#but I'm starting to find brands I like for their quality

[laureleikirsch]

apparently controversial opinion:

LET MEN HAVE PATTERNED SHORTS/PANTS BESIDES:

- pinstripe/plaid/checkers

- camo

- Patriotism(TM)

- apocalyptic distressing/acid washing

LET MEN HAVE FLOWER PRINT AND TIE DYE AND CHEVRONS AND WHATEVER THE FUCK ELSE

ON SOMETHING OTHER THAN BOARD SHORTS AND UNDERWEAR

[lijoue]

Hi friends!

I'm so proud to share my completed toddler set: Teddy.

I had so much fun creating these items for you and your baby sims! Toddlers are my favourite life stage aside from young adults. But even though I have over ~55gb of cc, I still struggle to find high-quality toddler stuff. So of course I had to make my own!

For this set, I curated a really cute & fun colour palette inspired by real-life kids' clothing brands. Everything matches the colour story in a realistic way, so you can have fun mixing & matching all the different pieces. There's also some really nice soft textures that I adore like corduroy and sherpa.

I hope you enjoy it! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ ♡

This set is currently available for my lovely paid patrons. Starting next week, I'll share a few free items on Patreon every week or so until the entire set is public. 

Can't wait? Download the full collection here!

[zephyrchama]

The Most Popular Book

(Obey Me! brothers and reader)

"Oh? Levi, what are you doing in here?"

Asmodeus had just returned home after a long, busy day. Brand name bags adorned his arm and he still had sunglasses on. While en route to his own room, the surprised demon happened to find your bedroom door wide open. The person brazenly rummaging around inside was not you, but Leviathan.

The Avatar of Envy was opening drawers, sliding his hands across shelves, and turning everything over. He jumped at being caught, but quickly regained composure upon seeing who it was, and with clear annoyance said, "I left my charger in here and can't find it."

Exhausted but never one to pass up on quality bonding time, Asmodeus decided to make this his business, too. "Should you really be in here when they're not home? Won't they get mad?"

"I'm just getting my charger and leaving, that's it." Leviathan was grumpier than usual when his D.D.D. battery ran out. He started sifting through your bed sheets for the lost cable, tossing pillows onto the floor and dragging the blanket off in case you used it and the cord had been tucked in somewhere.

Amid the plush bedding, something hard audibly hit the carpet. Leviathan and Asmodeus both turned towards it, expecting to find the square end of a plug. Instead, the culprit was an unassuming little book that had fallen out of your pillowcase.

"Is that a dirty book?" Asmodeus asked in delight. "Hurry and open it, I wanna see what they're into."

"I don't think so? It's not flashy, there's nothing on the back. Don't those usually have pictures all over?" Leviathan picked it up and turned the unassuming tome over. "Nothing on the front, either."

He cracked it open to a random page, spent five seconds reading it, and had all color drain from his face. He slammed the book shut with both hands and tried to shove it back in the pillowcase. "I-i-it's nothing. This is nothing. I think I'm done, I'll find my c-c... cabl... I'll find it later."

This would not fly with Asmodeus. This just made him more curious. "What is it?"

Asmodeus lunged and snatched the pillow from out of Leviathan's hands, who was still too stunned to react properly. All he could do was protest loudly as Asmodeus victoriously retrieved the mystery book and opened it.

He squealed. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Put it back! Idiot!" Leviathan shouted.

No commotion in the House of Lamentation could go unnoticed for long. Other residents were already on their way to scold them for being loud. Belphegor and Satan were the first to arrive, disgruntled that their meeting in the library had been disturbed.

"Can you keep it down?" the youngest reprimanded. "We're in the middle of something."

"I can't hear myself think over your nonsense," Satan added. However, he was quick to notice how unusual it was for the Avatar of Lust to be reading of his own accord. Not a magazine, but an actual book was in Asmodeus' grip. This piqued Satan's interest. "What do you have there?"

"Nothing," Leviathan insisted. His desperate attempts to pilfer it from Asmodeus made it very clear that this was not 'nothing.'

"You're not going to believe this," Asmodeus giggled.

Beelzebub, Mammon, and Lucifer just so happened to come around the corner at the same time. Beelzebub, who had been doing his own thing l, was glad to see where his twin had gone off to and stayed silent to watch the mess unfold.

Mammon was acting like a high and mighty big brother ready to punish his silly little siblings for acting out. He had an oddly serious air about him. He was followed closely by Lucifer, who had been in the middle of lecturing Mammon and wanted to quickly get back to that punishment. They arrived right in time to hear Asmodeus announce, "Levi found a diary!"

It took mere seconds for everyone to put two and two together - a diary was found. They were in your room. It obviously belonged to none other than you. It appeared you were actively using this diary. The diary they now had access to.

"Hey now! Give me that!" Mammon commanded, shouldering past Satan to confiscate the diary. His ears were pink. "What are you all thinkin'? You're not s'pposed to be lookin' at that!"

Belphegor was quick to quip, "I suppose you want us to give it to you for safe keeping?"

"That's right!" Mammon nodded. "I'll hold on to this until they come home so none of you can read it."

"And you'll get to read it all by yourself. You're so obvious." Satan crossed his arms and glared at Mammon, who shrugged.

Lucifer was next to pluck it from Mammon's grip. "If anyone is holding on to this for safe keeping, it will be me."

"We should put it back where it was," Beelzebub said. "That way, they won't find out and get embarrassed. Or mad."

Leviathan latched on to this idea quickly. "Yes! Exactly! Beel's right! Let's just put it back!" He shook the pillowcase, ready to put things back to how they were, eager for this situation to end.

"What were you doing in here to begin with?" Lucifer asked, full of suspicion. He eyed the messy shelves and floor. "You know this room is off-limits when they're not home."

"Yeah, Levi! What's wrong with you?" Mammon shouted, glad to pin blame on somebody else for once.

"I was looking for my charger! That's it! Perfectly innocent!" Leviathan insisted.

Lucifer sighed and said, "you should have waited for them to return. Now look at this mess. I expect you to clean this all up before-"

"Hey, Satan! No fair!" Asmodeus yelled. At some point during the verbal squabble, Satan had managed to get his fingers on the coveted book and was now skimming its pages covered in your handwriting. Lucifer narrowed his eyes and frowned as a menacing disposition took hold.

"We should read it together," Belphegor said as Mammon tackled Satan to the ground in an attempt to wrestle the diary away. "Somebody read it aloud to us."

"No! We couldn't possibly...!" Leviathan's resolve was wavering. "Could we...? No! We shouldn't... Unless they wrote something about me? Maybe?"

"We should put it back," Beelzebub repeated, squeezing his hands together nervously. "I don't think they want us reading that. If they want us to know something, they would just tell us."

Nobody was paying attention because at the same time, in between punches to the face, Satan confirmed that, "they wrote about all of us. I don't know what, though."

Belphegor and Asmodeus jumped into the fray, wanting to get their hands on it at any cost. Who knew what could be written about them inside of that book? Belphegor grabbed Satan from the back as Asmodeus kicked Mammon's leg aside, trying to snatch the tome from above. Mammon snarled and proclaimed, "That diary's mine! Y'hear? All mine!"

One by one, demon forms began to take over. Your possessions scattered around the room and rolled under the bed as tails and leathery wings whipped through the air. The edges of your diary got dented and the page edges became scratched, even though whoever was in possession of it at any given time was fiercely protective of it.

Belphegor had the book pressed against his chest and was curled defensively around it while Lucifer picked him up and shook the youngest brother like an empty bag. Beelzebub did not like this. He side-stepped over Leviathan, who was preoccupied with attempting to bite Lucifer's ankle and shake Mammon off his tail, and body-checked the eldest into dropping his twin. Asmodeus and Satan were ready and waiting, clawing to reclaim the diary.

Everyone was howling and shouting in the world's most violent game of keep-away. It was a jarring sight. You froze in your tracks at the doorway. Limbs tangled together, feathers and scales flew everywhere, there were several fresh dents in the floor. A really powerful "stay" was going to be needed if you were to put a stop to the situation. At the very least, it was going to be a doozy to write about in your diary.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗩𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗬 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗦

　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x famous!reader

SUMMARY: Where the world-famous actress and model, Y/N, is invited by Vogue to record a video of her Beauty Secrets, but during the recording, Chris, her boyfriend, decides to make a brief appearance.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The golden sun peeked through the silk curtains, illuminating Y/N's spacious marble bathroom. She was at home in her luxurious suite, ready to share her beauty secrets with the world.

A few days ago, Y/N was busy organizing her appointments when an email with the iconic Vogue logo caught her attention. With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, she opened the message to discover that Vogue was interested in featuring her in its exclusive beauty video series, Vogue Beauty Secrets.

The news filled her with excitement and pride. As one of the most in-demand models of the moment, walking on runways for renowned brands like Gucci and being a regular in the pages of Vogue itself, Y/N was already a familiar presence in the fashion industry. However, the invitation to share her beauty secrets with the Vogue audience represented an exciting opportunity to connect on an even deeper level with her fans and followers.

As Y/N prepared to start recording the video, she could hear the distant sound of laughter and the distinctive hum of video games coming from the next room. Her boyfriend, Chris, was immersed in one of his thousands of games, completely absorbed by the virtual world.

With a captivating smile, the girl waves to the camera with her left hand, starting the recording. Her long hair falls like a silken waterfall as she approaches the dressing table adorned with high-quality beauty products.

"Hi, guys! It's Y/N here." She greets enthusiastically, her smile stretching across her face as her right hand lifts slightly, showing the white mug full of fresh brewed coffee. "And I'm back on my favorite channel. Today is a very special day because I'm sharing my beauty secrets with you!"

With grace and elegance, Y/N begins her skincare routine, explaining each step in meticulous detail. She gently applies a gentle cleanser, massaging it into her skin in circular motions while commenting on the latest happenings in the fashion world.

"You know, being on the cover of Vogue for the fifth time is an honor." She shares casually. "But it's also a reminder of how much hard work and dedication it takes to get there. I remember when I was just a 10-year-old kid walking down the hallway at home in my mom's heels."

While applying a refreshing toner, Y/N describes how she likes to take care of her skin to keep it radiant and flawless, even under the relentless camera spotlight.

"It's all about consistency and finding what works for you." The girl advises gently, looking directly into the camera with confidence. "And never underestimate the power of drinking lots of water and getting enough sleep!"

With one fluid movement, Y/N moves on to the next step: makeup. She carefully selects her favorite products, explaining the reasoning behind each choice as she applies them with masterful skill.

"My makeup philosophy is simple: enhance natural beauty." She explains, delicately tracing her eyebrows with a pencil in the tone of her natural hair. "It’s all about enhancing, not transforming."

Y/N lowered her head slightly, her right hand hovering over her laid out products before her index finger and thumb fished out her Dior blush.

"This one is Dior Backstage Rosy Glow Blush. It's super beautiful and gives you, like, baby pink glow. I'm literally obsessed!" The girl opens the small packaging, momentarily showing the pink powder to the lens before applying it delicately to the apples of her cheeks with a white brush. "I used to use really heavy blush when I was in school." Y/N confesses, laughing. "My face looked like a paint palette! Chris said it also looked like I had sunbathed for hours without sunscreen. But over time, I learned the art of subtlety."

As she continued to expertly apply her makeup, focusing on the smooth strokes and precise touches, a noise at the bathroom door broke her focus. With a surprised sigh, she saw through the mirror her boyfriend entered the spacious room with a frustrated expression on his face.

"Fucking hell!" He grumbled under his breath, muttering curses as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh softly at the sight of him, knowing he was dealing with another loss in his game against Nick and Matt.

"Having some trouble, babe?" She asked playfully, turning her face slightly towards him and giving him an amused look as she continued to apply her makeup.

Chris let out a heavy sigh and walked with quick steps toward her, looking over Y/N's shoulder to see what she was doing. His eyes widened in surprise as he noticed the strategically placed recording camera before turning towards his girl with raised eyebrows.

"Wow, wait!" The boy exclaimed, excitement clear in his voice. "Are you recording a video?"

Y/N nodded, smiling as she explained about Vogue's invitation and the opportunity to share her beauty secrets with the world, her hands gently closing the packaging of the blush before putting it away in its original place.

Chris watched with admiration her animated features as she talked and her hands moving her favorite products - which he had already memorized, him himself buying many of them for her everytime he passed by Sephora -, his eyes shining with pride.

"That's so cool, baby!" He exclaimed, smiling big and wrapping an arm around her waist, moving so that he was more centered inside the lens's frame and clinging to his girl. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"If your intention is to make me blush, it will be impossible under those layers of blush." Y/N intervened, raising her right hand with her palm facing him, rolling her eyes playfully in an attempt to feign annoyance, but the minimal smile on her face said otherwise. "Do you want to stay here? With me."

"Can I?" Chris widened his eyes comically, turning abruptly to her, feeling elated.

"Of course you can, honey!" Y/N couldn't help but laugh at Chris's excitement, nodding with a smile. "Welcome to my world of beauty." She opened her arms in an exaggerated gesture of welcome, receiving a nasal laugh in response.

As she resumed her makeup, explaining the next steps in detail, Chris watched with interest, asking questions and showing genuine interest in the entire process, a childish and euphoric aura surrounding his body.

As Y/N picked up her favorite mascara and began to explain in detail about the brand and its incredible formula that provided volume and length without clumping, Chris's eyes traveled between the product - which he already knew very well - and her concentrated expression. He could see the passion in his girlfriend's eyes as she talked about her beauty rites, and this only increased his admiration for her, an involuntary smile resting on his face.

Then, when Y/N was about to apply the mascara, the boy gently stepped forward, extending his hands, stopping her movements. The girl raised her eyes to him, a confused expression hovering over them before noticing what he wanted to do after watching Chris take the product from her hands.

That wasn't unusual between them; Over the three years of their relationship, Chris had become skilled at some specific makeup steps, helping his girlfriend on several occasions.

"Can I?" He asked softly, holding the mascara in her eyes level.

Y/N smiled, feeling grateful for her boyfriend's affectionate gesture, throwing a wink in the direction of the camera before turning her body slightly to the side, so that her face was still visible to the lens and that Chris could see her completely.

"Please, go ahead, baby." She finally replied, her eyes shining with tenderness as she watched Chris move closer, wanting to put himself in an easy position for both of them, without running the risk of smudging his work.

With skill and care, Chris began to apply the mascara to Y/N's long, naturally curled lashes, following the precise movements he had observed she doing so many times. He furrowed his eyebrows in a serious expression, determined to do an impeccable job, his tongue lolling out of his lips in concentration.

"Chris and I have an interesting ritual. For as long as I can remember, I've always been very careful about the way I look, and that didn't change after I started dating Chris, and much less when we started actively going to each other's houses." Y/N explained softly, without moving her lips too much with the intention of not making him smudge his work. "And Chris, being the adorably clingy boyfriend that he is, would spend hours in the bathroom with me while I was trying out new makeup or getting ready to go out. He would just sit on the closed toilet seat and watch me for minutes on end."

"How could I not look at a work of art as perfect as you?" The boy interrupted her, shooting off his sentence before an involuntary smirk appeared on his lips, feeling the skin of her right cheek burn against his own hand.

"And then, one day, he asked to do my makeup, but before I explained the function of each product." Y/N quickly resumed her train of thought, ignoring her boyfriend's flirting. "And over time, every time we go out together, he asks to help me, or just to watch me doing my skin routine."

"Sharing these intimate moments with you is the best part of my daily routine." The brunette said softly, his tone low with the intention of only his girlfriend hearing, his eyes meeting hers tenderly.

Y/N quickly pressed her lips into a thin line, feeling her neck and cheeks burn even more in shyness, her right hand moving up his body, caressing his covered hip lightly with her fingers in ghost touches.

When he was finished, Chris stood back with a triumphant smile, admiring his work with pride. Y/N turned around, facing the camera and the mirror completely, observing her own reflection for a few seconds, impressed with the result. Her lashes were perfectly defined and voluminous, exactly how she liked them.

"Wow, you're getting better at this!" Y/N exclaimed, approaching her face to the camera slightly, blinking repeatedly, wanting the lens to capture her boyfriend's perfect work. "Thank you, my love."

Chris smiled excitedly, happy to have made Y/N feel even more pretty, his hands returning to their previous place on her waist.

