#Shoulder Coil Market

[surkuted]

https://biiut.com/read-blog/59408

[foldingfittedsheets]

FFS’ Guide to Mattresses:

The following is a non-comprehensive list of questions I get asked a lot and is hopefully a good resource for anyone looking for a new mattress. I am not a scientist. I just sell beds. All bed knowledge is centered in the US, my apologies to international folks.

If this guide proves helpful you can consider popping a tip over on my Ko-fi to say thanks!

What’s the first step?

Well, first thing is gonna seem kind’ve obvious but a lot of people get mattresses secondhand and don’t think about it. Determine the feel you like! There’s no reason to sleep on a hard bed unless you like it, it’s not any better for your back. The three standard feels are firm, medium, and soft. Soft is called plush for stupid reasons. So find out which you like! It’ll narrow down what you look at, and save you time.

When trying out mattresses, use an A-B method. Do not compare every bed. Compare two at a time, otherwise you end up a confused mess. Pick one between the two that you like better, then put that one up against the next choice.

When you eliminate a bed it’s dead to you. Forget it. It was not as good as your new favorite and does not deserve to be remembered. If you cannot pick between two you will be tempted to try a third- this is the devil talking. A third will just make your life harder. If you truly can’t pick between beds that are comparable and they both feel nice after feeling your feelings then pick the cheaper one.

Lastly, mattresses are a huge example of “you get what you pay for”. Investing will pay off. Don’t get sticker shocked, budget what you can but know that mattresses can be freakin expensive. If you go into a store and see $5000 price tags, don’t worry, that’s not all they carry, but focus on the feel of the bed at first rather than price tag.

If you find one you love but it’s too much, the salesperson will know a comparable roll down or will usually try to help you get a deal. If you can admit, “I like this but it’s too much” they’ll work with you to find a solution.

What firmness is best?

This varies person to person but firm beds are not necessarily better for your body. Really. There’s two parts to a good mattress: support and comfort. Support goes underneath and is generally springs or incredibly dense foam. If a bed has good support, you can get away with lots of comfort.

The comfort layer exists to be gentle on your joints and pressure points. People who sleep on their side really need this comfort layer. Without this your shoulders and hips can’t circulate blood and you’ll end up tossing and turning every time your arm starts to fall asleep.

Back in the 1950’s when interconnected coils were the only thing on the market it made sense that you needed them to be firm, otherwise you’d get no back support. But nowadays coils are individually free standing, they do a much better job supporting bodies and bonus, they don’t have to be rock hard.

Most people should get somewhere around a medium bed rather than super firm or super soft but it depends on the persons preferences as all three can be good for you.

How can I tell if a bed has good support?

I’m so glad you asked. You lay on it. There’s a natural curve to the human spine. Lay first on your back. The arch in your lower back, that’s your lumbar. A good bed will push up and fill that area. If your muscles are trying to maintain that arch all night without help it will cause back pain and tossing. The more a bed fills your lumbar the better you can sleep.

Next, lay on your side. You’ll want to focus on your shoulders and hips. Good support on your back is great, but a mattress should have enough squish not to pinch off circulation. Lay for at least five minutes on your side unless you hate it right off the bat, I’m not saying every bed needs this in depth just the one you’re seriously considering. If you feel like you already need to roll over it’s too hard, go softer.

Should I get a topper?

A thousand times no. Toppers are used as a wide ranging bandaid from “there’s a hole in my bed” to “my back hurts”. Commercially available foams in toppers are significantly worse than the foams found in beds. They break down faster and sleep hotter than what they make mattresses with.

The only scenario in which you need a topper is if you’re stuck with a bed that’s too firm for you and you need it a little softer. That’s it. It can make your bed a little softer. It cannot fill holes or fix a bed with bad support. Generally aim to be over $200+ or the topper will break down ridiculously fast and be super hot to sleep on.

What do I do if there’s a divot in my bed?

First off, waterproof protectors can help avoid this problem, so take your bed divot as a life lesson and use a protector on all beds going forward. Our sweat and humidity breaks down foam like nobodies business, causing permanent damage.

So you have a divot, what now? Depends how entrenched it is. When beds get slept on every night for years the foam where a body lays compresses down, and the foam around it stays untouched. You’ll naturally start sinking. But you can get up and walk or crawl along all the foam that isn’t get slept on. If your divot is years deep it may be beyond saving but it’s worth a shot.

You can also rotate beds head to foot every six months and switch the side you and your partner sleep on or sleep all over the bed if you’re alone in it.

If the bed is over ten years old thank it for its service and get a new bed.

When should I get a new bed?

It’s worth checking your sleep quality at ten years into a mattress. The average life expectancy of a bed is 7-9 years. Not because the bed gave out necessarily but because human bodies change. We gain and lose weight, suffer injuries and age. A bed that worked for us eight years ago might not be what we need anymore. So just general age check is good. This is subject to the kind of mattress, bed in a boxes average 3-4 years of comfort so check in sooner.

But additionally: if your bed has a deep body trench where you’ve been sleeping, or if you’re waking up achey or in pain. There’s health problems that can reduce your sleep but a lot of people never suspect their mattress is sabotaging their rest, so keep it in mind.

How do I clean my bed?

Oh boy. You don’t. This goes back to water proof protectors. Your bed is not something you can pop in the wash. But it is something you will sweat and live in for upwards of ten years. Dust mites, dead skin cells, dust mite corpses, dust mite feces, allergens, skin oils. All those things will seep into the bed over time and spoiler alert it’s not great to breathe it in every night.

Sheets only catch a fraction of it, so a waterproof protector keeps the bed safe from your sweat breaking it down, but it keeps you safe from all the things that can build up in a mattress.

If you must clean a mattress I recommend a professional steaming service rather than trying to do it on your own but take this going forward: always protect your bed.

When should I get a new pillow?

Does your pillow have a waterproof protector on it? If no the answer is probably “right now”. Doctors recommend keeping a pillow no more than two years. This is because they’ll lose support and get yucky gross over those two years. If you get a memory foam pillow and get a protector on it they can last way longer. My oldest pillow was around seven years old.

Cheap polyfill pillows you buy at Target or Walmart are really only going to last three months before they wear out. If you are using more then one pillow at night you need a new pillow. Every time you have to wake up and adjust the multiple pillows you’re losing sleep.

Memory foam pillows can be more expensive but will last exponentially longer so save up and spend $50+ on a pillow you’ll actually get to use for a long time rather than $10 on one that will give you a few months of comfort.

What do I look for in a good pillow?

A good pillow is an extension of your spinal support. It should keep your neck aligned with your spine. Ideally, you are laying on a bed to try out a pillows height. It should match the width of your shoulder.

Most mattress stores can fit you for a pillow, but you can also bring a buddy to check your spinal alignment is straight. Side sleeping is most critical to get the height right. Back sleeping you just don’t want it too tall to force your chin down, and stomach you want it low enough not to push your neck up.

I replaced my pillow, now what?

Okay so now you might curse my name for a few days. Bodies are creatures of habit and hate change. Your neck might be in agony on the old pillow but it's familiar agony. So when you boot that sucker to the curb don't throw it out right away. As if I'd ever actually throw away a pillow when I could just hoard it forever.

Start each night on your new pillow. If you wake up in pain, switch back to the old one. Each night you should be able to stay on the new pillow longer and longer until your neck is finally happy. If the new pillow is consistently an issue after a week or more it may be too tall/low for you, unfortunately.

If I’m sleeping well do I really need to replace it (beds/pillows)?

Are you really sleeping well? Replacing beds or pillows is inherently stressful and a lot of peoples happy place is their bed. It’s hard to give up aspects of that cozy zone. If you’re really truly sleeping well no one is gonna make you change.

But generally if you find yourself asking this question you may be trying to convince yourself that things are good enough and ignoring that they could be much better.

Get a sleep tracker if some kind. Let it run for a week or two to see how much you’re tossing and waking up. If it’s a lot and your bed/pillow are old, it’s a good bed they’ve served their time.

If you ever wake up to readjust pillows (or at any point you’re using more than one pillow or mattress) then yes. You need a new one.

Good sleep is the result of the least disruptions. Anything you need to adjust in the middle of the night deserves a hard look and a boot to the curb.

Why shouldn’t I have my mattress flat on the floor?

Mold. Mold mold mold. Remember when I talked about how human bodies are humid? We put out a ridiculous amount of moisture as we sleep from exhalations to sweat. That builds up in the sponge under you and then your body heat maintains the ideal temperature to grow all sorts of nastiness.

You would not believe the amount of molded out beds I’ve seen. Even in the most arid areas, mold. It’s not worth it. Do not leave your bed on the floor. There’s like 2” frames if you like a low bed. If you must have your bed on the floor tip it up against a wall to ventilate every day. Mold will not wait for an invitation.

Japanese futons get brought up a lot here and first off- they get moved every night and washed regularly. Then left to ventilate. They understand that if they left it there it would mold.

Why do I sleep in X position?

Generally your body really wants your spine to curve in the right ways. Sleeping on your back would be ideal if the bed gave you everything you needed but most beds struggle to fill the lumbar. So when your muscles can’t hold your lumbar curve and want a break you roll onto your side.

Stomach sleepers are a case of back muscles fully declaring that nothing can support them and opting to invert rather than deal with poor support. It’s fully the worst sleeping position.

Before I sold beds I was almost 100% stomach sleeper due to scoliosis and back pain. Sometimes side. When I got my new bed I switched to only side and occasionally even back, which astonished me. As my bed has become less what I need I’ve reverted to occasional stomach bouts and less back sleeping.

Why don’t you like bed in a box?

Let me count the ways.

Box beds are the fast fashion of the bed world. They essentially corrupt the support part of the bed equation in order to get a product that can feasibly roll up and be compressed down. The foams are all lower density than they should be and give out quicker. The coils are significantly less steel.

The world cried out for an inexpensive bed and companies responded by giving you significantly less bed per dollar. They often use fiberglass as their flame retardant a requirement for all beds and there’s many testimonials about how poorly that’s gone for people.

But now the greatest sin of boxed beds is that they have the audacity to be marketed at the same price points of traditional beds that don’t roll up.

This robs the consumer of longevity. They’re a rip off. I sell them now at my store and I will do everything in my power to turn folks away onto beds that will actually do their damn job rather than bed mimics.

If you have a bed in a box, please understand that you’ll still get up to five years out of it, and you’re not foolish for buying one. They’ll still always be better than an old broken bed, just look to replace it sooner.

What is a good price point for a new bed?

This is really subjective, but you can get a queen size bed with independent coils for around $600. That’s the lowest good back support I’ve seen. You’ll get ten years out of it and it’ll be a bed.

Stepping into the $1000 mark gives better back support and pressure relief. Up from that they’re going to get more conforming.

Beyond $2000+ you’re generally paying for cooling. It’s the number one thing people want in a new bed but it costs more to give.

Rank Costco, IKEA, or bed in a boxes?

Bed in a box are my lowest tier, for reasons I’ve spoken of at length.

IKEA is next. They’re generally not boxed as of the last time I investigated ikea beds but they’re also just bare bones. Not a lot of either support or comfort, they tend to be around dorm quality.

Costco is a bit of a cheat here. See, they’re a wholesaler but mattresses aren’t something that overstocks- they’re made to order. Costco still wanted to offer a cheap option. So Costco gets beds made to order for really cheap. Now how can Costco offer it so much cheaper? By putting roughly 1/3 less stuff in it by category.

I had a spreadsheet laid out at one point to compare a sealy I carried against what looked like a comparable Costco bed. Every single component was shaved down. Each layer of foam, each coil, they all were about 1/3 less material than our better bed.

Now of course Costco sells boxed bed. So a non-boxed Costco bed is still better than an old broken bed and Costco will basically always take it back which is why they score higher than others but you’re still only going to get about three to five years out of it.

Do I really need a new boxspring? My old one is fine!

Is it really actually 100% fine? Is it just as old as the mattress? Are you willing to gamble the price of the new bed on the existing structural integrity? It’s been load bearing for the lifespan of a bed and the amount of boxes that are actually good to continue service are few and far between.

A few reasons to get new boxes: new beds are made much more floppy than old style to accommodate adjusting on adjustable bases. Old boxes may not offer adequate support for a new bed. Ideally what’s going under a new mattress is solid. No gaps. If you have slats it’s still ultimately better to put a bunkie board under the mattress rather than sitting it right on the slats. Also mattress manufacturers won’t warranty a bed that is on old boxes or improper support.

Adjustable bases are a wonderful replacement for box springs, bunkie boards should go over slats greater that 2” apart, and try to avoid frames that leave big open spaces under the bed.

If this guide was helpful you can consider popping a tip over on my Ko-fi to say thanks!

[bangchansdirty-slut]

The Queen's punishment

Paring: Serpent Queen GP!Minnie x Peasant!Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Queen Minnie must discipline Peasant Reader for stealing food from most of the markets. Instead of using the usual punishment, she decides to get creative.

More: Masterlist

A/n: I'm not sure whether to add Gidle to my masterlist or not. Please comment if you have any thoughts. Also, requests are open.

The Serpent Queen, Minnie Yontararak, was feared throughout the kingdom for her icy demeanor and unyielding rule. Her subjects quaked at the mere mention of her name, for they knew that disobedience would meet with swift and brutal punishment. One such offender was a young peasant girl named Y/n, who had been caught stealing food from several markets across the kingdom. Minnie, ever the stern disciplinarian, summoned Y/n before her throne to dispense justice. Instead of the usual punishment of public flogging or banishment, however, the queen had a more creative punishment in mind. She led Y/n to her lavish chambers and, to the girl's confusion, attached a leash to her collar.

Minnie then instructed Y/n to kneel before her, and began to pull on the leash, forcing the girl onto her knees. Next, she tugged the leash so that Y/n's face was mere inches from her own. As Y/n stared up at the queen in terror, Minnie pulled the leash once more, causing Y/n to fall forward and land with her face smothered against Minnie's generous cleavage. To Y/n's further horror, Minnie's cleavage seemed to be made not of flesh, but of a massive, pulsating, scaled cock, bigger than anything she could have ever imagined. As she struggled to breathe, the queen began to stroke her cock, teasing the girl mercilessly.

"Don't worry," the serpent queen purred, her voice a low rumble that vibrated through Y/n's body. "This won't hurt." She gently guided Y/n's head upward, revealing the enormous, pulsing head of her cock. It was easily as big around as Y/n's waist, and stretched upwards for what seemed like an eternity. Minnie placed a hand on the back of Y/n's head, urging her to open her mouth. Y/n hesitantly obeyed, and the serpent queen thrust her cock forward, forcing it past Y/n's lips and into her mouth. Y/n gagged on the immense size of the queen's cock, feeling it stretch her throat almost to the breaking point.

As Y/n struggled to breathe, Minnie began to stroke her cock faster and harder, grinding her hips against the girl's face. The queen's serpentine tail coiled around them, adding to the sensation of being completely dominated by this overpowering creature. Minnie's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she neared climax, and she tugged on the leash, pulling Y/n's head even further down onto her cock. The girl felt the queen's hot cum spill down her throat, filling her mouth and running down her chin.

As the last of her orgasm subsided, Minnie released the leash and allowed Y/n to gasp for air. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she purred, a playful glint in her eye. But before Y/n could respond, the queen grabbed her roughly by the hair and forced her to stand once again. She pushed Y/n onto all fours on the bed, and as the girl looked over her shoulder, she saw the queen's serpentine tail slithering out from behind her. It grew larger and larger until it was easily as big as the queen herself, and was covered in thick, scaled cock. Minnie positioned herself behind Y/n and slowly pushed her enormous cock forward, forcing it inside the girl's tight, quivering ass.

Y/n let out a loud cry of pain as the tail stretched her insides, but the queen didn't stop. She thrust her cock deeper and deeper, filling Y/n with the heat and size of her cock. The girl could feel the tip of the tail brushing against her womb, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body despite the pain. Minnie began to thrust more roughly, her hips slapping against Y/n's ass as she took her roughly from behind. The queen's clawed hands dug into Y/n's shoulders, leaving long, bloody trails as she held the girl in place.

As Y/n's body adjusted to the enormous size of the cock, Minnie started to move faster, her thrusts becoming deeper and harder. She let out a low growl of pleasure, the sound vibrating against Y/n's back as her hips met with the girl's ass. Y/n could feel the queen's claws digging into her flesh, leaving trails of pain that mixed with the sensation of being stretched and filled to the brink. The bed beneath them creaked and groaned as their bodies moved in unison, the sounds of their passion filling the room.

The serpent queen's tail continued to grow, stretching impossibly large, its scaled cock thrusting deeper and deeper inside Y/n with each thrust. The girl could feel the heat and size of the cock pressing against her insides, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating. She tried to arch her back, to meet each thrust with equal force, but found herself unable to match the power and strength of the queen.

With each passing moment, the pleasure built inside Y/n, threatening to consume her. The tightness around Minnie's cock, the stretching of her insides, the feel of the claws digging into her flesh - it all combined to create a sensation that was both agonizing and euphoric. As she neared her climax, Y/n let out a loud moan, the sound muffled by the pillow as she bit down on it, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm.

Minnie felt the girl's body tense beneath her, and with a final, powerful thrust, she released her orgasm as well, her hot cum spilling into Y/n's ass as her cock throbbed inside. The weight of the serpent queen pressed down on Y/n's back, her claws digging deeper into her flesh. The girl could feel the aftershocks of Minnie's climax as her insides quivered and contracted around the enormous cock still buried within her.

As the queen's breathing began to steady, she slowly withdrew her cock from Y/n's ass, the scaled shaft retracting back into her tail. The girl felt a pang of loss as the heat and size departed from her body, but Minnie wasn't finished yet. With a wicked grin, she reached down and pulled Y/n roughly onto her back. The girl's limbs were still shaking from the force of her orgasm, but she managed to keep her eyes open as she stared up at the queen.

"That's a good pet," she cooed, stroking Y/n's cheek with her claw. "Now it's time for you to rest." With that, the queen disappeared from the room, leaving Y/n sprawled on the bed, spent and satisfied.

The girl lay there for a while, her body still quivering from the exertion and the pleasure. As she drifted off to sleep, she could feel the weight of the queen's favor pressing down upon her, a warm, comforting presence in the darkness of the room. Minnie had chosen her, and she would serve her faithfully, no matter what trials or pleasures that might bring.

