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atomicami · 5 months

Text

charity work

contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader

- summary: it’s the day of the holiday bake sale, and abby’s craving something sweeter than the desserts you’re selling. (part 3)

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel and jerry are both alive, jerry is not a doctor, reader has a business degree, family & work drama, semi-public sex, pet names instead of y/n, kinda roughdom!abby??, oral & fingering (r!receiving), cockblocking, strap usage (r!receiving), abby hits it from the back 🕺, edging, some mirror play, some degrading, abby referring to the strap as her cock, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything else

- author’s note: merry christmas everyone! what better way to celebrate it than with a contractor abby fic am i right? i hope y’all enjoy this one 🤍

previous parts: quick fix, surprise visit

Seven in the morning, it's only the crack of dawn, and you’re spending the early hours of the day at the farmers market, setting up for the annual holiday bake sale.

Your hands were full of all the pastries and desserts you’d spent baking yesterday while Joel was carrying the chairs and tables to set up with. You tried to walk as carefully as you could to keep yourself from tripping on your knee-high boots or spilling anything on the red sweater dress you had on. When you arrived at your spot, your dad already had everything set up for you.

“Jeez kiddo, thought you’d never make it here in time with them boot heels ya got on,” your dad joked, opening the second folding chair he had in his hand and placing it behind the table.

“Well Dad, I figured I’d make myself presentable for the bake sale, don’t you think?” you replied, carefully setting down the load of sweets on the table.

Well, if we’re being honest here, there’s only one person in particular you’re planning to make an impression on today, and she still hasn’t arrived.

For a moment, you look over to the empty spot where Abby & Jerry are settled before you begin to unpack and arrange your pastries. It’s no surprise to you that Abby still hasn’t arrived yet. After that last-minute encounter you had with her at her place, you figured that she’d be knocked out for at least another hour.

And you were definitely right. About an hour later, Abby and Jerry finally arrived, right before the bake sale officially began.

Joel leans close to you as the two of you watch them quickly rush to set their stand up. “Look at ‘em, I wonder what made Jerry n’ his kid so late to the sale…”

You honestly couldn’t help but laugh to yourself about it too. The fact that Abby and Jerry were now just setting their things up while everyone else was ready was just too funny to you. It seemed like karma got back to her after her need to call you at 1 in the morning that night.

Once the two had their table set up, the bake sale finally started.

You looked over at the table that stood in front of you. A variety of desserts that you’ve made was all spread out on top of it. You’ve spent the past day making every single dessert you could think of: brownies, cinnamon rolls, muffins, even a whole plate of peach pie, because it truly can’t be a Southern bake sale if someone’s table doesn’t have a peach pie.

And lastly, there was the round tray of flan that you made. Out of all the desserts you’ve made, the flan made you the most nervous to sell. Given that this dessert came from your mother’s side of the family, you’ve decided to make it exclusively for family events or traditions out of the fear that others wouldn’t like it.

Nonetheless, your dad practically begged you to make it for the bake sale, and you couldn’t help but oblige.

A couple hours of the bake sale pass by and it feels like years to you. Almost half of your sweets have been sold, which was good, but you can’t help but wish that this community event could be a little more…interesting to you.

And luckily, Abby was about to make her appearance to change that.

While you were distracted with the customers, Abby was watching you from across the room, patiently waiting for Joel to leave the stand to get you by yourself. She had her own plan to be able to get even with you after the stunt you pulled onto her in her office.

Because if there’s anything sweeter than a Texas holiday bake sale, it’s a fresh slice of payback.

Once she noticed that you were by yourself at the table, she excused herself to her now distracted father to walk over to your stand.

You felt a tap on your shoulder from your side and turned around to see Abby standing next to you. “Got some pretty sweet looking pastries here princess, mind if I have a taste?”

“Abby…” you tell her sternly. “You know you’re not supposed to be this close to me right now, especially with both of our dads around.”

Abby simply ignores your warning as she walks around your table, admiring all of the pastries you had set up for sale. “I know that, but I’m just kinda craving something sweet,” she says as she slightly dips the tip of her finger into the white frosting of the cinnamon roll pan before lifting it up to her mouth and sucking it clean.

You roll your eyes at her, grabbing the tray and pulling it away from her. “Well, unless you’re going to buy something, then you shouldn’t be here,” you warn her again.

“Actually…I was craving something a little sweeter than these…” she replies with a smirk, slowing down her pace as she walks around your table.

It took you a while to get her intentions, but the way her eyes were flickering between you and the table, you instantly got the message.

Your eyes widened in shock and you began to shake your head. “No, Abby, don’t you fucking dare—“

But it was too late. Within a matter of seconds, Abby dropped down to her knees and lifted the red tablecloth before crawling under the table.

You tried to kick her away so she could get out, but there wasn’t enough time to do so, because Joel was already coming your way with one of his friends next to him.

“Hey, sweetheart, you remember Martin, right? Used to work f’me when I was startin’ up the company,” he tells you as he points at him.

“Yes, hi Martin, it’s good to see you again.” you tell him with a smile.

You’re trying your best to keep your cool right now, but it’s practically impossible for you to do so now that Abby’s lifting up your sweater dress and spreading your legs open underneath the tablecloth.

Your dad looks over to Martin while gesturing him to all of your pastries arranged on the table. “My kid right here baked up all these sweets for the sale today. But this…” he pauses for a moment, pointing at the pan of flan that stood neatly at the front. “This custard thing right here’s the best thing she could ever make, I’ll tell ya that.”

“That so?” his friend asked, serving himself up a slice. “Whatcha got here, kid?”

“It’s flan, sir. I-It’s my mother’s recipe.” you reply to him, trying not to strain your voice as Abby shifts your underwear to the side from underneath.

You watch the man in front of you take a bite of the dessert, smiling after he’s fully eaten it. “Well I must say, this is one of the best desserts I’ve had in this here bake sale so far.” he said before pulling out a five-dollar bill from his wallet and handing it to you.

At that moment, when you were about to lean forward to grab the money, was when Abby’s hands grabbed ahold of your hips and pushed you back down onto the chair, causing the rest of the table to shake.

You gasp at the sudden impact, and your jaw practically fucking drops once she inserts two fingers into your pussy.

It could have been any other time when she could’ve done that move, but no. She just had to fucking do it right in front of your father, out of all people.

Regardless, you try your best to compose yourself and attempt to cover it up. “S-Sorry about that, I was trying to get up but, my leg kind of fell asleep…must be from sitting down all day.” you said to the other man, extending out your hand to take the bill from him before inserting it in the black cash box that was in front of you.

“S’ no worries ma’am,” the man simply says before waving you goodbye, and looking over to your dad to shake his hand. “Good seeing you as always Joel.” he says to him before walking off.

Your dad shakes his hand back before turning to face you. “You alright sweetheart? Seemed like you were actin’ a bit off just now.” he asked you with a concerned expression on his face.

You simply nod at him, genuinely trying to appear normal, and ignore the fact that Abby’s thick fingers were slowly pumping in and out of your cunt right now. If it weren’t for the loud atmosphere of the event, you’re almost certain that anyone could easily hear the squelching noises it made every time her fingers moved.

“Y-yeah, Dad, sorry…s’just a lot of people here this time.” you tell him nervously.

“Well, if ya need a break, I can try to cover for a bit if—“

“No!” you exclaimed, placing your hands in front of him to keep him from getting closer to you. “N-no, it’s okay, Dad,” you said to him in a quieter tone. “I’ll be alright, promise.”

Your dad opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by a barking sound, which progressively gets louder by the second. The two of you looked around to see what it was, and you seriously couldn’t believe it.

It was Alice, Abby’s dog, and by the looks of it, she was approaching your table.

You slightly flinch a bit once Alice jumps up at your table, barking up at the two of you before quickly getting down and sniffing under the tablecloth.

Joel walks over to the front of the table where the dog is in an attempt to shoo her away. “What the hell are ya doing here?! Get on out of here! Go on, get!”

You’d expect Abby to at least try to help you get her dog out, given the vulnerable position you were in right now, but she doesn’t budge about it. Instead, she only quickens the pace of her fingers inside you and moves closer to you to latch her mouth onto your throbbing clit. You want to help your dad out, you really do, but all you could focus on was trying to be quiet and not let a single moan or whimper leave your lips.

As much as Joel was trying to get the dog away from the table, she still wouldn’t move, she knew that Abby was under there, as if she could have smelled her from miles away.

“Why the hell aren’t ya leavin’?” he says to himself as he continues to move her away. “What are you tryin’ to find there?”

Your dad starts to get closer to the table now, and you can just feel your heart racing. The closer he got to it the faster your heart kept beating. This could be it. Once your dad was about to see what was under the table, it was over for the both of you.

But to your luck, as Joel was about to lift up the tablecloth, Jerry was already making his way there to get ahold of his dog. Talk about perfect timing, right?

“There you are, Alice, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” he says, leaning forward to pick up her leash from the ground.

Your dad scoffs at him and crosses his arms in disbelief. “Try to get a hold of your mutt, Jerry. Damn dog near knocked down my daughter’s table.”

“Tough talk for someone who just lost two of his clients last week to my company,” Jerry replies, clutching Alice’s leash in his hand. “I’d spend less time worrying about me and more time trying to keep your clientele if I were you, Joel.”

As blissed out as you were feeling from Abby’s mouth and fingers right now, you could still visibly see the anger rushing through your father’s veins right now.

“Don’t act so innocent, Jerry, you know damn well that you offered my clients a better deal for them.” your dad replied before pausing for a moment. “You know, you shouldn’t have gone after them, because I just got a deal to work with the Mitchell family next week. Haven’t you been eyeing them for months now?”

The two of them bicker for what feels like ages. At this point, your brain is just tuning them out, still completely blissed on the movements of Abby’s tongue rolling up and down on your clit, her fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so smoothly while her other hand grips your inner thigh to keep them open. The pleasure she was giving you under that table right now is so intense that you could seriously care less about your surroundings right now. All you wanted at that moment more than anything was to cum undone into her mouth.

“You know what, Joel? I don’t have time for this right now,” he tells him before pausing to hesitate for a moment. “I’m trying to find my daughter, have either of you seen her around?”

Oh, you knew damn well where she was.

Your dad laughs and shakes his head. “Jesus, Jerry. Can’t find your kid either? Seems like you’ve got to put her on a leash too, don’t you think?”

However, the pleasure that Abby was giving you was so intense that you didn’t realize that her name had now slipped out of your mouth.

“Oh, my god, Abby…” you say to yourself before quickly gasping and covering your mouth. You’re finally snapped back into reality as you look up to see Joel and Jerry staring back at you.

“Do you know where she is?” Jerry asked, raising an eyebrow with concern.

“O-Oh um, yeah, I-I think I saw her a few rows down, I-If you can find her there…” you tell him, trying to compose yourself once again.

Jerry simply thanks you in response before walking off with Alice alongside him.

“About damn time he left,” your dad says, watching him walk off. “Can’t stand that man for the life of me.”

Joel’s phone starts to ring moments later, leading him to pull it out of his pocket to check who it is. “Shit, s’ one of my clients…” he says with a sigh before looking up at you. “You sure you’ll be alright by yourself, sweetheart?”

You open your mouth to say yes at first, but then take a moment to reconsider. “A-Actually, do you think you could watch the stand for a bit? I could use a break.”

Abby immediately pauses her movements upon hearing that, removing her mouth and fingers out of you. You try not to whine at the loss.

Your dad nods in response. “ ‘Course I can, just let me take this call real quick, yeah? I’ll be there in just a second.” he says before briefly walking off to take the phone call.

You wait until your dad is out of sight to lift up the tablecloth, seeing the blonde below you with a confused expression on her face. “Why the hell did you tell him that you were leaving?” she whispers to you.

“Because I’m not gonna be fucking sitting here being teased by your mouth all day.” you whisper back to her, trying to keep your voice down. “If you’re going to fuck me here, then you’re gonna do it right.” you pause for a moment to check if the coast was clear. “My dad’s still gone, hurry up and go to the bathroom before he sees you. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You watch the blonde roll her eyes before pulling the tablecloth down, quickly crawling out of the table and getting back up on her feet. She also checks to see if Joel is still gone before leaving your side and rushing off to the bathroom.

You take a quick moment to adjust your underwear and your dress underneath the table before slowly getting back up to your feet as well. Within minutes, Joel returns to your table and takes a seat down in the chair next to yours.

“Alright so, everything is set up and served for the customers, all you have to do is take the money they give you and put it in the cash box.” you tell him before turning around to leave, only to pause for a moment and looking back at him. “And don’t eat any of the pastries, alright?”

Your dad puts your hands up in defense. “Can’t make a promise ‘bout that, kiddo.”

You simply roll your eyes and playfully punch at his arm before pushing your chair in and leaving the table. Once your dad was out of sight, you began to walk a little faster, now rushing to get to the bathroom with Abby.

After roaming around the market for a bit, you successfully find the bathroom. You lean into the door for a moment and knock twice, hoping that you found the right one.

“It’s open,” Abby calls out from inside.

You twist the knob and open the door, just enough for you to squeeze yourself inside before closing it and turning the lock. You turn around to see Abby leaning against the vanity near the sink, arms crossed with that same stupid smirk on her face. “How’d you know it was me?” you ask her.

“Are you kidding me?” she says, taking her weight off of the vanity. “I can hear those boots of yours from miles away.”

You roll your eyes at her in response “You’re so unbelievable, you know that?” you tell her. “If my dad had lifted up that tablecloth, we would’ve been done for.”

The smirk on her face grows a little wider, and you can just visibly see it happening. “I was just trying to get a taste of something sweet, princess. That’s all I wanted.”

Her cockiness was seriously driving you over the edge right now. However, you still can’t help but get turned on by her when she acts like this.

Feeling that same sense of boldness come through you again, you take a step forward and grab her by the collar of her jacket, pulling her close to you. “Then how about you finish what you started?” you whisper out to her.

