#and I really can prove it a thousand times over

[medicinemane]

It's just a fact that nothing I do matters or has any impact

I can prove it, and I do mean that

I wouldn't want to because I think it would bother people, but I have... endless proof

[wispered-dream]

:T

'I was raised/abused by people who used their illness as an excuse to be horrific towards others and said I wasnt ALLOWED to question it (because then I'd be Obstinate, and go to hell)'

and 'then I was abused by someone who used their illness as an excuse to be horrific towards others and said I wasn't ALLOWED to question it (because then I'd be a Bigot, and everyone will hate me when I tell them)'

Sure does explain so much about me.

Turns out:

- Didn't go to Hell for being Obstinate

- Extended family laughed and high fived me for joining the 'canceled by XYZ' club

So while I am perhaps oversensitized to "abusing the good will/sympathy of others"

I see that those who do this are in the real hell.

And I've seen how it comes crashing down so so SO slowly.

Abusing the sympathy of others results in people who are wary of extending that sympathy ever again. It's a net crueler world, no matter how much you say "NO NO ONE WOULD EVER DO THAT!"

They do, people take advantage of good will/sympathy. Especially when you can exploit that sympathy for control.

People do it without realizing it too, and enabling that only makes it worse. Protecting the 'abuser'/abuser in the name of "we gotta say it never happens to immanetize the eschaton!" is its own Cruelty.

You're gonna damn each other if you put yourself in a place where people are too fearful to tell you you're being unfair. Claiming '-ism' like a YuGiOh trap card [especially to people who are victimized by that -ism, RIP] is a fantastic way to do that.

People learn to ignore the ableism accusations or treat it like a joke. And it's not JUST bigotry, as neat of a solution as it sounds. Someone comes out with a Caard of all their mental illnesses and I'm asking myself 'why' not because GRRR HATE MENTALLY ILL, but because there is still a motivation there.

'If you ask why someone would do that you're a bigot!' okay so are they trying to establish that they want special treatment or needs. I am excessively empathetic to that.

But it's not 'I forget about messages sometimes [And if you werent mentally ill it'd OBVIOUSLY be because you just dont care?*] or might infodump [on nerd websites? How dare you!*]', it's "Here's the disorder I say I have according to the description I give of it, if it's contrary to any knowledge, experience, or literature on the subject it's because you're a bigot."

Personally I just try to treat everyone assuming they COULD be ill, I find everyone could use kindness. I think that's a better model, but the neurodivergent are uniquely suffering or whatever.

"It's not that I want special treatment, I just want to be the same as everyone else gets to be" You are imagining an ideal that does not exist. Even the fabled Neurotypicals are deserving of things like Patience.

See to me it looks like you're only willing to offer those kind of things to people who will tell you their psychiatric histories. My experience with people who have done the caard thing has so regularly been such! Whereas my experience with people who have severe illness [a majority of my friends] are much more *example* or *event* focused.

[yieldtotemptation]

REPUTATION ft. Minji

minji x male reader smut

9k words

“So, you’re the one,” Minji says, an accusation to make you look up from your drink. “The one they warned us about.”

Firstly, you didn’t plan for this (you never do).

The night began, as always, with the best intentions. You promised your manager that you would follow his instructions to the letter: show face, smile for the cameras, and then slip out before the real party kicks in and you find yourself knee deep in scandal. Again.

And (if you were extra good) you would end the night by scrolling through the greatest hits on your contacts list, looking for a fellow insomniac needing to past the time, needing a bed to share.

A normal, everyday kind of night.

But yet, here you are now: cornered by the girl on everyone’s playlist, all fierce determination and pouty lips wrapped up in a tight black dress.

She doesn’t bother with an introduction—no, that would be silly—instead she just stands there, looking pretty, expecting your full attention.

You quirk an eyebrow. “I require a warning?”

There’s a smile there, just a hint, playing at the edges of Minji’s mouth, like she’s in on a secret that you’re not privy to. “Beware of male seniors. Specifically,” she adds, tilting her head to the side, raising her hand, peeling one finger off the drink she’s holding so she can point a single glossy nail at “you.”

“Hm,” is all you have to say, playing coy, like this is all news to you. Like you’re not aware of your own reputation, of the things you’ve been accused of, the things your company has scrambled to cover-up, the things you’ve actually done.

“So,” she says, so carefree, so easily charming. It’s all an act, of course, a meticulously curated ‘cool girl’ image, something well-rehearsed and played a thousand times before on a thousand lesser men, a tightrope walk between relatable and unattainable. “Should I be worried?”

You know what she’s really asking for: an assessment. Do you find me attractive? Do I tempt you? Am I the type of girl worth risking your career over?

And so, you take her invitation and do the one thing that always gets you in trouble. You look. Look at her legs, long and toned and smooth, begging to be wrapped around your waist. Look at her thighs, creamy-white and barely covered by the hem of her dress. Look at her chest, the soft swell rising and falling with every breath, her collarbone glittering with the sweat of excitement.

Look higher—at how effortlessly perfect she looks, as if she wakes up every day looking like the ideal type of every man and woman in Korea. Oh, there’s make-up, it’s subtle but it’s there, playing up her best features: the height of her cheekbones, the almond curve of her eyes, the fullness of her lips.

She’s so undeniably, obviously gorgeous: a bombshell wrapped in the guise of a girl-next-door.

It’s no wonder she’s so fucking popular.

You give her a non-answer, “Depends what they’ve been saying about me.”

Minji takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours, her full pink lips curling around the straw as she sucks in the sugary liquid. It’s a deliberate move, so casually erotic—borderline pornographic, in fact—designed to make you want to grab her and kiss her and prove everything they’ve been saying about you right.

But she’s busy assessing you, you can tell, trying to reconcile the rumours with the reality—Can you really make a girl like her lose control? Make her beg? Make her forget about her image, her obligations, her entire life outside of your cock?

“Word gets around HYBE quick.” Minji’s eyes narrow just a smidge, she’s biting down into her bottom lip, and it has you imagining all sorts of things you’d rather she was doing with her mouth. “The girls at SM can’t stop talking about you. The guys at JYP hate your guts, so that says a lot.”  She smiles at that last point, before listing off, “fuckboy, heartbreaker, group-wrecker, industry villain.”

It’s funny, hearing your dirty laundry aired out like that, and you can only shrug, give a casual smile as if to say ‘who, me?’. It’s admittedly a practiced move, one you’ve used to get out of sticky situations before (you may have even used it as an ending pose once). “Is that what they told you?” You ask, nodding in the direction behind her.

Minji follows your gaze, glancing over her shoulder, the wall of noise and flashing lights of the club framing her face, painting her skin with a rainbow of neon shadows.

There’s her bandmates, doing a terrible job of spying, a trio of worry and concern and gossip: they’ve found their little bunny, and she’s been caught speaking to the big, bad wolf.

She muses, “we’ve all heard the same rumours…”

“And so you came to… what?”

Minji takes a step closer, close enough for you to get a whiff of her drink; one of those sugary mixes, deceptively sweet, but just as strong as the one in your own hand. “To find out for myself,” she answers, “to see if you’re really as bad as everyone says, to see if it's all hype, or if there’s actually some truth to the legend.”

“Legend,” you repeat, trying the word out on your own tongue (it sounds sweeter on hers). “That sounds a bit much, don't you think?” you ask, trying to ignore the way she’s leaning forward now, letting the top of her dress dip, revealing just enough cleavage to stimulate your imagination. A simple gesture, so perfectly choreographed that you'd think it was incidental if you didn't know better, if it didn't have you picturing what it would be like to rip that dress off her, to expose her bare tits, to grab, lick, kiss, and—

She’s giggling out loud now, like she can hear every single filthy thought racing through your mind. “I think I'd like to be the judge of that.”

There’s an alarm bell going off in your pocket, the vibration of your phone buzzing with messages—who else but your manager, demanding to know why you haven't gone home like a good little idol yet, begging you to please, please not make another mess.

But you ignore it and take another sip of your drink, savouring the burn of the cold liquor down your throat, giving you a moment to consider. You’ve got Minji figured out, you think. It's nothing you haven't seen before (nothing you haven't dealt with before). The dream girl, the ‘ideal type’ who’s growing tired of maintaining a perfect image, looking to see how far she can push, how much she can get away with (how much you’ll let her get away with).

Because she’s probably never been told no in her life. Because she's used to getting what she wants with a bat of those lashes or a pout of those lips.

In a way, coming to you is safe, because if the worst were to happen—if you were to get caught—no one for a second would believe that one of the nation's precious daughters was the instigator.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, cutting through the din of the club like a knife, making you believe that she just might be telepathic. “You're thinking: she’s just another innocent idol playing at being naughty for just the night, but the second things get too wild, she’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Dispatch’.”

“Because you’re not like other girls.”

“Please,” she scoffs, dismissing the idea entirely. “I always see things to the end.”

“Alright then,” you say. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, and you’re going to pick it up, if for nothing else than to see just how far she’ll go. "Shall we do this here? I'll rip off your clothes, nail you in the middle of the dancefloor in front of all our friends and peers?"

She’s grinning now, not backing down, in fact she’s moving closer, like yes, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. “From what I’ve heard that would be tame for you. Is it true, what you got up to at Inkigayo?”

“That was in a parking lot.”

“And at M Coundown.”

"Under the stage.”

“Music Bank?”

“The staircase, of course.”

“See,” Minji’s whispering now, close enough that you can hear her over the thumping bass of the music, her breath warm against your ear, “you are a man-whore.”

“I have a name,” you reply, dryly.

“That’s nice.” She’s touching you now, her hand sliding up your chest, fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. “Wanna hear me scream it?”

Your phone is still buzzing, and you know that you should be walking away. It would be the right thing to do: it’s far too public, she’s far too popular, and getting caught leaving hand in hand with her would be nothing short of an announcement that will hit the top of every social media platform by sunrise.

But it’s too late—it was over the second you locked eyes with her from across the dancefloor, when she caught you staring, blatant and unabashed, lingering on the way her ass bounced, mesmerised by how her hips swayed to the beat. 

You just had to let her know she was wanted.

"Look," Minji says, her hands sliding higher now, fingers idly adjusting the collar of your shirt. "There's no angle here, no game. I'm not looking to get caught or land in a scandal, and I'm definitely not looking for love or a boyfriend or whatever fairy tale shit you sing about. I just want what all the other pretty idols are getting."

She's forward, no shame in saying exactly what she wants, daring you to dispute it, but all you can do is cock your head to the side, and flash a smirk of your own. "And what makes you think you're my type?"

Minji laughs, her teeth glinting in the neon lights—you both know it's a very, very idiotic question. "Please," she says, rolling her eyes, "I'm everyone's type."

Another glance over her shoulder, where her bandmates have been pretending not to hover, and now there’s a new face in the mix: Yunjin. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her arms folded, and her jaw is clenched so tight you can almost hear her teeth grinding from here. Unlike the other three, she’s not playing the concerned friend card; she’s the pissed off mother bear, ready to pull Minji away from the walking, talking red flag.

And so adds to your stellar reputation.

Minji notices your eyes flicker in that direction, and looking back at the group with amusement, she takes it as the cue she's been waiting for. "We better get out of here before they take your head off."

It's inevitable, really, this is how it always ends up: the sweet, innocent idol lured into the jaws of the industry monster. But you can’t help it, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she wants to be eaten alive.

You know the score, you’ve danced this dance before, and you’ve got a role to play. The only thing left to do is to take her hand and lead her out of the chaos—through the throngs of familiar faces, not giving them a chance to register what you're doing, or who you're with, or what's about to occur, again.

Not like anyone could stop it now, anyway.

"So, this is how it happens," you hear Minji murmur as you lead her out of the club, through a hidden metal door, and into the cold, night air.

-

Minji tastes like gin and lime cordial, her lips sticky and sweet against yours, her arms around your neck, her back pressed up against the back-alley wall. There’s something in the way she’s kissing you—giggling between breaths—like she can’t believe this is happening, like she’s getting away with the crime of the century.

Her hands are in your hair now, tugging gently, the cool metal of her rings pressing into your scalp, begging you to kiss her harder, to burn the memory of your lips onto hers. Your tongues meet in a dance that’s more battle than ballet, and she’s matching you move for move, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, her nails scraping down your neck.

She’s eager, she’s pressing her chest against yours, making you feel just how hot she is. But yet, there’s still that annoying voice in your head, the last shreds of your conscience, telling you to give her that final out, to let her walk away with her dignity intact, go back to her members and tell them she just had to get some fresh air.

So, you pull back, tearing your mouth away from hers, giving her room to gasp for air, to let the world come back into focus, and you ask her, loud and clear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Minji’s panting, breaths coming in short gasps, little puffs of steam out into the winter air, and she smiles. It’s a wicked little grin, equal parts surprised and thrilled, like you’ve just passed some kind of test she didn’t think you knew existed. “Are you asking for my consent?”

You balk at that. Your reputation can't be that bad. “Is it so unbelievable that I'd ask?” Even though you already know, deep down, she’s not going anywhere, there’s a power in hearing her say it. Saying that she wants you, specifically, to ruin her.

“No, it’s just…” Minji starts, looking up with those big, dark eyes, and you can almost see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out how to play this, before ultimately landing on the word, “nice.”

She pulls you back towards her, kissing you again, those soft, pillowy lips of hers meeting your mouth in a kiss that’s so inappropriately sweet, like she’s sealing a deal with sugar rather than ink.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice steady, sure. “I want to do this. More than anything.” Minji tilts her head back, exposing the column of her throat, inviting you to kiss it, to suck, to bite. “I want you."

You don’t need any more convincing than that. Your hands are on her body, running over the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her chest. And she’s leaning into your touch, needing to feel more of you, wanting you to explore her. And you do, greedily, feeling her breath hitch when you graze her nipples through the fabric, feel her hips jerk when you trace the line of her panties.

“Are we going to—gah—go back to your place?” Minji tries to ask, her question punctuated by a moan as your fingertips dance over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, the hem of her dress whispering against your skin.

You’ve already made your decision—you're not taking her home, you're not taking her anywhere with a bed, or even a chair. You're going to have her right here, right now. There’s no need to answer her, you just let her work it out for herself when you push her back against the wall, when your thumb finds the slick, wet heat between her legs.

“Here?” She gasps, turning to look down the darkened end of the alleyway, at the distant streetlights, at the crowds of people oblivious to what’s about to happen beneath the shadows.

“It’s not the dancefloor, but it’ll have to do,” you murmur, leaning into her, pressing your lips against her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe.

“B-but, what if—” Minji stammers, but you’re busy toying with the lace of her panties, nothing more than a mere formality at this point, only existing to get wetter, to be unavoidably ruined by you.

“What if someone finds us?” You finish her question, nibbling at her ear. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we leave them something to talk about, won’t we?”

She’s shivering at the thought of it—the headlines, the think pieces, the whispered scandals that will follow you both for weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. But you can feel her resolve hardening, her spine straightening, her body arching towards yours, and she replies, “Then don’t hold back.”

The challenge is clear: she’s embracing the thrill of the forbidden, the rush of potential disaster, the heady feeling of need overshadowing the fear of getting caught.

You don’t disappoint. Your fingers slip under the soaked lace, and she’s sensitive, so, so sensitive. She’s staining your fingers, needing only the smallest amount of pressure to garner a reaction. You tease her, drag your finger across her tender folds, dare to skim over her clit, torture her with anticipation.

Whatever concerns she has evaporates as you kiss down to her collarbone—you’re going to leave a mark—and she’s already asking for more, “Please.”

She’s whining, parting her legs, desperate for you to do more than just touch her, needing you to rip through her panties and take her.

“You're right—I don’t care,” she sighs into the wind, handing her fate over to you. “I need you. Now.”

That's all you need to hear, everything you've ever wanted to hear someone as seemingly untouchable as Minji say to you. You pull down her panties, needing an extra tug as her slickness sticks them to her thighs—she’s so fucking wet for you—and you draw a circle around her entrance with your finger.

“Right there,” she cries. She’s much more honest when she’s desperate—gone is the posturing, the taunting, the act—she’s just a girl who needs to feel something real. So, you give it to her—push your finger inside, gliding in smoothly, a perfect fit around your digit.

Only knuckle deep but she’s already got you like a vice, squeezing around your finger like she’s trying to keep it captive—so wet, so tight, so fucking good. Her nails dig into your shoulders as you push in another finger, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her fulfill her promise to cry out your name, “Fuck—!”

Her pulse is racing like a runaway train, hammering against your lips—you’re pushing both fingers all the way inside her now, sawing them in and out of her, making her groan, making her repeat your name over and over again.

You’re in her ear, “you’ve got to be quiet, Minji.”

But she’s not having it. “Make me,” she laughs, daring you, another challenge she’s putting down.

You kiss her hard, replacing the laughter in her mouth with your tongue, muffling her cries as you fuck her with your hand, you’re going to ruin her now. You curl your fingers up to hit that spot that makes her toes curl in her sky-high heels, making her gasp, her head thunking back against the wall.

She’s trying, she really is, to keep it in, but she still needs you to keep her standing, to hold her up as your fingers delve deeper; to keep her from melting into a puddle all over your hand.

Still, you’re relentless, feeling her out, learning her rhythm, her reactions, the spots that make her sigh and fall apart. You know you’ve found it when her breaths turn harsh and ragged, and she’s rolling her hips against your hand, and there’s that noise—the sweet, slick sound of her pussy swallowing your fingers whole—and she’s whining into your mouth, “This feels so—”

“Hot,” you finish for her, watching as her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink, her pupils blown wide, those angelic features of hers contorting with every thrust of your fingers. “You’re so fucking hot, Minji.”

And she is, she’s hot, she’s so hot around you, against you, her hips bucking at the praise, and she whimpers, your name a staccato prayer on her lips. “More,” she demands, but she’s tripping over her words—“more—please—how does it feel so—”

“I’m going to make you cum now, Minji,” you state, your voice low and sure, your fingers continuing their persistent rhythm inside her. She nods, panting against your neck. “And after that, I’m going to fuck you and make you cum all over again. Until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget every other name but mine. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she nods again, a whine escaping her throat, and she’s biting her lip so hard it’s going to bruise—another mark she won’t be able to explain tomorrow.

You lean in closer, whispering, “Good girl.”

You’re finger-fucking her in earnest now, her body moving in sync with your hand, the alleyway walls echoing with the slap of skin and the wet sounds of your digits plunging into her, your knuckles smacking against her clit. She’s trying to keep it together, trying not to scream out loud, her eyes squeezed shut tight as if that could hold back the orgasm that’s barrelling down on her.

Her breaths are coming out in little pants, and you know she’s close, so close, she’s nearly crying. “Just your fingers—fuck—it’s just your fingers,” she’s repeating it in disbelief, like it shouldn’t feel this good, not yet, like she needs the mantra to keep herself grounded as your hand lights up every nerve in her body.

She’s there, right on the edge, only needing that extra push, that pressure in just the right place, just waiting for your word to send her spiralling over. “Cum for me now, Minji.”

And that’s all it takes.

You hold her steady, fuck her hard with your fingers, rub at her clit, and she’s clenching down, all tiny shakes and choked gasps, her eyes snapping open and then squeezing shut as she reaches the precipice.

"God—fuck—I can't—"

It hits her hard and fast and all at once—her whole body seizing around your hand, her cunt tightening, her hips thrusting forward, needing more friction. Her mouth opens wide, but you trap her lips before she can make a sound, kissing her fiercely, tasting the sweetness of her release on her tongue, feeling the tremors of her orgasm travel from her core to the tips of your fingers.

Her hands are all over you, her nails digging into your shoulders, leaving little half-moons in your skin as she clutches you closer, her tongue dancing with yours as if her life depends on it. You keep going, not letting up until she’s fully ridden the wave, and it’s a sight to behold—Minji coming apart against a dirty alley wall, her legs trembling like they might give out at any second.

When she does finally go still, when her breathing starts to even out, you break the kiss, pulling away to look into her eyes, searching for the usual signs of regret or embarrassment that often follow these kinds of moments. But she’s looking at you with something else entirely: a mix of awe and excitement, like she’s just experienced something she never knew existed.

“You okay?” You murmur, the question more of a formality than anything, because she looks absolutely anything but okay. She looks fucking amazing, a breathless, boneless mess against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every inhale.

Her eyes are still glazed over, wide and dark, her mouth slack and swollen from your kisses. You can see her trying to process what just happened, the reality of it all, but she’s still too lost in the aftermath of her orgasm to form coherent thoughts.

“Yeah,” she breathes out finally, nodding shakily. “I’m—yeah, I’m good.”

You withdraw your hand, giving her pussy one last gentle squeeze before pulling away, and she whines, a high-pitched noise that makes you twitch.

She’s flushed, her hair a mess from your hands, her lipstick smudged, her dress hiked up around her waist, panties around her ankles. The way she’s looking at you now, it's worship, like you're a secret that she’s just discovered and is desperate to keep to herself. “I fucking knew it,” she says. “The rumours were true.”

You smirk, wiping your hand on the side of your pants, watching her struggle to stand straight. “Ready for round two?”

Her gaze flicks downwards, to the bulge in your pants, and she nods, swallows hard. “Yeah, I—fuck yes.”

There’s no hesitation now, no pretending she doesn’t know what she’s signed up for. She’s all in, and you want her, here, now, because that’s what you do—you take what you want.

You kiss her again, deep and greedy, one hand on the wall behind her head, the other gripping her tight, keeping her in place as you grind against her, letting her feel the hardness of your cock, everything she’s been waiting for.

“Please, don’t stop,” she pleads, and you don’t—you can’t.

Not now, when she’s letting you tug down on her dress, letting it pool around her ankles like a discarded secret. She’s a vision, standing in the cold, stark alley in just her heels and her underwear—and there’s her tits, perky and perfect, begging to be touched.

You don’t even bother with the bra, you just yank it down, the straps snapping and the fabric falling away to reveal her nipples—pink and stiff and so fucking tempting. You can’t help yourself, they’re practically calling for you to taste them, so you draw one into your mouth, feeling her gasp against your ear, her hand sliding into your hair, holding you against her chest.

Her skin is hot against your tongue, and you suck, and bite, and lick until she’s whimpering, until she’s pushing herself into your lips. Your hand is exploring the rest of her naked body—running down her stomach, tracing the lines of her abs, feeling her stomach muscles clench with every breath she takes. She’s so tight, so toned—it’s like you’re touching a sculpture, or a personal playground made just for you.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, “so good, so, so good, how does it feel—?”

Her words cut off as your teeth graze her nipple—she’s so reactive to every touch, and it has you wondering—has she ever been touched like this before? Has her body every truly been explored like this, pushed to these heights?

“You want more?” You murmur into her chest, your fingers returning to her wet folds, your thumb reintroducing itself to her clit.

“Your cock,” she says, sucking a harsh breath through her teeth. “I want it, I need it—please—I’m ready for it.” It’s that word—please—how it rolls off her tongue, the desperation in it, how it makes her sound so needy and vulnerable.

“Then take it,” you command, breaking away from her chest, stepping backwards to give her room to do exactly what she's been begging for.

Minji doesn’t miss a beat, hands gentle but determined, her fingers at your belt, fumbling with the buckle, loosening the zipper. She’s hungry for it, for this moment of truth, to verify for herself—what’s been talked about in whispers and rumours, what’s been taunting her all evening.

Your pants hit the ground, and she’s staring at your cock with wide eyes, and for a second you can almost see the doubt creeping in. But she swallows it down, and with a soft grip, wraps her small hand around you, stroking you from base to tip.

“So this is it,” she says, taking the full measure of your length, her thumb smearing the pre-cum over your head. “This is the cock that ruins idols. They said it splits women in half.”

You chuckle, but she’s completely ignoring you, well, ignoring all parts of you that isn’t your cock. Her hand is tentative at first, working its way up and down, feeling you grow harder by the second in her palm. You can feel her wonder, her excitement, a hunger matched only by the ache in your cock.

