#vintage style faucet

[vaultsnakes]

Transitional Home Bar Home bar idea with seating, medium-sized transitional l-shape, concrete floor, undermount sink, distressed cabinets, and granite countertops.

[isocertificationinabudhabi]

Bathroom Powder Room Boston Inspiration for a small, modern bathroom renovation featuring an undermount sink

[mrs-storm]

Cedar Rapids Kitchen Pantry Large transitional medium tone wood floor kitchen pantry photo with open cabinets, black cabinets and no island

[forevercaughtintherain]

Bathroom Salt Lake City Example of a small transitional white tile and subway tile ceramic tile powder room design with furniture-like cabinets, white cabinets, gray walls, a vessel sink and concrete countertops

[yaguniversity]

Bathroom Powder Room Boston Inspiration for a small, modern bathroom renovation featuring an undermount sink

[vintagehomecollection]

Bathroom Styles, 1995

[hxcgirl666]

Kitchen Great Room Austin Large, modern l-shaped open-concept kitchen with recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, white backsplash, stone tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, an undermount sink, and marble countertops.

[chokranbrass]

8" Unlacquered Brass Finish Kitchen Bridge Faucet , Ball Center with Straight Legs

Brass Bridge Faucet 8'', Ball Center with Straight Legs is a type of faucet that is designed for kitchen sinks and features a bridge-style construction.

It is made from solid brass material, which is left unlacquered for the ones looking for a timeless, antique style. developing a unique patina and character.

This is the original design developed by Chokranbrass in Morocco.

https://www.etsy.com/.../8-unlacquered-brass-finish-kitchen

[dravenandrews]

Bathroom Powder Room Dallas Inspiration for a country powder room remodel with an undermount sink, furniture-like cabinets and dark wood cabinets

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Gorgeous 1888 Victorian is a mansion in Reading, Pennsylvania for only $497K. 7bds, 4.5+ba. The architecture, especially on the tower roof, is stunning.

Beautiful entrance hall. The wood was painted white, but the stairs and rail are wood. Isn't that an unusual fireplace? It's stone, but looks like logs. This home has amazingly stunning floors.

Pocket doors open to a wonderful sitting room. The long room has a rounded wall of windows, and an elegant original fireplace.

The dining room is very cheerful and right off both sitting rooms, which is great for entertaining.

Look at the murals in this sitting room. The ceiling is so dramatic.

Very nice den/library with built-in shelving.

They're not showing the whole kitchen unless this is it. It's not at all overly remodeled, but I wish they would've shown it. This sink unit looks like it could be the butler's pantry. Notice the faucets in the wall.

Cute little back hallway.

Nice vintage sink in the powder room.

Very pretty upstairs landing and it also has a leaded glass door to a porch.

Not sure what this room is. Maybe it's the primary bedroom.

This bedroom is very large size.

Vintage style bath.

I'm confused. Maybe they didn't fix up the downstairs kitchen b/c they made one on the 2nd fl., along with a dining room.

Cute 2nd fl. porch.

Long hallway on the 3rd level.

And, this appears to be the primary bedroom up here.

Love the vintage baths.

One of the bedrooms up here.

There's a living room up here, too. It looks like the family lives mostly on the 3rd floor of the house.

Beautiful big patio in the back.

And, a very pretty garden. The neighboring homes are lovely to look at, too.

Around the block is a garage with stairs to the back of the property.

[delivish]

side effects may include: snippet

ypiac and werewolf bunny snippets here soon!!

His mom had bought him a fresh pack of multicolored rubber bands for his braces. 

Craig took his time picking out the colors he wanted (green, because green always reminded him of Tweek, and the orange was a no-brainer) and carefully applied them exactly where the orthodontist had shown him. He’d only had the braces for a week or two, and his jaw still hurt a little bit, but the deep ache he’d felt when he first got them had mostly faded, thank goodness. 

Dr. Shue — the orthodontist — had told him that some pain was to be expected, especially in the beginning and after every appointment to have them tightened. He could suck on ice cubes or popsicles or gargle warm salt water until he felt a little better, but above all, he needed to practice good oral hygiene, and Craig had been doing just that. Gargling salt water had struck him as a rather dubious method and was nowhere near as soothing as the popsicles, but, Craig had to admit, it’d worked. Dr. Shue was going to be so impressed with how well he had followed his directions. Dr. Shue was really nice, not at all like the “trumped-up quack” his dad had accused him of being. His mom had told him not to pay attention to his dad; “He’s just mad he had to spend a little fucking money. And on his own kid, at that. What else is new?” 

Craig bared his teeth when he was done, nodded in satisfaction, stuck his hands under the faucet, and ran his damp fingers through his hair to smooth down the flyaways. He was meeting Tweek in the park today, and he wanted to look his best. 

