your underwear, pulling down in a sudden motion, eyes widened at the sight of you like this. You’re swollen with arousal, clit visibly quivering at the proximity of his breath against your folds. Your pussy is deliciously sopping for him, glazed juices painting your cunt all for him.

“God,” he breaks the silence. “You’re soaking. I could probably put it in now and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t answer him, tucking strands of hair behind your ears and looking down on him with anticipation.

“Okay,” Minho says with a slight chuckle. “Just relax for me.”

And without wasting another minute, his hands find purchase on your knees, scooting you closer to the edge of the table before finally burying his face in you. His tongue licks a long stripe along your pussy, smiling at the taste, before his lips latch themselves around your clit and suck harshly.

Your eyes roll back almost instantly, completely lost in the sensation of his tongue gliding back and forth over your folds like a starved animal. His plump lips remain latched to your clit, suckling with lewd wet noises and basking in the flavor of your arousal for him. As your legs tremble with pleasure, your hands quickly find themselves tangled in his hair, grinding him up against you and using his face to satisfy the delicious ache between your legs. Minho is well aware of your desperation, pulling away mere centimeters to grin at your reaction.

“Don’t stop,” you say, massaging his tresses in encouragement to keep going. Minho chuckles, this time latching on to your bundle of nerves with a gentle graze of his bunny teeth. He nibbles tenderly, eyes rolling up to watch your reaction as you sense the shift in his actions.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out frantically. “That feels so fucking good."

Minho smiles into your pussy, giving one small lick with his tongue before utilizing his velvety lips on your clit once again.

“Mmh…” he hums into your pussy, sending divine vibrations that tickle your arousal and instinctively make you moan for him.

“You taste so good,” Minho says between suckling. “I wanna make you cum for me.”

You nod down at him, rubbing little circles on his scalp and throwing your head back when he dips his tongue into your entrance.

“Oh god!”

At first he takes little kitten licks at your entrance, coming back up to kiss your clit repeatedly while you wait in anticipation. And then he brings a hand up to your entrance, sliding one finger in and working it around your pussy as he continues the unwavering attention on your bundle of nerves.

“Yeah, just like that,” you encourage him.

“You like it when I do both at once?” Minho inquires with a knowing smile.

“Yes, fuck” you can hardly answer him between the high-pitched moans that fill the dark room.

“Like when I fill you up?” A kiss on your clit. “Like when I taste you?” He laps at your folds. “Like when I fuck you like this?” Two fingers pump in and out of you now, smearing your arousal back on your clit which he wastes no time lapping up on his tongue.

“Yes, fuck Minho! Please, I’m gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Want you to make a mess on my face.”

His fingers pump at an even faster pace while he sucks your clit between his teeth and emits a deep moan against your wetness. The vibration of his voice gives attention to the rest of your aching pussy, which finally contracts desperately around his fingers as you leak cum on his tongue. Minho licks you clean, chuckling against you when he takes your clit between his teeth again and hears you gasp in overstimulation.

Both of you say nothing as he stands back up, eye-level to you once again, his chin glazed in your juices. He rests his hands on your thighs as he did before, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on your lips and smile against you. Your hands toy with his belt buckle, tracing the pattern in your fingertips before slowly undoing the buckle and snaking the belt out from the loops on his trousers.

“Let me return the favor?” You ask against his lips, and he takes a sharp breath when you unzip his pants.

“Can I be honest?” Minho replies, and you pull away to look him in the eyes. His round eyes are dark, hooded with lust and curiously peering back at you.

He grins sheepishly, massaging your thighs with the palms of his hands as he speaks. “I think I’ve been hard for you the second you walked in here.”

The words make your heart flutter, suddenly much more aware of his contact against your skin, an insatiable desire to satisfy him and let him do whatever he may please.

Maybe you were the one mistaken all night- maybe Minho’s curt attitude and cold demeanor wasn’t in fact discourteousness at all. Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. And now here you are, each drawn to the other like moths to a burning flame, eager to explore and make the fleeting moment last in any way you could.

