#Laundry Insert Sink

[fahmbathrooms]

Australian-Made Laundry Insert Sink: Streamline Your Laundry Room

Upgrade your laundry room with the Laundry Insert Sink by FAHM Bathroom, proudly made in Australia. This top-notch sink not only enhances functionality but also adds a touch of style to your space. Experience a more efficient and stylish laundry routine today! For additional details, reach out to us at (08) 9458-2880.

[nanaslutt]

so i just read like… ALL your gojo stuff.

now imagine… gojo not being able to hold back and wanting to breed you after you both try those aphrodisiac chocolates… ahem…

i am absolutely terrified of getting pregnant yet have the words most insufferable breeding kink, we exist

Contains: fem reader, aphrodisiacs, masturbation, no prep, spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, SOOO much dirty talk, praise, so much cum.., whiped!gojo, established relationship

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Gojo was talking soooo much shit when you sent him a link to some aphrodisiac chocolates you saw online. He would not stop dismissing that they didn’t actually work; saying none of that shit that advertised any kind of enhancement in sexual arousal ever did.

So of course you had to order the chocolates and really test it for yourselves, making a challenge out of it.

If the chocolates truly had an effect, gojo would do whatever you wanted, and if they didn’t? vice versa. Gojo was game, of course; because he didn’t think anything would happen.

“Bleh- they taste like shit too,” Satoru grimaced, chasing the horrible flavor with a strawberry soda.

“That’s probably because there’s something in them satoru…like the aphrodisiac…,” you shook you head, swallowing the bitter chocolate.

“Orrrr; crazy thought; it’s just some cheap chocolate marketed as aphrodisiacs to make a ton of money off of people like us.” he drawled, throwing his hands up in the air and waving them around when he spoke.

“I really thought you out of all people would find this kind of thing fun satoru.” you said, trying to push his buttons a bit.

“We’ll of course, chocolate and sex? I’m all over that,” he said making you laugh, “but me and suguru tried something like this for fun back in our student days, it was some kind of pill though,” his face twisted in discomfort as he spoke, “just ended up making us super sick tho, yaga got pissed, heh” he laughed, remembering the memory.

“Knowing you two it was probably some cheap boner pill you got in a sketchy bag at the convenience store.. so that might explain it.” you snorted,

He rubbed his big hand over the back of his neck, “yeah, there was like 5 other pills in the bag with it now that I think about it..” he said quietly, making you hunch over in a laugh.

The two of you went about your evening like normal, watching some comedy movie that was on and cuddling together on the sofa. When it ended you went off to change into something more comfortable as you started off to finished the laundry.

You haven’t felt anything extremely out of the ordinary yet; remembering that the package said it might take long for women to feel the affects; but gojo on the other hand was feeling mildly uncomfortable.

His face and neck were feeling warm, throughout the entire movie his big hand was placed on your upper thigh, like always. What was unusual though, was how his skin tingled when he placed it on yours, palms sweating more than usual; he just chalked it up to all the junk he had been eating throughout the day, probably upsetting his body.

When you moved back into the kitchen and started on the dishes the two of you had created in the sink, Gojo couldn’t help but hyper focus on the fat off your ass peeking out of your night shorts.

The way you moved your hips as some r&b music played quietly from the tv. He watched your muscles and tendons move together when you twisted your body around, watching your ankles cross; one behind the other; getting comfortable from where you stood.

Satoru was feeling hot all over now, a large hand coming down to grope himself over his pants when you bent over to put the dishes into the washer, poking out your clothed mound towards him, the fabric of your shorts squeezing your curves just right.

His jaw dropped slightly, breathing heavier as he got off on watching you do such a mundane task like the dishes.

You inserted the pod into the dishwasher, completely oblivious to satoru’s shenanigans as you stood up straight. You noticed when washing your hands that you were starting to feel a warmth washing over your body, and a sort of warm coil tightening in your tummy.

The lightbulb went off in your head when you realized it was probably the work of the chocolates. You quickly shut off the water, towel is hand as you whipped your head behind you to tell gojo what was happening to you; and to inform him that you were going to win this challenge.

Your motions were stopped short as you bumped straight into gojos chest, “Oh! Didn’t realize you were-“ Your words getting cut off when gojo grabbed the bottom of your face, bringing your lips to his, and kissing you hungrily.

Gojo used his other had to slide his arm around your body, pressing you hard into him, letting you feel his erection against your tummy.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your words that tried to excape, “Sa-mm- Satoru-“ you got out between kisses. Gojo shoved his knee between your legs, putting delicious pressure on your cunt as he kissed you like it was his last day on earth.

You had to grip his hair and pull his face off of you to speak, this didn’t really phase him as he targeted your neck instead, biting and sucking on the skin there, “Fuck- s-satoru slow down-“ you moaned when he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot.

“Cant, need you-“ he spoke in between his rushed love bites on your neck, moving his big hands to hold your hips as he made you rock your cunt back and forth along this thigh.

Your head was spinning a mild a minute, still trying to wrap your head around the current situation. You expected this to happen; being on the side of ‘pro aphrodisiacs and all; you just didn’t expect it to happen so soon, and for it to have such a strong effect on someone like Satoru.

“S-shit- those chocolates have you m-more worked up than me,” you tried to laugh, voice cut short by a moan when his knee nudged your clit at a particularly mouthwatering angle.

“Need to be inside you,” he ignored you, groaning against your pulse point, hot breath tickling your neck when he spoke.

Gojo was breathing so heavily, his cock feeling like it was about to rip a hole in his pants at how hard he was. “Take em off, now-“ he whimpered, referring to your bottoms as he started pulling them down your legs, panties following suit.

You helped him, gripping his hair and keeping his lips pressed against your neck while you kicked off your shorts off from around your ankles . His hands dropped down to remove his own sweats, too impatient to fully take them off as he pulled them down just enough for his cock to spring out, jerking himself off with one hand rapidly between you; hand holding your hip with his other.

“Let me put it in, please, need to be inside you now-“ he groaned, finally pulling back from your neck; and he looked absolutely wrecked.

This whole situation was giving you whiplash, but you felt bad for him. Satoru’s hands were shaking, face flushed completely crimson, and he was sweating and panting like he just ran a marathon.

He continued stroking his cock, eyes flirting between your pussy and your pretty lips while he waited for them to move, voicing your consent.

His cock was dripping so much pre it looked like he already came. Hard cock still dripping steadily onto his hand and fingers, making his strokes emit loud ‘plp’ sounds into the air.

“Yes, please, give it to me toru,” you spoke, making him let out a moan of satisfaction. You wrapped your arms around his neck when he lifted you suddenly, burring your hands in his hair and face in his neck as he slid his dick into you with zero prep, all at once.

You were greatful the aphrodisiac was in affect, making you so much wetter than normal, and in turn, making the stretch a whole less painful then it would��ve been without it.

You whined at how his massive clock split you in half effortlessly, “Sorry baby- m’ sorry-“ he apologized with a groan against your bruised neck; whatever consciousness he still had left being aware that that might’ve hurt you.

“Shit it’s o-okay toru, just give it to me- fuck-“ You tipped your head back, jaw dropping and releasing a loud whine, giving him more access to mark up your neck while he fucked into you like a mad man; legs dangling over his arms as he held you in his strong grasp, hoisting you up and down on his cock like you weighed nothing to him.

“Holy fuckkk” he whined, vibrations going through your skin, “Need to fill you up, need to fuck you full of my cum s-shit-“ Gojo was working himself up with his words, already on the brink of his orgasm only a couple thrusts in.

He was truly using you like a cocksleve as he fucked into you at an inhumane pace, heavy balls slapping against your ass, strings of your combined wetness connecting to your ass each time he thrusted inside.

He sucked harder against your skin as he felt his first high rapidly approach him. His eyes repeatedly rolling back in his skull at the rhythmic pulsing of your pussy around him.

“Shitshitshit- gonna c-cum, need you to take it all f’me” his deep voice reverberated through you, all you could do is cry and moan our strings of his name and “yesyesyes” while he fucked his first load of the night into you.

“T-take it f-fucking take it yessss” Gojo felt like he was on cloud nine, he had never felt anything like this before. Of course he loved cumming inside you when you had sex but this was different. Every neuron in his brain was telling him to fuck load after load into you; to get you pregnant.

Gojo didn’t actually want kids right now, and you were on the pill so the possibility of him actually knocking you up was low- but not if his aphrodisiac brain had anything to say about it; he would make sure to fucking try.

Ignoring the overstimulation he felt as he humped his cum into you with heavy thrusts, quickly picking up his speed again when he finished spurting the warm ropes of cum into you, making you squeal at his quick recovery.

“Pussy feels so fucking good, so fucking wet sh-itttt” he groaned, dick twitching and abs clenching as he fucked himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm, sending him straight twords another one.

“T-toru o-oh my god-“ you wimpered, body flopping around limply at the intense pleasure. His cock was drilling straight into your sweet spot and making you dizzy. You tried not to pass out as he manhandled your body, gripping you roughly and marking up your skin everywhere his insatiable lips could reach.

“Gonna knock you up baby- g-gunna give you my babies- get you fucking pregnant, yeah? you want that?” you cut off his filthy mouth by using the grip you had on his head to press his mouth against yours.

“Yesyesyes, give me your babies toru- gonna make you a daddy-“ he groaned into your mouth at your mutual need for him to fill you up.

Gojo felt drunk hearing the nickname bounce around inside his head. Gojo never thought he had a daddy kink, but in this scenario? The nickname had him feeling like he was about to come again already.

By this point, the aphrodisiac was affecting you just as much as it was him, everywhere his body touched yours felt like your skin was on fire. You tried not to lose your sanity as he was pushing your towards your first orgasm without so much as even grazing your clit.

He set you down on the ground and in one swift movement spun you around so you were facing the counter. Satoru used his massive had to grab hold of his cock, slipping it back into your drenched walls.

You both groaned in unison at the sensation. Gojo gave you both a couple seconds to relish in the feeling, pressing his balls hard against your ass before he picked up his same ruthless pace as before.

“Good fucking girl- gonna look so fucking pretty with ur belly all round with my baby shiiit” he groaned when he felt your cunt clench around him at the idea.

He brought his massive palm down feeling your cunt squeeze him, leaving a heavy spank against your ass and gripping the fat between his fingers.

“Pussy tryna fuckin’ milk me down here” he laughed, biting his lip when he watched your hand come down to rub your clit in quick circles, “Yeaahhh fucking touch your pussy for me baby, make urself cum all over my dick while i fill you up.” he instructed, clenching his jaw.

“Shit- g-give it to me daddy- cum inside me-” you mindlessly babbled, there you go again with that fucking nickname that had his balls tightening.

You feet the coil wind itself up quicker than normal at your enhanced sexual arousal from the chocolate and the now added stimulation of touching your neglected clit.

“Come with me baby, gotta feel you cum around me- please” he begged, leaving another loud slap against your ass before pulling you back on his dick roughly by your hips.

“S -shit it’s coming it’s coming i’m- fuckfuck- ngghhh” your warned, voice cutting out as you started to come around his girth while he fucked you through it.

“yeeeeeess baby- fuuuuck- milk my fucking cock fuck-“ he watched intently as your little hole clenched around him, his first load spurting out around his cock with the pressure of your orgasm, making the white ring around the base of his dick get even messier.

“I’m coming again baby- take it for me- need you to take it all, gotta make sure it t-takes” he whined, getting you pregnant still on the forfront of his brain.

Your legs would’ve collapsed on the floor if he wasn’t holding up a majority of your weight by your hips. Your nails slid against the marble as his cock rammed against your cervix, making you dizzy, broken moans getting forced out of your mouth at the feeling of getting repeatedly impaled on his cock.

You tried to gain a little bit of brainpower back to help gojo through his orgasm just like he did for you, “y-e-sss toru’ cum inside me please- i’ll take it all- be a good girl for you-“ your voice squeaked out, words getting louder at the end with how rough his thrusts were,

He leaned over your back, pressing his sweaty chest onto you while he wrapped you in a tight bear hug, not ceasing his ruthless hips, “Need you t-to kiss me baby- go-nna be instense” he whimpered against your shoulder, waiting for you to turn your head twords him to give him access to your mouth.

When you did he wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours. The two of you swallowed each others moans as his pitch got higher and higher; his tight grip was sure to leave dark bruises on your body as he held onto you for dear life at his impending orgasm.

When the coil finally snapped, he shook violently against you, hips stilling against your ass, pressing his hips as deep as he could into you while hot ropes of cum filled you up even more than his last load, making more cum spill out around him at how full you already were.

His breath was hitching into your mouth, lips doing their best to kiss you back as his jaw kept falling open as the waves of his high washed over him.

He whined and dropped his head against your shoulder when he started to come down. Gojo panted heavily against your skin, twitching in the aftershocks of his high.

“D-don’t move please” he requested, fucking his softening cock into you a couple more times to make sure his cum was as deep inside you as it could go.

“Fuck toru- feel so full right now..” you wined into the marble, wincing in overstimulation at his final few weak thrusts.

After a couple seconds he finally pulled out his cock, gulping hard as he watched his cum start to dribble out of you; making you whine at the slightly uncomfortable feeling.

He used a couple fingers to spread your pussy lips; admiring his work for a second before he used to fingers to scoop his cum back up, stuffing his thick digits back inside of you, “Gotta get that plug of yours to keep it all in,” he said, biting his lip at how soft you felt around his fingers.

“Or you could let me cockwarm you,” you giggled, turning your head back to look at him while he looked enthralled with your cunt.

“God I love you, smartest fucking girl I know.” he praised.

You fell into a fit of giggles when he scooped you up in his arms, peppering kisses onto your face while he headed twords your shared bedroom.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist while he walked, keeping them snug even when he dropped the two of you on the mattress together. Gojo’s large frame laying on top of you as he reached his hand down between you to slide his semi-hard cock back into your oversensitive walls, making you hiss at the feeling, “Sorry baby- almost in,” he promised, kissing your cheeks while he fully bottomed out.

He rolled his eyes at how warm and soft you felt around his dick, sucking soft hickeys into the crook of your neck while you pet his damp hair.

“I’ll clean you up in a second my love, promise, you just feel too good right now.” he let out a short laugh against you.

“‘S okay toru, makes me feel good too.” you tipped your head forward and pressed kisses onto the top of his scalp.

“We gotta be careful with those chocolates,” he laughed, “Might acctually knock you up one day if we keep eatin those,”

“That doesn’t sound half bad,” you confessed, squeezing your legs harder around his hips.

“Dangerous words to say right now pretty girl,” he warned, smirking into your skin,

“Oh right, guess you won the bet,” he remembered, “Whacha want ur big strong boyfriend to do for you?” he asked teasingly,

“Cum inside me again, right now,” you requested after a beat, emphasizing your need by squeezing your pussy walls around him, making him inhale a sharp breath between his teeth.

“Fuck… you serious?” he smirked, lifting his head to look at you.

“Don’t keep me waiting, give me my prize toru,” you pouted your bottom lip at him, making his brain short circuit as he felt his cock twitch back to life.

You ended up taking a plan B the next morning… just in case…

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, yandere, stepcest

fem reader

Creep Step-bro – who steals the keys to your shared bathroom on account that you use too much time in there. He’ll barge in when you’re in the shower in the mornings to take a piss even though you squeal at him to get out. You’ll turn around to hide, still needing to wash out the shampoo from your hair, annoyed “ughs” and curse words leaving you – and he’ll sneak a snide look, watching the soapsuds and water run over the plump of your ass, glossy skin, perfect curve, down between your thighs and legs.

When you grab the towel, you sneer at him, “asshole,” before stomping out. He’ll shrug his shoulders, brushing his teeth with jaded eyes – casually pushing his hips forward against the sink, acting like he doesn’t have a boner he plans on rubbing out to the pretty picture of your wet naked body along with that cute scowl on your face.

You’re practically begging for it walking about the house in those little pajama shorts – so tiny he can see the crease of your cheek, so tight he can see the puffy outline of your cunt. Not to mention the loose tank top you wear with it. Sometimes without a bra on. The round of your soft titties going jump on every step you take.