He dressed quickly: a pair of jeans with holes torn in the knees, his favorite Red Racer tee-shirt, a vintage-style bomber jacket with a NASA logo patch sewn on the back that his mom had picked up for 15 bucks at Goodwill. The bomber jacket was at least three sizes too big for him, and he got funny looks whenever he wore it around town, but his mom assured him that he’d grow into it. He had never loved his mother more than he did the moment she pulled that jacket out of the Goodwill bag. Craig started to reach for his chullo hat and thought better of it; spring had officially sprung in South Park. It was still cold enough to see your breath puffing in front of your face in the mornings, but the thick layer of snow that had blanketed the ground for the past three or four months had melted down to dirty slush, and there were hard, green buds on all the trees.

Craig turned to his desk and carefully studied the handful of semi-precious stones he had lined up there with all the aplomb of a sommelier preparing to sample wine. He had gotten a rock tumbler for Christmas and had been tumbling the rocks that had come with the kit for weeks now, polishing them until they were smooth and shiny. Craig picked them up one by one: a chunk of pink agate with milky eyelets, a thumb-sized piece of jasper so yellow it was like holding the sun in your hand, shards of quartz in a rainbow assortment of colors. He picked up the last stone almost reverently; it was a feldspar, ocean-blue, shot-through with swirls of white and green. Craig tucked the feldspar deep in the pocket of his jeans. 

He rode his bike hard to the park, skidding through puddles and crunching over last winter’s dead leaves. Craig slowed when he got to the playground, looked around, and saw Tweek sitting on the swings by himself, slowly kicking his heels back and forth. 

Craig paused. Tweek hadn’t noticed him yet, his gaze absently fixed on something in the distance. Craig gawked at the other boy, his heart slamming in his chest, breathless in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with his frantic bike ride over; he hardly ever got a chance to do this, because Tweek hated when he caught him staring, but gosh, he just couldn’t help himself sometimes. Tweek was so, so pretty — he’d thought so even before the Asian girls started shipping them together, desperate and helpless, filled with a shame that had been entirely his father’s doing. He wasn’t supposed to think other boys were pretty. If he did, he was a fag, and according to his dad, that was one of the worst things you could be. Thomas had come to accept their relationship — grudgingly — but sometimes, when his dad looked at him, Craig could feel him thinking it: fag.

Craig shook off those thoughts, admiring the wild strands of his boyfriend’s platinum blond hair, the way the early morning sunlight turned it to finely spun silver and gold; Tweek shivered like a Chihuahua in a high wind, kind of looked like one, too, with his large, deep-set eyes, but Craig really liked how big they were, how green they were, like chunks of uncut malachite, the way his dark circles only made them more vivid, the way Tweek was tall and thin and stoop-shouldered and angular everywhere, but had the most graceful hands. Tweek was full of contrasts, like holding a bit of unpolished rock in his hands, feeling all the interesting textures. 

Craig took a breath, got off his bike, and rolled it over to Tweek’s spot on the swing. Tweek whipped his head around, wide-eyed with panic, saw him, and relaxed by turns, gradually unclenching his jaw and lowering his shoulders. Craig smiled. Tweek didn’t, but that wasn’t unusual. 

“Hi, sweetie,” he said. Craig had a bunch of pet names for Tweek: sweetie, pookie, muffin, pumpkin (never baby or babe; he wasn’t sure why, it just didn’t feel as interesting). He liked the way the names felt in his mouth, the way they rolled off his tongue, filled with endearment: sweetie, sweetie, sweetie. 

“Hi — hi, Craig,” Tweek murmured. 

[blimbosworlddd]

Nirvana: A Rock Lee Tale (Chapter 3)

Summary: Your dating life is terrible. Your friends’ marriage is fantastic. Your career as a medic is doing great, though. But you aren’t happy. However, after one quick trip to the Mighty Rock Dojo, you stumble upon the most magnificent man you’ve ever met- the taijutsu master- Rock Lee.

Notes: slow burn fic, afab/fem/black reader.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, (light) descriptions of blood and violence, usage of the N word. The reader and Lee are in their 20s but virtually any age group that is 18 and up can enjoy this story. Again 18+, minors do not interact… pls.

Word count: 4.49k

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP BE-

You snatch your phone and squeeze its power button as if trying to choke it dead, tossing it back on your nightstand with your face still buried in your Sanrio plushies. You slowly turn your body to lie on your back, rubbing your eyes resentfully as the morning light threatens to blind you. To your dismay, your sight finally adjusts and you force yourself to sit up. Your mood is always sour after a deep slumber, and the placelessness of your home isn’t doing much to alleviate that; your room is messy - bags of random shit on the floor, small containers full of trash, neglected dishes in strange areas. And yet there is no real personality to your room; no posters, no vibrant colors, the Kuromi and My Melody pillows you bought just seem like a lazy attempt at decorating such a boring space. Even the smell of your room consists simply of old hand-me-downs and stale food. But you have no energy to change that. Especially not on a work day.

If it weren't for Lee driving you home last night you’d be hurting even more than you already are. You walk into your bathroom and turn your sink faucet, wondering what his morning routine consists of. He always seems so put together and disciplined- you never see him in a low mood besides the time he thought he was weirding you out. Which gives you a warm, tingly feeling inside. You brush your teeth, take a shower, do your skincare, and decide to put on a purple nursing uniform - you want to feel a bit more regal today. Sliding off your bonnet, you neaten the coils of your hair with a basic style and a couple of decorative jewels you bought from the beauty supply. 