------

A/n: Despite Minnie's name her GP is definitely ain't mini. sorry just had to say it. Also, can we talk about how hot Gidle was in Super Lady mv.

[brineoffire]

Part 1 of that hybrid au i was talking about yall! Warnings for hints of non-con, canon typical violence, slavery.

You are a rare type of dragon, sought after by many people, especially criminals. When one finally gets his hands on you your life is run by him completely, until he finds himself in the firing line of task force 141.

You sit on a plush armchair in the center of the room, your legs draped over one of the armrests and your wings spread out over the other, webbed ends resting on the floor. You're reclined with your head tilted back, your neck exposed and showing off the studded leather collar sitting there, metal detailing glinting under the spotlight. 

Staring at the ceiling has been your go to these days, especially when Alphonso, your owner of over eight years now, insisted on you being splayed out when he had guests. You hear a sharp whistle and your pointed ears flick towards the sound, eyes following soon after, meeting Alphonso's from the entrance to the dining room. Taking the cue you pull yourself up to sit on the armrest and spread your wings, the fur over their tops ruffling up as you stretch your arms over your head, your back arching to show them off to the people that stream in behind him. With your chin tilted up you watch him, just as he taught you to. Your eyes track each one who dares to meet your gaze, the light glinting off them menacingly. 

He's speaking to them with his usual confidence, his charm oozing off of him in waves. It never ceases to disgust you, the fakeness of it all. You've seen him behind closed doors. When all the business is over and the man's psychopathic tendencies override his charisma. Behind you your tail slides over the opposite arm rest, its furred end flicking as you play your part. An over glorified guard dog. A trophy to be shined and put on display. 

Dragons are already one of the more unique beings found in the world of monsters and men and you being half furred half scaled has left you in an even smaller category. One that had you straight through the black market as soon as you turned eighteen, your parents unable to deny the amount of money they were offered nor the threats on their lives when you were with them. You hardly remember them at this point, not like you'd care to either way. They always thought it was too dangerous to let you out of the house too often, always making sure to keep you close when they did. They were right of course, but in the eyes of a child, a cage was a cage, no matter the necessity.

Now here you sit, glaring out at the people behind your master, muscles visibly tense and coiled tightly. It's part of your duty to protect Alphonso, and with all the conditioning he's put you through you make damn sure to be perfect at it. There are armed guards stationed around the room, but you're meant to be faster than them. You're meant to look prettier too, meaning you'll be punished if you don't protect him and if you're injured too badly.

He finishes whatever loud speech he was giving and the crowd slowly files into the tables around you. Turning to you he smiles sweetly and his steps echo louder than anyone else's. His guests are still filing in as he takes his seat, your tail snaking around the back of his shoulders and flicking over his lap. You hear him give you a hum of approval as he leans back in the seat.

As always his hand slides up your neck, fingers grazing your collar as he tugs lightly at the chains on your muzzle. The one you wear today is a sparkly thing. Gold chains held together with leather straps, a set of gems glittering over the bridge of the nose and over your cheeks. He rests his elbow on your thigh, his hand lightly gripping the chain that links your collar to the muzzle and waits for everyone to enter.

You keep on your guard, scanning the crowd until you smell something odd. Alphonso's guests are usually a mix of humans, magic users, and monsters. Of the monsters he hosts it's usually undead types, shifters, and vampires but today is different. Today one of the scents is masked, it's not enough to throw off your nose though. Somewhere in the room is another dragon, and you know, for a fact, that Alphonso knows no other dragons.

You scan the room carefully, you know Alphonso would be more upset that you didn't catch them at the door, so you just keep watch. Whatever spell they are under is good, most likely casted with very expensive materials, but even with such good quality you slowly pick through the most likely suspects. There ends up being three separate tables with a few separate people.

One woman who sits in a back corner, a dark gown with expensive shifter furs around her neck and shoulders. A taller man sitting next to a large, muscular woman both wearing the exact same suits. Then there's another tall man sitting with a dark skinned harpy man, simple dark suits adorned with fine jewelry and detailing. Your eyes scan over them cautiously, making sure to memorize their details as you watch. Raising the alarm now would only end in more trouble than it's worth, so for now you keep quiet and keep the three tables in check. 

Once everyone is seated a pair of Alphonso's chefs come out, bringing him a small table with tonight's dinner. He takes his time looking over it with a wide grin before nodding to the chefs. At his approval the pair leave once again a group of waiters filing in to deliver the same plates to the rest of his guests. You watch them as they work, taking their distraction to stare at the tables you noted. As the lone woman gets her food you notice one of the chefs specifically gives her a special flute of wine. She raises the glass in Alphonso's direction and he nods to her. 

The remaining two tables are treated normally so you watch the table with the man and woman first. You note that they spend their time speaking quietly, completely ignoring the plates they are given. Only the glasses of champagne they have refilled again are touched at all. Watching them speak you realize there are sharp fangs where canines would be. These two are vampires which means only the last table with the man and the harpy is left.

You look over to the last of the three tables watching  the man and harpy thank the staff for their food. Manners among Alphonse's company is already out of place, but definitely not a sign of hostility. Watching them talk to each other you can't help but stare at the harpy. His wings are a marble of several different browns and blacks, the darker colors reflecting with a slightly red tint. Watching him speak your trail, your eye's over his sharp jawline, lingering on soft looking lips before you switch your attention.

When you finally set your sights on the other man, you catch his eyes immediately. He had been watching you as your eyes wandered over the harpy. Keeping eye contact with him is easy, you tilt your head up slightly, a show of acknowledgement, but you exhale a small breath of heat. It's a nearly invisible wave of steam that rolls over your parted lips and through the bars of your muzzle. It's a dragon's warning, one you know he can see clearly. One that tells him you see exactly what he is and that you're standing your ground.

Surprisingly, he lowers his head in a quick bow, acknowledging your territory. Normally the people that try any assault are either full of fear or boiling anger. You take in his face for a moment longer, memorizing the facial hair over his jaw, the almost permanent furrow of his brow, and the way his dark eyes hold your gaze without malice. When he breaks eye contact you watch him turn to the harpy and exchange a few words.

You barely hear over the murmur of the crowd, though you're sure he chuckles. As they finish talking the harpy's dark eyes slide over to meet yours. Soft and dark much like his companion's. Though from this distance your eyes still catch the slivers of gold that run through them. You can't help but tilt your head curiously at the view which brings a smile to his lips. At that you break your stare to continue scanning the rest of the room as Alphonso eats behind you. The two men exchange glances again but you don't notice, keeping your focus on your duties now that you've examined them.

A hand trails over the strip of fur over the top of your tail and you glance over your shoulder. Alphonso is giving you a pleased smirk as he leans back in his seat. He tugs your tail back roughly, pulling you into his lap. You've already expected it, your wings spreading out over the opposite arm rest to catch yourself slightly as you settle on his lap, eyes trained on his face. 

“That's my boy. Good.” He says with a charming grin as his hands settle on your knees and the back of your neck. His fingers fiddle idly with your collar, trailing over it as he watches his crowd. You've always hated when he got like this. Always wanted to pull away from his touches because you know for him it's just a display of ownership. He's drilled it into your head to keep still for him so he can show you off. Show off how he owns you completely.

[milkcanned]

night in with the one piece girls

ft. nami, nico robin, boa hancock, nefertari vivi, tashigi

a.n: lol this is my debut. enjoy.

cat burglar nami

• first of all, you had to beg nami for a night in rather than a night out in the first place

• she loves to go out shopping with you

• but, on this night in, best believe you are being pampered.

• she makes the two of you various tangerine snacks for the night. tarts, dipping sauce, a cocktail, you name it.

• laying your head on her lap as she doodles away at a new map she's making

• or, resting your head on her shoulder to watch the delicate ink lines indicating the landscape of the island she's mapping.

• settling on the floor for a massage, which she is an absolute top tier masseuse.

• feeling her hands glide across your back, working into your tense muscles and easing away that low pain.

• her complaining that you're "doing it wrong" when it's your turn to massage her, when really she's just trying to hide that she's ticklish.

• setting up a bath together with her homemade tangerine body wash and soaps, it smells just like her

• her accidentally getting soap in your eyes and giggling while washing it out

• "whoops, sorry." she sticks out her tongue and gives you a wink

• cuddling with her in bed, tangled in each other's arms. her breath against your neck and that warm smell of tangerine

nico robin

• a cozy night in with robin is not a rarity in your relationship

• in fact, it's quite often the two of you relax in the comfort of home

• firstly, book marathon.

• just reading beside each other, enjoying one another's presence. maybe her head's in your lap, maybe you're squished close in an arm chair together

• a debrief on the books you've both read is a must.

• deep, meaningful talks about life, the universe, stupid things. the two of you could go on to each other about the terrors of life and not even lose sleep over it. and don't even think about doing this while high.

• "if a dog and a cat's upper body were sewn to together, how do you think it would expel waste?" ... "good question, robin. well,"

• sometimes you both flip through those "who would win" nature magazines and place your bets

• "the hippopotamus would definitely beat the rhino! they're quite vicious, you know."

• scaring your fellow crewmates by hiding under the hammock (you) and grabbing usopp's arms

• robin, of course, made hands to grab the remaining legs

• giggling and running back to robin as usopp screams in horror

• settling into bed as she makes arms to rub comforting circles into your back, arms, and legs.

• drifting off to sleep as the smell of book pages and lavender lull you

boa hancock

• a night in with hancock is actually much more common than expected.

• rarely does she ever leave the palace with you to favor a night on amazon lily's markets

• her pampering may be on par with nami's. she's an empress after all, and you're her consort.

• the two of you first take a luxurious bath with all kinds of bath salts, creams, scrubs, and shampoos.

• her products are strictly lily scented, it smells so much like her

• her long fingers gently working into your hair to fully cleanse and nourish it, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

• getting out of the bath to be dressed in a beautiful draping bathrobe, and being escorted to her room.

• trays of all of your favorite foods laid across the table in front of a loveseat

• the both of you taking turns feeding each other fruits, giggling like schoolgirls when juice runs down the other's lip

• "my! i think you have something on your face!" she chuckles and blushes, reaching out a hand to swipe at your lip

• having a couple's massage in the palace, hands entwined as you both relax parallel to each other

• climbing onto her lap as she lounges on her snake, salome. she's so warm and smells so sickly sweet of lilies and honey.

• drifting off to sleep in each other's arms, with salome loosely coiled around the two of you like a weighted blanket

nefertari vivi

• as much as vivi loves having a night out in alabasta's markets, a palace date suffices

• you better believe you're getting the princess treatment by the princess herself!!

• doing each other's hair in her room with karoo softly snoring on the bed

• feeling her silky smooth blue locks between your fingers as you style her hair

• being caught giggling and gossiping by igaram when he enters the room to drop off a tray of assorted fruits and snacks

• going out to the palace garden to watch the pigeons and doves as vivi tells you about her journeys with the strawhats

• a beautiful dove landing on your lap as she finished up her story, cooing as you scratch behind it's head

• "hey, this one looks like you."

• trying on her beautiful gowns, and her spinning you in the mirror to look

• heading out to the palace's pool to swim with the spot-billed duck troops

• splashing vivi, which results in you getting splashed tenfold

• drying off in robes as the two of you get ready for bed

• drifting off to sleep with her arms around you, karoo snoring softly at the foot of the bed

tashigi

• a night in is usually what the two of you get up to, considering there isn't much to do on marine bases

• smoker has no problem letting her take the night off

• heading to the marine mess hall to grab some coffees and pastries

• her letting you grab a sip of her hot coffee, and getting concerned when you flinch back

• "s'way too hot, tashigi!" ... "oh, oops!"

• letting her rant to you about swords and katanas, her flipping through a sword magazine and showing the ones she has circled in red marker

• sparring each other with wooden sticks, which she beats you at, landing you on your back

• tashigi then promptly falling clumsily right on top of you, glasses slipping off of her nose

• you pushing her glasses back up and giggling, which earns you a pouty and completely red in the face tashigi

• helping her clean her collection of blades, some of which were confiscated from pirates deemed unworthy of holding a sword

• "wow so this one belonged to someone from baroque works?" .. "yup!" she beams, blushing

• settling into bed with her as she takes off her glasses to sleep

•cradling her head against your chest as you both drift off to slumber

[wileys-russo]

childhood sweethearts (11) II a.russo x reader

playlist one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

thought I’d be nice for once and give y’all something short and sweet

childhood sweethearts (11) II a.russo x reader

"thank you." you smiled appreciatively, taking your coffee and bag of food, making your way out of the cafe. you took a seat at a small table outside in the sun, dropping your sunglasses down onto your nose and basking in the warm glow of the early morning sun.

normally you'd take the opportunity of a saturday morning to sleep in, especially given the fact you'd hardly slept a wink last night. however this morning your body had been awake and coiled with anxiety far earlier than you intended.

so here you were hoping a coffee and a sweet treat might help to ease the grey cloud of nervous energy which hung over your body, and had done ever since your front door had slammed closed last night and the reality of your actions had sank in.

as much as you wanted to be angry at alessia for leaving you couldn't find it within yourself, knowing just as well that had the situation been reversed and you'd been at her home you'd have done the exact same thing.

the more you were left with your own thoughts to think it over, the more you began to realise you actually weren't angry with her in the slightest. if anything, you found yourself quite missing the feeling of kissing her and the way your head span.

you could still feel her hands as they roamed your body, your lips tingling at the thought of hers pressed against them soft and inviting.

the haunting memory of how it felt to have your skin touching hers and each inch of it feeling alight as if on fire, goosebumps peaking all over your body as your hair stood on end like bolts of electricity had ripped through you.

you missed her, you missed that feeling, and you wanted nothing more than to relive it over and over again. and that, that was much more terrifying a feeling than anything else at all.

finishing your coffee you pushed it aside, swallowing your mouthful of food and tapping on your phone, unlocking it and staring at the thread of messages, a million and one thoughts flitting through your head.

over and over again you typed a message to her, and then immediately deleted it with a shake of your head.

this routine continued until you'd finished your pastry, giving up with a sigh and slipping your phone into your pocket, standing up from the table and disposing of your rubbish, starting to slowly make your way back home.

you stopped by the market on the way deciding that you needed to keep yourself busy today in anyway you could and so without any real errands that needed to be done, and a small mountain of school work you knew you'd need to get to at some point you decided that a morning of baking might help to cease the unease which plagued your mind.

thanking the shopkeeper with a smile you slung the bag of groceries over your shoulder and slipped your sunglasses back down onto your nose, continuing your walk home and soaking in the warmth of a promisingly lovely weekend.

you hummed along to the tune which beat through you, one airpod tucked into your right ear as you rounded the final corner and headed home.

you found your eyes focused more on your feet than what lay ahead, a bad habit as you turned and suddenly looked up knowing you were now home, almost falling over at a sight you should have noticed a lot sooner.

"jesus christ!" you swore in shock, clutching at your chest in surprise as you almost tripped over alessia who was sat waiting on your front steps, pulling your airpod out and exhaling shakily.

"sorry! i thought you'd see me." alessia blushed bright red, scurrying to her feet and darting out of your way. "no sorry i was completely in my own world, that's not on you." you rambled out quickly, your own cheeks warm with embarrassment as you noticed a bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in the strikers hand.

"thought i'd wait around and hand deliver these in person this time." alessia forced an awkward smile at the memory of the last time she'd tried to apologise with flowers and been caught out trying to make a break for it before you'd seen her.

"do you want to...come in?" you offered, unsure really of how to progress as your head began to click into an overdrive of flurried nerves and uncertainty. "yeah okay." alessia nodded, seemingly just as flustered as you stepped around her and made a beeline up to your front door.

you dropped the keys and swore quietly to yourself, bending down to grab them and jamming them in the lock, twisting as the door unlocked with a sudden pop and you stumbled inside.

"seems we've swapped today." alessia joked, grabbing the back of your top to steady you as you forced a nervous laugh, unsure why your body was betraying you in such a way as she closed the door for you.

"do you want anything? tea? coffee? water?" you offered, dropping your bag carefully onto the counter and raising an eyebrow, trying desperately to calm yourself and even out your breathing. "i'm fine, thank you." alessia declined politely.

"for you." she countered quickly, again holding out the flowers as your face softened, now noticing of course she'd gotten your favourites. "they're beautiful less, thank you." you smiled, grabbing a vase from your cupboard.

busying yourself arranging them in the vase you cleared your throat, a thick silence occupying the room as clearly neither of you knew where to start.

"they aren't for anything either, they're well...they're just because." alessia broke first, cheeks flushed rosy pink as you spared her a glance over your shoulder, softening at the shy smile on her face at the confession.

"thank you." you repeated, your own neck warming up as again silence fell.

"about last night-" "we should talk about-"

you both stopped as the other started, sharing an awkward laugh at your shared intentions. "do you want to sit outside? shame to waste the sun." you offered gesturing to the small deck which lead out onto your backyard, alessia agreeing with a nod.

"i'm sorry i left." alessia started not long after the two of you had settled on the deck, a generous enough gap left between the two of you as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. "you don't need to be, i'm not upset with you." you clarified, shooting her a small smile of reassurance before looking away again.

"it was, unexpected." you continued, referring more so to the kiss you both shared rather than her leaving, hoping she would pick up on it without you needing to clarify much more.

"yeah." alessia breathed out, picking up on what you were insinuating, exhaling shakily. an awkward silence fell after that as you both ticked over in your own heads what to say next, but without knowing what the other was feeling you were both too hesitant to lead the conversation.

"i wish i could read your mind sometimes." alessia admitted, biting down on her bottom lip as her knee bounced a little bit, body coiled with a nervous apprehension.

"one minute you're kissing me and then saying you just want to be friends, and i understood why and i tried so hard to respect that because i know you gave me a second chance i didn't deserve and i wanted you in my life selfishly in anyway i could." alessia continued as you looked away, ears burning at the truthful words which fell from her lips.

"getting us back on track well seems to be going well but then we're kissing again and i have no idea what you're thinking about it all." her voice became quieter at that, conversation left open clearly hopeful that you'd pick up where she left off.

"i wish you could read my mind too because even i don't know how to decipher it sometimes." a small smile curled into your features before you sighed heavily and alessia braced herself for the rejection she expected to be thrown her way, having tried her best all morning to prepare for what you'd have to say.