Of course, he’s going to use any excuse to brush up against you. Coming behind you when you stand in the kitchen – prepping snacks for you and the gaggle of girlfriends held up in your room. He’ll push his crotch against the fat of your ass, pretending to reach for a bowl in the cupboard above you, and you’ll whine out something like “ew, gross, personal space-” but he’ll only savor the struggle even more – only raising his brow at you when you turn around with a strict pointer pressed up beneath his chin, telling him with a frown how he better not perv on any of your friends.

Shit- you’re so clueless…

Clueless as to how he robs your panties from the laundry bin and fucks the silky lace until they fray from his rough handlings – how he winds it so tight it strangles his cock, scrunching his face while imagining it’s your tight pussy before he blows his messy load into the dainty thing – loving the thought of you cluelessly walking around in them. 

Sure, it’s been washed since then, but still… 

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Mahito, Geto, Gojo, Toji, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[satoruhour]

SEVEN DAYS A WEEK !

a/n: if u saw my post b4 — no u didnt. n*sfw under the cut

wc: 3.1k

✶ MONDAY

(somnophilia, oral / cunnilingus, pussy slapping, fingering, clit stimuation, implied overstim)

“start of the work week, huh?” gojo’s hands are slow on your sleeping form, trailing from your chest to your thighs, kneading at it as he pulls away from your embrace gently. he can’t help but place small kisses along your skin, manoeuvring you onto your back. it’s cute how you naturally spread your legs for him. “need to show my darlin’ how much i’ll miss her tomorrow.”  

he’s mumbling to no one, admiring your peaceful form in the early morning that hasn’t even bared the sun yet, getting a whiff of your scent before he’s tracing a finger over your thighs. he brings his finger closer to your cunt, a wet spot already formed on the fabric; satoru slyly smiles — you always get wet easily in the morning.

peeling away your underwear, his breath fans over your needy pussy and gojo doesn’t miss the way you twitch. he blows a little at your core, smiling when you whine and shift in your sleep, and it’s reason enough for him to dig in. he licks a slow stripe from bottom to top, collecting your slick on his tongue, your legs opening to get more of him.

slowly, gojo sucks at your clit, breathing through his nose while he takes his rightful place between your legs, eyes occasionally flicking up to catch the moment you’re waking up. but when you do, it’s with soft whimpers and languid pleas, words slurring as you come to find satoru slobbering over your pussy. your hands unconsciously fly to his hair, moaning loudly when he hums into your sex.

“feel good?” gojo murmurs, a hand teasing the skin beside your sensitive areas before he’s plunging a finger into you. he groans at how your walls wrap around his lone finger, increasing his ministrations by the second when you whimper out s’good that it’s got him mindlessly eating you out, letting out moans now and then from how you tug on his hair.

he’s got you cumming easily when he inserts a second, back arching with whispers of satoru on your lips, and you think he’s going to have some mercy unlike other mondays, but your head sinks deeper into the pillow when gojo starts to lap at your dripping cunt again, sensitivity at its peak when he laughs into your core.

“it’s the start of a new week,” satoru chuckles when he lands a few wet smacks on your pussy and your body shakes with the impact, “gotta be sure my baby knows how much she’s loved.”

✶ TUESDAY

(phone sex, m masturbation, gojo has the hots for your voice, dirty talk)

it was a day-long mission for gojo, sent to hokkaido in the late morning that within an hour of him leaving, you’re already texting him and making jokes that remain unanswered and you’re left to your own devices until the evening comes around that you get a call.

“didn’t they say the curse would come out at night?” you mumble, mindlessly stirring the soup in the pot while satoru on the line just sighs. you think it’s fatigue, but it’s entirely different on gojo’s end. he explains how the curse never attacked at night in the first place — the ability to create a mini veil was all it took for you to understand. the villagers think it’s night, while they’re left vulnerable in the daytime that they think they’re safe in.

you huff, wanting to ask more but you’re cut off by satoru who asks about your day and who seems… strangely winded. “ well, if you really wanna know…” your voice trails off when you’re telling him what went on today, hearing the other get progressively breathy on the other end.

“’toru? you okay?” maybe he was in the mission right now, fighting with you on the line, but that’s out of the picture when a soft moan leaves his mouth.

you see, satoru was a filthy guy, obsessed with the way you spoke that he just had to pull out his cock that’s half-hard when you talked on about that annoying neighbour who hung his laundry in your side of the flat, or even how you put too much sugar in the soup despite gojo not being there. the cadence of your voice, paired with your sweet words.

“yeah? and then what happened?” he’s shamelessly asks you with a breathy whimper, hands squeezing around his cock so warmly he wishes it was yours. you didn’t even hear the zip of his pants but you’re switching off the stove instantly, listening at the edge of your seat to the slick wet noises that increase in frequency.

“and then i’ll talk until my cute boyfriend cums like a little virgin,” you giggle when he groans into the receiver at having been found out, fist moving faster around his cock until it’s the only thing you can hear. it’s so attractive, having gojo satoru fucking his hand in some hokkaido hotel, beads of sweat probably dripping down his head at not having you there.

“wish this was your mouth, baby…” gojo whines out, a mixture of “fuck’s” and your name flooding the line and you’re just telling him what else you’d do to him, maybe i’ll swirl my tongue ’round your tip, ’toru, take your cock all the way down my throat, hm?

you grin when all you can hear is the still of his fist and a loud, sultry moan on the other end. ah, you loved it.

✶ WEDNESDAY

(69-ing, oral (m and f receiving), clit stimulation, calls u ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, fingering, deepthroating, cumming down throat)

“filthy slut, hm?” you’re rolling your eyes, tugging on the dick in your hand while gojo just yelps, laughing in surrender. “okay, okay, i’ll shut up and eat my girl’s pussy like she deserves it.” even when you go back to stroking his still hardening cock, your lover is admiring the leak of your juices from your cunt, dripping so viscously onto his chest.

“satoru, it’s not going to eat i—” gojo always liked to pull you in, and then make you speechless instantly after. he spreads your cheeks, tugging your pelvis towards his mouth, “ooh, shit…” all you can hear are the muffled chuckles of the other, moans cutting past his messy eating habits when your fist start to pump his cock again. you thumb his tip, collecting the pre-cum.

you do exactly as you told him last night, circling your tongue around his weeping tip and his hands tighten on your ass, tongue moving from your clit to your gaping hole. you clench around nothing when gojo’s cock jolts in your mouth before your mouth descends on him and you’re bobbing your head, moaning around his length when you feel two fingers prod at your entrance.

“suckin’ me off so well, it’d be a shame if i don’t give my princess the same treatment,” gojo sighs when his fingers disappears in you, knowing you like it when you go slack around his dick and your tongue stops, struggling to keep a right mind when he’s got his thick, long fingers in you. “yeah… i know a little whore like you loves this.”

he starts to thrust his fingers into you, holding down your hips that start to move. he tuts, “ah. keep it movin’, baby.”

you grunt at his incessant teasing, mouth getting to work again as you start to inch him into your mouth, breathing through your nose when you’re up to his hilt and his pubes are all up in your face. you’re coming off to whimper when he angles his fingers downwards and his tongue is back on you, not stopping the squeeze of your hand on his shaft as you drool from the corners of your mouth, eyes rolling back when you feel his hips thrust lightly into you.

“that’s it, sweetness…” gojo moans around your pussy, blissed out from how warm and wet your mouth is, along with the way your pussy looks right in front of him, surprising you with a squeal when his hips impatiently snap into your mouth, cumming with a fervour and loud moans against your slick skin, pumping your throat full of his cum. you hum around him, letting his thick load warm your insides before you’re pulling off of him with a sigh, smiling at the way his tip still manages to push out its last drops.

your small triumph is interrupted by gojo who adds a third finger and he hisses when your hand tightens around his cock, “your turn, b-baby.”

✶ THURSDAY

(riding, sorta sub!gojo, implied multiple rounds, overstim, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink)

“baby—” gojo whines out, fatigued from the week of missions and classes that he feels like his body could collapse, but you’re energetic as always, having cummed two times yet your hips still continue to grind onto his pelvis like a minx. there’s already a translucent ring of cum around the base of his cock, and while you love the cum he’s pumped into you, you’re just sooo needy tonight — the pure pleasure on satoru’s face and his shivering hands are just the cherry on top.

“g-god, shit,” satoru moans out, even when he’s grabbing at your thighs to stop, there’s the unmistakable humps of his hips because his cum sticks to your skin and dribbles out of your pussy so sweetly he can’t help but fixate on it.

“’toru— feel so fucking good—!” the way your ass bounces against his pelvis sends him reeling, the ability for words lost to the way your cunt wraps around him like a cocksleeve; all he can manage are guttural groans leaving his mouth while he lets you use him to the brink.

“g’nna cum, satoru?” you mumble, body dripping with sweat as your hips start to falter, “gimme all your cum, baby boy.”

satoru whimpers at that, roaming hands feeling around your body that settle for your tits, squeezing while yours tug on his hair. your cunt just feels too good that he thrusts up to meet you too, reaching so deep into you that you’re cumming.

the clench around his length has gojo shooting his hot cum inside you, whining out your name while he pumps your pussy full of a third load and you’re trembling from the feeling. you can only giggle drunkenly, leaving a whimpering satoru to hold down your hips that continues to grind on his sensitive cock.

✶ FRIDAY

gojo likes paybacks, especially now when he’s got your face shoved into the kitchen sink of a private showroom, checking out just the right height to fuck you on and eat you out from. his cursed energy easily messes with the security cameras, and he’s locked out the staff with convincing words and a sweet smile, all so he could shut you up with his cock.

“s-satoru— what if they see—” despite your words (gojo likes to fuck the voice of reasoning out of you) you’re moaning while you’re moving back onto him, a hand clutching onto his forearm with pussy clenching around him.

“like you give a shit,” gojo breathlessly says, relishing in the line down the middle of your back, your arch, how your ass bounces with each thrust. “think we should go with a quartz countertop?”

of course he’d ask stupid questions while balls deep in you, “it’s expensive— oh, fuck! stop spending your money so—”

you slouch against the counter on a deep thrust, a loud mewl leaving your lips, nails digging into his forearm and he has the audacity to hiss while he’s the one who’s fucking you in a goddamn showroom. 

“quartz, it is,” satoru only laughs and you’re ashamed to admit that it turns you on, having so much control over you that you clamp down on his length again and gojo groans softly, reaching around your front to rub your clit, pressing the nub into you like he knows the buttons that just make you twitch. the way the sorcerer rams into you is too much and you need both hands to support you, cringing a little when your nails scratch the finishing on the countertop.

“haaah… gonna fill you up, baby—” gojo mumbles out to no one, the circles on your clit turning erratic and your legs spread to take more of him, feeling the wave of your orgasm crash down on you the same time gojo cums in you, cum so thick and much that when he pulls himself out it drips out your cunt and onto the floor. 

you two look to the floor and back at each other, stifling a laugh before you’re cleaning up, yelping when gojo lands a hard smack! to your ass and wraps an arm around your waist.

he doesn’t miss the way you pick at your nails filled with flakes of the cheap counter, “let’s go find a real quartz countertop.”

✶ SATURDAY

(geto is not evil here, sharing, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, slight nipple play, gojo’s a little jealous aw :(, protected sex w/ geto, praise)

“was this what you had in mind?” your lover asks, cooing at your cries and nods as he stays fully clothed, littering kisses along your neck and jaw. your back was against his chest, causing you to brush up against the uncomfortable tent in his pants, but he’s able to hold himself back for now when he’s enjoying the way his best friend eats you out.

“she tastes good, doesn’t she?” gojo calls out from behind you, helping the other by spreading your legs while the other goes around your waist, a possessive hand around you to tell the dark-haired sorcerer that you’re his. geto only could hum into your pussy, and you note it’s a little different from how satoru eats you out. you weren’t entirely a stranger to your boyfriend’s best friend, but this was the first time you’ve been spread apart so filthily in front of him.

you’re nodding after two orgasms later when they both ask you if you’re okay, geto’s tip waiting at your entrance before he pushes himself slowly into you, tensing against the sheer girth of the other. where gojo was slimmer and longer, geto was a little thicker, and gojo feels just a little pull on his heart when he sees your jaw drop.

“you’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he softly praises, locking eyes with his best friend when he sinks into your warmth. it’s not long before he’s swallowing your pleas as geto starts to move, the kiss lewd as gojo slips his tongue into your mouth, mumbling praises when the other sets a comfortable pace.

“she takes a cock so well,” the dark-haired man says breathlessly while gojo focuses on the way his best friend fucks into you, the pussy he knows like the back of his hand sucking the other in so nicely that it’s even a blessing geto gets to see it. he can feel your juices seep past his pants, hearing a soft pant of satoru when his hands come to rest at your tits, pinching your nipples lightly. suguru grunts at the way you clamp down on him, too lost in the tightness of your cunt to notice how you’re mainly focused on gojo and your love for him.

“good girl,” satoru only mutters into your skin, locking eyes with you when his hand finds your clit. he knows you know you belong to him when he watches your eyes flutter close, “that’s a good girl f’r me.”

✶ SUNDAY

(spitting, morning sex, praise, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, implied multiple rounds, finger sucking, gojo loves u a lot!)

“hey, satoru,” you hum, waking up with a familiar ache in your core that you knew only gojo could quell. his best friend was gone by the morning, leaving just the both of you on his king-sized. “are you awake?”

gojo stirs and softly whispers an i’m awake now, cracking his eyes open, not before needing to take a minute to just admire your morning stare and words. they’re always hooded and slurred, the hunger for you and jealousy from the previous night taking over him. his hands are wandering, pulling you atop him easily.

it’s not long before gojo’s slipping into you from above you, cock an angry red just from kissing you, “so tight, baby. no matter how much your pussy’s molded to fit my cock— f-fuck— you’ll still be tight as shit.”

you smile. you’ve caught wind of satoru’s feelings of green last night, confirmed when you bid goodbye to his best friend with a laugh from the other how you should treat him well this morning. wrapping your legs around his middle, you’re whining a little from how bit by bit, gojo’s bottoming out in you before he finds a slow pace, succumbing to his body weight on yours.

“satoru…s’full,” gojo’s eyes stay fixated on yours, hot breath sending your skin tingling with goosebumps while your pussy drips pure nectar, lewd sounds amplified by the slap of his hips against yours. even if he wants to go slow, gojo is insanely drunk on your gummy walls and the way they wrap snugly around his dick, ears blessed with the way you call out for him.

with a thumb, he yanks at your mouth and he softly moans at how fast you stick your tongue out. it’s an unspoken gesture, hips never stopping even as a ball of spit leaves your lover’s mouth with a gradual drag and lands on your tongue, still connected by the web of saliva that stretches until it’s all in your mouth, an attagirl lingering on his lips.

you bring his forehead to yours after, hands grasping at his hair and neck while there’s fire exchanged between his striking blue ones and yours while you’re babbling that you’ve reached your high and gojo almost tears at the way you cry out for him as you cum, at the way you try your best to hold your ground but his cock is just splitting you open so well and the intensity of your orgasm is making you tremble, at the way you’re like this for only him.

but the one sentence that sets him off, “wan’ you to cum in me, ’toru,” you’re whimpering out, arms going around him and legs closing around his hips just to get him closer to you even after you’ve cummed. you ignore the overstimulation of your climax, “breed me, baby.”

and satoru has no choice but to listen to his girl, capturing your lips right as his thrusts start to stutter and he’s cumming deep in you, moans escaping from the kiss and mewls leaving you at the gush of his cum in you, white and hot and so much of it. gojo cries into your skin as you milk him dry, clenching down around him like you don’t want to let him go.

“so much cum just f’you, princess,” satoru chokes out, feeling himself getting hard again from your pleasure-filled face, especially when he sees your juices mixing below him. he takes a hand, smearing them around your clit and he can feel his breath hitching when you grab the hand and stuff his fingers into your mouth.

you’re swirling your tongue around his fingers, voice hoarse.

“use me, satoru,” your other hand dance along his cheek and he thinks he might be blessed with a goddess’ touch, “use me until i’m full of your cum.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Beautiful, huge mid-century modern 1959 brick home in St. Paul, MN. 7bds, 4ba, $800K. It's completely original, but I do have a few questions.

