#custom garage rack

[tundereforce]

Garage - Traditional Garage Mid-sized elegant attached two-car garage workshop photo

[flarethecat]

Medium - Traditional Garage Mid-sized, conventional, attached two-car garage

[bishopillustration]

Los Angeles Large Garage large, minimalistic image of an attached garage

[everyonewooeverywhere]

NSFW BLOG | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

chapter 1 : oh shit. a cowboy.

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 4.9k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll), strangers to lovers, toxic relationship, yeonjun slander 😗 (sry baby), yj and reader get into a pretty big fight

notes: literally thank you so much to @ateez-main-yapper for helping me write this! like this would not exist without her letting me yap in her dms. or letting her help build the story up. or asking her to help edit. this was a two woman job 🙂‍↕️ so thank you baby 💗

ALSO there have been a couple changes and edits from the teaser, so not everything of the first 1k words is the same ☺️

and YES there will be a part 2 (& 3 💀) so PLEASE don't ask for it 😭 she will come when she's ready

Where the fuck was this place? You took another turn down another shaded alley, the sky strangely overcast for two in the afternoon.

The tapping of your fingers on the steering wheel was the only music since the stereo had broken months ago when Yeonjun slammed his fist against it in a fit of rage when you asked him to skip his gig this weekend to attend your sister’s wedding. Now it just blinked periodically when the car hit a bump, giving it miniscule signs of life. And for a man who focused his whole life around his music, he seemed uncharacteristically uninterested in getting it repaired. And maybe it would never get fixed because you could only afford to get the big issues fixed today.

After six wrong turns you finally pulled into the parking lot. Your friend had recommended this garage when you’d told her this car had been having all sorts of issues, and she insisted on here. You had your doubts when she pulled up the Instagram of one of the mechanics to show you the shop and ended up going on about how hot he was for several minutes, but you didn’t really have any other options.

It looked official enough. The brick building was large enough to house two large garage doors that opened up the shop to the dusty parking lot. Peering inside, you could see that there weren't many people inside the garage. There were only two mechanics in your line of sight, the closer of the two venturing back and forth between his toolbox and the taillights of an old Chevy, and you were their only customer as far as you could tell. You shrugged, Maybe they’re understaffed. 

You shrugged before swinging the car door open and grabbing your purse out of the passenger’s seat, brushing off your pants before you made your way in. There wasn’t a front desk or a receptionist to talk to, and you got the feeling that this shop was solely run and staffed by the men inside. 

You spent several moments hovering by one of the garage doors, shuffling your feet and trying to catch the eye of one of the mechanics, but neither of them looked up. Entirely too absorbed in their work to notice your presence. They must not get very busy. 

“Um…hello?” You spoke, trying not to startle either of them. 

They both turned to you, and the man who’d been fixing up the Chevy opened his mouth to speak. But he was cut off by his coworker, who jogged over from where he'd been partially hidden from view behind a rack of miscellaneous parts, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and muttering a quick, “I’ve got her, Min.” 

“Min” chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning to his work.

Oh god. 

“Hey Doll, what can I do for ya?” Something about the way he sauntered up to you and smiled so gently immediately filled your stomach with butterflies, but you chose to ignore them for the sake of your own sanity.

Doll. That was a new one, and you felt that anyone else uttering that word toward you would’ve disgusted you to your core. But something about this stranger was strangely comforting. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited for you to speak. Maybe it was the baseball cap strewn backward on his head. Or maybe it was the strands of his taupe hair that fell in front of his face, strands you imagined yourself brushing up under his hat.

Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your purse, “I’m, uh, having some car issues.”

The laugh he let out, and the curve of his lips that accompanied it, made the tips of your ears burn, “‘Course you are, sweetheart. Anything in particular, though?”

“Oh,” you chuckled softly along with him, “Well, he mentioned that the acceleration’s been kinda weird, and I thought the engine was a little loud when I drove it here today. Sorry, I don’t really know a ton about cars.”

He hummed and tapped his foot a couple of times, “Which one is it?” 

You pointed across the lot. 

“Alright, let me pull it into the garage,” he put his hand out in your direction. 

You stared at it, confused, and when you looked back up at his face he was smiling at you again. Stupid smile. He made your heart flutter more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“Keys, sweetheart. Your keys.”

“Oh,” you scrambled around in your purse before handing them over, embarrassed. 

He took them from you with a 'thanks doll' and a tip of his head, hand hovering over his forehead in a way that made you think he was used to wearing hats much bigger than this simple baseball cap. Before you could even question it further he was jogging across the lot and pulling the car through the big garage doors. 

When he stepped out of the car he looked at you curiously, “This your car?”

You shook your head, “No it’s my boyfriend’s. He’s been…busy…lately, so he hasn’t been able to bring it in. He keeps complaining about it, though, so I just decided to do it for him, I guess.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, nodding slowly. 

“What?” you asked, moderately offended.

He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “Nothing. Sorry. You just seemed a little unsure is all.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. I honestly think he just kept complaining so I would get tired of his whining and go on and get it fixed myself,” You chuckled awkwardly. Why the fuck were you telling him this? You started to feel a little embarrassed.

And that feeling only got worse when you saw the mildly horrified look on his face. 

You shook your head and ran a frustrated hand through your hair, “Can you just fix it?”

That pretty fucking smile came back, and your grip on your hair tightened just a little in frustration. “Of course I can. Glad you brought this in when you did, honestly. Seems like your boy toy’s got a bit of an exhaust leak. Could be pretty dangerous, so it's good to get it off the road.”

“Ah, perfect.” You shifted on your feet, “How long will it take, do you think?”

He lifted his hat and ruffled his messy hair before readjusting it on his head. Why did every little movement he made drive you crazy? “Unfortunately, issues like this take a couple days. I doubt I could get her done any sooner than tomorrow.”

You nodded, “Okay. I’ll try and get a ride home then.”

“Alright, Doll. Let me write down your number real quick so I–so we can call ya when she’s ready.”

You wrote down your name and number for him on a pink sticky note that he stuck to the dash. 

“Perfect!” He smiled at you, “We’ll call ya tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, “Awesome! Thank you…Oh. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Yunho. My name is Yunho, sweetheart. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

And you couldn’t help the ramming of your heart in your chest when he took your hand into his own.

Yunho watched as you stepped out into the parking lot to call someone, presumably that questionable boyfriend of yours who seemed to be way more trouble than he was worth. He couldn’t help how his heart had dropped when you told him you had a boyfriend in the first place. After a long while of singleness, he was kind of hoping to test the waters when he saw you, and it even seemed like you responded positively to his obvious flirtations.

“So a boyfriend, huh?” Mingi startled him from behind.

Yunho let out a small sigh, trying not to let himself get too worked up about it. You had only met twenty minutes ago for fucks sake. “Yeah, seems like a real piece of work though.”

“Really?” MIngi gave his friend a skeptical side-eye, “Or is that the jealously talking.”

“No, seriously! This is his car. And she said it’s been actin’ up for a while, but he never made the time to bring it in. She only brought it here ‘cause he wouldn’t stop whining ‘bout it.”

“Huh. Sounds kinda child-like to me, but who are we to judge? We haven't even met the dude,” Mingi pat his friend on the back, “Try not to let it get you down, man. I’m sure there’s a cowboy-lovin girl right around the corner waiting for you.”

Yunho nodded, moving along so Mingi would let the whole thing drop. But no matter how many times he repeated in his head that you were taken, he just couldn’t stop looking over in your direction. You just seemed so…tired. He didn’t want to assume, but he got the feeling that this boyfriend of yours might be the main cause of that. And try as he might to reign in his ego and keep it in check, he couldn't help the part of him that knew that, whatever this man was providing for you, he could do so much better. That wasn’t really his place, though. So he let you be. 

“Yeonjun what do you mean you’re busy? You were on the couch when I left an hour ago,” you sighed through the phone.

“Baby, come on. You know I have a gig tonight,” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “And I need to get in the right headspace, so I can’t leave the apartment. It’ll ruin the mood.”

“Is that really more important than picking me up? I’m stuck here.”

“I don’t know. Call an Uber?” Oh, you were gonna kill him.

“What? Why would I pay for an Uber when I have a boyfriend at home with my perfectly functioning car who could drive his ass over here and pick me up? For free!”

You hated how difficult it was to get him to help you out in any way. Why did he have to be so stubborn? “Listen, I really can’t break my flow right now. Maybe wait a couple hours, and I’ll come pick you up, okay? Or maybe have one of your friends pick you up.”

“It’s 3 pm on a Tuesday, Jun. Most people are at–” He hung up on you, “Work..” You trailed off.

God, this is so embarrassing. What the hell were you going to do now? You could call an Uber, but you could barely afford groceries this week. And getting this car fixed was gonna drain the last of your paycheck. 

You bit at your lip anxiously, wracking your head for options. Your friends would be more than happy to pick you up, but most of them wouldn’t get off work for another two hours. So maybe you could just wait until then. Or maybe you could hitchhike? The highway was miles off. And your gut wrenched at the idea of a stranger knowing where you lived…But maybe that could work. Or maybe you cou–

“Everything alright out here, sweetheart?” 

You jumped at his voice, “Oh! Yeah,” you scratched at your head, trying to force a smile, “My boyfriend’s just really busy, so he can’t come get me.”

