#vintage folding table

[vintagehomecollection]

Carved table bases of volcanic stone hold a polished Absolute Black granite top. The centerpiece is an ancient Japanese stone on a carved presentation base, both from J.F. Chen Antiques. The Absolute Black granite pedestal is from JB Marble. The reproduction Roman stone urn is from Dennis & Leen. Photography by Mary E. Nichols

Designing with Tile, Stone & Brick, 1995

[vintagepromotions]

'You can fold this furniture away, but would you?'

Advertisement for Cosco folding furniture (1962).

[thepopculturearchivist]

LITERARY DIGEST, November 24, 1928

[prettyvintagehouse]

[martinworsterphotography]

Antique Victorian Games Table - Chess & Backgammon (1840)

This exquisite Victorian-style games table features a fold-over top with a chessboard and backgammon layout. Crafted from rosewood and offering intricate detailing, it's a perfect piece for collectors and game enthusiasts alike. Its charming antique appeal is complemented by its functionality.

Order or inquire today! Phone: +1 (877) 650-7261 Email: martin@canonburyantiques.com

For more details, visit: Antique Victorian Games Table - Canonbury Antiques

[psychoticwillgraham]

love waking up and my neck being in so much pain that I legit can’t move it an inch without it feeling like someone’s taking a saw to it, and I just can’t move it in general :))

[maedaeme]

I love youtube channels that are clearly someone's years long outlet for their incredibly niche hyperfixation. top tier content

[neosimi]

🌷 4t2 kkb's retro vintage vibe 🥧

happy saturday! pls excuse the preview, i'm rusty. here is the lovely retro vintage vibe set by kkb converted for the sims 2. this took me awhile, so many fixes and redo's along the way. @_@ as always, please lmk if you run into any issues, enjoy!~ (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

i've included a slots version and a deco only/no slots version of the cupboards. only choose one! addt'l notes are under the cut.

files are compressed. collection file included.

download: [sfs] | [box] ♡

credits: @kkbsmm.

OBJECT LIST:

Utensil Holder - 818 polys

Bowl [repo'd to utensil holder] - 394 polys

Ceramic Pots V1 [repo'd to utensil holder] - 322 polys

Ceramic Pots V2 [repo'd to utensil holder] - 324 polys

Chair V1 - 950 polys

Chair V2 [repo'd to chair V1] - 1474 polys

Display Cupboards V1 - 1138 polys

Display Cupboards V2 - 1000 polys

Lavender [repo'd to utensil holder] - 750 polys

Folded Table [repo'd to chair V1] - 392 polys

Open Table [repo'd to chair V1] - 488 polys

Pitcher [repo'd to utensil holder] - 628 polys

Pot Shelf V1 [repo'd to utensil holder] - 806 polys

Pot Shelf V2 [repo'd to utensil holder] - 656 polys

Storage Box [repo'd to utensil holder] - 178 polys

Stove [functional] - 1860 polys

Tulips [repo'd to utensil holder] - 1708 polys

notes: i included both a slots version and a deco only [no slots] version of the display cupboards. the slots version has 6 deco slots. only choose one as they share the same GUIDs. most objects are repo'd to the utensil holder, you must include it in your downloads for the repo files to work. fridge is not included in this set, you can find it here.

[artsninspo]

"JEALOUS TYPE" - Rio X Reader

« previous part | » next part

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

Summary: The restaurant your date picked to take you out to is owned by Rio, and he’s there sitting at a table when you walk in. Just your luck. This ones a little steamy 🌶️.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Black Reader

Word-Count: 1.6K

Biting the inside of your lip you stifle a smile looking into your date's brown eyes. His animated expression is feeding off of yours as he tells an arguably hilarious story. Honestly, you wouldn’t know. Your eyes sparkle at his and by some strange miracle you seem to break into a laugh at the right moment. Although handsome, well put together, kind and funny, your date doesn’t have your undivided attention. Three tables away Rio sits with a scowl staring daggers into your side profile. He was having dinner with an older woman when you arrived with your date. Rio’s eyes met yours then looked down to see your hand in your dates and frowned. Since the woman left you’ve been subject to his displeased looks. He hates the sight of you with another man. Especially after resisting his advances. He’s furious really that your pretty ass didn't spend time getting ready to look good for him. Having had enough he calls over a waiter, it's his restaurant after all.

“You’re gorgeous” your date tells you, picking up your hand to kiss it from across the table. He’s a charmer for sure. His dimples and smile are to die for but he’s not the one making your heart race. 

“You’re not so bad yourself” you smile, taking a sip of your wine. The waiter comes over with a bottle in a bucket.

“Vintage Cabernet” the waiter says, putting the bucket on the table.

“We didn’t order that” your date says as the waiter slips you a table card.

Wine by the glass your man’s a cheapskate huh?

Is written in excellent penmanship. You thought he was signing the bill when he started writing. It takes everything in you not to smile as you fold the card. The waiter looks amused. The use of a Drake lyric in such a petty exchange is all the more amusing. Casting a look over to his table Rio sits seemingly unbothered. 

“On the house” the waiter says and your date shrugs allowing the waiter to top him off first. You don’t like that. A man that doesn’t put the woman he’s with first is  a slippery slope. Sitting back you taste the wine as the waiter pours yours. It’s excellent, you raise a glass to Rio and your date is too self absorbed to notice your eyes aren’t on him. After a few minutes you take your leave heading into the ladies room. Your heels click on the floor and you take out your compact to powder the shininess of your forehead and top up your gloss. That’s how Rio finds you. He strolls in wearing all black, which seems to be his signature.

“This is the ladies room” you say mirroring his nonchalance.

“Don’t make any smart comments. I have a dick and it works” he warns casually. It’s crass but you’re amused so you smile anyways fixing your gloss in the mirror.  The look he gives you tells you exactly where his head is. The physical attraction is a ten out of ten. “Get all dressed up for a guy who can’t even buy you the bottle but you won’t get in a car with me” Rio says, offended by your rejection. You turn to face him and he stands there unimpressed with his hands in his pocket.

“I didn’t take you for the jealous type” you tease.

“You can do better” he swallows, stepping forward.

“I appreciate you looking out for my well being. I’m sure you have more important things to do, places to be '' you dismiss, and he nods a little irritated with your flagrance. It's been awhile since Rio had to put in any effort to bag the woman that had his attention for the moment. You pass him to get to the door and he takes your hand. You should be terrified but you aren’t. The energy in the restroom is electric. Your chemistry is undeniable. You feel your heart racing as his eyes look down at your lips, he wets his bottom lip before casting a look back into your eyes. You want it just as much as he does. Your entire body hates the riskiness of your current predicament.