The entrance hall floor is flagstone, and it has a stone planter. On the left there's a semi-transparent wall with a large matching light fixture going thru it. Very stylish. Then, there's a railing to go down the stairs to the sunken living room.

The large living room has 2 mirrored wall inserts. The sleek modern fireplace has no hearth or mantel, it's set right into the wall.

There are dents in the carpet from the furniture, but are those circles actually sculpted details? Looks like they left 2 cool lucite stands.

The dining area alongside the kitchen is quite large and has a built-in banquette with shelves on the ends. There's also room for stools at the counter.

Very big kitchen with completely original cabinetry. Look at the little door in the backsplash.

Amazingly, all of the appliances are original too. And, look at the colorful mosaic backsplashes.

The den is very large, has a great stone fireplace wall, and tons of built-in storage.

Big, original bath with tile murals and a marble counter. That gold swan faucet is in again.

These two rooms connect. The carpet in one is beautiful and the other has a flagstone floor. I don't know, maybe it's an office. It does have an outer door.

I like the lamps in the hall. Could that be a laundry chute behind those 2 little doors?

This is a cool bedroom. What could that little door be for?

Love this original pink bath.

This is the largest bedroom and it's the primary b/c it has an en-suite.

Love the blue sink and toilet.

And, look at the mosaic wall over that blue tub.

Huge rec room downstairs. A nice bar would fit well beneath the lights. There are lots of built-in shelves and a stone fireplace wall.

There's also a full original kitchen down here. I like the ceiling of light, but what is that stuff up there?

This home is amazing. Another original fridge. Look at all the cabinetry and shelving.

Even the laundry room is huge. And, look at the drain in the floor in case of a flood situation.

This house just keeps on going. This is gorgeous and must count as the 7th bedroom.

And, right outside this room is this beautiful room. This home is crazy with the huge rooms and so many built-ins.

There's also a lovely yellow shower room down here w/an original sink and toilet. Also note the tile murals.

There's a terrace on the main level and a covered patio on the ground level.

Beautifully landscaped .53 acre. It doesn't have a pool, but look at how close the neighbor's pools are - Helloooo, neighbors!

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2160-Upper-Saint-Dennis-Rd-Saint-Paul-MN-55116/2091427_zpid/?

[misshoneybee]

˖  ࣪ 𖥔 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐇 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

— ℳ𝒾𝓈𝓈ℋ𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎ℬ𝑒𝑒'𝓈 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 —

Pairing: Daddy!Andy Barber x Nanny!Reader Content Warnings: Daddy kink, ddlg undertones, somnophilia, dubious/non consent, age gap (Reader is early twenties, Andy is mid-forties), fingering, oral sex (f-rec), dirty talk, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby), overstimulation, general smut bc this is kinktober so minors, dni!! Word Count: 4.7k  A/N: Here we are!!! This is my first Kinktober and I am nervous to write all these new kinks and characterizations but also incredibly excited. I'm so sorry that this was so delayed, my loves! Work has been hell for the past week but I've finally had time to proofread this. As always, I do my best to keep my reader as inclusive as possible but please let me know if there's anything I can do to improve upon it! There's no use of Y/N or anything else where you need to insert information to read just because that's my personal preference! Anyway, please enjoy and I'd adore some feedback, if anyone feels so inclined! Navigation: Masterpost | Playlist | Divider Credit | Kinktober Masterpost | October Fifteenth Summary: Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Although, you couldn’t exactly say that you loved your job, the accommodations and compensation made what little aggravation you faced in the course of a workday well worth it. While most students from your college town had picked up odd jobs in busy restaurants or quaint little shops, you’d become a live-in nanny for the Barber family. It was a perfect situation really—your tuition was covered by scholarships, you only worked in the afternoons and evenings, you didn’t have to pay for housing, the ‘work’ was a piece of cake, and your employer was the hottest man you'd ever fucking seen.

Jacob was a pretty quiet kid—and maybe a bit too old to have a nanny, at the age of thirteen—so you were essentially just paid to ensure he didn’t sneak out of the house and ate a somewhat balanced dinner on the nights that his dad got home late from work or other engagements. The family unit was small with only Jacob and his father and, now by extension, you. 

District Attorney Andy Barber had quietly left his wife a year earlier and moved he and his son away from their small hometown to start over just as you’d arrived in the city to begin your third year of school. You’d met in the aisles of a dark liquor store as you stood in front of the vast selection of wine, teeth digging into your lower lip as your eyes scanned all the labels on the red varietals: merlot, cabernet sauvignon, Malbec, pinot noir, Sangiovese. 

Seeing your hesitation at making a selection, he’d easily swooped in and found you something sweet, saying it reminded him of you with a charming grin. It was an unassuming bottle with a minimalistic label—a vin santo that flooded your tongue with a sweetness that reminded you of warm summer days and cherry jam. It was perfect—and that was where it all began.

You’d crossed paths in your small college town several more times and now, more than a year later, you’d settled into the Barber’s lives seamlessly. The big colonial house, tucked away in the gated neighborhood, was quiet as the clock approached one in the morning. Andy had needed to attend some gala, to rub shoulders and grease palms and do all other sorts of lawyerly things, so after dinner, you had taken it upon yourself to clean up around the house after Jacob had gone to bed.

The kitchen had been cleaned from dinner you’d made, the dishes had been washed and put away, and you’d finished the laundry. All of the linens had been tucked away in the hall closet but you found yourself hesitating at the door of Andy’s empty bedroom as sleepiness began to sink into your bones. There were just a few shirts that needed to be hung in his closet. You rocked back and forth on your heels, deliberating silently as you propped the basket on your hip, looking up and down the silent, empty hall as if he’d appear and chastise you for even entertaining the idea. He’d never said his room was off-limits to you; in fact, Andy had always told you to make yourself at home. 

It would only be for a few minutes anyway.

Stifling a yawn, you quietly opened the heavy, wooden door and slipped into the dark room. Flipping the light-switch turned on a lamp, dimly bathing the unfamiliar space in a warm, comforting light. It looked just like you’d imagined it—not that you’d spent a long time picturing your employer’s room. 

No—never. 

Certainly not when he came down to the kitchen on Saturday mornings in worn flannel pajama pants and made coffee for the two of you to share in silence as Jacob slept in, and definitely not when you lay in your bed, in the room just next door to his, with your fingers slipping beneath the silky fabric of your panties as you remembered the feeling of his eyes on you from across the dinner table.

Feeling your face grow warm as you shoved those thoughts away, you quickly opened the door to his closet. It was as organized as you’d have thought it to be. The hangers and collars were all turned in a uniform direction, the shirts organized by shade and hue from dark to light. Humming softly to yourself, you finished the chore quickly before something on the foot of his pristinely made bed caught your eye. 

The fall air that had invaded the New England coast had brought a chill, and along with it, a shift in his wardrobe. It was a deep, forest green sweater of his that had silently become your favorite item in his closet. Cautiously, you picked up the article and bit your lip to stop a quiet sigh from escaping your lips. It was soft and you’d imagined yourself running your hands over his chest while he wore it dozens of times.

The clock on his bedside table read just after one; when Andy had left that afternoon, he’d mentioned that it would be close to two before he’d return home from Boston. You knew exactly what you wanted. Padding softly across the room, you closed the door with an almost silent ‘click’ of the latch. You couldn’t help it; you could feel your heart beating against your breastbone and the way your panties had grown damp at just the thought.

There was a bit of a thrill as you slipped out of your ratty collegiate sweatshirt and allowed it to fall on to the soft carpet without a sound, your short cheer shorts following suit. Bare to the cold room, you felt goosebumps prickle your skin and you weren’t sure if your nipples had grown hard from your admittedly overactive imagination, or the exposure. 

Slipping the woven cashmere over your head, you let out a soft sigh as the fabric caressed your skin and enveloped you in a scent that was purely Andy. It was something expensive; you’d seen the bottle on his bureau. A sweet, smoky wood scent that clung to his skin and the fibers of his clothes—fuck, you wanted to be covered in it. 

Crawling on to the king-sized bed that took up the center of his spacious room, you couldn’t help but giggle as you sank into the plush, white duvet that covered it. Your fingers and toes curled against the cotton, and, in the back of your mind, you knew you’d have to smooth it all out before you returned to your own room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care in the moment. 

All you could think about was Andy in this bed, his hand working his hardened cock as quiet groans strained from his throat. You knew he did it every night before he fell asleep. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew that, just separated by a single wall, you listened carefully and covered your mouth, fucking yourself along with him. 

Allowing your eyes to drift shut, your fingers trailed down your body, rubbing the damp fabric that clung to the lips of your wet pussy, whimpering softly as you brushed against the hardened nub of your clit. God—you wished it was him. His fingers teasing your cunt, his tongue brushing over your nipple before grazing it with his teeth.

Clenching the duvet, that was covered in the musky, heavy scent of him, with white knuckles, it didn’t take long for you to reach the precipice. Biting your lip, almost painfully, you stifled a cry. The way your walls fluttered around your fingers, as your thighs clenched hard, and your toes curled into the soft sheets made you feel like you were flying. Writhing against the now too-warm bed, you felt that fuzzy, pleasurable feeling wash over you like the sun’s rays as you came back down. Touching yourself had never felt so good before—how could you go back to your normal nightly activities?

Slipping your hand from the sodden fabric, it was like your body was on autopilot. Your breathing slowed as your post-orgasm brain returned from the stratosphere. It wouldn’t hurt to close your eyes for just a minute. One minute, then you’d take off his too-soft sweater and get rid of any evidence that you’d even been here. One minute, then you’d go to your own room and lay down and go to sleep with your little secret.

Just one minute, then…

The lights were off in the silent house. Andy carefully allowed the heavy front door to close behind him, turning the deadbolt as he shut out the rest of the night. Running a hand over his scruff-covered chin, he let out an uninhibited yawn. The day had been long, the night even longer, and he longed for sleep. Leaving his briefcase in his office, and his rumpled jacket folded over his arm, he quietly padded up the stairs and down the hall.

With a gentle knock on Jacob’s door, and no answer in response, he quietly peered inside. A muss of brown hair rested on his pillow, barely visible under the plaid quilt that covered the bed. Jacob hadn’t snuck out since you’d taken on the task of nannying him, but Andy always liked to be certain, not quite trusting the little shit—and for good reason. Quietly closing the door, he continued down the hall before coming to rest in front of your room. He frowned, looking at the floor for that telltale strip of light that usually spilled from beneath the door and tattled to him that you were still awake, usually reading or listening to music or watching something on your laptop. 

You were a night owl, and it wasn’t even two in the morning; you never fell asleep this early unless you had an exam the next day and he knew that wasn’t the case. It was the weekend. He’d gotten to know your schedule intimately, getting a copy of your class and assignment schedule from you under the guise of staying in the loop. Truth be-told, he just wanted to know how your days went and where you were. Erring on the side of caution, he gently rapped a knuckle against your door, quietly murmuring your name just inches away from the wooden barrier, knowing you’d hear, if you were actually awake.

Met with silence, he felt a tug in his chest. He knew you weren’t the lightest sleeper; once when he’d apologized for doing lawn work on an early Saturday morning, you’d told him, with a sheepish blush, that you hadn’t even noticed the loud mower outside your window. Knocking once more, louder this time, he called your name with no response. Resting a hand on your doorknob, he hesitated. 

Though it was unspoken, he’d deemed your room off-limits…but what if you were hurt? Or sick? What if something had happened to you after Jacob went to bed? Talking himself out of walking away, he turned the cold, metal knob. The door opened silently and he hesitated before taking a step inside, his eyes searching the pitch black for your form. 

Adjusting to the dark, his eyes could make out the frilly pink sheets of your still-made bed. With a frown, he flicked on the light and took in the space that he’d only ever caught occasional glimpses of. Through the worry, there was a pique of intrigue. Everything was shades of pastel, a little stuffed bunny propped up against your pillow. It was all so innocent and girly. Sweet and saccharine, just like you.

A light on your nightstand got his attention; a lump in his throat, and the bulge in his tight slacks, grew as the shape registered. Nope, it wasn’t your phone. Fuck. A little vibrator rested on your bedside table, and he had to bite his lip to stifle a groan. He’d heard the quiet vibrations through your shared wall before but seeing the culprit and everything else was something new entirely.

He always knew you were girly, loving cute things and being just as sweet, but you— 

You were missing.

He didn’t have time to jerk off as he tried to remedy all of the new things he’d learned about your bedroom. Muttering a curse under his breath, he adjusted his rapidly hardening cock before taking a step back and taking a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he gathered himself. He had to get a fucking grip—he argued against murderers for a living, for Christ’s sake. Would your vibrator and sweet little bedroom really be his downfall?

Your car was still in the driveway—you weren’t in the living room and the den had been dark when he’d come in as well. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he quickly found you listed under his favorites and allowed it to dial. His brow furrowed when he heard a quiet sound from the next room over. In just three strides, he was in front of his room and with one more, he was inside as the phone call went to voicemail.

The lamp in the corner of his room illuminated the space, as well as your sleeping form that was sprawled over the center of his king-sized bed. A cocktail of relief and arousal flooded him at once. You were safe. You were home.

But you were also in his bed. And aside from his sweater, only wearing a pair of satin-y, baby pink panties that were molded perfectly to your ass which he could plainly see in the warm light that filled the room. You rested on your belly, fingers gripping his pillow beneath your head tight, with one leg hiked up the mattress as you snuggled into the plush bedding. Closing the door quietly behind him, his legs carried him over to the bed without a second thought. His eyes trailed over your relaxed body and affection almost made the corner of his lips tick upwards.

You looked so sweet, your eyes closed gently as your thick lashes brushed your soft cheek. That sweetness was cut when he noticed a damp patch on your panties and the way that soft sighs of sleepy pleasure slipped from your lips as you rocked your hips into the mattress, oblivious to your newfound audience as some dream played out behind your eyelids.

The aquamarine of his eyes caught fire as he watched you shift in your sleep. Draping his jacket over the armchair in the corner of his room, he stalked across the room, pausing as he landed beside the bed. Straight, white teeth digging into his lip, he held back a groan as you shifted, seeking out comfort as his sweater rode up to your waist, revealing more of you to his starving gaze. 

He could feel his cock throb at the sight of you and he was almost certain that no amount of deep breathing could resolve it. He needed you out of there before he blew a load in his pants like a fucking teenager. Tucking his length in to the waistband of his boxer-briefs, he carefully sat down beside you. The foam mattress didn’t move you in the slightest and he mumbled a curse under his breath before resting a hand on your thigh, giving you a gentle shake as he softly murmured, “Sweetheart?”

A little groan slipped through your lips, your eyes squeezing shut tighter as you held on to the clouds of sleep that still filled your head. Turning over, you mumbled something incomprehensible before your breathing leveled back out. 

Looking at his hand still resting on your smooth thigh, he resisted the urge to give the cushion of your skin a soft squeeze. Slowly trailing his eyes up your frame, his eyes darkened. Your nipples strained against the light knit material, begging to be pinched and laved. If you tempted him when you were awake, wandering the house in those tiny shorts and tight tops, watching you sleep was another circle of hell where he was condemned only to look but never to touch.

You two had danced around one another since you’d met at that liquor store. How could he know you wanted it as badly as he did?

“Princess,” Andy tried once more, his thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he spoke at a normal volume, “Wake up for me, sweetheart.”

He watched the way your nose crinkled slightly in your sleep and a small smile spread across his lips. It was as if your subconscious was absorbing his words, blocking them from reaching your conscious mind and waking you up. As he gave your leg one more gentle shake, you let out a quiet, whiny groan consisting of one word, “Daddy…”

Andy couldn’t help the way his grip on you tightened at the two-syllable word, the little blood that was left in his head, rushing to his groin. Fuck—there was no mistaking that. He barely noticed the way his hand had drifted further up your leg; he needed to touch you more, to see all of you.

You’d just called him daddy.

He could be your daddy for tonight. 

Or, for as long as you’d allow him. 