"there's a part of my brain that's terrified from what happened and what it means, and all those feelings of rejection and pain and hurt come flying back. when you were so ready to just leave me behind, i felt like i meant nothing to you and i think the dismissal of everything we went through together." you started, a frown creasing into your eyebrows as alessia's stomach lurched.

"but then i also don't think its a fair second chance if i dwell on that. i know you're not that same teenager anymore alessia and it would be wrong for me to hold that against you or over your head for the rest of your life." your voice softened and you chanced a glance toward her, seeing a frown not too dissimilar to yours etched into her features as she looked at the ground.

"i don't regret the kiss." you stated boldly, your voice seemingly a whole lot more confident than you really felt as the blondes head snapped up in surprise. her eyes catching with yours and suddenly your stomach clenched and all that confidence melted away, tips of your ears burning.

"neither do i."

"can you tell me how you're feeling please?" alessia continued, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. but she was taken off guard as you suddenly let out a groan, laying down on your back and covering your face with your arms.

"that bad huh?" the striker winced, that fear of rejection returning as she looked away. "no its not that at all its just..." you trailed off, words muffled against your arms, unsure how to even put it in words.

"just what?" "i feel like a hypocrite." "and why would you feel that way?"

"well i'm the one who kissed you the first time, and then i freaked out and made a firm point that it wouldn't happen again. that we couldn't be anything more than friends again because of how scared i was to go back to feeling how i had, and i don't ever want to be that hurt again." you started quietly, hands dropping to your sides as you stared up at the sky, feeling alessia's watchful gaze on you.

"but you only kissed me because i ambushed you with that big speech and i turned up to your house an absolute mess and you had every right to set those boundaries between us. it doesn't make you a hypocrite." alessia warned softly, reaching out to touch you but thinking better of it as her hand settled back in her lap.

"and last night...you can't take the full responsibility for that. it just, happened." her voice dropped an octave lower, wrenching her eyes away from you. "yeah." you agreed with a small sigh, still trying to unpack everything.

"okay i'm going to start speaking. but if you want me to stop, please stop me." alessia decided with a heavy exhale as you sat up again and nodded, waiting for her to continue. "okay this is sort of embarrassing but can we do the thing again, like when we were younger." she pleaded, cheeks flushed red with shame.

"you mean when we turn and-" "yeah." "okay."

hiding the small smile which wanted to curl into your features at her request you shuffled around so your backs faced one another, jolting ever so slightly as she pushed back a little, her body pressing lightly into yours.

you waited for her to speak, not wanting to rush her as clearly by your current positions this wasn't something she was finding easy to say, and you tried your best to swallow the nerves that caused to bubble up inside you.

"like i said, you had every right to set those boundaries with us given what happened and the fact we were starting over." alessia started, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts. "but i don't think either of us can deny that clearly we aren't doing very well staying within them." she continued, your eyebrows furrowing into a slight frown.

"you can deny it if you want to but that kiss last night, it meant something, and i felt something. something that i tried to lock away when you said you wanted to be just friends because like i said, i'd rather have you in my life one way than not at all." alessia paused, again thinking out her next words as your heart started to beat a little faster.

"and i think you feel something too and thats probably terrifying given how things ended last time but i promise you i wouldn't ever dream of hurting you like that again. it scares me too just how much i care about you after so many years, how when i look at you everything that i thought was gone all just comes rushing back again and it makes my head spin. which is why i ran after the kiss last night, because i'd be lying if i said it didn't hurt to have to pretend i don't feel this way and that i don't want us to be something more." alessia continued confessing, biting her lip nervously.

"when i'm around you things make sense, we make sense. knowing how much i broke you the last time i had a chance to properly love you, it's the one thing in my life that I actually regret. seeing the pain in your eyes as you left, your inability to even look at me as you did. the not speaking to you or seeing you for so long, coming home and seeing you'd given back all my stuff, all the stuff i got for you, everything that symbolized us then symbolized that we were over for good, and of course i take responsibility for it but it hurt."

"you're the person i want to tell everything to, and the first one who comes to mind. when i got my first senior national team call up I just wanted to call you, text you, talk to you about it. but i couldn't, so i didn't. but now, now that feelings back and anytime something even tiny happens i find my mind wanders to what you'd think about it, what you'd say-" alessia paused again to take a breath as your heart hammered even harder in your chest.

"is this too much? god i feel like this is too much." the blonde stressed, doubt creeping in as you shook your head, forgetting momentarily that she couldn't see you. "no, keep going." you managed out once your senses kicked back in.

"okay, here we go.

"i like your eyes, i could look into them for hours and never get bored, they're comforting, they're beautiful and they're safe, just like you are. i like the little sun and moon studs in the corner of your ear, i like how the sound of your laughter can fill a whole room like a wind chime and how you stick your tongue out of that little gap in your teeth when you smile. i like the stupid little concentrating face you make when you think really hard about something, i like how you fall asleep during movie's, how you care more about other people than you do for yourself, you are a good person. a person better than i'll ever deserve another chance with, but you have no idea how badly i want to kiss you over and over again and for it to mean something." alessia's voice was barely a whisper as she finished, body riddled with anxiety as more time passed and you stayed dead silent.

"please say something."

"it is terrifying. when we kissed last night was different than that first time, all these emotions and feelings and memories came rushing back and suddenly i felt like that shy nervous lovesick teenager all over again. i was seventeen again laying in bed with you, both of us giggling like idiots and worrying about someone walking in on us." you started, trying desperately to make sense of how you were feeling despite how overwhelming it all was.

"i thought the kinds of feelings that came up when we kissed were long gone but its scary just how fast they all came racing back up to the surface. i think i really like you too lessi, no i know i do. but i think we still need to take things slowly, i don't want this to be something that crashes and burns out." you admitted, your stomach knotting over and over at the realization, your heartbeat now pounding in your ears.

there were no more words exchanged between you, and alessia jolted a little as she felt your hands inch backwards a little, seeking out her own. her every nerve tingled with a warm sense of calm as they found one another, your fingers intertwining with a gentle but now hopeful squeeze.

"okay, i can do slow. we can do slow."

with that said the two of you turned, again sitting side by side but much closer than before. "i know we just had like a big conversation but i really need to go or i'll be late for training and i don't particularly fancy running laps." alessia realised, giving you a guilty look.

"mmm i don't know, i'd kind of like to see you have to run some laps." you teased, a smile on your face as you tried to ignore the insane wave of emotions washing down on you, selfishly a little pleased she needed to leave which allowed you some time to sit and process them.

"could use them, might help you realise how long your legs are so you stop tripping over them." you continued, the blonde shoving you lightly before the two of you stood and headed back inside.

"so..." alessia trailed off, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet by the door. "so..." you mocked, crossing your arms as you hovered by your front door. "when can i see you again?" alessia asked, trying her best not to sound too eager, well aware you'd just had the conversation about testing the waters again.

"depends." you shrugged. "on?" alessia questioned, a little confused by your response. "you should get going, there's laps waiting for you." you reminded, opening your door and gesturing for her to go, the blonde stepping onto your front porch.

"depends on what?" the girl huffed impatiently, crossing her arms and staring you down. "whenever you ask me on a date. bye lessi!" you smiled, leaning up to softly kiss her cheek, closing the door quickly before she had a chance to respond.

~

you smiled at the good morning message on your phone, simple but sweet enough to have made your day just a little brighter as you texted alessia back.

she was quick to respond, making fun of you for the fact it wasn't technically morning anymore as you rolled your eyes, still still present on your lips as you sent her your own reply, wishing her good luck for the game today.

biting down on your lip your eyes scanned the contents of your fridge, willing some sort of inspiration to strike about what you could possibly cook yourself.

grabbing out some eggs you settled for those and a couple pieces of toast, your motivation low as you glanced over to the untouched pile of marking on your table.

you'd just finished cooking and hadn't even been able to sit down to eat before your phone rang. placing down your forkful of food you sighed and clicked answer.

"you better have a good reason for calling me on a sunday." you warned your brother. "wow its just so lovely to hear from you too." his voice dripped with sarcasm, and you winced at the loud music blaring behind him.

"what can i do for you dear harold?" you questioned, knowing him well enough that there was always an ulterior motive to his calls. "what are you doing today?" he asked, seemingly innocent as your eyes narrowed.

"why?" "always so suspicious! do you really not trust me?" "i could give you one hundred reasons why i don't trust you harry, need i remind of the santa incident? the how babies are made story? the sleeping bag accident?" "all just harmless childhood fun! lighten up. now are you busy today?" "not particularly, just have a small mountain of school work to mark through."

"perfect! we'll pick you up in an hour." harry cheered happily as your frown deepened. "sorry?" you questioned unsure if you'd heard him correctly. "alessia's game is at three and luca's sick so gio and i have a spare ticket, we'll be at yours in an hour. be ready!" and with that he'd hung up before you could even say another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

twelve

[dev1lm4n]

lesson two: tease

ko-fi | series masterlist (5 out of 7)

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: tension is on the rise between you and mr. miller. wicked fantasies hadn't posted for an entire month! desperate, you decided to get even more bold with your requests and he had no difficulty in complying.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: explicit (18+), set in 2013, pre-outbreak, age gap (joel in mid 30's and reader in early 20's), inexperienced but not dumb reader, blowjob, f masturbation, check umbrella warning on series masterlist

notes: tension is literally on the rise! the vase is about to crack, but tonight he decides to indulge. fellas if you enjoyed this do COMMENT, REBLOG or buy me a KO-FI ;) love y'all

Broad shoulders.

During the time when you simply saw Mr. Miller as a figure in your lewd fantasies, you knew that it was the roughness of his build that attracted you. There’s a certain market for it; for women and men alike who enjoyed those who're built like burly vikings straight out of a movie. Those who enjoy men with a slight plumpness on their front, those who salivate over their strong and reliable arms, those who strive to caress their calloused fingers and press kisses onto their rigid knuckles. You’ve never confessed this to anyone - mostly terrified for their reserved judgment over the topic - but you fit perfectly in that box. Time after time, you wonder if it’d feel nice, if you could just press your nifty fingers into the coils of his muscles, if he’d let out a groan.. a moan perhaps from the sensation.

Rough fingers.

After spending two minutes staring intensely at his sturdy, slightly hunched build, you finally gathered enough courage to summon yourself into the kitchen. God, he looked so good just washing the dishes. His already calloused fingers didn’t have to worry about the damage those cheap dish soap does, because if anything, it’d just make it better. More ridges means more texture and more texture feels better. Two of his fingers entered the soapy lining of his mug, spreading the cleaning product into every crack and crevice. It looks a little erotic, you decided. Your filthy mind conjured up altered scenarios which implemented the same motion. You’d be on top of the cold countertop, various kitchen gadgets set aside as his fingers delved into your cunt. He’d spread your wetness the same way he did to the mug.

Thick mustache.

He took notice of your presence. He watched you and you allowed him, even if he did so wordlessly. Water continued to spill out of the faucet. It hit the empty bottom of the sink and sprouted upwards in a gauche manner, effectively wetting his gray shirt in blotches and dots. You breathed out what could pass as a dry chuckle and in return, he quirked his lips. A grin. A youthful one that almost made you forget of his crow’s feet and faint lines. His thin upper lip almost disappeared as it was tugged on both sides, but the dark hair on top remained pristine. It was thick, you concluded. Not as thick as Uncle Tommy’s, but thick enough that he’d get marinara sauce on it every pasta night. Thick enough that you wonder what it’d be like to have it graze your sensitive pelvis.

Fuck, he’s hot and you’re unreasonably horny.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he parroted back, only with the help of that damned nickname he’s stamped onto you.

Crunch

You bit into the red apple you found during your little scavenging trip into his refrigerator. The sound broke whatever trance he had placed you under. With those eyes of yours, pupils rounded and lashes batted, it was a dangerous game you’re playing. When had you gotten so shameless towards Mr. Miller? Perhaps it’s when he touched you in an irrevocably pleasurable way, or perhaps it’s when he hadn’t posted a video for an entire month. He missed his posting schedule, two whole weeks post-’Dirty Fridays’, and it’s severely messing with your head. You’ve always been a good viewer. Always being content with what he had put out and would never harass him for more, but it’s been a long month repeating the same 13 minute long video.

You’re bound to get restless.

“Didn’t see you come home yesterday.”

“I was busy.”

Crunch

With other girls? In that trailer studio of yours? The question sat on the tip of your tongue. A breath away from being exposed into the dense air. You turned to lean your lower back onto the edge of the countertop, eyes still trained on his as you hitched yourself atop the smooth surface. Your fingers grazed the squared edges, just to keep you occupied while you dug under the surface of his browns. You wondered what he was so busy with - wondered what’s going on behind the tightly knitted cloak of guise he wore, wondered what he thought of you after his little lesson. He wasn’t a shy one. Mr. Miller stared back into your pupils. His chest raised and lowered with every blink he took.

You swallowed nervously.

“Workin’ doubles,” he cracked. “I ain’t sharin’ the job with anyone other than Tommy.”

“Is that so?”

“You think I’m lyin’?”

Crunch

You couldn’t read him. You’ve never been able to. There’s just a huge boulder sitting behind those irises, one that’s blocking you from understanding him even further. It’s not like it’s your business anyway. You’re content with spending your downtime with Sarah; screaming your hearts out to Taylor Swift’s I Knew You Were Trouble on the radio, painting each others’ nails, and making the ultimate pancake with chicken. You’re content with just watching him through his videos, reimagining those situations with the new knowledge you’ve acquired from him. You’re content with standing at a distance from him. So, it wouldn’t be logical to get all protective over him. What are you? His crazy ex-girlfriend?

“How’s Sarah?”

“Great,” you mumbled, mouth still half full. “Taught her fractions yesterday. Swear she’s getting smarter than me.”

“How’s Simon?”

Crunch

Things with Simon, surprisingly, went on smoothly. After that mediocre dinner, where you proceed to let Mr. Miller finger you afterwards in order to introduce you to the new world of sex, you’ve exchanged a few messages and a few perfectly appropriate photos. It’s been awhile since you actually put any effort into trying to get into a relationship, due to work loads and a special dependance towards a pornstar, but it’s much better than you expected. He’s a nice boy. He would treat you right if you gave him the chance to, but you couldn’t help but think that you’re doing all this out of spite. Doing this to show off how capable you are to Mr. Miller, to busy yourself off those plaguing thoughts of him.

“Simon’s doing okay. Fine. He took me for ice cream after my classes yesterday.”

“Offered you a ride, right?”

“Yup.”

He taught you well.

“You’ve done it with him then?”

Your heart clenched.

“Done what?”

“What I taught you.”

Why is he so candid about the entire ordeal?

It was like being held at gunpoint. You watched his eyes, then found it to be too oppressive so you looked down to meet his wet hands. He had finished washing all the plates and cutleries from the breakfast you and Sarah made, though his thick fingers still gripped onto the edge of the metal sink, wet and dripping. You looked up once again, trying to find a part of him that doesn’t make you all jittery and awkward.

“Yes.”

Your lie must’ve been undetectable since you quickly caught on to how his brows tangled and unraveled, a habit of his you’ve picked up recently, signaling that he’s processing the information and giving it a good thought.

“Was it as good?”

Crunch

You nodded surely with a mouthful of tangy apple. There’s no way you could get away with lying so blatantly the second time so you decide the nod would affirm your position better instead of scramble it. He cocked his head to the side, arrogant as always, with some sort of interest in his eyes. You could just tell something foul was about to come out of those sharp tongue of his, when all of a sudden, a clatter sounded out from beyond the window. Both of you turned your heads in sync, following after where the presumable source was. There he was. Tommy in all of his youthful glory. One of his jean legs drenched and beside him was a metal bucket, laying pitifully with its contents poured out onto the sidewalk. He was cursing. A garbled mess of English, while he soothed his pained arse.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He let out a sigh as he finally tore his gaze away from you to wipe his hands onto a kitchen rag.

“Gotta get goin’,” he whispered hurriedly, fingers running down his messy hair to smooth them down. “You need anything, sweetheart?”

You shook your head no and he took it as a cue to leave the premises. He rushed to pick up his phone from the dining room table, eyes fleeting to find his wallet right after.

“Hey, Mr. Miller.”

He turned his head to meet your eyes.

“You busy tonight?”

Dinner had always been a lonesome affair for you.

Back when you still live in your parents’ cluttered mishmash of a house, you’d always opt out of family dinner. Not because you weren’t particularly fond of your mother’s cooking, her one pot recipes will still remain nostalgic in your head despite time, but more because you’d rather not indulge in petty arguments. They’d always argue. Your mother would flash you that look of hers, silently demanding you to stay on her side when it comes to dealing with your father’s frequent misdemeanors. He’d complain about the tiniest bits of things. If the lettuce was too wilted or if you were wearing too much makeup. He’s an ass, sure, but it’s not like your mother’s planning to abandon him anytime soon. They’re conjoined at this point. Even when it’s massively unhealthy, especially for spectators like you.

In Mr. Miller’s home, oftentimes, you’d put together an edible meal for the entire family. Mr. Miller was a hard worker, according to the accounts that he made, so it’s not rare that you’d have to fry up sausages and whip mashed potatoes together for Sarah. It’s not as if he made it your responsibility. He’d encourage the two of you to order take outs or phone in the pizza place, but that couldn’t be good for Sarah’s growth or his own pocket. And as much as you’d like to deny it, you’re growing way too fond of the Millers.

But it’s been far too long since you crossed path with Mr. Miller. Far too long that you might’ve forgotten what his natural musk after a long day smelt like. Far too long that you might’ve forgotten how heavy his boots were as it dragged across the tiles. Far too long that you surely misses him.

You’re nervous.

Unreasonably so when the promise you’ve made with him was simply for dinner. Nothing less or more. Just dinner. Was the invitation you gave him.. too much? Was it too flirty? Was it silly to think that he might’ve entertained the little show you put out? The desperate stares and chewed lips, you’re undeniably begging for attention. Begging for him to pay attention to you, see what you’re made out of, doesn’t he want to unravel you more? The audacity you have was laughable.

How pathetic, you thought. 

Just like clockwork, Mr. Miller showed up right after your self-deprecating cycle. Right after all that flirty and playful energy got brutally murdered by common sense. Right after they were buried in a graveyard of mistakes and what was left was simply the putrid scent of shame. Your head perked up expectantly. As if the mere sight of him in his work uniform,  a combo of worn-out flannel shirts and dark-washed jeans, would cure you of exhaustion. Mr. Miller came barging into the hallway. His thumb and index finger diligently massaged the tall bridge of his nose, eyes closed and nose flared from breathing too hard. Your eyes finally made its rounds to where his free arm was propped up on his waist. Sleeves rolled to where it was physically impossible to roll them higher.

