#I told y'all I'd make more

[fan-mans]

Gun Joe, Gun Kaiser, Disco Gun, King Gun

Punch-Out!!! Wii minor circuit, except guns.

[foamingatthemeowth]

We're the light in your screens

We're the lead in your veins

And you wake from your dreams

So we can sell them again

In the light we distract

With the shiny and new

So you're blind to the fact

That the product is you

[insertsickusername13]

You get no summary as to what this is about. It's around 2k words, but it only took me like 30 minutes to write so. it's. it's a bit confusing. but it's cute and happy!!!

 “I don’t even know where to start,” Chloe whined, slamming her forehead against the library table. Jake winced involuntarily at the noise, but Chloe didn’t even seem to notice what she’d done. “She’s just so pretty, Jake. Have you seen her? Those eyes—”

 “Yes,” Jake replied, an odd mix between bemused and annoyed. He had homework he was happy to ignore just to listen to Chloe’s excessive rantings on her most recent crush (there’d been three this week—she was struggling with the whole ‘not being in love with Brooke anymore’ thing), but it was still homework that he’d have to do later if he didn’t finish it now. “We get it, she’s hot and you want to fuck her, but did I factor this right?”

 She barely glanced over his paper before giving him a half-hearted thumbs up and continuing on with, “I just want to be able to talk to her, you know? Be confident and tell her she’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.”

 “Then do that,” Rich seethed. He was even more impatient than Jake, sitting red-faced with his arms crossed over his chest, staring directly at his computer with a familiar fiery gaze Jake was accustomed to being on the receiving end of. Jake’s heart did a flip.

 “Shut up. You never confess to your crushes," Chloe shot back.

 “Because I’m busy writing reports for my stupid research class, and I’d prefer if I could do it in silence.”

 Jake leaned forward on his elbows and propped his chin on the heel of his hand, just close enough so he could feel the edges of Rich and Chloe’s argument like electricity in the air. They were both pissy today—Chloe because she was upset about her crush, and Rich because he had a three thousand word report due that night that he’d totally forgotten about until two days ago. Though Jake would usually have little patience when it came to Rich’s moods (uncommon now that he was unsquipped—most of the time it was either dorky ramblings or hesitant dad jokes), he was well enough adapted to Rich’s behaviors to know that hadn’t meant to put it off, really, it was just a thing that happened sometimes. He knew Rich had seen it in the color-coded agenda Jake had made for him, it simply didn’t register that it was real. Rich spent the past two days busting his ass off and Jake understood why he wanted silence so he could get it over with.

 “No,” Chloe shot back, “You’re a coward. And I am too. I’m usually so confident, this genuinely hurts. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

 Rich tilted his head back to cast a glance up at the sky, probably a prayer of some sort, before he closed his computer and turned to Chloe, expression cold. Jake watched his every movement.

 “Five minutes,” Rich spat, “Five minutes, and then you shut up for the rest of the period and let me work. Deal?”

 Chloe stuck out her hand and shook his. Rich set a timer on his phone and immediately Chloe was off. The color of this girl’s eyes (Jake wasn’t sure of her name, he’d been too busy watching Rich bite his lip while he focused to catch it), her hair, the way she made her feel.

 “I can’t even think when I'm around her," Chloe sighed, borderline wistful, “My stomach gets in knots and everything gets fuzzy and warm. It’s like I’m melting inside, and not in a horny way. I want to take her away to some perfect place where she can never get hurt and teach her how to paint and feed her cherries. How am I supposed to talk to her when my brain is literal mush whenever she gets too close?!"

 Rich laughed for the first time all day. Jake frowned.

 “I don’t get it,” Jake said slowly, trying to decode Chloe’s words even as he was speaking, “Aren’t you doing that now?”

 Chloe and Rich immediately turned to him, surprised by not only his sudden contribution to their previously exclusive conversation but also by his hesitance. Jake wasn’t hesitant. Jake always knew what he was talking about.

 Even now, he was sure of himself. He knew Chloe was talking through that feeling now—Rich was sitting right next to her, and Rich was practically the embodiment of that feeling. He walked into the room and overwhelmed everyone with a giddy, sunshine feeling that made their vision blur and their heart beat too fast. It was a Rich thing, he brought it everywhere he went. Even when he walked in with a too-big sweatpants and oily hair after weeks of either studying or laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and convincing himself he was worth more than the persona he used to present, Rich ignited butterflies in everyone he met. Every single day.

 Chloe didn’t make the connection to the Rich Effect (as Jake had dubbed it), though. She shot to her feet, eyes wide and panicked.

 “She’s here?!!?” she whisper-yelled, spinning in circles and scanning the library for her mystery crush, “Where?! Why didn’t you tell me—”

 “What? No, calm down, I was talking about Rich.”

 If Jake’s earlier statement had confused them, this broke them. Chloe sat down, her back rigid and eyes narrowed. Rich simply tilted his head slightly to the right, an innocent show of curiosity. Even that was enough to make the room flush pink, and somehow Chloe seemed perfectly fine talking through that, he didn’t see why this new girl was any different.

 “Rich?” she echoed, “I don’t have a crush on Rich? It’s fine to talk around him?”

 “Yeah, obviously. But he’s got the whole Rich thing, y’know?”

 They did, indeed, not know. Jake looked between the two of them, searching for any flash of recognition, but he was met with empty stares and questioning looks. Rich made a small, confused sound.

 “Like, Rich-walks-in-a-room-and-everything-lights-up? That thing? The butterflies? C’mon, you have to know what I’m talking about, he’s been doing it since the fire.”

 Jake’s nerves somehow coalesced into an awkward, stunted laugh made just to fill the silence that followed his observation. Rich seemed weirdly flustered, as if he’d somehow been unaware that every single person he met was enthralled by the sound of his lisp or the way he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves whenever he got nervous. This was normal—Jake knew it was normal. Everyone felt that, everyone knew it, it was just such a fact of life it remained unspoken amongst the masses.

 “…no,” Chloe said as if she was explaining some foreign concept to a toddler, “Most people do not get butterflies at the sight of Rich. No offense.”

 Rich shook his head as he muttered ‘none taken.’ He was studying Jake with the same lost expression Chloe was, lips parted, and it was only when Rich’s cheeks flushed a cute pink that Jake realized maybe he’d fucked up.

 Rich clearly had no idea what he was talking about. Even worse, Chloe had no idea what he was talking about. Not only was Rich not purposefully torturing the entire population with his inexplicable ability to turn everything into gold whenever he smiled, but apparently his accidental magic only affected Jake.

 A phenomenon most would describe as a crush.

 Jake did not have a crush. He was straight, Rich was his best friend, and he’d never risk ruining that. But Chloe was slowly coming to the same realization he had and he watched the exclamation form on her lips before he had the chance to stop her.

 “You like him?!”

 Jake didn’t have time to form a defense before Rich was falling out of his chair, face red and eyes bulging. He popped back up almost immediately and screeched, “WHAT?!”

 “No!!! Stop! I don’t! Slow down! It’s normal, okay?! Stop looking at me like that, Jesus. I’m not—I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?! It’s clearly not the same. Just—the normal amount, you know? Don’t you give everyone butterflies? C’mon, it can’t just be me.”

 Maybe it was just him, come to think of it. He didn’t remember many other people getting tongue-tied around Rich, or blushing simply when he entered the room. The only reason Jake could keep his cool around Rich was because he’d spent months adapting to this constant glow-y feeling. The first few weeks after meeting post-fire Rich, Jake had practiced talking in the mirror just to make sure he hadn’t had a stroke in his sleep and lost the ability to speak or something. Other people… didn’t seem to have that reaction. They didn’t act like Rich was made of pure sunshine, or his voice a melody, his eyes entrancing, his lips—

 Jake searched Rich’s face for an answer, eyes darting from place to place helplessly. From his eyes to his eyebrows to his cheeks to his freckles to his hair. He was met with curiosity and excitement and tension—something that terrified him more than anything.

 He didn’t think Rich would say no, not when he was looking at Jake like this. Like he was afraid to be happy, unbelieving that things could possibly go the way he wanted them to. Jake could ask Rich to kiss him right now and… and he might get that. He might like that.

 “The normal amount,” Jake repeated, his voice trembling. Too fast. He was straight ten minutes ago, this was way too fucking fast.

 “The normal amount is no amount, Jacob,” Chloe said. Unlike Rich, she didn’t sound afraid to be happy. She looked excited. She was finally free from Jake’s lingering attraction. She could go off and date this new girl without wondering if her ex-boyfriend would be okay with it. Because he had a crush on his best friend. Apparently. Fuck. No—

 “Okay?! Then I don’t feel it any amount! It’s only sometimes—well, most of the time—but there’s no way—how can you look at him and not—?”

 Chloe had the audacity to laugh at him, elated and unbridled. That, of all things, should’ve had Jake’s heart melting into his lungs.

 But instead, it was Rich’s small, “Jake…?” that made the sky turn pink.

 “Don’t. I don’t like you, okay? I don’t. It’s—”

 Jake would kiss him if Rich asked him to. But, because this was post-fire Rich instead of pre-fire Rich, Rich didn’t say a word, didn't lean forward and offer Jake the sweet relief of letting all this built-up excitement out into a kiss. Rich sat back down, mouth clamped shut and eyes trained carefully on the table in front of him.

 “Okay,” he murmured, his face flushed, “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 “Go out to dinner with me.”

 Rich refused to look up. Still staring at the table, he whispered, “What?”

 “I don’t know?! Apparently, not everyone thinks you’re the most beautiful person to walk the planet?! And I mean, if I get to keep you all to myself, then fuck me if I don't. So. Dinner. I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I’m not a fucking coward. I’ll go for it. You’re pretty, you make everything warm and happy, and I think I really fucking like that feeling, so.”

 “You’re straight.”

 “Maybe not?” Jake offered, his voice small and on the verge of cracking.

 Rich’s hands clenched the edge of the table. Jake, disoriented and desperate, reached out and threaded their fingers together just to loosen his grip.

 “Please?” he whispered, “I think—I think I really like you.”

 “Okay,” Rich replied.

 “No, I’m serious. I—”

 “I know you are. But I’m sure I like you. A lot. Why don’t you go fuck around a little and experiment a bit before you decide to go and break my heart?”

 “Oh, shit,” Chloe said. Jake shooed her off with his free hand, not even bothering to look at her. His full attention was on Rich and his trembling hands.

 “I don’t wanna experiment. I want to go out to dinner with you.”

 Rich shrugged. Jake made a small sound of frustration.

 “C’mon, you can’t—I like you! I have all the feelings people get when they like someone. Hell, I probably have more, considering I literally cannot see anyone else whenever you so much as brush up against me. I was raised to be fucking president of Model UN and the archery team, Rich. My brain never managed to compute that liking guys—liking you—could even be an option. But it is an option, and I like you, and now that I know it I don’t think I will physically be able to handle being in the same room and not kissing you. Dinner. Please. One date. Then you can decide I’m a slut who just wants to experiment.”

 Rich squeezed Jake’s hand, tight and unwavering. When he looked up, all Jake could think about was how grateful he was Rich hadn’t done it earlier. He already knew he was fucked—just from Chloe’s confusion, from Rich’s embarrassment—but damn. Damn. Jake wished he was more poetic. He’d trained himself to write succinct essays and informative contentions, not stanzas about the exact shade of gold the perfect mix between green and brown could make.

 “One date.”

 “And when I prove you wrong, we can go out on another.”

 Rich let out an awkward laugh that sounded somewhere between pained and excited.

 “Sure,” he said, “Then we can go on another.”

[the-halfling-prince]

Abe please gimme Harlow lore (I’ve seen snippets and am Intrigued)

The Harlow fans are getting FED tonight. (Idk how many of those there are, but there's at least you)

So just so y'all know I've got the basics of the series all planned out, but ive only got the first book written (draft 2 is almost finished). A lot of things I say here may contradict with things ive said in the past or will contradict with things I say in the future. Anyway let's go.

The main setting of the books is The Alavenik Archipelago, a small group of islands who's culture is inspired by (but not super directly) Norse (and a little Celtic) aesthetics. Of course most of the stories take place in the main character, Harlow's, home island of Drakenvel (the southernmost island in the archipelago.) The other islands are called Njotidan, Yfgusti, Krowethia, Nihdrikah, and The UnNamed Island. The islands are home to mostly humans, deer, birds, fox, rabbits, wolves, and oh yeah dragons. There's dragons in my Nordic inspired fantasy books don't look into that too much. (I'm a huge fan of httyd and skyrim what can I say?) The culture around how the Alavenikians treat dragons is basically just they avoid them like the plague. The dragons have human intelligence but they don't speak the same language. Our main character, luckily, is autism and thinks it's weird to not try and befriend the creature of equal intelligence that live in their home. This obviously gets her into trouble.

Drakenvel Island is very small. It's got cliffs all along the western shore, and forests covering most of the island (minus where the village is). The archipelago's islands trade with eachother regularly, and the Drakenvellians have mostly livestock and crops to offer. Their land is good for farming, with the main farm being owned by the Freyrson family (Wintergrow Freyrson is the head farmer. She's not super important to the story but her oldest kid is, just wait).

Another important thing to note about Drakenvel is that epithets are important to them. Almost all of the Drakenvellians go by an epithet/nickname of some sort. It can change later in life but typically it doesn't. The exception to this is the chief and his heir, who go by their real names (aka Harlow and her dad. I didn't bother giving him a name tho ngl). Like Harlow's best friend Tiger, who's real name is Björn. Or his dad, Inkwell, who's real name is also Björn. (Also until very recently in Drakenvel history, all the families had patriarchal last names. But slowly they've been transitioning to just having last names. Some of them have previous family members' epithets as last names, such as the Stormrages and Crowthornes, and some of them kept the patriarchal last name they had when making the change, for example the Freyrsons. Inkwell and Tiger's family hadn't made that change yet, but they basically decided they were going to stick with Björnson, since the past three generations have had that name. Hence Tiger's unfortunate full name being Björn Björnson the Second)

The chief is in charge of the village, but there is a council. This council consists of: Chief Stormrage, Wintergrow Freyrson, Inkwell Björnson (who owns the library), Halvor (the children's training leader, more on that later), Spiderweb and Bloodfell Crowthorne (more on them later. Hate them, tho.), and of course, Harlow. (Cause why wouldnt you have a 12 year old on your council.)