You laugh at his admission, moving strands of hair out from his face and tucking your face in the crook of his neck, where he presses a chaste kiss to your temple through nervous laughter of his own.

“Yeah?” You say finally. “What are you going to do about it?”

Minho narrows his eyes with a challenging expression, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you off the table, where he now towers over you and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Turn around,” he orders candidly. Your heart flutters again at the implication- him ordering you around like this when he’s already satisfied you once. But the tone he maintains is both sweet and inviting, and you know his intentions are the same as yours.

You follow his command, facing the pool table as he presses you against the edge, arms wrapping around your waist and peppering your shoulders in little kisses.

His hands snake up your sweater, where he now cups your breasts in his large palms and unclasps your bra. Once you’re bare, you hear him pull down his trousers, the muffled sound sending chills down your spine. If you weren’t dripping with anticipation before, you certainly are now. Minho latches his lips onto your throat, suckling just enough to mark purple bruises along your neck and collarbones. Part of you wants to deny him the little pleasure, reminding him that you have work on Monday and you can’t show up looking like you spent the weekend at a frat party. But the way his skewed front teeth nibble at your flesh stings delightfully, and you can’t bring yourself to protest it.

It’s then that you feel him behind you- his erection pressing into your upper thigh. He pushes into you with force, grinding softly on your skin and moaning against your neck when he feels you lean back into him.

One of your hands reaches out to palm him over the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a soft whimper at the contact.

“Jesus,” he says “I can’t wait anymore. Prop your leg up for me, baby. On the- yeah, just like that.”

He guides you with one hand, moving your thigh up so that he has better access to your cunt as he palms himself more with his other hand.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, now freeing his cock from his boxers and tapping gently at your entrance. The sensation of his bare flesh against yours has you in a daze, desperate to be filled up by him.

“Mhm,” you say, drunk off the feeling of him behind you like this.

“Gonna put it in now, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathing heavily as he jerks himself a few times. And without another minute to spare, he’s sliding himself inside of you, bottoming out almost instantaneously as your pussy takes him with ease.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out. “You’re so big.”

Minho smiles against your neck, pressing one chaste kiss and gathering your hair out from in front of your face.

He starts with gentle thrusts, panting in your ear and letting his hands wander all over your body as he moves. Your eyebrows arch up in pleasure, mouth agape as he picks up the pace, the wet sounds of his thrusting teeming all around you.

“God, you take me so well,” Minho breathes. “You’re so wet for me still.”

You can barely respond to him, one hand reaching up to tilt his jaw toward you so you can kiss him on the mouth again, your lips drooling with saliva and fucked-out with pleasure.

“I’m close,” Minho says into your mouth, pausing his thrusts momentarily to then pick up the pace again, much faster and with even more force.

“Ah- me too.”

As he moves in and out of your sopping cunt, one of his hands sprawls out across your tummy, pushing down with gentle pressure as he thrusts. You feel your insides contract at the sensation, now much closer to your release.

“Fuck, M-Min I’m gonna,”

He smiles against your neck again, amused with your reaction to the little move.

“Let go,” he says breathlessly into your ear. “I know you can give me a second one.”

His hand pushes down a little more, now tickling your insides with the constrained sensation against your abdomen.

And between his thrusts, you feel yourself let go around him, letting out a series of breathy moans as you cum on his still-moving cock. Only this time, you let go of everything, trickling fluids over him and the edge of the table, soaking the floor with remnants of you.

Minho’s orgasm follows just seconds after, breathing out melodic whimpers and moans as he feels you squirt, shooting ropes of his cum inside of you and fondling your breasts through his orgasm. He thrusts every last drop back into you, pulling out when he feels you shudder from overstimulation once again.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses as he pulls out. “You made a mess for me, baby.”