Reaching around you Rio locks the door Rio closing the remainder of  the distance between. Leaning in his lips connected to yours, he purses his lips tight against yours chastely before pressing his body against yours in a dominant gesture, pressing you between himself and the door. Pulling back he comes in for a second time, this time parting your lips, goading you into a slow, sloppy and seductive make out session. His kiss is teasing and claiming, you feel your temperature rise as you indulge in forbidden fruit. His hands slip under the hem of your dress gripping your thighs, snapping you out of it. Pushing him away your chest heaves. You want him so much but it’s not right. You're on a date, Stan warned you about him and he carries weapons.

“No no no no no” you snap to yourself as you hear a knock on the door.

“Y/N” your date calls from the other side and you feel your heart racing in your ears.

“I got a call I’ll be right out, go back to the table” you say through the closed door and Rio smiles. He reaches for the lock and your eyes tell him not to. He smiles absolutely thrilled at the prospect of blowing up your spot.

“Are you sure?!” Your date asks.

“Yep, just give me 5” you say and there’s a long pause.

“Ok” he says and you breathe finally. It’s your turn to scowl Rio comes in for another kiss but you push him away annoyed with him and yourself. Rio laughs to himself completely unbothered by your predicament.

All trouble. You think to yourself about Rio as you touch your make up again and Rio smiles looking at his phone. He puts a finger to his lip signalling you should hush and when you walk over you see your date still waiting for you outside the bathroom from the security feed on his phone.

“Give me your number or I walk out,” Rio says, playing dirty. You put your number in and he calls making your phone ring. He looks satisfied.

“Pick up, own the lie” he whispers, coaching you in your deception. His eyes are full of mischief and amusement. You just may be in love.

“I swear I care but I’m on a date sis, please call mom” you say loud enough for your date to hear. Rio unlocks the door letting you out. You smile at your date and he takes your hand.

“I didn’t notice your perfume smells slightly like cologne” he says and you hope he really has no inclination Rio was all over you. His cologne is more sweet than masculine and musky.

“Hmm” you raise a brow.

“Who was calling?” He asks.

“Sister” you lie and he nods suddenly more attentively. Your phone goes off again, you know it's Rio without checking it.

“Family emergency?”

“Sister stuff” you dismiss getting another message and you put your phone on silent feeling terrible. Sitting in front of your date you can still feel Rio’s kiss on your lips, his body against yours, his big hands on your thighs. The rest of the night is more of the same. RIo keeps texting the entire ride back to your house and you end up at square one as your date stands outside of your condo door with you. You dodge his kiss, letting him kiss your cheek. He takes it like a champ and you sigh frustrated. Unlocking your phone you see a flurry of messages of Rio talking shit about you being a bad girl, worse than him, a player. Warnings not to lay up with your ‘lame ass date’ and more. The final tells you to call once you get in.

Smiling, you set his name to Crazy Christopher in your phone. After a steamy shower you head into bed alone. You're far too excited to be sleepy in spite of the time. Your phone rings and Crazy Christopher flashes across the screen.

“Hello?” you pick up.

“Are you home safe?” he asks like he cares.

“Yes, Christopher”

“Yes, Christopher,” he mocks, making you smile.

The phone line goes silent for a few moments and your smile never fades, you haven't felt this giddy about a situation in years.

“You tired? I was hoping to come and wear you out” Rio says, making you laugh. Honestly you want the same thing.

“That isn't how you speak to a woman” you correct him.

“Nahh, you don’t want me to pretend I have manners. That’s not you” he says, reading you right.

“Some other night Rio” you cave, deciding you won't deny yourself a good time.

“Alright, well you tell me when” he responds in his usual tone. It’s an odd relief he doesn't promise forever’s or any other ridiculous niceties.

“Why don't we make it interesting, the next time I run into you - you can take me to your place” you shrug, lying in bed looking up at the ceiling.

“Bet” he agrees. “Goodnight baby-girl” he says.

“Night Rio” you respond.

“Christopher” he corrects. “We’re on a first name basis” he says and you laugh.

“Goodnight” you respond, hanging up in a final act of defiance.

You smile looking up at the ceiling heart racing at the risk. Sitting in his car Rio smiles hoping you stay true to your word before heading into the warehouse to check on his operations. He has plans for you.

Big plans.

_________

Let me know what you think of this update and Rio's bad behaviour 😉😘

Authors note: TYSM 💖 to everyone who's read, liked, commented or reblogged any of my work and more particularly this 'series'. It's been a fun palate cleanser. If you're a writer and need a sign to purge your drafts you think no one will enjoy here it is.

xoxo

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[vintagehomecollection]

House Beautiful Color, 1993

[brewed-pangolin]

This brain worm has been bugging me all week.

MDNI 18+

Mechanic Soap who you meet at your local body shop in need of a quick repair to your car's door. It's a hefty dint, needing structural repair and a few layers of paint. You know this and are prepared to face the irrefutable mumblings of a man who thinks you to be just some typical dumb blonde.

Mechanic Soap who doesn't beat around the bush, tells you as is that it'll take a few days to repair the inner framework and add the required layers of paint to make it seamless to the rest of the vehicle.

Mechanic Soap already meeting your standards in someone who doesn't see you as just some woman who doesn't know what she's talking about. Willing to go over, in an overly detailed manner, the mechancis and functionality of the repair and necessities to fulfill such a task.

Mechanic Soap who makes you spill out that you have a vintage '68 Shelby Fastback in your garage that you've been painstakingly putting back together. Peaking his interest while he goes over the cost of the door mend, mindlessly mumbling that he'd be willing to assist in said vintage restoration if you'd let him.

Mechanic Soap who starts hanging around your garage all hours of the day as he tends to the intricacies and overly detailed rehabilitation that had taken you years to achieve. Effortlessly bringing the rusted frame of the muscle car to life, the chassis glistening in the afternoon light as you do your best to attend to his needs while not gawking at his expert hand.

Mechanic Soap who asks for nothing in return for working on such a classic in vehicular engineering. Yet you shower him in nothing but your best of culinary skills. Feeding him after a days work with such delicacies that only a skilled baker could attain.

Mechanic Soap who starts staying hours after the sun had set beyond the horizon, making his way into the intimacy of your home as you regularly extended an invitation for him stay for dinner. Infiltrating your daily life in a way you had never dreamed. Pleading for him to keep you company as weeks steadily turned to months of courting.