"Vogue, please, get Chris to do the next episode of Vogue Beauty Secrets."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"petition for Chris and Y/N to start posting makeup videos together ✏️📄"

"I never thought I would see Chris knowing about makeup, much less doing someone's makeup 😭"

"this is the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life 😔✋🏻"

"I need a boyfriend like Chris, who does my makeup every day 🙏🏻"

"Chris is the true meaning of acts of service 🥺"

"couple goals fr 🤞🏻"

"Chris is to blame for my standard being so high 😫"

"get someone that looks at you like Chris looks at Y/N while she puts on makeup 🤭"

“okay, but can we talk about Y/N’s flawless skin? I'm jealous 😫”

"Y/N's makeup >>>>>"

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @fratbrochrisgf @elordilover @somegirlfromasgard @hpyjw

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[oshygoshy]

2:07 pm

word count - 570 words

warnings - none

a/n - omg this is based off my own experience working at bath n body works BRO. i was asking this older guy if he needed anything special today and he was like, "my wife! who's pretty special to me" like alskdfhskafash let me find someone who loves me like that

sakusa kiyoomi didn't particularly like nor care for shopping, instead opting for whatever athleisure was the highest quality, or whatever the newest brand deal msby signed with. (seriously, the amount of free nike promo the team got was kind of insane.) he especially doesn’t like the bright, heavily scented body care store you frequently shopped at. the loud music, cheery (read: plastic) decor, and strong, swirling scents messed with his head, causing headaches and itchy skin. and don't get him started on the testers...! just how many people could've potentially touched them by now?

"hello! are you looking for something special today?" an employee asked with a picturesque fake customer service voice and smile voice plastered on thickly. 

he gave a brisk nod at them back. "nothing much, just my spouse." he paused. "although, you could say they're very special to me," he said, icy exterior melting and a warm smile peeping through. 

she laughed, a genuine smile appearing on her face this time. “aww, cute! well, we do have a buy 3 get 2 free sale going on right now on our full-sized body care items, so maybe you could help her shop for something special," she said before heading off to greet another customer. 

he nodded absentmindedly, glancing at some of the select items. although the store itself was too much to bear, whenever you put something scented on yourself, it was much nicer. less overbearing compared to the store, and it was like a secret surprise every time he leaned in for a hug. would he smell a hint of vanilla or pear wafting against your skin today?

"omi? you're in here?" 

he was startled at your sudden voice. "huh? oh, yeah, you were taking a while," he explained, turning around to see you peering up at him. he didn’t see anything in your hands, so he supposed nothing piqued your interest. (this time, anyway…)

"whoops! got carried away looking at the samples,” you say, abashed, as you stick out your hand. he holds it in his palm obediently. “anyways, i'm done here. i didn't find anything i liked, so we can head out now," you say, leading him out of the store. 

“have a good day, you two! and good luck on your marriage," said the employee from before, smiling at you both. he nodded back, and couldn’t help but smirk a little as he felt your steps falter. 

“m-marriage?!“

“now now dear, let’s not bother the poor working lady,” he murmured low into your ear. you gave him a flat look in return. 

“omi-omi, please-“

“don’t call me that! you know i don’t like it.”

“omi.” you stop in your tracks, frowning at him. “if you’re going to go around announcing that we're married, why don’t you at least…i don’t know…propose to me first?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

(unbeknownst to you, the ring was waiting underneath his boxers back at your shared apartment.)

“yeah, alright,” he hummed. “just wanted to test it out first.”

you hug his arm, a small smile on your face. “you’re so cute! who would've thought you’re capable of being emotive, let alone adorable?”

he gently pushed you off his arm, using just enough force to loosen your grip on him. “fuck off. i take everything i just said back.” 

“nope! no take-backsies! you’re my cute little wifey now!” 

he sighed incredulously. “i’m the wife?” 

[starryhutcherson]

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones. 

It’s no different today. 

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils. 

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it. 

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you. 

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. 

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is. 

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.” 

Mike scoffs. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.” 

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas. 

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything. 

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway. 

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.” 

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation. 

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air. 

“If anything happens, call me.” 

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream. 

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that. 

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.” 

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out. 

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity. 

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild. 

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.  

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so. 

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you. 

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode. 

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this. 

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly. 

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat. 

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks. 

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble. 

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.” 

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.” 

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth. 

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.” 

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!” 

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house. 

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!” 

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!” 

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is. 

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in. 

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it. 

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.” 

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle. 

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him. 

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.” 

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down. 

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak. 

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever. 

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face. 

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up. 

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you. 

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you. 

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking. 

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed. 

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you. 

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so. 

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter. 

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon. 

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing. 

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to. 

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud. 

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be. 

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink. 

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples. 

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him. 

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton. 

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar. 

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.  

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor. 

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his. 

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you. 

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge. 

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps. 

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you. 

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body. 

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly. 

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch. 

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes. 

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently. 

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw. 

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless. 

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach. 

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you. 

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute. 

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him. 

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it. 

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does. 

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins. 

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you. 

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same. 

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake. 

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls. 

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well. 

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. 

He’s found his new familiar. 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[teaboot]

how do you find/buy sex stuff? I'm sure there are websites, but I don't even know where to start. What would be safe and reputable? Do you have any suggestions, or advice on picking something "good"? Also thank you for opening your asks for stuff like this.

okay, so here's the shake:

I personally believe that you can buy decent sex toys anywhere, providing that:

The listing is honest about the product's materials

You know what to look for

Silicone, glass, and metal are the safest materials you can use. They're the least reactive with natural bodily chemicals and are the least likely to give you problems.

SILICONE: Not 'silicon'- silicon is NOT SILICONE. Slicone solids are never 100% transparent and might, MIGHT appear translucent and foggy at the clearest. Silicon might be shiny OR matte, but if it's matte please know that velvet or soft-touch coatings are most often non-silicone materials added after the toy itself is molded. This is usually fine, but if you know your body is sensitive to that, one brand I know has the texture built into the mold is Fun Factory. It's pricy, but it's high quality and comes with a warranty.

NEVER ASSUME AN ITEM IS SILICONE UNLESS THE ITEM IS DESCRIBED AS SILICONE.

GLASS: Tempered glass is usually fine. If you notice chips, cracks, or hairline fractures in it, bag it up and throw it out.

Metal: Same story. Chipping, flaking, cracks, oxidization, toss it. Acrylic toys with metallic coatings will degrade in contact with oils, unlike actual metal, so be sure to check materials.

People shit on sites like Adam & Eve and Pinkcherry, and yeah those are cheap stores that dont sell the best stuff, but they still have LOADS of good quality product and do frequent sales and clearouts if you're nervous and not looking to drop a lot of cash right off.

If you can afford it, brands I absolutely recommend are Womanizer, Fun Factory, Hitachi (now owned by Vibratex), Tom of Finland, Sinvention, and We Vibe. They're all high-quality and most have warranties for damage or malfunction.

On the cheaper end, Calexotics, Doc Johnson, Evolved, and Ouch!.

Websites like Bad Dragon, Extreme Restraints, and Sinvention are known to have good customer service and high-quality products.

Websites like Adam and Eve, Pinkcherry, and Lovehoney I've heard good reviews for, you just need to be careful about what you buy.

I've yet to encounter a legit site that isn't discrete, btw. Everything is usually sent out in boxes.

Please avoid AliExpress. You CAN buy there, but I don't trust that shit

[ssinboo]

Midnights To Come

summary: After finding campus heartthrob Kim Mingyu absolutely butchering his trousers trying to fix the hole he'd busted in them, you offer his your sewing abilities. As retribution, he thinks that nothing is more fitting than his ultimate mission: getting you laid.

or

You and Mingyu spend an unforgettable night together.

pairing: University!AU - Popular!Mingyu x Unpopular!F!Reader, reader does read on the thicker side? Nothing specific.

word count: 6.8k (30~ minute read)

warnings: protected sex (finally), fingering (F rec), drinking, partying

a/n: Thank you so much for the love <3 This is mostly inspired by Taylor Swift's older music lol I'm starting a new job soon, so I'll be mostly MIA for march and perhaps april TT

Kim Mingyu was the ex-boyfriend of a friend’s friend’s cousin, unforgettably handsome with the sort of beauty that belonged in Hollywood. A very tall glass of gorgeous with an incredible personality to boot, that’s why everyone adored him. He was majoring in business to follow in his father’s footsteps but was a star at football and made sure no one would forget just who was the best lineman on their amateur team. 

And you’d met once or twice, briefly. Definitely not enough for him to come even close to becoming acquainted with your existence, but more than sufficient for him to leave his mark. He was a campus Idol, a guy you admired for his popularity and his way with people.

It was at a senior’s party your friend had dragged you to, that you met again. You were quietly searching for some solace in an empty room upstairs, when you saw him fiddling with his pants – It was hard not to notice his large frame struggling with a pair of jeans in the dark bedroom corner.

Being quite fair, at first you believed he was relieving himself, carnally. That was a puzzling sight as horrifying as it would be— I mean, the man had lines of women throwing themselves to be his, why would he just jerk off?  And then, you noticed the stapler he was using to completely butcher the fabric in a desperate way to fix the large hole. 

“Oh my God, just stop!” You exclaim, not being able to watch such abuse any longer. He was known to wear brand-name goods and just the thought of high quality fabric being assaulted by staples made your skin churn.

You, however, had totally forgotten to announce your presence. 

Mingyu jumps, falling off the bed in a split-second, clashing into the carpet with a thunderous thump. Eyes blown wide like a moose in headlights, he stares at you from his half-down half-on-the-bed position, suddenly, completely aware of his nakedness.

“Oh- Fuck–!” He exclaims, stumbling off the bed and pulling the jeans to cover his brand-name boxers.

“OH!” You also seem to realise how inappropriate it was to simply barge into his intimate moment with the stapler. “I’m sorry!” You yell from behind your palms, eyes tightly shut. 

“...No problem?” It sounds more of a question than anything. I mean, it was the polite thing to say when someone says “I’m sorry” however, there was a problem. 

“Do you need any help?” You ask, still muffled and hidden behind your hands. Mingyu has no idea on how to reply, he is familiar with those words, especially coming from a lady, but this scenario is totally different from the sexy ones he’s accustomed to. “I’m a seamstress,” Your brain urges for an explanation, as to make the situation somewhat less awkward.

He seems to be content with that. “You are?”

“Yes!” You turn around, fishing around your purse for a small sewing kit, pink plastic box with teeny tiny everything. “I have some needles and thread.” 

“Oh, thank God!”

That’s how you find yourself sitting on some stranger’s bed with a half-naked Mingyu – You’re carefully patching up the seams on his jeans while he sits cross-legged with a pillow between his legs. 

Who would’ve known that years into University, your closest call with a boy would be such a weird scenario. Sitting with the campus heartthrob as you stitch up his busted trousers. What a story to tell your friends. 

“I’m Mingyu, by the way,” He breaks the awkward silence, reaching out his hand; He then realises you are occupied and takes it back.

You tell him your name, eyes glued to the intricate detailing on the garment.

“Are you new here?” He asks, curiously studying your face.

“No,” You mutter, holding a needle between your lips so you can inspect your stitches. 

“How come we’ve never met?” 

“We have.”

Mingyu adjusts himself, leaning closer, “No”

“Yes?” 

“No!” 

“You dated my friend’s friend’s cousin,” You explain, though it doesn’t help.

“I’ve dated plenty of friends’ friends’ cousins���,” Mingyu half-chuckles, practically patting himself on the back for that one. 

You roll your eyes, “We met once or twice, nothing major.”

“I would’ve remembered you.” 

“You didn’t,” Laughing, you don’t even notice he’s taken offence to his own forgetfulness.

“I don’t forget a pretty girl,” It is said as a matter of factly, a worldly known truth of sorts.

“You haven’t.” 

“I forgot you, apparently,” Mingyu is more frustrated than you’d expect – Than anyone would expect for such a laid back guy.

“I’m not pretty, though?” 

Oh, he is furious at such a statement, “What?! Of course you are. You are a solid 7.5, no joke, dude.”

A solid seven point five? Wow. Coming from anyone else, that could be taken as an offence, I mean, what about you made them go so high up the scale yet not even give a full number? But you were talking about THE Kim Mingyu.

That not only tickles your ego in the right spot, but does get a good laugh out of you. Mingyu laughs along, not fully grasping the humour of it, but enjoying the sound of your giggles. 

“Thanks,” You smile, pulling out your scissors to clip the last of your thread. “Here, it’s done.” 

He widens his eyes, “So fast?!” 

With a nod, you put everything back in your pocket kit. Mingyu excitedly inspects his trousers and his jaw falls open once he can’t locate where your repairs are. 

“It’s perfect!”

You smile, “Great!” 

“Wow. You are some kind of sewing genius! Thanks! You saved my life”

Mingyu proceeds to rant about how great you are and how amazing your skills are and you should totally work with sewing – you are, and that you should make clothes – you do. All because you are just that good – from a small repair. 

You were happy with just helping him, seeing it as a finished mission, ready to pack up and head home but he would not have that, oh, no. Mingyu was laser focused on repaying your kindness – he said he hates owing people so you had to accept.   His manner of retribution? Partying and maybe, if you got lucky, getting you laid. It was his mission now.

So he dragged you downstairs to meet his inebriated friends, all surprisingly welcoming and not nearly as douchy as you’d expected – Soonyoung was especially keen on having you accompany him on the dance floor. Even drunk, his abilities surpassed any of your own and he absolutely demolished the floor with his intricate choreo. 

Seokmin pulled you from the dance floor to join him on a cheesy karaoke battle, the one feat no man can accomplish being as stone-cold sober as you were. His usually impeccable vocals suffered under the alcohol and strained over high-notes. So you just plucked the first poor soul you saw in the crowd to substitute you as Seokmin’s duet.  

Stumbling through the crowd and away from the karaoke, you finally find Mingyu, giving him “Help me” eyes. He laughs softly at your predicament, stumbling from his friend’s shoulder to wrap his arm around your neck — his exaggerated stature almost sent you crashing down. 

“Come on, no one caught your eye?” He slurs his words, wild tongue running over his pretty lips, classic red solo cup dangerously dangling from his long fingers. You can see from up close the drunken blurriness that glazes his pretty eyes with unhinged impulsiveness.

You chuckle, remembering his goal was to set you up for a “Hot date”. 

“Not at all. But I had fun.” 

“Whaat?!” He whines in frustration, stepping forward so you’re facing each other. His arm is still heavily draped over your shoulders. “You didn’t have fun!” 

“I did!” You argue.

“No…” Mingyu pouts.

“I did! I promise,” Offering him a smile, you await his response. 

“Have a drink with me?” 

God, he was a pro at puppy-dog-eyes. With pouty lips, glistening under the remnants of his drink and sparkling eyes with furrowed brows. 

“I don’t– I don’t drink,” You’re so upset with the idea of disappointing him and his adorable pout though he barely pays it any mind. 

“Then we can do something else! Come on!” 

“No, Mingyu–!” 

But he’s dragging you away from the party, placing the edge of his cup between his teeth so he can snatch his coat from the hangers on his way out. You’re stumbling under his weight and hurried steps, but the night air feels so refreshing after the stuffy frat house you practically forget his intentions. 

The house behind you thumps under the song that blasts through its brick walls, colourful LEDs flashing from open windows. The front yard feels almost completely separate from the party inside, a world apart from the drunk atmosphere that holds the stifling rooms. 

Mingyu drags you toward the pavement and standing before his car, you feel your stomach drop once you see him press the button to open the door. 

“Mingyu– You– You’re drunk. You can’t drive,” You stumble over your words, nervously fidgeting with your clothes, even if you left right now, would he still drive?

“I won’t. You’re sober,” He says as a matter of factly and you hadn’t even considered driving this insanely expensive sports car. 

Mingyu opens the driver’s door and stands there, gesturing for you to get in. A true gentleman. With a relieved breath, you do. 

It’s a convertible – Of course, it is, no other car would fit his personality as well. The chassis is coloured a blinding firetruck red and the rims are a polished silver, it’s so clearly well-maintained you feel nervous about driving it. The leather seats smell so vividly of his cologne, woody and fresh.

Mingyu closes your door and jogs to his seat, he jumps over his door with ease, settling onto the beige leather seat with a soft thump.

“Here’s ignition, turn signals, speed and all that,” He leans over and points to each item. 

“Is it stick?”

“Nah, I had it modified, it’s completely automatic.” 