When you’re both finished, you’re quick to dress yourself, pulling your sweater back over your head and buttoning your jeans once again. Minho turns around while you get dressed, well aware that he was inside of you just minutes ago, but wanting to respect your boundaries now that you’re no longer being intimate. He gets dressed too, observing through the little window how the rain hasn’t started again in the entirety you’ve been up here. When you’re done, he turns back around, shooting you a little smile as you fix your hair.

“What?” You inquire, mirroring his expression as he stares back at you.

“Where have you been?” Minho asks simply.

“Hm?”

“Where have you been all my life?”

You cock your head a little, not missing the way he blinks nervously a few times after asking the question.

“Not the suburbs,” you reply with a smile. “That’s for sure.”

*

The gentle lull of jazz music rings through Minho’s ears as he wakes, glancing around to take in his surroundings. He’s sprawled out on the dingy red couch in the back room, still wearing last night’s clothes, hair glued to his forehead under a sheen layer of sweat. The clamoring of dishes startles him, and he furrows his brows together in annoyance as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Minho?” A voice says, and he shuts his eyes preemptively at the inquiry. “Did you…sleep here?”

When his eyelids flutter open again, he’s met with Jeongin, who’s already showered and dressed for his noon opening shift, clutching the till in both hands as he observes Minho’s disheveled state.

Beside him, the little folding table is in disarray, empty bottles of coke and peanut shells scattered everywhere. His mind goes back to last night- the arcade game, kissing you in the spare room upstairs. Fucking you over the pool table at ungodly hours of the night.

After you’d both finished, you agreed to stay in the back room downstairs until daylight when it was a bit safer to be on the road again. You and Minho chatted over diet cokes and a game of cards, between makeout sessions and desperate groping at each other in the dim light of the room. He wanted so badly to make love to you all over again, resisting the urge only because he didn’t want you to think all of this was just for sex. And maybe it started that way, when he fled back to the kitchen after helping you adjust your cue stick during a round of pool in an attempt to hide his raging hard-on. But somewhere along the way, he was also encapsulated by you- by your endearing obsession with Diet Coke, your ability to carry a conversation with a total stranger in these circumstances, and undoubtedly, your unique talent at fixing things.

It was just past 5 when you left, doing a double-take at Minho’s snoring figure to ensure he was actually asleep. You wanted to thank him- in fact, you stood over him for several minutes, playing the conversation in your head of how this would go.

“I’m leaving now- thanks for the life-changing sex and the free sodas. Call me if you’re ever in the city you despise.”

There was no good way to go about it- any which way, you knew that the two of you were destined for very different things, to live completely separate lives.

“You’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible,” Minho had said to you earlier, and you knew he was right, even still longing to one day get out of this province, and maybe even this country. A simpler life scared you- exactly what Minho chased after. And perhaps by extension, chasing after Minho scared you, too.

The dive bar suddenly feels suffocating to Minho, still looming with the rotten scent of cigarettes and beers. For the first time ever, he feels boxed in, much too confined by the four walls and the foggy window at the back.

“I’m leaving,” Minho says, quickly gathering his bag and his blazer from off the floor.

“Where are you going?” Jeongin asks, still holding the till and scanning Minho with a worried expression on his face.

Minho isn’t sure where- in fact, he’s not quite sure about anything right now. All he knows is that you’ve sparked something in him, something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. The days of working as a private chef paint vivid memories in his mind, days which he still had passion within him, trying new recipes late through the night and never ceasing to better his methods. A time that now feels one lifetime ago, much more complex in juxtaposition with this new life. Except maybe simple wasn’t the solution all along- for once, he’s determined to bask in all your complexities, even if it means sacrificing everything he left the city to pursue.

“I’m going to the city,” Minho says, combing through his hair with his fingers.

“The city? I thought you hated it there?”

Minho says nothing, sauntering to the door and fishing his car keys out of the drawer by the register.

“Oh, and Jeongin-ah?”

“Yes?”