He didn’t look like he was in the best of moods.

And somehow.. somehow it excites you.

“Hi, how are you?” you spoke stiffly as if you’re one of those supermarket cashiers, posture straightening upon his arrival.

“Not good,” he replied gruffly.

Mr. Miller made his way to you. He appeared to be the same height and stature as he’s always been, but for whatever reason, he looked a lot larger. As if he could bite and tear you into chunks of flesh if he truly desired to. His movements were staggered. Each step seemed to be more and more of a hassle to him. He had this.. frown on his face. You could even call it a scowl. Forehead waved with folds of worries, lips tightened into an irritated pull as he finally settled down across from you. This new side to him made your limbs limp and your heart spasm. A squeeze each time his narrowed eyes met yours.

“Everything.. okay?” you mused out.

“Just a bunch of shit piling up,” he reasoned, looking down to meet the plate you carefully crafted for him. “Nothin’ to worry your pretty little head.”

The plate’s cold, boiled asparagus hardened and packaged chicken dried, but he didn’t even consider complaining. His brown eyes took in the effort you gave, a brief sheen of guilt glazing those pretty eyes of his before he picked up his fork and spoon. You watched him with care. His every move calculated and drilled deep into your head.

“Sarah asleep?”

“Mhm. I bored her to death with trigonometry,” you chuckled lightly. “She’s okay. Just.. she’s been asking for you. Asking me why you’re always home late.”

Joel’s eyes perked up from the plate. He met your eyes, but it almost felt like he’s looking right through you, over your head to where he could contemplate his decisions. You knew this just from looking, but Joel Miller had a fear of not being a good parental figure. Sarah only had one and he’s barely ever home. That sort of thought festered over him and took over any sort of inhibition. Any sort of clear thinking, that he’s doing all these side jobs to help support her further in life, that it was all for her. Mr. Miller beats himself up too much, but it’s not like you had any right to intervene. You watched as he indulged in the asparagus, seeing how it’s grown cold enough to feel like metal rods when bitten into. He chewed on it with a solemn expression, a curl between his brows.

“Sorry for putting you through this, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I could.. should actually hire help.”

You waited a beat.

“You’ve been doing me too much favor. It’s not.. right.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Why?”

“Always happy to help.”

“But-”

“It’ll cost you too much for help. You’d be sleeping at your job if that happens.”

He could easily earn up to thousands if he gave into the temptations and started working for a mainstream adult film company. One that’s easily recognized from its corny storylines and cringy high-pitched over-the-top moans. Mr. Miller would be a hit, you’re sure of that. Mainstream porn only requires two things when it comes to male actors: a pretty reasonably-sized cock and charisma. Both in which he had under his belt. If he weren’t so particular with the actresses he chose, the angles in which he filmed, and the routine in which he performed in, perhaps he wouldn’t have to beat himself up to skin and bones. You leaned your cheeks onto the palm of your hands as you watched him devour his dinner.

“I need a favor.”

His fork paused.

“But you- well, you’ll laugh.”

He looked up. The crinkles beside his eyes seemed a lot more prominent, as if he’s thoroughly entertained by your youthful silliness.

“What is it? Somethin’ for Simon is it?”

He’s spot on and it’s making you shrink.

“What?” he chuckled gruffly. “You gonna ask me to teach ya how to blow a guy? Oh.. or how to hang him up in ribbons?”

You looked away, awkwardly scratching your elbow.

“Fuck. I’m spot on, am I? Didn’t take you for a kinky gal.”

“No! God, no,” you looked at him, horrified. “Not the latter.”

“The former then?”

“The former.”

The former. You couldn’t bear to wait for his delayed answer. It’s shameless for you to be asking a second time, but you couldn’t help yourself. You’re pent-up, desperate, and he’s your porn star crush forfuckssake. You stood up from where you’re seated. Your gaze was averted completely, to the point where it’s tilted at an uncomfortable angle to shuffle away from his attention. It’s better to sleep it off. Then maybe you’d act like all this didn’t happen the next day. Sarah’s going to be around for breakfast, so he’d surely keep his mouth in check and draw his way out of this. Wouldn’t he.. would he-

“Hey, hey slow down.”

You felt a hand stop you. His grip was tight, possibly bruising if you were to retaliate any other way. It was still hard to meet his eyes, especially when you had to make the special effort to tilt your head up in order to meet his searing gaze. You waited instead, letting him hinder you of any movements as you stared intensely into his flannel-cladded chest. What was he going to say? Is he going to call you up for your perverseness? Was he-

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it.”

His voice clambered in the chambers of your heart. Masculine, thick with an inch of Southern bass, he took hold of your other hand with those thick fingers of his. This was different from your first lesson. He looked much more.. impatient. A bit of a rough edge when it comes to handling you, a pretty little thing that’s too brave and forward for your own good. His scent, fragments of wood and a taste of clean laundry, permeated the thick air around you. You inhaled him. All of him for the first time in a very very long week. He released the steel grip he had around your wrists and traced it over the rough outline of your body. Up, up, up, until he reached the span of your shoulder. Your breath hitched. All you could feel in your heart was a repeating desire for himhimhim.

He pushed you down slowly, guiding you to lower yourself before him. Right until your knees hit the freezing linoleum tiles beneath his feet. What were you doing? Is it the right decision to fall back into the same old mistake?

“Have you ever practiced on anything before?” he chuckled, almost demeaning in a sense. “A banana or a hairbrush perhaps?”

You shook your head no. All you could see was his dirty jeans, stained of dry concrete and paint.

He brought his rough fingers down to graze against your chin, tilting it upwards so that you’d face him. His eyes were dark, hooded, and trying its best to conceal its obvious amusement. Your chest heaved up and down. Nervous of what he’s about to do next.

“Let’s practice first, ‘kay, sweetheart?” he muttered.

Mr. Miller brought his other pair of fingers next to your face, cradling it with such reverence. He swiped your lips. Bottom then top, only to delve inside your mouth to wet it with enough lubricant. He’s initiating it. His little routine. The older man brought two of his fingers, his index and middle, before he inserted it slowly into your wet cavity. Slowly. Achingly slow. He made sure that you’re comfortable with just a knuckle deep before he proceeded to push in further until the tips sat at the very beginning of your tongue. It wasn’t a familiar feeling like rubbing your clit. You struggle not to gag, or to whimper at the sheer lewdness of the scene unfolding.

“Ah, what a smart girl,” he mused. “Lay your tongue flat for me.”

Your clammy palms fell helplessly atop your smooth pajama pants, gripping on the cotton everytime it felt like too much. His thick fingers separated to make the girth much larger, preparing you for what’s to come. It’s almost as if you could taste him. Taste the natural scent Mr. Miller has around him at all times, taste the carnal desire he held for this. You knew he wouldn’t openly admit it, but this time, it truly looked like he’s looking forward to ripping your innocence away. All his feigned affection stretched thin as you obeyed him perfectly. Tongue flat on the base of your mouth, you breathed in through your nose as best as you can.

“That boy wouldn’t like it if you’re sharp with your teeth,” he muttered as he pulled his fingers away. A string of saliva connected the tip of his wet fingers to your slacked jaw. Oh, how vulgar. Your tight entrance twitched and throbbed inside your panties. Arousal started to wet the thin material, painting dark circles that contrast with the bright color. You were heaving, panting from the sudden increase of oxygen. “So no teeth, keep your tongue flat, and breathe through your nose.”

“You got that, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.”

“Alright. Would you like me to take my pants off or do you wanna try it yourself?”

You looked up at the tempting prospect. He gave you a little nod, affirming that you indeed had the upper hand to the situation. And just like that your hands were quick to get on the perimeter of his belt. You loosened the leather from its metal confines, slowly pulling it away from the hook before leaving it. The leather hung from where his two front loops were located. Meekly, you looked up once more as your soft fingers felt his buttons up. He hissed through his pursed lips, a good reaction you assume, as you slowly unbuttoned the main button. You were confident enough now to tug away at his zippers. Step one was completed, you’ve successfully opened him up like a Christmas present.

But.. what’s next?

“What do I do next?”

“What do you think you do?”

You reached out for the waistband of his briefs, but you were quickly met with a little slap on the back of your hand. Not a hurtful one. Just a little reminder.

“It’s best if you get him worked up first so he’s fully hard when you’re ready,” he whispered. “Why don’t you press some gentle kisses on it?”

You hummed in agreement, before you did as you’re told. Even with the dim lighting of the dining room, you could see clearly where the outline of his cock is. It’s semi-erected, you deduced. You’ve seen him in all his glory to the point where you could calculate how much more he could grow. Gently, you closed the gap between you and those pair of briefs he’s wearing. Your mouth was hot and warm in contrast to the cold air, so when you finally pressed a kiss on top of his clothed shaft, his cock twitched immediately. You could feel it and see it too in certain lighting. Encouraged, you press even more kisses on each and every spot, slowly building up the desire until you reach the leaking tip. You nuzzled your nose close. It smelled like him, salty with a tinge of masculine musk.

This turned you on so much that you inevitably grinded your bottom towards the cold tile. Nothing was there to satiate your throbbing core, just a short term burst of pleasure.

“Shit, sweetie,” he hissed. “I think you’re ready.”

With haste, you quickly tugged on his waistband. You didn’t expect for his length to pop out that quickly, the startled reaction you had was proof of that. He looked.. pretty. Blushed beige with a ruddy tip that's covered. It’s a little silly that that’s the first thing that came to your mind, but it’s the truth. You’d never guess that you could get this up close. Eye level to the cock you’ve been fantasizing about, where you could practically see each and every one of his veins. You didn’t say one word. Instead, you settled on observing the new interest. Your one finger went up curiously to touch the white substance that’s pooling up top. Sticky, you thought. Out of curiosity, you stuck the lone finger down your throat. Salty was the next thought in line.

“Didn’t expect you to taste it,” he chuckled.

You simmered in the sudden embarrassment.

“What’s next? Should I just put it in my mouth?”

“You could.”

“There’s another way?” you peered up curiously.

“Well,” he hummed. You watched as his finger pried your lips open once more, urging you to stick out your wet tongue. “You could make a show out of it. Look me in the eye and lick me slowly.”

You quirked your eyebrows as if unsure if this will work. You’ve never taken yourself as a ‘sexy’ person. Will this even work? To get rid of those plaguing thoughts, you decided to take a leap of faith. You stuck your tongue out more and slowwwwly dragged it along his salty length. You made sure to keep your eyes on his, watching his every micro reaction to decide which one pleased him more. This is supposed to be about Simon! Why are you.. seeking for his validation? On instinct, you pulled the hooded skin back to reveal his furiously red tip. You laughed nervously before you experimentally sucked on it. The wet warmth instantly had him buck up into you, a strained groan following suit. 

“Oh shit,” he cursed. “You’re doing good.”

Getting confident, you decided to suckle on it a little more. It tasted a lot more intense than what you’ve tasted of him, but it wasn’t bad at all.

“You think you could take more, sweetheart?”

You nodded before letting his length infiltrate your mouth even more. The end touched the back of your throat ambitiously before you had to pull back and set yourself onto his sensitive tip once more. It wasn’t as easy as his co-stars are making it seem. There was a rhythm in which you have to master, a balance of push and pull so that you don’t gag at the intrusion. His soft groans were heavenly. You didn’t get to hear much of it the first time around, but now it’s all you could think of. You can’t take it anymore! You just had to touch yourself.

“Shit, you’re a dirty gal, are ya?” he chuckled. “Had to touch yourself to this?”

You cried out a muffled moan. It was all too familiar. The way in which you slipped your hand into your pants, shuffling between the layers of panties to rub at your clit. You were already drenched with need. Strings of arousal webbed between your fingers as you rubbed figure eights all across the sensitive patch of nerves. You’re losing track of the rhythm and Mr. Miller took notice of that. He was kind enough to lead you. His fingers slotted perfectly behind the crown of your head, guiding you in a pace you could tolerate.

“Perfect mouth for little Simon,” he degraded.

Mr. Miller’s large hands continued to move you at a certain pace. The time slot left for you to gather your breath tightened and it’s almost like you could pass out from the lack of oxygen. But it felt too good. He tasted too nice. You’ve got his cock in your mouth and it’s spurting out tangy liquid goodness onto your tongue, what else can you ask for? 

You continued to grind onto the palm of your hand, desperate enough to not think of how shameless you looked. So slick, your fingers let out a lewd pop everytime it dipped inside of you. Usually you weren’t fond of vaginal penetration by yourself, but the thought of having his cock inside of you left you rabid. This was supposed to be about Simon, is it not?

“You wanna know what a real man tastes like?” he mused out lazily.

You nodded desperately. Mr. Miller held your head tight against his pelvis. Your nose grazed against the coarse dark curls he had as he twitched inside of you. You continued to slick the pads of your fingers against yourself. An entire week of masturbation being combined into one as you felt that familiar pressure build in your stomach. A coil waiting to be snapped.

“Sh- shit.”

Mr. Miller broke first. He hunched slightly as he rode his orgasm out. You could see how his legs trembled and his hips bucked himself even further down your throat. 

There it was. The salty trace you tried earlier came in big spurts down your throat, only when you couldn’t fit more did it start seeping out your mouth. It dribbled down the gaps between his softened cock and your aching mouth, stripes of white just trickling down vulgarly. You moaned into his cock, wetting the flimsy material of your panties. A combination of the scent his cock gave to the familiar rubs to your clit had you seeing stars. You knew for a fact that the linoleum tiles would be soaked with your juices when you come up to your feets. 

This isn’t a problem anymore, it’s a catastrophe.

[jules-writes-stories]

The Night Court Lounge | Tribeca, NYC

I forgot to post my WIP...Thursday? | Azriel x Eris AU |

“Perhaps I might have resisted a great temptation, but the little ones would have pulled me down” ―The House of Mirth

There was nothing like spotting one’s mother at a BDSM club. 

The ink was still wet on his parents’ divorce papers, but there she was for all to see, sprawled across Helion’s lap. After all, the Vanserras could always be counted on to feed the tabloids and gossip columns. 

Eris planned to finish his whiskey and make a discrete exit. But then, his heart leapt into his throat and his dick hardened at first sight. 

He’d been expecting Thesan in his usual get up. Eris occasionally came to The Night Court to support his ex. The man could still turn him on like no one else. They’d never been good at long-term relationships, but they could be each other’s confidantes, a soft place to fuck and forget for a spell. 

Eris had hoped to get that from his ex tonight, and was taken aback when something, someone, completely different entered the main stage. 

The man looked younger and Thesan’s lithe body and smooth brown skin was replaced by a lighter, golden tone, covered in scrolling Arabic across a sleek muscled chest. In place of white feathers were black leather bat wings. 

Eris found the whole thing to be absurd and had teased Thesan about it incessantly. But this man, his broad tattooed shoulders, the planes of his abs below the leather harness, those wings did something to him. He needed to go to fucking sleep or get laid.

Black lined eyes like topaz gazed out at the crowd. Eris wanted to smell those black curls, to test their silk between his fingers. He was being absurd. 

The beautiful man got to his knees in the most submissive prone position in the cage, and Eris watched him lean, like an overgrown house cat, into the auctioneer’s hand as she stroked those curls through iron bars. And fuck if it wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen. This man was dangerous, even caged, and Eris wanted that creature purring between his legs. 

Then Helion made a spectacle of himself, announcing his intentions, and that sealed the deal. Eris would win. He hadn’t made the Wall Street Journal’s “30 Money Makers under 30” lists three years in a row for nothing. He was an apex predator in every boardroom, could dominate every corner of the market. But what made him dangerous was his discretion.

The Wall Street wolves of Beron’s generation were past their prime. They were showy hunters who howled at every win, too certain of their supremacy and too concerned with pack politics. Thanks to a twenty four hour news cycle and social media, the current global market was volatile, and one must be ready to strike silently and with sudden force. For Eris Vanserra was no wolf. He was a snake. 

He watched the kneeling figure, whose eyes traveled the room. Eris needed them on him. Look at me. See me. And almost as if the beautiful, dark creature read his thoughts, his head turned and hazel locked with his own. Fuck. Eris watched those gorgeous eyes travel along his face, lingering on his mouth. He smirked. Then, lower, down to his shoulders, to his chest, and lingered, once more, on his fingers. Eris moved them, ever so slowly, along the wet rim of his cocktail glass. 

As those glittering eyes followed them, Eris swore he saw the man’s pupils blow out further. This beautiful stranger wanted him. And Eris had to possess this caged creature, needed to steal him away from Helion, from the pretentious Lord Winters, from Donna Suriel, the most sadistic bitch on this side of the Hudson. But mostly, Eris just wanted to watch that gorgeous face unfold with pleasure. Wanted that perfect body prone beneath him, before him, begging for release. 

He was coiled in position and ready. And then Eris clocked it: a shadow of discomfort passed across the man’s face. He shifted and this time, it was not with arousal. His legs were cramping and he was tired. He gave three taps to his leg. He saw it for what it was. The sub had used his safe signal. Feyre, the auctioneer, almost imperceptibly, picked up the pace. She’d seen it too. 

Those hazel eyes locked with his once more, as if to say, Don’t you want me? Eris kept his face impassive. He would reveal nothing. It was how he got this far, how he'd survived twenty-seven years as Beron’s son, and had made his name as the Viper of Wall Street. 

“Forty thousand,” Helion called out in his bombastic voice. 

Feyre called out quickly, “Forty thousand. Going once, twice and—” 

He struck. “Fifty thousand.” Eris was sure to keep his voice level, his timbre smooth. It did no good to sound desperate or overwrought. 

Hazel eyes locked with his, and it took all his will power not to stand up and take what was his. Because the caged, leashed, beautiful man, there on his knees, literally leaned forward, subtly arching his back so perfectly, as if his body couldn’t help but move closer to the sound of Eris’s voice. The auctioneer must have seen the same thing, because she didn’t give anyone a chance to counter. 

“Sold to Eris Vanserra for fifty thousand dollars.”  

[leclercsredhelmet]

New in Monaco ♡‧ Charles Leclerc

A/N: Hi again! I was inspired by the Florida Logan blurb and decided to write a Charles one after listening to down bad. It’s a little longer than the previous blurb but I hope you enjoy reading it!