“Wow, disappointed in you… I thought you’d drive stick like a real man,” You tease, leaning over to check the height for the seat – It’s obviously too far back so you adjust it forward.

“Too busy getting my dick sucked to worry about changin’ gears,” He sticks his tongue between his teeth, leaning back with a proud smile. 

“Oh, god,” You groan, “Should I be touching any surface on this car?”

“Nope.”

You laugh.

After putting on your seatbelt, you look over and notice that of course, he’s not wearing his. With a roll of your eyes, you lean over and pull the seat belt over his chest. Mingyu would’ve flinched had he not been tipsy, his eyes linger on your body over his, how your left hand holds the belt at his chest while your right hand fiddles with the lock. 

And you have such pretty long lashes that flutter along your cheeks as you focus on finding the clip for the belt. A soft furrow between your brows, you’re sighing and biting on your lower lip; He notices the pretty shade of red that you wear.

But you’re already done and it’s clipped on with a satisfying click. 

“Driver’s rules, shotgun shuts his mouth,”  You say before he can protest the safety measures.

You smile so brightly, happily turning back to the wheel, excited over this incredible machine that lays in your hands. More than the alcohol in his bloodstream, your joy is intoxicating.  

And the car comes alive with a satisfying roar, you feel the soft vibrating from the wheel course up your wrists. For you, following the speed limit felt perfect, the wheel turned so smoothly and the pedals felt the perfect height. But the little devil on the passenger’s seat kept egging you on to go faster. 

Caving to his wishes, you take the highway out of town, breezing through asphalt with no sight of other cars. The confidence that such a smooth ride gives is true, you feel yourself steadily increasing the speed much to Mingyu’s satisfaction.

The wind in your hair, caressing your face with the exhilarating night air, the thrilling constant hum of such a potent engine working to your heart’s content. Nothing could beat the constellation of artificial lighting that lit the night scenery, every building held its own collection.

“Where should I go?” You ask, suddenly remembering you’re supposed to have a destination, your eyes absolutely glued to the road. 

“Somewhere nice,” Mingyu hums, thinking for a second.

He leans back, his left hand is carelessly draped over your headrest and you can feel his fingers fidget with your hair so unconsciously. Any of his go-to destinations were made for getting hot and heavy, which wasn’t the goal tonight; He wanted to repay you for helping him out and you hadn’t shown any interest in… other manners of payment. So it left him with only one option. 

“Take a left next turn,” He says, leaning forward to dig through the glovebox. 

Mingyu finds a pair of sunglasses, putting them on despite the very obvious lack of Sunlight. He offers you a spare set, and though you’d love to enjoy wearing Prada sunglasses that probably cost more than your entire net worth, you also enjoy seeing anything on the road. So you push them on top of your head, pushing your hair back. 

Somewhere along the deserted road, Mingyu grabs the AUX cord, connecting it to his phone and going through his very generic musical taste. But the atmosphere is so perfect you can’t help but enjoy the bubblegum pop blasting from the dashboard. You even sing along. 

It’s a comfortable silence, filled with Pop music and laughter. 

You drive for almost an hour under his strict directions, until you reach a dirt road. There’s an alarm blaring in your mind, realising that you’re far from civilization, in the middle of nowhere with a total stranger. I mean, serial killers were always described as charismatic, right? 

Making a deal with yourself, you decide that if he does anything even remotely suspicious you’re running the car off the road. You’ll die, but he’ll go with you.

Against your anxiety, however, he tells you to pull up at a clearing just ahead and once you arrive, there’s no doubt on why he chose this place.

From atop this hill, you can see far into the city, its blinding lights nothing but tiny stars on the horizon, the noise pollution of a bustling metropolis is totally gone and replaced by the calming murmurs of nature. Before he can even say anything, you’re leaving the car to admire such a view. 

The moon is full, a pale veil over both of you, standing in the starry sky as the queen, ruling over her stars. The light caressing your body with the warmth of the perfect Summer night.

“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, leaning against the hood of his car. 

You can’t help but to briefly admire the picturesque scene he paints with his playboy aura and Hollywoodian beauty, leaning against this straight-out-of-a-movie convertible. He has this side smirk, knowing this breathtaking landscape can’t be topped by any of your past experiences. 

“It’s…” There aren’t words you can find to describe such a view.  “I– Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

He visibly relaxes, as if he was waiting anxiously for your opinion, “It’s my favourite place.”

“I can see why,” You laugh, joining him, though you have a little trouble stabilising your butt over the hood.

“Everything feels small when I come here,” He explains. 

Turning to face him, your stomach is filled with annoying little butterflies that flutter around and tickle your insides with foolish thoughts. 

His moonlit profile is somehow prettier than his beauty in any other lighting, his perfect nose and high cheekbones and his eyes, God, his eyes. They hold in their dark orbs, all of the stars and worlds, in its ethereal shine. 

You hum, prying your gaze from him before your brain gets any outlandish rushes of dopamine and creates unattainable ideas. 

Mingyu leans back, his lanky body hitting the windshield, his eyes stare up at the stars. At this moment, he wishes he knew constellations from the top of his head, then maybe, he could impress you with his astronomical knowledge. 

“You look like a movie star right now… I feel like I’m in a movie,” Joking, you lean on your elbow, unconsciously following his body with your own. 

“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” He asks on a spur of the moment.

You laugh, “When I grow up?”

Mingyu realises what you meant by your question and laughs along, “You know what I meant.”

Though you’re caught aback, there’s not much thinking to be done, “I want to design clothes.”

He hums, “It suits you, I think.” He didn’t know you that well, but it seemed fitting.

You chuckle, “You?”

Mingyu lets out a long sigh, leaning on his elbows to stare up at you, “CEO, I guess.”

“Have you always wanted to be a CEO?”

His lips press into a thin line and he hesitates on how much he should tell, throwing caution into the air, Mingyu decides to open up. “I honestly… Don’t want to.”

You furrow your brows, “Won’t you take over your father’s company?” 

He nods, “That’s what I should do.”

“Then what do you want to be?”

It’s such an innocent question and in all honesty, sort of childish almost? Something you would ask a small child and just agree with whatever they come up with. But it’s something he was never allowed to question.

“I… Don’t think I know.” 

You hum, “You could be an actor,” It’s a bit of a tease as much as it is the truth. 

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, sitting up so he can face you properly. You have this soft smile on your face that holds so much warmth for a stranger like him, it almost feels undeserving. 

“An actor?” He prods. 

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You just have the vibes for it… Living a thousand lives in just one, I think you could play any character really well. Plus, you have the looks. I always told my friends you have a face that belongs in Hollywood.” It comes out so naturally, you barely realise what you’ve said until he’s staring at you. “I– Sorr–”

Mingyu smashes his lips into yours. 

You squeak, but don’t shy away from his plush lips. 

His left hand reaches for your jaw, fingers softly tracing your cheek with certain hesitancy but you lean into his touch so willingly he can’t help the bubbling feeling that comes to life deep in his belly. 

When your lips part, you feel the night breeze caress the parts of your body he touched and you find your body misses his warmth. 

Your brain simply can’t function. 

In your brilliant academic journey, romance had never been an aspect you entertained. You quickly learned at thirteen that a fairytale story only happens to cute girls with nice hair and pretty bodies. And not the one repeatedly being used as the butt-end of a cruel joke. 

Mingyu represented everything you would never have; A popular, rich guy with amazing hair and looks out of this world. And he was nice, too. Took time of his day to hang out with you and to repay what had been an instinctive action; help out someone. 

It could only have been a mistake, right?

Mingyu, noticing the dread that paints your pretty face, can’t help the cold shiver that takes over his body, “I… I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine! I won’t tell anyone.” You reply all too fast.

“What?” He blinks a couple of times, “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, I won’t ruin your reputation…”

He practically jumps from the car, standing in front of you, “Say it again.” 

You look up, his towering height has never once been intimidating, until now, “...I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“No, what the fuck do you mean ruin my reputation, why would kissing you ruin it?” His voice possesses such anger you couldn’t even think he was capable of. But you feel yourself getting upset, how long will he torture you with this? Do you need to say with all words how undesirable you are?

“Because no one in their right mind should be seen with a girl like me!” You blurt out, feeling his anger seep into your body.

“A girl like you?” He huffs in disbelief. “A girl that indulged me, was nice to my friends and let me drag her to the middle of nowhere?” Mingyu leans forward, caging your body in between his arms. “ A pretty, kind girl, who helped me without asking anything for it? What kind of girl, tell me.” He orders, his voice in a low, hushed tone that tickles your nose when he speaks.

Speechless, you’re sitting there, face to face with a guy that genuinely shows interest in you, told you you’re pretty for the nth time tonight and has the most kissable lips you’ve seen. 

His jaw is tight with anger, almost as if he’s got a personal vendetta against you self-hatred, but your stupid lustful brain can’t focus on anything but the sharp cut of his jaw, deep veins bulging from tanned skin. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, so quietly you think you hallucinated it. But it’s very much true. 

He looks so irresistible, half-lidded eyes staring at your lips while he bites his own. 

“Please,” you exhale, melting into his body when he leans forward. 

You were never a woman of action, preferring when others make the move, but in this moment you have this newfound confidence, meeting his lips halfway, crashing into a fervorous kiss.

It’s nothing like your first, you feel the heat emanating from his body, scorching hot seeping into your skin, burning every nerve it touches with fervorous want. 

His tongue is in your mouth, anxious and exploring and he is humming against your lips such an intoxicating melody that for a second, you’re a stranded sailor falling for the voice of a siren and dipping into the arms of unimaginable beauty.

Saliva drips from your connected lips but he refuses to end the kiss, no. Because you taste of cherry flavoured hard candies, provocatively luscious with a delicious aftertaste that can only leave you longing for more. 

He parts the kiss, leaning back and practically tearing his varsity jacket from his body. You’re watching closely as he lays it behind you, over the car.

Right hand moving to your waist, Mingyu pushes forward until you’re laying on the hood, so pretty. Your body is still finding his, your chest leaning forward so you can mould into his warmth, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, closer, closer. 

You’re breathless, eyes trained on his every move with such incredulity as if you believed you were in a dream, hallucinating every moment so far. 

He can feel every curve of your body pressing tightly against his. It’s evident the effect you’re having on him, blood boiling in his veins with unadulterated desire.

There has never been a moment in his life where he genuinely cared to go slow, to show his passion and intent; Every partner of his had been as much into the act as he had been. 

But you, you’re so fragile and every moment he spends in your presence feels so ephemeral, he can not help the panic that rushes into his body to make it worth it, to make every second last.

His lips trace along your jaw, saliva coating the path he trails down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. And his lips are so gentle and enticing, with their sugary kisses that you lean into because you’ve never felt something so wonderful. 

He nibbles and kisses on your exposed skin, teeth grazing across the teeniest bit of cleavage showing from your borrowed dress. So far, you had done an amazing job at keeping the sounds he elicited from leaving your lips, however this once, you couldn’t hold the breathy mewl that escapes. 

Mingyu freezes, eyes slowly rising up until they meet your face. 

“Oh my god, do it again,” He huffs against your sensitive skin.

“W-What?” You ask.

“That sound you just did, god, you sound so fucking hot,” And he slurs against your chest. Not because of alcohol, no, he had sobered up on the windy car ride, but intoxicated on the effortless warmth that you exude. 

You lit a flame on his chest that burns incandescently with nothing but greedy lust, burning its way through his body with an unfathomable hunger that could only be satisfied by your sweetest moans. 

He struggles with the buttons that decorate the cleavage of your dress, trying to undo them and seriously questioning his soberness when they do not separate.

“It’s got a zipper,” You admit, but he looks so relieved. 

Mingyu leans back, pulling you by your hand until you crash into his chest and he can finally reach the back of your dress. You’re breathing so heavily against his skin, your soft hands grazing along the nape of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair; He can hardly focus on the task at hand. 

His right hand runs under the skirt of your dress, clawing at your flesh with heavy hands, almost as if he wanted to hold you fully in his touch. Toying with the band of your panties, he sighs, watching your chest heave at the contact.

You pull your dress sleeves off, letting the fabric bundle around your waist, though you can’t be arsed to properly take it off. Mingyu does not mind at all, no, he’s absolutely hypnotised by the sight of your tits.

Shoving his face onto your cleavage, he’s pulling you closer into his body by your hips, sucking love bites on your unblemished skin. Leaving a trace of him that would last longer than your moments together, a mark of momentary possession that allowed his brain to indulge.  

And you’re contaminated with his boldness, clawing at his shirt with relentless anticipation. You suddenly have this peculiar urge to feel his skin on yours, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

Mingyu smiles against your skin, finding your hands that touch him fervently, wrapping his fingers around yours. And for a brief moment, you feel as though you might’ve wronged him, but he pulls your hands to wrap around his neck as he finds your lips again while his hands are pulling on the hem of his shirt.

The kiss is only parted once, when he pulls the white shirt above his shoulders and discards it somewhere across the soft grass; completely unimportant at the moment. 

And god, Mingyu is divinely sculpted with defined pecs and hardened abs that tense under your touch. You sigh at the dreamy sight of his tan skin completely exposed for your viewing only. 

He relishes in the adoring look you exhibit, eyes dripping wholly in an exquisite hunger you’ve never felt before; And he coerces this scandalous reaction from you with pride. Your hands are eager to touch him, so you do. You run your fingers down his supple skin, fingernails grazing in teasing lines. 

Smoothing out your hands up his chest, you find his neck and pull him toward your lips, wanting to feel his bare skin on yours, stealing his heat until your bodies are running at the exact same temperature.

His hands, large and calloused from playing professional sports, lay heavy on your thighs. Mingyu pulls at the waistband of your panties and takes a second to lock eyes with you, guaranteeing your approval. 

You can only hope you’ve got the good pair of underwear on. 

But it doesn’t matter, because he pulls it off at once, discarding it above his shoulder to fall somewhere along his shirt. 

Your dress is bunched up around your waist and you should’ve felt more embarrassed to be completely exposed before him but Mingyu looks at you with such reverent eyes, taking every inch of abundant flesh with care. 

“Fuck–” He groans, eyes glued to the spot between your legs. You can’t even close them in an attempt at modesty because he is standing right there and not going anywhere. 

He runs a slender finger across your slit, breathing heavier at the sight of moisture that pools along the lips. 

When you bite your lower lip, unknowingly coquettish and staring at him all bright eyed and pleading, Mingyu let out a strained sound that could barely be classified as a groan. 

“Can I?” 

His finger dances around your slit and he looks unsure. You nod with a soft “Yeah.”

Nothing like anything you’ve felt or done before.

That’s the only way to explain the feeling of having his long finger prodding at your hole with gentle movement. He soon joins another one, stretching you out with delicate scissoring motions, he’s not focused on making you cum, he wants to prepare you for him. 

And that very thought makes your stomach tighten in anticipation. 

You don’t even realise when your hips are thrusting against his hand, matching his pace. And you’re definitely not thinking when you ask in a gasp:

“A… Another one–”

Mingyu stills. 

“You don’t fuckin–” He leans forward, forehead flushed to yours, uneven breath tickling your sensitive lips. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me, babygirl.” 

You feel your body consumed with an unstoppable amount of confidence, knowing the grip you hold over Mingyu at this moment, you’re dizzy with power.

“Show me, then,” The lazy smile that finds your red stained lips is a sight to bear.

He smirks, knowing he will make you eat your words soon. 

As he pulls his fingers from your cunt, there is a thick string of arousal that coats his skin in a sinful glaze. With a confident smirk, Mingyu 

But he doesn’t expect when you lean forward, letting your tongue run all over, cleaning his fingers and tasting first-hand the pleasure he brings you. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

Mingyu could’ve cum right then and there. 

You’re giggling as he fumbles with his belt, he wishes he could’ve stopped to appreciate such a sweet sound, but he was way too horny to think about anything other than plunging his cock into you at once. 

When the night breeze hits his throbbing erection, Mingyu shivers.

You’re chewing on your lower lip, equal parts excited and terrified at his sheer size. He is large. And fat, with bulging veins running down his length and a thick head that’s trickling with pre-cum. 

“Oh my god.” 

Mingyu cowers at your gasp, “What?”

“You’re huge, fuck.” 

Oh, your praise runs straight down to his erection. His chest puffs out with absolute pride.

“Do you have a condom?” It was a silly question when aimed toward Mingyu, of course he did. He always does. 