“Call someone to move that arcade game downstairs.”

“The Pac-Man one? It doesn’t work-”

“It does now,” Minho replies. “Just promise me it’ll be down here when I get back.”

“Sure thing. But- how’d you get it to work?”

And without looking back, Minho approaches the double doors, keys in hand, no particular destination in mind. The gray clouds have nearly cleared up by now, fresh hues of blue painting the vast sky that overlooks the day ahead. The city calls out to him from afar, bustling traffic and busy roads clouded in pollution. But this time, he answers, in hopes you’ll be there, too.

*Part 2 out now, available here.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

At first I was confused. I'd posted this NYC condo over a year ago and it hasn't sold. But, then I realized what the realtor did- this is a photoshopped version of what it COULD look like. The 5bd, 5ba, 4,076 sq ft apt. is priced at $8.75m, but this is not what it really looks like.

This is what the new owner would be buying. As far as I'm concerned it's cool, but I guess this is why it hasn't sold. So, let's go on and compare the real thing to the realtor's desperate vision, hoping to sell it.

The large living room looking all white and gray.

And, the large living room as it is. But, the carpet- it's like art. I bet it was expensive. And, I love the interesting light fixture.

In the realtor's vision, a built-in bookshelf appears in the corner and there are draperies. The carpet is gone, in favor of a new wood floor and area rugs.

No curtains, the carpet pattern changes, which is cool. I would probably repaint a brighter color, the walls need a refresh.

This is how the dining room could look. I'm surprised that they kept the built-in corner table. Another built-in shelf, too.

The carpet continues around to the dining room. The place does need painting, the walls look worn.

The kitchen would look like this with a total gut.

Because this is the current kitchen. Check out the floor. Love the Playboy bunny stool. And, look at the cool lights going around the ceiling, that the realtor removed.

The new primary bedroom. It's a nice big room, isn't it?

This is the bedroom now. It's looking a little tired and needs refreshing.

The realtor didn't change the delightful child's room. Look at the colorful little loft above the bed.

This bath, however, is a different story. This is how it could look.

And, this is how it looks now. Lots of mosaics.

They didn't alter this bath. (There are 5). The little pink sink is cute and the blue tile isn't too bad to leave alone.

This is considered an amazing view in Manhattan.

I think I can see NJ.

So, the new owner will have what they call a million dollar view.

It's a huge apt. , which is why it's so expensive. But, a buyer would have to consider the extra cost of remodeling it.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/188-E-76th-St-FLOOR-29-New-York-NY-10021/440605442_zpid/

[cameronspecial]

My Particular Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N needs things to be done a certain way and Rafe understands that.

Masterlist

Y/N likes things done in a particular. It’s the way her brain works. People often look at her and call her childish for the things she does to cater to these needs. Because of those people, she started to believe that she had no chance of finding love. Who would want to date someone who was so picky with the things are? Then Rafe came along to show her she doesn’t need to change; instead, it is the partner who should try to be open-minded and help her out. And Rafe really does try to do everything he can to help Y/N out. 

———

Y/N sits with her little cousins in the living room, listening to them recount the story behind the drawings they are currently working on. She doesn’t know where Rafe went off too, but if she knows anything about him, he is probably off trying to win brownie points with her relatives. “And this is going to be us when you and Rafe take us to the beach,” Sophie recounts, holding up the picture. Y/N’s mouth drops open, “Wow, that looks amazing.” “We look like we are having so much fun,” Rafe adds, kissing Y/N’s temple from behind the couch. She stretches her head back to see Rafe. He is holding two plates in his hands and he rounds the couch to sit beside his girlfriend. He holds out a plate for her. She notices that her plate is different from his. It is one of the special sectioned plates from their home. He catches her examining eyes and worries he got something wrong. “Did I do something wrong? Each component is in its place. I separated the mashed potatoes, the steak and the vegetables,” he starts to tangent. “Should I have separated the mixed veggies too? I knew I should’ve separated them. I know you like to be able to identify the different textures easily.” 