You only prepare cereal for breakfast, just need to put something in your stomach before taking your meds and vitamins. Your entire apartment is silent, aside from the subtle crunching as you chew, and the tick-tocking of your vintage clock - which never tells the right time. The lighting of your kitchen is dull and old, and the cracked white paint coating the walls threatens to peel away with every passing second. You wash your bowl and spoon after eating. You hate taking pills because they almost always get stuck in your throat. But you need them, at least that's what your psychiatrist says, what your family says, what the internet says.

You head to the living room and put on your coat (the news says the temperature will drop), carry your other necessities for the day, and lock your front door behind you. The train you take to work is a couple of blocks away, and as you walk there you shut your mouth to keep your teeth from clattering.

“Shit,” you hiss, watching your breath frost in the air as you dig your fists in the cotton of your pockets. You would’ve asked Shika to drive you to the hospital but he’s already working in his office, and you just didn't wanna spend your precious money on an Uber. Plus… you need the exercise? 

-

It's been a month since you and Lee first met. As you make your way to the hospital, Lee’s training his disciples with Neji. They both stroll together while monitoring the men who stand on their arms instead of their legs, descending and rising with every push-up. They’re quiet like trees, anyone can see the almost agonizing dedication mold the contours of their muscles as they lift their bodies. It reminds Lee of the times he never failed to catch how your widening eyes would ogle his profession - his passion - with pure adoration. You’d cheer on his students when they duel and support the ones who struggle or are insecure with their craft. 

“Thank you for assisting me on your day off, Neji. I know how busy life gets,” Lee says, scratching the back of his head while watching for any signs of faltering performances. 

Neji nods with a quiet scoff. “You know I'll always have room for taijutsu, and you’re family.” He folds his hands behind his back. “How’s the dojo?”

Lee’s eyes light aflame. “It’s never been better! More people are attending after y/n joined.”

“Ah…yes, I never got to properly thank her for her treatment. It was excellent.” Neji tilted his head up, dwelling on the patches he had removed several days ago.

“I know, right? Members who didn't visit often started coming every week just to see her. She teaches such great things.”

Neji hums with acknowledgment. “You should tell her that. Maybe during dinner?”’

Lee looks down at the matted floor, eyes frowning with a lopsided smile. He grips his nape with a chuckle.

“Hehe, I dunno. She seems hella busy.”

Neji scowls, his long locks swaying to the shake of his head. “Everyone’s busy. Don’t let that stop you from having fun.”

Lee sighs.

“Thank you, Neji.” His hand falls to his hip. Both men ignore the growing grunts of exhaustion amongst the students.

“Plus she might be lonely. Like you.”

“I’m not!” Lee sputtered. “I have you, Guy Sensei, my students -“

A faint crack resonates in the short distance- causing them both to snap their heads at his disciples- a couple of them break their positions, resting on their knees as they gasp for air. Lee claps his hands firmly, making sure the cacophony echoes throughout the dojo..

“COME ON EVERYBODY, YOU GOT THIS!” Lee hollers. “IF YOU CAN’T DO FIVE HUNDRED PUSH-UPS, THEN DO ONE THOUSAND SQUATS!”

“YES, SENSEI.” The students yell back, some landing on their feet so they can squat while others continue to push up on their hands. 

Neji clears his throat. “Yes, you have us, but I saw how you looked at her. When was the last time you went on a date? You used to love meeting new people.”

Lee’s lips slowly press together while he stares down at his feet; images of him chugging bottles of liquor, fucking nameless women, neglecting his dojo, and the painful numbness of it all flash before his eyes.

 “I… I was in a dark place.”

Neji turns to Lee and stops him, his eyes softening when he watches his friend blush in shame.

“You can still have healthy romantic and intimate relationships. Did Guy Sensei ever teach you to let your past determine your future? To let someone’s actions spoil your happiness for good?”

Lee’s round eyes wander back up in thought.

“Hmm, and yet he never let me live down the time I set his signature jumpsuit on fire trying to iron it out.”

Neji tried to smirk, but the hilariousness of that memory cracked his face with a reluctantly big smile.

“He was devastated.” Neji replies. “Wouldn't look at you until you made him another one -”

“And when he would look at me, he’d look at me like I hit a dog or some crap!” Lee guffaws, leaning his arm on his friend who shook with silent laughter.

“As I was saying.” Neji clears his throat once more. “Just give yourself a try. You might be glad you did it.”

Lee sighs again. 

“What are you, my guru or something?”

“Now, wouldn’t you like that?”

Both men chuckle at the thought.

-

It's 7:30, and you’re about to wrap up your final shift by preparing Ms. Fink for bed. You’re sitting beside her while she lies on a queen-sized mattress, monitoring her blood pressure while she’s sipping the milk you fetched for her. She lowers her cup with a grimace.