Real quick wanna mention Harlow and Tiger's mothers, Harlow's mother (who doesn't have a name yet I'm working on it) and Bullseye Björnson where adventurers who went missing when Harlow was four and Tiger was two. Harlow was basically raised by her mother's mother, and Tiger was raised by Inkwell (who is the best dad ever btw take notes y'all I love him)

Now I mentioned earlier that the kids have training. So on that: Drakenvel is a mostly peaceful village. But after Halvor first showed up from Yfgusti (a not very peaceful village), he suggested that they start a training program for the youth to learn to fight in the odd chance that they do go to war, just like they had on Yfgusti. The chief wasn't sure, but his wife thought it was a good idea so he agreed to it. From ages 10-18 the kids train in swordfighting, archery, wilderness survival, hunting, etc. They do that a few times a week. Harlow is great at it. Tiger is not. It makes for fun dynamics idk

Okay okay enough of Harlow and Tiger (never) what of the other kids? So glad you asked! There's four other kids in training. Catface Freyrson, Darkwind and Burnchaser Fjordson, and of course, my boy, my main man, the motherfucker himself: Careless Crowthorne. Careless is constantly described as an expert archer. I really like archery so I talk about him and his archery a LOT in the books ngl. Careless and Cateface have a history similar to Harlow and Tiger, extremely loyal childhood best friends, but as circumstances changed Careless and he became a jerk, that rubbed off on Catface (and Darkwind and Burnchaser) and in the words of Catface himself, they "became less friends and more 'the bully and kids who followed because they didn't want to be a victim'". Unfortunately, even after Careless had his half-assed redemption (it gets better in later books but his initial redemption was so bad even Harlow talks about it, he really just wanted to clear his own conscious) the rest of the boys we're still assholes.

Holy shit this is getting long

oh btw Harlow's dad doesn't like Tiger. This bitch has beef with a 10 year old fuck OFF i hate him.

Wait, hold on, aren't there some more important main characters in this... Hmmm... I talk about this all the time who am I forgetting... ah yes.

Daliah. (And another I'll get to next just wait, Cloudstorm fans)

Daliah of Krowethia. A mysterious girl who just showed up on Drakenvel one day. She's secretive, but doesn't really try to be. She just never talks about herself, and everyone else assumes she doesn't want to talk about her past. Anyway, they find out later she mysteriously showed up on the docks of Krowethia as a child, not remembering anything, and being taken in by the owner of a boarding house, a woman named Meilani. More of her another day. But Daliah had an urge to see the rest of the archipelago, and taught herself how to sail, and survival skills, and she went island to island, enjoying the landscapes (and avoiding dragons, which she was deathly afraid of)

Oh yeah there's one more member of their little gang. Another outsider from another land. A little dragon, an Amber-Winged Wyvern by the name of Cloudstorm. Harlow is obsessed with Amber-Winged Wyverns. In the same way someone who will never see their favorite animal IRL would be. Seeing an artic dwelling dragon is an unattainable dream for poor Harlow (me too girlie when do I get to see a caribou just out in the wild. Except her seeing an animal native to the artic is more likely than me seeing a Caribou so damn I guess.) She's only seen illustrations. But yeah then she finds on on her island???? The fuck??? (When will a Caribou show up in the Southern USA come on man. Sorry I got distracted. Anyway.) She talks to the dragon (because of fuckin course she does) and desperately wants to befriend him. Cloudstorm wants nothing to do with this weird kid. The rest of the gang wants nothing to do with this dragon.

More dragons come into the story later, but the first book is very much about the main group becoming, well, a group.

Also the dynamics between Harlow and the other main characters are so fun to me. Harlow and Careless and both headstrong leader types, but Harlow more boisterous, and Careless is more idk menacing is the only word I can think of. Harlow and Daliah are both adventure seekers, but Daliah is a play it safe survivalist, and Harlow is way more spontaneous. Then Harlow and Tiger are almost complete opposites. With Harlow being the boisterous, headstrong, adventurous, spontaneous leader, Tiger is a shy, weak, careful pushover and follower. Yet they're somehow best friends. Harlow and Cloudstorm are basically the same which makes their dynamic so funny. He treats her like she treats her own authority figures. (Not that Harlow is Cloudstorm's authority figure that was just the comparison I had)

idk if I have anything else to add RN but I'm willing to answer any about specific things

[skrunksthatwunk]

not rascal's deadbeat owner coming around when im not home and telling my roommate she's taking him for a week (our break is 4 weeks or so, implying he's gonna be back here even though That's Her Cat Not Ours) and then just picking up the new toys i bought for him and taking them with her without even asking. hey. hi. those are mine

[il-miele-che-scrive]

Go for his brother part 3

Part 2

Part 1

charles_leclerc The day @/y/n_leclerc and I decided to spent the forever together

view all comments

y/n_leclerc Did I mention I'm in love with you? 😭

↳charles_leclerc Yeah I think you mentioned that a few times in the vows, ma chérie

y/n_leclerc I love it when you call me french terms of endearment oh my god 😩

username1 SHE'S HOOKED

↳username2 FOR LIFE 🤞

pierregasly And I really thought I wouldn't see that day

↳y/n_leclerc Life's full of surprises isn't it?

username3 Charles calls her ma chérie, Arthur used to call her mon bébé 😭 do you get deja vu

↳username4 y/n: *breathes* y'all: do you get deja vu omg she used to breathe with Arthur 😭

↳username5 You remember mon bébé but do you remember chouchou? 😭

username3 OMG YES he used to call her chouchou and she used to call him Thurthur 😭

username4 GET. OVER. THEM. Y/n is now married to Charles BESIDES Arthur CHEATED on her. She deserved better than Arthur and now she has it.

pascale_leclerc Congratulations my loves ❤️😘 the wedding was beautiful

↳y/n_leclerc Merci maman🫶

↳username3 Pascale is just happy to have Y/n in her family and I live for this

username2 Maybe it was all Pascale's idea, when she found out Arthur cheated, she told Charles to keep Y/n in the family lmao

username3 And he stayed committed to the job💪

danielricciardo The instant photos part was awesome, I bet it was Y/n's idea

↳y/n_leclerc Yes it was 🫡and it was really nice to see you, Max, Lando and Carlos having lots of fun with it once the alcohol kicked in

charles_leclerc Not to mention now we have some things to blackmail you with

danielricciardo Bold of you to assume I'd be ashamed of any of these, Charles

carlossainz55 Looking forward to seeing Y/n in the paddock more often! 😊

↳y/n_leclerc You know, Carlos, some people have jobs... You should look it up sometime...🫶

↳username5 Is she now gonna go for Carlos lmao

scuderiaferrari Big day for our favorite couple ❤️ evviva gli sposi 👏

↳charles_leclerc Grazie mille❤️❤️

↳y/n_leclerc We're the favorite couple 🥹

georgerussell63 Even though you were engaged I didn't believe you'd actually do it until it happened

↳charles_leclerc Thanks George, supportive as always

username1 That's what I call KARMA

username2 But when are we going to talk about the argument Arthur and Charles had before the wedding?

↳username3 What were you in their house? Lmao

username2 Another gossip page said that Arthur and Charles argued in front of the wedding chapel

username3 That's so unrealistic, don't trust everything you see on these pages

username4 Hey so do we know if there were any arguments?

↳f1gossip There's no way we'd have any information on that, it was a very private ceremony. That is highly doubtful though, I don't think this could've happened. Even Arthur knows better than acting like this on his brother's wedding day.

username3 That's so right, Arthur isn't dumb enough to act like a dick on his brother's wedding day, he knows it's his own fault

username5 Yeah it would be so weird if Arthur was playing angry now like man it's all consequences of your own actions, be an adult

username6 Even if it wasn't showing, Arthur was definitely dying on the inside. Imagine seeing your ex girlfriend at the altar next to your brother. You're thinking "it should be me with her", but it's too late

↳username7 One day Y/n and Charles will have kids, they'll be a happy family. Charles will have everything Arthur could want - a seat in F1, Y/n as his wife, little Leclerc(s) running around. Arthur will always be the "less successful" Leclerc. No wonder Lorenzo stays out of the spotlight

username8 Now you're making it sound depressing lol

username7 Tbh I cried a little thinking about this even though I know that's what Arthur deserves for cheating on Y/n

username9 I wonder what happened between Arthur and [ex best friend's name]

↳f1gossip She allegedly broke up with him and a few days later was seen on a date with a fellow Formula 2 driver.

username7 This keeps getting better

username9 WHO???? I NEED TO KNOW???

username8 I saw someone say she was seen with that Piñacolada guy

username9 Piñacolada?? Do you mean Franco Colapinto?? 💀

y/n_leclerc Charles isn't my fiancé anymore 👰‍♀️🤵

view all comments

charles_leclerc I told you it's not the best way to say it

↳y/n_leclerc You can't stop me, tesoro

username1 OMG I've just noticed Y/n changed her username

↳username2 well, she got married...

lilymhe Wedding of the century

francisca.cgomes Every little girl dreams of a perfect wedding. That was this wedding

↳exbestfriend I've never dreamt of a wedding as a kid

francisca.cgomes Girl nobody asked

exbestfriend Why would a kid think about it? Don't they have better things to do? Like playing with toys and BEING A KID?

y/n_leclerc Pls not under my wedding post, get your jealous ass outta here

yoursister I'm so proud of you Y/n 😭

↳y/n_leclerc I know, you couldn't stop crying 😭

yoursister You know it were happy tears, I love you so much 😭

username3 LMAO [ex best friend's name]'s comments are pure comedy 💀 do you think she'll try to steal Charles now?

↳username4 Doesn't matter, Charles will never cheat on Y/n

arthur_leclerc You looked amazing

↳username2 Get the fuck out of this comment section

↳username3 All you can do about it now is cry, you wasted your chance

↳username4 The way Y/n doesn't even bother to reply

alex_albon I bet you wouldn't have the guts to wear the dress to the paddock next race

↳y/n_leclerc You're right, I won't 🙌 it's too beautiful to take any risks

charlottesiine Dream dress 🤍

↳y/n_leclerc I know right 🥹 when I saw it I knew right away THAT'S THE ONE

↳username5 wtf what's Cha doing here

username6 They follow each other since that one time they hung out together

username5 ahh the famous "we both suffered a Leclerc" thing

username7 GUYS I AM CRYING Cha said dream dress, I wonder if she's thinking it should be hers, like she should be in Y/n's place 🥹😭

↳username8 Y'all need to stop, first talking about Arthur, now about Charlotte. Go touch some grass

username7 but, unlike Y/nArthur, ChaCha broke up on good terms, so this could be her

username8 But it's not. Grow up. So disrespectful to talk about it on a wedding post

username9 I am really happy for Y/n and Charles. But I can't stop thinking this could be Y/n and Arthur. Or Charles and Charlotte

↳username7 I bet Arthur also can't stop thinking about this lmao he'll never find someone who'll love him as much as Y/n did

username9 Let's not go that far maybe...?

username1 Their voices are so similar 😭 do you think Y/n sometimes accidentally calls Charles Arthur?

↳username2 Do you think she sometimes says the wrong name in bed? 💀

username3 This whole story, from the moment Arthur cheated to the end of this interview, is my Roman Empire

username4 I love that they stay on good terms even after what happened with Y/n

↳username1 In this exact interview Arthur said he didn't talk to Charles for WEEKS, he didn't even show up on the family dinners, until one day he understood he can only blame himself

username5 You can see that Arthur is happy for his big brother, but in his voice you can hear the pain 😭

username6 When Arthur said "Now I see what I did was hurtful and I'm glad it was Charles who took care of Y/n after it happened, instead of some random guy who would possibly repeat my mistake" it broke me 😭

↳username7 "Y/n is an amazing woman and I hope Charles will give her everything I couldn't." 😭😭

username8 when Ch asked "do you think you'd deserve a second chance? if Y/n and I weren't married, of course" as a joke and A replied "honestly? no, I was a douchebag and the cheating wasn't the only issue in our relationship, she truly deserved better" AND THEN GAVE HIS BROTHER A BIG SMILE WTF?? 😭😭

username9 At least he realizes his mistakes😭

username4 Not only cheating?? What else?? I need to know immediately

username8 They didn't say it in the video, I doubt they would ever say it publicly unless Y/n decides to speak about it (but I don't see why would she, being happily married now)

username10 They should release one interview of the Leclercs just talking about this whole Y/n situation

y/n_leclerc Maybe it all happened a bit quick, but my husband is a race driver for a reason

view all comments

lilymhe I GASPED when I saw the caption

↳charles_leclerc I asked her nicely to look for some basic quote 🙁

pascale_leclerc Can't wait to meet our little Leclerc❤️

↳y/n_leclerc You'll be the first one to find out❤️

yoursister That's how I find out? Through a post?😭

↳y/n_leclerc I wanted to surprise you 🥹

yoursister I'm kidding, I'm happy for you guys 🩷

francisca.cgomes Someone check on Arthur

↳y/n_leclerc KIKA!!!!

↳username1 I love Kika 😭

↳username2 Jokes aside someone really needs to check up on him

arthur_leclerc It really suits you 🩷

↳y/n_leclerc Don't say that to Charles, he already told me he'd like 2 more 😭 I don't think I wanna go further than just this one

charles_leclerc I'm not gonna force you! If you wanna stop at one, that's fine by me

y/n_leclerc We can get a puppy instead? Right now it would be perfect so the puppy and the baby can entertain each other and grow up together

charles_leclerc Alright, ma chérie, we can talk about that 😂

↳username1 "I hope Charles gives her everything I couldn't" 😭 so that's what he meant

↳username2 Alexa play the one that got away by Katy Perry

username3 I just know Arthur will be the fun uncle omg

↳username4 I don't think he'll spend much time with the baby, if I were him it would always make me think "wow, that baby could be mine if I didn't mess up" 💀

username3 It seems like he understood his mistake and came to terms with the consequences. Plus, he didn't say it, but I feel like in the video shared by the gossip page he implied not wanting kids

username4 What do you mean? How?

username3 "I hope Charles gives her everything I couldn't" and then said the cheating wasn't the only reason for the breakup and now, a few weeks pass and we get the pregnancy announcement

username4 Well, maybe getting cheated on didn't work out so badly for Y/n in the end

alex_albon Project Verstappen? 😏

↳georgerussell63 *project Hamilton

charles_leclerc *project Leclerc 😌

alex_albon Better start saving up for the baby's therapy then

charles_leclerc Welcome home, Jules Hervé Leclerc, born July 17 🤍

comments for this post have been turned off

[creatingblackcharacters]

Lesson 1: "White Man Painted Black"?

Okay, I recognize that this is a strong foot to step off on! But! If you learn nothing else from this series, if you decide for whatever reason to forsake me: this is the ONE perspective I'd like you to take away!

You may have heard this quote before, when Black fans deride a character design as 'a white man with the brown bucket tool'. On its face, it means exactly what was said. But specifically, what it means is that we recognize that whomever designed the character drew the way they normally draw for a 'default' character in their mind- default usually meaning White/Eurocentric features- and they added a shade of brown within the line art to make that character now 'Black'.

Now if you're feeling defensive, wait just a moment! This discomfort is not inherently a bad thing!

I'm going to use both a 'real world' example first, to show you what your Black fans and peers are seeing, and perhaps you will also understand our discomfort!