Her hands stop him from rising to fix what he thinks is a mistake. “No, it’s okay. You got everything right. I was just surprised you brought one of my plates. Thank you,” she reassures him, giving him a kiss. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and starts eating, “You’re welcome. I’m glad I got it right.” 

———

They knock on the door but don’t wait for it to be opened by someone inside before entering the unlocked house. “Yo, Top. We’re here,” Rafe announces with a booming voice. It’s just a little get-together so the couple takes their shoes off. Right as they are about to step deeper into the house, Y/N sees the carpeted floor of the house. She can already feel the uncomfortableness of the rug tickling the bottom of her feet and she flinches at the thought. Rafe gently holds her back by her shoulder, “Wait here, I have to get something from the car.” She waits for him at the entrance, preparing herself to walk barefoot on the rug. He jogs back inside and places something on the ground. Her eyes dart down to see slippers. “Where did you get these?” she questions while putting them on. He kisses her on the cheek, “I bought new slippers to keep in the back of my trunk for this exact reason.” Warmth fills Y/N and she wraps her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

———

Y/N rests on the couch and watches as Rafe folds the laundry. Each article of clothing is folded exactly how she likes it with crisp edges. While she appreciates how attentive he is, worry starts to creep inside of her. What if he starts to realize that all the things he does to keep things to her taste are a waste of time? What if he starts to think she is too high-maintenance? He can see the gears turning in her head. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” he asks, leaning over to kiss her. She bows her head, “What if you break up with me because you get tired of having to do things a certain way for me like I am a child?” Rafe places what he is folding down and moves to the same couch as her. He brings her into a hug, attacking her face with kisses. “That would never happen because I love taking care of you. You are my particular girl and I would not trade you for anything in the world,” he promises. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @victory-in-the-llama @starkowswife @drewsmusee @maybankslover

[ddejavvu]

lovesick!eddie swears his heart is about to absolutely explode when he wakes up to finding you humming in the kitchen while making breakfast. Also, lovesick!eddie has talked waynes ear off ab you sm he already starts saving for a wedding 🥹

From the second Eddie bursts through the trailer door, Wayne's digging through his pockets.

"Wayne," Eddie gushes, and the man's hands curl around a stray quarter, "You'll never believe what Y/N just did!"

"'She look at you?" Wayne looks up from where he's wrestling with a penny that doesn't want to come free from where it's tucked under his wallet. Eddie doesn't even take it as a jibe, shaking his head so that his curls go flying everywhere.

"No, I mean- like, yes, but that's not why I'm like this! She bought my favorite flavor of chapstick," He boasts, chest puffed out in pride, "She knows! She knows me 'n she wants me to, like, like her!"

"Yes," Wayne hums, like it's the simplest thing in the world, "That's what'cha do when you're datin' someone. You do things they like."

"I- I know but.. You just don't get it!" Eddie's eyes are shining and Wayne swears he's never looked less intimidating, even with the chains on his belt and the devil on his shirt, "It's big! It's huge," He stresses, and Wayne finally balls up the change in his hands, "It's perfect. She's perfect."

"Happy to hear it, son." Wayne smiles, his voice gruff. He brings the fistful of change over to the table beside the couch, dropping it into a jar where it clinks against a substantial pile of other grungy coins.

"Starting a swear jar, are you?" Eddie breaks out of his lovesick trance only to tease his uncle, "Great fuckin' idea."

"Not a swear jar," Wayne shakes his head, trying not to let on how amused he is by Eddie's brazen quips, "Marriage jar."