Mechanic Soap who shows just how eager he is by splaying you out on your bed. Working you into a pleasured mess on his fingers and tongue before tearing his clothes away to finally bestow you a more thorough experience. His unending stamina on full display as he contorts you into every position known to man. And a few you had never even heard of. Using his well-earned physique to his advantage, pushing you to the limits of ecstasy and more than likely earning a fee noise complaints from your neighbors.

-

Mechanic Soap who finally displays his unending talents as he worked his calloused hands over your voluptuous curves. Kneading into your supple flesh as he spread you open to finally take in the feast he had been so desperate to taste. Lapping his tongue between your folds, focusing on your pulsing bud as you writhe in pleasure beneath his expert grasp.

Mechanic Soap who now makes you breakfast every morning before you go to work. Always has the coffee ready, mixed with your favorite creamer and lunch waiting on the table. Sending you off onto your day with a smile that could light up a whole city, and a peck on the cheek that stays with you for the entirety of your day.

Mechanic Soap who came into your life by accident but has now permanently etched himself into your daily routine. You can't recall what your days were like before him, and you dared not imagine them without him.

Mechanic Soap who doesn't buy you a wedding ring. He forges one from the metal bearings of a camshaft. The sparklng gem at the centerpiece is an expertly crafted piece of iron ore, polished and etched to a glistening surface that shines with an iridescence like no other.

Mechanic Soap who doesn't marry you at the altar. He proclaims his vows at a local pub in Glasgow. Whisking you away for a honeymoon in the Scottish highlands where he treats you like a Scottish queen and worships the very ground you walk on.

A happy accident that turned into a life of unending royalties, and you're in no mind to ever want to remove the crown he so helplessly placed on top of your pretty little head.

This is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But I had to get it out. Thanks for reading my mindless rambles.

[drdemonprince]

For the last eighteen years (the entirety of my adult life), I have never lived in a place longer than twenty-four months. 

If you’re a renter, you know the deal: one apartment has leaks coming from the ceiling, thanks to a bathtub upstairs that the landlord never sealed up; in the next, you can hear skittering in the walls. I get a new job, so I have to head a mile south to find a commute that is tolerable. The relatively affordable one-bedroom on the corner where the ambulances are always blaring gets bought out, so the rent shoots from $900 to $1200 per month. Over and over the leaf blower of economic progress has expelled the flimsy debris of my life from the corners where it has settled.

There were less prosaic reasons for the many moves, too, like the 55-year-old roommate who would bang on my door at six in the morning accusing me of sampling her milk and let her dog shit on my rug. Or the boyfriend who stalked me after we broke up in graduate school, who would sit in the parking lot outside my window curled up into an angry, devastated ball, shrieking and crying until somebody came out the back exit and he could rush in to get me. I left the rug behind when I moved, because it had gotten stained. And when I escaped from the boyfriend, I left behind all the books from graduate school that reminded me of him, too. 

As a renter (especially one with a limited income) you never have any control over your surroundings. Where you live, how much space you have, what pests reside there, what works in the building and what doesn’t, how things get fixed, if things get fixed — it’s all determined by market forces and landlord whims. Nothing is permanent, and everything is uncomfortable, so you learn to keep your life light and ready to be picked up and dashed away with at the first sign of trouble. 

I never really learned to settle down into a place and let my weight expand gently all over it. It was better not to count on anything. Every time that I moved, I culled my possessions: the vintage exercise bike that I brought with me from Ohio got left behind when I darted from a depressing, windowless spot in Roger’s Park to a tiny studio in Lakeview. When the studio in Lakeview had cockroaches crawling up the bathtub drain, I found a dupe of a subletter and left behind my desk and half my kitchen items, and used a $40 folding table from Aldi as my counter, dining room table, and workstation for the next five years. 

That’s one thing that people don’t talk about, when they complain about landlords: how much disregard for your surroundings that renting breeds in you. It’s not only that the owner of your building never cleans the pipes. It’s also that you have no reason to feel invested in the pipes’ long-term functioning, and every reason to feel bitter about the thousands of dollars you’re already wasting on a broken building each year. 

And so you buy the Drain-o, even knowing it does damage. You don’t invest in a hair trap, because it shouldn’t be your job. Maybe you even flush kitty litter down the toilet, as one neighbor of mine did, because why the fuck shouldn’t you? It almost feels like revenge to wreck a place that was never yours, even though the only people who will suffer the consequences are the poor broke renters who come after you. 

There is no gratitude, no sense of continuity — only a steady march of expenses and breakdowns that never stop, until you’re kicked back on the street again.  

But this June, after almost twenty years and fifteen moves across various apartments and sublets, I have finally arrived at a place where I might be able to stay a long time. I’m no longer paying a landlord’s bills with my wages. I have become, as Eula Biss puts it, the husband of a space. This home is my duty to protect, to build up into something that might last for me and everyone else who passes through it. 

Suddenly I can see the consequences of my actions: A stick of incense left burning on the bathroom counter leaves three small, orange marks I have to buff out with a scrubbing sponge and a layer of Barkeeper’s Friend. When I ignore a leak from the hot water spigot that runs over the side of the tub, the liner swells up with moisture and has to be cut out and replaced. Life is no longer lived in pay periods, but in years. Unattended problems only get worse over time, and everything is riding on me. 

I wrote about making a home, adopting a cat, and learning to let my life have weight. You can read the full essay for free (or have it narrated to you by the Substack app) at drdevonprice.substack.com

[natalievoncatte]

The palm-print panel was cool under Lena’s touch. She pressed her hand to the rectangular plate next to her front door and waited for the brief moment it needed to scan her skin. The door unlocked with a meaty thump and she pushed it open with her other hand, absently checking her phone as she stepped inside. As the system scanned her biometrics, it detected stress and dimmed the lights, automatically turned on the television to an abstract screen saver with cool tones, and began to play an arrangement for a violins to soothe her nerves.

She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where she skipped the countertop wine cellar and pulled out the half-empty box of Trader Joe’s vintage that she’d taken a liking to thanks to Kara. She pours herself half a tumbler full as a silent fuck you to her mother and took a swig, then walked out into her living room to sit down in the gloom for a few minutes and think.

Supergirl was sitting on her couch, head flopped back over the back so that her hair fanned out across the white leather. She sat splayed with her knees apart and legs out, arms resting on her thighs. Lena wasn’t sure if she was awake.

As she drew closer, she caught a small gasp. Supergirl had a black eye, and there were scrapes on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, the blood barely crusted. Both her hands and her face were bruised and she had a tiny split in her lip.