(if anyone was curious, my folder for this lesson is titled 'brad' lmao and you'll see why)

(I'll have y'all know that I actually worked very hard to make Blackface Brad look mildly presentable lmao I'm sorry, I'm wheezing, I can hardly breathe looking at him 🤣)

You see how, despite knowing where this was going, and using one of the darkest shades of brown in my Skin Tones arsenal, you still know that that's Brad Pitt? That nothing about his hair texture, his lips, his nose, or really anything other than the palette change... changed? And you can still see that?

It's incredibly hurtful to be told that that's supposed to be you. You know it's not, you know why it's not, but rather than hearing how it makes you feel unseen and what they could do to be better (since they wanted to draw a Black character!), the artist lashes out at you.

And as an artist, you might have worked VERY HARD to do this! That might be a real handsome guy you drew!! But... is he really Black? Did you walk into it with the intention, that you were drawing a Black Character, or did you draw a character that just happened to be Black? It seems like a silly thing, but it matters!

Okay. I just finished laughing over Brad. Now let's get into some more perspective changes:

Now, imagine you drew a character. You want to make her Black, so you change the hair and skin colors. All right! You have your Black character... right?

Changed ONE feature about her? (You should obviously change more than one feature, but let's just go with the simplified example.)

What if, instead of just changing her palette, we changed her:

Hair?

There isn't nearly enough time in the world, let alone in this little scribble and blurb, for me to describe the IMPORTANCE of Black hair in Black character design. There are so many ways to do curls, afros, braids, twists, locs, SO MANY HAIRSTYLES!! Get used to searching in the 3C-4C hair textures!!!! I plan on doing an entire lesson or two on hair alone, but suffice it to say, Hair Texture is thee BIGGEST giveaway that you 'painted a white person Black'- from cartoon styles to realistic! It reveals itself in your writing as well- just based on how your character takes care of their hair, how your describe the texture, how other people might perceive it... it lets me know just how much research was done. Because we can have straight hair! But again, that's a conversation for a whole 'nother lesson so- come back later 👀?

Lips?

I love our lips, I really do. There's a long history of shaming Black women in particular for the way our lips look. So when I see them done in all their glory, it makes me very happy. Two-toned lips vary in shade and intensity, so make sure you're using references if you want to be 'realistic', but it doesn't have to be that hard. Even a little subtle shift like this in the design/story description lets me know that a creator was thinking about me.

Nose?

One thing I've noticed ever since I starting drawing is that... people in a lot of mangas/manhwas barely have noses! I admit, out of all the features on the face, the nose isn't the most important. I think they should be, especially when you want to emphasize that your characters look different! People have different types of noses! I especially want to gear this towards those with a goal of drawing realistic portraits and the like- there, the nose is ANOTHER dead giveaway. There are Black people with aquiline and straight noses- we aren't a monolith- but is that why you drew it? Consider why you went for that nose specifically. That's part of the intent, in all this!

Now, you might be looking at me and going "Ice... this is just character design". To which my answer is: Yes! It is! It feels so basic, and yet if you ask your Black friends/peers how often they've come across this feeling of not being properly drawn/written, from fanart to professionally produced works, it's unfortunately common despite how simple of a concept it is.

I hope that you can walk away from my first lil lesson with new eyes. Remember, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[ghost-proofbaby]

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse. 

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him. 

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless. 

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings. 

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival. 

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles. 

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery. 

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating. 

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of  mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own. 

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him. 

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy. 

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.” 

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.” 

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him. 

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?” 

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun. 

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.” 

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl. 

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization. 

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault. 

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life. 

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal. 

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence. 

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town. 

Come to me. 

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence. 

Come to me. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems. 

“Why are you here?” 

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him. 

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible. 

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment. 

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…” 

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you. 

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give. 

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.” 

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch. 

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own. 

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths. 

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness. 

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-” 

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep. 

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns. 

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away. 

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs. 

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.” 

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down. 

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him. 

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.” 

“So why are you still in pain?” 

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other. 

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.” 

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps. 

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…” 

“Different?” 

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind. 

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night. 

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.” 

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger. 

“What was the cost?” 

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing. 

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now. 

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey. 

Blood shouldn’t be sweet. 

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow. 

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you. 

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance. 

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration. 

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed. 

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?” 

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him. 

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees. 

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?” 

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.” 

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.” 

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance. 

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it. 

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them. 

“Don’t,” he lowly warns. 

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?” 

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches. 

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment. 

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger. 

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were. 

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s. 

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you. 

He could almost taste you. 

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.” 

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable. 

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger. 

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone. 

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch. 

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.” 

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer. 

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone. 

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him. 

He’s losing control. You’re losing control. 

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation. 

A road to your hunger. 

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease? 

Probably. 

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge. 

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs. 

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising. 

Come to me. 

“Please.” 

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out. 

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.” 

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now. 

You’re so close. So close. 

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. 

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat. 

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.” 

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.” 

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him. 

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance. 

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push. 

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-” 

He breaks. 

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are. 

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you. 

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure. 

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment. 

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper. 

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you. 

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them. 

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly. 

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being. 

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you. 

I need more. 

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his. 

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously. 

Then take it. 

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt. 

My pleasure. 

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. 

Sweet as honey. 

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words. 

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?” 

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with. 

“Yes, please.” 

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to. 

And you most certainly did not want to. 

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control. 

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.” 

Yes. 

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.” 

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously. 

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this. 

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.” 

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy. 

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters. 

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts. 

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure. 

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.” 

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical. 

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him. 

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed. 

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine. 

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood. 

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin. 

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?” 

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.” 

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry. 

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you. 

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity. 

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance. 

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you. 

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself. 

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.” 

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares. 

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his. 

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth. 

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him. 

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure. 

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.” 

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it. 

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed. 

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you. 

Eddie. 

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire. 

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter. 

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours. 

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done. 

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.” 

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.” 

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.” 

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough. 

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough. 

Of course, lover. 

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

[etheries1015]

Twisted wonderland characters : Would they wait until marriage? Shit post 18+ minors dni

Featuring: trey, leona, epel, vil, malleus, Lilia, Idia, Azul, Cater, Jade, Floyd, Rook

Warnings: 18+ , not proofread

Trey- probably not, thinks about it, but in the end it doesn't matter if yall wait or not he knows you're the one he WILL marry, so doing it now, doing it then...makes no difference to him

Leona- no

Leona- okay but seriously be probably told his family that y'all are waiting (being apart of royalty or whatever I guess) but no, the second you have an opening he is tearing your clothes off and having his way with you.

Epel- I'd say yes because it seems like maybe it'd apart of his family values, I dunno. But you could probably convince him otherwise ngl, his resolve isnt too strong in this aspect

Vil- Is very gentlemenly but doesn't wanna wait. He loves going to down on you after a rough day of work, taking the days stress out on your body

Azul- not waiting one bit. He loves to study you, your body, your legs, your other extremeties. Also possessive as fuck, so will leave light marks on your body afterwards

Malleus- Probably says he will, until he gets into a heat (a dragon thing that I decided is cannon) and loses control. Haha yeah no, he has such a breeding kink he is stuffing you to the brim. But he apologizes profusely afterwards and pouts "are you sure you still want to marry such an impatient fae such as myself?" ...shut up and breed MC again.

Lilia- prolly won't get married ever, so he's down for it whenever. He's playing video games and you get the horny? "Lilia pls" "after this raid hold on" "but I can't" you guys are so open sexually that you can honestly not be embarrassed asking to try new things with him either.

Riddle - absolutely waiting. His pride. Won't. Let. Him. He must practice being patient and refuses to allow himself upon you until he feels confident in his future and your relationship.

Idia- you see that pile of hard dried socks next to that anime body pillow? Yeah. You're his sock replacement.

Cater- Nope. Probably asks to record it too. Maybe sell it on only fans and get some money

Jade- also probably asking to record it. I have no basis for this but I think he genuinely would.

Floyd- Hahahaha no and I will not elaborate

Rook- Actually maybe. I think he would hold out for like, two years, but not without giving him a few blowjobs and handjobs, and he using his skilled hands on yourself...but not actually inserting himself until marriage. I dunno. Just feels right for him.

--

Thats all thanks for reading tell me ur thoughts in the comments like and subscribe and share ur own headcannons

Also here's my masterlist for more of my works

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Easy Money

Derek Danforth x AFAB!Reader

Summery: Minimum wage is a joke these days and we've all gotta make rent somehow. And who knew blonds could be so fun?

Tags: AFAB/Female pronouns reader, no use of y/n, voyeurism, sex worker!Reader, drug use (marijuana), sex while high, drinking, cursing, bisexual Reader, fetish party, reader plays with several people, tempature play/improper use of ice cubes, sex toys, possessive!Derek, dick piercing (I will not debate this,) face fucking, breast play, oral sex (male recieving), thigh riding, cock warming, cowgirl and doggy position, praising, pet names, edging, rough sex, spanking, vaginal fingering, degradation, dumbification if you squint, dacrophillia. There is no plot. This is just porn. Straight up.

Notes: Y'all begged to me, now y'all begging to your man. You're welcome. Also, please consume substances responsibly. Do NOT assume an edible ain't shit. They ALWAYS are.

                       •°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

The gig is simple. Stand there and look pretty.

The woman who had hired all of us was very clear on the rules; serve drinks, talk to the men, don't have a brain, and if Derek Danforth gives you an ounce of attention, you return it. Sex was optional, but they pay less if you do not engage.

I was just there for the check. Times are hard, but this dress is easy to fit into... if I don't breathe. Jesus, it's tight.

The architecture of the mansion is beautiful. Really, if I wasn't working this party I'd be studying every room for an hour each. High ceilings, detailed woodwork. It's a shame it's all bathed in purple blacklights with everyone wearing neon glowsticks.

The people in attendance are in various states of undress. Some wear their clothes fully, some wear nothing at all. Most are in various states of undress, including the waitresses.

All of our dresses are the same- tight, black, and an easily detachable top with nipple pasties underneath in the shape of blacklight activated glow stars. It's tacky, but the girls who have removed their tops are getting way more tips. And with the debt I'm in, plus the security making absolute sure no camera are recording anything, what's the harm in if I join them? It's more money for me.

The various trays contain different things. Some drinks or shots, others different foods. Then there's the drugs. Oh yes. Cocaine, pills, capped needles on at least one tray I noticed. On mine are several marijuana joints, blunts and even edibles. Our employer had told us we were allowed to indulge, but any damages caused due to our inebriation would come out of our check.

Edibles usually aren't shit for me, so I feel quite safe.

A strawberry cube is tucked safely under my tongue, taking a long while to melt. I can feel my muscles relaxing, making me smile more to the guests as I work my way through the crowd. The beginning gentle buzz helps me to forget the way these people leer at me, some even reaching over to touch me before retracting their hands quickly.

"These guests are quite used to casual sex," the woman had informed us. "There's a code here. You'll each have a pendant around your neck. Depending on the color you choose it will inform them of your preference. Red is for looking only, green means you're okay with sexual touch. It's up to your verbal communication if that touch leads to penetration."

The party was tacky, but at least consent was key.

My color currently is red. It will take more of this edible for anything to change. And currently I see no one making the trouble worth it, anyways.

Right now, anyways.

A man with bright, blond tipped hair and a loud outfit works his way through the crowd. Laughing and speaking with some, taking in the different women serving different items. There's a confident swagger in his walk, one that normally I would scoff at when sober. But with the melting cube quickly joining my bloodstream, I simply stare curiously. It's unintentional, honestly. But he takes notice, narrowing his eyes in reciprocated curiosity before making his way over.

"You're new," he says. I offer him the tray.

"I don't know what you mean," I say politely. He picks up a large blunt, taking out his own lighter instead of using one of the complementary ones on the tray. He takes a long pull, shoving the item back into his snakeskin jacket pocket that doesn't match his zebra print, silk looking button up with black leather pants.

"The other girls have been working here for awhile. Who brought you here?" He asks after taking a long pull, holding it.

"Riley," I answer. He nods, exhaling.

"She's worked here a couple years. You two close?" He asks.

Not particularly. "We're friends," I answer. He smiles a bit, taking another hit.

"You like the party?" He asks.

"I like the lighting," I answer. "And I can't say no to free edibles."

"You take some?" He asks. In answer I scoop the edible onto my tongue and stick it out for him to see. "Good girl, that shit will make you relaxed."

"How much is it?" I ask curiously. Can't be too much, surely.

"Told my guys to pick up 1000mgs," he answers, taking another hit.

... what?

My confusion must be obvious.

"You not used to that?" He chuckles, leaning against the wall next to me.

"I induldge regularly, just... lower amounts," I answer. He exhales, laughing.

"You'll have fun then. Especially if you change your color to green, but that's completely up to you," he says. There's a moment of silence between us before I speak up.

"Nice outfit," I say. He raises a brow at me.

"Yeah?" He asks, scanning me up and down. "I think I prefer yours."

"It matches better, that's for sure," I say. He laughs, then sticks out his hand, his smile confident.

"I'm Derek, by the way."

"Ah," I say. Derek.

Derek!

"Nice to meet you, Mister Danforth," I say, accepting his hand. It's warm and large, strong against mine.

"I don't want to hear Mister out of you unless you change colors, pretty girl," he says, squeezing my hand. I feel myself smiling, heart fluttering a little.

"And what would happen if I did change it, Mister?" I ask politely. His grin widens.

"Well, with the way you look already I'd say people would have a fun time with you," he says, stepping closer. "I wouldn't mind a taste myself. I like my girls warmed up, though."

"Warmed up?" I ask, raising my brow.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "You're welcome to leave your tray anywhere, as I'm sure they've told you. You can change your color to green, enjoy your edible and just let the crowd guide you to me. I promise they will." His eyes roam over me, taking me in with a hungry gaze, his mind distracted by obvious thoughts. I wonder how well his shoulders would hold me.

Shit. He's right, this is strong. The herbal smell on his breath is inviting, and I'm already leaning in. Plus, his outfit is beginning to make visually stimulating sense.

"Isn't it polite for a host to show his guest around?" I ask, batting my lashes. I can feel my eyes drying out, my cheeks buzzing and my body beginning to feel the bass of the music just a little bit more than I was a second ago.

"It is, pretty girl," Derek says, taking another hit. "But you're not a guest, are you?"

No, I'm not. I begin to pull away when his hand catches my pendant.

"You want me to get that for you?" He asks, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes sir," I answer with a smile, placing my tray carefully on the table beside me.

"Good girl," he praises, changing the color with a quick flick of his thumb. "You'll fit in just fine."

Before I can respond, his lips attach to my neck, sucking earnestly and harshly. I can't help the small cry that escapes me, my hand finding his hair and burying itself in it as he pins me against the wall.