“Now I’m down bad”

The combination of the bright sun warming your shoulders, the sights, and the people made you smile as you walked around Monte Carlo. Landing a work opportunity here was feeling like a great idea, you truly couldn’t be happier. A camera was around your neck and you took pictures of everything that caught your attention. Instead of continuing to unpack you had decided to take a break and do some sightseeing before getting some food. Totally in awe of the sights you were not fully aware of your surroundings. As you headed towards the casino you bumped into someone. The person steadied you and you let out a light laugh. “Je suis désolé” the voice replied as the person apologized in French, “Moi aussi” you replied. “I should’ve been aware, my apologies” you added switching to English. The person you bumped into laughed and your eyes met his green eyes. “Are you okay?” He asked while still keeping a hand behind your back in case he needed to steady you. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“I’m Charles, Enchanté,” he said, extending his hand, stating your name you replied like he had. “What brings you to Monaco?” He asked. “Work, I just moved here actually!” You exclaimed with a little laugh. He smiled, “What do you work in?” Charles asked. “Brand marketing,” you replied. “How about you?” you inquired, “I drive race cars,” he said with a smile. Of course, you knew who he was, you were a fan but you had to downplay this. Turning your head to the side a little you looked at him and smiled, “I think I’ve seen you” you replied and he smiled. “Are you doing something right now?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck, “Besides walking around and trying to find a spot to eat, no not much” you said with a laugh. Charles laughed and beckoned you to follow him. Obliging you walked next to him as he pointed out some sights and cracked a few jokes.

He led you to his car, which as you knew would be a Ferrari, and opened the door for you, thanking him you got in. Before starting the engine he informed you of a really good spot he frequently ate at and took you there. The drive wasn’t long but very agreeable since you conversed the entire time.

Upon entering the cafe you smiled, it seemed like it was very tranquil and did not have a flock of tourists, few tables inside were occupied, Charles was seemingly familiar with the place so he led you to one of the tables out by the balcony and pulled the chair out for you. While waiting for the waitress you kept talking and looking at your surroundings. Charles had stopped talking and admired you for a minute, your head was a little turned to the side, and your line of sight was trained on the faraway horizon. A stray curl fell off your low bun and he fought the urge to reach out and twist the coil around his finger.

Suddenly self-conscious he stopped staring at you, and just then you turned to look at him with a smile so bright that it could start a thousand fires. God, you were gorgeous and you looked at him as if you sensed that he had been taking you in. Just then, the waitress came and you ordered.

Carefully you would sneak in glances at Charles, his hair was a little messy at the top but cut short at the sides, and his skin was tanned making the silver chain around his neck stand out in perfect contrast. He was attractive there was no denying that, but when he laughed and his eyes crinkled you saw a boyish charm to him and butterflies would flutter around your stomach.

Time had inevitably passed and neither of you had noticed, eventually you paid the check, something he insisted he take care of and he drove you home. “You can drop me off here at the entrance, it’s fine,” you said. Shaking his head he replied, “Non, I’d like to make sure you make it to your floor okay. I’m coming with you” he said. “In case the elevator gets stuck?” you asked with a laugh. He laughed, “Exactly, then you’ll be stuck with me and not alone,” he replied. Giggling you both exited the car and he accompanied you to your floor. Stopping at your door you unlocked your door and invited him in but he politely declined. “I had fun today, thank you for showing me around!” you happily said. “It was my pleasure.” “Would you like to intentionally go out someday, without bumping into each other on the street?” he asked. Smiling you nodded, “That would be great,” you replied grinning. Charles’s face lit up with a grin, and he exchanged numbers with you. Bidding goodbye to you you smiled and waved before closing the door with a smile on your face.

A few days had passed since your first encounter with Charles, and you were finally settled into your apartment. On your way home from work, you received a text and noticed that it was Charles asking if you were free that evening. Smiling you replied and soon enough he was asking you out, intentionally just as he’d promised to. Making the short walk home you stepped into the hallway as soon as the elevator doors opened and wasted no time in getting inside your apartment to get ready, While getting ready you realized you were down bad for him.

(all photo credits go to the respective owners)

[agentmarvel]

center image by @/ave661

PART IV

hitman!ghost x fat!reader (afab, fem) w/ arranged marriage

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

rating: explicit

word count: 3,106

cw: genre-typical violence, non-descript injury

♡

Or perhaps you won’t.

You’re seething, teeth clenched and hands flailing as you express your resolute displeasure.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Simon! I’m old enough to shop alone!”

The tone of your voice borders on shrill, pitch rising with your temper. Fury rolls off of you in waves, incensed by the notion that you’d need one of his men following you around. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger, taking a measured breath as he contemplates what information you need to placate you. Perhaps he should’ve laid out the simpler rules first…

“Not a babysitter,” he grumbles, scrubbing that same hand across his jaw. “They’ll only be there to keep you safe.”

“From what? A fucking can of soup, Simon? New shoes? Rogue cart in a parking lot? Or, god forbid, a cashier that might ask how my day is going?”

“That’s not it - “

“Then what is it? Am I some sort of prisoner now? Scared I’m going catch a flight home and you’ll have to settle your debts like a grown man? Or is it just improper to have a lady in public without supervision? What fucking century are you living in?” You’re venomous in mocking him, fangs dripping with no intent of mercy, coiled up and ready to strike as soon as you find a soft spot. He’d like to say he understands, but you really have no reason to bite the hand that feeds. You don’t appreciate the gravity of the situation.

Simon utters your name softly, trying to pull you from your diatribe long enough to listen to reason. You’re not having it.

“I’m a person, Simon. I’m not your fucking property. I don’t need to be stalked by some half-wit thug with a God complex just because you are insecure. Believe it or not, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. You can’t - “

“Just listen - “

“What’s next? Lo-jacking my phone? Hiding a tracker in my purse lining? Chipping me like a fucking dog?”

“Enough!” he snarls, curt and cold. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears, pounding like a drum. His fingers curl into his palms, fists clenching. Your eyes go wide at his thunderous bark, but your face doesn’t betray your surprise otherwise. “My job is… dangerous sometimes, alright? Enemies come easy, and a lot of ‘em. Rules are in place to keep you safe, and you will follow them. Don’t like it? I don’t fuckin’ care. This ain’t a game, love. Your life is not a fuckin’ game.”

“What do you mean, ‘dangerous’?”

He stays quiet.

“Simon, tell me.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Simon?” You’re almost pleading at this point, anger all but draining. In fact, there’s an edge of fear when you say his name. He hates the sound.

Your beautiful doe eyes stare at him expectantly, and he folds like a lawn chair. Stubborn little thing, prodding like a needle until you get what you’re after. He’ll never confess how weak he is for that darling gaze.

Simon sighs, shoulders sagging from their tense, defensive position.

“I’m a black market contractor.” It’s a half-truth, a muted admission, but it’s better than handing you a live wire and throwing you in the deep end. You’ve had enough shocks in recent weeks; if he can save you from one more, he will.

“That’s how you know my father,” you say after a beat of silence. He nods.

“More or less.”

“Okay.” It’s followed by a heavy exhale that puffs out your lips and round cheeks. As inappropriate as the thought is in the moment, Simon can’t help but find it winsome. “Can you just, uhm, can you tell me the rest of the rules now, please?”

“‘course.”

He takes his time explaining as he guides you through your new home; the importance of setting the perimeter alarm while he’s away, the necessity of privatizing your social media accounts, a solid boundary of not having guests in the house without him vetting them first. You listen raptly, doll eyes staring up at him. Whether they’re full of engrossment or dread, he isn’t quite sure, but he enjoys your attention all the same.

You don’t ask many questions. Through the hallways, you generally acquiesce to his requests without resistance and ignore the closed doors. But one door seems to grab your attention at the end of the corridor, and when you ask about it, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Simon pays attention, you see. Your socials gave away far too many of your interests and hobbies (don’t read into that - he only spent days digging back nearly a decade). He spent nearly a month cautiously cultivating the contents beyond the multitudes that were already in his possession, and he knows that room will be your favorite.

“That’s the library,” he comments casually, feigning no knowledge of the depth of your enthusiasm. Your face lights up, though you try to bury the delight behind your collected façade.

“Am I allowed in there?”

“Of course.”

You pause a moment before asking, “Are there any rooms I’m not allowed in?”

He shakes his head. There’s no need to disclose the armory to you, really; you’ll never need to use it. His gallery of weaponry and wares hides behind a covert veneer, a door that doesn’t appear as a door, something you’d never think twice of in cursory glances. And that door is behind a door that remains locked at all times inside Simon’s office. The thought does occur that it may behoove him to teach you how to defend yourself, but what are the odds anyone would ever get close enough? Near zero.

“Only thing I ask is that you knock ‘fore you come in the study. Prefer to keep my work separate from my personal life. Rest of the house is fair game; it’s yours now, too.”

Like a broken record, he keeps slipping that in wherever possible. Repetition breeds remembrance, and he’d hate for you to forget that you’re a Riley now…

♡

The staff gathers in the foyer shortly before breakfast.

Simon regards them all fondly. Each is a well-oiled cog in a seamless machine; some pieces newer than others, but all perfectly functional. He hates to reduce them from sum to parts, but they’re all instrumental in his operations. He couldn’t do what he does without them, especially not now that he’s married. You’ll learn their functions, fragments, and faces. You’ll come to love and trust them as deeply as he does.

Your soft footfalls pad down the stairs right on time. The hitch in your breathing indicates a yawn, and he can hear a nearly imperceptible swish of fabric as you cover your mouth to hide it. Step-by-step, he tracks your progress until you reach what should be the last stair. You stop. He glances over his shoulder and offers a muted smile, taking in the only mildly disheveled sight of you first thing in the morning - wet hair, sweatpants, and a faded t-shirt. You’re stunning… and a bit surprised by the number of people in your house.

“C’mere,” he says softly. It’s as much a command as a suggestion, but you’re likely to be a bit more receptive if he isn’t too pushy, right? See, he’s learning, bit-by-bit, how to communicate with you to his advantage. Manipulation tactics aren’t ideal, but if it gets you on his side sooner, so be it.

Finicky thing, aren’t you? Emotional. Reactive. You respond to him like a feral creature backed into a corner, all claws and quarrel. Lashing out, he understands. He’s seen that deer-in-the-headlights look a million times over - though usually, it’s right before he unloads a clip in some sleazy nobody’s head or right after he makes a near impossible shot on a corrupt high-powered target. It’s something entirely different to see that look on his wife. Something that sets his teeth on edge.

So, he’ll adapt. Even if that means one-sided psychological warfare until you’re willing to meet him in the middle.

“Good morning,” you greet, enthusiasm absent but polite nonetheless, as you approach his side. To the dismay of the gnawing ache in his bones to pull you close, you stay just out of arm's reach, folding yours across your chest.

His host of guests responds in kind, scattered smatterings of verbal responses and mere nods mixed together.

“Our staff,” Simon announces. “I’m sure you recognize them from the wedding, but that’s Johnny and Kyle.”

He points to each in kind, Johnny giving you a charming grin and Kyle tipping the brim of his ballcap.

“My babysitters, right?” you ask blankly with an edge of snark. Johnny snickers, but tries to mask his amusement as soon as Simon hits him with a sharp, warning glare.

He ignores your comment, though.

“Farah and Alex are in charge of housekeeping; they bring in a team twice weekly for thorough cleans. If you’d like them to not touch your room, please let them know. They’re good about that.” What he doesn’t say is that Farah is also his head of private security, ensuring all safety protocols are in place, and Alex is in charge of the armory. He keeps an accurate inventory of what comes in and out, makes sure everything is organized and in working order, spends the bulk of his time methodically cleaning the instruments Simon takes on each assignment until no trace is left.

“Roach runs the kitchen - ” Double duty - chef and personal trainer. Sanderson oversees Johnny and Kyle’s nutrition, workout regimen, and training drills to keep them in peak shape to keep up with their boss.

“- Nikolai is my driver - “ Primarily a pilot, really, but he’s a man of many talents. He’s saved Simon’s hide more than once in a pinch, trained as a medic with the Russian Army, and is, by all accounts, an absolute fucking Savant when it comes to mechanics. He’s a force to be reckoned, akin to a hurricane when prompted. 

“- Yuri handles landscaping - ” And assists Farah with external security. He does routine perimeter checks and looks for flaws in the system. When he’s not lurking about outside, he’s assisting Nikolai with transportation repairs or in the armory with Alex. Jack of all trades, in a sense; always willing to lend a hand. He’s even volunteered to act as your personal chauffeur when Nikolai is away. How chivalrous.

“- and I’ve picked you up a new mobile for emergencies.” He holds out a new phone for you, knowing the old one was conveniently left inside his jet and was subsequently smashed beyond recognition. This one is identical in model to your previous in all ways but one - an invisible tracking app pre-installed by Kyle. You’ll find absolutely no indication of tampering, and he’ll be able to keep tabs on you from a distance.

You’re hesitant, but take it from his grasp.

“We’re still looking for your old one. Finish setting it up after brekkie, yeah?”

He’s met with silence and a wary glance. It’s almost like you know he’s lying - which he is, but only mostly. They’re still sweeping the floors for fragments of your screen.

“Right, off you fuck, the lot of ya,” Simon announces with a lopsided grin. “Breakfast is on the table - thanks, Roach - and we’ll join you in a sec.”

“Not sure how I feel about a guy called ‘Roach’ being in charge of the kitchen,” you reply automatically, clapping a horrified hand over your mouth as soon as you realize what you’ve said. Roach laughs, full and hearty, at that. You can only offer a bashful smile and an apologetic shrug, the embarrassment evident on your face.

“Nothing to worry about, ma’am. I wash my hands, promise.” You giggle at that. “And, if it helps, you can just call me Gary instead.”

You agree, testing the taste of his name with gratitude. Simon would love to hear you say his name with something other than contempt right now. He understands how complex this all is, but he’s your husband, for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t that buy him any wiggle room?

No. No, it doesn’t.

He has to remind himself that while he knows everything about you (that he could find online, that is), you don’t really know him. You don’t know the lengths to which he’d go for you, that he now lives for the happiness of the pretty little specter that haunts his dreams. Don’t worry, he’ll fix that soon.

♡

Blood drips into the water, cardinal beads leaching color as they slip into hazy translucency. Simon watches the streaks circle the drain as the faucet runs on low.

It was a local job, quick and dirty. Solicitor with a nasty penchant for underage girls and enough money to weasel his way out of the legal ramifications. Surveillance indicated his wife was out of town, but Simon didn’t bank on the other woman. The one that stabbed him.

She snuck up on him, striking right after he pulled the trigger. The tip of her blade sliced a neat strip across the side of his neck. Not deep enough to need stitches, but deep enough to piss him off. Her gray matter is splattered all over a nice painting in the solicitor’s flat.

However, a faint sense of guilt gnaws at his nerves. There are no qualms about his actions, no concerns about the successes of his work, but in doing so, he’s lied to you once more. The excuse of a late night meeting shaded the edges just enough to discolor the true intent. That’s what places the unscratchable itch in the back of his mind. 

Coming home, freckled in red, river of rivulets pooling in the curve of his clavicle and dripping down his chest, he doesn’t want you to see that. All the care and caution that has gone into shielding you this one bitter truth would be all for naught if you caught him. Hell, Johnny had to find a way to sneak him back into the house just for Simon to clean up.

It’s late, though; you’re probably already asleep anyway, right?

He turns the faucet off, shaking the loose droplets from his hands before snatching the pair of butterfly bandages from the counter. Each layer peeled away feels like another stripped from Simon himself. Symbolic, almost, the way it mimics your being burrowing deeper into him. Beneath the skin, the fat, the fascia, the muscle; weaving through the fibrous tissue and veins until you’re settled in the deepest part of him. He closes the superficial wound with unflinching hands, but you… It’s far too late to keep you from getting inside.

Tossing his blood and sweat-laden clothing aside, he’s halfway into pulling on a fresh pair of sweats when he hears a tentative knock at his bedroom door. He grumbles something bordering on foul, an unheard warning that there better be a damn good reason for Johnny bugging him right now, but he’s colored a lively shade of surprised when he finds his wife awaiting instead.

“What are you doing up, lovie?” he asks softly, trying to decipher the timid look on your face. You look tired, but there’s a wild awareness in your eyes. They dart across his form, lingering briefly on the bandages before combing the bare planes of his broad chest. He swears he can feel the heat coming off your pretty face when you realize you’ve been caught staring, but no mind is paid as he awaits an answer.

After a beat, you speak - low and soft, hesitant, like you’re trying to tiptoe out loud.

“Can we talk?”

Simon nods, stepping back from the door frame to gesture you inside. The steps you take are calculated; you’re mindful of each separate footfall on the carpet. Trepidatious like a rabbit, ready to bolt at the first sign of a threat, but you won’t find one here. Not with him.

His focus narrows in on you, following so succinctly behind that he can feel the shift of your hips in his palms. A phantom of your perfume trails at your back, beckoning him along. Silly, but he swears he can feel the threads of your sweatshirt between his fingers. He blinks, attention shifting to the tear in the collar and the stain on the sleeve. He actually does know that material well; it used to be his, after all.

“S’that my shirt?”

The stretched sleeve cuffs are long enough to hide your hands, the hands that are wringing together.

“It was in my laundry,” you murmur. “I’m sorry, I can wash it again and - “

“No. It looks good on you, dove. Keep it.” 

He makes a mental note to slip Alex a little extra for taking the initiative. Seeing you in something of his does something to him. Something vulgar and very ungentlemanly, something that tests his restraint, something not at all appropriate for this conversation. He’s subtle in the way he palms then adjusts himself.

Respect, Simon. Show her respect.

“What’s on your mind?”

You sigh, fingers fidgeting.

“I, uh, wanted to apologize. Again. I haven’t really been fair to you. This last month or so has been a lot to cope with, and I’ve just… God, Simon, I’ve been so angry. I don’t know how to deal with it, and it keeps boiling over. It’s never been my intention to take it out on you, and I feel awful that you’re really taking the brunt of it. You don’t deserve that. You’re just as much a victim in this as I am, and - “

“You don’t get it, do you?” His interruption is a bit harsh, he knows, but how many times does he have to say it? “I’m not a victim, love. I chose this. I chose you.”