Lena placed the wine on the table, nerves jangling when the bottom rattled against the pale marble from the shaking of her hand. Her heart raced as she drew closer. Supergirl had taken off her cape and draped it over the couch. It was none the worse for wear but was covered in scorch marks.

Suoergirl’s broad chest heaved once and she let out a long, pained sigh.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Supergirl.”

She let out a little laugh, wincing. “Do we need be so formal?”

“I don’t have anything else to call you,” Lena said, coolly. “Mind if I ask why you’re in my apartment?”

“You don’t lock the balcony doors. You should.”

Lena sighed and folded her arms. “I said why, not how.”

Supergirl didn’t look at her.

“I just got the snot beaten out of me. Everything hurts.”

“I didn’t think that was possible.”

How was it possible? Curiosity tugged at her, but concern shot through it, making her fidget with her hands. Lena hated fidgeting. It made her look weak, and she could still remember the pain when Lillian cracked the ruler across her knuckles to break the habit.

“Can I have some wine?”

Lena swallowed hard.

“Sure,” she said.

She went to the kitchen and poured. When she returned to the living room, Supergirl was sitting up, hunched forward and leaning on he knees. Lena started a little at the sight. Sitting that way displayed the wide, muscular set of her shoulders and arms, especially her meaty biceps. Her back was a rare sight -she wore a cape, after all- and just as exquisitely muscled.

She was looking at her hands, at the damage to her muscles. Lena offered the glass and she took it. Her fingers were warm when they brushed against Lena’s, strangely soft.

Supergirl took a long pull of wine and smacked her lips, then winced.

“It’s times like this I wish I could get drunk.”

“You can’t?”

“Not on wine and not for very long.”

“Interesting.”

“So I have a problem,” Supergirl said. She was still looking at her hands.

“And that is?”

“I have to call off work tomorrow. These will heal, and I’ll look exactly the same. I don’t get scars anymore. But they’ll be visible for a day or so.”

“I see.”

“But I have to get brunch with someone, and they’ll be able to tell. Concealer won’t do much for this.” She touched her eye, wincing.

“Wait here,” said Lena.

She came back a moment later with some wash clothes soaked in cold water on a tray. Hands still shaking a little as she placed it on the table. Tenderly, she took one of the washcloths and dabbed the back of Supergirl’s hands, cleaning away the grime and dried blood from the abrasions.

Supergirl sighed. “That feels good. Thank you.”

“May I?” said Lena.

Supergirl hesitated, doubt flashing deep within the endless depths of her blue eyes, but she turned to Lena and tilted up her chin. With shaking fingers, Lena cupped Supergirl’s face gently and used a fresh cloth to clean and cool the cut on her lip. Supergirl closed her eyes and sighed.

Lena’s eyes wandered up, to the small mark above her eye.

“You don’t scar. Did you get that on Krypton?”

“Yes. I slipped and fell when I was a little girl. You should have seen me. I bled all over.”

“Must be nice, not getting hurt anymore. Not feeling pain.”

“I still feel it.”

Lena paused.

“I feel every bullet and blow and bomb blast just like anyone would,” said Supergirl. Just because it doesn’t harm me doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” said Supergirl.

She opened her eyes -eye- and looked at Lena reverently, one pretty blue eye glittering while the other remained bruised shut. She smiled a lopsided, honest smile, looked at Lena in a dreamy, almost adoring way that-

Wait.

“Oh my God,” Lena breathed.

“Hi,” said Kara.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Lena whispered. “Oh my God, what happened, how did this happen to you? You’re hurt!”

“I had a tough time with a very determined alien and had to worry about civilians,” said Kara. “It happens.”

Lena’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Her gaze darted, searching and noticing every detail. She was so beautiful, and she was so Kara.

“Why now?” said Lena. “Why this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Lena bit her lip, and the tiny gesture had a noticeable impact on Kara. Her eyes widened and her gaze fell to Lena’s bottom lip, then flicked back up.

“So your brunch,” said Lena. “That was with me.”

“Yeah. I thought about cancelling but I can’t. I needed to see you now.”

Lena shifted closer on the couch, until they were hip to hip.

“Why?”

“Because I just got punched in the head by an alien with big stupid bone spurs coming out of his fist and I need to see you. I won, by the way. It was really cool. I ripped a fire hydrant out of the ground and hit him with it.”

Lena looked her up and down. Her jaw began to quiver.

“Oh God. Is it worse than it looks? Are you hurt worse than you look, Kara? Are you…”

Kara shook her head, then winced. “No. Not that bad, promise. I just…” she sighed. “I’m tired of going to lay on a sunbed and going back to my empty apartment and spend a sick day napping on the couch.”

Lena let out a slow breath. “So you came to see me.”

“Yuuup,” Kara said, slowly.

Lena shifted awkwardly in her seat. Kara slowly reached over with her now clean hand and curled her fingers around Lena’s chin.

“Lena?” she whispered. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Kara turned and leaned into her, pressing the slightest, lightest kiss to Lena’s lips, not a quick peck but something slow and soft, warm and inviting.

“Ow,” Kara muttered.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

“I have any idea. Since I can’t make brunch… how about breakfast?”

Lena leaned against her, gently draping her arms around her as they fell back into the soft cushions together.

“Okay.”

[cleoluvrr]

black magnolias III - rafe cameron x reader

i gave you all my light, and i got nothing to show for it

WARNINGS: mature content; domestic violence, coercion, classism, religious trauma, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, blackmail

masterlist

series masterlist

you let yourself fall into a routine of work and studying for your finals, ready for summer to come and take away at least some of your worries. your job would be full of tourons ready to blow their vacation money on whatever they could fit in their hands and you’d have more hours to be available.

the pogues had been blowing up your phone since you left that day, begging you to come back so you guys could work it out. all of their numbers were muted until further notice, and jj was blocked. it was for the best, you thought. if they wanted to work it out that bad, they knew where to come find you.

your job was amazing; a boutique on figure eight where both locals and tourists frequented. magnolias was owned by a sweet, older black woman, miss josephine, who grew up in the cut just like you, working as a tailor alongside her mother. her mother long dreamed of having a store of her own to sell her designs, though it never a possibility back then. however, when the opportunity presented itself, miss josephine bought the boutique just for her mother. it was the first black owned business on this side of the island, and the story always brought a smile to everyone’s faces.