His hand cups my breast, kneeding it carefully as he creates patterns across my skin with his mouth, licking at the newly bruised flesh before moving on to a new, unmarked area. He holds his blunt up for me, trying to keep it still enough to allow me to take a hit. I accept, holding his hand steady by the wrist, inhaling as much as I can.

His lips detach from my throat, his eyes red and glazed over as his lips graze mine.

"Care to share?" He asks lowly, his fingers still tweaking at my nipple. I'm vaguely aware that my pasties have been removed, where they've gone to I've no clue.

Obediently, I blow the smoke into Derek's mouth, his hand leaving my breast to cup my jaw, holding my mouth open with his large thumb. Once I'm done he takes his own hit, holding it for a moment before pressing his lips against mine, sealing them together before blowing the smoke into my mouth as well. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of whiskey and smoke. I don't hate the way it blends with the sweet, surgery strawberry cube still melting under my tongue.

He pulls away slightly, breathing heavily.

"You taste sweet," he says. "Mind if I try some?"

"Go ahead," I answer. I expect him to take an edible from the tray, but instead he leans in again, his tongue searching for the half melted candy. He finds it under my tongue, slipping it onto his and then pulling away, smiling in satisfaction.

"Oh," I breathe, batting my lashes in surprise.

"I'll trade you," he says, pressing a small kiss to my cheek as he passes the blunt to me. "Just let the crowd lead you, sweet girl. I'll see you in a bit."

Before I can even think of a response, he slips amongst the crowd, gone in the blink of a hazy eye.

Alright. This is fine. Great, actually. I take a hit of the sour tasting blunt and begin walking amongst the crowd.

Derek was right, I am an eye catcher. Or maybe these people aren't particularly picky. But it doesn't take long at all before people are touching me, sliding their hands over my hips as I pass by, stopping me for a moment to press me against their bodies, leaving a mark or three on my skin. The attention makes my mind blank, smiles on my lips as I whisper 'thank you's, the patrons slipping tips into the tight pockets of my skirt as they release me, letting me blend into the crowd once more until someone else catches me.

I should be revolted, I know this. But the people aren't hard to look at, and with as much as I have flowing through my system all I can really think about is how amazing I feel. My joints feel like air is passing straight through them, my head feels light and free of racing thoughts. The lights entrance me, making me easily distractable until a woman guides me gently towards her group, placing me on her lap as she talks with what I'm guessing are work colleagues. Or something. Fuck if I care.

Her hand strokes my back carefully, not speaking to me as I continue hitting my almost burnt out blunt. She glances at me from time to time, smiling sweetly as she watches me.

"Can I have some?" The older woman asks gently. Her lips are painted a dark black, revealing white teeth underneath. Her features are sharp, contoured by heavy makeup. Her hair is shaggy and black, and God, she's... broad. Muscular and looking like she could eat me alive. I wouldn't mind if she tried.

I hand her the last little bit, letting her have what remains as I begin to focus on her hair. It's soft, feeling amazing between my fingers.

"You have anywhere you need to be for the rest of the night?" She asks, her voice deep.

"Derek," I breathe, barely focusing. She and the other women amongst her let out a noise of recognition, some even laughing a little.

"He likes his girls pent up," Another says, nodding. "Says he likes them used, but we all know that's not true."

"Derek likes to go for hours," warns a woman with blue hair that glows in the blacklight. "Hope you have a lot of energy saved up. If he likes you, you won't go home for days."

The woman with black hair is finishing the blunt, flicking away the last little bit and letting it land wherever.

"You mind if we help you?" She asks.

"No," I answer, my hands running over her broad, leather covered shoulders. "I don't mind."

The women aw over me, moving closer and touching different parts of me.

"Focus on my thigh, good girl," says the dark haired one. "Just rock yourself against it and let me know when you're close." She turns to the second woman, nodding her head towards me. "You want to taste her?"

The second woman nods, joining me on her lap and grinding herself against the first woman's other thigh before bending over to wrap her lips around my nipple, moaning as she does.

The third woman, the one with blue hair, simply watches, continuing to talk to the dark haired woman, stroking my back as she does. The first woman seems engaged in the conversation, occasionally sucking on my other breast before responding to the blue haired woman. The second woman is fully engrossed in tasting me, sucking and nipping at my breast eagerly, moaning as she does.

The stimulation feels amazing, my head tilted back as I rock on the dark haired woman's thigh, my body feeling things it never has before. The feeling of two women sliding their tongues across my sensitive nipples, sucking on them at the same time at different paces is almost enough on its own to make me cum. I can feel how wet I am even through my underwear, surely staining the first woman's clothes.

"Shit, Ava. She may not make it to Derek at this point," laughs the blue haired woman. The first woman, Ava, simply smiles, admiring me.

"Should we let you cum, good girl? Or do you want Derek?" She asks, bouncing her leg as she does.

I moan loudly, my mind unable to form a response. This is lovely, just absolutely wonderful. But something tells me that if I waited, if I edged myself like Derek seemed to prefer, then I would be well rewarded.

"Wait," I pant, still rocking my hips against her thigh. The three women groan, laughing a little more as they begin to give me space.

"You think she's good enough for him?" Ava asks the second woman.

"If she's not, he's out of his mind," she says, tearing herself away from my breast and standing to move onto the blue haired woman's lap instead.

Ava guides me off of her before standing tall and admittedly terrifying. She pulls me up gently, taking my hand and leading me through the room. "Follow me, sweet girl," she says. "I'll take you to the main event."

The other two women wave at me, smiling wickedly before turning their focus onto each other. As the drugs begin to hit harder, just a little ways from my peak, I begin to wonder what it is I've really gotten myself into.

A pair of double doors reveal the same dyed blond man on a plush couch, lounging lazily as he speaks to a small group of people in the private lounge. Upon seeing me guided into the room, he smiles eagerly, quickly sitting up.

"I told you you'd find me," he says, setting his whiskey glass in front of him on the small, glass table.

I smile warmly at him, trying to keep my balance as I walk around to him.

"You get her all ready for me, Ava?" He asks, gently placing his hands on my hips and guiding me to sit on his lap, my back pressed against his chest.

"I did," the woman says, joining us. "She's pretty pent up."

"Did she get you pent up, pretty girl?" Derek asks, laughing softly. I can feel the blush in my cheeks, my eyes barely able to stay open as I lean my head back onto his shoulder.

"Feel her if you don't believe me," Ava offers. Derek obliges, dipping his hand between my thighs, pushing my thin panties to the side.

"Fuck," he groans. "You weren't kidding."

Derek guides my legs to spread open, one hand keeping me open for everyone to watch as his other hand explores my vulva.

"Don't worry about everyone else," he whispers in my ear. "We're all just here for a good time. Right, pretty girl?"

I nod, moaning as his finger swirls around my clit. He continues speaking to his friends, drinking casually as his hand toys with me.

"You want some?" He asks, offering me the glass. I shake my head. I'm fucked up enough.

"Water?" He asks. At that I nod, and with the quick snap of his fingers it only takes a blink before he's holding a water in front of me, complete with ice cubes inside.

"Go ahead," he says. "Take a drink."

I obediently lean forward, placing my bottom lip on the edge as Derek tips the water into my mouth. It's soothing at first, my body relishing the cold rush it gives me. Derek's hand glides up and down my folds, teasing my entrance.

"You like the cold?" Derek asks. I try to respond, forgetting the glass in front of me. The water spills down onto my body, freezing and making me cry out in shock at the sudden sensation.

Derek and his friends laugh, his lips pressing soothing kisses along my shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry, were you not ready for that?" He asks sweetly, smiling at me. I shake my head. He places the glass on the table in front of us, collecting a couple of ice cubes before leaning back and adjusting me to face him.

"Let's get you prepped then, yeah?" He asks, popping one into his mouth and chewing.

My eyes widen, mouth opening in question just before Derek wraps his own lips around my nipples, sucking gently and swirling the quickly chewed cube around the hard bud.

"Fuck!" I cry, leaning backwards. Ava catches me, stroking my hair as she watches.

"I knew he'd like you," Ava says in my ear. "He likes breaking in the new girls personally."

Derek's fingers tease my entrance, threatening to dip in while he sucks on my breast, moaning around the cold flesh. He swirls his spit around, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"You taste amazing," he moans, his breath cold. "Love to taste more."

I moan happily, spreading my legs more and bucking against his hand.

"Take me," I moan. "Do whatever you want."

"Jesus, she's excited," he laughs. "How long has it been, sweet girl?"

Too long. Much too long.

It must be obvious based on the way he trails lower, kissing and sucking on my skin as he begins to slip my skirt and underwear off of my lower body.

"Is this okay?" He asks, looking up at me expectantly. I nod eagerly, rolling my hips towards him impatiently.

"I don't think she likes teasing, Derek," Ava comments.

"No?" He laughs. "Do you like teasing, sweet girl?"

I shake my head slightly, whining. He and Ava laugh, Derek placing a kiss on my stomach.

"Well, I don't want to go too fast, new girl," he says. "Could break you, you know."

"No you won't," I whine. Derek sucks sharply on the spot, leaving a dark mark.

"Gonna have to teach her a thing or two, aren't I, Ava?" He asks. "You know where that toy is?"

"What toy?" I ask.

"Don't you worry about a thing, pretty girl," Derek instructs. "I'm gonna take care of everything for you now. Just relax."

Ava removes herself from the couch, disappearing to look for something. As I'm distracted, Derek slips an ice cube into my warm cunt.

"Ah!" I cry out sharply, arching my back as my hips roll automatically, unsure what to do to relieve myself. "It's cold."

Derek simply laughs, sitting up straight and dragging me onto his thick thigh.

"It's supposed to be," he says mockingly. "That'll work in the meantime while we wait for Ava to come back."

I start to grind against his thigh, my cunt clenching around the cold cube rapidly as I feel the melting water begin to drip out of me. Derek pulls my hair, tutting his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head.

"Stay still, that's an order," he says sharply. Someone offers him a cigarette, which he takes with no hesitation. When someone offers me one as well, he waves them away.

"She's had enough," he says. He keeps his hand in my hair, keeping a close eye on me to make sure I don't move.

"You enjoying the party?" He asks me.

"Yes," I say.

"Yes what?" He asks, taking a drag.

"Yes, sir?" I say. He smiles.

"Good. You're smart." He turns his attention to a man asking about some account, rambling something about bitcoin and such. Ugh. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I keep my hands clasped behind my back, pressing my chest forward to allow him easy access. This pleases him, his smile growing genuine whenever he glances my way. Once he bounces his leg, making me squirm for more. At that, he pulls my hair, shaming me for breaking the rule.

"Behave," he commands sharply. A few minutes later, however, he bounces his leg again. This time he doesn't stop.

The jolting motion sends shockwaves through my system, the drugs making me weak and stupid. He's not watching me, seeming involved in the conversation, and this ice cube is nearly melted inside of my cunt, dripping more and more. I can't handle this.

I shift my hips subtly, testing the waters. He doesn't notice, and if he does he doesn't care. I do it again, slightly harder against his thigh. Derek is talking about some party in Havana, laughing about a different conquest. I work slowly, making sure he won't turn his eye onto me. Finally, after a few minutes of grinding against him, I feel confident enough to begin a slow, steady rhythm against his thigh, his leg still bouncing against me.

My body feels amazing. Light, stimulation pounding throughout me, it only takes a few minutes before I'm on edge again, my pussy making his thigh slick and easy to grind against as I ride him. My cheeks burn with heat, my eyes eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in the rhythm, fully focused on how hard his leg is bouncing. The vibrations go right to my clit, making my pussy seize around nothing now as my pulsing heat had caused the cube to disappear. I begin to grind faster and faster, desperate to cum. I don't realize I've begun panting, moaning as I ride him, and the attention in the room has turned towards me in full with Derek rubbing his hand up and down my back slowly, grazing his nails across the skin of my back as he watches with a look that makes him look like the cat who ate the canary.

"You close, sweet girl?" He asks me. My blush deepens, my eyes fluttering open in realization. Derek simply quirks a brow at me, exhaling his smoke into my face as he waits for my answer. My hips stutter, hesitating to continue.

"Don't get shy," Derek scolds. "You were just fine fucking yourself a moment ago. What's a few dozen people watching you?" He asks.

People are chuckling now, making small comments of encouragement.

"You looked so pretty, baby. Fucking yourself stupid on my thigh," he says as his lips tease my tits. "Didn't she look pretty, everyone?" He asks the room, glancing around at the people who respond with affirmations.

I lean forward, trying to hide my face in the crook of his neck. What had I been doing? In front of this entire room? I'd just needed a few quick bucks, that's all this was supposed to be. This was exponentially further than I'd ever planned.

Derek tuts, pulling me away from my hiding place. "Oh no, you wanted to cum. I'm going to make sure you cum," he chides. "I wonder how you'd feel on my cock. Would you like that? You'd feel better if you were on my cock, wouldn't you?"

I nod shyly, my eyes avoiding everyone but Derek. He glances around the room once more, noises of encouragement growing louder.

"You wanna get me ready, baby?" He asks encouragingly, taking one of my hands from behind my back and guiding it to his stiff, clothed cock.

I gasp lightly, squeezing it and grazing my thumb up and down his dick covered by the tight, leather material.

"You look big," I mutter.

"Feel big too," he chuckles. "Go on, try it out. I think you'll like it."

I think I will.

It's hard to see in the odd lighting, so my hands struggle with the hidden zipper.

"Try getting closer," Derek teases, his breath warm against my ear. "It doesn't bite like I do." To emphasize his point, he sinks his teeth into my neck, harsh and quick before releasing me, leaning back in his chair. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, my mind reeling as I automatically sink to my knees in front of the plush, velvet sofa.

Once his pants are opened, he springs out, no underwear confining him. Jesus. He's mostly average, leaning towards the larger side. It's mostly the piercing that surprises me.

"Like it?" He asks. I glance up at him, his grin cocky as he takes a drag from his new cigarette. Hey, man. What happens if I swallow this?

I stammer, opening my mouth and trying to say something.

"You need help?" He asks, wrapping his hand decorated with several rings around his shaft. "Open your mouth again," he commands. I do so without hesitation. His other hand guides my head down, forcing me to swallow it halfway down. I moan in satisfaction, my eyes slowly shutting as I take in the taste of his skin.

"Atta girl. Take a minute if you need to," he says casually. I can smell the thick smoke near my head, his hand stroking my hair gently. Ava must have returned because he's telling someone how warm my mouth is.

"You ready, sweetheart?" He asks. "Wanna show you off for my friends."

Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes once more, I lower myself slowly to his base. He's just long enough that when his piercing collides with my uvula I cough, nearly choking on him. More gentle laughter escapes the crowd, Derek praising me as he begins to thrust into my mouth.

"Just stay there, sweetheart," he says. "I'll do the work."