“Do you…need a ride?” He offered sincerely, “I don’t wanna overstep or anything, but I could help ya if you need it.”

“Oh god no! You don’t have to do that.”

He grinned softly at you, “It’s really nothing at all. I’ll tell you what, I’m leaving here in about an hour. If you can’t find a ride before that, you’ll let me give you drive you home.”

Just say ‘yes.’ Your brain was practically begging you to speak, but you knew this would cause an argument with Yeonjun. A random handsome man bringing you back to the apartment? Oh, it was a recipe for disaster. But what other choice did you have? It wasn’t like he was gonna pay for an Uber to help you home or pick you up himself. No, he left you stranded here with a shit reason, so you were gonna get home the best way possible, and, if it pissed him off, that was his own damn fault.

“Ok,” you smiled up at him, “If you really don’t mind.”

“Trust me, Doll, it’s no problem at all. Let me just finish a couple things up and change, and then we’ll get going, okay?”

You sat on the bench inside the shop while he finished his work. Trying to give yourself a moment to breathe. This was supposed to be your day off. You had finally been able to get a break from both of your jobs, and this is how you were spending it. Trying to fix the car of your boyfriend who couldn't even put his “pre-show ritual” on hold to make sure you got home safe. Part of you was mad at him. Livid that his priorities were so far in the gutter. But you were mostly angry at yourself. Because at the end of the day, when all was said and done, you were the one who had spent six whole years of your life bending over backward for a man who wouldn’t even reach out his arm to catch you. 

You worked two jobs to support the two of you. Your paychecks paid for groceries, rent, insurance, everything. And what did he pay for? Nothing. Because he didn’t have a job. He played two gigs every month at the dingy bar two miles from your apartment, which somehow justified not even bothering to look for employment. 

How did you even get here? A deep sigh rose out of your throat. What the hell were you doing all this for? Your head hurt just thinking about all the times he’d let you down and all the stupid little arguments those let-downs had caused. And yet you were still out here paying his bills and running his errands.

“Alright, sweetheart, ready to go?” You broke out of your spiral when he called for you, and you looked up to see him no longer in the denim and baseball cap he was sporting earlier. 

Lord help me. You silently prayed to whoever might be listening, swallowing around the sudden dryness in your throat. He was sporting a light blue button-down shirt with the top two buttons left open so his collarbones were exposed and a light brown cowboy hat that almost exactly matched his hair. A cowboy. Of course. You couldn’t help the racing of your heart as he reached to adjust the brim of his hat. Unsure of whether you wanted to praise or curse whatever fate had sent him your way.

You cleared your throat and stood up from the bench, barely pushing a ‘yes’ out of your mouth. 

He grinned and motioned for you to follow him to the parking lot. The innocent gesture left you lightheaded as you focused on the way his index and middle fingers curled towards his wrist.

As you approached, he gestured to a baby blue pickup truck, “Here she is. My baby.” You chuckled, endeared by the pet name, the image of him gently patting the hood of 'his baby' as he walked around the front of the truck with you reminding you of cowboys in old westerns, leaning their foreheads against their mares as they gently stroked their manes. 

It was sweet. So sweet that you almost missed the fact that he was coming around to the passenger side of the truck with you.

He brushed past you, reaching for the passenger-side door. Swinging it open, he held out a hand to you, and you took it without much thought. 

“Up you go,” he said with a playful lilt to his voice, helping you hold your balance as you climbed into the truck.

“Thank you, Yunho.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Doll. I got ya.” He was going to be the death of you for sure.

“Ten years. You’ve been working there that long?” you looked over at him, amazed, “How old are you?”

He let out a hearty laugh, “Twenty-five. Mingi and I used to come up after school every day and help out. His grandpa used to run the shop but he retired a few years back and left it to him.”

“Oh, that’s sweet!” The thought of a little Yunho sweeping the floors and vacuuming cars made you smile. 

He hummed, “Yeah, it’s been a real nice job. Flexible hours, good pay, get to meet pretty girls from time to time.”

The tips of your ears burned at his blatant flirting. You looked over to see him focused on the road in front of you. The rays of the late afternoon sun shone on his face, letting you see the tan glow of his skin up close. 

Why did you have to meet such a seemingly perfect man today? Why couldn’t this opportunity have fallen into your lap six years ago? 

And fuck you knew you needed to end things. But more than half a decade of your life had been poured into this relationship and you couldn’t find it in your heart to let that go so easily.

Yunho noticed you looking over at him in his periphery, expecting some kind of playful rebuke, but was more than a little worried by your silence. Afraid he'd crossed a line, he was quick to apologize, eyes sincere and tone sober when he chanced a proper glance your way. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’ mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! It’s fine,” You assure him, unconsciously threading your fingers through the ends of your hair, “I just don’t usually get this kind of attention. I know you’re just being playful.”

He nodded, some of his playfulness seeping back into his expression as he cleared his throat, adjusting the brim of his hat as he fixed his attention back onto the road in front of him. “I promise I’m not lyin’ about the ‘pretty’ part, though. I hope you know that.”

You scoff, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks rise, “Thank you…”

Silence enveloped the two of you after that, but he didn't seem to mind. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and humming along to the music playing out of the car's stereo. In another life, one where the man waiting for you back at your apartment wasn't hell-bent on driving you insane, you wanted to believe that you could be strong enough to look away. To ignore the butterflies filling your stomach. To ignore the way he made your heart flutter. But you just couldn’t find it in you to look away, but he didn’t seem to catch on.

He thinks it's cute that you think he doesn’t notice. He’s very keen on noticing your every little move. The way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when he called you pretty and the way you awkwardly fidgeted with your bag when you told him that you didn’t normally receive that kind of attention.

It took every ounce of self-control in his body to keep him from prying. But he couldn’t help the way he started to hate this man that he’d never met even more. What he wouldn’t give to have a partner who was willing to go get his car fixed without asking. Someone who was so dedicated to the relationship that they were willing to sacrifice the little free time they had just to help out.

As he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex, he glanced over at you and met your eyes for a second. You quickly whipped your head away, embarrassed that you’d been caught red-handed. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, smiled, “Here we are.”

“Mhm,” you nodded awkwardly, busying yourself with checking that you had all your things set to go. “Thank you for the ride. It means a lot.”

“Not a problem at all, Doll. Need me to walk you up?” he asked, leaning forward to try and meet your eyes.

You shook your head, “No, I’ll be alright.” You gave him a smile, “So you’ll call me tomorrow?”

He nodded, the tip of his hat dropping slightly, “Yep, I should be done with ‘er around noon.”

“Perfect! Again, thank you so mu–”

You were cut off by the sound of someone pounding on the passenger side window. Both of you turn at the sudden commotion. 

Yunho watched as you hurriedly swung the door open and slid out of the car. And he heard a muffled, “Jun, what the hell!?” after you’d slammed the door of his truck.

Ah, the boyfriend.

“Are you insane? What the fuck is your problem?” You yelled.

Yeonjun glared at you through the wild strands of his crimson hair, “My problem!? Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh, that’s your issue? That I had to have the mechanic drive me home?” You seethed, jabbing a finger into his chest, “This could’ve easily been avoided if you had picked your sorry ass off the couch to drive me home yourself. Like any decent partner would.”

Your not-so-subtle jab seemed to go over his head, his mind too focused on the image of you smiling and blushing in response to a man that wasn’t him. “You really couldn’t have found a woman to drive you home? It just had to be this dick.”

“No, Yeonjun, I couldn’t find a woman to drive me home. You know why? Because it’s a Tuesday afternoon and all of my friends have jobs. Unlike you who can’t even take the time to take a break from whatever the fuck you do all day to give me a ride.”

He gawked at you, clearly offended, “I have a job.”

“Oh my god. This again?” You ran a frustrated hand over your face, “No. You don’t. Practicing with your bandmates twice a week and playing a single gig a month is not a job. You make $100 a month.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want a nine-to-five? I like my schedule the way it is.”

You could feel angry tears forming at the back of your eyes, stinging as you held them back, “You think I DO!? Yeonjun, I work sixty hours a week trying to keep us afloat. I pay for our food, our rent, our insurance, your fucking car! And I can’t even get you to pick up the damn apartment when I’m gone.” The tears started falling before you even realized it, shocking both of you. It had been a long time since he’d last seen you cry. Because you always chose either anger or an eerily calm response to his childishness. Knowing deep down that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you if you slipped into vulnerability. “I’m fucking tired Jun. This was my first day off in three months, and I spent it trying to get your car fixed. And I can’t even get a ‘thank you’ out of you. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. You aren’t nineteen anymore, and I think it’s time you grow the fuck up.”

He didn’t say anything. The anger in his face replaced by a mix of shock and awkward discomfort, one of a man who was embarrassed to even be in this situation.

You stayed like that for a beat, holding your breath, praying for the moment when he realized everything he’d done wrong. Where he woke up from the immature daze he’d been trapped in since you were teenagers. But you supposed that was all wishful thinking, the tension broken not by either of you, but by a honk from behind him. His bandmate was here to pick him up. 

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. “We’ll talk about this later,” he mumbled before jogging up to his friend’s car and sliding into the passenger seat. You watched him give his friend one of their ridiculous handshakes, the sound of blaring music and feminine laughter spilling out into the parking lot before the car door slammed shut. The scene was so ironic in the face of everything he'd just yelled at you for that you really couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up through your tears, bitter as acid on your tongue.