“you remind me a lot of my younger self, y’know.” she would always say. it made your heart swell for her to see herself in you, for her to talk about how much potential you had. 

you’d known her since you were a girl, always walking by her store and staring into the window on the way home from school.  the employees on the other side of the glass wearing handmade uniforms, the fifties aesthetic enchanting to your young mind. the blush pinks and whites caught your eye, the vintage look of the clothes inside tugging at your soul in a way that made you think it was your destiny to work at this store.

so, when the opportunity presented itself, you took it. it was going on your fourth year at the store and you had no plans on leaving anytime soon. magnolia’s was the reason you decided to stay close by for school, choosing something only an hour’s drive away so that you could still work there.

miss josephine had been more of a mother to you than the woman that gave birth to you, at least in recent years. she was more understanding and less judgemental than your mom could ever be. instead of drugs or partying, the store was your escape.

as you tidied up a table that had been picked at by customers throughout the day, the sound of the bell at the door chiming caught your attention.

“hi, welcome to magnolias!” your customer service voice was chipper and sweet as you greeted whoever entered the shop behind you. rnb music played from the speakers above, the soft music filling what would be awkward silence throughout the store. 

heavy footsteps approached, hard-bottomed shoes clicking against the wooden floor with each step. the smell hit you first; the expensive cologne giving away your guest before their mouth even opened to speak. you froze mid-fold, fingers stiff around the fabric in your hands.

“so,” rafe said. “you do still work here.”

slowly you turned to meet his face, a million thoughts racing through the fog your brain produced anytime he got too close. 

the khaki slacks he wore fit nicely, the material showing off the muscles of his toned thighs. his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirt as his arms crossed in front of his chest. the man had a golden tan, the late spring sun serving his skin well the past few weeks. it was clear that he’d had a haircut not too long ago, the cropped hair shorter than it was the last time you saw him at the beach. you wanted to reach out and run your hands over it like you used to. you wanted–

jesus, forgive me.

the thought was fleeting as you stopped yourself from letting your mind travel any further.

“what are you doing here?” you tried your best to keep a smile on your face, not wanting to raise an alarm to your coworkers.

rafe tilted his head at you, a lopsided, mischievous grin gracing his lips.

“am i not welcome here?”

no

“i didn’t say that.” the words came out of your mouth faster than you could form them. you didn’t want your boss to overhear you, the woman always lurking around where you couldn’t see her.

His brows raised, waiting patiently to hear your explanation.

“it’s just…you’ve never been in here.” your voice was soft, only loud enough for him to hear. “and this is a women’s clothing store.”

he shrugged. the tall man’s eyes fell from your face, the icy-hot feeling of them taking in your uniform-clad body giving you chills.

“nice dress.”

“it's my uniform.” the response came out harsher than you meant but you didn’t feel the need to correct it. “is there something i can help you with? or are you just here to bother me?”

the music substituted his words for a response as you were met with silence from the blonde, his eyes still traveling the length of your figure. your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly, the sound of saliva traveling down your esophagus echoing in your head.

rafe took two steps forward and you took one step back, the second one blocked by the table behind you bumping into the back of your legs. his eyes landed back on yours, something hidden behind the familiar blues.

“rafe–”

“why don’t you show me around?” his head swiveled around to glance at the front of the shop where you stood before focusing on the hall in the distance that led deeper into the store. “what’s back there?” he nodded in that direction.

“clothes.” you smiled curtly, trying your best to look like you were giving your best customer service. 

some of your coworkers had now started sneaking glances towards you and rafe, a few of them lingering just within earshot to listen in on the conversation.

letting out a breathy chuckle and extending his arm, he directed you away from the table.

“why don’t you show me?”

the two of you stood there in a silent standoff for a few moments, the muscle in your chest pumping blood at a pace you weren’t sure it could handle for much longer. you finally gave in after a long thirty seconds, eyes rolling as you slid past him to walk down through the decorated hallway.

rafe asked you so many questions. every display you passed he would stop to stare at the mannequins like the two of you were at the smithsonian museum, the man treating you like a tour guide and making you explain everything to him.

people were giving you puzzled looks, the sight of rafe cameron sifting through frilly pink skirts leaving them just as confused as you were. you lost track of time at some point; so much so that when you finally glanced at your watch you gasped at what was displayed.

your shift was over.

“well,” you cleared your throat to capture his attention. “it’s time for me to go, so…if you plan on buying anything just let one of my coworkers know.”

rafe didn’t get the chance to protest before you left him on his own in the depths of the store. it was rude, sure, but you had to get away from him. 

you felt like you were suffocating.

much to your surprise, and dismay, rafe had not departed after you announced the end of your shift. you nearly stumbled over your shoes when you stepped outside and found him leaning against the side of his truck. he smiled at you, arms uncrossing as he pushed off the vehicle and stepped towards your frozen frame.

“why are you here?”

“you sure ask that a lot, y’know?” his nimble fingers reached up to freshly shaven face. he wore a ghost of a smile as he looked down at you, still dressed in your uniform.

you gripped the sides of your dress, the skirt wrinkling under the force of your hands. 

“need a ride?”

that was the absolute last thing you were expecting to come out of his mouth. brows shooting up in surprise, you eyed him suspiciously. your tongue ran over the front of your teeth as you looked him up and down. it was his turn to go under inspection.

“why would i get in a car with you?”

he opened the passenger side door, presumably for you to take a seat inside. you didn’t budge.

“cause you need a ride.”

“i can find a ride…actually,” you loosened the grip on your skirts, palms opening to smooth out the lines left behind. “i would rather walk–”

“get in the car, y/n.” the smile was gone now, his voice sharper as he urged you to take his offer. he was never truly asking if you wanted a ride, he was giving the illusion of a choice.

a scoff rose from your throat. the audacity of him was almost funny to you.

“i’m not getting in a car with-”

there was hardly time to react before he was on you, a stong hand wrapped around your forearm as he roughly guided you to his truck. your instinct to fight against him was smothered by the shock of his manhandling, the sound of a car door slamming snapping you out of your disoriented state. 

your jaw dropped as you watched rafe come around the front of the vehicle and enter the drivers side. there was no time to open the door before rafe was speeding off from the front of magnolia’s, the revving of his engine making the seat vibrate beneath you. 

“rafe!” you said after you gathered the words from your jumbled up mind. “you can’t do that! that’s like…th-that’s kidnapping!”

the older man laughed dryly, head thrown back dramatically before landing back on the road. 

“i’m giving you a ride home-”

“you manhandled me!” you interrupted. was he being serious? “and i said ‘no.’ that’s the definition of kidnapping.”

he cooly looked at you, the expression on his face completely different from the one he had just a few minutes ago when he forced you into his car. 