True to his word, Derek begins pumping his dick in and out of my mouth, whispering something in Ava's ear. I begin taking in the other people around the room, most of them watching us eagerly.

"Watch me, sweetheart," he commands, snapping his fingers and pointing at himself. "You don't have anywhere to look but here."

I obey, keeping my eyes trained on him as he smokes his cigarette which rests between his lips, his jaw gritted as he rolls his hips into my throat, his eyes glazed over in pleasure and who knows what else.

Without warning, someone begins fingering my cunt. A startled moan escapes me, vibrating around Derek's throbbing cock and making him moan, his face confident.

"Don't worry baby, it's just Ava," he says, stroking my hair. "You like Ava, right?"

I moan again, Ava's fingers quick and shallow in my tight pussy.

"Ava certainly likes you. Almost stole you from me, isn't that right?" He asks her, tapping his cherry carelessly onto the floor behind him.

"That's right," her deep voice purrs in my ear. I moan again, my eyes almost fluttering shut from pleasure until Derek grabs my hair, fucking my face roughly to bring my attention back to him.

"Hey now, don't get too happy," he scolds, but he's smiling. "You still like me more, right baby?"

I moan, pressing my tongue to his underside as he slides in and out. He tastes sweet, his jewelry creating an interesting feeling in the back of my throat. Ava withdraws her fingers, quickly replacing them with a vibrating bullet instead.

"Mmph!" I moan, my eyes nearly fluttering shut again. The speed increases, making me drip and writhe my hips against nothing.

"God, she's fun," Derek moans. "Ava, book her for Cabo," he says.

Cabo??

"You like her that much?" Ava laughs. Derek simply glares at her. Is this a thing? Trading girls, fighting over them? What is this?

"Just fucking talk to whoever about it," he spits, his dick quickening in my throat. I'm gagging around him, barely able to catch my breath as I press my hands desperately against his thighs. "Anyone else fuck her tonight?"

"Don't know," Ava shrugs. She brings her face close to mine, her breath hot in my ear. "Did they?"

I moan, trying to shake my head. Derek nods, smiling.

"Perfect," he drawls. The bullet inside of me is driving me insane, enough to keep me on the edge of pleasure but not enough to tip me over. My eyes look up at him, wide and begging, tears beginning to spill from my waterline and streaming down my face.

"You're killing her," Ava scolds him. "Is he being mean?" She asks me. Yes.

"She can take it," Derek says. "You like it a little mean, don't you baby?" He asks, smiling. Yes.

"See?" Derek says. "She's just fine."

Actually, I'm about to hit my peak drug wise, and I can't fucking breathe. But all it does is make me want more, my throat taking him as deep as I can as I moan around him, my tongue moving desperately, eager to swallow his load.

"Think I should cum down her throat?" He asks Ava, his head tilted back in pleasure, cigarette nearly burnt out between his lips.

"Would you like that?" Ava asks, setting the speed of the bullet to max. I scream around Derek's cock, overstimulated and stupid. "I think that's a yes."

"God, you're amazing," he praises. "Such a perfect fucking slut."

Right before he reaches his edge, he pulls me away, admiring the long, thick string of spit that still connects my swollen lips to his cock.

"Look at that," he says. "Should take a picture of that someday."

His hand drags me up by my hair, guiding me to return to his lap. Once I'm straddled across his lap, his fingers delve into my cunt, fucking me quickly as he presses the bullet against my g-spot.

"You like my cock, pretty girl?" He asks.

"Yes," I moan, my voice and throat raw.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

His fingers remove the bullet, and he quickly replaces his hand and bullet with his pulsing cock, both of us moaning at the feeling.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans. "You are fucking tight. I can feel everything."

My cunt spasms around him, eager for whatever friction he'll grant me. He stays still, something that's clearly a challenge for him.

"Gonna stay there for awhile," he says. "Wanna make sure you're ready, baby."

My spit on his dick makes for excellent lube, his piercing comfortable against my cervix. His hands run up and down my thighs, squeezing here and there, eventually moving to massage my ass.

"The crowd loves you," he praises, pulling me close to his chest. "Think I love you too."

I'm very high. I'm very horny. I will do whatever this fried hair, cocky ass motherfucker tells me to do.

A waitress walks behind the couch, offering us a tray of joints. Isn't that my job?

"Go ahead, take one," Derek instructs me. I do so, reaching for the lighter on the tray.

"Don't bother, I have one in my pocket. Thank you," he says to the waitress, dismissing her. He reaches into his coat, taking out the lighter before discarding the jacket, leaving him in his zebra printed button up that shows off his chest hair along with a white gold sparkling chain.

He holds the lighter for me, lighting up the joint as I hold it between my lips.

"You're gonna smoke me out, okay angel?" He says, leaning back against the couch, his arms stretched out along the back. I rest one hand against his chest, taking a hit and holding it for a second before leaning forward and blowing it into his mouth.

One of his hands find my hair, pressing my lips against his, his cock twitching inside of me as his tongue slips into my mouth, establishing dominance before allowing me to pull away for another hit. Then another. Then another.

As he inhales the last hit, his hips begin rolling into mine, his voice low as he groans.

"Go on and start riding me, angel," he moans, completely lost in the pleasure. "Show me how you want me."

My hands grasp his shoulders, clinging desperately as I begin to glide up and down his length, his cock twitching against my most sensitive spots with each glide.

"You ever fuck a pussy as good as this?" I ask, watching his jaw shift subtly from side to side as he focuses on my tightness.

"Oh, she speaks now?" He asks, smirking. "Grow a fucken brain, princess?"

His tip slams into my cervix, making me gasp and press my tits into his face. His mouth works quickly, biting and sucking at the tender mounds as I ride him.

"I'm just making conversation," I say. I'm high enough my filter is gone, my brain rotted to the point I'm only focused on my pleasure. He moans against my tit, looking up at me while he buries himself in my body.

"I can't say I have," he says, grinning. "Why, that turn you on?"

Immensely. Not that I'd tell him that.

"Say it," he dares, his cock slamming into me. "Don't hold out on me."

"Maybe I will," I tease, tugging his hair. My hips speed up, riding him hard enough I can feel the couch rocking ever so slightly.

"You're fun," he chuckles. "Say it."

"No," I say, slamming my wet cunt against his base, making him groan loudly.

His teeth sink into my skin, pulling on my nipple to the point I'm on the razors edge of pain and pleasure.

"I don't mind waiting," he says, his tongue flicking against my nipples. "I like causing pain."

His teeth sink in deeper, his fingernails dragging down my back slowly as he slams into me, making me bounce hard enough I can feel it in my stomach.

This is a hell of a paycheck.

"I like it," I say. He chuckles.

"That's not enough," he says.

"I wanna be the best girl you've fucked," I add.

"Mm, need more details." His teeth release my nipple, leaning forward and quickly catching it once more, sucking on the almost raw flesh hard enough it feels like I won't be able to wear a shirt for the next day or two. One of his hands return to my hair, gripping it and pulling it hard enough I can see the people behind us, some of them still watching, some focused on each other, most people switching between the two as they fuck each other.

"Come on, you were just so confident," he laughs against me before returning to his task. My chest burns with want and embarrassment, my eyes glazing over as I give in.

"I wanna make you pussy whipped," I moan. "I wanna glance at something and get it from how desperate you are to get the chance to fuck me."

He chuckles lowly. "I think we'll get along for a while," he says in a satisfied tone, finally releasing my tits from his torture.

"Gonna get me on payroll?" I ask, smiling as I throw my leg onto the back on the couch, giving him better access to fuck me.

"Play your cards right and I'll get my surname on you, pretty girl."

It's an evening of drugs and sex, come morning I'm sure he won't even remember my eye color. But for tonight, can't a bitch dream?

"Go ahead and laugh," he dares. "I get what I want."

"And you want me?"

"Fuck yeah."

He forces me to my side, turning me onto my stomach and hiking my ankles onto his shoulders.

"Jesus!" I cry, feeling his cock bury into me from behind, slamming straight into an overwhelming spot that makes me blind with pleasure.

"Too much," I cry. "Fuck, too much!"

"And that's a problem?" He laughs, abusing me as he smacks my ass, admiring the way my skin reddens.

"Yeah, you're not getting another dick ever again," he decides, his hips chasing after a high that tears screams from my throat. I'm so overstimulated I don't even know if I can cum, my eyes crossed and ass feeling his palm bearing down on the sensitive flesh time and time again, growing more rapid in succession, forcing me to clench his length harder with each new hit.

"Come on, pretty girl," he growls, pressing his chest against my back, his hands keeping my hips pressed against him with no chance to escape. His balls smack against my clit, making me moan in stupidity. "I know you want to."

I cry out, tears streaming down my face, hair stuck to my wet skin as I feel my cunt begin to throb in warning, my stomach clenching as the knot inside me begins to snap, my mind growing fuzzy and static as I pant eagerly.

"Fuck, she's close," Derek moans to someone, small whimpers escaping him as he pumps into me, his teeth digging into my shoulder, sending me over the edge.

Someone's screaming, and I have the vague idea it may be me. I can feel Derek's front soaked in my cum, his dick slamming into me in a way that I just know I'll have a migraine in a few minutes.

"Good girl," he praises. "Fuck. Amazing girl. Taking good dick like a fucking pro."

His cock throbs in me as he cums, deep and right next to my cervix, keeping himself buried as his seed pumps into me, hot and thick.

"I wasn't joking, sweetheart," he mutters in my ear, his voice exhausted. "You and I are going to become good, good friends."

I groan as I feel him slip out, his fingers pushing any cum that drips from my folds back into me, then placing a plug into my aching cunt. His hand grips my hair, pulling me back up to sit on his lap as he accepts a new drink, his cheeks flushed as he tries to regain his breath.

"Let's get something to get your energy back up, hmm?" He asks, pressing a firm kiss on my sweaty forehead.

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

Cabo doesn't sound all that bad, Danforth. Not bad at all.

Masterlist

I wrote this instead of sleeping. Anyways, see you next time for Mike Schmidt. Stay safe pookies <3

[moni-logues]

Haircut

Pairing: Boxer!JK x reader

Genre: pwp/smut but honestly it ends kind of cute uwu

Summary: Watching Jungkook work out, coupled with that new haircut, gets you so hot and bothered, you don't make it home before you have to do something about it

Word count: 2.5k

Content: car sex therefore sort of semi-public but they aren't seen, unprotected sex

A/N: so.... JK's live sent me insane and Jess said 'Thirteen Rounds drabble?' and now here we are. You don't actually have to have read Thirteen Rounds to read this but, honestly, I'd recommend it because I actually think it is quite good lmao. Y'all have this little bastard to thank for all of it 😂😂😂 and yes that is the picture I've chosen and I'm sticking with it!!!!!1

You leant on the doorframe, watching Jungkook train, still not over the novelty of being able to. 

After a lot of soul-searching and debating and to-ing and fro-ing, he had decided to part ways with his now-former coach (you cheered only inwardly because you knew how hard a decision it had been for him). You liked his new coach; his new coach liked you. His new coach let you inside the gym; his new coach let you sit in on training.  

You knew as well as JK did (and much better than his new coach did) that you would be a distraction if you sat and watched a whole session but sometimes you liked to show up just a little early when picking him up.  

You watched him from the door as he grunted and whined his way through another set of inchworms. He looked about ready to collapse when his coach asked him for one more. He cried out and you giggled to yourself as he nevertheless walked forwards on his hands into a plank, panting noisily, groaning as he pushed himself back towards his toes. His T-shirt long abandoned at the side of the room, he was glistening with sweat, his muscles rippling as he worked. You couldn’t not think about his hand around your neck, the salty zing of his sweat when you kissed his skin, all those noises he was making now but making them only for you, only in the effort of fucking you like you wanted, like you needed. Like, he said, you deserved. 

It gave you pause sometimes, how much, how badly you wanted him. Still. All the time. Your friends thought you were crazy, a horndog outlier on the normal distribution of sexual appetite which you had to admit seemed true, but you hadn’t been that way until you’d met Jungkook. No one had ever wanted you like he did, as much, as badly, as all the time as he did. He was all-in from day one. That’s just who he was: he gave all of himself to everything that he did; everything meant everything to him; he was burning up, all day and all night, an eternal fire of keen passion, of relentless energy, of an unstoppable drive.  

And the way he fucked you. You couldn’t say no. Couldn’t turn it down. Couldn’t live without it. It was months ago now, that month off, that painfully long stretch of time without him, and you still felt like you were making up for it.  

His coach finally told him it was over, he was finished, and he collapsed in a sweaty heap on the floor. He rolled onto his back, starfishing, his chest heaving, his hair in his face. It looked different. You knew he was getting it cut before training (a decision that made no sense to you, since it was now, already, dirty with sweat and whatever grime it was picking up from the floor). You couldn’t quite tell what it was going to look like. 

He’d been growing it out. It was the longest you’d ever seen it. You liked it. Liked to run your fingers through it when you were trying to get to sleep at night. Liked to wrap it around your fingers when his head was between your legs. He liked that, too.  

As he sat up, his back to you, you were relieved that he hadn’t taken any length off. That relief evaporated in an instant when, having put his T-shirt back on, he turned around and you saw what he had done. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered to yourself, swallowing hard.  

Jungkook’s eyes widened when he saw you. 

“Baby!” he cried, his arms thrown wide as he approached.  

He wrapped you in a sweaty hug, holding you as tight as he could, rubbing his sweaty head over yours. 

“Ew, stop it! Stop it!”  

You swatted at him and he giggled, pulling back but not letting you go.  

“You love it.” 

You could only nod as you reached a hand up to brush over his hair, the front cut short above his eyes. He closed them and scrunched his nose; you saw a tiny blush creep onto his cheeks and you wanted to scream with how badly it made you want him, right there, right that second. 

“Do you like it?” he asked.  

“I-” you started and had to stop, clear your throat, tell your heart to slow its roll for a second. “Yes, Kookie, I like it. I like it a lot.”  

You raised your eyebrows and bit your lip.  

“You do?”  

You had to look away, take a momentary break from his huge, sparkling, puppy-dog eyes, from his little hopeful smile and, fuck, that haircut. You tightened your grip on his shoulders. 

“Yes, Jungkook, I do and if you don’t let me take you home right this second and show you how much I like it, I might literally die.”  

He trailed a hand up your side, a sneaking smirk on his face. 

“Is that right? You like it that much, huh?” 

“Yes, now let’s go.” 

He laughed and walked back for his bag, taking his sweet time, walking as slowly as he could, stopping to tie his shoelace. 

“Jungkook!”  

* * * 

You sat at a red light, grateful that it was late, that it was dark, that people couldn’t see you, flushed and antsy, fidgeting in your seat as you tried not to break every single speed limit on your way home.  