She leans in closer to you, both of your lips being just mere inches away from touching.

“Don’t mind if I do.” she whispers back to you.

You lean in to seal the gap, connecting your lips with hers in an intense kiss. Your hands remain tightly gripped on her jacket, while Abby’s hands run down your body, stopping at your hips. She then turns you around to where your back is now pressed against the marble counter.

Her lips pull away from yours for a moment to flip you around, now with your back facing her chest.

“What—What are you doing?” you ask her, trying to turn around to get a look at her.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you right, didn’t you?” she says, taking off her jacket and rolling up the long sleeves of the dark green shirt she had on. “Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Abby grabs your hips and bends you over on the counter before lifting your dress up and pushing your panties to the side again, revealing your wet pussy to her. “Jesus, she looks even wetter than before.” she mutters to herself as she gently rubs her thumb on your slit, eliciting a whine from you in response.

Abby moves her hand to herself to unbuckle her tool belt, letting it fall to the ground. She then unzips her cargo pants, pulling out the thick strap she had tucked underneath her boxers before teasing the tip of it in between your puffy folds.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp out, your pussy already starting to clench around nothing. “You brought it, didn’t you?”

Abby lets out a scoff, looking back at you through the mirror. “Of course I did. Been dying to fill this sweet pussy up ever since I first came over to your place.”

You then feel her grab ahold of the strap with one hand and position it against your entrance before slowly pushing the tip in, quietly moaning to herself as she watches your pussy engulf the tip.

A whimper escapes from your mouth as she pushes a few more inches of her cock in you, now reaching halfway. “Oh god, Abby…I-I think it's too big—“

Her other hand grabs a hold of your neck, pulling you up towards her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” she says into your ear. “Is my cock too big for you? Can you not take it like a big girl?”

“N-No— I mean yes, fuck! I-I can take it, Abs…”

“That’s what I thought.” she mutters back to you, setting you back down on the marble counter as she pushes the rest of her cock inside you without warning.

She keeps her strap nestled inside you for what feels like ages, waiting for your pussy to accommodate itself to the girth of her cock. She tries to move back a bit, but your cunt keeps resisting the toy, sucking it back in.

Abby grunts in frustration and slaps your ass, the sudden sting causing you to flinch a bit. “Quit doing that. I’m not gonna be able to fuck you right if you don’t relax that cunt already.”

“F-Fuck, Abby, m’trying to, please—“

“Jesus, must I do everything myself?” she replies, reaching around your waist to rub your throbbing clit, causing you to moan in pleasure at the stimulation. Abby leans back a bit as she continues rubbing your clit, watching as your pussy visibly relaxes around her cock, now giving her the freedom to move it in and out slowly.

“There we go, just like that now, atta girl…”

Abby begins to fuck you at a painfully slow pace at first, slow to the point where you were now pushing your hips back against her as an indication for her to go faster.

“Whoa there…desperate for more now, aren’t we princess?” she says, instantly speeding up her pace. “If you wanted me to go faster, you could have just asked.”

“I-I know b-but…f-feels too good…” you slur out to her, face pressed against the cold marble as the rest of your body moves up and down with her thrusts.

“Oh, who am I kidding? You’re so drunk on my cock that you can’t even form a coherent sentence right now. Fucking slut…”

Moments later, Abby was now fucking you relentlessly fast to the point where you had to grip the counter to steady yourself. You seriously felt like you could fall off, but honestly, you could also care less about it. You were so close to reaching your peak now, and as long as Abby didn’t stop, you’d be perfectly fine.

That is until…a knock on the door interrupts the both of you.

“Occupied!” Abby calls out from inside, not stopping her pace.

“Abby? Are you in there?”

“Dad?!”

You gasp at the sound of Jerry’s voice, and Abby shushes you and quickly covers your mouth, now slowing down her pace. You whine at the sudden lack of movement, now feeling your orgasm fade away.

“Abby, what’s going on? Someone told me they saw you walk in here. Are you okay?” her dad asks with some concern.

“Y-Yeah Dad, I’m fine, I just—“ Abby stammers out for a moment as she then turns on the sink with her other hand, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot. “S-Someone dropped a cupcake on me. I-I'm trying to wash it out.”

You giggle quietly behind Abby’s hand, only for her to shush you and grab your ass harshly with the other, causing you to wince at the slight pain.

“Alright honey, just come back when you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’ll be out in a bit!”

Once the sound of Jerry’s footsteps is gone, Abby lets out a sigh of relief, turning off the sink before removing her hand from your mouth.

“Almost got me caught there, princess.” she says to you, now speeding up her thrusts again. “If you pull that again, I might not let you cum at all.”

“No, fuck—please Abby, I-I’m getting close…I need you to let me cum.” you whine out to her, tightening your grip on the marble counter.

“Oh yeah? Are you getting close there, baby?” she asks, to which you nod in response.

Without stopping her thrusts, Abby grabs you by the neck with one hand, lifting your upper body up in front of the mirror so you can see her as well as yourself. “Then I want you to watch yourself cum. Watch yourself cum on my cock like the needy slut you are.”

You try your best to move or look away, but Abby simply moves your face back to the mirror with her hand. “Don’t fucking do that again. Look away one more time and I’ll pull out.”

All you could do was whine and nod in response, keeping your gaze on the mirror. Your eyes then trail down to the bottom where Abby was fucking you. You could just see her cock sliding in and out of your pussy so easily, and just the sight of it alone is making you want to cum even more.

“Oh fuck, Abby—m-gonna…m’gonna cum!” you exclaim out to her, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the tip of her strap keeps touching your g spot.

“G-go ahead, princess, cum on my cock like a good girl.” she grunts out, moving her hand to now cover your mouth.

Within seconds you cum undone onto the strap with a muffled moan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as your cunt clenches and creams all over it. Your body quickly goes limp and static fills your brain as you try to catch your breath.

Abby then gently sets you back down on the counter before moving both of her hands down to your hips. She then slowly pulls her cock out of your pussy, causing you to whine at the loss of it.

Despite that your legs are trembling, you try to get up, but Abby keeps you down. “Wait, just give me a second…I still have one more thing left to do.” she tells you, and all you do is just nod in response, still feeling insanely drunk from your orgasm.

Abby quickly drops down to her knees and spreads your ass open, groaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. Without hesitation, she dives into your pussy to lick you clean, taking in every single bit of your thick release into her mouth. Once she was finished, she got back up on her feet. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” she murmurs to herself, wiping her mouth with her thumb before sucking it clean, making sure she’s got every bit of you on her tongue.

Once you’ve recovered from your orgasm, Abby helps you off of the counter, fixing up your underwear and dress before turning you back around to face her. “Do you think you could uh, clean me up there?” she says before looking down and back up at you, indicating for you to clean up her strap.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you tell her with a smirk, getting down on your knees to suck onto her strap, tasting yourself in the process.

Abby lets out a groan as she watches you suck her strap clean. “Fuck, you look so good like this…” she mutters out to you, running a hand through your hair. “I should make you do that more often.”

You remove your mouth from her strap with a ‘pop’ sound and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before standing up to face her. “I wouldn’t mind doing that for you.” you reply to her, leaning in to give her a quick kiss as she tucks her strap back into her pants.

“So um, should you leave first or—“

“You should go first,” you tell her, cutting off her sentence. “You’ve been gone longer. Don’t wanna keep your dad waiting anymore now.”

Abby nods in agreement, reaching down to grab her tool belt and jacket before getting back up to kiss you goodbye. “I’ll see you around, sweet girl.” she tells you before unlocking the knob and opening the door to let herself out of the bathroom, now leaving you on your own.

You wait inside for a few minutes before shutting off the lights and leaving, quickly making your way back to your table. To your surprise, you return to see your dad standing with a slice of flan in his hands. “Dad…I told you not to eat any of the pastries!”

Your dad sets the plate down and holds up his in defense. “Alright, sweetheart, you got me there.” he says in defeat before reaching out his front pocket and pulling out a five-dollar bill. “Here’s my contribution then.” he says as he hands you the five-dollar bill.

“Okay okay,” you tell him as you grab the bill from his hands. “I’ve got it from here now, Dad, thanks.”

Once you settle back into your seat, you notice your phone buzzing on the table with a text. You pick up your phone and see that the message is from Abby.

“Abby: Wild Randy’s next Saturday?”

You smile to yourself upon reading the text before looking up at her from across the room, seeing her with that same smirk on her face once again. You look back down at your phone and type out your response.

“You: I’ll be there.”

Looks like you’ve got some plans next weekend after all.

- a/n: oh lord this one killed me to write omg. i hope y’all liked it though! let me know if i should do a part 4 (i might tbh)

merry christmas again everyone! wishing you all the best 🤍🎄

requested tags 🏷️: @whore4abby @ourautumn86 @abbyscherry @nyctophiliq @aouiaa @abbysfavewh0rx @lia-winther @grooviestcowboy @pretty-prrincess-13 @iwillkilyou @erinsdeluluworld @elliens4 @totallyghostdgirl @sirenbxby @bellaramslover @echostinn @uraesthete @cherrycolouredflunk @whorn3y @thatonementallyillsimp @elliewilliamsmunch @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @mochiivqi @floptron @swtsuna @naomis-daydream @hunnybunnyhazel @paprikahoernchen @bbglmfao @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @littlegingerperson @ur-fav-pixi @abbysgirlll

(striked means i couldn’t tag 😔)

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syoddeye · 5 months

Text

the christmas party

ceo!price x reader / smut free / ~2.8k words

A very belated Christmas drabble thing. Definitely not inspired by real life events. 👀 Featuring a fem!Reader x Price, background Ghost x Soap, and Gaz, the incredi-boss. Might fuck around make this a series, we'll see! Maybe I'll clean it up and throw it on AO3, too.

CW: alcohol, substance abuse (mentioned) inappropriate comments from coworkers

You came to expect drama at the company Christmas party. It was as traditional as the optional White Elephant gift exchange, the hired group of carolers, and the ugly sweater competition.

Last year, a 'mystery' baggie of powder and a credit card belonging to the former Head of Sales was found in a bathroom stall. Two years ago, it was the unexpectedly raunchy dancing between an engineer and a project manager you swore hated each other. Three years ago, a division head went home with someone who was definitely not her spouse.

You'd seen a lot in your tenure. The good, the bad, the ugly, the hilariously mortifying.

Coming up on your fifth year with The 141 Group, you were a rarity. Most folks job-hopped. More power to them, no shame in gaining good experience after a year or two to leave for greener pastures. The fact you stuck around labeled you a 'veteran', a cheeky if not sensational label, though there were times you certainly felt like you'd seen war. Acquisitions. Rebrands. Reorgs. Yeesh.

But life at 141 suits you. You are an executive assistant, a good one. It helps that your direct supervisor and the VP of Finance, Kyle Garrick, a fellow 'vet', was an incredible boss. He lets you work from when you need to, doesn't micromanage, and treats you like a person, unlike other execs. He had faith in your ability to manage his calendar, prep materials, book travel - in short, you organized his work life. In return, whenever some new hire got too fresh with you, all it took was one teensy mention in a morning meeting, and by lunch, the offending party had only apologies for you. Most importantly, though, the job nets enough money to make rent and let you pursue your hobbies.

With years of Christmas parties under your belt, you were looking forward to tonight's low-grade yet cataclysmic event. Pre-gaming and primping at a fellow assistant's house, Jordan, you clasp the silver holly leaf pendant around your neck where it lies just above your modest cleavage. The dress code was simply 'Christmas Color', another tradition. Formal attire was expected, if not an unsaid requirement, which meant slipping into a gorgeous dark green dress you spied weeks ago in a boutique window. You thank yourself for earning that last pay bump to afford it because you look fantastic, in your humble opinion.

Lacing her leather Oxfords, Jordan gives a low whistle when you turn away from the mirror. "Like a big, sexy pine tree."

You smirk. "Thanks. Remind me why we both couldn't wear red tonight?"

"Because of the two of us, red is my color. Do I not look like some kind of holiday vampire?" She asks, standing with a sweeping gesture down at her deep, red velvet suit.

"More bellboy, but-"

"Rude!"

The two of you lovingly bicker all the way out to the awaiting car. The 141 Group, ever mindful of its image, always reimbursed rideshares for its company parties. Given the amount of liquor that flowed at these events, it wasn't only generous but smart. Like the higher-ups needed a scandal. The car ferries you across town to the ritzy event space at a local art museum. Leaving your coats at the complimentary bag check, you enter the well-underway party.

The events team needs a raise, like yesterday. The sprawling space was completely done up. Several open bars, a champagne wall, a photo op with a to-scale Santa's Sleigh, and dining tables with place settings that probably rival a monarch. Silvery white birch trees enveloped in lights line the walls, with clusters of small fir trees fully decorated dotting the space. The dancefloor was already busy with a DJ fully dressed as Santa.

Four going on five years, and it was still quite the sight.

You gently elbow Jordan. "So. Cheesy themed cocktails first or canapes?"

"Obviously drinks. I just saw one with an ornament in it!"

Three hours in, it was a dead heat for Most Dramatic Event. Two separate calamities slowly built throughout the night.

At the nexus of the first, Chad from marketing was almost blacked out. After winning the ugly sweater with a true abomination of a sweater (working lights, a mini speaker, and an ungodly amount of sequins), he celebrated. A little hard. He bopped from open bar to open bar as the bartenders cut him off one by one. He was trying to convince a coworker to grab him another Mistletoe Martini, and it was progressively getting louder.

The second was from the rumor mill more than anything. Apparently, a developer named Scott brought the wrong gift for the exchange. As the story went, his wife used the same paper for an identically sized gift, one of a titillating nature, and now he was visibly paranoid that he nabbed the wrong one on the way out the door. The man stalked the pile of gifts as folks drew numbers.

Jordan bet on the first, and you bet on the second. From the corner, you watch, giggling behind a cup of Prancer's Punch.