“you’re being dramatic.”

exasperation was all you felt, the emotion filling you the brim as you stared at him with wide eyes. you pulled out your phone and clicked on a green icon, fingers ready to type out three numbers that would likely do you no good, but it was worth the try.

“i’m calling the police.”

before you could press enter the device was snatched from your hands. you watched rafe shove it into his pocket furthest from you, head shaking side to side as he denied you any contact to the outside world for the remainder of your time with him.

“no you’re not.”  he stopped at a red light and took the opportunity to look at you once again. his eyes were piercing and sparked a feeling of intimidation in the deepest pit of your stomach. “we’re gonna talk.”

you knew that you guys would have to have a conversation eventually, you just never thought it would be so soon.

honestly, you hoped that you could avoid it at all costs, but that wasn’t realistic. kildare was a small island and you were bound to run into each other eventually. it was surprising that you were able to circumvent him for as long as you did, but you knew there was always a risk stepping into figure eight. seeing him at the beach was unexpected, and you never thought that he would show up at your job like that.

you folded your arms across your body snugly, still feeling unsure about being in such close proximity to him.

“you, uh, y-you really did me wrong, y/n.” it was obvious that the thought of what transpired all those months ago still angered him deep down, but he held on to whatever was bubbling up inside of him.

you gulped, afraid of what he would say next.

“it’s hard for me to–to trust people…you know that.” rafe continued, head turning briefly to confirm he had your ear. “i trusted you.” he sniffed instinctively, fingers coming up to wipe his nostrils. it had become a habit of his; even after giving up the blow.

you hummed in response, unsure of what to say.

“i trusted you and y-you…you broke that. you broke my trust for those pogues–”

“those pogues are my friends.” your eyes were sharp as razor blades as you stared him down from your place in the car. “i’m a pogue, rafe.”

“see–i’m trying…i-i’m trying to talk to you and you’re just..you’re just snapping at me.” he said. your lip curled up in disgust but you went quiet once again, reluctantly allowing him to finish. 

rafe took a long pause before he continued his speech, jaw ticking in annoyance from you reminding him of your social status.

you hated how he talked about pogues, especially since you were one yourself. he could pretend you were different as much as he wanted, but you both knew the truth.

“but i can admit that i’ve done you wrong, too.” the words sounded painful, but he got them all out without stopping or stuttering. “i can admit that i wasn’t there for you when i should’ve been, so it’s my fault that this happened in the first place. at least–a little bit.”

you tore your eyes away from the window to face him, the flesh of your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you worried it. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

this was the most accountability he’s ever taken in the time that you’ve known him–it was the only time he’s ever taken accountability, actually.

“i’m trying to be better–i want to be better.” rafe looked at you and you could see that he was being genuine. “so–so you don’t have to forgive me; not right now. but i…i forgive you.”

 still unsure of what to say to him, you blinked. you released your bottom lip from the wrath of your teeth, flesh swollen and pink from the abuse.

rafe’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, drawing in a deep breath before forcing himself to keep them on the road. your own gaze followed his and you were shocked to see your house at the end of the cul-de-sac, rafe slowing to a stop outside of it. your mother was home, her white sedan parked in the gravel driveway.

“i was serious when i said you can always come back.” he turned off the car, letting the engine die before turning his body to face you fully. he looked strangely soft, something he rarely let himself be around you in the later years of your crumbling relationship.

“what is there to come back to, rafe?” you finally spoke after letting him sit in silence for a few minutes. the sun was beginning to set behind your hours, the golden light dimmed by the tinted windows of rafe’s truck. still it reflected into the man’s eyes, the color enhanced by the star’s shine.

he blinked at you, long lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks. you sighed and reached a hand up to scratch at the nape of your neck.

“my friends would hate me. i can’t just ignore the stuff you’ve done to them.”

“what have they ever done for you?”

“they were there for me when you weren’t rafe!” you snapped at him. “you were never there when i needed you.”

he palmed over his buzzed hair frustratedly, head shaking side to side in…confusion? denial? you weren’t sure.

“and i’m sorry for that, really, i am. i’m here now, though. alright?” rafe extended an arm over the divider to place a hand on yours, his fingers squeezing in a way that was supposed to be reassuring.

you released a heavy breath from your nose, head leaning back against the window as you stared at your ex-boyfriend across from you. you didn’t remove your hand from his; the warmth was comforting in a way that made you feel guilty.

“where are they anyway? your ‘friends’?” 

“we aren’t talking right now,” your voice was barely audible. “not that it’s any of your business…”

he tsked at you, disapproval clear from his demeanor. 

you moved to open the car door, free hand pulling on the handle. rafe held you back with the hand still in his grip. his eyes were deep and serious as they swallowed you whole.

“you still have my number?” you nodded hesitantly, not wishing to admit it. his head moved up in down in tandem with yours. “i’ll always pick up the phone. you come to my house; i’ll always open the door. okay?”

slowly he released your hand, taking your silence as understanding.

you watched from your porch as the dark truck pulled off from your home, the vehicle turning into a dot the further away it got. the phone in the pocket of your dress was heavy with the weight of a ten-digit number that had been collecting dust for almost a year. it weighed heavy with the unanswered messages of the friends that you hadn’t spoken to in weeks.

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ CRAWL ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise. Crawling for the Devil is the least of your problems.

PAIRING: devil!yjh x reader (afab)

GENRE: fantasy | smut, pwp

TAGS: featuring: sub!ksy, artist!xmh, housemate!jww | auditory voyeurism, pegging (m receiving), fingering, hickies, face sitting, oral + face fucking (m receiving), tail play, degradation, crawling, spanking, swallowing, toys, manhandling, pnv

WC: 5.2k

A/N: hello! currently working on my thesis so writing this was a way to blow off steam. I also wasn't going to write another devil!jeonghan fic so thank you to @whenyourenothere for convincing me! this can be read as a standalone fic or a part two of red horn. special s/o to @junkissed for helping me figure out the tags for this fic bc there's a lot <33 - nu ♡ | tagging: @jjeongddol

himbocoups's masterlist

It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward. 

Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds. 

The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color. 

On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him. 

You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.

“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all. 

He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.

This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment. 

“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.” 

“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him. 

Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil. 

However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress. 

The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress. 

“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action. 

You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube it’s coated with prepares the toy for insertion. 

Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”

But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.

“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”

You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past. 

You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.

Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and the apartment windows propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet. 

Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry. 