"Marriage," Eddie's brows furrow, "Who's getting married? Oh my god, did Ms. Nelson finally call you? Jesus, I gave her the number weeks ago and I thought she'd never use it! For someone so desperate for a washing machine repairman she was real skittish about asking you. Must be your rugged good looks," Eddie knocks his foot into Wayne's where it stretches out on the carpet before him, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Not me," Wayne finally lets himself laugh, nearly kicking Eddie back, "You. You and Y/N," He explains, taking a sip of the beer he's holding, "Every time you come around here talkin' about how the sun shines 'out her ass, I drop my loose change in. Reckon' I can pay for a nice wedding in a week if you keep this up."

It's the first time he's ever seen Eddie speechless. The boy usually has many words to say about any given situation, most of them unsuited for young children. But now he's gaping at Wayne like a fish, a mix of horror and gratitude swirling in his eyes.

"You- You're, like, thinking about that? Our marriage, that is?"

"'Course I am," Wayne laughs gruffly, "I see the way you look at each other. I'm not married m'self, but I know when two people will be."

The atmosphere of the trailer is no longer euphoric or teasing, it's shifted from both to become epiphanic. Eddie lets Wayne's words sink in, blinking slowly as he tries gathering the words.

All he manages is a gentle, sincere, "Thanks, Wayne."

Wayne understands.

"Of course, son."

[ferrstappen]

everybody wants a taste vol. 2 l Lando Norris

a/n: i just had to write this to have a clear mind. it'snot the best, i'm sorry but i hope you like it anyway <3 i have a project in mind that I CANNOT WAIT to share so i needed to write this after months of promising, i'm sorry.

summary: everybody wants a taste part ii

Lando did everything he could to stop his mind from thinking about you and why you still weren’t in the hotel room. 

You were wrong, you were oh-so-wrong from walking away like that in the middle of an argument, especially when he was trying to let you know how he was feeling, letting out the repressed emotions boiling in his chest for weeks, maybe he didn’t want to say out loud that they had been gnawing his insides for months now.  

But when he noticed the expensive velvet dress lifeless on the floor, his heart beat faster and his hands started sweating as he reminisced about the FaceTime call while he was racing in Mexico and you were in Paris, trying to get the phone to stay upright to show him the different gowns for the multiple red carpets awaiting, planning on the color of his bowtie and shoes, whining when you insisted he had to shave, at least for the Oscars. 

He was sad, yes, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed off still. Lando was not going to back off, not this time. The problem was, neither were you while you walked towards the hotel room to collect your things. 

It probably was the most silent plane ride either of you’d ever been on, with Lando putting on his headphones and playing a random video game as you pulled the covers and tried to get some sleep, dreading the moment you stepped inside your precious home in Montecarlo, with fans, mostly Lando’s, trying to get a peek inside the luxury car carrying you, and the painfully obvious discomfort and sadness that would go beyond the polarized windows and bright flashes.

Because that was it for the rest of the time. 

Silence.

It’s not like you decided to sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened, no, it was lingering in the air; whenever you woke up, when he texted “I love you” when you let him know you got a new role, when he spent some days in England and only texted once he was there, when he felt an enormous surge of pride when your name was announced as a nominee for the Golden Globes, but seconds later his name was announced as well. 

And it all came back. 

Rumors started flooding, and you weren’t stupid, making an extreme effort to fly to Abu Dhabi to support him during the last race of the season, even if it meant not sleeping for almost 48 hours and flying from one continent to the other in the middle of a press tour. 

Maybe that was the beginning of starting to feel like yourself again, when he spotted you and gave you his thousand dollar smile, with his eyes shining so bright in the night, his arms embracing your body as your lips found his forehead before his traveled to their home on your lips. 

It was blissful, going Christmas shopping together hand in hand, carrying a list to not forget something, walking hand in hand in the cold weather, and smiling at anyone who recognized you, even if the security guard walking a few steps ahead of you warned you weren’t stopping for photos that day.

The problem was the loud places outside and cute gifts, mixing families and kisses over the helmet, were just a moment during the loud silence, the plastic smiles, falling asleep alone on your bed while you listened to his high-pitched laugh through the walls. 

And in the blink of an eye, Hollywood called back and you were gone again. 