The sound of your name drew your attention. Kyle, in a charcoal gray suit with a sleek snowflake tie bar and green tie, approaches with a Tiny Tim Collins in hand. Though you waved hello earlier in the night, he spent most of the evening in the company of who you deemed his 'buddies' - Johnny MacTavish, VP of Technology and Jordan's boss, and Simon Riley, the Chief Security Officer. You learned in your first month to leave the trio to it.

"Having fun, are we?" Kyle grins and turns to observe the twin events.

"I love this party. Every year, delivers just like Santa," Jordan gleefully said.

"Someone should stop them," You add, knowing nobody would. At least not Kyle.

And as if on cue, the man chuckles. "Not my circus, not my clowns."

The three of you chat, swapping bits of office gossip collected through the night. Not the most appropriate, but not the worst social crime, surely. You're the right amount of tipsy: warm and relaxed but solid.

The wager came up naturally.

"What do you want if you win, my pine tree?"

"Hmm. It's gotta be something outrageous but not a fireable offense. Hmm. Maybe I'll have you sing on a video call, pretend you thought you were on mute or something."

"...That's boring."

"Do I want to know?" Kyle asks, sipping his drink.

"We have a bet on who's gonna be this year's drama - Chad or Scott." You explain.

"Maybe I ought to get back…" Your boss said with a laugh. "Better not witness to whatever you two plan."

"Might be for the best. Night, Kyle," You accept the brief hug from the man, then poke a finger against his chest. "Listen, if I get one DM about work during the holiday, I'm switching your coffee to decaf."

Kyle claps a hand over his heart as if he's been shot. "Monstrous. Fine, have it your way, no work during Christmas…Now, behave yourself, both of you."

Watching him retreat back to MacTavish and Riley (who look quite cozy - perhaps another piece of gossip?), Jordan nudges you. "If I was into guys, that's who I'd be into."

"You and like fifty other people here," As Kyle's assistant, you're more than his Girl Friday; you're also a professional gatekeeper. You could wallpaper your apartment with the amount of cringy notes you've stopped from reaching his desk.

"Not your type, then?"

You whip your head back to Jordan, utterly horrified. "No way. Not that Kyle isn't an absolute dreamboat; he's just not my dreamboat. Plus, at this point, it would be so, so weird."

Jordan laughs. "Y'know, even though we've been work besties for a year, I don't think we've ever discussed this. What is your type? As dudes are not my specialty, I have no clue."

Your type, huh? As if you don't know. Your type's been the same for as long as you can remember. Big and brawny, the kind of guy who could haul you around. Dark hair. Well-groomed, well-dressed, well-endow–You could still make it onto the naughty list.

Using better and cleaner terms, you relay this information to Jordan.

"Huh. A man's man. Whodathunk–oh! Oh shit, look who it is!" The other woman pats your arm and gestures with a nod.

Joining Kyle and his buddies, is none other than John Price - CEO of The 141 Group. Fashionably late (very fashionably late), yet another tradition. Adorned in a Santa red suit jacket and a matching red tie, he somehow makes the boring dress code dashing. Flanking him is a pair of bodyguards. He's just in time for the wager to come to a head.

God, he looks good.

As Kyle's assistant, you see John fairly regularly. Not that he sees you. No one above a certain pay grade sees assistants. You kind of just blend right on in. Not even Mr. Riley, whom you've been introduced to a dozen times by Kyle himself, recalls your name. When you tag along to meetings to take notes for the boss man, you assume you're on the same level as a lamp or plant. That doesn't mean you haven't ogled John Price before. Kind of hard to not to, what with his commanding presence. You're kind of ogling him right now.

"Wow, you really do have a type," Jordan hums with a shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," You hiss into your drink and look away, just in time to see Chad from marketing lift a gift box-shaped ice sculpture and smash it onto the ground next to one of the open bars with a frustrated yell. The poor bartender and caterers jump back, and the music scratches to a halt. A thick silence fell over the party, impressive for a crowd of over a hundred, and your eyes flick to Mr. Price.

He glares daggers in Chad's direction, then nods at the taller of his bodyguards. Without hesitation, the man crosses the event space toward a petrified, drunk-crying Chad. As the guard hauls him away, your coworker, or former coworker, you assume, bursts into ugly tears and then disappears from sight. But your eyes are still on John, whose gaze turns to the DJ. The music starts again, as does the chatter.

"Fuck yes," Jordan giddily whispers.

"Well, shit."

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"...Unfortunately, yes. Yes, I do," You sigh and down the rest of your drink. "Before you swing the axe, let me grab another punch."

"Hurry back, I've got my thinking cap on," Jordan impishly smirks.

With a groan, you make your way to the nearest open bar. One far from Chad's little tantrum. Most folks are on the dance floor at this hour, leaving this particular bar quiet. Waiting in line behind other tipsy coworkers, a clearing throat behind you grabs your attention.

"D'you have a recommendation?" A low, gravelly voice from all your best dreams asks.

You turn, and the sweet Hallmark-worthy image that blossomed in your mind in the last two seconds promptly morphs into a nightmare. Not a running-for-your-life nightmare, but a you're-the-only-naked-person-in-class nightmare. Laughable, considering the topic of conversation not three minutes ago.

John Price stands tall behind you, arms crossed, testing the fabric of his red suit jacket. He smells like tobacco and something spicy, and his eyes are a shade of blue you hadn't noticed before. You never got this close. They narrow slightly, and you realize you haven't answered him.

"Prancer's Punch." The name sounds cornier aloud.

"Hmm. Brandy or rum?" He sounds unimpressed. Was he unimpressed?

You're quicker to answer this time. Except, you babble. "It's, uh, made with dark rum. It's delicious. I've had a few. The cranberry juice isn't too tart, compliments the sparkling wine and–It's good."

Santa, run me over with your reindeer.

Kyle would be humiliated to have heard all of that. You are humiliated for having said all of that.

To your surprise though, the corner of John's mouth hooks in a smirk, then he chuckles. "How many qualifies as 'a few'?"

You, apparently committed to acting moronically, answer honestly. "Five."

It gets you an actual laugh this time. His hand raises up to scritch at his cheek, flashing the band of a watch you're certain is worth more than your life, then juts his chin forward slightly. "You're up, miss."

"Oh, no, Mr. Price, I insist, please-" You start to sidestep to let him up in line, but his hand lowers immediately and stretches out to stop you. He doesn't touch you, but the hair of your arm stands up at the proximity.

John smiles again, and his head tips toward you. "I insist. Join me, Miss…?"

"Mr. Price?" A voice suddenly interrupts. The taller bodyguard that removed Chad steps up and steals away Mr. Price's attention. "The problem's been dealt with. Regarding…"

You don't hear the rest of the conversation because you hurriedly ask for a punch and bolt back to Jordan.

And Jordan saw everything. Your heart is racing, and you miss half of her teasing.

"You made him laugh. Twice. I don't think I've ever seen him smile, let alone laugh."

"Because I basically admitted to being drunk!"

"Calm down, you're not, you're solid," She reassures. "Besides. You saw that death glare at Chad. If he was upset, I reckon you'd be on the receiving end of one of those."

You groan and take a swig of punch. You hope you've had enough of the good stuff to burn away the memory of your embarrassing rambling. You look back to Jordan to say something and find your friend once again grinning devilishly at you.

"I just thought of what I want for my victory."

Any time, Santa. Put me out of my misery.

"What?"

"So…You know #AskPrice?"

You know where this is going, and your eyeballs nearly bulge out of their sockets. "Jordan. Please. No. Do not make me post something stupid there."

#AskPrice was the name of the open channel at work. Anyone across the company could post questions for Mr. Price to answer. More often than not, it was a venue for bootlickers and kiss-asses to rain praises and share bad proposals. Rarely was there a legitimate question or a good idea.

"Darling, of course not. I have something far funnier in mind," She started, and you swore you saw the flames of hell itself in her eyes. "You're going to direct message Mr. Price and ask what he wants for Christmas."

Jaw, meet floor. "Absolutely not!"

Jordan laughs and hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you in. "Come on. It's harmless. Believe me, I considered making you send a selfie or asking if you're on the naughty or nice list."

"He could fire me!"

"For what? It's just a question! He always says we're welcome to DM him."

To be fair, Mr. Price did say that at the end of every company-wide call or in email announcements. He always harps on 'transparency' and 'open channels of communication', hence #AskPrice. To your knowledge, however, no one ever takes him up on that, at least at your level.

"Jordan…Mercy. Please."

"My sweet pine tree, you lost fair and square," She releases you and pats your shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I bet he gets a thousand messages a day. The notification will get lost in the noise."

It doesn't take much more prodding and encouragement from Jordan. Your phone ends up in your hand, and you tap into the chat app. Your hand shakes a little when you pull up John's username and open the message dialogue.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas?

Short and to the point. Jordan calls it 'boring', but you're already putting your neck on the line for a stupid wager. You're not risking anymore by dressing it up. Bet fulfilled, you press send, quickly turn notifications off, and shove your phone back into your little purse. Jordan rewards you with a squeeze to the shoulder.

"That was terrifying." You whine.

"That was a rush. Come on. Let's dance."

The next morning, when you're all but molded to your couch and housing takeaway, there's a little ping from your phone. It's the chime of the chat app.

"Kyle, for the love of everything, it's Sunday–"

You nearly drop your phone.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas? > World peace. > I'd settle for a drink, though.

#call of duty #john price #captain john price #captain price #price x you #price x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #price x female reader #cod fanfic #cod fic #ceo!john price

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wauzmons · 9 months

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We have been Betrayed, Backstabbed, Bamboozled: The Future of Elysian Eclipse

So, if you are active on our Discord, you know that EE is made in the Unity Engine and the CEO just decided to massively fuck over all the devs who are using it...

Callum Upton made a great video explaining the situation:

youtube

But it gets even worse!

Unity since defended themselves, saying that these fees are only affecting 10% of their customers, because of the $200k and $1m thresholds, so Indie devs don't have to worry about that.

…which isn't true:

Unity Plus

They aren't only introducing these fees but also changed the regular pricing plans! They just removed "Unity Plus" which is the lowest tier and costs about $50/month per dev with taxes. This is what most indies use. The next higher tier costs QUADROUPLE that amount and is also required to remove the universally loathed "made with Unity" splash screen. Oh! And if you have the personal tier, you won't be able to use Unity offline anymore! It now needs to do a license check every 3 days to function!

Unity's Ad Service

The fees will hit devs that do free-to-play mobile stuff especially hard, since they still have to pay the fees even when the players don't buy anything, meaning they could end up owing Unity more than they make in income. But what's this? If you use Unity's advertising service for your game, you will get a discount on the fees! The majority of mobile games run on Unity, meaning they are trying to monopolize the mobile ad market with this!

Publishers

Elysian Eclipse has caught the interest of a really big studio and publisher, who is considering to handle the marketing and publishing for the game. They are obviously planning to make the game come out big with sales, going beyond Unity's thresholds. But since the game is made in Unity, they probably now have to reconsider that carefully, since that would cause a massive amount of fees with Unity's new pricing model. So any game using Unity is now an instant turn-off for publishers, also massively hurting indie devs who don't reach that income threshold yet.

What will happen now?

So, Unity can't be trusted anymore and should be seen as a major threat to us and the gaming industry. Even if they walk back on some of these decisions, what has been said, has been said. They showed that they don't care about destroying thousands of games, as long as it nets them profit, so who knows what they are going to do next?

I will pause the development of Elysian Eclipse and release the Patreon demo, including all the prototypes like Aquatic Stage for free today. I canceled my subscription and it will run out next year, so Unity isn't getting a single cent from my games anymore.

Unreal Eclipse?

In the meantime I'll focus on improving my C++ skills, so I can work more effectively in Unreal Engine 5. Unreal is the current industry leader, offering much better solutions for graphics and performance for 3D games. It is also partially open source and completely free until you reach $1 million in revenue.

It is unlikely that I will be able to just translate the game from C# to C++ and port it over, since it is using a lot of engine-specific features. This basically means, we will start from scratch... I can't tell yet how much work this will be or in what ways the game will change.

But one thing, you can always be certain of: I will NEVER BETRAY MY DREAM. I will finish this project, no matter who or what stands in my way. I hope you will continue to support me on this journey.

That being said,

FUCK JOHN RICCITIELLO!!

Fucking cunt.

#elysian eclipse #spore #gamedev #indie games #unity #unity engine #fuck unity #unreal engine #youtube

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absolutebl · 8 months

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GMMTV 2024 BL Line Up

Ranked by the ones I'm most excited about at the top.

We Are

adaptation from a y-novel, stars PondPhuwin (yay! I didn't think they'd be back) - Trailer | MDL

University friendship BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawin - basically ALL the pairs, in the good kind of messy friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is gay. I'm IN!

Only Boo

Trailer

New main couple in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks, grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, to become an idol baby boy can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

Wandee Godday

Trailer

AllThis Entertainment producing a very pulp offering for GMMTV with new pair GreatInn doing high heat boxer meets surgeon. It features a one night stand, fake relationship, and all the cheesiest of tropes. Also features Drake, Podd, and Thor+ pretty boy (be still my heart). This is totally my kind of BL even if it actually isn't GMMTV's style of BL, so I'm intrigued.

(That's Inn from The Miracle of Teddy Bear and Great from Manner of Death. Yes. That Great)

My Love Mix-Up (Thai Remake)

stars Gem4 - Trailer

Hum, well I do love this pair and I did like the original and maybe this time these characters will actually kiss? I'm actually fine with this pick-up. I kind of enjoy seeing different countries remake the same IP. Especially if it's IP I'm unfazed by.

The Trainee

stars OffGun - Trailer

Is this BL? It's looks like a remake of The New Employee. I'm not upset by this idea.

My Golden Blood

Trailer

Okay, I do find Joss very watchable but this looks very bad and also very like Kissable Lips. But at least Thailand is finally giving us the trashy gay vampires we richly deserve?