It's the way she’s not saying anything, just touching, feeling. Not that you mind the quiet—it's intimate, just the two of you, the sound of her breaths, your heart beating in your ears, and the distant thump of the world you left behind.

She’s gaining confidence now, her strokes more deliberate, a smug smile gracing her lips as she watches how you react to her touch. You bite back a groan, not wanting to give away how much she’s getting to you, but fuck, she’s getting good at this. She’s clearly learning on the job, eyes keen to see just how you like it—how fast, how tight—how to make you fall apart in her hands.

It’s time to reign her in, you’re heading into deeper waters now. You grasp her wrist, stopping her, ignoring her pouts and whines. “Not yet,” you say, “I’m going to split you in half with my cock now.”

That makes her grin. She does this thing, this cute little twirl, spinning around on her heels to face the wall, and posting herself up against it. Her legs spread wide, giving you a perfect view of her splayed pussy, glistening under the dim neon light. She’s got her hands above her head—she’s putting herself on display for you, like your own private Mona Lisa.

A look back at you and she catches you gawking—eyes glued to her ass, her pussy—and she winks. “Are you just going to stare, or do I have to make you fuck me?” She says it so casually, like she’s back at the bar ordering another drink. “Hurry up, please. I need it. Inside me. Now."

No more waiting, no further invitations needed—there’s teasing, and then there’s both of you craving it, dying for this.

You’re behind her in an instant, pressing her into the wall, her cheek against the cold brick, her juicy ass up in the air. You guide your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her—she’s soaked, pussy drooling on your tip—and she gasps, looking back at you with those doe eyes, all wide and innocent—like she hasn’t been begging for this since the moment she looked in your direction.

“Fuck Minji, you're so fucking wet for me,” you say, running your cock down her slit, coating it in her juices, “so needy for me, aren’t you?

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice strained, like every moment without your cock inside her is torture. “I want it all. Every fucking inch.”

The first push is a slide into heaven—she’s tight, so fucking tight, so, so wet, like she’s never had anyone else—like she’s been waiting just for you. She’s teary, gasping, and you feel her body tense, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t dare ask you to stop. Instead, she arches her back, pushing herself back onto you, urging you deeper.

“God,” she’s chanting now, feeling inch after inch sliding into her, “it’s so—it’s already making me so—”

It’s slow, deep, fucking, stretching seconds into an eternity, stretching her pussy out with your girth, stretching her to fit you, to keep you, to never let you leave. It’s careful, almost tender at first—let her set the pace, let her show you how much she can take.

She’s moaning, low and guttural, and you wrap one hand around her waist to hold her steady as you thrust into her, let her get comfortable with your size, make her tits bounce with every pump, make her legs shake beneath her. And then there’s that lip bite again—she’s trying to keep quiet, but little moans are escaping her, getting lost in the night.

You ease out, then push back in, setting a steady rhythm that’s got her rocking back onto you. Minji seems like a delicate little thing, but there's a strength to her, a suppleness—she’s meeting you thrust for thrust, her pussy like pure velvet around your cock, gripping you tight, trying to milk you.

Hand finds her chin, tilting her head back so you can kiss her again—long, deep, tongue-filled kisses that make her whine and buck against you. She’s slowly, but surely adjusting to you now, her body learning the rhythm of your cock, getting used to being so completely filled.

It's in the way she's moaning into your mouth, like she's never been fucked like this before, never had someone so big, never had a cock so demanding of her tight little cunt. But she's so eager for it, her pussy so warm and welcoming, swallowing you up with every thrust.

It’s not normally like this—you’re not normally like this—but something has you asking between kisses, “You okay?”

She laughs, pushing herself back against you, pushing her cunt down on you, taking you deeper, burying your cock to the hilt. “I’m not going to break, I promise,” she says, looking over her shoulder, needing this. “I need you to fuck me—no holding back—I can take it all—everything you’ve ever given anyone else, all those other girls. I can handle it.”

“Show me.”

It’s throwing gasoline on a fire—she's asking for it, burning for it. You fuck her like you mean it—pull out all the way, force it all the way back in, hard, deep, rough. A shriek and she's wailing now, true to her word she’s taking it, taking it all, utterly lost in each perfect push into her cunt. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and raw—gone is the perfect idol, she’s just another girl getting fucked in an alley by some guy she just met.

Both hands are gripping into her hips, holding her in place, holding her upright, feeling her walls clench and release around you. Marks are going to be left there too, your fingerprints on her skin, bruises that she’ll have to hide with makeup tomorrow.

“So good—so fucking good—just—“ Minji can barely make out full sentences, let alone words as you fuck her, as you own her. “Harder! Fuck! Rougher!"

It’s like a drug, this power, watching her come apart for you, knowing you’re the one making her feel this way, knowing she’ll let you do whatever you want, whatever you need as long as it makes her come apart. And you’re feeding off of it, her words pushing you closer to the edge, letting her need for you drive you, unlock that primal part of your brain. Fucking her like this, so filthy and wrong and everything you love about this life.

You pick up the pace, driving your hips forward—"harder—fuck—harder"—until she’s shaking, her legs giving out, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is your cock and your arms.

“Fuck—I know what they said but—fuck! Is this what they all felt?” She gasps out, “is this how it always feels?”

Your lips on her neck, her hair sticking to your face, the scent of her perfume, of her, intoxicating. “It doesn’t always feel like this,” you answer, you grunt. “But you do. You feel so fucking good, Minji. So fucking perfect for me.”

“You're so big,” she says, her voice trembling, “I feel so—fuck—full.”

It’s not just the way she’s clenching around you, how she’s now able to take every inch of you like she’s been fucking you her whole life—it’s how she says your name, like you’re the only one that could ever make you feel this way, like you’re the one who ever will.

You grab her tits, squeezing them, seizing them, pinching and twisting her nipples between your fingers. All it does is make her beg, “fuck—I love it—how rough you are—” needing more of everything you have, “your hands—your cock—please don’t stop, don’t ever stop—I can take it please—rougher please—fuck!”

Something cracks inside you, and your hand comes down on her ass, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot. Minji jolts, yelps, but the noise is quickly swallowed by a moan, a squeezing of her cunt around you.

“Fuck that felt—”

You do it again, and again, each slap a little harder, a little more punishing, the sting making her flesh jiggle deliciously with every impact. She doesn’t retreat, she’s slamming her ass back down on you, slapping her cheeks against your waist, needing to feel more.

“Gah—fuck—harder!”

She can’t help herself, minutes ago she could barely handle your size, now she can’t hold back from crying out for more pain, more excruciating pleasure.

Each smack, each groan, each breath that’s ripped from her lungs is a declaration of your power, of her need. And you revel in it, your hand coming down on her ass, leaving a trail of red marks against her creamy-white skin.

“More, please, more,” she calls for it, calls for the sting, the heat, her pussy clamping down on you, walls pulsing with every hit, her body needing the release that’s building up, inevitable and intense.

Her ass is nothing but a canvas painted by the strokes of your hand and the relentless pounding of your cock, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork, you're struggling to suppress the urge to lean down and kiss each spot you’ve marked.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” you say, your teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“I know,” she answers, her voice a whine, a plea, a moan. “But this is what I wanted—to feel—to remember this—this moment—getting fucked like you own me—because you do—so don’t hold back—don’t ever hold back.”

You’re both sweaty, panting—you can feel her orgasm building, like a storm in the distance, thunder rumbling closer and closer until it's right above you, ready to break. And there’s your own, too, that delicious pressure at the base of your spine, the promise of release, coming at you just as quick.

But you’re not going to let her get there—not yet—not when you’ve got her like this, pliant and open and so in need. You lean forward, your chest pressing against her back, and slide your hand down, reaching around to find her clit.

It’s slick and stiff and wanting, and Minji screams—a high, keening sound that you want to hear again and again. You’re playing with it, swiping it with your thumb in tight circles, feeling her clench around you with every pass.

“I’m almost—God that feels so good—I’m almost!”

But you stop, pull out of her, abruptly, making her cry out, making her turn around, a mess of emotions on her face—desire, confusion, awe.

“What are you—” Minji tries to ask, but you’re spinning her around and pressing her back against the wall. Her leg comes up, wrapping around your waist, but you take it and lift it higher, testing the extent of her flexibility, throwing it over your shoulder.

She’s right on that edge, you can see it—her pupils dilate, her mouth opens in a silent scream, her body tenses, her cunt melting around you. But you weren't going to let her cum like that, not without watching her face, not without seeing the moment she cracks and shatters.

Now you’re face to face, chest to chest, her eyes needing yours to anchor herself to, needing to know what you’re going to do to her. No time for breaks—in one, deep thrust you're all the way back inside her, making her scream with the suddenness of it, the shock, the bliss of being so perfectly filled.

She groans, weeps with each pump into her, and she’s smiling through it all. “So—” she asks, struggling to form intelligible sentences. “How do I—fuck—how do I—mmmph—compare to the others?”

You grunt, barely registering the question, your mind clouded by the spasms of her cunt around you. “What others?”

“The other girls—God—the other idols,” she says, strained. “The ones you’ve fucked before—the ones you’ve ruined—how do I—aah—compare?”

You kiss her again, a bruising, punishing kiss that steals the question from her lips. You don’t need to answer that. You’re showing her. You’re fucking showing her how she compares, how she’s the best, the tightest, the wettest, the most eager. You’re showing her how she’s going to be the one they whisper about in the halls of HYBE and beyond, she'll become the story that will be told as a warning, about the sweet, innocent idol ruined in a dirty alleyway.

Your world is spinning around you now—there’s your hand on her throat, a gentle squeeze, just enough to make her eyes water, to make her breath catch. But she’s not scared, not with the way she’s grinning, not with how she’s grinding her hips to meet yours.

“Fuck—make me scream—” It’s a plea, a demand, she’s so stunning, so tortured in her need for it, “do whatever you want to me, whatever you need—just—make me cum harder—God please—harder than any of them ever did.”

Any care you had for getting caught, about the consequences of what you're doing—where you're doing it—dissipates into the ether. Nothing exists outside of the race to her orgasm, outside of your hips recklessly pounding into her, reducing her to moans and shakes and trembles.

“Cum for me,” you growl, “right here, right now, Minji—cum for me again—show me that you’re mine.”

“I was made for you,” she says, and it’s not just the heat of the moment talking, it’s something else, something deeper. She’s not just saying it to get off, she’s saying it like it’s a revelation, like she’s been waiting for you, for this exact moment.

“Prove it.”

It hits her like a fucking truck, and Minji’s screaming, filth belted from her mouth and into the night, her pussy quaking around your cock, her whole body entering into seizure. You keep going, riding out her orgasm, feeling her cum on your cock, feeling her body go rigid, her muscles tense, it’s those abs, so tight, it’s those absurdly strong contractions that have you falling after her.

“God—fuck, I—can’t believe—can’t believe—”

You’re fucking her through it, not giving her a moment’s reprieve, not letting her come down from that high, because you’re not ready for this to end, not when she’s so helpless. You hold her tight through it, let her shake, rattle against you, let her nails dig into your arms, let her cum drench you.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

It’s too much for her to take, and once the storm has finally subsided, Minji is just a ragdoll in your arms. Her legs are limp, held up by your grip alone, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her makeup is ruined, a mix of sweat and your kisses, leaving dark streaks on her cheeks. Her hair, plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed, and there’s her body—marks of your teeth on her chest, her breasts, the bruises of your fingers around her hips, the mottled red of her ass, a map of your dominance painted on her perfect skin.

It’s not just the physical marks you’ve left on her; it’s the way she’s looking at you now, awe, desperation, realisation that it’s all true, every rumour, everything they’ve said about you—and she’s the latest filthy chapter in your story.

But you’re not done yet, you haven’t finished. You’re pulling out, and she’s whining, making your cock throb with her pleas. You guide her to the floor, to her knees, her dress puddled around her, the cold concrete biting into her skin.

You’re standing over her, looking down at her like she’s a prize, your prize. “Open your mouth,” you tell her, and she does, without hesitation, without question.

You grab your cock, still slick with her juices, and stroke yourself, watching her tongue dart out to lick her lips, watching the anticipation build in her eyes.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic sight you’ve ever seen—Minji, the girl that's everyone's type, the girl who could have anything she wants, anyone, on her knees for you—tongue out, mouth wide open, waiting eagerly for your cum.

And then you do it—you let go, shooting ropes of hot cum, painting her face, letting it dribble down onto her chin, onto her chest, onto her toned stomach, covering her until she’s a sticky mess of lust and desire. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away—she loves the feeling of it, shivering as your hot cum hits her skin.

She holds position through it all—knees on the ground, eyes closed, a serene smile as if she’s just been blessed. And when you're done, when your cock is finally spent, she looks up at you with a grin that's pure sin.

Minji takes a finger, dips it into the mess on her chin, and tastes you. It's a bold move, it’s messy, it’s wrong, it’s perfect. There’s the glimmer of triumph in her eyes, the knowledge that she's made you do something so raw, that she made you lose all control.

For a second there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the come down from your euphoric high. Minji speaks, still shaky from the orgasm that ripped through her. “That was—” she pauses, searching for the right word. “—incredible. Fuck!”

There’s a rush of arrogance, a smug smile of satisfaction at her confession. “So, do I live up to the legend?”

Minji wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing your cum across her cheek. There’s a glint in her eye, like she’s got a secret that she’s dying to share. “More than I could have ever imagined. You’re not just a man-whore, you’re a fucking artist.”

You laugh at that, as you tuck yourself back in, smoothing down your shirt, trying to compose yourself, pretending like her words don’t mean anything to you, like you don’t take pride in the validation of every girl you fuck.

“How do I rank?” she asks, the question coming out of nowhere, and you blink down at her, your brain trying to catch up. “I mean, out of all the idols you’ve fucked?”

“Rank?” you repeat. "I don't keep a list, that would be..." You trail off, realising what you're about to say, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

“Crass?” she supplies. “I know, but I’m just curious.”

“You’re fucking fantastic, that’s for sure,” you reassure her, making her giggle, the laughter bubbling up from her chest like it’s the best compliment she’s ever heard. “Why—do you keep a list?”

Her smile falters for a moment, but then she’s grinning again, looking even more wicked with the cum pasted across her face, and it makes you want to bend her over and fuck her all over again. “Of course I do. And you’ll be happy to know that you’re number one.”

“That’s good to know.”

But then she says, “Of one.”

And you freeze. The air around you turns to ice, and she’s looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and you realise what she’s saying, what she’s just admitted to you. You’ve taken her virginity, and she’s looking at you like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“You were…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice firm. “Don’t make this something it’s not. I wanted this, and I wanted it to be with you. I told you: I can handle it all.”

But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing, trying to process what she’s saying. You had your suspicions—she was so tight, so new, so untouched—and now she’s yours, in a way that no one else can claim. You wiped away her innocence, and she’s not running, not crying, not regretful.

The weight of it settles in your stomach, a strange cocktail of pride and guilt. You’ve ruined her, in the best way possible. You’ve claimed something precious and pure, and she’s given it to you willingly, eagerly.

“Fuck, Minji,” you start, trying to find the words. “If you had told me, I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what? I lost my virginity by having filthy, mind-blowing sex in a dark alley with the best cock in all of Korea,” she says, pridefully, with her entire chest, fully believing every word she's saying. “Can you really tell me your story was any better? I bet whoever it was with didn’t scream like I did. Or cum so hard she couldn’t see straight.”

You cast your mind back to the past, and you have to concede the point. “I see what you mean. But still—” You feel like you should say something, but what? It’s not like you can apologise, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she’s just won the fucking lottery. “How does it feel?”

“A-ma-zing,” she draws out, rising to her feet. “Everything I’ve ever heard about, multiplied by a million. You might’ve ruined sex for me completely.”

You watch as she puts herself back together, sliding her panties back on, tugging her dress over her head and down her hips. She’s smoothing her hair back, trying to fix the mess you’ve made of her; wiping at the cum on her chin, her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of your encounter, trying to put the mask of the sweet, innocent idol back on.

But you know better. You know what’s hiding beneath that polished exterior.

“Come home with me,” you find yourself saying before you can think better of it.

Minji turns to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and there's that hint of challenge again. “Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “You want to cuddle and fall asleep together? Wake up, have breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, honestly. “After I’ve fucked you senseless again, of course. But yeah, come home with me.”

“That would be nice,” Minji says, a soft smile on her face. It's surreal, this moment, so at odds with the grimy alleyway and the smell of sex sticking to her skin. She looks so pure now, in complete contrast to how roughly you were fucking her just moments ago. Her innocence wasn’t lost, it was just painted with a fresh coat of your sin.  “But—you know I can’t. They’re waiting.”

“Worth a shot,” you shrug, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

And then she produces your phone, holding it out to you. “You need to be more careful with your things.”

“When did you—”

“Now you’ve got my number,” she says. “You’re welcome to do whatever it is you want with it. But I’m hoping you use it.”

You take it out of her hands, swiping away the string of missed calls and messages, the digital proof of how much trouble you’re going to be in come morning. But for now, it’s irrelevant. For now, there’s only Minji, and the way she’s standing there, looking up at you, smiling like she’s just stepped off the stage.

“You’re going to go back to them?” you ask, gesturing towards the club entrance, to where the rest of her group are probably still gossiping, plotting your downfall.

“Of course,” Minji says. “They’re my friends. They care about me. They’ll want to make sure I’m okay.”

“And when they find out what we just did?”

“Oh, they’re going to want to kill you,” she answers, with a giggle. You’ve had enough of these types of conversations to know she’s not joking. “Except Dani, maybe. She’ll probably want a shot at you too. If I let her.”

"Noted," you say, trying to keep the image of Danielle, splayed against the wall like Minji before her, out of your head. "What exactly are you going to tell them?"

Minji pauses, thinking, before landing on a succinct summary. "I’ll just tell them that you fucked my brains out and then ditched me in an alley.”

You sigh, “sounds brutal.”

“Well, it is what it is,” Minji says, and she’s pressing a kiss to your cheek, her lips still sticky with the residue of your cum, the last traces of what's just happened.

You watch her go, watch as she turns away, walking back towards the club, a little stumble, a little trouble keeping steady. You should be feeling guilty, you should be regretting this, but all you can think is how good it felt, how right it felt. And you know you’ll do it again—you know it deep in your bones.

Minji turns back to you, catching your eye, catching you staring again, and she smiles. “You better go now. You do have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

[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!

[fuxuannie]

Hey girl, I LOVED YOUR HEADCANONS. Specifically abt Ken x Reader. If you can write about headcanons abt maybe when he's jealous? You covered literally almost everything in your headcanons, so I have nothing to request except this 😭

❥﹒kenji sato x gender neutral reader

✦. synopsis — part 2 of the kenji sato headcanons because i am totally normal <3

✦. love mail — i swear i promise ill post hsr guys 😞 just let me have my moment w sato i beg. i’ve decided to just do this req + add some more hehe. thank you sm requester for enabling my brain rot! (pls more ppl do so)

✦. tags — NO SPOILERS, fluff, dadgirl kenji, non-intimate/sexual kissing, kenji sato x reader, i wrote this w my brain off again ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ;; pls

Jealousy was not fun for the Kenji Sato. Before Emi came along and changed him, I can see him being the type to get jealous easily. Why would you need to talk to other people anyway? You had him, he was the best. He’d make it real obvious too, suddenly wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close, or the following days he has you wear his iconic jacket while you’re out with him so everyone knows exactly who and what you two are. If it gets to the better of him, he’ll get all pouty about it. He wants all your attention, your eyes all over him and him only. Maybe even hands but that’s a different thing. But I think after Emi’s influence, it’s less possessive and he’s grown to trust you with others instead of letting his feelings get in the way. Of course he’s not immune to jealousy, but you notice it a lot less. It’s less suffocating for you and you’re grateful he’s grown. You did love the pouty face he’d make though, it was cute.

Now if you were jealous, which is really no surprise.. Kenji had thousands of admirers, he had gifts on his doorstep like every other day. He’ll do everything to prove and reassure you that you’re the only one who has his heart. He’ll post you on his social media, take you out on dates, all those things to wash your worries away. Lastly, he’ll hold you in his arms at night and whisper everything he loves about you. Everything you were silently insecure about, he loved. Every date you thought he forgot, he remembered. And to meet a guy like that? How lucky can you be? (He tells you he’s luckier of course. <3)

I think he’s a messy kisser for the most part 🧐. (Forgive me in advance for this part. I am not very good at these things.) When he can take his time, he’s slow and gentle. Genuinely just trying to show you that yeah, he loves you, so damn much. And he’s going to show that through his passion by taking things slow so you can really feel his devotion. Other times, because he’s always in a rush, he’ll do a messy but clearly desperate kiss. He doesn’t like leaving without one, and you can describe him kissing you like it’s his last, (because it’s really not a far-fetched guess considering his line of work) his hand behind your head and pressing your lips against his in an almost ravenous manner. He does give you a very quick kiss on the forehead and runs off after finishing, leaving you a little dazed.

He LOVES to take you out on night rides. If ever you get a little nervous/have a fear of motorcycles, he’ll talk you all the way through via the cardo he put into your helmet. He’ll take you to some nice cafes or restaurants around Tokyo, other time’s he’ll bring you to some favourite childhood spot of his. When you arrive, he’ll tell you about his mother and the memories he’s made in this very special spot. It warms your heart to see his expression be so fond when he talks about his childhood – he truly misses it.

Before you knew of Kenji’s identity, I think it would be funny if you hated Ultraman. You just LOATHED the guy, Kenji asked your thoughts on Ultraman on the first date and you went on a rant about how he threw your car at a Kaiju only to miss. (He felt so embarrassed). It would be funnier if afterwards, he began to actually do his job as Ultraman properly.. and avoided cars on your street and avenue. He wanted to make sure you didn’t utterly hate Ultraman before revealing that he was him.

It would be cute if you and him knew each other like, much earlier. And you called him Ken. And then he made that his alias while he was becoming an All-Star baseball player. :) He’ll brag about it all the time in interviews too, that you’re the reason he uses it. <3

He’s the typa guy to have a picture of you in his room, behind his phone case, in his wallet, in his car and literally anywhere he can get his hands on. He bought a polaroid camera just to take pictures of you, he could care less about the price of film or the camera itself.. he just wanted to have as many pictures of you as possible. He’ll brag about it to his baseball teammates too, considering he also keeps one in his pockets for good luck. :)

You're his goodluck charm. <3

[rosinantecigarettes]

★ ★ WHAT IS LOVE? ★ ★

what's real love for them. (ft. sanji, law and corazon). part 1/?

content warning: plus sized!reader. mentions of younger law in cora's part. proofread. partially nsfw. size difference. blowjob. overstimulation. cunnilingus. cockwarming. slight belly bulge. slight praise kink.

a.n: my first post! I'm afraid ngl, but I really hope yall like it. Idk why i took so fckn long tho??? I was really lazy I'm sorry sbehwjsvwga

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

when you care about the little things about him, remembering things he told weeks, even months ago. letting him know you hear and pay attention to everything he says.

when you take him off the kitchen, forcing him to rest, he'll ''complain'' about it, but he's so grateful and head over heels when you massage his tense muscles, letting out a sigh as you reach his sore shoulders.

when you trust enough for him to lay on your fluffy belly, caressing his hair. that was the best nap he ever took.

when you lecture luffy for asking sanji to cook for him so late at night, letting the blonde go to sleep a little earlier. he really loves how you care about his well-being.

when you help him in the kitchen, he insists he don't need help, that you should rest, but you're stubborn, helping him in every way you can. he swears he can't fall in love more that he already did, but you always proved he was terrebly wrong.

when he sees your fucked out expression after eating you out for hours. your throat sore from screaming his name, your hands on his messy hair. "just one more, mon chèri... for me?"

��𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐎𝐍

when the first instinct that you have when he fall for the thousand time, is helping him get up and asking if he's okay.

when he gets home late at night and sees you're sat on the couch with a book in hand, waiting for him so you'll both go to bed together.

when you look into his eyes everytime he smiles, "you look so cute when you smile, rosi" you say, and as his cheeks burns, you smile too, knowing well what you do to him.

when, on one of the nights he can't sleep, you hug him from behind and kiss behind his ear and neck, making him relax in bed; reassuring him with your presence.

when he sees you and law getting along with each other; he sees law opening more with you and he cant help but smile at the sight of you and him talking about "Sora, the warrior of the sea" while law smiles.

when you try to take all of his cock in your mouth, it barely fitting as you look at him all innocent with tears in your eyes. his hand on your hair as he fight back the urge to fuck your face. "that's it cariño... you're doing so well"

𝐋𝐀𝐖

when, in the middle of the night, you go to his office and lay your head on his shoulder, mumbling that the bed is cold without him, leaving him with no choice but to cuddle with you in bed.

when you're laying on his chest and trace his tattoos, slow and delicate fingertips running through everywhere the black ink is.

when you let him lay on your breasts, his hand passing on your belly while the other arm is around your waist. your right hand is on his raven hair while the other is caressing his back.

when you chuckle while he look serious patching your wound from a recent fight. "what is it?" "you look cute when you're trying to look serious"

when you come into his office, onigiris in hand while you remind him that he have to eat and rest. you're always so good to him... he really dont know what he would do without you.

when you're on his lap, his dick so deep inside you while you try not to move too much. he points at your tummy "you see that, dear? I'm so deep in you... you're so good to me, taking care of me so well..." he says and kiss your neck, leaving you a moaning mess.

[anundyingfidelity]

DO YOU HATE ME THAT MUCH? — Billy Butcher

Summary: Butcher gives orders for you to stay back from the fight. You hardly comply and prove differently; he starts thinking in a very improper manner about you.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x female!supe reader.

Word count: 2k.

Warnings: smut!! hate sex, unprotected sex, fingering, enemies to fuck buddies, reader can control blood and explode shit (like Victoria Neuman lol), the usual mentions of violence.

Notes: this is a request made by @thatcharmingmushroom for my 400 followers drabbles celebration. I'm sorry I took soooo damn long on this, but I hope you like it and thank you so much for the idea because I had so much fun with it! I picked the Herogasm episode for this tho hehe

☕ if you like my writing support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

taglist is here!

On the hunt for Payback, you made your way to infiltrate Herogasm along with Butcher, Hughie and the new asshole, Soldier Boy, not caring that the British dick ordered you a thousand times to stay back.

For different reasons, you were kind of forced to stay with the team, and while you didn’t really get along with any of them, Butcher was by far the one you hated the most. And, in the end, when Soldier Boy burned the whole place to the ground with a blast and Homelander arrived, you couldn’t stand there doing nothing. While the three men tried to hold down Homelander, you used your blood to create strong whips around his limbs, trying to tie him to the ground as Soldier Boy prepared to blast, yet again.

But just in seconds, Homelander recharged himself and pushed them all aside, cutting your whips, and flashing you quickly with his heat vision before storming out. Your blood blades barely made it to the hole he left in the roof as the supe just disappeared, flying away like a scared bitch.

“Well,” you started after an instant of staying silent. “I guess we fucking failed.”

Butcher shot you a dark glare as he walked straight until he stopped in front of you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

You held his eyes as he towered you with his broad figure. He looked even more intimidating now he started playing the supe, injecting himself with Compund V. “I don’t care.”

There was this smug smirk on his face as you talked back. You knew he hated you; you knew you hated him. But as fucking weird your powers were, controling blood and exploding people with their own, Butcher found you interesting and stupidly astonishing. But of course, he wasn’t going to admit it. They were just intrusive thoughts about you and how hot you were, defying his direct orders of strictly not coming to the supe-orgy. Yeah, Homelander was a fucking cunt, and he would take care of Soldier Boy soon too. Right now, he just needed something to take the stress out after another stupid failure. His hand would work later once back at the motel, he decided.

Butcher leaned down, until his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear. “We’ll see about that.”

“Why do I have to keep listening to you?” you asked as Butcher followed back to the motel.

You stopped right out of your door, because of course you weren’t going to share a room with him and the old asshole. Hughie, who went inside their room, was the only decent human being between all of them, but still, you had to take care of yourself from those fuckers. Besides, the British idiot wouldn’t stop the verbal vomiting the whole fucking trip and you were growing sick of it.

“Because, for starters, you’re a fucking newbie here,” Butcher replied, smirking hatefully. “And second, your powers are fucking out of control. You need training and keep your mouth shut.”

You rolled your eyes, showing him your wrists. “I already healed myself from the cuts I made. Perhaps I should use your blood next time?”

“No, there’s no next time for you.”

“You don’t decide that, Butcher,” you crossed your arms over your chest, tired of being treated like a stupid kid. “I’m helping on this, I want him dead. And if any of you idiots don’t kill him, then I will.”

He curved an eyebrow, not showing any signs of being taken aback at your words, but inside, he was just in awe as before. You really hated Homelander as much as he did, however, you didn’t have a fucking plan. You would attack first, ask questions later. In any way, since when could he care about that? He had no idea.

“Hey,” Soldier Boy talked behind Butcher and stepped in closer between both of you. “You fucking stay back from this, you ain’t doing shit with your blood whips.”

Furious, you motioned your hand to draw fresh blood from a wound on his cheek and created a sharp blade, cutting his skin lightly. Soldier Boy clenched his jaw before smirking at you.

“Talk to me like that ever again and I’ll blow your dick, and not the way you like it,” you warned through your teeth.

Soldier Boy wiped the blood off the fresh wound, and smiled anew before patting Butcher on the shoulder. “She’s all yours, pal.”

With that, the old supe disappeared in the next room. You just wanted this to be over, so you turned around to get inside your room, but Butcher wouldn’t leave you alone just yet, putting his foot between the door and the frame, holding it with his super strength.

“What the fuck you want now?!” you yelled at him as he made his way inside, slamming the door closed.

“Imma have to call the fucking CIA if you don’t calm down your ass,” he threatened between his teeth.

“You wouldn’t-”

“I can, and I fucking will,” he insisted, taking slow strides, making you step back from him until your back met the wall.

His eyes were getting dangerously dark and you could smell the sweat and dry blood coming from him. You noticed his pulse was increasing, and you grinned. Your mind jumped to an unsafe place where you probably knew what Butcher was feeling right now. The heat and coming down the high of what could have been the end of both yours and his enemy was too much to burden. Little did he know that you were the kind of person that used to take out the stress with something, or someone. Just like him.

“From one to ten, how much do you hate me?” you asked all of the sudden, looking straight into his eyes.

Butcher’s fierceful gaze turned into confusion. “What?”

“How fucking much do you hate me?” you repeated yourself steadier.

Butcher rolled his eyes before answering in a whisper. “I’d choose a one thousand scale for that.”

“Good, I hate you too,” you replied with a smirk before pulling him for a kiss that turned heated too fast, but you didn’t care.

You needed release. Something quick, hard and hot to take it out of your system. He was perfect for the task, and by the way his tongue tasted your mouth, you found out that he wouldn’t step back. At least you hoped so. The tension between both of you was so damn sharp and it was just a matter of time for that bomb to explode, and you preferred it this way instead of fighting each other to death.

Gripping the neck of his shirt to get even closer as you kissed, Butcher’s hands roamed all over your hips, running on your sides until he met the flesh of your ass on your jeans, pressing you towards his chest. You gasped against his mouth when he started to unzip your pants, you worked immediately on the buttons of his shirt. Desperately, you discharged his shirt, the fabric being followed to his pants, and he undressed you with the same eagerness until you were only panties and bra.

Butcher lifted you up from the ground, hands on your thighs as he guided you to the mattress. He crawled on top of you, spreading your legs with his big, rough hands and leaning down to lick down at your chest and rip your bra off. His action made you gasp out loud at the same time he sucked on a nipple like a starved man.

“You're a fucking beast,” you whimpered, feeling his hands peeling off your panties and leaving you completely exposed at his mercy.

You tugged at his jeans and he pulled them down along with his boxers as quickly as he could, taking out his dick with that smug smile on his stupid face. He noticed your eyes taking the sight of his half nakedness, biting your lip slightly once you focused on his hard cock pressing on your crotch. It only made you wet.

“Well, I plan to fuck you like one,” he said, grabbing the back of your legs and rubbing the tip of his cock against your wet folds.

“Show me, don’t talk- fuck!”

You let out a rather loud moan when he rubbed your clit with his fingers, playing with your entrance until he inserted a single, thick digit in your pussy. Butcher stretched you out with a finger, then slid a second one, scissoring them to reach your deepest spots as your walls clenched around his digits. You kept whimpering and moaning as he increased the thrusts of his hand.

“Bloody fuck, these are the only sounds I like coming from your mouth, luv,” he hissed, sensing that you almost came on his fingers.

Right before you reached your high, he pulled out and you groaned in annoyance, feeling empty once again.

“Shit,” you breathed out.

He positioned between your legs anew, getting comfortable as he started to push his tip against your slit. The grip of his hands on your thighs became a little harsh once he entered you slowly, the thickness of his cock splitting you open.

“What a tight cunt I always knew you’d be,” he grunted, filling you up completely and leaning down to mark your neck with his teeth.

His mouth and thrusts earned him your sweet moans as he fucked you senseless. The burning soon turned into pleasure. Your nails scratched his back while moaning incoherent words. His hands on your thighs would leave marks on your skin, but it felt so damn good. You needed a little bit of pain to remind you that you were alive, rotting for that sweet bliss only sex could give you.

Moans escaped from your throat and mingled with his deep groans and the sound of your skin against his own, the headboard of the bed hitting the wall with every of his hard thrusts. You pulled him down for a wet kiss when you felt closer and closer to come undone.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasped.

Butcher increased the rhythm of his thrusts, his cock throbbing as your walls started to clench around him.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he mumbled against your mouth.

“Do you still hate me?” you asked, trying to catch your breath. You reached down to rub your clit. You were so close, almost there.

“If I keep fucking you like this then I might change my mind- holy fuck!”

In that moment, you came hard with a string of curses and clenching your walls around his cock. The pound of his hips increased and he fucked you through your orgasm to reach his own. You continued rubbing your clit, fingers finding the place where you two connected, meeting his cock coated with your juices when he pulled out just slightly to slam back inside again.

Butcher emptied his cum inside you, mumbling dirty words against your ear. His rhythm slowing down eventually, fucking his seed in your pussy. Once he came down from his high, he pulled out and rolled by your side on the bed. Your body started to ache but in the best way possible. It was the best fuck you had in a long time. After a couple of minutes in complete silence you decided to talk, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I hope you keep hating on me…”

He turned slightly to see your blank face. “Why?”

“I love hate-fucking.”

He scoffed with a smile curving on his lips. “You bet I enjoyed this too.”

Within a second, you climbed on top of him. Thighs straddling his lap as you rubbed your cunt on his soft cock.

“Second round? You can eat me out and suck your cum out of me,” you gave him a wink, rolling your hips and leaning down for a quick kiss.

“Dirty girl,” Butcher whispered on your lips. “Perhaps put your mouth into good use.”

“I like how that sounds,” you smiled back at him.

Billy Butcher taglist

@delaynew

@thesilmarillionblog

@feyresqueen

@drasticemotions

[cheeseceli]

you have curly hair

Pairing: Ot8 Skz × Gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, reaction

Request: an s/o who has curly/wavy hair and feels insecure about it? Maybe skz got used to seeing them with straight hair and one day they catch them with their natural hair?

Warnings: not proofread

A/n: curly hair girls for the win | fundraiser

Bang Chan

‌oh my God, twins?!

‌honestly he loves that you guys have this in common

‌he'll start wearing his curly hair more often

‌you'd both learn how to take care of it together

‌😔 that's so couple goals of you two

‌he'll even try to make some hair styles on you

‌at first he would fail so badly but it would be funny at least 😭

‌but in the end he'd get pretty decent in some of them honestly

‌so that's a slay

‌understands when you're not confident about your looks because same

‌but he's so ready to try and reassure you of your beauty

Lee Know

‌i think he'd have seen some pictures of you before you straightened your hair

‌and he was like "oh it looked pretty as well"

‌but then he sees it in real life

‌and he's like

‌"I underestimated it. I underestimated it so badly"

‌he just can't get over the fact that you look GORGEOUS

‌he finds it so fluffy😭

‌and i think he'd love it when you just woke up or something and the hair is a bit messy

‌because it's so?? pretty??

‌no matter if you say you hate it, he finds it to be your best look just yet

Changbin

‌you guys are also matching!!

‌he won't ever shut up about this btw

‌starts to wear his wavy hair more often too

‌stay are forever grateful to you for that

‌absolutely loves when you make new hairstyles

‌even if you end up failing on styling it, he still hypes you up

‌is already on his way to contact the best hairdressers in town just for you

‌and to buy whatever you may need to take care of it all

‌if you let him play with your hair as well, he could die a happy man

Hyunjin

‌has the most lovestruck gaze ever

‌right when he swore you could not get any prettier...

‌of course you had to go and prove him wrong

‌finds your natural hair to be the creation of some goddess or something like that, no way that is a human trait

‌ overall he's just falling in love even more after seeing the way your curls frame your face

‌compliments just flow so naturally out of his lips and he's like damn

‌needless to say he'll be painting this for weeks to go

Han

‌immediately betrayed because why didn't you tell him you had curly hair any sooner??

‌he could've been getting blessed by such a vision for ages

‌and you just didn't let him??

‌jokes asides, he can't put his mind on the fact that you look even better (how is that possible fr)

‌immediately on his knees begging you to keep your hair this way more times

‌he'll even learn how to take care of it if you don't want to do it yourself!!

‌actually I think he'd find the whole process kinda therapeutic

‌so that's a win win right

Felix

‌😮

‌ that's him right now

‌in the most adorable way ever

‌he just finds you so cute with it

‌it makes you look like an angel

‌really wants to touch your curls but he's so afraid he'd mess them up lmao

‌but he truly loves it

‌won't shut up about this for a hot minute

‌will also take thousands of pictures

‌with you posing or just candids, whatever

‌he just needs to eternalise this moment

Seungmin

‌finds it fluffy PT.2

‌idk you just look so... dreamy?

‌renaissance aesthetic you know

‌he loves it

‌next thing you know is that he bought you tones of things to take care of your hair

‌shampoo, conditioner, mascara... you tell it

‌he did his research okay

‌lowkey doesn't understand how you can be insecure about it because??

‌he loves how you look with the curls

‌he loves your appearance no matter what tbh but your natural hair is just something else

‌it really emphasizes the you in you if that makes sense

‌words of affirmation isn't his strongest love language but boy, isn't he ready to compliment you as much as he can

I.N

‌he has a somewhat cocky smile on his face

‌like, you're just so attractive like that

‌you already were, but now you're just ten times more

‌and it also fits you so well

‌it gives you more aura if you know what I mean

‌and if you do those really cute and creative hairstyles he's so !!

‌he finds it amazing

‌has a whole Pinterest board on inspiration for hairstyles because damn, he didn't know he needed you in those before he saw it for the first time

‌a lot of accessories as well

‌he'll find a way to match your hair accessories to some of his own acessories

Masterlist | you'll probably like: you have a lot of tattoos

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji

Credits for images 1 2 and 3

Dividers by @isisjupiter

[daycourtofficial]

You’re losing me

Summary: Azriel has always put his duties as spymaster above his own needs and wants. How long can you let him keep putting work over you before boiling over?

Author’s note: I am so sorry about this babes, this is pure heartbreak. Anyway angst is a new genre for me so please lmk how this goes for you (good, bad, awful - lmk)

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

You sit in the library of your shared home, the soft cushion of your favorite armchair not providing the comfort it used to. The library was your favorite room in the house - you and Azriel spent thousands of hours in here reading independently, reading to each other, or just enjoying the silence with each other for company.

The room was beautiful- you both adored the entirety of the house, but this room drew both of you in immediately. It’s beautiful stain-glass windows creating brilliant hues of color to move about the room during the day, bringing life to the dark wood that adorns the walls of the room.

Vivid colors from the scenes in the stain glass window would dance across the floor, as if reenacting the depictions just for you two.

It’s dark now, the sun having set hours ago, and you can’t remember the last time you enjoyed the light of the room. The last time you and Azriel had enjoyed the light of the room.

The last time you and Azriel just enjoyed each other’s company without knowing he was going to leave in a matter of hours.

It was a song and dance you were familiar with by now - he’d return home from doing some work requested by Rhys, you’d make him some food, you two would snuggle or have sex, and he’d be gone by the time you woke up.

It wasn’t always like this, but the two years since the war have caused Azriel to dive headfirst into his work, accepting every scrap of work Rhysand would push his way, darting out the door like it was calling to him.

You hear the front door open, knowing who it is despite their silent entrance. Sighing, you stand up and walk out of the library, closing the door behind you.

You walked through the halls of your home, feet softly padding on the hardwood floor until you see him across the living room, still in his leathers.

It used to amuse you, when he’d return in his leathers, compared to you in your frilly nightgowns. It was quite a sight, the dark leather surrounded by the satins and cottons of your nightgowns.

Now it just furthered to prove the divide between you.

“Az, we were supposed to go to the bakery today to taste cakes.”

You hardly let him walk through the door before picking a fight, but his absence at the bakery hours ago left you ample time to stew in your negative emotions.

He runs his hand down his face, the purple and blue bruising under his eyes having grown more and more prominent over the weeks. Truthfully, you don’t want to start a fight, but you’ve let too many of these things slide in the past two years and you’re at your tipping point.

Missed dates, rescheduled dinners, missed anniversaries, cancelled trips. You had tried talking several times about it, but you need your fiancé around more than he has been. No amount of begging can make him do anything about it, though.

The most egregious of all was the continually delayed status of your wedding ceremony. You’ve had to rescind the invitations two times now, and you’re have tempted to send out fresh ones that just say “date: TBD”.

He just sighs in response, telling you, “I had to work, I had a mission.”

You sigh, knowing it was the truth. Your fiancé would never cheat on you, but he would put everyone else’s needs above his.

And above your own.

“Azriel, I really needed you today. It was important to me for you to be there.”

“It’s just a cake - pick any flavor you want. You know what I like,” he says, sitting onto the couch and taking off his boots.

“It’s not just a cake! This is your wedding too - I cannot make every decision for this. It’s supposed to be about us, not about me.”

You shake your head, exasperation bubbling to the surface, “I feel insane going to these appointments because I have a fiancé who never shows up! I swear I heard the florist say she pitied me because I pretended to be engaged!”

Azriel drags a hand down his face, “can we not do this now? I’m exhausted and want to bathe before bed.”

You huff out a laugh, as Azriel tries to move past you but you continue to follow him. “When would be a better time? You’re hardly home lately, and you leave at a moment’s notice for Rhysand.”

He whips his head at you, “it’s my job, my duty.”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure you could delegate a decent proportion of your work to the people under you that you both hand selected and trained yourself!

He sighs, exasperated, “it’s my job.”

A line you’ve heard a thousand times. You knew who he was when you began dating him, you’ve always known who he was and what he did.

But you thought his need to feel worthy would wane with time, not get worse.

“You put Rhys’s needs over mine!” You’re shouting now, something you never do, and Azriel bites back, “he’s my high lord - and yours.”

“That doesn’t mean he gets to keep you at his beck and call!” Your hands were running through your hair, unable to have the same argument again and again.

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Oh so was it Rhys’s beck and call to push our wedding back three separate times?”

He whirls around at you, pointing, “That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Three times is not fair! It’s like you don’t even want it!”

His silence to your accusation rings through your ears. A damning, deafening silence.

You count to ten in your head, and he hasn’t made a sound, only looking at the ground.

His lack of words echo through your mind, even as his hands reach out to you, his desperate pleadings of “I-” and “baby” falling on deaf ears.

“I’m glad to see where we stand.”

You begin to turn, but stop yourself.

“When I told Nesta our wedding was delayed again, she told me if you really wanted it, really wanted me, you’d suggest we just run off and get married like Rhys and Feyre did.”

You take a shaky breath, “but you never did.”

You step back from him, unable to look him in the eye, unable to do much of anything, except retreat from your shared bedroom, softly shutting the door behind you.

Azriel stands in the now empty room, your footsteps ceasing down the hall but continuing in his mind. Every second he stands there, the further you become. He starts to move, starts to pick up his feet, his shadows urging him to go, go, go.

You can fix this, they tell him. Go, now.

His thoughts are broken up by Rhys’s voice, a smooth sound at such odds with the chaotic edges of his thoughts.

Az, I need you.

Azriel doesn’t even ask if it can wait. You’ll understand. He’s sure of it. He can fix things when he comes home. Rhys just needs him right now, he can help him out, then he can talk to you.

He scrawls a quick note on the table for you to find before retreating into his shadows.

He returns home a few hours later, his assistance speeding up Rhys’s needs. He stops to grab you your favorite flowers, a book you’ve been eyeing, and a necklace he’s had his eye on in the shop for ages.

The necklace gives him pause, as he realizes he first saw it eight months ago, its shine reminding him of your eyes.

Had it really been eight months?

He kept telling himself he was going to buy you the necklace for a special occasion, but so many have slipped by without his acknowledgment this past year.

Gods, he thinks, did he even celebrate your birthday?

Surely he hadn’t gotten that caught up in his work.

Had he?

The streets are quiet as he makes his way back to your shared home. He thinks over the past year and how he hardly saw you, and when he did, he often left not soon after seeing you.

He opens the door, the house eerily silent following your fight earlier. He deserved your silence. He couldn’t tell you how scared he was to marry you, tethering your soul to his for the rest of your lives.

You, who was so kind and so loving, shackled to him for eternity. He knew the insecurities were ridiculous, that you loved him with every part of yourself.

But that didn’t stop the self-hatred from oozing out of him every moment.

He hadn’t been there for you this past year. He had let his own need for approval overshadow your needs.

He groans, needing to find you so he can fix things. He walks through the house, not even realizing the book he’s carrying is a duplicate to the one sitting on the coffee table.

He starts really thinking, trying to remember the last time he had touched you, kissed you, held you.

Too long, he realizes, as he’s made his way through the whole house without a sign of you. A shadow wraps around his wrist, pulling him into the kitchen. He finds the note he had left earlier still on the table, but you had scrawled a second message underneath. Five words that break his resolve, forcing him to his knees. Your handwriting so clear, save for the splotched ink, wet from tears.

I wouldn’t marry me either.

Part two

[jweekgoji]

Hello. Can a Resquest, TFO! Yandere Sentinel prime x Femme cybertronian reader who is his conjux

Yandere!Sentinel Prime/Femme!Reader. (hcs. NSFW!)

haven't done requests for a long time so better do it now until my inspiration is gone haha

tw: spoilers for Transformers One; yandere Sentinel Prime, mentions of punishment, stalking, manipulation, controlling behavior, hints on grooming; NSFW at the end.

Yan!Sentinel has no interest in someone who is bold, bossy or demanding like him. At first, it might amuse him when you put up a fight and show your disrespect to him but it quickly gets boring. Even if, somehow, he chose a darling who liked to fight him, his patience would run thin. He literally killed so many bots just to feel like he's in power. Plus, he's looking for his conjunx, not another bodyguard or a troublemaker. He already had enough of them in Iacon.

Yan!Sentinel has a type. imo his perfect type would be someone young, inexperienced and naive. Sentinel is careful and he wants everything to go the way HE wants...and yandere Sentinel just ×100 this need of being in control. He might pick his conjunx from the low rankings, of course, after looking through thousands of bots' profiles until he finds you, a hardworking little femme who was created not so long ago, probably a big fan of him too! Isn't it perfect?

Yan!Sentinel can go even further and be the one you first see in this world. This way, he could teach you everything you should and should not know. You just can't not to trust him, considering how charming and sweet he is to you.

Yan!Sentinel might have trouble with choosing. Should he let his conjunx keep their t-cog? Should he keep it away? Sentinel really wants his darling to be betterthan other bots because you're his conjunx endura, but at the same time he never thinks of you as his equal. 