It was hard to hide the fact your boyfriend wasn’t with you during his free time as he usually would, he was more than acquainted with movie critics and journalists, just as you were in the different tracks, whenever possible people knew Lando would be by your side and you’d be right there next to him. 

Maybe the saddest part, you thought, was the text you received saying he wouldn’t be able to attend the Golden Globes, the night you were expected to win and keep hyping up the way to the golden statue. 

“can’t go darling, they need me in HQ and then some quadrant stuff”

You ignored the pain when the stylist asked the color of your dress and if Lando was gonna wear a matching bow tie, when fans asked where he was and you had to answer he was busy even if there were videos of him on TikTok driving around Monaco and spending nights at Jimmiz. 

Lando swears he didn’t start acting like that to hurt you, things just happened that way. The likes under some random beautiful girl on Instagram were just a thing of the moment, she was the girlfriend of a friend and could use the boost, or she was super nice during a night out, or she was at the apartment of some random person you’d never heard about before. 

Testing started and you weren’t there, but it was easier for Lando to explain your absence: “She’s getting ready for the big night, the Oscars are around the corner and none of us need the distractions right now”

User1: yikes, not Lando saying his girlfriend is a distraction ON A LIVE INTERVIEW

User2: I give them 3 months, tops. 

User3: nah I think they broke up already, they’ve been miserable since her movie premiered

User4: you mean y/n’s been miserable bc I know my boy Lando has been hitting the clubs and the likes

User5: he deserves it after his gf fucked tom holland though

User6: it’s called acting. 

User5: it sure as hell didn’t look like it

User7: what was the name of that portuguese girl again????

You swore you wouldn’t see comments, but it was an impossible task, even if the result was you crying in a hotel room, alone, helpless as all you received were heart emojis, blue tickets, and voicemail. 

The Oscars came and he promised he’d be there. 

It was tense, but you tried your best to ignore it and say it was nerves, you’d never been nominated before and it felt like you were going to be sick. 

Then, a streak of light appeared the night before when he held you tight, kissed your forehead, and said you were the best, that you were going to win and if you didn’t it wasn’t important because this was the first of many. 

And then, your mind cleared of all the comments, the seen messages, and the little white lies. 

You both walked the red carpet, with big smiles, and sparkly eyes as the crowd swooned while watching Lando help you with the dress, fixing your hair, carrying your purse. It was all a blur until they called your name.

Lando was the first one up, ignoring etiquette and bending and kissing you while you were processing what had just happened. The thing is, even in that hazy moment you noticed the grip of his hand on your waist tightened when Tom congratulated you before you started the short walk to the stage.

You thanked the crew, the producers, fellow actors, and Lando for his unconditional support. Even if you and he knew it was a blatant lie because of the months of uncertainty if he was with someone else, the miserable feeling of doubting yourself because maybe, just maybe, you weren’t enough for him; beautiful, rich, talented, exceptional Lando Norris. 

Lando maybe suspected it but didn’t say anything as the flight from Los Angeles to Monaco repeated itself, but one thing was different. Yes, it was quiet, but not tense, he saw you concentrated on reading a book, not giving him much attention. 

The car ride was the same, with flashes and people trying to reach both of you, but Lando more as he stayed behind. 

You were inside the car and observed him, the beautiful women asking to have five seconds with him and he did everything with a smile. Maybe you could throw a tantrum because he was always surrounded by beautiful and smart girls who wanted a little bit of his attention, a part of his job? The answer was bitter. 

The apartment was tranquil, the view of the marina breathtaking, but you knew this was the last of you there, this wasn’t home anymore.

And Lando knew it right when he saw you standing in the middle of the living room, not letting go of the luggage you were carrying, and your eyes were watery as your lips reddened. 

“Please don’t,” he whispered, you were barely able to hear him. 