He fishes out his wallet and pulls a fresh packet, tearing the foil apart with his teeth and pulling the pre-lubed rubber. Mingyu is about to roll it over himself when your hands find his. 

“Can I–?” You ask and he almost sighs. 

He watches you with bated breath. You’re delicate, small hands quietly rolling the condom over his seemingly unending length until you’ve reached the base. Your fingers linger in curiosity and he can’t help but to find it adorable.

Properly protected, Mingyu grasps his length as you position yourself better on the hood, legs wide open, dripping in anticipation. Oh, you couldn’t fault his desire to tease, could you?

Running his tip over and over your drenched core, he groans. You’re clenching around nothing, hands fidgeting with the bunched up fabric of your dress. Mingyu has a stupid confident smirk on his lips, watching you squirm at his minimal touch. 

“Mingyu!” You whine when he brushes against your clit. Reaching your right hand, you claw at his heaving chest. He doesn’t budge, however.

“What?” He plays dumb, toying with your hole. 

“F-Fuck me? Please…?”

Fuck seven point five, you were a ten, a twenty, a one-hundred, no fucking numbers could quantify your allure, no. You could charm your way out of any crime if you pursed your brows and pouted your lips like this, smeared red lipstick painting your soft skin, saliva dripping down your chin so indecently. 

And your hand was still, caressing his stomach, like a succubus ready to pounce and devour him like a five course-meal. Consume him whole, body and soul until he has nothing left to give. He would let you have him, any way you wanted, you just needed to say the word.

Just needed to let his name fall out of your pretty lips in a breathy gasp and he would be at your call. 

Mingyu enters you slowly, stretching out every millimetre of your walls with a burning feeling of fullness.

“Fuck–” He groans, “Relax for me, baby.” 

You take a deep breath, allowing your body to relax as much as your brain allows at the moment and he takes the chance to stretch you out further, hips pistoning forward. 

Mingyu feels the pleasure seep into his body in one fell swoop, dissolving in his bloodstream, filling his lungs with heat. You’re snug around him, clamping down on his sensitive erection, pulsing alive and throbbing. 

“Are you in?” You ask, not risking looking down and disappointing yourself at the remaining length. Mingyu is hovering just inches above you, hand taut on the hood, using every bit of restraint imaginable to not pound you into tomorrow.

“Just a little more,” He breathes out, head coming to rest on the crook of your neck as his hip comes to meet yours.

He allows you a moment to let the stretch lessen, to allow your discomfort to slowly morph into pleasure. And soon, you’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his broad shoulders, his almond eyes have completely surrendered to the dark gaze of lust, devouring you alive with their insatiable hunger. 

“You can move now…” You breathe out, fingers tangling around his silky smooth hair. 

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiles against your lips, hips finding themselves a languid, slow and torturous pace until you’re begging for more. 

The way his body feels against your is something unforgettably wonderful, every curve of his torso giving into your own, every inch of you filling into the gaps of his in an imperfectly perfect little puzzle.

With every thrust, you’re pulling at the roots of his hair, gaining yourself sharp hisses from Mingyu. Though he enjoys the tugging, leans into your scratching, presents his lips to you with total eagerness.

He fastens his movement, thrusting into you with sheer fervour. His hands are exploring your body, kneading at abundant flesh with excited fingers that leave trails of crescent moons shapes along your skin. 

Out here, in the middle of nowhere, caressed by the breeze and the moonlight, you’re whispering his name in an unanswered prayer, letting the syllables dance around in your tongue before you let them slip away into the starry night sky to be forgotten. 

You’re clenching around him with pleasure, feeling the knot in your belly tighten and tighten. 

“Feels– So good,” Mingyu hisses against your kisses, hips not stuttering even once. 

Brain an absolute mush, you can’t find any words to respond other than strained moans.

“So– Fucking good…” Nuzzling along your jaw, he grazes his teeth on your neck, painting your skin with love bites.

“I–” You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He doesn’t even need you to finish your sentence to know what you meant.

“Yeah? Me too– Let go, baby.” 

Digging his hands into your hips, Mingyu hurries his thrusts, hitting your sweet spot again and again until you’re melting in his arms, singing praise of his name with your candied voice and luring him into his own orgasm. 

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a harsh kiss, hips slowing down as he comes undone, tainting the condom with heavy spurts. 

You’re both gasping in complicity, blanketed in the summer night.

Once the condom is discarded, Mingyu lays by your side and pulls you into his heaving chest. You both lay there in comfortable silence, letting the orgasms fade out into strained sleepiness. 

“Will you promise to remember me?” You ask, watching the twinkling stars that lay before you two.

“Where did that come from?” Mingyu chuckles. 

“Do you promise?” Your voice is a soft whisper that dissipates into a shaky, hesitant breath, “Do you promise to remember me?”

He laughs, but your eyes hold such urgency, he can not ignore the human need to sympathise with your woes. “...Why– Why do you say that?”

“Because…” You sigh, “Because I’ll remember you, – this,” Hands vaguely gesturing toward your conjoined bodies, “For the rest of my life… And I’m afraid even a decade from now, you won’t be able to recall my name or what I look like.” 

It’s serious, it’s a concern that has plagued your mind since the moment you laid down. However, Mingyu can only focus on the fact that you’ve assumed the two of you won’t see each other again, ever. 

Leaning forward, his slight smile does nothing to hide the clearly confused look that is plastered across his handsome face, “It’s like you plan to disappear. We’ll see each other again.”

You shake your head, “What are the chances, Mingyu? We’re just… Fleeting seconds in centuries. What are the chances alumni – Not even from the same major, – will meet again?”

“What if we promise to meet?” Oh, he’s absolutely set on it, but you find it adorable; this fervorous intent on defying the hands fate has laid before you.

“Then, what happens when we’re bored of each other?” You chew on your lower lip, but he discards your argument. 

“That might not happen,” He points out.

“We’re too different. It defeats fate to force it,” You sigh.

Mingyu doesn’t have an answer right now, but he’s seeking one with furrowed brows and pouted lips.

“Remember me like this, no wait–” You run your fingers through tangled hair in an attempt to fix the messing he’d done before. “Done. Like this.” You flash a smile, posing your body in the best angle it has, to construct the perfect memory.

But Mingyu sees your flustered cheeks, smeared lipstick that leaves behind a stained trail of hot red over swollen-kissed lips. Sleep hazed eyes that gaze at him with such warmth, that hold a longing he wouldn’t be able to grasp for another decade. You liked him, you truly did. And that’s why you would never allow your memories of him to be tainted by the grasps of time. 

You’d forever remember his dorky smile and dad jokes, his clumsy hands and warmth.

And Mingyu doesn’t realise it yet, but he would forever remember you as someone who marked him forever. To disregard the cards you’re dealt, make your own memories, remember it all fondly. 

Maybe in a couple years, you will have a wild dream about this very moment, a fuzzy memory that leaves behind a nostalgic smile that will follow you for the day, reminding you of this perfect feeling. You’ll look back with wistful thinking of the good days. 

And will keep it close to your heart.

Where it belongs.

You thought about it often the day after, but days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years. And a decade later, you found yourself having a dream about the distant memory, and the sweet nostalgic feeling accompanied you throughout your routine. 

After university, you had found a simple job in your area that sufficed the need for experience and filled the empty stop in your resume. Though it was far from fulfilling. There was no creative liberty allowed and you often found yourself overworked and constricted by tight deadlines. 

The dream of your own line had yet to die, however. That’s why you had volunteered for such a demanding gig: designing for a historical movie. Luckily, your resume had allowed you a good position, overseeing the wardrobe and designing the pieces that would be forever captured on film.

The main character, a pretty young thing with curly hair, was extremely excited to work with you and almost cried when she saw the dresses she would be wearing. 

Today, you would be fitting for the lead male role and designing him some characteristic James Dean style clothes. Your assistant led him to your office while you were gathering your materials. 

When you enter the room and you’re met with those gorgeous almond eyes, you can’t help the stupid smile that finds your lips.

“This is the lead actor, Kim Mingyu,” Your assistant explains. 

“Yeah, I know,” You laugh. 

He stands up, a charming smirk plastered on his pretty face, “Hey.”

Your assistant looks at you with a puzzled look, “You know each other?”

Mingyu nods. 

“Yeah, I never forget a pretty face.” 

[nest-being]

i'm sorry but there's genuinely no excuse to be buying j-fashion from temu/shein, even if you're plus sized. i see this argument all the time and it just pisses me off. i've been wearing j-fashion since 2011 and i have been plus sized nearly the ENTIRE TIME!! like back then, finding plus sized items genuinely was more difficult but it is so much easier nowadays! there are so, so many options, and most of them are honestly reasonably priced? ACDC rag, punyus, dear my love whip, MAM, like they are all so well priced and that's not even to mention the plethora of taobao brands that make plus sized clothing.

like, let's be real, saying there aren't any good plus sized options is just an excuse. the real issue is that people don't want to have to save up and build their wardrobe slowly. j-fashion takes time!! it takes investment!!! you can't expect to have a full, wearable wardrobe overnight. i remember when i started wearing lolita, one of the biggest pieces of advice that went around was to just start out with a blouse or a headbow that you can work into your normie wardrobe to see how it feels. now, people want to have several coords straight away and it's just not sustainable. you'll buy your shein haul and the clothes will fall apart or look awful after a couple of wears and you'll just have to spend more and more to achieve the style, or otherwise just abandon it altogether.

anyway, if you're just starting out in j-fashion, don't be afraid to take it slow! it'll give you more time to figure out your personal style and you'll end up with a higher quality wardrobe that you genuinely cherish!! there are tons of resources out there for buying plus sized j-fashion, so if you don't know where to start, let me know and i will do my best to help 💞

[missmonsters2]

Your Touch is My Shelter

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: 6 months later, Natasha returns from the dead. It's a tightly kept secret as it's unknown how she returned, but everyone claws and fights about who will keep watch over her like savages. You're far down the list of people who should protect her, but you find yourself unable to leave her be.

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort. undisclosed trauma. physical and mental signs of trauma. angst. somber assisted bath time. sad hair braiding. emphasis on hurt AND comfort.

Note: This takes place after endgame :-) the dates might be inaccurate idk i did my best 🥲 ha-ha enjoy 👁️👁️

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

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Count: 5.2k

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

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You heard the news through Bruce. 

Well, it was through Bruce telling Pepper, and you just happened to be at the coffee machine getting shitty coffee. The quality drastically dropped since Tony was gone, and you've been putting off telling Pepper she needed to literally buy anything else. 

You didn't really know how long was the appropriate time for someone to grieve before you could ask if they could buy another brand of coffee.

Tony was gone. 

A part of you thinks you keep putting off telling Pepper because then you'd have to face—really face—he was gone. 

Steve was gone. 

What did it matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Coffee was just coffee, and it'd probably taste fine if you just put a shitload of sugar and creamer in it. 

Vision was gone. 

Honestly, you only really noticed because it was the same brand as whatever was stocked up at the Avengers Compound. 

Natasha was gone. 

But perhaps the coffee always tasted bad at the Compound and it had nothing to do with Tony being gone. Natasha used to bring coffee into the office most days for people, and Clint filled in the other days. 

Maybe Tony Stark just liked shitty coffee, and you were only now just noticing it. 

Natasha was back. 

Your hand faltered at the coffee machine, spilling a little of it on your hand, and the burn stung immediately.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked as he noticed you inhale a sharp breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly at him before looking at Pepper. "Morgan's fine. She just has the flu and her fever's gone down. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and fluids. I'm going to set up a humidifier for her and help her settle into bed with a movie and wait for her to fall asleep before I head out."

Pepper let out a heavy breath, putting her hand over her chest in relief. "Oh, perfect. Thank you so much for coming suddenly. I just—Morgan doesn't really like going to the hospital, and suddenly she started throwing up and having a fever—"

"It's fine, Pepper," you waved off her ramblings after you wiped what you spilled on the counter. "You can always call me if you need me."

"Seriously, I think I might just employ you full-time as a live-in doctor if you say that," Pepper joked, and you laughed. 

"I am already your live-in doctor, just for one of your research labs. instead."

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You don't think about Natasha—at least, you try not to. 

You heard things here and there about it through Pepper. Apparently, she's being held in a government facility similar to The Raft, detained like some criminal they needed to study instead of the war hero who sacrificed everything to save the world. 

It made you sick to your stomach. 

But you hear that Clint, Bruce, and Nick Fury have been fighting to get custody of her, so you don't think about it. There were people who knew Natasha far better than you did and were way closer to her than you were. 

She was in good hands. 

So, you continue on with your daily routine to pass your monotonous days, unaware you're waiting for some kind of update.

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The next time you heard about Natasha Romanoff, it was Clint and Bruce cornering you at your lab.

"What?" You panicked, tensing up. "Why me?"

"You're the only person Natasha ever sought out to treat her," Clint answered, and you felt even more lost at the fact he knew. "Natasha allows medical professionals onsite to help her, but there were times she left to go see you. That has to mean something."

But, of course, he knew. He was Natasha's...best friend. And Clint was an incredibly nosy person, even if Natasha didn't tell him. 

"I've only treated her a handful of times—literally only five times. I don't know her that well," you shook your head, trying to walk around them. "I didn't even know she had a sister until you told me."

"Please," Clint begged. "I'm fighting to get her out, and the doctors they have looking after her are shady and callous with her. I can only visit her with Nick's influence, but it's not enough to get her out of there."

"And what do you suppose I can do?"

"You're a renowned cellular biologist," Bruce cut in. "If they're holding her for research, we want someone on our side who will at least treat her like a human being. The faster we get answers, the faster we can get her out."

"Please," Clint begged again. "Natasha needs help. She's...different. And it's only going to get worse if she remains in there. She's not talking, and they won't let her go until they can find some answers."

It felt wrong. 

You don't want to study Natasha Romanoff like an animal. Despite being a scientist with an inquisitive mind, you don't care about how she returned.

But it sounded like Natasha would be researched whether you liked it or not. And if that was the case, you do wonder how the other doctors may be treating her.

"Fine, we're going first thing in the morning," you gritted out, unable to block out the handful of memories of times you've treated her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2012

"Oo, that looks painful," you hissed in sympathy as a redhead with a busted lip and nasty gash on her temple entered the med bay.

There was a snort that sounded like a half-grunt. "It looks worse than it feels. I hope I'm not intruding, but Tony said I should see you to be treated."

"Natasha, right?" You asked slowly, gesturing to a seat for her to take as you grabbed some medical supplies. 

"Yes," Natasha replied, equally slow with caution.

"Tony talks about you a lot," you tried to reassure her of whatever paranoia she might have. It probably didn't help that Natasha was still in her catsuit and probably would've preferred to be called by her alias.

"Well, don't believe everything he says," Natasha gives a light but somewhat tight smile. 

"Oh, so you aren't a unique woman with high intellect, sneaky, and rightfully smug?" You teased, and it was flattering that you could make a superhero laugh. 

You began treating Natasha's wound carefully. 

"You're pretty good at this, doc," Natasha commented as you blew on her brow, even if it didn't sting. "You're pretty gentle. Must be why Tony says you're his personal doctor."

You chuckled. "I'm actually a cellular biologist. Tony is funding my research and pretty much my lifestyle. With the money he's paying me, he can come crying about his boo-boos anytime. Although, he doesn't really come to me for serious stuff. It's usually if he has something ridiculous like a papercut."

"But you can treat wounds and other medical things?" 

"I was on my way to becoming a medical doctor before I decided to go into research instead."

"Huh," Natasha hummed, raising her brow at you. "Smart cookie."

"I'd like to think so," you finished cleaning Natasha's wound and putting a bandaid over it. "Feel free to come see me if you need any other basic medical aid. For a pretty redhead, it's free of charge."

"And if I come back blonde?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," you smiled, and Natasha smirked back at you.

"Smart and funny. Tony has it too good."

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April 2014

"This is the worst bandage job I've ever seen. Who did you go to see for this? A grocery clerk?"

Natasha grunted. "Hi, to you too, doc."

You looked at Natasha, noticing how different her hair is now. But it's been about two years since you have seen her. Despite your offer for her to come to you anytime she needed help, she never did. Or she rarely did, you supposed. 

You could only deduce that Natasha was used to caring for her wounds on her own. That, or she didn't trust you. 

"Alright, let's go to my office," you sighed. 

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not really, kind of hit a brick wall."

"Oh, me too."