Jungkook was not helping. He hummed along with the radio with his hand on your thigh. Mostly just resting there, occasionally letting his fingers wander higher and higher. You wished you had worn jeans, or something thicker than leggings, so that when he gently dragged a finger over your aching core, you wouldn’t feel it so much, it wouldn’t make you squirm in your seat, your mouth wouldn’t drop open in a silent gasp, your clit wouldn’t throb.  

“Jungkook,” you breathed. 

“Yes, baby?” he replied, looking like butter wouldn’t melt. 

“I mean it. I am literally going to die if you keep teasing me like this.” 

Jungkook removed his hand from your crotch and hummed thoughtfully. He brought up the navigation on the screen and started punching in an address. 

“Just follow this,” he said when he’d finished.  

You’d have done anything he asked you at that point. The streets were familiar to you, but you couldn’t work out why Jungkook was taking you here. You pulled into the empty car park of a retail estate, the shops all closed hours ago, lights off.  

“You have reached your destination,” intoned the satnav. 

“Um, this is a car park.” 

“Yeah, my love, go over there.” 

He pointed towards a dark corner, where the streetlights didn’t quite reach. You manoeuvred the car into the space, put it into park, and turned the engine off. Jungkook unclipped your seatbelt as he unclipped his own and then he barrelled into the backseat. He patted his lap. 

“Come here, you.”  

Sex in the car wasn’t exactly what you’d had in mind but any inhibitions you might have had, any hesitations about fucking somewhere so public, where anyone could see were drowned out by the desperation you felt, the desire bordering on hysterical. You might have got out and fucked him against a shop window if you’d had to. But you were glad you didn’t have to. 

You straddled Jungkook and took his face in your hands, not wasting a second more. You crashed your lips together and the spark ignited. You rolled your hips over his and gasped to feel him already hard beneath his trousers. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your open mouth, moaning as his hands disappeared inside your T-shirt. You were hot all over, shivering under his touch. He unclasped your bra and you ripped your top off, letting your bra fall with it. When he dipped his head to suck your nipple into his mouth, you whined, dizzy with need, shaking with it, your hips still rocking against his clothed length. It had been twelve hours since he was last there, beneath you, on top of you, inside you, but that might as well have been a lifetime. Your need eclipsed everything else. You weren’t thinking with your cunt; you weren’t thinking at all. You were aching, wanting, lusting, dripping. You were a siren screaming Jungkook’s name, wailing into the dark night for him and him alone.  

“I need you, Kookie- fuck. Please. Fuck me.”  

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of your leggings and tugged them down. You separated so you could pull them all the way off, so Jungkook could lift his hips and remove his trousers and boxers. You pushed him backwards, so he was lying on the backseat, and climbed back on. You took his cock, all heavy-heat and velvet-rigidity, leaking already—how much, how badly he always wanted you—and slid yourself along it, your arousal sticky-sweet and all over. He was coated in your juices, slick as you wrapped your hand around him and settled yourself over him, lodging the tip in your entrance.  

Jungkooked hissed as you lowered yourself, his hands gripping your hips, his mouth falling open as you took him in, every inch. You sat, him full inside you, this pressure and pleasure spreading, aching in your cunt and your clit, your hips and your thighs, too. You couldn’t bear to move, didn’t want to lose this feeling, didn’t want the emptiness to return even for a second.  

“You ok, baby?” he asked, tipping his head to look at you, cocking it to the side. 

You nodded, eyes closed, one hand ghosting over your clit, not really touching, not really not.  

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I just want to stay like this for a bit.” 

“Ok.” 

He ran his hands down your thighs, back up to your hips, and you luxuriated in it. How he fit you, stretched you, felt made for you. The radiating heat and stickiness of his dried-sweat skin. The softness of his touch. The things he whispered to you, how you felt so good, how much he loved you, loved to fuck you. When he moved your hand aside and pressed his thumb against your clit, you jerked, the direct pressure suddenly too much when you had been craving it for so long.  He lifted his thumb away and then returned it, slowly, gently, rubbing circles over you.  

You cursed and tipped your head back, looking skyward, as you felt everything in you pull together, the tension white-hot, the pleasure barbed, the heat bubbling and roaring. Your hips began to move, your clit chasing his touch, your cunt fluttering around his cock. Jungkook groaned and he gripped your hip with one hand, stilling you so he could take over. He braced himself carefully, one foot on the seat, one on the floor, and directed you upwards, the drag of his dick against your walls enough to make you whine. Then he held you there, his tip still clutched inside, and began to thrust, hard and fast.  

You scrabbled at the ceiling of the car for purchase, weak suddenly as he fucked into you; where he found the strength, you’d never know. He had not twenty minutes ago been collapsed on the gym floor; you knew you’d be collapsing soon if you couldn’t find something to grip, something to hold your body up. Jungkook pushed harder with his thumb, rubbing rougher circles now and you fell forward with a quiet cry, leaning heavily on his chest. He huffed and paused and you tried to catch your breath. 

“Don’t stop, please.”  

He chuckled breathlessly and held still, lazily tracing your nipple with his finger. You whined. 

“Please. I’m literally begging you, Kookie. Don’t be mean.”  

He didn’t answer except to slam into you, once, hard. Then he dragged himself slowly out and did it again. The new angle had him squeezing tight past your g-spot with every thrust. It had you seeing stars. It had you digging your nails into his shoulders. He kept at it, torturously slow, and you were begging, again, pleading with him for more. 

“Kookie,” you cried, using all your strength to lift yourself up to look in his eyes.  

They were black, sparkling, a galaxy of mischief as he sucked his lip ring into mouth and bit his bottom lip. You clenched tight as he dragged himself out and the smirk tugging at his lips fell, faltering. He whimpered softly, accidentally. 

“See, Kookie? You want it, too. Please. Please. More. I need more. Oh- Fuck, please.”  

Your fingers twisted around the hair at the nape of his neck and you tugged as your face fell into the crook of his neck. You pressed your lips against his salty skin, dragged your tongue up the column of his neck and felt him shiver beneath you. He groaned and then gripped you hard with both of his hands on your hips. He sped up. Faster and harder. Pistoning into you with gasping grunts of effort, his jaw tight, his hair sticking to his forehead. Yeses tumbled from your mouth. Yes and thank you and words that were no longer words, little moaned vowels and consonants stuck in your throat. 

You slipped a hand between your bodies and picked up where Jungkook left off. Your cunt spasmed at the lightest touch on your clit and Jungkook’s grunt was broken and high-pitched as you squeezed him, vice-tight and slippery. Words and breath all strangled, tangled up in pleasure as you began to shake all over, Jungkook crying out loud, your name over and over again, how good you felt, how good you were, how close he was.  

A rush of heat and gush of arousal. A twitching trembling in your legs. A shaking stuttering in your heart. A screaming, careening ecstasy. Rapture.  

A numb, tingling weakness after a fusion of strength and force. A warm body, yours; a warm body, his. The ratatat-tat of your hearts against each other. The ocean rush of your breath, heaving, panting, gasping.  

“So you really like my new haircut, huh, baby?” 

You whined, feeling boneless and shivery but hot all over. You reached one hand up with a groan and tugged at a forelock.  

“It’s dangerous, my little oreo. You are dangerously fucking sexy. I don’t know how we’re going to get home. I don’t even know how I’m going to get dressed. I can’t feel my legs.”  

Jungkook kissed the top of your head and pulled his hands under his head with a satisfied sigh. He used to think you’d get tired of him, sick of him. Because everyone else did. No one could ever keep up, no one ever wanted anything as much as he did. Too much. He knew it was too much—he was too much. For everyone. They told him to stop and calm down and get over things, tone it down a little, take a breather. But not you. He was never too much for you. You always met him there. You kept wanting him, so much, so badly, even after all this time. He was never too much, for the first time in his life.  

[janitorhutcherson]

bedtime with mike and abby ( mike schmidt x reader)

hi guys! this is my first ever lil fic/imagine/blurb here!! if y'all like this, I'll keep it up. I'm also new to tumblr, so please please be patient with me. in the future i'd love to do requests.

also if someone wants to help me with formatting/be friends, just shoot me a msg :p

this is just a quick lil imagine/blurb. I've seen so many smutty fics and i wanted to spice it up w/ some fluff. just sleepy time on mike's night off! on w the fic :p

*edit* this isn’t revised!! i threw something together last min and posted cause i felt like writing lol. don’t mind the typos

word count: 1,633

warnings: none! just fluff, angst if u squint!!

summary: nighttime with mike and abby on his day off!

Most of the time, you, your boyfriend Mike, and his little sister Abby were on entirely different schedules. Mike worked nights at a shitty gas station job for the time being after his job at Freddy's was... well.. no more for obvious reasons. Even though he swore off the night shift, this was necessary until he could find something better. Jobs were sparse at the moment, and Mike's history didn't exactly make him a star candidate.

A typical night would consist of you making the three of you dinner, slowly forcing Abby to venture out when it came to her taste buds. Recently, she'd taken a liking to tacos. You and Mike would make a joint effort to get her ready for bed earlier together, as Mike was more particular about being there for her since the incident. She'd get a bath, get into her jammies, and the two of you would tuck her in with a bedtime story. You'd both kiss her little forehead goodnight, then kiss your boyfriend on his lips before sending him off.

Most nights, you tossed and turned in your sleep, unable to rest properly without Mike by your side. A painfully dull feeling would rest in your stomach, the lack of his warmth beside you agonizing. You'd spend all night waiting for 6am to roll around as you felt the bed dip on his side, barely stirring you from your sleep. You'd have thirty minutes until your alarm went off, thirty minutes to wrap yourself up into him before you once again went on your separate ways... living your separate lives until you could have your few hours of union later on.

But tonight, you were lucky. Mike had gotten the next few days off. His job was being extra kind as they actually recognized the hard work Mike put in, something he wasn't used to. They'd told him someone would take over for a bit, to enjoy himself, to rest. It may have been a low-paying, trashy, borderline dangerous job, but his boss was nice, and the customers were certainly safer to deal with than those at the pizzeria.

You called out sick from work, not wanting to miss a single second with your little trio. You'd both even made the decision to pull Abby out of school for the day, spending it building forts, watching movies, and eating ice cream. The three of you even went out rollerskating, Mike awkwardly tumbling every few seconds on the rink as Abby would bust out laughing at him. The three of you were now sat around on the couch, Mike smooshed into the far side of the armrest as your entire body lay on his, Abby's head resting in your lap as she sleepily blinked her eyes. She'd already had her bath, brushed her teeth, and all three of you were in your pajamas.

"So, everyone have a good day?" Mike asked, turning his head to the two of you with a small but sleepy smile.

"Mhm," Abby hummed quietly, slowly nodding her head against your lap. It was clear that she was moments from passing out, and once Abby was out, she was impossible to get up without a fight.

"Okay, I think it's time for bed," you giggled, slowly lifting your own head up from Mike's shoulder. Mike nodded in agreement, a laugh of his own escaping his lips.

You both slowly pulled Abby up, getting her up on her feet, her half asleep state making her delirious as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, staring back at the two of you in confusion.

"C'mon, Abs, it's time for bed," Mike muttered, standing up. He grabbed your hand, pulling you up with him. You stood as well, following Mike as he led Abby to her room. She crawled up into her bed, her little body tucking under her blankets as the two of you sat on both sides of her.

"Want a bedtime story?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows as he leaned down to press a small kiss to Abby's forehead. Abby's lips parted to answer, but before she could, her eyes were closed and she was out. A sincere and quiet chuckle escaped underneath Mike's breath, his eyes full of love for his sister as her stared down at her. You couldn't help but stare, the edges of your mouth turning up into a sleepy smile of your own. He was so majestic, his messy but soft brown curls were laying in every which way on his head. Even though he was much more rested than usual, his eyes were still somewhat sunken in, but to you, that just made him more attractive. His scruff was messy, unshaven, but it managed to highlight his jawline. The sparkle that remained in his eyes, even through it all, after everything that he'd been through, warmed you to your core, your love for him overwhelming.

"What?" Mike asked quietly with a smile still plastered on his lips, his eyes now locked on yours. A blush crossed your cheeks as you realize you’d been caught, your eyebrows raising.

“Nothin’,” you hummed, shaking your head. “Just admiring you.” Your hand reached out to his as the two of you went to your own bedroom, the only light now lighting up your house being the moonlight and street lamps peeking through the blinds. You both crawled into bed, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

There was nothing but silence other than the sound of the fan in your room, the hum almost hypnotic as you wrapped yourself up in his arms. Your head rest against his chest as he instantly tugged you closer, his back flat on the bed as his hand cradled your side. His thumb drew small figure eights on your shoulder. Your body felt fuzzy, a type of relaxation you hadn’t felt at night in a while. Mike made you feel safe. On nights where you two were able to just snuggle up, nothing could buzz in your mind. Anxious thoughts disappeared, even the ones that seemed to be a constant in the back of your brain. There was nothing but a warmness in your mind and a beam of love in your heart.

“Hey, baby?” You heard Mike ask softly, his voice cracking from his sleepiness. You were broken from your train of thought by this, looking up at the man with the sleepy eyes. “Hm?” You hummed in response, your eyes fluttering, but he couldn’t see due to the lack of light. Mike sat up, pulling you up with him as he grabbed your hands, both of your faces now lit up by the light peeking through the cracks in your curtain.

“I- I know we don’t get nights like these much, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m never home, I’m sorry you have to do so much for you and Abby alone. I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess with Freddy’s, got you involved in so much of this,” he said, his voice seeping with sadness and regret. His eyes held an even softer emotion than they did earlier, one that felt like a knife to your chest. “Most importantly, I’m sorry I can’t be the boyfriend I should be. I mean, we should be spending our nights out at clubs, going out on special dates and vacations, and I hate that I’m unable to give you that,” he sniffled, a tear now falling down his eye.

You leaned forward, a frown on your lips as your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes locked on his as you placed your hand on his cheek, wiping away the tear with your thumb as you shook your head. Mike’s own two much larger hands were now placed on both of your cheeks as he continued. “But listen, Y/N, I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone, okay? I- I’m not good at this shit, I know I’m not. I’m clumsy and I’m bad at emotions. I don’t always know what I want or what I need, but I know I don’t only want you, but I need you. You came into my life and you brightened it where it was the darkest. You brought happiness back, you made me understand what joy was again, what it was like to feel.. complete. You saved me, but..” he trailed off again, full on tears falling down his cheeks now. “Most importantly, you saved Abby, made her feel whole again too, gave her somethin’ like a mother, something I couldn’t give her,” he said, his voice breaking at the end. Before he could say another word, you wrapped around arms around him, pulling him into a massive bear hug. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, your mind not even focused on the salty tears and the snotty nose that was leaned up against your shoulder. Your hands rubbing his back as you kissed the top of his head.