Yunho sat in his truck as he watched your asshole of a boyfriend leave the parking lot. He stayed like that for a while, watching you wipe at your tears and try to compose yourself. When you’d calmed down enough for his conscience to let him leave, he looked down at the passenger seat and noticed you had left your purse behind.

Grabbing the bag, he exited the truck and approached you. Trying his best not to startle you, he cleared his throat. 

Surprised by the sound, you turned around to find Yunho standing there awkwardly, holding out the purse you now realized was missing from your shoulders, “You left your bag.”

“Oh…thank you.” You mumbled, closing the distance and grabbing it from him with a bit more force than you meant to. The mechanic didn’t so much as flinch.

How could he when his heart hurt for you? This woman he could barely even claim to know. He hated the fact that you felt the need to respond defensively, the pain in your eyes, and how you could barely look at him. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of this. It wasn’t your fault. But Yunho knew without you having to say anything that you were incredibly embarrassed. 

“Listen–”

“Oh god. Please don’t”

His shoulders dropped, “I just wanted to–”

You lifted a hand to stop him, “Yunho, please. You’ve been so kind to me, and I really appreciate your help today. But please for the love of god don’t make me dump my relationship problems on you.”

“Hey now,” he said, holding both his hands up in a calming motion as he spoke in a voice so deep and steady in contrast to your own that it caught you by surprise, “I don’t mean to push or pry, Doll, you just look like you could use someone to talk to is all.”

“I just don’t want you to think down on me,” you sighed.

He looked at you sincerely, slipping the hat from his head and placing it on the hood of the truck, “Now, have I given you the impression that that’s somethin’ I would ever do?”

The appreciative smile you gave him almost made him melt. You leaned back against the side of his truck, tilting your head back until it hit the window with a soft thud, “I’m just so tired.”

Yunho slid next to you, awkwardly scuffing his boot into the pavement, “Would it be too rude to say I could tell?”

You chuckled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’ve been trying for years to get him to just put in an ounce of effort, but he won’t budge. But we’ve been together so long I don’t know if I have it in me to end things.”

“You know it’s not your job to teach him how to be an adult, right? He’s a grown-ass man. You shouldn’t have to beg him to help you out.” 

The somber look in your eyes when you looked up at him made Yunho want to pull you in and hug you to his chest, but he respected your boundaries. 

“I know. I just…” you trailed off, no longer finding it in yourself to argue for your relationship.

Yunho took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he wanted to get off his chest, “Look, Doll, I don’ wanna overstep or anything, but I’m gonna be blunt with you.” He paused, giving you room to tell him to stuff it and save it for someone else if you wanted to. But you were looking up at him expectantly, teary eyes nearly pushing his little speech clean out of his skull. He had to clear his throat a little before continuing. “The way that man treats you is just disgusting. For everything you do for him? The least he could do is make sure that your apartment is spotless and you never have to cook again. And I’m not saying it’s me who should give it to you, but you deserve worlds better than that.”

“Yeah…” was all you could get out before you felt a tear fall down your cheek, and you tried to wipe it away before Yunho saw. But of course he noticed.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on your shoulder in comfort, running his thumb along the fabric of your t-shirt. You surprised him, though, when you turned into him and started sobbing into his chest. Your fingers desperately gripping his button down.

“Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back. Holding you with so much warmth and sincerity that you felt safer than you had in years. In the arms of a stranger, no less.

general taglist: @swimmingkpopblog @oddracha

ateez taglist: @certifiedmoa @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @curiousgworge @hyukssunflower @hotteokisms

@sushiinmidnight @atiny-dime-p1ece @mismatchfluffysocks @vic0921 @vampzity

@breadpuddingboys @woolysium @desirehorizon @im-ovulation @pommelex

@dancingwithdeities @maidens-world

ok cowboy: @saintriots @ateezswonderland @fairyofhueningkai

[manover40inlove]

Wine Cellar (Melbourne)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I cannot believe that no one bought this elegant little gem of an 1877 2nd Empire townhouse in Minneapolis, MN. It's decorated in grand Baroque style, has 1bd, 2ba, 1,799 sq ft, $989k + $1,029mo. HOA. Maybe it's priced too high? Zillow says it's worth about $935k. The high HOA fee could also be a factor.

Come on, now. NOBODY expects the Baroque Townhouse! Look at the entrance- got some gothic doors, architectural salvage light fixture from a church, and what could be better than a wine rack where you can grab a bottle as soon as you walk thru the door? It also looks like a mini bar. What a way to greet guests.

They really did a lot of work on this place. That's why I think it's priced at almost $1m. The woodwork, alone, is incredible. Look at the delightful dining room that looks like it's under an arbor.

Stone wall with niches. Antique chandelier.

This is a sitting room fit for a queen.

Different areas of the home are done in different styles. The ornate sitting room is Baroque with a massive fireplace and chandeliers.

The custom kitchen has a Frenchy flair and it also has an Aga stove (big bucks) with a mosaic backsplash. Look at the flowers painted on the counters.

You can see the pantry on the left, plus plenty storage in the cabinetry, and another mosaic backsplash behind the sink.

There's a copper ceiling over the dining area. This is an eat-kitchen so you can enjoy it every day. View from the windows looks out toward the city.

Beautiful, cozy den has a door to the garden. Gorgeous wainscoting, wood ceiling, brick wall w/shelves, and stained glass windows.

Your guests get to use this fabulous powder room with an intricately carved sink topped by a marble counter, gold swan faucet, and a cut crystal bowl for a sink.

Down the hall is an Asian-inspired full bath with a carved black marble tub and a huge dragon head faucet.

Look at that thing. Then, right across, behind folding doors, they've got a convenient laundry room.

Check out the pattern of the marble in the shower.

Large bath has a beautifully painted chest-turned-sink, and a private water closet.

The magnificent entrance to the bath is guarded by foo dogs.

The bedroom decor ties in with the theme of the bath.

The doorway to the bath is in the bedroom. The walls look like a teahouse.

The stairs have murals and carved doors. The home has 3 levels and I can't discern what floors the rooms are on, b/c as usual, the real estate photos are completely mixed up.

Impeccably maintained garages.

I wish they would've shown the sunrooms and rooftop terraces. Look at the glass structures on the roof.

That's the Mississippi River going by. The home is actually on a little island called Nicollet Island.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/8-Grove-St-8B-Minneapolis-MN-55401/1913645_zpid/?

[munsonluhvr]

MAMA, I'M IN LOVE WITH A MECHANIC (PART 1)

mechanic!eddie munson x receptionist!reader, no warnings. ❀ part 2 & part 3 coming soon...

“No, that’s not-“ Joyce Byers begins to say as she gently pushes you to the side of the register with a frustrated, yet gentle, sigh. “It’s like this,” she says, pushing the metal buttons of the cash register, making the cash drawer pop out towards you. You frown, biting your lips as embarrassment creeps across your cheeks. On the other side of the register, the teen-boy customer looks between you and Joyce with an impatient look. 

It’s your first day as the new receptionist at Munson’s Timeless Tune-Ups, a car repair shop owned by Wayne Munson and his nephew Eddie Munson; though, so far, you’ve only met Wayne. Joyce, the current receptionist, is moving to California for a ‘new start’ she told you, and you are learning her ways, or trying to learn at least. 

It’s only 1pm, and already your head is beginning to ache. Since 7am, you’ve been learning how to work the register, schedule appointments, and learn automotive terminology in order to tell Wayne and Eddie the issues the customers are having with their vehicles – and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake in applying for this job. 

“You’ll get the hang of it, y/n. Don’t worry,” Joyce says, offering you an encouraging smile though you question her transparency. So far, you haven’t figured out the register quite yet. She moves a few paces to the side, pulling out a box cutter from her back pocket and bending down towards the small pile of cardboard boxes that rest behind the counter. “Mind helping me with these?” Joyce says, gesturing towards the boxes. You nod, leaving from behind the register to help. 

Together, you and Joyce cut the boxes open, revealing various types of air fresheners and other car accessories, placing them neatly on the racks on the wall. Munson’s Timeless Tune-Ups is a small, humble shop, the register adjacent to the garage area where the Munson’s fix the cars. The office is small, the register placed on top of a wooden table. Off to the right, the wall is covered with things to purchase, small pamphlets explaining different car issues. The windows that line the wall allow for ample sun to flush into the office, making it bright. 

Behind you, the telephone rings loudly, causing you and Joyce to jump. Joyce drops the product she holds back into the box and moves towards the telephone. You hum softly, continuing to place the little packets of air fresheners onto their hooks. You’re living in your own mind until Joyce inhales sharply and then places the phone back onto the hook. “Y/n, I’m so sorry to have to do this, especially on your first day, but my son Will needs to be picked up from school,” Joyce says, moving quickly to collect her jacket and purse from the chair. “I don’t think the Munson’s have many cars left to do so you won’t have to worry about using the register, hopefully they’ll give you exact change.” 

You try to maintain a smile, though panic is beginning to settle into you. You barely can use the register, somewhat know how to schedule appointments, and ask the right questions to write down for the Munson’s, but what are you to do without Joyce? “O-Okay, Joyce.” 

“Just be sure to lock up, the keys are on the hook by the door.” Joyce gestures towards the door that leads into the garage part of the shop where a set of keys dangle on the hook. You nod, biting your lip again to ease your anxiety. “Good luck.”