“My milk is cold.” She glares at the cuff tightening around her veiny arm. “If I drink it cold, then I can’t sleep. Go warm it up.”

Your eyes continue to scan the data for her vitals, the only thing giving away your disgust at her attitude is the subtle crease of your brows. You thank your ancestors for your professionalism because if you didn’t hold yourself to a higher standard, you’d tell her to go fuck her wrinkly face.

“I’ll do it right after I’m done recording your vitals for the night.”

You make sure to repress any natural vibrato in your tone that gives off irritation. Ms. Fink grunts an exasperated sigh, squeezing the chilled cup while frowning at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, child. I’ve just been so stressed lately and I haven’t been getting very good sleep. Don’t mind me, the TV will help doze me off.”

You gulp, taking note of the quiet static resonating from the television framed on the wall.

“Sure.” You mumble.

You deflate the blood pressure cuff and gently unwrap it from the patient’s arm, turning it off once all the important data is saved. You email Ms. Fink’s daily medical write-off to your supervisor, Brandon, and get your shit. You open the front door, but before you leave you turn to the old lady.

“If you need anything, press the red help button to your right. Brandon is on his way. Sleep well.”

You shut the door behind you and bounce.

As Ms. Fink carefully places her cup of milk on the nightstand, her eyes nearly bulge out of her sockets, lips quivering with spite as she stares at the door you exited from.

-

You open the door to the dojo and a bell jingles at your entrance. Some eyes land on you while others continue to focus on their preoccupations. Rock Lee whips his head at your entrance, excusing himself from Neji so he can approach you. He has to remind himself to not scramble and bump people out of his way just to get to you. You can’t help but lighten up at the eagerness that he doesn’t even bother to hide. When you're both face to face, your name tumbles from his lips as if he likes how it tastes when he says it; reciting it like a sacred poem. his personal way of greeting you.

“Hi.” You nearly squeak out, trying to compose yourself at seeing his effortlessly handsome smile up close.

You shrug off your coat and tuck your scarf in its sleeve, which reminds Lee of something.

“I have something for you.” He slightly raises his open palm to you, like he’s urging you not to move. “Can you stay right here for me?”

Every time he asks something of you, he’s so polite and dignified - it kinda scares you. There’s a fond sweetness in the deep timbre of his voice that he only uses on you. It feels like a spell he casts, one that you’re not immune to (yet). One that you’re not even sure he’s aware of.

“Y-Yeah, sure.” 

So you stand there, watching him jog to your office. You soon meet Neji’s gaze. He smiles at you, approaching you with a calculative stride. Once you recognize him, your jaw drops a bit and your eyes light up like bulbs.

“You’re the guy I patched up on my first day here!” you point at him childishly, like a toddler who notices their favorite show airing on TV.

Neji chuckles, “Yes, I am.”

“Gee, I ain't never seen no one fight like you before.”

“Thank you…”

Neji appreciated how you didn't try to compare him to his friend or any other fighter in particular.

“I see your wounds have fully healed,” you continue.

Neji nods. “And for that, I never got to properly thank you. You're one of the finest nurses I've ever had the pleasure of being treated by.”

“D’awww,” you coo as you stare at your shoes. “I try.”

“I’m Neji, by the way. I used to train here every day with Lee until I started pursuing careers of my own.”

“Y/n.” you chirp, offering your hand for a shake. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

He reciprocates with a gently firm hold, yelping when Lee nudges him out of the way to face you. Neji nudges him twice as hard and reclaims his position, side-eyeing him a glare that said “act like you got some damn sense”. You giggle at their dynamic, they reminded you of Shika and Temari.

Shika and Temari, huh?

“Here!”

You look down at Lee’s big hands, presenting you with a pair of lavender cotton slippers. They look so soft and pretty. You glance up at him, and he stares you down with eyes that are so expectant and pure.

“These are f’me?” You deadpan.

“I could see, sometimes, that you like light variants of purple. Plus the only thing protecting your feet from this god-awful floor,” he chuckles nervously, “are the socks you wear when you take off your shoes.”

You remain silent, staring back down at the gift.

“Plus you’ve done so much for us already, the least I could do is make sure you’re comfortable when you work.”

You could feel your chin tense up, threatening to quiver your bottom lip. You gently bite the plump flesh and kick your street shoes off. No one other than your own father has done something like this for you, let alone some man you’ve only known for a month. You reach for the slippers, but he reels them back.

“Allow me to put them on for you.”

Neji chortles at his gall, and usually you would too. But it’s happening to you. You nod meekly, sitting down on a chair behind you. He kneels soon after, subtly caressing the meat of your calf before gently lifting it. His fingers feel so good cradling your legs like this. The outline of your feet alone is enough to show him how pretty they are. He puts your slippers on seamlessly, not even noticing that all of his students stopped practicing just to watch him give you princess treatment.