“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass cheek. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him. 

Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm. 

“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”

Before you can re-experience all of what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet. 

You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission. 

Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door. 

“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”

The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages. 

Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.

He slams the door behind him and takes long and fast paced strides toward the bed until his figure towers over you. And the Devil himself smirks as he purposely leans down until his bangs dangle in front of his forehead and your entire upper body is pressed against Wonwoo’s sheets. His right hand presses into the space next to your left shoulder as he looks down at you with a pitiful look on his face. 

“What?” He almost scoffs at you in his beautiful light and airy voice. “You didn’t once stop to think that maybe all of this was my doing? That you would relive your memories with who was it? Kwon Soonyoung and Xu Minghao? You’re more fucking stupid than I remembered. Were you fucked too hard by Seungcheol that you lost a few braincells? Or was it with Joshua when you accidentally hit your head too many times against the inside of his car door?”

He cocks his head to the side as he grabs your chin with his left hand. Cold to the touch, this miniscule action has you struggling to catch your breath. He tilts your head left and right as if to carefully inspect what is his. 

“My pet,” he coos while letting go of your chin. Where his cool fingertips touched your skin now pricks with burning heat. And he takes his time to kneel on the bed while still hovering over your body. “This is the bedroom of the guy you get off to? You don’t think I know about how often you touch yourself while he fucks the people he brings over to this bedroom? And now you’re horny again? You want to fuck on the bed of the guy you want so deep in your gut?”

As stupid as you are, you find yourself shell shocked and in awe at the Devil on top of you so much that you unconsciously nod in agreement to every single humiliatingly detailed sentence that comes out of his mouth. The topic isn’t about Jeonghan and you, but the sexual tension established between the two of you knocks on your pussy and makes your mouth go dry. Fuck, maybe he is right. Fucking other men over the span of time since you last saw Jeonghan could never amount to what you felt when you were fucked by the Devil. Lost in your delusions, you could only get off to what you couldn’t have. And when the world’s most untouchable creature is currently so close to you that the collar of his black tee hangs so low that you can peek through the hole to see the expanse of his lean body, the warning signals your brain is desperately trying to send you are unfortunately dispelled by the eagerness of wanting to take a second dip. 

“How much do you want me?” 

“Enough,” you reply while staring straight into his eyes.

He wastes no time by pulling out his cock from his sweats as you sit up from your previous position. Cold and hard are the two adjectives you can use to describe the feeling of him tracing his cock along your open lips. But he won’t let you touch him. He won’t let you kiss him. He lets you starve as your eyes flitter between his cock on your mouth and his deceivingly beautiful face as he pumps his cock. And he taps his member on your lips, telling you to open your mouth wider. And you can feel him slip himself through the hole you made, how the veins on the underside feel against the smooth and warm inner part of your lips. You’re hungry. Starving. Basically wishing that he’ll let you close your mouth around him and suck him to the point you’re reminded that he had no soul to begin with. 

So when he commands you to suck, you do as he says. You lick the tip, wetting and coating it with your saliva. Swirling your tongue around the length, you warm up the member in your mouth as more of his salty taste coats your tongue. Then you close your lips around him in a perfect “O” while shifting yourself on your knees so you can take him better. 

You suck, hollowing your cheeks while gliding your mouth along his length. God, how you bend so easily for him. Your eyelids flutter as you continue to take him along his curved length. And moan while your mouth is plugged, a muffled moan of ecstasy when you feel him twitch while sandwiched between your lips. To make matters worse, whenever you look up at him as you edge yourself to take him in further, you see that he looks perfectly composed. 

“Wider, slut,” he tells you while pumping what you can’t take. His hand is on your jaw again, and he squeezes your jaw between his long fingers so that it stays open. Your pool of saliva escapes the corners of your lips and trails along your chin before it drops on Wonwoo’s sheets. And he fucks himself in your mouth by manually moving your head along his length, barely giving you enough time to flatten your tongue against the whole of his length. He pushes his length into your mouth and groans when you gag. 

He fucks your mouth to find satisfaction and get off on your uncomfortableness, watching you moan while struggling to keep up with his pace. His hand leaves your jaw and attaches itself to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair as he uses it to swing your head back and forth like the ping pong ball attached to a paddle toy. The two of you know that the rate in which he fucks your mouth is too much for you, yet you find pleasure in being used by the higher being while he fucks your mouth to the sounds of you struggling against his cock and the wet smack of your lips when you spit him out after he comes. You swallow what you have and hurriedly wipe the liquid white off your chin and lips. You watch him tearfully as he finishes with his cock in his hand and his seed on the bedsheets and your thighs. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you stutter as his angry red length bounces in front of your teary eyes. You want to lean in again to put him between your lips before he can punish you. You want him to call you names and make you feel bad about yourself. You want him to pump himself while he looks at you attacking the slit on his tip like how you want him to eat you out. You want to swirl your tongue around the spongy smooth surface before using the tip of your tongue to dig into the area in which his precum emits. 

Your thighs rub together to ease the unsatisfied throb of your core. You need stimulation from him in any way. Just a kiss. A touch. Anything from Jeonghan would probably edge you to completion, but he doesn’t want to help you. And you don’t want to give up this opportunity with him.  

“I’m s-sorry Jeonghan. Jeonghan, I’m sorry. Please…,” you plead as you watch him look down on you with a face of disappointment. You want to physically reach out to him to tell him you’ll do better, to tell him to give you another chance. But you see him take a few steps backwards and you’re sent into a state of frenzied lust and panic. You’ve never been so desperate to please, to complete a request from a man. You’re so deluded by the Devil that it feels as if your entire world will end if you don't please him or hold yourself up to his standards. 

Gone is the man who called you his Angel the first time he met you. In front of you is the Devil who willfully draws you in, who has you stumbling off of your housemate’s bed just so that you can crawl your way over to him in your blissful haze. The more Yoon Jeonghan steps backwards, the more your vision tunnels on his body as you crawl across the bedroom floor, not caring about how uncomfortable the hardwood floor is underneath your palms and your knees. 

When you come to your senses, you realize that it’s a different kind of hardwood underneath your body. Your naked body is displayed on all fours on Jeonghan’s large mahogany office desk like an object on display. You don’t even remember if you had your clothes on in the first place. But it feels as if the Devil suddenly wanted to bring one of the several trinkets he has displayed along his office wall to play with at his desk. You were confident that you could show him how much you’ve changed since you last saw him. Yet he has a way of proving how wrong you are. You’re no match for the Devil, and he intends to keep it that way. And in a way, to be displayed in front of him, it makes you feel as if you’re one of his prized possessions. 