It might sound cruel at first, but he does love you, in his own way, of course. He adores you, he takes care of you, and he even makes sure you won't get in trouble, but if you think about it, is it genuine love you get or are you just some sort of pet?

Yan!Sentinel is controlling. When he's busy or not around, leaving you all alone, I believe that he will probably have Airachnid looking after his conjunx. He at least considers her good enough to keep her optics on his personal things, so the big, scary spider lady is 24/7 around you if he tells her to do that.

↑ You might try to talk to her once, when it's only you two alone in Sentinel's berthroom since it's well...a little awkward being in silence, only for her multiple optics to track your every move. What Airachnid knows = what Sentinel knows, so don't try to hide anything from her.

Yan!Sentinel has an ego as big as his TFA variant. don't think he would ever beg for something, but... please send him your pictures or videos! when he's busy on some important, serious mission, still searching for Matrix of Leadership, he really, really needs something to cool off his systems after a one particular stressful meeting! His joints are aching for some reason...

Yan!Sentinel loves giving you punishments. Though, he always keeps them “light”. The old-fashioned spanking, where you're bent over his lap or your chassis against his desk, is his favorite. That's the best way for him to teach you a lesson, though he never finishes up to the number he gives you. At first, he would be “That's just 20 spanks! Come on, don't you want to prove what a good girl you are for me?”and after a minute or two of your sobs and whines, he just pauses in the middle of it, only to pull you on his lap and force you down on his spike. He's not very patient himself. ( ͡°з ͡°)

Yan!Sentinel who just loves keeping his servos around you. Whether it's just around your waist, keeping you next to him, while he talks with some bot, or holding your behind, tightening his hold just so you won't try to pull away from him. Touching is everything for him, mainly because he just has to deal with a lot of stress. You're just cute enough to make him not snap at someone, despite how hard he tries to keep his persona.

Yan!Sentinel doesn't like to beg, but when he needs something, he will find a way for you to do this. It is hard to tell him no. I mean, why would you? You're either stupid or have no spark at all! He might say the most ridiculous things to thousands of bots in front of him, and no one would dare criticize Sentinel because they all love him. That's why you should too.

“What—what is it, love? You don't love me anymore, hm? I didn't do enough for you?” Sentinel muses, his optics focused on your face, feigning innocence. “Well, that's a shame. I guess I'm not worthy of you.”

Guilt keeps eating you from the inside. Guilty, guilty, guilty bot you are. So ungrateful. But you can't help but think how ridiculous it sounds. Guilty of what? For having your own boundaries? For telling him no for once? You don't really want that, but still...he works so hard for you, for both of you and all of Iacon. What he wants from you is easy, isn't it? That's not so hard. If you just lean back against his chassis, optics lowered to the ground, you eventually might feel less shame for trying to tell him no at first. A satisfied smile plastered on his face, that works so well every single time it's getting funny.

You sigh softly, letting his servo wander between your thighs. It's difficult not to writhe and whine on top of his lap when he finally pushes his fingers inside you, stretching you with just two digits. Your optics flickering up at him in hopes of meeting his blue ones, just to ask a little more, more attention, please—sssh! Not when he's busy with a big bot job. Just keep your voice down, you don't want to interrupt him, right? If you keep staying like this, he might finish faster with all his plans to give you what you need. 🤫

Yan!Sentinel enjoys it when you depend on him. He basically changed your entire life and is the only one who's protecting you from big bad quintessons, while you can rest in your shared berthroom, not a single thought in your innocent processor! That's why he knows that you might get a little lonely without him. After all, why wouldn't you? When he pleases you so, so well, you just can't help but want more. Greedy you! Can't wait a day without him? Sigh. Your conjunx is kind enough to soothe your needs. He definitely left some “toys” for you, made in blue-and-golden colors...what a coincidence!

↑ With how much of an icon he is in the city, there's a big variety of merch made of him.

[fushigowo]

𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

╰┈➤ gojo satoru x fem!reader

╰┈➤ synopsis: in your LIT 2000, your classmate, gojo satoru, has his eyes set on the shyest student after telling his theory to getou suguru that the shyest ones are always the horniest. to prove his theory right, satoru finds ways to know whether he’s correct and he’s absolutely sure that he is.

╰┈➤ warnings: fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, teasing, praise, degradation? soft to rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dumbification, doggy style, cowgirl, name-calling, size kink, spanking, begging, pleasure dom satoru!! (reader and satoru are in their early 20s)

╰┈➤ a/n: this was supposed to be posted on christmas but i didn’t finish it on time :(( but i hope u all had a gentle holiday!! as a gift, i wrote whatever this is and i got inspiration from this soundgasm audio which is HOT AF!!! also, i did not proofread this. im lazy as fuck

PART I | PART II

Gojo Satoru has his pretty cerulean eyes set on someone, and that someone is none other than you.

You sit at the very front of the classroom, three rows in front of Satoru’s where he can get a clear view of you every time he stares. Not only you’re the smartest and the teacher’s pet, Satoru considers you as the most mysterious student in LIT 2000 despite being with 30 more students because of how quiet you are.

Satoru’s been observing you since the start of the year and the thing that he noticed the most was that you rarely and he means rarely talk to anyone or even participate in class. Whenever you’re called by the professor, you would mumble some I don’t knows and I’m sorrys because you can’t answer the question that was given to you. However, Satoru knew for a fact that you’re just saying those things so you won’t get to speak longer than that. He knew very well that you know the answer to every damn question.

Which is why he is so lucky to have you as a partner for a midterm essay.

As for you, you don’t know what to feel when professor called your name after Gojo Satoru’s.

You don’t really have a problem writing a five-page or more essay with a minimum of three thousand words. The problem is… Gojo Satoru is your partner. It’s not like you don’t like him. It’s just that...

Holy fucking shit. Did she figure out that I have a huge crush on Satoru?! Is that why she paired me up with him? But I made sure not to make it obvious! No, no. This won’t do.

So after class was over, you had a talk with your professor, begging for her to take the midterm essay on your own. The talk didn’t go well as planned.

Since Satoru is having a hard time catching up with LIT 2000, your professor told you to help him by partnering up in this midterm essay. However, that didn’t sit right with you so you protested, saying that there’s a chance that Satoru wouldn’t help writing the paper which would result into you writing the entire thing yourself. But that was just an excuse not to work with Satoru, otherwise you would get all flustered and nervous throughout the week while working on this midterm essay.

“It is not different from doing the entire essay myself,” you scoff.

“I know, but that is also why I partnered him with you,” she says, making you raise an eyebrow. “You can let me know if Satoru didn’t help with anything at all, which is easier for me to fail him.”

“You’re gonna fail him?” you ask.

“Yes. As you can see, Satoru hasn’t been performing well in my class,” she says, “but I figured you can help him since you’re my top performing student. Can I count on you?”

“There are other top performing students in your class though,” you mumble. Sighing in defeat, you agreed to partner up with Satoru. “Professor, did you know that I have a crush on Satoru? Is that another reason why you paired me with him?”

Silence. She knows.

“I genuinely did not know that until now.”

Crap. She doesn’t know. And I told her?! Holy—

“ForgetIsaidanythingprofessorthankyouforyourtimegoodbye.”

With that, you immediately rushed out of her office and slammed the door shut.

The only reason why you wanted to do this midterm essay on your own is because you won't have to deal with Satoru’s presence. Oh, his presence alone would make you so nervous that your smartass brain won’t even function and you would get all flustered, which is really bad because this might hinder your focus on working on the essay. Not only that, but Gojo Satoru does not take things seriously. A complete opposite of you since you take everything related to academics very seriously. But you realized that it won’t hurt to give a little help for Satoru to not fail LIT 2000.

Meanwhile, Gojo Satoru wanders around the halls of the building, in hopes of searching for you so the two of you can start working on the essay. But before that, he had a talk with his best friend, Getou Suguru.

“Yo, Satoru,” Suguru approached the white-haired man with one hand raised up. “I heard your partner for this midterm is that girl. Won’t this be the perfect time to test that theory of yours?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not trying to get into her pants,” Satoru says and a smirk grew on his glossy lips, ”not unless she wants me to.”

After your talk with your literature professor, you had to compose yourself in the rest room and even practiced a script on how you’re going to talk to Satoru. However, you had a realization that this isn’t going to be the only time that you’ll interact with Gojo Satoru since your professor knows that you have a thing for him. You scold yourself for being so nervous around him, despite being a grown ass woman.

But Satoru is… just so pretty. I can’t even look at him straight in the eyes. Also because I’ve touched myself to the thought of him so that would be awkward as fuck.

When you finally got out of the restroom, you heard a loud voice from behind and the minute you heard that voice, you already knew that it would be him. Looking over your shoulder, Satoru in his white long sleeves, black pants, messy yet gorgeous white hair and those round sunglasses. The tall man approached you with a smile on his face while you try not to melt down the ground that you’re standing on.

“I was looking for you,” Satoru says. “I thought we could start working on the essay so we can finish it ahead of the deadline.”

“You—uh, you want to start working now?” you ask, but a hint of nervousness in your voice.

“Yep!” Satoru gives you a smile and a thumbs up, and suddenly, he leans down on your face and brings his lips closer to your ear, making you shiver. “Just between you and me, I think professor is failing me this semester.”

Your eyes widen when he mentioned that.

Could it be that he heard your conversation with your professor earlier? Did he also hear the part where you told her that you have a crush on Satoru? That would make him think that you’re a complete loser in your 20s and in college yet you act like a teenager with a crush. But it’s not your fault that you’ve rejected so many guys because they’re not your standards and it’s definitely not your fault that you reject them because they’re not Satoru.

“Why would you think that?” you ask.

“Mmm? Because I haven’t been performing well in her class.” he grinned.

So he knows.

“Uh, let’s start then,” you say before walking pass him until he asked where you’re going. You look over your shoulder and said, “the library. It’s where I usually do my tasks if not in my apartment.”

“The library is too… quiet. So we’ll work in your apartment instead!”

It’s a library so it would be quiet. And did he just decide that on his own? God, he’s so stupid, I love him.

Your apartment is not far from your university. The reason why you had an apartment for yourself is because you don’t want another person taking up space and you most definitely don’t want to live with another person that you barely even know. And you’re not bothered that you’re living off-campus. It just makes it easier for you to live independently.

When the two of you got in your apartment, Satoru’s cerulean eyes scanned and observed the place. It was neat and everything is organized. But the thing that caught his attention is the stack of books next to the balcony of your apartment. Four stack of books that almost reach Satoru’s waist and he’s a tall guy. He knew that you read a lot since every time he takes glances at you in class, you’re either reading or writing something so he knows that you like reading, but he didn’t expect you to like it that much.

“Sorry, it’s a mess here,” you mumble. “Let’s get started.” You sit down on the wooden floor as you place your laptop on the coffee table adjacent to Satoru who is now sitting on the couch.

“I forgot my laptop.”

You blinked. Twice.

“Sit next to me.” he mumbled.

And that’s what you did despite being flustered at the thought that it’s only you and Satoru inside your apartment. The thought has you squeezing your legs together as you try to listen to Satoru about his ideas regarding the midterm essay. However, your thoughts were making your mind foggy and you couldn’t think straight. It’s awkward that on this very couch, you’ve touched yourself to the thought of Satoru and now, he’s sitting right next to you.

“Hey,” Satoru calls out. “You okay?”

“Mmm, yeah…” you mumble. “Since, uh, since professor asked us to analyze a chosen text from the 20th century regarding its social context, let’s choose a piece first to write about first. Do you have anything in mind?” you ask, trying your best to not make eye contact with him now that he doesn’t have his round sunglasses on.

“I have a few,” he says. “How about The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath? Or No Longer Human by Dazai Osamu? Ah! I know. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.”

“Am I the only one who didn’t cry my eyes out at the end?” you ask.

“What? You did not cry your eyes out at the end?! Are you even human?” Satory’s eyes widen, looking at you with shock while your eyes are locked on your laptop as you type. “I had snot coming out of my nose that soaked the pages of my book when I read that.”

“First of all, that’s disgusting. Second, it was sad, I admit, but I didn’t shed a tear. It was really good though so kudos to you, Mr. Steinbeck.” you chuckle. “Third, I gave it a five stars so you don’t have to attack me.”

Satoru laughs, making you flustered all over again. This is the first time you’ve heard him laugh this close and he’s laughing because of you, and you like it of course. You like that he’s comfortable around you and you like that he’s still himself despite you being awkward around his presence.

“You know, you’re actually fun to be with,” he says. Satoru’s legs are crossed while his elbow is resting on the arm rest and his cheek is on top of his closed palm as he stares at you with his pretty cerulean eyes. “But why can’t you look at me in the eyes?”

You gulped, squeezing your legs together since you can feel him staring daggers at you. Satoru seems to notice your action and a smirk formed on his glossy lips. Satoru moves closer to you, almost like you can feel his hot breath touching the sensitive part of your neck, making you shiver.

“Are you scared of me?” he asks and the only answer you could give him is by shaking your head, telling him that it’s a no. “Hmm? Then why can’t you look at me?”

You didn’t answer.

“Look at me,” he demand.

This time, you feel Satoru’s fingers making its way down your chin, making you face him and look up at him but despite his actions of forcing you to stare into his pretty cerulean eyes, you didn’t protest at all… because you like every single move he’s making on you. Satoru’s other hand glides down your arm, feeling your soft skin that made you shiver because of his warm touch.

When your eyes met his, you couldn’t help but melt on your seat. And it’s not just because Satoru is staring at you.

“There you go,” he chuckles. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now tell me, sweetheart, why are so flustered around me?”

You couldn’t form the words. Of course you can’t. How could you even continue to talk when Gojo motherfucking Satoru is so close to you that his hot breath is almost touching your skin and his hands are caressing your arms and chin, leaving you no choice but stare into his eyes. Not to mention the smirk that he has on his glossy lips.

“T-that’s because I… I—fuck.” you curse under your breath, trying hard to compose yourself and break eye contact.

“Do I make you nervous? Is that why you’re squirming and squeezing your leg so much?” he chuckles.

You bit your lips—hard—trying to wake yourself up and check if you’re having another wet dream about Satoru again. Fortunately, you are fully awake and the person right in front of you is the real Gojo Satoru. Not your fantasy, not your dream, but real. It was hard you to believe that something that you wanted for so long finally came true and you most definitely won’t let this moment go.

“S-Satoru…” you whisper, almost inaudible.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks with a smile on his face. “Is there something you want? Or need?”

He knows what he’s doing. He definitely knows what he’s doing.

“Touch me…” you mumble under your breath. “Just—touch me, please.”

With that, Satoru chuckles before leaning in towards your ears. His hands trailing down, from your chin down to your neck and wraps his slender fingers around the base, but not too tight. Just enough to make you squirm and squeeze your legs even more.

“If the shy girl wants it then who am I to refuse?” he whispers, his hot breath touching your skin that caused the hairs of your body to stand up.

Suddenly, you feel a wet yet hot sensation make contact with your ears, making its way down your jaw while Satoru’s hand tilt your head to the sides to give him more access of licking and kissing your jaw and neck. Your back touched the arm rest behind you as Satoru slowly pushed you down. He held both your thighs, positioning them to open so he can stay in between them as he kisses your neck down your collarbone, leaving bites and marks.

As Satoru devours your neck and collarbone, his hand expertly unbuttons your shirt while the other caresses your thighs, his fingers making circle patterns on your skin. When your buttons are finally undone, Satoru opens your shirt so he can clearly see your body underneath him. He pulls away from you so he can properly enjoy the view then pulls his shirt over his head.

Your half-lidded eyes earlier suddenly widen when you saw the perfect view of Satoru’s body. A body that was almost carved by the gods themselves and that wasn’t even the main attraction that caught your attention. It was the veins running down his crotch and that fucking v-line.

“You like the view from down there, slut?” he chuckles but then he noticed how you whined and squirmed underneath him when he called you slut. “Oh? Did you like being called that?”

You nod. But Satoru doesn’t take that as an answer so his hand made its way down to your neck again but he wasn’t squeezing it too hard.

“Yes,” you say. “I like it, Satoru. Like it when you—ngh—when you call me a slut.”

“Good. Because that’s what you are,” he mumbles as he leans down to your chest, leaving marks and kisses. “Such a shy little slut for me.”

But the white-haired man scoffs because your bra is in the way. He didn’t bother taking it off by clasping it. He just pulled it down to expose your nipples and didn’t waste any time to lick and suck your sensitive bud, making you arch your back. Satoru’s fingers pinch your other nipple while his knee keeps on pushing and adding pressure on your sensitive pussy, still covered with your now-soaked panties.

Satoru continues to feast on you body while you squirm and moan underneath him. When he was finally done with your tits, Satoru’s kisses went even further down until he reached your skirt. Being the impatient asshole he is, he didn’t bother taking them off and just lifts it up, exposing your panties that has a wet area because of your arousal.

A smirk grew on the white-haired man’s lips and didn’t hesitate to touch the wet area using his index and middle finger. He pushes his fingers on your sensitive bud with enough pressure to have you arching your back. Satoru might be an impatient man but of course he would take your panties off to have better access on your soaking pussy.

Realizing that your cunt is now exposed of Gojo motherfucking Satoru, your hand instinctively covered your pussy as if he did not just suck your tits earlier. But seeing your pussy is different. Of course you’d be shy and flustered. He’s Gojo Satoru, for god’s sake. He’s seen more pussy other than yours.

“Don’t get all shy on me now,” he mumbles. “Take your hands off or I’ll tie them together.”

With that, you slowly took away your hand, letting him see your soaked pussy.

“Don’t hide yourself from me,” he smiles. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Satoru leans down so he can easily make contact with your cunt. His fingers rub your slit, soaking it with your juices and you couldn’t help but arch your back. A smile grows on his face and suddenly, you can feel him insert a finger inside your cunt, making you whine. His thumb draws circles around your clit that made your thighs quiver until you feel another finger being inserted inside you.

Satoru plunges his fingers in and out of you yet in a slow and sensual pace. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he inserts his digits back. A smirk forms on his glossy lips and plunges his fingers even deeper, deeper than you could reach yourself.

You’ve fingered yourself before but—god, this was so different than what you would usually feel. Is it because his fingers are thicker and longer than yours? Or is it because he’s so fucking good at it?

“Ah! Satoru!” you whine. “R-right there! Right there, please!”

The squelching noise that your pussy and Satoru’s fingers are creating together as well as your wanton moans filled the air of your apartment. You didn’t care how loud you were. You didn’t care if the walls are thin and you didn’t care if your neighbors hear you. You didn’t care about anything else, you just want Satoru to make you cum with his fingers.

Satoru’s pace becomes even more faster, but he figured that it wasn’t enough. Of course it’s not enough. He wasn’t satisfied with just using his fingers.

So he leans down and lolled his tongue out, not even hesitating to lick your sensitive clit, making you jolt and arch your back when you suddenly feel his tongue circling around your clit while his fingers plunge in and out of you. Your legs start to quiver and squirm. The sensation was too much for you that you couldn’t help but close your legs. But Satoru wasn’t done so he grips your legs apart and held the back of your thighs to keep you in place.

This time, Satoru pulls his fingers out and held your thighs in place but his tongue is doing all the work now, licking and sucking your poor overstimulated pussy. Your eyes suddenly widen and your back arched when you feel Satoru insert his tongue inside you, plunging it deeper that his nose is touching your clit.

“Oh, fuck! Satoru! It’s—ngh—too much! I can’t—!”

Your whines and moans continue but Satoru was too busy eating you. But he suddenly pulls away to look at your view. You look so fucked and he didn’t even used his cock yet.

“For someone who’s shy and quiet, you’re being awfully loud for me, sweetheart.” he chuckles before devouring your cunt again.

Satoru can already feel that you’re close. He knows you’re close so he used his thumb to rub circles on your clit and that’s when you completely lost it.

Your legs quiver on Satoru’s grip when you feel your orgasm rip through you. The sensation that Satoru made you feel had you seeing stars, something that you never felt before whenever you touch yourself and this might’ve been the first time that you came this intense. And it felt so fucking good.

Seeing your fucked out state, Satoru chuckles as he watches you catch your breath after that intense orgasm.

“You still with me?” he asks. “I haven’t even used my cock yet!”

“Then use it. Fuck me, Satoru… I want your cock inside me, please.”

“Kiss me first. Come up here and kiss me.” he smiles.

You didn’t hesitate to sit back up and reach for Satoru’s face. Your hand made their way to his cheek while the other caresses his soft white hair. He returns the kiss and inserts his tongue inside your mouth, writhing and swirling against yours. This time, Satoru settles himself next to the arm rest, laying down on the couch while his head rests on the arm rest. Now, you’re on top of him, kissing his glossy lips and grinding your aching pussy on the bulge of his pants.

“Why don’t you do the honors and take my cock out?” Satoru smirks in between your kisses.

And who were you to deny that?

So you unzip Satoru’s pants, bringing it down to reveal the bulge inside his boxers. His cock sprung free when you slid down his boxers, slapping against his lower abdomen. Its size and girth has you gulping because you haven’t seen a cock that big. Sure, you’ve fucked yourself using your dildos but none of your toys compare to Satoru’s cock. A prominent vein runs along the underside of the base of his cock, its pinkish head is releasing pre-cum that drips down to the base.

You didn’t have any idea what you were doing when you had the urge to suck Satoru’s cock. But the white-haired man didn’t have any protests, of course. In fact, his hand is guiding your head to suck on his pulsating cock. After realizing that you didn’t need any guidance, Satoru lets you do your thing.

You let your tongue swirl around the base of his cock and despite it being deep inside your throat, you’re barely even gagging as you take him deeper that your nose is touching his nicely trimmed hair. You continue to suck and lick Satoru’s cock, making him release pretty moans and groans and curses under his breath.

When he felt himself getting close, Satoru couldn’t help but grip your hair and guide your head even though you’re sucking him so well. He just needed something to hold on to and your hair was perfect.

“Ah, fuck! I’m gonna cum. Shit!” he moans until he feels himself release inside your throat. Satoru lets you pull away. Your saliva and some of his cum is leaking down your chin, making him wipe it using his thumb.

“Holy shit. That was so good,” he chuckles. “You sure it’s your first time sucking cock?”

“Uh, well, I-I had some practice,” you say, “with my… toys.”

“Who knew you were such a horny slut?” Satoru didn’t let you answer when he told you to—

“Sit on my cock,” he says. “Sit on my cock and ride me like what you do to your toys. I bet they won’t even compare to mine, huh?”

You gulp before climbing on top of him again. Satoru uses his hand to snake down his head as a pillow while his other hand holds your hips. Positioning yourself on top of him, your hand holds the base of his cock while the other is clinging on the head rest of the couch to support yourself.

You lower yourself down on Satoru’s cock and you couldn’t help but whimper and bite your lips when the tip of his cock finally went inside you. His cock is far more thicker than any of your toys that it has your legs quivering and shaking yet you still continued to lower yourself, taking all of him inside you.

When you stopped, Satoru looks up at you.

“Why’d you stop? You’re not even half way there.”

“What?” you whimper. “Is it t-that big?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “It’s that big.”

Without answering, you continue to lower yourself. Satoru is staring at how your pussy is taking him all in and how you’re struggling to. You’ve done this numerous times on your toys before but riding a real cock—his cock—is far different from that feeling, mainly because Satoru is big.

“It’s so—ah—so deep, Satoru. I don’t think I can—can’t take more.” you whimper.

“But it’s all inside you now,” he smiles. “Ah, fuck. You feel so good.”

To ease the feeling, Satoru lets you cockwarm him while his thumb rub circles on your sensitive clit. When you finally feel at ease and ready to ride him, Satoru places his hand on your hips to keep you in place as you bounce up and down on his cock.

The squelching noises every time his balls meets your skin fills the air of your apartment once again, accompanied by your loud moans and Satoru’s groans.