Clearing his throat, he gave one last, half-hearted attempt at waking you, “Baby?”

“Daddy, please…” You breathed out, your fingers gripping the soft blankets as your dreams continued to roll like a film reel, unaware of the way that their subject’s hand had drifted up to your hip, toying with the elastic edge of the only barrier separating him from you. Your voice was so innocent as you whimpered out, “Need you, daddy…”

At that, it didn’t take long for Andy to slip down the bed, gently parting your already spread legs further, leaving enough space for him to lay between them. With a tentative hand, he brushed his thumb over the wet spot that had darkened the light fabric of your panties, begging for his attention. Your hips jerked as he dragged his finger down the cleft of your folds and a low chuckle gently shook the bed.

“Shh…” He shushed your soft whimper, watching as your brows drew together, seeking out the feeling again and rocking your hips upward. 

Fuck—he’d wanted this since he saw you standing in that dark store. You’d looked so sweet in your little, frilly pastel dress, your exposed décolletage shining with some body shimmer that smelled like vanilla, even from a foot away. That was you; always so sweet, so good.

Pressing a gentle kiss to the center of your covered, private area, feeling the dampness against his slightly parted lips, he hummed softly, reassuringly as his thumb continued to drift up and down that same spot tortuously, “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” 

You spent all your time doing things for everyone else: your family, your friends, him, his son—when was the last time that you’d been taken care of? When was the last time you’d let your walls down enough to even allow it?

In that blissful twilight of sleep, you were so soft, vulnerable and receptive to his care. You’d allow it, even if you didn’t know you were.

Holding his breath, trying to stay as silent and as still as possible, Andy gently rolled the lacy, elastic band down your legs as his eyes stayed trained on your face for any hint that you were coming around. Gently maneuvering your sleep-laden limbs, spreading your legs wider for him to fit between, you barely shifted as he draped your legs over his broad shoulders.

Running a finger down the bare, sensitive skin of your puffy slit, he groaned as he collected the proof of your arousal on the tip of his digit. “Oh, sweetheart…” Using his thumbs, he gently spread the petals of your sex and had to bite his lip to stifle himself from cursing at the sight. The low light glistened against the wetness that clung to your skin as your hips shifted and your brows pulled together, feeling the cold air brush against your exposed clit. He cooed, “You’re so wet, baby. This all for me? All for Daddy?”

“Mm…” You mumbled, your cheek pressed against the pillow as your hands drifted up your body, dragging the hem of his sweater up over your tummy slowly. You could feel the last glowing embers of sleep slowly dying, with each brush against your skin pushing you back towards the waking world but you were so comfortable. You were enrobed in Andy’s scent, that sweet smoke that made you feel like nothing bad could happen to you as long as it was near.

Andy’s thumb brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and he let out a low, dark chuckle as your hips gave a sudden jerk at the direct stimulation. Not wanting to torture you—not yet at least—he traced circles around the bud, careful not to touch it directly again. After several moments, he carefully slipped one finger inside, finding no resistance if your state of need. Giving it a few, agonizingly slow, experimental pumps, he watched hungrily as his digit glistened with your wetness each time it slid out.

With his eyes trained on your blissful expression, he gently slipped in a second, longer finger beside the first and watched hungrily as your body adjusted to the new sensation, a soft whimper breaking through your parted lips at the stretch; his fingers were far larger than your own. 

“Daddy’s going to eat your sweet pussy, baby.” As his fingers hooked upwards gently, they pressed teasingly against the spongy pillow of your g-spot, your hips bucking forward again at the sudden pressure that made your squeeze around him. You were balancing on the precipice of wakefulness now, one foot still in that perfect dreamland and the other stepping towards the seemingly real, gentle brushes against your skin.

With a gentle kiss pressed to your hip bone, his tongue finally licked a broad, languid stripe through your folds from your entrance to the red button of your clit that continued to beg for his attention. “Fuck, you taste like candy…” Watching the way your tight hole clenched around nothing; he immediately imagined filling it with his cock, Andy groaned, “Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had.”

Closing his eyes, he groaned as he leaned back down, using his tongue to lave over your sensitive skin; he needed to taste you. Sleep was slipping away, and you weren’t certain if it was a dream when your hands threaded through a head of hair that rested at the apex of your thighs. The grip of your fingers tightened almost painfully in his hair as his lips finally wrapped around you swollen clit, giving it a hard suck before letting it go. The scrape of your nails over his scalp mixed a quick lick of pain into his pleasure.

“Oh god—fuck!” You felt your body begin to shake as an orgasm barreled towards you, forcing your sleepy eyes to finally open.

“Watch your language, princess.” Andy’s eyes found yours open and he grinned wolfishly at the surprise and arousal that filled your expression, “Good girls don’t talk like that.”

The wet muscle dipped inside your channel, his nose nudging against your clit before he dragged his tongue slowly up again to the swollen nub. He traced the tip around it before sucking hard then soft and letting go and repeating the movement again and again. He could feel your body tensing as an orgasm quickly approached and he slipped his fingers back into your soaking cunt, your thighs quivering at the added feeling.

“Andy—ah!” A whine was pulled from your throat, silencing your sweetly confused question as you fell over the edge.  

He grinned against your skin at the shattered cry, sucking your clit just slightly harder than a moment earlier before gently scraping his teeth over it and making your thighs squeeze around his head. He murmured against your wet pussy, his voice sending vibrations through your body, “What’s my name, baby?”

Your mind was floating away and all you could concentrate on was his touch and the way he made you feel so little and taken care of as he played with you. Shaking your head, your sweet voice came out shakily, “I don’t—”

“I know I haven’t made you that stupid, baby.” His thumb circled your clit, tugging up on the hood of it and exposing the pearl to his greedy eyes before they flicked back up to yours as you leaned up on your elbows to watch him, “What’s my name?”

Capturing it between his lips, he sucked hard, and you felt the wetness dripping from your hole onto his duvet, “Daddy!” You finally cried out, failing to silence yourself as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, collapsing back onto the bed as he played you like a violin, feeding off your every reaction. “God! Oh—feels so good…Daddy, please!” There was a pout on your lips that contrasted with the way your hips rocked against his every touch, unsure if you wanted him closer or to stop the sensations that were becoming too much.

“You like when Daddy plays with your princess parts while you sleep? Yeah?” He let out another deep chuckle against your cunt as a little chirp was pulled from you at his naughty words. He continued lowly, “You know I had to when I found this beautiful little girl in my bed, cunt soaked and waiting for me to come home.” 

You moved your hips, chasing that pleasure with each changing angle. The sounds were almost depraved; every lick of his tongue and brush of his fingers forced a wet noise into the room that was mostly quiet aside from the constant melody of your breathy moans.

His hips rocked into the mattress, seeking out his own pleasure as you whimpered, “Fuck, that’s my good girl—wearing my sweater and those slutty, little panties. Gonna keep those, baby. Never getting them back.” Slipping two fingers back into your tight cunt, he pumped them as his mouth focused on your little pearl, “Now come for me again, sweetheart.”

“Can’t!” You cried out, your lip quivering as your second climax barreled towards you, and you shook your head, begging, “No! Too sensitive, daddy…”

“You wanna be sensitive?” He landed a smack to your overworked button with three fingers.

“No!” You whimpered, feeling tears well in your eyes, sniffling as the pleasure made your body shake. 

“Better make that sweet little pussy squeeze my fingers or Daddy’s gonna give you a lot more than this…” With dark eyes, he watched as the pleasure finally took hold once again, dragging you under.

“Daddy!” You whimpered as he pressed against your g-spot with two thick fingers, sucking your clit at the same time and shoving you over the edge. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you finally squealed, “Oh! I’m coming!”

You felt your walls flutter as he helped your body ride the crest of the wave of your second orgasm, licking you slowly as a new flood of wetness coated his tongue like a nectar that he never wanted to stop drinking. He could live and die between your thighs, happily.

Your toes curled as your thighs clenched around his head, it was almost as if you were trying to force Andy away when the stimulation became too much but he held your thighs open despite the pleasured cries that filled the. room.

“That’s it…Good girl, sweetheart.” He murmured, helping you come down from the edge that you’d been balancing on for far too long. Watching through half-hooded eyes, you hummed softly as he rubbed your still trembling thigh with one hand and cleaned the fingers of his other with his mouth, a sly smirk on his full lips.

“I…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning as you finally came back from that floaty place where your head had been since waking.

‘Holy shit.’

Covering your body with his, your eyes widened innocently before he caught your lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. He tasted like whiskey and you, and it felt like a drug that you’d easily become addicted to. Andy’s hand landing a smack on your ass made you jump, pulling away from the kiss that had lulled you into a false sense of security.

He chuckled as you let out a quiet whine at the sting his hand left behind, sitting back up and undoing his belt with dark eyes that were still focused on you, “Now get that little ass in the air. It’s time to let Daddy use this sweet little hole, princess.”

[call-me-eds]

The Boy is Mine (call-me-eds version)

I was not tagged in @carolmunson 's writing challenge, and encourage with her for other small writers to jump in and participate in anything that sparks interest or creativity! Find the guidelines here and check out her ongoing masterlist to see all of the other incredible editions :)

Masterlist

A romantic night in at the trailer. 

Fluff | WC: 2.5 K

“I ran out of, like, nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie extended a plastic souvenir cup with the Cubs logo half chipped off, and it took everything in you not to slap it out of his hand. 

The gravity of this night was not being taken seriously by anyone, and it was driving you up a wall. You could only give your own 100%, nothing more, but apparently you’d need to drag the effort from the Munson’s with your bare hands.

“No, it’s not okay! This is a date, you need to make a good impression,” you abandoned your station at the counter to start rifling through cabinets. There were three open bottles of whiskey in the trailer but not a single cocktail glass. Eddie’s soft voice barely pulled your wandering thoughts from wondering how long it would take you to run home to get two of your own glasses.

“Baby, do I need to remind you that neither of us are going on this date?” he asked, avoiding the urge to come behind you and put his hand on your shoulders to manually relax them. He didn’t want to lose a limb and you were dangerously close to the knife block. He looked on, feeling helpless in his own home while you ran around like the queen was coming over.

Whatever, it could have been possible that you were going a little overboard, but all you wanted was for Wayne to have a good night. He was so kind and hardworking, and putting up with Eddie was an exhausting job. The man was a saint.

So you messed with one of the lightbulbs to dim the light, fluffled the one throw pillow that the men had, and convinced Wayne to take his time getting ready while you and Eddie made a round of drinks that didn’t come with a tab or need a bottle opener. 

“We don’t have time for reminders, just line the rims,” you said, carefully putting down the only two matching drinking glasses. They weren’t the martini glasses in your vision, but they would have to do. 

“Vanilla frosting?” he confirmed. “What, is this Christmas-themed?” he joked, but took care in looking at the photo on the recipe you ripped out from an old home magazine you found. He gently inserted the glass and spun it around. No matter how much he teased you, you knew that he wanted the night to go well for his uncle just as badly as you did.

“So what if it is? Who doesn’t love Christmas?” you asked, going back to arranging the food you put on a tray you found that might have been older than Eddie. He finished his task, taking the care he knew you would have, quickly swiping his finger through the sugary substance when you were turned away.

“Everyone does, it’ll be a hit,” he said, maybe just to make you feel better, and licked his finger clean before you could catch him. “But if you don’t relax, you’re going to hit the floor,” he side-swiped you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, going to the sink.

With the self-imposed expectations you put on yourself to ensure your boyfriend’s father figure had a great night was the guilt that came from forcing your man to anticipate your wants for the night. There weren’t any canceled plans, and just a few snippy comments, but you were sure there were other ways Eddie would want to be spending his Saturday night off from work. Between ironing the one tailored shirt in Wayne’s closet and taking your own laundry down from the clothesline, you told Eddie to call Steve and make plans to meet him and Robin at The Hideout for a few drinks. 

Non-peppermint drinks. Which smelled like Macy’s in December and were definitely from the holiday edition of the magazine. You didn’t have time to overthink your out-of-season choice, though, because Wayne was coming out of the bathroom smelling suspiciously like Eddie when you went out on special occasions. A mental note fleetingly popped into your head to buy your boyfriend his own, different scented, bottle of cologne.

“I could have sworn I told you two to scram,” Wayne said, a hint of sincerity in his mocking tone. His eyes scanned over your spread with equal parts appreciation and confusion. Fine, maybe wintery cocktails, carrots, and crackers didn’t exactly go together, but you were working on a tight timeline and whatever you could scrounge up from the Quick-Mart.

“We’re going soon, I swear,” you promised, mixing the combination of ingredients that you thought might be on the sweet side for Wayne’s preference, but were sure that his date would prefer to a Heineken. There wasn’t a cocktail shaker at your disposal, a measuring cup and a fork would have to get the job done.

Eddie could read the two of you like a book. The nervous energy you were emitting had him wanting to stay out of the way, so he washed and dried the few dishes you dirtied in record time. The domestic act may not have been as exciting as ripping a guitar solo, but it was just as sexy to you, especially when you didn’t even need to ask. Not that you were paying a speck of attention to him at the moment.

“Now Sally’s just coming over for a little while before we go to our rummy game,” Wayne said, sounding like he was warning you both to behave before leaving you with a babysitter. “So you don’t have to be out all night, but I don’t want you making her feel crowded,” he pointedly looked at Eddie this time, who couldn’t even pretend not to understand.

The last time the two of you had been around when Wayne’s “friend” Sally came over, Eddie wouldn’t stop asking her questions about her job, her family, her weekend routine, and you feared he was getting dangerously close to inquiring about her medical history and savings account.

“We’ll be out of your hair, don’t worry,” you confirmed, doing one last sweep to make sure there wasn’t a trace of Eddie in the living room. As endearing as he might be, your boyfriend had a tendency to leave anything that belonged to him in the shared space of the trailer. 

“Now listen, here, partner,” the dark-haired Tasmanian devil strode up to his uncle in imitation and smacked a hand on his shoulder. “We’re not going far, so if there’s any funny business going on under this roof I will know about it.” The two of you heard a version of the same speech any time Wayne was going to the bar or leaving for a shift and you two would be by yourselves. It had the opposite effect, making you act all the more quicker so you’d be put back together when he came back home.

“Son, I was getting into funny business before you were born,” he responded, knocking Eddie’s bravado right off its kilter.

“Oh, ew, I don’t want to think about that!” he whined, blush appearing faster than his hands could cover his face.

“Well, if you don’t quit it, we’re going to have a problem, then.”

“Leave him alone, let’s go,” you said, grabbing the bag of snacks reserved for you two from your grocery trip. “Have fun, Mr. Munson,” you smiled. Even though you were setting him up for a night of romance and intimacy, you still couldn’t bring yourself to call him by his first name. 

“Thank you, Darlin’, I’ll see you later,” he said, reaching out to ruffle Eddie’s hair before he was out of reach. 

“Hey!” You opened the door to separate the two before a wrestling match broke out and a button popped or a hair came out of place.

“And if you don’t start opening doors, boy, you won’t even be in amusing business, nevermind funny!” he called after the two of you, making you laugh. He kept walking, grabbing your hand and waving it around so his uncle could see the small act of romance.

The two of you strolled in between the trailers as the sun was dipping below the horizon. You let the stillness of the evening come over you, decompressing from your few high-string hours. The adrenaline seeping out of you made you more tired than you should have been before sunset, and you accepted that your actions were a bit overkill. But you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Your uncle looked really nice,” you commented, smiling at the thought of him deciding what to wear and pulling out his fanciest belt buckle. “Like a real gentleman.”

“And you like that?” Eddie asked. “You’re not exactly dating the swankiest guy in town,” he flicked the hand that wasn’t holding yours up and down, gesturing to his sweatpants and t-shirt. You wouldn’t dignify his self-deprecation with a response, so you just squeezed his hand.

“He was nervous, it was cute,” you deflected. Eddie sat down in one of the chained-down adirondack chairs that the trailer park had surrounding a few singed logs that were last tended to before you had even met the Munsons. He reached down to grab the security measure and tug another chair as close as it could possibly get to his.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just stayed in my room or something,” he said as you sat down. “I could have behaved myself.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, his mumbling was evidence even he didn’t believe it. “Whatever, I’ll just read about it in his little notebook later that he pretends isn’t a diary.”