“Oh, baby..” you whispered softly, squeezing him like if you let go he’d disappear. “You know I love you so much too…” you finished, pulling his face up by his chin, pressing a soft, gentle but electric kiss to his lips. The two of you then settled back into bed, curling up in each other’s arms as he played with your hair, occasionally leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, small sniffles still leaving his nose from the emotional moment. He was right, it was rare you got moments like these together, but when you did, you cherished them. It took about thirty minutes of sweet nothings and cuddles before the two of you drifted off, in your own little dream worlds filled with many nights like these.

[violetsiren90]

Pairing: dom!Hoseok/sub/brat!f!Reader

Genre: Oneshot; hard smut (eventual fluff 😂); BDSM lifestyle; friends to fwb to?; canon-compliant (idolAU)

Summary: You've been friends with Hobi for years, and he's your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); hardcore BDSM themes/relationships; full consent and safe-words ❤; Hobi is a hard dom; MC is a brat (mostly); dominance and submission; elements of primal play; sexual degradation (deg-play use of the word "b*tch"); mentions of MC's hair and hair pulling; rough physical contact in a sexual context (manhandling); mentions of drinking; kink-outing; Jimin is a menace lol; Hobi in the studio 👀 (The full oneshot will come with more specific warnings - a looooong list lol)

Mood board here! ⛓🖤

Release date: Christmas? 🎄

Author's note: Hey, y'all! I am catapulting out of my comfort zone with this one and, honestly, having the time of my life. I've been in my Hobi era lately and when the concept of dom!Hobi possessed my mind I knew I'd have to write it out or else. 😅😂 I hope to pop this under your trees around Christmas! Hope you enjoy the teaser, and as always, if no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Also, a big thank you to @orchidyoonkook for beta reading this - you are the real MVP! 💕

If you want to be alerted via the tag list for this when it drops, let me know!

_______________________________________________

  "What?" Hoseok's wide grin stretches further as he regards your flustered face with giddy anticipation.

    You groan into your hands, willing the cushions of your friend's leather couch to swallow you like quicksand.

    "Fucking Jimin - I'll kill him!" you whine, pressing your fingers to your temples, and keeping your eyes glued to the hardwood of the studio floor.

    The rapper laughs as he swivels his baseball cap to sit backwards on his fluffy brown mop of hair. 

    "Come on! Tell me!" he insists, sprawling back in his rolling chair, the tips of his fingers touching deviously together as he regards you with twinkling eyes. 

    You sneak a glance at him before sighing defeatedly, which only earns another chortle of laughter from across the room.

    Park fucking Jimin. You really were going to kill him. Too many bottles of soju the week prior saw you blacking out at the BTS member's pad, the one he shared with your mutual friend, Jung Hoseok. You woke up the next day, memories of the night before obscure concepts of debauchery merely alluded to by the taste of bile and the dull cranial throb of dehydration. When Jimin rather gleefully handed you, along with an iced americano, one of the booze-fueled revelations you had let slip, you begged and pleaded with him to erase the memory from his brain...or at the very least to take it to his grave. He made no such promises. And now, you are facing the man of the hour - the subject of your divulgement - who had apparently been informed that you harbored certain strong opinions in his regard. Humiliating.

    You flick mildly irritated eyes back up to your friend who waggles his brows in a way that makes you want to crack a smile and sock him at the same time.

    "Before I say anything, I want to know exactly what he told you," you demand, crossing your arms defensively, no cracked smile to be found.

    He rolls his eyes up to the corner of the ceiling in recollection.

    "He just said that you had gotten wasted and admitted something kinky...about me." 

    At the last two words he drops his voice dramatically low and pins you with a grin that is sickeningly predatory. Your pulse begins to hammer and you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, capable of speech. Fuck, you think to yourself, it's happening. You can feel sweat starting to bead at your hairline. Maybe if you get it out there, just say it aloud, it will lose its power. Maybe the spell will be broken. Maybe he will laugh and you will laugh and you'll order lunch and keep irritating him while he's supposed to be working on a track. You're both adults, right? You whoosh out a breath. 

    Hobi is still looking at you, his bottom lip pushing up and the corners of his mouth tugging down in one of his little inverted smirks while his right leg bounces a little up and down. It is just Hobi, after all, you tell yourself. Just Hobi. You are roundly aware that it may be a lie, but it seems to allow you just enough courage to jump.

    "Okay, okay!" you practically shout, and he giggles and stomps his feet, which admittedly makes revealing this particular chestnut a bit easier.

    "I told him...I said..."

    "What?"

    "Oh, Christ! Fine!" And the rest comes out like water from a fire hose. "One time I came to drop off Jimin's charger and you were in dance practice and you were watching the guys and you had this look on your face - like you were pissed or something - and it was so unlike you and I got turned on and ended up having a fucking wet dream that you were stepping on my mother-fucking pussy, okay?! Are you satisfied now?!"

    You heave a sigh and throw yourself back against the cushions, hands over your face. How you just mustered the courage to form those actual words you haven't even the faintest notion - but it was going to be you or Jimin, and it might as well be you. After your heart has begun to return to its resting rate and you've heaved a few deep breaths you steel yourself against the certain impending onslaught of Hobi's laughter and general mockery...which doesn't come. You peek through your fingers to see that your friend has shifted in his chair, facing a bit away from you toward the inside of the room, leaning forward, his hands gripping the ends of the chair's armrests. His face looks a little troubled, or pensive, you can't tell which. You sit up and really look at him, suddenly worried. Did you just fuck things irrevocably up? That was an incredibly bizarre and intimate thing to admit. Shit.

    "Hobi?" you squeak, barely over a whisper, as you regard him.

    He tilts his head suddenly to look at you, quick like a bird, and when those dark eagle-eyes regard you in return, you feel like a small, helpless creature scurrying across the tundra. Nowhere to hide. A bead of sweat escapes its perch and slips down from your temple. As he utters his question of response, the air suddenly becomes as thick as the tropics.

    "Is that something that you'd want, Y/n? To be treated like that? To be...put in your place? Put down?"

    You don't answer him. You can't. Your words, your breath, your coherent thoughts are stuck, inert, useless as your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall in heavy swells. Your eyes are locked on his face as if by magnetic force. He stands, his baggy Louis Vuitton tee falling over his grey sweats. He shoves his hands in the pockets and takes a step toward where you sit. His posture is relaxed. His gaze is anything but.

    "Is it?"

    You want to say you don't know. That you'd never considered it again. Never once recalled the image of it - of him -  standing over you as the sole of his shoe punished your throbbing sex.

    "Fuck..." you breathe, and when he doesn't take his eyes from your squirming form, you relent. "...y-yeah."

    He takes another step toward you, slowly. He's crowding you now, as he looks down, and the proximity is almost more than you can bare.

    "You see," he remarks musingly, "I thought you were gonna say something funny - something ridiculous," he tilts his head to one side, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, "But that's not funny, Y/n. No, that's not funny at all. Because, as it turns out..."

    He leans down, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. Mint and espresso. You shiver and close your eyes.

    "...that's something I can do."

...what? He can...h-he can....

    "Hoseok..." you whisper shakily, because it's all you can manage.

    You hear him laugh darkly and you don't look at him.

    "Hoseok?" he mimics, "Not, Hobi, huh? Hoseok when you're like this, is it?" 

    "When I'm like...what?" You practically whimper in complaint, eyes still pressed shut as your last line of defense.

    But any manner of defense is in vain as he answers your query, the words dripping from his lips slowly like honey, sickly like venom - 

    "When you're a filthy pathetic little slut."

    A whine escapes you at the complete and utter shock of his words. Suddenly you clamp your thighs together (to provide friction or obscurity to your quickly dampening cunt you are unsure), and that's when he takes your jaw between his fingers and roughly jerks your chin upwards, your eyes fluttering frantically open. 

    "Is this what you want?" he hisses, "For me to have my way with you like a needy whore?" Fuck, is this happening? This is really happening. Your mind reels, but that's alright - it stopped doing the thinking when he got up out of that chair. Something primal in you had taken over, something that's been starving for so long, something that longs to feed.

    You do your best to nod with your chin in his grip. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting to your lips, and then back up to yours. His pupils are blown, his eyes almost wholly black as they trace over your face. Suddenly his hand slips from your chin to the nape of your neck where his hand tangles in your hair and his head drops to the side, his gaze softening.

    "I need you to say it, Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his voice so, so low but without the edge that sends ice through your veins. His voice. He's asking you as someone who cares about you, cares what you want - your friend. Do you want this? No...you don't want it. You need it.

    "Yes - yes, Hobi - I want this," you find yourself stumbling over the words to get them out.

    So quickly and so assured. Have you ever been this certain of anything in your life? His fingers dance against the nape of your neck and you sigh as his eyes travel all over your body. You want to hide. You want to strip down. You want to run and you want him to chase you. You want him to punish you when he catches you. You are sick with want.  

    "A safe word, baby, we need a safe word," he nudges your racing mind back into the current moment with his words.

    You blink, your mind running up against the sudden saccharine pet name (which he has admittedly called you before) as it scrambles for something obvious and yet not ridiculous.     Something simple maybe...a flower...?

    "Foxglove," you say, and he raises his brows with a grin.

    "Foxglove it is," he acquiesces. "So if you ever want me to stop, ever - okay? You say that. Foxglove." 

    You nod.

    "Say it for me," he whispers, you shiver again. Fuck.

    "Foxglove." It's slow and thick leaving your mouth.

    "Good girl," he purrs. Butterflies erupt in your rib-cage and your eyelids flutter. "How hard do you want it?" He asks, "How rough?"

    You scramble to find your voice.

    "Pretty rough, I think," you posit, a bit unsure of what that means.

    He hums in response, his brows knitting in thought. You were going to have to give him something to go on, you could see that.

    "I..." you stammer, "I want you to...to punish me. I want you to...to hurt me a little."

    He raises a brow - looks at you, just stares as if considering. Then suddenly you know what to say.

    "See...I'm not a good girl," you insist tilting your head back a bit haughtily, a bit defiantly. Being a good girl had gotten you butterflies, but that's not what you wanted right now. That's not what every cell of your body was screaming for.

     He's grinning wickedly again - his other hand is slipping out of his pocket and the one in your hair is gripping at the roots.

    "Hm. You're not are you?" he asks, his voice as dark and cold as the Pacific once again.

    "No, Hobi," you whisper. And suddenly your world is tilted on its axis as he tightens his fingers against your scalp and yanks your head back, sending a searing pain shooting through your skin as he stoops to hiss in your ear.

    "That's Hoseok, you pretty little bitch."

    You let out a whimper so needy it's nearly a sob. Your heartbeat is pounding between your legs. He lets go of your hair as roughly as he grabbed it and goes to lock the door and your stomach flips - you are totally and completely at his mercy. It's a little bit terrifying and completely exhilarating. When he comes to loom over you again, you decide just exactly where you stand in all this. You know exactly what you want. You glare up at him. He narrows his eyes.

    "You gonna listen, hm?"

It's not a question, you know it's not - it's a command. But you have one, just one, of your own...

    "Make me."

[hyperfixatedbastard]

do you write hypnosis stuff?? it's not specifically against the rules but idk it's kind of an iffy era for a lot of writers-

if it's okay with you, could you write some Vox x Singer!Reader who he uses his mind control on to sell their soul to him so they remain under the VoxTek label? (im sure remaining with him is an ulterior motive of his as well lol)

thanks :]

I can absolutely do that! I’m a little iffy about NSFW hypnosis, but I can do a SFW oneshot :)

siren songs

Obsessed!Vox x Singer!GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

WARNINGS: Yandere-ish behavior, hypnosis, manipulation, toxic behavior, all that good stuff

A/N: I told y'all I'd be back with some toxic Vox!! I wasn't entirely sure how to end this one, but I've spent enough time rewriting it to stop caring. This one is only romantic in theory - nothing actually romantic happens between Vox and Reader, it's more mutual pining than anything else This is also my first time writing obsessive behavior, so I hope I did it well!

Dividers

You’ve been working with the Vees for years now. You were originally recruited by Velvette, who’s like a bloodhound for new talent. She saw some popular videos of your singing online, and she made you famous.

But you don’t work with her that much, oddly enough. Over time, you gradually started to see her less and less. Vox was the one to take her place. By the time you noticed, there wasn’t much you could do about it—you’re certainly not an equal to the Vees, so there wasn’t much you could do. Sure, you could’ve quit then and there, as you’d never signed a soul-binding contract, but you really liked your job. You were getting to do what you loved for a living! Who wouldn’t want that?

Well, you. You don’t want that anymore. You’re getting burnt out. You feel like you’re out of creativity for writing songs, and singing no longer has the same appeal it used to. It feels like a chore. Getting on stage doesn’t get you excited—it just fills you with dread.

Then you saw the videos of the annual clown pageant down in the Greed Ring. How Fizzarolli, Mammon’s favorite little jester, just…quit. Just like that. 

Can you do that?

You don’t have backup like Fizzarolli did. There’s no Prince of Hell to protect you if the Vees lash out in response to your resignation. But the Vees aren’t Mammon. They’re powerful Overlords, sure, but they wouldn’t kill off an easy cash grab like you. And they don’t have any leverage to use against you—you’re a fucking superstar, you learned to stop keeping secrets a long time ago.

Yeah, you can totally do this!

You spend the next week making a plan. You currently live in V Tower, so finding another living arrangement is a priority. Luckily, your standards are just as low as before you got famous, so snatching up an apartment doesn’t take long. You’ve been building up savings for some time now, just little bits here and there that wouldn’t look suspicious among your bank withdrawls, so you have enough money to last you a while. You’ve made a go-bag, but you’re not too worried about bringing anything with you, as you have enough cash to just buy new shit. By the time the end of the week comes around, you’ve got your escape plan ready to go. All that’s left is to actually quit.

You decide that directly speaking to Vox is your best option. Velvette and you don’t have the same rapport that you used to, and Valentino is just… no. During your time working with Vox, you like to think there’s some sort of friendship there. The two of you chat amicably, and he always makes sure you’re okay when it comes to creepy fans and the like. You feel like there could be something more than just friendship, but you don’t plan on staying long enough to find out. As much as you like Vox, you’re not willing to spend the rest of your afterlife hating every second of your job just for him.

You stand outside Vox’s lair, mentally preparing yourself for this conversation. You take a deep breath, and right before you can knock on the door, it opens.

Okay, here goes.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You aren’t as sneaky as you seem to think you are.

A normal boss wouldn’t have noticed the small transactions in your bank account, or the little trips you’ve been taking to go look at apartments. But Vox isn’t a ‘normal boss’ by any means. And he noticed.

From the moment Vox set eyes on you, he knew he wanted you. You’re beautiful, and fuck, your voice—he just can’t get you out of his damn head, no matter how hard he tries. And he really fucking tried. But he couldn’t avoid you, thanks to VoxTek being such an integral part of your performances. And you’re like a damn siren with that voice of yours, even though he’s supposed to be the hypnotizing one here. Eventually, he just gave in and accepted that he was more than a little obsessed with you. That’s why he started drawing you closer to him, pushing away Velvette and taking control of your brand. He doesn’t like sharing.