“I hope your…“ you begin to say as Joyce pulls the door open. “…son feels better,” you finish, though Joyce is gone before you can finish your pleasantry. You sigh to yourself, looking at the several boxes that are left to unbox, price, and put onto the wall.  You continue your work, pleased that you at least have something to keep you busy until the shop closes. 

Off in the distance, somewhere in the garage, you can hear Wayne and who you assume is Eddie, chatter back and forth, listening to the radio loudly. Occasionally there is a loud bang, a clank, of the last of the customers cars behind repaired. Your fingers are laced with angst, the anticipation of not knowing how to use the register, or anything really, making it hard to concentrate.

Working in the quiet of the office is disturbed when the chime of the front door signals a customer. Placing your hands on your knees to lift you up, you turn towards the door ready to greet the customer but the male standing in the doorway is covered in grease, dirt marks tattering his bare arms and glistening chest. He has long, dark, curly hair, a red bandana covering the top of his head. This must be Eddie. 

“So, you must be Joyce’s replacement. Y/n, right? Aren’t you pretty,” Eddie says bluntly, moving towards the water dispenser in the corner of the office. Your eyes widen, goosebumps raising on your skin as you watch him walk past the front of the register. “Thanks,” you mumble, looking down at the surface of the register counter. 

“Wayne said this is your first day on the job,” Eddie says, glancing at you. His eyes graze the length of your body as you places a small, paper cup underneath the spicket and then push the lever for water. “How’s it going so far?” 

You flush under his sight, feeling every curve and inch of your flesh under scrutiny. You clear your throat, trying to glance at Eddie casually. God, he’s so gorgeous. “F-Fine. Joyce had to leave but I think I can manage.” 

Eddie hums, taking a few paces to sit in the chair that’s a few inches from you. He sighs loudly as he sits, kicking his feet out to rest on the register counter, blocking you in. He leans his head against the wall, looking at you. “I’m sure you can, I believe in you,” he says with a wink. You smile, then look away, sitting on the stool directly behind the register. 

He’s wearing a white, cotton tank top, that’s now see-through due to sweat. His jeans are covered in dirt marks, his yellow steel-toed boots now dark brown with dirt. His fingers are covered in silver rings, a silver chain adorning his defined chest. You feel your core begin to melt. 

“I just need to rest a minute, the garage has been so busy today,” Eddie says, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyelids. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

You shake your head, glancing at him quickly. “Of course not. Plus, it’s your shop.” 

“My uncle’s shop, I merely work here. Plus,” Eddie says mimicking you, “you were in here in silence and I had to come in here and disturb that.”

You shrug, a little smile creeping across your mouth. “I don’t mind the company.” 

Eddie hums softly again, opening his eyes only to flash you a little smile. You two sit in silence for only a moment when the last customer saunters into the office. “May I pay?” he asks, looking between you and Eddie. You nod, turning away from Eddie and to the customer. 

The panic begins to set in again as you stare at the metal keys of the antique cash register. You take the yellow slip from the customer, looking towards the bottom for the total that Wayne has written. You recall Joyce’s protocol on how to use the register and you follow them confidently, feeling Eddie’s eyes on you. You punch in the numbers and wait for the cash drawer to slide open – but nothing happens. “Um,” you say nervously to the customer. “Sorry, let me try again.” 

You try again yet come to the same result. You clench your jaw, heat beginning to creep up your neck. ‘Why me?’ you think to yourself.

“Let me help,” Eddie says, taking his feet of the counter. He stands up, sliding up beside you close enough that your arms brush. He punches in the total on the register, a few other buttons, and the cash register opens up with a ding! Your fingers work quick to take the customer’s bill and exchange it with the exact change. “Have a nice day,” you murmur, moving to sit back on the stool, your line of sight aimed at the floor.

Once the customer leaves, Eddie moves around from behind the counter, moving towards the front door where the customer left only seconds before. “It was nice meeting you, y/n. I can already tell I’ll be hanging in the office a lot more.” Eddie says, turning towards where you sit on the other side of the office. Before you can reply, Eddie slips out the door. 

[catherinetcjd]

Al's Garage

a Community Lot gas station magazine racks - chess tables - photo booth - bathrooms - vending - junker cars to fix on a 2-Step Foundation (Made with the Grid-Adjuster) lightly furnished & ready for you to decorate ...with No CC!

More places to "hang out" are always good, right? I built this for sims who enjoy things of a mechanical and logical nature. Please feel free to add/swap items as your sims need.

Read more on my BLOG »

Cross-posted to MTS and Simblr.

No Custom Content Included

Lot Size: 20X30 Lot Price: $35,170

DOWNLOAD @ SFS

Enjoy! 🦚

[atarathegreat]

Angry-Chiro Shinichiro Sano

Nestled down a dark, wide alleyway between two much larger buildings was SS Motors. A squat little mechanics shop where you could buy spark plugs, gas caps, and tools on the shelves, and in the back was the garage. The garage was a little smaller than the whole building, big enough to fit a car while still having enough room for the mechanic to shift how he needed.

Shinichiro Sano took tremendous pride in his little shop, even had dreams that it would be bigger and placed in a more accessible space in the city. Fixing things was his passion, ripping out the bad parts or, in his current case, gutting a whole bike frame, was also part of the fun. Normally.

"Mother-" The sounds of ricocheting tools echoed up to the shop where you were helping customers. Steel on concrete or bouncing off the other metal work tables made you cringe as you hurled excuses again and again at Shinichiro's expense.

"Our mechanic is currently indisposed." You were all kind smiles and soft words when people were asking for him. They would sigh and nod and leave names and numbers, all while hearing the temper tantrum from the back of the shop. It wasn't new and many of the patrons were ignoring it for the most part, but you still worried about Shinichiro and the temper you knew he was capable of having.

While the rest of the shoppers were busy, not that there were many in such a secluded shop, you snuck back to the garage and peeked in. Shinichiro was fixing the bike frame back on a stand, leaving you to assume that maybe he'd gotten pissed enough to kick it over. "Shini?" The sound of your voice was enough to make him take a deep breath and look over his shoulder. He looked tired, his dark eyes not even really looking at you, "It...the bike...bolts..." Shinichiro was so mad he could hardly form a coherent sentence as he waved both arms at the frame, and that was fine, you were used to piecing together the issues. "It's alright. Steady hands, remember? Take it slow." Another soft smile and a little wave as you returned back to the front counter.

Closing early was surely going to set Shinichiro off even more, if he ever came out of the garage, but you closed early despite that. It wasn't good for business if the manager slash mechanic slash owner was seen as an angry man who couldn't keep tools from becoming an airborne item. Wrenches weren't meant to be birds and bolts definitely weren't rain drops.

"Son of a bitch!"

You sat up in bed, rubbing quickly at your eyes as more clanging woke you from a short nap. It was dark and your eyes hadn't yet cleared enough for you to see the bright red lines on the alarm clock. Moonlight almost kept you from tripping over the pile of shoes, your stumble becoming a valuable reminder that you would, eventually, have to buy a shoe rack. Cold air hit you quickly as you stepped from the mini living quarter and you reached back in to grab a coat before heading back out to trudge through the shop and to the garage. It got colder the closer you got.

"Shinichiro?"

The man turned quickly, a glare set in his features, as if a sculptor had snuck in and using clay and water to fix his beautiful smile into a scowl. "It's freezing, darling, come inside." You crossed the coat over itself to pull it tighter in hopes to keep some semblance of warmth for your skin.

"Can't. This stupid fucking thing isn't working with me and now this bolt won't even line up correctly." He slammed a wrench to the ground, glaring at the gas tank he was trying to connect to the newly cleaned bike frame. "To top it off, the rust took me nearly all day to get off and I can't even track down the right kind of seat for it!" Shinichiro huffed, leaning back against the toolbox, "How am I supposed to fix this by my deadline?"

Tools and dirty rags covered the garage floor as you stepped around and over them and bigger parts, crouching next to him, "How about I hold the tank steady and you secure it, and then we go in so you can get a drink, eat dinner, then we'll go to bed?"

Shinichiro shook his head, wiping a rag at the frame as if he was doing something, though he knew he just wanted to look busy, "I set a deadline for myself, Y/n, I want, need, this damn thing to be on the streets come spring." He always reached the goals he set for himself, so you knew it would kill him for yet another deadline with this particular bike to be pushed back.

It already wasn't a promise that he would've found the frame in Puerto Rico, and then the airlines tried to run you both around in circles over the metal until you went in and dragged it out by yourself. And then all the parts up to this point had to be ordered and the deliveries were delayed due to the winter weather, further ruining Shinichiro's plans. He stayed up night after night just to get a little bit further along in the process, all while neglecting his bodies needs for food, water and sleep. Being cooped up in the cold, horribly lit garage wasn't good for him. He looked gaunt and exhausted.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips, getting trapped somewhere between the rusty trashed parts and pile of boxes filled with new parts that had yet to be used. "I can't let it sit for a long time, I'll never get back to it." His bones spoke loudly as he stood and stretched, each pop was another cry for rest.

"You'll return to it, Shini." A weight was lifted from his shoulders when you smiled like that, like you believed in every move he made and every decision he was set on. "You never leave anything unfinished, y'know." The warmth from your hands was stolen from you as you held the tank steady for him, "And you can always call on me if you need help. I can work more than a register."