Ossan‘s Love (Thai Remake)

stars EarthMix? - Not Trailer

I actually do not have the words to describe how much I HATE THIS IDEA.

There it is, I'm not upset at this line up (except Ossan's Love). I'm not impressed either.

I do find it curious all the ones that are missing tho.

No Tay. Oops I missed the weird Haunted House ON SALE TayNew bromance? whatever that is.

No Perth.

No FirstKhao!!! Not at all. Not even separated.

No JoongDunk (they show up separated).

No ForceBook (I saw Book in one thing, no Force tho).

No JimmySea (again they showed up separated).

2024 gonna be weird ya'all, I'm calling it now.

BL is entering the "experimental" part of the genre evolution arc.

There's supposed to be a Part 2 line up, but honestly how many of these will actually happen at this rate? Anygay, I'll update this when they do whatever it is they're doing.

Note: Most of the Only Friends cast was sparse in these trailers. I think they were busy filming at the time these trailers were being cut, and that's why we see so little of them.

(source)

#down with ossan's love #please stop remaking this IP #still no boys over flowers AKA pink milk on the rooftop #gmmtv fails us again #gmmtv 2024 BL #2024 bl #forthcoming bl #upcoming bl #We Are the series #Only Boo #Wandee Godday #My Love Mix-Up (Thai Remake)#geminifourth #The Trainee #offgun #thai bl #My Golden Blood

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 28 days

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1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee

The Ultimate Muscle Car of its Time

When it comes to legendary American muscle cars, the 1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee stands out as an iconic symbol of power, speed, and style. Despite the challenges faced by the performance era during that time, this rare gem emerged as one of the most exceptional vehicles of its generation. In this article, we delve into the remarkable features and unique attributes that make the 1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee a prized possession for muscle car enthusiasts.

Rarity and Authenticity

In the realm of automotive rarities, the 1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee holds a special place. Among the limited production numbers, this particular model is one of only nine factory 4-speed Hemi Super Bees manufactured in 1971. What further adds to its allure is the fact that it was sold new through Mr. Norm’s Grand Spaulding Dodge franchise in Chicago. Documentation is key to verifying its authenticity, and this Super Bee comes with an extensive array of records, including the window sticker, invoice, retail order form, Bill of Sale, shipping document, and record envelope. This comprehensive documentation adds an extra layer of credibility to the vehicle’s rich history.

1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee

Unparalleled Options and Performance

As one of the most highly optioned 1971 Hemi Super Bees known to exist, this Dodge masterpiece offers an array of features that elevate its status to a league of its own. Let’s explore some of the standout elements that define its exceptional performance:

Engine and Transmission

At the heart of this Super Bee lies the mighty matching-numbers 426 Hemi V-8 engine. Equipped with dual 4-barrel carburetors and hemispherical cylinder heads, this powerplant delivers raw power and exhilarating acceleration. What sets Chrysler apart from its competitors is its unwavering commitment to performance, as evidenced by the unchanged 10.25 compression, forged internals, and the adoption of a hydraulic camshaft. Paired with the A34 Super Track Pak, which includes the 18-spline Hemi A833 4-speed manual transmission and a 4.10-geared Sure-Grip Dana 60 differential, this Super Bee offers an unrivaled driving experience.

1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee

Braking and Cooling

Safety and reliability are paramount in any high-performance vehicle, and the 1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee doesn’t disappoint. It features power brakes with front discs, ensuring quick and efficient stopping power when needed. Additionally, the car is equipped with extreme cooling equipment, a vital component for optimal performance during intense driving conditions.

Exterior and Interior Styling

The exterior of the 1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee is a sight to behold. Adorned in EV2 Hemi Orange with striking black striping, it exudes an aura of power and aggression. The premium optional concealed headlamps add a touch of refinement to its overall appearance. Other notable exterior elements include hood pins, color-keyed racing mirrors, and front and rear spoilers, accentuating its muscular and aerodynamic design.

1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee

Inside the cabin, the Super Bee offers a comfortable and stylish environment. The black vinyl bench seat interior provides a classic and timeless look, while the Hurst Pistol Grip shifter adds a touch of sportiness. The car is also equipped with a pushbutton Multi-Plex AM/FM radio, a Rallye dash cluster with a tachometer, and woodgrain-style trim, all contributing to an enhanced driving experience.

Wheels and Tires

Completing the Super Bee’s striking aesthetics are the premium Rallye wheels and Goodyear G60-15 Polyglas GT tires. These wheels not only enhance the car’s appearance but also provide excellent traction and handling capabilities, ensuring an exhilarating ride on the road.

Conclusion

In the realm of American muscle cars, the 1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee holds a special place. Its rarity, authenticity, and exceptional performance make it a highly sought-after collector’s item. As the only year that the ‘Bee was built on the Charger platform, this Super Bee stands as a testament to Dodge’s commitment to creating top-of-the-line vehicles that capture the spirit of the muscle car era. Whether you’re a die-hard enthusiast or simply appreciate automotive excellence, the 1971 Dodge Hemi Super Bee is a masterpiece that continues to inspire and captivate generations of car enthusiasts.

#Dodge Hemi Super Bee #Dodge Super Bee #Dodge Hemi #Dodge #Hemi #Super Bee #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #mopar #moparperformance #moparnation #moparworld

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octuscle · 9 months

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Blonde by FaceTime

Alec has always had a bit of a crush on his friend Van. Actually, ever since they played together in the sandbox. But even then, Alec was the little chubby one. And Van the sweet heartbreaker. Van went through the usual stages to captain of the football team of an alpha career. And now he had his MBA cum laude and was about to embark on a stellar career.

Just to be close to Van, Alec had also studied business. At the same college. Although with his grades, he could have gone to a much better college. And even though he had always wanted to study medicine to become a pediatrician. And now it was all for nothing. Van had moved to Chicago a week ago to become a product manager for an online platform. And Alec had gotten an offer to go to work for an engineering company from their hometown to their branch in the Czech Republic. Alec had paid a high price for his hidden, never-expressed love. Getting a great georgraphic distance from Van now was probably the best solution.

Even now, when Van had become almost unattainable, Alec held on to him. He had gotten a deer, Van's nickname since childhood for some reason, inked on his forearm. And he started running to get closer to his own ideal, Van's athletic body. Today was the first fun run he participated in. He had already lost a few pounds. He was proud of that. So he had a colleague take a picture of himself and sent the Van "Miss you pal" was the caption.

Almost immediately his phone rang. Facetime video call from Van.

"Hi bro, damn you look good! How's life over in old Europe? It's still the middle of the night here, I was just getting in a quick work out before work."

Van turned the view and showed a picture of himself from the mirror. Alec had to swallow and got a dry throat. He didn't know what he was doing. The devil was riding him. So an "I love you" came out of his mouth.

For a second there was silence. "Dude, you better keep your massive cock under control. I would never be able to tame your monster" Van replied laughing. Alec laughed along with him. He was relieved that Van had taken it that way. Yes, the dick comparison had been the only contest with Van in which he had regularly won.

"Hehehehe, it's tough with all the hot studs here at the start."

Indeed, the bulge in his tight running shorts was scary. Many participants in the run, as well as spectators, had already been staring at him and whispering.

"That's what I think, bro! Is your stay successful then? What is the news on the market of nutritional supplements? Can't wait for you to bring back some cool new stuff."

Arec talked a bit about the fitness trade show here in Brno. In fact, there were a few things he wanted to include in the lineup of his fitness startup. He could use a little breath of fresh air for his business. True, he was a genius when it came to marketing and app development. And in theory, he knew everything about crossfitting and bodybuilding. But he just didn't have the body to make it believable. Fortunately, Van was regularly available as a model. When he posted something on Instagram, his sales went straight up.

Van replied that he had seen videos from the show on YouTube. "Dude, you did great on stage. Arac laughed and held the phone so that you could see as much of his biceps as possible. "Bruh, it was just a spontaneous idea. Several people had approached me. Actually, I don't feel in shape for competitions at all" "Honey, I don't think you need to be fishing for compliments right now. Come on, make your tits dance for me!" Arac didn't have to be asked twice. He loved this. The moment when Van had shown him how to do it was just awesome. Today his pecs were almost bigger than his friend's. A few people around him applauded. He had almost forgotten about the conversation with Van that he was standing in the middle of the fair among all the other visitors.

"Did you read the comments on your performance. They called you 'the blond angel'. Suits me, bro." Arac stroked his hair. He loved his blond hair. He had been blond since he was a kid, unlike Van. In pictures of the two of them from kindergarten, Van had always been the one with the darker hair. Today there was hardly any difference between the two.

"Bro, did you write down what all you are supposed to bring. I mean, we both know you can't remember anything with that birdbrain stuck in that hot skull of yours."

"Bruh, i may not b as smart as u, but i can still read ur emails" Arad laughed boomingly. A few guests at the fair took pictures of him. As best he could while talking on the phone, Arad did them the favor and struck a few poses. In his head, he frantically went over what all his duties here were. Fuck, he just forgot everything. And a few tasks, if he had to be honest, he didn't understand at all. He'd graduated from college with difficulty and on an athletic scholarship. He was glad he had Van as a mentor, Van had always been the smart one of the two. "Fuck, bruh! day all speak czech or german here. N english with uh nasty accent. I'm really lost here without uh brain like you!" "Goldilocks, you should have used your head for something other than growing a Viking mane for the last few years." Van laughed. "Don't worry about it, as long as you come back safe and sound!" "Wait uh minute, deer! I've got some selfies to take right now." A couple of the local bodybuilders and a bunch of chicks had already lined up. Arad let them take their selfies with him and turned back to Van.

"Deer, I miss you! When will I see you again?" "Dumbass, I'm already in the locker room. I'll be on the training floor in a minute. Did you clean up and tidy the gym properly? It would be cool if you could at least get this job done."

Brad looked around. Yes, he had carefully worked through the piece of paper with his work instructions. Damn, there sure were a lot of things he had to do in the morning before the Gym opened. He had already secretly let Van in before he officially opened the doors right away. On the one hand, Van could work out before the others, and on the other hand, he had someone to check if he had done everything right. Brad wanted to do this job well. Van earned enough for the two of them, but he didn't always want to be just the decorative accessory. Oh what was he kidding himself. He had turned Van into a fellow who was almost as hot as Brad himself. And now he was making sure they both ate the right diet, that the apartment was tidy. And that Van got to work out before the others. He looked around him. All set, he could open the doors. The door opened and Van came out of the locker rooms grinning.

"Honey, you already know you're not allowed to work bare-chested" "Hehehe, it's not just me who would be happier with that." Van laughed and threw him the T-shirt with the club logo. Before putting it on, Brad gave Van a passionate kiss. Something he had to do now…. Right, unlock the door and let in the members who were waiting outside.He was so glad he had Van.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation

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prosciuttulipa · 4 months

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What profession would La Squadra be in, if they weren't in the mafia?

aka what normal jobs La Squadra would use their Stand abilities for because I love being a bit silly

Risotto: Blacksmith/Artisan

I feel this is rather intuitive, with Metallica. He's one of the most sought after blacksmiths in Italy, and is famous for producing kitchen knives. Any self-respecting chef knows of Risotto's knives— the word around is that his knives are so sharp, they cut through bone like butter. They require little to no maintenance, not to mention the fact that it takes years for them to start getting dull. Because of their outstanding quality, Risotto's knives are constantly in high demand, so much so that he's able to jack up the prices to eyewatering amounts. They're also limited in stock, since he only makes 52 a year, one for each week.

(He can definitely make more, but why bother? Work smart, not hard.)

He also has other side brands to his blacksmith business. He has a branch for barber supplies—razors and hairdressing scissors, whose blades also share that signature sharpness. He tried to start a side brand for stationery, but quickly stopped production when it was reported that kids had hurt themselves on the scissors and mechanical pencils. Luckily, the scandal was quickly forgiven, seeing that Risotto had covered these kids' medical fees as soon as he was notified.

His favourite side brand, however, is his jewellery. It's a hit amongst the goth and emo communities, who enjoy his horror-inspired designs. There's one design that has been affectionately dubbed 'Ghosties': little monsters with ghoulish faces, wiggling around in bunches. His most popular product is his blood jewellery—buyers send him a vial of their blood, and he transforms it into a jewellery piece of their choosing. The patterns on the metal arise from the makeup of the client's blood, making each piece one-of-a-kind.

Prosciutto: Winery Owner

Rotting is just a hop, skip and a jump away from fermenting, and The Grateful Dead always delivers results.

Prosciutto's wines are an enigma to connoisseurs. A general rule of thumb is that wine is better the longer it's been fermented, but Prosciutto's year-old wines taste like they've been aged for decades. This makes his actual, decade-old wines the pinnacle of decadence: rich, smooth, and unforgiving on the wallet.

His winery produces all sorts, but he's most famous for his red wines. They're full-bodied and complex the way a symphony is, each layer arising with an almost engineered exactness. Many say that he's managed to manipulate the precise amount of fermentation for each component—a compliment that Prosciutto receives with a wry smile.

Most people are happy to accept that wineries have their trade secrets, but Prosciutto's one generates more discourse than most. His winery has been the subject of many a rumour—that he steals and resells other wineries' products; that he adds illegal substances into his wines to make them taste that good; that he's a nepo baby who inherited his father's wine collection and is just slapping his own brand onto old bottles.

It's when an investigative journalist tries to break into Prosciutto's winery, only for his body to turn up in a river a week later, that the rumours stop circulating. There have been a few more attempts to unveil the winery's secrets since then, but each one has resulted in more dead bodies. If it's a competing winery who's trying to do some digging, they find that an entire decade of their wine goes bad the very next day.

Because of this, Prosciutto's winery has also earned the nickname, 'Azrael's Wine'. It hasn't affected sales in the slightest.

Formaggio: Heister

I'm certain that there are other jobs which Little Feet would be useful for, but Formaggio likes to live life on the edge. He's the only person (aside from Illuso) that I can see willingly choosing a life of crime, if he had a chance for a do-over.