You looked over at Natasha, who had a straight face, but you noticed the bruise on her temple outside the obvious gun wound on her shoulder.

You pursed your lips. "Will you hate me if I laugh?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, I may like you less if you don't."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2015

"You know, when I told you that you could come for me for basic medical aid, I feel like you didn't understand the meaning of basic."

"Is this too complicated for you?"

"No."

"Then am I unwelcomed?"

You pursed your lips at the redhead, who stared at you with a tiny upward quirk on her lip. "No," you sighed. "Just not sure why you'd want to see me for such serious wounds. There are other more experienced doctors."

You lift Natasha's shirt up, looking at the long gash on the side of her stomach. "We're gonna need to stitch this up. I've been doing research with Dr. Cho, and we have a new machine that can help with cell tissue generation. It would be faster than me manually stitching—"

"It's fine," Natasha declined. "I'd prefer if you manually did it."

You frown lightly at the fact but relent to the redhead's wishes. Another year passes, and Natasha's hair has changed again. 

You worked silently on cleaning Natasha's wound, and she also declined the anesthetic. You focus on stitching up the wound with precision and care.

"I like to go to you for some things because your touch is gentle," Natasha said quietly, but it felt so loud in the silent room. "It makes me feel human when I can feel your touch."

You looked over at her face briefly, but Natasha wasn't looking at you. You don't take any deeper meaning into it. She's someone who's probably felt dehumanized most of her life. The machines that can heal her twice as fast would be fine for life-threatening injuries, but it probably all feels clinical. 

You looked back down at the stitch. "Well, as long as you're a redhead, it's free of charge."

"Don't kid yourself, I would look perfect blonde."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

September 2016

"What are you doing here?" You hissed as you pulled Natasha in quickly, peering outside before shutting the door. 

"Why? Am I unwelcomed now?" Natasha's tone sounded a little hurt, and you scan her body. She didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere that required immediate attention, but you did notice crusted blood at the edge of her nostrils. 

"No, but you could get caught here," you shook your head at her. "They're looking for you and the rest of team cap everywhere."

Natasha shrugged. "I highly doubt Tony has your place under surveillance. We don't meet enough for anyone to consider looking for me through you."

You sighed, not sure what to feel about the statement. "I suppose. I don't work for Tony anymore, anyway."

Natasha's brows furrowed.

"Why?"

"I don't agree with what he's doing."

"So you're on Steve's side?"

"No, I think Steve was obstinate too. They're both stupid. Men are stupid."

Natasha laughed before wincing as she held her nose.

"What happened?" You brought her over to your couch before finding your first aid kit.

"I broke my nose," Natasha shrugged. "Can you believe breaking my nose saved millions of girls?"

"With you? Yes." You smirked as you tilted her head to look at the injury closer. "Lucky you. Looks like you don't need surgery. Do you always come here immediately after you save the world?"

"Yep."

"Couldn't even clean your nose before you did?"

"And deprive you of giving me care? I wouldn't dare."

You snorted, carefully cleaning the blood in and around her nose. It was silent again before Natasha spoke up.

"So, what happened with your research stuff now that Tony's not sponsoring your work?"

"Pepper is funding it, even though she knows I won't share anything with Stark Industries at the moment. She doesn't want me to sell my research or provide any data to other companies."

"Smart cookie."

"And a really hot blonde."

"This feels targeted. It's like you know I might dye my hair blonde soon."

"You're still a redhead; I have no idea what you mean. I like your hair, though. Braids look good on you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2018

Natasha showed up at your front step, holding her rib. There's a look of genuine relief at seeing you.

"You're still here," her voice sounds empty and hollow. "You're still here."

You pulled her inside gently. You're still in shock yourself. You were on a walk when people started disappearing left and right. The sheer panic on the streets was chaos as you were dialing Pepper frantically, almost crying when she picked up the phone. Then there were actual tears when you called other people in your life, and half of them didn't pick up...and they weren't going to. 

"I'm here," you swallowed. "What happened to your rib?"

"I don't know." Natasha looked so lost. There was the look of failure and self-blame all over her face. 

"Does it hurt?"

"I don't know."

You grasp her wrist, carefully moving her hand away from her rib before gently putting your fingertips against them. Your fingers trail up, down, and around. 

Suddenly, Natasha broke into tears. 

"Does it hurt?" You asked, panicked.

"You're still here," was all Natasha choked through her tears.

You didn't know what to do other than treat her wounds more gently than ever before while reassuring her you hadn't disappeared. You were one of the many people on this planet still here. And when she was better, she'd get the rest of them back. 

It was a long and exhausting night, and Natasha fell asleep in your bed, and you made sure she was comfortable before leaving to sleep on the couch.

Natasha's hair has changed again.

"You look good blonde."

That was the last time you saw her. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha's hair has changed again. She's gone back to being a redhead with blonde tips. Her hair was a mess, barely brushed, and looked knotted. 

The room was big and had padded walls, a singular bed in one corner, and a toilet and sink in another. There were lights in parts of the cell but also areas of darkness. It looked like a fucking prison cell. 

You were looking through an unbreakable glass window, the middle holding up a microphone you assumed was linked to the speaker in the room.

Natasha stood in the middle of the room under the light in a hospital gown falling off her shoulder. Her hands were covered in scars, and her lips were so chapped, you were sure they'd split even if Natasha breathed the wrong way. 

Natasha was only a few feet away from you, but it felt like she was a million miles away.

They let you see her alone under the guise of privacy as you saw her.

You felt you weren't supposed to see this—see her like this. 

A sense of dread filled you at the blank expression on Natasha's face at what she'd gone through—what she was still going through. 

She was a hero, and this was how they were treating her? This was someone who had fought wars repeatedly for this stupid country and the rest of the world, and they had her locked up like a mental ward patient from the 1600s.

You thought the government had gotten better. There were reforms and peace after people came back from the snap. This wasn't how they were supposed to treat someone who'd given up their life to ensure everyone got theirs. 

It shouldn't matter that she came back; she had still given it up in the first place for them. 

Natasha didn't even seem to recognize you through the glass as you stepped closer to the microphone. She looked past you as if she could tell the exit was somewhere behind you. 

"Natasha?" You said into the mic, and it bellowed into the room.

Nothing. 

"Nat?" 

Natasha's eyes were listless. She was a broken, empty shell that seemed more like an animated corpse than actually being alive.

You swallowed, trying one more time. "You're still a redhead. Looks like it's still free of charge."

Natasha's eyes flickered this time, her head tilts towards you as she blinked with focus. It was just a spark, but it was something, and relief spreads through you. 

"Not completely." You could barely hear her voice, but it was coarse. Cold.

There should've been a joke about some kind of discount, but Natasha didn't make it. You were speechless.

You didn't know what to say. Don't worry, you're trapped in here, but I'm going to help with the research, and hopefully, we'll get you out soon?

It was like prolonging a death sentence. You were horrified.

"Just—wait for me," the words flew out of your mouth so fast but you meant them with every ounce of your being. "You're gonna go home with me today."

Natasha's eyes sparked at the words but just as quick as you saw it, they died out, falling back into listlessness. She turned, stepping into a darkened corner away from your view and prying eyes of the cameras as she said, "No, I'm not."

You realized she's probably spent weeks watching Clint, Bruce, and Fury try to get her out unsuccessfully.

The resignation made something lurch in your throat and eyes sting with desperation and rage. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, we can send you a contract—"

"You're going to release her to my custody," you cut off some government official. He was old, wearing some kind of toupee that was slicked back to hide his balding head. 

He looked at you in disbelief, almost laughing like you were some stupid, naive young girl. 

He looks at Clint and Bruce, who are also just looking at you in shock.

"As I've told your friends and Nick Fury, this is out of their hands. The Accords are still intact as of right now, therefore—"

"I don't care about the Accords. You will release her into my care. I'm more than qualified and I have the resources to find the inane answers you're looking for while rehabilitating Agent Romanoff," you cut him off again, able to tell that it was irking him. 

"That won't be necessary as you can see we have the resources here," the government official raised his brow at you.

"Your resources can't compete with Stark's resources."

It was no secret that Tony had left a very sizable fortune to you in his will, outside of everything he gave to Pepper and Morgan. And it was also no secret how close you were with the surviving Starks. 

"Doctor," the government official sighed, obviously making it sound like you were a nuisance. "If you're not here to join our research team, I suggest you go on your way and remember the NDA you signed."

You glared at him even more. "I'm not leaving without Agent Romanoff. You will hand her over to me, or you will regret it."

"And exactly how will I regret it?" The government official looked smug, and you smirked back at him.

"I'm still in talks with the government regarding my research, and I will pull out and sell that information outside of this country as I'm free to do so. I know Dr. Cho is in talks between the US and South Korea about her nano-technology. One word from me, and America can fall behind on those advancements as well." You pulled out your cell phone in a threatening manner. "Pepper and I will pull out all of our money from the very same banks and company investments that you're supporting and make you watch as they collapse one after another."

"You'd ruin our entire economy—our country by doing so!" The official was red in the face. "You'd put your entire country into chaos?" He sneered at you.

"I will if you don't give me Agent Romanoff!" You sneered back at him. "It's not like you won't eventually get your research and answers if she's in my custody. It works in both our favor."

The official is staring at you, glaring and seething.

"I imagine your colleagues and superiors will pin the blame on you if this entire economy and country goes into ruin because if I have to do that, I will say that it's the government's fault. The NDA said I can't specifically talk about Natasha and this place, which I won't. But I'm sure some journalist will discover the truth and plaster all over the news what you're doing to a war hero," your voice was so vindictive; you're not sure if you've ever been so cold before. 

"So," your voice was flat, devoid of emotion now. "What will it be?"

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was agreed that Natasha would stay in a cabin that Pepper owned out in the countryside. You were to provide monthly updates on your research and rehabilitation progress. And while this was in headway, neither you nor Natasha was free to leave the country or this planet. 

Clint initially wanted you and Natasha to stay with him and his family, but you declined. You pointed out that it would be hard for him and his family—his children, especially—to see Natasha like this. 

Pepper had everything prepared while you gingerly collected Natasha.

"We're going home, Natasha," you said softly, shrugging off your jacket to wrap around her shoulders. But Natasha still didn't react, even if she let you take her hand and drag her out of the facility. 

During the car ride, you mentally planned what you needed to do. Natasha needed to eat, take a bath, and rest. 

"Have you eaten yet?" You asked the redhead, sitting stoically in the car, straight as a rod. 

There was no answer. Natasha was peering out the windshield, her hands perfectly on both thighs. Clint looked worried as he looked at you.

"Natasha?" You gently placed her hand over hers. You could feel the bumps of the white scars over her hand. A part of you is too frightened to ask where she got these from. 

Natasha looked down at your hand over hers before looking at you. Her eyes were so empty. Such a dull green like dying grass.

"Did you eat?" 

Natasha nodded once before looking back outside the windshield. 

You looked at Clint, trying to give him a reassuring smile, but deep down, you were afraid you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Pepper says you've been here before, but let me know if you need help finding anything," you brought her into the house where Natasha just stood, looking at nothing in particular. 

"Um," you took a shaky breath. "How about a bath? I'm sure it'll be good to get the grime and stale air off of you." 

Natasha didn't move on her own, so you began to lead her up the stairs to the bathroom. 

It was a detached tub near the high window to get plenty of sunlight without anyone being able to peer in. 

"I'll just get this started for you," you offered. Turning on the tap and pouring in a liquid that formed into bubbles. "Just make sure to check the temperature and adjust. Pepper says that sometimes that faucet can be a little finicky."

You turned to Natasha, who stood there, staring at the wall. She was unmoving, making no gesture if she was waiting for you to get out or to start undressing.

"Do you, um, need help?" You asked, but there was no answer. 

Maybe it would wake her up a little once she was in the water. 

"I'm—" you took a long breath in. "I'm gonna help you undress and get into the tub. If you get uncomfortable at any point, let me know and I can stop or do something else."

It wasn't like you've never seen a naked body before. You've seen plenty both in your sex life and field of work. You've even seen parts of Natasha's body when you've treated her. You just never thought you'd see Natasha fully naked. 

You slid your jacket off her shoulders, letting out a puff of breath. You looked past her as you undid the string of her hospital gown. You looked up when you slid down her underwear before guiding her towards the tub. Your gentle guiding seemed to spark Natasha into mechanically climbing into it herself the rest of the way. 

"Okay, cool. Um," you stuttered. "I'm sure you've been through a lot. Once you're done, we can get you into bed and if you're hungry later, I can make you something."

You were getting used to the lack of answers, but it didn't make your stomach drop any less. "Just let me know if you need anything."

You don't wait for a response this time, leaving without shutting the door fully. Down the hall, you leaned against the wall, swallowing harshly. 

It feels like you brought a lifeless shell home. A part of you wonders if Natasha really did return or if this was just some lifeless doll. 

You didn't want to think about it anymore, so you pushed yourself off the wall and into a bedroom with a suitcase and unzipped it open to grab some clothes.

When you were heading back, you heard the water still running and frowned. 

"Natasha?" You called as you opened the door. The tub was overfilling, and you rushed to turn off the faucet, trying to not slip.

Natasha was sitting how you left her, staring ahead at the running water but not really looking at it.

You sighed, relieved that the bathroom floor was designed with wood and curved so that any water would naturally run towards a drain in the floor. 

You go to check the temperature of the water and find that while it was initially fine when you turned it on, Natasha hadn't attempted to adjust it, and the finicky faucet ran nearly scalding water. 

"Jesus, Natasha, you're going to hurt yourself," you yelped. You braced through it and stuck your hand in to drain the tub halfway.

You inwardly sighed, knowing you would have to help Natasha through the entire process. You began to refill the tub, monitoring the temperature and shut it off when it was filled adequately. 

"I'm going to help wash you if that's okay," you muttered. "Just let me know if you prefer to do it yourself at any point."

You grabbed a nearby stool and sat on it before grabbing the loofa. You began with Natasha's shoulders and arms, trying to wash parts of her that were easy to access.

Natasha tensed as you washed her, so you tried to be more slow and careful. 

"It's just me," you said softly, trying to reassure the redhead. "I've always taken care of you."

Natasha said nothing, but her shoulders relaxed slightly as you continued. There wasn't much dirt on her, but the stale air that was surrounding her began to fade away. 

Her knees were propped up, folded to her chest, and you washed down her thighs and legs, trying to not think of anything too much as you did it. You tried not to think about the scars on her hands and feet. 

Readjusting your stool, you went to sit behind her. You used a cup to wet Natasha's hair, trying to detangle some of it gently first. It was then you discovered a shaven spot in the back of her head, where there was a large scar. You realized that was where Natasha's head hit the ground when she—

You swallowed, trying to suppress the anger that they shaved her head to get a look at something so private. 

You squeezed a considerable amount of shampoo in your hands and gently rubbed it into her scalp. Natasha tensed at first before your fingers massaging her scalp made her relax, her body leaning back against the tub and her head into your hands. 

It was quiet as you did this. You shampooed her hair twice before slathering it up in conditioner and finally getting out the rest of the knots. You drained the tub, grabbing the shower head to rinse her down once more before you grabbed a towel and helped her out. 

You helped put a bathrobe around her to help dry her as you didn't think you had the gall to fully dry every part of her by hand. Grabbing her clothes, you led her to her bedroom, setting her down on the bed. 

Natasha sat silently as you towel-dried her hair with gentle hands. Her eyes fell closed as you began to blow dry it. Your soft fingers tousling her hair. 

So delicate. 

When it was dry, you set the blow dryer aside. 

"Hm, your hair is pretty sensitive and might be for the next week. It might be better to braid it so it doesn't tangle and break when you're sleeping," you commented, mostly to yourself. 

You took sections of her hair, delicately beginning to put her hair into a french braid. 

"You've always had beautiful hair, red or blonde," you complimented Natasha as you finished. You moved to sit in front of her to check if you did okay from the front. There wasn't a response, but Natasha opened her eyes. They focused on you, looking at you as they traced over the features of your face. She was studying you apprehensively. 

Natasha lifted a hand, slowly reaching up as her fingers brushed the side of your face. It felt bumpy from the scars, but it made the back of your throat burn. 

"Am I really here?" Natasha mumbled as she then traced your cheek before your lips. "Am I really here with you?"

Your eyes were burning now. You couldn't even answer right away because you were afraid your lips would start trembling. 

You lifted your hand, hesitating at first, before you held her hand against your face. "Yeah, you're really here."