You can feel the tip of Satoru’s cock hitting the sweet spot of yours that has you clenching around him and every time you look down at the lewd sight below you, you can see a bulge forming on your lower stomach whenever you sink yourself down on Satoru’s cock. Although you seem to be fine riding him and taking all of his cock, you couldn’t look at him straight in the eyes and you even use your hand to cover the lower half of your face since his cerulean eyes are staring right at you.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, slut. You’re riding my cock and yet you still have the nerve to be shy? C’mon, don’t hide yourself,” Satoru grins when he grips both of your hips and lowers you down.

“Ah! Satoru! What are you—ah!”

You couldn’t seem to think straight when he took the initiative to guide you on his cock in a fast and rough pace. Every time he sinks your body down his cock, his hips would thrust up and meet your movement, making the lewd noises even more louder and harder than before.

“Ngh! Fuck, ‘Toru! It’s so deep! So good!”

“Yeah? It’s better than riding those plastic cocks you own, huh?” he chuckles, followed by a moan. “God, you feel so fucking good. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“‘m gonna—gonna cum, Satoru! ‘m so close! So close!”

“Do it. Cum on my cock.”

With that, your orgasm rip through you once more. Your legs quiver on top of Satoru and your chest making rapid up and down motions, letting you catch your breath while you half-lidded eyes try to open despite being fucked out after releasing another intense orgasm, but this time, on Satoru’s cock.

When you decided to get off Satoru’s still hard cock, he tells you to—

“Bend over the couch.”

And who were you to disobey?

Satoru positions your upper body to bend over the arm rest of the couch, placing a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Wasting no time, Satoru plunges his cock inside of you again, making you let out a muffled whine.

This time, Satoru didn’t let you relax on his cock and continues to pump inside you in a fast pace. His hands grip your hips as he thrusts in and out of you. His gaze his on the lewd sight of your pussy taking him all in, observing the white ring around his cock.

Who knew he’d be fucking the smartest and shyest girl in his literature class? Who fucking knew that that shy and quiet girl is secretly a horny slut who is begging for him to fuck her harder until she can’t think?

“Oh, fuck! Satoru! Yesyesyes! Fuck me harder, please!”

“Easy.” he mumbles before fucking into you so deep that it reaches your cervix, making you grip the sheets of the couch and whine so loud that you’re sure that everyone in your apartment building heard how you’re being fucked so good.

As Satoru keeps his rough and fast pace consistent, you couldn’t seem to let out coherent words anymore and your eyes are now teary from the pleasure that Satoru is giving you. Your toes are curling and your hands are gripping the sheets as you feel yourself releasing another intense orgasm out of you.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum—gonna cum! ‘m close, Toru! Satoru! Fuck!”

“Yeah, cum on my cock again! Oh, god. Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!

Satoru quickly pulls out of you before he can release. His hand pumps his cock, releasing his cum on your back while your thighs are now soaked with your juices that drips down your legs. The two of you catch your breath but Satoru pulls you in to kiss you.

“You just proved me right, sweetheart,” he mumbles in between your kisses. “Now let’s work on that essay, yeah?” he pulls away and smiles, as if he didn’t just fucked the words and ideas out of you.

© fushigowo | 2022 reblogs are appreciated <3

[mythalism]

i realized the other day after posting about this fan theory that, at this point, it is basically talked about in fandom as if its canon, and newer fans might not understand why. my goal today was to explain the theory and all of the evidence we have for it in inquisition to give people a better understanding of why this has become so ubiquitous, and to hopefully have something to look back on in two months with that "apollo gift of prophecy" dodgeball meme when veilguard proves us right.

very important before i get started: this is not my theory. i didn't make it up. unfortunately, i also don't know exactly who did and if it could even be traced at this point. this is something that many people have believed for a long time, and i'm not the first to write about it. there are a lot of great posts and essays that speculate on this theory, and what it could mean for solas's character going forward.

PLEASE feel free to contribute thoughts, or link to posts you have made yourself or seen before in the replies/reblogs!!! much of my own experience with this comes from long before this account existed, so i dont have exact sources but rather random, amorphous fandom knowledge of this theory and what major arguments have circulated in the past 10 years. this post by @sammakesart and this post by @mrs-gauche went around recently and both touch on this theory and i highly recommend them both! i know @corseque has also written about this theory multiple times over the years.

i was first introduced to this on tumblr when it started gaining ground in the fandom after the release of trespasser in 2015, predominantly due to a couple of lines of cole dialogue from trespasser, so that is where we will begin.

shoutout to @daitranscripts and the dragon age wiki for the dialogue

this line of cole's is basically the foundation of this theory, and what is cited most often. i'm not entirely sure if the theory existed before trespasser, but if it did, i dont remember it being well-known or widely accepted like it is now.

this line is usually interpreted to suggest that solas, who would have been a spirit of wisdom/pride at the time, took a body and came into being as an elf at mythal's behest. this is also the line that suggests solas himself once wore vallaslin, and that he removed it himself using the same spell he uses on a romanced lavellan thousands of years later, but did so clumsily the first time and left the scar we can see on his eyebrow.

first i want to acknowledge what are pretty much the most damning indications of this theory

solas means "pride; to stand tall" in elvhen, according to world of thedas vol. 1

the dread wolf form we see in murals, written descriptions, and of course, in real life in the veilguard trailer, bears a pretty clear resemblance to pride demons:

most notably, in the face and eyes. yeah i dont really have anything else to say about those lmao it's pretty blatant

overall, inquisition tells us a great deal about spirits, and gives the player an alternate worldview through which to understand them, distinct from the chantry/circle narrative presented previously.

solas himself, along with cole, has a lot to say about the nature of spirits throughout his dialogue and banter with several characters. one sentiment that he espouses repeatedly is that spirits and demons are the same thing, but demons are a spirit corrupted and perverted away from its purpose.

Solas: They rarely seek this world. When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and purpose are too easily twisted to pride and desire

During All New, Faded for Her:

PC: Solas, you said your friend was a wisdom spirit. Solas: That is not its natural form. It has been corrupted. PC: Corrupted? Solas: Forced to act against its original purpose. What did they do, what did they do, what did they do?

second, that spirits and the fade are a mirror, and reflect the waking world. specifically, that spirits reflect the perception and expectation of a mortal, and adapts accordingly. belief makes reality.

On Ostagar:

PC: I've heard the stories. It would be interesting to hear what it was really like. Solas: That's just it. In the Fade, I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors. One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause. PC: And you can't tell which is real? Solas: It is the fade. They are all real.

and third, that spirits are people.

solas expresses concerns over what the breach does to spirits at multiple points, including here with cassandra.

he also regularly argues in favor of spirits personhood, and passionately pushes back against characters who argue the opposite, such as dorian:

as well as the inquisitor themselves, should they choose certain dialogue options:

PC: You trust these spirits not to possess you the first time you accidentally make a wish? Solas: Do you trust your friends not to turn on you? (authors note: LMFAOOOOOOO) PC: Well, yes, but they're people. Solas: Ah, of course. PC: You know what I mean. Solas: Are people only people because they are flesh and blood? Solas: Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair not his wit? PC: They're not defined by their bodies, but they do have bodies. You need one to be a person. Solas: A demon possessing a corpse has a body. PC: A living body. Solas: A demon possesses a living mage to become an abomination. PC: They didn't make that body. They just took it over. Solas: Technically your mother created your body, with some help from your father, one assumes. PC: You've thought about this. Solas: On occasion, yes. OR:

PC: Spirits are bound by their nature. You said it yourself. They're shaped by contact with real people. Solas: Just as Leliana was shaped by contact with Divine Justinia, as those who serve the inquisition are shaped by you. If I change your mind in this conversation, does that mean you're no more real than a spirit? OR: PC: Im certain you have some rhetorical trick ready to counter anything I say. Solas: It's likely. I've had a lot of time to discuss the question with people. Or "spirits", if you prefer.

aside from this entire conversation being hilarious and very fen'harel coded, i think its notable that his enthusiasm and snark here is distinct from the way he engages in other debates, where he is often clinical and detached. on the subject of spirits, however, we get a lot more emotional investment from him - it feels personal. as he says, he's thought about it. on occasion.

solas having originally been a spirit adds helpful context for his insistence on spirit's personhood despite modern thedas's completely contradictory beliefs, and also helps inform his worldview more generally, especially in regards to elves.

one of solas's most heavily criticized aspects is his disdain for modern elves and the dalish. and i agree, it's fucked up and he is an absolute ass about it at nearly every opportunity. however, his feelings regarding the elves sometimes seem... strange, even in the context of him being an ancient elf.

keeping in mind cole's line from trespasser, that he "did not want a body", as well as another cole line from trespasser:

most people infer that there is some sort of resentment on solas's end for him having to become human at mythal's request. it seems as if he was turned away from his purpose. wisdom forced to be pride.

cole's personal quest, which shows solas passionately arguing to keep cole a spirit, supports this. it is almost as if he is trying to prevent cole from the same fate that was forced upon him.

throughout the quest he says things such as: "This is not some fanciful story, child of the stone. We cannot change our nature by wishing." "A spirit does not work through emotions. It embodies them." "You would alter the essence of what he is." "It is good that he is not entirely changed, however human he becomes."

most telling of all, i think is this line at the end of the quest if you elect to keep cole as a spirit.

Varric: "He could have been a person." Solas: Possibly. Would that have made him happier?

OUGGHGH.

clearly, for solas, the answer was no. being a person has not made him happier.

regardless, solas still values spirits as fundamentally equal to people despite their differences and worthy of the same freedoms, self-determination and respect.

this kinship with spirits, however, might help explain his disdain for elves, in a way i find to be more satisfying than "all ancient elves are assholes" and more in-line with his character overall.

it seems as if solas doesnt see himself as separate from modern elves because he doesnt see himself as a modern elf, but that he doesnt not see himself as an elf at all, but rather as a spirit.

solas infamously says, following halamshiral if you bring up briala:

"I'm sorry, I was confused. I do not consider myself to have much in common with the elves."

the inquisitor has the option for several responses, and although most of us probably pick the one that tells him to fuck off, the others are more telling:

PC: Nor should you. You're not defined by the shape of your ears. They're not your people. Solas: No, they are not. OR PC: Who do you have much in common with. Who are your people? Solas: A good question. Solas: I joined the inquisition to save the world. Regardless of who "my people" are, this was the best way to help him.

"not being defined by the shape of your ears" and solas's immediate identification with the statement and approval of it sticks out to me. it seems like he's just being racist, and he very well might be, but in the context of this theory, it can also be interpreted as him disliking being "defined" by having a body at all, or any physical characteristics, consistent with how he resists the idea that varric and cassandra are defined by their own physical characteristics.

if the player insists they want to help the orlesian elves even if he doesnt, he still has something interesting to say:

Solas: Stop Corypheus. That will do for a start. It speaks well of you to feel for the oppressed. Help them for that. Know them for what they are.

this is not the only time he equates all oppressed groups of thedas to one another, defined by their shared subjugation rather than the real, in-world divisions such as race and religion. it's also interesting to consider the relationship between oppression, as a situation that evokes certain emotions in those who experience it, such as pride. as solas says of ostagar, spirits there were drawn to the emotions of the soldiers there. are spirits of pride drawn to situations of oppression, where pride is needed for liberation?

solas's failure (or refusal) to recognize the reality of how oppression functions in modern thedas along lines of race and ethnicity specifically is one of his biggest flaws, but it continues to fit with this theory, as it is consistent with that same sort of single-minded, spirit tunnel-vision that we see from spirits and demons. i would also assume that he considers spirits to be part of this monolithic group of "the oppressed", considering the spirit slavery/bondage practices in tevinter and nevarra, both of which he criticizes.

i do believe, however, that to equate all of solas's unfair derision of the dalish to him identifying with spirits over people, rather than ancient elves over modern elves, would be too generous and an oversimplification. its also clear how much of his anger towards the dalish comes from... wait for it.... his wounded pride.

solas is prideful. when he is faced with pride in others, he becomes defensive, even nasty. when his pride is challenged, often by others pride, he becomes almost unrecognizable. the dalish specifically rub up against his pride, in the most specific of ways that grate at his most cherished qualities and that disregard his own perception of himself. the thing he is most proud of, leading a slave rebellion against corrupt tyrants, erased from history entirely. branded a traitor instead, while those he fought against are worshiped as saviors for millennia.

Solas: I have joined my fair share of causes. But when I offered lessons learned in the Fade, I was derided by my enemies... and sometimes by my allies. Liar. Fool. Madman. There are endless ways to say something isn't worth listening to. Over time, it grinds away at you.

its also possible, considering what we know of the nature of expectation creating reality for spirits, that the dalish framing of the dread wolf actually does indeed make him worse - more arrogant, less compassionate, more ruthless, more cunning, more of a liar. a spirit being perverted into a demon based on the dominant perception of it.

perhaps the most interesting tidbit about solas of all which supports this theory, is that this phenomenon of expectation shaping his nature, making him more prideful or more humble, is not exclusive to the world of thedas, but also occurs on a meta-level with the player by proxy of the inquisitor.

a 2020 interview of trick weekes, solas's writer, says this pretty much verbatim.

"Solas mirrors. If you approach Solas from a place of humility and say, "I want to learn from you," Solas will bend over backwards to tell you how flawed he is and how he's just coming at this from his own limited understanding. If you come in with ego, Solas is genetically incapable of not bristling when he sees your ego... because he can't not do that."

this is fascinating for like 7 million reasons, but most notably for the language trick uses that i believe to be incredibly revealing. first, solas himself talks about how spirits "mirror" the real world multiple times. second is the way in which they speak about solas's mirroring as innate, uncontrollable, and involuntary. he is genetically incapable of not mirroring. genetically incapable of not bristling at someone else's pride. this being a genetic incapability implies, pretty unambigously, that he is a spirit. we dont know of any people in thedas who have pride in their DNA. except. you know. pride demons.

pride is his purpose. he cannot turn away from it or betray that purpose to pursue something else. he cannot change his nature simply by wishing. if he were to attempt it, he would be corrupted.

trick offers this information as an explanation for player's extremely varied perception of solas when playing the game, and it perfectly mimics the way solas himself talks about spirits as being created by a dreamer's expectation of them.

when asked about his friendships with spirits, he says:.

PC: You're saying that you became friends with pride and desire demons? Solas: They were not demons for me. PC: Meaning? Solas: The Fade reflects the minds of the living. If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt/ And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends.

i just love how perfectly this reflects every fandom argument that's been had on twitter about solas for the past 10 years. like seriously.

random twitter user: you like that guy!? but hes a [demon]!! solas stans: he wasn't a demon for me

and it is true; people who are pretty deep into the games often know what solas is like to a low-approval inquisitor, but it can be shocking for new players to see what he is like at the other end of the approval spectrum, whether that is someone who hated him seeing the tenderness with which he kisses a romanced lavellan goodbye to remove her anchor in trespasser, or someone who romanced him witnessing the cruelty and detachment which with he grabs a low-approval inquisitor to yank off their anchor. he becomes almost an entirely different person based on how the player treats him.

for all that solas, in true spirit form, reflects the perceptions of the players, he has plenty of pure pride-demon vibes on his own, independent of player expectation. he is not just proud, or made proud as a mirror for player/character pride, but he often even goes as far as to act in ways that mimic how we have seen from spirits more generally, as well as pride demons specifically.

the wiki states:

"Spirits are not complex in the sense that they seize upon a single facet of human experience, and this one idea becomes their identity.[3] They are formed as a reflection of the real world and its passions.[10] A spirit embodies and latches onto a specific purpose and will do all in its power to fulfill that purpose. For instance, a hunger demon will attempt to feed on anything it crosses,[4] and a spirit of justice will stop at nothing to uphold its name”

along with further reinforcing solas's tunnel vission as characteristic of spirits, he does indeed intentionally attempt to stoke arrogance in others, as well as test characters to see if they are vulnerable to arrogance and power-hungriness. this is probably best exemplified by his banter with vivienne, versus his banter with cassandra.

i mean this one is self explanatory. cmon.

but it becomes especially interesting when compared to his interactions with cassandra, of whom he starts out very distrustful of. however, through their banter, he immediately begins to test her for indications of her inclination towards arrogance and desire for power:

cassandra passes solas's tests and earns his approval through her humility, curiosity, and willingness to give up power for the greater good. as a result, solas softens considerably towards her, and becomes more evocative of wisdom than pride, offering her advice when she asks, though very humbly:

"i would hardly presume" is actually hilarious considering how he does presume. ALL THE TIME. but it shows the extent of this "mirroring" that trick mentions, when compared to how he speaks with vivienne, who does not pass his tests of pride: notice how his jabs at her specifically target her pride, the things she is proud of about herself, and tear them down:

he tells her that her position in the orlesian court is unearned, that the freedom she is so proud of winning for herself will come to an inevitable end, and that her resistance to demons does not make her special. its absolutely BRUTAL.

its especially important to note how little bearing vivienne and cassandra's backgrounds have on solas's perception of them. vivienne is a circle mage, a group of people who solas deeply sympathizes with, and believes should be freed. meanwhile cassandra is effectively templar, a group whom solas despises and finds unjust, and has been complacent in the oppression of mages that solas is so vehemently against.

and yet? it does not matter. he measures their worth based entirely on their propensity for pride.

it’s worth noting too, keeping in mind Solas’s almost uncharacteristic reverence for cassandra’s faith in the maker and (take this with a grain of salt because it was david gaider and he said via forum post….) that there are actually two types of spirits that become pride. wisdom, and faith.

"A spirit embodies and latches onto a specific purpose and will do all in its power to fulfill that purpose."

what we DONT know: pretty much everything else about this. what was the process like? at what point in history did he take the body? how was that body made? was it stolen? did he start as wisdom and turn into pride later? did he always oscillate between both? was he corrupted by what was asked of him, to fight, as his friend was in his personal quest?

i could continue talking about this forever, probably, especially with how it manifests in the solavellan relationship and what it suggests for solas's story in veilguard, but ill cut it here for both my own sanity and yours. but first, a few fun dialogue bits that strike me as very pride-demon coded but didn't fit anywhere else in this analysis.

in conclusion:

[terras-domain]

can you tell me on how bad you want Sullyoon? what'll you do if she gives you consent?

AN OFFER I CAN'T REFUSE

Male Reader X Seol Yoon-A (Sullyoon)

Tags: Rich Male Reader, Bratty Sullyoon, Unhealthy Spending, Lip Gloss, Cumshot, Voyeurism

terra's note: hello! Been a while since I've been writing huhu ;-;. Hope you're all doing well. I got quite a line of requests on hold so I better get to it haha. Sorry to the anons waiting for me to actually move my lazy ass, I'll try to set a little time frame for me to do these requests so I can actually write stuff I've been having in my mind. In any case, enjoy~! (And I love you all <3)

"Oppa~! I told you I want to go out shopping again~"

My thumbs could only rub my temple, trying to make sense out of her words. This is her third time this month where she's on a shopping spree. And Sullyoon's shopping addiction isn't any normal addiction, she could range from a thousand to probably fifty thousand dollars just in one day. I might have the money for it, but if she keeps doing this, time will only prove my girlfriend's shopping addiction could only make me go bankrupt.

"But babe...you just went shopping last Wednesday no?" I asked, resting by the couch and stretching my arms to wrap it around Sullyoon. The bratty Yoon-A pouted in dissatisfaction. Honestly it's very cute when she does that face, but it's just not a good day when she keeps nagging and whining about me not giving her enough money to feed her crippling addiction with designer clothes and expensive bags that she barely ever uses. "I know, but oppa. Today there's a special event at the Chanel boutique at the mall. And I want it!" Her eyes starts to pull her trump card, puppy eyes with her soft face resting on against my chest, almost like cat begging for food by purring at me. "Fuck, this brat really doesn't let up easily!" If only I had the guts to say that out loud. Only monologues from the voices inside could be made as a response. "Fine. We can go and take you shopping." Sullyoon's crocodile tears almost got sucked back into her retina from how happy she is to hear the news, smiling ear to ear in victorious. "Yeaaaay~ I love you oppa!"

"But..." I cut off her victory celebration, smirking as I looked back at my girlfriend's pretty face. "Only if you agree to my terms." I continued, making the ecstatic Sullyoon puzzled. "What is it oppa? What's your rule?" "You can spend as much as you like baby. I'll treat you like a princess. But I want to have you as mine 100% today, and you can't say no~" My face looked back at Sullyoon, knowing this type of offer would definitely make her have second thou- "Sure, no problem!" Her quick answer shocked me. Without a single hesitation she wants to take the deal so easily.

I brought her to the bedroom, handing over a small well decorated box, containing a buttplug inside it. "I want you to wear this babe." I ordered, which created a smirk on Sullyoon's face as she laid in bed, spreading her legs as she slowly pushes the sex toy inside her anal hole. "Happy now, baby?" She asked, an eyebrow raising high up, showing this is light work for her. "Oh Sullyoon I love it," I smiled, pecking a kiss on her lips as I rubbed her back door, pushing her buttplug a bit deeper inside while I caress her smooth silky cheeks. "But we're only getting started~"

I asked Sullyoon to come to the mall in a crop top, which of course she has to oblige from the rules we set up together. Though as much as I want to make it a challenge, I couldn't dare to leave her out cold in the mall while shopping, so I lent her my cost to wear while we walk around and look what her lust for expensive products lead her to. She first went to a an SK-II outlet, looking for some beauty products, particularly a new makeup set. It's not like she ran out of them, she just wants a new colour.

Sullyoon tested out a new cherry pink shade on her plump lips, slowly filling in her lushes lips with the colour. It made me hard from how she's so attentive when doing so, causing me to pitch up a tent underneath my pants. "Ughhhh babe...you look hot as always~" I grunted, looking at her painted mouth, smiling back at me as the staff starts to approve how pretty Sullyoon is wearing it. "Thanks baby, it's special edition lipstick by the way. Hope you don't mind that." FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS. God she's really trying her best to drain every penny out of my wallet or something. "Fine...you can buy that-" I surrendered. It was a good colour on her, and it looked so hot I can't say no to that. "but only if you suck me off while wearing those lipstick hehe"

I dragged Sullyoon with me towards a shelf where people don't check out much. Pushing her down on her knees I pulled out my cock to let it land on her face. "Wait...bae not here" Sullyoon pleaded, the shame kicking in as she doesn't wanna get caught, she's an idol after all. My face didn't change expression at all, not even an ounce of my body cared about her pleads. "Well you're not shy using my money." I replied while my hand reached the back of her head. "So you better keep up the shameless act, slut!" I continued as my hand pushes Sullyoon's gorgeous face to take my cock, forcing it in her throat. "Ughh.... mmmhhhh!" Sullyoon groaned in retaliation, but not for long. This isn't the first time Sullyoon suck my boner, so it's not hard for her to take it in and work me up.

"Ughhhh just like that Sullyoon baby. Keep going babe." I grunted as Sullyoon's mouth got to work, her lips locking my cock between them, her tongue swirling on my tip. It's so good I couldn't help but let a few moans escape my mouth, immediately covering up my mouth hoping nobody hears us. "Mmmh nghhh~" Sullyoon's eager slurping kept my mind occupied, enjoying the sensation of her mouth working up my cock just like she does it every other night. The way her round pearl like eyes stare at me so innocently whilst her mouth work my cock like a pro, it's enough to make me lose my mind. "Ughhhh baby I wanna cum." I groaned, not like Sullyoon can stop me from cumming. We had a deal, and I want to get as much of from it! I started to cum, blasting rope after rope of cum in her mouth, shooting it inside her throat. "Mmmmh~ ghhhhck!" Sullyoon grunted, trying to avoid gagging as she receives my thick load of semen deep in her mouth. It felt too good, I accidentally shot my cum on her pretty cherry pink lips as I pulled out. "Oppa....the lipstick" she looked up, disappointed and shocked. " Awwww don't worry baby, I got some paper towels to clean you. And we can go buy that lipstick now hehe~"

Beep

And there goes a 5000 dollars. All for her lipstick. Well it doesn't really matter, since I got a good blowjob from Sullyoon thanks to it. We kept walking around the mall when Sullyoon pulled me towards a boutique. "C'mon oppa. I wanna look here next!" She dragged me in, and just like that I could already feel my money flowing out of my pockets.