So yes, he absolutely would abuse his abilities to steal things. He starts small at first, nicking wallets and watches, taking them off their owners without piquing their notice. But as he grows more confident, he pulls off more elaborate robberies—stealing diamond necklaces off their stands in broad daylight, sneaking into safes by shrinking to the size of their locks, breaking them from the inside out. He's more than able to get in and out without a trace, but Formaggio is a cocky bastard, and leaves a shrunken shoe at each scene, a sign that he was there and got away with it. As his crimes start to gain traction, the shoes earn him the nickname, 'Ken Doll'.

His biggest heist is when he steals the chandelier from Tiffany's. It takes a week to pull off, unscrewing the chandelier slowly and imperceptibly, shrinking parts of it in the night. He has to live inside the chandelier the entire time, but he doesn't mind; it's beautiful, and he feels like he's in a mansion. But as soon as the last screw is undone, he shrinks the chandelier and stuffs it into his pocket, taking off with a triumphant cackle. The only evidence that he was there is a cheeky, normal-sized shoe hanging from the ceiling.

Illuso: Storage Facility Owner (?)

I feel like Illuso is the sort of person you imagine when someone says, "I know a guy," and Man in the Mirror doesn't help his case in the slightest. Or maybe that's how he likes it. Hard to tell, with Illuso.

On his business cards, he's a storage facility owner. He owns several warehouses, and they're well maintained. Companies who store with him are impressed by how neat everything is, not a single dust particle to be found when they retrieve their items. Contrary to popular belief (re: his resting bitch face), he provides excellent customer service, things showing up where and when they're needed without a hitch.

But there are a few things about the operation that feel a bit...off. There are no employees in these warehouses, save for the occasional elderly cleaner. Illuso doesn't hire any delivery trucks for his company, which doesn't line up with the amount of things he has to store and transport. Then there's the matter that all the storage rooms are lined with mirrors. It strikes his clients as strange—what if something falls and shatters the glass?—but they never comment.

One time, a salesman had forgotten his things in one of the storage rooms, having just delivered 20 boxes of supplies. He returned to the room, and to his surprise, found that nothing was in there, save for what he had left behind. Distressed, he went to find Illuso, saying that someone had stolen his company's supplies.

"Relax, sir," Illuso had assured him, with a smile that the salesman didn't dare question, "everything is safe with me, I assure you."

After all, what safer storage is there than a mirror world?

Melone: Fortune Teller for Couples

Melone will be making no strange creatures with Baby Face, but he will be using it to predict couple compatibility, and the character of their children, should they want any.

At first, he started off by giving predictions to his girl friends when they met on Sundays for tea, accurately guessing whether the new person they were dating would be a hit or a miss. It had been all fun and games at first, but when it became clear that Melone's accuracy was damn near perfect, Sunday tea times were taken with all the seriousness of a prophecy. His friends invited more friends, who invited more friends, until he ended up just opening a stall on Sundays to predict couple compatibility.

Apart from his skill, Melone's personality made him a major hit from the get-go. He gave surprisingly good advice that wasn't just "incompatible horoscopes", offering insightful ideas about communication, boundaries and care. However, he would occasionally forget to follow what he preached, becoming enamoured with how pretty a woman's skin was, or explaining in entirely too much detail how fertile someone's husband would be if they wanted children.

He became significantly more careful with his tongue (both literally and figuratively) when he was scouted by radio for his predictions, widening his audience to the entirety of Italy. His show, 'Matching with Melone', aired during Sunday tea times, during which couples would send in their details and horoscopes. There was doubt as to whether or not Melone's accuracy would hold up, but without fail, he managed to predict the fortune or downfall of each couple he interviewed.

Once, a listener rang in, saying that Melone had predicted the outcome of their relationship incorrectly. The man had laughed, and answered, "Darling, Melone is never wrong. Only your horoscope is."

It turns out that, as always, Melone was right. The listener thought that their partner was a Pisces, but it turns out they were an Aries instead. Oops.

Ghiaccio: Freezer Warehouse Owner

Unlike Illuso, Ghiaccio's business is fairly cut and dry. What you see is what you get, with White Album keeping his freezers cold all year round. He's only got one warehouse, located near the coast for fishermen to dump their produce in.

There's honestly not much to say about Ghiaccio's life. He keeps out of people's way, finding them irritating most of the time; his job is a means of money, not purpose. Aside from the daily check that his freezers are still freezing, he spends most of his time relaxing on the dock, hanging out with Pesci (elaborated on in Pesci's part). He hates that the coast is such a popular tourist spot, though. He can't stand it when he hears foreigners mispronouncing Italian words.

Otherwise, it's a quiet existence. Sometimes, when he's feeling it, he'll freeze a path into the sea, standing on the ice to watch the stars.

Pesci: Fisherman

True to Beach Boy, Pesci finds a quiet and fulfilling life as a fisherman. Although his ability ensures that he has a catch every time, he makes sure not to overfish, so that the ecosystem stays balanced. He doesn't have his own stall at the local fisherman's market, preferring to sell his catch from his boat instead. He finds that he's able to converse with the locals in a much more intimate manner this way, taking his time to chat with them instead of hurrying them off for the next customer.

Once he's sold everything for the day, Pesci spends his afternoons trying to teach Ghiaccio how to fish; Ghiaccio had approached him about it, the man saying that he had heard it was a good way to learn patience. It's been slow going. Sitting on the dock and waiting for a fish to bite has not seemed to produce any further patience for Ghiaccio, but he returns day after day out of spite. Though, Pesci likes to think it's a little bit for his company as well.

They talk idly about town affairs and daily life, otherwise happy to sit in silence. Every so often, Pesci will use his ability to guide a fish onto Ghiaccio's line, smiling as his friend lets out a triumphant shout. It feels good, to give back.

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windienine · 10 months

Text

hey! tumblr crowd! i'm way proud of the voice and gm work i put into this!

chuubo's marvelous wish-granting engine by the one shot actual play podcast is a short, ongoing AP detailing events in the life of the eponymous chuubo (played by james d'amato)-- an average fifteen year old boy living in the bucolic port district of fortitude who can rearrange time and space on a whim. joining him are seizhi (played by jeeyon shim), the anxiety-ridden untethered reality virus he has brought into existence to be his bestie, and natalia (played by darcy ross), a human girl allegedly ("allegedly") from the mysterious outer world known as earth who isn't fully convinced that any of this isn't her weirdest fever dream yet.

i want you to know what happens next.

i can promise you:

ghosts(!!)

evil scientists

weird stuff going on with The Sun

mushrooms (?)

encroaching cosmic horror

gay

questions about the distinction between humans, the dead and the holy

hot dog stand of questionable origin

other ?!

the titular game is a release by dr. jenna moran of nobilis fame, available now (and currently on sale as of 7/28/23) on drivethrurpg. it's got a lot of stories to share with you, if you let it.

if you ended up enjoying this over coffee, i'd love to hear about it! here's to more projects coming your way in the future. be sure to check out one shot's other projects as well!

#ttrpg #tabletop #indie ttrpg #actual play #ttrpg podcast #chuubo's #cmwge #nobilis #gaming

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diabolus1exmachina · 1 year

Photo

Lamborghini Urraco P300

Despite having been conceptualised as the model to dramatically increase sales and bring Lamborghini greater financial stability, the Urraco P250 proved a commercial flop. Production started in late 1972 following major equipment and floorspace investment. However, by late 1974, less than 500 had been delivered. The Urraco should have gone into production two years earlier than it eventually did. Lamborghini had originally conceived the model with a view to selling over 1000 examples every year.

The disappointing reality left Lamborghini deep in the red, but the Urraco was only partly responsible for a difficult few years.

Compounding the firm’s troubles had been delays for the Countach, a worldwide recession, problems at Lamborghini Trattori and unionised labour, all of which contrived to take their toll on the company founder. In 1972, Ferruccio Lamborghini had sold his tractor company along with 51% of his motor car business. He cashed out of the final 49% in 1974 when the world was in the midst of an energy crisis that slashed demand for gas guzzling machinery.

Throughout this tumultuous period, development work continued on the Urraco. It mainly focused on the Paolo Stanzani-designed V8 engine that had been created especially for the new model at considerable expense. In November 1974, an uprated Urraco P300 was launched at the Turin Motor Show. It immediately went into production alongside the Countach LP400, Espada Series 3 and Jarama S.

Most significantly, the Urraco P300 came with an enlarged three-litre engine. Equally importantly, the power unit now incorporated dual instead of single overhead camshafts.

To take capacity up to three-litres, Paolo Stanzani’s all-alloy 90° V8 was stroked from 53mm to 64.5mm. Bore went unchanged at 86mm for an overall displacement of 2997cc (an increase of 534cc). Compression was dropped from 10.5:1 to 10.0:1. Four new Weber 40 DCNF twin-choke downdraught carburettors were installed to replace the old 40 IDF 1s used previously.

The consequence of these improvements was a dramatic jump in output. Peak power was up 40bhp to 260bhp at an otherwise unchanged 7500rpm. The torque rating also rose considerably; 195lb-ft was now on tap at 3500rpm compared to 166lb-ft at 5750rpm for the P250.

As before, ignition was via two Marelli coils and a single Marelli distributor.

Lamborghini’s five-speed manual gearbox was beefed up to cope with the increased power and torque. Transmission was via a single dry-plate clutch and Lamborghini differential. New damper settings improved the ride, but otherwise little was changed to the existing platform The P300 was based on the same steel monocoque body shell as its predecessor. The engine was housed transversely like the Miura.

Suspension was independent all-round with MacPherson struts, coil springs and telescopic shocks. Anti-roll bars were fitted at either end The twin circuit brake system incorporated unchanged 278mm ventilated Girling discs. Campagnolo’s handsome five-bolt cast magnesium wheels were retained. They measured 7.5 x 14-inches and originally came shod with Michelin XWX tyres.

An 80-litre fuel tank was fitted in the engine bay.

Visually, the only change made to the P300 Urraco was a switch from a two-bank to six-bank radiator cooling vent on the front lid. The rest of Marcello Gandini’s soft wedge creation was unaltered.In a decade not exactly renowned for design longevity, the Urraco proved somewhat timeless. Compared to Bertone’s other mid-engined 2+2, the Ferrari Dino 308 GT4, the baby Lamborghini aged very well, even though it was ultimately outsold by the Maranello product by five to one.Build quality was considerably improved over earlier examples and nowhere was this more apparent than in the cockpit.Bertone had originally been responsible for furnishing the bodyshells, but by the time the P300 was on stream, this work had been taken in-house.

Lamborghini used better quality materials and ensured a higher standard of fit and finish.To this end, P300s were generally equipped with full leather interiors instead of the often garish two-tone leather and fabric combinations seen earlier.

The full width dash layout was still just as haphazard though. The rev counter and speedometer were located at either end of the instrument binnacle and angled in towards the driver. Supplementary gauges and various rocker switches were housed in between.

Lamborghini’s unusual deep dish steering wheel with its four arced horizontal spokes and leather rim was also retained. Like the P250 (which remained in production for a few months longer to use up an overstock of parts), the only update was the gradual shift to anodised black bumpers, wipers and window frames. A more conventional three-spoke steering wheel was also introduced towards the end of production.

#Lamborghini Urraco P300 #Ferruccio Lamborghini #Countach LP400 #Espada #Jarama S #Miura #Ferrari Dino 308 GT4 #Bertone

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

Note

What do the M6 spent an exorbitant amount of money on? So much so that it could be considered an addiction? (Doesn't need to be expenses related to the MC, but could be.) I feel like for Lucio it would be Furry Comissions (regardless of whether or not you want to set the hc's in a modern AU or the regular story).

The Arcana HCs: M6 and their shopping weaknesses

~ a request from my wonderful fantastic mutual @helshollowhalls ? Anything for you, friend! Enjoy the madness - brainrot ~

Depending on how the two of you like to split your duties, it may be more or less frequent for you or your beloved to shop alone. Most of the time you don't have to worry too much, they're an adult! They know what they're doing.

Until they creep into your shared quarters one evening, oozing both excitement and guilt as they hide the results of their errands behind the door. "MC, you wouldn't believe what I saw for sale in the market today."

Julian

He's standing almost like a soldier, chest bared and feet braced for your reaction, arms folded under his cape behind his back

"What did you buy, Julian?"

He's not ready to answer your question. "I have it in good faith that it may one day prove essential to saving someone's life."

He's really getting into character now, and you're beginning to worry

"What did you buy, Julian?"

"A rare instrument necessary to my practice! A scientific breakthrough! Behold!"

And with a grand flourish, he pulls out a feat of engineering that seems to be an obscure medical instrument. Fair enough

"So what does it do?"

You watch him deflate like one of those car dealership tube men at the end of the day

"... I don't know."

"And how much did you spend on it?"

He clutches it to his chest protectively. "Does it matter? I'll figure out a way to use it eventually! Maybe it pairs well with leeches!"

Asra

You can't tell if they're grinning or grimacing, but their dimples are out and they're almost sparkling with excitement

"They had so many options, MC. I've never even heard of most of them before!"

He can see your eyes widening as Faust tips over the duffle-sized bag behind the door, slithering over the piles of packages that pour out across the floor

"How much did you spend, Asra!?"

"Not as much as I could have, and only my own money. They had sample packs!"

Now that their secret is out, they're excitedly unwrapping every bundle and disappearing in a mountain of paper and twine

Faust seeks refuge on your shoulder and the sheer diversity of smells filling the room are making both of you a little dizzy

Small bottles of perfumed oil, tiny pots of lotion, mini candles and twigs of incense cover every surface of the room

All the candles and incense are lit. Every tester is being applied in random patchwork

He got over 50 new scents and he is thriving

Nadia

She feels a little guilty for going without you, but she's so excited to have been part of your world like this

She went to the central marketplace

And she got everything suggested to her

Because who would know better than the people selling what she needed to get?