“Eddie!” you laughed. “Let him have some privacy, he’s a grown man.” As you and Eddie got older, he tended to treat his uncle more like a roommate than an elder. When you first started dating he would have taken his arm from being around your shoulders when Wayne walked into the room, where now he tried to convince you that walking around in his boxers wasn’t weird, it was like wearing your own shorts.

“You love him more than me,” he deduced, flopping in the chair like a depressed fish.

“Aw, don’t be like that. that’s not even true,” you swung your leg over the arms of your chairs, and his hand drew like a magnet to your calf, starting to rub it with the amount of pressure he learned you preferred.

“Yes it is, that’s why you always want to come over to my place. You’re using me to get to him and his union insurance,” he teased, sending you into a further fit of giggles.

“Would someone that bought you your nasty snacks be using you?” you asked, handing him the plastic bag with the beef jerky he loved so much.

“You do always say this will give me a heart attack,” he smiled, ripping open one of the packages with his teeth. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, Eddie’s massaging hand lulling you into a level of relaxation that let you both know you wouldn’t be joining Steve and Robin at the bar like you originally planned. With all of his talk of malintentions on your front, you were pretty sure that he was trying to lull you into the state you were in now so he wouldn’t want to go out. 

Eddie talked a big game, but when faced with the decision to hit the town or stay curled up in bed with you, he was hiding your shoes, boiling water for tea, and putting a blanket on the radiator for maximum comfort. 

“Hey, you know I appreciate it, right?” he asked through his chewing. 

“What, the snacks? They were like, two bucks,” you told him. He pinched your skin lightly, chastising you for making him talk about how he truly felt,

“No, you doing all of that for Uncle Wayne.” You kept your eyes on the stars that were starting to dot the sky. It was always so much easier to spot them from the trailer park, even more so with Eddie by your side.

“I was happy to,” you reassured. It wasn’t a secret how much you loved spending time not only with your boyfriend, but with his uncle. He always made space for you in his home and trusted you with the most important thing in his life. 

“I know, but it still means a lot, Sweetheart. I love you,” he lifted your leg slightly so he could lean down and press his lips to your ankle where your leggings separated from your sock.

“I love you,” you answered automatically.

“Next week I’ll make sure he goes out so I can give you a romantic evening,” he promised.

“This is a romantic evening,” you hummed.

“Baby,  I know I’m white trash, but don’t let me drag you down into thinking this is romance,” he laughed. You sighed and finally took the bait from all of his negative quips.

“Okay, what’s your idea of romance, then?” 

“Not helping my uncle get laid,” he scoffed. You pulled your leg from his grasp to lightly kick at his chest. “Alright, alright. If I had unlimited cash I would start by hiring a chef to cook for us so we wouldn’t even need to leave the house,” he started, cajoling your leg back into his grasp to continue his massage.

“Does that mean I wouldn’t have to dress up?” you asked.

“Ideally, you wouldn’t be wearing anything,” he said, fully meaning it. “I’d have a new piece of jewelry come out with every course, so I guess you could wear that. And after we ate, maybe I’d hire someone to play us a concert, like Prince or someone. Then we’d go fly to France for dessert on my private jet and come home to the penthouse and watch the sunrise,” he finished.

“That’s not romantic at all,” you said. “That’s just expensive.” You pulled away this time not to punish him, but to get closer. His hand was warm from the work it was putting in on your muscles as opposed to the normal chill. 

“Okay, so then what was the right answer?” he asked. 

“This, just being together,” you said, knocking the air from his chest and the canned response from his lips. 

It was a simple answer that held much more beneath the surface. What you weren’t saying was that every time you were with him felt like you were winning the lottery. The idea of a five-star meal and some diamonds were nice, but you’d take Eddie heating up a can of soup on the stove, a bracelet made of string and beads, and him playing the same guitar riff over and over for hours over anything he could cook up in his mind.

Despite the nice picture he painted, running through his mind was a more similar scene to yours, except there was a ring on your finger.

“I guess that sounds good, too.”

[c0la-queen]

I absolutely LOVE your writing, it's so nice to see eddsworld content especially this good <33 can I request Tord with a very shy partner? No pressure ofc, take your time!

Thank you!!! My neurons were absolutely firing with this piece, for realsies. It may not be exaactly what you envisioned? And I was trying not to make the Reader be the stereotypical "uwu im so shy sowwy" kind of shy? You know what I mean? Either way, I hope you enjoy, and if its not quite what you wanted, PLEASE feel free to send me an inbox message letting me know !!!

Run, Rabbit, Run. | Tord x Shy! Reader

Warnings: Mostly Tord's POV, not the fluffiest? it has a happy ending, but Tord is naturally a kind of fucked-up person.

---

Tord had a problem.

He doesn't have problems often, and certainly not problems he can't solve.

It wasn't every day that he wanted to be around someone - craved it. He acted like he only tolerated his roommates, kept the truth locked away under thick layers of steel.

But you. He sought you out, needed you like it ached. Your presence.

You, however, ran from him. Every time. Fled like a rabbit that had caught a glimpse of the stalking wolf. Scurried back to your burrow, safe and protected by densely packed earth. Where he could not reach you. It grinded at his patience, made him clench his jaw hard enough to crack a tooth. He walked into a room, you found an excuse to walk out. It was a constant among the chaos and unpredictability of their house.

The one thing that he needed like a dying man, and he couldn't have it. You wouldn't give it to him.

A problem.

He was going to fix this problem, if it meant the death of him.

And who was he but a stubborn man?

--

His opportunity came during a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The other three were all out, running errands and such. You were still home. Doing laundry, from the sound of it. He wasn't surprised, you liked to use Sunday as the day to do your household chores, reset for the coming week - not that he had been paying attention to your habits. No. Just coincidence.

From the garage, he could hear you. The wall that his workbench sat against was one that was shared with the laundry room, so it wasn't difficult. If he sat still, focused enough, he could practically imagine it. You, in your crop t-shirt and little sleep shorts that you always wore when you did laundry. Hair pushed out of your face. Dancing along to the music that he could hear playing from your phone - doing those silly, awkward dance moves that you did when you thought nobody was looking.

He wanted to be there. It was selfish, he knew. But that little undamaged piece of him sitting in his chest longed to join you. Insert himself into the little life that you had carved out for yourself in their house. Slot his own being so nicely beside your peace and quiet. You were so… unlike him. You were soft, sweet. Like the skolebrød of his childhood. You were vanilla and sugar. Unmarred by anything horrible in the world. That self-centered part of him wanted to take. To clamp his jaws down around your hind legs and sink his teeth in when you tried to escape.

Tord was moving before he even realized it.

You had moved out of the laundry room. Your music faded as you walked further into the house. If he remembered correctly (That phrase tasted bittersweet on his tongue. As much as he craved you, he didn't want to admit how actively he was chasing you. A wolf that resented the rabbit.) you would set about doing the dishes after depositing your empty laundry basket in your bedroom.

His mouth was dry. So he moved to the kitchen. To get water. (That's what he would tell you. That's what he would tell anybody who asked.)

The switch from the garage to the house was always jarring to the senses. The garage was cold, unprotected from the autumn chill. But the house was warm. Welcoming. Safe. (You were inside.) It was like sitting under a hot shower after catching hypothermia.

He stopped in the doorway.

There you were. In the kitchen. Dishwasher open. Your smartwatch was discarded on the kitchen table alongside your phone and water bottle. Music was still playing from the device's speakers. You were, just as he guessed, wearing your crop tee and shorts. (The collar was hanging low on one of your shoulders, bearing the skin to his vision. His hands itched.) You hadn't noticed him yet. Little rabbit unaware of the danger that lurks in the forest underbrush.

It was something beautiful watching you in your own little world. In public, you were so small. Reserved. Put a cork on your personality so that nobody could truly see who you were. To you, it felt like security. If nobody had access to your identity, then nobody could take it away. Nobody could judge you. Even home, with the boys, you were less than yourself. Not to the same degree, but still limited. They didn't take offense to it, they knew it wasn't you distrusting them. It's just how you were. But here, when you thought you were alone? The cork was removed and he loved to watch the bottle overflow.

You spun on your heel and nearly dropped the bowls in your hand from how hard you flinched at the sight of him. He could see the way that you drew in to yourself, made yourself smaller.

"Oh, um, hey. Tord. I didn't… realize you were home."

There was something tight in his chest at the way you looked so nervous. You shifted in your spot, looked anywhere but at him. He wanted you to look at him.

"I am."

You only answered with a soft 'oh' before turning back to the dishwasher. He remained still, watching. Clearly, you were looking for a way out, a chance to flee. Something he wasn't going to let happen.

"I should probably-"

"You keep avoiding me."

Your head shot up, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes. He dug his fingernails into his palms.

"What? No, no I haven't- I haven't been-"

"Do not lie to me."

It was cruel, yes, but it gave him the desired effect. You clammed up immediately. Shoulders slumped. Gave him just a little inch, but that was all he needed to take a mile. He stepped closer. You stepped back.

A snarling, drooling, hungry wolf, closing in on its prey.

Your back hit the counter. He stepped forward again.

A trembling little rabbit, cornered with nowhere to go.

He stopped a foot away from you.

"I have tolerated this for months. For months I have watched you run from the sight of me alone. As if the very idea of being in the same room as me is too much for you to bear. Do you even have any idea what you do to me? Do you know how it kills me?"

He could feel the way that you tensed up. A spike of anger stuck into his chest, burning hot. You weren't looking at him. You were looking at your shoes again. He forced his words out of his throat in the form of a growl.

"For fuck's sake, look at me. Look at- Look. At. Me."

Frustration boiled over, bubbling and spilling over the sides of the pot and he wasn't able to put the lid on it fast enough. He reached up and grabbed your jaw, holding it firmly between his index and thumb. Forced your eyes to focus on him. Only him.

A sick part of him preened at the little gasp that came out of your throat.

But you kept your eyes on him. Good girl.

"Tell me why you have been avoiding me."

His voice was softer now. He hated how much pain he could hear in it. How it trembled. He had hoped you wouldn't notice. But you did. Your mouth opened. Then closed. You swallowed thickly. Then you spoke.

"I thought…. thought you didn't like me."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Him? Not like you? How could you think that? He could only hate you as much as a hunter hates Mother Earth for blessing him with food.

"You just… always seem so.. annoyed at me whenever I try to talk to you. And you never really… really talk back.. Just kinda… give short answers. I thought you found me annoying. I didn't want to keep annoying you. So I just… just backed off…."

He took a moment to process that. Let it all sink in.

He couldn't help it.

Tord began to laugh.

Through his laughter, he noticed you pout, heard a soft whine leave you. A groan ripped through his laugh at the sight. As if his body was working on autopilot, he surged forward. Pressed his lips to yours. He felt your gasp against his lips, then felt your melt into the kiss. You kissed back.

When his oxygen began to run short, he pulled away. Not too far, though. Kept his forehead pressed flush to yours. Took in the sight of you. You, panting softly, lips swollen from the kiss. Looking up at him through your pretty eyelashes.

"I have never hated you, kjære. I am… aloof. I have a resting bitch face. You are not the first person I have unnerved. But.. you are the first that I have wanted to be close to. If you would have me."

Courtesy. Formality. Tord was a stubborn man, and when he managed to get a taste of blood, he clamped his jaws down tight and didn't let go.

And this rabbit laid down in his teeth willingly.

You smiled.

"I'd like that. Yeah."

[missinghan]

falling asleep in a time machine ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : mafia au; fluffy angst; hurt/comfort; female reader insert

❖ word count : 6,9k.

❖ warning : swearing, implied major character death, mention of arson, depictions of vomiting, killing, blood, death, can be brutal (!!!), delusional happy ending. 

❖ summary : four times you try to go back in time and save chan; or alternatively, you keep dreaming about chan to see if there is a way to undo his death when in reality there isn’t — from the world of illicit & priceless.

❖ author’s note : just finished my first term of uni (like actually the first term ever) and I’m so dead inside so here’s a silly little something. I can’t use pts anymore so pls bear with the banner *cries and dusts off this old blog* also I try to explain here why Chan was so attached and pissed off when mc stole his mother’s ring even though it’s accidental.

first attempt —

There are three missions that have altered the course of your and Chan’s relationship.

The first mission goes back to when you were still going on heists and Ryujin had foolishly put a piece of Chan’s mother’s sentiments into your pocket. Neither you nor Chan have come to know or like each other much before it.

The second one is the mansion with a bomb planted in the basement and Chan got locked inside a conference room with a three-layered door, one of them made from the same metal as the fucking Titanic. The third mission involves a casino where the Germans and Italians came together to push Chan toward a dead-end they had cultivated for the Devil himself, to his ultimate demise. They are all too arrogant to admit that Chan will take over the entirety of the East Asian market before any of them can start rolling in their graves.

Three missions of importance and not long after that, you and Chan have agreed to never go on a mission without each other. An unwritten contract. An unspoken promise. Nothing that the mafia engages in is legal so everything runs on trust, on how much faith you are willing to give those who you keep close.

However, there is a fourth mission that the Underworld records will fail to keep because even only a minuscule part of the Bang family is informed about this—how their precious heir has been summoned to bring home the girl he loves.

“Would you do laundry and taxes with me?”

“That’s an odd way to propose to someone, Y/N. And please, you’re asking an obvious question.” Chan looks up at you from his book. His smile is gentle, soft at the corners with his dimples sinking in—it’s how you know that he means it—the way it usually is these days. The way it has been for the past year. It is almost obscure, you think, how you both would have wanted each other’s head on a stick a year ago before one of you managed to make the other person cry out of gratitude.

You lift the book away from his face, glimpsing at the cover. Because Chan is an absolute heathen, he has been reading No Longer Human and you’re being annoying about it because he hasn’t come out to train with you for two days already. “Are you telling me you’ll say ‘no’?”

“We’re already doing laundry and taxes together. We will just have matching rings and a signed piece of paper,” Chan gives you a pointed look; he always looks so serious whenever he wants to correct you as if your sarcasm is that dry. “So it naturally implies as a ‘yes’, idiot,” he nags, even though he doesn’t mean the last part.

“Oh how you wound me, love,” you bite back, even though you don’t mean it either. “Chan, come on. You’re locking yourself up in a prison.”

Chan lets out a long, heavy sigh as if he’s insulted that you have just called his room a prison—which you never verbally hinted at, he simply interpreted it that way. He reaches over to grab the book from your hand, seemingly giving up his reading time for you, and places it on his bedside. 

“What are you–” You watch as Chan walks over to one of his mahogany drawers. “-doing?”

“I need caffeine to talk to you.”

Despite your bristling, he stays true to his words and finds himself a mug, a tea bag, along with a boiler. By the time Chan finishes filling up the boiler with water and turns on the heating switch, your legs are dangling over the edge of his bed as you puff up like a cat, baffled and offended. 

“So,” Chan inquires, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “What’s up?”

“I find your current state distressing to look at,” you elaborate with glee, a glint coming into your eyes that Chan knows you’re up to no good. “Take a week off with me. We can go anywhere you want, it’ll be a short getaway, just the two of us.”

Chan’s back is turned toward you because he’s too busy searching for a spoon but you can boldly assume that he’s smiling. It’s hinted in his tone when he asks, “You mean a vacation?”

“Brilliant interpretation, Chan,” you smile wryly. “Of course, I meant a vacation!”

“No, you can go have fun by yourself. You have my permission,” he shakes his head. “I have things to attend to. Meetings, banquets, important business transactions. You know how boring the mafia lifestyle is.”

You still, voice low and suppressed in something Chan can’t seem to grasp at. “You’re going back to your family.” It’s barely a movement, a small enough action. Any passerby would think that you have only faltered a little but Chan has observed you for a good while now to notice you’re holding your shoulders back from trembling. 

“I am going back to my family,” he repeats calmly. “Only for a week, though. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Chan, I know they want to see me.”

Chan tries not to let anything show on his face. “And they may very well kill you because that is what they are. Godawful, egoistic, and incapable of compassion.”