You are so flattered by this act of kindness. It makes you want to grab his thin muscular waist and hold him tight. And yet something slithers within you. It's freezing, it's isolating. It's damp, it's convincing. It's threatening and paralyzing and -

“Thank you,” you mumble coldly. You clear your throat and reel your legs away from him, snatching your belongings. The students create a path for you to make your way to your office. Lee and Neji watch your retreating form with widened eyes; you looked so happy at the gesture and then… you didn't. 

Neji leans toward his sulking friend and whispers, “Wait till Sensei hears about this.”

Lee folds his arms protectively, raising a bushy brow at the thought.

It’s fear.

Your peripheral vision catches narrow lines of redness on someone’s face. You stop and track them; it's a teenage boy with a nasty scratch mark on his left cheek. 

Duty calls, you think.

The teen carefully watches you walk towards him at a moderate pace.

“Why don’t I clean up that wound on your face before you go back to training? Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

The boy obviously has his guard up; balled fists and slightly raised shoulders. He kind of reminds you of your middle school days. But ultimately, he accepts your offer with a subtle nod and pads behind you to your office.

You hang your coat on the back of your desk chair.

“Have a seat.” You quip.

He ignores your order, simply scanning the details of your room. Accepting his defiance with a shrug- for you refuse to beef with a child- you kneel down to the cabinet below your counter and grab your first aid kit.

“I’m miss y/n. What’s your name?” To be honest, you were a fan of small talk. It helps you connect with people through the most awkward moments.

“…Sasuke.” The boy grumbled, refusing to look at you.

You put on some disposable nitrile gloves. “How long have you been training here, Sasuke?”

Sasuke leans back on the counter and unravels his fists, staring at the mood meter poster on the wall. 

“Three years.”

“Impressive!”

Sasuke’s eyes widen when he catches you getting closer to him, a damp cotton ball trapped between your fingers.

“Let me know when you’re ready.” Uneasiness radiates from his glare alone. “Just gonna clean the excess blood off first.”

The tiniest pout contorts his dry lips. “Fine,” he mumbles.

You start with cleaning the blood around the abrasion, gently rubbing the cotton against his messy skin.

“This is gonna sting,” you coo.

You throw away the used cotton swabs and pour a bit of antiseptic on a new one. You dab it directly on the open wound, and as expected, he winces at the pain.

What you didn’t expect was for him to grab your wrist and yank it away from his face.

Your first thought was to call him a stupid brat and demand he do it himself, but you remember that you’re like - a professional at this. So you take a deep breath and place your tool back on the counter.

“What can I do to make this easier for you?”

Sasuke side eyes you, finally paying attention to your frown of concern and slight frustration. Your voice is smooth and raspy and calming to his ears, which is not the response he wanted from you. But it’s not a response he dislikes either, which makes him feel bad for being difficult. So he huffs and reaches for the bag of cotton balls beside you, taking one out and soaking it with the antiseptic. He hands it to you while staring at the mood meter across from him.

“Jus’ wasn’t ready.” He mumbles apologetically.

You sigh with a small smile and accept the cotton. “Thank you, Sasuke.”

The young man endures the sharp pain of the cold, damp fabric brushing off dried blood and raw skin. But it all falters when you dispose of the swab. You reach inside the medical kit for a wooden applicator stick, and some Neosporin.

“Rough day?” You pry as you spurt some antibacterial ointment on the stick.

Sasuke shuts his eyes, shoulders sagging with an almost exasperated exhalation in an attempt to relieve some stress.

“Me too.” You continue, spreading the colorless cream on a wound dressing pad.

The boy fully faces you this time, a bit shocked that you perceived his body language as an answer in itself. Are you that desperate for conversation? He thinks. Or are you just good at reading people? 

“Hold still please.” You order gently.

 He obeys, and you successfully patch up his left cheek. 

“Here,” you hand him a few more pads. “For daily replacements.”

Sasuke stares at the gift for a few long seconds before shoving it in his pocket, and slightly bows his head with gratitude. He turns around and pads to the door.

Before opening it, he speaks up with a firmer tone, “Hope your day gets better.”

He closes the door behind him, making sure you don’t get the chance to respond. 

My day already is, you think - knowing damn well that boy wouldn’t have come to you for help had you not confronted him. And your medical skills never disappoint, you just love to heal.

-

The Mighty Rock Dojo approaches its closing; Lee rolls up the mats, Neji has already left and the final customer walks out of the door with a farewell. It’s just you and Lee now… nothing new.

Lee lets out a hearty sigh after placing all the mats in their respective areas. “Man, am I beat!”

His stomach growls, making him slouch a bit as he caresses it. “And hungry…”

You giggle at him. He revels in the sweet sound, approaching you to hear more of it.

“What's so funny?” he smirks.

“You,” you deadpan.

His tummy growls again, a bit more impatiently this time.

“…Let me take you home so I can eat.”

He talks like he’s gone tired of you, but you can hear the playfulness in his tone a mile away.

“Yeah okay,” you drawl with a shit-eating grin, stepping into your street shoes and shrugging on your coat.

The drive to your home is pretty peaceful; Miles of city lights illuminate your path, A '90s classic plays in the background as you watch Lee's strong hand gracefully work the steering wheel. He reminds you of your dad in the sense that he’s so quiet when he drives while your dad can’t go a day without cursing and honking at other cars in front of him. It makes you smile fondly.