Two menservants are bringing in the multiple bags she brought back in the carriage while she goes over each thing with you, excitedly repeating their sales pitches

She's halfway through the second bag, telling you all about her new gilded mop holder when you finally interrupt

"Nadia, my love. How many things did you get?" You're holding your breath, hoping the question doesn't burst her bubble

"Oh, nothing extravagant. You should see the shipments that come in for palace events! We'll go back together, my darling, and we can do a proper shopping trip then."

You do go back together, and this time you steer clear of the salesmen taking advantage of her inexperience

Muriel

He's peeking around the door of the hut, and you can tell by the set of his eyebrows that he is embarrassed and has no regrets

You smile up at him, walking over to greet him after his trip into town

And the door swings a little further open to reveal his cloak, stuffed to the brim with something that keeps cheeping

He's got the squirming mass wrapped protectively in his arms, slowly kneeling to lower it to the ground

And from the depths of his clothing burst a tidal wave of baby chicks, spreading out to cover the yard and sending the chickens already present into a ruffle of squawks

"Muriel, how many are there?!"

" ... twenty-four. The pet shop had them with the kittens and puppies and," he pauses to peek at your face, "chickens are different. They wouldn't be happy in the city."

The ground is yellow. Inanna has turned into a sulky, wolf shaped jungle gymn. Muriel watches quietly. "Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes. But they are your responsibility."

Portia

You see the way Pepi perks up and Portia moves to guard the giant paper bags she's holding, and that's how you know it's food

You pick Pepi up to protect the goods and take a closer look. The two bags are each nearly the size of your beloved's torso

"Portia, what small army are we feeding!?"

She drops them on the table, flicks a stray crumb from her sleeve, and deflects Pepi's swipe at the pastry that tumbles out

"Ok so don't be mad, I may have overspent just a teeny little bit, but she was a traveling baker from up north! And I had to try some!"

"And then?"

"And then we started talking about baking, and she gave me a discount so I tried one of everything, but I didn't want you to miss out so I got two more of everything for us to eat together!"

You're not sure what to say. It's a lot of food

You end up inviting the Palace bakers to enjoy it with you (they'll be able to really appreciate the technique) and eating lentil stew for the rest of the week

Lucio

You're having flashbacks while he fidgets in the doorway. This used to happen every time you let him do the shopping alone

In his defense, nobody ever taught him to budget. His job was to hunt his food or eat his rations until the old Count took him in

But you two have been working on it together, and he's gotten pretty good at making and sticking to a list and limit

Which can only mean one thing:

"It was so shiny, MC. I know I made an oopsie, but look at it! It goes on my arm!"

It's a jewelry piece that he's clipped to the grooves on his gauntlet. It's not that big, so you can't see how it's an oopsie unless ...

"Is that an emerald? Is that real gold!?"

He nods excitedly. "Don't feel bad, MC, I got you one too! Now we match!"

It's beautiful, but, "Lucio, where did you get the money for this?"

"Next week's budget." He sees your face and grabs your hands. "But don't worry! I did the math, and I already found a job to cover it."

This man is going to be the death of you

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana shitpost #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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hwan-g · 2 years

Text

DARLING. kim seungmin — 김승민

pair. bookshop owner! seungmin x f. reader | warnings. profanity, angst, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex, slight exhibitionism | genre. dark academia, romance, love at first sight | word count. 8k

tags. @ughbehavior (@straywrds), @cb97percent, @j-0ne25, @hyuneater, @hyun-bun, @choigore, @danyxthirstae01, @hellishmoons, @lix-ables, @skz317cb97.

a/n. this was supposed to be out for his bday, but life happened. nevertheless, hope you guys enjoy!! reblogs are great, all writers appreciate them incredibly 🤍

synopsis. it hasn’t stopped raining for weeks. as you enter his life, as you walk out of it. he just needs one chance with you.

Cold, empty—wet.

A city devoid of sun, in a constant state of mourning. Century old buildings with their Victorian architecture and smell of humidity, the eternal reconstruction that makes it impossible to enter them, a church with no door, a river without bed, a shop with nothing to sell. They might as well be part of the scenery, now and forever. Occupied space and not much else.

There had been a point in time, though, and this is the part that’s important to Seungmin. There had been a time when these grand structures held great power over people—artists, especially. Endless sketches of the fabrications can be found in the Public Library, a place he used to visit quite frequently before he opened his business. Blueprints of the interior, books about the conformation and infrastructure going on and about continually, pages creating volumes, creating noteworthiness, establishing history.

He wonders if you’ll come today.

Kim Seungmin was born in Seoul, Korea on September twenty-first to a doctor mother and architect father. He strived tirelessly for most of his childhood and adolescent life for more than adequate grades, and a clean record, and when it was deemed appropriate, on the day after his seventeenth birthday, he left for London to join his sister at the University of Cambridge, an exemplary student with a bright future. He surprised everyone when instead of following in the footsteps of his parents and going for Medicine or Architecture, he chose Engineering with History of Art as his minor. A respectable career, granted, but not what he was supposed to do—not what had been predetermined for him.

Four years of nothing but rain, libraries, books, and dorm life, he’d finally graduated with Honors, and went to join the real world, with its many offers, all miserable and soul consuming. It didn’t take long for the masks to fall, the pretenses to seize. Seungmin was fucking over it, wanted nothing more to do with the path he’d led for all those years, nothing to do with his parents’ expectations, the appearances to be kept, the role he had to play, to maintain, so they can boast and gloat, and fill their bellies in their private fucking golf clubs, to their insufferable little friends with the pretty daughters, and the arranged marriages.

Yeah, fuck no.

What he did alternatively—he took a loan out. He opened a bookshop in Pimlico overlooking the Thames, and he never looked back. He lived with three roommates in a crammed-up apartment on Winchester Street, a tiny room with a twin bed, a desk and a refrigerator, until he was able to stand on his feet, and move somewhere nicer, somewhere private, and do not get him wrong, that took two entire years—years of learning the ropes of handling a business, of making orders, of studying his crowd and getting a feel of the area, and even then, sales weren’t booming, they weren’t even fucking flickering, till more café’s opened up, bringing people towards that part of the river, the hibernating one, with the sleepy tree branches looming over Seungmin’s head every time he walked to work. It was hard, being independent. But he did an excellent job hiding it, and after a while…well maybe he was just a natural pretender.

Eventually he got a bike. It was a used, secondhand thing, and he had to change the chain on it, but after that it worked just fine, so it was enough for him. With a ‘help wanted’ sign under his arm, pedaling the ten-minute ride to his shop, his only stop the local bakery where he purchases his warm cappuccinos and apple strudels every morning. The co-owner of the place, Han Jisung, always asks the same question upon arrival—the usual, then?

The usual. Seungmin was a creature of habit from a young age. He had to have a plan, an extensive list of steps to be taken, a routine. He thinks his life would’ve turned out completely different if he wasn’t like this; he would’ve ended up working a corporate job, a nine to five, sitting on a desk with a suit and tie, holding a briefcase, that kind of thing. Something simple, mind numbing. Instead, he chose the calendar, the extra assignments, the sleepless revisions. All which ended with him thousands of miles away, managing an establishment with no outside help. The point was—he needed to find someone immediately. He couldn’t possibly bear to manage everything on his own anymore, what with the seminars and people going in and out in a regular stream, only pausing for a couple hours at lunch time.

Sometimes, the strudel would go to waste. There’d be no time. Still, the usual. Why bother switching something that’s worked so well for so long?

“It’ll be raining for weeks, I heard. Better get yourself a raincoat if you want to keep riding that rusty bike of yours,” his friend advised him, handing him his order with a tight-lipped smile.

Seungmin mirrored his expression. “Will do, mate. Thanks for this.”

“No problem. Hey, don’t forget—you, me, the guys. Friday evening. Drinks at The Morpeth Arms.”

Here’s the thing. Seungmin never forgot, he wasn’t the forgetful type; in fact, he had a spectacular memory, something that helped him immensely during his academic career, and earned him a few nods of amazement, the casual ‘memory of an elephant, this one.’ No, Seungmin just hated social events, especially the ones that included drinking yourself into a stupor, traveling in packs holding on for dear life, and paying an enormous amount of money just for your liver to turn black later on. He’d rather be at home, eating comfort soup, watching his home country’s drama shows, and falling asleep on the couch, glasses inadvertently positioned on the very tip of his nose, every single time.

Yeah, Seungmin never forgot. He just had other things to do. Something warned him though, that he might not be able to get out of this one. Undeniably so. He’s bailed on his friend group more than two times in a row, had no good excuse for it today.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, waving a quick goodbye, and making a run for it.

“Don’t just see, Kim Seungmin. Do!” he heard the boy yelling after him, but he had already passed the threshold of the bakery, securing his things in the basket on the front of the bike.

Jisung was a force to be reckoned with. Same age as him, of Korean descent as well, a graduate of the Royal Academy of Culinary Arts, he took over his mother’s bakery and revamped the entire place, a smart move, which turned out to work in his favor, tripling the monthly profits in the first six months of reopening. Things seemed to just…go well for him, whatever he did, something Seungmin envied, but tried his hardest to learn from. It's always been him, Seungmin, and Hyunjin, an Art major, currently in his last year of school, ever since he came to England. Jisung had an ex-girlfriend attending Education classes at the same university as the bookshop owner, and Hyunjin would tag along only with the promise that he’d be able to stay in the premises and sketch the gardens.

Eccentric at times, the two of them, but the interesting kind, the kind that makes you want to stick around just to witness where it is all heading. Although they could get quite annoying when they wanted to…

He unlocks the wooden door with the glass pane, the intense smell of books hitting him at once. Moving in the familiar area, he makes sure to secure his bike along the wall, so it doesn’t slip and hurt any customers, and goes to turn on the lights from the panel in the back, resting his breakfast on top of the checkout secretaire.

The small bookshop lights up like a tree at Christmas, the fairy lights he’d installed earlier in the year hanging gracefully amongst the bookshelves running from floor to ceiling, stacks upon stacks decorating each section, all alphabetized and in categories, all carrying a purpose. Seungmin fixes his glasses on his face, running a careful hand through his parted hair, before removing his brown coat, rolling the sleeves of his white, crisp shirt high up on his forearms, and getting to work.

There’s a sort of ambience he particularly enjoys, a specific scent to accompany the unique odor of books, of yellowed out pages or alternately, of freshly published novels, recently sewn together, a big section of them in front of the big window as soon as you enter, with an exclusive segment of Seungmin’s Top Ten Picks of the Month. More lights along the walls, lantern looking designs, made specifically to give off a vintage overtone to his business, and a couple velvet armchairs in the corners, with decent sized tables, and candles on each side to provide a moment of relaxation for the customers.

Cinnamon and vanilla. A tiny tea and coffee cart next to his workspace for anyone that cared for it, always filled and ready to be taken advantage of. When Seungmin cared for something, he took it to the absolute extremes, made it part of him entirely, took care of it tenderly, tended to it regularly. This is why, he thinks, he succeeded in marketing this place. Because it isn’t just a means of income for him, because he’s genuinely a book lover, an avid reader. Because this is the inside of his soul, perfect to a T.

He starts the playlist on his tablet, lowers it to a gentle hum, and stands for a minute, taking in the warm palette of colors around him, sipping on his coffee, tasting the apple wrapped in puff pastry. It’s exquisite, as always, Han really has a fucking talent, he thinks as he peals the sticker off the sign he picked up from the printer shop earlier, sticking it on the storefront window, capital black letters in Times New Roman looking outside.

Hopefully, someone will show up within the week. In the case no one’s interested, well—he’s fucked. No plan B there. He counts on the broke students pacing up and down these streets daily to fill in the position. No one else in their right mind would work at a bookshop, of all places of employment, and for that he won’t dare fault them, not one bit. He can pay a fair wage, but it’s nothing to start a proper life, he’s aware of that. It doesn’t change the fact.

A little after ten, it starts raining; the fat, gray clouds he saw looming over him on his way there, finally giving way to fat droplets of water, drenching everything in their wake, a blurry watercolor painting. Seungmin sighs, leaning back on his chair, as he checks off inventory and researches up-and-coming authors to feature for next month. He accepts that it might be a slow day, and gets comfortable in his seat, yawning and stretching his limbs.

You enter in disarray, dripping water everywhere, closing a bright colored umbrella halfway in your attempt to shut the door behind you. The tote bag is the first thing he notices, it looked heavy on your shoulder, worn down. Then your coat, a deep emerald green, an entire forest, how it looks from above, and then finally your face as you turn to him, your expression bewildered, staring down at him like a deer in headlights, slightly confused, but not lost, not entirely.

There you are.

“Good morning,” he greets, no other words present in his brain. How peculiar. He adds a soft smile, for good measure.

Normal. Nice job, Kim Seungmin.

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” you say, and he guesses you refer to the rain, so he nods, watching you observe his establishment with curious eyes, leaving your umbrella behind as you walk over to the bookshelves. “It smells nice here. Are you the owner?”

Seungmin stirs, stands up straight, his tablet forgotten in his hands. “Yes,” he mutters, doesn’t sound sure of it. “Yes, I am,” he repeats, louder this time.

You hum and disappear behind a row. He finds himself leaning to find you again, stare at you a bit longer. He snaps out of it almost immediately, clearing his throat. Three things, he grounds himself.

One, the beautiful girl from last time had just entered his shop, yet it felt more like she’d shook through the foundations of the building and was coming for his very life.

Two, said pretty girl rendered him stupid two seconds in your interaction. What did that say about him as a person? He wasn’t usually like this. He’s had dates, and girlfriends, but they never felt like this—a blow to his stomach.

Three. He absolutely fucking needed to learn your name.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” he asks, nervous, wanting to cut through the tension he felt overtaking his entire body.

“Mythology classics!” your voice is an echo, a perfect ring of a pitch, reverberating through him.