The best part of shopping for Sullyoon's clothes is watching her obsession with clothes. The tight and short shirts she wore, exposing her smooth and silky tummy just gets me going. I just watch as she picks one shirt after the other, pairing her crop tops with skirts and jeans, her eyes couldn't stop looking at them. It felt like forever, but it was all worth it to see Sullyoon's beauty with her fashion sense, changing from one pair of clothing to another like it's a fashion show. Not only did I enjoy watching her having fun trying out all these clothes, my cock also was enjoying the sights of her visuals entertaining and her sexy body exposed.

"...and that's the last one." Sullyoon giggled, twirling as she shows off the last piece of clothing she was trying on and got in the fitting room to change up. I couldn't keep myself calm anymore. Following her inside, I could see her slowly undressing herself, dropping her skirt down to reveal her round butt. Smirking, my hand swings towards her left cheek, smacking her ass which make her jolt. "Ngaah~! Oppa-" she couldn't finish her sentence, my hand already on her mouth, covering up her moans with my palm. With my cock twitching, itching to penetrate her, I couldn't care less of where I am, and how wrong it is to do this. My cock immediately pushed it's way inside Sullyoon's tight pussy. The sensation of her cunt taking in my thick rod made me grunt in pleasure, slowly putting up to a slow speed while my hand kept covering her soft tender lips, making sure she doesn't let out any loud moans to attract the staff or other customers of our little party in the fitting room.

"nghhhh mmhhh~" Sullyoon's muffled moans vibrate on my palm, heating up from the breath of her moans. As much as this must be embarrassing for her, I know she's loving it, enjoying the sensation from getting fucked in standing doggy position and being able to see her reflection of her getting railed in front of her. "Are you enjoying it baby?" I loosened up my hand, letting her finally speak when it looked like she can control her moans for now.

"Aaah~ aaah~ fuck" Sullyoon's moans were audible if someone walked near the fitting room. Thankfully the day wasn't too busy and not many customers were around. "Oh Sully look at you taking this cock like a good girl~" I grinned, pistoning my cock hard inside her, causing her moans to be a bit louder, but she did well to suppress them. With my rod fully indulged in Sullyoon's tight cunt, my grunts were also inevitable. Our moans together inside that small room, with the thought of getting caught was so hot.

I tried to push my luck harder, unlocking the fitting room door and opening it wide, letting the view of me being inside Sullyoon up to anybody that is remotely close to it. "Oppa! What're you doing?" Sullyoon wanted to scream, it was obvious. But she also didn't wanna get caught, so she said that in a whispering yell. "Oh baby~ don't tell me you're not into it~ you're getting wetter already." I smirked, with my cock getting harder for her as I thrust in and out of her, Sullyoon doing her best to cover up her moans from being pounded from behind. Sullyoon could feel my cock growing bigger inside me, knowing what's about to come. "Oppa, if you wanna cum, please cum inside. I can't get caught with my body covered in cum again." She begged, with her cute face doing puppy eyes at me. Adorable.

"Hmmm that sounds like a good idea babe~" I pondered on it, before finally I pulled out. " But I think I'm the only one able to make the calls here~" I giggled as I started to rub Sullyoon's clit, massaging it while my finger pushes inside her, fingering her. It made the cute Nmixx member to moan loudly for a second before being covered by her two hands. I kept going, moving my fingers in a frenzy inside her pussy, making her legs shiver. "Mhhhh, nghhhh-!" Sullyoon's muffled sounds was all over the place as her eyes rolled back, and her legs now tremble as she cums, dripping out her climax from the pleasure of my hands finishing her off. "That's a good girl Sullyoon~" I praised her, letting her take her time to grasp herself. While she's doing that, I kept jerking off, stroking hard as I take aim on her nice bubble butt. "Fuck I'm gonna cum-" I grunted, shooting rope after rope of cum on her ass cheek, covering her with my cum as her bodily liquids drip from her pussy to her thighs.

And there goes more of my money, spent for Sullyoon's lust for fashion. "That was fun, wasn't it baby?" I asked Sullyoon, who was getting exhausted from getting railed. Her face a bit pale from exhaustion, but she looked happy with the stuff she bought. We both walked out of the mall and got in my car to reach home. "I'm just happy it's all over" Sullyoon sighed in relief, leaning to her seat. "Oh? Who said it's over? I think the deal was 24 hours~" I reminded her, which made her look at me in shock. "You're not gonna be shopping for a while when this day ends, babe hehe~"

[mikkomacko]

Him and I - Lovesick

Pairing: Nico hischier x reader, mob boss Nico

Warnings: Little bit of smut, whole lot of Nico being down bad for his girl. (Not proofread at all so bear with me for a couple of days)

A/n: I decided to split this into two because it was really getting away from me so prepare for our last chapter in Switzerland coming soon. Other than that, happy reading!!!

____________________________________________

When you were fifteen, you had your first real injury. It wasn’t anything traumatic that still keeps you up at night or anything life altering. But it did make you realize a few things about yourself.

Freshman year, your first year on a real soccer team that required try outs and everything. Nothing like your intro league years. You’d been pulled up to the varsity team. Not starting or anything, but filling in on wing for the backup of the junior that had gotten sick.

It was fun. It was also your chance of proving yourself to be varsity ready.

You remember running down the left wing, pushing yourself to pass the center that was taking the ball up. You remember looking over, locking eyes with her and yelling “give and go!”

And she had. A slick pass directly to your feet. All you had to do was get around the defender in front of you, pass across and catch the center again for a toe-in goal.

The only thing is that you didn’t get past the defender. Instead the two of you collided into a heap that sent to ball out of bounds and sent you flying into the grass.

Your arm burned. It was almost immediate. No numb feeling, no adrenaline. It was like someone lit a fire under your skin, dead center in the middle of your forearm.

You had broken your arm in the end. A break so bad that it required surgery to realign and months of healing and therapy to get back to normal.

It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was the defender you had tackled. In the fall, your cleat had caught her in the thigh, made a gash so deep it soaked the grass beneath you. Her shorts were stained, your jersey was wet and sticky, and your cleat was the culprit.

It was terrible. You felt terrible. Of course it was an accident, but it was still caused by you. The girl had cried when you and one of her teammates helped her up, carried her limping over to her bench.

And then the ref directed you to your bench because your arm was hanging a bit odd and already turning purple.

A few weeks later you found out the girl quit soccer. After your surgery, you did too. Not because your mama insisted or because you thought you couldn’t play anymore with a bum arm.

But because you felt guilty every time you saw your cleats. Every school dance or homecoming game when you saw that girl, you felt guilty.

You learned that you don’t have a hard time moving past the things that hurt you, but rather the things that hurt those around you.

That’s what you think about as you finish reading the messages on Lena’s old phone. You can feel Nico’s gaze on you, waiting for you to react. He knows you’ve finished reading them, was watching you scroll through the thread and reach the bottom.

“Look through it all, if you want,” he had said when he handed it to you. “Photos, social media, whatever. But the texts are what I wanted you to see.”

You don’t need to see anything else. It doesn’t matter if she had a thousand followers on instagram or a high snap score. It doesn’t matter what gossip and plans she had in her group chat with her friends.

All that matters is that she wanted to hurt Nico. She did hurt Nico and she used you to do it. You can’t believe it really. She claims to love him in the texts, she told Marcello that she’s always loved him and she deserves him back. She’s what he needs.

You’re so sick and tired of people hurting Nico and claiming it’s love.

Locking the phone, you place it on the bedside table to be trashed or tossed later. None of you need it anymore, you all know everything.

“Are you ok?”

He’s sitting at the foot of the bed, right leg hanging over the edge and left one bent towards you. His hand rests on the jean clad thigh, fingers twitching when you shift onto your knees.

Nico always looks at you so sweetly, expressive eyes so full of love, and that doesn’t change now. Even when you can tell by the pout of his lips that he’s worried about how you’ll react.

“Yeah,” you say meekly, tongue feeling dry. You knee your way down the duvet, gripping his shoulder for balance as you climb into his lap. “Are you?”

Nico’s hands find your hips, cocking his head to the side. “What? Yeah of course I’m ok.”

A strand of hair falls in front of his eyes and you twirl it around your pointer finger, tuck it behind his ear. “She hurt you Nico,” you say, a little confused.

“She hurt you baby.”

“Well yeah,” you agree, caressing the side of his neck. “But she did it to hurt you. And then she said it was out of love.”

Nico’s watching you carefully, dark eyes taking in every detail of your face. You wonder what he’s looking for, what he’s expecting you to say. Probably not this if he’s reacting so timidly.

“People like to hurt you,” you continue, hesitantly. You don’t want to say this in a way that makes it sound like his fault. Because you know he’d take the blame, he always blames himself. “People that are supposed to love you and support you, they don’t do it the way they should Nico.”

The furrow between his eyebrows smoothes out, lips parting and he makes a noise of understanding. “I didn’t love her, so I didn’t expect her to love me either. No matter what she says.”

“She did love you Nico,” you tighten your hold on him like you’re trying to physically squeeze the idea that he’s lovable into him. “I think she really loved you at one point but it turned bad.”

“I still didn’t love her though.” He insists.

Frustrated, you groan and tuck your face into his shoulder, needing a second to figure out what you’re saying to him. Nico squeezes your hip, draws your weight close into him.

“Explain it to me baby,” his breath is warm against your cheek, nose pressing into your jaw. “what are you-what’s going on, huh?”

Holding his shoulders, you sit back on your haunches and look at him. “You deserve so much love Nico, and every time I’m reminded that someone here didn’t love you the way they should, it makes me so mad.

“Love isn’t about what someone gains from being with you or can use you for. And I know you say it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care but I care for you. You’re the best person I’ve ever met Nico, and I think you deserve so much love that it makes you feel like your heart is gonna explode-“

Nico kisses you hard and desperate, right hand gripping the back of your head and holding you steady. There’s a moment of surprise, Nico nipping at your frozen lips. The action startles you and you melt into him, allowing him the opportunity to deepen the kiss licking into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, but passionate. Nico’s always been a good kisser, and he always speaks with his actions when words fail him.

“I spend,” he mutters breathlessly, words pressed into your bottom lip. “Every day of my life trying to explain what your love feels like.”

You open your eyes to find his already watching you, faces so close together that his thick lashes and chocolate eyes take up your whole view. “It feels like I can never catch my breath, like my heart is always racing. But it’s so calming, so sure at the same time.

“You don’t need to worry about anyone else trying to break my heart. It belongs to you, all of it. And I know you’ll protect it.”

It doesn’t really make sense if you think about it. That you make his heart race but calm him at the same time. You get it though, understand what he means because you feel the same way.

“That’s what we do. Protect each other, right?”

He smiles, pecks your lips softly and you know that’s him agreeing. That’s the leadership he’s always implemented into the Devs, into the family. Protect each other above all else. He’s your family, the only one you’ve got left. You’ll always protect him.

~~~~

The paper crinkles under your weight, cracking loudly in the otherwise silent room with each swing of your legs. You feel like a kid again, sock clad feet swaying in the air while Nico watches you, your clothes folded in a pile on his lap.

It’s an odd feeling and you realize that it’s because this is the first time you’ve ever actually been to a hospital or doctor since meeting Nico.

In the family, everything is done at home. Typically by you or Johnny, but Nico’s gotten pretty good at playing doctor for you too.

You look over at him, find him staring down at your clothes with a pinch between his eyebrows. He’s got the fabric of your bra pinched between his fingers, running his thumb over the lace cup contemplatively. Slowly, you stop moving your legs, not wanting to catch his attention.

It’s a moment later that he looks up, eyes widening when he realizes he’s been caught and you giggle. “Whatcha doing?”

“This one’s nice,” he shrugs, tucking the bra back into the middle of the pile, hidden underneath your sweater. “I don’t- is it new?”

You laugh again. “You recognize all my bras now or what?”

“Well yeah usually.” He bristles. “Am-“

The door to the exam rooms opens and Nico clamps his mouth shut, that boyish look morphing into one of neutrality. If anything he looks bored.

“Hello, hello,” your doctor greets, tossing a file folder onto the desk. You greet her, smiling politely for both you and Nico. “How are we feeling?”

“Great,” you answer immediately, and she steps by your knees, unclipping the flashlight from her coat pocket. You don’t need to be told what to do as she shines the light in your eyes, you following the random pattern she makes with it.

Satisfied, she turns the light off and tucks it away, hands on her hips as she smiles at you. “Well your scans came back clear, you look perfect from what I can tell, and you reported no lingering side effects?”

You nod in confirmation, smiling proudly. No soreness, no neck pain, no dizziness or vomiting, and best of all; no headaches.

“And the wound is all healed up. There’s barely a scar.”

You’re eager, you know that. Almost childlike as you sit on your hands, wiggling your toes with excitement. “So I can go home? I’m clear to fly?”

The doctor laughs, glancing over at Nico when she nods. “Yes you’re clear for anything and everything. If you feel any nausea or migraines, I’d slow down. But you seem perfectly healthy Miss. Hischier.”

It’s not a Mrs but it’s close enough, makes butterflies swarm in your gut and you warm at the thought of Nico checking you into the hospital under his name that day. If he even did check you in. You’re not sure how mob controlled hospitals run. Maybe Nico just ran in with you and told them all you were a Hischier.

Either way it makes your heart swell. You look over at him, a beaming smile on your lips so big it makes your cheeks ache. Nico neck is pink, the flush just beginning to reach his cheeks and despite the bashful smile that curls at his lips, he winks at you, something cheeky put proud glinting in his eyes.

~~~~

“Anything and everything.”

That’s what the doctor said and that’s what you think about as Nico slides the driver seat back, giving him more room to stretch his legs out.

The restaurant you’re supposed to be meeting everyone at is just across the street, Swiss flags hanging from the iced over patio. The name is French you think, but a sticker in the window reads SUPPORT LOCAL BUSINESS in big thick letters. It’s kinda funny, Swiss local but French.

Nico said it was one of his favorites when he made the reservation, so you assume he’s eaten there a lot. He made it sound popular, like the reservation was needed in order to get in but as you look through the tinted window of the SUV, it looks closed. You can’t see anyone at the tables in the windows, no guests going in or out.

The reservation isn’t for another 30 minutes. You could probably go in early since they don’t look busy, but then you’re looking over at Nico, right hand scratching at the scruff of his beard. He’s got his phone in the other, scrolling through what looks like a confirmation email but you’re not really looking at that.

No you’re looking at his hands, long and thick fingers, veins running down the backs of his hands in a way that’s the perfect balance of pretty and manly. Then you’re looking at his face, the way his eyelashes curl just enough to frame his eyes, to soften them. His dark eyebrows that make him look far more intimidating and harsh than he should with his doe-eyes and dimples.

The slope of his nose, not really curved or gentle looking in any way but when he’s off guard like this, when he’s comfortable, makes him look so cute. And his beard that he’s still yet to shave, following your whining and begging by letting it grow out far too long. But it makes him look scruffy and warm, like a teddy bear you just want to snuggle into.

Anything and everything, you think as warmth stirs in the pit of your belly. You take off your seat belt, turning to face him over the center console. Nico drops his phone in the cupholder, mirroring your actions.

“What?” He says, tucking his hair behind his ears and up into his backwards hat. You blink, biting at your lip. How long has it been? Since the day Lena took you, so a little over a week.

Which might not be a crazy amount of time, but for you and Nico it is. Especially when he looks like that.

“Did you hear the doctor?”

He looks you up and down, gaze lingering on where you’ve tangled your fingers in the fabric of your sweater. When he meets your eyes, they’re sparkling with amusement.

“I did.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, looking at him impatiently and expectantly. Nico makes no move, simply staring back at your begging and downright desperate glare.

“Anything and everything Nico,” you repeat, a whining edge to your voice. This would be so much easier if he’d just reach over and touch you, guide you over the console and into his lap.

You could ride him, you think excitedly. You haven’t done that in a while and it’s easy in the car. Or maybe ask for his fingers, those beautiful fingers that are resting on his thick thighs. It all sounds so good, too good.

“I heard the doctor baby,” he says with mirth, eyebrow raising when you huff in annoyance. Then he’s laughing, eyes crinkling and you cross your arms over your chest, leaning back into the door and glaring at him. Unfortunately it resembles more of a childlike pout than anger, if Nico’s ever growing amusement is anything to go by.

“Alright, what do you want from me?” He asks through a laugh, looking over at the screen to check the time. “We’ve only got like 20 minutes, and I’m not fucking you in the car when my family will be walking by any second.”

You pout even more, all begging eyes and a sweet little frown you know he can’t say no too. Especially not when you flutter your eyelashes at him, mumbling out a pathetic little “please Nico?”

He groans, head falling back against the window and he squeezes his eyes shut. Without word he blindly grabs his phone, opening his eyes back up to look at you sternly.

“You do what I say and you don’t whine about it, got it?”

You’re already agreeing, nodding your head like a bobble head and sitting up straighter to follow whatever lead he gives you. Much to your surprise, he kills the engine and takes the keys out of the ignition, reaching for the door handle.

“Backseat,” is all he says before climbing out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Following blindly, you scramble to climb over the console and into the backseat, awkwardly collapsing onto your elbow with your legs still tangled in the front seat when Nico tugs open the back door.

He pauses, looks at you for a second and then chuckles. “Oh this is so sexy,” he jokes, slipping into the car and shutting his door. You shift, somehow managing to get your feet into the backseat and then you’re settling onto your knees beside him.

“Shut up,” you reply, forcing your hands to sit patiently on your knees even though they’re aching to touch Nico, to hold his face and kiss him.

He’s still smiling, thoroughly amused, and nods towards the drivers seat in front of him. “Pull it forward for me.”

He couldn’t have asked you to do this before you crawled back here? You know he’s messing with you, having a good time with the fact that you’re so desperate you’re willing to break your neck crawling around the car. It’s a little embarrassing. And yet you do it anyway.

Huffing, you lean back over the center console, balanced on one elbow and stretching your hand out to the side of the drivers seat.

“This is dehumanizing Nico.” You complain, fingers finding the button. The seat starts inching forward and suddenly a large hand is grabbing at your ass, fingers palming you through your jeans.

“I think you look good.”

You fold under Nico’s hands, muscles going slack and slumping into the console. The seat is as far forward as it can go, you think, so it doesn’t really matter now. You hear Nico move behind you, feel the warmth of his body get closer and then his other hand is reaching around your waist, deft finger finding the button of your jeans.

“Nico…”

He chuckles, breathless, and drags the zipper down. Then he’s taking a hold of your hips, tugging you backwards until you get the hint to push yourself up and slip into the backseat again.

You collapse into the middle seat, feeling hot and stuffy in your sweater and jeans, Nico leaning over you. He looks so good, dark eyes and pink cheeks, that stupid hat that always makes him look so handsome.

Then he’s kissing you, cupping the back of your head and slipping his tongue into your mouth. The whole world goes fuzzy around you, the only sound in the car are those little noises and breathes that Nico lets out into your mouth. All you can feel is his hands and his lips, turning you into mush and then remolding you however he pleases.

He gets you laid out on your back, one foot on the car floor and the other hanging over the seats. You knock the hat off his head, tangle your fingers in his hair instead and he’s moves to your neck, mouthing over your pulse. His hands shove your sweater up, run over the warm and sweaty skin of your stomach and ribs before he’s grabbing the edge of your jeans and yanking them down your thighs.

It’s awkward and messy, you accidentally kick him as your pants tug your leg down from the seats. Nico just grunts, pulling back to sit on his haunches and he’s rough and annoyed as he wrangles your boots and pants off, tossing them into the front seat.

You want his jacket off too, you think hazily, blinking to try and focus. All you can look at are his bitten lips, bright red and swollen. The car is so hot, he’s so hot. You don’t know how he’s wearing all those layers so you reach out for the hem of his top, not even getting close to touching him before he’s shuffling into the space you made when you slid the drivers seat forward.

He barely fits down there, hunched forward uncomfortably and legs tangled under him but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Nico licks his lips, dark eyes settling on the pair of cotton panties you’re wearing and he’s pushing your leg up onto the front seat, parting your thighs around him.

The noise that leaves you is pathetic, a mix between desperate and embarrassed because you know he can tell how wet you are, how the image of him doing awful things with his mouth and hands has been torturing you all day.

“I know baby,” he soothes, fingers rubbing tenderly at the inside of your thigh. His thumb finds the damp spot on your underwear, dipping in until the pad of his thumb is teasing at your hole.

“Please,” you gasp, eyes screwing shut. His touch burns under your skin, pulls every muscle in your body so tight you feel like you could explode. “Please Nico.”

It sounds more like a sob than an actual sentence, your voice whining and desperate. But Nico likes that, you can see it in the little smirk on his face when your eyes flutter open just long enough to meet his over the dips of your body.

Nico’s thumb tugs your underwear to the side. You lean back into the seat, staring up at the closed sunroof of the car and then Nico’s diving in. His tongue licks a flat strip up your pussy, nose swiping up your clit as he moves and you grab at his hair, arching into his face.

The thick hair of his beard is scratchy against your thighs, the hair long enough that it’s more soft than prickly and it feels so good. His tongue settles against your clit, making soft little circles that have you digging your fingers into his scalp.

He’s sloppy with his work, dripping spit from his mouth all over you, gently teasing your clit until your wound all the way up and then sucking it into his mouth. It’s too much, so good that you’re crying out for him but not coming just yet. And he knows that, knows that he has to be sweet and soft on that sensitive spot if he wants you to come.

Which is why he isn’t doing it. Letting you get close once, twice, and then a third time before starting all over. You huff, frustrated and knowing that the two of you need to hurry if you want to make him come too.

You pull at his hair, just enough to make it sting and he grunts into your pussy, digs his nails into your thigh until it hurts. But he’s slowing down after that, replacing the rough nips of his teeth with his plush lips.

A fingers swipes at your hole, has you desperately clenching around nothing and you make another embarrassed noise at him. Lifting your head, you look down at him through wet eyes but he’s not looking at you. Baby hairs stick to his damp forward, flattened under your palm. Crease between his eyebrows, eyes closed in focus and those long eyelashes of his tickle the flushed skin of his cheekbones. His nose is pressed into your mound, so close to you that you can’t see much. But you can see the way his jaw moves and ticks which every flick of his tongue.

Fuck, he’s beautiful, you think achingly. You wish he would talk to you, say something in that deep, raw voice he gets when he’s turned on.

Nico’s finger eases into you, thick and warm, and you flop back into the seats, whining desperately. You try to form the words in your head, hear his voice like you have so many times before.

“Sweet girl.”

“Taste so good, baby, doing so fucking good for me.”

“Make me feel so good,”

He curls his finger, prods at the sensitive spot of your walls and you hear him groan, feel it against your clit. You can practically hear what’s he’s thinking.

“You’re so wet, all for me.”

The rubber band in your belly snaps, all the orgasms that he built up before and then took away suddenly hitting you. Hard and fast. You clench around him, thighs tightening and twitching and Nico’s pets you through it. Wiggles and curls his fingers, lazily licks at your clit.

You hear him more than actually feel him pull away, sensitive and throbbing still as he wiggles his way off the floor. It’s his grunt of annoyance, the sound of his knee cracking as he gets up that makes you open your eyes, hands dropping from his hair onto your stomach.

Nico’s above you, hair hanging over his forehead and eyes bright. The whole bottom half of his face is wet, lips shiny and red but he’s smiling, teeth pearly white.

You tilt your chin up, puckering your lips and he easily obliges. He kisses you, soft and sweet with those swollen lips of his.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles into your lips, and chills run down your spine. He sounds exactly like you knew he would, rough and husky. You peck his mouth again, humming in appreciation as you reach for the front of his jeans

Your fingers have just found the button of his jeans when he grips your wrist and pulls your hand back.

“Nico,” you whine in protest, pulling back to frown at him but he’s already shaking his head.