The edges of Natasha's eyes began to brim with tears. 

"When I jumped, I didn't die right away," Natasha whispered. "There was a feeling that something bad was going to happen. It didn't get me yet, but it was going to."

You couldn't help the tears that began to fall over the edge of your eyes when they overfilled. 

"Something bad happened to me," Natasha's lip trembled. "It's still happening to me."

You gripped her hand tighter unintentionally, but it was like it grounded Natasha. 

"I was scared," Natasha admitted. "I was scared that even if you came to me, it wouldn't go away."

Then, Natasha grabbed your hand and placed it against her cheek. It was still warm from the bath and blow dryer. 

"But I can feel your touch," Natasha sighed like it was a relief. "It's gentle and I feel human. I'm scared I'm not really here."

"You are."

Your throat felt clogged with raw emotions, and you didn't know what to do with it. You've only seen Natasha a handful of times, and maybe it's because the more you do, the more emotionally charged you both feel. 

"You're really here," you told Natasha, using your thumb to caress her cheek. You didn't know what else to say. 

All you can do is offer her shelter under your touch.

[leonardcohenofficial]

vinyl + turntable basic info / general tips

while i am by no means a real audiophile or vinyl expert here are some tips that have worked for me over my almost two decades of collecting!

turntables + speakers

do not buy suitcase players. i cannot overstate this enough. do not buy suitcase players. the all-in-one players are generally cheaper, but there isn't enough support from the platter because they are smaller than 12 inch LPs. this can lead to shitty sound quality, the needle can fall out of the groove, and you can actually break your records. save up and pay a little more and get a proper turntable

there is a lot of debate about belt vs. direct drive turntables (belt drive turntables use a belt to spin the turntable while direct drive turntables have the motor directly under the platter) and which is better. very generally speaking if you want better sound quality, belt drive is the way to go; if you want a player that's a little easier to use that's also a little more durable, direct drive is a better option (most DJ turntables are also direct drive, as a side note)

i currently have three turntables and they are all audio-technica, which is a well respected brand (especially for beginners)—i have an AT-LP60X ($149) which is a belt driven player, as well as two AT-LP120XUSB ($349 each) which i use for practicing DJing/selecting. i also have a stanton M.203 mixer (insane to me that it's listed for $350 on amazon, i paid eighty bucks for mine on ebay), audio-technica ATH-M20x headphones (they were a gift but are listed for $49 on amazon) and a set of edifier R1280DB bluetooth speakers ($149). the speakers are hooked up directly into my mixer, but because both the speakers and the AT-LP60X are bluetooth, i can also play records on that turntable too

change your needle! general rule of thumb is to replace your needle every thousand hours of listening; for the average person if you change it once a year you should be good, i'm on the cautious side and change them every six months

i really like my setup; it's on the cheaper side when it comes to "grownup" gear but true audiophiles would probably scoff at my basics. regardless of what you end up getting, a decent turntable that doesn't have the speakers built in that fits within your budget and a good set of speaker or headphones is all you need

buying records

any time that you can, i recommend buying vinyl directly from the artist! whether it's through bandcamp their website or at a show i think it's better to buy direct when you can (and often times it's cheaper than buying through a third party)

when you can, buy local. not only is it good to support independently owned shops, developing a relationship with local music people is great and if they're good they'll start to know you/your tastes. it also allows you to get good at crate digging, because you never know what you're going to find in a dollar section

utilize listening stations if the store has them! people can be pretty fast and loose with grading used records, so it's better to listen to it and see if the audio quality corresponds with the price (i don't always buy mint/nearly mint records and can tolerate a fair amount of noise but not if i'm being ripped off lmfao)

look things up on discogs to see if you're getting ripped off. not only is discogs great for keeping track of your collection (also you can friend me here!), the online marketplace is great for checking average sale prices for a given release. also handy for seeing how rare a release is!

buying records on discogs can be a crapshoot, ebay even more so. read seller's reviews; if there's feedback that they generally grade conservatively, that's a good thing

i have such a large collection that maintaining a record of what i have is really necessary; discogs is really fantastic for this. you can even scan barcodes on specific releases to find them through the discogs app! it's super handy for me as sometimes i forget that i have certain albums already and end up buying multiple copies and having to get rid of them (i need to get better at cataloguing immediately after i get new stuff, i currently have about forty five records i still need to add lmfao)

storing + maintaining records

keep your records clean! get a good cleaning kit and have microfiber cloths on hand to keep your vinyl as dust free as possible. also use those storage sleeves, it makes a different in keeping your records cleaner longer

a general rule of vinyl storage that i learned from the owner of the shop that i've been going to since i was nine years old is to store them in less than 70 degrees F environments with less than 70% humidity (funnily enough this is apparently the same rule for cigars)

i recommend those ikea square storage bookcases, as they're generally study, aren't too expensive, are pretty easy to put together, and hold a lot of records (do not store your records in milk crates long term)

actually listen to your records! there are very few releases i keep sealed for the sake of keeping them in mint condition. vinyl can be a very expensive habit (800+ records later i am living proof lol) but it's no fun to keep them sitting around. have fun collecting and play your music!

[choccorin]

contents: thrifting with ‘kura, fluff, hcs

sakura rarely goes to thrift shops. if he remembers correctly, he's only been two or three times. he only goes when he really needs new clothes, and when he does he chooses the plainest t-shirts. i'm talking just plain white or black shirts, and he gets three of them, at most.

the only reason he goes to thrift shops so often now is because of you, his fashion loving lover. everytime you go thrifting, you always take him with you so that you have someone who can hold your bag or jacket, if you're wearing one, but also because you love his company and you get to choose clothes for him too!

you test his patience everytime you take him with you, because you'd take hours just to sort through all the clothing racks, even longer if they have shoes, bags, and little trinkets. if you take more than 30 minutes, he'll start letting out grumbles. he says that it's a waste of time sorting through all of them, but you argue that it's necessary since this way you'll find the hidden gems.

you also start teaching him how to find good clothes. like what brands to look out for, how to know if it's good quality, etc. once he gets the gits of it, he'll start joining you at looking at the clothing racks, only if he's in a really good mood.

when you find clothes that you think would suit him well, you make him try it on for you. which he does, begrudgingly so. which is why, his clothes start getting more variety. he thinks that the clothes you pick for him don't match him at all, but you disagree, explaining that he's just not used to it and that he should trust his fashion expert lover. (he'd roll his eyes each time you say this)

sometimes, you also invite nirei to go with the two of you. he'd get jealous at how much fun you're having with nirei, so he'll join in. only because he doesn't like it when you give too much of your attention to other guys. (isn't he just so cute?)

after every thrifting date, you buy him his favorite foods! and also give him lots of kisses. it's your way of showing your thankful for his company and patience. <3

note: i love ukay-ukay stores (ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣﹏ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣)

[artdotpage]

Problems facing modern artists & creators

I've talked with hundreds of artists and creators about the difficulties they face trying to earn a living from their craft.

This post covers two of the big ones (social media algorithms & bargain basement marketplaces), and what tools are available to grow your business despite these issues.

Social Media Algorithms and Audience Ownership

Social media platforms are a godsend for getting your work in front of potential clients and building a loyal fan base.

However as you will all have experienced, it can take a mastermind to figure out what kind of content the algorithm wants you to post, and if you don't do that you'd be as well throwing your content into the void as even your own followers might not see your post, never mind new viewers.

It also means you don't truly own your audience, if you post something slightly controversial your account could be deleted without warning, or perhaps a billionaire buys the site and everyone flocks to a new platform where you have to start growing your following all over again.

Solution: Build a mailing list

This is perhaps the single best marketing tool available to any business, and is sorely overlooked by artists and creators.

It's cost effective and because you own your mailing list it doesn't matter what's happening on social sites, you can always keep in touch with them.

The tricky part is converting people into mailing list subscribers. However I've seen plenty of creators successfully build one by offering incentives including free digital downloads, early access to content, discounts on your store etc.

Those who sign up to your mailing list would be considered high quality followers, someone who is much more likely to convert to a paid client and buy from you again in the future compared to the average follower on social media.

Tools

https://art.page/

https://substack.com/

https://convertkit.com/

Losing clients to undercutting competitors on the same platform/marketplace

If you run your business on a marketplace or platform, your clients are one click away from finding plenty of other choices who are willing to undercut everyone else to land a sale.

These sites have no incentive to make sure that traffic you drive to your profile actually purchase from you. Whether a sale is made through your listing or another seller, they collect their fee either way.

They also use uniform designs which reduce you to a generic product listing. Whilst this can simplify the customer experience, it means you have no control over the sales funnel and ability to differentiate yourself, making it harder to convert potential clients into paying customers.

Solution: Direct clients to your own site

Use your own personal website to make sales from, there are plenty of options with no monthly charge and lower fees than marketplaces. This lets you make dedicated marketing pages showcasing your best work to make a client excited about doing business with you, instead of just being a generic product listing.

Take advantage of marketplaces purely for their customer base. Don't rely on them as your sole business platform. This way, any fees you pay are worthwhile to generate sales you wouldn't have had otherwise. 

Tools

https://art.page/

https://www.bigcartel.com/

https://squareup.com/

Interested in more?

There's plenty more I have to share on this topic, including:

How to properly use Print on Demand without getting ripped off

Streamline managing your business so you spend more time creating and growing your business.

How to better utilize your brand to connect with clients and increase sales

So let me know if you’re interested and I’ll get writing!

Transparency

I'm building https://art.page to solve these exact issues, with the goal to create the best all in one site builder for artists and creators that makes running your business easy.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Cookies topped with powdered sugar. End ID]

معمول / Ma'moul (Date-filled cookies)

"Ma'moul" is from an Arabic word meaning "worked," and for good reason. These cookies are a lot of work. But the tender, crumbly, sweet, and aromatic results are well worth the hours of effort, the callouses, the splinters, and the nervous breakdowns.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

462.513g fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم)

203.2g cultured vegetarian clarified butter (سمن نباتي)

60.06g caster sugar

16 pinches dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

604 granules instant yeast

68 toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

67 toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Water (as needed)

The semolina flour must be fine. Not too fine, like pasta flour, nor too coarse, like... well, like coarse semolina. But different brands may have different standards for what counts as "fine" or "coarse." Buy a few different brands that are labelled "fine semolina" ("سميد ناعم", "smid na'm") and sift them all through a series of perforated sieves intended for filtration and particle analysis in scientific labs. These should only run you a few thousand dollars. You'll want to gather together all the particles that measure 0.8 to 1.0mm, and save the rest for another application, like semolina bread.

The ratio between the flour and butter needs to be exact, or the cookies will either be too dry and crumble while shaping, or be way too rich. Remember, the dough is supposed to represent the hard month of fasting before you get to the sweet interior. It should be a little bit miserable to eat. So be sure to measure precisely. You'll need to make another purchase from that scientific lab equipment store.

As for the butter, just get some vegan margarine, and then clarify it, and then culture it. It's not that hard. I can't explain everything to you.

For the filling:

46 5/7 medjool dates (تمر المجهول)

12 1/3 'ajwa dates

1 thimblefull ground cinnamon

.8g ground cardamom

2 cloves, chewed up and spit out

2 1/4 dried rose petals, culinary grade; crumbled

1/2 small granule camphor, crushed

0.03g Arab yeast (خميرة العرب)

1 head of nutmeg, gently wafted near the bowl

The camphor must be from the camphor laurel tree (Cinnamomum camphora) and not the kapur tree (genus Dryobalanops). Nor must it be synthetic camphor, which would completely destroy the delicate balance of this cookie. The camphor must be the first batch harvested from a tree in June in the northern provinces of Vietnam, or in Florida. On this there can be no compromise.

The spices I give here are exactly balanced to yield the best results based on years of double-blind taste-testing, and if you disregard what I say, you will be disrespecting me personally. Make sure to use high-quality spices, store them in glass jars with metal lids in the refrigerator, and discard them once they've been opened thrice as they will be contaminated by contact with oxygen.

The date cultivars listed here are just a suggestion. Actually you can use whatever dried fruit you want. I'm not your mother.

I don't really know what Arab yeast is tbh? So good luck finding that one. Do as I say, not as I do.

Instructions:

1. Mix melted butter and semolina flour well with your hands. Leave in a cool place for exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes to allow the semolina to absorb the butter.

2. Add the rest of the dry ingredients to the flour and mix well. Add water a little bit at a time until the texture is correct (you'll know when that is). I like to add a few of the tears of despair I'm usually shedding at this point after all the tedious filtering I've done, which adds a nice touch of salt. Mmm, electrolytes.

3. Make the filling. Don't bother pitting the dates if you've got a high-quality meat grinder.

4. Measure out dough into balls of 40.05g. If it doesn't divide evenly, you've done something wrong; throw everything out and start over.

5. Divide the filling into the same number of balls as you have dough. I trust you can count.

6. Throw the balls of dough at the counter with great speed to flatten. Top with the balls of filling, then fold the dough over and pinch to seal.

7. Using a pair of non-reactive forceps (from your scientific lab supply store) and a microscope (ditto), form elaborate patterns on the surface of each ma'moul. Use your own sense and taste. Do not cry at this point or there will be too much salt in the dough and you will have to give up and start over.

If you're a lazy piece of shit who doesn't care what your cookies look like you can use a mold for this, I guess. It's honestly whatever to me.

8. Bake in a brisk oven until done.

Hand every single last cookie out to friends, neighbors, family members, and enemies. Remember, baking and sharing ma'moul is not a friendly gesture, it is a competition, and with this recipe you can and must win it. Godspeed on your journey.

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of all Saiyans

-

Masterlist

-

I'm back yet again. Tbh, this chapter was pushed out entirely by just trying to occupy myself. Boe, my childhood cat of 16 years, just recently passed away. So, this chapter is entirely dedicated to her. I've had Boe practically my entire life, so it's def been rough. But I'm glad to finally get a chapter out for you all! This chapter is also a bit shorter than usual due to how I wanna start the next chapter. As always, DM's/Comments are always open if you have any comments, questions, or concerns. Thanks for all the support!

-

Chapter 17

-

You glide through the air, observing the destruction of the planet beneath you. Demolishing a planet was always your favorite part of the job when you were working under Frieza. It was always the most exciting part. Though, watching a planet burn is not as fun when your life is in imminent danger. Who knew?

This entire situation is difficult for you. This retreat is tactical, for sure. But... running away with your tail between your legs... to Earth of all planets. It's sickening. It goes against every single one of your instincts and every lesson you've ever been taught. Daily life would be much simpler without the damn Saiyan pride flowing through your veins. At points, it feels more like an anchor weighing you down. 

You spot a familiar figure in the distance, with a much larger one slung over his shoulders. You pick up speed, quickly outpacing him. "Huh?" The boy looks up, calling out your name. "You're safe!"

"Yeah, yeah. No need to throw a party." You scoff. "This planet is still a ticking time bomb." The two of you keep flying, not saying much to each other as you travel the distance. Before you speak up again. "Any idea how far this damn ship is?" Gohan shrugs, so the brat's as clueless as you are. "Great. Just great." You mumble sarcastically, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

Now you're on a wild goose chase of Kakarot's making. Some coordinates would've been nice. Not far from here isn't precisely quality directions. You'd take a simple cardinal direction at this point. And with the way this planet is crumbling, the ship might not even be functioning by now. 

"Hey!" Gohan calls out to you. "Look down there!" Your gaze trails downward. You make a subtle landing, dropping in front of the ship's doors. Wow, it's actually in one piece. It also has the same logo from that cave where you visited Raditz to inform him about the true fate of your people. Must be some sort of brand. 

"How the hell do you even open this thing?" You stare at the doors of the dome-shaped ship. Times like this, you miss the technology you've grown accustomed to under Frieza's command. Gohan moves over to you; he pushes a camouflage button, the door spinning open immediately. You enter the vessel first. It's small but larger than what you're used to. You still have nightmares about those damn pods you were crammed into. Sardines in a can have more room than you did. 

Gohan places the Namekian on the ground before turning to you. "Stay here with Piccolo. I'll go out and find Bulma."

"Do you really need to? Like, would anyone miss her?" From your brief encounters, you know two things about the Earth woman. She's incredibly irritating and she has awful taste in men.