“How was your day?” you ask.

Lee glances at his rearview mirror in thought.

“Busy… and fun. Yes! Busy and fun.”

When he approaches a red light, he turns to you. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

With the way he called you that pet name, you could listen to him speak for hours.

“Hard,” you reply as you slouch down your seat, Looking straight ahead as your plump glossy lips pout adorably.

Lee just can’t help but smile when looking at you - marveling at how the street lights reflect off your deep complexion. How your coils shine with the obvious care and maintenance you treat them with. How your gorgeous eyes sharpen with a dedicated focus for every patient you treat. how your round cheeks puff up when you smile at something you find funny. how your face softens when you actively listen to someone. your nursing uniform doesn’t do your body much justice, but he can still make up the curves and crevices that adorn it. He marvels at how your thick thighs and hips expand when you sit. how your fat pussy lips poke through the fabric of your pants when you bend down to pick something up.

He’d treat you so, so good. Better than any man… He’d treat you so good if you’d just-

The red light turns green, and his eyes reluctantly focus back on the road.

"What has been hard about your day?” He asks.

The gentle lilt of consideration in his tone makes you want to talk about that old hag, your empty box of a home, and the fact that you hate your mind and how it perceives you. You so badly want to share all your worries. But you just shake your head in despair.

“Doing what you love isn’t always… fun…” you drawl.

Lee hums in agreement, his index finger lightly tapping the steering wheel in thought.

“Well just know that you’re doing fantastic so far. I’m really proud of you, y/n. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

You process his words and lean your head back as you picture patting yourself on the back. “Thank you for that. And thanks for driving me home.”

“It's my pleasure.” he chuckles.

Lee finally pulls up in front of your apartment complex. You don’t notice the veins on his hands popping out as he tightens his grip on the wheel.

“Alrighty,” you sigh as you shift your weight to open the door.

“Uhh, y/n!” Lee grunts out. “Do you have a minute?”

You let go of the handle and turn to face him. You are giving him your full attention like he asked, and yet he feels his heart hitting his chest. However, His relationship with fear is pretty healthy, he’d like to think. Lee releases the steering wheel and folds his hands. He takes a deep breath. You brace yourself for any embarrassment.

“I like you. A lot. And I think you like me too.”

His voice is so painfully clear in the confines of his car, that you can’t even dissociate with any background noise if you tried. Every word was delivered with a confidence and sincerity so fierce, that it feels like a trap. You hate that it feels like some sort of trap.

“I think you like me so much, in fact, that you won’t even accept it. Like, there’s this fear you’re so desperately trying to hide from me. And I don’t know why.”

You don't blink. Your eyes sting terribly but you don’t blink.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a month. But I’ve always wanted you and I think you feel the same.”

Your eyes gloss over, and your lips descend in a frown. He’s well aware of that, but he’s not done.

“So please correct me if I’m wrong but if I’m not, I ask you this: Will you, miss y/n, go on a date with me?”

Somehow, you forget how it feels to breathe. Everything feels like it’s happening so fast but at just the right time. How is that possible? You would usually never feel that way. How is this possible? Why is your face wet with tears? Why do you feel your throat choking on a sob? Why does this man look at you like there is nothing else he would rather do than look at you? Your mind is so cold, why is he so warm? What is this heat blooming in your chest? Why aren’t these tears of despair? Why do you no longer feel like isolating in a dark room but still have the urge to run? Why are you thinking of Shikamaru? Why do the memories of y’all dating pop up in your head? Why now of all times?

Lee patiently waits for your answer, his face falling in  empathy at how quickly you wipe your face.

“You’re right, Lee.” You slur pathetically. “I adore everything about you… wanna be with you every day.”

You scoff, glaaring at a parked car in front of you before looking back at Lee. You clear your throat.

“But I’ve been heartbroken too many fucking times to think that even matters anymore.”

More tears fall down your face and you sniffle, no longer bothering to wipe them away. The man before you sighs, taking in your disheartening state.

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Lee suggests, leaning closer to you because you smell that divine. “But it’s because you’ve got your heart broken so many fucking times, that the most grace you can give yourself is to appreciate the current joys of life.”

You pause to process his words, that was the first time he’s ever cussed in front of you. It sounded like silk and sin pouring straight from his mouth. His delivery is smooth and tender, but the truth of the message is set in stone.

“Y/n, I don’t like to lead my life with a broken heart and neither should you. Please test me, because not only will I pass with flying colors,” he hooks the bottom of your chin with a gentle finger, tilting it up so you can see the deadly determination in his big, wondrous eyes.

“I will make sure you forget every man who has had the luxury of having you and the utter gall to lose you.”

Your eyes widen, because what has this man gone through to be so bold? You wanna fuck him right here in his car like a whore’s rent is due. But alas, you’ve been celibate for years, so you squeeze your hands to restrain yourself from ravaging his lips with yours.