He doesn’t want to lie to you anymore - can’t, won’t continue to hide things from you. You’ll never be able to truly want him the way he wants you if you don’t wholly know him. This way, you’ll have time to process. You’ll have all the time you need to come to terms with whatever you need to make peace with. It’s better this way, easier. You’d have found out eventually, right?

So, laying his cards on the table, he tells you everything. No stone left unturned, no facet unfaced. He watches your pretty face pale and twist in abject horror as he publishes each element in a bold font. By the time he’s done, no secrets remain. 

Tears run down your cheeks as you try to catch your breath. The second he reaches out to comfort you, you’re gone.

part v - coming soon!

[mya-valentine]

Patchwork of Love

Synopsis: Every day, Baizhu’s sweet but clumsy girlfriend returns to the Bubu Pharmacy with fresh bruises and scrapes from her relentless desire to help others. Though her heart is as big as her mishaps, Baizhu dutifully patches her up, offering gentle scoldings and warm care. Baizhu can’t help but fall deeper in love—bruises and all.

Baizhu’s day at Bubu Pharmacy was winding down, and as the sun dipped low over Liyue Harbor, casting an amber glow over the bustling streets, he could feel the familiar tug of concern in his chest. It was about time she showed up.

He had come to expect it. Just as the stars rose in the sky, his girlfriend—sweet, clumsy, and full of life—would stumble through the pharmacy doors with her latest set of injuries, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. Her kind heart meant she could never walk past anyone in need, but her boundless energy and reckless compassion often landed her in precarious situations.

Sure enough, the familiar jingle of the bell over the door rang out, and in she walked, her steps a little uneven but her smile as bright as ever. Baizhu’s eyes softened as they fell upon her. She was cradling her arm gingerly, a fresh bruise forming on her elbow, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She looked like she had gone through quite the adventure.

“Another busy day?” he asked, his voice laced with both fondness and exasperation as she plopped herself onto the examination bench. He could already see a few bandages peeking out from under her sleeve—undoubtedly from her previous mishaps earlier in the week.

She smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I couldn’t just ignore the old lady struggling with her cart in the market! And then... well, there was a cat stuck in a tree. After I helped her, I—uh—might have slipped on a loose stone. But don’t worry! I’m fine!”

Baizhu sighed and moved to gather his medical supplies, Changsheng coiling lazily on his shoulders, her head tilting in mild amusement. “You really are something,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no real edge to his words. She was fine—more or less—and he supposed he should be used to this by now. Still, his heart ached a little every time he saw her hurt.

As he approached, she held out her arm without complaint, used to the routine. He started dabbing a gentle antiseptic on her scrapes, his touch light and careful. Her skin was soft beneath his fingertips, and for all her reckless behavior, she had such a delicate presence. He always marveled at the contrast—how someone so kind and gentle could also be so clumsy and accident-prone.

“You’ve got to be more careful,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “If you keep this up, you’ll end up with more than just bruises.”

She winced at the sting of the antiseptic but smiled up at him, eyes warm with affection. “I know, I know. But I can’t help it! When I see someone in need, it’s like… I have to help. Besides, it’s nothing you can’t fix, right?”

Baizhu shook his head, though he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not the point. Just because I can patch you up doesn’t mean you should go looking for trouble.”

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears, and leaned back a little, watching him work with those soft, trusting eyes of hers. “I don’t look for trouble, Baizhu. Trouble just seems to find me.”

That was an understatement, and he couldn’t argue with it. From what he had gathered, half of Liyue knew her by now—she had helped so many people, from the fishermen at the docks to the merchants in the market, even the Millelith soldiers stationed around the harbor. Her kindness was boundless, and so was her ability to find herself in precarious situations.

Once he was done bandaging her latest scrape, Baizhu carefully examined the bruise forming on her elbow. “It’s just a bruise this time, but if you keep falling like this, it could be worse. Please, at least try to be more aware of your surroundings.”

She gave him a mock salute, grinning. “Yes, doctor!”

He sighed again but couldn’t hold back the smile that broke through. “Alright, let’s get you home.”

They walked side by side, the quiet evening settling around them as the streets of Liyue began to wind down from the day’s activity. The breeze was gentle, carrying with it the scent of the sea. Baizhu slipped his hands into his sleeves as they walked, his gaze drifting over to her every now and then. She was chattering happily, recounting her day and all the people she had helped.

“And then, after the cat, I went to the market to help Mrs. Chen with her cart. She was so grateful, Baizhu! But, um… while I was helping her, I tripped over one of the vegetables someone had dropped and went flying right into a stack of crates! You should have seen it—it was like something out of a comedy show.”

He shook his head, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “You really are unbelievable.”

“I know, I know. But think of all the people I helped today!” She beamed up at him, her joy infectious. “Isn’t it worth a few bumps and bruises if I can make someone’s day a little brighter?”

Baizhu’s chest tightened at her words. She was so pure-hearted, so selfless, and he admired her more than he could ever put into words. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. She was his world, and seeing her hurt—even in small ways—always left him uneasy. Still, he couldn’t bear to stifle that light in her. It was who she was, and it was part of what made him love her so deeply.

As they reached her door, she turned to him, her eyes softening. “Thank you, Baizhu. For always taking care of me.”

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Someone has to.”

She laughed again, the sound bright against the quiet night, and before he could react, she stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll try to be more careful. Promise.”

Baizhu’s expression softened, and he gently took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Good. I’d appreciate that.”

They stood there for a moment, the warmth of the evening wrapping around them like a blanket. It was a quiet, simple moment, but to Baizhu, it was everything. She was everything. And as much as her clumsiness and boundless energy sometimes exasperated him, he wouldn’t have her any other way.

“Alright, go get some rest,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of warmth. “Goodnight, Baizhu.”

As he watched her disappear inside, Baizhu couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on his lips. Tomorrow, he knew, would be much the same—she would find someone to help, get herself hurt, and end up in his care once again. But in truth, he wouldn’t trade those moments for anything in the world.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[hiatuswhore]

♕ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥

♕ A/N: If you cannot see it clearly, the title says, The Prince and The Street Rat. I really enjoyed writing this. No shade to other HOTD writers but all the plots be relatively the same so I tried to shake it up. Feedback pleaseeee.

♕ SUMMARY: The world works in mysterious ways and so does the residents of Kings Landing. One never knows what they find in the alleyways and rooftops. Whores, drunks, knights, thieves, sometimes even Princes.

♕ WORD COUNT: 5K

♕ WARNING: None🕺🏽

previous — Masterlist — next

Kings Landing. Home to the vile, cruel, and everything in between. You fall somewhere in the middle, a gray area—child thief. But where do petty thieves and struggling patrons fall in that spectrum? A child struggling to eat as the Targaryens sit in their fancy castle with more food and resources than necessary. This reality plagues you on the most challenging days and hardens you on the coldest nights.

"Stop that girl!" A man screamed, expertly sliding beneath a merchant table. You duck down an alleyway. Your heart hammering in your chest as you struggle to keep your hood from blocking your eyes. A sea of splintering colors and faces blend into a mix of nothingness, your focus evading the angry voice behind you. As you march forward, you turn a final corner, your eyes over your shoulder.

"Hey, watch it!" You grimace at the blinding pain, stumbling backward. In front of you, a boy groans, rubbing his forehead. His tunic worth more than everything you own, and his boots resembling a pair you stole a few moons back. He carries nothing visible to the eyes, nothing to quick swipe.

"You ran into me," He scoffs. Rolling your eyes, you push past him with your shoulder. In one swift motion dipping your hand in his pocket, nothing. His hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back, allowing you to skim his other—still nothing, "Are you thick in the skull, girl?"

"No, I'm in a hurry, so bugger off, would you!" You swing your hand connecting with his cheek, the smack echoing through the busy road. He releases your wrist with wide eyes, ignoring his face; glancing over his shoulder, your eyes widen at the sight of the Gold Cloaks. They carefully scan the road as you duck down a deadend, planting your back against the wall.

Still, the boy watches you curiously, his hood hanging loosely on his head, revealing the rest of his face. He narrows his eyes at you before glancing back toward the Gold Cloaks. You grit your teeth, ignoring his gaze as you listen to the approaching clink of armor.

"Prince Aemond, it is not safe for you to be beyond the gates unattended," Narrowing your eyes the boy grins. He removes his hood with a smug fire in his eyes as you stare at his pure silver hair. You have indeed done it this time. You struck a Prince—a Targaryen Prince. Every part of your brain screams to make a run for it, mentally preparing to scale the wall behind you as the Prince commands the Gold Cloaks to seize you, but none of that happens. Instead, the Prince merely chuckles under the knight's gazes as you stand behind them.

"Of course, Ser Harwin. Will you escort me back?" He says. The knight nods his head, turning toward the way of the castle. Aemond does not move immediately, and the two of you stare at each other. You offer a half nod before turning to the wall, carefully climbing it before disappearing altogether.

That night you laid in your hammock staring up at the stars, the moment still fresh in your mind. You struck the Prince, and he—he helped you? Shaking off the thought sleep found you almost faster than the painfully bright sun the following day. Walking through the market with most of your coils and curls pulled into two tight braids, the coins you stole the day prior ready to purchase today's breakfast.

"Thank you, Daltis. Tell Cayde I said hi," You say, handing him your coins as you turn toward the stairs with bread and a pail of water. The sun beams restlessly as you walk without a care through the streets. An occasional hello to locals who know you and a few choice words between yourself and the patrons you have stolen from. Nearing the closest thing you can call home comes to a halt as the familiar tight grip holds your bicep.

"Oh, come on, Lord Strong. I didn't even do anything today," Your matter-of-fact tone earns a sigh with a pointed stare. He backs you up onto a wall, a soft look in his eyes despite the patronizing finger he points at you.

"Kid, you keep it up, and I will have to deal with you. Here. Stop stealing. Do I make myself clear?" He holds out a pouch to you. Rolling your eyes, you snatch it from his hands.

"You keep doing this, and I keep telling you—I'm not your problem," You fail at pushing past him the strength of a ten-year-old girl, nothing compared to a grown man. A huff leaves your lips as you glare daggers up at him, "You're not my father, okay? Just leave me alone."

Harwin stares down at your small stature; opening his mouth, he closes it as nothing leaves his lips. He takes a step back, unblocking your path. You roll your eyes a final time before marching off. Back at the dead-end alley, you scale the wall, balancing carefully as you run to the next roof. There you plop onto your hammock, closing your eyes and placing your foot on the ground to slow the rocking. The busy chatter of the city melding into one indiscernible mix of movement.

"Ow," You mutter, opening your eyes just as another rock soars through the air—a few feet short of the hammock. Then, as another flies whizzing past your head, you stomp over to the roof's edge. Down below stands the boy—the Prince, his hood covering his hair. "Are you crazy?"

"Says the one who struck a Prince?" He asks, raising an eyebrow as you roll your eyes, muttering touché. You stare down at him, furrowing your eyebrows as he stares back at you.

"Have you come to stalk me in the streets, or do you need something, my prince?" Your mocking tone earns a dry chuckle as he shakes his head.

"Show me how to get up there. I saw you go down the deadend, but I can't figure out how you got up," Aemond says, furrowing your eyebrows. It's now your turn to chuckle.

"And why exactly would I do that?" You ask, watching as he puffs up his chest. So many people in the streets ignore the two of you—just another pair of Kings Landing's bastards.

"Because as your Prince, I command it," He says, his voice cracking as he squares his shoulders. You tilt your head back as a loud laugh leaves your lips, his stiff stature faltering.

"Oh really? You Targaryens are a riot. What's next shall I curtsy and fetch you a cup of wine? Oh, let me apologize before you bring your dragon and melt me from existence," You taunt, resting your chin on your elbow that you prop against the edge. His eyebrows pull as he clenches his jaw, all semblance of amusement leaving him as his eyes sharpen.

"How dare you! You're nothing but a stupid street rat!" He exclaims, scoffing. You spit down at him, narrowing your eyes before returning to your hammock. Mentally scolding yourself for once again disrespecting the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. You ignore his demands for you to return, despite the possibility of dire consequences.

"Bugger off, you boorish oaf!" You yell. After dodging a few more rocks, he throws up at you, he seemingly gives up. You are fuming at the nerve of him. Even as you sit high above him, he finds a way to look down on you, a stupid street rat.

The pouch of coins Ser Harwin gave you affords new furs, a cheap tent, and a week worth of food. You do your best to ration the remaining funds while looting unsuspecting patrons. It had been a fortnight since the Prince's last visit, and you did your best to not dwell on the unpleasant conversation. A huff leaves your lips as you walk back toward your home with empty pockets. The Gold Cloaks litter the streets leaving you little to no opportunity to make a quick coin. You stop by Mysaria to look for a bounty hunting job, but for the first time in your work with her, she has nothing. Not a single person to hunt down for owed funds, the Gold Cloaks ‘cracking down’ on crime.

“Dammit, Harwin,” You mutter, taking a deep breath as you turn down your road. The clear plan for the next few moons now squandered to mere weeks. Rounding the building into the alley, you pause, eyebrows furrowing as Aemond lifts his head. His face tomato red with his back against the wall as he sits on the ground. You watch as he sniffles before looking back down, hiding within his cloak. Closing your eyes, you whisper royal problems only bring trouble. Repeating it like a mantra in your mind as though you fear it will leave you.

You open your eyes immediately, groaning at the tug in your chest. While the Prince happens to be a douche, you are not. You walk over, begrudgingly joining him on the ground. Neither of you says a word at the other’s side or even looks at the other. Just mindlessly watching people pass by on their daily tasks. The silence setting ease between you, laughing as a woman screams at her husband, as a man fails to flirt with a woman, as Gold Cloaks patrol with an allusive, almost lurking nature. So many moving parts in such a small area.

“Hey, uh—if you want, I can teach you how to climb up—but only if you promise not to tell anyone,” You say, turning to him with a tight-lipped smile. Then, for a second, you both just stare, furrowing your eyebrows in an awkward huff before turning away. A pause ensues before Aemond lifts his fist toward you, “Deal.”

You bump his fist with yours before rising to your feet. At first, you both chuckle nervously as silence dances between you both. Then, you scale the wall, giving him a view of how to do it. Then, you laugh as he insists on being able to do it after just a demonstration alone.

“You know it’s okay—I failed plenty of times befor—“ You say leaning on the wall at his third failed attempt.

“I can do it myself!” He growls, glaring daggers at you. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you huff. Why the hell did I do this? You cross your arms, scowling at the back of his head as he fails a fourth time. He hunches down, hands on his knees, as he pants heavily. Turning his head, he catches your gaze, visibly sinking at the sight.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. My brother and nephews they—“ He inhales sharply, fiddling with his fingers with sunken eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, watching him rock on the balls of his feet. A poignant stare in his eyes before his eyebrows pull together, and he scoffs, “They gave me a pig.”

“A what?” You furrow your eyebrows as he avoids your gaze, a look of defeat in his eye.

“My dragon egg didn’t hatch. They said they found a dragon for me, but it was a pig. Pink dread, they called it,” He murmured, staring at the ground, leaving you to sigh heavily. Your own taunts rang in your ears at the sight of him, "They all laughed at me."

“You want to talk about it or learn how to climb the wall?” You ask, chewing on your inner lip. He huffs, biting his lower lip before pushing it into a pout as he gives the wall a look over, “Can you please show me how to climb the wall?”

“Okay,” You nod. Joining Aemond's side, you point to the chipped-in crevice. You use your left foot to boost off and swing your right leg over the wall. He tries again, getting the motion down but not swinging his leg high enough. On his second try, you nearly cheer prematurely as he almost makes it.

“Oh no, no, you’re going to get it. I promise,” You exclaim, folding your hands in front of your face with a nervous smile. Aemond sighs, running up, freezing as his leg goes over, and he sits on the wall. A large smile breaks across your face as his jaw drops. “You did it!”

“Yeah,” He chuckles. You direct him which way to cross before following behind him. At the top, you freeze as he stands in the center of your things, glancing around curiously.

“Uh yeah, this is me—“ You massage the back of your neck with a sheepish grin. Never have you brought anyone into your space, let alone a Prince. He points to your hammock, looking at you. Nodding your head, you watch as he sits staring at you. “The Prince and the Street Rat. We are disgustingly cliché friends. So how does this work?”

“I think we could figure it out,” He says, chuckling as his confidence glimmers through his meek exterior. You join him in the hammock, looking up at the sky.

“I despise your family,” You say. Neither of you turn to the other as he shrugs, “That’s fair.”

“No Royal drama,” You say, turning your head toward him. He meets your gaze nodding vehemently. Placing your foot on the ground, you swing the hammock, “So essentially, you’re saying your family is as awful as I imagine them to be.”

“Not necessarily. Not my mom. My brother and nephews mock me, father ignores me, and Rhaenyra has never seemed to care much for us,” Aemond lists off, his voice wavering as he stares at the waning sun.

“Sometimes us forgotten children have to pave our way on our own,” You shrug your shoulders, watching the sky as he eyes you. “You should start heading home, Aemond. Remember, no royal drama.”

“Of course. I will try to visit you tomorrow,” He says, crouching down to descend the wall. Opening your mouth to warn him of the particular way to go down, a loud grunt stops you.

“You okay?” He immediately responds, leaving you to giggle silently as he scurries away.

Keeping his word, he visits the next day and the day after, almost as if it were a part of his royal duties. He always arrived with something he conveniently non longer needed anymore, so thought you’d want it. The gestures were kind, but an ache raged in your chest.

“Aemond, thank you for everything. Truly but you have to stop bringing me things,” You say softly, taking his hand in your lap.

“Why?” He frowns, and you grit your teeth, speaking slowly, “I feel more like your charity case than your friend, and I detest it.”

“Oh, my apologies, I never meant—I’m sorry,” He says, casting his gaze down as he fiddles with the ends of his tunic.

“Don’t fret over it. You’re my friend and will continue to be so,” You shrug with a lopsided smile as you stare at each other. Your grin grows as he nudges your arm, whining for you to move over. “For what? So you can practice brooding as I relax?”

“I actually brought a book,” You playfully snore as he explains the philosophy text and his interest in the subject matter.

“You will one day wish you taught yourself this,” Aemond says, opening his book, and you lean back, still looking up at him.

“I’m busy learning the art of surviving. I’ll take street smarts every time,” You say matter-of-factly. He scoffs, a grin on his lips as he shakes his head.

“You’re smart. You could do more,” Aemond’s optimism earns a chuckle that does not meet your eyes.