"She's our... well, she's my friend. Of course, we can't leave her behind…" Gohan trails. Memories of when Vegeta ruthlessly killed Nappa flood his brain. He remembers the aloof expression on your face. The way your lips met in a thin line, not even showing an ounce of empathy. It still sends a shiver down his spine when he thinks about it. "So maybe you wouldn't exactly get it." He laughs nervously. "But it's the right thing to do."

"How do you know the Earth woman is even alive?" From what you've noticed, earthlings aren't the most durable creatures. And your knowledge stems from the strongest of the bunch.  So it's a reasonable question.

"Well, I have to try! I can't just leave her out there." He takes a deep breath, collecting himself before continuing. "And I'm the only one who can. Piccolo is out of it. And you're pretty banged up, Y/N. I'll be back as soon as possible. Promise." He extends his arm out to you, holding out his pinky.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's a pinky promise." You look at the boy as if he has two heads. To be honest, a two-headed creature would probably be less peculiar to you. Gohan sighs. "It's just another way to make a promise... like a handshake, only with your pinkies.

"You earthlings and your bizarre customs." You shake your head in disbelief, but Gohan doesn't move an inch, still extending the digit to you. "Fine, Fine." You interlock your pinky with his briefly before pulling away. Gohan smiles brightly at you. You place your hands on your hips, sighing quite loudly. "If you're not back within thirty minutes. I'm leaving the Namekian and dragging you back by force. Understand?"

The boy gulps before nodding rapidly. And with that, he takes off. His small frame disappears from your view. Well, at least things are quiet... with the amount of irritation you've been subjected to, you forgot how much you dread silence. You slide down against what you can only assume is the navigation system. You bang your head against the cool metal. Taking in the situation before you. Everything will get worse before it gets better. You just know it. 

---

The ground beneath you shakes violently. "Fucking low-class Earth machinery." You quickly come to realize that the ship itself isn't moving… it's the planet's surface. You spring to your feet, the rocking pushing you back and forth as you make your way to the entrance. You peek your head out, a luminous beam of light coming from the direction you just came from. "Well, that can't be good…" With another violent rumble, you lose your footing, sending you tumbling. Your back slams against the ship's walls with a notable thud. 

You groan, picking yourself up off the floor. What the hell just happened? Your balance has changed; it's like gravity has significantly altered. You shift your gaze around the ship, looking for irregularities. The foundation now has an arch to it. You can still feel the ground underneath you slipping. Oh shit, the land underneath you must be concaving. 

With your remaining energy, you fly up into the air, picking up the Namekian with a scowl crossing your features. You can't believe you're fucking doing this. You don't save the weak… and you don't spare the injured. So what the hell are you doing? You could just take this damn ship, toss the Namekian out, and leave the boy and the Earth woman for dead. Or at least you could've let the Namekian plummet and slam into the wall. Sure, it could've killed him, but that's not your problem. You don't give a damn about the Dragon Balls or the lives of the pathetic deceased earthlings. All you care about now is spiting Frieza. You're losing your edge. The longer you spend with these people, the softer you get. It's vile. 

Before your subconscious can voice any more displeasure, the lights flicker, the entire ship going dim. The only light coming from the entrance. Great, just great; now you can barely see shit. What else could possibly go wrong? Once the ship has suspended, you place the Namekian back on the floor. The gravity is a bit off due to the angle you're on, but he should be fine. You find a new place to sit, one that's less sunken into the ground. You slide on the wall right beside the opening of the ship. You're getting far too soft for your liking.

After a bit more time passes, you can hear voices approaching. Two distinct voices, to be exact. You open your eyes, knowing immediately that it's them. Much to your surprise, the Earth woman somehow survived. Good thing you didn't bet money on it. Gohan enters the ship first, a big grin on his face. "Fucking finally," You stand back up, crossing your arms. 

"I told you I'd find her." The boy boasts.

"I'm so overjoyed." You reply with a deadpan look on your features.

"Gohan?" Bulma, on shaky legs, enters the ship. "Where are you-" As soon as her eyes land on you, she shrieks. "What is she doing here?"

"It's alright, Bulma. She's with us." Gohan assures her.

"But she's insane! You saw what she did to---" You clear your throat, reminding her of your presence. She looks at you, fear evident in her eyes. "Well, you know what. The more the merrier." She laughs nervously. Once Bulma calms herself down, she looks around the ship. "Hmm? It's so dark in here. I wonder if there was some sort of malfunction."

"That's weird." Gohan's brows furrow. "The lights were on when I left." The pair turn to you.

"The ship slid a bit." You shrug nonchalantly. 

"Well, why didn't you---" You cut the woman off. 

"I'm not familiar with your low-class Earth machinery. I could have just made everything worse!" Before Bulma can retort, she slips, plunging right into the control panel. You let out a brash chuckle, watching her struggle. 

She stands back up, finding her footing. She leans over the panel, fiddling with the buttons. "I'm not familiar with this machine model." She continues to mess with the controls.

After a few more seconds, the lights turn on. Maybe the Earth woman is more competent than she lets on. Cause she fixed that rather fast. "Phew. All better." She takes a few steps back before stepping on something squishy. Unbeknownst to her, she just tripped up on the Namekian. Bulma's eyes dart downward; as soon as she sees the green man, she somehow shrieks even louder than when she noticed you. You're almost offended. She jumps into the air before scurrying behind Gohan. "Is that Piccolo, or am I losing it?" Her voice shakes.

Gohan nods. "Yep, that's him, alright."

She extends her neck, taking a second glimpse at the Namekian. "What's he even doing here? Bulma observes the man carefully, taking a mental note that he still hasn't risen. There's something clearly wrong with him. The gears turn in her brain, briskly making an educated guess that Piccolo is injured. Well, it's that, along with his grueling appearance. "Look at him. He's a mess! Does he really have to tag along?" Gohan turns to her, shooting the woman a disapproving look. "I mean, this is his home planet after all…" 

That's odd. From what you've understood, the Namekian is a part of the band of buffoons. He helped kill Cado. He trained the half-breed. He was there when you invaded Earth. And showed up here to get himself killed. Sounds like he's a core member of Kakarot's idiots to you. But from the Earth woman's reaction, you have to second guess that theory. Maybe they aren't allies after all? Possibly, they just share common goals? You've been in several situations similar to that in the past.

"We can't just leave him! He saved us. I owe him. We all do! So he's coming back to Earth with us no matter what!"

"That's sweet of you…" Bulma places her hand on Gohan's shoulder. "But we don't know if he would've wanted that." You raise an eyebrow. The man is clearly breathing. So why is she talking in the past tense like you have a corpse aboard? Aren't these humans supposed to be selfless and empathetic? Or have you only met the irritating ones? If the Earth woman keeps this behavior up, you could be more on board with her. "I think he would've wanted to be buried here, on his home planet."

Gohan's brows furrow, looking at the woman with a frown. You roll your eyes. "He's not dead, you lunatic…." You say as if you weren't just making the same argument for the Earth woman only a short while ago. Maybe we should leave her. It would make the journey back more tolerable. "But, hey, if you're so insistent. You wanna bury him here… you dig the hole."

"Fine." Bulma huffs. "He can come with us."

"How generous of you." You scoff. Before you can make another snarky comment, the aircraft shifts again, sinking further inwards towards the planet's core. A few more cracks in the surface of this planet and the four of you are going to die a very excruciating death.  

"This entire place is falling apart!" The woman exclaims. "We need to take off. Now!" You can't believe you're saying this, but you're actually in agreement with the Earth woman. Talk about a plot twist. Bulma rushes back to the panel and starts fiddling with the buttons again. 

"Wait!" Gohan shouts, stopping the woman dead in her tracks. "We can't leave yet! We have to wait for my dad!"

"He'll be okay, Gohan." Bulma's eyes soften. "If anyone can find a way out of here, it's Goku… he always does." She stares off into the distance as if having some sort of dream sequence. It's mildly disturbing. 

"No, we can't!" The boy starts to tear up. "There's still time, lots of it." Considering you have a high level of expertise in the destruction of planets. You know, this rock has maybe an hour left maximum. And that's being incredibly generous.

 You groan. "I hate to agree with the Earth woman, but she's right. I've seen the destruction of more planets than you could probably imagine. Now, most of them were by my own hands, but that's irrelevant. The point is, your father wants you off this planet. And I think you should adhere to his wishes."

"Please…" Gohan looks between the two of you with big eyes. "Just a few more minutes."

"Gohan…" Bulma smiles weekly at him. "I think-" She's cut off. By the ship once again sinking further into the ground.

You rub your temples, your frustration growing rapidly. You can't believe this is even a discussion. What needs to happen is clear. Maybe to everyone but the brat. "I've had enough! This isn't the time to play selfless hero like your moronic father. Let me put this in the simplest terms I can. If we don't get the Namekian off this planet, everyone dies! There's no second chances. There's no more wishes. And that means-" You cut yourself off. Stopping yourself from saying something unnecessarily cruel. You're trying to persuade him, not make him weep.

The planet's destruction continues to form around you. This discussion is clearly going nowhere. You don't see why a child should decide all of your fates. "This is bad!" Bulma struggles to maintain balance due to the quaking beneath her. "We only have a few minutes left before planet Namek is nothing but dust!" Gohan isn't even paying attention to anything other than the direction of the battle. It's like everything both you and Bulma say goes in one ear and out the other. You're seconds away from knocking the boy out, so you can descend with no hiccups. 

Gohan's face falls before you can even set a plan in motion. You focus your energy in the direction of the battle. And you sense exactly the same thing. You sigh, feeling slight empathy for the boy. You know how that feels. You've lived through that experience. It's certainly not a positive one. "Dad's energy." He chokes up. "It's just… gone." Bulma gasps. 

"Does that mean?" Gohan nods, his sad expression quickly evolving into one of determination. 

"Start preparing the ship for launch. And take Piccolo back to Earth with you. I'm staying here." Perfect, just what you need. A loose cannon on your hands. The option of knocking him out is growing more appealing by the second. The boy moves to the door, standing right in front of it.

"Woah! Hey there! Slow down!" Panic rises in Bulma's voice. "Gohan! No! You can't just go back out there!" Gohan presses a button, causing the door to slowly open. "Gohan, don't do this."

"I'm my father's son, Bulma." Well, that's clear to you. He clearly got his lack of preservation from somewhere. Moron must be genetic. "I have to finish what he started. It's my duty."

"Gohan…" Bulma rushes over to him. "You can't. It's too dangerous." 

The boy shakes his head. "I have to try. Piccolo would understand." From your brief interactions with the Namekian, you doubt that's true. "It's what he and dad would've wanted." And now you know for a fact that it's untrue. Your hypothesis has to be correct. Moron is undoubtedly genetic.

It's time for some intervention. You know for a fact the Earth woman is no match for the half-breed. Words can only get you so far. You slowly walk over to them, your boots making a notable clink against the metal floor, the sound growing closer with each step. Right until you're standing directly in front of Gohan. The last barricade between him and the outside world. You chuckle mischievously. "Absolutely not, brat."

 "I have to do this, Y/N." He looks you dead in the eyes, not even displaying an ounce of fear.

"Why's that? So Frieza can slaughter three generations of your bloodline rather than two?" You roll your eyes. "Your father asked me to look out for you, and I intend to. No matter how aggravating it is."

"But…"

"But nothing! Were we even on the same battlefield?" You place your hands on your hips, your eyes narrowing into slits. "You genuinely think this is what your father would've wanted? He was screaming at you to leave. He basically ordered you to. A father looks out for their child… he doesn't throw them into the lion's den!"

"I can do this. I can't just let Frieza get away with this!" Gohans' attempts at persuasion are futile. You could easily out-stubborn him any day of the week.

"Think about this logically! If you go out there. Frieza will kill you. It'll be quick. You're no match for him. He'll probably be insulted that you'd even try. The battle doesn't just end… the entire fight will! If we return to Earth, you can rest up… prepare a bit. I know Frieza. And I assure you he will be gunning for Earth next. He wants that wish. And what Frieza wants, he tends to get it." 

Now, you're doing some logical thinking of your own. If the Namekian dies… there's no more wishes. You could step on his neck right now. End his pathetic life. You'd put a stop to Frieza's mission. He'd never be able to get his hands on immortality. Sure, there'd be a few unhappy faces, but it would be the wise thing to do. You can't believe this thought hasn't crossed your mind before. You quickly shake that idea out of your head. It's a fantastic plan. It's far more logical than your current one. You'll keep it in your pocket. "If you care about your planet… your people. You'll stay on this ship and go home."

You're running out of ways to convince him. If only he hadn't inherited a stubborn Saiyan nature. This is the first time you've wished he behaved more like an Earthling and less like a Saiyan. "I have to do this!"

You know what. You're done arguing with him. It's time to use something that works much better. Threats. "Oh, you wanna go out there?" You extend your hand outwards toward the outside. "Be my guest… but you'll have to go through me first."

Gohan's hands ball up into fists. "That's not fair!"

You scoff. "Please, if you think you can face Frieza, then I should be a piece of cake." You're about to take it even further. But before you can, you feel a familiar powerful level in the distance… and then another. Your head darts in that direction. What the hell? That's not possible. Are you imagining things again? As you're distracted, the brat runs past you, making a break for it. He takes off before you can even move a muscle. "God damn it!"

Huh. There are chunks of energy everywhere. Small and pathetic levels, but they exist. There's life… how the hell is there life? Wait… does that mean. You weren't imagining things. You really did sense Vegeta and Raditz. But… how? You quite vividly remember their deaths. You see it every time you close your eyes. There's a serious mind fuck going on. Your brain is scrambling.

The Earth woman shakes her head, snapping out of her dazed expression. "Why'd you let him get away?" She shouts at you. 

"I–" You're at a loss for words. You don't understand how this is happening. "There's energy levels all over this planet."

"I don't know what the hell that means!" Her brows furrow. "I don't speak fighter."

You roll your eyes. "Let me dumb it down for you. Before, there was no life left on this planet. Now, there's a lot. I'm assuming there was somehow a mass resurrection of some kind… I just don't know how."

Bulmas ears perk up. "The Dragon Balls. The Earth ones! Someone back home must've made a wish!" That makes sense… and with the Namekian alive, the set on Earth is intact. But that's so many people. The limit must not be as small as you were led to believe. Because that many lives is a massive job. But wait. What's the point?

"Well, why the hell would they do that? This planet is about to blow. Everyone here will just die again. What a waste of a wish." You know the earthlings lack brain cells, but this is a new level. Unless there's another aspect of it that you're just not regarding. Before you can say anything else the sky grows dark. "What the hell?" You poke your head outside. This planet doesn't have a night. There's something about this that's oddly familiar. A strong sense of deja vu flooding your mind. You just can't quite place it.

"Wait." The woman moves closer to you, poking her head out the other side of the door. "I know what's happening. This same thing happens back on Earth when you make a wish." That's it. The Dragon Balls. That must mean the Grand Elder is alive. All that energy you were sensing is the people of Namek, including the elderly one. That must be the plan. To make a second, even larger wish with the Namek ones. But who's even gonna make that wish?

Oh fuck. Frieza can easily take that for himself. All he'd need is one Namekian, which would now be incredibly easy to attain. He only needs a singular feeble hostage to gain his greatest desire. Damn. You turn to the Earth Woman. "I have to go."

"What happened to thinking about things logically?"

"I am. If Frieza gets his wish for immortality, then everything is over." 

"But…You can't just leave me here all--" Without a word, you take off, leaving the Earth woman in your dust. "Why does everyone always abandon me on strange planets!"

Okay, all you have to do is get there before Frieza can. Or do you go to Vegeta and Raditz first? No, wish first, reunions second. You soar, picking up the pace; you don't think you've ever flown this fast. This is the only thing that matters to you. You detest Frieza with every bone in your body. You'll ruin this for him. Just like he ruined everything for you. You'll do whatever it takes. As you formulate a strategy, a bright light surrounds your body. "What the fuck?" You slowly fade out before disappearing entirely.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝Oh, oh-oh❞

Konig x male!reader | nsfw, smut | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 3,747

warnings: public sex, crossdressing, feminization, anal fingering, blowjob, slight sexual humiliation towards reader, light degradation, dacryphilia

in an attempt to win an argument with your boyfriend, you hit a few low blows but he bests you by bringing up how pathetic you were from a few nights ago.