Obsession isn’t a particularly new feeling for Vox. He certainly has… tendencies. But this isn’t like whatever the fuck he’s got going on with that deer-headed, old-timey bastard Alastor. It’s not a lust thing, either. You’re certainly attractive, and Vox most definitely would sleep with you, but that’s not the main factor at play here. This is a deeper obsession than any of that bullshit.

Vox knows that he doesn’t own your soul. He’s well aware that he can’t truly stop you from quitting. Even if he managed to trap you inside V Tower, he can’t force you to keep up the performances. If he had you under a proper soul-binding contract, though…

He would own you.

Now, he’s not Valentino. He doesn’t plan to take that kind of advantage over you. He doesn’t want to change a damn thing. He just wants you to stay.

And he will make you stay.

He knows when you approach his office, and he opens the doors with the touch of a button on his desk. He plasters that casually perfect smile on his screen and turns to face you as you enter. The doors shut behind you.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today, my dear,” he lies easily, the charismatic mask fitting into place like it was never absent in the first place. “How can I help you?”

You hesitate, your anxiety starting to get to you. But you’re determined to do this. You clear your throat and step forward. “I’m resigning.”

Vox’s smile doesn’t falter, nor does his screen glitch. His demeanor is…unnerving, to say the least. You’ve known him to be temperamental, emotional. You expected some kind of reaction. But he’s just smirking at you like he always does.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to change your mind,” he replies smoothly, tilting his head to the side just slightly.

“No,” you confirm, trying to sound confident in your answer. You’re not sure if you succeed. “I’ve already made my decision.”

Vox sighs, though he doesn’t sound very defeated. His smirk hasn’t gone away, either. “Well, then. It’s been a pleasure working with you, darling.”

He holds his hand out for you to shake. The gesture immediately worries you, as it’s the well-known sign of a deal. But you reassure yourself that there’s no deal being made here. Hell may be chaotic, but there’s rules when it comes to these kinds of things. Neither of you have offered anything, therefore there’s no harm in shaking his hand. It’s just a respectful gesture of a boss wishing their employee farewell. It all feels too easy, but you’re too relieved to think too hard about it.

You go to take his hand, but as you lift your head up to meet his gaze, everything goes fuzzy.

Vox grabs you by your wrist before you can shake his hand. He’s not rough with you. He’s careful of his claws, ensuring they don’t put too much pressure on your skin. Not that you’d notice, either way—your mind is far gone at this point, thanks to those spirals in his eye.

“In exchange for your soul, you’ll remain under the VoxTek label and continue working for me. Your work will remain the same as before. You’ll forget about leaving. You will want to stay here. You will want to stay here with me.”

A golden scroll appears out of thin air, and it floats in front of you as it unfurls. “Sign it.”

Your body moves on its own. You sign your name on the line at the bottom of the page.

Vox releases your wrist, and takes your hand in his own as his eye reverts back to its normal state. When you come to just moments later, he’s shaking your hand with calm professionality.

“I’m glad we got that sorted out,” Vox remarks smoothly, his smirk looking almost proud now. “I look forward to your next performance, my dear.”

You blink a few times as you become more lucid and aware. “Uh, yeah. Can’t wait!”

You smile, and Vox releases your hand, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You don’t remember what exactly you came in here for, but you’re happy with the outcome.  “Perfect.”

[matrixbearer2024]

not a request but i just wanna get an idea that i absolutely MUST get out of my brain before it consumes my entire being. So, your “get off my screen series”. You know that trend where ppl put that one vox vid of his face on their tv and put like hus hat and/or body attached to the tv. Imagine vox somehow finds a way to do that and y/n just does this.

THATS IT LMAO ABSOLUTELY LOVE AND ADORE YOUR SERIES. ANYTIME I SEE IT’S UPDATED IT MAKES MY DAY<3

TikTok Trending, Posts and Memes

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: With how many ideas you guys have at this point I might just continue to write short scenarios for this AU with all the ideas you guys are giving me- it's absolutely amazing seeing what y'all come up with and I'm just living for it hahahaha! Thank you guys so much!

The week you had was... interesting to say the least.

Vox had challenged you to at least take up basic programming, claiming you were too impatient to learn.

So you, being the persistent and stubborn you-

Decided to prove him wrong.

Besides, it can't be that bad if he knows how to do it.

You wouldn't tell him because it'd probably make him butthurt-

But you were sure Vox was 1000% more impatient than you.

You took up computer science for extra credit, quickly learning the ins and outs of basic coding.

It was just a world of syntax and numbers but you definitely found it fun.

And useful too-

Especially when you wanted to explicitly screw with others.

Vox may or may not have slightly taught you how to hack.

But you weren't using it for anything bad!

Just to change the final grade of some asshole students so they'd have to repeat the class.

That's what they get for just randomly tripping you in the hall the other day.

Vox was slightly proud but also kind of concerned-

You'd definitely end up where he was at this rate.

Thankfully though, you decided not to do anything too crazy since.

Instead you've been messing around on your devices alongside the tech overlord.

From practicing how to send him encrypted messages-

To straight up just shitposting all over his monitors.

It's not so fun now is it Voxxy?

You would sometimes try to transfer him around to other devices that weren't your own to see if he could actually do anything.

Well, he could- but it only worked if he was directly connected to it.

Meaning he had to be plugged in.

How he was able to connect to all your devices wirelessly without limitation?

Neither of you had a clue.

You both first tested it on your best friend's phone, only for Vox to immediately go back to your computer and blow up your notifications.

"Nope nope nope nope, that's the last time I let you plug me into some random fucking phone-"

"What?? What happened??? And it's not random, it's (Friend Name)'s Phone."

"Dollface, you know Valentino right? The one I told you about?"

"The pornstar? What about?"

You didn't exactly like where this conversation was going.

You had an inkling where it would end and you were already cringing.

"Yeeaaaah, I've known him for quite some time so I would think I've seen nearly everything."

"Get to the point Vox-"

"And yet I am somehow utterly disgusted by your friend's search history."

"Yeah, uh... I'd rather you don't tell me."

"I figured. Though it makes me curious about what yours looks like."

That gave you pause, given how Vox had practically invaded your entire computer-

Hell, he even gave your files a new sorting system-

You were surprised he hadn't gone through your search history.

Of all the things you'd think that was what he'd ransack first.

"You haven't checked my search history yet?"

"Why would I? It's not like I'm trying to find your secret porn stash or something."

"Bruh, why would I even have that."

"Your friend had one, I just guessed."

"Touché."

You were a little touched that Vox cared about you enough not to really dig into your secrets.

Or well, the things you wanted to keep secret.

For a big bad overlord, he was kind of a sweetheart.

"Okay now I definitely wanna see what you've got hidden in there-"

"FUCK OFF YOU STUPID OLD PICTUREBOX-"

"YOU CAN'T STOP ME BITCH-"

You know what, you retracted your previous statement.

He's a fucking jerk.

Vox quickly dug through your search history while the tiny desktop companion in his likeness refused to give you control over the cursor.

You couldn't stop him even if you tried.

His phone blew up from notifications with you cursing at him or just calling him names.

He just laughed at your dismay and continued to dig through.

Okay- wow.

While he didn't initially expect it from you, Vox reckoned he probably should've.

Much like how people had celebrity crushes, he figured you would have your own.

It just so happened that it wasn't a celebrity and it was a fictional character instead.

He kind of felt like someone slapped him in the face actually, even if he didn't know why.

"Soooooo- (Favorite Character Name) huh?"

"Shaddup-"

"This? This is your type???"

"IT'S A FICTIONAL CRUSH GET OVER IT-"

While you were practically steaming from the ears in embarrassment, Vox was just laughing and dealing with his mixed feelings.

On one hand, he found your reactions absolutely entertaining and hilarious.

On the other hand, he didn't even know who or what this character was and he already disliked them.

Just a gut feeling.

He continued to tease you for it though, bringing up more cringe parts of your search history much to your chagrin.

It wasn't really anything bad that you couldn't take, it was just so embarrassing that you'd rather he didn't dig any of it up.

So in the heat of the moment, wanting to get Vox off your computer- you plugged it into the only other active device he wasn't connected.

Your TV.

It was nearly instant, he went from teasing and texting to you to a befuddled face on the larger screen.

But what was more surprising, was he could actually see you this time.

It wasn't filtered over with static like when he'd first met you.

The live feed even had audio, which was just entirely unexpected too.

Who knew, plug a TV demon into his specific medium and he could actually operate properly?

But that's how you guys ended up figuring out how to connect his digital presence to your TV.

By entire surprise and from just fucking around.

"Oh my god that worked-"

"(Y/N)? Holy hell! I can actually see you!"

"I did not think that would work-"

"Wow, are you really that short or is your TV just perched up that high?"

You just flipped him the bird and Vox laughed at you again.

Though, you couldn't help but smile because of it.

Well, at least now he could converse with you "properly" like he'd wanted to for a while.

Even if it did mean he'd need to take up your entire TV.

"Oh- OH WAIT- I've got an idea!"

Vox couldn't even question what you were doing before you ran out of the room and out of his sight.

So while waiting, he took a gander at the room you left him in.

It became abundantly clear that this was your living space too.

From the colors to the patterns, Vox smiled fondly as he recalled your old conversations where you would just tell him things about the things you liked.

Yeah, he could definitely see your touch in how the room was designed.

He raised an eyebrow when you giddily came back into the room with some colored paper, scissors and tape.

What-?

"Okay Doll, just what are you planning?"

"You'll see~!"

Your excitement kept him curious.

What were you drawing over there?

Weird timing for an arts and crafts project if you asked him.

It was only until you approached him and taped something to the screen did he actually grow confused.

He couldn't see what you did despite you doubling over in laughter.

What could've possibly been so funny that had you keeling from it?

By the time you could finally look at Vox without laughing your ass off, you used your phone to take a picture of how he looked.

Approaching the TV to show him just so he could see the photo as well.

Ah.

So that's what you found so funny.

You'd fashioned his outfit-

Poorly made but still recognizable-

Out of paper and taped it to the screen.

His hat on top and his suit dangling off the bottom.

Admittedly, it looked downright silly.

Especially with the proportions being so off thanks to the size of the TV screen.

"Haha, very funny (Y/N). Very funny."

"I'm making this shit my wallpaper, you look so goofy."

Vox just playfully rolled his eyes at you with a smile.

If that was seriously all it took to make you laugh?

He'd do it again no questions asked.

Taking a peek at his internal clock though, he held back his disappointment that he had to leave when you were on such an elated high.

"Sorry to cut this short doll, but I need to disconnect. I've got a meeting in a few minutes."

"Hm? Then go and do what you need to do, I can always just plug you back in later. Good luck!"

The overlord chuckled when you raised a hand to pat the screen, he couldn't feel it but he wished he did.

"I don't need luck, but... thanks. See you."

"See you."

And just like that the screen fizzled out and returned to the smart TV homepage.

You'd sent the picture to Vox through your chats and he replied with a TV emoticon.

You giggled, course he would do that.

At least he didn't take offense to what you did-

Despite your poor art skills-

Maybe he found it as entertaining as you did?

Whatever, you switched the wallpaper on your phone to the new photo you had of Vox and laughed.

His confused expression really sealed the deal with how silly the picture was.

But imagine your surprise come morning when you realized he didn't switch the wallpaper back to his trademark grin.

You sort of expected him to, especially given that he'd done so with all your past attempts to change your wallpaper.

The fact he left it alone made you smile.

And as the day began and Vox left you a morning greeting-

You just shot him one back and got up to prepare for the day.

You figured the day would be just fine.

Yeah, you guys would be just fine.

A/N: Ooough this was a long one but I had a lot of fun writing it! I'll post the masterlist afterwards when I grab all the links to the posts and I'll just be continuing the other interludes before I post the chapter with Reader's death. Either way, I hope you guys enjoyed this one!

[mylight-png]

Despite the fact that I've understood that Jews aren't really white for a long time, it's been a much more recent perspective shift to understand that I'm not a "white Jew" but rather a white-passing Jew.

Because even though I would express my views on "Jews aren't white" to people, I'd frequently be told I'm wrong, or they'd listen but then in the next conversation simply forget all about it and made it clear they didn't agree or didn't care.

And so, for a very long time, I allowed goyim to define what it means to be Jewish for me.

But would I let anyone tell me who I am in relation to any other identity? Or was I just so conditioned to treat my Jewishness as something for society, not me, to define?

My Jewishness isn't just my religion. Whether or not I keep shabbat, I'm still Jewish. If I cook mac-n-cheese in a pot and then make chicken soup in the same pot, I'm still Jewish. Even if I wear pants and a tank top, I'm still Jewish.

Because being Jewish isn't just being in a religious category. For me, and a majority of Jews (not forgetting about converts, love y'all), being Jewish is in our DNA.

You can take the Jew out of Judaism, but you can't take the Judaism out of the Jew. (It seemed better before I wrote it.)

We are Jewish not because of a religious category, but also an ethnic category. And the world has only very recently decided we are white. But even now, we aren't treated as such.

You know, my perspective shifted due to a conversation about arm hair with my dad and sister.

We were sitting in a restaurant and my sister was wearing a t-shirt, showing her arms. At this point, I still thought of us as "just white" and my "Jews aren't white" views were of the "well I don't get to claim that for myself" (idk why to be honest). This conversation changed everything.

Anyway, my sister was complaining, as middle schoolers do, and mentioned her very fuzzy arms. My dad responded, "Well of course, you're Middle Eastern."

I was shocked.

I knew my parents are from Eastern Europe, and that we don't look Eastern European, and I just thought of myself as "generic white" even though I knew I was 100% ethnically Jewish.

That changed.

I wasn't "generic white" but rather I was a white-passing Jew. I look white, I know that. But I still have some traits that, when taken on their own, aren't typically European at all. They're Middle Eastern.

It was my first time really hearing a Jew define being ethnically Jewish in this way, as opposed to a goy, and it was world-changing.

Finally, I let myself take my feelings about antisemitism seriously.

Do you understand why society forcibly defining all of us as "just white" is so dangerous? It lets people easily dismiss antisemitism. Because we live in a society where "anti-white racism doesn't exist" is accepted as a common fact. (I am offering no opinions on this, only stating it as a societal observation.) So if Jews are white, how can antisemitism exist? How can it really be serious?

That's why we need to define being Jewish ourselves. If we let the world do it, not only does it harm us personally (as it did when I would constantly dismiss my own feelings and gaslight myself into thinking I was making a big deal out of nothing) but it also harms us on the community scale. It's dangerous.

Jews define what it means to be Jewish. Jews define antisemitism. Jews define Judaism.

The world deserves no role in this except to listen and accept it, as they'd be expected to do for any other minority.

Jews aren't white. There are white-passing Jews, sure, but even we deal with antisemitism.