Your eyes watch him as he circles around his desk while he looks you up and down. He’s no longer in his t-shirt and sweats, but in a classic white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black tailored slacks. Golden and thin-wired circular glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Protruding from the top of his head are his red horns. And this time, the long and forked tail that he previously kept hidden swishes behind his back. He brings the length of his long tail up to his left hand before tightly coiling it around the palm of his right hand like a long red rope. And one look from him through his glasses, a satisfying smirk and an arched brow, you know that you’re done for.

He takes the tip of his tail and traces it along your naked body, causing your body to jolt and shudder in response. He uses it like a teacher’s pointing stick, the tip running smoothly along the curvature of your body. He’s purposely toying with you, watching you try not to squirm every time he traces his tail anywhere near your glistening cunt. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He jests while planting himself at the edge of his desk behind your ass. It hits you that you heard this question before, and only now do you realize that the Devil has been playing with you all along. You feel him trace his tail along your cunt, letting a prong trace along your folds as if it were his finger. 

“Fuck!” you gasp out loud. “That was you?”

You feel the stinging pain on your ass after you hear the crisp slap ring into the air. Your stomach tightens as your pussy clenches in response.

“Shut the fuck up Yn,” he grunts. “Cumsluts can’t talk.”

You moan when you feel his tail go underneath a fold, causing your thighs to go weak. But he pulls his tail away from your core to tap it against your outer thigh. Hold yourself up, the action seems to say. So you gather your strength to maintain your position, ignoring the soreness in your knees and the fact that he’s been with you ever since you stepped into “Craig’s” office. When you spread your thighs, your sensitive cunt opens up like a flower in bloom, warm and wet against the stale office air. Jeonghan doesn’t ravish its beauty like how Minghao often does. He doesn’t want to. 

Although your forearms are tired and your thighs burn from exhaustion, your pussy pulsates like it’s its own living entity — full of life and eager to be filled. Right now, only Jeonghan can grant these conditions. And you’re willing to wait even if your horniness drives you mad. 

He firmly grabs your ass, angling it so that your glistening pussy is in full view. 

“From this point on, I’m going to make you scream my name like a requiem made for angels.” He forcefully pulls your ass back so that it’s pressed against his stomach while he leans over your figure so that his mouth is near your left ear. “I’ll ruin you if you try to crawl away. But I’d like to see you try.”

You’re pretty sure you already soaked his shirt in the place where your core was pressed against the fabric. It amazes you how he easily flips your body so that you’re laying flat on his desk with your legs propped up against the wood. Any further back, you would be in a mating press. 

You wonder if he can read your mind, how much you want to ride him up and down his length and for him to coat you so much that you’re left with soft and silken skin. Even if he tied your hands behind your back, you would still go on your knees to unbuckle his belt with your teeth. 

He’s been sensing your urgency since you summoned him. Looking at your sopping cunt and dragging the tip of his tail along your clit, he decides to ease the heat in your stomach by slowly pushing his tail into your core. You moan in response as you slowly adjust to its size, feeling everything from the way it fills your walls to the way it is as smooth as a glass dildo. You shudder at the way he pulls it out of you for a mere second before pushing it back into you, causing your stomach to twitch and your thighs to close around his hand.

He leaves his tail in you while he pries your thigh apart. 

“What’s the use in thinking about mounting my cock if you can’t even keep your legs open? What’s an ego if you can’t even embody it correctly?” he mocks you before bringing down the hand that once held his tail against your heat. The impact feels as hot as the way your arousal burns. You cry out in elated pleasure; one convulsion is enough to push the tail halfway out of you. “Useless excuse of a human,” he laughs at you before grunting as he pushes his tail back inside, twisting it as he plunges it in and out of you. “You’re all talk, yet you bend at the thought of me.” 

Cock-deprived, you clench around his tail as you gasp for air. Your pussy sucks the tail in and refuses to let go, making you mewl for Jeonghan to fuck you hard while he thrusts his tail in and out of you. “Nn-nh. Jeonghan! Ah- Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Use me.” You squeal and moan out loud as your high builds at an incredible speed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back arches off the desk and you feel as if you’re levitating. “I’m gonna come.” 

“Come.”

You cream at his command, coating his instrument in a thick and white sheen. Your stomach folds inwards as you whimper from the pleasure. He pulls his tail out of you while coaxing more out of you by lightly tapping your nub as you convulse. Overstimulated, you come another time, babbling his name and telling him how good you feel as you squirt against his slender fingers. 

“Look at you,” he coos. “You made a mess on my table only from my tail. What’s going to happen when you take my cock? You’ve already folded yourself into a fucking fetal positon, Yn.” 

You can feel your liquid drip from your pussy to your ass before it pools on the table underneath you. You feel so relieved and relaxed from your high, but there is still this insatiable need for the Devil to fuck you.

When he does, his cock fills you and squeezes you dry. His head rubs against the top of your walls while his veins work like a ribbed toy — adding more pleasure than you have ever experienced. Fingers digging into your thighs, he pulls out and slams back into you, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You want to scream out his name as you clench around his length, sucking him in and never wanting to let go. But the image in front of you is a sight to behold, leaving you breathless as you watch it unfold.

You watch him through your half-lidded eyes, the scene of him as he throws his head back. You can see the way he swallows your cum that coats the tail he sucks in his mouth, how his Adam’s apple bobs when the liquid travels down his throat. You’re nothing but an instrument for his pleasure, and he sure knows how to show it. 

He bucks his length into you so that it kisses the deepest parts of you, causing you to gasp and quake in your stomach. And he keeps it there with his legs pressed against your ass and the underside of your thighs. Slowly grinding against you, he revels in how you choke from the size of him and how you clench and unclench as if you’re struggling to hold on. 

He pops the tail out of his mouth, a long string of saliva like a web between the tip of his prong and his tongue. He looks like a character from a lewd illustration, so beautiful yet so deadly. And you find yourself into another dimension as he thrusts further into you, grunting as he watches you scream for him.

“Fuck!,” you scream as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re going to tear me apart.”

“Gonna,” he grunts between every thrust, increasing his pace with every word. “Make. You. Feel. Everything.” 

Your entire body trembles with pleasure, your breathing erratic. He continues to thrust into you, talking with his sweet tongue about how your slick and puffy pussy drives him insane. 

“There’s nobody in this world who can fuck like I do,” he reminds you. “Now squeeze me hard as I cum in you. We’re going to be making a new type of liquid.”

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