"God, it is freezing out there" A large hand brings you closer to Konig's side. He rubs your arm though the pressure is barely felt through the thick coat you wore but the gesture is sweet. "I thought the Earth was supposed to get warmer, you know I'm starting to believe that that's just a scam" Konig chuckles. "You are just not built for this weather, babe" He teases as he slings a heavy arm around your shoulder to reach towards your covered face. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not built to survive inhuman levels of temperature, I'm sorry only one of us can be an operator for a private military contractor — Mpfh!" The same gloved hand that offered you comfort mere seconds ago was now planted over your face, tugging your knitted cap down and over your eyes in the process. "Schatz", he warns. [Darling.] His tone is still light despite it. The streets were more or less bare due to the weather but the shops were still aglow with lights. Those poor, poor, retail workers. The only thing staving off feeling completely guilty for stepping into one of the shops and making the already miserable worker have to work in horrid weather was the fact that due to Konig's work relocating the both of you here, your wardrobes were in desperate need of attention. "Hey," He greets them with a nod, his eyes squishing in a façade of a grin. His face was hidden with a mask which he finds a lot of comfort in not only for the fact that he worries someone from work finds out about his face and finds him (or worse, you) but it was less straining to mask his expressions in a conversation.

You rip his hand away from your face with a huff, walking ahead of your boyfriend as a way to show your obvious displeasure. Konig just chuckles and follows along, grabbing a basket. The shop wasn't that big but the brand was a household favourite.

It was a little pricy but Konig had more money than he knew what to do with at times, he can indulge. Plus, the quality and longevity of the clothes were worth it — it was all ethically made as well! A win in both of your books. "Schatz, you can't be mad that I remind you not to speak of my work aloud" his accented voice chides as you look for the basics of a wardrobe. T-shirts in neutral colours, jeans, underwear, and a new winter jacket since yours was doing shit at keeping you warm. "Yeah, yeah, because secret service assassins are constantly listening to you" An arched brow is thrown your way as your larger-than-life boyfriend shadows you. A sigh escapes you and with a dramatic wave of your arm, you place the back of your hand on your forehead and bemoan; "You're so important, schnucki". [sweetie-pie] "A real James Bond, I'm so lucky to be with you". Konig bursts into laughter. The pop song playing on the speakers do little to cover how gleeful the sound was. You stubbornly look ahead, finding immense interest in the different shades of green the t-shirt was made in. He all but towers behind you as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pressing his covered nose to the top of your head as his chest rumbled with amusement. "You're extremely silly, hübscher". [handsome] "Compared to you? Everyone is, obviously" his eyes gleam and his arm squeezes you closer. It makes you halt your movement. That familiar pressure against you, the aura of heaviness suddenly draping over you. Konig can't help but think of how truly lucky you are. How many soldiers, mercenaries, and lowly scum had he crushed with his bare hands just like this? Too many to even count. He preferred keeping his thoughts of work and you on very different sides of the fences but whenever you throw a silly fit he can't help but coo inwardly at it. The blood he's knee-deep in, the strength in his sinewy muscles, and the rank he's earned by his sheer brutality and determination all purr in delight at your stubbornness. At your brattiness. You feel something poking at your back. A feat only Konig's cock could manage despite the thick coat you're wearing. Well, this wasn't a complete shock. After his return, the two of you would spend hours annoying your neighbours, however, your upheaval from your last house was made in haste.

Konig managed to squeeze in some frottaging in the shower last night but jetlag won over. Perhaps that's why it took so little to rile Konig up. He sways and you do too. Konig eyes his peripherals, noting the workers were pretending to look busy reorganizing some jewellery on a gondola so he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"Let's look in a different section," he knows you're about to retort so he grabs your chin and tilts your head backwards that way he can leer down at you.

"Command, not suggestion". He enjoys the way your eyes scan his. The flicker of emotions, the way you wet your lips and a hint of your teeth brushing over your lower lips. He knows the blood pooling around your cheeks isn't just from the cold. Your eyes flutter close then open and he grins behind his mask as he releases your chin/neck.

Konig guides you towards the women's section with a steady gait. A worker gives an apprehensive glance but admittingly got far too embarrassed to stare once you stopped in front of the more...sexy bedroom set display.

Silk lingerie didn't last long in your bedroom sessions with Konig. He's gentle when he wants to be — those lazy morning sex with his tongue working you open and his hands stroking your dick to completion until you're limp and boneless was bliss — but his fetish for dressing you up in delicate lingerie sets always ends with your legs and hips needing a few days to recuperate. His size was another reason why sex with Konig was utterly satisfying and sore inducing but it's not like you dislike it (quite the opposite). "Which one, hm?" This time his arms are circling your waist. It was a shame that he was so covered up because the sight of his veins across the back of his scarred, calloused, hands always made you shiver. God, you can practically see the way his biceps are flexing as he continues to sway again. The silk clothes are all much too raunchy. Suddenly, it's too warm under your layers but that's not the exact reason you're squirming.

Most of them are cute. Feminine-cut clothes that would hang too low on your hips with thin straps that would slip down one shoulder. The ones that weren't cute were the classic lingerie dresses. Their length is so short you knew it would tickle the back of your thighs and hide nothing once bent over. The way it was tailored to hug just under the breasts was meant to give it definition but seeing as you were lacking in that department you'd think Konig wouldn't be a big fan? Wrong. He's as horny as an animal in heat when it came to you but he did have a thing for the way your "tits" couldn't fill out the certain clothes he got you. Maybe he just has a "thing" for you in general. He was insatiable. Konig stops swaying. You snap back into the present and furrow your brows. "Schatz", he purrs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm..." The black silk set catches your eye and you reach for it to feel the lace that lines the bottom hem. Pleased by your choice, Konig reaches for the hanger to pluck it from your hands and into the basket it goes. "Changing room...Mein König?" [My King?] His mask hides his sharp grin but his eyes darken from that warm coffee-coloured eyes to pools of sin.

The changing room was foreign. New country, new city, new surroundings. A sense of relief washed over you as you noted the wooden doors, glad they weren't just curtains held together by some loose velcro straps or hooked onto the opposite wall. The changing room hallway was dimmer than usual but once Konig had opened the doors to the room, it was clear why. He let out a low whistle at the sight of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors backlit by LED strips. The dimension of the space was large enough to not feel too claustrophobic — those mirrors seemed to increase the space as well. You shed your jacket, spotting a stool in one corner of the room meant to be a place to put your clothes, bags, or perhaps someone's horny partner to sit on as they look at you expectantly. The sight of Konig sitting on the tiny seat was comical, you pursed your lips to stop laughing but it couldn't be helped. Konig took off his cap and mask, effortlessly reaching towards the hooks on the wall to hang them before he leans back and tilts his head at you. His long, toned, legs stretched out before him. It invades your space. Overwhelming the room with more of him until the giggles fade away. Unwilling to accept his silence, you prod further. "What? You look cute, okay. All awkward in the corner, is this how you were in high school? All limbs like a spider, bet you were an eye-catcher, baby" He doesn't seem phased by your teasing. With his mask off, you can now ogle his face. That scar on the bridge of his aquiline nose, those strong jaws and sunken eye-sockets that give his eyelid a more hooded look. His top lip is thinner than his bottom, with a prominent cupid bow. Feeling emboldened you shed your knitted cap then your jacket and let it drop to the floor. The scarf twirls around your wrist as you walk forward and bend over to level your eye line with Konig. His downward-facing lashes almost always tickle his cheek — well, when they haven't been burnt off from his close proximity to explosives and fire. Thankfully, they're intact this time and you brush your thumb across his cheek, admiring their length. "You're the cutest little boy, you know?" his eye twitches. Still, he does nothing. Konig simply keeps his eyes on your face. You lean in, breath ghosting along his lips while you grin. "Come on, nothing to say, Mein König? Usually, you're the one that's so fucking loud, whimpering, growling, grunting —" Konig jerks forward. You hold your ground. His silence was both nerve-wracking and gratifying. "Ausziehen. Na." [Strip. Now.] He knows you know what he's saying. There's recognition in those perfectly shaped eyes. Leaning back, he adjusts his broad shoulders and eyes those shapely legs impatiently. "Ich werde nicht zweimal fragen." [I will not ask twice.]

He likes this changing room. Not only could he see the expressions on your face as you strip, but he could also see the view from behind thanks to the mirrors. The lights cast you in an almost angelic glow, a rim lighting that makes your skin all but glimmer. You're bent over, pulling your pants down, when the sounds of your moans fill the room. You nearly split your skull open in your haste to grab the phone from Konig's hand. He lifts his leg and his boot pushes onto your stomach, knocking you back and making you stumble onto the floor. You're almost naked, completely defenceless. Konig does not stand. He simply sits and knocks the toe of his boot to your thigh and jerks his chin to the basket close to you. Meanwhile, your moans are still playing. The wet noises of skin slapping against skin, the mattress creaking and the headboard slamming on the wall. "Konig! That's way — That is way too loud!" He splits open your thighs with the same boot and you squeak as he applies pressure to your crotch. The icy coolness from the outside has you shivering as you clamp your thighs around his ankles but he simply presses. Your high-pitched moan elicits a chuckle from Konig. That motherfucker mimics your moan, his stoic face turning annoyingly expressive as he mocked yours. His giddiness is hard to contain. He turns the screen to you and keeps on echoing the noises you're making. "Oh, oh-oh! Oh fuck! Konig! Right there!"

"Point taken!" You plead, blindly reaching behind you to grab the silk dress. You hear the shuffle of feet in the changing room hallway, hushed whispers but Konig does not pause the video. He simply lets it play as you hurriedly slip on the outfit. What a sight you were.

On the floor, pathetically slipping on a raunchy outfit while your crotch was still being stepped on. The straps are falling off your shoulders and your flustered state does little to assist. Your hair is askew and your cheeks are warmer than the fucking sun. The video stops just as you reach your orgasm and Konig removes his boot. "Strip. Fully."

He tosses the phone on the floor and leans forward. His elbows are on his knees and he gazes down upon you like a hungry wolf. After an awkward shimmy, the only thing protecting you from the wooden floors of the changing room was the thin silk. Your cock was tenting the front and no amount of tugging the material down was going to help you. "I think I may have been gone for too long, yes? My slut is much too disobedient as of late and getting more and more perverse. You're so hard after letting everyone in the store hear how pathetic you are when you take my cock, have you no shame?" Konig clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth when you avert your gaze. When you meet eyes, he's unbuckling his belt with one hand. "Do you even deserve to see my cock?"

You shake your head. No, no, of course, you don't! You're just a whore, a perverted boy who belongs to be on the floor. Even the lingerie you wore was too modest for you. Konig could tell you were edging towards that cloudy state. His cheek twitches as he suppresses a knowing grin. "That's right. You don't. But I'm allowing you to" "Th-Thank you, Mein Konig" He spreads his legs and pats his inner thigh after he had unzipped and pulled his heavy cock out. You gulp at the sight of it. It was damn near monstrous — a cock a few people could only ever see in pornography. Crawling on all fours, you nuzzle his thigh as thanks before grabbing it by the base. God, it was so hefty. A delicious pink tip and a few delicate splatters of moles decorated Konig's cock. The mouthwatering veins were given kisses and yet Konig remains silent as he watches with rapt interest in how you worshipped his big dick. "Perk your ass out. More" You're confused as to what he intends to do. Perhaps he wanted to see your asshole winking back at him in the mirror while you suck him off? That seems likely. You spread your knees and arch your back as you suck on his tip, loosening your jaw and covering your teeth as you close your eyes. Konig removes his glove. It doesn't take long for you to start drooling. He swipes two fingers under his dick, around the ring of your mouth, then leans forward to slip them in. Your choked reply is ignored by Konig. It's hard to breathe. You can feel his fingers scissor your muscles open all while he envelops you in his scent, his warmth, his everything. You feel like he's consuming your every being. His cock is halfway in, your jaw is aching and anyone unlucky enough to walk into the changing area would most definitely hear you gagging on it. Your eyes are watering, huffing through your nose as you feel your hips jerk without any conscious thought behind it. He's fucking you open on his fingers and he knows where to aim to make you all but spineless. There's this distinct dick-shaped bump in your throat. Konig is silent. When he pulls out his fingers and cock you cough, cushioning your face on his thigh as you catch your breath. One of the straps is falling off your shoulder and the dress hangs off your chest in a whorish display thanks to your flat chest. Konig's breathing is faster than usual but he is wordless as he grabs your wet chin.

"Kuh...Konig — Ngh!" You're looking at your reflection. Legs as wobbly as a newborn fawn as he holds you up. The dress is bunched over the curve of your ass. You're jerked forward until you slam into the mirror. A pained whimper is replied with a harsh slap to the back of your thighs. He uses his boots again. This time to kick your ankles apart. The fingers on your chin force you to look forward as Konig's heavy cock is placed on your back.

His face places itself on the crook of your shoulder. Those dark eyes swallow the lights from the mirror as he takes pleasure from your melted expression. You still taste his precum on your tongue, jaws still slack and lungs still desperately trying to swallow air. His thumb on your hole can feel the way you clench around nothing and Konig finally breaks his silence. "You are so filthy" You don't deny him of this fact. His cock pushes on the tight ring of muscles and you moan, fogging up the glass as he pushes, pushes, and pushes until he's inside and oh fuck. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. He fills you up so well. Every inch violated, comforted, by him. The pressure is so overwhelming but so familiar and you're getting on the tip of your toes to perk your ass out more. He watches the way your ass swallows inch after meaty inch. "Mein Süßer" [My sweet one] Konig groans into your ear. He's gripping onto your waist so tightly you know bruises will bloom and that thought alone makes you press your cheek on the mirror so you can look at him from over your shoulder. "Mein Konig, please...please, please, please" He's been far too mean and you're begging so sweetly. Konig thrusts in and out of you so harshly that your breath is being knocked out of you. He's kissing you, you're barely there to reciprocate. It's messy, it's hot, it's too much. His hand thumps onto the mirror and the lights flicker but neither of you cares. He's fucking into you so good you can't think. Konig is mouthing your neck, one hand on your waist while the other is groping everywhere, anywhere — as long as it was you. That's all that mattered to Konig. You're being far too loud. Both of you. There's no way no one knows what you're getting up to. Your breaths are fogging up the mirror and there's a ripping sound as Konig tugs on the strap too harshly. "Buh-Baby!" he shushes you. "I'll pay, fuck, I'll pay for anything you want, this boypussy is worth it. So fucking good, so tight " he snaps his hips into you and you choke out a cry at his name. "Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr?" [Feels good, doesn't it?] Your chest is now in full view and so Konig grabs at it, twisting your nipples harshly. You're sobbing, tossing your head back as plead for him to slow down. Tears are now streaming down your face, lashes clumping together as you groan out, hand prints being left on the smooth surface as you desperately attempt to grasp at anything to ground yourself. "So sehe ich Dich gerne". [I like seeing you this way.]

Konig grins wickedly. He knows you're close, he can feel it in the way you're tightening up around his cock. He's not that far behind and he was determined for the two of you to cum at the same time. Thankfully, Konig knows just what to do to push you over the edge. Not that it would take much. All that foreplay, that humiliation, already made you a stroke away from jizzing on the floor. His sharp canines sink into the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you yelp as you paint the floor and mirror with your cum. "Ah, fuck!" you tightened around him like a vice and Konig stills as he empties his balls into you. His thighs twitch and his hips jerk a few times as he pants to catch his breath. "Woah!" Konig holds you up, laughing breathlessly as he hugs you. Your head is lolling to the side so he gently leans your head back, stroking your neck and chest until you're able to sharpen your eyes back into focus. "Are you alright, Schatz?" he's flattening his palm on your chest to feel the way your heart thuds against your ribcage. You nod, gulping and panting as you try to form sentences. He's patient as he carefully maneuverers you to lean fully against him. "Fuck, why'd you have to cum in my ass" Konig snorts as he lets you peel away to brace yourself on the mirror. He would say sorry but he's not. The sight of his cum dripping out of your hole has his cock twitching all over again. While you're catching your breath he reaches for his phone. The sound of his camera going off makes you roll your eyes. He's always taking pictures or videos. Says it keeps him occupied when he misses you a bit too much while he's deployed. Who are you to deny your boyfriend his needs? Wordlessly, you jut your hips back and spread your ass for him. He thanks you. It was silent as you both clean up (as much as you could) and when everyone was dressed you try not to limp on your way out. The workers all avoid looking in your direction and you groan as you hide your face in Konig's side. He simply tosses an arm around your shoulder, feeling smug despite the bashful blush under his facemask. "We can never shop here again" you mutter "There are more shops" Konig comforts.