“Don’t be ignorant, Aemond. It is so easy to dream so frivolously when the world was built for you,” He frowns, nodding his head cautiously as your words sink in. The visits rarely deviate from the same pattern, but you both savor each and every one. Even if the entire visit consists of bickering, the next visit carries on as though nothing ever happened.

For a time, this carried on until word spread through the kingdom about the death of Laena Velayron. The Aunt of his nephews, Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys. His presence in Driftmark required him to support his family. As you awaited his return, you continued your usual daily schedule, and without a doubt, it was odd not hearing the short Prince grunting up the wall. Or laughing at his seemingly always disheveled hair.

When word traveled of their return, nothing came for you from Aemond. For a time, you grew bitter, the sting of his absence and the death of Ser Harwin feeding a deep seeded disappointment. Rounding the corner down your street, you falter while approaching your alley. A Gold Cloak stands at the opening as another climbs the wall.

“What the hell!” You mutter as a replacement Harwin stands before you. When he calls your name, you cut back to make a break for it, only to find another Gold Cloak behind you. Your heart hammers in your chest as they lead you through the streets, the sun waning as your mind explores every punishment ever sentenced to thieves.

Worst case scenario, they take a hand, walking through the Red Keep a loud ringing sound in your ears. You wish Ser Harwin would round the corner as he often did and assure his peers he could take it from there. Instead, your breaths are shaky as your eyes sting from dryness and your lips burn from wetting them too much. Through the massive halls, you hold yourself carefully, clearly standing out from others in the corridor. Down a second hall, the Cloak stops at a vast door knocking twice before saying, “Your grace, we’ve come with the girl.”

“Come in,” A woman’s voice calls out, cautiously pushing the door open, you enter at a slow—cautious pace. The Queen stands with furrowed eyebrows at the sight of you, her green dress more expensive than your life. Aemond sits by the fire blocking his face as he stares forward. You glare daggers at the side of his head, the room's coziness doing little to ease the tension in the air.

“You liar! You promised!” You seethe, your face scrunching as the Queen gasps.

“You may not address the Prince like that girl!” Alicent exclaims, her eyes furious as you stare blankly at her.

“No, mother, it is okay. This is her, remember? She’s my friend—the one I told you about,” He says, turning toward you. He offers a weak smile as your face falls. The prominent stitching draws attention to a little over a quarter of his face. “The one I told you I want to help.”

The Queen’s annoyance dissolves as she looks at you, Aemond’s tales of your life plaguing her thoughts. She places her hands on your shoulders, an overbearing expression oozing in a suffocating waft of pity. “There’s a place for you here in the court if you ever decide you want it.”

“I don’t,” You say immediately, keeping your gaze on the floor. Alicent joins your side with a motherly shine in her eyes as she looks at you.

“I know. I just want you to know the offer is always there,” Alicent's words soothing as she excuses herself, leaving you to glare at her son.

“You promised,” You whine, hanging your head. Aemond swallows thickly while you bounce on the balls of your feet.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to see you, but as of late, I always have someone watching me,” Aemond speaks barely above a whisper when he turns to you. For a second time, you take in his sewn-up eye, red and puffy. Then, your glare dissolves, eyebrows furrowing while taking two cautious steps forward.

“What the hell happened?” You ask slowly as a servant stands by the window, avoiding looking at either of you.

“Like you said, my family sucks. That bastard Lucerys took my eye because I gained a dragon,” He says. Your eyes widen at his words, sending a smile across his lips.

“You finally got your dragon. See now, you truly are a pompous Prince,” You curtsy mockingly with a wide smile. In the back of your mind, the defeated, teary-eyed Prince you have befriended now finally getting his heart's only desire. “I’ll forgive you this time, only because you got your dragon. Which one is yours?”

“The biggest one, Vhagar,” He says, grinning as you take his hand, offering a squeeze. You do not stay long, nor do you miss the Queen’s presence by the door. She had been listening.

“(Y/n),” She calls out. Stopping in your tracks, you offer her a terrible curtsy. You bite the inside of your cheek, saying yes, your grace. “To my knowledge, you have made my son very happy. I am more grateful than you know. I understand refraining from the court, but I am Queen. I must ensure my son's safety, and hanging with you on rooftops is not good enough. Your belongings have been moved to the Inn Keep not far from the castle's main gates. Word is already spreading of his mutilation; he will no longer be able to continue venturing deep into the city. So you will be accessible to him outside the main gates. You may show yourself out.”

You frown, watching as she walks down the corridor. At the Inn Keep, the man at the desk bounces around nonstop. He avoids your gaze and chuckles sheepishly into the silence as he scrambles through his things. Upon handing you the key, he bows. Frowning, you leave him without another word. Your room's at the very top floor, and you do a spin taking in the enclosed walls. Comparatively small in regards to the room Aemond sat in.

On the desk sits a pouch and sealed parchment. The Targaryen wax seal staring back at you ominously.

By order of Viserys Targaryen, first of his name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm.

You stare poignantly at the words of the King—you are sure they were written at the Queen’s behest. Battling the strong urge to be sick in your sweetly decorated cage. The parchment declaring you officially in service to the Prince. You slam the parchment on the desk turning to the tiny fireplace and bed with more furs than necessary staring back at you. A suitable living arrangement, but at what cost?

When Aemond finally musters the courage to arrive outside the gates, you show him the decree. He only shrugs it off, muttering there are worse situations in the world.

“But now I cannot tell you to bugger off as I please,” You say, matching his pace as you both walk through the market.

“You were never allowed to do that. You just lack manners,” Aemond chuckles, pulling his hood down carefully, hiding his face. You walk past the tables in awe of your options. No longer patrolling to steal breakfast but to pay for it.

“What do you have for me today, Daltis?” You say, grinning widely at the old man. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he disappears inside. “Street knowledge. When it comes to imports and exports, Daltis is your guy for food, clothes, and people. He almost always has a connection if you need something done quickly and quietly.”

“Here you are, little lady, and for your friend. Not certain about the name, but it’s sweet. Just came in from Dorne,” He says, digging through your pouch; you freeze as Aemond hands him more coins than necessary. Daltis’s jaw drops as his eyebrows furrow, but Aemond only shrugs, ducking his head down to avoid the man's gaze. You watch as Daltis thanks him profusely. Aemond turns on his heels biting into the almost fuzzy substance. You follow suit furrowing your eyebrows as the sugary flavor melts on your tongue.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen the generous,” You tease, and he scoffs, the corners of his lips tugging. In the corner of your eye, you note the guard watching you both. You frown, retracing your steps—has he been following us the entire time? Whether Aemond knows remains a toss-up as he gushes about Vhagar. “All that crying like a baby only for you to get the largest beast ever! Do you feel silly now?”

“I was not crying like a baby!” He exclaims. Outside the Inn, you drop to your knee, a sardonic smile on your lips.

“My apologies, my Prince. Please accept the remnants of this Dornish treat as penance for my foolish ways, your grace,” He slaps your hand, scoffing as a laugh bubbles from deep in your stomach. Up in your room, he falls back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. You join him, watching the unremarkable walls.

"Isn't this highly inappropriate for you to be in here with me alone?" You ask, turning your head to face him. He only chuckles, pointing out that it applies more to you, but you are not a high-born lady, so it does not matter.

“Would it be wrong to say I miss your rooftop?” He asks. You raise an eyebrow reminding him losing the rooftop was his fault. He sharply nudges your arm with his elbow, laughing to yourself, both of you basking in the silence. It stays like this until a knight retrieves him.

The years fly without a hitch between you both. However, you have the singular misfortune of meeting Prince Aegon. About a year after Aemond lost his eye, it became apparent the court was aware of your existence. Aegon laughed giddily at the sight of you, admitting he always thought his brother was lying.

"You never bother her! Ever, do you understand me?" Aemond exclaimed, not caring about being seen in the middle of the markets. Patrons gawking at the sight of the two.

"Relax, little brother, we just exchanged a few words. You see when I bite, she bites back. A sharp-tongued little friend of yours. I am curious to know her other talents," Aegon laughed as he offered you a half nod before disappearing into the city.

Unlike the eventfulness of that day, typically, Aemond teaches you court etiquette and aids in refining your reading skills, while failing to teach you high Valyrian. You keep him humble, reminding him that an entire world exists outside his palace.

Offering the desk man a wave, you rub your eyes while marching up the stairs. In your room Aemond sits by the window, not bothering to turn or acknowledge your arrival. The fireplace you have never touched crackles, warming your entire room. You are certain the desk man has given him a key, but the Prince ignores you each time you inquire about it.

“Do you break into every girl's chamber to brood, or do you honor me, my prince?” You tease, setting down your woven bag on your desk. Unpacking the water, bread, and fruit you purchased from the markets.

“Is it breaking in if I pay for it?” He asks, unmoving from the window. You remind him that the King pays for it, removing your tunic and pants, switching into the only gown you own. You halt at the sight of a box on your bed.

“You know I hate gifts,” You say, ignoring the smirk on his lips as you eye the box.

“You hate lots of things. It's your sixth and tenth name day. Shall I expect suitors at your door?” He asks, a tight-lipped smile on his face. Rolling your eyes and walking to your bed, you run your fingers over the intricate detailing of the box. The Targaryen sigil expertly carved on the top. Inside sits a beautifully sewn green gown. “My gift for your name day is still in preparation. That is from my mother.”

Holding up the gown, your eyes narrow, raising an eyebrow as you meet Aemond's eye, “And what is it that she wants from me?”

“Must there always be a motive with my mother?” He sighs, shamelessly you nod your head.

“She’s your mother, the Queen. So I respect her out of my respect for you and my responsibility as her subject. But I don’t trust her or any royal particularly,” You say, running the dress between your fingers. A silence lingering in the air as he watches you.

“Do you trust me?” His question brings a stillness to the room. Fiddling with the intricate detail in the chest area.

“Would you like the honest answer or the expected one?” He frowns at your words, biting his lower lip into a pout at your question.

“Since when did you differentiate the two?” He asks, shrugging, you take a seat on your bed under his waiting gaze.

“I’m no longer that ten-year-old girl who can get away with such a brutal tongue to those far above my station. I speak to you as I please out of our mutual understanding. I do not share that with your family, but because of our friendship, I must be prepared to address your family. I hope that day never comes but realistically, I must,” You shrug your shoulders, sighing at the chains that appear as a gown—binding you to the Greens. He says nothing for a long while, leaving you to inspect the dress, “There is turmoil in your family, Aemond. You know it, I know it, and so does everyone else. When the King leaves, he will leave behind royal drama. I have only asked two things of you and you already broke one. Please do not break the other. Your mother sending this gown all but confirms my fears. She intends for me to wear this, and I am certain it won’t be for the markets.”

“I’ll speak with my mother,” He rises to his feet, taking commanding strides to the door making your eyebrows furrow. You call out to him, but he does not turn back, saying, “I’ll be around soon.”

[foldingfittedsheets]

Soooo I just got a new bed and it's too soft for me. And a friend recommended getting an extra firm mattress topper to try to make it firmer. I'm a bit skeptical (would firm on top of soft work?) and thought I'd ask the resident Internet mattress guru! :P

I was folding laundry when I saw this and literally stepped away and I sat down to answer. This is serious business.

Because there’s a lot of clarifying questions for this situation I’m gonna info dump. If this doesn’t answer please feel free to follow up.

So first: there’s a big misconception about “soft” beds. Beds are composed of two major categories: comfort and support. Soft comfort is great! So nice for joints. Soft support is terrible. So bad for backs.

A lot of people think soft beds in general are bad for your back and this harkens back to the very first commercial spring mattresses. The coils were all one solid interconnected layer, and if they weren’t stiff you’d end up slumped into the bed with no back support. (Not unlike soft sleep number beds- no bueno for spines)

After a lot of research people realized that individual coils standing up inside the mattress was way comfier and less bouncy for partners and bonus- could even feel softer while keeping back support!

There was a big campaign to help people realize their beds didn’t need to be stiff as a board because soft comfort layer beds could still give good back support! The soft was the cushioning on top, but the springs were still down there keeping spines aligned.

Then all foam beds hit the market but they still used the same premise. Soft on top, supportive underneath. But the dense underfoam was just as good as springs for back alignment.

But then dun dun DUNN arrived beds in a box. Now I have very negative views of any bed in a box. They use cheap fire retardants fiber glass, don’t last very long, but most damningly they don’t have good support because a foam light enough to roll up doesn’t have the density to support a spine long term.

On the subject of toppers: a topper is only ever a band aid, and one unlikely to fix your particular issue. People suggest toppers when a bed has caved in over time and a topper can only ever offer “comfort” not “support”.

The only situation a topper can fix is if a bed is too hard on joints. That’s it.

Now to your problem: when you say soft, does you back hurt from the softness? If yes, a topper will not fix it.

Some people don’t like how soft beds feel, like how they can make it difficult to turn or move around but! In this case I usually recommend they try it at least a month to see if they can acclimate because softer comfort helps reduce tossing and turning. A lot of people just aren’t used to it but like it with some acclimating.

If your soft bed came from a box: give up, it’ll only get worse, they don’t have back support and the soft support is a huge red flag.

If you’re unsure of how the bed is making your back feel low down flat on your back, even if that’s not how you sleep. A good bed should sink at your shoulders and hips, but push up at your lower back. This is the hallmark of good back support.

If instead of pushing back on you the bed let’s you slump into a curve, call it.

I hope this was helpful. I know it was a lot but there’s a ton of factors and beds are legitimately so important to people’s overall health. Good sleep is a scarcity and it’s worth finding the best bed you can.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter one

well it's love, make it hurt series

one: sharpen your teeth, sink into me

series masterlist | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You touch yourself when the Mandalorian is away, and he punishes you for the first time.

Warnings: BDSM, d/s dynamics, dom!Din Djarin and sub!reader, soft dom!Din, masturbation (f), anal sex, pussy spanking, crying, dacryphilia, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 10: Anal/Crying. Inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on aO3

3 ABY, Summer

You were a little feral. Alone for a very long time, gnawing and clawing for survival. An effective hunter, lethal and quiet, but wound so tight. Always coiled and waiting to run. Not bound or beholden to anything.

He, however, had been beholden to the Creed for as long as he could remember. All the choices he made were in service of his people. He wouldn’t change that, didn’t harbor negative feelings—but it made a particular flavor of power intoxicating. Hunting was an essential part of his life, but also, when he flexed an upper hand and manipulated the situation to his favor? Well, that was everything.

So the way you just… fell together? It made sense.

One day, when he had you pinned against the wall of the Crest, three fingers deep in your pussy, he tilted his head to the side to study you and said, “I’d like to try something.” You were up for almost anything, and so, he had cuffed you and teased you, used you, watched you realize you had nothing, that you had to beg and plead, and—

Well. It was hard to explain. Something had come undone inside you that day, like he had cracked open your ribcage and taken out the rabid mynock that beat against your chest all the time.

It had only escalated from there.

Needless to say, your sex life was leagues better than it had been on Cantonica, you made about 20% more with the bounties you could take now, and best of all—you finally got to see some of the galaxy. Even if most of the planets were seedy at best.

The one thing you missed, though, was some fucking alone time. Mando was always there. And the Crest was not private. You got about five minutes to yourself in the fresher, but otherwise, he could just pop up any time.

And he did.

Silently.

It was unsettling, actually.

So when you landed on Sullust, a planet you had very little interest in exploring after the first five minutes, you skipped the market trip. You didn’t need anything, and Mando was looking for some part for one of the many systems in the Crest held up by hope and frantic welding during an emergency. With more money coming in, he could afford to fix things before they broke (again).

With Mando gone, you sprawl out on your bed and pull out your datapad. You had started a book, months ago, but hadn’t had a chance to continue. Not because you didn’t get time to read, but because Mando had a terrible habit of appearing over your shoulder, and you didn’t want him to see you reading a romance. It would hurt your reputation.

And also, it was mostly sex.

It wasn’t like you meant to break a rule. It was so new and the habit so old that slipping your hand into your leggings and leisurely stroking your clit was automatic. A muscle memory. It had been, for a time, one of your only physical comforts after long days and nights on the hunt.

Far sooner than you expected, the ramp opens with a hiss. You rip your hand out of your pants, breathing ragged and face flushed. You shove the datapad into the crack between your bed-crates and the wall.

How the hell was he done that fast? Oh, kriff, did it smell like pussy in here? Why were you worrying that the man who was fucking you on a near-daily basis would know you had touched yourself?

That’s when you remember the rules.

Fuck.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks as he enters, noting your messy hair and rumpled blanket.

“Um, no, it’s fine,” you say.

He sets down the hunk of metal and a handful of wires—oh, you should really learn more about ship maintenance if you’re ever going to own one, you think, trying to puzzle out their purpose.

You may have been distracted by the parts, but he was distracted by you. The flush spreading down your neck. The faint sheen of sweat on your brow and between your breasts, the soft, utilitarian tanktop doing nothing to conceal them.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asks.

Oh fuck, he knows. He absolutely knows. You look down, away, anywhere but his intense stare.

“Cyar’ika, I expect an answer when I speak to you.”

“I—nothing?”

He puts his hands on his hips. “You want to try that again?”

Getting trampled by a Bantha would be preferable to admitting you were afraid. Maybe nervous was a better word. You're sure he wouldn’t really hurt you. But when you had agreed to this—enthusiastically—you hadn’t asked what happened if you didn’t follow the rules.

There weren’t many, and they were purposefully vague. Not in a way that would trap you into misbehavior but allowed for flexibility. Be respectful. Follow orders. And no pleasure without permission. That was his to enjoy, he explained.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot what?”

“I forgot, you know. Um. I forgot I couldn’t…” Maker, was he really going to make you say it?

He sighs. You were so, so new to this, and while so eager to please, he could see you looking for an exit. An escape.

Should he soothe you? Gift you platitudes and reassurances? Grant you a one-time pass? No, it was too soon. You wouldn't be able to trust him to take care of you if he didn't enforce the rules.

Or should he prey on you, taunt you, and make you beg his forgiveness?

No. As much as he wanted to, no. That would have to be for later, when you had let go of your pride and defensiveness, when you stopped suspecting his attentions were a cruel prank.

“Stand up and bend over the bed,” he says, crossing the room to approach you.

For a second, you hesitate.

He holds a breath, letting you choose what happens next.

You work your jaw from side to side and then grit your teeth, something sharp taking over your eyes. You hop off the bed and bend over it, balling your fists in the sheet.