He was sure you could absolutely do more than a register, but your hands weren't supposed to be covered in grease like his, or calloused like his. You were supposed to have clean hands, manicured hands, dainty hands. Yet you didn't seem to care about any of that. Not as you leaned over the de-rusted handlebars to hold the gas tank so Shinichiro could fix the washer and bolt where they belonged and tighten them.

[literatureatthebowofnails]

AN: I've really enjoyed writing this series. I'm deeply appreciative of all the feedback and reblogs. They've fueled my writing and truly made me thankful for each and every one of you.

Series masterlist

Summary: Our darling couple take the first step toward the rest of their lives

It's a cold November morning and once again FRIDAY is calling your name, dragging you from your precious sleep.

"Nooo," you grumble, nuzzling into Loki's chest and tugging the fur comforter over your head. It collides with his nose.

He snorts, pulling it back below his chin. "I'll take it from here, FRIDAY.

"Darling, you do need to get up." He shifts beneath you.

"No," you whine, your voice muffled by the blanket. "I want to stay like this forever." You reach your arm over his bare chest, squeezing it for emphasis.

"As much as I'd enjoy that," he chuckles, "your absence downstairs could cause significant upheaval. Not to mention the breakdown of our fearless leader.

"You weren't here when he went on his feeble-minded caffeine fast. There are beings in Niflhel far more pleasant than our dear Captain without his 'morning Joe.'"

"But you're warm, and...you smell good, and...and...I love you," you say between yawns, before peaking up at him with a pout.

"I love you too," he smiles and gives your forehead a peck. "That doesn't change the fact that it's Monday and you have to go to work."

You throw off the blankets with a dramatic huff. "Fiiine. I hate it when you're right."

Loki chuckles and grabs a robe as he stands, handing another to you.

☕

First things first when you get in the elevator. "FRIDAY, please preheat the ovens for kolaches and turnovers, then check the A-Team agenda and load orders for whoever's on call to the POS."

You can't fault Tony's design; two separate confection ovens, freezer and refrigerator on a vertical conveyor. The contraption stands in the back of your circular kiosk cafe along with a cooling/rising rack, sink, employee entrance, and ample counter space.

Nearest the lobby doors sit the POS station, espresso machines, grab&go fridge, and pastry display. In addition to base cabinets, there's bulk storage accessible via elevator to the garage level. With a voice command to FRIDAY, a central circle in the floor descends while a safety barrier ascends into the workspace.

Plenty of square footage for three people, and on a Monday you need all the help you can get.

Chrysa clocks in with a muttered "Morning" as you're reviewing the Avengers' order:

Medium red eye, black - 'Nat's home from her mission and there's a morning debrief.'

Large dark roast with a shot of DynaPep - 'Tony, apparently trying to kill himself after a night of post-mission "tinkering."'

Extra large cup of Joe, extra cream and an order of mixed pastries - 'Steve got his run in and feels guilty about the early debrief.'

Small cocoa with cinnamon and extra whip - 'Peter's going to be late for school. Really, Steve needs to put that kid's education first.'

Medium Dutch apple pie a la mode latte - 'Thor, making his way through the seasonal menu.'

Extra large dirty chai - 'Scott just got into town.'

You notice a distinct lack of Earl Grey with excessive honey - 'Loki went back to bed. Dick.'

The next few hours are busy, as to be expected. They have you, Chrysa and Dementy rushing around, baking, steaming, and ringing up customers as quickly as possible.

Things begin to slow by 9:30, and around 10 Wanda wanders down in sweats and clogs, a maroon hoodie covering her unbrushed hair.

You start on her turek as soon as you see her. "Hey, what would you like for breakfast? And weren't you supposed to be at the debrief this morning?"

"Hmm...a pumpkin muffin," she smirks. "I popped my head out, told the kid to keep his mouth shut, and bewitched Steve to think I was there before going back to bed.

"I'm not getting up after three hours sleep just to tell Steve everything went as planned."

"What about Nat and Tony?" you ask.

"Stark sent Mark 93 and Nat doesn't sleep half the time anyway."

☕

Wednesday afternoon finds you at a boutique with Nat, Wanda, and Hope, who's visiting for the annual gala. The latter, focused as always, has chosen six sleek, black, barely differentiated dresses and hovers with them hanging over her shoulder while the rest of you decide.

"I can't believe it's been a year since we met," you say as you hold a one-shoulder gown against yourself in the mirror.

"You should try that one on," Nat says, her sultry voice soft but insistent. "It has been a year, hasn't it? So this is a particularly special gala. Is that why you're only looking at dresses in Loki's colors?"

You grin down at the gold taffeta. "Partially. It's more a feeling he's going to do something especially dramatic? I don't know what, exactly, but I haven't seen him this cagy since my birthday. He sent half the people in Times Square to his pocket dimension because I turned down the street before the flash mob was in place."

Wanda snickers.

"You're kidding!" says Hope.

"No," Nat replies, "There was a huge fallout when Steve got back from his 'emergency mission.' Something about 'We don't know if pocket dimensions are safe for humans...that's abduction...what if someone had gotten hurt?!'"

"And don't forget," adds Wanna, "'If you're so concerned, Rogers, I'm happy to send you in there to create safety protocols. We could all use the break from your incessant nagging.'"

☕

You were going to spend Saturday lounging around the flat until you needed to get ready, but Wanda had different plans. She insisted you and the rest of the girls all have a spa day. Thus, in the late afternoon you're stepping off the elevator on your floor with goodbyes to Nat, Shuri, Wanda, Hope and Pepper.

You open the door to find Loki already dressed and pacing nervously in the front room. His curls are raked in lines from the many times he's run his fingers along his scalp. "Loki?" you say. He freezes like a child caught sneaking candy, a hand shooting to his breast pocket before he takes a breath to steady himself. "Is everything ok?"

"Yes," he attempts a carefree smile. "Of course, darling, everything is wonderful. I...uh, I was just concerned you might not make it back in time to get ready."

You raise an eyebrow, amused by his ironically poor lie. "You do realize we don't have to be downstairs for another two hours, right?" Cupping his cheeks, you pull him down to kiss him. "Whatever it is you're so nervous about, I promise it will be ok. God or not, no one is perfect, and I'm not going anywhere."

He calms a bit. "Right. Well, I'm just going to, ah, see if Stark needs any help getting things organized." He checks his pocket again before rushing out the door.

You do your hair and makeup, wandering around the bedroom in only shoes and panties as your gown simply isn't bra-friendly. You're unhooking the dress from its hanger when you hear the front door open.

"Great timing," you call out. "I'm going to need help with this zipper."

Loki enters the room. "Ravishing as always, darling," he grins at your bare chest. "I could help with a lot more than your zipper, you know."

"Says the god who was worried we'd be late?" You smirk.

"Right," he chuckles. "Let's get you into that so I can get you out of it later."

☕

The event space is nearly unrecognizable; Tony's modern minimalism nowhere to be seen.

The chrome columns are covered in black silk, green velvet held against them in sandglass form by thick gold cords. Grand chandeliers twinkle from the high ceilings, alight with five thousand candle flames. A brass quintet sits atop a raised stage opposite the bar, the dance floor spread between them.

"You weren't kidding when you said you'd help Stark," you smile, nodding at the decor. "It's very you." Standing on your toes, you give his cheek a peck.

"Thank you," he takes a steadying breath. "Shall we, er, have a drink? Perhaps some appetizers? Oh look! There's T'Challa and Shuri catching up with my brother. Why don't you join them while I find us sustenance."

You wander over to the group, letting your anxious lover gather food. "Hey," you greet, lightly grazing Shuri's shoulder as you siddle between her and T'Challa.

The king greets you with a tight hug. "It has been far too long. You have to come visit us in Wakanda.

"Okoye keeps talking about getting a Starbucks, but I told her there's better coffee to be had from international sources."

Thor lights up as his brother joins the group, handing you a cocktail and a plate of hors d'oeuvres. "Are you ready?" he asks Loki, a shiteating grin on his face.

"Will you desist?!" Loki says through gritted teeth, attempting to surreptitiously stomp on his brother's toes.

You pop a stuffed mushroom in your mouth and pretend not to notice while you listen to Shuri describe her latest invention. As your discussion of the device begins to dwindle, you hear the opening notes of a familiar waltz.

Loki clears his throat, his hand extended. "May I?"

You take it and he leads you to the dance floor. You can't take your eyes off him. His floor craft is perfection as together you dance smoothly through the other couples.

You know not just the steps, but how he'll take them, making reflexive shifts in your footwork to blend precisely into his.

His hands are comforting as he holds you, his natural scent like burning pine and fresh snow. His vibrant green eyes are full of awe of you and the glowing adoration reflected on your face.

When the song ends, he spins you to the center of the dancefloor. Your skirt settles and you find him kneeling as he holds your hand and a stunning emerald ring.

"Darling," he looks at you with batted breath. "Will you do me the honor of being my princess?"

"Loki, oh my god! Yes, yes, of course I will. Nothing could make me happier!" As soon as he slips the ring on, you pull him into a fervent kiss and the band strikes up the wedding march. You know that wherever you are, so long as you're with him, you'll be home.