“Don’t have time,” he mumbles into the skin of your cheek, kissing at your smile lines.

“That’s not fair! I wanted-“

He interrupts, tone not angry but definitely not up for debate. “I told you I wasn’t fucking you in the car.”

You look between where he’s leaning over you, mouth watering at the bulge in the front of his jeans. Nico takes your chin between his fingers, squeezes just once in warning and makes you look up at him.

“You’re gonna be good for me,” he instructs, “we’re gonna get cleaned up and get out of the car. And then we’re gonna go inside and eat lunch with everyone, and you’re gonna be the sweet girl I know you are, ok?”

“Ok,” you mumble, sad eyes blinking up at him.

“We’re gonna have a good time, Timo’s excited for you to meet his mom.”

You perk up at that. “I am too.”

Nico smiles, lets go of your face and presses a sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. “Can take care of me later at home, ok?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, kissing him again. His beard is so soft, he’s so warm and snuggly you never want to let him go.

“One more kiss and then we gotta go.”

You agree, pressing your lips back to his.

~~~~

Nico’s rented the whole restaurant for the day. He wanted private meal with his family and friends, something intimate and fun before you guys leave for Jersey.

They pushed tables together in the center of the room, crowded chairs around it into something that resemble the overly large dining table you have at home to seat all the Devs.

Nico takes your jacket for you when you too enter the building, hanging it with the stacks of other coats at the front. Then he’s shrugging his off, placing it with yours and you realize that while you two were busy in the car, everyone else beat you here.

They’re already sat around the table. Katja and Rino at the far end, facing the door. Luca and Nina on either side, tall mugs of frothy beer in front of them.

The four boys are after them, Jack and Luke on one side and Dawson and Alex across. Timo and a blonde woman, almost an exact copy of him are next to Luke. Meaning the two chairs next to Alex are obviously for you and Nico. You can already hear the argument Alex made to get you to sit next to him, and you can see the look Timo probably gave him.

“There they are!”

It’s Luca, chair scraping against the floor as he rises. Nico presses his hand into your lower back, guiding you around the table to say hi to everyone. You hug Luca and Katja, share an awkward hand shake with Rino before Nina is squeezing you into an embrace. She makes you try a sip of her beer, laughing when you only scrunch your nose a tiny bit before half heartedly muttering “s’so good.”

Nico hugs her, lightheartedly pulling on her braid and telling her to leave you alone. Jack climbs up from his chair, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you like he hasn’t seen you in days.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” he exclaims and you laugh as he cups your face. “Oh way too pretty for that one I’ll tell ya.”

And then Nico is swatting him away from you, pushing you along. You squeeze Luke’s shoulder as you pass, smiling widely when you get to Timo and his mother, who immediate jumps to hug Nico.

They speak in German, Nico’s tone somehow shy as she goes on and on towards him. You don’t know what they’re saying, but you smile at Nico anyway before giving Timo a hug. It feels like you haven’t seen him in days.

“Claudia, have I introduced you to my-“

“No this is my best friend!” Timo interrupts, sliding up next to you. “Budge over Hischier, we were friends before you started dating.”

Nico mutters something in German to Timo but places a kiss on your head and then moves to go sit down.

“Mom, this is y/n,” Timo introduces. “She’s the one I tell you about all the time.”

His mother, Claudia, is just like her son. She doesn’t hold back, shoving her son to the side and hugging you.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you!” She gushes in a thick accent. “Timo is always talking about you and that dog of yours.”

You laugh, hugging her back. “He’s always talking about you too.” She holds your face, blue eyes looking at you with so much warmth it makes you look away shyly.

“Oh you’re precious,” she laughs, brushing your hair away from your face and something in your heart throbs, recalls all the times your mother used to do the same.

You thank her quietly, sharing a tiny smile with Timo before moving to sit with Nico. Dawson gives you a peace sign as you get closer, sipping at a cocktail through a little straw and you ruffle his hair. Taking your seat, you lean over and press a kiss to Alex’s cheek, sharing a short hug.

Conversation picks up again, a waiter drops off two menus for you and Nico, and you sit back and watch Claudia speak with Katja and Rino in Swiss German. She has so many mannerisms like Timo, from the way she tilts her head when she speaks to the way she fiddles with her hair.

“You two were out there for a while,” Timo says, leaning into you and Nico, lifting his menu up to shield his words from everyone else. Your heart jumps, already knowing where this was going.

“Were we?” Nico says, disinterested and you mentally thank the universe for him and his ability to play aloof. An ability he performs perfectly.

Timo raises an eyebrow, not buying his oldest friend’s innocent act. “We got here 20 minutes ago and you two were parked out there.”

Needing something to do with your hands, you fiddle with the edge of your sweater and give Timo a confused look.

“It wasn’t that long,” you insist, and Nico shakes his head before adding, “You’re terrible with time when you don’t feel good.”

“Oh?” Timo gasps quietly, “you’re not feeling good?”

Clearing your throat, your frown at him, hoping to god it looks genuine. “I just felt a little funky after my scan.”

Timo pouts. “Oh no.”

“Yeah, needed a second to just chill I guess.”

“Mhm,” he nods, sipping his water and looking at you with sympathetic eyes.

“So Nico took care of me.”

“M’sure he did.”

Nico chokes on his spit next to you, caught off guard by the sudden suggestiveness from Timo. He coughs, clearing his throat as you rub at his back and glare at Timo.

“I don’t think you want me to elaborate on that,” you insist and Nico clears his throat again, his hand coming over to rest on your thigh as he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. A teasing grin takes over Timo’s face, but you put a stop to him before he can keep going. “Because then I’ll probably have to go all the way back to when I hung out alone for two hours so you could play lover boy to your teenage sweetheart?”

Timo’s face falls, eyes widening in fear and he glances at Nico, whose grip has suddenly grown stronger on your thigh.

“You left her alone?” Nico demands, and you cover his hand with yours, stroke at the veins on the back of it and over his knuckles. Knuckles that not even an hour ago were buried inside you.

Blinking away the dirty image that’s swirling in your brain, you faux smile at Timo. “I don’t think you really want to explain that one right now, do you?”

He huffs, annoyed with you for bringing up the activities he took place in that day after the ice skating rink. You didn’t even get to meet his girl before he was begging to drop you off at the house for just a couple hours so he could see her.

“You’re evil,” he mutters, and you laugh. You don’t keep anything from Nico, he knows that. If you could, you’d tell Nico about every second of every moment you’ve ever had apart from him. “You two deserve each other, really.”

It’s probably meant as some kind of insult or dig by the way he hisses it, but you and Nico both turn to each other and smile, the same sappy lovesick look on your faces.

~~~~

“What do you feel like eating baby?” Nico asks, flipping open the menu in front of him. You leave yours folded on the table, leaning into his bicep took at his instead and he shifts so you can read it easier.

Instead you can’t read it at all. The entire thing is in French, swirly cursive letters on the card stock pages, and while you can guess what a couple words mean, there’s not even photos of signature dishes or anything.

“Uh Nico,” you say quietly, looking up at him. He hums in acknowledgment, eyes still sweeping over the menu. “I can’t read French.”

An amused smile cracks at his lips, gaze flickering down to you and two dimples sink into his cheeks. “Yeah, I know.” He murmurs. “S’why I asked what you want.”

Sighing, you pinch at his elbow in retaliation before looking back at the menu. You still can’t read it, not that you were expecting to sudden be able to, but Nico gives you a moment to stare at it anyway.

“Pasta?” You ask, hopefully and he points at a list of meals on the right page. “S’got chicken and like a white sauce.” He explains. “Want that one?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lifting your head to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks. His cheek dimples again and he moves to settle his arm on the back of your chair.

Alex says your name quietly, and when you turn to him he’s looking at you with big, puppy eyes. He’s holding him menu in front of him, a shy smile on his face.

“Will you tell Nico to order for me?” He asks sheepishly, and you laugh, agreeing. And then you catch Dawson behind him with that same shy look, and across the table Jack and Luke are staring at you helplessly.

None of them know French either. Good going Nico, you think, trying not to laugh.

“Schoa,” you sing teasingly, “the boys need your help ordering.” Nico sets his menu down, raising an eyebrow as he too looks around the table. Timo is grinning at him, obviously as amused as you are. His siblings and parents seem oblivious to the conversation going on, but Claudia is looking at all of you like she’s watching a show play out in front of her very eyes.

“They’re your kids,” he grumbles, but he’s already grabbing his menu again and leaning forward in his seat. “Timo help those two clowns,” he instructs, nodding towards the brothers.

Timo sighs but doesn’t argue, him and Claudia going about translating the menu to Jack and Luke. Then you’re letting Nico lean over you to tell Alex and Dawson about the food, offering little ooh’s and aah’s when something sounds good.

You realize Nico is telling them about specific foods you know they like. Seafood for Dawson, who is always craving some kind of lobster dish or sushi or really anything that probably has scales at one point. And soups and breads for Alex, anything filling and a lot of carbs because he’s a comfort food kind of person, always.

For as much as he likes to denies caring for the boys and insists that they’re just his workers, just kids following him around, he sure doesn’t act like it. It’s sweet that he knows what they’d want to eat, that while he was reading the menu earlier he had noticed which foods they’d probably get.

It makes your heart shudder painfully in your chest, overwhelmed with feelings that you can’t even explain anymore. It’s so much more than just loving Nico. He’s…everything to you.

You look over to his parents. Rino is looking over his menu, face stoic and unimpressed. Katja has a smile on her face, but it looks more rehearsed than anything real. She’s drinking the wine in her glass, lazily listening to Nina and Luca talk.

How someone so full of life and light, so loving in everything he does came from the relationship existing at the end of the table, you have no idea. But something made him this incredible, this caring so you have to applaud Katja and Rino for that at least.

He’s still debating a meal with Dawson, huffing and sighing as he awkwardly takes up your space but you don’t mind. You reach up, smooth your hands up the back of his dark cardigan and fiddle with the soft strands of hair sticking out of his baseball cap.

Nico doesn’t react, but you can feel the way his body seems to preen under your touch. Across the table, Katja meets your eye and the two of you share secret smiles.

~~~~

Listening to Nico speak French makes you feel like your bones are melting, in the best way possible. Nico’s voice in general has always been nice, deep and manly in a way that scratches at your brain just right. And it’s even more attractive when he’s speaking in Swiss German, his accent making the words sound like beautiful nonsense to you.

But in French…well he just sounds so romantic. If you had to give a voice to the storybook Prince Charming in your head, it’d be Nico in French. The words are soft and sweet, a perfect contrast to the rumble of his voice. Even if you don’t know what he’s saying as he sends the waiter off with a dessert order.

“You don’t know French y/n?”

You’re too busy trying to keep your jaw off the floor to realize Rino, who hasn’t said a word to you all meal, is suddenly addressing you. That is until Nico is looking over at you, lips curling into a smile as he takes in the moony way you’re watching him.

“No she doesn’t,” he answers for you through an amused laugh, and you blink, suddenly recalling that the question was directed at you and not Nico.

“Sorry, no I don’t,” you quickly apologize, face hot with embarrassment. The other Devs boys don’t bat an eye to you going goo-goo eyes at Nico, but you can feel the knowing little looks from Nina and Luca, both of whom have told you they’re not used to seeing Nico all lovey. It makes you feel shy for some reason, like you shouldn’t be letting them see this side of him.

Rino quirks an eyebrow, the expression looking far too similar to Nico’s unimpressed look than you’d prefer. “No German either?”

You shake your head. “My family is Italian, so I grew up speaking that at home and English at school.”

“I forget the American education system disregards languages,” Rino mumbles, then forces a smile. “Our children here learn three languages at school.”

Nico shifts in his seat, stretching his arm across your waist like some kind of protective seatbelt that’ll keep you from his father. His hand is warm and strong on your thigh, reassuring and safe.

“We can go,” he says quietly in your ear, “lunch is over if you want it to be.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure to the table, words more directed at Nico. He squeezes your thigh, eyes searching yours for a moment and when he finds nothing but certainty there, he retreats back into his chair.

“I uh I tried Spanish at school for a while too but I kept getting the words mixed up with Italian. So uh yeah, just the Italian.”

You laugh awkwardly, heart thundering in your chest and you glance at Alex who’s watching you with a furrow between his eyebrows. Then he’s pursing his lips, shoulders back and he looks to Rino.

“It’s a good thing too,” he says, conversationally. “Italian is important in Jersey, she gets a lot of deals done for us because she can speak with the clients.”

Finally, something like genuine curiosity flashes in Rino’s eyes, so quickly you would’ve missed it had you not been staring at him helplessly.

“Nico, you take her on deals?”

Your boyfriend throws an arm around your shoulders, pride glimmering in his eyes as he smirks at his father. “Yeah I do. What’s mine is hers.”

“She’s better at it too,” Luke tosses at Nico, a teasing tone to his words but underneath, you can feel how genuinely he says it. “All the planning and details, Nico’s too impatient for that.”

“Plus he’s a grump,” Jack then adds, and while you always hate when they gripe on Nico, it warms your heart to see them doing it to praise you to Nico’s family.

Dawson is the next to offer his two cents. “And he doesn’t have a college degree, unlike Miss. Ivy Leagues.”

Nico squeezes your shoulder when you shake your head at all the boys, on the verge of politely telling them that none of it’s a big deal. You turn to him, cheeks warm and smile shy but he looks so fucking happy, so proud of you that you can’t bring yourself to counteract all their words.

If Nico can love you that much, can radiate sunshine when talking about you, that’s not something you want to hide. After all, his view of you is all that matters.

“Three languages or not,” he says, “the smartest thing I ever did was getting on your nerves the night we met.”

Tucking into his shoulder, you press a quick but sweet kiss to his neck, wanting to thank him without making everyone at the table groan.

“And letting me play matchmaker,” Timo jokes, winking at you. “God knows he was helpless.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing that if he had never invited you back to the Rock after you pissed Nico off, you don’t think you’d have ever spoken to him. At the time, you were putting the ball in Nico’s court and waiting to see if he was gonna shoot. He looked like the type to want to make the first move.

You never thought he’d be a pouty, shy guy that needed meddling from his best friend. Otherwise you’d have asked him out the very first night he bought you a drink.

“Alright alright,” you interrupt, smiling gratefully at the boys. “That’s enough teasing. We all know we’re only as good as we are because we have Nico.”

The fearless leader, the man that stepped out on his own with just his name and his teenage friends, and made a family. A family that will always have each others back.

So when Claudia changes the subject, smiling at you as she asks “What’s your family like?” you already know your answer.

“Oh,” you glance at Nico, notice the way he’s biting at the inside of his cheek. He’s wanting to answer for you, wanting to field the topic but he has no idea what to say. He’s waiting for your lead. “This is my family,” you say, smiling shyly at Claudia. “Whatever I had before is nothing compared to my boys.”

Claudia looks taken aback, like she wasn’t expecting such a profound answer to the question. You wish you could tell her that it’s actually simple in your mind. This is your family, no question about it.

“Wow,” she murmurs, looking at you so fondly it makes your chest ache, the child in you selfishly wanting her to suddenly become your mother. To take away all the memories of the woman that raised you and replace them with ones of her, create a childhood in which your best friend was your family. “Smart, sweet, and beautiful. I see how you finally caught Nico.”

“Hey!” Nico whines, childishly.

“You were a bucking bronco, Neeky. We thought you’d always be.”

You laugh, leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. If you haven’t proved yourself to Rino yet, oh well. You don’t know what else could be better than knowing his son is safe, loved, and protected by a woman that would do absolutely anything for him.

~~~~

It wasn’t the creaking floor of the hallway that woke you up, nor was it the tiny mutters of “please, please, please” that snuck under the crack of the closed bedroom door.

It was the buzz of a text coming through, three quick blasts of back to back messages. Groggily, you slid your hand under the pillow and pull your phone out, turning it from Nico to keep from waking him.

Blinking against the light, you read the screen.

Holtzy 🐣

Are you awake?

Sorry if I woke you

Open the door?

Confused, it takes you a second to register the sounds of someone outside the door. Once you do though, you’re up, putting your phone back away and gently getting up from the bed.

Nico huffs in his sleep, digs his head further into his pillow. You tiptoe over to the door, cautiously twisting the handle and cracking it open.

Sure enough, Holtzy is quietly pacing in front of the doorway. He’s in his pajama pants and a grey shirt, hair frumpy and awkward on his head. At the sight of you he stops, shoulders dropping in relief.

“Are you ok?” You whisper, stepping into the hall and closing the door partially behind you.

Embarrassed, he stares down at his socks, toes tapping against the hardwood floors.

“Can I uh-can I sleep in here tonight?”

You know better than to ask. Sometimes Holtzy just has rough nights, he can’t sleep or he has dreams that give him anxiety. If there’s one thing you learned from the two months he lived down the hall from you and Nico, it’s better to just let him sort it out how he wants.

And if that entails him squishing in the bed with you and Nico, so be it.

“Yeah, of course.” You murmur, taking ahold of his bicep and squeezing reassuringly. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, eyes sleepy and sad. “Nico is sleeping so be quiet, ok?”

Knowing the drill he nods, and you turn to guide him back into the bedroom with you. Alex quietly closes the door behind him, the click only loud enough to make Nico shift on the mattress.

On light feet, you pad back to the king sized bed, lifting the blankets on your half and sliding in all the way to the middle. You had previously been tucked into Nico’s side right there, so to make room for the new addition you softly card your fingers through Nico’s hair.

He stirs, eyebrows pinching together in annoyance. “Nico baby, scoot over for me, yeah?”

He grumbles something you don’t understand, lips smacking as he rolls to his side and you hold the side of his face.

“Please baby, can you slide over a bit?”

Finally he moves, shuffling over onto his side of the bed and you go with him. Not that you had much of a choice when he locked his arm over your middle and took you with him.

Alex climbs into the bed, tucking into the pillow you had previously been sleeping on. You pull the blankets over him, settling back into Nico’s bicep. Your boyfriend grumbles something again, tucking his head into your neck and curling into your body.

You roll onto your side, let Nico fit himself to your back and wait a couple moments until his breath evens out again.

“Are you comfortable?” You whisper to Alex and he moves onto his side to face you.

“Yeah.” He tucks his hands under his cheek, eyes blinking sluggishly and you pull the covers up to his shoulder so he doesn’t get cold.

“Pull the blankets if you get chilled,” you say, pushing his tangled hair back as best as you can without yanking on a knot. “Nico’s like a furnace, he doesn’t need them.”

A tiny smile tugs at his lips. “I run warm too ya know?”

“I know,” you murmur, “but just in case you run cold tonight, ok?”

Alex nods, takes a deep breath and lets his eyes flutter shut as he exhales. “Thanks,” he mumbles lowly, like he’s already half asleep. “I don’t know how any of us lived without you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, his sweet words kicking it into overdrive. Smiling, you watch him for a moment to make sure he falls asleep and you can’t help but think of Nico’s mother.

How her and Rino ran Switzerland like a business, you don’t know. Because there’s no way you could look at any of the boys here, especially Alex and not love them like family.

Thank god Nico inherited some rare Hischier gene that gave him the big and sweet heart he has. He may not openly act like it, but you know he loves the boys like they’re his blood brothers.

Sleep muddled thoughts trail off and you can’t help but think of this same scenario in the future, when the boy crawling into bed with you two has Nico’s dark eyebrows and straight nose. Maybe it’s not a he but instead a she, and her eyes will sparkle like his and her lips will hold that petulant pout he has.

And they’ll tiptoe to your bed at night, wake you up with tiny fingers and teary cheeks as they whisper, careful to not wake Nico because he’s a grump. But when you let them under the covers they’ll wiggle their way over to him, snuggle into his broad chest and thick arms because he’s the safest place in the world for them to be.

As if being summoned by your thoughts, Nico stirs against your back, leaning in and planting a kiss against the side of your neck. You’re not expecting him to be awake so the movement startles you.

Even more so when he presses his mouth in close to your ear and clear as day asks, “He ok?”

You realize Nico hasn’t been sleeping, at least not since you moved him over in bed and he heard you tucking Alex in.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nudging him with your foot until he moves over enough for you to turn to face him.

His eyes are puffy and dark, framed by those permanent frown lines of his but he looks awake, alert. You trace your fingertips over his jaw, let his beard tickle the pads of them.

“He’s right ya know?” Nico murmurs, his gaze sweeping over your face fondly. “I don’t know how I lived without you.”

Shy and tired, your hand falls to the side of his neck, fingers loosely holding him. You blink slowly, feel your chest warm under the heat of his words.

“You’ll never have to again Schao,” you promise, closing your eyes to get away from the lovesick look in his eyes.

Nico doesn’t say anything, just leans in a presses a kiss to your forehead. You throw your leg over his thighs, curl into his chest and fall into dreams of him holding mini versions of you and him just like this.

~

You don’t remember Nico getting up. Usually you’re good at feeling him stir, forcing your eyes open when he unravels his arms from around you and gets up.

It’s not until his hefty weight is laying on top of you that you realize the body laying on his side of the bed, with their arm slung over your middle, is in fact not Nico.

“Baby,” he calls, voice barely a whisper. A grumbled noise of acknowledgment rumbles out of your lips, eyelashes fluttering as you try to fight against sleep.

Nico gently shushes you, soft and warm lips pressing to yours with a feather light touch. He smells like toothpaste and aftershave, the familiar scent making you blink your eyes open.

The sight makes you gasp.

He’s crowded over your body, feet hanging off the mattress and elbows bracketing your body. Damp hair is combed back, a single wet strand stuck to his forehead. But that’s not what’s got your attention, and neither are his beautiful brown eyes or dimpled cheeks.

He’s shaved.

The full and dark beard he’d been sporting since the hospital, thick hair beginning to trail down his neck messily but hotly, is all gone.

Well not entirely, but he trimmed most of it and shaved it down. All except the stupid strip of facial hair above his upper lip. That he’s left untouched.

“You shaved?” You croak out, cupping his face in your hands. His cheeks are smooth, soft and warm under your fingertips. Unintentionally, you pout.

“I trimmed,” he defends, shifting his weight into his left elbow and covering your hand with his now free one. “And cleaned up a bit.”

You’re probably being dramatic, but you’re tired and confused and completely caught off guard with his sudden grooming. So it’s really not your fault when water collects in your eyes, sniffling through a stuffy nose.

“Oh my god are you crying?”

“No!” You argue, outraged at the entirely true accusation and your shout has the body lying next to you stirring. Both you and Nico freeze, eyes shifting over to look at Holtzy. He’s asleep in his stomach, hands shoved under the pillow and cheek pressed into the bunched up fabric.

You’re even more caught off guard when a body on Nico’s side of them bed moves too. Bewildered, you look over to find Jack taking up the space that Nico previously occupied. He’s sprawled out on his back, hands clutching the blanket to his chin and mouth hanging open.

“If you wake them I’ll kill you,” Nico mutters, a playfulness in his whispered words. You let go of his face, knuckling at your sleepy eyes and moving to sit up.

Your boyfriend follows, gently slipping off the mattress so you can awkwardly slip out from under the covers and rise to your feet. Wobbling, you clutch the headboard with a wince when the whole bed shutters.

Alex simply snorts, digging his head further into the pillow, and then Nico is leaning over with outstretched arms. You cling to him, squeezing your eyes shut and curling yourself into a ball as he heaves you over Jack’s sleeping form.

“When did he get here?” You whisper after your toes are back on the ground, gesturing to Jack.

“After I got in the shower I guess.” Nico replies, keeping his words down too. “I thought you knew.”

Blinking a couple times, you shake your head and decide to just forget about it, though it is a little concerning that you didn’t hear him come in at all.

Nico ducks his head down, catching your lips in a short but sweet kiss. You cup his face again, a small noise of protest squeaking out of your throat when you’re reminded of the nice and clean beard he’s now sporting. And the stupid mustache that’s not entirely a mustache.

“M’trying to say good morning,” Nico mumbles against your lips, “don’t be a brat. It’ll grow back.”