Relief spreads, tickling goosebumps down his arms. “Good girl,” he murmurs, setting a hand on the small of your back. “You were about to tell me what you did?”

“I touched myself. I forgot about the rules.” You were talking into the mattress.

“Where’d you touch yourself, pretty girl?” he asks, stroking your hair.

You squirm. You don’t want to say it. You aren’t a prude, but the weight of his focus makes you feel raw.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to assume it was everywhere.”

“No! No, I promise. It was just my pussy, I promise.”

He hums, continuing to pet you while he thinks. “I’m going to give you a few choices. First, obviously, is that you can use your safeword, and nothing happens other than a discussion of what you do and don’t want. Second: it’s late and you’re tired. We can pause this and handle it after we get the bounty. But I won’t fuck you until then, either.”

You whine a little, and he shakes his head.

“Or the third option: I punish you now and fuck you after.”

“That one,” you say after a minute of real consideration. You are a little scared, but the idea of waiting, possibly days, to find out what would happen made you feel a little sick.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiles. “Spread your legs more, baby.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moan into the sheet, sliding your feet apart so he had full access.

One hand still resting above your ass, he brings the other up to cup your mound through your thin, damp leggings. “Why do you need to be punished?”

A whimper. “Because I was bad.”

“Need you to be a little more specific than that.”

You take a deep, trembling breath.

He fights the instinct to demand an answer, a sudden jolt of excitement as your brow furrows. It's been a long time since he met someone who really wanted to do this, truly wanted to submit and not just have rough sex, who wouldn’t just say what they thought he wanted to hear so they could get to the “fun” part.

“I took what was yours,” you say softly after a minute. “I disrespected you by only thinking of myself.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” swept from him on an exhale.

Later, he would recognize the way it hurt for a minute, the way the rush of affection seemed to tighten around his lungs rather than his cock.

For now, he rubs his hand on your back. “I think,” he say slowly, “that since you gave yourself pleasure, I have to take it away.”

“Okay.” You feel like you're shrinking, like your body is folding in. His hands, despite the gloves, burn through your clothes where they molded to your curves. Every contact point between you is alight.

“Ever had your pussy spanked?” he says.

You had suspected that was his intention, but the blunt question has you sucking in a sharp breath. “No, sir.”

“Okay. Then you don’t need to count this time. Just take it.”

Before you can reply, he pulls his hand back from your cunt and brings it down.

“Fuck,” you bite out, momentum lurching you forward, the edge of the crate biting into your stomach.

He gives you a moment, watching as your face contorts. It certainly wasn’t a hard hit, but he hadn’t gone easy on you, either. Couldn’t. Your first punishment had to be memorable.

“Do you need to use your word, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you huff through gritted teeth.

So he hits you again.

You had tried to brace yourself, but it stings, and you yelp.

This time, he doesn’t wait. He smacks you hard, back-to-back, with no reprieve.

You squirm and writhe to get away, but his hand on your back keeps you pinned. It's only ten, but you're shaking when he finishes.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, guiding you to standing with a hand on your shoulder, pulling you into him. You cling onto him, fingers clutching the top of his chest plate, arms pinned between your bodies, and face buried in his cowl.

“Are you crying?” It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because what were quiet tears turn into full sobs. “Hey, shh, it’s okay. You did so well, cyar’ika.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” He holds you tight and lets you cry it out until you quiet, sniffling a little. “Feel better?”

You nod. And then you shake your head, and his stomach drops.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t even get punished without—without—”

He doesn’t mean to, but he laughs.

You reel back as far as his arms let you.

“No, no, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I just should have realized sooner. It felt good, didn’t it?”

“No, I mean, I don’t know. It hurt a lot.” You don’t look at him, shame twisting your lips into a scowl. Your streaked, raw cheeks and watery eyes make his dick throb. “It just—I had to try so hard not to cum.”

The Mandalorian’s self control is as strained as his cock. “I’m not mad, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s good to know. Would it make you feel better if I told you that was only half your punishment?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and tears threatening to spill. “Oh.”

“I said I’d fuck you. But I don’t think your greedy little cunt deserves any more pleasure today, do you?”

“No, sir.”

He wonders if you’d hate him if you saw the way he smirked behind the helmet. The way he wanted to grin, wild and teeth bared, and pick you apart just so he could put you back together.

He thinks you’d probably like it.

“You took that so well, sweetheart, I’ll tell you what. You can choose. You want me here…” he brushes a finger across your lips, which part sweetly for him. The tip of your tongue peeks out to greet his glove, and he does grin, then.

“... or do you want me here?” he slides his hand down your back and over the crest of your butt.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.

“What’ll it be?”

You take a shuddering breath, another tear falling as you squeeze your eyes tight. “I want whatever will please you most.”

He shakes his head, something fond and soft clawing at his ribcage. “That’s sweet, but if that’s what I wanted from you, I wouldn't have asked. I want you to choose.”

“Okay. Then the second one.”

“Then what? Ask nicely.”

A whimpered moan escapes you. You mumble something.

“Gotta speak up, cyar’ika, or I’ll think you don’t want to be fucked at all.”

“No!” you squeak. “No, please. Um. Please—” Your right leg jitters a little as you chew on the words before spitting them out. “Please fuck my ass, sir.”

“Of course,” he strokes your cheek. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shake your head and let him turn you back around, pushing down between your shoulder blades until you’re bent flat across the bed.

“Anyone had you here before?” he says as he rolls your leggings down to discover you aren’t wearing any fucking underwear. He helps you step out of them.

“No,” you say, arching a little as he rubs a gloved hand up and down your leg, stopping just below your cheeks.

“You sure you want me to?” He pauses his caresses, weighing his restraint. He’ll have to go slow. Maybe he should just fuck your mouth, where he can take as much as he needs from you.

But then you speak. “Yes, please, sir. I want it to be you.”

He has to ball his hands into fists and release a few times, trying to stay rational and not just give you what you’re so sweetly begging for.

“It doesn’t have to be now. We can wait, and I can make it better for you, when you’re not being punished.”

You turne your head to the side against the mattress, and he can see your bottom lip trembling.

He sighs. “Just tell me first: are you trying to punish yourself more?”

“No, I want it. Please. I’ve wanted it for months. I—please.”

“Okay, cyar’ika. You tell me if it’s too much, though.”

“Yes, sir.”

You hold very still as he peels off his gloves. You won’t be able to see, and there's no way he was doing this with the gloves. Not this time, not with the gift you’re giving him.

When his warm hand rubs over your ass, you gasp. He draws away reluctantly to pour a generous amount of lube into his palm, warming it carefully before coating his fingers.

He sinks to his knees. With your legs spread, he brushes a finger over your hole, watching the way it twitches and basking in your quiet moan. He rubs soft circles, working the lube around before gently pressing in. The first finger goes in so slowly, and you keen low, muffled by the sheet. Your thighs shake with the effort of holding still.

“Good girl,” he croons, withdrawing his finger to add a second. He repeats the slow, cautious process, pressing in and out. “Breathe, cyar’ika. Relax.”

Relax? How did he expect you to relax? The sensations were so intense you thought you might shatter.

When he finally adds a third, you cry out. His fingers are so thick, and you are so, so full. You startto doubt you’ll be able to take him.

But Mando is a patient man, even with his cock angry and leaking. He doesn’t stop until he's sure you're ready. When he withdraws his fingers from you and stands up, you whimper.

“Scared?”

“A little,” you tell the sheet.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika. You’re doing so well for me. Still want to make me feel good?”

He waits until the first “please” before notching himself at your entrance and pushing the very tip in. Anything else you had been trying to say is choked off.

He had prepared you well, but you were still hot and tight enough that he almost loses his composure. Almost shoves hard into you until his hips slam against yours. But instead, he grips them, sure to leave bruises behind.

You hold your breath. The burn is agonizing, but the wait is worse. When he's settled fully in you, he holds himself in place while you squirm.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. It was the only thought left in your brain other than “Mando” and “full.”

Despite his iron grip, his hips jerk a little. When he speaks, it's around a clenched jaw. “Can I—fuck—can I move?”

“Uh-huh.”

He pulls back, a loud groan in time with the tug of his cock. His hips jerk forward immediately, seeking your soft warmth.

“More,” you grunt through a thrust. “Please, sir.”

That was the end of him. Or at least of the calm, collected Mando. Your sweet voice begging snaps something cerebral, and he snarls, pulling out just to slam back in. He sets a rough, rushed pace.

With one hand on your hip and the other pushing down on your lower back, he takes. He takes and takes until you don’t have anything to give, your hands desperately clutching the edge of the crate just to stay where he had placed you.

Each thrust leaves you raw somewhere behind your sternum. You're crying again, hot tears running sideways across your face to the sheet, scrunched and already soaked with spit.

“You can cum if you can do it like this,” he says between pants. “Don’t touch your clit.”

You couldn’t reach even if you dared to, only able to hold on and accept him. To be used and cared for.

You know you won't be able to. It feels good, but the pain is just on the wrong side of sharp. You don’t want him to stop, you might die if he did, but it wasn’t going to happen like this. It was kind of him, anyway.

And there was something pleasant about just existing there for him to fill. It made you dizzy to think about.

“Want it inside, sweetheart?”

You nod desperately, the rough linen scratching at your raw cheeks.

It only takes a few more thrusts until he grinds his hips against you, pushing as deep as he can, crooning praise.

“So good, cyar’ika, perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, letting me have this. Fuck,” he whimpers as he begins twitching inside you, wet ropes of cum flooding you and leaking out around his cock.

He eases out carefully, scooping you up before sliding to the ground against the crates.

“Hey,” he murmurs, helmet resting gently on top of your head. “Are you okay?”

You tremble but nod against his chestplate. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“All is forgiven, sweet girl. I promise. You took your punishment so well.” He holds you tight and refuses to acknowledge the ferocity gnashing its teeth in his chest. Something that felt dangerously like devotion.

*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday

[wolven91]

Secret Scritches

The negotiations hadn't gone well.

Nearly two years after the 'Sol-3' Incident the felinoids were ready to take a far greater role within The Galactic Community but were struggling to come to amicable terms with the galaxy spanning organisation. Howard had been a trainee diplomate back on Earth, barely out of university and only just beginning his career in the murky world of politics when all the politics he knew about got wiped out. Still, as far as he was aware, this was the first time a human had been allowed to sit in and at the very least observe and the skills were transferrable.

The Community representative had stepped out of the room in disgust at the felinoid's expert handling of their usual, one-sided contract they point blank refused to sign. The Galactic Community wanted closer ties, the external ursidain territories had been trying to advance into felinoid territories and causing an embarrassment for them, but the slippy felinoids had been able to resist them, even push them back.

By signing the contract, it would emphasize trade over raw resources and the ursidains would realistically be better off simply choosing to trade rather than take. The contract was of course skewed significantly in The Community's favour. Market prices were practically slashed for them, making the deal sour in the Felinoid's eyes.

The Felinoid sat across the table and stared at the human diplomat who gave her a flat smile.

"We are above this." She stated flatly. The orange and black stripes of her fur were very pretty in the human's opinion and reminded Howard of the tigers of old. It was mildly intimidating to be sat across from one, especially when she saw Howard as part of the problem, since he had walked in with the Community representative.

The human sighed and nodded. He didn't disagree, but humans only had 'soft power', influencing people or individuals, not actual policy. It was useful in it's own right, but humanity couldn't get an actual seat at the table yet. The man's leg's ached, so he stood from the table to try and stretch them.

Saharhan, gracefully stood as well, seemingly out of respect or manners, but she also joined Howard as she stalked over to the large, wall to wall, ceiling to floor window. Like all felinoids, she walked on her toes, while her hips swayed from side to side in an exaggerated manner. The thick, stripey tail coiled and flicked like a snake. Howard was hit with the idea of what it would be like to touch it.

The felinoid Saharhan stood a good head and a half taller than Howard, her negotiations had been clear; she wanted to impress that she was intimidating and would not easily cow to other species just because her government was willing to open talks. If the deal was not favourable, then they would continue as 'just' a member.

The alien stood to his side, as close she could without being pressed to his side. Howard blinked when he felt the flicking tail briefly grace the back of his legs. Before either of them spoke, the appendage flicked round to the front, where Saharhan grasped it and smoothed the fur along it.

"I'm glad they decided to take a break. I think everyone was digging their heels in somewhat." Howard admitted, trying to release the tension that had built up in the room. There was a chuckle from the alien.

Saharhan smiled and released her tail before placing a large paw on his shoulder. The leather pads brushed the cotton of his shirt and the claws subconsciously extended as she rolled her own shoulders to ease her tension. She was so fluffy; every strand of her fur was expertly maintained. Despite the negotiations already being several hours long, it seemed as if she had just stepped out of a spa. The towering tiger-like creature smiled down at the human.

"I understand what they are negotiating for, but we are a proud people. We know who is above and who is beneath us." The diplomate admitted with honey-like words. Howard noted it was strikingly softer in tone than anything he had heard from her all day. Still, this wasn't the first felinoid or even the tenth that Howard had dealt with in the short time that humanity had been in the stars and something she had said struck him as odd.

The human looked at her with a suspicious side eye while Saharhan cooly watched him back, he had her full attention.

"Who hell do you consider 'above' you?" Howard demanded in disbelief.

She barked with laughed and fixed the human with a fanged grin.

"No one, of course." Her head tilted as she seemed to see something within the human. "You are wiser than what The Community has told us, it would seem."

The human nodded as he noticed a tuft of fur that was sticking up and out messily on the top of her paw. He reached up and stroked along the grain of her fur, brushing it flat over multiple strokes. It sounded about right that The Community would underestimate humanity. A single person, regardless of species or race, treated humanity has equals. The moment that administrators or governments got involved, they simply didn't know how to handle or what to expect from humanity.

Oh sure, some humans hadn't helped matters by stealing crafts or accidently blowing them up, but for the most part, the people just wanted to live as equals and seek out a life. Still... merely disappearing and going humanity's own way was not an option. Howard himself knew how quickly pirates reacted to a lone or even a small group of humans. A community would need one hell of a fleet to protect it.

Unbeknownst to Howard, Saharhan was smiling and had closed her eyes at his idle petting of her fur. He couldn't have known that she was inches away from suggesting he come to her quarters later that even to strength their two race's bonds. It was worth laying the groundwork in her eyes...

"Keep doing that and we'll open fair trade for the humans at least." She murmured, forcing her arm forwards until his hand brushed into the deer, softer pelt of her arms. Howard smirked and rather than just brushing the fur, instead he dug his fingers into the pelt, scratching at the warm flesh below. The felinoid actually started purring.

"Huh, I thought it was a myth that you 'purred'." The human admitted. He paused and her eyes flicked open. Without a word, the diplomat with enough authority as to declare war on behalf of the felinoid people, bent at the waist to lower her head, so that his hand was in the perfect position.

Howard reached the remaining few inches and began scratching her round, fluffy ear. His fingertips scratched along the base and back of the ear, while his thumb pushing into the white pelt of the front. The alien's head turned, and she leant into his hand. Her fur was amazingly soft and thick. He watched as the strands ran through his fingers.

Neither heard nor noticed the door to the private room opened behind them.

[allwormdiet]

@yugonostalgia2019 Heehee your lb is really fun to read! This is extra funny to me bc on my first Worm read I HATED coil almost as much as you, but when i reread it he grew on me like very slimy mold haha. Fun things to notice: Leviathan seemed to be targeting Coil's base & the Travelers - perhaps the reason for coming to BB entirely? Second - remember how arc 7 Taylor goes on a paranoid rant about how conflict & shit always seems to go down at lunchtime? Notice how Coil asks Dinah about problems before lunchtime & drops his realities then? Not a coincidence :)))

Oh also want to self-indulgently talk about Coil's biggest personality trait/flaw: Hypocrisy. You noticed during the interlude & his speeches that he seems pretty self aware - he knows he's a bad person who enjoys torturing people, wanting power for his own sake right? But he has a self-assuredness too, that he views himself as a good employer, one who provides for his underlings & makes them want to work for him. A very stratch-your/mine-back mentality. Except… what happens when there's someone too valuable a subordinate & too dangerous independent? And if there's nothing Coil can offer them? What can he provide a middle schooler with decent parents to make her want to work for him?? Nothing. So, the mask comes off, the good employer self-image vanishes, & all that's left is power-hungry cruelty……

There's so many things about Coil that make me despise him, not least of which is the way he's an absolute goddamn creep about Dinah, but even if I didn't know that about him I think the foundation of the character, the thing that sends me into a gnashing fury, it's that he's uncool.

Coil is a goddamn criminal mastermind, a supervillain whose organization is held by everyone in the know to be one of the Top Three big dogs in Brockton Bay's underworld, and he doesn't even seem to have his mercenaries committing that many crimes out in the open. I actually don't even know why he's on the books as a supervillain, what crimes he's got on his head that put him in the same caliber as Lung and Kaiser and standing head and shoulders above the Merchants, or whether it's just the resources at his beck and call. He's ambitious, scheming, ruthless, with an air of sophistication. He's got a power that, while limited in certain ways, can be monstrously effective with careful planning.

...But then we get a good look at him and it turns out that all his grand ambitions are for petty greed, cruelty, and an obsession with control, an obsession he can't even blame on being a parahuman because his power is store-bought. His sophistication is a facade, he's incautious the moment it doesn't involve a threat of direct harm to himself. He has no guiding principles, he has no patience or loyalty or humility or anything that could be considered a redeeming feature.

Also, man has no taste and no passion. His costume is weird and he doesn't even bother coming up with a name for his organization, there's no aesthetic flair within a single inch of his soldiers' uniforms or in his underground lair. He's like if a box of bran flake cereal could defraud the stock market and was creepy about middle schoolers.

Like it feels almost even more insulting to me because I love the shit out of criminal mastermind types, I love the plotter in the shadows who pulls the strings and crushes their enemies without even being exposed, I have like multiple OCs who pull that kind of shit and one of them is even a supervillain. It's like catnip for me.

So I guess if we want to extend the simile, Coil is like if I went in for catnip and caught a mouthful of bleach, and also the bleach locked a child in its basement.

(Disclaimer: my stance on Coil in no way reflects how I feel about people who actually like him. If you get a kick out of this guy, that's fine, I don't get it but that's not for me to get, I just want to bite down on him as hard as I can and shake until his bones snap)