“Let me go with you, I—” you begin, though you cut yourself off almost instantly. The room is suddenly steeped in silence, unwieldy at the absence of your words. Every noise seems amplified in the quiet: the boys’ chatters echoing dully from the living room, the ticking hands of the clock, and every breath you take to calm the anxiety in your rib cage.

I do not fear death, sickness, or anyone’s hatred. What I fear most is losing you, Chan. It’s all so beyond you because a year ago, you were a thief, taking things as you please and sending them away when they’re no longer of use for your benefit. Now there is someone who you will live for and his kiss you will kill for, his laugh you will die for.

“Chan, do you have any idea what I would turn into if you left me?” You have always worried loudly, from the volume of your attentiveness and the anxiety beneath your skin all lie in the tender manner of how you love Chan—the same goes for him, that you can be certain of.

“I will never leave you, Y/N. We will be okay,” he assures you, unbearably calm.

Chan is a liar. 

second attempt —

Chan is supposed to go back to the Bang family’s estate with Yuriko for the New Year. Yuriko is the housekeeper whom he has retired for about a year ever since you came into the picture. The boys, especially Jisung, have been forced into keeping their surroundings clean because, for some wicked reason, they think you are absolutely terrifying when you’re upset about their muddy shoes dirtying the floor after a mission. Yuriko always giggles at that, her Young Master surely knows how to pick a partner. 

“I’ve got word that your father wants you to back to the estate, Young Master,” Yuriko tells Chan when she finds you and Chan in the archive because you have insisted on reading about something you won’t say a word to him. Surely, Chan recognizes what you’re searching for but he doesn’t mention it. 

“He said he wanted to make sure you are ready to take over his position. And there is a dinner he wants your attendance for,” Yuriko continues, hands clasped behind her back. You didn’t even realize when she stepped in and approached Chan—for a mere housekeeper to be so swift and quiet with her movements, you have long guessed that she’s not just any old woman to be hired by the Bang family.

The way Chan stiffens in his seat is telling all on its own. You are suddenly struck with the recurring memory of how Minho used to babble about how much of an ass Chan’s family is when he has had one too many drinks. “You don’t know how bigshot mafia families treat their children, do you? They kept the world from knowing for a reason. I’m surprised Chan didn’t turn out to be a monster like them.”

“Forgive me, Yuriko, but you can tell the old man to suck it up,” Chan says softly but his voice is dark, tense, riddled with a sharpness you haven’t heard from him in a long time—you were threatened just the same way when you had stolen his mother’s ring. Now you realize Chan only ever speaks so heartlessly if something precious to him is hanging on the verge of being taken away. 

“Young Master,” Yuriko frowns for two reasons; firstly, Chan has never been able to decline his blood family of anything and secondly, there isn’t much that she can do to solve the problem at hand. She’s a mere servant for the Bang family; she doesn’t have much power to begin with and therefore, she can’t exactly tell them ‘no’. 

“No, you can’t make me,” Chan grits because he knows, he understands it all too well. Unsaid words of all the things money can buy hang in the air like bile. 

“Young Master Christopher, you must know what happens if you defy your father.” And there goes Yuriko’s final warning along with Chan dashing out of the archive, straight through the hallway and the front door of the mansion, completely vanishing in the white curtain of December snow.

Yuriko murmurs something under her breath, unintended for you to hear her. You continue staring forward, the file in your hands completely forgotten. “He can come home with me,” you say without actually thinking about it until she turns to stare at you, expressionless before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“I think Young Master would like that.”

With that, you set off to find Chan.

“No one will love you unconditionally like we do.” “You belong to us, so do as we say.” “Work to kill, kill or you’ll die. You were born to kill, it’s a gift that not everyone receives.” “The world will bow before you and sway the way you want it but you’ll have to-”

“I don’t want any of that,” Chan hisses but the voices keep coming back louder, harsher, with more bite than he has ever heard from them. “None of you ever gave me anything that matters! You just can’t admit that you made me a murderer!!” 

The snow around him sinks with each step he takes, their words still echoing in his mind and sending shivers down his spine, driven so deeply inside his skull that he wishes he could have nothing of this reality. “Be mindful of yourself. Control it.” “Your fangs and claws are too sharp for you to be swinging just at anyone,” he hears them again

His nose burns in the cold but Chan doesn’t notice something warm and wet trickle down his cheekbones. “You never cared about restraint. You said I must kill or I would die. You all just want to possess me, you want me not as an heir but as a commodity!!”

“It’s how we’ve been running this family. It’s how we keep things in order. You’re one of us, Christopher, you are this family.”

With a huff, Chan eventually gives in and listens because he has no other choice but to; he slides down against concrete with a white-out vision, a quivering figure with nothing on but his cardigan. “Then you’re just as godawful as any of them,” he tells himself, knees curling against his chest, almost justified in his own lie that he wants to burst out laughing.

Chan knows they have made him more of a weapon than a child, more of a monster than a man and he is stuck with it for good. He has been holding onto life just because he can, not so much that he wants to. Because he never truly wanted anything before or was wanted in any way.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking man-child!”

He hears someone’s nagging from afar and ignores it, hugging himself impossibly tighter because asking for comfort is unacceptable, they taught him so. “Chan!!” He hopes it goes away with all of the other voices. 

It doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer in a humane form, boots crunching against the snow and warm breaths sounding rhythmically. “It’s been an hour. Do you have any idea how worried we all were- how worried I was?! What the actual hell,” you snap. “Now I’m going to hear all this shit from Seungmin again because I let you run off and he’s too terrified of you to properly lecture you. God-”

Your rambles cut off when you kneel down next to him, rummaging for a scarf, a pair of gloves, yet another pair of gloves, his puffer jacket, and a hat from your bag. Chan quietly watches as he tries to blink away the oncoming tears but he can’t—they keep coming. He doesn’t reply when your scolding goes on because even though your voice is sharp, Chan can catch the worry hidden along the edges. Being cared for and cherished like this has made him realize how much he doesn’t want to come back to his family and he wants to cry like he’s the fourteen-year-old boy who used to refuse to pick up a gun all over again.

A child who was unable to stuff down the overwhelming agony and grief forced upon him. A child who was weaponized. A child who was threatened into killing his own mother. “If you can’t kill what you hold near and dear, you’ll never be able to kill anyone to save yourself.”

“Chan?” you call out to him, unbearably soft. There’s a certainty, a sort of gentleness in the way his name is said that only makes his tears come hotter, more and more of it because your love feels big, overwhelming.

Chan hates crying so he never did, not when they had locked him up in his room, not when they had starved him because of his disobedience, not when they had made him pull the trigger with the gun’s mouth pressing against his mother’s chest. Chan hates crying but it seems to be all he’s doing now. 

You’re wrapping him up so gently and trying to warm him up because you know he’s just as human as any mundane individual out there. Humans shiver when the temperature drops, they shed tears when they’re upset, and they bleed and bruise at the right amount of impact. That’s why humans are so clingy toward each other so they can prevent harm from coming the other person’s way. Because no one enjoys getting hurt and there is no good reason to voluntarily get hurt; it sounds like common sense but Chan never grew up with such things. He never came to think he was deserving of such things.

“Chan, come home with me. Forget your family. I don’t need to know about them,” you smile at him, somehow empathetic and so understanding when Chan has barely given you an explanation, when he is desperate to fill the silence but he knows his voice will be weak with tears, stumbling, and pitching all over the place.

Chan sniffles, finding the courage to say something back because he wants to, not because he feels like he has to, “Can I really…come-come home with you?”

“I’m sure the girls wouldn't mind, they might be a little annoying. Yeji, though, can be wary of strangers,” you shrug, something so relaxed about your posture tells him that you have learned to accept something without telling him. 

A breathy chuckle. “Especially when they’re a mafia leader.”

An exhale. Chan shudders when you embrace him wholly—every moment of pride and arrogance, betrayal and hurt that he has been boxing away—as the beautiful mess that he is. You’re the safest person on the face of Earth not because you are on equal terms with him in power but because you never care about those things. You will let him break something, burn something down, cry, and laugh however he pleases but you won’t ever let go of his hand. You never ask him for anything in return while continuing to save him over and over again.

He’s so unbelievably lucky, Chan thinks but doesn’t say it aloud, instead, he tells you, “If you’ll have me.”

The night after you drive Chan back to your mansion, the place goes up in flames. Only you are able to open your eyes to see the next daylight.

“Welcome home,” you want to whisper but can only watch a last smile bloom on the face of a ghost amidst the orange blaze.

third attempt —

You decide to come home with Chan.

For a non-mafia family, it might go like this.

Meeting Chan’s parents will be the hardest thing you have ever done—and that is coming from someone who has broken through the world’s most modern security systems and got your hands on objects worth billions of dollars. 

You will bow when you meet them, use the politest speech you have taught yourself last minute, and desperately try not to remember how Chan was forced to shoot his own mother as a child. They will pinch your cheek and call you lovely, chuckling at how stiff you are and offering you a ‘Come on in! Don’t mind the mess, it’s always how our house is.’

You will smile and you will play along because you want them to like you so badly it hurts. 

Chan will gawk at you without even trying to hide it because you have given him a completely different experience upon your first encounter. Casual, timid, and quick with your tongues when it comes to those witty retorts.

They will then ask you, ‘‘What are your hobbies? Any sports? Instruments?’’ Purely in the Asian parents’ style. 

You will be so nervous that you forget you play the violin and practice meditation occasionally. You will sit at their dinner table in their cozy, lived-in home, and rack your brain for a proper answer that might be deemed reasonable for a mundane girl. “It can be anything you do for fun, honey. No need to be nervous,” they will say again and you will give them a small grimace in return. 

It’s probably deeply fucked up when the first thing that comes to your mind is ‘I retired from heists a year ago because museums are fucking boring so I have moved on to finding new and creative ways to eliminate anything that might be the cause of Chan’s suffering.’

“…You play the violin beautifully,” Chan will suggest quietly beside you, his hand laced with yours beneath the table. “And you interrupt my reading time whenever you need attention.”

“I…I like to be with you,” you will finally find the courage to say with a firm squeeze of his hand, and the strength to smile when his eyes widen faintly, flustered yet not surprised. 

Still, it doesn’t matter whether Chan was born from a mafia family. You don’t hesitate to hold his hand beneath the table when Chan tenses up from the disappointed gaze of his father, lean over ever so slightly, and whisper, “I like to be with you.” He almost gasps but refrains. “Wherever we are. As long as you allow me to stay by your side.”

For once, Chan lets himself think that he won’t fuck up something before he even gets to have it in his arms. 

You did come home with Chan even if the dinner is anything but cozy and mundane. Their smiles are cold porcelain, a familiarity with death so staggering you feel nauseous. They are all here, though. Every single one of them. “I’ll be back,” you say and excuse yourself to use the restroom, he assumes.

Chan finds an uneasy slick in his throat, almost thick like blood when he sees a bright thing in your eyes. He lets you go anyway. Will things happen differently if he holds you back? 

Minutes after your withdrawal from the dinner table, an explosion goes off downstairs. The mansion quivers with a long string of rumble, a horrible feeling looming over everyone in the room like an ugly shadow. Though, no one bats an eye. Maintaining such a high position in the Underworld for so long is more than enough for the bounty on each of their heads to go up to millions of dollars. 

As much as Chan detests his blood family, he doesn’t want to die here, a horrendous place for his corpse to be found. So he stands as the rest of the room begins arming themselves, doing his best not to pay any heed to his father, and bolts downstairs. 

In situations like this, he is taught to close his heart and kill. Hence why there was barely any screaming when the commotion occurred, only the metallic sounds of bullets being clicked into their chamber. Truth be told, there is a weapon vault on the main floor of the mansion. Chan knows the most efficient shortcut there and can run through any hallways even without any lights on. He did grow up in this terrible place, and now he will make use of that to get you out of here before anything else. 

Chan arrives at the main floor and there is nothing but a giant hole and crumbled metal pieces in the weapon vault—or what used to be the weapon vault, blown up by a bomb it seems. Well, shit, he doesn’t even know how to register this. The entrance to his father’s most treasured place in the mansion has a three-layered door with an extremely lethal surveillance system, who and how the fuck-

He stops. He doesn’t so much as twitch. It gives him a moment of pure chill when the main floor has gone completely muted, both audibly and visually, like his life has just tipped off balance and leaned towards the bad part of a zombie movie. Upstairs, there is a cry for help and the sound of bullets continuously firing. 

“My fucking god,” Chan curses and turns on his heels, steeling himself mentally while rushing up the stairs. 

Upon arriving at the scene, it’s difficult to say whether turning up just five minutes earlier would have made much of a difference. Fuck, but if he had held you back, would things have taken a different turn?

There is a lot of blood. Too much blood to be explained away, and too much evidence to be traced back to no one else other than you. Well, to be fair, you’re the only person still standing and kicking aside from Chan anyway. The shotgun in your hand with a silencer attached speaks volumes, a knife between your teeth, and your left hand is fisted tightly. 

“…Y-Y/N,” Chan utters, in disbelief. “You’re Y/N, aren’t you?” 

You release something in your left hand and several fifteen-bullet magazines drop to the ground, the sound scratching his spine in the wrong way. The knife also hits the ground, metal echoing loudly against hard marble. 

“You’re here, Chan,” you reply, like your hands and clothes aren’t painted red. Swiftly, you duck to fumble for something beneath the dining table. Chan’s gaze follows you suit, prompting uneasiness to crawl down his throat when he realizes everything is, quite literally, drenched in blood. When he manages to snap out of it, you are unwrapping something from a white blanket—Berry, his eight-year-old Spaniel. 

You don’t look one bit surprised to see him—you have been expecting him. You simply keep on tucking Berry neatly into the blanket, murmuring something along the lines of ‘it’s over now’ and ‘I’m sorry I scared you’. Berry offers you a small whimper in return, still startled and recovering from the loud ruckus. 

Chan inhales very slowly. Exhales. “What did you do?”

“I killed everyone here,” you say levelly, as if mass murder is no big deal. “You’re a little late. I thought your intuition would be keener than that.”

“This is no time for a fucking joke,” he snaps. Chan has snapped because he’s mad at himself. He has been living purely by his intuition for more than two decades already, without it he would have died a long time ago. Yet when it comes to you, he’s always the most irrational. 

Your lips twitch like you’re about to smile but realize he’s upset. “You’re right, sorry.” 

Chan moves further into the room, his shoes squelching with each blood-drenched step he takes. He takes the scene in once again and keeps calm because that is what he has trained himself to do ever since the first time he got kidnapped. When his gaze brushes over the corpse of his father, he tries not to think about anything just yet. What’s done is done but Chan can piece the scene together from the explosion downstairs—a bait that anyone will be eager to take and a good way to disarm your enemies—to the scattering of hole-filled bodies, their blood blooming against the marble floor like a grotesque bouquet.

The crux of it is you know all too well he will run to find you without question, lending you the space and time to kill whoever remains.

“Why?”

Your eyes sweep over the mass of bodies, dull and distant. “Does it really matter?” You don’t think it’s fair to say you did it because you love him; it will become a curse that haunts him for as long as he lives. Yes, you love Chan with your entire soul but you also simply want to act as you please, allowing yourself to have your selfish ways of declaring your love for him. 

His chest heaves without any stability. “I thought you said you’re used to taking many things but you don’t take lives!!”

You cut right in, all glass. “Will anyone be able to do anything about it? Can anyone possibly arrest me, Chan?” 

Chan shudders, a sour thing gnawing at the back of his throat. It’s a morbid feeling he knows will become recurring at night, on the bad days. Chan wants to be furious, it feels like a moral obligation to be. Then again, everything the world has learned about empathy is already torn up by his family, they smeared it beneath their feet like it’s common trash. In the end, all of his nightmares and source of fear amounts to this, a mass of corpses with no resolution. 

“Do you want to kill me, Chan? If so, do it. You’re your own person, you are free.” 

Your eyes have turned into ice, and suddenly you have become so intangible that Chan slowly grows afraid. He thinks of terrible things, Am I allowed to have you? What makes you want me so badly? Why am I different from any of them?