Taglist:

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Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Now that it's complete, I'll be focusing on party asks. I hope you all take some time to join us and participate in this event! All my love 💗

[offworldlamb-writes]

here's a snip of the stardew valley fanfic i said i was going to write but then only did parts of, enjoy

xxx

Not a lot of thought went into the veg that started appearing in the kitchen. There was nothing new about that-- the kitchen was usually at least partly stocked with fresh food, but it was hard to miss the fine layer of dirt on everything as the basket holding it all sat on the counter, filling the air with the smell of wet earth. Abby's dad sold veg but they were never that fresh, and with a cup of coffee in hand it didn't cross his mind again until the next basket turned up the following week.

Now Sebastian knew his mum didn't go down to the village that often or that routinely, especially for vegetables they didn't use much of, and yet once again there were parsnips, carrots, potatoes and green beans all in the basket and bringing that wet dirt smell back to the kitchen. He didn't mind that so much-- it was one of the things he liked when he went out for a walk-- but knowing there was mud on something that was going to be food later kind of put him off.

It felt like it was everywhere these days. If it wasn't his mum tracking it in after finishing some building job it was customers bringing it in when they came to her for work, the hallway running past his staircase matted with hundreds of layers of dirt. Regularly mopping the floor didn't seem to do much and he had a feeling no one except him bothered cleaning anywhere beyond the hallway that led to the rest of the house, as every day brought a fresh wave of visitors and a fresh load of dirt. It was starting to come down to his room but he made sure to take his shoes off at the the bottom of the stairs in an effort to keep it clean, but that didn't stop his mum from doing it anyway no matter how many times he asked her.

She walked in as he poked about the basket, greeting him brightly with a smile as she went to pour herself a glass of water. "Isn't the new farmer nice! She brought that over this morning, and she comissioned a chicken coop! I'm heading over in a bit to get some measurements done-- I can't wait to see how that place is looking now!" she said eagerly, missing the bemused look on Sebastian's face as she downed her water, before finally returning the look. "Shepherd, the new farmer. Up at-- really, Seb?" she added with an incredulous chuckle when her explanation yielded nothing but more confusion. "She's been here since the beginning of the year! You must've met her by now!"

Unimpressed with his flat 'no' in response she shook her head with another little laugh, giving his arm an affectionate pat in passing as she headed back towards the hall. "I know you're busy, but it wouldn't be the end of the world if you went outside for more than five minutes."

His huff went ignored or unnoticed-- it didn't matter which one-- as she bid him farewell on her way out, and once he had his fresh cup of coffee he headed back to his room again. They weren't meant to be cruel comments but they always left an uncomfortable bristle down the back of his neck, and without fail they just made him want to leave the house so much less than he already did. His cigarette breaks used to be on the front doorstep or out by the garage but the neverending quips had him walking all the way to the lake most days, which he didn't mind doing for the most part, but that just invited all the more unwanted conversations from anyone who happened to be walking by.

This new farmer seemed to be all anyone was talking about around town, and Sebastian couldn't understand how he hadn't heard of her before. Once he was down the pub even Sam and Abigail were talking about her, about all the work she'd done on the farm and how much she'd been helping out in the village, and started teasing him about his 'hermit' lifestyle when he grumbled about having no idea who they were talking about.

"She's super sweet; you need anything and she'll get it for you!" Sam said brightly, watching Sebastian rack the balls while leaning on his pool cue. "Heard she's really turned that farm around, too. Shane said she's making bank with the stuff she's already grown-- Lewis sells it off for suppliers for her, apparently."

There was a hum of approval from Abigail chilling on the couch nearby, leaning against the armrest with her legs stretched out across the seat as she watched the TV on the wall. "Dad says she's buying so much stuff. I don't know how she has the time to get all that work done and keep running around doing deliveries. She doesn't have a car or anything!"

"The roads here are rubbish and everything is five minutes away from everything else. Why get a car?" was Sam's amused response, setting the white ball at the top of the table and managing a somewhat clean break. What followed Sebastian's shot was an agonising five minutes of pacing on Sam's part, circling the table like a vulture as he studied the position of each red ball on the table with studious concentration, and wafting away any little hints to 'just take the damn shot' with a huff and a flap of his hand.

"It's a half hour walk to my house," came Sebastian's flat response, and he smirked when Sam dismissed him with another hand waft.

"You're a special case-- and you have a motorbike! You could be riding down to the village but you make the choice to walk, man."

When Abigail chimed in with an amused 'he's got you there' Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I'm still working on it. And where the hell would I park it--"

"'And the track is bad and the road's too short'-- all I'm hearing is excuses," came Sam's rebuttal, his teasing mimicry not going unjudged by Sebastian but making Abigail snigger all the same. It took a threatening jab to the back of the knees with a pool cue to get him to finally take his turn, which he undershot by a fair amount, and Sam barely had time to think of his next shot when Sebastian potted two yellows and nearly had a third.

Their first game was done fairly quickly thanks to Sebastian's competence at pool. Sam liked to talk more than he liked to play sometimes, and Abigail didn't like playing at all, but Sebastian gladly suffered through all the pacing and planning and ridiculous strategies if it meant getting a few rounds in. It was infinitely better than hanging around at home and hearing the same nag from his mum about how he never left the house, and they always had the back room to themselves whenever they were here which meant a change of scene without the hassle of unwanted company. Gus and Emily didn't count, obviously, and when Shane wad in a good mood he was always good for a slightly more challenging game of pool.

That's what he liked about the Stardrop Saloon: familiar faces with no over-familiar behaviour. Barely anyone registered that they were there and there was never a fight to get the table, and even if someone was using it when they arrived there was always the arcade machine to tide them over until it was free. The faint smell of beer about the place was usually covered by whatever Gus had on the specials menu that day but nothing serious enough to put him off going entirely: it was one of the only places in the village other than Sam's house that he felt even remotely comfortable occupying, and that was mostly because they'd been going here a few years now on Fridays and it was a good little routine.

But maybe too much routine wasn't good. They played three more games, Sebastian won all three, Abigail won a couple of rounds on Journey of the Prairie King, they argued on who would get the last round of drinks and the last song on the jukebox, and then they went home. The walk home passed in a blank, Sam's joke of Sebastian disappearing until practice later that week rubbing him the wrong way and really making his mood take a nosedive, which was a bummer after a good night out. The predictability didn't hurt so much as the monotony-- he knew it was going to be another week of the same thing and it was painful to think that nothing would ever change, but when almost everything outside his room brought the crushing weight of discomfort nothing was ever going to be different.

[solarpunkbusiness]

Meet three startups, from Morocco, Côte d’Ivoire and the Democratic Republic of Congo, that are harnessing technology to provide simple, viable solutions to energy and food security in Africa.

1. Meier Energy, Morocco’s standard-bearer for energy efficiency

Founded in 2020 by Fouad El Kohen, Meier Energy offers businesses tailor-made solutions to kick-start their energy transition. In just four years, it has established itself as one of the leading start-ups in Morocco and is already exporting outside the country. “It’s a young company dedicated to the development and marketing of energy efficiency, electricity and smart grid equipment,” says founder El Kohen. “Our ambition is to support the ecological transition in both Morocco and Africa.”

2. BioAni, the Ivorian start-up that wants to bid goodbye to chemical fertilisers

BioAni sells organic fertilisers produced using black soldier fly larvae, products that are much cheaper than chemical fertilisers. All that remains is for them to convince farmers to change their habits.

It all began in a garage in Abidjan’s Cocody district with food waste and a few larvae. The insects transform this bio-waste into a particularly effective organic fertiliser. Founder Arthur de Dinechin wanted to get involved in an environmental project in Africa, his adopted continent. After trying his hand at plastic recycling, his thoughts turned to agriculture.

“Here in Côte d’Ivoire, millions of people make their living from farming. There are very few resources in place to help them make a profit from this activity,” he says.

3. GreenBox, the storage solution changing Congolese farmers’ lives

GreenBox enables farmers in the Democratic Republic of Congo to store their fruit and vegetables for three weeks instead of two days, using new technology that gives farmers access to remote control of solar-powered cold rooms. These refrigerators also make it possible to establish the state of ripeness of a stored product and ensure its traceability. Its five installations, spread across as many villages, enable customers’ harvests to be monitored in real-time.

Founder Divin Kouebatouka says: “Storage is centralised for the whole village. The cold room is managed by a cooperative. We make racks available to farmers so that they can store their produce. We can’t rent to everyone, so it’s first come, first served.”

For CFA200 a day (around $0.10), farmers are provided with a locker that can hold 30kg of food. “Small farmers, our core target, can’t buy a cold room. That’s why we’ve introduced daily, weekly and monthly rates. Everyone can choose the subscription that suits them best, which is nothing compared to the value of the products they entrust to us,” says Kouebatouka. In addition to his team of 12 employees, a group of five women is responsible for the daily maintenance and management of the cold rooms.

[hourcat]

charles swings by early. he’s checking on the car, mostly, pierre knows that, but it doesn’t make his chest any less tight when he sees the silhouette of his favorite customer outlined perfectly against the light pouring in from the open garage bay. pierre exhales. with a soft huff, he pushes out from underneath the honda he’s actually working on right now to roll properly onto the garage floor, where he eventually gets himself upright. charles is--dressed for school, if the gray turtleneck and trim black pants have anything to say about it. his glasses are sitting on his head.