He gets up at once, jumping at the chance to be useful to you, and crosses the shop, closing the distance between you. You’re skimming through a thick book unrelated to what you’ve just told him, your eyes moving on the pages. He doesn’t dare disturb you, not at first, but then the more he looks at you, the more he can feel his heart attempting to jump out of his fucking chest, so he deems it dangerous business, and breaks the silence. Your hair is wet, he finds, he sees. He wants to dry it for you.

Dangerous fucking business.

“Those would be on the other side, after poetry,” he informs you, and your gaze devastates him. It’s bright, it’s glorious, it’s a place he’d want to explore, dive into, and lose himself forever.

It’s looking up at him, waiting for him to lead the way. He blinks and moves. Your perfume is something light and floral and Seungmin wants to offer you coffee with sugar, give you books for half off, hire you part time, let you consume him. What a strange feeling to have for an absolute stranger, serving your heart on a silver platter over a mere ‘hello,’ and hoping they’ll accept it.

It terrifies the living shit out of him.

“Thank you for showing me. I loved this place when I came last time—I thought you just worked here. It’s hard to find what I’m looking for elsewhere,” you give him an excited smile, bending at the knees in front of the small section to pick out what you need.

He wants to know everything about you. “Are you a student?”

“English lit, fourth year. Aha!” you jump up, and Seungmin steps back, surprised. You wave the paperback cover in his face. “The Oresteia. Need to write a dissertation on it.”

Seungmin speaks as if in a trance, quoting the play he knows by heart. “‘This was always going to happen. She’s been dead since the beginning.’”

You’re beaming, buzzing, electrocuting him. Then you go right back down, your search not over yet. “You’d read this? It is quite extensive, is it not, and you need to watch out for the translations, some are over complicated, and hard to understand…”

“I enjoy the classics,” he admits, shyly. “You’re welcome anytime around here. To browse, or…whatever. And if you can’t find something, let me know. I’ll order it for you.”

“You’re too kind, bookshop owner, aren’t you?”

Seungmin stares, stares, stares—at the top of your head, at your elegant hands reaching for the spines of the books, flipping them over, inspecting them. He prided himself on his eloquence, his extensive knowledge of words, his friends sometimes teased him, called him a ‘walking dictionary,’ but what does he do with all this, when he must force his throat to open, unable to voice those same words he’s studied over the years, grown familiar with. They’re all traitors to him now, he will never depend on them again. Ridiculous, what’s happening.

You’re a customer. He shouldn’t be treating you any more than, any different. Why then did that one, singular smile of yours make a home in him, right under his ribcage? He pictured butterflies erupting behind you, wild in color, beautiful in their movement, flying too close to the fairy lights. This was unreasonable. It would wreak havoc in him, rearrange his world view, have him fantasize about things that could not be, should not be. Your lips, he thinks.

Cherry flavored.

“What’s your name?” he caved in. He wanted to pull you up, feel you under his touch, see for himself if you were real.

You got up once again, two more books in your hands, as you tilted your head in question, strands of hair falling in front of your perplexed face. “Do you always ask your customers for their names?”

Seungmin swallowed. He’d been caught. What he had—honesty. “Only you.”

You smiled again. He almost clenched his chest. “Good save. I’m (Y/N).”

He repeated it internally. (Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N) …he imagines it rolling off his tongue, your body under his, those delicate wrists pinned above your head, whispering it to you again, and again, and again.

Fuck him.

“Seungmin,” he extends his hand for you to take, trying really hard to conceal what contact with you would do to him.

He’s defenseless against his own desires, he realizes. He’s never wanted to take someone as his own so badly before. His mind was in overdrive, completely overwhelmed. You’ve exposed him, laid him bare—have your way with him. He’d do anything, he decides right then and there. Anything. Say the word and he’s yours.

You take it, kickstarting a whole new series of events and catastrophes inside him.

“Well, Seungmin, I’m done here, and I have class in about ten minutes, but I’ll pass by again soon, yeah? Ring me up, won’t you?”

You brush past him walking up to the register, and he’s left watching your figure slip away from him, so easily, no further regard to him, that forest green coat of yours flowing around you, your boots stomping with certainty. A fucking vision, you were. Stomping your way into his shop, into his life, into his heart. Oh, what is reason? What are words?

Metamorphoses, The Oresteia, Theogony. What you purchase. He hands you the books, per your request, and you slide the tote bag down to your arm, shoving the books in there at once. He watches all this, in awe, speechless, afraid to let you go, knowing he can’t beg you to stay longer. It’d be weird. And slightly creepy, he thinks but it’s more of an afterthought. He notices he doesn’t really care—anyone that would grant him the wish to stare at you more, to marvel at your cute features.

“It was nice to meet you!” You grab the umbrella again and rush out of his life, the same you stumbled in.

He watches in mystified delight.

‘Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient,’ he remembers reading once.

He becomes half water. He waits.

Friday comes. Seungmin decides to go to the Arms, straight for them, no second thought about it, one and done, but then he procrastinates getting dressed, looks for his watch for ten minutes, and his keys are nowhere to be found, so he takes that as a sign he shouldn’t go. It’d be bad if he went. He shouldn’t go.

Then he remembers he doesn’t believe in the signs of the universe and locks his apartment behind him.

Two beers, then he’ll go home, he tells himself. Just enough so his friends can’t say anything to him, can’t be mad at him, will stop calling him incessantly, whining about how he’s neglecting them so, and what kind of a mate are you, Kim, not a very good one, eh?

Seungmin thinks he’s a pretty good lad, actually. He helped Hyunjin move this past summer and has offered many a solution to Jisung’s never-ending on-and-off relationship with that indecisive girlfriend of his. Hasn’t committed a crime in his life, not even a petty one, not a traffic light. He’s never littered in all the years he’s been conscious about his person. He’s been an upstanding citizen, and a supportive friend. He’s just a bit of a homebody, and when has that ever hurt anyone, really.

The pub is filled to the brim by the time he arrives, incredibly loud, with a game playing in the background. He finds Jisung easy enough and goes to him, to that table he frequents all the way to the wall by the bar and slips his coat off wearing it on the back of the chair.

“Couldn’t have picked a Sunday, yeah?”

Jisung claps his shoulder and shakes his head. “You’d complain about any day of the week, Min, so just sit here and look pretty like you do. Hyunjin’s bringing us drinks.”

The baker’s hair had faded to a light brown from the August sun back in Seoul, his yearly vacation, and just as Seungmin is about to make a joke about it, Hyunjin enters his vision holding three pints of beer, muttering excuse me’s to the table next to them. Blonde hair, soft looking cardigan, tall, long limbs and all, full scholarship artist-to-watch-out-for Hwang Hyunjin, on his way to an amazing career.

“Would you look at who the cat dragged in—my God, Kim Seungmin, is that really you? Gracing us with your majesty’s presence? I must be dreaming!”

His ‘majesty’ sighed and grabbed the beer, an unamused look on his face. “You know, surprisingly, this isn’t making me want to show up any more than it makes me want to dump both of you and find new friends. About time, I say,” he drawled. “Cheers!”

The two men looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Cheers, fuck it,” Jisung exclaimed.

Hyunjin turned elegantly in the chair, legs crossed, mischievous expression on. “What have you been up to, huh? Who’s the girl?”

Seungmin froze, then reassured himself they had no idea about you, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose—a habit that gave him away. The blonde ‘aha!’’d and bumped his elbow against Jisung’s, giddy as ever.

“See, I knew it.”

Jisung didn’t look particularly convinced, though. “Where would he even meet a girl, Hyun? The only dates he’s been on for the past year have been with his TV.”

“Ouch, bro.”

He wasn’t wrong, yet Seungmin wanted to let him know—about the girl that walked into his bookshop, has swept him off his feet. Just so he stops talking shit, just so it can finally set on him; that you’re real, that you happened. How you will never stop happening from now on.

Instead, he scoffed. “Fuck you, Han. You’re one to talk with that toxic shit you’re pulling.”

Jisung had the audacity to look shocked, and even appalled at the accusation. “I’m hurt you think I’m somehow at fault with how I’m being treated. I should just break it off once and for all, show you fuckers.”

Hyunjin casually sipped on his beer, palmed a few sunflower seeds. “It’s not about showing us—it’s about showing yourself, baby.”

Seungmin chuckled at that, chuckled even harder at Jisung’s blown out face, with the puffy cheeks and the big, wide eyes. He’d missed this, how carefree it all felt. It brought back memories, reasons why these people were close to him, why he could never get rid of them. They kept him sane. And gained him points with the ladies—Jisung’s humor, and Hyunjin’s angel features were a double threat. He just completed the group with the boy next door vibe, and sharp styling choices.

“Where’s Jeongin?” he asks, opening the bag of crisps laid out on the table.

“Late night studying, he’s already driving himself against a wall,” Hyunjin replies, a seed between his teeth.

“Chris has a late session, as well,” Jisung adds. “Music majors—perfectionists.”

It was at that point that you walked in. Seungmin hadn’t noticed you, not until his friends looked towards the door, and then looked again, making him curious. It was indeed you, he concluded after blinking several times, you, the most beautiful fucking girl in there, searching for empty tables with—a guy. A guy taller than you, taller than him, and fuck him, he didn’t need to see that, he didn’t have to know who you hung out with, if you had a boyfriend and how long you’d been together—he could do without all those things.

But now they’re overtaking all available space in his mind. Now there’s green inside him, eating away, molding, rotting away everything, and he’s jealous, he’s jealous, he wants you, he wants you alone, single, to himself, forever—

“She’s cute, no?” Jisung comments and nudges him.

For a moment, just for a moment, Seungmin takes off his glasses and glares at his best friend, filled with fury and green, green, green, but then he comes to his senses, reasons that Jisung hasn’t got a clue who you are, what you are to Seungmin, and so with that he breathes. He breathes and downs his beer, fuck the crisps, fuck the plan.

“It’s her,” he confesses.

Hyunjin leans in, suddenly very interested, and Jisung furrows his eyebrows, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

Seungmin looks at you again, sees the hand around your waist, the casualness of the movement, and doesn’t want to jump into conclusions, doesn’t want the conclusions to jump him, but he’s fairly certain, he’s almost a hundred percent—

“The girl that’s kept me away, let’s say.”

At first, “No fucking way,” but then Hyunjin studied his friend’s expression, the unwavering gaze, the set of his mouth, the defeated slump of his shoulders, and his head tilted, his own mouth hung open, stared.

“I’ll be fucking damned,” he deadpanned.

“But who’s that dude, then?” Jisung questioned, hanging off the edge of his seat, thirsty for the gossip.

“No idea.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“Customer.”

“Kim Seungmin!” Hyunjin gasps, a hand on his chest, over his heart. “The scandal!”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. Is she aware of your feelings?”

Just as Seungmin was about to answer, the entire pub breaks out in boo’ing, the team on the TV losing dramatically, the place vibrating, and his fists tighten at the sound, his whole body alert, aware of you, in the same space as him, outside of the magic of his bookstore, outside of the owner/customer dynamic.

“I’ve only seen her twice, Han. My feelings don’t even make sense to me.”

A devilish smirk spread across the blonde’s face. “I think you want to fuck her, Min. This sounds like an attraction to me.”

Jisung slaps his hand on the table and points at his face, nodding his head. “That’s an excellent observation, my dear Hyun. Kim, you just need to get her out of your system.”

Seungmin groans and gets up, grabbing his empty glass of beer. “Shut the fuck up. Anyone need a refill?”

The men glance at each other’s half empty beers, slightly concerned. “We’re good, mate.”

The truth was, he had thought about the possibility. What he’s felt for you he hasn’t felt for anyone, not this strong, not this constant, even in your absence, especially in your absence. You should’ve been just another English literature student shopping for books to him. That should’ve been it.

It wasn’t. It didn’t feel like it could be.

Waiting for the beer, he dared a peek at you. You sat with your back facing him, your head thrown back at something that guy had said, the other members of your party smiling brightly at you. Your hair was down, moved with you. Seungmin could bring your scent forth in his mind, the flowers, the sweetness that surrounded you. It physically hurt to ignore you, to pretend this wasn’t killing him. He needed more, he needed to pull you away, he needed to vomit all this out; the attraction, as Hyunjin eloquently put it, the heart stabbing, the turning of his stomach—the fucking boner he got first time he saw you in that dainty dress of yours.

He needed you to know, to make a decision. He wouldn’t sit still, there’d be no sleep for him until he did something about it, until you were aware of this, whatever the fuck it was, also.

“I’ll come back for this,” he informs the bartender, and his feet carry him before he’s even concluded thinking about it before he even sets on it.

“Excuse me,” he says loudly. The entire table turns to him. You turn to him.

“Bookshop owner!” you grin at him, and he’s at ease at once. He doesn’t need anything else. “What a coincidence. How have you been?”

You’re kind, then, you don’t shun him away. He’s chosen well. Seungmin feels his heart blooming, expanding, threatening to take over. You’re kind to him. You don’t know him, not as well as he wanted you to, but you still chose decency. Did he deserve it with the thoughts currently swimming in his head? Probably not.

He spares one glance for the hunk of a guy sitting opposite you, only one, not more than that, because he might be half his size, but Seungmin had always been exceptionally strong whenever he deemed it necessary. Then his eyes are back on you, and God, why did he ever look away?

“I’ve been well,” he touches his glasses. Catches himself. “Could I please steal you for a moment?”

Your eyes widen a bit, hands holding the table, ready to pounce on your feet. “Sure, but why? Is everything okay?”

Seungmin nods, offering you a soft smile and his hand. “Everything’s fine. It’ll only be a moment.”

“Okay,” you turn to your friends. Seungmin looks at his, already staring at him. Hyunjin winks. Seungmin blinks.

“I’ll be back guys.” You grab his hand, bringing him back, setting him on fire.

He tries to hide, push it all down, away from you, because he needs to be careful. One wrong move, he tells himself. One wrong move and that’s it. He opens the door for you, walks out after and into the chill of a September night. At least it’s quiet, at least he can hear himself think. One wrong move, it repeats, one wrong move…

“I apologize for taking you away from your friends,” he starts, walking to the side of the building to stand under a birch tree, almost completely devoid of leaves by that point. You follow, patient, kind.