The sound of retching interrupts his train of thought. It takes him precisely half a second to stare at how you are folded over your knees, dry heaving at the marble floor with Berry fumbling for help right at your side. Chan rushes to you to keep your hair out of your face as you gasp for air, choking on stomach bile and body raking with shudders. Once his hand smooths over the fabric on your back, you eventually cough and hack out the last of whatever is left that your system rejects. 

You breathe as shallowly as you can. Quiet wheezes, hollow breaths that pull in and out of your lungs too quickly. Chan rubs small, gentle circles on your back and doesn’t expect it when you snap up to look at him with wide, pained eyes as though you didn’t just murder his entire family in cold blood minutes ago, like you didn’t just take out the Underworld’s most feared lineage of demons by yourself.

Chan decides not to say anything, lets you lean into him shakily, and tries to figure out what you’re attempting to do with your hands. Dry blood makes your skin itchy every time your fingers twitch but you don’t mind it. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he finally whispers with you sitting in the circle of his arms; you’re shaking like you’re sobbing even though you make no noise and cry no tears. Chan lets you squirm with a wild mania in your eyes, frantic and lost. He can’t quite pinpoint what you want until he gets it. 

You stop shaking the moment your head leans against the left side of his chest, right where his beating heart is. A pattern in his rib cage and a rhythm in your ears, relief so immense you feel like you can finally breathe. What you want is just to hear the sound of his heartbeat. It makes Chan feel a little exposed, somewhat scrutinized but he really doesn’t mind taking himself apart to hand his heart over to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your tone wet and warm with oncoming tears. 

Chan presses his lips into a thin line, feeling like a hypocrite when he keeps you caged in his arms. “What are you sorry for, silly?” From the bottom of his heart, it’s abominable, he thinks—that even amidst such gruesome bloodshed created by your own hands, Chan is relieved that you are not hurt.

“I’m sorry this isn’t real.”

fourth attempt —

Chan is coming home with you. The childhood home you used to grow up in with two extremely loving, a little too oblivious parents who never once questioned their daughter’s occupation in the big city. 

It takes time to adjust but Chan is sliding into your little family without noticing it himself. He manages to impress your mom with his cooking and discusses politics with your dad. You might be going delusional but you swear you saw him chuckling faintly at your parents’ terrible taste of reality TV. 

The house might only amount to one-tenth of his mansion but it smells like fresh laundry all around, tender and soft, smothered in the love of ordinary human beings. So everything just feels that much bigger, a love so warm and overwhelming it stains Chan’s eyes with unfamiliar myriads of emotions. It takes him a few days to finally laugh a little louder, not refraining his speech to specifically formal phrases, and allowing himself to nag you in front of your parents. He even makes a sound of disbelief when you keep telling them he’s only a friend from work.

“Oh my god, why are you so salty about it,” you chide and close your bedroom door. “If I had said you’re my boyfriend, they would have started interrogating you!” 

Chan sits on the duvet you have laid on the floor for him—your childhood bed is too small to share—and mumbles something morbid under his breath, “I am quite good at tolerating any methods of torture thank you very much.” However, he doesn’t miss the look your parents give you whenever you bid them goodnight with Chan hovering over you in a way that’s nowhere near platonic.

You snort, actually, no, it’s too bitter for you to even react. “The worst they will do is leave you out when we watch TV,” you grin to relieve the inevitably building tension, shit-eating and all.

“That’s cruel. You know I love reality TV,” Chan replies, completely monotone. He flings an arm over his eyes like he’s putting in effort to mimic a dying body trying to convey his love in a Shakespeare play. Wrestling with like ten other housewives to buy those eggs on sale for your mom was more of a workout than any gun fights he has engaged in.

“Sleep. Mom said we’re going outside tomorrow,” you huff, tossing him a teddy bear from your bed—the amount of stuffed animals you own is impressive, they easily take up half of your bed so Chan had to accept his fate with the duvet. 

“I thought we’re heading back?”

“We will after going out with her. She said she wanted something from the bakery.”

Chan hums in response, his gaze skimming over the interior of your room again. Light pink wallpapers, white bookshelves and wardrobe lining the corners, and soft hues of blue on your bed and curtains to top it all off. “Truly, you are the designer of a generation.”

“Toddlers usually don’t like black. And I was eight, Chan, shut the fuck up,” you laugh, the sound so hearty it makes him want to bottle it and keep it all to himself like a child hiding his favorite candy. 

“Hurts my eyes a little, but I like it,” he declares and unwinds for the day.

You never realize you don’t really walk around town every time you visit your parents. Maybe it’s because you didn’t have many friends growing up, meaning there’s no one to call up for a hangout, or maybe it’s because all of the memories you want to relive here are with your parents, in the warmth of their home. So you walk down the sleepy streets with laziness on your shoulders, somewhat at peace when Chan can’t seem to keep his eyes in one place, secretly comparing the imageries of bright, colorful Seoul with this hazy rural area.

“What is that place over there?” He asks when you stride past a sketchy-looking building when in reality, it’s a spa run by this really nice old lady upstairs.

“Did you go to school here?” He ponders when you glance at what looks like a middle school; no kids are running and shouting in the playground since it’s the New Year holiday. 

Your mom notices how much curiosity Chan has for an apparent mid-twenties young adult so she giggles, offering to point out something she thinks he might be interested in, “That’s a small park Y/N used to play at. She wouldn’t leave when I came to pick her up after work.”

You can’t decide if you should scowl at your mom or burst out laughing at her implication that Chan, the leader of a notorious mafia group, should go and sit on one of the swings while she heads inside the bakery. “Come on, Chan,” you quickly make your choice. 

Chan sighs, though the sound is fond because he sees a sort of excitement blooming loud and clear in your pretty eyes. You have observed Chan long enough to know when he has given in so you laugh, turning to your mom and saying, “We’ll be back in a minute.” The familiar promise melts Chan inside out but he doesn’t tell you that. 

You accidentally drop your phone while walking down the stone steps so you turn away for half a second. And when you look back, Chan is seated neatly on the swing which is definitely not fitting for his age—his long legs dragging against the soil as his arms are crossed in front of his chest. As serious as he tries to look, you find the whole imagery so ridiculously unserious. He senses your gaze burning holes on the back of his neck so he stands, reaches upward, and lifts himself to sit on the metal bar that the chains rain down from.

“Chan, what the fuck, that’s not how you use a swing,” you chide, nearly rolling on the ground and barking a laugh. “If I take a photo of you right now, how dead am I?”

Chan doesn’t even need to turn his head. “What do you think?”

He looks down when your footsteps squish against the snow and he tries to imagine how a little you would hang around this place for an entire afternoon, up to no good things while waiting for your mom. “Concise as always, boss,” you purse your lips at him, nostalgia a heavy weight on the curve of your shoulders as you peer over places you used to designate as your hiding spots. 

Chan catches something shifting on your face and he ponders; why would you voluntarily involve yourself in outlaw doings when you could have had a perfectly normal life? “When did you start stealing?” 

“Probably when my parents sent me away for university. I hated it. School was hard and the expenses were awful for their bank accounts but they wouldn’t tell me that,” you mutter and decide to join him, legs dangling over the edges, a confession dragged from your lips unwillingly. 

Chan scoots a little closer, a hand reaching over to your left side to keep you from falling. “And you figured you were pretty good at it?”

“Nothing to be proud of, obviously,” you shake your head and can’t help a small grin. “Okay, maybe just a little. I was making money from racing on the side as well.” 

It takes him a moment to register your words when surprise halts the words in his throat. No wonder you’re better at handling car chases than any of his teammates who have been involved in this business for years. You look over at him, seeing that he’s having trouble reacting so you pinch his nose teasingly, “I know, so sexy, ain���t it?” 

Chan rolls his eyes, neglects the warmth spreading on his cheeks, and simply sits with you. The swing creaks and groans beneath the weight of two adults, rust staining his hand when he lifts it to check. 

“It was enough money for me to graduate and I was fine with that. Mind you I was always the top of my class,” you scoff, thinking of long days when you used to get little to no sleep, of when you had mustered the best smiles for your parents through FaceTime, of how you had begun not caring for how much money the jewels you had stolen were worth. 

None of it matters anymore, you think as you lean into Chan, and he lets you. “I’ll guess this, you were homeschooled?”

Chan doesn’t answer immediately as realization tightens his ribs. You don’t talk about home or how you grew up, and Chan doesn’t talk about his parents. Perhaps you both are similar in that way so neither of you mind when the other person never initiated it. “I was. Everything I ever learned was taught in that forsaken mansion. Most of it, actually.”

“Everything?”

“You can’t run away from what you’re surrounded with,” he says, and there’s a chilling edge to it, an icy kind of shiver that makes your fingers more numb than the winter cold ever can. 

“Chan, you’re not them,” you declare out of the blue, eyes crinkling up in adoration. “You are free, okay? No matter how hard they try to ruin you, you can’t become them.”

When you look up again, his eyes have a glassy shine when he says, “I know that now.”

“Don’t cry,” you huff out a breath.

“I’m not crying,” Chan shakes his head slowly, voice suspiciously shaky. “I guess I just thought you had a lot to live for and I was…you know, it was arrogant of me to keep you by my side.”

You laugh, a sharp, crisp bark of a sound that cuts right through his doubts. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If I wanted to run, I would have and no one could catch me, not now, not ever.”

“Well, I did,” Chan retorts, though there is no bite to it.

“Only because I let you,” you play along sedately. It’s the soft hum of your voice that makes breathing for him feel easier, and his shoulders feel lighter. When Chan exhales, it no longer tastes like the unfathomable, untouchable nightmares that he was so used to choke down, swallow, and not allow himself to throw them up as proof to show anyone else. 

Your mom returns perhaps in about an hour, a box tucked in her arms and groceries hanging from her elbow. “Time to go back,” she yells from the top of the stone steps. “We need to cook dinner, kids!”

You don’t dare budge. Chan notices it and nudges your shoulder gently, sensing your discontent. “You heard your mom, come on now.”

“I don’t want to go back,” you disagree. “Let’s stay here. I want to go to the beach with you when it gets warmer. And diving, kayaking, too!”

“You told me to leave my credit cards back home. You’ll have to feed me and pay all of my expenses,” Chan reminds you.

“Guess what, I left mine at home too,” you reply breezily. Maybe you both need to find new jobs. You don’t think Chan should worry about that because there’s nothing that he can’t do if he puts his mind to it, he’s just that great. Chan is the greatest thing there is, the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You watch rosy lips part, brown eyes widening as his grip on your shoulder falters faintly. “I don’t deserve good things, Y/N. I can’t stay here with you,” Chan says like he means it. “Tell me to leave.” He really is stupid until the very end.

“If you’re worried about that, I’ll kindly decline my spot in heaven and go to hell with you,” you assure him, your voice chirping with mirth but even that doesn’t seem to elevate his gloom at all. A groan. “Fine then, as the most wonderful person alive, I now denounce us of all our wrongdoings. And I announce us to be the best of normal friends as normal people!”

His solemn expression crumbles and now he just looks straight up insulted. “It’s supposed to be ‘husband and wife’,” Chan nags while fighting off a grin of his own.

A light feeling burgeons in your chest. “I thought you didn’t care about that kind of thing? We’re already doing laundry and taxes together, right? It’s not like we have enough money to buy the rings either.”

“I suppose I’ll have no say in that,” Chan sighs in defeat, finally smiling brightly as he reminds himself of what he has, and what he wants to become for you. “But I like to be with you as well. If you’ll have me.”

You look back at him, wanting nothing more than to burn those words into the flesh of your heart. “I already have you right here, don’t I?”

Because Chan’s existence is etched deeply somewhere inside your soul. And you love him everyday for that.

❖ note (yet again) : hello there, if you have reached the end, thank you so much for reading! I wish 2024 will bring you and your loved ones nothing but happiness and great health! (no one asked but I really tried to simplify their speech of affection towards each other here compared to illicit & priceless because all they really want is to be normal people living a normal life)

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

hello! can I ask if you have any head canons for Peeta getting to do normal, typical teenage boy things once he returns to 12 after the war? things he didn’t really get to do while he was fearing and fighting for his life? Like annoying and irritating Haymitch, finding cool looking rocks and junk to excitedly bring home to show Katniss, and other similar dumb but adorably endearing things? Also maybe some HSc of Everlark just generally getting to be free and fun teenagers together post-war? 🥹❤️

Oh ho ho, Anon. You have come to the right place. *cracks knuckles* Currently raising two teenage boys, so I am ready for this ask like you would not believe. Some of these are pure fluff and some of them have a little more spice to them (which are NOT inspired by my boys lmao).

Corny jokes. Like all the damn time. His goal becomes to make Katniss roll her eyes or groan. He comes up with an elaborate point system. A "Joke Score" as a play on a training score. Getting a soft, inanimate object such as a napkin or a pillow thrown at him in combination with a verbal response earns him a perfect 12 for that joke. Examples! When they are going through everything in their Victor's Village house(s), deciding what goes and what stays, Katniss starts labeling everything with pinned/taped on notes. They say things like Donate or Give to Delly or BURN/TAKE AN AXE TO in the case of the giant desk that Snow once sat behind. And one day, Katniss goes to ask Peeta a question, and when he turns around, he's got one of the notes, in her handwriting, that says Keep taped to his forehead.

He gets perverse joy out of tickling Katniss until she can't breathe and/or is about to pee her pants.

He helps Haymitch give the geese absolutely ridiculous names

Katniss is the one who brings him pretty things from the woods. A blossom, a freshly fallen autumn leaf (look at the colors! this one's almost your favorite color), a neat looking rock. He keeps them on the kitchen table for a day or two before returning them to nature.

The cloud game, where they lay in the meadow and give names to the shapes of clouds, the more ridiculous the better, which Peeta usually wins (an alligator swallowing a garbage truck... no it is, look!)

"IT WAS A FISH I SWEAR!" in the lake... It was not a fish swimming up her shirt Peeta, you naughty boy. That was your hand.

Sitting upside down on the sofa to watch Plutarch's ridiculous new show that he won't shut up about so they watch it once. "Why are you sitting like that?" "Just getting the proper perspective."

Everything is a competition. Like... everything. Who can hold their breath longer (Katniss), who can toss their clothes across the room into the laundry hamper during sexy times and actually make it into the hamper (Peeta, which Katniss is MAD about btw and totally starts cheating by um... kissing or grabbing sensitive areas), who can kiss better (a tie but we need to try again to be sure), who can toast their bread faster in the fire (Katniss, but now it's burned, can I have yours, Peeta? *pouty face* only if you marry me, Katniss. Psssh we're literally already married, you goob), who can shovel snow off the walkway faster (Peeta but he does a sloppy job of it and Katniss makes him do his half of the walkway again and no it is totally not so she can check out his ass (narrator voice: it was totally so she could check out his ass)), who can eat the most *insert food item here* (Katniss, every time), who can make the most ridiculous silly faces (tie again unless there's alcohol involved and then it's Katniss), who can wash the dishes faster (...undecided, Katniss thinks Peeta is cheating by putting extra dishes in the sink or moving ones she's already washed back into the dirty pile. Once, when she accused him of cheating, he grabbed a dirty plate and licked it like he did in the cave scene. "All clean! See! I helped!")

Pillow fights, food fights, water fights, snowball fights, paint slinging fights... pretty much ALL instigated by Peeta, many of them because...

Whenever Peeta tries to teach Katniss how to bake something new and she gets frustrated, his go to method of getting her out of her head and to relax is to smear frosting/batter/dough/flour/whatever is closest on her face.

Singing very loud and off key in the shower to get Katniss out of bed when it's not really a bad day, but not a great day either.

Dunking food in milk. Like all of it, to try it out. Dropping candy into different beverages to see how it changes the flavor. "I'm experimenting for the bakery, Katniss!"

Dramatically flopping on the bed when he's had a long day and whining that he's not moving until Katniss *insert whatever kind of affection and or bribe he wants to glean out of her such as kisses, cuddles, foot rub (ew Peeta, I've smelled your dirty socks and that's not happening -- what if I wash my foot first? or here *presents her with his prosthetic foot* rub this one! but you might have to put some oomph in it before I can feel it)*.