“charles,” pierre drawls, grabbing the towel hanging off his belt to wipe at his face. "you know the shop just opened, yeah?” he nods towards charles’ car, sitting pretty on the other side of the room. the issues have been mostly worked through--pierre wants to poke around and make sure the engine is firing on all cylinders in the literal sense--and he’s got more pressing vehicles that need his care. he’s told charles this. it’s not new.

charles still rolls his eyes. “i just wanted to see,” he mutters, shoving a hand into his pocket. “the bus isn’t bad but it’s not--” he gestures to his car and pierre chuckles. “you haven’t texted any updates.”

but there’s a look on his face--one that pierre doesn’t miss, even if it’d been so quick he’d been meant to not see it. “you waited on my text, mon petit?”

color floods the teacher’s cheeks. “about my car,” he grits, but he’s blushing which means he’s not telling the whole truth. the thought makes pierre chuckle again. he saunters the rest of the way over, fingers hooked in the beltloop of his jumpsuit. when he gets to within inches of charles’ face, his amusement stretches to a full grin. the blush on charles’ face gets darker.

“you missed me,” pierre murmurs, and lifts his free hand to caress charles’ face. charles doesn’t move away, although he wrinkles his nose.

“pierre.” no response. “pierre, your hands are covered in grease, you’re going to get me dirty--” but he doesn’t finish because pierre goes in for the kill, mouth hot on charles’, so early on a wednesday morning it should be illegal to want him like this.

but charles kisses back. with fervor, with more strength, one sweater-laden arm hooking around pierre’s shoulder just enough to wrangle him closer by the hair. he’s clearly in a mood. pierre is delighted he stopped by here first. “you are,” he gasps as they split for air, “so gross right now.”

pierre snorts. “tell your students you were working, mon amour.” he thumbs under charles’ eye, a faint grease smear left in its wake. pierre doesn’t miss the way he shivers. “i will paint you this morning before you leave, if you really want.” charles whines, pitiful.

well, pierre figures, there’s plenty of space behind the tire rack.

[wulfnerd]

A Bottle and a Soak, sterek, g, 100w ◌ Derek has a difficult day. [ao3] For @sterekdrabbles, 09 Aug (calm, part, stale)

After the day he’s had, Derek needs wine and baking time to calm him—for the most part, owning the garage has been great, but some customers know how to test Derek’s patience—only he gets home to find Stiles and Eli eating the stale bread he’d been saving for bread pudding.

“What? We got hungry.”

Stiles’s mouth is full—Derek only understands him from the years they’ve been together—Eli’s still chewing as he nods.

Derek sighs, grabbing a bottle from his wine rack—maybe a bubble bath will do instead.

“I’ll be upstairs.”

“Have a good soak, babe.”

[berenwrites]

Whole New Us Ch13 - Stranger Things - Steddie

Whole New Us: Trauma Bonded and Beyond

A/N: Please be aware that this chapter has bad things happening to Steve - I wouldn't say any worse than what the actual show likes to put him through (s3 I'm looking at you), but darker than the rest of the fic so far. My beta reader (my sister) also called me a cow for where the chapter stops, so you have been warned ;)).

Also on AO3 | Or here CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 | CH13 | CH14 | CH15 | CH16 | CH17 | CH18 | CH19 | CH20 | CH21 | CH22 | CH23 | CH24 | CH25 (Mature) | CH25 (Fade to black) COMPLETE

Summary: Steve has been ignoring his own problems, he’s been busy. They’ve all been busy, preoccupied with fixing everything that was broken. Vecna has been defeated, but the Upside Down is still there, and the gates are not completely closed even though Hawkins has almost returned to normal. It’s been a couple of months and the aftereffects of Steve’s encounter with the demobats is about to come back to bite him. However, it also brings some unexpected hope.

Pairing: steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Rating: Teen (with mature content in later chapters)

Chapter 13.    Secret Places

Robin had nipped out during her break to pick up a few things she had promised to get for her mom, so Steve was left manning Family Video by himself. Luckily for him it was completely dead. Clearly it was too early on a Saturday for anyone in Hawkins to care about renting movies. He was working on the rewind pile, but mostly he was daydreaming.

After their rather serious conversation a couple of nights previously, he and Eddie had mutually decided to take their relationship to the next level. Not what he would have described as full-on sex, but skin on skin and hands everywhere. It had given him plenty to daydream about, and Robin had complained loudly that he wasn’t paying enough attention to her after he had accidentally confessed he was thinking about his hot boyfriend, so he was taking the opportunity for what it was.

Eddie was currently at his place having a band rehearsal in his garage, since Eddie didn’t yet feel comfortable going to Gareth’s after what had happened with Jason. Steve was really hoping to hear some of Eddie’s music live soon, but today was not that day. He could imagine how sexy Eddie would be in full metal mode, however.

When the door sounded, he looked up wondering if it was his best friend back already.

The pretty blond woman and her tall hulking companion immediately put him on edge. Steve had never seen them before. But then the man smiled, whispering something, the woman rolled her eyes and they headed into the racks like perfectly normal customers. Steve watched them out of the corner of his eye for a little while, but then told himself he was being paranoid and got back on with his work, although he did glance up every now and then.

“Hi,” a distinctly sexy voice said, just after he bent down to pick up a wayward tape.

He stood up quickly to find the woman leaning on the counter. Once upon a time the way she was leaning to give an ample view of her cleavage would have had Steve flirting in a heartbeat, but there was something off that he just couldn’t shake. Instead, he simply slapped his customer service smile in place and tried to figure out what was setting him off.

“Hello,” he said, “how can I help?”

“Well,” she said, smiling at him in a very unsubtle way, “my boyfriend and I were looking for something a little naughty for the weekend. Do you have any recommendations?”

“We have a good selection of R rated movies,” Steve told her in full customer service mode, “so it would depend what you’re interested in, or we have some adult rated titles behind the curtain at the back.”

“Do you think you could show me?” she asked, leaning over the counter even more.

It was so blatant it made him uncomfortable. And that was the moment he realised he had completely lost sight of her boyfriend. As he lifted his head to look around there was a hissing sound and a sharp pain in his neck. Grabbing at it he ripped out something cylindrical, looking down stupidly at what was clearly a dart in his hand.

“Now you are ours,” the woman said, American accent completely gone.

Steve’s brain screamed Russian, but there was nothing he could do as everything started going dark. Warn Eddie was the only rational thought in his brain before someone stuck something that crackled in his back and all his muscled seized as he fell into darkness.

~*~

Steve came to with his fight or flight mode very much still active and he surged forward, only to find he couldn’t move. Metal dug into his skin, bringing him up short as he flexed from head to foot.

“Interesting,” said a heavily accented voice, “Subject A is conscious three hours before calculated estimate.”

Blinking, Steve did his best to gather his scattered thoughts to figure out what was going on. As his eyes finally focused, he discovered himself looking at the same face he had seen as he passed out, only now the woman had her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and she was wearing a lab coat. Panic made him struggle, but he couldn’t even turn his head.

He was strapped, crucifix style to some sort of gurney, almost upright, but not quite, by thick metal bands. The metal of what he was lying on was unforgiving against his back and he realised his shirt and vest had been removed. There was even a strap tight across his forehead keeping him completely immobile. It was difficult to see anything, but he could see wires coming from his chest, and a tube running to his left arm.

He was strong, but even his new strength wasn’t a match for the amount of metal pinning him down.

“What’s happening?” he asked, eyes frantically darting around at the flashing lights and computer equipment all around what he realised was a lab.

The woman ignored him, turning and saying something in Russian while she ticked something else off on her clipboard.

“Level 1,” she said in English, giving him a look he remembered all too well from his last interaction with Russians.

The woman wanted him to understand, wanted him to be afraid. He was so busy trying to figure out why, his still confused brain ignored the man moving to his left. His error became obvious when something cold jabbed him in the side. He had just enough time to flick his eyes downwards to see a long metal pole when the man holding it pulled a trigger on the end.

A cry ripped from his throat as electricity scorched through his body. Metal dug into his arms, legs and torso as his muscles cramped, spasming as the cattle prod like device delivered its painful load. For long seconds he couldn’t breathe. Something close was beeping wildly. It took everything he had to keep the otherness inside.

“What are you doing?” he gasped out when the weapon was withdrawn.

Everyone ignored him.

“No response,” the woman said, writing on her clipboard. “Level 2.”

Steve tensed, but it did no good. The pain was worse, his body convulsed just as it had before, and he was left dazed and gasping when the torment was withdrawn. He had no defence.

They got to level four before he could no longer repress the changes to his body. Claws ripped from his fingers, fangs descended in his upper jaw, and the room around him brightened considerably in his vision.

The female scientist observed him like some kind of animal, noting down things as she did, showing no hint of surprise at what she was seeing. Only then did he fully understand. They knew, the Russians already knew what he was, they just wanted to know how he ticked. The fear twisting through his body morphed into complete dread.

“Level 5,” she said.

“No please,” he begged, but they weren’t listening.

He couldn’t control the pain, he couldn’t control his reactions to it. Then the Russian’s reached level nine. Pure survival exploded through his brain. Everything vanished in a haze of pure instinct as his system screamed danger. Something popped as he surged against his restraints and he could move his wrist.

Someone was shouting in Russian as he struggled. He was fighting with every fibre of his being, and he could hear the incessant beeping of an alarm. With his heart beating wildly in his ears, he gave in to pure need until it felt like someone smothered him in fog. Between one breath and the next, the fight burned out of him. He could barely move.