“Oh, that’s—” you wave your hand, pft’ing. “They’re just classmates. We’ll be working together for a while.”

Just classmates. Seungmin stands up straight to that, in his full height. Just classmates you say, but that hand didn’t look friendly, that hand looked exactly how Seungmin feels about you, protective, territorial. You thought nothing of it, because that’s who you were, he could tell, you didn’t take things too seriously, you were alive, kind, kind, kind, what was another word—innocent.

He licked his lips, gathering the courage required to say what needed to be said, what needed to spill out his chest. He stood close, you stood closer. You were oblivious. For Heaven’s sake. This would be the hardest thing he ever had to utter.

“I—have no other way to say this, (Y/N) so, please just—fuck,” he chokes out a breath, looks you right in the eye. “I’m completely enamored by you. You have all control over this, you can curse me and walk away right now. But you need to know. I want to take you out.”

At first you just stared at him, the words slowly registering in your ears. Then, you opened your mouth to speak—closed it. Then opened it again, taking a step towards him. He remained in his place, hands in his pockets, afraid he’d reach out otherwise. He had no right, not until you gave him permission.

“You’re very handsome, you know that?” you say, placing a hand on his cheek. He doesn’t breathe, he doesn’t think. Your eyes are dark against the backdrop of the moon. Nothing moves. “And sweet, and interesting. I’m—nothing in particular. Seungmin, you’d get bored of me.”

“Never,” he’s quick to retort. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done to me, have you darling? From the moment you walked in my shop—that was it. I was done for.”

You shook your head, your fingers stilling in their caress, your hand goes to drop—his own shoots out, holds it, keeps it there, wills it to stay, desperate to show you.

“You really are very sweet,” you inhale. “No one’s ever said they want to take me out. No one’s asked.”

Seungmin doesn’t understand why, doesn’t want to ponder over it. He’s here now, and he wants you. He’d show you; he swears.

“I’m saying it. Go out with me, darling. If you hate it, you don’t have to see me ever again.”

You smile at that, your lips quivering. “Shame. I really like your bookstore.”

He smiles back. “I really like you.”

You bite your lip, and then you nod. “Okay.” A moment. “Could you kiss me, Seungmin?”

He needn’t be told twice. Pulling you closer by that arm extended on him, he closes in around you, smashing your lips together. It takes everything in him not to groan into your mouth, the softness of you, your smell, all driving him crazy, all intoxicating him, rendering him unable to think straight. You melt into him, something he loves, and he guides the kiss, his arms wrapping around that waist that he’s seen being claimed, bunching the fabric of your shirt in his fist, tightening his grip around you, devouring you.

He'd like to slip inside you, fuck slow, deep strokes into your cunt, bring you into a state of deliriousness with his cock. He can already imagine how good you’d take him, how you’d open for him. Buried in between his thighs—Heaven. Seungmin walks you to the bark of the tree and pushes you against it, deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips, exploring your mouth, tasting the ale you’d been drinking. He’s having incoherent thoughts now, nonsensical things; how he’d like to drink you, let the very flavor of you invade the top of his mouth, fill his senses, allow you to run down his throat, sip into his every pore. Fuck him, he’s whipped, isn’t he?

“There’s no going back from this, darling,” he pants against your mouth. “I’m never getting over you—never getting over this taste.”

You pull him back in. “I don’t want you to,” you whisper, your lips curving.

“Sunday, after six. Come,” he mutters, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding your head in place. You gaze up at him. “Promise me.”

“I do. I promise,” you kiss him again. “I’ll come.” Again, and again, and again.

Another day spent waiting.

By noon Seungmin thinks you won’t show. That it was all a lie, perhaps an illusion of the full moon and one too many drinks. Then he checks out a freshman buying The Iliad, a tote bag on his shoulder, the warm scent of cinnamon coming from the pale cup he’s holding, and he’s sure you will.

You happened, you will.

Oh, to trust that someone won’t drain the blood from your heart. A treacherous road.

He must’ve drank three cups of coffee by the time the stream of customers slows down, signaling lunch time. He digs for the wanted pamphlet in his drawer of take-out menus, and calls the number at once, ordering a barbeque chicken pizza with a side of cheesy bread. As he glances outside, clouds gathering already, the sky gray, dull, Seungmin throws his head back, sighing deeply, and listens to the cashier informing him of his total at the point of delivery.

“Thank you,” he says and hangs up. ‘Do you know if she’ll come,’ he wants to add, but he doesn’t, because that’d be crazy, nonsensical. Still, the question—it stands.

He breaks down boxes, organizes book labels and invoices, and even dusts the shelves. Five pizza slices and a heartburn later, Seungmin sinks back into his chair, and decides that time will not help him today. The anxiety is eating at him, at the tips of him, like a parasite, slowly making him sick, feverish. He won’t be able to keep this up for long, he wishes he’d told you to come earlier, maybe this way this endless questioning would’ve stopped by now, maybe the heartbreak would’ve been easier to swallow with people around. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle closing down shop with no trace of you.

God, the waiting. Seungmin doesn’t like doing this, has only done it once before–he takes the scotch out, a bottle he’s kept since opening this place, and drinks two big gulps of it. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he thinks he might have to daydrink his way to getting you out of his mind. And the rejection. And the outline of your body on his. No other way about it. Alcohol or going mad, his two options.

Fuck him.

The clock on the wall behind his desk says five minutes to six. By that point he has no hope, no patience, no heart, no will–no scotch. He drags himself over to the door to flip the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed,’ and he leaves nothing but the fairy lights on, an indication that the shop is closed, but someone’s still inside.

He’s not drunk but he’d like to be. One thing about Seungmin, why he doesn’t like drinking–it does nothing for him. His damn tolerance is too high. He can drink and drink and drink, but it will make no difference. Only thing he’ll be left with is a dehydrated, scratchy throat; more of an annoyance than a relief.

Seungmin sweeps, mops, then proceeds to put every single book in the wrong area back to its original place. That should take him a good while, he thinks, definitely–it doesn’t. It takes him ten minutes, because this is his store, he knows it inside out, he’s done this hundreds of times before, and why aren’t you here? You should’ve been here by now.

The glasses come off. He won’t go down that road, he can handle rejection, he’ll move on, you’re just–well, you’re…unforgettable. Haunting. All he can think about, all he wants, all he craves. Outside is pouring, thunder cracking, always a blurry watercolor painting now describing what’s going on internally, draining away any opportunity of you showing up. He tells himself he’ll stay until the rain calms down, until it’s safe to ride his bicycle.

He tells himself he will never get over you, but that the water will eventually wash you away. It has to. It’s six-thirty and you are nowhere to be found. A little more. He’ll wait a little more. Out of desperation if nothing else. He won’t be afraid to admit. He kissed you, he tasted you. He’ll wait. You’ll come, you have to. You kissed back. You–

You’re standing right there. Drenched, shaking that god awful umbrella, looking through the glass, pushing the door open–spilling into his bookshop like nothing happened. Like before. Like a story repeating itself. Forest green coat, hair sticking to your face, disheveled expression.

“I’m late, aren’t I?”

Are you? Seungmin’s knees almost give way. He exhales shakily, blinking at your drowned figure. You’re not. You’re not. You’re right on time.

“You’re soaking wet,” he notes, and comes back to life, taking long strides towards you.

You chuckle nervously, shivering, apologetic. He grabs the umbrella and leaves it by his bike, his hand staying in yours, tracing your fingers, feeling for himself that you’re really there, that you really came. You look up at him, wide eyed, mouth falling open, studying him.

“Better take this off,” he mutters, and waits for your approval. He removes the coat from your shoulders, shaking off the rain droplets, catching a whiff of that cologne he so adores. He’s a fucking animal, he can’t even be near you without his mind doing a complete one eighty on him.

“I’m sorry,” you start, watching him take care of you. “I…wasn’t sure if I should come.” His hands push your hair back, listening calmly. “Bookshop owner, I don’t–”

“Seungmin,” he cuts you off, his gaze snapping down to meet yours. “Say my name, darling.”

“Seungmin.” It’s breathless, it’s surprising. It’s perfect. His cock twitches in his tailored pants.

He bites his lip. “Will you let me remove your shirt, (Y/N)? You’ll catch a cold if you stay in these clothes.”

A single moment of silence, your eyes clouding with the same intentions. “Yes.”

He expertly undoes the buttons, exposing your white, lacy bra underneath, your breasts deliciously tucked in the cups, better than his dreams, better in every way because it’s reality. Seungmin wants to take his time with you, wants to take you out on a proper date, pay for you, make sure you’re having fun, that you enjoy being with him, establish a connection before he–

He thinks he can’t wait. He thinks if he doesn’t take you right here, right now he’ll fucking die. None of the internal struggle shows on his face. You wiggle off your shirt, and he lifts his arms to remove his vest. Picturing you in his clothes, in his shop, surrounded by your smell, and the smell of vanilla…a fucking dream. His Aphrodite, compliant under his touch, willing, those lips teasing, their pink tint inviting. Fuck it all to Hell. You look absolutely beautiful, the brown of the fuzzy fabric making you appear softer, if that’s even possible. He pulls you into his arms, falling victim to his own wants, his own desires. He holds you tight, your freezing body gradually warming up under his caress, flush against him.

“‘I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself,’” he quotes in your hair, his palm rubbing circles on your lower back, hoping you’d know. That you’d get it.

“Frank Kafka,” you answer with a breathy laugh. “‘What’s happened to me? It was no dream.’”

Something opens in his heart, tears itself out. There’s no stopping it. “My darling,” he whispers, and lifts you up. You gasp, his name falling from those lips. It happens fast, he walks you to the mythology section, in front of the window, a consequence he won’t think of until later, your back hitting the shelves, as your arms circle his neck. Seungmin kisses you, then. What’s there left to do? There are no words to describe this. You taste like rain and hard candy, and his fingers get lost in between your thighs, pushing aside fabric, and feeling the slick of your cunt. All reason escapes him, all but the sensation of your excitement for him on his digits. He kneels down, has to have a taste, needs to, for his sanity. His arm snakes around your ass and keeps you there, as his tongue comes in contact with your leaking pussy, lapping your juices, slurping loudly, shamelessly.

The back of your hand presses against your mouth, moans tearing through anyway. No one’s ever gone down on you, you didn’t even know how it felt, nevermind that it felt like this, wet and embarrassing, but so good, oh my God, so good, fuck, your fingers getting lost in the mop that is his hair, tugging, your breathing ragged, fast, your knees shaking, the smell of books engulfing you–

“You taste like Heaven,” he grunts, and his tongue gets replaced by his hand, as he makes his way back to your mouth. “Taste yourself, darling, see for yourself what you do to me, how am I supposed to stay away when–that’s right, fuck my fingers, go on, my love…”

There’s still water dripping from your hair, and he leans the side of his face on it, enjoying the coolness it provides while his entire body is on fire. You’re everywhere on him, he feels all of you, and his fingers curl inside you wanting that release, craving those broken moans he’s eliciting out of you to get louder, to deafen him, to fill the entire shop and stay, echoing over and over so he never forgets this moment, so he’ll always have you. You’re biting his neck, your nails digging on his shoulders, in his back, falling, going to his belt, coming to the buckle, undoing, all the while coming undone.

Right before you start spasming, he lifts you up again and slips inside you swiftly, cupping your face with one hand, his mouth taking yours in an open-mouthed kiss, cursing at how tight you fit around him. For one second, just one single moment, he does not move, no matter how much you want him to, no matter how you’re wiggling and arching, against all of his thoughts of fucking you into the bookcase to have and admire you whenever he wants. No, he marvels in the way his cock is throbbing inside you, all of you alight, in flames, and only then–only when you mouth his name, staring in his eyes desperately–only then he finally begins thrusting, causing you to wrap your legs around his torso, holding on for dear life.

“Is it supposed to feel like this–God, please, please don’t stop, never stop–”

Seungmin wasn’t planning to. Stopping was the furthest thing from his mind as his hips picked up pace, his thrusts angled, deep and hard, bottoming out every time, skin hitting on skin, your hot breaths mingling, mixing, one one one– You felt exactly how he imagined, and a thousand times better, Christ, your tits perfectly bouncing, your cunt squeezing him closer. Books fall, all around you, the sound of them magnifying what the two of you are doing, what’s in process, an altering of souls, because he knows this will never again be the same for him, this shop without you, it will always be more, more, more, he will fuck you over every surface, he will make you part of him, he swears, you’re never leaving, not when your juices are the only thing that can get him drunk, not when you sound this hot moaning his name, his name, it’s never vibrated through him like this before, a name, you make it holy, you make it matter–

“Cum with me, cum with me Seungmin, please, let me feel you, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

He’s your servant, he would do anything you asked. He comes with a ferocity unknown to him, panting, sweaty, holding on to you, drilling the last bit of cum deep within your walls, his hands holding, squeezing, digging into your waist, forehead on your sternum dropping soft, abenseminded kisses, and you let him. You let him, because you have no idea what the fuck just happened, you only know that it was the best thing, the rightest decision you’ve ever made in your entire life.

“You look so handsome without your glasses,” you compliment him shyly, smiling.

He carefully puts you down, adjusts your skirt, and tucks himself in his pants, before touching the bridge of his nose. There was nothing there. He chuckles, and his arms are around you again. He can’t bring himself not to touch you, can’t find a reason why he should stay away, put some distance. You belong in his arms, he concludes.

You belong with him.

“So, I’m not when I wear them?” he teases, his lips on your forehead.

A weak punch on his stomach. He hufs a laugh, moving back just a breath so he can stare down at your face. You look fucking beautiful. You look like you’re his.

“You’re like a sexy professor with them on, you know what I mean, or like a–”

He kisses you. He’s falling in love. He’s already fallen.

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