You scoff, pulling back just enough to have his eyes fluttering open, eyebrows pinching in displeasure. Lips parting to argue, Nico cuts you off with a nip at your bottom lip.

“Now’s not the time for arguing baby,” he says sweetly, tilting his head towards bed. “Don’t wanna wake the kids do you?”

Something warm drips onto the top of your head, trickles down your spine and all the way to your toes. You melt, heart shuddering excitedly in your chest and you have to bite your tongue to keep from making whatever pathetic noise was bubbling happily in your throat.

The kids. Nico called the boys the kids. Kids as in his and yours. Not just yours anymore. That used to be his favorite tease, telling you that the younger boys were your kids whenever they decide to annoy him.

Now, suddenly they’re his too. You can’t even begin to explain how that feels to hear. All you can really come up with is right. It feels right for him to say that.

Oh god, you need to talk to Timo right now.

~~~~

Your knuckles rap against Timo’s door, more urgent and harsh than you meant and you wince when the hasty sounds of someone scrambling on the other side squeak out from under the crack of the door.

Timo barely has time to open the door before you’re pushing in, shoving him back by the chest. Glancing around the lower hallway for Nico, you close and lock the door when you’re certain he’s still outside getting more fire wood.

“Jesus warn a fella would ya?” Timo cries, rubbing at his shoulder as he plops down on the rolling desk chair.

“You would say the word fella.”

He tilts his head, unamused. “What do you want?”

Remembering why you’re here in the first place, you sit on the edge of his bed, folding your legs over each other. “Nico called the boys the kids.”

Timo laughs softly, resting his elbows on his knees and shrugging his hands out. “He does that all the time.”

“No like our kids.” You clarify, eyes widening as you emphasize Nico’s words. “Not my kids, he said it like they were ours.”

You expect Timo’s jaw to drop, his eyebrows to raise in shock, maybe even throw his head back with surprise. This is Nico, who has never in life let anyone get away with joking about the boys being his kids. He ignores Luke and Jack when they call him papa or dad, he calls you a single mom when the boys refer you to as mother figure. Sure it’s said in a joking matter, but Nico has never given the impression that he wants to be seen as a father figure right now.

Timo’s face scrunches into a wince, leaning back in his chair and you stare at him in confusion. “What just happened here? Why are you making that face?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, sighs. Struggling for something to say, he finally settles on “you didn’t see that coming?”

“This is Nico we’re talking about.”

“Yeah but it’s also you, and Nico wants to be a part of everything you’re a part of.”

Of course you knew that. You know he’d do anything, follow you anywhere to always be with you. Just like you would and have done for him. But this is different. Every conversation you’ve ever had about kids and a family with him was spoken about in the terms of the future. Not tomorrow or a week from now or even months. It was always years.

Nico bringing this up now is just….

You don’t even know. It’s not like a family with him isn’t something you want, but you definitely don’t want it right now. You want to be his fiancée first, live in a bubble of knowing he loves you enough to marry you. And you want to be his wife first too, see how the role fits and your relationship changes.

You have to learn how to be a good wife before you can even think of being a mother with him.

“He’s just-I mean he hasn’t even proposed yet and now he’s doing this? Is he like trying to see if I freak out or something?”

Ironically, now Timo’s jaw drops and he blinks at you like you’ve just uttered some unspoken or forbid secret. “He told you he’s gonna propose?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you examine his body langue. He doesn’t look surprised at all, not caught off guard by your words one bit.

“You knew!” You accuse.

Timo points a finger at you, exclaiming, “How do you even know?”

“Well he kind of already asked.”

“What? How? When?”

You shrug, trying to act casual and innocent. “After we had sex on the living room rug when you went to spend time with your mom.”

It’s comical the way his nose scrunches in disgust, eyebrows pinching together. It’s however, quickly wiped away with a look of utter disappointment.

“Oh god, he asked you during sex didn’t he?”

“After? Kinda?”

Timo shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut like it actually pains him to hear that, like he physically can’t stand the idea of that being his proposal.

“I swear for being so smart he’s fucking stupid,” you try not to laugh even though it’s true. “I mean tell me he at least wasn’t still-ya know?” Timo makes a motion with his hands, thrusting them outwards.

You blink, confused and unamused by this turn in conversation. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Oh for fucks sake was he still inside you?”

Thinking back, you try to recall everything that happened that day but it was a rough one for you. Particularly the fighting with Nico and then the whole getting kidnapped thing and not having any memory for a bit there.

You can picture him clear as day though, laying next to you when he suggested marriage. No matter how many times Lena hits you in the head, you don’t think you’d ever forget that.

“No he wasn’t, he was just…holding me.” Your tone softens at the end, lips fighting to curl up and you grab the throw pillow from his bed, hugging it to your fluttering stomach.

Timo’s smile is sweet. “You two are disgusting.”

And that kills the mood. Frowning, you throw the pillow at him. “Come on, you’re supposed to be helping me with this!”

“I am!” He laughs, chucking the pillow back. You catch it easily, setting it in your lap and picking at the corners of it

“You’ve said nothing of note.”

“Ok, ok,” he relents, running a hand down his face as he thinks. “First of all, never say yes to a proposal if you or anyone in the room is naked.”

You roll your eyes, motioning for him to move on.

“Second, just give him a break ok? He’s-there’s a lot he’s trying to figure out right now.”

Bristling, you frown at him. “What does that mean?”

Timo groans, exasperated. “Look his-and don’t say I told you this-“ he waits for you to nod in agreement before continuing. “-his proposal to you kinda got hijacked and he might be freaking out trying to redo it.”

Redo it. Timo didn’t know about Nico asking you that day you were taken. Which means he knew of another plan Nico had, one that failed.

You think of how much Nico begged you that day when you were fighting, how even came off angry when asking you to just let things go for now. He didn’t want to fight with you, he didn’t want space from you.

And how upset, how unlike himself he was the day after. Where he’s usually strong headed and solid, he was stubborn and unyielding in a way that made you want to yank your hair out. He was freaking out and the only way Nico can show emotions he’s not used to having is by taking control.

He was going to propose, you realize, fingers finding the metal of your pendant, tracing over the metal of the ring. Nico must have one, an engagement one. One that he picked out and bought himself. Not the family heirloom ring, the one that he didn't care about because even without it he was going to marry you.

This whole trip was about him wanting to propose. It wasn’t a one off, heat of the moment thing when he asked you. He had been thinking about it, planning it, and most importantly trying to do it in a place that means so much to him.

How are you ever going to fix the mess that you know is spinning around in that pretty little head of his?

[stariikis]

tell my fortune

synopsis ; the story of how you manage to get an attractive waiter's number... in the most unexpected way possible.

pairing ; waiter!nishimura riki x customer!reader genre ; fluff, first encounters wc ; 1100 notes ; to indulge MYSELF, riki will be aged down in this fic. like 16 years old.

When your friend recommended a Chinese restaurant to visit, you were expecting the reason to be exceptional food. Pretty foolish of you, one reason being, you were in Korea – another being, when has Yoo Jungyeong ever suggested visiting somewhere, if not to ogle at attractive boys impossible to pull?

The first thing you notice as she holds open the door for you to step inside is the fact that it’s a pretty modern, fancy restaurant, not typical of a traditional Chinese food chain. What are you expecting though, in Korea of all places? Along the city streets, everything screams modern. 

The second thing you notice when a waiter that has her making heart eyes – gross – leads you to a seat, is how young the waitresses and waiters seem. Some seem shy of eighteen, while some look like plain teenagers coming to earn a little extra pocket money during the holidays. You don’t judge them though; you’d do that too if you had the luxury of time. 

Today’s an exception from having your nose stuck in piles of homework and assigned reading. After all, within the first week of the holidays you finished almost everything, so you’re free to take a break when you wish. Another reason being, you wanted to catch up with Jungyeong. 

But not like this, her eyes shining as she gazes dreamily at a guy whose uniform nametag states, ‘Sim Jaeyun’. 

“Will you stop staring?” You hide behind the menus to save yourself the embarrassment. “I think they’re noticing.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, but the glaze over her eyes doesn’t dissipate. “He’s really cute, though.” 

“Did you bring me here to have a good meal or to stare at delusion three thousand?” You snap, shoving her copy of the menu towards her. She finally rolls her eyes and flips open the menu. 

She points to a steamed fish dish, “This. This is good.” 

And after she recommends practically the whole menu to you, she looks at you expectantly, pressuring you into making a quick decision. You blink, because it all looks pretty appetising to you, and decide on the first fish dish she showed you. Anyway, you’re too indecisive. If you don’t pick now, you might stay the whole night. 

Since Jungyeong has returned to conjuring up fantasies of the waiter Sim Jaeyun across the room, you raise your hand and grab the attention of a young waiter, who seems the same age as you. He appears nervous as he approaches you with a notepad and pen. Is this his first time working here? 

“What can I get you?” He grins awkwardly, and you have to admit. He looks pretty cute trying to maintain professionalism though he looks like he’s crumbling internally. Smiling kindly, you guide him through your order as gently as you can. As you read out your order, he seems to relax progressively, nodding along. 

Just as he’s about to run off to convey your order to the cooks, he bows and thanks you sincerely. For some reason, your stomach flips in excitement at this, lingering tingles in your chest as he darts off. 

Nishimura Riki, read the nametag. He’s Japanese working at a Chinese restaurant in Korea. 

“So,” Jungyeong waggles her finger in front of your face teasingly. “He’s cute, huh?” She drawls, obviously trying to prove her point. 

You don’t buy it. “He is cute,” — you admit, and your friend raises her eyebrows — “but I’m not going to daydream about him the whole time I’m here. Unlike a certain someone…” You reach out to flick her arm amiably. 

Ironically, even though you say this, as Jungyeong starts to ramble about her life recently, your line of vision inevitably travels to the back of the restaurant, where Jaeyun and Riki are chatting. They seem to be quite close, as Jaeyun pats Riki’s back and laughs. Against your will, you’re interested in the way they interact with each other. Scratch that, you’re interested in the way Riki looks when he’s smiling. 

Out of the blue, the young waiter glances up and meets your gaze, just as Jungyeong starts to catch on that you’re not paying attention. 

“Dude, what a hypocrite,” she scoffs, but you ignore her. Riki quirks an eyebrow at you playfully, as if asking you why you’re casually staring at him. You don’t know why but your heart skips a beat. 

For the next five minutes, all you can focus on is the way your cheeks are overwhelmingly warm and probably look a fiery shade of red. 

Even when your food arrives, you feel sick to your stomach and can only bear to have a few bites before clocking out. Jungyeong looks at you, half worried and half with a tilt of the head that asks, is she going crazy? 

Eventually, you have to ask for a takeout container because your friend clearly can’t finish the whole dish by herself. 

You just think that you need to get out of there as soon as possible, so when Riki himself runs over, handing you both a fortune cookie wrapped in plastic, it comes as a shock. His fingers linger over the snack as he passes it to you, and you swear he’s gazing into the depths of your soul. 

Oooookay, this is uncomfortable. Does he want me to open it in front of his face or… is he being creepy? Or — this is where you panic — is he telling me he was also uncomfortable when I was staring at him? Should I apologise? Do I say something? What does he want from me?

Luckily for the overthinker emerging from you, he makes an unwrapping gesture and smiles silently, as if affectiona– okay, that’s too much.

You take the cracker out the wrapper, and snap it in half as quick as you can. Anything to get you out of this awkward situation. 

A glance over the table shows that Jungyeong has opened hers already, and nothing seems to be out of the blue. So what is Riki trying to get at? 

When you tug the slip of paper from the cracker, you don’t know if you go completely pale or grow even redder. 

A phone number in black pen ink has been written over the paper in an evidently rushed manner. 

You look up at the young waiter, who just shrugs and giggles at how clueless you look. How… did he… huh…? 

As you leave the restaurant in a hurry (mostly because Jungyeong is borderline screaming on your behalf), you swear you catch Jaeyun giving Riki a thumbs up in the corner of your eye.

more of my works >

guys i'm back after like a month of an unofficial hiatus. sorry to leave yall hanging like that! i'll get back to regular updates soon, i promise lawl. hope you didn't forget the plot of yitr...

BTW THX FOR 300

[user211201]

Chronivac Coworkers

--- Originally posted on 2022-09-19 by davidrodge ---

You sit down at your desk and rub your eyes. Another day of paper pushing and number crunching to get through. It wasn’t like you had done anything particularly interesting the previous night. You had stayed up a little later playing some mediocre matches of online gaming - but when I guess when you get to be around 40, your body constantly feels like it’s been dragged behind a car down the high way. Not that you didn’t take care of yourself, in fact you’d say you looked pretty good for your age…

You stretch in your seat, and reach for your coffee as your computer powers on. The few windows illuminating the office show the first few morning beams of scorching July sunlight. Behind you, the door opens and your Coworker David strides in.

“Morning Adam!” He says in a strangely cheerful voice. You put your coffee down from your lips and give him a stare. Normally David was about 20 minutes later than he already was, and usually he walked into the office with the same enthusiasm you’d see in a man walking towards a guillotine.

“Morning Davo,” you say, typing in your far too long corporate password. “You seem less Zombie-like today, what are you so excited about?”

David Smiled as he sat down in his chair opposite from yours. You were techniqually Davids senior Manager, but the two of you had developed a decent friendship between Friday drinking and the occasional tennis match.

“Oh Nothing Adam, I just got to the top of the waitlist for this super cool Software, and I was finally able to download it!”

You nodded, half listening as you began logging into all your engineering system.

“Very Interesting, what’s the program called? Is it like a Gaming platform?” David opened up his laptop and started to type furiously.

“No it’s not a game at all, It’s an app called the Chronivac. It’s supposed to be a reality altering software. I had a friend in the UK that sent me the information for it, He said that it completely changed his life.”

You paused from your coffee long enough to lean over and roll your eyes at him.

“I hope you didn’t have to pay any money for it.” You moaned, “This Job doesn’t pay you enough for you to be wasting your time on Overseas Scams.”

David was absolutely transfixed on his laptop. A wide, slightly crazed looking grin spreading over his face.

“It actually ended up costing me thousands of dollars,” he said, now in a far quieter voice, “but it was completely worth it.”

“THousands Of DoLLARS!” You exploded, immediately turning the heads of the fellow desk jockeys nearby,

“SHut UP man,” David hissed, half closing his laptop defensively. You simmered as the both of you waited for the rest of your colleagues to return back to their work. David narrowed his Eyes at you, smile creeping back onto his face.

“It wasn’t a waste of money and I can prove it too you. Just let me find your profile really quick.”

“Wait, this thing has a profile for me on it?” You said, now even more concerned then before. “David, This seems like some really dangerous software And I definitely thing that you shou-“

Davids Computer cut you off with a cheerful beep, and immediately you felt a strange sensation course through your body.

“What the hell!” You shout as you start the world around you starts to grow. You feel a strange tightening sensation in your body, as you glance downward. Your clothing seemed to liquify, shifting from a smart suit and dress shirt into a casual tee. In shock you glance at the bay window and catch a reflection of yourself. There you were…. Or rather, there you were 20 years ago! You lift your hands up too your face and feel your skin. Wrinkle free, young, and real!

“ there’s no way this is real,” you say in a whisper. This has to be a dream you think, as you continue to explore your now unfamiliar body.

David leaned over the edge of his desk beaming,

“ See I told you man! This program is incredible!” He looked you over, seeming to be proud of his work. “Dang it’s crazy what taking 20 years off a man can do!”

You take a brief pause from reveling at your new found youth.

“ this is incredible David! How is this even possible?!”

“It’s the chronivac man! Like I said it’s freaking amazing and can change anything!” The wild grin still fresh on his face.

You stand up, coursing with a newfound energy.

“WE HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE ABOUT THIS!” You say ecstatically. The grin drops from David’s face.

“What?”

You begin to jog away from the desks, heading straight for the break room where you knew, most of your coworkers would still be gathered.

“We can change anything with this! This is going to be the coolest thing any of these morons have ever heard about!”

“Wait! No stop! Aww shit-“ you hear David shout as you continued running. You barely processed his voice or cared. You felt so alive! The excitement in your chest was all you could feel or even think of right now. You slid around the corner, breaking into a sprint down the hallway. You could hardly wait to introduce your new younger self to your coworkers and tell them about this amazing new device.

“GUYS, YOU WOULDNT BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO-“

Suddenly your voice catches In your throat, as your mouth dries out In an instant. You keep running, starting to trip over yourself on the concrete floor.

“ what the” you gasp through a dry mouth. Your tongue feels like a pillow in your mouth as you tumble to the floor. You are vaguely aware of the sight of your hands, which appear to be changing color and texture. Your vision fades with the sight of your fingers turning bright blue and seeming to collapse in on themselves.

You can’t seem to find your voice, or be able to move as you feel yourself shrinking. You feel an indescribable softening sensation on all sides as you slide to a stop. Suddenly, it’s over as quickly as it started, and there you lay on the floor. Your brain slows down, filled only with the most basic thoughts now.

“ what….. happened…” you think to yourself with great effort. Your aware of footsteps coming towards you from your position on the floor.

“ Sorry about that man, I just couldn’t have you sharing my new toy with the rest of the world. It’s kind of like a private club, ya know?

….David? You think through fuzzy thoughts.

“ I’m still learning how to use the program haha, but you did turn out to be a nice pair of underwear Adam.”

You feel your now small form being lifted from the floor, then shoved into a pocket. David’s pocket.

“Don’t worry man, we’ll get you sorted out. I think you’ll make a really good practice for me before I start changing myself.”

You couldn’t respond at all, but felt almost at home In the musky warm pocket you were haphazardly shoved into.

….so … nice… you find yourself thinking. You try to shake the fuzz out of your primitive mind. Trying to remember anything besides the new world you found yourself in. You faintly hear David through his clothing.

“ alright, I think the first thing we should do is get you home so we can have some fun.” You feel yourself being lifted from his pocket and placed back on the ground. You felt a longing to be back in the warm musky dark.

“this time however, I think we’ll turn your awareness off.”

David smiled punching his new specifications into the chronivac program. Adam wouldn’t remember any of what just happened, and also be open to his suggestions. The underwear on the pavement started to expand, shifting and changing until Adam once again stood in front of him with a slightly dazed look on his face.

“is it weird that that kind of turned me on…” David muttered to himself.

“Dave… what the hell is going on? Adam said In a bewildered voice. His voice echoed in the parking garage that they now stood in. David smiled, and typed into the chronivac.

“you were about to give me a ride home, remember big guy?”

Adam, still looking confused, but seemingly unaware of the last 20 minutes of his life shrugged and fished for his car keys.

“Alright man but don’t judge about the mess in my car.” He smiled and clicked his horn. The two of you walked over to the old SUV Adam drove and stepped inside, scooting aside the old take out bags and random junk. Adam sheepishly got In and fastened his seatbelt.

“Thanks for taking me home man, I wasn’t feeling the best.” David said hiding a smile while still typing in his computer. Adam started the car and began to pull out of the parking lot.

“no problem man, it’s been a boring day for me anyway.”

I’m sure it was… David thought pulling up Adams profile again. David pulled up Adams profile. He continued to explore it as they got on the highway - passing the braves stadium. Now it was time to really see what this program could do. He clicked on the occupation section and replaced senior engineer with Uber driver and hit enter. The cars interior suddenly shifted, quickly becoming neater and tidier. An Uber sticker appeared on the windshield. David smiled and Adam glanced over at him.

“Hey you owe me tho David,” he smiled “I could be making money right now instead of driving your ass around.”

“for sure man, I’ll make it up to you.” David grinned. He clicked onto Adams body specifications.

Alright let’s slide that age way down… maybe 22? He looked good like that, but let’s pump up his muscle mass by 80 pounds and increase his attractiveness level. David pulled open Adams identity profile and messed around with a few things. Instead of being a work friend, Adams new relationship to David was a complete stranger. David deleted Adams previous educational experience tab and input college fraternity brother into his profile. He dropped the IQ level down to one of the lower settings. It might be nice for Adam to worry about less right? He input “easygoing” into his profile. He hit shuffle on race, just for some added fun and eagerly hit enter.

the change was immediate. Adam shifted in his seat, losing a few inches of height but gaining a ridiculous amount of mass everywhere. His legs filled in his pants so quickly David thought they might burst. His arms ballooned outwards and his face shifted to a cocky smirk. His pecs jutted out against his shirt, bouncing with the cars motion. The clothes he previously wore liquified and stretched tight against his body - becoming a simple tee shirt and short shorts. His hair styled itself into a skin fade, and a tan crept over his body. A backwards cap materialized on his head, and a stud In his ear as he glanced over at David.

“What? You like what you see man haha?”

The new Adam raised his arm and flexed his now massive bicep.

You both laughed as you felt a mixture of pride and arousal. Adam put a beefy arm on the dash of his car and started typing into the gps, stopping at an intersection .

“Where was it you said you wanted to be dropped off again sir?”

David rattled off his address, trying to hide the growing… excitement that was beginning to show In his crotch. The new Adam glanced down and smirked at David, but continued driving. David smiled, reviewing Adams profile again.

“ So what do you have going on in your life… Adam right?” David asked, trying for conversation with his previous boss.

“We’ll I’m just chilling at the university right now…” Adam said with a dull laugh, “spending a lot of time at the gym and with the boys right now.”

David nodded absentmindedly, sliding Adams sexuality to nearly 100 Percent gay. Just to see what would happen. He slid the Libido curser to high and glanced back up at Adam. A distracted look now plastered on his face, one hand on the wheel, one hand now migrating down to his shorts.

“… and you know… spending time… with the boys.”

David could barely contain his excitement as the two pulled up to his house. Adam threw the vehicle in park and shifted his Adonis frame in his seat to face David.

“Hey man, don’t even worry about the ride today, it was nice meeting you. I’ll void the bill In the app.” He said with a smile. David met his gaze and blushed. Oh my god, was he flexing?

“Oh that’s really too nice of you man, there’s really no need.” David stuttered

Adam smiled and bit his lip, he hopped out of the car to get David’s door.

“No I insist. I Really enjoyed being your driver today.”

David stepped out of the car, amazed by what he had been able to do to his friend. The new Adam held out his hand for a solid high five. He winked and said,

“Message me if you ever need a ride again bro.” With that, he strutted back to his car, then got in and sped down the road - blasting music.

David stood on the edge of the driveway. Clutching his lap top and trying to calm himself. He began to stride into his house, weighing his options. People had warned him, that the chronivacs power could really go to your head if you didn’t have a handle on it. He unlocked the door and paced into his living room. David hadn’t thought much about it, but man had he really surprised himself. In the space of 1 hour he had changed his boss into a horny college himbo without so much as a blink.

He through himself onto the couch and started up at the ceiling. David smiled, thinking of the limitless possibilities that now awaited him. He could literally become whatever he wanted to. Could change the world in whatever way he wanted. The possibilities were so endless p, he had no idea what to do.

After a moment of watching the rotating fan David grinned. He didn’t know all the things he wanted to change, but he did know what he wanted right now. He pulled his laptop back up and fired up the chronivac. Adams profile still displayed on screen. David clicked into Adams relationship status and began clicking around. It took a second to find the option, “willing to sleep with any man.” But David aggressively slammed the enter button and pulled out his phone, finding an Uber text string with the new Adam.

“Thanks again for the free ride today man. Was wondering if you wanted to ride anything else tonight? 😘🍆”

He waited breathlessly for a moment before three dots appeared on his screen, and then a message. Apparently a picture the new Adam had taken at the gym.

“on my way back big guy”

David slammed his laptop closed and ran to change into some more relaxed clothes. That was enough messing with the chronivac for the day. It was amazing what a horny stud he had been able to change his boss into. And ridiculous how quickly David had fallen for him.

David wrestled with his tie and glanced out the bedroom window as a car raced up. The new and improved Adam jumped out and started sauntering towards the door, already removing his shirt. David could only stares as he felt himself begin to go hard. He and Adam were going to have a lot of fun tonight.