“So now I ask you,” he prompts, teasing your bottom lip with his thumb. “What are you going to do about it?”

You close your lids to ring out any stray tears, and take a shaky breath. Because one thing you will never do, no matter how much pain you have to endure, is not be responsible for your own happiness.

“F-Fine,” you nod your head frantically, voice cracking and warbling with more tears. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

Lee’s face lights up with a smile so blinding that your mouth quivers into a wobbly smile itself, almost forgetting the fierceness of his prior gaze. He’s infectious.

“Thank you for trusting me, beautiful.”

And that was the night Lee made a promise to himself: that he would do everything your exes failed to and more.

This work belongs solely to ©️ blimbosworlddd. Do not plagiarize, steal, copy or repost. I worked very hard on this; reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated.

[sureuncertainty]

I haven't shared new OC art on here in awhile, but I just finished refs for two of the main characters from my new project, a ghost story about a haunted apartment building!

Vivian Bentley is a recent graduate with an English degree, several unfinished vampire novels, and a new job at a local bookstore that doesn't pay them enough to live in their current place.

So they move into a shitty studio apartment in a renovated apartment building downtown. Vivian's not expecting the place to be five-star, since they're paying way less than the market rate for rent, but the annoyances start to add up quickly: weird sounds at all times of day from thumping upstairs to scratching from the walls, weird smells, faucets that don't work, the fact that the office is literally NEVER open, and one of the elevators never works. Either they're just getting their money's worth, or the whole building is actually haunted.

Image description under the cut!

[ID: Top image: a digital sketch of Vivian Bentley, my protagonist, on a green background. They are a tall thin white person with an undercut and dark brown/reddish hair pulled back in a ponytail. They're wearing a black tank top and brown flannel, denim jeans with cuffed ankles, black low-top converse, and blue striped socks. They have one hand in their pocket, and look vaguely bored. They have purple earrings and oval glasses. Large handwritten text reads: "Vivian Bentley, 26, they/them" along with a list of bullet points about them: - bookseller - recent college grad with an English degree - aspiring writer - Autistic/ADHD/Anxiety/Depression - has a pet cat named Titania - does not wish to be perceived A small note next to their head reads "dyed hair, naturally brown", and there are two small notes reading "cuffed jeans" and "striped socks" pointing out those elements of their design. There are three small pride flags in the top left corner: aromantic, asexual, and nonbinary.

Bottom image: a digital sketch of Lake Bishop, on a blue background, a short thin androgynous person with light brown skin and light pink curly hair styled in a mullet with black roots showing. They're wearing a short-sleeved purple checkered shirt that's partially tucked in to blue shorts, and black lace up boots with light blue laces. They're standing with their arms out, gesturing like they're explaining something, with an easy smile on their face. They have gold round glasses, and are wearing several bracelets on each wrist. Large handwritten text reads "Lake Bishop, 27, they/them" along with a list of bullet points about them: - bookseller with Vivian - special interest in paranormal research and true crime - autistic/ADHD - excitable, talkative, outgoing - masks their insecurities with humor Small chunks of text point to various aspects of their design: "dyes hair frequently" pointing to their hair, "pine tree tattoo on bicep" pointing to their right arm, mostly covered by their sleeve, "shirt never tucked in" pointing to their partially untucked shirt, and "wears a lot of vintage clothes" pointing to them in general. There is also a small nonbinary pride flag in the upper right corner. End ID]

[jumblejen]

We Were Always Going to End Up Together - Ch 9

Suptober 22, Day 9: Vintage

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/107204877

(Or read from the beginning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/106051008)

“Sam’s always been judgmental, Dean. You just gotta ignore him when he gets like that.”

Charlie was face first inside Dean’s closet, hunting through all his vintage tees for…well Dean wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, but he knew it would end with her feeling triumphant and him mysteriously being down a shirt in his wardrobe. He didn’t mind. “He’s just not as wrong as I’d like.”

“Dean,” Charlie’s voice was softer than before as she plopped down next to him on the edge of his bed. “He’s not right in this case. At all. Your date with Cas sounded sweet and wonderful and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Sam acted like I was drunk off my ass…”

“Well you weren’t because I know you and that’s not really your style.”

“It has been.”

“Sure when you’re miserable because a bunch of assholes treated you like shit. Is it the healthiest coping mechanism? No. But I know you and if you’d been drunk you wouldn’t have been so happy.”

“Thought you told me I was moving too fast with Cas.”

“I may have been a bit harsh...Dean, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that things would be bad.”

“At least you haven’t given me shit about sleeping with him.”

“Sam really…”

“Nah. Or not directly. He was twitching like he needed to say something or he’d explode. But Eileen was really sweet and Sam seemed resigned to not being nosy. Almost made me want to give him all the details.”

“I haven’t seen you this happy in forever, so as long as this Cas-guy keeps that up, I am going to assume he’s not an asshole.”

“Thank you Charlie. Are you done raiding my closet?”

“What?! I would never…”

“There’s three shirts in your hand! Why can’t you just go get band shirts at Hot Topic or whatever?”