So many one leg/amputee jokes

Pretending to be asleep when he's definitely not and Katniss is clearly horny... just to see how far she'll go.

Both anti-depressants and depression call kill sex drive, but when they're in the mood... they're not seen for at least a day and a half so Peeta has to work up a discreet signal to let Haymitch know not to come a knockin' because the first time it he didn't know, Katniss screamed bloody murder and Haymitch dropped a bottle of "perfectly good wine what is wrong with you two? Is that the chair I sit in for dinner?!?!?" It was not, but Katniss was mortified. And other smutty shenanigans happen on occasion, despite how carefully both Katniss and Peeta guard their privacy and intimacy.

"Hey Katniss, remember when I called you 'pure?' ... I take it back." *pillow to the face*

"Hey, Katniss, watch this..." *does something ridiculous like getting a ball of dough to stick to the ceiling.*

"Hey Katniss, remember when you broke your butt and I had to carry you around?" "I bruised my tailbone, Peeta.. And you had to carry me because I twisted my ankle too." *said with great exasperation right before he hoists her off the ground and carries her somewhere because he can. The shorter and more ridiculous the distance, the better. "We have to move the laundry!" *carries her to the fancy new machines Effie sent them as a toasting gift.* She tries not to laugh or snuggle in close. She fails.

Tucking silly notes everywhere. In her game bag, under her pillow, on her plate at the table, on the window sill where she likes to sit and read/watch the rain, in her shirt when he's feeling extra naughty.

*with the most serious expression ever* "Real or not real, Katniss... this cheese is the stinkiest cheese that ever cheesed?" *shoves some seriously stinky cheese under her nose before she can react* "UGH! GROSS, PEETA!"

Over the top dramatics when he asks her to dance. Only every now and then, though because Katniss also loves to slow dance with him and act stupidly romantic with him, but you didn't hear that from me.

Ice cream for dinner

Blanket forts

Raspberries. You know, when you put your mouth on someone's bare skin and blow out air really hard and it makes a sound like someone is farting? Yeah, those.

"You sleep with the windows open! Of course I'm going to hog the blankets!" Katniss shouts. Peeta solves this by laying on top of her and saying "I'm a blanket!" until she's laughing and agrees to share the actual blankets.

Smearing literal cinnamon and dill all over his body after she confesses that she liked that smell on him.

Attempting to build a catapult to launch cheese buns from the kitchen to where Katniss is sitting on the couch when she's pregnant. Okay, let's be real. It happens BEFORE she gets pregnant with toastbaby the first, but he perfects it during that first pregnancy.

Peeta can't shoot an arrow, but they start making a list of everything he's hit that he WASN'T aiming for... the ground, that patch of violets, the tree next to the tree you were aiming for, the stream, that giant rock, that thankfully unoccupied bird's nest ("thankfully? I would've called it a good shot if you'd hit something we could eat," Katniss says).

"I'm a fluffy bunny." If you don't know what that means, I cannot help you.

"Real or not real, you are the most beautiful woman in the entire world." "No more cough syrup, Peeta--" *LOUD BUZZER NOISE* "WRONG! The correct answer is REAL, Katniss."

“Who ate the last *insert food item here*?!?!” Peeta from the other room around a full mouth “Not me!”

And if you think any of this stops when they have kids, oh boy are you wrong. The kids just get to get in on the fun (of the not spicy variety, of course.)

[fahmbathrooms]

Choosing the Perfect Size and Material for Your Laundry Insert Sink

Introducing the ideal laundry insert sink from FAHM Bathroom: Your guide to selecting the perfect size and material Elevate your laundry room with our premium, space-efficient sinks available in various sizes, ensuring a seamless fit. Crafted with top-notch materials, our sinks promise durability and functionality. Make the chore of laundry enjoyable with FAHM Bathroom's exquisite insert sinks! To know more about the product, contact us at (08) 9458 2880.

[mymelodymia]

Can you make a fic where stark!reader finds out their partner(you can choose the gender)cheated on them and instead of getting angery r just gets really petty revenge like

covering their entire car in plastic with 100 pic of screenshot showing cheating thru text, flags around their house that says 'inserts ex name is a cheating bastard' and house cover it in posted note with skulls on it and hiden those screenshot all over the house (like they still finds it months because r kept their mouth shut for like a month)

And they can do nothing about because no property damage was done

Tony sees this trending somewhere and immediately recognizes it r partner

I basicly want to see his and the team reaction to this

Revenge Dad!Tony stark x daughter!reader

Summary: you get back on your cheating partner

Warnings: cursing, payback,

A/N: I made your partner gn! bcuz I'm a lesbian, 🫤 and e/n is ex's name btw

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•++•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

You were laying in bed scrolling through Instagram when you saw your ex, with the person they cheated on you with, this infuriated you, and you got an idea.

You whipped out your laptop and started printing the screens shots of the messages, all, of the messages even after the breakup, all the lovey-dovey stuff they used to do with you, made you even more frustrated

Once it was all printed out, you hid the papers under your bed. And went to sleep for the night.

+•°+*°•+

The next day you took like three rolls of packing tape from the hall closet. Your father dropped you off at school, you didn't even walk in you simply started walking to e/n's house, their parents were at work, and they were at school. So you had the perfect opportunity.

After a few hours you had gotten all for walls of the house completely covered in paper with screen shots printed onto them.

Now how do you get on the roof, you stuffed the remaining papers into your backpack, threw it over your shoulder and began climbing the oak tree, which you would then jump off of in order to get to the roof.

You had alot of trouble not falling off but eventually you did it. You had tons of sticky notes in your backpack so you got a sharpie and wrote

'Liar' 'bitch' 'coward' 'asshole' 'cheater'

and so on.

You stuck them all over the whole house. Even going inside to mess everything up. Licking all of their silverware and dishes.

And you took all of the batteries in the whole house. And the laundry soup, dish soup, oh and all of the shampoo as well.

and you took all of the milk and poured it down the kitchen sink. Just to be a bit more annoying

And just to be a bit more petty you super glued a photo of you making out with their best friend in front of the now destroyed house, and stuck it right on the front door.

you also threw toilet paper all over the house and threw eggs at the car parked in the driveway. And you had confetti cannons and popped them over the fence to their backyard.

You also popped them all over the front yard, the porch, you even picked the lock on the car and popped a few in there too. Once you had finished that you covered the car in tin foil to make it into a giant oven,

You then had one of your friends drop off a flag that was nion yellow and in bold, red letters said "e/n is a cheating asshole" and stuck it into the middle of the front lawn

Then you went back to school with a smile on your face, just in time for the last class you had.

+•°+*°•+

You had seen it all over the news, internet, everywhere. You felt so proud of yourself, especially when it came on the news while tony was channel surfing and the whole team was there.

"Hang on isn't that...isn't that e/n's house" tony said as he leaned into the tv, and upon turning to face you and seeing the smirk and the very pleased expression on your face he realized.

"Y/n, what did you do?"

"That." You said gesturing toward the tv which had a photo of your masterpiece. When thor, Steve and pepper came in they saw this and asked who's house it was and who did it. Not having a clue.

You answered both of the questions calmly and pepper let out a sigh and crossd her arms, and thor and steve both huddled around you screaming. Just screaming...like aaahahhh.

"OOHH! HOLY SHIT! WHAT IS GOING ON In here" bruce yelled as he and sam, bucky, and nat walked in making everyone go silent. You once again explained the situation and...they had the same reaction.

"Ohhh! Oh my god y/n, holy shit!" Nat yelled coming closer to you.

There was a moment of awkward silence for a good seven seconds before everyone started screaming and jumping, including you, tony and pep.

Lets just say they got what they deserved. To this day e/n's family still finds confetti everywhere, in the lawn, in the car, everywhere. They couldn't get to the roof and had to hire someone to take all of your hard work off around the house 😢

Including the money from hiring someone and replacing the items you stole/broke, it costed a good couple hundred dollars.

Karmas a bitch right?

+•°+*°•+

A/N: i had way to much fun writing this hehe 🤭

Tags

@animealways // @tonystark-au // @white-wolf-buckaroo // @zebralover //

[mlplaysthesims]

Art Student Apartment Renovation (Pinecrest 402)

Speed build: https://youtu.be/eSDiOMw9jWs

Download: https://www.curseforge.com/sims4/rooms-lots/art-student-renovation-pinecrest-402

This cozy art student apartment located at #pinecrest402 is the perfect home for a Sim looking for a fashionable but small 1-bedroom, 1-bathroom home to perfect their art skill. Includes a small kitchen and a laundry unit off the living room as well as a spacious bathroom filled with plants.

• 1 bedroom • 1 bathroom • §45,074

• Pinecrest 402 in Evergreen Harbor

EPs: Cottage Living, Snowy Escape, Eco Lifestyle, Cats & Dogs, City Living

GPs: Dream Home Decorator

SPs: Paranormal Stuff

Kits: Blooming Rooms

For the full list of CC used, keep reading @maxismatchccworld

CC used

@ars-botanica More Peonies @bramblefinch Little Friends Portraits @brazenlotus Parenthood Floor Clutter @charlypancakes MODISH / SMOL / DINNA @/dedcowplant Trigo Shelf @felixandresims Shop the Look felixandresims and harrie-cc (house of harlix) Livin Rum / Orjanic / Harluxe / The Kichen / Bafroom / Tiny Twavellers @harrie-cc Brutalist Bathroom / Stockholm / Shop the Look / Brownstone / Halcyon Kitchen @hamburgercakes Hygge @illogicalsims Contemporary Living / Simkea Furnishings @leaf-motif Botanic Boudoir / Sunny Corner / Vintage Crockery / Starlight Crystals @litttlecakes Vintage Clutter @lovefooly-sims Bullet Journal @/maruska-go (TSR) Sweet Memories Tea Set @mio-sims Curio Kitchen Conversion @myshunosun Lottie @mlyssimblr Nordic Clothing Rack @/nando Trip to Egypt (Free download on patreon) @nolan-sims Herbalists Frames / Potted Pleasures @oni28 Artists Workroom / Vintage Living Room

@peacemaker-ic Elsie Bedroom / Kingston Dining / Colour Me Rugs / Kitayama Dining and Living / Mid-century Abode / Caine Living / Hudson Bathroom / Bayside Bedroom / Mina Kitchen / Hampton's Getaway / Myra Living @pictureamoebae Feature Wall Add-on for Plaster Style Walls

@piersim Oak House Pt. 5 and 6 / Winter Garden / Cold Brew @plumbobteasociety Cottage Garden / Rustic Romance @/pysszny Kitchen Goodies (blogspot)

@ravasheencc Hot Sim Disguise Clutter Set / Woke Up Like This Bedroom / DIY Art Insert Set (TSR) / Pillow Talk / Simmer Down Flour Jars (TSR) / Peg to Differ Dish Towel / SMEGlish sink / Simmer Down Wine Rack (TSR) @/severinka Vintage Set (TSR) @/silkenvoid Cotton Fresh Linens @/simcredible (TSR) Cafeteria / Zara Pouf / Chlorophyll Plants / Jules Makeup @sixamcc Kessler Kitchen / Small Spaces Pantry @/thingsbydean Concrete Obsession @/simsi45 16 Potted Houseplants (mod the Sims)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here's an impeccably maintained 1900 home for Craftsman lovers in Columbus, Indiana and it's $399,900. 3bds, 2ba- a bargain at that price.

Classic Craftsman porch. What a great place to chill and even entertain.

Large living room with a great brick fireplace (the iron insert looks original) and I love that it's painted pink.

The living room is so large, it fits a big ol' chunky piano and a heavy carved desk.

Isn't the dining room wonderful? Look at the doors and the ceiling. Original light over the table and a built-in glas cabinet. This home is not the typical Craftsman- it's big.

Check out the built-in sideboard and the typically high wainscoting with plate rails.

The kitchen is perfection. The light, the cabinetry, and even the tile on the walls.

Cute little eat-in nook, too.

Look at the double stairs.

And, it has a cozy sitting room with a beautiful ceiling.

This home is perfection. Look at this bath. Vintage pedestal sink, original medicine cabinet and tub, plus a reproduction high tank toilet.

At the top of the stairs.

This bedroom isn't being used. There are cabinets and a sink thru the doorway, that look just like a kitchen.

Look, it has an outside entrance.

This is now a laundry room and there's also a full bath.

The door to the left is the laundry room and it opens to this bedroom with a fireplace. It looks like a suite.

Then, next to the bedroom is this small room. I don't think it had a closet b/c it looks like they built this one.

Those blue stairs that we saw on the landing lead up to a finished attic. (Note the original vintage push-button light switch.)

In the basement, there's a workshop.

The floor is carpeted and the ceiling is wide-plank knotty pine. The original exposed brick walls were painted white.

Behind the house is a deck and a brick patio.

The side of the home. It's quite a large house for less than $400K and it's so well-preserved.

[aidsyouinthinking]

Poem: Red Hot Pokers My personal coach

Since birth I'm reeling, For all I'm feeling;

Fetal, scrunched, crying.

Perpetual phoenix, shedding skins, Ah:

Relentlessly dying.

Self Drowning in tumorous plastic masks, is my armour against red hot pokers.

This Trypophobia form; cauterised, semblances of a person brokers.

The pungent fog bleakly blankets my lungs. Rhetoric stick- coughing in concordance. Forced-self-estrangement my new name is Mould, figure formed from faces fussed flips fourpence. Boiling vengeance outward hatred, blinded rage so not to see, then concluding all is sacred, Made it all hopeless to me, [fast forward to recent days (yes the format is this screwy! deal with it)] "Why didn't you tell me?". Because I was twisted into amorphous shape, By red hot pokers of the past. For the sake of you and forsaken me, I wish I was what I am ought to be. The roots of rotted tree bramble my heart, I fail to express what's felt at the start. My left brain melts, merged into one. No matter who I'm with, I am gone. The world tells me to lie, cheat, - "win". Mould's too scared to take step of their own, But when I believe what other's spin, All's known is thrown; alone we are sewn into throne.

You know what I want? The only thing I will ever care about? Someone who Can FUCKing empathise! Not sympathies, not "understand" ... All I need is that... and to respect them, to enjoy them, to [insert laundry list here!] And finally for them in some measly sense just even for a moment, be mine... Because you know what? I've always been alone. I've always been working, god damn hard. Too hard, this brain chattering it's perpetual final breath. And I am so sorry, for some fleeting painful moments. That I took from you what I never had... But I won't undo it, I can't. Not in the physical sense. And I, and everyone else around me should be proud! Of me and everyone; yourselves, and those -god forbid- who are even worse off. I sincerely love all of you, and everyone. on this planet With exceptions, of course!!!...

I forget when I started this one, but it was certainly before my recent foray into assessing the potential that I have a dissociative disorder. Frankly looking back on most of my works or my past & present experiences it seems absurd I hadn't already, suppose reaching for autism short term memoryless and so on is easier as it's more identified as me, plus I didn't know as much as I did now... admittedly I should have known plenty or had the opportunity too, but things sink slow in the bog that is me I guess... Thanks for reading btw, though I mightnt say it every post, thank you for each and everyone- and every little bit of time & shine you sacrifice to this silly event horizon :3

[milfsatan]

my roommates must think im some OCD freak because I spent the last 4 hours straight deep cleaning my bathroom and doing the dishes/wiping away crumbs and grease on the stove and im like. guys I understand we are all college students but I don’t want to fall into a depression spiral seeing a dirty living space bc I just spent the last [INSERT AGE] years living in a messy bedroom bc I just let laundry and crap gather on the floor and I’ve been conditioned by my parents and grandfather to always tidy up and do the dishes. like sorry guys I grew up in a house that never left any dishes in the sink overnight unless it was stuff that couldn’t fit in the dishwasher or had to soak. like since I moved back home from college/parents separated my chore has been do the dishes. so I do them. they’re like we are gonna discuss chores this weekend! and I’m like guys I genuinely don’t hate you for leaving the kitchen messy I want to clean it bc I have nothing better to do and it’s satisfying leaving the kitchen clean to cook in the next day. sorry the weed hit as I was typing this and I just kept on rambling. tldr I LOVE YOU DISHES‼️