The skin on his wrists and over his chest prickled and he had just about enough wherewithal to realise he had scales. He’d never done that outside the Upside Down before. It felt wrong, alien to the real world. Something inside him wanted to scream, but all he could manage was a weak moan. Even as the extreme changes faded, they left him reeling. He wished he could just let go, pass out, but his system kept on fighting.

“Inhibitor 1 successful,” his tormentor said, ticking it off on her clipboard.

She looked into his eyes and smiled.

“Level 1, stage 2,” she said, before turning to her subordinates and snapping something in Russian.

The strap he had managed to pull from its fastening was reattached and it started all over again.

He lost count as they tortured him, noting his responses at each stage of their experiment without so much as a tiny sign or remorse. They took him past the first limit, then the second before pumping something else into his system and doing it again. He was pretty sure he was in hell.

When they finally stopped, moving away to talk in their incomprehensible language, he could have cried. Maybe he did, he couldn’t be sure. Half laying, half supported by his bonds he let himself drift for a while. The drugs swimming in his system made everything hazy. He couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything, but at least they dulled the pain a little.

“Remarkable specimen,” were the words that dragged him back to a vague sense of reality.

The woman was standing right in front of him again, something he had completely missed happening, and she was looking at him like a hunter viewed prey. When the brute with the cattle prod approached again, all Steve could manage was a whine of distress, before the sadist touched it to his skin. The otherness burst to the surface as he screamed, and someone shoved something into his mouth.

Words were spoken in Russian, the pain went away, but the drugs and the aftershocks left his dazed and confused. He didn’t even try and resist as hands touched his face, too out of it to do more than register that something was happening. Moaning he tried to close his mouth, but the obstruction was keeping it open.

At first all he felt was pressure, a pull on his jaw even as his head was held immobile. He didn’t understand, not until the agony lanced through his head and he tasted blood on his tongue. The bastards were extracting one of his fangs and there was nothing he could do about it. At last, his overtaxed system had finally had enough, and darkness reached up to take him.

End of Chapter 13

Chapter 14

[iwritewthwine]

Chapter 25 everything is fine! [muffled scream]

semi-written

The day has finally come around, the day that you can make something and display them in the display case to be sold at the cafe. Technically, for tomorrow, while you’re standing in the kitchen with a Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse apron on. The kitchen counters are cluttered with sheet pans, flour, and berries, as well as some on your face, but only partially.

“Yn?” Seungkwan walks around from the counter, eyes gazing around the kitchen, “Have you been making fruit tarts this entire time?”

“Oh, yeah, I have. My crust needs improvements. Fruit tart crusts are delicate. They have to be perfect. Crunchy, when you bite but not too crunchy that it falls apart and not too soft either. It has to be the perfect ratio of golden. There’s the glaze for it too. The fruits as well, the right fruit pairing has to be perfect,” You let out a long breath. Seungkwan blinks after hearing the long airy sentence from you, and the way your hands were so animated and flailing in the air. 

“Maybe you should calm down for a second? Or like take a break?” Seungkwan questions, slightly stepping back just in case you stepped forward to derail that question of his. Softly breathing in and out, you stared at the pans in the kitchen sink and the other pan on the kitchen counter, plus the cooled-down crusts set on the cooling rack. 

“You are right. I need a break. I made these before. I don’t know why I’m so freaked out” You sighed sitting on the bar chair with your hands splayed on top of the cool counter.

“Fruit tarts are your favorites. Maybe you’re just stressed because you’re making them for the cafe? You shouldn’t stress about that. People are going to love them. I’m already going to stop by and buy at least 2. Two is considerate. Chan said he was going to buy all of them.” Seungkwan chuckled, sitting in the next chair.

You laughed softly at his statement. “Seungcheol said that too. That he would buy all of it.”

“Hey, you said that you and Seungcheol are going to his gym trainer’s wedding later in July? Are you okay going alone with him?” The question coming from Seungkwan didn’t stop you too much until you actually thought about it. Driving for hours, perhaps even driving a day ahead, being alone with Seungcheol in a hotel. Alone. In a hotel. Your eyes widened at the thought of being alone with him. What if the hotel room really does only have one bed? And the possibility of seeing him naked when he goes to the bathroom for a shower and when he comes out. What if he sleeps in the nude?

“Yn!” Seungkwan’s voice brought you back from whatever intrusive thoughts brewing in your mind. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Besides, it’s just like traveling with you guys. Minus the squabble. Or maybe there will be a squabble? It’s fine, it’s going to be fine and then we can have all the fun at the camping site. And speaking of going camping, what else do we need? We have that one tent in the garage and the memory foam bed we don’t use is still in its box.”

Seungkwan had a look on his face, despite what he felt on the inside he just assumed you had things figured out. For now, that is. 

On the day of the display, you were rolling out the dough for the crust, flour smeared all over your work apron, and specks of remnants over your face. Countdown begins and all eyes will be on the display case. You have practiced and practiced it for weeks, and tested them on the besties to which they grew tired and slightly angry that fruit tarts were served from morning to night. Peeking from behind the kitchen door, you peer onto the cafe lobby, watching customers order their pastries and drinks. Softly biting onto your bottom lip when you notice your group of friends, happily chatting with one another at a table and the butterflies or maybe something else stirring in your stomach.

The mantra of taking deep breaths while counting down from ten, as you wipe your non-sweating hands but definitely, flour-smeared on the apron. You took a tentative step out the kitchen door, carefully trying to not expose yourself too much and stepping behind Chan because that boy would never figure things out instantly. (Not the case for today)

“Yn!” Seokmin’s cheery and booming voice drew you out from your hiding spot behind Chan. “We just ordered the special pastry for today. They look so cute and delectable in the display case.” Seokmin’s widened smile (his lips and eyes) didn’t fade. If there was one person in your friend group who always makes your stress level disappear, that would be Seokmin.

“Thank you so much, Seok. Even though I'm still fully anxious about it all.” You tried to mask a happy grin. Hands rubbing softly at the sides of your apron, while your eyes scan the cafe. Your eyes landed on Wonwoo at the far corner table, he was sitting with a group of people (most likely his friends). Unknowingly tilting onto your toes as you peer forward, hands flying on top of Chan's shoulders as he squeaks an "auf" sound from the impact.

“Geez, Yn, apply all your weight on me,” Chan complains, his shoulders moving from how pressed your hands are on them. “Hmm” was the only sound that came out of you, completely unfocused on what Chan was saying. As the thing in front of you was more interesting. Wonwoo with a group of people and if the cafe was a little less crowded you could see more of the group's faces. Slightly adjusting yourself as you peer further, with your chin settled on Chan's head and hands pushing his shoulders more. A light gasp comes out of your mouth at the sight. Seungcheol? Among the group with Wonwoo. "Are they friends?" to "Do they know each other?" floated around in your mind.

“Yn!” Chan's voice echoes loudly to get your hands off of his shoulders and step back. "What are you even looking at being so  occupied like that?" 

"I, uhm," you stammer, eyes lightly looking over at Wonwoo and his group. Flustered when you noticed his gaze staring back in your direction. "Overthinking about the fruit tarts." You lied. 

"Your fruit tarts are delicious." Seungkwan chimed in.

"I regret complaining about them when you made so much at home," Soonyoung mumbled with a mouth full of fruit tarts.

"What are you looking at?" Minghao asks. His head turned slightly towards the direction you were gazing at. His eyes find exactly the person you're glancing at as he turns back to you. "Is that Wonwoo?" He asks blatantly. Grabbing attention from the rest. 

"What?" Chan's mouth falls open and a small piece of the crust falls onto the plate. Turning his head in all directions and finding Wonwoo, which he found along with Hansol and the rest of the group.

"That's Jeonghan. And Seungcheol?" Joshua looks at their group and back, flabbergasted about how large Jeonghan's group of friends is.

"I rest my case about befriending friends in the weirdest situation." Seungkwan nods his head, finishing off the fruit tart in front of him. 

“Let’s go and say hello.” Soonyoung stands up from his chair, taking the remaining of his fruit tart in his hand as he strolls over to the table.

“Soonyoung, wait,” your voice comes out a whisper, softly exhaling when Seokmin walks over to your side and takes your hand in his. Glancing at his hand and then up at his face, seeing the soft nod and grin on him. “I didn’t know if you were wondering.”

“It’s fine. None of us knew. As Seungkwan said, we befriend friends in the weirdest circumstances. We didn’t know. I don’t even think they know but you’re close to them both, right? Might as well.” He shrugged his shoulders, squeezing your hand softly against his. “Besides, it’s like you didn’t develop feelings for them so it is fine.”

Your eyes shift away, glancing at the cafe decor, the plants, and the sleepy kitties settled in their usual spots. A faint chuckle from your lips “Yeah. That’s right. No such thing. I don’t need a man in my life. I mean, you guys are men but like not that kind of man. A man in a relationship, bleh, stressful.” You squeeze Seokmin’s hand tightly as you reached their table, Wonwoo’s eyes finding you first and then Seungcheol and that flutter in your stomach from earlier about the fruit tarts intensive. Catching feelings is hard, especially catching feelings for two guys who just happened to be close friends.

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Frequency (noun): 1.) the rate at which something occurs or is repeated over a particular period of time or in a given sample.

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