“Because these are actually old. And they’re all soft and…”

“Mine.”

Charlie pouted up at Dean.

“Oh fine you can take one of these. Just one.”

Charlie’s face lit up in a broad smile as she flung her arms around Dean. “I love you.”

“I know,” he finished.

“So when are you seeing him again?”

“He’s coming over Friday again for another movie night.”

“He’s not busy at the corn maze? I would figure that night would be hoppin’.”

“Apparently Cas managed to outsmart his cousin Gabe. He’s been threatening to quit if Gabe won’t give him Fridays off so he can see me. And since Gabe is still in Cas’ doghouse over the whole ‘pretending to be Cas to set him up on a date’ thing, Cas gets his way, and I get a nice end to my week.”

“So what are you hoping to get out of Gabe as your own payback?”

“Not sure. But I plan on making sure he knows he owes me.”

“Won’t the two of you owe him if this works out to be some sort of happily ever after situation?”

“Hell no. He didn’t introduce us, and I may have been toying with the idea of convincing you to take us back to the corn maze if I hadn’t heard from him.”

“You were not.”

“I mean, I hadn’t asked you yet, but I was going to.”

“Dean Winchester when you fall, you fall hard don’t you.”

“There’s something about him, Charlie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They sat there for a few moments quietly, Dean’s head full of Cas.

Friday couldn’t come too soon. Dean was relieved that nothing important had come into his inbox in the last hour of his workday as he was struggling to keep him mind on anything that didn’t directly tie into his upcoming date. He bounced between sorting through his emails to structure next week’s work priorities (you’re welcome, future Dean) and binge tidying his fairly neat apartment. But still, what if Cas noticed that he couldn’t see his reflection in the faucet in the bathroom? Better give it a quick wipe, and there were some spots on the mirror so best windex the whole thing. Overall he was glad Charlie couldn’t see him because she’d be laughing so hard at his frenetic behavior.

And then work was done and Dean was inspecting himself with the same once-over he gave the apartment, searching for any hairs he might have missed shaving, and maybe he should trim his eyebrows? Scissors in hand, he thankfully paused before the first snip, realizing that if he screwed it up, he might not have eyebrows anymore, and Cas hadn’t minded when they went out before right?

He put on the softest, snuggest tshirt he could find, since he knew it showed off his wide shoulders. And he put on real pants since after one date, it’s not like they reached the ‘wear whatever is comfy because I am definitely taking off all your clothes’ stage. Or the one that friends like Charlie said came after that, which involved loving how they looked even in worn-in pajama pants and a holey tshirt.

Dean hadn’t reached that stage with anyone. Even around Lisa, he knew that there was zero chance that a shirt with any holes would survive longer than it took for her to notice it. He never even saw Lisa looking less than intentionally put together, even with the flu. It was all perfectly pressed pajama sets and matching robes of varying weights. He was pretty sure that if they’d lasted to Christmas, he’d have found himself wearing matching red plaid pajamas with Lisa and Ben both. Perfect little matched-up family like something out of a magazine.

A firm knock on the door and Dean’s musings on the past disappeared like fog on a sunny day. Dean almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to throw open the door. He sucked in a sharp breath, flushing as he took in the sight of Cas.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas. What’s the word?”

“An abbreviated version of my name.”

Dean grinned in spite of how bad that joke was, but Cas managed to be so deadpan. Up until their eyes met and Cas’ face broke into a matching grin, that is. “Come on in, man.”

Cas walked through the door, snaking his arm around Dean and pulling him in for a kiss. “I’ve been thinking about doing that all week.”

“Yeah?” asked Dean breathlessly.

“Yes.” Cas hung his coat up on a hook behind the door and followed Dean to the couch.

Dean felt suddenly very awkward, his mind bare of anything to say or do. He felt his cheeks heat as Cas stared at him with his head cocked to the side. “Sorry man. I just…I’ve been so excited about you coming over and now you’re here, and I…”

“Dean,” interrupted Cas. “You don’t have to say anything. Should I not have kissed you?”

“You absolutely should have kissed me! No. That’s not. Argh. Sorry, sorry. Lemme try again?”

“Of course Dean.”

“It’s so good to see you. How was your week?”

“Better now that I’m here.”

Dean smiled, relaxing some. “Why Mr. Novak, are you trying to seduce me?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Surprised laughter burst out of Dean. “No?”

“Seduction implies effort to achieve physical intimacy, that there is some barrier to overcome, or some influence to exert.”

“So you’re saying I’m easy?”

“I’m saying that we are clearly very horny for each other, so nothing we do tonight will involve seduction but will instead be based on whether we are both interested in participating in specific acts involving each other’s bodies.”

Dean blinked at that statement and then laughed again. “Are you always going to respond like this to my outrageous flirting?”

“No. Sometimes I’m going to respond like this.”

With no warning Cas launched himself at Dean, pinning him to the couch as their mouths met hungrily, greedily. Other things met as well and Dean had not one bit of doubt that they were indeed both horny.

He could get used to this.

[chatham-plumbing]

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