Tears were streaming down your face as you shook your head, “You know it has to be this way. It’s not fair for us…” You took a deep breath. “No, you know? It’s unfair to me because you’re living your life, which is fine, but you left me behind because of what? Jealousy? No, Lando, just…”

Lando was silent: “I know, I know it was wrong I’m so sorry,” he mumbled.

“I know you are, but I think… I’m done for now, I deserve better and you do as well, you have to be with someone who makes you feel secure and that’s not me… I’m sorry.”

So you left Monaco, left Lando, hung the VIP McLaren lanyards, and said goodbye to the track.

You didn’t feel better, Lando didn’t feel better, but it was for the best.

Or something like that. 

[lauralot89]

You know what it's time for?

WEIRD SHARKS THAT'S WHAT IT'S TIME FOR

(IDs are in the image descriptions)

Pocket Shark

Pocket sharks are named for two small pocket glands appearing behind their pectoral fins. These glands are theorized to be luminous. Pocket sharks look like tiny, tiny sperm whales.

Angular Roughshark

Also called the pig-faced shark or the pig fish, angular roughsharks grow to be about 3 feet 4 in long on average. I personally think they're more bat-faced.

Goblin Shark

Found in the deep sea, goblin sharks are known for being able to extend their jaws like a grabber tool made of teeth. Wikipedia says that these sharks' "flabby bodies" suggest that they are sluggish in nature.

Cookiecutter Shark

The cookiecutter shark only grows to about 20 inches in length, but that doesn't stop it from biting into orcas, great whites, or humans. It suctions onto its meal with its lips and then goes to town. It removes perfect circles of flesh, hence its name.

Wobeggong Shark

Wobeggong refers to twelve species of carpet shark, so-named for their resemblance to a shag rug. They dwell on the bottom of the sea floor and wait for smaller fish to swim nearby.

Swell Shark

Swell sharks like to hide in crevices of algae-covered rocks, waiting for prey to swim by. They are so named not because they're really swell (though they are) but because as a defense mechanism, they can swell up to double their size by swallowing sea water.

Greenland Shark

The Greenland shark has high concentrations of urea in its body. It is theorized to have a lifespan of 250 to 500 years, and it can grow up to 23 feet long. Greenland sharks have been found with moose and reindeer in their stomachs. Because of the shark's toxic levels of urea, its flesh must be fermented or otherwise treated before consumption.

Viper Dogfish

Like the goblin shark, the viper dogfish's jaws can protude from the rest of its head, though its coloring means the viper dogfish looks significantly more Xenomorphish when doing so. This small shark is a member of the lanternshark family, and its underside glows.

Pointy-Nosed Blue Chimaera

Also know as the abyssal ghostshark, this deep sea shark has a venomous spine on its dorsal fin used for defense.

Genie's Dogfish Shark

Genie's dogfish shark is a small species found in the gulf of Mexico and the west Atlantic Ocean. It has real life anime eyes.

Ninja Lanternshark

The ninja lanternshark is a small bioluminescent shark. It is all black except for white markings around its eyes and mouth. It reaches about a foot and a half in length.

Frilled Shark

The frilled shark is sometimes called a living fossil, as it is basically unchanged in the past 80 million years. They are named for their teeth, which each have three points.

Epaulette Shark

Epaulette sharks are named for the large spots behind their pectoral fins. These sharks frequently visit tidal pools and have adapted to long periods of oxygen deprivation by shutting down non-essential neural functions. Epaulette sharks often "walk" with their fins on the sea floor rather than swim.

Horn Shark

Similar to the epaulette sharks, horn sharks like to walk on the sea floor with their fins. However, these sharks have sharp spines to deter predators.

This Ridiculousness

A prehistoric shark, helicoprion lived 20 million years ago and was apparently part buzzsaw. A fossil unearthed in Idaho in 2014 showed that these sharks had no teeth in their upper jaw, and a whorl of teeth in their lower jaw. It's a shame Junji Ito wasn't introduced to this shark during the writing of Uzumaki.